All Nights by Goldy

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 19/07/2005
Last Updated: 17/07/2006
Status: Completed

Set directly post-HBP. Hermione struggles with herself and her feelings for Harry as the trio
sets off on their Horcrux hunt. Now completed.




1. Chapter One
--------------

**Title**: All Nights

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, H/Hr, H/G, R/Hr, post-HBP

**Summary**: Gimme back my Hermione!

**Spoilers**: Major spoilers for HBP. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

**A/N**: Strangely, I wrote this on Saturday after I finished the book. While I no longer
have any hope of H/Hr occurring in canon (and, actually, would rather it *didn’t*, since I’m
less than impressed by JKR’s version of “romance”), I do think that the H/Hr connection is still
*there* and I don’t want to give up on it. I love this ship, I love this fandom, and it’s made
me happy for the last year that I’ve been a part of it. I’m not leaving—despite early “WTF?” kind
of feelings.

**Dedication**: To all my shipmates. They’re still ours. JKR made me believe in books 1-5 and
*one* book simply can’t undo that.

The night was dark.

*And aren’t all nights*? Hermione Granger thought to herself, a grim little smile tugging
at the corner of her mouth.

She pushed the last of her boxes into the corner of her room. She cast a size-reduction spell
and pocketed her items, feeling decidedly cheerful.

She plucked a letter off her bed.

It was time to go.

*Dear Mum and Dad,*

*I know this isn’t the proper way to do such things, but I thought it was for the best. The
less you know, the less danger you’ll be in.*

*I wish I could tell you when I’ll be home—I can’t.*

*I wish I could tell you I’ll be fine—I can’t.*

*But know that what I’m doing is* right*, it’s more right than anything I’ve ever
done.*

*I love you.*

Hermione

She left the letter on the kitchen table, turned once around in her empty kitchen, before
closing her eyes and feeling the pressing sensation of Apparition descend upon her.

***

When she arrived outside number four Privet Drive in the Little Whinging, she felt a surge of
relief to find both Harry and Ron waiting for her.

They were both grim-faced, but smiled when they saw her. She felt a surge of affection well up
in her. Despite the uncertainty of their futures, she felt power in the knowledge that they could
overcome anything together.

“So,” she said. “Where to first?”

Harry shrugged. “Haven’t the faintest bloody idea.”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron said. “I’m so glad I signed up for this.”

“R.A.B.” Harry mused, staring down at the paper in his hands. “Good a place as any to start.” He
looked at her. “Have you got anything?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t… maybe…”

“Yes?”

She sighed. “It’s just… it’s a hunch.”

“I trust your hunches,” he said softly.

Their eyes met and she had to turn away, a horrible feeling spreading through her. Guilt, that’s
what it was. For not trusting *him* about Draco.

“I don’t know if it’s safe to talk here,” she said, looking around nervously.

“Good point,” Harry said. His eyes flitted closed for a moment. When he opened them, he gave a
weak smile. “Hey… I’m really glad you guys are here.”

“Us too, mate,” Ron said. “Can’t imagine what you’d have done by yourself.”

“Well, there’d be a lot less bickering, at least.”

Hermione felt her face flush and very carefully avoided looking at Ron. *What* is *going
on there?*

*I don’t know. Still.*

***

They spent the night in Diagon Alley.

“Seems as good as any,” Harry said, sighing. “I honestly don’t really know where to go from
here. It’s all so…”

“Overwhelming?” Ron said, yawning widely. “I feel your pain.”

Hermione wrung her hands. “Are we safe here? I mean, we don’t have *any* of the protections
or charms at Hogwarts, and there aren’t any Order members around—”

“Course there are,” Harry interrupted impatiently. “If you’d been paying attention, you’d have
noticed. They pretty much follow me everywhere.”

“Oh,” Hermione whispered.

Harry glanced at her, his eyes deep and unreadable. *He’s so much older*, she thought with
a pang. What happened to the reckless boy he’d been only a couple of years ago?

“Still,” he reflected. “One of us should keep watch. Helps that we can Apparate now—gives us a
way to get out if we need to.”

Hermione hesitated. Harry was leading them so effortlessly, making all the tough decisions… did
he still *want* to hear her advice?

“What?” he said, seeing her mouth hanging open.

“Well… don’t you think… it’d be wise to have… a *destination* in mind?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her wearily, as if expecting her to start criticizing him or poking holes into his
plan.

She bit her lip, feeling heat rise on her face. *Will we ever be the same*? She glanced at
Ron and quickly looked away.

It had been so much simpler when they’d been eleven.

“Somewhere that we know about—the three of us, should we ever be separated. Somewhere that isn’t
obvious, that no one else knows about.”

She waited breathlessly, watching Harry for a reaction. He frowned, thinking it over.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s good.”

“Where?” Ron asked.

“Godric’s Hollow,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled. “I thought you might say that.”

“Where we want to go eventually, right?” Harry said, looking at each of them in turn. “Seems as
good as any if we need a quick escape.”

“Okay,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded and went to the window. “I’ll keep watch for a while. You guys get some
sleep.”


Ron didn’t make a comment, only flung himself back onto the bed. Hermione stared at him for a
moment, her mind racing.

There was only one bed.

She didn’t know what this was between her and Ron. *If* it was anything.

If she even wanted…

She didn’t know.

Sighing, she gingerly settled down next to him, only aware that he stiffened as the bed shifted
with her weight. Flopping into her back, she stared at the ceiling, mind too busy racing for
sleep.

***

“Does he always snore this loudly?”


Harry turned around from his vigil near the window. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Can’t. Ron.”

“Right.” Harry glanced back outside. “And… yeah, he does. Better get used to it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dunno, Hermione,” he said tiredly. “I don’t much feel like another row at the moment. It can
mean whatever you want it to mean.”

Hermione bit her lip and considered. Finally, she threw her legs over the bed and came to stand
next to Harry by the window.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had just *talked* to him.

“Harry?”


“Yeah?”

“Are we still…?” she shifted back and forth, her hands twisting together. “You know…”

“What?” he said tiredly.

“Best friends?” she said, swallowing. “Like… like always?”


He turned to look at her, his eyes so much more troubled than only a year ago. “Of course.”

“Good,” she whispered. “It’s just that… lately… I…”

“You what?” he said gently.

“I feel like… like something’s *happened*,” she said. “Don’t you… I know you must feel it
too.”

“It was a hard year, Hermione.”

“I know,” she said. “But we both know it was more than that… it was—”

“Ron and Ginny?” he suggested, a wry smile on his mouth. “Yeah, I’d say we had other things on
our minds.”

Hermione felt a moment of nostalgia. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked to Harry
like this—just him and her.

“You miss her, don’t you?” she said softly.

Harry was quiet before answering. “Of course I do. It was… easy being with her. Knowing someone
could care for me like that…”

He trailed off and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I did what I had to. Ginny didn’t know what she
was getting into with me. You and Ron do.”

“She would’ve—”

“I know,” Harry said. “I know.” He paused for a moment and glanced over at her. “Ron?”

She’d known the question was coming. She looked down at her hands as she considered her answer.
She knew she couldn’t lie to Harry.

“It’s… complicated.” She gave a rueful smile and decided on honesty. “I don’t really—what
happened last year… it turned me into someone I’m frightened of. Honestly, I don’t really know what
got into me. Acting like that… I don’t *want* that to be *me*. But I don’t… I don’t know
how to… just be *myself* around him.”

She stopped, miserable. Unexpected tears welled into her eyes.

“Sometimes I think I’ve fancied Ron for so long… but only because I thought he might…” she bit
her lip. “Fancy me back. That’s awful, isn’t it?”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not awful.”

“I mean, I *care* about him—I do… I—I *know* I do. But it wasn’t supposed to be like
this. It was supposed to be simple.”

She stared at Harry’s profile in the darkness of the room, the barest hints of light filtering
in from the street. She could feel his eyes on her and she suddenly understand that even after
everything that happened between them, all their rows, all her nagging… Harry *cared*.

It had always been difficult to tell with Harry. He wasn’t an affectionate person, but with his
eyes on her, she had an inkling of just how much he cared for her.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, overcome. She flung her arms around him, holding him tightly. After
a moment, she felt him hug her back, his arms slipping around her waist.

He’d grown so much taller. Hugging him like this, in his arms, she felt at peace. Maybe it was
the quiet confidence that now poured out of him, or the way he carried himself, but he seemed so
*safe*.

Slowly they drew away, until they were staring into each other’s eyes. Hermione had almost
climbed onto his lap in her haste to embrace him.

“Hey,” he whispered.

He brought up a hand up to caress her cheek, his fingers moving in small circles. She closed her
eyes, enjoying the sensation.

She moved forward. Their noses bumped.

Ron snorted and Hermione’s eyes snapped open. She found Harry’s gaze on hers.

“He’s still asleep,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.”

Hermione could only nod, understanding what they were going to do a moment before they did.
Harry’s lips were warm and slightly chapped. He was patient, waiting for her to react. She moved
into the kiss, her arms going back around his neck.

They kissed for a few moments, their pace slow and lazy. Hermione resisted a smirk. Whatever
happened with Ginny, she’d taught him well.

Harry pulled away and they stared at each other, the flush of their cheeks the only evidence of
their kiss. His fingers still caressed her face and he stared at her intently.

“Harry…?”

“I know,” he said quietly. His eyes were still fastened on her face. “I know.”

“What…”

He picked up her hand in his free one, squeezing her fingers. “Best friends, right? For
always?”


She nodded. “Always.”

His hand dropped from her cheek. “You and Ron… if there’s something there… well, you should take
advantage of it. You never know what could happen.”

Harry’s thumb was rubbing over the back of her hand. Hermione swallowed.

“I don’t think…” she tried to smile. “I think Ron and I lost our chance. We… you saw what
happened, Harry. It’s not right. Not for either of us.”

Harry bowed his head. Hermione wished she knew what he was thinking.

Tears were burning in her eyes—what she couldn’t say was that she was afraid to feel more for
Harry. Sometimes she could feel pressing on her in the middle of the night, a heavy weight on her
chest. It was a consuming kind of feeling, far deeper and more complicated than what she felt for
Ron.

Fancying Ron was easier, full of the simplicity in the rush of hormones and the need to be
desired back. Harry was…

*More*. Simply more. She didn’t know what she would give up for Harry, if she was called
upon.

These thoughts flew through her mind and then back out again. She grasped his hand with renewed
urgency.

*Whatever happens*, she wanted to say. *That’s why Ron and I are here with you. Whatever
happens*.

Her tongue felt thick, so instead she closed the distance between them, going back to the safety
she felt in his arms, his chest hard and wide against hers. His arms locked around her, his cheek
pressed to the top of her head.

She knew he was still watching what was going on outside. Being Harry Potter was a full time
job.



2. Chapter Two
--------------

**A/N**: Well, I suspect that we’ve all heard the interview by now. I’ve been feeling all
kinds of different emotions in the last few days—hurt being the foremost one. My feelings for JKR
have also been ‘round and ‘round the bend, and I think what it settles down to is that she is only
human and *not* the godlike figure we all made her out to be. I guess the fact of the matter
is, I *saw H/Hr in canon*, whether or not it was intentional. This is my ship. HMS Harmony.
HMS More Fanciable Than Ever (as I’ve taken to calling it). Full stop. If I “reread” that’s still
what I will see. And fandom has given me so much over the last year I’ve been a part of it—I’m
grateful to Jo for that, if nothing else. And though I suffered quite a bit of writer’s block after
the interview, I’m recovering and going full steam ahead with this fic.

**To my fellow shippers**: I know it’s been a tough week for us. But I’m proud to say that I
ship H/Hr. I hope you all are too.

***

She woke up, feeling hands shaking her shoulders. She blinked into the dingy darkness of her
room in the Leaky Cauldron, surprised to find Ron staring down at her.

“Hey,” he said. “Harry told me to wake you.”

Hermione blinked for a moment, confusion marring her brain. The last thing she remembered was
falling asleep with Harry’s arms wrapped around her, contentment settling down upon her limbs for
the first time in days.

“Where’s Harry?”

Ron stood up, giving a long stretch. “Dunno. Said he wanted to talk to Tom.”

“Do you think that’s safe?” she whispered.

“Is anything we do safe anymore?” Ron said. He paused for a moment. “He stood watch all night
long, you know. He never woke either of us to take over for him.”

Hermione forced a small smile. “That sounds like Harry.”


The name had barely left her lips when the door opened and Harry walked in, his face set. She
could see the bags under his eyes, but he was alert.

*He’s working on adrenaline*, Hermione thought, studying him. Her instincts urged her to
tell him to sleep, to replenish his energy.

But, no—she couldn’t do that. Harry no longer needed her to nag him. He wasn’t a child. He was
far from being a child.

She wished she knew what her place in his life was. It used to be so simple—she was his best
friend, the one whom he couldn’t live without because she kept Harry Potter *alive*. For the
first time, she saw in front of her a Harry that didn’t need her… a Harry that had spent an entire
school-year without needing her help.

She glanced at Ron. An unbidden image of him and Lavender crept into her mind and she squirmed
uncomfortably

“I talked to Tom—we’ll stay here for as long as we can,” Harry said. “We came up with a safe
word, so that we’ll know whether or not…”

“He’s under *Imperious*?” Hermione suggested dully.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. This way we can come and go as we please. I have enough money to… Sirius’
savings helped.”

A flicker passed over his eyes and Hermione took a step closer to him, anxiousness spreading
through her. Harry looked away.

Despite what kiss between them—that desperate attempt to regain that *connection* they’d
always had, Hermione could still feel the distance between them. It made her feel lightheaded.

She glanced at Ron again. The hopelessness of her situation crushed down on her. Oh, how she
wished things weren’t this difficult. She could feel feelings for Harry bursting in her, feelings
she’d kept in check for years.

“I think…” Harry said slowly. “I think it’s possible that Voldemort hid a horcrux at
Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Hermione said. “Where did you—”

“I’m *guessing*,” Harry said, looking a little sheepish. “Look, all the other spots… they
had something to *do* with Voldemort, didn’t they? Some kind of connection to him. What has
more of a connection to him than Hogwarts? The place that was his only home? Dumbledore said that
Voldemort formed more of a connection to Hogwarts than anything else.”

“Hang on,” Ron said. “It’s a good guess, but it doesn’t seem… I mean, You-Know-who puts all
kinds of protection charms around these things, right? How’s he going to do that at Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know, Ron,” Harry said, sounding cross. “But it makes more sense now than ever, don’ t
you think? Since Hogwarts might not open again?”

“Er… Harry…”

“I believe you,” Hermione said. Harry turned his eyes on her, looking startled. She flushed. “I
think it’s an excellent guess… and, well, we don’t have much else to go on at the moment, do
we?”

“No, we don’t,” Harry said quietly, his eyes staring into hers. “Thanks.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I won’t make the same mistake again,” she promised, her voice
sounding watery. “Like I did with Malfoy… I—I trust you, Harry. Anywhere you take us. I trust
you.”

Ron was staring at her oddly, a shrewd expression on his face. Harry took two steps towards her
before seeming to think better of it.

“Well, I’ve been wrong loads of times before,” he said.

“It’s different now,” Hermione said. “We all know it is.”

***

They went to Godric’s Hollow first. Harry stood for a long time, staring at the two stones in
front of him.

“This is the first time I’ve ever come to see them,” he whispered. “It’s… I don’t know how
I…”

“We understand,” Hermione said gently.

“We’ll leave you to it, mate,” Ron said. “If you want to do this alone, we’ll understand.”

“No,” Harry said. “You guys should come. We’re all in this together, right?”

“Right,” Ron and Hermione said.

The three of them approached the graves, silence descending on them.

Hermione watched Harry’s face change as conflicting emotions passed over him. He didn’t cry, but
Hermione could see him hardening his resolve.

Feeling unbidden, she reached for his hand, their conversation from the night before replaying
itself in her mind.

*Best friends.*

*Always.*

***

“It’s a Death Eater,” Hermione said. They were back in their room at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry
was examining the note left behind by R.A.B.

“How do you figure?” Ron asked.

“It’s addressed to ‘The Dark Lord,’ see?” Hermione said. “Only Death Eaters would call him that.
As for the letters… I don’t know. It could be anything. Initials, a pseudonym—it could even be a
title.”

Harry gave a grim smile. “Like the Half Blood Prince?”

“Exactly.”

“We should try and find him… this R.A.B. It looks like we’re in this together. It’ll be nice to
have him as an ally.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said with a sigh. “Let’s just… let’s start with Hogwarts, okay?”

***

“It’s so quiet,” Hermione whispered.

Hogwarts castle stood dark and abandoned in front of them. The moon glinted off the roof,
illuminating only shadows and corners. There were no lights flickering in the windows. The lake
stood still, not a ripple marring its surface.

“I can’t believe they’ve really shut it down,” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “It’d be safer this year without me.”

“Don’t say that!” Hermione said.

“I’m just being honest, Hermione,” Harry said, walking on ahead of them. “I’m not the safest
person to hang around with.”

Ron and Hermione rushed to catch up with him.

“D’you think Hagrid’s still here?” Ron asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said. They stared at the hut nestled in the distance. “There’s smoke coming out of
it.”

“Should we go say ‘hello?’” said Hermione.

“No,” Harry said sharply. “We can’t. The last thing we want to do is draw attention to
ourselves.”

“Alright,” said Hermione, a little stung.

Harry continued forward, his wand held out in front of him. “I want to try getting into
Dumbledore’s office… see if he left us any clues. I’m missing something. I just… I wish I
*knew* what that was.”

“You mustn’t be too hard on yourself—” Hermione gave a pained sigh. Harry ignored her,
continuing up the slope towards the castle.

The castle was dark and cold, giving off an aura of loneliness and despair. Harry paused in the
entranceway and he flicked his eyes back and forth over the corridors.

“It’s so easy to get in,” Hermione said in a hushed voice. “You knew it would be like this,
didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes still darting over the walls and ceiling. “I don’t reckon it’d be this
easy for one of Voldemort’s supporters to get in.”

Hermione shivered, looking around. If she closed her eyes, she could picture the castle as it
was in the winter, full of life and warmth. Goosebumps broke out on her arms.

Harry looked concerned. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said. His eyes were sympathetic and she could tell he was having the same trouble
accepting the empty castle.

“I’m going to Dumbledore’s office to have a look around,” Harry said. “Hermione, try the
library. Ron, go with her—stick together. Take whatever you think might be helpful.”

Hermione nodded.

Harry muttered a quick “*Lumos*” before setting off down the hallway and disappearing from
sight.

“The library?” Ron said. “How’s that going to help us?”

“I suspect Harry wants me to take as many books as I can—whatever might be helpful.”

Hermione tread the familiar path to the library, feeling the skin on the back of her neck
prickle. It was all so eerie walking around the empty castle. She sighed and walked a little closer
to Ron, glad for the company.

“I wonder what happened to all the house elves,” she whispered. “Dobby, Winky, Kreacher and the
rest….”

Ron bumped her shoulder with his own. “They’ll make due, Hermione.”

She felt a surge of gratitude. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

They continued on in silence. A thick layer of dust coated the handle of the library doors.
Oddly chocked up, she pushed the doors open, breathing in the scent of so many books.

She murmured a few charms and lanterns burst into light around them. “Let’s start with the
Restricted Section. We should do this quickly.”

***

Ron had been staring at her for a half hour straight. Hermione continued to rifle through her
book, attempting to ignore him. Much to her consternation, he proved far too distracting.

“What *is* it?” she finally demanded, looking up from her book.

He was wearing a thoughtful look. “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” she said.

Ron flushed. “Er… sorry. Never mind.”

He knocked a few books off the shelves in his haste to turn away from her. Hermione blinked,
momentarily frozen.

You and Ron… if there’s something there… well, you should take advantage of it. You never
know what could happen.

“Alright,” she said.

Ron whipped back around, his face red. “Pardon?”

“Yes…” she said, voice high-pitched. “Yes, I think… well, I think you should.”

Ron’s hands were quivering. His mouth bopped open and closed a few times. Finally, he nodded and
approached her.

The kiss was hesitant, a little awkward. They fumbled, trying to figure out how to place their
hands and where. Ron’s tongue pushed its way into her mouth, making her feel distinctly
uncomfortable.

They pulled away and stared at each other. Even with the dim light, Hermione could see the
disappointment on Ron’s face.

“Well…” she said.

“Yeah…”

“That was… maybe we should… give it another go?” she suggested weakly.

“Okay.”

The kissed again, this one a little better, but still feeling oddly… flat. It was like they were
desperately trying to find something that was no longer there. She tried to shut her mind down,
this is *Ron*, *you’ve fancied him for years, he’s fancied you, this is* finally
*happening, why are you* thinking *about it* this *much?*

When they pulled away a second time, it was with resignation. Regret blossomed in Hermione’s
chest.

“We waited too long,” she said. Her words seemed too loud in the silence of the library.

Ron looked like he might protest. “Hermione, it was just…”

“No,” she said. “We’re not… it isn’t meant to be, Ron. I know I fancied you, but I don’t think…
I don’t think I do anymore. Last year… what we went through… it was too difficult.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Look,” she said, reaching to gather his hands in hers. She stared into his eyes. “I care about
you so much, Ron. Don’t you see that? We haven’t bickered in ages. You and Harry… you’re the only
people I have in this world. I don’t think I can possibly describe how much I care about the both
of you. We don’t have to force this. What happened last year… it couldn’t destroy us.”

Ron frowned. “Is this because of Lavender?”

“No, no it’s not—I’m not saying that doesn’t still hurt, but it’s not that…”

Ron pulled his hands out of her grasp. “I’m going to go clear my head for a bit. Take a walk
around.”

“Oh, Ron,” she said. She blinked back tears. “Don’t…”

“It’s not you.” He tried to smile. “I just… I need some time to think.”

“Harry said to stick together—”

“I won’t be far,” Ron said. “I’ll just… I’ll be back in a second, alright?”

Turning his back, Ron left the library.

***

Ron did not return. Hermione stayed where she was, rifling through the books spread out in front
of her. Anything on soul magic, dark magic—on getting passed curses and hexes.

When the library’s doors opened, Hermione looked up hopefully, surprised to see Harry.

“Hey,” Harry said, coming towards her. “How’s it coming?”

Hermione set a stack of books off to the side. “Good.”

“Where’s Ron?”

Hermione waited a moment. “He… he went for a walk.”

“A *walk*?” Harry said, alarmed. “Why would…. Oh.”

Hermione felt tears well. “I don’t… I don’t really know when he’ll be back.”

Harry became even more alarmed at the sight of her tears. “Er…”

“It hurts…” she said. “I didn’t think it would. Not like this.”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “It’s this… this love stuff. It’s… like that.”

“I don’t *love*, Ron,” she said immediately. “At least… not the way love is supposed to
be.”

“Oh, I know, but…” Harry sighed. “It’s our hormones?” he suggested weakly.


Hermione wiped at her eyes and gave him a shaky smile. “I wish it was that simple. I’ve spent
all this time being angry… for him not noticing me earlier, for not being the person I need… and I
come to find out I don’t really want him anymore.”

Her eyes crept to Harry’s face as the last words slipped past her lips. *When did he get so
close to me*?

She took a breath. Thoughts of Ron fled her mind when Harry reached up to brush her cheek, his
thumb smoothing away the tears dripping down her cheeks.

“What *do* you want?” he asked.

“Oh, Harry…” she said, a tearful note to her voice. She was so afraid of this, him so close to
her.

She’d always known it would be easy to fall for Harry. He was kind, gentle, handsome, brave, and
insufferably noble. But she’d always held herself back, pushing away any of *those*
feelings.

She was afraid of how far she could be swept up in him. She worried enough as it was. He was
Harry Potter, future uncertain, life full of unpleasant twists.

He was her best friend.

She moved closer to him. She could sense his confusion and inability to see what choices to make
next. Unbidden, she placed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart against her
fingers.

“It’ll be okay,” she found herself saying. “Harry… it’s … everything will be okay.”

His eyes bore into her. He leaned in and kissed her, the hand on her cheek sliding into her
hair, his fingers combing through her strands.

Their first kiss had been about recovering their connection. It had been a friendly kiss, a
hello, a hint of a promise.

This kiss was demanding. Harry’s tongue slid along her bottom lip, slipping into her mouth and
rubbing with hers. Her hands grabbed his shoulders, twisting together bunches of his shirt.

The kiss sent her body humming. With Ron she’d felt awkward—here, she could feel what Harry
wanted and she found herself pressing closer, needing to feel *all* of him.

His fingers tangled in her hair, brushing against the nape of her neck. She shivered, smiling
against his mouth.

He pulled away, breathing heavily. Hermione kept her eyes closed for another moment, her lips
still tingling.

“Oh, my…” she said faintly.

“Yeah,” Harry said, brushing hair out of her face, his finger sliding along her cheek before
curving behind her ear.

The feelings inside Hermione tightened and she grasped Harry’s arm, frightened of her emotions.
He smiled crookedly, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

*What are we doing*?

The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back.

She didn’t want to hear the answer.

Ginny was still on Harry’s mind. This—what they were doing—it had to be comfort. Nothing
more.

But staring into his eyes, feeling the tingle of his mouth meeting hers, Hermione knew it wasn’t
comfort—not for her.



3. Three
--------

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone for your feedback—it’s really appreciated. All your reviews mean
so much, especially now.

“So what have you got?”


Hermione blinked. “Wha… what?”

Harry stepped away, an impassive look on his face. Hermione felt a chill descend on the room and
she bit her lip, watching him worriedly.

“The books,” he said. “Have you found anything?”

“Oh… I…” Hermione flushed, internally cursing her stuttering. “Yes, I… here…”

She gestured uselessly at the stack of books piled next to her. Harry picked a few of them up.
Hermione fidgeted, twisting her belt loop around in her fingers.

“Harry…”

“Hmm?”

“Do you…” she hesitated. “Never mind.” She took a breath. “Did *you* find something?”

“I dunno,” Harry said. He held up a leather-bound book.

Hermione held out a hand. Harry passed her the book. There were tiny bubbles in the binding and
she rubbed her thumb over the surface in interest.

“I think it’s a diary,” Harry said. “The pages are blank, of course.”

“Do you think this was Dumbledore’s?”

“Maybe,” Harry said. “His Portrait seemed awfully excited when I picked it up.”

“Then it’s as good a place as any to start,” Hermione said.

“Yeah.”

Harry didn’t ask for the journal back. Hermione shrunk it with the other books, touched that he
trusted her to find out how to uncover the writing—if there was any.

“Let’s find Ron and take off,” Harry said. “I don’t much fancy being here any longer than I have
to.”

“What about…”

“The horcrux?” Harry said. “Yeah—I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. I just don’t know
*where*.” He paused. “We’ll find it. And soon.”

They walked out of the library, following the light ignited by Harry’s wand. Hermione held fast
to his arm as they shuffled along, fear making her eyes dart nervously around her.

“Where is he?” Hermione asked. “Do you think anything’s happened?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Harry said. They paused at the bottom of the staircase, each of them
glancing upwards. The Gryffindor common room. It was hard to believe she would never be back
there—studying, watching Harry and Ron play Wizard’s Chess.

Harry looked thoughtful and Hermione cut her eyes away, feeling with certainty that his mind was
dwelling on Ginny. She bit her lip, despair swelling in her chest. It was different than the anger
she’d felt over Ron and Lavender. Even then, she’d been certain of Ron’s feelings for her.

Suddenly feeling daring, she tugged Harry around to face her and leaned up to give him a quick
kiss. He was smiling as she pulled away and Hermione felt a twinge of victory. Harry was with her
now, *her*, *Hermione*, and *not* Ginny. That’s what mattered.

They continued on in search of Ron.

***

They found Ron outside on the castle steps, elbows propped up on his knees. His hair blew around
his forehead in the wind, leaving Hermione to remark that he was in need of a haircut.

Ron gave a smile and stood up. Tension arose between them, but Hermione did her best to push it
away.

They Apparated back to the Leaky Cauldron where they discussed the location of the remaining
Horcruxes.

“The trouble is,” Ron said, munching on a Chocolate Frog, “even if we *do* destroy them
all, You-Know-Who is still the most powerful wizard in the world.”

“Let’s worry about *that* when the time comes,” Hermione said. “Who knows how long it will
take to destroy all the horcruxes?”

“Ron’s got a point, you know,” Harry said, raising a mug of Butterbeer. “I could very well be
six feet under by that time.”

“Don’t say that!” Hermione said sharply. “Harry, we *must* stay optimistic.”

“Optimistic…” Harry trailed off, his eyes alighting with excitement. “Do you still have
Dumbledore’s diary?”


“Yes, of course,” Hermione said, shuffling around in her pockets. She set it back to its
original size and handed it to him.

“Dumbledore left behind a *diary*?” Ron said thickly, still chewing. He swallowed. “Seems a
bit reckless of him, don’t you think? What if a Death Eater got his hands on it?”

“He wouldn’t be able to open it,” Harry said with a sly grin. “Do you know… when I entered
Dumbledore’s office, his Portrait asked me how I got in. I told him I used the password.” Harry
pointed the tip of his wand at the journal. “*Acid pops*!”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but the book fell open onto Harry’s lap, its pages filled
with dark scrawl.

Hermione gasped. “A dark wizard… they would never—”

“Think to use something so light humoured, yeah,” Harry said, grinning.

Harry scanned the pages of the journal and burst into laughter.

“What?” Ron demanded.

“He’s completely mental,” Harry said. “It *really* is a diary. Listen to this: *Today I
rose on the wrong side of the bed—it’s been affecting my gait all day, I suspect. I fear my left
knee will never be the same again. Minerva was quite unsympathetic—that old cook. Fawkes looks a
little green. Must be the hot weather, he never did much like it.*”

Harry’s eyes were shining as he flipped pages. *Good*, thought Hermione*,* smiling,
*he deserves this, even if nothing about the horcruxes comes of it*.

***

Hermione kept the first watch that night. She couldn’t describe the feelings she felt watching
Harry and Ron sleeping. She held her wand tightly, something fiercely protective blooming in her
chest. She vowed not to let anything disturb their rest.

How strange life could be, she mused. Two boys saved her life from a troll when she was eleven,
entangling her life with theirs forever.

She watched the rise and fall of Ron’s chest; his posture so relaxed in slumber. His arm was
thrown casually over his forehead and deep breaths escaped his mouth. Harry appeared strained, even
in sleep. His forehead was lined in a deep frown.

Hermione left her perch by the window and dropped to her knees beside the bed. She touched
Harry’s face gently, willing him to remain asleep. She smoothed her palm down his cheek, his skin
warm under her hand.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the scar on his forehead. A small smile tugged at his
mouth, but he did not wake up.

“Sleep well,” Hermione said, standing up.

*I’ll make sure you stay safe*, she added silently.

She climbed back into the window seat, noting with satisfaction that Harry’s face looked more
restful.

She wished she could convince herself that these feelings for Harry were new. In reality, she
knew they’d long been bubbling inside her. She took a deep breath and glanced out the window. The
streets were dark and empty.

With the confusion of her sixth-year behind her, Hermione could look at her two boys sleeping
side by side and feel a current of love and affection sweep through her.

How she’d like to see a Death Eater threaten them now.



4. Four
-------

Hermione awoke to find Harry’s hand sliding up and down her arm. He was sitting next to her, his
eyes pinned on hers.

Before she could speak, he leaned down to kiss her, silencing any protests.

“Ron’s at the Burrow,” he murmured, kissing her chin and moving down to the hollow of her
throat.

“Hmm? Oh, *yes*…” she whispered, as his tongue flicked out.

She was hot and sticky, her afternoon nap leaving her unsatisfied. Her fingers eagerly curved
into his hair, his attentions making her feel wide awake.

They hadn’t discussed what was happening between them. It was simply something they needed. Like
this, together, they could momentarily leave everything else behind.

“Oh,” she moaned when his hands slipped under her shirt, tickling her stomach. “Harry…”

He loved it when she said his name like that, breathy and overcome. He showed his appreciation
by kissing her again, his tongue slipping between her lips. He tasted like pumpkin juice.

She arched against him when she felt his hand between her legs, his thumb pressing right where…
*oh*…

A deep throaty sound escaped her mouth and she said his name again, kissing him over and over.
He returned her kisses, his hand and fingers still doing wonderful and new things to her *down
there*.

*I trust you* and her thought was so loud she feared she’d spoken aloud. But it didn’t
matter—it was true. She trusted Harry with herself, all of herself, to go places with him that
would have made her blush to think about. She could *feel* the way he cared for her in his
kisses and touches.

She trusted him.

With her heart?


She closed her eyes and gasped, fingers digging into his back.

With her heart.

She still didn’t know.

***

Hermione leaned back against the pillows, a pleasant heaviness settling on her limbs. She could
hear the shower rattling away in the bathroom. There was a faint throbbing between her legs; the
memory of Harry pressing his fingers against her causing her to blush. But—oh—how she relished
it—that moment of completely freedom. She could still feel Harry’s lips crushed against hers, the
desperation in the room so high she could *taste* it.

The thought of Ron returning crossed her mind. What could they tell him? Could he even begin to
understand?

The shower stopped and Hermione hurried to straighten her hair and clothes. She knew they would
not tell Ron—they couldn’t even admit it to each other. It was like she and Harry had their own
world—one free of war and death. They couldn’t mention it or else it would be destroyed.

The bathroom door opened and Harry walked out, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. Hermione
hurriedly performed a drying charm, amused that he hadn’t done one himself.

“Thanks,” he said. “What would I do without you?”

Hermione blushed and dropped her wand, hastily bending down to retrieve it. When she straitened,
Harry gave her a crooked smile, eyes dancing with laughter.

“I have a theory,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, yes?” she said. “And what’s that?”

“We’ve already found a horcrux.”

He looked at her proudly, waiting for agreement.

“Oh… um… what?” said Hermione, disappointed. She’d been hoping he’d finally bring up the subject
of *them*.

“Don’t you remember?” he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Last year, at Grimmauld
Place, we found—”

Hermione gasped. “The locket! Oh, Harry… do you think…”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

“But then…” her voice was hushed. “Then—you think…”

“Regulus Black,” Harry said. “Makes sense, right?”

“Sense…” Hermione repeated. “But, Harry, Regulus Black… he died a long time ago, didn’t he?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and *hid* the locket at Grimmauld Place. Don’t you
see?”

He stood up and grabbed his wand. Hermione narrowed her eyes warily.

“Harry, you can’t… I mean, we can’t just *rush* over there and—”

“Why not?” he said. “That’s what we’re doing here, isn’t it, destroying horcruxes?”

“Yes, but—but… Harry, think for a moment, won’t you?” Hermione gestured around her. “It could be
*anywhere* by now—and we can’t simply *show* up at Grimmauld Place!”

“*Why*?” Harry said, beginning to lose his temper. “I *own* it, don’t I?”

“I know, but—”

“Hermione, we have a real chance here! I don’t understand why you’re so against this.”

“Well, we can wait for Ron, at least, can’t we? It’s not going anywhere.”

Harry glared at her. Hermione tried not to cry. An hour ago, they had been so happy, so wrapped
up in each other.

She could see Harry digging in his heels, refusing to heed her arguments. Frustrated, she
clenched her fingers together, trying to stay calm.

“I’m going,” Harry said coolly. “And it’s your choice on whether or not you’ll come.”

“Oh, but Harry… what will a few more hours matter? Surely if you’ve waited this long, we can
take the time to come up with a plan!”

“A plan?” He took a few steps towards her. “The *plan*? The plan is to *find* the
locket and *destroy* it. Don’t you *get* it, Hermione? We don’t *have* hours! While
we’re in here yelling, Voldemort is *out there killing people*!”

“Alright, fine!” she said, tears spilling over. She wiped furiously at her eyes. “Let’s go.”

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione Apparated away, relieved when she found herself in
Grimmauld Place’s kitchen and *not* splinched. There was a crack and Harry appeared next to
her.

Hermione turned around in a circle, looking around her. The house was empty. No traces of the
Order could be seen, leading Hermione to wonder what affect Dumbledore’s death would have on
it.

“I’m sure they’re still functioning,” Harry said, echoing her thoughts. “But I don’t reckon the
house is near as safe as it was. Their Secret Keeper is gone.”

He moved around. “Where should we start?”

“Oh, Harry, haven’t you learned anything at Hogwarts?” Harry frowned and she raised her wand.
“*Accio* locket!”

A dozen golden chains zoomed into the kitchen, all of them smashing into her chest before
dropping to the floor.

“Oof,” she whispered as she and Harry bent down to look at them. “Oh, yes,” she muttered. “I’m
*perfectly* fine. No need to be concerned.”

“Good,” Harry said vaguely, pulling out a locket in the middle of the pack. “This is it.”

Very carefully, he set it on the table, as if fearing it might burn him. They stood side by
side, staring at it.

Hermione rubbed her chest and studied it. “I don’t know. I mean, the hard part was
*finding* it, right? Perhaps it won’t be too terribly difficult to destroy it.”

They exchanged an uneasy look. Dumbledore nearly lost a hand destroying one of them.

“Well…” Hermione said. “What if we… stomp on it?”

Neither of them moved.

“Er…” Harry said, swallowing. “Maybe it’s best if we… keep our distance.”

“Good point,” Hermione said weakly. She raised her wand and she and Harry took a step backwards.
“*Destructo*!”

Her hand gave a nervous jump, misdirecting the spell. The kitchen sink exploded.

“Sorry,” she said as Harry muttered a quick “*reparo.*”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. She focused on the locket on the table until it was
the only thing in her line of vision.

“*Destructo*!”

There was a flash of green light, blinding her. She heard her wand clutter to the floor. She
pressed her hands to her eyes.

*Fire*… *there was fire everywhere*… she was burning. She clamped her hands to her
ears and crumpled. It was spreading, taking over every part of her body. She couldn’t move.

*Fire*

It burnt through every particle and cell, leaving nothing behind. She opened her mouth to scream
and wail, beg for it to *stop, pleaseohplease, stop…*

***

The first thing she felt when she woke up was someone stroking her hair. She stayed still,
letting the gentle pressure soothe her.

“Harry?” she whispered.

There was a moment of silence and then, “Hey.”

Hermione bravely opened her eyes. Harry’s blurry face stared down at her. His hand moved from
her hair to her cheek, his fingers moving in tiny circles.

“Hermione…” he whispered. He bent, touching his lips to her cheek before kissing her chin and
the corner of her mouth.

“You’re okay,” she said.

He nodded, face still pressed up against hers. She let her fingers slide into his hair,
messaging his scalp. He took a deep breath and kissed her, letting his lips linger on hers before
he pulled away.

He sat next to her on the bed, holding her hand. She glanced around, relieved to see they were
still at Grimmauld Place. She couldn’t have been unconscious that long.

“What happened?” she whispered. “How did I…?”

He bowed his head, his hold on her hand tightening.

“I burned it.”

Her eyes snapped to his face. “The locket? You—”

“Burned it,” he said. “Set it on fire. Turns out that’s how to destroy it.”

Hermione shivered. “How did you know?”

“You.” His voice turned fainter. “I thought at first that your curse had rebounded. But then… it
looked like you were having a fit.” He swallowed and looked in her eyes, his regret a tangible
presence. “You kept yelling that you were on fire… that you were burning… I didn’t know what else
to do.”

She sat up, the pain of the horcrux’s attack coming back to her. She slid into his arms,
releasing a small sigh when he held her tightly. This—like this—she felt safe.

Harry kissed her shoulder before pressing his cheek to hers.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“You were right, I should’ve—”

“No,” she said, pulling back so she could shush him. “You were right too. There *is* no
manual on how to do this, no instruction book. We’re going blind on this, Harry. The only way is to
go at it one step at a time.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But you—I… Hermione—”

“I know.” She kissed him, reassuring both of them she was alright.

When they broke their kiss, she let her head fall against his shoulder. “I’m so tired,” she
said.

Harry rocked her, cradling her like she might break. A wave of tenderness passed through her and
she could *feel* how much he cared for her. Her eyes closed, his hands now rubbing over her
back.

She only hoped that one day he *would* be able to tell her.



5. Five
-------

**A/N**: Thanks for all the great reviews, guys. I really appreciate it. This is the first
time I’m really trying to mix both romance and plot. I hope it works.

“You,” Ron said slowly. “Went after a horcrux… *without me*?”

Hermione fought irritation. “Yes. Yes, we did, Ron. I’m sorry if you felt left out, but I
daresay that’s hardly what’s at stake here.”

Ron scowled, not looking mollified.

Harry sounded short tempered. “It had to be done. We managed fine.”

Hermione tried to send a reassuring smile in his direction, but Harry ignored her. He’d put
distance between them ever since they’d destroyed the horcrux. Hermione suspected he had yet to
come to grips with her near-death experience.

She missed him—*her* Harry, the Harry he felt comfortable being in her presence.

“How’s the Burrow?” Harry asked.

“Oh, fine,” Ron said, waving a hand. “Mum gave me an earful—”

Harry and Hermione winced in sympathy.

“—she doesn’t know exactly *what* we’re doing, only that it’s going after You-Know-Who. I
reckon she’s just fussed I won’t be taking N.E.W.T.’s.”

“We’ll see about that,” Hermione muttered. Ron rolled his eyes.

“Bill and Fleur are *disgusting*,” Ron said, face screwing up in dislike. “Always snogging
each other and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “That would be awful to see *all the time.*” Harry made an odd coughing
sound in his hands that sounded suspiciously like, “*Lavender Brown*.”

“Anyway,” Ron said hastily. “Anything else you wanna know?”

Ron wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. Her eyes ticked to Harry’s face. His
expression was unreadable.

“Sure,” he said quietly. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s moping,” Ron said. “She misses you. Have you ever *considered*—”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Absolutely not. She’s safer this way.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Okay, your choice, mate. But I wouldn’t count on her waiting around
for you forever.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to,” Harry said shortly. He turned to the window. “I’ll keep first watch.
You two get some rest.”

Hermione went to brush her teeth, keeping her hands clenched. She stared in the bathroom mirror
and wondered if any of her inner turmoil showed on her face.

Harry had settled himself down in the window seat when she came back into the room. She wanted
to settle herself down in his lap and feel his arms encircle her. If she closed her eyes, she could
feel the stiffness of his shirt against her neck.

She climbed into bed next to Ron, shivering slightly.

“Cold?” he asked her, his blue eyes filled with concern.

She nodded. “Yes, a little.”

He handed her more of the comforter, looking proud of his generosity.

Hermione snuggled down against her pillow. “Thanks, Ron.”

“No prob,” he said, giving a wide yawn.

Wind howled outside, causing the windows to shake. Hermione glanced at Harry, positively
*aching* for him. The only time she seemed to feel safe was in his arms, his skin next to
hers.

She closed her eyes, willing her mind to relax. She needed every moment of sleep she could
get.

***

She felt someone shake her shoulders, calling her name.

*Harry*, her sleeping mind said. *Must be Harry*…

“Miss Granger, *please* wake up, Miss Granger…”

The voice was deep, panic making it sound rough. Her eyes snapped open as a burst of adrenaline
made her feel wide-awake. She grabbed at her wand, finding it safely tucked into the waistband of
her pajamas.

“Miss Granger, you *must* leave, right now, there’s not time to…”

“T—Tom?” Hermione said, stumbling in the darkness of the room.

A hand closed around her wrist, the grip desperate.

“You—must—*leave*!!”

“Leave?” Hermione said, trying to stay calm. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. It
*was* Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron. He was clad in only a pair of boxers. His eyes
were wild.

“What’s—what’s going on?” she glanced at the window.

Her heart stopped.

Harry was gone.

Her chest heaved and she felt like she was fighting from underwater, desperate to reach the
surface and take her first breath of fresh air.

“Harry—where’s—*what’s happening*?”

Tom let go of her wrist and Hermione winced. Her skin throbbed where his fingers had been.

He gave a maniacal laughter and stumbled back a few steps.

“What’s happening?” he leaned towards her, his cheeks gaunt. “They’re *here*! Can’t you
hear them? They—*are*—*here*!”

“Here...” Hermione whispered. “Oh, god…”

Terror seized her. She grabbed Ron’s shoulders and shook him as hard as she could.

“Murgh. Wazzgoingon?”

“Get up!” she shrieked. She took a deep breath, her heart hammering. “Ron, the Death Eaters are
coming. You need to get up *right now*. Do you hear me? We have to get out of here!”

She jumped from the bed, grabbing odds and ends as she found them. Shirts, knickers, pants,
hers, Ron’s, Harry’s. It didn’t matter.

“Dumbledore’s diary,” she mumbled. She dived under the bed, her fingers searching for it in the
nooks and crannies she couldn’t see.

It was gone.

She gave a sudden gasp of understand. *Harry*…

She stood up. Tom was looking out the window through the curtains. Hermione stopped, frozen. She
could see the flicker of fire in the distance. The sounds of shattering glass penetrated the
room.

Her chest heaved as she continued to struggle for breath. Her hand clenched spasmodically at her
throat.

Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…

“Ron!” she burst out. “Where are—”

“Here,” he answered, taking her elbow and bring her back to reality.

She hoisted the suitcase, her hands trembling. “I packed—I…”

“That’s good, Hermione. Real great,” Ron pulled her close, for which she was grateful. “Come on,
we have to go.”

“No,” she said. “Ron, we can’t. Not without Harry. He could be anywhere!”

“Hermione!” There was a loud explosion from outdoors. “We don’t have time—”

“It’s *Harry*!” she said, fighting hysteria. “He wouldn’t leave us, you know he
wouldn’t!”

Tom backed away from the window, his eyes bloodshot.

“Best of luck to you,” he said. He turned towards the doorway, hefting his wand. “If I’m lucky,
I’ll take a few of the sodding bastards with me.”

Tom rushed from the room. Hermione tried to go after him, but Ron held her back.

“Are you *mental*?” he roared. “We *have* to go!”

“Harry—”

“Will find us!” Ron said. “Hermione, if we stay, it’s suicide.”

Before she could say anything else, Ron Apparated, dragging her along with him.

The last thing she heard was the scream of a man whose life was ending.

***

Hermione gave a great gasp when they appeared in Godric’s Hollow. Ron let go of her and she
stumbled, arms flailing around her. Her head snapped around, trying to look in all directions at
once.

It was empty.

“He’s not here,” she said, sinking to her knees. The first pinpricks of daylight crept over the
horizon. “He’s not here, Ron.”

Ron sat down beside her, his face pale. “What—I don’t—”

“It happened so fast,” Hermione whispered. “It all happened so fast.”

Ron rubbed his hands together, his eyes bewildered as he scanned the area in front of them.

“Where do you reckon he went?”

Hermione shook her head, *I don’t know* on the tip of her tongue. Instead she moved closer
to Ron, needing to feel some kind of reassurance.

“He left us,” Hermione said, voice bitter. “He went off on his own.”

“On his own?” Ron repeated.

Hermione nodded. It wasn’t really a surprise. Ever since the three of them had set off on their
mission, Hermione had silently been counting down the time until Harry would try and leave
them.

“Now what?” Ron said.

“We wait,” she said heavily.

For how long, she didn’t know. She leaned back, her head resting against Ron’s arm. It hurt her
neck, but she didn’t say anything.

The sky was turning lighter, the black fading to a yellow-hue, the last of the stars shimmering
out of existence. Birds chirped and sung, their noises jarring when Hermione could still hear the
sounds of glass breaking and the screams of terrified people. Harry was out in that, somewhere,
alone.

Ron’s breathing, regular in its ins and outs, reminded her she wasn’t alone. She closed her
eyes. She was safe for now.

***

The sound of an Apparating witch or wizard rang through the field. Hermione sprang up, her
movements awkward and uncoordinated. She fumbled for her wand, encircling her fingers around it and
taking a deep breath. Ron grabbed her arm, holding her back as he took a cautious step forward.

“It’s Harry,” she said. “It has to be.”

She and Ron searched the surrounding area, stopping when they caught sight of him. He was
frozen, staring at them with a wide-eyed look. And then he was running, covering the distance
between them in a matter of seconds.

He ran into them, nearly knocking her and Ron down into the grass. They grabbed on to sleeves
and arms and hands, colliding into a tight three-person hug. Hermione chocked back a sob as she
felt Harry’s arm slide around her, his leg pressed against her own. He smelled like smoke and fire,
but he was *fine*—fine, he was fine.

They broke apart and Harry and Ron hugged, bringing tears to her eyes. When it was her turn, she
really *did* cry, her tears sliding onto Harry’s shoulder. He held her tightly, arms locked
around her backside. She wanted to kiss him, laugh and sob. She felt his lips press against her
neck and shivered.

“Later,” he whispered in her ear before he pulled away.

The three of them looked at each other. She smiled and wiped at her eyes, her relief making her
feel weak.

***

“I thought you were dead,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. They were at Number Twelve
Grimmauld Place in London—their new home. “You were right, Hermione, I was planning on taking off.
But then…”

“Diagon Alley was attacked,” Ron guessed. “Good one, mate.”

“You came back for us,” Hermione said, watching Harry’s eyes. He seemed older, his innocence
quickly disappearing behind a face that had witnessed too much in too short a time.

“Yeah,” Harry said, tapping the table. “When I got back to the Leaky Cauldron, there was…” he
swallowed, staring at the table. His voice dropped. “The Dark Mark was hovering over it.”

Hermione turned cold. “Oh, Harry…”

“I was so sure…” he shook his head and looked at them. He tried to smile. “All I could think was
that you two were gone and it was my fault.”

A moment of silence passed and Hermione linked her fingers together, twisting them back and
forth.

“I never…” Harry released a shaky breath. “It was a bad moment for me. The Order was running
around, trying to calm people down, find out who was dead. So I went in.”

“And we weren’t there,” Hermione said, suddenly relieved Ron had dragged her away.

“Tom’s dead,” Harry whispered. “He was just… *lying* there… on the front table, you know? I
checked the rest of the place over, but I didn’t find anyone else. I still couldn’t be sure… not
until I saw you.”

Harry leaned back in the chair, gripping the edge of the table. Hermione wanted to comfort him,
but Ron’s presence was like a physical barrier.

“I never would’ve left if I’d known,” Harry said. He pulled Dumbledore’s diary out and set it on
the table.

He stood up, looking like the effort cost him physical pain. Ron stared at the diary and then at
Harry.

“You’re going to take off on us again, aren’t you?”

Harry folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t say anything.

“Great,” Ron said. “For a moment, I actually thought I could be useful.”

Harry’s eyes were apologetic. He leaned on the table, using it to support his weight.

“I won’t make any promises—I can’t.” His voice was rough. “But I *do* need you—both of
you—to win this. I can’t take the same chance again. I shouldn’t have left.”

Hermione knew that was the best they were going to get. Ron slumped, seeming to sense the same
thing.

“I’m going to get some rest,” Harry said. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Harry shuffled out of the room, back hunched over and looking like he was carrying the fate of
the world on his shoulder.

Which of course he was.

***

Hermione hesitated outside Harry’s room, her hand on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she
turned the handle.

Harry looked up as she entered. He was sitting cross-legged, back leaning against the
headboard.

“Hey,” she whispered.

She was momentarily overwhelmed, the strain of the last few days catching up to her. But here he
was—*Harry*—sitting safely in his room at Grimmauld Place.

He blinked at her before smiling—a *genuine* smile. It lit up his entire face, making him
seem younger.

She grinned back, relief crawling through her.

“Hermione,” he said quietly.

She felt a jolt—she loved the way he could say her name. Everything he was feeling seemed to
pour out in that whisper.

Without talking, she joined him on the bed, going into his arms. And then his lips were meeting
hers—over and over. His palm slid over her back, dipping under her shirt and tickling over her
skin.

The rest of the world faded away as she curled up in Harry’s arms, his mouth doing wonderful
things to hers.

***

They rested side by side, no more than a foot separating their faces. Their hands were linked,
resting on the bed between their bodies. Every few seconds, Harry would let his free hand trail
over her cheek or tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“So you think it’s in Borgin & Burkes?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said. “Listen, Dumbledore isn’t really specific about anything in his diary,
but…”

He sat up and summoned the diary to him, rifling through its pages before pausing three quarters
of the way through.

“*That Mr. Borgin is a terribly humorous bloke. I was just passing by, a little stroll in
mid-afternoon when I came about his shop. He was delighted to see me, of course. He showed me
around, explicitly detailing his attempts over the years to turn it into a more ‘respectable’
business and so on and so forth. Naturally, I inquired after a bit of water. Imagine my surprise
when I was refused! Being a wizard of my skill, however, I was capable of conjuring up a goblet for
myself…*.”

Harry snapped the diary closed and raised his eyebrows. “There. You see? He was after
Hufflepuff’s cup.”

Hermione blinked. “Harry…”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s the best we have to go on right now.”

Hermione sighed. “It’ll be harder to get into Knockturn Alley now that the Death Eaters have
attacked Diagon Alley.”

“Well,” Harry said, frowning. “We have the Invisibility cloak *and* the brightest witch of
her age.”

Hermione flushed. “Oh, hush up.”

Harry grinned and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She sighed happily, arms encircling his
neck. She settled against him, her head resting perfectly on the groove of his shoulder.

“Harry?”

“Mmm?”

He was pressing light kisses to her neck, his hand rubbing up and down over her hip.

“Was it random, do you think? The attack on Diagon Alley?”

Harry stopped what he was doing. Hermione watched him think.

“Yes,” he finally said. “I don’t think they were after us.”

*If they were, we’d be dead*, Hermione realized, with a vague sort of detachment.

“They’re trying to create widespread panic,” Harry said darkly. “It doesn’t matter where you
are, you won’t be safe.”

She kissed his chin. “Do you think it’s working?”

Harry shrugged and let his forehead drop on her shoulder.

“Unfortunately,” he mumbled. “It’s working brilliantly.”



6. Chapter 6
------------

**Title**: All Nights (6/?)

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, plot

**Summary**: Will Harry, Ron, and Hermione get their hands on the next horcrux? Will Harry
and Hermione *ever* talk about what’s happening between them? Do you really think this chapter
is going to answer *any* of those questions?

**Author’s Notes**: Consider this my first and only cliffhanger in this series. I’m not
generally a big fan of cliffies, but this chapter seemed to call for it. *grin*

*This cloak hardly fits us anymore*, Hermione thought grumpily. *Why did Harry and Ron
insist on* growing *so?*

They kept her squashed in the middle between them. A sweet gesture to be sure, but Hermione
resisted the urge to point out that she *could* take care of herself.

They had to be extra careful not to run into anyone. It wouldn’t do to be discovered
*before* they’d even reached the shop.

“Ugh,” Hermione whispered as they passed a particularly foul smelling man.

They turned another corner, nearly running into two people shagging like it was the end of the
world. For a moment, Hermione stared, horrified. Nothing about the woman’s position seemed
comfortable.

Harry and Ron closed tighter around her and this time she was grateful. They saw similar sights
on their way to Burgin & Burkes. Witches and wizards exchanging hallucinogens, alcohol, and
smuggled goods. Hermione’s skin crawled and she vowed to do something about it. One day.

When they reached Borgin & Burkes, it was closed, its lights out and the door locked.

“Seems like he’d get some of his best business at this time of night,” Ron said.

“Too dangerous, I suspect,” said Harry. “Who knows what kind of customer would show up?”

Ron shuddered. “Good point.”

“Any ideas on how to get in?” Harry whispered in her ear.

Hermione shrugged. She raised her wand and gave a half-hearted, “*Alohamora*.”

The lock clicked, the door opening a crack.

“Okay…” Harry said uncertainly.

Hermione knew he was thinking the same thing she was. *It was too easy*.

“Well, that’s a fair bit of luck!” Ron said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Hermione’s breath caught and Harry lunged forward, just missing the back of Ron’s arm. “Ron,
wait!”

Hermione steeled herself for something awful to happen; the bright green light of *Avada
Kedavra* that would strike down her best friend in front of her.

A moment passed and Hermione released a slow breath, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Ron stood in the entranceway, a puzzled expression on his face. “What?”

Hermione entered the store and smacked Ron on the shoulder. “You daft git.”

Harry came in behind them, throwing the Invisibility Cloak around them over Ron’s protests.

“Safer this way,” he said shortly. “Merlin, Ron, you’re quite thick sometimes.”

“Hey!” Ron said.

“Shhh!” Hermione hissed, stamping on both their feet. “Yes, do talk as loudly as possible.”

They shuffled around in the dark store, their breathing sounding unbearably loud. They tripped
over displays, prompting Ron to ask sarcastically if he was allowed to at least cast some
light.

“You know,” Hermione whispered. “He’s right. We’ll never be able to find *anything* at this
rate.”

“Well, what do you propose we do, then?” Harry asked.

“I’ll just… nip out of the cloak and take a quick look around.”

“No.”

Harry,” she rolled her eyes and reminded herself to keep her voice down. “We’re never going to
find it at this rate.”

“Fine, you and Ron stay under the cloak and *I’ll* take a look around.”

Hermione shook her head. “It has to be me. I was just here last year, remember? I have a better
idea of how things are arranged.”

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione ducked out from under the Invisibility Cloak. She heard
Harry hiss her name and ignored him.

She wandered around, her eyes wide in the darkness. She was careful not to touch anything,
passing by jewelry in the display cases with only the barest of glances.

If Hufflepuff’s cup really is here, well, would it be for sale? He’d know its origin, of course,
but I doubt he’d have any idea what its tie is to Voldemort…

Hermione paused in her search, nibbling on her bottom lip. *I’m a witch! Of course! There must
be some sort of spell that would summon it to me.*

She glanced around, her eyes scanning the shelves lined with merchandise. An idea formed in her
mind. She went to the middle of the store and stopped.

“Harry!” she said. It was odd yelling for someone she knew was there but could not see.
“*Harry*!”

She turned around and collided with something.

“Ow,” Ron mumbled.

“Oh, sorry,” Hermione said.

“What’s up?” Harry said.

Hermione stared at where the voices were coming from, frowning. “Will you take off the stupid
cloak? This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Harry said irritably. “There’s something about this I don’t like.”

“Fine,” Hermione said. “But I’d like to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

“You remember what the cup looks like, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Think of it as hard as you can—every detail you can remember. Focus on it.” Hermione paused.
“Are you thinking of it?”

Harry sounded skeptical. “Sure.”


“Well, think *harder*,” she snapped. She waited for half a minute before raising her wand
in Harry’s general direction. “Show me.”

Her wand spun around in her hand before point slightly to her left. Swallowing, Hermione started
in that direction, turning and going as her wand directed her. She came to a stop in front of a cup
concealed in a glass case.

The accompanying price tag was more money than Hermione could hope to earn in her life.

“Got you,” she whispered.

The cup wasn’t particularly ornate. Its once gold edges were tarnished, leaving it a dirty brown
colour. Small jewels sparkling on the sides spoke of the cup it had once been. The history behind
it…

Without thinking, Hermione reached out a hand towards the glass case, flinching when someone’s
hand closed around her wrist.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded.

Hermione wrenched her arm backwards, blinking. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

“Are you mad?” Ron said. “You could have set off *any* kind of alarm.”

“Don’t be silly, Ron,” Hermione said, secretly unnerved. “I knew what I was doing.”

“Fine, great,” Harry said. “We know it’s here. Let’s go.”

“*What*?” Hermione said. “No way! Not when we’re so close.”

“I *told* you, there’s something strange going on,” Harry said. “This doesn’t feel
right.”

Hermione spoke urgently. “Oh, hang it, Harry. You were the one who said we were wasting time! Do
you think Voldemort’s going to wait patiently while we try and figure out how to get this cup out
of here? This is our chance! We *have* to do this.”

Harry didn’t reply, but his obvious tension was a palpable presence. Hermione scanned the case
for protective spells, still feeling an odd pull towards the cup.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “There’s nothing.”

“Don’t touch it,” Harry said sharply. “This isn’t right. It can’t be this easy.”

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing there.”

“Hermione, one of these things *killed* Dumbledore! Don’t tell me there’s nothing there
that can hurt you!”

In a burst of sudden impulse, Hermione reached for the glass case, lifting it up and setting it
down on the floor. Her heart was beating very fast. She heard Harry suck in a deep gasp of air.

“Hermione…” he whispered.

Her fingers were shaking as they brushed the top of the cup, its surface hard and smooth. She
picked it up, mentally steeling herself for the burning sensation the locket had caused. The cup
stayed cool in her hand, its diamonds shining in the dark.

“Not a problem,” she said, a victorious smile on her mouth. “Not a problem at all.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said. “Can we *please* go?”

“Okay,” she said. She passed him the cup when something caught her eye.

Harry and Ron groaned. “Hermione, *come on*.”

“Hang on…” she said.

She paused in front of the item. It was a circular ball, no larger than her fist. It was rough
when she touched it, like it needed to be sandpapered. She read the label.

Defractor…

She could not say what attracted her to the item, only that she was certain it was important in
some way. She checked the price, unsurprised to see it worth several hundred galleons.

*Defractor, Defractor…* she turned the name around in her mind, hoping to jog some far-off
memory. She was certain she read it somewhere—during her trip to Hogwarts when she raided the
library. It had been in one of the books from the Restricted Section, she was sure of it.

She was about to lift it from the shelf when she felt the tip of someone’s wand press against
the back of her neck.

“Very good, Miss Granger,” said a familiar voice in her ear. “Now turn around—slowly.”

There was a quick flutter and Professor Severus Snape stared at her, his hooked noise turned
upwards in dislike. She gasped, her hand flying to her throat.

“Drop your wand,” he said.

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes scanning the store for some sight of Harry and Ron.

She released her wand, tensing when she heard it clutter to the floor. Snape dug his wand into
her throat until she struggled to breathe. There was a second flutter and Draco Malfoy appeared on
her other side, his wand aimed at her chest.

“Mr. Potter isn’t the only one that can get his hands on Invisibility Cloaks,” Snape said,
smiling at her terrified expression. “Miss Granger, let us cut right to the chase. It was so kind
of you to fetch Miss Hufflepuff’s cup for us.”

“You’re too late,” she whispered. “It’s gone.”

Snape leaned closer to her, his hand clenched tightly on his wand. “I’m not stupid, girl. I know
Potter is here. What do you think will happen to you if he doesn’t give me what I want?”

Hermione thought quickly. He knew Harry was there, but couldn’t detect him through the
Invisibility Cloak. Perhaps Harry would have time to formulate a plan… if she could keep Snape
talking…

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Malfoy’s lip curled. “Granger, let’s make it simple. If Potter doesn’t give us the cup, we’ll
kill you.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek until the thick taste of blood filled her mouth. She didn’t
say anything.

Snape changed his position until he was addressing the rest of the store.

“You heard the boy, Potter. Give us the cup or she’ll die.”

Hermione closed her eyes, body tense. It had never occurred to her that Harry would choose the
horcrux over her life. But, then, weren’t *those* the choices he’d inevitably be faced with?
With the horcrux gone, he’d be one step closer to destroying Voldemort and winning the war. If he
saved her life now, he could be dooming countless others.

*He* should *choose the horcrux*, she reasoned. It *was* the rational choice
after all. Her life paled in comparison to the rest of the world.

But she couldn’t stop her desperate thought that it *shouldn’t* be rational. If Harry cared
for her, even as his best friend, he wouldn’t let Snape kill her. She was *sure* of it—it
would destroy him to stand by and watch as she was murdered.

And she didn’t want to die.

There was so much *life* left to live, sensations and feelings left to explore. She’d never
hear Harry tell her he loved her.

“Come on, Potter,” Snape said, his voice cold and collected. “I killed Dumbledore without pause.
I’ll do the same to Granger.”

Silence.

Hermione opened her eyes, searching for Harry, for *some* sign he was doing something to
get her out of this…

“Very well,” Snape said. He turned to Hermione, his face unapologetic.

Hermione steeled herself. She didn’t even have time to say good-bye.

“*Avada*—”

“Wait,” Malfoy said.

Hermione held back a sob, clenching her hands until her wrists hurt.

“There are worse things than death, Professor,” Malfoy said, his eyes glinting with excitement.
“Ever been under the Cruciatus Curse, Granger?”

Hermione stayed quiet, her eyes focused on a point over Malfoy’s shoulder. She wasn’t here, it
wasn’t real, she’d wake up any moment at Grimmauld Place, Harry’s arms around her.

Harry. She didn’t want him to have to see this. He’d witnessed too many deaths already.

“Fine, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. “But I haven’t got all day.”

Malfoy’s smirk grew. Hermione felt sick—*he was enjoying this*.

“I bet you’re a screamer, Granger.” Without hesitation, he pointed his wand at her.
“*Crucio.*”

It was agony. At first, she tried to burrow in her mind, hanging into her name, her sanity, but
the pain consumed her until that was all that was left. She screamed, she begged, she curled up on
the floor and shrieked.

When it stopped, she lay panting, sweat trickling along her brow. She pulled herself to her
knees, Snape and Malfoy’s hard faces staring down at her.

“You bastard,” she whispered, her throat dry. She couldn’t believe this was the same boy that
failed to kill Dumbledore. It no longer seemed possible that he lacked the cruelty.

“Come on, Potter,” Malfoy said, ignoring her curled form on the floor. “This is your fault, you
know. She’s suffering because of you.”


“That’s not true,” Hermione said, standing up. She was shaking. “This isn’t Harry’s fault.”

“Oh, yeah?” Malfoy sneered. He paused and Hermione balled her fists. She knew what was coming.
“*Crucio*!”

It was worse this time. It set her limbs on fire, her skin crawling. She could hear yelling from
far away, barely registering that it was her own screams of pain. *Stop*, she wanted to beg.
*I’ll do anything…*

When the curse lifted, she barely had enough energy to open her eyes. Yes, she could understand
why the Longbottoms had chosen madness over this kind of agony.

“C’mon, Granger,” Malfoy said. “I thought you’d have more resilience.”

The floor was cold under her forehead. She tried to control her breathing. She didn’t think she
could go through it again. She bit her lip to keeping from begging, her hands braced on the
floor.

Malfoy bent down in front of her, yanking her chin up to look in his eyes.

“Is there something you’d like to ask Potter to do?”

Hermione shook her head.

Malfoy leaned closer to her, his mouth twisted into a grimace. His fingers dug into her jaw.

“Do you want me to use the Cruciatus Curse again, Granger?”

She shook her head a second time, tears stinging her eyes. She could see Snape standing alert to
the slightest signs of movement.

“Does it hurt?” Malfoy whispered. “Worse than anything you’ve felt in your life?”

Hermione swallowed and nodded her head. Malfoy let a moment of silence pass.

“Good,” he said.

He let go of her and took a few steps backwards. “*Cru—”*

“Alright, *fine!* You can have the stupid cup!”

It was Harry’s voice. Hermione felt only one emotion—relief. The pain would stop.

Malfoy stilled. “Potter, nice of you to join us. I could’ve gone on all night. At least.”

Hermione pulled her knees to her chest, unsettled to find Malfoy’s wand still pointed at her
chest, Snape behind him. Harry and Ron stood opposite them, their wands pointed at Hufflepuff’s
cup.

Hermione closed her eyes, only aware that she was saved. She was going to be fine…

“Malfoy,” Ron croaked. “When I get my hands on you…”

“Aww, Weasley, you’re hurting my feelings.”

Ron’s face was the colour of sour milk. Harry was composed, but he looked furious.

“The *cup*, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, his eyes on Hufflepuff’s heirloom.

“Ron will give Malfoy the cup at the same time you *let Hermione go*,” Harry said, his wand
now on Snape.

They made the exchange. Ron handed Malfoy the cup and stood in front of her. Malfoy backed up,
raising his eyebrows. Ron shook with rage and Hermione forced herself to her feet. Harry appeared
on her other side, slipping an arm around her waist to hold her steady.

It was only then that she felt how stiff he was—like every muscle was wound tight.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he said in a low voice.

“Letting your emotions control you, Potter,” Snape said. “As always.”

“And, like always, you don’t seem to have any idea what it means to care for other people. Too
bad. I hope your boss knows that,” Harry said, but he was looking at Malfoy.

“Caring for other people brought upon the Headmaster’s defeat,” Snape said softly. “Don’t forget
that.”


Harry took a deep breath and almost seemed to sway on his feet. “Take the cup and
*leave*.”

“Very well,” Snape said. “Mr. Malfoy.”

Snape spoke Draco’s name like he was summoning a pet. There was a large *crack* and Snape
Disapparated.

It took Hermione a few seconds to realize Malfoy had stayed behind. For a long moment, all they
did was stare at each other.

“Looking for something?” Malfoy asked, pulling an object out of his pocket.

It was Hufflepuff’s cup.



7. Seven
--------

**Title**: All Nights (7/?)

**Keywords**: Harry, Hermione, H/Hr, Ron, Draco, post-HBP

**Word Count**: 2, 145

**Rating**: R

**A/N**: This chapter gave me a headache to end all headaches. The good news is, chapter 8 is
coming along really well, and will probably be about twice the length of this one.

**A/N 2**: I'm not a Draco fan. Never will be.So there'snot a very big chance I'm
going to be writing redeemed!Draco. *hides from the Tom Felton fangirls*

**Dedication**: For Chelsey for spending three and a half *amazing* days with me in the
country. And for telling me this didn’t suck as much as I thought it did. You? Rock.

After the initial shock passed, Ron’s face twisted into a dangerous scowl. He strode forward,
hesitating as if unsure whether to use his fists or his wand.

Malfoy leaned back, casual almost, tossing the cup up and down in his hand. “You three are so
predictable. It’s a bit boring, really.”

A strange noise tore itself out of Ron’s throat, halfway between a scream and a growl.

“You are so fucking *dead*, Malfoy,” he said.

“Calm yourself, Weasley. With blood pressure that high, you’ll keel over and roll yourself into
an early grave.”

Hermione couldn’t do anything but grip tightly to Harry’s elbow, feeling like the typical
distressed damsel and not liking it one bit. Hate for Malfoy bubbled in her chest. How could he
stand there so calmly when minutes before he’d had her on her back, taking great pleasure in
torturing her?

“Give me *one reason* why I shouldn’t *Avada Kedavra* your pale white arse, Malfoy,”
Ron spat, his ears reddening.

“*Because*, you dipshit, I’m on your sodding side.” Malfoy waved the cup. “See this? It’s
your next horcrux—one I managed to save for you.”

“You…” Ron said slowly, a twisted smile on his face. “You’re on *our* side? Just how thick
do you think I am?”

“Do you really want me to answer that honestly, Weaselgit?” Malfoy nodded his head in Hermione’s
direction. “I saved the Mudblood’s life. That must count for something.”

“*Saved her life*?” Ron roared. “You… you…”

Ron advanced, but Harry lunged forward to grab his arm. “Ron, wait.”

*He knew*, Hermione thought, letting go of Harry. He *knew* about Malfoy. He knew—and
*that* was the only reason he’d surrendered the cup. He *knew* and he’d let Malfoy
torture her… for fun…

She felt a wave of nausea pass through her. Harry was the one person she was sure would do
*anything* if her life was threatened.

Vaguely she heard Harry tell Ron that Malfoy was telling the truth—he was on their side. They
were arguing about it, their voices becoming louder. *I should tell them to keep it down*, but
she lacked the strength.

Malfoy stood back, still holding the cup, his smirk self-satisfied. She didn’t care if he was on
their side, she didn’t trust him. Wouldn’t ever.

Ron and Harry were still arguing. They were talking about her now. She didn’t want to
listen—nothing could possibly justify Harry’s actions…

“I would have done anything for you!” she said, only she didn’t say it at all. They were both
too far away and Malfoy stood there smirking and she was falling.

*I’m in shock*, she thought. *That’s normal. You don’t just get up and* walk away
*from the Cruciatus Curse.*

She didn’t have time to yell or make a noise. Her vision faded, spots dancing up in front of her
eyes. She swayed, her eyes fluttering closed, her legs giving in from under her.

She fell, a part of her registering that Harry caught her before she hit the floor. *Of
course*.

****

When she woke, she was safely in her room at Grimmauld Place. She half-hoped to find Harry
watching over her. If he could offer some sort of explanation… some sign of affection…

But she was alone and she felt fine. The only scars were the emotional ones—*how typical*.
She knew it would be a long time before she forgot what the Cruciatus Curse felt like.

Someone knocked on the door. Again her thoughts strayed to Harry. She could not decide whether
or not she wanted to see him.

It was Ron. He smiled when he saw she was awake.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” She tried to smile. “Where’s Malfoy?”

Ron’s expression tightened. “With Harry.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “They’re trying to figure out how to destroy the horcrux.”

“So it’s true, then,” she said. “He really *has* changed sides.”

Ron glowered. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded, remembering Malfoy’s joy when he tortured her.

“I couldn’t stay down there anymore—I thought I’d strangle the smug git.” Ron called Malfoy
several more unpleasant names. Hermione listened quietly, secretly pleased that Ron appeared to be
so angry on her behalf.

She even ignored her part of her that wished it was Harry instead.

Eventually Ron calmed down enough to tell her what happened, most of which Hermione had already
determined for herself. Suspecting that they would try and steal Hufflepuff’s cup, Severus Snape
was sent to head them off. He’d let them do the work of uncovering it and *then* take it from
them.

“Because we’d be weak from getting around the protection charms,” Hermione surmised. “Only—it
didn’t happen that way.”

“No,” Ron said. “When Malfoy heard about the plans, he went in and got the cup for himself, he
put a fake in its place.”

“*Malfoy was able to circumvent the protection charms*?” Hermione said.

“Yeah. Can you believe it?”


*No*, Hermione thought bitterly. “So the cup we went after—the cup Harry handed over to
Snape—”

“Was a fake,” Ron said.

Hermione watched him steadily. *I was tortured for a fake cup… Harry nearly sacrificed me for
a fake cup…*

“How much of this did Harry already know when we went in?”

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. You’ll have to ask him.”

***

Hermione turned the cup around and around in her hands—*as if* that’ll *help me
any*.

Harry, Ron, and Draco all watched her silently.

“Have you tried burning it?”


“Yeah,” Harry said. “No go.”

“Look, Granger, we’ve tried everything. Contrary to what you might think, we’re not stupid.”
Malfoy paused. “At least, *I’m* not.”

“Shut your mouth,” Ron snapped.

Hermione’s hands shook as she examined the up. Her concentration was shot—being around Malfoy
left her jumpy. Being around Harry…

He’d barely spoken to her since they’d returned. He gave no explanation, no apology, only
silence. Unless he needed her help.

She set the cup down.

“I’ll think about it.”

Malfoy swore. “Granger, I don’t think you understand what this *means*. Having this thing
here? It makes us a fucking target.”

“I can’t do anything about it this instant. I’m sorry.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to have to tolerate being in the same room as me at some
point.”

“She doesn’t have to tolerate anything about you, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly. “Now leave her
alone.”

“You’re one to talk, Potter.”

Hermione couldn’t listen anymore. She pushed passed them, intending on holing up in her room
with her books. There was a way to destroy the cup. And she would find it.

***

She was jolted out of her research by a knock at her door. Sighing, she set down her book.

She gasped. It was Harry. But he looked like he’d been on the wrong end of a duel. A bruise was
forming on his right cheek and there was a large gash along his jaw, dripping blood onto the
carpet.

“Malfoy looks worse,” he said simply.

Her breath caught. She didn’t know what to think. His gaze pinned her in place, his eyes
traveling up and down her body until she blushed.

He leaned down and kissed her and she reacted, her arms winding their way around his neck. She
moved against him, fitting like she was made for him.

*I should care that he’s bleeding*, but she didn’t. They walked backwards towards her bed,
avoiding books spread out on the floor. They kissed over and over, hands blindly coming up to touch
faces and hair.

They landed in a tangle of limbs on the bed, Harry on top. His weight was familiar, reassuring,
and she sighed, her hands tangling in his hair. He kissed her nose and then her cheeks, like he was
in a hurry and had to get in all he could before it was too late.

She cupped his face and he hissed—she’s forgotten about his injury. No matter, he bent his head
to kiss her neck, his glasses cutting into her skin. She squirmed and he grinned, his hands busy
undoing her shirt.

They kissed again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his pace expressing urgency. She tilted
her head back when he made his way back to her throat, kissing and nipping at her skin, traveling
down to the swell of her breasts.

His hands brushed her hips, tickling her stomach until she moaned. She loved the way he could
make her feel—like she was desirable. Wanted.

But she knew they couldn’t do this—not now, not like this. There was too much unsaid between
them. She had to know what had happened back in Borgins & Burkes.

His fingers were on the waistband of her knickers when she stopped him.

Her “wait” was met with a bewildered look, like he couldn’t quite comprehend her words.

She gave an apologetic smile, reaching for her trousers to cover herself up. “I’m not in the
mood.”

His mouth fell open and she almost laughed at the expression on his face.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I just stomped all over your ego, didn’t I?”

He blinked and sat down next to her. “Actually… yes.” He waited a moment. “What… I mean, you…
you seemed to be enjoying yourself.” A thought seemed to hit him. “It wasn’t me, was it?”

This time she did laugh, the lost and desperate look on Harry’s face making her want to throw
her arms around him and hold on.

“No, it wasn’t you. At least, not in the way you mean.”

“Oh,” Harry said, shifting.

Slowly she began to re-dress, her movements slow as weariness set in. She could feel Harry’s
eyes on her, his mind lost in thought.

She rested her head against her pillow, her eyes closed. After a moment, Harry stretched out
next to her, his fingers combing absently through her hair.

“Did I ever tell you that Malfoy mastered Occlumency?” She shook her head. “Turns out, he’s
quite a skilled Legelimens too.”

Hermione waited. “Oh?”

“Legelimency’s an interesting skill. It’s what Voldemort uses to break into other people’s
minds. You can even leave imprints on another person—memories… thoughts.” Harry’s hand stilled on
her hair. “He… when Snape threatened your life… Malfoy, he told me what he was planning on
doing.”

“He broke into your mind, you mean,” Hermione said.

“Exactly. He told me he to wait, that he had to make Snape think he was on his side.” Harry
scowled. “Fucking bastard.”

Hermione flinched, surprised to hear Harry use such strong language.

Harry’s voice was hard when he continued. “Malfoy tortured you because he still hates you and he
still hates me and he knew I wouldn’t know what to do about it. The only reason he’s on our side is
because he hates Voldemort even more than that.”

Hermione studied him, the pain and guilt evident on his face. She touched her fingertips to his
lips, understanding that his avoidance of her bad been due to how deeply her torture had affected
him. He grasped her wrist, his eyes deepening.

“Listen, I don’t care how much Malfoy claims he did it to fool Snape—it doesn’t matter. You and
Ron, you come first. Maybe it means I really *should* go off on my own, but I can’t and I
haven’t.” His voice dropped. “I’d do anything if you were in danger, I promise. So I just… I
thought… you ought to know that.”

Harry slumped a little, like the speech had exhausted him. She knew she should tell him that the
horcruxes *were* more important, but she couldn’t. She traced his face with her fingers
instead; the slope of his nose, the outline of his lips, the rise of his cheekbones.

He leaned forward to kiss her gently. His tongue flicked out against her lips and her arms came
up to encircle his neck. A sigh escaped her throat, thoughts of Malfoy fleeing to the corner of her
mind.

He kissed his way down her neck again, his hands caressing her skin and undoing buttons. She
leaned back, giving permission with her eyes, letting him express his regret in touches and kisses.
This was their own language, free from the complications and confusion of words, pure in that it
belonged solely to them.

They said each other’s name, sometimes over and over like a chant, sometimes to reassure each
other that it was real, *they* were real.

He tugged down her knickers and she looked at the ceiling, trusting him with everything she had,
knowing he’d take her to new places. His tongue delved into her, circling her clit, causing her to
arch and clench tight handfuls of the bedcovers.

*I’m sorry*, he seemed to say and she arched and whimpered and cried his name. His teeth
scarped against her and the ceiling blurred.



8. Chapter 8
------------

**Title**: All Nights (8/?)

**Keywords**: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Harry/Hermione, post-HBP.

**Summary**: Who is Malfoy *really* working for? Will Ron *ever* figure out what’s
going on between his best friends?

**Rating**: PG13

**Word Count**: 3, 879

**A/N**: So imagine my surprise when I checked PK Monday night to find that I was runner up
in the Felix Felicis competition. *Omigosh*. *falls off chair*

Really – *thank you*, everyone. It really helped spur me on with this chapter and fic in
general. Big congratulations to Lynney (who is an *awesome* author) for placing first and to
Ahn Na Blue as well.

***

“Was it worth it?” Harry asked, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“Worth it?” she echoed. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighed and turned to face her. His face was bleak. There seemed to be so much of himself
he was holding back from her—things going on in his mind that he wouldn’t share.

“Malfoy,” Harry said. “It helps that we have him on our side, but I dunno if the price is worth
it.”

Hermione listened quietly, attempting to look as sympathetic as possible. Harry scrubbed his
face with his hands.

“He hasn’t changed at all. He’s not trying to redeem himself. He’s not sorry for torturing you.
I can’t figure him out and I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Hermione touched the back of his hand. “Of course you can’t figure him out, Harry. You’re
nothing like him. Where Malfoy is selfish, you think only of others.”

Harry gave her a strange look and she felt her stomach give a fluttery jump. “Hermione…”

“What is it?” she whispered.

“When Snape threatened to… well, you know….” He gave her a shy smile. “Every moment we ever
spent together flashed through my mind, kind of like an old Muggle movie. I don’t know where I’d be
today if it wasn’t for you—if I’d even be here at all.”


“Me too,” she said honestly.

He gave a derisive snort. “Certainly not in the middle of a wild goose chase that’ll probably
get you killed.”


“Shhh, don’t talk that way.”

“I can’t help it, Hermione.” He brooded over that for a moment. “I feel like I’m stumbling
around in the dark, falling on what I need by accident. What happens when I run out of luck? What
if I lose you or Ron? I don’t know what I’d do.”

Hermione felt her chest tighten; she had no idea he was carrying around this much anxiety and
worry. “You won’t lose us.”

“Snape almost killed you, right in front of me. I keep thinking about it, I keep…” he gave a
strangled sort of groan. “And that’s because you’re my best friend, he doesn’t even know how
I—”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and stopped, his lips tightening together. Hermione moved closer
to him, gathering him up so he could rest his head on her shoulder.


***

Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Malfoy all sat around the kitchen table, eyes on the cup sitting in
the middle of it.

“It’s been a week,” Malfoy said. “And we still haven’t destroyed it.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Ron muttered.

Malfoy cast Ron a look. “I haven’t seen you come up with any helpful suggestions, Weasel.”

“At least we know I’m not secretly sending messages to His Lord Evilness.”

Malfoy scowled. “I haven’t attempted to burn you alive yet, have I?”

Ron shifted uneasily. “That proves nothing.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ron snapped. He looked to Harry and Hermione for support. “He says he wants to destroy
the horcrux, but for all we know, he’s secretly working against us.”

“Oh, *that’s* why I tricked Professor Snape.” Malfoy looked at his nails and continued in a
bored tone. “I should risk my life for your lot more often.”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, Malfoy. Don’t forget where you are.”

Malfoy leaned back, making a show of looking around. “Looks like the house of a dark wizard to
me.” He sneered, his eyes drifting to Hermione. “Except for the dirty riffraff hanging around, of
course.”

Hermione flinched. Harry put a comforting hand on her leg, carefully hidden by the table.

“I think what Ron is trying to say,” Harry said, voice carefully controlled. “Is that *you*
are a guest—so to speak—in *my* house. Don’t push your luck.”

Harry’s calm exterior was somehow more threatening than Ron’s open hostility. “You don’t do
anything unless it serves your own interest, Malfoy. What is it you *really* want?”

Malfoy did not appear nettled. “In case you haven’t noticed, the Dark Lord has this idea that I
have a yen to be working for him. He’s wrong. I may have the Dark Mark, but I’m sick of doing his
bidding.”

Hermione nibbled at her bottom lip. “That’s all well and good, Malfoy, but here’s my question.
Why are you suddenly so against a Voldemort controlled world? Surely you must be after the same
thing he is. Why *not* become a Death Eaters?”

Ron gave an emphatic nod.

Malfoy began to look irritated. “Two reasons, Granger. One, the Dark Lord isn’t interested in
sharing power—he’s in it for himself and only himself. I am nothing to him but a means to an
end—less than that.” Malfoy paused. “And two, as inept as you all are, you’re bound to win this war
one way or another. I pick the winning team. When this is all over, I plan to reap the benefits as
the Boy Who Would Not Surrender to the Dark Side.” Malfoy’s face twisted into a smile. “I’ll be the
hero of the wizarding world.”

Ron looked as though he might vomit. Harry’s expression didn’t change, but Hermione could tell
he was furious.

Hermione fought disgust—Malfoy lacked any decent qualities. He didn’t care about them or winning
the war, it was all a game. He saw an opportunity and went after it.

“I really, really hate him,” Ron said after Malfoy left. “It makes my skin crawl to know I’m
sleeping under the same roof as him.”

“Agreed,” Harry said.

“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Hermione asked. “Snape—”

“I know,” said Harry. “But for some reason, I think he’s being completely honest.”

***

*Dear Mum and Dad,*

*I hope you both are doing well. I’m fine, Harry and Ron are taking good care of me (or me of
them), I promise.*

*I wish I could tell you what we’re doing, but it’s safer that you don’t know. I know you’re
worried, but I’m surer than ever that I’ve made the right choice.*

*One day we’ll sit around and have a good laugh over this. Imagine, me, Hermione Granger,
leaving home and going off on some crazy mission.*

*I miss you both dearly.*

*Love,*

*Hermione*

Hermione leaned back, setting her quill down. She received no satisfaction from the half-truths
in her letter. She wondered if she’d even bother to send it.

Gimmauld Place was silent—eerie, almost. Downstairs sat Hufflepuff’s golden cup, *part of
Voldemort’s soul*. She shivered, rubbing her arms.

She was having trouble sleeping. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind whispered to her all
sorts of troubling images. She relived the Cruciatus curse over and over again—only it wasn’t just
her. Sometimes she watched as Snape tortured Ron and then Harry while she stood immobile, unable to
help them.

She pressed a hand to her eyes. Her entire forehead throbbed under her hand. Exhaustion was
taking its toll on her.

Shoving her letter into a corner of her desk, she pushed her chair back and left her room,
rubbing her arms as goosebumps broke out. Fall had come early to England and Grimmauld Place was
chilly at night.

Harry had decided to take over Sirius’ old room. At first she worried the memories would be too
much for him, but he assured her it was comforting and, besides, it had the most comfortable bed in
the house. Instead of knocking, she slipped into his room, finding Harry sound asleep.

He was on his side, one arm under his head, his mouth open as he breathed in and out. She
dropped to her knees beside the bed, studying him. Sleep made him look younger and she could almost
see the boy he had once been, swimming in Dudley’s clothing and looking for Platform Nine and Three
Quarters.

She touched his face, letting her fingers linger on his scar. He stirred and opened his eyes,
blinking rapidly. She knew he could barely see without his glasses on.

His voice was hoarse, his mind still half-asleep. “Her—Hermione?”

“Hi,” she whispered.

Without saying another word, Harry moved over, giving her room to slip in next to him.
Shivering, she slid under the covers, sighing as she moved into his warmth.

“What’s wrong?” he said, palms sliding up and down her bare arms. “You’re freezing.”

“Nothing,” she said. She hesitated. “Could you just… hold me? For a bit?”

Instead of answering, he pulled the covers tighter around them, drawing her into his arms. She
leaned her head against his shoulder, his cheek pressed against hers. She could feel the barest
hints of stubble on his face and was left wondering when he had begun shaving.

*You’re growing up so fast*, she thought, saddened by the thought. She missed the boy who
needed her help for nearly everything—from homework to winning the Triwizard Tournament. *But he
needs me in a completely different way now—or so I hope*.

He was fast asleep against, but his arms were still around her, and she slowly felt herself
growing warmer. Relaxing, she snuggled closer, content to pretend they were just a boy and a girl,
falling asleep in each other’s arms.

****

She awoke to a loud pounding bang. She shifted, feeling something move. Her eyes fluttered open
to see Harry sitting up, his shoulders stiff and his mouth hanging open.

“*Oi, Harry! You awake in there*???”

Hermione gasped and Harry sent her a dirty look. He waved a hand to shush her before throwing
the covers back and padding over to the door.

He opened it a crack, peering out into the hall.

“What the *hell* is going on, Ron?”


“It’s Hermione—she’s not in her room. I’ve checked everywhere. Malfoy claims he hasn’t seen her,
that lying git. You know she’s always the first one to wake up.”

Hermione turned over on her side, burying her head in the pillow and biting her lip to muffle a
moan of frustration.

Harry’s tone was clipped. “I’m sure she’s around somewhere.”

“Harry, I’m telling you, I’ve checked the entire bloody house.” Ron gave a sigh of frustration.
“I’m worried she… well, you know what day it is, don’t you?”


“What are you on about?”


Hermione perked up, raising her head slightly. *Oh*, she realized. *That’s why he was
looking for me, it’s my—*

“Harry, it’s Hermione’s eighteenth birthday. I know we’ve been at this for a while, but she
*is* our best friend. You *did* get her something, didn’t you?”

“Oh,” Harry said, sounding sheepish. “Yeah, I got her something. ‘Course I did.” He waited a
moment. “Sort of.”

“Well, hurry on up then—she could be anywhere. Merlin knows how she’s reacting to spending her
eighteenth birthday in this place, with *Malfoy* of all people. I’m telling you, Harry,
there’s no way to predict how girls will react to these sorts of things.” Ron sounded faintly awed.
“Ginny threw a tantrum on her tenth birthday, all because Dad stayed late at the Ministry and
couldn’t make it home in time.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, Ron.”

Harry tried to close the door, but Ron stuck his foot in it. Hermione sucked in a breath and
pulled the covers up to her chin, allowing her eyes to poke out from under the comforter.

“Hey, Harry… can I ask you something?”

Harry shifted. “Er… sure.”

“Is everything okay between you and Hermione? I mean, you two haven’t had a row, have you?”

“Of course not. Why?”


“You’ve just… you’ve been acting odd lately.” Ron paused and he sounded hesitant when he
continued. “First, at Borgins when you didn’t do anything when Malfoy was—”

“I *told you*,” Harry snapped. “Malfoy was—”

“Putting the mental whammy on you, I know.” Ron sighed. “I just… do you know what it *did*
to me, seeing her like that? Maybe not. Maybe you can’t understand.”

Harry bowed his head. “It was hard for me too, Ron.”

“Well, it would’ve been nice if you’d *shown* it! I can’t figure you out, you know, Harry.
Here we are, I’m half out of my mind that Hermione’s disappeared into thin air and you don’t seem
to care at all.”

Harry’s voice was quiet. “I care.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I don’t reckon it’s a good idea to pretend nothing effects you,” Ron said.

“Ron, I’m doing this the best way I know how. Will you *please* let me change so I can help
look for Hermione? I don’t fancy walking around in my boxers all day. *Especially* with Malfoy
in the house.”

“Fine,” Ron said. “Hurry up.”

Harry shut the door and leaned back it in relief, his eyes immediately going to hers.

“Happy birthday,” he said, giving a strained smile. “I’m sorry I forgot.”

She pulled herself up, leaning back against the headboards. “That’s alright. I forgot too.”

“It’s not alright,” Harry said, eyes flickering shut for a moment. “This isn’t the sort of thing
I should forget. If I don’t know your birthday by now, then how will I—”

“You’ve had loads on your mind, Harry. Really, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he said, his voice hard. “You matter.”

“Harry…”

“No, I’m serious,” he said, beginning to pace. He started to dress, not seeming in the least bit
put out that she was watching. “As soon as we let the mission take over our lives, that’s when we
start forgetting why we’re doing this in the first place.”

He pondered over that for a moment, his forehead creased into a thoughtful frown. “Not to
mention that I—that we—that, well, you know.”

He stopped suddenly, seeming surprised that he’d brought it up. Hermione unconsciously let out a
breath. They’d avoided talking about it for so long…

Heart thumping, she twisted a piece of the blanket around in her hands before bravely looking
into his face.

“No, Harry, I don’t know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What *are* we doing
here?”

“We’re…” he seemed at a loss. “We’re… comforting each other.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I see.”

“That didn’t come out right. Okay… I…” he sat down at the edge of the bed and looked at her,
eyes serious. “When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the world stops mattering, you know? I know
I should care about Ron, maybe I should even care about Ginny, but I don’t. I feel more connected
to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone in my life—*anyone*, Hermione. Do you know what this
means? Do you know what kind of danger this puts you in?”

She shook her head and moved closer to him, feeling like she might laugh and cry all at
once.

“I mean, here you are… and you’re my best friend… and I can tell you anything. And then, at the
same time, there’s this whole other side of you that I’m getting to see. It’s…” He rubbed his eyes.
“It’s confusing as hell, because I can’t help but feel like I’m not supposed to have these kinds of
feelings for you. But I can’t stop it.”

“I know. Me neither,” she whispered. “Oh, Harry…”

She moved to her knees and slid her arms around his neck, feeling a shudder go through his
body.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He kissed her shoulder. “I can’t help but feel like I should be able to stop this, or break
things off, like I did with Ginny.”

She froze, the reminiscence of Ginny causing her to feel an unexpected surge of jealousy.
“Oh?”


“I’ve tried. You know I’ve tried. But I’m selfish, I need you too much.” He gave a wry sort of
chuckle. “And *that’s* all very terrifying as well.”

She smiled. “I’d never let you go, anyway.”

He pulled away, looking dangerously close to tears. He kissed her once, his palm sliding along
her cheek before pulling away.

“Come on,” he said, grinning. “Ron thinks you’ve been kidnapped by dark forces. We can’t keep
him waiting all day.”

***

“The best part was when you threatened to chop off his naughty bits and send them to Snape,” Ron
said, sloping firewhiskey down his front. “The look on his face—I nearly pissed my pants.”

Hermione snorted loudly, while Harry blushed.

“I don’t think Malfoy and I are ever going to be anything less than bitter enemies,” Harry said.
“But it *was* a good threat, wasn’t it?”

Hermione tipped her glass in his direction. “Most excellent. I don’t think I could have done
better.”

“Oi, it’s your birthday, ‘Mione, it’s not on you to make those kinds of threats,” Ron said.
“S’all on us men, you know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ron, you were terribly helpful as you skulked in the background
and huffed.”

Ron’s ears turned red. “I did *not*—”

“It worked, at least,” Harry said hurriedly, giving a small smile in Hermione’s direction. “He
hasn’t popped his head out of his room, has he?”

“Good thing too, or he’d find us all completely tossed,” Hermione muttered. “Some fight we’d put
up.”

Ron snickered. “I could take the wanker on.”

“I’m certain you could,” Hermione said dryly. “If you could stop seeing double of him, that
is.”

Ron snorted and topped off her glass. Hermione let him, too drunk to be disapproving.

“If Mum were here, she’d have made you a cake, ‘Mione,” Ron said, looking crestfallen. “Sorry
‘bout that.”

“I don’t much like cake, anyway,” Hermione said. “And stop calling me ‘Mione.”

Harry pulled a face. “Honestly, Ron, it’s a terrible nickname.”

Ron frowned. “Your name’s too long to say when you’re right pissed, Herm.”

Hermione let out a sigh. “I suppose so.”

“Can you imagine us doing this back at Hogwarts?” Ron said, happily pouring more whiskey for
Harry. “The look on McGonagall’s face—it’d almost be worth it.”

“It’d certainly—not—be!” Hermione said, annoyed at how difficult it was to say a simple
sentence. “As a prefect, Ron, you should set a better example!”

Ron and Harry both burst into laughter.

“S’no way I’d be prefect again this year,” Ron said. “It’d be our seventh, ‘member? Too bad you
lost your shot at being Head Girl.”

“That was no guarantee,” Hermione said sternly. “And who knows? You might have been Head
Boy.”

Ron and Harry laughed harder.

“Shut it, the pair of you,” Hermione said. “That’s not funny. Being Head Boy is a serious
matter!”

“‘A serious matter!’” Ron echoed. He thumped Harry on the back. “You might have gotten it, you
know, mate.”

Harry chocked on his firewhiskey. “What? *Me*?”

Hermione gave Ron an appraising look. “He’s right, you know. I bet Dumbledore would have picked
you.”

“No… that’s…” Harry thought hard. “That’s… bullocks, that is!”

Ron and Hermione laughed.

“Oh, please, with that famous Boy Wonder act you’ve got going on, you were probably a prime
candidate.” Ron took a long swig. “Besides, who else could it have been, eh?”


“Perhaps Ernie Macmillan,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “He’s rather smart, you know, and
*very* responsible.”

Ron gave her a look of disgust.

“*Ernie Macmillan*,” Ron said. “Pompous git. Always reminded me a bit of Percy.”

“I liked him,” Harry said. “Joined the D.A. didn’t he?”

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Hermione said briskly. “We’re not *at* Hogwarts. No point
pretending we are.”

The smiles slipped from their faces as the dark reality set in, but she couldn’t help but feel
touched that Harry and Ron had tried so hard to make her birthday fun for her. She knew that part
of it had been Harry’s way of distracting Ron from dwelling on her whereabouts from earlier, but
threatening Malfoy to stay away had been genuine.

Harry gave an exaggerated yawn, shooting her a significant look. “I’m knackered,” he said.

“Can’t hold your liquor,” Ron said. “Too bad you don’t have a Weasley constitution.”

“Yeah, too bad,” Harry said. He downed his glass and stood up. “I’ll see you two in the
morning.”

He paused to kiss her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”

“Thanks,” she said. He let his hand linger on her shoulder before leaving.

After Harry left, Ron began fiddling around, his knees bouncing up and down. Hermione
half-watched him, mind busily trying to think of a way she could slip away without arousing Ron’s
suspicions.

“I… er… I have something for you.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “What?”


Ron blushed. “For your birthday. I… hang on…”

He ducked under the table and Hermione heard him rifling through his pockets. Finally he
emerged, sliding a small box towards her.

Hermione stared at the gift, feeling heat come into her face. “Ron, you didn’t…”

He waved a hand. “Nah. S’Okay. Gin helped me pick it out… I… I bought it a while ago.”

Hands trembling, Hermione undid the wrapping paper, breath catching in her throat when she laid
eyes on a pair of golden earrings lying side by side. They were simple but elegant and she touched
them gently, feeling a lump rise in her throat.

“They’re beautiful. How did you—”

“Afford it?” Ron said, raising his eyebrows. “Harry—told him I’d pay him back. He didn’t know
what the money was for, of course. Nearly went to the twins, but I thought I’d never hear the end
of it.”

“That’s probably true,” she said. She picked one of the earrings up, its golden surface
reminding her of Hufflepuff’s cup. “Ron… I can’t.…”

“Yes, you can. Look, I…” he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how things turned out, Hermione.
But I know you cared for me once, even if you’ve moved on.”

She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her.

“No, I have too, don’t worry.” He sighed. “I know things never would have worked in the look
run, okay? You’d have driven me mental.”

“We don’t know that,” Hermione whispered. “Oh, Ron, I wish…”

“I know,” he said. “Me too.”

They looked at each other, their history piling up between them, until it seemed like she could
reach out and touch it.

“Seems like such a letdown, doesn’t it?” she said. “All this buildup… for something that never
happened.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, staring down at the table. “Do you think… if it hadn’t been for
Lavender….”

“I don’t know, Ron,” she said. “I don’t know. But I think it’s clear that all we ever really did
was make each other unhappy. It was awful seeing you with Lavender.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, their drinks untouched.

Ron took a deep breath and looked up at her. “Do you fancy Harry?”


Hermione stiffened. “What?”

“Right,” Ron said, studying her. “That’s what I thought.”

“No…. I… why would you—”

“I’ve always suspected,” he said, shrugging. “I mean, it’s *Harry*, isn’t it? He’s… how did
you put it… ‘never been more fanciable?’”

“Ron, don’t—”

“I know,” he waved a hand. “Forget it. It’s okay. I mean, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Really?”

Ron made a face. “Okay, it bothers me a little. But, Hermione… you know he’s still hung up on
Ginny, don’t you?”

She bit her lip and tried to smile. “When it comes to love, that kind of stuff never seems to
matter, does it?”

***



9. Chapter Nine
---------------

Hey guys! Thanks so much for your reviews and your continued support. *hugs you all* I know that
it’s taking me *far* too long to update. I can only defend myself by saying I just started Uni
and am still adjusting to the new life. I can’t promise quick updates, but I can promise that
they’ll keep coming.

**A/N**: Remember how I said I wasn’t going to use another cliffhanger?

…I lied. *gulps*

***

When she opened her door, she found Harry sitting on her bed, staring at his hands.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he said. “Any trouble getting away from Ron?”

“No.”

She studied him. He was so serious now, ever since Dumbledore’s death. She wondered how long
he’d sat on her bed, alone with only his thoughts. Was he thinking of her? Or was he too caught up
in Voldemort and the horcruxes?

Harry glanced up at her. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said.

He traced his fingers in idle patterns over his knees. He seemed jittery. She sat next to him,
suddenly unsure of what to do. She never knew the right thing to say to him anymore.

He knocked his foot against hers and she smiled. “Cute, Harry.”

“How drunk did Ron get you?”

Her stomach was warm and her throat still tingled from the firewhiskey. “We only talked,” she
said.

Harry kept his tone neutral. “Talked?”

She almost broke then, spilling out all her insecurities and fears, and—*oh*—she hated that
Harry had this *power* over her, this way of making her clam up and throat close up and heart
stutter.

He took her hand, his fingers squeezing hers. It was almost enough to ground her back into
reality again.

“He’s beginning to figure it out,” Hermione said.

Harry went still. “What out?”

She narrowed her eyes. “*Us*, you prat. What else could I be talking about?”

His eyes searched her face as if anxiously seeking to make sure she wasn’t lying to him. “Are
you sure?”

*Well, he knows how* I *fell about you, at any rate. Doesn’t seem to suppose you could
return my feelings.*

She squirmed uncomfortably, hating that *those* thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone.
*She* was here with him when Ginny wasn’t. He couldn’t do this without her, he’d said as much,
and she *knew* that. She *knew* it.


“Is it so bad, if he does?”

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his face tight. “I… er… I dunno.”

She spoke carefully. “Don’t you think we owe it to him, Harry? He’s our best friend. He ought to
know.”

Harry waited a moment before answering. “Yes, you’re right. He should know. But…”

“What?”


“Hermione, how do you reckon he’s going to react when he learns how long we’ve been keeping this
from him?”

“Well, perhaps we could leave out some of… of the details…”

“Maybe.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s *really* going on here, Harry?”

He sighed and touched her arm. “Hermione, it’s good like this, you know? I don’t like hiding
from Ron any better than you do, but it seems better, somehow, it being just between us.”

She shifted. “It’s Ron.”

“I know, but it won’t stop at Ron, you know it won’t. If we tell Ron—”

“Then *what*?” she said. “Who’s he going to tell? Or is he on speaking terms now with
Voldemort?”

“Of course not.”

“Then who are you afraid he’s going to tell?”

“Well, Malfoy for one—not *intentionally*, mind you, but you know how Ron gets when he’s
upset. And then there’s the rest of the Weasleys. He won’t be able to keep a secret like that from
them for long.”

Hermione pulled back. “Ginny, you mean.”

“*Hermione*,” he said. “Look, it’s not like that… it’s….” He sighed and stood.

“Where are you going?” she said.

“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She nodded, chewing her lip. She wiped her palms on her jeans and wondered if Ron had made it up
to bed alright. He’d had an awful lot to drink.

Her eyes searched over her room, noting the books opened and labeled by the bed, the laundry
piled in a corner. Her desk was perfectly ordered, the quills settled upright beside her stack of
parchment. She always did like to be well organized.

The door opened and Harry was back, shuffling back and forth and looking young and awkward.

“About four months ago, I was in Hogsmeade. It was our last visit of the year, right before
Dumbledore and I—” He stopped and swallowed. “Anyway, I was there all afternoon. I bought one
thing.”

He took a book out from behind his back and handed it to her.

“I don’t know why I bought it, only that it made me think of you, and I knew you’d like it. It’s
a comprehensive history of Hogsmeade, dating all the way back to the early days of the four
founders of Hogwarts.”

Hermione hugged the book to her chest. It was old, smelling of dust and yellowed pages. “You
were there with Ginny, weren’t you?”


“Yeah. I was.”

“And you bought something for me.”

Harry nodded. “That’s kind of the point I’m trying to make.”

She ran her fingers along the cover, the words etched into the leather bound book. “Thanks.”

“It feels like so long ago,” Harry said. “All of it—Hogwarts, Ginny, Dumbledore in a way. I’ll
never forget it, but it isn’t *now*, it’s not real. I’m not hanging on to something that ended
long ago.”

She wanted more. But looking at him, his eyes hopeful, and she knew he was telling her the only
way he could.

She held out her hand and he took it, his shoulders slumping in relief. She reached for him, the
book dropping to the floor with a small thump. Her arms rested on his shoulders and he bent his
head to nuzzle her neck.

She sighed, feeling warm and tingly. “Mmm.”

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, his breath warm on her ear. She turned her head to kiss his
cheek and his hands slid down her back, coming to a stop just above her arse.

A burst of daring energy had her pressing closer until she could feel him against her hip. His
body stiffened and she took a deep breath.

“Let’s go for it, Harry,” she said, her words hushed.

They’d experimented, they’d come close to *it*, but they hadn’t gone all the way. Hermione
suspected they’d both been waiting for a time that would mean something.

He kissed her neck and then her shoulder, his hands still moving up and down on her back in a
way that made her shiver. He pulled back so he could kiss her, long and slow.

“I didn’t give you the book so you’d sleep with me,” he murmured.

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his nose. “I know.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I don’t.” She waited a moment. “Do *you*?”

He cracked a smile. “No.”

“If you don’t want to have sex, that’s perfectly fine. I simply think that it… it feels
right.”

He chuckled. “You’re amazing, you know that, Hermione?”


“Of course I know that.”

They kissed again and then moved backwards towards the bed, finding some way to hold on to each
other. She stepped over her book and landed on her bed with a small thump. He leaned over her,
meeting her lips, his hands firm as they moved down her body.

***

She loved this feeling of lying in his arms, his lips moving over her neck and her face,
murmuring words of endearment and reassurances that didn’t mean anything. She stretched out,
feeling her limbs relax and entwining with his. She didn’t mind his weight pressed on top of
her.

She doubted he was aware of what he was saying. She’d read somewhere that men were at their most
open and vulnerable after sex. It had to do with the endorphins released or some such thing.

“Did I hurt you?”


“No.”

“Are you sure?”


“Yes, I’m sure.”


She touched his face and he leaned into her hand, his eyes closed. She kissed his forehead, her
fingers sliding along his cheek.

“Harry?”


“Hmm?”

“Will you tell me why you don’t want to tell Ron? The truth?”

His eyes opened. “Was he the one who gave you the earrings?”


She flushed. “What earrings?”

“The earrings that were in the box that fell out of your pocket.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “How did you know about those?”


He shrugged. “I snooped when you were snoozing after… well, you know. They’re from Ron, aren’t
they?”

“Why does it matter?”

His mouth tightened. “You’re joking, right?”

“You’re jealous.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. “And so what if I am? I think I’ve earned that right.
Are they or aren’t they from Ron?”

“*Yes*,” she said. “They’re from Ron. Goodness, Harry, I’m not some tramp, you know. I
don’t go around kissing every bloke that comes on to me.”

“You kissed McLaggen.”

“Oh, *please*. He *mauled* me. That hardly counts.”

“You… well, you and I… I mean, we didn’t ever really define things…”

“Oh, *honestly.* It was *you.* And *what* are you implying? I’m not certain I
like it.”

Harry rested his forehead on her shoulder. “Nothing. Only that I think the world of you and I
hate the idea of you belonging to someone else. Even Ron.” He sighed. “My, but when did that
happen?”

“Some time last night?”

His hand moved up and down her side, brushing over her naked skin in the lightest of touches.
“It was long before then and you know it.”

“When I crawled into your lap at the Leaky Cauldron and kissed you?”

“Quite possibly,” he said.

“I felt so safe that night,” she whispered. “Being in your arms like that… I’ve never felt like
that with anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Really, really,” she said. “I still feel that way.”

His hand stopped on her hip, pulling her closer until she leaned into his chest, his arms
curling around her back. “Like this?”

“Yes,” she said. “Exactly like this.”

Only it felt quite different now that they were both naked. But that was okay too—*more*
than okay.

“I’m so glad we’re talking about this now,” she said. “It was so hard before, almost like we
were leading this double life. All I could think about was you, but we never talked about it.”

“I know. It was strange, wasn’t it? I think some part of me thought you’d disappear if I said
anything.”

She chuckled. “Yes, that’s what it was.”

“Hermione… that’s why I don’t want Ron to know. That’s why I don’t want *anyone* to know.
I’m afraid it’ll ruin it. Things are so awful, so uncertain now… it’s safer for….” He stopped and
seemed to reconsider. “It’s just… it’s better.”

She knew she should protest. She could list every reason in her head for why this was a *bad
idea*. But if she was honest with herself, she could admit she didn’t want to tell Ron anymore
than Harry did.

“Okay,” she finally said. She kissed his jaw and settled down more securely in his arms.

His hand traced idle patterns over her back and it felt so perfect, being here with him. Their
sixth-year of Hogwarts felt so terribly far away. It was only one more step, one small era in their
journey, leading up to this moment, right now…

***

*Dear Mum and Dad,*

*You’re in my thoughts constantly. I can only imagine what you must be going through.*

*Oh, how I wish I could tell you what’s happening. I’d tell you about my journey and my
mission and how* right *this is, for me. I never believed I was worth much, no more than my
next grade in school. It’s like I’ve finally found something. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere
else.*

*It is hard. I know it is. I want to tell you I’ll be fine, that nothing bad can come of this,
but I can’t—*

“Hermione?”

Hermione jumped. A large spot of ink grew on the parchment. She wiped at it, turning her head to
see Harry standing over her.

“What’re you doing?” he said.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, hunching down over her letter. “Go back to sleep.”

Harry glanced from her letter to her face. “You were writing to your parents, weren’t you?”

She sighed and crumpled her letter. “I was just thinking… my mum and dad… how awful it would be
for them, not knowing where I am on my birthday.”

Harry dropped to his knees beside her, eyes widening. “That’s… I mean…” he struggled for a
moment. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s alright. There was never any doubt, was there? This is where I
belong, Harry.”

“But your parents…”

“I love them very much,” she said. “But there was a divide there, you know. We lived in
different worlds. And I love them enough to let them go. The more I hang onto them, the more danger
they’re in.”

He thought for a minute, his face strange and naked to her without his glasses on. She touched
his face lightly and sighed.

“Really—it’s alright. Let’s go start breakfast. We have a horcrux to destroy, do we not?”

“I—hang on, this is important…”

She leaned forward to kiss him, cutting off his words. She didn’t want to talk about her
parents. She wanted to throw herself into her books and research and forget.

She pulled away and began getting dressed, throwing her hair over one shoulder. Harry stayed
where he was, a somber expression on his face.

“Hermione, you know how I feel about you, don’t you?”

Hermione paused, her hairbrush caught between her teeth.

“Don’t you?” he said again.

She pulled her hairbrush away, her hands shaking. “Careful, Harry,” she said.

He started. “What?”

“I don’t want you saying anything you’ll regret later.”

He flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She dragged her brush through her hair, wincing when it tugged at her scalp. “Nothing,” she
said.

You know he’s still hung up on Ginny, don’t you?

She glanced at her bed. *I gave him a part of myself last night, a part that Ginny never
did.* Harry came to stand next to her. He didn’t touch her, but his close proximity made her
feel itchy.

“It meant something to me too,” Harry said quietly. “No one’s ever…”

She threw her hairbrush down, making them both jump.

“I’m hungry,” she said, her voice bright. “Better head down before Ron gets suspicious, eh?”

She left without waiting for an answer.

***

There was a sense of surrealism surrounding their breakfast. She and Harry were
polite—*too* polite.

“If it’s not too much trouble, would you please pass the orange juice, Hermione?”

“Of course, Harry, it’s no trouble at all.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She flipped through the *Daily Prophet*, reading off headlines that were of interest. She
answered Harry’s questions without looking directly at him. They were careful not to brush legs
under the table.

To Hermione’s relief, Ron didn’t notice their strange behaviour. He was busy guzzling down a cup
of coffee and pressing his fingers to his eyes.

“Bloody hell, what the *fuck* was in that thing?”

Harry snorted. “Weasley constitution, eh?”

“Sod off, wanker.”

“Honestly, the pair of you are like children sometimes.”


“Sod off, Hermione.”

Hermione felt some stirrings of sympathy. “I could brew up some hangover potion for you if you’d
like, Ron. It should help take away most of the symptoms.”


Ron scrubbed his hands over his face and looked at her with bleary eyes. “Really? You’d do
that?”


“Of course.”

“Awww, Hermione, you’re—”

“I know, I know,” she said, waving a hand. “That’s what you always say when I do something nice
for you.”

Ron managed a grin. “I guess it doesn’t happen that often, then, does it?”

Hermione was about to make a reply when Harry jumped up, banging into the table. Hermione and
Ron frowned at each other.

“What are you *doing*?” Ron said. “What did I say about sudden movements?”


“Ron, hush,” Hermione said sharply. “Harry, what is it?”

Harry swallowed. “Malfoy. When was the last time we saw him?”


Hermione frowned. “I’m certain he was skulking about recently, didn’t we—”

“No, we didn’t,” Harry said. “It’s been ages, Hermione.”

Dread began to grow in Hermione’s stomach. “You don’t think…”

“That’s exactly what I think,” Harry said. “We’ve been so wrapped up in—*fuck*.”

“Well, where would he go?” Hermione said, her voice high-pitched. “He can’t simply *leave*,
can he? He can’t go back to the Death Eater’s, he betrayed them, Harry.”

“Hang on…” Ron said slowly, sitting up straighter. “Are you saying… are you saying that git took
off on us?”

Harry ignored him. “It’s been too quiet around here. Malfoy, he would make trouble, he’d want to
make life as difficult as possible for us. I’m sure he knows—”

Harry made eye contact with her for a moment before glancing away.

“Well, go on, then!” Hermione said. “There’s only one way to know for sure, isn’t there?”

Harry nodded. “*Accio* cup!”

Nothing happened.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took a steadying breath.

“It’s gone?” Ron said. He looked from Harry to Hermione and back again. “If the cup’s gone, that
means that…”

“Malfoy took it with him,” Harry said. He sounded exhausted. “*Fuck.*”

Harry seemed to run out of things to say. He shoved his wand back into his pocket and stalked
from the room.

Ron looked like he was in danger of passing out. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Hermione, what
do we do?”

“I…” she bit her lip and shook her head. “I’ll go after him… I suppose…”

She hurried after Harry, ignoring her trepidation. She hated feeling at such loose ends, not
only with him, but with the entire situation. What good was she *really*? All she had were her
books and her brains. Nothing she did seemed to be much help. Not anymore.

“Harry…” she said. “Harry… wait…”

He stopped short and she almost banged into him. He turned around, raking a hand through his
hair. A mixture of emotions passed over his face.

“Yeah? Come to lecture me some more, is that it? Sorry, don’t think I can take it at the moment,
I’m a *tad* preoccupied.”

“Harry, no!” she said. “That’s not…”

Their voices were quiet. They were in the entrance hall, next to Mrs. Black’s portrait.

“You know,” he said. “I never imagined *this* as our morning after. I can’t fight with you
right now, Hermione. I can’t do it.”

She felt all her resolve crumble. “Oh, Harry,” she said. “I’m not angry with you. Honest, I’m
not. I’m terrible at this stuff. I’m feeling so many different things right now. It’s… well,
frankly… it’s a bit overwhelming.”

He stepped closer to her and nodded. “I know the feeling.”

She searched his face, finding nothing but tenderness and relief. “Harry,” she said softly.
“Malfoy—we still…”

“Oh,” Harry said, jerking back to himself. “Yeah.”

Hermione thought quickly and came to a decision. “It scares me,” she said, pushing Malfoy away
for the time being. “How much power you seem to have over me. Do you have any idea what you could
do to me?”

He gave a small smile. “I reckon I have a pretty good idea.”

She felt warmth come into her cheeks. For the first time, she was certain. She loved him.
*Loved him*. She’d given him her virginity, her trust, and now all she had to do was fall
forward and hope he caught her.

“Harry, I—”

“Hermione! Harry!”

They jumped away from each other and Ron skidded to a halt in front of them, a letter clutched
to his chest. His face was white.

“Goodness, Ron—”

“It’s the Burrow,” he said, panting. He squared his shoulder, his chin trembling. “They—the
Death Eater’s—they attacked…”

He struggled and Hermione felt her stomach bottom out. Harry pushed past her to grab the letter
from Ron.

“What, Ron?” she whispered. “What’s… what happened?”

“They’re in the hospital,” he croaked. “Mum and Dad and Ginny—they were the only ones there
when…” Ron’s voice broke, but he continued. “Dad got the brunt of it, he might not wake up. Gin’s
in rough shape… they tortured her…”

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh… oh, Ron…”

Harry lowered the letter, his face pale. “Come on,” he said. He took Ron firmly by the arm and
dragged him to the fireplace. “Can you floo?”

Ron blinked. “Er… yeah, I… Harry, we still have to find Malfoy…”

“Forget Malfoy,” Harry said. “He’s not what’s important right now, got it?”


Ron nodded and Harry pushed him into the fireplace. Numb with shock, Hermione watched from afar
as Ron flooed out, his words seeming long and drawn out. Harry took her by the elbow and pushed her
in the fireplace.

“St. Mungo’s,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, her voice catching. “Harry…”

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

She touched his wrist, but he pulled back. His gaze was shuttered.

“Take care of Ron, alright?”

“Alright.”

She tossed her handful of powder. As the fireplace spun and danced around her, she couldn’t help
but wonder, selfishly, how this would affect them now.

They had been so close.

***



10. Chapter Ten
---------------

**Title**: All Nights (10/?)
**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Harry/Hermione, Ron, Draco, post-HBP, Great Horcrux Hunt.
**Summary**: Will Harry and Hermione *ever* admit their feelings for each other? Where is
Malfoy, anyway? Is Snape truly evil? Does Voldemort use too many ellipsis when he talks? Is there
going to be anymore snogging any time soon?
**Rating**: PG13
**Word Count**: 5, 604
**A/N**: Yes, this chapter has taken me *way* too long to produce. I blame school. If this
completely sucks, it’s not my fault—I’ve been writing it in itty, bitty pieces for the last few
weeks.

To everyone who has left a review, sent me an email, and given me encouragement on this fic,
*thank you*. I appreciate all your comments very much. I only wish I had time for faster
updates.

***

Witches and wizards Apparated in and out of St. Mungo’s lobby, clutching their hats down over their
ears. Harried looks were etched into their faces. A young girl clenched a lollipop in her fist as
her mother dragged her out the door.

The receptionist’s shrill voice echoed through the confusion.

“You, floor two—*next*!”

Hermione’s hand moved in small circles over Ron’s back. He was slumped over his knees, his face
pushed into his palms. Every few moments she’d feel a shudder go through his body.

The twins were ridged in the seats next to Ron. They’d barely greeted her when they flooed in. She
couldn’t remember ever having seen them so serious.

Word had not yet reached Bill and Charlie—Bill, who was still on his honeymoon.

She watched Fred’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed and George gripped him on the
shoulder, his knuckles whitening. She opened her mouth to say something—*it’ll be okay, it’ll all
be fine*, but her throat closed and she bowed her head.

Harry stood apart from them. He was by the window, holding on to the ledge with one hand. She
wondered if he was keeping watch.

She leaned forward. “Hang tight, I’m going to talk to Harry.”

Ron nodded and gripped her hand once before letting go. “Tell him not to blame himself, okay?” he
whispered.

“Alright,” Hermione whispered back.

She made her way to Harry, dodging the flood of people. When she reached him, she slipped an arm
around his waist and leaned against him. He squeezed her close before releasing her, his breath
fogging up the window in front of him.

“Ron told me to tell you it’s not your fault,” she said.

Harry gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. He’s a good friend.”

She turned her head to look at him. His face was pinched and pale and his bangs clung to his
forehead. She could scarcely see his scar peeking out from beneath them.

“Care to tell me what you’re thinking about?”

His jaw tightened and then relaxed. “Nothing. I’m just thinking.”

“Harry…”

“I don’t want to talk, Hermione,” he said. His voice caught. “I don’t want… I don’t want to talk
about it.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He braced his weight on his hand and she watched him critically, waiting… waiting for—

She didn’t know.

“Harry…” her voice shook and she pressed closer to him. “Harry, we’ll do it, we can get through
it—you know we can. We’ve faced worse.”

His hand curved around her back and rested there.

“I don’t… I don’t know…” his eyes squeezed shut before opening. He watched his reflection in the
glass. “I don’t know how to do this.”

She nudged him lightly with her foot and he glanced down at her. “Well, that’s okay.” Her voice
shook, but she pressed on. “*I* know what to do, Harry.”

The look he gave her nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Yeah… what—what do we do, then?”

“*We*,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “We are going to visit with the Weasleys. We are
going to support Ron. And then we’re going to leave Ron with his family for as long as he needs it.
We’ll go back to Grimmauld Place, search Malfoy’s room, and track him down. Okay?”

Harry blinked. “You make it sound so easy.”

“One step at a time,” she said. She leaned her head on his shoulder. “One—step—at—a—time. I learned
that ages ago, you know. Back in third year, when I had that cursed time turner. I could do one
thing at a time or go mad.”

Harry rubbed his hand up and down her arm and shook his head. “Yeah, I reckon that’s possible. One
step at a time.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped, startling Harry. He flinched and grabbed her arm
protectively, but it was only Charlie.

“Sorry,” he said. He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I just got here… thought I’d
say hello.”

Harry gave a terse nod and hastily turned back to the window. Hermione resisted the urge to give a
small scream. Just as she was beginning to get through to him…

She hugged Charlie and kissed his cheek, trying to keep her spirits—and his—up. “It’s good to see
you. Any word from Bill?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, he should be here soon. Poor bloke. Off with Fleur.”

She left Harry to walk him back to the others. She wrapped her arm around Ron’s neck and he smiled
gratefully.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Of course,” she said.

“What’s up with Harry?” Charlie said, nodding towards the window.

“He’s looking out for us,” Hermione said. “The best way he knows how.”

Charlie looked puzzled, but Ron seemed to understand. He took a steadying breath, glancing at his
watch.

“It’s been an hour,” he said.

“Hush,” she said. “Watching the time won’t do you any good. We both know so.”

***

She talked constantly, hardly aware of what she was saying. She talked about the weather and the
Minister of Magic. She rubbed Ron’s back and she fussed over the twins and she didn’t break down,
not once, not even a little.

Fleur and Bill arrived, prompting another round of hugs and tears. Fleur collapsed into a chair,
emitting loud wailing noises and blowing her nose. Hermione ignored her, keeping calm, because if
she didn’t do it, no one else would.

She frowned at Harry, who remained by the window, staring out into the street below. She was caught
between wanting to go to him and looking after the Weasleys.

After four hours, she ran out of things to say and went to get coffee.

She arrived back into the waiting room, ten cups of coffee levitated in front of her. But the
Weasleys were gone. There was only Harry, sitting in one of the chairs, and speaking to
Lupin.

Startled, Hermione let the coffee fall to the floor, splashing over the hospital’s white tile. A
passing nurse hissed at her and she bent down, furiously cleaning it up, her heart racing.

When she rose, Lupin was gone. Her hands trembling, she went to sit next to Harry, hardly daring to
look at him.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. With Ron gone, she felt exhaustion close in on her. The
four hours felt like days.

“Lupin said it wasn’t me,” Harry said. “He says it was… it had to do with Molly and Arthur’s place
in the Order. Not me. They weren’t trying to hurt me.”

Hermione’s chest hitched and she placed her hand on his knee. “Oh, Harry…”

“I couldn’t be sure… not until that moment….”

He looked at her, but she could tell he wasn’t seeing her. His mind was far away, thinking past
this, past the hospital. It was on Voldemort and Horcruxes and how this new attack on the Weasleys
gave him one more reason to go after him.

She squeezed his knee. “Everyone in the Order knew what they were getting into.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I can’t stop thinking about that summer before fifth-year, when I walked in on
Mrs. Weasley’s boggart….”

He gave her a strained smile and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, his lips lingering on the corner
of her mouth.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he whispered.

She shook her head, startled by his closeness. “Know what?”

“The Weasleys weren’t good enough,” Harry said bitterly. “They weren’t close enough to me.” He
looked into her eyes. “Hermione, I—”

“Mr. Potter?”

Their heads snapped up. A short nurse with a clipboard stood in front of them, her smile
perky.

“Yes?”

“Miss Weasley is asking for you,” she said.

Harry frowned. “But… her family… don’t they—”

Hermione elbowed him in the side and he winced. “Ginny,” she hissed.

“Oh!” he said. “Yeah—I mean, alright. Okay.”

He jumped up and followed the nurse without giving her a second glance.

Hermione sighed and shifted in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Without the rest of the
Weasleys, time slowed to a crawl.

She didn’t know how long she sat. Waiting. She’d never fit into the Weasley family in the same way
Harry had.

When Ron came back, he wasn’t smiling. “Mum’s up, she’s doing good,” he took a breath. “Ginny’ll be
alright, bit shaken up, I reckon. She’s getting all weepy, but Harry’s taking care of her.”

Hermione stiffened. “He is?”

“Well, yeah,” Ron said, glancing at her oddly. “Always been what he was best at when it came to
Ginny, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Hermione said. “But they’re not… they’re…”

Ron scrubbed his face with his hands. “Hermione, to be honest, I’ve got a bit more on my mind right
now than Ginny’s love life.”

“Of course,” Hermione said hastily. “How’s your dad?”

Ron’s face tightened. “Still unconscious. The Healers—they can’t trace the curse. It must be tied
to the Death Eater that cast it. The Order’s trying to sort it out, Bill and Charlie left with
them. It’s driving Mum barmy that she can’t be there with them. Took me and the twins to convince
her to stay put. She’s quite determined, you know, when she sets her mind to something, Mum
is.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “How are you doing?”

Ron shrugged. “I keep thinking I ought to wake up any moment now. We all knew this would happen
eventually, but I never thought…”

“It’s your family,” Hermione said softly. “It makes everything more real.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, he dropped into the seat next to her and rubbed his forehead. “It was like… it
was like it was a game before now, you know? There we were, after the Horcruxes, and I knew Mum and
them were back home, right where they were supposed to be. But it’s not like that, Hermione. It’s
more than us fighting this war.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s more than us. We’re not the only ones that can get hurt.”

“Is it our fault, do you think?” Ron said, glancing back at her. “We know how to beat Voldemort.
Just about the only ones that know how. And… we can’t even—I mean, Malfoy got away—”

“Shush,” she said. “Don’t think about that now, Ron. You have your family to worry about.”

He peered at her for a few moments. “You and Harry are thinking about it. I can see it.”

She looked away, unable to come up with a proper reply. What could she tell him? Searching for the
Horcruxes and finding Malfoy, it did matter more.

Ron changed the subject. “Percy never showed.” He paused. “Bloody idiot.”

Hermione wanted to reassure him, perhaps tell him that one day they would mend their rift when she
felt tears prick her eyes.

No, it wasn’t a game anymore.

She touched Ron on the arm and stood up. “Can I go visit them?” she said, her voice strained. “Your
family?”

He nodded. “Of course.” He tried to smile. “You’re practically one of us anyway, you and Harry.
Honorary Weasleys.”

“Thanks, Ron,” she whispered.

And she hurried away, keeping her eyes on the floor.

***

She hated herself for bypassing Mrs. Weasley’s room and heading straight towards Ginny’s.

She was letting her relationship with Harry come first. And that was dangerous. To all of
them.

She wiped her palms on her jeans, her heartbeat loud in her ears. None of the Healers glanced at
her as she walked down the hall.

She crept up to the door, concealing herself as best she could. Some part of her realized it was an
invasion of Harry’s privacy, spying on him like this, but it was the rational side of her brain,
the side that didn’t care anymore. She took a deep breath and looked.

She thought she’d be prepared.

Harry was holding Ginny’s hand, his face near hers, and he was speaking in hushed, low tones. Ginny
looked pale, but unharmed. Her hair was splayed out around her on the pillow and her eyes were
fastened to Harry’s face. She didn’t cry, but her face, devoid of makeup, made her look
vulnerable.

Hermione leaned forward, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

“… don’t worry, Ginny, okay? We’re taking care of it… the Order, I mean… things are going to be
alright… one day I’m going to find him, Ginny… I swear…”

Ginny nodded. She didn’t cry. She brought Harry’s hand to her mouth and kissed the fingers entwined
with hers.

Hermione pulled back, clutching her hands together. There was a dull roaring in her ears. She
wanted to erase the scene from her memory and pretend she hadn’t watched Harry comforting
Ginny…

Her heart thundering, she took off down the corridor, going to the nearest Apparating point.

*It isn’t a game anymore.*

***

When she Apparated into Grimmauld Place, she took the stairs two at a time, her feet pounding
against each step. She strode all the way to Malfoy’s room, banging the door open with a satisfying
*crack.*

And she stopped in the doorway, her mouth hanging open. Malfoy was lying on his bed, arms folded
under his head and his eyes drifting lazily over the ceiling.

“Granger,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Something I can… do… for you?”

“Get up,” she said. “GET UP.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, swinging his legs over the bed and stretching. “What’s with the
attitude?”

She set her teeth. “Don’t think you can pull one over on me, Malfoy. We know full well you
disappeared. Where were you? Who did you talk to?”

He sighed. “Granger, I don’t have the faintest—”

Hermione pulled out her wand. “Malfoy, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m *not* in the best
mood. Now, you have *five seconds* to tell me *exactly*—”

“Oh, hush up, Granger,” Malfoy said. “You’re always so *dramatic*. That’s your problem, you
know. You don’t know how to… *loosen up*… throw a bit of caution to the wind. Perhaps that’s
why Potter liked Weaslebit so much better—”

Hermione strode across the room and pointed her wand at Malfoy’s throat. “*Three seconds*,”
she hissed.

Malfoy eyed her wand. “I was at Malfoy Manor.”

Hermione dug her wand into his throat and he hissed.

“I was trying to—*ow*… loosen up on that, will you?”

“Time’s up, Malfoy—”

“The *Horcrux*! Remember it? Father was a collector of the dark arts, Granger. Has a library
that could rival the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.” He paused and caught her eye. “Not only did I
find out how to destroy the cup, but I know where the next one is.”

Hermione leaned closer to him. “Draco?” she whispered.

His mouth curled upwards and he reached out one hand towards her, resting it on her hip.
“Yeah?”

“You’re a *liar* and a *cheat*,” she spat, shoving her wand against his throat until he
gasped. “You better come up with a better cover story than that.”

Malfoy coughed and rubbed at his neck. But when he looked at her, he was smiling. “My, but how
you’ve changed. Do you like what you’ve become, Granger?”

“I’ve become what I’ve needed to become,” she said. “No less than that.”

He licked his lips and eyed her up and down until she flushed. “Would it be so terrible?” he said
softly. “You and me… we both know there’s always been something there.”

Hermione regarded him for a moment, her eyes panning over his well-defined features. “Malfoy,” she
said, slowly and clearly. “You tortured me—for fun. I’ll never forget that. You disgust me.” She
took a breath and gathered her resolve. “And I’m Harry’s girl. Forget it.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at her last comment. “Fair enough.”

He stood and Hermione watched him in suspicion, her brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“I,” he said. “Am going to Hogwarts. And you’re coming with me.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s *rich*,” she said. “I’m going *with* you. Hardly. *You*
are not going *anywhere*.”

Malfoy cocked his head to the side. “Listen, Granger, it’s *there*, alright? Are you
*listening*? The—next—part is at *Hogwarts*!”

She was about to argue when she remembered Harry’s suspicions that Voldemort implanted a Horcrux at
Hogwarts. It had been the only place Voldemort ever called a home, Harry said. And she could tell
that, on that, he could sympathize with the man Riddle had once been.

Harry.

She wished she could get him out of her head.

“And just *what* proof do you *have*, Malfoy?” she demanded. “You went back to Malfoy
Manor—for what? Who did you talk to? This place is Unplottable, no one can get here unless they
know it exists already. Harry and Ron and I—we’re safe as long as we’re here.”

Malfoy snorted. “Well, they *aren’t* here, are they? You can’t stay hidden in your fortress
forever. The rest of the world will find its way in.”

“If you sold us out—”

“I did *not*!” Malfoy said, voicing rising. “I told you, I have nothing to gain from going
back there! I did my own research because you were too busy fucking Potter to give a shit!”

Hermione felt her face burn. “That’s ridiculous.”

Malfoy chuckled. “Say what you will, Granger, it’s no skin off my nose. In fact, I’d laugh if he
went back to the Weasley Bitch in the end—they probably deserve each other.”

“Shut up,” she said.

Malfoy took two steps towards her, pulling Hufflepuff’s cup out of his pocket. She set her jaw, her
hand clenching on her wand.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “This cup? It’s got a piece of the Dark Lord’s *soul*
in it. His *soul*. Do you *know* what kind of a connection that takes? He needs to feel
close to the items he uses… he needs to make them virtually impenetrable….” Malfoy shook his head
and stuffed it back into his pocket. “I tried to find something of Ravenclaw’s, perhaps the cup’s
twin, but I came up with nothing. But this cup, it’s connected to something—if we find another
Horcrux, it puts us ahead. There’s one at Hogwarts. I’m sure of it.”

Despite her better judgment, Hermione was fascinated. “Where?”

“Don’t know,” Malfoy said. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “But it’s time to find out. Come
on, Granger. What’ve you got to lose?”

*Everything,* she thought, staring at him suspiciously. She wondered if he was using
*Legilimens* to break into her mind.

“Give me five minutes,” she said.

***

Crookshanks wiggled and twisted in her arms. “Oh, come on,” she whined. “First Harry, now you. I’m
beginning think I’m some kind of hideous monster.”

Crookshanks blinked lazily, giving a yawn.

“I know—this is stupid, and reckless, and all sorts of things that I never do. But Malfoy’s right,
the Horcruxes *do* need to be first and Harry and Ron *aren’t* here, are they? They… they
have… more important people to be with right now….” She trailed off and set her resolve. “Well,
there’s no use crying over it—I always knew that I was taking a risk with Harry. He was so happy,
you know… when he was with Ginny… seems so long ago, now…”

She sighed and set Crookshanks down. He skittered across the floor and under the bed. Hermione
watched him go, fighting loneliness. *Malfoy’s does not count as company.*

“This is the right thing,” she told the empty room. “If Malfoy’s right about this, then….”

She thought about the Weasleys lying in the hospital wing. Arthur Weasley, who may have given his
life to save his family…

“Harry’s not here,” she said again. “It’s… it’s up to me…”

She bit her lip and backed out of her room, closing the door behind her. She thought about Harry
holding Ginny’s hand at St. Mungo’s.

She tasted blood in her mouth.

“Ready, Granger?”

It was Malfoy. She nodded, a sense of trepidation creeping over her as she Apparated away.

***

Coming back to Hogwarts felt unreal. The halls were too big. Too long. Too empty. Goosebumps broke
out along her arms and she shivered, hugging her wand closed to her chest. A tiny fire burned at
the tip of it, lighting their way.

She made Malfoy go first.

Of course.

*In case that helps me—if this is a trap,* nothing *will help me, and I’ll go down as the
stupidest witch in history.*

That thought made her wince.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Malfoy turned Hufflepuff’s cup around and around in his wands as he walked, watching the light from
her wand reflect off its surface. “Professor Snape’s office.”

Hermione stopped. “Why?”

She held her teeth firmly together, resisting the urge to let them chatter. She was so cold.

“We’re going to sort through Professor Snape’s things.”

Hermione snorted. “After the… *special*… relationship the pair of you shared, you think we
need to snoop through his things? Do you *really* think he would have left something lying
around?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

No, she didn’t.

Instead of answering, she gestured for him to continue. He did, walking closer to her this time. It
made the back of her neck itch.

“You still remember it, don’t you?” Malfoy said quietly. “You remember every second that I tortured
you.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Good.”

She made a small sound of disgust. “You know, Malfoy, if you’re out to prove that you can be
redeemed, you might attempt by starting with some semblance of remorse.”

“I’m not out to be redeemed, Granger,” he said. “I’m out to win.”

She changed the subject. “Why did you bring Hufflepuff’s cup? Seems a bit dangerous, don’t you
think, walking into here with it?”

“Haven’t you been *listening*?” Malfoy snapped. “Use your *brains*, Granger. The
Horcruxes are *connected.* They each contain a part of the Dark Lord. Do you understand?
*This* cup will help us find the next one… and that one will help us destroy this one… “

Malfoy trailed off and thought for a moment. “Potter’s connected to them too. No one really knows
how, only that he is. My best guess is that we’re not going to be able to destroy these on our own.
He took out one by himself just recently, didn’t he?”

Hermione nodded. “Well… that was… that was a special case…”

“Oh, naturally,” Malfoy said. “I should never have bothered with you. Don’t know what was so
important that kept Potter from his Grand Mission.”

Hermione bristled. “You will do just fine with me, thank you!”

She shoved him up ahead, her jaw set as they entered the old DADA’s classroom. Malfoy headed
straight for Snape’s office and Hermione followed, glancing around at the empty desks. She ran a
finger over one of the surfaces, a thick mound of dust clinging to her skin.

She heard Malfoy fiddling around in the office. She ignored him, letting her mind drift.
*Malfoy’s right, there must be something here… something that we’re missing. Connection… what is
that Voldemort is connected to? The four houses, obviously, but that diary belonged to him, and
Nagini belongs to him… what else could…*

She heard a large crash from Snape’s office and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Malfoy, keep it down,
will you? It’s best if we *don’t* alert everyone to our presence.”

She didn’t get a reply. Hermione frowned, her stomach shifting uncomfortably. She moved cautiously
towards the office. “Malfoy, this isn’t funny… we have loads to get done—”

Her words turned into a gasp. Draco Malfoy’s body was sprawled on the ground, his head turned to
the side and his mouth hanging open. One arm stretched outwards and the fingers of his hand were
clenched together.

“*Expelliarmus*!”

Before Hermione had time to react, her wand flew from her hand and hit the wall. Professor Snape
stepped over Draco’s body, Hufflepuff’s cup held between his fingers.

“Pleasure, as always, Miss Granger,” Snape said silkily, walking by her. “Lovely doing business
with you. Give my regards to Potter.”

Her mouth opened, her hands clenching against her thighs. She could scarcely understand how this
was happening. Professor Snape had the cup. He knew they had been coming—he’d been *expecting*
them. *But he’s not killing me,* she thought frantically. *He’s going to leave me here. He’s
got what he came for.*

Her eyes ticked to Malfoy. He could still be alive… she hadn’t heard an *Avada Kedavra*…

“How…” she croaked. “Why… I don’t—I don’t understand…”

Snape spun around. “Stupid, girl,” he said. “You always thought yourself better than your peers,
Granger, and yet you failed time and again to use your *head*. Mr. Malfoy is nothing but an
arrogant boy, *hardly* capable of eluding myself, much less the Dark Lord.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “He was a plant. He *thought* he was fooling you, but of course—*of
course* he couldn’t. Oh—what an *idiot*.” Another thought struck her and a smile tugged at
her mouth. “But you can’t get us at Grimmauld Place, can you? It must be maddening that we’re so
well hidden there. We could be doing anything and right under your very own nose.”

Snape’s lip curled in disgust. “You are not nearly as afraid of me as you should be, Granger.
Surely a part of you does not suspect I can turn back to the—how does one put it—the path of
good?”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply and then jerked, her mouth clamping shut and her teeth grinding
into her bottom lip.

“Severus.”

The name sounded more like a whisper than a word. She looked up, away from Snape, her eyes panning
over the floor and the walls and the desks in slow motion, *knowing* what she would find.
Voldemort.

“Severus, you *have* gone soft… leaving them alive…”

Voldemort was tall. His face was long and pointed and his nostrils flared as he walked. He strode
into the room, his feet barely touching the ground.

“I apologize, My Lord,” Snape said, bending down on one knee. He kept his head lowered. “I saw no
use in killing them. They were former students of mine.”

Voldemort pinched Snape’s chin between two of his long fingers, tilting his head back. “You are
conflicted, Severus. Killing Dumbledore has been difficult for you. You are lost—no longer sure of
your place in this war. You do what I tell you, but with reluctance.”

“I am your loyal servant.”

“Ahh, yes. We will see.”

Voldemort let go of Snape and stepped around him. His eyes swept over Snape’s office, barely
pausing on Hermione.

“*Avada Kedavra*!” he hissed.

A burst of green light flowed from Voldemort’s wand and struck Malfoy in the chest. Malfoy jerked
and rolled over, his mouth falling open and eyes wide and unseeing.

Hermione screamed.

Voldemort’s eyes snapped to her. She took a startled step backwards, thumping against the wall, her
hand clamped over her mouth. Her chest constricted. She couldn’t breathe.

Voldemort’s eyes were red. He approached her slowly and she felt her legs weaken and her vision
cloud. *If I fall unconscious now, I’ll never wake up*. She had to do something, defend
herself. She couldn’t go down like a coward.

“Oh, yes,” he whispered, reaching her. One of his bony fingers stroked her cheek, tracing small
circles down under her chin and jaw. “Miss Hermione Granger.”

She was frozen. Her cheek burned where he touched her, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t
think.

“Faithful, Hermione Granger,” he continued. “Pity Potter never cared much for you. Letting you die
here, now, alone. Shame. You’re hardly even worth using as a bargaining chip.”

Her eyes darted to Malfoy’s face, which looked so normal and relaxed. It seemed impossible that he
was dead… when one moment he’d been taunting her…

“You’re a pretty girl,” Voldemort said. “Unlike my mother, the blood traitor. You, you have power,
girl. And for a Mudblood.”

She closed her eyes, her entire body shaking. “The Order of the Phoenix is coming,” she rasped. “I
left them a message before I came here.”

Voldemort laughed. “Did you?”

“*Yes*,” Hermione said. “I’m certain they’re on their way. Do you *really* want to be
caught?”

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. Hermione turned her head away. “Listen, my dear, there is no
way *anyone* can defeat me. No matter how many how many turn up. And I highly doubt that… your
cat… will be an effective means of transferring your message…”

Hermione gasped and jerked away. She eyed her wand on the floor and Voldemort followed her gaze,
his lips quirking into a smile.

“Go on,” he said. “Take it. Defend yourself.”

Hermione swallowed and bent down to fetch it. It shook in her hands. “Professor Snape,” she said
weakly. “You don’t honestly want—”

“Quiet, girl,” Voldemort snapped. “You will focus on me, do you understand?”

Hermione flinched. She couldn’t bear to look at Voldemort. *I can’t win in a duel, I know I
can’t… I can’t even stall… he’ll kill me before I even raise my wand…*

A memory hit her then, so strong she stumbled backwards a few steps.

*Don’t pretend you know anything about Quidditch, Hermione. You’ll only embarrass
yourself.*

*SECTUMSEMPRA!*

Light burst from the tip of Hermione’s wand. She waited, breathless, holding her hand steady and
listening to her pulse race. The light enveloped Voldemort and she watched, transfixed, every
muscle in her body wound tight.

*Did it work? Oh, please, please let it work…*

A moment passed and then the light began circling around Voldemort, faster and faster until it
clumped together in front of him. Voldemort’s lips twitched and she gasped, realizing what he was
about to do. She ducked, but Voldemort released the energy and it hurtled towards her. She gave a
sharp cry when it struck the side of her chest.

She fell back against the wall, her head snapping backwards against it. Ringing pain echoed in her
ears.

Panting, she tried to rise and her legs buckled. Something wet trickled down her side. It was her
own blood.

She bit her lip and struggled again, but it was no use. She fell back against the wall and pressed
a hand to her side. Tears sprang into her eyes.

Voldemort took a step towards her. “Why do you continue to fight, child?”

“The same reason *everyone* fights you,” she whispered. “And they will *always* fight
you. If you kill me now, they’ll keep coming. If it’s not Harry, it’ll be someone else.”

A muscle twitched in Voldemort’s jaw. He raised his wand. “Unfortunately, you will not be around to
witness—”

*CRASH!*

Voldemort spun around. The noise had come from the side of the classroom. A large square of stone
burst from the wall and struck the floor. There was another crash, followed by silence, and then
the wall began crumpling inwards. Bricks, stones and glass rained down onto the floor. Hermione
pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering.

The noise was unbearable. Dust puffed its way towards the ceiling, swirling together like smoke.
Hermione coughed and dragged herself away from the wreckage, keeping her eyes pinned on the
collapsing classroom wall.

And then a giant hand appeared through the rubble, its fingers clenching and unclenching. An
immense head followed, pushing against what was left of the wall, its mouth opening and closing as
it mouthed the same word over and over.

“HERMY, HERMY, HERMY….”

Hermione chocked back a sob. “Yes,” she said, her voice scratchy. She tried again, louder. “Yes,
Grawp, good boy, Grawp.”

The words had barely passed through her lips when the classroom doors burst open and Order members
crashed in. Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, Tonks, Lupin, Moody…

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the dust and grime. She almost began to laugh—how
ridiculous she must look! Sitting in a pile of blood, coated in dust, crying her eyes out…
*honestly*…

“*Hermione*!”

Harry pushed his way past the Order members and rushed to her side. She gaped at him and tried to
smile, but all she managed was a wince.

He dropped to his knees beside her, his face dark. “Merlin, Hermione, you’re… there’s so much
blood—”

Swallowing, he tore off his shirt and pushed her bloody hands away, pressing the material against
her wound.

“Er, could I get some help over here?” he yelled over his shoulder.

He didn’t get an answer. The Order members were clustered around Malfoy. Professor McGonagall bent
down to press two fingers to his neck, the look on her face telling them everything they needed to
know.

Hermione looked away. “Voldemort…” she whispered. “He’s… he was here, Harry…”

Harry looked stricken. “Voldemort was here?”

“Yes, he was,” she murmured. “It was quite stupid of me, really, to not have planned for something
like this. I used to be rather good at this sort of thing, wasn’t I? I’m not usually so
reckless….”

“No, you’re not,” Harry said. “I don’t understand what you were—no, it’s not important right now.
Listen, you’re going to have to go to the hospital wing. You’ll get fixed up in no time at
all.”

“Alright,” she said. “Did you get my message, Harry? I left it with Crookshanks…”

Harry shifted and lifted one hand to rest it on her cheek. “Yeah, I got your message…”

There were other faces bending over her now. Lupin and Tonks, both of them looking grim. She could
hear someone crying. It sounded like Professor McGonagall.

The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Draco Malfoy’s motionless face.



11. Chapter 11
--------------

**Title**: All Nights (11/?)

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Harry/Hermione

**Summary**: After facing Voldemort and witnessing Malfoy’s death, Hermione has to deal with
the aftermath.

**Rating**: R

**Word Count**: 3, 365

**A/N**: This was a *very* emotionally draining chapter to write. The good news is that
I’m really feeling this story again. Thanks, as always, to everyone who’s given me feedback and
encouragement, I hope you guys like this one.

Hermione awoke to the soft murmur of voices. She shifted and the familiar lump of a Hogwarts’
hospital bed pushed against her spine. She drew in a breath and it pierced through her side.

“Gently, Hermione. You need to give your body a chance to heal.”

*Harry*. She opened her eyes to find him sitting next to her bed, his fingers linked
together and elbows resting on his knees.

“Hey,” he said. “Madam Pomfrey healed your wound, but I reckon you’ll be sore for some
time.”

Hermione touched her side and winced. She licked her lips. “What’s going on?”

“Oh…” Harry glanced over to where Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Tonks, and Lupin were clustered.
“Dunno. They’re trying to figure out how Voldemort managed to get in here, I s’pect. They’ve… er,
they’ve decided to send Malfoy back to his mother.” Harry paused. “But I’ve been paying more
attention to you, honestly.”

Hermione swallowed and fought to sit up. Harry moved forward. “Hey—take it slow.”

She grabbed his arm to hold herself steady and found his gaze. “Malfoy thought there was a
Horcrux here.”

Harry frowned. “Well—yeah, it’s a nice theory, but—”

“Connection,” she blurted. Her grip tightened on his arm. “They’re all connected. To each other,
to Voldemort, to *you*—what is *he* connected to?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he thought. “Hang on—if it was…” he trailed off and stood up. “I’ll be
right back, okay?”

He squeezed her hand and rushed off, the hospital wing’s door swinging shut behind him. Hermione
leaned back against the pillows, fighting tears.

“How yeh doing?”

Hagrid’s kindly face stared down at her, his eyebrows crinkled together in a frown of concern.
Hermione’s throat burned and she looked away.

“I’m—I’m…” her chest heaved and she clamped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Hagrid.”

The bed squeaked as Hagrid sat down next to her. He held up a large handkerchief, the edges
frayed. “Here—yeh’ve been through a rough time, Hermione.”

She took the handkerchief and blew her nose, letting out a loud sniffle. “I saw—Voldemort killed
Malfoy….” She wiped at her eyes. “Oh, it was awful, Hagrid. He didn’t deserve to die that way. He
was a terrible person, Malfoy was, but he didn’t deserve it.”

Hagrid didn’t say anything, but the concern on his face seemed to break through her
defenses.

“Harry’s right angry with me, isn’t he?” she couldn’t keep the pleading note out of her voice.
“It was stupid what I did, I know it was—and I suppose he had to leave the Weasleys to come here,
didn’t he?”

Hagrid ducked his head. “You should’a seen him while yeh were unconscious, Hermione. He’s
feeling a whole lot. Give ‘im time.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, squeezing the handkerchief between her fingers. “How much time? I think…
well, I think… I could really use a best friend now.”

Hagrid looked on the verge of tears himself. Hermione handed him back his handkerchief and he
wiped at his eyes.

“I daresay you were lucky, Miss Granger.”

Professor McGonagall’s shoes clicked along the floor as she approached her bed. Hagrid hurriedly
stood up and shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket.

“I know, Professor,” she said softly.

“Good bit of magic, that was, leaving a message with your cat. Though, if Mr. Potter hadn’t
thought to go looking for you—” McGonagall stopped and pressed her lips together. “Well, there’s no
need to go over that.”

Hermione nodded and stared down at her hands. Heat rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry for letting
you down.”

“Oh, child.” McGonagall squeezed her shoulder before hastily pulling away. “You’re young—it’s
such a heavy responsibility for the three of you. There’s no need to dwell on what might have been.
You will learn from this mistake.”

Hermione looked up at her. “Malfoy died, Professor. I rather think it’s a bit late to learn the
lesson.”

“Malfoy, Miss Granger, was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. Unless you yourself
performed the killing curse on him, you are not to blame.”

Hermione folded the top of the sheet over and back again. Her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip.
“Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall’s voice was gentle. “Have Potter take you home, Granger. I think you could use a fair
bit of rest.”

“Yes,” she said. “That would be nice.”

***

Hermione insisted on walking on her own after she and Harry Apparated back inside Grimmauld
Place. A sharp pain throbbed below her skin, reaching from her hip to under her breastbone.

“Are you certain you’re alright?”


“Fine,” Hermione said, smiling. “Did you… did you find something? After you went rushing off?”
She clung onto the edge of the kitchen table for support.

Harry’s gaze didn’t falter from hers. It made her feel uncomfortable—it was like he was
*looking* for something, some answer she didn’t have.

“I’ve got a hunch.”

“And what’s that?”

She saw something flicker in his eyes. “Oh, it was just…” he turned away and started to pace.
When he stopped, his face was tight. “Why did you do it?”

She stared. “What?”

“You know, I’ve done loads of stupid things before, but at least there was a *reason*!”

Hermione took a startled step backwards, bumping into the table. “I thought it was the right
thing, Harry. Malfoy said—”

“*Malfoy*?” Harry said, voice rising. “Are we talking about the same *Draco Malfoy*
here? Because I’m nearly certain *we don’t trust him*!”

“We don’t—*that’s why* I left a note with Crookshanks! But I *had* to, Harry. If there
was even some chance he was right, I couldn’t let that be.”

“Couldn’t let that *be*?” Harry said. “This isn’t your responsibility!”

“Not *my* responsibility?” she said shrilly. “How can you even *say* that?”

He whipped the hair back from over his forehead and took two steps towards her. “*That’s
why*. I’m the one with the bloody scar!”

“So *what*?” she said, her chin trembling. “I hardly think that means you’re the only one
who’s allowed to fight this war.”

“You almost *DIED*! What the—hell—would *ever*…” Harry stopped, his throat working.
She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so furious. “To go off with *Malfoy*, of *all*
people. You do remember him, don’t you? Held you under *Crucio*? *THAT MALFOY*!?”

She swallowed. “Of course I remember,” she said quietly. “I thought I was being careful.”

“CAREFUL?” he repeated. She winced. “Careful is waiting for Ron and I—*that’s* what careful
is. What was all that about doing this together? *Here’s what we’ll do, Harry. We’ll take one
thing at a time.* And you know? I *believed* you. How do you think I felt when I learned
you disappeared?”

“Surprised you noticed at all, really,” she said bitterly. “You seemed awfully busy with Ginny
at the time.”

She watched him stare at her for a moment, colour rushing up to his cheeks. “You can’t honestly
tell me that’s—” he faltered and gave her a piercing look. “*That’s* why you took off? Because
I went to visit *Ginny*? I’m sorry, Hermione, I suppose I reckoned you’d have more faith in us
than that.”

“Oh, don’t give me *that*,” she said. “Last time I thought someone cared about me, he ended
up snogging Lavender Brown. Do you know what it’s like seeing someone you care about with someone
else?” She watched him blink and she set her jaw. “It wasn’t right what I did, I’m not saying it
was, but don’t go putting all the blame on me, Harry.”

Harry flinched and, if possible, seemed to grow angrier. “Well, what was I supposed to do?” he
hollered. “She was lying in a *hospital bed*, for fuck’s sakes. Sorry, Gin, ‘fraid I don’t
much care for you anymore, turns out I’m with Hermione now, how about that? She’d been
*tortured*, Hermione. She watched her parents nearly *die* to protect her. Sorry, but it
didn’t strike me as the best time to bring up our *relationship.*”

He spat the last work. She took a step back, clenching her hands together until her nails dug
into her skin.

“When I got to Hogwarts and saw Malfoy…”he was nearly choking on his words. “I thought I was too
late.”

Her voice was a raw, desperate sound. “I’m sorry.” Tears sprung into her eyes. She rubbed at her
arms. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

Silence descended. She didn’t know what else to say.

Harry’s anger seemed to go as quickly as it came. With forced calmness, he said, “We’re
through.”

The words pierced through the kitchen. Her eyes widened. “I—what?”

“We’re through,” he said again. He didn’t meet her eyes. “This can’t ever work.”

“Can’t work?” she repeated, her tongue and lips feeling heavy. “What are you saying?”

Slowly, he reached into his pockets and drew out the two vials Madam Pomfrey had given her for
her injury. He set them on the kitchen table next to her.

“Pack up your stuff,” he said, in a practiced, mechanical tone. “I’ll take you back to your
parents. You said it yourself, you miss them.”

“Miss them?” she said, stumbling over the words. “Harry, are you—you’re asking me to leave,
aren’t you?”


He waited a moment before answering. “Yes,” he said. He looked back up at her and met her eyes.
His voice was soft. “You’ll be safe there.”

Before she could say anything, he turned his back and left the kitchen. His footsteps were heavy
and plodding. Hermione stayed frozen, numb shock filtering through her system. Her side ached and
her head felt like it might explode.

“*Harry*!” she finally said, real anger in her voice. She ignored the vials on the table
and rushed after him. “Don’t you dare, don’t you *dare*!” He stopped and she limped after him.
Her hands and legs shook from the exertion.

“I’m not *stupid*!” she yelled, getting up in his face. “I *know* what you’re doing
and it’s not going to work!”

She jabbed a finger at his chest and his mouth fell open. “I’m not a cowardly little girl
waiting on *you* to save me! I’m more than that, Harry, and you *need* me on this. I
don’t *care* if it puts me in trouble—*I made that choice long ago*!”

She wanted to push him. Instead, she took a step back and glared. “You *can’t* shut me out,
I won’t let you. It’s too late for that.”

Harry seemed to recover from his initial surprise. “And *I* won’t have you putting yourself
in danger because of me!”

“*Danger*?” she spat. She tore at her shirt, pulling down the neckline so that her right
shoulder was visible. There was a faint scratch etched on her skin, running from below her breast
to her neck. “*This*, Harry—I got *this* when *you* dragged me off the Department of
Mysteries two years ago! Do you remember that?”

“Hermione—”

“And I *never* blamed you!” she said hoarsely. It was exhausting her to stand upright, but
she grasped his hands, *needing* to make him understand. “I went with you even when I
*knew* it was a trap—I *went*. So stop it! Stop blaming me for this!”

Harry pulled his hands away. “That was different. I thought Sirius was in trouble.”

She almost laughed at that. She pressed a hand to her forehead and tried to regain her balance.
“Oh, you never *could* listen to reason, could you? Honestly, Harry—I don’t know what else to
say to you.”

Harry gazed at the floor. “You ought to get some rest, then.”

He moved to turn away. She let out a high-pitched sniff and lunged forward to grab his arm. “You
complete and utter *git*! You’re worse than Ron, you know. At least he always had the
*stones* to face me!”

Harry spun around and she almost lost her balance. “I love you,” he said flatly.

She gasped, her hands flying to her face.

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. He let out a shaky breath.

“I love you.”

“Oh, my god,” she whispered. Her chest heaved with a sudden flare of pain and the colour drained
from her face. “Oh, my—”

Harry came forward, his forehead crinkling. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I—*oh*…” she moaned and clutched her side before meeting his eyes. “I left Madam Pomfrey’s
vials in the kitchen.”

“Er… oh—*right*—” Harry gave her an anxious look before rushing off. Hermione stumbled her
way to the banister, the room spinning around her.

When Harry came back, his hands were shaking as he uncapped the first bottle. “Take a small sip,
your system won’t like it if you down the whole thing at once.”

She nodded. The liquid was sharp, like lemons, and burned her throat. It warmed the inside of
her stomach, making her skin tingle. Her eyes watered, but the pounding in her head subsided.

“Better?” Harry asked softly.

She finished the second vial, wincing at the taste. “A little.”

“Alright, you… er—” He thought for a moment. “You should get some rest.”

“Harry—”

“*Rest*,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Just… get some rest. We’ll talk
later, okay?”

“I….” She trailed off, as he turned around and practically ran off. She sighed. “Okay.”

She climbed the stairs in a daze, stumbling to her bed and collapsing facedown on it. Images
from the last twenty-four hours passed in front of her eyes; Malfoy lying unconscious on the floor,
Voldemort as he hurtled her *Sectumsempra* back at her, Grawp’s gnawing face, and Harry’s cold
eyes as he yelled at her.

She could feel the potion working its magic through her body, relaxing her muscles, making her
eyes feel heavy. Blindness overtook her, pushing the thoughts from her mind. Her pillows and sheets
smelled like she remembered—fresh and clean, with the barest hints of roses.

***

Her mouth tasted like sawdust when she woke up. She pushed the hair out of her face, forcing the
loose strands behind her ears. Her body protested as she made her way downstairs. *I ought to
take a shower or a hot bath… or perhaps go back to bed and never awake…*

A creak made her pause. “Harry?” she said.

She didn’t get an answer. She stopped to listen, rubbing her fingers together against the
evening chill. Another moment passed and then—*there*. She heard the noise again. It was
coming from the living room.

“Harry?” she repeated. “Are you alright?”

She found him sleeping on the couch. He was resting facedown on a book, one leg hanging off the
edge of the couch. His glasses were hooked over one ear and lay across his mouth. Various open
books were scattered around the floor. She could see notes scrawled in the margins, some from her,
some from him.

He was not sleeping peacefully. Sweat glistened along his brow and he moaned, his face
contorting. She recognized the way his forehead was creasing—it had to be his scar. She bit her
lip, feeling as if she was intruding on his privacy. He was so much more vulnerable this way, so
different from the anger he’d shown her earlier.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, sinking down to her knees beside him. He rubbed at his forehead with
one hand, but didn’t open his eyes. She sighed and studied him.

One of her knees rested against an open book. She glanced down at it. *Though many have
attempted it, the best-known triumph over death was by Nicolas Flamel. Outside of externally
imposed magical sustainability, however, immortality is thought to be near impossible…*

She pushed the book off to the side and reached for his hand. She held it between both of hers,
tracing his fingers with her own. His thrashing began to subside. She turned his hand over, palm
side up and leaned forward to press her lips to his wrist.

She glanced up and gasped. His eyes were open. She dropped his hand and back away, her foot
landing on the book and tearing the page.

“Harry—Oh, I didn’t notice that you were—how long have you been awake?”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes before putting his glasses back on. “Not long,” he said. “I didn’t
mean to fall asleep in the first place.”

“Well, I daresay you probably needed it.”

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. The light from the fire bounced off his glasses, making the rest of his
face seem pale. “How are you feeling?”

Something in his tone went through her. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled and she
pinched them together. “I’m…” she shook her head and laced her hands together. “I’ve been better,
honestly.”

Harry slipped off the couch so he was level with her. “Let me see.”

A single tear dripped down her cheek as she moved closer to him. He gently raised her shirt over
her stomach, the fingers of his other hand dancing over the fiery red skin of her side.

“Does that hurt?”

“No.”

He placed his other hand on her other side, her shirt falling back down. His hands felt warm
against her bare stomach. He moved them to her back, his thumbs smoothing over the curve of her
spine. They looked at each other, their noses close enough to touch, and his breath tickled over
her neck.

“Hermione?” his voice was barely above a whisper.

She cupped his face in her hands. “What is it?”

“When I said I wanted you to leave earlier…” he struggled and bowed his head. “It was stupid. I
didn’t mean it.”

She forced his head up so she could look into his eyes. “Do you love me, Harry?”


“Yes.” He hesitated. “D’you understand what that means for you? It’ll get worse than what you
faced earlier. Malfoy was only the beginning, if Voldemort had *any* idea what you really are
to me—”

“Shhh,” she said. “Don’t—don’t ruin it.”

“Okay,” he said, voice breaking. “Okay.”

She hugged him tightly and his arms nearly crushed her. And she didn’t care. She clenched a
fistful of his shirt in one hand and pulled away so she could kiss him. He moaned, his tongue
flicking out against her teeth. His hands moved further up her back, under the clasp of her
bra.

When he pushed her down against the floor, she didn’t protest. She wanted to feel him pressed up
against her

He moved his lips down her neck, his kisses having a slow, drugged feel to them. One of her
hands tangled in his hair and the other traced his back, pulling at his shirt.

He squeezed her breast, his fingers finding her nipple. They kissed again, slowly. “Are you
alright?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” she said. She turned her head to kiss his cheek. “Yes, I’m alright. This—this feels—”

“Brilliant,” he said, almost in awe.

She giggled and pressed her face to his shoulder. He took the opportunity to undo her bra clasp.
“Smart boy,” she whispered.

“Mmhmm,” he said, pushing her down on her back again. He lifted her shirt over her head and then
held her hair back while he kissed her again.

“I don’t… well, I don’t *think* having a quick shag is exactly the best way to
fix—*mmff*—”

His lips were on her neck again, which she was discovering was a *very* sensitive place.
His fingers traced a path down her stomach, over her hips, before reaching the button and fly of
her jeans.

“It’s not a *shag*, Hermione. This is more than—” He met her eyes. “It’s *us*. I need
to feel close to you.”

“Oh, *Harry*,” she said. She found his hand and their fingers entwined together. “I love
you.”

He stared at her for a moment and then smiled, squeezing her hand. “We’ll talk afterwards,
okay?”

She didn’t give him an answer. Instead, she helped him pull down her jeans, removing the
barriers between them one step at a time. With Harry, she never had to pretend.

***



12. Chapter Twelve
------------------

**Title**: All Nights, Chapter 12

**Author**: Goldy

**Disclaimer**: Same as ever—not mine, never will be mine. I just like to play with them in a
free, non-profit, non-sueable manner.

**Summary**: Hermione struggles to understand Harry’s feelings for Ginny, tragedy again
strikes the Weasleys, Ron begins to get a clue, and the trio goes off Horcrux Hunting.

**Word Count**: 5, 983

**A/N**: Thanks for the continued support/feedback on this story. This is the longest chapter
I’ve written yet. While it’s heavy on plot, this is, primarily, an H/Hr post-HBP fic. It all comes
back to them in the end, no matter how much angst I may put them through in coming chapters.

Hermione busied herself making toast while Harry sat at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of
tea.

“I was thinking about what you said, about all the Horcruxes being connected,” Harry explained.
“So what’s he got? The cup that belonged to Hufflepuff, Slytherin’s locket, his diary—”

“Something of Ravenclaw’s, then,” Hermione said as her toast popped up. “A complete set.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Only, he never got his hands on Gryffindor’s dagger, did he? So it’s all a
moot point now.”

Hermione turned around. “So if it’s *not* something of Ravenclaw’s, then what is it??”

“It’s something at Hogwarts, something that *means* something to him—something that
oughtn’t be there, but has stayed for decades, even after it stopped having meaning.”

Hermione spread a thin layer of jam on her toast. “If you know what it is, *tell* me, will
you?”

“‘Hogwarts,’” Harry said, a smug smile on his face, “‘would like to thank you for your
outstanding services to the school.’”

Hermione dropped her fork. “You don’t think…”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said. “Think about it, Hermione. He got a *prize* for creating a
Basilisk, for *murdering* a Muggle-born girl—and why is it still there? Even after the charges
on Hagrid were dropped, *after* Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort, it is *still there*.”
Harry let that sink in. “I couldn’t get at it—I reckon it’s like the other Horcruxes, full of
enchantments and whatnot. Shame Malfoy is gone, we could’ve sent him in first.”

“That’s not funny,” Hermione snapped.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, it wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” she said.

“So what do you think?”

Hermione shoved a piece of toast in her mouth. Finally, she swallowed and drummed her fingers on
the countertop.

“Do you still have feelings for Ginny?”

Harry choked on his tea. She waited for him to settle before narrowing her eyes.

“Well, *do* you?”

“What?” Harry said hoarsely. “How can you ask me that?”

“Honestly, I *did* see you at the hospital—I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

Harry studied her. “No,” he finally said.

She raised her eyebrows. “No?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say, Hermione?” he said, exasperated. “From the way you’re
acting, it’s like you want me to admit I love her and not you!”

“Of course not!” Hermione said. “It’s not your feelings for me I’m questioning, it’s….” She
trailed off and sat down across from him. “Do you want to hear what I think?”


“Do I have a choice?”


She ignored him. “*Ginny*,” she said. “Was part of a life you *wished* you had. When
the pair of you were together, nothing else mattered. That’s why you had to leave her. If you left
her behind, you wouldn’t only protect her, you’d protect the happiness you found with her. She’s
*not* a part of this life. She’s above that. That’s why it is unacceptable that Death Eaters
attacked her.”

“Just what is your point, Hermione?”


“My point is that you still *want* that! This image of her that you’ve built—this perfect,
protected image! It’s not real, you *know* it’s not real, but you still want it, because it
made you *happy*!” Hermione took a breath. “You’re still hoping that one day, after you win
this war, she’ll be there. She’ll still be waiting for you.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Is that what you really think?”

They stared at each other.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered.

Harry’s chair scraped along the floor as he stood up. He braced his hands on the table and met
her eyes. “You’re wrong.” Grabbing his mug, he turned and left the kitchen.

Somehow, his silence was more oppressive than when he yelled at her.

***

An hour later, Hermione paced nervously in front of Harry’s bedroom door.

“Well, honestly, it *is* only natural that I’m threatened by her—she *is* Ginny
Weasley after all! No one can do a Bat Bogey Hex like her!” Hermione stopped and scowled. “I can
conjure a fearsome set of canaries, you know! Now *that* is a tough bit of magic. Bat Bogey
Hexes *are* rather elemental, once you get right down to it!”

Hermione rubbed at her eyes. “Oh, *heaven’s*, this is simply ridiculous! What *am* I
doing? There are *far* more important things at stake! If I could just—just *focus*—on
what’s ahead! That’s what I ought to be doing. None of this other nonsense!”

Hermione raised her hand to knock on Harry’s door when it swung open. She gave a squeak of
surprise, her fist still hanging in the air. Harry smirked and leaned against the doorjamb.

“I never thought that Bat Bogey Hexes were particularly sexy, you know,” he said, grinning.
“Though I was rather impressed that time she flew her broom straight into Zacharias Smith, the
arsehole.”

“*Harry*!” she said. “You were listening?”

“Bit hard not to, actually.”

Hermione’s cheeks were warm. “Oh, how mortifying.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Harry said. “Listen, I… come in for a sec, will you?”


Hermione wrung her hands together. “Alright.”

She stepped past him, her senses overly aware of him shutting the door behind her. The covers on
his bed were twisted and thrown about, but the rest of his room was neat and tidy. *No doubt a
product of living with the Dursleys for so long. I’m certain* Ron *isn’t this neat…*

Harry leaned back against the door, frowning. “Hermione, what do I need to do to get us past
this?”

“Past what?” she said.

His mouth tightened and, for a moment, she thought he was going to storm away again. But
determination flared to life in his eyes and he took a step towards her, blocking her path to the
door.

“Ask me again,” he said coolly. “Ask me if I still have feelings for Ginny.”

“Alright,” she said. She took a deep breath and folded her arms over her chest. “Do you still
have feelings for Ginny?”


His voice was gentle when he asked, “What do you want to hear?”


“The truth.”

“Okay, I….” He took a few tentative steps towards her and placed his hands on her arms. She had
to tilt her head backwards to see his face. “I love *you*.”

She nodded and leaned against him, hooking her arms around his waist. She felt his cheek rest
against the top of his head.

“I’d be lying if I said I never think about her—or if the attack on her didn’t hack me off. You
got some of it right, what you said downstairs. I reckon you know which parts I mean.”

Hermione listened to his heart beat against his ear and waited in silence.

“But this? What *we* have? It’s like the end in a way, you know? It’s not a dream,
Hermione. It doesn’t always make me happy—in fact, you make me right angry from time to time. But
that’s all part of it. This—it’s… *it*.”

He didn’t explain any more, but his lips brushed against her forehead.

They stood quietly, their arms around each other. Hermione let her eyes drift close. He was so
warm and safe and he smelled exactly like he always did—like dirt and soap and pumpkin juice.

Finally, she pulled away, shooting him an apologetic smile as she did so. “I have something to
show you.”

“Er… okay.”

Puzzled, Harry followed her out of the room and down the hall. Hermione pushed her own bedroom
door open, squinting at the sunlight pouring in. Crookshanks sat perched on her pillow and gave a
delicate little yawn as she entered.

Harry sat down on the edge of her bed. “What is it?”

“Hang on,” Hermione said. She went to her dresser and yanked open the top drawer, pushing her
brassieres and knickers out of the way.

“Erm, Hermione—“

“Oh, hush up,” she snapped.

“Sorry.”

She sniffed and continued her search. “Aha!” she said triumphantly.

She turned around, clutching a golden goblet in her hand. Harry’s eyes widened and he sprang up
from the bed.

“Is that—”

“Hufflepuff’s cup?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Why, *yes*, it is.”

His jaw dropped. “Hermione, that’s—where did you, how did… I don’t understand. What’s it doing
here?”


“Well, after Malfoy came *crawling* back from the Manor, I decided not to leave him with
the cup again.” She shrugged. “I switched copies when he wasn’t looking. I thought it was royally
stupid to take the thing to Hogwarts with us, actually.”

Harry gaped at her. “Why didn’t you *say* something?”

“I didn’t get a chance,” she said. “I didn’t want the Order to know what we were up to.
Afterwards, you were so angry… and then we, you know….” She held it out to him. “I’m telling you
now. That ought to be good enough.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, turning the cup around in his hands. “Yeah. You’re brilliant, Hermione.”

She flushed. “It was nothing, really. Malfoy was never much good at Transfiguration, you know.
Barely got an A on his O.W.L.”

Harry lowered the cup and kissed her. He was beaming when he pulled away.

Hermione returned his smile. “We’re doing this, you know.”

“Doing what?”

“Fighting him,” Hermione said. “One step at a time, Harry. One step at a time.”

***

Harry had the most wonderful laugh.

She didn’t hear it very often—at least, not recently. And in the past, it seemed like she made
him scowl more than laugh. That was what Ron and Ginny and Fred and George were for; making Harry
laugh. It was up to her to nag him to study and take care of himself.

“It’s really not that hard, you know,” Harry said. “It’s just an *egg*.”

“Well, it’s not hard if you’re using *magic*.”

“That’s cheating. Here, like this…”

He stood behind her, one hand held over hers as he guided her arm over the frying pan. The egg
sizzled and she shrieked, causing Harry to dissolve into another fit of laughter. Next to the stove
a plate was piled high with eggs she had burned.

“Oh, this is so *hard*!” she said. “Why would *anyone* insist on turning such a thing
*over*? What good does it do if the yolk is *runny*?”

One of Harry’s hands settled on her hip and Hermione screwed up her face, willing her mind to
concentrate.

“Well, really, Hermione. It’s a wonder you’re rubbish at this stuff, you were so good when it
came to potions…”

“Oh, *really*? I don’t recall having a *Prince* book to help myself out!”

She knew he was rolling his eyes. He pressed up against her and she clenched her teeth
together.

“Culinary skills are important,” he said, his mouth next to her ear.

“Oh… um… are they?”

“Yeah, sure they are.” One hand slipped under her shirt, his fingers moving back and forth over
her stomach. “I mean, it brings people together, doesn’t it? Preparing a big meal in the
kitchen…”

“Oh… yes, certainly…” she said, her voice a high-pitched squeaky noise. “I’ve read about
it…”

He turned her around so her back was against the oven. Then he leaned down and kissed her. She
sighed into his mouth, enjoying the lazy pace of the kiss. One of his hands entangled in her hair,
his fingers shifting between her strands.

From somewhere behind her, there was a loud *pop*. Hermione pulled away with a gasp and
hastily turned back to the stove.

“Oh, no, *no, no, no*,” she moaned. “That’s the fourth one in a row!”

Harry burst into laughter again. She frowned at him and shut off the heat. A loud cloud of smoke
hovered above the frying pan.

“I’ll never be able to do this,” she said mournfully. How she hated failure.

“Come on, Hermione.” Harry grinned. “That time, it was *hardly* your fault.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Smug git.”

“Well… yeah…”

Harry shrugged and joined her at the stovetop. He cast a skeptical glance at the pile of eggs.
“You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“Honestly!” she said. “One can’t always be good at *everything*! It’s simply
impossible!”

Harry gave her a strange look.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “It’s just… well, I think this *is* the first time… you’ve…
failed—”

“Don’t you *dare* finish that sentence, Harry!” she said shrilly.

His mouth twitched. “Alright, but—”

Harry never got a chance to finish his sentence. There was a loud bang, a burst of dust, and
then a muffled swear coming from the fireplace.

*Floo powder*, she thought, just as Tonks’s spiky head appeared. Right behind her was
Professor Lupin. Hermione felt her stomach sink. They both looked grim—*as usual*.

Harry’s face was pale as he stepped over to them. Forgoing a proper greeting, he said, “What’s
happened?”

His voice was tired, resigned almost, and Hermione suddenly wished it was five minutes ago, when
they were giggling over nonsense and flirting like normal teenagers.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Tonks said. “The Weasleys are fine, they’ve all recovered well, given the
circumstances. Poor Arthur’s still bedridden, but Molly’ll have him up again in no time at all,
you’ll see…”

Harry’s eyes shifted back and forth, from Tonks to Lupin. “Something’s happened. What is
it?”

“The Burrow’s been burned to the ground,” Lupin said heavily.

Hermione gasped. “Oh, no…”

“None of them were there are the time, of course,” Lupin said hastily. “But it is a terrible
blow… that poor family…”

Harry clenched his jaw. “Weren’t there protections around the house? I thought it was safe.”

“Harry,” Hermione said. “Think about what you’re saying… it’s Voldemort… there’s nothing—*no
one* is safe anymore…”

Agitated, Harry began pacing. She could understand his frustration. The Burrow—one of his
favourite places in the world, the only house where he’d felt part of a family…

Harry stopped and turned back to Lupin and Tonks. “Where will they live?”

“St. Mungo’s has agreed to host them for now, as long as Arthur’s still in their care.” Tonks
gave a small smile. “He’s become quite respected at the Ministry.”

“And after that?”

“I daresay they’ll rebuild,” Lupin said. “Molly’s seeing to it—the twins have already agreed to
finance most of it. But with such uncertain times, who knows? It could be years.”

Harry nodded. Hermione could see he had expected as much. He met her eyes, his gaze questioning,
and she gave a small smile. *Yes,* she said silently—though it pained her to do so.

Harry cleared his throat. “They’ll stay here, of course,” he said. “There’s plenty of room. They
can stay until the Burrow is rebuilt—longer, if they need to.”

Lupin gave a thin smile. “I’m sure they’ll all be terribly relieved by the invitation,
Harry.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Harry said. “I reckon it’ll be nice to have some more life in this gloomy
place, anyway.”

Harry didn’t look particularly happy about it, but Tonks beamed at him.

“There’s a fiery red-head who’ll be glad to hear you say so,” she said, winking.

Harry flushed. “Er… yeah, how is she doing?”

“Damned brilliant,” Tonks said. “She’s already making death threats—that girl’ll make one
dangerous opponent one day.”

Harry gave a weak laugh. “They’ll stay at the hospital for a little while longer, right? So
we’ll have time to… er… clean up?”

“Clean up?” Lupin said, glancing around the near-spotless kitchen. Amused, he fixed Harry with a
stare. “Certainly. Would you like me to tell Ron he should join you to help *clean up*?”

Harry flushed. “That would be great. Thanks.”

After Lupin and Tonks flooed out, Harry turned back to her, eyes hesitant. “Now, before you say
anything…”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said, cracking an egg against the frying pan. “That was a
decent thing you did, offering up your home to the Weasleys.”

“It was?”

“Well, I think so,” Hermione said. “Goodness, it would have been quite rude if you had kicked
them out to the curb after all those times you stayed with them.”

“Er… yeah, of course. I mean, you’re right, but…” she heard him swallow. “You’re not jealous,
are you?”

“Of what?” she said airily.

Harry sighed and came to stand next to her. “Of Ginny—living here, in this house, with me.”

“Perhaps a little bit,” she said honestly. “But if you tell me I shouldn’t be, I’ll believe
you.”

He rested one hand on her back. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Alright,” she murmured.

***

“Blimey,” Ron said. “I can’t believe my entire family is going to be staying here! That’s mad,
that is! What were you thinking, mate? Do you have any idea what Mum’ll say when she learns we’re
tramping about after pieces of You-Know-Who’s *SOUL*?”

Ron looked malnourished, exhausted, and disheveled, but otherwise healthy. His spirits seemed
the same as ever, despite having spent so many days in the hospital with the other Weasleys. When
they’d offered to take care of things themselves, he’d waved them off, claiming there were plenty
of other “red-headed snots” standing beside his father’s bedside. “I want in,” he’d said.

He’d taken the news of Malfoy’s death remarkably well, though Hermione attributed that to the
deep-seated hatred between the two of them.

“Actually, I do,” Harry said. “Which is why we’re going to destroy the rest of the Horcruxes
before they get here.”

Even Hermione was taken aback. “You’re not serious,” she said. “*Us*? Destroy the rest of
the Horcruxes? In only a few days?”

Ron’s mouth fell open. “Bloody hell,” he whispered hoarsely.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, come off it. We *have* one already, don’t we? All we have to do
is get rid of this stupid cup and the trophy at Hogwarts and we’re all set.”

“All *SET*?” Ron repeated in a strangled voice. “You *are* off your rocker.”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “No, Ron. He’s not. If we get them done now… well, then,
there’s nothing holding us back. We won’t get at Nagini until we face Voldemort himself. It’s best
to do it now, when we have a firm time limit—that way we can get it over with.”

“Exactly,” Harry said.

Ron’s head snapped back and forth between them. “Mental, the both of you.” He grinned and
shrugged. “Alright, then. What’s the plan?”

“Er, a plan?” Harry said. “Was there supposed to be a plan?”

“When you come up with an idea like that,” Ron said. “Yeah, there ought to be a plan!”

Harry seemed rather cheerful, all things considered. “Well, it doesn’t much matter. We’ve been
going at this whole thing blind, haven’t we? Let’s hope our luck holds. I’ll see you two in the
morning. Best to get an early start, eh?”

***

*When he said early, I never thought he’d* mean *it…*

Hermione sipped down a second cup of coffee, wincing as it burned her throat. Ron rubbed at his
eyes and stifled a yawn. Near the stove, Harry flipped an egg with one hand and downed a glass of
orange juice with the other.

“Show off,” she muttered.

He turned to give her a cheeky grin. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try?”


Ron frowned. “What are you two on about?”

“Hermione can’t cook,” Harry said.

Hermione waved a hand. “Honestly, I can cook just fine.”

He dumped a couple of eggs onto each of their plates. “We had a lesson yesterday,” he told Ron.
“She’s right terrible.”

Ron stared at his eggs for a moment before whipping his head up. “You *what*? Had a
*cooking lesson*?”

Hermione hurriedly took another sip of coffee. Harry shrugged. “Yeah, so what if we did?”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “The pair of you? Together?”

“That’s how lessons are often done, yeah,” Harry said, digging into his eggs. “That a
problem?”

Harry’s fork paused in midair and he met Ron’s challenging stare with his own.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well!” she said. “Remember—early day, Horcruxes to destroy…”

They ignored her.

“Not a problem, no,” Ron said. “Gin always said you *were* quite the teacher.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “She still talks about you all the time, Harry. Dunno why that should be such
a surprise.”

“She’ll move on,” Harry said tersely.

“S’not that easy, you know, when you’ve spent your life waiting around for someone—”

“Well, then, you should make a *move*, shouldn’t you? They’re bound to get tired of waiting
if you dally for too long!”

Ron let out a small growl and turned back to his meal. He shoved food into his mouth with rather
more vehemence than usual. Harry watched him for a moment before going back to his own meal..

***

“*What* was *that*?” Hermione demanded as she burst into Harry’s room without
knocking. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, rifling through a dark arts book as he drew a comb
absentmindedly through his hair.

“Pardon me?” he said, eyes still on the book.

“Oh, don’t give me that!” Hermione said. “You and Ron at breakfast!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hermione. Are you nearly ready to go? We ought to be
off soon.”

She took two steps towards him and wrenched the book from his grasp. “I’m not stupid,” she
hissed.

“I—hey! That was useful, you know! We might be able to use it later on.”

“You were both…” Hermione cast her mind about for the right words. “Well, you both seemed
rather…”

“Possessive?” Harry offered off-handedly, reaching for the book.

She took a step backwards and frowned at him. He sighed and withdrew his hand.

“What?”

“Oh, *honestly*,” she muttered. “Harry, don’t you *see*? Ron’s always been jealous of
you! How do you suppose he’ll react when he finds out about you and me?”

“Well, I daresay he’d better get used to it right quick, because I’m certainly not going to give
you up to spare his feelings.” Harry jumped up and plucked the book out of her hands before she
could stop him. “There’s a spell in here—bit like *Destructo*, but darker.”

“That’s one of Malfoy’s books,” she said.

“Yeah, well, we’ve tapped our sources dry, haven’t we? Time to try something else.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t know.” She wrung her hands nervously. “Using *dark magic*… well, don’t
you think that’s… taking things a bit too far?”

“I reckon it’s the only thing that’ll work. I mean, these are dark objects, aren’t they? What
else will do it?”

Hermione thought quickly. “I… uh… love?”

“So, what, you want us to snog in front of his stupid trophy? Sorry, I don’t think that’ll
work.”

“Harry, wait—” she grabbed his arm as he was leaving the room. “About Ron…”

He heaved a sigh and turned to look at her. “Hermione, this really isn’t—”

“Sod that!” she said tearfully, shaking his arm. “I deserve an explanation if the pair of you
are going to go at each other’s throats over me!”

“Fine,” Harry said, resigned. He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Listen, there’s
loads of history between you and Ron. I get that. I was *there* for it—I saw what you two put
each other through.” He gave a strained smile. “Ron hates it when other blokes pay attention to
you. *I* hate that some part of you still cares for him. It’s not that we’re angry with each
other, not really. We just don’t like when others piss on our territory.” He thought for a moment
and winced. “Sorry for that last part.”

“Oh… well… that’s okay,” she said, after thinking it over. *Piss on our territory.
Blimey.*

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” he leaned forward and gave her an awkward kiss on the tip of her
nose. “Think about how to get us out of the next few hours alive.”

She followed him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. “You’ll have to it, Harry,” she said,
her voice breathy as she rushed to keep up with him. “They don’t seem to affect you the same they
affect everyone else.”

“What doesn’t affect us?” Ron said, joining them.

“The Horcruxes,” she said. “They don’t affect Harry.”

“They do so,” Harry said grumpily.

“Not *really*,” Hermione said.

“Well, he *is* the Chosen One, isn’t he?”

“Don’t call me that. It’s such rubbish.”

“Come off it, Harry. You’re *special*.”

“He’s right, you know, Harry. Perhaps you could melt it with your eyeballs.”

“My *eyeballs*? You’re joking, right?”

The three of them continued bickering as they Apparated into Hogsmeade. Ron took a great gasp of
air when they arrived, his grin wide.

“Merlin, I love it when winter’s just beginning to close in. Smell great, doesn’t it? What d’you
reckon, two more weeks ‘till it snows?”


“Goodness, I hope not,” Hermione muttered, brushing by them.

Harry and Ron grabbed her by the elbows and hauled her back, much to her annoyance. “I’m
perfectly capable of going on my own, thank you!”

Instead of answering her, Harry threw his invisibility cloak over the three of them. Ron dropped
her arm, but Harry tightened his grip. The three of them shuffled forward, careful not to let the
cloak drift above their shoes.

They made the trip to Hogwarts in silence. Hogsmeade was eerily empty. It had been that way ever
since the attack on Hogwarts. Even the Three Broomsticks had shut down. Madam Rosmerta had gone
back home to stay with her parents.

Hermione couldn’t help her small whine of frustration. “How I hate what this war has done to our
world!” she whispered fervently.

Neither Ron nor Harry gave her an answer. They didn’t have to. She knew they were thinking the
same thing.

“I’ve got an idea,” Harry said as they entered Hogwarts’ grounds. Ron and Hermione stumbled
after him as he led them to Hagrid’s hut.

Harry pounded on Hagrid’s door, grinning when Fang started barking. The door flew open and
Hermione let out a loud gasp. Hagrid was clinging to a large, spiky bat and he shook it warningly
in front of him.

Harry took a startled step backwards, flinging out an arm in front of her. Hermione rolled her
eyes and dragged the invisibility cloak off them. Hagrid stared for a few seconds, the bat still
held high in front of him.

“It’s just *us*, Hagrid,” she said. “Honestly, put that thing down…”

Ron glanced at Harry’s arm protectively thrown across her torso and shot Harry a dirty look.
Harry ignored him. “Hagrid, look, we need your help,” he said. “Really, I don’t think there’s any
need for—”

“And jus’ how am I supposed to know if it’s yeh three?” Hagrid said, taking a menacing step
closer.

“Hagrid, *please*!” Hermione said. “Who else would come to your door wearing an
invisibility cloak?”

Hagrid paused. “What’re yeh up to?”

Harry began to relax. “We’ve got to—Hagrid, listen, remember that trophy they gave to Tom
Riddle?”

Hagrid’s eyes narrowed. “Interested in that, eh? That’s what yeh’re after, is it?”

“No, Hagrid, we want to destroy it!” Hermione said, gripping Harry’s arm tightly. “We thought
you could help us!”

“Aragog!” Ron blurted.

Harry and Hermione turned to look at him. “What?” they said in unison.

Ron pushed his way between them. “Hagrid, how could we know about Aragog if we were Death
Eaters? Who else could know you kept him in the forest for years?”

Hagrid slowly lowered his bat, a strange expression coming over his face. “It really is yeh
three.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, relieved. “Yes, it is, Hagrid—*oof*.”

Hagrid enveloped the three of them in a hug that had Hermione gasping for breath. Harry and Ron
hesitatingly patted Hagrid on the shoulder.

“Hagrid, we need your help,” Harry rasped out. Ron’s face was beginning to turn purple.

Hagrid let go and Hermione staggered sideways, grabbing Ron’s arm to hold herself steady. A
blush rose in her cheeks when she realized what happened. Unfortunately, Ron puffed out his chest
importantly and pulled her closer.

Oh, this can’t be good, this can’t be good at all…

“Come on,” he said. “Stick close. Harry, you’ll tell Hagrid what’s up, eh?”

Harry looked murderous. Without giving him a chance to answer, Ron dragged her towards the
castle, the barest hints of a smirk on his lips.

“*Ron*!” she snapped, elbowing him in the ribs.

“What?” he said hotly, rubbing his side.

“Stop—*let go*,” she said. “I’m not a helpless child! I can look out for myself.”

“So it’s alright when Harry does it, then?” he hissed. “I’m your best friend too!”

She paused and he nearly plowed into her from behind. She spun around and fixed him with a
stare. “Listen to me very carefully, Ron,” she said. “I know what you’re thinking and we’ll talk
about it later, but can we *please* do what we need to? We *must* be able to think
straight when we go in there! We don’t know what will happen—anything could come at us, we have to
be prepared, Ron! I won’t tolerate any mistakes!”

“Alright, alright!” he said, holding out his hands in a defeated manner. “I was just trying to
look out for you, is all!”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

They stared at each for another minute. Ron cracked a smile. “Hey, don’t worry so much. It’ll
all be okay, Hermione. You’ll see.”

She shook her head and felt tears well in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do if—”

Harry and Hagrid caught up to them and Hermione hurriedly closed her mouth, letting her sentence
go unfinished. If I lost you or Harry, she added silently.

Harry put a hand on her shoulder, his gaze on Ron, and Hermione felt a spike of irritation.
*Oh, honestly*…

“Hagrid’s going to remove the trophy for us,” he said.

Hermione’s head snapped around to Hagrid, who blushed and looked rather proud of himself. “Aye,
least I can do.”

“But…” Hermione sputtered. “How can… I mean, we don’t know…”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Brilliant,” he breathed. “Giants are impervious to most curses!”

*That’s right*, Hermione thought, with a flash of annoyance at her self. *Oh, how*
could *I have forgotten that?*

Harry gave her a tiny smile and nudged her forward. “Good plan, hmm?” he whispered.

His lips were conspicuously close to her ear. “Stop it,” she muttered. “I know what you’re
doing, Harry, and I want you to know that I don’t like it one bit. If you think you and Ron can go
ahead and fight over me… well, I won’t be a part of it!”

Harry gave her a lazy smile that had her both fighting annoyance and an urge to swoon. His hand
crept up to the back of her neck and his thumb moved back and forth. “Okay,” he said easily. “But
if this is the last time we see each other, I want you to know I love you.”

He pulled away and moved on ahead without looking back. Hermione gaped at him and bristled. “You
git!” she hissed at his back.

***

Their footsteps echoed through the empty trophy room. Harry went in first, his wand out in front
of him. “It’s clear,” he whispered, edging forward. “And still there.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Ron said.

Hermione frowned. “What is?”

“That he hasn’t come back for it,” Ron said, shrugging. “I mean, he’s bound to suspect what
we’re doing, isn’t he? Why hasn’t he come and… I dunno… taken it back?”


The look on Harry’s face plainly said he’d already considered that. “I’m not sure, Ron. For all
I know, the last Horcrux is a blade of grass in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.”

Ron looked ill at the thought. “Yeah, but…”

“Never mind that now,” Hermione said. “Let’s just… focus on this first.”

Hagrid clapped his hands together and the three of them jumped; Hermione had forgotten he was
there.

“So what yeh wan’ me to do then, Harry?”

Harry approached Tom Riddle’s trophy. It was the largest trophy in the room. For a long time, he
didn’t say anything. Slowly he reached out a hand towards it, letting his palm hover over its
shining surface.

“I need you to remove this for me, Hagrid,” he said, eyes still on the trophy. “Do you think you
can do that?”

“Doesn’ seem like it’ll be much problem,” Hagrid said. “This thin’ important to you,
Harry?”


“Yeah,” Harry said, turning around. “Yeah, it is.”

Hagrid looked at Harry’s face and nodded. “Alrigh,’ then. Stand back, yeh three.”

Harry hesitated. “Hagrid…”

“I said I’d do it, didn’ I? Now, stand back, will yeh?”

Instead of answering, Harry moved out of the way, coming to stand between Hermione and Ron.

Hagrid took a deep breath. “Here goes nothin,’” he muttered. Lightening fast, both of his hands
shot out and seized the trophy on each side.

At first, nothing happened. Hagrid’s hands wrapped around the handles and he heaved. Next to
Hermione, Harry flinched.

“Come on,” he said. “Come on…”

Hagrid pulled again. Hermione could see the muscles in his arms straining. Unconsciously, she
held her breath.

“No way,” Ron whispered in awe. “He’s got to be able to do it, it’s Hagrid, it’s—”

The rest of Ron’s words were cut-short by a shrill shriek. A burst of light shot out from the
center of the trophy. Hagrid gave a great yell when the light burst against his chest. His face
contorted and his entire body began shaking, but his fingers were still clamped around the trophy.
A scream tore its way out of his throat, louder than the noise coming from the trophy.

Hermione’s body broke out in goosebumps. “*Hagrid*,” she cried. She rushed forward, but
Harry grabbed her around the waist.

“No, Hermione…”

“Let go!” she said, pushing against him. “Can’t you see what this is doing to him—”

Hagrid’s scream stopped and he gave a ferocious growl. His body began convulsing, but he
strained to pull himself backwards.

“*Look at him*!” she yelled.

“Ron, *stay where you are*!” Harry said. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron
stop short.

She struggled against Harry’s vice-like grip. “Harry, stop, we have to help him, we have to
*stop* this, we—”

Hagrid’s face was turning the colour of ash. His lips were thin and bleeding. His skin
stretched, she could see the blues and purples of his veins twisting along his arms and neck.

Hermione’s words turned to cries. She couldn’t bear to keep watching. She stopped struggling and
pressed her face to Harry’s chest, feeling her body tremble.

“We can’t do anything, Hermione,” Harry said, his voice unsteady. “If you touch him, you’ll…
it’ll kill you. He stands a chance.”

She bit her lip and shut her eyes, listening to Hagrid’s tortured cries behind her. The growls
turned to whimpers and the whimpers to small cries of pain.

Hermione stayed where she was, hardly able to breathe. Harry rubbed her back, but she knew he
was watching every moment of Hagrid’s struggle. Finally there was a loud howl and then silence.

Harry let go of her at once. She turned around. Ron was standing stock still, his face the
colour of sour milk. On the floor was the trophy, its still form disguising the pain it had just
caused.

Hermione gasped. Next to it lay Hagrid. But he was hardly recognizable—he looked as thought he’d
aged a hundred years. His hair was white; his skin patched and dry like old leather, and deep
wrinkles had etched themselves into his face.

Harry was on his knees next to him, two fingers pressed to his throat. “He’s alive,” he said
grimly, looking up at her and Ron. “There’s a pulse.”


”Alive?” Ron croaked. “But he…”

“I guess I was right,” Harry said, his smile crooked and humourless. “Turns out, the trophy was
a Horcrux after all.”

***



13. Chapter 13
--------------

**Title:** All Nights, Chapter 13.
**Disclaimer**: Same as ever—not mine, never will be mine. I just like to play with them in a
free, non-profit, non-sueable manner.

**Pairing:** Harry/Hermione
**Summary**: What happened to Hagrid? Will the trio find a way to destroy the Horcruxes? Will
our Golden Couple manage to overcome a new slew of angst?
**Word Count**: 4, 914
**A/N**: Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I’ve actually had it written for weeks, but I
didn’t want to post it until I started making inroads on 14. Unfortunately, things for 14 aren’t
going very well, so there might end up being another long wait. Sigh.

Hagrid slept in a hospital bed two rooms away from Mr. Arthur Weasley.

Hermione pressed her nose to the window, watching the half-giant’s slumber. He had not regained
consciousness since he’d recovered the Horcrux. The Healers were perplexed. He was in fine health,
they all said, for his age.

She’d never seen Ron so angry. His face had gone crimson and his words could be heard from the
cafeteria. “He’s NOT bloody 150-years-old, you NITWIT. He’s in his sixty’s! LOOK, see this HERE?
THIS IS A FUCKING BIRTH CERTIFICATE. Yeah, that’s what it says, isn’t IT? This is because he has
giant blood in him, isn’t it? *ISN’T IT*? YOU PREJUDICED GITS!”

One of Hagrid’s purple and blue veined hands came up to itch at his beard. His white hair made
him seem more vulnerable than Hermione could ever remember. His size hardly seemed to matter. A
strong wind would be all it would take now to knock him over…

She pressed her forehead against the glass and took a shuddery breath. There would be no coming
back for Hagrid. It didn’t matter how long Ron raged at the Healers. The Horcrux had drained the
life from his body. No potion, no spell could return it to him.

*There must be some way to help him. I can find it—I owe it to Hagrid. After everything, he
doesn’t deserve this kind of—of punishment!*

A burst of anger flared to life and gave her courage. It was time, now, to do what she had been
putting off. She could no longer hide behind her fear.

She strode into the private room reserved for the Weasleys. Fred, George, and Ginny were playing
cards. Bill and Fleur were pretending they were not snogging in the corner. Mrs. Weasley was in a
rocking chair, composing a letter while her knitting needles clicked next to her. Hermione ignored
them, going all the way to the back, to the window. Harry and Ron were playing Wizard’s Chess in
silence.

Harry looked up as she approached. His eyes registered dismay and she knew he understood what
she wanted.

She stopped at their table. Without looking at Ron she said, “Can I have a word? In
private?”

Harry nodded and dropped his game pieces. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he followed her
retreating back, all of the Weasleys looking on in somber silence.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

She whirled around to face him. “Tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you didn’t think this would
happen.”

She watched his chest give a small hitch. “What are you talking about?”

“You know full well what I’m talking about!” she hissed. “I’m talking about Hagrid!
You—*you*… you *asked* him to—to… remove that thing! It nearly killed him!”

“Hermione, it was his choice—”

“You knew the risks, you *knew* what would happen, *you purposely put his life in
danger*!”

“I did not!”

“You know full well that’s rubbish!” she said.

“Well, yeah, I knew that getting the Horcrux wouldn’t be easy, but I wasn’t out to *get
him* or anything, Hermione. It wasn’t like that!”

“You watched him suffer and did *nothing*,” she said. “You watched him howling in
*pain* and you *held me back*.”

“I was protecting you!” Harry said desperately. “If you touched him, what do you think would’ve
happened?”

“Maybe I didn’t care!”

“Maybe I *did*!”

They both stopped their tirade and glared at each other, breathing heavily.

Finally, Hermione clenched her teeth and took a step closer to him. “You put Hagrid in there
because you couldn’t *bear* the idea of sacrificing yourself!”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Oh, don’t even *pretend* it’s not true!” she said. “The three of us, we could have figured
it out on our own. *We* knew the risks! You know *full well* Hagrid would do anything you
asked of him!”

“Hermione, Hagrid’s a part of the Order, he signed up for the war a long time ago. I…” he
trailed off helplessly. “It’s tearing me up inside, what happened to him. But it was his choice. He
could’ve said ‘no.’”

“But he *wouldn’t’ve*!” Hermione said. “That’s the important part, Harry. You *used*
him! You put him in the line of fire! You sacrificed him for that Horcrux!”

“No, I didn’t!” Harry said, growing more agitated. “Listen, if one of us had done it, there
wouldn’t *be* a Horcrux! You, Ron, and I could never have withstood it! All of us would be
dead if I hadn’t asked!”

“What… what… *right*…” she said, the words catching in her throat. She tried again, wiping
at her eyes. “What right do you have to make that judgment? Why do you get to choose who lives and
dies?”

Harry took a few steps closer to her. She could sense he was struggling to match her anger, but
couldn’t quite manage it.

“I didn’t know *this* would happen!” he said, gesturing to Hagrid’s room. “All I did was
*ask*!”

“You *killed* him!”

Harry flinched. “He’s not dead, Hermione—he’ll wake up and it’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine, the
Healers will find a way to help him, he’ll—”

Harry stopped, clenching his fists and staring at the floor. She felt some of her anger melt
away.

“I can’t help feeling this way, Harry,” she murmured. “It scares me to see how willing you are
to cast off the people you care about. What if it was Ron next time? What if it was me?”

Harry’s head snapped up. “It wouldn’t—”

“For goodness’s sakes, Hermione! Can’t you lay off him for one *bloody* moment?”

Ginny’s voice rang through the empty corridor. The scowl on her face matched the anger behind
her words as she marched up to Harry’s side and planted herself next to him.

“Ginny, I hardly think that’s a fair assessment to make,” Hermione said, her voice controlled.
“You can’t possibly know what we were talking about.”

She gave a sniff. “Oh, please! I’m not stupid, Hermione. You were giving him a hard time over
Hagrid! You *always* have to make yourself look morally superior, don’t you?”

“Ginny, that’s not what she was doing,” Harry said quietly. “Don’t worry about—”

“Oh, shut it, you,” she snapped. “You’ve never been much good at sticking up for yourself when
you’re being verbally abused.”

“Verbally abused!” Hermione repeated. “Honestly, Ginny… that’s a rather hefty accusation!”

“Hermione, listen to yourself!” Ginny screeched. “Berating on him for *using* Hagrid! For
*killing him*! Don’t you think he feels bad enough? Don’t you think Harry has enough to be
getting on with without adding *your* censure onto it?”

“Stop talking about things you don’t understand!” Hermione yelled. “You weren’t there, Ginny!
You have no idea what happened!”

“It doesn’t matter!” she said, eyes glistening. “I *know* Harry! I can *see* what he’s
going through! And you’re not helping!”

“For goodness’s sakes, it won’t do to be going around and getting people killed—”

“That isn’t what Harry’s doing!” Ginny said. “He’s fighting You-Know-Who! He’s trying to save
us—*all of us*, including *you*. You heard what Harry said, Hagrid made his own choice.
Well, I stick by that. If Harry asked for my help, I would give it too.”

Ginny hefted her chin defiantly.

“Well, I would give mine too,” Hermione said weakly. “But—look… that’s not the point,
Ginny!”

“You’re right, it isn’t. It’s war,” she said. “It requires *everyone* to make
sacrifices.”

Hermione found Harry’s eyes. Though he was careful not to stand too close to Ginny, his gaze was
unapologetic.

“Fine,” she whispered. Harry’s face didn’t change. “Fine.”

She backed away from them before turning her back and sprinting to the nearest Apparition
point.

***

Grimmauld Place was silent as she made her way through it, slamming doors behind her and
wrenching drawers open. She gathered books up in her arms until her muscles strained and her back
heaved. Then she dropped them on the living room floor, collapsing down among them.

*I will not cry*.

She yanked the first book towards her and viciously opened the first page. *Nothing*. She
grabbed the second book and skipped to the middle. Transfiguration. *Still nothing*.

She threw the first two books away and picked up the third. She dropped it on her knees with a
*thud*. The pages were older, more yellowed with age. Draco’s notes were scribbled in the
margins and she leaned closer, her fingers nervously playing with the bottom of the page.

Soon she was lost to the world of research. Read a page. Check Malfoy’s note. Scribble her own.
Flip to the next page. Dismiss unnecessary information.

She chewed on the tip of her quill, her mind completely engaged. She could do this—find a way to
destroy the Horcruxes. She would not let Hagrid’s sacrifice be in vain.

She pushed Ginny away, pushed her away with her anger and her hurt (and her betrayal). “Those
feelings” had no business here, not when Hermione was doing research. Not when she felt this close,
not when—

She flipped a page and gasped, a far-away memory sliding into place.

Defractor.

She read the word again to be sure. *Defractor*.

She checked Draco’s notes. *Possible scenario, risky, but high probability of success…*

Furrowing her brow, Hermione hastened to read the rest of the page, her hands already reaching
for another book, ready to reference and cross-reference. Whatever it took.

***

Hagrid’s hand felt like dried out leather. His skin was covered in blemishes—bruises left behind
by the Horcrux. His breathing was deep and she watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. He
had yet to regain consciousness. *Fine health for his age….*

*For his age…*

She felt her eyelids drooping closed. It seemed like ages since she had slept. A five-minute nap
on her books in Grimmauld Place had left her sore and achy. Exhaustion filled her body, but her
mind was fine, her ability to *think* was still intact. That was the only thing that
mattered.

“Hermione?”

She bolted upright, still clutching Hagrid’s hand in both of hers.

“Go away, Harry.”


She heard him shuffle behind her, coming to rest behind her chair. For a moment, she was certain
he was going to place a hand on her shoulder. But he gave a small flinch and moved away.

“How’re you?”

“I thought I asked you to go away.”

“I… I reckoned… we have to talk.”

Hermione kept her eyes fastened on Hagrid’s still form. “I don’t much fancy being in the same
room as you right now, so I don’t know if *talking* is *really* the best idea.”

He let out a frustrated breath and pulled a chair up next to her. “Hermione, listen—”

“No,” she said, turning to look at him for the first time. “I won’t listen, Harry! You know
where I stand on Hagrid. That won’t change.”

“I… alright…” Harry said, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “But… well… you and me, we’re okay,
right?”

“What?” she said faintly. “How can you *possibly* think that? How is *anything*
between you and me ‘okay?’ Honestly, Harry, don’t be stupid.”

“Oh,” Harry said. For a moment, it looked like he might cry, but he pulled himself together and
stood up. “I… I mean… I s’pose I’ll go, then…”

Hearing the hesitancy in his voice nearly broke her.

“Harry?”

He rushed back, nearly tripping on the chair. “Yeah?”

She couldn’t stand looking into his hopeful eyes, so she turned her gaze instead on Hagrid’s
still form.

“I think I’ve found a way to destroy the Horcruxes.”

“Wha—oh…. Oh!”

He reclaimed his seat, his body language changing. He became serious, pushing thoughts of their
relationship away, and focusing on what he had to. The war. The Horcruxes.

“Remember when we stole Hufflepuff’s cup from Borgin & Burkes?” He gave a nod and she
continued. “Well, I saw something, right before Snape and Malfoy attacked me. It’s called a
*Defractor*. It’s an immensely powerful object. I read about it, before, in the Restricted
Section of the library. What with everything else going on, I nearly forgot about it.”

“And?” he prodded, leaning closer to her. “What does it do?”

Hermione cast a suspicious glance at Hagrid, wondering how much of this he could hear. Perhaps
they shouldn’t be talking about this at all, certainly not here, not at St. Mungo’s where anyone
could listen in…

“Hermione?”

“It’s sucks out magic—it can render anything useless. It’s extremely dangerous, of course. Used
against the wrong person, it can render them completely defenseless.” She paused. “There are ways
to defend oneself, of course. Most wizards are too powerful for it to be of any use, but…”

Harry’s eyes lit up with understanding. “The Horcruxes aren’t wizards! They can’t *think*
for themselves. If we could suck out *their* power—”

“Then we could destroy them easily—just like we would any goblet, any trophy.”

Harry stared at her, eyes blinking in disbelief. “That’s brilliant,” he said. “*Your*
brilliant. How did you—I mean, when did you…”

“Just now,” she whispered. “At Grimmauld Place. I left after we fought.”

Real life came crashing back and they both remembered their situation. Harry stiffened and
shifted away from her, resting his elbows on his knees. They fell into an awkward silence.

Finally, she said, “We’ll have to be very, very careful. If we’re not, it might drain our power,
instead. We can’t let that happen.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. We’ll get on it—as soon as possible. As soon as… after Hagrid wakes up,
alright? You, me, and Ron. Before the Weasleys arrive at Grimmauld Place.”

They looked at each other for another long moment.

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, I should… I should…”

“Yes…”

“Is there any way I should prepare for the *Defractor*?”

“We’ll have to steal it, of course,” Hermione said. “You could think of a plan to get away with
it. Preferably without Snape showing up this time around.”

“Right.”

Hermione’s throat burned. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this miserable around
Harry. He turned to go.

“Wait!” she blurted.

He spun back around, nearly losing his balance again. “Yeah?” he said breathlessly.

“I… well, I…” she looked up into his face, his eyes and felt something in her crumble. “Even
with… with everything… I still…”

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you too.”

She couldn’t say anything else. A small whimper escaped her throat and she clamped her hands to
her mouth, silently begging him to make things better.

He hovered indecisively before reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. She met his eyes and saw
that their fight, their separation, whatever it was, was just as hard on him—maybe moreso. But then
he released her and backed away, leaving her alone.

***

They never got their chance to recover the *Defractor* from Borgins & Burkes. Hagrid
lay unconscious for three days. He hardly stirred as Healers past in and out, monitoring his
condition and prodding him in the hopes of finding changes.

Hermione watched Professor McGonagall collapse into his beside chair when she saw him. She
dabbed her eyes repeatedly with a handkerchief, all the while threatening to sack him from the Care
of Magical Creatures position if he didn’t wake up soon.

“I still can’t tell you what’s happening, Professor,” Harry said heavily. “I’m sorry.”

They were in a small conference room on Hagrid’s floor. Outside the windows, the first snowfall
of the year touched the ground. Ron stared at it mournfully. He’d finally stopped yelling at the
Healers. Instead, he kept attempting to find ways to sneak Fang into the hospital. First by
side-along Apparition and then by floo powder, but nothing yet had worked.

“Fang’ll get Hagrid up right quick,” Ron had said. “Too bad I don’t have any dragons, actually.
I reckon that would do a bang up job of it.”

Professor McGonagall studied each of them in turn, clearly at a loss. For a hysterical moment,
Hermione thought she might deduct house points.

“Potter, I’ve been flexible for a good long time now, but you can’t honestly expect me to stand
by while a trusted colleague and friend is seriously injured! Now, you claim it wasn’t a Death
Eater attack. If that’s the case, then what is it?”

Harry bowed his head. “I can’t tell you,” he repeated.

Hermione watched him critically. It was the first time she’d seen him in three days. Since that
*moment*—whatever it had been—in Hagrid’s hospital room, they were careful to avoid each
other. By unspoken agreement, their relationship had stalled, perhaps even ended. It was too
painful to see him. Especially when they had been so close, when all she could think about was
Harry, when he was still the center of her world, whether or not he was *in* her world.

“Professor,” Hermione finally said. “This work we’re doing… it’s important, *very*
important. We couldn’t tell Hagrid, either. But... well—he still… he gave us help when we asked for
it.”

Professor McGonagall blew her nose loudly into her handkerchief and gave a watery smile. “He’s a
good man.”

Ron gave a morose nod and looked outside again. Hermione wondered what kind of hair-brained plan
he was thinking of to sneak Fang into St. Mungo’s.

“I’m really, really sorry,” Harry said. “But this is what Dumbledore wanted.”

At the sound of Dumbledore’s name, McGonagall sat up straighter, her mouth thinning. “But the
three of you—you’re… you’re…”

“Kids?” Hermione offered. “We know, Professor.”

There didn’t seem to be anything more to say.

The flurries coming down from outdoors cast small shadows on the floor. Harry stared at them,
seeming mesmerized, before shaking himself and meeting McGonagall’s gaze.

“I need a favour,” he said.

“Harry!” Hermione said sharply. “Surely, you’re not think of putting someone else in—”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “Look, it’s just….” He sighed. “We need something, something from
Borgin & Burkes. Something we can’t afford.”

Professor McGonagall considered him. “Is this something else that’s very important, Potter?”

Harry hesitated. “Yes. It’s called a *Defractor*.”

“Very well,” McGonagall said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

In the end, it seemed like Ron had been right all along. He finally managed to get Fang into St.
Mungo’s by using Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. As soon as Fang saw his master, he burst from
underneath the cloak, caused Ginny to start shrieking, and leapt onto Hagrid, paying no need to his
aged state.

“*Ron*!” Hermione shrieked. “Don’t you ever *think*? Get him off—”

Hagrid’s eyes popped open.

“*Hagrid*!” she, Ginny, and Ron all cried together. Fang gave a triumphant bark,
enthusiastically licking Hagrid’s cheek.

Hagrid opened his mouth, but Hermione found herself being shoved out of the way by a deluge of
Healers. She, Ron, and Ginny were bodily thrown out of the room.

“If we determine he’s up for visitors, we will come find you,” one of them said, slamming the
door shut. They could still hear Fang barking from inside.

“What’s happened?” Harry said, running up to them.

“He’s awake,” Ginny said, grinning. “See, Harry, it’s all going to be okay.”

Harry gave her an irritated glance. “He’s a hundred years older than he should be, Ginny,” he
said flatly. “I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘okay.’”

Ginny’s smile slipped. “Well, I thought… I mean, it’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Harry said, eyeing Hagrid’s hospital room. “Can I—can I talk to him?”

“No good, mate,” Ron said. “Healer’s kicked us to the ruddy curb. Not even a decent ‘thank you’
for waking the man up.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, come and get me when we’re allowed in, alright?”

“Of course,” Hermione snapped. “If he’s willing to see you, that is. Can’t say I’ll blame him if
he’s not. You haven’t even bothered sitting with him these last few days!”

“Hermione!” Ginny hissed.

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. He met her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said bitterly. “Was that out of line?”

A Healer popped his head out of Hagrid’s door and they jumped. The moment broken, they all
rushed forward.

“Hold it! Three visitors at a time please!”

“I’ll go,” Ginny said at once. “You guys should go in first. So long as Hermione promises to
keep her big mouth shut.”

Hermione bristled.

“*Thanks*, Ginny,” Ron said quickly. “We’ll come get you when we’re done, okay?”

“Yeah, Ginny, thanks,” Harry said, giving her a smile. “We’ll see you later.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. Ginny swung her hair over her shoulder and flounced away.

Ron’s hands were shaking and Harry kept tugging as his collar and swallowing. Hermione fisted
her hands together, feeling like there was a hand clamped to her chest, squeezing until she was
ready to burst.

“I was wonderin’ how long it’d take yeh three to show yeh’re faces!”

Hagrid’s booming voice washed over them as they stepped into the room. Hermione was pleased to
see him sitting up, Fang’s head on his lap.

“Oh, Hagrid…” she murmured, rushing forward to hug him. He felt frail in her arms.

She looked up to find Ron patting Hagrid on the shoulder. “You look awful, Hagrid.”

Hagrid gave a booming laugh, startling Ron. “Healers though’ I was boun’ to go inter shock when
I got a look at myself. They’ve already called Olympe… don’ know how she’ll take the news…”

Hagrid’s laugh stopped abruptly and Hermione was startled to see tears forming in his eyes.

“Oh—oh, Hagrid,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Madam Maxime won’t care. You’re a
remarkable person, Hagrid. She knows that.” She took one of Hagrid’s huge hands between both of
hers and peered anxiously into his face. “She *loves* you, doesn’t she?”

A large tear trickled down Hagrid’s wrinkled face. “Yeh think so, Hermione?”

“Of course,” she said.

Hagrid glanced up over her shoulder. She heard Harry’s soft voice, “Hey, Hagrid.”

“Harry,” Hagrid said. He sounded pleased. “Did it work? Did yeh get what yeh needed?”

“Yeah, Hagrid,” Harry said. “Yeah, we did. You were…”

“Brilliant,” Ron said in awe. “Bloody brilliant.”

“You were really brave, Hagrid,” Hermione continued.

Another tear slid down Hagrid’s yellowed skin. “I gotta know… did it help… will this help
destroy him, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said hoarsely. He approached Hagrid’s bed and sat down at the edge. “So much,
Hagrid. But listen… I’m really… I’m really sorry.”

Harry’s eyes cut to Hermione’s face for a moment, but he hastily looked away.

Hagrid bowed his head. When he looked up, his tears were gone. “I volunteered, didn’ I?” he
asked gruffly.

“Well, yeah…” Harry said. “But, Hagrid… I shouldn’t’ve… I knew what could happen…”

“I volunteered!” Hagrid said again. “Blimey, yeh three… I’m not ruddy stupid. Anything of
You-Know-Who’s was dangerous. Dumbledore gave his life for yeh, Harry, and this war. I’d do the
same, no questions asked.”

***

Hermione blew her nose into a tissue and wiped away her tears. How pathetic she was, coming to
the girl’s washroom to have a good cry…

She pulled her legs up to her chest on the toilet, silently cursing herself. Her mum always
accused her of being too stubborn, *it would get her in trouble one day…*

It should be easy to forgive Harry, now that she had Hagrid’s permission, now that she saw how
sorry he was…

And instead she was crying on the toilet, a tissue pressed against her face.

Red-eyed and sniffling, she opened the washroom’s door and nearly ran smack into Harry.

“Hey,” he said, toeing the floor with his shoe.

“Hi,” she said.

He glanced up at her and frowned. “You’ve been crying.”

“Nonsense,” she squeaked, ready to brush by him.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Hermione…”

“Yes?” she whispered. “What is it?”

He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, still wet with tears. He opened his mouth to
say something but then gave a shrug of defeat.

“You miss me?” she offered, giving a small smile.

He nodded. “So much I can hardly stand it.”

She stepped closer to him. “Me too.”

He almost laughed but then turned serious. “Listen, Hermione… I would never do anything to put
your life in danger. Never.”

“Oh, Harry, that’s not…”

“I just… I hate feeling this way… like—like I’ve let you down…”

“I don’t think you have,” she murmured. “I think you’ve been doing what you’ve needed to do to
win the war.”

He frowned. “And…?”

“And…” her chest hitched. “I’m not certain I… I don’t know—”

“If you can accept that,” he finished heavily. “This isn’t a new thing, is it? This has been
going on since we went to Borgin & Burkes to get Hufflepuff’s goblet.”

She flinched. “Well, I’m sorry, Harry, but you *did* let Malfoy torture me!”

“I did *not*!” he said indignantly. “What did I *just* say?”

“I know what you said and that’s all well and good, but it’s not true and we both know it. If
you had to sacrifice my life to win this war then you would. It’s exactly what you *need* to
do and who you need to be. You *must* win this war, no matter what the cost is. But…” she
hesitated. “But I don’t know if I can… if I can do that.”

He grabbed both her arms. “Hermione, what are you saying?”

She looked into his eyes and felt tears welling again. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know! I
don’t know how I feel about you anymore…”

He dropped her and backed away. “Oh.”

“No—I don’t mean that… I mean…” she drew in a ragged breath. “Being this close to you,
*having* what we have… it makes it all so much worse, don’t you see? Can’t you understand? I’m
not strong enough!”

He was shaking. “Not strong enough? That’s rubbish! You’ve withstood *everything* this
year—and *now* you suddenly can’t handle it? Thanks a lot.”

“Stop!” she screeched. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harry… this is hard enough on me as it
is…”

“HARD ON YOU?”

She flinched. “Of course it’s hard on me,” she said. “You know how I feel about you—”

“That’s funny, because it sounds an awful like you’re tossing in the towel and giving up to
me!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“Oh, yeah? Then what are you doing?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

She pushed him with the intent to walk past, but he grabbed her arm and held on.

“Hermione, *please*…”

She almost told him to let go, but he loosened his grip, giving her the opportunity to walk away
if she insisted on it.

“I felt like I gave up a part of myself when I fell in love with you,” she whispered. “Harry, I
keep putting our relationship first—I would do *anything* for you. That’s—that’s really quite
dangerous, you know… during a war. But when it comes to you, I *know* I’m not first… and
that’s almost worse.”

She watched his eyes deepen with horrible pain and she felt sick to her stomach. “I’m
sorry.”

“Hermione—”

“I’m *sorry*.”

She backed away, but he grabbed onto her again, fingers clamping around her wrist. He moved
forward and kissed her, a desperate kiss, filled with a panic edged with hope. His mouth crushed
hers until it hurt, his hands grabbed her waist and he pushed against her, trying to get
closer.

She went rigid and pushed against his chest until he released her. “That won’t work,” she said
quietly, silently daring him to try such a thing again.

He didn’t. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared down at his shoes. She could
tell he was trying hard not to cry. He opened his mouth, closed it.

*I have to be strong for him*, she thought.

Her voice trembled as she said, “Harry, look at me.”

He did and she nearly broke down. She envisioned herself throwing her arms around him, holding
him until it didn’t matter anymore. It would be so easy.

“I will fight this thing by your side like I promised to do,” she said. “But I don’t know if
us—being together… it might not be the safest thing right now. For either of us.”

The colour drained from his face and she gave a small sob.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I need time to think, Harry. That’s all.”

“But…” his words were choked. “You said… I thought…”

“I do,” she said.

His face changed, hardening, becoming more determined. “What happens if I win, Hermione? What if
I beat Voldemort… if it’s soon?”

“I…”

“What about then?”

“Stop,” she said. “Don’t think about it like that.”

“I’m sorry! I s’pose I’m not thinking straight, now that I know you’re *dumping* me!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” she said. “Don’t turn this into something it isn’t!”

“Hermione… I can’t… I can’t *do* this without you…”

“And you’re not!” she said. She gave in then and threw her arms around him, gripping his neck
tightly. “You’re not, Harry! We’re—*not*—over. It doesn’t work like that.

He didn’t hug her back.

She pulled away, sniffing, wiping her nose, her head spinning and her eyes burning from
exhaustion. “Harry?”

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. The Weasleys are moving into Grimmauld Place tonight. I just thought you
should know.”

And he turned, leaving her outside the loos, her tissue still clenched in her hand.



14. Chapter 14
--------------

**Title**: All Nights – Chapter 14

**Author:** Goldy

**Keywords**: Harry/Hermione, Ron, Ginny, post-HBP, Great Horcrux Hunt

**Summary**: The trio gets their hands on a Defractor while Harry and Hermione face
difficulty with their estrangement.

**Word Count**: 4, 835

**A/N**: At end of chapter. This way, you can skip it if you’d like.

Grimmauld Place seemed to shrink within the span of a few hours. Everything they were working on
had to be hidden. Books were stuffed under beds. The Horcruxes were in Harry’s sock drawer. Ron
tossed Quidditch magazines about and hastily scrubbed the kitchen.

The entire Weasley family piled into the house, their laughter ringing through its corridors,
their chatter audible at all hours. Mr. Weasley spent most of his time resting, smiling at his
family surrounding him.

“Could have been loads worse,” he kept saying. “Could have been worse.”

Ginny kept him entertained by reading him the day’s *Daily Prophet* and any other books
lying around. The twins ran through the corridors, laughter bellowing out of their bellies as they
took the downtime to “experiment.”

“Have to be competitive, lil’ bro,” they told Ron. “Won’t do to have Zonko’s outpace us. New
innovations. That’s the way to go.”

Mrs. Weasley cooked. And cooked. And cooked some more. She stuffed the family full at each meal
time.

Bill and Fleur had gone back to their honeymoon, but Charlie was still hanging around. He kept
his tone gentle, telling Mrs. Weasley to go to bed when she needed to hear it and changing his
father’s bandages. Charlie was like a calming influence on the house. They all quieted to listen to
his soft voice when he spoke.

“This is great, Harry, really,” Ron said. “Look at all the progress we’re making. Best idea
you’ve had yet, mate.”

“For goodness sakes, Ron, this is your family!” Hermione snapped.

“What’s your point?”

“Shut it, both of you,” Harry said. “We’re perfectly capable of doing this with your family
around, Ron.”

“He’s right, Ron,” Hermione said quietly.

Harry’s eyes flickered with annoyance. “Since when?”

Hermione flushed. “Well, I just—listen—”

Hermione grabbed both their arms and pulled them out of the living room and into the hallway
near Mrs. Black’s portrait.

“We can *do* this, only *quietly*,” she hissed, looking at each of them in turn. “We
have a clear *direction* for once… we just—we need a plan…”

Ron looked bored. Harry looked sulky.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. *I’ll* come up with a plan and the pair of you can go
play Wizard’s Chess or read about the Cannons or be generally unhelpful!”

“Sounds good to me,” Ron said, moving forward.

Harry gave a thin smile and held him back.

“We’re in this together,” Harry said. “*Remember*?”

“Er, yeah,” Ron said doubtfully. “Okay, what do you want us to do, Hermione?”

Harry cleared his throat.

“Or—Harry… yeah, Harry works,” Ron said quickly. “So, what’s the what, Scarhead?”

“Don’t call me that. *Ever*. Again.” Harry said.

“You got it, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Our next step ought to be destroying the Horcruxes we have. So long as
we focus on that, we can—”

“Avoid thinking about Voldemort?” Hermione suggested weakly.

“Something like that, yeah,” Harry said. “Alright, this is our next move. We owl Professor
McGonagall and see if she’s managed to get us—”

“A Defractor?”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron spun around. Professor Lupin stood in the entrance of Grimmauld Place.
A small black sphere sat in his open palm.

“I don’t suppose the three of you can tell me why you’re in need of one of these so badly, hmm?”
Lupin said mildly.

“Professor…” Harry managed, eyes widening with gratitude. “That’s fantastic! How did you find
it? Borkin & Burkes—”

Lupin raised a hand. “No, nothing like that. I… uh… well, I was using it as a paperweight,
actually.”

Ron stared. “A *paperweight*?” he croaked.

“Defractors aren’t the most useful of magical devices, Ron,” Lupin said. “My mum passed it down
to me. They’ve become… well, they’re somewhat of an antique.”

Harry shot Hermione a *are you sure about this?* look.

“Yes, that… I mean… that shouldn’t change anything,” Hermione said. “Professor Lupin, thank you.
You’ve saved us loads of trouble.”

Fred poked his head around the corner. “Hey, what’re the three of you up to? Took off on us
awful fast.”

“Nothing!” they said quickly.

Harry hurriedly grabbed the Defractor from Professor Lupin and hid it behind his back.

“OI! GEORGE! THE THREE OF THEM IS UP TO SOMETHING AGAIN!”

Hermione winced. Now George had his head around the corner next to Fred.

“Heya, you three. What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” they said again.

“Nothing,” Fred said, elbowing George. “Do you believe that?”

“Not a jot,” George said. “Oi, it’s Professor Lupin!”

“Don’t the pair of you have jobs?” Ron said moodily.

“Hey, guys!” said a third voice. It was Ginny. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Fred and George said.

“What do you mean, nothing?” Ginny said grinning. “With those three, it’s sure to be
exciting.”

“Er… yeah,” Harry said. “Honestly, nothing.”

“Yeah, nothing,” Ron said.

“Oh, hey, Professor Lupin!” Ginny said. “Are you staying for supper?”

“I…”

“Mum’s done nothing but cook for the last three days,” Ginny said, making a face. “Gone a bit
mental, she has.”

“She’s worried,” Hermione said, eyes cutting to Harry. “People react to stress in different
ways.”

Harry ignored her. “Be great to have you, Professor,” he said curtly. “I’ve gotta…”

Shifting his hands to hide the Defractor, Harry hurried away.

“Well!” Ron said cheerfully. “Isn’t this a nice little reunion! Here! In the hall! Next to the
screaming portrait!”

“Good idea, lil bro. Talk as loud as possible then, why don’t you?” Fred said.

Hermione sighed. *Too many people*. She gave Professor Lupin an apologetic smile before
hurrying in the same direction as Harry. She could still hear Ron and the twins arguing behind her
back.

She wasn’t alone. She stopped and folded her arms over her chest. “Ginny, what do you want?”

“What’s going on, Hermione?” she said.

“Didn’t you hear? Nothing.” Hermione turned to go, but Ginny chased after her.

“Come on, Hermione. I’m not stupid. All the time I spent with the three of you last year… well,
I know how you three work. I just…” she blew out a long breath. “I’m worried about Harry.”

The two of them regarded each other for a moment.

“You’re not the only one who worries about Harry,” Hermione muttered.

“Well, neither are you!” Ginny said fiercely. “I have a right to know what’s going on!”

“Ginny, look…” Hermione hesitated for a moment before plunging on. “Harry broke up with you last
year to *protect* you, to *keep* you from this. I respect his decision.”

Ginny huffed out a breath. “But… but, Hermione… he was just being Harry. You know how he is.
He’s… noble and stupid and—”

“And he didn’t leave Ron and I behind,” Hermione interrupted impatiently. “What do you think
that says, Ginny?”

Hurt flashed in her eyes and she took a step backwards. “Hermione—”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that… Harry, Ron,
and I… we’ve been doing this sort of thing a long time.”

Ginny nodded. “I want to help.”

Hermione studied her. Ginny’s posture was determined, almost hostile. *Honestly, like we
need* another *interference…*

“Stay *safe*,” Hermione said. “That’s honestly the best thing you’ve… Harry has other
things on his mind like now.”

“Like you?” Ginny bit out.

Hermione stared. “Pardon?”

“The way you’ve been treating him recently… I mean, *really*, Hermione… why have you got to
be such a nag all the time?”

“I suppose it’s just inherent in my personality.” Hermione said dryly. “For goodness’s sakes,
Ginny, you can’t make assumptions! There are things at work here—”

“I *know*!” she screeched. “And no one will tell me what!”

The two girls stopped and glared at each other.

“What was that thing Harry was carrying?” Ginny asked.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What thing?”

Ginny fidgeted and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She seemed almost nervous. “I saw him.
He was carrying something. That’s why he left in such a hurry. Did Professor Lupin give it to
him?”

“That’s none of your business,” Hermione said firmly. “Ginny, try to understand, you and Harry
broke up a long while ago. It wouldn’t be right if you tried to push your way back into his life
again.”

The words left Hermione’s mouth with a practiced, mechanical ease. The objective part of her
mind was rational enough to wonder—how much was true? What right did she have to counsel Ginny on
*anything* that had to do with Harry?

Ginny’s face screwed up. For the first time, Hermione saw how pale she was. Each freckle seemed
to stand out on her skin.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Have it your way.”

With a distinct air of “this isn’t over” Ginny spun on her heel and marched away. Hermione
watched her go with regret. *I should’ve been easier on her*…

Solitude. That’s what she needed. An hour in her room. Alone. Perhaps with her books—yes, her
books and her quill and her notebook for company. Anything at all to quell the madness of a
household full of Weasleys.

She turned around and ran smack into a male chest.

“*Blimey*,” she muttered.

Hands reached out to hold her upright, fingers tightening on her upper-arms. Hermione raised her
chin to meet Harry’s eyes, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Oh… uh… hi…”

“Hi.”

“What are you—”

“Heard shouting. Thought I’d come investigate.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Harry let go and took a step back.

“It was nothing,” Hermione said. “Just… stupid girl stuff.”

“You were fighting over me,” Harry said bluntly. “What if I said I wanted Ginny’s help?”

Hermione regarded him stonily. “I’d say you were trying to make me jealous.”

Harry blinked. “Well… okay…”

“If you’d really like her help, by all means. Go on and explain the Horcrux theory to her. I’m
sure she’ll be most receptive.” Hermione paused. “But I hardly think that’s practical.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Harry said. “And for you, practicality is the only thing that
matters.”

Hermione bit her lip, stung by his jibe. “Harry…”

He took a quick step backwards. “It’s… it’s hard… for me to see you. I know we’re s’posed to be
able to continue on like we always have—like friends. But I can’t do that. I can’t look at you and
see you as only….” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

Her tongue felt thick, like it was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Oh, how she longed for the
solitude of her room—her room and her books. The simplicity of their pages and the scratching of
her quill. Harry made her far too emotional. She couldn’t afford these feelings, not when there was
so much to be done.

“What are you saying?”

A long moment stretched out. He rubbed at the back of his neck and shuffled his feet and she was
reminded, once again, of how young he really was.

“We’re in this war together, I *get* that. I need you in it, there’s no question there,
but…”

“We’re not friends,” Hermione said dully.

“No, we’re not.”

She studied his stony face. “We’re never going to be again, are we?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

She felt so tired. The walk up to her room seemed like miles instead of meters. “Harry, hard as
it is to believe, I wasn’t dumping you.”

“Funny,” he said, brushing by her. “ ‘Cause it certainly sounded that way to me.”

“And that’s it? Six years of friendship and that’s *it*? Honestly, I’ve seen more emotional
maturity coming from *Ron* and that’s saying something!”

“Guess you never hurt Ron this badly, then,” he muttered.

“You’re punishing me,” she said, comprehension dawning. “Oh—*brilliant*. That’s just like
you, you know, thinking with your emotions! You don’t think you’ll regret this one day?”

“*Hermione*!”

Finally, some real anger. She welcomed it and took a step forward.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I—you…” he looked like he wanted to hit something and settled for thumping the wall with his
open palm. “I can’t afford this right now! You—*us*—being like this! This is how it has to be!
We’ll fight Voldemort together because we have to, but there *can’t* be anything more!
*There can’t*!”

He seemed to run out of things to say and ducked by her, in the same direction Ginny had fled to
earlier.

***

“Would make a good paperweight, wouldn’t it?” Ron said, bouncing the Defractor in his hands.
“Heavy little bugger.”

Hermione frowned. “Don’t toss a magically imbued object up and down.”

Harry gave a small grin and she studiously avoided her gaze, hastily grabbing the Defractor from
Ron’s hand.

“Hey!” he said.

She rolled her eyes and locked her bedroom door. They could hear Ginny arguing with the twins
out in the hall, their voices permeating the quiet of the room.

“Well, then,” Harry said. He took out the two Horcruxes and set them on her desk. “Are we ready
for this?”

“Not even a little,” Ron said. He rubbed his hands together. “But let’s do it anyway.”

“What’s this going to do?” Harry said. “I mean, it’s bound to have some kind of magical surge,
innit?”

“Always does,” Hermione said. “Oh, I *do* hope nothing catches fire…”

“Lovely,” Ron said. “I so enjoy these adventures we have. Never boring, that’s for sure.”

“Cast a *Silencio*,” Harry said. “We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to
ourselves.”

“Yeah, ‘cause if we die, it wouldn’t do for anyone to *NOTICE*!” Ron said.

“We are *not* going to die,” Hermione said. “Well, probably not.”

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy looks and she scowled at them.

“Oh, honestly…” she picked up a book and held it in front of her face. “First, we must activate
the Defractor and then focus its attention…”

“And just how’re we gonna do that?” Ron demanded.

Hermione dropped the book and passed Harry the Defractor. “Here,” she said. “You do it.”

“What? Me? I don’t—I don’t know how to turn this thing on!”

“Figure it out, then,” Hermione snapped. “Your name in the prophecy, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right, almost forgotten that, good thing you reminded me,” Harry said. He shot
the Defractor a dirty look.

“Maybe if we ask it nicely?” Ron suggested. “Turn on… please…”

“Not helping,” Harry said, teeth clenched. He poked it with his wand and gave a little jump when
it became encased in a white glow.

Hermione let out a high-pitched squeak that had Ron clamping his hands to his ears. “Oooooh,
Harry! I think you’ve got it!”

She fished it out of his open palm. “Hey, hang on—” he said.

“I knew it had to be simple,” Hermione mused. “It’s not a particularly complex object, is
it?”

“*You* knew it had to be simple?” Harry said loudly. “Who figured it out, then?”

“Shush,” she scolded. “I’m thinking.”

She nibbled along her bottom lip, studying the glowing Defractor in her hands.

“Wish *I’d* thought to ask for a glowing white ball for Christmas…” Ron muttered. “It’s
every bloke’s dream!”

“The incantation is easy,” Hermione said. “The hard part is being able to *focus* on what
we want it to destroy.”

“Us,” Harry said, face lighting up. He met her eyes. “We’re in control of it, aren’t we? All we
have to do is think really hard about what we want it to destroy!”

Ron scoffed. “Yeah, like *that’ll* work. Are you off your nut?”

“Have you *always* been this infuriating?” Hermione said to Ron.

He flashed her a grin. “Have you always been this easy to needle?”

“*Yes*,” Harry snapped, making both their heads turn. “Would the pair of you bicker some
other time? It’s not like the fate of the world is on the line or any such thing.”

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled. “Just like getting a rise out of her, is all. No need to get all tetchy
about it.”

“I’m not…” Harry frowned. “Forget it. We’re trying my idea.”

“And what idea was that? The one where we all think *real* hard about sucking out the
Horcrux’s evilness?”

“Yes, Ron,” Harry said. “That *is* the plan. Problem?”

“Mental,” Ron breathed.

“Alright, then,” Hermione said. “We’ll… we’ll *focus*… and then say the incantation…”

Harry touched her elbow and she jumped. He kept his eyes carefully averted. “Maybe I should be
the one to say it.”

“What difference does it make?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. I just… I don’t want to think about what’ll happen to you if we’re wrong
about this.”

She drew in a sharp breath, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “That’s hardly… nothing can…”

“Give me the Defractor, Hermione,” he said. “It’s my responsibility.”

“I… okay…” she passed him the Defractor, her fingers brushing against his wrist. His gaze tilted
upwards, meeting hers for a half-second before breaking away.

“*Orioro*,” Harry said.

The Defractor rose from his palm and hovered in the air, the pulsing light around it growing
brighter.

“Let’s hold hands,” Harry said.

“*What*?” Ron said. “I’m not holding your hand! Tell me again why Hermione can’t be in the
middle?”

“Ron, take my bloody hand before I hex you into the next century, got it?”

Ron grumbled but took Harry’s hand. Hermione tried to ignore the way Harry surreptitiously
squeezed her own fingers.

“We ready?” Hermione asked quietly. She tried to ignore the way her voice shook. Harry squeezed
her hand again. She *really* wished he’d stop doing that.

“Ready,” Harry said. “Ron?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, voice high-pitched.

Harry’s wand was in his left hand. Hermione’s hand. She felt a sort of thrill go through her—he
*rarely* used that hand for spells, he’d always been much better with his right.

They rose their arms. Harry was staring at Hufflepuff’s cup.

“*Ignito*!”

The Defractor pulsed and then flashed. White light filled the room. Hermione squinted, nearly
blind, but she concentrated on Harry’s painful grip on her hand. Her mind focused on the cup. All
they had to do was take out the magic, suck it out until only the goblet remained, until it was
only gold and metal.

That’s when the windows shattered.

Hermione flinched when shards of glass hit her skin. Small tingles of pain laced along her body.
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused. *Focused*.

The floor rumbled and groaned. She heard Ron curse. Harry still gripped her hand, his palm warm
and firm and solid.

“It’s fighting back!” he yelled. “Keep pushing!”

The room wrenched and twisted. They stumbled sideways, letting go of hands and grabbing arms,
elbows. They stayed standing.

The Defractor pulsed again, bathing the room in a red glow. Hermione opened her eyes. Harry’s
profile was barely visible, smudged by the red haze.

“Harry…?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s *fine*. We just… we need to…”

The desk rocked back and forth before crashing on its side. The two Horcruxes skittered to the
floor.

“It’s working,” Harry said.

The walls shook. A jagged crack zigzagged its way along the ceiling. Hermione couldn’t hide her
terrified gasp.

“Keep focusing,” Harry mumbled. “Keep—”

A ripple coursed through the Defractor. It began shuddering.

Hermione felt her feet leave the ground and she, Harry, and Ron were thrown backwards, landing
in a twisted pile of limbs. *Destroy the cup’s power, take it away, end it…* Her mind chanted
over and over even as she struggled to regain her footing. Harry’s arm slipped around her waist to
help. They staggered upwards.

Another blast from the Defractor knocked them off their feet again. Ron yelped. Harry swore.

The room shook and the bed gave a heaving yawn and cracked, the mattress splitting in two.
Hermione felt her skin begin to hum and tingle.

“It’s moving onto us,” she yelled. “Harry, we *must* shut it off, we can’t—”

Harry tightened his hold on both of them and squeezed his eyes shut. The Defractor gave a
high-pitched cry, like the sound of a kettle coming to a boil. Hermione watched Hufflepuff’s cup
begin to vibrate. It skittered along the floor, quivering until it became a blur. Hermione grit her
teeth and kept her eyes trained on the cup. Sweat gathered along her forehead.

The cup stopped shuddering and the light from the Defractor blinked out, the black ball dropping
to the floor. The magic that had been brimming in the room winked out with a thundering clap.
Harry’s body went slack and he collapsed backwards onto his back, body emitting painful gasps.

Ron touched his cheek and then his nose and as if making sure he was still alive. Hermione
pushed the hair out of her face, her heart still banging.

“Well!” Ron said. “That was fun! I know! Let’s do it again!”

Silence. And then—

Harry gave a kind of broken, wheezing laugh. The laugh turned into a cough and his body shook
before he managed to regain control of himself.

“Harry,” she said. She touched his shoulder. “Harry, are you alright?”

He brushed her hand away and fixed his glasses. “I’ll be fine,” he said. He braced his elbows on
the floor and forced himself to sit up.

“So…” Ron said doubtfully. “D’you s’pose it worked?”

***

Hermione felt light. Judging by the smiles on Harry and Ron’s faces, she knew they felt the
same. Her jaw throbbed, her knee was gashed, blood trickled down her elbow. Harry’s arm was in a
sling. Ron had a bag of ice pressed against one eye.

Every time they caught each other’s eyes, they started laughing. They were sprawled out on the
living room floor, unable to move, to talk. Mrs. Weasley glared when she walked by, disapproval
etched into every line of her face.

Fred and George thought they were hilarious.

“I think that bag suits you, Ron,” Fred said.

“Matches your hair,” George added.

Too drained to make a reply, Ron halfheartedly tossed a pillow in their direction. They left,
twittering.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron all sagged again.

“We did it,” she whispered. “We really did it.”

Harry gave her an affection little pat on her arm. She smiled at him. They had been doing that
for the last hour. Small touches. Hands on shoulders, backs. Harry brushing her hair behind her
ear. Quick finger squeezes when Ron wasn’t watching. Neither of them said anything. It seemed
allowed, this way, as long as it went unspoken.

“I reckoned we were going to die,” Ron said. He suppressed a shudder. “Glad we didn’t,
though.”

“Agreed,” Harry said. With great effort, he raised his head. “But we did it.”

“Yeah,” Ron echoed. “We did it.”

Hermione snorted. “One more step forward.”

Ron fell back down. “Funny that such a tiny little thing can make all that magic, innit?”

“No,” Harry said. “It was us.”

“Mmm?” Hermione asked.

“The magic came from us,” Harry said. “All the Defractor did was channel it.”

“Makes a bloke proud,” Ron said. “Still, it’s a powerful little bugger.”

Harry gave a noncommittal grunt. Silence fell. Hermione closed her eyes. Completely still, she
could feel each of her tiny hurts.

Hermione heard someone enter the living room and stop. She cracked one eye open and saw the
blurry shape of Ginny Weasley. Her chin was set and her arms were folded over her chest.

“What happened?”

Ron muffled a curse. “Go away, Ginny. We’re busy.”

Ginny shot him an irritable look. “Everyone’s wondering. You disappear for four hours and show
up looking like that! Mum’s a mess. Keeps breaking down and crying all over the place.”

“*Ginny*,” Ron ground out. “This doesn’t concern you, okay?”

She stomped her foot. “No, not okay, Ron! I’m not a child, you can’t treat me like that.”

Hermione forced herself to sit up. Ron’s glower was making her feel nervous. “Ginny, please,”
she said. “We’re not doing this to hurt you. Try to understand—”

“Understand?” she said, eyes flashing. “How can you *say* that! Harry’s arm is in a
*sling*!”

“Well, I have a black eye!” Ron said indignantly.

“I’m sure you deserved it,” Ginny sniped.

“Oh,” Ron said. “That so, is it? I *deserved* getting a black eye? You think—”

“*Ron*,” Hermione hissed. She shot him a look. “Ginny, let’s talk about this later.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Forget it. You’ll only continue treating me like a
three-year-old.”

“Not doing much to convince me to do otherwise at the moment,” Ron mumbled.

“Ron, I beg you, don’t help me with this,” Hermione snapped. “Ginny, listen, you have to trust
that we know what we’re doing. It’s for the best.”

Ginny gave her a flat stare. “You think I don’t know,” she said. “You think I don’t…
You-Know-Who *possessed* me, Hermione. I want him dead just as much as you do. Maybe
more.”

“Ginny—”

“No, that’s fair,” Harry interrupted, speaking for the first time. He hauled himself to his
feet. “Ginny, let’s… talk…”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Alright.”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and followed Ginny out into the hall, hobbling more than
walking.

“Yep,” Ron said. “That went well.”

***

Three hours. Ginny and Harry left to talk three hours ago.

Hermione had tried sleeping. And couldn’t. She tried researching. And couldn’t. She contemplated
a hot bath. And found herself standing outside Harry’s bedroom door.

She wrung her hands together before taking a deep breath and knocking.

“Come in!”

She twisted the doorknob and entered, careful to keep her face composed. Harry was sprawled on
his bed, his arm propped up on a pillow.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He flashed her a grin. “Hey.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, brilliant,” he said dryly. “Never felt better.”

She forced out a laugh. “I don’t suppose using the Defractor without any sort of thought to its
consequences was *really* the best idea I’ve ever come up with.”

With what looked like a considerable amount of pain, Harry sat up. “Don’t say that. It worked,
Hermione. Do you know…” he trailed off. “I never really thought we’d get this far. Finding the
Horcruxes… destroying them… seemed like something we’d be doing forever.”

“I know,” she said. After hesitating for a moment, she went over and sat down next to him. She
tried to ignore the careful distance she kept between them. “And now…”

“Voldemort,” Harry said darkly.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you scared?”

“I’m trying not to think about it, honestly,” Harry said. He shrugged. “I promised myself, at
the end of last year. Doesn’t matter how much time I have left—every moment is worth it.”

“That’s… well, that’s very mature of you,” Hermione murmured.

“Yeah, I’ve had some time to think about it,” Harry said. He paused. “Is there something you
wanted?”

“Oh… I… I just…” Hermione grasped her hands together and stared down at her lap. “How did… it
go… with Ginny?”

“Told her I couldn’t live without her, actually,” Harry said. “Thought it best if we got back
together. Didn’t seem to believe me, though. Stalked off. I might never recover.”

Hermione’s fell open. “Pardon me?”

Harry laughed. “I’m *kidding*. Merlin, Hermione… I’m not quite so pathetic.”

“That wasn’t funny,” she said. She tried to ignore the way her voice sounded like a petulant
child.

He raised his eyebrows, mouth still quirking with amusement. “There really isn’t much to tell.
She asked what happened. I didn’t tell her. She called me some rather unflattering names and
stomped off.”

This time, Hermione did laugh. “Unflattering names?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh, Harry… I hope you weren’t too hard on her…” Hermione sighed. “She’s still more than a
little hung up on you, you know.”

Harry shuffled uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, it’d be a lot safer for her if she wasn’t.”

“She’s just concerned,” Hermione said softly. “I can relate.”

He glanced sideways at her. “I gotta say, dumping me was an interesting way of showing
‘concern.’”

“I didn’t dump you, you git,” she said. “You were putting words in my mouth. I never wanted to
be the one to hurt you like that.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry said. He wiped his palms on his jeans. “Maybe you were right.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “I was… what?”

“Right,” Harry said, avoiding her eyes. “I mean, maybe it was a bad idea, being so involved like
that. What with… you know, other things going on…”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. His voice was strained. “But I don’t—I don’t think…”

“You don’t think what?” Hermione prodded, shifting closer to him.

“About… before, when I said we weren’t—”

“Friends—”

“That, yeah,” Harry said. “Stupid thing to say. I reckon we’re always going to have
*something*, some kind of connection. And we can use it, we just…”

“Can’t get too close,” Hermione said heavily. “We have to focus on what’s more important.”

“Right,” Harry said. “What’s more important.”

“Than us,” Hermione said. “Like—like… Voldemort.”

“Like Voldemort.”

“Like…” Hermione searched around in her mind for something else to say and found nothing. She
stood up, legs unsteady. “I’ll speak with you later, Harry.”

“Alright,” he said. He sounded frustrated and she didn’t turn around to look at him. She had to
leave this room. Being around Harry messed her up.

“Yes… alright.”

***

**References**:

The idea of using a circular magically imbued object as a paperweight is a blatant *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* rip-off from the episode *Becoming* pt. I. Wish I could claim ownership my
own self, but alas…

There are a smattering of other *Buffy* and *Firefly* references throughout because
I’m a blatant hack. If you catch any, you get shiny gold stars.

Now…

**Author’s Notes**:

Wow. You guys continue to amaze me with your feedback. Just… just… *thank you*. All of you!
Hardly a day goes by when you don’t put a gigantic smile on my face.

As far as I’m concerned, the H/Hr community is one of the largest, most welcoming, and most
supportive that I’ve ever come across. There have been comments that make me laugh, blush, squee,
and think. *loves*

You all are awesome.

**Self-Pimpage**:

This is so tacky, but…

I’ve recently fallen in with mad love for a tiny 14-episode television-series called
*Firefly*, cancelled by Fox about three years ago. Last October, a major motion picture,
*Serenity*, was released as a sequel. I’ve started writing fanfic (*ducks the pumpkin pies*),
specifically for the Mal/Inara pairing—and I *never* thought I’d ship an antagonistic,
bickering pairing after my dislike for R/Hr. But such is life.

Anyhoo. If you know what *Firefly* is, my small collection of fic can be found on my LJ:
http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/tag/ff_fanfic

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you should head over to Amazon.com and pick up a
copy of *Firefly: The Complete Series* and its sequel, the movie *Serenity*. Has some of
the best writing/dialogue/characters I’ve ever encountered. You won’t regret it.

And… I have the next three-or-so chapters of *All Nights* planned out, and I *hope* to
have them done relatively quickly.

Coming next: How desperate will Ginny get? How stubborn *are* Harry and Hermione? How will
they go after Voldemort?



15. Chapter 15
--------------

**Title**: All Nights (15/?)

**Author**: Goldy

**Disclaimer**: Pretend I said something really snarky and witty, because they really, really
don’t belong to me.

**Keywords**: Harry/Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Horcrux!plot, Voldemort.

**Spoilers**: Books 1-6

**Word Count**: 4, 768

**A/N**: Huge, huge, huge thank you to **Nousia**, whose grammar and characterization
suggestions were invaluable.

**A/N2**: Another big thanks to my lovely feedbackers. I wish I had faster chapters for you
guys, you’re all so wonderful. Thanks, as always, for your continued support and encouragement.

***

Hermione hated the game they were playing. Knees touching under the table. Almost kisses
exchanged in the corridor before bed. Thousands of small illicit touches.

It didn’t seem to matter that they’d mutually agreed to put Voldemort first. They were
inevitably drawn back to the same place. An inability to let each other go.

“Maybe skipping my last year at Hogwarts wasn’t so smart, after all,” Harry admitted one
night.

They were sitting in the living room, side by side on the couch, legs touching. They were trying
to find *anything* that would help them destroy Voldemort. She’d set a Confounding Charm
around the room. The Weasleys were in a habit of popping up at the strangest times; trying their
best to discover what they were “up to.”

“I mean,” Harry continued, “there was probably all sorts of stuff we could’ve learned. I’m not
even a full-fledged wizard yet.”

“Hogwarts closed down, Harry,” she said vaguely, only half listening.

“Yeah, but… I’m just saying….” Grumbling, he rifled through a few pages of his book. “I’m gonna
die, aren’t I?”

“Oh, hush up,” Hermione said. “Don’t throw yourself a pity party. Honestly.”

Harry blinked. “I wasn’t. Just trying to be realistic, is all.”

Hermione closed her book and smacked him on the arm.

“Ow!” Harry yelped.

Hermione opened the book again and frowned. “Stop it.”

“Maybe you’ll die too,” Harry said. “We could go together. It’ll be very romantic.”

“*Harry*!” she said. “That’s not funny.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I just… I can’t seem to shake the feeling that all of this is useless.
What’re we looking for, Hermione? Some brilliant undiscovered spell to destroy
All-Powerful-Dark-Lords?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

Harry didn’t seem bothered by her tone. “Perhaps we should speak with the Order. If anything,
*they* finished their final year at Hogwarts.”

“We *will* find something, you know,” Hermione said, using her best haughty voice. “Neither
of us will die.”

Hermione glanced up to find Harry staring at her. Her stomach took a nosedive.

“What is it?”

He gave a shrug and cracked a smile. “I just… I…”

“I know,” she said. “I mean, I understand.”

Harry held her gaze for a moment and then smiled smugly. “We should get matching
gravestones.”

“*Harry*!” she clapped her book shut and smacked him three times.

“Ow! Ow! *Ow*!” he said, rubbing his arm.

She gave a huffy sigh. “Don’t talk that way.”

“That hurt!” he said.

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. Harry went silent, but she was uncomfortably aware he was
staring at her.

“Hermione?”

She looked up and swallowed. He’d gotten close to her—*too* close.

“I… yes?”

His hand was on her arm. His palm was warm. She could feel his breath on her chin. His eyes
seemed wide and unblinking behind his glasses.

“Hey, guys!”

It was Ron.

Harry and Hermione jumped and broke apart, springing to opposite ends of the couch. Flustered,
Hermione covered her guilt by pinning Ron with a glare.

“Where have you been? Harry and I have been here for ages!”

Ron pulled a face. “Kept getting confused, actually. Every time I got near, I found myself in
the kitchen. You didn’t charm me or anything, did you?”

“Of course not,” Hermione said quickly. She pointed at the pile of books. “Go. Research.”

Ron grumbled and picked one up. He settled down on the couch between them.

“Life with you is always such fun, Hermione. ’Prolly for the best we never did work out. I’d’ve
killed you after three days or so.”

Harry turned a page with rather more vehemence than was necessary. Ron glanced at him out of the
corner of his eye.

“Course, I’m sure it would’ve been fantastic channeling that energy into *other* areas, if
you know what I mean.”

Ron wagged his eyebrows in an annoying sort of way.

“You think so, Ron?” Harry asked.

Ron looked up. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, that’s…” Thrown, Harry went back to his book. “Well, then, you’re an idiot.”

“Good insult,” Ron said dryly. “Best ever.”

“Ron,” Hermione said. “Open that book on your lap and find a way to destroy Voldemort.
Please.”

Sulkily, Ron opened it. “Fine. Don’t see what you’re all so uptight about anyway.”

***

Mrs. Weasley’s pumpkin juice slid down Hermione’s throat; thick and cold. She set down her mug
and glanced around the table. Everyone else was sitting rigidly, forcing food into their mouths in
a charade of normality that fooled no one.

“You’d hardly recognize it,” Lupin was saying. “Voldemort is trying to raze it to the ground.
Whoever survives the raids picks up and leaves. We can’t keep up with his Death Eaters. The Order’s
been so fragmented since Dumbledore…” Lupin trailed off and sighed. “Voldemort’s ruined Diagon
Alley. I’m not certain it will ever recover.”

Heavy silence followed Lupin’s pronouncement. Tonks fidgeted uncomfortably next to him, her eyes
wildly darting around the room.

Ron leaned over and mumbled to Harry, “Mate, promise me you’ll off me before I get that
twitchy.”

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione hissed.

Ron rolled his eyes and stabbed at his food.

Mr. Weasley leaned forward, clearly engrossed in Lupin’s report. “It’s all about *numbers*.
I don’t see why we aren’t focused on recruitment.”

“Arthur,” Tonks said. “It’s too much. We don’t know who’s posing as a spy or who’s under
*Imperius*.”

“I’d hardly say we were useless,” Charlie said. “We’ve captured a number of You-Know-Who’s
followers—some of them from his inner-circle. Even without Dumbledore, we’re still a pain in his
arse.”

“Who have you captured?” Ginny asked, eyes on Charlie.

“Eat your peas,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I want to join the Order,” Ginny said. “I’m almost old enough—only a few more months. What does
it matter now, anyway?”

“And just how’re you planning on helping, Gin?” Ron said. “I think You-Know-Who’s learned to
block a Bat Bogey Hex by now.”

Ginny’s ears turned red and she chucked a handful of peas at Ron.

“Oi!” Ron sputtered. “Mum, did you *see* that?”

“Quiet, both of you,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I spent *hours* making this meal. Now eat your
peas!”

Harry and Hermione hurried to shovel more food into their mouths.

“Fred and I boarded up our shop ages ago,” George said. “Place looks near a ghost town.”

“Still have to pay rent, though,” Fred said. “How’s that fair?”

“We’re not quite ready to throw in the towel yet. War’s bound to end eventually, isn’t it?”
George said.

Fred gestured across the table. “You got a plan, Harry, dontcha? Any timetable on it? Business
can only stay cold for so long.”

Harry choked on his roast beef. “Er…”

Ginny sat up straighter. “Yeah, Harry, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Harry said, looking at the ceiling. “I, er…”

“Well, you *are* doing some super secret thing to go after You-Know-Who, right?”

Everyone’s eyes were fastened on Harry. Uncomfortable minutes passed.

“I mean,” Ginny said. “It’s just that… we all want to help. You oughtn’t do this alone.”

“He’s not,” Hermione said quietly. Ron gave a small nod.

Harry was spared having to answer by the arrival of a tiny owl. It flew over the table before
settling on Lupin’s shoulder. A letter fell into his lap.

“That’s Professor McGonagall’s owl!” Hermione said.

Attention shifted from Harry to Lupin. Food was abandoned completely as Lupin pried open the
letter. They watched his eyes widen, his jaw tightening as he read. He set it down and looked at
Harry.

“Remus?” Tonks said. “What’s…”

Lupin handed her the letter. “Harry, can I speak with you a moment?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, rising. He gestured for Ron and Hermione to hang back, shooting them “I’ll
tell you later” looks.

Hermione watched him go, mind spinning over the possibilities. Another death? Had Voldemort
finally decided to go after Harry himself? Had McGonagall figured out what they were up to?

Tonks finished the letter and paled. Silently, she handed it to Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley
leaned forward to read it over his shoulder.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Weasley mumbled.

“What?” Ron exploded. “What is it?”

Harry came back into the kitchen, colour gone from his face. “Snape,” he said. “The Order’s
captured him.”

***

It was no surprise that the Order had its own jail. Only a handful of people in the Order knew
its location. They could only bring others to it voluntarily, without coercion and without the
influence of a curse—such as *Imperio.*

Hermione suspected it was located underground. The walls were hard-packed dirt, but it was warm,
well-lit. There were no Dementors here. It was made to hold prisoners; not drive them mad.

Ron and Harry stood on either side of her, their eyes wide as they looked around. Bright torches
hung from the walls, making light dance across their features.

Hermione turned her gaze on Harry. “Are you alright?”

He blinked. “Yeah,” he said. “I knew it’d come to this, sooner or later.”

For once, Ron kept his mouth shut. Hermione could tell he was unsettled and she smiled at
him.

“Honestly, you two, this is an *Order* prison. I hardly think we need to worry about Death
Eaters and the like.”

“No, just Professor Severus Snape,” Ron said.

“Ron,” she said warningly.

“He’s contained,” Lupin said. He was the one who’d escorted them. “We’ve destroyed his wand.
Now, let’s find…”

Lupin trailed off. The gate leading to the prison cells slid open and Professor McGonagall
emerged, her face long and pointed. Her shadow stretched out in front of her. The lamp she was
holding gave a tremor.

Lupin moved forward. “Minerva?” he placed a hand on her shoulder and scanned her face.

She shook her head. “I once believed… we worked together for more than a decade. I trusted—”

“I understand,” Lupin said. “He fooled us all, Minerva.”

She took a deep breath and stopped shaking, face passive. “He won’t talk.”

“That’s not a surprise,” Lupin said.

“Remus, he wanted to be caught. It was too easy... if only I knew…” she trailed off. “He acts
the same as he ever did. Rude, intolerable man.”

Her voice held traces of fondness. Lupin met her eyes.

“No, Minerva… that’s not our way.”

She patted him on the arm. “I’m afraid we don’t have much choice.”

Hermione, Harry, and Ron exchanged questioning looks.

McGonagall sidestepped Lupin and smiled at them. “It’s good to see you three still alive.”

Ron shuffled nervously. “Thanks, Professor.”

Harry stepped forward. “I’d like to speak with him.”

McGonagall nodded. “I suspected you might. Should I warn you against revenge, Potter? Professor
Snape is in the Order’s hands.”

Harry’s expression was stony. “He might talk to me.”

Professor McGonagall sighed. “Very well. Come along.”

They hurried after her. Hermione was intrigued. They passed cells with prisoners in
them—equipped with beds, desks, lavatories, sometimes a kitchen. The few prisoners stared as they
went past, but remained silent.

“Professor Dumbledore’s work,” McGonagall said, reading the look on Hermione’s face. “I’m afraid
he never approved of Azkaban. He wanted to keep our prisoners calm, relaxed—not suck the life from
them. We’ve never had a breakout.”

“It reminds me of a Muggle penitentiary,” Hermione said. “Is that right?”

“Yes and no,” McGonagall said, mouth quirking into a smile. “There’s heavy magics at work
here.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Does the Ministry know?”

“That, Miss Granger, is classified information,” McGonagall said, her look significant.

They continued along. At one point, Harry came up beside her. Without looking, he quietly
slipped his hand into hers. She gave him a reassuring squeeze.

She caught Ron’s eye, but he hastily looked away without saying anything.

“This is it,” McGonagall murmured. She placed her hand on Hermione’s shoulder, her lips pressed
into a thin line. “I’ll leave you to talk in peace.”

Harry dropped Hermione’s hand and moved forward. Snape was sitting in the middle of the cell,
his legs crossed. His back was straight and his elbows rested on his knees. His eyes were
closed.

“D’you think he’s sleeping?” Ron whispered. “Do we wake him?”

“I’m meditating, Mr. Weasley, you half-brained idiot,” Snape said, upper-lip furling.

“Oh,” Ron said. Then, “You meditate?”

“Tell me, Mr. Weasley, what would *you* do if you found yourself in a tiny box for the rest
of your life? You’d last an hour before going mad.”

Ron scowled. “Yeah, well, I’m not the idiot *in* a jail cell, am I?”

Snape smiled. “Not yet.”

Ron looked queasy. “Say, Harry, why didn’t we just let the Order torture him again? I don’t see
why we’ve got to talk to him. He looked like he was having a brilliant time meditating.”

“Funny you should ask that, Ron,” Harry stepped forward, inches from the bars. “Hello,
Professor.”

Snape cracked an eye open. “Potter. Wonderful. The Order *does* find such inventive ways to
torture me.”

Harry fidgeted and Hermione winced. It was obvious he was nervous. “I’m having a sort of… funny
thought, Professor. Would you care to hear it?”

“I wasn’t certain you were capable of… thoughts,” Snape said. “Impressive. Go on.”

Harry took a deep breath, gathering his composure. “You will tell me something helpful.
Something that will help me kill Voldemort.”

“And why would I do that, Potter?”

Harry gave a small nod of his head. He looked back at Hermione and she shrugged. *Oh, Merlin…
I* do *hope he has some sort of plan…*

When Harry spoke, he chose his words carefully. “You owe it to Dumbledore. The way I see it is,
you tip the scales. Maybe you really *were* just biding your time all those years at Hogwarts,
waiting for the right moment. But I don’t think so. I think you were loyal to two masters at
once.”

“How very… perceptive…” Snape drawled. “Tell me, is that the extent of the knowledge the
Headmaster passed down to you before his very… tragic… death?”

Harry took a step closer. “You *murdered* him!” he spat. “He *trusted* you—and you…
you…”

“He was a *fool*, Potter,” Snape said. “No more, no less.”

Harry stopped short, breathing hard. He struggled for composure. “I don’t… I can’t believe
that.”

“Then you’re a fool as well.”

“You had chances back at Hogwarts,” Harry said, voice almost desperate. “You could’ve sold him
out earlier. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I was playing a part,” Snape said.

“No…” Harry said. “It was more than that. I *saw* it. I reckon you’re not even entirely
sure what side you’re on. And I think… I think—”

“*What*, Potter,” Snape said, voice rising. “What do you think?”

“I think you ought to tell us something to tip the scales,” Harry said in a rush. “Something to
help us. To fulfill your debt to Dumbledore.”

Harry kept his eyes fixed on Snape. His hands were shaking but he didn’t back down. The only
sounds were of their breathing, not quite loud enough to fill the oppressive silence of the
jail.

Finally, Snape spoke. “In an attempt to make himself immortal, the Dark Lord has severely
weakened himself.” His words were low, methodical, and Harry leaned forward to listen. “Few people
realize this. It would be unacceptable for his followers to see him as anything but all-powerful.
In this way, he is more vulnerable than he has ever been. Dark magic saps him of strength. Even
simple spells can wear him down. That is where you must take your advantage, Potter. You cannot
rely on your poor magical capabilities. He has a wide array of power you will never match.”

“He’s weakened…” Harry repeated. “Yeah, I’ll bet he wouldn’t want that advertised. How do you
know?”

“As I said, there are a handful of people he’s confided in,” Snape said.

“Right. And you’d be one of them.”

“Certainly,” Snape said. “And remember, Potter, your wand is connected to his.”

“How’s that going to help me?”

“You must drain the Dark Lord of his power, Potter. Do you have any better ideas of going about
it?”

Harry nodded. “*Priori Incantatem*,” he mumbled. He hovered indecisively for another
moment. “Right. Er… thank you.”

He gestured to Ron and Hermione and the three of them silently made their way back to Professor
McGonagall and Lupin. Harry’s face was pensive; his mind far away.

“How did it go?” Lupin said when they appeared. “Did he give you a hard time?”

“He told me what I needed to know,” Harry said.

Professor McGonagall and Lupin exchanged an uncertain look.

“He won’t be any more help,” Harry said. He took a deep breath. “I rather think… it might be a
good idea to… kill him.”

Hermione gasped. “What? Harry—”

“Professor McGonagall was right, Hermione,” he cut in sharply. “It was too easy. He’s gotta have
some kind of plan… I don’t reckon he would simply give himself up.”

Lupin gave a tired sigh. “Unfortunately, Severus has not left us with much choice.”

“But… Professor…” Hermione said. “*Kill him*! Oh, we mustn’t… Dumbledore wouldn’t…”

Lupin rubbed his eyes. “I understand, Hermione. But the risk....”

“The chances of…” Professor McGonagall trailed off and pressed her lips together. “It was… our
intent all along. I’m afraid there’s no other way.”

***

“Kill him! Harry!” Back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione chased after him, as he seemed to be doing
his best to get away. Ron hesitated before following.

Harry stopped. “Hermione, it was the Order’s agenda from the beginning. Have you forgotten what
that man has *done*?”

“He’s got a point, Hermione,” Ron said.

“Yes, but… Oh!” Hermione tried to blink back tears. “Harry, he *helped* you. He’s not going
anywhere—”

“*Helped me*?” Harry said. He took a step closer to her. “And just why should I believe
anything he says?”

“But…” Hermione wiped at her eyes. “This isn’t the heat of a duel—or—or a battle! He’s
defenseless! He’s captive! How can you—you—”

“He killed Dumbledore, Hermione!” Harry exploded. “He *wanted* to be captured, which means
he’s up to something.”

“You don’t know that!” Hermione said desperately. “What if he wants to help? We could use
him—”

“No, no, no!” Harry said. “He’s *had* his second chance. You don’t come back from what he’s
done.”

“So it’s revenge you’re after, is it?”

Harry stared at her for a moment. “It’s not that simple.”

“Hermione,” Ron said. “Harry has the Order behind him on this. It’s what Lupin and McGonagall
already decided. You heard them.”

“Peter Pettigrew, Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “If I had just *let*…” Harry paused.
“Snape signed his own death warrant when he killed Dumbledore. Everyone in the Order knows
that.”

Hermione clenched her jaw. She felt wrung out. Tired of arguing with Harry. Exhausted by having
him pull her in all directions until she felt like she was being torn apart.

“Harry, you’re…” she bit her lip and forced herself to continue. “You’re the bravest and most
caring person I know. I just—I can’t bear the idea of losing you.”

She could tell her words got through to him. He looked down at the floor and shuffled his
feet.

“Hermione…”

Harry trailed off and shrugged. Ron looked back and forth between them.

“I’ll give the pair of you some privacy,” he said. “I reckon you need to get some stuff out in
the open.”

“Ron, you don’t…”

“Nah,” Ron said. “I get it. I’ll see you later.”

Hermione felt more exposed with Ron gone. She rubbed her arms and didn’t look at Harry.

Harry cleared his throat. “Listen, Hermione…”

“Harry, I…”

They stopped and smiled at each other.

“It’s, er… it’s getting harder to decide what’s right and what isn’t, innit?” Harry said,
shrugging.

“But, Harry…” her voice trembled. “Taking lives, killing people…”

“Hermione, listen—” Harry’s voice quivered and he stopped, swallowing. “Finding Snape, killing
him… it was something I wanted for a long time. But…” he took a deep breath and met her eyes, walls
and barriers gone. He was nothing but Harry staring back at her—seventeen-years-old and seeming
much older. “Now that it’s here, it’s not satisfying. It’s… horrible.”

She didn’t know what to say.

Harry leaned back against the wall, body slumping. He thought for a moment. “Am I really one of
the bravest people you know?”

She couldn’t stop her eye roll. “Of course you are,” Hermione said. “For goodness sake.”

They smiled at each other.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s find Ron. I feel like getting my arse kicked at wizard’s chess.”

***

“Potter, you are going to crash and *burn*,” Ron said. “Any last words?”

“Why’s this game so violent, again?” Harry asked, blinking at his bruised and beaten pieces.
“Bit demoralizing.”

Ron grunted. “Checkmate.”

Harry groaned and sat back. “You could let me win one of these days, you know.”

“Nah,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the arm. “More respectful to treat you like a real
opponent.”

Hermione smiled at the look on Harry’s face.

“Gee, Ron, I really appreciate that. It’s decent of you, thanks.”

Ron shrugged. “Victory goes to the better man.”

Hermione snorted. Harry and Ron shot her incredulous looks. “Oh, you’re both so
*pathetic*,” she said. “All this nonsense over a brainless game.”

“Brainless!?” Ron said. “Are you mental? The strategy required… well, it’s not something you can
just go and learn out of a *book*!”

“Well, alright,” Hermione said skeptically.

Ron scowled. “You’ve got no appreciation for true talent, Hermione.”

“I imagine that’s true.”

Harry leaned back against the couch, apparently content to let them bicker.

“It’s not like *you’ve* ever tried to face me,” Ron said. “Scared?”

“Hardly. I find I have better ways to spend my time.”

“Doing what? Reading the One Hundredth and Tenth addition of Hogwarts: The Complete and
Unabridged History?”

“Really!” Hermione said. “I do *have* interests outside of *schoolwork*. Not that
*you’ve* ever paid attention, mind you.”

“I pay attention,” Ron said. “I just think knitting elf hats is a waste of time.”

Hermione sat up straighter and sniffed. “I’m not surprised you feel that way.”

“Er—yeah,” Harry said loudly. “How about we talk about Voldemort for a bit?”

Ginny’s voice rang out through the living room, making them jump. “I think that’s a brilliant
idea, actually.”

“Ginny,” Ron said. “Don’t… bloody… *sneak up on people*!”

Ginny flipped her hair over her shoulder and took a seat in front of them. “I’ve been doing some
research,” she said.

Ron’s voice was dubious. “Research?”

“Yes, Ron, *research*,” Ginny said. “Since you lot won’t tell me anything, Lupin and Tonks
have been helping me out. They think I’ve got a good idea.”

“Idea?” Ron said. “What d’you mean, ‘idea’?”

Ginny shot Ron a disgusted look. “If you’d like to look the term up, I could summon you a
dictionary.”

Ron angrily opened his mouth, but Hermione shushed him with a hand on his shoulder. “There’s no
harm in hearing what she has to say.”

Ginny looked grateful. “There’s this really powerful spell, old magic, dating back to the time
of Merlin. It’s called an Unbreakable Vow.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed. “Go on.”

“It’s what Snape used when Malfoy…” Ginny trailed off. “Unbreakable Vows can be unpredictable,
but they almost always work. It ties two people together. It’s an ancient magic that comes from
everything You-Know-Who can’t understand. Loyalty, devotion… love.” Ginny’s eyes flicked to Harry.
“This is it. Our chance. If this spell was strong enough to bring about Dumbledore’s end, well,
turnabout is only fair play.”

Hermione glanced around—Ron was frowning, face screwed up as he thought. Harry looked surprised
but interested.

“What are you saying, Ginny?” he said.

“I’m saying…” she kept her eyes on his face, her look determined. “We can do this, Harry. You
and me. It’ll give you power, I know it will. I’ve done all the research. I understand that you
want me out of this fight, I do—but there’s only so long I can tolerate you being all
noble-like.”

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, holding their breath and waiting for an answer.

“How does it work?” Harry said.

Encouraged, Ginny pulled a slip of paper out of her back pocket. “It requires a third caster—but
it’s definitely doable. There’s loads of fancy stuff, mushy handholding and the like, but it
*works*. I can give you strength; promise to help you defeat him. ”

“Right,” Harry said. “Sounds easy. What’s the catch?”

Ginny’s smile faltered. “It’s risky.”

“How risky?”

“If I don’t…” she glanced at the paper in her hand. “The Vow is binding. I must do what I
promise.”

“I see,” Harry said. There was a long moment of silence while they all stared at him. Finally,
Harry pulled himself to his feet, face troubled. “No. It won’t work.”

Without another word, he left the room. Ginny watched him go. Her chin trembled once, but she
pulled herself together and turned her attention to Hermione.

“This can work,” she said. “I’ve been checking and double-checking for weeks.”

She passed Hermione the parchment. Her fingers trembling, Hermione unfolded it. Her eyes scanned
the Latin written in Ginny’s sprawling handwriting.

“Research it, go over it, whatever you want,” Ginny said. “Just don’t give it up. Lupin said
that this would help balance the scale. Snape using it might even have helped us. Hermione, I can
*do* this. I’m the seventh child. Mum always said that would mean something. It’s the most
powerful number, you know, seven is. I’ll—” Ginny stopped and her eyes grew fiercer. “I wouldn’t
have done all this if I thought it was hopeless. I can *do* this, Hermione. I need to.”

Hermione nodded. “This is solid spell work.”

Ron grabbed the parchment from her hands and turned it upside down. “Gin, this plan, dontcha
think it’s a good way to get yourself killed?”

“You’re an idiot, Ron. I have just as much a chance of dying safe at home.” Ginny hefted her
chin. “I made my decision when Voldemort attacked us at the Burrow.”

Ron jumped at hearing his little sister say Voldemort’s name. He narrowed his eyes. “Ginny, you
can’t… you can’t—just… just… why do you always have to meddle?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and focused on Hermione again. “So? Can we do this?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. She stood up on shaky legs. “I… it’s a good idea, Ginny. I’m very
impressed.”

Ginny brightened. “I knew I could convince you, Hermione. If you help me, I know we can get
Harry to—”

Hermione held out a hand. She tried to smile, but her stomach was a twist of knots. “Don’t get
too helpful, Ginny. Just… let me talk to him.”

“Okay,” Ginny said. She paused, breathless. “Thank you.”

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to respond. She could feel Ron’s accusing eyes on her back as
she left them behind in the living room.

She found Harry in his room, curled up on the window-seat with Hedwig on his lap. His fingers
gently stroked her neck, but his eyes were focused on the window. White frost zigzagged across the
pane.

“Harry?”

He didn’t respond, so Hermione went and sat next to him. Hedwig hooted and crawled forward to
nip at her fingers.

“I looked at Ginny’s spell. It’s very solid. She obviously spent a long time making sure it
could work. It’s…” Hermione dropped her voice, keeping it even. “It might be what we need to win
this thing, Harry. She’s right—if this is what defeated Dumbledore, then—”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“Harry—”

“*No*.”

“Harry, please… I—I want to.”

Harry swallowed. “We’ll find some other way.”

“There’s no other way,” Hermione said. “This ought to be—”

Hermione stopped, understanding that Harry’s reaction came from his emotional side. He was
simply looking for *anything* to prevent what she was offering to do. He’d already given in;
the rational part of him understanding this was their best shot.

She nudged Hedwig away and leaned forward, crawling into Harry’s arms. She let her head rest on
his chest. One of his hands skimmed down her hair, fingers brushing it behind her ear. The other
arm curled around her back, pulling her close. His lips touched her forehead. For a long time,
neither of them said anything. Light dimmed outside and shadows sprang up through the room.

Hermione knew that outside their embrace, reality would come back. They’d have to be honest with
Ron and Ginny about something they’d kept hidden for months. They’d have to perform a spell that
could take both their lives. And they’d have to come up against Voldemort in what would be the most
important fight of her life.



16. Chapter 16
--------------

**Title**: All Nights (16/18)
**Author**: Goldy
**Summary**: Harry and Hermione finally tell the truth about their relationship as the threat of
the final battle draws closer.
**Keywords:** Harry/Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Horcrux!plot, Voldemort.
**Spoilers**: Books 1-6
**Word Count**: 5, 657
**A/N**: I could give lots of reasons for why this update took me so long. School, finals, my
shiny new *Firefly* obsession, but… it really shouldn’t have taken *two months*. So… big
thank you to everyone who’s been patient. Two more chapters to go.

***

Ron and Ginny were still in the living room when they came down. She and Harry couldn’t have
been gone for more than an hour, but Hermione felt different. Changed. Her relationship with Harry
was real in a way it hadn’t been before. They were both older, less naïve. It was time to stop
hiding.

Time to step forward.

“Let’s… talk,” Harry said, sitting down on the couch. He wiped his palms on his thighs and
avoided looking at Ron and Ginny.

Hermione stood in the doorway, arms folded over her chest, body stiff.

Ron seemed resigned. He sat back and nodded. Ginny’s head snapped back and forth between Harry
and Hermione.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Your spell’s a good idea,” Hermione said. She kept her voice calm and even. “We want to do
it.”

Ginny sat up straight. “You mean… I… really?”

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face. “Ginny, it’s a brilliant researched piece of work and
I’m grateful, but…” Harry sighed. “I can’t let you do this.”

“What?” Ginny said, eyes bright. “But Hermione said—”

“*Hermione* is going to do it with me,” Harry said. “She’s… she volunteered and I—er, I
think it’s for the… best.”

Ginny glanced at Hermione and back over again. “I don’t—I don’t understand…”

Harry looked down at his hands. “Ginny, I…”

“Oh…” Ginny said, voice catching on a whisper. “Oh.”

Without a word, Ron stood, brushed off his pants and left the room. Hermione bit her lip and met
Harry’s eyes. *I should go after him*. Harry nodded.

“Ron,” she said, catching up to him. “Oh, Ron…”

He turned to look at her, good humor gone from his eyes.

“How long?”

She blinked and reached for him, but he flinched away. Instead, she linked her fingers in front
of her, heart thumping.

“What do you mean?”

“*How long*?” Ron said, voice shaking. “How long have you and Harry…”

Hermione avoided his eyes. “We’ve never really officially—”

Ron laughed, a broken sort of noise. He clamped his hand to his mouth to stop himself and turned
away. “A long time, then.”

The hurt in his voice shot through her and she wiped at her eyes. “Yes.”

“Brilliant,” Ron said. “I… brilliant.”

“Oh, Ron,” she whispered. “We were so afraid… so frightened by what we felt for each other. We
didn’t know how to—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ron said, voice rising. “You’re trying to make yourself feel better.
Always trying to rationalize everything, Hermione, you are. I mean, I *knew*! I didn’t
*know*, but *I knew*. I just…”

“Didn’t want to believe we’d hide from you,” Hermione said dully. “But—oh—oh, Ron—it was so
terribly confusing. I fancied you for so long, and everything was so hurtful last year.”

“That’s not fair!” Ron said. “You can’t blame me for—”

“I’m not!” Hermione said, wringing her hands. “I want you to understand! That’s all!”

Ron wiped at his nose. “I can’t believe Harry would…”

Hermione took a startled step backwards. Her chest hitched. “Would what, Ron? Like me? Love
me?”

“That’s not…” Ron trailed off and fixed his eyes to the floor. “Thought he fancied Ginny, is
all.”

“Well!” Hermione said, trying to pull herself together. Unshed tears made her vision blurry.
“Honestly, Ron… even if you never wanted me, it doesn’t mean no one else could.”

“I never said that.”

“But you’ve always been that way,” she said, voice breaking. “Ever since Viktor took me to that
brainless ball!”

Ron’s mouth bobbed open. “I was bloody fourteen-years-old!”

“And nothing’s changed!” Hermione said. Ron winced at the shrillness in her voice. “Harry loves
me and he respects me and it ought to make you happy for me.”

“I am—I mean, I… Hermione, that’s not the point!” Anger came back into his voice and his ears
reddened. “The pair of you have been snogging for ages and you never told me.”

“Well, we… split up…” Hermione mumbled. “For a while.”

Ron looked incredulous. “That makes me feel loads better. Thanks.”

Hermione flushed. “Ron, I… I’m really, really sorry.”

He regarded her for a moment, mouth still hanging open, arms locked against his sides.

“Ron, say something.”

He closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. He shook his head and turned to go.

***

Hermione’s room was still a disaster. They did their best to clean it after destroying the
Horcruxes, but her dresser was cracked. Her mattress felt uneven and cold air from outdoors seeped
through the windowpane. The magic they had done left an imprint. It staled after a few days, but
Hermione suspected remnants would stay forever.

She’d kept the Defractor. It sat on her desk, seemingly innocent and harmless. Professor Lupin
had been right—it made an excellent paperweight.

There was a knock on her door. “Come in.”

Harry poked his head in and shut the door behind him. “Hi.”

She smiled. “How did it go?”

“Well, er…” Harry thought for a minute. “She didn’t try and hex me.”

Hermione gave a broken laugh. “She has every right to be angry.”

“I dunno,” Harry said. “I never *asked* her to look up the Unbreakable Vow. Never said we
were getting back together, either.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said sadly. “Everyone thought you would eventually reunite.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry hesitated. “People change. I never promised her anything.” He fiddled with
the bottom of his shirt. “How about Ron?”

Hermione hugged her pillow to her chest and shrugged. “He’s… angry.”

“Oh.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Do you…” she trailed off and sighed. She couldn’t seem to say it. She wasn’t even certain what
it was she *wanted* to say. “Do you think it’ll happen soon? Fighting Voldemort, I mean.”

Harry hesitated. “Yeah. I think it’ll be soon.”

Hermione nodded. “I know so. I just… I wish we had more time.”

“More time for what?” Harry said.

She rubbed her upper-arms, suddenly chilled. “To… to not *die*,” Hermione whispered. Her
throat felt parched. “I’ve been *such* an idiot, these last few weeks. We lost so much time…
what if—if we—”

She stopped and pressed a fist to her mouth. Hot tears sprang into her eyes. Her conversation
with Ron, the strain of the last few weeks…everything seemed to crash into her at once. Her
nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, pushing it back inside. It wasn’t time to fall apart.
Not yet. She couldn’t afford it yet.

Harry moved towards her, face troubled. “Hermione, c’mon, don’t…”

She couldn’t help smiling, amused by his panic at the thought of tears. She shook her head to
signify that she was alright and reached for his hand. She tugged him down next to her.

“Hermione, I never wanted to bring you into this—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips and he stopped, swallowing. His eyes scanned her face,
questioning her.

She reached for his glasses and dropped them on the floor next to the bed. He watched her
silently, unable to turn away, waiting. She licked her lips and let her open hand rest on his
cheek.

She kissed him. Gently, waiting for him to respond, wanting the decision to go on resting in his
hands. She pulled away, staying close enough so that she felt his breath along her chin. There was
a moment and then his hand crept to her neck, his fingers smoothing back and forth until she
shivered. He coaxed her closer until they were kissing again.

Her arms were around his neck and the kiss became more intense, lips pressing against teeth,
tongues pushing into mouths. He pushed her down until he was hovering over, on top of her,
everywhere, until she was lost. This moment in time and them—in this room—it became the only thing
in her world.

***

He couldn’t stop touching her. He kissed her neck and her shoulder and her chin and cheek. She
smiled and let her arm curl around his neck. She felt… content. Sated. Relaxed.

“Why’d we stop doing this again?” he murmured, giving her a feather-light kiss.

“Oh, I was rather…” Hermione gave a sleepy yawn. “Perhaps I’ve made better decisions than that
one.”

He rolled his eyes. “I dunno. Maybe we needed to take time.” He traced the curve of her chin
with the pads of his fingers. “To make sure… it was real.”

“Maybe,” said Hermione doubtfully.

Harry grinned and kissed her. “I love you.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “It’s a bit pathetic, really.”

“Well, forget it, then,” he said. “I’m only using you for sex.”

She smacked him on the arm. “My hexes are better than yours.”

“You’ve got a point,” Harry admitted. “Okay, it’s *good* sex.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She traced his cheek with her fingertips and snuggled closer to him.
“It feels right when we’re together like this, doesn’t it?”

Harry turned serious. His voice was soft, lips near her ear when he answered. “The last few
weeks… I thought it was for the best, not putting each other first, but it’s stupid, Hermione. If I
can’t put you first, what’ve I got to fight for?”

“Really good sex?” She offered, but it was weak and she sighed. “You’re right, Harry. We… we
ought to do this together.”

She felt him tense. “Yeah… about that.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said. She disentangled herself and sat up. “What is it?”

“The Unbreakable Vow…I know we ought to do it, but, Hermione…Voldemort’s my responsibility. When
it comes to it, *I* need to be the one to off him.” Harry swallowed. “You understand that,
right?”

She reached for his hand and ran her thumb along his knuckles. “Of course.”

“Hermione, I *mean* it,” Harry said. “It’s about me and him in the end. Whatever happens, I
need you to… be safe.”

He looked so troubled that she relented. Safe—no one would be safe once they took the fight to
Voldemort. But if he needed to think she would stay apart from the finally confrontation…

She met his eyes. “I’ll stay safe, Harry. I promise.”

He looked down and nodded. His voice shook. “Good. I… good.”

***

They couldn’t avoid the Weasleys forever. At first, Hermione was consumed by reuniting with
Harry. They talked and they bickered and they kissed (and, sometimes, they did more than kiss), but
it all came back to the idea of *them*. For the first time, she felt like they were in a
relationship. Friend, boyfriend, lover, partner… nothing seemed to satisfactorily describe what
Harry was to her.

But they were no longer acting a part. Gone were the days of secret kisses and hiding affection.
They were no longer standing on the edge of something fragile.

She tried Ginny first, finding her hunched over a *Witch Weekly* magazine, Arnold the Pygmy
Puff on her shoulder. Ginny did not look good. Her eyes were tired, and her face pale, making her
freckles stand out. Her hair drooped limply along her shoulders.

“Ginny… hi.”

Ginny did not look up from her magazine. “Hi, Hermione.”

“Can we… talk?”

Ginny slammed the magazine shut and leaned back. “Alright.”

Hermione gave a weak smile. “I don’t suppose you’ll make this very easy for me.”

Ginny did not smile back. “Funny how that happens after betrayal.”

*Betrayal*… Hermione sighed. “I know,” she said. “I would be terribly upset if it were me.
But Ginny, I… had to do what I… there are bigger things at stake.”

“You should have told me earlier,” Ginny said, face crumbling as she tried to hold in her
emotions. “I never would have… I thought Harry…”

“Oh, Ginny,” she murmured. “Harry is… he is so grateful for what you gave him last year. For the
first time in his life, he was able to experience what it felt like to be normal. But, please,
Ginny… what happened with him… we never planned it—”

“Stop,” Ginny said suddenly, face twisting. “I don’t care.”

“Alright,” Hermione said. “But I want you to know how sorry I am.”

Ginny’s head snapped up, her eyes fiery. “Apologizing won’t…” she narrowed her eyes. “How did
you get him, Hermione? Was Ron not good enough? You and I both know Harry’s never looked at you
that way. You were friends for six year and in all that time, he never—”

“Ginny, don’t,” Hermione said warningly. “Don’t.”

Ginny bowed her head and clenched her fists against the floor. “It’s not fair. I waited so long…
it’s not fair. I feel like I’ve spent my whole life waiting for him and now he doesn’t want me.”
Ginny’s voice caught and she wiped at her eyes. “Last year, I thought—he said… what he said when we
split up… Hermione, you don’t understand. He—” she rubbed at her cheeks to stop her tears.

Hermione could not listen anymore. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Ginny studied her, eyes probing. Hermione flushed, feeling like she was being examined inside
out. *What do you have that I don’t?*

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said again. And left.

***

She found Harry in the kitchen, a mug of tea in his hand. He had a book propped open in front of
him and he leaned against the countertop. Frown lines etched along his forehead and his lips
mouthed the words as he read.

“I don’t reckon it’s going to be easy doing this… spell… thing,” he said without looking up.
“It’s s’posed to be dark magic, you know—”

“Harry.”

He glanced up and something in her expression caught him because he closed the book and came
towards her. She met him halfway, allowing him to fold her into a hug. She pressed her face to his
shoulder and held onto him.

“Hey…” he said, fingers brushing her hair back and curving behind her ear. “What’s up?


She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“I… alright,” he said skeptically. She closed her eyes and relaxed.

His fingers continued to run through her hair, the motions meant to soothe her. Comfort. Safety.
That’s what it meant to be with Harry. She wondered if that’s what she was to him—if she could
momentarily help him forget what it meant to be the Boy Who Lived.

His hands ran down her arms and he held her in front of him, eyes perusing her face. One hand
cupped her cheek, his fingers brushing back and forth.

“Hermione?”

She took a deep breath before answering. “Doing this… this spell with me… that’s the right
choice, isn’t it? You wouldn’t rather… with Ginny…”

She trailed off, a chill descending along the back of her neck. Harry didn’t say anything and
she blushed. Was he angry? Was it fair for her to question him?

He grasped her chin and tilted her face up, leaning down to kiss her. The kiss was lazy, the way
he knew she liked. She closed her eyes, arms winding their way around his neck. He pulled her
closer as the kiss heated up. She leaned on the counter and he braced himself against her.

“Ahem.”

Harry broke away, a horrified look on his face. She followed his gaze and froze.

“Ron.”

Ron shifted uncertainly on his feet. “You two, er… you seem busy…”

He turned to go. She and Harry shared a look and ran after him.

“Ron, wait,” Harry said. “We, hang on—”

Ron turned around, face pale. “I guess I kind of killed the mood, eh?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Harry said, grinning. “You’ve never had great timing.”

Ron glared at him. “That’s s’posed to make me feel better, is it?

Harry winced. “D’you want to, you know, punch me? I’ll take my glasses off.”

Ron seemed tempted. Finally, he shrugged. “Seems unfair to punch a bloke about to get himself
killed.”

“Thanks for that,” Harry said, but he sounded cheerful. Both he and Ron shot Hermione
see-everything-is-okay-now looks.

Hermione rolled her eyes. *Honestly*…

“So,” Ron said. “This… spell. You need a Bonder, right?”

Harry and Hermione shared a look. “Yeah, Ron,” Harry said. “We do.”

Ron shrugged. “Best be me, right?”

Hermione stared before letting out a large sniffle and throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Ron! I
was so scared—I thought you’d never speak to me again. I couldn’t *bear* that, Ron, honestly I
couldn’t.”

“I… yeah,” Ron said, patting her awkwardly on the head. “I mean, we’re not… we never… it’s good
you two…” Ron stopped. “Okay, I’ll need some time, but I’m not backing away from you yet. Even if I
think this new plan is bloody idiotic.”

“Ron, that’s so…” Harry trailed off, “sweet.”

“Well, it’s not like I had no idea,” Ron said, disentangling himself from Hermione. “Though I
might have to burn my eyes out now that I’ve seen you snog.”

Harry laughed. Hermione continued to sniff.

“Alright,” Ron said, shrugging. “I want to do this spell.”

Harry grinned. “Dunno, Ron, I reckon we’re looking for a really powerful wizard.”

“Watch it,” Ron said. “I might take back my new forgiving attitude.”

“I better behave, then,” Harry said dryly.

“Ron, I’m so glad!” Hermione said, beaming. “It should work better this way, you know. It ought
to be more powerful, with the connection the three of us share… thank you.”

Ron blushed and tugged at his ear. “Yeah, well, someone had to be the bigger man.”

Harry gave a derisive snort.

“Harry!” Hermione said warningly.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said. He clapped Ron on the arm. “You’re the bigger man. All that.”

Harry looked smug as he left them alone. Hermione watched him go with a fond smile, grateful he
sensed their need for some privacy.

Ron shuffled uncomfortably, face aflame. “All that stuff you said before… about me being
surprised when someone, you know…” Ron cleared his throat. “Goes to show, you always managed to
miss the point. I wanted to *be* that bloke. And I never could… quite do it. But I
*tried* and….” He swallowed. “Anyway, I can’t compete with Harry.”

“Ron…” she whispered. “You ought to have said this to me six months ago. I wanted… well, it
would have made me happy once.”

Ron stared at the floor. “I never reckoned I was good enough. And you always went out of your
way to make certain I knew so.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose I did.”

“I never *really* wanted to be with Lavender,” he said honestly. “But it was easier… puffed
me up some to know she fancied me. I wish I’d done it differently. Even if you and Harry ended up…
I should have had a chance, is all.”

A lump gathered in Hermione’s throat and she read the regret in Ron’s eyes. She couldn’t quite
keep herself from dwelling on what *could* have been. Easier, perhaps. Harry brought with him
constant complications and dull aches. And yet…

“I love him, Ron,” she said. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s important you know. I …
I love Harry.” She cracked a smile. “In that pathetic, all-consuming way too. Drives me just about
mad sometimes, really.”

Ron bit down on his bottom lip and nodded. “Figured as much,” he said shakily. “Do you think
you’ve always…”

“Maybe,” Hermione said. “But—oh, oh, Ron—don’t think I never cared for you because you know I
did!”

He blinked. “Yeah, alright. I appreciate you saying so.”

“Ron… don’t be mad, please don’t. Things are so uncertain…” she faltered and tried to reach for
him but he pulled away. “After we kill Voldemort—yell all you want, but not now. I couldn’t bear
it, if something happened and…”

“Hermione, I *know*,” he said. “Why d’you think I’m offering this? I can’t seem to shake
the feeling that we’re walking into something royally stupid.” He paused. “You and Harry lied to me
for months. It’s not—Hermione, that’s not okay. But you’re my best friends. I can’t let you die
without me.”

He shrugged as he finished his explanation. *There*, he seemed to say, *what do you make
of that*?

Hermione wiped at her eyes and stood on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a good
friend.”

***

They went over the spell again and again. Re-wording it. Attempting to mould it to a form that
would suit them best.

“How much dark magic do you reckon we’ll be invoking here?” Ron asked.

“Hopefully as little as possible,” Harry mumbled.

“You’re both missing the point entirely,” Hermione said impatiently. “Professor Snape said we
have to outlast Voldemort’s power. *That’s* where the Unbreakable Vow comes into play.” They
both stared at her and she huffed. “Oh, honestly… it’s simple. I vow to give Harry as much of my
magical strength as he needs. Then all he has to do is wait for Voldemort to exhaust himself.”

Ron looked dubious. “Simple?”

“Ron your job is going to be Nagini. Take the Defractor with you—”

“*What*?!” Ron demanded. “I can’t—are you—I’m not going near that thing! It’s not even a
normal snake, Hermione!”

“We can’t kill Voldemort unless all the Horcruxes are destroyed. Ron…” her voice turned gentle.
“We need you on this. It’s our only shot.”

“But…” his voice turned desperate. “What if I… I’m not the powerful one—”

“Yes, you are,” Harry interrupted. “You’ll do it, Ron. Because you have to.”

Ron clamped his mouth shut, face pale. He nodded.

“Alright,” Hermione said, shaky. “Harry, I’ll stay with you as long as possible. I’ll give you
the time and room to kill him. We’ll talk to the Order and get a force against the Death Eaters.”
She thought for a moment. “We’ll contact the D.A.—Neville, Dean, Seamus, Luna… we’ll need as many
people as possible. We’ll have to surprise them. They’ll be too strong if they know we’re
coming.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll stay together as long as possible?”

“Yes,” Hermione said.

Harry looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or worried. Ron sat down and scrubbed
his hands over his face, his shoulders hunched over.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” he said. “I always reckoned we’d be preparing
forever, you know. Fighting and teasing each other… researching… not… this. Feels too soon.”

“Ron—” Hermione said, not sure whether she wanted to hug or smack him. “I’m not sure this is
*really* the best time to fall apart.”

Harry shook his head. “He’s right. It does… it’s too soon.”

The three of them held eye contact for a moment. Hermione tried to think of something comforting
to say and couldn’t.

“Best to get it over with, then,” Ron said. “What d’you reckon?”

Harry shrugged and looked at Hermione. “You ready for this?”

She reached for his hands and did not hesitate. “Yes.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Gross.”

Harry didn’t look over. “*Ron*, we’re not even… after all the times you and Lavender—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ron said. “Okay, how do we do this again?”

“Ron!” Hermione said.

“Kidding,” Ron said quickly. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Ron, if you kills us, I’m going to come back as a ghost and read you passages from *Hogwarts:
A History*,” Hermione said.

Ron grinned and flashed a thumb’s up. “No worries.”

***

It was rather amazing, Hermione thought, the magic the three of them could channel. Power that
shook the floor and singed their eyebrows. First the Defractor and now…

Harry’s hand was warm and his fingers gripped hers; painful, firm, comforting. She gazed into
his eyes and didn’t look away. She focused her entire being on him, until she could feel the magic
in the air, connecting them, holding them together.

Ron’s voice never faltered. She couldn’t make out the words, but she heard his voice; warm and
steady. She mouthed the right words and Harry repeated them back. He smiled at her, a little
lopsided, but it was real and tangible.

The magic crackled around them. Harry’s fingers dug into her arms. She could feel their
connection flow to life, tied by the magic Ron summoned. Unbreakable. Yes, Hermione thought, they
were.

***

“Wow,” Harry said. “That was…”

“Wicked,” Ron breathed. “Way better than using that Defractor thingie.”

They looked at Hermione and she cracked a smile. In truth, she felt dizzy and drained.

“It was… very intense,” she finally said.

Harry frowned and moved towards her. “Are you okay?”

She hesitated. “I’m—”

Hermione never finished her sentence. A curdling scream exploded through the quiet of Grimmauld
Place. It stopped and then started again, the shrieking so loud it pierced Hermione’s ears.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other.

“That’s… that’s Mum,” Ron whispered.

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth. Mrs. Weasley’s screaming continued.

“C’mon,” Harry said, flinging the door open. Ron and Hermione followed him, running in the
direction of the scream. They found themselves outside Ginny’s room. Harry stopped and put an arm
out to hold them back.

Mrs. Weasley was no longer screaming. Harry went in first, wand out in front of him. Hermione
went behind him, shooting Ron a worried look. Harry went still and Hermione banged into him. He
flung out his arm to hold her back and grabbed her hand instead, his grip desperate.

“Mum…” Ron said, voice hoarse. He pushed past Harry and Hermione. Charlie had arrived first and
he had his arm around Mrs. Weasley’s shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Lupin said, arriving. He looked around and paled. “Merlin…”

Mrs. Weasley gave a small cry and pressed her face to Charlie’s shoulder.

“Arthur,” she said. “Where…”

“We’ll get him, Mum, don’t worry,” Charlie said. “Remus?”

Lupin started. “I’ll contact the Order. We’ll track her down, Molly. We’ll…” Lupin trailed off
and struggled. “We won’t let them get away with this.”

Mrs. Weasley began sobbing.

“Oh… Mum, don’t,” Charlie said.

Ron patted Mrs. Weasley on the shoulder, his hand trembling. His face was pale. He glanced over
at Harry and Hermione.

“Harry,” he said. “We…”

“I know,” Harry said, voice steely, his grip tightening on Hermione’s hand.

“Why…” Mrs. Weasley said. “I don’t understand.”

“Shh, Mum… it’s alright…” Charlie murmured. His eyes were on the wall behind her head.

Ginny’s Pygmy Puff had been nailed to the wall, a large spike driven through his throat. Above
it, scrawled in red, was a message.

Tomorrow.

Arnold’s blood dripped down the wall, collecting in a pool on the floor. His eyes were wide
open, staring unseeingly at the people gathered in Ginny’s room.

Hermione felt her stomach heave, and she turned into Harry’s arms. *Breathe, breathe,
breathe*… she thought. Harry rubbed her back and she could feel his heart beating against her
ear.

“She’s not dead,” Harry said aloud.

“Harry,” Charlie said in alarm. “We can’t—it’s a trap—”

“So what?” Harry yelled. He removed himself from Hermione and stomped over to the wall. “If he
wants this fight tomorrow, we’ll give it to him. We will be ready and we will find Ginny
alive.”

“But… but, Harry…” Ron croaked. “How’re we—”

“We’ll call the Order, the D.A.,” Harry said. “It doesn’t matter. This is it, Ron. *This*
is our chance. If Voldemort wants the way tomorrow, we’ll give it to him.”

“How?” Ron said, voice strangled. “How could this happen? How could he… it makes no sense.”

“It was Ginny,” Hermione said, voicing the thing everyone was thinking. Lupin averted his gaze
to the floor and nodded.

“The diary,” Harry said heavily. “He must’ve been bidding his time all along. Using Ginny to spy
on us… all these years. Son of a bitch.”

No one reacted to his strong language.

“But, Harry,” Charlie said. “You destroyed the diary. How…?”

“It didn’t matter,” Lupin said. “He’d already gotten inside her. Harry’s right. I think… I think
Dumbledore always suspected something of this sort could happen.”

Mrs. Weasley let out a choked scream, and Charlie tightened his hold on her, leading her out of
the room. They watched them go in silence.

“It makes no sense,” Hermione said, tears pooling in her eyes. “I mean, she couldn’t have been
possessed all this time, could she?”

She met Harry’s eyes and knew what he was thinking. Last year, if Ginny had been controlled by
Voldemort… their whole relationship could have been a lie.

Hermione looked away. She had nothing to comfort him with.

“I hope not,” Harry finally said. “She probably had no idea he was there, I reckon. This isn’t
her fault, what’s happened.”

They all nodded.

“D’you… Harry…” Ron said. “Is she still alive?”

Harry hesitated. “I… dunno. Maybe.”

Ron scrubbed at his face. “I don’t… I don’t understand. Why take Ginny. Why?”

“Because…” Harry said. “She made it easy for him. And he knows we’ll come. If there’s even a
small chance she’s still alive, we’ll come.”

Ron looked like he was going to be sick. He gestured to the direction Mrs. Weasley and Charlie
disappeared and followed them.

Lupin crouched down in front of the Pygmy Puff. “It would be impossible for Voldemort to find
his was into Grimmauld Place. It was either Ginny or…”

Lupin trailed off, the alternative too horrifying to consider.

“It was Ginny,” Harry said. “Professor, you’ll run some tests?”

Lupin studied Arnold with cool detachment. “Yes. I’ll see what I can turn up.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Good. Hermione—”

“I’ll contact the D.A.,” she said, forcing down the nausea. “Are you okay?”

Harry looked at her, but Hermione felt like he was staring right through her. “Fine. Let’s get
this thing done.”

***

Within hours, Grimmauld Place was crawling with people. The Order: Tonks, Lupin, McGonagall,
Kingsley Shaklebolt, Madame Maxime. The D.A.: Seamus, Dean, Neville, Luna, Lee Jordan, even
Zacharias Smith and Cho Chang.

The house transformed into a war zone. Makeshift beds were set up all over the main floor. A
large pot of soup boiled in the kitchen. D.A. and Order members split into groups; planning
strategy, practicing curses, timing. They were preparing for a Hogwarts battled—there seemed to be
no doubt on that fact. Hogwarts would be the end—in one way or another.

“You’re all aware that this is really, really dangerous, right?” said Harry, when he saw
everyone who showed up.

“And if we can’t win tomorrow, Harry?” Seamus asked. “What’s it going to be then?”

Harry shrugged. “Not so good.”

“He took Ginny,” said Dean. “I want in on this fight.”

Harry and Dean shared a long look. Finally, Harry nodded and glanced away.

“What do you want us to do?” Cho asked.

“Buy us time,” Harry said. “Work with the Order. Hex as many Death Eaters as you can.”

There was nervous laughter and Harry smiled.

Mrs. Weasley lay sedated in her room. Arthur had returned with Lupin, his face haggard and aged.
He wandered slowly through the house, checking on Mrs. Weasley, and comforting his sons.

Hermione forced smiles at old schoolmates and shook hands. Her mind was on Harry, however, and
she eventually made her excuses and went looking for him.

He was alone in his room, sitting on the bed and half-heartedly practicing curses.

“Harry,” she said softly, feeling cautious. Ever since Ginny disappeared, it felt like he’d
enacted an invisible wall between them. If their Unbreakable Vow was to work, Hermione knew she’d
have to find a way to break it down. And quickly.

He looked up. “Hey.”

“Can I…?”

He shrugged.

She came and sat down next to him. “How are you?”

“Brilliant,” he said, shooting another curse out of his wand. He stared at the red sparks dully.
“Never been better. How about you?”

“I don’t really…” Hermione looked down at her hands. “I don’t suppose I’m feeling much of
anything right now.”

“Doing the Unbreakable Vow took a lot out of you, didn’t it?” he said. He glanced over in
concern. “We’ve got a big battle coming up in the morning.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I’ll be alright.”

Harry gestured her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. He
pressed his lips to her forehead and she allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief.

“I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you. I’m sorry that we might
never….”

“Shhh,” she said.

He closed his mouth and kissed her cheek and corner of her mouth. “Amazing how many people are
here to help us, innit?”

“It might come as somewhat of a surprise to you, Harry, but you inspire a tremendous amount of
loyalty.”

He blinked a few times. “That is… good, right?”

“I’d say so.” She let her eyes drop shut, head pillowed on Harry’s shoulder.

“I feel like there’s so much I ought to be telling you right now.” He paused. “It could be our
last night together, you know.”

She snuggled closer, practically in his lap now. His chin rested on the top of her hair. “Then
don’t say anything at all.”

“I… okay.”

There was knock on the door.

Harry sighed. “Come in.”

Ron’s head poked its way in. “Hi.”

“Ron,” Hermione said. She scrambled out of Harry’s lap, but took hold of his hand instead. She
suddenly wanted to touch both of them, make sure they were both still with her.

“Could be our last night together, you know,” Ron said.

“We know,” Harry and Hermione said in unison.

Hermione gestured him forward, holding out her free hand. Ron took it, settling down on her
other side.

He squeezed Hermione’s hand. “You suppose this is going to work tomorrow? Us going in all
half-cocked?”

“Bound to, isn’t it?” Harry said. “All my stupid plans have worked before, haven’t they?”

“That’s true,” Ron said, perking up.

They laughed before trailing off into silence.

There really wasn’t anything more to say.

***

**Coming up next:** The final battle. Do the Good Guys stand a chance? Who will live and who
will die? Will they rescue Ginny? Is this Voldemort’s end?

TBC in Chapter 17



17. Chapter 17
--------------

Title: All Nights (17/18)
Author: Goldy
Summary: It’s time.
Keywords: Harry/Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Horcrux!plot, Voldemort.
Spoilers: Books 1-6
Word Count: 6, 900

A/N: Sorry for the long wait (I do seem to be saying that a lot, don’t I?). The last chapter
should be out within a few days. Thanks, again, to everyone who has followed me through this
thing.

***

Harry’s kisses were dizzy and frantic, a mess of unrestrained emotion and fear. Down her neck
and the slope of her breasts. He dipped one tongue into her belly button, quirking a smile up at
her when she shifted.

She let her fingers entangle in his hair, and closed her eyes. Maybe she could fade away. Maybe
they could all fade away.

She just wanted it to be over.

***

“You’ll be careful.”

“Yes, Harry. Stop fussing.”

“I’m not fussing. You fuss. Not me.”

“You are too fussing.”

He rolled his eyes, and straightened her shirt. “Bra strap is showing,” he explained.

Hermione blushed. “Oh. Well… thank you.”

He flashed her a sheepish grin. “I reckon it’s my fault, anyway.”

She touched his cheek. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

***

Or maybe she wasn’t quite yet ready for it to be over.

Not when Harry pulled her into an empty room (five hours left, four, no, three… counting never
did her any good). He tugged at her clothes, breath hot and ragged in her ear. He said her name,
once, hands cupping at her bottom, mouth sucking on her neck.

It was over in five minutes, their cries soft and quick. Her fingernails left marks on his
back.

Afterwards, she wanted to make a joke about it being their first quickie.

She didn’t.

It wasn’t the time for jokes.

***

The DA respected Harry. They twitched when he twitched. Their eyes widened when he spoke to
them.

It wasn’t Harry’s magical strength that made him powerful, Hermione realized. It was who he was.
People followed him because they trusted him.

“Okay, Neville… I’m putting you in charge.”

There was a long moment of heavy silence.

Neville squeaked and shot his hand in the air. “Harry, are you mental?”

Harry met his eyes. “You’ll do what you need to do. You’ve got… a good heart, Neville. I reckon
that’s important—the best thing we’ve got. Voldemort can’t make heads or tails of a heart. I hear
he hasn’t got one. Just a dried up prune. Disgusting, really.”

A few people laughed.

“But, Harry…” Neville flushed. “I can’t seem to ever remember curses when I need them most. I
panic. Why would anyone—”

“Neville, if anyone has problem with this, they’re welcome to leave.”

There were a few glances, but no one moved. Neville slowly lowered his arm, his face paling.
“Harry, I have to ask my Gram.”

Seamus snickered, stopping abruptly when Harry gave him a dirty look.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione watched Ron slink out of the room. She touched Harry’s
arm to tell him she was leaving, before hurrying out after him.

“Ron,” she called. “Hang on…”

She jogged to catch up to him, and he turned around, looking tired and haggard.

“It doesn’t seem right,” he said heavily. “Don’t you get it, Hermione? They’re all going to
die.”

“What?” Hermione said. “Ron—oh, you know that’s not true.”

“How can Neville possibly lead *anyone*? He can’t even find his own wand half the
time.”

“Harry thinks he can.”

“Harry thinks he can take down Voldemort. I’m not exactly sure I trust Harry’s judgment,” Ron
muttered.

“Ron, how can you…” Hermione trailed off, her eyes widening, and her voice dropping to a hush.
“Ron, you just said it, didn’t you? You said Voldemort’s name—oh, Ron, I always *knew*—“

“Yeah, whatever,” Ron cut in. He grinned. “I practiced in the toilets. I never made the mirror
crack or anything, so I figured… can’t be that big a deal, can it?”

“I suppose not,” Hermione said. “In the end, it’s just… a name, really.” They stared at each
other a few moments before Hermione turned serious. “Ron, I… if anything happens to me, I—”

“What?” Ron said, suddenly alarmed. “What’s going to happen to you? Don’t be nutters, Hermione.
Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re brilliant! You were casting spells when you were a baby!
If any one of us is going to survive, it’s bound to be you.”

“Yes, well…” Hermione took a moment to be flattered by Ron’s praise before swallowing and moving
forward. “I’ve just got a bad feeling, that’s all.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed. “A bad feeling?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “But you’ll take care of him if… if I don’t… well, you will Ron, won’t
you?”

“Take care of who?” Ron said. “Neville?”

“Ronald Weasley, that is not what I meant, and you well know it.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione, for the last time, not a bloody thing is going to happen to you.
So stop talking about it.”

“*Ron*,” she said again, grabbing his wrists. “Please. It would make me feel better.”

“Harry’s never needed looking after, Hermione,” Ron said, shaking her away. There was a
surprising amount of bitterness behind his words. “He’s not a child. And he’s not your
responsibility. I think he’s learned how to tie his own shoes by now.”

“He very well does need looking after, and you know it!” Hermione said. “You were there, that
first day on the Hogwarts Express—you remember how he was. All lost and confused, only going
forward because he had to! Ron, please.”


Ron bowed his head. “I don’t like that you’re talking this way.”

“I don’t either,” Hermione admitted. “But… I need to be prepared. For everything. That’s… I’ve
always been that way.”

Ron looked up at her. “And what about me?”

“Ron…” Hermione bit her lip. “I can’t say that I’ve always loved Harry, or that I was bound to
end up this way. It was you for a very long time.” Her voice quieted. “It’s just the way of life,
that’s all.”

Ron didn’t say anything. His fingers twisted at the loops on his jeans.

“Ron?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Yeah, Hermione. I’ll look after him. I’ll look after Harry if you kick the bucket. Is that
it?”

“Yes.” She waited a moment. “Ron?”

“*What*?”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

“Oh,” he said. “Fine, then. What is it?”

“Will you close your eyes?”

“Er, why?”

Hermione took a deep breath. She licked her lips. “Because… well, I’m hoping you’ll let me kiss
you.”

“What?” Ron hissed. “Are you… you’re mental. Why are you…?”

“*Ron*,” she said, tears brimming. “*Please*.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it after seeing the look on her face. He closed his eyes.
“I don’t get this. I don’t get any of this.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “I don’t either.”

“You just said you love Harry!”

“I do!” Hermione cried. “But I—I know we never got our time together, and I’m scared I might
die, and can’t you keep your mouth shut for five seconds so I can just *kiss* you and fight
Voldemort without any regrets? Honestly!”

“Harry’s my best mate!” Ron said. “You’re his… girlfriend-like… person. It’s not right,
Hermione.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Hermione said. “In fact, it’s probably best that he doesn’t.”

“Hermione… that’s… that’s lying, is what it is!”

“Oh, you won’t tell him, will you? He is terribly insecure. I’m afraid he won’t understand.”

“*I* don’t understand!” Ron yelped.

“Hush,” Hermione said, “you’re hardly helping matters.” She thought for a moment. “Just one
kiss?”

Ron paused. He looked tempted. “Fine. But not further than that. Okay?”

“But you won’t tell Harry.”

“I won’t tell Harry.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Even if I die and he’s very upset and you’re all he’s got left in the world, you won’t tell
him, will you?”


“Hermione, what kind of heartless idiot do you think I am?”

“Would you *really* like me to answer that?”

Ron screwed up his eyes and leaned forward. “I thought you were going to snog me.”

Hermione wrinkled her brow. “That’s *hardly* appealing.”

“C’mon, Hermione… you were the one who wanted—”

“Oh, very well,” she muttered.

She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a very sweet kiss, a little bit hesitant, maybe, but
not quite as awkward as their first kiss in the library all those months ago. She let him relax
into it, and he eventually leaned forward to cup her cheek. Their tongues touched once, almost as
an afterthought, and they pulled away, shy smiles on both their faces.

“There,” Hermione said, releasing a long breath. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

Ron stared at her for another minute, eyes unfocused and lost in thought. “No. Not
terrible.”

Hermione nodded. “And you’ll take care of him, Ron, won’t you?”

“Yeah, Hermione,” he said. “Harry’s my best mate. It’s not like I’m planning on chucking him and
getting a new one in the near future.”

“Good,” Hermione said. “Thank you.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you… for everything.”

***

They were all planning to hit Hogwarts at the same time. Voldemort had managed to infiltrate the
castle, but Harry and the Order were certain Hogwarts’ magic would still be inclined in their
favour. They were all to Apparate to planned access points, nearest to their separate areas of
attack.

Ten minutes to departure, Hermione held fast to Harry’s hand. They barely talked, both of them
preoccupied with their plan. Let the Order go in first so they could make into the castle
undetected. The DA would go in last, as another distraction. It would be up to Harry and Hermione
to find Voldemort. Ron would go in last and head for Nagini.

Five minutes.

Harry’s grip was sweaty, but he held fast to her fingers. She could feel his pulse beating in
his thumb where it pressed against her wrist.

“I kissed Ron,” she blurted, causing Harry to whip his head around and stare at her. She glanced
away. “Earlier. When you were talking to the DA. I got scared… and I… I kissed him. He didn’t want
to, but I told him I didn’t want any regrets—it wasn’t a very *nice* kiss, I mean, I suppose
it was okay, certainly not my best, obviously, *you’re* my best, Harry, everything about you
is. But… I did. Kiss him, I mean. And I feel awful about it, and thought you should know. Before
we… well, you know.” She waited a moment. “I love you.”

It seemed like the wisest thing to tack on, in retrospect.

When she dared to look back at Harry, he was wearing a rather bemused expression. “You kissed
Ron?”

“I panicked!” Hermione said. “I didn’t mean to! I don’t know what came over me!” She narrowed
her eyes. “*You* haven’t been kissing *Cho*, have you?”

“No,” Harry said. “Course I haven’t. I would never cheat on you.”

“Git,” Hermione said, pushing his arm. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“You just told me you kissed Ron.”

“Because I love *you*!”

“That… Hermione, that makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Hermione said. “I fancied Ron for a long time, and now I love *you…* well,
it’s very confusing. Maybe you ought to have been there. Then it might make more sense.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Right.”

She waited a moment before tugging on his arm. “Harry? You’re not terribly upset, are you?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “You panicked and kissed Ron. I probably would have done the
same.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “This is no time to be funny!”

Harry shrugged. “Hermione, I’m not angry. Honestly, I’m not feeling much besides very terrified.
When we live through this, I promise I’ll get properly upset.”

“Yes, okay,” Hermione said. “That sounds like a nice idea.”

One minute.

***

“Harry—”

Hermione wiped at her nose, reaching blindly for Harry’s arm. She latched on somewhere near his
elbow and he pulled her forward.

He turned and brushed his fingers under her chin. “Hey, are you with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“We’re alright,” Harry said, pulling her down. They crouched just inside the Forbidden Forest,
peering out at Hogwarts through the early morning mist. “We just need to wait for the Order to move
in.”

“Right,” Hermione said, with more bravado than she felt.

Harry noticed the waiver in her voice. He pulled her close to his side. “This is all going to be
over tonight, Hermione.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Sure I can,” Harry said. “Win or lose, it’s over.”

Hermione turned her forehead to rest against his shoulder. “Do you think about it, Harry? What
happens next? I mean, the future?”

Harry hesitated. “Yes,” he said, finally. “All the time.”

“And?”

“Well, all sorts of things,” he said. “We could go back to school.”

Hermione laughed. “Really?”

“Why not?” Harry said. “Then I think we should go with Luna on one of her snorcack
expeditions.”

Hermione sniffed. “Don’t tell me you believe in all that rubbish.”

“Hermione, I really think you’re missing my point,” he said. He gave her a rather awkward kiss
on the cheek. “What do you think about?”

“I haven’t,” she said.

“Well, of course you have,” he said. “You’ve had your entire future planned out since
first-year.”

“I suppose so,” Hermione said. “But I haven’t… I haven’t really thought much about it lately.”
The realization startled her. “I’ve been so focused on… this.”

She trailed off into silence.

Harry turned her around so he could kiss her properly. She instinctively closed her eyes,
letting his mouth coax hers open. His teeth scraped her bottom lip, and she let her tongue dart out
to meet his. He framed her face in his hands, thumbs brushing along her cheeks, under her ear.

They knew every part of each other, now. She recognized each of his kisses. When he was
desperate or lonely, he put everything into the kiss, all his anger and worry. When he was feeling
affectionate and relaxed, he gave her quick open-mouthed kisses, sometimes missing her lips
altogether and hitting her nose. Now his kiss was everything they had already put into words, the
hopes and fears of the battle coming ahead.

One of his hands curved into her hair, fingers moving against the back of her scalp. His cheeks
were rough, not quite clean-shaven. She liked the way it tickled her skin. Small, tiny hurts. Just
Harry.

He pulled away, perhaps sensing something she didn’t, and his eyes instinctively traveled
towards the school. Hermione followed his gaze, chest tightening when Hogwarts’ heavy doors slid
open, each lock disengaging with a deep rumble that echoed over the grounds.

Hermione glanced at Hagrid’s hut, half expecting to see that familiar curl of smoke drifting out
of the chimney. There was nothing there, of course. Hagrid was still in the hospital. He would
probably never be mobile enough to return.

“What is it?” Hermione whispered.

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He didn’t answer, though. His eyes stayed
riveted to the entrance.

“Oh, Merlin… Ginny,” he said.

It was Lucius Malfoy leading her, wand pressed up against her temple. Wind whistled through the
grounds, making little ripples pass over the lake.

Hermione knew there were Order members stationed at various hiding points, most concealed within
the forest. Nothing moved.

“She’s still alive,” Harry said, his breath hot in her ear. “See? Her chest’s moving.”

“She can’t be bait if she’s dead,” Hermione replied, voice hoarse. “Harry… don’t you see? It’s a
trap. They know we’re coming.”

Harry’s chest hitched. “That’s impossible.”

“How else do you explain it, Harry? It’s a trap, they’re going to use Ginny to—”

“To *what*?” Harry demanded. “You’re not suggesting that we *sacrifice* her, are
you?”

Hermione swallowed and shut her mouth. She looked away. “Practically speaking… yes, Harry. One
false move… it could end us all.”

Harry was staring at her like he’d never seen her before.

“Harry…”

Lucius Malfoy chose that moment to speak. His voice rang out, each of his words as clear as if
he was standing next to them.

“THE GIRL IS ALIVE. SHE IS NOT OUR CONCERN. WE WANT HARRY POTTER. IF HE SURRENDERS HIMSELF
WILLINGLY, WE WILL LET HER GO.”

Breathless silence. Hermione couldn’t stop her small moan of horror.

“YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES. AND THEN SHE DIES.”

Lucius threw Ginny to the ground, her body limp and unmoving. Her face and hands were white. He
pointed his wand down at her and waited.

Harry moved forward.

“*What*?” Hermione said. “Harry… *no*.”

“Forget it, Hermione,” he spat. “This is… this is what I have to do. It’s who I am.”

She lunged forward, and grabbed his arm. “Harry, don’t… please… there’s another way…”

“Five minutes is not another way,” Harry said.

“He’ll kill her anyway.”

“No, he won’t. He’s not interested in her. He wants me.”

Harry moved forward again and Hermione tightened her grip. “Harry!”

“Four minutes!” Harry hissed. “I’m doing this, the Order can—”

“Fine!” Hermione said shrilly. “Fine. Alright. But I’m going with you!”

Harry went still. “What?”

“You heard me!” Hermione said. “I’m… I’m coming with you. Harry… I must. I can’t bear the idea
of you going in there alone.”

“*Hermione*, for the love of…” Harry swore and spun on his heels. His grabbed her shoulders
with both hands, leaning down and pinning her into place with his eyes. “I’m going in there
alone.”

“You’re not! I’m going!”

“Don’t be stupid!”

“I’m not the one walking into a *trap*!”

“I have to… I… *listen to me*,” Harry said, breath coming out into harsh pants. He leaned
closer to her. “I can’t think about what I have to do and worry about you at the same time.”

“I… Harry…” she bit her bottom lip. “I want to be with you.”

His mouth opened and closed. “Listen, Hermione… you… the Unbreakable Vow. That’s the point of
it, innit? I mean, I don’t get all of it, not really… but you’re half of it. You’re going in there
with me. I need you… out here. I can’t win in there alone.”

She had to bite back a sob. “Don’t say that, Harry… please, don’t say that…”

“You have to tell them… the Order, I mean… you have to get them going in after me. It’ll be
hard, but… I stand a chance, I think. Voldemort’s going to want to duel with me, I’m sure.”

“But… Oh, Harry… you *know* you won’t last thirty second dueling with Voldemort—”

“Shhh,” he said. “Don’t think about that. I need you to think about breaking down that door
after I’m—”

“THIRTY SECONDS, POTTER.”

This time, Hermione couldn’t hold back her sob.

“Hermione?”


“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, alright. Go.”

For a moment, she thought he might break down right then, but he pulled himself together. He
pulled her forward and kissed her on the forehead before rushing off across Hogwarts’ grounds.

Hermione pressed her fingers to her eyes, holding in her tears. She took a few controlled
breaths before straightening.

Ten seconds.

***

“Hermione.”

Hermione almost let out a high-pitched shriek. She clamped a hand over her mouth and spun
around, completely unprepared for what she found.

It was Firenze; he was pawing at the ground, and throwing his head about in an impatient manner.
There were several other centaurs behind him—and beyond that, Hermione saw a giant, fleshy arm. She
swallowed.

“Grawp?” she said. “You brought him?”

Firenze gave a contemplative look towards the sky. “Hardly. One finds that it is not their place
to tell a giant how to behave.”

“But…” Hermione said, eyeing the centaurs behind Firenze with suspicion. “You are here to help…
aren’t you?”

“We do not help anyone, young fowl,” said one of the centaurs. “We came because Voldemort has
taken our home. We will not stand for that. We offer a temporary truce. Nothing more.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, just in time to watch the Hogwarts’ doors heave shut. Harry
was gone, then.

True to his word, Lucius had left Ginny’s unconscious form sprawled out before the school. She
saw a familiar flash of red hair, and both Weasley twins rushed to her unconscious body. Ginny
would live, then.

Hermione took several deep and measured breaths. It had not been Ginny’s fault, what had
happened. She had been possessed. Harry had done the right thing.

“Yes,” Hermione said, back to the centaurs. “A… a temporary truce. Very good.”

“This was not done for you,” Firenze repeated. “Remember that.”

“I will,” said Hermione. “But honestly… I just… thank you.”

“Do you have a plan, young one?”

Hermione studied Grawp. He sat cross-legged on the forest floor, gnawing on the bottom of a
large tree stump.

“Yes,” she said. She pointed to Hogwarts’ entrance. “I need him… to get us in there.”

Firenze’s expression did not change. “That is your plan.”

“Well… yes, it is,” Hermione said. “Things haven’t really been going the way they ought to up to
this point, so I’m making things up! If you’ve got a better one, I don’t mind hearing it, but until
then, tell Grawp to break down the door!”

“One does not tell a giant what to do,” Firenze said.

“Fine!” Hermione said. “That’s—fine!”

She brushed tree-branches out of the way and stomped towards Grawp. The Order would follow the
initial plan and infiltrate the building at different points. Professor McGonagall would take a
group in through the headmaster’s office, Madam Pomfrey through the hospital wing, Lupin’s group
had the Maurader’s Map—they would go in through Hogsmeade.

It was up to her to get that door open and get to Harry.

“GRAWP,” she hollered. “GRAWPY, YOU LISTEN TO ME!!!”

Grawp turned his immense eyes on her. Firenze and the centaurs sent each other bored looks, and
stomped their hooves.

“WE HAVE GOT TO OPEN THAT DOOR,” Hermione said, waving both her arms at Hogwarts and feeling
like an idiot. “HARRY IS IN THERE. YOU REMEMBER HARRY, DON’T YOU?”

Grawp blinked and took a large bite of his stump.

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione muttered. “Alright… think. Come on… this isn’t so hard. How do you get
a *giant* over *there*? Magic won’t work… won’t feel a thing….” Hermione studied the
giant. “CHOCOLATE, GRAWP, DO YOU LIKE CHOCOLATE?”

Grawp gave her a hideous smile. “HERMY,” he said, voice nearly shaking her off her feet.
“HERMY.”

“Yes, Grawp, that’s right… that’s… you’re a good boy,” she added, lamely. Slowly she began to
back away, gesturing him forward. “Come on, Grawp… follow Hermy… come on…”

Slowly Grawp raised himself to his haunches; studiously watching Hermione’s progress.

Suddenly, Hermione had an idea. “Am I witch or not?” she said. She pulled out her wand.
“*Luminaria*!”

Her wand immediately encased itself in a bright glow; the centaurs hissed at her and shielded
their eyes. Grawp dropped the tree trunk, his gaze riveted.

“That’s right,” Hermione said. “Come get the nice… shiny… stick…”

Turning, she hurried from the Forest, tuned to the crashing of Grawp behind her. They burst onto
Hogwarts’ open grounds—and plunged into a scene of confusion. The DA was left defending the open
territory, and they were badly outnumbered. The Death Eaters were easy to spot, and Hermione shot a
few stunning curses at those in range, diving behind one of Grawp’s haunches when they
retaliated.

The centaurs halted behind her, and pulled out their bow and arrows.

“This is where we leave you, young one,” Firenze said. “We will take down as many of the Death
Eaters as we can. But we will not follow you to the Dark Lord. That is not our place.”

Grawp let out a loud roar and thumped his chest. In one fell swoop, he knocked a pile of Death
Eaters off their feet and into the lake.

“Oh,” Hermione said vaguely. “That’s… too bad.” A movement up ahead caught her eye.
“*Ron*!” She rushed towards him, thankful that Grawp was following—and protecting her.

“Ron!” Hermione said. “Oh, god… Ron!”

“Wha—Hermione… MERLIN, HERMIONE, THAT’S GRAWP! *What’s he doing here*?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. “Come on, we have to get inside the castle.”

“Bu—I dunno, Hermione—”

“We are going after Harry!” she shrieked. “We’ve already lost so much time, Ron! He could be
dead—or worse, tortured!”

Ron blinked. “How is that—”

“This is *really* not the time to deconstruct my sentence structure, Ron!” she hissed. “We
just—we have to—*go*.”

She pulled him ahead, staying within the safe shield of Grawp’s body. The giant had fully
immersed himself in the battle—batting Death Eaters away like they were small bugs. Every time he
sent one flying through the air, his body rumbled with his chuckles.

“That’s really quite disturbing,” Ron said in her ear. “Hermione, are you sure this is such a
good idea? What if Harry’s got a plan?”

She gave him a severe look and continued forward. “I am part of that plan, and, anyway,
*you* need to find Nagini—if you don’t… well, Harry’s in loads of trouble, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said, shooting a curse at a Death Eater that flew at them. “I think I’ve got
that Detractothingie in my pocket somewhere.”

“Honestly, Ron, the biggest battle of our entire lives, and you couldn’t be any less prepared,
could you?”

“Oi!” Ron said. “I wasn’t the one who let Harry go off to die *alone*!”

“He didn’t really give me much choice in the matter, I’ll *have* you know!”

They reached the entrance, both of them red faced and panting. “Great,” Ron said, pounding his
fist at the door. “What are we going to do now?”

“GRAWP,” Hermione hollered, sending sparks at the door. “Please—”

Grawp never slowed down, sending his head crashing into the huge door. There was a tremendous
crash as it fell inwards, slamming into the stone floor. Rubble and dust burst up around it.

“—thank you,” Hermione said, coughing and waving her hand in front of her face to wave away the
dust.

“Brilliant,” Ron breathed. “Now what?”

Hermione pointed to Grawp. “Help the D.A.… knock…” she mimed a punch, “the Death Eaters. But
*only* the Death Eaters. Okay? Yes?”

“HERMY!” Grawp responded, patting her on the head with one gigantic fist. Hermione slumped
forward, and Ron rushed to help her up.

“Blimey,” Ron said, as Grawp rushed back onto the open grounds. “I think he might fancy you,
Hermione.”

“That’s…” Hermione tried to imagine how that could possibly *work*, and immediately wished
she hadn’t. “Anyway—Ron, you’re to go after Nagini.”

“Right,” Ron said. “Nagini. Now where do you suppose he’ll be?”

Hermione thought. “With Voldemort.”

“Exactly.”

“Who’s… with Harry.”

“Presumably.”

“Which means…” Hermione said. “We’re off together, then.”

“Looks like,” Ron said, draping an arm across her shoulders and pulling her close. “Any chance
there might be more snogs in my future?”

She slapped at his arm. “You git, Ron,” she sniffed. “I would never do that to Harry.”

***

Ron and Hermione mostly ignored the sounds of fighting, concentrating on helping each other
creep down Hogwarts’ long walls.

“Where do you suppose they are, Hermione?” Ron whispered.

“The Great Hall,” Hermione said. “Voldemort doesn’t have power here, Ron. This is Dumbledore’s
school. He can’t infiltrate any of the teacher’s quarters, or get into each House—it’s our
advantage.”

Ron scoffed. “Yeah, that’s *really* obvious.”

“It is,” Hermione said. “He wanted to do it here, Ron, don’t you see? Hogwarts is a symbol. If
he can take Harry down here, if he can stop the Order, and in the very place where Dumbledore was
killed…”

“Oh,” Ron said, voice strangled. “I see your point.”

“The world would wake up tomorrow to find their lives changes.” Hermione paused. “We can’t let
that happen.”

Ron grabbed her arm. “Hermione,” he said, jerking his head around the corner. “I think we’ve
found our snake.”

Hermione dared to peek down the hallway, drawing back quickly to Ron’s inquisitive stare. Nagini
and several Death Eaters were standing watch outside the door. “Good call,” she said. “I guess…
we’re up, aren’t we?”

Ron shook his head. “No. I am.”

“What?”

“Find another way in, Hermione. I’ll take them on… see if I can buy you some time.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she hissed. “You can’t take on three Death Eaters and Voldemort’s pet snake
at the same time! That’s suicide!”

“Nah,” Ron said. “What’s the use of the Order unless I can get some help? Don’t worry. I won’t
rush at them until I find Lupin or someone. Okay?”

Hermione hesitated. “Oh, Ron… I don’t know…”

“It’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Harry needs you.”

“Be careful,” she whispered. “I couldn’t stand it if…”

“Don’t you dare get weepy!” Ron said hastily. “Just… go.”

“Alright,” Hermione said, wiping at her nose. “I’ll see you later.”

“Hermione?”

She turned back around, hating herself for leaving him behind her. “Yes?”

“Do you reckon he’s still alive?” Ron paused, and swallowed hard. “Harry, I mean. Walking in
here like he did… to save Ginny… it was stupid of him.”

“It was very noble of him,” Hermione said. “He’s… it’s just… Harry.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, ducking his head. “He must’ve known it was a trap.”

“He’s still alive, Ron,” Hermione said. “We won’t do ourselves any good unless we believe
that.”

***

Down the corridor, behind the statue, pocket mirror, clear coast. Hermione repeated the motions
as she ducked around another statue, her breath catching with each step. Periodically she heard the
sounds of two wizard’s dueling, though she couldn’t say who was winning. The battle outside waged
on and she hardly dared to check on Neville’s progress. Firenze’s decision to join the fight had
been fortunate, indeed.

“Look … it’s the Granger girl. My… but isn’t that… lucky.”

Hermione froze. Slowly, she turned around. “Bellatrix Lestrange,” she whispered.

“Lost and alone…” Bellatrix lips curved into a smile. “Last of the three. The only one left
standing. Fitting that it would be the Mudblood to suffer most.”

Hermione felt goosebumps break out along her arms. “Last of the three… you don’t mean that…” she
trailed off and narrowed her eyes. “Harry and Ron are not dead. You’re saying that to scare
me.”

“Stronger together than alone, little girl,” Bellatrix continued, pointing a long finger in her
direction. “Your mistake was separating. It’s easy to pick you off like this. One by one. Your
boyfriend has been stone cold the longest. The Dark Lord took him out.”

“You’re lying.”

“She does not spin falsehoods, only tells the truth,” Bellatrix said. “They are dead, Granger.
Dead. You let them die.”

“I’m not stupid,” Hermione said. “I won’t listen to—*impedimenta*!”

The curse caught Bellatrix off-guard. She screamed and jumped away at the last second, and
Hermione’s curse left a gash in the stone wall.

“*Avada Kedavra*!”

Hermione ducked behind the statue. It shattered under the force of Bellatrix killing curse,
leaving Hermione unprotected.

She scrambled upwards, heart thumping, palms shaking, her mind unwilling to quell images of
Harry and Ron… dead.

Bellatrix raised her wand.

“*Expelliarmus*!” Hermione cried desperately, clenching her wand in both hands.

Bellatrix blocked it, still wearing the same twisted grin on her face. “Two down, one to go. One
scared little girl left to—”

“*PETRIFICUS TOTALUS*!” Hermione hollered.

Bellatrix easily repelled the charm with a shield. Her amusement grew and Hermione felt
sick.

“Only teenagers, after all,” Bellatrix said.

“*Locomoter-Mortis*!”

Bellatrix dodged and laughed. “Too slow again, girl.”

Hermione took a step backwards and clenched her teeth. “Well, that doesn’t matter. You know why?
Because the entire Order of Phoenix is standing behind you.”

Bellatrix spun around.

Hermione shoved her hand in her side-pocket and barreled forward, crashing into Bellatrix’s
form. They fell to the ground, Bellatrix’s jaw smashing against the cold stone floor of Hogwarts’
corridors. Her wand skidded out of her hand.

“You little *bitch*—”

Hermione swung her elbow, slamming it into Bellatrix’s head with all the force she could muster.
She gave a small moan of pain when something in her elbow popped. Bellatrix twitched once and then
lay still.

Hermione gave herself a moment to regain her composure before scrambling off the woman. Her
elbow throbbed. There was a large gash on the side of her forehead.

She gave Bellatrix a half-hearted kick in the side, satisfied when she stayed still. Tiredly,
Hermione pulled out her wand and roped her hands and feet together.

When she was satisfied, she limped forward again. The Great Hall wasn’t so far away, now. And
neither was Harry.

***

Hermione was not so surprised to find the doors leading to the Great Hall shut and locked. She
pulled with full strength, but her elbow gave a yawning groan of pain and she stopped, panting.

“Think, Hermione, *think*!” she said.

She took a few shaky steps backwards, giving herself time to regain her energy.

She looked at the doors and narrowed her eyes. “*REDUCTO*!” she yelled. She ducked as the
door exploded, spraying her with pieces of wood.

“Right. Great idea, Hermione.”

For a minute, she was surrounded by dust. She pressed a fist to her mouth and squinted. From far
away she could hear the sounds of fighting outside on Hogwarts’ grounds.

The Great Hall was eerily silent.

She made her way inside, wand held out in front of her. Her eyes scanned the hall, over broken
chairs, overturned tabletops… nothing.

“Harry?” she said, daring to lower her wand.

Hermione swallowed, chilled. Had Bellatrix been right? Was it too late?

She stumbled and glanced downwards. The floor was charred. There had obviously been a battle of
some kind. The Order *must* have been involved. After Harry surrendered himself, it would have
been minutes before the Order caught up with him.

Hermione hurried forward, trying to ignore the ache in her muscles. She had to press forward.
She *had* to. She burst out of the Great Hall and careened to a stop.

Nagini, several Death Eaters, and…

“No,” Hermione whispered, moving forward again, and falling to her knees beside Ron’s motionless
body. “Ron? Ron, can you hear me?”

Tears threatened her vision. Her fingers tightened painfully around her wand until bits of wood
dug into her palm.

“Ron? *Ron*???” She groped forward, pressing her fingers to his neck.

His chest wasn’t moving.

“Oh, god, Ron…”

She scarcely recognized her voice. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, *nothing*.

“Damnit it, Ron, get up!” she screeched. “This isn’t funny, you know! We have to save Harry, and
we very well *can’t* go about it if you’re lying here like a lazy prat!”

He still wasn’t moving.

Hermione buried her face in her hands, the world fading to black around the edges. “I’m sorry,
Ron. I’m so sorry.”

A burst of muffled laughter cut through her foggy haze, and Hermione raised her head to meet the
eyes of one of the fallen Death Eater’s. He had a large gash running through his side, and his body
jerked with every forced movement he took towards Hermione.

“He’s dead,” the Death Eater said. “He tried to play hero.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “He killed your boss’s snake.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Death Eater wheezed. “My Lord will kill the Potter boy, and nothing
will be left to stand in our way. It’s time for a new order.”

Hermione stood up and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes.

“You haven’t killed me yet.” And then Hermione let herself feel the true pain and anguish of
Ron’s death. She channeled it into anger, and half-sobbing, raised her wand against the Death
Eater, “*Avada Kedavra*!”

The Death Eater slumped to his side, unmoving. Hermione allowed herself one last look at Ron’s
body. No, she wasn’t sorry for using the killing curse.

She turned and ran back outdoors. She’d already lost one best friend. She wouldn’t lose
another.

***

The first thing Hermione saw was the bobbing of Tonks’ ponytail as she dueled with several Death
Eaters. The battle outside was furious—this, Hermione realized, was where everyone ended up. Inside
the castle was too unpredictable, it gave the Order a slight advantage. Outside, the numbers were
about even, each side fighting for their own vision of the world.

Hermione jogged through the crowd, dodging curses, and helping when she could. She saw the DA
gathered around Grawp’s large form, cutting a heavy swath through the Death Eater’s army.

Hermione’s heart gave a little jump—up ahead, there was Harry. Lupin and Professor McGonagall
were both fighting with him.

“Hermione, look out!”

Hermione flinched as someone barreled into her. She registered the quickly rising ground a
moment before her face crunched into it. She inhaled a mouthful of dirt and grass. A curse whistled
over her, singing her hair.

“*Expelliarmus*!” cried Neville’s voice. He helped Hermione up, giving her a ghost of a
smile. “You okay?”

“Yes, I… thank you,” Hermione managed.

Neville nodded and gently pushed her forward. “Of course.”

Hermione forced her unsteady legs to move—she kept seeing Ron lying on his back. Ron lying dead.
Sickness tore through her stomach and a sheen of sweat broke out along her forehead.

Her eyes searched for Harry again. Professor Lupin was immobile on the ground. A dollop of sweat
dripped down Hermione’s face.

McGonagall’s back was rim-rod straight, and she kept one hand on Harry’s shoulder, her other
poised in front of her. Ready for… Hermione gave a squeak of surprise when Voldemort flashed in
front of her. McGonagall blocked the curse and waited. Voldemort circled them and disappeared.

Half-stumbling, her body throbbing, Hermione ran towards them. *Harry, Ron is dead… he’s
dead…*

“Harry!” she said, voice hoarse. He turned towards her, and Hermione ran into him, only
remembering to breathe when his arms came around her. Harry smelled like sweat and exhaustion but
he was real and solid, his arms tight, his lips pressing against her forehead.

“You’re alive,” he said. “I thought that—”

Hermione pulled away, her hands still fisted in his shirt. “He’s done it, Harry,” she gasped.
“Ron’s destroyed the last Horcrux.”

Hermione finished just as Voldemort reappeared again. Harry grabbed her about the wrist, yanking
her forward, and the curse struck McGonagall in the chest.

“Oh, god,” Hermione whispered, as McGongall went down.

“No, it’s alright,” Harry said. His face was pasty, his eyes wide and red. The scar on his
forehead stood out against his skin. “Turns out, the Order had been expecting something like this.
Came bursting out nearly as soon as Lucius released Ginny. We ganged up on Voldemort, all at once.
Forced him out here. Snape was right. This is wearing him down. He’s Apparating, you know.”

“But… you can’t… that’s not possible on Hogwarts’ grounds,” Hermione managed, her fingers
grasping Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Exactly. He has to fight that magic… and us too. I think I’m almost
ready.”

*For what*? Hermione wanted to ask. Was Harry capable of using the Killing Curse? He was
only a seventeen-year-old boy, after all.

A tingling sensation at the back of her spine told her that Voldemort was coming back. Suddenly,
Hermione felt very calm—she knew what she had to do. The pain in her legs, in her elbow, drained
away, leaving her refreshed.

“Harry,” she said, turning him around to face her. “Harry, listen to me.” She grabbed both his
shoulders and got up into his face. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but you need to know.”

Harry’s expression darkened and he reached one hand up to touch her cheek. “What?”

Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip. “Ron is… he’s dead, Harry. He died killing Nagini…
there wasn’t anything I could do. I didn’t know…”

Harry stared down at her blankly. “Ron is—”

“Dead,” Hermione said. “Harry, you need to accept this, you need to—”

Harry blinked, grabbing her shoulder with one hand to keep himself steady. “No…”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said desperately. “If I had known, I never would have… he promised he
would take backup.”

A swooshing noise came out of Harry’s chest, like he was losing all the air in his lungs. “How
can you be sure? I’m sure if we get Madam Pomfrey… what if he was just unconscious—”

“He’s dead,” Hermione said flatly.

Harry blinked and turned away from her, his wand pointed at the ground. “But—”

“Harry, listen….” Her voice broke. “We don’t have much time. You have to *use* this, Harry.
I know what you’re feeling. I’m feeling it too.”

“Are you mad?” Harry said, voicing choking. “*Use* it? Hermione, my best mate is
*dead*. What do you want me to *do*?”

“Get angry,” Hermione said. The tingle along her spine grew stronger. “Because oh—Harry, you
have to do this. If you don’t, it’s all lost. I can’t help you with this.”

Harry’s mouth bobbed open. “What… what are you—”

“There’s no time!” Hermione said. She gestured to Lupin and McGonagall’s unconscious bodies.
“They knew what they were doing, Harry. If I—if I take whatever he throws at me, the Unbreakable
Vow, it should—”

Comprehension dawned. “No,” he said. He seized her wrists, his fingers cutting into her until it
hurt. “I won’t let you do this. Hermione, I can’t lose you too! I won’t!”

“I love you, Harry,” she said. She stomped on his foot as Voldemort reappeared behind her, his
curse landing in the middle of her back.

***

**Coming up next**: Will Hermione make it to the final chapter? Does Harry defeat Voldemort?
What will recovery look like?

TBC in Chapter 18.



18. Chapter 18 - The End
------------------------

**Title**: All Nights (18/18)
**Author**: Goldy
**Disclaimer**: J. Rowling is the owner. She’s just letting me play.

**Summary**: Life after the battle.
**Pairing**: Harry/Hermione
**Spoilers**: Books 1-6
**Word Count**: 2, 048
**A/N**: Extensive author’s notes to follow at the end of this chapter. This way you can skip
them if you want.

It was the smell that woke her. Chlorine? Anti-septic? It made the inside of her nose tingle.
Her eyelids were heavy, and she struggled to open them. Then she tried to move and let out a low
moan. Pain shot down from her back, running through the back of her thighs and to her toes.

Finally, shoving her elbows back behind her, Hermione could raise her midsection up enough to
look around her. She was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Every inch of space was taken up with a
new body—Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, Ginny, Neville, Luna… *Ron*.

Hermione sat up fully, gasping. A harsh pant came from her lips when she realized it wasn’t Ron,
only one of the twins. Where were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? They deserved to hear it from her, and
Harry, of course, she and Harry were closest to Ron…

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, new panic setting in. She struggled to turn around and nearly
collapsed in relief. He was sitting next to her beside, glasses hanging haphazardly off his nose,
forehead resting on the mattress near her feet. A small pool of drool had collected on the bed,
right near his open mouth.

Hermione laughed. She couldn’t help it.

Harry snorted and began to sit up, making Hermione laugh harder. He blinked and reached to
straighten his glasses, eyes searching for her.

“Hermione,” he said. He swallowed thickly. “Hey.”

Hermione nodded, clamping a hand to her mouth to hold back her giggles. “Hey yourself.”

Harry frowned. “Are you… what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Hermione said. As abruptly as her giggles started, they ended, leaving her with
tears in her eyes. “Ron…”

Harry looked horrorstruck. “Shhh, it’s alright—don’t think about that now, you have to get
better, Hermione. That was… it was a near-fatal curse you took.”

“Right,” Hermione said, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “I remember. You were there…”

“Yeah, that’s right, Hermione,” Harry said. The bed shifted as he sat next to her, the mattress
sinking under the extra weight. He took her wrists in his hands, drawing her close to his body. “I
need you to get better.”

“I am,” Hermione whispered against Harry’s neck, her voice sounding faint and weak, even to her
own ears.

“Can’t lose you,” Harry said, breath hot on her ear. “That was a stupid thing you did,
sacrificing yourself that way.”

Hermione squeezed him harder. “But it was worth it, wasn’t it? Harry? We won, didn’t we?”

Harry’s body shuddered with his sigh. “We won.”

It didn’t really make it *better*, but it relieved some of Hermione’s tension. “We have to
tell them, Harry.”

“Tell who?” Harry sounded unbearably tired.

“The Weasleys,” Hermione said, her tongue thick. “They have to know. About Ron.”

“They know Hermione.”

“What… how do they…?”

“Shhhh,” Harry said, rocking her. “You’ve been out for… just get some rest. Get your strength
back. It’s okay.”

She dropped off to sleep again, her face still pressed up against Harry’s neck.

***

“Harry?”

She turned the corner at the top of the stairs, finding Harry seated on the floor, one of his
fingers playing with the loops on his sneakers. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

Harry shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose. When Hermione took a step closer, she could
see he’d been crying. A lump gathered in her own throat and she looked away.

“I couldn’t stand it, being down there.”

Hermione bit her lip. She knew what he meant. It was Ron’s wake, and there were too many people
they knew. Every one of them saying meaningless phrase (“I’m sorry” “He was well loved’) and it
made Hermione want to scream. None of them knew Ron, *their* Ron.

“Thought I’d start hexing people,” Harry whispered. “Can’t even look at Mrs. Weasley. I don’t
think she’s stopped crying since…” Harry bowed his head, resting his forehead on his knees. “It’s
not fair. Why’d Ron have to go and do that?”

“Oh, Harry…”

“I keep seeing it,” Harry said. “All those years we spent together—playing Quidditch, or that
first time, you know, on the Hogwarts Express, when he thought I was some sort of celebrity.” Harry
paused. “I gave Pig to Ginny. That was the right choice, wasn’t it? Ever since she lost
Arnold…”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “That was a decent thing.”

“But it’s *Pig*, Hermione. He’s a part of Ron. Maybe I ought to have kept him.” Harry gave
a strained smile. “Gets on Hedwig’s nerves, though. I’m not sure they’d tolerate living
together.”

“Ginny will take care of him,” Hermione said. “She loves Ron too.”

“Right,” Harry said, continuing to loop his fingers through the laces on his shoe. “What if I
forget him?”

“You won’t, Harry—”

“I keep forgetting all sorts of stuff,” Harry continued. “You wouldn’t think I could, but I keep
trying to remember what it sounded like when he laughed and I *can’t*.”

“Harry, I’m so…” Hermione didn’t finish. Instead, she sat down next to him. She didn’t touch
him, somehow sensing Harry needed to indulge in his grief.

“He was my best friend,” Harry said. “And he died because of it.”

“Harry, that’s not *true*!” Hermione said, suddenly cross with him. “He died because he
couldn’t bear the idea of Voldemort taking over the world. For god’s sake, take your head out of
your arse. Ron’s a hero.”

Hermione’s lip quivered over the last word and she turned away, already feeling guilty for her
outburst.

Harry didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered.

Harry tapped her knee with his, silently telling her he understood. “I need to go away,” he
said. “For… a while. I don’t know how long.”

Hermione sat up straighter, her heart plummeting somewhere down to her toes. “W-what? Away?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He took off his glasses and pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes.
“Everywhere I go, someone is congratulating me, wanting an interview. I’m glad the wizarding world
is beside itself, but I can’t do that. I can’t stop thinking about Ron, or you, or—or any of it. If
I stay here much longer, I’ll go mad, Hermione, I can feel it.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Well, yes… I suppose… that makes sense.”

“I’ve never been on vacation, actually,” Harry said. “The Dursleys never took me anywhere, of
course.”

“When will you go?” Hermione asked.

“Soon as possible,” Harry said. “Don’t know how much longer I can take it inside Grimmauld
Place. It’s a horrid house, innit? I reckon the Weasleys could use some time alone, too.”

“Oh, Harry… they don’t blame…”

“I know,” Harry said. “But they’ve been through so much. They deserve it.”

Hermione nodded, before taking a breath and saying her next words, “Harry? Would you mind
terribly much if I went with you?”

Harry finally looked up from his sneakers. He smiled. “I was sort of planning on it. You don’t
have any other blokes to hang around with, do you?”


“Well, I’ll have to check my schedule…”

**

It was raining. Hermione rubbed her name into the fog on her window, her letters smudged and
squished together.

“Ready?

Hermione turned around and smiled. Harry toppled back and forth under the weight of five
suitcases.

“Let’s go to the coast,” he said, managing to stick his nose between two of the suitcases. “Did
you pack a bikini?”

“Harry!” she said. “That’s… that’s not appropriate!”

“Yeah, and why not?” Harry said, shifting the suitcases. “*I* think it’s appropriate…”

Harry hauled their stuff down the stairs, groaning with each step.

“Harry, we *are* wizards, you know,” Hermione said.

“Builds character this way,” Harry panted. “Where’s the fun in using magic?”

Hermione sighed. He’d been avoiding magic since… well, it didn’t matter. He’d use it again when
he was ready.

The Weasleys were huddled around the door. Ginny clutched Pig with both hands. Her experience
with Voldemort damaged her. She was quieter, less argumentative than she had been. The entire
Weasley family was.

“Heya, Harry,” said George, slapping him on the back. The suitcases wobbled once before dropping
to the floor. George shrugged. “Anyone’s earned a vacation, it’s you mate.”

“Er… thanks—”

Harry bent down to retrieve the suitcases, but Mrs. Weasley shrunk them with a quick flick of
her hand. “There you go, dear,” she said.

Harry nodded and straightened. “Well…”

He shifted from one foot to the other, eyeing the family uncomfortably. Finally, Ginny broke the
silence. She handed Pig to Bill before hugging Harry tightly.

“Thanks for everything, Harry,” she whispered. “You’ll always be my hero.”

He squeezed her once before releasing her. She hesitated, and then leaned up to place a chaste
kiss on the corner of his mouth. Hermione looked away.

“Thanks, Gin.”

Ginny stepped back. Mrs. Weasley sniffed and pulled Harry into a hug, tears tracking down her
cheeks and landing in his hair.

Soon Hermione was enveloped in hugs of her own. Fred and George, Bill and Charlie, even Ginny
embraced her.

When she and Harry finally made it out the door, there was scarcely a dry eye among them.

“Well,” Hermione said shakily. “That went… alright…”

They stood side by side for a moment, letting the cool breeze pass over their faces and rustle
their hair.

“So this is the world without Voldemort,” Harry stated.

“It feels… well, oddly the same,” Hermione muttered, looking around them. She could see a
homeless man peeing against a wall. A dog from down the street howled.

“Not exactly,” Harry said. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her
temple. “For the first time in my life, I’m free.”

Hermione glanced sideways at him. “How does it feel?”

“It feels… good,” he admitted with a wry shake of his head.

Hermione leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, flushing. “I love you too.” He cleared his throat. “Now how about going to
the beach?”

**

Hermione could not say for certain that it was the Unbreakable Vow that allowed Harry to defeat
Voldemort. Much later in life, Hermione published one of the most accurate accounts of that night
(under Granger, her maiden name). There were blank spots in her memory, of course—from the time she
passed out.

She promised to protect Harry under the Unbreakable Vow. In the end, it was Harry who protected
her and the rest of the world. Sometimes Hermione liked to pretend that her strength of love or
will—or whatever it was—helped Harry. Mostly likely, it was Ron’s death that pushed Harry over the
edge and helped him to tap into the power he needed.

In her book, Hermione claimed the Unbreakable Vow provided the extra boost of power and devotion
that Harry needed. Still, she was never quite sure.

That night changed Harry. It changed both of them, but mostly Harry. There was a hint of
bitterness in his smile now, even when he was content.

They liked to travel. Harry hated being in England for too long. England meant Ron and Ron would
haunt Harry forever.

They joked that they could never meet new people. Not that it was a new thing, really. When
three became two, they didn’t bother to expand again. They saw their old school friends, Neville
and Luna, but they mostly kept to themselves.

The legend of Harry Potter never died in the wizarding world. In reality, Hermione knew they
were dreadfully dull. They slept in every Sunday. Harry cooked, Hermione cleaned, and they kept a
tele next to Harry’s Firebolt.

Harry and Hermione were always very, very close. Hermione knew it made others nervous, the way
they could communicate without speaking.

Sometimes Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to explain. After everything they’d been through
together, of *course* they were close. Honestly. Other times, Hermione adamantly insisted that
she and Harry were soulmates, that way from birth, actually. She quickly learned that many
preferred the soulmates’ explanation to the real one.

They had several fights over the years, but Hermione claimed it made them stronger (Harry
thought that was a load of hogwash). Very occasionally, they found themselves restless and itchy
for a new adventure. And they quickly discovered there were *always* more evils to be
stopped.

But those were other stories.

The End

**

**Author’s Notes**:

Whew. I can’t believe that’s it. It took me a full year to write this story. So… thank you!
Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me, for putting up with long lapses between updates, and
for your sometimes thoughtful, sometimes amusing, sometimes touching feedback. Major kudos to those
of you (you know who you are) who took the time to tell me what you loved both here and on
livejournal.

Thank you to Rowling too (this is *so* tacky, like she’s going to read this or something,
but…), for creating these characters that we love. I know there’s been a lot of bitterness
post-HBP, but we’re ultimately all here because of her imagination.

And Joss Whedon. Whose dialogue style I continue to emulate, even when I’m writing someone
else’s toys.

A few more things:

About half way through *All Nights*, I made the decision to kill Ron. I chose him instead
of Ginny for a simple reason. I don’t like Ginny, and I knew killing her would only fulfill a sort
of wish fulfillment. This way, I could write Ron’s death with the full emotion and impact it
deserved. I hope I did him justice.

Secondly, I’m not very involved in *Harry Potter* fandom any longer. It doesn’t mean I
don’t still ship H/Hr, I’ve just lost the all-consuming interest I once had. I still have a number
of older pieces that I’m planning to post to PK, and I’m sure, someday, there will be more fic from
me. I’m currently writing an HP/Firefly crossover, borrowing my Harry and Hermione from the *All
Nights* universe. So far, there’s only one chapter, and the only place it’s located is my
livejournal (what *is* the PK
policy on crossovers? Is there one?). Feel free to check it out if you’re interested—even if it is,
you know, the silliest concept ever. *g*

And that’s… it. If you’ve made it all the way to the end, you deserve a shiny gold star. And
possibly some cookies.