Mistaken Judgment

Title: Mistaken Judgment
Author: atruwriter
Email: atruwriter@hotmail.com
Warning: Severe violence in future, death, language, and sexual situations.
Spoilers: Book 1-6
Summary: Shortly after the end of sixth year, while Harry, Hermione, and Ron are getting ready to set out in search of Horcruxes, Voldemort has other plans. Deciding that he's tired of the ever-annoying Potter boy, he devises a plan to finally break him. With the death of Dumbledore still fresh, Voldemort plans the disappearance and slow, torturous death of his best friend, only to find that perhaps he was mistaken in his judgment of just what Harry would do when it involved the life of Hermione Granger.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to anything Harry Potter related. I own only my creative thought process and the characters I make up on a whim. Ownership of all else lies solely in the hands of others.
Image(s): Banner, made by HedwigsHaven of The Dark Arts!
Author's Note: This is my first Harry/Hermione story! I wrote a 4-part piece about them but it was in Ron's POV and death was at a high for both Harry and Hermione. I also wrote a two-shot, but stories are much longer and drawn out. I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thank you for reading, please remember to review at the end. It's greatly appreciated!

Prologue

“Hate is the coward's revenge for being intimidated.” - George Bernard Shaw

Tom Marvolo Riddle, more commonly known as Voldemort, sat in a high backed chair inside his poorly lit office, his fingers weaved together in an arch in front of his chin as he thought over how to deal with his one and only true adversary. He had the windows darkened so he didn't have to put with the grating light of the sun, something he would deal with as soon as he had control of the world. A simple clouding charm could do it, constant gloom and nary a beam of light to irritate him again. The environment would surely suffer, but he could magically change that, or use Herbologist slaves to recreate whatever he destroyed. He would control it all, and the sun had no reason to be exempt from his power. Slapping his hand down on the desk in annoyance, he found himself sneering into the dim office, wishing one of his Death Eaters were there for the sole purpose of being able to take his anger out on someone else.

He should be feeling triumphant. The old fool Albus Dumbledore was dead, his funeral had passed and his pathetic hero Potter was probably crying his soul out right now. He should be laughing over the misery he'd just caused the wretched Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die but he found it pointless. Even without Dumbledore, Potter was likely planning on continuing his Headmaster's work and trying to find a way to destroy Voldemort right then. He wasn't afraid of the ridiculous boy. Of course not! He was the darkest wizard of all time. His name was feared by everyone. People trembled at the mere thought of him. He grinned savagely just at the thought of how much power he wielded by simply being.

His grin faltered to become a grimace, however. Despite the fact that he was well known as being the most cruel and darkest of all Lord's, he had an adversary that was well known to have defeated him once before. Harry Potter, the pathetic Boy-Who-Lived, was in a prophecy to be the one to rise against him. Voldemort was taking no chances, even if he did believe that Harry was really just a little boy with far less talent than he was said to have. Dumbledore was obviously a fanciful coot if he truly believed that a little boy could defeat the darkest wizard ever to rise. Whatever happened that first time the Potter boy lived, he didn't understand entirely, but he wouldn't let it happen again. He was going to destroy the boy before he could get it into his head to do something at all dampening on Voldemort's campaign.

It seemed his every attack on the wretched boy was tossed aside meaninglessly. For six years he'd been planning and scheming pathetic Potter's demise and still he hadn't managed to kill him. If it hadn't been for the almighty Dumbledore and the insufferable mudblood Granger, he might well have had victory all ready. The brainy Gryffindor girl kept Potter from tripping up far too often and he had half a mind to get rid of her sooner rather than later. Still, he had to admit, if only to himself, that Potter managed to get himself out of numerous scrapes with his own genius. Voldemort wasn't sure just yet how he did it, given that his potential was sorely lacking, in his opinion. The fact remained that Potter was still alive and Voldemort was still seen as the Dark-Lord-Who-Couldn't-Prevail. It was time he finished it once and for all. Six years of kipping off wasn't getting him anywhere. He had to hit him hard, hit him when he was still down.

Voldemort barked to one of the men patrolling the halls to get Malfoy for him. After escaping Azkaban, Malfoy was smart enough to beg forgiveness and return to his Lord. His youngest son, however, did not complete the task put to him. Snape was forced to kill Dumbledore instead, and for that the youngest Malfoy had to suffer. Because he needed the Malfoy men and their service from their future families was important, Voldemort only had Narcissa killed, before Draco's eyes. It took all of his willpower not to Avada the pathetic weeping boy as he struggled to save his silently crying mother as she was tortured by both her own husband and Voldemort himself. Narcissa Malfoy managed to take the curses and hexing with hardly a noise, likely used to it already by Lucius exercising his superior place above her. Voldemort still enjoyed the stricken expressions that crossed her once beautiful face. Finally, when bored with it, and seeing that Draco was simply slumped now, his mind almost broken, Voldemort finished her off with an easy flick of his wrist and a well-placed Avada Kedavra, pocketing his wand when she fell limply to the floor. Draco hadn't spoken since, instead holing himself away in his private quarters until Voldemort had need of him. Lucius, on the other hand, had barely batted an eyelash, and was still very much loyal to Voldemort. So it would quite obviously be up to his second in command to help him with his problem concerning Potter.

He sat tapping his long, misshapen and yellowed finger nails against his desktop, waiting for Lucius to arrive and finding himself irritated when he didn't appear immediately. He had no patience, he knew, and it was an impossible task for anybody to appear out of thin air since apparition wards had been put up for safety. However, he couldn't ignore the fact that he was far too important to be left waiting any longer than he deemed necessary. So as the door opened and Lucius strolled into the room, Voldemort threw a harsh Crucio in his direction just to make himself feel more relaxed. Watching as the white-blonde male writhed in gnarled torture, Voldemort found himself grinning insanely, taking far too much pleasure in the pain of another. He took deep satisfaction as the screams echoed around him, an almost intimate and sexual pleasure coursed through him. He was a sick being, he knew, but that didn't dampen his mood in the least. He finally let Lucius up when he remembered that he had called on the man out of need to cause agony to another; one who was not on his side.

He waited for Malfoy's panting to quit and for him to gather himself enough to stand, leaning against a chair for support. A few minutes passed and Voldemort was finally able to speak to Malfoy as he intended. “Something needs to be done, Malfoy,” he snarled, his eyes thinning in irritation. “The boy may not have Dumbledore, but I doubt he's given up yet.”

“He's... He's shaken, milord,” Malfoy said, his voice hoarse and his breathing unsteady. “This would be a good time to strike. To destroy him while he's down. To--”

“Do not tell me when it is time, Malfoy,” Voldemort interrupted, his voice dangerous and warning. “I know when it will be time and he is not as shaken as you may presume. I can feel him,” he said, shaking his head, his mouth curling with disdain. “He's planning... Discussing, figuring things out... Yes,” he hissed, baring his teeth in anger. “He's not given up just yet. No... No, he's got his mudblood and his traitorous pureblood with him and they're readying themselves for something... big.” He stood up, his legs pushing the chair back in his haste. “I want him broken, Malfoy. I want him begging for death and asking me to just kill him already. I want him to show how pathetic and useless he really is,” he snarled, pressing his hands palm down on the desk, his nails digging in enough to scratch the wood. “How d'you propose I get that?” he asked, cocking his head and glaring the servant into thought.

“Kill another,” he said suddenly, as if scared that if he didn't say something he'd die before his brain could function. “He has a girlfriend, the Weasley girl. Or perhaps that disgusting Muggle family of his, he'd--”

“No,” Voldemort interrupted, shaking his head. “No, he doesn't like the filthy Muggles at all. Hates them only a little less than he does me,” he said with a satisfied smirk. “And not the Weasley girl either,” he muttered, had he a nose it would have been wrinkled with disgust. “She's nothing but an infatuation. Something to distract him. It'll hurt him, but it won't break him.” He shook his head, grimacing at the lack of solution given. “Something bigger, Malfoy, think harder. WHO? Who would make the great Harry Potter fall to his knees and beg for death?” he asked, his voice hissing and dark.

Swallowing thickly, Malfoy stumbled back a step but tried to cover it by standing up a little straighter, lifting his chin and appearing deep in thought. “The only two he's close enough to for that would be the traitorous Weasley boy or the mudblood Granger, milord, but--”

“Yes,” he agreed, his head bobbing agreeably. “Yes, I want the mudblood, Malfoy.” He grinned evilly, just thinking of how little Potter would react at the news that his precious little mudblood had been taken. “Think of it. Think of his pain,” he said enjoyable, a fire lighting behind his eyes. “His best friend ripped from his grasp, no trace of her at all.” His mouth curled in a dark smirk, “Bring her to me. Let him suffer. Let him wonder where she is, what's happened to her. He'll curl into a little ball and wither away,” he said, letting out a piercing laugh that shook the walls around him.

“D'you want her dead, milord?” Malfoy asked, lifting his brow uncertainly.

Voldemort straightened his back so he was staring down at Malfoy as if he were a miserable speck. “Keep her alive,” he told him, shaking his head. “We'll let that disgusting little filth wither away in the dungeons,” he said gleefully. “Watch as the so-called brightest witch of her age falls apart. Left with nothing and no one. Knowing that her precious Potter is out, dying at the thought that he was the reason she was here. Knowing that nobody would come for her.” He laughed, low and sharp, “Sacrifice the one for the many, Malfoy.”

Malfoy smirked, his face betraying his own enjoyment at the idea of Hermione Granger suffering at the hands of Death Eater's. “When, milord?” he asked.

Voldemort sneered in though, before turning and barking out for Pettigrew. They waited in silence, Voldemort stewing in his bit of glee over the dirty little mudblood's capture weakening Potter's resolve. Finally, the door opened and Pettigew slipped inside. His shoulders were stooped and his fingers were moving erratically beneath his chin, the silver glinting beside his dirty, long nailed human hand. He sucked on his long front teeth a moment in anxiety and looked back and forth from Voldemort to Malfoy, waiting for him to be called upon.

“Where are they now?” Voldemort finally asked, enjoying for a moment the way his minion shuddered and sweat like a terrified little rat.

“They're celebrating, milord. A wedding between the disfigured oldest son and the pretty French girl,” he told him, nodding vigorously. “Potter and his friends were setting it all up together with the Weasley family.”

Voldemort nodded, frowning. “What other news have you brought me?”

Peter shifted on his feet, his eyes turning around and around nervously. “They've been talking, I couldn't hear all of it. Always in whispers, always away from everyone else. They're suspicious, their eyes are always searching for interlopers.” He nodded, scowling. “Yes, but I know, I know that she will be going home tomorrow. Yes, she's off to see her Muggle parents and then she'll come back to Potter and the weasel. Off on some journey that was never explained, sir,” he said, his voice becoming meek as he admitted his folly in finding out their grand plan.

Voldemort nodded, his eyes thinning to even smaller slits. “The Granger girl is going home tomorrow to visit her parents, eh,” he said malevolently. He lifted his jaw, smirking at Malfoy, “Go then, while the family is sitting down for dinner,” he ordered maliciously. “Kill her parents, take the girl. Leave no trace of her, but make the parents murder obvious enough. Make sure the message gets across, Malfoy,” he told him darkly, his eyes glinting.

Malfoy gave a sharp nod of understanding. “Will that be all, sir?”

Voldemort snapped his head to the door in a motion for him to leave. “Do not fail, Malfoy, or this shall be the last assignment you receive,” he snarled, his meaning obvious.

“Of course, milord,” Lucius replied, his voice shaking slightly before he left the room.

Before Pettigrew could leave the room, Voldemort threw a bone shaking Crucio his way, grinning to himself gleefully as Pettigrew writhed against the ground, his rat-like face twisted in agony. He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath and letting it out as a pleasurable sensation coursing through him. All would be well by nightfall. Harry Potter would find himself one Headmaster less and one best friend missing. Tom grinned out into the dim room, if his judgment of Potter was right, then the boy wouldn't be able to survive one more loss. The filthy mudblood was the finishing touch. He'd be able to destroy the trash that was considered bright beyond all measure as well as the boy who so many thought far too much of. The day was good, even if the sun was far too bright. His earlier enjoyment of Dumbledore's death was renewed and he couldn't help but laugh crisply into the emptiness of the room as Pettigrew passed out from pain. Potter would die in an agonizing mess of loss and he would triumph, once and for all. All hail Lord Voldemort!

Chapter image (made by SunSation Gal 07 of The Dark Arts): click

Chapter One

“Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.” -Ann Landers

Harry stared out at the group of Weasleys as they all swayed and danced erratically on the designated dance floor. Off in the corner, Bill was whispering sweet nothings in his bride's ear as she lovingly sat in his lap, staring at him adoringly. Fred and George were doing a jig, often dragging random people in with them and somehow managing to do the same thing their twin was doing, though Harry was almost certain it was too odd to be choreographed prior to the wedding. Charlie was debonairly dancing with a pretty blonde woman who was smiling up at him warmly, a blush to her cheeks. It felt nice to see the aftermath of everything. The morning had been chaos entirely. Mrs. Weasley was running around, barking orders for people to move things and magic things into existence. She was cooking up a storm and not letting anybody eat anything, much to Ron's chagrin. The men were ordered to get dressed into their stifling suits and then told not to wrinkle them in the least. The girls were hurried into rooms to do their hair, makeup dress in their outfits, somehow managing to take hours as they giggled and acted girlish. Harry was reminded of how happy he was that he didn't have to worry about cosmetics, though he did wish he could get his hair to sit still in one style.

Ron was nowhere to be seen, though he had been chatting up Luna Lovegood earlier, oddly enough. Harry was pondering that when Hermione plopped down beside him, looking flushed and half-smiling at him. Her hair was piled up on her head, long tendrils hung around her reddened cheeks and down her back. She was wearing a long white dress that somehow made her glow beautifully. She didn't say anything to him; didn't coax him into dancing or encourage him to stop hiding in the background, though he knew she was probably just dying to make him socialize or leave his dark thoughts behind. He was content just to watch, to see regularity rather than join into it. He felt comfortable on the outside for now. It still felt weird to see something so normal like a wedding happening when there was so much darkness in the world, when not so long ago they were attending Dumbledore's funeral. His chest clenched a moment and he forced back tears as he remembered his Headmaster. He didn't want to think about it, had been trying not to focus too much on it. He'd just fall into another one of his depressed moods and he couldn't risk that with the Hunt needing all his attention.

His eyes found Ginny, talking amicably with Neville Longbottom, who had come along with Luna platonically. Ginny was dressed in a floaty dress that showed off her curves and made her look just as beautiful as any veela Delacour. Neville was shifting on his feet, motioning to the dance floor and Ginny nodded her head, looking over at Harry briefly before taking Neville's hand and leading him out. Harry waited for a roar jealousy from the monster in his chest, but it never came. It had been three weeks since Dumbledore's funeral and his break up with Ginny. Two weeks were spent with the Dursleys to be safe, but he had spent the last week of it at the Burrow with the Weasleys, helping with the wedding and planning with Hermione and Ron.

They had already gone to visit Godric's Hollow so they could envision the place when apparating over. He hadn't gone in the house, wanting to prolong it just a little longer. The idea of going into a home he could have grown up in, a house that his parents were savagely murdered in, a place where his new life as the chosen one began wasn't entirely encouraging. They were leaving tomorrow, or at least Harry and Ron were. Hermione was going to spend one last day with her parents and then head over after she finished dinner with them. Harry was considering not going until Hermione could come. He didn't like the idea of them separating for any amount of time. It just didn't feel safe. He wanted to keep everyone who mattered in his sights for as long as he could. There was a looming doubt filling him and he wasn't sure if he could handle the outcome of whatever Voldemort might be planning now. Also, Hermione tended to be much better emotional stability than Ron, so going to Godric's Hollow without her seemed reckless in some way. She would hold his hand, or rub his back, or simply hug him when he needed it. She would understand it if he cried; wouldn't snicker or shuffle her feet. She would look at him with her patented understanding expression and he would find comfort with her. And as much as he wanted to pretend he could handle it, the thought of showing up at Godric's Hollow with nobody to really keep him stable was shaking him. He sighed, wishing he could ask her not to go back to her parents, but knowing he couldn't do that to her.

As if reading his mind, Hermione said, “I'll be over just after dinner. It won't be late. You can go after supper, too. Mrs. Weasley will make sure you're good and full then we don't have to worry about feeding Ron,” she said with a small bit of humor. She looked over at him, and he guessed he didn't look quite reassured, because she continued with, “Really, I will. I won't even have dessert. I just want to say goodbye, you know, at least have one normal evening with them. That way, they can't really be upset or accuse me of simply abandoning them,” she tried to explain.

Harry's expression fell. He was taking her away from her family, from any semblance of normality. Again. He wanted to ask her if she was sure, ask her if she wanted to back out of it instead. He wanted to tell her that it would be smarter for her to just leave him behind, to forget all about Harry bloody Potter and escape to a world where Voldemort didn't exist. Pick up being a Muggle for awhile. But he was selfish, and he didn't, didn't tell her to go or hide or save herself. He needed her. Always had, always would.

Hermione sighed, “They don't understand, you know,” she said softly. Her hand reached out, wrapping around his gently and squeezing it lightly. She leaned a little closer, as if she was sharing a secret with him. “They want to, I know that. They're good parents, and they have reason to be so worried, but...” Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand and he glanced at her. Her gaze was set off on the twins as they pulled Mrs. Weasley into their dance, who laughed delightedly and went along with it. Hermione's eyes shimmered and she sniffled quietly. Her eyes turned then, finding his, and he saw nothing but sorrow. He wanted to take that away. Some part of him reminded him that this was what he was fighting for. It wasn't for the good of the Wizarding world, not really. It was for people close to him, like Hermione, to take that dark expression from their eyes. To give them a world where they didn't have to see their future full of war and bloodshed.

A lone tear fell down Hermione's cheek and she shook her head, her mouth pursed sadly. “I made a mistake this year. I didn't trust you and I thought only of myself.” Her eyes turned off and Harry finally noticed Ron, who was talking with Charlie and sipping from a butterbeer, grinning. “Fact is, I was an idiot.” Harry's eyes widened and his mouth opened, but she cut him off before he could agree or disagree. “But that doesn't mean that I haven't learned my lesson now. I'm not about to walk away, Harry. So don't try and talk me out of this anymore. I will go home, I will have a regular boring dinner with my parents where I pretend that the Muggle life is amazing and then I'll come to Godric's Hollow and I'll spend the time planning and securing a way for us to finally defeat Voldemort,” she vowed passionately.

Harry stared at her, ignoring the many witches and wizards enjoying the festivities unknowingly. Having no idea that two seventeen year olds were planning to defeat the darkest wizard of their time, without help from any adult. Flashes of clothes and skin and faces went passing by his peripheral vision but he ignored all of them to stare at the girl in front of him. She was sitting up, her back ramrod straight, her expression resolute and triumphant, like she had just found the answer to the question and she had no doubts about telling the world of it. “But, Hermione,” he began, thinking that this was the part where he was selfless and saved somebody truly worth saving.

“No Harry, don't you dare try and talk me out of this anymore,” she scolded, her brow furrowing and her mouth setting with a stiff frown. “I've made my decision, and it's to be with you,” she said, her voice a little more gentle.

Harry wondered a moment over why her words made his stomach flip and his heart tingle a bit. He cleared his throat, thinking that she was quite possibly the most devoted and loyal person he'd ever get the chance to know. Though she had messed up quite largely this past year, it wasn't as if he hadn't made similar moves in the past. He hadn't always trusted her judgment and look where it got him. It just so happened that the one time she didn't believe him, he happened to be very largely right. But, compared to the past, it wasn't as if that one mistake could have really made that much of a difference. She had been there for him through everything else. Yes, she did happen to fail him during a time that he truly needed her, but nobody was perfect and it wasn't her who held the wand to Dumbledore. “Okay,” he finally said, half in defeat and half in gratitude. He didn't know what he'd do if she and Ron weren't there. Her mostly in the respect that he needed her to keep him going, to keep him on track, to make sure that he survived. Ron more as a distraction, to keep him from becoming too book oriented or task heavy. His shoulders were weighed down enough as it was. Dumbledore had just died such a short time ago and Harry hadn't even managed to recover from Sirius' death or Cedric's for that matter. He couldn't take much more of this.

“Good,” Hermione said, interrupting his pity party. She smiled, her mouth blooming with such a large grin that he couldn't help but return a small smile. She squeezed his hand and he only then realized that she was still holding it. It all felt so normal, so regular that he hadn't even noticed that he was gently clasping his best girl friend's hand. “Now, I'll be there tomorrow tonight and we'll discuss all that we want to do this summer, yeah?” she asked, but didn't wait for an answer. “So lets enjoy today for all it's worth,” she said, waving at Mrs. Weasley as she beckoned them on to the dance floor. “Dance with me Harry,” she asked him, standing up.

He winced, his eyes moving to the dance floor with worry. “I'm not sure your feet will survive the massacre,” he told her quietly.

She shook her head, chuckling lightly. “After all we've been through, you're worried about my feet being trampled in one dance?” she asked humorously.

A smile slowly formed on his mouth and he rose from his seat. She wouldn't make fun of him or be angry if he stepped on her foot the whole night anyway. He let her lead them out onto the floor and smiled at Fred and George as they mockingly did the tango past them. The song changed and Harry moved closer to hold Hermione, wrapping his arms around her small waist and letting his hands sit on the small of her back. Hermione slipped her arms beneath his and instead of wrapping them around his neck, held him around his back, beneath his arms. Her palms pressed against his shoulder blades and her cheek lay over his heart. Harry pulled her a little closer, feeling comfortable in the intimate position. Her hair smelled like strawberries and one of the curls tickled his nose. He rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes, letting the song wash over him, forgetting about the world.

I will remember you. Will you remember me?
Don't let your love pass you by. Weep not for the memories
I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. Standing on the edge of something much too deep
It's funny how we feel so much, but cannot say a word
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard.

“D'you really think we can do this?” he asked her softly, needing her reassurance.

Hermione's arms squeezed him. “We can't fail.”

“Why?” he wondered, his arms wrapping a little tighter, his fingers lightly grazing against her dress, which felt smooth beneath his skin.

Hermione sighed softly against his chin, rubbing her chin against his black suit coat and soothingly rubbing his back with her fingertips. “I won't let us,” she told him simply. Somehow, that encouraged him more than anything.

But I will remember you. Will you remember me?
Don't let your love pass you by. Weep not for the memories
I'm so afraid to love you, but more afraid to loose.
Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose.

“D'you think we'll live through it though?” he queried, swaying to the song and wondering if he was actually moving away from the one spot. Would he bump into anybody? Could they hear what he and Hermione were talking about?

“Do you, Harry?” she asked, stiffening slightly in his arms when he didn't reply right away.

“I won't let you die,” he finally said, pulling her a little tighter. His heart sped up a little as he remembered back in fifth year, when he had thought that she was really gone. She was so still on the ground; she had fallen so limply, so lifelessly. Her expression, he could still see it in his mind. “I won't, Hermione,” he vowed, the strength in his voice surprising even him.

“I know, Harry,” she replied her arms squeezing his sides. “I know.”

Once there was a darkness, a deep and endless night.
You gave me everything you had, oh, you gave me life
And I will remember you. Will you remember me?
Don't let your love pass you by. Weep not for the memories.

“D'you ever wish you weren't part of all this?” he questioned, his eyes opening slightly and looking down, only to see the tip of her nose and the top of her soft curly hair. “Like you hadn't become my friend or been put through all this?”

She turned her head, her chin resting on his chest and her face so close to his he could actually feel her breath on his mouth. A shiver ran down his spine, but he ignored it, staring into her eyes, the deep brown reminding him of chocolate. He could count her freckles if he wanted to. He wondered if Ron had ever been this close to her and that pang he had been waiting for with Ginny and Neville finally came, only it had to do with Ron being close enough to kiss Hermione. Had he? A frown found his mouth and he forced himself not to think about it. It hadn't really bothered him before, but now... Now he wasn't sure he much liked the idea of them together. They fought too much anyway. That shouldn't be the basis of a relationship!

“Harry,” she said sweetly, her voice quiet as whisper. He looked at her mouth a moment, finding her lips to be the nicest shade of pink. “I'll never regret being your friend,” she told him, her voice gentle but her meaning strong. “These last six years of been one huge trial, but...” she bit her lip, her teeth digging into her plump pink lips in a way that made him lick his own. “It was all worth it, Harry.” She shook her head, a tendril of her hair catching on her nose. He reached out before she could, not wanting her arms to come loose from around him. He felt safe wrapped in her, like the outside world couldn't touch him. He moved the curl from her face and pushed it behind her ear. Her cheeks flushed and she smiled up at him warmly. “The only regret I have is that I was so wrapped up in myself this year.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I should have listened to you. I'm so sorry I didn't,” she told him, her voice shaking.

Harry shook his head, just now noticing that his hand was still resting near her ear. “It's okay,” he told her, truly meaning it. “You're here now. You believe me now.”

And I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your love pass you by
Weep not for the memories.
Weep not for the memories

“I'll never doubt you again,” she told him, turning her head back to rest her cheek against his chest again. “Well... unless it's something completely moronic,” she said, chuckling lightly.

Harry found himself hugging her warmly, no longer even swaying to the song, though he could hear it softly playing in the background. “I don't think I could do this without you,” he told her. “And Ron,” he added, as an afterthought.

“We wouldn't let you if you tried,” she replied, squeezing him lightly. “You shouldn't have to do this alone, Harry. It's not right.” She shook her head, sounding rather annoyed that the world thought to put it all on him alone. “I'm always gonna be here, Harry. I'm always going to help you.” She sighed, her body shaking slightly against him. “You'll never be alone.”

Tipping his head, Harry pressed his face against her shoulder, his cheek pressed against her neck. “Maybe you shouldn't come,” he whispered, suddenly feeling like he should hide her away. “You could get hurt. You could be killed. You...” He shook his head, his arms tightening around her like one of Molly's patented bear hugs. “I can't lose you too, Hermione.”

“You won't,” she told him, her fingers pressing against his back, digging in to the point where it nearly hurt, but somehow comforted. She was there, right there in his arms, alive. “You won't lose me Harry. And even... even if...” He didn't have to see her to know she was biting her lip now. “Even if something happens, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you. I want you to know that no matter how this turns out, I will always be proud of you.”

“We're gonna win,” he whispered to her hoarsely. “We're gonna win and you're gonna be alive. You and Ron and all the Weasleys. We're all gonna be fine. Right?” he asked, his voice not entirely sure.

Hermione nodded against him. “Yes, Harry. Everyone is going to be fine. We're gonna win. Tomorrow, we will plan our victory,” she told him, her tone so strong, so certain, that for that moment, he could imagine a world where they had triumphed and Harry didn't have any Dark Lord's looking to kill him or those he loved. He saw a world where Hermione, Ron, and he were happy, laughing, and living a life free of anything more hazardous than Quidditch and NEWTs exams. It was glorious.

The song ended and Harry suddenly felt another pair of arms wrap around him and Hermione, and then another. He opened his eyes and lifted his chin from her shoulder to see Fred and George hugging them, each pretending to wipe a tear from their eyes. “We just wanted to share in the moment,” one said, fake sniffling.

“It looked so cozy, we were quite jealous we hadn't been invited earlier,” the other added.

Hermione lifted her head from Harry's chest and rolled her eyes at the twins. “Oh honestly,” she said, sighing.

“Oh...” one of the twins said, lifting their brows at the other, “Does ickle Hermione want time alone with Mr. Potter here?” he teased.

“She sounds tetchy to me, George, we must have interrupted something quite intimate,” he said, stage-whispering the last word.

“Well, maybe they shouldn't have been cuddling in the middle of the dance floor,” George replied, grinning.

“We were not cuddling,” Hermione replied, exasperated. “Isn't there some punch you could be spiking?” she wondered, cocking her brow.

George smirked at Fred and they nodded at Harry and then winked at Hermione before hooking their arms together and skipping off to the refreshment table, whistling in a mock-innocent manner.

“Those two are the limit,” Hermione said, though she sounded much more fond than angry. She shook her head, looking up at Harry. “I think I might just miss them while we're away.”

“FRED! GEORGE! WHAT ARE YOU PUTTING IN THAT PUNCH?” Mrs. Weasley's loud bellow reached them.

“Nothing, mother,” they called back in sing-song voices reeking of amusement and mischief.

Hermione snickered, rolling her eyes. “Would you like to go sit down now?” she asked, motioning back to their previous seats.

Before Harry could reply, Mrs. Weasley appeared beside them. Her hair was teetering on her head, looking frazzled and ready to fall from its loose bun. Her cheeks were flushed but she looked quite happy in her flower patterned dress and with her makeup quite messy from all her happy crying and dancing. “Have either of you two seen Ron?” she wondered, looking around and frowning. “He was going to make a toast, but I can't seem to find him,” she said, sounding only mildly annoyed. “I found him earlier, but he was pulled away by a blonde girl who was talking animatedly about cloud formations,” she told him curiously, her brow furrowed. “Hardly had time to ask him anything before he was trailing behind her, mumbling about nargles,” she said, her voice hinting confusion.

Harry frowned, realizing Molly was speaking of Luna and wondering why it was that Ron was off talking to her. A few weeks ago she had stopped by the compartment to play a game of chess with Ron and spent most of the ride conversing with him while Hermione and Harry discussed what it would be like spending the next two weeks with the Dursleys, but Harry had thought Ron was only being polite. Now that he thought about it, Ron was being more than polite with the young Ravenclaw, even going so far as being especially friendly with her. But what sense did that make if Ron was fancying Hermione? he wondered. A scowl appeared on his face at the thought, before his brow furrowed in confusion. Why was it that the thought of Hermione and Ron actually being a couple disturbed him so much lately? What changed, really? It had been leading to it all along, hadn't it? He sighed dejectedly, glancing back to see if Hermione was irritated at the idea of Ron being off with Luna, but she was simply looking around curiously for her other best friend.

“D'you know her then, Harry?” Molly asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “I was hoping you might be able to find him,” she said, wringing her hands. “It's getting late, people are getting a little knackered and things are beginning to wind down. I know he really wanted to give his speech though,” she told him, sighing.

“Her name's Luna,” he informed her dutifully, his eyes roaming the area for the familiar blonde in a sea of red. He finally spotted them over by a tree on the outer edge of the Burrow. Luna was pointing up into the branches, looking excited while Ron simply grinned at her, shrugging his shoulders as she chattered on. “There they are,” he said, pointing.

Molly turned, following his finger and then nodded. She turned back to him and Hermione and smiled, “Thank you,” she said cheerfully and then made her way over to them, waving her hand and calling out his name. Harry chuckled as he saw Ron look over with an abashed expression and glance at Luna uncomfortably. For a split second, he wondered if maybe Ron would venture running off as if he hadn't heard his mother.

“D'you think he'll try escaping?” Hermione asked and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. Sometimes, it really was like she could read his mind.

“Nah, she's too close now.” Ron's shoulders slumped and he walked toward his mum dutifully. Luna followed him and Harry wondered what they were possibly talking about as she suddenly began a conversation with Molly. Ron was left on the outside, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he simply listened to his mum and the rather odd Luna Lovegood converse.

“They're a good match,” Hermione murmured and Harry only then noticed that he was still holding her tight against him, though now she was moved to his side, her arm still around his back.

He looked at her in confusion. “Who?”

“Ron and Luna,” she said matter-of-factly. “She's quite odd but she's very intelligent and she's liked him a long time. That and she's quite good at handling his mood swings.”

“But I thought...” He trailed off, shaking his head, his brow furrowed. “Aren't you and Ron...?”

She shook her head, a small smile present on her mouth. “No. I made more than one mistake this year. Not only not trusting you, but thinking that Ron and I could possibly...” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Oh, how that would be a wrong match.” She rested her head on his arm, looking up at him through her lashes. “Can you imagine the fights, Harry? I mean, we bicker enough as it is. But if we spent even more time around each other...” She scoffed, frowning up at him. “How could you ever allow me to think that was logical, Harry James?”

Harry smiled down at her, finding that he was a little more at ease now. He hadn't liked the idea of his two best friends becoming a couple and now that they were his heart didn't seem to be clenching as much as it had. He decided not to think on that reaction too much and instead answer her question. “You know that when you have your mind set on something it's nearly impossible to change it, Hermione Jane,” he said, mocking her use of his first and middle names.

She sniffed, rolling her eyes to the side. “I'm rather thirsty. Maybe we can find a butterbeer inside that's not tainted.”

Harry nodded, his eyes roaming the party area to find that most of the guests were either slumped in chairs and the grass, or dancing rather jerkily, as if they were a little tossed. He spotted Remus and Tonks, dancing in a secluded spot, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Tonks' head rested on Remus' chest and his chin was sitting comfortably on top of her hair. Harry's brow furrowed and he wondered for a moment why such an intimate display between two lovers like Remus and Tonks fit so easily with him and Hermione earlier. Before he had much time to ponder it, Hermione had tugged him inside and to the kitchen. She searched around in the ice box while Harry sat at the table, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers over the dips and chips in the tabletop. He could still hear the boisterous laughter from outside and see various people dancing around in the yard to the Weird Sisters. Ginny and Neville were awkwardly swaying, Neville's eyes more focused on his feet than the girl in front of him while Ginny seemed to be searching the area for someone. He squinted and could just barely make out Ron, Luna, and Molly still talking near the tree, Mrs. Weasley was making large gestures with her hands and Luna was nodding vigorously as Ron stared up at the sky with a confused expression on his face.

There was clink and Harry looked back to see a bottle of butterbeer in front of him. Hermione slid into the seat at the head of the table and sipped her bottle while her finger drew something on the table, which looked to be an Arithmancy problem if Harry's eyes served him right. Unscrewing the top of the bottle, Harry guzzled back the cold drink, the sweet flavor surrounding his taste buds and leaving him feeling relaxed. He heard Hermione chuckle and looked at her before catching her gaze settled out the window. Fred and George had the arms around each other and were doing a sloppy version of the can-can. He half-smiled, shaking his head. While the two of them were always good for a laugh, he couldn't help but remember how loyal and reliable they were, too. He sometimes wondered if maybe it would be smart to tell them about the Horcruxes and gain their knowledge on it also. They weren't lacking in the intelligence department, even Hermione admitted they were really quite brilliant. The Weasley twins were two of the best allies to have during any predicament. Brains, courage, loyalty and reliability. It was like packing the trio into two people who thought and looked the same. They were quite remarkable. He wondered how they would deal with it if they found out they were prophesied to destroy Voldemort. If it was just one of them, would they leave the other behind out of need to keep them safe? Or would they want them there with them through it all? He stared at them, watching how together they were. Trying to picture just one of them being more or less than the other, but the image wouldn't come.

“Some people just belong together,” Hermione said, her voice quiet as if she were contemplating something deep. “I don't think one could survive without the other,” she told him, shaking her head vigorously. “Fred and George are so much a part of each other that they couldn't really function separately.”

Harry nodded. Was that how it was within the Trio? He glanced at Hermione from the corner of his eyes and found himself wondering. If Ron wasn't there, would they still be close? Would they still have moments where they could read each other like a book? Would the adventures still have turned out as they had? Would he have survived Voldemort? It was likely. Ron was essential to Harry being more friendly, more comfortable in his skin, more outgoing. But in living, in growing up in mentality and circumstance, Hermione was who kept him going. Without her brilliance and her friendship, he wasn't sure who he'd be. He certainly wouldn't be ready to defeat Voldemort, would he? Would he have even made it this far? He couldn't imagine going very far without her. Even without her intelligence and confidence in him, he still needed her there. She believed in him, gave him reason to believe he was worthy of friendship, family, and love. She was his emotion, disguised as his best friend. Like the twins, he couldn't function without her.

Hermione turned to him, her hand reaching out and taking his. “Don't focus so much on the bad, Harry. Otherwise you can't see the good that could come out of everything.”

Harry nodded, but didn't reply. If Voldemort hadn't tried to kill him in first year with the troll, then Harry wouldn't have gotten closer to Hermione. Good from the bad. If he hadn't been picked as a champion in the Tri Wizard Championship, Harry wouldn't have known how deep Hermione's loyalty to him ran. If everything horrible hadn't happened over the years, Harry wouldn't have his two best friends there with him. He wouldn't have Hermione and Ron willing to stand beside him through a war against the darkest wizard of their time. He wouldn't be having this conversation with her, wouldn't have danced with her earlier that night, a moment where he felt more comfortable in his skin than he had in ages. So much would be different in his life. Would he even be close to the Weasleys? A family that basically adopted him into their close knit togetherness. There was so much darkness, so many moments that weren't really worth it, but he couldn't change that and for that moment, that day and that time, he was content with how it was. He could hear the twins belting out a slurred song, Mrs. Weasley was chastising Charlie for snogging a girl behind the shed, Mr. Weasley was telling Fleur a story about Bill when he was a little boy, and Harry could see Ron dancing with loony Lovegood. Hermione Granger was holding his hand, her thumb rubbing little circles against his skin. His butterbeer was chilling his palm and the air was humid, almost stifling. His shirt was a little tight at the throat and his feet were uncomfortable in his shoes. But for that night, there was no Voldemort or Dursleys. There were the Weasleys and Hermione, and he was happy with just that.

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley called out. “Harry, Hermione, dears, come on out, Ron's going to make his big speech,” she told them cheerfully.

Harry smiled, standing up from his seat and tugging Hermione along behind them, not letting her hand go just yet. They stood on the outer edge, near Remus, Tonks, and Charlie who were talking about Ron's rather ruffled appearance. His shirt was hanging out from his pants, his hair was in disarray and one of his shoes seemed to be missing. But he was grinning excitedly and holding up a bottle of Firewhiskey that his mother soon replaced with a butterbeer. Ron briefly frowned at her but then began telling his speech about his great older brother Bill and his fetching wife Fleur. Hermione wrapped her free hand around Harry's arm and chuckled at the story Ron was telling. Harry's gaze fell from his best mate to watch Hermione's glowing smile. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a whole new adventure, but he was somehow reassured that with her there it wouldn't be as hard as it could without her. Cheers rang out as Ron finished and the family patted his back and chatted with Bill and Fleur over the nuptials.

When the hour grew late people began dissipating. Some went home, others conked out at the Burrow. Harry spotted the twins fast asleep, leaning against the house. Bill and Fleur had left for a fancy hotel they had booked. The Delacour family had long last left, going to their own Hotel suites and leaving the “'orrible” Weasleys alone. Charlie slipped out with the girl he had been snogging, and Ron fell asleep in one of the chairs near the refreshment stand. Harry found himself half-asleep on the couch, Hermione curled up in a ball beside him, her head pillowed by a balled up sweater she had put on when the night air became chilly. Harry watched the flickering flames of the fire, vaguely listening to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talk about how wonderful the wedding turned out as they put food away. He heard Molly giggle and glanced over to see Arthur twirling her around the kitchen, they were both blushing and grinning like lovesick teenagers. He wondered, were his parents alive, if they would be acting the same way if it were his own wedding. He could imagine his dad twirling his mum, her bright red hair flying around, her deep green eyes glittering out at him happily. He felt a tug at his heart and his smile began to melt.

Harry heard Hermione mumble something about “need more books” in her sleep and smiled down at her sleeping form. He pulled the blanket off of the back of the couch and covered her with it. Sighing contently, Harry pulled himself up from the couch and trudged upstairs to find comfort in the bed he had made up in Ron's bedroom. His eyelids drooped and his shoulders fell a notch. He hadn't realized how tired he was. As soon as he found his bed, he slipped under the blanket and fell asleep. His dreams were full of thick brown hair, warm smiles, and the sweet flavor of butterbeer.

To be continued...

Chapter Image (by SunSation Gal 07 of The Dark Arts): click

Chapter Two

“War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature, and has no chance of being free unless made or kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.” - John Stuart Mill

Harry woke up fairly early, but feeling more refreshed than he had in some time. Rubbing the tiredness from his face, he slipped downstairs, wondering how long it would be until he stepped foot in the Burrow again. He assumed Hermione had woken up and moved up to the room she shared with Ginny some time during the night because Ron was sleeping on the couch, his arms dangling off the side and his arse up in the air. He was snoring loudly and drool dripped out of his mouth to the flat pillow beneath him. As Harry approached the kitchen, he could hear Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley talking while making breakfast. Slipping through the door quietly, he took a seat, wanting to be an outsider and not drawn into the conversation.

“The wedding was wonderful,” Molly tittered, waving her wand at a stack of bread. “I think Mrs. Delacour may have had a little too much champagne though,” she said, her mouth pinching together. “She was going on and on about the colour red and needing more flowers half the night. Ginny, go wake up the twins, they're out by the garden,” she said, waving to the door. “I think everyone had a wonderful time though, don't you, Hermione dear?”

“Oh yes, it was definitely the most interesting wedding I've ever attended,” Hermione replied warmly.

Mrs. Weasley beamed at her, her cheeks blushing with the compliment. “Lovely,” she said, nodding. She glanced at Hermione from the corner of her eyes, still not appearing to notice Harry at the table. Ginny had slipped away without seeing him, too, but Harry wasn't surprised as he was slumped down in the farthest chair. “Did Harry enjoy it too, do you think?” she queried, returning her attention to the food and trying to act nonchalant.

Hermione looked at her a moment curiously but then said, “I'm certain he did. I'm not sure Harry's ever been to a wedding before. He seemed to be having fun. Why do you ask?” she wondered, her brow furrowing.

Mrs. Weasley frowned, shaking her head. “It's nothing really. I just noticed that, well...” She sighed, shaking her head again. “He didn't spend much time with the guests, is all. I don't think he and Ginny even danced,” she exclaimed, waving a chunk of hair back as it fell over her forehead. “And Ron was off with that girl all night. The only time I really saw Harry was when I asked him if he had seen Ron and later when I found you two in here enjoying a butterbeer.”

Hermione looked rather perplexed for a moment after she mentioned Ginny, but didn't comment on it. “Well, Harry danced with Gabrielle and Tonks a few times. And he did find Ron to share a butterbeer and talk about his speech for a bit. He played a game of Chess with me a little later on and I know he spent some time with Remus and Neville during various moments throughout the evening.” Hermione shrugged her shoulder. “He enjoyed himself, I think. It was a moment for him to blend in, not be so much the celebrity as just... well, Harry,” she said, nodding.

Harry grinned, running a hand through his messy hair and nodding his head agreeably to Hermione's assertion. He had enjoyed it. Hardly anybody had come looking for him as Harry Potter, boy-who-lived. He simply hung around with friends and talked about regular every day things. He spent most of his time with Hermione, sometimes talking, sometimes just enjoying the silence. He danced with her one more time, to a fast song that had them laughing and jumping around. Hermione had long past tossed her shoes away and they hopped around with him on her tip toes. Gabrielle had blushingly asked him to join her in a dance and Hermione had pushed him out onto the dance floor with the pretty young Delacour. Before he could get off the dance floor, Tonks had grabbed his arm and yanked him back on, stating that since Hermione had nicked her date for the song she needed a partner. Harry held Tonks' attention for half the song but when they got too close to Hermione and Remus who were discussing interesting books, Tonks traded partners and Hermione was back in Harry's arms. Instead of dancing though, they left the area to talk about what Hermione had found out. She had been covertly discussing Defense books with Remus in hopes of finding more spells to keep her, Harry, and Ron safe during their adventure.

Harry's attention was brought back to Molly and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley said, “Yes, but, it seemed he and Ginny hardly had any contact. They've been dating for some time now, is there a problem?”

Hermione cleared her throat, her hands stilling and her eyes widening a bit. “Well... er...” Harry found it to be one of the few moments Hermione was at a loss for words. Mrs. Weasley couldn't press the matter as Ginny came back inside with a moaning Fred and George Weasley, who had apparently sampled too much of their own spiked punch. The conversation was officially cut off and Hermione left the area while Mrs. Weasley was chastising her twins. She spotted Harry and slipped over to sit down beside him. She gave him a side-long glance, obviously wondering how much he heard. He simply shrugged in reply and they waited for the rest of the house to wake up and come in for breakfast.

The kitchen was soon full of loud voices, everybody having something to say. A groggy Ron had slipped in at the smell of bacon and took a seat next to Harry, scrubbing his face of sleep. By the time breakfast was done, Fred and George were calling for a game of Quidditch and Harry wondered whether he should hang around with Hermione, feeling like her leaving meant he wasn't going to see her for awhile rather than just the afternoon. She waved him out the door however and was soon sitting on the grass, reading a book while they flew around above her. Lee Jordan and Gabrielle Delacour, who had spent the night, evened out the teams. Harry was surprised to find that little Gabrielle was quite the beater and enjoyed Ron's running commentary on how they were obviously the more talented team. Harry basked in the regularity he felt at the Burrow and managed to catch the snitch before Charlie, who had come back for breakfast sans his blonde date. As the game winded down, Harry joined beside Hermione who beckoned him and Ron up to one of the rooms to talk.

Putting up a silencing charm, Hermione sat down on Harry's makeshift bed and packed her book away in her meticulously filled side bag. Ron and Harry were going to take her trunk along with them, so as not to arouse suspicion with the Weasley's, who thought Hermione was only going to be gone until after dinner. Hermione was pulling her thick hair up into a ponytail as she talked to them, her brows raised seriously. “My parents are expecting me soon and since I already have everything done I thought not to put it off any longer.”

“Why do you have to go back again?” Ron wondered, sipping his glass of pumpkin juice and wiping the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. He had been decked out in his school Quidditch robes and the game had left him quite overheated.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, looking exasperated. “Because Ron, I won't be seeing them for a very long time. I already spent an entire year away; I think it'd be nice to spend some time with them before I'm suddenly seen as missing or AWOL.”

“A wall?” Ron asked, her brow cocking in confusion.

“Absent without leave,” Hermione explained, shaking her head. “It means that I've suddenly run off and they don't have any reason for it. I wasn't given permission and they weren't informed ahead of time.”

“So you're not telling your parents?” he asked, towering over her and looking down instead of sitting.

“Of course not,” she said, shaking her head and frowning. “Anybody could use a memory charm or Veritaserum on them and they could tell without meaning to. I'll tell them that I'm going away and that I'm safe. That's all.” She nodded her head decidedly.

There was a sudden knock outside the door and the twins called out for Harry and Ron, wondering if they wanted to go another round of Quidditch. Charlie was promising to beat Harry this time. Ron had jumped at the ruckus and his pumpkin juice had sloshed out of his cup to land on Hermione's clean white shirt. He apologized before trying to smother his laugh. He called out to the twins that they'd be out soon to play and then shrugged his shoulders at Hermione. “So I guess we'll, er, see you tonight, then?” he asked, chuckling lightly.

Hermione hurried up from the floor, trying to pat her shirt dry and hoping it wouldn't stain. “All my clothes are tightly packed,” she murmured, annoyed. She looked over at Ron and scowled, “Yes, I'll see you tonight,” she muttered.

He nodded sharply and then, thinking he was going to escape unscathed if he left immediately, hurried out of the room, calling out to his brothers that Harry was still going to beat Charlie and they'd be the victors again.

Harry shook his head and turned to Hermione, “Sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” she told him, still swiping at the offending orange juice angrily.

Harry walked over to his trunk and pushed it open. He grabbed the first shirt he saw and tossed it to her. “Wear this. Then you don't have to go through your trunk. You need to be going now anyway, right?” he said, shifting on his feet.

Hermione caught the shirt and smiled at him thankfully. “Harry, this is your Quidditch jersey,” she said, going to hand it back to him.

“That's okay. It's clean, I promise. I'll get it back tonight,” he assured, nodding. Hermione smiled at him again, her cheeks tingeing a light pink which he wondered over a moment before startling. “Uh, well I'll wait for you downstairs then. I'll, er, walk you to the apparition wards,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaving the room. He closed Ron's door behind him and made his way downstairs. He spotted Ginny, who was leaning against the wall, holding a broom and half-smiling at him. “You coming, Harry? Charlie's acting like this is the biggest game of the century,” she told him.

He nodded, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah, I'll be out soon, I'm just gonna see Hermione off.”

Ginny nodded, her eyes moving from him to the door. “Okay, well...” She sighed, shifting her feet and then looking back up at him. “Something's happening, isn't it?” she queried, her voice lowering.

“What d'you mean?” Harry asked, suddenly becoming rigid.

“You guys are planning something, aren't you?” she wondered, her mouth becoming a hard pout and her hip jutting out in a demanding posture. “I want in, Harry. I want to help out.”

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Nothing's going on, Ginny,” he said, suddenly moving to the door.

“Don't leave me out of this, Harry,” she said, stomping her foot. “I can be helpful. I can--”

“Ginny,” he said, his voice hard and loud, “Just stop it,” he told her, pushing past and through the door. Feeling annoyed, he walked out to the other side of the house and leaned against it. Away from the friendly Quidditch game and Ginny's overzealous begging. He heard footsteps and considered moving, but Hermione was upon him before he could run. She smiled at him, her bag slung over her shoulder. He found himself grinning back rather foolishly, feeling like she had already pulled him from his dampened mood. He hoped Ginny wouldn't find them again. He wasn't interested in seeing her dejected expression or forlorn pouting. Part of him was grateful that she was safe now, that he wouldn't have to worry about her being Voldemort's next victim. But another part snarkily told him that he was really just happy to be free of her. She was too clingy, all too happy to be with the Harry Potter, rather than just Harry. He didn't dislike Ginny; she had been a nice distraction during a hellish year where his best friends seemed preoccupied with more intimate matters. But he didn't need a distraction now, he needed to be focused.

Thinking back to the last year, he scowled to himself, finding his irritation at Ron rise. He couldn't explain why it was that Hermione wasn't included, perhaps because it felt more sincere when she apologized. Or maybe because he knew that while she made a mistake, she wouldn't do it again. Unlike Ron, who hadn't been beside Harry in the past and was more interested in sticking his tongue down Lavender's throat than helping him outr. In any case, he rather wanted this moment to be Ginny-free. The walk to the apparition wards wasn't far, but he didn't feel like sharing Hermione with anybody else for that small moment.

In a few hours, he too would be leaving the Burrow and he hoped that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't catch on to what they were doing or that Ginny wouldn't rat on them. He didn't feel like putting up with lectures or interfering Weasleys. Their plans were made and it was how it had to be. He knew that things were dangerous; he knew that what they were planning could potentially kill them all. But Ron and Hermione had already made their decision and Harry wasn't backing down on his. The Order didn't know anything about the Horcruxes and Dumbledore made it clear that they weren't suppose to. It was another adventure for the Golden Trio, and he would honor how it was supposed to be, rather than how the adults thought it should be.

He wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon acting like things were fine, like he wasn't going to escape a place that felt like home to do something drastically dangerous. Tomorrow everything would be different and he didn't much want to think about that. They would start planning, figuring out how to get the Horcruxes and destroy them. He was fed up with Voldemort and he didn't feel like hiding away in the shadows waiting anymore. Riddle had already taken far too much from him, too many loved ones and he wasn't going to let it continue. The Order likely wouldn't appreciate his position, but that didn't much matter since all he really needed was Hermione and Ron while they went on their journey. Maybe he wasn't exactly rational; he was angry and upset, tired and anxious, and very much determined. He wondered if Dumbledore would appreciate his attitude, if only because it was directed at wanting to bring down Voldemort once and for all.

Hermione walked close next to him as they silently made their way to the outskirts of the Burrow. The back of her hand kept brushing his and he considered reaching out and simply taking it, before he finally just did. He hoped his palm wasn't sweaty or that the Weasleys wouldn't notice and tease him about it. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, but she was still looking forward, a small smile on her mouth. She stopped a few feet from the wards and looked up at him. She nodded her head before reaching up and pressing a short kiss against his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. He felt a warmth slip down to his toes and wondered if he was as bright as Ron was when he was angry, or if he was smiling as goofily as he wanted to. Without saying anything, she turned and walked toward the wards.

An immediate feeling of loss enveloped him and he suddenly wanted to go with her, even if it'd be awkward meeting her parents, he just wanted to be around her a little longer. Hear her voice, hold her hand, just have her around in general. Harry stood for a moment, transfixed on watching her retreating figure. Her hair swayed behind her, thick soft curls catching the light and shimmering. He could see his last name peeking out from beneath her hair. Large black letters proclaiming, “POTTER.” Seeing it so clearly on her back, he had the most peculiar feeling that it rightly deserved to be there. Her side bag bounced against her hip, looking large compared to her small, curvy body. He swallowed thickly, wondering when he started noticing how Hermione's body looked in her Muggle clothes and finding his senses submerged in the soft scent of strawberries and ink. She was wearing a prim grey skirt with his jersey, making her appear rather mismatched in an oddly adorable way.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her brown eyes sparkling, though he was probably imagining it. He found his mind conjured a vision of her face when they had been dancing close the night before. Light spatter of freckles over her pert nose, warm brown eyes with flecks of gold, high, rosy cheeks, and soft looking pale pink lips over perfect, straight white teeth. Had she always been fetching, or was he just noticing it now? She smiled at him one last time, tucking a strand of hair that fell from her ponytail behind her ear. And then she was gone. A small, echoing pop hit his ears and he found himself staring at the spot she had previously been standing in. He wondered why he felt so worried about it, but decided he was just being far too cautious for his own good.

Pulling himself away, he made his way back over to the waiting Quidditch game and gave a half-hearted smile to the people calling for him to hurry up. He grabbed his Firebolt and joined them in the air, intent on enjoying the last afternoon of freedom he would have for some time. While up in the air, looking for the familiar gold spark from the snitch, Harry caught sight of where Hermione had been standing and shook off the chill running down his spine. He heard Ron shout that George better watch his aim and then returned his attention to looking for the elusive gold. Hermione would be fine. She'd meet them at Godric's Hollow just like they planned and he could stop worrying about her. Sighing, his green eyes turned swiftly at the sight of wings.

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Hermione found herself listening to her mum chatter on about one of the patients at her Dentist surgery as she leaned against the kitchen counter, chewing on a piece of celery while her mum put together a salad. It felt both nice and uncomfortable to be home. There was a certain warmth that she always felt when she came back, but at the same time she recognized that she wasn't the same girl who grew up there. She wasn't the daughter they knew so well, she had grown up quickly. Her parents always used to kid that she was much older than her age said, but now she felt ancient compared to the previously so-called wise eleven year old that first left the Muggle world. It was nice to see them, to see a face that wasn't marred by death, war, and destruction, but she couldn't help but feel a separation from them because of it. They didn't know much about how the Wizarding world was and she had kept everything light in her letters home. She didn't want to worry them and she certainly never wanted them to take her away from magic like she was sure they would want to. She admitted to them that there were dark wizards, that the Wizarding world wasn't perfect and like anything, there was a downside to magic, but she never told them that she was going to be in the thick of a war.

“Pass me the croutons, Hermione dear,” her mother asked sweetly.

Hermione lifted the box from the counter and opened it for her mum. It was all so normal, so ordinary, so Muggle. There was nothing wrong with being Muggle, she held no prejudice against people who didn't work with magic. She didn't think less of her parents or relatives or neighbors because they couldn't cast a spell or magic something into existence. She loved that her parents would always be the two most reliable people she'd ever known. They were dentists, two of the best in their field. They had one daughter, had been married eighteen years and loved each other dearly. They fought over trivial things like how her dad would rather watch a football game then go to the opera or see a film. Or how her mum enjoyed decorating the house every year, buying new curtains or sometimes deciding the paint in a certain room either needed to be rejuvenated or should be a different colour, while her father enjoyed things just as they were, no need for change. They married in their twenties while attending med school and their pride and joy was simply and only Hermione. They never looked down on her magic, but instead labeled it another wonderful part of their already perfect daughter. They had a few married couple friends and her mum was part of a book club while her dad enjoyed golfing. They were a regular, normal couple, and she loved that about them.

“So, tell me, how are Ronald and Harry,” her mother asked, looking over at her, smiling. Charlotte Granger was a pretty woman, not beautiful but certainly not plain. Hermione had received her wild, thick hair from her mum, who kept hers in a tight French braid while working or busy so it wouldn't get in the way. She always said that one day she'd cut it, but she never did. She usually let it down at home because it was one of her husband's favorite things about her. He often ran a hand over her hair or twirled a strand around his finger at random, something Hermione always thought was very sweet between her parents. Her mum was on the short side with a small frame and a warm face. She had a loving smile that always seemed gentle and friendly. Hermione often thought her mum came across as sweet and on the generous side, because she had such a nice look to her.

“They're good,” Hermione replied, thinking back to her two best friends. “Ron's brother's wedding went wonderfully and I think he may fancy a girl named Luna now. She's a little flighty,” she admitted, her brow wrinkling. “She's in her head a lot, always saying the most odd things,” she said, tipping her head to one side. “But she's nice enough and she seems to understand Ron well enough.” Hermione shrugged, leaning back against the counter and taking another bite of her celery stick. “Harry's... well. He's been rather tense lately, since Dumbledore...” She felt her throat tighten and wondered if clearing it would be too telling. “He's happy to be away from the Dursleys,” she said, changing the subject.

She scowled while remembering the horrid family that was somehow genetically connected to Harry. They were a vile trio of people that Hermione didn't believe knew how lucky they were to know Harry at all. “I'm worried about him though. A lot has happened to him over the years and it all seems to be weighing him down. I'm afraid that... that one day it's all going to be just too much for him and he'll... fall,” she said softly, her eyes stinging. He'd been dealing with so much from the very beginning. Hermione wasn't sure if she could have handled so much. True she had been there through a lot of it, but it wasn't as connected to her as it was him. She hadn't seen first hand Cedric's murder, or had to watch as Sirius fell through the veil, or witness Snape killing Dumbledore. It wasn't right for him to be plagued by so much death. Not right at all.

Her mum stepped closer to her, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Hermione's frame loosely. She kissed her daughter's temple and ran her hand over Hermione's hair a moment, just holding her. Hermione stared off, deep in her thoughts, but relaxed into her mother's embrace. It felt nice. Her mum's hugs were something she often craved at school. They were so soothing, so comforting, so coaxing. “Hermione?” Charlotte asked, her voice soft, hesitant, a little worried.

“Yes, sorry, I was just...” Hermione shook her head, her shoulders falling. “It's nothing. Would you like me to check the roast?” she wondered, hoping to avoid the issue entirely. Pulling out of her mother's embrace she moved across the kitchen. Hermione pulled on a couple of oven mitts and pulled down the door to check on their dinner. She heard her mum make a noise but ignored it, knowing what it could bring if she let her mother's coaxing eyes meets hers. She'd let it all out, admit all that was wrong and what was happening and she'd never able to leave the house again. She'd be stuck in the Muggle world while Harry was out battling a war that she should be a part of. He'd be all alone and she could never let that happen. She needed to be there, wanted to be there, had to be there. For him; if for nobody else, then at least for Harry. If not only because he needed her then because she could never abandon him. Not with his life and future on the line. She wouldn't let him fail. He had to find peace, had to find a world where he wasn't the Harry Potter, but just Harry. He deserved it, and she would do all that was in her power to give it to him.

“What's this?” her mum's voice wondered, and Hermione felt her hair being pushed to the side, revealing Harry's last name on the jersey.

“It's nothing,” Hermione told her, shaking her head as her cheeks rosied. “Ron spilled something on me so Harry let me borrow his jersey,” she explained, clearing her throat and turning her attention back to the roast.

“Mm hmm,” her mother said, lifting a skeptical but amused brow. “So Harry and you are quite close then?”

“Yes,” Hermione said hesitantly, glancing back. “We've been friends since we were eleven so... it's only natural.”

“Perfectly natural,” her mother replied, an underlying statement in her words as she winked.

Hermione blushed, trying to look as though she didn't know what her mum was on about she frowned.

“What is that heavenly smell?” she heard her dad call out as he entered the kitchen. “Mmm...” He walked to her mother, tugging on a loose curl and kissing her cheek. “Dinner nearly ready then?”

Hermione pulled her mitts off and nodded at the steaming roast on the stove top. “If the salad is finished then I think we can serve everything,” she told him, smiling warmly. Jonathon Granger was rather tall, with thinning, greying hair and a thick brown mustache with flecks of age running through it. He had warm brown eyes and a large grin making him appear friendly. He was on the thin side, his idea of exercise and health was jogging to the mailbox in the front yard each morning and laying off the donuts before work. Despite being a dentist, he had quite the sweet tooth. He figured it balanced out if he cleaned his teeth properly and never skimped on the floss, but his wife always tutted at his enjoyment of sweets. He had a great love for golf, but football was his favorite sport. He'd never played, not having the body for it, but he had high hopes that Hermione would enjoyed kicking the soccer ball around when she was growing up. His own little football player, he said. But she had never taken much of a liking to the game, instead enjoying her books.

“Great,” Jonathon exclaimed, clapping his hands together. He moved over to take his designated seat at the table and moved a napkin into his lap, being quite the messy eater. Hermione carved the roast and placed a good portion on a plate to bring to the table while her mother served out the potatoes and salad in a couple bowls. They sat down, grinning at the lovely meal in front of them and then digging in. “Good to have you home munchkin,” her father said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

Hermione smiled back at him, nodding her head agreeably. She had missed them, despite the fact that it was a little awkward keeping such a huge life involving the Wizarding world hidden from them. She knew they'd want to help, even if they were scared about her safety. They'd want something to be done, just not by their daughter. There was no way to explain to them that she had to do it. That Harry needed her. They wouldn't understand. Not entirely. And she couldn't risk not being able to return to the Wizarding world, not with so much on the line. So for now, she would enjoy the family atmosphere and listen to her father crack jokes about anything and everything. Her dad had a bit of an odd sense of humor, which was something she always found endearing.

“So, I heard a real good one today at work,” he began as he drizzled some dark gravy onto his roast and potatoes. “Mr. Smith, you remember him dear, don't you? Well he came in for his monthly and he told me a real knee slapper.” He smiled up at his wife and then turned to Hermione, “So a seal walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a drink. The bartender asks the seal, 'What'll ya have?' The seal replies, 'Anything but Canadian Club',” he told them, his mouth widening even further.

“Oh dad,” Hermione said stifling a chuckle against her hand.

“Okay, okay, I got another,” he said, waving his hands before he took a large gulp of his milk. “A hotdog walks into a bar--”

“Jonathon,” Charlotte whined, rolling her eyes. “After dinner, dear, please.”

“Last one,” he promised, winking at Hermione. “So a hotdog walks into a bar and orders a beer. Bartender says.” He smirked. “'Sorry, we don't serve food here'.”

Hermione shook her head, smiling at the cheesiness of her father. Her smile soon slipped however as she heard a familiar explosion in the background. She shot up from her chair as her father looked curiously as the kitchen door, wondering what had just happened in the front of the house. Hermione shook her head, her hand reaching out and taking hold of his arm. “Listen to me, please,” she told them, a sick feeling running down her spine. “You both have to get out of her, now,” she told them, reaching behind herself to pull her wand from the waist of her skirt. She knew it. Some part of her knew that one day this would happen. She should have gotten them out of danger immediately instead of waiting for it to happen and hoping it wouldn't.

“But Hermione,” her mother began, looking confused. “Don't you think we should--?”

“There's no time to explain,” she exclaimed, her voice shrill. “Get out! Get out now! Run! Run as far as you can. Hide somewhere. Don't talk to anybody with a wand. Just go!” she told them, waving at the door and pushing them. She heard voices in the other room, and laughter ringing through the air cruelly. “RUN!” she screamed at them, her face suddenly contorting defiantly. She watched her parents run for the back door and then backed out slowly. She knew it'd be foolish to go into a room where there was any number of Death Eaters. She was just watching her parent's backs. When they were half way across the back lawn she rushed out after them, sealing the door behind her. She pumped her legs, hurrying across the grass. She heard a laugh from above and turned her head up to see a wizard hovering on a broom. His wand lifted, pointing at her parents and she shook her head. She jumped at her dad, knocking him over and then turned to the side. The bright red curse smashed into the ground a couple feet a head of them. Hermione lifted her wand and shot of a, “Stupefy!” managing to hit her target and watching without remorse as fell from his broom and hit the ground with a thick thud.

“Hermione,” her mum said fearfully.

“KEEP GOING!” she shouted at them, helping her dad up and pointing at the back gate. Her father hurried up from the ground and grabbed his wife's hand, rushing to the alley and looking over his shoulder at his daughter. Hermione swallowed, before deciding to go the opposite direction as them, hoping to lure them Death Eater's away. An explosion sounded from her house and she could smell the smoke coming off of it. Her childhood home was being destroyed. She was a few feet from the gate when she heard a squeal come from her mother. She turned to see her parents turning around and rushing back toward her, a man in dark robes chasing after them, his wand raised menacingly.

Hermione glowered, moving to the side to avoid hitting her parents. And just as the Avada curse was half out of the Death Eater's mouth, Hermione hit him with a strong hurling hex, sending him into the garbage cans a few feet behind him. Her parents were nearly with her when she turned to see that there were more Death Eater's coming from her side. She ushered them back towards the house, sending up a Protego shield to keep away the less deadly curses as they ran. She ran past her parents so she would take the brunt of any magic coming at them as they ran across the small side lawn area beside the house. Her eyes caught sight of the people inside through the windows, black robes and white masks. She didn't know how many, she just hoped there weren't many in the front. Crashing and loud noises were coming from inside the house, louder each time she passed a window. She didn't want to know what they were doing, how little would be left when it was all over.

“Wh-Who are th-they?” her dad panted out to her, sounding angry and confused.

“I'll explain later,” Hermione told him, coming to a sharp stop at the corner of the house and peering around it to check how safe it was. The air was clear of brooms and while the front door was blasted off the house and laying in shambles, there were no dark wizards waiting for them. “D'you have your car keys?” she asked, looking back at them. Her parents shook their heads, their faces taut with fear. Hermione scanned the area until finally she nodded. “You're going to run across the street, go through to the alley there, and then run down to Annabelle's house. You're going to borrow her car and drive out to Grandma's okay. Stay there, I'll come for you when it's safe.”

“What about you?” her father asked, gripping her arm. “We're not leaving you here,” he told her fiercely. “Y-You're just a ch-child!”

“You're going to go and you're going to do as I said,” Hermione told him, using her no-nonsense voice. “I know you have questions, but I don't have time to explain it to you. Please, trust me. You have to go. They're after me, not you. Get away while you can. I'll be okay. Help is coming,” she assured them, though she wasn't sure. She swallowed thickly. “I love you both. Now go.”

“Hermione,” her mother said softly, shaking her head, tears falling from her warm eyes.

“GO!” Hermione shouted at them, her heart beating out of her chest in fear. They nodded before rushing across the street toward the neighbor's house. Hermione waited until they were past the side of the house, out of sight, and then she began running. She couldn't apparate yet, her mind was too fuzzy; she'd splinch herself. She was across the lawn and on the sidewalk, when she heard an amused voice.

“Granger, I thought you'd give a bigger chase,” it called out mockingly.

Hermione turned around and scowled at the sneering Malfoy senior. “And I thought your Lord would kill you after you got yourself caught so easily,” she spat back.

He sneered, his face taking on a dangerous glint. Lifting his hand, he shook his head. “Come along nicely, mudblood, and perhaps you'll live longer than expected.”

Hermione's wand rose. “I'm afraid I have other plans,” she told him, shaking her head. “You understand if I'm not exactly willing to trust a man who kisses the feet of an ugly, malicious fascist.”

He gave her a sardonic grin and sighed. “Stupefy!” he called out, surprising her.

She had been expecting a snappy comeback. She managed to dart out of the way just in time however, and sent back a hurling hex that he easily dodged. Hermione heard, “Incarcerous,” and wondered why he was going through the trouble of capturing her when he could just kill her. She threw up a Protego charm and then hid behind the fence between her house and the neighbors. She peered around the side, throwing a tripping hex at his feet and wondering how far she could get when he fell. Lucius ended her hex before it could do much damage, but Hermione was stopped from using anything back because her father had suddenly darted back across the street to help her. He was holding a garbage can in his hand and threw it at Lucius so quickly and without preempt that the elder Malfoy was actually struck off his feet for a moment.

Hermione shot off the ground, shouting at her father to run and hide, but her words weren't fast enough and Lucius had recovered quickly. She felt ice pierce her heart as her father jerked back when the dark green curse slammed into his chest. He was staring at her, his eyes loving before he was killed. What was the first thing he said to her when he saw her? “Hey, munchkin! So, what did the surgeon say to the patient who refused to buy health insurance? All right, suture self. An oldie but a goodie, Hermione. I bet your friends back at school would like it!” His eyes lost their warmth, their kidding nature, and he fell from the air in a limp mess. Hermione felt her hatred rise up in her and turned to Lucius, her shoulders stiffening. “Conjuctivitis, Expelliarmus,” she shouted, waving her wand around and glaring at him.

The eye crusting spell just missed him, but he hadn't been expecting a second attack so quickly, so Hermione was satisfied so see his wand fly towards her. Her triumph was short lived however, as another shouted out, “Accio Wand,” before it could reach her hand. Hermione turned swiftly to see another Death Eater, tossing Lucius his wand now. As it was flying through the air, Hermione turned her attention to the new adversary and shot of a stunner, which just missed them, but caused them to seek shelter. Hermione turned her attention back to Lucius and repeated the spell making him duck before she turned to hurry down the street, hoping to find somewhere to gather her thoughts long enough to apparate away. She wasn't far before Lucius' mocking voice called out, “Not so fast mudblood, I think you forgot someone.”

Hermione stumbled to a stop, turning to see someone dragging her crying mother across the street. Her feet were working before her brain and she rushed toward the offender, shouting spells she couldn't even remember the outcome of. She was happy to see the Death Eater thrown back, his skin sliced open in various places and his legs looking boneless and wiggly. Her mother was up and on her feet again, but her eyes were on her limp husband and she wasn't running away. She fell back to her knees, her hands covering her mouth. Hermione kept running toward her mother, hoping to knock her down before the red Reducto curse Lucius had shot at her met its target. Her heart clenched tightly and her tears fell as her mother rocketed back, sliding across the hard pavement, blood pouring from a deep wound in her chest. She screamed, her voice shocked and agonized as it pierced the sky. Hermione's feet tripped and she fell to her knees, thinking to somehow get her mother away. She crawled toward her, but she could tell already that the blood was too much, the wound too deep, her mother was gone. She pushed up off the ground, her hands scraping on the pavement and turned to Lucius, her face red with anger and her chest heaving.

“You!” she spat, her hair whipping around behind her.

He laughed, loud and amused, as if it all some game to him. Her parents were dead. Not twenty minutes ago she was having dinner with them. Her dad was telling corny jokes, her mother was rolling her eyes, and she was getting used to being around them again. They loved her. Despite not knowing anything about the war or what she had been through over the years, they loved her. She was their pride and joy. Her father's munchkin! And he took them; like they were nothing; just ripped their lives away like a toy from a child. “Poor little mudblood's an orphan,” he mocked.

Hermione's chest heaved and tears spilled from her eyes, burning a bath down her face. “CRUCIO!” she screamed, watching him fly back from the force of the spell and smash into the grass, writhing and screaming. She hated that she was reduced to this. Hated that she was going to such dark measures, but it was out of her mouth before she could think better of it. And some part of it felt it was a sort of redemption. Her loving parents were dead, left alone in the street and on the grass like some insignificant being. But they mattered! “THEY MATTERED!” she yelled at him, walking closer and ignoring the tears falling down her face. Her body shook, her knees quaked, and she was so beyond hysteria that she was quickly approaching insanity. Is this what Harry felt when he saw Cedric murdered? Or Sirius' fall into oblivion? Or Snape killing Dumbledore? How did he manage it? Her hand fell from the air, ending the curse and leaving Lucius in a shaking mass on the ground. Drool pooled out the side and pained tears had left his eyes. He couldn't sit up, could only look at her from the corner of his eyes, his vision dark and soulless.

Hermione turned, wiping her face and thinking to get away; to apparate to the Burrow; to get to Harry. HARRY! she thought. He'd blame himself for this, too. It wasn't his fault. It was hers. How could she not tell them? Warn them of what could come for them? She knew she was an important part of the war. She should have hid her family for their safety; at least told them to stay somewhere else in the city. To go to Annabelle's, their long time friend, or grandma's, any where but home. The home she could see falling to ash behind her. Flames licked the sky, dark clouds of smoke rose to the heavens, where her parents now were because she was a foolish little girl that thought she was doing the right thing. She thought she was sparing them somehow. Their little angel Hermione couldn't be part of a war. No! Not her. She was too good, too bright, too innocent. But she wasn't. She broke rules and lied and fought Death Eaters. She Crucio'd a man out of anger. She let her parents be killed for her. She had to run; had to get to Harry; had to escape. They were there. The Death Eaters, they were still looking for her. There were others, she knew. She'd seen them. They'd come for her.

Hermione made her feet move, tried to find the strength inside her to keep going. “I can't lose you too, Hermione.” Her face set in a determined expression and she rushed off the grass, her legs pumping beneath her on nothing but adrenaline. She couldn't become another statistic, another person who caused Harry's fall. She wouldn't be the last cog in Voldemort's attempts at bringing Harry down. She heard feet behind her, heard voices, and closed her eyes, trying to focus. Have to get away. Need to escape. Harry. Harry. HARRY!

She let out a startled cry as ropes wrapped around her, binding her legs together and her arms to her hips. She fell from the air, crashing into the hard pavement with a thud. She turned her face to the side, hoping not to be knocked out. She heard the thick stomps of Death Eaters coming for her. It was all over now. She had failed. “I'm proud of you,” she whispered into the air, hoping he'd hear her somehow.

To be continued…

Chapter Image (made by Iriki of The Dark Arts!): Three

Chapter Three

“War is not the answer, because only love can conquer hate.” - Marvin Gaye

Harry sat at the kitchen table at the Burrow, moving his fork around his plate distractedly. A dull ache had been bothering his scar for the last while, but it wasn't so severe that it made him sit up and take action. He felt out of place and off kilter. He assumed it was because he'd be leaving the Weasleys behind in just a little while. Ron was faring well, he was eating his usual share of food and chatting with Charlie about something. Mrs. Weasley was talking with Gabrielle, the young Delacour sister seemed to enjoy spending her time with the Weasleys instead of with her family at their Hotel. Ginny kept shooting him penetrating looks that Harry dutifully ignored, finding himself irritated on the inside. He could barely hear what anybody was saying, just listening to the collection of voices rising and forming together to make one loud voice ringing in his head.

He wondered what Hermione was doing. If she was anxious to get out of her house and meet them at Godric's Hollow. Maybe she was already there. He forgot to ask her when her parents usually ate dinner. Was he late? It wasn't even dark out yet. She probably wouldn't be upset. In fact, she knew what time the Weasleys ate, so she likely wouldn't have left until she was sure that they were at Godric's Hollow, too. He couldn't get the feeling of loss out of his mind from when she left earlier. He knew he'd be seeing her in just a few short hours, so why had he felt like he'd just sent her off never to be seen again? He'd been distracted the whole time they played Quidditch, so Charlie won the second game. Ron called for a tie breaker and Harry forced his head back in the game. He won the third and final game, shaking his head when Charlie wanted another rematch. He and Ron ended up playing Wizard's Chess, his wandering mind didn't matter much then since Ron always pulverized him at the game. He did enjoy watching Fred and George jointly win against Ron though, it was a rare thing to see Ron lose. It was close though, and Harry wasn't sure until the very last couple moves that Fred and George were going to win.

Remus and Tonks had dropped in to pick up the leftovers Mrs. Weasley told them they had to take. They didn't stick around long, Tonks was needed back at the Ministry and Harry had the funny feeling that Remus had been talking to MacGonagall a lot lately. He had nothing against the Transfiguration professor and new Headmistress, but he knew that she wouldn't really approve of his Horcrux hunt or the way he was going about doing it. She wanted them to return to school in the Fall, not that it was certain the school would even be open by then. Remus and Mr. Weasley had gone off to talk privately though and Harry was worried that they might have figured out that they were planning to sneak away. He hoped they wouldn't interrupt their escape routine, which really wasn't that complicated. While everybody was busy inside, Ron and Harry would sneak out to the apparition wards and leave. They considered waiting for nightfall, but Harry didn't want Hermione waiting too long for them and he didn't want to risk falling asleep or anything. They had their trunks packed and Harry had moved Hermione's into Ron's room earlier so they'd be ready and wouldn't run into Ginny when leaving. They'd just use a concealing charm on the trunks so nobody would see them and then slip out into the yard, looking like a couple of friends just hanging out, waiting for Hermione to return. And then they'd be gone, with nothing but a note to explain their disappearance. The Weasleys would have to understand. That was all there was to it.

Dumbledore wanted him to do this. He wouldn't have told Harry unless he believed he could help. He may be only sixteen, nearly seventeen, but he was capable enough. With Hermione and Ron with him they'd find the Horcruxes and they'd destroy them. Then the war would be raging and he'd fight his hardest. He was destined for this, even if he didn't want to be. Somebody, somewhere, decided that he was the one who was supposed to destroy Voldemort. In fact, thinking back to Dumbledore, it was Voldemort who decided he was the one who would finally defeat him. He made him the Boy-Who-Lived, so it was Voldemort's fault that all of it was happening. He gave him the power and means to defeat him and Harry was tired of hiding behind adults who kept too much hidden from him. He had the information he needed and he knew what had to be done. He had support, cunning, and strength in Hermione and Ron, who would stand by him no matter what the situation. So he was ready. He could do this. He had to.

Harry's forehead began to sting strongly and his stomach rolled at the pain. He hissed, closing his eyes tightly and wondering why Voldemort was so... gleeful. It was disturbing and worrisome. And suddenly he felt bile rising in his throat. What if...? What if that feeling he'd had all morning, when he was saying goodbye to Hermione had something to do with this? What if she was...?

The back door sprung open and Remus came running through. Realization struck Harry so painfully he wanted to vomit where he sat. Shaking his head, he pushed up from his chair violently, his legs throwing it back. The Weasley family suddenly stopped talking and were looking back and forth from Remus to Harry in confusion. Harry's shoulders stiffened and his eyes stung. “No,” he said hoarsely. It wasn't her. She was just there. Just that afternoon. She'd kissed his cheek. He'd danced with her last night. She laughed, she told him all about Defense books, she fell asleep beside him on the couch. He could still hear her steady breathing if he focused hard enough.

“I'm so sorry Harry,” Remus whispered, lifting his hands as if to somehow hold him from halfway across the kitchen. Tonks stood behind him, her eyes watery and her shoulders slumped. Defeat.

“NO!” Harry shouted at him, stumbling back. He'd just lost Dumbledore. Only three weeks had passed and now she too was... No! No, she wasn't gone. He knew she wasn't gone. He could feel it. It would hurt more, wouldn't it? If she was really gone, the ache in his heart would be more severe. This was loss, but not from death. She wasn't gone. She couldn't be. He needed her. “I'm always gonna be here, Harry. I'm always going to help you. You'll never be alone.” She promised! Just last night. His chest started heaving and his vision was swarming in front of his eyes.

“Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley was calling worriedly. “I don't... I don't understand. Remus, what's happened?” she wondered, confused.

“There was an attack--” Tonks began, swallowing audibly. Her eyes bounced from Mrs. Weasley to Harry, looking concerned and sympathetic.

“Shut up, shut up,” Harry told her, lifting his hand to his face. “Everyone is going to be fine. We're gonna win. Tomorrow, we will plan our victory,” her voice echoed in his head, soft and determined. She was fine. She promised she'd be there to help. She wouldn't lie to him. She wouldn't...

“We got there as soon as we could but it all happened so fast,” Remus continued, his voice shaking. His eyes going from the distraught Harry to the other Weasleys. He stepped closer and Harry wanted to push him back, to tell him he was wrong. “Harry, I know how hard--”

“Shut up, she's fine,” Harry told him, leaning back against the wall to keep from falling. But he felt trapped, like he couldn't get away from what they were saying and what was happening. He wanted to run, to hide, to pretend it wasn't happening. His eyes burned and the tears spilled over. He shouldn't have let her go. He should have at least gone with her. He never trusted his gut. His scar was burning, he felt the need to stay with her. Why didn't he trust himself? She'd be fine right now. She would be there with him. They'd go to Godric's Hollow and she would draft a plan and read her books. She'd breathe. In, out, in, out. Harry was dizzy. His heart was beating out of his chest and his eyes weren't focusing on anything.

“Harry,” someone called, their voice was distant and groggy in his ears. “Who was attacked, Remus?”

Harry shook his head. Don't say her name. Don't say her name! He couldn't hear it. He couldn't stand it. It was all his fault. She was gone. She was dead and he was the cause of it. NO! He shook his head vigorously. He wouldn't believe it. Hermione wouldn't let herself go down without a fight. Remus said it all happened fast. Maybe she escaped. Maybe she was hiding somewhere, waiting for him. She could be at Godric's Hollow right then. He felt a hand on his shoulder and reared away from it, he didn't want sympathy. Hermione was alive. She was fine. “She's fine, she's fine, she's fine,” he muttered under his breath.

“No, Harry,” Remus' voice told him from his side. “The house was burned to the ground. Her father was found in the front yard and her mother was...” he cleared his throat, “she was found in the street.” He remembered the Grangers. They looked like regular, loving parents. Clean cut, friendly people who cared for their daughter dearly. “It looked like they were trying to escape, Harry. She probably told them to run, tried to keep them safe. The Aurors think she may have died trying to keep them from harm, Harry. She died fighting,” he said, as if somehow that would make it hurt less. Hermione's a heroine, Harry! He already knew that. He already knew what she was capable of. He knew her. He knew she couldn't be dead. She couldn't. It wasn't right.

“SHE'S NOT DEAD!” he screamed in Remus' face, not surprised when Remus didn't stumble away, but merely closed his eyes in sorrow.

He shook his head, repeating again, “I'm sorry--”

“Stop saying that,” Harry told him miserably, shaking his head. “Hermione's fine. She's fine! She escaped! I know she did. She had to! She's going to be fine. She's... She's...” He didn't know what to say, couldn't explain it. But he couldn't believe him, he couldn't believe that she was gone. She wouldn't leave him. She promise she wouldn't so she just... wouldn't.

“'Mione,” Ron choked out, rising from his seat, his eyes wide. Harry turned to him, seeing his face pale dramatically. Some part of him wanted to reach out to Ron and tell him Hermione was fine, but he couldn't say anything, couldn't move. He looked shocked, lost, scared. Harry felt it, but he knew that Ron was thinking they were telling the truth and Harry couldn't accept that.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Weasley said, reaching out for her son and looking over at Harry, appearing lost. She enveloped Ron in a hug and stared at Harry, as if beckoning him over too. Harry ignored it. Fred and George had paled, their usually humorous expressions lost amongst the shock and sadness. Their shoulders slumped and they leaned heavily on the table, looking at Harry and then Ron, as if not sure how they were going to survive. “Some people just belong together. I don't think one could survive without the other,” Hermione told him about the twins. And he had thought about how he couldn't survive without her. How ironic that it should be tested now. He already knew the answer. He felt himself crumbling inside, his entirety giving up without her. The wall was his leverage, though Remus seemed to be holding him up now too.

“When?” Mr. Weasley asked, his tone quiet.

“Just now,” Remus replied, staring into Harry's eyes. “Some of the Death Eater's were just apparating away when we arrived,” he admitted, his eyes falling sadly.

“Did you find her?” Harry choked out, his chin quivering. If there wasn't a body, there was chance. If she wasn't there, if there was no proof that she was actually dead, then.... Then... She was alive! A spark of hope.

“Harry--” he began, already shaking his head.

“DID YOU FIND HER, REMUS?” he shouted, his anger barely restrained. He could feel his magic getting away from him, but didn't care enough to pull it back. He wouldn't give up on her. She would never give up on him!

“The fire hasn't been put out in the house,” he said quietly. “We couldn't get inside.”

“Oh my,” Mrs. Weasley whimpered, her eyes tearing.

“She's not in there,” Harry told him, his nose flaring as he clenched his jaw and shook his head at Remus.

Remus sighed, lifting a shaky hand and reaching out to put it on Harry's shoulder. “I know this is hard, Harry, but you have to understand--”

“She's not in there,” he repeated. “I'm telling you, she's not dead. I would know if she was gone and she's not.” He shook his head. He pushed away from the wall, passing by Remus to get to the door. He shook off Tonks' hand as she laid it on his shoulder and slammed open the door as he exited the Burrow. His legs felt strained, like weights beneath him, but he moved anyway. He had to find her, had to get to her. She wasn't gone. She wasn't.

“Harry, where are you--” Mrs. Weasley called out.

He ignored her, walking quickly toward the apparition wards, his face twisted in pain. She was fine. He'd find her and everything would be fine.

“Harry,” Remus called out. “Harry, don't go to the Grangers. You don't want to see it. It'll only hurt you more,” he shouted, running after him. Harry heard his approaching footsteps and picked up his pace. “Harry, please,” Remus pleaded, his voice sorrowful.

“She's not dead,” Harry told him, stopping when he stood far enough away to leave the Burrow. “You don't know her like I do,” he told Remus, who had stopped to stare at him. “I know Hermione. She wouldn't go down easily. She's the brightest witch of her age. If she's not there, then they have her. But she's not dead, Remus. I know she's not.” Maybe he was hysterical, maybe he was just blind to the truth.

“How, Harry?” Remus asked, his voice sounding defeated. “She's your best friend, I understand that. But there's no magical connection in that, Harry. You can't feel her life or death. You can't know--”

“I KNOW!” Harry told him, his voice loud and echoing through the empty field around them. “I've known her since I was eleven years old! You don't think I know her better than you? Than any of you,” he said, motioning to the whole of the Burrow, the Weasleys having come out of their house to try and calm him down. “She wouldn't leave me,” he told him, his voice firm but his fear shook him physically.

“She didn't leave you, Harry. She was killed. There's a huge difference,” Remus tried to explain gently.

“She's not dead, Remus,” he said stiffly, before crossing his arms and disappearing from the Burrow.

Harry opened his eyes to find himself standing in the backyard of the Grangers. He'd been there only once before. Hermione wanted him to have access if it was ever needed. He still wasn't technically able to apparate, not having his license yet. His birthday was coming up soon, but until then he would move illegally. He stared up at the monstrous structure of charred wood and ash. Fire still raged inside, flames flying high and dark smoke marring the sky. He could see marks in the grass from where spells had landed, or chunks of the house that had exploded off and smashed into the ground. His feet were heavy beneath him as he moved to walk through the neighbor's yard to keep from being burned or hurt from the volatile house. When he reached the front, Muggle ambulances and fire trucks were parked on the street. Men in red and yellow garb were using long hoses to try and put out the fire. A couple of men dressed in orange and white were moving the limp Mr. Granger into a black body bag, one of them saying it was a heart attack or smoke inhalation that took him.

Harry's knees nearly gave way beneath him as he looked down at Mr. Granger's face. His brown eyes, usually so much like Hermione's, were dead and lifeless as the men zipped up the bag. Harry stumbled toward the street, seeing a few more paramedics moving short Mrs. Granger into a similar bag. He see the puddle of blood on the street, still red and glistening, still liquid. It was probably still warm. How long ago had it all happened? He had been eating dinner while his friend was being attacked! Harry's stomach twisted and rolled and his knees finally gave way. He landed on the grass with a thud and stared up at the burning house sadly. She couldn't be in there. She couldn't. She was fine! She had escaped. She had to have.

“Young man,” somebody called out. “Young man, it's dangerous to be so close to the house.” Harry ignored him, warm tears slipped down his cheeks. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and the same man said, “Did you know them?”

Harry nodded jerkily, his throat tight. “Their daughter, Hermione,” he managed, wanting to ask if they found her, but scared of what they might say.

“I'm so sorry,” he said sympathetically.

Harry felt his chest lurch and shook his head. “Have... Have they...” His mouth shook too much to continue.

The man sighed, “They haven't been able to get inside yet. Neighbors said their daughter was coming home for dinner before she left for vacation with a couple friends. We won't know if she was inside until the fire's put out.” He shook his head, frowning, “Odd smoke pattern though, isn't it?”

Harry glanced up, seeing the Dark Mark hovering inside the thick rolling black clouds coming off Hermione's home. “Yeah,” he choked out, feeling his hatred burn up in his chest.

The man pat his shoulder, “I know this is hard, but we're going to have to get you away from here. The house, it's... it's falling apart. It's too dangerous for you to be this close.”

Harry nodded, but his legs wouldn't work to get him out of the way. He told them to move, tried to get up, but it just wasn't working. He stared at the house, his eyes filled with tears and his body wracked with deep sobs. “I should have been here,” he murmured, more to himself.

“There was nothing you could do,” the man told him, squeezing his shoulder.

“Harry! Harry!” somebody was calling out, but Harry didn't turn to see.

“Oh Harry, please, come away from there. It's not safe. Oh my...” Mrs. Weasley's voice could be heard calling to him. “Harry, dear, please, you could get hurt.”

Harry shook his head, the smoke reaching him and making him cough a little. He wondered if there was a spell he could use to cover himself if he ran through the flames. He searched his mind, trying to remember all the spells his professors and Hermione had taught him. He finally lifted up from the ground, his legs still shaky. He had to know! She couldn't be in there. He couldn't wait. The waiting would be too long, too painful. He had to know now!

“Come on Harry, we'll get you home. You can rest,” Mrs. Weasley said softly, her voice shaking with her own tears.

Harry shook his head. “She's not in there,” he told them, turning around to stare at them. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, before turning and running towards the house. The grass felt hard beneath his feet, like he was stomping toward the truth. He could hear people coming after him; firefighters, the Weasleys, Remus, but he ran faster. He threw up the fire retardant spell to cover himself and burst through the front entrance. The heat smashed into him like a blast of fierce boiling air, nearly throwing him back with its temperature.

“HARRY! OH MY... HARRY!” Mrs. Weasley screamed after him hysterically. Some part of him felt bad. He was scaring her, terrifying her really. In her mind Hermione was gone and now she was probably going to lose him, too. Maybe he was doing something stupid, reckless. Hermione would tell him to go back. She'd chase after him though, follow him through the whole house if he refused to leave. She'd watch his back and keep him safe. She'd know spells to keep the fire back, to stop the heat from bothering them. He had to make sure she wasn't inside, wasn't choking on smoke or laying trapped beneath the rubble of her house. He needed her.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER,” Remus shouted in shock and fear. “GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT THIS...”

Harry ignored them, leaping over charred wood and broken furniture. He searched the lower half of the house, finding a wilted salad turned over on the floor in the dining area and a roast dinner smashed with chunks of the ceiling covering it. Harry turned around after searching through the living room, kitchen, dining room, and den-like office. He checked in closets and underneath parts of the ceiling that had fallen, but she was nowhere. His feet stepped on burning debris, crushing plates, pictures, ornaments. Memorabilia of a family, memories of a child. School pictures, family photos, framed accomplishments all laid broken on the floor. Harry thought for a brief moment that Hermione would be hurt when she found none of her home left to take and remember. Had he the time, he would have taken something, anything, to let her know that her parents and her life were not so insignificant. That there was something to remember, something to hold and look at. Like his pictures of his parents, just one thing, something to remember them by, to see their faces in. But everything was burning, it seemed nothing was salvageable.

Glass, wood, and plaster lay across the ground beneath him as his feet hurried around. The linoleum in the kitchen was rolling up against the fire and heat, thinning and melting, curling in some places. His feet caught on things, but he pressed on, only one thing on his mind. Making sure she was not there. He shouted her name, if she was there then she had to be alive. He hoped she could hear it over the ruckus in the house, although every time his voice rang out a part of him hoped that hers would never return. She'd likely be in agony, whether from magical means or the fiery mess around her. She couldn't survive this, could she? The sirens from the ambulance and the fire trucks were still ringing loudly. The sound of the water beating at the fire could be heard pounding. The house seemed to have its own language, squealing out in protest of the fire or the water, or maybe both. The smoke was thick around him and he used a charm on his glass that Hermione taught him to keep them free of soot. He couldn't clear the smoke though, he couldn't remember the vacuuming spell to suck it all up.

Cursing his hazy mind, he ran up the stairs to the second floor, ignoring the squeal of fire burning away at his surroundings and the ruckus of the house falling apart. Despite the fire retardant spell, he was still inhaling a lot of smoke and the heat was overwhelming enough to make him sweat profusely. He could feel the heated beads running down his spine and wetting his shirt. His hand was slippery on the banister as he trudged up the stairs, his feet felt uneven in his shoes, and his clothes were sticking all over. His body was sluggish and slowing him down. He felt like his clothes were somehow holding him back, like they were weighing him down. It being summer, he was only wearing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, but he felt like he was dressed for winter, everything was so stifling. His chest was burning and his face felt grimy and stiff. His tears were still coming, though now they were partly due to the fact that the smoke was burning them. His hopes were rising with each step. If the second floor was empty, then she wasn't there. She wasn't dead, just lost. He could find her. He would find her. Just one more floor to go and he'd know. He know if she was really gone.

Harry finally reached the top floor but found the stairs had collapsed behind him when his weight was taken off of them. He rushed down the hallway, able to see out the large hole in the roof at the cloud of black smoke above. Water rushed above him from the hoses and smashed inside the house, battling the fire away. Harry screamed her name, calling out for her hysterically. He smashed his shoulder into doors, pushing them open to find if the rooms were empty. He searched her parents room, under the bed and in the closet. Then he moved onto the guest room to repeat the same. Moving down the hallway, he looked in a linen closet and then searched the bathroom, before veering into her bedroom. He checked under the bed and in the closet to no avail. A chunk of the roof fell and smashed into her bookshelf and the only thought Harry had was that she'd be angry her books were tarnished. Her bed was on fire, blankets and pillows blackened and disintegrating. Little memorabilia of a girl through the years disappearing before his eyes. No more teddy bears or photos of a toothless little girl waving at a camera. No more terrycloth bathrobe or fuzzy slippers. Her spelling bee ribbons were burning away and falling from the charred wall to never be seen again. A soccer ball off in the corner burst from the heat and fire around it, letting off a loud pop and then melting away.

The left side of the house was collapsing in on itself and Harry knew he had to get out soon or risk his own demise. Rushing back down the hall, Harry ran to the top of the stairs but slipped as the water had created a pool in some places. He smashed into another wall and found himself centimeters away from being impaled on a chunk of sharp wood. Backing away from it quickly, he felt the house begin to teeter one way and looked down over the broken stairs to the ground floor. He couldn't walk down, he'd have to jump. Backing up towards the wall, Harry took a three-step head start and leapt off the second floor to fall painfully on the clatter of wood on the ground. He felt slivers pierce his skin and a sharp pain in his shoulder as he landed on his knees but fell forward onto his stomach. He looked down to see a stake-like chunk of wood sticking out of his shoulder, but knew it was too high to have hit anything vital. Blood gushed out from around it and his fingers curled over the warm stake, the blood soaking his skin before he yanked it out and tossed it to the side. He hurried to his feet and darted to the side as the house began crumbling in on him.

“LET ME GO! SOMEBODY HAS TO GET HIM OUT! HE'S ONLY A BOY! LET ME--” Harry could hear Remus shouting and looked out the shattered window to see numerous firefighters holding him back.

Harry couldn't get out the front because of all the cluttered burning wood in front of it. He rushed toward the living room, jumping over a broken door and the licking flames around it. He spotted black garb and realized a Death Eater had been taken by the fire or the fight. Some part of him was rather justified by the fact that it wasn't only good people who died that day. Returning his attention to the problem at hand, Harry found his only way out was through the window above the charred couch. Picking up an end table next to the flaming arm chair, he whipped it at the window and shielded his face as it slammed through. The fire reacted to the air and began rolling up around the living room, so Harry was forced to hurry before it consumed everything. He could feel the fire retardant charm wear off and knew he was on his own. The smoke was making his eyes fuzzy and his throat sore from breathing, but he was so close already. He could hear the creak of the ceiling as it began cracking and fighting the fire and water

Running at the broken and fire rimmed window, Harry leapt through it, using the couch as leverage. The outside air felt cool and refreshing, almost too much so. The air was cleaner, making him cough as he rolled across the grass. He turned back as he lay on his back, only to watch through the shattered window as the ceiling fell through to crash into the ground. Standing up, he brushed off his legs and felt a small sense of victory as he walked towards the Weasley family as they stared at him in shock. Mr and Mrs Weasley stood on either side of Ron, both with wide faces of disbelief and relief at his rather stupid actions and shocking exit. To their side, Remus was looking half relieved and half enraged. He pushed away from the firefighters and ran at Harry, wrapping his arms around him and holding him so tight Harry could barely breathe.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he asked, letting him go so he could shake him violently before pulling him back in and hugging him tightly. The pressure was making his shoulder ache but he didn't say anything for a moment. “You could have got yourself killed. D'you know that?” he raged, his voice shaking. “I've already lost one today, Harry, don't you... don't you go too,” he choked out, his eyes glittering.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head and pushing Remus away. “She wasn't there,” he told him, staring at him seriously. “I checked everywhere. She wasn't in that house,” he told him defiantly.

“Harry,” Remus began, looking uncertain.

“Don't,” he told him warningly, before looking over at Mrs. Weasley who rushed forward to wrap her arms around him in a strong hug.

“Don't you ever,” she began, but cut herself off sobbing.

Mr. Weasley came over, his own arms wrapping around the both of them. Harry could hear him whispering to Molly, “Shh, it's okay. He's all right, Molly dear.”

Ron was staring at him with wide, red rimmed eyes. His mouth was shaking and his arms kept moving from being crossed to hanging limp with fisted hands. “I don't... I don't...”

“She wasn't there,” Harry told him over Molly's shoulder, staring at Ron with a determined expression. “She wasn't in there, Ron. She's not dead.”

Ron stared at him a moment before sharply nodding and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Let's... Let's go h-home,” Mrs. Weasley managed, still not letting go of Harry and dragging him away from the house. Mr. Weasley broke off to wrap an arm around Ron's shoulders, seeming to hold his youngest son up as they began walking.

Harry looked back over his shoulder at the house, his chest leaping. If she wasn't in the house, then where was she? There were only two options; she had gotten away, or they had taken her. His face fell, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. If she got away there were only two places she'd go; back to the Burrow, or over to Godric's Hollow, looking for him and Ron. If she wasn't there, then he'd know... He'd know they had her.

Chapter image (made by Alora of The Dark Arts): Four

Chapter Four

“When friendships are real, they are not glass threads, or frostwork, but the solidest things we know. A friend is the first person who comes in when the whole world has gone out.” - Unknown

Harry sat deep in thought as Mrs. Weasley spoke to herself worriedly while cleaning his wounds. His eyes stared out, nary a wince or twitch to show that he felt any of her prodding or spell casting to fine-tune his injured appendages. She had paid special attention to the deep hole in his shoulder, but she'd patched him up fairly easily, giving him a potion for pain and healing. Then she'd taken to cleaning up all of his little cuts and washing away the blood and soot that marred his skin. All the while, Ron sat slumped in a chair, the twins exchanged looks only they could decipher while sitting sullenly on the couch, and Arthur stood against the wall, holding a cup of tea, staring at Harry with barely concealed sympathy. Remus had taken up sitting in the kitchen with only his thoughts to keep him company. Harry thought it was more because he still felt like shaking sense into him rather than because he wanted to give Harry privacy. The only thought that continued to run through Harry's mind was that he had to get to Godric's Hollow to check if Hermione had gone over to find safety and refuge after the blow out involving the Death Eaters and her parents. Some part of him was sure that she wasn't there, but there was a hope sparked deep down; terrified that she may truly be in the clutches of a man who would barely blink before killing her.

“There you are, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, her face still drawn tight from her worry. She patted his arm, rubbing it a moment later as if she thought him fragile and in need of careful handling.

Harry looked over to her, his eyes still glazed “She wasn't in there,” he replied, his voice rather monotone.

“I know, dear,” she said, her mouth pinching together and her eyes watering. He knew she didn't believe him, or at the very least she thought he'd just not found the body. She, like Remus and probably the others, thought Hermione was dead. They were only placating him and the mere thought made his stomach tighten with anger.

“I have to find her,” he said, his chin lifting a notch. He didn't miss the expressions that ran through the room. Arthur stood up taller, Tonks crossed her arms over her chest, Charlie's arm tightened around Ginny who was crying against him, the twins nodded shortly and Ron stared into the fire as if he hadn't heard him at all, expressionless.

“Now, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley began, her voice unsure. “Dear,” she said softly, “I know that Hermione...” Her voice broke and she lifted a hand to press a few fingers to her quaking lips. “She...”

“Molly,” Arthur said quietly, walking toward her, his arms already open to hug her.

Molly shook her head, motioning for him to stay back. A few stray tears escaped her eyes but she looked up to Harry with a strong look in her eyes. “Hermione was like my own, Harry, and I desperately wish that what you say is true.” She held up her hand to cut off his reply when his mouth opened. “Please. She was your best friend, so I understand that you want to believe she made it out, Harry. I know that you must be heartbroken and terrified and probably blaming yourself but--”

Harry's jaw tightened and his mouth twisted in a sneer when he cut her off to half-shout, “You're right. I am. I'm worried she's out there somewhere; scared and alone; thinking that nobody is going to come looking for her. That we either believe she's dead or won't allow ourselves to risk our lives to get her back. And it is my fault, no matter what you say,” Harry told her, rising from his seat, his chest heaving with his anger. “Had she not been my best friend, he never would have touched her. Her parents wouldn't be lying dead in the street and her house wouldn't be burning right now. But I am. I am her best friend and there is nothing you can say or do that is going to stop me from getting her back.” He exhaled heavily, his hands fisting at his sides as he stared down at her. “You can either help me or get out of my way. No matter your decision I will do whatever it takes to find her.”

“Harry,” Arthur said, stepping forward. “Please, just don't get ahead of yourself. We understand that you're upset, and I can't assume what you saw in that house. There is a possibility that Hermione did not..” He paused, taking in his wife's severe expression, but then continued on, “That she in fact did survive. The likelihood is quite slim and even if she had, you must understand that she could very well have been taken. That possibility is not any better than death though, son.” He stepped closer, his hand landing heavily on Harry's shoulder “I have known of more schooled and harder witches and wizards that have never recovered from the damage Voldemort can cause. And if she is with him, it's quite likely she's already... gone.” He swallowed, his eyes falling. “But nevertheless, we mustn't jump to conclusions. Hermione is one of our own and we will do all that we can. I'll call an Order meeting, we should discuss this as soon as possible.” He stared at Harry, waiting for some kind of response; his expression, though weary and sad, was mildly hopeful.

“She's not dead, I know she's not.” He thought over his options quickly before nodding. “I won't do anything until I know what the Order will be doing to help her,” he agreed, nodding shortly. He lifted his chin, staring at Arthur steadily. “But know that if you choose to do nothing, I won't hesitate in leaving to find her. Prophecy or not, I'll not let her die for me.”

Molly scrambled up, looking back and forth from Harry to her husband. “Say something, Arthur. Harry, you can't... You can't do anything drastic. You're... You're just a boy,” she said, her eyes filling and her hands twisting tightly.

Harry turned to her, his eyes reflecting all the years he'd suffered through because of a monster desperate for power. “I haven't been a boy for a very long time,” he said simply, before turning away and leaving the room.

He made his way upstairs, his body feeling heavy and sluggish beneath him. His mind swam with tiredness and thoughts of blood and fire shook him to his core. He stumbled into Ron's room, finding his unmade bed and slipped down to rest his weary head. He'd just close his eyes for a moment, wait until the rest of the Order showed up and then listen in on what their plan was. His shoulder jarred as he rolled onto it, a fierce pain stunned him for a moment. Unless he wanted to put up with it for however long he was going to lay in wait, he would be forced to lay on his back. His eyes were heavy against his dry eyes, so he let them fall shut, taking a deep breath and telling himself he'd only lay for a moment or two and then get back up. Sleeping wouldn't accomplish anything and if he knew Hermione at all, he knew that were she in his place, she wouldn't waste any time before going out in search of him. He was just so empty, so afraid that it had all slipped away from him, leaving him with nothing at all. Could Mrs. Weasley be right? Was he running on blind hope? His mind slipped away from him, twisting and turning into a frightful nightmare that clutched at him painfully.

It felt as if time slowed down entirely. She was ahead of him just a little, her hand slipping from his as she made her way to the apparition wards. She turned back, her hair swaying gently across the back of her shirt, “Potter” staring out at him boldly. The sun fell on her, lighting her in a ethereal glow. She smiled at him, her mouth curving warmly. There was a sparkle in her eye; goodbye going unsaid in the way she stared back. He felt a twist in his gut and suddenly his feet were moving and his hand was reaching out for her. “Don't go,” he begged, but his words were too late. She disappeared before his eyes.

All of a sudden, he found himself back in front of her house. Fire licking the skies and smoke billowing up. There were no firefighters or paramedics this time, however. No Weasleys or Remus. It was just him, standing in the front yard, his arms hanging uselessly by his sides. Mr. Granger lay on the grass, his usually spirited brown eyes lifeless and a dribble of blood escaping the corner of his mouth. “It's your fault,” his blue lipped mouth said, though the rest of him was still as death. “She'll never forgive you.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry replied, taking a shaky step toward him. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I never... I'm so sorry.” Tears blurred his vision and he fought back the bile rising up in his throat.

He could hear screaming coming from the house; Hermione. Terrified, pained screams. Helpless and dying. Harry ran forward, wandless, pushing at the front door but it refused to budge. He ran at it, his shoulder poised, but it refused him still. He ran around to the windows, banging on them with fisted hands, but they wouldn't break. He yelled, calling her name, pleading for help, begging for her to be let go, but the house continued to burn and nobody came to help either of them. He ran around the house, banging on all the windows and stopping at the back door. He kicked and banged and ran at the door, but nothing happened. The handle wouldn't turn, the wood wouldn't give, the house refused him entrance.

“Please! Somebody help me! Harry! Harry, help me, please,” Hermione's scared voice rang out, reaching his ears and tearing at his heart. “You were supposed to keep me safe. You promised you'd never let him get me. Harry, please! Please, don't let me die,” she sobbed.

“I'm sorry! Please. Hermione, you have to... you have to fight,” he yelled back, his throat tight and his face damp with his hot tears. “Hermione...” He stepped back, his eyes scanned the burning, charred wood, as if trying to find her amongst the wreckage. It began to fall apart, the first floor giving out an the second crumbling in on it. He watched her home burn and fall apart a second time, his legs giving out to let him fall, broken on the grass. “I need you. Please. Please, don't leave me,” he whispered desperately.

His eyes fell shut while his chest heaved with sobs, his mouth opening to let out a loud, piercing scream of pain. When he caught his breath, his eyes opened again to find he was kneeling on a dirt floor, surrounded by dark brick walls. There was a curled up ball of brown curls and torn clothing in a corner. Scraped legs and dirty arms shivered against the cold and Harry slowly approached the form, sniffling and wiping at his face, his heartbeat speeding up with hope.“H-Hermione?”

Slowly, they turned over, dirt and blood matted hair covering part of their face. “S-save me?”

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with relief. His hand reached out to touch her shivering arm. “I-I will. I'm coming. Just... Just wait for me. Don't go anywhere. I'll get you out of here. I'll get us home. All right? D'you trust me?” he asked her, finding her arm was cold and her eyes were dark and glazed.

“Of course, Harry. I trusted you to keep me safe. Keep my family alive and well. Never let me suffer for your destiny. But... But you've already failed me, haven't you Harry? You didn't keep me safe. My parents are dead. And I'm suffering, right now, because of you,” she said, her voice toneless, nothing like the Hermione he knew. Her eyes refused to meet his, staring off lifelessly.

“I never meant for this to happen. I didn't want you to be a part of it. I wanted you to be safe. I... I would never have let them take you if I could stop it. You know that! You know that I would do anything... Anything for you.” He shook his head, his throat sore and tight. His hand tightened around her arm, as if trying to prove it somehow.

Her eyes suddenly changed, becoming a deep, vengeful scarlet. “You're going to lose me, Harry. Just like everybody else you've ever cared for. You didn't save me. You'll find my body, left like the scum that a mudblood is, and you'll know... You let me die, Harry.” She leaned up, her hands reaching out to take his face, ice cold and nothing like the warm hand he'd held just that afternoon. “It's all your fault.”

“No! No, I won't let him take you, too. Please! Please, don't give up, Hermione. Wait for me. I'm coming. You'll see. I'll find you and save you and we'll... we'll be okay. We'll all be okay,” he pleaded, his mouth quaking.

“No, Harry. You've already lost me and you'll never find me again. You might as well have killed me yourself,” she told him, shaking her head slowly.

“I would never... I could never... You're everything to me. You're... You're Hermione,” he said, as if it explained everything. Tears spilled from his eyes like blood from a fresh wound, pained and warm, gushing without any apparent ending. “I can't lose you. I won't,” he said, his expression becoming hard, determined.

“I was everything to you and now you've lost me. What d'you have left then, Harry? Nothing.” She shook her head, a soft smile gracing her still cold features. She looked surreal with scarlet eyes, so unlike the girl he knew. Her hands stroked his face lovingly, wiping at his tears. “You could leave all of this, Harry. The pain, the horror, the death. Leave it all behind. Come with me, Harry. Let the others deal with this. You shouldn't have to. You're just... just Harry.” She shook her head, her smile softening as she sighed. “Leave them all behind and come with me. There's nothing left for you here. I'll take care of you, Harry. We'll be happy away from all this.” She waved around, her nose wrinkling. “Don't you want to be with me?”

Harry nodded, his tears leaking anew. He closed his eyes, his hands raising to cover hers. “I want to be happy.”

“Be happy with me,” she whispered temptingly. “Just an easy flick of the wand against your skin. The throat, perhaps. Quick and practically painless. And then we'll be together, Harry. Away from all this. Happy.”

He nodded, his breathing slowing and his nose twitching as he sniffled. “Hermione always knew how to make me happy.”

“I do,” she agreed quickly.

“Yeah, but you're not her,” he said, letting out a tight, humorless chuckle before he opened his eyes and glared at the girl before him. “Hermione would never tell me to back down. She'd remind me of all that I had left, even without her. And she'd want me to fight for all the people who need me to.” He reached out, his hand wrapping around the hair of the now deeply scowling girl with the red eyes. He yanked her forward by her dirty, blood marred curls. “I'm coming for you and when I find you, you'll regret you ever thought you could touch her and live,” Harry said, his teeth grit, his eyes thinned.

The girl let out a high laugh, her eyes staring back at him, amused. She tisked, smirking at him devilishly. “Give it time, Potter. Let it all sink in. The loss and loneliness of it all. No mudblood, no godfather, no parents. You're all alone in this world, Harry, and you'll only get lonelier. I've got her now and you'll never get her back. She'll waste away, alone and scared, knowing that her savior never came. And you'll live out the last of your days, waiting for me to come and finish you off, knowing that it was all your fault that so many lives were taken and so many more deaths will follow.”

Harry glared at the dark form of his best friend, his jaw tight and his eyes stinging. She began to laugh, a cackle of self assured humor. He hated how her voice and body were being used to torture him and drive him toward madness and he hated how well it was doing.

Before he could think to reply, he felt a shaking yank him from his nightmare, drawing him back to the dark world he lived in. He woke, startled and damp with sweat. His chest heaved and he felt his stomach roll, leaving him breathless. Fred and George were staring down at him, their expressions grim. To his left he could see Ron, sitting slumped on his bed, his elbows on his knees as he stared down at the floor. “Are they here yet? Has the meeting started?” Harry asked, swallowing back the need to rid his body of the dark feeling that still prickled his skin.

The twins looked at each other and then him. “Yes, but they've locked the kitchen up tight.”

“Worried we might listen in or something.” They rolled their eyes simultaneously.

Frowning, they shook their heads with feigned disappointment, a proud gleam in their eyes. “No faith in us at all,” Fred told him, scoffing.

“So we came up to see if you'd like to give the Extendable Ear another go,” George offered, a tempting half-smile on his face.

“If they don't trust us, why should we give them the benefit of the doubt?” they wonder aloud, offering up the helpful sneak-instrument.

Harry looked up at them blearily, his arms resting on his upturned legs for a moment before he finally moved to stand up. “Yes, I'd like that. If we leave them to their own devices, we'll never get the whole story,” he said darkly.

The twins nodded agreeably and then moved to leave the room. Harry paused when Ron didn't follow and looked back to him expectantly.

“You're sure? She was no where in the house? You checked absolutely everywhere, Harry?” Ron asked, his voice low, carefully toneless.

“Everywhere, Ron,” Harry replied, nodding, his expression grim and serious.

“We'll find her,” Ron said, his face set in determination. He stood up from his bed, his back straight, his jaw set and his arm crossed tightly over his chest. Harry had never seen his best mate look so formidable before. “An' nobody'll stop us,” he vowed, nodding.

Harry nodded back and they left the room, following Fred and George who carefully set up the Extendable Ear at the door. “Charlie knows we're doing this.”

“Said he'll say the safe word if anybody else looks suspicious.”

“What's the safeword?” Harry asked, cocking a brow.

The twins looked at each. “Dunno, he just said he'd say it.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

The ear was set up and not a moment later, they could clearly hear the conversation taking place in the kitchen.

“...can't go on just the boy's word. Just because he says she wasn't in there, doesn't mean we have any real proof. It was not only in a time of emotional distress, but the boy was runnin' through a fully flamin' house. How can we be sure he knows what he saw? Could've found her and is just blocking out the truth,” they heard Moody tell them gruffly.

“And even if the Granger girl has been taken, which I'm not saying she is, it would be completely irrational for us to launch a full scale hunt for her. If she is with You-Know-Who, not only is she likely no longer alive, or beyond repair, but we don't have the manpower to undertake an attack on them at this point. We need more time, more resources, more people, for Merlin's sake,” a woman Harry couldn't recognize by voice said. “I understand that she's Potter's friend, but honestly, I cannot in my right mind agree to such an unfavorable task.” She sighed. “It's upsetting. It really is. That You-Know-Who has no qualms about destroying a family and a young woman only shows me that we have to get back on track. With Dumbledore gone, the Order has to rise to the occasion and really set an example for the rest of the Wizarding world.”

“Wouldn't it be more to our advantage if we showed that mercy and sticking together, never leaving a man behind, was what we're about? Rather than leaving her to her death, shouldn't we do something? How will the Wizarding world react when they realize we left her to her death?” Tonks replied, sounding angry.

“We are not leaving her to her death, but understanding that there are just some situations that can't be helped. She's already gone. Dead or captured. There is nothing we can do but set our sights on the future,” a man replied in a loud, wheezy voice.

“But what about Harry?” he heard Molly ask aloud, her voice soft and shaky. “He won't... He can't take another loss.”

“There is no won't or can't about it. He has to. That's just the way it is. Life and death, they go hand in hand. It's time to buck up and face the facts. We're in a war. There is no mercy or apologies. Now, I'm sorry Granger was the one who suffered; she was bright and powerful, could've made a great ally. But we can't waste our time searching for a dead girl. Potter will see it our way in time,” Moody proclaimed gruffly.

“I'm not sure he will,” Arthur said, his voice quiet and stiff. “This is Harry we're talking about. He takes every loss to heart. And this one... I mean... His parents, they were lost before he even got the chance to know them. And Sirius, well, he may have been close to Harry, a sort of last chance for Harry to have a normal life, but...” He sighed wearily. “We're talking about Hermione now. The know-it-all girl who got Harry through more than we ever could. She was there watching his back when not one of us could even think to try and help. Hermione, Ron, and Harry, they're a trio. It doesn't work unless they're all together. And... to be honest, I've always thought that... well...” He exhaled heavily. “The boy has feelings for her and I'm not talking about the friendly kind. If you could've seen them at Bill's wedding...” He sighed sadly. “I know that doesn't sound like a valid reason to go looking for her, but I'm warning you now that if we do nothing, he'll find a way to do it himself.”

“What are you saying, Arthur? That we can't handle a seventeen year old boy with a fancy?” somebody asked, sounding almost amused.

“He's not jus' any boy,” Hagrid replied, sounding insulted. “This is Harry we're talkin' 'bout. When he puts his mind ter it, it gets done. Now if he wants our Hermione back, he'll find her. Yeh better get one thin' sorted out right 'way, Harry isn't the type ter leave a friend behin'. He's the sort that'll climb mountains an' cross oceans. This is Hermione we're talkin' 'bout now, and there ain't nothin' Harry won't do fer her. Yeh ask me, tha's an admirable trait, that is.”

“Yes, Hagrid, of course. We don't doubt Harry's devotion to Miss Granger. What we doubt is whether it's misplaced by now,” Professor McGonagall explained in her gentle but stern voice. “Miss Granger will always be one of the best students I have ever had and while I have no doubts that she would fight until the bitter end, I can't say I fully believe that she could manage to stay alive and well in the conditions she's likely under.” She sighed, sounding tired and resigned. “I'm afraid I can't agree to undertake this journey either. It seems to be a... a...”

“A waste of resources is what it is!” somebody exclaimed.

Harry felt a deep, dark anger well up inside him. He moved to interrupt, to shout his disappointment in them. To tell them all how wrong they were, how she wasn't a waste of resources, but the best reason for a recovery mission. Not only was she his best friend, but she was the smartest witch of their age. If not because he needed her, then because the wizarding world would need her. But as he moved to let his anger get the best of him, he felt the twins arms wrap around him and hold him in place. He fought against them for a moment, but stilled as the conversation in the kitchen continued and caught his attention.

“How dare you? That girl is worthy of our attention and the lot of you act as if we've done you some deep harm by calling this to your attention,” Molly half-shouted, sounding both angry and sad. “You're all focusing on the fact that we could get killed by going after her; that she may already be dead; but you're not listening when we tell you that if you do nothing, Harry will.”

“Potter is only seventeen years old! He doesn't have the ability or experience to take this on himself. He'll realize that as soon as he decides he's going to try anything. We have no idea where she is, no idea what will get in our way if we try and save her!” a man shouted furiously. “We cannot risk the lives of the only group able and willing to defeat You-Know-Who because Potter wants his bloody girlfriend back!” He sighed, sounding exasperated. “Let's just put this matter to rest already! We all know that we can't go after her. Dead or not, she's a lost cause. We have more important issues to worry about!”

“I don't think--”

“He's right,” somebody interrupted.

“But what about Harry?”

“He'll have to understand...”

“He'll get over it.”

“What are we suppose to tell him?”

“He'll try and solve it on his own if we don't at least let him think we're doing something.”

“Are you suggesting that we lie and say we're looking for her?” Molly asked, appalled.

“We can't let him think there's hope,” Arthur put in, his tone sad and defeated. “I won't tell him we're going to do something and let him sit here in wait for her return. It's cruel and he doesn't deserve it.”

“It's our only choice. We either let him try and take this on himself and try and track him down before he does something foolhardy or we put a stop to it before it happens,” somebody shot back.

“I won't do it,” Molly said vehemently. “I understand that there are some things that he's simply too young to know about. But letting him believe that his best friend will be returned to him is just too much. I will not be part of this. If you want to tell him not to worry; that we're looking for her and we're doing everything, you go right ahead. But if he asks me what you're doing, don't expect me to lie for you. That girl is like a daughter to me, and I have considered Harry like a son for too many years to let it all be flushed away because you lot are so bloody distracted with thinking that his feelings don't matter. He's gone through hell and high water for the rest of us and the one time he needs our help, we don't hesitate to just lie and cover it up. Well I won't have it,” she shrieked, and a moment later her footsteps could be heard harshly exiting the kitchen, the door leading outside slapping behind her.

“Arthur, perhaps now would be a time to go after your wife and explain--”

“I agree with her entirely,” the Weasley patriarch interrupted firmly. “The Order is being entirely too self serving in this matter. I understand that Hermione could very well be gone, but that doesn't mean that I'll go out there and lie to that boy. If you think you can lie straight to his face about a girl who has been by his side, fighting and surviving since they were eleven, then you go ahead, but expect no justification on it by this family.” Harry could hear Arthur's chair legs scrape as he too got up to leave the room.

“Well...” There was a long pause, one wrought with anticipation. “All in favor of going after the Granger girl?” There was a moment where soft sighs and tutting could be heard. “Any undecided?” Harry felt his back tighten and his shoulders straighten, his eyes staring unseeing at the wall before him as he strained to listen to every noise the Extendable Ear passed on to them. A man's deep sigh could be heard before he said, “Then it's done. Merlin rest her soul.”

Harry cursed before standing up quickly and making his way back to Ron's room, his feet pounding loudly on the floor as he stomped. His jaw tightened painfully, but he ignored it. As soon as he made his way in, he went to his trunk. The lock came undone and the top popped up savagely, banging against the back without Harry having to utter a word or wave his wand. Clothes exploded out, including a gym bag. Immediately dark shirts and pants; those that could keep his appearance well hidden found their way into the bag. A comb, toothbrush and toothpaste, shaver, pair of sneakers, and a sack that held both Muggle and Wizarding money landed in the bag with a plop. Grabbing up a black hoodie, he slipped it on and pulled up the sleeves to his elbows in frustration. Turning, he threw open Hermione's trunk and searched through it quickly, hands finding exactly what he was looking for. Yanking out his findings, he performed a shrinking charm and put them inside his bag.

Harry heard the footsteps hesitantly follow him in and grumbling under his breath he turned angry eyes on the twins and Ron, all of which sported dark expressions.

“What now?” Ron asked, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed with question.

“I find her,” Harry replied gruffly, his mind already mixing up a plan that Hermione would call insane and suicidal. He didn't care though. He was going to find her; whatever it took.

“We find her,” his best mate replied heavily, taking a step forward, his stance taking on a defensive position.

Harry shook his head, pulling the bag up over his shoulder as it zipped on its own.

“All of us,” the twins added in, stepping forward, their expressions set and dark.

Harry looked at the three boys and then nodded. He mind adjusted the plan, knowing it would need them all, though they wouldn't be doing all that he was. “Come on. Best get out of here before they come looking for us.”

Nodding, the twins motioned to their rooms and were quickly going to pack their bags. Ron too moved to his trunk, throwing it open and searching through it avidly. He pulled a bag out much like Harry's and packed it with much less thought, simply grabbing whatever he could and sticking it in without much preamble. “You gotta plan?”

“Depending on whether she's at Godric's Hollow, yes,” Harry replied curtly, his body still tight with anger.

A few minutes later, the four of them were sneaking down the stairs, avoiding Order members and family as they went. There was a moment where their bodies were straight and paused as a statue when Ginny walked out of the living room, tear stains marring her cheeks. She stared at them, her brow furrowed as her eyes fell down to the bags. Harry stared back at her, his expression hard and asking for understanding. She stared back, wiping at her face as a few stray tears escaped, and then nodded. “Bring her back,” she whispered brokenly before turning and walking back into the living room. Harry nodded before turning back to the twins and following them out the front door. Crouched low in the dark expanse surrounding the Burrow, they all ran toward the apparition borders. Each twin took hold of either Ron or Harry, having no idea where Godric's Hollow was. With one last look at the Burrow, they disappeared from sight, a pop resounding.

To be continued...

Chapter image (made by Jeanie of The Dark Arts): Five

Chapter Five

“The secret of happiness is freedom, and the secret of freedom, courage.” - Thucydides

Hermione woke to find herself in a brick room with a dirt floor, random rocks poking out to dig into her tender flesh. Her body ached all over and she found herself confused about the reason explaining why she was where she was, until it all flooded back to her like a hot poker in her chest. She’d been captured, and on top of that her parents had been killed without preamble. Her eyes stung fiercely with tears, but knowing where she was, she pushed them back and rolled to sit against the wall. Her legs were scraped and dirty from her fall, her skirt torn and twisted uncomfortably, and Harry’s jersey was still in tact but dirty from lying on the floor for however long. There was what she thought to be a window high up on the wall, but it was covered with wood so she couldn’t see whether it was night or day.

Exhaling heavily, she examined the rest of her captive quarters, finding nothing but dirt and rocks. There was a thick wood door with a slot the size of a doggy door near the bottom sitting adjacent to her and though she knew it was likely locked, she stood up and walked over to tug on it as strongly as she could. It didn’t so much as make a noise of protest for all her work and she finally gave up with a disgruntled huff.

Moving toward the window, she took her shoe off and threw it at the piece of wood, hoping it would knock it out and she could scream for help. She had no idea where she was, be it a home or a castle of some sort. She didn’t know if there were wizards living nearby or if her distressed calls would be heard, but she threw her shoe a few more times, unable to reach it even on her tip toes. The wood stayed in place and eventually her shoe got stuck up high on the thin ledge, mocking her from where she stood. Frustrated, she pondered whether she should try the other shoe.

After a few moments of weighing the pros and cons, she could hear footsteps outside of the dungeon room and considered her options. Rolling up in the fetal position, taking whatever they threw, or standing with confidence and defiance in her posture and eyes. Moving to the center of the room, she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, caring not that she looked like something they'd dragged around and left in the dirt.

The door swung open, creaking heavily and letting in a little more light from the torches that lined the area. She could see that she was most likely in a castle. The area outside of the dungeon was made of old bricks and various other wood doors appeared to lead to other dungeons holding captives or empty. There was a man dressed in black robes, part of his face burned and rippling with scarring, patrolling the area. Two men stepped forward, one in full Death Eater attire, the other sporting a smirk she knew all too well.

“It appears that you've awoken, Miss. Granger. Is your room to your taste?” Lucius drawled, a brow pulled up in question. “Perhaps it's not dirty enough?” he asked in a mockingly sweet voice.

“It's exactly what I anticipated,” she replied, her expression feigning delight. “I couldn't expect much from you, after all. I mean, look who you serve...” She jutted her hip out, sneering at him. “I wouldn't expect him to understand what life outside of obscurity would be like. While he was trying to keep away from those capable of tearing him from his self proclaimed pedestal, the rest of us learned proper housekeeping and lived a life of comfort and leisure. You remember what that was like, don't you, Mr. Malfoy? Before you were forced into Azkaban for becoming a servant,” she said, tipping her chin and lifting a mocking brow.

Lucius sneered, taking a few sharp steps toward her, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when he found she didn't run or cower. He collected himself quickly, however. “We'll see how smart that mouth of yours is when you're standing before the most powerful wizard alive.”

Hermione looked up at him defiantly. “With Headmaster Dumbledore's recent passing, that leaves only one wizard those words could define and I do believe I've schooled with him for the last six years. I know this will be hard for you, but try and understand me when I say his name.” She leaned a little closer, her voice lowering. “Har-ry Pot-ter,” she enunciated spitefully.

Lucius' hand flew out, connecting with her jaw quick and hard. Her face slipped to the right with a sharp twinge in her neck, but she kept her feet firmly planted on the dirty floor beneath her and turned her eyes back, ignoring the blood that dribbled down her chin. Gathering it, she spat it in his face.

“Careful, you wouldn't want to sully yourself,” she mocked scornfully.

Wiping his face with a deep sneer, he motioned to the man beside him, who grabbed her by the hair and yanked her out the door. Following behind them, Lucius snickered to himself. “I must admit, Miss. Granger, it does amaze me that you can feign strength under your circumstances.”

“It shouldn't. Should I die, I'll know that I died for a cause.” She turned slightly, frowning. “As I'm sure you'll believe you have when you finally meet your deserved end.”

He laughed, though it was crisp and dark, void of true humor. “And they called you the smartest witch of the age,” he muttered, disgust lacing his words. “Look around you, mudblood, and face the facts. Victory for the Dark Lord is so close you can taste it. With the loss of you, Potter is just another pitiful boy who couldn't compare.”

“What d'you mean?” Hermione asked, struggling against the tightening of the hand in her thick curls.

Lucius didn't reply as they had found their way into the main room. A Great Hall of sorts, she supposed. White marble columns lined the sides, ivory and black stones made up an elaborate floor as they walked out into the large, nearly empty area. Their footsteps echoed loudly, lifting up to the high arched wood ceiling. The masked Death Eater and Lucius brought her up to the steps leading to a tall backed chair. Pushing her down so she was kneeling before the robed man who stood with his back to her. Hermione lifted her chin when the hand let go of her hair, staring defiantly up at the back of a man who had done all he could to destroy all that was good in the world, who had threatened her and so many others lives.

Voldemort turned slowly, his head first, greenish grey skin becoming visible. He was completely bald, his body radiating a sense of power and confidence. His black robes moved around him elegantly as he turned entirely, his scarlet slit eyes falling to hers, hate and disgust burning in his gaze. Hermione felt fever take hold of her body, but did her best to keep her face completely neutral. He took a seat in the chair, moving his robes forward and sitting with his head high and his back straight. The only word that seemed to slither into her mind to describe him was snake-like. He had no nose, but instead two small slits next to each other, sitting centered between his hateful eyes and lipless mouth. “Miss. Granger, I can't say it's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she replied, hoping her voice didn't shake quite as much as her insides were.

He simply stared, one side of his mouth curling slightly. “The brave act is quite unnecessary and not as believable as you hope.” He leaned forward slightly, his arms braced on the arms of his chair. “I'm sure you know what your detainment means.”

“That you put far too much emphasis on my friendship with Harry?” she asked, lifting a brow. “Congratulations, Riddle, you've successfully captured a girl whose only completed sixth year from a house unguarded when you surprise-attacked it.” Her hands came forward to clap mockingly, despite their shaking. “One witch against a crowd of adult Death Eaters.” She frowned, her brow lifting. “Although, if we'd like to get technical. At least one of yours is dead, another was Crucio'd extensively, it took them a good half hour to catch me and only succeeded because my parents were good, kind, loving people.” She nodded, her mouth pursed. “Perhaps you should reconsider your recruitments. They appear to need more training.”

“Silence, mudblood,” Lucius shouted, grabbing her by her hair and yanking her back. “You will not disrespect your superior.”

“I hadn't thought I was,” she replied, her voice strained against the tightness of her throat from the angle he'd pulled her into.

“Release her, Malfoy, she has a point,” Voldemort said, sound unaffected.

“M'lord?” Lucius asked, his brow furrowed and his mouth pursed with confusion.

“She speaks the truth when she says that my own men, my hard trained and supposedly obedient and faithful following, have not risen to the challenge against one girl,” he spat, his mouth curling in a sneer as his red eyes slitted to glare darkly at Malfoy. “You disappoint me,” he said, his hand raising quickly to flick his wand.

Hermione felt the hand tighten in her hair and feared that she'd be taken with Malfoy when he was thrown back. Instead, however, the man who'd dragged her to the room was thrown and Lucius stood where he was, his hand slowly loosening from her dirtied curls. She could hear the crush of bones and flesh slamming into the hard floor behind her and covered her wince quickly.

“Does that bother you, Miss. Granger?” Voldemort asked her, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You realize in a war that death and torture are quite regular.”

“Regular to whom?” she asked, her eyes falling to stare at the floor as if not wanting to sully herself by looking at him. “You blame such acts on the war, but in reality I'm sure you get some sick pleasure out of it. If this is how you treat your own men, I can't imagine why they believe they're getting anything out of serving you.” She lifted her chin, staring at him and hoping her terrified eyes didn't give away her fear. “When they realize that you're only using them for your own benefit, I hope the coup d'état performed is less disappointing.”

He tipped his head at her. “You're quite unlike the many who've knelt there before you,” he said, his tone filled with curiosity. “I can see your fear, little mudblood. In fact, I can practically smell and feel it. Your heart is nearly jumping out of your chest, you're shaking so bad it's a wonder you're still sitting up straight, and yet each word you speak is clear and precise.” He shook his head, his mouth curling with derision. “Were you not a dirty mudblood, I could've used you well in my army.”

“I wouldn't lower myself,” she spat at him, her chest heaving with her anger and fear.

He laughed, loud and mocking. “Make no mistake, your position kneeling before me is simply a testament to you and everybody who stands for the same cause. You may not be here to see my victory, but you'll know of it as you lay dying in your cell. You have lost!” he told her, rising from his seat, his expression becoming dark and hateful.

His calm exterior was long past and he stood tall and menacing before her, sheer power coming off of him in waves. “You were the last cog in the plan and you can spit your dislike and throw your temper tantrums, but inside you know just as well as I. Pathetic little Potter will be reduced to nothing at the news that his precious mudblood is long gone and prophecy or not, I will rule this world and the one you came from.”

He stepped down closer to her, forcing her to crane her neck back as she stared at him, her nightmare becoming more real by the second. He reached down, his long, knobby fingers wrapping around her throat and lifting her up without a hesitant move of his arm. She hung, her throat tight and letting no air through, her legs dangling beneath her, reaching for land and relief. “I can't express my gratitude enough, my dear. For you have given me my long overdue victory.” He leaned forward, his red eyes beating into hers, causing a dark chill to roll down her spine and shake her to her very core. “How does it feel to know that you are part of history? The marker of a new world; a better world?” he asked, his voice low.

She choked, her lungs burning for air. Tears sprung to her eyes, whether from realization or lack of air, she couldn't be sure. He dropped her, hand unwrapping and letting her fall without preamble. Her knees slammed into the ground with a painful crack and her body fell forward, heaving as it gasped for air.

“Take her back to her cell, Malfoy,” Voldemort said, making his way back up the stairs to his chair. “Where's Pettigrew? I want a progress report,” he shouted angrily, his voice echoing in the hall.

Hermione's arms were yanked back as Malfoy pulled her up from the floor roughly. He hurriedly walked away, dragging her behind him as she rubbed at her throat and tried to tell her feet to move before her with the same confidence she'd walked into the room with. She could practically hear Voldemort's degrading laugh in her ears, following her out of the room. Her eyes scanned her surroundings this time, taking in the elaborate maze-like essence of the castle structure. Paintings lined the walls and Hermione didn't hesitate in believing they were all pureblooded families, going far back into the past.

They passed various other Death Eaters, each of them wearing black robes and walking tall and important, sneering at her as they saw her pass. She couldn't help but wonder how many Slytherin students were walking these very halls, looking out at her and laughing to themselves over how she'd finally be paying for all that she and her friends had done to them and their kind. She looked up at Lucius as he continued walking fast and precise, hand tight around her upper arm. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if his son was here too. Was he sitting somewhere with Crabbe and Goyle enjoying her torment as if it were Christmas morning?

They reached her cell and Hermione mentally ran through the steps they took there. If she somehow managed to escape, she knew how to get back to the Great Hall, though she wasn't sure how much that would help given it was Voldemort's main area, she assumed from the chair. There were various passageways she would have to explore, she knew. She's passed numerous hallways lit with torches on her return to her captive quarters, and a dozen doors that resembled her own, though she heard no voices from inside telling her that there was anybody but her being held. Lucius pushed her into the room without a words notice and locked the door before walking off, his sharp steps echoing back to her.

Finding herself kneeling on the dirty floor once more, she quickly turned over to sit against the brick wall. Pulling her knees up, she examined the bruised and scraped flesh that stared up out of dirt and stinging blood. She wanted to brush it away, but her hands were just as dirty and she wasn't sure it would help any. Wiping them on her torn clothes was pointless as she seemed to be covered head to toe in dirt and blood. Tears lifted to her eyes but she absolutely refused to let them fall. Moving to the darkest corner in the room, she curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her bruised legs and letting her dirty hair cover her face. Her body shook painfully, from cold or the aftershock of her fear she wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter.

Sniffling, Hermione closed her eyes. She didn't know how long she'd be there, whether they were going to let her starve to death or send somebody to come in and kill her at some random, unknown time. But she wouldn't die letting them see her fear. She was a Gryffindor and she would die with all the courage she could fine. The only thing she could do now was hope. Hope that Harry understood that she didn't blame him, that he had to go on and do what they had planned without her, that she believed in him wholly and that Voldemort's plan wouldn't succeed. Some selfish part of her couldn't help but wish, however, that they'd come for her. That Harry or the Order or anyone really would save her. It was unlikely, it wasn't selfless or intelligent, but she was just a seventeen year old girl who had done everything in her power to help save the world. She could wish, couldn't she?

---

Voldemort sat scowling in his high backed chair, listening to the scurrying feet of his minions as they hurriedly got into position, kneeling before him in pathetic servitude, rising only when he ordered them to find Pettigrew.The girl has surprised him. Mudblood or not, she had courage in her. More than most of his followers, in fact. She shuddered in fear, her heart pumping out an unsteady and surely unhealthy rate, but still she spat her words at him as if she somehow earned the right to speak to him in such an insolent tone.

Had she learned nothing? Was his legacy not enough to scare her into being a mute? What books had she read, what information had she learned, what sights had she seen, to believe that her Harry Potter could possibly be more than he, Lord Voldemort? More pure of blood wizards and witches than her had shook before him, pleading for life and limb, and yet she simply knelt there, defiant as ever. It enraged him. So much so that he barely took pleasure in cursing and Crucio'ing the House Elf that came to inform him Pettigrew would be arriving before him soon. It didn't stop him, however, and he kept the torture up until he heard the footsteps coming forward.

The twisted body of the House Elf lay on the ground in a mess when Pettigrew and Malfoy stepped before him. Its limbs laying out in odd angles, as if reaching for its mercy and not finding it. Its screams had long stopped and its tears had bled dry. Voldemort nodded to a robed servant nearby and paid no attention as the dead creature was drug out of his vision. He wasn't surprised to see Pettigrew gulp. Despite being a Gryffindor and showing enough incentive to betray his pathetic friends, Pettigrew was just as fearful of him as any other. He wondered over how two Gryffindors could be so different. A mudblood girl of only seventeen had enough gumption to stare him in the eye and call him pathetic, while his own servant of seventeen years could barely get himself to speak without stuttering.

“M'lord,” Pettigrew said, his voice so high it nearly cracked.

“Status,” he ordered, leaning back in his chair and staring down at the two with barely concealed anger.

“Potter has been told and he hasn't taken it well,” Pettigrew admitted with no small bit of satisfaction. “In fact, he went into a rage, denying that the girl was dead. Lupin informed him that her house was burned to the ground and the parents were dead, they assumed she too was gone.” He grinned, his eyes falling and his fingers coming together in deviant delight.

“And?” Voldemort prompted, tired of his display of amusement. He wanted facts. He wanted to know Potter was sobbing his pathetic little heart out, raging over poor-me's and considering death a blessing.

Pettigrew jumped at his voice and then returned to his report. “He went to the house, ignoring their pleas to stay behind. He...” He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet and as Voldemort grew impatient with the telling he turned to Lucius. Taking the hint, Malfoy reached out to backhand Pettigrew over his head, prompting the rat to let out a groan of pain. “He en-entered the house, m'lord. So bent on the fact that she wasn't dead, he broke inside and searched it as it burned around him.”

Voldemort sat forward slightly, intrigued and angrily surprised. “It still burned?”

“It was raging with fire. He ignored the people around him, including the Weasleys and Lupin. Truth be told, I was sure he was going to die inside.” Shaking his head, Pettigrew frowned. “Jumped out a window just as the house collapsed and the fire took over. He was taken away by the Weasleys and I followed.” He smirked now, pleased with how the events were going. “The Order called a meeting. Too caught up in the event, they hardly saw me in the room,” he boasted, nodding eagerly. “They've decided not to come searching for her. Too risky, they say. Not enough incentive.”

Voldemort laughed, loud and gleeful. So the Order had left her to her own devices. Not enough incentive indeed. Dumbledore's almighty Order couldn't be bothered with a girl. It was obvious to him they were scared. Whether they thought her unworthy or simply didn't believe they could face him, he didn't care. Surely the knowledge that his Order had failed him too would be the last string for the Potter boy.

“And the boy, Pettigrew? How did he take it?” Voldemort asked, turning to him with a sharp gleam and a vicious smirk.

Pettigrew swallowed tightly, shifting on his feet. His triumphant expression had slipped away to be replaced with discomfort and fear. “He...” He mumbled the rest and Voldemort sneered at his audacity. Realizing his mistake, Pettigrew straightened up before Malfoy could strike him again. “H-He's left the Burrow, m'lord.”

“Left?” Malfoy asked, lifting a manicured blond brow.

Nodding vigorously, Pettigrew stuttered, “He's c-coming for her. S-said he wouldn't let her think sh-she didn't matter.” Shaking his head, he looked almost miserable behind his fear. “He's joined forces with the Weasley twins and his other best mate.” He let out a shuddering breath before continuing. “They apparated before I could find anything else out. They h-have bags though. They're planning a r-rescue mission.” He cringed, his expression twisting with fear as he awaited his punishment.

Voldemort sat back, his anger welling up in him. Potter was supposed to crumble not rise up. He was supposed to curl up in a ball and wither away in his agony, not gather his anger and come at him. No fear, however, there was no way that he could find him. There were countless supporters that would stop him before he made it to his holding. The mudblood would long be dead by then. And even if he did succeed, there were still his horcruxes out there to keep him immortal. Yes, Potter could fight and search but nothing would come of it. He'd fall apart soon enough. When all of his searching brings up nothing, when all of his energy goes into finding the mudblood fails. He would fall then. It was only a matter of time.

“M'lord?” Malfoy asked, wondering what was to be done now.

Voldemort shook his hand, his mouth curling.

“S-Sir?” Pettigrew queried.

“Let him come,” Voldemort said, waving his hand indifferently. “Let him search and agonize over it. And if he should somehow find me then this will be over with a much more satisfying end. Instead of letting him crumble, I'll watch him die before my eyes.” Voldemort rose from his seat. Certainly, triumph was on the horizon. “Yes...” he hissed, smirking. “Let the boy come. If the journey doesn't kill him, I will,” he vowed, sneering out at his agreeable servants.

Chapter Image (made by Jeanie of The Dark Arts): Six

Chapter Six

“You have to understand the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else.” - Albert Einstein

Harry stared hard at the two-story house ahead of him, the outside clearly unkempt after so many years of being abandoned. Thick, gnarled trees surrounded it, while vines and bushes overgrew the front yard. The white picket fence surrounding it was old and falling apart, some of the boards were missing or lay broken. His jaw tigthened as he stared, noticing that there were no lights filtering out of the window, not even that of a faint candle. His heart clenched, hope dwindling quickly. The Muggle village down a short ways was still alive, lights and people in the distance. He felt Ron's hand on his shoulder, but he ignored it and walked forward. His mind was on one thing only and he wasn't about to let human emotion get the best of him. His feet sounded heavy as he hurriedly made his way up the walk and towards the peeling door. His hand reached out, shaking before him, but he frowned and grasped the doorknob tightly, turning it and throwing the door open. The hinges creaked eerily, reminding him that it'd been over sixteen years since anybody had been there, alive and well. A family just starting.

His brow furrowed as he walked inside, his wand coming out. “Lumos,” he said, noticing that his voice was hoarse and croaky. He put that notion to the back of his mind and stomped inside the house, his eyes quickly running over the dust covered surfaces of tables, walls, pictures, and furniture. It was completely dark, the only light besides his wand that of the moonlight filtering through the broken window and past the torn, moth-eaten curtains. Finding the living room empty, he made his way toward the kitchen, eyes scanning over the dishes laying in the dirty sink, water long evaporated. Webbing created an elaborate show crossing between the cupboards on either side of the window showing the sideyard, sitting quaintly above the sink. He walked through the kitchen, his shoulders tightening quickly. It wasn't so long ago that he thought he'd need Hermione to even think of setting foot in the front yard of his childhood home. He could hear the twins and Ron's footsteps following him dutifully, their wands illuminating to join his.

“Spread out,” he told them, nodding back to them. He heard their feet stumble slightly and then exit the room behind him. He didn't want them nearby, he didn't want to know that they were watching him with pitying expressions or feel their hands on his shoulder or patting his back. This wasn't the time. There were more important things than his hurt feelings and stomach eating sadness. He found a stairway in the back and batted away a spiderweb without a second thought, briefly wondering as he climbed up the creaky stairs if it would become a problem for Ron that there were obviously a number of spiders inhabiting the house. Dusty family photos sat on the walls, against pale wall paper that peeled and sat in mockery of what likely used to be a quite cheerful display. As he entered the top floor, he heard a crash downstairs and then the twins calling out.

“No worries... Ron just spotted a spider and fell over.”

“Hope you didn't want that ugly cabinet in the living room.”

Their voices were void of the usual humor and barely registered in Harry's mind.

There were four doors to pick from, though each were wide open. One was a bathroom and he walked there first not only because it was the nearest but because he figured somehow a bathroom was one of those places privacy reigned. If she had been there, seeing her parents die and just barely escaping, she'd probably want to be alone, wouldn't she? He didn't ponder it much and opened the door to find it empty. It was eerie the way the dust settled over things that still sat in their usual places, make-up and toothbrushes, hair brushes and a shaver, all sitting in wait for a family that would never return to use them. He pushed open the door nearest the bathroom to find his parents room and felt a shiver run down his spine, he wasn't quite sure he was ready to enter something that was so completely theirs.

“H-Hermione?” he called out, his voice thin and shaky.

When there was no reply, he forced his feet to move forward, hating that they shook and faltered. Taking a deep breath, he surged forward, walking past the long dark dresser and toward the half-open closet. The beam of his wand fell across the room, painting it in a soft glow that eccentuated how dark and unused it was. The closet was filled with clothes, a trunk, and some shoes, but no crouching Hermione. He waved his wand around, checking the corners of the furniture and rectangular room but found her nowhere. Finally, he crouched low on the floor and pulled up the old burgundy blanket covering the bed. There was nothing but darkness beneath it and he angled his wand a little better to see, but soon found himself giving a startled shout and flying back to slam into the bedside table, knocking a lamp off and hearing it crash.

Two beady eyes had been staring back at him from beneath a mass of scruffy dark hair.

“Harry?” he heard the shout of Ron from downstairs. Heavy footsteps were coming upstairs and he wasn't sure how to respond.

The twins and Ron appeared in the door, looking at him with curious and worried expressions. “Did... Is she here then?”

Harry shook his head, taking a deep breath and rolling his eyes at his absurd reaction. A cat crawled out from beneath the bed, crouched low and hissing. It's matted fur was trying to stand up but not doing a very good job. It appeared to be quite old, with suspicious silver eyes and long claws already out and waiting. Upon closer inspection, he could see silver swirls in its fur and sat forward. He made a clicking noise with his tongue, as if calling it closer, and thought briefly of Crookshanks. While Hermione's cat was half-kneazle, with an ugly flat face, this was quite obviously a simple muggle cat. He wondered why it was in the house at all and how it got in and couldn't help but think it might've been his parents. It would be incredibly old if it was though.

The cat stared at him a moment, lifting it's head slightly as if to mock him for his actions, but then moved a little closer. It sniffed him slowly, starting at his shoes and making its way up toward his hand. Its fur slowly returned to just being awfully dirty and messy and it stepped closer, purring all of a sudden and nuzzling his hand. Harry wondered if perhaps there was a spell to get him a little less matted, but didn't ask the twins or Ron, simply petting the now-friendly cat. It stepped up and curled itself into a purring ball on his stomach and Harry wondered how he managed to get so distracted from his original mission. He looked up at the three boys, taking in their shocked and confused expressions.

Clearing his throat, he stood up, keeping a grip on the cat that adjusted itself to lay in the crook of his wandless arm. “There are two rooms that haven't been checked but I don't think she's here,” he said gravely. “Did you find anything downstairs? Footprints in the dust, anything moved, something to tell us anybody's been here in the last fifteen or sixteen years?”

They shook their heads. “There's paw prints. Cat and dog,” Ron told him, wincing slightly. “But other than that, nothing.”

Harry nodded abruptly, walking out of the room and pausing in front of the door across from his parents, taking in the crib, rocking chair, and small dresser. “She'd have come out by now,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

“So she's...”

“With him,” Harry said, his voice taking on a decidedly harsh texture. “But that doesn't prove anything. He could be using her as bait or simply letting her suffer. I don't...” A shiver ran through him, bile rising in his throat. He didn't want to think about what could be happening to her. “We'll get her back.” He hated that his vow cracked at the end.

There was a long pause, everybody deep in thought. “How?” Ron finally asked, his voice choked and worried.

Harry didn't answer him, instead turning and leaving the room. He walked down the stairs he'd come up, frowning at how unstable they felt beneath him. He ducked beneath a cobweb and kept going, his hand instinctively petting the cats head. He made his way through the house and out to the front quickly, disliking the empty feeling it left him with. His feet took him back to the bags that sat waiting for them out front and he heard the door slam behind them as the three Weasley boys followed him out. He picked up his bag, throwing it over his shoulder and waited for them to join him.

“Where to now?” Ron wondered, grabbing his own bag and casting an odd glance down at the cat.

“Grimmauld,” Harry said simply, before popping out of their sights and reappearing in the ground floor of number 12 Grimmauld place. It looked just as he remembered it and a pained feeling ran through him, remembering Sirius and the last moments spent with him in the dark house around him. The peeling wallpaper reminded him of the house he'd just left and he quickly looked away, walking across the threadbare carpet and scowling at the moldy curtain covering the always awful Mrs. Black. The twins and Ron followed behind him, arriving just a few seconds after him.

Harry made his way toward the dining room, where the Order often held their meetings. The twins pulled out chairs, sitting down and dropping their bags on the table top. Ron followed suit, looking up at Harry expectantly. Harry let the cat down onto the table and watched it look back up at him; he swore that if cats could have expressions, this one was frowning. “There should be a bowl of food in the kitchen,” Harry told it, pointing off to a door. “Crookshanks wouldn't mind, I don't think.” He felt foolish talking to it and shifted on his feet in discomfort.

The cat stared at him a moment before running off down the table and hopping down to the floor, somehow managing to understand him. Harry shrugged it off and turned back to the Weasley boys who weren't all that surprised by the knowledgable animal; they were magical folk, after all.

Taking a deep breath, Harry crossed his arms and stared at Fred and George. “Do either of you know what a Horcrux is?”

“Harry,” Ron said abruptly, his expression showing his shock that he was willing to share the information with the infamous pranksters before him.

Harry shook his head at Ron to shut him up and then turned back to the twins who were looking at each other with confused expressions. “An easy explanation is that they are pieces of a person's soul, placed in an object of some kind. It can be alive or inanimate, it doesn't matter. To put it simply, Voldemort had six Horcruxes made, and there should still be four out there, waiting to be destroyed. If not all of them are taken care of, then he cannot truly be killed,” Harry told them, his expression tight and grim.

“What happened to the other two?” the twins wondered curiously.

“Dumbledore destroyed a ring, Marvolo Gaunt's to be exact. And I destroyed Riddle's journal, the one that possessed Ginny in her first year,” Harry told them, shrugging slightly. “We know of two others, Slytherin's Locket and Hufflepuff's cup, but there are still two others. We also don't know where these four Horcruxes are.” Opening his bag, he pulled out the shrunken rolls of parchment and books that he'd taken from Hermione's trunk. “This is all of Hermione's research on the subject so far. What she believes could be Horcruxes, places she thinks they could be kept, and simply all of her conjecture on the matter.” He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment. “The three of you are going to take on the journey that we were going to. You'll find the Horcruxes and destroy them all while I go in search of Hermione.”

“Harry, that's madness,” Ron shouted, standing up from his chair so quickly it through it back and made it clatter against the floor. “You can't go alone and you can't expect us to find them without you or Hermione. We should all go after Hermione and then find the Horcruxes.”

“Not possible,” Harry said, shaking his head decidedly. “The moment Voldemort has me in front of him, he's not going to care whether or not we're ready for it. My death is at the top of his list and I can't risk killing him only to have him come back later. I need those Horcruxes found as quickly as possible, so that when I do find Hermione, I can end all of this,” he said passionately, his jaw hardening.

“And what if you get to Hermione before we get to the Horcruxes,” Ron asked, shaking his head and glaring at him.

“You're going to have to make sure that doesn't happen, mate,” Harry told him, lifting a brow. “We're on a time limit, obviously. We need everything found and done as quickly as possible. Not that we weren't already going to try and have it all done fast, but now we have someone hanging in the balance.” He sighed, his expression falling from anger and hardness to tired and sad. “I trust you three to get this done. I'm relying on you to make the journey that Dumbledore believed we could make.”

“That was when he thought it was us three though,” Ron said, shaking his head and frowning.

Harry's mouth curled slightly. “Have you ever known Dumbledore not to know things ahead of time? I wouldn't be surprised if he somehow knew this was going to happen.” He shook his head, his shoulders falling slightly. “I believe you three can find and destroy them. You're the strategist, Ron, you'll do fine.”

Ron shook his head, his expression taught with anxiety. “But Hermione has the booksmarts and you have the cunning. I...”

“Look at who you're working with,” Harry said, his eyes widening as he motioned to the twins. “You have two of the most brilliant wizards I've ever met with you. Even Hermione praises them, Ron. What does that tell you?”

“She praises us?” the twins asked, their brows lifting.

“Despite her love for rules and order, she does recognize the genius that goes into your tricks and pranks,” Harry said, nodding. He turned back to Ron. “You want to find her just as much as I do. Trust that I will get her back, just as I'll trust that you three will get this done while I'm away.”

Ron shook his head. “There will be nobody there to watch your back,” he reminded, his voice faltering.

Before Harry could reply, the unknown cat hopped up onto the table once more, licking its mouth contentedly and walking over to lay at the edge in front of Harry. Harry couldn't help but think that not only did he not have a name for the cat that he found an inexplicable connection to, but he had no idea what gender it was either. “What d'you think I should call it?” he asked aloud.

Ron huffed, sounding quite annoyed that Harry was focusing on something so trivial.

“Scruffy?” the twins said, lifting their brows and half-smiling.

The cat turned and hissed at them, its tail lifting to wag warningly.

Harry reached down, scratching it behind its ears. “No... Something... dignified, I suppose. Is it a boy or girl, d'you think?”

“Under all that fur it looks like there's a collar,” one of the twins told him, pointing.

Harry bent down lower, moving all the matted black and silver fur out of the way. “Do either of you know a spell that could--”

A bright pink light blinded him a moment before his hands were touching clean, short, soft black fur with silver swirls that seemed to shimmer in the glow of the candles around them. Turning the collar around to see it better, he rubbed away the dirt that still marred the grey adornment. Slowly, black writing became visible. 'Curator “Ray” Potter,' stared up at him, to which he decided the cat was indeed male. On the back, in small writing, it read, “Good with children and canines, bad with rats.” He thought that canines must also refer to werewolves and contemplated how Ray must have been with his family, long before it and the friendships it entailed were destroyed.

“His name's Ray,” he told them all, a decidedly fond tinge to his voice as he continued to pet a cat he couldn't remember but felt close to somehow.

“Harry,” Ron said, his tone warning.

“I've made my decision,” he replied firmly. “You, Fred and George will take on the mission we previously had. You'll find the Horcruxes and destroy them at all costs. While you're busy with that, I'll be searching for Hermione. My hope is that you'll have completed your half before I have. Whether or not you have though, I'm going to have to do something drastic. We can send word back and forth so I know whether you're close or not.”

“But how will you find her?” Ron wondered.

“There are maps here, filled with possible safehouses for Death Eaters,” one of the twins, he thought it might be Fred, suggested.

“And lists of known and suspected Death Eaters. You can interrogate them,” the other twin added.

“Find out where they're keeping 'Mione.”

“Will you bring us in if we find the Horcruxes before you find her?” Ron asked, his voice almost accusing, as if he knew Harry wouldn't.

“It all depends on where you are and how close I am,” he admitted with a sigh. “Where are the maps and lists?” he asked the twins.

Moving around the room, they started searching the dining room cabinets and such, taking off concealment charms and the like. Before long, Harry had a table full of help and he nodded in gratitude. His shoulders were a little less stiff now that he knew he wasn't just going to be searching the world, high and low, desperately hoping that a clue would just jump up and smack him in the face. “Seems we've come to an understanding then,” he said, his voice heavy with finality.

“Seems so,” the twins said, nodding gravely. Suddenly their hands were held out before him. “Good luck, Harry.”

Shaking each of their proffered hands, he nodded. “Good luck to you, too.”

Seeming to understand that Ron and Harry needed a moment to talk alone, they rose from their seats, taking Hermione's research with them and made their way into the kitchen. Ron stared down at the table ahead of him, putting all of his focus on a chip in the wood and glowering down at it. “Was dad right?” he asked after a long pause.

Harry frowned, his brow furrowing. “About what?”

“Hermione. Dad said he thought you might... That you have... That you like her,” Ron stumbled, shifting in his seat, his eyes still firmly downward.

“Of course I like her, she's one of my best mates,” he replied stiffly, turning his gaze away to stare at the wall.

“You know what I mean, Harry,” Ron said, his voice suddenly hard. “Look, I'm not mad at your or anything like that. You and I both know that me and her would've been... well... a disaster waiting to happen.” He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “She's... And I'm...” He sighed, and Harry heard the shake of the noise. He turned back to see that Ron was showing more emotion than usual. “She's my best mate too, Harry. We're not as close as you and her are. But...” Sighing, he sniffled quickly and cleared his throat to rid himself of such an emotional display. “You'll find her. I know you will. I don't know if this is all going to end how we want,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Guess we have to keep our hopes high. It is Hermione after all. If anybody could survive, it's her. I just...” He bit his lip, his eyes closing for a moment.

“What?” Harry asked, staring at Ron as he gathered his thoughts.

“Y'know I think Voldemort,” he shuddered, “went after for a- a reason.” Lifting his chin, he stared directly at Harry, his expression serious. “She may be your best friend and she may be the brains but... She's a lot more than that, y'know? She's... She's Hermione,” he said, shrugging as a half-smile appeared. “I can understand why you'd, you know, care about her. I thought I did. I even gave it a try. She wasn't for me. But... But then I wasn't you, was I?” He wrinkled his forehead.

“What are you saying?” Harry asked, frowning. He lifted a brow, not entirely sure what Ron was trying to imply. He has his suspicions, but he didn't want to voice them if he was wrong.

“Just... Just remember that I wouldn't be upset if you and Hermione became... more. I would be a little left out, maybe even awkward, but...” He shrugged, looking uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had gone. “I guess I always suspected between you two, but I always sort of thought that I'd... Blimey, this is hard,” he muttered, shutting his eyes tight. “Okay, Harry, maybe you haven't figured it out and maybe it's gonna take awhile, but I just want you to know that I would support you if you one day realized that your feelings for Hermione weren't that of a friend or brotherly in nature.” He sighed, a certain relief coming to his face.

Harry scowled, shaking his head. “This has nothing to do with that. Hermione's my friend. She's been my best friend since I was eleven. All those things the Order said, about how they weren't going to go out of their way because I had a girlfriend or a fancy, that junk is all ridiculous. We both know that Hermione and I have and always will be just friends. I... I love her, but not... I don't...” He stumbled and he wasn't sure why. “Whatever feelings you're implying I have, I don't. I want to find her, I need to find her, but it's only because she's been by my side all this time. She's a good person and she doesn't deserve whatever Voldemort is doing...” He trailed off, his throat tightening. “I can't... I won't...”

“I know, Harry,” Ron said quietly, his expression understanding. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “So when are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Harry admitted, his voice still strangled. “I have to look over the maps, see where a starting point is. I can't just walk out there and expect them to come to me.”

Ron nodded. “Guess I'll be heading out too. Not really safe to hang 'round here, is it?”

“No.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, if... If anything should...” He wasn't quite sure how to say goodbye. It could be their last. He wanted to believe that he'd go and he'd get Hermione and destroy Voldemort, but it wasn't as easy as that. He was going off to face the darkest wizard of their time and hoping to walk away not only alive but with his best friend still in tact. It was hoping a lot and he'd learned long ago that things tended not to point in his favor.

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I know. Same here.” He held his hand out and for both their sakes they pretended they didn't see it shaking. Taking it, Harry held on strong and told himself that he wasn't really saying goodbye. “Be safe, yeah?”

Harry nodded jerkily, his throat tightening. “You too.”

“Guess I'll leave you to it,” Ron said, shifting back. He looked away, his shoulders slumping. “Send us an owl when you get settled somewhere.”

“I will,” Harry promised. He bit his lip, not sure if he should tell him not to write anybody else. There were so many people who could find out. The owl could be found or the person could let it leak. There were just so many things that could go wrong, he needed to be sure that everyone was on alert and not being sloppy. “Keep this quiet, eh? Not even Luna can know.” He noticed Ron's glower and quickly amended. “It's not that I don't trust her. It's that I don't trust the Order won't go to her. I doubt she'd burn your letters and they might find them. We need to keep them off our trail for as long as possible.”

Ron nodded stiffly. “Right. Yeah. No writing anybody. I'll keep it quiet.” After another minute of shifting around with indecision, Ron finally moved toward the door. “Don't... Don't lose yourself out there, eh Harry?” he said, looking back at him with something akin to fear.

“Lose myself?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

“You'll have to do things... Things that can't easily be forgotten, I bet. It's not... It won't be easy finding her or saving her. I just... Don't lose who you are out there,” he explained, unable to make himself more clear.

Harry nodded jerkily. Would he have to kill? They wouldn't be easy to question. They were loyal to their Lord and if he let them go, they'd return to Voldemort to warn him. He'd have to keep them from letting Voldemort know any of what he would learn on the way. Shaking his head, he decided he'd have to make a sure fire plan. There could be no leaks. He didn't want to kill, but he might have to. Hermione was worth that, wasn't she? It wasn't as if he was completely innocent to begin with. She wouldn't agree that what little innocence he had left should be traded in for her, but he wasn't asking for her permission on the matter. “I'll try not to,” he allowed, seeing Ron's expression but accepting his fate as it was.

“If she's already... I mean if he's... If she's... gone,” Ron said hoarsely, his back tight and his head turned away. “Then you make sure he gets what's coming to him,” he told him darkly.

He knew what he meant. Whatever happened, whatever Voldemort had done, whether Hermione was dead or alive, Harry would make sure that Voldemort paid for everything he'd done. For his parents murders, for Sirius' life and death, for the Grangers and all those lost to Riddle's cause. Harry wasn't going to sit down and allow the Order to fight this battle any longer. He was tired of being in the background, of having no part in something he was obviously a huge intricacy of. Voldemort had finally slipped. He'd made the worst mistake ever. If he thought he was finally breaking the Boy-Who-Lived, he was so very wrong. If anything, he'd finally given him the incentive to destroy him entirely. And he would.

Harry stared at his best mates back, his expression hardening. “I will.”