The Next Great Adventure

A/N: I started this chapter quite a while ago but never really went anywhere with it. Luckily, a plot bunny hopped its way into my head and I was finally able to finish it! I'm now working on trying to turn this into a full-blown story, so please check back for updates periodically if you like this chapter. All comments and reviews, no matter how short or long, are read and appreciated!

-Kelsey

~*~

Harry recognized the sensation of being thrown from Snape's memories only a moment before he was back on the somewhat dusty carpet in the Headmaster's office, his heart beating frantically against the floor.

"So," he said to himself, not moving an inch from the place where he lay on the soft surface of the carpet. His own voice shocked him. It was so loud, compared to the silence of the room.

"So," he repeated. "So this is how it ends."

How it ends.

The words rang in Harry's ears, echoing inside what suddenly felt like an empty head. He felt he knew nothing. Here he was, lying on the carpet in a room where he had thought, long ago (at least, it seemed so long ago now), that he was learning the secrets of victory, learning how to survive, but had really only been learning how to delay the inevitable. Here he was, with his heart pounding against his chest as though it wished to escape its fate, and he felt he knew nothing at all. He no longer knew who he was, or who his friends were, or anything that seemed vaguely useful.

He had thought that he was Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest Seeker in a century, the one who possessed a power that the Dark Lord knew not, and who would one day use that power against his enemy, somehow, to rid the world of an evil that had been lurking in every shadowy corner for years. He had thought that he was a Gryffindor – strong, brave and chivalrous. He had thought that he was a survivor, having made it past the innumerable brushes with death that his life had thrown at him.

He had thought that his two best friends in the world were Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, who were always by his side, no matter what, and who had always helped him through each of the many rough patches that he had experienced throughout his life. He had believed that the entire Weasley family, except maybe Percy, thought of him like a son or a brother. He had let himself trust an old man – one who had seemed very wise and who had seemed to have Harry's best interests in mind – named Albus Dumbledore.

He had believed that he was at least moderately intelligent. Not nearly as smart as Hermione, of course, but smart enough to fend for himself. He had let himself think that he knew enough, or, at least, nearly enough magic to get through the battle in which he found himself at the moment. He had thought that he knew enough – had learned enough and lived enough and been through enough – to end this thing, to finally free himself of the burden that was Voldemort and live to see the light of a new day.

Now, it seemed, that was almost all wrong.

He felt that he truly knew nothing at all. Nothing valuable, anyway. Sure, he knew plenty of spells, both protective and offensive. Sure, he knew how to duel and how to fight. But did he know how to do what was expected of him now? Did he know how to get up from this carpet and walk to his doom with his wand in his pocket and his hands by his sides? Did he know what it would feel like to leave his body when his long walk ended? Did he know if it would hurt? The answer to all of those questions, he realized, was a firm, non-negotiable 'no'.

He felt, in that moment, that he was nothing more than what nature had made him and what his parents had named Harry James Potter; nothing more than flesh and bone and fluttering, frantic heart. All of those titles – "Boy-Who-Lived" and "Youngest Seeker in a Century" – seemed irrelevant now. All the things he had thought he was – strong, brave, a survivor – seemed silly now, seemed useless. For it did not matter how strong he was, if he was to stand in front of his enemy with no wand in his hand. It did not matter how brave he was; he was doomed to die no matter what he did. It was merely a matter of choosing whether to go quietly to his death or to prolong his suffering, probably taking many innocent people with him in the process.

Pushing up from the floor, Harry settled into a sitting position and put his face in his hands. Never before had he been so very aware of himself, so very conscious of the fact that he took up space, that he existed. What would it be like to leave this behind? What would he experience when he was nothing more than a spirit, nothing more than the stuff of memories?

Speaking of memories, he thought, what about those who he would leave behind? He felt that, despite more than six years together, he knew nothing about either of his two best friends. They had always been so busy trying to save the world, trying to save each other, that they had never really had time to get to know one another the way best friends should, to get to know all those silly little things about each other, all those silly little things that he hadn't deemed necessary to know until this moment, when he felt that, silly or not, he should know. He felt he should know, unimportant as it seemed, which of all the foods that Ron devoured was his favourite. It seemed that he should know, useless information though it was at the moment, when his red-haired best friend had learned to ride a broomstick. Merlin help him, there was so much he didn't know about the ones who had been with him from the very start of his journey, and no time to learn before he had to give himself up.

Amidst all of Harry's pain and desperation, Dumbledore's betrayal seemed like nothing more than something else he should have known. He should have realized that a man as powerful and wise as Dumbledore would never really spend so much of his time protecting a single child out of millions, unless there had been some bigger purpose for this particular boy. He should have seen that Dumbledore could easily have finished Voldemort off by himself, if not for the bit of soul that remained intact inside of one black-haired boy's seventeen-year-old body. Why the old man had not just killed Harry on his own and been done with it remained a mystery to the doomed boy. Perhaps it would have put a bit of a stain on his glowing reputation.

Harry sighed, his breath warming his face between his hands. He should have known. That one thought kept spinning around in his seemingly empty head.

I should have known.

He moved his hands from his face, dropping one beside him and nervously running the other through his perpetually messy hair. It brushed against his cheek on the way, and he found himself highly aware of the fact that he could feel. What would it be like when that was gone? What would it be like to never feel another joking punch on the arm from Ron, never experience another one of Mrs. Weasley's bone-splintering hugs?

What would it be like, he thought as he brushed his fingers across his cheek with a hint of nostalgia, to never feel Hermione's kiss again?

He shook his head at himself, smiling humourlessly. There she was. He had known that she would slip into his thoughts sooner or later. She had had a habit of doing that all year long. Actually, she had always had a habit of doing that, but he had found that she had done so far more often this year, and the last, and even the one before. Ever since he had learned about the prophecy, learned that there was really a chance that he would die at Voldemort's hand, he had found Hermione creeping into his head more and more often. He knew that he cared for her, of course. He didn't deny that, hadn't denied it since he was only twelve years old and sitting beside a stone-cold, Petrified statue of his best friend in the hospital wing, holding her hand in his. The trouble was actually letting her know. He had shied away from the idea for as long as he could remember, telling himself that it was silly to risk ruining something that was already so perfect, something that had already been a blessing to a boy who had never really had any sort of companion before. His friendship with Hermione was something that he treasured, and he had been unwilling to do anything to put that treasure in danger.

Besides, he had thought, Ron fancied Hermione anyway, so he would have been putting two friendships on the line.

It all seemed so silly now, he thought, shaking his head at himself again. Now that death loomed in his future, waiting impatiently for his arrival, it was as though his vision had been cleared of clouds that he had not realized were there, replaced by a plethora of 'could haves', 'would haves' and 'should haves'. He could have told Hermione everything, in the space of more than six years. He probably would have told her if he hadn't thought that he would be risking their friendship, and if he hadn't known that Ron fancied her as well.

Despite all of that, he thought, he should have told her.

And now it was too late for him to do anything. He couldn't very well find Hermione, look her in the eyes and say, "Hey, Hermione, guess what? I've fancied you for years now, but I've never told you. But now that I've found out that I have to die in order to get rid of Voldemort, well, I figured that I might as well drop this bomb on you before I go. Have a nice life."

He sighed. There was no hope for it now. And besides, it was probably better this way anyhow. If he died (he scared himself by thinking the word so easily) without letting Hermione know how he felt about her, it would be one less thing for her to have to deal with when he was gone. Losing her best friend was plenty.

Which brought him back to the present situation, he thought, remembering where he was and why. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and stretched a little, trying to clear his head and calm himself.

All right, he thought with as much determination as he could muster. All right, time to do this thing.

He was aware of the fact that he was shaking a little, but tried to ignore it.

Taking one last look around the familiar office – once a place of comfort for him, now just one of the many things he would never be able to see again – and drawing in another deep breath, Harry took a few slow steps towards the door and placed a trembling hand on the cool surface of the knob. He hesitated for a moment – perhaps, he thought, he could stay here for the rest of his life, and none of what he had just learned would have to be real – before he finally pushed the door open and stepped out onto the rotating staircase.

Harry stepped off of the staircase and into hell.

In the few moments that he had spent in the quiet stillness of the Headmaster's office, he had forgotten exactly what it was like to be in the middle of what was to become one of the greatest battles in wizarding history. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the stone corridors. Curses, hexes, spells and charms of both the helpful and harmful kinds bounced haphazardly from floors to ceilings and back again. Crimson splashes on the walls and floors made Harry's stomach turn in a mixture of disgust, rage and guilt, and here and there a limp form lay hunched against a wall or behind a statue, still and quiet in death. After taking a few steps down the hallway, Harry grimaced and had to look away as he caught a glimpse of Colin Creevey lying on his back in a doorway, his eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. He looked so young, Harry thought as he turned away and quickened his pace, wanting to get away from the castle as quickly as he could. Too young for this.

Hurrying through the hallways, Harry recognized many of his friends and classmates, both dead and alive. He couldn't help but look away every time he saw a fellow Gryffindor slumped against a wall, or a member of the DA lying on the floor, arms and legs splayed as though they had merely tripped and fallen; as though they would stand up any moment, brush themselves off and walk away. It was for this reason that he never saw Neville Longbottom standing in the corridor until he ran right into him, knocking both of them to the floor. They drew their wands and turned on each other before they both recognized a familiar face.

"Merlin, Harry, watch out!" Neville exclaimed as he picked himself up from the floor and offered his hand to Harry, who took it and allowed himself to be helped up. "I could've killed you! I thought you were a Death Eater!"

"Sorry," said Harry, doing his best to pretend that everything was all right and that he hadn't run into Neville on his way to his demise. "Didn't see you there."

"It's all right," said Neville. "Where are you headed, anyway? If you're looking for Ron and Hermione, they were somewhere over that way the last time I saw them," he informed Harry, pointing down the corridor in the direction from which Harry had come.

"Thanks, Nev, but I'm not looking for them right now," said Harry.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, then?" asked Neville. A moment later, a surprised and worried look came over his face. "You're not thinking of giving yourself up?" he asked incredulously.

"'Course I'm not," said Harry. "Would I ever do something as stupid as that?" he asked, as casually as he could.

Neville looked relieved. "Right, 'course you wouldn't," he said with a nod. "You're just acting a bit strangely, that's all."

"Don't worry about it, Nev," said Harry. "This whole mess is just kind of getting to me."

Neville nodded understandingly. "Anything I can do?"

Harry shook his head. "Just try to stay alive, OK?"

"You can count on it," said Neville, forcing a tired smile.

The two continued on their way, heading to opposite ends of the corridor, before Harry suddenly had an idea and called out to Neville, who turned around and answered, "Yeah?"

"Actually, there might be something you can do," said Harry.

"You name it," said Neville, eager to help.

"You know that snake Voldemort's got? Calls it Nagini?"

"Yeah, what about it?" asked Neville.

"Well, I've told Ron and Hermione this already, but if they- if they're busy and you get the chance-"

"Kill the snake?" Neville supplied.

"Yeah," Harry said with a nod. "Could you do that?"

"You can count on it," Neville said again.

"Thanks, Nev," said Harry.

"No problem."

The two boys turned and parted, Harry heading for the Great Hall and Neville disappearing down the corridor. A few minutes later, Harry stopped in his tracks when he turned a corner and saw Ginny kneeling on the floor, comforting a girl who looked like she could be no older than twelve or thirteen, and who was crying into Ginny's shoulder while the older girl gently patted her back.

"I want to go home," the girl whimpered. "I don't want to fight anymore…"

"I know," Ginny soothed. "I know. It's all right."

"I want my mum…"

Harry watched Ginny's eyes fill with tears before she quickly blinked them away. "Me too," she said softly. She glanced down the corridor and noticed that she and the crying girl were no longer alone.

"Harry," she said simply.

He gave a small nod and closed the few feet of distance between the three of them. He wasn't quite sure of what to say. Things were a tad awkward between him and Ginny at the moment, after their break-up and his absence from Hogwarts that year.

"You should get her out of here," he said, gesturing to the small girl, who was looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

Ginny nodded and helped the girl to her feet. She gave Harry a long look, obviously not knowing what to say either, before silently leading her crying companion away. Harry watched her go, wondering if he should have found something better to say. Some sort of goodbye, perhaps, or some sort of thanks for her loyalty to him, her willingness to fight alongside him. But the words just hadn't come, and it was too late now.

He met no one else on his way out of the castle, though he did have to dodge a few hexes and Stun a few Death Eaters to make it out safely. Once outside, Harry was able to escape a good amount of the noise and horror of the battle as he hurried toward the Forest and away from the castle. It seemed the fight hadn't extended this far, at least not yet. He was almost at the edge of the dark cluster of trees when a voice called out to him.

"Harry?"

He froze in his tracks. Oh, no. It couldn't be. Not now.

"Harry!"

He took a deep breath, trying to make himself look a whole lot calmer than he really felt, and turned towards the source of the voice.

"Hey, Hermione."

A/N: Hello again! I don't usually update this quickly (as anyone who has read my work already knows), but the story is chugging along pretty nicely (hurray!) and I'm about to start another week of school (ugh), meaning that there will be some work going on but probably no updates for a little while. So, please enjoy this chapter and, if you have the time, please, please leave a little note before you go!

~*~

Recap from Chapter 2:

"Harry?"

He froze in his tracks. Oh, no. It couldn't be. Not now.

"Harry!"

He took a deep breath, trying to make himself look a whole lot calmer than he really felt, and turned towards the source of the voice.

"Hey, Hermione."

~*~

"Harry, what on Earth are you doing out here?" Hermione asked as she hurried to his side. "I've been looking for you for ages, I- What's wrong?" she asked, concern darkening her expression.

"Wrong?" he asked, pretending that he didn't know what she was talking about. "Nothing's wrong."

"You're lying," she said simply, and he felt intensely guilty.

"Hermione…"

"What are you doing out here?" she asked again. "You can't be thinking of giving yourself up," she said worriedly. "You're not, right?"

"Hermione…" he said again, not sure of how to get himself out of this one. He didn't want to have to tell her where he was going, but he had a feeling that she would drag it out of him in the end, even if she had to do it by force.

His one-word response seemed to be enough for her. Her eyes widened, shock replacing the worry on her face. "No!" she exclaimed, causing Harry to jump a little. He watched as shock turned to anger on her face. "Harry Potter, I am not going to let you-" she began fiercely, but he cut her off.

"I have to do it," he said quietly. "I don't have a choice."

"What kind of rubbish is that?" she demanded. "I don't know what kind of sick joke you're trying to play on me, Harry, but it isn't funny!"

"I'm not trying to be funny," he said. "And I'm not joking."

"Then what are you talking about, saying you 'don't have a choice'?" she asked angrily. "You're honestly trying to make me believe that you have to just walk in there and-"

"I'm a Horcrux, Hermione," he said, cutting her off again.

She blinked in surprise, evidently forgetting that she was angry with him. "What?"

"I'm a Horcrux," he repeated. "I have to die." The words came so easily that it scared him. "Voldemort can't be killed while I'm still alive."

He seemed to have rendered her speechless. She looked up at him with those widened eyes again, her lips slightly parted, as though she wanted to say something but didn't know what that something was.

"I'm sorry," he said sadly. "I didn't want things to have to turn out this way. But I have to go," he said, more to himself than to her. "No one will ever be able to get rid of Voldemort if I'm alive. Not while a part of his soul still exists inside of me."

"B-but-" she stammered. "But you can't, I mean- There must be something we can do to- You can't honestly have to-" She fell silent, looking at him with a helpless expression on her face. She was begging him to tell her that he was lying, he thought, asking him to change things somehow, and he couldn't do that for her. Unless he lied again, of course, but he couldn't—and most certainly wouldn't—do that to her now. He wasn't checking out of this life with a lie as his last act.

"This has to happen," he said softly. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Her mouth opened again, as though she wanted to argue with him, then closed. She looked away for a moment, her eyes darting frantically over the expanse of grass at her feet as though she expected to find some sort of solution hidden amid the soft green blades. Apparently finding none, she finally turned her gaze on him again, and he took in the sight of her tear-filled eyes and her quivering bottom lip for only a moment before she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Don't, Harry," she whispered tearfully. "Please don't… We'll- we'll find some other way, okay? Just wait a little while longer, we'll find another way to make it right…"

He sighed softly and wrapped her in a snug embrace. "I wish I could do that," he whispered back. "But it isn't going to work this time, 'Mione," he said sadly, affectionately shortening her name as he slowly swayed from side to side in an attempt to soothe her. "We've already learned every way to destroy a Horcrux, haven't we? No matter how it happens, the end result is always going to be the same: I've got to die."

She sniffled and tightened her grip on him to the point where he thought that had Voldemort come and shot his trademark green curse at them, Harry's soul wouldn't have gone anywhere.

"Please…" she whispered desperately.

"I don't have a choice," he whispered back. "I never would have let it come to this if I did." He held her for a moment more, then gently pulled away, cupping her face in his hands. It felt strange, but it was the last time he would ever get the chance to touch her, and he intended to make the most of it. Leaning forward slightly, he kissed her forehead, his hands quickly becoming damp with her tears.

"I’m running out of time," he murmured. "I have to go."

The sound that she made in response could only be described as a soft sort of keening. It hurt him to hear it.

"You did everything you could." He had to find some way to help her, something to say that would ease her pain. "I want you to remember that there was nothing else you could have done to keep this from happening. Can you do that?"

She nodded, more tears spilling from those chocolate-brown eyes.

"Good," he said, pulling her against him one last time. "Could you…" he started, unsure of whether or not he should ask what he wanted to ask. "Could you tell Ron the same thing for me? Please?"

"Of course," she replied, tearfully and sincerely. "Yes, of course."

"Thank you." It was becoming hard for him to keep it together and he decided that he needed to go before he broke down. Pulling away, he gave both of her hands a firm squeeze.

"Goodbye," he whispered, feeling a hot tear slide down his cheek despite his efforts to stop it.

"Goodbye," she whispered back, returning the pressure on his hands for a few more seconds before she let them go. With one last look at her, he turned and continued on his way into the Forbidden Forest. She stood, crying, shaking a little, and watched him until he disappeared into the trees, sure that her heart was breaking. It was so wrong, so terribly wrong for none of this to have been worth anything. Everything they had done, all those years of fighting and worrying and just squeaking by, surviving by some strange twist of Fate, had turned out to be useless. She had tried so hard to protect him, to keep her best friend alive despite the mark that Voldemort had put on his forehead, and now it turned out that the only way for him to be free of the whole mess was for him to allow himself to die.

It was completely illogical.

At that thought, Hermione forced her mind to stop rambling. Taking deep breaths, she wiped her tears away and struggled to think logically despite her shaking hands and hitching breath. If Harry had to… go, then he wouldn't be able to finish Nagini and Voldemort off himself. Someone would need to be there to do the job.

But could she? Could she kill? The thought of killing Nagini bothered her, but it was really only in the way that killing fish for food had bothered her during her time in the tent, and she knew that she would be able to get over it, especially after having watched the snake obediently end Snape's life at her master's command. No matter how evil and twisted Voldemort was, however, he was still a living man. Hermione had never taken a human life before, not even when her own had been endangered.

She wrung her hands, sighed, and scrubbed them over her tear-stained face. She knew that she couldn't stand around doing nothing forever. The most evil wizard to ever walk the earth wasn't going to wait for her to make up her mind. She blew out a breath and started to pace nervously.

I can't. I can't kill someone.

But you'll sacrifice the whole wizarding world?

There must be some other way to stop anything from happening. Azkaban-

Is about as easy to get out of as a paper sack, when you're VOLDEMORT.

She let out a thin scream of frustration. What was she to do? She would never use an Unforgivable. They were horrible curses, absolutely horrible. She couldn't possibly use one.

Not even for Harry?

She stopped pacing, wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, grief hitting her again like a ton of bricks. Why did she have to go and think of him? He complicated things so much, throwing her into that gray area between right and wrong. Her ethics told her that it was wrong to take a life, but her heart reminded her that Harry was her best friend, a friend who had spent his whole life waiting to rid the world of the man who had scarred him. He would never get the chance now.

Her ethics told her that it was wrong to take a life. Her heart told her that doing so was the best way to honour that of the young man who had touched hers.

She opened her eyes and reached for her wand with a steady hand. For Harry, she thought with finality. For him, she could.

Her conscience was quiet as she stepped into the Forest.

~*~

A/N: Dun dun dunnn… Hope you enjoyed it! Another update should come around in a week or so!

A/N: *drum roll* Here we are, ladies and gentlemen: the one you've all been waiting for!

*abruptly ends drum roll* Well, maybe not, but it's still an important chapter!

Please enjoy this one, as it will be a little while before another chapter pops up. I only have one more chapter finished and I don't like to update without at least two in reserve (just in case my plot bunnies hop away), so I'm cutting it close as it is, but I did promise an update by the end of the week and I intend to follow through.

Happy reading!

~*~

The soft, mossy ground muffled the slap of tennis shoes as Hermione ran through the Forbidden Forest, brushing branches out of her way with one hand and keeping a firm grip on her wand with the other. She had rarely run so hard in her life, but she was scared now, scared that she had wasted too much time standing uselessly while she struggled to listen to both her mind and her heart. What if Harry had already reached the center of the woods? What if Voldemort was back at the castle now, wreaking havoc without the threat of the Boy-Who-Lived standing in his way?

She shook her head at herself as she slowed her pace. There was no point in wondering about that now. She had almost reached the middle of the Forest, and if Voldemort was waiting there, so be it. If he wasn't, well, she would just have to haul her rear end back to Hogwarts before she could do the job that she had set out to do. The only difference was a few minutes of an evil man's life.

She stopped short when she heard the sound of muffled voices from up ahead. After letting out a soft sigh of relief, she began to walk carefully, avoiding any loose twigs or fallen branches in her path. The last thing she wanted to do was let Voldemort know that he had company.

It took a minute or two, but she finally managed to creep up behind a tree just a few yards away from the spot where Harry and Voldemort stood facing each other while a few Death Eaters looked on. She had to cover her mouth to stop a quiet sob when she saw Harry. It was good to see him alive once more, but she knew that it meant that she would have to be present for the last thing she would ever have wanted to see.

"It appears I was mistaken," Voldemort murmured in his quiet, oddly refined voice, circling around Harry as though inspecting him. "I was sure that you would not come alone as I had requested."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, and Hermione was surprised that his voice remained steady. He shifted something around almost imperceptibly in his hands and looked directly at Voldemort with an expression of calm interest.

"Well, because you never do anything on your own, of course," Voldemort replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You've allowed yourself to become dependent on others for your protection, haven't you? You must be utterly useless in a proper wizard's duel."

"We've duelled once before, I remember," Harry said lightly.

Voldemort waved a hand as he continued to circle, his long, black robes giving Hermione the impression that he was gliding instead of walking. "And even then, you were unable to face me on your own, seeking cover behind the spirits of those braver than yourself." He stopped in front of Harry and looked at him with a cruel grin. "But Mummy and Daddy aren't here now, are they, boy?"

Snickers spread throughout the group and the two giants who sat on the outskirts of the circle of firelight looked at each other to share a rather stupid grin. Hermione noticed that Narcissa didn't laugh, choosing instead to turn and hide her unsmiling face from her Lord.

Harry didn't respond, merely rolling the same unknown object around in one hand as he kept his gaze level with Voldemort's. The two stood facing each other for a moment more before Voldemort, apparently realizing that his jab about Harry's parents was not going to get a rise out of him, took a step back and smoothly drew the Elder Wand from his sleeve with one long-fingered hand. There was a beat of silence before that grin spread across his face again.

"What are you waiting for? Draw your wand."

There were more snickers. Fenrir Greyback gave Harry a rude backward shove, causing whatever it was that he had been holding to slip from his grasp and roll away from him on the beaten earth. The laughter intensified as Greyback stepped back with a smug grin on his doglike face, but Harry seemed to ignore it as he calmly reached into his pocket for his wand and held it in front of him, assuming a perfect duelling stance. Voldemort raised his eyebrows.

"Really?" he murmured. "Without anyone to shield you?"

"Just me," Harry replied.

There was an intense moment of silence as Voldemort frowned and lowered his wand. Hermione watched as Harry's expression abruptly went completely blank and realized that he was blocking Voldemort's access to his mind.

He's finally learned Occlumency.

The thought brought on an absurd wave of pride and emotion. Her eyes promptly filled up again and she closed them to block the tears that threatened to fall. It wouldn't do her any good to start sniffling.

She never saw Fenrir until he had her by the collar of her shirt. She tried to fight, even managed to press her wand to his chest, but received a swift fist to the face for her efforts before she could complete her nonverbal Relashio. She saw stars as he grabbed her wand from her hand and tossed it into the clearing.

"He lies!" Greyback cried triumphantly as he dragged her out into the flickering firelight. Voldemort's cruel smile returned.

"Of course, his little Mudblood," he said softly. "Excellent work, Fenrir." He raised his wand again and took a step toward the young woman who struggled against Greyback's grip. "Perhaps I will let you have a bite or two when I've finished with her."

Greyback smiled ferociously as he lifted Hermione off the ground and turned her from side to side, inspecting her. She stopped struggling against him and instead began to pull at her collar, which was cutting off her air supply as it dug into her neck. Her gaze fell on Harry, who stood just a few feet away, unable to do anything to stop Fenrir or Voldemort. He looked helplessly back at her.

"Thank you, my Lord," Fenrir murmured, apparently finding his prize satisfactory despite the rapidly spreading bruise on her face.

"Put her down, you fool. You're strangling her," Voldemort hissed. Greyback obeyed and set Hermione back on her feet, securing both of her wrists in one massive hand. Voldemort stepped back towards Harry with that grin plastered on his face again.

"Well, well," he said. "I must admit, it was a fairly good plan, distracting me by pretending to duel while your friend here waited for the right moment to kill me." He spat the word "friend" as if it tasted foul to him. "However," he continued, "it was also rather cowardly, don't you think?" He waited only a moment, then added, "I don't much care for cowards. Perhaps this will toughen you up."

Hermione clamped her jaw shut on a fearful gasp as Voldemort turned and approached her until they were almost toe-to-toe.

"I'm going to enjoy this, little Mudblood," he murmured as he pressed the Elder Wand to her heart.

"Don't," Harry's voice said from behind him.

Voldemort chuckled, his red eyes twinkling with a malevolent sort of glee. "Why shouldn't I?"

"I'll give myself up."

Hermione saw those crimson eyes blink in surprised before Voldemort carefully rearranged his expression into one of calm interest and turned to face Harry again. It was a good plan, she thought, pretending to "give himself up" to save her when he had really intended to go without a fight all along.

"That's a very interesting proposition," he said. "Why?"

"She's done nothing wrong. She's nothing to you," Harry replied.

Either the note of desperation in his voice wasn't completely fake, or the boy deserved an Oscar, Hermione thought vaguely, her vision hazing a little with pain. Fenrir had tightened his grip on her, having a bit of cruel fun while his master was distracted, and she was almost sure that she could feel her bones beginning to give as he crushed her wrists together.

"I'm the one you want," Harry continued. "You can have me without a fight if you'll just let her go."

"Is that so?"

"You have my word."

Voldemort laughed again. "The word of a half-blooded Muggle lover? Laughable. But I'll play along. Bella," he said, turning to the black-haired woman who stood closest to the fire, "take his wand. We'll see how sincere he is without it."

"With pleasure, my Lord," Bellatrix nearly purred as she rose. Hermione watched surprise flicker across her pale face when Harry handed over his wand without a peep. The two stood looking at each other for only a moment before Bellatrix's face twisted into a sneer.

"Idiot boy!" she hissed. Without warning, her hand swung up and there was a sharp, echoing crack as her palm connected with his cheek. Hermione almost sobbed with relief when the shock caused Fenrir to loosen his hold on her.

When Bellatrix's hand dropped away, Harry's face sported a red blotch and four thin scratches. He merely glanced at her and then looked away.

"Bellatrix!" Voldemort barked. She backed off instantly, her expression shifting back to one of worshipful fascination as she stepped towards her master and bowed slightly.

"Forgive me," she murmured as she passed the wand to him. When he said nothing, she backed away and returned to her position by the fire.

"Bellatrix does have a point," Voldemort said conversationally, casually twirling Harry's wand between his fingers. "You really are no more intelligent than your late father, boy. He thought that he could hold me off without a wand, save you and your worthless mother without a single weapon," he said, eliciting more snickers from the Death Eaters, "and you…" He paused to shake his head, chuckling as he calmly slipped Harry's wand up his sleeve. "You honestly believed that I would spare a Mudblood's life in exchange for yours…"

He turned back to Hermione, trailed a finger down her bruised cheek.

"…when I could just as easily take both."

"No."

Voldemort smiled. "Of course. You see, Harry, what both you and your father failed to realize is…" He paused again as he pressed his wand against Hermione's heart once more. "Well, it's quite simple, really." He turned his head a little to look straight at Harry. "I'm a very bad man."

There must have been something in his expression that Hermione could not see, because it had Harry lunging forward, crying, "No!"

Voldemort's chuckles swelled to a bone-chilling laugh as he gleefully shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry could only stand and watch as the life winked out of his best friend's eyes.

~*~

A/N 2: *shocked gasp*

I actually really liked writing this chapter, and I would appreciate a few reviews about it, if you have the time. I would especially like to know what you think of Voldemort's character here. Is he OOC or okay? I'd love to hear from you, whether your opinions are good or bad!

Until next time,

-Kelsey

A/N: Hi again, everyone. It's been a little while since I've updated TNGA and I thought that it was time to do the unthinkable and post my last reserve chapter (dun dun dun) so that you could all have the part that I'm sure at least some of you were waiting for. This does, however, mean that it might be a while longer before the next chapter comes out, since I'll need to write a few more reserve chapters first. Until then, enjoy!

Oh, and for those of you who were waiting for a little more emotion on Hermione's part, you'll get a bit of it here!

~*~

Harry became aware that he was lying on some sort of flat, smooth surface. It was neither warm nor cold, as was whatever place in which he found himself. Everything appeared to be black until he realized that his eyes were closed.

Eyes. He had eyes.

Upon realizing this, he opened them and looked around. He was, indeed, lying on his side on some sort of floor in the strangest place he had ever seen. There seemed to be a kind of white mist covering everything. No, he realized, it was not, in fact, hiding anything; it was everything. There was only white mist for as far as he could see. The floor seemed to be white as well, but much more solid than the mist. Just to be sure, he shifted slightly and, after realizing that he had arms and hands as well as eyes, pressed his palm to a spot on the floor a few inches from his face. Yes, he decided, it was quite solid.

His ears

(Huh, ears too.)

picked up a soft sound coming from a spot right behind him. He blinked in surprise. He had been sure that he was alone in this strange place.

He heard the noise again and recognized it as the quiet "Mm" of someone waking. He realized that it was a female sound.

It was at this point that he became very aware of the fact that he was naked.

"What the-? Harry?"

Harry was quite sure that he was dead, but he knew that had he been alive, he probably would have had heart failure right then and there.

"Hermione?"

"Yes," the voice replied. "And whatever you do, don't turn around!"

He swallowed with some difficulty. "You wouldn't happen to be wearing anything, would you?"

"No, which is why I'd prefer it if you didn't turn around."

"Oh, Merlin," he muttered, closing his eyes again. "I won't as long as you don't."

"Er…"

His eyes snapped open. "You already did, didn't you?" Of course she had. How would she have known that it was him otherwise?

"I kind of woke up facing you," she replied sheepishly. "I didn't… er… see anything, if it helps."

It did, a little. He blew out a breath. "Okay. What do we do now?"

"I don't know. Give me a minute."

There was silence for a moment before she gasped.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Think of clothes!"

"Sorry?"

"Clothes, Harry! Think of them," she said urgently.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

He did. The thought had barely formed in his head when something white appeared just inches from his face. Shifting a little, he pulled it closer and realized that it was a stack of neatly folded clothes. Keeping his back turned to Hermione, he pulled on a soft, clean, pure white tee shirt and what looked like white pyjama bottoms, leaving his arms and feet bare. Much more comfortable now that he was clothed, he tentatively asked, "You decent?"

She laughed, and Harry was glad to feel the awkwardness slip away. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

They both turned around and took in the sight of the other. Harry had to make a conscious effort to not let his mouth hang open. There was nothing particularly special about her appearance, but he couldn't help but stare. She wore a light and simple white dress that cinched just below her… well, those, he thought embarrassedly, and flowed right down to her ankles. Her feet and arms were, like his, bare. Her face was clean and smooth, free of the many scratches she had received over the course of the battle and her run through the Forest, and the large purple bruise that had been splashed across her cheek was gone. Her equally clean, shiny curls tumbled loosely to her shoulders, framing that smiling face perfectly.

She looked… well, she sort of looked like an angel.

Harry had never, of course, believed in heaven and angels and the like, but given his current location he was willing to keep an open mind.

He was pulled from his thoughts when she gave him a questioning look and asked, "Harry, can you see anything?"

"Yes, of course," he said, not sure why she would ask such a question. "Why?"

"Well, you aren't wearing your glasses."

Reaching up with one hand, he touched the spot on his cheek where his glasses would have rested and felt nothing but his own face. He could see, though. That was interesting.

"Huh. I guess I'm not."

She seemed not to have heard him as she stepped closer to him, giving him another questioning look.

"What now?" he asked.

"I-" She stepped even closer, until their bare toes were almost touching. He watched as her lips slowly curved up into a smile and she softly said, "Your scar's gone."

His breath hitched. "No," he said in disbelief.

"Yes," she replied quietly, gently brushing his fringe away with her fingertips and peering at the smooth, unmarked skin beneath. He almost jumped at first, surprised that she was able to touch him. It seemed that he, like the floor, was solid.

"There's nothing there, Harry," she assured him, using one finger to slowly trace the outline of where his scar had always been. Stunned by the realization that it was gone, really gone, he held still when she leaned forward to gently press her lips to the spot.

"That's good," she murmured as she pulled back. "That's really nice."

Her affection brought it all rushing back in an enormous wave, crashing over him without warning.

"Hermione," he said simply, pulling her against him in a tight hug. Merlin, he was glad that he could touch her, hold her. She felt real; soft, warm and real, and that comforted him. "Oh, Hermione… It wasn't supposed to be like this. You weren't supposed to die."

"I know," she replied, hugging him back. "It wasn't your fault," she added, knowing what his next thought would be. "You did everything you could."

He shook his head before resting it on her shoulder. "What was I thinking, trying to get him to trade you for me? Since when does Voldemort settle for one out of two?" He sighed. "Stupid. Stupid of me."

"No," she said firmly. "No, Harry, it wasn't stupid. You did what you could. I mean, you couldn't kill him, couldn't fight him, because you needed him to kill you. Besides, even if you had fought, Greyback would probably have gotten bored and just killed me while you and Voldemort weren't looking."

He was surprised by how easily she said it, how matter-of-factly she assured him that she would have been doomed no matter what he had done, but then he remembered who he was talking to.

"Always so logical," he said quietly. "Does it even bother you at all, being dead?" he added in a more normal voice.

"Don't be daft; of course it does!" she said, pulling away. He immediately regretted saying anything. It seemed that his lack of tact haunted him even in the afterlife.

She turned her back to him and sighed. "It's not as if I like the thought of never seeing the world again. It's just that I'm here now, aren't I? It won't do me any good to stand around sulking about it. And what about you?" she added, turning to face him again with an accusing look on her face. "You're not exactly sobbing your eyes out either. Doesn't being dead bother you?"

"Well, sure, I suppose," he said, unprepared for her question. "I'm just sort of… in shock, I guess. I mean, I knew that I was going to die, but I certainly wasn't expecting to end up… wherever this place is," he said, gesturing around him.

Her expression softened with understanding and he was glad to see that the nerve that he had obviously touched had relaxed. "Neither was I," she agreed, turning slowly to marvel at the seemingly endless expanse of white mist around them.

They were quiet for a moment before Hermione folded her hands in front of her and shuffled her feet slightly.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you suppose we're in heaven?" She looked away when she asked it, as though afraid that her question would sound childish. Having just asked such a question of his parents a little while earlier, Harry understood her embarrassment.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. For someone who had never thought about the existence of an afterlife overmuch, the place was certainly a bit of a shock. "I thought heaven was supposed to have golden gates and some big bloke with a beard."

She was quiet for another moment and he sensed more of that reluctance in her before she spoke again.

"I've always thought that heaven is different for each person," she finally said. "You know, everyone goes somewhere that will make them happy, instead of just going to the same place as everybody else."

"That makes sense," he said, surprised that Hermione thought of such things. Maybe she wasn't as close-minded as everyone seemed to believe she was. "Except… why are we both here?" he wondered aloud. "Not that I mind having you around, obviously, but it's a little strange for both of us to end up in the same 'heaven', don't you think?"

"Yes, pretty strange," she agreed, looking around again. "Do you suppose we should try to see what the rest of this place looks like? We might figure out what we're doing here if we get a better idea of what 'here' is."

"How?" he asked. "It looks like it's just mist."

"Maybe it isn't," she replied. "I really don't think that this could be all that there is."

"Me neither," he agreed. Then, cracking a crooked smile to lighten the mood a little, he added, "This would be a pretty boring heaven if it were."

She chuckled and surprised him by slipping her hand into his. He reflexively wrapped his fingers around hers before giving her a questioning look.

"Well, we agreed that it's strange for both of us to be here," she explained, blushing just a little. "The last thing I want is for the powers that be to figure out that something's wrong and send one of us off to our own place. If either of us is going, I'll want to say goodbye first, at least."

He understood. He wouldn't want her to suddenly disappear from his side either. Squeezing her hand gently, he murmured, "Okay."

Together, they took a step forward into the mist. After a moment, Harry decided that it was like walking through thick fog. They couldn't see very far in front of them or behind them, but they could see each other clearly. Harry felt a little unnerved by his inability to see the floor. He kept expecting it to stop at any minute, and in the mist, he and Hermione would never realize that anything was wrong until they were already over the edge. He wasn't afraid of heights—in fact, he enjoyed them—but he didn't care for the idea of falling all that much, especially not falling into more of the endless white mist. He gripped Hermione's hand a little more firmly.

She turned to look at him. "Is something wrong?"

He opened his mouth to tell her, then remembered her intense fear of heights.

"No, nothing," he replied.

She gave him a quizzical sort of look but didn't ask anything else. They kept walking in silence until she noticed something and stopped to point it out.

"Look, Harry, the floor is different."

He looked down at his feet and saw that she was right. Instead of the smooth surface that had supported them earlier, the floor now seemed to be made of a slightly rougher, patterned material that felt somewhat familiar beneath his bare feet. It was still white, but the shade varied in some spots—a big change from the uniformity of what lay behind him and Hermione.

"Is that wood?" he asked in surprise.

"I think it is," she replied, sounding equally incredulous. "And… is it getting warmer in here?"

Harry had noticed it too: a welcome heat on his bare arms in a place that had seemed to have no temperature only a moment ago. "Yeah."

She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. "I think we're getting close."

"To what?"

"I don't know. Something. Somewhere. Let's keep going," she said, gently pulling on his hand.

They kept walking, picking up the pace a little now that they sensed that there was somewhere to go. It was only a few moments before they stopped suddenly, staring in shock at what they saw ahead.

"It's a way out," Harry said, rather unnecessarily.

Hermione sighed with relief and pulled him forward once more, hurrying toward the point of light in the distance. As they approached, Harry was surprised again by what lay on the other side of the opening: grass, sky, clouds and trees—perfectly normal, everyday sights.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked Hermione.

"I think so," she replied. "But it looks so… normal. Almost familiar."

"I wonder where we are," he mused as they finally reached the exit. They paused for only a moment before they stepped out into what was undoubtedly sunlight and stood still for a few seconds, taking it the sight that lay in front of them.

"It looks like Hogwarts," Hermione whispered as the realization hit her.

Harry didn't have time to think of a reply before he heard something very strange. At first, he thought that he was simply imagining things, but the sound grew louder and louder and even though he could hardly believe it, he knew that it was real: a chorus of voices that he had never thought he would hear again, all of them joyfully crying his name.

A/N: Okay, so, really long time since I've posted anything here! Before you splatter me with innumerable pieces of fruit and a few root vegetables, let me promise that I have been writing profusely—I just haven't finished anything yet. I'm actually working on a new novel, which I may or may not post in the near future, depending on the amount of work I'm able to do on it.

That being said, please enjoy this long-overdue instalment of TNGA as a peace offering, since I realized just how mean the last cliffy was upon rereading the piece.

~*~

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry's hand slid limply away from Hermione's as he turned, stunned, towards the source of the sound. Three figures, clad in Muggle clothes, were running towards him over the great expanse of grass that surrounded his first real home. It only took a second for his brain to recognize them, and then he was running faster than he had ever run before, running to them as though they might disappear if he didn't make it in time.

There was a great "Oof!" as they all collided with one another, and then Harry's world became a jumble of happy voices and arms squeezing him from all sides.

"Mum!" he cried in joyful disbelief. "Dad! Sirius!"

It took a minute, but the noise finally died down and he found himself wrapped up in his mother's arms. Again, he felt incredibly grateful for the fact that people were tangible in this place. It allowed him to hug his parents for the very first time.

"Mum," he murmured, resting his head on her shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment as her pretty red hair brushed against his face and was surprised, but not all that bothered, when he began to feel tears gathering behind his eyelids.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered back, giving him a squeeze. "My beautiful little boy."

A hand clapped him on the back and Harry opened his slightly damp eyes to see his father smiling down at him.

"What am I, chopped liver?" James asked lightly, holding out his arms. Harry held on to his mother for one more second before moving to hug his father. He was slightly embarrassed when a small sniffle escaped him. Here he was, meeting his father for the first time, and he was crying like a girl.

"There, now," James said quietly, pulling his son close to him. "It's all right."

Harry might have been less embarrassed about his crying if he had been able to see that his father wasn't looking all that manly either.

~*~

Hermione sat on the wooden steps leading up to the gazebo-like structure from which she and Harry had emerged and watched with a smile on her lips as her best friend and three of his lost loved ones were reunited. She didn't mind that he had forgotten about her. It made her happy, watching him hug his mother and father, watching Sirius grab him in a crushing bear hug, laughing his bark-like laugh all the while. It was nice to see him smiling, surrounded by people who loved him, finally getting to enjoy freedom from everything that had burdened him throughout his life.

Still, happy as she was to be able to watch the joyful scene going on in front of her, a part of her mind still wondered why she was here. Had it simply been a matter of being in the same place at the same time as Harry when they were both killed by Voldemort? Did timing have anything to do with where one ended up after death? Was it because she and Harry had been killed by the same man, the same wand, the same curse? She couldn't seem to work out a plausible explanation, no matter how much she thought about it. Every time she came up with a way to justify her presence in what was obviously Harry's "heaven", Sirius became a flaw in her explanation. If being killed at the same time was the reason, Lily and James being here together made perfect sense, but Sirius had died years later. If being killed by the same man or the same wand sent people to the same place, Sirius threw the theory off yet again. Voldemort hadn't killed him; he had gone through the veil at the Department of Mysteries. So what was the reason for people ending up in the same afterlife?

She didn't have time to think about it any further before the flaw in all of her theories came jogging up to the place where she sat.

"So it is you," he said with a smile. "I thought you looked familiar. Nice to see you again, Hermione. Though I don't suppose that these are the best of circumstances for a reunion," he added, probably realizing exactly what he was smiling about.

She chuckled softly and accepted the hand that he offered to help her up. "Maybe not, but it's nice to see you again too, Sirius. How are you?" she asked.

"Dead," he replied wryly.

She rolled her eyes. "Besides the obvious."

He smiled again. "Great. Really great."

He looked it. For the first time since Hermione had met him, he looked happy and healthy instead of lonely and gaunt. As he began to walk back toward Lily, James and Harry, she saw a spring in his step that had never been there before. Being back with his friends in their old haunt was obviously doing him some good.

She knew that he meant for her to follow him, but she hesitated in front of the steps. He noticed within a few moments and turned back around, a questioning expression on his face.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked.

She suddenly felt very shy. "I don't know. I feel like I'm intruding on something."

His expression softened. "You're not. Come on, Lily and James are going to want to meet you," he said, gesturing for her to follow him. "They don't bite," he added encouragingly.

Hermione hesitated again. "Are you sure? This all seems a little personal…"

Sirius rolled his eyes at her and walked back to take her by the hand and pull her bodily along with him.

"Harry's had his personal moment," he assured her as he led her toward the three Potters. "If you're here, you're welcome."

Upon hearing that, Hermione turned to face him as they walked. "Sirius, do you have any idea why I'm-"

She didn't get to finish before they reached Lily, James and Harry. The two eldest Potters smiled at her, while the youngest looked rather sheepish.

"You didn't say that anyone had come with you, Harry," said James, giving his son a look.

"I… guess I forgot," he admitted, "but only for a second," he added in an attempt to redeem himself. "Mum, Dad, this is-"

"We know, love," Lily gently cut him off. "Did you think we would let you go all these years without checking up on you now and then?" she asked when he blinked in surprise. Stepping forward, she offered her son's best friend a smile. "Hello, Hermione."