Nightingale's Song by Katie

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 07/08/2006
Last Updated: 20/08/2006
Status: Completed

Hermione asks Harry for the impossible: a Horcrux. More exactly, a double Horcrux. A sketch of
H/Hr during the heat of the Second War.




1. Song of the Soul (1/5)
-------------------------



**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything but the plot.

**A/N:** Hi, long-lost old readers and any new readers I can welcome! I'm finally posting
again, and this is my last Harry/Hermione story. Therefore, you can be sure that I put all the love
and ideas I couldn't put in any of my other fics here. I expect I will be putting up a chapter
every three to five days, no worries about it being abandoned. I hope you enjoy reading it as much
as I enjoyed writing it.

This story is HBP-compliant.

**Nightingale's Song**

*One*

*Song of the Soul*

“Good afternoon.” The manager of the bookstore was cordial. “How may I help you?”

“I'm looking for books on magical rituals,” said Hermione Granger, “especially those that
have to do with the Dark Arts.”

“The Dark Arts,” the manager repeated. His eyes lingered on her glasses, which were supposed to
disguise her.

Hermione thought quickly. “It's for research,” she said. She forced in a foreign accent.
“I'm writing a book on Defense and there aren't many resources in France.”

“Ah, of course.”

The manager was still frowning, but he was now making his way to the back of the shop. As
Hermione followed, she noticed that Flourish and Blotts, usually a busy place, was almost deserted.
It was fortunate; she would hate for a fellow classmate to betray her cover.

They had reached two bookshelves, holding books that seemed to date back centuries. Muttering to
himself, the manager pulled out several volumes and handed them to Hermione. He stood watching as
Hermione browsed through the books gingerly.

Hermione wished the manager wouldn't stay. Nevertheless, she soon found the information she
wanted in a particularly old book.

“I will buy this one,” she said. When he glanced at the cover and seemed to hesitate, she told
him, “I will pay you double.”

The manager took the book and headed back to the register. “This is one of the few copies left
in Britain,” he said, “*The Splitting of the Soul.*”

-

Godric's Hollow was not conducive to receiving visitors. Its only hotel had not been
renovated in years; the rooms were cramped and the furniture was in varying state of decay. Even
the dining lounge, which could be considered spacious, would have benefited with the addition of
working lights.

Hermione had been the one to convince Ron and Harry to stay here. “It would be very suspicious
for three strangers to suddenly appear here and camp out,” she'd said, firmly dissuading them
from their original idea of camping near the site of the old Potter cottage.

It had also been her idea that they should each arrive and obtain a room separately, under the
guise of sightseeing. *That* wasn't a particularly brilliant idea; the village was in its
rainy season when all its charms were hidden beneath a layer of grayness.

The morning was, unsurprisingly, rainy. Being the only one to be up at an early hour, Hermione
studied the overcast sky as she ate the soggy hotel food. She smiled in greeting when a familiar
figure sat down beside her.

“Good morning,” Ron said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. He was bolder when nobody else was
around. “I'm glad you finally got here.”

“I missed you too,” Hermione said. “How are you?”

Ron wrinkled his nose at the cold toast on his tray. “Well enough, although I miss Mum's
food. The food here is ridiculous. How are - Hermione,” he said, glancing down at the book bag on
her lap, “brought some light reading, I presume?”

Hermione lightly slapped his hand. “Don't tease,” she said. “And to answer your question, I
did enjoy my two weeks in London. How's Harry?”

“If you ask me, he's been looking a bit peaked,” said Ron. “He's allergic to the food
here - not that I blame him too much - and he came down with a fever a few days ago.”

Hermione's stomach knotted slightly.

The lounge was starting to fill with people, though most of them seemed to be villagers or local
travelers. Hermione and Ron began to catch up on everything that happened since Bill and
Fleur's July wedding. After Ron finished with his story about the haunted house near the hotel,
he looked up and glanced toward the doorway.

“Oh, there he is!” he said, pointing.

A minute later, Harry was sliding into the seat across from them. “Morning. Do you realize
it's raining *again*?” he said to Ron.

“I've noticed. How's your fever?”

“Your doctoring worked,” Harry said. “How're you, Hermione?”

Hermione shrugged. “I'm fine,” she said, “and you're not,” she added silently, taking in
his appearance.

“Hmmm. That's good.”

This was as good a time as any, Hermione decided. “Well,” she said, lowering her voice, “now
that we're all here…did either of you get my owl?”

Harry looked at Ron. “I just got it this morning,” Ron said. “Hermione sounded excited about
something.”

“I am.” Hermione took out the book from the bag. She glanced around the room, making sure nobody
was looking her way, before she said, “I found a book on the Horcruxes.”

Ron and Harry both reacted, though in different ways. Harry's face whitened considerably,
while Ron's cheeks flushed with excitement. “I thought this kind of books would be banned!” he
said.

Hermione went on, “It's written by someone who did a lot of research on historical figures
who did make Horcruxes and succeed. Of course, none of them exceeded three Horcruxes. The author
also came up with many theories about how Horcruxes really work. Most was speculation, but a few
were supported by historical evidence.”

She stole a look at the boys, both of whom were now looking expectant.

“The ritual of making a Horcrux is actually the easier part,” Hermione said. “You only need an
object of your choice and a piece of your soul, and recite a short incantation to embed the soul in
the object.”

Ron frowned. “Then it's too easy. Anything can be a Horcrux, if the maker of the Horcrux has
enough magic and time to perform the ritual.”

“Exactly. That's what Dumbledore told Harry, but I didn't realize its significance.
Extracting a soul, however, is much harder. It takes much ill will and magic to break off a piece
of human soul.”

“A lopsided two way street, then,” Ron said.

Hermione considered. Strange but effective analogy. She took a deep breath. Here was the hard
part. “Harry, have you ever considered that you might be a Horcrux?”

It was an idea that had come to her in a dream. She couldn't shake off the vision, even
though she knew it was absurd. However, Harry did not think so. While Ron was staring at her,
eyebrows raised, Harry was meeting her eyes steadily.

“Yes.”

His eyes were green.

Ron exhaled so loudly that a couple sitting nearby turned around. He ignored them. “You've
both lost your minds,” he said. “If that were the case -”

“There *is* a way to get around it,” Hermione said. “There was a rumored case in history of
a double Horcrux. There is another ritual. You can take the piece of soul out of a living Horcrux
and put it in another Horcrux. The original Horcrux would have to suffer the same pain of splitting
his soul, but souls *can* be extracted from other souls.”

Ron began to speak, but Harry cut him off. “What happened to that Horcrux?”

“The book was vague on that part,” Hermione said. She couldn't quite meet his eyes. “The
Horcrux…did live for a few more years.”

Ron rose, face flushed with anger. “I can't believe you,” he said, but his harsh voice
belied his words. He grabbed Harry's shoulders and shook him. “Do you understand what she's
implying? Do you believe her?”

Harry bent his head and did not answer.

“I'm going out for a walk,” Ron said. “Maybe your heads would clear by then.”

He released Harry and left.

Harry stood up too. His hands were trembling. Hermione reached over and grasped them in her own.
“You believe me?”

She knew he did, but she needed him to say so.

“Yes.” Harry's voice was dull. “I do. I should go too. Ron's forgotten his
umbrella.”

Hermione sat there, gasping for air. She was aware that a few people were watching her, but she
couldn't spare any room in her head to care. Harry had once mentioned that everyone must choose
between what was right and what was easy.

She desperately hoped that she'd done the right thing.

-

Even though the three of them were on speaking terms by dinnertime, Hermione found sleep
impossible. She had never felt such gnawing guilt, not even when she'd told McGonagall that an
anonymous person had sent Harry a Firebolt.

She sat up when she heard dull thuds coming from a room nearby. She thought quickly. Yes, it was
probably Ron's room.

“Heavens know what he's doing at this hour,” Hermione muttered, drawing out her wand as she
headed into the dim hallway. Back at the Burrow, Ron used to tap walls if he wanted, well, a
midnight rendezvous. But Hermione knew that neither of them was in the mood.

The thuds became louder and more insistent. Hermione followed the sound. The door was ajar.
After a brief debate with herself, she pushed it open.

“Ron?”

She tried to turn on the light, but it flickered and died. *“Lumos,”* she whispered.

Light from her wand lit up the room. The bed and desk were both empty. There was only one other
place he could be.

The toilet flushed. Hermione's heart jumped when Harry, instead of Ron, came out of the dark
bathroom. “Hi, Hermione,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

Hermione felt her face warm with embarrassment. It figured that she would confuse Ron and
Harry's rooms. “Well, I heard - I *thought* I heard…what happened to your hands?”

Harry looked down. His knuckles and his nails were bloody. “Oh, that. I had a nightmare.
Scratched myself, probably.”

He sounded casual, but Hermione saw through the lie at once. She pushed him aside and went into
the bathroom. “What were you doing to yourself?” she demanded, staring at the red patterns on the
gray tiles. Except the words had come out wrong, and what Harry heard instead was, “What were you
doing to the wall?”

“I was - I can't sleep.”

Hermione bristled. “Do not lie to me,” she said. She grabbed Harry's left hand and examined
it. He had evidently used what healing charms Flitwick had taught them, though he'd done a
shabby job. “Look at your hand. There are cuts and bruises all over!”

“I told you, I can't sleep!” Harry shouted, pulling his hand away.

Hermione flinched, suddenly comprehending. Of course he couldn't, not after what she'd
told him. She reached up and brushed his cheek. He hadn't look so vulnerable since
Dumbledore's funeral. He seemed lost and helpless again, and this time Ginny wasn't here to
lead him.

*And I don't know if I can take her place.* “I'm sorry,” she said, apologizing for
many different things all at once.

Harry tensed under her touch. Hermione let her hand fall. “Don't be. You did what you have
to do.”

Did she? Hermione wondered. Or did she pile responsibility on Harry because she did not want to
burdened with the knowledge alone?

“I don't understand,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I defeated Voldemort when I was a
baby…you would think that I am stronger now, but I'm even more helpless…”

“Maybe I'm wrong,” Hermione said. “You might not be the sixth Horcrux.”

He laughed, except it sounded like a hiccough. “*You're* never wrong.”

“Then maybe - maybe there's another way,” she said. There couldn't be, because magic
just didn't work like that, but she had to say it. “I will try another bookstore.”

“There isn't enough time,” Harry said, and Hermione knew that was true. The Horcruxes.

“I think I know where the fourth Horcrux is,” she supplied. Somehow her hand had curled around
his again. “It's at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry caught on immediately. “The locket, if Mundungus hasn't sold it. We can go tomorrow.”
He paused. “Hermione…is the ritual painful?”

She squeezed his clammy hand; she owed him the truth. “I'm afraid so.”

“But…you will be able to perform it?”

“Yes.”

She heard Harry draw a shuddering breath. “All right…that's all set, I s'pose. I will go
back to bed now.”

“I'm - I'm just two rooms down, if you need me,” Hermione said, as she lingered at his
doorway. “You…sleep well.”

Harry just shook his head and gave her a tired smile. In the half-illuminated room, he looked
haunting, beautiful. Hermione felt her breath catch painfully, and she had to turn away.

-->



2. Song of Hope
---------------



**Disclaimer:** See first chapter.

**A/N:** Thanks for reviewing, everyone, despite all the flaws in the story. I do my best
with the romance, but I haven't written H/Hr in a while and I guess you could say that I was
searching for the right touch with my characters throughout the story.

Oh, and I took some liberty with the Horcrux theories, which JKR will undoubtedly prove wrong in
Book Seven.

*Two*

*Song of Hope*

*Dear Harry,*

*Everything here's the usual. Fred and George got into trouble with a customer, but
strangely that only made their joke shop more popular. Mum won't admit it but she's proud.
Bill and Fleur got a place in Wales and Floo home everyday for dinner. That's probably why they
invited us to lunch next week. I doubt Fleur is as good a cook as Mom but I guess I'll see for
sure. Anyway, Fred and George asked me to tell you that they are willing to give you a discount if
ever you should visit their shop.*

*I looked up what you requested, and here's what I find. I'm afraid it's not a
lot, but* *she* *did not have any descendants so most of her things are lost or
considered government property. In any case, there is a case that sometime before the opening of
you-know-where, she had a travelling artist draw a portrait. It used to be hung in* *her*
*common room, as a tribute from her students, but it's not there* *anymore**.
Nobody knows when or why it disappeared, and some historians even dismissed the portrait as another
myth. I don't know myself, but aside from her wand this is the only thing of hers that I found
enough about. I'll look up more when I go back to you-know-where, but until then I hope you
find what I tell you useful.*

*Tell Ron and Hermione that I send my best regards to them. And Harry, I am not a fool - I
know what you're doing. I will leave the letter at this.*

*Love,*

*Ginny*

They were on the train coming from Godric's Hollow as Harry read the owl aloud. Hermione
narrowed her eyes. “You told Ginny?”

She noted a faint blush on Harry's cheeks, and she felt an irrational twinge of
jealousy.

“We had a talk before I left. She figured out much of what we're doing by herself,” he said.
“Besides, she did the research well. Now we know what Ravenclaw's object could be. The
portrait.”

“Why a portrait, of all things?” Ron said.

“In the old days, I believe people of power and standing commissioned artists to have their
portraits painted,” Hermione said. “It all does fit. Ravenclaw was widowed early and none of her
children survived past childhood. I suppose most of her things would be donated to the school, and
they probably would get lost over the centuries. A portrait has one of the better chance of
enduring.”

“Do you think the portrait is still hidden in the school?” Ron said. “Maybe it is in a secret
chamber.”

“Good point,” said Hermione. “I don't think so, unfortunately. Voldemort wouldn't leave
it where Dumbledore or even a student might find it.”

“Here's another question I've been thinking about,” Ron said, turning to Hermione.
“Harry said that Dumbledore thinks Voldemort's snake is the sixth Horcrux. If Ginny's right
about Ravenclaw, we identified five already, and if the seventh is Voldemort himself…”

Now Harry turned to Hermione as well, but his eyes held sadness rather than curiosity and
challenge.

“It has to do with Harry's unusual eye colour,” Hermione began.

“I thought his eyes,” said Ron, “take after his mother's.”

“Partly,” said Hermione. “But also because a Horcrux, in contact with certain magic, adopts a
green hue. Charms, mainly. I've noticed myself that his eyes look unnatural in Flitwick's
class.”

Ron looked partly convinced. “Then Nagini…”

“That was what made me sceptical about Nagini, because from what Harry describes of her, she
resembles Voldemort too much. She's practically soulless herself and I doubt she's capable
of harbouring a human soul.”

Ron was quiet, and then he said, “Why would Voldemort want to kill Harry?”

Hermione turned to look out the window. The scenery had become familiar, as the train approached
King's Cross Station. “Because,” she said, studying the boys' reflections in the window,
“he's killing two birds with one stone. A dead body, especially the dead body of an enemy, can
still be a good Horcrux.”

-

The former House of Black smelled of must, for the place had not been aired in weeks. Now that
Snape had turned traitor, the Order was forced to move elsewhere, lest the Death Eaters infiltrate
its headquarters.

Hermione was thankful, as she stepped inside, that at least someone had managed to remove the
portrait of old Mrs. Black. Although by now she was used to hearing it, she disliked being called a
Mudblood, as if her heritage made her any less worthy.

“We're looking for a large gold locket,” she said. The three of them were standing in the
same room where they had dined two years ago. “We found it before,” she explained to Ron, who still
looked uncertain. “It was the one that belonged to Regulus, but we couldn't open it.”

“That one,” Ron said. “I thought we tossed it back to where it was.”

“That's what *we* did,” Harry said. “But Kreacher might've hidden it or taken it,
and Mundungus was selling some of Sirius' things. He might've sold the locket by accident.
We don't even know if it's still here.”

He looked troubled. Hermione wanted to be helpful. “From the note you showed us, Regulus was
alive when he found it,” she mused aloud. “Do you suppose he already, well, dismantled the
Horcrux?”

Harry did not appear convinced. “It takes much magical strength to destroy a Horcrux. I had to
use a basilisk's fang, and Dumbledore's hand almost withered because of the ring. Besides,
the potion and the Inferi…no, Regulus was probably dying when he wrote the note.”

Hermione wondered, for a moment, if Harry realized that his shoulders were shaking. She did not
mention it. “All right,” she said. “We can look around this room and Kreacher's secret hideout,
and then we can search upstairs to see if it's hidden there.”

Ron grinned. “We don't need to!” he said, brandishing his wand. “We're full-grown
wizards, aren't we? *Accio Regulus' locket!*”

There was a *whoosh*, and then something was hurtling toward Ron. Before Hermione could
react, Harry had shoved Ron out of the way to catch the locket in his hand.

“Harry,” gasped Ron, “what was that for?”

Harry's knuckles were white. “Ron, this locket could be dangerous,” he said. “You read
Hermione's book. Wizards put dark spells to protect their Horcruxes! You can't just snatch
it out of the air!”

“Nothing happened last time,” Ron mumbled, but he was now looking at Harry's hand warily, as
if it might suddenly fall off.

“Harry, you should drop it on the floor too.” Hermione was nervous herself. “Let me check to see
if it's still a Horcrux.”

The locket fell on the floor, making a crisp *clink* as it hit. Its ornate cover,
emblazoned with an S, blinked under the light. Ron regarded it with interest while Hermione browsed
through her book. There was no one spell that identified Horcruxes; Horcruxes reacted only to magic
of purity. Charms, mainly.

Hermione chose the Cheering Charm.

“Stand back,” she said. She murmured the spell and a hue spread over the locket. It shimmered
before turning green. “Harry's right. It's still a Horcrux. Let me find a spell here that
can -”

“Not here,” Harry interrupted her. He snatched up the locket and jammed it in the pocket of his
trousers, despite Ron's cry of alarm. “Don't you hear it? Someone else is coming. We must
go.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but did not argue.

“Good thing I brought some Floo powder,” said Ron. “Come on, I bet the fireplace still
works.”

The fire was blazing when Hermione heard faint footsteps at the front door. “I'll Apparate,”
she said, “to the Leaky Cauldron. Meet you both there.”

“All right,” Harry said, already shoving Ron inside the green fire.

Just as Hermione felt herself dissemble from the room, she heard a distant bang by the front
door. Then the room disappeared, and she was standing in the inn, looking on as a frightened Ron
tumbled out of the fireplace.

-

Harry's shirt was slightly singed, but he did not offer any information until he was in
Hermione's room at the Leaky Cauldron, the three sitting around the locket.

“What happened?” Ron demanded.

“There were two Death Eaters, and thankfully they didn't have the best aim with Stunners,”
he said. “I would've been dead meat without your Floo powder..”

Ron grinned, but turned serious. “We weren't discreet enough at Godric's Hollow,” he
said. “They probably overheard and tracked us all the way here. They might still be tracking
us.”

“They were. Someone cast a Tracking Spell on my cloak. The good news is, I doubt they can follow
us here,” Hermione said. “There are too many people around. Besides, I found a spell that's
strong enough to destroy the Horcrux and...”

“I will do it,” Harry said immediately.

Ron made a move as if to disagree, but Harry held up a hand. “I survived more curses than either
of you,” he said, and Hermione understood, as did Ron, that he was not saying it to be
arrogant.

Because the spell could emit fumes dangerous to onlookers, Hermione and Ron lingered outside the
room while Harry worked inside. Ron looked at Hermione, and then looked away.

Hermione knew what he was thinking. Soon, they would perform a similar spell on Harry, and the
green smoke sizzling from inside was only an indication of how much it would hurt. Ron still held
hope that there might be another way. If there was, Hermione wanted to yell, wouldn't she have
mentioned it?

Harry emerged, intact and expressionless. “I think it's done,” he said. “You might want to
check.”

Hermione cast the charm she'd used at Grimmauld Place. This time, the hue stayed
transparent, hanging over the now tarnished locket like a mist.

She nodded at Ron and Harry. “Voldemort's soul's gone.”

“What do you reckon we should do after this?” said Ron.

“We need to track down Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's portrait,” Harry said as he
pocketed the locket. “Dumbledore said that the places where Voldemort hides the Horcruxes must be
meaningful for him. Right now I can think of Hogwarts, the House of Gaunt, Little Hangleton, and
even his old orphanage.”

“Not the House of Gaunt,” said Ron, “or the Ministry would've confiscated it by now.
Personally, I think he might hide it in one of his followers' homes.”

“Good idea! Like the Malfoys, for example,” Harry said, face lighting up. “Remember? Your father
found their secret trapdoor where they hid all the Dark artifacts.”

“Manors of old families usually have that,” Ron explained. “They were built to ward off
intruders, mainly. Even we used to have secret closets before Mum got fed up with us banging around
in them.”

“It will have to be one of the followers from the First War.” Hermione felt a sense of alarm. At
the height of Voldemort's power, there must've been at least five prominent families under
his wing. “I could use Locator Spells that tune to the presence of certain magic,” she said. “It
would narrow down the places we need to check out, but I would have to revisit Flourish and
Blotts.”

Ron stretched. “We'll come with you this time. Now that's settled, after all this
excitement I'm a bit hungry. I'll go down and get some lunch for us all. You coming,
Harry?”

“In a moment.” When Ron's footsteps had faded, Harry turned to Hermione. “When will you make
a double Horcrux of me?”

Hermione considered. “You're not ready yet. Remember, you can only break off a piece of your
soul with magic and ill will.” She stared at Harry in the eye. “You have enough magic, but you
haven't learned to use the Killing Curse yet. You will need to learn to use it.”

In her mind, an image of a Harry with chalk white face and red eyes sprang up. She dreaded his
reaction.

He merely nodded. “I only have to use it twice.” Harry sounded as if he didn't believe what
he was saying.

“But you may need to…practice.”

“Of course. It takes hatred to work the Unforgivables.” Harry's mouth twisted. “I was
supposed to win this war with love.”

He looked so resigned, so sad. Hermione felt her lips tremble. She walked over and wrapped her
arms tightly around him. She could feel his rapid heartbeat against her chest. She remembered that
Harry never understood how love was supposed to help win the war, help defeat Voldemort. Once, Ron
had suggested that the locked room in the Department of Mysteries was a study of love.

Harry had not been totally convinced. “Love isn't supposed to be kept behind doors.” He
always had a unique view of love. And now…

“Everything will be fine,” she promised. “I will make everything fine.”

Harry's arms stayed at his sides, but he laid his head in the hollow of her shoulder, cheek
pressed against her neck. Goosebumps ran along Hermione's arm; she gathered him closer.

He was sweaty and his clothes were torn, and yet he smelled familiar, a faint scent of
flowers.

-->



3. Song of Battle
-----------------



**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Thanks to all the lovely readers/reviewers! Please enjoy this chapter - the action
is finally starting, I suppose you could say.

*Three*

*Song of Battle*

Summer wore out. September first came too soon and passed without much ceremony. Hermione,
imagining the Hogwarts students boarding the express, felt left out.

Knowing that the Death Eaters might be soon searching for them, once words leaked that they were
not in school, Hermione realized that as students, they would look conspicuous in the Leaky
Cauldron. Before long, she managed to find and rent an inexpensive flat in Muggle London, where
she, Ron, and Harry managed to pose as college students.

It would also buy them some time to look into the Horcruxes, because she had a feeling that the
Death Eaters would search in the wizarding communities.

The search for the proper Locator Spell had gone well, but the process of actually performing it
had some complications. Hermione spent most of her time shut in the bedroom, experimenting on
different objects. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron, having realized that she had no need of them, found
themselves reading spell books on weekdays and exploring London, as well as its suburbs, on the
weekends.

They enjoyed these excursions immensely. Harry had never been allowed to roam London freely, and
Ron was as taken by the Muggles as his father was. Eventually, Hermione allowed herself to be
persuaded to join them. And thus, despite minor problems arising from grocery shopping and the
limited funds, Hermione found herself enjoying her new life.

Weeks passed. The weather grew colder. Less people were seen on the streets in the early
morning, and occasionally Harry jammed a hat over his eyes to go out and purchase a Muggle
newspaper.

One morning, just as Hermione and Ron were sitting down to begin breakfast, he came back with
the paper, looking worried. “Looks like the Muggles are catching on,” he said, sliding the
newspaper toward where Ron and Hermione sat together.

Ron read the headline. *“Five found dead in their homes - foreign organization suspected.”*
He set down the paper with a snort. “It's about time they notice,” he said. “Although the
Muggle prime minister is just like Fudge. Foreign organization. Might want to look more closely in
Britain.” He shook his head in disgust.

“Let me see,” Hermione said, reaching for the paper. “Five attacks in one week. It doesn't
look as if the Order and the Ministry are accomplishing too much. It's becoming serious.” The
Order hadn't managed, it appeared, to put itself back together since Dumbledore's
death.

“Hogwarts isn't doing too well either,” said Harry, “and from what little I heard from
Ginny, the school's is half-empty and more are leaving everyday. McGonagall and Flitwick are
considering beginning the Christmas holidays earlier. I won't be surprised if Voldemort makes a
major move soon.”

That decided it. Hermione slammed down the newspaper. “I found Hufflepuff's cup,” she
announced.

Harry and Ron were startled into momentary silence. “What?” Ron recovered first. He saw that
Hermione was earnest. “You couldn't have told us sooner?”

“Well…I'm still not perfectly sure,” Hermione admitted. “The Locator Spell I'm using can
only centre on an area with a radius of fifty kilometres. It does not pinpoint specific houses or
families. Besides, not only do I not know what families are involved with Voldemort during the
First War, but most wizarding families' homes are also Unplottable.”

“You must've found some way,” said Harry.

“I - well, I found an internet café when I went to the bank last Saturday,” said Hermione. “I
managed to find an online directory of residents. It's compiled by Muggles, so it may not be
too reliable, but I typed in the name of area I found, and the name Malfoy is on the roster of
households.”

“No wonder Voldemort wanted to be certain of Malfoy's loyalty,” Ron said. “He's hiding
his soul in their secret basement!”

“Bit ironic that the Malfoys hate Muggles so much. Who would've thought that a Muggle
website could expose them?” Harry said. “Let's go and surprise them today.”

“Don't do anything rash,” Hermione warned. “The Horcrux must be heavily guarded.”

Harry threw up his hands. “You can't expect me to sit here while Malfoy idly plays
Voldemort's henchmen!”

Hermione met his eyes steadily. “The mission is dangerous, whether you like it or not.” She
leaned across the table, so that her forehead was almost touching his. “You must trust me on this,
Harry.”

He clenched his jaw, acting almost like a spoiled child before his tense face relaxed. “All
right. What do *you* propose then?”

“For one thing,” Hermione said. “Your Invisibility Cloak will come in handy.”

-

“This,” remarked Ron, “is the craziest thing we've done.”

Hermione had to admit that he was right, as she looked at the tall, iron-wrought gates before
her. She paid the Muggle cab driver, who sped away without a second glance. She supposed that in
the eyes of the Muggles, the handsome Malfoy property was no more than a deserted and possibly
haunted building.

“Let's put on the cloak right now,” Hermione said. “I cast a *silencio* charm on the
cloak earlier, so we can't hear each other under it. If you see anything suspicious, squeeze my
hand.” Ron and Harry looked sceptical. “If you think of a better plan, do tell me right now.”

“You got us there,” Harry said. “Let's do it.”

Walking under the Invisibility Cloak, caught between Ron and Harry, was uncomfortable. For one
thing, they had all grown so much that they had to slouch to avoid showing any part of their body.
For another, Hermione could hardly be unaware of the scent of Ron's cologne, a birthday present
from her, or Harry's strange scent of flowers.

*“Alohomora,”* she thought, putting her Defence training to use. For good measure, she
added, *“Silencio!”*

The heavy doors swung slowly open. A path now became visible, leading them into a dark forest.
Nobody hesitated. As one the three of them stepped inside.

The forest was eerily quiet. It seemed strange to Hermione that she couldn't hear the rustle
of birds' wings overhead or the crunch of fallen leaves underneath her feet. They walked on in
silence, stopping every so often to adjust the cloak and listen for footsteps, that Hermione almost
missed the handle jutting up from underground.

She squeezed Harry's hand, and then Ron's. They stopped again.

Hermione bent slightly to touch the handle with her wand. She thought at first that it was a
video camera, such as the ones the Muggles had to catch burglars.

It turned out, instead, to be the door to a secret passage.

Underneath the cloak, she gave Ron and Harry questioning looks. They both shrugged. “Why not?”
Ron mouthed.

The passage was constructed of heavy stones. Narrow and small, it twisted and coiled like a
snake. It would not have surprised Hermione to discover corpses of those who had gotten lost along
the way. She felt a sense of foreboding, as she'd felt when they had gone to the Department of
Mysteries more than a year ago.

She adjusted her wand, turning on the Locator Spell. It would now vibrate when it sensed the
presence of heavy dark magic.

They continued walking in silence. Hermione fancied that she could hear light footsteps above
them. Perhaps they were now underneath the mansion. Harry gave her hand a squeeze. She turned to
him, and he mouthed, “It's too deserted.”

Hermione had to agree. They had not come upon anyone - human or house-elf - at all. Even though
the passage was secret, it was well maintained, so it was clear that house-elves at least visited
frequently enough to clean it. It was too late, however, to change course. She could only hope that
the Malfoys just happened to be careless.

The wand led them steadily. The signal began to grow stranger. The wand was now vibrating more
frequently than before and emitting sparks.

Hermione made a signal and Ron and Harry threw off the cloak. “This sounds crazy,” she said,
“but we're less than a kilometre from a Dark object.”

“It does sound crazy,” said Ron, “because this passage has reached a dead end.”

Hermione saw that he was right. They were staring at a giant slab of stone that blocked the
tunnel. Ron raised his wand, lighting up the darkness ahead, and she realized that the stone
blended perfectly with the rest of the passage, leaving no cracks whatsoever.

“Well,” she expelled a breath, “this is unexpected.”

“I hate to sound discouraging,” said Ron, “but you are certain that your Locator Spell did not
throw us off-course.”

“Maybe it's the Malfoys' ways of throwing intruders off course,” Harry said.

Hermione examined her wand. “No, we're on the right track to *something*. Maybe
there's a secret trapdoor around.”

“It might be Disillusioned,” suggested Harry. “It will take us a while to find.”

“Good idea, Harry. Hand me your wand,” said Hermione. “Thank you. *Finite incantatem!*”

At first, nothing seemed to have changed, but then Harry said, “Look!”

“Bloody hell,” Ron said.

Hermione did not make fun of his eloquence. Across the ceiling of the passage, four cracks had
appeared, forming a square.

Harry folded up the Invisibility Cloak and put it away. A few minutes later, they were climbing
a ladder, not unlike the one they'd used to get to the Divination classroom. They emerged into
a large room, constructed of what seemed to be marble. As the trapdoor slid back into place behind
them and disappeared, Hermione couldn't help feeling nervous. The room, with its lack of
windows and doors, felt like a tomb. She remembered a story her mother once told her, of a girl who
found treasure in a cave, only to be sealed within for eternity.

She had to admit, however, that the room was furnished beautifully. Hundreds of small glass
cases hung in the air, twinkling under the bright lights. She suddenly stiffened.

“Do you hear an alarm go off?” she began to ask, but Ron interrupted. “Look,” he said. “Each of
them is holding the same thing!”

Hermione raised her head. Each glass case was indeed holding the same thing: a gold cup with two
handles. And because they were floating so high over their heads, it was hard to distinguish them -
if there were anything to distinguish them by at all.

“Which one is it?” she asked.

Harry squinted as he walked around. His Seeker's eyes roamed over the glass cases,
searching. “It's the one near the left corner,” he said at last, pointing. “It has a badger on
it!”

“Where?” Ron said.

Hermione frantically searched. “I see it,” she said. “I don't know how I'm going to get
it down -”

“Let me,” Ron said, raising his wand to point at the case.

Two things happened at once. The case shattered, and Ron, throwing himself into a dive, managed
to catch it. And before Hermione could warn him to drop it, someone joined them in the room.

It was Malfoy.

-

Malfoy was smiling. His sleeves were rolled up and the Dark Mark showed clearly on his arm.

“How nice of you to visit,” he said. “I'd wondered what happened to the three of you, ever
since Pansy told me that you were not at school.”

“Let us go,” Harry said. “There are three of us against one of you.”

“Really.” Malfoy looked amused. “Do you think so? I suppose you didn't hear the alarm that
went off. Soon, there will be quite a few people joining me. All familiar faces to you.”

“*Silencio!*” Hermione said. Malfoy looked alarmed, but it wasn't to him that she
directed the spell. “Even if you yell now,” she informed him, “they can't hear you. Considering
how large your place is, it could take them a while to find you.”

She was stalling, betting on the hope that there were other secret chambers.

She was wrong. “They would know to come here, and even if we do have time,” Malfoy said, “you
won't be able to get out without my portkey. This room is charmed. Intruders may enter, but
they will never leave. You see these cups? Not all of them are forgeries of the real one. Some of
them are transfigured dead bodies.”

Hermione looked around, sensing even before she did that he was right.

“Well then,” said Ron, “we will just have to take it from you. *Accio portkey!*”

“*Stupefy!*” returned Malfoy.

The two spells hit their targets simultaneously. While the Summoning Charm did little, the
Stunning Spell hit Ron squarely in the chest. He fell over, unconscious.

“Ron!” Harry said. Hermione could almost see his anger unfurl. “*Stupefy!*”

Malfoy managed to dodge the spell, though the hems of his robes were singed. “Don't bother,”
he said. “There are only two ways to get the portkey from me. One is for me to willingly hand it
over, and the other is to kill me.” He smirked. “I doubt you can do either.”

Harry acted abruptly. Hermione didn't think he even thought it through. “In that case,” he
said, *“Avada kedavra!”*

The curse practically burst from Harry's wand. From the look on his face, Hermione knew that
he didn't expect the curse to work. Perhaps he planned to surprise Malfoy into doing something,
Hermione did not ever find out.

Malfoy appeared to share Hermione's sentiments, for he wore a look of composure. His
expression changed, however, just before the green light sailed through his body.

He collapsed, lifeless, to the floor.

It took Hermione a few minutes to realize that Malfoy was dead. She didn't know what to feel
about this. He had never been kind to her, to be sure, but she'd never expected anyone so
familiar to die in front of her. And she certainly never expected Harry to -

*Harry*.

Hermione turned around. Harry had collapsed himself and she wouldn't be surprised if he were
dead as well. But no, he was alive, although he looked deader than Malfoy. He was trembling, his
entire face white. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead.

She hurried over to him. When Hermione came close enough he grabbed her around the waist,
pressing his face into her belly, as if she were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Although Hermione wanted nothing more than to comfort and assure him that everything was all
right, she knew she had no time to lose. The Death Eaters would soon be here and she did not want
to imagine Narcissa Malfoy's reaction when she found out that her son was dead.

She leaned Harry carefully against a wall and ran to Ron. He was slumped over on the floor,
hands still clutched around the cup.

*“Enervate!* Ron, listen to me now. Wrap up the cup in your jacket and get to Harry. I will
be back soon with the portkey.”

Ron's eyes were unfocused, but he did as he was told. Hermione then headed over to Malfoy
and forced herself to rummage through his pockets. She came at last upon the only object that could
be the portkey he was talking about: a medallion with an engraved `M.'

Hermione hurried back to Ron and Harry. “Hold this,” she said. She hoped the portkey worked as
she expected. “Take us outside the Malfoy property!”

At first, nothing happened. Soon, the room began to swirl faster and faster until it
disappeared, replaced by the stone path that led up to the woods.

Later, Hermione did not recall much of what happened next. All she was sure about were that she
probably broke ten rules about Apparition in the following ten minutes, and that she never let go
of Harry's hand.

-->



4. Song of Love (4/5)
---------------------



**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**A/N:** I apologize, to any Draco lovers, for killing him off in the last chapter. He needs
his comeuppance and the plot needs him to die.

Another note is that this chapter (second to last!) is about as romantic as this story will get
- which doesn't mean too much. **Nightingale's Song** is conceived as a sketch, not
really a fully-blown epic as I will never be able to finish otherwise. It's supposed to be my
vision of what occurs post-HBP, except very much condensed. The romance is driven by the plot,
rather than the other way around.

If you haven't run away already, please enjoy chapter four!

*Four*

*Song of Love*

There was uproar over Draco Malfoy's death. Hermione heard about it the very next day. Since
the Death Eaters did not know who the murderer was, they took out their anger on the Muggles.
Perhaps it was also a lame excuse to cause pain, Hermione did not know. As the case was, there had
never been so many deaths in one night. An atmosphere of fear hung even in well-protected
London.

One fortunate consequence of the excursion did come: another Horcrux had been destroyed. Ron,
seeing as Harry was in no condition to do much, destroyed the soul hidden within Hufflepuff's
cup. Now he was sitting beside Hermione, looking as grim as she felt.

“It won't take long before they figure out that we are the culprits,” Ron said, voicing
Hermione's fear.

“Not long at all. In fact, they probably know already. We definitely can't remain in
London,” she said. “They won't need proof of any sort to spring an attack on us.”

“But there isn't anywhere else to go,” Ron said. “I can't go home and get my family into
trouble, and you can't let your parents become targets either. And Hogwarts…”

His voice trailed off.

“I know.” Hermione sighed. She didn't feel that they could back out of the Horcrux hunt now,
not when Voldemort was probably directing further guard of Ravenclaw's portrait. She twirled
Hufflepuff's cup in her hands. How *did* so much trouble come from retrieving this little
object? “I am thinking. Even though Grimmauld Place may be infiltrated, the Death Eaters only
followed us there in order to retrieve the Horcrux.”

“We can't be sure.”

“No, we can't, but I can put restore the Fidelius Charm on the house,” Hermione said. The
original one had expired. “It shouldn't be too hard, not harder than some of the things
we've managed.”

Ron shrugged. “It sounds better than any other plan I can think of,” he admitted. “And Hermione,
are you still going to go through with…we…”

Hermione met his eyes. “Yes. I will tell Harry at lunch.”

She kept her word. She broached the topic at noon and Harry gave a nod of assent. He'd been
especially quiet since he realized that he had really killed Malfoy. Personally, Hermione wondered
if killing Malfoy upset him more than destroying a soul that was so tightly intertwined with
his.

That afternoon, Ron excused himself to make tea in the kitchen. Hermione took her wand and
recited the incantation once in her mind. It was in Latin, and although Hermione couldn't
understand it completely the words sounded beautiful to her ears.

She couldn't help being reminded of a fairy tale she once read, when a nightingale sang her
beautiful song to bring an emperor back to life. This song might sing a young man to death.

Harry had gone to sleep almost immediately after lunch. He was now on the bedroom bed, curled up
into a ball. Hermione's resolve almost crumbled as she studied him. But she had to, before his
soul recovered from the shock of killing a person.

On impulse, she leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. Somehow, she was kissing the corner of
his mouth and then their lips met. She often wondered what sensations Ginny felt, kissing Harry
Potter. Well, the kiss wasn't as groundbreaking as she'd expected, but it tasted like Harry
and that was all that mattered. Later, Hermione would say that she wanted to kiss him just in case
Harry became a monster after she split his soul, but one day she would confide to her mother that
she'd wanted to do so for sometime.

He did not wake up. Hermione decided to let him sleep, in hopes that it might hurt less and that
it might be easier if she couldn't see his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said, to both Harry and Ron. She laid her wand on Harry's forehead,
focused her concentration, and began to recite the incantation.

It was a delicate process, the making of a double Horcrux. It was worse that Hermione could not
practice it. She knew that one wrong move could foil everything; if she did not withdraw
Voldemort's soul completely, then he would still be immortal; but if she applied too much
magic, she could sever a chunk of Harry's soul.

The smell of smoke permeated the small bedroom. Hermione was aware of Ron's footsteps,
hurrying from the kitchen, and she continued on. A shimmering green substance began to cling to the
end of her wand as they floated slowly from Harry's body. She directed it to the cup she'd
set down.

This was Voldemort's soul. Hermione expected it to look as hideous as Voldemort himself, but
no, the soul was an untainted green.

Her hand shook as more and more green substance was drawn out, and then suddenly, instinctively,
she stopped.

Covered with sweat, Hermione met Ron's eyes at the doorway. He stepped forward uncertainly.
“Here!” she shouted, thrusting the cup at Ron. He all but shrank away. “Take it and destroy
it!”

Ron took the cup with shaking hands. He swallowed. “Is he -”

Hermione did not dare to even turn toward the bed. Briefly, she thought she could pass for Dr.
Frankenstein, and shuddered at the thought that Harry might not be human anymore.

“He will be perfectly fine,” she lied, and she half-dragged Ron from the room.

-

Night had fallen. Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Harry and Ron. Ron had dozed off and was
curled up in the couch. Harry was staring out the window, looking forlorn. He hadn't spoken
much to either of them since Ron told him that the double Horcrux had been made and destroyed.
Once, Hermione wondered if she'd accidentally taken a piece of his soul after all.

She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Being in Grimmauld Place was like being
shut off from the world. The only time she had left was to get food from a nearby greengrocer, and
that had been brief. All she could gauge, from listening to the gossip as she waited on the queue,
was that the Death Eaters had been intensifying their activities. There were several more attacks
in England and a few in Scotland. Harry was right; Voldemort was planning something large, possibly
an all-out attack against the Ministry of Magic.

Her watch beeped. It was eleven. Funny how she still cared about her bedtime. She yawned, but
before she could get up, Harry said, “Enough of this.”

Hermione turned slowly around. She had begun to avoid looking at Harry straight in the eye,
afraid of what she would find. However, she was relieved, as she always was, that his eyes were
still a guileless green. “What is it?” she said.

“Stop this. Just admit that you and Ron are afraid of me now! You are, aren't you?”

His voice, though harsh, had an undertone of pleading. Hermione hesitated. She wanted to say,
“Somewhat,” but that would hurt Harry's feelings. She wanted to say, “Not at all,” but that did
not explain why she and Ron fidgeted whenever they happened to meet Harry's eyes. She settled
on a neutral, “You seem to avoid us.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Harry glared at her, brows furrowed in reproach. “That's only
because you two won't even look at me.”

“We -“ Hermione stared down at her hands. “We've been busy, looking up the last Horcrux,”
she lied, wincing at its feebleness.

“I don't blame you, of course. You certainly aren't the only ones who expect me to
become the next Voldemort! With the Horcruxes we have even more in common!”

Hermione tried to think of what to say. Harry turned away again, and now he was looking into the
fireplace, where the dying embers were still blazing. Once, he'd told Hermione that whenever
Ginny stared into flames, her brown eyes were lit by a warm glow. Now Hermione looked into
Harry's eyes, and she thought that she'd never seen anything so devastating.

“I read your book,” Harry said flatly. “I read about what happened to the Horcrux. He did live
for three more years, but it was a cursed existence. He unravelled, that was the word the author
used. When he died he was still crying for the soul that wasn't his in the first place.”

Hermione bent her head. “Magic has evolved since then.”

“What's wrong with you? You never stooped to lying that blatantly. Look at me!” Harry said,
and she did. “I look exactly like the man in the book.”

He didn't mean that he resembled the man like he resembled James Potter, of course. He meant
that his skin had adopted the same ashen pallor and he had lost weight, so much that his cheekbones
jutted out. It had occurred to Hermione that although she did not accidentally break off
Harry's soul, Voldemort's soul had become so integrated with his own that the effect was
similar. She could only comfort herself with the knowledge that he would, at least, never look like
Voldemort.

If he lives.

“I wanted to be honest with you,” she said at last. “The truth - it's -” Harry seemed
prepared to be unconvinced at whatever she might say, and Hermione found a perverse urge to
surprise him. “I love you.”

*As a friend,* she wanted to add, but she didn't. It wasn't true and Harry
didn't need to hear any more lies.

Harry had suddenly become still. Hermione realized that it didn't matter to him what type of
love she meant. Now was the time for her to say something poetic, something meaningful, but she
could only do what a mother might do: she held out her hands.

Harry did not take them, but he allowed Hermione to come over and slip her arms around him. He
laid his head down on her shoulders and gave a shuddering sigh. It sounded like a sob.

“You promise?” he said. He seemed like a child who did not dare to believe that Christmas had
come early.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I promise.”

She heard him sigh softly. When she turned to look at him again, he was asleep. Basked in the
warm glow from the fireplace, his skin no longer looked unnaturally pale. Hermione felt such
tenderness welling up in her chest that she feared she might choke. She shifted so that Harry was
lying on her lap.

Now what? Hermione wondered, as she stroked his hair. Harry might not even remember this
conversation when he wakes up, but Hermione couldn't forget. Something had changed between the
two of them. She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. It was so much simpler when she was in
love with Ron and he was in love with Ginny. She had looked forward to spending Christmases in a
large Weasley family. Love was an annoyingly fickle thing.

The embers burned themselves out. Hermione listened to Harry's even breathing, and was
comforted.

-

It snowed on Christmas Eve.

Grimmauld Place, under Ron's supervision, had been decorated richly for the holidays.
Somehow, he managed to find all the decorations that Sirius had used, and even Hermione had to
admit that the old house had a strange charm to it. Together with the snow, Hermione fancied that
she was back in Hogwarts, before all the chaos was unleashed.

That afternoon, the three of them were sitting by the large window, admiring the view outside,
when Hermione felt Harry tense beside her.

“Someone's outside,” he said. Hermione saw him withdraw his wand. Ron started to follow, but
Harry shook his head. “Stay here!”

Breathless, Hermione and Ron watched through the window as he stepped onto the snow. He was
looking around when a figure cloaked in black appeared. Hermione expected him to shoot a Stunner at
the person, but instead Harry's outstretched hand dropped to his side.

The hood of the cloak fell and long, red hair came spilling out.

Even from the distance, Hermione could feel the intense gaze that Harry and Ginny shared. Then
Ginny stepped closer, bent Harry's head toward hers, and kissed him. Her movement was fluid,
with none of the timidity that Hermione had.

“Crikes,” Ron said, which summed up Hermione's feelings perfectly.

After what seemed like hours, Harry and Ginny pulled apart. Ginny's hands were still on
Harry's arms. Harry seemed to murmur something to her, and then Ginny nodded and took his
hand.

Ron and Hermione pretended to be staring at the fireplace when they entered the house. Ginny
hugged them both, and then stepped back, wearing a look of triumph. “Did you miss me when you were
playing heroes?” she said.

“Ginny, how did you find us?” Ron demanded.

Ginny was smiling. “I have my ways,” she said. “After all, there are only a few places where you
could've gone to. Don't worry, though. I came by myself. I haven't told anyone, not
even Mum.”

“It could be dangerous!” Ron said.

Ginny was standing next to Harry again, Hermione noted, and there was a bitter taste in her
mouth. The younger girl gave her a curious glance before she turned back to her brother. “Don't
be so hypocritical, Ron. I read about what *you* did in the papers. I suppose Malfoy deserved
it as much as anyone, but I'm surprised Narcissa Malfoy hadn't tried to kill you.”

Ron only shook his head, but Hermione could tell that he was impressed.

Supper was a simple yet merry affair. Ginny filled them in on most of what was happening
outside. “Hogwarts is shut down for now,” she said. “You should've seen McGonagall. I've
never seen her panic and it was unsettling. The *Daily Prophet* predicts that Hogwarts will be
a main target.”

“What about the Order?” Hermione wanted to know. “What are they doing all this time?”

“Well, Mum and Dad are disappearing more often. Bill and Fleur, last I heard, are dropping by
pretty frequently. I reckon the Order is finally doing something. Which is about time.”

“Wouldn't Mum be worried that you're gone?” said Ron.

“Not especially,” Ginny said. “I told her that I'm spending a few days with Fred and George,
and they promised to cover for me if necessary.”

Hermione noted that though she was talking to Ron, she was looking at Harry out of the corner of
her eye. She could've sworn that Ginny frowned.

“Well,” Ginny said, when everyone was quiet, “I hope you don't mind if I don't leave for
a while. However, I did bring a Christmas present for all of you.”

Harry laughed for her benefit, but the atmosphere remained tense.

After supper, Harry dozed off on the sofa, while Ron busied himself with the *Daily
Prophet*s that Ginny had brought along. Ginny helped Hermione clear up the table and carry the
few dishes to the kitchen. Then, she carefully blocked the exit.

“Hermione, what is wrong with Harry?”

Hermione did not know what to say. “Is something wrong?” she stalled.

Ginny's eyes were dark and intense. “You are more observant than me, Hermione. I see no
point to lie.”

“He…” Hermione sighed. “You might as well know, then. He's one of Voldemort's
Horcruxes.” She paused uncertainly. Ginny nodded impatiently. “Well, in order so that we won't
sacrifice him, we made a double Horcrux for him.”

“A double Horcrux. To put it crudely, you made a Horcrux of him.”

Ginny's voice was so fierce that Hermione shrank. “Yes, except I only extracted
Voldemort's soul. Harry's soul…should be intact.”

“If you believe that, you're fooling yourself,” Ginny said. “You can't distinguish souls
from other souls, no matter how powerful you are. I don't want to hear it,” she interrupted,
when Hermione tried to speak again. “It's too late to do anything and you probably know more
than the rest of us.”

Hermione detected sarcasm. She tried to change the topic. “What presents did you bring us?”

Ginny did not let the topic drop completely. “I wouldn't have done it. *I* care about
Harry,” she said, with a hint of aggression.

There was no doubt to which “him” she was talking about. Hermione felt a spasm of pain. “I know
you do, but we all do.”

Ginny's eyes bore into hers. Then she bit her lips, as if she'd found what she was
afraid to discover. “I see,” she said softly. “And what about Ron?”

The question hung in the silence. “I love Ron too,” Hermione wanted to answer, “but I need to
love Harry.” It sounded ridiculous, even to her own ears. Besides, she didn't think that Ginny
expected nor wanted an answer.

Luckily, Ron chose this time to poke his head in. “What's taking you so long?” he said.
“It's been nearly fifteen minutes.”

Ginny's chest rose and fell rapidly. *Don't do something you would regret,*
Hermione thought, clutching the dishrag tightly.

“I didn't want to tell you this on Christmas Eve,” said Ginny, “but you might as well know.
I lied at suppertime. Hogwarts is besieged, and I'm one of the few ones who escaped in
time.”

-->



5. Song of the Beginning (End)
------------------------------



**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Last chapter! As an author, I've been lax about updating my other WIPs, but at
least I finished *Nightingale's Song* before I started posting it. It's not my best
work, I concede, but I spent a good portion of time on it and I hope that you've enjoyed it
(and that you will enjoy the last chapter).

If possible, please drop a comment after you read this - I understand if you don't for the
other chapters, as I am guilty of reading as a lurker too, but I will greatly appreciate for any
advice you can give. Even though this will be the last H/Hr fic I'm writing, this certainly
won't be the last story, and if it weren't for all the advice that I got when I was
younger, I never would've been able to gain confidence as a writer.

Thanks to everyone!

*Five*

*Song of the Beginning*

Hermione felt as if a bucket of ice cubes that been dropped on her head. Judging from Ron's
expression, he felt similarly.

It turned out that the Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade early in December and, just before the
start of winter holidays, moved to besiege Hogwarts. Ginny and a few students from the former
Defense Association had tried to get students out through Hogwarts' secret passages.

“But since Wormtail knows about the passages too, not all the escapes were successful. I was
lucky to have gotten out. The last I heard,” Ginny said, “the remaining professors are still
holding them off. Mum said that the Order is planning a counterattack soon, I wasn't lying
about this part.”

Harry listened. His face was impassive, had been impassive ever since the Horcrux was made. When
Ginny was finished, he said, “I bet Voldemort is there. I am going to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“You mean you're going to fight him, now?” Ron said. “But it's too soon!”

“I will have to fight him sooner or later,” Harry said. “Delaying it won't make me any more
ready than I am now. Besides,” he reminded them, as if it gave him pleasure. “I don't have much
time to lose myself.”

Hermione felt a dull pain in her chest. “But Harry,” she reminded him, though she understood
what he meant, “we are still missing one Horcrux.”

“That,” Ginny said, “I have taken care of. There are two reasons why Voldemort is attacking
Hogwarts. One is to lure Harry, I'm sure, but the other…” She had withdrawn a loosely wrapped
parcel from her bag. “This is my present to you. I found Ravenclaw's portrait.”

As Ron and Hermione gasped in unison, she unwrapped it.

The portrait was, unlike the magical portraits Hermione had seen, not moving. It was painted in
a different style than most of the paintings she had seen. The woman portrayed was in no way
glorified; she wore the coarse clothing of a peasant that made her body appear bulky. Nevertheless,
as she gazed into the intelligent grey eyes of the young woman, Hermione had no doubt that this was
Rowena Ravenclaw.

“I suspect it's a Muggle painting,” Ginny said. “And look.” She turned the painting over,
and Hermione could see large slashes on the canvas. “Neville and Colin helped me with those. We
used knives. I didn't know how to destroy a Horcrux, but I know it must take really strong
magic to do so. Since none of us is that powerful, we chose a more primitive way.”

“It might've been dangerous,” Hermione said. “You could've been seriously hurt.”

“You're right.” Ginny held up her hands. Looking closely, Hermione saw small burn marks on
her palms. “But it's worth it,” she said. “I feel as if I were finally getting revenge on
Voldemort.”

“Where did you find this?” Harry said.

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Ginny replied. “It was very cleverly concealed, in the statue of
Salazar Slytherin. I should've guessed sooner, but I was only inspired to look there when
Nearly Headless Nick told me that Slytherin hated Ravenclaw.” She laughed ruefully. “It was hard to
get down to the Chamber again, because Dumbledore tried to seal it. The statue was even harder to
blast apart.”

Ron was shaking his head, but he was smiling. “This is unbelievable.”

“Thank you, Ginny,” Harry said. He sounded neutral.

Hermione turned to the window. Six Horcruxes down, and one Voldemort to go. It would be dawn
soon. She knew that as soon as the morning comes, Harry would head toward Hogwarts. And even if
they all followed him, they would not be able to protect him, not in all the chaos that was sure to
come.

“Let's all get some sleep,” Ron suggested. He had stood up himself. “Tomorrow…”

His voice trailed off. Hermione shuddered. It was supposed to be Christmas.

Harry followed Ron to the staircase. Just before he started up the stairs, he turned and smiled
at Ginny. While Ginny smiled back, he gave Hermione a long look.

She tried to decipher its meaning, and soon she wondered if it had any meaning at all.

-

Early in the morning, Harry sent a message, through the fireplace, to Remus Lupin. Lupin showed
up an hour later, when they were eating breakfast. He brought with him the Order members who had
not already gone to defend Hogwarts - Tonks, Charlie, and Fleur.

“Wotcher,” Tonks offered, but nobody returned her greeting.

From the way they were all staring at Harry, Hermione thought, he might as well have been dead
already. But she suspected that Harry must've had a confrontation with them already, because
nobody tried to dissuade him from going. Perhaps they realized the sacrifice he'd made. Or
perhaps they were all so desperate for the war to end that they were willing to risk anything. It
was nearly impossible to believe that just three years ago, everything had been calm and
peaceful.

Having lost what appetite she'd had, Hermione headed over to the window. The snow had
stopped. The Muggle street outside could pass for a picture in a Christmas card. If everything went
well, perhaps she would live to see New Year.

“It's time to go.” Tonks looked at Hermione, Ron, and Ginny questioningly. “You three -”

“Oh, we're coming along!” Ginny said, so firmly that not even Charlie argued.

King's Cross Station was sparsely populated. A few Muggles shrank away at the sight of their
large group, and a police even tried to detain them. Soon, they were through Platform Nine and
Three Quarters, where the Hogwarts Express, scarlet as always, was waiting.

Ron was impressed that the train was here, and said so.

“We will have to get off at an earlier station,” Lupin said, as he ushered them aboard.
“Hogsmeade isn't safe anymore.”

Usually, Hermione felt that the trip to school took too long. This time, however, she felt that
the train went too fast. Almost before she could recover her wits, they were at the predetermined
station. They were somewhere in the Scottish suburbs. Lupin led them off, where a few Order members
were already waiting.

“How is it?” Lupin asked.

“I can't tell yet,” Mr. Weasley said. “Some of them got inside the castle. We've already
lost two on our side, but I believe they lost at least ten last night.”

“And here…” Lupin glanced at them.

Mr. Weasley let his eyes roam over his children, Harry, and Hermione. It was clear that he did
not want them to be involved. He only sighed. “Just be careful,” he said, and gestured for them to
follow.

Ginny and Ron went to join their father and brother, and Hermione was left to walk with Harry.
She hoped his nerves weren't fraying, like hers were. She tried to say something soothing, but
found that anything she could think of had a morbid connotation.

Finally, she asked bluntly, “Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” Harry said, surprising Hermione with his honesty, “but that isn't going to change
anything.”

No, Hermione had to agree, it wouldn't. They walked on, shoulders almost touching, and then
Mr. Weasley stopped them.

A Dark Mark hung over the castle. They were now at the Whomping Willow. From behind its
thrashing branches, Hermione could see figures in black robes on the Hogwarts grounds. She knew
that they were not Hogwarts students. Spells crisscrossed the sky; an explosion sounded in the
distance. Ginny uttered a small cry of alarm, and Charlie hurriedly shushed her. “Don't let
them hear you!”

The tree froze. Mr. Weasley emerged from within its branches and faced them. His face looked
sweaty, even under the dim light.

“Wands out. As soon you get out of the tunnel, be ready to shoot Stunners. If you can't
handle it, go to the hospital wing or the headmistress's office. Let's go.”

Hermione had gone through this particular tunnel only once, and it had not ended pleasantly.
Hopefully, she thought, this would not be a repeat of last time. As they neared the end of the
tunnel, Hermione prayed aloud, “Please, just let the end come as soon as possible!”

And then they emerged into the castle, where they scattered to fight what Hermione's Muggle
books would call “guerilla warfare,” for the Order members took full advantage of the twisting
passages and secret rooms of the ancient castle.

Hermione stayed with Ginny. The talk they had did not jeopardize their friendship, as she had
feared. They crept together through the corridors they knew well. Ginny had brought a handful of
the joke shop's merchandise, and she and Hermione laid them where the Death Eaters were sure to
pass along.

The day stretched on. Hermione's prayers were answered near dusk. After nearly a day of
fighting, they had gathered in the hospital wing to take a short rest. Madam Pomfrey was tending to
two cuts on Hermione's cheeks when Fleur burst inside.

“The North Tower,” she said, and that was all she needed to say.

Ginny tore outside. Hermione twisted free of Madam Pomfrey and followed closely.

The way to the North Tower was practically littered with dead bodies. A few Death Eaters,
guarding the North Tower to make ensure no distraction, tried to stop Hermione and Ginny, but an
almost supernatural power had possessed Hermione. When she saw all the unconscious bodies later,
she confessed she couldn't even remember throwing these spells.

Harry and Voldemort were still duelling when they arrived. Their robes were smoking and the
hallway smelled of smoke. Hermione was reminded of the Horcrux ceremony.

Apparently, so was Voldemort. While he shot another curse, he said, “Even if you were to beat me
now, you will never achieve immortality. You will achieve the exact opposite!”

“He doesn't want immortality!” Ginny shouted. Hermione tried to shush her, but realized that
Ginny was trying to distract Voldemort.

Harry turned slowly, as if puzzled that they managed to get here when he was still alive. He was
about to say something - probably to tell them to clear off - when Hermione realized that he had
dropped the head of his wand slightly, leaving himself open for a Killing Curse.

*“Impedimenta!”* she shouted, aware that Ginny had cried the same spell.

The spell did not immobilize Voldemort completely, but he did hesitate, giving Harry to shoot a
Conjunctivitus Curse. It was the same curse he'd used to destroy the soul inside the locket.
Voldemort roared and his hands flew to his eyes.

Harry turned to them again. “Ginny, I need your wand! Now!”

Ginny's eyes widened, but she threw him her wand all the same. Hermione understood.
Voldemort was using the bond between the two wands to his advantage. Harry couldn't shoot the
Killing Curse with his own wand.

*“Avada kedavra!”* Harry shouted, but only a green wisp of smoke burst from the end of
Ginny's wand. It diffused in the air.

Voldemort had recovered; he reached for his own wand. Harry turned to Hermione. He didn't
need to ask. She threw her wand.

In a daze, Hermione watched as her wand sailed toward him. He raised the wand and spoke the
incantation. The green light flew from the end of Hermione's wand, strong and true, right into
Voldemort's own wand and then, through his body.

The ground began to shake. Cracks appeared in the wall. Hermione and Ginny clung to each other.
There was the terrible sound of screaming, and then, a strange silence.

“Bloody hell,” someone said into the ensuing silence.

To Hermione's surprise, it had not been Ron who swore. It was Lupin, staring down at what
seemed to be two identical dead bodies.

-

Hermione stared down at Harry's slumbering face, unable to believe that everything was over.
Voldemort was finally gone, and Harry would soon recover. For now, at least.

“Hermione.”

She looked up. “Ginny.”

The young woman had entered the hospital wing. She came over and took a seat beside Hermione.
“How are you?” she said.

Hermione had been wounded in the lingering battles that followed Voldemort's death. She
brushed her neck. A Death Eater had tried to use a *diffindo* on her, but she'd set up a
*protego* at the last moment. “It doesn't hurt anymore,” she said, “although Madam Pomfrey
said that the cuts on my cheeks would scar. What about the curse that Pettigrew shot at you?”

“I'm awake, aren't I?” Ginny sounded cheerful. “And anyway I had my revenge. Bill told
me that our firecrackers and bombs got a few Death Eaters.”

Hermione laughed. “Yes, he told me. He pretended to be impressed that I went along with it. But
it *is* a clever idea.”

Ginny smiled at her. “We are rather different, but it never stopped us from being friends.” She
sighed. “Though to tell the truth, I was always a bit jealous of you. You and Harry and Ron are
always together, and I'm always left on the outside. And even after he became my boyfriend…I
don't feel as if I belong the way you do. I wonder…if he'd been yours all along.”

“No, Ginny. He doesn't belong to anyone.”

“You understand what I mean,” Ginny said. “He used your wand to kill Voldemort.”

Hermione did not understand. “He can't use his own. His wand and Voldemort's,
they're brothers. Voldemort wanted them to connect, like they did last time, but -”

Ginny shook her head impatiently. “I *know*. But it takes a certain bond to be able to use
someone else's wand for the Unforgivables.” She put her hand on Hermione's shoulder. “That
he could use *your* wand for the Killing Curse - and not mine - it means his bond with you is
stronger than his bond with me. You…do love him.”

The pieces to the puzzle seemed to fall together. Hermione tried to say, “Thank you,” but it
didn't seem right at the moment. Instead, she placed her hand on top of Ginny's. “Will you
be all right?”

“I have no choice, do I?” Ginny tossed her head. “Of course I will be fine. And anyway, he's
still going to be my best friend.” She laughed suddenly. “Seems like we've switched places,
Hermione. You're his girlfriend and I'm his best friend. Ironic, in a way. I always knew
that I will have to fight with someone for Harry, but I'd never planned her to be you.”

Hermione had not wanted things to turn out this way either. “Things work out in strange ways,”
she said. “In some way, I still think you deserve him more. Unlike you, I feel I took him for
granted too often.”

“Hmmm,” Ginny said thoughtfully, “perhaps that is what Harry needs. Maybe…he sees the attention
as a burden.”

Hermione had not thought of it this way. Maybe Ron needed someone like that too, she thought,
someone who didn't take the relationship too seriously. Whenever she and Ron were alone
together, they were always far too aware of what they were doing to truly enjoy each other's
company. She suddenly wanted to talk to him again, as a best friend. They had been too busy,
chasing out the remaining Death Eaters, to speak to each other much. She missed his company.

Ginny stood up. “I'll visit when Harry wakes up. I need to go check on Charlie now…take good
care of him.” And she was gone.

*I will.*

Hermione looked out the window. It was a sunny day. She fancied she could still smell the
lingering scent of Christmas. It had only been two days, and already everything had begun to change
for the better. Very soon there would be reporters, pestering Harry for interviews. He would
probably point at his fading scar and make a few obscure comments to satisfy several headlines.

Then the professors and students would return, and Hogwarts would reopen for the upcoming fall,
and Hermione planned to go back and finish her studies. And after that…the future stretched out
before her, before everyone. Even before Harry, because she was now certain that she wanted to
train to become a mediwitch and she wasn't going to rest until she proved *The Splitting of
the Soul* wrong.

Her heart felt full. She reached for Harry's hand and squeezed it.

Out of reflex, or perhaps not, his fingers curled more tightly around hers.

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