2. Into the Void

Chapter One

Tried to save a place from the cuts and the scratches. Nine Inch Nails

After only seventeen years, there were memories that Harry knew would remain forever burned into his mind. They would never fade or leave him—choosing instead to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Ginny Weasley's cold, pale face on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

Cedric's flat, empty eyes as they started lifelessly up at him from the ground.

The image of his parents standing side by side in the mirror of Erisad.

His godfather as he toppled helplessly into the veil.

The look on Hermione's face when he rejected her feelings for him at the end of sixth-year.

Don't think about that now, he reminded himself firmly. Think of anything but that.

“I don't want to talk about this, Hermione,” he said, surprised by the bitterness he heard in his words.

Right away, Harry could tell that he had made a mistake. Hermione's steely resolve only intensified and her posture clearly betrayed her determination. Harry took a step back, not trusting himself.

“We will talk about this now!” Hermione shouted, crumpling a sheet of paper in her fist. Harry could just make out the words of the spell inscribed on it.

Immortal Beloved.

“This spell,” Harry began shakily. “This spell… it won't work. It can't—”

“This might be our only chance!” Hermione said, her eyes bright. “Don't you see, Harry? We can't lose if we—”

“It won't work!” Harry yelled back, cutting her off.

Hermione set her jaw, the same steely determination written on her face. “Yes it will,” she said softly. “Yes, it will.”

Harry shook his head. “It can't,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not if you and me do it.”

Harry remembered with perfect clarity the look in her eyes at the end of sixth-year. He remembered the way she kept her voice strong and her body perfectly calm, but her eyes had told him everything he needed to know. He remembered the vulnerability, the way they begged him to take his words back, even as she had smiled warmly and promised they would always be friends.

He looked into her eyes now and was surprised to find that they were still overly bright, her determination not at all diminished. She did not seem the least effected by his vehement denial.

Harry felt his stomach twist into knots with sudden panic.

She didn't believe him anymore.

“This spell,” Hermione began, and Harry caught the hint of a waiver in her voice. “This spell requires the complete connection of two people… mind, body, heart and soul.”

“Yeah?” Harry said, feeling desperate. “Then it can't be me!”

“It has to be you!” Hermione yelled, a frustrated flush creeping over her face. “It can only be you!”

“There's a bloody ring on your finger that says differently!” Harry exploded.

Hermione took a step back, looking like she'd been slapped. There was a long moment of silence as they watched each other, their angry breathing echoing through the air. Wind whistled across the Hogwarts' grounds, blowing Hermione's hair around her angry face.

It really was a beautiful day, Harry thought to himself, with a sort of numbed bitterness. Pity that we have to spend it facing things we've been repressing for years.

Besides, he reflected morosely, these kinds of days were becoming far less frequent. With the threat of Voldemort looming over their heads, Harry wished nothing more than to be able to enjoy just one nice day.

For the first time, Hermione looked near tears. She clenched her hands together, but Harry could still see it… that ring… glittering in the sunlight.

“You're too young to be getting married, anyway,” he mumbled, turning to go. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted her to stop him.

“I won't,” she said softly.

Harry stopped in his tracks. Back still to her, he felt the warmth of the sunlight beating down on his head. “Sorry?”

“I won't,” she said, louder this time. “I won't… I'll… I won't marry him.”

“You have to marry him,” Harry snapped, feeling the anger building up inside him again.

“I don't love him!” Hermione yelled, her voice breaking. “I don't love him! That's why I can't do this spell with him!”

Harry whirled around. “Well—you can't do this to people, Hermione! Don't you see that? Ron asked you to marry him! He asked and you… you said yes. You can't play with people's feelings this way.”

“Like the way you played with mine?”

Harry felt the knots in his stomach clench tighter. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, voice controlled. “I never—we went over this last year.”

Hermione made a sound of disgust. “You liar!” she spat. “We both know you—you were lying through your teeth last year. I'm not stupid—did you really think that I wouldn't figure it out?”

She stared at him—so angry and close to tears. He felt like she was staring right through him and it unnerved him. His heart was pounding away behind his ribcage and he could see all the perfectly, constructed walls he'd built over the last two years crashing down around him.

Protect her.

Harry shook his head, feeling like he was fighting a losing battle.

She knew. She knew and there was nothing he could do about it. He could pretend, lie to her, and none of it would matter.

And that ring glinted on her finger. It seemed that he was unable to tear his eyes away from it. That was another thing he remembered.

The pain he felt when he first saw that ring on her finger.

Irrefutable proof that she belonged to someone that wasn't him. Proof that she belonged to his best friend. Proof that she wasn't allowed to be his—that she couldn't be his.

After all, Ron was his best mate.

The knots in his stomach tightened until Harry was afraid that he was going to be sick.

“If…” he swallowed with difficulty, feeling her gaze burning right through him and tearing down his defenses one piece at a time. “If you… as you put it… `figured it out' then why, why, did you tell Ron you'd marry him?”

“Don't,” she whispered warningly. “Don't you dare even try and…. You saw me last year. You knew what you were doing to me. You… you… I thought I'd never feel whole again. So don't try and blame me for saying `yes' to Ron. You have no right to blame me.” She twisted her ring despairingly on her finger. “The only person who has a right to blame me for it is Ron.”

Harry closed his eyes, remembering the one bruising kiss they shared right before he'd gone and ripped both of their hearts to shreds. He remembered that she'd tasted like tea and honey. He remembered the way her hands tangled in his hair and her low moan of pleasure and need.

He remembered forcing himself to pull away. He remembered needing to end things before they became even more tangled up in each other.

He remembered how his only comfort after seeing that ring on her finger had been the thought that he had been her first kiss. That Ron would get everything else—but he could never be that.

“Hermione…” he said with difficulty, opening his eyes. “I don't know if this spell's—Voldemort might—”

“What's why we must do this,” Hermione interrupted, growing stronger as he grew more distressed. “We have to do this, Harry. There's no one else. You must see that. Don't you? Don't you see why it has to be us?”

Harry couldn't answer. To say `yes' would be to admit that he'd been lying to her for the last two years. To say `yes' would be to accept it—accept them—accept that he could not protect her.

But he couldn't say `no,' either.

Because if he said `no' he would still be lying. He would still be lying and there was no way she would believe him.

Harry felt hopelessly trapped. Her eyes bore into his, the look on her face betraying the fact that she knew exactly what was going on in his head.

“I…”

Harry never got the chance to give her an answer. Sudden pain ripped through his stomach. He let out a harsh gasp, knees buckling underneath him. He fell to the ground, his fingers curling in the grass. The pain spread through his body, down his arms and legs, tingling into his fingers. Every joint, muscle, tissue was throbbing.

Voldemort, he thought to himself in his pain-induced haze. Voldemort must be…

He tried to yell out for Hermione, but all the breath seemed to disappear from his lungs. For a moment, he felt completely empty and lifeless, as if he no longer belonged, as if was no more than empty air. He stopped feeling the grass under his fingers and the dampness of the earth on his knees. There was only an infinite black haze, stretching out before him. There was a loud roaring in his ears that he desperately wanted to shut out but he couldn't seem to find his hands anymore.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, Harry felt himself take form again. The pain left his body and he found himself still on his knees, his fingers still curling in the grass. The roaring in his ears was gone and he could feel again. He breathed in and out, trying to calm the pounding of his heart.

That's when he noticed that something was wrong.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

The sun… the beautiful day… it was gone. The grass under his hands was brown and dry.

Harry swallowed with difficulty, feeling a new kind of panic beginning to whir in his mind.

That's when the smell hit him.

He started choking, the smell of burned char and… flesh… Oh, god… that's burning flesh…

Horrified, Harry had to fight against an urge to vomit, and he pressed his fist to his mouth, struggling to stand up.

Hermione…

Harry felt like he couldn't move fast enough. If something's happened to her it's all my fault… if something happens to her and she doesn't know…

Despite his panic, the image that greeted him had him pausing in shock.

Hogwarts.

A burned, hollowed, broken Hogwarts.

This is a nightmare, Harry thought wildly, staring at the castle.

This cannot be real…

He could only stare, even as the scent of burning flesh hung in the air.

The castle he had known was gone. In its place was only a shell of its former self. What had once been majestic towers were now burned craters. Where there had once been a courtyard was now a blackened, lifeless pit. Bits and pieces of furniture lay strewn about.

That, Harry thought, feeling his heartbeat pounding in his ears. That's… part of Gryffindor table from the Great Hall…

His knees felt weak. He glanced wildly around him and immediately wished that he hadn't.

Corpses. So many… corpses… blackened, burned… so mangled that he couldn't recognize anything but for the Hogwarts robes clinging to what used to be their bodies.

Harry shut his eyes, the stench nearly overwhelming. His stomach revolted and he felt the sting of vomit in his throat.

This isn't real… when I open my eyes this will all go away… this isn't real… this isn't real…

He opened his eyes, nearly having tricked himself into believing that everyone would be gone. He stumbled back a step in surprise when the destruction of what was once his beloved Hogwarts met him full on.

Hermione.

I have to find Hermione.

She's dead, he thought. She must be dead. There's no way…

And Ron… dead… he's probably dead… Nothing could have survived this… Except me. That thought stopped him. Harry forced the breath out of his lungs and concentrated. Why him? Why was he still alive? What had happened? How could Voldemort have possibly destroyed Hogwarts within the span of a few moments? Unless, Harry thought, turning slowly to look around him. Unless… it wasn't the span of a few moments… He caught the barest hints of movement out the corner of his eye and his heart leaped into his throat. No…it can't be… it can't… it's not possible….

Despite the warnings of denial in his mind, Harry was already running. It only took a few moments for him to realize that he wasn't seeing things.

“Hermione!”

She looked up at him as he ran towards her, shock evident in her eyes. She held a clenched fist over her heart and her face was contorted in obvious pain.

Harry sunk to the ground next to her, relief so great swamping him that he nearly burst into hysterical tears. Forcing himself to concentrate, he found her eyes.

“Harry?” she said questioningly.

Harry tired to smile reassuringly. “Yeah, it's me,” he said softly, moving closer to her.

“You're alright,” she said, the relief evident in her voice. “What happened?”

Harry gave her the barest hints of a smile and tried to keep his voice from trembling. “I was hoping you'd be able to tell me that.”

Hermione shrugged helplessly, and gave a sharp hiss of pain.

Harry licked his lips, which were dry and parched. “Hermione… what's wrong?”

She closed her eyes, pain flickering over her face. “I don't know,” she whispered with difficulty. “I feel a sharp pain… here…”

She removed the fist held over her heart and opened her eyes, fixing them on his face. Harry reached a trembling hand out to press on the spot just vacated by her hand, relieved to feel the steady thump, thump of her heart under his palm.

Hermione gripped his wrist. “It's going away,” she whispered. “I just… I don't understand…”

“Something's… I felt something go through me…” Harry stopped. “You felt it too, didn't you?”

She nodded. “You know where were are, though, don't you, Harry?”

“Hogwarts,” he answered darkly.

Hermione nodded darkly. “Something… how can this…”

“I don't know,” Harry whispered, looking around him. “Maybe it's a trick… a spell…”

“A spell?” Hermione echoed, frowning. “That…” she trailed off, thinking. “Help me up,” she said, after a moment.

He helped her up, keeping a steadying arm wrapped around her waist. She looked around her, eyes growing darker as she took in the destruction.

“Perhaps… no, but… yes, maybe…”

Harry stared at her, baffled by her incoherent babbling. She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully before turning triumphantly to look at him.

“Yes!” she said. “That's… it! That must be… don't you see, Harry? This is… we're… but that would mean… Oh, no…”

“What?” Harry said.

Hermione waved a hand to shush him. She opened her fist, revealing a small piece of crumpled parchment. Slowly she unraveled it.

“It's… our spell… we must have—”

“Invoked it right before your terribly sad and untimely death? You always were the greatest witch of your age, my love.”

Harry jaw dropped. The voice… it sounded just like…

“Ron,” Hermione whispered.

Harry felt his heart plummet. Slowly he and Hermione turned around. Harry couldn't quite contain his shocked gasp at the sight that met them.

It was Ron… only much like everything else in this place, Harry could immediately see that Ron bore no resemblance to the Ron he'd left back home. This Ron seemed bigger somehow. Gray, Harry thought looking at him. He was wearing nothing but gray. If it wasn't for Ron's flaming red-hair, he'd be almost indistinguishable from the background.

Which, Harry realized, was probably the point.

But what shocked Harry the most was the long, jagged scar running across Ron's face. It started on his forehead, ran over the top of his nose and ended with a delicate curve at the side of his mouth.

With a slight start of surprise, Harry realized that standing behind Ron was a group of people he'd never met. They were all wearing the same gray garb. They all had their wands out in front of them, their eyes staying suspiciously on Harry.

Except… Harry's mouth bobbed open in surprise when his eyes landed on Ginny Weasley. A much older Ginny than the one he remembered, but her red hair was unmistakable. Catching his eyes, she shoved her way to the front of the pack to stand with her brother.

Ginny smiled brightly. “Hello, Harry,” she said, grinning. “It's great to see you again.”

“We've been expecting you for a while,” Ron said and, unlike Ginny, he didn't smile. He just looked at Harry expressionlessly, eyes devoid of any kind of warmth or emotion.

“Expecting us?” Harry repeated. “But… I don't understand…”

“Come,” Ron said, beckoning to those around him. “It's not safe here. We're taking you to the Compound.”

“The Compound?” Harry echoed.

Ron cast Harry a look of disgust. “It's not safe for us to talk here,” he said again. “Keep in the middle of the pack, wands out, and do not call unnecessary attention to yourselves.” Ron eyed their Hogwarts' robes wearily. He gave a pained sigh. “Though, that may be impossible.”

Harry's head was spinning. “Ron,” he said weakly. “What's going on? Where are we? What happened? How did you get here?”

“Shut up!” Ron hissed. “Are you completely daft? We are not safe here!”

“Well, that's clear!” Harry yelled, voice trembling. “I don't know if you noticed, but Hogwarts happens to be a burning hulk! I just want to know what the hell happened!”

“Keep your bloody voice down, Potter!” Ron snapped angrily. “Unless you're looking to get us all killed.”

“Ron, leave him alone,” Ginny said softly. “You're not helping matters any.”

Ron didn't pay Ginny any mind and Harry realized that it was because he was staring at Hermione—staring at the ring on Hermione's finger. Harry quickly looked away, focusing his attention on Ginny.

“Harry, I promise that you'll get your answers,” Ginny said gently. “You just need to trust us. Please?”

“What choice do I have, exactly?” Harry said.

“Well, that's the thing, Potter,” Ron said, snapping his eyes up. “You don't. You're coming back to the Compound with us—one way or another.”

“Ron!” Ginny said in frustration. “For goodness sake's, there's no need to get so melodramatic about it!”

“I will not continue to put our lives in danger, because Potter is a stubborn pri—”

“We'll come,” Hermione announced firmly. “I trust you.”

“What?” Harry demanded. “What d'you mean `we'll come?'”

“I mean,” she said coolly. “They're our friends. And if they say we're in danger by staying here, then I believe them.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “At least one of you has a brain.” Clearing his throat, he turned to the men standing impassively behind him and gave out a series of cool, clipped orders. They dispersed in groups, going into the Forbidden Forest in different directions until only Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were left.

“Let's go,” Ron said, gesturing for Harry and Hermione to follow him.

“Brilliant,” Harry muttered under his breath, as they went crashing through the underbrush of the forest. “Let's go into the Forbidden Forest—because that's not at all dangerous.”

Ron stopped and spun around. “Did you not hear the words, `do not call attention to yourselves?' Or are you completely stupid?”

Without waiting for an answer, Ron stalked on ahead. Harry stared after him, unable to reconcile the Ron he'd known with the one who was confidently striding through the Forbidden Forest as though he owned everything and everyone around him.

Ginny put a comforting hand on Harry's arm, her gaze sympathetic. “I can't even imagine what you're going through, Harry,” she whispered. “But, please… we're the good guys. You must trust us.”

“Ginny, I just… I don't understand…” Harry gestured ahead of him and ducked under a tree branch. “Ron…he's so… different. What happened?”

Ginny sighed. “It's difficult for him, seeing you two again. Give him a chance. You should know… Ron's the only reason that any of us are still alive. After… well, after you…” she stopped, looking hesitant. “After You-Know-Who took over, Ron was the only one left who could organize those of us who were still alive. He's the only reason we're still putting up any resistance at all.”

Ginny's face darkened. “But we're losing. We're losing people every day. He doesn't say anything, but he feels responsible. He feels every person that dies. But… winning this war is the only thing that matters to him.”

Ginny glanced at Hermione and dropped her voice. “He noticed the ring right away. I know he still loves her. It gives me hope. If anyone could give him something else to live for, it would be her.”

Harry felt as though someone had doused his insides with cold water. Suddenly unable to look at Ginny, he turned his head and nodded. Ginny squeezed his arm before releasing him and going on ahead.

They were going deeper and deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Ron stayed slightly ahead of them, wand out, and eyes coolly studying the area around them. Harry watched him, looking for some sing of his best friend, looking for the wizard that used to be terrified of spiders and the boy that used to look at Harry for direction.

Harry caught up with Ginny. “Gin,” he whispered. “Where are we going?”

Ginny glanced around her. “The Compound… we set it up soon after You-Know-Who began taking over. We suspected that he was going to make a move on Hogwarts and we needed somewhere in case the worst happened.” Ginny's eyes flickered to Hermione, who was listening with great interest. “It was designed to feed on the magic of the forest itself, so it's completely outside our own magical reach. It's constantly changing places—it'll only make itself visible to those it knows is on our side. It's virtually impenetrable.”

Hermione nodded. “I've been thinking of something like that,” she said blandly, hurrying to catch up with Ron.

Harry stared after her, feeling irrationally angry that she seemed to know exactly what was going on when he hadn't the faintest idea. He turned back to Ginny.

“Ginny… what… what year is this?”

“I don't know if—”

“Please,” Harry cut in. “I need to know. I'm… I'm going mad here.”

She smiled fondly. “You always hated feeling helpless. Alright,” she said, resigned. “You graduated from Hogwarts about two and a half years ago. That's the best I can give you. Time doesn't have much meaning anymore.” She looked at him in worry. “You're not too shocked, are you?”

Harry shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I figured as much.” He paused. “We died, didn't we? Me and Hermione. That's why we're here.”

Ginny stared straight ahead. “Yes,” she finally whispered.

Harry found himself totally unaffected by the information. Perhaps it was because he was still in shock from everything else he'd learned.

I died… Hermione died… that's why we're here…

Nothing. He couldn't feel anything but the complete unrealism of the situation around him.

“It's really…” Ginny trailed off before looking at him, eyes overly bright. “A lot of people lost hope after you died. I don't think you can understand what it means to see you again.”

Harry stared at the ground, feeling horribly inadequate. Ginny was treating him as though he was some sort of legend. He wanted to protest—tell her that he was only in his seventh year at Hogwarts, that he wasn't anything special, and that the situation around him was terrifying.

Seeing the look on his face, Ginny smiled warmly. “Don't worry, Harry,” she said softly. “Just having you here… it's enough.”

Up ahead, Ron had stopped walking. He stood still, head cocked to one side, listening with great concentration.

Harry took a couple steps towards him, wincing when he snapped a twig under his foot.

Ron sent him a murderous glare. “That's right, Potter. Let's announce to everyone that you've risen from the dead. Brilliant, really.”

“I think you're making more noise than I am,” Harry said quietly.

Ron's eyes narrowed. “You don't understand the first thing about this world, Potter.”

Harry clamped down on a strong urge to point out that if this was what the world was like than he didn't want to understand it.

“We're here.”

Both Harry and Ron jumped, Hermione's voice breaking the tension surrounding them. She was gesturing to what, as far as Harry could see, was a door suspended in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione didn't seem to find this the least bit shocking. “Oh, this is it!” she said excitedly. “I just know it is. Isn't it, Ron?”

“Yes, it is,” Ron said appraisingly. “And it was what I was looking for before Boy Wonder distracted me.” Ron smirked. “Should've known you'd find it. After all, you designed it, love.”

Some of the anger and confusion that Harry was feeling seemed to burst out of him. “Don't call her that,” he said aggressively.

A long silence met his words. Ron's expression remained unchanged, Ginny's forehead creased into a small frown, and Hermione glared at him disapprovingly.

Finally, Ron nodded. “Fine,” he said simply. Without giving Harry a chance to respond, he opened the door and vanished.

Ginny gestured towards the door, still frowning. “You two next.”

Harry took a deep breath before following Hermione. Though the rational side of his brain was telling him that he was in a different world, that all he thought he knew was gone, he was still unprepared for the sight that met him. He heard a loud gasp—though he wasn't sure if it came from him or Hermione.

Hermione grabbed his arm. “Oh my god…” she whispered. “Harry…”

“I know,” he said.

They were in what looked to be a giant dome. Everywhere, witches and wizards in various stages of life hurried about them. No one seemed to notice their strange appearance and Harry could immediately see why. Other witches and wizards kept appearing from what looked to be thin air all over the dome, some of them Harry recognized as the wizards that he'd seen with Ron earlier. Others were leaving—going out doors that resembled the one that he'd just come in from the Forbidden Forest.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that this must be what was left of the wizarding world. There was pathetically little, but it seemed as though people were putting on a show of every day life. There were witches and wizards clustered together, speaking in hushed tones. Everywhere there were wounded people spread out on cots, harried mediwizards rushing back and forth between them. On another side, children were clumped together, pushing and shoving as they raced forward to get good from a surly looking wizard. On Harry's left, families were bartering for supplies.

“It's a fantastic pot, Dolores, really…”

“Not sure about this… this cauldron's been in my family for centuries…”

Hermione grip on Harry's arm tightened. “It's a refugee camp,” she whispered. “That's what it is.”

Harry was inclined to agree with her as he openly stared at everything around him. His eyes landed on one of the wounded, a short, balding wizard who was missing a leg. He was staring at Harry with naked shock in his eyes—and Harry realized, with a growing horror, the man's eyes were pinned to Harry's forehead.

The man pointed a shaking finger in Harry's direction. “It's true!” he yelled, causing people all around him to stop and stare. “The rumours are true. It's Harry Potter. He's come back to us.”

The reaction was immediate and a loud slew of voices grew up at once.

“Oh, we're saved!”

“Thank, Merlin…”

“Knew it couldn't be true…”

“Ridiculous… ridiculous to think that You-Know-Who could take down Harry Potter…”

“Read the prophecy, I have… he's our only hope now…”

Ron cleared his throat loudly. “Yeah, it's a bloody miracle, alright,” he said irritably. Ron's mere presence seemed to bring on a sort of hush. All eyes snapped from Harry to listen to what Ron had to say. “Now, the next person who so much as dares stare at Potter's forehead will be sleeping out in the Forbidden Forest tonight. Am I making myself clear?”

Disgusted, Ron began walking down the dome, people parting to make room for him. Harry and Hermione rushed to catch up with him, Harry's face still burning in embarrassment.

Harry chanced a glance at Hermione. She was pale and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, but showed no other outward signs of panic. He felt his earlier anger with her return—frustration that she seemed to understand what was happening to them. His need for answers intensified and his hands quivered with rapidly growing anger.

Ron turned right, leading them down a narrow corridor. It seemed to stretch out before them, with doors lining the walls on both sides. Ron's boots echoed along the floor and the quiet of the hall seemed stifling after the confusion of the open dome.

Ron approached one of the doors and whispered an incantation. It slid open to reveal a small, square office with a desk buried under a mountain of paperwork. Ron shut the door behind them and took a seat behind the desk desk.

“Well,” he said, tipping his chair back. “You two look…” he eyes lingered on Hermione. “Good.”

Harry's control seemed to snap. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Hermione flinched at his language, but Ron merely clasped his hands together, appearing slightly amused.

“What do you think, Potter?” Ron leaned forward dramatically. “You're here to save the world.”

“What kind of fucking answer is that?” Harry spat.

Ron quirked an eyebrow. “That, Potter, is the extent of my knowledge. You're here to save the world. I'll make sure you do so. The end.”

Harry whipped out his wand. “You better damn well do better than that!”

Ron looked completely unimpressed. “Why don't you ask my fiancée?” Ron paused. “She never quite managed to explain all the details to me.”

Ron turned his seat around so he could face Hermione expectantly. Harry stared at him distrustfully. “Hermione?” he prompted, keeping his eyes on Ron.

“The spell,” she said quietly. “Our… spell. The… the Immortal Beloved spell… it worked, it must have worked. It was a failsafe…” Hermione's voice grew stronger. “A way to bring us back if we—”

“If we died, “ Harry finished flatly, turning around to look at her.

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

Her eyes had a clear `I told you so' expression. When he spoke, it was as if his voice was coming from far away.

“So our future selves did this spell… and now we're suddenly supposed to take down Voldemort?” Harry's voice was rising. “We're supposed to take down Voldemort in a world he controls? IN A WORLD WHERE WE ALREADY FAILED?”

Hermione kept her eyes on his. “Yes.”

“WELL, I DON'T ACCEPT THAT!”

Hermione backed up a step. “We don't have a choice,” she said softly.

Harry took a deep breath, already regretting his outburst. “You have no right to mess with time! You should know that better than anyone!”

“Excuse me?” Hermione demanded frostily. “I think you meant to say we. This spell takes two people, remember? It only works with the complete cooperate of two people!”

“Yes, well,” Ron cut in, causing Harry to jump. He had completely forgotten that Ron was still there. “This has all been… fascinating.” He looked at Hermione and his eyes seemed to soften. “Ginny'll set you up in a room, my dear. I think that Potter and I have some… matters we should discuss.”

“I think that would be a good idea,” Hermione said evenly, not dropping her eyes from Harry's face. “Thank you, Ron.”

Harry barely noticed as Hermione left, settling into a stupor he objectively realized was shock. Hundreds of questions were flashing through his mind. He felt tired and worn, his mind busily trying to process the shock of the last few hours. It didn't seem real—none of it could be real. Not when he and Hermione had just been standing outside in the bright sunlight, Hogwarts strong and true behind them, a guard against the war that had seemed so far away.

And least of all, he couldn't understand the man standing at his desk in front of him. He kept looking for some sign of the Ron he used to know.

“Why do you keep calling me `Potter?'”

Ron didn't say it with the disgust that Snape used to say his name or the way Malfoy spat it out like it was a dirty word. Instead, Ron said with detachment, as though he didn't care one way or the other.

Ron's expression remained unchanged. “Let's get some things straight here, Potter.”

Harry swallowed with difficult and gave a small nod of consent.

“This is not the world you know. Almost everyone you have ever met is dead.” Ron paused, letting his words sink in. “I've been fighting this war for two years and I refuse to lose it. And you are the only person who can defeat Voldemort.”

Ron spoke the last word deliberately, his eyes on Harry's face. Hearing Ron say Voldemort's name so calmly should have shocked Harry, but he found himself completely unsurprised.

“I will do everything in my power to insure that you will defeat him. I will protect you at all costs.” For the first time, Harry saw a hint of emotion flicker over Ron's face. He dropped his voice. “Voldemort took everyone I have ever loved. Mum, dad, Charlie, Bill, Percy, Fred and George… Hagrid.”

Harry felt a lump gather in his throat and he looked away from Ron's empty eyes. Hagrid is dead, he thought to himself. Almost all the Weasleys are dead. They're dead. I should be more upset than this.

Yet, Harry found that his body wouldn't accept the simple truth of the words. It seemed unreal when, to the best of his knowledge, they had been alive and well only a few hours ago.

“Everyone we knew from school,” Ron continued, in a flat voice. “Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Pavarti… and my fiancée.”

Harry felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach. He drew in a sharp breath. Ron stared blankly back at him and Harry had the sense that he was undergoing some sort of test.

“It is very important to me, Potter, that you kill Voldemort once and for all.” Ron's voice hardened. “But we are not friends. We will never be friends. I care about your well-being insofar as it affects your ability to face Voldemort. We will work together, but we are not friends.”

“So what?” Harry managed. “I'm supposed to call you `Weasley' now?”

“Call me whatever you like,” Ron said, beginning to rifle through the paper's on his desk. “I don't care.”

Harry realized that he was being dismissed. “Do I get a room?”

“Ginny,” Ron answered simply, not raising his eyes.

I should be feeling more than this, Harry thought to himself again, with a sort of numbed detachment. My best friend hates me. I'm the only hope the wizarding world—what's left of it—has. Almost everyone I know is dead. I should be feeling something.

My best friend hates me.

Hermione and I both died.

I'm trapped here.

I might never be able to go home.

Nothing… nothing but a vague detachment. Harry realized that it was probably some sort of defense mechanism. If he truly allowed himself to feel, he'd go mad.

This doesn't feel real.

“For fuck's sakes,” Ron muttered, breaking into his thoughts. “Why are you still here?”

Harry ignored him. “Can I ask you something?”

Ron sighed and set down the parchment he'd been reading. “If you must.”

“How did you get that scar?”

Ron's expression darkened. “As a matter of fact,” he said simply. “I got it trying to save your life.”

Harry stared. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, looking back down at his papers. “Though, seeing you here in front of me, I probably shouldn't have bothered.” Ron shuffled a few pages. “Now get the fuck out of my office.”

Harry was about to go when something compelled him to turn back around. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “For whatever it was I must have done to make you hate me.” He hesitated. “Really… I'm sorry.”

Ron said nothing in return.

Feeling like he'd accomplished nothing, Harry exited Ron's office. The Compound's hallway was much as he'd left it, empty and silent. Ginny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall and her arms folded under her chin.

Harry found that he wasn't the least bit surprised to find her there.

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted softly, standing up and giving a long stretch.

Involuntarily, Harry's eyes followed her movements. She'd changed clothing since the last he saw her. Instead of the conservative, gray garb that nearly everyone was wearing, she'd put on a tight-fitting white t-shirt, which did little to hide the black bra she was wearing underneath it.

“You like?” Ginny asked, grinning. “Hate the uniforms Ron makes us wear. It's supposed to make us less visible, help us blend in. but it takes away more our humanity, don't you think?”

“Err…” Harry managed, trying to focus on her face.

Ginny gave a self-satisfied smile. “I told Ron that I refuse to wear that horrid looking thing in the Compound. He wasn't happy with me… clothes like this are hard to come by.” Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “But he can't do much about it, not really.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

If Ginny was bothered by his unenthusiastic response, she didn't show it. “Sorry… this must sound absurd to you. Me, worrying about clothes when so much else is going on.”

“Of course not,” Harry said hurriedly. “It doesn't sound absurd at all.”

Ginny beamed. “I really missed you,” she said sincerely. “It's hard to find someone that… cares. Mostly because everyone else is too busy worrying about their own lives. But I'd forgotten that you… you always care about others, no matter how bad things get for you.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I'm not—”

“No,” she cut in. “You wouldn't think so. And that's… part of what I—what makes you so important to our side.”

Harry decided to change the topic. “So,” he said, gesturing around him. “People live in here?”

Ginny nodded. “Yeah… the Compound was designed to hold thousands of people. We have all the rooms we need—they're not much, but it's all we have. The cots are uncomfortable and it's never warm enough at night, but… we're safe.” She sighed. “And that's what matters.”

Harry couldn't think of any kind of reply. “Things sound… bleak,” he finally said, rather lamely.

Ginny smiled thinly. “Yes, I suppose they are. Things are… it's a lonely existence. It's difficult sometimes.”

“It must be,” Harry whispered. “I'm… really sorry, Ginny.”

“Oh, Harry… don't be!” she said quickly, sounding upset. “You must be feeling so out of place. And here I am… complaining. I can't even imagine what you're going through…”

No, Harry thought to himself. You can't.

No one can.

Ripped away from his life and forced into a world that he didn't know, that he didn't understand, that he was supposed to save.

Harry felt himself grow cold as it finally began to dawn on him that he wasn't going back, that he couldn't go back.

His hands trembled and some part of his brain realized that the shock was beginning to wear off. He wished desperately for his earlier numbness, because thinking about where he was… it was unbearable.

“… I could stay with you for a while, if you wanted. You know… until you got settled… a bit of company might do you good.”

Harry stared, having completely forgotten that Ginny was still talking. He nodded, trying to pretend that he'd been listening. His heart rate sped up, beginning to feel desperate.

I'm cracking up, he thought in panic.

“Harry?” Ginny prodded gently. “Are you alright? Is it… did I say something? Upset you?”

Seeing Ginny's eyes looking at him, bright with concern, sent his heart aching. This isn't right, he thought. This isn't… I need to speak to…

“Hermione,” he breathed, feeling relief swamp him.

Ginny's eyes darkened. “I—excuse me?”

“I need to talk to her,” Harry said loudly. “It's… you know where she is, right? You can take me there?”

“I… guess…”

Harry barely noticed her hesitancy. “I really need to see her, Ginny,” he said urgently. “Please, it's really important.”

“Fine,” Ginny snapped. “I get it.”

Ginny stopped speaking to him after that and Harry felt bad for upsetting her, but he was too preoccupied to spend any time worrying about it.

“This is it,” Ginny said, stopping them in front of one of the doors. “You know,” she said quietly. “She doesn't appreciate you. Not really. She doesn't see what you really are. I don't know why you—I just… I don't want to see you get hurt.”

Then, before Harry could say anything, she hurried away. Baffled by Ginny's words, Harry turned to the door, feeling hesitant. He couldn't help but feel that by turning to Hermione he was about to make things even more complicated.

His hesitancy didn't last long, as his urge to see her—talk to her—became nearly overwhelming. Gulping, he knocked. His knock seemed to echo loudly down the hall and several people stopped and stared. Face flushing, Harry thrust his hands in his pockets and stared down at the floor.

The door creaked open and Hermione's pale face looked out at him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude at the sight of her. He wasn't alone—he had Hermione and she would figure things out… like she always did.

“Hi,” she said, rather coolly.

“Um…” Harry looked around him. “Can I come in?”

Hermione's eyes narrowed. “No.”

Harry's jaw dropped. “What d'you mean, `no?'”

“No,” she hissed quietly, so as not to draw attention to themselves. “No, you cannot come in. You're only here because you want my sympathy. And I refuse to do that. I refuse to be the girl you come to for answers. You're on your own.”

She tried to slam the door in his face, but Harry easily held it open and pushed his way inside.

Hermione looked furious.

“I didn't come here for pity… or answers…” he said, not quite able to meet her eyes. “At least, not entirely for those reasons.”

She let out an aggrieved sigh. “I don't want to deal with you tonight.”

“You don't… I'm someone you have to deal with?”

Hermione sighed and her shoulders slumped slightly. “Yes,” she said honestly. “Sometimes… yes, you are.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled—not quite sure how to react.

Looking tired, Hermione sat down on her dingy cot in the corner of the room. The entire thing couldn't have been much larger than the stairs at the Dursley's. The walls and floor were entirely bare. In the corner there was a small table with a basin of water and cracked, dusty mirror hung on the wall over it. On the bed—if you could call it that—there was a single worn blanket. There were no sheets.

Harry thought about his dormitory at Hogwarts, where it was warm and clean. He suddenly wished desperately for his four-poster bed.

Feeling a pang, he looked Hermione and could tell she was longing for the same thing.

“It'll be okay,” he found himself saying, overcome with a desire to reassure her. It didn't escape his attention that he'd originally come seeking that very same thing from her. “I'll find a way to get us home, Hermione. I promise.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “Oh, Harry, don't you see? This is our home. This is what happens to us.”

“We die.”

She pursed her lips. “No… I mean, yes, that's why we're here. That's why we had to use the spell. It's up to… it's up to us now.”

There was a long moment of silence before Hermione spoke again. When she did, her voice was quivering. “We did the spell. You and me. You know… do you understand what that means?”

“That's… do we have to talk about this now?” Harry asked weakly.

Hermione's eyes flashed, her earlier anger quickly covering up her vulnerability. “We talk about this nor or you get out. Your choice.”

Some choice, Harry reflected bitterly.

Headache pounding behind his eyes, he began pacing the small length of the room, aware of Hermione's eyes on him. His old defenses wanted nothing more than to run away, away form this room, away from this conversation, away from her. But he was far too exhausted to fight it—fight her—so, feeling defeated, he turned to look at Hermione.

“People I lo—care about… well, bad things tend to happen to them,” he said heavily.

Hermione looked sympathetic.

“Yes, well, I'm not sure if you noticed, but I died.” He flinched and Hermione continued. “And there was nothing you could do to stop that.”

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. He wasn't sure why he was apologizing or even what he was apologizing for, but he couldn't seem to help himself. “I'm sorry, Hermione.”

“Oh, Harry, don't be melodramatic,” she said, sounding annoyed. She looked him in the eyes. “Just be honest.”

Honest.

“I…” he said. “What… I don't understand what you want from me.”

Hermione sighed deeply and patted the space next to her. “Start by sitting down. You don't… you don't look too good.”

Harry sat next to her, feeling awkward. She was so close to him that if he turned his leg it would brush against hers. Yet he wasn't sure he could remember feeling so very far away from her. The distance seemed to stretch out between them. They were in this—whatever this was—together. She was all he had. And he felt like he was talking to a stranger.

This, coupled with everything else he'd learned that day, was almost more than he could handle.

“Did you know that Hagrid's dead?” His voice was emotionless—just like Ron's voice had been. “And Seamus and Dean and almost all the Weasleys. They're dead.”

Hermione looked shocked. “Oh,” she whispered.

“Yeah, and I can't… I can't feel anything.” Harry swallowed. “How is any of this real?”

Hermione didn't say anything.

Harry took a deep breath and plunged on ahead. “When… I thought that I'd lost you… I'd never felt that way before. I know I'm not good at this, but when I opened my eyes and saw what was left of Hogwarts…” Harry stopped because it all came rushing back. The smell, the dead bodies, the burning outline of what had once been his beloved school. He closed his eyes, feeling hot tears pinprick behind them.

I will not cry… I will not cry…

“Harry…” her voice was soft and gentle and nearly made him lose it right then and there. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

“This isn't easy for me,” he said, willing his voice to sound calm. “I just… I want you to know that it… terrified me when I thought I'd lost you and I hadn't… said it yet.”

“Well, you can,” she said, sounding choked up. “I know… I already know…” she drew in a sharp breath. “You're in love with me.”

You're in love with me.

Harry didn't have to see her to know that was watching him with bated her breath, her fingers gripping her knees.

You're in love with me.

He knew it would be so easy to give in—to give in and fall into bed next to her and hang on to her in a world where he had no one else. So easy. So simple.

“You're wearing his ring on your finger,” he said softly—understanding that he was breaking both their hearts. “You're wearing Ron's engagement ring. You're not…”

Harry realized that he'd been about to say `mine.' Only it wouldn't be true—not really—not when the spell had proved that she was his.

That doesn't matter.

“You're wearing Ron's ring,” he said again—and this time his voice was stronger.

He finally looked at her, his stomach twisting into knots when he saw her eyes shining with tears.

“Hermione…” he faltered and looked at the ring sitting on her finger. “I wish… I want so badly to be able to… I'm sorry.”

A single tear slid down her cheek before she wiped it away. “It's alright.”

It wasn't alright and they both knew it. Nothing was alright. Nothing was alright and they were trapped her together, trapped by their feelings—that damned spell.

“So…” he cleared his throat. “What… what do we do now?”

Hermione hesitated before answering. “I don't… know.”

Author's Notes

Yes, it's finally happened.

Kaze and Goldy have started to write a fic together. A real fic with lots of chapters and a plot. Why?

Good question.

Actually, there's two reasons.

A while back we started a yahoo group together and despite having creative juices in our body, we could not come up with a really cool name. We held a contest with a fic reward, hoping that someone we think of a really witty name for our group. Enter our good friend Ronin10, who not only found us a name but a cool one at that.

We also just like writing together.

So our yahoo group is now appropriately titled Immortal Beloved (its link can be found in either of our separate profiles) and is also incorporated into our fic as you can see. Since we're both progressively busy, we can't give solid update notices but our group will always be the first to know. So go join because we post a lot of stuff there that people have probably never read and because we told you to. And that's reason enough.

Please review and let us know what you think!

ETA the Immortal Beloved link. Just to make signing up extra easy.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/immortal_beloved/

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3. Lost

Chapter Two

And is it right, butterfly, they like you better framed and dried.
Tori Amos

'The spell only works with two people,' she whispered, struggling to form the right words. She kept her gaze downcast and glued to the carpet. 'Two people with a connection.'

'What kind of connection?' He asked.

She swallowed nervously. This was it. This was the moment that she had planned for days. 'It has to be— It's a— The two people have to be in love.'

A shaky sigh escaped Harry's lips.

Great, she mused. Fantastic way to sound like an idiot.

She forced herself to look up at him and waited for a response. She knew that she was putting herself on the line, but she had to tell him. He needed to know. He needed to hear.

For a moment, they stood in silence. His eyes bore holes into her soul and the obvious distress threatened to crush her. She knew he recognized what she was trying to convey. Come on, she begged silently. Don't push me away.

'It won't work,' he murmured, turning his back to her. 'It can't.'

Hermione woke up with tears on her pillow and her engagement ring mocking her in the candlelight. The day's events came back to her with ferocious clarity. They were here.

It can't.

Her head turned on the pillow and she found herself staring at a sleeping Harry, clutching the blankets around him. This wasn't a nightmare, she thought with quivering lips. How ironic that the one time that they could stand being in the room together was when they had no other choice.

It can't.

Sometimes she had days where she could go without thinking about that moment. She'd walk around and pretend to enjoy holding Ron's hands and laugh with Hannah and Susan. Sometimes she had days where she'd write to her mother and tell her how happy she was to have a life she could finally share with someone.

Most nights she spent lying in bed, staring blankly up at the walls and wondering why she continued to keep lying to herself. She was miserable with a smile on her face, holding Ron's hand like she meant it and laughing to make other people think that she had this wonderful life.

But Harry, Harry saw right through her.

He just didn't do anything about it.

They now went through days without saying much to each other. While Ron mentioned offhandedly that perhaps Harry was finally coming into his own, she knew that her confession had been the final wedge between them.

And it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

'I love you.'

The words escaped her lips with such frightening certainty that she started to tremble. She could still taste him on her lips, a linger sensation of finally settling into the place that she should be in. But her rationality began to panic. This wasn't the plan, she kept telling herself. This wasn't the plan. She had wanted to wait when there was time— the perfect moment— but then again, there was never a perfect moment.

'I love you,' she said stronger this time. She looked up at Harry, standing before her with his hands shoved into his pockets and digging his toe into the carpet. He said nothing.

'Harry, didn't you—'

'I heard you,' he murmured, turning away from her. 'I heard you, but I don't think this is a good idea.'

Her eyes widened. 'But I—'

'No,' he said, his shoulders ridged and his back still turned to her. 'No, I can't do this. I can't lie to you. I can't make a...'

'A mistake?'

'Yeah,' he whispered. 'Yeah, a mistake.'

Combing a nervous hand through her tangled hair, she sat up and looked away from a sleeping Harry. Why? She wondered. Why did this happen now? How was it even possible when both Harry and her couldn't stand to look at each other? The spell had worked that much she knew and both Harry and her were dead in this time, but the spell had been designed for that last minute—

'This cannot work unless...'

She looked away from the Headmaster. 'Sir, I understand. However at the present circumstances, Harry and I are— are not really speaking to each other.'

'My dear child,' the old man murmured, taking her hand in his. 'These are the trials and tribulations of life. I had hoped that I could have protected all of you from this, but the facts remain. You and Mr. Potter are the strongest of our kind and perhaps, our only hope.'

She sighed. 'I'll talk to him.'

Hermione frowned. Harry had made his feelings clear to her, on several occasions. She recognized the dark and desperate longing in his eyes, for it mirrored her own. She saw him watch her with Ron, angry and betrayed. Sometimes, she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to ask why did she have to be alone if he did want her. She wanted shake him and hit him and just—

She just didn't want to play those cruel games.

She was hurting enough.

She glanced down at her hand, pale with a vicious scar from her fall etched across her palm. Her ring was intact, she mused bitterly. She struggled to fight the disappointment at the one thing that seemed to remain constant.

Her father had taken Ron into downtown London, searching for her ring. Ron had said it was the first time he had ever felt like he was doing something utterly significant. Yet instead of being happy when he slipped the beautiful solitaire diamond on her finger, she felt as if she had been locked away in an invisible prison.

She swallowed and pushed herself off the bed; grabbing a sweater that Ginny had lent her. Wrinkling her nose in disgust at the nauseating rose perfume that engulfed her, she turned from the bed and slipped quietly out of the room.

The cold air greeted her, as she was careful to shut the door behind her.

'You have no right to mess with time! You should know that better than anyone!'

The Compound was silent and unmoving, her eyes wandering up and down the empty hallways in her debate of which direction to go. She just wanted a moment. A piece of time where she could sort things out and figure out a way to get them home.

Left. A voice inside of her head prodded her. Wrapping the sweater tightly around her body, she began to walk the empty hallways and was glad for some silence. She was reminded of a prison as she walked. The walls were bare and grey. Each door she passed, which seemingly led to another person's quarters, was black and adorned simply by a rune or two.

She wondered who else was alive.

She wondered how many had died.

She wondered if there was ever a chance.

Hermione didn't know who kissed whom first, but his lips were on hers and her fingers were tangled in his hair. He seemed to hold her as if she were going to disappear.

'Hermione,' he whispered, pressing into her and his fingers trailing underneath her shirt. 'Oh Merlin, Hermione.'

Tears threatened to burn down her cheeks and she seemed to pick up her pace, as if she could walk away from her memories.

Like Harry walked away from her.

I love you.

I can't.

A mistake.

She fumbled blindly, the tears beginning to course down her cheeks and tripped against a door. The door flew open and she fell to her knees, her body shaking with the sobs that were fighting to be released. A cool breeze seemed to wrap around her and she then found herself staring in awe, as one by one the candles in the room seemed to light up.

Her eyes darted around the room, half in fear and half in unquestionable shock. This is my room, she realized. She recognized the collection of Muggle literature that lined a small bookshelf in the corner. Austen. The Bronte sisters. Dickens. Books her parents had given her for birthdays and Christmas celebrations. She recognized books that she had purchased in Hogsmeade and some of her old school books that she couldn't bring herself to get rid of.

Next to the shelf was a mahogany writing desk, covered with quills and scattered pieces of parchment. Several stacks of books were piled high in the corner of the desk as well as on the floor, leaning against the side. She recognized maps of London taped to the side of the wall. She saw postcards from the Art museum and from the history museum.

The walls were a faded blue, paint peeling from the fringes. She could make out some gold in some corners. Her eyes flew to the bed, the sheets skewed and twisted. She recognized an old Cannon's t-shirt.

Then she saw it.

Forcing herself to stand, she walked towards the wood nightstand by the bed. Her hands shook violently as she was careful not to disturb anything else in the room. I shouldn't be here, she thought. I shouldn't be here. I should turn around.

On the nightstand lay a journal and a few scattered pieces of jewelry. She picked up a necklace that her mother had given her for her sixteenth birthday. There was a pair of earrings that lay skewed to the side. Her grandmother Marie had given them to her before she died.

And her engagement ring.

She forced herself to swallow the bile that threatened to escape her lips.

With shaking hands, she picked up the journal and opened it.

'Everyone needs a journal,' her father told her, kissing her on the forehead. He smiled at her. 'Consider it a sort of therapy.'

She laughed. 'Are you trying to tell me something?'

The pages were fringed and covered in blood, causing a chill to creep down her spinning. Had someone pulled this out of the fire? She wondered, remembering the scene at the castle Harry and her had been brought to. She flipped idly, page-by-page, and noticed that some pages seemed to be missing— especially more towards the end, as if someone had gone through and ripped them out.

The smell of rotting human flesh still lingered in the back of her mind.

She tried to focus and read, but the words seemed to blur together. There were scattered inkblots and words that seemed to have been burned off. She slid to the floor, turning page after page with a shaking hand.

Harry kissed me today.

She froze and could not will herself to turn to the next page.

Harry kissed me today and somehow, I was reverted back to that shy and insecure eighteen year old that I was my last year of Hogwarts.

It was a terrible kiss. Very awkward as if we were two parts of a whole that were trying to fit together and shouldn't.

But he kissed me.

And I kissed him back.

I kissed him back and I felt alive.

'Oh Merlin,' she whispered, her voice echoing through the room.

She turned to the next page, the desire to know more overpowering her rationality.

Harry took my engagement ring off my finger tonight.

'It doesn't belong there,' he whispered as he slipped my shirt of my shoulders. His lips pressed against my throat and his touch seemed to burn me.

'It doesn't belong there,' he continued, my jeans following my shirt and landing in the pile of our clothes. The battle today had been terrible. We had lost a significant amount of people, Dumbledore's plan to move the students had failed and we had lost both Molly and Arthur Weasley.

I should have been with Ron.

I should have been grieving.

But Harry was on his knees and his hands were pressing against the insides of my thighs and soon— oh Merlin— his tongue was against my clit and I was trying not to fall.

The journal fells from her fingers with a quiet thump, tears trickling down her cheeks and soft sobs escaping her lips.

That's why the spell worked, she realized.

She didn't need to read on to understand what had happened between her and Harry here. They had been seeing each other behind Ron's back. And Ron— flashes of his face began to assault her— although cold and hard, didn't know a thing.

Hermione forced herself to stand, grabbing the journal so that she could return it to the top of the nightstand. She forced her heart to steady, so that she could return to her room intact.

I should have been with Ron.

Was fate so cruel? Was this some vicious cycle that Harry and her seemed to partial to? Could they no longer hurt each other so they moved to hurting the people that loved them?

I should have been with Ron.

She needed to get out.

Dropping the journal back where she found it, she weaved through the room on shaky legs. Cold fingers wrapped around her wrist and she was yanked backwards, stumbling against the wall to steady her balance.

'Who the fuck are you?'

Her eyes went wide and she turned around to make an apology to the person who had discovered her. Her hands flew up to her mouth in mixed horror and relief as she recognized the person in front of her.

'Neville,' she whispered, her lips quivering.

Gone was the boy that had listened to her without fail during their years at Hogwarts, instead, before her stood a man with vicious eyes and a patch over one of his them covered in blood and grime.

'Oh fuck,' he breathed. 'Oh fuck, it is true.'

Hermione found herself crushed in his embrace, her hands gripping his shirt to hold herself steady. A hysterical sob escaped her lips.

'Neville...' She couldn't bring herself to say anything else.

He pulled back, his hands gripping her arms tightly. He studied her silently as if he were looking for signs of an imposter. Her eyes studied him from the harsh contours of his face to the tattoo that peeked from under his short sleeve t-shirt.

'The spell worked then,' he murmured.

She nodded and couldn't bring herself to say anything, her eyes glued to his tattoo. It was a drawing of Excalibur, she realized with wide eyes. She couldn't help herself— whether it was to make sure he was real or not— and reached out and touched the vines that wrapped around the sword. He was watching her, she realized as she looked up. A ghost of a smile fitted across his lips.

'You gave me the idea.'

'I did?' She whispered.

He nodded. 'Harry and I got drunk off our arses one night and dragged you to a place in London. You were so angry,' he said with a fond laugh. 'Harry and I both got one and it took us an hour to convince you to get one too. Ron didn't speak to any of us for week after that.'

Her heart broke at the look of nostalgia in his eyes. Neville had always been a good friend to both Harry and her. He was always willing to listen and kept her company some nights in the library when she had to study late.

'It's strange, you know. Seeing you like this. I—' He shook his head. 'How the hell did you manage to find this room?'

She trembled, remembering the strange urge to come in this direction. 'I don't know. I was looking for a place to sit and be alone. I couldn't breathe in the room they put me in.'

'Weasley told me that you guys were here. How's Potter?'

'Lost,' she admitted, strangely comforted by the fact that Neville wasn't treating her like a fragile piece of glass or some potion's experiment. 'Scared. Confused. We both are.'

'So the spell work,' he said, more to himself than her. He reached forward and brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ears. 'You do know why you're here?'

Her eyes closed.

She did, that much was obvious. And the situation here was dire, what they had stumbled upon was evident of enough. It was the circumstances that led to this that ate away at her. She looked up.

'Did...?'

Neville chuckled. 'Yeah. You used to tell me that Harry came around a year too late.'

Her face fell. 'Did anyone else know?'

Neville shook his head. 'Yes,' he murmured. 'I knew and from what you told me, Albus knew and Susie knew.'

'Susie?'

Neville's eyes darkened. 'Susan Bones. My wife. She died in the fire at Hogwarts.'

'Merlin,' she whispered. 'Neville, I'm sorry I—'

He shook his head. 'No,' he murmured. 'You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn't kill her. You didn't lead us into the castle and leave us there unprotected. That was all Weasley.'

She shivered at the way Neville spoke Ron's name. There was such a level disgust that it broke her heart. This was what the war was going to do to them.

That is if Harry and her ever made it back to their time.

'So we,' she paused and corrected herself. 'You and me were close?'

'Yes,' he replied. 'Potter pretty much kept to himself. We were friends once, but this war changed a lot of that. And when Albus died, it was as if his burden grew. Every once in awhile, especially when the two of you were together, shades of the old Harry would come out.'

'Were we having an affair?' She blurted out, the words finally escaping from her lips.

'You could never stay away from each other,' he recounted fondly. His expression darkened. 'He fought. You tried to hide it. Weasley was too stupid and too far in his own involvement in this war to notice. At one point, you were destroying each other. He was punishing you for being with Ron and you were punishing him for hurting you. No matter how hard you and him tried to avoid it, was inevitable.'

'So you helped us,' she concluded, her surprise written clearly on her face.

Neville shrugged. 'I didn't do it for Potter. I did it for you. You became my family. After my Gran was killed, you'd sit with me for hours. You made sure that I was comfortable and okay.'

He smiled wistfully. 'You and Susie saved my life.'

The information became a burden of bricks. 'Oh Merlin.'

'You were going to break off your engagement before Harry died,' he murmured. 'The two of you came to the conclusion that you had spent all those years lying to each other, that there was no point in continuing.'

'Except Harry— Harry—'

'Died,' he finished for her. 'Malfoy killed him. Took a knife and slit his throat open. And you killed Malfoy.'

He shook his head. 'You spent hours torturing him with Crucio and then finished it with the Killing Curse. You finished the last few lines of the spell that night, as if you knew you were going to die.'

She began to shake. None of the Unforgivable curses were performed effectively without an intense hatred. Harry and Ron had always said that she could never bring herself to do it. Her heart was far too big.

It frightened her to know what she had become.

'What the fuck are you doing in this room, Longbottom?' She stiffened at the sound of Ron's hard voice.

Neville's grip loosened and his arms fell back at his side. She watched with an immense sadness, as his eyes seemed to darken at the invasion of Ron in their conversation.

'I was talking to Hermione,' he murmured. 'You know, explain things that you had obviously forgot to mention. We were just going to head back to her rooms. Can never be too careful, you know? Someone might be killed.'

Ron stepped into the room and the air seemed to chill at his presence. Gone were the gray robes he wore when he had rescued Harry and her from Hogwarts, he wore black pants and white t-shirt. The scar on his face seemed to mock her as he entered the room and stepped closer.

'Ron seems to be a nice boy,' her father murmured.

She sighed, staring at the brand new ring on her finger. 'Daddy, I don't want to have this conversation.'

Her father sat on the bed beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulder. 'Darling girl, everyone is afraid of loneliness. It is what makes us human. But it is even lonelier to force company upon yourself.'

Ron's eyes darkened. 'I'll take her back to her rooms, Longbotton. You need to take care of the inventory.'

Neville raised an eyebrow. 'Finished it two weeks ago. It's on your desk.'

'Don't make me pull rank, Longbottom,' Ron warned.

Neville sighed in defeat and brushed a kiss on her forehead. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, 'We'll talk some more later. There is a lot you need to know.'

Hermione nodded and wrapped her arms around herself, watching as Neville headed out the room and flicked Ron off in an obvious disrespect of the other man's authority.

There is a lot you need to know.

She shook her head, biting her lip painfully. There was too much she needed to know. Some of it, things she knew that would break her heart.

'Couldn't sleep?' Ron asked stepping into the room and closer towards her.

'No,' she murmured. 'I'm sorry. I just got— I was lost and I found this...'

He shrugged. 'I closed it off after you died. Your mom made me promise that we'd have separate rooms until after the wedding. My mother was completely for the idea, although we did share quarters in Hogwarts. This is the first time I've really seen the inside of your room.'

Her eyes went wide. He had never seen the inside of her room? He had spent a lot of time in her rooms as Head Girl in Hogwarts, she remembered with a blush. Although they had never gotten as far as he had liked, they had shared a bed. Ron gave her comfort she had been seeking. Away from Harry. Away from the pain. Away from the memories of the one thing she could never have.

Ron had given her a false hope.

Her lips were trembling as she recognized the look in his eyes. As much as he looked like he was trying to hide it, she could see a sliver of hope. She knew he was expecting to hear her say that she was in love and loyal to him. She knew he wanted a reunion.

'I think this is some sort of punishment,' he whispered, he reached for a strand of her hair and wrapped around his finger and brought to his lips. 'Someone's mocking me.'

She swallowed and offered the only comfort she could give. 'I'm sorry for your loss.'

Her answer made her want to laugh. She was offering sympathy for her own death to a man that she should have known— she knew—

He laughed, a hoarse and hollow sound. 'It's okay. I can't imagine how strange this is for you.'

She smiled bitterly, the curve of her lips sending a painful ache through her nerves. She eased away from his partial embrace. 'I'm all right.'

His eyes seemed to darken. 'Let's get you out of here. How did you come this way?'

'I got lost,' she repeated, lying.

Ron seemed to believe her and nodded. 'I tried sealing her— your rooms— but my girl was always one step ahead of me. Ginny tried to go get some clothes for the funeral, but the door was sealed shut. It burned Ginny every time she tried to open the door.'

She shuddered at Ron's use of my girl. She had always hated when he used any word that would indicate a possession of her. She wasn't his girl, a small voice in the back of her head seemed to say. She was far from it.

'I haven't seen you this lost in a long time,' Ron murmured, startling her out of her thoughts. 'Not since your parents were killed.'

Her eyes closed. Perhaps, it was being in her room or the countless revelations she was being exposed to. But suddenly, she wanted to go back— back to Harry and the comfort, both painful and real that he offered. Harry understood. Not Ron. Not Neville. Certainly not Ginny, who Ron seemed to throw at her at every chance he got.

'We're going to be sisters!' The small redhead threw her arms around her neck.

Hermione forced a smile on her face and returned the hug, listening to the younger girl blubber in excitement.

'Everything is as it should be. You and Ron. And soon,' she said with a blush. 'Me and Harry.'

Hermione never wanted to hit someone so much as she wanted to right now.

'I can't wait,' she murmured.

'Let's go,' Ron continued offering his hand. 'We'll go get you something to drink and then I'll take you to your rooms. It's been a long day. You need your rest.'

Staring blankly at his offered hand, she forced herself to take it.

'I'll take care of you,' Ron whispered in her hair.

His arms felt like bricks and his breath made her nauseous. This is wrong, her heart screamed. Leave. Go. Don't do this.

'I'll make sure you'll forget him. We'll be happy.'

She took his hand.

It was the only thing she could do.

4. A Web of Lies

A/N: Thanks for everyone’s feedback and encouragement. We really appreciate the reviews. As a bit of a clarifying point, Harry and Hermione have, essentially, been pulled about two and half years into the future. So that’s why they have no memories of what happened to them in those couple of years. Other than that, we know you’re confused, but we hope you’ll stay with us.

Chapter Three

This is a forgery, this is a forgery
Every single word is plagiarized.
Copied twice and thrice inscribed
This is a forgery

- This is a Forgery, Dashboard Confessional

He was in an ornately decorated room. Silk drapes, lavish pictures on the walls, Persian carpet. It was a symbol of wealth, of power.

He was proud of it.

Bowing at his feet was a small, lump of a thing… what used to be a man.

If he could even be called that much.

“Get up,” he snarled.

The trembling lump rose. “Yes… yes, my Lord.”

Disgust rose in him. He was tired of dealing with such waste.

He went to the window, pleasure rising in him. Here it was, everything he’d envisioned for himself when he was only a boy and had barely grasped the reaches of his power.

The Mudbloods. The Muggles. Anyone that dared stand against him.

Now his.

For there were things worse than death.

He made sure of it.

This was his world now. The Rebel camp led by Weasley would not last much longer.

Especially not when he had his weapon on the inside. A beautifully, well developed weapon—fooling them all.

“Wormtail… it would be unacceptable for me to lose now.”

“Impossible, my Lord. This world belongs to you. The Rebels—more are falling at your feet every day.”

“Idiot,” he snapped. “Nothing is for certain. Do you think that I got where I am without sacrifice?”

“Of—of course not.”

“No—I have shed blood. I have faced pain and torment that would have destroyed thousands of other men.”

“Yes, yes, you have my Lord… you have faced multitudes of hardships, you have—”

“Potter,” he spat out, ending Wormtail’s useless drivel. “Potter’s alive.”

***

Harry jerked awake, his forehead burning in pain. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took several deep breaths as he waited for the pain to subside.

Lingering emotions dueled inside him. Anger, determination, pleasure at the suffering he caused….

Sitting up, Harry grit his teeth until the room slid until a dull focus.

He was alone.

For a moment, he felt a gnawing despair. Alone when he still felt Voldemort clinging to him. Alone when he most needed…

Hermione.

He got up, still feeling shaky. He splashed cool water on his face from the basin, blinking the water out of his eyes. The pain from his scar was gone, leaving a dull headache in its wake. Chilled, he sat back on the bed, feeling exhausted despite having just woken up.

If possible, the room looked even smaller and more oppressive. There were no windows, and Harry missed the way the sun would stream into his dormitory in the morning. He didn’t even know what time it was.

Not that it mattered. He suspected that time of day held very little meaning in this world.

He couldn’t believe that he was only two years in the future. If he were still back at Hogwarts, he would have only had a few short months before losing to Voldemort.

There was a whoosh of noise and the door slid open. Harry looked up, relieved to see Hermione.

“Hi,” he said. His stomach sunk when Ron came in behind her.

“Potter,” he greeted, eyes lingering on him. “Funny seeing you here. Spend the night?”

We are not friends.

Harry swallowed. “Er…”

“Yes, he did, Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “It’s probably for the best—saves me time having to track him down. There’s something you both need to know.”

Hermione looked a little weary and Harry wondered how long she’d been up. She looked tired, dark circles hung under her eyes, her Hogwarts robes were dirty and rumpled, and her hair was a tangled mess. He couldn’t imagine that he looked any better. She sat down next to him and Harry froze. He could still remember what it had felt like to sleep next to her, aware of every breath she took, but the awkwardness resting as a barrier between them.

“Neville’s alive,” she said without preamble.

“Neville’s… what?” Harry said.

“Alive,” Hermione repeated. “I talked to him.”

“Alive?” Harry croaked.

She nodded. “He’s… oh, he’s so different, Harry. He—he has a tattoo and—”

“I don’t trust him,” Ron broke in.

Hermione set her jaw. “He seemed perfectly fine to me.”

Ron looked unimpressed. He shut the door before turning back to face them.

“Listen,” Ron said. “What I’m about to tell you… no one else can know.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.

“Obviously,” Ron said, beginning to pace in front of them. “This… experience has not been easy on either of you. I understand that. I understand that you’re in a world that you don’t know.”

We are not friends.

“Wow, Ron, good job,” Harry said. “You’re powers of reasoning are astounding.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Ron snapped. “I’m doing my best here, alright?” Ron shook his head. “I’m not meant for this, you know. Leading people.” He gave a strained sort of smile that was nearly a grimace. “This is… this was your job. Every bloody decision that I make ends up being a fuck up of epic proportions. You were always better at this leading stuff than me.”

Ron scowled when he finished and then looked at Harry, as if daring him to say something biting.

Harry couldn’t help the stirrings of pity he felt for his best friend. He felt as though he was beginning to understand the man—the stranger—in front of him.

Ron didn’t hate him.

Ron wanted to hate him, Ron wanted to pretend that they weren’t friends but Harry was beginning to suspect he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Looking at Ron, Harry could see—and understand—what it must have been like for him after he and Hermione died.

Harry couldn’t imagine having to go on living if he lost Ron and Hermione.

“Ron…”

“I don’t want your pity, Hermione,” Ron said, clenching his jaw. “I don’t want—things are what they are. And we can’t change them.”

Whatever emotion Ron might have shown was completely covered up. The scar seemed to stand out on his skin, giving him a rough, hardened appearance.

“We have a mole.”

Harry stared and Hermione gasped. “A… excuse me?”

“A mole, you daft git. A traitor. Someone working for the other side. Whoever it was fucked up our evacuation of Hogwarts.” Ron’s eyes slid over to Hermione. “And we’re nearly certain that the same person was responsible for Hermione’s death.”

“Killed Hermione?” Harry said sharply. “You’re telling me that the person who murdered Hermione is running around among us? And you have no idea who it is?”

“Good to see you playing the part of the concerned best friend,” Ron said bitterly. “And I have my suspicions as to who it is.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “No.”

Ron stared back at her. “You have to admit, it’s awfully suspicious. He was the one that found your body.”

“They killed his wife, Ron,” Hermione said. “How can you possibly accuse him of joining Voldemort after that?”

Ron shrugged. “I’ll tell you this much, Hermione, I don’t trust him. And you shouldn’t either. For all you know, he could be the man that killed you.”

Hermione stood up. “Then why aren’t I already dead? He had his chance!”

“Whoever the mole is, he’s smart,” Ron said. “He’s eluded us this far… he fooled both of you while you were still alive. He’s good. He waits for his moment.”

“You don’t have any proof,” Hermione whispered.

“No, I don’t,” Ron said. “I’m at a loss, okay? All I know is that someone here is working for the other side. Someone in the inner circle. We can trust no one. Do you understand that?”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. Harry’s head was swimming with all the information he was trying to take in.

“The weapon,” he blurted.

Ron and Hermione turned to stare at him.

“I, err… I had a dream,” Harry explained. “About Voldemort. He was… he called the mole ‘his weapon.’”

Ron went deathly still. “A dream?”

“Yeah, I reckon… Voldemort knows I’m alive.”

“What?”

“Voldemort knows I’m—”

“Bloody hell!” Ron said. “You… you… what the fuck happened to taking Occlumency?”

“My connection to Voldemort isn’t something you can just turn off,” Harry said irritably. “He was bound to find out one way or another—especially if he has a spy in the Compound.”

“It puts him one more step head of us,” Ron mumbled. “It doesn’t matter what we do. He’s still one step ahead. Always one bloody step ahead.”

“It goes two ways,” Harry said sharply. “What aren’t you telling us, Ron?”

Hermione glanced over. “Harry, what’s—”

“Come on, Ron,” Harry said. “Not everyone is dead, are they? At least—not as many as you led me to believe.”

“They may as well be.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not!” Harry said. “And you—you’ve just left them there to rot!”

“They’re gone, Potter. A rescue mission, it’s suicide. There’s a point when you have to stop and look out for the people you have left.”

“You never give up hope, Ron… you never… those people are alive!” Harry broke off, remembering the pleasure he’d experienced at the suffering.

Hermione covered her mouth. “He’s—he’s… Voldemort’s keeping…”

“People, yeah,” Harry said. “Hundreds of witches and wizards he’s captured. For fun. For amusement.”

“He gets off on it,” Ron said. “He feeds on their pain.” He looked at Harry. “These people will only go free when Voldemort is dead. Do you understand that?”

Harry nodded, though his stomach revolted at the idea. Ever since fifth-year he’d known that it would eventually come down to his final fight with Voldemort. But now there was a sense of urgency to it—hundreds of lives rested in the balance.

If he lost…

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah, it is,” Ron said, without sympathy.

“I’ll fight him,” Harry said, not feeling very brave. “But I can’t… I lost when I had years more of experience. I don’t—I can’t promise anything.”

“You better win,” Ron said quietly. “Or else this—this whole thing will be for nothing.”

Silence fell upon them. Harry remembered days with the three of them—alone, together—just like this. Days when they would laugh and play chess and Ron and Hermione would bicker. Not this silence.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Ron heaved a giant sigh.

“Look, I know you need time to settle in, but you two… you’re the only people I trust with this information.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Because things always come down to the three of us,” Ron said simply. “One way or another.”

***

Over the next couple of days, Harry learned bits and pieces of what life had been like for his other self. He commanded a good amount of respect, fear, and awe from others and it was obvious that he’d filled the role of leader after Voldemort killed Dumbledore.

He grew used to the dull gray colours and the solemn faces of the people around him. He learned to barter for food and supplies in the open hall. He met several leaders of the Resistance—all of whom treated him as their superior.

He understood that when they went off to take the fight to the Death Eater’s, most never returned.

He learned that Severus Snape was still alive and active as a spy. He dealt directly with Ron—much to both their distastes.

He discovered that Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Luna Lovegood were among those that Voldemort held captive.

But he couldn’t fight against the doubt in his mind. The fear that he was horribly inadequate. The entire wizarding world was depending on him—for their lives, for their futures. Everything boiled down to his ability to kill Voldemort—and Harry had no idea how to accomplish that.

“Once you win, we can go home,” Hermione said, face pleading with him to agree with her.

“I don’t feel very strong, Hermione,” he admitted—unable to take the pressure from her as well. “I—I don’t know how to win this.”

“I’ll help, I’ll do whatever it takes… you’re not alone, Harry. I promise. We’ll do this together and we’ll get home together.”

Harry felt a rush of relief. He looked into her face and felt a sense of… partnership. For the first time, his responsibility seemed lighter.

“Together?”

She nodded. “We’ll get back home—we must. I don’t understand what happened to us in this place. I need to believe that I can set things right.”

“So this… this was my room?” Harry asked, glancing around him. “Seems pretty empty.”

Ginny shrugged. “You never were much of a collector.”

Harry entered the—his—quarters slowly, feeling as if he was intruding. Ginny waited patiently in the doorway.

There was nothing in the room that called out to him or reminded him of himself. White walls. Cold wood floor. A single bed with a frayed cover and a small pillow. There was as desk in the corner. On it he found a map of the Compound. A field report. A list of names he didn’t recognize.

He felt like he was in a stranger’s room.

Desperate for some kind of connection with his other self, Harry opened the closet and exhaled in relief.

His Firebolt. Old school uniforms. There was a cardboard box on the floor. Harry bend down and removed the lid, the contents tugging at his heart.

His Broomstick Servicing Kit. Photos of his parents. The quill Hermione had given him in second year. The two way mirror from Sirius. He shuffled around in the box, pausing on a worn sheet of parchment.

His diploma from Hogwarts.

I, Albus Dumbledore, hereby declare that Harry James Potter has successfully completed seven year of training at the Hogwarts Schools of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

Quickly, Harry shoved the diploma back in the box, throat burning. He fingers brushed another slip of paper and he pulled it out, frowning. It was a note.

Harry,

I wish I could say I’m sorry for what happened between us last night.

But I can’t lie.

I hope this gets to you… I want you to know, I don’t care anymore. Not about Ron—none of it. What happened… it was right. I know you felt it too.

Waiting for you,

Hermione

“You charmed the closet, you know.”

Harry jumped, thrusting the note back in the box. Getting up, he made sure to shut the closet door before turning.

“Pardon?”

Ginny smiled. “The closet—where you kept everything that was important to you. You always said you didn’t care about who snuck in your room, as long as they couldn’t get the closet open. As far as I know, you’re the only person who can open it.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well—that sounds quite paranoid of me.”

Ginny shook her head. “Harry Potter and his secrets. I sometimes wished I was able to read your mind.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “My mind’s a rather boring place.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Ginny replied. She gave him a long look, as thought struggling with herself. “Harry, I want… there’s something I want to ask you very badly. But I… I don’t know if it’s appropriate… I understand how hard this—Oh—”

To Harry’s horror, Ginny’s eyes filled and she turned away from him. Shoulders shaking, he heard her trying to collect herself.

“Ginny?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning back around and wiping at her eyes. “It’s just—you can’t understand what it’s like for me to see you like this.”

“What—what do you mean?”

“Oh, Harry…” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’m sorry—I wish I was stronger than this.”

Harry felt horribly guilty for the look of pain on her face. Feeling awkward, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Her bottom lip trembled and she looked up at him, eyes wide and bright. “I’m alright,” she said, voice trembling.

“You don’t look alright. You can tell me, Ginny, whatever it is…”

She sniffed and, before Harry had finished getting the words out, threw her arms around him, breaking down in earnest. Her arms gripped the back of his neck and he could feel her warm tears soaking through his shirt. Forcibly reminded of Cho back in fifth year, Harry patted Ginny on the back, feeling completely useless.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, Ginny… I’m sorry.”

Her sobs quieted, but she didn’t move away from him. Harry swallowed, suddenly aware of how closely pressed up against him she was. She lifted her head up and he looked down into her eyes. They were red with her tears, making her look open and vulnerable.

“Ginny?” he managed.

His voice seemed to snap her to attention. She pulled way, looking horrified.

“Oh, no!” she said. “I didn’t… you shouldn’t have… I’m so awful!”

Harry took a deep breath to steady himself. “Of course you’re not awful.”

For a moment, Harry was afraid that Ginny was going to burst into tears again. “You must be so confused,” she said, her voice choked from her tears. “I should never have lost control like that.”

“It’s alright, Ginny,” he said. “I just wish you would tell me what’s wrong.”

She hung her head and hugged her arms to her chest. “Harry, before you died… we were…”

“We were what?” Harry prodded, his mouth feeling very dry.

She gave him another anguished look. “We were involved.”

Harry stared. “We were… what?”

She bit her lip. “We were in love.”

Harry felt himself grow cold. He thought of the note from Hermione.

“We were… you and me… we were together?”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to tell you. I’m not strong enough, Harry. Seeing you here… it’s so hard. I miss you so much.”

We were in love.

Harry had no idea what to say. He felt terribly confused. The note, the spell… it seemed to contradict what Ginny was saying.

We were in love.

Ginny looked up, eyes pleading. “You don’t… I don’t suppose you see me that way yet, do you?”

Harry couldn’t look at her any longer. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ginny.”

“It’s fine,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Thank you for being so… you.” She took a breath. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to smile.

Ginny gave him another pained look before bolting from the room.

We were in love.

***

A half hour later, Harry found himself standing outside of Hermione’s door. She’d moved into her other self’s quarters, a move that had prompted Harry to ask after his.

Harry took a breath and knocked.

He needed answers.

Hermione opened the door, eyes lighting up when she saw him. Harry felt a twinge of guilt, feeling like he’d been horribly disloyal to her.

Ridiculous, he thought. I don’t love Ginny. I’m not with Ginny. And, besides, she’s engaged to Ron. I didn’t do anything wrong.

He pushed his guilt off to the side. I need answers.

“I’m ready to talk to Neville.”

***

It was something Harry had been avoiding. After everything with Ron, Harry wasn’t certain he could bear another one of his Hogwarts’ friends calling him “Potter” and looking at him in apathy. Ron’s warning had only made him more reluctant.

He paced the inside of Hermione’s quarters, waiting for her to come with Neville. He resisted the urge he felt to look through her things. Hermione was trusting him.

Not that these things truly belonged to her. They were her other self’s. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d discovered any notes that he’d written her…

We were in love.

The guilt came flooding back.

We were involved.

Movement caused him to look up. Hermione had come back, Neville with her.

Neville Longbottom.

Only he didn’t look like the Neville that Harry knew from school. That Neville was a fumbling, round boy who was constantly misplacing important things.

This Neville was full of confidence. Power. This Neville had control.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to let on to the intimidation he felt. His eyes were drawn to the tattoo plainly visible on Neville’s arm.

It reminded him of the Dark Mark.

I don’t trust him.

Neville smiled wryly. “You summoned me, Potter?”

“Er… no, course not,” Harry said quickly. “Well—sort of. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”

Neville seemed to relax. “Alright,” he said. “That’s understandable—Weasley was never much good at making things clear.”

“He’s doing his best,” Hermione said.

Neville snorted. “Then Weasley’s ‘best’ is a piss poor job.”

Harry silently agreed, but the part of him that was still loyal to Ron forced him to keep his mouth shut.

“So,” Neville said. “What’s going on?”

Harry flushed. He very carefully avoided looking at Hermione. “Er… I, um… I was talking to Ginny. And she, er… she said…” Harry swallowed, cheeks heating up. “Before my other self died… was he—I—er… involved with Ginny?”

Neville grinned, looking somewhat amused. “What did she tell you?”

“That we were… that we—that—that—will you just answer to the question?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Hermione had gone absolutely still. “You were with Ginny?”

“No!” Harry said quickly. “Well… maybe… I don’t know!”

“Ginny Weasley,” Neville said. “Is a lying bitch.”

Stunned silence met his words.

Hermione’s hands were fisted together, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. “So she and Harry weren’t… together?”

Harry’s heart was beating very fast and he looked at Neville for the answer.

We were in love.

Neville let out an ironic snort. “I assure you, it wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. But, no, they were never together in the way Harry means.”

“In the way I mean?” Harry asked, half in dread.

“You shagged,” Neville said bluntly.

“What?” Harry and Hermione said in unison.

Neville’s eyes were apologetic. “Once, you two shagged once.”

“Once?” Harry repeated, slightly relieved.

“That I know of,” Neville said.

“Why?”

“You’d know the answer to that better than me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione broke in coolly. “Ginny’s a very attractive woman. It’s not like you were tied to anyone, Harry. I don’t see why this is such a surprise, frankly.”

She’s hurt, Harry thought to himself.

And some part of him felt a twinge of triumph for her pain… the part of him that wanted her to suffer like he did every time he saw Ron’s ring on her finger.

“We both know exactly why this is a surprise,” Harry said calmly, finding her eyes.

The spell only works with two people. Two people with a connection.

A faint blush rose in her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re taking about.”

“You’re jealous,” Harry explained simply. “And don’t tell me you aren’t—I have enough experience with it to know what it looks like.”

“I just don’t understand,” she said. “Why would Ginny lie about something like this?”

“Because,” Neville said, with some disgust. “Ginny Weasley was always a bit of a thick bitch. Because she knows Harry’s vulnerable. Because it was never just ‘a shag’ to her—that’s why.”

Harry felt sick. “That… doesn’t sound like me,” he mumbled.

He couldn’t take their stares any longer. He didn’t want to see the hurt in Hermione’s eyes or the slight challenge in Neville’s. He turned away and his eyes landed on Hermione’s bookshelf as a distraction. The Brontë sisters. Jane Austen. Books that belonged to a Hermione he never met.

But a Hermione he’d set out to hurt when he shagged Ginny.

“I used her,” Harry said softly. “Ginny. I used her.”

“Yeah, well, don’t beat yourself up about it, Potter. She wasn’t exactly unwilling.”

“It wasn’t you,” Hermione said. “Harry… it wasn’t you. We must remember that. Whoever we were… we’re not responsible for what they did.”

“We just have to pay for it,” Harry muttered. “I used her.”

“Look, Potter,” Neville said. “I don’t know exactly what happened, I wasn’t with the two of you when this went down—thank Merlin. But I will tell you that if there’s one thing Ginny is excellent at, it’s manipulation. You can’t change the past. Especially a past you have no part of.”

“But—but it doesn’t make any sense,” he said, voice rising. “Why would Ginny lie to me about something like this? She… you didn’t see her… she was so… so… sincere!”

“It’s tough, Harry,” Neville admitted. “I can understand—who can you possibly believe? But I don’t bother with any bullshit. I’m just telling you what I know.”

Startled at hearing his name, Harry turned back around. Neville folded his arms across his chest, leaving his tattoo in plain sight. His eyes were compassionate when he looked at Harry. For the first time, Harry felt like he was looking at the boy he’d known back at Hogwarts.

“Thanks you, Neville,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

Neville grinned. “Nah, no prob. It’s actually really good to see you again, Harry.”

When Neville left, Harry found himself alone with Hermione. He knew they had to talk, but he couldn’t even begin to fathom where to start. She drifted over to the bookshelf, idly flipping through her copy of Pride and Prejudice.

“My mum gave me this for my tenth birthday. I always brought it to Hogwarts with me. I must have read it a hundred times.” She placed the book back on the shelf before turning to him. “How can some things be so much the same and others so different?”

Harry shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

Hermione took a deep breath, as if summoning her courage. “Do you believe what Ginny told you?

We were in love.

“No.”

Hermione bit her lip. “How can you be so sure?”

Harry studied her. The teeth worrying her upper lip, her hands clutched nervously in front of her, her bushy hair—always in constant sate of disarray. But it was something that he’d come to associate as being uniquely Hermione.

Because I love Hermione.

It was the first time Harry had truly been able to admit it to himself. He’s said it aloud, he’d recognized it in some part of himself, he’d heard her say it… but he’d never truly allowed himself to think the words.

I’m in love with Hermione.

Ginny lied to me.

For the first time in days, Harry felt like he was thinking clearly.

I love Hermione.

Feelings that he’d been resisting for years built up inside him. He was filled with the overpowering urge to protect her, love her, make sure he could bring her home, stay with her in this place they didn’t understand.

Instead of answering her question, he closed the distance between them. Her eyelids instinctively fluttered closed and he bent to touch his lips to hers in a feather soft kiss that was barely there at all.

Pulling away, his lips tingling where they’d been pressed against hers.

He wanted more.

The look in her eyes told him she did too.

“That’s why I’m sure,” he said simply.

5. A Web of Fools

Chapter Four

Thought I heard you whispering murder
Thought this witches brew was more than bulletproof
But words are like guns when you shoot the moon
'Cause everybody whispers...

Tori Amos, Witness

"That's why I'm sure."

For a moment, she lost herself in the inexplicable sensations of finally, finally having a chance to be swim in the truth. There was no need for anything... words, phrase, and tiny pushes... but simplicity. It was as it should have always been. They were simple. They were complicated. They were them.

But this wasn't home.

Whatever that meant now.

The truth had finally been exposed...

This wasn't their time.

This was dangerous.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, tingling from the aftermath of his kiss. Her memories screamed for an urgent release of another time, another place where the outcome was far worse than this.

"We can't do this," she murmured. "Not here. We don't know..."

Harry's eyes darkened and she watched as the familiar shadows of anger and guilt began to resume their place over him.

"Don't do this to me, Hermione."

She stepped forward and reached for him, but he swung his arm from out of her reach. She sighed and forced herself into a state of calmness, knowing full well that her role as the rational half had to take precedent over her feelings.

"This is dangerous, Harry."

"What?" He hissed. "Are you afraid of hurting Ron?"

She bit her tongue and forced herself to turn away. He was hurt. He just kissed her. He was hurt and angry.

And she was afraid. Not of hurting Ron. Not of hurting him. She was afraid of getting hurt.

She didn't want to get hurt again.

"No."

Desperation began to gnaw at her. It was as if they were slipping back into the roles they had fashioned for themselves back at home.

The journal beckoned her from the night table.

I spend my nights remembering that day.

I could tell you the exact spot. The color of the sky and of my shirt. I could tell you whether or not his hands were shoved inside his pockets... as always... and how he couldn't meet my eyes.

I could tell you how I couldn't stop crying.

They say love is supposed to be a rollercoaster of emotional ups and downs. They say love is supposed to be the best and worst of times.

But when he told me that he couldn't love me.

I wanted to die.

And I suppose I did some way. I died under a blue, blue sky and with a light breeze. I died with the spring grass brushing under my bare feet. I died on a day where I should have been happy. Horribly poetic moments that belonged to someone who should have been told that her feelings were reciprocated...

But that's not the point.

Harry came to my rooms tonight after Remus was kidnapped, to see if I was okay. He was the one who told me. He came and found me before dinner. He told me because apparently Ron still couldn't muster the balls to come and tell me.

But he came to my roomsÉ and then he kissed me. He kissed me like he did back in sixth year.

And then he left.

My ring has never felt as big as a burden as it did after that moment.

"Take it off."

Ring. Burden.

Harry's low voice startled her out of her thoughts. The journal whispered to her as she stepped forward and grabbed it.

"I can't."

We feed on the danger of our union.

I'm supposed to be the rational one, the sound one. But the pull of the allure is just too strong.

And I'm alive again.

Until he leaves.

The journal sat in her hands like a set of heavy weights. She held it out to him, waiting for him to take it. He stared at her and took it. His gaze was unreadable.

"Read it," she whispered. "Read it and you'll see why we have to be careful."

Ring. Burden. Ring. Burden.

She would never tell him how badly she wanted to take it off.

Not yet.

**

Hermione left him in her rooms, not ready or willing to face him when he was finished reading her future self's journal.

There were things in there that she wasn't ready to face quite yet. She wasn't worried about what lurked behind the words that described daily activities or even the later rendezvous between them. Her demons that lay there would go unrecognized by him as always, but he needed to understand the dangers that they faced.

They were at their strongest together.

They just weren't ready. No matter how much she wanted to give into him; she could not forget the ghosts of their past and the future that seemed to haunt them here.

She wandered down the winding halls and passed the quarters of names she knew, but had yet to meet. Ron had told both Harry and her that the Compound, as small and crowded as it was, was vast in its secret corners and quiet nooks.

People had learned the hard way to not be found unless it was absolutely necessary. Ron himself seemed to fall under this category. He only came about when both Harry and her would take to wandering around, showing them places but never attempting to engage them in any form of conversation. Harry received a huge amount of Ron's anger, while she received the ends of... she had no idea what to call it anymore.

Ring. Burden.

He made sure they knew that they were merely invaders in a time and that they would have to learn how to adapt.

Ginny, on the other hand, was a consistent presence.

Hermione never thought much of the other girl, except as her only companion those long summers at the Burrow or when Harry and Ron were off doing things in Grimmauld Place. But she knew of the other girl's infatuation with Harry. She knew how strong it was and how permanent it became as Molly Weasley continuingly urged her daughter to pursue Harry.

"Everything is as it should be. You and Ron. And soon," she said with a blush. "Me and Harry."

This Ginny looked at her with ill-conceived hate.

A part of her relished in the fact that she could rub it in. Ginny, during their school years, was a sought after female. She spun webs of lies. Sometimes they were terrible lies, part of her ploy to snag boys up like flies. And Harry, Harry who barely batted an eye when it came to the youngest Weasley, only noticed when Ron blew a fuse at Ginny's latest conquest.

There was no doubt in her mind that Ginny had been the one that pushed Ron to propose to her.

Ring. Burden.

Dead.

I died.

She wondered if...

"Well, there you are."

She jumped and spotted a smirking Neville waiting for her at the end of the hallway, near the courtyard entrance. Hermione relaxed at the intrusion of his welcomed presence.

Neville was her familiar face.

I trust him. I don't care if Ron and Harry don't trust him. Neville has been a good and loyal friend.

"Up for a walk to see more of the sights?"

She flashed a small smile. "Sure."

They stepped outside into the harsh sunlight and the usual crowd of people wandering and bartering the street for food.

"I know that face," Neville teased. "That's your I need to solve all the world's problems so I can sleep at night face."

Hermione laughed, startling a few people from their routines to stare at her. She ignored the feelings that came with their recognition of her. While Harry had obviously been revered as some sort of iconic figure, she seemed to garner a bizarre reaction of hope and fear.

"What was I... she like?"

Neville glanced at her curiously. "You've read most of her journal."

She nodded, her mind wandering back to Harry in her rooms. Was he reading it? How was he reacting? Would he understand now?

"I have," she murmured in response. "But what was she like?"

"You," Neville corrected as they passed a fruit vendor, who she recognized as a fifth year Hufflepuff she had tutored her sixth year.

"You were amazing."

"Neville..."

"I'm serious," he cut her off. "You were. Your strategies were flawless. You're the reason why they can't get to the Compound or find it for that matter. The repellents of your wards are vicious. Your security is perfect. And when you fought in battle, you were savagely quiet in mercilessness. You knew and understood things that the rest of us could not comprehend. You did not blink when you killed someoneÉ a far cry from the girl that I knew at school."

She swallowed.

I died.

Leaves.

Alive.

Gone.

Ring. Burden.

"There were days where you were unreachable. You would stay in the library for hours at a time, studying the journals from the old wars and the notes from the reports that Snape had left with you from his spying ventures. Until you and Harry got back together."

Her eyes closed and she pulled her sweater closer. "When Remus was captured."

"Yeah," Neville replied. "You were devastated. Remus seemed to be the only one who could really reach you. Harry was the one who broke the news to youÉ"

He paused, pulling her off to a vendor. She watched silently as he purchased a few scraps of parchment and some more ink. Ron had told them that parchment was scarce after Hogsmeade had been burned down and that the only reason she had access to it was because she had found other sources.

Hermione sighed tiredly, fingering her ring loosely in her hand. There was just too much to take in.

"Anyway," Neville began again. "After that, it seemed like your spark had been returned to you. And Harry was much more pleasant to be around."

And I'm alive again.

Until he leaves.

"And Ron? Did Ron notice?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah. Weasley was too thickheaded to notice. Sometimes I wondered if... You have to understand that before the two of you diedÉ You, Potter, and even bloody Weasley were practically worshiped."

"We were winning."

Neville didn't answer for a while. They passed more stores. Some were in what she could only describe as rundown shacks. Others were large carts filled with an assorted stack of books and things.

"Yeah," he finally answered. "We were winning. Until the rumors of the mole began to surface within the compound."

"A mole, you daft git. A traitor. Someone working for the other side. Whoever it was fucked up our evacuation of Hogwarts." Ron's eyes slid over to Hermione. "And we're nearly certain that the same person was responsible for Hermione's death."

"There were rumors?"

He nodded. "There's always rumors when things go bad, Hermione. It's human nature. It was after Susie was killed... and the very moment that I found your body that I knew they were true."

She stopped.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Ring.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Burden.

Exhale.

"My body," she choked out. Pain began to rise through her body and shoot up her nerves. Her heart was pounding. The ground began to spin.

"Stupid mudblood," Ginny hissed, bringing the knife above her head. She brought it down swiftly. "Stupid, stupid mudblood."

Her ring slipped to the ground with cling. The diamond glistened in the gravel.

"Hey." Neville's hand was warm. "Hey, focus on me."

Hermione forced herself to breathe. "I'm okay," she whispered, her eyes on her fallen ring. "I'm okay."

She let go of Neville and kneeled on the ground. She picked up the ring and weighed it between her hands. Ring. Burden. Burden. Ring. She could feel Neville's eyes on her, waiting to see what she did.

Ring.

Burden.

Ring.

Burden.

And I'm alive again.

Until he leaves.

She put her ring in her pocket and stood up. Feeling lighter, she smiled softly at Neville. "Can we do something?" She asked. "Something that has nothing to do with any of this. Something spontaneous."

Neville watched her silently, but then grinned. "Yeah. There's something we can do."

She followed his gaze that lingered on a small shop at the far end of the Compound, watching as a man stepped out and sat on the stoop of the stairs with his cigarettes.

"Come on," Neville said, dragging her along. "I'll reintroduce you to Zach Smith."

**

An hour later Hermione emerged from Zacharais Smith's shop of horrors, reluctantly reacquainted with her former classmate and with pain screaming in her lower back.

"I can't believe you got me to do this," she said.

Neville snorted. "I can't believe you did this sober. And gave Zach the closest thing he'll ever get to being shagged. Potter'll be jealous."

Her eyes widened as they headed back up the path and through the courtyard. She reached behind her and lifted her shirt, her fingers brushing against the bandage in the center of her lower back.

"I can't believe I just got a tattoo."

It was as if she had entered the shop possessed. The desire to do something that would set her apart from the shadows of who she was in this world had grown to a fever. She had to be known as someone other than her or our hope. Merlin, she mused with a grimace. That hurt.

Neville laughed, linking his arm through hers. "Ah, but it'll be well worth it. Think of it as deflowering your Harry."

"Fuck you, Neville."

He grinned. "There's my girl. So what does it me..."

"You bloody bitch."

Ginny stood before them with wild eyes and her hair dancing in the wind. She looked like a veela preparing to reveal her true face.

"Ginny Weasley," Neville said. "Is a lying bitch."

"You bitch," she spat. "You fucking bitch. You knew he was mine!"

Hermione stepped back beside Neville, feelings of anger and mistrust threatening to spill over. She didn't want to get into a confrontation. Not yet. Not while both she and Harry were still idolized strangers.

"Piss off Weasley," Neville snapped, extending an arm in front of her. "No one needs to her your crazy delusions."

But Ginny paid no attention to him. Her eyes were focused solely on Hermione.

She was surprised at how calm she viewed the other woman. Placing a gentle hand on Neville's arms, she stepped forward to show that she was unwilling to get into something but ready to defend herself.

"I have no idea what you're trying to imply, Ginny," she stated quietly.

A laugh escaped Ginny's lips, laced with madness and a feverish anger. The woman before her, Hermione began to realize, was nothing more than a brilliantly hidden time bomb.

"Oh, you know," she hissed. "You've always known."

Ginny launched forward and hit her, her nails dragging across Hermione's cheek. She stumbled to her knees from the force of Ginny's attack, pressing a cool hand to her cheek.

Acting on pure instinct and the self-defense classes that her mum had forced her to take the summer after her fifth year, Hermione swung her leg around and forced Ginny to fall backwards.

Before she could do anything to retaliate, Neville moved and grabbed Ginny. He pinned her to the wall with her hands above her head. She watched dazedly as Neville glared at the other woman.

"You're a fucking crazy bitch, Weasley."

He turned slightly to her. "All right, Hermione?"

Ginny struggled and Hermione managed to stand again. Her eyes widened at the sight of blood on her hand.

She swallowed. "I..."

"What is going on?"

She whirled around to see Harry standing with the journal clutched in his hands, watching the scene before him with wide and furious eyes.

He moved towards and gently tucked his hand under her chin, examining the angry marks that Ginny's nails raked across her skin. She trembled.

"Are you all right?" He whispered, his gaze lingering on a struggling Ginny being held by Neville.

"I," she began. "I'm fine."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but was cut of by the all too familiar voice of Tonks.

"Well, look hheeere Ronnie!" Her voice slurred. "It's a group partttyyy!"

Ron and Tonks appeared at the opposite end of the hall, stumbling and clutching each other as they made their way towards them. Hermione watched the interaction, lost in her feelings of utter confusion and amusement. If it were a different time, she would have laughed. But the combination of pain in her cheek and back and the shock of Ginny's bizarre attack stifled those feelings.

"Wha... What's going... going on?"

Ginny struggled violently against Neville, twisting and turning in his hold. "She's not wearing your ring, Ron!"

A look of pure hatred and possessiveness seemed to shadow Ron's features. Harry handed her the journal as if he anticipated something and stepped in front of her.

Hermione watched in horror as Ron untangled himself from Tonk's intoxicated embrace and flung himself at Harry.

Ring.

Burden.

And I'm alive again.

Until he leaves.

6. Search for Answers

Chapter five

I can’t take it off.

It needs to come off. We need to put it out in the open. This is wrong, sneaking behind Ron’s back. And I hate the look in Harry’s eyes, every time he sees it.

It needs to come off.

But I can’t get hurt again.

Ron is safe. Ron won’t leave me. And even if he did, he can’t hurt me.

Not like Harry can.

But this—whatever Harry and I have, we can’t go forward until it’s gone.

Hands shaking, Harry turned a few pages in Hermione’s journal. It was singed around the edges, blackened by the fires at Hogwarts. He turned to the back, searching for something that would tell him about their spell (Immortal Beloved).

The last few pages had been torn out, leaving a jagged edge in the journal. Harry stared at them in incomprehension, feeling unsettled.

He leafed through the journal again, the pages crinkling beneath his fingertips. He was eager at this glimpse into Hermione’s mind—not really his Hermione, but Hermione all the same.

We’re going to do the spell.

I brought it up again today—for the third time. The third time and I knew that if he turned me down again I wouldn’t be able to bear it.

But things are different now. He was the one who started things between us. He was the one that kissed me and drew me down into bed, whispers of love and promises in my ear.

He looked at me for a moment before asking what we had to do. No denial, no argument. Just acceptance and trust—the things that made it so this spell could only work for us and us alone.

It’s unpredictable, I told him. There’s no way to be sure of who it will bring back—when it’ll be. We can’t control it perfectly. We can estimate in years, at best.

But it needs to be done. Harry must fight Voldemort. And he will win.

It’ll take at least a month of preparation. I only hope we have that time. It will be a lot of ritual—a lot of sex, something Harry doesn’t seem to have any problems with. We have to forge a connection strong enough to pull both of us here from the past.

Our death will set it into motion. But it won’t work unless we say the words first. It wouldn’t do to die of old age and accidentally cast the spell.

Harry set the journal down, feeling a chill. He looked up, startled to find Ginny’s eyes boring into his from the doorway.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Harry shut the journal, holding it tightly. He felt a surge of protectiveness over it. He had to keep it safe—safe and private.

“Nothing,” Harry said, trying to look innocent.

“You’re in Hermione’s quarters.” Her voice turned colder. “It didn’t mean anything to you, did it?”

“What… what are you talking about?”

“What I told you,” Ginny hissed. “It meant nothing to you. I mean nothing to you.”

Harry was surprised by the venom in her voice, so different from the gentle and lost voice of the girl who’d cried in his arms earlier that day.

Ginny’s eyes grew brighter. “It’s always about Hermione! You two don’t realize what you already have! You don’t need each other.”

“Ginny…”

Fire in her eyes, Ginny whirled around and stalked off. Harry sat in shock, staring at the empty doorway. His mind sluggishly tried to process what had happened. Ginny had been unstable—crazed, almost.

Clutching Hermione’s journal close to his chest, Harry went after her. There was no sight of her and he made his way toward the courtyard, fighting a growing panic.

After that, everything happened so fast.

He saw Hermione first—her cheek cut and bleeding. Some part of him dimly recognized that Neville had Ginny pinned against the wall, but seeing Hermione injured had him momentarily frozen. The weight of the journal in his hands snapped him back to reality.

“What is going on?”

His eyes drifted down, coming to rest on Hermione’s naked finger.

It was gone.

The ring was gone.

Hermione gave him a dazed look and he approached her, gently tilting her chin up to look at her scratched cheek.

“Are you all right?” Harry glanced over at Ginny, still struggling against Neville. There was very little doubt in his mind as to what happened.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said.

Harry opened his mouth to ask her why Ginny would attack her—what had happened, when he was cut off.

"Well, look hheeere Ronnie! It's a group partttyyy!"

It was all happening so fast.

Tonks was unmistakable. The hair—the voice. She was lurching and stumbling towards them, holding onto Ron’s arm for support.

Harry had several seconds to process that she was drunk before he realized that Ron’s eyes were all but burning into him. Harry felt a twinge of foreboding

“Wha…. What’s going on?” Hermione said, sounding dazed.

Ginny nearly wrenched herself free from Neville’s grasp. “She’s not wearing your ring, Ron!”

Harry saw the change in Ron’s eyes. Quickly, Harry thrust the journal into Hermione’s hands before stepping in front of her.

It was all happening so fast.

Ron lunged.

Harry had seen Ron drunk before—twice. The first time on the night before he bought Hermione’s engagement ring. The second, the night she accepted it.

Harry knew exactly how alcohol affected his best friend. It made him impulsive, emotional—he acted without reason and without plan, often forgetting the simple fact that he’d be more dangerous if he used his magical capabilities.

All of which put Harry at the advantage.

He stepped out of the way of Ron’s attack and waited for him to stumble. Harry grabbed the scruff of Ron’s shirt and bodily dragged him away from the courtyard, and back into the privacy of the halls of the Compound. He was unwilling to use magic on him, even as Ron struggled and cursed him. Harry’s mind strayed to Ginny, but he trusted Neville to deal with her.

Harry opened the first available room and shoved Ron inside. He locked the door before whirling around to face Ron, who was panting and red-faced.

“What the fuck was that?” Harry exploded.

Ron looked like he might have a go at him again and Harry took out his wand.

“Don’t even try it,” Harry said. “You know you can’t take me on in this condition.”

“She took it off!” Ron yelled. “And it’s all your fault!”

“You’ve got a problem with me? Fine. But do not make a scene.” Harry shook his head in disgust. “You’re their leader, Ron. These people are looking to you! What the bloody fuck do you think you’re doing getting pissed? How the hell does that boost morale?”

“Oh, bloody hell. I can’t believe you’re lecturing me. Because you’re so perfect. Saint Potter coming—”

“Shut up, Ron,” Harry said. “Shut up before you sound any more like Malfoy.”

Ron’s ears turned red. “Sod off. I don’t want your intervention.”

Harry snorted. “You went and made a complete prat out of yourself.”

“Yeah? Well, you know what? That’s been established—Ron Weasley can’t lead anyone worth a damn.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Don’t.” Ron gave him a challenging look. “Not from you. I don’t want the pep talk from you.”

“Too bad,” Harry said. “You should have thought about that before drowning yourself in whiskey. Honestly, Ron… in the middle of this war. You’ve done loads of stupid things, but this one—”

“Shut your hole!” Ron yelled. He seemed almost as though he was struggling against tears. “I don’t need to listen to this. Not from you!”

“Pull yourself together,” Harry ground out.

Ron stumbled to the wall, where he braced himself up. “She took it off,” he whispered. “She took it off.”

Harry felt a twinge of pity. “Yeah. She did. It can’t be that much of a surprise.”

“Fuck you, Potter.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What is your problem with me, Ron? I didn’t bloody make her take it off! It was her own goddamned choice.”

“My problem?” Ron said, voice rising. “My problem is that you two think I’m too thick to see what’s going on!”

“What are you going on about?”

Ron stared at him for a moment before pulling a worn piece of parchment out of his back pocket. He thrust it at Harry. The parchment was torn and singed on the corners, blackened so that the writing was barely visible.

“What’s this?” Harry said.

“Just read it.”

Harry turned it over, startled to see Hermione’s handwriting.

The missing pages of the journal.

Swallowing, Harry began to read.

This... This is my last entry and I pray- even if that's worth nothing now- that you, Ron, will find this.

I cannot ask you for forgiveness because I would be lying. I cannot ask you to understand because I don't even understand myself. However, I do regret not telling you the truth because it is the truth you at least deserve.

So in my final moments, as the castle burns and the debris falls, I will tell you.

Harry and I- are- were in love.

I know you must hate me at this point, you were always one to jump and not listen, but please, with little time I have, I beg you to hear my story.

We didn't plan it, Ron. Merlin, we'd never to that to you. But things happen- Life happens and maybe, just maybe we were already in love but I never-

Harry and I were working on a way to-

Hermione’s writing became more harried and messy with every word. Harry stared at the last sentence, imagining that it was the last thing she’d written—right before she’d been killed.

Slowly he raised his head from the paper, his insides clenched together. Ron watched him dispassionately, arms folded across his chest.

“How—how did you get this?”

“Longbottom,” said Ron in a clipped tone. “He said he found it by her body, in her journal. The journal itself… Hermione must’ve charmed it. It disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

Ron shrugged. “Longbottom tore out her last entry and then it vanished. She’s brilliant, you know, Hermione. Always was.”

“I know she’s brilliant,” Harry snapped, nettled by Ron’s comment.

“Of course,” Ron said. “You know quite a bit about my fiancée, don’t you?”

“She’s not yours,” Harry said.

“You gave her up!” Ron said. “You turned her down. I was there for her—left to pick up your pieces. And you two betrayed me! You snuck around behind my back!”

Harry’s throat was burning. “It wasn’t right what we did, Ron, I’m not saying it was, but it wasn’t my fault. You can’t keep blaming me for something I haven’t done yet.”

“And how do I know that?” Ron said. “How do I know that you two haven’t started fucking yet?”

Harry flinched. “Careful.”

“And you know what she said to me, Potter?” Ron stalked towards him. His eyes were wild—whether from alcohol or anger, Harry didn’t know. “She told me she wanted to wait until marriage!” He gave a forced laugh. “Yeah, pure, chaste Hermione—wanting to keep her honor until marriage! Unless, of course, it’s you she’s fucking, then she doesn’t seem to have much problem with it.” Every word seemed to make Ron angrier. “She’s nothing but a bloody, lying slut!”

Harry’s ears were buzzing. “Don’t talk about her that way.”

Ron snorted. “You’re pathetically easy to see through, Potter.” He got up into Harry’s face until they were staring eye to eye. Harry could smell the alcohol on his breath. “It’s probably not just you she’s fucking, you know. She seems awfully cozy with Longbottom lately, don’t you think? Pure Hermione Granger—turning into nothing but a common whore—”

Harry punched him.

Ron crumpled to the ground. Harry let out a harsh breath, surprised by his burst of uncontrollable anger. His knuckles throbbed where they’d grazed Ron’s cheek.

Ron was grinning, even as he cradled his wounded cheek. There was a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

Harry turned away—disgusted with himself. He’d let Ron get to him.

He heard Ron stumble to his feet. “Good punch.”

Harry set his jaw. “What do you want, Ron?”

“Damned if I know.” There was a moment of silence before Ron spoke again. “It’s dangerous what you feel for her. Hermione’s your weak spot.”

“Yeah?” Harry said. “Guess that’s something we have in common, then.”

Ron gave him no reaction. There was a large red mark forming on the corner of his jaw. “Guess it is.”

“So,” Harry said, eager to change the subject. “You never told us Tonks was alive.”

Ron smirked. “Fancy that.”

Something in Ron’s smirk had warning bells going off in Harry’s head. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Didn’t seem important.”

Harry felt himself nearing the end of his patience. “Are you going to give me an answer here or not?”

Ron’s smirk grew. “Nymphadora Tonks,” he said, “is going to be your trainer.”

***

I think I’ve lost feeling in my toes. It’s nice. Better than the rest of me.

Harry had been in “training” all day—something Harry suspected Ron had set up to further torture him. He’d refused to give in, and was satisfied to see that Tonks looked almost as tired as he felt. Exhausted when Tonks finally called for a break, he’d dropped into a seat and reached for a water bottle.

Tonks took the seat next to him, breathing hard and a fine sheet of sweat covering her body. She was grinning, much like she’d been all day. It reminded Harry of the Tonks he’d known back at Hogwarts, before he’d been brought to this world.

The training room was nearly devoid of furniture. There was a large mirror on one wall and the floor was covered in a blue mat. Ron had been passing in and out all day to check up on his progress. They were civil to each other, but Harry noticed a strain in his voice when he spoke to Ron, a strain that had never been there before.

Turning to Tonks, Harry made up his mind to ask something he’d long been wondering. “Tell me about the prisoners.”

“The prisoners?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Voldemort’s prisoners.”

Tonks looked alarmed. “You know about them?”

Harry pointed to his forehead. “I’ve seen them.”

“Hmm,” Tonks said. “Truthfully? We don’t know much—no one’s come back from one of his camps.”

“But… we have spies, don’t we?” Harry persisted. “Snape must know what’s going on.”

Tonks was silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “Well, what do you think?”

“I…” Harry trailed off, thrown by the question. “Well… I reckon… the one thing Voldemort wants is power, right? He wants to be in charge… of everyone because he thinks they’re all inferior to him. So I s’pose… I s’pose that—that a world where everyone was dead wouldn’t be much fun, would it? He needs to keep them alive—if only to prove that he rules them. They’re all beneath him, but they’re his. And he—he can do what he wants with them.”

Tonks nodded. “Exactly.”

“In a way,” Harry mused. “It’s just another way of controlling people. Only… he’s brutal, isn’t he? They’re being held against their will and he’s torturing them… starving them. Just because he can.”

“Just because he can,” Tonks repeated, getting a far-off look in her eyes. “Most of us… most of us would rather die than be in one of his camps.”

“We’ll get them back,” Harry said. “A rescue mission… we could organize it. The more people we have, the stronger we’ll be, right?”

“Or the deader we’ll be.”

Harry looked up. Ron was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“I’m sure people would volunteer,” Harry said. “It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

“Hardly,” Ron said. “We can’t afford to lose more people.”

“Harry’s right,” Tonks said quietly. “We need more people, Ron. We’re losing.”

Ron’s eyes flicked over to Tonks. He ran his eyes up her body before coolly settling on her face. “Nymphadora,” he said. “How’s his training going?”

Tonks flushed. “Good. He’s a quick learner.”

“Always was the best of us at learning the dark arts.”

“Defense against the dark arts,” Harry said sharply.

“Right,” Ron said. “Continue, then.”

Ron left. Tonks waited a moment before turning to Harry.

“You’re right,” she said. “We should get a rescue mission going. I’d be more than willing to go.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Me too.”

Tonks stood up and stretched. “Well—I wasn’t lying, you do pick things up quickly. You just need practice.”

“Thanks.” Harry fixed his eyes on hers. “So, how long have you and Ron been shagging?”

The colour drained from Tonks’ face. “What?”

“You and Ron,” said Harry steadily. “You’re shagging. How long?”

Tonks’ eyes hardened. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“Before or after Hermione died?”

Tonks’ hair was turning colours—pink to orange to red.

“You have no right to judge me,” she snapped. “We all knew what you and Hermione were up to.”

“Son of a bitch,” Harry muttered. “Ron was cheating on her.”

Her hair was turning colours faster. Green to brown to purple. “Ron loves her. Or, at least, he thinks he does—and that’s almost more dangerous.”

“He cheated on her,” Harry snapped. “How is that love?”

“It happens,” she hissed. “Times like this, people need something to hold onto. He wasn’t getting any from his own fiancée. He’s a man. And all men are ultimately the same.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t delude yourself,” she said. “You weren’t any better—doing nearly anything that moved. How is the youngest Weasley these days?”

“That…” Harry fought to control his voice. “That wasn’t me.”

Tonks ignored him. “It’s a surprise, really, that Ron lasted as long as he did.”

“Why?” Harry whispered. “Why would you… why?”

“I have needs,” Tonks said, eyes flashing. “He satisfied them.”

Harry was completely stunned.

“Shit happens,” Tonks continued. “And we carry on best we can. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.” She hefted her chin and her hair settled into a fluorescent green. “Your training session is over.”

***

Still in shock, Harry went to find Hermione, sure of one thing.

They had to organize a rescue mission.

He opened the door to her quarters, resolving not to tell her about Tonks and Ron. She didn’t need to know.

She was sitting on her bed, the journal open in her lap. There was still a jagged cut on her cheek—the only evidence of Ginny’s attack. Ginny herself had disappeared.

It was easy to get lost in the Compound.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked up, smiling. “You’re the only one who can come in without knocking, you know. Everyone else needs an invitation.”

Harry felt a jolt of pleasure. “Really?”

“Yes.” She set the journal aside. “It was probably for practical reasons.”

Her face went slightly pink and Harry grinned when he sat next to her.

“Find anything?” he said, nodding to the journal.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “No,” she admitted. “I keep hoping I’ll find another clue—something to help us.”

“I… er… I reckon that it might be a good idea to… to organize a rescue mission.”

“A rescue mission?”

“For Voldemort’s prisoners.” Harry watched her carefully for a reaction. “We need more people in this fight. We need everyone we can get.”

Hermione’s gaze was steady. “You still see them, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I think Voldemort wants me to. Kind of like—like he’s bragging or something.”

“It’d be dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t be able to participate.”

“What?” Harry said, voice rising an octave. “Why not?”

“Because you need to be safe,” she said simply. “Because it would really bugger things up if you handed yourself over to Voldemort.”

“That’s…” Harry trailed off, feeling a twinge of desperation. He didn’t want to admit she was right and he tried to find some flaw in her reasoning. “Then—then forget it. Ron’s right, it wouldn’t be worth it.”

Hermione looked amused. “Of course it would be worth it. I’m a big girl, Harry. I can take care of myself.”

Harry thought about Voldemort’s camps and the prisoners he’d seen. He thought about the screaming, the starvation, and the pain.

Everything in him rebelled at the idea of Hermione putting herself at risk of landing in there.

“Hermione… I don’t—I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Really?” she said. “I thought it was an excellent idea.”

She stood up to stretch and gave a small wince.

“What?” Harry said immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“My back.”

“Your… back?” He frowned. “What happened? Can I—”

“No,” she said quickly. “Forget it. Let’s go talk to Neville, okay? He’ll have an idea on where to start with the rescue mission.”

Harry felt a surge of jealousy. It seemed like whenever he got Hermione alone she couldn’t wait to get away. And Neville, it was always Neville she was rushing off to see. Neville—who could participate in the rescue mission with her. Neville, who could keep her safe when Harry couldn’t.

She was watching him intently, and Harry felt himself growing more desperate. “I can’t let you do something like this without me.”

He couldn’t explain it, his need to keep Hermione safe from harm. But that’s what it had always been. Everything, pushing her away, standing back and letting her get engaged to Ron—it was all so she could be safe.

Hermione was watching with a look of longing on her face. Harry felt his jealousy with Neville melt away.

Why? He wanted to ask. Why aren’t we allowed to act on this?

The ring was gone, Ron was shagging Tonks, and the Immortal Beloved spell had more than proved the depth of their feelings for each other.

Why?

“Let’s go talk to Neville,” she said softly, breaking eye contact.

“Fine,” he said, voice sharper than he intended. He watched her retreating back for a moment before pulling himself to his feet and following her.

7. Tales of a Fragmented Mind

CHAPTER SIX: Tales of a Fragmented Mind

The watch relieved; or one deep voice alone,

Singing the hour, and bidding "strike the bell."

All is black shadow, but the lucid line

Charlotte Smith, “Huge Vapours Brood above the Clifted Shore”

She saw them once.

“You shouldn’t be with him,” Harry hissed, his grip tightening around her wrist.

Hermione wrenched her arm away from him with a violent sob. “You don’t have that right,” she replied, trembling. “You don’t have that right at all!”

She saw them once and thought nothing more of it because Hermione was with Ron and Harry would’ve been— all would’ve been right.

But then she saw them twice.

Hermione’s face was bruised from the battle earlier and blood stained her shirt. But to Harry, it seemed, she was the only beautiful thing in the room.

“You’re all right,” he breathed.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah.”

He reached for her then, pulling her to his arms and shaking with relief.

“Thank Merlin, you’re all right.”

Twice was enough.

They moved with the silence. As a tangle of limbs and shivering whispers, they moved and she couldn’t tell them apart.

And so she did something about it.

Once was supposed to be an end. But twice— three times and even four— it couldn’t happen again.

They were here and she’d do it right this time.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be in her room.

Her fists clenched at her side. “What are you doing?”

He looked up, startled. She watched as he shut the book he had been reading— probably one of Hermione’s stupid books— and hugged it to his chest protectively. She nearly growled when she recognized the look in his eyes.

Harry turned away. “Nothing.”

She took a step forward, intending on lashing out, but warning bells began to scream in her head. Hermione’s room was in the Compound was one of the best sealed, security-wise— which is why she killed her in Hogwarts. She took a step back and tried to compose herself.

“You’re in Hermione’s quarters,” the words escaped her lips before she could stop them. “It didn’t mean anything to you, did it?”

His head snapped towards her again. “What… what are you talking about?”

“What I told you,” Ginny hissed. “It meant nothing to you. I meant nothing to you.”

The look on Harry’s face was one of genuine concern and confusion— a clue to stop— but she was furious and a Weasley with a temper.

“It’s always about Hermione!” Her nails began to dig into her palms. “You two don’t realize what you already have. You don’t need her.”

“Ginny...”

But she whirled around and flew down the hall. She had to do something. She had to make things right again. Things were moving too fast and out of her control. She had to talk to him.

She stopped and punched the wall, angry tears forming in her eyes. This had to be dealt with. She couldn’t stand losing Harry to that— her.

“It wasn’t that bad, love.” Neville’s laughter echoed down the hall as he and Hermione the corner.

And then all hell broke loose.

With a cat-like hiss, she flung herself at Hermione and swung her arm back. Her hand connected with the other girl’s face and she clawed at her cheek. Ginny watched with a satisfied smile as she cried out in surprise, blood rolling down her cheek. She stumbled backwards, but ducked when Ginny tried to reach for her again.

Neville growled and grabbed her, pushing her against the wall and pinning her arms above her head.

Ginny struggled. “Get the hell off of me!”

“There’s no need to get out of fucking line, Gin,” he murmured dangerously. Neville towered over her, ready to strike. “Don’t make me accidentally break you arms.”

“You wouldn’t,” she spat. Over his shoulder, she watched as Hermione stood and composed herself. She reached up and gingerly touched her cheek.

“All right, Hermione?” Neville asked.

“Fine,” came the quiet reply.

Ginny’s eyes widened.

Her ring finger was bare.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Neville tightened his grip on her arms and shot her a look.

“What’s going on?”

Harry, it seemed, had followed her— or so she hoped for the slightest moment– and stood staring at the three of them. But, like always, his gaze was and never left Hermione.

Ginny watched as Harry approached Hermione, his eyes flickering to her finger like she had, and gently tilted her chin to look at her scratched cheek.

“Are you all right?” He glanced over to both her and Neville, only to assess the situation.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Harry started to open his mouth as if to ask again what had happened, but he was cut off.

“Well, look hheeere Ronnie! It’s a group partttyyy!”

Neville looked over as well and Ginny began to take advantage of the situation, spotting Ron’s glare at Harry. It was too easy. Tonks and Ron never failed to give her an advantage for escaping when they were like this.

She lurched forward against Neville’s grip. “She’s not wearing your ring, Ron!”

It all unraveled then.

She didn’t care what happened next, whether Ron hit Harry or Harry hit Ron. She pushed away from Neville, who let her go to go and help keep some semblance of peace. She briefly toyed with the idea of sending a quiet hex in the direction of Hermione, for spite, but there were more pressing matters.

She had to leave.

She had to go and see him.

Riddle House sat on a hill surrounded by large, dying trees and the ruins of what once could have been a grand garden.

She made it to the estate without any problems. Most people in the Compound did not question her quick disappearance. She was the sister of the leader of the Rebellion, one of the top circles, and no one questioned her. Muggles tended to stay away from the area as well. The murders that haunted the once-great family were now legends.

From time to time, she could hear the occasional whisper of oh what a terrible place and what a poor boy.

She crossed into the yard and stepped onto the winding path, moving quickly and quietly up to the door. The wind seemed to blow harder as she got closer to the house. She pulled her cloak around her body tighter.

She hated coming here.

But it was the only way.

“Well, well,” mocked a voice from behind her. “If it isn’t the traitor herself.”

She whirled around. Pansy Parkinson stood behind her, arms crossed over her chest and her lips curled into a vicious smile. The other woman was fiercely feared in the Compound, preferring to use her dangerous beauty to manipulate and then kill many of those who were unfortunate enough to wander off.

She took a step backwards. “Parkinson,” she greeted coldly. “I don’t have time for chatting. I’m here to see the Dark Lord.”

Her smile grew. “I’m not looking to chat,” she cooed, stepping into Ginny’s space. Pansy reached out and grabbed a lock of stray hair, curling it around a slender finger. Ginny swallowed, her eyes unable to stray from the contrast of her pale skin and red hair.

“Then let me go.”

Pansy laughed. “Silly, little girl. He knows you’re here all ready. Do you think she needs a reminder of her place, Macnair?”

Her heart nearly stopped when she turned back around to find Macnair, one of the inner circles, perched atop one of the stairs in front of the door, watching her and sharpening his knives. He smiled and bared his teeth, yellow and rotting. She noticed that his hands were covered in blood and even stained the corners of his mouth.

She was ready to vomit.

She stumbled back and tried to ignore Pansy’s laugh of absolutele amusement.

“You sick fuck,” she cursed.

“Tsk, tsk,” Pansy mocked. “You’re supposed to be one of us too, you know. And besides, if you think that’s bad, then maybe you should wait until they clean inside. There are all sorts of scary things there.”

Frantic, Ginny began to look for a way back. There were other ways of contacting the Dark Lord, riskier ways in her camp, but better than this. She tried to turn away, but Pansy reached and grabbed her by the arm.

“He won’t be denied,” she hissed. “Go inside, like a good little girl.”

For a moment, she couldn’t move. The scent of Pansy’s perfume wrapped around her like some sort of noose and the sound of Macnair sharpening his knives sent chills down her spine.

With a slow nod she wrenched herself free from the other woman and walked passed Macnair, ignoring the chilling laughter of her former schoolmate and the executioner as it followed her inside.

The only light inside the house came from the scattered candles around the halls. She shivered and walked briskly down the hall, ignoring the desperate pleas and screams of men and women— people who she had no doubt that she knew.

The scent of blood and sex was heavy in the air.

Turning a corner, she almost ran into Peter Pettigrew. She steadied herself with one hand against the wall, nearly screaming when her fingers were suddenly coated in blood.

“He has sssome mattersss to attend before he meetsss with you,” the older man stuttered, shaking violently. His eyes rolled upwards briefly and she knew instantly that he had been curse.

She nodded her compliance.

“He wishesss you to sssee sssomething first.”

Ginny followed Pettigrew deeper into the darkness of the hallways, where candles become scarce and the air colder to a set of doors at the end, and feared what waited for her behind them. Murmuring an incantation, she watched as Pettigrew waved his hand over one door and opened it.

“Harry!” Hermione screamed.

Ron tried to reach for her, put she pushed passed him. Her eyes were wild and tears marred her cheeks. She threw herself into Harry’s arms.

“He’s gone,” she sobbed.

She had never seen Hermione tremble like this.

“He’s gone.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “Remus,” she breathed.

The former DADA professor sat in the corner of the small cell-like room, pale and glassy-eyed. Vicious, angry scars were scattered all over her skin and his clothing was tattered and soiled.

She expected movement, a bit of protesting, but there was nothing. No sound. No speech.

Nothing.

Pettigrew tried to laugh, but ended up sounding as if he were dying. “He can’t hear you,” he managed gleefully. “He’s been like this since the Great Fire.”

She began to shake.

“But,” he continued, turning to leave. “He knows you’re here. Anyone can smell a traitor.”

Ginny swallowed and forced herself to turn and follow.

Remus’ eyes were gold.

It was close to midnight when the Dark Lord finally summoned Pettigrew to bring her to his rooms.

She was shaking in a pattern now— jumping when a scream of pain and horror echoed down the hallway or when she found her mind wandering to Remus in his cell.

You have to do this, she told herself. You have to make things right.

She never met the Dark Lord face to face. In battle, it seemed that only Harry, Hermione, and Ron had that privilege— each of them coming out of their experiences silently withdrawn.

Her encounters were with that of a ghost, a ghost of a boy who never should’ve been a man.

We will meet again, he had told her, brushing a kiss against her forehead. And you will die for me and I will own your soul.

Pettigrew pushed her into the room, causing her to trip and fall to her knees. Low laughter greeted her from all different angles of the room and she knew instantly, oh Merlin, she knew she was in the presence of not just Voldemort— but the Inner Circle as well.

You have to make things right.

Everything needs to be the way it should be.

“It’s been too long, Ginerva,” The voice of the Dark Lord whispered from behind her. “Have you forgotten your family?”

She trembled, dizzy from a mix of her own fear and the terrible sensations that the Riddle House was invoking in her. “No, you know I have to be careful—”

A dark blue light flashed from the other side of her and hit her in the side. She flew forward, her face hitting the cold wood floor with a loud crack. Laughter followed again afterwards.

“Now, Bella,” Voldemort chastised. “There will be time for that later. It seems our dear Ginerva has forgotten her place in my ranks.”

“I’m going to kill Lestrange,” Harry hissed.

Hermione arched against him with a startled cry as he twisted her around to capture her lips. They melted into each other.

“I’m going to kill Lestrange and then dance on her grave.”

Ginny lurched forward, vomit spewing from her lips onto the floor in front of her. Her face burned with shame and her hands trembled in fear. They were playing with her, mocking her loyalty and contribution.

You have to make things right, she repeated to herself.

“Indeed you do,” Voldemort responded.

Her hand went to her throat and her eyes went wide. The skin under fingers burned as if it were on fire. She wondered if it had to do with the curse that had been thrown at her, but she was too worried about other things. There had never been any time where he had ever read her mind.

“Silly little girl,” he continued affectionately, echoing the statements of Pettigrew and Pansy. “You’ve truly forgotten that I know everything that goes on in that head of yours. I know Potter’s somehow come back and Granger as well.”

She licked her lips. Her side burned and she ached to touch it, but feared another reaction. The Inner Circle would only feed on signs of her weakness. She could not afford the luxury of hiding for a couple days to heal with the new situation.

Fix it.

Make things right.

“She’s alive,” she echoed. For a moment, there was silence. The death of Hermione had elevated her temporarily into a safety position, one with room to move and protect herself.

Unpredictability was dangerous in her situation now.

Footsteps grew closure from behind her and then a soft, gloved hand reached out and gently caressed her hair.

“You have been faithful so far,” he said. “And I expect you to continue.”

The words sounded so foreign on her lips. “Yes, my Lord.”

“You cannot kill her,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened in surprise and her lips parted in a silent scream as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. She felt a wand on her forehead. Her vision blurred and all she could make out was a shadow— with several shadows accompanying it.

“And I will kill you if you disobey.”

She could move or responded. She knew instinctively what came next.

“Crucio.”

As it should be.

++++

So hello. It’s been quite some time.

*sighs*

We could give you the long-winded excuse, but really RL has been a pain in the rear end— school and such— that led to the uber-long delay of this chapter.

Time won’t be so painful anymore, now that it’s vacation.

Any questions please feel free to poke and prod us. Goldy is the friendly one, me, Kaze, I bite.

Goldy’s note: She does not bite. She only says that to intimidate people. She’s really quite the softie, once you get to know her.

*hides from Kaze*

8. Keeping A Promise

Chapter Seven

He promised Mum.

He stood besides her grave and he promised in front of his father and his brothers.

There was nothing to mark the spot where they rested. There was no time or money for proper burials.

He stood there in front of his family and he promised.

I’ll keep Ginny safe.

***

Ginny crawls back into the Compound, her clothing torn, her lips chapped, her body beaten and bruised.

He’s never been much good at keeping his promises.

***

They were at Hogwarts when the Burrow was burned—he and Gin.

That’s why they survived when the rest of them didn’t. That night, he told Harry he didn’t care anymore—he didn’t care what it took, what the sacrifice would be—Voldemort had to die.

Then he cried.

Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and even bloody Percy.

All dead.

***

He brings Ginny to her quarters and sets her down.

He can’t think anymore.

He—can’t—do—this.

No more fucking decisions. I can’t make anymore.

Someone else yells for the Compound healer. Someone else holds her hand and reassures her.

He sits, frozen.

He’s failed. Again.

***

They held onto him while he sobbed. Hands fisting on arms and shoulders. They could barely speak.

They were united in their grief, the three of them.

It brought them back together, the grief overcoming the distance of secrets and lies. They were a trio again. A unit.

For the last time.

***

“Here, drink this.”

Numbly, he takes the glass of water, imagining it sliding down his throat and cleansing him. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, he finds Hermione peering anxiously into his face.

“Feeling better?” she asks softly.

He presses a shaking hand to his forehead. Harry’s in the room too, lurking somewhere behind, near the doorway.

“What—what happened?”

“Take it easy,” Hermione says, putting her hands on his. He swallows and looks away. “You went into shock. It’s more than understandable.”

“Ginny?” he whispers, his chest tightening.

“She’s fine, Ron.” Hermione smiles reassuringly. “A bit beaten up, but she’s fine.”

Ron licks his lips. “Good.” He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. “Good.”

Harry finally speaks. “Voldemort let her go.” He waits a moment. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” Ron croaks. He has no energy left to be angry. “She’s alright—that’s the important thing.”

Even with his eyes closed, he knows Harry and Hermione are exchanging nervous looks.

He tries not to think about where Ginny is when she disappears for days at a time.

He promised.

***

The three of them gather around Ginny’s bed, united in their desire for answers.

Just like old times.

“Hey, Gin,” he says. “How are you holding up?”

She looks fine. Voldemort has left no lasting scars.

But she is weak. And broken. Her eyes are haunted.

Harry sits down on the edge of her bed, genuine concern in his eyes. Hermione hangs back.

Ron takes his sister’s hand, her skin white and cold. He looks at her and knows he can’t do it. He can’t be the one to interrogate her.

Harry glances at him and seems to read his mind. He takes a deep breath. “Ginny, I’m sorry… I know you’ve been through a rough time.” He pauses “But we need to know what happened.”

Ginny’s hand clenches around his own. Ron wants to tell her she doesn’t have to—it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

“Alone,” she says. She struggles to sit up.

“What?” Ron whispers. “No, Gin, you’re not alone, we’re—”

“I want to speak with Harry,” she says. “Alone.”

“Why?” Hermione asks. There’s nothing gentle or concerned about her tone.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Ginny whispers. She turns her eyes on Ron. “Please,” she says.

“It’s your call, Harry,” Hermione says.

“Yeah. Alright,” Harry sighs. “I’ll meet you guys outside, alright?”

“Ginny…”

“It’s fine, Ron. I’ll speak with you later.” Ginny meets his eyes, her tone firm.

Unexpectedly, Ron feels a lump rise in his throat. “You’re okay, Gin.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m okay.”

****

He doesn’t know what to say to Hermione now that he’s alone with her.

Memories of their time together haunt him. Their first kiss had been in Hogsmeade. He’d bought them both ice cream and she tasted like strawberry. Her hands clung to his shoulders and she smiled at him afterwards.

Lies. All of it. Lies.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“Fine.”

“Oh,” she whispers. She waits a moment. “We’ll get this sorted out. We always do.”

He gives a bitter laugh. “Oh, yeah? We’ll sort it out? You and Harry, you mean?”

“No,” she says. “I mean the three of us.” She takes a step closer to him. Her brown eyes are determined.

He remembers the way her eyes sparkled with tears when Harry rejected her at the end of sixth-year. How stupid he’d been, then. He thought he could fix it.

He had been wrong.

“It has not been the three of us for a long time,” he says. “You cannot possibly understand what I’ve gone through these last couple of years.”

“You’re right, I can’t.” Her lips press together. “But you can’t keep blaming us for something we have not done.”

“Betrayal’s funny like that, you see.” Ron gives her a crooked half smile. “It’s enough to know that you’re heart wants him. It’s always wanted him.”

“Let it go, Ron,” she says. “Before it consumes you. Let it go.”

“Always willing to pass judgment on someone else, Hermione. I’m not one of your bloody House Elves you can save from a horrible fate.” His voice grows louder. “I’m the man you promised to love forever!”

She flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, thanks. That helps loads.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” she demands, her face flushing. “Do you want me to tell you it was a mistake? That I’ve always loved Harry?”

A surge of righteous anger floods through him. “And I’ve always loved you! Harry only loved you when it was convenient for him!”

“You fucking liar, Ron,” she says. “You think I don’t know about Tonks? Do you think I’m completely stupid?”

“What?” Ron says, swallowing. He flounders for a moment, his righteous anger taking a blow. “How do you… how did you…”

“Oh, very nice.” Her mouth thins and she shakes her head. “How dare you accuse me of infidelity!”

“You don’t understand.”

“Do you love her, Ron?” she asks. “Is that it? Or are you too bitter for that?”

“She was there!” he hollers. He doesn’t care if other people are listening. “She was there when you weren’t! I didn’t want her, I wanted you!”

“I am not your property!”

“You were wearing my ring!”

She holds up her hand. Ron’s eyes are drawn to her naked finger.

“It’s gone. Can you see that? It is GONE!”

Heat rushes to his face. He hates her. He hates them both.

“The first time I shagged her was the night they took Remus.” His voice is low. “You were so upset. You could barely breathe.” He waits, letting Hermione’s eyes widen. “Harry held you while you cried. You wouldn’t let me touch you. That’s why. That’s why it happened that night.”

“Oh, Ron,” she says, sounding defeated. “You must let it go. I wish you could see what you’re doing to yourself.”

He can’t look into her eyes anymore. If he looks too long, he begins to think she still cares.

The door opens and Harry emerges, his posture strained. Ron can feel the old mantra begin in his head. You’re fault, all you’re fault, you took her away from me, she was mine…

Hermione’s gaze is unflinching, unwavering. It’s like she knows.

“Let it go,” she mouths.

I won’t. I can’t.

“So?” he says.

Harry scrubs his hands over his face. His skin is pale. Ron fights disgust. This Harry is too young, too inexperienced. He looks too vulnerable.

“Harry?” Hermione prods gently. She takes his hand, holding it between both of hers.

Harry looks surprised and his eyes cut to Ron’s face before he hurriedly glances away.

“She says she’s a message from Voldemort.” Harry clenches his jaw. “For me.”

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione whispers. She peers anxiously into his face, gripping his hand tighter. “It’s not your fault. Surely you can see that.”

“He knows we’re both alive, we can be sure of that.” Harry speaks directly to Hermione. “He says he’ll come after everyone I love, one by one. I can’t win.”

He skims her cheek with the fingers of his free hand. “Don’t go on this rescue mission, Hermione. Please don’t. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“I have to,” she whispers. “I have to do something.”

Ron takes a step towards them. His heart is pounding.

“Rescue mission?”

Harry smoothes his palm down Hermione’s cheek before backing away.

“The people in Voldemort’s camps, Ron,” Hermione says. “We have to do something.”

“We can’t. I’m not sending anyone out there—I refuse.”

“Good,” Hermione says. “Because everyone who’s going is a volunteer.”

“Excuse me?”

She sets her chin. “Neville and I are leading. We’re going as soon as possible.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

Hermione gives a small smile. “Oh, Ron, I’m not trying to undermine your authority, but we couldn’t take the risk that you’d try and stop us.”

Ron bites the inside of his cheek. “And Potter?”

“I’m not going,” Harry says heavily.

“Oh, really?” says Ron. “What, are you too scared?”

“I don’t see you volunteering, Weasley.”

“Harry can’t go, Ron. He mustn’t.”

“You shouldn’t go either,” Harry mutters. “Not if he’s after you.”

Hermione’s voice is quiet. “I’m sorry, Harry. I have to.”

Harry slumps, a defeated expression crossing his face. Ron has seen too much to be worried. This is life—making dangerous decisions, putting lives on the line. It’s what he does.

“Who else knows about this mission?” Ron asks. “We still have a mole. Voldemort might know everything.”

“Neville is not the mole,” Hermione hisses.

“Fine,” Ron snaps.

Harry and Hermione watch him wearily, as if unsure of his sanity. He clenches his fist.

His sanity.

He doesn’t blame them.

“I’m going to see my sister.”

There’s nothing left to say.

Webs

1. The Day the World Went Away

2. Into the Void

3. Lost

4. A Web of Lies

5. A Web of Fools

6. Search for Answers

7. Tales of a Fragmented Mind

8. Keeping A Promise