Through It All

Croyez

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 29/12/2004
Last Updated: 11/07/2005
Status: completed

It all starts out with a meeting. Little do Harry and Hermione know what problems and dilemmas will surface along with their secret relationship. Hearts are shattered, prophecies are spoken, disappearances occur, plans are schemed, and discoveries beyond their understanding are made. Can their relationship withstand the perils it is subject to? Will their fate and worries stand in the way of true love? They can only hope not...Final Chapter Up

Chapters

1. The Secret Meeting

2. Worries, threats and promises

3. The Masked Ball

4. The Poisonous Prediction

5. Villains Arise

6. Bliss

7. Haunted

8. Teary Reproach

9. Disagreements

10. Dream

11. I Need You...

12. A Dark Future

13. The Ties That Bind

14. Are Things Really What They Seem?

15. Preparations and Plotting

16. Give Unto Me Your Troubles

17. Through the Fog

18. Expect The Unexpected

19. The Good and The Bad

20. It All Comes Down To This...

1. The Secret Meeting

Chapter One: The Secret Meeting

He gazed at her, immersed in her reading, not looking up from her books. She had mild dark circles under her eyes and her hair was as bushy as it ever was. She snapped at anyone who interrupted her without mercy, and she was often called a know-it-all by more than one person.

Yet to him, she was beautiful.

He watched as a tall, red-haired boy snuck up behind her and hugged her. She watched as she smiled and kissed him on the cheek, and as the boy sat down beside her. They talked quietly for a few minutes, before let out a shriek of laughter and pretended to slap the boy. He grinned and tickled her around the ribs, making her become very tired and flushed from laughing. She wriggled free from him and kissed him softly on the lips, and turning to her books instead.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger weren’t the kind of people you’d expect as a couple. They argued more than enemies and had almost nothing in common….except of course, that they liked each other. Or maybe loved? Harry wasn’t very sure. He hadn’t talked—really talked---for ages with any of them. They were often very wrapped up in their lovely little love story and forgot about Harry, who took to hanging around alone in moody disappointment. Why Ron, anyway? He’d asked himself this much more than once; what’s so great about him? Has he got something I don’t?

Well, he did something you didn’t. He confessed his love to Hermione.

Harry Potter had loved Hermione ever since their fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had always been kind to her, deciding that, if she loved him as well, she would come to him. It would be defined as the shy, cowardly thing to do by some. Harry saw it as ‘drawing her closer slowly, steadily, without being completely obvious about it’.

Perhaps he had waited too long. Perhaps if he had acted sooner, he would be the one sitting next to her, holding hands and doing homework together.

Harry sighed and gathered up his books. He couldn’t stand it much longer, so he decided to go to bed. If he sat there for too long, he might get the urge to go sit with them, something they probably wouldn’t appreciate. They would see it as an intrusion in their private little world of love. And really, sitting there watching them cuddle together wouldn’t do Harry’s temper or his feelings any good.

As he made his way to the boy’s dormitory, he coldly bid Ron and Hermione good night, and was surprised to see her smile brilliantly at him, giving him a deep, hopeful look. Harry merely blinked and continued on his way, surprised by her reaction.

It was as if she had been happy with him speaking to her. At this thought, Harry laughed hollowly. He was so desperate for her love that he was actually seeing things that weren’t there. There was no happiness, or love in that smile at all. It had been a friend’s smile; purely platonic.

Or had it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Harry spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione. He usually didn’t, but they had insisted, and as he didn’t want Ron finding out he liked his girlfriend, he agreed. It wasn’t as bad as he expected, though. He got an excuse to look at Hermione, and to listen to her voice. He noticed for the tenth time, perhaps, the way she always gestured delicately with her hands when she spoke and how she glowed with glee whenever she could answer a teacher’s question or explain something.

With her mere presence, Harry even found himself in a rather cheery mood in Potions Class. With her voice, Harry felt as though he could take any criticism or ridicule thrown at him. And with her touch, Harry felt ready to take on the Dark Lord himself, even though he knew no such thing would happen then and there.

During class, Severus Snape glared at him as usual, and found the most idiotic reasons to criticize his potion making, vanishing it for no valid reason. “Maybe next class, Potter.” He sneered, “For now, another D.” Just as Harry’s temper was to get the better of him, Hermione grabbed his hand. His temper vanished and was replaced with a giddy feeling in his stomach.

“Calm down, Harry. You could get in trouble.” She said worriedly. Her eyes were huge and her voice was soft as a whisper, so that it felt like a light caress to his ears.

That was when Harry felt the note she’d slipped in his hand. He clenched it tightly, and opened it beneath his desk.

Harry,

I need to tell you something important. Please, meet me in the Library tonight at eight o’ clock. Be sure Ron doesn’t know anything; he can’t know about this.

See you,

Hermione

Harry’s brain was working frantically. Could Hermione mean what he thought she meant? No, he told himself, she probably wants to do some homework. That’s it. Homework. He snorted loudly at this, earning himself a five-point deduction from Gryffindor by Professor Snape. He shook his head and returned to his thoughts. Homework behind Ron’s back? Oh, yes, of course, must be some new technique she came up with to get him to study, he thought sarcastically.

After Potions they headed off to dinner, but Harry didn’t eat much. He had some pumpkin juice and a bit of toast, and after he had finished, he talked with Ginny Weasley. She grinned at his voice and blushed considerably. She turned around rather quickly and looked at him with a surprised look. To her, he looked rather peaky and worried, too. He didn’t look well at all.

“You alright, Harry?” Ginny asked, peering at him concernedly. A bit closer and their noses could have touched. Harry felt uncomfortable at this; Dean was staring at him from across the table with a bemused expression on his face. His eyes darted from Ginny to Harry in confusion.

“I’m fine.” Harry said shortly, pulling back and returning to his uneaten toast. He most certainly wasn’t up to telling Ginny his problems, for God’s sake. She was probably asking to be polite, he decided, she probably doesn’t really care at all.

Of course, deep down he knew this wasn’t true. Ginny wasn’t very discreet with things and it was quite obvious that she fancied him. The way she jumped every time he said hello, the looks she gave him, and the way she blushed furiously and giggled madly when they spoke kind of gave it away. Therefore, she probably cared very much about his well being. “It’s just that….these days you’re so quiet; you hardly speak to anybody.” Ginny said uncertainly.

“I said, I’m fine, Ginny.” Harry snapped sternly, “There’s nothing wrong.” He sputtered, catching a glimpse of Ron and Hermione. He suddenly realized the terrible position Ginny was in. Oddly enough, it was the same as his. They were both hopelessly in love with someone who was smitten with someone else, and had absolutely no way of making things better for themselves. They both were too shy or too late to confess the truth and were confined to merely talking or looking at the object of their affection.

“Okay, okay….” Ginny murmured, trying to see what he was looking at. Harry felt a surge of pity towards her. He was often rather cruel, or ignorant to her. He had never noticed how her eyes seemed to lose their brightness and life whenever he said something such as what he had just said to her. He made it a point to try and talk to her more from that moment on. Well, at least after Hermione and I meet.

“I’m sorry, Ginny…” He murmured hoarsely, “I…have to go. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Ginny shrugged, her expression unfathomable. She gave him a small smile and a wave before turning to Luna, who started asking her about her opinions on the article she was reading. She looked rather miserable, staring out into the enchanted sky and speaking only when she told Luna to shut up.

Harry sighed and got up from his seat. This really was no time to be worrying about Ginny. He had more pressing matters at hand. He decided to head for the Library. It was early, but he would entertain himself with homework while Hermione arrived.

Hermione saw him as he took off into the Grand Staircase. Her heart started beating very fast. That’s not why you’re meeting him, she told herself, so don’t do anything foolish. She casually turned to Ron, “Ron?” Ron looked up from his food and nodded, “You wouldn’t mind if I went to the Library, would you? I uh…want to get a head start on that essay McGonagall assigned us today….”

“Yeah, sure.” He said, shrugging, “Don’t be too late, though, I want to talk to you later.”

“No problem.” Hermione said, smiling, and she kissed him, “See you.”

Hermione got up and strode off swiftly into the Grand Staircase. Ron stared after her, wanting to run after her and say to her what he felt. He clutched the ring in his pocket and wondered whether she’d accept. He had waited so long….it worried him to finally do it. He buried his face in his hands; something about Harry had been troubling him lately. He’d seen how he’d looked at Hermione, and he’d noticed how quiet he was all the time. But Harry wouldn’t do anything to take her from me; we’re friends, Ron thought hopefully.

Wouldn’t he? Are we still friends at all?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the Library, Harry sat down and pulled out his books, even though he didn’t feel up to homework very much. Whatever happens, I have to tell Hermione, Harry thought desperately, I can’t stand this anymore. She has to know. He opened his Transfiguration book and read the instructions for the essay McGonagall had assigned them earlier. He groaned; twelve inches on human transfigurations? No way…I’ll just do the homework with Hermione. This is too much thinking.

He started doodling in small pieces of parchment to pass the time. He decided to take a leaf from his father’s book for once; and drew a Snitch with the initials H.G. on it. He charmed it so that when he tapped the parchment with his wand, the Snitch sprung alive, blazing through the air, which was limited due to the parchment’s ends, trying to avoid capture by a Seeker’s hand.

“Harry,” A voice behind him said suddenly. Harry jumped and quickly folded the parchment; he knew who it was. There was no one else on the face of the Earth that had such a delicate, beautiful voice. It was accompanied by a soft tap on his shoulder with her finger, which made a shiver run through his spine.

“Err…hi, Hermione.” He said, attempting to look calm. He wished he hadn’t been so nervous; he was now sweating exaggeratedly and probably looked like a giant tomato because he was blushing so much. He suddenly understood how Ginny felt every time she talked to him.

“Hello.” Hermione said, grinning. Her voice was shaky, as though she too was nervous, but she was certainly not sweating at all. Harry marveled at her self-control. Assuming, of course, that she is nervous, Harry reminded himself pointedly.

“So, what’s up?” Harry asked stupidly. He cursed himself. Manners, Harry, manners! Ever thought of asking her to sit down? Of pulling a chair out for her, perhaps? A nasty voice nagged him inside his head.

“What? Oh, right.” Hermione squeaked. She spoke before he had a chance to show her good manners, “Err…can I sit down?”

“Sure, of course! Err...allow me…” Harry breathed, getting up from his chair and pulling one out for her as well. He wanted to apologize for his lack of sense, but he couldn’t find the words, so he just sat down and looked at her expectantly.

“Thanks.” She said, sitting down, “Well, I told you to meet me here so we could talk about something….without Ron finding out.” She kept her voice low. It really wasn’t a big deal, what she wanted to discuss, but still, something told her that they shouldn’t be seen—or heard.

Harry nodded; he was really too nervous to talk. His light dinner seemed to be thrashing about in his stomach, making him wish he hadn’t eaten anything at all.

“It’s quite stupid, really.” Hermione said, shaking her head and hesitating for a moment. Was he really the right person to be asked this? Sometimes it seemed he hardly knew Ron at all. Besides, he seemed to be hopelessly nervous about something, “But I can’t think of anything to get him for his birthday.”

Those last words hung in the air between them. Harry remained thunderstruck as he heard what she had just said. A present for his birthday? He thought angrily, That’s what she wanted to ask me? His stomach churned angrily at that. All that fretting over nothing?

Hermione wanted to kick herself. Oh God, she thought miserably, I shouldn’t have asked him at all. He was clearly expecting something else. “I’m sorry, Harry. I--I should go.” She said, reaching for her bag. Oh, I knew it. I knew he had something else in his mind, and now I’ve made him feel worse!

“No.” Harry said, taking a deep breath, “I need to tell you something first.” Sorry Ron.

“I don’t really think---“ Hermione started, but Harry cut her off, forgetting whatever manners he had or had recently discovered.

“Please, Hermione.” Harry whispered urgently, “Please…just let me tell you what’s on my mind.”

Hermione looked into his eyes, knowing what was coming. She was glad, yes, hopeful, but this would change things too much. Ron would be so hurt, and it felt so disgraceful to cheat on Ron with—with whom? No other than the famous Harry Potter. Ron would take that last bit especially hard, she knew. Harry had once been his friend, but he’d always been rather jealous of the attention and money he had. It would be the last straw for him to take his girlfriend away from him. But still, she decided to hear Harry out, “What is it?”

“I’m in love with you.” Harry said quickly. It was hard to admit things he wanted to hide. It was as if his body was forcefully trying to drown the words in his throat, but being unsuccessful. They came out as an odd tangle, along with a fresh burst of redness into his face.

“What?” Hermione asked incredulously, her eyes wide. Hearing it seemed so much more different than imagining it. God, she would have a hard time adjusting to this new Harry. She might love him secretly as well, but that was no reason to make this any more comfortable, or right.

“I’m in love with you. Ever since our fourth year. I—I don’t know why, or how, but I love you, and that’s all I need to know.” Harry explained, untangling his tongue and uttering what he had longed to say for years now. It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off him. He felt so much more cheerful now…

“Oh, Harry….” Hermione said, her voice trembling. This was really going to be very hard. She loved both of them, but she couldn’t figure out who was the one that was more of a friend to her, and who was her true love. She cursed herself for being so insecure about her own feelings. She had been brought up better than that. She had been taught to be diligent and sure of what she said and did. She had been told that deceitfulness was not tolerated and that she must always be honest and straightforward. Yet now, every one of those values and rules was going right down the drain.

“I know you love Ron, but I just had to say it. I couldn’t hide it anymore.” Harry whispered, burying his face in his hands. She seemed to be taking things differently than he had thought. There was a glimmer of happiness in her eyes, yet it was tainted by fear. Was she afraid of him? Or was she afraid of the consequences his confession might bring?

Hermione looked down at her feet.

“I….I love you too…..” She whispered in a small, yet truthful voice. She was sure she was being honest about that. There could hardly go a day in which she didn’t think of him, and worry about him. She fantasized about being close to him again, though in a completely different way. She longed to kiss him and to feel his love. Oh, lovely. I’m deceitful and now I feel lust? And I dare call myself honorable! Hermione thought disgustedly. She could feel tears coming. It’d be best to end this discussion soon. It seemed to bring lots of other little problems into the light.

“You don’t have to say that.” Harry assured her, “You don’t have to return my feelings towards you. I just needed to get everything off my chest.”

“I can’t Harry. I just can’t.” Hermione said, tears finally streaming down her face. Her lip trembled as she spoke once more, this time her voice was strong and definite, “I can’t deny what I feel, but I can’t accept it, either. Do you realize that, Harry? Our relationship is not meant to be…it’s not right.” She picked up her bag again and headed for the door.

Harry got up and followed her, “Don’t say that.” He hissed, “Don’t you say that, Hermione. You haven’t given us a chance to try this out. How do you know?”

“Harry, don’t make this more difficult than it already is!” She exclaimed, trembling from head to foot. This was too hard…too terrible, to face. She knew Harry wouldn’t humiliate her, or be cruel to her, but she needed time to think things out. She didn’t want to be accused of ‘cheating’ on Ron, and she most certainly didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Yet, she also loved Harry, and truly wished she could just stop thinking and say yes. She wished she could agree to take a chance, to give them, as a couple, a chance; the possibility of a growing relationship.

But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d been raised to behave respectfully, and this wasn’t what she would call respectful behavior. Even considering cheating on Ron was a stain in her integrity. It was such a low thing to do, she knew. But, she reminded herself, it’s not cheating on him if he and I are no longer a couple…

And it’s not being fair to him, either.

“Be true to yourself, Hermione.” Harry said, frowning at her face. She had been silent, yet in a heated debate with herself. Her face went from embarrassment to anger, to anguish, and to embarrassment again. Why did she have to keep being so emotional about this? “Who do you love most?” He asked in a lower voice than intended. His confidence was dropping slowly just by observing how long it took her to decide what to do.

Hermione stared at him exasperatedly, “You can’t possibly expect me to answer that.” She whispered back to him, shaking her head. She gave a low sob and turned her back on him.

Harry’s heart plummeted. His disappointment was clearly visible in his face. His eyes were cold and sad, and they looked anywhere but the woman before him. No longer able to speak or argue with his long-lost love, he turned back to the table, where he sat and buried his face in his hands.

Hermione sobbed audibly. She slopped down to the floor and came to rest her head against the bookcase next to her. She felt terrible, like she had become some sort of valueless and dishonorable person overnight just for loving someone she wasn’t supposed to love. And yet, who said she had to love a specific person?

Who says love has to be like it’s written in the books?

But I swear I’m going to regret this. I know I am. This is truly wrong. I feel love for Harry, but it is tainted with lust as well. That can’t possibly lead to anything long lasting, or prosperous, can it? And I don’t want to turn into a…a sort of slut overnight. What will people think of me? One day with Ron and the next with Harry? It’ll be humiliating. I can just hear the jeers and criticism. And mom and dad will kill me. They know how long I’ve been with Ron, and they approved very much of the match.

Wincing, she remembered her mother’s words when she’d confessed about hers and Ron’s growing relationship: “Why, sweetheart, that’s...that’s lovely! You can’t imagine how relieved I am to hear you say that! I was worried you were sick, but you are merely in love…oh, this is wonderful…I can’t wait to tell your father!” Her mother had praised her and gushed about how glad she was for a few more minutes, before looking at her straight in the eyes and saying softly, “I am so proud of you, darling. Really I am. Ron Weasley is a fine match, despite his bad economic situation. You will have to work hard to get yourselves settled financially, but with your marvelous intelligence, you can get an excellent job, and I’m sure he can get a decent one as well. He is bound to be a fine wizard when he leaves Hogwarts, and you two would have lovely children, I’m sure.” She chuckled merrily at the thought, not noticing Hermione’s shocked glare, and continued in a more serious tone, “I am very relieved you are willing to marry him rather than Harry Potter, too. Don’t get me wrong, Harry is also a fine young man, but…this business with You-Know-Who…no, no, honey, it is too much trouble to be getting into. He could die at any moment, and leave you as a pitiful young widow! Goodness! Such a wound at your age would be terrible, believe me, Hermione. You are much better off with Ron Weasley.” Hermione had argued heatedly with her at this point, but her mother had stayed firm on her belief. Her father had only backed his mother up, so Hermione had had to keep her thoughts to herself.

Were her parents right? Would her relationship with Harry end in sorrow and despair?

Even if it does, I’m willing to take the chance. Harry deserves that, and so do I. She told herself firmly, hardly believing she was being so disrespectful to her parents’ interests for her.

Hesitating, she dropped her bag slowly. God, please help me. Please, please help me get through this! She pleaded as she walked slowly towards Harry. She tapped his shoulder and kneeled beside him, giving him a small grin.

“What’s wron…?” Harry asked, but his voice trailed away as Hermione kissed his lips softly. After being overcome by momentary surprise, he pushed a lock of her hair away, hardly believing he wasn’t dreaming this. She locked her arms around him as they shared their first kiss. Their fist real kiss…the fist of what he was sure would be many.

Then something in her mind clicked. Ron. Oh…why does he have to pop in now? But she couldn’t ignore the warnings her mind gave her, so she pulled herself away from Harry slowly. He stared at her with a questioning look in his eyes and she shook her head.

“It’s…nothing, I suppose. I just need to get used to this.” She murmured softly, “I have to go, though, Harry. Shall we meet here tomorrow around the same time?” The way she uttered his name brought a peculiar feeling to his stomach very unlike the one he had experienced earlier. She no longer said his name with anguish and worry, but with love and care.

He nodded, and with one last kiss, she was off once more. Smiling, he willed himself to get up and head for the Common room, too. Things were certainly starting to look up for Harry Potter.

2. Worries, threats and promises

Chapter two: Worries, threats, and promises

Hermione tossed and turned in her bed. She wasn't calm, and she couldn't sleep at all. She had returned to the Common Room after her meeting with Harry and hadn’t found Ron anywhere. Seamus Finnigan told her that he’d gone looking for her when he saw she hadn’t arrived yet, and was still out. She was silently grateful of Ron to do that; she didn’t feel very up to talking with him just yet; talking with Harry had left her strangely exhausted and buzzing with thoughts. She would rather just go straight up to her bed and think.

She estimated that she had been in her bed for an hour or so since she went up. She deeply wanted to sit by the warm fire of the Common Room and just wipe her worries and thoughts away, but it was too early to go downstairs. It was ten o’clock and she was sure that she would find Ron. She just knew it.

Despite this, she grabbed a comfortable quilt and a soft pillow and made her way downstairs, where she poured herself some water and sat beneath the quilt by the fire.

But, as if her thoughts had called him there, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Ron entered the room, looking completely worn out and depressed. He made his way through the tables, and found her on the couch, gazing absently at the water jug beside the window. She jumped when she saw him standing there. He snorted and sat beside her.

“So, you get lost or something?” He asked derisively, though his mouth was curled into a tender and loving smile. He played with her hair as he laughed, “After seven years here, you’d think you would know your way around, but I guess not.”

Hermione ignored him. She had no time for this nonsense. She had so much more to worry about right now…her dignity and her affair with Harry were at the top of her list, but other more important things she had in mind were Ron’s feelings, her parents’ opinion, and her schoolwork.

“Hermione? I was only kidding…you know that, right?” Ron asked concernedly. He didn’t want Hermione to be upset with him…not now, when the time was so close. It would be the most daring thing he’d ever do in his life, he knew, and he would be ecstatically proud if he succeeded in having Hermione Jane Granger as his wedded wife. He had his and her parents’ support and approval; all he needed was a mere ‘yes’. Of course, the marriage ceremony was a few months away, but at least he’d have a promise to keep him going: a promise of love.

But he would wait until the Masked Ball that Saturday. He had five days to try and court her into it. He had already had a head start—a year as a couple, around six years as friends—but in those days he would try harder than ever to be polite, loving, caring, and respectful of her. He needed her on his side for her to say yes to his proposal.

“Yes, I know Ron, don’t worry.” Hermione said in a low voice, coming to meet his eyes. She smiled weakly and shrugged, “I’m just tired…it’s been a terrifyingly long day.”

Ron nodded. Potions class had been dreadful; Snape had made them practice an excruciatingly difficult potion that even his most talented potion-makers hadn’t been able to master, among them Hermione. He had expressed deep disgust at them all, including the Slytherins, “I am revolted at you all. Am I to understand that I have been wasting my time with you all this time? You are the best of the best—though some of you are here by mere…casualties, —“ He had said the last word in a low hiss, glaring at Harry and Ron, “,and it is still inexcusable. I am assigning an essay for this Friday on the correct method of concocting medicinal potions. It is to be twenty-four inches long and I will accept no excuses.” He had hissed, smirking at them.

Everyone, including the Slytherins, had been close to hexing him.

“Yeah…” Ron muttered, and decided to change the subject. Potions Class always got him riled up, “So, listen, you heard about the Yule Ball, right?” He asked nervously, scratching his head slightly. He had to word things carefully so that she would be glad to go, not as if it was a duty.

Hermione resisted an urge to roll her eyes. Here she was, with much more crucial things to worry about, and Ron was wasting her time asking her to the Yule Ball. It was obvious they were going together, anyway, so why ask? As his girlfriend, it would look rather bad if she went with someone other than him. She looked at him with a mildly interested expression and nodded, “It’s this Saturday, right?”

“Yes, at six o’clock. Are we…um…going together?” He asked stupidly, stroking her face gently. He watched as she laughed softly and put her hands on her hips, “Well, of course, Ron! I am your girlfriend, after all. I couldn’t call myself that at all if I went with someone else.” She laughed again and slopped back onto the couch, where she made herself comfortable with her quilt and pillow.

It was annoying that Ron was even talking to her about this, but a small part of her found it strangely amusing when she saw her face asking her. He looked as if this was the first time he’d asked her on a date! Poor guy, she thought, but I can’t help it. It’s stupid enough that he’s even asking me this, but his face…oh, he looks so anxious! It’s rather comical, in an odd way.

Ron’s ears reddened in embarrassment at her reaction, “You’re right…but…I want you to feel free to make your decisions. I don’t want you to feel like I’m the one who decides things for you.” He explained, coming to lie down next to her under the quilt.

Hermione smiled. Ron really was a good guy, wasn’t he? He was so thoughtful and sweet when he proposed himself to it. It had made her much less tense to laugh a bit, and to know that he didn’t intend to order her around. Yet it also made her wonder whether Harry would be the same kind of husband. Would he treat her with such respect and care? Would he treat her lovingly?

Ron had scooted over next to her and was now lying down with her. Involuntarily, Hermione’s frame stiffened. She knew Ron wasn’t up to anything he shouldn’t be, but lying there feeling him so close suddenly made her remember all her worries about her dignity and reputation. She swallowed nervously, and looked at him. His eyes were closed and he was smiling slightly. He had managed to cover himself a bit with the quilt, and was using his arm as a pillow. He looked entirely too peaceful to disturb, really. Hermione considered simply sleeping there, but she couldn’t. It didn’t feel right at all.

She managed to wriggle away from his arm, which was absently stroking her back, and whispered a good night softly into his ear. He looked up at her with a surprised expression and, as if he had understood, nodded, wishing her a good night as well. She hovered there for a moment, looking at him with a sad look. Why couldn’t she just stay with Ron? He clearly loved her to death, so why was it so hard for her to love him back? Why did she have to choose the hardest of her options? Feeling the tears welling up in her eyes, she turned around and headed for the girls’ dormitories.

Ron looked intently as she walked away. He couldn’t help it. He felt like he was losing her steadily everyday. It was as if she was so far away from him suddenly…of course, he didn’t expect her to sleep with him; he hadn’t expected that at all. He had been overcome by tiredness, and that quilt looked so cozy…plus, she was very soft, so he just did what his instinct told him: Go for the comfort. It felt rather careless to do so now, really, she must have thought him sick.

Ron gathered the quilt and the pillow she had left and took them up with him to the boys’ dormitories. They would remind them of her, as they had the same beautiful scent she always gave off. Returning to his thoughts, he found there was no denying that she was often colder with him, and sometimes even cruel. They hardly talked like they did before, and she was spending less and less time with him. It’s just like Harry, he realized with a slight pang.

And as he climbed into his four poster bed and buried himself beneath the quilt, he chanced a sideways glance at Harry, wondering miserably whether he was losing both his best friend and the love of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry woke up the next day with an air of extreme happiness and relaxation. He couldn’t believe it. He’d told Hermione. Finally, he’d let her know about all his feelings for her. He’d confessed, and the best thing was, that she actually felt the same way about him.

Or so she said, he thought sulkily, realizing how unlikely that was and returning abruptly to his usual feeling of hopelessness and longing. For all he knew, she might have lied to make him feel better, and was now toying with his emotions, wondering how she could get rid of him finally.

Don’t be stupid. Hermione’s not like that…she’s an honest person. She would never lie to me and much less play with my feelings. She would never do that. Harry sighed as he pulled on his robes and caught a glance of Ron. He wasn’t looking too well, either. He had dark circles under his eyes and was looking rather pale. That might be due to bad sleep, of course, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that it was more than that.

Even before he had told Hermione everything he felt, she had been acting rather strangely with Ron. It was as if she was tired of him. She hardly ever spent time with him, and almost always was snapping or sneering at him. Though, when she wasn’t acting like a raging banshee, she was very sweet and cuddly with poor old Ron. Harry hoped she wouldn’t start acting like that with him. He had waited long enough to love her and have her at his side, and he wasn’t about have her get bored and throw him away like an old doll.

Again, Harry reminded himself that Hermione was a good person and wouldn’t do that to him, but this time he simply couldn’t bring himself to believe it. If she did that to Ron, who had clearly done so much for her and had treated her like a queen, then how would she treat Harry, who had been to cowardly to confess his love, and had done absolutely nothing for her, except wallow in self-pity and misery every day?

“Harry, you alright, mate?” Ron asked suddenly, there was a mildly concerned expression playing in his face. Harry looked up in surprise and nodded, “Come on…we have to get a move on…we haven’t eaten breakfast yet.” He said hoarsely, clearing his throat and walking towards the door.

“Wait…I want to ask you something first.” Ron said quickly, closing the door slightly. Harry stopped dead in his tracks and turned to his friend, who was frowning and staring at the door, as if he suddenly regretted even trying to start the conversation.

Harry waved a hand in front of his nose to catch his attention. He looked up and nodded slowly, coughing slightly, “Harry…you know we’re still friends, right?” He asked, “We hardly hang out together anymore—the three of us, I mean—but you know we still care about you, right?”

Harry remained astonished. The reason as to why Ron was even speaking to him remained a mystery. And, most particularly, about this! During the last few weeks, it was as if they had agreed without speaking to not bother each other at all. Ron was to hang out with Hermione, and Harry left them alone.

“I…” Harry considered simply agreeing with Ron and getting away from him as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t. Ron had to know what he thought about all this, “Ron…honestly…what kind of a friend prefers his girlfriend over his best friend? For us, in particular, it should have been easy to get along together…we’d been friends since our First Year! I--I really don’t understand what went through your mind and made you decide to stop being friends.” Harry said in a cool voice, and his performance was only brought down by his loss of words. He didn’t know how to explain this at all.

Ron stood as if he were glued to the spot. He had expected Harry to reassure him that they were friends and let the whole thing go. That he actually thought to explain what he felt about all this had never crossed his mind. He was rather taken aback; what should he respond to that? A simple ‘I’m sorry’ and get it out of the way?

“I…err…I…” Ron sputtered. He really had nothing to say to that. With slight shock, he realized that he had been pushing Harry away all along to make way for his new life. He wanted Hermione so much, that he had excluded Harry so that he could get used to his new role as her boyfriend. In his mind, he had to be redeemed in Hermione’s eyes for being so inconsiderate and cruel to her all those years before, and in his quest to do so, he forgot all about Harry.

Harry knew Ron was uncomfortable. He obviously thought Harry would just say that it was all okay and move on with his life. A small part of Harry wished that could have happened as well. They were now stuck in an awkward silence that just didn’t seem to have a way out of.

Just when Harry was considering even giving Ron a hug, the door to the dormitories swung open unexpectedly and hit him squarely on his forehead. He stumbled backwards, waving his arms madly trying to find something to support himself. He heard someone shriek and footsteps heading towards him. His vision was rather blurry, but he could distinguish Ron’s bright red hair and a much shorter and slender figure with bushy brown hair.

“Hermione…?” He mumbled as he felt someone grab his arms and gather him up. The person’s hands were very soft and delicate, and he could recognize her voice, “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were standing there! Oh, God, you look terrible—you’re bleeding!” She said in a shrill voice, and he felt her grasp for something in her robe pockets. She then pressed what he thought was a piece of cloth to his forehead in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“Ron!” She called urgently. Ron had been standing about two feet away from them, staring amazedly at Hermione. She had moved and acted so quickly, and he still hadn’t had time to take in what had happened, “Help me get Harry to his bed, will you?”

Ron stared at her. What is she on about? Blimey, she acts like Harry is dying or something! He just got hit by a stupid door! He’s not going to die anytime soon. He thought sulkily. Even to himself he sounded selfish and heartless, though, so he didn’t dare say a word to Hermione. He could just hear her scathing remark…

“Mobilicorpus.” Ron took out his wand and levitated Harry to his bed, giving Hermione a sour look. “You really don’t work under pressure at all, you know?” He scoffed, magically healing the small cut on Harry’s forehead. It was true, after all…had she really thought of lifting Harry instead of using a wand? Maybe all that muggle influence really was bad for her.

“Oh, shut up.” She snapped, sitting beside Harry on the bed. She gently stroked his forehead before waking him up. “Enervate.” She whispered, pointing her wand to his forehead while absentmindedly plying with his hair.

Harry woke up with a start. His vision was still rather blurry, but he could see Hermione leaning over him, and Ron glaring daggers at them both, standing by the door. Realizing he was on his bed, he made to sit. He glanced, puzzled, at Ron, and turned to Hermione, “What in the world just happened?” he asked slowly, rubbing his aching forehead.

“I think you were standing by the door…talking with Ron, and I came in rather brusquely, and, well, the door hit you.” Hermione said, giving him an apologetic look and shrugging, "You're fine now, though."

“She then proceeded to pressing a cloth to your forehead to ‘stop the bleeding’ and asking me to heave you over to your bed.” Ron said mockingly as he pocketed his wand, though he attempted to mask his disgust at their cuddly behavior by giving him a small grin.

“That was unnecessary, Ron.” Hermione snapped, rolling her eyes at him. She turned to Harry and smiled, “So…are you hungry? We’d better hurry if you are, though, Defense Against the Dark Arts starts in half an hour.”

Harry nodded, and got off the bed slowly. Hermione stood up after him and tried to fix his hair, which was quite sweaty and rather bloody. He shrugged her off, and made his way towards the door. Whatever had just happened, Hermione had clearly lost her mind and started acting too obvious around him. Obvious enough, he knew, to alert Ron of their relationship.

It was almost a promise that things could only go downhill from there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though late, Harry arrived to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He ushered a quick apology to Professor Lupin and headed for his usual seat. As he sat down, he caught a glimpse of Draco Malfoy, who was entertaining himself considerably by setting several of the Gryffindor’s quills on fire.

“As I was saying, students, today we shall be practicing an advanced form of the Protego shield. It allows you to cast spells at your opponent, while at the same time, blocking their spells. It comes in handy, you see, because it manages to block most basic spells and hexes as well as the more complicated and serious ones.” Lupin explained, “The correct incantation is this, ‘Protego Auctus’.” He said, enunciating clearly, “Repeat after me, ‘Protego Auctus’!”

He looked at them all in turn as they repeated after him, his eyes twinkling, “Good, now, wands out and everybody up! We’re going to have a practical lesson. I shall divide you all into pairs for you to practice.”

Harry got up excitedly. He enjoyed practical lessons, particularly because he tended to be good at defense. It was his best subject, after all. He chanced a half-glance at Hermione and found her bobbing up and down happily beside Ron, who, though he hid it quite well, seemed quite glad, too.

Harry’s enthusiasm diminished considerably, however, when professor Lupin announced that he would be pairing Slytherins with Gryffindors as well as same-house pairings. "I know that many of you may be opposed to this, but you need to learn to deal with anyone, not just the same people." He said, sensing the discomfort that seemed to have spread through the class. Malfoy’s eyes shone maliciously at this, glancing at Harry and cracking up.

Ron was paired with Crabbe, Hermione was paired with Neville, and Harry was paired with—big surprise—Malfoy. Harry sighed deeply as he walked over to the spot assigned to him and looked over at Malfoy, who was supposed to be standing across from him, but was now walking towards him, smirking. He walked with an excessive amount of smugness, fingering his wand.

"Hello, Potty." He drawled, stopping when he was merely a foot or two away from Harry and smirking.

Harry wasn't in the mood for this at all, "Shove off, Malfoy." He snapped, his hand in his pocket, clutching his wand. He knew better than to be completely undefended whilst in Malfoy's company, however poor the git's wands skills might be.

"It wouldn't do well to speak to me in such manner, you know..." Malfoy hissed dangerously. He snorted lightly, "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to know that. You Gryffindors are hardly gifted in intellect."

"At least we have the courage to accept the consequences of our actions." Harry said calmly, "You Slytherins---particularly you, Malfoy---are always getting yourselves in trouble and running away like cowards."

"Really, Potter? I'm not sure I'll be the one running after everything comes out into the light..." Malfoy hissed threateningly, his eyes boring into Harry's.

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. He had a bad feeling about the way Malfoy was looking at him. It was as if he could...

No, of course not, Harry thought to himself, tearing his eyes away to look at the floor. Malfoy? A Legilimens? Please...the stupid prat couldn't possibly have learned that.

Malfoy smiled maliciously and opened his mouth to speak. But just as he did so, Professor Lupin told everyone to please stand in their assigned positions and, on the count of three, to begin the duel. Malfoy stepped back several steps and held his wand in front of him. Harry did so, not taking his eyes off him. He'd had the pleasure of dueling with Malfoy before and was aware that he didn't care much for the rules.

"One..." Lupin said, eyeing all of the students closely, "Two..."

Harry prepared himself for the duel. He would enjoy cursing Malfoy very much, he knew. Yet, a small part of him wanted to keep him well just to find out what he seemed to know. Harry had a bad feeling it was about Hermione, but consoled himself, thinking he had many other secrets Malfoy could have found out about somehow. Realizing how stupid it was to console himself with that, he shook his head and concentrated on which curse he would use first.

“Three.”

Malfoy moved so fast Harry barely realized what was happening. He merely saw a yellow-and-black blur, and the next thing he knew, he was being set on fire. “Flamora!” Malfoy had yelled, using exaggerated wandwork as if to be sure he impressed anyone who dared look.

Harry was thrown back into the floor by the force of the spell, his robes blazing with fire. He could hear Malfoy’s laughter ringing in his ears. His wand had fallen out of his hands as he fell, but lay only a few inches away from his hand. He grabbed it and pointed it to Malfoy, “Petrificus Totalus!” he yelled, immediately regretting doing so. He hadn’t yet had a chance to extinguish the fire in his robes when Malfoy used the Protego Auctus shield. The spell hit the shield and shot straight at Harry, who blocked it as well, though not as easily.

“Deflammo” He muttered quickly, extinguishing the fire in his robes. His leg stung badly, hinting that he’d gotten burned there. He was vaguely embarrassed. How could Malfoy have improved this much in his dueling skills? Just last Christmas the git was at a third-year’s level…it was amusing to fight him. Yes, from December to March a lot could change, but still...it was unnerving.

March…there was something important in March, wasn’t there? Harry wondered to himself, thinking hard. Then it hit him. Ron’s birthday…it was today! Harry wanted to kick himself; they may not be very close now, but he at least deserved a nice birthday wish. Oh, and a lovely gift I’m giving him, too…his girlfriend’s fussing all over a bump on the head I got. Really, fantastic. Harry thought dully.

“Tarantallegra!” He hard Malfoy shout, his eyes gleaming maliciously.

But something in Harry’s mind clicked. He moved his wand with a quick flourish, and casted the Protego Auctus shield, sending the spell right back at Malfoy. Draco, who had been under the impression that Harry was too distracted to retaliate, had been caught completely by surprise when his legs started moving about uncontrollably.

“Furnunculus!” Harry yelled quickly, overcome by the intense desire to get back at Malfoy. The spell hit Draco, and his face was instantly covered with horrible boils. Harry gingerly stepped towards him; his leg was very injured and was stinging very badly.

When he was about six feet away from Malfoy, Harry pointed his wand at the boy’s legs and muttered, “Finite Incantateum.” Malfoy stopped moving, but fell to the ground, panting and sweating.

“What is it that you know, Malfoy?” Harry said in a hiss that would have made Professor Snape proud.

“Alright, alright, Potter…” Malfoy muttered, wincing, “It’s pretty stupid, you know. I’m amazed you’d ever…” He stopped abruptly, clutching his chest. He was apparently trying to catch his breath, but Harry insisted.

“Tell me!” Harry whispered urgently, pointing his wand at him threateningly, “Malfoy, you’d better speak up, or I swear I’ll—“

“Relax, will you?” Malfoy said in a squeaky voice, “I just saw you and Granger snogging, in the library yesterday. I knew you were stupid Potter, but Granger? She’s just a filthy little—“

“You’ll regret that, Malfoy.” Harry snapped, raising his wand once more.

“Expelliarmus!” Malfoy croaked, his wand poking out of his sleeve. Harry hadn’t noticed it at all while they were talking, so he was caught unaware. He was thrown back about twenty feet, into someone else.

“Stop! Stop! Everybody, STOP!” Professor Lupin yelled loudly as he saw Harry fall. It was such a rare occurrence that he ever raised his voice, that everybody turned to face him with shocked looks. Grateful that he’d managed to get everyone to listen, he instructed all those that were not hurt to go to their seats immediately, while those who were hurt stayed where they were.

Harry rubbed his head, which had a slight bump on it. The cut he’d gotten with the door this morning had opened again and was now oozing fresh drops of blood, and as Professor Lupin rushed over and cured it magically, he wished Hermione had been the one to nurse him to health.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione saw Harry sitting in the Library in a table rather hidden from anyone who might be walking nearby. She walked casually towards a bookcase near the table, and slowly made her way towards him. She occasionally pulled out a few books and scanned them, but when she was certain no one was still looking at her, she quickly slipped into a seat beside him.

He looked up at her with a smile and reached towards her. He grasped for her hair, while she locked her arms around his neck. Harry sighed into her neck as they hugged…she smelled so sweet and wonderful. It was an odd sort of smell, and he couldn’t place what it was. He only knew it smelled lovely.

Hermione pulled her head back and captured his mouth with her lips. For once, she wasn’t worried about her dignity or her parents, or even about Ron. She just concentrated on the person before her, and how much she truly loved him.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the kissing stopped and they gazed at each other, reading one another’s thoughts by merely looking at their eyes.

Harry was first to break the relaxing yet annoying silence, “Hermione, I need to warn you about something.”

Hermione was fussing over his forehead, trying to make the cut less visible and less achy. At Harry’s words, she frowned, “What is it?”

“It’s Malfoy. He…err…knows about us.” Harry said in a low voice.

Hermione sighed deeply, “Yes, I surmised so. During breakfast he was looking over at Ron and I with the most horrible glee. This whole thing obviously made him very glad.”

“He saw us here yesterday...err…kissing.” Harry said, blushing vaguely at this. Instantly, he felt like a dumb little girl, giggling over words like ‘kissing’ and ‘couple’. He felt incredibly stupid, “But I don’t think he’s going to tell anyone.”

“Harry, don’t be so naïve.” Hermione scoffed, shaking her head, “After that whole fiasco in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he’ll want to get back at you.”

“He can get back at me in loads of ways, Hermione.” Harry said firmly, “Don’t you realize that?”

“Oh, that’s reassuring.” Hermione said sarcastically, “And besides, this is the easiest way he knows to hurt you. He’ll probably hint it to Ron and leave him to ruin it all up.”

Harry edged closer to her and put his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder as he spoke once more, “Ron I can deal with…but Malfoy? Did you see him dueling me today?”

Hermione laughed considerably. By her tone when she spoke next, she’d probably been watching Harry and Malfoy duel, “Oh, Harry, that prat hasn’t got any dueling skills. You were just distracted today. You have a lot on your mind now, you know.” She said reassuringly. Her voice was very soft and barely audible.

Harry grinned and kissed her lips softly, “So, has Ron asked you to the ball yet?”

“Yes, just last night.” Hermione said, snorting, “Oh, I knew I shouldn’t laugh, but you should’ve seen his face, Harry! He looked like he was going to die of embarrassment!”

“He has reason to worry…” Harry muttered with a mischievous smile, tickling Hermione’s ribs.

Hermione worked hard not to laugh, but she couldn’t. She started giggling uncontrollably, trying to push Harry’s hands away, and then let out a shriek of laughter. She gasped, and Harry let go of her quickly. They pulled a random book out of a bookshelf and placed it on the table in front of the in case Madam Pince came to investigate the source of the noise.

“But don’t worry, Harry, we can meet…” Hermione said tentatively. He had suddenly fallen silent, and was frowning deeply.

“Seriously?” Harry asked as soon as she stopped talking. Hermione laughed quietly and nodded, “I think ten might be a good time, right?” She suggested.

Harry nodded, hugging her tightly, “It’s excellent.” He declared, and she smiled, burying her face into his chest. He played with her hair for a long time, until he’d almost forgotten where he was. He’d become entranced by her wonderful smell, and the light caresses she gave him on his back. When she moved to get up, he seemed to come out of a trance. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the wristwatch in his hand.

It had only been thirty minutes.

A/N: There you go! Well, there’s not much to say here…leave a review. I got 270 hits on the story, and only 7 reviews. What’s up with that? I want to know what you think, seriously. Good or bad, feel free to let me know. That way, I can improve, or keep things the way they are. All you need to do is tell me what you think. =) I answer every single review, too, so you know I’m listening.

3. The Masked Ball

Chapter three: The Masked Ball

Ron was fighting to stay awake during History of Magic. Not that this was unusual, but today, it was because of sleep deprivation. He hadn't slept at all the night before.

Hermione had slipped away from him during dinner yesterday after wishing him a happy birthday, with the homework excuse once again. Reluctantly, he'd let her go. It's not like he had any excuse to get her to stay, anyway.

She'd come back around nine, and was followed by Harry two or three minutes later. Ron tried not to notice this, but he couldn't. The fact that her pale pink lipstick was smudged didn't inspire much confidence, either. I can’t believe it, he thought gloomily to himself, She really is having an affair with Harry…after that whole door thing it’s obvious.

But how could she? After all I’ve done for her; after all we’ve been through together, she’s just going to cheat on me like I never existed? Like out relationship meant nothing to her? He thought angrily, And I thought her to love me back...she never felt anything more than a crush, or maybe even less than that, for all I know. The nerve she has…cuddling him and acting like he was dying…right in front of me. There she was…cheating on me, and toying with my feelings. She was leading me on! I just…I can’t believe it. And I was going to propose!

Oh, but I am. I’m going to make one last try, and I’m going to propose to her.

I’m going to regret it, though. I know she’s not going to say yes…it’s obvious. But there’s just some stupid part of me that wants her to say no. Like she’ll even feel guilty about it. Yeah right…I can just see her laughing about it with her new boyfriend…the famous Harry Potter.

Why would she want to marry me, anyway? I’m poor, nowhere near as smart as she is, and we fight too much. How could I have ever thought she’d marry me happily, willingly?

He thought of nothing but this during History of Magic and during lunch, ignoring Hermione's concerned looks and curious questions. He could tell she wasn’t feigning worry over him; you could see it in her eyes that she truly did care. And yet…however much of a blessing that might have been before, today it was no more than a curse.

"Ron? Are you okay?" She asked for the tenth time, stroking his cheek softly, "You seem so pale....and sleepy, actually. Did you stay up all night doing late homework again?" He stiffened at her touch. He wanted to just shout everything at her face, make her feel horrible. But he couldn’t. At least someone in this had to behave honorably.

Ron shrugged, pushing his food around the plate with his fork like a little boy who hadn’t gotten his way. He sighed and looked at Hermione. There really wasn’t any avoiding this, wasn’t there? He wouldn’t make her feel bad just yet, but he could just ask directly.

"I-I need to ask you something." He said, his voice trembling, "It's really important."

Hermione nodded, frowning slightly, "Go ahead."

"Would you ever...has Harry ever…has he done something to you?" It sounded more as an accusation than anything else, and as the words came out of his mouth, they sounded very stupid. What kind of a question was that?, he thought angrily, Harry hasn’t done anything to her!

But I can’t just ask if she’s having an affair with Harry. What a lovely conversation would that be! Oh, and I’d be right on my way to wooing her. Big time, He thought sarcastically, immediately bringing on another miserable thought: Not that I need to anymore, there’s no way she’ll marry me…

Hermione's eyes widened, "What? Of course not Ron.” She shook her head slightly, not taking his eyes off him, “Do you really think him capable of harming me? We’re…friends. You know that.” She added, trying to keep her voice steady and free of nervousness. She knew this to be over, really. If Ron was asking questions, it was because he already had an idea of what was really going on. But still, she lied. It made her feel disgusted with herself, really. What kind of a low person was she that she couldn’t even speak the truth about what she no longer felt? She was merely running away from things, only to have them catch up with her later on.

Ron shrugged, admiring vaguely her ability to lie to people. She actually looked at them in the eye, and acted all innocent. To someone who had asked the question out of mere curiosity, her response would have been enough and they would have been completely fooled. Her voice was firm and she hardly blinked at all when she spoke. Ron suddenly wished he didn’t know about her and Harry…perhaps that way, he would suffer less, "Just....just asking. I have a right to care for you, don’t I? He’s—well, both of you, really---have been acting strange and I…well, I just wanted to make sure.” He offered coolly as a way of explanation.

Hermione frowned at him. She had lost her apparent tranquility for a few moments, gaping at him with her mouth half open, apparently shocked and thinking of a good response. When she realized what she’d been doing, she cleared her throat and asked softly, "Ron..." she began, “Is something…?”

"Listen, I'm off to Care of Magical Creatures. You have Arithmancy now, right?" Ron interrupted rudely. His mood hadn’t improved much, and he was on the verge of blabbering all he was thinking. Something about the way she’d looked at him when he’d offered her his ‘explanation’ for asking…it was as if she knew what the real question was. That made him more upset and angry. She knew the truth, but preferred to deceive him with lies?

"Yes." Hermione said in a small voice, nodding. She pecked his cheek softly and gave him a small wave. She could see the anger shining in his eyes. And yet, there was also disappointment; sadness. Hermione couldn’t bear to look at him while he had such an expression on his face. It made her feel incredibly guilty and cruel. How could she have lied to him?

"Right, well, see you later." Ron said, and strode out of the Great Hall, fists clenched and ears red. He took off in the direction of the Entrance Hall, but Hermione had a strong feeling he wasn’t going to attend care of Magical creatures. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes and willing her tears away, I knew this would happen. Only a few days have gone by and already this is falling apart, she thought nervously, Harry had better think up something...

Are you sure Harry’s the one that has to make a decision here? A small voice said in the back of her head.

Do you realize you just made things worse? Ron already knows what’s going on, and instead of just breaking up with him when you had the chance, you preferred to lie. Your parents would be ashamed.

Blinking, she processed this bit of information. My parents…oh God, what are they going to say when they find out? They’ll disown me, I swear they will. But it’s stupid; Harry’s not going to die at the hands of Voldemort. He can’t…after all the hope he’s given the Wizarding community, the hope that one day, he’ll vanquish the Dark Lord…he can’t just die. There’s so many people counting on him, he can’t give up.

And I’m going to be there by his side. I’ll help him and I won’t let him give up. His destiny is to defeat Voldemort. He has to succeed.

My parents will just have to respect my choice. I’m of age now. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions without their help.

I just hope I’ve made the right one…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco Malfoy strutted the Great Hall in a towering mood. He was still dumbfounded that he had actually let Harry Potter intimidate him the day before in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And the worst part was, everyone in Slytherin house knew about it by now. Pansy Parkinson had lost her temper with him while the seventh years worked on their homework together and, in her anger, decided it was a brilliant idea to let the whole Common Room find out about his little encounter with Dumbledore’s favorite little Gryffindor student. He’d hexed her as soon as the words left her mouth, but that hadn’t changed much. Everyone still saw him as a coward and a prat.

As soon as he saw the Slytherin table, he decided he wasn’t hungry at all. There was Pansy, Nott, Millicent, and all of the sixth years. They were huddled together, talking quietly and occasionally glancing up at the Staff Table to check that the teachers weren’t looking at them. He signaled Crabbe and Goyle to follow him as he turned and made his way back to the Entrance Hall. Hearing them both sigh audibly, Draco was on the verge of insulting and hexing them viciously when he saw Ron Weasley heading for the large doors of the Castle.

A large smile spread out in his face as he remembered what he knew about dear old Potty and the Mudblood Granger. He could just picture the oaf’s face when he informed him. It was stupid; he could just go and blackmail Potter, but something told him it was best to stay away from him now. It would do him no well to end up on the wrong side of Potter’s wand in front of witnesses—again. His father would have his head. He had already gotten a Howler for the Defense Against the dark Arts incident. Supposedly, he had diminished his family’s respect at Hogwarts and had failed to control his temper. His father once again reminded him that he should try to be more cunning and tactful about things, as the Dark Lord did not welcome those who had a tendency to let things slip.

So Malfoy set off towards Ron, who had dropped his bag near the door and was now sitting with his head resting on the wall behind him. He looked strained. Good, Malfoy thought, Let’s see if I can intimidate the stupid brute.

“Oy! Weasley!” Draco yelled about ten feet away from Ron, still walking towards him. Ron’s eyes opened and darted to find the person who’d called him. At the sight of Malfoy, he discreetly grasped for his wand in his robe pocket. Malfoy saw it, and whipped out his own wand as well. “Accio wand.” He muttered, and Ron’s wand came zooming towards him. “Let’s try and play nice, shall we, Weasley?” He said, smirking.

“I’m not the one that’s looking for a fight, Malfoy.” Ron spat, glaring at him. This was just what he needed: More people to come torment him, “Go away, will you? I’ve got better things to do.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, “Weasley, do you think I enjoy being in your company?” He asked sarcastically, snorting, “I merely wanted to let you know something…” He said slowly.

“What?” Ron snapped, turning his head violently to look at Malfoy, who finally reached him and was now standing about two feet away from him.

“You know…it’s a real shame you spent all that money on a ring for Granger…” Malfoy whispered maliciously, bending over a little to meet Ron’s eyes, “The little twit won’t even accept it.”

The emotions playing on Ron’s face were very noticeable. At first, he looked back at Malfoy with a profoundly surprised expression on his face, even frowning a little. Then, his eyes seemed to drop and he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes on his wand, which was in Draco’s hand. And last, his frown became a scowl. He looked up at Malfoy again, glaring at him viciously. With a surprisingly quick movement, he summoned his wand and was up on his feet.

“What’s that supposed to mean, you git?” He spat, lowering his wand and looking at Malfoy suspiciously.

“She’s having an affair with Potter, idiot.” Malfoy snapped, narrowing his eyes, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know…”

Ron ‘s wand shot up to meet Draco’s, who had sensed danger and pointed it at him. Malfoy smirked, while Ron’s wand issued red sparks in his anger, “Get out of here, Malfoy, or—“

“Or what, Weasley? Potter may be a good dueler, but you’re no match for me.” Draco hissed, his eyes gleaming nastily.

“You sure about that?” Ron snarled, his anger intensifying at the mere mention of Harry. Just as he was about to jinx Malfoy, however, he caught sight of Hermione coming out of the Great Hall. She looks so beautiful, He thought, completely forgetting about Malfoy and the duel they were apparently going to start. He longed to hold her, to know she was his. She isn’t, he reminded himself. She doesn’t love me. She’s in love with Harry.

Malfoy took advantage of Ron’s distraction and pointed to his wand, “Relashio!” Ron’s wand shot out of his hand with such strength that as it zoomed out of his hand and hit the wall behind him, a few drops of blood shot up from Ron's hand. Ron yelled, opening his hand to look at it. There was a thin cut that extended throughout the palm of his hand, and was now oozing blood. Draco stepped back, pointing his wand again to Ron and yelled, “Wingardium Leviosa!” Ron was levitated up to the ceiling at high speed and slammed into it forcefully.

At this point, there was a wide circle around Malfoy and him, and frantic footsteps were being heard. One of those people turned out to be Hermione, who had heard them yelling. She pushed through the crowd into the front, looking up worriedly at Ron. As Malfoy lifted the levitation charm and left Ron to fall to the ground, she stepped forward and yelled fiercely, “Immobulus!” The spell froze Ron in mid air, and a few droplets of blood were frozen as well.

Draco turned around, surprised, and she took a step towards him and slapped him hard on the face.
“You disgusting prat! Whatever problems Ron has, it is none of your concerns.” She spat, her lips thin and her eyes looking at him with anything but pity.

Malfoy snorted, “D’you think I’m going to let you intimidate me? You’re nothing but a disgusting Mudblood, Granger.” He hissed, rubbing his cheek, which had Hermione’s fingers marked in a bright pink shade.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, keeping her voice dangerously steady, “I’d advise you not to insult me, Malfoy. You might just find that I can intimidate you better than Harry could ever do.” She warned him, twirling her wand between her fingers.

Malfoy stared at her fiercely for a few seconds, and took a few steps backwards. Then, he seemed to resign himself to losing, and he shoved through the crowd to head in the opposite direction. Hermione sighed and turned to the crowd, raising her eyebrows. Slowly, everyone went back to what they had been doing, throwing Hermione dark looks and muttering.

Hermione lowered Ron slowly and lifted the Freezing Charm she had casted before. Ron regained movement, panting and falling to his knees. “Ron…Jesus, what did that git do to you?” She muttered, checking his head, which was also bleeding slightly. Ron grimaced and shook his head, summoning his wand in a shaky voice and healing the cut on his hand. Hermione pointed his wand to the cut on his head and muttered, “Subsisto Minuo” The bleeding stopped abruptly, and Ron looked up at her, exhausted and in pain, but grateful all the same.

“Thank You.” He said, smiling, “You saved my life, you know? And Malfoy absolutely cowered at that last threat you made…”

“You’re welcome. I…I don’t like to see people getting hurt.” Hermione said, helping him up, "Especially my friends."

Ron frowned at that 'friends' comment, wondering if it could possibly be a hint. Then, with a painful twinge of his head, he brushed his worries away. Right now, he wanted to enjoy her company, even in the current circumstances.

Hermione helped him up and grabbed his hand, "You should go to Madam Pomfrey...just in case." She said in a low, kind voice. Ron nodded, and as they set off into the Grand Staircase, a shrill voice behind them yelled, "Mr. Weasley! Miss Granger! Get down here this instant!" Turning, they saw it was Professor McGonagall, looking very grim and furious.

They hastened towards her, Hermione in front, looking as if she would faint at any moment, "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I cannot even describe how ashamed I am of you." McGonagall began in a hollow tone, waving a finger at them, "How dare you create such a scandal in the Entrance Hall! In front of so many people, too--"

"Professor, Malfoy started it!" Ron protested in a hoarse voice, "I was on my way to Care of Magical Creatures, and the--well, he comes up to me and starts an argument! I never meant to start a duel, Professor, I swear!"

Hermione nodded, "It's true, Professor, look at the state of him! He had a very nasty cut on his hand, and Malfoy levitated him to the ceiling and he got hit on the head. I healed both cuts, but he is still looking dreadful..." She managed to say it all in a calm voice, hardly blinking and never taking her eyes off the elderly witch.

Professor McGonagall shook her head, "However true that may be--and I know it is, many have told me the same--you were still breaking the rules for dueling, Weasley. And you, Miss Granger, by interfering." At Hermione's indignant look, she added, "Yes, you were merely helping, and even if you did end the duel, you were still involved."

"Therefore, I am assigning you all detentions. And yes, that includes Mr. Malfoy." She said, "You are to report to my classroom Sunday afternoon and I shall instruct you on what to do there. I am also deducting 20 points from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"But Professor--!"

"That is my final word, Weasley. I shall be expecting you both Sunday afternoon. I would also advise you to head to the Hospital Wing, Weasley. Madam Pomfrey should have a look at you." She added curtly, nodding once and heading off in the direction of the Dungeons, no doubt to go looking for Malfoy.

"C'mon." Hermione muttered with a small smile, and they walked up the Grand Staircase, Hermione watching him closely as he walked and helping him occasionally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry woke up with his head spinning the next day. Today was the Masked Ball, and he had everything planned out. He'd ordered an authentic sapphire ring by Owl Delivery on the night when he and Hermione had first spoken in the Library. It seemed a little overeager to order her engagement ring after their relationship had only begun to blossom, but something made him feel sure that she would say yes. It hadn't come cheap, either, but he didn't mind. He'd empty his Gringott's vault just for Hermione. He would whisk her off near ten o'clock, or maybe earlier, they'd talk for a while, maybe kiss a bit, and then, near midnight, he'd propose. It was all very much like a romantic Muggle movie.

He got dressed quickly and hurried downstairs. He leaned on the Common Room window, smiling as he looked around the grounds and the Forbidden Forest. It was so hard to believe he was really going to propose to Hermione…almost impossible. But really, he couldn’t keep all this bottled up any longer. He was aching to hold her tightly, and to tell her just how much he loved her, and both of those were things he would never be able to do in peace if her love rested with Ron. He wanted to be sure of their love; to feel the love she felt for him…if she truly did feel anything, of course.

She does, Harry thought after a small pause, brushing his other thought away, if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have kissed me, or even agreed to meet. She’s an honorable and faithful person, of that I’m sure. As he smiled at this beautiful thought, the portrait of the Fat lady swung open, revealing Hermione. She looked windswept and tired, yet nevertheless happy to see him.

"Harry, we seriously need to talk." She said briskly. She sounded rushed and her cheeks were very pink, as if she’d been running around the castle, "Here, I brought you some toast." She added distractedly, handing him a small stack of toast wrapped in some napkins.

Harry took the toast in his hand and nodded, "Err, thanks...what's wrong?" Harry asked curiously, brushing a strand of hair from her face softly. She seemed to relax considerably at his touch, lowering her voice and sighing.

"We can't talk here. Someone might listen in." She explained, cupping his hand in hers and giving him an apologetic look. He leaned and kissed her lips softly, hoping to see her face as it lit up in a loving smile. He set down the stack of toast and put his hand on her waist, pulling her slowly towards him, but she pulled away from his grasp, shaking her head, “Harry, I’m serious. We need to talk now.” She said, looking strained.

"Oh.” Harry replied in a low voice. He scratched his head, disappointed that he hadn’t made her happier, “Shall we go for a walk outside, then?" Harry asked with a frown. She probably wanted to talk about Ron, he assumed, as that was the only subject that might cause them problems if someone heard and made her become so upset and nervous.

"Yes, yes, perfect." Hermione said, nodding and leading him brusquely towards the door, pulling his hand to move him faster.

They walked in complete silence until they were outside on the Castle Grounds. They walked along the dry-looking lawn, moving in the direction of the lake. There was a nice willow tree there, tall and big, which offered a nice shade. When they reached it, they sat down by the lake’s waters and Hermione dipped her feet inside, staring at the horizon. Harry followed her gaze, completely entrance as well. The wind blew in their faces and the sun was as fierce as ever, but the view of Hogwarts Lake was as captivating as ever.

"So? What is it that you needed to talk about?” Harry asked calmly.

"Ron." Hermione said, leaning back and laying in the grass. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t worked it out by now. Maybe he was just…slow in the morning. However slow he may be, though, she didn’t feel quite up to explaining. The words seemed to be jammed up in her throat, and she didn’t know how to explain.

"Oh," Harry said simply, raising his eyebrows lightly and nodding, as if she’d simply commented on an interesting sentence in a book she was reading.

"What do you mean by 'oh'?" Hermione demanded, rising slowly and crossing her arms at her chest. Both were obvious signs of the young lady getting ready for a discussion, but Harry paid no attention. She was being very unreasonable and acting quite feisty.

"Well, I had supposed you wanted to talk about Ron, so…when I said ‘oh’ it meant that it wasn’t a big surprise for me.” Harry said, grinning and shrugging. What was the big deal? Why was she so ticked off over nothing?

"Harry! What are we going to do?" Hermione said, throwing her arms up in the air, “Don’t play dumb, please, Harry. We can’t just sit around and wait for everything to come crashing down on us!” She was very annoyed now. How could she get it into his thick skull that they were in a very deep mess that needed getting out of?

"What do you mean?"

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and grabbed Harry’s hands. This did no good at all, as Harry was now distracted by her soft touch and didn’t really care about Ron. When Hermione spoke, it was on a forced, would-be-calm voice, "Harry, he knows about us. I swear he does. We had the most unusual conversation yesterday; I just can't ignore it. And then I saw him in an argument with Malfoy…"

Harry frowned, blinking, “Malfoy? He must’ve told Ron about us. No wonder…” Hermione nodded feebly, gazing absentmindedly at Harry’s hands, as If she were deep in thought. Harry bit his lip, "In that case, I'd say the question's more along the lines of, what are you going to do?" Harry said quietly after thinking the situation through. It caused him a great deal of concentration, though. Her hands were so soft…

"You don’t expect me to choose, do you?” Hermione asked indignantly. A small part of her knew she had to. This had only gone on for a few days, yes, but she was still doing considerable damage to all three of them.

"You have to. Eventually one of us, if not all of us, will get sick of this whole situation." Harry said, trying to choose his words carefully. Hermione was already riled up for an argument, and one bad choice of words could foil everything “And…well, it’s not healthy, anyway. This meeting secretly thing. It causes too much stress, Hermione.” Harry muttered, "If he's suspicious...he'll find out somehow. It's better if you just choose." He scratched his head, not daring to meet her eyes.

"I...I can't." Hermione said, looking at the grass and letting go of Harry. She was near tears now. She truly loved Harry more than she loved Ron, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Ron the truth. He’d be devastated, and she would be ashamed to no end. Cheating on him was such a lousy and disgraceful thing to do…she wouldn’t live with herself if he were to find out.

"You have to." Harry said to her. He sensed her anguish, but it really was the only way to go. He would probably curse himself for betraying his best friend, but his love for Hermione surpassed anything else in the world. She truly meant everything to him, "And I just want you to know,"--He gulped, hoping he wouldn't lose her again--"that I respect whatever choice you make."

Hermione shook her head and gazed into his eyes, "Harry, don't lie to me." She gave a hollow laugh, “Just as I can’t live without you, you can’t without me. Otherwise, this whole affair wouldn’t have ever happened. And you know it.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. She really was very smart. He wondered if it was that obvious, or if she’d mastered Legilimency so quickly, "Are we still on for the dance?" He mumbled, trying to change the subject.

"I suppose.” She said, staring at the blades of grass as if she were speaking to them instead of him. It was really a terrible situation to be in. She had so much to worry about. Her dignity, her parents, her love…it was too much. She felt like she could explode any moment now.

“I have to go talk to Ron as well. He asked me to help him with his Potion’s essay.” She took a step closer to him and gave him a long hug. They both relaxed momentarily, forgetting all of their troubles and problems. Everything jut seemed to fix itself when they were together. Harry caught her lips and kissed her softly, wondering why they couldn’t be like this…so happy and peaceful, everyday. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he knew she longed for the same.

Abruptly, though, she tore herself away from him and shook her head, “I’m sorry…this just seems wrong….” She whispered shakily, “I feel guilty, doing this while Ron still thinks I love him. It’s not right…I’m sorry…I have to go, Harry.” Her voice sounded as if she was near tears, and so Harry didn’t object. He let go of her slowly and nodded. She gave him a small wave and turned towards the castle. Harry nodded again, unable to speak, and watched her walk away towards the castle.

She feels guilty? Could that possible mean she has feelings for him?, Harry thought, No…maybe she just cares for him. She’s known him for seven years now; it’s perfectly understandable that she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Harry walked towards the lake and sat by the water. But would she rather marry Ron than me? I wonder...if they married, would they be happier and better off than if we married? I mean, they’ll have trouble with money, sure, but maybe they’ll be more harmonious together. Maybe they’ll manage and live happier than if we married.

Would Ron be a better husband to her, though?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione couldn't help grinning as she brushed her hair for the dance. Despite all the things she had to worry about, she felt rather giddy. She applied the same hair potion she used in her fourth year, and it looked exactly like it did for the Yule Ball, if not better. She had white satin robes and was wearing some small golden earrings with a matching necklace. She traced her mouth with a pale pink lipstick, as always, and applied a thin coat of mascara. Taking one last look in the mirror, she smiled. Tonight was bound to be an interesting night indeed.

"Wow...Hermione...." Said a voice behind her as she searched for her wand in her trunk, whose contains were thrown in a heap all over her bed. There was no real need for a wand, but it was always useful to have it handy.

Hermione turned and smiled. He looked quite nice, really. Despite the frayed ends of his robes, they made him look…handsome. She grinned at the thought, "How did you get up here?” She asked Ron curiously, eyeing him concernedly, as if expecting to find a rope behind his back.

Ron was also feeling rather hopeful, despite what Malfoy had said and all that had happened. He was feeling quite excited about the Ball. Perhaps he would have good luck today after all, “I levitated myself.” He said proudly, toying with his wand, “We should get going, you know.” He added, touching her hair, which was especially soft due to the potion she’d applied. It was almost as if he were touching silk…

“Of course, we don’t want to be too late.” Hermione said, getting up.

"God forbid you be late to anything, eh?" He said, smiling. She grinned and took his hand delicately, while he caressed her cheek. For a moment, she buried her face in his hand, wondering why she couldn’t love him like she loved Harry. It would have been so much easier, she thought, to be in love with Ron. He clearly loves me back, and I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble. But she pushed that selfish thought away, reassuring herself that true love was definitely worth all the trouble; every obstacle and every argument was merely another step towards never-ending love.

Five minutes later or so after Ron and Hermione left, Harry came out of the boy's dormitories. He was smiling widely, and carried a bouquet of roses in his hand. He looked very handsome in dark green cotton robes and his hair combed a bit more than usual. He was bound to catch at least one girl’s attention, and he very well knew who that girl might be.

But Ginny Weasley also noticed. When the redheaded young lady caught sight of him descending the boy’s staircase, she had had to take a deep breath to resist the urge to call his name. She was wearing lavender robes with golden borders on her sleeves and neckline. Her mother had worked especially hard to get the money to buy her those particular robes. She knew Ginny wanted to impress Harry, and so did her best to make sure her daughter looked beautiful. She was the youngest, and the only girl in the family besides her, after all. She deserved a little treat once in a while.

"Harry!" Ginny called, unable to shut herself up long enough to think of something interesting to say.
Harry waved and strode towards her. He had an odd spring in his step and he looked very happy. As she saw his face up close, Ginny wondered why he was so cheerful. "Hey, Ginny." Harry said, grinning.

“Quite happy, now, are we?” Ginny said, feeling stupid. But really, she couldn’t think of anything besides the roses in his hand. Who the heck are those for?

”Let’s just say tonight is bound to be promising.” Harry said, not catching her apparent nervousness or curiosity.

Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just ask. "Who're the roses for?" Ginny asked offhandedly, as if it she had just noticed them in his hand and didn’t really care about his answer.

"My date." Harry said in a would-be-casual voice. It wasn’t convenient for her to know exactly who, obviously. I should probably leave now, he thought, she’s bound to ask.

Bingo. Sort of, Ginny thought, He’s clearly not going with me, so why should I care? “Oh…” Ginny whispered, unable to keep the disappointment off her voice. She knew they weren’t for her, but realizing hat he had a date made her feel insignificant, “Err…Harry? Who…who is it?” She blurted out.

"I—I…that’s a surprise.” He said lamely, hoping she’d believe that. But judging by the look she was giving him, she too knew that was merely a cover to hide the truth. Harry sighed, “I can’t say, Ginny, I’m sorry." He said in a low voice, giving her an apologetic look and shrugging.

”Well, can I ask you something else? Something you know to be true and can’t deny?” Ginny begged softly, grabbing his free hand tightly. She was taken aback by her own braveness and as she realized what she’d done, a chill ran through her spine. She had a sudden impulse to grin, but held it back. She would look immensely stupid if she suddenly started grinning manically.

Harry sighed. It would be impossible to get to the Great Hall if he said no, so he nodded as a signal for her to continue. The corners of her mouth were twitching slightly, as if she were fighting an impulse to smile. What in the world was so funny? He asked himself, frowning. As she noticed the look on his face, she gave him a small nod as well and whispered, “Are you and Hermione…um…you know…” Her voice trailed off, and she gave him a hopeful look, as if to ask him whether he’d caught the message.

He had. Harry opened his mouth once or twice, but just couldn’t get the words out. He was finally going to admit it to someone, someone he knew to be trustworthy, at least. But still, there was something that didn’t seem right. Would Hermione want Ginny to know? Would she feel comfortable knowing that someone was aware of their secret?

Sorry, Hermione, “Yes.” Harry said, nodding slowly and observing her closely to note her reaction. Hers might be similar to those of everyone else when they figured it out. Of course, he immediately found that ridiculous. She fancied him. Her reaction would be entirely too different to that of everyone else.

It still came as a bit of a shock to him when he saw it, though. He could have sworn he saw a single tear escape from little Ginny’s eyelashes, but she sneezed just as he went to take a closer look, and when she looked at him again, her eyes were clear of any tears whatsoever.

“I won’t tell, don’t worry.” She said in a harder voice than he would have expected.

He smiled full out despite of her tone, “Thanks, Ginny. Really, it means a lot.” He held her hands and squeezed them gently.

She nodded, hesitating for a second, then standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek softly, “No problem.”
She whispered, blushing furiously, “Have fun, Harry.”

Harry stood quite baffled, gaping at her for a few moments. When he finally returned to his senses, she was looking at him with a brilliant smile on her face from across the room through the portrait hole, accompanied by Dean Thomas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall was decorated majestically. There were chandeliers floating above tables for two, and all the silverware and plates were golden. The four House Banners hung from the ceiling, which was, as always, reflecting the weather outside. The sky was a beautiful pale blue, clear of any clouds, and it was filled with stars.

Harry spent most of the dance sitting in his table, talking with the people who sat down from time to time, and politely declining a few offers to dance. Mainly, though, he gazed at Hermione as she danced with Ron. She seems happy, he thought, I wonder if she feels that way when she's with me? He was losing hopes that she'd leave Ron to spend some time with him, too. He spent hours waiting for her, and she didn't come. Near nine thirty, he noticed Ron had taken her for a walk outside, and she came back very flushed and Ron looked sullen and depressed, but nothing more than that.

Near eleven thirty, when he'd already lost any hopes of her coming, she sat down beside him. "Hey." She said, grinning. Her cheeks were very pink and she looked rather worn-out.

"Having fun?" Harry asked coldly. He wasn’t going to act like he hadn’t noticed anything. He loved her, but that was no reason for him to hide it when he was upset, or in this case, mad about something.

"Yes, actually." Hermione said, ignoring the hardness in his voice. If he was angry, he had two things to worry about. Being angry and forgetting about being angry, "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier; Ron just wouldn't let go of me!" She added that last bit to irritate him further.

"Oh, that must've been terrible." Harry said sarcastically, ignoring the soft touch of her hand on his. It was rather hard, though. He had a sudden urge to kiss it.

"In a way," She said, lifting her mask a bit with her free hand, "If it had been you it would have been even better." She said, lifting his mask and giving him a quick kiss.

Harry stared at her. What the…? One second, she’s working on annoying me more, and the other, she’s kissing me like nothing’s happened? He thought, puzzled, "Hermione…are you feeling alright? You haven’t eaten anything odd, have you?" He asked stupidly, more to distract himself than anything else.

"No, I only had one of those vampire candies Honeydukes shipped over here with the rest of the food." Hermione said sardonically, with a light smile on her face.

"Oh, you should’ve tried the Cockroach Clusters. They taste much better." He said, grinning, "You want to go for a walk outside?" He added, on a low voice. Hermione nodded, “Sure.”

“Wait. Where did you leave Ron?” Harry asked distractedly as he got up. He glanced around, craning his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Relax, Harry. He was dancing with Luna Lovegood when I left.” She snorted, “The girl kept staring at him as he danced with me, and he got tired of it, so he asked her to dance.” Harry laughed and motioned for her to come with him towards the door.

They walked outside around the grounds, which had been decorated for the event. Rosebushes had grown out of nowhere and there was a very large fountain placed on the middle of a courtyard. They headed for one of the benches behind the bushes, which was covered in flower petals. Harry's hand trembled in his robe's pocket. This is it. It's now or never....

He asked her to sit down politely, and sat down beside her. He took a deep breath and turned to her. Her eyes shone in the moonlight and the wind was blowing her hair slightly, making her an entrancing sight. Harry smiled and said, "Hermione, I've already told you how special you are to me....I'd like to explain to you just how much, but I can't. There are no words to describe it. I can't live without you...you're what makes me love my life despite of all the bad things that have happened. That's why...I want to ask you something very important."

He paused, to look at her reaction. She was fumbling with her hands, gazing at him with a smile on her face. She was blushing slightly as well and she looked a bit nervous.

He dropped to his knees and took her hand into his. Oh, God, she probably thinks I’m really stupid for being so corny, Harry thought nervously.

"Hermione, will you marry me?"

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. Hermione's head began spinning in a matter of seconds, and her heart started beating frantically. Abruptly, though, her smile faltered. Ron, she thought. She was suddenly filled with an immense guilt, remembering his question, and asking herself if she had done the right thing.

Would I be happier with Harry?, she asked herself, Would I be better off with him than with Ron?

Yes. I don't really love Ron as much as Harry, and if I married him rather than Harry, I would never stop wondering....I would never stop asking myself, why I didn't say yes to Harry.

She blinked, and rather reluctantly, forgot all about Ron, smiling her most beautiful smile, "Yes! Of course, Harry!" She said, and leaned forward to kiss him. To feel him close, and know, that she wouldn't have to wonder more if their love was true.

Suddenly, a cold, miserable voice spoke from behind the bushes, "Is this why you said no?"

Ron Weasley emerged from behind the bushes, his eyes full of pain and rage.

A/N: Thank you for all your kind reviews, everyone! I enjoyed replying to all of you greatly, and knowing what you thought really helped.

Anyway, Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2005 brings you lots of good things! =)

4. The Poisonous Prediction

Chapter four: The Poisonous Prediction

Hermione froze. She bit her lip and her eyes widened as she saw Ron step out from behind the bushes. Oh, shit. She looked at him, trying to forget that he was one of her best friends, and how she had said no when he proposed to her that very night as well.

Ron was saying something but she couldn’t hear him. She felt numb from all the shame inside her. Why did he have to see us here, in this particular moment in time? It was all going perfectly…heavenly, even, and here he is. Why?

Harry turned around slowly and surveyed the person who he had once called his best friend. That person was now glaring at him with so much hate that it hurt. He clutched the ring he had gotten for Hermione, trying to look triumphant, and oblivious to Ron’s presence. He stood up, and looked at Ron, listening to what he had to say.

Ron spoke, glaring at the two of them, his expression cold and hostile, “I knew it you know? All along…I knew it.” He sighed, pausing for a moment and forgetting his anger, letting disappointment spread through his body. When he next spoke, it was in a lower, sadder voice, “But it still comes as a shock. I thought…well I hoped, that you would say no to him as well, Hermione. That you would give him the same stupid excuse you gave me, and walk away. I hoped you would do that, and set me at ease.” He paused again, as if saying all this had upset him even more, but continued, “Just-just tell me, why him?” He asked, shaking his head, “We were together longer, and I’ve done so much for you. But I guess, I did something wrong, didn’t I?”

“I honestly don’t know what came over me. I feel so stupid now. How could I have ever bothered? After I already knew the truth…I felt a little bit of hope, you know? Like maybe…maybe you’d reconsider…” He snorted, shaking his head, “Me instead of the great Harry Potter…I’d wish.” She looked at Hermione expectantly. He once thought the sound of her voice could easily make anything better, and yet, as he heard her speak, he felt as if he had fallen into an abyss of misery and despair.

Hermione took a deep breath. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she was sobbing quietly, “Ron.” Her eyes reflected love and worry as she uttered his name. The kind of love you would feel for a brother, perhaps. She sighed. There was no easy was to say what she needed to say, “I-I’m sorry.” She sputtered between quiet sobs, tears running down her face, “I lied to you. You never did anything wrong, of course…I just didn’t want to hurt you…” Her voice trailed off at Ron’s hard glare. She dropped her head, gazing at the grass instead. Her small, delicate frame shivered from both the cold and her anguish.

Ron looked at her incredulously, “Well, you did a great job of ‘not hurting me.’” He spat, eyes narrowed and his hands clamped at his sides. He would never hit her; they all knew that, but he felt so offended and resentful towards her now…

Harry stepped forward, “Ron, calm down.” He said, “Please. Try to relax a bit. It’s not entirely her fault, you know…” Harry’s voice lowered, and he cleared his throat twice before speaking, “I talked her into…well…having an affair…”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I know that.” Ron hissed quietly, taking a step towards Harry, “I would have never thought Hermione was low enough to actually seek an affair.” He paused, half-glancing at Hermione, who was still avoiding looking at him, though her head shot up when she heard her name, ”Still, she did get quite close, by accepting your proposal….” He added with a sneer.

“Shut up. She isn’t low, or anything such as that.” Harry spat loudly, shoving Ron backwards. His efforts were in vain, however, as Ron was taller and stronger than him. He only managed to make him take a few steps back, “You are saying that just because she left you.” He hissed, his confidence half-gone by his failed attempt at throwing Ron to the ground.

With a scowl, Ron pushed Harry backwards into the bush behind him. Harry tripped with a stray branch that lay on the floor, and fell back into the bush, scratching his face mildly. Harry got up quickly, whipping out his wand and pointing it at Ron.

Ron pulled out his wand as well and took several steps towards Harry, until they were about two feet apart, “How do you expect me to feel when my supposed girlfriend is your fiancée? How do you expect me to feel when I’ve just caught you two going at it?” He shook his head, smirking, “But of course you don’t know how I feel. Harry Potter has never experienced rejection. He has everyone’s attention and love ‘cause he got rid of You-Know-Who for a while. So his muggle aunt and uncle don’t love him—big deal. He has the Wizarding world at his feet.” He spat viciously, raising his fists a little. He was clearly getting riled up for a fight, and with his comments, he stirred Harry up for one as well.

Harry snorted lightly and raised his eyebrows, “So that’s what you think of me? All these years as best friends, you’ve always thought of me as the great Harry Potter, with the world at his feet?” He asked quietly, frowning, “You think I’m some attention-loving brat that relishes the idea of Voldemort coming back, just to defeat him again? Jesus, Ron…I can’t believe I ever called you a friend. You know nothing about me.”

“Do I? You’d do well to examine your behavior recently. You act like you’re a misunderstood, troubled soul and that everyone should rush over and comfort you. It’s disgusting.” Ron retorted quickly, throwing Harry a disdainful look.

Hermione looked up just in time. Harry had raised his wand and pointed it at Ron, who had done the same as he spoke. She stood bolt upright and stepped between them, shoving them both apart. She turned to Ron and shot him a disapproving look, “Ron, I’m sorry. I really am. More than once I’ve wished I hadn’t gone through with this….” She said in a small voice, “But…I can’t go back now. I feel something for Harry that I just…don’t feel for you—“

Behind her, Harry hissed at her to shut up before she made things worse. Ron’s ears were getting considerably redder with every word, and his wand was still dangerously close to her delicate, soft face. If he dared fire a curse at her…

But Hermione paid Harry no notice, “—Ron, it would be unfair if I were with you while still loving Harry. It’s better this way, trust me. I….I think you should go.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to ask me to go? That’s really the end of our relationship, Hermione?” Ron whispered in a forced voice, still pointing his wand directly at her.

“Ours wasn’t a relationship, Ron.” She said, her lower lip trembling involuntarily, “I mistook my feelings for you. You are no more than….a friend.” At those words, Harry grabbed her shoulder tightly, shoving her aside just as Ron fired a curse, “Everbero!” Ron yelled, and Harry was blasted through the bush behind him. He collided heavily with an empty bench, and lay unconscious.

“You--!”

Hermione made her way towards Ron, wand pointing directly towards him. Her eyes were narrowed and showed no pity. It was ironic, really. Ron, who was the taller, stronger one, cowered at the sight of her holding her wand so fiercely. He took an involuntary step backwards.

“Trust me Ron, you do not want to end up on the wrong side of my wand.” She hissed, walking slowly towards him, “I may be smaller than you, but you’d be surprised how powerful my curses can be.” Ron stood there for a moment, just looking at her, absorbing every detail of her appearance. He blinked, sighing miserably, “We could’ve made it, you know. We could have had a good future together. We would have had everything you and Harry won’t have.” He whispered, “But you chose him. You chose wrong.” He spat, shaking his head. He turned and headed towards the castle, walking angrily.

Hermione stood stock-still as Ron’s words echoed in her mind. She watched as the top of his hair vanished behind the labyrinth of bushes and benches. But you chose him. You chose wrong. Those words worried her. He had voiced her worried thoughts without knowing it. He had voiced the terrible, dreadful thought she dared not confess. She feared she had chosen the wrong person when she chose Harry.

Will Harry die in his final battle with Voldemort? Will he leave me alone in this world, not even to return as a ghost, alone to fend for myself? Without a family, and my true love? Would Harry do that? He wouldn’t. But it could happen. If it is already written that Harry will die in the Final Battle, I can’t do anything about it, can I? I’ll just have to accept it.

And yet, as Hermione turned to look at Harry, who lay several feel away, still sprawled over the broken bench, another thought popped into her mind. A thought stronger than any emotion she had felt to this day of her life.

He needs my help. I’ll help him defeat Voldemort. And he’ll live. I know he will.

She quickened her pace towards him. He truly looked hurt. He had bruised his head and his arm was twisted in a very odd angle. It looked broken. She kneeled beside him, clutching his uninjured hand and cupping it in hers. Silent tears escaped her eyes, and she sobbed quietly. Why couldn’t they just be happy? Why was their relationship so wrong? Why was everyone against them?

Harry stirred. He felt someone caressing his hand softly, and a drop of water falling on it. His vision was very blurry. He blinked furiously, trying to bring the world into focus. After a few attempts, he could see the trees above them clearly, and he turned to his hand. Hermione was kneeling beside him, his hand in hers, and she was crying quietly. With a pang, he realized the drop of water he’d felt were her tears.

“Oh, Hermione…” he whispered, touching her hair and startling her a little. At the sight of him she smiled, shaking her head, “It’s nothing…” She said dismissively, wiping the tears away from her eyes and grabbing her wand to mend his arm.

“Did that git do something to you?” Harry asked fiercely, trying to move his free arm towards his wand. It was then that he noticed it was broken, and at his sudden movement, a sharp pain shot through it. It felt like a knife had just been pushed into his arm roughly. He cursed, releasing his other hand from Hermione’s and trying to stabilize his broken arm.

Hermione quickly pushed his healthy arm away and pointed her wand to his broken arm. She closed her eyes, concentrating, and muttered, “Ferula.” There was a flash of white light, and Harry’s arm was back to normal. “Move your fingers around a bit, and it would also do you well to flex your whole arm. It’s important to know that everything’s working properly.” She instructed bossily at Harry, who was panting slightly from the pain he had felt before.

Harry rolled his eyes but did as he was told. After a few minutes he turned to Hermione and said gruffly, “Why were you crying? Did Ron do something to you?”

Hermione shook her head, sighing, “I’m scared Harry. I know I shouldn’t think like this, but I can’t help it.” She bit her lip, “Harry…what will happen…if you die fighting Voldemort?”

Harry sat upright and buried his face in his hands. The constant burden he had to carry around seemed heavier when she pointed it out to him. What would happen? He knew nothing of death or what might happen afterwards—if indeed something happened afterwards. “The truth is…I’m scared too, Hermione. I don’t want to die. I want to live a peaceful life with you. I want to do so many things…” Harry’s voice quivered, “I—I don’t know what might happen. My guess is as good as yours.”

Hermione edged closer to him, and he put his hand around her, “But, if you’re suggesting I don’t fight him, I’m afraid I’ll have to put you down on that idea. It’s my destiny to fight him, Hermione. It’s already written. I have to fight Voldemort; I’m the only one that can get rid of him. The outcome of the battle…well, that’s up to me.”

Hermione nodded, “I know that. The future of our civilization lies in your hands…ever since you were born. I couldn’t possibly ask you not to go through with it.” She hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck, “But…what are we going to do now, Harry?” She whispered.

Harry scratched his head thoughtfully and remained silent for a few minutes. Then it hit him. It was the only way to be completely happy….

“Hermione…? What if…we left Hogwarts? Together, I mean.”

Hermione pulled away from him, shook her head and raised an eyebrow, “Harry, what’s the point? Our NEWTs are in three months, and you know how important it is for me to pass them. After that, we’re basically gone. No more Hogwarts. Only…memories.” She finished delicately, considering for the first time what it would be like to leave Hogwarts, and to not go back on the first of September again. Thinking, about all the things that had happened in that very castle, all the things that she had discovered and shared. It would all be alive only in her memory.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked after a minute or so. He had been thinking as well. All of the adventures they had had in this place…it was where they’d grown up. It had been his only true home; a miracle, a salvation from his life with the Dursleys. Here, he’d known friends, love, magic, a bit of family history…it would be hard to let go, he knew.

But this was no time to worry about his final departure from Hogwarts. There were more pressing matters to be discussed now.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just…remembering.” Hermione murmured absentmindedly, still remembering and thinking about her past here. She toyed with her wand, admiring how fast these last few years seemed to have gone by.

“It’s odd, isn’t it? Knowing that these are our last weeks here…” Harry commented lightly. He couldn’t help it. He would miss Hogwarts greatly. How could he forget everything he had done in this old castle? Everything he had learned….everything he had known.

“Exactly.” Hermione said, still not smiling.

Harry suddenly felt the ring in his robe pocket. He hadn’t even given it to her yet! He turned to her, and placed it on her finger, where the sapphire gleamed proudly. Her mouth had twisted into a delighted smile, and as she leaned to kiss him, he began to speak.

“Let this be a symbol of my promise to you. I promise that I will love you forever, for I can’t live without you, Hermione. I promise never to love anyone but you, and that I will never let anything bad happen to you. This ring, of course, also symbolizes my other promise to you, which is that I will marry you.” Harry said, just as he had rehearsed the night before.

She smiled widely, and kissed him softly. Their kiss seemed to last a lifetime. A lifetime of joys, wonders, and peacefulness. The lifetime they didn’t have. The lifetime they weren’t meant to have.

Harry felt the delicate smell of lavender in her hair, and the warmth of her body, feeling glad that he had her finally. At last he knew that she loved him back, and that she would not live her life without knowing what he felt.

His body urged him to kiss her, to never let go, but he knew better. It wouldn’t do well to end up having their wedding night on the day he proposed, at school. He pulled away from her and smiled, “Let’s go in now, shall we? I think a bit of dancing would do us some good.”

Hermione nodded, smiling, “Yes, dancing would be good.”

As they made their way back to the dance, they saw a few other couples poorly hidden behind bushes, some of them kissing passionately, and others, talking in low voices. They all shot them amused and surprised looks, putting their heads together and whispering. Nonplussed, they walked inside, hand in hand, hardly looking where they were going. Coincidence, or fate, perhaps, made them bump into Professor Trewlaney, who surveyed them through her giant spectacles.

“Oh, dear boy, I’m sorry. I was so immersed in my inner thoughts that I didn’t see you there.” She said, smiling, “Dear me, Potter, you are in seventh year now, aren’t you?” She said suddenly, clutching his hand.

“Err…yes.”

“Ah! Of course, I knew, but one does not go around boasting about one’s abilities. People tend to think badly…”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was evidently resisting a very strong urge to roll her eyes. She had always thought of Professor Trewlaney as an old fraud, and her current attitude was a very big achievement.

“Well, err, see you Professor.” Harry said, pulling his arm away.

“Of course, dear boy, but before you go, I must warn you….” Trewlaney said, “It is my duty to tell you this, no matter how dreadful it is.”

Hermione stepped forward, “Err, Professor? We really should go now---“

“Shush, girl, shush! You must not fear the future! You ought to be more concerned in what you will do about it…” She snapped, sounding much like Professor McGonagall, before returning to her usual airy voice and turning to Harry, “Yesterday while examining my crystal ball, I saw something terrible. It is almost too terrible to describe, but I must, for it is my duty to do so. I saw the War of the Wizarding world and, alas, I saw the battle between you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But I saw more than that, Potter, I saw that you and this young lady,”—she gestured to Hermione—“are going to suffer greatly during and after this war, for your fate is not to remain together. She is destined to be with somebody else, and you, my dear boy, are destined to remain alone, with only the grave as your company.”

These last words echoed in Harry and Hermione’s mind, their meaning and truthfulness yet unknown. A part of Harry wanted to shrug it off, saying that Professor Trewlaney was an old fraud, and that she had predicted his death too often to take it seriously, but he couldn’t. There was just something about the atmosphere and the way she had said it that made it repeat itself in Harry’s mind. And having discussed this exact issue a few minutes ago with Hermione didn’t inspire much confidence. Was it a coincidence?

Hermione, however, took Harry’s hand fiercely and glared at Professor Trewlaney, “Professor…really, predicting Harry’s death has gotten very old. Honestly, I am most certainly not in the mood for this pile of rubbish you call a prediction. Go and bother someone else, now, will you?” She snapped, leaving Harry impressed that she would ever dare to speak to a teacher like that. But then, she doesn’t consider Professor Trewlaney a teacher, does she? To her, she’s a meaningless old fraud, Harry thought, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“You dear, will be the most to suffer, I’m afraid….” Professor Trewlaney said to Hermione, her eyes holding a pitiful expression.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and dragged Harry to the Great Hall, bickering about Professor Trewlaney.

“I tell you, that woman just—“

“Hermione….what if…what if she’s right?”

Hermione sighed heavily, “We can’t be sure of that Harry. She has made some predictions that have—so far—turned out to be true…but…”

“Just a few minutes ago you were convinced that it was my fate to die at the hands of Voldemort. Why deny it now?” Harry snapped fiercely at her, grabbing her hand.

“I never said you were destined to die, Harry!” Hermione said tearfully, “How can you say that? I was merely discussing the possibility with you. But I would never declare you dead just because of some prophecy.” She dropped her gaze to the ground, wrenching her hand from Harry’s.

There just wasn’t any way of winning a discussion with Hermione Granger. Especially when she was right. “Listen, let’s get some pumpkin juice, shall we? And then we can dance a bit.” Harry said softly. Maybe it would be best to avoid that discussion. The subject clearly upset Hermione and, to be honest, it scared Harry as well.

“Sure.” Hermione nodded, grinning halfheartedly.

As the night progressed, Harry and Hermione danced happily, and all eyes were on them, particularly Ron’s eyes. He glared at them during every single moment of the dance, hating Harry for having Hermione at his side. At one point, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and stormed out of the Great Hall and walked around the castle aimlessly. He could remember going down a lot of stairs and eerie passageways, as well as a few secret ones, only to walk straight into the Dungeons. He walked a bit around the empty Dungeons trying to clear his mind, and as he paced, occasionally running his hands through his hair, he got a sinister thought.

It would be a way to get rid of his problems, at least. After all, if Harry were dead, Hermione would not be so interested in him, would she? He got a sudden urge to kick himself after thinking that, though. It seemed to pointlessly selfish and wrong to kill his best friend for the love of the woman he loved. A woman, he realized, that was just too unsure and confused about her choices to benefit anyone. And really, Harry had helped him so much during their lives. He had been his friend in the best and worst of times, and even when they fought, he still knew Harry was still his friend.

Is that worth giving up?

Not really knowing what he was doing—or why—he broke the spell that guarded Professor Snape’s office, and made his way towards the many cupboards in which Snape kept various potions. He searched shelf by shelf, looking for a specific potion. Finally, he found it. A unique, and very slow-acting venom. He then made his way to the dormitory, and into his bed, the poison still in his pocket. He waited for an hour or so, until Harry arrived and was fast asleep. Getting up slowly and silently from his bed, he strode towards his old friend. His hand trembled as he realized what he was about to do.

“I’m sorry for what I said tonight, Harry. You know I think no such things about you. You’re my friend, despite all I’ve said…” He whispered, pausing for a second, and deciding that it was probably for the best, “I guess I won’t kill you after all. I can’t.” He added, realizing he couldn’t possibly kill his friend, “You’re destined to fight You-Know-Who, and hopefully, well, defeat him. You deserve to kill him. You don’t have a family because of him….you’ve—you’ve never been truly happy because of him, have you?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes for a few minutes, so that he didn’t notice when Harry opened his eyes and closed them again, pretending he was asleep. It was truly amazing how just five minutes ago, he’d meant to kill him. But yet…when he thought about it, he could tell he wasn’t really going to go through with it at all. No matter what Harry did, he’s still my friend, I’m sure…and anyway, I could have never killed him. He’s the one true friend I’ve ever had.

“Me…well, I’m really no use to anyone, am I?” He continued, sighing deeply, “You’re not the one that should die here…it’s me. So…I guess this is goodbye, old friend. Who would have thought it’d end like this, though, eh?” He said, lifting the potion vial up to his mouth.

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter as well! I’m afraid I rather like cliffhangers. =D Hence the ending to this chapter. But alas, do not despair, for if you read carefully those lines, you’ll see a clue lays uncovered. That is all I’m saying about the end to this chapter.

I’m wicked, aren’t I?

Happy New Year, my loyal readers!

5. Villains Arise

Chapter five: Villains Arise

“NO!” Harry yelled, stretching his arm towards the vial and grabbing it. Ron was temporarily overcome by surprise, but struggled, pulling the vial towards him forcefully. They both resisted letting go, though neither really knew why they even wanted the vial. Ron had realized only a split second after he saw Harry that he didn’t want to die after all. Who said he had to give up so quickly, anyway? And Harry didn’t want his best friend to seize existing simply because of his and Hermione’s love affair. He and Ron had known each other for so long, and Harry wouldn’t bear it if Ron’s death were his fault.

Suddenly, though, interrupting their train of thoughts, a shrill voice screamed, “Expelliarmus!”

Curiously, even though the force of the spell barely made them stumble, it was just enough to throw the vial up in the air, making it splatter its contents around the room, and land on the floor, where it shattered.

Neville stood, wand in hand, looking at them wide-eyed, along with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. At the door stood pretty much the rest of Gryffindor House, among them Hermione. She was looking at them both nervously, her heart pounding in her chest. The vial had fallen on the carpet and splattered most of it with the potion, which had created an acid-like hole in the carpet. This, of course, hinted that the potion wasn’t friendly or harmless at all, and if anyone realized that, Harry and Ron would be in serious trouble indeed.

Ron and Harry stared at everyone quietly. Slowly, Harry drew out his wand and cleaned up the potion, while Ron vanished the shards of glass from the vial. Hermione, as Head Girl, dismissed everyone off to bed and asked both Harry and Ron to come speak with her in the Common Room. Reluctantly, they both followed. Ron was quite pale and looked apprehensive at the idea of all three of them talking. Harry felt the same, though he was still rather shaken from what had happened. Why had Ron tried to kill himself? For Hermione? It sounded odd to think that thanks to his relationship with Hermione, all these problems had arisen.

He could only hope that happiness was closer than it truly seemed to be.

Hermione sat down and looked at them both pointedly, gesturing at the seats beside her. She looked quite grim and rather eerie in the firelight; her pensive and angry expression, combined with the circumstances they were in was quite scary.

“What in the world were you doing?” She hissed. Despite her appearance, her tone was worried and hushed, which made the boys uneasy. Neither of them wanted her to know about the potion. She would never forgive them. Yet, as Ron thought about it more and more, it was mostly Hermione’s fault. Why should she be upset with them over something she caused?

“Nothing. Never you mind.” Ron spat angrily at her. White-hot rage bubbled inside him. Everything that had happened that night came to his mind, all the hate and hurt he had felt at them just rushed into his head, making him feel quite offended at the pair of them.

“Oh, really? How can you say that after you two almost strangled each other?” Hermione asked, glaring daggers at him. When he didn’t answer, or even move, she decided to go with a more direct approach at things, “How did you get that potion? I shudder to think that you are now turning to the Dark Arts to solve your problems.” She scoffed, only to realize that she was being unnecessarily cruel.

Ron seemed to notice, too, “My problems, however your fault they may be, are still none of your business, Hermione.” He hissed softly, getting up and looking fiercely at her.

“Listen, Hermione, maybe you’d do well to stay out of this?” Harry asked tentatively, “Really, why don’t you just let us go to bed already? Just give us detention and get it over with.” He finished impatiently.

“I most certainly will not until I get to the bottom of this.” Hermione said, shaking her head and looking at him with an outraged expression.

She turned to Ron and continued, “Honestly, d’you expect me to just ignore this like nothing has happened? I’m not blind, Ron, and I happen to have a shrewd idea of what…why …” Hermione’s voice trailed off slowly, as she lost the words for what she wanted to say. She turned her head and looked at Ron bravely, who surveyed her with a triumphant expression. So she knew, did she?

“Proud, are you? To have so many men out after you…” He scoffed nastily at her words. Harry stood up slowly, as if expecting Hermione to explode at this, and took an involuntary step backwards, colliding with his chair noisily.

Hermione glanced at him softly and turned to Ron. She stood, looking rather scrawny beside him, and slapped him hard in the face, “How dare you! You nasty little…” She hissed. Her eyes shone with hate and yet…there seemed to be nothing but pain inside, “And you actually wonder why I decided to marry Harry and not you?” She said, outraged, “Ron Weasley, you are unbearable!”

Ron stared at her, towering over her small figure. He looked quite menacing, really. He took a deep breath, his eyes still on Hermione, who was staring him down as well, fiercely, not even blinking. When he spoke, he sounded as though he was trying very hard to maintain calm.

“I was trying to kill Harry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Dark Lord paced impatiently around the room, waiting for the report from his Death Eaters. Their current assignment was to bring him information on what happened at Hogwarts at regular time intervals. He wanted information on Harry Potter, of course, but he had recently been very interested in that Divinations witch. Supposedly, she was the one who had made the prophecy of Potter’s birth.

This could be very useful to him. He needed to know the exact wording of the prophecy to finally defeat that scrawny little boy. And besides, the boy had involuntarily handed him another weapon in the last few days. Apparently, he had a bit of a love interest with the bushy-haired Mudblood that always hung around him. He had used loved ones to lure Potter to him in the past, and he had no doubt that this would be an excellent occasion to do so once more. It was possible Potter realized what he was doing, but he would not let the girl die. He would not let another important part of his life die at the hands of the Dark Lord.

“M-master!” Said a shaky and fearful voice, pulling Voldemort away from his thoughts. It was Peter Pettigrew. He was poking his head into the room, as if afraid of angering his master with his presence.

“What is it?” Voldemort asked with a hint of annoyance.

Peter flinched at the sight of Voldemort’s irritation, but managed to choke out a few words “T-They are here, m-master…”

“Well, then, do not keep them waiting.” Voldemort said softly, “Tell them to come inside, for Lord Voldemort awaits them.”

Not a minute after, four individuals entered the room. Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, and Sibyll Trewlaney, who was unconscious and floating in midair. The three Death Eaters fell to their knees at the sight of Voldemort, eyes staring at the floor.

“Welcome, my faithful Death Eaters.” Voldemort said, taking little or no notice of Professor Trewlaney “Delighted as I may be to finally have the last report, I am curious as to why you are so undoubtedly late?” He hissed, looking at each of them expectantly in turn.

“Master, forgive our delay.” Said Bellatrix, bowing slightly and meeting his eyes. There was no fear in her eyes, and her voice had a hint of scorn, “But as we proceeded to finish our report, we encountered a most rewarding surprise.” She couldn’t help smiling maliciously as she pointed at Trewlaney, who was hovering near them.

“Rewarding indeed….” Voldemort smirked, raising his eyebrows. He surveyed the old, skinny witch, So this is the famous Sibyll Trewlaney…interesting, “How did you manage to lure her out of the Castle? She never leaves that wretched place.” He asked with mild interest. Surely his Death Eaters hadn’t gone bursting into the castle?

Malfoy cleared his throat, “Severus found her pacing the Grounds during the…ball the school was celebrating this evening. He stunned her from behind to ensure she never got a glimpse of him, and them he owled us over.”

“Ah…of course, you merely found her. I was beginning to fear that you had exposed yourselves to discovery. Particularly you, Severus. It would be catastrophic if that Mudblood lover Dumbledore found out…” He added, his eyes rising to meet Severus’, “How did you get her off the Grounds?”

“We enchanted ourselves with a Disillusionment charm and once we were in the outer reaches of Hogsmade, we Apparated here.” Bellatrix supplied instantly.

Voldemort nodded, scratching his chin slightly. He did not take his scarlet eyes off Snape, ”I trust Dumbledore is under the impression that you are merely a spy for him?” He asked.

Snape took a step forward. His eyes were cold and rid of any emotion, as his voice, “Of course, master.” He bowed slightly, “We also searched the grounds for anyone who might have heard, and casted Memory Charms on two fourth-years who overheard a bit. Also, she had a small note clutched in her hand.” Snape said, handing Voldemort a torn and very small piece of parchment.

“We thought you might enjoy speaking to her personally and…ah…hearing the prophecy first-hand?” Malfoy drawled with a slight smirk on his face.

“Indeed….I am surprised that you even managed to get her here. You haven’t been very useful recently...” Voldemort hissed, “You shall be rewarded if my plan succeeds. Now, I would advise you to go back to your posts, especially you, Snape. If I need you…you shall know.” He added with a cruel smirk, and one or two of them shifted uncomfortably, clutching their left forearms involuntarily. Giving their master a small bow, they all exited through the door.

Peter, however, lingered. He walked slowly towards Professor Trewlaney and peered at her interestedly. He then turned to Voldemort and asked, “Master? Is there anything you need me to do?”

Voldemort eyed him with mixed curiosity and suspicion, “Need you to do? Of course not, Wormtail. If I needed something done, I would most certainly get someone more trustworthy to do it.” He looked at Peter’s quivering figure, and then looked at him in the eye, “Or is there something you are particularly interested in? Perhaps you want to talk to the woman? Is there something you feel inclined to tell her, Wormtail? Something I ought to know about?” He added in a low hiss. He took a step closer to him and entered his mind wandlessly. It didn’t take him long to find what he wanted, though it shocked him. It had been so obvious….

Voldemort released him, leaving his mind, and Peter stumbled backwards. His eyes were wide and fearful as he looked up at Voldemort’s merciless ones. There was a cruel smile playing on Voldemort’s lips as he spoke, “How long did you know?” He asked in a low, menacing voice.

Peter fell to his knees, sobbing and clutching his master’s robes, “M-Master! Please! Do not punish me! I was going to tell you—“

“Do not lie to me. You are nothing more than a coward. You were never going to tell me, were you? You thought you would tell that woman, and that she would go tell Dumbledore everything. You thought you might become a spy for dear old Dumbledore….” He said, his voice full of scorn. He laughed a cruel, mirthless laugh, and his eyes remained as cold as ever, “You are an idiot, Wormtail. Dumbledore isn’t so stupid that he’d fall for your little scheme. After all, he knows you betrayed them once….”

“M-m-m-master! I was n-n-never going to become a sp-spy!” Peter sobbed, “I would b-be a spy f-f-for you, master! I would have gotten information f-from Dumbledore!” He spoke in a shrill, terrified voice, clutching Voldemort’s robes as if it would make everything better.

Voldemort tore himself away, taking a step backwards and surveying Wormtail with a look of utter amusement. He took out his wand, smirking, “You should have known I would have found out sooner than you thought. Treachery is heavily punished, Wormtail, you ought to know that.”

“Master! Please! H-have mercy!” Wormtail cried, covering his head with his arms.

“Mercy?” Voldemort laughed cruelly, “The Dark Lord shows no mercy.” And with those words, he raised his wand, pointing it at Wormtail, “Crucio!” He yelled. Instantly, the night was filled with Wormtail’s petrified shrieks of pain. He twisted and writhed on the floor, sputtering a few words from time to time. Voldemort watched, delighted, as he staggered upwards, only to collapse again to the floor. He lifted the curse only when he saw that Wormtail had seized to shriek and yell, and had taken to twitching and writhing from the pain.

“Your punishment has not even begun. I am afraid that I still need you for my next phase of the plan, and so I will not kill you—yet. But rest assured, Wormtail, your punishment will come.” Voldemort paused to examine the look of mixed fear and relief in Wormtail’s face, “Now, get out of here. Nagini needs feeding, and I have other more important things to worry about.”

Wormtail didn’t hesitate to follow his orders. Still weak from the curse, he could barely walk and took to staggering towards the door. Voldemort laughed as Wormtail’s shaking hand grasped the doorknob, and spoke, “I would advise you to desist of the idea of running away. My Death Eaters will find you, and when they bring you to me, your punishment will only be worse. I suggest, Wormtail, that you go and do as I say if you do not want to make things worse for yourself.” He said silkily as he pulled out the piece of parchment Snape had found. With his other hand, he waved Wormtail away, who left the room in a flash.

Voldemort greedily opened the piece of parchment, smoothing it out. As he sat in his huge armchair by the fire, he began to read. With every word his eyes seemed to widen with delight, and his mouth curled into a smile.

The truth was uncovered. Too bad dear old Dumbledore wouldn’t get the letter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione’s mouth opened in shock. She couldn’t help it. She took an involuntary step backwards, gaping at Ron. He was trying to kill Harry? What the…? But why? Because of our relationship? But that’s stupid. Ron wouldn’t kill Harry…they’re best friends.

Aren’t they?

Not really. Not anymore. They barely speak to each other, and after what happened tonight I can’t really see Ron befriending Harry as if everything is okay.

But to try to kill him? He’s gone too far. I should do something about this, shouldn’t I? But what? I can hardly go to Professor McGonagall and inform her that Ron has attempted to murder Harry. He would be expelled, and his life would be ruined. He would go to Azkaban for sure! I could never live with that.

But something has to be done. He’s a threat to Harry.

Ron raised an eyebrow at Hermione’s reaction. He couldn’t believe it was such a shock. After all that had happened that night, it was ridiculous that she found this bit of information appalling. Everything was her fault. Why should she find this so surprising? And yet, there seemed to be another look in her face. She seemed…afraid. She was afraid of him? Well, that’s hardly a shock. She probably sees me as an deranged murderer.

“But you were trying to kill yourself!” Harry said slowly, frowning at Ron. Trying to kill me? Because of Hermione, no doubt. But is he so unhinged that he thought killing me would be a solution? Harry stared at Ron as well, as if he had only just seen him there. His best friend had tried to kill him. The thought of it felt like a kick in the chest. The person he had trusted so much; the person he thought of as a brother; the person he would have given his life for…had just tried to kill him over love for a woman.

The graveness of the situation became heavier and heavier as each of them thought about Ron’s words further. Harry’s question took a long time to be answered, or even considered. All of them seemed lost in thought.

Finally, Hermione looked up at Harry, “Kill himself?” She asked, eyes wide. Instantly, her expression hardened, and her lips tightened, “I demand you explain yourself right now! This whole situation has to be sorted out tonight. We need to find a solution!” She commanded, crossing her arms at her chest and raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“Who d’you think you are, Hermione? You have no right to tell us what to do!” Ron snapped, glaring at her, “This whole ‘situation’—as you insist on calling it—is all your fault!”

Hermione snorted, “I can hardly be blamed for your mistakes, Ron.” She spat, narrowing her eyes.

“You started this! You went off and agreed to Harry’s proposal to have an affair behind my back! You decided to marry him instead of me!” Ron bellowed, kicking the table ferociously, “Face it Hermione, this is all your fault. You made our lives hell.”

For what seemed like the millionth time that night, Hermione remained stunned. Ron had just said what had been going through her mind endlessly that evening. She had ruined everything. She could have had a happy life with Ron, eventually forgetting about her love for Harry. She could have….

But I didn’t.

No matter what I do, one of them will get hurt. I tried keeping things a secret from Ron, that way I wouldn’t hurt his feelings by breaking up with him. But he just had to find out, didn’t he? Now we’re stuck in this never-ending misery and worry.

And it’s all my fault.

Hermione sank down into her chair and buried her face in her hands, sobbing quietly. She couldn’t just leave—she wanted to know what had happened exactly—so she did the only thing she could do: she cried, trying to find a way to fix her mistakes.

Ron sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Harry glared furiously at him when he yelled at Hermione, and had sat down beside her, trying to comfort her. Ron simply didn’t know what to feel when he saw Hermione crying. A part of him urged him to stop being such a prat and apologize for yelling, but another part of him told him that she deserved to feel guilty. He clenched his fists, sitting back down in his chair and willing his anger away. They needed to have this conversation now, for none of them would bear it if they didn’t know what had caused tonight’s outburst.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered finally, reaching towards the table to pat Hermione’s head clumsily, “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Hermione’s head shot up so fast he jumped in surprise. Her eyes were red from crying and her face was still wet with tears, but her expression was extremely hostile, “So you don’t regret what you said?” She demanded, “You agree that it’s my fault—all this trouble? That I made your lives hell?”

Harry saved Ron the trouble of answering, “Hermione…try to steer away from things that might cause another dispute, will you? Or else the whole Tower will find out about everything.” He said in a low voice, caressing her hair and giving her a soft, apologetic look.

Hermione sighed, nodding. Ron observed her relaxed expression as Harry played with her hair and felt the anger boiling up inside him again. He forced himself to concentrate on describing what had happened with the potion.

“Right…” He said, clearing his throat, “Well, after I left the ball, I was really angry. I tried taking a walk around the Castle to see if my mood improved, and I ended up in the Dungeons. There, I started thinking for a while, and decided….” He paused, dropping his gaze to the carpet. He couldn’t possibly say what happened next while looking at Hermione’s beautiful eyes. He didn’t want to see the anger flare up inside them, and he couldn’t stand to see the hatred that she would surely feel towards him, “I…decided that maybe if I…killed Harry….you wouldn’t love him anymore and I would have a chance at marrying you….”

There was a sharp intake of breath and he was sure it came from Hermione. He prepared himself mentally for her outrage at his actions, and looked at her.

She had covered her mouth with her hand, and was staring at him with a fearful expression for the second time that night. Her other arm was clutching her shoulder, as if she were cold. Somehow, this side of her troubled Ron more than angry yells and hatred. She looked so terribly fragile that he couldn’t summon the courage to continue until she asked him to. Her voice was very small, and she asked it hesitantly, as if she were afraid he would start yelling at her again. Ron nodded at her words, and resumed his story.

“So I stole the Contabesco Mortifer from Snape’s cupboard. I waited for Harry to get back and fall asleep for a long time, and during that time I just sat there, thinking about what I was going to do. When I finally thought it safe to do it, I realized that I couldn’t kill Harry.” He paused, shooting Harry an apologetic look, “I couldn’t kill him because, he had to get rid of Voldemort….and well, you needed him. That’s when I figured out, nobody really needed me, and I decided that instead of giving the potion to Harry, I’d take it myself.”

Ron stopped talking abruptly at that, and risked a glance in Hermione’s direction. She was staring at him with a pitiful expression now, frowning slightly. She seemed deep in thought, and when Ron stopped talking, she nodded, “And that’s when Harry got up and stopped you.” She said. It was more of a statement than a question, really. Ron nodded mutely, waiting for her to do something.

“I’m sorry.” She said in a low, hollow voice. She stood up now, and when Ron looked at her again, she gave him a sad shrug, “I have to admit I never thought that this could cause so many problems. I didn’t feel completely at ease with everything that was happening, that’s for sure, but I never stopped to consider what damage this could really do.”

Ron nodded, deciding to accept her apology, and spoke, “I’m not asking you to leave Harry. You’re engaged now. I couldn’t possibly ask that of you now…now that I know how that would feel.” He whispered, shaking his head.

“In all honesty, Ron, I wouldn’t leave Harry even if you asked.” Hermione said, her voice suddenly hard, “I love him. Just like—“

“Just like I love you.” Ron muttered dully, “Yeah, yeah…so can I go to sleep now? I’d rather leave you alone so you can talk.” He got up, and without waiting for a response, stormed off to the boy’s dormitories. He didn’t dare look back until he was halfway up the stairs, concealed by the shadows. Immediately, he regretted doing so. Harry was holding Hermione in a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her. She was hiding her face in his chest, her arms around his neck. She appeared to be crying again, and he was patting her hair softly. She looked up and kissed his lips delicately before pulling away and sitting by the fire. She waved him over and they sat together, talking in low voices as they stared at the fire.

“Well…we’ll see who’s happier after that Final Battle.” Ron muttered to himself as he opened the door quietly and made his way to his bed. He pulled his covers over him and wrapped himself with them.

But I need Hermione….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Albus:

By the time you receive this letter, I am afraid that I will be very far away from Hogwarts. I am very sorry I did not say good-bye properly, or even ask for your opinion on my departure. I just couldn’t bear to sit quietly in my tower and watch as the world fell apart. I simply could not stay there any longer, for danger roams the walls of my beloved home. I endangered both the students and you by staying there, and so, I fled.

If you were any other person, you would be confused as you read this letter. You would also be worried, because you had to find another fine Divinations teacher (though I’m sure Frienze would guide the students perfectly). But as you are no ordinary wizard, you must have a shrewd idea of why I left the castle. You’re probably right, Albus. You are hardly ever wrong, after all. More than once I found myself wondering if you too possessed the second Sight; you surprised me so very often, telling me things I myself hadn’t seen yet.

But, for you to understand completely why I left, I must tell you the most important bit of information, the one I’m sure you will be surprised to hear. I am very sorry for what you are about to read, Albus, I truly am. But one of man’s greatest weaknesses is its tendency for avoiding things that may hurt them. One has to learn to accept things how they are, and to concentrate on what to do about them.

So here is the truth:

The day before yesterday— Thursday, I believe—I gazed into my crystal ball. I saw terrible things, Albus, terrible, terrible things. I saw the war of the Wizarding world; I saw He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as he gained countless followers. Many were young, probably not a day after eighteen. There were giants, house-elves that had turned on their masters or were following orders, dragons, Dementors, and more creatures that I cannot even remember. There were many older wizards among those young ones, and one face in particular stood out clearly. It was Severus Snape, Albus, I would bet my life on it. I understand that he served as a spy on Voldemort for you, did he not? Apparently, he’s a bit indecisive in which role he will choose to play, as in my vision he was feeding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named important information we discussed on our last Order meeting. I am sure of it Albus; if I wasn’t I would not have left the safety of my home, Hogwarts.

As you probably understand now, I left because I feared Severus would find a way to get me, and that prophecy you insist on saying that I told you sixteen years ago. I still do not remember ever telling you such things, but I suppose I must believe you after seeing the memory in your Pensieve. Even if I did not remember the exact wording, it would be easy for him to use Legilimency and hear the prophecy for himself.

The thought terrified me, and so I started to consider the idea of leaving during what was left of that evening and on Friday. Obviously, I decided to leave, and so I did. Today (Saturday) I packed my bags and wrote this note after leaving the Castle, hidden in the Grounds behind the many bushes that Hagrid planted for the Ball (they’re absolutely lovely, by the way. Tell him that, would you?). And after writing this, I suppose I’ll leave.

Albus, before signing this off and saving it to send it tomorrow, I must tell you something else I saw in the crystal ball. It is very important, and it concerns the Potter boy.

I saw the final battle between him and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I grant you, it was a very prolonged battle, but I’m afraid…the boy doesn’t make it. A Killing curse hit him, square in the chest. I couldn’t manage to see any more of it, however. The vision ended right there.

I’m so sorry, Albus. I hate to be the bearer of bad news. I know, ridiculous, considering I keep predicting student’s deaths, but I’m sure you know by know that I choose them at random. I have no real knowledge that they will die. I just made it up, and they all lived, as far as I know.

All until Potter.

Well, I’m afraid writing this has gotten me in a very melancholic mood. This is most unlike me. I suppose I’ll do some crystal ball gazing later. That always cheers me up.

Take care, Albus, and I hope you take my warnings to heart.

~ Sibyll Trewlaney

A/N: Sometimes I seem to forget this is a shippy fic. =D But don’t worry, the romance will come next chapter. I’ve got it all planned. All the same, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Anyway, I made a banner for the fic. I was bored yesterday so I made it. =D I think it’s quite nice, but rather simple.

Here’s the link: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v336/DaRoSePR/Olad.gif

Till the next!

6. Bliss

Chapter six: Bliss

Hermione stood still, staring after Ron as he made his way back to the boys’ dormitories. She dropped her gaze to the floor, sighing heavily. She felt Harry put his hands on her shoulders, whispering her name in a low voice. Turning, she gave him a small smile, “At least that’s finally over with.” She said, shrugging, “Now I don’t have to worry about our relationship being…well, dishonorable.”

Harry nodded, “And we don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.” He said, holding her in a tight hug. He felt the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin…it was all so overwhelming. In less than a week, his life had taken turns for the better. He was no longer miserable and lonely. He smiled at the thought, playing with a lock of Hermione’s hair between two of his fingers.

Hermione let herself fall into Harry’s arms, wrapping hers around his neck and burying her face in his chest. It seemed surreal…her worries were already half gone. As she had just told Harry, now she didn’t have to worry about their relationship being dishonorable, and her dignity being brought down. The only worry that hadn’t left her, despite her happiness, was the outcome of the Final Battle. She had tried to shrug off Trewlaney’s prediction, but a small part of her kept bringing it back. After all, if Harry died, she would be left alone in the world. Her parents were sure to be cross with her when they found our about her breakup with Ron, and when they found out about her relationship with Harry, they would probably give her the cold shoulder and stop talking to her altogether. It was so stupid, she knew, after all, she could make it without them, couldn’t she? She was smart; she could get a good job, and maybe, if Harry died after all, she’d be able to get past that someday.

But something made her shiver at the thought of being all alone in the world.

She looked up into Harry’s bright green eyes. He gazed back at her with a faraway expression on his face. He looks happy. She gave him a small grin and kissed his lips softly. They were so close she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It was beating incredibly fast, as if he were nervous whilst kissing her. She couldn’t help grinning at that, pulling herself away from him. She walked towards the big couch by the fire and sat there.

“Sit down with me, Harry. I won’t be able to sleep now anyway.” She said, waving him over, “I’ve got too much on my mind.” She added, frowning slightly. He nodded, smiling, and sat down beside her. He put his arm around her shoulders and scratched his head, “Yeah. Somehow, this conversation with Ron has got me even more worried than before.” He said in a low voice, glancing at the stairs that led to the boys’ dormitories. He still hadn’t heard the heavy oak door open, and he would bet anything that Ron was hiding in the shadows trying to listen in on them.

Hermione followed his lead, lowering her voice to a mere whisper, “I know. It scares me, the thought of him trying to kill you.” She nuzzled her head on his shoulder, crossing her legs on the couch. There was suddenly a creak of the wooden door, and a click, as if it had closed.

“I think that was Ron.” Harry muttered. Her hair felt so soft against his shoulder, and it smelled very nice as well. He got a sudden urge to kiss her, but held back. She wants to talk, not kiss. She’s still worried, after all. And who can blame her? Trying to kill me was way over the line, but trying to kill himself, too? He’s a madman.

Hermione shivered at the mention of Ron’s name. She hoped he desisted of the idea of killing Harry, or himself. She felt scared for Harry, who had to sleep in the same dormitory as him. If he hadn’t dawdled with goodbyes and apologies, he would have surely gotten Harry to drink the potion. It would be so easy to get up swiftly one night and….

“You don’t have to be worried over me, Hermione.” Harry whispered as he felt her shiver, “I can think up of some way to protect myself while I sleep.” He said, smiling slightly.

“I….Harry…he’s not stupid.” Hermione said, shaking her head, “When we were still a couple, I taught him some really complicated spells, and he mastered them after a few tries, you know.” She said this all in a rushed manner, as if she thought Harry would be upset if he heard correctly.

But Harry understood perfectly, and wasn’t the least bit upset. If anything, he seemed amused, “Spells? For what?” He asked, a tiny hint of scorn in his voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes, slightly annoyed at Harry’s tone of voice. She smiled either way, “Just spells I thought he ought to know.” She muttered, crossing her arms, “Setting up wards, breaking them, advanced self-transfiguration charms, self-defense charms….stuff like that.”

Harry frowned, “Self-defense? Like the one he used on me today?” He asked. It would do him well to learn self-defense charms, and some jinxes and hexes would be very useful to him. He told himself it was in case Ron tried to harm him, but deep down he knew it was more than that. It was preparation for the final battle.

“Yes. That particular spell was the one he was best at, I’m afraid.” She said, laughing.

“Hey…” Harry said, tickling her ribs softly, “Don’t laugh at me!” he said, chuckling at her reaction. She gave a little jump and pretended to glare at him, but her grin gave her away. She scooted closer to Harry until she was a hands breath apart, not taking her eyes off his. Still grinning, he reached for her face, longing to feel its softness and warmth. He caressed her cheek softly; so softy, that it felt like a mild tickle. She smiled, holding his hand in hers for a while before slowly moving her head towards his. He closed his eyes as he felt her lips touch his, and wrapped his arms around her. She locked her arms around his neck once more, kissing him back fervently. Harry leaned against her gently, slowly pushing her backwards on the couch so that she was laying down beneath him.

Hermione felt as if her heart had skipped several beats and was now thumping violently in her chest to repair the damage. And yet somehow, this felt…right.

Ahh…it was bliss…

And that was all they needed for a long, long time, until Harry tentatively unbuttoned one of Hermione’s nightshirt’s buttons. It was the highest one—at the neck—and yet, as he did so, a shiver went by each of their spines. Hermione’s small frame went momentarily rigid, and she stopped kissing Harry altogether, looking at him with a very outraged expression. He stared back, an apologetic and nervous expression in his eyes. Hermione considered everything before acting. Her dignity, her parents, her future, even Ron!

Would I be a slut if I accede to his touch? Would he consider me one? Instantly, another voice spoke up, Of course not. Harry loves me; he would never consider me so low and vain.

And yet, Ron does. Or so he said. He loves me, and yet tonight he told Harry and I that he considered me quite low because I was cheating on him.

Then he certainly doesn’t love me enough. Someone that loves another person truly doesn’t think so badly of their loved one.

Then, she relaxed again, giving her hormones free reign as she reached for Harry’s lips once more. He too seemed tense as they made contact again, but relaxed after a bit. He was just reaching for another button in Hermione’s nightshirt when—

Harry pulled himself away from Hermione, clutching his forehead and yelping in pain. Hermione sat bolt upright, wide-eyed, looking as he backed away to the wall, panting. She got up, and reached for her wand, looking at him with an expression of mingled fear and uncertainty. His whole body was rigid, as if he was having some sort of fit, against the wall. And then, as abruptly as it begun, he plopped onto the floor, sweating and panting nervously. Hermione quickly made her way towards him and stooped down beside his shaking figure. He had his eyes closed, and his breathing was still very interrupted. Hermione racked her brain for a spell that might be of aid to him, and remembered one she had taught Ron near the end of the Christmas holiday. She searched for her wand in her nightshirt’s pocket and pulled it out. She pointed it at Harry and said shakily, “Serenus” Harry stopped shaking considerably, and his breathing was now more relaxed. He opened his eyes and blinked several times before looking back at her.

Hermione stared at Harry with a questioning look in her eyes. He sat up and buried his face in his hands for a minute or so before speaking.

“It’s him. Voldemort. He’s…he’s angry.” He croaked. He supposed he should get used to this—being constantly interrupted by him. But I was so close…so close to finally having Hermione, he thought self pityingly. He sighed heavily, looking at her once more. He felt the grief in her eyes. She was again worried about him. Yet again, she suffered over his fate.

“Did you see anything else?” She asked quietly.

“Yes…but it was all very blurred. He was looking at a woman, a very skinny and short woman. I think there was a fireplace, too, and he was sitting on a huge armchair by it. He had a piece of parchment in his hands, and he was angry….” Harry whispered hoarsely, “He was very, very angry.”

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and sighed, “Harry…” She said softly. Harry looked up at her; she looked so fragile, looking at him with such a sad expression on her face, on that gigantic, floor-length nightgown, “Harry, you know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

Hermione pursed her lips, as if she thought he ought to know this, “You have to go to Dumbledore. It’s very important that he knows this.” She said it all firmly, but her eyes told the truth. She was…terrified. Her frightened expression was mixed with a great deal of sadness. It made Harry wonder whether he was doing her wrong by bringing her into all of his problems.

Harry nodded. He remained deep in thought for a moment, staring absentmindedly at her, before getting up abruptly and taking Hermione’s hand to help her up. But Hermione stayed where she was, frowning, “You can’t possibly be suggesting we go to him now?”

Harry nodded vigorously, “We have to, Hermione. I don’t know how important this is, but I’m not taking any chances.” He told her firmly, pulling her up. This time, she let him move her freely, so that she stood up in an exaggeratedly quick manner, losing her balance. She stumbled, collided with Harry, and sent them both toppling to the floor again.

Hermione lay on top of Harry, her hair all over his face, and her elbow digging into his stomach. Her knee was also digging into his rather painfully. And yet, Harry did not protest. He did not push her off, or move beneath her so that she would move her elbow and knee away. He lay very still, enjoying the lovely smell of her hair on his face and the way her body felt on top of his.

Hermione, however, did not notice his happy grin beneath her hair. As soon as she realized she was laying on top of him, she gasped, rolling off him and looking at him with an apologetic expression. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She asked him shrilly.

Harry smiled, nodding, “Never been better.” He said, and got up. He took her hand delicately and led her to the Portrait hole, “Come on, we’d better get going if we’re going to pay Dumbledore a visit.” He whispered, and she nodded, smiling. As they stepped out of the Common Room, Harry marveled at his grand luck. Remembering Hermione’s soft, tender kisses and the smell of her hair, a single thought brushed his mind:

Ahh…it was bliss

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walked in complete silence. Hermione walked behind Harry through the narrow passageway, thankful that she didn’t have to walk alongside him. She was making too many faces at her own thoughts, and she could just imagine trying to explain to him what was going through her mind. Her own thoughts made her redden, shiver, smirk, and snort slightly on some occasions.

Laying on top of him like that….oh, God. I could have hurt him! Well, he didn’t protest at all, did he? I suppose he was enjoying himself.

And why shouldn’t he? It’s not like it felt horrible….

Oh, shut up! Hermione told herself reproachfully, reddening at her own thoughts. You know, maybe it’s best that we never got to…doing it. If I feel embarrassed at my own thoughts about him, how can I think I’m ready? It’s ridiculous.

And besides, someone could have caught us. Hermione shivered slightly at the thought, That would have been terrible….I can just imagine the slander people would make up and spread about us. But honestly…in the Gryffindor Common Room…we’re mad for even thinking about doing it there!

But I think we just got caught up in the moment. I would have most certainly said no to such a thing if I had been thinking straight. But I was quite occupied, wasn’t I?

Think of something else, Hermione, for God’s sake! She told herself desperately, I’m getting redder from my own thoughts about what happened than about what actually happened.

They had been taking a secret passage that led them to the floor above Dumbledore’s office. It was extremely narrow, and the walls were very high, made of aged stones very much like the ones used for the Dungeons. There were small torches midway along the walls every six feet or so to illuminate the way. It was rather long, as it went from the seventh floor to the fourth. Harry was already out of the passage—which was through a concealed opening near two towering bookcases—when he realized he’d forgotten his invisibility cloak. He had been so immersed in his own happiness that he didn’t stop to think about Snape or Filch, who apparently never slept and roamed the halls in a restless mood, trying to catch students that were out of bed.

Harry cursed silently, turning abruptly and bumping into Hermione, who as walking closely behind him. Startled, she took a step or two backwards, “What’s wrong?” She asked, frowning. She still looked rather flushed, just like she had when they left the Common Room.

“My invisibility cloak. It’s up in the Common Room.” Harry explained, gently moving her to the side so that he could walk through the narrow passageway comfortably, heading in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. He beckoned her over, not daring to look back. The passageway might be narrow and uncomfortable to cross, but he was sure he wouldn’t object to kissing her in here…

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, “Are you mad? It’s already late as it is! We’ll be there at three in the morning if we don’t hurry up!” She was blabbering, she knew. Gazing momentarily at his eyes, her gaze went to his lips. The temptation of kissing him was very overwhelming, but she held herself back. She had no need to kiss him to get things her way. She had never accustomed herself to such a thing. She could convince him with words easily, after all.

A silent voice in her head told her that she didn’t want to kiss him to get things her way. She wanted to feel him close once more, to feel his hands hug her and travel along her body as she became entranced by his soft scent.

Again, she told herself to stop thinking of such things. Where has my self-control gotten to? I think I can safely assume that I have control over what goes through my mind! She wondered, reddening at her thoughts once more.

Harry didn’t notice the dreamy expression on her face as she gazed at him longingly, “We’ll get caught, Hermione!” He hissed, tugging at his arm to release it from her grip, “Snape’s always skulking around at this time of night! I’ve sneaked around here enough times to be sure of that!” he added heatedly. He noticed Hermione’s dreamy stare when the words were already out of his mouth, and wondered what could possibly make her look so very much like Luna Lovegood.

Hermione’s dreamy stare vanished instantly when Harry’s words managed to reach her brain, “Harry, don’t be stupid. It’s already one!” She scoffed, glancing at her watch. Her expression was nowhere near dreamy now; her eyes were narrowed and she looked determined to convince him to do as she said, “Dumbledore will most certainly be upset if we go around disturbing him later than this! I’m still surprised I even agreed to let you go and bother him now…”

Well, I was quite distracted by other things, she admitted to herself, and to her surprise, she did not blush at all at this thought. Her eyes once again wandered to his lips, and she felt compelled to kiss him yet again.

Harry noticed where her gaze traveled. He fought back an impulse to smile happily. He would gladly kiss her, if that was what she wanted. He tried to lead the conversation away from his invisibility cloak, “You never do lose an argument, do you?” He said, a light smile crossing his face. She snorted, “If you say so…I’m only trying to get some sense into you.”

Harry put a hand on her waist, “Would you try and get some sense into me if I kissed you right now?” He whispered with a mischievous smile.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, reddening slightly, “Yes, I would.” She said stubbornly. Just because they were engaged now didn’t mean she was about to start kissing him whenever he wanted, after all. Even if she wanted to, too. She really had to get her self-control back, “I…we should get going, Harry. I’m sure we’re not the only ones that know about this secret passage. Someone might see us.” She said briskly, freeing herself from his light grip and walking swiftly towards the opening at the end of the passage between the two bookcases.

Harry stood staring at her as she briskly freed herself from his grip and got out of the passageway, glancing around furtively before doing so to check there was no one in sight. Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair.

Why does she have to be so hard to figure out sometimes? I could have sworn she was staring at me with…well, that look she was giving me...I thought she wanted me to kiss her!

Maybe that wasn’t the best approach…after all, we were stuck in this odd passageway, alone, and I asked if she’d stop me if I tried to kiss her.

No, definitely not the best approach, Harry concluded after thinking about what might have gone through her head. God, I’m such an idiot.

I’d best go and apologize before she gets mad at me…

He walked as fast as he could towards the end of the passageway, holding on to the walls beside him to ensure he didn’t fall flat on his face. When he finally got out, he was relieved to find Hermione leaning looking interestedly at one of the bookcases, stroking the numerous tomes that it held with an expression of care. She looked up when she sensed his presence.

“These books,” she said, gesturing toward the bookcase, “they’re about a hundred years old, if I’m correct. I wonder why they’re being kept out here and not in the library…?

Harry shrugged, unsure as to whether he was supposed to answer her or not, “Maybe they’re newer versions?” He offered as he stepped towards her.

She shook her head, gazing at him coldly, “Look at those pages, Harry. They’re completely yellowed. And the cover looks very beaten, too.” She said, waving a hand at the books. She really didn’t know why she was talking to him about this; it was stupid. He was clearly upset at her attitude back in the passageway. After all, just a few minutes before she’d been longing to kiss him.

So? But I can’t just let him take control of me like that. I have to exercise more self-control from now on. He has to learn to respect me.

He does!

Doesn’t he?

Harry sighed at Hermione’s snappy answer. I think I can safely assume she’s annoyed…or something. Maybe she has something else on her mind that’s troubling her, he thought as he stopped at an acceptable distance from her, “Hermione….” He said, “I’m sorry. I…I just thought…well, I wasn’t planning on taking up where we left off, that’s for sure.” He said uncertainly, giving her an apologetic look as he gazed into her eyes.

Hermione fought back a snort, Smooth, Harry. Just the right thing to say, she thought sarcastically. But still, she understood what he wanted to say. With such an honest and to-the-point answer, who wouldn’t understand? She nodded, “You should try thinking about what you’re about to do Harry. It usually helps you avoid misunderstandings.” She said coldly, but her eyes had a playful gleam.

Harry grinned, noticing the soft look she gave him, “Do you forgive me, then?” He asked, taking a step closer.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, pretending to think about it, “Only if you promise to think more before you act. Not only when I’m concerned, but with everything and everyone, okay?” She said, her tone serious, as she took a step towards him and softly cupped his cheek with her right hand.

Harry nodded, stretching out his left hand to touch her hair, “I promise.”

“Then I forgive you.” Hermione declared, moving her head slowly towards his lips…

“Well, this does look touching…” Said a cold, mocking voice from behind them, “But I am afraid I will have to break up this lovely romantic embrace.” Hermione’s eyes widened, and she stepped back from Harry quickly, blushing furiously. Harry, however, remained very still, his hands now at his sides, and his eyes reflecting mingled anger and embarrassment as he turned stiffly to Professor Snape.

Snape surveyed them, his eyebrows raised, smirking, “Well, I’d have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it, Potter.” He sneered, his black eyes glittering maliciously, “But I guess you are more like your father than I thought. And believe me, you were always too much like him for my taste.”

Harry took a deep breath, thinking over and over about what he’d just promised to Hermione. He could feel her anxious eyes on him as he next spoke, “We need to talk to Professor Dumbledore—Sir.” He added in a controlled voice, surveying his Professor with nothing but hatred.

“Visiting the Headmaster? At this hour? I don’t think so, Potter. Don’t go making up silly excuses to cover for your actions.” Snape snapped, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

“I have something very important to tell him—Sir.” Harry hissed, breathing deeply as he tried to control his temper.

“Well, it will have to wait until morning. I’m sure the Headmaster is fast asleep by now. And if he weren’t, he would have more pressing matters at hand.” Snape said dismissively, “I’m afraid I shall deduct fifty points from Gryffindor. And, I will assign you both detentions, later this afternoon.”

“Um….sir? I already have a detention with Professor McGonagall this afternoon….” Hermione’s small, tentative voice appeared from behind Harry.

Snape’s eyes darted over to where Hermione was standing, “Well, Miss Granger, I do hope taking nighttime strolls isn’t becoming a custom for you and Mr. Potter, or else we shall be meeting very frequently in these halls.” He smirked, enjoying the embarrassed look on Hermione’s reddened face, “Well, then, you shall both serve detentions with me Monday evening, understood?”

Hermione nodded vehemently, cheeks still red. Harry reserved himself to a single nod in direction of Professor Snape, who raised an eyebrow, “Now, get to bed. And should I find you strolling the halls at night again, Potter—accompanied or not—you shall regret it deeply.” He hissed, lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper.

Harry narrowed his eyes, “Yes, sir.” He hissed, glaring at Professor Snape until he left through a door at the opposite end of the room.

“Stupid prat…leaving without waiting to see if we were on our way…” Harry muttered, grinning, “Seems like he’s losing his touch…I remember all those times he caught me before. Scared me half to death…”

“Well, he succeeded where I was concerned!” Hermione said shrilly, “Maybe we ought to visit Dumbledore in the morning Harry…” She added with a pleading look in her eyes.

“No, c’mon, we’re almost there. All we need to do is take this passageway and we’ll be right across his office.” Harry said, taking her hand and dragging her over to a portrait of a short, chubby old man with painter’s tools beside him. He was asleep, leaning on his canvas, which was covered in squiggles in different colors. Harry asked for Hermione’s wand after examining the portrait for a while. Hermione handed it to him sourly, wishing they would have just went back up to Gryffindor tower.

As Harry pointed her wand to a wall on the painting, it took Hermione a while to realize that there was some sort of tiny dot there. Instantly, the portrait swung to the side, revealing a wide passageway with a low ceiling.

“Okay, now lie down.”

Hermione frowned, “What?” She asked incredulously, half-smiling.

Harry grinned, “It’s a slide. You’ll have to be careful with your hair, I think…” He added absentmindedly, fingering a strand of her hair.

“A slide?” she said, snorting loudly, “Hogwarts sure is full of secrets…” She said as she slipped her legs into the portrait hole.

“And if we remember to bring my Invisibility cloak next time, you’ll be sure to find out about a fair few more.” Harry said, “This castle is amazing….”

Hermione nodded at this, “Oh, I’d love to, Harry! But we’ll have to be careful; you heard what Snape said, didn’t you?” She warned.

Harry shrugged, “He has no reason to find out.” He said mischievously. Hermione laughed and beckoned him over, asking him to give her a little push so that she would slide down easier. Harry did so, enjoying her joyful giggle as she slid down. “Come on, Harry!” She squealed as she brushed dirt off her nightgown. The slide was already very filthy, and combined with the dirt she’d gained at the end of the slide. She hadn’t been expecting it to end so quickly and so had tumbled to the ground clumsily.

Harry slid gracefully out of the slide at the perfect time, landing on his feet and watching Hermione’s frayed nightgown with an amused expression. Having used that passageway numerous times, he already knew very well how much time he had to wait before the slide came to its end.

“Err…are you okay?” Harry asked Hermione, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, grinning, “Yes, I think I’ll live.” She said, “But you could have warned me!”

“Well, I thought someone as smart as you might already know when to place her feet on the floor.” Harry said playfully as he walked over to the stone gargoyle that guarded Professor Dumbledore’s office.

Hermione pursed her lips, “Fair point.” She said, recognizing defeat. Pointing to the stone gargoyle, she frowned, “Harry, do you know the password?” She asked uncertainly.

Harry shrugged, “It can’t be too hard….as far as I know he always has candy-related ones…”

Hermione snorted, but didn’t say anything. She watched amusedly as Harry hissed, whispered, begged and even yelled at the gargoyle, each time trying a different candy.

“Fizzing Whizbee?”

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans?”

“Sugar Quill?”

“Pumpkin Pasties?”

“Acid Pop?”

“Chocolate frog?”

“Cockroach Cluster?”

“JELLY SLUGS?” Harry half yelled at the gargoyle, kicking it hard. To his surprise, it sprang to life, moving quickly and efficiently to the side. Harry clutched his right foot, which was causing him an excruciating pain, and waved Hermione over. She walked past him without a word, moving through the gap in the walls and standing on the first step of the spiral staircase that led to Dumbledore’s office. Harry hurried towards her, hopping on one foot. Chuckling, she took his hand and helped him gain back his balance as the spiral staircase moved slowly towards a large oak door. Finally, they reached the door, and after helping Harry off the stairs, Hermione walked forward and knocked silently on the door. When there was no answer, she tentatively knocked a bit harder.

“Come in!” Said a kind voice from inside the room.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who seemed very unwilling to opening the door. Shrugging, he strode forward and opened the door. He urged her forward, and closed the door behind them.

Albus Dumbledore was pacing by the fire, a quill in his hand and a piece of parchment on the gigantic armchair that was beside him. When he caught sight of him, he raised his eyebrows in surprise but gave them a warm smile all the same.

“Harry, Hermione? What brings you here at such an hour?” he asked curiously, his eyes twinkling.

Harry scratched his head before speaking, “Err…well…I…my scar hurt tonight…” He said uncertainly as Dumbledore walked towards them. When Harry stopped speaking he gave him a small nod to tell him to continue.

“Well, I saw Voldemort. He was very angry…he was sitting on an armchair, and he had a piece of parchment in his hands. He was looking at it. Then, he looked up and there was a very skinny woman….rather old, too. He seemed angrier when he caught sight of her.”

Dumbledore nodded, “And that is all you saw?”

“Yes.”

“It is curious that you came to tell me this now,” Dumbledore said, glancing at the piece of parchment on his armchair, “I was just thinking of the possibility….” He said, his voice trailing off. He frowned, looking from Harry to the fire.

“Is there something wrong, Professor?” Hermione asked, “I’m very sorry if we disturbed you in any way…”

Dumbledore laughed, shaking his head, “Oh, no, of course not. Quite the contrary, this is very interesting. You see, yesterday during the Masked Ball—and, before continuing, I would like to ask you that you didn’t tell this to anyone, as we do not want to bring attention to it—“ When they nodded, he continued, “Well, during the Masked Ball, Professor Trewlaney disappeared, and I’m afraid we haven’t had any word from her. When you came in, I was thinking about the possibility that maybe Voldemort had something to do with it….”

“He would have a perfect reason, after all. He wants to know the prophecy, and he will stop at nothing to hear its exact wording.” Dumbledore said, fiddling absentmindedly with the quill in his hand. When he noticed the frightened expression on Hermione’s face, he shook his head, “Oh, but do not worry…I don’t think he’d be quite so risked as to bring his Death Eaters straight into the Castle to abduct one of the staff, or the students. No, there has to be something we haven’t considered…”

“Professor, maybe—“

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m afraid you really shouldn’t get involved in this. Don’t worry, the Order will find her! You mustn’t get worked up over this, and you most certainly shouldn’t go looking for her.” He said, shaking his head, “it’s not safe, and you in particular must take care of yourself. Voldemort will stop at nothing to kill you, Harry. You must not make things easier for him by putting yourself in danger.”

Harry nodded, gazing absentmindedly at the parchment that lay on Dumbledore’s chair. It was very frayed, and apparently lay unwritten. Dumbledore had probably been trying to write a letter to the Order to let them know about Trewlaney.

A letter? But that’s not safe, is it? They’ve got to have some other method of communication…

Dumbledore’s gaze followed Harry’s, and upon catching sight of what Harry was looking at, he chuckled slightly, “I’m not going to send that by owl, Harry. As you know, the order has other ways to communicate. I use Fawkes to send messages I can’t send by owl.”

“But never mind that. It’s late, don’t you think? We should all go to sleep.” He said in a more light-hearted tone, giving them a smile.

“Yes…” Harry muttered, lost in his thoughts, “Good Night, Professor.” He said, looking up at Dumbledore and nodding. Hermione followed his lead and bid Dumbledore good night as well, frowning, as if she couldn’t believe Harry had gotten up so quickly.

Dumbledore reached for the door swiftly, opening it and ushering them out. Harry would bet anything he wasn’t about to go to sleep at all, but to finish the letter he had been writing. The thought of it made him curious…did Dumbledore know something they didn’t? Was it possible that Voldemort had taken Professor Trewlaney?

Hermione noticed the dark look in Harry’s eyes, but didn’t dare interrupt his thoughts. She was thinking the exact same thing, and the thought worried her. If Voldemort could come in here and snatch Professor Trewlaney so easily, what tells us he couldn’t do the same with Harry?

All the way to the Common Room, they did not speak, but remained in an irritating yet relaxing silence. The same thought went through Harry and Hermione’s heads, and it was very simple, echoing in their minds, making sure none of them could think of anything else:

What could have happened to Professor Trewlaney?

A/N: Awwww….well, I think that’s a sufficiently shippy chapter, don’t you agree? =D

By the way…do you guys think Voldemort would ever refer to someone as ‘Madam’? Or just by their surname? Or perhaps by their first name? He doesn’t really know the person quite well, after all. I just don’t know if ‘Madam’ sounds alright.

7. Haunted

3:00 a.m., Sunday morning, The Riddle House – Main Room, Upstairs

Voldemort read the letter over and over, wondering how in the world that wretched Seer could have found out everything--and by merely looking at a crystal ball!

The only thought that could make him feel more cheerful was that she had seen his ‘final battle’ with Harry Potter. She had supposedly seen him kill the boy after a strenuous battle. But Voldemort had never really believed in ‘seeing the future’. It seemed like a waste of time, finding out the end of one’s story in advance. He believed in preparing for the future; delaying it especially--but seeing it? And he was always told lies from those egoistical Seers…

He had never really had any reason to believe what Seers usually told him. Countless of them had been brought by his Death Eaters in the old days--before the Potter boy ruined everything--and they had always told him he would never be defeated by anyone, that he would conquer against Dumbledore, and that the Wizarding World would be at his feet. Then, when he had entered their minds, he saw it was nothing but lies, or was instead greeted by a foggy memory of a crystal ball, in which he saw a towering figure, and a green light. They assured him this meant he would prevail, but he didn’t believe so. He scoffed at their pitiful efforts and killed them shortly afterwards.

Yet now, he had every bit of proof he needed to believe this woman. If she really saw Severus’ true identity in the crystal ball, then what she mentioned about the outcome of the battle must be true. Voldemort frowned, staring at the fire before him. Could it really be? Could that woman possibly be telling the truth? Could she really have seen what will come to happen?

She must. After all, it was she who made the prophecy about Harry Potter’s birth.

The one I will finally come to hear tonight. He thought, a slow, evil smile spreading through his lips. He stood up and summoned Wormtail to him. A minute later, Wormtail came rushing into the room, panting and sweating profusely. He clutched his left forearm, wincing at the pain he had felt.

“Y-yes, Master?” He sputtered, leaning on the wall as he tried to catch his breath.

Voldemort surveyed him with a look of utter distaste, “Wake her.” he instructed, gesturing to Professor Trewlaney, “I wish to speak to her.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Wormtail said eagerly, walking gingerly towards Trewlaney, pulling out his wand. Voldemort waited impatiently, occasionally throwing dark looks at the letter. When Wormtail casted the awakening charm, the witch opened her eyes with a start, eyes wide, looking at her surroundings anxiously. She looked at Wormtail’s face, lip trembling, and raised her eyebrows. She then frowned, leaning her head back into the wall and talking in a very low voice to herself. After what seemed like a lifetime, she looked at Wormtail again, looking at him with intense dislike.

“Where am I?” She asked, her voice free of the usual airiness. She spoke in a hard, bitter voice, “Who brought me here?”

Wormtail glanced at her, and turned to his Master. That was when Trewlaney saw Voldemort’s towering figure. Her eyes widened once more, her expression of complete horror, and a sharp intake of breath was heard to come from her. She closed her eyes, her mind buzzing with anxious thoughts, Oh, no…no, it can’t be! It is…him. He probably wants to hear the prophecy…and then he’ll kill me, I know he will! And I’m sure I never even sent Albus that letter…he’s completely unaware about Severus.

Speaking of which, I’m sure he was the one that brought me here. Who else, after all? No Death Eater in their right mind would dare enter Hogwarts and snatch a person right from its Grounds…and this one here looks too dim-witted to have succeeded.

Maybe this is just a bad dream…maybe I’ll make up to find that I fell asleep writing Albus’ letter..

Oh, I really wish it were so…

“Where are your manners, Wormtail? Do ask her to come closer…” Voldemort said silkily, eyes narrowed, “She and I are to have a most valuable conversation, and cannot do so if she is halfway around the room.”

“O-of course, My Lord.” Wormtail hastened to obey his orders, ushering Professor Trewlaney closer to where Voldemort stood by the fire. She walked stiffly towards him, attempting to give off an aura of courage, but her eyes gave her true feelings away. They were wide, and fearful, and looked anywhere but Voldemort’s snakelike face. She stopped walking when she was about seven feet away from Voldemort. Wormtail frowned, and gave her a little prod in the back. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms at her chest, “This is as far as I am walking. I think I can manage to speak at this distance.” She snapped at Wormtail. Apparently, her fear of Voldemort did not extend to Wormtail, which wasn’t particularly surprising for either of them.

“Wormtail, come here.” Voldemort said, his mouth curled into a cruel smile. Wormtail stepped slowly towards him, stretching out his left arm. Voldemort smiled even wider, brushing back Wormtail’s sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. He extended one long, bony finger and touched it. Wormtail gasped, wincing and breathing heavily. Voldemort shot him an amused glance, and lifted his finger, “Go nurse Nagini, Wormtail. When they arrive, tell them to come up.” He instructed lazily. Wormtail nodded, and left the room, clutching his left forearm.

Turning to Professor Trewlaney, he said, “Sybil Trewlaney…I’m sure you must already be aware of the reason you are here?” There was a slight hint of scorn in his voice, but Professor Trewlaney did not notice so. Although she was still very afraid of the situation she was in, she was glaring at Voldemort bravely, “Yes, but I am afraid I cannot tell you what you wish to know.” She said, shrugging, “I…I don’t remember it.” If I am going to die now, then I might as well die bravely. There is no way I will let my memory be insulted because I died begging him for mercy.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows, “Indeed? Believe me when I say that soon you will come to find that you can remember it perfectly.” He said softly, yet menacingly.

Trewlaney shook her head, “But it is true! I cannot even remember making the prophecy! I only know of it because…” Her voice suddenly trailed off, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. She seemed to think better of what she was about to say.

“Because…?” Voldemort asked, a hint of annoyance and impatience in his voice.

Trewlaney bit her lower lip, thinking of something to tell him. In the end, she couldn’t think of a good enough lie and settled with, “Because…I was merely told I made it. I was never even told the exact the wording.” She said, looking up into Voldemort’s pitiless scarlet eyes.

There was a short pause, in which Voldemort looked down at the witch in disgust, and then, a slow smile spread out in his face, “You were not merely told about the prophecy. You have heard its wording….in fact, you have seen yourself as you spoke it, have you not?” He said quietly, enjoying the nervousness that seemed to have invaded Professor Trewlaney as he spoke, “You know about the prophecy, because you have seen Dumbledore’s memory of it. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Trewlaney, for he knows…he always knows.”

Professor Trewlaney flinched at the mention of Voldemort’s name, but decided to try once more, “I—I…where do you get such lies? I have seen no such thing!” Professor Trewlaney said in a small, squeaky voice.

Voldemort laughed. It was a cold, mirthless laugh, “Your efforts are in vain, Sibyll. I can always tell when a person is being dishonest in my presence. It is foolish to try to deceive me.”

Trewlaney shook her head, “I will never tell you anything! You can do what you want with me—torture me, kill me—anything, and I will never tell you!” She yelled, surprising herself with her nerve. She was standing in front of the most feared wizard that had ever existed, and instead of falling to her knees and begging for mercy, she was yelling at him. Merlin, I must be losing my mind….

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face, “I am taken aback, Sibyll. I would have thought you knew better than to yell at Lord Voldemort, considering your circumstances. Respect is a quality you will have to learn before you die, I’m afraid.”

Professor Trewlaney’s eyes widened, and she paled. He really is going to murder me…Oh, what can I do? What? I hardly think begging will help at this point. She dropped her gaze to the floor again, and then glanced at the door. Escape? No, he’ll have thought of that. But what if—

Suddenly, Professor Trewlaney’s thoughts were interrupted by a piercing pain that spread throughout her body. It invaded her mind, making every single nook and cranny of her body feel the ache. Her fragile bones felt as if they were on fire from the pain, making her fall to her knees first, then on all fours. Her whole body shook and her eyes filled with tears, wanting the pain to stop. Cruel laughter rang in her ears, and she felt as if she was going to go mad between the pain and the laughter.

Finally, it stopped. Her body stopped hurting, and her head stopped pounding. Panting, she attempted to catch her breath, clutching her chest. Her hands were shaking and her legs felt numb. She wiped the cold sweat off her face and looked up at Voldemort, who was still laughing slightly.

“I take it you learned that particular lesson quickly?” He asked, cruel amusement written all over his voice. His eyes shone with malice as he looked into her terrified face.

She clenched her jaw, willing herself to calm. She was terrified, and felt quite near tears. Trying to catch her breath, she closed her eyes. So much for not begging for mercy…

Voldemort’s smile widened at her reaction. Just then, three people entered the room hesitantly. It was Bellatrix and Lucius. Voldemort turned to them, nodding, “Welcome back, Death Eaters. Consider yourselves gifted out of all of my Death Eaters to be here to witness this. I am about to hear the prophecy made sixteen years ago by Sibyll Trewlaney, who is writhing in pain at my feet right this moment.” He said, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. Lucius and Bellatrix laughed as their gaze traveled over Professor Trewlaney. Her glasses were askew, her hair was half over her face and sticking up in various places, and her clothes were dirty from falling to the floor. Then, they both bowed deeply in front of Voldemort, uttering thank-you’s and promises of eternal faithfulness.

Turning to Professor Trewlaney with a cruel smile on his face, Voldemort raised his wand and waved it over her trembling figure, “Legilimens!” He hissed, and was instantly immersed in her memories. Countless visions of crystal balls flashed before him, tea cups, her lone classroom at the top of the North Tower and a feeling of dread, textbooks, and finally, an image of herself in what appeared to be a Pensieve. Voldemort quickly concentrated on viewing that memory before it faded and was replaced with another one. A younger looking Professor Trewlaney stared back at him. She still dressed the same way, and wore the same glasses as she had on. She spoke in a harsh, hoarse voice:

“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 will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...”

Then, the memory ended, and was replaced by a short boy breaking a pink tea set. Voldemort retreated back into his own mind, releasing her. Trewlaney fell back, unconscious, and he remained still, processing what he had just seen. He had a deep frown on his face, and didn’t seem to acknowledge anyone else’s presence in the room until, hesitantly, Bellatrix spoke, “Master? Did…did you hear it?”

Voldemort’s gaze shot up to meet hers, and he looked quite menacing, “Indeed, I did, Bella.” He hissed quietly. Then he recited the prophecy for them to hear. When he finished, they looked at him, puzzled, and Malfoy said, “’…power the Dark Lord knows not…’? That must be inaccurate, My Lord, what power could exist that you know nothing of?”

“Don’t be silly, that doesn’t mean such a thing.” Bellatrix snapped, “It must mean that the Potter boy has powers that will remain hidden until he chooses to reveal them. But that can’t be right, either, Master. That boy couldn’t even cast a Crutacius! How can he have a hidden force of power?”

“I believe I did not ask for your speculation on the subject. I merely asked you here so that you would hear it beforehand.” Voldemort snapped, and they both fell silent, bowing their heads to the floor like children who had been told off, “Now that you have, I suggest you leave me to dwell on it. Take the woman with you as well and lock her in the basement. Set up a powerful ward on her door and stun her so that she remains unconscious. On your way out, inform Wormtail that he is to check on her every two hours. Now, go.”

“Yes Master.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

Bellatrix strode forward and levitated Professor Trewlaney. She guided her to the door, where Lucius was waiting for her, looking very sullen. When they left, Voldemort warded the door to avoid any further disturbance and sat back down on his chair.

Of all the thoughts that roamed his mind, there was one in particular that stood out clearly, blocking all the others from view. It echoed over and over, leaving him with only doubts and uncertainties:

“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 will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...”

And The Dark Lord did not like to be uncertain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3: 35 a.m., Sunday Morning, The Riddle House - Basement

Bellatrix walked swiftly towards the door of the basement, wrenching it open with al her might. In a low voice, she hissed, “Hurry up and lock her in. I can’t stand to be in her disgraceful company for much longer.”

Lucius laughed quietly, pushing Trewlaney inside and hovering just outside the entrance to the room, “You know, we could try and get something more out of her…I daresay she didn’t tell our Master all he wanted to know.”

Bellatrix shook her head, “Don’t be stupid, Lucius. The Dark Lord can sense lies from even the most skilled Occlumens. I highly doubt this…woman could hide anything from him.” She scoffed, throwing a disgusted look at Professor Trewlaney, who had fallen to the floor and still lay unconscious.

Lucius shrugged, “If you insist so…but you never know. Come on, Bella, it’ll be fun, trying to get her to tell us things…” He said, his eyes glowing manically at the thought of torturing Professor Trewlaney, “We haven’t tortured in—what? A month?”

“No.” Bellatrix said firmly, “If you want to defy our Master when he is in such a towering mood, go right ahead, but I’m most certainly not joining you.” She said, crossing her arms.

“Fine.” Lucius snapped, stunning Trewlaney and closing the door angrily, “So, where are you heading now? Are you going to your house, or…?” he asked casually, eyeing Bellatrix hopefully.

“Obviously, I’m going to the manor, with Rodolphus. He and Rabastan will want to know why the Dark Lord called me back at this hour.” Bellatrix said dismissively, setting up the ward to guard the basement door. She gave Lucius an apologetic look and began to walk back up the stairs.

“Rodolphus…why did you marry that man? I can’t even begin to count all the times he has failed our Master, and how much of a liability he is to us.” Lucius said, hurrying to catch up with her on the stairs.

“Why I married him is none of your concern, Lucius. Do I detect a hint of jealousy there?” Bellatrix said amusedly, a grin spreading through her thin lips.

“Perhaps.” Lucius said, grinning slightly and shrugging. Bellatrix looked at him with a surprised look and laughed, shaking her head, “Lucius, you are a terribly crazed madman, you know that?”

Lucius laughed as they reached the first landing of the house. Passing the dimly lit hall, they entered the vast and empty kitchen, where Wormtail was struggling to feed Nagini without having his hand cut off by the gigantic snake. “Wormtail, you ridiculous prat, what are you doing?” Bellatrix snapped as soon as she caught sight of him.

Wormtail looked up, glaring at her, “Feeding Nagini.” He said stiffly.

“At that pace, you’ll finish next week. Giving her the milk drop by drop isn’t going to get you anywhere. She’ll only get hungrier.” Lucius scoffed, coming to sit down at the table that lay in the far left corner of the room.

“Do you have any suggestions, then? I don’t want to get my hand chopped off by it!”

Bellatrix feigned thinking hard, “Hmmmm….let’s think. What could we do to feed Nagini and avoid losing any of our precious fingers?” She asked, looking at Lucius and raising her eyebrows expectantly, as if she were a teacher who had just asked a question and he were the student.

Lucius followed suit, frowning and pretending to think about the situation, “Perhaps our brilliant friend Wormtail ought to try pouring the milk in a plate for Nagini to drink?”

“Precisely!” Bellatrix said, covering her hand with her mouth and raising her eyebrows as if she were surprised, “It’s that easy! Oh, my!”

Wormtail reddened furiously as he got up and grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets. He placed it on the floor and poured the remainder of the milk in it for Nagini to drink. The snake slithered quickly towards it, hissing delightedly. Giving them both an angry glance, Wormtail nodded, “Well? What were you discussing up there?”

Lucius laughed nastily, “If you want to know so badly, go ask him yourself. I’m sure he’d be delighted at your snooping.”

Wormtail rolled his eyes, “Fine.” He said sulkily.

“But don’t worry, he hasn’t forgotten you. He told us to tell you that you are to check on the woman—Trewlaney, is it?—every two hours. She is stunned—don’t go thinking she is dead—in the basement, and the door is warded.” She said, shrugging, “Anyway, I’ll see you both tomorrow, I presume. I have to go now; it’s getting late.” She sad, flashing a smile in Lucius’ direction and winking. And with a loud crack, she Dissapparated.

Wormtail turned to Lucius, “You know, you two act like ludicrous teenagers when you get together.” He said, snorting, “And that includes the flirting, as well.”

“I’d watch what I say if I were you, Wormtail.” Lucius hissed, standing up and preparing himself to Dissapparate.

“I’m just telling you the truth, Malfoy.”

“Well, keep the truth to yourself, then.”

“You have to learn to admit things.”

“Damn it, Wormtail, you’re looking for trouble…”

“Am I? I’d say you’re the one that’s going to get in trouble…” Wormtail said, smiling maliciously, “If Narcissa found out about all the things that go on…”

Lucius turned to look at him, a very dangerous look in his eyes. He looked positively murderous, “I could do it, you know.” He said quietly, pulling out his wand, “Leave you here to die, bleeding…”

Wormtail paled. He knew very well that if Lucius set his mind to it, he would kill him viciously. Especially when he’d been denied torturing Muggles so often these days. He was longing for someone to torment, and having been present when Lucius tortured, Wormtail knew better than to keep baiting him. He would just have to find something else to amuse him. He dropped his gaze to Nagini, who was hissing and spitting t him expectantly. Apparently, she was still hungry. Wormtail grabbed the milk carton from the table and poured its contents into the plate, ignoring Lucius’ ongoing threats.

“That’s better.” Lucius snapped as Wormtail fed Nagini more milk, “You need to learn to respect your superiors, Wormtail.” He said scornfully, and Dissapparated.

Or I can just hide from them. Wormtail thought, I could escape, and live my life in hiding. I’ll only need somewhere to go.

But where? No one in their right mind would take up the task of nursing a rat that looks like it’s lived more than ten years. Besides, people seem to hate rats.

I can’t possibly stay here, either. The Dark Lord will use me for whatever it is that he needs me, and he’ll murder me. He’ll torture me mercilessly until I die…

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Bellatrix words rang in his ears, “…He told us to tell you that you are to check on the woman—Trewlaney, is it? —every two hours. She is stunned in the basement, and the door is warded.”

What if I left with the woman? She’s sure to have some sort of house…and she could hide me in exchange for getting her safely out!

And if she were to betray me…it would mean trouble for her, too! The Dark lord would not only kill me, but her, as well.

It’s settled then. I’ll help her, and she helps me.

I’ll go get her out later. It’s too early yet…he might see us…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4:36 a.m., Sunday morning, The Riddle House – Stairs leading to the Basement

Wormtail snuck down the stairs to the basement with a feeling of dread, as if he expected Lord Voldemort to be waiting for him at the door to the basement, wand in hand, ready to murder him. He walked slowly and quietly, jumping at every creak of a stair and flinching at every other noise he heard. The stairs were illuminated by the torch at the end, which was propped up halfway up the worn stone walls that could only be seen in that part of the house. The ward that guarded the door to the basement was sufficiently easy to break, and, still feeling as if he were going to drop dead at that very moment, Wormtail opened the door.

Sibyll Trewlaney was sprawled on the floor near the middle of the room. Her hair was covering her face and her gigantic glasses were a few inches away from her limp body. Her clothes were very stained from the filth that lay on the floor and she looked rather weak. The mere sight of her made Wormtail want to reconsider taking her with him. She could be a liability and could cause them to get caught.

But in the end, he decided to follow the plan. He had nothing to lose, anyway. He was going to get killed either way. He only wanted to delay his death.

Pointing his wand at her, he whispered, “Enervate.”

She awoke with a start, jumping up and sitting upright. Wormtail jumped back in surprise, pointing his wand at her in defense. She blinked rapidly, then brought a hand up to her face. Noticing she didn’t have her glasses on, she started running her hands blindly through the floor, looking for them. Wormtail walked slowly towards her, bent over, grabbed her glasses and handed them to her. Her head shot up, and she took them, putting them on. Her eyes narrowed as she took a good look at him.

“I suppose he wants to see me.” She said. It was a statement rather than a question, and her voice had a tone of fear and dread.

Wormtail shook his head hurriedly, “No. I’m here to…ask you a favor.” He said hesitantly, seeing the suspicious look she gave him.

“A favor?” She repeated skeptically, giving him a mistrustful look, “What makes you think I’d even consider helping you?”

“By helping me, you would be escaping this place….and death in the hands of The Dark Lord.” Wormtail said pleadingly. He was feeling a bit desperate now. The look she was giving him clearly told him she didn’t believe one word of what he’d said. Merlin, this is going to be hard…

But when she next spoke, he was taken aback by her tone, “What favor do you have in mind?” She sounded hopeful, and there was a glimmer of optimism in her overlarge eyes.

“Well, first of all, do you have a house?”

She frowned, “Yes, I have one…in Killarney, Ireland. I haven’t been there in seventeen years, however—ever since Albus hired me at Hogwarts. I still own it, but it’s probably very decayed. Why—?”

“It’s perfect, trust me.” Wormtail said dismissively.

“Would you care to explain your brilliant plan to me now?”

Wormtail nodded, “Well, I was hoping you’d do me the favor of letting me stay in your house in exchange for me getting you out of here.”

“For the love of Merlin! Are you insane?” Professor Trewlaney exclaimed, “He’ll—“ She pointed to the ceiling for effect, gesturing madly ”—find us! We’ll be dead in less than a day! I suggest we go to Hogwarts!”

“And you think I’m insane? That was where they got you in the first place! Besides, I’m less than welcome there. The Potter boy wants my head for letting The Dark Lord know about his parents’ whereabouts, and Dumbledore is all for capturing Death Eaters!” Wormtail hissed, “They’ll kill me faster than he will!” He added.

“That’s your problem. I’m going there, and that’s final.”

“Oh, no you won’t! Either you help me, or I let you here to rot!” Wormtail said, pointing his wand straight at her.

Professor Trewlaney glared at him furiously, her eyes narrowed. She crossed her hands at her chest and shrugged, “Fine, I’ll stay.”

“What? You’d rather die? Are you mad?”

“Yes.”

Wormtail quietly worked things in his head, thinking furiously. Finally, he shrugged, “Better yet. I’ll just go to your house in Killarney, free of an old crackpot woman breathing down my neck.”

“Not if I let your Master know…”

Damn. How can she think things so quickly, anyway? Wormtail fell to his knees, “Oh, please…please, just do as I suggested! I don’t want to die, and I daresay you don’t want to die, either! You’re a clever woman, please…what would benefit you more?” he begged, clutching the hem of her robes and sobbing for effect.

Professor Trewlaney sighed. He was right, anyway. It wouldn’t benefit her at all to stay here. Ah, well…the enemy of my enemy is my friend. This one doesn’t seem to care much for his Master, which is clearly of use to me.

One thing is for sure, I have to owl Dumbledore as soon as I get home. And I’ll set wards on the house, make it Unplottable, and I’ll make myself the Secret-Keeper for its location.

Drastic, maybe, but safe.

“Fine. Deal.” She said, stretching out a hand for him to shake. He looked at her, the happiness evident in his face, an he quickly shook her hand, “Excellent, then! Come on, we ought to leave now, before he calls on me to feed Nagini again.” He said delightedly, helping her up.

“Nagini?” Trewlaney repeated absently.

An odd alliance, it was. Sibyll Trewlaney and Peter Pettigrew. Both helping the other with their own interests at heart.

It was a very Slytherin thing to do.

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews! They made me very happy!

Okay, kind of a weird chapter….no H/Hr! =( Oh, you guys must hate me right now for my Trewlaney. She’s very much alike Elinor from ‘Inkheart’ by Cornelia Funke, but I couldn’t help it. We hardly see her when she’s afraid or being brave, and what could I do? She’s practically an OCC. =(

* Winces * Go easy on me, guys…

8. Teary Reproach

8:15 a.m., Sunday morning, Great Hall – Gryffindor Table

“Ron, could you please pass the salt?”

Hermione watched in disappointment as Ron grabbed the saltshaker and tossed it at her without a word, or even a glance. He kept on eating as if no one had spoken to him at all. Harry looked at her from across the table and shook his head slightly, as if to tell her to stop bothering Ron. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head, turning her gaze to Ron.

“Ron, do you honestly think this is the most mature way to handle things? I mean, not talking to each other?” She asked, her voice low and controlled.

Again, Ron didn’t even look at her. He just shrugged and continued with his plate of porridge. His ears, however, were getting steadily redder, as if he were fighting hard to control himself.

Oh, Merlin, this is going to be hard…

Why does he have to act like such a little boy? We all clarified things between the three of us, and we all apologized. I understand that he might not want to talk to us like he used to, but not even glancing up when I ask him for the salt? That’s ridiculous.

And why do I have to be the one to try and get him to his senses, anyway? Harry should try, too. But no, he’s off following Ron’s lead and not talking or looking at him either.

Who ever said that shutting up was the solution, anyway?

Across the table, Harry was again making signs to communicate with her. Right now, he was holding his index finger over his mouth, making the message very clear: Shut up. Hermione narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, huffing angrily and shooting angry glares in both of their directions.

“Stop acting like this! Both of you! It’s preposterous that you expect us to feel well by not even looking at each other.” She hissed, her temper getting the better of her. At this, Harry scowled and got up from the table, “Come on, Hermione. Weren’t we going for a walk now?” He said softly, and without waiting for a response, he walked around the table and grabbed her hand delicately and helped her to her feet. She gave him an exasperated look but nodded, shooting one last look in Ron’s direction. Again, he hadn’t looked up, but she noticed that his spoon was trembling in his hand and his ears were completely red.

Sighing, she turned to Harry, “This is ridiculous, Harry…I can’t believe you’re taking his side in this!” She said in a low voice as they headed for the Entrance Hall.

Harry shook his head yet again, “I’m on your side, Hermione, I just don’t think that it’s the right time to try and establish conversation.” He said, holding her hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Merlin, Hermione, I thought you might have worked it out by now….” Harry said, and ignoring her angry glance, he continued, “He found out about us just yesterday, and you expect him to be okay with everything when it’s only the day after? That’s ridiculous, Hermione.”

Hermione remained silent as they entered the Hogwarts grounds. The labyrinth of rosebushes, benches and fountains that had been there only last night had already vanished, leaving the grounds spotless and free to roam leisurely. They walked in silence for the first few steps, until Hermione spoke again, “Okay, I understand what you mean, but he didn’t even look at me when I asked for the salt! Harry, you cannot possibly tell me that’s not exaggerating things.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head, “That’s just how he handles things, Hermione. Let him be, will you? Look, let’s concentrate on us; on our lives. We’re together now! There’s nothing that can pull us apart. Shouldn’t we be celebrating that?” He said, kissing her lips softly before sitting down below the shade of a gigantic Willow tree halfway along the grounds.

Hermione smiled, “Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just….” Her voice trailed off and her smile faltered slightly. Biting her lip, she sat down beside Harry, ignoring his puzzled stare.

“What? What’s wrong?” Harry asked, brushing away a strand of her hair so that he could see her clearly. She shook her head and covered her face with her hand to block him from view. He could hear her breath coming in soft gasps, as if she were sobbing quietly. Alarmed, he put his arms around her, “It’s okay…everything’s fine….” He said softly in an attempt to soothe her, but his words only made her cry with more force and shake violently from her sobs.

“Hermione…come on…please, don’t cry…” Harry said as a lump formed in his throat. He patted her back softly and decided to leave asking her what was wrong until she calmed down.

She pulled away from him after five or six minutes. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying and her nose was also rather reddish. She hastily wiped her tears away and turned to Harry, “I’m sorry. Merlin, I feel like such an idiot, crying like that all of a sudden…” She said with a hollow laugh, “I just…realized that…”

Unable to speak due to the lump that had risen in his throat, Harry nodded as a signal for her to continue. She licked her lips, “Well, I realized that—oh, Harry, I hate to have to tell you this in such a way, but—I realized that, there are still things…terrible things…that can pull us apart, Harry. Some are worse than others, yes, but…we’re not safe yet.” Her eyes watered again and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her robes impatiently.

“You mean Voldemort, don’t you?” Harry said, suddenly realizing the cause for her anguish.

“Not only Voldemort—death can also…and there’s my parents, too. I mean, they seem like flies next to Voldemort, but they’re still threats to us. Merlin knows what my mother and father might do to keep us apart.”

“But that’s stupid…why would they want to keep us apart?”

Hermione’s gaze darkened, “My mother…she…thinks that you may get yourself killed with all the Death eaters and stuff going around. She thinks that Ron is a safer choice, and that we would have ‘lovely children together’.” She said, a disgusted look on her face. Harry bit back an urge to curse Hermione’s mother. Her daughter wasn’t even engaged, and she was already thinking about grandchildren? Talk about overeager…and people think teenagers are the ones that rush into things.

Willing himself not to think about little red-headed little girls and boys with bushy hair and large teeth, he took Hermione’s hand into his, “Listen, Hermione…and listen closely, alright?” She nodded and playfully scooted closer to him, “I’m listening.” She whispered, nestling her head on his shoulder. Harry grinned and kissed the top of her head, “Okay…err…right. Hermione, I know that the circumstances our love is being subject to are…well, let’s just say, undesirable. I know that I can’t ask you not to worry about me, or you, or your parents, or death, because it’s only human of you to feel worried for our well-being. I just don’t want you to torment yourself over this. This is my burden—I’m the one that has the weight of every single witch and wizard’s life in my hands, because I’m the one destined to fight Voldemort and actually have a shot at winning—and it makes me feel guilty that you are suffering so much over things that haven’t happened and aren’t even sure to happen. Please…I want you to be happy, Hermione.” He gulped, feeling another lump rising, “If it’s not for your happiness, then…what’s the point?”

“Oh Harry….” Hermione said, several fresh tears welling up in her eyes, “You shouldn’t think like that; there’s loads of other things that you have to fight for.”

Harry snorted, “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” He rolled his eyes, though his eyes still held a playful expression, “I meant that your happiness is my priority. I suppose I still fight for other things…” He said, kissing her lips. Hermione smiled as their lips made contact, running her hand tenderly through his hair. Delicately letting go of Hermione’s hands, Harry moved his hand towards her back, pausing there before moving towards her waist. Hermione’s free hand locked itself around his neck, caressing him softly on his upper back.

After a few minutes, Hermione pulled back, “That certainly pleases me.” She whispered, grinning. Harry raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to say something, but they were interrupted by a small, tawny owl that flew between their faces at that moment. It fluttered between them impatiently, waiting for someone to untie the small envelope attached to it. The envelope had three lines of text briskly written on the outside: Hermione Jane Granger, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The writing was small and loopy, and went on a completely straight line, as if it had been written using a ruler. Hermione stared at it with mingled horror and uncertainty, and her hand hovered over the knot trying the rolled-up envelope to the owl’s tail. Harry glanced at her questioningly before shrugging and untying the knot. The envelope fell on her lap with a soft plop as the owl hooted softly before departing.

“Who is that from?”

Hermione sighed heavily bringing the envelope into her hands and slowly opening it as if it were a bomb. She glanced at the writing on the back and looked at Harry, “My parents.” She said, “Well, my mom. That’s her handwriting.”

“Why would they write to you now? They never write.” Harry said, gritting his teeth. He already knew the answer.

“Harry, they’re my parents. They have all the right to write to me when they want.” Hermione said automatically, though she didn’t believe it, “I suppose….we’ll find out when we read it.” She said, finally ripping the envelope open and pulling the letter out. It was written on fancy lavender stationary in pen. The handwriting again looked brisk; as if it had been written in a hurry (or in this case, rage) and the person writing it hadn’t bothered rereading what they had written.

Hermione smoothed the paper open and read it. Her eyes grew wide as mingled fury, fear, and dawning comprehension cursed through her body, and her hands shook violently. Angry tears welled up in her eyes, and her lips were very thin. Her face reddened, giving her the appearance that steam was about to burst out of her in rage. When she finished, she stood bolt upright, narrowing her eyes, and made a run for the Castle.

Harry sat, puzzled, as Hermione ran towards the Castle, clutching the letter from her mother in her hand. When the shock seemed to lessen, he realized that he was still sitting watching Hermione sprint away from him instead of chasing after her to dissuade her from doing whatever it was that she was about to do.

Standing up, he pursued after her. He considered using the Impediment jinx on her to stop her, but decided against it. She would probably cast a horrible hex on him for doing such a thing.

And Merlin knows an angry Hermione with a wand in hand is scary…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione stormed into the Great Hall, scanning it quickly for a familiar tall red-head. Her eyes were so narrowed they looked like slits in her face, but she finally saw him. He was sitting in the Gryffindor table, talking with a girl with long, dirty-blonde hair and very pale skin. Hermione was overcome with momentary surprise before she began shoving her way towards them.

What the….? Luna Lovegood? Why would he be talking to her?

Oh, never mind that. If he thinks I’m going to keep quiet about this, he’s got another thing coming. Writing to my parents…honestly! Does he have any idea how much trouble that just caused me?

Inconsiderate prat, dumping his problems onto me.

And he acted completely offended by my relationship with Harry. He really looked very upset about it, and when we argued about it, the rage he felt at my actions was very clear. I mean, he led me to believe he was hurt. Merlin, I actually felt sorry for him! And here he is now, with a girl he usually described as ‘mental and off her rocket’ and writing to my parents!

Oh, just wait till I get there…he’ll see.

Several heads turned as they saw Hermione walking swiftly past them. Some people shot disdainful looks at her, laughing, while others glared, shaking their heads. There were many who leaned forward to speak with their friends in low voices, looking at her out of the corner of their eyes. Hermione pretended she didn’t notice them, though she very well had. It was as if everything she had feared would happen was indeed happening. Everyone already knew about her breakup with Ron and her growing relationship with Harry, including her parents. Her face burned from anger and shame as a group of sixth-year Slytherins hissed insults at her. She closed her eyes momentarily, willing herself to calm, ignoring them. When she opened them again, she found that Ron was staring at her, his face reflecting clear uneasiness and his ears very, very red. Luna hadn’t yet noticed her. She was drinking from a goblet and absently patting Ron’s back.

“Ron.” Hermione hissed, “We need to talk, and I mean now.” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, glaring at him with all her might.

Ron fought the involuntary urge to flinch under her piercing glare. He shot Luna a hopeful look, but found her staring avidly at Hermione, frowning slightly as if she were taking in the details of the image before her. Odd girl, Luna Lovegood…odd girl. Feeling hopeless, he looked down at his plate, hoping Hermione might give up.

She didn’t. With an angry huff, she threw what looked like a letter onto his lap. “Read it.” She hissed, “Go on, read it. I’m sure you’ll find it terribly amusing.” Her voice shook slightly at the end, as if she were fighting with herself to contain from yelling. Suddenly, her gaze traveled to Luna. She raised her eyebrows and sighed, “Luna, I’m sorry, but this is a discussion between Ron and I. If you don’t mind, I’d rather you would leave us alone.”

Luna blinked, “What difference will it make? I suppose I could hear you even if I was halfway around the table.” She said, gesturing to the people sitting nearest to them. As Hermione’s gaze traveled to them, they hastily looked down at their plates, books or talking with the person next to them. Luna’s voice was soft, as if she really didn’t mean to irritate Hermione by her comment, but merely inform her of a very obvious detail. With a vaguely thoughtful expression, she looked at Hermione expectantly, blinking once more.

Hermione pursed her lips, “Fine. We’ll leave, then.” She snapped, grabbing Ron’s arm. He let her move him freely, still clutching the letter in his hand. As they stepped out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall, they bumped into Harry, who was looking very flushed and was panting.

“Fi…finally…Herm…why…did you…leave?” He gasped, grabbing hold of his shoulder to support himself.

“Why do you think?”

Harry looked at her helplessly, “The…letter?” He choked, clutching his chest. Hermione merely nodded and crossed her arms yet again, looking pointedly in Ron’s direction. He, however, was staring down at the letter, his eyes moving madly from side to side as he read it. Harry sighed and edged closer to Ron to read the letter.

Needless to say, he forgot all about being short of breath.

Hermione:

Ron Weasley sent me a letter. A very…interesting letter, I might add.

Yes, you should know the reason for which I am writing to you now. However, for your benefit, I shall explain it to you. How, just how, could you have an affair behind Ron’s back? The poor boy must have been devastated! He waited months, saved up enough money for your ring, asked for our permission personally…do you realize how terrible he must have felt when he saw you with Harry Potter?

I would have thought your father and I raised you better than that! How could you do such a disgraceful thing, Hermione? What could have gone through your mind?

But I shouldn’t ask that, should I? You and I both know what it was. That Harry Potter.

Hermione Jane Granger, I simply don’t know what to say to you. After your father and I expressed our concerns about establishing a more-than-friends relationship with that boy, you decide to go out and do exactly what we told you not to! If you believe that by challenging us you will gain something, you are very, very wrong. Your father has decided that he does not want to speak to you, and I would have done the same thing if I didn’t think that you need someone to bring you back to your senses.

I would just like to understand why you did this. Did we not make ourselves clear? Perhaps you thought you were in love with Harry? Being seventeen, I suppose such a mistake is as understandable as it is not excusable. You are young, and you do not know what love really is. However, you should know that love and lust are two very different things. At your age it is easy to confuse lust for love, being so inexperienced in life and choices in general. If you are merely physically attracted to Harry, then you are most certainly not in love, and won’t be able to form a relationship based on such nonsense.

I don’t know what your attraction to Harry is based on. It might be lust, it might be a deep friendship; I don’t know for sure. Only you know that. However, I need to tell you this: At an age as young as yours, one thinks that one is capable of doing anything. Nothing seems too hard or impossible, particularly when one is blinded by love. Hermione, the war of the world you have chosen to live in is unfolding even as I write this (I know, darling, how would I know? Well, I have been corresponding with Dumbledore, and may I say, I do not like what I am reading.) Your life, as well as everyone else’s is in grave danger, but do you realize that Harry is in the most mortal peril? If You-Know-Who (I’m sorry, I can’t even write the name...) is after your beloved, then he is obviously the one in the most dangerous conditions. Why should this concern you? Why should you not stay by his side; the noble heroine, never to let her loved one die? (Honestly, need I tell you this, Hermione?) Well, being the woman he loves, you are in the same (if not more) danger than he is! You could be taken hostage, used as bait for him to come rescue you, murdered just to make him come to his death as well!

You might narrow your eyes all you want, but you could never stand a chance against those terrible assassins. They could twist your neck in a heartbeat, Hermione! You are my only daughter, and I am not about to let you die for because of some stupid mistake you made!

He has been chained to this destiny from before this birth, but you have no reason—no excuse—to die along with him or suffer because of his fate.

Please, Hermione. I am your mother…I only want the best for you! Why do you think I insist in warning you about this? To torment you? To make your life miserable? No. Quite the contrary, actually. I want you to avoid making errors and wrong decisions that may permanently affect your life; I want you to live happily. I love you, sweetheart. You are what brings happiness into my life. From the moment you were born, you changed my life forever.

God blessed you with your intelligence, and I know it will help you now when you make your final decision. I hope you take that into account before criticizing my judgment and the things I have taken the liberty of telling you through this letter.

Love,

Your mother

“Well?” Hermione asked as Ron’s gaze traveled to her. He was looking at her with a fearful yet challenging expression, his ears reddened in his strained effort to try to read the emotion on her face. He was pretty sure she was angry—he could tell by just looking at her narrowed eyes, thin lips, and crossed arms—but he thought her voice sounded more sad than angry. Hermione raised her eyebrows as she saw Ron staring avidly at her, deep in thought. With an angry glare at him, she asked, “Would you care to explain why you felt it necessary to explain to my parents about what happened?” Her voice was dangerously low, which served as a warning sign to Ron.

“I…well…I wrote to them because…” Ron said slowly, clearing his throat and looking around to avoid looking into Hermione’s eyes. However, all he saw was Harry, who was moving towards Hermione with an angry look in his direction. Moving his gaze uneasily to the floor, he continued, “Well, they told me—when I asked them for permission to…propose to you—they told me to send them a letter the fastest way possible telling them how it all went.”

“Oh, so you decided to let them know exactly how I said no to you?”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Hermione, and it’s not like that. I didn’t do it to hurt you or anything, and much less to cause you trouble.” Ron said, a sudden anger flaring up inside him, “I just thought that, well, even if what you said wasn’t what they wanted to hear, they should know.”

Harry snorted, “Yeah, Ron, very noble of you. I bet if it had been your parents you would have fought fifty Blast-Ended Screwts before letting your mother know.”

Ron’s ears reddened, “Harry, just stay out of this! This is of no concern to you.” Looking at Hermione, he added, “I’m not sorry for telling them. They would’ve found out anyway, and it’s better they know what’s happening.”

Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation, “Much better, sure, Ron. Now, on top of everything else, I’ve got something more to worry about! My father, as you just read, isn’t talking to me! And he’s a stubborn man—“

“You don’t need to tell me that. I just have to take one look at you and imagine how your family must be!” Ron snapped, unable to control his thoughts from pouring out of his mouth. Oh, great. Now I’ve made things worse…

Hermione reddened, and Harry had to grab her arm to keep her from whipping out her wand, “Listen, Hermione, relax. You know how many times you’ve told me not to let what others say get to me? Well, remember those times, okay? C’mon, we’ve already cleared up anything worth clearing up here. Let it go…” He said soothingly in a low voice as he struggled to restrain her hand from reaching into her pocket. Finally, after several minutes of glaring furiously at Rona and fighting Harry’s grip on her arm, she took a deep breath and calmed down.

“You’re right.” She said pointedly, still throwing Ron glowering looks, “You’re right…he’s not worth my trouble.” Harry smiled weakly at her and nodded, patting her back. Ron tried not to move, watching her closely and hoping Harry would get her away before she found a way grab her wand and hex him in the blink of an eye. Harry glared at Ron, and grabbed Hermione’s hand, trying to steer her away towards the Grounds once more. However, she stood still, looking at Ron with narrowed eyes, deep in thought.

“You know, I would have thought that you would have waited longer before you replaced me.” She said quietly, “You seemed very hurt last night….I didn’t see you as the type that would have a new girlfriend the next morning.” Harry froze, looking from Hermione to Ron nervously.

Ron’s head shot up to meet her at eye level, “I—what?”

Hermione shrugged delicately, “Luna Lovegood, of all people…”

Ron’s jaw dropped in unpleasant surprise and he took a menacing step towards her, “What is wrong with you? What makes you think she and I—that we’re…?” He asked, outraged and disgusted at her ridiculous accusations.

“Ron, she was caressing your back at the Gryffindor table, and you were talking in low voices. I’m not blind; I saw you.”

Ron shook his head, clenching his fists, “She came up to me and asked if I was alright because I wasn’t eating! I never asked her to come talk, and quite honestly, I was distracted by other things to even notice what she was doing.” He snarled through gritted teeth, “But I didn’t think you the jealous type, either. Jumping to weird conclusions on things you saw?” He hissed, raising an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t jealous. If you must know, I was angry because I saw you with her talking, which made me think you were feigning to be angry and offended yesterday.” She snapped, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah? Just because you’re a liar, doesn’t mean everyone else is.” Ron snapped, violently shoving her mother’s letter into her arms and pushing past her in the direction of the Grand Staircase.

After staring angrily in Ron’s direction and toying with the idea of hexing him, Harry turned to Hermione. It was then that he noticed that she appeared to be crying again. She had buried her face in her hands, dropping the letter and was shaking slightly. Slowly, he moved towards her, “It’s alright, Hermione…everything’s alright…don’t worry.” He said in a low voice, patting her back. She looked up at him sadly, her eyes shining with tears. She shook her head, pulling him closer into a hug, “No it’s not…” She mumbled, “Everything’s completely wrong.”

“Hermione--”

“No, Harry, it’s true!” Hermione wailed, her face resting on Harry’s chest as he tried to soothe her, “My father doesn’t want to speak to me, my mother is dead-set on believing that you will die, everyone in the school thinks I’m mad, Ron hates me, and on top of it all, I have homework to worry about! Oh, and there’s also the looming threat of Voldemort and the mystery of Professor Trewlaney’s whereabouts!” Hermione said miserably, clutching Harry’s arms and sobbing, “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it all…” She finished quietly with another sob.

“You can’t do anything about Voldemort.” Harry said automatically, shaking his head slightly, “We talked about this remember? That’s my—“

“But there’s got to be something I can do about everything else! I can’t just let things happen like this, Harry!”

“I see your mother was right on one thing.” Harry said, a grin playing on his lips as he gave her a little squeeze on her sides. With a giggle, she jumped away from him, only to walk towards him again and giving him a quick kiss. With a sideway glance at the people around them, she pulled him close again, playing with his hair. He smiled, his hands on her waist.

With a slight frown, she asked, “But what exactly did you mean by that? You can’t possible be agreeing with her that…that…” Her voice trailed off, and her sudden happiness was replaced by a darkly pensive expression.

“May I see the letter again?”

Hermione nodded, bending over to grab the letter and handing it to him. His eyes moved quickly from side to side as he scanned the letter for the quote he was looking for, and Hermione felt a bit of a grin spreading through her lips as she realized how handsome he seemed to look when he was deep in thought.

“Here it is, I’ll read it for you. ‘At an age as young as yours, one thinks that one is capable of doing anything. Nothing seems too hard or impossible, particularly when one is blinded by love.’” He read in a low voice for her to hear, and when he finished reading he quickly looked up and spoke again, “What I mean is, you can’t expect to be able to do everything. Some things…you just have to let them be.”

He paused, looking at her uncertainly, and she smiled and nodded as a sign for him to continue, “But no matter how things get, I’ll always be here, Hermione. No matter what your mother told you in that letter, I know what we have is truly love, and that’s why I’ll always be at your side, facing the good things as well as the bad things. I love you.” Harry whispered, patting her head and twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers. She looked up at him and gave him a weak smile before standing on tiptoe and kissing him softly, “I really hope you’re right, Harry…I hope we never have to be apart.” She whispered, a tear running down her cheek.

Harry nodded, “We won’t. I promise.” He said, pulling her very close to him and kissing her lips softly. She wrung her arms around his neck, her hands still lost in his hair. Wrapping his arms around her, he lovingly stroked her back, silently vowing to protect her from harm’s way during the War that quickly approached them.

I have to protect her. She’s really all that I have…if she died, what reason would I have to live after the War? I would have defeated Voldemort only to live in more misery.

I will prove her mother wrong. I’ll prove to her that I can protect her daughter better than Ron can, and I’ll prove to her that I’m not destined to die.

I will defeat Voldemort…for Hermione.

A/N: First off, I would like to apologize for the time I took to write this. School’s started and I’m afraid my priorities are my studies, not my writing. I will continue posting, of course, just…not very quickly. =) Also, I would like to apologize for trying to post this chapter in a hurry yesterday, because it resulted in a blank page instead of the chapter. It’s weird, because I checked, if it was visible, and in my computer it was. * Shakes head * Well, anyway, here’s the real chapter….you already know, because you just read it. =D

I hope this chapter wasn’t too bad…I have to admit I don’t like the bit with Ron and Hermione too much. I was looking for something longer to argue about, but I couldn’t find anything, so I left it at that. =( But there’s a lot of H/Hr shippiness here, so I think you’ll like that. =D

Thanks for all your reviews! You rock! =)

9. Disagreements

Chapter Nine: Disagreements

10:08 a.m., Sunday morning, Boat from the Coast Dumfries, Scotland to the Coast of Waterford, Ireland

“Would you care to explain to me why we are taking a boat? I may not be as young as I once was, but I think I can still manage to Apparate.” Sibyll asked irritably as they sat down on a couple of seats on the far back of the boat. They had been traveling for three hours now, and the boat showed no signs of stopping yet. The captain hadn’t been very gracious either when they asked him if he could move the boat faster. He had looked at them with a painfully puzzled expression, faced with a thin woman with odd clothes and large glasses who walked alongside a short, bald man with several nasty scars, he stiffly remarked that the boat only had one speed level and that they ought to go sit down and have some food while they waited.

Wormtail rolled his eyes, “It’s not about you being old or not. The Dark Lord—“ He glanced sideways furtively and shivered, “—he…he can trace his Death Eaters when they use magic…that way he can always be sure of their location and their motives…”

Sibyll snorted, “What rubbish! How could he possibly trace you? And more particularly, tell his select band of Death Eaters from all the other wizards?” She asked, slightly mockingly to hide her true interest on the subject.

Wormtail gave her a cold look, then pointed to his left forearm, “You do know that Death Eaters have the Dark Mark imprinted on their skin, don’t you?” He asked in a low voice. Sibyll nodded and he continued, “Right, well, it serves as a connection to him—that’s how he can summon us to him when he needs us by merely touching another Death Eater’s mark. It serves as a method to track us as well, because being embossed into our skin, the Mark becomes part of our bodies. Our blood thumps below it, and our flesh resides under it. When a person casts a spell, their body is filled with magic, and the Mark feels it. And if the Mark feels it, then The Dark Lord feels it as well.”

Sibyll nodded, rather taken aback at his instant response. He spoke fearfully of it, yet in his voice you could notice the awe he felt for such powerful magic. It was as though he wished he could have so much power as well. Sibyll almost snorted aloud again—a ridiculous thing for her to do, really; she hated it when people did that. They sounded like overgrown pigs—at that thought; this little coward, traitor, and pitiful excuse for a man actually thinks he could have that kind of magical ability? He must be joking. Even Albus would have to work hard to cast such a powerful spell, and he is the wizard the Dark Lord fears most!

Unable to resist the temptation to see what he would say, Sibyll asked, “And I bet you wish you could do that, wouldn’t you?” She said it quietly to avoid being overheard, with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

Wormtail met her eyes with a dark look, then turned his gaze to the large flickering light dangling from the ceiling of the boat, swaying slowly, dangerously, from side to side. He stared at it for a long time, his eyes moving at the same rhythm as it, ignoring Sibyll’s question. She watched in silent amusement as he avoided speaking about something he knew he craved beyond anything else. By his reaction, and the way he spoke of power, she could easily tell this man wasn’t about love and friendships. He certainly wasn’t about courage, either. A bad combination, really…how could he ever aspire to become a powerful wizard if he kept running after someone for protection and letting others trample over him?

Knowing that he would never open up if she didn’t pry a little more, she continued, “After all, you could have everyone’s respect easily…you wouldn’t have anyone show you disdain or insolence.” She said with a slight smirk.

Wormtail glared at her, “Everybody has something they want beyond anything else. So what if what I want is a little beyond my reach? I’m still allowed to want it—and work for it.”

At this, Sibyll raised both her eyebrows, “If, of course, your idea of working for what you want is running to the aid of a crazed, egoistical wizard who will probably end up killing you in order to obtain what he wants for himself. He doesn’t care about you or his other lovely little followers, you know. He would not hesitate to kill you for the slightest reason whatsoever, and he enjoys your suffering. Tell me, what kind of a role model is that?” She said heatedly, unable to keep her personal beliefs about the Dark Lord out of the conversation.

“Crazed, egoistical wizard, eh? Why don’t you tell him exactly what you think of him? He’d be glad to know, I’m sure.” Wormtail spat, ignoring her question again.

For the first time since she had been tortured by Voldemort, Sibyll felt a wave of fear spread through her body, “I’m sure you can relate.” She said slowly, breathing heavily to relax herself again, “I hardly doubt, after all, that you think him your most trusted ally, or your most faithful mentor, and yet that doesn’t keep you from almost wanting to die from the fear whenever you’re around him. Sometimes even when you’re not you shiver at his mention!” She said, “The disdain I feel for him sometimes doesn’t necessarily mean I do not fear him. If anything, sometimes it is a way to cover up my fear.”

Again, Wormtail had to consider his words carefully before speaking, “I could never show scorn towards the Dark Lord. I have been around one too many times when he has tortured people to death, or when he has had Muggles left in agony after…” He shook his head, shivering, “You can’t possibly be suggesting I stand up to him. He’ll kill me. That’s the reason why I’m on this boat, remember?”

“Running away won’t solve anything.”

“Then why did you?”

Sibyll’s gaze darkened considerably, “How do you even know about that? Don’t tell me my letter went around the filthy hands of you Death Eaters as well as his!” She hissed, instantly regretting being cruel to him. They were getting somewhere—finally getting him to talk—and she just went and lost her temper like that. Why was she so upset, anyway? The letter wasn’t all that important…

Not all that important? Merlin, thanks to it I was almost killed today! It obviously had two things of interest to The Dark Lord: My discovery of Severus’ identity, and my vision of the Final Battle.

Then again, it might have saved my life. If I hadn’t discovered both those things, he would have disposed of me right after he heard the prophecy.

Either way I was about to share the same fate…and then this one showed up and saved my life—momentarily, that is, and Merlin forbid he did it out of care for me…if it hadn’t been for that wretched house of mine in Killarney, he would have left me to die.

Again, something that could have signified my death saved my life.

This is getting all too odd…so many causalities and slim escapes happening…it can’t mean anything good.

The worst is probably to come….

Wormtail frowned as her expression went from rage, to dark pensiveness, only to leave her with a slightly miserable look in her eye. This was why he had never been particularly interested in love. It was so hard to understand what others were thinking—especially in witches. They could be ecstatically happy one moment, and then the next they were trying to slit your throat, only to dramatically shed tears while they uttered apologies for their behavior. It was rather disturbing.

Of course, he’d never been the target for such affections. It had always been Sirius and James who got all the attention from the girls at Hogwarts, and so Peter began spending more time after hours in the Restricted Section of the Library. Once they’d caught him looking up dark curses. They’d laughed heartily, asking him why in the world he would be reading up extra curses when they could very well teach him a few.

- FLASHBACK -

“If you’re looking to become a Death Eater, though, Wormtail, you’d best get your dueling skills up first I doubt the dreaded Dark Lord would accept duelers with the grace of an elephant.” Sirius said, smirking.

“You might want to ask Snivellus for some help, though. We don’t associate with Death Eaters, after all.” James said with fake snobbishness, pretending to look down at Wormtail with disgust.

Wormtail shook his head, reddening slightly in embarrassment and from the effort of looking for an excuse for his readings, “No, no, it’s not any of that! I just…I just wanted to learn to defend myself—“

“Then just ask us.”

“You would’ve laughed and forgotten all about it in a minute!” Wormtail muttered dully with a small roll of his eyes and a childish pout.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Sirius said, his laugh sounding very much like a bark. Wormtail never really understood why, but he concluded that it was probably from spending so much time as a dog. They did, after all, run around with Moony when he became a werewolf, and Sirius was known for taking off in nighttime strolls alone from time to time.

“Anyway…come on, Wormtail, we were going to go play a prank on the Slytherins. You’d be perfect for sneaking in, being so small.” James said, beckoning him over. Wormtail followed reluctantly, and he watched as Sirius waved his wand at the pile of books Wormtail had been using, making them go back to their corresponding place on the bookshelves. James quickly draped his Invisibility cloak over the three of them (Moony had crossly declined James’ offer to come along), “Don’t want to be seen now do we?” he said, grinning. Turning to Wormtail, he smirked, “Unless you learned any invisibility spells we ought to know about?”

- END FLASHBACK -

Wormtail’s rambling memories were interrupted by Sibyll’s irritated voice, “Are you going to keep ignoring me all day? If you will, I might as well go back to that Master of yours, where people at least pay me attention when I talk!” She snapped, knowing very well that what she was saying was pure and utter nonsense. Here and there, she would be considered a crazy, unhinged and slightly eccentric Seer.

Wormtail frowned, “What?” He said absently, blinking.

Sibyll’s nostrils flared, “Fine, we won’t talk at all. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.” She snapped, glaring at him and looking away angrily.

“What are you on about? You haven’t asked me anything!” Wormtail said, throwing his arms up in the air exasperatedly. Sibyll pointedly ignored him, pursing his lips and looking out the window and at the sea.

“Oh, come on, Sibyll. Just ask me again. I’m listening.”

Sibyll’s eyes shot up to meet his with a hateful glare. Narrowing her eyes, she hissed, “I forbid you to call me Sibyll. You don’t know me at all, and we aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” She crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows at his scowl.

“Fine. I will continue avoiding the use of your name. I was just trying to be friendly. We’ll never get anywhere if we don’t sort out our differences.” He said, pouting slightly.

Sibyll rolled her eyes, “Oh, don’t you give me that. You don’t care about me at all, or our differences. All you’re worried about is that I might get sick and tired of your pathetic attitude and go back to Dumbledore, perhaps accidentally letting slip your location.” She sneered, huffing loudly, “I’ve never had any real friends, and as a result of that, I’ve learned to tell certain things when people speak to me. Lying would be a perfect example.” She added silkily.

Pettigrew met her eyes slowly, a peculiar expression playing on his face. His unusually watery eyes seemed even more watery by the second, and his mouth kept twitching as if he were about to grin but opposed to it. With an odd sort of sigh, he reached for Sibyll’s hand, taking it in his. With a disgusted look at him, she yanked it away, her eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“Please…I n-need you. You are my only hope of survival now…” He whimpered, moving his arm to hide his face from view, “If we continue bickering this way….it might come to the point until we can’t even stand each other—“

“Pardon, but who says it already hasn’t come to that point?” Sibyll interrupted, scrambling in her seat to stay the farther away possible from Wormtail.

“No! No, please! Honestly, we’ve only known each other for a few hours…” He sobbed, “You can’t be sick of me already! Please…we need each other to stay alive…you can’t be so crazy as to let yourself die.”

“I don’t need you. I needed you. Now that I’m out, how does your company benefit me?” Sibyll said, frowning and giving him a sour look, “You can hardly protect me, I daresay…you barely know your way around…you can’t do any magic…really, if I wanted to, I could just Apparate out of here and leave you alone.” She finished, and shrugged at his desperate sob, “It’s the truth, and you very well know it. Now, I won’t leave you alone, but you have to promise to stop acting so…inexplicably and disturbingly odd.” She said, the barest trace of a smile crossing her lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wormtail asked indignantly, glaring at her.

Sibyll raised an eyebrow, “Shall I give you an example? Right now, you were suddenly near tears over the most idiotic thing—and clutching my hand, for Merlin’s sake!” She said, widening her eyes and shaking her head, “Honestly, that is just… bizarre.”

“Grabbing your hand?”

Rolling her eyes, she snapped, “No, you idiot—I mean those changes of moods you get. They are very uncanny.” Her words were rather harsh, but her tone was airy, as if she was just having a normal discussion. She seemed to be in a very good mood all of a sudden, “But now that you mention it, don’t hold my hand either. It’s uncomfortable. You are still a very strange person to me, after all.”

Wormtail shrugged, “There is nothing that would make me want to hold your hand, anyway. You aren’t exactly the most normal person either, you know.”

“Fair enough.” She said shrugging, “However…I would greatly appreciate if you could do me a favor.”

“Name your terms, I guess.”

“Well, I would feel much more relieved if…well, if I could…contact Albus.” She said tentatively, “Now, I could do this without asking—and I was certainly going to, mind you—but since we’re trying to be friends…”

“No! No, how could you even consider that?” Wormtail hissed, his eyes growing wide as he shook his head vehemently, “He’ll send me to Azkaban—no, worse, he’ll send me back! I’ll die!”

“Can’t you try, just for one, to stand up for yourself? I’m sure if you talked it out—“

“No! I have no intentions of going back crawling to his side! I can safely say I’m on nobody’s side from now on. It’s safer that way! My alliance with you never meant—and never will—that I decided to join Dumbledore’s side. Never.”

“You disgusting coward! You will die anyway! There is no set fate for anyone in this War. That means anyone can die, no matter who’s side they’re on or not. Your Death Eater friends will pursue you for deserting them, and Dumbledore’s followers will too for turning on them. You should at least die bravely, giving a good fight and showing no fear!”

“I completely disagree. I rather die quickly and without a struggle.”

Disgusted and exasperated, Sibyll stood. Her eyes were hard and cold, and her nostrils were flared, “You are an insult to the Wizarding Community. Merlin, I never thought I’d meet someone so disgraceful in my life! Coward, traitor, liar—what else are you?” She asked, throwing her hands up in the air and looking at him incredulously, “You will have to do better to gain my trust, and you will never step inside my house without my trust.” She said coldly, turning away from him. With a look back, she whispered, “You ought to be ashamed.” Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. There was a loud crack, and she disappeared, leaving Wormtail alone on the boat, staring at the spot where she had been.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2: 46 p.m., Sunday afternoon, Gryffindor Common Room

Hermione leafed her book slowly, reading every single word carefully, so as to take in everything the book had to offer—and to distract herself from her pounding headache. Her discussion with Ron had been invading her thoughts all morning, making her feel depressed and teary. She had spent about an hour with Harry before he left for the Quidditch Pitch. She suspected he too needed a break from everything that had happened, and so didn’t object. In fact, she encouraged it. While they had been together, they had kissed and cuddled softly, sitting on the steps of the Grand Staircase. Holding each other, they were both completely lost in worried thoughts and hadn’t been able to utter a word. They did not speak, longing for the other’s reassurance and care but unable to ask for it. It was horrible to have him so close by and yet, to be trapped in silence, neither sending nor receiving any reassurances.

And she needed him. She needed him to tickle her, making her laugh. She needed him to speak, to drive her away from all her thoughts, to mesmerize her with the sound of his voice as he said her name. She needed him to hold her and caress her back, to run his hands through her hair delicately, to make her go crazy with the thought of kissing him…

Merlin, I desperately need to get a grip. It’s only been, what, four hours? This is insane!

Oh, but I can’t stand it. I can’t stand going through all this and not having him around to make it all feel better. Didn’t ha just promise me that he’d always be there for me?

And where is he, anyway? He couldn’t possibly have been playing Quidditch this long… those brooms are horribly uncomfortable, and the sun is blazing! He’ll look like some sort of under-cooked shrimp when he gets back—completely red.

With a shake of her head, she snuggled in the couch, tucking her feet under her and spreading the book on her lap to read more comfortably. Sighing, she turned the page, forgetting her plan to concentrate on the words and skipping a few dozen paragraphs. She had turned quite a few pages more before half the members of the Quidditch team filed in, among them Ron. Craning her neck, she searched for Harry, but was disappointed to see that he had apparently lingered in the Quidditch Pitch. With an angry huff, she closed her book, which emitted a loud snap. She leaned back, using her arm as a pillow and closing her eyes. She wished she could just will all the pain and all her worries away, or maybe just forget about everything.

She wished she could just be happy.

Opening her eyes, she saw Ron sitting on a table across from her, writing on a piece of parchment. Inevitably, the memory of her mother’s letter flooded over her, and before she could stop herself, she was on her feet and walking over to him. She paused beside his table, clearing her throat to announce her presence. He glanced up at her, scowled, and returned to the parchment. Huffing loudly, Hermione sat down on the seat across from him. Leaning forward, she hissed, “Writing another complaint letter to my parents, are you? Going to get them to tell me off for snapping at you today?”

Ron’s brow furrowed slightly, and his ears reddened, but other than that, he showed no signs of hearing what Hermione had said. He merely continued on writing, ignoring Hermione’s bait. She was looking for an argument on purpose, and he knew it. She’s probably annoyed that Harry still hasn’t come back from Quidditch and now she wants to take it out on me. Harry had been flying for hours now, and he showed no signs of wanting to stop. He looked stressed and worried, and those were both things he could easily forget by flying.

Hermione crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, surprised at Ron’s controlled reaction. He didn’t even redden that much, which was an improvement. However, she wasn’t giving up that easy. For some reason, she felt angry, and there was no one else that would love to argue with her more than Ron, “So you’re still going through with this ‘ignoring Hermione’ technique? Honestly, what do you expect to gain from that?”

“Peace, maybe?” Ron grunted, giving her a curt nod. Let her think she’d finally won and made him talk. As long as she desisted of the idea of talking to him after this, he would be happy.

Hermione’s eyes danced, “Peace? You’ll never make peace between us by setting a silent treatment, Ron.”

Ron shrugged, “I consider peace to be the absence of arguments, Hermione, and that is something that can easily be gained by not communicating.” He said as he continued to trace his quill on the parchment.

“You will only be harboring more and more tension inside yourself and between us. If we could just talk it out—“

“We already talked it out. There’s nothing more we can discuss.” Ron interrupted, shaking his head, “You can’t expect me to be okay with what you and Harry did to me, Hermione, and much less if it’s merely a day after. Things just don’t work like that.” He finished heatedly, tightening his grip on the quill.

“But—“

“No! It’s just not like that, Hermione! You were supposed to be my girlfriend—and maybe even more—and he was supposed to be my best friend. Damn, the things you did to me…friends and girlfriends don’t do that. And that hurts, Hermione, it really does, so I’d just appreciate it if you’d get out of my sight before things get worse.” Ron snapped, his voice growing steadily louder and more forced as he spoke.

Hermione stood, crossing her arms, “Fine, then. I won’t speak to you anymore. But you should just know, Ron, that what happened in the last few days would have happened later on anyway. There was just no changing that. Better it happened now, when things hadn’t gotten serious between us, than later.” She said quietly, unsure whether she regretted talking or him or not.

“Not gotten serious? Are you mad? I was going to propose to you, Hermione! Propose to you to marry me!” Ron bellowed, standing up and knocking his chair backwards, “Merlin, if you don’t think that’s serious, then I really don’t know what the heck to think of you.” He hissed, glaring at her and at the people who had interestedly turned to see them argue.

“I do think marriage is serious, Ron. I just meant that we weren’t engaged, or married when things happened. It’s better that way.”

“It’s not better any way.” Ron hissed, shaking his head, “Don’t you realize that? Can’t you just stop and think for a second, how it might feel to be in my position? What if Harry were to cheat on you with someone else? How would you feel then, if he kept rubbing it in your face?” He said viciously, enjoying the way her face went from amused calm to fiery rage.

“Harry would never do that. He loves me, Ron. Loves me. He would never do something so incredibly low and ridiculous—“

“Meaning you are low and ridiculous, because you did that to me.”

Hermione sighed. Where in the world had she gotten the idea that arguing with Ron would make her feel any better? If anything, it was because of their arguments that she was feeling so horrible, “No, I am not! Stop insulting me, Ron! It’s not my fault—“

“See, that’s the thing, Hermione, it is your fault. And that means I’m allowed to blame you.”

“Ron—“

“Hermione? What’s going on?” Said a voice behind them. Apparently, Harry had entered the Common Room while they were arguing, and being so caught up, none of them noticed.

Hermione shot Ron one last glowering look, and she turned to Harry, “No, it’s nothing Harry. Everything’s fine.”

Harry gave Ron a questioning look, who shrugged, “There’s no problem as long as she doesn’t keep looking for them.” He said, glaring at Hermione and pulling his chair up to sit down at the table to continue writing. Harry shot Hermione a pensive look, and beckoned her over to the portrait hole. Silently, she exited and waited for him outside. He quickly came after her, and crossed his arms, “What was that really about?” He asked, frowning.

“Nothing, Harry. Nothing’s wrong, I told you.”

“Don’t lie to me! You two were arguing again, now, why were you fighting?”

“We weren’t!” Hermione hissed, crossing her arms as well.

“Yes you were, and I can safely assume it was because of your continued attempts to talk to that git!” Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes and taking a small, rather menacing step closer to Hermione. She bit her lip, seemed to think the situation through, and spoke, “Fine. If you so dearly want to know, fine. I was waiting for you to get back, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything because I was worried. Then, Ron and some other people from the Quidditch team come in, and he starts writing on a piece of parchment. I remembered my mother’s letter and before I knew it, I was on my feet and baiting the stupid git to argue with me.” She said it all in a very rushed manner, taking a small step backwards from Harry, who seemed to become more annoyed by every word.

Narrowing his eyes, he hissed, “What is it with you? Now that you don’t have to talk to him at all, you’re more interested in arguing with him and making your life even more miserable! Hasn’t he caused you enough trouble yet? Do you want him to break us up, too?”

Hermione stomped her foot, glaring at Harry, “It’s my problem if I talk to him or not. I just feel that we’ve been friends for too long to let it all be destroyed so quickly, at such a crucial time in our lives!” She snarled, shaking her head.

Harry gaped at her, “What, you’d rather sacrifice our love for his friendship? ‘Cause if you do, it’s better that you tell me now, before you two start having some secret friendship behind my back.”

Hermione’s nostrils flared, “Oh, so now you’re never going to trust me because of what I did with you? You’re going to hold it over my head forever, are you? Well, let me tell you something, Harry, our relationship will never last if we can’t trust each other!” She felt very near tears now, and yet her rage was bigger than her sadness. Later she would regret arguing with both of them, but she was more annoyed at Harry’s reaction.

“How can I trust you if whenever I turn around, you go crazy and look for arguments with him?” Harry snapped, shaking his head and taking another step towards her.

“If you love me, that shouldn’t be too hard!”

Harry raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione cut him off, “You know what, Harry? You figure it out. I’m just disappointed that you claim to love me and stay by my side forever when you don’t even trust me.” Her voice was shaky now, and tears were spilling out of her eyes. With a last hurt look at Harry, she shoved past him towards and bolted in the direction towards the exit to the floor.

Harry kicked the wall angrily. Why did she have to be so unreasonable, anyway? It’s natural for me to be worried about her, and it’s not a big deal to ask about her argument with Ron.

And, honestly, trying to talk to him? It’s idiotic—how can she expect him to talk to her like nothing’s happened? You’d think she’d have figured it out by now…

But fine, if she doesn’t want to talk to me, I won’t talk to her. She’s the one being stubborn here, trying to force Ron into talking to her. If anyone should be sorry, it’s her.

The only thing I’m sorry about is that she’s got to go to a detention in such a state.

Merlin…have mercy on Professor McGonagall.

A/N: Again, I leave the shippers in need of romance. =D Ah, well, hang on till the next chapter.

Well, I think this one turned out fine. Rather late, yes, but I already told you all why. School sucks. =(

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it! Feel free to leave a review, too, mind. Can you believe I almost have ten chapters? (To me, that means a lot…) w00t!

10. Dream

Chapter Ten: Dream

3:02 p.m., Sunday afternoon, Hogwarts corridors

Hermione stormed off, vaguely appalled at her own ridiculous actions just a few moments ago. What in the world was she thinking? After thinking about what had happened and replaying both arguments in her mind, she realized she’d been acting completely mental. First, seeking out an argument with Ron for no reason except annoying him more than she was, and then, throwing Harry the most ridiculous excuse for it, and running away like a tearful little girl without even bothering to apologize.

“Argh…” Hermione murmured, cringing at the memory, “’If you love me, that shouldn’t be too hard’? That’s ridiculous, even when I’m angry, I should know better than to say something so stupid. Merlin, of course he has a reason to try and pry a little. Constantly watching Ron and I arguing isn’t exactly reassuring. For all he knows, Ron might be planning some ridiculously drastic way of ‘getting me back’ or even wooing me back to his side….” She snorted, “Even though I’d say Ron’s probably closer to killing me rather than loving me…” The thought brought a dark look of pensiveness to her face as she wondered whether Ron really could be pondering on such a thing.

She walked aimlessly around the Castle, ignoring the sneering looks the Slytherins gave her as she passed a cluster of them around the fourth floor. Somehow, she didn’t really care about them as much as she had a few days ago. Now that everything was out in the open, she had other things to worry about. It was, after all, only obvious that the school would find out. Harry was constantly the object of taunts, admiration, amazement, fear, gossip, and threats from more than half of the students at Hogwarts. It would be ridiculous to be his girlfriend and expect keep it a secret from everybody.

She felt rather vain for caring about what they thought, even if that had been in the past. They were meaningless in her life, after all. They’ll never really be the kind of friends I… they most certainly will never be an encouraging family who…

Oh, no…

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks as she realized how…empty her life seemed now in a way. Really, she loved Harry and she would do the impossible for him, but…she still needed her family and friends. It was they who would be there for her when she had a serious row with Harry, or when she just couldn’t talk to him about something. With a disbelieving shake of her head, she crossed her arms across her chest, dwelling on that.

I can’t believe this.

I’ve chased away my family and one of my best friends. My mom and dad hate me because they think I’m lusting after Harry and because they’ve always liked Ron better—at least as a husband for me.

And Ron…I suppose I shouldn’t even explain that one.

Merlin, but this is insane…I never thought…I never realized this might happen. I never stopped to think about this—being completely alone except for Harry. I do love him, but I can’t possibly spend every moment with him for the rest of my life!

That sounds disgustingly selfish, though…

No, it doesn’t.

Yes, it does.

Fine, I’ll try and…calm mom down. She had probably just read Ron’s letter before writing to me, so the shock of it all was probably still fresh. Maybe, just maybe, all that she said was a product of her immediate reaction—rage, disbelief, outrage—when she read Ron’s letter. Maybe she’ll reply to me, apologizing for her harsh words.

Yeah, right, and maybe Snape will show up tomorrow for class wearing pink robes.

With a light chuckle that relaxed her tense frame considerably, she continued walking until she reached the first floor. With a groan, she remembered her detention and lazily reached for her wristwatch inside her pocket. With a yelp, she realized she was an hour late. Professor McGonagall had, after all, approached them early during breakfast today—before her argument with Ron over the salt—and strictly informed them that they were to report to her office at one in the afternoon. Pocketing her watch once more, she made a brisk walk towards the marble staircase, and broke into a run halfway through it. Running through the passageway at breakneck speed, she skidded to a halt just in time for her to gain her composure and enter Professor McGonagall’s office in elegant strides.

However, as she tried to drown her noisy attempts at returning her breathing to normal, she heard loud, echoing, and apparently very frantic footsteps behind her. Clutching her chest, she turned, only to see Ron dashing towards her at an alarming speed.

“Ron, watch ou--!”

Unfortunately, the marble floor was very slippery, making it hard to successfully stop after having been running at such a startling rate. To her dismay, Ron also noticed her too late, which made him collide heavily with her, which threw them both to the floor. Hermione let out a gasp of excruciating pain and utter surprise. She felt her breath leave her for a few terrible moments as she squirmed beneath Ron, gasping for air. He cursed madly, his elbow digging into her stomach as the pain from his knee spread through his whole leg.

Gasping, she managed to choke out a few words, “R—Ron! I Can…t b—breathe!” Her arms were unable to push him off, as they were pinned over her chest beneath his weight. She tried to move her legs as well, but the only thing she could do was hit him, and he seemed to be in enough pain already.

Just as she thought she would die asphyxiated beneath him, he gasped and quickly rolled off her, apologizing fervently between various curses. Hermione merely enjoyed the nice feeling she got when she could breathe fresh air again—until her vision began to blur. Blinking, she hoisted herself to her feet, holding onto the wall for support as she swayed dangerously to the side.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—Hermione, are you okay?” Ron asked suddenly, bringing himself to his feet as well and wincing as his injured knee supported his body weight. He gave her a puzzled, yet worried look and took a small step towards her.

Hermione shook her head slightly, which only intensified the dizzy feeling she had. Still swaying, she tried to bring her vision back to focus as she took a step towards McGonagall’s door. Her hand on the doorknob, she suddenly couldn’t see anything. Terrified, she took a step backwards and stumbled into Ron’s arms. He quickly managed to hold her successfully, but she still tried to free herself.

“L—let me go…I’m fi…fine…” She mumbled absently.

“I can’t, Hermione, you’re not well…” Ron said in a shaky voice, patting her head in an attempt to soothe her. Meanwhile, Hermione felt her consciousness slipping away from her as her vision kept coming and going. She felt an admirable amount of sleepiness spreading through her, which made her eyelids feel heavy and gave her an overwhelming urge to close her eyes.

Noticing her sudden calmness, Ron jerked madly, and appeared to be fumbling through his robes. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that she really wasn’t well, and that Ron was desperately trying to keep her alive—or awake, anyway. Then, she felt Ron shifting her around in his arms, only to hastily drag her towards the marble staircase again. His knees almost buckled, threatening to give into the pain, so that he had to hold onto the wall for support again. This made Hermione’s head roll over to the side, revealing her already closed eyes and half open mouth, on which her lips were dry and rather chapped.

“Dammit! Wake up, Hermione, please!” When she didn’t respond, he cursed again, then hastily tapped her cheeks in an attempt to wake her up, “C’mon…wake up! You’re not supposed to fall asleep after getting hit in the head like that! Wake—“

“Mister Weasley, what in Merlin’s name is going on?” Professor McGonagall’s voice appeared out of nowhere, causing a wave of mingled relief and foreboding to run across Ron’s body. Still struggling with his and Hermione’s combined weight, he turned around to face her. Her eyes widened, “What happened? You were both two hours hate for the Detention, and now I find you here, with an injured student in your arms? You’d best have a good explanation, Weasley, or else things will get very serious indeed.” Her voice shook slightly and her stiff posture made her look more forbidding than ever.

As Ron opened his mouth uncertainly to speak, she shook her head, “Never mind that now, Weasley. She needs to be taken to Poppy immediately.” Briskly, she walked towards them and pointed at Hermione with her wand, “Mobilicorpus.” She muttered, and Hermione’s body was levitated up in the air. Then, with a flick of her wand, the girl vanished.

“Where is she? What did you—?”

“I have sent her to the Hospital Wing, Mr. Weasley. She needs to be attended quickly.” Professor McGonagall said stiffly, “Now, as for you, you may come and wait in the Hospital Wing until Poppy is finished patching her up, if you wish. We shall discuss what, exactly, happened at another time. Now, come along, I need to go to the Hospital Wing as well.”

Ron gave her an uncertain look, “I…I can’t go with her, Professor. I, err, can’t take it.” His voice had the tiniest hint of sullenness and insecurity in it as he scratched his head, unsure of what to say, “I’ll…uh…go tell Harry, though.” He said, turning his gaze to the floor instead. Professor McGonagall eyed him suspiciously, a frown crossing her face, but she nodded, “Very…very well, yes, let Potter know. I trust you shall visit her later, however?” She added, and Ron gave her a small nod. Still frowning, she turned and made a brisk walk towards the marble staircase.

Ron scratched his head, thinking. How, just how, am I going to tell Harry that I accidentally crashed into his girlfriend after hastily running to my Detention (for which I was very late, as was she), causing her to get hit in the head and be taken to the Hospital Wing? Merlin, this is crazy! I can just see his face…

Fantastic, I can just feel his hands closing around my neck…

I’m dead. I am so dead. I hurt his precious Hermione, who is sacred to him. Honestly, I am sorry about it. I never meant to, but I just know he’ll assume I was always planning on doing that as some weird, maniacal revenge plan.

And after trying to kill him, who can blame him for thinking that?

Okay, fine, but the point is, that is NOT true. I wasn’t trying to hurt her, and I’ve never planned on doing so. I mean, she isn’t exactly my cup of tea anymore, not after what she did (Merlin knows I absolutely hate her for that), but I’m not planning on killing her. It’s like trying to kill Harry, only worse…

It’s just…I think, I may still have feelings for her…only, I hate her more because of the whole affair she had with Harry. And, I know I don’t have even the slimmest chance of ever getting her back. Not anymore.

Hmm…this actually feels good—this talking to myself thing. I can really clear things up and kind of, get things off my chest finally. It’s really good when I don’t have any friends, anyway…

Now, to go and meet my death at the hands of Harry…maybe I’ll get a chance to duel him. I could try out the last hex Hermione taught me….that one was pretty good….

Feeling a tad bit more lighthearted than before, Ron set off for the Gryffindor Common Room. Yet, despite his merriness, he still felt a strong feeling of apprehension. Not talking with Harry—that, he could handle (at least with a wand in hand), but more because of his upcoming talk with Hermione. Just a few minutes ago they had been arguing, yelling their heads off at each other, and yet, he had just saved her life right now….in a strange way.

I wonder if she’ll even thank me…

I swear, if we start arguing again, I might just walk right out of the Hospital Wing. I can’t stand yelling at her anymore. I just want peace. What’s done is done; they can’t change that, and I daresay they’re much happier now that they’re together. Me, well, I’ll figure something out to do with my life—alone.

Merlin knows…maybe I’ll find someone else.

With a hollow, gloomy chuckle, he had one last thought before taking the stairs leading to the second floor: I doubt it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4:46 p.m., Sunday afternoon, Road to Killarney, Ireland

Sibyll sighed at her poor ability to go through with things. It always got her into very miserable or annoying situations of which there was no getting out of. And Merlin, how she could have skipped this by simply Apparating to her house like she’d meant to…

After she had Apparated out of the boat, she’d arrived in Waterford, had a sherry or two (she wasn’t exactly sure how many…), and chatted with an old lady at a café near the docks. After about two hours—around midday—she’d started thinking about Wormtail. As she thought about the things she’d said, she thought she had sounded rather cruel, and she felt guilty knowing that the poor man was completely alone in a boat leading to a place he hardly knew. Oh, she’d tried not to care, but it wasn’t of any use. She’s continued thinking and worrying, until she’d even seen visions of him dying from being thrown overboard and eaten by a shark—none of which came true, to her mingled dismay and relief. So, she’d decided to wait for him and give him a second chance.

Oh, how she regretted it…

It wasn’t really him, although he was quite irritating from time to time when he started babbling about idiotic things, clouding her visions and her Inner Eye. This is the reason I always kept to myself at Hogwarts…Merlin, he fogs my Inner Eye and he gives me a headache!

Well, that’s not really his fault, but it’s thanks to him and my ridiculously pitiful nature that I am here on this train—or bus, whatever it’s named.

She seemed to have gone numb from sitting so long in that wretched thing Muggles called ‘cars’, or in this case, ‘annoyingly loud, crowded, and slow double-decker bus’. There were people standing up, holding on to a long pipe that stretched all around the ceiling, except for the part where the stairs began. Luckily, she and Wormtail had been able to snag one of the seats, or else they would have had to take the whole trip standing up. To Sibyll’s disappointment, however, their seat was around the middle of the bus, so that every single conversation going on was audible to them.

There simply weren’t enough good things to outnumber the bad in their current circumstances.

“…So, I was constantly forced to do their bidding. If I didn’t they would torture me, or taunt me to death. I was just crazy for a way to get out secretly, especially after what The Dark Lord told me. And then, you showed up. Merlin you don’t know how eternally grateful I am, Sibyll—“

Sibyll groaned and childishly clapped her hands over her head, “No more, Wormtail, no more! I can’t take it…between you and these annoying Muggles, I think I might die!” She wailed, “My head is throbbing and my Inner Eye is utterly blind! I feel sick, too…Merlin, I think I need another sherry…”

Wormtail snorted, “You’ve had enough, I think. And I’d bet that’s what’s making your head hurt, combined with the bumps from the bus ride.” He said, shaking his head, “Do you have something against Muggles?” He blurted out suddenly.

Sibyll glared at him, “And that amazing question comes from a man who joined the Death Eaters...” She scoffed, massaging her temples and closing her eyes, “I don’t hate them, if that’s what you mean…I just can’t imagine what it would be like living with these buses and boats when there’s Apparition, or Floo powder.”

“No wonder. You keep criticizing everything that has to do with them.”

“At least I don’t torture them to death.”

“I’ve never tortured a single muggle, Sibyll.”

Sibyll raised an eyebrow, “Why do you insist on lying? You’ve tortured many—and you’ve killed your fair share as well.” She hissed, “If you hadn’t, your cronies would have killed you for insulting the Dark ways of The Dark Lord’s faithful followers.” She said, her voice dripping with scorn.

Wormtail sighed, “Fine, I have. But what else could I do, being on the Dark side? You can’t be suggesting I enjoyed it!”

Sibyll pursed her lips and leaned back on the chair, still rubbing her temples, “Please. Do you think this saint show you’re playing here to try and gain my trust is working? I know what you did, Wormtail. You sold your best friend and his wife to the Dark Lord! You led them to their deaths!” She said in a soft whisper that made Wormtail shiver, “It will take more than a few lies and sweet remarks for me to actually trust such a conniving little liar like you.”

Wormtail crossed his arms, “Why can’t you loosen up? I’m trying, Sibyll, I really am, but you seem set on thinking I’m worthless.”

Sibyll sighed, giving Wormtail an exhausted look as she rummaged her pockets, “You consider yourself to be worth anything but disgust? Do analyze the things you have previously done, Wormtail.” She said in a tired voice, “And while you’re at it, leave me alone…I’m going to make myself deaf to any sound until we get there…” She said, turning her back to the crowd on the hallway and furtively pulling out her wand, “When I need to be waken up, point your wand at me and say, Audio. The wand movement is simple; like a jab. Alright?” Wormtail nodded absently and took to gazing outside through the window.

Crouching slightly, Sibyll pointed waved wand at her ears and muttered, “Temporalis Asellus” Instantly, a wonderful silence substituted the raging noise that had been ringing in her ears ever since they’d stepped on the bus. With a sly, happy grin, Sibyll leant back on her chair, looking forward to a nice nap before they arrived.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Dream/Vision, Path to The Valley of the Sage – Both in Sibyll and Hermione’s minds

It was very, very dark. The sky was completely clouded, blocking both the moon and the starts from view—if there were any. There were large, leaf-less trees on either side of the narrow stone path leading into what looked to be a deserted valley, and there was a faint smell of burnt paper in the night air.

Hermione looked around with confused eyes, unsure whether she should follow the path or simply go back. A sharp breeze blew behind her, and the few dry leaves that littered the floor were lifted in the air, following the wind’s trail. It was hard to see them in the dark, but Hermione knew they were there. She heard them speaking to her. They urged her to enter what they called The Valley of the Sage, to step inside, for there was much she needed to know. Hermione shivered from both fear and the cold. Looking around, she saw she was alone except for those voices, and that her surroundings were steadily becoming darker and darker, until the only thing she could see were shadows from the tress, the path, and the leaves. As her anxiety and uncertainty grew, her breathing became very rapid and she could feel her hands shaking.

Taking a step forward, she saw a shadow in the valley, moving—no, pacing. It paced in a large circle, as if it were waiting for her. Then, as she took another step, she thought she heard a timid click-click behind her. She whirled about, but there seemed to be nothing there. Nothing, until…

“Who…who is there?” A soft, airy, and very familiar voice spoke. Whoever owned it seemed to be rather nervous as well, because they had stopped walking altogether, and Hermione thought she heard the distinct sound that is heard when a wand is hastily being grabbed out of a pocket; a sort of swishing sound, which became louder depending on how fast the wand is whipped out.

Hermione frowned. There was no way….no way that old fraud was here in her nightmare, “H-Hermione Granger…” She whispered in a low voice, which had a slight tone of annoyance.

There was a sigh of relief and a low chuckle, “Oh, thank Merlin, it’s just you, Miss Granger…” Sibyll said, regaining the usual airiness she carried in her voice around students, “I am Professor Trewlaney. My dear, do you, by any chance, have a crystal ball?” She knew this sounded stupid and ridiculous to ask, but as this was the attitude she always took with students, she supposed she should act as she always would. At least, until she figured out the real reason as to why they were both in the same dream—and near the Valley of the Sage!

Hermione rolled her eyes, “No, Professor, I don’t have a crystal ball.” She said, turning instead to the valley ahead of her. The shadow still paced…

“There is something troubling you. I can see through your mask of anger and indifference, my dear. You want to enter that Valley…” Sibyll said mistily, waving her arms around for effect. Hermione turned around again and gave her a perplexed look, “Yes, yes…but you must not. There are secrets hidden within that place too terrible for the lively youth to overhear…they are too dark, too definite, for your young soul to know…” This part was, indeed, true. She was still very puzzled as to why this girl had ended up here…usually the people she had met in this place were those who were included in some sort of prophecy or prediction…she had only been here once before, when she predicted the birth of Harry Potter. She had seen him crawling towards the Valley—even then he’d been too curious for his own good, the poor child. Confused, she’d followed him. Inside, Potter’s powers had been revealed to him—and Sibyll. When she woke, she could see the memory clearly, but as the time went by, the details began blurring until she merely remembered that she had been there.

“But…Professor…what am I doing here if I’m not supposed to enter the Valley?” Hermione asked her voice softer than before. Perhaps this woman really knew what she was talking about.

Sibyll nodded, “You are being given a choice, dear child. The choice to obtain knowledge far beyond your dreams—knowledge that could make your existence miserable because of what you are aware of, knowledge that could drive people you love away, and knowledge that could even signify your death.” She said in a low, soft whisper that made a shiver run through both their spines, “Your other choice is to walk away…you can walk away from this dream, through this path, and you will remember nothing whatsoever.”

Hermione shivered as her breath began to quicken once more. Swallowing, she asked, “Then why are you here? What is this place?” Her legs began to feel numb from the cold, and she wrapped her arms around her shoulders to try and keep herself warm.

“This, my dear, is the path to The Valley of the Sage. One who comes here is given the choice of knowledge or ignorance because they are included in a prophecy or prediction of grand importance. Often, the Seer who makes the prediction or prophecy is brought along with that person—“

“Wait, so you made a prophecy about me?”

“Not recently.” Sibyll admitted, “That is what troubles me…”

Hermione frowned, and her face was invaded with a dark expression of pensiveness. There was a long silence in which they both stood, thinking, until Hermione turned on her heel and broke into a swift walk towards the Valley. With a look back, she said, “I’m going.” She whispered, “Nothing will stop me, Professor. If you wish, however, you can come, too. I think we both ought to know…whatever it is we will be told there…” And with that, she continued her walk towards the entrance to the Valley.

Sibyll stood, torn between the intense fear that welled up inside her, curiosity as to what the knowledge might be, and concern for both of their well beings. On one hand, she was faced with her duty as a Seer to predict what would come to happen, and to predict she needed the knowledge that was contained in that Valley. On the other hand, her fear for her sanity, as well as Hermione’s, kept her glued to the spot where she was standing. She had not known many people who had been driven to insanity by the knowledge they had been given, but one or two of them was enough to make her feel a mixture of fear and respect towards the wisdom the Valley gave. And although the world would little mourn her death nor treasure her memories, she knew this child was much more important. She could see the love in her eyes when she looked at Potter, and vise versa. But it was not only the love and care several people felt for her, but her undoubtedly important role in the upcoming War that made her life be treasured more than Sibyll’s.

And thus, her mind buzzing with thoughts and her frame shaking with dread, Sibyll began to walk hesitantly behind Hermione.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Valley of the Sage – Both in Sibyll and Hermione’s minds

The Valley of the Sage was completely deserted except for a strange white light coming from a large candle placed about twenty meters into the valley. There were thousands of leaves moving in a large circle around it, and a strange sound greeted Hermione’s ears as she came in…it sounded like a phoenix song. The sound was completely entrancing, and Hermione’s mind cleared for the first time in quite a long time. It was blissful…Hermione felt as if a huge weight was lifted off her back, like she could finally relax.

Sibyll, however, didn’t feel quite so calm as she hastily stepped inside. Her eyes darted to every corner, taking in each detail of the valley so that when she woke up she could write it all down. Oh, no, this isn’t going to go forgotten… Yet, when she saw the candle in the middle, she did not take in any details; instead, she remembered.

That is the same candle that was placed here when Potter came…

Her mind blurred by her returning memories, she finally caught sight of Hermione. She was smiling, walking towards the candle with her right hand slightly outstretched in front of her. The leaves that had been previously surrounding the candle were now circling her as well, and Sibyll wasn’t sure whether it was the leaves or the situation, but it all looked rather…suspicious. Why was there such a friendly aura?

Hermione walked with such grace that it looked as if she were gliding towards the candle. Her mind felt clear; completely empty of worries, which made her feel rather lightheaded. Either way, she knew the wisdom Professor Trewlaney had spoken of was probably in the candle, so she decided to go examine it. She walked in a way that was most unlike her usual manner, and extended her arm forward. She was almost there…she was so close…

Several things happened as she kneeled beside the candle. Frantic footsteps were heard behind her, and the wind became considerably stronger, putting out the light from the candle. A low rumbling ensued, and from the candle erupted a large shadow, as if a very tall person were standing there. Hermione screamed, scrambling to her feet and running back towards Professor Trewlaney, who had fallen to the floor and was looking at the shadow with a horror-struck expression.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the rumbling stopped and the wind seized. The shadow, however, remained. It spoke in a low, grumbling voice, “Hermione Granger…you have been brought here for reasons unknown to you or the woman beside you. There is a prophecy waiting to creep out of this woman’s lips…a prophecy that will set your fate—forever.” The voice paused, and continued, “It is man’s choices that define his qualities and weaknesses, but it is the most important choices that can decide our fate. You are being given a choice—a choice to absorb this knowledge or ignore it. I ask you, Miss Granger, have you decided?”

Hermione gulped, cleared her throat slightly, and stood. In a small, trembling voice, she asked, “But this knowledge you offer, what will it tell me? Will it…tell me the reason for which I am here? Will it let me know of the future that awaits me?”

“I can only tell you that the choice you make here will reflect itself upon your life. Depending on what you choose, it will be either for the better, or for the bad, and depending on your choice, this woman will voice out the prophecy’s wording.”

Hermione looked at Professor Trewlaney helplessly, expecting nothing from her but still wanting some reassurance or some advice on what she should do. Trewlaney shrugged, shaking her head with an apologetic look, “I don’t know.” She mouthed. Her gaze went from the putout candle to the gigantic shadow, and her eyes were again filled with fear. Hermione turned back to the shadow as well, her eyes traveling along the Valley for a sign.

Her lip trembling, she fell to her knees again. With her gaze still on the floor, she spoke, “I…I don’t know.” She whispered. You are being given a choice, dear child. The choice to obtain knowledge far beyond your dreams—knowledge that could make your existence miserable because of what you are aware of, knowledge that could drive people you love away, and knowledge that could even signify your death. She remembered Professor Trewlaney’s previous words and wondered whether the old fraud was right or not. Should she really accept this knowledge? Would it condemn her—or Harry? At the mention of Harry in her mind, her eyes snapped wide open, and she felt stronger. Oh, the curiosity in her was overpowering, but she wasn’t going to give in. She would not let herself fall as prey to temptation.

Knowledge of things is not always best to have. She told herself, How would I feel if I chose the wisdom that is being offered to me, and later something catastrophic happened because of it?

But knowledge and intelligence have never failed me up to now. Why would they? Facts are always right, and that is what makes them good to know. So, how do I know this information isn’t factual? How do I know it will signify something bad in my life, when every other bit of information I’ve gained has always served its rightful, beneficial, purpose?

And how would I feel if I didn’t choose the information? How do I know which choice is right? For all I know, this information might be the key to defeat Voldemort.

Looking up at the shadow, she cleared her throat yet again, but the words failed her. Again, Harry’s bright green eyes flashed before her, and she could have sworn he was near, for she could feel his touch…she even thought she could smell him…

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she looked again at the shadow, and this time the words came out perfectly, “I choose…I choose to ignore the information.” She stated in a clear voice, bringing herself to her feet.

“Very well.” There was an outbreak of winds again, and the leaves began to fly around both Sibyll and Hermione. The ground shook, causing a rumbling to be heard once more. Hermione and Sibyll fell back, the young lady’s high pitched screaming slowly fading from Sibyll’s ears as they were both returned to their rightful locations. The world twisted itself before each of them before it was brought back into focus, and their hearing abruptly returned to normal.

Miles away from each other, Sibyll Trewlaney and Hermione Granger awoke with a start.

A/N: Aha! How’s that for a cliffie? =D Well, at least I posted, right?

I hope this chapter was to your liking. I quite enjoyed writing it myself. =) I think it’s quite good, but that’s just my opinion. You can, of course, think it was boring/disgustingly angsty/weird/good-but-it-had-a-cliffie-so-it’s-bad/ or whatever else you would like to describe it. Just be sure to word your reviews nicely, as I don’t like receiving flames. =)

Hmm…I don’t think there’s anything else to add, except that I’ll take about the same time writing the next chapter, probably. Oh, yeah…w00t! Ten chapters! Booya! =D

11. I Need You...

Chapter Eleven: I Need You…

7:33 a.m., Monday morning, The Hospital Wing

Hermione blinked rapidly to get the inexplicable tears blurring her vision out of her eyes. She felt very cold, even though she was wrapped in a very thick blanket, and she felt herself trembling slightly. She could make out a tangle of people peering at her from above; one of them very close to her and seemed to be cradling her face, while the others were standing farther away as a woman ushered Harry apart from her and leaned in to examine Hermione’s eyes.

“Hermione!” A voice called. After a few more blinks, Hermione could see very clearly who it was, despite the fact that she had already recognized him from his voice. Hastily pushing herself to a sitting position, she called his name, “Harry!” She breathed, a smile crossing her lips. Ignoring Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall’s stern looks and instructions, Harry swept past them and pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

Hermione fell into Harry’s arms, her eyes shut tightly as she tried to keep her tears of unexplained overwhelming away. She tried to forget everything as she inhaled his soft scent, felt his arms curve around her in a loving embrace, and heard his quiet assurances that he loved her.

“Hermione, you have no idea how worried I’ve been…” He whispered hoarsely into her ear, “After that git told me what he did, I just...snapped. I was so scared that you were hurt…” He kissed the top of her head, patting her back, “I…I love you…”

Hermione smiled, a few small tears creeping out of her eyes, blurring her vision again, “I love you too, Harry…” She whispered softly, burying her face in his chest.

Beside them, a loud tap was heard to come from behind them. A glance in that direction, and they saw Professor McGonagall looking at them with an outraged expression, “Mr. Potter! Miss Granger! I understand you are glad to see each other after an ordeal quite like this one, but I will not tolerate such displays of affection in my presence. Please, control yourselves.” She snapped angrily, making Hermione blush bright red and pull herself away from Harry, who was staring at the floor with an embarrassed expression on his face.

“Forgive me, Professor…I…” Hermione started in a small voice, but McGonagall cut her off, “Apology accepted, Miss Granger. Now, if you would please allow Poppy to check on you…” She said briskly, gesturing towards Madam Pomfrey, who frowned, and stepped towards Hermione.

After five minutes or so, she finished checking Hermione’s reflexes and pulse. Turning towards Professor McGonagall, she had a sort, brisk talk with her before the older woman left the Hospital Wing. With a glance at Harry, Madam Pomfrey said, “Be on your way, Potter. Breakfast is already being served in the Great Hall, and Miss Granger needs her rest.”

Harry shook his head, “I’m not hungry. Please, can’t I stay with her while she has some breakfast? I won’t bother her at all, I hope…” He said innocently, giving her a pleading look.

With a grin, Hermione piped up, “Oh, yes, I would be much happier with some company.” She said happily.

Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms and sighed, “Very well, Potter, but if I hear the tiniest bit of a disturbance, I’m afraid you will have to leave.” She said crossly before pulling out her wand and waving it towards the nightstand beside Hermione’s bed. Instantly, a plate stacked with several pieces of toast, another with porridge, a goblet of pumpkin juice, and a small plate with ham and eggs appeared. “You can go later today, preferably around dinner; I want to keep an eye on you for the day; see how you do.” She said, looking at Hermione, who nodded. Then, with another dark look at Harry, she swiftly set off into her office.

Hermione smiled at Harry, patting a corner beside her on the bed for him to sit as she reached for the plate with the stack of toast. Harry sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head lovingly.

“Listen, Hermione…” He said tentatively, twirling a strand of her soft hair between his fingers, “I’m…I’m sorry for arguing with you yesterday. I was being kind of paranoid, and—”

Hermione shook her head, swallowing a piece of toast quickly so as to be able to speak, “No, no…I was being completely ridiculous. You were doing what was expected of you. You were worried…” She whispered, “I was just acting without thinking, looking around for arguments. I shouldn’t have done that…I should know better.” She finished, looking down at her hands, which rested on her lap.

“But I didn’t exactly inspire much confidence by yelling at you to tell me what was happening…and after what happened—all this, I just can’t help but think it’s partly my fault.” Harry said slowly, capturing her chin with his right hand and moving her head to meet her eyes, “If we hadn’t been arguing, you wouldn’t have stormed off, anyway.”

Hermione snorted lightly, shaking her head again, “I probably would have. I was already in a very frustrated mood when you saw Ron and I arguing. Believe me, I would have left either way.”

Harry shook his head vehemently, “No, Hermione, that…that’s not the point.” He said weakly, sighing, “I just…I still feel bad for yelling anyway. I was overreacting—though you should really try to avoid baiting Ron into an argument—and I just feel like I should apologize, that’s all.” He said softly, kissing her lips softly, “So…I’m sorry. Next time I’ll try to think about what I say first.”

Hermione grinned, choosing to avoid going around talking in circles, and decided to steer the conversation away from yesterday’s mess. Locking her arms around his neck, “Hadn’t you already promised me that?” She asked with mock outrage, raising an eyebrow playfully. Harry, however, frowned as he remembered that he had promised her something along those lines. With a disappointed look, he dropped his hand from her hair back to the edge of the bed, “I did promise you that didn’t I? Fantastic, I can’t even keep a promise as simple as that.” He said dully, shaking his head in frustration.

Oh, why can’t he just play along? Hermione thought, frustrated, Can’t he see that I was joking? Am I always so feisty that he really took my comment to be serious?

As her slight frown disappeared from her face, though, Hermione gave him a soft, consoling look. On the other hand, Ron would have probably chuckled and said something like, “Oh well, maybe next time.” Thank Merlin Harry isn’t like that…he looks genuinely sorry. I mean, it doesn’t please me to see that he’s upset, at least I can see that he cares, she thought, moving one of her hands from his neck to his hand and holding it tightly, “Oh, Harry…” She said in a low, slightly hoarse voice, “Please, don’t…I really don’t mind that you forgot once…I was just kidding, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know, it’s just the fact that I made you a promise and I can’t even keep it!” Harry snapped, “And how many times have I shown you that I love you? Honestly, if you think about it, I’m a wreck. You’ve noticed, too, remember?”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry. Of course you’ve shown me that you love me. All I said yesterday…just forget about it all. I was mad; you know how I get when I’m angry.” Hermione whispered with a pained look, “And keeping one’s thoughts from spilling out of our mouths isn’t exactly easy, either. Especially if a person is naturally outspoken.” When Harry didn’t comment, she sighed, “Stop trying to find something wrong with you, Harry…you’re fine…you’re more than I could ever hope for, believe me.”

Harry looked up at her with a weak smile and a mildly surprised expression on his face. As he opened his mouth to speak, however, Hermione cut him off, moving her hand yet again from his hand to his cheek and pulling him closer with her other hand, which still rested around his neck. With a mischievous smile, she whispered, “What am I going to have to do to impress upon you that it’s fine? No more apologizing, Potter, do I make myself clear?” At his grin, she smiled and leaned forward to kiss him. He wrapped one of his hands around her middle, keeping the other one free. Without separating herself from him, Hermione scooted around him so that she was sitting in front of him. His free hand quickly flew from the bed to the back of her head, cradling it as if he were afraid it would get hurt. Hermione laughed at that, but didn’t comment.

Finally, they pulled apart, both of them breathless. Hermione’s cheeks were rather pink as she stared at Harry with a happy smile crossing her lips. Harry unconsciously ran his hand through his hair, thinking of something good to say. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he finally came up with something. Looking up from the floor to her, he cleared his throat. She had been playing absentmindedly with the hem pf her robes, which had a loose string in them. At Harry’s slight noise, she looked up in mild surprise and relief. Oh, thank God I don’t have to break the silence…honestly, what is someone supposed to say after a hefty snogging session? ’Oh, that was nice, Harry. Absolutely loved it. Shall we try it again?’

That sounds stupid, even in my mind.

Harry nodded, mostly as a way to remind himself what he was going to say, “How about, after detention with Snape…” He scowled at the thought that his evening had to be ruined by Snape, but shook his anger away. At least he would be with Hermione, “Well, how about, I take my Invisibility Cloak and we can go for a walk around the lake? I know a way to get to a…secret place there.” He smiled at Hermione’s pleased look, “It’ll be my way of apologizing to you.”

Hermione giggled, “Oh, Harry, that’d be fantastic! It sounds perfect…and it’ll be especially wonderful after a detention with Snape….”

Harry frowned, “What?” He asked.

“Well, his detentions usually end late, right? So, when we leave, we won’t be…interrupted.” She said with a playful smile and a shrug, bringing her legs up from the floor and crossing them beneath her.

Harry grinned, “We wouldn’t have been interrupted anyway, believe me.” He said, “No one roams the Grounds on a Monday night.” He declared with a snort.

Hermione scooted closer again and kissed his lip lightly, “I’ll be looking forward to it. After a whole day here and an evening in the Dungeons, it’ll be like our triumph against all this mess.” She grinned, “Nothing can keep us apart.”

Harry laughed, “Except homework that I really have to get to because I have that class in an hour.” He said, giving her an apologetic look as she pursed her lips in disapproval, “I was worried, Hermione. Otherwise, I would have finished it.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “Tell you what—do you have your book bag here?” She asked, and when Harry nodded, she continued, “Good, then I’ll help you with it.” Harry’s eyes positively lit up and he gaped at her, “Really? You’re amazing, Hermione, thanks!” He sputtered before cupping her face with both hands and giving her a long kiss as a means of thanks. Hermione almost fainted from surprise, but quickly recovered. Wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling his arms curve around her in a hug, she wished they would never pull apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6:48 p.m., Monday evening, Hogwarts Corridors/Dungeons

Hermione held a small, folded piece of parchment in her hand, trying to contain her smile as she read it. Inside were Harry’s class notes for the day, which included Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, and Herbology. The reason for Hermione’s uncontrollable amusement was the length of the notes. He had apparently tried to pay attention during class for her, and had done a pretty good job until History of Magic. He had started scribbling on and on what seemed like almost every word that came out of Professor Binns’ mouth, but halfway around the paper, the words had gone curiously clear, until he had just seemed to drift off and forget completely about even listening to what the Professor was saying. However, the funniest thing of it all—and rather disgusting, really—was that there was a small trail of drool that had left its mark near the end of the parchment. Harry didn’t seem to have noticed, because he had proudly given his notes to Hermione for her to study off.

Looking up at Harry, Hermione tried to keep her face straight, but the playful merriment dancing in her eyes was hard to conceal, “Well, see? You could get much better marks in class if you did this everyday, Harry.” She said with an irrepressible grin as they went down a flight of stairs from the third floor to the second floor.

“Why would I pay attention?” Harry said with a shrug, “I can just ask you to clarify things to me afterwards; you can explain stuff better than those teachers—not to mention you’re much more enjoyable to have as a professor.” He chuckled.

“I suppose that’s a compliment?” Hermione asked, a slight raise of her eyebrows.

“You can take it either way.” Harry said with a snort. Hermione nudged his arm playfully, giving him a sour look that was ruined by her grin. They both had a bit of a laughing fit when Harry kept walking as if he was ignoring her, and suddenly turned on his heel and slipped on the rug. Hermione stared at him for a few moments, then burst of laughing, choking out about the drool in his History of Magic notes—which, indeed, he hadn’t noticed—and leading them both into an uncontrollable laughing fit. A few minutes later, Hermione asked breathlessly, “What do you...think Snape…will make us do?”

With a dark look, Harry shrugged, “I don’t know…I just hope it doesn’t have anything in common with Umbridge’s detentions.”

Hermione shuddered, “Me too. Honestly, Harry, I don’t know how you never told Dumbledore…that woman was an utter cow.” She said viciously, tucking her hair behind her ears to keep it out of her face and holding out a hand for Harry to take so he could stand.

Harry frowned, taking her hand, “I just…it felt like letting her win, you know? I told you—it felt like it was letting her know that she’d gotten to me.” He crossed his arms and leaned back onto the wall opposite the one behind Hermione, suddenly looking rather disgruntled.

Hermione sighed, “Harry, you say that like it was Malfoy. Umbridge was a teacher, it’s much different.” She had leaned back upon the wall behind her as well, crossing her ankles.

“Hermione, that was two years ago—just let it go.” Harry snapped.

Hermione rolled her eyes silently and turned her gaze to flickering candlelight that reflected itself on the ceiling. Something about it seemed oddly distant, as if there was more to it than it appeared, or as if it was something that reminded her of a memory from long ago. It was a strange feeling, really. The mere sight of it made Hermione’s mind buzz with thoughts and memories—some that she could barely remember—until it finally came to one that caught her attention. Confused, she tried to focus on that memory, but it felt as if she was watching a badly recorded movie; with lots of interruptions and hardly any detail. All she could see was a very dark path, and what looked like…a valley?

Oh my God.

How could I forget? That is just about the most important thing that has happened recently, and I completely forgot about it!

Honestly, how can a bump to the head do such things?

Flashes of the complete memory met her eyes in an incredibly quick succession. Her feelings as everything happened washed over her, leaving her with mingled confusion and worry. She remembered every move, every word she spoke, as well as everything else she saw and heard. Finally, when she saw the last of the memory—in which she apparently plunged into a dark abyss before returning to the Hospital Wing—she took a deep breath and went through the memory again, hardly believing it to be true.

She gulped, her breathing rather shallow, and sputtered, “H-Harry?”

Harry turned to her with a tired look on his face, “I know, I know…I’m letting things just pour out of my mouth again…can you just, save the lecture?” He said, sighing.

Hermione shook her head, giving Harry a desperate look, “No, it’s not that…it’s something I dreamt—though I’m not completely sure it was a dream, now that I think about it…a vision, maybe…” She muttered, frowning and crossing her arms in thought.

Harry gave her a curious look, “A vision?” He asked, finding it slightly ironic that she, who had stormed out of the Divinations classroom in her third year, had had a prophetic dream or something along those lines. Of course, what was even more ironic was that she believed her dream to be a vision. She had always found such things to be ridiculous and full of guesswork.

“I don’t know exactly what it is…but it certainly wasn’t a normal dream, that’s for sure.” Hermione said, running a hand through her hair and sighing, “But that’s not the point, Harry. It’s what it contained that has me concerned.” With a nervous look, she started giving Harry her account of what had happened in the dream, which had much more details than she initially remembered, including the smell in the air, and the texture of the floor. When she finished, Harry gaped at her, torn between amazement, anger, and worry.

After a furious tug between all his raging emotions, anger took over—again, “And what possessed you to decide to keep this a secret until now? You should have told me when we first started talking this morning!” He sputtered out indignantly.

Hermione pursed her lips, “I don’t know! Until now, it was like it had never happened—I didn’t remember anything!” She explained, wishing he would have had a different reaction to all this. Confusion would have been just fine; worry would have been fine, too, but fury? As if they hadn’t had enough arguments already! “I just started thinking—really thinking, I mean—and the memory popped into my mind!”

“You were alone in the Hospital Wing all day! Surely you would have had some time to think!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, “It just didn’t come into my mind, Harry! I swear, until now, it was like nothing had ever happened.” She snapped, sighing loudly, “I was leaning back onto the wall, looking at that candle, and suddenly the memory feels like it’s being pressed into my mind all over again!”

Harry scratched the back of his neck before continuing, “And why didn’t you accept to hear the prophecy?” he asked heatedly, “That could have helped us find out why you even had that dream!”

Hermione turned away from Harry and walked around, massaging her temples as she did so, “I don’t know…I just thought…maybe it’s better not to know anything. I’d be acting according to what I knew, and it’s just…that doesn’t seem right. I had a feeling, too…I kept seeing your face, and I had a big dreading feeling whenever I thought ‘Okay, I’ll accept the information’, so…” She paused, her back still turned to Harry, “So I just decided maybe it would be better to not know anything.”

Harry snorted derisively behind her, “How can it be better to act without knowledge of what might come to pass?”

“I don’t know! I felt like it wasn’t right to know after all. I just thought that rather than be influenced by information of what might happen, I should just try and make my way without it. Life in general is like that, and we still triumph, don’t we?”

“Not always, Hermione. Did my parents triumph without knowledge prior to Voldemort’s attack? No. Did I act correctly, falling for Voldemort’s trick, without the knowledge that it was only an illusion he projected into my mind? No.” Harry hissed, “And will you please look at me?”

Hermione turned sharply, “I don’t want to look at you right now, Harry! You are being so unreasonable! You just promised me this morning that you would think about what you said and did, but right now you keep letting everything you think burst out of your mouth!” She snapped, her delicate hands forming fists at her sides.

“But I do think these things, Hermione! What good will it do to keep what I believe a secret?” Harry said, throwing his arms up in the air and widening his eyes in anger.

“Well, could you try a different approach, then? Honestly, viciously confronting me into telling you the reason for my decisions isn’t the best way to go.” Hermione said, sighing heavily and taking a step away from him again.

Harry sighed irritably, but bit back the snappy retort that first came to mind. Maybe he should try to be nicer, especially if he was trying to get her to tell him about something that truly seemed to worry her. He breathed calmly for a few minutes, trying to rid himself of the sudden anger he felt. Unwillingly, he began to fly through his own memories, and after a while, became slightly occupied with his own thoughts.

Could Voldemort have something to do with all this? First, Trewlaney disappears, and now, Hermione has this odd vision—or dream, whatever—and she’s in it? I mean, this whole thing with her running off is just too strange. She never leaves the North Tower, so how could she vanish without anyone noticing, or without notifying Dumbledore first? And if it was the Death Eaters, how did they get to her without being seen?

“Hey, Hermione…” Harry said tentatively, taking a small step towards her, “Do you think Voldemort could have something to do with Trewlaney’s departure?” He asked, hoping she would forgive him for getting worked up about her decisions in the dream. What’s done is done, anyway. It’s not like she could change it.

Hermione shrugged, still not turning to look at him. She had taken to pacing around the wide passageway they were in, her hand tracing the coarse stones in the walls as she walked past them. She too seemed deep in thought, though the tone of her voice indicated that their previous argument had not gone forgotten, “I hardly know her. How can I tell if she escaped on her own free will or not?” She said in a low voice, pausing to look at a torch high up in the ceiling before continuing her slow walk around the passageway.

Harry felt his shoulders drop, recognizing she was upset again. Still, he tried not to address the issue, choosing to lure her out of her anger at him, “I dunno…I’m just asking. It’s really odd. I think we ought to try and clear things up here. She was apparently going to make a prophecy about you, right? Well, even though you chose not to hear it, that shadow never said she wasn’t going to make it anyway, did it?” He asked, hoping that by asking her lots of questions she would be compelled to think about the issue rather than her annoyance at him.

It worked, for the time being. She finally turned, a frown crossing her face, “I never thought about it that way…he didn’t say that she was going to make it depending on my decision…” She murmured, more to herself than to Harry, “Curious…so, the knowledge I was to be given was to hear my prediction, but the fact that I chose not to hear it didn’t mean that the prophecy wouldn’t be made. That is intriguing.” She kept on muttering things to herself in a voice so low that Harry couldn’t listen to her. With a slight hint of annoyance, Harry waved his hands slowly, trying to catch her attention. She blinked, looking at him in surprise, “What? Oh, sorry…” She said, pushing her hair carelessly out of her face, “How do you think we could find out more about what happened, though?”

Harry frowned slightly, thinking, “Well, we could try exploring places she usually roamed.” He suggested after a while, “Which means her Tower, really.” He added, a slight hint of humor in his voice.

Hermione nodded, “Yes…it might be good to check it out. And we should tell Dumbledore about my dream, too.” She said thoughtfully, biting her lip.

“Yeah, but remember we have plans for tonight already.” Harry said, a grin crossing his face, “We’ll have to do all that tomorrow. We’ll talk to Dumbledore sometime during the day, and then we’ll sneak into Trewlaney’s at night.” He declared happily.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, grinning, “You sure seem happy at the prospect of sneaking around so much.” She teased, “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. The worry of being caught by a teacher just...it takes all the fun out of it.”

Harry looked at her incredulously, “Are you kidding? That’s about the best part!” He laughed, “The excitement of it—the suspense at every sound you hear…it’s brilliant.”

Hermione took several steps towards him, until they were about three feet apart, “You live for adventure now, do you?” She asked, smirking, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I have a most horrible Detention to get to, and I’d hate to be alone in a classroom with an angry Snape.” She said, lowering her voice and giving him a grin.

“Say no more, my love. I shall face that old bat with you.”

Hermione’s grin turned into a smile at the words ‘my love’. It felt so right to hear that coming out of his mouth, and the thought gave her a happy shiver. Holding his hands, she closed the distance between them and kissed him softly on the lips before leading him to another staircase that led to the first floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7:11 p.m., Monday evening, The Dungeons – Professor Severus Snape’s Classroom

Harry stretched his hand out brusquely towards the doorknob, but Hermione quickly snatched his hand to keep him from doing so, “Harry, I know you don’t like him—neither do I—but it’s best if you keep a civil attitude towards him. Otherwise, Detentions here might become a custom for us.” She said grimly, giving him a reproachful look. Harry rolled his eyes derisively, but nevertheless extended his arm again and knocked on the large door twice. They waited a few minutes in silence, until the cold voice of Professor Snape spoke from inside, “Come in.”

Hermione looked uncertainly at Harry before carefully opening the door. Harry was already familiar with such surroundings, and was not shocked by how intimidating everything could look when they were the only ones there. The shelves were still stocked with jars of odd-looking animals and several things that did not look like anything he had ever seen, and there were but two torches lit, one on each side of the large room, giving it a darker appearance than usual. As he felt Hermione shiver slightly beside him, he angrily scolded himself for not thinking of bringing her a cloak or at least, reminding her to do so. He himself had forgotten, too, but at least he had the knit sweater Mrs. Weasley always knit for him during Christmas.

“Ah, Potter and Granger. Well, at least you were punctual…” Snape drawled as he caught sight of him, “I have more pressing matters to attend, so the faster I can get you out of my way, the better.” He paused, smirking as he surveyed Harry with a smug expression, before his eyes darted to Hermione's bushy hair behind Harry's shoulders. His smirk turned to a sneer, but he did not comment. Rather, he pulled his wand out lazily and jabbed it in the direction of a torch along the middle of the room, so as to illuminate the chairs the students used. The fire had barely flared to life before he did the same with the remaining torches along the walls. The room completely illuminated now, so he pointed his wand at the student's desk that was closest to the front of the room, waved it, and a large basin with what seemed to be dead insects appeared. Another wave of his wand, and several utensils used for dissection appeared next to it, “You are to extract the beetle's eyes with the utensils provided--carefully, Potter. They have to be in perfect conditions for use in the potion I have planned.” He smirked again at Harry's indignant look at the prospect of having to rid beetles of their eyes, and continued, “You may begin. And be warned, that basin must be empty for you to be allowed to leave. If I must keep you here all night, mark my words, I will do so.”

Harry stepped grudgingly towards the desk, pulling a chair out noisily and slopping down onto the chair as Hermione hovered near the door, looking inquiringly from Harry to Snape. When Snape didn't look up, but had returned to scribbling on a piece of parchment, she shrugged and moved quietly towards Harry. Pulling a chair as quietly as possible, she sat down and grabbed one of the knives that were placed beside the basin. With a disgusted look, she grasped one of the beetles and looked at it with a slight frown.

“How am I supposed to get its eye out without damaging it?” She whispered in a voice so low Harry had to crane his neck towards her to hear properly. As he did so, he caught a wisp of the smell of her hair, and had to control himself to avoid nuzzling his face in her neck.

Blinking, he shrugged, chopping off a beetle's head, trying to find a way to comply with Snape's orders. He scowled in disgust as a puddle of blood slopped onto the desk, which Hermione evanescoed without effort. Suppressing a sigh, she too sliced her beetle's head off, turning slightly green as she gouged out some of its internal organs.

Unfortunately, hours came to pass, and still the basin had several of those annoying insects left. They had finally managed to find a way to successfully scoop the beetle's eyes--after they had accidentally ruined many of them, including some times in which, out of annoyance, they threw the little creature to the pile on the far left corner of their table and started over with a new one. Harry looked restlessly at his wristwatch, hoping his night wouldn't be consumed completely by the Detention. Hermione checked hers from time to time, too, wondering whether they would ever come to finish. They were both looking forward to their alone time, and it would be horrible that because of Snape, they would have to postpone it.

At around half-past eleven, there were only two of the insects left. Each beetle took them around four to five minutes to complete, and it took all of their concentration not to ruin it. However, they were distracted by a sharp intake of breath that came from Snape's direction. Harry glanced at Hermione, whose gaze had shot up at the noise that broke the eerie silence. He followed her gaze, and was met with a livid-looking Snape, clutching his left forearm. He was forcibly trying to control his breathing, and he was looking at the piece of parchment on his desk, apparently transfixed. Both Harry and Hermione looked at him in wide-eyed shock as their brains processed the fact that they were witnessing their Professor being summoned by the Dark Lord. In her nervousness, Hermione accidentally dropped the thin knife she was holding. The loud, clattering noise it made was met by her soft gasp and a hateful, surprised glare from Snape's direction.

“What are you still doing here?” He hissed, his voice dripping with anger, “Have you not finished yet? Is the task I have set for you too complicated for you dim-witted idiots to complete it?” Harry stared back at him, a slight fear welling up inside him. He had seen Snape in this towering mood before, and had felt the effects of it. Involuntarily, he gulped, knowing better than to answer. He felt Hermione's hand grope for his beneath the table, and quickly grasped it and gave it a small squeeze. Her normally soft hand was covered in cold sweat, and he knew she was terrified. He could hear her quick breathing beside him, and wished he could put his arm around her to comfort her.

His eyes narrowed, looking from Harry to Hermione expectantly. When they didn't respond, his anger seemed to increase, “Twenty points from Gryffindor! Now, get out immediately!” He barked, pointing his wand angrily towards the door, making it fly open with impressive speed and collide with the stone wall. Harry rose to his feet quickly, pulling a horror-struck Hermione with him by her hand. He grabbed his backpack hurriedly and left the room, not daring to look in Snape's direction again. The door shut itself behind them with a loud thud, but they kept running all the way until they were out of the Dungeons. Hermione leant back onto the wall and slopped down to the floor, gasping for breath, while Harry clutched his knees for support.

“I can’t believe this…” Hermione whispered softly after a few minutes, “Did we really see what I think we saw?” She asked, looking at Harry with a tired, worried expression.

Harry was about to answer when quick footsteps were heard from the entrance to the Dungeons. Hermione’s eyes grew wide, and she bit her lip, “It’s him! We have to hide!” She hissed, scrambling to her feet. Harry, however, shook his head. Opening the zipper to his backpack, he pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. He took a few steps closer to Hermione, squatted and pulled her down on her knees to keep their feet from being seen. Tossing the cloak over them, he put his index finger over his mouth as a sign for her to keep quiet.

Snape was coming out of the Dungeons, still looking furious. His black cloak billowing behind him, he walked swiftly towards the large oak doors that led to the Grounds. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, before Harry rose slightly and tugged on Hermione’s arm to get her to walk. She gave him an incredulous look, but obeyed. They walked as quickly yet silently as possible behind Snape who, thankfully, hadn’t heard them.

The Potions Master yanked open the door, giving them a chance to slip outside without having to open the door themselves. As Snape walked quickly towards the gates, Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm firmly and gave him a serious look.

“What are you doing?” He hissed, “We’re going to lose him!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “Harry, you know very well were he is headed. For Merlin’s sake, what do you plan on doing? Guessing where he’s going and Apparating behind him?” She demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

Harry scowled, “I don’t know.” He admitted reluctantly, “I just wanted to do something…spy on him, see how he likes it.”

“What are you on about? Dumbledore trusts him, Harry, he’s on our side.”

Harry snorted, “Yeah, sure he is, Hermione. Maybe Dumbledore just hasn’t realized it yet, but I know Snape is a spy for Voldemort, not us. I don’t trust that miserable old bat.” He snarled, glaring in the direction Snape had taken.

Hermione rolled her eyes, pursing her lips, “Harry, come on—“

“What makes you sure he’s on our side? Do you have to follow blindly on everything Dumbledore says? He can be wrong; he’s still human.” Harry snapped, not bothering to apologize for interrupting her.

“You know what? Let’s just forget about it. We definitely don’t see eye to eye on this.” Hermione said wearily, shaking her head. Her eyes, however, were still hard as she looked at Harry, “Listen, Harry, about tonight….” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged, turning her gaze to the grass.

“Yeah, I know…suddenly, I don’t feel like it, either.” Harry muttered dully, “Too much stuff to think about…but maybe on Wednesday? We already had stuff planned for tomorrow, remember?”

Hermione nodded, “Sure. Sounds fine.” She whispered softly, turning on her heel but stopping abruptly when she remembered they were still under the cloak. Harry pulled it off him, “Use it to get to the Common Room.” He said, “I’m going to take a walk before I go to bed.”

Hermione frowned, “I…but, you might get caught….” She said slowly.

Harry shook his head and gave her a halfhearted smile, “No Snape tonight, remember? Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ve done this before.”

Hermione stood, looking at him with worried eyes. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to have another argument with him, even if this one wasn’t one where they yelled. Strangely, this one made her feel worse than all their yelling ones. It made her feel empty, and it seemed horribly definite. With a smooth gesture, she slipped the cloak off her and hugged him tightly, “You take the cloak, Harry.” She whispered, and kissed his lips softly, “Just in case.” She whispered, and Harry nodded, unable to find words that would be fit to say, and placed the cloak over himself.

Hermione gave him a small, sad wave and turned her back to him, walking back towards the large oak doors. Why do we have to be like this? I don’t want to argue…I just didn’t feel up to anything else tonight. He seemed kind of tired, too, so I thought it would be fine with him.

Oh, but I was looking forward to going out with him, walking around the lake, just being a normal couple…

I just feel like even though we’re engaged, we need to spend so much more time together. I mean, I never intended on marrying him, say, right after Hogwarts, and I hope he doesn’t have such an idea in mind. I accepted his proposal because I thought…well, I wanted it to bring us closer together. I see all those other couples, and I wanted us to be different…I wanted us to be sure of our relationship. With the ring, it was like a promise to each other, that we loved each other and would never do anything to hurt each other.

That we would protect each other, and would do anything to be together…

But I was stupid.

A ring can’t do that…we’re the ones that have to work on that. We’re the ones in charge here, and we’re the ones that have to make sacrifices for our relationship. We have to prove to each other all those things…a mere promise isn’t enough.

Mother is right…I’m much too young for this. I keep making these mistakes, and sure, now they might not do much damage, but what will happen if I make a bigger mistake in the future? What if I ruin our relationship because I believed a stupid promise a ring symbolized would be enough?

Cold, small tears streamed through Hermione’s cheeks as her hand lingered on the doorknob. Her small frame shook slightly from her quiet sobs, and she suddenly wished she had taken the Invisibility Cloak after all. If a professor caught her out of bed, she would hate that they saw her in tears that she didn’t want to explain.

Suddenly, she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. A familiar scent washed over her, and she hastily wiped her tears so he didn’t see.

“I’m sorry, Hermione…I’m an idiot. I keep making you cry like this…it’s not your fault, you know? I keep doing stupid things and saying the first thing that comes to mind. I’m not worth your trouble…do you know how horrible it makes me feel to see you crying every time we argue? And knowing it’s my fault doesn’t help much, either…” Harry said, his voice shaky, “I asked for your hand in marriage, but I don’t know if…well, if I would be a decent husband for you. If I’m going to make you feel like this….I want to change, Hermione…I just don’t know how….”

Hermione turned and gazed into his eyes with a slight pang. He was crying, too. She wrapped his arms around him and whispered, “We both have things we desperately need to change for this to work, Harry. I’m not exactly perfect, either. I keep baiting you into arguments, and I’ve made all these stupid mistakes…oh, Harry, but please, never think you’re not worth my trouble.” She breathed, sobbing, “The fact that I’ve….made you feel like that makes me feel even worse.” She bit her lip to try and keep the fresh tears she felt at bay, trying to distract herself by caressing his back instead.

Harry lifted her chin slowly, “Don’t…I told you, you’re not the one at fault here.”

She shook her had, “We both have to pitch in to make things work, Harry. We both share the fault for out arguments…we have to find a way around this…together.” She said softly.

Harry nodded, “I need you, Hermione…I love you so much….I don’t want to lose you—to an argument, or anything else.” He said, “I’ll try my best to make this work, I promi—“

Hermione placed a finger over his mouth, “Promises are just words, Harry. From now on, no more promises. With actions, we can show how much we are willing to work on our relationship.” She said with a small smile, and bent her head forward towards his lips. As their lips touched, both of them silently vowed to work as hard as ever to avoid having rows, to convince everyone that their relationship was right, but most of all, to protect each other, and to honor the promise they made to each other when Harry proposed, and she accepted.

A/N: I am so, so, so, sorry for the long time I took to write this. I developed a bad case of writer’s block and was completely stumped on what to write. However, I hope this chapter was to your liking (especially you shippers…). I know it was mostly fluff, but you have to admit, it was quite needed after all those chapters with almost no H/Hr time.

I had a romantic outing planned for them, but after the whole Snape thing, I thought it would be strange that they just forgot about it and went all happily-ever after on a date. So, I left iot for another chapter.

After this very romantic and long chapter, I do hope more of you review. For the last chapter I had just two reviewers (and I thank them both for taking the time to tell me what they thought), and I know more of you are reading. It doesn’t take too long to review, so go ahead. I’ll appreciate it greatly. =)

Till the next chapter!

12. A Dark Future

Chapter Twelve: A Dark Future

12:01 a.m., Tuesday morning, Hogwarts Grounds/Outskirts of Hogsmade

Severus Snape strode quickly towards the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, wondering, not for the first time, if he had done the right thing. Oh, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t though about his decision first…but somehow, it was in these moments in which he was summoned that he always doubted his choice. After all, Dumbledore had taken him in blindly when he’d sworn to leave The Dark Lord’s side, and he could have had another life.

He could have done the deed for which both Voldemort and Dumbledore credited him. He could have chosen on which side to be in, before it was too late…

But he had had to choose where his loyalties would lay very carefully. Back then, he never knew for sure if the Dark Lord would return, and as Dumbledore offered his a job after his trial, he turned to him, instead. For the time being, he’d tried to disconnect himself from his former acquaintances and the rest of the world he knew, and had managed to forget some things—until his past had come back to haunt him once more.

His old friend, Lucius, had visited him one night by Floo Powder, giving Severus quite a surprise when he entered his quarters and glanced at the fire. His shock had then been followed by so many horrible memories he had tried so hard to push back in his mind…so many memories that he couldn’t let go of, yet he didn’t want to keep. Lucius, as always, had been unnervingly polite, yet menacing with his words. Choosing just the right things to remind him of, he had regained Severus as a Death Eater.

-- BEGIN FLASHBACK --

“Severus, my slippery friend…I would have never imagined you actually living the life of a school teacher,” he had said smoothly, striding elegantly towards a black armchair and sitting, “Do the children suffice your need to make others feel beneath you? That has always been a gift of yours, I admit…the way you always managed to make people regret ever being born…The Dark Lord always saw that aspect of yours in high esteem,” with a smirk at Severus pallid, nervous face, he continued, “But here you are wasting your time, Severus. Our Master will come back, and he will find us…it is better if we have things planned right from now, don’t you agree? Where does your loyalty lay? Are you really going to choose this Mudblood-loving fool over the most powerful dark wizard to have ever lived? If you believe, out of sheer idiocy, that he saved you from Azkaban’s clutches for anything other than using you as a tool against the Dark Lord…you are wrong, Severus, very wrong. What reason would Albus Dumbledore have for taking a cruel, sullen Death Eater and turning him into one of his little pawns to battle against his worst enemy?” he paused yet again, looking at Severus inquiringly. Snape remained silent, his cold black eyes narrowed in thought, and so Lucius continued again, this time, with a smile of triumph, “But you might be on a quest to find your true identity…perhaps you feel you have made a mistake? That maybe the life you previously chose was not meant for you? If that were the case, it would do well for you to revise your ancestry…generations of pureblooded, noble dark wizards, Severus, all fighting for the dignified cause of ridding the Wizarding World of riffraff like muggle-borns and the blood traitors that dare support them. Do you truly want to dishonor them by choosing to follow Dumbledore? Ah, and of course,” he added, a glimmer of sudden inspiration crossing his eyes, “I needn’t remind you that Dumbledore always favored James Potter—both in your schooldays and after—rather than you, and I have no doubt that with his precious son the situation will be no different…if the boy reaches Hogwarts alive,” his eyes flickered over Snape as he grunted in disgust at the memory of his life-long enemy—the reason for his humiliation, and perhaps, the reason for which he became the man who he was today, driven by a thirst for revenge. Snape’s face went from nervousness to disgust, and then to anger as he remembered everything.

-- END FLASHBACK --

And so here he was now, both a Death Eater and an Order member, believed to be a spy for them by each side. It seemed odd to say this to himself—he knew it was true, of course, but there were still things not even he understood. Things that were kept shielded from view; memories that brought forth a series of emotions and thoughts that just…confused him further. Things that he had kept from saying to his masters, to anyone else that dared approach him, and sometimes even to himself. Things that he pushed into the back of his mind and tried to forget about them, until someone reminded him of them, bringing them forth to haunt his very existence…

And as Severus walked in the pale moonlight that illuminated the village of Hogsmade, Lucius’ words from seventeen years ago rang in his ears.

“Where does your loyalty lay?”

He still didn’t know the answer to that question.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severus walked swiftly into the Riddle House, black robes billowing behind him, as he shut the door quietly behind him and proceeded to glare at everyone behind his mask. But it was not long before he noticed several things that were most unusual. For one thing, Wormtail was not in sight, when at this time, he was usually giving Nagini her morning plate of milk. The next odd thing he saw was that almost half of the Death Eaters had been summoned; a most strange occurrence, as the Dark Lord rarely summoned all his followers at the same time—it would draw suspicion, and although the house was rather big, there just wasn’t enough space for them all. Their presence there on that night suggested something very urgent had happened, although Severus had already surmised so. When he had been summoned, he had experienced, for a brief moment, a raging fit of anger—in which he supposed he had dismissed Potter and his girlfriend—until later he returned to his senses and had gotten annoyed at having been summoned on that particular night. Albus had had him Apparating here and there all week with Order business, and the Dark Lord kept summoning him for meetings much more than once a week…and on top of all that he had his infernal students to deal with as well. It was merely Tuesday morning, and he was already longing for the weekend, where he might get in a few hours of sleep, at the least.

And yet, he knew he had to obey the Dark Lord’s summon—especially when he seemed to be deeply enraged about something.

But what led him away from his muses was the sight of five or six of the Slytherin seventh years, huddled in the center of the group, Draco looking particularly smug; others looking as if they might puke, and others looking utterly terrified.

What the…?

“Welcome once again, faithful friends,” said a cold voice from behind the youngsters, “And welcome to those who have come for the first time, which will certainly not be the last,” Lord Voldemort peered at the small group of seventh years with a look of cruelty, his eyes lingering on Draco for a second, and he walked slowly forward towards the rest of the Death Eaters, who, despite the lack of space, managed to align themselves in a large circle surrounding their Master and the teenagers.

“We are gathered here under two very important occurrences, one less worthy of celebration than the other. Some of you already know of what I speak of, but most do not. Therefore, rather than proceed with the festivities, I shall deal with the more pressing matter at hand,” Voldemort said softly, pacing around the circle with a look of utmost fury, “Yes…I am most displeased to inform you all that one of you have betrayed me. He is not present here, of course…had he been, he would not be alive to listen to Lord Voldemort as he speaks,” He hissed menacingly, and several people shifted uncomfortably at the sight of him in such a temper, “He has fled, taking with him the key to the prophecy. I am speaking, of course, of Wormtail, and the Seer that was brought to me mere days ago—Sibyll Trewlaney.” He paused, examining the looks of hatred, amazement, and confusion that invaded his Death Eaters’ faces, which were very similar to the expression he wore when he found out.

“I am not completely sure of how, exactly, this came to pass. I am under the impression that he managed to sneak down and get her out whilst no one else was there. This brings us to yet another issue: Where was the person assigned for guard duty that night?” Voldemort asked silkily, his eyes immediately finding the accused amongst his friends, “Delaney—answer me,” he commanded, glaring at the man through narrowed eyes. The man—tall, skinny, and raven-haired—stepped forward in one fluid motion of his long legs. He didn't look much older than twenty, and he gave off an aura of slight timidity. However, as he peered up to the Dark Lord, his eyes showed no fear.

“Master,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice before clearing his throat, “I am deeply sorry. It is I who was assigned for guard duty that night,”

“Yes, I am aware, Delaney. Why do you suspect I called on you?” Voldemort spat impatiently, “And yet you have not answered my previous question. Where were you on Sunday morning, if not guarding the doors of this house?”

“I…I was spending leisure time…with…with my family, My Lord. It was my young one's first birthday,” Delaney's voice was croaky yet again, and small drops of sweat began to creep down his face, “I believe I contacted Malfoy to inform him,” He added, his eyes hardening as he caught a glimpse of Lucius.

“Did you? I believe I have made it very, very clear to you over the three years you have been in my service that your priorities must no longer be your family, our your fiends, but the ideal that Death Eaters stand for. You must put your duties as my follower before anything else,” Voldemort said, “Had you listened, you might have been present for more of your son's petty birthdays,” Voldemort pulled out his wand and pointed it straight at Delaney's face.

“Master…I beg you…my son, he is but a baby. Please…do not harm him…do whatever you want with me, but please…”

Voldemort laughed, “I won't. He is a pureblood, and it would not be wise to kill those who are gifted of the blood—who carry the purely magical blood of their ancestors. I will, however, kill you, Delaney. You have failed me one time too many, and I do not appreciate failures” he said maliciously.

Delaney bowed his head and remained silent for a long, long time, while Voldemort watched him with mingled curiosity and rage at his calmness. Finally, he looked up and straight into his Master's pitiless scarlet eyes, "Do as you see fit, My Lord," he said quietly.

“Oh, I will,” Voldemort said with evil glee, waving his wand at him, “Silentio. No one present needs to hear your worthless screams of pain. I will not give you that privilege,” he said as Delaney's voice slowly faded until no noise could be heard to come from his mouth, “And now…Caries Corium,” he breathed, and instantly, a horrible sight greeted everyone's eyes. Delaney's skin began to disintegrate at a painfully slow rate, and it was only a few minutes before he was on all fours, opening his mouth as if to scream from the pain. His knees twitched and wobbled dangerously, and when the skin that covered them vanished, he fell to the floor completely, gasping—eyes wide—in pain.

Severus wretched his eyes away from the sight before him. Yes, Delaney deserved to be punished for his ridiculous decision, but it was obvious the Dark Lord was both seizing this opportunity to intimidate the newcomers and take his temper out on someone—unjustly. Delaney deserved a Crutacius and an Avada Kedavra, not a Caries Corium…that was to be reserved for far more special cases—namely Wormtail’s.

Therefore, he instead turned his gaze to the horrified faces of the young, naïve seventh years. Even Draco looked properly squeamish and afraid of such a painful death. His normally cold, narrowed eyes were wide as he realized what the Dark Lord could do. Maybe, Severus wondered, the boy is not yet lost. Perhaps there is still a glimmer of humanity left in him…if that were so, he could be saved from this life. He could be steered away from his father’s influence and placed under Dumbledore’s care….

But a second later, Draco’s expression changed to his usual sneer, and Severus realized he was not afraid, but fascinated by such power.

Delaney seemed very weak now, and had resorted to twitching horribly as he lay on the ground. With a look of disgust, Voldemort finally performed the Killing Curse, and evanescoed his corpse. He turned to the rest of the Death Eaters, a cruel look of amusement crossing his snakelike face, “Malfoy, Snape, Lestranges—yes, all of you—Mulciber, Macnair, Dolohov, stay after the ceremony. I have a task in mind for you concerning Wormtail,”

With a look that suggested that nothing relating to that subject was to be discussed for the time being, he turned to the young faces on the other side of the room. Malfoy, a glazed look in his eye, quickly fell to his knees, pulling Crabbe and Goyle down along with him and scowling at them. Theodore Nott, a quiet-looking skinny boy, did the same, though slowly, as if he were taking in the details of everything that was happening. Another boy, Blaise Zabini—rather short, skinny, with cold eyes and dark hair—remained standing, his eyes darting from Voldemort to the rest of the Death Eaters. He was apparently immersed in his thoughts, until Theo nudged him. Glaring at him, Blaise finally shrunk down to his knees.

“Welcome once more,” Voldemort said, a mocking tone to his voice, waving his arms around slightly, indicating the surroundings, “I do not think I need to explain why you are here. I trust it has been made very, very clear to you, and that if you are here, you are willing to enter the Dark Lord’s service,” h paused, looking at them pointedly, as if daring them to say anything, and at their hurried nods, he continued, “Good. I do feel, however, that a warning is in order. After you become a Death Eater, there is no going back. You will be bound to me, and under several obligations if you wish to remain alive. As you have hopefully gathered from the previous discussion, Lord Voldemort does not tolerate betrayal or failure. You must be diligent, and you must realize that your true priority is now your tasks as a Death Eater. Otherwise, you will come to find yourself the target for several…ah…undesirable curses,” anyone who didn’t know who was speaking would have thought, by the words used, that Lord Voldemort meant a nasty hex or something of such nature, but the chilling tone of his voice and the evil, slightly amused look in his eye made the aspiring Death Eaters sure that he meant much worse.

“I trust that, for your sake’s, you have learned from what you have witnessed tonight. But I will undoubtedly be proved wrong in the future, for no one can truly learn things until they experience them,” Voldemort said, a feel of finality in his words, “And now, we shall proceed with the Marking Ceremony, as planned. Severus, arrange them accordingly,” he commanded with a flick of his wand towards the small group of teenagers. Severus nodded and strode forward, giving them all a cold, uninterested glance before he commanded them to their places.

The Marking Ceremony was always a solemn event while it was in process. No one spoke except Voldemort, and there were barely any sounds to be heard except, of course, the reaction of the person when the Dark Mark was imprinted on their skin. It could range from a sharp intake of breath to a full-blown scream, and depending on that, the Dark Lord judged their character. Although he didn’t assign newcomers any important tasks, he took their reaction into consideration in the future.

After the ceremony, there was usually a party arranged for them to celebrate. It was never that same day, of course, as the recently marked needed time to get used to the pain. It was very intense at first, almost unbearable, until later, it mellowed into a dull aching that they got used to. This year, the party was to be held on Saturday night, particularly to avoid issues with classes the next day, and such.

The ceremony lasted for around an hour and a half, and the boys Apparated to the Hogsmade grounds, while the rest of the Death Eaters headed for their homes, excepting those Voldemort had mentioned earlier.

Sitting in an armchair by the fire with his back to them, Voldemort motioned them to come towards him with a careless wave of his hand, “I am offering you an opportunity,” he said, “to compensate for the mistakes some of you have made,” His eyes flickered over Lucius, “or to simply prove to me that you are worthy of being in my service. The task I will assign you requires intelligence, patience, common sense, and determination, but you must also have a desire to punish Wormtail and a thirst for revenge for his treachery. I chose you, out of all my followers, because I sense you all have the capability to kill without remorse, to intimidate your prey, and because you have been faithful to me. I trust you will not prove me wrong?” he asked softly, a hint of menace in his voice.

“Of course not, My Lord,” Malfoy said, “We shall succeed at whatever you wish for us to do,”

“Indeed,” Dolohov said hoarsely, “We are eternally faithful,”

“Very well, then. My task for you is as follows: Four of you shall trace Wormtail and the woman. Of those four, two will deal with Wormtail—torture him all that you want, but bring him alive—and the other two will bring me the woman, but not before searching their whereabouts for anything useful. One of you—which will undoubtedly have to be Snape—will search her quarters in Hogwarts for anything that would prove useful. She is bound to have things stored there. You will also have to watch the new Death Eaters…” he added thoughtfully, “Now, that leaves three of you. Those three will hunt down certain Order members…you will only kill a few, as I need at least two alive,”

“You need not fret,” he snapped at the sudden outburst of murmurs, and rose to his full height, “I have already devised which of you are best suited for what. Dolohov, Rabastan—you will go after Wormtail. Rodolphus, Macnair—you shall bring Trewlaney to me and search her current whereabouts. Snape—you know what to do. And that leaves Mulciber, Malfoy, and Bella to deal with the Order members,” He paused, resting a long, bony finger on his chin as he frowned in thought, “As for specific orders…I want Wormtail tortured, injured even, but not killed. Trewlaney can be tortured if she resists to being brought, but obviously not killed. As for the Order members, listen closely, for these are the ones to be killed: Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. However, you are to bring Aberforth—Dumbledore’s brother—and Remus Lupin. The murders are to be done quietly…have your fun, but they are to go by unnoticed,” Voldemort said softly, “Should you disobey my orders in any way whatsoever…you shall face Lord Voldemort’s full wrath…understood?”

The Death Eaters nodded and murmured promises, and Voldemort nodded, “Good. Now, there is a specific order in which this has to be done. The first of you to act will be those that have to bring the Order members. After they are interrogated, you shall use their information to track Wormtail and Trewlaney. As for Snape—you may act as soon and discreetly as possible,” Voldemort said, and the Death Eaters nodded again to show that they understood, “Very well. You are dismissed,” they all bowed and made their way out of the room quietly, not bothering to look at each other.

When they were finally in the kitchen, Lucius spoke up, “Well, it doesn’t seem like such a hard task,” he commented lightly, “I daresay it’ll be quite enjoyable,”

Dolohov nodded, “I’ll make sure Wormtail regrets what he did,” he said menacingly.

“Ah, come on, Dolohov…don’t take things so seriously. I, for one, am looking forward to a few good murders and tortures,” Bellatrix said breezily, “Should be interesting, don’t you think?”

Rabastan glared at her, “This isn’t about murders or tortures, Bella. I thought you, of all people would take this seriously,” he said, “If we don’t focus completely on the task at hand, this whole thing could blow up in our faces!”

“Shut up, Rabastan, she can say whatever she wants,” Rodolphus snapped, “We all have a different approach at things, but that doesn’t mean we’ll mess up,”

“I agree,” Macnair said, “And Master told us to enjoy ourselves while we completed our task, so we have permission,”

Mulciber and Snape hovered beside them, throwing disdainful looks at their childish banter before Snape glanced at his watch and realized it was getting late. He grabbed his cloak and sent a single nod in his colleagues’ direction before Dissaparating, without a word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7:55 a.m., Tuesday Morning, Sibyll’s house – Killarney, Ireland

Wormtail staggered through the door of the house, clutching several bags of enough food to sustain them for about two weeks. A stubborn part of him kept urging him to just use his wand, and then run to hide somewhere else, but he managed to ignore it. There was no way Sibyll would consent to such a thing.

Their interaction was becoming very odd. It wasn’t due to any type of infatuation—Merlin forbid—, yet Wormtail couldn’t fathom a way to classify their relationship. Sometimes they behaved like a mother and a young child, with her telling him off for his idiocy and him complaining and begging her to forgive him. Sometimes they behaved like a brother and a sister would, fighting and yelling at each other until they each shut themselves in a separate room of the house. Yet the oddest times of all were when they acted like an old couple, showing consideration for each other and simply caring.

It was very, very unnerving, not to mention confusing,

But another reason Wormtail didn’t leave the house was because he liked it. It was much larger than he had imagined by her descriptions, with 65 rooms. It was a Victorian mansion, and it was built by the lake shore. The house was flanked by huge Oak trees that formed a semi-forest around it, and that forest was surrounded by the lake’s crystalline waters. The inside of the house only enhanced the feeling that one was in a castle, with its sparkly chandeliers, gigantic fireplaces, shiny wooden floor, and fancy furniture. There were numerous kitchens, bedrooms, bathrooms, leisure rooms, reading rooms, and she even had a room for herself, which was specifically used for practicing Divination.

Seeing it for the first time, Wormtail had stared, open-mouthed, and wondered why she had left this house in the first place.

Stupidly enough, he had asked, and to his surprise, he found that her expression was one of nostalgia and pain. At his question, however, she glared at him and returned to her brisk manner by inserting the key into the lock and opening the front door.

Sibyll’s reaction when she caught sight of her house was one of amazement as well. It was spotless, even after all the years that had passed, and after searching the rooms thoroughly, they found that the house wasn’t infected by any type of insect, either.

It was odd, Wormtail thought. He had been paying a lot of attention to her behavior ever since she fell asleep on the bus. She had woken up with a start, nudged him painfully so he could remove the sound-blocking charm she’d casted on herself, and quickly conjured a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write. Wormtail had tried several times to catch a glimpse of her writing, but he was met either with an illegible, tiny scrawl, or a glaring stare from her. She had spoken very little to him during the rest of the trip and while they walked through the city towards her house.

On Monday, she had occasionally ventured out of her room to speak to him, but whenever he asked about the parchment, she’d huff and stomp back into her room, leaving him puzzled. So today, Wormtail had resolved to stop asking and find out himself. He would sneak into her Divinations room—which was here she seemed to store it—read the damn parchment, and finally figure out what all the silliness was about.

After tucking away all the food in the first kitchen he could find, Wormtail made his way quietly to Sibyll’s Divination room, which was located beside hers, in the West side of the house. It took around five minutes to reach, and by the time he did, Wormtail was already having doubts about whether this was a good idea after all. He was feeling quite tense now, and he jumped at any type of movement he heard. Sibyll’s snores from inside her bedroom weren’t much reassurance, as they reminded him that she could wake up at any moment and catch him.

Nevertheless, with a slight wince, he opened the doorknob to the Divinations room and entered. As he took a look around, he vaguely noted that he could hardly breathe through the perfumed air that crowded the room. The windows were shut, and covered by transparent reddish curtains that matched the walls, which were a vibrant shade of pinkish red. Wormtail also noted that there was a gigantic mirror covering the wall opposite the door, enhancing the room’s spooky sort of artistic appearance. In the fireplace was a roaring fire, which added difficulty to Wormtail’s already strained breathing. To the right there was a tall oak bookcase, packed with numerous volumes on themes concerning Divination. Beside it there was a large, comfortable armchair covered in various shawls of the kind Sibyll always wore, and a spindly table of a faded silver color. To Wormtail’s left there was a larger, fragile-looking table, which held a crystal ball, various elegant quills, a shoe, two very thick books, and—bingo—the piece of parchment she had been writing in for the past two days.

With a delighted chuckle, Wormtail took a few steps toward the table and grasped the thin piece of parchment, marveling at how easy this whole thing had been. With no time to spare, he lowered his gaze to it and began reading, a confused frown crossing his face immediately.

It was some sort of…description. He noted that Hermione Granger—Potter’s friend—was mentioned several times, as if the whole thing had to do with her. They were in some sort of valley…a large shadow was mentioned…and…a prophecy? But no, she never described its wording—the prophecy was merely mentioned to ‘creep out of her lips depending on the child’s decision’…whatever that meant. There was a lot of talk about accepting or declining some information, too, which he supposed was the prophecy.

Finally, there was a line dividing that strange description from the rest of the text. It seemed as if she was analyzing her previous description. Wormtail paused his reading and glanced at one of the heavy tomes on the table, titled The Seer’s Complete Encyclopedia to Dream Interpretation – Includes Every Single Word in Five Known Languages, and Their Possible Meaning in a Dream… Apparently, this had been a dream, which made sense, considering she had been taking a nap and had woken up abruptly. But why would she be taking such a far-fetched and confusing dream seriously?

Wait, there was a word written on the top right corner of the parchment…it was almost illegible—Merlin, this woman needed writing lessons—but Wormtail finally deciphered it.

Vision

It had been a vision, then? Well, everything seemed to be falling into place—the long hours she spent in this room, gazing into a crystal ball and reading heavy tomes such as this one, the continuous notes on this parchment…

But why had that Granger girl been in it? What in the world could that buck-toothed Mudblood have to do with this?

Following the description was a gigantic list of the terms she chose to analyze from her dream, but Wormtail skipped it. There had to be something else that would be worth all this trouble…but no, afterwards the only thing she had written was a small note reminding herself to contact Dumbledore.

The traitor. How dare she even consider it again? It’s inevitable that when she does, she’ll have to confess about our compromise, and there’s no doubt that Dumbledore will send some Order members to capture me.

Honestly—

Suddenly, the creak of a door behind him distracted him from his angered thoughts. He froze, eyes wide, as he realized she had just caught him red-handed.

“You--!” Sibyll choked angrily, “How dare you go through my things?” Wormtail turned, opening his mouth to apologize, when she began to speak again. This time, however, her voice was different—hard, and rather hoarse—and her eyes were strangely unfocused. She began reciting something, and by the sound of it, Wormtail registered that it was…a prophecy?

“It shall happen as the fourth month comes to an end..…The battle that has been long brewing shall take place, and the Wizarding World shall be divided into two halves..…He with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall face him in battle…Strength and powers unknown are to be revealed, and friendships will be sealed…..Blood will be shed, innocents will be murdered, and it will not stop until the Dark Lord is defeated….But for the Light to prevail He will be required to join in alliance with Her….And should They not perform in alliance, the future of the Wizarding World will be lost….It shall happen as the fourth month comes to an end…..”

With a few blinks and coughs, she returned to normal, demanding to know what he thought he was doing in her Divinations room. Wormtail stared back, wondering once more if he had done the right thing by sneaking in there.

A/N: I know, I know…it’s been like a month since I updated, but I’ve been incredibly busy at school and with my other things. I’m sorry… =(

As for this chapter, I think it turned out well. =) I don’t have any specific comments, so…that’s it.

Till the next!

13. The Ties That Bind

Chapter Thirteen: The Ties That Bind

8:11 a.m., Tuesday Morning, Sibyll’s house – Killarney, Ireland

“I…I…uh…what?” Wormtail blurted out incredulously.

Sibyll crossed her arms at her chest, “Oh, sure, be that way. Of course we’re not in my Divinations Room, where I just caught you with my personal belongings,” she sneered, “Don’t be stupid. What do you think you are doing in here?”

“How can you ask me such a thing after what you just said?”

“What are you talking about?”

Wormtail rolled his eyes, “Come on, Sibyll. We don’t have time for games. Please, repeat what you just said! I would have thought you’d be more concerned with that rather than your personal belongings!”

Sibyll glared at him furiously for a second; searching him for a telltale sign that he was making things up. However, she only saw truth in his eyes, and she frowned in thought, “I…I don’t remember, Wormtail,” she whispered, probing her mind for something she could have said, but finding nothing.

“Then…then it really was a prophecy,” Wormtail said slowly, his eyes wide from astonishment.

Sibyll’s eyes shot up to meet his, “A prophecy?” She said sharply, “What—what did I say? What did it involve?” she felt faintly afraid, but was mostly filled with a grim sort of understanding as Wormtail struggled to repeat it again. Everything seemed to fall into place now—why Granger had been in the Valley of the Sage, why Severus had been summoned so frequently lately, why Dumbledore had been constantly writing letters to the Order members…

They all knew, with the exception of Granger, that the Final Battle was fast approaching.

They were preparing.

The thought of such a thing sent chills down Sibyll’s spine. With an apologetic glance at Wormtail, she reached for her wand, which rested in her robe pocket. He face almost white, she whispered, “I’m sorry for what I m about to do, Wormtail, but you must know that it is for the best. Dumbledore must hear about this,” Wormtail narrowed his eyes and, after a moment of silence, hurled himself towards her wand. With a sharp intake of breath as he treaded on her foot, Sibyll flung her left elbow at his face and pointed her wand at him, “Fine, if that’s how you want things,” she hissed, and with an angry glare in his direction, she said, “Stupefy!”

Wormtail froze momentarily as the spell hit him, and then crumpled to the floor, unable to dissuade her from casting the spell. With a grim smirk, Sibyll walked around him and towards the oak bookcase. She briefly counted the shelves before seizing a thick book out of the seventh one from the bottom up. Carelessly tossing the book on the chair next to the bookcase, she reached for a small, squashed pouch of Floo Powder from the spot on the bookcase where the book had rested.

“Oh, this is wonderful…don’t look at me like that!” she hissed, catching a glimpse of Wormtail’s face and frowning. After a minute of thinking, she sighed, “I want to go back to Hogwarts…I hate this place. I want to speak with Albus, as well…I need to talk to someone other than you,” she spat, talking in the direction of Wormtail’s body, “And this prophecy business is just too complicated to handle on my own. The only question remaining, I suppose, is whether to take you or not,”

I can’t possibly bring a Death Eater into Hogwarts! It’s enough with Severus running around the place, terrifying half of the student body to death.

But I can’t leave him here completely open to attack and prying eyes…his cronies are bound to be out looking for him by now, and I bet it won’t be long until he’s found. This isn’t exactly a hidden sort of mansion, after all, and he’s heard the prophecy…

With a childish groan of dismay, Sibyll levitated Wormtail’s body and guided it into the fireplace. And as she dropped a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, she enjoyed a mingled feeling of security and happiness at the thought of leaving for her home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8:47 a.m., Tuesday morning, Gryffindor Common Room

Hermione rubbed her eyes sleepily and splashed some cold water on her face. She brushed her teeth and smoothed her hair lazily, trying not to think about the night before. Or rather, her worries from the night before. She really didn’t need to worry about things like that before Charms class. With a sigh, she looked at her tired reflection in the mirror and leant back on the wall behind her.

I can’t do this… She whimpered softly, running a hand through her hair, I just can’t…I’m tired of crying so much…I just feel so…overwhelmed by this. I love Harry, and I know he loves me, but being engaged is just too...it puts too much pressure on us to be a perfect couple…

This is stupid…I should have never agreed to the proposal. What was I thinking?

Wait, what am I thinking now? This isn’t right. I can’t be engaged and thinking I should have never agreed to be!

She rolled her eyes in frustration and unlocked the door. With a small smile and a ‘Good Morning’ to her roommates, she was out of the dormitory. Yet, as she climbed down the stairs leading to the Common Room, she began to feel very dizzy. Before her, the staircase twisted and moved in a snakelike fashion. Bewildered, she extended her arm to the side, clutching the wall for support. She blinked several times, but the room remained the same way. Suddenly, she felt as if she were being lifted in the air and pushed onto the floor violently. She tried to get up, but she felt too weak to act, and slowly, her eyes began to close whilst a soft voice whispered in her ear.

“It shall happen as the fourth month comes to an end..…The battle that has been long brewing shall take place, and the Wizarding World shall be divided into two halves..…He with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall face him in battle…Strength and powers unknown are to be revealed, and friendships will be sealed…..Blood will be shed, innocents will be murdered, and it will not stop until the Dark Lord is defeated….But for the Light to prevail He will be required to join in alliance with Her….And should They not perform in alliance, the future of the Wizarding World will be lost….It shall happen as the fourth month comes to an end…..”

The words were repeated twice in her head, and then, as abruptly as it had all begun, she felt herself coming back to consciousness and got to her feet. Her eyes wide as she replayed the words in her mind, she made a dash for the staircase leading up to the boys’ dormitories. She opened the door and it hit the wall with a loud thud, followed by four groans from the boys that had been sleeping. Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval (Honestly, you’d think we didn’t have class in half an hour!) and headed towards Harry’s bed. She extended her hand and shook him slightly, so that he awoke with a jolt. Frantically looking to his sides, he finally caught sight of her and grasped her hand.

“We have to talk to Dumbledore,” he croaked, giving her a desperate look. Hermione nodded numbly, knowing that he too, had somehow heard the prophecy as well. With a swift motion, Harry was on his feet and pulling Hermione towards the door. Hermione glanced at the other boys, who were drifting slowly awake, and at Ron’s bed, which was empty, before running behind Harry out the door.

She managed to catch up with him at the portrait of the Fat Lady, and noticed that he looked rather tired, “What do you think it meant?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Harry responded with a shake of his head before running towards a staircase leading to the sixth floor. Hermione followed him, worried for him and what she had just heard.

The prophecy obviously referred to the Final Battle between him and Voldemort, but what did it mean by him joining in alliance with ‘Her’ to defeat Voldemort? Is that person me?

Could it be me?

I hardly have any exceptional powers that could be of help to him. How could I possibly aid him in the defeat of Voldemort? If anything, I would be a liability.

Finally, they reached the third floor. Panting, they both stopped before the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Professor Dumbledore’s office. Hermione frowned, “Shouldn’t we have gone to the Great Hall? It’s breakfast time, after all. He’s bound to be there,”

Harry shook his head, giving her a dark look, “I hardly think this is something to discuss in front of the whole school and the staff,” he said, “We can just wait for him in his office. Breakfast will soon be over, anyway,”

Hermione nodded silently, moving towards the gargoyle and giving it the password. It quickly sprang to life, giving her a small bow and moving to the side. Harry gave her an amused look and motioned for her to step forward towards the spiral staircase. The torches were not lit, but light poured from a window high up on the wall, illuminating the staircase considerably and giving both Harry and Hermione a sense of relaxation. As they went up, however, voices broke the silence. With a confused glance at one another, they both listened intently, their bewilderment and worry increasing steadily as they heard more.

“…Albus, how many times will I tell you? I cannot stay there any longer, especially with him around! It is simply not safe, let alone comfortable!” a strangely familiar voice was speaking, but neither of them dared to voice their speculation on who it was. It was simply too far-fetched to be true, “my house is not hidden at all! I have no reason to believe that his friends aren’t already out looking for us. They will find us, Albus, and will not hesitate to take us back to their Master. And he, if I may add, will not hesitate to kill us,”

“He will not kill you yet,” another voice, this one completely familiar, spoke. They were certain of who it was this time. They heard it very frequently, after all. As Professor Snape continued speaking in his usual baritone voice, Harry had a sudden clear mental picture of his sneering face, “He is, of course, unaware of the prophecy, but he still wishes to know how you…uncovered my identity as his spy,” there was a mocking tone to his voice, and both Harry and Hermione became puzzled. What prophecy did they mean? Could they be aware of the one they came to inform Dumbledore about? And what identity were they talking about?

“Honestly, it was pure chance. I was suspicious of you, and I attempted to see your identity in the crystal ball. I merely saw a scene of you passing information to him, and then another of you passing information to us. However, had I known this mess would result, I would have never even tried!”

“I would have thought a gifted Seer such as you would have known from the start,” Severus said, his tone mocking again.

“Severus,” said a warning voice, belonging to Albus Dumbledore, “Let us try not to stray from the issue at hand, shall we? Sibyll, I understand your concerns, but please try to comprehend the other side of our problem. We cannot suddenly bring you back into Hogwarts, because as you know, they are after you. We cannot Obliviate him and send him on his way, because Memory charms can be broken. And, logically, it would put the students and the staff in danger if we harbor him in the Castle. Therefore you must understand why you are to go back,”

“But how will my safety be guaranteed then—“

“Silence,” Severus hissed suddenly.

“What?”

The voices were suddenly lowered to whispers, and Harry and Hermione were unable to understand what they were saying. They stood before the door, confused as to what they should do next, until they heard the roar of the fire and quick footsteps heading towards them. They glanced at each other and made to walk away, but the door suddenly swung open and they found themselves face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

“Harry. Hermione,” he said, his voice showing no sign that he knew they had heard. Yet the look he was giving them—despite not being angry—told them he was well aware of their eavesdropping, “Come in, come in,”

Hermione bit her lip slightly, giving Harry a questioning look. He gave her a small shrug and motioned for her to go inside. She moved slowly towards the center of the room, and stood staring without comment at the surroundings. Even with the lack of dialogue, the large, circular room was not filled with silence. There were small noises coming from strange objects, a low murmur of conversation from the portraits along the walls, the cackling of the fire—which bore signs of being recently used for Floo travel—and a vague humming coming from a number of curious silver instruments. Fawkes stood on a golden perch near an enormous claw-footed desk with two chairs in front of it. There were several cupboards and shelves scattered along the room, along with large, open windows that allowed the cool morning breeze to enter the room.

Harry followed her, and glanced behind him at Dumbledore. He had closed the door behind him, and had been whispering to the portrait closest to him. As he made to turn, Harry quickly turned to Hermione and grasped for her hand, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. She returned it with a small smile, and they both turned to look at Dumbledore.

He gave them a weary smile, “I will not pretend I do not know why you are here,” he said, shrugging, “The quicker we sort things out, the better, right?”

Harry nodded quickly, “Professor, could the prophecy be wrong, by any chance?”

Dumbledore shook his head, “I would hope so, Harry, but it is not so. Sibyll has made a number of two correct prophecies before this one, therefore it is likely that this one is accurate as well,”

“Then, the battle will take place at the end of April?”

“Indeed,”

“And the prophecy speaks of an alliance, as well. Who is the person it refers to?”

Dumbledore gave him a small smile, “Ah, Harry…you are, according to the prophecy, ‘He with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord’ and you have to join in alliance with a person referred to as ‘Her’. We have no direct evidence that can corroborate this except a dream Miss Granger and Sibyll recently shared, and considering what it spoke of, I believe we are right in assuming that it is Hermione that will help you defeat Voldemort,” he gave Hermione a small nod, as if to confirm what he was saying.

Hermione frowned, “Professor, although what you say is correct, why would I be the one chosen to help Harry? I possess no exceptional powers, or anything that could be of help. I can hardly be considered worthy of such a thing,”

“When the time comes, Hermione, you will find that you are, indeed, the one fit for the task,” Dumbledore said simply, “I should also advise you not to doubt yourself, for when the time comes, you must be sure of yourself. Doubt is a luxury we cannot have at this time,”

“But Professor—“

“I cannot explain further, Hermione. I am, like you, mystified by everything that has happened over the last few days. I am sorry I cannot be of more help, but I do not know much more than you both,”

Harry looked up from the floor and gave Dumbledore a quizzical look, “Professor, shouldn’t we be preparing? I can’t be expected to defeat Voldemort with no practice. I need to learn new spells and some dueling training,”

Dumbledore nodded, “I am well aware, Harry. In fact, both you and Hermione should train for this. Therefore, I have spoken to Kingsley, and he has agreed to help you train two nights a week. He will take you to different locations used for Auror training, so you become accustomed to different terrains and can practice evasion. Other Order members will accompany you as well, for your safety,”

Both Harry and Hermione nodded, feeling slightly more cheerful at the prospect of traveling to new places to learn how to battle. “When will we meet with him?” Harry asked.

“Tomorrow night, at eight o’clock, come to my office and I will tell you how to proceed from then on,”

Harry nodded, “And, Professor?” he said tentatively, “I won’t deny that we were listening to the conversation taking place before you let us in, and, well…” his voice trailed off, giving Dumbledore an uncertain look.

“I am deeply sorry, Harry, but I cannot discuss that with you. Those are private matters regarding the Order. If you are to know of them, then you will be told when the time comes. Now, however, you have other things to be concerned about,” Dumbledore’s voice had a stern tone to it, and Harry desisted of the idea of pressing on.

“I would also, of course, request that you both do not tell anyone about your training sessions, what you overheard, and what we have discussed—especially the prophecy. Understood?”

They both nodded and, sensing the conversation had reached an end, stood up. Dumbledore did, too, and led them to the door. He seemed troubled, and as they were descending the spiral staircase, they heard the outburst of conversation between the portraits, questioning Dumbledore about the things they had just heard.

Harry reached for Hermione’s hand again, holding it tightly as they walked. Almost instantly, though, he released her hand and wrapped his arm around her instead, feeling worried for her. She leaned unto him as they walked, silent, yet speaking to him. Somehow, he thought knew exactly what she was thinking then.

The burden was no longer heavily rested upon Harry, but on both of them. Although he held the power necessary to defeat Voldemort, he would be unable to do so without the help of Hermione, meaning that she was just as crucial in this as he was. Without any of them, Voldemort would never be defeated.

The thought sent a cold chill down his spine.

He didn’t want her to go through all the pressure and worry he felt everyday since he had learned of the other prophecy in his fifth year. He knew how horrible it felt. The strange feeling that you’re alone in the world, or that you aren’t powerful enough to go through with things.

Wrapped in his arms, Hermione was feeling very helpless indeed at the thought of playing such an important role in the Final Battle. Yet she was torn between her instinctive feelings and the words from Dumbledore that she had heard minutes ago.

“…Doubt is a luxury we cannot have at this time,”

And, inside, she began to feel slightly stronger. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she had to be strong. Not for herself, but for Harry. His success in defeating Voldemort rested on her shoulders, and she had to help him.

Whether it involved magical skills, thinking, or simply being there, she would help him.

She would not let Voldemort win.

14. Are Things Really What They Seem?

Chapter Fourteen: Are Things Really What They Seem?

12:04 p.m., Tuesday afternoon, The Great Hall

Hermione spent the better part of her lunch hour glancing uneasily at the staff table, where Snape was supposed to sit, and glancing back at Dumbledore, willing him to look at her and give her an answer to her questions, which had only increased after their conversation this morning. She had barely been able to concentrate in Charms, yet she supposed she was lucky that Professor Flitwick had taken to giving them theory today rather than a practical class. She could always copy the notes, after all—not that that set her at ease at all, but still, better than nothing. With a loud sigh of frustration, she set her fork down and began to think about where could Professor Snape have gone before they entered Dumbledore’s office.

Her thinking, much to her dismay, did not have good results. By half-past twelve, she still hadn’t eaten much or managed to come up with any logical explanation. She looked up and saw Harry looking at her questioningly. She gave him a half-hearted smile and said, “It’s nothing…I’m just so confused about all this. Where could Snape be?”

Harry frowned, “I don’t know. But he left just before we entered Dumbledore’s office…he can’t have gone far,” he said in a low voice, and snapped his fingers suddenly, “Maybe he just hid somewhere in Dumbledore’s office so he could talk to him when we left?”

Hermione shook her head, “Then where is he now? And besides, the fire roared before the door was opened. I think he left by Floo Powder,”

“But where did he go? He’s either locked in his office or simply not in the Castle,”

Hermione placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand, heaving a large sigh, “And what about those voices we heard earlier? I could have sworn that sounded like…” she paused, giving Harry an uncertain look, “Don’t laugh…I could have sworn that sounded like Professor Trewlaney,”

To Hermione’s surprise, however, Harry nodded enthusiastically, “And Dumbledore mentioned a name when he spoke to that woman…”

“Sibyll!” Hermione exclaimed, a little too loudly. Several students looked up from their meals and gave them odd looks, while others snickered at them. With a raise of an eyebrow, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry, who was, apparently, deep in thought.

Harry looked up at Hermione and gave her a grim look, “And she mentioned someone she didn’t want to be with—maybe he was a liability to her in whatever she’s doing—and someone that would kill her,” he paused, before voicing out the name in a mere whisper to avoid attracting more attention, “Voldemort’s definitely that last one,”

Hermione nodded, “Probably. Either him or one of his followers. There aren’t much people up to killing, really,”

“Which brings us to this:” Harry said excitedly, “what is she was complaining about having Snape tag along with her to where she’s going? I mean, he’s with Voldemort, and if he’s being pursued by the other Death eaters for any reason, they surely wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of them,”

Hermione frowned, thinking things over, and shook her head, “Dumbledore mentioned something about not being able to keep whoever they were talking about in the Castle. Snape’s already here, so what would the point be?”

“He isn’t now. You never know, they might have been referring to that,” Harry retorted, looking pretty convinced of his theory.

Hermione mulled things over in her mind for a few minutes, thinking that although Harry had a point, it seemed unlikely that Dumbledore would let another teacher just leave like that. After a while, an idea occurred to her. And, although it gave her shivers just thinking about it, it was the best way to make sure if Snape was really out of the Castle or not, “Harry, why don’t we go down to the Dungeons later and see if Snape is there?” she suggested quietly.

Harry’s eyes snapped onto her in surprise, “Hermione Granger is suggesting that we sneak after dark into Severus Snape’s quarters?” he teased, “Are you serious?” His tone was light, yet the last words held certain incredulity that made Hermione feel a touch of indignity.

She raised her eyebrow and opened her mouth to retort with a snappy answer, yet something held her back. She didn’t know if it was the accord they had made, or simply instinct, but something inside her shifted and made her feel guilty for what she had been about to say. She bit her lip slightly, and looked back up at him. The simplicity of the expression in his face was overwhelming. A small grin was playing on his face, and his eyes were alive with playful merriment. He looked like an overgrown little boy, really. With a small smile, Hermione said, “Well, yes. But we could go earlier, and just knock on his door,” she paused, before smirking and saying, “If the idea of sneaking around at night scares you so…”

Harry laughed, “And that, coming from the woman that was terrified to death last time we got caught,” he winked at her, and Hermione felt as if very small insects we fluttering about in her stomach. She laughed out loud at this, finding it curious that she would feel butterflies around him now. It had been so long since she had felt such a sensation around anyone…

She shrugged, “That was one time. No need for it to happen again,”

“We’ll see,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, grinning.

Harry shrugged innocently, “Nothing. So we’ll sneak in, then?” he asked, enjoying the turn the conversation had taken. So far, his conversations with Hermione were mostly about the odd things that had been happening, or about what might happen in the future. This one, however was silly, unimportant, and yet…it held its special sort of importance, because it brought them together just a bit more. Even if by teasing each other, all they did was flirt, the smiles she gave him were enough to keep him happy for the rest of the day.

A conversation such as this, some might say, was a gift, and Harry agreed full heartedly.

Hermione pushed her hair out of her face, wishing it were tamer, and nodded, “Yes, I think it is best,” Harry nodded and there was silence. They continued eating, chancing glazed looks at each other and looking away when they realized they had been staring. In between bites of food and long looks in Harry’s direction, Hermione took to looking at the people around them as well. For the first time, she noticed just how many couples Hogwarts seemed to had, and was surprised. Yet, the biggest surprise came when she saw Luna and Ron sitting at the Ravenclaw table, talking and laughing in a matter very much like the one she and Harry had been just minutes ago.

She raised an eyebrow, and felt the start of a grin appearing on her face. It vanished instantly, though, when she remembered the last time she had seen them talking. Flashes of all the cruel things Ron had said to her in the last few days came to her mind, and the rage she had felt in those moments seemed to resurface.

Yet, as she remembered those times, she began to see things from a different perspective. She pulled herself from her anger, and managed to see something she hadn’t paid much attention to back then. She felt a lump rise in her throat as she thought of all the pain she must have caused Ron, and the wounded looks he had given her before his face contorted in anger and he snarled an insult at her.

Those were empty insults, she realized. Things that he had said to cover up the way he was truly feeling.

And as she thought of these things, she looked at Ron and Luna again and saw them in a different light. If Luna was making Ron feel as happy as he looked right then, then she truly was something. Hermione had never managed to do that, mainly because she always ended up frustrated and proceeded to ignoring him when he was upset rather than cheering him up. Again, she felt guilty thinking about those times. Had she really been so hard on him?

She looked briefly at Harry was he ate his food and looked back at Ron and Luna. With a smile, she thought that maybe Luna was what Ron needed now. Maybe things would turn out well for everyone after all.

Her smile grew more at the thought.

Harry smiled as he saw Hermione looking serenely at the surroundings, a curiously large smile playing on her face. He didn’t bother trying to figure out what she might be thinking—she was a woman, after all. Women, for some reason, seemed to reel around in their minds, drifting in seconds from thought to thought, relishing the memories and the safe confines of the mind. Trying to figure out what she might be thinking about would be like trying to catch the wind—whenever he thought he had it, it just so happened to be long gone.

Despite not being able to figure out what was going through her mind, however, he felt comfort in seeing her looking so calm and happy

And as she looked back at him and their eyes locked, he felt as if everything around them disappeared and there was nothing else that mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:22 p.m., Tuesday night, The Dungeons

The atmosphere in the Dungeons was not much more different than it had been the last time they had been there. It was cold, damp, and utterly spooky. Deep inside, Hermione was starting to regret suggesting coming here, but her desire to try and solve the mystery of all the odd things that were going on was overpowering.

As they walked around the maze of doors—everything looked so different in the dark—they both wondered what they would find if they ever reached Snape’s quarters. They decided that, just to be secure, they would also check the classroom, but they doubted he would be there. Any student could barge in there—not that any of them felt the urge to.

As Hermione began to feel a mixed feeling of relief and disappointment at not finding Snape’s classroom, Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He took a step backward and seized her arm, clamping a hand over her mouth and dragging her close to the wall. Hermione, bewildered and taken by surprise, swung her elbow backward and felt it make contact with him. Harry bent forward in pain, releasing her and clutching his stomach. Hermione’s eyes widened as she realized that she had hit him and she bent forward towards him, patting his back.

“Are you okay?” she whispered urgently. Harry managed to bring himself to a proper standing position and placed a finger over her lips. Silently, he pointed to the other side of the corridor, where a shadow could be seen moving towards them. Hermione uttered an irrepressible ‘Oh!’ of understanding and quickly pulled out the Invisibility Cloak from her bag. She draped it over them and backed up towards the wall alongside Harry, squinting to see clearly who it might be that was striding towards them in the shadows.

As the figure stepped closer towards them, Hermione realized who it was. Her vision had accustomed nicely to the dark, thus it took her a short time to realize that it was Professor Snape. His cloak was billowing behind him, as usual, which gave off the appearance that he was flying. His face was unreadable, yet his eyes were narrowed in a way that said he was not at all happy.

As he whisked past them, Hermione held her breath, waiting until he was far enough to be unable to hear them speak. Harry, however, waited until he was far enough to not hear their footsteps behind him. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and set off behind Snape, fully expecting Hermione to try and stop him from going after the git. Yet, much to his surprise, she didn’t. She actually seemed intrigued by Snape’s sudden appearance, and Harry was glad for that. If they wasted more time, they could lose him and wouldn’t be able to find out what he was up to.

And so they continued following Snape out of the Dungeons, up the Grand Staircase, and through a secret passageway Harry would have never dreamed existed. It was located just beside the entrance to the first floor. Probably because it was such a blatantly visible place, no one would ever think there was anything hidden there. It was quite clever.

The passageway was simple and hard to get lost in. It was a very steep and excruciatingly long stone staircase, leading up to a destination yet unknown to Harry or Hermione. It was impossible to tell in what direction, as the staircase turned and twisted in different angles, and there were no torches. The only source of light was the window situated high up on the walls, which let the moonlight stream in briefly. Straining his eyesight, Harry was able to make out the shape of the walls beside them. He pulled Hermione’s hand gently and began walking forward slowly, searching for the first step of the staircase. Finally, he found it, and they began walking up the staircase at a reasonably quick pace behind Snape.

The staircase seemed to go on forever. Whenever they thought they saw the outline of a door, it turned out that it was their eyes playing tricks on them. Their legs began to ache from ascending so many stairs, and they began to feel fatigue. They were thankful when Snape finally stopped and stood facing the wall, brandishing his wand. Harry stopped, too, with a mixed feeling of bewilderment and relief. The place seemed utterly random and plain, and he had no idea of how Snape could identify this place. Perhaps he had counted the stairs?

He heard Snape muttering in a low voice, his wand pointed at the wall, before he pocketed it and gazed expectantly at the wall again. Slowly, a gold light began tracing the wall in an outline of a door, and when it finished, a large oak door materialized right there on the wall. Snape extended his arm towards the doorknob and wrenched it open, stepping hurriedly inside and not bothering to close it behind him. Harry lunged for the door, seizing the doorknob before it closed and holding it open until he and Hermione were safely inside the room. Then, he closed the door behind him quietly.

It was then when he realized where they were. In truth, he should have expected it, considering how many stairs there had been, but it came as a total surprise for Harry to realize that they were deep in the fireplace in Professor Trewlaney’s classroom. He knew because of the mixed smell of soot and perfume clouding the air—he could never forget such a heavily perfumed smell. It flew up his nostrils and difficulted his breathing, and he thought he heard Hermione let out a muffled cough. They walked at a slow pace far behind Snape, tired from their journey up the long staircase and having to restrain their coughs.

Deep inside, they were strongly beginning to regret coming.

They were so far behind Snape, they were barely able to see the hem of his cloak as he strode inside another door that had appeared out of nowhere near the back of the classroom. They walked around the copper kettle blocking the fireplace entrance, and stood uncertainly, wondering what to do.

“Should we…hide?” Hermione whispered softly, her voice showing a faint note of fear and uncertainty. Under the cloak, Harry could barely see her face except for a bit that was illuminated by a faint ray of moonlight, and yet, he could imagine her face showing concern and expressing a hidden question in her eyes. A hope that he could do something to better the situation.

Despite this, Harry could come up with no better suggestion. They were certainly not going to run now that they were finally here, “Yeah,” he said, nodding, “Maybe we could sit behind one of the armchairs, or put to poufs together and crouch behind them,”

Hermione frowned, looking unconvinced, “But don’t you think he’ll notice if we move something? Or what if he hears us?” she asked, clearly worried. Harry suspected that she was beginning to fear that Snape was on Death eater business or something of the sort, and would do something to them. That was ridiculous, of course. He would probably take house points off, give them detention again, and verbally insult them.

But then, hadn’t he threatened Harry the last time they had met after hours? Harry remembered clearly his parting words to him the other night: “Now, get to bed. And should I find you strolling the halls at night again, Potter—accompanied or not—you shall regret it deeply.” As the words came back to him, he felt a bit of a shiver cross his spine, and he silently vowed to not let themselves get caught.

“He won’t,” Harry said simply, determination etched on his face. Hermione’s initial instinct to feel worried at this was crushed at the sight of him. The corners of her mouth twitched in a small smile as she walked behind Harry to a large armchair. They strode to the back, which was facing the front of the classroom, and they sat side by side behind it.

“Uhm…Harry?” Hermione murmured quietly after a few moments, “We can’t sit like this,” she said

“Why?”

With a sigh, she gestured to their sides, clearly uncovered by the cloak. Harry nodded, “You’ll have to sit on my lap, then,” he said absentmindedly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, a rosy blush creeping on her cheeks, “Smooth, Harry,” she whispered, leaning unto him, “But I think we can manage to cover ourselves by moving closer,”

Harry frowned, wondering why she had said that, and then he realized the implication his suggestion might have had. He laughed, “I did not mean it that way…” he said, “You were the one that thought about that!”

Hermione’s grin widened, “How do you know?” she asked, winking at him and resting her cheek on his shoulder. Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, wondering how she could be so beautiful and seductive without noticing it. She wasn’t wearing anything special—a sweater, her Hogwarts skirt, and her robes. Yet to Harry, she always looked beautiful, no matter what she was wearing, “So, how long d’you think we’ll be here? What’s he doing in there, anyway?” Harry asked, clearing his throat slightly.

Hermione shrugged, closing her eyes, “I don’t know. But maybe he really is tagging along with Trewlaney. Why else would he come here and raid a secret room in her classroom?”

“Voldemort,”

“Listen, Harry, I know you think he’s on that side, but…I can’t see Dumbledore falling for that kind of thing,” Hermione said with a sigh, wrapping her arms around Harry as well, “He’s not stupid, you know that,”

“Neither is Voldemort, Hermione. I can’t see either of them actually believing Snape, actually,”

“Then you’re saying they’re using him to their convenience? Are you implying that they’ll dispose of him when they see fit?” Hermione pulled away from him and gave him an incredulous look, “’Cause Voldemort would do that, but not Dumbledore, Harry. He’s not like that and you know it,”

Harry sighed, “I don’t know. I just wish everything would be over. That all these questions could be cleared up and I could just stop worrying so much,” his tone had a note of finality, and Hermione let the issue drop. The mood seemed to have gotten tense with only a few words, and she didn’t want to have another fight with him. Unable to come up with something to break the silence, Hermione took another approach. She softly ran her fingers along the side of Harry’s face, causing him to turn his face towards her. Slowly, she bent her face forward towards his lips, giving him time to back away if he were truly upset, but he didn’t. Their lips made contact and she felt his arms curve around her body again, slowly moving across it. She moved her hands up to his shoulders and caressed him softly, enjoying the way his hands felt on her body, even if layers of clothing separated them from her skin. She let out a soft noise of pleasure, barely audible, even to Harry, and their lips parted as Harry began to create a trail of kisses down to the small part of her neck that was visible.

They were both drifting off into an entirely different world as they forgot where they were and who was in the room next to them. Harry began pull Hermione’s robes off, and Hermione didn’t even think about what he was doing. She was utterly entranced by the person that was now kissing her in a way she had never been kissed before, touching her with both passion and love…

Then there was a loud, echoing clatter that broke the silence and the sound of Snape cursing. Hermione gasped and Harry pulled himself away from her quickly as she slipped her robe back on and straightened her skirt, which had ridden up to mid-thigh. Harry stared at his hands, embarrassed and feeling stupid for letting himself get carried away like that.

She didn’t seem to mind, but…I don’t know. What kind of a person tries to make love with someone in a classroom, with a teacher next door?

Wait a minute—make love?

When did we decide we were going to make love? We were kissing…and I began to pull of her robes. In a classroom. With Snape in the other room.

Huh.

Maybe I should try to control myself more…another time she might not take it so well…or we might do something we’d regret…

Oh, Merlin…

Hermione was sitting a good distance away from Harry, the left side of her body poking out of the Invisibility Cloak. Her eyes were wide as she realized what they had almost done—and where—and she was fumbling with her hands frantically, trying to concentrate on the noise coming from the room as an attempt to distract herself.

There were several loud cluttering sounds again, then the sound of a metal violently hitting wood, and a rustling of papers. Then, they both heard Snape walking out of the room. Hermione moved as quickly yet silently as possible towards Harry, but stumbling on her robe. Harry’s arm broke her fall, holding her tightly and pulling her towards him to cover her with the cloak. They huddled together, Hermione’s head leaning unto Harry’s chest and his arms holding her tightly as they waited to see what Snape would do next. Harry craned his neck and peered behind the armchair, and managed to catch a glimpse of a fuming Snape holding an old, battered notebook and exiting through the secret passage he had used to come.

Harry turned back to Hermione. She was gazing absentmindedly at something on the floor, so that Harry could only see the top of her head. Her hands were clutching Harry’s robes as if she were holding onto them for dear life, and could see that she was breathing quickly. Uncertainly, Harry patted Hermione’s shoulder, his other arm still around her, “Err…he’s gone,” he said, wondering what else he could say.

Hermione nodded and pulled away from Harry. He couldn’t see the expression on her face clearly, but he thought she was frowning, “I’m not mad at you,” she said quietly, “You don’t have to worry about that,”

Harry sighed, glad that he didn’t have to start the conversation, “But we shouldn’t have done that,”

“Yes. We shouldn’t have. It was both our faults, Harry,” Hermione said, “I shouldn’t have kissed you to begin with,” she blushed slightly at this, though it was barely visible in the darkness. The moonlight was illuminating her from the back, so that her face was hard to make out.

“And I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away,”

“And just so you know, Harry…” Hermione began in a low voice, “We wouldn’t have gotten much farther. I don’t think we’re ready yet. At least, I’m not,” she looked down at her hands, which were rested on her knees, before continuing, “You understand, don’t you?”

Harry had really never thought that perhaps she wasn’t ready. He had really never considered if he was ready, though he supposed he wasn’t if the mere thought of almost making love with her made him explode in concern and surprise at the consequences of his actions. Besides, what if she became pregnant? “Yes,” he said, “I understand, Hermione. It’s okay,”

Hermione looked up at him to see if he was telling the truth and smiled, “Thank you, Harry. It means a lot,” she said. Harry smiled back at her and they were again immersed by a deafening silence until they remembered where they were and why they were here. Harry helped Hermione up and uncovered themselves from the Invisibility Cloak so they could be more comfortable. Harry walked towards the fireplace and was surprised to see that the secret passageway was no longer there. Confused, he lit it, casting a brilliant light around the room. Now capable of walking without colliding with anything, Hermione strode to the back of the room, where the other door had been. It had also vanished, and yet, if she looked closely, she could see the outlines of a door. She tried Alohomora and several other spells she had learned to open doors and reveal secrets, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Frustrated, she kicked it fiercely. Still, it wouldn’t open. She turned back to Harry, who was looking through papers and things that littered the floor and tables, but apparently hadn’t found anything important.

“Did Snape use an incantation or a password? Because if it was a password, I don’t think we’ll ever get through,”

“I don’t know. We were in the passageway when he opened this, remember?”

Hermione let out a noise of frustration as she nodded, “So we came all this way for nothing? I hardly think there will be anything useful out here,”

Harry looked at her uncertainly and shrugged, “I don’t want this whole thing to be for nothing, either, Hermione, but I don’t think we’ll get in there. Still, we saw something relevant,”

“What would that be?”

“Snape. He wasn’t in the castle, and now he suddenly appeared and sneaked into Trewlaney’s secret room? I don’t think it’s a coincidence,”

“Yes, but it doesn’t answer anything! We were sneaking after him to find answers, Harry. Something that could clear this whole mystery once and for all,” Hermione snapped, feeling her temper rise steadily with every second that passed. She was beginning to feel annoyed at everything—like the large pouf that was sitting in front of her, or Harry’s continued attempts to make things seem less horrible.

Harry seemed to sense danger, as well, because he moved towards her and cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him, “Relax, Hermione…I wanted answers, too…but sometimes things don’t go the way you’d like them to,”

Hermione huffed, “We should be getting back soon,” she said quietly, hating herself for acting like such a child.

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling and kissing her lips lightly, “We should. Let’s go,” he grabbed her hand and led her towards the trapdoor they usually used to enter the classroom. He opened it, and gestured for her to go first. Later, when they were both out of the room, they casted a Colloportus charm on it, causing it to swing shut with a nasty squelching sound. Hermione shrugged, “Ah, well. At least there isn’t proof that it was us,”

They walked through the darkened castle in silence, making light comments from time to time and flashing each other smiles. The way from North Tower to the Gryffindor Common Room wasn’t long, and in a few minutes they were already there. They gave the Fat Lady the password and stepped inside, still not letting go of each other’s hand and gazing into one another’s eyes.

Hermione cleared her throat and smiled, “Err…I think we should go to sleep. We have class tomorrow,” despite her words, she didn’t move or let go of Harry’s hand.

Harry bent forward towards her lips and kissed her softly, letting go of her hand and burying his own hand in her hair, while his other hand laid on her lower back. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back ardently. Then, abruptly, Harry stepped back, giving Hermione an apologetic look. He opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione stopped him, placing her fingers on his lips. She shook her head and smiled, saying, “It’s okay, don’t worry,”

Harry smiled back, relieved, and caught a wisp of her hair between his fingers, “Then, I bid you goodnight. Sleep well, my love,” He bowed and winked at her.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden slightly and nodded sheepishly, “Yes…sleep well, my love,” They both grinned at each other, and, with one last kiss, they headed off into their dormitories. Their problems and worries forgotten, all they could think about was the way they had kissed and their parting words to each other.

Sonno bene, il mio amore.

A/N: w00t! Quick update! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter...it’s certainly romantic, and I think the plot still shows itself quite nicely. I hope more of you review this time, though. I know I kind of deserved your silence for not updating in so long, but I’ve updated very quickly this time. =)

Well, there’s not more to say…till the next!

15. Preparations and Plotting

Chapter Fifteen: Preparations and Plotting

11:35 a.m., Wednesday morning, Hogwarts Grounds

Hermione slipped off her dragon hide gloves with a look of distaste and casted a charm on them to clean them up. Harry looked down at his own and shrugged, pulling them off and stuffing them in his backpack. She arched an eyebrow at him and grinned, opening the exit to the Herbology Greenhouses. They had just had a nasty class with plants deemed Writhing Seeds, which were a crucial element in the potion used to remedy Headaches. Despite their effects on one’s headaches, however, they were utterly uncooperative when it came to planting them—writhing and making a nasty sort of screeching sound. Needless to say, the class had been very relieved when the time to leave came.

“Where are you going? The Castle’s this way,” Hermione asked Harry confusedly, turning to see him heading in the direction of the lake.

“I know,” he said calmly, breaking into a sort of sprint for the lake. Hermione watched, amused and slightly bewildered, as Harry finally reached the edge of the lake and sat down, gazing into the horizon. He turned back to Hermione and patted the grass beside him, inviting her to sit. She grinned and made her way towards him. As she sat down, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she nestled her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way for a long time, until, in a low, choked whisper, he asked, “Hermione…are you sure of this?”

She frowned, and moved her head slightly to look up at him, “Sure of what?” by his tine, she could tell he had thought a lot about whatever he was asking her about, and he seemed troubled by it.

“I might not make it, Hermione…I don’t want you to suffer,”

Hermione gave him an incredulous look, “Harry, I—“

“Things won’t be easy…I just want you to know that. I don’t want you to regret being with me because of that. I love you Hermione, and I don’t want to see you suffer,” Harry swallowed, feeling his throat unusually dry as he gazed into Hermione’s eyes and saw the pain that had flared up inside them.

Hermione bit her lip and look down, searching for something to say. She couldn’t lie, of course. She had, recently, regretted accepting his marriage proposal because of the trouble it had seemed to cause. She knew well that she felt something much deeper than a mere attraction for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie for his benefit.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth, could she? It would only confirm his fears.

“Harry…there are some times in which I wish we had never kissed that night in the Library. Times in which you infuriate me so much or I just feel stressed…and yet, it is times like the ones we shared yesterday, talking and laughing in the Great Hall, that remind me of why I did it,” she saw doubt in his eyes, and gave him a weak smile before continuing, “If you think that just because things get troublesome I will leave you, Harry, then you are utterly wrong. I could never leave you. I love you with all my heart, and…leaving you would only make me feel worse about everything. You bring happiness into my life, Harry. I feel special…different when I’m with you. And I know, despite what everyone says, that I love you truly, deeply; in a way no other person on this earth could conceive,” the words had come from deep inside Hermione, and as she spoke, the words sounded foreign to her. She never once wavered on what she was saying, or stopped to consider what she would say next. Somehow, she felt as if she had been subconsciously thinking all these things, and saying them aloud made her feel much better.

Harry pondered what Hermione had just told him. The truth in her eyes was evident, and yet…his worry was not gone. Oh, he knew she loved him and wouldn’t leave him, but that wasn’t what was troubling him.

It was the thought of losing her that tormented him.

Despite the raging thoughts and worries in his head, Harry opted to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to be worrying about her own death…he knew well, after all, that it was quite traumatic to be asking himself day after day if he would survive the Final Battle. With a smile, he addressed Hermione, “Thanks,” it was all he was able to say, really. Her words were still spinning in his head.

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him softly. With a smile of her own, she turned back to watching the lake. A sense of peacefulness washed through her as she watched the ripples in the water moving slowly towards shore and crashing against the muddy banks. There seemed to be a slight disturbance near the middle of the water, making the waves appear and reach the shore faster. Hermione watched it, entranced, wondering what could be in there, until a large tentacle emerged from the water. It hovered in the air for several seconds, before descending back into the lake with a large splash of water. Little droplets managed to make their way to where Harry and Hermione were sitting, and fell on their faces as they gazed at the place where the tentacle had been.

“Maybe it was waving to us,” Harry chuckled.

“You have a terrific sense of humor, Harry,” Hermione said dryly, a small smirk on her face.

“You think you’re funnier, then?” Harry asked, feigning to be insulted.

Hermione shrugged, “I can think of a few things that are truly funny, thank you very much,” she said, “For example...your drool on the History of Magic notes you gave me the other day,” he laughed and she winked at him, leaning back so she was lying down on the grass, looking up at the sky.

“I recognize defeat. You’ve never done anything like that,” Harry said, laying down beside her.

Hermione smiled, “No, I guess not,” she sighed contentedly and turned so that she was laying down on her side, facing Harry, “Listen, how about later we go to the Library?”

Harry chuckled, “Typical Hermione. You want to spend the few hours before our first training session locked in a room chock full of books?” He shook his head dismissively, “C’mon, let’s take a walk under the Invisibility Cloak, or just a walk…”

Hermione looked at him incredulously, “How could you ever get the idea that I wanted to go to the Library for books? I actually had something else planned, but it’s fine if you want to go under that cloak in broad daylight. Should be interesting,” she said, faking dry sarcasm and giving him a small smile.

“Why else would you want to go there?”

“Well, for one thing, that was the place where we shared our first kiss. I think it deserves a visit once in a while. And for another, we do have homework to get done,” Harry looked at her closely, and he could see the barest outline of a blush creeping up her cheeks as she pushed her hair behind her ear.

“Oh, well in that case, I’d be glad to go,”

“Yeah, now you do, don’t you?” She sat up and approached the lake. In one swift motion, she traced her hand along the water and sent a shower of it in Harry’s direction. He ducked, but got drenched either way. He looked up at the sound of Hermione’s soft laughter, her hand still lingering near the surface of the water.

“You’re no match for me, Potter. Quidditch won’t do you any good here,”

In a heartbeat, Harry had made his decision. He gave Hermione a wicked smile and lunged towards her, pushing them both into the water. He heard Hermione’s cry of surprise and—was it annoyance or amusement? He couldn’t tell, and he barely had time to think. He planted his feet safely on the bottom—they were in shallow waters—and emerged, taking in a breath of cool air. The water was quite cold, but considering the heat that had been bothering him since morning, this was bliss.

Hermione’s head arose from the icy depths moments later, small droplets of water dripping from her extremely wet hair, her face a slight crimson shade, and her shirt completely adhered to her body. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she looked murderous.

“I…Hermione…sorry…I thought…” Harry stammered at the sight of her current expression, moving towards her.

But, seconds later, her face broke into a large smile. With a quick movement, she twined her arms around Harry’s neck and pulled herself towards him, closing the distance between them. She lunged for his lips, still wet from the lake’s waters, and Harry felt the cold he had experienced when he fell into the water disappear instantly. He placed his hands where here waist should be, and, to his pleasant surprise, he found that her robe had slipped off her when she had fallen in the water. Sure enough, he saw it floating a few feet away.

And as Hermione’s fingers began trailing soft circles on the nape of his neck, he began to feel slightly panicked concerning his self-control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earlier that day

4:39 a.m., Wednesday morning, Sibyll Trewlaney’s house – Killarney, Ireland

Severus Snape was not in a good mood. If anything, he was positively furious as he strode into one of the grand living rooms in Sibyll’s gigantic mansion. It was the fifth one to the right after taking a left turn on the foot of a staircase leading to the third floor. Its furniture was, as all the other rooms in the house, extremely expensive and fancy-looking; there was a golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and it seemed to be engraved with a trail of tiny sapphires and diamonds; there was large window on the left side of the room, offering a beautiful view of the lake, and there was a strong smell of perfumed air. Lavender? Oranges? Or was it vanilla?

Severus hated it.

He had lived this life for too long—back in his childhood, which held no memorable or happy times, he had always been cooped up in his father’s fancy, splendid mansion. His father was a prominent but highly reclusive and alarmingly violent Death Eater, which led him to treat his wife and only son with extreme formality and strictness. If they so much as put one toe out of line and broke his ‘rules’, they would surely face his wrath, something they tried to avoid at best. However, when Severus was younger, he did not understand this, and his father often treated him to cruel punishments. His mother rose to his defense, and this led to another fight—which Severus’ father won, either by hexing, yelling, hitting, or stomping away.

Needless to say, Severus didn’t appreciate anything that reminded him of those times.

He looked around in distaste one more, and stood stiffly, waiting for that wretched woman to arrive so he could give her that damn notebook she’d been so keen to get. And, naturally, since he was ‘in charge of her defense’—babysitting her—he’d had to go get it for her.

Speaking of which, it seemed to have a charm placed upon it, since he couldn’t open it. He had tried numerous charms, even dark ones, but the notebook wouldn’t budge. Whatever was inside it was as safely protected as Sibyll was with him on guard.

When ten minutes had gone by, Severus begun to pace impatiently around the room, conjuring a cup of tea. The tea, at least, distracted him from the infernal smell that crowded the room. He even opened a window at one point, and was relieved when fresh air made its way inside.

At fifteen minutes past five, Severus gave up. He made to get up, when he heard hurried footsteps coming towards him. He scowled as Sibyll rushed inside, bundled in her usual attire of shawls, beads and odd-colored robes. Her hair was frizzed and a mess, and her eyeglasses were askew. Severus took quick note of her alarming appearance and raised an eyebrow.

“What in Merlin’s name have you been doing? You were supposed to be here over half an hour ago!” he snarled.

“I was pouring over books trying to find out what the hell you did to that Wormtail person!” she snarled back, eyes narrowing, “He won’t wake! I swear, Snape, if you killed him—“

“He’s not dead, you moronic witch. I administered the Draught of the Living Death—“

“What? You poisoned him?”

“No,” Snape hissed, his eyes flashing in anger, “It puts him to a deep sleep. He will be awoken only when the proper antidote is given to him. He is not poisoned, or ill in any way,”

“Oh,” Sibyll said, recognizing defeat and feeling embarrassed for her stupidity, “Well, that certainly makes the last hour a waste. I’m sorry I didn’t send word…I was just so…I don’t know. Being alone gets old after some time. I thought about waking him up, since we Obliviated him, and talk to him for a bit,”

Snape surveyed her with disgust, “Your lack of judgment is alarming. Had he attacked you, you would not have been able to defend yourself. He may be clumsy, but he is well aware of a few spells I take you would rather not be used upon yourself,”

“Yes, well…never mind that now. Did you find it?”

“Yes, after countless minutes of endless rummaging and shuffling, I did,” Snape said, thrusting the battered notebook to her. It was then that he noticed that the notebook had a name engraved on its dusty cover in elegant letters. It was hard to make out, but he understood instantly. He had heard that name before. Which Death Eater hadn’t?

Douglas Elivander

Before Sibyll had eyen held the notebook properly, he snatched it back, “Why, specifically, do you need this notebook? How did you come to have it?” His brow was furrowed in suspicion, and he saw a flicker of fear in Sibyll’s eyes before it went back to cold determination.

“I don’t think that concerns you, Snape. Give it to me,” her hand wavered near her robe pocket, and Severus let out a bark of mirthless laughter.

“Is attempting to duel me something you truly wish to do, Sibyll?”

“You can’t kill me. Dumbledore’s orders,”

“But I can render you unconscious for a long, long time. I’m a cold-blooded Death Eater, remember?”

Sibyll’s mouth tightened, and she closed it, glaring at him. Her hands crossed at her chest, she attempted to look brave, but Severus could see the telltale signs of physical discomfort invading her.

She was afraid. He had the upper hand.

With a contented smirk, he drew his wand, twirling it between her fingers and shooting her a cold look, “I’ll ask you again, then. How did you get this notebook? Did you know this man?”

Sibyll’s eyes widened from initial surprise, but she realized just a second later that he was bound to know about what had happened. He had joined long before it happened, after all. She sighed, “He…he was my husband,”

This statement caught Severus off-guard. He frowned incredulously at her, “What? That is impossible. They raided the house—this house,” he breathed, recognition etched on his sallow face, “The Dark Lord sent spies to look for his family, how could he not find you?”

“Albus helped us,”

“Ah. Of course, that is why Elivander was murdered. For turning on the Dark Lord,”

“He didn’t turn in the Dark Lord. You make it sound as if it was a cowardly act—the easy way. He realized there was nothing for him with the Death Eaters. All those promises your Master has made to you—each and every one—is a lie. He only uses you to achieve his goal, and then he will kill you all. Do you think a person so greedy would be willing to share power with anyone else? Douglas--,” her voice shook as she uttered the name she had long since vowed not to mention,”—realized this, and decided he would be better off helping Albus. You two have something in common, I believe,” she added silkily, flashing him a mistrustful look.

Severus’ eyes narrowed at her last comment, “And he was unable to keep his cover? The man was clearly not very clever, Trewlaney. He should have practiced Occlumency or something of the sort,”

“If you speak of him that way again, you imbecile, I swear you will regret it,” Sibyll hissed angrily, her hands forming fists, teeth bared, “He did use Occlumency, and he did deceive the Dark Lord more than once. One night, however, a spy for the Dark Lord followed him when he left a global meeting, and, unaware of this, he communicated with Albus using those phoenix feathers. The spy caught sight of what he wrote and informed his Master,”

Snape nodded, “And then a small group of skilled and stealthy Death Eaters were ordered to kill him—the Dark Lord didn’t want to draw too much attention by going himself or killing him during a meeting—and his family as well. That would have meant you, but you were safely protected,”

“And then…well…I came back one day to find the house in ruins—ashes scattered through the bedroom, blast marks on the walls, broken shelves—and a note safely placed on top of this notebook. I think he knew they were after him. Idiot. He should have told me…we would have helped him…” her voice was thick with the emotion she had felt years ago and was reliving now, and tears threatened to leak from her eyes.

“You couldn’t have. He would have died anyway. The Dark lord has a special way of getting things he wants—if he wanted your husband dead, he would not have rested until he knew for certain that Douglas Elivander was dead.”

“Albus would have protected us both. We could have made it,”

“It is common to deny what we fear is true. I will not bother continuing this discussion. Now tell me, what was in the notebook and the note he left behind?”

Sibyll shrugged, her lips curled in a smirk, “Unable to open it, are you? Figures. He said only I’d be able to, and I never questioned his word. He was a clever wizard, despite what you think,”

“Trewlaney, I need to know what it said,”

“Why? You probably aided in his murder, for all I know!”

“I knew him. We worked together. He and I were researchers for the Dark Lord. In my early years, that was how I served. I researched ways to make him permanently immortal, and new potions to use against his enemies,”

Sibyll stared at him, mouth open in shock, “And you speak of him as if he were no one to you?”

“I never considered him terribly knowledgeable, and we hardly spoke. The only times we talked were when we compared out results from our research and experiments,”

Sibyll gave him a cold glare before looking away from him. Her eyes lingered on the chandelier above them, before she turned to gaze at the floor. Severus watched her in irritation, his fingers tracing the letters on the cover of the notebook.

“Please—,” the word took him great effort to utter. He was not accustomed to asking, much less begging, “—Trewlaney. I know I was not fond of your husband, but don’t you think that if he died to protect whatever was in this notebook, it was something important?”

“All the more reason not to let you know of it,” Sibyll snarled, and Snape felt his patience weaken considerably.

“Very well then. I shall take it with me,”

“You won’t be able to open it,”

“And neither will you,”

Sibyll cursed under her breath. Burying her face in her hands, she sighed, “Oh, alright. I do warn you, however, that the note is very romantic and…emotional at times. Needless to say, it’s not up to your taste,”

Snape glared at her, “Just hurry up and open the notebook. I assume the note is inside?”

Sibyll nodded silently and extended her hand to grab the notebook. Severus shoved it in her hand and crossed his arms, waiting. With a melodramatic sigh, Sibyll placed the palm of her hand on the cover of the notebook, directly above her late husband’s name, and muttered the words he had told her, so long ago, that she would need to say.

“ Imperceptus Nullus Plus,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4:16 p.m., Wednesday afternoon, Hogwarts Library

The Library was as crowded as ever, with students darting from their tables to bookcases, and then to other people’s tables. Madam Pince was skulking near the left side, watching two students that were apparently enjoying a game of Exploding Snap under a table. The light was overall dim, but near each table there was another torch to facilitate reading and writing.

“I think we were sitting over there,” Harry said after examining the tables and scratching his head in thought.

“Are you insane? Anyone can see that table. No, it must have been over there,” Hermione said in a whisper. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, with a few loose strands falling over her eyes, and she was now completely dry. Her brown eyes were narrowed in concentration as she looked from table to table, wondering how she could have forgotten the table where she and Harry shared their first kiss.

“I reckon it might be the one beside it,” Harry retorted, pointing.

“No, it’s that one!” They both exclaimed a second later, pointing to a table that was barely visible behind the towering bookcases around it. They could barely see the corner, but quickly they realized that was the one. They shared a laugh before heading towards it, Harry slamming his book bag on the table when they reached it and Hermione placing hers neatly on the floor beside her chair. They both pulled out their Transfiguration books and a roll of parchment, and quietly began doing their homework.

Well, Hermione was doing her homework.

Harry was scribbling and doodling mindlessly on his parchment, glancing up between each stroke of his quill and grinning at the sight of her. Her eyes were small on her face was she narrowed them in thought, and she was biting her lower lip, biting the end of the quill as she worked. The few loose strands of her hair that had leaked out of her knot gracefully fell in soft curls along the sides of her face, and Harry wished he were holding a strand of her soft hair between his fingers.

The thought reminded him of the lake that morning, and his grin widened considerably. They had kissed that way for a long, long time, until their lips parted and only their foreheads touched as they stared into each other’s eyes. Their hands sill straying over each other’s bodies, they shared another kiss before Hermione suggested they go inside and eat. Harry had agreed, and as they made their way out of the water, he couldn’t keep his gaze from admiring her figure—which was much more noticeable, with her clothes desperately clinging to her body—before she dried her clothes off and they returned to their normal state.

Still, he reflected as he looked at her now, she looks beautiful all the same.

He looked down seconds before she looked up at him, a small smile on her lips, “Feels odd, being back here,” she said, her voice low and delicate.

“Yeah…before it was as if we had to be watching our backs constantly. We had to be here in complete silence to avoid getting caught,”

“It’s nicer this way,”

“Yeah. It really is,”

They locked eyes for a fleeting moment, and Hermione looked away, a small smile on her face and a blush creeping up to her cheeks, “So, what have you gotten done?” she asked.

Harry looked uneasily down to his parchment, grinning, “Err…loads,”

“Hmm, you don’t say?”

“Yeah…I’ll just…uh…finish it up later,” Harry said quickly, folding the parchment in half and pocketing it. He picked up his book and stuffed it in his bag, feeling Hermione’s amused stare in him.

“Good, then you won’t need my help?”

Harry got up from his chair and moved it so that it was beside her. She raised an eyebrow at him and closed her books as well, turning to face him, “What d’you think we’ll…” her voice trailed away, however, as Harry captured her mouth with his lips softly. She gently wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back slowly. Harry’s hands wandered to her hair and untied it, letting it cascade down to her shoulders elegantly.

This kiss, despite—or maybe because—its slow nature, delivered a much stronger message than their fiery, passionate ones. It felt so much more tender…so much more full of love. They both savored the way they felt their emotions pouring from each other, and they entered an indescribable bliss.

A while after, Hermione broke the kiss. She opened her eyes slowly with a dreamy expression and licked her lips. She stared at Harry for a while, her eyes gleaming in the soft light, and then she smiled. Harry knew that smile. It was the typical smile Hermione Granger always got when she had solved a problem.

“Harry, would you mind if I went to the Owlery to send a letter?” she asked, and Harry was taken aback by her question. The Owlery?

“Err…okay,” he said uncertainly, “but what…?”

But Hermione was already off, her book bag slung over her shoulder, she walked swiftly towards the doors of the Library, leaving Harry completely confused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mum:

When I read your letter I swear I couldn’t believe you had written it. What in the world has led you to believe so strongly that my relationship with Harry is based on lust? He isn’t like that, and neither am I. I would have thought you knew that, and it pains me deeply to see the way my mother thinks of me.

I’m going to tell you the truth about our relationship, and please keep an open mind. I am going to be completely honest with you now, and, well…here goes. At first, when this all happened, I acted upon impulse. I was just so happy to know that Harry was in love with me as well, and I reached for the stars, as you might say.

However, as the days went by, I began to realize how hard things would get. Between having you and dad angry at me, Ron’s feelings to worry about, and other things I won’t bother describing, I felt stressed and worn out. I think I cried more in those days than I have in my life.

And yet, when I was with Harry, everything seemed to fix itself. I felt as if nothing was wrong, mum, and I felt loved. In those times, I was certain that I could do anything for Harry.

Then, the other day, I came to regret accepting his marriage proposal.

I know, “That’s not the sign of true love,” you might scoff, but I’m just telling you what poured out of me right then. I didn’t want to accept it, but we moved too fast. There was no ‘courting’, no flirting, or anything remotely typical of romance like that. By getting engaged, we made our relationship more complicated than it already was, because we didn’t yet know how to act around each other, and we still behaved without deeply considering the other.

But just yesterday I began to feel differently around him. I honestly don’t know what happened, but instead of feeling like the weight of the world was on out shoulders, we both felt completely at ease as we ate in the Great hall. And then, mum, we began to tease each other and laugh and flirt—something we hadn’t done at all. I felt something I hadn’t felt at all with Ron—I felt comfort, and the sensation that I was floating on air.

With Ron, I never felt anything close to that. To be exact, the only thing I felt around Ron was indifference, annoyance, amusement, and anger. I don’t think THAT is something you can base a relationship on.

And today, when Harry and I kissed, I knew we loved each other. It was this…indescribable feeling...so blissful, so wonderful, and I could feel the love radiating off him. I can safely say I NEVER felt like that when Ron kissed me.

And you know what? I’m willing to die for Harry, mum, and I have just found out something that leads me to believe I am crucial for his success in the Final Battle. I will help him, no matter what you believe.

I love you, too, mum, but right now I am deeply disappointed in your attitude. Harry would be just as good a husband as Ron, and I would have thought you were capable of seeing that. Tell dad I love him, too.

Please reply, mum…I don’t want to think that my words here have not affected you at all.

I love you,

Hermione

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8:06 p.m., Wednesday night, Prof. Dumbledore’s office

Harry and Hermione gave the gargoyle the password to enter Dumbledore’s office for the third time that same week, feeling a strange sensation of mingled excitement and apprehension. They stood on the staircase, their hands intertwined, as it slowly revolved upwards towards the large door.

As they stepped into the landing, they shared nervous smiles before Harry stretched his hand and knocked on the door. Footsteps were heard coming closer to them, and Professor Dumbledore opened the door, the usual twinkle in his eyes and a benevolent smile on his face.

“Seven minutes late! Come, come, Kingsley is already there…you will have to Floo, I’m afraid,” he said, ushering them inside.

Harry nodded, “Where are we going, Professor?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer him, striding towards his desk and opening a drawer. He pulled out a small, golden pouch and hurried over to them, depositing a small amount in each of their hands. He walked them over to the unusually large fireplace, observed that they were both safely inside and had thrown the powder into the ground, before smiling again and saying, loudly and clearly:

“Godric’s Hollow!”

A/N: It’s been so long since I’ve left a cliffie…no, but honestly, I still want to fine-tune how the training will go and all, so I couldn’t include it in this chapter. Still, I hope you all liked the romance!

That’s pretty much it. I don’t have any other comments. =)

Till the next!

16. Give Unto Me Your Troubles

Chapter Sixteen: Give Unto Me Your Troubles…

8:08 p.m., Wednesday night, Godric’s Hollow – Lily and James Potter’s old cottage

The fire roared with great intensity, and Harry and Hermione were enveloped in a whirl of green flames as they disappeared from Dumbledore’s fireplace. The smell of soot was unbearable, and the ashes tickled them as they sped around numerous fireplaces, before colliding heavily with a wooden floor. Harry fell headfirst, the impact leaving him short of breath for a moment, and Hermione fell on top of him heavily, rolling off him as she had a bit of a coughing fit. Harry grunted and rubbed his chest, trying to ease the pain of the impact, before remembering where they were and struggling to take a look around.

As he managed to roll over, he was shocked to find a large bit of the ceiling missing over the stairs, which looked worn and rickety. He felt Hermione’s hand on his shoulder as she helped him to sit up, but he couldn’t meet her eyes.

His heart was thumping in his chest, and it had nothing to do with the fall.

His eyes traveled yet again over the staircase. It had been, no doubt, quite splendid once. It was made of wood as well, and despite the large termite holes in it and the blast marks, he could vividly imagine it softly illuminated by a dim light, its dark wood elegantly polished. His gaze went, as if in a dream, to the second floor the stairs led to, and to the battered doors and walls. There were but three doors—one open and slightly hanging off one of its hinges, with a large blast mark on its center; another, which seemed to have been painted a different color, lay blatantly open; and the last one seemed completely new. It was a glistening pale white, with a silver doorknob, that looked utterly unharmed and contrasted greatly with the other two, battered doors. The sight of it brought a slight frown to Harry’s face, before he turned and surveyed the area before him, Hermione on his left, a worried look on her face.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” she whispered urgently, not daring to take a step towards him. He gave her a look that clearly stated he didn’t want to be spoken to, and returned to his contemplation of the house.

They appeared to be standing where the living room used to be. There was a large couch—tattered and dusty, not to mention covered in ashes—before him, a seat to his left—which was also in the same conditions as the couch—and a small coffee table to his right, thrown to the side.

Suddenly, he began to hear voices. They evolved from mere whispers to full-blown yells and screams, and he was both shocked and incredibly taken aback as the conversation progressed.

What..?

“No…please…don’t kill him! Please…” the words sent shivers down his spine. He had heard that voice before…back in his third year, when he’d faced the Dementors.

It was his mother.

He had no doubt that it was her voice, yet the reason for hearing it right then escaped him. His eyes darted to Hermione to see her reaction at this, but she remained looking at him in the same worried way, and he suddenly wondered whether he was hallucinating.

“Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now...” This voice, he knew as well, and as soon as it reached his ears, his scar seared with pain. He fell to his knees, clutching his forehead, willing the pain away, wishing he would stop hearing those voices, but their reality only seemed to intensify. He raised his head and saw, through his fingers, a flash of red light preceding a loud bang.

“Not Harry, please no, take me—kill me instead!” Lily’s shrill voice broke through the pain that seemed to stem from his scar to the rest of his body, and he felt as if she were right beside him. He felt hands cup his shoulders, tap his cheek, and slowly, a voice began to break through the fog in his mind. Distantly, he could hear Voldemort’s mirthless laughter, and his mother’s terrified scream. Slowly, he began to tear himself away from what he was hearing, and he opened his eyes.

Hermione was kneeling in front of him, hands cupping his cheeks, tears threatening to leak out of her eyes. Her hair was covered in soot, pulled in a low knot at the back of her head, and Harry vaguely noted the wisps of hair that had fallen out it and were now hanging loosely on the side of her face. Her mouth was moving, and, just like the voices of Voldemort and his mother, her voice began to rise steadily until he could hear her normally.

“Harry! Oh, please, what’s happening? I knew something wasn’t right, I just knew it,” she bit her lip and fumbled for her wand, when she felt his hand touch hers, ever so gently, as a sign that there was no need to use her wand.

Her eyes shot upwards to meet his, anxiety evident in her eyes, “Harry, what happened? You were staring around, a very strange look in your eyes, and suddenly you were on the floor, clutching your scar! Did you see something?”

Harry looked back at Hermione, who looked more worried than he was, her breathing quick, and said, “I think…I think I saw this house—my parents’ house—on the night Voldemort came,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widened, “Harry—how…?” her voice trailed away softly as she gave him a questioning and vaguely skeptical look.

“I heard my…my mum. And Voldemort,”

Hermione remained silent, frowning. Her gaze traveled across the room and back to Harry, the same worried and questioning look in her eyes. He sighed, “C’mon…let’s go find Kingsley,” he said quietly, getting up and holding out a hand to help her up. She took it and came to her feet, biting her lip.

“Harry…” she whispered, “Why did you see that?” the tone she used made Harry feel a strong feeling of worry as well. It was as if she had come to some conclusion about what he saw, but wasn’t telling him.

“I don’t know,” he said, releasing her hand and heading towards a door that he assumed led to the kitchen. Hermione sighed behind him, and began to walk, as well. Just as he reached for the doorknob, she placed her hand on his shoulder, “Wait,” she said.

But he had already grasped the doorknob. He saw the world spinning before him in a blur of color and light. When everything was clear once more, he was standing by the fireplace, gazing at a young man—probably twenty or so—opening the door he had been holding just a few seconds ago. The man had messy jet-black hair, and was a few inches taller than Harry. With wide-eyed comprehension, Harry realized he was watching his father.

His stomach seemed to turn over as he processed this thought.

Harry walked slowly towards him. His father’s face was lit in a joyful smile, and it only seemed to widen as a red-haired woman—Lily—walked slowly towards him with a playful smirk on her face. They exchanged words in low voices, before Lily laughed out loud and wrapped her arms around him. James laughed, too, then pulled back his face to meet hers. Lily smiled as he moved towards her lips and kissed her softly, before releasing her and asking, in an excited voice, “Where’s Harry?”

“In his room—he’s sleeping. Don’t you go waking him up!” she warned, “It took me ages to get him to sleep,” Harry took a few steps closer towards them, and he noted that she had the smallest of dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was slightly messy.

“Fair enough, I’ll be quiet,” said James, raising his hands to his shoulders in mock surrender. His eyes were alive with playfulness, and in a swift motion, he reached for Lily’s ribs and tickled them. She jumped and pinned his arms at her sides with her own before leaning closer and kissing him lightly. James smiled as she pulled away and exited through the door she’d come in.

“I’ll whip up some food while you go and check on Harry, alright?”

“Okay,” As James turned and went up the stairs, Harry debated with himself whether to follow him or not. Yet, as he took a step towards him, the world began to spin before him again, and before he knew it, he was back at present time.

He blinked, turned the doorknob, and pushed the door open before turning to Hermione. Her finger was resting near her lower lip as her hand cupped her chin. She seemed to be in thought. At his movement, he looked up again, a look of vague comprehension on her face, “I don’t think we’re here for training,” she said.

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re seeing memories of you mum and dad, right? I think Dumbledore wants us to see something here,”

“That’s ridiculous. How could he send us all the way to Godric’s Hollow with no protection? What if Death Eaters were to show up here, or if we decided we didn’t want to return to Hogwarts at all?”

Hermione shook her head, “Oh, I don’t doubt there’s an Order member on guard somewhere. I’m just saying, that maybe…Dumbledore knew you would see some memories of your parents, and he wanted you to see something in specific,”

“But what could I possibly see here that—“

“I don’t know, Harry. I’m just telling you what I think Dumbledore sent us here for. If you believe we’re here for training, then where’s Kingsley? Didn’t Dumbledore say he was already here? If we were here to train, he would have waited for us in front of the fireplace,”

“Maybe he’s here, just concealed,”

“My point being: he doesn’t want to be seen because we aren’t here to train,” Hermione lowered her arms and crossed them at her chest, a frown creeping to her face. She didn’t like the thought that Dumbledore had lied to them, either, but it was odd that Kingsley wasn’t here yet if they were, indeed here for training.

Somehow, she felt as if something else wasn’t right. With a glance up at Harry, she realized he was feeling the same way, too.

Something was wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earlier that day

4:50 a.m., Wednesday morning, Sibyll Trewlaney’s house – Killarney, Ireland

The notebook glowed in her lap with a faint golden color, and was elevated a few inches into the air, before flopping open, the worn pages stuck to one another, ripped, or stained. Sibyll rifled through the pages, before taking a very small, button sized rectangle and tapping it with her wand. It enlarged to the size of a normal envelope, and she pulled a long piece of parchment from it. With a resigned sigh, she held it out to Severus, who took it with a look of distaste that masked his curiosity.

He unfolded the parchment and skimmed it, coming to pause in sentences that caught his attention. He raised his eyebrow at times, his mouth curled in a sneer. This man had been ridiculously romantic in his farewell letter—couldn’t he have just left the important bits of information, instead of filling it with silly anecdotes and sappy comments?

Still, the letter proved useful. His eyes locked in a particular sentence, ‘…this notebook, Sibyll, must either be burned or shredded to pieces, for if it were to fall in Voldemort’s hands, he would be filled with the knowledge necessary to become immortal…’ It had to be a lie. Elivander had truly discovered a way to become flawlessly immortal? How had he been sure? Who did he test his potion on? Animals were an option, yes, but their internal structure was different and less complex that with humans. The only way for him to have been sure would have been to slip it to someone during a meal or…

No, impossible. They brought the Dark Lord his corpse. It would be impossible that he had been alive.

Unless, he had tried it on himself, and had believed it had worked as he wrote this letter, never realizing that the potion didn’t work.

But then why had he bothered with the letter, if he was certain he would live?

No, he must have tried it on someone else. Maybe there was something about that in the letter…

‘…although this may seem confusing now, it will all come to the light at the right time, Sibyll. Someday you will understand every word of this letter. But one thing I will tell you is sure: never fear death. You, my dearest Sibyll, will never have to fear death at the hands of anyone---that is my gift of farewell to you…’

Merlin’s beard.

He’d tested the potion on his own wife? What if he had poisoned her?

That’s ridiculous. A person that appeared to be so helplessly in love wouldn’t test such a potentially volatile potion on the person they loved. Logically, they would test it on someone else to verify its effectiveness, and then they would give it to them.

‘…there must be a way out of this War. I know that, someday, you will see a glimpse of the future to verify that statement, and the Order will find a way to defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore himself is our safest bet now, but I’m sure there will be someone else. Someone unexpected will come, and they will help. My only concern is whether they will accept their fate and have the skill necessary…’ Severus snorted. The man had obviously not counted on a Harry Potter being ‘the chosen one’.

Severus folded the parchment and tossed it over to Sibyll, “Not entirely useful, as it leaves several unanswered questions. I do hope you can clarify them?” he added hopefully.

“I have no idea if his concoction worked. In fact, I knew nothing of his alleged success until I read this letter,” Sibyll said instantly, her tone weary.

Severus nodded, “Have you ever entertained the notion that he might have administered the potion to you?”

Sibyll snorted derisively, “Please. I hardly feel immortal. If anything, I feel an inch closer to death every day, especially recently,”

“Pity we can’t make sure…” Severus muttered under his breath, feeling his wand in his hand. The room was then filled with an awkward silence as they both thought about the immortality potion. It was a few minutes before Severus realized he might have the true ‘recipe’ for immortality only a few feet away from him. He looked back at Sibyll, then at the notebook, calculating.

“Do you think—?”

He stopped in mid sentence. His black eyes suddenly darted to the floor, where the noise had come from. Footsteps?

Sibyll looked up at him, frowning. She too, had heard it. Severus shot her a look a sign for her to keep silent, and she nodded in agreement. They both heard it again. Yes, it was the creak of a floorboard. Someone was apparently walking as slowly as possible up the stairs in an attempt to keep quiet, but the floorboards, however elegant they might look, were very old. If you lingered on one too long, it would creak, just like it had now.

Severus moved towards Sibyll, “Wormtail’s room is in the second floor. They obviously are not aware of this, but we must get him to safety,” he paused, pointing his wand at her, “Those are Death Eaters. Rodolphus, Macnair, Dolohov and Rabastan. They are after both of you,” he said hurriedly in a low voice, before casting a Disillusionment charm on her and then on himself.

“There is a shortcut. We don’t have to take the stairs. If we do they will hear us,” Sibyll suggested quietly. Severus raised his eyebrows, and she rolled her eyes, “Come on,” she snapped, beckoning him outside to the passageway. She walked to the far end opposite the one leading to the staircase and touched the wall. She whispered a few words, ushered Severus to come towards it. He walked stiffly, a look of disbelief on his face, before Sibyll heaved a sigh of frustration and walked through the wall herself.

Severus gaped at the spot where she had been in momentary shock, before overcoming it and walking through the wall himself.

Sibyll was halfway down a worn stone staircase very unlike anything he had seen in the house so far. If anything, it looked as if it belonged to a dungeon rather than a fancy house such as hers. The steps were cracked and filthy, and the walls bore signs of humidity. There was a thin, silvery spider web high up on the right wall, and the illumination seemed to be magical rather than natural, as there were no windows.

Sibyll glanced back at him, “Hurry up,” she urged. Then, noticing his look of bewilderment, she said, “We can enter any room in the house using this passageway. This is very much like the Room of Requirement back at Hogwarts. For it to work, you must whisper the location of the place you wish to visit to the wall outside, and in a matter of seconds, the passageway will transform itself to a path to the destination you seek,”

Severus nodded silently, brushing past her. At her indignant huff, he rolled his eyes, “Would you rather come face to face with my dearest Death Eaters in crime? I take it you do not, therefore it is best if I go first,”

“But they might discover you. And could you walk faster?”

“Dumbledore had made the fact that your life is a priority now. I assume that means that my identity will have to take a risk. And I am walking as far as I can,”

“Never mind, we’re here,” Sibyll said, pointing to a dead end. The wall was a pale yellow color, meaning there was a room on the other side. Seconds later, they were in the room where Wormtail was being kept, but they were met only by the ropes they had used to bind him, just in case, and a spot of blood on the floor.

No Wormtail. The Death Eaters had taken him.

“Impossible. There is no way they knew he was here, of all places,” Sibyll muttered darkly, staring at the floor.

“I think we, or rather, I, have more problems than I thought,” Severus said darkly, staring at his left forearm, which he had seized upon instinct at the sudden twinge of pain he had felt just then. He was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that his wand was in his pocket, and that he had used it.

“What do you mean?” Sibyll asked, turning to him, her eyes following his own gaze and falling on his arm. She frowned for a second, wondering what that meant, then she remembered Wormtail’s words on the boat.

“—he…he can trace his Death Eaters when they use magic…that way he can always be sure of their location and their motives…”

Severus had casted Disillusionment charms on both of them mere minutes ago. He had used magic.

The Dark Lord knew where he was, and, more particularly, with whom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8:20 p.m., Wednesday night, Godric’s Hollow

Hermione bit her lip, trying to think clearly, but the anxiety that had soared up inside her was more than a distraction to her thoughts.

She looked up again at Harry’s frowning face, and noted that he also seemed to be mulling things over in his head. He was gazing absentmindedly at the staircase, arms crossed at his chest. At Hermione’s movement, he broke from his reverie, blinking, and looked at her.

“I don’t think—“

“I know,” Hermione said, “Something doesn’t feel right. We should go, Harry,” she said urgently, her eyes reflecting worry and, most of all, fear.

Harry shook his head, “No, not yet. I want to go into one of the rooms first,”

“Harry, please…I don’t think we should stay here much longer. Something is wrong,” Hermione insisted, sighing.

“You were the one that suggested the Order members might be watching us from a distance. Please, Hermione, can’t you understand? I’ve never been here…this is the place where my parents were murdered, where I actually lived for a year as a baby, and I don’t remember anything. Do you know what it’s like to be here finally?” Harry said pleadingly, taking Hermione’s hands in his. Hermione heaved a tense shiver at this, making her anxiety more evident to Harry, who seized to acknowledge how worried she was.

Hermione sighed, closed her eyes for a second, and looked up at Harry again, “I understand. Which room do you want to enter?” she asked quietly.

Harry’s eyes lingered on hers for a fleeting second, and Hermione felt her fear momentarily wash away as she looked back at him. And yet, she felt grief for him. She could see the pain in his eyes, and the need he had to search his parents’ home for anything that might remind him of them, or simply anything that was once theirs.

Hermione stretched her hand out and cupped his cheek with a tender touch, eyes shining with small, gleaming tears on the brink of sliding down her own cheeks. Harry returned her touch by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer, bending his neck slightly and letting his head rest on her shoulder, her soft smell enthralling him instantly. Hermione rested her head on his chest, eyes closed. When they pulled back minutes later, they exchanged small, seemingly reassuring smiles, though their eyes gave away their true feelings. Harry took Hermione’s hand and led her up the staircase, heading straight for the white door he had seen earlier.

Hermione didn’t comment. Although his determination on which room he wanted to enter was a bit odd, she didn’t want to voice this. Somehow, speaking things aloud sometimes made them feel more real, and she didn’t want to feel more worried or confused than she already was. She looked uneasily over her shoulder as Harry fumbled with the lock, but saw nothing worth worrying over. She licked her lips and breathed deeply, watching as Harry pulled out his wand and casted an Alohomora charm on the door. The pearly white door burst open with a resounding noise, startling them both. Harry glanced at Hermione and she gave him a smile of mingled nervousness and encouragement before walking towards him and gesturing that he go in. He did, and she followed him.

Her heart seemed to plummet as she gazed at what was inside.

A small wooden crib, with soot-colored sheets and a large hole on the ceiling straight above it lay in the center of the room. The walls were partly obscured by a large blast mark that seemed to originate from the right hand corner of the room. The parts farther away from the mark were covered in year-old dust, giving them a grayish appearance. Cracks ran along the walls around the room, the humidity evident from the gleaming spots along the border of the ceiling.

This had been Harry’s room. She bit her lip in realization, eyes darting towards him to see his reaction.

Harry moved closer to the crib, an unreadable look on his face, and grasped its edge. His chest was constricted from the pain he felt at knowing that his mother had died somewhere in this room, presumably near the crib. He gritted his teeth and muttered, more to himself than to Hermione, “They didn’t have to die,” his voice was broken, mingled anger and despair resting heavily on every word.

Hermione caught the sound of his voice, however, “Oh, Harry…” she whispered softly, eyes almost brimming with tears.

Harry sighed, “They didn’t have to die. They shouldn’t have. They wouldn’t have, if Wormtail hadn’t been such a bloody coward and betrayed them,” His grasp on the crib tightened, “He was supposed to be their friend. He was supposed to help them,”

Hermione remained silent, not knowing how to respond, if Harry did indeed expect her to reply. She gazed back at him silently, waiting for him to either elaborate or ignore her, feeling the cold tears falling from her eyes and sliding slowly down her cheek.

Harry shut his eyes closed and sighed again, releasing his grip on the crib. He felt hate soar up inside him at the thought of Wormtail—hate like he had never felt since he had found out the truth in the Shrieking Shack in his third year. He hated the fact that Wormtail was in debt to him. If he was in danger of dying, he preferred to die than to have him save his life, of all people.

“I just…it’s not fair. Why are so many decent, noble witches and wizards dead, and there’s so many Death Eaters on the loose? They don’t deserve that freedom. And my parents don’t deserve to be dead. They were good people, despite what Snape says and what his memory from fifth year implied,” Harry kept his eyes shut as he spoke, feeling the anger pass, replaced with a deep, empty feeling.

A feeling of loss. Of defeat. He wanted to close his eyes and suddenly wake up from this horrible reality he was living.

Hermione instinctively made to move towards him, but held back when she saw his frame tense slightly. His shoulders seemed rigid for a few long minutes, until finally, they relaxed. As he turned towards her, she could see the look of grim understanding written on his face.

“I know why we’re here,” he said simply, and waited for the impact of his words to settle. The agony he had felt over his own emotions mere minutes ago seemed to lessen as he saw the memory and understood. He felt a surge of confidence inside him, though it was tainted by his initial feeling of hopelessness. He was unable to suppress a small shiver from trailing down his spine as he looked into Hermione’s large brown eyes and saw the concern that was so obviously reflecting itself upon them.

“What did you see?” Hermione asked, her voice hollow.

“I’ll explain later. First, I have to find it,” with these words, he brushed past her out of the room, leaving her both stunned and confused.

“It?” she called after him, and started walking briskly, following him out of the room. When she walked out onto the hall, she saw no sign of him. As she made to walk towards the staircase, however, she caught sight of an open door, and, without thinking twice, walked into the room it led to.

Harry was going through a drawer, moving things inside it roughly, scratching the insides of the worn wood. With a grunt of annoyance, he turned to the next one, but paused. As if in a trance, he narrowed his eyes in thought before rolling his eyes and saying, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “They wouldn’t put it in such an obvious place…it has to be somewhere else,”

Hermione bent her head to the side slightly and frowned, “Harry, should I even ask you to tell me what you are looking for?”

Harry spared her a glance before looking at the surroundings, scrutinizing every detail, “I will, Hermione, I promise. But we don’t have much time. We ought to be getting back to Hogwarts soon…I don’t think any Order members are here, and I need to find that pendant,”

“Yeah, if they were here, they would have talked to us by now…” Hermione said in a low voice, before her frown deepened as she looked up at Harry, “Pendant?” she asked blankly.

Harry merely nodded before brushing past her again, out of the room. Hermione charged after him into his room once more, where he bent beside his crib, pushed it gently to one side, and ran his hands over the floorboards, searching for a small gap between them or an opening. The dust accumulated quickly on the palm of his hand, and he felt it make contact with a nail that seemed to be slightly out of place, giving him an unpleasant stinging sensation. He shook the dust off and went back to the place where the nail was, pulling out his wand and levitating it off the wood. He threw it behind him carelessly, pocketed his wand, and stood up. With a deep breath, he began kicking the floor with all his might on the spot the nail had been.

Hermione watched, confused and scared, from the doorway. She considered casting a Calming Charm on him, even stunning him, but she didn’t seem to be able to move. Something told her to stay put and allow him to continue. The fear, mingled with her presentiment, gripped her to the spot. She was contained to watching helplessly as Harry kept banging on the wood fiercely until his foot pushed through the wood.

Harry pulled his foot out, shook the dry soil and dust from it, and knelt back on the floor. He placed his hand inside and began digging in the dirt, searching. After what seemed like an age, he stopped, staring blankly into the hole in the dirt.

Hermione chose this moment to walk slowly towards him, her right arm hesitantly stretched out towards him. She knelt beside him, placing her arm around him as a comforting gesture and resting her head on his shoulder. She felt him relax against her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head gently on top of hers. Hermione heaved a large, irrepressible sigh of comfort as she wrapped her other arm around him, and she thought he felt him smile.

The thought made her mouth curl into a smile.

Harry closed his eyes, smiling, despite his frustration. He had been sure he had done everything like he was supposed to, and yet, there had been nothing under the soil. He had felt an outburst of emotions again—fury, anxiousness, anguish—and yet, despite the raging battle inside him, he had felt it all cease at Hermione’s gentle touch. The mere reminder of her presence made him feel calm, even if, deep down, he knew he had failed.

He felt Hermione begin to pull away, but he held her close for just a second before letting go. As he opened his eyes, he smiled at her, her eyes lingering in his for a few moments before smiled back, “Come on…” she said, “I think we ought to get back,”

Harry nodded, glancing at the hole as he made to get up, but froze. There was something different now. He turned his head sharply and gazed, wide-eyed, at the soil inside the hole. It moved magically away from his line of vision, slowly revealing a hidden treasure that he was sure had not been there before.

Hermione frowned when she saw him looking at the hole with such amazement. Confused, she made to look inside as well, moving herself delicately towards it.

She stared, wide eyed and agape, at the pale while lily that had appeared, its petals slowly opening in a majestic manner, drops of moisture clinging to them. The oval, ridged leaves that had served as protection for them opened at the same time as the petals did, their startling green color enhanced by the gleam they had to them.

And at the very center of the flower, ever so slowly, a small, green stone attached to a golden chain began to materialize itself before the pair’s astonished eyes. In a matter of seconds, they were staring at a fully bloomed flower with what looked like an emerald in the center.

Harry hesitated for a second, before extending his arm out tentatively and bringing the flower and the stone into his hand. He gazed down at it, a misty, melancholic look in his eye.

This had been his mother’s. A very rare stone it was, one of the few true protective amulets that still remained on the Earth. According to the legend, this stone held unknown power that would be defined only by the person who used it.

His father had given it to her, in case, for any reason, she were to find herself in a situation where he would not be able to protect her. She had never felt the need for it, until the night of Voldemort’s attack…a memory he had seen when he first entered his room several minutes ago.

-- FLASHBACK --

“Not Harry, please no, take me—kill me instead!”

Voldemort laughed mirthlessly, gazing down on her, his scarlet eyes gleaming with malicious enjoyment at her begging.

Lily, despite her fear, was not going to give up her son. She stood resolutely, her frame shaking, before Harry’s crib, her fingers white as she held her wand tightly in her hand. Cold tears leaked out of her bright green eyes as she firmly told herself, for the millionth time, that Harry would not die.

“Stand aside. You need not die, Mudblood, if you do not attempt to stop me. I am not here to kill you, it is the boy I am after,” Voldemort hissed, taking a menacing step towards Lily.

“Please…kill me instead! He is too young,” Lily pleaded shakily, “He is my son…please, have mercy!”

Voldemort laughed again, “The Dark Lord shows mercy to no one, Mudblood,” he raised his wand and pointed it straight at Lily, watching as her eyes widened again in fear.

Then, somewhere inside her fear, she remembered the pendant. She knew well her life would not be saved, but the pendant would surely help Harry, wouldn’t it? With a swift motion, she reached for it in her pocket, barely managing to clasp her fingers around it and pull her hand out before the curse hit her, square on her chest.

She felt all the life she possessed violently being ripped away, her vision obscuring in seconds and her breathing stopping abruptly.

Lily Potter’s body crumpled in a heap in front of her son’s crib, the pendant falling out of her limp hand at her fall and rolling under the crib.

Voldemort smirked, “You were dead from the moment you stood in my path, Mudblood, and your son will be no different,” he said silkily, still watching the expression on the woman’s eyes. There was fear, blatantly written, masking yet another emotion. Intriguing…and slightly disconcerting.

Still, the determination was there. Not even in death would she give up.

Casting a look of disdain on her, Voldemort directed his attention to the crib.

He never saw the pendant.

-- END FLASHBACK --

As Harry saw it yet again, he felt a wave of anger wash over him as he noted the way Voldemort spoke and acted towards his mother. Even his thoughts showed scorn.

Harry frowned, wondering. Why was he able to know what they thought? He had been watching everything from a corner of the room, after all. He hadn’t been in their positions at any moment.

Then why had he been able to know both his mother and Voldemort’s thoughts?

Hermione still stared in growing anxiousness and confusion at the stone, “What is it, Harry? How did it appear there?” she squeaked.

“I don’t know how it got there, exactly. It was my mum’s,” he said hoarsely, and he explained what he had seen.

Hermione’s eyes were wide as orbs as she listened, but deep inside, she felt a familiar sensation of understanding. Dumbledore had sent Harry to retrieve the pendant, which would mean that only Harry would be able to find it. The pendant could possibly be used during the Final Battle against Voldemort, which would make it only logical that Harry had it.

The only question was, why didn’t Dumbledore tell Harry from the start? This must have come as a terrible shock to him, seeing all these memories and learning of all this in such a short time without expecting to.

“And the flower?”

“Maybe a charm or something? No, that doesn’t make sense. She didn’t have time to cast a charm on it then…”

“Well, I know who may be able to answer all this,”

Harry nodded, “Dumbledore,” he said, and stood up. He held his hand out to Hermione and helped her to her feet. With a look of determination very much like the one his mother’s face had held in the memory, he took Hermione’s hands, “We’ll have to Apparate to Hogsmade,” he said.

“Yes, I don’t have any Floo powder and I doubt there still is any here,”

“In front of Honeydukes?”

Hermione nodded, closing her eyes. Harry did the same, concentrating on where they wanted to go. He saw flashes of Honeydukes, and concentrated on one, waiting for Hermione to do so as well. He felt her squeeze his hand gently, before he felt himself spinning. He opened his eyes, watching Hermione’s hair swirl around her, her eyes barely open and her mouth curled in a tiny smile. As he caught sight of Honeydukes, he tightened his grip on Hermione’s hands and concentrated again on the place he wanted to appear. A second later, he found himself standing in front of the store, still holding Hermione’s hands in his.

Hermione gazed up at him, her eyes showing deep concern for him. She opened her mouth slightly as if to speak, but hesitated, looking down at their hands. She looked back up, a small, sad smile on her face, “Oh, Harry…” she breathed, releasing his hand and wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.

Harry returned the hug, caressing her hair with his hand, mumbling something incoherent.

Hermione sobbed, unable to say anything else. She let the tears fall, tightening her grip on Harry’s robe. She knew Harry was feeling the same, if not worse. She could tell from the way he had looked at her, that he was suppressing his emotions. She could feel the tension that seemed to be boiling inside him, the battle against his emotions, and she wished she could make him feel better. She wished, but she knew she couldn’t. There was nothing that could ease the dull aching of his soul, or stop the inevitable tears of overwhelming and desolation from sliding down his cheeks and unto her soft brown hair…

And yet, this had been what he needed. As the tears slowly made their way down his cheeks, he felt his despair lessen slightly. He felt himself growing more composed, his pain relieved for the moment, even though he knew that it would later come to haunt him.

He pulled back, knowing that they ought to be getting back. His heart sunk at the sight of Hermione’s tearstained face, but he managed to smile, “Thanks, Hermione,”

She smiled back, “You know I don’t mind, Harry. I hate seeing you feeling so trapped…” her voice trailed off before she began speaking again, “I’m always here for you…I want you to know that. No matter what,”

Unable to find words to express the peculiar way he felt when she said that, Harry hugged her again very tightly, hoping she would understand. He kissed the top of her head lightly and squeezed her gently before pulling back and taking her hand, “C’mon…we should be getting to the Castle,”

Hermione smiled again, and nodded, giving his hand a squeeze, “Okay,”

Hand in hand, they began walking towards the Hogwarts gates.

A/N: Finals are coming up guys, so don’t be surprised that I took my time with this chapter. Luckily, not as long as other times. =) Next chapter will take a longer time, since this week my attention will be fully devoted to etching every single detail that’s coming up for my tests in my head. And of course, one finals are finished, celebration ensues. =D I just want you all to know, so you don’t think I’ve deserted the fic or something.

Till the next!

17. Through the Fog

Chapter Seventeen: Through the Fog

Earlier that night, at approximately 7:15 p.m., Lily and James Potter’s old house in Godric’s Hollow

“Why would he be here, of all places?” Malfoy asked, an obvious note of bewilderment in his cold voice, “Are you completely sure you tracked the right person, Bella?”

Bellatrix smiled, “Of course I am. And, if things go as planned, we’ll have more than a corpse for our Master,”

“Of course,” breathed Mulciber, his eyes shining with malice, “There must be an important reason for his presence here. Perhaps something related to—“

“The Potter boy, yes,” Bellatrix finished impatiently, “Now, wait until he is inside and at a safe distance from the door before you lock it, Lucius. We’ll cast a Body-Bind on him before he even realizes what is happening,”

Malfoy nodded, edging closer to the door, brushing some dust off his robes. With a look of utter distaste, he surveyed the ruins of Lily and James Potter’s old house. It seemed as if it hadn’t been touched since that night when it all happened—when everything had changed. When the Dark Lord’s followers had been tested beyond measure…their loyalty was questioned, their devotion doubted by their own kind. They had been hunted, caught and sent to Azkaban without mercy, and only those clever enough to fool everyone had managed to save themselves.

Lucius had been one of those. It had been easy enough to say he never meant anything he did, that he was fooled, but in truth, what had saved him from jail were his connections with the Ministry. A few well-placed owls, and he had been guaranteed that he wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban. As easy as that.

His Master had, strangely enough, taken him back, even though he had been one of those that hadn’t gone to his aid. He never lost faith, of course, but he wasn’t about to go risking his life and his reputation looking for a wizard whose location was a mere rumor. He had other things to take care of, and, perhaps because the Dark Lord knew they would be of use in a near future, he had forgiven him.

Others hadn’t gotten it so easy. Some had gone to Azkaban—like the Lestranges—while others who managed to stay out of jail were punished by their Master at the moment he came back. Some rumored that the Dark Lord was biding his time and would seek revenge against him, but Lucius knew better. If he hadn’t been disposed of yet, it was because there was something important regarding him. Or perhaps he truly had earned the Dark Lord’s trust, if that was even possible.

The slight creak of the door broke Lucius from his thoughts. He turned his head sharply to look at the door, and watched quietly as Kinsley Shacklebolt stepped inside, cloak wrapped firmly around him. Kingsley’s tall frame froze for a moment as he turned to close the door, before the door creaked again and was shut with a small click.

Kingsley moved slowly across the room, taking a long time as he shrugged off his cloak. Lucius gritted his teeth, came to his feet in a sharp move, and whipped his wand at the door, muttering the Alohomora charm.

At that same time, Bellatrix stepped from the shadows and attempted to cast a Body-Bind on Kinsley.

Kingsley, however, expected the attack, and his wand dropped into his hand from inside his sleeve. In a quick move, he dodged Bellatrix’s spell. Filled with a momentary confusion as to where, exactly, they would be standing, he listened closely to any movement, and heard something from the direction of the door. Pointing his wand near the door, he muttered, “Incarcerous,”

Malfoy managed to avoid the spell, lifting the Disillusionment charm and flashing a smirk in Kingsley’s direction, “Clever, Shacklebolt, but you will have to be quicker if you intend on actually cursing one of us,”

Kingsley remained silent, calculating, watching as two more figures emerged. Bellatrix laughed, “No way out of this, I’m afraid. The Dark Lord wants you dead, and we will gladly carry out his orders,” she said, her voice cold and barely above a whisper, as she toyed with her wand between her fingers.

“He will gain nothing from my death,” Kingsley said, his voice steady.

Mulciber smirked, “You are a threat to us. Dumbledore must be rid of spies in the Ministry; it doesn’t quite help us, you see. And of course, there is the reason for your being here…”

Kingsley laughed, “Too bad. He won’t be finding that out, as far as I’m concerned,”

Malfoy raised his wand, quickly uttering the incantation for the full body bind and watching in satisfaction as Kinsley’s body froze and fell, colliding heavily with the floor, “Surely you must be daft, Shacklebolt. What the Dark Lord wants, he gets,”

Bellatrix stepped forward, “Legilimens,” she hissed, keeping her gaze steady on Kingsley’s eyes. She was met, however, with complete blankness…peace of mind. She fought harder against his defenses, against his Occlumency training. A brick wall began to rise out of nowhere, and she knew she was slowly beating him. She began to kick at the wall, to push harder into his mind, and a small crack formed in the wall. It expanded quickly, until the wall itself shattered. Flashes came immediately before her—memories from his childhood, from the First War, flashes of his cubicle at the Ministry, Dumbledore, numerous scraps of parchment littered over a long table, a raven-haired woman, and, another flash of Dumbledore, clearly uttering the word ‘Potter’. She concentrated on that memory, fighting against his already weakened defenses, and saw the memory.

“He must be prepared for this, Kingsley. He will face it very soon indeed—“

“But Albus, at his parents’ house? It’s the boy’s first training session. Surely you cannot be serious. He will be weakened from being there in the first place,”

“Initially, yes. But he will be strengthened from the experience, and that is exactly what he needs. Voldemort will be aiming for his weaknesses, and his parents are one of those. He must learn to overcome his pain,”

Kingsley sighed, “At what time should I be there?”

“Eight. Preferably earlier, to straighten things up a tad,”

“Very well,”

Bellatrix came back to the present with a jolt, staggering backwards. Malfoy and Mulciber looked at her expectantly, “So? What did you see?” Malfoy asked impatiently.

“No time for that. For now, let us concentrate on what we came here for,”

Malfoy frowned momentarily, but nodded, “Fine, then,” he said angrily, fingering his wand and pointing it in Kingsley’s direction.

“Do it quickly. An Avada will do,”

Malfoy gritted his teeth in annoyance, “Fine. An Avada. Fine,” he hissed, taking a deep breath and flashing a nasty grin in Kingsley’s direction, “Night, Shacklebolt. Say hello to Rowen for me,” he added, enjoying the flash of anger that flared up in Kingsley’s eyes at the name, “Avada Kedavra!”

Kingsley’s eyes widened as the spell hit him, but he remained immobile, obviously dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:11 p.m., Wednesday night, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry walked slowly, guiding Hermione through a narrow passageway behind a portrait on the second floor. They hadn’t spoken since they left Hogsmade, but he could feel the relaxation in her touch. She was much calmer than she had been back at Godric’s Hollow, and, to be honest, so was he.

Although being there had given him a small feeling of closeness to his parents, he couldn’t bear being there. Something in the atmosphere had seemed odd, and he felt anxious. Besides, his presence there and his gaze on the worn walls had only reawakened the pain he felt whenever he thought of his parents’ death.

Everything…the pendant, his room, Hermione’s worried eyes, the memories...it all made tension flare up inside him. He didn’t know what to feel. He just felt hopeless, like he could do nothing to better his situation or stop anything else from happening. He felt as if he were a pawn in his own life, as if he weren’t living it, as if he didn’t have any say in what was to happen. From the day Voldemort murdered his parents, he wasn’t able to decide anything that happened in his life. Everything he did seemed to be wrong…

“Harry?” Hermione said softly, “We...we’re here,” she released his hand and caressed the side of his face delicately, trying to draw his attention.

Harry glanced at the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office, “I’m not sure I want to go in,” he said in a low voice, meeting her eyes.

“Why?”

“What do you think he’ll say to us, Hermione? I just…I don’t know. He probably won’t tell us everything we need to know, or he’ll give us an excuse,”

“Harry…I know you’re going through a painful time, after watching those memories and having that pendant in your hand. I know you feel like nothing’s okay, but…” she trailed off, biting her lip, “We need to hear what Dumbledore has to say,” she said in a lower voice, her tone uncertain, as if she too had somehow begin to doubt what Dumbledore may say to them.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, sighing. It wasn’t what excuse Dumbledore might give them. It was something more along the lines of…not really wanting to discuss what happened. Saying it out loud would make it all seem real again, would bring forth all the raw pain he thought he had forgotten. And, like with Sirius, no one would understand.

“Okay, fine,” Harry grunted suddenly, moving towards the gargoyle.

Hermione crossed her arms, giving him a puzzled look, “Harry, what—?”

Harry sighed, trying to level his voice so as to sound normal, “It’s okay, Hermione. I’m fine. Come on,” he added, beckoning her closer as he gave the gargoyle the password. It sprung aside, revealing the entrance, and they stepped forward, quiet as ever, not quite knowing what to say to each other.

Hermione knew well Harry was not okay. How could he be, after all? There was something bothering him, and although she knew better than to ask what it was, she felt as if she should be able to ease his pain. He had comforted her when she felt despaired, and cradled her in his arms when she cried, and she wanted to do the same for him. She wanted him to find solace, to let go of his pain, even if just for a small time again, and be happy. He deserved to.

She looked up at him, taking in the dark expression in his eyes as he stared upwards, not noticing her gaze on him. As she slowly raised her hand to cup his cheek, she felt her heart ache for him. She wanted to share his pain, if that would mean lessening its effect on him. As her hand made contact with his cold face, his eyes darted towards hers, his brow furrowing very slightly. She shook her head, already feeling herself near tears, and whispered softly:

“Harry, have you already forgotten what I told you back in Hogsmade? I’m here for you, whenever you feel like this. I want to help you, make you feel better. You don’t deserve to be like this,” she said, a small, sad smile on her face, “I love you, Harry, and I hate to see you hide your troubles. Please…you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. All you have to do…is keep me close, lose yourself in my words, and look for me when you’re feeling like this,”

Harry looked back at her, his expression now one of slight confusion, and nodded silently, just as they reached the landing. They stepped off the staircase, still gazing at each other, and Hermione hugged him, her arms curling around his middle and her head rested on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, as well, inclining his head forward towards her head, inhaling the soft smell of her.

They pulled back, smiled at each other, and moved towards the door, Harry stretching his hand out to knock, when Hermione held him back. Holding her index finger up to he lips, she leant closer to the door, listening. Harry imitated her gesture, and slowly, he began to hear the vaguely muffled sounds of conversation.

“…we’re just going in circles, here, Albus. Honestly, I’m worried out of my mind for his sake and mine. There has to be something we can do,” the unmistakable voice of Professor Trewlaney spoke, her tone impatient and anxious. Harry and Hermione exchanged a puzzled frown, before directing their attentions back to the conversation.

“I understand how you feel, Sibyll. Believe me, I am trying my best to find a way to retrieve Wormtail without placing any of the Order in danger, but I am finding that impossible. He must already be in Voldemort’s presence, and it would be murder to attempt saving him, especially now that Severus has been discovered,”

Snape spoke next, “And, in all honestly, the coward’s death has been postponed for much too long. Out of sheer luck and casualty has he managed to remain alive for these years. He will be no loss,”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that, Snape, but do note that he’s heard the prophecy!” Sibyll spat, her voice quivering with anger, “Voldemort must have already seen his memories from the past few days. If anything, he’s probably dead by now,” she added.

“Then why are we still discussing him? There are far more pressing matter s at hand,” Severus snapped.

“Enough,” came Dumbledore’s voice, “I would trust you both to keep a civil attitude towards each other for the remainder of this meeting, as you know how crucial time is. We have many things to discuss, and I’m afraid not all the time we need,”

Harry looked at Hermione and asked, in voice barely above a whisper, “Should we go inside now?”

Hermione nodded, her hair falling over her shoulders and obscuring her face from view. Despite this, Harry could vividly see the concentrated look on her face as she processed what they had heard and attempted to connect it with all that had happened over the last few days. She stood up straight, and calmly stretched her hand out to open the door without knocking. Harry jerked his hand out to stop her, but she insisted, “If we knock, Snape and Trewlaney will leave,”

Harry hesitated, but released her hand, nodding. Hermione twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open, the voices immediately quieting. As they stepped inside, all eyes were on them—Trewlaney, wide-eyed surprise; Snape, annoyance and what appeared to be outrage; and Dumbledore, polite confusion, a slight worry in his eyes.

“Potter!” Snape hissed, recovering from the shock, “This is a private conversation! Get out this instant!” He looked rather purple, a vein throbbing in his temple, and Harry was vaguely reminded of the time he had seen his memories in the Pensieve.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off, raising his hand. The twinkle barely visible in his eyes, he asked, “Harry, why are you not at training?”

“I…Kingsley wasn’t there,”

His statement was met by a stunned silence. Knowing he now had their full attention, he began to explain, from the start, what had happened. As he spoke, Snape met his eyes with a skeptical look, as if he thought he was making everything up as an elaborate excuse. Dumbledore and Trewlaney, however, looked at him intently with grimly intrigued looks, their eyes fixed upon him.

Hermione stood by his side, feeling slightly uncomfortable. As she heard what Harry said, it all seemed like a distant dream, something of which she remembered vague details, and her feelings throughout it. It wasn’t as if she didn’t remember anything, of course, it was just…hearing it said out loud was so different, so real. As if all this time, she had unconsciously been wishing this had all been a dream.

Distantly, she began thinking again, gears turning in her head. Harry’s voice began to fade, until the only thing she could hear were her thoughts.

Apparently, Wormtail had disappeared from somewhere, and was now back with Voldemort, which implied that he hadn’t been there to begin with. Trewlaney seemed to be involved, somehow, which might mean that he had been with her, for some reason.

She had no clue how Snape fitted into all of this, but according to what she’d just heard, his identity had been discovered. ‘Identity’ would refer to him being a spy for Dumbledore. That he had been discovered meant that the Order would be unable to know exactly what Voldemort was planning.

Additionally, they had spoken of a prophecy, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was that she had heard recently—Honestly, prophecies aren’t made my dozens.

She failed to see how everything that had happened in Godric’s Hollow went with all of this, however. It could be that it happened out of pure casualty, but tied in with this somehow later. It could be a direct consequence of this whole mess, or maybe—

A small nudge on her arm brought her from her thoughts to the present, where Harry had stopped speaking, and Dumbledore, Trewlaney and Snape were looking at him with expectant expressions.

“Do you have the pendant with you, Harry?”

Hermione realized what she wanted him to do, and immediately cleared her throat, “Professor, why did you send us there, to Godric’s Hollow, of all places?”

Dumbledore’s eyes darted from Harry to Hermione, a vague look of surprise in his eyes, as if he had barely registered she was there. There was a tense moment of silence after her question, before he spoke, his voice weary, “I know that Harry feels pain for the loss of his parents. It is normal, of course, that Voldemort would attempt to use that against him. I thought that by sending you there to train, he would be strengthened from his experience, and would eventually learn to overcome his pain,”

Harry nodded, as if he expected such an answer, “But what about Kingsley?”

“That is precisely what both puzzles and worries me the most. He had contacted me at approximately twenty minutes past seven, informing me that he was already there making sure the environment was safe for your training. It was a note, signed by him, and sent using the phoenix feather all Order members keep for communication purposes,”

Silence met his words as everyone pondered on this. Was it possible that something had happened to Kingsley after he sent the letter? Or what if the letter was faked, somehow? It sounded ridiculous, but something odd had obviously happened.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said again, “Do you have the pendant with you?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about it?” Harry asked, fighting with himself to keep his voice level, “Why did you have to make me got there and find it all out all of a sudden?”

Dumbledore sighed, “I was never sure it survived the attack, or if Lily used it. When several people and I went to check the house, after it all happened, there was nothing there, but ruins. The pendant must have fallen under the floorboards—a place we never thought necessary to check. We merely assumed she hadn’t used it, and that it had been entirely her dying for you that had saved you,” he paused, fixing him with a pained stare, “Apparently, it was not,”

Harry stood stock still, glaring, “So…you didn’t lie,” it wasn’t a question, really. It was more along the lines of a comment to himself, a reassurance, “You never intended on me finding it?”

Dumbledore shook his head, “I did not know it still existed, Harry. My only purpose in sending you there tonight was that you would find strength in your weakness,” he sighed, “But it appears that sending you there was not the best thing to do. Please, sit down, both of you. We all have much to discuss,”

Snape made a noise of incredulousness, turning to Dumbledore, “Albus, what need have they to know everything? We cannot keep informing others of what is happening. It is a liability to—“

“I do not intend on having them know everything. Merely…what they need to know,” Dumbledore said, his voice carrying a note of finality, clearly denoting that he wouldn’t change his mind, “Now,” he said, turning to Harry and Hermione, who had sat on two chairs that had seemingly appeared there when he had asked them to sit, “Let us start from the beginning, shall we? From Professor Trewlaney’s disappearance…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:03 p.m., Friday night, Hogwarts Grounds

“Harry,” Hermione said, laughing, “What in the world are you doing? Where are we going?” They were walking slowly, a cloth covering Hermione’s eyes as Harry guided her carefully outside. He smiled at her incessant questions, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

“You’ll see. This is out night, Hermione. Nothing will interrupt us. I reckon we need this time alone after this week,” he said, and kissed her neck softly. She remained silent, a contented smile on her lips as she turned her face in Harry’s direction and attempted to kiss his lips, instead kissing him somewhere along his jaw line. Harry chuckled, and continued to lead her to where he wanted to take her.

He really didn’t have much planned, exactly. In fact, he didn’t have anything planned except the place where they were going. But he knew it wouldn’t matter to her. He hoped so, anyway.

“Mmm…Harry? Are we outside?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning.

“Why are you taking me outside?” Hermione asked, also grinning. She raised her hand to touch Harry’s, which rested on her shoulder, and caressed it softly as he guided her along the grass.

“You’ll see,” Harry said absentmindedly as he felt her hand on his, “Remember on Monday? I’d promised we’d go to a ‘secret’ place near the lake?” she thought for a moment, then nodded. As he steered her towards the lake, Harry smiled, “Well, that’s where I’m taking you,”

“Should be fun,” Hermione said, inclining her head backwards and smiling up at him. She loved how this night was going. It was all so romantic, so wonderful. So very much like the way she had wanted their relationship to be from the start, but knew it couldn’t be so, “But you’re sure there won’t be more people, right?” she added, stroking his hand with her fingers.

“Eager to get me alone, are you?” Harry teased, lowering his hands from her shoulders to her middle and squeezed her sides gently.

Hermione laughed softly, “Who can blame me?” she said, and, if she hadn’t had a blindfold on, she would have winked at him.

They continued with their light conversation all the way to the lake, and didn’t think once about the things that had been constantly haunting their minds since Wednesday. Back in Dumbledore’s office, everything had been cleared up—why Trewlaney had disappeared, how she came to collaborate with Wormtail, and why Snape was helping them, among other things. Having the mystery cleared up took a great deal off their shoulders, and instead of dwelling on that, they had come to place it at the back of their minds, to be forgotten whilst they thought of another matter. Something that both worried and excited them.

They were to meet a friend of Dumbledore’s that lived in Ireland. This man, who went by the name of Fabrice Dupont, was a French craftsman, and just so happened to have been the person who made the amulet James gave to Lily. Dumbledore had deemed it necessary to pay him a visit when they tested the amulet in is office, Harry holding it and Hermione casting a tentative Jelly-Legs jinx on him, and the amulet hadn’t protected him.

Dumbledore didn’t know why, exactly, the amulet didn’t work. He explained that Fabrice sometimes made the amulets specific—meaning that they only responded to certain dangers—and that that might be what was causing the amulet to fail against a Jelly-Legs hex. There was no way of being sure, he explained, without actually casting spells that might harm Harry, or throwing him into a duel, so they would have to pay Fabrice a visit. They would go with Remus, Elphias Doge, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, and Hestia Jones.

Harry’s initial reaction was surprise. He would have thought that Dumbledore wouldn’t risk them going out of the castle in such circumstances. Then, he’d shrugged to himself, thinking that they would probably Floo or Apparate directly to the house. It wasn’t like they were going to fly there. And then, he’d become excited for the trip. They would be out of Hogwarts, if just for a small time, and, possibly, he would be able to both relax and enjoy himself.

Hermione had been fighting with her own emotions towards the trip, a part of her thinking it was horribly dangerous to travel when they were so close to the Final Battle, in the middle of a War between Dumbledore’s lot, Voldemort’s followers, and those who chose no side. Everyday more murders surfaced, everyday more disappearances were reported, and everyday the Muggles became more confused and suspicious. It just wasn’t safe.

Then another part of her argued that they would probably Apparate there, or Floo at the least. They would be there in seconds, so how could any harm come to them? Uncertainly, she reasoned that the trip wouldn’t be so bad; she would be with Harry (under the watch of no less than five adults, yes, but still), and Ireland was really a lovely place. It would be nice to go there.

And with that, they had agreed to go, and the trip hadn’t left their minds since.

Until now, of course.

“We’re here,” Harry declared, untying the cloth from Hermione’s eyes and revealing the sight before them. By Hermione’s soft gasp, he knew she loved it.

“Oh, Harry…it’s beautiful,” she said softly, taking a few steps closer to it.

They were at a part of the lake opposite to the one they always visited, though it seemed like a completely different lake altogether. Very large trees on either side, some of their branches so long they almost touched the water, flanked it. The water itself seemed to have an eerily beautiful sort of glow, as if it were frozen ice. But what was most captivating about the sight were the small bits of light that seemed to be flying slowly around the trees, pausing on the branches and forming large clusters, before scattering. They glowed in different colors, sometimes pink, other times orange, and most of the time, green. As they walked closer, they seemed to sense their presence, and began to circle them as well, sometimes pausing in their hair or shoulders.

As Hermione looked around her in awe, a though occurred to her, “Oh, these are fairies, aren’t they?” she asked, a smile spreading across her lips.

Harry nodded, “Either that, or something along those lines,”

Hermione turned to him, her round, entrancing brown eyes locking on his. For a split second, Harry thought back to the first days of their relationship, when the weight of the world seemed to be on their shoulders and this happiness, this peace, this togetherness, seemed to be so very far away. He remembered the worry in her eyes, so clear, so painful to watch, and how much it contrasted with her current expression, delight etched into her features, her eyes misty and shining with contentedness. As she raised her hand to his shoulders, tracing a line from there to his neck, he remembered how once, all he was able to do was long for her touch, her breath in his ear as she spoke, her body close to his, thinking he could never have that. As she stood on tiptoe and leant forward close to him, he surveyed her soft smile of mingled mischievousness and timidity with a smile of his own, his mind going completely blank.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered, her voice a caress to his ears.

As she leant forward towards his lips, he placed his right hand on her waist and raised his left hand to her mouth, placing two fingers on her lips to stop her. She frowned, then looked up at him playfully, her eyes questioning.

“I love you more,” he declared, and she pursed her lips playfully, rolling her eyes. She used her free hand to hold his hand away from her mouth, and gently leant forward again, this time capturing his mouth with her lips. He released his hand from her grip and buried it in her hair, holding soft wisps of it between his fingers. Her free hand rose to his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, pressing them together. Their lips parted as Harry began to plant small kisses along her jaw line and down her neck, encouraged by the soft sounds Hermione made. She began to tug off her robe herself, and, in mild surprise, Harry helped her. As the robe fell to the ground in a heap, Harry began to unbutton Hermione’s shirt…

First button—nothing happened…second button—Hermione resumed he fervent kissing…third button—she ran her hands along his shoulders and back…fourth button—he thought he heard her moan softly as his hand slipped inside her shirt…and then, at the fifth button, she stopped kissing him, a look of surprise in her eyes.

“I...we…we can’t,” she mumbled, pulling away and re-buttoning her shirt, “I’m such an idiot for doing this,”

Harry shook his head, “No…I understand, I’m sorry. I just…I get carried away,” he ran a hand through his hair, feeling faintly worried now. He suddenly realized that they were alone, by the lake, safely hidden, and worried slightly, hoping she didn’t think he’d somehow planned this to go a certain way.

“No, I mean…well, I don’t know what I mean,” she finished, sighing and shaking her head, “Come on, let’s sit down under the trees. We can talk,” she knelt on the ground for a moment, grabbing her robe and slipping it on, before walking to a tree packed with the fairy-like lights.

He walked behind her and sat down, staring at his fingers. She was looking around at the trees, a mildly curious expression on her face. She then turned to him, waved a hand in front of his face to get his attention, and smiled, “How did you find this place?” she asked, pausing for a moment, as if she wanted to add something else, “A…romantic adventure, perhaps?” she added teasingly, and Harry felt himself redden.

“Well…no, not technically,”

Hermione stared at him, her smile fading slightly, until she saw the playful grin on his face, “Oh, you liar,” she said, a small trace of laughter in her voice, “You had me worried for a moment there, wondering what I’d gotten myself into,”

He laughed, “No, but really. Fred and George told me about it. Seems that they had their fair share of…adventures here,”

“What were you talking about that brought them to telling you that?” Hermione asked curiously, turning on the grass so that she was facing him.

“I…well, I don’t know. I think I was writing you a letter,”

A blush crept to Hermione’s cheeks, “Funny, that you followed their advice,” she commented, staring up at the starry sky, “Their shop is going really well, you know? Ron got a letter from them back in February,” the words had slipped out before she could keep them in, Ron’s name slipping right out. Her eyes widened momentarily and her frame tensing, deciding to wait and see how Harry reacted. He might now have noticed, after all.

“Yeah?” Harry said, noticing both her mention of Ron and the way she reacted. He decided not to say anything regarding that, hoping she’d go along.

Hermione felt relieved when Harry didn’t comment, and so continued, her frame relaxing, “Uh-huh. And it looks like Hogwarts students are randomly receiving fliers advertising their shop, and exhorting them to buy stuff by Owl Order. I got one the other day, too…I keep forgetting to ask Dumbledore if that’s legal,”

Harry laughed, shaking his head, “It probably is. And if it isn’t, Dumbledore won’t do anything about it. It doesn’t bother anyone,”

“Of course they do! Listen, the other day…”

As they continued in their happy banter, Harry couldn’t keep her eyes off Hermione. The way her hair fell gracefully over her shoulders, soft curls framing her face; the way her eyes shone with passion as she argued over something, an occasional flash of annoyance or merriment appearing; the way she gestured with her hands when she wanted to make a point, and, of course, the way she looked at him when he suggested they go for a swim.

“What?” she asked incredulously, her mouth curling into an irrepressible smile, her cheeks flushing bright red, and her eyes going round.

“I’m serious,” Harry said, grinning, “You can…err…conjure another shirt?” he suggested tentatively, not knowing how to phrase his idea better.

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly, a flash of determination in her eyes, “No, I’m fine. Let’s go, then,” she said offhandedly, standing up and walking towards the edge of the lake. She kicked off her shoes and socks, keeping her robe tightly wrapped around her. Harry remained sitting where he was, staring confusedly at her. She turned, grinning broadly, “Having second thoughts? The water’s too cold for you?” she teased, her feet coming in contact with the water. She suppressed a shiver; it really was quite cold, and walked further into the water, eventually submerging herself in it completely.

Harry stood up, kicked his shoes and socks off, and placed them neatly beside Hermione’s before wading into the water as well.

Hermione emerged, taking a deep gulp of air, her hair completely soaked, and looked over at him, “I’ll race you to the other side,” she challenged suddenly, her voice breathless.

Harry grinned, “You sure? I’ve longer legs,”

“And I’ve other tricks up my sleeve,”

“And what are those?”

Hermione shrugged, making her way towards him slowly. She slipped her robe off, letting it float in the water, and twined her arms around Harry’s neck, pulling him into a passionate embrace. They stayed that way for a while, until she pulled away abruptly and submerged herself in the water. When she emerged again, she was several feet away, in the direction of the other side of the lake.

“Ha!” she said, waving at him playfully and submerging herself in the water again.

“Hey, that’s not fair, Hermione!” Harry called after her, before he, too, pulled his robe off and began swimming towards the other side of the lake, registering vaguely how nice it was to be carelessly laughing and joking around with Hermione.

No thoughts about what others might think or say.

No worries about Voldemort or Death Eaters.

No anxiousness about what might happen.

Just…blissful happiness; the kind that never lasted, but you always wished it would, with all your heart, with all your soul.

A/N: On that last bit—that was the place I had planned for them to go to a few chapters ago (ch. eleven, I think), but had to leave it out because it seemed unlikely or something of the sort. I hope it was to your liking! Fluffy romancing indeed. =)

Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know—the next chapter will feature a bit with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and then I’ll jump to Easter and their trip to Ireland. I’m sorry, but I have to. If I keep going with this day by day, I’ll never finish, lol.

So…till the next! Oh, and if you like D/G fics, do go and check out a one-shot I wrote, titled Sweet Misery. Just in case. =)

18. Expect The Unexpected

Chapter Eighteen: Expect the Unexpected

Hermione:

I’m not sure how to answer your letter, to be honest. I am not even sure what I am supposed to feel. Mixed emotions plague my mind, and I have no real guidance in this. I don’t know whether I’m right or wrong anymore.

Well, that is a start, I suppose. Your letter brought forth several points I knew not of, and they make perfect sense for your argument. I thought that you were in love with Ron, sweetheart, as he was so obviously with you. You must have been sending mixed signals, because the boy was truly under the illusion that you loved him. Please don’t say that you did love him, because we both know that is not true. You may have felt towards him as a friend, maybe even as a brother, but never in the way he thought.

And I accept that. It is okay that you didn’t quite love him; that you became confused. At your age it is easy to mistake feelings. It is, however, justified that I was angry at you for what you did. Surely you could have noticed that you didn’t love him before things got so serious?

These are things we cannot sort out in letters, I’m afraid. These are the things that need deep explaining, and perhaps they are the sort that you do not want to write.

I never assumed your relationship with Harry was based on lust, of all things. What I thought—and forgive me for believing this—was that there was a slight chance that you had mistaken a physical attraction for something deeper. Hormones in a seventeen-year-old’s body are still going a bit wild, and you must admit there could have been a possibility.

What I should have noticed, however, was that that possibility disappeared when you were involved. I was such a fool, Hermione, and I beg you to forgive me for that. I know you are responsible and smart, and that you would have never let yourself get so carried away. You did what you did for a good reason.

You are completely right in saying that you moved too fast, however. That is, truly, what made me feel so angry at you. It is the fact that you didn’t take time to soften the impact on your lives that makes me feel that you were irresponsible. I expected much better of you. And of course it took you some time to get used to each other. Already you have broken past the initial awkwardness, and I am proud of you for that. It takes a lot of character to do so in such a short time. I daresay you still aren’t completely used to your situation. There are things about one another that you two have no idea of, and only time will help you there.

Praise aside, Hermione…I am afraid your father and I are not ready to accept your relationship. It is nothing personal…merely that we need some time to get used to the idea. We are so worried for you, my dear, and your comment about being willing to die for him doesn’t help our nerves at all. It is noble…but not at all what we want to hear from you…what we need to hear, I mean. You may think that you are crucial, honey, but do keep in mind that things sometimes aren’t what they seem. You may be right, and I wish you all the triumph in the world if that is so, but you may be wrong…at which I would never forgive myself for not interfering. I assure you, the only reason I haven’t is because, despite all that has happened, I—we—still trust and love you.

Please, take things slowly. And I mean that, not with Harry—that is your decision alone—but regarding your father and I. We need time, Hermione. We have to mull things over. I promise you that if you are ever in any need we will help you in every way we can, but…we need some time to accept this. I am sorry.

I am afraid for you, Hermione. Things are becoming more and more complicated as I write. The Muggle world is at war—Scotland and Germany, that is—and I fear it will soon spread until we have a World War in our hands. I suspect that, deep down, it is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that is behind this. Dumbledore is aware, though, so we mustn’t fret. He is a brilliant man, and I am sure he already is at work to solve what is happening.

It is all a matter of time, I suppose.

Oh, please, Hermione…promise me you will take care and watch yourself. Please, don’t do something as drastic for Harry as dying for him. Please, think before you act…I love you. We—your father and I—both do. We don’t want to lose you. Do remember that he who strives to touch a star often stumbles upon a single straw. Be careful.

And, I think you ought to know this…Dumbledore will be moving us from our residence in two or three weeks. Living in Scotland isn’t quite as safe as it once was. We shall be moving to another location—I haven’t been told where—in which we will be perfectly safe, or so I am assured.

I probably shouldn’t have written that. This isn’t safe to owl now, is it? I think I’ll talk to one of Dumbledore’s lot to see if they can send it to you. They have safer methods, do they not?

Oh, I think that is them now. Someone’s entering through the front door. Odd people…didn’t they say they would not come until the day of our move? And they know better than to just come in through the front door. Honestly, anyone could see them. They always wear those odd robes, and one even has pink hair!

Well, take care, darling. I love you.

Write back, and send your answer with…well, use the Order’s method. We really can’t risk anyone reading all this, can we?

Lots of love,

Your mother

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1:20a.m., Saturday morning, Small house bordering Wales and England

“I must be mishearing things,” Voldemort said silkily, eyes narrowed, bright with anger. Bellatrix, Lucius, and Mulciber remained stiffly kneeling, heads bowed, waiting for his next words with a feel of apprehension. Voldemort circled them as he spoke, “I cannot comprehend why, when you had Potter and his Mudblood girlfriend at your grasp, you turned away.”

His voice, barely above a hiss, seemed much more chilling than a full-blown yell. But they hadn’t quite expected that. The Dark Lord remained composed until the last moment, and even then he would transfer his anger by delivering a fatal curse.

“Should one of you fail to explain, I will be forced to take more…drastic action,” he said softly, his fingers encircling themselves around the handle of his wand as he stopped before them, scarlet eyes flashing expectantly.

Bellatrix raised her head, doing her best to face her Master with no trace of fear in her eyes, “Master, it was all my doing. I convinced Mulciber and Lucius to do as I said.”

Voldemort nodded silently, waving his hand impatiently as a sign for her to continue. Bellatrix spoke again, inexplicable relief flooding her, “I thought it would be cowardly to take advantage of the situation in such a way. Better to use cleverness as a means to lure them to us. It was pure chance, my lord. I refuse to be glorious in your presence by a casualty.”

Voldemort surveyed her with a look of mingled anger and understanding. He smirked, “Pride. That is what kept you from doing my bidding? Your filthy, unimportant pride?”

Bellatrix bowed her head again, this time sure she shouldn’t answer Voldemort. If she argued, she would surely find herself in more trouble than she already was.

“Fool!” Voldemort hissed, flicking his hand at her. In a second, she was twitching on the floor, writhing, under the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Pain flooded through her body…under her skin…in her bones…it flowed through her bloodstream at an alarming rate. She cried out, tears leaking out of her eyes as she struggled to bring herself up to her knees, at the least. Her arms and legs bent in odd angles; her body twisting in unnatural spasms as she felt herself grow numb. She became silent, suddenly, wishing no more than to die. To feel no more pain, to seize being exposed to people as cruel as Voldemort…to move to an unknown bliss of nothingness.

Then the pain stopped. She fell facedown on the ground, her arms barely able to keep her face from colliding with the dull, wooden floor. Her breathing was ragged, forced, and she felt her nose bleeding. Damn. How long had she been held under the curse?

“Long enough for you to comprehend that the Dark Lord’s bidding is your priority, Bella,” Voldemort said, a hint of scorn in his voice, “Not your pride, or any other human foolishness you care to feel.”

Bellatrix remained gasping on the floor, breathing through her mouth as she held her sleeve to her nose to stop the bleeding. She could barely feel her legs yet, and her arms were not much better. She fumbled for her wand, pointing it to her nose and muttering a spell to heal it. Nothing happened. Apparently, her body was still too weak perform magic. Brilliant.

Voldemort smiled cruelly at her attempt, but made no comment. He turned instead to Malfoy and Mulciber, both of whom were watching Bellatrix struggle with expressions of mingled scorn, relief, and guilt, “As for you both, that should serve as reminder enough. I shall move on to another problem that has recently come to my attention. You are aware, of course, that Severus is indeed a traitor to the Dark Lord. He has been serving Dumbledore as a spy for all these years, somehow managing to keep it from me. Clearly, he is a skilled Occlumens. This is simple. Should you come across him as you carry out my orders, do not kill him. Bring him to me. I daresay he and Lord Voldemort ought to have a small chat before his death.”

They nodded, and he continued speaking, “Now, there is a small detour you must take before you continue your initial mission of eliminating the Order members. It appears that the order is aware of our interference in the war between those filthy Muggles. Although that would give us an excuse to attack them, I believe we ought to lure them to us, as Bella kindly supplied, with cleverness,” he glanced over his back at Bellatrix and smirked, seeing her still twitching on the floor. He turned to Malfoy and Mulciber again.

“It is quite simple. I believe it should not take more than a few hours. They are only Muggles, after all,” he smiled as their expressions took on a maniacal gleam, “Not torture, Malfoy. There will be time for that soon. They are merely…bait. A means to lure the Muggle-loving Dumbledore to us.”

He paused, turning and watching as Bellatrix struggled to perform a proper healing charm. With a look of annoyance, he flicked his wand at her, muttering under his breath. As her nose stopped bleeding, she looked up at him in shock, pocketing her wand and furrowing her brow. He merely narrowed his eyes, surveying her with a disgusted look, “You are pathetic, Bella. You ought to be grateful this is the only punishment you are receiving for your dim-witted actions.”

Bellatrix nodded quickly, scrambling to the hem of Voldemort’s robes and kissing them, “Yes, my Lord.”

“Now, listen closely,” Voldemort said, gesturing for her to move beside Malfoy and Mulciber. She did so quickly, shrinking to her knees beside them and looking up at her Master expectantly. He smiled coldly, the simple gesture making him look all the more chilling. His scarlet eyes seemed brighter than ever, tainted by his never-wavering hate and disdain for anything that went against his beliefs. As he looked down upon them, his eyes slits, they all suppressed shivers, for they could never become used to the way those eyes seemed to bore into theirs, penetrating deep inside the confines of the mind and finding things they themselves had long forgotten.

“Very well. As I have said, the task is completely simple. I trust you will not fail again…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:07a.m., Friday, March 22nd, Gryffindor Common Room

“Harry?”

Her delicate voice roused him from his sleep. Her breath was soft as she whispered in his ear, gently burying her hand in his hair and stroking it. He mumbled, half asleep, and rolled over in the couch, his back to her. He could feel her gaze on him, and he could almost see her lips pursed, as if in annoyance, contradicted by the gleam in her eyes. He felt, as if in a dream, as she gently leaned over him and kissed his neck, murmuring for him to get up. He groaned, not quite sure if it was out of negligence to get up or out of pleasure at her warm kisses, and turned over, his lips meeting hers abruptly. She smirked, pressing her lips closer to his momentarily, before pulling away, hands on her hips.

“Come on, then, Harry. I brought some toast to eat before…well, before we leave,” she said briskly, her voice taking on an uncertain note as she said the last words. The day to leave had come so fast, and she was both excited and worried because of that.

Harry rubbed his eyes, reaching for his glasses on the couch and sliding an open book off his chest, “Bugger…must have fallen asleep here,” he muttered, looking around, “See where studying gets me?” he added, smiling weakly as his eyes grew accustomed to the lighting.

Hermione shrugged, “The fact that it’s the Easter holidays doesn’t mean school is over,” she said, a note of mild sternness creeping to her voice, “N.E.W.Ts are coming up soon, and I don’t want either of us to fail!”

Harry nodded, wearily, having heard this argument over the past two weeks more times than he’d like to count. With most of their questions regarding all that had happened answered, they had been able to lead a relatively normal life at Hogwarts, meaning they could devote more attentions to their studies, and had less to worry about, than before. The only thing that still bothered them—‘them’ meaning Hermione, because Harry was mostly fine with it—was that Ron still kept his distance from them at all times, except for inevitable things. It had been a vast improvement when, the day before, he had asked Harry for a quill before a Transfigurations exam (true, he asked around six people before Harry, but it was still a step up, in Hermione’s eyes). She wasn’t pushing him to talk to them these days, though Harry could see the pain in her eyes whenever he averted his gaze from them. He, too, felt bad that their friendship had ended in such a nasty way—assuming it had ended. Had it? It was so hard to tell now…so hard to believe it really was over, just like that—but he understood Ron’s reaction, and respected it.

They had also been thinking a lot about their trip to Ireland, having decided with Dumbledore that Easter was the best time to go there. There was bound to be a lot of people out on the streets, traveling, visiting their relatives and such, which meant they would blend in. They would still use concealment charms, though, for safety; you could never be too sure as to whether the person next to you was a Death Eater in disguise or not, these days.

Harry stood up, stretched, and turned to look at Hermione expectantly. She smiled, “Have you packed?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Err…no,” Harry said, giving her an apologetic look, “I’ll just do it now. I won’t take long.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Yes, it’s fine. I’ll wait here.”

Harry nodded and walked away in the direction of the boy’s dormitories, while Hermione laid down on the couch where he had been and closed her eyes. She turned her face, her nose grazing the smooth fabric, inhaling the subtle scent of him that still lingered. Her mouth curling into a smile, she remembered the way he’d looked the night before, trying to concentrate on the book. The way his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and his chin began to drift towards his chest before he fell asleep completely, book forgotten, open on his lap. She had loved watching it happen, glancing up between pages, her gaze remaining on him tenderly as she watched him doze off.

And when she did finally become to tired to keep reading, she had watched him from her corner of the couch, smiling, her eyes half closed. She’d gotten up, taken off his glasses and placed them on top of the book, before kissing his forehead gently and making her way groggily to her dormitory.

He’d really looked much too peaceful and happy to wake up.

Somewhere along her muses, she lost herself in his smell, however vague it was. Her eyes flickered closed, and she curled her legs beneath her, holding her hands crossed over her chest. A contented smile on her lips, she stopped thinking and slept peacefully, for the first time in quite a while. No thoughts invaded her mind…there was nothing, nothing that could surpass this blissful feeling of untroubled sleep. Odd, really, that today, of all days, she could finally relax.

Harry descended the stairs, a small bag slung over his shoulder. He had washed his face, put on some clean clothes, and managed to wake himself up completely. He was quite surprised when he saw Hermione sleeping soundly on the couch. The way the sunlight illuminated her made her look like an angel, with her pearly, silky skin and rosy lips. The serene look on her face…

It took Harry a few moments to realize that he’d never seen such an expression in Hermione’s face. Never.

He strode towards her, sitting down beside her. He caught sight of the stack of toast she had brought, wrapped neatly in some napkins, and took it into his hands. He let his gaze linger on her freely, taking in every detail of her appearance…every wave of her hair, her parted lips, the delicate curves of her body. He watched her for a long time, before he remembered the stack of toast in his hands. He unwrapped it, not really caring about what he was doing, and took a bite out of one.

He barely noticed when Hermione woke up, her eyes darting to him before she sat up, “Mmmf…I think this couch has some charm casted on it,” she commented, taking a slice of toast, “I barely lied down, and I was already asleep. How long were you up there?”

“Half an hour, at the most. I had to change,” Harry said, leaning forward to kiss her lips quickly before they continued to eat, “But you got up early, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I went down to breakfast around seven, returned some books to the library, and I talked briefly with Dumbledore before coming up here to do some early studying.”

Harry shook his head, “You really have to relax about your studying, Hermione. Don’t overdo it.”

“I’m not. Trust me, Harry, I know what I can take. Third year—that’s overdoing it. This…this is necessary. N.E.W.Ts are very important.”

“Thank Merlin we’re going off to Ireland today. You won’t be studying there, will you?”

Hermione shrugged, “No. That won’t take too long, anyway. We could be here by this afternoon, you know.”

“Ah, but Moody never does things the quick way,” Harry said, smirking, “We could he here by this evening, but I’ll bet we won’t be back for a few days.”

“Nonsense. He knows we have schoolwork to do. And he probably has other things to do,” Hermione said, a mildly shocked expression on her face. She took another bite of toast, chewing quietly, and looked up at Harry with a worried expression, “Oh, you don’t really think he’d do that, do you, Harry?” she asked, “I mean, we really do have to study…”

Harry sighed, shaking his head and turning to her. He set his piece of toast on his lap and extended his hand to her chin, tilting it up so she was looking into his eyes. With a small grin, he said, “You must relax. Do you hear me, Hermione? No books. No schoolwork. No more talk about that.”

”But Harry—“

Harry held a finger to her lips, “Clear your head. Don’t think.”

“I can’t do that,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head. After a moment, however, a sly smile spread across her lips, “But…I can think of something that can.”

Harry grinned, already knowing what she was going to say, “And that is?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “Like you don’t know,” she whispered, leaning forward and kissing his lips tenderly. As they wrapped their arms around each other, their kiss took on a more passionate turn, any innocence it might have had before gone. Harry moved his right hand to cup the back of Hermione’s neck, pulling her even closer towards him, while she expertly moved her hands under his shirt, exploring the contours of his body. His free hand moved from her waist, across her back, and slowly under her shirt, a shiver going down his spine as his hand came in contact with her soft, warm skin. He gently leaned forward, so that they lied down on the couch, Hermione beneath him. As he did so, she uncrossed her legs from beneath her and twined them with his, sending a whirlwind of sensations through his body. As his hand slowly traced her skin, making its way up to her chest, she moaned softly, moving a hand up to his hair and another to wrap around him.

Needless to say, Hermione’s mind was more than clear. She didn’t recognize anything other than the person that was now kissing her heatedly, his touch on her skin both passionate and tender. Nothing else seemed more right than this…nothing in the world. No happiness in the world could surpass this feeling…the electricity going through her body…the sensations that his lips on hers provoked…the intense emotions that ruled her body and mind…

She didn’t really notice when she slipped off her shirt, with the help of Harry. Or when she unbuttoned his and threw it in a heap on the floor. Or when Harry began kissing down her neck, under her chin and even lower…lower than he would have normally, with her shirt on.

It was as if they really had stopped thinking.

It all happened at once. She suddenly noticed how her skirt had ridden up to her hips, and the mildly confused expression on Harry’s face as he noted that she had stopped moving her hands. She suddenly realized they were in the Common Room, and how lucky they had been that no one had barged in on them. And most of all, she suddenly realized the owl perched on the windowsill, a fine lavender envelope tied to its leg.

She felt the color rising to her cheeks. What Harry must think of her for doing this in both broad daylight and a public—very public—place! She released him and covered her face with her hands for a moment, before sliding off the couch and quietly slipping her shirt on. As she finished buttoning it, she hurried to untie the letter from no other than her mother from the owl’s leg.

Harry remained on the couch, as if frozen in place, silently replaying what had just transpired. Hermione had let him take off her shirt. She’d taken his shirt off.

Wait, what?

They’d almost really made love? They’d never taken off their clothes—other than their robes—while kissing. Never. And once he thought about it, their snogging hadn’t ever been so fiery…passionate. So hungry for the other’s touch. So completely and utterly…mind-blowing. He really had barely thought, and obviously, the same had happened to Hermione. They had managed to get so caught up in each other, that they got further than they ever had—and clearly, further than Hermione would have wanted to.

Bugger.

She’s upset. The look she had before she covered her eyes…Merlin, what did we do? I thought she was okay with all of it…she was, after all, the one who began unbuttoning her blouse.

But maybe she just got caught up. In her better judgment she wouldn’t have done that.

Now what do I do? I don’t want her to feel bad about this.

As Harry finished buttoning up his shirt, Hermione turned, holding a letter in fancy stationary in her hand, face streaked with tears. She sniffed quietly, walking towards him and handing him the letter to read. Harry’s eyes zoomed thorough the letter in a matter of minutes, his brow creasing as he read the last bit.

“She sent this by owl.”

Hermione sat down on a chair, wiping away her tears, “I know.”

“She said she’d send it by Order method.”

“Yes…” Hermione mumbled, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“But she sent it by owl. Even when she said that someone from the Order was entering the house as she wrote this,” Harry insisted, frowning.

“Maybe they said it was okay to owl.”

“Maybe. But what if Voldemort’s followers knew about their move? That wouldn’t be safe. The Order wouldn’t have said it was fine to send by owl.”

Hermione finally met his eyes, a stubborn look on her face, “Maybe it was just dad coming from work and she decided to send it by owl, since she didn’t know when the Order would be there,” she hissed, eyes narrowing.

“Wouldn’t she have fixed it in the letter?”

Hermione’s nostrils flared, “What are you implying? That my mum has somehow been attacked, when Order members are patrolling by the house day and night?” she asked scornfully, fists clenching. Harry wasn’t sure why she appeared to be so angry, but he had a fleeting suspicion she was taking out all her mingled emotions on him.

So he nodded, conceding her this argument and deciding to leave his suspicions for a time when she was less stressed, “Oh, yeah…you’re right.”

“Do you think our relationship is based on lust?”

Harry’s head shot up, eyes wide, “What?” he sputtered, noting that her expression was nonchalant, though worried.

“You heard me.”

Harry realized she wasn’t joking. She really was worried about this, “Hermione, of course not. You know I love you…I always have. From the first day I saw you on the train, seven years ago, I felt something different, though I didn’t quite recognize it at the time. I knew you were…different, somehow. I admire you…the way you are. The way you stand up for what you believe in, the way you care for people despite the way they usually act…the way you have always been there for me, and have supported me in a way Ron was never able to. With you I feel like I can say anything, like there’s no secrets between us…I trust you, like I have never trusted anyone. I love the way you are always so rational, always full of answers, always dependable, and always willing to help anyone. My love for you runs deeper than anything else in this world, Hermione, and don’t ever forget that. I will always love you, as I do now, as I always have.”

Hermione seemed to consider this. Her eyes, which had been narrowed and guarded while Harry spoke, seemed to lose their hardness. The edges softened as tears surfaced, her expression changing to reveal a painfully weak side of her. She shook her head, wiping the tears away again, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking you that. I know it isn’t, and I know you love me. This is so…frustrating!”

Harry resisted the urge to take her into his arms, knowing that she might not want to, given what had just happened, “Your mum admitted it wasn’t, didn’t she? Why are you asking me that?”

Hermione shrugged, inclining her head forward to gaze at her knees instead of Harry, “I don’t know. I guess I just…I got carried away there, and then I read my mum’s letter…and I felt like…like maybe she was right after all. I know she isn’t, but it was just what came to my mind then…”

“Of course she isn’t. I love you, Hermione. I really don’t know how else to reassure you about this. It’s the truth,” Harry said quietly, “I see you in a way that is much beyond lust, Hermione, and I know you see me the same way, as well. Otherwise, this never would have worked out from the start, believe me. I don’t think you would have put up with me if you didn’t feel something deep.”

Hermione looked up at him slowly, giving him a weak smile, “Oh, Harry…I couldn’t think of anything better than being with you…don’t say it as if were a burden,” she whispered, sliding off the chair and walking towards him. She knelt before him, pulling him into a tight hug, her head resting on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

Odd, how time could go so fast. Minutes ago they had been kissing like there was no tomorrow, and now they were hugging, comforting each other with their presence.

As Hermione pulled away, she sighed, “Come on, then. We’re to meet with them out on the Grounds.”

Harry frowned, “We’re not using Floo powder?”

Hermione shook her head, frowning, “No, and we can’t Apparate, either. I don’t know how they plan on getting us there, really.”

“Looks like we’ll be traveling for a few days, then.”

“I hope not,” said Hermione, a dark look on her face, “It’s not safe at all. And I have to study.”

Harry laughed. Odd, how things were so awkward between them in some aspects, and they could carry on a normal conversation like nothing was happening. Odd, how she could detach herself from the things that she wanted to keep hidden, and managed to talk normally, like no time had passed since they had been eating toast.

Odd. Good, some might say, because they would eventually learn to ignore those silly things. But that could also make things more difficult. How were they going to get past their problems if they couldn’t even talk about them?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:15 a.m., Friday morning, The Entrance Hall

“What did you do with the bags?” Harry asked suddenly, frowning and turning to Hermione with a bemused expression.

She smirked, “I shrunk them. I don’t think anyone needs to know we’re leaving just yet. And besides, they’re easier to carry that way,” she said smugly, tapping a pocket in her robes, where two small little lumps laid.

“Oh,” Harry said, nodding and craning his head to look around, “Look, there’s Dumbledore,” he whispered, walking towards the old man quickly. Hermione followed without comment, arms crossed as she walked slowly behind him.

“Ah, yes, I have been waiting for you,” Dumbledore said as they reached him. He smiled kindly, nodding, and leant forward, “They are waiting out by the gates. Couldn’t risk bringing them inside, after all. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Splendid. You should be there very soon. The matter won’t take long, therefore your return might be as quick as tomorrow,” he beamed at them, before lowering his voice slightly, “You must be careful. Take care of each other and always stay within your Guard’s line of vision. Terrible things can happen in the blink of an eye…”

There was a moment of silence, before Dumbledore clapped his hands and smiled again, “Well, then, off you go! I will see you when you get back,” they nodded quietly, watching as Dumbledore disappeared up the Grand Staircase. Harry glanced sideways at Hermione, who gave him a weak smile as she turned towards the doors. He returned it with a smile of his own, however half-hearted it as, and followed her outside.

It was a beautiful day; the sun blazing, clear sky, the grass a bright green. The lake’s waters looked as serene as ever, small ripples traveling across its surface. They walked in silence along the path towards the gates, Hermione looking somewhere in front of her feet and Harry glancing uneasily at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, stopping abruptly. Her voice was low and hushed, and Harry knew she had been dwelling non-stop about what had happened.

He sighed, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Hermione.”

“I am overreacting over nothing,” she said stubbornly, “And I’m sorry about that.”

“If we hadn’t stopped…if we’d…would that have been what you wanted?” Harry asked quietly, “That’s all I need to know.”

Hermione looked up at him, mildly shocked. She seemed to consider his words, “I…I don’t know. I didn’t think about anything right then. I suppose my body…but…I don’t know what I want,” she said slowly, sighing.

Harry nodded, “That’s fine, then. Don’t worry. For now, we’ll just stop whenever things get too carried away, like we always have.”

“Yes…I think that’s best,” she said quietly, smiling weakly.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, holding hands, each lost in their thoughts. They gazed absentmindedly at the grass, not really seeing it, not really seeing anything, so lost in their worries. Lost in their wishes that things weren’t so complicated all the time, that things could just be normal, like they always were between them.

Had they ever been normal, though?

Neither could answer that question.

A/N: This chapter is mostly a filler, I guess. =D Something for you all to enjoy while I get their trip sorted out.

So…yeah. R&R, eh? The form’s already down there for you! =) Till the next!

19. The Good and The Bad

Chapter Nineteen: The Good and The Bad

6:53 p.m., Sunday, March 24th, Limerick, Ireland

“Alright then, five minutes to go!”

Harry sighed in relief. Moody had made them circle the north of Scotland, take some drastic turns over the sea to shake off any people that might be following them, and then made them fly high above the clouds bordering Ireland. He was drenched, rather hungry, and for the first time in his life, tired of riding a broom.

But then, two days of traveling could do that to a person.

Hermione, who sat in a broom Tonks had lent her, had her hands clenched tightly about the handle. Her face white, hair flying behind her, and her robes completely soaked from the rain, she wore a look of mingled fear and annoyance, and refused to meet anyone’s eye, even Harry’s.

Their trip, so far, hadn’t really been that bad. Despite the fact that they had spent the night flying, sustained on coffee and several charms to keep them awake, it had almost been enjoyable. For Harry, anyway. Hermione was having a very miserable time indeed, both from the fact that she didn’t have her books to study with and sleep deprivation. Everyone knew by now that it was better to avoid talking to her, as she would probably not reply, or glare at whoever had spoken.

In front of them, Tonks took an enormous dive through the clouds, while Moody kept barking orders from behind them. They followed Tonks, Harry keeping an anxious eye on Hermione, and were glad to see the distant land below them. They sped downwards, anxious to get off their brooms already and have a decent meal…Tonks arguing with Moody that they were not going to double back again…Hermione sighing and gripping her broom even tighter, sparing a half-glance at Harry…Harry attempting to smile encouragingly at her, but managing something more along the lines of a grimace….

And finally, they arrived.

They landed, Hermione jumping off her broom in such a hurry that she tumbled to the ground. She uttered a small, slightly maniacal laugh and leant back, feeling the cold, wet grass on her skin, savoring the fact that they were finally off those horrid brooms.

Harry laughed as he saw her, dismounted his own broom, and hurried over to her, holding his hand out for her to grasp. She tangled his fingers with his, and he pulled her forward, so that she came to a standing position. She smiled at him, for the first time in two days, and Harry felt his stomach do a flip-flop.

“Well, come on, now!” Moody barked from behind them, speaking to the group at large, “We’re already late as it is, so there’s no time to waste. The house isn’t too far now—“

“Err…couldn’t we just Apparate there?” asked Harry.

Moody turned his eyes on him, looking slightly annoyed, “I told you; Apparating to a place you’ve never seen is much harder. You could splinch yourself, or end up somewhere completely different, neither of which we want to happen, right? Good, so let’s go…”

Lupin walked over to Harry and Hermione, a benevolent look on his face, “Don’t worry, Harry, it’s not too far from here. It shouldn’t take long.”

Harry nodded, and they began to walk. They had landed in a clearing off the south coast of Ireland, presumably to avoid being spotted, and were now headed towards Mr. Dupont’s house. From what he’d been told, Harry could assume he didn’t live too far from where they were—the man was very antisocial, and tended to prefer living away from the noise and bustle of the city. He was very old—though not older than Dumbledore—and dedicated his days to perfecting more protective amulets, which he refrained from selling nowadays.

Now that they were actually here, Harry felt a strange sense of foreboding he had not yet experienced. It was surreal—they had been traveling for two days, surely that might have been enough time for him to ponder on this, but it only occurred to him now that coming might not have been such a great idea. He couldn’t explain why, exactly, but he just felt as if they shouldn’t have come; as if something bad was happening and they were too thick to realize it.

Feeling helpless, he stole a glance at Hermione, squeezing her hand tighter in his. It suddenly dawned on him that although her temper had been a telltale sign that she had been having a dreadful time, she hadn’t once uttered a word of complaint. She hadn’t once spoken to him about how she hated flying, or how she didn’t quite like the coffee, or…actually, she hadn’t spoken to him throughout the whole trip.

His spirits seemed to plummet as he remembered the terms on which they’d left Hogwarts. They had gone just a bit farther than they meant to, and suddenly everything seemed to have changed between them. They felt uncomfortable around each other, she wouldn’t meet his eye, and they just hadn’t spoken to each other. This particular fact was the one that made Harry feel lost, as if Hermione had suddenly fallen way beyond his reach, and he couldn’t bring her back. He felt as if, in a moment of passion and irrationality, they had done something mortally wrong, though he couldn’t place what. He couldn’t understand why Hermione was going to such lengths, when she seemed so very willing to let him kiss her and touch her back then. He didn’t understand why she was doing this…why she was keeping this unbreakable silence between them, this wall that could never be broken, all because they had gotten carried away for a moment.

What, what did she want from him? What did she want him to do? He couldn’t feel sorry for what they did, for, in his eyes, neither he nor her had done anything wrong. They hadn’t actually crossed the line. They hadn’t…gone a step further.

And more importantly—she had let him. She had been the one to start it all, she had been the one to touch him and let her hands wander to where they shouldn’t be, first. She had been the one that brought it all on!

But maybe…maybe that’s why she’s upset. Does she feel ashamed?

It dawned on him that, being Hermione, that was exactly what was bothering her. She wasn’t used to this, was she? He strongly doubted whether she had ever gone farther than kissing with any other bloke.

Being Hermione…she would feel embarrassed that she wanted that…she would feel uncomfortable knowing that her body wanted her to do those things; that her body responded so obviously to his touch. She would feel embarrassed that it was not only her body that felt that way, but she, consciously, wanted it too.

Being Hermione, she was probably dwelling on that to no extent. Being Hermione, she would have probably resolved that not talking to him was the best decision for now.

And him, being Harry, was now determined to show her that she was wrong.

He was disappointed to know, however, that that would have to wait. They were here for the pendant, and however much he wanted to sort out his problems with Hermione, he knew that the pendant was more important for now.

So for now, he contended himself to squeezing Hermione’s hand even tighter, and hoping that things would get better between them very, very soon.

***

“Well, those are definitely the most powerful wards I’ve seen, Mad-Eye,” said Lupin, frowning and gazing up at the sky, as if it might give them an answer, “We’ll have a hard time getting through.”

Tonks looked at the grounds of the castle thoughtfully, “The wards probably extend over the house as well, so flying’s out. No use trying to Apparate, either—he’d have thought of that.”

“We’ll just have to find a way to break it. Unless you fancy tunneling in?”

Harry sighed, squinting at the castle in the distance. Between them and the house stood an enormous lake, a maze, and the wards. It resembled something along the lines of an obstacle course, as if he were measuring his guests’ nerve and general worth by their ability to get through his tasks. Or perhaps the obstacles were merely a means to weed out unworthy guests. Whatever the reason was, it did not cease to annoy Hermione further, he noted. She had her arms crossed at her chest, and stood beside Lupin and Tonks, giving out suggestions once in a while, the brisk manner in which she spoke making it obvious that she did not have much patience left.

Harry himself was not feeling very happy about this obstacle course. If that man knew the conditions they’d have to travel in—and just to see him! All the way from Scotland, just to see him about a pendant.

And this was what they got?

Hermione seemed to give up helping after a while. She gave a small sigh and walked away, coming to stand about four feet away from Harry and frowning at the wards. She stood that way for a very long time, her arms crossed at her chest, staring up at an invisible point between the sky and the castle’s grounds…the wind blowing at her hair…her eyes narrowed thoughtfully…

“I know what to do.”

Her words were quiet, but triumphant. A slow smile spread across her lips, and her eyes were suddenly filled with obvious satisfaction. She looked at Harry fleetingly, that smile lighting up her features, and Harry thought, for a moment, that all was fine, that she would lock her arms around his neck and joyfully explain what she had discovered.

But a second later, she turned away and sprinted over to Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and the rest of their guard, without even glancing back at Harry. He watched her clear her throat, watched as she gestured with her hands at the ward, watched as she explained what she knew…he could only watch, feeling so far away from her, never understanding what in the world had come over her. Why? Why did she hand him this stony silence?

Tonks was nodding emphatically, while Elphias Doge stood by her side, listening intently to Hermione. Moody seemed to be giving her a look of mingled admiration and understanding, while Lupin listened with a small smile on his lips, as if he’d known all along that she would figure it out.

Their voices slowly died, and before he knew what they were even planning on doing, all four of them moved to stand before the ward, pointing their wands at it. They spoke quickly, saying an incantation Harry found vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t quite place where he’d heard it, and a rupture suddenly began to form at the ward. A large hole gaped before them, wide and tall enough for even Hagrid to walk through. Lupin turned, beckoning Harry and Hermione towards the hole, and they hastened to walk through.

As soon as they were all inside, the breach in the ward disappeared, leaving no trace that they had done anything to it. Before Harry could even ask what they had done, or what kind of ward that was, they ushered him towards the maze entrance.

Tall, thick hedges—very much like the ones in the Triwizard Tournament maze—casted towering shadows before them. There was but a gap before them, and whatever laid beyond it was completely immersed in darkness. Harry felt Hermione stiffen beside him, and he suddenly felt very apprehensive to go in. It couldn’t just be a maze…there had to be creatures inside…creatures that could hurt Hermione…

“Err…can we Apparate now?”

It was not Moody who spoke, but Lupin, “I don’t think so…we can try, but I assume, if he has planned this all out so well, that there is an Anti-Apparition Jinx set inside these wards.”

Harry didn’t bother arguing. He just followed Moody inside the maze, keeping a close eye on Hermione, and wondering what lay ahead.

But, as they ventured inside the maze, and weaved through the dark passages, they found nothing to harm them. They walked quietly, always ready, but nothing came. This seemed to increase the tension, somehow, and instead of relaxing, they felt more apprehensive. They walked closely together, keeping a close eye on whoever was next to them, and wondered why they hadn’t encountered anything. Why were they being allowed safe passage through a maze that was so simple in itself? Surely they should have encountered something by now…

The silence was deafening, but not one of them ventured to break it. They walked in stony silence, following Moody, and it was not until they had walked for forty minutes, that they saw a figure blocking their way through.

Harry recognized it immediately as a sphinx. It had the body of a very large lion, enormous clawed paws and a long, swishing tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head, though, was that of a woman. It stared at them calmly, her eyes unblinking, waiting until they were at a reasonable distance from her before speaking.

“You near the end of the maze. I stand between you and the exit,” she said smoothly, calmly pacing from side to side of the path, “You must answer my riddle correctly. If you do, I will grant you safe passage to the exit. Should you not be correct, I will attack. If you do not answer, I will allow you to go back unharmed.”

The group glanced between them uncomfortably, and the adults huddled to discuss the matter fleetingly. They muttered in low voices, glancing at Harry and Hermione from time to time, before nodding and stepping back. Lupin looked at the sphinx, and said, his voice level, “Could we have the riddle, then?”

The sphinx nodded, coming to a halt and facing them.

“From the beginning of eternity

To the end of time and space

To the beginning of every end

And the end of every place.

What am I?”

Silence greeted her words. Harry could tell Hermione was thinking quickly, her eyes narrowed, nails digging into her palms. The adults were going through the words in their heads as well, wearing expressions of mild confusion and exasperation. Harry felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, wondering whether they would end up dueling the sphinx. Whenever he tried to find an answer to the riddle, the words seemed to fade away in his head, leaving him with nothing but an extremely vague idea of what the riddle said.

Twice he asked the sphinx to repeat the riddle. The creature obliged calmly, her almond-shaped eyes unblinking and serene.

From the beginning of eternity…end of time and space…what in the world did those things have to do with each other, anyway? Beginning of every end and the end of every place…his brain seemed jammed, either unable or unwilling to process the information. He felt as if a thick fog kept clouding his mind…

The adults and Hermione were huddled together discussing it. Harry walked closer and joined in, but they seemed to be as confused as he was. Not one of them seemed to have an idea of what the answer could be; even Hermione wore a look of intense frustration and bewilderment. Harry wished he could help her…he wished he could wipe away that sullen expression from her face and make her happy…he wished he could say something to her…

As he turned to the sphinx to ask it to repeat the riddle again, Hermione suggested they write it down. Elphias Doge conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, and copied it down as the sphinx recited the riddle yet again.

Staring at it in paper did no good for Harry, but it somehow seemed to soothe Hermione to be able to read something. He could almost see the gears in her brain working…turning as they fought to find the answer…

And when she spoke, he fought off a very large impulse to gather her in his arms and just hold her very, very tightly. This was his Hermione, the logical, rational one that always knew what to do. He loved her, for being the way she was, for knowing the answer, for her logical instincts…

“It’s the letter ‘e’” she said, keeping her voice low enough so that the sphinx didn’t hear her, but they did.

Lupin looked at her sharply, “Are you sure?”

She nodded, “The first line—‘from the beginning of eternity’. It refers to eternity as a word, not as a thing, and eternity starts with the letter ‘e’. ‘To the end of time and space’—both words end with ‘e’. And the last two lines: ‘To the beginning of every end and the end of every place’—in ‘every end’, both words start with ‘e’, and in every place, the last letter is ‘e’.”

The group stared at her in awe, before Moody said, rather gruffly, “You’re a very clever witch for your age.”

Hermione smiled proudly, and walked towards the sphinx with an air of mingled determination and slight fear. She looked straight into the creature’s eyes, and said, in a clear voice, “The letter ‘e’.”

The sphinx held her gaze for a moment, smiling, before sinking into a bow. She then stretched her front paws, and moved aside to let them pass. The group moved passed through rather hastily, all beaming and praising Hermione. Harry was the last to pass, and he waited patiently until everyone was done speaking with Hermione, before walking towards her and tapping her shoulder. She turned, her smile still broad and proud, her eyes immediately finding his. He smiled at her.

“You’re amazing, Hermione, you know that?”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked away from him momentarily, before looking back at him and saying, with a timid sort of grin, “You too, Harry,” she gathered her hands in his, held them tightly for a few moments, before letting go and turning away from him. She looked back once, still smiling, before walking over to the edge of the lake and peering at the castle.

“Imagine that. It seems as though we have visitors!”

A voice spoke suddenly, loud and booming. They looked around sharply, expecting to find the person somewhere along the trees, but they did not. It was Harry who saw the old man in silk burgundy robes, staring at them from a balcony high up in the castle. He was tall, and thin, with short curly white hair. He looked down at them with an expression of mild surprise and curiosity, twirling a fine silver chain around his fingers.

“There!” Harry said, pointing at him.

The man looked straight at Harry, “And odd, too…you look very much like James Potter. You are Harry Potter, I presume?”

Harry nodded quietly, not knowing what to say. He glanced around at Moody and the rest of the guard, wanting them to continue talking, but they merely continued to stare up at the man with unreadable expressions.

“Well, then, what business do you seek with Fabrice Dupont?” he asked, frowning.

Lupin stepped forward, “It’s about one of your protective amulets. The one James asked you to make for Lily? About…seventeen years ago?”

The man nodded, “Yes…well, you’ll be lucky is Fabrice does indeed agree to speak to you. I am afraid he has grown quite reclusive at his old age—more than he ever was.”

“You’re not Fabrice?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “No, I am his brother. Let me conjure a bridge for you…and I trust Fabrice will be down to greet you shortly.”

They nodded quietly, and waited. Harry crossed his arms at his chest, gazing at the grass below his feet…thinking…what if Fabrice couldn’t help them? What if the pendant simply couldn’t be fixed? Had they come all the way here for nothing?

And surely, if Dumbledore had even bothered sending them here, it was because the amulet was important on some ground. Could it help him fight Voldemort? Harry seriously doubted whether a pendant would do much difference against him…it honestly looked very fragile—any mild curse could surely break it. And then…? What would they do? He had hardly trained…well, he had trained during the holidays, but it wasn’t enough.

But, Harry reasoned, will training really do much difference? Either he could fight him off or not. There wasn’t really much he could learn at this point apart from evasion techniques. He knew all the spells he thought he needed, except…well, the Avada Kedavra. But that wasn’t a question of practice, either. It was power. Either he had what it took or not…and only then would they know. He certainly wasn’t going to practice the spell on anything.

There was a loud clanging sound, and as Harry looked up, he dived away in shock. A large, long and very solid-looking bridge had suddenly materialized itself in midair between them and the castle. He could see Fabrice’s brother lowering it slowly with his wand, until it fell with a splash on the lake, splattering them all with water and causing large waves to form. Moody swore silently, drying himself and the rest of them, before beckoning them towards the bridge.

When they reached the entrance to the castle, Fabrice’s brother bowed, and led them inside. Their castle was immense—it looked even bigger than Hogwarts—and extremely elegant. The floor was of a shiny wood, while the walls varied in color depending on the room. Enormous chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, and almost all of the furnishings bore an emblem of a very elaborate ‘D’, embroidered in small golden stones that glinted in the firelight. The curtains were drawn back on all of the windows, revealing an exquisite view of the grounds and the city that laid beyond.

As they entered one of the living rooms, Fabrice’s brother turned to them and beckoned them to sit, “He will be down soon—I suspect he’s getting ready. I’ll go inform the house-elves that they are to bring you something to eat, shall I? Excuse me…”

And with that, he walked away, disappearing down a staircase.

Harry stole a glance at Hermione, who was sitting next to him, and leaned forward to whisper, in a very low voice, “Anything that reminds you of?”

“S.P.E.W.,” she said, pursing her lips in the direction of the staircase, “I wonder how many they have trapped in here. The nerve, honestly! I bet they make them clean the whole house by themselves…oh, I wish I could help those poor elves…”

“Thought that was it,” said Harry, smiling.

She turned her attention to him fully, locking her eyes on him, “Listen Harry…I’m really sorry for not talking to you since we left Hogwarts. That was really horrible of me…I just—“

“No, Hermione, it’s okay. I kind of figured out why you did it and—“

“Welcome!”

Harry turned his neck so fast he could have sworn he broke something. Standing in the doorway was a tall, spindly old man, with sleek gray hair that reached his shoulders. He wore fine pale green robes that were several inches too short for him, and surveyed them with an expression of mingled dislike and curiosity.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all—my name is Fabrice Dupont,” he said, his smile never reaching his cold eyes.

Lupin made to step forward, but Moody was faster. He cleared his throat and said, in a slightly threatening tone, “My name is Alastor Moody…this is Remus Lupin…Nymphadora Tonks…Elphias Doge…” ha paused for a second, before pointing towards Harry and Hermione, “And these here are Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.”

Fabrice’s gaze remained cool as ever, but at the mention of Harry’s name he whirled to face him, his eyebrows so high they were barely visible, “Harry Potter? Well, this certainly is an odd assortment of guests I have here today…” he said softly, peering at Harry. His gaze, though nothing close to welcoming, was less colder, and his frame seemed less tense, “And to what do I owe this visit?” he added, recovering from the shock and looking back at Moody.

As Moody explained everything about the pendant, Harry let his mind wander. He was sitting so close to Hermione…it was incredible how pleasant she still smelled, despite two days of merciless traveling. Her eyes were trained on Fabrice, slightly narrowed in mistrust, and she was sitting unusually straight, her frame rigid. Harry was tempted to wrap his arm around her, but he fought off the impulse. He knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable, snuggling in front of all those adults, and in a house they had barely stepped foot in.

Fabrice reminded Harry of Karkaroff, for some reason. Maybe it was the hypocrisy in his smiles, and the coldness of his pale eyes, but he couldn’t shake off the image.

It wasn’t long before all eyes were on him, though. He suspected the conversation had ended a bit of a while ago, and they had clearly asked him something.

“Err…what?”

Fabrice seemed to fight off an impulse to roll his eyes, “The pendant. May I have a look at it?”

“Oh—yeah,” said Harry hastily, fumbling for the pendant, which was safely around his neck. He took it off, handing it to Fabrice carefully.

Fabrice pulled out a monocle from his robes and examined the pendant through it. He made a lot of annoying noises, such as slight gasps, or mumbles to himself. After ten minutes or so passed, a small cluster of house-elves peeked timidly around the corner, carrying a tray of food for them. They looked completely frightened, though Harry supposed that was more due to the presence of strangers rather than anything else. Hermione, however, didn’t think so, and he had to restrain her from trying to talk to them as they placed the tray on a small table. As they hurried back to the kitchens, Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and refusing to eat anything.

Finally, Fabrice pocketed the monocle and looked up at them, “It is specific, yes, but not as Albus suspected. It should respond to young Potter. Amulets specific to people are made with their blood, and if I’m not mistaken, there are two blood crystals here,” he paused, scrunching his face as if to remember something, “I’m very sure James came with both Lily and her son when he asked it to be made…and I very much doubt he asked it to be specific to him and Lily—if ever a man was noble it was James.”

When no one spoke, he sighed, “It is also specific to a certain situation—mortal peril. It has a phoenix core, and that specific type of blood crystal used…yes; it is definitely specific to mortal peril. If the bearer—in this case, Harry—were not in any mortal danger, the pendant would not react.”

Just as Moody opened his mouth to speak, Fabrice held up a hand to silence him, “There is more, I’m afraid…since it has been buried under dust and debris for such a long time, its magic is somewhat…well, weakened. It would take me a day, at the least, to correctly mend it. It this is fine with you, I can—and will, of course—offer you a place to stay, as well as food and drink.”

Moody and the rest of the adults huddled together for a moment, discussing whether or not it would be safe to stay. Harry distinctly heard Moody say, in a low, growling tone, “I don’t trust him. We don’t know if it’s safe here, anyway.”

But Tonks shook her head dismissively, “Oh, you don’t trust anyone, Mad-Eye. We didn’t come here for nothing! And if Albus sent us here, it’s because he trusts this Dupont. I think it’s worth it.”

That seemed to close the matter. Moody nodded, looking disgruntled, and Lupin addressed Fabrice, “That would be excellent. It’s no trouble for you, though, right?”

Fabrice shook his head, “Of course not! I’ll just send a few of the house-elves to get your rooms ready, shall I? Oh—would you like a tour of the house as well? Of course you would, wait just one minute…excuse me.”

He exited the room, and Harry heard him calling for someone. In a few minutes, a diminutive house-elf entered the room, wearing a broad smile that contrasted greatly with his frightened eyes. In bright, squeaky tones that forcibly reminded Harry of Dobby and Winky, she beckoned them to follow.

***

6:02 a.m., Monday morning, Fabrice Dupont’s castle – Limerick, Ireland

Harry awoke with a jolt. He had cold sweat all over him, and he was very, very thirsty for some reason. He couldn’t remember very well that he had been dreaming, but he could still feel the anxiousness, the distress that had taken over him. He sat up in his bed, running a hand through his hair and sighing. It was no use trying to remember what the dream had been about. He only remembered it having to do with someone he cared very much about.

Feeling no real impulse to go back to sleep, he pulled on his dressing gown and glassed, wandering instead out of his room. He decided he would venture down to the kitchens and have something to eat, or merely just take a stroll around the house.

He did not go far, however, before he heard them talking.

Moody was speaking, his breathing slightly ragged, as if he had run there, “…I got it less than a minute ago. Voldemort’s lot has attacked the Ministry. Most of the Order’s there right now, fighting them off, but it’s useless. He’s got all sorts of foul creatures working for him, and an incredible number of Death Eaters. The Ministry’s lost.”

Harry froze. Had he heard correctly? Pressing himself to the wall and praying that Moody’s eye didn’t stray in his direction, he began to listen intently.

Lupin’s hoarse voice spoke next, “What? But how could this happen? We’ve only been away for three days, and suddenly everything’s falling apart?”

“Yes, well, never mind that. What do we do with Potter and Granger? We can’t send them back to Hogwarts—that’s probably his next target. The students are going to be sent away to their homes soon, too, possibly after Easter break.”

There was a momentary silence, before Tonks spoke, “They’ll have to go to Headquarters, won’t they? The Weasleys will be arriving there soon, anyway, after the whole mess breaks out…it’s probably the safest place there is now.”

Harry’s body felt numb. He could barely breathe…it was really happening. After all this time, it was all finally happening, and it would all lead up to his due with Voldemort. The one that would decide everything…the future of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds…the lives of every single person…it would all be decided by that one duel, that was incredibly close now.

“Should go now, or should we wait a few hours?”

“Now. Go wake Potter and Granger, Remus. Tonks—go inform Dupont that we’re leaving. Don’t tell him why. Remember to take the pendant. Elphias, help me get our things.”

Harry quickly disentangled his legs and backed away from the wall, cautious not to make a sound. When he was sure he could sprint back to his room, he turned and made to run, but quickly collided with someone. He bumped heads with whoever it was, stumbling backwards, biting back a cry of pain.

“Ouch! Harry, be careful!”

“Hermione? What’re you doing here?”

“The same thing you are. C’mon, we’d better get back to our rooms,” she grabbed hold of his wrist and steered him up a flight of stairs, almost flying back to their rooms. Harry could barely breathe.

“Did…did you hear everything?”

They had reached his room. Harry’s eyes met hers, and in the faint light, he could make out the small, pearly tears clinging to her eyelashes. Her lower lip trembled, and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

“Oh, Harry…” she said softly, sobbing, “What are we going to do? It’s all happening…it really is…”

Harry wrapped her arms around her, silent. He stroked her hair and patted her back for a few moments, until he heard footsteps coming towards them. He pulled away, wiping her tears from her cheeks with the tip of his finger and kissing her quickly. He tried to look strong, to look as though nothing of this made him feel the least bit nervous about what might happen. He really tried…but in the end, he only managed to give her a weak smile, kissing her lips softly once more. She looked up at him, feeling desolated, worried. She held his gaze for a moment, before pulling away and slinking back to her own room, beside his.

They couldn’t help it. As they both sank back into their beds and pretended to be asleep, they couldn’t help the tears that fell down their cheeks.

Tears of desperation. Of fear. Of worry…for everything, for each other, for all those people that were in danger…

They couldn’t help wishing that none of his were happening.

***

They arrived at Grimmauld Place ten minutes later, by Apparition.

Harry couldn’t help it. The memories of Sirius came flooding back into his mind. He had been here after it all happened, yes, but somehow, he just couldn’t get over it. He couldn’t just step foot into his house and not remember his godfather.

How could he do this?

He didn’t have Sirius, he didn’t have Ron…he only had Hermione, and while he may love her very much, and confide in her…he needed his friend, and he needed his godfather. He couldn’t do this without them.

He hated that he hadn’t made up with Ron. He hated that, no matter what he did, Sirius couldn’t be there.

He needed them.

As their guard walked into the kitchen to have an impromptu Order meeting, they began to walk up the flights of stairs to their rooms. Along the way, however, Harry lost any will to keep walking, and sat down on the steps, staring at his feet…wondering…

What was he going to do? He couldn’t do this…he couldn’t just kill the most powerful dark wizard of all time, just like that…

He knew there was still a bit of time to go before the inevitable came, but…he couldn’t help thinking about it. The attack on the Ministry had pushed all rational thought out of his mind, all security and happiness he might have possessed, and left him only with worries…weak, defeated.

Hermione sat down next to him. She didn’t speak. She just wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head on his shoulder, crying silently. The only sound he could hear were her choked sobs…

“I’m sorry, Hermione.”

She shook her head, not looking up at him, “Don’t be sorry, Harry. You’ve done nothing wrong,” her voice was muffled, and she seemed to cry harder at Harry’s words.

“I just am. I hate myself for bringing you into this.”

She pulled away from him, looking at him straight in the eye, “I would have been here, anyway, Harry. I’ve always been your friend,” she paused, as if considering her words, “and so has Ron. He still is, Harry…he’ll be here for you soon.”

And with that, she leant her head back on his shoulder and uttered not another word.

They stayed like that for a long, long time…waiting. Waiting until the Weasleys and the rest of the Order arrived…waiting to see if things would worsen or not…

Harry pondered Hermione’s words carefully. He’d never thought his friendship with Ron had ended like that, but he couldn’t deny he hadn’t been worried. Ron had so diligently went about his days without speaking, or even looking at them, after all, that he couldn’t help but think that Ron was no longer his friend. He certainly didn’t want their friendship to be over, especially for a matter of who got Hermione or not.

He really didn’t care how it happened; he just wanted his friend back.

Hours later, as he stared up at the ceiling of his bed, he wished, with all the strength he could muster, that Ron would arrive the next day. He needed to talk to him. They couldn’t let it end like this.

***

4:35 p.m., Monday afternoon, Grimmauld Place – London

Ron and his family arrived that afternoon.

It was a very hard thing to do, going up to Ron and just saying he was sorry, but he would do it. He didn’t care if Ron should be the one to apologize, or him. He really didn’t care who should go first. He would go ahead and do it, because he knew that Ron would take an age to finally say it, and he honestly couldn’t wait that long.

As Fred, George, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley walked into the kitchen to talk to the rest of the Order members that were present, Harry asked Ginny is he, Ron and Hermione could have a moment alone to talk.

“Sure,” she said, shrugging, “I’ll just go up to the room Hermione and I always share.”

Ginny sprinted up the stairs, and Harry waited until she had shut the door quietly behind her, before turning to Ron.

Ron had been silent ever since he had seen Harry. He knew it was time to let it all go. And he was ready, sort of. He knew Harry was facing something much worse, and compared to his own stupid feelings, that was much more important. He knew that Harry and Hermione loved each other—in a way Hermione had never loved him. He didn’t know if he would ever feel for someone like that…he’d always thought he had felt that way for Hermione, but maybe…maybe he was wrong. He didn’t know anymore. Nothing really made sense.

The only thing he knew was that he had to be strong about this, for Harry.

For his best friend.

“Ron,” said Harry, looking straight at him.

“I know,” he said, “I’m sorry, too.”

Harry looked as if he wanted to say more, but Ron cut him off, “Listen Harry…we should just get to the point. I know what you’re going to say and, well…I already know that. You’re my best mate, and I could never stop being friends with you because you did what…what was right. You and Hermione…you’re meant to be like that. I was just…wrong. And I’m sorry for being such a prat about it for so long. I really am, mate. I wish I could take back all the stuff I said…I was such a prat,” he finished, looking down at his feet as he remembered all the cruel things he’d said to his friends.

Had he really said that? Had he really been so immature about things?

Sure, they shouldn’t have gone behind his back like that, and they shouldn’t have lied…but everyone made mistakes. If he had been in the same situation, he might’ve ended up doing the same thing, after all.

And they were friends…they always had been…it wasn’t worth ending their friendship over something as trivial as that.

Harry nodded, and a stony silence settled between them. Hermione cleared her throat, and Ron looked at her, slightly apprehensively.

“Ron…I…I’m really sorry. I know I hurt you so much…I didn’t think about the things I did and said, and I behaved like such an idiot…” she said softly, tears welling in her eyes, “It was all my fault…every single thing that happened…I should have handled things better…I really hate that I said such things to you. You’re my friend, no matter how much we fight and disagree, and you mean a lot to me. You’re like a brother to me…I really can’t believe how I acted towards you. I know that things between us might not be the same for a while, and I am really sorry, Ron…I truly am,” tears were sliding down her cheeks now, and she was sobbing quietly, barely holding herself together.

“Oh…Hermione, c’mon…don’t cry like that…”

Ron walked forward and pulled Hermione into a clumsy hug. He held her for a moment, making soothing sounds and patting her head.

When she pulled away, her eyes were still red and puffy, and her face was tearstained, but she seemed to be holding herself differently now. Harry couldn’t quite explain it, but she looked calmer, more composed than before.

“So…are we…?”

Ron looked at him and smiled, for the first time in a very long time, “Friends?” he said, and chuckled, “’Course, mate.”

Harry smiled back, and Hermione looked between the two of them before collapsing into more tears, though these were mostly due to the fact that she was glad to have things back to normal between them. She pulled them both into a hug, smiling, and Harry distinctly heard her say, in a low voice, that she was glad to have them both back.

And he found himself agreeing, full heartedly.

A/N: Hey, guys! This is the penultimate chapter…be on the lookout for the last one this week, too!

Um…well, check out my one-shots. I’ve written quite a few lately. =) There’s ‘Lips and Reason’ (H/Hr), ‘Cold’ (D/G), and ‘Strong’ (D/G).

Hope you’ve enjoyed the fic, up till now! Cheers, and till the next!

20. It All Comes Down To This...

Chapter Twenty: It All Comes Down to This

***

I'm frightened by what I see
But somehow I know
That there's much more to come
Immobilized by my fear
And soon to be
Blinded by tears
I can stop the pain
If I will it all away

***

Although he now counted with the support of both Ron and Hermione, things seemed to get steadily more complicated for Harry. He was forever faced with the prospect of a duel with Voldemort, a mortal duel he couldn’t avoid, no matter what he did. He was faced with the choice of becoming a murderer to rid the Wizarding World of the Dark Lord, or allowing himself to be beaten, killed, shattering the hopes of witches and wizards everywhere, and giving The Dark Lord free reign to do as he pleased with the world. He was forever feeling guilty for all the deaths that surfaced, day by day. He wanted to go and get it all over with, fight Voldemort and just end it all, once and for all, but the Order and Dumbledore wouldn’t allow it. They seemed dead-set on delaying the inevitable, just for a few weeks of training, a few weeks of worries and preparation.

He wanted it all to end. He couldn’t take any more of this…he couldn’t bear to know that so many people he knew, so many people he had talked to, had died. He couldn’t bear to hear as the Order members said, in hollow voices, how many innocents had died.

It wasn’t fair. He was being kept in Grimmauld Place, trapped for his safety, while all those people were slowly dying, fighting…waiting for something to save them.

Waiting for him…and not knowing, until they held their last breath, trying to hold on to their lives, that he wouldn’t come to save them.

At least the people at Hogwarts are safe, he thought, remembering something Mrs. Weasley had said on the night they arrived. Apparently, Hogwarts was now being used to refuge the families of Hogwarts students, people who volunteered to help Dumbledore, and literally anyone else that asked for help. Most of the students and their families were there, along with quite a big number of witches and wizards. They all knew there was no place that was truly safe, but Dumbledore’s mere presence gave them hope. They knew that with him around, they had more of a chance to stay alive than if they were in their houses.

Danger was looming over the school, though. Dumbledore feared that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort moved in to take over it. He himself was still determinedly staying there, though, along with the staff, with every intention of protecting the school and the people inside it if the attack should come. Voldemort was attacking everywhere else, after all.

Of course, those other battles that were currently taking place at the Ministry were nothing but a clever attempt by Voldemort to build his army further, to weaken Dumbledore’s defenses, and perhaps find a breach in them.

The terrifying thing was, he was succeeding.

Blackmail, threats, and simple murders had been enough to sway hundreds to his side—people that feared for their lives, or their loved one’s lives. People who were unable to see another way out, and allowed him to cast the Imperius curse upon them, or else willingly obeyed his orders.

People who were trapped in their fear, for to Lord Voldemort, fear was power. He used their fears against them, and that granted him an advantage over them. He used the fear he so easily instilled upon them, and brandished it to fit his plans.

That was not to say that Dumbledore was losing. He used cleverness as well, and protected those that hadn’t yet been corrupted against them. Many accepted his help, and didn’t offer any of their own, but it was enough that some did. It was enough that there was a brave witch or wizard, and that they stood up to fight against Voldemort.

And so the War had begun…

And Harry could only sit in the sidelines, watching, until something occurred that made him lose all rationality and respect for Dumbledore’s wishes. Something that threw him over the edge, unleashing a wave of daring recklessness that brought him to the conclusion that he had to take action.

Something happened, that he just couldn’t ignore.

***

Two weeks and four days later – 2:48 a.m., Friday, April 14th, Grimmauld Place, London

Harry awoke, yet again, to a nightmare. He was used to it, these days. Ever since he had been back at Grimmauld Place, they had been very hard to avoid. They were always about the same things…the same things that never ceased to torment him. Their faces…the blood shed…the shadows…those horrible eyes…they haunted his dreams, night by night.

Tonight, it had been about her. It had started off as a completely stupid dream of them walking around the lake, looking for Dobby’s socks. But somewhere along, everything had changed. The sky above them had grown dark, the lake’s waters had become completely still under a thin sheet of ice…the temperature dropped suddenly, immersing them in a wave of both fear and unbearable cold. Harry remembered his intense anxiety, knowing something bad was going to happen…knowing what was going to happen…

He had groped to his side, trying to find her…to hold her and keep her safe…but found nothing but air. He turned, eyes darting to find her, only to see her at the other side of the lake, kneeling at the edge, as if to touch the water. He called for her, told her it wasn’t safe, that they needed to go, but she hadn’t listened…

Slowly, a figure had begun to emerge behind her. Tall, thin, hidden under a black cloak. A long rod—which Harry took to be a wand—was poking from one of the sleeves, held by white, skeletal fingers. It drew closer and closer to her, gliding towards her…and Harry yelled, yelled with all his might for her to get away, but she remained oblivious to his shouts. He wanted to move; to help, but found himself unable to. He was glued to the spot, his heart pounding in his chest from mingled fear and distress…contained to watching as the figure reached her and lowered his hood, revealing a long, snake-like face, with bright, scarlet eyes that gleamed with malevolence…with seventeen years of hate and anger…

The Dark Lord looked up at him, his eyes finding his as his mouth stretched into an evil smile…and Harry’s scar seared with pain. He fell to his knees, yelling, eyes watering…and then it stopped.

When he looked up, he was met by the sight of Voldemort holding Hermione’s head, tilting it upwards, slicing what he had thought to be a wand across her exposed neck…a thin trail of blood began to emerge, dripping down her soft skin…and she fell forward.

He couldn’t bear it. He yelled, cried her name…felt the tears trickling down his cheeks as he watched her slowly die…fading away from existence…Voldemort’s maniacal laughter ringing in his ears…

Harry shook the memory away. He felt his cheeks damp, as if he really had been crying, and his throat exceptionally dry. He fumbled in the dark for his glasses, put them on, and poured himself a cup of water from the jug on the nightstand. He choked as the liquid trickled down his throat, which felt constricted, but forced himself to swallow.

For some reason, the details of the dream were fresh in his mind, not at all like most of his dreams, where he forgot most of what he had dreamed the moment he opened his eyes…but then, all his dreams about Hermione had been this way. He couldn’t let go of that horrible image…

He didn’t feel the glass slipping from his hand. It fell to the floor and shattered, spreading broken glass throughout the floor. He cursed silently, shuffling for his wand, until someone spoke to him.

“Harry? What’re you doing up so e-e-early, mate?” Ron mumbled, half asleep, yawning widely as he spoke.

“Nothing. I was just thirsty,” Harry whispered, “Go back to sleep,” he added, finding his wand. He pointed it to the remains of the cup, muttered the Reparo charm, and watched as they all flew together, no harm done.

What he would give for everything to be that simple…

He heard someone moving in the dark, making out the vague outline of Ron sitting up on his bed and rubbing his eyes, before his friend spoke again, “You sure that’s all, Harry? You’ve been thirsty a lot these days…you haven’t been having any funny dreams, have you?”

Harry felt the impulse to say that no, he hadn’t had any dreams. That yes, everything was fine and he had no worries apart from the Final Battle. And it was tempting, to say it and delay this conversation for a time when he was feeling less shaken, but he didn’t. Something compelled him to tell Ron the truth, whether it was because he felt as if he should honor the fact that they were friends again, or because he really did want to talk about it.

“I…yeah, I have,” he said quietly, “I don’t think they’re visions, though…nightmares, more like.”

He couldn’t quite see Ron’s face well in the dark, but Harry thought he saw Ron’s expression go from curiosity to understanding, “You’re not the only one,” said Ron shakily, “Ever since the War broke out, I haven’t had a decent sleep. I can’t help it…I’m bloody scared, Harry…what if stuff doesn’t go as Dumbledore planned it to? What if…you know…”

“If one of us dies?” Harry supplied hollowly.

Ron made an odd face between a flinch and a grimace, “Y-yeah…I don’t want us to…I mean, I don’t want anyone to…”

Harry remained silent, not knowing how to reply to that. He regretted starting the conversation now—he’d meant to confide his dreams to Ron, not talk about what would happen if one of them died. To be honest, he really, really didn’t want to think about that.

But then, he thought, my dream was about the same thing, wasn’t it? Only this time it was Hermione…but other times it’s been Ron…

“Listen, Harry…you know that…when the time for you and You-Know-Who to duel…you know we’ll be by your side right? Me and Hermione?” said Ron, speaking tentatively at first, though his voice gained strength as he continued speaking, “You won’t be alone, mate, I promise,”

Harry looked up, meeting his best friend’s eyes with a large feeling of dread. He felt his heart sinking, everything in his body going numb, as he realized that he would have to be alone if he wanted to protect his friends’ lives. If he wanted to protect Hermione’s life…

He would have to face him alone.

He didn’t know how to tell Ron this. What could he say to convince him? If Harry were in his position, after all, he would probably do anything to be by his friend’s side. No words in the world could persuade him not to.

So for now, he didn’t say a word, and sank back onto his pillows quietly, hoping Ron would let the matter drop. Hoping that for once, he’d understand without having everything explained to him…that he would comprehend why Harry didn’t say anything, and would just go back to sleep.

And to Harry’s surprise, Ron did as he hoped he would. He just leant back down on his pillows, silent…until his whisper broke the silence.

“You won’t be alone, Harry.”

***

5:22 a.m., same day; same place

It was early, but Hermione was already up. She was used to waking up early, even if today it hadn’t really been her choice. She couldn’t go back to sleep, for some reason, and she was slightly thankful for that. Lately not a night had passed in which she hadn’t had a nightmare. They were always about the same things—deaths, battles—and she always woke up with the same feeling of terror…of fear for what was soon to come.

She wanted it all to end, once and for all, but at the same time, she dreaded the time in which the War ended, for it could only end one way…

She didn’t want him to die. She couldn’t bear the thought. If he died, she would surely die as well…she could never live without him.

She smoothed out her hair, brushing a few stray strands from her face and sighing. Deciding that she would go eat some breakfast—surely someone else had to be up by now—she got up, wrapped herself in her dressing gown, and walked quietly out of the room.

She shivered, both from the slight morning chill and from the eeriness the house had. It was still dark, though not so much that she couldn’t see where she was going, and the silence was deafening. She felt as if someone were going to sneak up on her any moment…

Don’t be stupid, she told herself, there’s no one else walking around so early.

As she neared the landing, she began to hear the soft murmur of voices floating out of the kitchen. As she walked forward, she recognized the voices as being those of Dumbledore, Lupin and Moody. She quickened her pace, wanting to speak to Dumbledore, but stopped just short of the door as she caught what they were saying. She knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but something made her feel compelled to listen…

“…still haven’t found them, Albus. They reckon Voldemort got to them. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had…lately he has a way of getting things done…” that was Moody speaking, his voice low, tone grave.

“Shouldn’t we tell her? They are family…” Lupin said tentatively.

“No,” said Albus, “Not yet. She will be heartbroken, and none of us can imagine what she would do, let alone Harry. This should remain Order business, Remus, for as long as possible.”

“So we’ll continue searching for them, then?”

“Yes, every single place they could have gone to, if they left on their accord. I’ll as Severus if he knows anything, too; this might have been planned for months now if it is Voldemort’s doing…if he cannot help, then we shall have no choice…”

“We’ll have to go to Voldemort,” said Moody. It was more of a statement rather than a question.

“Albus…you don’t think…they are still alive, aren’t they? I mean, Muggles in Voldemort’s hands…” Lupin asked somberly. Hermione thought he meant to say more, but stopped himself.

“I hope so, Remus,” Dumbledore said hollowly, sighing.

There was silence, and a small pop, which probably meant that Dumbledore had been talking to them through the fire. Hermione stood outside the door, the gears in her mind frantically turning as she processed this information. She didn’t want to believe it…she didn’t want to think that they’d been talking about her parents…she really wanted to think it was someone else—anyone.

But she couldn’t.

What other Muggles would Voldemort bother kidnapping, other than her parents? Even then, it sounded slightly ridiculous, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. He probably wanted to lure the Order and Harry to him by using them.

And they had talked about how a ‘she’ would be upset, and about how Harry might do something reckless.

Slowly, she sunk to her knees, leaning her head against the wall, careful to not make a sound. She analyzed what she heard, understood it, but somehow, she couldn’t believe it. Her parents just couldn’t have been taken by Voldemort. They couldn’t.

And then she remembered her mother’s letter…

I probably shouldn’t have written that. This isn’t safe to owl now, is it? I think I’ll talk to one of Dumbledore’s lot to see if they can send it to you. They have safer methods, do they not?

Oh, I think that is them now. Someone’s entering through the front door. Odd people…didn’t they say they would not come until the day of our move? And they know better than to just come in through the front door. Honestly, anyone could see them. They always wear those odd robes, and one even has pink hair!

And what Harry had said after reading it…

“But she sent it by owl. Even when she said that someone from the Order was entering the house as she wrote this,” Harry insisted, frowning.

“Maybe they said it was okay to owl.”

“Maybe. But what if Voldemort’s followers knew about their move? That wouldn’t be safe. The Order wouldn’t have said it was fine to send by owl.”

“Maybe it was just dad coming from work and she decided to send it by owl, since she didn’t know when the Order would be there,” Hermione hissed, eyes narrowing.

“Wouldn’t she have fixed it in the letter?”

Hermione’s nostrils flared, “What are you implying? That my mum has somehow been attacked, when Order members are patrolling by the house day and night?” she asked scornfully, fists clenching.

She couldn’t stop herself. She gasped softly, breaking the heavy silence, placing a hand over her mouth delicately. She felt her eyes stinging, her breathing becoming heavy…she heard the scraping of chairs, indistinguishable muttering, and footsteps. As if in a dream, she came to her feet, tears sliding down her cold cheeks.

She ran up the stairs as fast as she could, willing herself not to look back.

***

8:56 a.m., Saturday morning, Grimmauld Place - London

“Hermione, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked, a concerned look on her face, “Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t even touched your breakfast!”

“Yes, I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione, careful to keep her voice normal, “I’m just…not very hungry.”

“Well…if you’re sure…” Molly said uncertainly, keeping a worried eye on her before turning to Ginny.

Harry and Ron both looked up from their plates, giving her questioning looks, but she shrugged them off. She pretended to eat a bit of toast, not really tasting the food…all the while thinking, calculating.

Ever since she’d heard Moody, Lupin and Dumbledore speaking the day before, she hadn’t stopped thinking once about her parents. They’d been brought into this, and were trapped there—she willed herself not to consider the possibility that they might already be dead—all alone, afraid, seeing no signs of help. At first, she’d fully intended to tell Harry and Ron, but she’d thought better of it. Harry would, as Dumbledore predicted, go berserk and intend on going to save them, falling straight for Voldemort’s trick.

And then she’d begun to think…what if she went to save them?

It was stupid, she knew. How could she stand a chance, after all? They were highly skilled Dark wizards, and she was a mere seventeen-year-old witch. They would kill her easily…

But what else could she do? Now that she knew, she couldn’t bear to know that the Order still hadn’t gone to save them. Were they blind? They could be being tortured…they could be on the brink of death…

She felt such despair. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to put Harry in danger, and she didn’t want her parents to be in danger. She couldn’t go herself because she would get killed, and she couldn’t confront Lupin or Moody about it, because that would be admitting she had eavesdropped on the conversation.

She couldn’t take this. She had to do something.

As she excused herself from the table, she cleared her throat quietly enough for only Ron and Harry to hear her. Giving them both significant looks, she turned and exited the kitchen, waiting for them at the foot of the stairs.

They came quickly, both looking slightly confused and worried.

“Hermione, what’s wrong—?”

“—you’ve been acting really weird—“

“—you sure you’re okay—?“

“—haven’t even opened a single book—“

She waited until they stopped talking, crossing her arms and giving them a look. They fell silent, looking at her with slightly impatient, inquiring looks.

This is it. I might as well…oh please, don’t let Harry do something stupid. Please…don’t let him think it’s his responsibility…or his fault.

“Yesterday…I…” she said softly, and slowly began to recount what she heard. She watched as they went from shock, to disbelief, and to shock again. They never spoke, but their faces seemed to have their thoughts written all over them. Harry had that look about him, like he was plotting of ways to go save them, whereas Ron looked afraid, as if he’d realized that that could happen to his parents as well. Both, however, seemed to coincide on one thought, the one Hermione thanked them for, but really wished they didn’t think like that.

“We—well, we have to go get them!” Ron sputtered, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m going, Hermione,” Harry said quietly, “We can’t leave them there. I don’t know what the Order’s playing at, but we have to save them.”

Hermione shook her head frantically, “Oh…I don’t—you can’t go. No, listen to me!” she hissed, seeing them both opening their mouths to protest, “Odds are—if they really are there—he’s just using them to lure you there, Harry. I can’t let you just go. And it’ll be dangerous. None of us should go!”

“We can’t risk it, Hermione! What if they really are there? They’re your parents!”

“We’ll have to wait, then! We’ll tell the Order!”

Ron gave her an incredulous look, “Hermione, come on. They’re your parents—you’re not seriously considering leaving them in—in You-Know-Who’s hands? You’d have to be mental!”

Hermione crossed her arms at her chest, feeling her eyes stinging, “You can’t honestly suggest that we go there and save them ourselves. If one of you got hurt…it would be my fault!” her voice wavered as she spoke, and she had an air of her that suggested she wasn’t so sure whether she wanted to go or not anymore, “I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear that, Ron.”

“Then we’ll have to confront the Order! Lupin! Lupin’s here—we can just go and talk to him now!”

“No,” Hermione said firmly, her eyes now filled with tears. She looked down at her feet, “I can’t. I don’t know why I even told you two about this!”

There was silence, before Harry stepped forward hesitantly, and captured her chin with his hand. Forcing her to look up at him, he shook his head, “D’you want to know why you told us, Hermione? I’ll tell you why—because you know we have to go save them. You know they’re there. And you know if we don’t go ourselves…they might not…survive,” he said bluntly, willing himself to ignore the tears leaking from her eyes now. She had to understand, “I know it’ll be dangerous. But if we keep waiting and postponing…there’ll only be more deaths, Hermione. More innocent people—dead,” he released her chin and took a step back, fixing her with a pained, but determined stare.

Hermione wiped her tears away before looking back at them. She sniffed softly, suppressing a sob, and met Harry’s eyes. She blinked once, looking at Ron, then back at Harry, and sighing.

“What if I was wrong? What if they weren’t talking about my parents?”

“But what if you’re not wrong? You know you can’t risk that!”

Hermione bit her lip, a few tears running down her cheeks. After what seemed like an age, she heaved a sigh and said, in a dejected whisper, “We’ll never get there undetected. Either the Order or the Death Eaters will find us.”

“Are we really going to take on the Death Eaters by ourselves, mate?” Ron asked suddenly, frowning, “I mean, they’re hundreds…how…?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said truthfully, and, for the first time, Hermione saw doubt in his eyes, “But we’ll find a way. We have all day to think.”

“We’re leaving tonight?”

“Yeah,” Harry said firmly, “there’s no real use in waiting any longer. We can’t wait any longer.”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said, “We’ll leave when we have a plan formed. We can’t go bursting around the place without no real idea of what to do. We’ll get killed for sure.”

“But Hermione, we can’t—“

“We have to, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice slightly hollow, “If we’re really going to do this, then at least we’ll do it properly.”

“We’re going tonight, Hermione. I don’t care if you think we’re ready or not. If you want to stay, fine, but I’m not going to.”

Harry gave her an unreadable look. It was a mixture of pain, determination, and fear, yet there was something else thrown into the mix that Hermione couldn’t recognize. She held his heated gaze for a long time, not really noticing the tears that had rapidly begun to slide down her cheeks, or the way she was clenching her fists so tightly closed, that they had gone numb.

She shut her eyes closed tightly for a moment, sobbed, and turned on her heel, walking swiftly towards her room. Ron made to follow her, but Harry stopped him, shaking his head. She just needed time. She knew they had to do what Harry said.

Ron turned to Harry, frowning, “Is it just me, or does she not really understand the fact that these are her parents we’re talking about? I mean, what the bloody hell is she playing at?”

Harry met his gaze, feeling a sinking sensation in his stomach, “I don’t want either of you to go. It’s me he wants…if I just went and got it over with tonight—“

“No way, Harry. If you go, we go. They’re her parents, and you’re my friend. D’you think we’ll just sit here patiently, knowing you’re risking your neck out there?” he shook his head, “And it’s more than that. It’s just…the way it’s meant to happen. We can’t let you do this alone.”

“Ron—“

“We’re going, Harry. Drop it. I think we ought to be more worried about how we’ll get past those Death Eaters.”

Harry remained silent…thinking…and then it hit him.

Get past those Death Eaters.

He met Ron’s eyes, and said, very quietly, “I think I just figured out how.”

***

11:02 a.m., same day, same place

After going through his plan several times, not explaining anything to Ron and not mentioning a thing to Hermione, Harry concluded that it was basically the most sensible and likely-to-succeed thing they could do. It was certainly better than bursting into the Ministry and demanding to see Hermione’s parents.

That was not to say that there wasn’t a danger of getting caught. There was. If any of them made a noise…if one of the Death Eaters had a way of sensing their presence…

There were so many things that could make the plan fail. So many things that Hermione would probably point out to him when he explained it to her…

But he seriously doubted whether there was anything else hey could do that had a better chance of succeeding.

It was so simple…

So easy…

Almost too easy…

But it would have to do.

Feeling Mrs. Weasley’s eyes on him, he took another bite of food. After a few minutes, he got up, excusing himself, and shot Ron a look. He walked calmly out of the kitchen and up the stairs, his legs guiding him to Hermione’s room without much effort. As he faced the door, he heaved a sigh, and knocked on the door.

No answer.

He pushed the door open, poking his head in. He caught sight of a very distressed-looking Hermione, twisting her hands nervously on her lap as she sat stiffly at the foot of her bed. She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy, her face streaked with tears, and sobbed loudly.

“Oh Harry—“ she said, her voice thick, “Lupin’s just told me…it’s true—they’ve really been taken! I-I don’t know what to do…”

He rushed towards her, enveloping her in his arms, patting her head and making soft soothing noises. After she had stopped sobbing repeatedly and seemed at least a bit calmer, he said, very quietly, “I think we should go tonight.”

“I know, Harry…but I’m just so afraid! What if you or Ron gets hurt? What if they’re already…what will I do?” she said softly, nails digging into the front of Harry’s shirt rather painfully.

“They won’t be. We’ll get them out, safe and sound, and none of us will get hurt,” Harry said firmly.

“How?”

There was a brief knock on the door, before Ron came in. His eyes found them quickly, and Harry felt a sudden pang of guilt. It was odd to explain why—Ron said he understood now, and it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong—but somehow, he still felt as if he should let go of Hermione. He felt as if he was cheeking Ron by letting him see them like this. It was incredible that such a thought could come to his mind, when there were so many other important things to be worrying about.

It was stupid…but he couldn’t stop himself from loosening his grip on Hermione, looking rather guilty. And, maybe he imagined it, but Hermione’s frame seemed to stiffen, and she moved, ever so slowly away from him, until his arms fell limply on the bed.

Ron seemed to have noticed the way he held her, too, though his expression seemed inscrutable to Harry. He couldn’t tell whether he was upset or angry, or whether he looked upon them with a sort of bitter acceptance.

But it was just for a split second. Then they seemed to remember the reason for Hermione’s crying, and Harry’s plan, and everything else that was going on.

“So, are you ready to explain?” Ron asked, sitting across from them, on Ginny’s bed. Hermione edged way from Harry a bit further, looking at him expectantly. Her expression, though still pained, held a sort of cold determination, and Harry had the fleeting impression that no matter what he said, she would agree, desperate to save her parents.

“Yeah. It’s really simple, and I think it’s the only—“

“Harry! Ron! Hermione!”

Ginny’s voice called their names, and they could hear the loud thumps on the stairs as she raced towards their rooms. She seemed to check the boys’ room first, before bursting through Hermione’s door, looking terrified.

“Gin! Are you mad? Wake up all the portraits in the house, you will! What’s wrong with you?” Ron blurted out, frowning.

“Ginny, are you okay?” Hermione asked concernedly, moving as if to get up from the bed.

Ginny sighed heavily, closing her eyes for a moment, before saying, in a hollow tone, “Hogwarts. It’s been attacked. You-Know-Who himself has gone there this time, along with the Death Eaters. Most of the Order’s there, helping Dumbledore and all those people…” her voice trailed away as she let out a noise between a sob and a sigh.

Ron leapt up from the bed and embraced his sister in a comforting hug, giving Harry and Hermione a wide-eyed look, as if asking whether they were still going to do it.

Hermione’s hand had shot up to her mouth, and she was staring, transfixed, at Ginny, though she wasn’t really seeing her. She was wrapped up in her own shock, in her own feelings of anguish and hopelessness.

Harry was staring at Ron’s shoes. He was barely breathing, barely holding himself together. He was afraid. The realization that this was probably the time for the Final Battle hit him like a kick in the chest. He couldn’t believe it had come so fast, that so quickly, the time had come and he had to battle Voldemort.

It wasn’t fear of the battle, exactly. He knew that when the time came he would face Voldemort with cold determination. It was more of a fear for what the outcome might be. It all depended on him. All those lives, including Hermione’s, depended on him.

He felt slightly sick. Could he do this? Did he have the power to do it?

“What…what about us, Ginny?”

After a few moments, Ginny pulled away from Ron to look at Harry, tears in her eyes, and said, “We’re staying here, as far as I know. Mum will look after us, and I think they mentioned Lupin…I really don’t know—by the time they started discussing that I rushed out to tell you three.”

There was a pause—then…

“But you’re not staying, are you, Harry?”

Harry looked at her, shocked, “What—?”

She gave a small, rather empty chuckle, “Oh, Harry, I may not know you as well as Ron and Hermione…but I know you well enough to know you’re not staying here while that battle’s raging back at Hogwarts.”

Harry just stared at her, and before he could even manage a coherent response to her, she kind of half-shrugged and left the room silently.

Ron met his eyes. He felt Hermione’s stare on him.

“Tonight?” he asked, not really knowing what else to say.

They nodded, “Tonight.”

***

11:37 p.m., same day; Outskirts of Hogsmade

Hermione cast Disillusionment charms on them quietly, muttering something about ‘extra precautions’, and a heavy silence fell. They looked at each other shakily, only too aware of the yells and flashes of light that were perceivable, even in the distance. They were only too aware of the fact that they were finally here. This was it. Their future depended on this night, on the faithful duel—on Harry, and they were all too aware of this fact.

Harry tried his best to not look up. He couldn’t see them really, but he could imagine them vividly, remember the expressions they had worn not more than a few minutes ago...but Hermione’s soft touch on his cheek and Ron’s incoherent mumblings made him look up anyway. He could see them, almost, Hermione, with silent tears in her eyes, Ron, pale and shaking slightly.

He didn’t know whether they intended on him speaking or not. He felt that he would throw up if he opened his mouth, though, and so opted to keep quiet.

Then Hermione leaned forward, her hand pressing against his jaw as she searched for him. She locked her arms around his neck, and pulled him closer to her in a tight hug. Harry wondered, miserably, if they would get to do this after tonight. He wrapped his arms around Hermione, already knowing the curves of her body by heart, and held her tightly, burying his face in her hair…

She moved her head, and he supposed she was looking at him, considering whether or not to kiss him. In the end, he was very pleasantly surprised to feel her lips press against his nose. She laughed softly, before lowering her lips to his.

He kissed her passionately, knowing this might very well be the last time he got to do this. He tried to tell her, through the kiss, how much he felt…how much he loved her, but ended up pulling away and whispering, under his breath,

“I love you Hermione…with all my heart…and soul…always…” he wanted to say more. He felt like he should say more. But the words seemed to get caught up in his throat, and all he could manage was that.

“I love you too, Harry. I always will,” she whispered, sighing, “Always…”

As she pulled away, Harry wondered whether Ron had heard them or not. He supposed he was deep in thought, and Harry couldn’t blame him. He himself felt apprehensive at the thought of the battle

“I can’t believe we’re really here,” Ron said suddenly, his voice low, “It seems so…unreal.”

“I wish it weren’t real,” Harry said darkly, turning to look at Hogwarts.

“We all do, mate…”

There was yet another silence, before Hermione sighed, “Come on. No sense in delaying it…and we have to save my parents. Voldemort will have brought them. I suppose he’ll be planning on threatening Dumbledore with them, or…”

Whatever else she thought Voldemort was planning, Harry didn’t know. Her voice trailed away and he head the swishing of her robes as she began running towards the school, without so much as an explanation.

“Come on,” he said to Ron, and they both began running.

He didn’t know whether or not she was near them or not. He abstained from calling her name, in case someone heard, and hoped she had sense enough to wait for them before going into the castle’s grounds.

Just as they neared the gate, he heard a whisper a few feet before him, “Stop, Harry. I’m here.”

He turned, “Ron, she’s here.”

He heard the running behind him stop, and a mutter from Hermione’s direction before she came into view. As she lifted the curse off him and Ron, Harry turned to them and said, “I think that for this to work, you and Ron should go help your parents.”

“Harry, no. You’re not fighting him alone!” Hermione said instantly, and Harry caught the hidden message behind her words.

The Prophecy.

“This has to end quickly, Hermione. If I go with you two, it might be too late for everything. And I can be a distraction. Everyone will be focused on me.”

“No, Harry,” Ron said, shaking his head.

Harry began to walk away from them, taking a few steps backwards. He reached inside his pocket, drew out a small lump, and tapped it. His Invisibility Cloak came into view, and he hastened to drape it over himself.

“Harry, please! No!”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and slipped through the gates to the grounds.

It was only then that he realized the yells had ceased. The grounds were deathly quiet, and he could discern a pile of crumpled bodies at the distance, though he couldn’t tell whether they were Death Eaters or not. The smell of smoke filled the air, as several trees from the Forbidden Forest lad been set on fire, and it was rapidly spreading across the rest of the trees near them. The grass was damp with rain, mud, and blood, making it look darker, and slightly threatening to Harry, as if it were a warning of what was to come. The castle itself looked older to him, and as he came closer, he could make out the blast marks, and the bloodstains on it.

Was this really Hogwarts?

He walked along the grounds towards the castle, careful to keep his walk steady and silent. Even if he was in visible, if he were heard, chaos would surely ensure, and it would do no one any good if it happened outside. Ron and Hermione needed the coast clear so that they could sneak inside properly, too.

He felt as if he were in a dream as he walked inside. The doors had been torn down, and were nowhere to be seen. The floor was dusty and bloody, and there were bodies everywhere. He willed himself not to look at any of the faces. He didn’t want to know who had died…if it was someone he knew…

Other than the dead bodies, the Entrance Hall was completely deserted. He had to walk extremely quietly around there, to avoid the echo of his footsteps.

He was just about to head towards the stairs, when he caught sight of the door to the Great Hall. It was ajar, half of the door blasted off. He could see just a hint of what laid beyond…and voices. There were voices…if he could just edge closer to it, he might be able to…

“Ah, Potter…we were beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

He froze, feeling the wand pressed to the back of his head. He saw figures emerging out of thin air, all around him, all smirking and looking extremely smug. A hand grasped the cloak from behind him, pulling it off, and he found himself completely open to attack, without anyone to help him, at the hands of half a dozen Death Eaters.

He heard retreating footsteps behind him, and looked just in time to see Bellatrix Lestrange’s sneering face, partly obscured beneath the hood of her robes.

“You—!”

“Me,” she said, the merest trace of a laugh in her voice, “And you, little baby Potter, are desperately outnumbered.”

“So he’s just sending you to kill me, is he? Can’t do it himself, can he?” Harry said, unable to stop the first thing that came to his mind from pouring out of his mouth.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, and a few of the Death eaters around them grunted and hissed threats at him. Harry looked at them with what he hoped to be a brave face, narrowing his eyes as well.

“The Dark Lord, Potter, is currently sorting out that fool Dumbledore. He shall be here soon enough. Until then,” she said, smiling nastily, “we can do with you anything we want.”

Harry’s hand was halfway to his wand, when in the distance, a voice spoke.

“We do hope we’re not interrupting.”

Harry whipped his head towards the stairs. At the landing stood, looking completely determined, Luna Lovegood, Colin and Dennis Creevy, Ernie Macmillan, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, along with a large cluster of sixth-years Harry didn’t know, and most of the DA.

Bellatrix and the Death Eaters stared up at them, apparently caught off guard. Harry heard someone mutter, in a low voice, “Of course…the castle is no doubt being used as a shelter. That’s why they were guarding it,” he paused, “But where are the rest of them?”

Harry took advantage of the confusion, and took out his wand quietly. Pointing it in Bellatrix’s direction, he cried, “Stupefy!”

As soon as he had spoken, the hall erupted with noise and movement. Harry’s friends charged down the stairs, shooting curses in every direction, narrowly missing each other as they did so. The Death Eaters, all of whom had had their wands ready as well, began shooting incantations in Harry’s direction. Harry ducked; Bellatrix conjured a shield, while the Invisibility Cloak slid from her grasp. Harry lunged for it, but was met instead with a hard kick to the side of his face from Bellatrix. He fell backwards, eyes watering, his face searing with pain, and it was only a second before she caught him with the Cruciatus.

Every single inch of him exploded in pain. It was in his bones, in his blood…every breath he took increased the pain, every second he yelled sent another wave through his body…his body twitched and writhed on the floor, shaking. His wand fell from his grasp...it looked so far away…if only he could reach it, he might be able to retaliate…

It seemed to never go away…he was going mad…he could hear Bellatrix laughing maliciously, hissing things at him…he could see the flashes from the curses that were going all around…hear his friends as they tried to get to him, yelling instructions at each other, fighting against the Death Eaters…

He couldn’t take it much longer…he was going insane…he wanted to die, for it to end already…he didn’t care anymore…

And then it stopped. Harry lay on the floor, gasping, still twitching. The noise around him seemed to increase by ten as he raised his head to look, and everything was blurry. He could see Bellatrix struggling with someone on the floor; apparently they had thrown themselves at her to stop her. He had a funny taste in his mouth…something was trickling down his nose…he raised his hand to it, wiped it off carelessly, vaguely noting the red tinge in his fingers as being blood.

He summoned his wand. No one seemed to realize he was getting up. The Death Eaters were under attack, and, though they certainly weren’t much of a match for them, the students outnumbered them by many. Bellatrix was still rolling around on the floor…their wands were thrown beside them. If he could just get up, he could help them…

He raised his wand, pointing at them. It was hard to get a good aim when his vision was still blurry, and the two people were wearing black robes, but he took a chance. Wincing, he said hoarsely, “Impedimenta!”

At first, nothing happened. He figured the Cruciatus curse had weakened him, but tried again, feeling slightly desperate.

The second time, a feeble ray of light erupted from his wand, before it began to gather strength from somewhere deep inside him. With a massive effort, he managed to stay on his knees as the spell became stronger and shot towards the two, prying them apart and throwing them back twenty feet. As they began to come to their feet, Harry caught sight of the plump, round face of Neville Longbottom, screwed up in mingled pain and concentration, eyes locked on Bellatrix.

But before he could register this thought, someone caught him from behind. They bound him in ropes, causing him to lose his balance and fall flat on his face. He heard jeers behind him, and footsteps approaching him. He rolled on his back, finding the towering figure of a Death Eater heading towards him. A mask hid his face, but Harry could make out the cold, gray eyes…

“Potter. How…convenient that I should be the one to get rid of you.”

No. It couldn’t be. Malfoy? He was a Death Eater? What…?

Malfoy seemed to notice the look on his face, and chuckled nastily, sliding off his mask and throwing it aside. Harry stared back at him in shock, watching as he brandished his wand menacingly, as if trying to decide what curse to use on him. As Malfoy pointed his wand at him, Harry managed to open his mouth and sputter, “Coward.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and darted towards Harry’s, before he smiled and said, in a malevolent whisper, “You know what, Potty? You’re right,” he stepped back several feet, waving his wand at Harry. The robes binding him disappeared, and he looked at Malfoy in shock.

“You fancy a duel, then? Fine. Get up,” Malfoy called to him, his eyes shining maliciously.

Harry came to his feet shakily, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve and pointing his wand at Malfoy. In a split second, Malfoy had already moved and sent a jet of black light in Harry’s direction. Harry casted the Protego Auctus shield, and watched, amazed, as the jet of light did not reverberate from the shield, but continued to press on it. A hissing sound began to fill the air, and Harry continued watching, feeling only slightly worried, as the spell began to create a hole in the shield.

Harry cursed under his breath, and did the only sensible thing that came to mind. He jumped aside, just as the spell was about to cut through the shield, and grimaced as he heard someone behind him yell in pain. He turned his eyes on Malfoy, teeth bared, trying to think quickly of a curse to use against him.’

But, apparently, Malfoy had this all planned out. Grinning, he waved his wand, and yelled, “Tagliare!”

Harry didn’t move, though. He uttered the first spell that came to mind, “Flamora!”

The two beams of light met in mid air and ricocheted off in different directions. Harry’s spell shot towards the door to the Great hall, setting what was left of it on fire, and Malfoy’s hit another Death Eater, who yelled in pain, clutching his upper arm.

Harry took advantage of the momentary confusion and pointed his wand at Malfoy, “Impedimenta!”

Malfoy was thrown back into a wall. He slumped to the floor, remained there for a few moments, and began to get up. His head had fallen over his face, though Harry could make out the flush that had appeared there, and the death glare he was receiving. He saw Malfoy summon his wand, and, before he could do anything, a jet of green light burst from his wand and pelted towards him.

Harry felt it before the spell even managed to reach him. His breathing became more forced, as if someone were snatching it right from him…he began to feel weak, and rather sleepy…what he would give to curl down on the floor right then and close his eyes…his brain seemed to shut off completely, and he just stood there, waiting…he felt all happiness wash away from him…he was left with an intense feeling of despair, as if he would never ever be happy again, and found himself wishing, for the second time that night, that he were dead…

But just as the curse was mere feet away from him, a light seemed to turn on in his brain. His breath came back to him, and he felt an inexplicable surge of energy and strength. He saw Ron and Hermione’s faces, smiling at him, and they gave him confidence. A light erupted around him; surrounding him…he was raised a few inches of the floor…the pendant was gleaming under his robes…

The curse simply disappeared, without a trace. Malfoy looked at him, mouth open in utter shock, and made to curse him again, but Harry already knew what to do. Flicking his wand at him, he muttered, “Stupefy!”

No light erupted from his wand, and yet, as he squinted at Malfoy, he could see him slumped against the wall, head inclined towards his chest, obviously unconscious.

Harry was slowly lowered to the ground. He turned, seeing all of the Death eaters engaged in heated duels. He felt a pang in his chest as he saw so many of his classmates unconscious, thrown on the floor. Some seemed unharmed, while others were bleeding heavily, clearly injured. He felt a surge of anger inside him as he watched them. They weren’t supposed to be in this battle. They were at Hogwarts for their safety!

He couldn’t stop himself from feeling thankful, though; had they not shown up, he would have had to take on all those Death Eaters by himself.

But I had the pendant. It reacted to Malfoy’s Killing Curse like that, so it would have probably saved me from them anyway, he reminded himself, feeling guilty now. It was his fault that they were there. His fault that some of them wouldn’t live to see tomorrow. His fault that they were injured…

It was all his fault.

No.

It was Voldemort’s.

Everything that happened in his life, everything that was happening now—it was because of Voldemort. And he, Harry, shouldn’t be blaming himself. He should go after him. End this now, before more died. End it now, before he went mad…

And so, he turned towards the doors to the Great Hall. With a wave of his wand, the fire was gone, its ashes being the only proof that it had ever been there. He walked slowly towards it, careful to avoid catching someone’s unwanted attention, and slipped through the doors.

His scar prickled painfully…a chill ran down his spine…

The hall was brightly illuminated, and looked completely unharmed. Everything looked spotless, gleaming, just as it had looked the last time Harry had been in it, though with a few noticeable changes.

Ron was gagged and tied at the far left corner of the hall, while Hermione was on the far right, in the same condition. Death Eaters stood on either sides of him, faces hidden by masks. The house tables had been vanished, probably destroyed, and only one piece of furniture remained. Dumbledore’s high backed chair was placed in the middle of the room, its back to Harry. He could just see the top of the person’s head, though he already knew who it was. Who else would it be?

No one spoke. Hermione kept making noises, as if trying to speak to him, but nothing she said was distinguishable. Harry glanced at the Death Eaters on either side on him uncertainly, wondering why they weren’t attacking him, or at least saying something.

He began to walk forward, uncertain. He neared the chair, wondering why no one was stopping him. He stretched his hand forward, grasping the edge of the chair, bracing himself for his scar’s outburst, but found that it didn’t hurt at all. It continued hurting in the same way it had since he entered the room.

This must be some sort of trick, he thought, What’s going on?

He moved around the chair, willing himself not to look just yet until he was right in front of it. He opened his eyes, and he felt all the air vanish from his lungs. His legs went numb, his heart was racing…

Dumbledore was sitting in the chair, blood pouring from the side of his head. His face was blackened with soot and dried blood, and his glasses were broken. His arms were twisted violently in odd angles, as if they were broken, and his legs…they looked as if they had been hit with a very, very dark spell. Harry felt sick. The skin was slowly degenerating before his eyes…

He began shaking his head, “No…” he muttered, “No, this can’t be…” his eyes were locked on Dumbledore, and he seemed unable to look away. He couldn’t believe it. It had to be a trick. It just had to be. Dumbledore couldn’t be dead.

Hermione made the loudest muffled noise yet, fighting with the ropes that binded her. Harry turned to look at her, eyes widened, as if asking her whether it was true. Her eyes were wide, fearful, and filled with tears, and she shook her head, mumbling something.

The Death eater nearest to her looked at her menacingly, and pointed his wand at her. A ray of red light hit her and her head slumped forward, unconscious.

Harry felt an urge to go and throttle the Death Eater who did that. Indeed, he was about to move, when Ron yelled behind him, in a clear voice, “H-rry! W-tch out!”

Harry whipped his head around in time to see the towering figure of Lord Voldemort heading towards him, wand at the ready. There was a mutter, and a jet of light shot towards Harry. He jumped to his left, crouching behind the chair, and watched, in awe, as the scenery around him changed drastically. The floor beneath him developed cracks and turned into a dull grayish color, while the walls were suddenly darkened by blast marks and bloodstains. The fire in the torches was extinguished, and the chair in front of him disappeared. More than half of the Death Eaters vanished, leaving two, which were guarding Ron and Hermione.

Voldemort looked down on him, a cruel smile playing across his thin lips, “We meet again then, Harry Potter…it shall be a pleasure to finally rid myself of your troublesome existence.”

“Where’s Dumbledore? What have you done to him?”

“Did you not see him just a few moments before, Harry?” Voldemort asked, a definite note of cruel smugness in his voice.

“That—that wasn’t true. He’s not. He—he isn’t...”

“Your Mudblooded friend had the pleasure of witnessing it all. A shame, really, since she won’t be able to tell you about it.”

There was a pause, in which Harry stood up, narrowing his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides, still holding his wand. Voldemort stared back at him, that smirk still there, clearly enjoying the way Harry had reacted to his words. Their eyes never left each other, scarlet boring into green. Hate radiated from them both, as they stepped backwards, allowing a distance of twenty feet between them. They raised their wands, knowing what they should do.

“It is time, Harry, for this to be finished,” Voldemort said softly, “I have waited long enough.”

“I’ve suffered long enough. I won’t be seeing you.”

Voldemort laughed sardonically, raising his wand and flicking it at the ground. There was a loud rumbling sound, and the floor began to tremble. Harry distantly heard the shrieks from the Entrance Hall, Ron’s surprised gasp, Voldemort’s laughter…

An invisible force burst through the ground and shot towards Harry, sending chunks of the floor flying in different directions as it did so.

It moved too quickly. As soon as it hit Harry, he was lifted off his feet and thrown, very painfully, into the small space of wall over the entrance to the Great Hall. His head seared with pain, and he slipped…he was heading towards the floor…the was going to fall…

But Harry’s hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed hold of the edge. He vaguely noted the glow of the pendant, and smiled triumphantly. His gaze wandered to Ron, who was lying unconscious, his face slightly bloody, and frowned. The he looked at Hermione, the memory of the prophecy coming back to him, and, with his free hand, brandished his wand, pointed it towards her, and muttered, “Enervate.”

Voldemort didn’t bother turning to see what he had done. He merely smiled even more widely, flicking his wand over his back, in Hermione’s direction. The robes around her disappeared, and the cloth that had been used to gag her was gone. Her hand shot for her wand, which the Death eater had been holding loosely at his side, and made a quick job of Stunning him.

Harry watched Voldemort turn with unease. He wished he could let go of the edge—he had to help Hermione—but his hand seemed glued to it. Every time he tried to let go, the pendant glowed and his hand gripped the edge tighter.

Voldemort waved his wand at Hermione, who had been watching him, transfixed, and she was levitated up in the air. He moved to a spot in the middle of the Hall, and lifted the Levitation Charm, watching her as she fell to the ground. His eyes shot up towards the spot where Harry was, and he smiled maliciously, “It seems you are opposed to this being a duel between us, Potter,” he said softly, twirling his wand between his fingers, “Apparently, I will have to dispose of this filth in order to rid myself of you.”

Harry began moving frantically, trying to pry his hand from the edge. He cursed loudly, hissing at the pendant, “You stupid thing! I need to help her! Damn it! Let me go!”

Voldemort lowered his wand to Hermione, “I will start off simple. Crucio!”

The air was suddenly filled with Hermione’s screams. They reverberated off the walls, echoed in the space…in Harry’s head…he felt as if he were sharing her pain, as if he were the one under the curse. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t see her in such pain, maybe even wishing, like he had earlier, to die…for it to end…

He didn’t notice it when his hand began loosening its grip on the edge. He didn’t notice it until he began to fall to the ground, but as soon as he did, he pointed his wand at Voldemort. He felt seventeen years of suffering, seventeen years of mystery and trials…he felt hatred like he had never experienced before, pouring out of him. He felt every single thing that had happened to him on Voldemort’s account, rising to the surface, almost drowning him in a mix of emotions.

And then, he yelled, with all his might, “Avada Kedavra!”

He wished for it all to end…for it to be over…

The spell had barely left his wand when Voldemort lifted the curse off Hermione and shot a Killing Curse towards Harry as well. He didn’t notice it, racing towards Hermione and enveloping her in his arms. She gasped, shaking her head, pointing towards the ray of light that was now speeding towards them. Harry let go of her, and did the first thing that came to his mind.

He pushed her behind him, and braced himself for impact.

Several things happened in very quick succession.

First, Harry felt Hermione’s hands closing around his shoulders. She leaned her head on the side of his neck, tears trickling down her cheeks and onto his robes.

Second, the pendant around Harry’s neck began glowing brighter than it had all night. Harry thought it would burst out of his robes, but it simply untangled itself from his clothes, and came into view.

And third, the Killing curses reached their destinations. One hit Voldemort, and Harry heard his yell of mingled frustration and confusion. The other hit Harry, straight in the chest.

A bright green light shone all around him. He still regained some consciousness…Hermione was crying, sobbing…everything was becoming blurry…a sharp pain shot across his body…the pendant shone brighter, as did the light around him, and he yelled, for the pain intensified…a sharp gasp was heard from Hermione…they were both yelling…falling into the darkness…

And then he knew no more.

***

Two weeks later – The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

“I think—yes, Madam Pomfrey! He’s opening his eyes! Oh, Harry!”

He could hear her distant voice, speaking. She seemed over the moon with joy, calling Madam Pomfrey frantically. He blinked once, twice, but still, all he could see was black. He grunted, raising his hands to rub his eyes, but it had no effect. Starting to feel worried, he cleared his throat and said, hoarsely, “Hermione?”

He heard a sob, and the next thing he knew, soft hands were closing around him. He could smell her hair over his face as she held him tightly, sobbing onto his shoulder. She mumbled a lot of things, apparently explaining things to him, but he didn’t understand.

“Harry…I’ve been so worried…I thought you’d…oh…” she whispered, sobbing again and pressing her lips to his briefly, before pulling away, “Do you feel okay?”

“I—I can’t see, Hermione.”

“Oh…well, Madam Pomfrey said that might happen…” she whispered, her voice strangely high-pitched now, “I don’t think it’s permanent…” she added uncertainly, more to herself than to him.

Frantic footsteps were heard, and the next thing he knew, a dozen voices were speaking at the same time. There was a loud hissing noise, and Madam Pomfrey pushed through the crowd, “Potter,” she said, her voice soft, very much unlike her usual brisk manner, “You have to drink this potion here. It’ll clear off any side-effects from the other potions I gave you…”

Harry felt the edge of a cup pressing against his lips, and an extremely bitter liquid pouring into his mouth. He screwed up his face in disgust, but swallowed it, coughing slightly. Slowly, the sight before him began to come into view, first extremely blurry, until he could see everything properly.

“And you’ll need this one, too,” madam Pomfrey added, handing him a small vial of bubbling liquid, which he drank without comment.

“Harry, mate,” Ron said, peering at him with a worried expression, “You…you did it,” he said simply, his voice filled with awe, “You…you got rid of him.”

It was only then that all the memories from the Final battle came back to Harry’s find. They flooded his mind, numbing his senses, and he looked back at Ron in shock, “Wait a minute—I’m supposed to be dead—he got me with an Avada…I’m supposed to be—“

Hermione shook her head, “The pendant protected you, Harry.”

“And…but what about—the prophecy?”

“The second one, you mean?”

“Second one?” Ron repeated, frowning.

Hermione glanced at Ron, “We’ll tell you later,” she said hurriedly, before turning bacl to Harry, “Well, I think we fulfilled it…Dumbledore says—“

“He’s alive?”

“Yes, what Voldemort showed you was a trick. Anyway, he says that by holding you as the curse came in contact, I transferred my energy to you, thus ‘working in alliance with you’. The pendant helped loads, obviously, and you had a lot of power, but it wouldn’t have been enough if I hadn’t been there. You would have died, along with Voldemort.”

Harry processed this bit of information, before nodding, and saying slowly, “So…he’s gone? What about the Death Eaters?”

Ron nodded, “You-Know-Who—I mean, Voldemort’s gone. The Death Eaters are still running around, though. The Ministry’s still a mess, so they haven’t been able to round them up yet. Dumbledore’s helping, of course, but you know…”

“And what about Hermione’s parents?”

Hermione smiled, “As soon as Voldemort’s lot attacked Hogwarts, Dumbledore sent some Order members to look for them. They found them…some Death eaters were…well, anyway, they found them and brought them with everyone else that was hidden here.”

Harry frowned, “Where were they hidden?”

“Ancient underground passages, under the school. They’ve been there since the time of the Founders, to be used in cases of great emergency. Only the Headmasters and Headmistresses of the school ever knew about them. I think they’ve only been used once before…” she said thoughtfully, “Anyway, there were apparently a few entrances to them, and mum and dad were ushered inside just as you were coming in.”

“Didn’t you go looking for them?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “but we only managed to sneak past you and those other Death Eaters in the Entrance Hall before we got caught. We’d gone to search in the Dungeons, you see…”

Harry slumped back on his pillows, processing all the information. It seemed so surreal. Everything was really over. He felt as if a massive load had just been lifted off his back.

“Trewlaney? And Pettigrew, what happened to him?”

“Trewlaney’s fine, she’s up in her Tower now, I think,” Hermione said, “As for Pettigrew, Voldemort murdered him after his followers brought him back.”

Harry nodded again, wondering if this was a dream. Could this be possible? Could it all be over? It felt so satisfying, knowing that Voldemort was gone…that he had saved all those people…that he had finally done it.

As if reading his thoughts, Hermione smiled, saying, “You really did it, Harry.”

“It’s over, mate,” said Ron, smiling.

And he felt himself sitting back up and hugging Hermione very tightly, before hugging Ron as well. He thanked God; he thanked Merlin, for everything. He thanked them for being here, safe and well, for having them at his side, for having defeated Voldemort, for Hermione’s parents being alive…

For his choices, because thanks to them he was here…

Thanks to his choices, he had Hermione…thanks to them, he defeated Voldemort…thanks to them, he was the way he was, and thanks to them, he was different than Voldemort and Malfoy and all of those people.

Thanks to them, he was here, with a new beginning.

— FIN —

***

Disclaimer bit: The song lyrics at the beginning are not mine—they belong to Evanescence, and are from their song, “Whisper”

Author’s Note: Well, it’s over. Congrats to you, by the way, because you’ve just read through this monster of a last chapter. =D Anyway, thanks to all of you for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. That’s quite a lot, by the way.

I’m actually very satisfied to see it end. I loved writing it—really, I did—but it had to end sometime. =)

Cheers,

~ Croyez