Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. You can tell because I'm flat broke.
Author's Note: Seems writer's block struck me down there for awhile. This chapter is mostly just about getting back into the swing of the story. I also tried to do some setup for the next chapter, which was supposed to be this chapter originally. Oh well. Hope you enjoy this. As always feedback is appreciated.
Hannah was running her finger down Anthony's scar. It was flat and blunt and covered much of the young man's forearm. Hannah hated the scar. She hated that it had happened to Anthony. She felt like so much had fallen on him. Like too much responsibility had been dropped on him in too short an amount of time. She worried that the pressure was building and something terrible would happen because of it. He was thinking the exact thing about her.
Their relationship was complicated. Which was putting it delicately. Imagine if two generals with slightly different methodologies were forced to live together while planning a war. They spent the vast majority of their time arguing. Yelling back and forth about what was better for the war effort. The rest of the time they spent apologizing for the things they had said. They seldom got to sit and relax as they were now.
They were sitting together on a big comfortable chair warming themselves by a magical fireplace. They had finished a meal, which was spent largely glaring at each other in anger over a previous argument. Somehow they had begun laughing and collapsed in the chair. They sat there quietly for a long while before Anthony finally spoke. He knew he had to do it, he always did. She was strong. Too strong for an apology.
"I'm sorry." He said softly. Hannah continued to feel the huge scar along his arm. She was silent. Suddenly she rested her head on his chest and let out a great sigh.
"Look." She began, "I think this game of ours has to stop."
"You're right." Anthony said. He didn't know but he had misinterpreted her, "We just have to accept the fact that we're going to argue. I should be more mature."
"Oh." Hannah said shocked. She had meant to tell him something far more personal. She was totally unsure how to take this new development. Their former argument was so far from her mind it was like it hadn't happened. She decided to just play it off, "Yeah. It's big of you to admit that."
They sat there for a long time in awkward silence before they finally got up and decided to turn in for the night.
* * *
Neville was upset. He had no idea how to control the more complicated jinxes that Ginny's plan had called for. He was a good detective, he was a passable wizard. It was the story of his life. Good with plants, bad with magic. Neville Longbottom: Real close to total failure, but not quite. He threw his wand across the room and slammed himself into his chair. He was annoyed. He was feed-up with practicing these spells. He wanted action. He wanted to get Luna to safety. He was upset because his idea got shot down.
He knew a great way to find Luna and the other captives. It was an idea he had fostered for some time now. He wanted to kidnap a Death Eater. It was the only way. Ginny had disagreed because of the danger. Dean had refused because he didn't want to lose the element of surprise and everyone had agreed with one or the other. They were scared. It pissed him off. Everyone was so busy making sure they were okay that Luna was becoming a very real casualty of this war.
As though on cue Ginny walked into his room and silently closed the door behind her. She gave Neville a furtive glance and pulled a seat up in front of him. She rested her hands on his knees and looked into his eyes. He became bashful, like a child caught in the midst of messing up the living room. She spoke softly, but decisively.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
"These spells." He pointed at the list atop his dresser, "Spells are not my strong suit." He admitted.
"A lot of us are working outside our comfort zones, sweetie." She responded.
"I'm not saying we're not." He argued, "I'm saying that we're going about this wrong." They stared at each other. He had never questioned her command before.
"You don't like the plan?" She asked, barely disguising how hurt she was.
"It's not the plan." He tried to clarify, "The plan will work. It's just that it doesn't actually matter."
"How so?" She was somewhat relieved that he was fine with her plan. She trusted his opinion.
"Because unless we know where to look, we'll never be able to use the ruddy plan!" He hollered. She knew what was eating him. He still wanted to capture a Death Eater.
"Is this about the Death Eater thing? Nev, it's impractical." She countered.
"It is not!" He released, "It's the only sure fire way to get what we need. Ask the questions to the person who knows!"
"How do you plan to get him to talk?" She asked. She was going to try to poke holes in his argument. She knew what capturing an enemy would mean, she just didn't know if he did.
"Torture." He answered stone faced. "I can get him talk. No one else has to get their hands dirty."
"And when he answers you? What then? Let him go back to the Dark Lord and give up our names?" She was frustrated. He had to get it. He had to know the cost.
"I'll kill him." Neville answered too quickly. There was a resolve in his eye. All at once Ginny realized that Neville always knew the cost. He was prepared to fight a war. She worried that the rest of them weren't. She also worried about how easy it seemed for Neville.
"Satisfied?" He asked before he got up and left her alone in the room. She was not. She had never seen the dark side of Neville. She had never known the lengths he would go to. But what was worse, what really threw her off balance and made her sick. What she knew was going to keep her up nights. She agreed with him.
* * *
Hermione had said that she was going to let her love grow. That she couldn't ignore what she and Harry had any longer. She had not been lying. Harry was finding it harder and harder to get some time to himself. She was everywhere. He thought letting her into his demons would scare her off, but it didn't. He needed her to give him some space. He needed time to think. He wished so much that she was annoying. He felt like it would make his life easier.
She wasn't though. She was around all the time and he couldn't think. He liked having her around. He liked talking to her. He liked looking at her. He liked her personally. It would be better if she bothered him. If he could grow to not like her. Then he wouldn't spend so much time thinking about her. He asked her to keep away. She had even capitulated. She had gone off on her own for awhile and Harry thought he would finally have some time to think.
But he screwed that up. He went looking for her. He began to miss her and he went looking for her like an idiot. He knew he was an idiot. He hated himself for doing it. But he couldn't keep away. Days later he decided to try manual labor. He went off into the woods to chop firewood. They didn't really need it but he had to find something to take his mind off of her.
Firewood did the trick. Harry liked working. It was one of the few things that calmed him down. It let him vent his rage. It let him get so tired he couldn't think and he couldn't worry. He would chop for hours, way more firewood than was needed. He would take short breaks to breath in the mountain air. Then he was right back to work. Chopping and thinking. Finally battle plans jumped through his mind again.
He had one that he particularly liked. It was an ambush. Real guerilla style. It had some meat on it. He spent most of his day fleshing it out in his head. The only real problem was that it required the other two to master metamorphmagus skills. They still hadn't gotten up to snuff on that. He was beginning to think he would have to enter Godric's Hollow alone. He found it strange that he dreaded that. It was anly a month or two ago that he was insisting on leaving them behind. Now he couldn't imagine a fight without them. Life was strange that way.
* * *
Hermione watched him chop firewood. He had his shirt off. She couldn't help but stare as his muscles flexed under the skin and his sweat dripped down his taut form. She really did love him. She had figured out that it wasn't a passing fancy, it wasn't because she couldn't have him. She actually loved him. She stressed out over what this war was turning him into, and if she could love the man he would become. But when she saw him chopping the firewood with his concentrated stare and his slow smile, she knew the war could never change him enough.
Her, however, seemed totally unable to change. Ron had made some leaps with transfiguring his hair color. He had even managed to get rid of many of his freckles. She could do almost nothing. She was having such a hard time with this. It seemed like it came so easily to Harry. She wished he would let her into his head so she could see how he did it, like he had with Tonks. So far he wasn't letting them. She knew why.
He had shown her some of his darkest moments. She knew it wasn't because he didn't want them seeing what he had done, what he had been through. He didn't want them to know what he planned to do, what he planned to go through. He had never been such a closed book. They had shared everything with each other growing up. The three of them. They never talked anymore. Not about their fears or their plans. About their dreams for the future.
They didn't have any. It occurred to her like a lightning bolt. Harry and Ron didn't really expect to survive! How had she missed that? She looked over at Harry as he chopped wood. He seemed so normal. So peaceful. Was he really having these dark thoughts? Was Ron? The group joker. The funny but brave Ron. Was he entertaining a notion that he would die before all was said and done. She felt badly for them, scared for them. She resolved to talk about it with them.
* * *
Ron wondered how they were going to start destroying the Horcrux. He knew Dumbledore had attempted it to disastrous effect. Harry had told them that Dumbledore believed he would die that year regardless because of his grievous cursed hand. Ron certainly didn't want them cursing themselves. They had enough problems.
He sat by the food as it cooked. He was watching it. It was his night to cook. Harry had gone off to chop firewood, Hermione was trying to figure out how to at least change her hair color. Ron just sat by the fire flicking the deluminator against his leg. Just opening and closing the cap over and over again. A nervous tick he had picked up somewhere.
The food was really starting to smell good. He hoped it would be done soon. His mind wandered off. He thought about Hogwarts. He wondered if they were playing quid ditch that year. It didn't seem likely. He knew dark things were afoot there. He had a real deep desire to return there and save everyone. He felt like it was their obligation. He knew also that he had to meet up with Mr. Lovegood as well as a handful of other things.
He knew more so that they would have to get into Godric's Hollow first. He knew that Hepzibah Smith was the last person in real actual possession of both the Huffle Puff cup (he had done his research) and the Slytherin Locket. She seemed like as good a place as any to start. He wondered if she had house servants. If they could make themselves look like house elves, they could go practically anywhere in the wizarding world.
He tucked the thought away and called the others over for dinner. He was famished. It turned out so was Harry. Hermione didn't eat much and she kept looking at them as though she was concerned. Ron decided that he would never understand her.