Our Nameless Will

VipyGirl831

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 29/03/2008
Last Updated: 23/06/2008
Status: completed

AU. When Harry Potter becomes a captive of Voldemort, he does not expect to meet Hermione Granger, a Death Eater who will turn his world upside down. Based off of the “Death Eater Hermione” challenge by Harry85.

Chapters

1. Prologue—Comfort In Loneliness

2. Solace in Sore Hands

3. Feelings of Emptiness

4. What Work Can't Erase

5. Come Through the Emptiness

6. Come With Sore Hands

7. A Union of Lost Souls

8. Sharing A Nameless Will

1. Prologue—Comfort In Loneliness

Summary: AU. When Harry Potter becomes a captive of Voldemort, he does not expect to meet Hermione Granger, a Death Eater who will turn his world upside down. Based off of the “Death Eater Hermione” challenge by Harry85.

Warnings: Due to the nature of the challenge (it's AU where Hermione is a Death Eater), the characters are bound to be a little OOC. In Hermione's case, she went to a different school, never met Harry and Ron, and eventually became a Death Eater (for reasons that will be revealed eventually). She'll be different, obviously, but I promise, the Hermione we all love is underneath it all. As for Harry, well, I've made him different as well; since I rather disliked the direction the 6th book took the HP series. He's had more leadership opportunities thrust on him, so he will likely seem a tad more charismatic (as we saw in book 5 when he was leading the DA).

Disclaimer: JK Rowling, not me, owns Harry Potter and all related characters and situations…unfortunately.

Our Nameless Will

There is comfort in loneliness

There is solace in sore hands.

These feelings of emptiness,

That work can't erase,

I'm trying to drive them down.

You came through the emptiness.

You came with your sore hands.

A union of lost souls,

Sharing a nameless will.

I'm trying to drive them down.

By Amandine

Prologue—Comfort In Loneliness

So tired waiting for the end to come;

Fully dead already, but forever young.

Death to Death by Stars

The wind blew forcefully, pushing against him and slowing his progress. He held his hood up with both hands, keeping his back hunched and his chin tucked in. The snow crunched under his dragonhide boots; he left muddied footprints behind, further dirtying the once pure-white ground. He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, to adjust the pack he was carrying on his back.

The sound of footsteps continued.

He stiffened, bringing his wand to his hand with a flick of his wrist, and peered into the darkness. Slowly, a figure emerged, dressed completely in black, aside from the white Death Eater mask that covered the wizard's face.

He readied himself, going into a dueling stance and allowing the wind to whip back his hood, revealing a blood-red lightning bolt scar across his forehead. He waited tensely for the Death Eater to make the first move, but his opponent stood still, seemingly watching him carefully.

His jaw clenched; his eyes roamed around the area, scanning the darkened alleyways for other figures. Seeing no one else, he focused his full attention on the figure before him and prepared himself for battle.

“Sectumsempra!” He bellowed.

His opponent placed up a silver shield that Harry had never seen before, and the spell bounced harmlessly off. With a flick of the Death Eater's wrist, a retaliating spell, in the form of a blood red beam, shot toward him. Harry dodged it with a roll, grimacing as he felt the heat of the spell as it passed him.

Clearly, his opponent had a great deal of power. Sending off another curse, Harry wondered exactly who this Death Eater was. He could not recall ever seeing such a style of dueling. He had little time to think on this, as suddenly, a jet of fire flew towards him. Instinctively, he erected a strong shield, but the force of the wall of fire hitting it caused him to take several stumbling steps backward.

The spell let up after a few moments, but a large patch of snow was now liquefied around him, leaving brown grass behind.

There was a pause in the duel. The Death Eater observed him, almost casually.

Feeling aggravated, Harry moved his wand in a complicated motion and flicked it toward his adversary, creating a long whip of fire that extended from his wand. The rope of flame shattered the Death Eater's shield and wrapped around his opponent's body.

The Death Eater did not make a sound despite the pain that the burning rope must have caused. After struggling for a short time, the Death Eater went still, and Harry's flame whip began to turn to ice, falling to the ground and shattering.

His opponent, robes now tattered, stood up straighter, standing sideways with one foot behind the other, right hand over the head, left hand extended outward from the side. Harry was alarmed to find his opponent now possessed two wands and fully intended to put both to good use.

A spell shot out of each wand. Harry dodged the blue-colored one, but the green curse hit him in the neck. He tried not to scream as the curse ate through his robes and touched his skin. The feeling of burning flesh assaulted his senses.

“Reductor!” He growled. The spell hit at his challenger's feet, sending the Death Eater flying backwards.

A force from behind suddenly propelled him forward, leaving him face down in the snow and unable to move.

“And he's down,” came a voice from the direction the spell had originated. “Little, bitty baby Potter, came out all alone, and now will die all alone.”

Harry's furry rose as he recognized the voice.

“You bitch!” Came another voice. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“Watch who you're talking to.” Bellatrix hissed, her voice darkening from its previously taunting tone.

“I'll speak to you however I like, Lestrange. Forgive me if I'm not afraid of your pathetic attempts at superiority.”

“You'll be lucky to live after this stunt, girl. The Dark Lord ordered an ambush, not a foolish attempt at a duel.”

“I was doing rather well until you lot showed up,” the woman he had dueled stated coolly.

“Your insolence will be punished…and soon,” Bellatrix hissed again, “We depart now.”

“Fine.”

Black boots suddenly appeared in his field of vision.

“Stupefy!”

And blackness.

He awoke with a start, jerking forward, but chains held him to the cool, stone wall. His mind reeled, taking in the hard floor, the muggy smell of stifled space, the sharp pain in his neck, the feel of water dripping onto his face, and the overpowering darkness.

With a groan, he moved his hands up to his face, and feeling rough cloth covering his eyes, ripped off the blindfold. He blinked twice, adjusting to the dim light coming from a lone torch attached to the wall across from his cell.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, trying to feel any magical enchantments in place. Aside from an overall magical dampening charm on the cell and a magical current running through the steel cell door, he could only detect the faint pulse of three wizards heading towards the dungeons, where he assumed he was. Shortly afterwards, the sound of a door swinging open and loud voices confirmed the presence of approaching visitors.

“Ouch! You stupid oaf! Watch where you're going!”

“Uh—sorry, Draco.”

Harry swore violently under his breath.

“I detest these dungeons—my robes are going to get dirty, I can just tell.”

“Uh—then why are we down here?”

“I want to see it with my own eyes!”

The voices of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle came closer; Harry leaned back and stilled himself, feinting unconsciousness.

“Ha! It is Potter! I can't believe it! Look at him! Knocked off that pedestal of greatness now, aren't you, Potter?” Malfoy cackled.

“Is he—uh—alive?”

“Ugh! How can you possibly be so stupid? Of course he is, imbecile! He's of no use to the Dark Lord dead, at least, not now he isn't.”

“But—erm—why?”

“I don't believe that's something you need to know, Crabbe,” came a familiar, cool voice.

“Dammit! Why the hell are you sneaking around here?”

“It is I who should be asking you that question, Malfoy, as I'm supposed to be down here. You, on the other hand—”

“Oh, I see.” Malfoy's voice turned smug. “Kicked out of the meeting were you? After that stunt you pulled with Potter, I'm not surprised, you worthless bit—AHHH!”

Harry had to use a great deal of willpower to keep his eyes from springing open.

“Fuck! You—dammit—you bitch!”

“Run along, Malfoy. If you hurry, someone can reattach your finger for you.”

“Argh! My father will—”

“—Will do nothing; he's no more than a lap dog of the Dark Lord—he won't do anything unless the Dark Lord commands it, as you very well know. Now, leave me to my task.”

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy left without another word, his cronies undoubtedly falling in line behind him.

“Idiot.” The woman muttered darkly.

He heard a sizzling sound, and the door to his cell creaked open. The woman's footsteps drew nearer until they stopped directly in front of him.

“Impressive. From what I've heard, I wouldn't have thought you capable of restraining yourself from challenging Malfoy, even chained to the wall as you are.”

Harry scowled, opening his eyes and glaring at the figure shrouded in black before him. He remained silent however. The woman stared at him for a moment before waving her wand to conjure two chains and then released him from his bindings. Harry did not move.

She sighed and finally dropped her hood. Harry barely stopped himself from gapping at her. Whatever he had been expecting beneath the hood, this was not it; curling brown hair down to the shoulders, a smooth face, and warm golden-brown eyes greeted him. She could not have been much older than he.

She dropped into one of the conjured chairs and crossed one leg over the other neatly.

“Well, are you going to sit?”

Harry stared at her stonily.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you aren't. Anyways, I'm Hermione Granger. I was pleased to finally be able to duel you.”

Harry wracked his brain for the name. When he finally remembered where he had heard it, his scowl deepened. “You killed Kingsley Shacklebolt. ”

“So he does speak! And yes, I did.” Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “It was only fair, after all.”

“Fair!” Harry exploded. “Fair! He was a good man—a great man! And you murdered him for no reason at all!”

Hermione's eyes and tone turned cold. “I would not presume to know what reasons I may or may not have for killing a person if I were you.”

“You don't scare me,” Harry spat.

“No, I wouldn't, would I?” Her cold exterior melted, leaving Harry rather unsettled and confused. “You should be though. The Dark Lord is going to kill you. Soon.”

Harry's face twisted into a sneer. “He's been trying to do that for over 17 years—hasn't succeeded yet. So forgive me if I'm skeptical.”

She smiled. “No, but you haven't been a prisoner inside the Dark Lord's stronghold before, have you now?”

“I'll find a way out,” Harry stated resolutely, refusing to show any weakness.

Hermione titled her head to the side, as if measuring him up. “Yes, I think that if there's any way out of here, you'll find it.”

She stood and banished the chairs, both used and unused, and turned to go. Harry, in a moment of desperation, sprung from the floor, grabbed her, and placed her in a chokehold. She moved quickly, reflexively plunging her right hand into her robes and stabbing a small blade into his thigh, mercilessly twisting it.

Harry yelled in pain and released her, dropping to the floor—the immense pain the wound created seemed to be spreading throughout his body. She placed the blade, it's middle, pointed baton and two side projections now bloodied, back into the folds of her robes and removed her wand, waving it to cause the chains to surround him once again.

She knelt down next to him and placed her wand against the now throbbing wound in his leg. He winced when she muttered a spell, but instead of additional pain as he suspected, warmth seeped throughout the wound opening, sealing it. She waved her wand again, and the pain that had been starting to cause him to twitch disappeared. He relaxed against the chains, breathing heavily.

“I coat my sai with a poison that wrecks havoc on the nervous system—much like the Cruciatus Curse, but deadlier. It's not pleasant, but you won't die—I've performed the counter-spell.”

She placed her wand once again on him, but this time, on his neck. Another whispered spell and the irritating pain that he still felt from the injury from their duel vanished.

“It was an acid-related curse,” she explained again. “You're lucky it hit your neck—I was going for the eyes.”

She stood and walked out of the cell, waving her wand in a complex pattern over the door.

“You're not a normal Death Eater,” he exclaimed suddenly, causing her to stop short.

“No,” she said, her lips curling into a cross between a genuine smile and a smirk. “No, I'm not. I'll see you soon, Harry Potter.” She added before departing, leaving a rather confused young man behind her.

Notes:

- The full requirements for the challenge can be found here: http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=26459

- I've never written an action/adventure type story before, so as always, suggestions and comments are always helpful.

- Thankfully, StepiePye agreed to beta for me, so a big thanks goes out to her.

- The title of the story “Our Nameless Will” is based off of the Amandine song of the same title. Each chapter will be named after a line from the song, though the plot will not depend on the song, so much.

- A sai is a Japanese weapon (traditionally Okinawan) that consists of 3 prongs coming out a handle, with the middle prong of a longer length. If you ever watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (like I did as a kid!) Raphael (the red one) wielded two sai.

- Though Horcruxes will play a part in this story, the Dealthly Hallows will not.

- This is only the prologue, so it's shorter than all the other chapters—Chapters won't be super long, but they definitely won't be as short as they were in my last story. ^^

- Our Nameless Will will be 8 chapters long.

- Updates won't be too fast. My beta and I are both rather busy, so don't expect any updates more often than once a week.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic!

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2. Solace in Sore Hands

Chapter 1—Solace in Sore Hands

Oh my God, this hurts like hell.
I had that dream again where
I was lost for good in outer space.
Tell me, doctor, how to shake
A waking nightmare that is only
Worse when I am sleeping.

-Kill the Messenger by Jack's Mannequin

Harry spent the rest of the evening (afternoon? morning?) trying to build up enough power to get his chains to release him. It was strenuous work. He was unsure of the type of spell placed on them, and, in addition to that, the magic dampener on the entire cell left him with less than his normal magical capabilities—hardly enough to even begin to attempt wandless magic. On top of all that, he was hungry, tired, sore, and starting to feel more than a little helpless.

`I think that if there's any way out of here, you'll find it.'

And then there was that damnable woman. How could any Death Eater, never mind the cold-blooded killer of Shacklebolt, be so intriguing? Thinking back on the entire conversation with her, and the two had he had previously witnessed, caused his mind to spin in confusion. Despite the fact that he had spent hours reviewing Death Eater profiles, he knew precious little about Hermione Granger. The Order had only found out about her murder of Shacklebolt through the interrogation with Veritaserum of another Death Eater. Aside from that, they only knew she had become a Death Eater three years ago. They had not, however, known she was so young, or so unique, for that matter, especially for a Death Eater.

Harry shook his head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. It was no use however. He knew he would not get out of this cell, let alone the castle, without help. Hopefully, the Order would come for him soon, or—

The door leading into the dungeons suddenly slammed shut, rattling the bars of his cell. Loud footsteps echoed down the hall and the torch across from his cell flared to a massive height, it's flame nearly touching the ceiling.

Harry suppressed a wince; someone who was very powerful and very angry was coming to see him.

The door to his cell flew open before his visitor came into view, but when Hermione Granger stalked in, a large bloody cut running diagonally across her face, he felt oddly relieved.

She stopped in front of him abruptly, throwing a steel platter at his feet and releasing his bindings. She once again conjured two chairs and slumped into the one closest to the door.

He eyed the food suspiciously.

“Oh, honestly!” She huffed. “If we wanted you dead, we would have done it already.”

“So you don't want me dead, then?”

“Not yet. The Dark Lord wants to use a potion to remove that Horcrux from your forehead and place it back in his body. Then he'll kill you.”

Harry starred.

“What! It hardly matters if you know or not.” She replied, almost defensively.

A drop of blood fell off her face onto her robe. She frowned as it rolled down the fabric and hit the floor without leaving a stain.

“After a while, every Death Eater learns to charm their robes to be blood-resistant.”

“That's morbid.” He quipped, in considerably better spirits now that he had food.

She shrugged and touched her hand to her face, scowling when her hand came back covered in blood. “Bugger it all. That bastard.”

Harry almost asked what was wrong before he remembered where he was and what this woman was. She conjured a mirror, scowled again when she saw her face, and then ran her wand along the gash. Only a faint line was left behind, extending from her left eyebrow, across her nose, and down to her right jaw line.

“It'll fade, eventually.”

“I couldn't care less.”

She let out a short laugh. “I highly doubt that, but nevertheless, your feelings toward me are duly noted.”

Harry repressed the bizarre urge to apologize.

“How do you know what Voldemort wants to do with me?”

“Oh, that's simple. I'm making the potion that's going to rip the piece of his soul from your body.”

Harry wondered how it was possible for her to sound so nonchalant while saying that.

“You—but—?”

“After Snape died, the responsibility fell to me.”

“Snape's dead?” He nearly shouted.

She raised an eyebrow. “That's how we knew how and when to capture you.”

“You're lying.”

“What reason do I have to?”

“I cannot begin to imagine the way a Death Eater's twisted mind works.”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, I would imagine not. Either way, Snape is dead. Capturing you was relatively easy after we acquired the information about when you might be alone.”

“Snape wouldn't have known that information anyways. He showed his true colors after he killed Dumbledore.”

Hermione smiled. “Cute, Harry. Protecting your spy even after his death, even just before your own. Either way, he did have that information. I would know—I was the one who took it from his mind.”

“Legilimency? Impossible. Your story needs straightening. Snape is a master Occlumens.”

“Was a master Occlumens. But it's hard to resists the intrusion of two Legilimens while being tortured.”

“Two—”

“The Dark Lord and I. Snape never stood a chance.”

Harry let out a growl; the lone torch began to flicker. Hermione glanced at him thoughtfully, raising her wand, but then shrugged and dropped it to her side again, leaving him unchained.

“It's really a shame. I rather liked Severus Snape, in an odd sort of way. He taught me a great deal about potions.” She smiled sadly.

Harry shook his head then let it fall back on the wall with a dull thud. “What do you want from me? I don't understand what you're doing at all. I don't understand you at all.”

“Are you ever going to sit in this chair I've conjured for you? It has a cushioning charm on it.”

Harry peered at her from the floor, then gingerly stood, stretching his limbs, and sat in the chair stiffly. After a moment or two when nothing happened, he relaxed into the cushions.

“That wasn't so bad now, was it?”

“You never answered my question.” Harry stated flatly.

“I don't want anything from you, Harry.”

“Don't call me that.”

“What? Your name?” She asked amused. “Well, I suppose that the fact that I'm going to help kill you does put a damper on our relationship.”

“You—Merlin—What's the matter with you? How can you say something like that? How can you kill people, just because your master doesn't like them? How do you live with yourself?”

She sighed, her eyes flickering away from his. “I doubt I could make you understand.”

Harry frowned, surprised she had actually answered. Hermione stood and moved to vanish the chairs, obviously getting ready to leave.

“Wait!” Harry called, surprising himself.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her fringe.

“Er—I—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Make me understand. I want to.”

A strange look passed across Hermione's face. “You're a very rare person, Harry Potter.” She sat back down and leaned forward—so close that he could see the individual gold specks in her eyes. “Enter my mind, then.”

“What?”

“Enter my mind,” she repeated. “I'll show you what you need to know.”

“You're going to let me enter your mind?”

“You won't find out anything you're not supposed to.”

“I—You're mad.”

She shrugged. “I prefer confident.”

“Fine.” He stared into her eyes, sharpening his focus on her thoughts.

She reached out to grip his hand; he nearly jumped, losing his focus. “Physical contact helps. Now, relax. I'll guide you.”

In the back of his mind, Harry realized this was crazy. There were a million reasons why he should not be doing this with a Death Eater, no matter how unusual that Death Eater was.

And yet—he did not want to stop. And for some reason he knew she was not going to hurt him, not now, at least.

So he took the plunge—pushed into her mind until he found himself in a new surrounding all together, a new, warmer, comfortable surrounding.

“Where are we?” He asked, getting comfortable in the overstuffed armchair.

Hermione smiled gently. “This is my mind.”

Harry looked around. “A library?”

“My favorite place to be.” She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning back into the chair and propping her legs up on the table in front of her.

It was the first time he had seen her look peaceful, and Harry found he enjoyed the sight of it.

After a time, Hermione stood. “Well, let's get we came for.”

“Sorry?”

“I'm going to help you understand. That's what you wanted, isn't it?”

“Well, yes.”

“The best way to understand is to see it from my perspective, so I'm going to show you a few memories. Follow me.” She disappeared into the many bookshelves. Harry quickly followed.

“This place is massive.”

“I should hope so, with all the things I've learned over the years. Don't worry though, it's very organized.” She pointed to a small sign on a random bookshelf. “Each shelf is labeled.”

Harry squinted at the neat script. “It's numeric.”

“I still strongly support the Dewy Decimal System,” she said with a light tone. “It's only appropriate I arrange my mind in a similar fashion. Ah, here we are. I don't suppose you know French.”

“No, but what—”

“No matter. I have a translated version as well.” She moved into the aisle, her hands brushing across each book as she passed it. “Here it is.” She pulled a book with a dark blue cover from the shelf. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose so.”

She opened the book; the library disappeared in a flash of white.

“Why if it isn't the little know-it-all mudblood.”

Harry glanced around. They were still in a library, but one of a different sort. Hermione stood next to him looking at the scene in front of him sadly. Two blonde girls in light blue uniforms stood in front of a circle table at which a smaller girl with frizzy brown hair and rather large front teeth sat.

“Is that—?”

“— me? Yes.” Hermione finished. “This was my fourth year at Beauxbatons.”

“What do you think Aimee?”

“Oh, I think the hair, definitely.”

“Could be the teeth though.”

“Or the figure—or lack thereof.”

The two girls giggled cruelly.

“Well, Granger. What do you think? What's your worst quality?”

The younger Hermione moved a large book in front of her face.

“She asked you a question, mudblood!” One of the girls yelled, swiping all the books off the table and grabbing the one from Hermione hand.

The younger Hermione's lower lip trembled.

“Oh, Cerise! Look! She's going to cry.”

The girls both laughed again.

“I-I don't care what you say a-about me. I'm still smarter than both of you. A-and I'm more powerful. I-I could beat you in a duel any day.”

One of the girls sneered and leaned forward until she was face-to-face with the younger version of Hermione. “No one cares how smart you are, Granger,” the girl began in a hiss, “or how powerful you are. You'll never matter, Granger. No matter how much time you spend in the library, no matter how many spells you learn, no matter how many times you beat someone in a duel, it won't matter, because you'll still be a mudblood. And no one cares what a mudblood does; you'll never matter to any one.”

The memory faded away. He found himself back in Hermione's mind-library, still reeling from the emotions he felt pouring in waves from her. She was replacing the book onto the shelf.

“I—”

“Stop.” She shook her head. “There's still more to see.”

They walked back out into the main aisle, only to move down a few shelves and into a new side aisle where Hermione picked out another book, this one with an orange cover.

“Ready?”

He nodded.

“I assume you know why you are here, Mademoiselle Granger,” stated an overly large woman. She was dressed in a purple, silk robe with rich jewels worn in every type of jewelry imaginable.

“Madame Maxime,” Harry muttered.

Hermione glanced at him, surprised. “Oh yes, the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Yes, Madame. I think so.” The younger Hermione, similar in age to the last memory, stood in front of the Headmistress' desk, her hands shaking slightly.

“The prefect positions for 5th years, as you know, are open to all students. They traditionally go to a student that shows outstanding academics and utmost respect for the rules.”

“Yes, Madame, I know.”

“You will not be getting one of the prefect positions next year, Mademoiselle Granger. Nor will you be getting the position of Head Girl in your last year.”

“B-but Madame—”

“That is not to say that you are not qualified for the job. Your academics are of course, outstanding.”

“B-but—”

“Unfortunately, for someone of your—status it is simply impossible to hold a position of authority.”

The younger Hermione's lip stopped trembling. A stormy expression began to brew on her face.

“I only tell you this out of courtesy, Mademoiselle Granger, and I hope you will repay this favor by not causing any fuss over this.”

“So, in short, the prefect position that should go to me, rightfully, is not because my parents are muggles.”

“Yes, Mademoiselle Granger.”

The girl began to shake violently. “You're saying that I'll be ignored, solely on the fact of my parentage?” She yelled.

“Mademoiselle! Calm yourself!”

“I will not!” All the glass objects in the room shattered. “I'm done with people not recognizing the work I do because I'm muggleborn!” A strong wind began to blow through the room, knocking portraits off the walls. Madame Maxime waved her wand about, but to no affect, the spells only bounced off the younger Hermione.

“I'll show you! I'll show you all! When you see me again you'll appreciate the talent I have! You'll appreciate the work I do!”

The younger Hermione fled the room, blowing open the doors to the Headmistress' office and running into the hallway. She did not get far until her progress was halted when she ran into a solid figure.

“Hermione! Are you quite alright?” The older boy reached down to help Hermione stand.

“D-Darcy! Yes, I'm fine.” Hermione blushed. “Thank you for helping me up.”

The young man grinned. “It's no problem at all ma belle.”

Hermione's blush deepened.

“I have a letter for you Hermione, from a powerful man. I think his offer would interest you.”

Removed from the memory, Harry stared at Hermione, watching as she carefully placed the book back in its place.

“Two more,” she said softly.

Harry followed her, weaving in and out of the many bookshelves. He felt uneasy as they stopped at the second to last memory. She pulled out the book, its cover black, and opened it quickly.

“Hermione Granger. I am glad to finally meet you. I have heard of your accomplishments.”

“Y-you have?”

“Of course, my dear.” The man stared at her intently, his blood red eyes piercing into hers. Despite the occasional tremor, Hermione stood absolutely still, refusing to tear her eyes from his. “Yes.” He hissed. “I see your power. I see your potential.”

Hermione's back straightened. “You are the first.”

“Others have wronged you, but I see what they have missed. I see your greatness. Stand by me and I will make sure no one takes advantage of your powers. I will make sure everyone knows of the talents of Hermione Granger. Your brilliance, your power, your strength—you will be recognized.”

Hermione's eyes shifted uneasy.

“You have something you wish to say, child?”

“It's—it's just that you prosecute muggle-borns. You killed them in your first rising and will do so again.”

“I only target those who are weak, Hermione. And weak you are not. There is only power and those too weak to seek it. I see already you have the strength to seek that power. You belong at my side—when I conquer this world, you will be given the recognition you deserve. I will help you rise, child. Let me help you rise!”

Hermione paused, but only for a moment. “Very well, my Lord. I accept your proposal.”

In a flash the memory was gone.

“One more,” Hermione sighed, suddenly looking beyond her years.

Harry followed her silently to the last memory. When she reached it, she hesitated, her index finger lightly touching the blood red spine. For some reason, Harry found himself reaching out to her, laying a hand gently on her shoulder, which seemed to droop as soon as he placed his palm on it. She grabbed the last book and flipped it open quickly.

“NO!” Hermione screamed. “NO!”

“Shut it, Granger. They're just muggles.”

In a flash Hermione spun around and raised her hand out at the man who had spoken. His head fell off his body in a spray of blood, the surprised expression still frozen on his face.

The rest of the Death Eaters remained silent.

Hermione ignored them and stalked toward the house, her hair flowing behind her, her face set in fury. Before she could enter the flaming house, a figure with a billowing robe landed beside her. She whipped out her wand quickly, but froze when she saw the snake-like features of Lord Voldemort.

“My Lord—I must—”

“Hermione, they are dead.”

“NO!” She screamed again. “I'm going to—”

“There.” Voldemort pointed to the sky where a figure on a broomstick escaped from the crumbling house. Hermione peered into the sky, memorizing the figure of a tall, bald, black man. A glint of gold reflected off of his right ear. “There is your parents' murderer.”

“I'll kill him,” Hermione hissed viciously. “If it's the last thing I do. I'll kill him.”

“Yes! Embrace your anger, Hermione!”

“My Lord, teach me. Advance my training schedule. I will do whatever it takes.”

“Very well. If that is what you wish. Kingsley Shacklebolt will die at your hands, child. I promise.”

Harry found himself on the floor of his cell when the memory ended. Hermione was already outside the cell door, waving her wand to reinstate the complex wards. She spared a glance at him, but then turned to go.

He still felt her lingering presence in his mind.

“Hermione!”

It was the first time he had used her name. It surprised the both of them.

She turned to face him. Her blank face flickered for a moment, showing a flash of pain.

“I'm sorry.” He walked up to the cell door, almost, but not quite touching the charmed steel.

She moved back until she stood directly in front of him. Their eyes locked through the prison bars. “You shouldn't be.” She whispered. “It shouldn't matter. I'm going to bring about your death. I represent everything you hate.”

He stared down at her intently and, ignoring the piercing ache, reached through the cursed door to grasp her hand.

“I don't care.” He grit out through the pain. “I don't bloody well care.”

Notes:

- I love Hermione. She's my absolute favorite character (or at least, was, before the 6th book). But everyone has their faults. I see Hermione's overzealous need to prove herself as her main fault, and so I used that as a focus as to how she became a Death Eater, which, in itself is very difficult to fathom.

- Voldemort stated in the very first book that he was only concerned with power. I think his hatred of muggles comes from their weakness (and the fact that someone of such weakness could cause his family such disgrace). The view of prejudice against muggleborns existed long before his existence, and his purpose in targeting them lies more in the fact that he could gain more support in doing so. I think he would be willing to overlook Hermione's parentage in favor of the skills she could bring.

- The fact that Hermione allowed Harry into her mind, and that he actually entered, will help along their relationship in ways that will become apparent over time.

- Thanks for all the great reviews, everyone!

- Thanks again to Stephanie, my beta.

- I forgot to mention that there is another version of this challenge here on Portkey called Captivated by [x]Mrs_H_Potter[x]. I'd definitely recommend that you all check it out if you enjoy this challenge concept.

Thanks for reading!

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3. Feelings of Emptiness

A/N: Sorry for the remarkably long wait! My computer got a virus, and I wasn't able to fix the problem until I returned home from university (yesterday). My beta has finals and then will be in Europe for two weeks, so it may be a little while before I get the next chapter out, so sorry for that as well! Also, thank you for the reviews; I promise I'll get around to replying to them all soon! Hope you all enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 2—Feelings of Emptiness

They say, "Be brave, there's a right way and a wrong way."
This pain won't last forever; this pain won't last forever.

Two More Years by Bloc Party

They continued on that way for weeks; Hermione came to visit him twice a day, or sometimes more, bringing food and comfortable chairs. During the times that Hermione was absent, Harry concentrated all his efforts on escaping.

It was proving to be even more helpless than he had first thought.

Just last night, or perhaps early morning, he had finally escaped his chains, the magical drain leaving him panting on the floor. Before he could begin working on the bars of his cell door, however, the door to the dungeons swung open and rapid footsteps echoed down the hall.

To say he was sorely disappointed to see Wormtail's grimy face peering through his bars would have been a severe understatement.

Wormtail said nothing, merely scampered into Harry's cell after fumbling around with his wand to unlock the door and then fumbling again when he replaced the chains around Harry's body.

“What are you doing here?” Harry rasped.

The man who had betrayed his parents ignored him, scurrying out of the cell and closing the door behind him.

“Where's—the normal person who comes?”

“The Dark Lord has far more use for Granger outside of being your guard,” Wormtail squeaked before departing, leaving Harry rather unsettled and slightly nauseous.

What, exactly, was that comment supposed to mean?

He was not sure how much time had passed since then, but judging from the full restoration of his magical reserves, it had been several hours. His eyes were beginning to fell heavy, his head starting to pound. He only slept when exhaustion forced him to, and even then the sleep provided little rest.

“I heard you made progress last night.”

Harry jerked out of his daze, snapping his eyes open. Hermione smiled ruefully from her standard conjured chair. “Sorry to startle you. I thought you'd like some breakfast though.”

He rolled his shoulders and moved his neck from side to side before getting up to sit down across from her and reach for his breakfast.

“Well?” She questioned, rather impatiently. “How'd you manage to get out of those chains? I made the charm myself, you know.”

“Of course you did,” he muttered in between bites. “That's why they were so damn impossible to get off.”

“Not impossible it seems, since you managed it. I just want to know how.”

Harry smirked. He knew Hermione only wanted to know in order to improve her work, not to find out his secrets for Voldemort. It was just the way she was.

She pouted. It was an expression Harry had not yet seen, and he found he enjoyed it immensely. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”

“I have to keep a few secrets of my own.”

“Harry! I need to learn!”

Harry snorted. “That whole learning thing seems to cause more problems for you than it's worth.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Fine. I'll tell you, but you have to answer a question—no two questions for me.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” she said with a smile. “But ask away.”

“First off, what were you doing last night?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“It's just, Wormtail came down here when I got out—I thought you would have.” He shifted in his seat.

“Ah.” She paused. “I was in the middle of something.”

Harry's face scrunched up. An unbidden image flashed through his mind.

“Oh!” She laughed. “No! Not that, Harry!”

He let out a sigh of relief.

“You thought the Dark Lord and I—” She laughed again. “Oh, Harry.”

“What was I supposed to think—you being `in the middle of something' at Merlin knows what time and then Wormtail saying—never mind,” he grumbled, unsure why he was doing so.

Hermione observed him for a moment, the laughter long gone from her face. “I've never met anyone like you, Harry. I have a hard time understanding you.”

“Me?” He sputtered. “You! I've never met a person more full of contradictions!”

“Yes, well—” She trailed off, looking rather wistful. “Actually, to answer your question, I was working on your potion last night.”

“See! There! One moment you're laughing with me and I the next you're updating me the progress of the potion you're brewing that will ultimately kill me!”

“I could have been finished over a week ago,” she said, an odd light in her eyes.

“What?”

“I don't want to finish it,” she admitted. “It's probably the best potion work I've ever done and I don't want to finish it.”

“Hermione—”

She looked down, pained. “I've known you for less than two months. You shouldn't—” She raised her eyes to meet his, a torrent of emotions swirling through them. “—You shouldn't affect me so much.”

Harry swallowed heavily. “Hermione—”

Her head suddenly snapped up; she was on her feet more quickly than his mind could process.

“Fuck!” She swore violently. “Dammit!”

She gripped his tattered shirt and pulled him to his feet, banishing both their chairs quickly.

“Harry, I'm so sorry—so sorry!” Her eyes darted around hastily.

“Hermione, what—”

Before he could finish, she had removed one of her sai from her belt underneath her robes and plunged it into his shoulder. He screamed in pain and fell back into the wall. Hermione's hand gripped the handle of the blade, holding it steady. Her eyes roamed his face, regret coursing through them.

I'm sorry, Harry.

He felt her voice through the pain, but only in his mind.

“Hermione, my dear. You know I keep all my loyal followers, aside from yourself, away from here to prevent exactly this sort of thing.”

Hermione's face, only seconds ago filled with compassion, quickly morphed into a blank slate. She ripped the blade from his shoulder viciously, letting him slide to the floor as she turned to face Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange.

“I'm sorry, my Lord. I have need of his blood for the ritual. I will heal him—his body will not be tarnished in any way, I assure you.”

The wracking tremors that shook his body caused his head to bang on the floor forcefully; he fought to retain consciousness.

“Excuse me, my Lord.” The seizure stopped, leaving him shaking and retching on the ground. “I nearly forgot about the poison on the blade.”

“I would exercise more caution. You know very well the need I have for the boy.”

“Forgive me, my Lord.” Harry's eyes cracked open to see Hermione kneeling before Voldemort. “I only wish to do your will.”

“Rise, child. I have come here for a purpose. When will my potion be ready? I have waited long.”

“I apologize for the wait, my Lord, but it will be ready tonight. I was just collecting the last ingredient, the blood of the host.”

“Excellent.” Voldemort hissed. “You have pleased me, Hermione. Bellatrix, make preparations for the ritual; it will occur tonight.”

“Very well, my Lord.”

“I expect the potion to be ready by midnight.”

“I understand, my Lord. I will bring it and the boy to the ritual chamber at that time.”

“Leave the boy—Wormtail will come collect him. You must ready yourself for your part in the ritual.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I will leave you to your preparations.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Come, Bella. We have much to do.”

As soon as the door to the dungeon slammed, Hermione was kneeling next to him on the floor, running a hand over his face, wiping his fringe from his forehead.

“Merlin, Harry. I—I'm sorry.”

He groaned, rolling over onto his back. “`Sokay, `Mio.”

He heard her mutter a charm and a pleasant warmth spread throughout his body, eliminating enough of the pain to be able to sit up, with Hermione's help. She touched his face again, running her thumb down his cheek. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.

“I'm going to die tonight.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “You are.”

He opened his eyes to stare at her—his green eyes piecing into her brown ones.

“Help me,” he pleaded softly.

“Harry, I—”

He reached out to cup her face. “Hermione, help me.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer until she pulled away and stood. “I can't. I'm sorry, Harry, but no one can help you now.”

“You could.” He used the wall to shakily stand. “You could!”

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop saying you're sorry and help me get out of here! Dammit, Hermione!”

She moved away from him towards the door.

“I need you!” He called desperately, his body slumping further against the wall. “Don't leave me like this.”

Her back stiffened, but she did not move to face him.

“Hermione. Please.”

She spun around, crossed the cell in three quick steps, gripped his face and pressed her lips to his. Harry nearly fell down to the floor once again; a flood of warmth flushed through him.

It was gone just as quickly, and before he could fully regain his bearings, Hermione was outside his cell, locking him in.

“I'll miss you, Harry. I really will.”

He shuffled to the front of the cell, clenching his jaw to fight back the stinging in his eyes.

“Why won't you help me?”

She ignored his question, moving to leave before she stopped again, just past his cell. “You never asked me your second question.”

He gaped at her for a moment before he remembered what she was referring to.

“How do you live with yourself?” His question was innocent, without malice.

“I don't,” she whispered. “Live, that is. I don't live. Not really.” She paused. “How did you get out of your chains?”

“I gave it everything I had.”

A ghost of a smile formed on her face. “Yes, that's what I suspected.” The smile disappeared; the blank mask took its place. “Goodbye, Harry.”

And she was gone.

Harry could only slide to the floor.

He wondered what it would feel like—having a piece of Voldemort's soul ripped from his forehead. He rubbed the scar. Undoubtedly painful, but supposedly it wouldn't kill him. He supposed Voldemort would do that shortly afterward.

He wondered idly if Hermione would cry, later in her room when no one was watching.

He imagined she would, though he could not picture her doing so. She seemed too strong to ever do such a thing—seemed to have too much control to allow herself to do so. If she did cry, she would probably rage about while doing so. He remembered her telling him about how her magic would flare to life when she was angry, leaving things strewn about and windows shattered.

Maybe she would wreck her room for him.

He took a deep breath and allowed his eyes to roam around the cell, eventually landing on the cell door. He could either expend his energy now, trying to get through the wards on the door, or wait until later when he would be surrounded by Voldemort and all his Death Eaters.

He sighed and stood, thankful for the absence of the chains. Then he set to work.

Wormtail found him ten hours later, through ten of the eleven wards on the door and utterly drained of power.

He placed Harry in a full body bind and levitated him out of the dungeons and down the winding corridors of the massive castle. Harry tried to memorize the many twists and turns and look for any sign of exit, but it was useless; after passing through at least ten different hallways Harry lost track.

After perhaps fifteen minutes, Wormtail finally stopped at small wooden door hidden in a dark corner. He floated Harry through, following the slopping path deeper underneath the castle until it opened into a large circular room lit with decorative torches and various tapestries, all depicting some form of the dark arts—curses, creatures, and rituals, all involving massive amounts of blood.

Three figures observed him from the center of the room—Voldemort, seated on a high throne; Bellatrix, grinning evilly at him; and Hermione, her face expressionless. Wormtail pulled him toward them, dropping him directly at the feet of Voldemort. Nagini slithered around the throne, eyeing his prone form.

“Wormtail,” Voldemort hissed. “Find your place.”

“Y-yes, my Lord.”

“Hermione, your arm.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Voldemort pulled up the sleeve of her blood red robe, revealing the Dark Mark. He pressed a bony, white finger to the mark, creating a hissing noise; Hermione did not flinch.

It only took a moment before the sound of multiple apparations hit his ears. Figures in black surrounded him on all sides. His eyes sought out Hermione once again, but she avoided his gaze, staring straight ahead.

“My loyal Death Eaters! You have heard the rumors, and now you see them to be true!” He pointed to Harry's frozen figure. “The Dark Lord Voldemort brings the so-called Boy-Who-Lived before you on this very occasion!”

The Death Eaters cheered.

“Silence! Today you will witness this boy, who many of you traitorously believed had the power to defeat me, die. You see now that nothing stands in the way of my rise to power!” He nodded to Hermione.

She approached Harry and jerked his head up from the ground by his hair, pulling a small vial from her robes and uncorking it with her thumb.

Her skin felt cold, her eyes hard without feeling.

She poured the contents of the vial into his throat. He struggled against the body bind, but was unable to cough the fiery liquid back up. Hermione dropped his head back on the ground unceremoniously and moved back to her place at Voldemort's side. Nagini slithered from her spot at Voldemort's feet to Hermione's leg, winding around her body until she was completely wrapped around Hermione's upper arm.

He felt the potion work through his veins, leaving behind a scorching trail. The heat focused on his scar, the pain building.

It hit him rather forcefully that he was about to die.

The pain in his forehead increased to the point of obscuring his vision. He screamed, unable to hold back, despite the grip his teeth held on his lower lip.

An explosion went off inside his head, a pain he had never felt before.

And the world faded to white.

Notes:

- Harry has been a prisoner of Voldemort for nearly two months at this point.

- Hermione and Voldemort are definitely not sleeping together… ew. Though I thought it humorous that Harry think so and act a tad jealous. Heh. Hermione sees Voldemort as a very twisted father figure, if anything—in her mind, he helped in get over the shock that her parents' deaths brought, by immersing her more fully in the Dark Arts.

- Hermione's crazy powerful, but for good reason. Look at Hermione in canon—she's pretty damn clever and powerful, even when she has Harry and Ron to distract her. In this Universe, she had no friends, so in school, studying and trying to prove herself was all she did, and then after she joined Voldemort, she concentrated all of her efforts on becoming even more powerful. All that intensive studying and practice is going to have results.

- As for desperate!Harry: he's about to die here, so he's trying everything he can.

- I've never written a cliff-hanger before, but now I realize why author's use them so often… they're rather fun. ^^

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4. What Work Can't Erase

Chapter 3—What Work Can't Erase

Kiss the haze; go ahead, it will brighten up your days.
It can't be wrong if it makes you feel so right.

Walk the line; go ahead, it will surely blow your mind.
You can show them what we're all about

Kiss the Haze by House of Fools.

“—Said anything?”

“Not a word.”

“It's been three days—we can't afford to fool around with this girl any more.”

He pushed further into the soft warmth surrounding him.

“We can't do anything yet!”

“And why not?”

His mumbled protest died in his throat; he found it required too much effort to use his vocal cords.

“We know nothing about her!”

“We know damn sure she's a Death Eater! That should be enough!”

He tried to move, starting with his fingers; he felt relief when his thumb brushed against the sheets.

“Obviously there's more to the story, Alastor. We need to wait until Harry wakes up!”

“And what if he never does, Minerva?”

Harry finally groaned, managing to roll over onto his back.

“Harry!”

He groaned again as the noises rose in volume. He felt something collide with his bed, shifting him back onto his side.

“Ronald! You clumsy berk! Get out of my way! Harry? Harry, can you hear me?”

“Oh, for Merlin's sake! Stop pestering my patient! Shoo! Shoo! Mr. Potter?”

Harry opened his eyes a crack, finding himself surrounded by white sheets and red hair.

“He's alive!”

“He won't stay that way for long if you remain in my way! Mr. and Miss Weasley move from Mr. Potter's bed now!”

Harry carefully blinked a few times, allowing the drawn but kind face of Madame Pomfrey to appear before him.

“Always getting yourself into trouble, even as a child,” she scolded gently, her eyes watering. She bustled out of his vision; the sound of clinking bottles met his ears. “You'll be drinking quite a few potions today, Mr. Potter. I'm not sure what they did to you these past two months, but it left you rather exhausted magically, not to mention your entire magical signature has changed!”

“W—whe—”

“Don't speak, Potter. Drink first.”

She gently gripped him around the shoulders, propping him up on a few pillows, allowing him to finally see his surroundings fully. He sat in a small, white, hospital-styled bed, surrounded by a white curtain. Madame Pomfrey thrust a small vial into his hand.

“Drink, Potter, drink.”

He grimaced at the dubious-looking concoction that smelled of old socks, before throwing it down his throat quickly. The cool sensation of the potion sliding down caused him to cough violently; Madame Pomfrey gently tapped him on the back a few times.

“W—what happened?” He finally gasped.

“We were hoping you could tell us that, actually,” came a voice from his right. Minerva McGonagall pushed through the white curtains, followed closely by Mad-Eye Moody.

“We found you just inside our wards; don't know how you made it through them—we'll have to run a few tests and modif—”

“We found you unconscious, Mr. Potter,” Minerva interrupted, cutting off Moody with a stern glare. “Along with a young woman with a dead snake around her neck and a Dark Mark on her—”

Harry jerked into awareness, scrambling out of bed; despite the pain it caused him.

“Mr. Potter! What—”

“Where is she?” He nearly yelled, stumbling as he tried to stand.

“Potter! You need rest! I will not—”

“Where is she? Where's Hermione?” He demanded again, finally managing to stand.

“Harry. Please! Lay down!”

“Not until I see Hermione. I need to speak with her now!”

McGonagall and Moody exchanged glances.

“She's down in the interrogation rooms. Lupin is with her now,” Moody replied in a gruff voice.

Harry walked past them as quickly as the pain would allow. As soon as he was outside the curtains, however, he found his progress halted by a sea of red.

“Harry! Mate!”

“Merlin! Harry, you're okay!”

He felt bodies begin to press around him; irritated, he pushed them away.

“Geoff me! I need to go down to the dungeons.”

Ron and Ginny gaped at him.

“I'm sorry,” he added, seeing their expressions. “I'll speak with you both later. There's something more important I have to deal with now.”

He walked briskly out of the hospital wing, feeling his strength returning, perhaps only due to the overpowering need to see Hermione, to confirm she had brought him here, to see her face.

“Mr. Potter! Slow down!”

Harry ignored her, stumbling down the moving staircases until he reached the dungeon floor, and continuing down the dark corridor until he found the small corner room they used for their interrogations.

When he pushed the door open, a loud scream hit his ears. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM, DEATH EATER?”

Remus Lupin loomed over the small desk at the center of the room, his chair knocked over and shattered on the floor. On the opposite side of the table she sat, calmly peering up at Lupin, her eyes and face blank, still in her blood-red robes, now torn in several places and covered in dirt. Steel manacles bound her wrists, cutting into her skin slightly.

“Hermione!”

Lupin spun around, his wand out. Hermione's blank mask dropped completely, leaving behind a look full of so many emotions that Harry knew he would not be able to put into words.

He felt them though, coursing through his mind.

“Harry!” With a roll of her right wrist, the manacles fell off, allowing her to spring forward past a gawking Lupin and launch herself into his arms.

“You're alive. Merlin! You're alive, you're alive, you're alive!”

Harry pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her hair.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you—I just wasn't sure—I was so afraid—but you're alive. Gods, you're alive.” She babbled incoherently, her hands tangling into the strands of his hair.

“You did it,” he murmured, close to her ear. “You saved me.”

Harry was beginning to comprehend that this woman in his arms, this wonderfully resilient woman, had not only risked everything for him, but also given up everything for him; given up the things that were more important to her than anything, than anyone else.

He pulled away from her slightly to look in her face, as if to affirm that she was, in fact, in front of him. “Hermione—”

Suddenly she was yanked out of his arms, and Remus' snarling face interrupted the moment. “What are you doing, Harry?”

Hermione appeared to only just restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

Remus jerked Hermione forward by her right arm and yanked up the sleeve of her robe, revealing the Dark Mark, though instead of the dark, thin lines in the outline of a skull and snake, the skin was blackened, as though burned, and the surrounding area red and irritated.

Harry took her arm gently, away from Remus, and stared at the charred skin. “What's wrong with it?” He asked her quietly.

“He's angry,” she whispered. “Very angry with me. He's causing as much pain as possible through the link.”

He placed his palm softly on the Mark and was surprised when she let out a small moan. Before he could pull his hand away however, Hermione stopped him by placing her free hand over his. “Don't.” She closed her eyes. “That feels good.”

She leaned further into him, letting out a small sigh. Harry kept his hold on her arm, a feeling of something akin to fondness bubbling up within his chest.

“Mr.Potter—”

Harry exhaled heavily and released Hermione. The color of the Dark Mark had faded to a normal color, the lines of the grotesque tattoo now slightly faded.

“It makes sense that you'd be able to counter it. You're the Dark Lord's opposite in every way,” said Hermione with a slight smile.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall began again, sounding exasperated. “I do believe you have quite a bit of explaining to do.”

“Minerva, I must insist that first, Mr. Potter—” Madame Pomfrey paused for a moment, looking at Hermione's rather pale figure. “—And Miss—?”

Hermione glanced at Harry; he shifted so he was standing slightly in front of her, their shoulders overlapping.

“Granger.” Hermione answered. “Hermione Granger.”

The Order's reaction was immediate, but no member was quicker than Mad Eye-Moody; his wand was out before anyone could blink and a red bolt of magic flew towards Hermione. Impulsively, Harry raised his hand; Hermione did the same. His golden shield merged with her silver one, deflecting the curse and sending it back at Moody who was knocked unconscious.

“Well,” Hermione murmured, “That was different.”

McGonagall and Remus' wands stayed on Hermione.

“Everyone just calm down,” Harry stated firmly. “I trust Hermione with my life; she's not a threat to our cause. We'll explain everything in time, but for now, I think Madame Pomfrey is right; Hermione and I should get some rest.”

“It has taken seven years, but that boy is finally listening to me,” Madame Pomfrey muttered. “All right, let's go, you two. You both do need your rest.”

Harry took Hermione's hand tenderly, pulling her past Remus and McGonagall, who were now trying to revive Moody (with little success), through the dungeon corridor, up the many moving staircases, and finally into the hospital wing. On the way, Hermione's eyes darted around; taking in the many sights that Hogwarts castle offered. She slowed at some of the portraits, seeming to recognize them, but continued to allow him to lead her through the castle.

“Harry, what the bloody hell is going on?” Ron questioned as soon as Harry entered the hospital wing. His eyes bulged when he saw Hermione. “What—Harry! What are you doing with a Death Eater?”

Ron pulled out his wand and trained it on Hermione.

A curse came flying from behind; Hermione dodged it skillfully by rolling to the floor, firing off another curse wandlessly while in motion, striking her attacker, Ginny Weasley, with a light Stinging Hex, causing the red-head to drop her wand. Harry summoned both the Weasley's wands and helped Hermione to her feet.

“Ron. Ginny. This is Hermione. She's not a threat, so you don't need to try to attack her at every waking moment.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We both need to get some sleep, and then we'll explain everything, I promise.”

Ron stared at them both for a moment. “Alright, Harry. But as soon as you wake up, we're going to have a long talk.” He rubbed his neck, a small grin forming on his face. “I miss you, you know. We—we didn't know what had happened to you.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder and handed him both the wands. “I'll tell you all about it soon.”

“Harry! You can't possibly trust her, can you?” Ginny screeched.

A sudden exhaustion washed through him, his journey to and from the dungeons and the fiasco in between finally catching up to him. Hermione seemed to somehow sense his abrupt fatigue and wrapped a steadying hand around his bicep. He sent her a grateful glance.

“Ginny—I do trust Hermione, and if you trust me, you'll trust her through association.”

“But, Harry—”

“No, Ginny. No, buts,” Harry sighed, heading toward his hospital bed.

“Fine!” She hissed. “But it'll be on you when she betrays us all.” She then stomped out, Ron following her with an apologetic shrug.

“Pleasant girl,” Hermione muttered. “Not that I can blame her, Harry.” She bit her lip. “I shouldn't be here.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Madame Pomfrey bustling in from the back room, floating at least 10 different potions behind her.

“Mr. Potter! Lay down in that bed at once. Miss Granger, you too. I know you haven't slept or eaten in 48 hours!”

Harry glanced at Hermione worriedly.

“You were unconscious.” Hermione explained. “And I didn't trust anyone else enough to let my guard down.”

“Hermione—”

“Hush. I'm fine, Harry.”

“You'll sleep now though.”

It was not a question or request, but Hermione appeared to take it as such. “I'm not sure, Harry. I should probably be on my way—”

“You've got to be kidding.”

Hermione frowned. “I most certainly am not. Like it or not, I'm a Death Eater, and while I'm certainly not going back to the Dark Lord, I'm about as welcome here as I am with him.” The tone of her voice turned business-like. “I'll owl you with details of what occurred after you went unconscious, but really, there's no need for me to stay here and make your entire Order nervous; you lot have quite enough to be worried about.”

Harry grabbed her wrist gently. “Hermione.”

She continued on as if he had not spoken. “Not to mention I'll likely be cursed and harassed nearly constantly while I'm here. Everyone will be in the right to do so, of course. They have no reason to trust me, and neither do you for that matter. For all you know this could be some elaborate—”

“Hermione,” Harry said again, softly.

“I—I just don't think—”

“Stay,” he murmured, tugging her closer to him.

Hermione sighed but nodded. Harry grabbed his wand off the bedside table where he had left it and enlarged his hospital bed.

Hermione's eyes widened. “Harry—”

“Mr. Potter!” Snapped Madame Pomfrey, bringing another collection of potions into the room. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I have no intention of letting Hermione out of my reach before things calm down. Madame Pomfrey, you know I hold you in the highest regards, but this is not up for discussion.”

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips. “Very well, Mr. Potter. If this is what I have to put up in order to return you to health, then so be it.”

Harry smiled, turning to Hermione. “Well?”

“Fine,” she agreed with a small smile of her own.

Madame Pomfrey handed a pair of bedclothes to each of them. “I must insist that we retain some form of propriety—Miss Granger, change in the adjacent bed-hangings.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He was only half-way done putting on his pajamas when he heard a screech from the area where Hermione was changing. Without a second thought, he raced through the curtains and found himself facing a thoroughly irritated Hermione Granger, standing only in her drawstring pajama bottoms and a lacy green bra.

“Miss Granger! For Merlin's sake! How did you manage to neglect telling me about that?” Madame Pomfrey, presumably the owner of the previous screech, scolded.

Harry, once past the admittedly pleasant shock of seeing Hermione in so little clothing, realized that a large, angry, red line ran down her side, starting on her right upper ribcage and cutting down across her stomach to her left hip bone.

“I've had worse,” Hermione said, waving her off. “Just hand me back my wand and I'll fix it right—”

“You most certainly will not! Stand still! I'll go gather some more potions.” She bustled out of the curtains, grumbling under her breath.

“Erm—” Harry stuttered.

The corner of Hermione's lip turned upward. “A parting gift from Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Hermione's eyes sparkled. “The wound; Bellatrix did it just before I portkeyed us away. That's what you're looking at, yes?”

“Oh! Erm—yeah.”

Madame Pomfrey came back, along with two potions and a jar of greenish-gray salve. Harry imagined it would smell rather bad.

“Drink this first, and then this, and then—Mr.Potter! Propriety! Let's maintain some propriety!”

“Oh—erm—sorry—I'll just—” He pushed back through the curtains and flopped onto the oversized bed, running a hand through his hair. He lay there for a few moments, trying to organize his thoughts.

“Mr. Potter. You'll be taking the potions sitting on that table over there.” He starred darkly at the number of liquids waiting for him. “And I'm not running a brothel! A shirt, Mr. Potter—put on a shirt!”

Harry grumbled before throwing on the white t-shirt and grabbing one of the potions on the table.

“If you glare any harder, that vial might explode.”

He smirked, but it faded quickly as he saw the end of the now lightened scar where her shirt cut off. “Are you okay? That looked pretty nasty.”

“I'm fine. Your healer fixed me up. Now drink up; I'm not exactly sure what happened to you when you drank my altered potion, but it couldn't have been good for you.”

“I'd go through it all again to get that bit of Voldemort out of my head,” he quirked before draining the first potion.

“I suppose you'd like to talk about what happened before meeting with everyone in your Order tomorrow.” She flopped onto the opposite side of the bed, stretching out and letting her body melt into the mattress. “Merlin, this is heavenly.”

“That'd be best, I think,” he replied, onto his fourth potion by then. “But only if you're up for it.”

She sighed and propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. “I'll be fine. Don't worry about me.”

Finished with his potions, he rolled onto the bed, coming to rest near her side. “I do though,” he replied honestly. “I care about you, Hermione.”

Hermione bit her lip, but managed to maintain a neutral face. “You shouldn't. It's foolish.”

“Rubbish. I know you feel the same way I do; there's no use trying to reason me out of it.”

Her expression melted into something resembling affection. “I knew I shouldn't have let you into my mind.”

Harry sat up quickly. “What? You mean—that's why I've been—”

“Able sense certain things about me? Yes, I think so. Sometimes I get waves of emotion from you as well, but it's not a solid link, nor is it infallible; I was able to block it so you had no idea I was going to help you escape.”

He leaned back down. “Thanks for that, by the way. I enjoy firmly believing I'm going to die; it's supposed to be good for the mind, I hear.”

The corner of her mouth twisted upward, but it faded quickly. “I was afraid the Dark Lord would want to double-team Legilimens you, like we did with Snape. If I had told you, you wouldn't have been able to hide my plan from him, no matter how excellent an Occlumens you may be.” She sighed and leaned into him, her hand coming to rest on his chest. “I'm sorry though. I barely managed to keep up the charade when I saw you on the ritual room floor—you looked—so despondent.”

His hand came up to brush away a wayward curl that had fallen from her messy ponytail into her face. “Hermione, you don't have to apologize for anything; if your plan had been anything less than perfect, Voldemort would have found out, and we'd both be dead now. I understand your reasons.”

“I knew I was doing what was necessary, but that knowledge didn't help much.” She swallowed heavily. “Harry—you—you have this effect on me—one that I can't explain.”

The sound of confusion mixed with frustration in her voice was unusual, but he understood. He felt the same way, after all. Despite this, he found responding difficult.

“Hermione—”

She shook her head. “Let's just move on, Harry. I—I don't—We have other things to discuss.”

He nodded, mutely, feeling foolish and unsure.

Hermione moved back from him, rolling to rest on her back and stare at the ceiling. Her tone became business-like, and her expression dissolved into her customary blank mask that he so disliked. “After the potion caused you to pass out, the Horcrux began to leave your body, rather violently.” She paused, thinking. “It's not something that you can see, really. But you can feel it—an essence of absolute darkness. It feels like a void, almost, a void in the fabric of the air. I've seen and used quite a bit of Dark Magic, but it was—different—darker—it captivated you; even the Death Eaters who couldn't really feel it could sense something.”

Harry glanced over to observe her; though her face was still expressionless, her body seemed rigid.

“The Dark Lord was ecstatic, laughing and telling us that we were to witness his full rebirth. But then—then the horcrux exploded, due to the alterations I introduced to the potion.”

“Exploded?”

“Yes—the magic was just ripped apart. It felt like—like it was screaming—like it was trying to take everyone down with it. I felt it pass through me, like malevolent ice—trying to gasp my magic and turn it to its purpose.” She shuddered. “I don't know how that thing was inside of you all this time.”

Harry shrugged. “I only noticed it when my connection to Voldemort was channeled through it—then it hurt like a bitch.”

“You must have had some defense against it, though I can't imagine what. What could possibly combat something so powerful? Something so purely vile?”

He knew she meant the question rhetorically, but found himself answering quietly. “Dumbledore told me it had something to do with how my mum sacrificed herself to save me.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “Unconditional love. I've read about some powerful rituals involving such sacrifice; some of them can be triggered rather unintentionally.”

Harry winced at her analytical tone, and though she did not notice his expression, she reached over to touch his arm gently. “I don't mean to scrutinize your mum's sacrifice Harry; I know it's more than that for you—I'm just trying to understand. If such a force protected you against Voldemort then, it's possible it could work when you face him again.”

“I don't want anyone else to die because of me, Hermione!” He said forcefully. “There has to be another way. Voldemort is nearly mortal—”

“Is mortal, Harry,” Hermione corrected. “All the horcruxes are destroyed.”

“Hermione, I know you destroyed the one in my head, but Nagini—” He froze, remembering McGonagall's words from just after he had regained consciousness.

“—You killed Nagini.”

She nodded, a smile flitting across her face. “After the horcrux exploded, there was mass panic. The Dark Lord was screaming in pain, and Bellatrix was trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Earlier, I had concocted a certain potion that attracted snakes, or more specifically, Nagini, and drank it; she crawled up onto my shoulder while the ritual was taking place, and during the commotion, I sliced off her head with my sai. I dove onto the ground and grabbed you, then activated the Portkey, but not before Bellatrix managed to hit me with a nasty slicing curse.”

Harry gapped at her. “You're—you're brilliant!”

Curiously, a faint red color tinged her cheeks. “Well—”

“No, really—Gods, Hermione! You're amazing!”

He felt like laughing or, at the very least, shouting out in triumph. Instead however, he grabbed Hermione's wrist, pulled her onto his chest, cupped her face, and kissed her.

Clearly, a much better idea.

She let out a sound of surprise, but it was quickly muffled. Her body stiffened at first, her hands flattening on his chest, as though to push off from him, but then her fingers curled, taking in handfuls of his shirt, and she pressed her lips harder into his, her mouth opening to kiss him fully.

His hands moved down to rest on her hips, his thumbs brushing against the smooth skin in between her bottoms and t-shirt. She shifted so her legs were on either side of him, straddling him and rubbing against him in delightful places. He groaned and flipped them over, his right hand sliding down to her thigh, his left bracing their movement, gripping the sheets just beside her head.

“Hermione—” he murmured into her ear, breaking away.

“We should—oh!” His lips had found her neck, his teeth grazing the skin.

“We—sh—should stop,” she breathed, her free leg hooking around his.

He pressed her further into the mattress, reveling in the hot heat the friction of their bodies produced. “Why?”

She moaned, grinding her hips against his. “I—I don't—”

His lips found hers once again, tasting her, teasing her, feeling her.

A loud bang sounded from just outside the curtains; they pulled away from each other, breathing heavily, their bodies tense.

“Oh, bother,” came the irritated voice of Madame Pomfrey.

Her footsteps faded, leaving only the heavy breathing of Harry and Hermione behind.

Hermione was first to speak, wetting her lips before beginning. “You—We shouldn't have done that.”

Harry did not move from his position above her. “What are you so afraid of?”

“Nothing,” she hissed. “This is just a terrible idea. We're in the middle of a bloody war; I'm a Death Eater, and you're the savior of the Order, and we've only known each other for two months! It makes absolutely no sense that—”

“We have something, Hermione, something amazing and intense and wonderful. If you think I'm going to let that go—let you go—just because you're afraid—”

“I'm not afraid, Harry!” She pushed herself up, only managing to move her face closer to his. “You're absolutely delusional if you think this is going to work! It's lust; nothing more.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he growled.

“Ridiculous? Hardly! You know nothing about me, Harry!” She moved to push him off her, but he grabbed her wrists gently.

“I know that you hate looking weak, but you hate having to hide your emotions all the time. I know that you just want to be appreciated—that you hate that you're judged on who your parents were. I know you think there's no good left in the world—that it doesn't matter who wins this war because either way there won't be the right sort of change. I know that you have nightmares almost every night—about the people you've killed, the families you've destroyed. I know your favorite book is Hogwarts A History, because you wish you could have gone there, that you speak three languages fluently, that your favorite color is green, that you love the rain, because you think it's cleansing, that you believe in equal rights for all creatures, that your favorite song is Hotel California. And I know you're afraid of what's happening between us because it causes you to feel so many things—it scares you.” Harry paused, loosening his grip on her wrists. “And it scares me too, because it's so much, so fast. But it's right, Hermione, we're right.”

She did nothing to hide the swirling emotions from her face or his mind. Reaching up to touch his cheek, she finally nodded. “You—You're right. I'm terrified. I—I'm so afraid that I'll distract you, or we'll become too attached, or you'll die or I'll die—It could end badly in so many ways.”

“If you thought like that, you'd never get anything done,” He replied with a wry smile.

“But this is more, Harry. So much more.”

“Exactly. It's worth the risk.”

“I don't—”

“Trust me, Hermione.”

“I do,” she whispered without hesitation.

He shifted off her, but pulled her into his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Then trust me enough to let me care about you—and show that I do.”

“Okay,” she murmured, nestling her head into the crook of his shoulder.

“Good,” he breathed.

He closed his eyes, the exhaustion taking over, and drifted into his first restful sleep in months.

Notes:

- A few people had guessed that Hermione would alter the potion to destroy the Horcrux, but not Harry—nice guessing guys!

- I think Madame Pomfrey would develop a certain soft spot for Harry after so many years of taking care of him, hence the reason why she may let the rules slide every once and a while for him.

- Harry and Ron, I think, would have an even stronger bond if Hermione had not been present. In this case, I chose to make Ron trust Harry more, even to the point that he would wait to let him best mate get some rest before questioning him.

- Ginny, on the other hand… well, she's not as patient, since she's not as close to Harry. Though, I imagine she wishes she were. Overall, the Weasley kids won't play a large role in this story though; it's only 8 chapters after all, and there's a lot to go through before the end.

- Hermione's knowledge of the Horcruxes comes from both what Voldemort had to tell her to create the potion and her own research.

- Sorry about the URST. I know, I'm just terrible.

- During those two months, Harry and Hermione spent many hours a day, just talking. Harry would have learned a great deal about her (and she about him), through both observation and conversation.

- Chapters should be coming much quicker now, since it's summer! I'll definitely have a chapter up once a week until the story is complete!

- Thanks for reading, and for all the great reviews so far!

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5. Come Through the Emptiness

Chapter 4—Come Through the Emptiness

People always talk about things they don't know much about.

You take your chances when you toss them all aside.

Songy Darko by Headlights

Silence hung heavy in the room, weighing down on its occupants.

Harry remained standing, his palms flat on the table before him, leaning forward slightly; his eyes roaming the faces of the inner members of the Order of the Phoenix, as though daring them to contradict him.

Mad-Eye Moody, naturally, was first to raise his objections. “Listen, Potter. All you said is well and good, but think of your source.” He nodded toward Hermione. “She and You-Know-Who—”

“Voldemort.” Harry corrected.

“—Could have concocted this whole plan months ago. It could be an elaborate plot to get you to charge into Voldemort's lair thinking he's mortal, and then WHAM! YOU'RE DEAD!” He slammed his fist on the desk to emphasize his point.

Tonks jumped in her seat and swore violently under her breath.

“Moody, she brought Nagini with her, and everyone can tell my scar has dimmed.”

“Plots! Trickery! CONSTANT VILGILANCE!”

Tonks jumped again. “Dammit, Moody! I'm going to—”

“But to what end, Moody?” Harry interrupted. “I was already captured, sentenced to death, with no way out. Why bother with such a complicated plan?”

“Actually,” Hermione interrupted, “That would have been an absolutely ingenious idea. The Dark Lord could have not only lured you into the trap, but also the rest of your Order when you all came to invade his castle. He likely would have crushed the entire resistance with such a plot.”

Harry shot her an aspirated glance.

You're not exactly helping anything, Hermione.

“EXACTLY! You see, Potter—” Moody stopped short, realizing who had agreed with him. Both his normal and magical eyes turned on a calm Hermione. “Mind games,” he muttered. “I don't trust you, girl.”

Harry stood up straighter. “After Albus died, I entrusted you all with information about the prophesy and the horcruxes. After time, you all, in turn, endorsed me for leadership in the overall Order. In that position, I am to make decisions, and you're to respect those decisions. Albus had his reasons for trusting Severus, and though many members of this Order didn't like it, they respected and trusted Albus, and went along with it. I expect that same treatment in this situation because it's very much the same. You don't have to trust Hermione, or like her, but she will be helping me, and this Order. If you feel strongly against this, then remove me from my position as Head of the Order, because I will not be backing down.”

More silence met his speech. He felt Hermione attempting to restrain some form of emotion through their link, but could not tell its nature.

“Very well, Harry.” Remus Lupin stood, his chin high. “I will defend you when you bring this issue in front of the full Order. You have my support.”

“Mine too,” quipped Tonks.

One by one, the members of the inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix gave their support, ending with the grudging words of Mad-Eye Moody. “I'll be keeping my eye on her, Potter.”

Harry maintained his rigid stance; even after the Order members left the room. He dared not relax a single muscle, lest a member of the Order come back in and detect any weakness.

Hermione stood up next to him, an odd glint in her eyes, a strange flush to her cheeks.

“I'm so hot for you right now.”

Whipping his head around to look at her, his entire posture changed. Her lips curled into an absolutely naughty smile, and she stopped trying to block the link.

Harry's mouth went dry.

“Mr. Potter. Miss Granger. A word, if you please.”

Surely he could deny McGonagall's request; claiming to have important Order business to take care of. Yes, very important Order business that required one of the abandoned classrooms on this floor and a certain brown-eyed female—

Hermione, however, was already moving towards McGonagall, looking entirely too composed. Harry, restraining himself from grumbling, followed her.

“Yes, Professor?” He managed to keep the resentful tone out of his voice, but only barely.

“Mr. Potter, I thought it prudent to remind you that, even if the entire Order does accept Miss Granger, and that is, of course, doubtful, after this war is over, assuming she survives, there will be a thirst for Death Eater blood from the public. There will be no exceptions.”

Goodbye mood, so full of wonderfully intense desire. I hope to see you again.

“Oh, I fully expect to die for what I've done.”

Wait, what?

He imagined his face looked rather like McGonagall's, but with a slack jaw and wider eyes.

“It's simply the way any society functions.” Hermione continued, as though speaking of the weather. “Categorization of people, especially after a war, into heroes and villains is necessary in stabilizing a new government. With each execution of a criminal or award ceremony for a hero, a civilization feels more at ease. It's an age-old process, really, present in the most ancient tales. I don't imagine I would be able to escape such a concrete thing.”

“Well—then—We'll—I'll lie.” Harry decided finally. “I'll tell everyone Hermione was working as a spy the whole, or she was under Imperious, or—or we'll just run away. I'll hide her with a Fidelius and make sure no one finds her.”

“Honestly, Harry—”

“What? It could work. I'll make it work!”

“Harry, I don't—”

“No, Hermione. Give me this. When this is all over, I'll do this for you.”

Though it went unspoken, the unbidden thought still passed between them.

If you survive; if I survive.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Also, Mr. Potter, the Room of Requirement is free today as are Miss Tonks and Mr. Lupin, if you feel well enough to continue with your training.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“And I believe two very irate Weasleys are waiting for you outside.”

“Brilliant.”

“Shall I send them in as I depart?”

“Yes, that'd be fine. Thanks again, Professor.”

McGonagall nodded and quickly left the room. Harry had little time to prepare himself before a fuming Ginny Weasley entered the room, followed by a sullen Ron.

“Harry Potter!” She shrieked. “I can't believe you held a meeting without us!”

“Or, at least, that you told the inner circle before us. I mean, I understand why you couldn't include us—”

“I don't,” Ginny snapped.

“—But really, you should have come to us earlier, like you said you would.”

“Ron—you're my best mate, but it was necessary to hold this meeting before the full Order meeting tonight. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“Just because some mysterious girl waltzes in to your life doesn't mean you should abandon your friends, Harry! You shouldn't put a Death Eater before us, no matter what the circumstances!” Ginny hissed vehemently.

“Even if it means my survival?”

Ginny sputtered. “Well—that's—that's just—”

“Oh, shut it, Ginny. Let's just let Harry explain.” Ron turned to Harry. “So, explain.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, but let's sit down first. This might take a while.”

When he finished his tale, Ginny's anger had only settled down to a slow burn, but Ron was looking at Hermione with more than a little respect.

“You tricked Voldemort? Wicked!”

Harry smiled and stood. “I thought so too. Hey, we're going to go to the Room of Requirement, want to come along?”

“Sure! I bet me, Ginny, and Hermione could take you on, Harry.”

“I don't doubt it.”

Ron pumped his fist in the air as they left the room. “Today will be the day I help beat Harry Potter in a duel!”

“I don't know about help,” Harry ribbed. “I'll take you out first.”

“Har, har. You think you're so good. I'll be wiping that smirk off your face off your face today, Potter!”

“Literally, if you use a mouth removal curse.”

Ron's eyes widened. “Do you know one?”

Hermione smirked. “I'll show it to you when we get to this dueling room of yours.”

“Wicked!”

“It's probably Dark Magic.” Ginny muttered, looking at Hermione with a dark scowl.

“I find it's hard to classify things as such, when you move outside of the realm Unforgivables and rituals.” Hermione stated calmly.

Ginny sneered. “Codswallop. Anyone can classify a spell as light or dark.”

“What about Accio?”

“Light.” Ginny sounded confident, but slightly confused.

“I suppose you haven't used it to summon a vital organ, then?”

Harry's eyebrows rose. “That's possible?”

“If you have enough power, it is.”

“But, you haven't done that, right Hermione?” Ron asked, looking fearful of her answer.

Hermione's silence was not reassuring.

“Okay then, note to self; never duel against Hermione.”

“That's just one example,” said Ginny recovering. “What about Sectumsempra? I can't imagine you can think of a way when it isn't Dark.”

“Snape's spell?” Hermione asked, her eyebrow raised. “Actually, I used that spell to once to make an incision in my leg to drain the poison from an Acromantula bite. Besides, if it's such Dark Magic, then why is your Order so fond of it? Surely you lot aren't Dark Arts users?”

Ginny scowled. “Fine! But what about—”

“That's enough, Ginny. We're here anyways.”

She harrumphed and pushed past him and through the door to the Room of Requirement as soon as it appeared.

“I think she may hate me as much as Bellatrix Lestrange does,” claimed Hermione, amused. “I didn't think that was possible.”

Ron's face turned dark. “Not a fan of Lestrange, then?”

“Gods no. I'll kill that woman the first chance I get.”

“You'll have to get to get before me.”

Ron opened the door and disappeared into the room. Hermione shot Harry a curious glance.

“Lestrange killed a member of their family—it was really hard on Ron.”

Hermione winced.

“Hermione—”

“I did that too—killed people's family members. I was probably part of the strike team that—”

“It's okay, Hermione.”

“It's not, Harry!” She sighed and reached for his hand. He ran his thumb over the back of hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“You've got to try to let it go. Let it go and start making amends. You've already started, after all.”

She nodded and he released her hand. “Come on then. You can teach me some new spells, I'm sure.”

Hermione seemed to find the Room of Requirement absolutely fascinating. She browsed around the shelves lining the walls, asked questions, and tested its capabilities. She was delighted when she found the newest edition of Hogwart's A History on the shelves, and Harry had to drag her away to the center of the room where Tonks, Remus, Ron, and Ginny waited.

“Right! So whatta wanna learn today, kiddies? Defensive? Offensive?”

“Offensive.” Ron stated flatly.

Tonks and Remus exchanged looks.

“Actually, I'd like to know that spell that nearly fried me when we were dueling, Hermione.”

“Ah. Well—that was modified version of Fiendfyre, actually.”

“Merlin's Beard!” Tonks exclaimed. “You used Fiendfyre in a duel?”

“A modified version, yes.”

“I've never heard of such a thing.” Lupin rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Well, you wouldn't have. You see, I modified it myself.”

“That's incredible!” Remus exclaimed, clearly excited. “Did you modify the inner spell structure itself or add upon it?”

“A bit of both. In the end, it was simply a matter of Arithmancy, see I—”

“You all seem to be forgetting that she used this spell on Harry.” Ginny cut in.

“Well, he's alive, isn't he? Though, I'm not sure how you managed to block it Harry, that shouldn't have been possible.” She smiled crookedly. “I shouldn't be surprised though. It's you, after all.”

Harry shrugged. “I didn't think of any particular shield charm, it just happened.”

“What is this Fiendfyre, anyways?” Ron questioned.

“In its base form, it's a type of cursed fire. It doesn't take a great deal of control to cast, but that's only because the spell has no control. Mostly anything it touches turns to ash, and worse, if you let it keep burning, the fire will change in nature, forming shapes of beasts that attack anyone around them.”

“Bloody brilliant!”

“The problem is,” Remus continued, “or, apparently was, now that Miss Granger has found a way around it, is the fire will turn on you as well, especially in a dueling setting.”

“I modified the spell so that it produces the same type of cursed fire, but in a controlled jet from the wand, which spreads out over a distance to envelop your opponent. It's a rather difficult spell, not in the motions, but in the control it takes to cast, unlike the original version.”

“Do all—erm—Death Eaters know this one?” Tonks asked.

“Oh no. I never gave them any of my spells, either modified or original. I'd hate to have one turned against me one day, and with Death Eaters, that would be an entirely plausible event.”

“Thank Merlin. I'd hate to face that in a duel.”

“I'll teach you all though, if you like,” Hermione said, as near shy as she could likely get.

Harry smiled at her and placed a hand on the small of her back. “That'd be great, Hermione.”

Hermione, Harry observed, clearly had a knack for teaching others what she knew, and that was saying a great deal, since she seemed to know quite a bit. Several times throughout her explanation of the spell, Remus and she went off on tangents dealing with the finer points of spell creation and modification, all of which went far beyond Harry's understanding of magic. However, she managed to explain the important details of the spell in complete layman's terms, making him think she may just have a future as a Professor, after this was all over.

They were all just about to try the spell when they were interrupted by the room's door banging opening and sizzle of a spell flying across the room.

Hermione erected a shield quickly, allowing the spell to bounce harmlessly off, but did not retaliate, for which Harry was rather gratefully. Molly Weasley was clearly mad enough.

“RONALD! GINEVRA! What are you doing with her! Get over here NOW!”

While Ginny obeyed her mother, Ron simply rolled his eyes. “Mum—”

“Ronald, do not make me come over there and drag you out of this building. We're leaving at once. I will not put my family in danger by the presence of a Death Eater!”

“Mum—look—”

“THEY KILLED YOUR FATHER, RONALD!”

“I know, Mum! I know! Why do you think I'm here, training? It's so I can kill the bitch that took Dad! And dammit, Hermione's helping with that!”

“Hermione is one of the reasons your father is dead!”

“Lestrange did that!”

“It could just as easily have been your new friend here!”

“But it wasn't! Hermione's on our side now, and I plan on taking advantage of the skills she possesses. I'm of age, Mum, so I'm staying, whether you like it or not!”

“Fine!” She turned to Harry. “I will raise question about this decision at tonight's meeting, Harry. I can assure you of that. Ginny, we're leaving.”

She slammed the door on her way out.

“I think I'm ready to cast that curse now, Hermione,” Ron stated grimly.

“Remember, it's not about anger, Ron. You have to focus all that emotion, channel it.”

Ron took a deep breath. “Okay, okay.”

“PRAVUS FLAMMA!”

A jet of fire shot out of Ron's wand, but died before it hit the wall on the other side of the room.

“Well done, Ron.” Hermione said with a smile. “That was a fantastic first attempt!”

He beamed, but flushed a little at Hermione's praise. Harry had a sudden strong urge to perform the spell a great deal better than Ron.

Tonks and Remus both cast the spell well; Tonks' spell fizzled out a bit further than Ron's, and Remus' nearly hit the wall.

“As you practice more, you'll get a better feel for the nature of the spell, and your castings will get stronger. You're up, Harry. Show me what you've got.”

He winked at her. “Well, remember you asked for it. PRAVUS FLAMMA!”

The beam of flame that shot out his wand was extremely bright and hot, causing his wand to not only heat up, but also shake slightly. He was awarded, however, when his flame not only hit the wall, but also continued to burn. When he finally ended the spell, breathing heavily, a charred crater was burned into the wall.”

“Wow.” Hermione breathed, her eyes alight.

“Merlin's foot, Harry! What did those Death Eaters feed you? I mean, you've always been powerful, but wow! I've never seen you do something like that!”

“Having said that,” Remus began with a small grin at the excited Tonks, “who wants to duel Harry today?”

“I bet the rest of us could take him,” said Ron, looking uneasy. “As long as he promises not to use that spell on me.”

“I'll give it a try,” Hermione cut in. “We never did get to finish our last duel.”

“Okay, so how come now I'm even more frightened?” Ron muttered. “Do you think the room will supply us with some sort of blast shield?”

Tonks laughed, but then stopped suddenly. “Actually, that might be a good idea.”

Remus stared at Harry and Hermione seriously. “Non-lethal spells only.”

“Oh, damn.” Hermione snapped her fingers.

Remus, Tonks, and Ron gapped at her.

“What? I can make jokes, you know. Occasionally… Sometimes… Oh, bother! Of course I'm not going to use lethal spells!”

“Alright you two, just stand in the center of the room. We'll stand a ways off.”

Harry and Hermione walked to opposite sides of the room, before pulling out their wands and bowing. After that however, they merely started at each other.

“Do you ever make the first move?” Harry asked, slightly on edge.

“I prefer a counter-attack.”

“I guess we'll just stand here, then.” He winked at her. “I'm onto you, Granger.”

Though Hermione did not move her wand or say anything, Harry suddenly found himself on his back, victim of a surreptitious Tripping Jinx. He righted himself quickly to find Hermione laughing quietly at his expense.

“Funny.”

“I thought so.”

“No more Mr. Nice guy, then.”

“Bring it on, Potter.”

Despite their bravado, the beginning of the duel was nothing more than small jinxes and curses, nothing more powerful than a Jelly-Legs.

“You're going easy on me, Hermione.”

“Oh? And you're not?”

“Fine, we'll step it up then, agreed?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” She twisted her wand in the air and moved it downward in a sharp motion. The ground beneath him began to rumble, and then rose, tossing him backwards into the wall.

“Bugger,” he groaned, righting himself again and throwing a heavy freezing charm at her.

And then the duel began in earnest. Remus and Tonks would later account it with great enthusiasm, comparing it to a show with flashes of light and bangs of sound, a demonstration of sizzling heat and electric charge, a dance with intensity and complexity.

Ron would simply say it had been `bloody brilliant'.

Eventually, Remus ended it by shooting a flare in between them (and praying they would stop before they brought the entire room down). When the spells died, and the dust settled, leaving a panting Harry and Hermione, something still hung in the air.

“Well,” started Ron, with an odd mixture of amusement and jealousy, “you could always get Voldemort to watch you two duel—the sexual tension would probably kill him.”

Remus and Tonks laughed uneasily; Harry and Hermione continued to stare each other.

“While I normally thrive under uncomfortably awkward situations, Wolfie, I think we should declare this training session over and book.”

Remus nodded. “Well, we'll just be off then. Good show, erm, keep it up,” he said loudly.

Harry and Hermione ignored him, ignored the sound of the door closing, ignored everything but each other.

Harry flashed across the room so quickly that in the back of his mind he realized he must have apparated, despite the impossibility of such a feat inside Hogwarts, but then his lips were on hers; his body against hers, pushing her into the bookcase behind her, and he did not care much for such speculation.

And then her hands were in his hair, tugging at the strands, and his were diving into the folds of her robes, impatiently looking for skin. When he found it, the softness and warmth of her hips, he gripped her tightly and pushed her up into the bookcase until she was sitting on the ridge, her legs coming to wrap around him.

He shifted against her, moaning into her mouth, and slid his hand under her skirt, to her inner thigh. She gasped, a delightful sound, and bucked into him, then began to fumble with his robes, pushing them off and then slipping her hands under his shirt, her nails raking over the lean muscles of his chest.

“Harry,” she whimpered, her lips moving to a spot just under his ear and sucking at it.

His senses flew into a state of overdrive, but the need to feel more enslaved him, caused him to press harder into her. He pulled away slightly before the feeling completely overtook him, staring into her darkened eyes, nearly black with feral emotions.

“We should stop,” he whispered, his voice husky.

“I know,” she breathed, but her hands continued to roam his chest. “I know.”

Seemingly mustering up control at the same time, Hermione pulled her hands out from under his shirt, and he stepped away from her, giving her room to slide down from her perch on the bookshelf.

“We probably shouldn't duel anymore,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“Nor should you give any speeches where you act so assertive, or show any signs of power at all, for that matter,” she added with a wistful look in her eyes.

“Then you'll have to not be absolutely brilliant, or have any moments of inspiration.”

“Hmm. Something tells me that won't work.”

“Bugger it all then.”

She laughed and leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek quickly. “We may have to tone it down a little.”

“If we want to get anything done at all.”

“Like that Order meeting you have tonight.”

Harry sighed. “I wish I could just take you away from all this.”

“I can handle it, Harry.”

“I know—I just don't want you to have to.”

“I'll be fine. You'll be with me, after all.”

“Always,” he promised.

Always.

Notes:

- In this Universe, Harry never went on a wild-goose chase for Horcruxes. After all, without Hermione around, such a feat would have been even more impossible than it should have been in book 7. Instead, he gathered a select group of the finest of the Order, and told them about everything. Eventually he became the head of the entire order. After Dumbledore's death, people would naturally turn to Harry for support; they viewed him as Dumbledore's protégée.

- Harry wouldn't have allowed Ron or Ginny into his inner circle—that would have showed a bias that a leader of such an organization could not afford to show.

- The “I'm so hot for you right now” quote is from the second Fantastic Four movie. Definitely the best line from that movie. One day I will use that line, I swear. Haha.

- Hermione wouldn't be Hermione without having unorthodox views that sometimes catch people off-guard (her acceptance of her fate and her idea of `dark' and `light' magic') and I enjoy writing her in such a way. ^^

- In a Harry/Hermione romance fic, my two favorite ideas are a sexually charged duel between the pair, and wall kisses. Naturally, I had to include them both in this scene. When writing the wall kiss, I had the scene from Atonement in mind, in case anyone was wondering. Now that was a great scene.

- One of these days, I may end this build up of tension between Harry and Hermione.

- I told you guys I'd be getting these chapters uploaded more quickly! Although, I will be in NY until the 17th, and I'm not sure if I'll have internet access until I get back…

-->

6. Come With Sore Hands

Chapter 5—Come With Sore Hands

Are you made of calcium or are you carbon based?
And if you're made of calcium I'll have to take a taste;
'Cause, listen, calcium is deadly, but tender to the tooth,
And it's one sure-fire way to know if you're MX-Missile proof.

MX-Missile Proof by Andrew Bird

“Mmm—If I would have known about this I would have left the Dark Lord sooner.”

Harry smiled crookedly, confused. “Hermione, it's nothing special.”

“You just don't know how good you have it,” she said, waving him off.

“It's toast!”

“Perfectly toasted toast,” she corrected. “And fantastic marmalade. Yum.”

“What did you eat, gruel?”

“Hush, you. Our toast was just never cooked the way I liked it, that's all.”

“You could have made it yourself, you know.”

She mumbled something under her breath and flushed prettily.

“What was that?” He teased, leaning closer. “I didn't quite hear you.”

“I said I'm rubbish at cooking charms.”

Harry hooted in laughter.

“Honestly!” She tried to look stern, but a smile tugged at her mouth. “It's not funny, Harry.”

“You can create spells, but you can't do a cooking charm?” He gasped out in between bursts of laughter.

“It's—that's to say—”

Harry only laughed harder.

“I'd be fine if only we had a toaster!”

“Oh, that'd go over well with Ol' Riddle; `Lo Voldie, check out the new muggle-ware I got—makes things easier, don't it?”

Hermione lost her hold and burst into a chorus of melodic laughter. “Oh, Harry. Honestly, you're so—”

“Charming? Irresistible? Devilishly handsome? All of the above?”

“Or absolutely nauseating.” Ron supplied, sitting down across from the pair. “You do realize that everyone in the bloody hall is watching you two. Everyone already thinks Hermione's lulling you into a false sense of security, and now you're both over here giggling—”

“I was not giggling!” Harry protested.

“—Giggling like you're arse over tit in love—”

“That's descriptive.”

“—And so now everyone thinks she's got you under some love potion, mate.”

Hermione smirked. “Oh woe is me; my plan has been thwarted.”

Ron groaned. “You have got to stop making jokes like that!”

“Who's joking?”

“People are going to take you seriously,” Ron huffed.

“'Bout time!”

Harry was spared from having to listen to Ron's response when a rather scrawny owl flew into the hall and crashed into the table; Hermione snatched her toast out of harms way, but the owl still collided with Ron's juice glass, spilling its contents onto his lap.

“Aw, hell.”

“Karma.” Hermione stated matter-of-factly, before waving her wand over the letter on the table. It glowed a bright blue and she nodded, satisfied. “No curses on it that I can detect.”

“That's good enough for me.”

He grabbed the letter and broke the seal, and then nearly dropped it once he realized what it contained.

“Harry?” Hermione leaned over his shoulder. “What—”

It was a map; a very complex map with multiple passages, all leading toward one particular place. Scribbled on the bottom were two lines:

The Dark Lord and his followers will be at this location for the next month.

My life debt to you is now paid.

“Harry! Mate! What is it?” Ron stood to bend over the table and reach for the paper.

“It's a map.” He turned to Hermione. “It's from Wormtail.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

His eyes narrowed. “I have this strange feeling that you know more about this than you're letting on.”

She ignored him and reached for the map, studying it. “Harry, this is Durmstrang.”

He continued to watch her, unconvinced. “Hermione, what did you do?”

“Oh, honestly! Is it so hard to believe that Wormtail suddenly realized the wickedness of his ways and decided to repay the kindness you showed him so long ago?”

Harry stared at her dubiously.

“Don't look at me like that! It was worth a shot!”

“Hermione—”

“I might have gently brought up the fact that he owed you a favor.”

Ron snorted.

Hermione glared at him. “I can be gentle!”

“Oh, right. Gentle like an Abrasion spell.”

Harry sighed loudly. Hermione turned away from Ron and gave him an apologetic look. “It doesn't matter why he did it, Harry, just that he did.”

“I suppose. But can we trust him?”

“Oh yes, I made sure of that.”

“Ha!” Ron exclaimed. “Gentle my arse!”

“If you think I'm unable of being gentle, Ronald, then why are you antagonizing me?”

Ron remained silent after that.

“We need to bring this to the attention of the Order, tonight, if possible. And then we have to start planning.”

Hermione peered at the map carefully. “I know a great deal about Durmstrang—secret passages and such, but I'm afraid I won't be of much use when it comes to informing you of the Dark Lord's numbers or tactics; he's undoubtedly changed them now that I've run away with you. I may be able to do something about—”

She froze. Harry could practically see the light bulb turning on over her head.

“Hermione?”

“I've got to work out a few things, Harry. I'll see you at the meeting tonight!” She then rushed out of the Hall.

“Mental, that one.” Ron smirked.

To Harry's disappointment, he did not see Hermione until the Order meeting, coming in with a stack of parchment and ink stains all over her hands and even a few smudges on her face. The sight nearly made the wait worth it; he had never seen her look more adorable.

“Sorry,” she whispered, sliding into the seat next to him. “I had a few things to do.”

“I see that.” He resisted the urge to wipe one particularly prominent streak of ink off her face with his thumb. “We're going to start in a few minutes, I think. What were you doing, anyways?”

“Don't you like surprises?”

He looked at her warily. “Sometimes.”

She laughed quietly. “I was writing out all the information I had about Durmstrang and the forces under the Dark Lord's control.”

“Brilliant.”

“You can just read it off, or—”

“Nonsense. I'll defer to you.”

She bit her lip. “They won't listen, Harry.”

“I'll make sure they do.”

Hermione smirked. “Oh, I look forward to it.”

“I do need to get through this meeting though,” he said with a wink.

“Harry,” Hermione began, more seriously, “there's one other thing I was working on earlier. It's—well, you know how I believe in equal rights for all creatures?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, it's—would you back me up on that? If I needed you to?”

“Of course I would.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, but what's this—”

“You see, Harry. It's a well known fact that the Dark Lord has a large number of `dangerous' creatures on his side, but it's not as widely spread knowledge how he managed it.”

Harry looked at her carefully. “Hermione, are you trying to tell me that you—”

“I'll bring it up during the meeting, but yes, I had something to do with forging those alliances. Hopefully, with your help, I may be able to break a few of them.”

He shook his head. “You know, after awhile, things like this aren't going to surprise me anymore.”

She titled her head. “So we're to be together for `awhile' then?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Good,” she said simply, but with an odd smile. “Best start your meeting. Looks as though everyone in the room is either glaring at me or looking at you expectantly.”

“Seems to be the new thing to do,” he muttered before standing and addressing the full Order. “Hey everyone. Sorry for calling this meeting at such short notice, but I've received a piece of information that I thought necessary to share with you all.”

The room quieted almost immediately; all eyes trained on the young man standing before them.

“You see, this morning, I received a very unusual letter. It was from Peter Pettigrew.”

Remus stood, knocking his chair over. Tonks reached out to grip his wrist.

“Remus,” began Harry gently, “Peter's told us where to find Voldemort.”

Wild chatter broke out quickly, but Harry seemed to ignore the loud noise and continued to speak softly. “Peter send me a map; a very detailed map.” By this time, the hall was silent again. “And at the bottom of that map he wrote two lines: `The Dark Lord and his followers will be at this location for the next month' and `My life debt to you is now paid.'”

“A trap!” Moody bellowed.

“A life debt is not something one can easily shake,” McGonagall stated, her lips set in a thin line. “Nevertheless, it is possible Pettigrew sent you this map in order to lure you into a trap.”

“Two reasons why this cannot be the case. First, Peter did not specify a date, only a month, which would make it impossible to Voldemort to know when we would attack. Second—” Harry turned to Hermione.

She stood, her face a mask. “Peter is under an Unbreakable Vow; for this map to be a trap of any sort would mean his death.”

Loud conversation broke out once again; Hermione remained calm and silent until it quieted down.

“Miss Granger,” spoke Professor McGonagall, “an Unbreakable Vow must be done between two willing participates, and furthermore requires a Bonder. I find it hard to believe that Pettigrew would willingly form any sort of vow with you, or that you managed to find a reliable Bounder in a Death Eater camp.”

“Peter Pettigrew is a coward. He desires nothing other than to live. I simply promised him the ability to do that. As for the reliable Bonder—I used Narcissa Malfoy. I entered into an Unbreakable Vow with her, with Peter as the Bonder, to ensure she would never tell a soul about her involvement in the first Vow and it's contents.”

“And how, pray tell, did you get Narcissa Malfoy to do such a thing.”

“I promised her the same thing I promised Pettigrew—freedom from the Dark Lord, but for her son as well.”

“Any other objections?” Asked Harry, making a mental note to ask Hermione about this later.

“I have one!” Called Molly Weasley shrilly from the back of the room. “Everyone does realize that, once again, we must take the word of a Death Eater?”

“Molly, you are under no obligation to come with me to Voldemort's stronghold. In fact, no one here is under any obligation. Membership into the Order is on a voluntary basis, as you all well know. But believe me, I will be attacking Voldemort within the month, using this map and the information Hermione can supply. I ask for your help, but if I receive none, I will still go. If you wish to help me defeat Voldemort, then stay and listen to what I have to say. Otherwise, leave now.”

Harry ended his speech, his eyes roaming from one Order member to the next, and came to rest on Molly Weasley in the end. She appeared uncomfortable, but did not move.

No one did.

“Thank you.” Harry said after a minute, relief evident in his voice. “I fear I will fail without you all.” He then waved his wand, projecting an image of the map of Durmstrang in the center of the room. “Does anyone recognize this place?”

Professor McGonagall was first to speak. “It looks a great deal like the Republic of Estonia, Mr. Potter.”

“Correct.” Harry zoomed in with the map, focusing on the castle itself. “And this?”

“Durmstrang.” McGonagall continued, her eyes wide. “Albus did always suspect it was either in Estonia or northern Latvia.”

“Right again, Professor. More specifically, it's located in Võru County, within the Haanja Uplands. The multiple paths you can see on the map wind through the Uplands, though, there appears to be much fortification around the castle, with only one gate allowing access to the castle.”

“Where they'll ambush us.” Moody interrupted gruffly.

“Not necessarily.” All eyes turned to Hermione. “I assume you all remember Viktor Krum. Everyone was rather shocked, after all, when he joined the Death Eaters.”

Harry's eyebrows rose, immediately knowing what she was going to say next.

“Though, I don't imagine many of you know that he was a spy for your Order.”

Harry spoke before anyone could interrupt. “It's true. Only a few members of the Order knew, and only because they needed to. He supplied a wealth of information until about four months ago, when we stopped hearing from him.”

“He was killed. The Dark Lord found out about his betrayal.” Hermione grimaced.

Harry sighed. “I feared that might have been the case.”

“When he was alive though, we were—friends. Or as close to friends as Death Eaters can get. He used to talk about his old school fondly, and often mentioned details about his exploits there.” Hermione turned to the map and zoomed in on it further. “For example, Viktor used to use this passage to escape the castle without his Headmaster noticing. The passage connects a cave in the Suur Munamägi, the tallest peak in the area, to the inside of the castle.”

“This is preposterous, Potter!” barked Moody. “We're being mislead into a plan of You-Know-Who's chosing! This girl will supply him with the date, and now she gives us the exact place!”

“Actually,” started Ron, standing up, “I know a bit about this. You see—erm—I was one of the people that knew Krum was a spy. In fact, I was his contact. I was a less obvious choice than Harry, see. Anyways, Krum foresaw the day that Voldemort would use Durmstrang as a base, and about a year ago, he met with me about that very thing.”

Ron waved his wand and muttered under his breath. A few seconds later, a package soared through the doorway and into his hands. He floated it over to Harry.

“It's another map of Durmstrang, similar to the one Wormtail sent, but with more secret passageways. I've studied it quite a bit; there are actually loads of caves around the area that lead into passageways connecting to Durmstrang. Three main ones, including the one Hermione mentioned.”

“Ha! That put you in your place, Mad-Eye,” Tonks quipped with a grin.

Moody only grumbled under his breath.

“Ron, Tonks, Madame Bones, and Moody—I'd like you to head up the group concentrating on gaining entrance into Durmstrang. Come to me with your finalized plans within the next two weeks. Hermione, what can you tell us of Voldemort's forces?”

“The number of Death Eaters Voldemort has in his services is not an overly large one. It's comparable to the number of members in this Order. The problem lies in his alliances with various powerful creatures, namely, the Werewolves, Vampires, Goblins, Giants, and recently, Veelas. Fortunately, I was the one who lead the negotiations with these groups, and as such I know what the Dark Lord is offering. The trick will be to offer them just as much, if not more. Mainly, they just want equality. If I could, I'd like to have Mr. Lupin and anyone else who believes they can be of help to assist me.”

“I believe I can be of some assistance,” called a voice from the back and Bill Weasley stepped forward.

“Je peux aussi.”

Hermione's eyes widened as she took in Fleur Delcour-Weasley, but she recovered quickly. “Thank you both.” She nodded to Harry and sat down.

“Very well. If anyone has any suggestions, objections, or information, come to me at any time. We will be having another meeting in two weeks time with finalized plans, and we'll attack shortly after. You're all dismissed.”

The next two weeks passed quickly, full of crafting plans and discussions with various Order members, among others. He saw very little of Hermione; she too was busy with her own meetings, though hers involved a variety of different creatures. He attended a number of these meetings, though, for the most part, Hermione did much of the speaking and negotiating. She was impressed, however, by the honesty and nonjudmental attitude he showed in the meetings, and informed him that she was not the only one that noticed such things.

The most interesting meeting, in Harry's opinion, was that with the Vampires, four days earlier.

“Harry!” Hermione burst into his room, dressed in a flowing dark red gown with a low-cut and high slit. “Aren't you ready yet?”

“Uh—er—”

“Harry, honestly! You can gape at me later! Count Nafara's clan will be here soon!” She threw some clothing at him. “Get dressed in this.”

Harry snapped out of his daze. “Sorry—it's just you look—well, dead sexy. Now turn around so I can change.”

“Well, that is the look I was going for. You did read the notes I gave you on Count Nafara, right?”She asked, her back to him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He stripped quickly and began to put on the clothing Hermione had supplied. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“What?”

“Could this outfit be any tighter! Bloody hell.”

He could tell Hermione was smirking. “Probably.”

“Gods—I'm going to pop a button somewhere during this meeting.”

“Are you done yet?”

“This is difficult, okay!” He finished buttoning up the black silk shirt. “Fine, yes, I'm done.”

Hermione spun around and eyed him appreciatively, then stepped forward to run her hands down his chest. “Mmm—I find myself hoping that these meetings with the Vamps drag on—and that you have to be present at all of them.”

Harry thought he looked absolutely ridiculous, but if it warranted this reaction from Hermione, who was he to complain?

“The Count will be here soon,” Hermione sighed, stepping away from him. “But before we meet him, you may need this.” She handed him a wooden stake.

“Hermione, I thought this was a peaceful sort of meeting.”

She shrugged, “You never know with the Vampires. They're a tricky lot.”

“That's reassuring.”

She pecked him on the cheek. “You'll be fine. You've done fabulously at all the other meetings.”

“Well,” Harry grumbled as they left his room. “Those didn't involve wooden stakes.”

The meeting itself went smoothly, or at least from Harry's point of view it did. Count Nafara and Hermione seemed to know each other well. A little too well, in fact. Harry found himself very much disliking the Count's smooth voice and wandering eyes. However, the interesting bit did not occur until the end of the meeting.

“Hermione, let us cease with the pleasantries of negotiation and come to the true point of this meeting. You wish my clans' support. I assume you will offer the same promises of equality that we have under Lord Voldemort. I would gladly offer my support to you now, as you know I only supported your former Lord because of your influence.”

“But?” Hermione questioned.

“But I am unsure of the influence you have over the man who will ultimately be the one to grant the equality you pledge.” The Count's steely eyes turned on Harry. “I was sure of your authority in Lord Voldemort's circle, but I am not quite as sure what power you hold over young Mr. Potter.”

Hermione nodded. “Allow me to reassure you then.”

With that, she spun around, grabbed Harry, and bit his neck, hard.

Harry had a feeling that if his knees buckled, the diplomatic advantages to Hermione's display would have been lost. He managed to remain standing, but only just.

“Well?” Hermione asked, facing the Count once again, wiping a small portion of blood from her lower lip.

“You are her mate?” The Count asked Harry, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes.” Harry stated simply, unsure how he managed to keep his voice steady after that little display.

The Count studied him for a few moments. “Very well, Harry Potter. I will assist you in your case.”

Hermione apologized to him later, claiming her actions had been necessary to put up a front of her influence over him.

Harry assured her she was welcome to use him for such a display anytime.

In the end, aside from the support of Count Nafara's clan, they managed to sway the Goblins and Giants into neutrality, and enlist a number of Werewolves (outside of Fenrir Greyback's clan) into their service, though an equal number remained with Voldemort.

The team he assigned to planning the attack itself formulated a plan that involved splitting the Order and its allies into four battalions, each taking a separate tunnel into the castle. Three of the battalion would be selected of members of various talents, such as offensive magics, defensive magics, healing, stealth, and enchantments. These would primarily concentrate on clearing the way for the last battalion, led by Harry, to reach Voldemort. They would be attacking at two o'clock in the morning, adding to the element of surprise.

For that reason, what was likely the final Order meeting ended early on the day before the attack, leaving Harry pacing his room, feeling uneasy and anxious. It came to him quite suddenly during this time that he could very well die in less than one day's time. The thought caused him to stop pacing and flop onto the couch.

“Hey.”

He looked up, feeling immediately better when he saw Hermione standing in front of him, looking just as apprehensive as he felt.

“Hey.” He managed a small smile.

She sat down on the couch next to him and placed her head on his shoulder. “You should be sleeping.”

“Hermione, you know as well as I that neither of us are going to get any sleep tonight.”

“I know,” she sighed and grabbed a pillow, placing it on his lap and laying her head on top of it, kicking her legs over the arm rest.

He began to run his hand through her hair; she closed her eyes and breathed out heavily.

“Tell me something, something I don't know about you.” Her voice sounded quiet to his ears, quiet and tender.

“About what?”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

He thought hard for a moment. “Snape was in love with my mum.”

Hermione chuckled. “Is that all you can come up with? I already knew that.”

“What?” Asked Harry, shocked.

“I told you I spent a great deal of time with Snape—he was my Potions tutor, for lack of a better word. Your mum came up a few times. You could see it in his eyes when he spoke about her—he didn't try to hide it much, not from me, at least.”

“Well, bollocks. There goes my surprising piece of trivia.”

Hermione laughed softly again. “You've got to have something else.”

“Eh, search me.”

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Favorite smell?”

“Lately, the shampoo you use.”

She did not open her eyes, but still smiled. “Favorite book.”

“Erm—Quidditch Through the Ages.”

“Favorite dream?”

He coughed. She opened her eyes to look at him curiously. “I—uh—think it's your turn to answer some questions.”

“Actually, now I'm dead curious about your dream.”

“I'd rather not discuss it.” He flushed red.

Hermione propped herself up. “Oh? Having dreams you shouldn't?” She purred.

Harry shifted in his seat; Hermione smirked and laid back down. “Fine, spoilsport. Ask your questions then.”

“Er—I dunno. Just tell me something I don't know about you.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. The entire mood of the game changed suddenly. “I've never been so afraid in my life.” She reached up to stroke his face. “I'm terrified that you're going to—get hurt tomorrow.” Her eyes shifted away from his, her voice lowered so he could barely hear her properly. “I don't know what I'd do without you, Harry.”

His heart swelled. “Hermione, you know, you must know that I feel the same way.”

“I do—that just makes it all the more frightening. It feels like I have that much more to lose.”

“We're going to be okay. We'll make it.”

She rubbed her face, pushing her fringe back. “I just want it to be over. I'm so tired. When the Dark Lord's dead, we'll be free; Wormtail and the Malfoys will be safe, and—”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Who cares about Wormtail and the Malfoys? They've done their part and—” Harry trailed off, seeing Hermione bit her lip and look a bit nervous. “Hermione—”

“It was the only way I could get them to agree!” She blurted out.

Harry pulled her up into a sitting position, feeling panicky. “Hermione, what did you do?”

“What I had to.” Hermione stated, sounding more composed. “My Unbreakable Vow with each of them was two-sided.”

Harry's face turned pale.

“When I promised them their freedom from the Dark Lord, I backed it with my own life. I swore that the Dark Lord would neither kill them, nor kill them through his Orders.”

“So if Voldemort causes the death of Wormtail, Narcissa, or Draco, you die as well?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Harry stood, fuming. “Dammit, Hermione! What the hell were you thinking?”

Hermione remained sitting. “I was thinking I'd do anything to keep you alive. And I haven't stopped thinking that, either. I'll do whatever it takes, Harry! I don't care what the cost is!”

“Even if it's your own life?”

“Even if it's my own life.”

His shoulders sagged. “Please—I can't—if you die—I don't think—I just don't think—” He sat back on the couch and took her hand, gripping it tightly. “It wouldn't be worth it—you dying—it wouldn't be worth it.”

“Shh.” She shifted their positions so that now he was the one lying in her lap, and began to run her hands though his hair. “Relax. It'll be okay. Now it's your turn again; tell me something new.”

He inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly. “I love to cook.”

“Really? You'll cook for me, when this is all over?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

“You promise? Something with shrimp?”

He paused, unable to resist the pleading look in her eyes. “Yeah, I promise. Your turn.”

“Hmm. Well, I love to dance.”

“Dance? What kind of dancing?”

She got a wistful look in her eyes. “The tango is my favorite.”

His eyes widened. “Where in Merlin's name did you learn the tango?”

“Oh, remember that boy you saw in my memory? Darcy? He taught me.”

Harry frowned. “Isn't the tango, well, rather—sexual.”

“Aw—are you jealous, Harry?” She said with a small laugh.

“Maybe,” he grumbled.

She lifted his head off her lap and stood, offering her hand. “Well, come on then. I'll tango with you.”

Harry scoffed. “As much as I'd love to, I can hardly waltz; I'd hate to see the disaster that would be me attempting to tango.”

“You won't have to do anything fancy, I promise.” She tugged at his hand. “Come, on! It'll be fun!”

“I highly doubt it.” He allowed himself to be pulled up, regardless.

She grinned. “Let's see—first off.” She waved her wand and suddenly they were both dressed in the clothing they had been wearing on the day of the Vampire meeting.

Suddenly, Harry found he liked this idea a great deal better.

“And here.” She removed his glasses and placed them on the end table next to them. “You'll do better without them.”

“Hermione!”

She winked. “There's no need to see, only to feel—just feel,” she assured him. “And now, we need music, but what to play?” She tapped her chin with her wand. After a short time her eyes lit up. “Of course! Now, just stand there, Harry.”

She waved her wand again and then slid it into a wand holster on her thigh. A low string melody began to play in the background, four notes repeating. Hermione began to walk toward him, slowly, one foot in front of the other; her hips sashaying in rhythm with the music. When she reached him, she took his hands and shaped him into a rigid stance, her body flush against his.

And then she began to whisper in his ear, softly and seductively.

“L'amour est un oiseau rebelle

que nul ne peut apprivoiser,

et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle,

s'il lui convient de refuser.”

She twisted her body, still holding his left hand with her right and gripping his arm with her left, so her right hip pressed into his front. She slid her right leg up until her thigh was straight and kicked the leg rapidly outward behind her left leg, and then let it curl around him.

“Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière,

l'un parle bien, l'autre se tait:

Et c'est l'autre que je préfère,

Il n'a rien dit mais il me plaît.

L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!”

She then turned, her leg still around him and pressed her back into him, keeping his left hand in her right and wrapping it around her left shoulder.

“L'amour est enfant de Bohème,

il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;

si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:

si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!”

She spun around, letting go of his arm and his leg, and faced him once more, her left arm coming to rest on his back and her right leg wrapping around him. He moved his arm so it encircled her back, and she pressed further into him, shifting her hips into his.

“L'oiseau que tu croyais surprendre

battit de l'aile et s'envola ...

l'amour est loin, tu peux l'attendre;

tu ne l'attends plus, il est là!”

She pulled away, crossing and pivoting her hips and legs, and then once again spun to spoon her back to his front, sliding up and down slowly. She grabbed his hands and interlocked them with her own, sliding them down her front.

“Tout autour de toi, vite, vite,

il vient, s'en va, puis il revient ...

tu crois le tenir, il t'évite,

tu crois l'éviter, il te tient.”

She spun around fully, twice. He gripped her instinctively when she faced him on the second time around, halting her and pulling her close to him. She pressed herself up against him, sliding up his body all the way, and let her lips graze over his chin, her teeth gently scrapping over the skin. Harry breathed in shakily as he felt her lips move against his skin, forming the last words, even more softly and slowly than the rest of the song:

“L'amour. L'amour. L'amour, L'amour.”

He felt a breeze, full of static and energy, blow through him, blowing his fringe away from his forehead and leaving him feeling restless.

The music continued, but Hermione stopped, breathing heavy, wetting her lips as she pulled her head in front of his, their lips a short distance apart.

“You see,” she breathed, “you're a natural.”

He wasted no time in replying and instead, pressed his lips forcefully against hers. His hand trailed up her robes, finally exploring the wonderfully high slit that gave him access to her thigh, only to have his passage blocked by her wand holster; he quickly removed it, throwing it to the ground, and continued his explorations.

“Harry.” His name came out as a moan, breathless and enticing.

His lips moved to her neck, nipping it gently and suckling on the spot just behind her ear. He felt her body shake against his, an enthralling tremble.

“Harry,” she moaned again, “Harry, please.”

The plead affected him more than he would have thought possible, and soon he found his desire for her overwhelming, causing his lips to seek hers out once again, more desperately, more fiercely, and backed her into his room. Hermione's hands, never idle, now fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, removing it and throwing it to the ground before they reached the bed and he pressed her into it. She scratched her nails down his chest and rolled her hips against his.

“Hermione,” he gasped. “Hermione—we—”

She rolled them over, her face centimeters from his, “I'm not stopping.” She pressed into him. “I'm yours, Harry.”

Yours.

He disrobed her with reverence, taking pleasure in the gasps and moans she emitted as his fingers brushed over her skin with torturous slowness.

And then it was just he and she.

Harry and Hermione.

A combination of sore hands and weary souls

Colliding in harmony

I'm yours, she had said.

And he was hers—undoubtedly, unreservedly hers.

Notes:

- After repressing my inner fluff addict for so long, I knew, eventually, it would overwhelm me and cause me to write something light and sappy. Oh well, it was only a scene or two after all.

- In case you haven't noticed, I love paranoid!Moody and quirky!Tonks. They're two of my favorite to write.

- Fleur essentially said that she could help out as well, in French.

- Again, Hermione wouldn't be Hermione without her equality quirk.

- Eh, What can I say—after Forever Knight, I'm obsessed with the idea of a Vampire Hermione. I just had to throw in a hint of that here.

- Oh the Tango… If I had any sort of grace I would learn it. I think at this point, I'm living vicariously through Hermione, a fictional character. How sad.

- The moves described in the scene are actual moves preformed in tango, and in fact, I drew inspiration from a dance I once saw to Habanera.

- I drew a little picture to go along with the tango scene: http://imstillsleeping.livejournal.com/12760.html

- The song Hermione dances to is my favorite classical piece; Habanera by Bizet. The lyrical version that Hermione sings is from the opera Carmen. The English translation follows:

Love is a rebellious bird

That nobody can tame,

And you call him quite in vain

If it suits him not to come.

Nothing helps, neither threat nor prayer.

One man talks well, the other's mum;

It's the other one that I prefer.

He's silent but I like his looks.

Love! Love! Love! Love!

Love is a Bohemian child,

It has never, ever, known the law;

Love me not, then I love you;

If I love you, you'd best beware!

The bird you thought you had caught

Beat its wings and flew away ...

Love stays away, you wait and wait;

When least expected, there it is!

All around you, swift, so swift,

It comes, it goes, and then returns ...

You think you hold it fast, it flees

You think you're free, it holds you fast.

Love! Love! Love! Love!

Draw from it what you like. ^^

- Sorry for the non-explicit nature of the ending. I'm really horrible at writing any kind of smut, so I just don't. ^^ I should have asked someone to write a smutty scene for me. Haha.

- I'm posting from vacation right now, and I don't have a lot of time (so there may be more mistakes than usual…), but I promise I'll reply to your reviews as soon as I get back!

- Thanks for reading!

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7. A Union of Lost Souls

Chapter 6—A Union of Lost Souls

Could you love someone enough,
After all you've had and you've lost?
It's a simple question.
I'm only asking because I don't want to die alone.

The Sad Waltzes of Pietro Crespi by Owen

The cave was little more than a crack in the side of the mountain; they had to shimmy sideways through the passage, sliding against the slick walls, covered in mud and slime. Not a word was spoken during the trip, fear of discovery overcoming the need to drown the uneasy silence with small talk. Harry kept Hermione's hand gripped tightly in his own, reveling in its reassuring warmth, and kept his mind open to hers, taking comfort in the steady pulse of emotion connecting them.

She was scared.

But so was he.

Scared in the sense that people were going to die today, and he had no way of knowing whom. Underlying this feeling, though, was a certain sensation of relief; relief that today would bring the end, no matter what the outcome.

He glanced over at the young woman next to him, drinking in the way the shadows from the dim light of her wand played upon the sharp lines of her face, but at the same time gave her skin an overall softness. Her eyes moved up to meet his gaze, full of emotion, but she said nothing.

Looking ahead, he noticed a very small sliver of light. He held up his hand to halt the progression, and then extinguished his wand; the rest of the group repeated the motion, plunging the tunnel into complete darkness aside from the line of faint light up ahead. He shuffled forward, taking care not to make any noise, and looked through the crack. He could see very little, aside from a portion of a dark hallway, and could hear nothing. Muttering a silencing charm on the passage door, in fear of it making any noise when opened, he pushed on the stone door, breathing a small sigh of relief when it slid aside silently, revealing an empty corridor.

The Durmstrang castle was cold; not only in the sense that Harry was glad his robes contained heating charms, but also in that it lacked any sort of comforting feeling. It reminded him of the dungeon of Malfoy Manner where he had been held prisoner for two months.

The rest of his crew crept through the passage door, wands held in tight grips and eyes roaming the castle warily. Remus looked carefully over a copy of the map Wormtail had provided and motioned right. Harry nodded before cautiously heading in that direction. They did not go far, however, before a figure in black rounded the corner, halting at the sight of Harry's battalion. He fired a stunner, but Hermione pushed aside his wand at the last moment, allowing the curse to thud dully into the ground.

“Wait,” she whispered, before stepping forward to address the figure. “Narcissa, what are you doing here?” She demanded.

The figure, now identified as Narcissa Malfoy, pulled back her hood, revealing the characteristic Malfoy platinum blonde hair and a distressed face.

“Draco—Draco is still in the castle. Lucius became suspicious and has been watching him carefully. I must get him out of the castle!”

Harry felt a sharp sting of panic. Hermione placed a comforting hand on his arm, steadying him.

“Leave the castle, Narcissa. Do not be seen and wait in the mountains. I will find your son and send him to you.”

Narcissa opened her mouth to protest, but Hermione cut her off. “You know very well what drives me to see you both safe. Now go. I have a better chance of saving your son than you do.”

Narcissa's face thinned, a remarkable feat considering her natural aristocratic features. “Very well. If you fail in this task and somehow survive, I will kill you.”

Hermione took a few steps forward until she was standing directly in front of Narcissa. “Your threats mean nothing to me. But I will help your son, for my own sake.”

The older woman wrenched a ring off her left index finger. “Give this to Draco. He will know you speak the truth when you direct him out of this place. He is in Lucius' room, in the old Charms room in the East wing of the castle.”

“Fine. Now go.”

Narcissa nodded her head slightly and then brushed past Hermione without another word. Hermione approached Harry, her eyes on Narcissa. “I would stun her, and leave her in the tunnel, but it's your call.”

Harry rolled his wand in his hand. “I think she fears for her son's life more than anything else. She will be of no threat to us.”

“Fine,” Hermione said with a half-shrug. “I'm going for Draco now. You continue onward. I'll meet up with you later.”

He swallowed heavily, but nodded. “Do you need anyone to assist you?”

“No, I'll be better off alone.”

Harry gripped her wrist, pulling her toward him. “Be careful,” he pleaded.

Her face softened. “I will. I'll see you soon.”

“Okay,” he replied, letting go of her. “Good luck.”

She smiled at him before turning around and walking in the opposite direction down the corridor.

He felt like calling out, stopping her and telling her to wait in the tunnel, where it was safe, but knew it would have no effect. Instead, he clenched his fists and jaw and tried to place her in the back of his mind.

And then she stopped walking. Suddenly, abruptly, as though hitting a wall.

She spun around and ran at him, crashing into him in a desperate embrace, and then brought his head down roughly to meet her lips. The kiss was frantic, fervent, hard, and quick.

“I love you,” she breathed after pulling away. “I don't know how, but I do; I love you.”

Harry felt warmth wash through his entire body, the earlier feeling he had attributed to a kind of fondness welling up within him, more pronounced. “Hermione—”

“I know—it's silly and ridiculous and preposterous, but I do, Harry, I do.”

He pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair, and breathing deeply. “It's not ridiculous,” he murmured, “It's just right.” Her hands gripped his shirt tightly. “I love you too, Hermione.”

She relaxed somewhat, her body melting into his. “Please—please be careful. You can kill him, Harry. I know you can.”

“I will.”

She pulled away from him slightly, her eyes piercing into his, flooding him with a torrent of emotions, and then moved out of his arms, taking off down the hallway once again. Harry's eyes followed her until she turned the corner. When she was out of sight, he focused his attention once again on the members of his battalion, all of who starred back with carefully blank faces, aside from a slightly amused Lupin and a smirking Tonks.

“Let's move on,” Harry stated curtly before leading the way down the corridor. To his annoyance, Tonks sidled up next to him, still wearing her smirk. “So, lover boy—”

“Tonks—” Harry began, exasperated.

“—I see you're putting the moves on your newest lady friend.”

Harry's eyes roamed the dark corridor, searching for any sigh of movement. “Now's not really the time, Tonks.”

“Oh? Just a minute ago seemed to be the time, though,” Tonks chirped.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway; Tonks immediately dropped her teasing face and shifted into a dueling stance, wand at the ready. Harry motioned to the squad and stepped into the shadows alongside the wall, his battalion mirroring his move.

A lone figure, dressed in customary Death Eater black, approached, and Harry fired off a silent stunner, letting the Death Eater fall to the floor with a thud. Remus walked swiftly forward to pull back the hood of the figure, revealing a young man Harry was unfamiliar with. He shrugged and wrapped the man in ropes with a quick spell before placing a portkey on him to take him back to the dungeons of Hogwarts.

“A patrol?” Hestia Jones questioned, watching the Death Eater vanish.

“Likely. Seems the others haven't raised any alarm yet.”

A loud bang sounded throughout the castle, followed by frantic shouts and more loud noises.

Tonks glanced over at him with a teasingly reproachful glare. “Looks like you spoke too soon, Potter.”

“Bugger. Alright, let's move.”

His group scurried down the narrow corridors, winding around corners cautiously, with wands out and eyes peeled. It took only a few moments before they came across the first battle between Order members and Death Eaters. Flashes of red and green spells shot around the hallway, breaking away stone from the walls and leaving motionless bodies scattered on the ground.

Harry wasted little time in joining the fray, creating a fiery rope from the tip of his wand and wrapping it around the nearest Death Eater, who screamed in pain, dropping to the floor unconscious a moment later. Harry hurried over to the fallen man, binding him in ropes, and placing a portkey on his body, before battling against the next nearest Death Eater.

It was a relatively small skirmish, and Harry's battalion passed through relatively quickly, leaving Charlie's brigade to finish up with this group of Death Eaters, moving deeper into the castle, in search of Voldemort.

Harry scanned his group, taking in any loses; Jamie Dawsh was missing, but Harry placed the knowledge in the back of his mind to worry about later.

“Remus,” Harry called.

“Yes?”

“Consult the map—I need to know the quickest route to the Main Hall. Voldemort will be there by now.”

Remus nodded.

“Tonks.”

“Yessir?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Contact Moody and Bill. Find out where their squads are.”

“Got it.”

“Take this next right, Harry. Then go down the stairs and follow that corridor. The Main Hall will be at the end.”

“Thanks, Moony.”

Remus' lip curled upward at the reference to his nickname. “My pleasure, Harry. Always a pleasure.”

The look Lupin gave him then made Harry want to stop their progression and have a long talk with the werewolf, reminisce about earlier times. Instead, he took the next right and continued onward.

It would all be over soon.

“Mad-Eye's squad is in a middle of a combat, two floors above the Main Hall. Bill is moving toward there, but his squad ran into Greyback and his wolves when they first entered. They've sustained heavy loses.”

Harry bit his cheek to prevent himself from asking about Ron and Ginny.

Later. Find out later.

With a nod at Tonks, she moved back to walk alongside Remus, placing a comforting hand on his arm, whose face was screwed up in furious expression, but said nothing.

They reached the staircase after a short while. Like the rest of the castle, it was made from dark stone, slick and cool to the touch, and decorated with sinister creatures. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he dived forward, only just avoiding a green bolt that flew over his head, crashing into a gargoyle that adorned the banister behind him.

He swore loudly from the floor, watching as his team fell into defensive positions, crouching along the staircase and watching for their attackers. He gestured to the right, pointing in the general direction of the curse's origin. Moving to a crouching position, he shuffled further down the stairs, ears straining for any sound.

Aside from the noises from distant battles, only silence met his ears.

Facing the solid railing, his head just below the top, he removed an enhanced Wildfire Whiz-Bang from the pouch on his back and tossed it over the banister. The sound of shouted profanities rang out, Harry's cue to stand and start firing curses of a different kind. The rest of his squad followed his example and soon, spells were flying through the air.

A loud thump behind him caused Harry to spin around, only to be tackled to the ground by a pale creature with extended fangs. He tumbled backwards, hitting the ground heavily, but recovered quickly, twisting to pull a stake from his belt, and stabbing the hissing vampire in the chest. Two more landed where the last had fallen. Harry ducked a spell and jumped onto the rail of the staircase, sliding down its length and landing on the first floor. Whirling around quickly, he fired off two stakes from his wand into the chests of the two Vampires he had left behind.

Harry surveyed the area quickly, and then dove behind a stone column. His team was progressing down the staircase, with Tonks in the lead, her wand waving around in furious motions.

A spell hit the column he was hiding behind, blasting away a chunk of the stone near his head. He crouched and swiveled to fire off a retaliatory curse, hitting a Death Eater in the chest.

“Harry!” Tonks panted, running up next to him. “Mad Eye's here.”

“Good.” Harry whistled sharply, over the sounds of battle, then signaled toward the Main Hall. “Let's go. Moody will clean this up and meet up with us.”

He ran out from behind the column, firing curses as he went, moving down toward the large, gaudy doors at the end of the hallway. His battalion followed him, Moody's squad taking their place. His numbers were diminished, but only by a few. He noticed Sturgis Podmore had a nasty gash down his left arm, but still seemed to move speedily, like the rest of the remaining members of Harry's squadron.

“Check the door.” Harry ordered Derrick Ackerman, a friend of Bill's from Gringotts.

The man nodded and began to scan for curses. Harry continued to fire spells long-distance into the battle he had just left behind.

“Finished.”

Harry licked his lips. “Everyone—”

“We're ready, Harry. As are you.” Remus' soft but firm voice reassured him.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Stand to the side. Put up shielding charms.”

Harry flattened his back against the wall, training his wand on the large double doors. “Three, two, one.” With a flick of his wrist, the doors swung open; a shower of spells flew out, sailing past his battalion, all against the stone wall.

After the first wave, they charged, running through the archway and into the massive Main Hall. The Hall itself was larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and far more ominous, not at all helped by the fact that about half of Voldemort's army stood inside, hurling curses at the incoming Order members. He could make out Voldemort himself, sitting in the back of the hall pompously, as though daring for someone to approach him.

Harry steeled his resolve and began to do just that.

He found his progress halted almost immediately by the snarling face of Fenrir Greyback, his pointed teeth dripping with blood. “I enjoyed the taste of your friends, Potter,” he rasped.

Harry clenched his jaw, but before he could fire a curse, Remus halted him with a shout.

“He's mine, Harry! Keep going!”

Remus shot off a golden colored beam and moved toward Greyback. Harry ran to the right, weaving around massive columns and exchanging spells with Death Eaters.

Harry just kept moving, trying to ignore the destruction that raged around him. The battle progressed in a blur of events, flashes of significant actions.

The sting of a cutting spell slicing open his shoulder

The glimpse of Hestia Jones falling to the ground in front of him, her eyes wide open and blank.

The retaliating reductor from Harry that blasted a hole in the chest of the Death Eater; the massive flow of blood from the wound that drained his life

The scream of panic from Tonks; watching her rush toward Greyback who had buried his long fingernails into Remus' neck; the red trickle that fell from Remus' mouth

The arrival of Bill and Moody's squads; the rush of the relief at seeing the influx of red hair to the scene

The sight of McGonagall, face white, attempting to hold the contents of her stomach in her hands, innards slipping in between her fingers

The mad cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange and the furious cry of Molly Weasley, promising to revenge her husband.

The odd glint in Lestrange's eyes as she turned her wand on Ginny Weasley, unsuspecting as she dueled another Death Eater

The scream of Molly as the curse hurled toward her only daughter

The explosion of light and sound as the curse struck a solid silver shield, covering both Ginny and her savior

And then the sight of Hermione, face flushed and robes disheveled, looking wondrously unharmed, but absolutely furious, standing in front of Ginny with her wand out. Harry took a full second to stare at her, feeling suddenly refreshed, as if a new wave of energy had slammed into him. The second passed quickly, and he had to dodge a spell with a swift roll to avoid being hit.

“Oh, it's the mudblood! I've been looking forward to killing you for a long time. You've no one to hide behind now, girl!”

“You've always thought yourself better than me, Bellatrix. It'll be my pleasure to prove you wrong. Show me you're more than the Dark Lord's lapdog. Though, I doubt you'll be able to.”

“Bitch!”

Harry took care of a few surrounding Death Eaters, then moved toward where Bellatrix and Hermione now furiously dueled. Molly Weasley bustled over to him, hitting away a Death Eater with a rapidly fired spell. Ginny followed, blood flowing from a scrape on her scalp.

“Help Hermione,” Harry demanded, wanting more than anything to help her himself, but knowing he had to move on.

Molly's eyes were resolute as she nodded and rushed into the duel. Admittedly, Hermione appeared to be doing more than fine, but Harry did not feel like taking any chances.

“You okay?” He asked Ginny.

She looked disgruntled, but answered in the affirmative before jumping into a duel with a nearby Death Eater.

A loud scream pierced through the air.

Bellatrix lay on the ground, in a puddle of blood, a large spike protruding from her back. Molly looked grim, but relieved, Hermione, painfully blank. He raced over to her, gripping her arm tightly when he reached her. Her faced shifted into one revealing fondness as she took him in, but her eyes remained active, moving around the room wearily.

“You've taken care of the Malfoys'?”

“Yes. Everything's fine.”

Harry paused to block an incoming curse with a shield; Hermione fired off a spell toward the curse's origin.

“Hermione—”

She cut him off quickly. “I'm coming with you, Harry. Don't even bother.”

He sighed, feeling his voice stick in his throat.

“I'll leave the Dark Lord to you,” she reassured him, her eyes conveying a certain tenderness. “But I'll be damned if I let Death Eaters curse you behind your back while you duel him.”

“I love you,” he declared hoarsely.

She looked surprised for a moment, as if he had not said it earlier, but then smiled. “I know. You can show me how much later, but for now—let's end all this.”

He released her, and with a nod they rejoined the battle, moving seamlessly in a fluid motion of blocking spells and returning them, wands twirling in the air with precision. Hermione tended to leave a trail of creatively mauled bodies in her path, while Harry left behind victims who met their fate with a simple reductor.

The time for restraint had ended.

The end was near.

Voldemort was standing when they reached him; he looked gaunt and pale, even more so than normal. His robes hung off his emaciated figure; his fingers spindlier than ever. His eyes, however, still glowed an eerie red; dark magic still poured off his body in waves.

As they approached, a number of Death Eaters encircled them, separating them from the battle raging on so near-by. Hermione moved closer to him, offering a support in her nearness. Harry wished she would not have; Voldemort's snake eyes followed her movement and a wicked sneer appeared on his face.

“Hermione, dear, I see now why you betrayed me. Such a foolish act could only be explained by the weakness that affection brings. Did you learn nothing from me about the dangers of falling prey to such a thing?”

Hermione remained silent, looking composed and relaxed, as though in the midst of a friendly discussion.

“Surely,” Voldemort continued, “the death of your muggle parents taught you this lesson.”

She stiffened, almost imperceptibly.

“Ah, yes. And what a lesson it was. I thought it was rather well crafted, did you not?”

Her hand tightened around her wand, knuckles turning white.

“It was one of my more clever ploys, I think. It was easy to pull off—a simple glamour to redirect your anger where I wanted it to be, and suddenly you were resolutely against the Order.” His lips curled. “And stubbornly faithful to me; a perfect servant: vicious, calculating, cold, and easily manipulated.”

“You bastard!” Hermione's sai was flying toward Voldemort before Harry could fully process it, but Voldemort stopped it with a wave of his hand, sending the weapon clattering to the floor in front of him.

“Foolish girl,” he hissed. “You could have been at my side, recognized by all. Instead you throw it away for a talentless boy; a boy who will soon be dead, along with yourself. AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Hermione moved instinctively, but Harry met Voldemort's spell with an Expelliarmus, and the wands connected with a familiar golden thread of energy. Voldemort looked surprised, but began to grin as the golden thread darkened to a black color. Harry felt his wand heat up, to the point that he could smell the burning flesh, but refused to let go.

“Did you think, Harry, that I would allow you to use the same trick you used four years ago?”

The heat intensified and sparks began to shoot out of his wand.

“The beginning of your demise, Harry Potter.”

And Harry's wand exploded.

The chips of wood buried into his hand, neck, and face. He swore and dropped the smoking remained to the ground, then immediately dodged a curse from Voldemort. Hermione now engaged in battle with the numerous Death Eaters surrounding them, noticed his predicament immediately, cut off from her duel and threw one of her wands to him, and continued using her spare.

He caught it expertly and spun to face Voldemort once again. “PRAVUS FLAMMA!”

The burst of flame that shot out of his wand, more intense than he remembered, engulfed Voldemort. It was difficult to see through the haze the heat created, making Harry unsure how Voldemort was faring under the fire spell, but he held it as long as he dared. When he ended the spell, however, he was disappointed to find Voldemort, charred and slightly shaken, but still standing.

“Impressive, Harry. I see your time with my former servant was well spent.”

Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead, still holding his new wand tightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Hermione; stationed just to his right, take down another Death Eater.

“I don't think it's very fair for you to have such help,” Voldemort mocked. “I find myself forced to make things evenhanded—it's only the proper thing to do.” With these words, Voldemort raised his wand and once again shouted, “AVADA KADAVRA!”

This time, however, the green light flew in Hermione's direction.

Harry, without thought of the consequences, without any thought at all, slammed his body into Hermione's, blocking the curse.

Instead of the end of consciousness that he expected, Harry only felt the jarring pain that came from hitting the hard stone floor and a strange warmth that passed through his bones, a feeling he could only equate to that which the Phoenix Song produced.

He opened his eyes, first taking in Hermione's wide, alive eyes, and then the large dome that surrounded the two of them, a solid but translucent mixture of silver and gold swirls. The dome seemed to pulsate, growing brighter with each passing moment.

Harry stood, helping Hermione get up as well, and took in Voldemort's shocked expression.

“What magic is this?” He hissed, his eyes wide and unbelieving.

He fired off a few spells experimentally, but the dome only absorbed them, growing brighter with each successive hit.

“Hermione,” Harry murmured, reaching out toward the dome wall. “What is this?”

The wall was warm to the touch; exuding a sensation a power greater than Harry had ever felt.

“I don't know,” she whispered, clearly mystified.

The feeling the dome evoked in him was familiar, somehow, as if he had sensed it, felt it before, in a smaller dose.

“Touch it, Hermione.”

The young woman, previously watching Voldemort with an expression of amusement on her face as the Dark Lord grew more and more frustrated, broke away from her observation, seemingly surprised that Harry's hand already rested on the dome.

“What does it feel like?”

Harry smiled, feeling strangely at peace. “I can't describe it. You have to feel it for yourself.”

Voldemort was now yelling at his followers; their curses having no more effect on the dome than his own.

Hermione placed her palm hesitantly on the swirling wall of the dome; her eyes fluttered closed when she made contact, a soft smile lighting her face. Harry's smile grew at the sight, and he felt the dome surge, its power intensifying. Hermione's eyes flew open.

“Oh,” she gasped, eyes shifting to Harry.

“Wha—”

At that moment, the dome began to shudder, though neither Harry nor Hermione withdrew their hands. The golden and silver swirls that comprised the dome wall started to move congregating on a point in between where Harry and Hermione's hands rested, creating an opaque spot on the dome.

Concentrate. The thought, not his own, flew through his mind.

Puzzled, Harry turned to Hermione, but found her with her eyes closed and the same soft smile on her face. She looked peaceful, content, her shoulders relaxed, her face smooth.

The dense spot glowed brightly before shooting out a vibrant beam, comprised of intertwining silver and gold rays of light. It struck Voldemort directly in the chest, holding for only a moment before the entire dome dissipated, leaving a strong sense of magic in the air.

No one moved.

Voldemort remained standing, his eyes widened and disbelieving.

And then he fell to his knees, his wand cluttering to the floor.

The Death Eaters scattered, recognizing their upcoming defeat.

Harry walked forward, toward the man who had caused so much pain in his life, then stopped directly in front of his rigid figure. He picked up Voldemort's wand from the ground and snapped it in half, letting the pieces drop to the ground, alongside Hermione's sai, now forgotten.

Voldemort opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words came out.

Harry raised his wand and held it to Voldemort's forehead, mustering up the hatred he felt for the monster before him, preparing to say the two words that would end everything.

“Harry.” Hermione stood beside him, looking down at the Dark Lord with a strange expression. “Harry, don't.”

“Hermione,” he grit out. “I need to end this, now.”

“No,” she said softly, lowering his wand with a gentle hand. “Not like this.”

Voldemort let out a choking sound and fell forward, catching himself with his hands before his face hit the ground.

“You shouldn't have to hate, Harry,” she whispered.

“Hermione, I have to—”

“He's dying anyway. Just let him.”

“But—” Harry gripped his wand tightly, feeling unsettled. “I need to—”

She shook her head. “You don't.”

The strength in Voldemort's arms gave out; he fell completely to the ground, twitching slightly. Harry raised his wand again, arm shaking.

I have to do this. This is what I'm meant to do. I need to do this.

Hermione touched his arm softly, a mere brushing of her fingers against the dirtied fabric of his robes.

It was enough.

His arm dropped, the words of the curse dying before they left his lips.

Voldemort's shuddering stopped.

The Dark Lord was dead.

Notes:

- I just wanted to clear something up quickly—Hermione isn't a vampire, her biting of Harry in the last chapter was only a symbolic gesture for the benefit of the vampires. Sorry for any confusion!

- The closest I've ever come to any sort of battle was during the few times I went Paintballing, and admittedly, I spent most of the time hiding in the bushes. Haha. Anyways, the point is that it's hard to write what you don't know, so this battle sequence was difficult for me. I have a newfound respect for writers of intense action like madscientist and The Obsidian Warlock, since they do it so well.

- Before DH, I always thought Voldemort kidnapped Olivander in order to create a way to manipulate the connection between the twin Phoenix core wands to his advantage, so I used that here, even though we found out this wasn't possible. Oh well, that's why I enjoy AU stories. ^^

- I know that in war, it's necessary to kill, but I hate the idea of Harry using Unforgivables successfully. There are other ways to kill, and the idea behind the Unforgivables and the absolute hatred needed behind the spells makes them Dark Magic—and Harry, for me, represents everything Dark Magic does not, and that is where his strength lies

- The next chapter will be the last, the epilogue. It's pretty short, just wrapping things up, so I won't make you wait too long for it.

- Today, I finally caught up with all the reviews. Yay! I just again wanted to say thank you for all the response to this story, especially to Hana-xoxo for the rec; that was mighty kind of you. ^^

- Thanks for reading!

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8. Sharing A Nameless Will

There is comfort in loneliness

There is solace in sore hands.

These feelings of emptiness,

That work can't erase,

I'm trying to drive them down.

You came through the emptiness.

You came with your sore hands.

A union of lost souls,

Sharing a nameless will.

I'm trying to drive them down.

Our Nameless Will By Amandine

No matter who had come a-callin'
I would have stayed with you.

Hollow and Bold by Marla Hansen

Epilogue—Sharing A Nameless Will

Harry paced the dungeon-like corridor restlessly, his fists clenching and unclenching periodically.

“Of all the stupid—contrived—idiotic—Those absolute imbeciles—pathetic wastes of—”

“Harry,” Remus sighed, clearly exasperated. “You're going to cut a trench in the stone.”

Harry ignored him, continuing to pace and mutter. “If they actually think—I'll show them Dark magic—curse the pants off—break her out myself—”

“Harry! For Merlin's sake! Simmer down, will you? Hermione's going to be fine!”

“She better be, or I swear—”

“I know, I know.” Remus rolled his eyes. “You'll curse them all and then break her out of Azkaban.”

“And then go after their families.”

Remus rolled his eyes again, scratching at the bandages on his neck.

“Stop that!” Harry barked. “Madame Pomfrey said to leave it alone.”

“But it itches!” Remus whinged.

“Stop whinging!”

“Stop worrying, then.”

Harry let out a huff, and then slid to the floor, looking put out.

“Harry, how could she not get off? You practically vowed to destroy the Ministry if she didn't, not to mention Molly's tearful description of her heroic rescue of Ginny, and then the rest of the Order vouched for her as well.”

Harry mumbled something about `stable civilizations', `categorizations' and `scapegoats'.

“Rubbish. You've been listening to Hermione too much. If nothing else, this new regime simply can't afford to anger the people's hero and savior at this moment. They need your support.”

“They should have let me stay in the courtroom,” Harry grumbled. “And they shouldn't have used this courtroom at all, for that matter. Stupid Level Ten. Stupid Courtroom Ten. Stupid number ten.”

Remus chuckled at that. “They have to maintain some sort of regard for the rules. You know all potential Death Eaters are tried here, and they're not going to let you sit in there and intimidate everyone in the room while they cast their votes.”

Harry huffed again, crossing his arms.

“Funny, I thought you just turned eighteen, not six.”

“Har. Har. Bloody hysterical. Now's hardly the time for jokes, Remus.”

“Fine, fine. Excuse me for trying to bring you out of your irrational depression.”

“It's not irrational! It's perfectly—”

The doors to Courtroom Ten swung open.

“Harry!”

Harry was on his feet and across the room faster than Remus could blink.

“Hermione,” he breathed, feeling lightheaded. “You—?”

She beamed, her eyes sparkling. “Got off. I think it had something to do with the savior of the wizarding world sitting in my corner glaring at everyone who—mmph!”

He did not allow her to finish, pulling her close and claiming her lips with his immediately. She melted into him, her hands burrowing into the black strands of his hair.

“I just love happy endings,” Tonks sighed, attaching herself to Remus' arm.

“I'm just glad to be rid of brooding!Harry,” Remus quipped.

Harry released Hermione reluctantly, finally noticing the numerous flashes going off and the excited murmurs all around them.

“Oops,” he muttered, a wide grin stretching his face.

“I didn't mind at all,” Hermione breathed, looking flushed.

“Where to?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I hate to kill the celebratory mood, but—”

He squeezed her hand. “It's okay. Ready?”

She smiled faintly. “Yes.”

They disappeared with a pop.

“And here I was, thinking there were wards preventing that sort of thing.” Remus grinned, scratching at his bandages again.

“Wards don't stop Harry.” Tonks replied, and then slapped Remus' hand away from his neck. “Stop that! You know what Madame Pomfrey said!”

“Sorry, dear.”

A light breeze met Harry and Hermione as they arrived at their destination, ruffling their hair and cloaks. The setting was peaceful, it's rolling hills and lush grass gave off the feeling of remoteness. Indeed, the surrounding area was home to no man, wizard or muggle.

Home to no man that was alive, at least.

The land itself belonged to Harry; a lot purchased by an early ancestor in hopes that the property value would swell over the years. It had, but the land had remained undeveloped and largely forgotten. Harry had been the first to build on the land, though undoubtedly not for the purpose his great-grandfather had planned years ago.

Hermione's hand slipped into his; he gave it a soft squeeze and began to lead her toward the center of the plot of land, where a simple black gate with a decoration of a Phoenix stood. He stopped before the gate and pulled out his wand, closing his eyes for a brief moment before casting his Patronus; the majestic stag charged through the gate; it opened without a sound.

Feeling her questioning glance on him, he explained, “We all thought it'd be a nice idea to have to relive one our best memories before confronting some of our worst.”

Hermione nodded, watching his Patronus prance around, a wistful look on her face. “I never quite mastered the Patronus charm,” she informed him softly.

“I hadn't thought there was a spell that you couldn't master,” he replied with a smile and a nudge. “You're absolutely brilliant.”

She shook her head. “I must have tried it over a thousand times. It just never—worked. Some other Death Eaters could—they were twisted enough to gain actual happiness from torture and death, but I just—couldn't.” She moved closer to him, tucking herself into his shoulder. “I might be able to do one now though; I've collected some different memories since then.”

“We'll work on it later,” he said, reveling in her warmth.

She pulled away slightly, but kept her hand in his. “I'd like that.”

They passed through the gates; Hermione's shoulders tense, her face blank.

“Stop doing that,” Harry chastised gently.

“Stop doing what?”

“Blocking off everything. It's okay to feel, you know.”

She sighed, biting her lip, “I can't help it; I do it almost naturally now.”

“We'll work on that as well.”

She smiled softly. “I'd like that too.”

They walked in silence until Harry spotted the tall, slate-gray grave they were looking for.

“It's over here.” He led her over to the headstone, her hand gripping his tighter.

When in front of the tombstone, Hermione bowed her head, her fringe falling into her eyes, obstructing his vision of her face. She pulled out her wand and held it in both of her hands, palms up.

“Harry, can I use your wand?”

He removed it from his wand holder and handed it to her without hesitation. “It's actually your wand,” he reminded her.

“It's yours, Harry, if you want it.”

She placed her spare wand on the grave, and with a flick of her original wand, transfigured it into a flawless white rose.

“Hermione, what—”

“The wand that I gave to you to use against the Dark Lord, this wand, was my original wand; the one I chose as an eleven year-old—vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. That wand,” she gestured to the wand-turned-rose on grave, “was given to me by the Dark—” she halted in her speech and paused. “—By—Voldemort, when I joined him; walnut with dragon heartstring.”

Harry wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, feeling remarkably proud of her for saying the name.

“I never used my vine wood wand for the Dark Arts; never killed or tortured anyone with it, only with the walnut wand.” She licked her lips before continuing. “I need to leave that wand behind.”

She handed her vine wood wand to him. “And I need to give this wand to you.”

“But, Hermione—”

“It belongs to you,” she said softly. “I'll get a new one later, I promise.”

He nodded, feeling as though something very significant had just occurred, but not exactly sure what. Nevertheless, he held Hermione's vine wood wand as though it were a prized possession.

Hermione knelt down next to the grave, reaching out to brush her fingers against the rose.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered to the headstone, her eyes downcast.

A single tear fell down her cheek. Harry knew it would be the only one she would shed for her past.

She stood up slowly, her eyes rising to read the inscription on the headstone with reverence.

KINGSLEY WALLER SHACKLEBOLT

BORN 29 June 1968

DIED 3 November 1996

He who was pressed from all sides

But remained victorious in spirit
Is welcomed into the choir of heroes

Harry's eyes roamed around the Order cemetery, remembering those lost in the war: his friends, his teachers, and his companions.

“I'm done, Harry.”

He smiled. “Me too, but if you don't mind, I like to go—” He trailed off, feeling slightly foolish.

She read his expression immediately. “Are you sure you want me to—”

“Absolutely.” Harry then hesitated. “Unless you don't want—”

She touched his face. “Harry, I'd love to go, if you want me there.”

His eyes shone brightly as he gripped both her hands in his and apparated them out of the graveyard, only to appear on a deserted narrow road, just outside of a small village. He led Hermione down the now familiar path, past the cottages lining the road further on, into the center of the town, past the old war memorial, and through the kissing gate that lead to the graveyard.

It was empty, as it so often was; a smattering of flowers on a small number of the graves was the only evidence that the graveyard was ever frequented. The small church connected to the graveyard was dark and quiet, Tuesday afternoon not being a particular busy time.

He stopped in front the large gravestone with his parents' names inscribed and turned to Hermione. It was odd how standing there with her, in front of his parents' graves, produced a sort of peace that was altogether new to him.

“I can't—I mean—I don't really talk to them,” he explained.

“Sometimes it's not necessary, I think.”

His eyes scanned the inscription on the headstone; the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

“Hermione,” Harry began, almost hesitantly, “you know how we blocked Voldemort's curse, don't you?”

She regarded the grave of James and Lily Potter with something close to a smile. “Of course. I don't imagine there's more than one way to block the Killing Curse.”

“But—it was different when my mum—when she—”

“Maybe it was love of a different sort, but it was still unconditional in nature.”

“If that's the case, shouldn't I have, well, died?”

A small crease appeared in Hermione's brow; she nibbled on her bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. “It's hard to determine the results that added variables will have in such a complex Arithmancy problem—”

Harry shot her a slightly exasperated look, mingled with affection.

“In other words,” she continued with smile, “it's impossible to say for sure, but—well—I think it has something to do with the fact that the protection from the curse was two-sided, something that wouldn't have been possible for you as a one year-old.”

Harry frowned. “But doesn't every young kid instinctively love their parent?”

“Instinctively, yes, I suppose so, but I think it's the ability to accept that love, and fully recognize it, that gives it the unconditional aspect. Love can't be unconditional if you haven't experienced any conditions that would change that. Beyond that, there could be other factors as well, such as that each of us was magically mature, enabling the transmittance of the power needed to block the curse.”

Harry grinned, “Ah, I give up. As long as we're both alive. `Sides, hopefully we won't need this particular bit of knowledge.”

She turned to face him fully. “No more battling evil for us, then?”

“Unless you count the evils of legislature, no, I think I've had enough of that.”

Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh, Harry! We have so much to do! So many laws need rewriting! I was thinking we could start with the complete reworking of International Confederation Law 1384, since, really, it lays the foundation for all the injustices that are present in our government today, but Law 1356 could be said to do the same thing—oh, so much to do!”

Harry let out a small laugh and wrapped Hermione into a hug, kissing her on the temple. “Good thing we have a lifetime to get it all done, eh?”

Hermione halted in her muttering to look up at him, almost surprised, then relaxed into him. “Yes, that's a very good thing.”

Notes:

- As if I could ever kill Remus or Tonks. What's that you say about the 7th book? Who dies? La la la, I'm not listening!

- I think I'll just keep using a graveyard scene in every piece of fanfiction I ever write, just in honor of my favorite scene from canon. ^^

- The inscription on Kingsley's grave comes from a poem by Nobert Capek.

- The inscription from the grave of James and Lily, from DH, actually comes from the Bible (Cor. 15:26, to be exact) in case anyone was wondering. ^^

- So, that's the end. I had a really fun time with this one, so thanks to Harry85 for the challenge and to all of you guys for the awesome reviews.

- Lately, every time I finish a story, I think it'll be my last, but then something pops into my mind and won't let me go, so this probably won't be the last you see of me—I have a couple of one-shots written already, if nothing else, and a couple of lengthy ones in the works that I'll never be able to finish. ^^

- Thanks again for reading and sticking with me through this thing! Hope you enjoyed it.

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