War Widow

For the third time that afternoon she caught herself lost in thought, staring out the window at the grey clouds, and damp grounds, but not really seeing them. With a sigh she gave the slim band on her left hand one more unconscious turn before gathering up her books and papers and packing them into her satchel, recognizing that she wasn't going to get any more work done.

At 23, she was still young enough to fit in with the university crowd and not look out of place. It was only when someone took the time to really look at her, to look at her eyes that they realized she was older than she seemed.

Hermione wrapped a soft scarf around her neck and slipped on her coat before bracing herself for the ten minute walk back to her flat. Several other students waved or called out greetings to her as she exited campus and she was only stopped twice, rather a record, to schedule tutoring sessions for the coming week.

The flat was small, but it was hers alone. As she peeled off damp outerwear she was again immensely grateful she hadn't had to take on a roommate. The radiator seemed to be out again and for a brief moment she considered just using a warming charm but decided against it, instead choosing to change into warmer clothes and bring the kettle to boil as soon as possible.

Magic. It was, as always, the elephant in the room. She may have been Hermione Granger, smartest witch of her age, member of the Trio, and instrumental in the destruction of the Dark Lord, but here she was just plain, normal Hermione Granger, graduate student.

She hadn't done magic in nearly two years. Her wand was...around. In a drawer in her bedroom if she remembered correctly. She hadn't been back to England either. Collateral damage from the war.

Immediately following the final battle things had seemed alright. They had all returned to the Burrow at Mrs. Weasley's insistence, but after a few days it was obvious that the family needed to heal, and to do that properly they needed to do it alone. She chose to head to Australia to find her parents and bring them back. Harry and Ron had both offered to go with her but she turned them down. Ron did it out of obligation and Harry had offered out of fear.

She knew she shouldn't have left him then. She knew he was on the precipice, but she was so broken herself right then she couldn't have helped him if she wanted to. She woke up every night to Bellatrix Lestrange's putrid breath and a pain in her arm.

Her trip to Australia didn't go exactly as planned. The spell reversal worked well enough and although her parents were initially upset at what she had done they did eventually understand. What she wasn't expecting was when they decided to stay on. She visited for a week and then headed back to England.

Upon her return things were worse than ever. She had no home to go to, the Burrow wasn't an option, and Hogwarts was still in need of repair. In desperation she took a room at the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry came to see her. In hindsight she should have known what was going to happen the minute he stepped through the door. He still had that desolate, disconnected look on his face.

She had been glad to see him. Now that she was back she was hoping they could fix this together. Help each other even though neither of them could help themselves.

But he didn't sit when she offered him a chair. He took her hand and leaned his forehead into hers for what seemed like forever, and as every passing second ticked by her heart got heavier. Finally he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and whispered `I'm sorry.' before apparating without a sound.

She doesn't know how long she stood there, frozen in the same position. A maid dropping a mop in the hallway broke her from her reverie and when she startled she realized she was crying.

She floo'd the Burrow immediately but Ron dismissed her concerns, assuring her he just needed a little time and he'd be back soon. But she knew. She felt it. Harry was gone.

A week went by, and then another, and then it had been a month. Finally, others were starting to notice his absence and ask questions. She gave him time and then started searching.

After eight months of hopping all over Great Britain and some of the continent following leads she had to admit he didn't want to be found.

Her search had given her something to focus on and when that was over she was at a loss.

Helping Harry, fixing Harry, supporting Harry. Loving Harry. This is all she knew, it was all she had known for almost eight years.

It took her time, to grieve really, and to accept a life without him. She didn't think she had ever gotten to the acceptance part. She didn't realize how much a part of her he had become.

Ron had started working at WWW and he seemed content enough. She had missed her opportunity to return to school for her last year and recognized the irony that the best student at Hogwarts in almost a century hadn't actually graduated. However, a fortuitous owl from the Headmistress informed her that she could take her NEWTS with the current 7th years if she would like.

A furious two weeks of studying again gave her something to focus on and before she knew it she was standing at the gates to Hogwarts, trying to tramp down the panic inside. All she could see was death and destruction and the noise of spellfire, and people dying.

Her hand shook through the first two exams, but by the time the day was done she had enough to control to see the castle for what it was and appreciate the reconstruction efforts.

She had done better than she had expected, though this was surprising to no one else. The Ministry offered her a position but she turned it down immediately, not truly understanding why herself.

Two sleepless days were spent pacing, and making lists, and even raging at Harry where ever he was before her decision was made. She was leaving.

With some assistance from the Headmistress, an acceptable application package was compiled and submitted even though it was past the due date. She received a letter later that week apologizing for their delay in notifying her of her acceptance and could she possibly arrive in two weeks when the new term began.

Ron didn't understand why she had to go to some Muggle university in another country, and she didn't have a good enough reason beyond it was something she had to do. He gave her a hug and told her to not be a stranger and that was that.

There was no one to see her off, and with one suitcase she left Heathrow, not bothering to look down once she was in the air.

She secured her flat quickly and within a week had fully immersed herself in the life of a graduate student. Her classes were interesting, and her professors soon realized the extent of her talent, asking her to do research assistance for them, or help with tutoring. This all kept her busy and her mind off of other things.

Two months after she arrived, her neighbor and fellow grad student, Sarah, invited her to go to a pub with them after class. She protested at first and then reluctantly agreed.

In the small, dark bar, she met some others from her department that she hadn't really spoken to yet. They were all swapping stories, getting to know each other, when someone asked if she had a guy.

She felt like the wind had been punched out of her. She had been so actively suppressing thoughts about Harry that to hear someone ask about him, whether they knew that's what they were doing or not, took her by complete surprise.

Sarah stepped in quickly, trying to change the subject and assure her that it was ok, she didn't have to answer if she didn't want to.

“I, um...I lost him. In the war.” she said vaguely. She knew enough about current politics to know they would assume and wouldn't push for more information and she was right.

They carried on after a moment of awkward silence and she stayed until she felt she could excuse herself without being obvious. On the walk back to her flat she passed a small shop that seemed to sell just about everything. She had passed the shop almost everyday and had never gone in. She couldn't explain why she did that night, but before she knew it she was inside standing in front of a case.

An older man came up to her after a few minutes, quiet, and finally asked her in French if he could help her. She gave him a small smile and replied as best she could, although her command of the language had improved significantly since she arrived a few months ago.

Ten minutes later she was walking out of the shop, a narrow band of some sort of darker metal around the third finger on her left hand. If anyone had asked her why had bought it she couldn't have told them. If anyone had asked her why she put it on that finger she couldn't have said, other than it seemed like the right thing to do.

It got around the department almost immediately as these things often do. Between her admission at the pub and the ring, she became the `war widow'. It suited her just fine. No one questioned her quietness or desire to be left alone and soon enough she recognized that she in fact was in a way a war widow in all the ways that mattered just not in the war they thought. She was also a veteran, but no one knew that either.

She was careful to not wear shirts that exposed her forearm, or anything that dipped too low in the front where evidence of her attack in 5th year was still apparent. The only substantial magic she had done when she arrived was cast the strongest silencing ward she knew on her flat. No need to wake her neighbors when she came out of her nightmares screaming.

She managed to carve a life for herself here, or at least a semblance of one. Sarah was a friend now, although Hermione wouldn't let her get too close. They studied together, had dinner a couple times a month and even gone to the movies once or twice. She was friendly enough with the others in the department, and the undergrads she taught and tutored, but at the end of the day she was alone and she was alright with that.

Ron had contacted her a few times, but eventually they both let too much time go between letters and now she hadn't heard from him in almost a year. He was her only connection with the magical world. She had chosen to not receive the international edition of the Daily Prophet and with her parents in Australia she had no need to go back to England.

Once a year. On Harry's birthday she would send a letter to Hagrid. It held the same two words each time `Any word'. And he would always reply with `No'.

This was really the only time she would allow herself to miss him. She took the days around his birthday and hid. She'd try and remember happier times, exciting times, times before they were all broken and damaged.

However, as much as she tried not to she would inevitably remember that night, the one she tried to forget because remembering was just too damn hard.

It was that night. In the tent. After Ron had left. When she was so sad and he was so full of doubt and despair. The wireless was on but she hadn't been paying it any attention, her sadness amplified by the horcrux around her neck. Then suddenly he was there, right in front of her, holding out his hand.

She took it without thought and didn't try and stop him when he slipped the chain over her head. And then they were dancing. At first it was halting and awkward and then she recognized it for what it was, this attempt of his to make her feel better. She smiled and laughed, the first time she had done so in a week. He twirled her around and over balanced them as they stumbled and turned and then just as suddenly his arm was wrapped around her waist and her head was on his shoulder.

They stayed like that until the song was long over and when she pulled back their eyes locked. She knew what he was asking and she answered him with a kiss. They needed this. They needed this affirmation of something that was good and whole and not sullied by war.

Yes, it was...strange, but it was also very right. When she woke up the next morning with his arm wrapped around her she wasn't embarrassed, she was just thankful that in the midst of all the hopelessness they had this between them. Forever.

He had pulled her to him tightly one more time before they got up and got dressed. They never spoke of it again, there wasn't a need to, or a chance really. But that connection was always there. It was there when she offered to go with him into the Forbidden Forest, and it was there when she saw what she thought was his dead body in Hagrid's arms, and it was there in a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron when he told her goodbye without saying the words.

Like she had done every year since she had arrived she gave herself those few days and then picked herself back up and carried on. And now here she was. Four years on, away from the war, away from England, away from magic. She was also only a few short weeks away from ending her time here.

That more than anything was weighing on her heavily. She had become so adept at ignoring and burying and distracting herself from anything to do with him and the rest of the world that now that the reality of her future was in front of her she had no idea what to do.

She was putting the finishing touches on her defense, the dissertation having been completed a month ago. A few last formalities and the graduation ceremony and she'd have to face what was to come.

Her flat was still cold even though it was April and with a sigh she poured the remnants of her tepid tea down the drain. Sarah had mentioned the group was getting together at the pub to blow off some steam before the next two hectic weeks took over. She recognized that warm food and a warm pub were preferable over this and she was out the door before she could second guess her decision.

The pub wasn't far, but with the dark and the damp it seemed further than it was. She cut down an alley between two buildings to shorten her time in the rain.

A sharp pain in the center of her chest and a flare of heat over her forearm took her breath away and caused her to stumble. In an instant her hand was reaching for the wand that wasn't there and she was looking for cover.

Panting heavily she pushed wet ringlets out of her face and scanned the dark. She hadn't had pain in those scars for years. She had no idea what could have caused both of them to hurt at the same time.

She was scared.

The alley was completely deserted as far as she could tell, and other than the runoff from the rain gutters there wasn't any sound either. Her heartbeat was just starting to return to normal when something caught the corner of her eye and an instinct inside her told her to run.

Her muscles tensed and then a shaft of light cut out across the dark space, a bus boy putting a bag of trash out. He didn't pay her any notice. When she turned back whatever she had seen was no longer there.

It was only another hundred yards or so to the pub and she hurried there, constantly looking over her shoulder.

When she slid into the booth she was still shaking but everyone there just took it for the cold. A hot cup of espresso was pushed into her hands and she smiled thankfully at one of the guys from the department.

She was quieter than usual but no one noticed and before long they were heading out. She chose to walk back with Sarah, and by the time they arrived at the flat without incident she had almost convinced herself that what had happened earlier was just a product of her imagination.

The next morning she left early, determined to spend a few good hours in the library prepping before an afternoon filled with tutoring. The rain had gone, and even though it was still cold, the sun peeking through was enough to lift her spirits a bit.

There were few students about at this hour and just as she was climbing the steps to the library she felt a prickle go down her spine just before the same flash of pain she had felt the night before hit her chest.

She fell to her knees on the marble staircase and her satchel tumbled from her hands. She scrabbled backwards behind a pillar, one hand pressed into the scar to try and dull the pain.

One time she could throw off, convince herself it wasn't important, but now...something was going on.

She gathered her things quickly and made her way into the sanctuary of the large building. It took her awhile to be able to shake the stinging pain and the feeling that something big that she didn't understand was at play, but eventually she was able to settle down and concentrate, although she didn't get as much work done as she had hoped.

Her walk home that evening was uneventful even though she was on edge the entire time. As soon as she was inside her flat, she didn't even pay attention to the temperature, instead she raced straight for the dresser in her bedroom.

It took looking through three drawers before she finally found it, tucked in the back buried underneath sweaters she rarely wore. When she drew it out, a faint tingle went through her and it surprised her how natural it still felt in her hand.

After two years of self imposed magical restriction it took her a few tries, but she eventually was able to cast a few levitation spells as practice and then moved on to her doors and windows. Half an hour later there were very few wizards who could get through the wards she had now placed on her flat.

She sat nervously on her couch, idly fiddling with her wand, tracing the carvings and rubbing her thumb over that scar in the wood that had came as a result of being chased by Snatchers through the forest.

She didn't know what to do. Something to do with the magical world was invading her very intentionally non-magical one.

There was a small wizarding village not too far from campus. That's where she would go each year to send the owl to Hagrid. If anyone ever recognized her they had never said and she was never there long enough to be noticed. She contemplated visiting that weekend. Maybe she could find a recent copy of the Prophet, or maybe she'd send an owl to Ron. But she dismissed both thoughts as soon as she had them. Until she had more to go on she wasn't going to let this unknown affect her more than it already had.

But that night before she went to bed she took the small toy sized trunk off her nightstand and held it tight for a moment before placing it on the floor and casting an `engorgio' spell. Her school trunk sat before her looking the same as it had four years ago when she had packed the last of her magical things and shrunk it down before leaving England.

Opening the trunk slowly she was surprised to feel tears prick her eyes as she looked at her past. All her school books, spare parchment, empty potions vials, Gryffindor scarf, and a face down picture frame.

She ignored all these items and dug around in the bottom until she found what she was searching for. Pulling her left sleeve up, she barely glanced at the still raw looking letters before she strapped a thin wand holster to her forearm, wincing as it caught up the scar tissue. Placing her wand in the holster she was brought back to that last year of the war, running from place to place, desperately searching for horcruxes, and trying to end the fear.

Shaking her head, as if she could somehow physically erase the memories, she busied herself with pulling her sleeve down and feeling the slight disillusionment charm activate, not allowing anyone to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Sleep didn't come easy, and when she did finally drift off she was awaken all too soon by images from the war.

She was out of the flat right after the sun came up, feeling more confident since she had her wand again. As she crossed the expanse of green in front of the library she felt that prickle on the back of her neck, like someone was watching her, and this time she spun around, right hand near her left wrist, ready to pull her wand if necessary. But nothing happened. Her scar didn't hurt and she didn't see anyone so she made her way inside.

The next three days went much the same. She kept feeling like there was someone watching her but could never see anyone. She had already made the decision to head into the wizarding village the next day, when she arrived at her flat. She was halfway down the hallway, approaching the door when she saw it.

Carved into the doorframe right above the knob was the word `Mudblood'.

All the air left her lungs at once and she turned quickly, expecting some sort of attack but she was alone.

Reaching out a hand she felt for her wards and found them all intact although it felt as if they had been pushed.

With shaking hands she unlocked the door and stepped in quickly, recasting the wards as soon as she was inside.

Someone had found her. She didn't know who and she didn't know how. Or why. She wasn't exactly hiding. She hadn't assumed a false identity or tried to actively stay hidden, but she had had virtually no contact with the wizarding world for four years. Why now?

Her heart was beating so fast she was surprised it hadn't exploded. Without much conscious thought she raced to her bedroom and threw a change of clothes and a few other things into a small bag before shrinking it and sticking it in her pocket.

Within five minutes of arriving home she was now leaving again. There was a bus that ran between the smaller towns here and if she was lucky she could make the last one that would drop her off one village away from where she was headed.

She saw the bus waiting at the corner and ran the last fifty yards, breathlessly pressing her coins into the meter before taking a weary seat and allowing her eyes to fall shut. She twisted the band on her finger anxiously, hoping that she found some answers instead of more questions.

Twenty minutes later she smiled at the bus driver and got off one town from the wizarding village. There wasn't much light and she was nervous as she glanced around, not hearing or seeing anyone.

She pulled her wand for it's holster and held it down by her thigh, as she headed down the road as quick as she could.

The last town was out of sight and she could just start to make out the lights of her destination when she had the feeling on the back of her neck again and turned to look behind her just in time to see a spell shot her direction. If she hadn't already had her wand out she would have been hit. She was able to cast a quick protego before darting for the cover of the trees.

She thought about sending her patronus ahead, but no one knew who she was and she didn't know where to send it.

She tried to calm her breathing and focus on where the spell had been cast from but the forest was once again silent.

Taking a risk she started to step out into the road again when another spell hit, blasting into the tree next to her and sending sharp bits of bark scraping across her cheek.

She hissed in pain and surprise and began firing back. She kept to the woods but stayed where she could see the road and began working her way towards the village as fast as she could. She knew she was making noise, but something told her the faster she got into the town the better.

Spellfire continued to whizz around her, narrowly missing her on several occasions. She fired back over her shoulder when she could. One more bend in the road and she'd be there.

Suddenly fire shot across her right thigh and she crumpled to the ground. She scrambled backwards until she had some cover and began firing in earnest, not allowing herself to look at her leg. She heard a yelp of pain and then the distinctive sound of someone apparating in haste.

Hoping they didn't have an accomplice she let her head fall back against the tree behind her and took a deep breath. What in the bloody hell was going on!

Finally she worked up enough courage and looked at her leg. It wasn't as bad as she feared. More a burn from a passing spell than a direct hit. The gash was about four inches long and stung like crazy but it wouldn't cause any lasting damage.

Getting to her feet she took one more cautious look around before stepping out onto the road and jogging as fast as her leg would allow her.

The village was mostly quiet when she entered the main street. Shops were closed for the night, the only light spilling from the pub where she knew they let rooms above.

The few patrons inside barely glanced her direction, and the bar keep didn't bat an eye at her appearance.

Key in hand she made her way up a rickety staircase and found her room, immediately casting the same host of wards on this place as she had on her flat. Then she let herself slide down the door and let the tears escape that had been threatening for days.

Her leg throbbed and brought her back to the present. With a long sigh she made her way into the dingy bathroom and enlarged the bag in her pocket. Making due with what she had she cleaned the wound as best she could. Without any potions however, she was only able to cast a very basic healing charm. It took away most of the pain, but did nothing for the mark itself. She'd have a limp for a few days until it healed on it's own. The scratches on her face weren't deep they just looked bad. She refused to look herself in the eye, afraid of who may be staring back.

She changed clothes and lay on the bed although she knew she wouldn't find sleep that night. She'd be counting the hours until the shops opened and she had a chance to get a paper and send an owl, although she was sure now she was being watched. Whoever was after her had to know she was in this town now, maybe she shouldn't plan on staying long.

As she waited she berated herself for doing such a good job of staying outside of the magical world. Now she had no contacts, no information, and no way of knowing what was going on. She would have liked to have thought that if something big was going down that Ron would have sent her an owl, but maybe she didn't have the right to think that anymore.

She couldn't help but wish that Harry was there with her. Being on the run without him felt wrong.

She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew weak sunlight was coming through the thin curtains and she could hear life on the street. Rising quickly she forgot about her leg until she took a step and then she gasped in pain. The healing charm had worn off quicker than she expected. She cast another one and then continued over to the window.

The shops appeared to be open and there were enough people in the street that she felt comfortable not being caught alone.

The main room of the pub was empty at this hour and the bar keep was no where to be seen so she was able to slip out unnoticed.

The owl post was three doors down and she made it there without gathering anyone's attention. Inside there was a small queue and she resigned herself to wait. When it was her turn she suddenly realized she had no idea who to contact.

With a tight throat she asked for the most recent edition of the Prophet and hurried back to her room without allowing herself to look at the front.

Safely behind her wards she sank onto the edge of the bed and opened the paper. At first glance there didn't seem to be anything terribly amiss. The paper was only a few days old, and none of the headlines jumped out at her as reason to explain what was happening.

It was only when she was scanning the shorter articles that she saw something that made her gasp. `Member of the Trio Still Hospitalized After Vicious Attack'

Her hand covered her mouth in shock and tears blurred her vision as she tried to read the article that was woefully brief. Ron had apparently been attacked at his brother's store almost two weeks prior from what she could gather. He'd been in a coma at St. Mungo's ever since.

She tore frantically through the rest of the paper but there was no other article to suggest that there was anything going on to be worried about. Still, she couldn't help but make a connection between the attack on Ron and what had been happening to her.

She paced the small room trying to decide what she should do. She could try and return back to England, but she wasn't sure she wanted to try that alone and with no information. She could try and contact someone via owl, but she didn't know exactly who to write. She could keep running and decide what to do later.

After much deliberation she decided she needed information more than anything else and she couldn't make another decision until she knew what was going on.

She finally decided to write Mr. Weasley. He worked for the Ministry and would hopefully know if there was a connection between her and Ron.

It took her three attempts to come up with a letter than simultaneously gave enough information to let Mr. Weasley know she was in trouble, but not enough to say exactly what had happened.

“Am fine for now. Send R my love. Please advise.”

She hoped he would understand and if anyone intercepted it would not give anything away.

There was no one waiting when arrived back at the owl post. She sent it express and inquired about past copies of the paper but the clerk just gave her a look of disdain before gesturing towards the rows and rows of owl cages. All lined with old copies of the Prophet.

She told herself that barring any more attacks she'd give herself one more day in town before moving on, long enough to hear back from Mr. Weasley.

She made herself go down that evening and order something to eat, although she knew she wouldn't taste it. It would do no good to let hunger and weakness affect her, she had learned that when they were searching for horcruxes. She checked the owl post one more time before they closed for the night, but was disappointed to find there wasn't a response. Hoping she's have one in the morning she headed back to her room.

She had forgotten to leave a light on when she left earlier and the room was disturbingly dark when she entered. Cursing her poor choice she recast the wards and made her way over to the nearest lamp. Just as she turned it on she sensed him.

With her heart in her throat and her wand half drawn she spun on her heel to see the only person in the world who could take down her wards.

He sat in the lone chair. Black robes. Stony expression. He was so still she wasn't even sure he was real until he got up and moved towards her. He was taller, and broader, but his green eyes still shined bright behind his glasses.

The blood was pounding so loudly in her head she was unaware she had gasped his name. Throat clogging with tears as her eyes blurred, not wanting to allow herself to believe what she was seeing.

Her knees felt weak, and between the shock of seeing him again and her healing charm wearing off, her right leg chose then to give out on her.

She would have hit the floor if he hadn't caught her by the elbows. Her breath hitched at the contact and she shut her eyes tight in an attempt to center herself.

He guided her to the edge of the bed and helped her sit and when she opened her eyes again he was kneeling in front of her.

He didn't look so hard now. Looking down at him, he looked like the Harry she remembered, slightly sheepish, and worried about what she was going to say.

“I'm sorry.” he whispered so softly she almost didn't hear him and then bowed his head to await her reaction.

She swallowed heavily, realizing that in four years these were the only words he had spoken to her. They were the last words she had heard him say in England and the first ones she had heard him say here. And as he waited her hand came up as if from it's own volition and fell gently on the back of his head.

She felt him shudder and then she was stroking the dark locks, watching her hand as if it was no longer attached to her, because she never would have expected to find Harry Potter in her room on this night.

As she touched him her breath began to even out. She let her hand ghost over the side of his face, fingers brushing the familiar metal frames until she cupped his cheek. Two strokes of her thumb and then she pulled up gently until he raised his head and met her eyes again.

“Hello.” she said, no more than a whisper.

“Hello.” he replied, hope starting to reach his eyes.

“You're really here?” eyes watering once again. She had imagined this day so many times.

“I'm here.”

And then before she can stop herself she launches towards him. “Oh, Harry!” she exclaims, wrapping both arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.

He catches her on reflex, and maybe muscle memory, and barely keeps them from tipping over backwards.

“I've missed you. I've missed you so much.” she whispers fiercely and feels his hold on her get tighter.

Eventually she feels his hands in her hair and rubbing her back and they both shake when he lets out a shuddering breath.

She holds him forever it seems, not caring that she's getting him wet. He still smells like Harry and feels like Harry, and it's been so long.

She pulls back a little so she can look at him, her hands on their own mission to touch him everywhere. Rememorize.

“Where have you been?” she asks, not expecting an answer. “Where have you been, Harry.” she repeats, her hand trailing over his jaw noticing a new scar on his chin. And then her own question resonates with her and suddenly she's furious.

She wrenches away from him and staggers to her feet. “Where in the hell have you been!” she yells. He hasn't moved. “Where did you go? I looked for you for almost a year! I put everything on hold to find you, but you just disappeared!”

He still isn't looking at her and then suddenly he's standing in front of her. A head taller than her now. But he still hasn't said anything, which is just making her more angry.

“It's been four years!” she roars “I didn't know if you were alive or dead.” she chokes on the last word and has to turn away.

She hears him try and start a sentence and she whirls back “No! I don't want to hear it. There is nothing you could say that could make this o.k. Nothing.” she stalks to the window unable to look at him.

She's never been more unsure of anything before in her life. She is so incredibly angry at him, and at the same time completely overjoyed he was there, in front of her.

The anger was easier to focus on, it had been simmering just below the surface for the past four years.

“I know you were hurting, and messed up, and needed time, but so was I. I searched for you long after everyone else told me to stop. I kept looking, because I needed to. And all around me everything and everyone was being fixed, but I couldn't worry about fixing me then because I had to find you. Except I couldn't find you because you didn't want to be found.”

He hadn't moved from where she left him, but she knew he was listening.

“And then there came a day when I had tracked down another dead end and I just knew. I knew that I wasn't finding you because you didn't want me to. And that's when I gave up.” she knew she sounded bitter and dejected and a part of her hoped that stung him because she had never given up on anything else in her entire life and he had made her give up on the one thing she never thought she could ever give up on.

He took a step back at that and she knew he understood.

“Harry Potter made me give up on Harry Potter.” she said with a dark laugh, “It's kind of meta if you think about it.”

Never, in all these years had she ever really admitted to herself what she had done and why she had to leave. She had to get away because staying in England would mean constant reminders of what had happened and how she had failed. She wouldn't have been able to handle the stares and the questions. `Surely if anyone could find Harry Potter it would be Hermione Granger.' Surely not, she scoffed to herself.

She was ashamed.

Ron had told her over and over again `He'll come back when he's ready.”

Well what about her. Where did it leave her. Was she expected to be put in perpetual stasis until he decided it was time to come back. She couldn't move forward until he was at her side and until that happened she was stuck. And then she had realized it was what she deserved.

So she made what they called a `lateral move' in the muggle world and she slid sideways into university. Waiting.

It was her penance. Her way of paying back the universe for doing the only thing she said she would never do.

“Is four years enough?” she asked him, tears threatening once again “Is it enough atonement for what I did? Because if you come back and then leave again I don't think...” she broke off on a sob, wrapping her arms around herself for support. Her head was so light then she didn't know how she was staying upright. “I don't think I'd survive it.” and then she was falling apart.

He caught her as she fell, at least she assumed he did because the next thing she knew she was sitting in his lap as he leaned back against the side of the bed and he was stroking her hair and saying “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” over and over again.

She reached up a tentative hand and he surprised her by grabbing it and pressing it to his cheek. The next time he repeated his mantra she shushed him gently.

“Gods `Mione.” he almost sobbed and her heart clenched at the sound of him using her nickname, she never thought she'd hear it again. “I want to tell you. I will tell you. But I just can't right now.”

She unconsciously tried to pull back, but he held her tighter “I know I don't deserve that from you, but I hope that you'll understand. I hope you can forgive me.”

She was silent for a long time “Can you at least tell me one thing?” and she watched him swallow audibly before he nodded his consent. “Did you miss me?” she asked brokenly, hating how small she sounded.

He stopped breathing for a moment and then her face was pressed into his neck as he clutched her to his chest “Every day.” he murmured “Every damn day. Don't ever doubt that.” and he said it so fervently that she could do nothing but believe him.

They stayed like that until she felt like she could look at him without bursting into tears, and then she sat up slowly and gave him a small smile before climbing unsteadily to her feet using the bed as leverage, trying not to wince as her leg smarted in protest.

When she was once again seated he stood in front of her, looking entirely awkward and ill at ease and she simultaneously wanted to make him feel better and be glad that he was feeling so miserable.

She ran a hand through her hair and took a ragged breath and then he was grasping her hand in his and turning it into the light.

“What is this?” he asks roughly, looking at the band on her left hand. “Did you...I didn't think...I mean you could have...” he trails off, clearly affected by what he's seen.

“It's just a ring.” she said wearily, not knowing if she has enough strength to explain that as well.

“It's not...”he starts, still holding her hand, still staring at the ring. “It's not from...”

“No Harry.” she says softly, taking pity on him “It was just...easier.”

“Easier?” he parrots, not understanding.

“When I first moved here someone asked if I had anyone, had a guy, and I reacted...poorly. Before I knew what I was doing I said I had one, but I lost him in the war.” she gave him a sad smile “They didn't ask which war and I didn't tell. They just assumed he was... that you, were dead, and I let them think it. Not long after that I bought the ring.” she tried to shrug it off, like it wasn't a big deal but the look he leveled her with let her know he wasn't going to allow that.

“I told myself I bought it because it fit the story, the `grieving young war widow'.” and she sees him visibly flinch at her words. “But really...I really bought it because it's how a felt. I did feel like that, like you were dead, whether you really were or not, I had lost you in the war. In my life you were gone. So the ring reminded me of you, and of what we had, before the war.”

The look he was giving her now was so intense she couldn't have looked away if she had tried. “And what about during the war?” he asked, knowing she would know exactly what he was talking about.

“It reminded me of that as well.” she admitted and it was a long time before he broke her gaze.

“So, if you can't tell me where you've been can you tell me why you're here now? Is it in an official capacity?” she asked, gesturing towards the robes he wore that obviously belonged to an auror.

He looked surprised for a moment and then gave a rueful shake of his head. “I should have known I couldn't get anything past you.”

She was tempted to make a snarky reply regarding the four years he had been evading her but she chose to hold her tongue.

“Yes, I'm an Auror, but not in the way you're familiar with. I'm more on an as needed/where needed basis. That's all I can say right now.” he said apologetically

She nodded her acknowledgment of his unspoken request to not press for more information.

“Are you here because of what happened to Ron?” her voice was thin and strained, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

He scrubbed a hand over his tired face before answering “Unfortunately, yes, I believe so.”

Her eyes shut for a moment “Have you seen him? How is he? The only thing I've read was in one horribly short article from a three day old Prophet. I have no idea what's going on.” she had gotten more frantic as she spoke, the reality that one of her best friends may be grievously injured finally hitting home.

He knelt in front of her and clasped her hands in his “Hey, calm down. I'll explain everything I know.” he waited until she nodded once and gripped his hands tightly “I only heard about Ron yesterday and headed back to London as soon as I could. He's woken up twice since the article you read, and the healers think he'll make a full recovery, it's just going to take some time.” she let out a sigh of relief and blinked furiously to clear her watery eyes.

“That's good news. Very good news.”

He smiled in response and squeezed her hands again. “Now, can you tell me what's been going on here? Everyone thought the attack on Ron was an isolated event but your owl to Mr. Weasley this morning changed all that.”

“If they thought it was isolated why were you called in?” she asked

“Mr. Weasley knows about my...situation. Things were looking bad for Ron and he requested that they send for me. By the time I was found and I arranged to come back he was improving.” Harry explained.

“Oh.” she said, trying not to let the hurt show that no one had contacted her.

“Hey.” he said, lightly turning her head back towards him “Ron was the only one who knew where you were. They searched his flat but couldn't find anything.”

“So, you said no one knew anything until I sent the owl?”

“When Mr. Weasley got it he thought something seemed off. I had arrived about an hour earlier and he showed it to me. `Am fine for now.' That seemed like maybe things hadn't been fine and you didn't expect them to stay fine. And since we then had an owl we knew where you were. I tied up a few loose ends and apparated here. It wasn't hard to find your room, I just walked around until I discovered the one with the most complicated wards.”

She shook her head at him and tried not to smile, she was still mad at him.

“Can you tell me what's been going on? How you got hurt?” his hand came up and brushed gently across the scrapes on her cheek and she felt her breath catch.

“I'm not really hurt.”

He just leveled her with a look “I'm not. I swear. It's healing fine on it's own.”

“You can say whatever you want, but don't think I'm not looking at that leg when we're done here.” he said seriously

“My leg is fine.” she retorted, annoyed that he saw how much it was hurting her.

“Didn't look fine when it gave out on you earlier.” he countered smugly since he knew he was right.

“Fine.” she conceded

“Now, what's been going on?”

She told him everything. From the pain in her scars that night in the alley to the carving in her door to the attack on the road.

“I got here yesterday and I haven't had that feeling of being watched.” she admitted, and gave an involuntary shudder at the memory. “No one seems to know who I am here.”

“You never got a good look at the person who attacked you?”

“No. In fact I never really saw anything, just the spells going by. Whoever they were they stayed far enough back and in the trees so that I couldn't make them out.”

“Did you recognize the casting?” oftentimes certain wizards would become known for sticking with a specific repertoire of spells.

“No, it was all non verbal of course and other than the one that blew the side out of tree and the one that grazed my leg I was lucky enough to not get directly hit with one.”

“And they didn't get into your flat?” he had stood up and was pacing in the small space in front of her now. She was reminded of how he would sometimes do the same thing in the common room while trying to work out what to write for an essay.

“Your flat `Mione?” he asked again, taking her from her memory

“Oh, sorry. Um, no they didn't get in. Same wards as here. They tried, I could feel that they had attempted to bring them down, but they weren't successful.”

“Not many people can get through your wards.” he said, pride in his voice

“That's the point of wards.” she replied, sounding harder than she intended and she saw him flinch.

“No. Harry. I didn't mean...” she cut herself off and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers and sighed deeply before trying again. “I'm glad you got through my wards.”

He gave her a weak smile and then gave her hands a tug. “How about we fix that leg of yours.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could he barely pressed a finger over the wound and she saw stars. “Don't say it's fine.” he stated and helped her scoot back to the head of the bed.

“You play dirty Potter.” she ground out, her leg throbbing now.

“Whatever works.” he admitted.

She realized the problem before he did and made the decision that it wasn't something he hadn't seen before so she shouldn't be embarrassed.

She was undoing her belt when it seemed to dawn on him that she'd need to take her pants off for him to see the burn. He flushed red and cleared his throat before he turned away slightly under the guise of removing his robes.

Underneath he was wearing a blue button down and dark jeans that suited him. By the time he was through rummaging in the pockets of his robes she had divested herself of her pants and was propped against the pillows. The long sleeved tee she was wearing covered her for the most part and she met his eyes with a challenge to see if he was going to make a deal out of this.

She wasn't sure how they stood on that subject. It had only happened once and right after that everything had been so fast. Snatchers and the Malfoy house and Bellatrix and Dobby and breaking in and out of Gringotts and the final battle. There hadn't been a moment to breathe much less talk about it and then he was gone. Sometimes she wondered if she had imagined it. But then tonight she'd seen the flash in his eyes and she knew he remembered.

She shook her head quickly, needing to get those thoughts out of her head and bent sideways to look at her thigh.

“See, it's not that bad.” she repeated. “Looks better than it did this morning.” she says with self confidence.

“Let me look. I had to learn a fair bit about healing in auror training.”

She sat back, and watched as he dug through a pack he had pulled out of his robes and then enlarged, it seemed to be filled with potion vials and tubes.

He knelt next to the bed and laid one hand on her leg above the wound while he used his wand to cast a diagnostic spell.

She felt her stomach flip at his touch and she hoped he wouldn't detect the increase in her heart rate.

His eyes grew dark and he dropped his wand harshly on the bed before turning to his kit.

“What was it?” she asked softly

“Severing charm” he answered in a short clipped tone

She was lucky then. If it had been a direct hit she could have lost her leg or bled to death before anyone found her.

“Oh.” she said shakily and ran a hand down his arm, not missing how tense he was.

He turned back and handed her a potion. “Drink” he directed and she swallowed it down obediently, grimacing at the taste but immediately feeling the throbbing begin to stop.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

He didn't answer, just picked out a jar and scooped a fair amount of salve onto his fingers. She hissed when he applied it, her hand clutching a handful of his shirt.

“Shh, just give it a second.” and sure enough it was soon blessedly numb. The majority of the redness began to fade and she relaxed back into the pillows, letting go of the death grip she had on his shirt but not removing her hand.

She let her other hand rest across her forehead and let her eyes fall shut as he finished up. There was clanking of bottles and some ripping noises but she was so tired she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes.

A shot of something she didn't want to address went through her when he began taping a gauze square to her leg and one of his hands trailed dangerously high while making sure it was secure.

She knew he couldn't have missed her reaction and she dared peek through her lashes to see him busily packing his kit back up, her hand falling from his arm as he stood to move his things out of the way.

She chided herself for her reaction. There was every chance he didn't feel that way about her anymore, or that he didn't ever really feel like that about her in the first place and that night was only about what was needed in the moment.

She had rehashed all of these thoughts a million times in her head but that had done nothing to prepare her for the reality of what it would mean when she saw him face to face again.

She wanted to talk to him, but she was drained right then, mentally and physically and as much as she wanted to stay awake and make sure he wasn't going to disappear in the middle of the night she could feel herself starting to drift off.

Something soft was placed over her and she opened one eye with some effort to see him tucking his robes around her.

“Did you put something in that potion?” she asked slowly, hating how off she sounded.

“You need to rest.” was his reply and she saw him making his way back to the chair, clearly intending to stay there.

“Don't” she said “C'mere.” reaching one hand limply towards him and did her best to scoot to her left and make room.

He hesitated, clearly torn between what he wanted and what he thought he should do.

She could feel herself getting sleepier by the second and she desperately needed him near her, partly for comfort, but mostly so that she could insure he wouldn't run again.

Her breathing got deeper and she fought sleep with everything she had when she felt the bed dip next to her as he climbed in.

“Safe here?” she murmured, barely able to speak, and then she felt a hand stroke through her hair and over her shoulder “We're safe. Your wards are good. We'll figure out where we're going in the morning.”

She hummed her approval before turning towards him slightly, bringing her right arm up to grab clumsily at his hand and dragging it over her stomach, anchoring him to her.

“Don't leave.”

“Never again.” he promised and the last thing she was aware of was his lips brushing across her temple.

She woke up slowly, groggy-headed from the potion, and another rainy day was keeping the sun from announcing itself. The first thing she noticed was that her leg no longer hurt. The second thing she noticed was one very asleep Harry Potter with his head pressed into her shoulder blade and a hand still clenched in the fabric that covered her stomach.

So it wasn't a dream. He was really here and he had really stayed. She let out a shuddering exhale, just then realizing how much distrust she had that he would actually be there in the morning.

Where had he been? Four years with no word and now she discovers he's some sort of Special Branch Auror for lack of another definition. Who in the Ministry knew? Kingsley for sure, that much was certain, but she was so out of touch she didn't even know who the head of the Auror office was right then.

Was he a Hit Wizard? That could explain his inability to go into detail about his job, but she couldn't actually see Harry as a Hit Wizard. They had a reputation for being dirty and going rogue, doing things outside the scope of regulations. But she had to admit that she didn't really know the Harry lying next to her. Maybe that was something he did now.

She came back to the same question: Where had he been? He hadn't been in England, of that she was certain. He had to have been far away, he had said he had to be `found'. That made it sound like maybe even his own department didn't know where he was at all times. Then he had said he needed to make `arrangements' to come back, which suggested he was involved in some sort of operation that he couldn't just walk away from, maybe even undercover. It would be hard for Harry to go undercover even with glamours. Polyjuice was always an option, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be his first choice.

There were wizards and witches all over the world; however, there were only certain areas that had large communities like in England. She had to posit that an Auror of Harry's `specialty' would not be stationed in some tiny wizarding village in Belgium. It made more sense to assume that he was someplace more populated. Not only more populated but one of the larger populations of wizards outside of Great Britain. That really only left St. Petersburg or Hong Kong.

She had been so lost in thought she hadn't felt him begin to wake.

“Worked it out yet?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and she started not only because he surprised her but also because of the way her stomach flipped at how he sounded.

She swallowed heavily and licked her lips before she replied. “Eastern Europe or Asia.” not wanting to annoy him by being too specific, since he didn't want her to know where he'd been.

“Don't insult me Hermione.” he pushed.

“Fine. St.Petersburg,” she said in a clipped tone. This wasn't exactly how she wanted to start the day.

He rolled to his back and sighed heavily, the hand on her stomach fisting in the fabric. “Gods `Mione, why do you have to be so bloody brilliant all the time?”

She didn't answer.

“How'd you know it was St. Petersburg?”

“Your cloak. Heavy weight fabric meant for cold climates and I could feel the warming charms still on it when you put it on me last night. You wouldn't need that cloak in Hong Kong.”

He rolled back towards her and pressed his forehead into her collarbone. “You can't know that. You can't know where I've been or what I've been doing. It's not safe.”

She brought her left hand up instinctively and combed through the fringe over his scar, taken by the genuine concern in his voice.

“Are you a Hit Wizard?” she had to ask.

He let out a dark laugh and shook his head “No. Nothing like that. I can't...I need you to forget where I've been, ok? It's not safe for you to know. No one can know.” he pleaded

She pushed his hair out of the way and began to trace his scar. She had never done that before. “Ok, Harry. I won't mention it again. I promise.”

His eyes slammed shut and she could see him fighting for control. “Thank you,” he said, voice gruff, and she just kept tracing the jagged mark.

The hand from her stomach came up and wrapped gently around her wrist, pulling it away from him slightly so he could look. His thumb followed her lead and ran over the last `d' that still stood out so vividly where her sleeve had fallen back.

With a flash of panic she realized her arm was bare. “Where's my wand?” she asked frantically, eyes shooting around trying to find it.

“Calm down,” he said forcefully. “I took it off of you last night after you fell asleep. It didn't look very comfortable.” Reaching behind him he grabbed her wand and holster off the table and pressed it into her hand.

She felt less frantic as soon as it was in her hand again. “It's funny, I haven't used this wand in so long I couldn't even remember where it was at first, and now that I have it again...it feels like it's been no time at all.”

“That's because you're a witch Hermione, you're supposed to do magic.” he said quietly, and she could feel him scrutinizing her face. “So how come you stopped?”

“Ah, the question,” she began, not sure how or if she could explain this to him.

“Yes. The idea that you haven't done magic in so long...I can't quite understand that.”

“Well, right now, lying here with you...I can't quite understand it either.” she admitted and then took a deep breath before continuing. “It's only been the past two years or so really. At first I used it for little things like the washing up or summoning a book from across the room. After awhile I realized I was using it less and less. And when I did use it...it just reminded me too much of what I lost. Magic meant you,” she said with a small shrug. “So one day I put my wand in a drawer and I didn't get it out again. It wasn't as hard as you'd think, and it helped lessen how often I remembered.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated unnecessarily

“Harry, why...” but she didn't get any farther before he cut her off.

“Not now `Mione. I can't.” And then he was pressing a quick kiss to her forehead and swinging his legs off the bed, heading for the bathroom.

She brought both hands up to cover her face and let out a small growl of frustration. She'd spooked him.

She could hear the shower start and knew he was trying to give them some space. But she needed to know. Not what he was doing now or the specifics of his mission, although she was of course curious, but she needed to know why he left and didn't come back. She needed to know why he left her.

She gave herself a few minutes to wallow and then sat up letting her legs hang over the side of the bed. The bandage was still in place but she felt no pain. Whatever Harry had done last night had worked.

She heard the water turn off and only a few moments later he stepped out and she may have forgotten how to breathe.

No glasses, hair wet, towel wrapped around his waist...she got a very good look at Harry Potter for the first time in a long while.

She must have made a noise because his head whipped towards her and he had the good grace to flush. “Oh, um, sorry. Left my pack out here and...I thought you'd be...I just thought you might be asleep again. Let me just grab it and I'll be...” and then he caught himself stammering and snatched up what he was looking for and headed back into the bathroom, door shutting a bit harder than necessary.

She hoped she hadn't looked too shocked. They had been very carefully avoiding bringing up that, and she didn't think right now was the time.

He came out a few minutes later, fully dressed, and not looking the least bit sheepish. The Auror mask seemed to have slipped back into place.

“Want me to look at that?” he asked, pointing at her leg.

“No. That's alright, I'll deal with it,” she said quickly, standing to make her way towards the bathroom.

Now it was his turn to stare as she realized too late that she was only wearing a shirt that stopped at her hips and a pair of cotton knickers.

“It feels loads better. Promise,” she said with a tight smile “I'll just be a minute and then we can figure out what we're doing.” Before he can respond she slipped through the door.

She leaned back against the door and mistakenly took a deep breath. Instantly she was flooded with the smell of his soap and it brought back so many memories she felt light headed.

She couldn't go there right then, it wasn't the time. So she turned her attention to the bandage on her leg.

It peeled off easily and she was pleased to see the wound was entirely healed. Other than a faint whitish line you couldn't tell anything had happened.

She resigned herself to a quick wash, and ran a comb through her unruly locks before rejoining him.

He had been busy while she was in the bathroom. The bed had been made, his pack was out of sight-presumably shrunk-and her bag sat waiting on the chair along with her wand and holster. His robes must have been in his pack or he had transfigured them since he now wore a short leather jacket instead.

“How's the leg?” he asked, clearly trying to move on from what had happened earlier.

“It's perfect. Barely a mark.” she answered with a smile and crossed to the chair to get her things. As she was strapping the holster to her arm she could feel his eyes on her scar. “So, what's the plan?” she said, wanting to distract him.

“The plan?” he said with a start and lifted one hand to rub over the back of his head nervously and then he was back. “The plan is to get you back to England.”

“And...”

“And nothing. That's it. You need to be back in England where you can have some protection and I can figure out what's going on.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? You expect me to just do as you say and head back home, only to be hidden away in a tower somewhere while you go and slay the dragon.”

“I highly doubt there is a dragon involved Hermione, although...” he stated in all seriousness

“It was a metaphor, Harry!” she barks “You can't seriously believe I'm going to agree to this.”

“I wasn't asking your permission, nor do I need your consent. This is how it's going to be,” he said forcefully, and the look on his face told her he wasn't going to be easily dissuaded.

“Just try me, Harry Potter,” she retorted, her anger rising at his presumption that he could just bully her around like this. “I know it's been a while since you've seen me, but I would hope that you haven't forgotten the last year we were together where I saved your skinny arse on a semi-regular basis, so don't try and treat me like I'm some mark that's just going to cow tow to your commands because you're mister big Auror man now! This is my life and I have every right to...” but she's cut off because in the blink of an eye he's advanced on her and has grasped her by her shoulders and looks like he wants to throttle her.

“You're going to listen to me!” he growls, and she can tell he's barely keeping himself from shaking her. “They called me back because they thought Ron was going to die! I come here and discover you're being hunted. I intend to do whatever I can to keep you safe and if that means that you're going to do what I say and listen to me then that's what it means.” She opened her mouth to retort but his look alone quieted her. “I will not keep you in the dark. You are the most brilliant witch I know and I know you have saved my `skinny arse' more times than I care to count but this is what I do, Hermione. So you're going to have to trust me.”

His breathing was ragged and she couldn't look away from him. “That's what this comes down to. Do you trust me?”

Her throat was so tight she didn't trust her own voice right then and then before she knew it she had waited too long and he was pulling away, the hurt evident in his eyes.

“No. Harry!” she tries, her voice breaking but he doesn't turn back to her.

“It's ok, I deserve that.”

“I do,” she says meekly, knowing that he doesn't believe her, and if she's being honest she's not sure she believes it herself.

His hands clench once, twice. “I think we should take Muggle transportation back to London.” He's back to all business now, and she feels so ashamed she doesn't protest as he starts telling her how it's going to be.

“I know apparating may seem safer, but we don't know who's watching. And quite frankly...” he trails off and seems in conflict with himself. “No. Scratch that. We'll apparate, it's safest.”

“No, Harry. What was the original plan?” She has an idea of what he was beginning to suggest, but she wants to hear him say it.

“Doesn't matter. It's not happening.”

“Not five minutes ago you said you wouldn't keep me in the dark. You ask me to trust you, but you can't make it this long without going back on your word?” she challenges. She knows it's a low hit, but she also knows a question of his honor is probably the only thing that will get him to talk.

His eyes flash dangerously green and for a moment she's sure she sees what the people he's after see.

“Fine.” he bites out, voice hard. “If you were anyone else I'd use you as bait. Try and get them to come after you, and keep doing what they've been doing.”

“So that's what we'll do,” she responds calmly, the plan makes sense to her.

“It's off the table. Forget I mentioned it.”

“No. I am willing to listen to you, but you need to recognize I am not some wilting flower. I can handle myself. Now I don't like the idea of being hunted, but if this will help expose whoever this is then I'm all for it. And you should be too. It's a good plan, Harry.”

He shuts his eyes and she wonders if he's counting to ten or practicing breathing exercises before responding.

“If I agree to this” he starts, clearly not ready to agree with her yet, “If I agree to this you are going to have to stop arguing with me over every single decision.”

She bites her cheek to keep herself from responding the way she'd like “Fine. But only if what you're saying makes sense.”

“Hermione,” he growls

“Fine. I'll try not to argue,” she concedes.

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Try is all I can promise you.”

“Fine.” he replies, parroting her whether he realizes it or not.

There is a long awkward moment between them and then he's reaching into his jacket pocket.

Silently he hands her a slim booklet and she realizes it's a British passport. She feels like an idiot, just then remembering she's left hers at her flat. “How'd you get this? I didn't tell you where my flat was.”

He just gestures at her to open it and when she does she realizes it's not her real passport. This one has her picture but everything else is different.

“Fakes,” he says simply, waving a matching one at her that he still held in his hand.

“Mary Anne Richards, 27, from Brighton.” she reads, “Do I really look like a Brighton girl to you?” but he just gives her a look. “Who are you?”

“Um, Jonathan Richards.”

“Brother and sister?” she asks and when she sees him blush knows she's made a mistake.

“No. Not exactly,” and his eyes dart to the ring on her left hand.

“Oh. Of course. Of course. That makes sense,” she stammers

The silence stretches between them before he finally speaks. “We'll take a bus to the next decent size town and then rent a car and head for Calais.”

“We're going to take the Chunnel back to England?”

“Correct. That should give whoever is after you plenty of opportunity to make a move.” She could tell by the set of his jaw he still wasn't happy with the plan.

“Well then, we should get going. Can't say I'm going to miss the place,” she says with forced levity.

He doesn't reply and then before she knows what's happening he's taking her by the hand and pulling her towards the door.

She stares at their clasped hands and doesn't move. When he turns to see why she's not following, he sees where she's looking.

“Jonathan and Mary Anne Richards, right?” he asks, voice not betraying the strained look on his face.

“Right,” she agrees quietly, and lets him lead them out the door, trying to ignore the tingle in her palm where her hand was pressed into his.

She had settled her bill the day before so they didn't have to stop on the way out. Harry chucked the keys on the bar and a few steps later they were on the street, heading towards the neighboring town.

He kept hold of her hand while they walked even though they were both silent. When the village was mostly out of sight, she realized with a start this was where she had been attacked.

“Oh,” she said with a startled gasp and Harry whipped his head towards her, wand out.

“What is it?” he asked tensely.

“Sorry, it's just this is where it happened. The other night,” she clarified, scanning the trees to see if there was any evidence of the short battle.

“Show me,” he said tersely and dropped her hand, bringing his wand around and casting what she could only assume were some sort of detection spells.

“Well, it's hard to tell really. It was dark, and it was hard to see. And then there was that pesky fighting for my life thing,” she snapped, still irritated with him from earlier and then there was the whole holding her hand incident and she was understandably on edge.

He didn't rise to the bait and she fought the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.

She walked a few more yards down the road and then called out, “Here. There are spell marks on these trees, and the ground's disturbed. I think this is where I fell.” She tried to sound as detached and unaffected as she could, but the longer she stood there, the more she remembered how frightened she had been that night and she wrapped her arms around herself tight.

His hand brushed over her back as he came up behind her and she was glad she wasn't alone this time.

After a few minutes he turned back to her. “There was certainly a battle here. Multiple spells. Too many actually. It's hard to work out which ones are yours and which ones are theirs.”

“I'm guessing mine won't include any unforgivable,” and he inclined his head in her direction as acknowledgement. She had thought she had seen one green spell miss her by a few feet but she didn't want to bring it up. The look on his face told her he knew anyways.

“Any way to tell who it was?” she asked

“Not really. Too much of a mess and I'm not really familiar with the...well, let's just say it's been a long time since I've been around here.”

“I wonder if he's been to the town. It's the closest wizarding village in over two hundred miles.”

“I asked around some yesterday. No one's noticed anyone new besides you.”

She looked at him in surprise. “I never thought they even noticed me.”

“Post master said you come in once a year, midsummer.” He left the statement open ended, expecting her to fill in the blanks for him.

“Yeah. I did.” She almost thought about leaving it at that. “I'd send a note to Hagrid on your birthday to ask if he'd heard from you. He never had.”

He was quiet again. “No, he wouldn't. When I left you that day I never returned. Haven't been back to England until yesterday.”

While she was still processing what he said, he was making his way down the road.

She jogged a bit to catch up with him and he didn't say anything else until they entered the next town.

“The bus won't arrive for almost an hour,” she said, looking at the sign.

“How about we get something to eat while we wait,” he suggested, and she pointed to a little coffee shop she had been to before.

Two cups of espresso and a couple of croissants later they were still sitting silently at a small table under a red awning.

“Is this how it's going to be?” she asked suddenly.

His eyes shot to hers. “How do you mean?” he asked even though he knew exactly what she meant.

“Is it going to be awkward and weird between us? I don't want that,” she answered honestly.

“It doesn't have to be,” he replied and slid his hand over hers, squeezing it gently.

“That's good. That's very good,” and she gave him a small smile.

Just then the bus pulled in and they made their way over. It was only the two of them and a man waiting to board. It didn't escape her notice that Harry maneuvered her in front of his chest and kept a hand low on her back, while still managing to not let the stranger out of his sight.

There were plenty of open seats and Harry directed her to a grouping in the back that was mostly empty. The man who got on with them sat closer to the front and struck up a familiar conversation with someone who had already been on the bus. Their accents were definitely local and she didn't think there was any way the man could be suspicious.

Once the bus started she leaned in close to Harry and waited for him to tilt his head down towards her. “Could we stop by my flat? There are things I should get. Arrangements I should make.”

She saw a muscle ticking in his jaw and she knew he didn't like the idea. “Ten minutes. That's all I'll need. I promise. And my flat is close to the bus stop.”

“Ten minutes,” he conceded, although she could tell he was not thrilled with the idea.

The walk to her building was tense. Harry was constantly scanning their surroundings and she could tell he was nervous about being there, and that he wasn't used to feeling nervous.

From the end of the hall she could see that there were several notes stuck to her door, most likely from Sarah. Harry moved himself in front of her and had his wand out as he approached.

He cast the same detection spells he had in the woods and when he was finished brought her wards down with little effort, much to her chagrin.

“No one else has been here. Not since you left,” he confirmed. “You've got ten minutes,” and then he moved to look out the windows.

She considered giving him a piece of her mind but realized it would cut into her `ten minutes'. She stalked back to her bedroom and brought down a decent sized duffel bag from the top of her closet. A few more changes of clothes and her shrunken down trunk were the only things she really wanted. Everything else would keep until she came back.

In the living room Harry was still moving from window to window keeping an eye out. He didn't even turn her way when she entered the room.

Her laptop was where she left it and as soon as it booted up she sent apologetic emails to her department head and the chair of her dissertation committee, telling them she had an unexpected family emergency back in England and she would contact them later about rescheduling her defense, even if it meant her graduation would be postponed.

She dashed a quick note off to Sarah and turned to Harry with two minutes to spare. “Ha!” she said with a flourish. “Didn't even need the full ten minutes.”

He didn't smile at her though, barely even spared her a glance.

“When does the next bus come?” he said tersely

“Half past. What's wrong?”

“I don't know. Just have a weird feeling,” he said while staring out at the street below. “You ready?” he asked, finally giving her a look. “What's with the bag?” gesturing at her normal sized duffel.

“I thought it might look weird for two people to be traveling so much without any luggage. Thought we were supposed to be flying under the radar.”

“Of course. Good idea,” he replied, clearly annoyed that he hadn't had that thought himself. “So let's get going. If we get a car soon we could be in Calais tonight in time to get the last train to London.”

They were halfway to the stop when she had the feeling again, that prickle on the back of her neck. “Harry,” she said low “I think we're being watched,” but she didn't break her stride or turn around as much as she wanted to.

“I know. Just keep walking.” His left hand was on the small of her back again, and she could see him reach into his jacket with his right and leave it there, no doubt holding his wand.

She clutched the strap to the bag tighter and fought the urge to run. The stop was only a short distance away now and she could hear the bus coming up the street, not that the bus was guaranteed safety, but she knew she would feel better once she was on it.

They were the only ones waiting this time and Harry was crowded behind her, forcing her up the steps almost as soon as the doors opened. They chose a seat towards the back again, Harry at the window which he looked intently out of until the campus was out of sight.

She let her head fall back with a sigh and let her eyes fall shut, feeling her heartbeat begin to return to normal. Harry's hand covered hers where it rested on her thigh and gave it a squeeze.

“How long until you think we can get a car?” he asks and she knows he's trying to get her mind off of what had just happened.

“The nearest decent sized city is maybe sixty miles from here. We've probably got almost two hours by bus.” That muscle in his jaw ticked again, he didn't want to spend that long in one place, especially one where they were sitting ducks.

“How'd you know something was wrong?” he asked after a long bout of silence.

“I had that feeling again,” she admitted

“The pain?”

“No, that... I don't know how to describe it. It's just sort of this awareness I guess. That I'm being watched or that someone magical is there. I got it when you were in my room yesterday as well.”

“And you've never felt that before?”

“Other than the past week? No. Never.” She thought for a bit and then continued, “And I think it's fair to say that the feeling wasn't as strong this time.”

He didn't respond.

“What do you think it means?” she asks, slight edge to her voice as she wasn't enjoying this taciturn and tight lipped Harry sitting next to her.

“Not sure.”

“Don't lie to me Harry. I said I would try to not fight you, but you said you would tell me what was going on. So tell me!” The last part was spoken in a harsh whisper and a woman a few rows before them shifted in her seat slightly.

Harry turned his head so only she could hear him and his voice was deadly calm when he spoke. “I'm telling you what I know. But you need to keep your voice down, unless you'd like to make yourself even more of a walking target than you already are.”

Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, partly due to shame for being petulant and being called on it, and partly because she didn't think she particularly liked `Auror Harry' and she just wanted her friend back.

He must have seen her struggle for control or recognized he had been a bit harsh because he was lifting his arm to wrap around her shoulders and pulling her towards him. “Come here. I'm sorry. I just need you to be safe. Why don't you try and rest until we get there.”

She hesitated at first, but she hadn't had decent sleep in so long the invitation was too good to resist.

She let her head rest on his chest and laid her left hand across his middle, feeling where his wand sat in a holster under his jacket. His hand ghosted across her hair and between the lulling of the bus and the stress catching up with her, she was asleep sooner than she expected.

The next thing she knew he was shaking her slightly and whispering her name. She lifted her head and blinked owlishly before looking out the window and seeing that they were now in a much more populated area. Cars whizzed by, bicyclists careened around corners, and the sidewalks were busy.

She sat up all the way and rubbed self consciously at her cheek, wondering if she had any marks on it. She gave him a slight smile “Thanks. You make a good pillow.” She had been going for light and funny, but the second the words were out of her mouth she wished she could take them back as she had a flash of memory to the night in the tent where she had also used him as pillow, just one with much less clothing on.

He must have had the same thought because he cleared his throat roughly and turned to look out the window, refusing to look at her.

She shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She finger combed her hair as best she could and straightened her clothes. When she was done, Harry seemed to be over it.

When the bus finally stopped they stepped into the aisle and Harry once again maneuvered himself in front of her, reaching a hand behind him in clear invitation for her to take it.

She didn't even bother to roll her eyes to herself this time and merely slipped her hand into his, not able to suppress the little thrill that shot through her when his thumb stroked once as a silent thank you.

Hermione stopped and asked the driver where they could get a car before they exited, and thanked the man when he told her of a place not too far from where they were.

Once they were on the street Harry pulled her in close to his side and hurried them away from the crowd as quickly as possible. She translated where they were heading and was glad to see that after a couple of turns the crowd thinned out and it was easier to see who was around them.

However, the one drawback to there being fewer people around was that it made it easier for whoever was following her to attack. They learned that the hard way.

The building they wanted was in sight and she could feel some of the tension ease out of Harry's shoulders. Just as they were about to cross the street, a bike messenger came flying around the corner and narrowly missed her. Only Harry jerking her out of the way kept her from being run over. It also kept her from being hit by the spell that went by right where she had been standing.

They didn't say a word, they just ran. Harry headed to the left and she followed him, wands out.

The corner of a brick building provided adequate cover and he pressed her back with a hand across her middle until she pushed it off. Harry peeked around the corner, but there was no one there. No bike messenger, no pedestrian. Nothing.

“Get to the shop. I'll cover you,” he said, voice strained, and she knew better than to argue with him.

“Now,” he said and she darted across the street, not daring to look back.

As soon as she was inside, she tried to calm herself down quickly so they didn't look out of place. A few seconds later the door opened and Harry entered, looking like absolutely nothing was wrong. The only tell she could detect was when he grabbed her hand and held it harder than usual. His eyes asked if she was alright and she gave him a smile and a nod to reassure him, but she could tell he was vibrating with tension and just wanted to get out of there.

They made their way to the counter and the oblivious clerk. She handled the transaction since she spoke the best French. When it came time to pay she hesitated. She may have a fake passport, but her credit card was not in the same name and she knew she didn't have enough cash on her to pay the full amount. Just as the feeling of panic began to set in Harry reached around her and laid more than enough bills on the counter to cover the car.

“There's enough there to make sure no one follows us,” he whispers in her ear, with a smile for the clerk, making it seem like he was telling her intimate things for her only.

She couldn't suppress the shiver that went through her and she covered it by giving a fake little giggle.

She turned back to the clerk and separated out the extra money, making sure he noticed it and then concocted a story about how a jealous ex of hers had spotted them in the next town, followed them here, and they just wanted some peace so would he be so kind as to not mention that they were here renting a car if anyone came looking for them? She made her eyes as wide and innocent as possible and bit her lower lip in pretend distress and the poor man didn't know what hit him. He assured them no one would know they were there and she couldn't stop herself from leaning across the counter to buss the blushing man on both cheeks.

“Merci,” Harry said cheerfully before grabbing the keys and paperwork. “Coming dear?” he asked innocently before they headed out a side door where the cars were kept.

Their car was a dark sedan. Harry had asked her to get something with some power, and the newer Mercedes they walked up to would hopefully do the trick. A button on the key fob opened the trunk and she tossed their bag in.

Harry already had the car started and a map out when she got in the passenger's seat.

“Know where we're going?” she asked with a slightly teasing tone.

He studied the map carefully and then turned to her. “Yeah, should be about four hours. If we don't make too many stops we could get there before the last train leaves. I don't like the idea of having to stay over another night.” He handed her the map. “Want to be my navigator?”

“Telling you what to do and where to go? I think I have some experience in this area,” she said with a grin and took the map from him.

“Forget I said anything,” he threw back, and she was glad to see he'd relaxed some, although she caught him looking out the rearview mirror quite a bit until they were out of the city.

But as the miles ticked by she could see him begin to get anxious again. The hand on the steering wheel tightened and the set of his jaw was harder. She knew he was thinking about their surprise attack.

“Any idea who it could be?” she finally asked, breaking the silence

“No clue. Don't have enough information to even begin to guess.”

The hand that wasn't on the wheel began to drum incessantly on the steering column and she looked at him worriedly. Then suddenly that hand formed a fist and he banged it down once in frustration on the dash. “Damn!” he cursed harshly and she jumped at his outburst.

He rubbed a tired hand across his forehead before sending her an apologetic glance. “I never asked any questions about Ron's attack. I never asked how it happened or what they had found out. I just assumed it was an attempted robbery. But it's connected to what's happening here, it has to be.”

She ran a soothing hand down his arm. “It'll be ok. You can ask all the questions you want when we get there tonight.” He didn't answer her, but he gave a stiff nod.

When he felt they weren't being followed and were far enough out of the city he pulled off at a small town where they grabbed something to eat and she ran into the bathroom quickly, although she knew he wasn't happy for her to be out of his sight.

When she came out he was waiting with two to go cups of coffee and some sandwiches in a bag.

They ate as they drove, and about two hours from their destination they went through another small city which seemed to make him nervous.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“When it gets crowded like this it's hard to tell if we're being followed.”

She was silent, and sat stiffly in the seat, studying the map in case they needed to find another way.

They broke away from the city and were on a mostly desolate stretch of country road when suddenly their speed increased dramatically. She looked towards Harry but he was completely focused on driving. “We've got a tail, hang on,” he ground out, eyes darting to the mirror every other second.

The roads were hilly here and often had sharp bends to them, but the car was solid and it handled well. Still, she found herself shutting her eyes when he took them around the next turn and the wheels screeched in protest.

There was a long straight stretch and Harry kept speeding up, trying to put distance between them, when suddenly the back window exploded in a shower of glass.

“Get down!” he yelled, pushing her down below the back of the seat and whipping his head around to see who was behind them.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel little bits of glass in her hair. She pulled her wand and risked rising up some so she could see over the seat.

“Hermione! What the hell are you doing? Stay down!”

But she ignored him and knew that he couldn't risk taking his hands off the wheel to deal with her just then.

She fired a reducto spell at the front tire of the large black car right behind them, but it swerved out of the way in time.

“I swear to Merlin, if you don't get the hell down. RIGHT NOW!” he roared, and she ducked back down, but not because he told her to.

He jerked the wheel hard to the left and she banged her head on the dash and was grateful she had left her seat belt on.

Once again she ignored him and took aim at the tire, but before she could fire she saw the faint glint of a wand sending multiple spells in quick succession and she had the prescient thought that there would be no way to avoid what was about to happen.

“Har...” she began in warning and then everything went black.

Two separate reductos had hit each of their back tires and there was nowhere for Harry to go. He tried to keep the car on the ground but it was futile. At the speed they had been going, the force of the blasts knocked them to the right and as soon as they hit the embankment the car went up and flipped twice before coming to a rest on the other side of the road.

Hermione came to with blood in her eyes and the acrid smell of petrol in the air. Harry was frantically calling her name but she couldn't tell where he was. Her head throbbed and when she tried to bring her arm up to touch it she hissed in pain and didn't move again.

She heard Harry again and then felt his hand on the side of her face. “`Mione! Wake up! Please!” he sounded desperate and when she blinked her eyes open he sagged in relief.

“We have to get out of here,” he said carefully, making sure she understood. “The petrol's leaking. It's not safe.” She tried to nod her head that she understood but regretted the choice as another flare of pain went through her and she thought it would be nice to just shut her eyes for a little bit.

“Mione!” Harry yelled again and she jolted awake and saw the blind panic in his eyes. “Just stay with me a little while longer, ok? Can you do that?” She didn't try and nod but she kept her eyes open.

“Good girl. Now I know you're hurt but I need you to try and open your door.” She didn't like the sound of that. She could barely lift a hand and he wanted her to open a door, but the part of her brain that was still somewhat functioning told her she needed to listen and get out of the car.

Gritting her teeth she grabbed at the handle and felt it give but she could only push it a few inches before it was stopped by the hill they were up against. There was no way she could get out the door.

“Damn!” he cursed and then turned to his own door. He had to kick at it a few times before it finally opened.

The next thing she knew Harry was leaning in through the broken passenger window. He held her head in his hand and seemed to be examining her. Then he pressed a hard kiss to her forehead and apologized. “I'm so sorry, but this is going to hurt like hell.”

Before she could comprehend what he meant he had slid both arms under hers from behind and was starting to pull her bodily through the window.

Stars flashed before her eyes and she may have yelled out, she wasn't sure since the shock was starting to set in. She could feel a cool sheen of sweat break out all over and she had the absent thought that she was about to pass out again.

As Harry pulled her backwards the glass that was still left in the window bit into any exposed skin and left jagged tears in her clothes.

Then suddenly she was out and he fell backwards with her landing on top of him. He was panting heavily but she couldn't move to get off of him.

His hands were on her face again, pushing her matted hair out of the way “We have to get further away.” Harry tried to move Hermione so that he could get out from under her. He must have knocked something because she cried out in pain and sagged against him, nothing but black in front of her eyes save a few sparkling white dots.

“`Mione...baby please.” He was almost sobbing now in desperation.

“ `m sorry” she managed and shifted her weight as well she could to give him space to get up.

“It's ok. It's ok,” he repeated, kneeling next to her.

Her teeth were starting to chatter now and it wasn't from being cold. Without warning he slid one arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back and then he was carrying her down the road away from the remains of their car.

She didn't think the pain could have gotten worse, but it did. She let her head fall to his shoulder and let the blackness claim her.

When she came to again they were in a grassy field. The first thing she saw was blue sky and clouds and realized she must be lying down.

She felt a moment of panic when she didn't see Harry and then turned her head to the right and saw him slumped against a tree, one arm cradled protectively over his middle, glasses broken, and various cuts and bruises, including one nasty looking gash on his left temple.

She sat up slowly and realized she was in a lot less pain than she had been the last time she had been conscious. Her arm was numb and her head ached, but she could move without much effort and didn't feel the need to vomit from her injuries.

She crawled to Harry's side and put a tentative hand on his knee. “Harry,” she called softly. She called again and gave him a little shake, causing him to groan.

On the ground around him were several empty potion bottles as well as what remained of his kit. Their wands were there too.

It hit her all at once what he had done.

“You stupid, daft, idiot!” she whispered furiously, wiping angry tears away with the back of her hand. “Now where have you left us? Healing me and leaving nothing for yourself. It's a good thing you're unconscious right now or I'd knock you out myself!”

She dug through the kit hoping to find something she could use and found only two unused vials; one for snake bite, and one blood replenishing potion.

She felt a whine of panic begin in her head and the rush of blood to her ears made her temporarily deaf. And then she shook it off and pulled herself back together.

Picking up her wand with shaking hands she performed the same diagnostic spell she had seen Harry do the night before.

Concussion, two broken ribs, and there was something seriously wrong with his right shoulder.

She leaned in close and wrapped her hand around his neck, pulling his body forward until he slumped against her shoulder with a low moan. The black leather jacket had protected him from the crash somewhat, except there was long dagger of broken glass stuck in his shoulder from the back.

She had to swallow down the bile that threatened to rise and took a few deep breaths through her nose before she could look at it properly. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but the area was wet with blood and it was obvious the wound had bled profusely at first.

Deciding she needed to get the glass out before she could do anything else she held tight to Harry's head where it pressed against her collarbone, wrapped her free hand in her scarf, took hold of the glass and pulled before she could think about what she was doing.

Harry stiffened in her arms and made a sound so unnatural and horrible she didn't think it could have come from a human.

She threw the glass as far as she could and let him tip sideways until he was resting on the ground. Quickly, she unwrapped the scarf from her neck, then struggled to get his arm out of the jacket without hurting him anymore than necessary.

He wasn't making any noise now and that scared her. She just worked faster.

With the jacket out of the way she could see where the dark blood stain had spread over his shirt. She gripped the two sides of the torn fabric where the glass had gone in and pulled, letting her finally get a look at the wound.

It was only about two inches wide, but it was deep and still seeping. She folded the scarf and pressed it over the area, pushing down as hard as she dared considering he also had broken ribs. She'd gladly kill for some Essence of Dittany.

With one hand on her makeshift bandage the other searched on the ground for the vials she had pulled out and found the blood replenishing potion. With a cry of triumph she grabbed it and the pulled the stopper out with her teeth before spitting it on the ground.

She dropped the scarf for a moment and then lifted Harry's head just enough so he wouldn't choke when she put the vial to his lips and poured a little at a time. She was glad to notice he seemed to be coherent enough to swallow.

When it was empty she laid him back down and started casting every healing spell she knew. Her knowledge was limited and she vowed when they got out of this that she would buy the first medical spell book she could get her hands on and learn it all.

The shoulder wound had stopped bleeding and was looking a bit better, although it was by no means healed. She ripped the scarf in half and used the relatively clean part as a sort of combination bandage and sling.

Once that was taken care of she moved on to his ribs. The healing charms took away some of the pain and stabilized the fractures so there was no risk of him puncturing a lung, but she hoped when he woke up he'd be able to do a better job than she had.

When Hermione got to his head she noted his breathing had become more even and his color had also improved. Taking the broken glasses from his face she sat them aside with a rueful shake of her head; she'd have to fix those. Again.

The gash on his temple had also stopped bleeding, but it was starting to bruise and she hoped it hadn't caused any sort of internal damage. She didn't think either of them was equipped to handle that.

She stroked a finger across a scrape high on his cheek and was overwhelmed with the memory of how he looked when Hagrid had carried him out of the forest, supposedly dead.

Her tears dropping onto his face were her first indication she was crying. With a gasp Hermione sat up and leaned back against the tree and then let her head fall forward to her bent knees while she let it all catch up with her.

When she was finished, she felt worse than ever. Her head was throbbing again and there was a deep ache in her arm. She hadn't even looked to see what was wrong. As soon as she did she wished she hadn't. The world swam for a minute and then she took a few deep breaths. Her sleeve had been ripped away and there was a long jagged cut that extended almost all the way from shoulder to elbow. He had clearly tried to heal her completely, but had only been able to seal the two sides, it still looked raw and angry and reminded her too much of the scar on her other arm. It also hurt terribly.

The small field they were in was far enough back from the road that no one driving by could see them. She knew their car had to have been noticed by now, and she hoped when Harry woke up he'd be able to make it another mile up the road to the next town. She remembered seeing a sign right before they were attacked.

She had no idea how Harry had gotten her here in his condition. Between his shoulders and his ribs there should have been no way for him to have carried her, but she knew adrenaline was an amazing thing and allowed people to do acts they normally wouldn't have been capable of.

She didn't know what they were going to do now. Their attacker appeared to have left them after the wreck, not bothering to see if they were dead or alive, but that didn't mean they wouldn't be back. They now had no car, and there was no way there were going to make Calais tonight.

Her head fell back and she let the tree support her. She only intended to rest her eyes for a moment before she tried to wake Harry, but her head was pounding and the light hurt. That was the last thing she remembered.

She was shivering when she woke up again. Dusk was approaching and a slight wind had come up. Her jacket and bag were still in the car.

She was still propped up against the tree; however, Harry was nowhere to be seen.

In a second she had scrambled to her feet. Other than her wand, there was nothing left from before. No vials, no kit, no Harry.

“Harry!” she screamed, his name was torn from her throat without thought. She stumbled in the direction of what she thought was the road, disbelief clouding her mind that he could have abandoned her.

And then he was there, right in front of her, still using her scarf as a sling with her duffel bag hanging off his good shoulder.

She dropped to her knees, her legs refusing to support her and he was kneeling right in front of her. “You left,” she managed to eke out.

“I didn't leave,” he said desperately. “I just went to get the bag from the car. That's all. I swear `Mione. I didn't leave. I won't leave.”

“I woke up and you weren't here,” she said, as if by saying it out loud she could somehow make sense of it. “You left.”

“No.” he said with more force and grabbed her chin with his thumb, making her look at him. “I didn't leave. I won't leave.”

“You just went to get the bag?”

“That's it. You were still sleeping and I thought I could be back before you woke up. I'm so sorry I didn't wait.” She could see the genuine contrition in his eyes.

“Ok,” she said softly, trying to tramp down the feelings of betrayal and abandonment. And then she took in his still broken glasses and his injured arm and she remembered what he had done earlier.

She pushed herself to her feet and took a step backwards. “What the hell were you thinking! You used all the potions on me and left yourself dying from shock while I was unconscious! Have you lost all sense?”

He had the good grace to look sheepish and scrubbed a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “It wasn't my finest hour,” he admitted. “I was so scared and worried about you. You don't understand `Mione. You were covered in blood and I couldn't get you to wake up.” He paused for a moment to compose himself. “I didn't realize how bad off I was until it was too late. By then my hands were shaking so badly I couldn't hold my wand anymore and I couldn't get the potion open. I just had to hope you woke up in time to save my sorry arse.”

“Well lucky for you I did!” she yelled back, still angry at him for what he had done. “And do you know what I woke up to? You, unconscious, with a great long piece of glass sticking out of your back, and broken ribs, and looking like your head had been bashed in by a bludger!” Her venting was cathartic.

“How are you feeling?” he asked hesitantly

“Like I went three rounds with Fluffy.” She was glad to see him crack a small smile. “How about you?”

“Somewhere between knocked off my broom during a quidditch match and just defeated a Dark Lord.”

“That sounds about right,” she agreed, and then she was wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest with a shuddering sigh.

He clutched her to him and she felt him press a kiss into her hair. They stayed like that for a long moment.

When she stepped back she felt better, not physically, but emotionally.

“So what are we doing now?” she asked.

“Up for a walk? There's a town not too far. We'll have to stay for the night and then regroup.”

“You think they're still here?”

“I don't think so. I think if they were we'd know by now, but I don't want to take a chance.” He glanced around somewhat nervously and she knew he didn't like that it was starting to get dark.

“Well, let's get going then,” she stated and tried to take the bag from him but he wouldn't let her.

He helped her get her jacket on. She whimpered as the fabric settled over her unhealed gash, but there was nothing she could do about it except try to move it as little as possible.

“Alright?” he asked, concern evident in his voice and she gave him a tight nod.

And then she stopped him. “Wait,” she said and pulled her wand out before pointing it at his face. “Oculus Reparo,” she said simply, smiling tenderly at the memory.

“Thanks `Mione. Never did get around to learning that one,” he said with a grin. But she knew he had to be lying. There was no way he had gone four years without breaking his glasses. A thought fluttered through her mind. `I wonder if he thought about me every time he used it.' and then she shook off the maudlin specter and they started up the path to the road.

They were slow going. Neither of them could walk very fast without jostling their respective injured arms, and with every step she took there was a pain in her left knee.

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it looked like there was a spreading stain on the lower leg of her jeans. She hadn't noticed anything before, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Determined not to delay them any further she tried to block it out and ignore it the best she could.

It was almost full dark when they made it to the outskirts of the town. She sighed with relief. Harry just pressed on, and when they passed under a street lamp she saw a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“What's wrong?” she asked, and her tone ensured she would not tolerate him lying.

“Arm.” he gritted out. “I'll be ok. But it would be best if we find a place fast.”

And then, as if someone had heard them, she saw a hanging sign four doors up announcing a Bed and Breakfast.

She cast two quick cleansing spells on them to get off the worst of the dirt and some of the blood, but there was nothing else she could do for their obviously haggard appearance.

There was no one at the counter and she was forced to ring a little bell at the desk and wait. Harry slid into a convenient chair and shut his eyes. His face looked green and his jaw was clenched.

Finally a small older woman approached and gasped when she saw them. In a string of rapid fire French the woman interrogated them. Harry just looked at her and gave a little shrug. He obviously was going to let her go with whatever cover story she wanted.

Her brain hurt and the effort it took to try and translate must have been evident because the owner quickly switched to English. Hermione explained that they had been in a car accident and that they required a room for the night. In the morning they would call the rental company and make arrangements to have the car towed.

The woman tut-tutted and tried to insist they go to nearest medical clinic, but Harry interrupted her. “My wife's a doctor. She'll look after us just fine,” he assured her and Hermione felt her cheeks flush at his words.

He tried to reach into his back pocket to get his wallet but he couldn't reach it with his bad arm and her cheeks stayed red as she fished it out for him.

They paid for a room and breakfast the next morning and then Hermione asked if the woman had a first aid kit she could borrow.

They had to wait another excruciating five minutes before she came back with what looked like a surprisingly thorough kit.

The stairs were torture, especially her left leg, and now she thought she could feel blood running down it whenever it bent.

By the time the owner had finished turning down the bed, showing them the towels, and pointing out the excellent view of the garden, Hermione thought Harry was either going to pass out or throw up. She thanked the woman several times, reassured her that is was nothing a little washing up and aspirin couldn't fix and then she was ushering her out the door.

As soon as it was shut she locked it and put up her wards, taking a moment to feel them pulse slightly under her hand and know that they were out of danger for now.

Harry was swaying on his feet when she turned back and she grabbed him by the front of his jacket and helped him into a nearby chair.

There were complimentary muffins on a side table and she quickly shoved one in his hands. “Eat. Your blood sugar is crashing.” She had recalled some odd comment by her father about some of his patients getting so worked up about going to the dentist they would be on adrenaline highs. Then by the time they were ready to leave they would practically pass out in the lobby. The stress combined with how little that had eaten today made for a dangerous mix.

Harry looked at her like she had grown another head but she just pointed at the muffin and then at him and he took an obedient bite.

While he was eating she put the first aid kit on the bed and opened it up. It looked like it had everything they needed in the short term besides sutures.

She kicked off her trainers and took off her jacket, biting her lip to keep from shouting out when she had to peel it off her arm. She couldn't keep from whimpering though and Harry shot her a look which she ignored.

She didn't want to look at her leg, but she knew she had to. Without a thought to modesty she undid her belt and let her jeans fall. It took some effort to get them off. She could see clearly now that it was in fact blood that had seeped through the bottom.

Her knee was a mangled mess. It must have been crushed against the door frame when the car rolled. There were bruises and scrapes and one area where it looked like it must have gotten caught on something because there was now a chunk of flesh missing.

“What the hell is that?” Harry said and lurched out of his chair towards her, forcing her back onto the bed.

He managed to kneel next to the bed and get a good look at it. “Gods `Mione. I'm sorry. I must have missed this.”

“Forget it. You did the best you could,” she assured him.

Hermione pushed him aside and limped her way into the bathroom to grab some flannels, wetting them with warm water. She risked a look in the mirror and at first thought she was looking at someone else.

Her hair was a complete disaster with matted blood, bits of glass, and even some foliage. There was gash along her hairline that was bruising rather spectacularly and she had a fat lip, not to mention various cuts and scrapes over the rest of her face. Her shirt was beyond ruined. The right sleeve was gone and the rest was a torn, dirty, bloody mess. With a sigh she pulled her left arm out of the remaining sleeve and then eased the rest over her head before balling it up and chucking it in the bin.

She walked back into the bedroom with two wet flannels and in nothing but her bra and knickers but she couldn't have cared less.

“Strip” she said to Harry, and enjoyed the slightly gobsmacked appearance on his face at what she was, or rather was not, wearing.

“I'm sorry?” he said in disbelief.

“Strip. It'll make it easier to find all our wounds and the quicker we get that sorted the quicker we can go to sleep.” She was so tired now she could weep, and the king sized bed was taunting her.

The only way she was going to get through this was to act as no-nonsense `Hogwarts Hermione' as possible, even if inside she had a mass of butterflies.

Harry was slow to respond and then he slid his jacket off his bad shoulder and tried to get it off the other but he was having trouble. Taking pity on him she set the flannels down and helped him.

When it was apparent he wouldn't be able to undo the buttons on his shirt either she resigned herself to the task. Not meeting his eyes she swatted his hand away as he made a feeble attempt and made quick work of his shirt, trying not to stare at his chest as it was revealed.

She undid what was left of her scarf and sent it the way of her shirt. When she came back he was working on his belt buckle. “I've got this,” he said tersely and she let him be.

While he was busy with his pants she opened the bottle of antiseptic and gathered some gauze squares. She quite purposely did not look down when she made her way over to him, just gave him a little push and forced him to sit on the bed.

“This is probably going to sting,” she said in warning and began dabbing all the little cuts and scrapes on his face and neck, wincing with him. She used the flannel to wash away all the dried blood and grime and then made her way to his shoulder.

She picked the bottle up, and before he could ready himself she poured a long stream over the wound. He jumped and one hand came out as reflex and landed on her waist, his fingers curling into the soft skin of her hip.

She gasped at the contact, but he didn't move his hand. She gulped audibly and continued what she was doing. The butterfly bandages would have to do for keeping it shut. She taped a gauze square over it and then finally stepped back, forcing his hand to fall away.

He wouldn't meet her eyes. “Thanks Hermione,” he said, voice rough.

There was a pregnant pause and then he reached his hand out. “Here. Your turn.”

“It's ok. I can get it if you want to rest,” she protested, but he merely took the items out of her hand and stood up, looming over her and invading her personal space.

“Sit,” he commanded and she didn't really have a choice in the matter.

They didn't talk while he worked. She tried hard not to flinch but sometimes it couldn't be helped. She had a row of matching butterfly bandages on her arm, and when he got to her knee she couldn't help but moan and clutch handfuls of blankets to keep from jumping. She felt sick when he was done and she sat very, very, still, trying to control her breathing while he cleaned up their mess.

When she felt the bed dip beside her she looked over and saw him studying the map from the car.

His finger was tracing the road they had been on. “I don't think we can go to Calais,” he said suddenly.

“Why?”

“Look.” he said and then pointed to where he had just had his finger. “This road only goes toward Calais. Whoever was after us has to know that's where we were heading.”

“May I?” she asked, and he handed her the map.

After a moment she handed it back. “We'll have to go through Brussels. The train goes from there into London and there's no reason for them to think we've turned back. If we leave in the morning we could be in London by the afternoon.”

He looks at the map for a long moment and then nodded. “It'll work,” he said and folded the map up.

She didn't realize it but she started to sway from exhaustion and he coaxed her up long enough to pull the covers all the way back and help her in before climbing in after her.

It took them both a few minutes to find positions that weren't painful. Hermione ended up with her back towards Harry and felt him hesitate before he lightly laid his hand over her hip. She was grateful for the contact.

She wanted to talk to him, but she was so exhausted that the most she can manage is a mumbled good night. She was asleep before she could hear if he answered her.

They awoke later than intended. Hermione came to gradually, first hearing birds chirping and the dull hum of a vacuum nearby. Then she felt the throbbing in her head and how her muscles had stiffened up overnight. She tentatively flexed her leg and immediately regretted it. However, the thing that got her attention fully was the smell of fresh, rich, French coffee.

She dared to peek open one eye and saw Harry with his back to her. He was dressed, without her assistance, she noted, and must have been in the shower already as his hair was still wet. He was wearing another dark button down and black trousers that he had pulled from somewhere.

He turned around and saw that she was awake and came to her side. Other than holding his arm quite still he was moving rather normally. “Hey,” He said softly and pushed a fall of hair off her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible” She admitted “You seem like you're doing better.”

“Shoulder's still a mess, but everything else seems to be healing up. The shower helped.”

“Could you bring it to me then?” She asked in all seriousness

“How about I help you in there and then when you get out we can have something to eat before settling the issue of the destroyed Mercedes we left down the road.”

He pulled back the covers, and she had completely forgotten she was only in her underwear.

“I'm sure I look a fright.” She said wryly, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Just a bit more colorful than usual.” He replied and extended his hand to help her up.

It took more effort than she expected just to swing her legs over the side and sit up. By the time she had accomplished this small victory she was sweating again and was sure her face was grey.

She could see various bruises and contusions. Her knee was the worst. It was swollen and an array of colors, bending it didn't seem to be an option.

“You alright?” He asked, cupping her cheek in his hand. She leaned into it and let her eyes shut. “Yeah, I just need a minute.”

He didn't move until she covered his hand with hers and gave him a smile.

The walk to the bathroom was slow and tedious but she was feeling more stable by the time they arrived at their destination.

“I won't be far.” He assured her. “I'll just pop downstairs and grab you a tray.” She knew he was worried about her thinking he was going to disappear again and she appreciated his efforts to keep that from happening.

He slipped out of the room and she avoided looking in the mirror, there was no way she looked better than she had last night.

Soon, steam was filling the small space and she stripped off what was left of her clothing and let it too join it's former wardrobe mates in the bin.

With her knee a mangled mess, stepping over the side of the tub was a challenge but she managed. And then there was nothing but blissfully hot water. It found every scrape and cut and sent fire down her arm but it was exactly what she needed. The provided shampoo was sure to leave her hair feeling like straw, but a drying charm would help and anything was better than its current state.

The longer she stayed in there however, the worse she felt. She didn't know if it was the trauma of the day before, the lack of food, her concussion, or some odd mix of all three. All she knew was she was feeling more and more light headed, and the once welcomed heat was making her feel queasy. Her knee felt hot to the touch and she didn't think that was a good thing.

With a shaking hand she shut off the water and listened hard trying to hear Harry. Her bag was in the other room and she didn't think she had the strength to go get it.

Getting out was even more undignified than getting in. She eventually resigned herself to sitting on the side of the tub and then pulling her legs over one by one. Even that took considerable effort.

Still sitting on the edge she was able to reach a towel and attempt to dry herself off, but after bending down to reach her feet resulted in her head swimming so much she almost ended up on the floor she settled for just wrapping it around her.

“Harry” She called out trying to sound as normal as possible. She waited a few beats and then called again but there was no response. He must still be downstairs.

With a sigh she pulled herself upright and clutched the doorknob while the room tilted and spun and then against her better judgement, opened the door.

Carefully and deliberately she made her way across the room and was feeling quite proud of herself when a wave of dizziness hit her and she stumbled sideways, luckily only finding the bed. She lowered herself to the floor as carefully as she could but she still ended up knocking her knee and sucked air through her teeth at the pain.

Slumped against the bed, towel dangerously close to coming undone, with her head tipped back on the scratchy duvet trying to control her breathing was how Harry found her when he returned.

She was spinning the ring on her left hand, an unconscious coping mechanism she had developed over the past few years, when the door opened and he stepped through struggling with a tray.

He didn't spot her at first. His right arm wasn't much use, and the tray was an awkward size. He kicked the door shut with his foot and slid the tray onto the nearest flat surface before spotting her.

“Hermione!” He shouted before darting to her side.

“Wards.” She said simply, as she knew he hadn't had time to recast them.

“Sod the wards. What's wrong?” His hand cupped her jaw and then felt her forehead “You're warm.”

“It's just from the shower. I made it too hot and now I'm dizzy.” She tried to sound nonchalant but she knew he could see through her charade.

He gave her an incredulous look but held his tongue. “Come on, let's get you up, I'm sure you'll feel better after you eat.” and he went to grab her elbow to help her rise.

“No.” She said, holding up a hand to cut him off “I'm good where I am, if you wouldn't mind handing me some juice.” She didn't want to admit to him exactly how terrible she felt. She was hoping food would improve her condition.

She saw him fight an internal battle and then he got up with a sigh and stalked over to reset the wards before moving on to the tray. She let her eyes fall shut and took the moment of respite while it was there.

When she opened her eyes again he had lay a small plate with a croissant and some fruit at her side and held a glass of what looked to be orange juice. “Just the heat from the shower?” he said darkly, but she ignored him and held out her hand for the glass.

It took her twenty minutes to sip the juice and force herself to nibble on the food. Harry sat in the chair and watched her with a disapproving look on his face but he didn't say anything.

Finally she pushed the plate away and looked at him. “I feel better.” and then continued before he could argue with her. “Truly. I do. A few more healing spells and maybe even an aspirin and I'll more than make it to London.”

He was still giving her a look like he didn't believe her but came over to give her a hand up. With one hand in his and the other keeping her towel from falling off she was suddenly once again on two legs. There was only a brief flash of dizziness she was happy to note and she smiled at him like she had just gotten the answer right in class.

He rolled his eyes and went back to his chair while she rifled through the duffel bag and then disappeared into the bathroom again to change.

Her hair...mess didn't even begin to describe it. The drying charm didn't help either, in fact, it may have made it worse. She had found a clip in the bottom of her bag and made a half hearted attempt to pull the mass of curls into some semblance of order but she couldn't raise her right arm high enough for that to happen, maybe Harry could help her. Between the two of them they had a working set of arms.

She cast a few healing charms, mostly on her knee, and swallowed two aspirin she had grabbed out of the medical kit hoping they would kick in soon. She never thought she would miss Madame Pomfrey and the hospital wing, but right now she would take an overnight there gladly.

Feeling a bit more human she rejoined Harry and found he had poured her a cup of coffee and had been looking at the map again.

She smiled her appreciation and took a large swallow, savoring the flavor. How had he known she'd become addicted to the stuff while at university?

“Feeling better?” He asked, nodding towards the knee

“Some. But I'll be glad to see St. Mungo's later today.” Then she held out the clip “Would you mind? I can't seem to manage on my own.”

He came to stand behind her, and a shiver went through her when he swept the hair off her neck, his fingers cool on her overheated skin. It took a few tries but eventually they got it to work, even if it looked a bit sloppy.

“Thanks for the help.” She said, his hand still laying on the back of her neck. He moved to stand in front of her and let his hand trail around underneath her ear and over her jawline. Her heart fluttered, and she hoped he couldn't tell her heartbeat had increased.

“You still feel warm.” He said, concern in his eyes.

“I'll be fine. I took some aspirin. No worries.” She assured him and then grabbed a black scarf from the bag and turned her attention on him.

“Here, that arm will feel better if it's immobilized. I considered putting you in a full body bind but I thought you might get a bit tetchy at that.” She smiled at the growl he gave her and then busied herself making him a sling that kept the arm pressed into his chest.

“I don't like this Hermione. It makes it difficult to get to my wand.” He said tersely, pulling slightly at the wrap and making moves with his hand like he was attempting to reach his wand.

“Stop.” She admonished “I have no doubt that you'd be able to get to your wand if necessary. Now let's go get the car sorted so we can get on our way.” She said and stepped away to finish packing the bag with their few belongings.

“No need.” He said smugly and dug a set of keys out of his pocket, dangling them in front of her.

“What?” she said in surprise not understanding “How early did you wake up?”

“Our kind hostess took pity on the, quote “Poor hurt young couple.” and took it upon herself to call her son who happens to own the local tow company. He brought the car in last night. They also called the number of the rental company and explained the situation. I don't know what she said to them, but they actually sent someone out here early this morning with a brand new car and left all the paperwork for their insurance file. All I had to do was sign and stick it in the post. Your chariot awaits you, m'lady.” He gave the keys a little shake for emphasis.

She gaped at him open mouthed trying to process the story he'd just told her and a small part of her wondered if it was all true, but then her head gave a throb and she realized she didn't care as long as it got them to London quicker.

“That's amazing, Harry!” And felt compelled to give him a hug, although not as enthusiastically as she typically would have given their injuries. When she pulled back she plucked the keys from his unsuspecting fingers.

“Hermione!” He bellowed “Give them back.”

She gave him a look worthy of McGonagall “Not a chance, Potter. You honestly think you can drive with that arm the way it is.” she said, nodding at his virtually worthless limb.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. She could see the muscles clench in his jaw and she knew he was flashing back to yesterday and the car wreck.

“`Mione, please.” He was fighting for control.

She stepped in close until there was hardly any space between them and laid her hand along his cheek. “Trust me.” She whispered, knowing what she was asking of him.

She felt a tremble go through him and then his eyes locked with hers. He held her gaze and then lowered his head so their foreheads were touching. “I just need for you to be safe.”

Her breath caught at his words. It wasn't the first time he had said that. “I'm with you.” She said simply and then stepped back before things got even more intense.

Not surprising it took longer than it should of for them to take their leave of the inn. The owner fussed and fluttered and tried to get them to stay another night. Finally they were walking around to the back where yet another dark colored Mercedes awaited them.

She hesitated only a moment before opening the driver's door and she felt Harry's eyes on her. Their gazes met across the roof and he allowed her to see the naked fear there before he schooled his features and slid in.

Soon enough they were headed back the way they came and it took all of her considerable concentration to not shake when they drove past the wreck site. The tires marks and gouges from where they hit the embankment were still quite evident.

Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden and she brushed they away angrily with the back of her hand. She saw Harry start as if to touch her but couldn't due to his arm. His head hit the head rest behind him in frustration.

The car was silent until they reached the turn off and were now heading northeast for the France/Belgium border. They both relaxed somewhat then and Harry suggest they stop at the next town so she could stretch her leg. She thought it was more likely he was going barmy being cooped up in one place for so long with nothing to do.

But she did as he asked and pulled over just outside of a town with a lovely view of the countryside. There was a small park area with a monument to some long ago war and she headed for a low concrete bench while Harry slipped into a small shop.

It was quiet here. No one else was around and the sun was warm enough on her back. Harry sat next to her and pressed a cup into her hand. She took it without comment and continued her watch.

Harry sipped his drink and she wondered if he was itching to go. Suddenly, and without intent she blurted out a question. “Where have you been?”

He flinched, causing the hot liquid to spill over the lip and he hissed in surprise while absently sucking the back of his hand.

She continued before he could speak. “I don't mean your work. I know you can't tell me about that. But where did you go when you apparated out of that room four years ago?” She wasn't going to let this go on any longer without knowing at least that much.

He slowly and methodically sat the cup by his feet before he spoke. When he did he stared at the monument and not at her. “You have to understand, Hermione, I was numb back then. There really isn't another word for it. I had just finished what I had quite literally been born to do. Accomplished all my life's goals at the ripe old age of 17. I had no idea who I was outside of killing Voldemort. And then he was gone and I was left.” His voice was bitter and had an edge to it, even now. She thought about touching him but something in her said not to.

“The Weasley's were great, but I was suffocating there. Ginny wanted to use our relationship as a way to get over her grief about Fred, and I just wanted her to leave me alone. I was also very confused about us.” He admitted, gesturing between them.

He stood up and began to pace in front of her.

“When you went to find your parents it was only Ron and I and he just wanted to play quidditch and forget the last year had even happened. But I couldn't. It's all I thought about. I relived the last year over and over again. Wondering if I could have done something different, saved more people.” His voice caught and she felt a flash of guilt go through her, wondering if she should have brought this up right then.

“That's when I got it into my head that I needed to get out of there. I needed to go someplace where no one had heard of me. I wanted to run away. I wanted to go right then but I needed to see you one last time.” He gave her a sad smile and a small shrug.

“I couldn't tell you where I went. I know I jumped around a lot. I know you almost caught me a couple of times. You came closer than you think once.”

“Portugal.” She said with a strangled voice and he just nodded.

“And then I found a place to disappear to, where I knew you couldn't follow.” He wouldn't look her direction and she found she couldn't look at him right then either.

“No one knew me. I was invisible. I had enough money to live off of and..” He trailed off, taking off his glasses and scrubbing a tired hand over his face, clearly on edge. He turned so his back was towards her before he spoke again. “I drank, Hermione. For a year straight, all I did was drink.”

She gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Harry.” She said sadly, tears springing to her eyes over the pain he must have been in.

He still didn't turn around and she saw him swallow several times. “I got into a bit of trouble with the local law enforcement and ended up in jail. I didn't know who to call, and in a moment of complete drunken arrogance I decided the Ministry owed me something, so I called Kingsley.”

Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she listened to his story, not believing this could be about Harry.

“So Kingsley Shakelbolt, Minister of Magic, bailed my pathetic arse out of Muggle jail. When I sobered up the next day he was still there and I realized I couldn't keep doing what I was doing. Kingsley had a deal for me. If I stayed straight he'd put me through a sort of modified Auror training, and I would work for him personally. My only request was that I not have to return to England.” Her heart clenched at his words and she tried not to take it personally.

“I can't tell you much else. I probably shouldn't have said half of what I have, but you've sussed most of it out. There have been so many times I wanted to come back, but I didn't think I deserved to after what I had done. Mr.Weasley is the only one who knew how to get ahold of me, he would pass on news about Ron and the others, but all I knew about you was that you had left for Muggle university. So many times I wanted to find you but I wouldn't let myself.” Finally he turned to her, naked fear in his eyes as he waited for her reaction, clearly expecting her to leave him there and never look back.

“Don't.” she said sternly “Don't feel guilty. You did what you felt you had to do.” And she waited until he looked at her. “It was hard, Harry. It was so bloody hard, and no one else knows that. No one else knows what we went through, what we sacrificed! I don't look down on you for it.” He tries to pull away from her but she captures his face in her hands. “Look at me.” She commands and when he does her heart breaks. Her thumbs stroke the dark bruises under his eyes and she surprises herself when she lifts up and presses her lips to his. With their noses touching she whispers “I forgive you.”

He's silent for a long moment and then his shoulders start shaking. She wraps one arm around his neck and pulls him down until he can rest his head above her heart and she lets him weep. He doesn't make a sound and that makes her all the more sadder for him. Her other hand coasts over his back and hair, trying to soothe.

When he's done he brings his good arm up and wraps it around her, pulling her in so close she's afraid he's going to hurt himself but she doesn't have the heart to pull away. “Thank you.” He whispers throatily into her hair. Then his hand is at her jaw, coaxing it up and he's returning her kiss. It's chaste and over much too soon for her liking.

He pulls back and looks down at her and she gives him a brilliant smile. She flushes and buries her head face in his chest, shaking her head a little as if she can't herself believe what has just transpired. Then he presses his lips to her temple and gives her arm a tug.

She looks at the war monument one last time before they leave, thinking it's fitting they've had this talk here considering it was a war that had kept them apart all this time. Her fingers brush against his hand as they walk back and he gives them a squeeze before walking her to the drivers side and opening the door for her.

They are less than an hour from their destination and as they approach the border she's getting more antsy, watching the cars around them especially if anyone gets too close. She's even started fiddling with the ring again.

“Hey.” Harry says suddenly “Just drive. I'm the look out, and we're fine.”

She gives him a sheepish smile and tries to settle down. The traffic steadily increases as they near the border and she notices that now he's the one checking the mirrors almost constantly.

“Pull off over there.” he says, startling her.

“What?”

“Pull off, just over there.” and he's pointing to a shoulder on the side of the road.

By the time she's put it in park her hands are shaking. “What is it? What's wrong?”

He turns towards her and winces “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just realized we're going to have to go through border control and the men at the gate may find our freshly bruised faces highly suspicious.”

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and ran a hand over her hair. “Of course. Good catch. Do you think a few glamours would do?”

“Should be enough. Push comes to shove we can always Confound them.” and she gives him a mocking glare.

When they're done the bruising had faded and all the visible cuts and scrapes are hidden. “What's our story?” she asks as she pulls back onto the highway, seeing signs for the crossing ahead.

“Second honeymoon?” he suggests and she nods once, not trusting her voice

The border agents are being thorough that day, but they buy the story of traveling through Europe as an anniversary getaway, and soon enough `Madame and Monsieur Richards' are on their way.

They're only an hour out now and with every passing mile that doesn't bring a large black car trying to kill them she feels like their chances are better. Her knee however, was starting to make itself be known again. The aspirin from that morning had worn off, along with the healing charm and she didn't think another one was going to do the trick anymore. She was also starting to feel worse, but she didn't dare tell Harry.

Her skin was hot and her headache was back, not to mention the constant throbbing from her knee. She assumed it was infected, but there was nothing she could do for it now and soon enough they would be at St. Mungo's where everything would be healed and put to new again.

They made it into the city before rush hour and found the train station easily enough. She was exhausted when she finally put the car into park and sat for an extra few seconds while Harry got the bag out of the trunk. He opened the door and peered down at her. “Alright `Mione?”

“Never better.” She replied and took his proffered hand, having to grip it for balance as spots appeared before her eyes when she stood. He looked at her hard. Placing weight on her bad leg was going to be problematic she realized and had to bite her lip at the first few steps until she figured out exactly what she could and couldn't do with it.

“Hey,” He said, catching her wrist “I need to know how bad it is.” Auror Harry once again

“My knee's a bloody mess, probably as bad as your shoulder.” She said somewhat tetchy. “I'll be alright though. I'll certainly make it until we get to the hospital.” Her tone softer, and she reached a hand up to brush the fringe away from his forehead.

“You'll tell me if it gets worse.” He demands and she keeps from rolling her eyes as she agrees.

Once inside she's delighted to discover that a train is leaving for London in twenty minutes and is already boarding. They quickly purchase tickets and show their passports before Harry is hustling her through the terminal as fast as her leg will allow.

His hand is at the small of her back again, but she welcomes the comfort, and soon enough he's guiding her through the cars until they find one that is completely empty.

He stows their bag with some effort having only one useable arm and then they collapse next to each other in a seat. She's exhausted from their dash to the train and feels suddenly worse. Her head fall sideways to rest on his shoulder and he lays a hand on her thigh before brushing a kiss across her forehead. “Gods `Mione, you're burning up.” He says “Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?”

“It wasn't. I think the walk here just did me in.” She admits “I told you, I'll make it to London.” He seems like he believes her but when the next steward passes by he asks for aspirin and water and swears under his breath when they tell him they're not allowed to dispense medication.

“It's ok, Harry.” She assures him, covering his hand with hers.

“It's not bloody ok at all.” He replies angrily. And she chooses to ignore him.

When the train departs he stops his furtive scanning of the other passengers and people milling around outside the train. “We good?” she asks tiredly

“Seem to be unless they're in another car.” He admits and an involuntary shudder goes through her.

He lifts his good arm and wraps it around her shoulders tugging her towards him. “Just rest. We'll be there soon enough.” He says and strokes her hair back from her face where it escaped their poorly placed clip.

It felt like only a few minutes later when he's giving her a shake and whispering her name, telling her they've arrived.

England. All of a sudden she's awake and the full impact of what she's about to experience hits her.

“What's wrong?”

“I just...I just realized I haven't been back in so long. I wonder if they'll all hate me.” She admits

He runs a hand soothingly up and down her arm “They're not going to hate you. When I got back they acted like I had never left.”

“Yes, well, you were always the favorite.” she said petulantly but he just laughed and held her tighter “You'll be fine.” He assured her.

Her head was pounding now but she didn't know if it was from her fear of the unknown or her injuries. One look at Harry let her know that their glamours had worn off. The bruising along his hairline extended almost all the way to one eye.

Fake passports out one more time and then she was in the Motherland. They made their way through the terminal and then Harry was guiding her down a dark hallway.

“Thought we could just apparate from here.” He explained and she nodded, and then worried her lip as a thought crossed her mind.

“What is it?” He said, looking around them in case they had been followed.

“It's just...” And she flushed furiously, embarrassed she had to ask him this “I haven't apparated in so long, do you think you could...”

“Side along?” He finished and she just nodded her head, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“It's ok.” He reassures her and wraps his arm around hers “Ready?” Waiting for her nod and then they're gone.

She's forgotten how horrible side along apparating is. She's amazed she didn't throw up as soon as they landed. As it was she had to press her head into Harry's shoulder and stand very, very still until the dizziness and sickness passed. He was stroking her hair and murmuring into her ear until finally she pushed herself back a bit.

She had never been so glad to see the familiar white walls of St. Mungo's. Everything looked the same and she felt a lump in her throat as she realized she was about to see Ron again.

She turned happy eyes to Harry “Do you think he's in the same room?”

“I wouldn't see why not.” he responded and pressed a kiss to her feverish cheek “And then we're going to get you looked to.”

“You too, Mr. Potter.” she replied and then linked her hand in his and let him lead the way.

They managed to make it to Ron's room without being recognized for which she was grateful but when Harry pushed open the door the bed was empty. In fact if it wasn't for the very familiar knitting bag belonging to Mrs. Weasley sitting by one of the chairs she would have thought they were in the wrong place.

“Where is he?” She asked unnecessarily.

Just then a nurse walked in behind them. “Excuse me.” Hermione called “Could you tell us where Ron Weasley is.”

A strange look passed over the woman's face and something set off a whine of panic inside Hermione's head. “I'm sorry dear, Mr. Weasley didn't make it.”

She knew her mouth was moving. She knew she was trying to speak, but all the air in her lungs had simply escaped. When she did get a breath, it came back out as a low keening wail that she didn't recognize as coming from a person, let alone herself.

Her knees buckled and Harry wrapped his arm around her middle on reflex as they both slid to the ground. She saw through a glaze of tears, although in reality she wasn't seeing anything. Nothing existed outside of what she had just heard.

Harry's grip on her was painful, not that she really noticed. She could hear him saying `No,' over and over again in the most broken voice imaginable.

He couldn't be gone. Ron couldn't be dead. Not before she got a chance to see him again. Not now that Harry was back. It was so wrong that she couldn't even process it.

She couldn't stop making that noise. It came from a place deep within her that she didn't know existed. None of her injuries hurt. This hurt. What she was feeling in that moment was more painful than anything she had ever experienced.

She felt Harry's head drop to the back of her neck and felt his hot tears as they slid beneath her collar. His hands fisted around her middle as if he had to hold on to her or he'd fly apart.

There were feet all around them then. It was odd looking, she noted in a disconnected sort of way. She could tell people were talking to them but the rush of blood in her head didn't allow her to hear anything. And then someone touched her cheek, her forehead, and then there was a hand at her elbow trying to lift her up.

“NO!” was torn from Harry's throat in such a brutal way that she was sure he must have done some damage to his vocal chords. His arms tightened even more and she was starting to have a hard time taking a breath.

And then there was red hair in front of her. Not just any red hair. Weasley red. She turned towards Harry and drew her knees up to her chest and sobbed so hard she was choking.

She could hear someone talking to Harry again. She didn't know what they were saying and Harry was shaking his head, but eventually his hold on her lessened. Then there were hands pulling her away and she panicked, tried to scrabble to Harry. But he was holding her back and then someone was next to him. Someone she knew. It was George.

“It's ok Hermione, it's just Bill,” George said, looking over her shoulder at his brother. “Let him help you. We'll explain. It'll be alright.” And then he turned back to Harry and was whispering frantically in his ear. But Harry kept shaking his head and looked stunned.

She didn't see what happened next because strong arms had pulled her away and picked her up. She looked around, startled, and saw the grim face of Bill Weasley. “It's ok Hermione. The healers need to look at you,” he said with forced calm as he carried her over to the bed.

The bed where Ron had died.

Just as Bill placed her down she bucked like a wild animal and screamed for Harry. Bill's hands fell away, and then Harry was there, right in front of her. His eyes were wide and wet but for some reason he had a smile on his face.

“`Mione! `Mione! Listen to me! Listen!” he pleaded and took her face in his hands. She had stopped struggling and was now trying to focus on him but she was shaking so hard it was difficult. She tried to control her sobbing but was unable. “Shhhhh, baby please. Shhhh. Calm down.” He dropped his head to hers and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

“”Mione you have to listen. Ron...” his voice broke off and he swallowed hard before continuing, “Ron's not dead.”

She didn't understand what he was saying. Ron was dead, the nurse had told them.

She shook her head at him, not comprehending why he would be so cruel.

“It's true. He's not dead, George just told me.”

And then someone came from behind Harry and tried to make him move. He turned on them with the fury of the one who vanquished the Dark Lord. “You will give us some time!” he growled before turning back to her.

His words still weren't making sense to her. Ron was gone.

“He's not dead. He's someplace safe. They're hiding him so whoever is after you two will think Ron's out of the picture.” He said it so earnestly she was forced to believe him.

And somewhere in her mind this began to make sense.

“He's...he's not gone?” she said slowly and carefully, not sure she was ready to believe if it was just going to get torn from her again.

“He's not gone. He's safe. And as soon as you get patched up, we're going to go see him.” He pushed damp hair out of her face and stroked her cheek.

“He's alive?” She had to ask one more time before she could believe. And after his happy nod she dissolved into tears once again, except now they were tears of relief.

He caught her up in his arms and held her while she sobbed. As she gradually quieted she realized she was shaking, and it wasn't from the news about Ron. Her knee felt like it was on fire and her head and arm didn't feel too good either.

Harry helped lay her back on the bed and then she was surrounded by healers and nurses. She heard Harry telling them everything that had happened to her and before she could say anything the world went black.

She came to gradually, the familiar fog of a potion induced sleep clouding her mind. She blinked twice taking in the room until she saw a dark shape in the corner.

Harry was slumped in the chair, his head propped up in one hand, wand in the other and he was fighting sleep. His bruises were gone. The leather jacket he wore still showed signs of their past few days, but his other injuries seemed to have been healed.

She gave an experimental shift of her leg and was rewarded with a pain free experience. Her head wasn't throbbing and her arm also didn't ache, nor did her myriad of cuts and contusions.

The door to the room was shut, but Bill Weasley was pacing slowly at its entrance, his wand at his side. Seeing Bill brought back the nightmare ordeal from when they had arrived and tears pricked her eyes unbidden until she remembered everything, although she still didn't quite understand how Ron had been dead and then alive again.

She took a ragged breath and both Bill and Harry looked her direction. Harry was on his feet in an instant.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice rough

“Good. Much better than earlier,” she said and pushed herself into a seated position, glad to see she still had her clothes on from earlier. “How about you?” she asked and ran a hand down his arm until she could grasp his fingers.

“Never better,” he replied with a tired smile and dropped a quick kiss to her lips.

Her eyes cut to Bill, but he wasn't looking their direction.

When she looked back at Harry she knew he could see the fear there, that what he had told her earlier was somehow not true.

“Please. You have to explain, about...about Ron,” her voice cracked with emotion and Bill made his way to the end of the bed.

“Hello, Bill,” she said

“Glad to see you're feeling better,” he replied. “The two of you looked like you had gone a few rounds with a troll.”

“It felt like that too,” Harry answered for both of them. Then he turned his attention to Bill. “Would you like to explain?”

Bill took a deep breath before he began. “The attack on Ron seemed like it was a random event. He was closing up the shop late and was the only one there when three men entered. They took him by surprise in the stock room. He didn't stand a chance.” Bill scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck before continuing. “Some of the spells mixed with the merchandise and the healers think that's why it took so long for him to wake. The people who attacked him took what money there was and some of the more specialized potion ingredients so it appeared to be a robbery.”

“But now you don't think that's what it was at all.” She directed her statement to Harry.

“No. I was able to talk to Bill while you were out. Seems Ron had mentioned some other strange happenings in the few days prior to the attack, but no one thought they were connected.” Harry replied, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Strange happenings like what?”

“His flat looked like it had been broken into. Ron doesn't exactly use much beyond a simple home alarm charm which are easy to get around. The place was such a mess already, he couldn't tell if anything had been taken.”

“But you think something was?” she asked unnecessarily, as the grip on his wand had become tighter and he was fighting the urge to start pacing.

“I think they took the last owl you sent him. I think that's how they knew how to find you,” he answered tersely.

“Oh,” she replied “That would make sense. Except, if that's true then they waited at least a week to come find me. Doesn't that seem odd?” She was trying to puzzle it out like a problem in class.

“It does, but that's not your concern.” And with the hard set of his eyes she could see he was back in Auror mode.

Her eyes flashed angrily at him. If Bill hadn't been there she'd have started another row over what was and was not his concern, especially when it involved her.

Shooting him a look that said this wasn't over, she turned back to Bill.

“He was here for almost two weeks. Things looked bad for awhile but then he started to improve.” She could see the strain in his face, and knew that for the Weasley's to almost lose another brother, another son, it must have been excruciating. “Right after Harry left there was a second attack. Here.” Hermione gasped in shock. “Two people entered the room posing as healers. The potion they had would have done serious damage and most likely killed him.”

She blanched and Harry's fingers tightened around hers in support.

“Ginny is the one that figured it out. The shoes were all wrong apparently.” Bill smiled at Hermione's confused expression. “That's how I felt too, don't worry. But apparently healers' uniforms are very specific. The shoes these two were wearing weren't part of the uniform.” He gave a shrug and a small smile. “She happened to be the one sitting with Ron when they came in. They didn't pay her any mind, and when she noticed the shoes she stupefied them from behind.” He looked quite proud of his little sister.

“Then you've got them!” she said suddenly looking at Harry with hopeful eyes. Knowing this was the sort of information he could use.

But Harry just gave a shake of his head. “These two apparently had portkeys on them that were set to activate if their wearer was ever made unconscious. I've only seen this...” And then he trailed off, realizing he wasn't alone with her. “Well, let's just say it's not that common.”

“Surely Ginny could give a description.” She threw out, trying to find some way to help him.

But Bill just shook his head. “She only saw them from behind. Once she stupefied them they disappeared. Male. Dark hair. Tall. That's it.”

“Then where's Ron!” Bill was taking his time telling this story and she was becoming anxious again. Harry's thumb stroked over the back of her hand.

“As soon as the attack occurred we realized Ron wasn't safe here. At that point we also knew that something was going on with you, although we didn't know what. It seemed to make sense to move him to a safe location.”

“Where is he!”

“Safest location in Britain, `Mione.” Harry answered with a grimace and she knew immediately. Ron was at Grimmauld Place.

She knew Harry had bad memories of that house, but it had been given to him after Sirius died and had stayed protected. No one knew it existed unless they had been told.

“But Ron's alright then? He's recovered?” And for the first time she really let herself believe everything would be fine.

Bill nodded. “Recovering. But yes, I'd say he's alright,” and then before he knew it, the poor unsuspecting Weasley had an armful of grateful Hermione.

“Oh Bill, this is wonderful! Just wonderful!” she exclaimed through happy tears. After a moment Bill hugged her back, but he must have sent Harry a frightened look.

“It's Hermione. She hugs, mate,” Harry said with a laugh, and then she pulled away from Bill and made her way around the bed.

“He's really fine?” And she knew she needed Harry to tell her.

He held her face in his hands and then pulled her in tight. “He's fine.”

And then her mouth was on his, and they both forgot they weren't the only ones in the room until Bill cleared his throat loudly.

“Well, well, well. She disappears to France and comes back attached to Harry by the lips. What are they teaching at Muggle university?”, came the unmistakable voice of George Weasley.

She broke away from Harry, blushing furiously, and saw Harry turn surreptitiously to the side to hide his red face.

“Honestly George!” she exclaimed and then made her way over to give him a hug as well.

When the greetings were finished she looked at Harry “Can we go?” She had a need to see Ron with her own eyes.

“The healers want to see you before you're discharged,” Harry supplied, and she saw George slip out of the room.

“Really, Harry, is that necessary?” But he just gave her a look and she sat on the edge of the bed to wait. She absolutely refused to lie back down, however.

“You two were pretty bad off when you came in. When are we going to get that story?” Bill asked.

“How about we fill everyone in at once when we're at the house.” Harry said noncommittally and she could tell he wasn't going to be thrilled to recount their last couple of days.

George reentered the room with a healer following him. Both Bill and Harry gripped their wands tighter until George gave them a small nod. Bill relaxed and took a step back, but Harry did not.

The healer started to ask Hermione to lie down and then looked at her mutinous face and thought better. After a few waves of her wand she turned to Hermione. “Everything looks back to normal, Ms. Granger, although you may feel a bit tired as a result of the exhaustion and concussion you were suffering from.” Hermione just nodded, none of this information was a surprise to her.

“And I'm afraid the wound on your arm is going to leave a scar.” the healer said, pointing to the long line down her right arm. “If we had been able to treat it immediately it would have healed properly, but there are limits to magic.”

“It's ok,” she shrugged, “I'm used to scars.” And gave Harry a reassuring smile, hoping to dissipate the guilt she knew he was feeling at not being able to heal her better.

“Am I free to go?” she asked anxiously, wanting to get out of there and see Ron.

“Ideally we would keep you for the night to ensure you get proper rest, but since Mr. Potter has also checked himself out against our advice I have no doubt that you will do the same.” The healer replied dryly, sounding scarily like Madame Pomfrey.

“I'm feeling much better. Thank you,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Then you are free to go Ms. Granger,” the healer said before turning and leaving.

She was up off the bed before the woman was out of the room and turned impatient eyes to Harry.

Bill spoke up before she could say anything. “Mum's there with Ron and Ginny. We'll join you in a couple of hours.” And then he and George were heading out the door.

“Thanks, boys,” she called, and George threw a jaunty wave over his shoulder.

“You ready for this?” Harry asked softly.

“Yes. Are you?” His answer was to take her by the arm and apparate them to the front step of No. 12 Grimmauld Place.

The house looked the same as it had the last time she was here. It was one of the first places she had gone when she had been searching for Harry.

The door opened at his touch and she automatically cringed, waiting for the onslaught of Mrs. Black's portrait. But the wall where it had hung was blank. She turned her shocked expression on Harry who looked sheepish.

“I came here once. After...Anyways, the portrait went off like it always did and I just got so angry. I don't know what happened but the next thing I knew my wand was out and the portrait was gone. She's never returned,” Harry explained. She knew he didn't want to bring up the time where he had disappeared.

She took his hand and gave it a tug. “Come on.” And she pulled him behind her as they made their way through the rooms. They looked tidier than they ever had, and she surmised that Mrs. Weasley had been keeping herself busy.

Just then, the door from the kitchen swung open and out came Ron, taller than she remembered, but still very much Ron. His mother and sister were behind him but she didn't see them.

With a strangled gasp she pulled away from Harry and sprinted for Ron, throwing her arms around his neck with such force he had to take a step back.

“Hermione! Harry!” he exclaimed, hugging her back, and straightened to his full height so her feet dangled off the floor. But she didn't care. She just clung harder and blinked furiously.

Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around them both and she felt something inside herself click into place, something that had been missing all these years.

She could hear Mrs. Weasley's happy sobs in the background, but couldn't make out what she was saying.

Finally Harry pulled back. She looked up at Ron, her eyes full of tears and found him grinning at her madly. And suddenly she was furious. “We thought you were dead you great idiot!”, and smacked half heartedly at his chest until he laughed and pulled her in for another hug.

She hung on for another minute and then pushed back until he set her down, wiping at her eyes, which turned out to be pointless since as soon as she was done hugging him he had turned to Harry and they were now doing one of those typical bloke hugs where there was a lot of back pounding and saying of the word `mate'. But it made her cry just the same.

Harry turned to her and saw the state she was in, even though she was smiling. He just pulled her in close and pressed a kiss to her hairline. “He's alright,” he whispered so only she could hear, and she nodded tightly.

Harry's arm was still around her waist and she found herself unable to stop staring at Ron. “Look at you,” she said, voice wavering as she reached out a hand to brush crumbs off his shirt.

“Still the same old Hermione, always having to correct me,” he said with a big grin.

“Still the same old Ron, feeding your shirt more than your mouth,” she retorted and felt more than heard Harry laughing from behind her. She had forgotten how much she had missed this. How much she had missed them.

But they were all smiling. She was smiling so broad her face hurt and she couldn't have stopped if she tried.

“Enough. Enough!” came Mrs. Weasley's voice, breaking into their reunion. “Let me see you two!” And then she was being pulled into the motherly arms of Molly Weasley. The family matriarch patted her cheek. “We've missed you, dear,” she said genuinely.

“I've missed you all too,” was all Hermione could manage to squeak out.

Then it was Harry's turn, which took quite a bit longer than Hermione's. Still the favorite, her eyes said to him over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder as she continued to tut and fuss and say that he hadn't been eating even though it was obvious to anyone who looked at Harry that he wasn't the scrawny boy he used to be.

“Hello Hermione,” said a voice to her left and she turned to see Ginny Weasley, all grown up.

“Ginny!” she exclaimed and gave the girl a hug, pleased to see her even if they hadn't always gotten along so well.

“Let some others say hello, Mum,” Ginny protested to her mother until finally Mrs. Weasley stepped away from Harry, still mopping her eyes. And then Ginny was hugging Harry as well. Hermione saw him gulp and she had to turn her eyes away to school her features as a flare of jealousy reared up within her so quickly it took her by surprise.

Ginny had an odd look in her eye when she moved back, one that made Hermione a bit uncomfortable.

But then Harry was at her side again and Mrs. Weasley was demanding they come eat something after they put their things away. Ginny offered to show them to the rooms that had been cleaned and they promised Ron they'd be right back.

Ginny led the way and Harry stuck his hand out behind him in open invitation for her to take it, which she gladly did. When they got to the main hallway Ginny pointed to Sirius's old room. “Mum thought you'd like to stay there, even though we didn't know if you'd be back or not,” she said to Harry. “And Hermione, the room we stayed in before is mostly cleaned out, but there's enough room to push another cot in there if you don't mind sharing.”

The thought of sharing a cramped, dusty room with Ginny Weasley was less than appealing. And the thought of spending the night away from Harry was just not something she could think about right then.

“Um, well, Ginny....” she stammered, and then she realized that Harry was dead quiet and it hit her that maybe he didn't want to share a room with her now that it wasn't necessary. Shame and embarrassment grew and she wished for the floor to open up beneath her. Then suddenly his hand was taking hers. “Actually Ginny, we'll be fine in Sirius's old room, but thanks for the offer.” Harry said as evenly as possible and her heart was in her throat.

Ginny looked like she had been hit with a bludger bat but she rallied quickly. “Oh. Well...Oh. Right then. Of course.” Her eyes darted to their joined hands and how close they were standing. “Of course.” Then she cleared her throat. “I'll just let you get settled. I'm sure Mum needs me for something,” and she disappeared so fast it was like she had apparated.

Hermione turned to face Harry and let her head fall forward onto his chest. “Well that wasn't awkward at all,” he deadpanned, and she laughed dryly. “You know she's going straight down there to tell Ron and Mrs. Weasley. We're going to be berated about `living in sin',” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

He pulled her up and kissed her, making sparks shoot through her belly. “Little does she know...” he said against her lips, and then he was opening the door, leaving her gaping at him from the hallway.

“Harry Potter!” she cried out, before following him in.

“What `Mione? It's my house. We're adults. And quite frankly it's no one else's business.” His voice was tight, and she could tell that the strain of the past few days was catching up with him. And more than likely the strain from the past few years mixed with being back in England after so long.

She came up behind him where he stood emptying their paltry possessions from the resized duffel bag and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his back. “I know this isn't the right time, but we're going to have to talk about this,” she said quietly. His back tensed for a moment and then he turned around. “I'm sorry,” he said genuinely. “You're right but...You just need to know how important you are to me.”

“I know, Harry,” she whispered. “The talk will keep, for now.” He squeezed her hands once and then turned back to his task.

“How are you doing otherwise, being back here again,” she asked.

“I could ask you the same question,” he countered.

“Fair enough.” she conceded. “I'm not sure I know how I'm doing. It sort of feels like it's a dream, and then after everything with Ron...” she trailed off with a tired wave of her hand. “I almost feel like I've been asleep for four years and now I've woken up and have been dropped back into my life, except everyone else went on with their own without me and I don't know which way is up anymore.”

His hands stilled. “That's exactly how I feel.” he admitted “In a way I feel like no time at all has passed, and we're still 18. But then I look around...”

She was opening her mouth to reply when a voice bellowed from below.

“Oi! You two! You going to join us again or do I have to come up there?” Ron shouted from downstairs.

She shared a look of mock exasperation with Harry before they made their way back down.

The Weasley's were waiting for them in the kitchen. Ron just gave them a knowing smirk and then sat back to watch the show. Mrs. Weasley looked less than pleased and she opened her mouth several times to say something before stopping herself. Finally Harry walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders before leaning down so that only she could hear him. Hermione didn't know what he could have possibly said, but she watched as Mrs. Weasley's face ran a gamut of emotions, from tears, to shock, to disapproval and finally to a smile.

When Harry returned to his full height, she gave him a loving smile and patted his cheeks before asking him if wanted one helping of stew or two.

Harry came back to the table and Ron was staring at him open mouthed, and in awe of what Harry had managed. Then he leaned across the table and mock whispered, “You've got to tell me your secret, mate,” and Harry laughed good naturally.

It was such a small thing, but to Hermione it was pure nostalgia. This was how they were before everything went to hell. Things may have always been tense, and the shadow of Voldemort may have always loomed over them, but they had been able to have good times and be normal more often than not.

It hit her then. What they had lost. What the war had taken away. And with a strangled gasp she stood up so quickly her chair flew out behind her and then she darted from the room.

She could barely see through her tears when she stumbled into the library. The smell of leather and old books was comforting and she sank onto the worn settee, burying her face in her hands.

There were footsteps on the carpet and she fully expected that Harry had followed her, but when she peeked through her fingers she saw Ron.

He sat down gingerly and laid a hand on her back, but didn't say a word.

“I'm sorry I left. I'm so, so sorry.” He didn't say anything, just rubbed circles on her back and waited. “Harry was gone and...I couldn't stay here. My parents weren't here. I didn't have a home to go to...and I just...I ran,” she finally admitted. His hand stilled and she thought maybe he was upset with her. The next thing she knows he was bodily pulling her towards him, curling her into his chest. He wrapped his long arms around her and just held her.

“It's alright Hermione. I understood all of that,” Ron said roughly, and she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

“None of us knew how to handle it. Harry was a complete disaster. I was in no condition to help him, and once he left you fell apart. But it happened. And maybe it shouldn't have, but we can't fix that, so we just have to deal with it.” The room was dead silent as she let Ron Weasley's words of wisdom sink in.

“He's right, you know,” came a voice from the other side of the room and she lifted her head enough to see Harry leaning against the doorjamb.

“I know. I just think I'm in shock at how sane and rational he sounded,” she said with mock seriousness.

“Oi! A bloke has feelings you know. And occasionally I have been known to use my brain for some good,” Ron protested.

Harry pushed himself off the jamb and made his way over to them. He sat on her other side and she curled her legs up on the couch so that her feet rested on his thigh. His hand immediately wrapped around her ankle, his thumb running over the bone. With a sigh she settled back against the couch, Ron's arm around her shoulders. She was content, she realized. She hadn't felt like this in so long it was almost foreign to her.

Tears pricked her eyes and she shook her head to get rid of them. She was through with crying.

“Alright `Mione?” Harry asked

“Perfect,” she answered.

They sat in silence, and she enjoyed just being still.

Their peace was broken all too soon as the sounds of many Weasley voices began to fill the halls.

“We've been invaded, mate. Sorry,” Ron said, slipping his arm out from behind her and stood, wincing slightly as he did.

“I'm sorry, Ron. I haven't asked how you are,” she said suddenly

“Better. Just a little sore here and there,” he assured her. “What about you two? I overheard some stuff when Dad floo'd Mum earlier. Bill had said something about being at St. Mungo's.”

Hermione blanched at the reminder of their time there and Harry thankfully stepped up. “I told Bill I'd fill everyone in at one time,” Harry said, his fingers just brushing the back of her hand in a gesture of comfort.

Their arrival in the kitchen resulted in more shouts, exclamations and hugs all around. Every Weasley was there, even Percy and Charlie. Fleur was holding the hand of little Victoire and Bill had a baby in his arms.

Hermione took a moment to speak to Victoire in French which delighted the little girl to no end. Fleur gave her a grateful smile and then asked if she wouldn't mind holding the baby, Dominique, while she and Molly set up a place for the sleepy baby to lie down.

Hermione sat down in the nearest chair, not trusting herself to stand and hold the baby at the same time. She had never spent that much time around young children.

But the littlest Weasley was more than happy to sit in Hermione's lap and chew her own fist. The others were milling about, getting something to eat while they waited and she tried to force herself to relax.

Soon enough Fleur was back, and as Hermione handed her the smiling baby she caught Harry staring at her, his eyes dark, and she was never so glad to be sitting as she was right then since her knees had turned to jelly.

Hermione took a deep breath and then fixed herself a cup of tea before gravitating to where Harry stood, talking to Arthur. When she was at his side, his arm automatically went around her waist and she let her posture droop slightly. It was late. She'd woken up in a B&B in France only that morning but it felt like it had been days ago.

Once everyone had gathered, Harry asked them to take a seat.

She glanced around the table and saw a group of people who were very important to her, and she was so glad to be around them once again. With Harry to her left and Ron to her right, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Harry began talking. He started with finding her in France, her attack on the road, and their feeling of being watched. Everyone sat in rapt attention and other than Mrs. Weasley's near constant gasps of horror, it was silent. He was obviously sticking to the bigger events and carefully and deliberately avoiding anything too personal. When it came time to tell about the car wreck he stumbled a bit and she slid a hand over his knee in support. He did explain how they had used the limited potions they had and tried their best to heal what they could.

Percy interrupted and asked why at that point they hadn't abandoned their original plan and just apparated back. It was a fair question, Hermione knew, and she knew Harry felt guilty over not doing just that.

Harry steeled himself before answering, “Good point, Perce. It was my call to stay on the road. I was hoping Hermione's attacker would show themselves again and could be apprehended.” Hermione wondered if he knew exactly how much he sounded like an Auror right then.

He resumed the story, telling them how they had changed direction and gone through Brussels instead and then arrived at St. Mungo's to discover Ron had been moved.

His face got hard at that, and his hand landed over hers almost crushing it. She shot a quick glance to Bill and George, but their faces didn't betray the information only they knew; how Harry and Hermione had been told Ron was dead. The others felt the tension and she was sure they knew there was more to the story but thankfully no one pressed the issue.

There were other questions which Harry tried to answer as best he could. She assumed that other than Mr. Weasley, everyone else just guessed Harry was a regular Auror.

A sharp cry rent the air and she jumped in shock as large black raven flew into the room through an open window. It landed directly in front of Harry and dropped a black envelope in front of him before crying out once more and leaving.

The change in Harry's demeanor was instantaneous. His face shut down and it startled her so much she withdrew her hand and sat back. He snatched up the letter and said “Excuse me,” in a short, clipped tone and left.

Her mind was in overdrive. It had to be from Kingsley. Harry had said that was who he reported to and who knew where he was. It was also the only way for the bird to have found him here in this house. There was a din of noise in the background but she didn't hear it, she was so focused on her own thoughts.

It could be about what was going on with her and Ron she posited, but there was also a very real chance it was about whatever case Harry was working in St. Petersburg. Ice went through her as she realized he was probably going to be leaving.

She was so struck by this thought that she didn't hear Ron calling her name at first. “Hermione!” she heard and jerked her head towards him. He didn't say anything, just nodded his head towards the entrance to the kitchen where Harry stood, stony faced, Auror robes on, staring right at her.

She didn't say a word, just got up and went to him, following him down the hallway as he turned before she reached him. He went into the library, pausing by the door until she had entered and then locked it behind her.

“I know you have to go,” she said before even turning around.

His face was such a mix of emotions she didn't know which one to respond to. She laid her hand against his cheek and felt him lean into it. When he opened his mouth to speak she covered his lips with her finger. “I know you don't want to go. I know you're not leaving me. I know you'll come back. I will be safe. I will try and behave. I will not take any unnecessary risks. You will do the same. I've got you back now, Harry Potter, I'm not going to lose you again.” And when she was done telling him how it was going to be, she replaced her finger with her lips.

He held her as if he thought she would disappear and he kissed her the same way. Finally she had to tear her mouth away to breathe and he pressed his forehead tight against hers. “ `Mione,” he began, his voice gravelly, “I am coming back. I promise you.” She knew he would have a need to say it himself. So she smiled at him sadly and nodded.

Harry continued, “Please be safe. Please. If things are quiet, Ron could go home as long as the Burrow has adequate wards, but I want you to stay here. Please tell me you'll stay here.” He was beginning to sound desperate and she didn't want him distracted. It also made her stomach do funny things to hear him ask her to stay in his house. “I'll stay here Harry. I promise. I'll stay here until you come back.”

He kissed her hard again, and she vowed she wouldn't cry. It seemed like it took great effort for him to step away from her. She passed a hand over the front of his robes, the heavy winter kind, and pulled her wand out and performed a long lasting warming charm on them. “Stay safe. Stay warm,” and when their eyes met, he acknowledged that she knew where he was going. Then she gave him a push towards the door since he seemed incapable of leaving without assistance.

They paused again in the foyer, his hand on the door knob. He passed a hand over her hair once, kissed her cheek and then he was gone. It was deathly quiet and she stood with her arms wrapped around her middle.

Ron dropped a hand on her shoulder in support. She didn't know how long he had been standing there. When she felt like she could, she turned around to face him.

“I'll tell everyone else Harry got called away,” he offered, and she sagged in relief. The last thing she had wanted to do was walk back into that room. “You've had a long day, a long couple of days from the telling of it. Go on up if you want.”

She blinked back tears. She was done crying. With a tight smile, she whispered, “Thank you.” He wrapped her in a hug, her head only coming to mid chest on him. “I'm going to upgrade you to a tablespoon, Ron Weasley,” she said lightly and then began the slow climb up the stairs.

It took him a moment to get it but when he did he let out a little `whoop' of triumph. “Yes! My life's ambitions have been met.” She saw him do a jaunty little dance on his way back to the kitchen.

She sighed heavily before pushing open the door to `their' room. Funny how she had only been in there for a few minutes earlier, and now it seemed like she could feel Harry everywhere.

She didn't bother with changing clothes, just slipped off her trainers and lay on the bed, wishing she wasn't alone.

She woke up on a strangled gasp with Ron shaking her shoulder, and a shaft of light crossed the foot of the bed from the hallway.

Pushing tangled hair out of her eyes she tried to slow her frantically beating heart while Ron sat on the side of the bed, still blinking his eyes against the brightness.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, voice rough with sleep as he scrubbed two hands over his face in an effort to wake up.

Before she could respond there was a rap on the door. Bill stood there, hair askew and his wand in his hand. “Everything alright?” he asked evenly.

“Fine, Bill. Sorry for waking you,” she managed to say, sounding much calmer than she felt.

“No worries,” he replied, and she waited until she heard his footsteps fade before looking at Ron.

“Sorry. I had a permanent silencing charm on my flat. I forgot to put one up tonight.” She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, feeling the chill in the room and the remnants of her dream.

“Don't apologize about having nightmares. I don't think a single one of us went a night without a Dreamless sleep potion for a month. I still have a bad one every now and then.”

She knew he was trying to be helpful, but she had to bite her lip and turn her head away. A month. “I haven't had an uninterrupted night of sleep since the war,” she admitted and heard him suck in a breath through his teeth.

“What did Harry say?” he asked.

“Harry doesn't know.”

Ron got a puzzled look on his face. “But if you've been with him for days...”

Her face got hot as she realized what he was implying. “I was unconscious for most of it, Ronald, not a lot of time for dreaming,” she retorted, but he just smirked.

“Whatever the kids are calling it these days,” he replied and was already leaning out of the way, anticipating her oncoming slap.

She laid her head on top of her knees and stared at him. “I'm glad you're ok, Ron.”

“Glad you're ok too,” he said softly. “Gonna be alright? Since I'm up I think I'm going to see if Mum left anything in the kitchen.”

She just rolled her eyes at his unsurprising plans. “Give me a minute and I'll join you. I don't think I'm getting much more sleep tonight.” Ron got off the bed and started towards the door. “Don't eat all the biscuits,” she called out to his retreating back and he turned around and lifted his hands in a mock shrug, as if he couldn't be held responsible for his actions.

There wasn't much left in the duffel bag. Harry's pack was gone, she realized with a pang. She didn't even know if he had a flat somewhere.

She shook herself from that train of thought and kept searching but all she could come up with was another pair of jeans and a jumper. She was either going to have to get creative or figure out some way to get more clothes.

There was a large chest of drawers on the wall across from the bed and she stood before it for the longest time, debating on whether she should open it. Finally, with her wand drawn in case of any surprises she opened the top drawer and found it empty. The next two drawers were in a similar state. It wasn't until she got to the bottom one that her search paid off. She could tell there were clothes, but it wasn't until she cast a lumos that she could tell they belonged to Harry and not Sirius.

It wasn't much: some mismatched socks, a couple of horribly ragged t-shirts that had to have belonged to his cousin, and an old Christmas jumper from Mrs. Weasley. She was about to slam the drawer in disgust when the light caught a scrap of red and gold shoved all the way in the back. It took a few tugs and then she had it in her hands.

It was an old quidditch jersey of Harry's from Fifth or Sixth year, she wasn't sure. Her hand ran gently over the familiar colors and she smiled fondly. After a freshening charm it smelled presentable and she slipped into the bathroom to change.

It hung down to mid thigh, further than her fingertips. Although it did make her a little self conscious, but it was better than anything else she had. She threw her hair up in a haphazard pony tail, sending a silent thanks for the wonders of magical healing as she recalled how just the day before it took two people to do something as simple as pull her hair back.

The rest of the house was sleeping, and as she crept down the stairs she was again grateful that Harry had managed to get rid of Mrs. Black's portrait. A light shown under the door to the kitchen and she wasn't shocked to see Ron already at the table, plate of biscuits before him along with a large glass of milk.

Ron's eyebrows shot to the ceiling when he saw her, but his mouth was thankfully stuffed full. “Not a word,” she warned, making her way over to the kettle. “It was the only thing I could find.”

“Merlin, Hermione. Why didn't you just borrow something from Ginny. I'm sure she wouldn't mind,” Ron said after swallowing hastily.

Hermione squinted at the clock across the room. “At 3 in the morning? You think your sister wants me to wake her up to ask for some jimjams?” She saw him squirm at the thought of interrupting Ginny's sleep.

“Never mind, that's worse than fighting Voldemort, that is,” he said, taking a large drink of his milk and shoving another biscuit in his mouth as if the action could clear his mind of the suggestion.

She turned back to the kettle and waited for it to boil, when another set of footsteps entered the room.

“Well well, the Missus of the house is up and about already I see,” George said and she whirled around to give him an incredulous look.

“Why on earth would you say that?” she asked as she turned to the shrill yell of the kettle.

But it was Ron who answered, not his brother. “Gee Hermione, maybe it's because you've got `Potter' in giant letters across your back.”

“I do not!” she shouted in indignation, while simultaneously trying to turn her head so that she could see for herself. After several failed attempts, she finally caught the edge of the `R' and flushed crimson while the two boys attempted to muffle the laughs at her expense.

She focused on making her tea and resolutely ignored the brothers. It was just a shirt. She could have just as easily put on one of Dudley's old ratty tees, but that thought made her shiver in revulsion. It was just a shirt. They were being ridiculous about it.

When her tea was finished, she turned around and leveled them with one of her most famous looks. George had the good sense to look away, but Ron had never learned, it seemed.

She walked purposefully to the table and stared Ron down before she picked up the plate with the remaining biscuits and glided out the door. “Cheers,” she called before the door swung shut behind her and drowned out Ron's protests.

The library was blessedly dark and quiet. She turned on one small table lamp and then sat in the large wing chair that faced the fireplace. Its broad sides and high back gave her an effective place to hide for the moment.

As she sipped her tea and ate Mrs. Weasley's biscuits for the first time in what seemed like forever, she tried to not let her mind wander to Harry.

That seemed like an impossible task, however. In reality they had been back together for a very short period of time, and most of that was either running for their lives or injured. They'd had one real conversation, but beyond that...she didn't know where they stood.

This business with whoever was attacking them was also disconcerting. She rubbed a hand across her temple, a very faint headache teasing her at the fringes, but she was certain it was more from lack of food and sleep than anything residual from her concussion.

A sound to her right made her jump and she had her wand pointed at a sheepish looking Ron before she knew what was happening.

He was frozen, half bent over setting a mug of tea on the table, another plate of biscuits in his other hand.

She dropped her wand immediately. “I'm so sorry, Ron!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth in horror.

He merely waved her off and finished settling himself with a slight grimace, she noted. “If you wanted to be alone, you just had to lock the door.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and put her wand back in its holster and then sat back in the chair and forced herself to calm down. She had seen his eyes cut to the scarred word on her forearm but he didn't say anything.

“Where did you find those?” she asked, indicating the baked good he was currently inhaling. He actually finished chewing before he replied. “Mum had another plate hidden. She didn't think I knew where it was,” he said with a grin.

She couldn't help but smile back and gave a small shake of her head.

“George not sleeping well?” she observed.

Ron took a sharp breath. “No, not really, not since...well, you know.” She didn't know how to respond.

“How've you been?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

She gave a small shrug. “The same really. School work. Research. Tutoring.”

“Sorry I didn't write.”

“Me too. It just...it got too hard,” she said by way of explanation, knowing it was wholly inadequate.

“I know,” he replied, and they sat in silence for a while.

“How about you? What have you been up to?” she asked, wrapping her fingers more securely around her mug, trying to leach any bit of warmth she could get out of it.

“Same. Working at the shop,” he shrugged noncommittally.

They were both stuck. Both stagnant. And they knew it.

She sat her now empty mug on the table and grabbed another biscuit off of Ron's plate, giving him a small smile as she did.

“Any special lady in your life?” she asked in a teasing tone and was shocked when he flushed red to match his hair. “There is! Who is she?”

She turned towards him and leaned her head on the wing of the chair and slid her knees up under the loose jersey, giving him her full attention. Talking about Ron's love life would help distract her from brooding over Harry's absence.

It took Ron a few attempts to start. “You can't say anything, Hermione. No one else knows I've been seeing her,” he began, and she swore her silence.

He ran a hand through his perpetually messy mop and took a long swig of tea before beginning. “It's Luna,” he said finally, not meeting her eyes.

“Luna Lovegood!” she exclaimed, at first shocked, but then as the image settled with her she realized it was perfect. “Oh Ron, that's lovely! It's perfect really.”

“You think so?” he said, worriedly.

“I do,” she answered emphatically. “I think you two will be brilliant together.”

He smiled at this. “Thanks. It's pretty new, but...”

“So, how'd this come to be?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“She just came into the shop one day and told me it was time. It was the most barmy thing I've ever seen, but the next thing I know she's there waiting for me after work and we went to dinner and that's just how it's been ever since.” He still looked slightly gobsmacked by the whole experience.

Hermione laughed. It was exactly the sort of thing she could see Luna doing, and she could see Ron just going along with it as well.

“That's wonderful, really, wonderful,” she said genuinely, glad to see a bit of life in his eyes finally.

“What about you and Harry...” he left the question open ended.

She sighed heavily and shifted in the chair, drawing her legs closer in. “I'm not sure,” she said honestly and saw him give her an incredulous look. “I'm telling the truth. We haven't had a chance to talk about it.”

“It looked pretty serious when he left. It looks pretty serious with you sitting there in his shirt,” he pointed out and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I suppose it is, but we haven't discussed it yet. There truly hasn't been an opportunity. We're something. It's not defined. Maybe it doesn't need to be defined, but it's been a long time since we've been together and we're different people now,” she trailed off, not meeting his eyes.

He scoffed “You're not different at all. You're Harry and Hermione and anything that happens between you two can be defined, as you put it, quite easily by saying just that. You're Harry and Hermione. It seems pretty straightforward to me. I think you're just making it difficult for no reason.”

She sat stunned, contemplating what he had said. Merlin help her, it made sense.

She sank back further into the chair. “Careful Ron, or that tablespoon may become a soup ladle.”

He chuckled but didn't say anything else. Eventually she saw him shifting positions from the corner of her eye. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and clasped his hands over his middle before shutting his eyes.

She was getting sleepy herself and it seemed easier to stay where she was than make her way back upstairs again. And before too long, she was drifting off to the soft tones of Ron's snores.

The next thing she knew, faint morning light was filling the room and she could hear noise in the rest of the house. The chair Ron had occupied was empty, although she noticed he had left his dirty dishes behind. Someone had put a throw over her at some point and she was touched by the gesture.

She folded the blanket and laid it on the back of the chair, collected their plates and mugs, and headed towards the kitchen. She could hear footsteps upstairs and the soft cry of baby Dominique.

Just as she was about to push open the door, she heard voices and her name. She stopped.

“...don't want to think what would have happened if George and I hadn't gone back to get Mum's knitting. It was awful, Dad,” she heard Bill say as he addressed his father. “Harry wouldn't let go of her and the sound she was making...” She heard Bill trail off to compose himself before continuing. “I touched her, to see if I could get her to focus on me and she was burning up. Then I took a good look at them and saw the shape they were in.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked “Harry said last night there had been an accident with the car but I didn't think it had been that serious.”

“They looked like they had just been through a battle. Hermione had a bruise on her head and her knee was mangled, not to mention she's got a wicked long scar on her arm now.” Arthur must have given his son a look because the next thing Bill said was “No, the other arm.” She heard a soft curse.

“Harry's back was bleeding, and it looked like his head was about in the same shape as hers.” She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. She didn't know Harry's shoulder wound had opened back up again.

“The healer's weren't too happy with the condition they were in and said if they hadn't come in when they did it could have been a lot worse, especially for Hermione.”

“Do you think all this business is connected?” Arthur said, and she could almost see him rubbing the thinning spot on his head.

“I think it has to be. Nothing else makes sense,” Bill began but she missed what else he was going to say when Fleur came up behind her suddenly.

“Good morning, Hermione,” Fleur said softly, Dominique in her arms. The baby looked as happy as she did the day before, her plump arms waving enthusiastically.

“Good morning, Fleur.” Hermione had developed a new found respect for her when they had stayed at Shell Cottage during the war. It was Fleur that had tried to heal her arm.

Fleur pushed the door open and Hermione had no choice but to follow. She nodded hello to Arthur and Bill and went to place her dishes in the sink.

“That's what happened to the biscuits,” Bill said lightly

“You'd need to talk to your brothers about that,” she replied, wiping her hands on a dish towel, glad he didn't bring up her nightmares.

She turned to hang up the towel and heard the door open again and then there was a strangled gasp. Hermione whipped around and saw the door swinging, much like the ginger pony tail of one Ginny Weasley as she made her way back down the hall.

“What on earth!” Hermione exclaimed and saw Bill and Fleur exchange a look.

“I just think Ginny was a little surprised to see you Hermione,” Bill said, sending an obviously desperate look at his wife to help him.

“Why would she be surprised to see me? I saw her last night when we arrived,” she said, confused by what was going on.

“I believe Bill means she was surprised by your appearance,” Fleur said gently and gave a nod to what Hermione was wearing.

Her cheeks flushed hot and she covered her face for a moment. “It's not...I just...I didn't have anything with me and it was all I could find...I'm sorry, I'll talk to her,” Hermione said, vowing to never step foot outside the bedroom again without being fully dressed. “Excuse me,” she said softly and nearly ran from the room.

She sighed heavily when she entered Sirius's old bedroom. Harry had never told her what happened with Ginny. She knew they hadn't resumed their relationship after the war, Harry had told her as much. But she didn't know how Ginny had taken it.

Hermione resolved to sort this out, even though she didn't really want to. She decided that changing her clothes was the first order of business. The jeans and jumper she had found the night before were her last clean clothes. She needed to ask Mrs. Weasley what the best laundry spells were.

Soon she was dressed and had plaited her hair. Looking in the mirror she took a deep breath and tried to steel herself for what she was about to do.

Before she could change her mind she crossed the hall and knocked on the door Ginny was occupying. “Ginny, it's Hermione, may I come in?”

There was a long pause and then she heard, “It's open.”

Ginny stood leaning against the window frame with her back to the door.

“Ginny...” she began, but quickly realized she had no idea what to say.

“Hermione, it's ok. Really,” the red head said, but didn't turn around.

“Ginny, I didn't mean to hurt you...it just...” but Ginny cut her off.

“Don't say it just happened. You and Harry didn't `just happen'. It's been you and Harry since the beginning. You two were just too daft to see what everyone else already had.” Ginny tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but failed.

Ginny continued, “It's ok. Truly. I knew after the war he and I were through, and then he left and then you did too and...I got over it. I know it might seem like I haven't but I have. I've even been dating someone for over a year. But seeing you both back, seeing Ron come alive again and then walking into his kitchen and seeing you with his name across your back and a ring on your finger...It just took me by surprise.” Ginny finally turned around to face her.

Hermione stared at her in shock, and then the words resonated with her. “Wait. What? Ring?” And she looked down to see that she had been spinning the band absently again. “No, you don't understand, Harry didn't...it's not...it's just a ring.” She let out a small growl of frustration. “I'm sorry, I'm not explaining myself very well.” She didn't know if she could. She was certainly not going to tell Ginny about what had happened between her and Harry while they were on the run, and she wasn't going to tell her about the ring either; it was too personal.

“You don't need to explain. I'm sorry if I assumed about the ring. My reaction was...stupid. I was more upset about that than about seeing you in the jersey. That's why I left. I was embarrassed.” Hermione knew it took a lot for Ginny to admit that.

“Thanks, Gin.” And then there was an awkward silence where neither of them knew what to say. “Well, I guess I'll let you get back to what you were doing.” Hermione said, and began to leave the room.

“Hermione,” Ginny called before she could exit. “I'm glad for you guys, really. And I'm glad you're back. It hasn't been the same.”

Hermione smiled her thanks and then headed back downstairs.

The kitchen was full of Weasleys and for a moment she felt very much out of place. Arthur had already left and Mrs. Weasley was manning the stove while Bill, Percy, and George were around the table eating from overflowing plates.

Ron was nowhere to be seen, but Ginny came in a few minutes later, grabbed a plate, and seemed none the worse for their conversation.

Fleur was attempting to get Victoire to eat and juggle the baby at the same time. Hermione took pity on her and asked if she could help. Fleur gave her a grateful look and the next thing Hermione knew she had Dominique and a bottle.

She froze for a second and then assessed the situation. She had fought Death Eaters, she could certainly feed a baby.

Completely focused on her task she didn't see Molly keeping a watchful eye on her, or the soft look on Ron's face as he finally made an appearance and saw her. A few adjustments and she was holding Dominique in such a way she was sure she wouldn't drop her and had successfully gotten the bottle in her mouth. She felt like she had just aced an exam.

Ron chucked his niece under the chin as he passed by and dropped a brotherly kiss on Hermione's hair before heading straight for his breakfast.

She caught his eye as he was impatiently waiting for Molly to fill the plate and mouthed `Thank you'. He just nodded until his attention was caught by Molly only giving him three sausages. “Oi, Mum! That's not enough. I'm still a growing boy!”

Molly ignored him and his request and sent him grumbling to the table.

Feeling confident, Hermione made her way over to the closest chair and sat down gingerly. “Don't drop her, Auntie `Mione,” Ron said jokingly, and she glared at him.

Molly slapped the back of his head for her. “Stop it, you. She's doing just fine,” and Fleur gave her an understanding smile, letting Hermione know the French girl had gotten used to the Weasley antics after all these years.

Dominique somehow managed to fall asleep despite the din and Hermione pulled the bottle away and watched a dribble of milk spill from her bow lips. She spied a napkin on the table but couldn't quite reach it. “Here dear,” Molly said and handed her a soft flannel from her apron pocket. Hermione dabbed the spot and froze when the baby moved at the contact. Hermione's breathing resumed when she settled back down and Molly smiled at the look of panic on her face. “They do that. Not much can wake this little one,” she said and stroked her granddaughter's fair hair.

“I've never really been around babies before,” Hermione explained

“No worries. It'll be as natural as breathing when you and Harry have your own,” and then she slipped back to the stove leaving Hermione in a state of shock.

Her mind was blank. She couldn't have...There was no possible way Mrs. Weasley had just said...No possible way.

“I think you broke her, Mum,” she heard George say and she was startled from her reverie when Fleur lifted the baby from her arms.

Fleur gave her a sympathetic look and thanked her for her help. Bill came up and kissed his wife and the baby goodbye and said he would see them at home. George wasn't far behind, and he also tried to kiss Fleur but she swatted him away with a laugh. Yes, Hermione thought, some things had changed very much.

Percy followed his brothers, and then it was Ginny's turn. She had a brief row with her mother who insisted she not spend the night at her flat alone. It was quickly ended when Ginny stated she didn't intend to be alone and then fled before her mother could retort.

Molly set the dishes to washing and then helped Fleur with the girls, leaving Ron and Hermione at the table.

“Mum didn't mean anything by it, Hermione. You know how she is. She wants everyone married and babies crawling all over the place,” Ron explained.

“I know, it just surprised me is all. I mean, I haven't thought about that. At all,” she said, voice still a little breathless.

Ron got up to get seconds and came back with an additional plate and mug of tea for her. “You've lost too much weight. Eat,” he ordered.

She smiled at him gratefully and realized she was quite hungry.

It was more food than she had eaten in a week and she quickly grew full. Ron's eyes lit up when she slid her last sausage onto his sad empty plate.

“Cheers!” he said before devouring it with gusto.

“Harry said if things calmed down you could go back to the Burrow in a few days.” Ron nodded that he heard her.

Ron replied, “Good. Family wards are stronger there than at my flat. You going to stay here?”

She averted her gaze. “I don't really have anywhere else to go. All my things are in France. My parents are in Australia. Besides, Harry made me promise I'd stay here so...”

“Makes sense. Safest house in Britain,” he said, unknowingly echoing Harry's comment from the day before.

“I think Mum's heading back today. Fleur's going to Switzerland or somewhere to visit her sister and Mum's watching the girls,” Ron explained.

“So you're telling me we'll have a quiet house tonight then? Well, as long as I remember to put up the silencing charm,” she said in a self deprecating tone.

Hermione grabbed their plates and added them to the sink. Ron was standing and stretching and winced when something hurt him. “That reminds me, I've got potions to take,” he said as he pulled a face at the thought of the taste. “Think I'll take a kip while I'm up there. Rest and recovery you know,” he said and grinned naughtily, clearly taking advantage of his hospital discharge orders.

Molly, Fleur, and the girls departed not long after. Molly hesitated, clearly not quite ready to leave her youngest son, but Hermione assured her they'd be alright and Harry would be back soon.

And then all was quiet. Ron was upstairs sleeping and as she finished tidying up the kitchen she realized she was alone, with nothing to do, nothing to work on, and only her thoughts to keep her company.

The first two days at Grimmauld on their own weren't as bad as she had feared. Hermione reacquainted herself with the Black family library while Ron was taking one of his frequent naps, and the rest of the time they caught up with each other.

He even asked about her course work, and she enthusiastically began to tell him what she had been studying and what her paper was about until she was interrupted by the sound of him snoring. There was no extra dessert for him that night.

By the second day, even Ron had to admit he was getting bored and told her over dinner he planned on going back to the Burrow the next day. Hermione said she thought it was a good idea. She knew he was missing Luna, who knew he was better and not dead, but hadn't been able to see him since he'd left the hospital.

The Weasleys had already issued a statement saying there had been a mix-up at St.Mungo's and that they were happy to report Ron wasn't dead but had been transferred to another location to complete his recovery.

They hoped this would be enough to put their attackers off the track. Ron still wasn't thrilled about being under house arrest, but at least Luna could come see him at the Burrow.

Hermione didn't want Ron to go, but tried not to let him see. The next morning he stood at the front door with a bag over his shoulder promising to floo her that night. All she could do was nod tightly and give him a hug. Then the door was shut and he was gone.

She wasn't sure how long she stood with her head pressed against the door, but eventually she pulled away and went back to the kitchen. Two plates and two mugs didn't take long to wash, even doing them the muggle way. The house seemed to grow around her and its dark and dankness was beginning to affect her.

The library was looking better under her care. She kept at it to give herself something to do and lamented that she had left her computer in France, although she wasn't sure it would work with the magical interference.

The third night was rough. Harry had now been gone longer than she had been with him after he'd shown up in that rented room in France. She was beginning to get truly worried.

Ron floo'd her as promised, and Luna was by his side. Hermione spent a pleasant and welcome twenty minutes talking with them, but when the fire went out she was once again alone in the oppressive house.

She spent most of day four tracking down some small pixie like creature that had escaped from a book she'd opened. Finally, in the late afternoon, after using every spell she could think of she found the little thing asleep in a dusty unused room on the third floor. She captured it in a conjured jar and left it there while she researched how to get rid of it.

That night she slept without dreaming.

Day five she didn't get out of Harry's jersey. She didn't know how much longer she could be expected to go on with no information, no contact, and with nothing to do. Mrs. Weasley popped in once to bring her a tart, but the girls were at the Burrow with Ron. Fleur wasn't coming back until later that day, and Molly didn't want to leave them too long with their uncle.

Hermione ate the tart for dinner, straight out of the container, not caring. That night she decided she'd had enough. She had a plan. One hour. She'd apparate into Diagon Alley, go to Gringrotts, get some new clothes at Madam Malkins, and run by Flourish and Blotts. One hour and she'd be back. No one knew she was in England and there was no reason to assume that she was. Surely Harry would understand. It had been almost a week since the last attack. Cautious was one thing, but paranoid was an entirely different beast.

She had worked out any possible argument anyone could have had with her and knew she was right. It would be fine.

She made herself wait until the afternoon when the morning shoppers and lunch crowd would be gone. It would make her trip all that much quicker and might not even take an hour.

Her magical confidence was back in full force and she didn't think twice before apparating. She arrived right behind the Leaky Cauldron and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air.

Hermione kept her head down and walked purposely down the street, heading for the bank. She didn't want to risk being recognized, and her reappearance after being gone for so long would surely cause a stir.

The reconstruction looked like it had gone well and most of the shops had reopened. She was tempted to take her time and browse, but she stuck to her plan.

Gringotts took longer than she expected and half her allotted time was taken exchanging Muggle currency for galleons. She was irritated when she left and decided to cut out the trip to Madam Malkins. Maybe Mrs. Weasley could get Ginny to lend her some clothes.

She wasn't going to miss Flourish and Blotts, and not because it was the bookstore. She had vowed to become proficient in healing spells and intended to do just that.

Hermione was about to cross the street in front of WWW when she saw George headed towards her. He lifted a hand in recognition but didn't call out.

“Hello Hermione, Harry back?” he asked when they met up.

“No. Not yet. Just wanted to pop out for a few and get a couple of things,” she responded, trying to sound nonchalant.

He gave her an appraising look. “Why don't you come in and see the shop. You left before it was reopened.”

“No really, I need to run across the street and then...”

“Come on...I'll let you chastise me on the more questionable merchandise,” he teased.

She looked up as if exasperated and the large, brightly lit sign above the shop flashed a the twin cartoonish faces of George and Fred.

With a sigh she conceded defeat. “Five minutes, we'll save the chastisement for another day.”

They hadn't been in the shop two minutes when a silver patronus raced in from the back.

“Mum!” George shouted and Hermione immediately drew her wand.

Molly's ghostly vision was before them. “Attack at the Burrow. Not safe. Go to the house,” and then it faded.

George whirled on Hermione. “Go. Now!”

She didn't need to be told twice.

Dashing into the street she knew she needed to be ten yards from the store's anti-apparition wards that were in place to prevent theft. She almost made it. And then she heard the unmistakable sound of three loud and terrifying apparations.

She turned on her heel while still moving forward. Halfway down the street, stalking towards her were three wizards, all in black, and all with raised wands. Her steps faltered at the sight.

She wasn't going to make it.

Firing over her shoulder she tried to make it harder on them but then she heard the sound of spellfire being returned. One went by so close she could feel it.

She abandoned the plan of apparating and headed back towards the shops looking for cover. A silver patronus raced past her and she assumed it was George sending a message to Bill.

People were screaming in the streets. She saw parents pushing their children into shops and others were fleeing as fast as they could. Frantic pops of apparation could be heard from every direction.

George tumbled out of the shop and fired towards the attackers as he tried to make his way towards her. He was forced into an alleyway and she could see his eyes wide with fear as he looked for her.

She didn't have as good a hiding place as George did. One reducto and the bin she was behind would be nothing but splinters and would most likely take her with it. She'd have to try and make it to the next building. It was solid brick and from behind it she'd have some protection.

Taking a deep breath she steeled herself and then, firing as many spells as she could to give herself a bit of a head start, she ran. She could hear George firing as well, trying to do his best to cover her.

Hermione whipped her head to look over her left shoulder and saw the purple flame just before it hit. She managed to twist out of the way, but not enough. It caught her partly in the back. A strangled scream came out of her as she struggled to keep conscious, fell to her knees, and almost lost her wand.

Much too slowly she got back to her feet. George had managed to engage the three and she thought she had a chance to reach the building. There was frantic shouting from ahead and she looked up to see Bill Weasley charging towards her. He was trying to tell her something but she couldn't hear him.

The structure she'd set her sights on was another thirty yards but it may as well have been thirty miles. Something felt wrong inside her. The adrenaline coursing through her was keeping the curse at bay but she knew it wasn't good.

She stumbled and a green flash went over her head. Scrabbling back to her feet with a guttural yell she kept moving. They were closer now.

Bill was almost to her. Almost. She saw his mouth moving while he fired curses and he was still trying to tell her something. Angling her body so she could see where they were she realized there were only two attackers left. George must have gotten one of them. A surge of elation went through her, but it was short lived.

The assailants wore heavy dark hoods and she couldn't see their faces, but the one on the left wasn't even acknowledging George or Bill and was just hunting her.

She turned to yell at Bill, “The left!” she shouted and then looked back. Too late to put up a shield charm, the slashing gesture he made before the curse fired was violent and then it hit her.

The curse tore through her side. She hadn't known pain before. This was so white hot it almost felt cold. She went straight back, her wand rolling out of her outstretched hand. Her head bounced hard on the ground and all she could see was sky.

Suddenly someone grabbed her arm and she was being dragged backwards. She knew she yelled out, couldn't help it. It was too much. Too much.

She raised a hand automatically and covered where the pain was coming from. It was hot and wet. So much hotter than she thought it would be. When she looked down, all she could see is red. She pressed and it didn't hurt. She thought it should.

Someone, Bill she assumed, was by her side. There was a strangled curse and then another set of hands on top of her own. Now it hurts. She moaned and there were spots in front of her eyes.

She could hear something: Her name. She forced her eyes to move until she could see Bill's wide eyes. He was pale, the scars on his face vivid. He turned from her, his body blocking what was happening on the street and she knew he was aiming at the two remaining attackers.

Bill spoke to her again, but she couldn't make it out and she was beginning to feel cold. She vaguely heard, “I'm sorry,” before he pointed his wand at her. “Enervate!” he cast, and her body bowed like it had been hit with electricity.

Hermione felt like she was humming. Then everything cleared and she could hear the sounds of the street. Bill was firing back and thrust her wand into her hand. “We need you.”

He helped her sit up. Hermione had to keep a hand pressed on her side, convinced she may fall apart if she didn't. She found she couldn't stand, tried digging her heels in the dirt and pushing, only to find it was agony. Bill helped pull her back some more and then they moved far enough back to see the ones coming after her as soon as they came around the corner. It was the only advantage they had.

“Make it count,” Bill said and all she could manage was a nod as she tried not to whimper. She readjusted the grip on her wand. It was slick with blood and hard to hold.

The sun assisted them and they saw the shadows first. Bill let out a volley of hexes and curses, some she had never seen before. She knew she only had the strength for one, and like Bill said, she needed to make it count.

Then they were there.

“Confringo!” she roared and she and Bill were thrown back by the force of the blast. The corner of the building they were next to caved in and the fire ball rose four stories. She couldn't see through the smoke and fire, but she saw bricks and wood fall where the attackers had been standing and she didn't think there was any way they could have survived. The heat was oppressive and she hoped she hadn't hurt any innocent bystanders. Smoke filled the street and for a second she was back at Hogwarts during the war. It wasn't lost on her that this was the spell that had killed Fred.

With debris settling around them, Bill leaned his body over her to protect her from the falling detritus. Ash and brick dust settled in his hair and burning beams fell on either side of them.

As soon as the spell had been cast, she felt everything from before Bill had enervated her. Her vision was fading and the pain was so bad she almost couldn't breathe.

Bill's face was directly above hers and he covered her hand again to press on the wound. She heard a sound that seemed to come from an animal, and then she realized it was from her.

Another red head joined Bill's as George skidded to his knees beside them.

“Oh Gods, Bill,” he said in a strangled voice. “That's bad. Where are the bloody Aurors?” George said, looking around them at the chaos.

“We've got to get her out of here,” the older brother said, concentrating on the amount of blood currently running out from beneath their hands.

“Mum said nowhere was safe, they were going to the house,” George relayed and shared a look with Bill. She knew what they were thinking; they didn't think she'd live long enough to get to Grimmauld.

“Then that's where we're going. We've got to try,” Bill said decisively. He slid a hand under her legs and another behind her back. She almost blacked out when he stood. A moment of clarity came over her when she realized what he intended to do.

“No,” she managed to choke out, before coughing. Red flecks sprayed in front of her. This was bad. “Don't apparate,” she forced out. “I won't...I won't make it.” She knew it was truth.

“She's right,” George replied and Bill looked at him desperately.

“Portkey,” she whispered. She was starting to shake now and couldn't keep her hand over her side any longer. It fell away and hung down limply.

“Emergency portkey!” George said loudly and started digging in his pockets. He came up with a trick yo-yo and quickly performed the required spell. “I set it to go off two seconds after we touch it.” He shoved it into the hand Bill had behind her back and forced her hand on it as well. She felt the familiar tug behind her navel.

They were deposited on the front stoop of number 12 and Bill ended up on his knees. She could see right in front of her, but everything on the periphery was black.

George lifted his brother by the elbow and threw the door open.

“We need help!” George began shouting, leading the way towards the library. When Bill turned sideways to keep from hitting her head on the walls she couldn't hold it up anymore and allowed it to fall back over his arm.

Ginny burst out into the hallway ahead of them. “Oh Merlin!” she exclaimed when she saw them. “In here! Mum! Hermione's bad off!” Ginny yelled as they entered the room. It was full of Weasleys.

Ron was on the settee, his shirt off while his mother tended to a long gash on his shoulder. Fleur sat in the corner, the girls huddled in her lap. Charlie Weasley had even arrived and rushed to their side when he saw his brothers, Bill especially, robes covered in blood and looking like he was about to collapse.

“Give her here,” Charlie said and Hermione tried not to cry out when Bill transferred her and then stumbled over to his family, falling at Fleur's feet to hug her and their daughters.

Charlie swore vehemently when he saw her wound. “Mum! This is bad. We need a healer.” To Hermione it sounded like he was talking from the end of a long tunnel.

Molly ran over and gasped in shock before gathering her wits. “Ginny, clear the table. George, contact Hogwarts and tell them you're coming to get Madame Pomfrey through the floo.”

Hermione felt like she was floating. All she could see was the beamed ceiling of the library, and she had the morbid thought that if she died then she'd have died in a library and that couldn't be so bad.

People were moving her around, but the table was cool underneath and she thought it felt nice. They were shifting her this way and that and casting various diagnostic spells. There was pressure and a ripping sound. That was her last good jumper she thought absently. She heard Bill tell his mother that she had been hit twice but he didn't know by what spell.

The pain was gone. She couldn't feel her feet or her hands anymore and she thought this wasn't so bad. Then someone was trying to make her drink something and she choked.

Ron was at her head. He looked scared. He moved loose hair from her eyes and held her head up while he poured the blood replenishing potion. She swallowed on reflex. Harry. She wanted Harry. If this was all going to go pear shaped she thought it only fair that she at least get to see Harry one more time.

There was another crash from the hallway and Ginny ran out to see. There was more shouting and Charlie went to check on his sister. When they returned they weren't alone. Harry was supported between them, bleeding from a head wound.

Harry. She got her wish, Hermione thought, and closed her eyes.

The world faded in and out in tones of grey and sepia, never lingering long enough for her to know where she was.

The first time she was aware, all she could hear were voices and see blurred shapes through the slight slit of eyes she was able to manage. There was a pressure on her stomach and she was forced to swallow a foul tasting potion. Then she was gone again.

The next time she woke she could see clearly. She was still in the library, on the settee. She didn't want to move, but felt a presence to her left and someone was holding her hand.

She was upstairs in Sirius's bedroom the third time she woke. The pillows were soft and a thumb ran over the ring on her finger so she squeezed. There was a lot of noise and then cool hands on her forehead and another potion.

The fourth time she woke up she was still in the bedroom. It was night, based on how quiet the house was and she felt more present. A dark shape was in her peripheral vision and with considerable effort she was able to turn her head. It was Harry. She fell back asleep with a smile on her face.

She woke up screaming the fifth time. Hands were on her shoulders pushing her back down, and she searched for her wand. Eventually she could hear murmured pleas against her hair, and her eyes finally saw what was in front of them. With her face still wet, she reached a hand up and had it grabbed before it could reach its destination. “Hello,” she said quietly, and Harry pressed a hard kiss to her palm not bothering to hide his tears.

When she woke later, she felt like she could keep her eyes open for longer than a few minutes. She was still in the bedroom and could see various potion bottles and vials strewn about the dresser across from her.

She felt weak and tired, but there wasn't any pain. Her hand was empty, and with her brow furrowed in confusion she turned her head to the left and saw the chair was empty. She was alone.

A flare of hurt and panic went through her. Where was Harry? What was going on? Had he left again? She had no idea what day it was or what had been happening and the unknown was weighing on her.

She put her hands against the mattress and tried to push herself up some, but a pain shot through her core and her arms collapsed underneath her. Apparently not everything was better.

Just as she was contemplating calling out, the door opened. The hallway was dark and at first she couldn't make out who it was until a bit of light reflected off of the person's glasses. Harry.

He didn't notice she was awake. He carried a mug of tea in one hand, and by the hunch of his shoulders and the way he moved she could tell he wasn't doing well mentally.

Making his way through the dark he sat the mug on the table next to the bed and sank back into the chair with a sigh. She waited until he was seated to speak.

“Hello,” she said softly, glad to hear that her voice sounded strong.

His head turned towards her slowly and then he lit the lamp by the bed. She blinked at the intrusion, and then it didn't matter anymore because he was looking at her like she had just gifted him water in a desert.

He slid off the chair onto his knees beside the bed. “ `Mione,” he whispered, clearly not believing that she was awake. His hand hovered over hers and she closed the gap by intertwining their fingers. At the contact he exhaled and fell forward until his head was pressed into her hip.

He stayed there for a long time. She stroked her fingers through his dark hair and waited. When he lifted his head his eyes were red rimmed but dry.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Tired,” she admitted.

“I'm sure.” He had replied with a choked voice and looked away for a moment. She studied him and saw the strain around his eyes, the unshaven face, and the faint bruising on his temple.

“How long?” she asked perceptively.

He swallowed hard before replying. “Three days. You've been in and out, but...” And then he let go of her hand and jerked to his feet. He ripped his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. “Damn it `Mione, I almost lost you.”

“It was bad,” she confirmed. She remembered. She remembered being in the street with Bill and George and not knowing if she'd make it to Grimmauld.

He didn't answer her. He didn't have to.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. She knew this was her fault.

He was at her side again immediately. “Don't. Just...don't do that. Not right now.” His face was so hurt, and he said it so earnestly she had to agree.

“What time is it?” she asked, noticing that the rest of the house was quiet.

“It's late. Two something I think. You don't get another potion until six.” The way he spoke made it seem like her potion schedule was something he was all too familiar with.

“You've been here the whole time?”

He leaned in so their foreheads touched. “Where else would I be?” he said softly, lips brushing her cheek.

Her eyes grew heavy and she gripped his hand more securely when he sat back in the chair. “Go to sleep,” he commanded. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

It was light out when she opened her eyes next. Harry was stretched out on the bed next to her, one hand lying on her wrist. Ron now occupied the chair, his head propped up on one hand and his legs rested on the bed near her feet. Someone was moving around the potions that had rested on the dresser and Hermione realized it was the familiar form of the Hogwarts nurse, Madame Pomfrey.

“Glad to see you're back with us, Miss Granger,” Madame Pomfrey said when she saw her charge was awake.

It was a testament to how exhausted Harry had to have been for him not to wake up.

“I must have been in bad shape if you're here,” Hermione observed, keeping her voice low.

“I have experience keeping the three of you whole. I wasn't going to break that record now,” their former caretaker replied, but there was an edge to her voice Hermione had never heard before.

“You scared the shit out of us Hermione,” Ron said suddenly. She cut her eyes to see him looking at her with an expression she couldn't place.

He stared at her for a long minute and then got to his feet. “I'll be back,” he said shortly, grabbed her hand for a second, and then fled the room.

The nurse came to her side and handed her a blue potion. Hermione swallowed it dutifully, but with a grimace.

“How are they?” she asked, knowing that both Ron and Harry had been hurt that day as well.

“Mr. Weasley had been adequately healed by his mother by the time I arrived,” Madame Pomfrey answered, taking the empty vial back to join the collection. “That one,” she said with derision in her voice while jerking her head in Harry's direction, “That one there gave me trouble, although that is nothing new I suppose. He refused treatment until you had been seen to. Considering I'm fairly proficient in triage you were already my first priority,” she said acerbically. “However, Mr. Potter continued to refuse my care even after...well, after I had done what I could do for you Ms. Granger.” Hermione felt her throat get tight. She knew it was close, but if the veteran nurse had thought she may not survive...Hermione didn't want to complete that thought.

“So how is he?”

“Concussion.” Madame Pomfrey said with the air of someone that had treated him for ailment countless times before. “And he had been hit with the Cruciatus curse several times, although he didn't tell me that on his own.”

Hermione curled her fingers around so she could touch his hand, glad to see he was still sleeping. She knew he hadn't been doing much of that recently.

“I'm pleased to see him resting. He hasn't had more than a few hours.” Madame Pomfrey confirmed. “Since you seem to be back with us permanently I'll be returning to Hogwarts. There is no reason those here can't care for you for the remainder of your recovery.”

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said with a smile

“Just doing my job. Although, if I'm being honest Ms. Granger, I thought my days of caring for `The Trio' were over. Take care.” She swept from the room.

She could hear Harry's even breathing and faint noises from the rest of the house, but other than that it was quiet. For once she was awake, and she had nothing but questions. Mostly though, she was worried about Ron. He had looked scared, angry, and something else that she couldn't quite identify.

She tried to shut her eyes and rest, but she was awake now, and quite frankly she was tired of being unconscious. It was getting old.

There was a shuffling noise and Mrs. Weasley was at the bedside. “Hello, dear. Ron said you were awake. I thought you might like a cup of tea,” she said with watery eyes.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” Hermione reached for the cup, feeling a twinge when she twisted too far. Mrs. Weasley shoo'd her off and handed it to her.

“How are you feeling?” Molly asked softly, sitting in the chair.

“Awake. Better, I think,” she answered truthfully. “How's Ron? He seemed...off. I'm not sure, he wasn't in here long.”

Mrs. Weasley looked away at first and then fussed with the edge of the blanket, straightening it and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. “Ron's just been worried dear.”

Hermione knew Molly was avoiding speaking the truth, but she didn't want to push and decided to wait for Ron to tell her himself.

“Would you like me to bring up something to eat?”

The thought of food turned her stomach. “Not yet. I'm afraid food doesn't sound appetizing. Tell Ron he's welcome to my share.”

Molly took the half empty tea cup from Hermione and patted her hand before saying she'd check in later.

As soon as she was out of the room, Ron walked in looking slightly sheepish. He scuffed his feet as he crossed the carpet to her side and hung his head like a bad dog.

When he was standing next to her she had to crane her head up to look at him. She reached out a hand and tugged on the bottom of his shirt. “You're too tall. I'm getting a crick in my neck.”

He obediently crouched and laid his folded arms on the bed, but he still wouldn't look at her.

“What happened?” she said simply, tapping his arm with a finger.

He sighed once and bowed his head before finally looking at her. “We were attacked. All three of us. All at once.” He let the information sink in before continuing. “Somebody's Trio hunting,” he said with a dark laugh that didn't sound anything like the Ron she knew.

The information was shocking. Clearly they knew someone was after her and Ron, but to now add Harry to the list and to have gotten to him while he was on a mission...That made this something else entirely. “Does Harry have any idea?” Ron cut her off before she could continue.

“He won't talk about it. He wants your side of the story and he says there are things he can't talk about,” Ron said with a snort, obviously in disagreement with Harry's point of view.

“So, what happened to you?” she asked, desperate for information.

Ron ran his hands through his hair and then down his face before grabbing one of her hands in both of his. He looked ashamed and sad, and she had no idea why.

“I was out walking near the pond at the Burrow,” he began, staring at a fixed point on the blanket while he talked. “I just needed to get out and get some air. Luna was going to walk over and meet me and stay for dinner.” He shut his eyes tight for a moment as if he had been struck by some mental image that he couldn't bear. “I guess I got too close to the wards or maybe they got through them, I don't know. The next thing I know, I hear someone apparate behind me. I turn around and it's one of those guys from the shop. I'm not sure if it's the same one but he's wearing the same thing.” She shivered at the memory of those dark hoods that made it look like there was a void where there should be a face.

The grip on her hand was getting harder. “He starts shooting spells at me. First one was Sectumsempra. It caught me in the shoulder and I swear for a second I thought my arm was gone. I had to switch my wand to the other hand and then, I don't know why, but instead of using the heavy stuff, I fired every school yard jinx and hex I could think of. Probably ten of them in a row and the last one was a full body bind.” His knuckles were white now, his grip was so tight and the bones in her fingers were grinding together, but she didn't dare say anything.

The set of his jaw was tight and a crease between his brows so deep that he aged in front of her. He was so keyed up he practically vibrated and she couldn't possibly imagine what was affecting him this badly.

He took a deep breath and then leaned his head down until it rested on the hand he grasped. He continued talking. “The body bind caught him. He tipped over and landed in the pond. Face down. I didn't pull him out, Hermione. I let him drown,” and his shoulders shook at the admission.

“Oh, Ron,” she exhaled, and the image he presented was suddenly so powerful it took her breath away. Kneeling, head bowed, clasping her hand: He was looking for absolution.

“Oh, Ron,” she repeated and wished she was able to comfort him.

“Ron,” she called, but he didn't acknowledge he had heard her. “Ron, look at me,” she said, her voice stern. Finally he raised his head enough to meet her eyes even though he looked away almost immediately.

“I'm glad you let him drown,” she said fiercely and his eyes flew to hers. “He was going to kill you. It was a battle, and you won. There is nothing wrong with that.” As she talked, she kept seeing the explosion she'd caused at Diagon Alley and the two people she'd certainly killed.

He didn't respond, but the death grip he had on her hand lessened and she managed to wiggle it free of his grasp and lay it on the back of his head. He took deep shuddering breaths and she knew he was trying not to completely breakdown.

It was quiet for a long time.

“I'm glad you let him drown too.” Harry's voice came from her right. Hermione startled. She hadn't heard him wake up and wondered how long he'd been listening.

Keeping her hand on Ron, she turned so she could see Harry. His hand squeezed her fingers and she squeezed them back. “Hello again,” she said with a smile, and he smiled back before leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Glad to see you're back with us,” he whispered and then slipped from the bed and headed into the bathroom.

Ron pulled away from the bed and turned, scrubbing his hands across his eyes viciously.

When Harry rejoined them, Ron was pacing at the foot of the bed, clearly still upset.

“I know how you feel,” Harry said evenly, and for a second Ron shot him an incredulous look, but then reconsidered who this was coming from.

“Ron, I've killed people. More than one. Several in fact. Some during the war and some since.” His voice betrayed nothing. He stood with his feet solidly under him, his hands in his pockets, looking every inch the experienced soldier. “What makes me different from the people I've killed is that I didn't want to kill them. I did it because I had no other choice.”

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Harry cut him off. “I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that you made the choice to let him drown. That you could have saved him. But you saw the opportunity to let him die and you took it. And now you're afraid that you've lost something of yourself or that you've taken on a bit of the monster you killed. You're not sure you're fit to be around, fit to be loved, fit to be trusted.” Ron turned away, not looking at either of them. His hands were fisted in his hair and she knew he was close to breaking.

“It wasn't the same as in the war.” Ron started, his voice edgy. “I'm sure I killed people then, but everything was so fast, and there was no time to see what had happened. You just moved on,” he said desperately. “This was...it was so close. And I just stood there and watched.”

Harry nodded his head and listened. “Ok then. You think you did the wrong thing?” and he waited for Ron to respond. Finally Ron gave a stiff nod. “So, let's say he got a better hit with that first curse and killed you. What do you think he would have done after that? Do you think he would have just left? What if your mother or Fleur had come down to help you? What would he have done then?” Ron's face was getting more twisted as Harry forced these `what ifs' at him.

“What if the girls had been out walking with you?” Harry said quietly.

Ron turned red, fury written all over his face. “He wouldn't have touched them!” he roared.

“Why? Why wouldn't he have touched them?” Harry pushed, “You're out by the pond, carrying the baby, Victoire's playing in the reeds. Do you think he would have spared them? They meant nothing to him. Two very small speed bumps on his way to his goal,” Harry said, almost cruelly.

And Ron lost it. He was toe to toe with Harry. “I would have killed him!” he shouted, with such force it reverberated around the room.

But Harry wasn't through yet. “And would he have deserved it?”

“Yes!” Ron said immediately, without hesitation.

Harry didn't move back. He let Ron hang on that moment before continuing, “So why is it ok for you to kill him for threatening your family, but not ok for you to let him die when he tried to kill you?”

Ron was breathing hard, and it wasn't clear if he had heard Harry. Then he staggered back until he hit the wall and his knees gave out. He slid down and ended up on the floor with a thud, shock evident on his face.

It was like time stood still in the room. Hermione was frozen on the bed while Harry had been extracting this epiphany from Ron. She hadn't dared move or make a sound in fear of breaking the moment.

Harry moved to the foot of the bed and sank down on it. Everything it had taken in him to push Ron was now gone, and he looked pale and haunted.

Without thought Hermione pushed the covers away and slowly lowered herself to the floor, first using the bed and then Harry's bent legs for support as she made her way towards Ron.

There were three steps of open floor she had to cross to get to him, but it didn't even register with her. Her legs were shaky but she kept her balance, and when she reached Ron she only needed to grip his shoulder briefly before she managed to turn around and slide down the wall next to him.

Ron didn't acknowledge her presence. He sat like a statue, head resting on his palms while his fingers were clenched in his hair, staring straight ahead, not blinking.

With only some effort, Hermione reached her arm up and wrapped it around Ron's shoulders, tugging gently until he tipped sideways into her lap. He came easily, his head pressed against her stomach and she absently stroked his hair while they were still.

The silence floated around them until she broke it by calling Harry's name. He hadn't moved from his place at the end of the bed, and she called him twice more before he reacted.

He blinked owlishly behind his glasses, unable to focus on her at first, and then he realized with a start where she was.

“ `Mione, what are you doing?” he asked, beginning to come towards her but she kept him back with a look and a shake of her head.

“Harry,” she said softly and slowly, “I need you to do something for me.”

He just looked at her expectantly. She licked her lips once before continuing. “I'm going to ask something of you, and I'm going to need you to trust me.”

His gaze never wavered. “Anything. You know that.”

She gave him a small smile. “I need you to contact Luna Lovegood and invite her into the house. And you need to bring her here now.”

Harry's brow crinkled in confusion. “Luna?”

Hermione nodded. “Trust me.”

Harry got to his feet and ran a hand over her head before he exited. “Take care of him,” he said simply. She could see the strain around his eyes and how much he didn't want to leave her.

Hermione didn't move. Even though the position wasn't terribly comfortable and the wall was cold against her back, she sat, never stopping the reassuring motion of her hand. Ron's shoulder was unfortunately placed right where her wound had been, but the low ache was tolerable.

She lost track of time. Her hand on his head was hypnotic and she allowed her mind to go blank.

Hermione didn't hear the door open or anyone walk in. Suddenly, crouched right in front of them was the unchanged face of Luna Lovegood.

“Hello, Hermione,” Luna said in her familiar lilting voice.

“Hello, Luna,” she replied.

Luna reached out and took Ron's hand in hers, but he tried to pull away and turned his head into Hermione's stomach like a child trying to hide.

“Come on, Ronald,” she said gently with a small tug, but he still resisted.

“Go with Luna, Ron.” Hermione gave his shoulder a small shake, but still he didn't move.

“Ronald, you need to come with me. Hermione's hurting and sitting on the floor isn't doing her any good,” Luna said, and Hermione wondered how she could possibly know.

Slowly Ron began to lift his head and then he let Luna pull him to his feet. He didn't seem to be seeing anything as she lead him from the room. Right before they reached the door, Luna looked over at Hermione and mouthed, “Thank you.”

Hermione heard Harry direct Luna to Ron's room. Then the door shut and they were alone.

She let her eyes close and her head fall back. She hadn't moved because she wasn't sure she could get up on her own.

Harry moved across the floor, and then an arm was behind her back and under her legs. He picked her up and carried her back to the bed.

“You shouldn't have gotten up,” he said, but he wasn't upset.

“Had to,” was her reply, and he knew she was right.

When he placed her on the bed and straightened up, she protested. “No, stay with me, please.”

Harry didn't respond but sat against the pillows before pulling her towards him, her legs draped over his lap, head fitting against his shoulder.

“Better?” he murmured against her hair, hands skimming up and down her arm.

“Perfect,” she replied with a contented sigh. A thought suddenly hit her and she stiffened. “But Harry, we haven't talked...I shouldn't have…”

Harry cut her off. “We'll talk, but we're both exhausted, and after that I could use some peace. Also, I'd like Ron to be here when we go over the rest, and he can't do that right now.”

Hermione nodded and then absently played with the buttons on his shirt before working up the courage to ask him something.

“Harry?” she said finally.

He looked down at her in response.

“Would you kiss me?” But she didn't even get a chance to finish the question before his hand was cupping her jaw and his mouth slanted over hers.

He wasn't gentle. The kiss was desperate and scared. It was three days of fear and wondering if she'd ever wake up again. She let him take it, and when he pulled back breathlessly and pushed his forehead into hers she promised she'd never do that to him again.

They sat like that for a long time until he pulled her down to rest on his chest and his chin settled on her head. She wasn't sure he was going to sleep since he kept trailing a hand up and down her arm, the other protectively covering the site of her wound. Content for the moment, she drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat.

Harry muttering incoherently and thrashing his head is what woke her this time. It took her a moment to realize where she was and where the movement was coming from. Harry's face was contorted in pain and his hand clutched the fabric at her hip.

Hermione sat up and stroked his cheek, the stubble rough under her fingertips. He came to with a jolt, sitting forward so quickly he almost banged his chin into her head.

Harry was breathing erratically, and he didn't seem to notice she was there. Hermione didn't want to spook him, but she was worried. With a quick shake of his head he snapped out of wherever he was and the color drained from his face.

He all but pushed her legs off of his, stumbled hurriedly from the bed, and made straight for the bathroom.

The door banged open in front of him and then she heard the unmistakable sounds of retching.

She went to him immediately. His hunched form kneeling on the floor was heartbreaking, and she quickly wet a flannel and dropped next to him, wiping his neck and face.

When his breathing was under control he sat back on the floor and rested his arms on his bent knees avoiding her gaze.

“Sorry,” he said finally. “I just...I guess talking to Ron about all of that dredged up some old memories. I was...I was seeing all of them again.” She knew he meant he was seeing all the people he had killed.

Hermione didn't say anything, just brushed the fringe away from his forehead and then leaned in to press a kiss to his scar. “You're a good man, Harry Potter,” she whispered fiercely and felt him shudder.

When some of the color had returned to his face, she got ungracefully to her feet and stuck a hand out for him to take. It took him a moment but he did slide his hand into hers and let her pull him up.

She let go when they were back in the bedroom and dropped unceremoniously into the chair. “You should be in bed,” Harry said in protest, but she waved him off.

“I've been in bed too much, I'm sick of it,” she said wearily, not wanting to have the conversation she knew they were about to have.

Harry stood in front of her patiently. For some reason that made her angry, but she quashed the feeling down. She pressed her eyes shut tightly to stop the tears that had appeared. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, not looking at him as she continued, “I'm so, so sorry. I thought it would be alright. I thought I'd be able to slip away for an hour and it would all be alright.” She chanced a glance and his face was blank, betraying no emotion. “You'd been gone for so long, and I was here all alone, and...” she trailed off, knowing that her excuses couldn't justify what she had done.

Hermione chewed nervously on a thumbnail and turned her head away. Then there was a hand on her knee and Harry was crouched in front of her. “You couldn't have known,” he said quietly, but she turned further away, feeling she didn't deserve his comfort.

“No,” his voice came out stronger and then he was turning her head back towards him. “Look at me. You need to hear this. They were waiting. Whoever this is, they were waiting for one of us to show ourselves. That's the only way this was possible. We were all attacked at the same time. This was planned, very carefully, and they were willing to wait as long as it took until they got their moment. What happened was going to happen. So, you cannot blame yourself.” Harry's eyes locked with hers and she knew he meant what he said.

Before she could say anything there was a knock at the door. Ron's red head was poking through. “You lot decent?” he asked lightly, and she was so relieved to hear him sounding more like himself.

Ron came in anyway, and although he looked tired and his jaw was tight he seemed much better than he had before.

“Good timing.” Harry said. “I was just trying to talk some sense into this one,” and nodded his head in Hermione's direction.

“Yeah, well, you're good at that.” Ron replied seriously. “Thanks, mate, for earlier.”

Harry just nodded, and Hermione swallowed down the lump in her throat.

Ron made his way over to the bed and sat down. “Let me guess, she thinks this is all her fault, and if she hadn't gone on walk-about we wouldn't be having this conversation?”

“Pretty much,” Harry confirmed. Hermione refused to look at either of them.

Harry got to his feet and put his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to give him her attention. When she felt she could, she looked his way.

“Now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened once you left the house: Who you talked to, where you went, what you saw...anything that seemed off or strange even if it's only in hindsight,” Harry said, the Auror visage back.

She stared at him before beginning. “I left in the afternoon. Only planning on going to the bank, Madam Malkins, and the bookstore. I apparated right behind the Leaky Cauldron and walked down to Gringotts. I didn't see anyone I knew or anything strange. There weren't many people when I arrived at the bank and they took my key quick enough. Although...” she trailed off, remembering something she hadn't really noticed before. “Usually it doesn't take long for a goblin to access your vault, however, that day I waited nearly twenty minutes. They apologized and said because I hadn't used it in so long it had been moved and that's why there was a delay, but...maybe that wasn't it?” Harry hadn't said a word, just listened to her, although she could tell his mind was working.

“Because it took so long at Gringotts I decided to skip Madame Malkins and go straight to Flourish and Blotts.” She saw Ron give a smirk but chose to ignore him. “I ran into George outside the shop.” Harry's eyes rose at this.

“Did he call out your name?” Harry asked.

She thought for a moment before answering. “No. We spoke in the street for a couple of minutes he was trying to convince me to come in and see the shop and I finally relented.” She searched her memory trying to recall if there had been anything strange but she couldn't think of anything. “There was nothing off that I was aware of. We weren't inside longer than a few minutes before the patronus came from the Burrow.”

Ron's face got tight and he was silent.

Then Harry broke the quiet. “What happened next, `Mione?”

She drew her feet up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her legs, unconsciously making herself a smaller target. “You know what happened next,” she stated.

“I know some. I know what George and Bill have told me,” he said evenly

She thought about that afternoon, and didn't know how she'd ever be able to relive it all. “I can't Harry....I just can't...” She dropped her head to her knees and hid.

She heard Harry take a long breath and most likely exchange a look with Ron. She knew it was hypocritical, but more than Harry needed to hear her tell him what had happened at Diagon Alley, she needed to know what had happened to her afterwards. She needed to know the extent of her injuries and what had happened while she was unconscious.

“I'm sorry. I'll tell you...I just can't right this moment.” She gathered the courage to lift her head, but only saw Harry's accepting face.

“But...I need to know. My injuries? What happened?”

Ron and Harry both reacted to that. Harry took his glasses off and rubbed a hand across his eyes while Ron sat straight up like he'd been prodded with something sharp. Neither of them looked like they wanted to talk about this.

“You were bad off and now you're fine, Hermione. Isn't that enough?” Ron pleaded, his discomfort obvious.

“I'm sorry. I have to know. It's me. You know I have to know what happened.” She was almost pleading now, the unknown eating at her.

Harry stared at Ron. After the longest time, Ron cursed and ran a hand through his already messy hair before he lurched from the bed and paced in front of her chair. Harry took Ron's place on the bed, looking deflated. He very purposefully did not look at her.

Her hands twisted the fabric over her knees, and now that she was about to hear, she wasn't completely sure she was prepared.

Ron stopped and started a few times, then leveled a look at Harry. “You can't expect me to, mate.” Hermione watched their interplay. Harry looked away and mumbled, “I can't. You know I can't.” She was left wondering what had been so terrible. Ron tried again and finally he was successful. “What's the last thing you remember?” he directed at her.

She took a shaky breath, “The library. I was on the table. Your mum was working on me.” Her face scrunched in effort as she tried to pull the foggy memories to the surface. “You were giving me a potion, and then...then there was noise in the hallway and Harry was back. That's the last thing I remember.”

Harry's eyes were shut tight and Ron swore again under his breath. She got the distinct impression that was not the last time she had been awake, but it was all she could remember.

“Hermione, it was bad, you know that. Bill was covered in your blood and it wasn't stopping once you were on that table. Mum tried the normal spells and healing charms but they weren't having much of an effect. The wound itself looked better, but you just wouldn't stop bleeding,” Ron explained, and his voice betrayed some of the desperation they must have felt.

“Bill said you were hit twice,” Ron said and she nodded in confirmation. “He didn't know what the first one was, but it took you to your knees. He wasn't close enough to see the wand movement, but he though he saw…”

“Purple,” they said together. “It was purple. Just like at the Department of Mysteries,” she finished, one hand unknowingly coming up to cover the scar Dolohov had left with her.

Ron's head bobbed in agreement. “Madame Pomfrey said it's a weaker form of the Killing Curse. It causes internal damage, which normally can't be seen or detected, except...”

“Except for the other spell I was hit with,” she finished for him. “It was Sectrumsepmra, wasn't it?” she asked, unable to look at Harry, but she saw him flinch when she said it.

The tightness in Ron's shoulders and the way he wouldn't meet her eyes let her knew she was right. “The wound in your side was so terrible because the first curse was preventing healing. We were pouring blood replenishing potion into you constantly but...we couldn't keep up at the same rate you were losing it. And you kept screaming, and it sounded just like with Bellatrix, and...”

Harry scrubbed his hands across his thighs roughly and stalked from the room. “I'm sorry,” he said tightly before the door slammed shut behind him.

“What aren't you telling me, Ron?” she asked, a feeling of dread beginning to fill her at Harry's abrupt departure.

“Don't make me.” He said it in such a small voice that she was reminded of a child.

“Please, Ron. I have to know,” she begged, knowing it must have been terrible.

He paced the width of the room three times and then faced her, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes locked on hers and she couldn't have looked away if she tried. “You died. For a few minutes. Your heart stopped.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage, and for a moment she thought that perhaps her heart had stopped again.

“How...” she stopped, unsure what to ask.

“How are you still here right now?” Ron said for her. At her distracted nod he continued. “Madame Pomfrey wouldn't give up. She gave you a combination of potions and then cast some sort of spell on you I had never heard of before. It took a few tries but the last one took.”

It was silent as she processed what he had just told her. Dead. Truly dead.

“How was Harry? How did he...” she trailed off at the wild look in Ron's eyes.

“How the hell do you think he was?” he responded bitterly and she felt tears prick her eyes.

“He lost it. He was already upset, walking in and seeing you like that, but when Madame Pomfrey said `We've lost her.'...Harry...His magic exploded, he took out half the windows in the library. George and Bill had to hold him back and Charlie had to threaten to stun him before he just sort of collapsed,” Ron relayed.

Both her hands covered her mouth in shock. She couldn't imagine what he had gone through. `Yes you could,' a voice said in her mind. `You watched Hagrid carry him out of that forest.'

Then Ron was talking again, as if he just wanted to get this finished. “Once Madame Pomfrey got you back, it was touch and go for hours. She didn't even dare move you off the table. Harry sat in a chair by your side and didn't move. He wouldn't even respond when someone talked to him. That's when she did some diagnostic spells on him and found out he'd been hit with Crucio multiple times, but he wouldn't let her treat him. That's the only time he moved, to brush her off.”

Hermione was mute. She could barely think right then, much less form words.

“Every hour that passed where you were still alive gave Madame Pomfrey hope. Eventually she said you were stable enough to be moved.”

“I remember,” Hermione said in a faint voice.

“You'll have scars on your side since it wasn't able to be healed properly right away, but other than that you'll be fine.” Ron finished in a rush, clearly glad to be done with this task.

“What's another scar,” she said with a watery shrug.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. Don't ever make me do that again,” Ron said raggedly and she shook her head furiously, not knowing if he meant telling her something that awful or watching her die, and she decided it didn't matter.

He took pity on her and hauled her from the chair, wrapping her in a bone crushing hug. She just clung to his shoulders and took a few shuddering breaths before her stomach let out a low and prolonged growl that caused both of them to dissolve into laughter.

He pushed her back into the chair. “I have a mission now. Once I tell Mum your stomach is growling, she'll be cooking up a storm.”

“And you won't benefit from that at all, will you?” she said with a smile

“Well, I'm not a man to pass up a good opportunity,” he replied

“No one could ever accuse you of that,” she countered with a smile.

Ron was already heading towards the door. “I'll send Harry back up, even if I have to give him a foot in the arse first.”

“Thanks, Ron,” she called as the door shut, but didn't hear if he responded.

She sank back into the chair, letting it fully support her weight and tried to process what Ron had told her.

She had died.

Dead. Ceased to exist.

How does one come to terms with that?

She was so deep in her own thoughts, she didn't Harry come in, stop before her chair or eventually sit before it. He waited for her to come back to the present.

When she pulled herself out of her reverie, she saw the top of Harry's head and watched him pick at his trousers absentmindedly.

Hermione quietly laid her hand on his head and let her fingers pull through his dark hair, mesmerized by how the hair filtered through the same way over and over again.

His head tilted sideways until it pressed against her knee and then she felt one of his arms wrapping around her calf.

“You were gone, `Mione,” he said so softly that she had to strain to hear him. Her hand faltered for a second and then resumed her ministrations.

She didn't dare speak. She knew Harry needed to purge this from his psyche.

“I felt it. Your heart wasn't beating and...I knew. I don't know if it was magic or what. But I knew. It was like half my soul had been extracted and I couldn't even begin to imagine what it meant.”

He was quiet again. She closed her eyes deliberately and wondered if it would be the same for her if Harry died.

“And then you were back again and I wasn't drowning anymore. Whatever it was that had been ripped out of me had been put back.” He turned swiftly and was on his knees before her. His hands scrabbled around behind her hips and pulled her forward until she was forced to slide off the seat and land on the floor in front of him.

He clutched her to his chest. “Don't ever do that again,” he said brokenly.

She cupped the back of his head and held him to her. “I won't. I promise. I promise,” she crooned so many times she lost count. And then, before she could stop herself, the story of what had happened in Diagon Alley poured out of her.

She told him everything: How George had taken one of them down. How Bill had pulled her out of the street after she'd been hit the second time. How he'd had to cast enervate on her so she could help him fight. How the explosion she'd cast had taken out the building. How she was sure she'd killed two of them. How she didn't think she'd make it back to Grimmauld. How the boys had gotten her back alive. How the last thing she wanted to see was him.

His grip on her was desperate and only became tighter as she told her tale. When she finished, the only sound was his ragged breathing and the frantic thumping of her heart.

He held her until his breathing evened out, and then lifted her by the elbows, setting her on her feet.

“Get dressed and we'll go get something to eat. You're about to waste away,” he said firmly.

She recognized that he needed a sense of normalcy, so she whispered her agreement and forced herself to step away from him.

The bathroom light was bright and she squinted against the intrusion before taking a good look in the mirror. Sweet Merlin, she looked like a ghost. She'd never been this pale, not even in the darkest part of the Scottish winter. Her cheek bones were more prominent than they had ever been, and the purplish-black skin under her eyes looked paper thin.

The low counter held a change of clothes for her. She wasn't sure who had put them there but she sent them a silent thanks. By the time she had washed up, changed clothes, and brushed her hair, she was exhausted and grateful to see Harry waiting for her on the other side of the door.

Her hand slid into his automatically and she was glad to see he looked like he was doing better. However, right before they stepped into the hallway, she reached out and shut the door in front of him. At his quizzical look she put her hands on his chest and pushed until his shoulders hit the door with a smack.

“Before we go down there we need to clear something up.” She started boldly. Gryffindor courage. He was clearly confused but she didn't let that stop her. “I need to know what this is,” she said and gestured between them. “We've been apart for four years, and before that it was one night, one amazing night that I have never forgotten, but still one night. Since you came back, it's been one insane moment after another and people keep trying to kill us and I feel like we haven't had a minute to take a breath much less have a proper discussion about what we are, or if we are anything. I just would very much like to...” but her ramble was cut off by Harry's mouth on hers, and she whimpered as he somehow turned them so she was now pressed against the door, his hands heavy on her hips.

When he was through, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I've always wondered if that would be an effective way to shut you up,” he said with a rakish grin. Her inability to respond just made his grin wider.

His hand came up to stroke her cheek, ghosting over her ear and neck and sending shivers up her spine. “This is what we are `Mione. Four years haven't changed that. I love you, Hermione Granger,” he whispered as their noses touched and breath mingled.

Finally she found her voice. “I love you too. Always have.” His eyes slammed shut as she rose on her toes and kissed him back. When his mouth wrenched away and began to explore her neck she knew she was in trouble. She swayed and then just as suddenly he was holding her securely between his chest and the door, a worried expression on his face.

“You sure know how to knock a girl off her feet, Potter,” she said breathlessly.

“Sorry. I shouldn't have gotten carried away. You need to eat,” he said apologetically.

“Don't apologize,” she insisted and gave him a look that made his eyes darken.

She saw him struggle and felt how his hands clenched her waist before he pulled her towards him, wrapping an arm securely around her waist. “Come on. If we don't go now we may not make it out of here.”

“Would that be so bad?” she threw back, feeling reckless.

His head fell down to her shoulder blade and she could tell he was fighting for control. “Stop it,” he commanded, and she had a pleased smile on her face as they made their way slowly down the stairs.

Everything in the house was quiet until they reached the hallway. The door to the library was firmly shut and she resolutely turned her head away it, not sure when she'd be able to go back in there again.

She heard the din from the kitchen and it made her happy. Harry gave her hand a squeeze and then pushed the door open.

There was a cacophony. Cries of her name. Hugs and kisses. Little Victoire wrapped her arms around Hermione's legs and refused to let go. She crouched down, gave the girl a hug, and answered in French that she was all better now. In the corner doing a swaying dance was Luna with the baby.

Mrs. Weasley waded through the sea of red hair and took her by the shoulders before directing her to a chair closest to the stove. Hermione stopped her and searched the room for the one face she hadn't seen.

Hermione found Fleur and locked eyes with the woman. Somehow, she had a feeling Fleur knew what she was thinking. “Where's Bill?” Hermione asked, blocking out the rest of the room.

“He is in the library,” Fleur answered softly, clearly concerned for her husband.

Hermione turned to Harry, right behind her. “Make me a plate? I need to see Bill.” Harry nodded understandingly. “I'll be right here,” he said, and Hermione gave him a quick kiss before wading through the crowd.

George stopped her before she made it out the door. She launched herself at him, wrapping him in one of her famous hugs. “Thank you, George,” she whispered fiercely.

“Anytime, Hermione,” he replied and set her down. “I think Bill needs to see you.” She just nodded, not trusting her voice.

She paused outside the door to the library, realizing the irony that she had just wondered if she'd ever be able to go back in the room. Now here she was about to do just that.

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The curtains had been drawn and the only light in the room was from one small table lamp that cast an eerie glow along the tall shelves. The shadows appeared longer than they should have been.

Bill stood with his back to the door, arms folded across his chest. In front of him was the table where she had been treated. When she got closer she could see that it hadn't been cleaned yet and was scattered with empty potion vials. The remnants of her blood soaked clothes, stained cloths, and torn tablecloth were bunched at one end. Looking closer, she saw a dark area on the carpet under the table where the blood must have run off. And just there, on the edge of the wood, was what looked like fingernail marks.

She felt faint for a second and reached a hand out to grab Bill's arm for support. He startled, clearly having not heard her enter. When he realized who it was, he gasped out her name and then hauled her towards him. She just let him hold on to her and then she was being set back so he could study her.

“Alright, Bill?” she asked carefully.

“Better now,” he answered truthfully.

“Thank you. For everything you did. You were brilliant,” she said with conviction.

But he waved her off and turned his head away. “I practically got you killed,” he said bitterly.

She looked at him, mouth agape. “Are you daft? You saved my life! More than once,” she sputtered, not understanding how he could think he had done anything wrong.

He turned on her, famous Weasley flush across his face. “Poppy told me. Enervating you was the worst thing I could have done!” he growled, guilt eating him. “She said it caused the effects of that curse to be more widespread. It's most likely why your heart stopped.” He forced himself away, stalking to the other side of the table.

“Bill Weasley. Enervating was the best thing you could have done,” she said in the sternest voice she could manage. “If you hadn't I wouldn't have been able to fight with you. Do you think we would have survived if that had happened?”

He didn't answer her, but she saw the tightness in his shoulders lessen some.

She walked over to join him. “We can't do second guesses and what ifs anymore. Whatever is going on is big, and we're too much in the dark. We have to trust that we make the right decisions in the moment and move on, damn the consequences.”

The silence stretched between them and then Bill let out a breath and came over to her. “We can't lose anyone else, the family can't take it,” he said honestly, and her eyes smarted at being included in his definition of family. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. “We're not going to lose anyone else. I simply won't allow it.”

When they entered the kitchen again, her eyes immediately sought out Harry and she was glad to see him already heading towards her. Bill, likewise, was on a collision course for Fleur and she clung to him when he reached her.

Harry took Hermione by the hand and led her to the table where there was a bowl of soup and fresh bread waiting for her. She gave Mrs. Weasley a kiss on the cheek as thanks and then they all tucked in.

When bowls had been pushed away, quiet gradually made its way around the table and one by one all eyes turned to Harry.

He took a deep breath and then looked out at everyone. “I've had to keep quiet about my job. Until now, you all have thought I was an Auror, and that is mostly true; however, it is not the entire truth. Now, recent events have changed what I believe to be important. The attacks on Ron, Hermione, and I are bigger than we had previously believed and I've been unofficially/officially assigned this mission.” Eyes were wide, but no one dared to speak.

“What we thought was more isolated is in fact a much larger, much broader campaign. The reason I know this is because when I was attacked I had been crucio'd several times and was mostly unconscious. I was incapable of apparating.” Harry paused, clearly waiting for someone to ask the obvious question.

Ginny was the one who spoke up. “Harry. I heard you on the front stoop. You must have apparated.”

Harry turned to look at Hermione before he answered Ginny. The look in his eyes let Hermione know that what he was going to say was about to change everything.

“I didn't apparate. Fawkes brought me here. The Order of the Phoenix is back.”

Harry looked as if he expected for the room to erupt, but in fact, the opposite happened. There was complete silence as his words registered and everyone considered what they meant.

Hermione kept her eyes locked on his, and she felt like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs at once.

Fawkes was back. The Order was back.

Since Dumbledore's death, the phoenix hadn't been seen. She had assumed he left to live in the wild, or had maybe died with his master. But Fawkes being back...Fawkes coming to Harry...she had an idea of what that meant but wanted to hear what Harry had to say.

When no one said anything, Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I believe the attacks on us are part of a greater conspiracy. Someone out there is attempting to gain power much like Voldemort did. For Fawkes to show himself to me is, I think, his way of saying to reactivate the Order.”

Hermione felt like her heart was in her throat. “Harry,” she finally managed to gasp out, “What you're saying...you're implying that there is a threat as great as Voldemort out there again.”

Harry was silent and the whole room went still again.

Harry nodded slowly and Hermione slumped in her chair. “I don't think Fawkes would appear unless the threat was serious. Dumbledore always said Fawkes would come to those in need.” Harry supplied.

Hermione let out a strangled laugh at his words; they were certainly in need.

When Harry spoke again, his voice was stronger and the tone was one that implied he was to be listened to. “Due to this development, I'm going to officially re-activate the Order of the Phoenix. If anyone at this table chooses not be a part of it, there will be no judgment; but you will need to leave immediately.”

No one moved. Hermione wasn't sure anyone even breathed. And then, as if he had been summoned, Fawkes appeared on Harry's shoulder, looking just at home there as he had been on Dumbledore's.

One golden plume floated down, and with a flash, transformed into a phoenix feather quill. A roll of enchanted parchment appeared just as suddenly and hung in the air before Harry.

Slowly the quill and paper move around the table, methodically marking down the people present. As it paused in front of every individual and added their name to the newly formed Order, each person had some sort of reaction. When it finally made its way to Hermione, she watched as her name was magically inscribed, and then a shot of what she could only describe as pure magic went through her, forcing from her an involuntary `oh'. Harry's was the last name to be listed, and Hermione thought she saw a flash of gold cross his irises before the parchment and quill disappeared into nothing.

That bit of housekeeping taken care of, all eyes turned to Harry.

“I know I don't have to say it, but anything discussed in this meeting or any subsequent meeting is to be held under a magical bond and in the highest of confidences.” She could see that this new responsibility was causing a strain, and although she wished to provide him comfort or encouragement, she knew he needed to do this on his own.

“Of course, Harry. You have our word,” Arthur responded, speaking for the entire Weasley clan.

“My job is still highly confidential, but I believe that it is somehow involved in these attacks. No one knew where I was,” Harry said firmly, but she saw his eyes flicker toward her. Maybe not everyone, she thought. “Despite this, I was attacked as soon as Hermione was spotted in Diagon Alley.” She had to swallow down the shame that rose up, along with a flush of embarrassment, even though she knew very well that he didn't blame her.

Harry's wand came out, and with a few flicks there was a floating map over the table with several areas marked on it; namely central Russia and Great Britain.

“I've shared this with Hermione, but I believe whoever is behind this has been planning for a long time. There is no other explanation for how three simultaneous attacks could have been orchestrated to such a degree. They've also managed to infiltrate my operation. These people are serious and five steps ahead of us.”

Harry's words hung in the air, much like the magical map that transformed the formerly warm family kitchen into a war room.

“What's the plan, Harry?” Charlie spoke up from the end of the room.

Harry raked a hand through his hair roughly as he glanced at Hermione and Ron with an almost apologetic look. “I think we need to leave England.” No one was under any doubt who he meant by `we'.

“Until we have a better idea of whom or what we're dealing with, all we know for certain is that they are after us. I can only surmise that the first step in the plan is to take us out.” Molly gasped at this, and pulled a well used cloth from her pocket to dab at her eyes.

“How do you know it's not the only plan?” said Percy “How do you know this isn't just some leftover Death Eater going after you three and that's all there is?”

Harry nodded, acknowledging Percy's implication that Harry seemed to be jumping ahead in what they knew. “That could be true, but quite honestly it just doesn't feel right. I don't think Fawkes would come back if it was just an attack on the three of us. I also don't see someone being this methodical if there wasn't something much bigger behind it. I can't explain it, but I just have this feeling that this is deeper than we know right now.”

“Where will you go?” Molly squeezed out, and Arthur dropped a supportive hand on her arm.

Harry looked at her for a long time. “I'm sorry, but we won't be able to say,” he answered. Hermione was sure Molly already knew that would be the answer.

As she watched him standing there, Fawkes on his shoulder, looking so much more confident than he had all those years ago, she realized she had not witnessed this transformation. He had still been Harry, the unsure and scared boy doing what was necessary, but not truly believing he could have succeeded. Now he was a grown man, experienced and sure, and a shudder passed through her as she considered what he must have seen and done for this to have changed.

The next two hours were spent planning and organizing. They made lists of others who could possibly be interested in joining the Order. It was assumed that Harry was operating under the blessing of the Ministry; therefore, there was little doubt that they would receive full support.

Charlie spoke of his contacts in Romania and abroad. Bill and Fleur stepped out for a while. When they returned, Bill said he'd like to talk to Harry later.

Molly busied herself by baking and taking care of the girls, while Arthur and Percy gave Harry an insider's look at the Ministry's post-war administrative and structural changes.

Ron, George, and Hermione splintered off, and the boys gave her a rundown of `covert' merchandise they had created in the past few years. The war had clearly had an impact on their work, and even though it was over, they hadn't abandoned the mindset. Some of what they were working on was in the experimental stage, but some was ready to be operational and Hermione was pleased with the potential applications.

Hermione wanted to begin stocking her magical beaded bag with supplies. She knew it was in her trunk, but she hadn't laid eyes on it since tossing it in there three days after the war. She offhandedly wondered about its condition and what could still be in it.

Her head was starting to ache and she caught Harry looking at her as she rubbed a hand over tired eyes. She gave him a tight smile, but at his expression she thought he may have misinterpreted it as a wince.

He came to stand behind her and rubbed a hand over the base of her skull. She bit her lip to keep from moaning. Her head hung down lower and lower until it was almost touching her chest. and as Harry kept up the steady pressure, her attention wavered until all she heard was a low murmur as her eyes slid shut of their own volition.

A happy squeal from the baby caused her eyes to fly open, and she realized the kitchen was mostly empty. Ron, Bill, Fleur, Harry, and the little girls were the only ones left. Even Fawkes seemed to have mysteriously disappeared as he was wont to do.

Hermione sat forward and wiped her eyes, trying to wake up. “Sorry, must have dozed off there for a moment.”

“Considering everything you've been through, it is more than understandable,” Fleur said reassuringly; however, her words caused all three men to catch their breaths in varying ways, and it was a long minute before the charge in the air dissipated.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly, hoping to break the moment. She didn't think she could face the bare look of grief on Harry's face as Fleur's words took him back, even if it was for only a few seconds.

“Where is everyone?” she asked

“Work,” Ron responded. “And Mum and Charlie went back to the Burrow to get some things,” he said, voice tight.

“Everyone's decided that moving in here is the best idea, for the short term at least,” Bill said, and Fleur reached a hand out to cover his.

Bill gave her a smile and then slid a small scrap of parchment to the center of the table where the rest could see it.

Shell Cottage.

And suddenly Hermione could remember the solidly built house overlooking the sea. “Fidelius,” Harry stated, and Bill nodded.

“We thought you may want to use it as a base of operation outside of London, or maybe just a safe house. Whatever you choose, it's yours to do with as you please until this is over. Fleur and I thought it best to keep it in the family and put it to good use,” Bill said, his voice sure.

Harry swallowed heavily and he couldn't find his voice to answer, so Ron did it for him. “Thanks Bill, I'm sure it'll be more than useful.”

“When will you be leaving?” Fleur asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Harry looked at Hermione and Ron to see if he had their permission to make the decision without discussing it first, and when he saw no protest he continued. “Tomorrow, first light: Hermione needs some more time to rest and George is gathering supplies. I don't want to leave until we're prepared.”

Tomorrow. The Trio would be on the run again.

The room was silent except for the sound of Victoire entertaining her sister on the floor in front of the fireplace. Then two chairs scraped back as Bill and Fleur each took a child and quietly left the room, leaving the three to their thoughts.

“You really think it's that bad, mate?” Ron said, getting up to toss the torn bit of paper Bill had laid down into the fire and watched as the flames quickly consumed it.

Harry tipped his head back until it hit the top rung of his chair and reached out his left hand to grab Hermione's. “Yeah, I do. Before Fawkes showed up I thought the attack on me was a breakdown in my mission, thought I had missed something somewhere. But as soon as he arrived I just knew you two were in trouble and I needed to get back.” With his head tilted back, the hair fell off his forehead and his scar stood out vividly.

A clock chimed faintly in the deep recesses of the house and seemed to jog Ron's memory. He started rummaging in a nearby cabinet and removed two vials of potion. Just as he was turning back, Harry sat back up and saw what he was doing. “Best get the other one as well,” Harry said, and Ron turned back to the cabinet once again.

Soon enough the three potions were set before her along with a cup of tea and a second helping of Mrs. Weasley's soup. Hermione gave a rueful shake of her head. “You two. Turned into nursemaids,” she said before tipping back the first potion. Blood replenishing potions were notoriously horrid tasting. The second one looked and smelled like a restorative draught. Just as she was about to take the third Ron reached out a hand. “You may want to wait on that one,” he said, giving her a slightly nervous smile.

“Why, Ronald?” she replied, her voice calm. “If I didn't know any better I'd say it's a Dreamless Sleep potion, but I'm quite sure that's not necessary so it must be something else.” Her eyes narrowed as she spoke.

Ron had the good sense to look to Harry to save him.

“ `Mione...” Harry started and she turned her glare on him, but he soldiered on. “We have to walk out of this house tomorrow capable of dealing with anything that comes our way. I need you at top shape. That means you're going to take the potion, get a good night's rest, and you're not going to argue with me. You promised not to argue with me.”

Ron watched the exchange with a dropped jaw, in disbelief that Harry was actually telling Hermione what to do, and shocked that Hermione hadn't gone through the roof at Harry's statement.

Her jaw clenched and she had a good idea that the vein in her temple was noticeably throbbing as she took a long moment to consider whether this was the hill she was going to die on. In the end she chose to lose this battle; but that didn't mean she was done.

Her answer was to pick up her spoon and resolutely ignore Harry while she took her time enjoying the soup. She was halfway finished before she saw Ron's mouth shut, even though Harry never took his eyes off of her. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of gloating over his win however, and as soon as she had her fill she rose to her feet. The boys looked at her curiously and she thought Harry was about to demand she take the potion, mistaking her rising as an act of defiance. Instead, she grabbed the remaining potion, gave the boys a sarcastic salute with the bottle, and threw it back with one swallow.

She had done this action so quickly she caught them off guard. She didn't immediately understand why they both lunged towards her trying to grab the bottle.

“No!” Harry shouted, while Ron's fingers swiped the glass just as she brought it back to the table.

“It's full strength, Hermione!” Ron exclaimed. “You only needed a bit to help you get to sleep.”

Harry's hands were already reaching for her. “Oh damn,” she muttered before the room faded out of sight.

When she opened her eyes later, she regretted the action immediately. The clock let her know it hadn't been that long since she'd been in the kitchen, only a few hours really. However, her mouth felt like she had licked a gnome and her head was foggy and small feeling. The potion was strong enough to knock her out immediately and make sure she would want to do nothing else but sleep the rest of the night as well.

Pushing herself to a seated position she looked about the bedroom. Her magical beaded bag had been pulled out of the trunk, and from the looks of the various piles all about the room it had been emptied in its entirety. There were piles of books, papers, clothes, old dried up potions, extra quills, cooking supplies, tents and chairs. Everything they could have possibly needed had been in that bag.

By the way it was laid out it looked as if someone was doing an inventory. Over by the door sat two over stuffed packs with `WWW' stamped on the side. She assumed George had made his delivery.

She was alone in the room, but it didn't bother her. She knew they had a lot to do and a limited time to do it in.

A trip to the bathroom was in order and it wasn't until she got in front of the mirror that she realized she was wearing Harry's jersey again. Her cheeks flamed for a second as she realized he had seen her in it, and had more than likely been the one to put her in it.

Her eyes still half shut and feeling so tired she could have gladly fallen asleep on the toilet, she barely glanced in their direction when she spotted Harry and Ron standing around the bed looking at the acquisitions.

“How are you?” Harry said with concern, but she just glared at him. “Like I've been on an all night bender,” she replied sharply.

His hand wrapped around her waist, and if the slightly possessive nature of how he gripped the fabric over her lower back was any indication, she knew he wasn't complaining that she had borrowed his clothes.

He helped her back in bed, and she petulantly pulled the covers up under her chin and rolled on her side to better see what they were doing. The bag was laid open on the other side of the large bed, and Ron was beginning to add items to it.

“You can't stack the books like that, Ron; they need to be kept perpendicular to the tent, which has to go in second after the trunks, but only if the things inside them have been properly balanced or it throws off the entire structure!” she exclaimed and Ron froze, one hand in the bag, the other about to grab a handful of camping supplies.

His eyes were wide and she took secret pleasure in seeing how frightened he was. “If you two dolts hadn't doped me, I could be doing that right now. As it is it'll have to wait until I'm capable of coherent thought,” she spit, and Ron slowly removed his hand and looked at Harry for guidance.

When neither of them moved, she gave an exaggerated sigh. “For Merlin's sake! Stack everything on the floor over there,” she said and pointed towards the empty space on the right of the bed. “I'll sort your mess in the morning. I'm going to sleep. Don't touch my bag if you know what's good for you.” She drifted off muttering about seemingly ingrained deficiencies of wizards with regards to packing.

Morning came quickly, and she woke to a clear head, no pain, and Harry's hand flat across her bare stomach. The jersey was rucked up about her hip as if he had been looking at her newly acquired scars. The feeling she had low in her belly had nothing to do with her injuries.

She rolled to her side and saw him sleeping, peacefully it appeared. His glasses were off and his hair was a frightful mess, but she thought he had never looked more endearing.

Sliding off the bed silently, she headed to the bathroom before coming back to the mess the boys had left her the night before. With a long suffering sigh, she began to pack the bag with practiced ease, her wand movements orchestrated each item in turn. As she bent over to gather a stack of books that weren't placed properly, she heard Harry's voice behind her.

“Nice view,” he said roughly, and she whipped around to see him laying on his side, head propped up on one hand, not looking at all ashamed that he had gotten caught looking at her bum.

“I'm still mad at you,” she said. She didn't mean it, but turned back to her packing anyways.

His hands slipped around her waist and she stifled a surprised yelp and tried to squirm from his grasp. But when his mouth ended up next to her ear and he pulled the hair away from her neck, she stilled.

“I just thought you should know that seeing `Potter' across your back is something that I like very, very much.” His voice was dark and heavy and made her knees weak. She swallowed thickly. “I like it too,” she replied, and then gasped as his mouth descended on her neck causing her to arch back into him.

One of her hands went back to thread through his dark hair, while the other came up to cover the hand that swirled lovely circles at her hip.

He started to move down to where the jersey fell away from her shoulder when the door banged open, and they were interrupted by Ron's uncontrollable shouts.

“Oi! My eyes! Bloody hell, mate! Put a towel on the doorknob or something,” his voice began to fade as he backed out. “There are going to be rules, mate. Rules. I'm not going to keep walking in...”

Hermione dropped the hand from her mouth where it had flown when Ron had come in and after a beat she began laughing.

Harry's head fell heavily to her shoulder and she could feel as he joined her in laughter. “Poor Ron,” she said, smiling and turned to look at Harry. “We're really going to have to be more mindful.”

“We will,” Harry confirmed and pulled her more securely towards him, suddenly serious.

“I can't believe we're doing this again, `Mione. I can't believe we're about to go on the run again.” He sounded tired already.

She cupped the back of his head and held him to her. “I can't either, but we'll do what we have to do, just like we did last time.”

He gave her a hard kiss and then pushed her away.

“I'm going to get dressed and then I'll meet you two downstairs,” she stated, knowing they needed to put a bit of distance between them or they'd never make it out the door.

He nodded once and was gone.

Hermione exhaled slowly, let one of her hands skim where his lips had been, and shivered before returning to her task.

Ten minutes later she was dressed for war; heavy black boots, utilitarian trousers, long sleeved t-shirt in a dark grey, and a tight fitting jacket that would stand up to use. She finished strapping on her wand holster and grabbed the magical bag off the end of the bed, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. If it hadn't been for the extra lines around her eyes and mouth, she'd have thought she was looking at a picture of herself from five years ago when the three of them had first set out on the horcrux hunt.

She shook her head quickly and forced herself away from the mirror before she could get too maudlin.

The Weasleys were waiting in the drawing room. Conversation came to a halt when she entered and went to stand between Ron and Harry.

Molly was the first to approach. “Stay safe,” she said simply and then gave each of them long hugs. After that it was like a dam had been burst. Everyone was a tangle of arms and good wishes. Luna and Ron were having a very enthusiastic goodbye.

Hermione found herself holding Victoire who had her little arms wrapped securely around her neck. Bill came up and detached his eldest. “Come on now Vic, Auntie `Mione has to go with your uncles on a trip.” Reluctantly, the little girl released her hold and went to her father. Bill stared hard at Hermione for a long moment. “Come back alive. All of you,” he said gruffly, and all she could do was nod before giving him one of her hugs and pressing a kiss to his scarred cheek.

All too soon the rest of the goodbyes had been said, and they stood on the front stoop, the door opened before them. With the magical bag around one wrist, she had Ron's hand firmly in her left and Harry's firmly in her right.

“We'll be in touch,” Harry said in a tight voice. Then they were gone.

They landed on the stormy Cornwall coast, wind lashing their faces and the roar of the waves in their ears. Hermione hadn't seen the house since she had apparated to Gringotts, polyjuiced as Bellatrix Lestrange. Her memories of this place were completely wrapped up with that vile woman, and she found it hard to breathe.

Despite the weather, none of them had moved. Harry turned and she could tell he was staring up the cliff behind them at Dobby's grave. His hand dropped from hers, and he began the trek up the sandy path, feet slipping on the eroded dune.

Ron was staring at the house with an expression she couldn't place. And then, like Harry, he let go of her hand and went inside, the door slamming behind him with a bang.

She stood alone at the gate.

Already wet, she didn't think it mattered if she stayed out. She didn't feel like going inside at that moment to see the place where she had woken up screaming due to Bellatrix's torture.

She walked down the rough cut steps to the beach and sat on a large chunk of driftwood. The frothy surf danced near her feet but didn't quite reach, although she got hit by the spray repeatedly.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as she was brought back to that day Dobby rescued her from Malfoy Manor and deposited them in the wet sand.

Unknowingly, she twisted her left forearm causing the holster to pull at the scar tissue, but she didn't notice. She remembered Harry crying over Dobby and how much she wanted to comfort him. At that time, she couldn't deal with her own issues, much less his. She knew Harry dug the grave and they buried the faithful elf, but otherwise she had little memory of that time. The ones she did have consisted of a small bedroom and Fleur's softly accented voice until she recovered and they continued on their mission.

A particularly vicious gale that caught her hair, whipping the drenched ringlets in her face, finally convinced her to move. At the top of the steps, she looked toward the cliff and could just make out Harry's dark head among the bending grasses. With a sigh, she kept walking and struggled up the hill after him.

She found him crouched next to Dobby's headstone. Hermione came up behind him and knelt by his side. The wind had already started to wreak it's constant assault on the limestone; the pits and scars were beginning to obscure the letters Harry had carved.

She laid a hand on his back, and he slid his hand back to land on her knee. They stayed that way, battered by the weather, until Harry stood and pulled her to her feet next to him. As he started to step away, she stopped him and withdrew her wand. After a slow circular motion, a bright, colorful wreath appeared. A carefully applied sticking charm ensured it wouldn't be blown away.

They were halfway down the hill when Harry turned to her. “He would have liked that,” he said softly, and all she could do was nod.

They entered the side door into a small anteroom and cast multiple drying charms until they were sure they wouldn't track wet and sand throughout Fleur's house.

Ron was found in the small but homey kitchen, a fire going in the grate and tea on the butcher block table. He sat in one of the chairs, elbows on the table, his hands wrapped around a mug. He barely looked up when they came in.

Hermione shrugged out of her jacket and laid it near the fire as it was still a bit damp. “Alright, Ron?” she asked, as Harry took a seat and studied them carefully.

“Yeah,” he replied, distractedly

“What's wrong?” she asked again and went to lay a hand on his. But he pulled away so she couldn't reach him. She tried not to be hurt by his action.

“Ron,” Harry said once, but his voice was hard and conveyed an entire conversation with one syllable.

The wooden legs of the chair scraped the stone floor as Ron stood up suddenly and stalked to the sink, depositing his cup in it with more force than Fleur probably would have appreciated.

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and leaned back against the basin, crossing his feet at the ankles, purposefully not looking at her or Harry.

“I hate being here,” he said quickly. “This is where I came after...after I left you two in the forest. Bill and Fleur let me stay and sulk, and after awhile Bill talked some sense into me.” He turned around and looked out the window, watching the rain hit the glass in long streams, rolling sideways from the force of the wind.

Hermione was about to speak when Harry held a hand up to stop her.

“Then we were back here after Malfoy Manor and everything was so awful. I just wanted to get out of here as fast as I could. I haven't been back. Even when the girls were born, I just waited to see them when they came to the Burrow,” he finished and stared for a long time before he turned around.

“I'm so sorry, Ron. I had no idea...” she trailed off, considering what he had told her. “I'm not terribly fond of the place myself, but it's better than being in the middle of London.”

“We won't be here long,” Harry supplied. “Long enough to do some research, get our feet under us, and see where we go from here.”

Ron nodded. “Thanks. And...I'll be fine, I'll get over it. It was just this is the first time I've been here, and it feels so much like it did when we were here before...”

“You don't have to explain,” Hermione said in a falsely bright voice, and Ron cocked an eyebrow at her. “Don't patronize me, Granger,” he growled mockingly and then scrubbed a hand through still wet hair, sending water droplets everywhere like a shaggy dog. “No worries. I'll get my head out of my arse soon enough. Think I'm going to go claim a room. I hope there's something other than Vic's pink Pegasus bed to choose.”

After he'd left, she turned to Harry who was seemingly lost in thought, staring into the fire.

“I left them part of the mirror,” he said, not moving his gaze. “It's the only way we'll be able to contact them. It may be dangerous, but I didn't know what else to do.” He sighed and rubbed his temple, the strain and stress coming out now that it was just the two of them.

She rose from her chair and came up behind him, leaning over his left shoulder and letting her arms fall down onto his chest. She pressed her cheek into his hair. “It was the right thing to do,” she said softly and they stayed there like that, looking into the fire until they heard Ron's heavy boot treads descending the stairs.

She didn't straighten up until Ron was almost in the room, hands resting on Harry's shoulders.

“No need to worry about being attacked by Vic's stuffed animal collection overnight; there was another room,” Ron said, sounding better than he had before.

“We should probably go get settled,” she said and pulled Harry up by the hand.

“Thought you'd want Bill and Fleur's room,” Ron called after them as they headed for the staircase. “Oh, and the spell is `Si-len-ci-o,” he enunciated carefully.

Hermione chose to ignore his ribald joke, but she saw Harry draw his wand and send a flick over his shoulder right before Ron let out a yelp. “Oi! That's not funny!” the red head bellowed from the kitchen.

She was glad to see Harry chuckling.

When they reached the upstairs hallway, there was nothing but closed doors to choose from. The first was an explosion of pink and white, and the large canopied bed in the center with prancing Pegasus running across it could only belong to Victoire. The one next door was smaller and clearly the nursery; the small stuffed dragon in the crib made Hermione wonder if Dominique was missing it, and she felt a pang that somehow she was responsible for driving this family from their home.

Harry must have sensed her guilt and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze.

The next room was the one Ron had claimed, his jacket and pack thrown haphazardly on the bed. The door across was the bathroom. And then there were only two left. Something was crawling up inside her that she couldn't put her finger on, but it was making her uneasy and skittish, and she didn't like it.

Harry pushed into the next to last room and her breath caught in her throat. This was the room she had woken up in. The one where she had first seen her scar and where she had writhed in pain from the after effects of the numerous Crucios Bellatrix had used on her.

She backed out of the room slowly. There was no way they could stay in there.

She kept moving back until she hit the wall behind her and sucked in deep breaths through her nose. Harry was right in front of her, a hand at her waist. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” she said shakily. “But I hope you don't mind if we don't stay in there.”

He just took her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm before taking her fingers and drawing her behind him as they entered the room at the end of the hall.

It was perfect: big and bright and airy. All whitewashed wood and gauzy curtains that looked over the sea. There was a padded rocker in one corner and she could almost see Fleur sitting in it rocking the baby.

“This will do,” she said breathily and was glad to see that Harry looked a little lighter just by being in the serene setting.

They spent their time unpacking. Even though they could be leaving at any moment it gave her a sense of security to set things up the way she wanted. It may have been a false sense of security, but it was better than nothing. Setting up the tent just so had always been the first thing she had done when they arrived at a new location, and she knew the boys appreciated it even if they didn't seem to notice.

Harry handed her a small black pouch and she arched a brow quizzically. “Last two days of your potions,” he responded. She opened it and saw six miniature vials ready and waiting. “Is this really necessary?” she asked exasperated. “I'm feeling back to normal.”

Harry's eyes flared and she forced down the urge to take a step backwards. “Since I sat by your lifeless body not four days ago I'd say it's necessary,” he bit out, then turned on his heel and was out the door in three strides.

She heard the quick staccato thumps as he practically ran down the stairs and then a few seconds later Ron called out to him before the slamming of the door shook the entire house.

She shut her eyes tight and tried to control her breathing. Harry was closer to the edge than she had thought. Setting the potions to the side, she walked to the window, pulled the sheer curtain out of the way, and spotted him.

Harry stood twenty feet in front of the house, arms crossed, watching the waves bash the coastline. There was another shake of the house, not as violent this time, and then she saw Ron approach him.

Ron stood to Harry's right and, intentionally or not, mirrored his position. From what she could tell, neither of them were speaking.

She didn't move to join them. It didn't seem like the right thing to do. Watching as the rain continued to drench them, Ron eventually turned towards Harry and said something. There were wide arm movements and pointing back to the cottage. Harry stood in stony silence.

Hermione was frozen in the window as she observed the one sided conversation. Ron threw his hands up in exasperation, kicked a stone off the side of the overlook, and went back to studying the sea, hands shoved in his pockets.

She started to wonder if maybe she should go down there: Is that what he expected? Suddenly Harry turned his head and, as if he'd known she'd been there the entire time, his green eyes locked on her brown ones.

Then she blinked and he was gone. She startled, her heart in her throat, but there was a noise behind her. Harry stood in the middle of the bedroom, dripping water everywhere, looking equal parts miserable and...something else.

His eyes were dark to match his hair and then before she could consider what it all meant he advanced on her.

The something else was desperation and four years of being apart. One hand cupped her jaw, the other wrapped around her waist and then his mouth was on her; unforgiving.

Her fingers were in his wet hair, and she shivered, but not from the cold seeping from his drenched clothes into hers. His hands were skimming under her shirt while his mouth reacquainted itself with her ear and then her neck.

“Oh, gods, Harry,” she moaned. “I missed you.” He silenced her with his lips.

He pulled back to drag her shirt over her head. As she struggled to remove her wand holster she had the sense of mind to silently cast the spells that locked the door and silenced the room. Then her wand fell from her hand and he was backing them to the bed while her hands were pushing his sodden jacket off his shoulders.

He gave a growl of frustration, and with a flick of his wand they were divested of heavy boots and hard to remove trousers. “Nice trick,” she said approvingly. “I've been saving that one,” he replied, sounding predatory, making her stomach flip.

Then he was pushing her back, lips finding every scar she had, ghosting over them, and making her gasp. When he got to the one on her side, he bowed his head over it, his breath ragged. “Don't die on me again `Mione. Just don't,” he begged brokenly. She pulled him back up towards her and promised him with kisses.

She woke up later to seagulls calling, and a weak post storm sunlight filtered through the large windows. Her hair spilled over his bare chest and their legs were tangled beneath the thin sheets.

She didn't want to move. A memory from when they were alone and on the run struck her; she had said to him one sad day that they should just hide out in the forest and grow old together. That's how she felt right then.

Absently tracing circles on his stomach, she didn't know when he woke up. “That tickles,” he said, voice rough. She lifted her head and sat her chin on his chest so she could look at him. “Sorry. Want me to stop?”

He rolled them so he could look down at her. “Never,” he replied and proceeded to dance his fingers over her ribs. She shrieked in protest and tried to get away from him, but he was too strong.

The teasing soon changed to something else, and she gasped as he trailed a hand down her thigh and hitched her leg over his hip. She had discovered that there was a spot on his collarbone that caused him to make a rather interesting noise. She decided turn about was fair play and tried to see if she could force him to make it again.

She must have gotten it right because he sucked in a sharp breath and his hand clenched on her hip. “Now who's not playing fair,” he growled and pulled her over on him and they got reacquainted. Again.

Thirty minutes later she was searching the floor for her wand and smiled wryly when Harry accio'd it for her. When everything was back in place she considered herself in the mirror and sighed. It was impossible to hide what they had been doing. Her jaw was red and blotchy from his stubble and he had a bruise forming on his neck that his shirt didn't quite cover.

Hermione was attempting to put her curls into a messy plait when Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Ron's never going to let us hear the end of this,” she said with a long suffering sigh.

He dipped his head to her neck again. “Ron should mind his own business,” his voice muffled.

She squirmed away, turning to face him. “Stop! Or we're never going to leave this room,” she admonished.

“If only that were possible,” he said, sounding so tired her heart ached for him.

“I know, luv,” she replied, hand brushing the hair away from the rim of his glasses.

They were still and then he kissed her gently before taking her hand and turning for the door. “Come on, let's go face the inevitable.”

But when they got downstairs they weren't prepared for the sight that met them. Ron had made himself at home. He was in the kitchen, two skillets and one bubbling pot going, with Fleur's ruffly apron tied around his waist.

Harry and Hermione stood stock still in the doorway, unable to move or speak.

Ron didn't turn around, but he floated two plates from the counter to the table in open invitation.

They were two steps from the chairs when he spoke up. “Got that out of your system, did you?” and she had to swallow down the instant flare of indignation she felt.

Harry merely sat down and began to eat, ignoring the comment. “Cheers mate, almost as good as your mum's.”

Ron extended his middle finger in Harry's direction, clearly disappointed they hadn't responded to his attempt to rile them.

Ron's wand flicked at the stove and the flames died down as he took off the apron and tossed it over the back of the nearest chair. He took a plate of his own and joined them.

Hermione got an evil smirk on her face as she began to eat. “Thanks for cooking, Ron. I've worked up such an appetite, I'm completely famished,” she said sweetly. Harry choked on his food and began coughing uncontrollably while Ron went red to his hairline.

He sputtered for a moment before he erupted. “That shite right there is NOT ALLOWED!!!” he roared, and she dissolved in giggles while Harry was still trying to catch his breath.

“Really, `Mione.” Harry was finally able to get out, but she just gave him a simpering smile. She was not going to be bested by Ron Weasley.

“What?” she said innocently and Ron glared at her. She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you don't like it then you need to behave,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Hermione tucked into her rather tasty meal while the boys took a bit longer to recover. When she was done, Ron was still silently fuming and picking at his plate. She put her dishes in the sink, pressed a kiss to Harry's hair as she walked by, and slapped the back of Ron's head. “Research time, boys; meet me in the library.” She sailed out, heading upstairs to get their stash of books.

Shell Cottage didn't have a library per-se, but it did have a decent sized room that Bill seemed to use as an office of sorts. The parlor was larger, but it contained too much of Bill and Fleur's life; she didn't want the constant reminder that they were in someone else's home.

Bill's office had a large desk that faced the windows and two armchairs situated in front of a small fireplace.

By the time the boys joined her she had cleared the desk, moved the chairs, and had a magical map of Europe and Eastern Asia floating off to the side.

Ron still looked slightly mutinous, but he did look her in the eye when he came in.

Harry wandered over to the map and stood, staring at it, hands in his pockets. After a turn about the room Ron joined him.

Hermione dug through the books and found one on the history of Slavic magics. She had nothing to base this on, but she had a feeling St. Petersburg wasn't a coincidence and she wanted to be familiar with the magical community there.

She curled in one of the armchairs and began reading. In the background she could hear Harry bringing Ron up to speed on what he had really been doing, what his job actually was, and why he had been in Russia.

An hour later she looked up and saw Harry with a book and Ron writing on some parchment, a look of intense concentration on his face. Her eyes slammed shut, and with the heat of the fire, and the smell of leather and old books she could pretend they were fifteen again, working in the Gryffindor common room. Her heart hurt for a moment and when she opened her eyes again she caught Harry staring at her like he knew what she was thinking about. She gave him a sad smile and went back to the book.

Harry calling her name sometime later broke her from her reading. “ `Mione, come here and look at this.”

She put the book aside and stood up stiffly, her legs protesting after being in the same position for so long. She may have also been overdue on a potion or two and would have to rectify that before Harry got that look in his eye again.

Harry was at the desk and she came up behind him, rubbing a hand over the tense muscles in his back as she looked at what he had.

There were several newspaper strewn in front of him but only one she recognized. The others seemed to be international editions, mostly European.

She reached over him to flip some of them to their fronts so she could better see the titles. “Why would Bill have these?”

“International markets,” Ron supplied distractedly from his spot in front of the map. He had used his wand to make some new marks and draw lines connecting specific cities.

“I wasn't looking at the exchange rates though,” Harry said. “Nothing big is going on, not obviously at least; but after looking at a few of these I couldn't help but notice that some of these smaller incidents might be part of something bigger.”

She nudged his shoulder with her hip. “Budge up.” Harry got up and vacated the chair for her. He smoothed a hand over her hair as she sat. “I'll go make some tea and grab some biscuits.”

Hermione was so engrossed by the article she was reading that she barely heard him. “Of course,” she said absently and didn't even look up as he left.

She was on the third paper when a cup of tea, plate of biscuits, and two potion bottles were set next to her right hand. She smiled a quick thanks and went back to the article. A few minutes later a potion vial was hanging in mid air, gently bumping into her hand. Her brow crinkled in confusion until she looked around and saw Ron smirking and Harry pointing his wand in her direction. Taking the hint, she downed the potions and then washed the taste away with her tea, glad to see Harry's pleased smile.

At first glance, the articles Harry had pointed out seemed to be unrelated. They were small, basic reports of break-ins, one suspicious death, and one report of a prominent local wizard going missing. They were also scattered; one from Germany, one from Norway, and one from Bulgaria. There was nothing in any of the articles to suggest they were connected no matter how many times she read them, but there was something about it that was bothering her, something she knew she'd remember eventually.

Harry's hands settled on her shoulders and she let her head drop forward. “You're right. There's something here, but I can't see it,” she admitted.

“You'll get there,” he said with conviction. “You always do.” She reached a hand up to cover his.

“For now, we'll have Ron put the locations on the map just to see if we can't find a connection,” Harry said and took the list she had made.

She sat back in the chair and looked around, wondering when it had gotten dark. Her spine cracked as she stood up and she saw the boys once again at the map. Her hand slid over Harry's back as she went by. “I'm just going to pop out for a second and get some air.” His eyes asked if she was ok and she answered him back the same; she was.

She paused in the kitchen to stoke the fire. Once the sun was down it had cooled inside. The anteroom had several jackets hanging on hooks and she grabbed a sturdy looking duster made of moleskin and slipped it on, figuring it must have been Bill's due to the size, not to mention she could never imagine Fleur wearing such a thing.

Light from the house was enough to see by as she made her way to the beach. She was able to walk on the sand some as the tide was out and the surf was calm. Burying her nose in the collar of the coat she stuffed her hands in the pockets and tried to stay warm.

She felt Harry approach and didn't startle when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. She leaned her weight back and enjoyed the solid feeling of him behind her.

“I love it here at night,” she said softly. “It doesn't look the same, and I can pretend I'm on the coast someplace else. I've always liked the beach at night.” He didn't say anything, just dropped a kiss to her temple and turned them back to the cottage.

They ate sandwiches in the kitchen and purposely ignored the work waiting for them in the office. After cleaning up she went to head back but Harry blocked her. “Not tonight,” he said and waggled a bottle of sleeping draught in front of her.

She opened her mouth in protest but he stared her down. “This is the last night, Harry,” she said firmly, and he eventually nodded his acquiescence.

Not wanting a repeat of the day before, she took the vial, told Ron goodnight, and headed up the stairs.

Knowing she was playing dirty, she purposely put his jersey on before climbing into bed. He came through the door just in time to see `POTTER' for a brief flash before she turned around. He had a look in his eye that said he'd much rather see the jersey on the floor, but she made a show of tipping the potion back and then setting it on the side table.

If he wanted her to take the damn draught then he was going to suffer the consequences.

It was a smaller dose than the day before so she didn't pass out immediately. She drifted lazily until Harry got in next to her and she settled down in the crook of his shoulder while he stroked her hair. Almost gone, she managed to mumble, “Love you,” before sleep claimed her.

She woke before the sun was up; when the only sounds were the crashing tide and Ron's snores, even through two doors. Harry slept next to her and actually looked relaxed. One hand rested on her hip, the other outstretched and loose. She slid out of bed and padded to the pack she had left out yesterday.

The air was cool, and she quickly shucked off the jersey and found a jumper and jeans to put on before grabbing her holster and boots and managed to slip out the door undetected.

The kitchen felt cold, unused, and lonely. Instead of taking the time to start a fire and put the kettle on she conjured a cup of tea. It wasn't the same, but it would do.

Warmth started to seep back into her fingertips where her hand wrapped around the mug. Grabbing the same jacket she'd used the night before, she went to push the door open and ran into Harry's wards.

Of course he'd put wards on an unplottable house.

Pulling her wand out, she dropped the wards for a second to step out and then brought them up again.

Pinky grays were hinting on the horizon with just enough light to see by. She sat on the driftwood again, knees drawn up to her chest, and didn't bother to brush away the stray hair that kept getting blown into her face.

She sat, enjoying the relative silence, hoping that maybe she could force herself to like this place. Her tea was almost gone when a muffled, “Bloody hell,” from behind her announced Ron's arrival.

He practically collapsed next to her. “Tripped on a damn rock. It's too bloody early to be out here,” he grumbled, and she merely conjured him a mug of tea.

“Then why are you?” she asked.

She felt him shrug. “Sensed the wards go down; figured someone was up. And the blasted birds are too loud,” he said, referring to the ever screeching sea gulls that soared overhead.

“Harry must be up then,” Hermione observed. If Ron had felt the wards drop then Harry certainly had.

He shrugged again. “Didn't see him,” Ron said and they sat in silence drinking their tea.

“What did you say to him?” she asked suddenly, the image of the two of them in front of the cottage the day before in her mind.

Ron, to his credit, knew exactly what she referenced. “Bloke stuff.”

She turned and arched one eyebrow, letting him know that was not an acceptable answer. Ron continued, “Don't look at me like that. It was a conversation between two blokes, about things blokes talk about, and seeing as you're not a bloke, I'm not telling, so stop asking,” he stated so confidently it took her aback.

Her gaze returned to the sea. “I'll just ask Harry,” even though she knew she wouldn't, and Ron didn't respond because he knew she wouldn't either.

The sun was up now and the low clouds had burned off, leaving the impression that the day may be gifted with some warmth. Their mugs empty, she vanished them before rising without comment, then headed back up the path, Ron at her heels.

The wards were down when they arrived at the door and the smell of a proper fry-up welcomed them into the now bright and warm kitchen.

“Blimey, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, practically bowling her over in his rush to the stove. Hermione had barely shed her coat before Ron had acquired a plate and headed for the table.

Shaking her head in mock exasperation she went to Harry's side and stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Good morning.”

“Morning, luv,” he replied, flipping an egg before returning her kiss.

“Sorry if I woke you; I didn't realize you had put wards up,” she said, while snitching a crumble of bacon off a nearby platter.

“No worries,” Harry assured her, as he dished more food than she knew she could eat onto a plate and held it out to her.

She gave him a look and went to join Ron at the table. Harry soon finished with the pan and sat to her left.

“What's next?” Ron asked around a mouthful, and Hermione did her best to not chide him.

Harry laid his fork down before answering. “We'll keep researching. I need to contact Bill and see if he can't start getting me some information from Gringotts. I should also touch base with Kingsley, I think those incidents we've found in the papers are only part of the story. He may be able to get us some more intelligence.”

“What do you need to know about Gringotts?” Ron asked, this time making sure he swallowed first.

“I don't know if it's anything, but I think it might be where Hermione was made. There is a chance someone saw her in the street, but she's right when she says the time it took them to access her vault seemed off. That could have been on purpose, delaying her long enough to set everything else in motion,” Harry explained. She wondered if that was true; if while she was waiting, orders were being given to attack the Burrow and Harry and send those three assailants after her. A shiver went through her and Harry laid a hand on her knee.

“It could be a coincidence, but Bill knows who has been hired since the war; if anyone has seemed off or suspicious. I just don't want him to compromise his job,” Harry said worriedly.

Ron nodded. “Bill will be fine. He works with goblins so he's good at the whole diplomacy thing.”

“I hope you're right,” Harry said and then picked his fork back up to finish his meal; though by the way he was more pushing the food around than eating she knew he was bothered.

Hermione finished first and went to do the washing up. Harry came up behind her to drop his plate in the sink and brushed a kiss over her hair. “We'll meet you in the office. I'm going to try and get a hold of Bill before he goes in this morning.”

She smiled her acknowledgement and could hear them make their way down the hall.

For some reason she chose to do the dishes by hand, although ironically she had to conjure dish soap as it seemed Fleur didn't keep any. The hot water and repetitive motions allowed her mind to go blank, and she lost track of time staring out the window at the waves.

A sharp rap at the side door broke her reverie and made her jump. The plate she had been washing fell back into the sudsy water with a plop. But a second later her hands were dry and her wand was out, even if her heart was thudding in her chest. How could someone be knocking on the door of an unplottable house?

The wards were down and Harry and Ron were in the front part of the house; they wouldn't have heard the knock. If she called out, whoever was at the door would hear her and know she wasn't Fleur. She considered just waiting them out but the rapping continued, and they even jiggled the handle.

Hermione could only think of one option, and when a silvery doe jumped out of her wand she almost fell on the floor; her patronus had changed. The delicate creature stood waiting for her command and Hermione could only gasp out, “Side door,” before it lowered its head and scampered down the hallway.

Harry's frantic crack of apparation almost brought down a shelf full of dishes and Ron was right behind him. Both of them had their wands out and Harry grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Sorry. I didn't know of another way to alert you,” she explained, and told them of the visitor. “But there is no way they've missed the smoke coming from the flue; they know someone's here.”

“Who could know about this place?” Harry asked, now hearing for himself the incessant rapping.

“Could be someone from the village, although I don't think Bill and Fleur go there much,” Ron supplied.

Harry took a moment and then turned to her. “ `Mione, I was talking to Bill through the mirror, go ask him if anyone here knows about the house.” She raced down the hallway, his voice fading into the background as he instructed Ron to call out to the person outside.

The mirror was lying on the desk face up and she could still hear Bill on the other side calling out. “Harry! Ron! What's happened? Is anyone there?”

She grabbed the mirror and held it up. “Hermione! Thank Merlin! I was talking to Harry and then he looked like something had scared him to death and vanished.”

“No time,” she said quickly, waving him off. “There is someone knocking on your door. The door of the house that is supposed to be unplottable.” She tried to keep her voice calm, but the reality of the situation was a bit overwhelming.

Bill blanched for a moment and then his eyes got wide. “I'm sorry. It's Old man Graham. He's a Squib. Lives about three miles up the road and comes to check in on Fleur and the girls sometimes when I'm gone. He's harmless. I should have redone the Fidelius, but he's truly the only other one who knows where we are.”

Hermione cut him off. “You're sure, Bill? You're absolutely sure he's safe?”

“He's lived there for over thirty years. I can't imagine that he's not.” Hermione saw a hint of doubt creep into his face: That's what the war did to you.

Her eyes locked with his and then she dropped the mirror and tore back to the kitchen. She could hear Ron calling through the door, saying he was Bill's brother. Harry stood off to the side, with a clear shot of the doorway when it was open.

She brought herself to a halt at his elbow, slightly breathless. “Bill says he's a neighbor. Comes by every now and then. Name's Graham; a Squib. Bill said he's the only one who knows about the house.”

Harry looked at her hard. “Is he ok?”

“From what Bill says, yes, but...” she trailed off. They knew all too well that it was easy to be deceived.

“Ron, open the door and tell him you're watching the place for Bill and Fleur. Then get rid of him,” Harry instructed, his voice low. He kept his wand trained on the door. Hermione joined him, trying to stay out of the line of sight.

Ron nodded stiffly, wand by his leg. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door only wide enough to see the man. Hermione's view was completely blocked so she couldn't see anything but a few tufts of white hair sticking out of what could have been a tweed cap.

“The Missus around?” Graham said, his voice taking on that quality of someone who doesn't hear all that well anymore.

“Sorry sir, Bill and Fleur are on holiday right now,” Ron answered evenly, but Hermione could see the nervous tick in his jaw.

“On holiday?” he repeated, confusion evident in his tone.

“Yes sir. Sorry you missed them,” Ron said and began to shut the door.

“Now wait a minute, laddie,” Graham protested, his burr more pronounced.

Harry tensed, and hissed at Ron, “Get rid of him, now!”

“So sorry sir, um, pots boiling over. Got to go.” And with a slam, the door was shut and Harry had raised the wards again.

Ron turned around and slumped against the door. “Who the hell is he?”

“Neighbor. Squib. Bill says he's harmless,” Hermione answered, watching as Harry shoved Ron out of the way to watch Graham retreat all the way up the path, away from the cottage.

When he presumably lost sight of the man, Harry lowered his wand and turned back to them. He didn't say anything, just re-holstered his wand and headed back to the office. Hermione knew he was too keyed up. Knowing him, he was probably ready to pack up and leave immediately due to the barest hint that their location had been compromised.

“Give him a few minutes,” she said to Ron before she returned to the last of the dishes she had been working on earlier.

When she entered the office ten minutes later, Harry was sitting at the desk, studying a stack of papers, the magical floating map having been moved closer so he could see it more easily.

Ron sat sprawled in one of the chairs, legs in more directions than seemed physically possible, and gave her a long suffering look when she came in. She gathered the look was to inform her that Harry was still in a mood, and he would appreciate it if she could fix it.

Harry didn't even look in her direction as she approached. He pulled a quill and parchment from the drawer and, after consulting the notes, began writing. When she was next to him she could see it was a letter to Kingsley requesting information on the incidents they had found and any others that may be of importance.

Hermione gathered the newspapers and set them aside so she could slide backwards and sit on the edge of the desk. Harry still didn't say anything, but she thought she saw the side of his mouth quirk up slightly at her action.

After what seemed like an hour, but was probably nowhere near that amount of time, she was still sitting there, feet swinging silently, trying to resist the urge to drum her fingers on the wood beneath her. She refused to turn around and look at Ron, who was no doubt smirking. Harry finished the parchment and rolled it up, tapping the letter with his wand to seal it so that only Kingsley could open it.

Finally she had to speak. “How are you going to...” But she didn't have to finish her question because Fawkes appeared on Harry's shoulder. The phoenix plucked the roll from Harry's fingers and vanished as quickly as he arrived.

Harry leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers together, trying to look imperious and failing miserably. She fixed him with a glare and opened her mouth to begin what would most likely have ended up a lecture, but before she could speak his hands had shot out, grasped her about the waist, and hauled her into his lap.

Stifling a surprised shriek, she put her hands on his chest to steady herself and looked down at his pleased expression. A disgusted grumble and heavy footsteps let her know that Ron had left the room.

Hermione tried to scowl at Harry, but it was short lived as wandering hands had found their way under her jumper. She decided that kissing him was a much better use of her time than berating him. When Harry apparated them directly to the bedroom she didn't complain either.

When they came back down, they found Ron in the office working on the map. He gave them a disgusted look. “There truly must be dark forces at work, because I never thought I'd see the day where Hermione Granger shirked off research for a quick shag.”

Hermione thought about charming a book to fly across the room and thump him on the head, but instead went with her instinct as she stuck her tongue out at him. The look on Ron's face was worth the small amount of dignity she had lost with the action.

Their afternoon was spent much like the one before. She had a better idea of what to focus on and began trying to acquaint herself with the history of magic in areas outside of Great Britain. She realized their education at Hogwarts had been lacking in this area.

She took her last two potions that night without complaint, but begged off the sleeping draught. When Harry curled around her he whispered in her ear “Your patronus changed.” There was no hiding the pride evident in his voice. She flushed immediately and whispered back “Oh hush up, you.” but she was smiling.

Three hours later when she woke with a muffled scream and the image of three faceless men in black looming over her she regretted the decision to skip the draught. She also realized that Harry wasn't in bed.

The wards were still up and his boots were sitting next to the bed so she didn't think he had left the house. Grabbing her wand and the light weight shawl draped over the back of the rocker, she made her way down the hallway, absently noting that she didn't hear Ron's snoring.

Halfway down the stairs she could hear low noises coming from the kitchen. Her wand up, she crept silently past the office until she could make out Ron and Harry talking in low tones. Her wand dropped and her shoulders slouched in relief.

Hermione pushed open the door and saw them at the table, a packet of files and papers strewn about, along with mugs of tea and the remnants of some sort of baked good Ron had no doubt polished off.

Harry gave her a tired smile. “Hello, luv. Sorry if we woke you.” She thought about telling him about the dream, but didn't want to worry him. “Why didn't you wake me?” she asked, heading to the still warm kettle and fixing herself a cup of tea.

“Fawkes arrived about an hour ago. I didn't want to disturb you,” he explained.

She nodded, sipping at her tea, and slipped into the chair beside him. Looking at Ron from the corner of her eye, she asked, “So why are you up?” She knew Ron didn't get out of bed in the middle of the night for anything.

“This wanker decided...” but he cut himself off and she whipped her head to the right to see the end of Harry's glare. “I mean, I heard Harry in the hallway, decided to see what he was up to and get a snack,” he mumbled.

So Harry had woken up Ron when Fawkes came but not her. Part of her thought it was sweet, the other louder part of her thought it was bollocks. She nodded slowly, took another sip, and then turned her gaze on Harry.

“Harry?” she said calmly and saw Ron shift uneasily in his chair. Good, she thought; he gets it. Harry however, just looked at her evenly. Either he was very, very, good or he didn't have a clue what he had done. “Harry, what am I to you? Am I your partner? Your friend? Your girlfriend? Lover? Shag buddy? Research assistant? Do you just keep me around to save your arse on a regular basis and do the reading for you?” With each question her voice got harder and louder and Harry's expression shifted from neutral to confusion and then to something she couldn't define.

“Because last time I checked this doesn't work too well if you keep things from me. I'm part of this team. Above all else, we do this together. You can't coddle me! Once you start doing that, things get dangerous. You of all people should know that. So the next time your bloody mystical bird decides to deliver you intel that is vital to what we're doing at half gone two in the morning, you will bloody well wake me up!” She slammed the mug on the table and stalked towards the stairs, feeling it wise to remove herself from the room before she said anything else. Ron's low whistle followed her to the second floor.

Harry didn't come after her, and she climbed back into bed, angry and cold. She watched the minutes tick by on the clock, and just as she was starting to question whether she should have let her temper get the best of her, she felt him enter the room and creep silently to the bed.

He gathered her to him immediately and pressed his lips to her neck. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Just don't do it again,” she replied and settled back against him.

They spent the next two days going over the new intel from Kingsley and planning their next move. The more they searched, the more odd occurrences kept popping up. Not only Germany, Norway, and Bulgaria; there was now France, Japan, and, not surprisingly, Russia. They added the new locations to the map, but she still couldn't detect a pattern or a connection.

There had been no more unexpected visitors, but on the afternoon of the second day, with a spring squall roaring outside, Ron came tearing down the staircase, a pair of WWWs `Ever-Seeing-Ever-Glowing Super Specs' hanging lopsidedly around his neck.

“Boat!” he yelled, grabbing Harry's jacket off the newel post and tossing it at him. “About a mile or so out.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder on the beach, wands at their sides, while the storm tore at them, watching as the fishing trawler made its way slowly past, but never made for the shore.

Much like when they first arrived, they entered Fleur's kitchen dripping wet and freezing. Hermione cast quick drying and warming charms on each of them, but she still felt cold.

She used it as an excuse to indulge in a bath, very aware that this could be her last luxury for a long time. She was certain Harry was ready to leave soon. They could spend months researching from the confines of the cottage, but until they got out there and started trying to track down these leads it would amount to nothing.

She let her eyes slide shut and drifted in the water. Fleur had an excellent bathtub. She was so relaxed she didn't hear Harry enter or sit against the side, his back to her. When she did open her eyes she saw the slump of his shoulders and how still he sat. Pulling one hand from the water she let the majority of the bubbles slide off before laying it on his shoulder.

“We're leaving tomorrow, aren't we?” she asked softly

“Yeah,” he replied, clearly distracted and lost in thought

“Where to?”

“Russia, outside of St. Petersburg. I think that's our best bet of finding something. My mission was highly classified. There are only so many people who could have known where I was going to be that night,” he stated. They had been over this already, but she knew he'd need to talk it out a few more times for his own peace of mind.

She stroked the hair around his ear, noticing it was starting to get long. He leaned into her and she pulled the chain on the plug with her toe. Rising from the tub she cast a drying charm and then led him into the bedroom.

They were up before the sun. She repacked the magical bag quickly before meeting in the office to gather their research. Studying the map one more time, she felt sure there was something she was missing. Harry dropped his hands on her shoulders. “You'll figure it out,” he said with confidence, and she wished she had as much faith as he did.

Harry recommended they wear dark traveling cloaks. The village they were going to be in was very traditional and muggle clothing would make them conspicuous.

“We'll apparate into my flat,” he said briskly as he rechecked his pockets and strapped on his holster for a third time.

“Your flat?” she asked in a small voice. She had always wondered where he had lived while he'd been gone.

He must have understood her tone, “I may be speaking generously when I say `flat'. It's more a base of operations; a place for me to sleep and keep some supplies, that's all.” His hand came up to cup her cheek and she gave him a smile to let him know she was alright.

Ron cleared his throat loudly. “Are we going or are you two going to go all moon eyed all morning?”

She gave him a glare and then purposefully rose on her toes to give Harry a hard kiss. When she was back on her feet she slid her hand into his and waited until Ron had grabbed on as well. Then Shell Cottage blinked out of existence and a dank, shadowy room with concrete walls took its place.

If this was where Harry had intended to apparate them, then he hadn't been exaggerating when he said `flat' was being generous. The room was maybe twelve foot square with no windows, and the walls made out of concrete blocks made her think they could be underground.

In one corner hung a shabby curtain from a rod, no doubt what constituted a bathroom in this place. There was no kitchen to speak of, just one low counter with a few cabinets. The bedroom was a double mattress pushed haphazardly against the wall.

The focal point of the room was a large wooden desk with plenty of space to work, a comfortable looking chair, and good lighting. This indicated where Harry's priorities were centered when he was here.

Hermione looked around once more, and the knowledge that this was where Harry had called home for the past two years struck her hard. It was such a sad space.

Ron had already broken away and conjured a small table and three chairs before pulling out the last of their fresh food from Shell Cottage.

Harry squeezed her hand once and went to join him. With a slightly uneven breath she made her way to the desk and took out the files with their research, spreading out the papers and notes the way she liked before casting the spell for their magical map. However, as soon as it blinked up it disappeared again.

Harry stood across the room, putting his wand away. “Sorry, `Mione, this place is protected but it's not under Fidelius. I don't want to risk anyone accidentally seeing what we're working on. In fact, all our papers should be charmed so they appear to be something else if anyone does see them.”

She nodded her understanding and set herself in the chair, taking on the task of charming the research so that no one other than the three of them could tell what it was. It was a tedious process. In theory she should be able to charm an entire stack, or the entire table, but she didn't want to risk a piece becoming separate even by accident; charming every paper individually was the only way to ensure they would be safe.

Hermione was so focused that Ron and Harry faded into the background. She knew they were discussing something but she couldn't be sure what it was. Two hours later their large amount of intel had all been made unreadable by anyone other than them. If someone else looked at the paper they would see nothing but innocuous shopping lists and two year old newspapers.

Hermione rolled her neck and popped her back, feeling the strain of being in one position for so long. Ron and Harry were still in deep talk, a different magical map floating in front of them. From where she sat it looked to be a smaller road map, and by the way Harry kept tracing a certain route she was certain he was planning something.

“You boys planning a trip?” she said lightly, breaking the long quiet of the room.

Harry startled at her voice and the map vanished without a sound. “All done, luv?” he asked, and Ron sat back in his chair looking guilty about something.

After six years of watching him skive off homework and try and get away with it, she knew what Ron Weasley's guilty face looked like. Considering how quick Harry had made that map disappear, she knew they were up to something she wasn't going to like.

“What are you planning?” she asked again, this time her tone serious, and she saw Harry swallow hard before rising from his chair and making his way towards her.

“Before you say anything, I need you to hear me out,” he prefaced, and she knew this wasn't going to be good. At her silence, he continued. “I need to meet with some contacts of mine, but the place I need to meet them at is...well, it's not exactly a place you could go,” he said vaguely and she knew there was more he wasn't sharing.

“What sort of place is it?”

Harry shut his eyes for a moment and then looked at her. “It's a gentleman's club.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw.

“And I can't go because...” she asked

“Because you're a bird, Hermione. These types of places are no birds allowed, unless they're providing the entertainment,” Ron said suddenly from across the room.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “He's right. You going would compromise what I'm trying to do and it would also be dangerous.” She glared at him for the latter part of his statement.

She swallowed down her desire to argue. She knew he was right, knew she couldn't and shouldn't go with them, but it didn't make it any easier.

“What are you hoping to learn?” she asked, proud that there was only the slightest hint of bitterness to be heard.

Harry gave her a grateful lift of his mouth. “This club is where the group I've been watching like to have their meetings. On the surface they're mostly harmless; typical backwards thinking mindset of pureblood supremacy, but it hasn't gone much beyond loud talk after a few too many vodkas. However, over the past six months or so, there have been suggestions that another group is behind this one; an underground group that are the heavy hitters and may have the means to take it further. These are the ones I've been trying to get an idea about. That's who I was after the day we were all attacked.”

Hermione considered what he'd told her. “Do you think this is why Fawkes returned?”

Harry paced around the small room, his agitation at not having all the answers obvious. “I think it's part of it. I think everything we've looked at so far is part of it. I just have no idea how it connects.”

“Who do you think could be behind this other group?”

“Could be a former Death Eater, could be someone new; it's hard to say right now. There are still several Death Eaters at large. Not all of them were apprehended after the war,” Harry said

“The pureblood angle does seem to suggest that, doesn't it?” she agreed, chewing on her bottom lip while she thought. “But the Death Eaters were always very sure that we knew who was behind all their terrible acts, and so far no one has stepped forward to claim responsibility.”

Harry nodded. “You're right, which is why I have to consider it's someone new who we've never heard of.”

Ron sighed heavily at this. “Great, because it wasn't already hard.”

“I have a cover at the club. I've been there enough over the past months that I won't attract suspicion. Ron can come in as an associate I'm bringing on board,” Harry explained.

Hermione just nodded. A knot was beginning to form in her stomach and she knew it wouldn't go away until they were back.

“When are you leaving?” she managed to get out, trying to not sound as worried as she felt.

“Soon,” Harry said, and then closed the last few feet between them and dropped to his knees in front of her. “We'll be fine. I've been there loads of times. It's a solid cover.” His hand came up to cup her cheek and she leaned in to him slightly.

“What about the attack on you? Wouldn't word have gotten out about that? Is your cover really still intact?” she posited. This all felt wrong and she didn't want a repeat of that day.

“It's a risk, I'll admit, but I wasn't attacked at the club; it was an entirely different part of town. We're meeting one contact first and he'll be able to let me know if continuing on to the club is wise. Once we're there, I plan on laying low and just see what plays out. They don't know me as Harry Potter here; I've gotten fairly good at glamours,” he said with a smile, trying to get her to feel better.

But she wasn't as easily swayed as he hoped. “They certainly knew who you were when they attacked you,” she countered.

“Exactly. Which means there's a mole somewhere. If I can make them show their hand then we may have another lead on who and what we're dealing with. Either way, we will hopefully get some information tonight.”

“That's a very large risk you're willing to assume,” she stated and turned her head away, not able to look at him right then.

“I don't have a choice, luv,” he said simply

She gave a stiff nod of her head and felt him squeeze her knee before going back to Ron to finish briefing him on their plans.

In what seemed like no time at all, Harry was standing in front of her, his cloak on. He didn't say anything, just held his hand out which she took automatically.

He tugged the hand until she was forced to step towards him, wrapping her arms around his middle as she did. “Come back to me,” she whispered

“Always,” he replied before pulling her away so he could look at her properly. “You should be fine here. The wards are good and only a few of my contacts know they can reach me here, but I don't expect that will be an issue tonight.”

“Don't worry about me. Just keep yourselves safe,” she responded, and then they were moving towards the door and the largest area of clear space.

Hermione pulled away from Harry and went up to Ron, throwing her arms around his shoulders and feeling her feet lift off the floor for a second as he hugged her back. “Stay safe,” she reiterated, before kissing his cheek and going back to Harry.

Harry brushed a loose curl off her forehead and then was pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss that was over all too soon. She understood why he wouldn't allow himself to do anything else; it would seem like a goodbye.

The boys stood next to each other and she had only a moment to mouth `I love you.' before they were gone.

As soon as they had apparated, the smallness and silence of the space closed in around her. She tried pulling out some of the more interesting books she had been reading but found that she couldn't concentrate. After staring at a rather dingy spot on the wall, she decided a bit of cleaning up couldn't hurt.

Some freshening charms and a few dozen Scourgifies had the place smelling moderately better, and definitely looking as good as it possibly could.

With that task complete, she headed back to the desk and tried again to focus on her work. The magical history of Norway was beyond her at that moment, but the large book of basic to advanced healing spells she'd borrowed from Shell Cottage managed to catch her attention.

Hermione skimmed through the more basic spells for kitchen burns and scraped knees, and was working her way through the ones she thought may be more beneficial for them when a sudden thud against the door caused her to jump in surprise.

The spell book dumped from her lap and made an overly loud thump when it hit the floor. She had her wand out, pointing at the door before she could think. The banging noise came again, and this time a voice called out, “Yakov”.

Trying to hear over the rush of blood to her head, she didn't respond. Two weak knocks. “Yakov!” the voice called, and then there was a string of Russian that she couldn't understand.

It was possible it was a drunken neighbor or someone with the wrong door, but she was certain Harry's wards included a distraction spell unless you knew what you were looking for.

“Yakov!” came one more time and then halted, broken English. “I come in.”

Her heart seized in her chest. Moving so the open door would provide her some protection, she knew she'd have to do whatever possible against the threat on the other side.

When the wards dropped she realized this must be one of Harry's contacts, but that didn't make her feel more secure.

The door knob turned and then slowly opened. The dim light worked against her and it wasn't until the person was all the way in that she got a good look at him.

When the door was shut, he still hadn't seen her and she reacted quickly by putting him in a full body bind. The expression of shock on his face was to be expected, the look of pain was not.

Hermione advanced slowly, putting herself between the door and the new comer. She took a moment to recast the wards and then turned her full attention to the visitor.

The man appeared to be in his mid thirties with shaggy dark hair and a face that hadn't been shaved in a number of days. His clothes seemed piecemeal, like none of them had ever belonged to him proper. However, once she was able to see him in the light she realized he was injured, severely.

He had several wounds, including a gash along his right temple that had left a trail of blood down the side of his face. One of his arms hung at an odd angle, and something had left a rather large injury to his abdomen from where blood was now beginning to seep out onto the floor.

Harry had said only some of his contacts could get in and the man was injured and didn't seem to pose a threat. Against what may have seemed like better judgment, Hermione advanced on him.

His wand had rolled away from his body slightly when he had fallen, so her first order of business was to Accio it to her. She knew he'd be able to hear her in the bind. “I hope you can understand me,” she started off, slowly and slightly shaky. “I'm going to undo your bind and you're going to tell me why you're here and then I may be able to help you. If you try anything I will not be as kind again.” Her voice strengthened as she spoke and she hoped her message had been conveyed.

Taking two more steps back, she ended the bind and waited. He grimaced immediately and used his good hand to cover the wound on his stomach. “Yakov,” he gasped once again. She had to assume that `Yakov' was the alias Harry went by here.

“Yakov isn't here,” she said firmly, her wand never trailing from him.

His eyes shut tight and she saw him slump even further against the wall. “Yakov. I must speak.”

“I'm Yakov's associate; you'll have to tell me.”

“Please. Yakov is friend. You will help?” The man's voice was strained and the blood stain on the floor was spreading.

She had held off as long as she could, but something told her this man was no threat and he was bleeding out in front of her. She couldn't ignore him any longer.

“Don't try anything,” she warned once more, although it seemed wholly unnecessary given his state.

His face was becoming grey and a sheen of sweat was evident even though the room was cool.

“Thank you,” he replied, and she dropped to her knees next to him, her wand still out.

She cast a few diagnostic spells, including a new one she had just read about. A chill went through her as she saw the results.

As she met the man's eyes, she thought he already knew this and that maybe he had already accepted this fate.

“Yakov is in danger,” he gasped out, and her eyes shot to his, now desperate for any information he may have.

“Danger. What sort of danger?” she asked

He was quiet again, his breathing ragged, and she used her wand to enlarge the tear in the front of his shirt.

The diagnostic had shown that he had been hit with a particularly nasty curse that not only caused massive damage but also caused the wound to continue to get bigger. Only some very specialized potions could have a hope of reversing the effects.

Already the size of her palm, she could see the edges of the site slowly expanding, as if something was eating the formerly healthy tissues. She had to swallow down the bile that threatened to rise up.

Urging him to lay flat, she conjured a towel and pressed it over the area, wincing when he let out a long low moan of pain.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized out of habit.

She hoped a quick healing charm to his head would clear it long enough for him to tell her what she needed to know about Harry.

“Tell me about the danger,” she demanded, now desperately concerned that he wasn't going to last long enough to get the information out.

His eyes locked with hers. “Yakov is being watched. What he thought was possible...it is true.” He suddenly contorted with pain, curling up and around where her hand still pressed over his wound, the blood flow not abating.

“Tell him...tell him it is Rookwood.” The voice was faint now, but at the mention of the former Death Eater's name she felt like her stomach had fallen out.

“Rookwood?” she repeated. “Rookwood's escaped and may be dead.”

“He is here. He is part of this.” His words were coming slower and she abandoned the towel, now casting every healing spell she knew, but they didn't have much of an impact.

“You must tell Yakov,” the man pleaded.

“I'll tell him. I promise,” she choked out, tears springing unbidden to her eyes as she realized this man was going to die and she could do nothing about it.

But he kept talking, as if he hadn't even realized she had interrupted him. “Tell him about Norway. I couldn't...” and there was a strange sound in his throat.

“What about Norway?” she asked, trying another sort of healing spell, her attention on his injury. “What about Norway?” she repeated, and looked at his face only to see the unmistakable mask of death.

“No!” she gasped out. “No! Tell me about Norway! Tell me about Rookwood!” she wiped bloody hands on her trousers and gripped her wand tightly. “Enervate!” she shouted, but the body didn't so much as twitch. She tried three more times, each time louder and more desperate but there was no change.

She scrambled backwards on hands and heels until she bumped into the mattress on the other side of the room. Her mind went dangerously blank for a moment before she physically shook it off and forced herself to think. She had no way of contacting Harry, and she didn't know anyone here; going out could be more of a risk than staying.

Putting up every ward she could think of seemed like the best course of action. This included wards against apparation which meant that when Harry and Ron came back they'd be deposited at the front door instead of in the room. She didn't like it, but she had no other choice. Harry could bring her wards down, but she doubted anyone else could.

She sat on the floor, her back against the edge of the mattress and kept her blood stained and shaky wand hand trained on the body that lay only six feet away. The sightless eyes haunted her and she forced herself to focus on his shoulder instead; it was the only way she could make herself sit there.

The words `Rookwood' and `Norway' kept flashing through her mind. She hadn't heard Rookwood's name since the war. She knew there several Death Eaters had escaped, but thought they were being apprehended by the Aurors. There had been no indication that any of them were causing trouble again. And Norway was suspicious because it was on their map, but she had no way of knowing if there was a connection or not.

The adrenaline from earlier was now starting to wear off and the shake of her hand grew as she felt more and more light headed from the experience.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. It could have been minutes or hours. A muffled thump in the hallway and a very familiar, “Bloody hell!” made her yelp in surprise.

Then the door was being blasted off the frame as Harry came barreling into the room.

He took one look at her glassy eyed and blood stained appearance and was on his knees in front of her like he had apparated there. Ron had the presence of mind to repair the door and scan the room. When she heard a low, “Sweet Merlin,” she knew what he had seen.

Harry's hands were all over her, checking for injuries. “ `Mione! Tell me you're ok,” he demanded, his eyes wide with fright.

She still couldn't bring herself to look away from the body.

“Hermione!” he tried again, and took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

As her eyes refocused she finally saw him. “I'm fine, Harry,” she assured him, but even she recognized that her voice sounded off.

“What happened?” He was still touching her, as if to assure himself that she was in one piece.

“Harry.” Ron's voice came from behind him, and when Harry didn't acknowledge him he tried again. “Harry, mate, you need to see this.”

Reluctantly, Harry turned from her and he swore violently when he saw the man on the floor.

“Peter!” he gasped out, and swung his head back to her. “What happened? Did he attack you?” he asked, clearly believing that she had been the one to kill this person called Peter.

She could only shake her head, and then Harry was at her side again pulling her towards him. She let out a shuddering breath and finally lowered her wand before tipping forward until she could rest her head on his shoulder.

Without lifting her head she began to talk. “He arrived at the door. Calling for `Yakov' which I can only assume is the alias you go by here.” She felt him nod and continued, “I didn't answer but he brought down the wards and came in. I put him in a body bind until I saw how injured he was. He told me he was your contact. I tried to help him, Harry. I tried, but...there was nothing I could do.” She broke off and pressed her lips together tightly.

He held her for a long moment and then kissed her head before pulling back so he could look at her. “I'm so sorry,” he said quietly

She shook her head at him. “It's not your fault.”

Harry didn't seem to hear what she had said. It was then that she really looked at him. His glasses were broken, there was a tear in his cloak, and a graze across the back of his hand looked like passing spellfire. Her eyes cut quickly to Ron who looked to be in about the same shape, although he was standing with more weight on one leg.

“What happened to you?” she exclaimed, but Harry waved her off.

“Harry! What happened? Were you attacked? Did you get to the club? Are you alright?” She couldn't keep the questions from spilling out.

“ `Mione, we're fine, you have to trust me. Right now we have more important problems.”

All she could do was nod as she saw him turn back to Peter and run his hands through his hair in worry.

Without turning back to her he began to speak. “I need you to get our stuff together. Make sure we don't miss one scrap of paper, or that this place even looks like we've been here.”

She nodded again and then suddenly remembered all that Peter had said to her. “Harry, I haven't told you...”

He faced her then and took hold of her shoulders. “Whatever it is can wait,” he said firmly.

“What about him?” Ron asked, gesturing to the dead man on the floor.

Harry didn't look towards him. “I'll write Kingsley to make arrangements.” he bit out

Ron didn't respond, just set about gathering the rest of their supplies and putting them back in the magical bag. Hermione winced when heard a slight clanging sound as he chucked a tea kettle in without looking, but she didn't bother to reprimand him.

It took her a few moments to order the papers and files. She could have just dumped them in the bag, but the mess she'd have to clean up afterwards wouldn't be worth it. It also gave her something to focus on that wasn't the dead body on the other side of the room.

When she was finished, she looked up and saw Harry kneeling next to his contact, his hand reaching out to close the unseeing eyes. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and then crouched next to him, laying a hand on his knee. “I'm sorry, Harry.”

He nodded once and then grabbed the hand and pulled her to her feet.

Ron limped over with her bag. “Ron, let me look at your leg,” she said, concerned.

“No time,” Harry said sharply and came up behind her. “You can fix him up once we're out of here,” he stated, and Ron didn't seem to mind.

“Where are we going?” she asked, but instead of answering he took hold of them and the last thing she saw was dark red stain on the dingy carpet.

They landed with a jolt and Ron would have ended up on the floor if Harry hadn't quickly grabbed him by the elbow. Hermione didn't even spare a glance to her surroundings. Immediately she conjured a chair and shoved Ron into it before casting her wand over him.

Other than a busted rib and a chunk of flesh missing from passing spellfire he was healthy. Remembering a spell for closing wounds she tore the fabric of his trousers and only winced slightly at the sight before doing what she could for him. His leg immediately relaxed and he sat back in the chair with a sigh. “Thanks, Hermione,” he said with relief, and she patted his knee.

She opened the bag and Accio'd some salve that would ease the burning sensation, and after applying it and repairing the torn trousers and healing the rib she finally looked up.

She had heard Harry moving about her while she'd been working on Ron, but hadn't bothered to look around. If possible, this place was even worse than the one they had just left.

It looked like a prison cell; six feet wide at the most and just long enough to fit a cot and a small table. Dank and dark didn't even begin to describe the room. A single bulb was attached to the ceiling and it sputtered so frequently she couldn't consider it a reliable form of light.

“Where in the bloody hell are we?” Ron blurted out, his lip curled in obvious disgust.

Hermione slowly rose to her feet, a scurrying noise in the shadows to her left making her wish she had paid a bit more attention before she'd dropped to the floor.

Harry brushed past her as he erected more wards, and she heard the familiar squelching sound as the door was barred from any possible entry.

“We're in Norway, just outside of Bergen, on the coast of the North Sea,” he said distractedly, and spun in place before running his fingers through his hair and muttering something to himself that she couldn't quite hear.

“Harry,” she said gently, but he didn't seem to notice. “Harry,” she said again, this time catching his arm as he passed, which wasn't difficult considering how tight the confines were.

Finally he looked at her and she could see the fear and strain he was feeling. “Sit, and let me look at you,” she insisted. He started to shake her off but she tightened her grip. “Sit,” she said firmly, and he actually listened, sinking into the chair Ron had recently vacated. “You can tell us while I patch you up,” she said in a tone that let him know she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

He sighed heavily and nodded his acquiescence. She began to comb her fingers through his hair, searching for any lacerations or bumps before moving on to repairing his glasses. He gave her a small smile at the action.

“This is one of my bolt-holes,” he explained. At the furrow of her brow he continued, “I have several places around the continent where it's safer and more convenient for me to have someplace established that only I know about. They're usually stocked with supplies, have a place to sleep, and are inconspicuous.” She nodded for him to continue as she picked up his hand to inspect the wound on the back.

Harry winced at her prodding. “Some are in hotels, hostels, a sublet or two. Some aren't even proper dwellings, just an abandoned building or warehouse, but they give me a place to go to if I need to hide.”

“And we need to hide right now?” Hermione asked, dabbing some of the burn salve on his hand.

Harry just nodded tightly. And then it hit her where he had said they were. “We're in Norway!” she exclaimed and both boys turned their heads toward her sharply.

Before either could reply she kept going, the jar in her hand forgotten. “Harry, that's what he said, the man who came to your flat. He said `Tell him about Norway', but he...he died before he could tell me what he meant.”

Without realizing what he was doing, Hermione suddenly found herself in the chair, Harry now standing over her. “What do you mean? He specifically mentioned Norway?” Harry practically sputtered.

“Yes, Harry. He said, `Tell him about Norway,' and...Oh gods! Rookwood,” she said, almost to herself as she recalled the rest of what Harry's contact had told her.

Harry was now kneeling in front of her and had her by the shoulders, the look in his eye almost frightening. “What about Rookwood, Hermione?” he said, his tone cold.

An unsettling feeling lay low in her stomach and she wanted to look to Ron for support, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Harry. “He said...” she began, and then took a deep breath before continuing, “He said to tell you that Rookwood was here, or rather that he was there, in St. Petersburg, and that he was part of it. But I don't know what it is.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“He said that you were in danger and that...that what you thought was possible was true and that you were being watched,” she recalled, haltingly.

Harry's face paled slightly at this but she didn't dare ask him what it meant right then. “Think. Anything else, at all? It may not have seemed important to you.” Harry demanded, his hands unknowingly growing tighter where he held her.

She raised an arm as far as she could and laid her hand on his chest. “Harry, I promise, that's all he said. He didn't live very long.” Her last words came out choked.

His hands loosened and slid down her arms to take her hands in his. “I'm sorry you had to deal with that,” he said softly.

“It's not your fault,” she replied, stroking a hand over his head for one quiet moment. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened to you two and how you knew to come to Norway?”

Harry let go of her and scrubbed his hands across his face before rising. “We didn't even make it to the club,” he said seriously. “My contact was late meeting us, and I was about to leave when he finally showed. He was worried, nervous...I should have just left right then, but he's always been solid so I waited to hear him out.” His hands went through his hair again, raking through the already untidy mess.

Ron leaned against the door, watching.

“He just started throwing information at me. Some I already knew, but he mentioned Norway. Said that the attacks on the three of us were just the beginning and was mainly a way to get us out of the picture before the real `work' began,” he sneered as he obviously quoted the word, his disgust evident.

“What's the `real' work?” she asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.

“That's what we still don't know. He just said that Norway was next and then we were surrounded. He was killed immediately,” Harry said wearily. “We got out of there as soon as we could.” Out the corner of her eye she saw Ron blanch and turn away slightly. She wondered how many they had killed.

“But he didn't say anything about Rookwood?” she questioned. “They both said something about Norway...” she trailed off

“No, nothing about him.” A muscle in Harry's jaw ticked at the mention of the Death Eaters name. “That's what I do not understand. No one has heard about Rookwood since the battle at Hogwarts. He disappeared with Voldemort's other top flunkies.”

“How many have been caught?” Ron finally asked.

“Not as many as we would have liked,” Harry admitted. “It's not my area, believe it or not. But I still try and keep up to speed on what's going on with them. And, I have to admit that when my mission in Russia started dealing with anti-Muggle sentiment, I immediately thought there had to be Death Eater involvement, even though I have no evidence to back that up.”

“Your hunches have usually been pretty good, mate,” Ron stated.

“From the reports I've seen, there are plenty of Death Eaters still out there, maybe reformed, although I doubt it. I figure most are either lying in wait for the next `Dark Lord' to appear or they've run underground.” Harry sighed heavily. “It's possible something is already being organized and this is the first we're hearing about it.”

Silence fell over the small room and Hermione felt like all the breath had left her lungs as she contemplated the ramifications of what Harry was saying.

“What could be happening in Norway?” she asked

Harry exhaled slowly. “No idea. Norway isn't a hotbed of magical activity. They have a small population of wizards scattered across the country, but nothing substantial. We have some inter-agency cooperation with their department of law enforcement, but it's really just for show.”

“There was that article about the wizard that died in Norway, right? The one you spotted in the paper?” she asked, chewing on her thumbnail as she tried to work out what could possibly be going on here. “He was the mayor, right? Found in his bed one morning, no history of anything...” Wizards didn't typically die in their sleep, especially not at a relatively young age like the mayor.

Harry nodded. “Local authorities investigated though, and didn't find any evidence of foul play. I think the healer in charge said it was some sort of undetected heart condition...” his eyes locked with hers as they both realized how completely ridiculous a statement like that was in the magical world.

Ron looked back and forth between them. “But wizards don't have undetected medical conditions,” he said unnecessarily.

“Exactly,” Harry replied, slapping his hand on his thigh in frustration at not having spotted it sooner.

“So you think he was...” Ron began.

“Murdered,” Harry and Hermione answered simultaneously.

“But why?” she asked. It still didn't make sense that the mayor of a small Norwegian town would be murdered.

Ron was quiet before he suddenly spoke up. “I know why I'd knock off the mayor.” When Harry looked at him he went on. “I'd knock him off so I could put someone else in his place.”

Hermione let out a small gasp: It was brilliant; simple, but brilliant. Harry was already digging around in her bag. “I'm writing to Kingsley. I need to know everything about this mayor, who replaced him, and anything else we have on the country. And also if we've had any word on Rookwood since the war.” As soon as the letter was written, Fawkes appeared and was then gone just as quickly.

Hermione let her heart rate settle some and cast a glance around the room. “Harry, this may work when it's just you, but I don't know how we're going to fit in here.”

For the first time since they had arrived, Harry seemed to also take a look about and realize exactly where he had brought them. “Ah...well...” he began and then she waved him off with her hand as an idea struck.

“Vanish that cot and then clear over to the side,” she said to the boys before reaching into the magical bag and searching for something.

Ron did as she asked, and when she saw they had cleared the floor she pulled out their old tent from the Horcrux hunt.

“Brilliant!” she heard Ron exclaim.

There was just enough room side to side to set it up and soon enough they were in the bigger on the inside tent.

“Home sweet home,” Ron said sardonically and Harry quirked a lip.

Not only had Harry set up wards on the room, he was now setting them up on the tent itself. Part of her thought it was a bit of overkill, but another part was glad to see him doing it.

Ron immediately set to putting the kettle on and pulling out any perishable food they still had. “No point letting it go to waste,” he said at her look, and she could only nod.

She took over one half of the large table and began to spread out the papers and files, while Harry cast the spell to bring up their magical map. She made sure to put the newspaper that had the story about the Norwegian mayor on top; she wanted another look at that one.

When she was done she walked over to where Harry stood, feet apart, arms crossed, almost glaring at the map. She slipped a hand under his elbow and leaned into his side wanting to both give and receive some comfort.

She knew when he realized she was there because his arm raised and he dropped it over her shoulders, pulling her in closer. “You alright?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair. Hermione let her eyes fall shut for a moment. “Yeah,” she replied, and they both turned their attention to the map.

She focused on Norway and found their current location quite quickly. The town where the mayor had been killed wasn't that far away, but it wasn't terribly close either. She raised a hand to rub tired eyes and then jerked it back in shock. She still had Peter's blood all over her.

Pulling away from Harry, she stumbled quickly for the other corner of the tent where an ever-refilling basin sat and scrubbed harshly at her stained fingers.

Harry was right behind her, and she barely noticed as he pulled his wand and did a cleansing spell. The blood vanished but she still could feel it on her, and his actions didn't deter her from continuing to try to physically remove the evidence herself. She could hear him talking but couldn't make out what he was saying.

Finally his hands closed over hers and pulled them from the bowl. Wrapped around her from behind, he walked her away from the basin and held her until her breathing returned to normal.

“Sorry,” she said, finally. “I just couldn't get...” but he cut her off.

“Stop. It's fine,” he assured her and she turned in his embrace so she could rest her head on his chest.

“Tea's ready,” Ron called from the kitchen area. She began to draw back but Harry's hands captured her face and he gave her a hard kiss before they headed for the table.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said as they sat down and Ron just shrugged in acknowledgement.

Hermione took a cup of tea and a biscuit before moving to the other end where she had laid out the papers. The article on the mayor was short, no more than a paragraph really, and from it she gleaned no new information. With a sigh she set it aside and found the articles for the break in at a magical museum in Germany and a missing person case in Bulgaria.

They were also frustratingly brief and held no hidden clues that she could discern. The break in hadn't actually resulted in a theft. The only reason it had even made the paper was because it was the largest magical museum outside of Great Britain. Why go through the trouble of breaking through highly advanced wards if you weren't going to take anything?

She must have had a puzzled expression on her face because Ron spoke up. “You've got something, haven't you?”

“I'm not sure,” she said distractedly, not noticing as he and Harry made their way toward her end of the table. “This break in at the museum… At first it doesn't seem like it's important...”

“But nothing was taken, right?” Ron asked.

“Precisely. The wards weren't tripped. Whoever did this did so exceptionally well. They got in and out of a highly secure building without being detected. The only reason anyone even knew there was an intruder is because a security guard saw a person in black exiting the building.”

Harry sat back, lost in thought. “The article says a thorough search revealed that nothing was missing,” Hermione added, her tone leading.

“If nothing was missing, why break in?” Ron said.

“They made an exchange.” Harry stated. “They took what they wanted and put a duplicate in its place.”

“Like the locket,” she said breathlessly, and Harry's eyes locked on hers. “Yes. And like the mayor. Someone is putting pawns in place.”

Ron sat back in his chair with a thud.

“When Fawkes returns we'll need to send Kingsley another message. He'll need to have the entire building searched,” Harry said, getting up from the table and beginning to pace.

“That could take days, Harry. Almost every object in that building could have some sort of magical property that could be used somehow. Maybe we could narrow the search by only looking at artifacts that were imbued with dark magic?” she suggested, knowing that time was not something they had a lot of.

“Well we don't really have any other choice now, do we!” Harry said angrily and stalked to the front of the tent.

Hermione sank back in her chair, weary. She didn't know how many time zones they had jumped in the past twelve hours. She didn't even know what the local time was currently, much less what her body clock thought it was. Ron began to say something but she waved him off. Harry needed a minute to fuss and fume. When he was done she'd go to him.

She shut her eyes and tried to center her erratic thoughts. Ron was quiet as well, and when she finally heard nothing but silence coming from Harry's direction she sat up.

“Go, get some rest. I'll take the first watch,” Ron said.

“You sure?” she asked, but was already half out of her seat.

“I'm sure. I just need some time to...” and he trailed off, not looking at her.

She stood behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You alright? With what happened tonight?” After his reaction to the attack at the Burrow she was worried about him.

“I'm good, but I'm not going to be able to go to sleep just yet, so you may as well.”

She didn't say anything else, just walked to the front of the tent and found Harry sitting on the side of a cot with his head in his hands.

He didn't look up when she stood before him, so instead of engaging him she flicked her wand and enlarged the cot a bit. Harry didn't resist when she pushed him over to his side. He even pulled his legs up on the bed without her prodding, and when she climbed in behind him and pressed her head into his back she felt him relax slightly.

She wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep, but she did, not waking until she felt Harry sit straight up, Fawkes hovering in mid air before them.

The magical bird waited patiently while Harry hastily scribbled a second note to Kingsley, muttering to himself about how he should have done this before he went to sleep. Soon enough Fawkes was gone again, and they presumably had answers about Norway.

The note Fawkes had brought was brief, and as they made their way back to the table she could tell Harry was nervous about what it might say.

Ron was where she had left him, still nursing what appeared to be the same pot of tea; maybe she hadn't been asleep that long.

Harry collapsed in the first chair he came to and she settled in the one next to him. He paused for only a moment before reading. His eyes scanned once, then twice, and he handed it to her with no remark, but there was a twitch in his jaw that concerned her.

“What's it say?” Ron asked impatiently.

Hermione picked it up and began reading. “Not much. Kingsley says they're working on getting more intel, but at the moment all they can say was that the mayor was replaced by the deputy mayor who has only lived in the town for three years. Apparently there was a vacancy when the former deputy moved away and this...Alexander Carson won on a write in ballot. They know nothing else, but Kingsley has requested a copy of the post-mortem; not that the Norwegian ministry has to comply,” she added, knowing that the request would be seen as strange. She hadn't read aloud the part where Kingsley assured Harry that Peter's body would be removed from the flat and all evidence of what had happened there be erased. She knew it had affected him when he had read it and he didn't need to hear it as well.

Harry sat, stony faced and quiet. Ron held out his hand and she passed the note on and then got up, moving to where the map hung in the air.

“You think this Carson is our guy?” Ron asked after reading it for himself.

She lifted a shoulder, not turning to look at him. “I don't know, but it's suspicious how he just came to hold both offices. I wonder if the first deputy mayor's relocation wasn't planned,” she said offhand, but had to consider it was a definite possibility.

She didn't know how staring at the map could possibly help, but there was a connection between these places, and Rookwood was somehow in this mess as well. Kingsley had added a brief post script that they would pull anything on Rookwood's whereabouts after Hogwarts and send them when it was compiled, but she wasn't holding out hope that it would get them anywhere.

In her mind's eye she saw the battle at school, the last time she had seen Rookwood, and then as if a switch had been flipped she suddenly knew what the connection was and what they had been missing.

“Oh my gods,” she said low, and reached a hand out to grab the table for support as her stomach plummeted and her blood ran cold.

Harry was at her side in an instant, and she heard the harsh scrape of Ron's chair as he stood suddenly.

She turned frightened eyes to Harry. “I know what they're planning.”

Harry tried to guide Hermione into the chair closest to them but she resisted. She needed to be able to show them on the map. She needed to ground herself in the facts and the tangibility of her books in order to get through this.

She Accio'd the magical bag and stuck her wand in forcefully, summoning `Hogwarts, A History'.

“Bloody well figures,” she heard Ron say, but she didn't so much as spare him a raised eyebrow.

By memory and touch she flipped frantically to the section she was looking for and then began reading, trying to calm her voice as much as possible.

`While Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry services the children of Great Britain, there are other magical institutions of learning around the world. They are as follows:'

She didn't dare look at either Harry or Ron. She was fairly certain Harry knew where she was going with this and she didn't want to risk them interrupting or interjecting until she had a chance to finish. She took two steps closer to the map and pointed her wand at it, balancing the large tome in one hand. She swallowed heavily before continuing.

`Beauxbatons Academie de Magie- France

Durmstrang Institute- Sweden

Akadamie von Merseburg- Germany

Forheksing Skolen av Milorg- Norway

Zirnitra- Russia

Mahoutokoro- Japan'

As she read each school she flicked her wand and the corresponding location lighted up on the map. After she got to Germany she heard Ron gasp and she knew he had caught on. At the end, there were six bright stars showing the other schools of magic outside of Hogwarts, and they were right next to the dots they had put up earlier from the suspicious articles. They had found their connection.

“Sweet Merlin!” Ron exclaimed and sat down heavily.

Harry was silent, and when she found the courage to look at him the blank expression she saw was more frightening that anything else.

She closed the book and slid it to the table, then re-holstered her wand, but Harry still remained motionless.

Hesitantly she reached a hand out and like a flash he latched on to her. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and brought herself up flush against him.

“It's the schools, Harry. Whoever this is, they're going after the schools,” she said quietly

Harry was still, his muscles tense, and her fingers tingled slightly where she touched him, as if she could feel his magic.

Ron lurched forward and began digging through the bag. She could hear clanks and thuds as various items hit the table. She assumed he was selecting items from their WWW stash but she couldn't look away from Harry.

Harry's grip tightened on her hand. “Harry,” she said carefully, “What do you want to do?”

She saw Ron freeze at her words, and as the silence stretched on, the icy pit in her stomach grew.

Harry sucked in a great gasp of air and then began moving. He circled the room, looked at the map, and rifled through the equipment Ron had laid out, selecting some and discarding others.

His hands patted his pockets frantically before he spun in a circle and then stalked purposely towards the chair where he had haphazardly tossed his cloak hours earlier. Hermione had no idea what he could be searching for and moved forward to see if she could help when he pulled the mirror out.

“Hello! Is anyone there? Hello!” Harry shouted into the mirror, the crack in his voice betraying the calm she knew he was trying to show. She came up behind him and laid a hand on his back, anxiously awaiting a response.

The blankness of the mirror disappeared and was replaced by the sleepy visage of Arthur Weasley. “Harry!” he shouted “Is everything alright?”

“No time. You need to call a meeting of the Order. Everyone you can get, including Kingsley. We'll be there as soon as we can,” Harry said quickly, his face hard.

“Of course, Harry, of course,” Arthur agreed immediately.

“Tell Kingsley I need everything he has on every Death Eater that survived the war.” At Harry's words, Ron's eyes flew to hers and she could do nothing but stare back at him wide eyed.

She saw Arthur visibly gulp. “Death Eaters, Harry? Surely...”

“Yes, Death Eaters. All of them. Stay safe, we'll be there when we can,” Harry said and then put the mirror back in his pocket, breaking off the communication.

Harry turned to her. “I'm sorry, I just have to ask this once...” he said uneasily, running a hand through his hair so roughly she knew it must have hurt. “Are you sure, `Mione? Absolutely sure?”

“I'm sure. It's right there on the map. This has been planned very carefully and very quietly. There is absolutely nothing else that links those locations except that they are all sites of magical schools. What else could it be?” she responded, certainty making her voice shake with the reality of what she was saying.

“Ok,” Harry said almost to himself, and then his eyes shut tight for a long moment, but when he reopened them they were blazing with determination.

“We're leaving in five. Ron, I want those on us,” he said, pointing to the small, but effective collection of delayed explosives, darkness powders, and portable swamps. “Everything else goes in the bag and then we're heading for this...Forheksing...this Norwegian Hogwarts,” Harry stated.

“Do you know where it is?” Hermione asked, already gathering the papers in as orderly a fashion as she could manage under pressure.

Harry looked unsure for the first time. “No, but we know the town it's near. We'll apparate there and then...I'm sorry, I don't have a plan, but we can't just let them...it's a school, `Mione, full of kids...and they don't even know.”

She knew he was seeing Hogwarts burn, seeing the dead bodies of friends and teachers and the broken walls of his home. “I know, Harry. We'll figure it out. We always do,” she said tightly before launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck like she had so many times when they were younger; she needed the hug as much as he did.

She was the one that finally pulled away, wiping her wet eyes on the back of her hand as she went to the map once more.

“There's a small village outside the school. I assume it's like Hogsmeade, but I'm not sure. We could apparate in...maybe ask around? Or maybe we'll see the school from there,” she suggested with a small shrug.

“There's not enough time to contact Kingsley and have him get word to the right authorities. If we had more time he could send a group of Aurors or we could liaise with the law enforcement offices there, but I'm worried whatever they're planning…it's going to happen today,” Harry stated, his eyes fixed on the glowing dot that represented the school. “Peter and my other contact giving us the exact same information, at the cost of their lives...something will happen soon.”

“It may be easier to get in if it's just the three of us,” Ron said. “Trying to go in there with an army may tip them off. They could get careless if they feel like they're being threatened. Besides, we don't even know if anyone is at the school; could just be this mayor bloke we need to find and keep away.”

Harry mulled over what Ron had said and nodded. “You're right. Without any more information we have to go on what we know, which is the school and the mayor; anything else is conjecture and that's dangerous.”

With a snap, the map vanished and Harry turned to Hermione and Ron. “Ready?” he asked unnecessarily, and Hermione slipped her hand into his. She led him out of the tent and crowded to the side as Ron emerged. With few flicks of her wand, the tent was returned to the bag and they were in the claustrophobic room with barely enough space to turn around. Harry took her hand again and gave it a squeeze, she held her arm out for Ron to grab, and in a blink they were gone.

They landed at a pre-determined apparation point in the small village. The sun was bright and her eyes narrowed automatically as she tried to take in her surroundings.

They were at the end of a street. A narrow dirt road continued into a forest and the other direction clearly made up the main street. A half dozen shops on either side of the road was all there was to see. Signs were in Norwegian, and although she couldn't read them, it was easy enough to suss out what they sold; an owl post, dress shop, books and supplies, one pub, and randomly enough a cheese shop. Two of the buildings were empty and the others just seemed to be private residences; they had traversed the town in its entirety in less than ten minutes.

It was early still. Their breath fogged the cool air and Hermione zipped her jacket up all the way to ward off the chill. Only one other wizard was out, and he paid them no mind.

“Anyone speak Norwegian?” Ron asked sardonically.

“I'm sure some of them speak English as well,” Hermione answered. “We could try the pub if they're open. A town this small, they probably know how to find the mayor.”

Harry didn't say anything; he was still scanning the area around them and then something must have caught his eye as he broke off from them, heading towards a small footpath that led into the woods.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, jogging after him.

Harry answered by pushing away a pine bough heavy with a late snowfall. Underneath was a wooden signpost with a symbol and an arrow carved into it, pointing up the path.

“That's the crest for the school!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Guess we don't need to ask around after all,” Ron observed, “unless you want to find the mayor first, Harry.”

“No. We should go to the school and talk to the headmaster. If we're lucky we can convince them to evacuate the school and maybe that will buy us some time,” Harry stated, his voice certain, although his eyes were hard.

“Come on then. If they're anything like Hogwarts they're probably serving breakfast soon,” she said and began to head down the path.

Harry and Ron fell in beside her and she could already see that it wouldn't take long to reach their destination. The path was only a couple hundred feet long, and a large building was already visible at the end.

As they walked, Harry took his wand out and began casting for wards. “Are you finding anything?” Hermione asked.

“No. They don't seem to have any of the protections that Hogwarts does. The anti-apparation wards are up, and quite strong, but there is no anti-Muggle security, and the bare minimum of security wards.” The frustration he felt at this revelation was palpable.

“That doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't they have any wards?” Ron commented

“It doesn't. Even out here where the chance of a Muggle accidentally stumbling upon the place is next to zero you would still expect something. Hogwarts is isolated as well, but we had much more security than this,” Harry replied, swiping angrily at a low tree branch that was in his way.

They emerged from the tunnel of trees into an open grassy field. Directly opposite was a long, low building, with five great pillars across the front. From where they stood it wasn't possible to tell how far back it went, but it certainly was not as big as Hogwarts. Another sign sat in front of the block of stone steps that led to the double wooden front doors. Like the sign on the path, this one also held the crest of the school and what Hermione could only guess was the name of the institution in Norwegian.

Harry's wand was out again, although he had it low by his side, and she saw him cast a few more spells before shaking his head. “Nothing. There is nothing here; no wards to speak of at all, just anti-apparation.”

She halted two steps up and turned back to Harry when Ron suddenly pulled away and went towards his right. “What is it?” she called after him.

“Hang on, I see something,” he said, holding his hand up.

Harry followed and she waited. Ron headed towards the end of the building, his wand now by his side as well. Harry caught up and was at his elbow when both of them froze. She could see them speaking quietly to each other but couldn't make out what they were saying.

Suddenly, she saw movement coming around the end of the building and heading down another path towards the forest that circled the compound. A line of green robed wizards was making its way from the side of the school, and down the dirt path.

Harry and Ron hurried back towards her. “Who are they?” she asked in a hushed voice; the wizards had their backs to them and seemed intent on their destination but she didn't want to take any risks.

“I think they're the professors.” Ron said. “They all have that same symbol on their robes and they're too old to be students.”

“The professors?” she repeated. “What on earth could they be doing? Shouldn't they be getting ready for their classes?”

Harry hadn't said anything yet. Ron shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe they do it differently here. Maybe they have some sort of professors only meeting every morning.”

“Come on,” Harry said suddenly, passing her on the stairs. “The headmaster may still be in.”

Hermione and Ron moved to follow, but they only made it a few steps before there was a deafening explosion from their left.

She didn't hear anything after that. It was just bits of blue sky, dust, rubble, and the ground flying up to meet her. The world tumbled, and she felt like she was moving in slow motion. All the breath was knocked out of her when she landed, and it took everything to draw another lungful of air.

She wasn't unconscious. Although she was awake and could see, that was all. Her head felt hollow and there was a great roaring in her ears, like angry ocean surf that wouldn't dissipate. Her body was numb, and there was a heavy weight across her legs, but she couldn't see what it was.

Nothing else existed right then but the rush in her ears and the sky above. Her vision blurred, and she fought to push it away. On the edges of her brain she knew there was something important; there was something she was forgetting. But everything felt rattled and jumbled. It was like a dream she was trying to remember, but it was just out of reach.

Then suddenly there was a figure breaking her field of vision. Ron.

She remembered. Harry and Ron and the school.

Ron's hand gripped her shoulder tightly. His face was covered in dust and ash, and blood ran from his ear, down his neck and disappeared into his collar.

His mouth was moving, but she couldn't make out the words at first. He raised his wand and then the oppressive roar in her head began to abate and it sounded like he was talking from very far away.

“Are you alright?” she was able to make out, and she slowly nodded her head yes. She leaned up halfway, Ron supporting her when she saw Harry.

Harry was what had been pinning her legs down. His form was sprawled over hers, her knees in his chest. His head rested on the ground by her feet, glasses long gone.

A whine of panic was beginning to unfurl within her when he shifted and pushed himself up on one elbow, shaking his head. Her heartbeat was still frantic, but she was relieved to see he wasn't seriously injured.

Then with a jerk he scrambled to his feet and began to look around wildly before he caught sight of her and Ron behind him.

Harry crashed to his knees beside her, and she could hear him a bit better now as he repeated what Ron had said. His hands cupped her face and she felt him reach up and rub what must have been blood off of her forehead. She grabbed his wrist and pulled it down. “I'm alright,” she assured him. “My hearing is a little off, but I think I'm fine.”

With some help she was upright and then it struck her at how far they had been thrown and how big the explosion was. They were in the middle of the green, a good thirty yards from where they had been climbing the steps.

Her stomach clenched as she realized what must have happened. She raised a hand to cover her mouth in horror, but it couldn't keep in the low moan. “Oh gods. The children.”

It struck Harry then as well and she saw him go white. The professors had known the explosion was going to happen; that's why they left.

Ron cursed violently and turned around for a moment so he didn't have to see the carnage that lay in front of them.

Other than the crackling of the burning building there were no other sounds, and then Harry was making his way to the steps again.

“Harry!” she cried out.

“There might be survivors,” he replied without turning back, and then she and Ron were right behind him.

Hermione hastily conjured a new pair of glasses and shoved them in Harry's hand when they reached the doors. “I hope I got the prescription correct,” she said. He slipped them on and gave her hand a squeeze.

One of the great doors hung lazily on its hinge, still swaying slightly. Their wands drawn, they made their way inside cautiously.

There was a large central foyer with a grand double staircase and two long halls going off in either direction. The hall to the right was relatively unscathed. The explosion seemed to only go as far as the center, and other than dust and some debris there was nothing too terrible that way.

The hall to the left was completely destroyed. Beams and plaster littered the way, and the further down they went, the harder it was to discern what they were looking at. Most of the doors seemed to lead to classrooms, if the jumble of desks and textbooks was any indication.

Hermione moved around a massive crush of stone and looked up to where a second floor balustrade had caved in.

“Sweet Merlin,” she heard Ron say and turned to see him using his wand to lift away a large slab, underneath which lay a dead girl. Her blond hair was matted with blood and her blue eyes were still open.

Ron knelt down and closed her eyes, not looking at Hermione or Harry when he stood, his jaw clenched.

Hermione took a shuddering breath and kept moving. The hallway opened up and the damage was the worst they had seen; bits of sky could be spotted through some of the holes.

Suddenly Harry stopped and after a few flicks of his wand she could begin to feel the magic rise in him. She scrambled over a pile of rubble almost as tall as she was and made her way to his side. “What is it?”

He couldn't answer her at first. “They locked them in,” he said with a tone she had never heard before. “There were doors here, and they locked them in.”

Her blood ran cold and as she looked closer she could see what he meant. The end of this wing housed a large room, most likely the main hall where the students had meals. The ceiling had almost completely caved in. A long wooden table splintered in half was blocking their way. She used her wand to cast water over a fire burning close and saw the boys doing the same.

Going around the table to the left she gasped in horror at what she saw.

The room was not nearly as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts. From what she could tell this school normally held around two hundred students. Now, it was a blackened shell. Fires still licked the walls, multiple tons of dark, stained wooden beams no longer supported the roof; they were now in too many pieces, and had crushed anything they had fallen upon.

That included the students.

She didn't see them at first. The smoke was thick, and mortar dust had settled over everything, painting the room a uniform grey. As she stumbled forward her boot caught on something and she looked down to see a thin arm outstretched, the rest of the body hidden from view.

She could hear Harry and Ron working their way through the room behind her but she didn't spare them a glance. Tramping down the bile that was threatening, she focused on her task; finding survivors.

Methodically, and carefully she began moving debris. After ensuring that the corner closest to her had nothing but rubble she added to it, first uncovering the young boy whose arm she had almost tripped over.

He couldn't have been older than eight, much younger than any student at Hogwarts. The room spun for a moment as she considered that with such a low magical population in the country, this school very well could include all ages.

Her eyes cut across the room and she saw that Harry and Ron had split up and were doing the same; moving debris, searching for survivors, but most likely only finding bodies.

Her knees were wobbly when she stood and she had to blink several times before she could see clearly.

She returned to her task. A scrap of fabric let her know there was someone else near the boy and she kept moving stone.

Harry shouted from across the room. “Hermione! I think this one's alive.”

Scrabbling over the mess between them, she reached his side where he had uncovered a girl who looked to be in her final year. Her right arm had been crushed, but her chest was rising faintly.

“Finish uncovering her and then I'll see what I can do,” she said quickly.

Ron and Harry moved the last of the stone. Without any bone re-growing potion she couldn't do much, but she was able to heal the more serious lacerations and take the majority of the pain away for when the girl woke up.

Hermione wiped a hand across her forehead, wincing at the gash there she had forgotten about. “Is there someplace we can move the injured?” she asked, looking around but not seeing an adequate area.

Ron moved back out into the hall and then returned after a few minutes. “I cleared a spot. We can conjure some blankets to lay them on...”

“Great. That's perfect,” she said and watched as Ron carefully floated the girl out into the hallway.

“You alright?” Harry asked, his hand skimming down her arm.

“Yeah, it's just...” she blinked rapidly. “Harry, I think this was a full school, not just for older kids. I found a boy...he was so young...”

Harry didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes let her know he was already aware and she allowed herself to fall forward and rest her cheek on his chest for just a moment.

Before she could get too comfortable she pushed away and headed back to the section where she had been working.

They continued on. Hours passed. Some of the injuries she saw were so horrific she couldn't actually look; she'd just check for signs of life and move on. Every time a beam settled or rock shifted she'd jump and her heart would race as she remembered the battle at Hogwarts and all the people they had lost there.

Harry and Ron would call for her occasionally as they found someone still alive, but it was few and far between. They hadn't found more than a dozen students who had survived.

The last time they called for her, the child had died as she was working on him and Harry had to pry her wand out of her hand to make her stop trying to save him. She glared at him and snatched her wand back before stalking off.

Finally she had reached the far back corner. This area appeared to have taken a harder hit. Large stone statues were in the four corners and the one here had fallen forward, taking out the table below. It took time to move the oversized carving, and when she did there wasn't much to see besides the pulverized remains of wood.

Then she saw them. The tiny bodies. She could see six. They couldn't have been older than five years, and a flash of little Victoire, her chubby arms wrapping tight around her neck before they left Grimmauld went through her mind. Hermione couldn't stop the strangled scream that tore from her throat, it was too much.

She turned away from the horrible sight and saw Harry and Ron heading towards her and she moved to intercept them.

“Hermione! What is it?” Harry yelled, gripping her by the shoulders when he reached her.

She shook him off and put a hand to Ron's chest. “No, Ron, no. You have to listen to me. Stay away. Harry and I will handle this section. Please. You have to listen to me.” She was sobbing as she spoke, and she knew Ron had no idea what she talking about, but knowing how close he was to his nieces she was afraid that seeing those little ones would kill him. Her hand fisted in his shirt, and with the rubble she was standing on she was almost at eye level with him. “Please Ron. Please just tell me you won't come over here.”

Harry's arm wrapped around her middle from behind. She knew he was worried about how she was acting, but she needed to make sure that Ron stayed away.

Ron's eyes had been locked on hers, but as her words sunk in, they slid over her shoulder. He must have seen something because he blanched and staggered backwards, the handful of shirt she had was the only thing that kept him balanced forward.

“Don't. Please,” she pleaded in a whisper and he nodded vacantly before stumbling away from them. She watched him hurry from the room and the sounds of retching reached them.

Harry turned her slowly and forced her to look at him. “What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. She couldn't say it aloud. Instead she gripped his hand and lead him back to the corner, taking deep breaths and trying not to fall apart again. She knew when he saw them because his hand fell away from hers and he crouched down, his head in his hands as he tried to process what he was looking at.

“How?” he finally managed to get out. “Why were they here? They're so young.”

“They must have run a day school for the local children.” It was the only thing she could think of.

“You were right to send Ron away; this would break him,” Harry said

Hermione just nodded, wondering how she would get through it without it breaking her.

With unspoken agreement they cleared what they could. A shifting rock made smaller ones fall down and land on one of the little girls, and Hermione almost lost her composure, what small amount of it she had left. From that point on they moved everything by hand.

Harry didn't say anything to her as he scooped up the first one and moved her so they could get to the rest. He could have moved her with his wand like they had all the others, but she knew why he hadn't.

The only way she could keep working was by shutting something down inside of herself. She couldn't talk, she could't think, she could only dig through the debris, moving rocks and scraping her knuckles; that was all she could handle right then. Harry must have been in the same place as her because he wasn't saying anything either.

The last one they uncovered looked so much like Victoire that the world spun for a moment. The same eyes, same colored hair, same braided pigtails Fleur was so fond of using.

She collapsed on a piece of fallen statue and took great gulping breaths of air. “It's not her.” Harry was saying over and over again, and she could see the fear in his eyes too; he had thought it was Vic as well.

Hermione nodded, and with tears making tracks through the grime that coated her face, she forced herself back up. She approached the girl and knelt next to her, reaching a shaking hand out to brush stray hair out of her face; she was perfect, not a scratch on her that Hermione could see, it just looked like she was sleeping.

Without realizing it she kept stroking the girl's fair hair, although she avoided touching the too cold skin. Hermione couldn't help but think how this little soul had sat down to eat with her friends like she had every other day, and then had a horror enacted upon her.

A sudden shouting behind her made her jump and she turned to her right to see three men enter, their wands drawn, shouting in what had to be Norwegian.

Harry had already fished out his badge and identification and had his hands up, although his wand was out.

“I'm Special Auror Harry Potter with the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he said calmly, and the first man approached Harry and took his badge before inspecting it closely.

“What are you doing here, Auror Potter?” he said in clipped English.

“I'm here under special orders from my Minister. Your head of department should have received a message from him that we've been investigating a possible attack in your country.”

The man stepped back and spoke to one of the others, and as much as Hermione wanted to go join Harry, she didn't want to bring attention to herself.

“I believe we should talk, Potter,” the man said.

“I'd be more than happy to, but you have some survivors here. You'll want to get them some assistance. We've done what we could,” Harry suggested.

“Reinforcements are coming and should be here shortly. Your associates can wait here. If you'll follow me,” he said and held a hand out, indicating that Harry truly had no other choice but to go with him

Harry turned back to look at her and she nodded that she would be fine. He gave her a tight smile before following the Norwegian wizard from the room.

Turning back to the little girl, she ran a hand over her head once more before whispering, “I'm so sorry this happened to you.”

Hermione clambered to her feet and wouldn't let herself look back as she picked her way carefully through to where Ron was waiting. She had no intention of staying in that room any longer than necessary.

Ron didn't say anything, but wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she came up beside him and steered her back to the central hall. A group of what she had to assume were healers raced past them on their way out.

Ron just kept walking when they made it outside, down the steps, across the grass that was littered with debris. With every step she felt more and more numb as the adrenaline wore off and the reality of what they had just had to do began to sink in. Ron just kept walking until they came to the far end of the green, almost to the forest. They were far enough away that the voices of the rescuers were faint and she could no longer hear or smell the fires.

She stumbled when he finally stopped and looked at him questioningly, but his expression was stony and he wasn't meeting her eyes. His arm tightened around her and she leaned in until she could hear the reassuring beat of his heart.

Letting her eyes slide shut had been a mistake. As soon as she did, the exhaustion, hunger, and stress caught up with her. Her knees buckled slightly and all she could see was a repeating slideshow of dead students.

The sobs shook her entire body, and she lost track of everything but the grief that she felt. Ron was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart. Another set of arms came around her and then it was Harry who was holding her up.

“Hang on, `Mione,” he whispered into her hair. “We're going home.”

The jolt of apparation broke her from her grief and when she lifted her head they were once again on the front stoop of number twelve. Ron pushed open the door and stalked inside, heading straight for the hallway that led to the kitchen.

George was halfway down the stairs when they entered. “Sweet Merlin, not again,” he said, taking in their appearance. He rushed forward but Harry waved him off.

“Is everyone here?” Harry asked in a tight voice.

“In the library,” George answered. “Do you want me to...”

“No,” Harry interrupted. “Give us a few minutes and we'll be in.”

Harry kept his arm around Hermione and guided her down the hall. She just needed some time to get control of herself. She knew sleep was going to be a long time coming and she could deal with that, but her head wasn't yet in a place to adequately process any information the other Order members may be waiting to share.

Harry pushed open the door and they saw Ron with a bottle of firewhiskey and a glass already half full. He threw it back and then very deliberately put the bottle back in the cupboard. He didn't turn around to see them though; his hands gripped the countertop so hard his knuckles were white.

It was blessedly silent in the kitchen and she pulled away from Harry to sink into the plush seat by the fire, grateful there was no one in there to disturb them. Harry pulled out a ladder back chair and sat down heavily, his elbows on the table, palms supporting his head.

They only had a few moments of peace before their oasis was interrupted by Fleur entering, Victoire balanced on her hip. The little girl was giggling at something her mother had just said. The laughter sounded so foreign to Hermione right then that it made her jump more than the door banging into the wall.

It took Fleur three steps into the room to realize they were there. The smile slipped off her face as she took in their appearances and their expressions. “Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed. “What has happened?”

Victoire squealed in delight at seeing them and scrambled out of the shocked Fleur's arms. “Oncle Ron, Oncle Harry, Tante `Mione!” she yelled and ran straight for Hermione, climbing into her lap before she knew what was happening.

Hermione sat stock still, not even breathing as the happy little girl hugged her. Harry looked like he had seen a ghost and Ron refused to turn.

Victoire was asking her a million questions in rapid fire French: Why was she so dirty? Why was she hurt? Where did they go? Did they bring her anything back? Papa always brings her a treat back when he goes somewhere new.

Of their own volition, Hermione's arms came up and pulled the warm, and very much alive Victoire to her. The child's chubby arms wrapped around her neck and Hermione blinked furiously to keep from crying and scaring her.

Fleur finally found the ability to move and came over to them. She began trying to coax her daughter down, believing she was somehow hurting Hermione.

“No, please, Fleur. Can I just hold her for a moment,” Hermione gasped out, her hand shakily stroking Victoire's hair, which was thankfully unplaited.

Although Fleur couldn't have known what had happened, she saw something in Hermione's eyes and nodded her consent before moving over to her brother in law.

As the little girl snuggled in more closely and began to play with the ring on Hermione's finger, she could do nothing but hold her. Harry shifted back in his seat and finally looked at her properly, the sadness in his eyes lifting a bit as he looked at the little girl.

Ron still hadn't moved. Fleur laid a hand on his stiff back and he turned purposely away from her, until she took him by the elbow and forcibly moved him to a chair.

His head was bowed, and Fleur knelt in front of him, blocking his face from their view. Fleur was whispering something, and between the crackling fire and the slight roar she still had in her ears, Hermione couldn't make out every word of Ron's reply, but she did hear `just babies', and she held Victoire a little tighter.

Fleur turned quickly at his words and looked at her daughter and then Hermione. Hermione met her gaze and Fleur gave her a sad smile; she knew now why Hermione needed to sit with the little girl.

Turning her attention back to Ron, she tried to heal some of his wounds but he brushed her off, assuring her he would be fine. Fleur gave up, although the look on her face said she wasn't pleased. She didn't bother offering the same to Harry or Hermione, rightfully guessing they would also turn her down.

“Harry,” Fleur said gently, “would you like me to...would you like me to tell them what happened at the school?” her voice catching.

“No, Fleur, we'll be in shortly,” Harry responded.

Fleur nodded and took one last look at her daughter, who was growing drowsy from the warmth of the fire, and quietly exited the room.

Hermione selfishly took a few more minutes, knowing that Harry wouldn't move to leave until she was ready. With Victoire soundly asleep now, she stood slowly and made her way over to Ron. She waited for him to look up before she placed his niece in his lap.

Harry came up behind her and dropped a hand on her shoulder. Ron shifted the girl a bit and then cleared his throat before he spoke. “I'll be there in a minute,” he said roughly.

“Take your time, mate,” Harry said, and they made their way into the hall.

They could already hear the low rumble of voices coming from the library. Harry raised his hand to push the door open and then let it fall back, moving to the side of the door and leaning against the wall, his head falling backwards with a deep sigh.

She moved to stand in front of him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, absently brushing dust from his jacket. “Can you do this?” she asked, concerned for what she knew had to be an oppressive amount of guilt eating at him.

He pulled her in tight and rested his chin on her head. “Don't have a choice,” he mumbled into her hair. She shut her eyes and tried to pretend they didn't have to walk in that room and tell everyone else that some madman had just killed almost two hundred children. Harry's hands skimmed over her back, providing as much comfort as he could give.

His hands stilled suddenly and she lifted her head to see that Ron had joined them. Victoire was half awake, her head resting on Ron's shoulder. “Can we just get this over with,” he asked with a gruff voice. Harry answered by straightening up, grabbing her hand, and pushing the door open.

All conversation stopped as they walked in. The room was full, mostly Weasleys, but she could see others she hadn't seen in years; Kingsley, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, Neville, and others who had fought at Hogwarts.

Molly screeched in horror as she saw them. “What happened to you?” she cried and headed for Ron first, her hand trying to turn his head so she could get a better look at his wound, but he used his height to evade her and handed her Victoire instead. When his arms were free he backed up behind Harry and started to lean against the large table but stopped short when he realized it was the one they had laid Hermione on after the attack; he moved over to the side table instead.

Harry cleared his throat and leveled a look at Kingsley who gave a slow nod. “I assume those of you who weren't here before have been brought up to speed.” He waited to see if there would be a response, and when there wasn't he continued.

“We've finally managed to figure out what these attacks are about, well rather Hermione has figured it out,” Harry said, giving her hand a quick squeeze as he spoke.

“There have been several small, seemingly innocuous incidents all over the wizarding world. They caught our attention but we didn't know until yesterday what the connection was between all of the locations.” Harry drew his wand and with a flick the magical map hung before them, enlarged so everyone could see.

“The blue dots are where these incidents took place, and the stars are the locations of other magical institutes of magic.” He paused and let the information sink in.

“Surely not,” said Professor McGonagall. “Potter, you can't be suggesting that these...these ruffians are thinking of attacking schools.” Their former Headmistress was clearly flustered at the notion of something so horrific.

It was Ron who bitterly answered her. “Sorry, Professor, but since we just spent the morning moving hundreds of tons of rubble off of dead little kids, that is exactly what he's suggesting.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose at Ron's words, accurate as they may be. The silence was long and then the room erupted.

Kingsley was the one who finally called for quiet. Hermione couldn't talk over the lump in her throat, even though she wanted to be able to do more for Harry than cling to his hand.

“Silence!” the minister shouted. “Harry, we've had reports coming in from Norway of an explosion of some sort. Are you saying the school was attacked?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “We had sufficient intelligence to suggest that the Norwegian school was going to be hit first. The three of us apparated in early this morning to speak with the Headmaster, but before we could enter the school we saw all the professors exiting the building and heading for an apparation point beyond the tree line.” Harry paused as the information sunk in. McGonagall shakily reached for the chair behind her for support.

“Where were the students?” Neville asked, his voice tight. Hermione could tell that the knowledge of professors walking out on their charges was hitting the current Herbology instructor hard.

Harry's eyes shot to hers briefly before he answered. “They were in their main hall. Having breakfast for all we could tell. That's where the explosion was.”

McGonagall looked every one of her years as she sat down heavily in the chair she had been using for support.

Molly's hands covered her mouth as she looked at Harry in horror and Hermione found she had to avert her gaze. “All the children?” she managed to get out.

“We found some survivors,” Harry said roughly, and Ron had to turn his back to the rest of the room in an attempt to keep his composure.

“Who'd do such a thing?” Hagrid boomed, his deep voice echoing in the space, causing Hermione to jump slightly.

Kingsley took over from there. Within an hour there was a semblance of a plan. Without knowing who they were going up against it was difficult, but they knew Rookwood was involved and that was a start.

The minister promised every possible assistance from the Aurors, and anything else the Ministry could provide; a welcome change from the war.

The room had emptied some. Arthur and Percy headed back to their offices to begin gathering information and to liaise with the Norwegians. Molly and Fleur took the little ones into the kitchen to prepare a meal. McGonagall and Neville returned to Hogwarts to oversee precautionary security measures. Harry had broken off to speak with Kingsley, which left Hermione and Ron observing from the far end of the room.

She still felt slightly numb from the day's events, and one look at Ron suggested that he hadn't recovered either.

There were stacks of files on the desk, most likely of the Deatheaters' activities since the end of the war. Hermione knew she should start working her way through them, but she couldn't come up with the energy to move.

“Sorry about earlier,” Ron said suddenly, not looking at her.

“Whatever for?” she replied, not understanding for what he could possibly be apologizing.

Ron shrugged noncommittally. “Just for...for blurting that out, and everything else.”

She recalled his rather crass, but not untrue, proclamation from earlier when he had so ungraciously announced what had happened.

“You didn't say anything that wasn't factual, and it's understandable to be upset by what we saw.” She turned so she was facing him fully and laid a hand on his arm. “I'd be more worried if you weren't affected.”

He gave her a tight smile and was about to say something when Harry came up to them.

“Kingsley's got a plan,” Harry stated. He was trying to sound like he felt sure, but the strain around his eyes and the slight hint of doubt in his voice betrayed him to her.

“That's good to hear,” she said.

“What's the plan?” Ron interjected.

Harry drew a long breath and ran a hand over the back of his neck before responding. “Kingsley believes since we don't know who or why, the best we can do is get teams into place but not deploy them until we know more.”

“So we're going to leave the schools vulnerable?” she asked incredulously, not believing that this could possibly be the plan.

“Not entirely. If we blanket each school with large teams of Aurors, we run the risk of sending whoever's behind this running and not ever catching them. The only way this works is if we operate behind the scenes and try to discover who it is and who they plan on targeting next.”

Hermione was stunned. She never would have imagined that this would have been the way they were going. Turning to Ron for support she had to take a step back when she saw him nodding in agreement.

“Are you joking?” she shouted, her voice rising as she made no attempt to control her reaction. “The best you could come up with was to let those schools stay open and function as, at the best bait, and at the worst, cannon fodder! That is not acceptable!”

Harry didn't blink, nor did he even have the good grace to look apologetic.

“ `Mione, it's the only way.” He reached a hand out to cup her shoulder but she stepped away from his touch, not missing the flare of hurt that flashed across his eyes.

“I refuse to accept that. What are we to do in the meantime? Just sit around and wait for the next building to explode?” She could not comprehend how he could be going along with this.

“Hermione, listen to me,” Harry said, his voice harder than usual and this time when he reached out he didn't give her a chance to back away, instead holding her in a grip that was secure. “We can't send in armies of Aurors. But we can have smaller specialty teams in place that will be observing and working with local groups. The three of us are leaving for Germany in the morning. I told Kingsley I wouldn't have it any other way. If we're quiet but coordinated we may be able to flush them out before there are any more attacks.” Harry lowered his head some so they were almost on eye level. “I don't like this any more than you do, but we have to be smart about it. Those files hold everything we know about every Death Eater who wasn't killed in the war. Something in there is going to give us the answers we need.” His hands came up now to cup her face, and his expression was so earnest she couldn't help but believe him. “We will figure this out.”

Her head was spinning. She was still reeling from earlier and now this...but she had to admit she did see the logic in his argument, even if everything in her told her they should evacuate the schools immediately.

She grasped his wrists and brought them away from her face. “Ok, Harry. We'll do it your way. I just...I need some time.”

His face fell, and he unconsciously took a step away from her.

“I'll be back,” she said as kindly as she could before slipping out the door and not looking back.

She focused on finding a quiet place, which was not the easiest thing to do in this house at the moment. She climbed flight after flight of stairs until she was at the door for the attic.

The room was mostly empty. She didn't know what she had been expecting; hundreds of years of Black family relics perhaps. But other than a few odd pieces of furniture there was nothing else.

The pitched eaves were tall enough that she didn't have to bend over, and at the far end of the room there was a low window.

As the only source of light she was drawn to it automatically and when she looked out she was pleased to discover it opened onto a relatively flat section of the roof.

Without thought, she pried it open with minimal effort and climbed out.

She settled with her legs crossed and her back against the wall. The sun was warm and for a moment she just shut her eyes and let it seep into her. The morning had been beyond horrific, and as much as she tried to keep them at bay, the memories of the bodies they had found kept flashing through her mind.

With a firm shake of her head and a small gasp she looked up and realized she was no longer alone. Luna was now sitting next to her, mimicking her position, and seeming as if she'd been there all along.

“Luna!” Hermione said with surprise.

“Hello Hermione, lovely day,” Luna replied, glancing out at the garden they had an excellent view of from this vantage point.

Hermione followed her gaze and was about to agree before it was replaced with an image of the rubble and smoke of Norway.

“I'm not sure I can say that right now, Luna.” The bitterness was impossible to keep out of her voice.

Luna went to speak but Hermione cut her off. “I'm sorry, I came out here to get some space.”

“Harry's scared,” Luna said suddenly, and in such an offhand fashion Hermione didn't almost comprehend what she had said.

She began to reply and then stopped herself. Luna may not always make sense at first, but there was usually a reason for why she said what she said. Almost always she ended up making sense in the end.

“Why do you say that?” Hermione eventually responded.

“He's scared of losing.”

Hermione was quiet. She wanted to challenge Luna, to insist that Harry wasn't scared, and that it had never been about winning or losing for him, but something made her wait and see what else Luna had to say.

“He's scared of losing the future he never thought he could have,” Luna said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Hermione was struck dumb. She didn't know how long she sat there. She could vaguely recall Luna leaving, but other than that she was oblivious to the passing of time.

Her head was full of Harry: Harry before the war and Harry after. Everything that Dumbledore had known and kept from him. The terrible burden of Snape and the revelation come too late. How she had felt when she realized Harry was going to have to sacrifice himself to save them all. She brushed a stray tear away with that.

It was, quite frankly, embarrassing how little she and Harry had actually talked since he'd been back. Her cheeks flamed as her thoughts were drawn, unbidden, to memories of their too few times alone; talking hadn't always been a priority.

Part of her thought it wasn't necessary, that nothing had changed between them and that he was still as familiar to her as he had always been. And then part of her had no idea what he had been doing for the past four years, and in that regard he was a stranger.

Luna's words came back to her and she wondered if that was one of the problems he had before the war. Had he never allowed himself to consider a real future? Had he ever thought about what he would do after the war, or did he truly believe he wouldn't be alive so it didn't matter?

A flash of his broken, resigned visage on the crumbling ruin of the main staircase came back to her and she took a shuddering breath. He had truly accepted death and its finality, and then he had been brought back. He had no idea how to actually live.

But now he was back, and so was she, and they were in England. Their lives were no longer on hold. If anything they were fast forwarding and if she thought it was dizzying, she couldn't imagine how it was affecting Harry.

A muffled oath to her right broke her from her thoughts and she turned in time to see Harry attempting to squeeze himself out the narrow window. He didn't say anything, just sat down next to her much like Luna had done and was silent.

“How'd you find me?” she asked, even though she had a good idea as to the answer.

“Luna said you were, `roosting on the roof',” he quoted, with a quirk of his mouth and slight tilt of his head as if he thought it had been a long shot he'd actually find her there.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly, looking purposefully ahead of her. “I didn't mean to push you away earlier, I just...”

“It's alright,” he assured her, reaching over to take her hand where it rested in her lap.

“What are we doing, Harry?” she asked, and she felt him start next to her.

“What do you mean?” he deflected, his hand pulling away.

Turning so she could see him she noticed that now he was the one avoiding her gaze. “You know what I mean. You've been running since the war and now you've been forced to stop, and so have I for that matter. And now we're back, and we're together, but I don't know if I understand what that means.”

He looked dumbstruck, and then he took his glasses off and scrubbed a hand across his face, pinching the skin at the bridge of his nose. His thoughts were clearly still on Kingsley and Norway and the new threat and she felt a flash of guilt at pulling him away from that. “I thought we already talked about this, Hermione,” he said wearily. She flashed back to that day in France beside that memorial. They had talked, but hadn't really gotten past the surface.

“No. We talked around it,” she retorted, hoping to spur some sort of reaction from him. “I know why I ran. I ran because you weren't there anymore, and I think I know why you ran, but I don't know if you do.”

His jaw was set and he fiddled with his glasses, cleaning the lenses and checking the hinge; anything to avoid looking at her.

“You chose to die that day, Harry,” she started, her voice almost immediately failing her and she had to wait before she could continue. “You didn't just assume you would die, or accept that it was war and death could happen. You actually made the decision to die.” She could barely see now through a glaze of tears and she blinked angrily to get rid of them. “You gave up everything. You gave up your future. And then...you lived. You came back. How did that make you feel? How are you dealing with that?”

He clearly hadn't been expecting her questions. “I didn't exactly have a choice,” he spat out, and by the way he shifted his position she could tell he felt cornered. “What were my options? Let Voldemort win?” he said with a cruel twist of his mouth that she'd never seen before. “Besides, it was my destiny.” He bit the final word off with such derision she felt frozen in place. When she regained herself he'd disappeared through the window.

“Harry, wait!” she called frantically and scrambled after him, her already sore and torn hands catching on the rough wood of the sash. She hissed distractedly and wiped them on her trousers before she crawled the rest of the way into the attic.

After being outside, the light appeared dim and she could barely see in the empty space. She almost thought he'd left entirely when she heard him pacing at the far end of the room. It took everything in her not to run straight to him. Instead she forced herself to take her time shutting the window and then rested against the sill with her arms crossed; waiting.

“You know, when I first came back it wasn't so bad,” he started out suddenly, still pacing, still not looking at her. “I think I was in shock or something.” She could just make out Harry shaking his head. “There was one night at the Burrow. I'd had a nightmare and took a walk outside and it hit me. I had no idea what the hell to do.”

Her fingernails dug into her upper arms as she fought the urge to touch him, but she knew this was something they would have to get past and get through or they were going to end up in the exact same place they were four years ago when this was all over.

“It scared the shit out of me, Hermione. I was well and truly frightened. And you...,” he trailed off, and turned his back to her. She knew what he was going to say.

“I wasn't there.” Her voice was hollow and sounded much too loud in this room with nothing to absorb the noise.

“You weren't,” he agreed. “You had already left for Australia, and I didn't know how to talk about it with Ron since his brother had just died...so I panicked.”

He fell silent and she didn't know if he expected her to respond or not, but her throat was clogged with something so far beyond guilt she didn't think there was a word adequate enough to describe it.

“I waited for you to get back. As much as I wanted to run, I knew I had to wait. Everything had just narrowed down to doing whatever I had to do to just get out, but I knew I couldn't leave until I saw you.” He was closer to her now, but still hadn't stopped moving.

“That's why you didn't say anything. When you came to see me that day. That's why you didn't say anything.” she finally managed to get out.

He just nodded. “When I was out of England...I was away from having to think about it. I didn't have to wonder `What would Harry Potter do?,' because I didn't have to be me.” The toes of his trainers scuffed wide arcs on the dusty floor, and she watched the movement like it was the most captivating thing she'd ever seen. “So that's how I felt. I just didn't feel at all.” He said it so simply, like it was an easy thing to ignore.

“But what about...” she stopped herself because she honestly was not sure if she could ask anymore of him right then. She'd heard this before. It still didn't tell her what he was thinking now.

“After Kingsley?” he asked perceptively, and after her nod he continued. “Well that's when it really started, isn't it? When Kingsley offered me the position...it meant I had to make a commitment, but I wasn't all in. Staying away from England...staying away from you...”

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself now; his words hurt even though she knew he was just being honest.

“Staying away from you was the hardest.” His feet entered her field of vision but she couldn't bring herself to look up yet. “Every time I thought of you, I would think about what I didn't have, and what I couldn't have. That's usually when I'd ask for another assignment; someplace farther away, someplace that required a deeper cover. And it worked, I suppose. If Ron hadn't been attacked, I can't honestly tell you when or if I would have come back.”

This admission hit her hard and she bit her lip in an effort to control her emotions. Releasing the tight hold she had on herself, she swiped angrily at her eyes with the backs of her hands and then resumed her position. Nodding once she still wouldn't look at him. “I understand, Harry. I truly do.”

Their toes were almost touching and she could feel him as he stood right in front of her. “I know you do, because you did the exact same thing.”

Her eyes flew to his in shock at his declaration. She stuttered out an attempt at a denial, but it was a lie and they both know it.

Looking over her right shoulder she shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath, trying to give herself some sort of distance from him.

“What were you going to do after you finished university?”

She could feel her heartbeat increase and wondered if he can hear it as well. This had been her greatest fear for the past four years: Having to face a certain future without him.

“I don't...I don't know,” she admitted, unconsciously making to wipe her eyes again, but he beat her to it. She startled at the contact, but he didn't remove his hand, just let it rest along her jaw.

“I was studying muggle law. I didn't have any plans. Maybe go to Australia with my parents, maybe stay in France. I don't know,” she answered with a noncommittal shrug. Going back to England had never been entertained.

“And now?”

“I don't know, Harry! I just spent years letting people think I was a widow. Your widow! I wasn't spending a lot of time plotting out my future.” She felt panicky and trapped, and then she realized what he'd done. He'd turned the tables on her. Literally backed her into a corner, and suddenly she was the one being interrogated instead of the one doing it.

He'd learned a lot as Kingsley's personal Auror.

A flash of anger shot through her and she stood a bit straighter as her hands fell to her sides, silently congratulating herself on a tiny victory as he took a half step back.

“Well, now you're back, and we're in England, and everything has changed.” Her voice was strong. “The real question is, what are you going to do now?”

She could see the internal battle raging behind his eyes as he was finally being forced to confront the prospect of his life and his future.

Waiting for his response, she never thought he'd answer with his lips. His mouth crashed into hers and she couldn't help the surprised yelp that slipped out. Everything they had been discussing suddenly seemed unimportant and she had the fleeting thought that he planned this as a distraction.

When he finally pulled away they were both breathing heavily and she was grateful she closed the window because she found herself pushed into the corner of the frame, half sitting on the sill.

His head rested against hers and she could feel where his hands grabbed her waist, the fingers clutching fistfuls of fabric to keep her connected to him.

“I'm with you. Australia, or France, or the bloody Ministry of Magic, I'm with you,” he answered, and her heart soared. “It's the only thing I've ever really wanted. The few times I let myself even consider something other than what I was doing, I always saw you.”

“But Harry...”

He shushed her with a thumb tracing over her bottom lip.

“I don't need this job, `Mione. I'm not even sure I like it. I just know that I've spent too much time away from you, and too much time running. And even though it scares the hell out of me, I'm ready to stop.”

She couldn't control the grin that spread across her face, and just as she tilted her head forward he stopped her. “What about you?” His tone was deadly serious, and she realized he really wasn't sure how she would answer.

“I'm with you,” she parroted back to him, loving how his eyes lit up at her words. “You're my future Harry Potter. You always have been.”

His smile was contagious and she found herself grinning soppily back at him, the fear she had felt earlier from Luna's words beginning to fade away.

“You're stuck with me now, Granger,” he growled playfully.

“I've been stuck with you since I fixed your glasses on the train,” she threw back and he had to admit she was correct. He stepped back far enough for her to slide off the sill, and she self consciously straightened her clothes. Not missing Harry's slightly feral grin at her action.

“I'm sure everyone will be looking for us,” she stated unnecessarily.

“They're going to have to wait a little bit longer,” he replied, catching her hand in his as he began to lead her towards the door.

“And why is that?”

“Because we're going to get cleaned up and fix these hands.” He raised the hand he was holding to his lips and ghosts over the tiny scrapes and tears that are still present from the morning. Her stomach twisted as she really looked at her torn fingernails and bloodied knuckles. The creases of her wrists were stained a dark red brown and she's not sure if it's blood, dirt, or both. He continued on as if he hadn't noticed her reaction. “Then we're going to grab some sleep because we're leaving for Germany before dawn.”

Everything from earlier comes back to her in a flash; Kingsley's plan, and all the schools in danger, and her vehement disapproval of how they were going forward. She let out a resigned sigh and knew that at this point it was too late to argue, and she couldn't change the Minister's mind even if she wanted.

Harry stopped to face her, his hands stroking up and down her arms. “I know you don't like this. I don't either. But as much as we need to keep the schools safe, we also need to catch who's doing this. This is the only way of ensuring both of those things happen.”

She allowed her head to fall forward until it rested against his chest and he pulled her into him automatically. “I know, Harry. I just don't know if I can do that again.” By the way his arms tightened, she knew he understood.

She felt a shudder go through him before he spoke, “I only told Kingsley this, but the Norwegian official I spoke to, he said that the reason it took them so long to respond was because right before the explosion an extremely strong silencing spell had been cast on the area. I've never heard of anything like it before. No one in the village even knew what had happened until they finally saw smoke coming over the tree line.” she gasped at this knowledge. If they hadn't been at the school there very likely would have been no survivors.

“When someone in town noticed they didn't immediately think there was anything wrong, but when some of the professors began to stumble in, dazed and confused and not knowing why they were there someone put in a floo call to the ministry. They had just received Kingsley's inquiry and felt it was an odd enough coincidence to warrant checking out.” He tried to pull back in frustration, but she held onto him.

“I should have gone to the village immediately to send for help, or called Fawkes, or something!”

She leaned back so she could look at him. “Harry, you know you can't second guess yourself. You reacted in the moment, and who knows how many students would have died if one of us hadn't been there to get them out. You also had no idea that the explosion hadn't been heard at the village. It didn't occur to me either that no one had come to help. So stop beating yourself up!” the last sentence was said in the firmest, prefect voice she could muster, and she was pleased to see the corner of his mouth lift in recognition.

“I know, `Mione, but that doesn't make it any easier to live with.”

She didn't have a response, because she knew he was right. All she could do was offer him whatever comfort he would take.

“Let's go, alright?” she suggested, and felt his answering nod.

At the stairs leading down from the attic he turned suddenly and took her face in his hands. As he stared at her, she saw the intensity in his eyes and felt her stomach flip just before his mouth crashed into hers. She answered him in kind, and it was only a loud creek from the floor below that made them separate.

They managed to make it back to their room without running into anyone else, and as soon as the door was closed Harry made sure it was locked and silenced.

“How's Ron?” she asked suddenly as they entered, wincing with guilt that she hasn't thought of him until then.

Harry stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower on before answering her. “Better. He disappeared with Luna after she was done talking to you.” The sly smile on his face told her all she needed to know about what they were doing.

He reached for the zipper on her jacket and tugged until she stepped into him, her hands finding his waist. As he pushed the stiff material down her arms she stretched on her toes to press a kiss to his throat, and smiled at the low grumble he let out.

The jacket was pulled off her arms with a bit more haste, and then he towed her towards the bathroom.

“How long until we leave?” she asked innocently. The dangerous grin he gave her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Hours,” he replied, shutting the door behind them.

“So you're telling me that Muggle kids actually want to carry their stuff with them on their backs, not eat decent meals, sleep in dodgy hostels, and walk all over Europe on foot? For fun?” Ron asked incredulously as they were once again in Sirius's old bedroom, packing for another mission.

“I told you Ronald, people our age do this all the time. They don't have jobs, don't want to go to school, and don't know what they want to do. Backpacking around Europe is like a rite of passage.” Hermione's tone was one of exasperation as Ron still didn't seem to understand why they were transfiguring bags into backpacks.

Harry hadn't been participating in the conversation, but she would have sworn she heard him mutter, `my rite of passage was being killed by the Dark Lord. Backpacking sounds like it would have been a little less painful.' The look she shot him and his answering grin let her know she had heard correctly.

“The intel Kingsley provided us shows that the German school doesn't have a magical village nearby or is in any way isolated. It's in the middle of a fairly large city. If we're going to be staying there for awhile, we need a cover that makes sense,” she explained, pointing to the black rucksack she was charming to hold more than it should, but have no weight.

“There's a decent hostel a few blocks from the school. We'll get ourselves established there and spend some time in the city. If there's anyone else there who shouldn't be, they'll most likely stick out and we'll be able to stop the next attack before it happens,” Harry stated, bringing his bag over to Hermione for her to charm as well.

“I understand all of that,” Ron retorted, clearly upset at the implication that he didn't. “I just don't get why you'd want to do this. Muggles are strange. Sorry, you two, but I'm right.” He snatched the bag from Hermione and began to shove his belongings in. She opened her mouth to protest his unorganized and sloppy actions, but Harry's hand clapped over her mouth before she could.

Spinning on the spot she glared at him. “Thanks, mate!” Ron called, and was out the door before she could turn on him as well.

“It's his bag, not yours, `Mione. Let it go,” Harry stated, dropping a kiss to her hair as he passed by, taking his bag and flicking his wand to send his things into it; in an orderly fashion she was pleased to see. “I'll meet you downstairs.”

“I'll just be a minute,” she promised. Her bag was ready and waiting by the door. All she had left to do was dress and meet the boys downstairs before they left.

Harry had insisted they look like muggle university students, so their typical black boots, trousers, and jackets weren't going to work.

With a sigh she pulled on worn jeans with actual holes in the knee, a t-shirt with a company logo she didn't even recognize, and an oversized hoodie. Cringing at the image in the mirror, she reluctantly parted her hair and put it into two plaits, completing the picture. If it weren't for the dark circles under her eyes, she could pass for fifteen again.

None of them had gotten a solid night's sleep in ages, but the few hours she'd managed to grab had been filled with horrible images. She had been back in Norway and every time she uncovered another body it had been someone she knew. She had woken herself up screaming. Harry hadn't said a word and had just held her until she fell back into a fitful sleep.

Taking one last look in the mirror she let out a deep sigh in preparation for the grief she knew Ron was going to give her. Silently casting `Nox', she grabbed her bag and trudged down the stairs to her fate.

It was early still and the house was quiet. Only Mrs. Weasley and Luna met them in the foyer. Ron, as expected, could not control the loud guffaw that escaped him as Hermione joined them. She narrowed her eyes at him, and raised her wand, but his mother was quicker and his laughter was cut off by Mrs. Weasley's silencing charm.

Sending Ron a smug look, Hermione turned her attention to Luna. “Thanks for yesterday,” she said softly before giving the blonde girl a warm hug. Mrs. Weasley was next, telling her how she had given Ron plenty of sandwiches and biscuits and that the three of them had better make sure they were careful. When the handkerchief came out of her apron pocket, Hermione deftly stepped to the side so that Ron would be subject to the rest of what his mother was saying.

Making her way to Harry, she enjoyed Ron's repeated, `Yes, Mum,' and, `We'll be fine, Mum'. When he finally managed to get away he gave Luna one more quick kiss and then came to stand on the other side of Hermione.

“Thanks a lot, Granger. Glad to know you've got my back,” he hissed at her angrily, but she just stifled a laugh. “Anytime, Ronald,” she replied and then turned her attention to Harry, who was observing them with a slightly bemused, slightly impatient expression. “You two ready?” he asked, and with one final goodbye they were gone.

It was still dark when they arrived, although a faint hint of early dawn could be seen. Harry had taken them a few miles from the city, so they could walk in once the sun was up, protecting their cover and looking every bit the backpacking students.

He had somehow managed to deposit them in a clearing adjacent to a copse of trees; a perfect location, as it provided them some coverage, and he had avoided apparating in the middle of the forest and all the unfortunate consequences such an action could have caused.

Hermione cast a quick detection spell to see if there was anyone around, and after ensuring that there wasn't, made her way over to the base of a large tree and slid her pack off her shoulders.

They had briefly gone over the plans before leaving Grimmauld Place, but she knew Harry would want to do it again just to make sure.

Harry followed her lead and dropped his bag to the ground before using it as a backrest, and Ron took no time in following, sprawling next to them with his legs splayed in all directions.

Pulling a paper map from his back pocket, Harry shook it out in front of him. With a tap of his wand it sprang to life and all previously marked spots, routes, and information lit up; however, to anyone else looking it would appear as a normal map.

“We're here,” Harry said, pointing to a small area in the bottom right of the paper. “The school is presumed to be in this large building in the city center. The German ministry has always been secretive about its location, but once we're closer we'll be able to detect the distraction and anti-muggle charms.”

“Where's our hotel again?” Ron asked, not even looking at the map as he was digging in his pack for whatever food his mother had sent with him.

“Hostel, Ron,” Hermione corrected, and not for the first time.

“Right, right. Hostel,” he repeated, emphasizing the pronunciation.

“The hostel is here, two streets over from the school. There are plenty of restaurants and shops around, and from what Charlie told me, this city is a popular destination for backpackers,” Harry explained. “We'll check in, and then start getting the lay of the land. Hopefully we'll find a place close to the school that will allow us to keep an eye on it without looking suspicious.”

Ron nodded his understanding, and for once didn't attempt to speak around a mouthful of food.

The early morning chill hadn't had a chance to burn off yet, and Hermione wrapped her arms around her bent legs in an attempt to keep warm.

“Cold?” Harry observed.

“I wouldn't say no to some robes,” she returned, and looked at her jeans in disgust. “My clothes have holes in them. On purpose.” If she was looking to Harry for any sort of sympathy, she wasn't going to find it as he and Ron were both smiling at her obvious distaste for their cover.

“Boys,” she muttered, exasperated, and got to her feet. “By the time we walk into town it'll be busy, we can check in, and yes, Ron, get something to eat,” she added before he could even open his mouth.

The road into town was mostly deserted. A few cars and one bus passed them. The closer they got, however, the more dense the houses became, and as they walked past one house, an older man on his porch shook his fist at them and shouted something in angry German.

“See, that man doesn't approve of this whole backpacking thing. That's got to matter for something,” Ron spoke up, sending a smirking grin in Hermione's direction.

She and Ron bickered for the next ten minutes until Harry had enough and silenced them both. The look in her eyes must have frightened him because he paled suddenly when he realized what he had done and lifted the spell immediately. She didn't even reply, merely stalked ahead to walk by herself.

“Oi, mate! What's that all about?” Ron bellowed.

They crested a hill and she stopped to take in the view. The city had appeared. It spread below them in the valley and it was easy to spot their destination. Harry came up on her side and took her hand in his, squeezing it in apology for silencing her. She squeezed back to apologize for letting Ron get to her.

“Fifteen minutes and we should be there,” Harry stated. “Everyone good on our story?” he asked unnecessarily.

Ron rolled his eyes but dutifully responded, “University students who took some time off. We're from Manchester. I like football and girls. You two are so into each other you can't be bothered about anything else. We're staying in town for awhile because we're getting low on funds and we're waiting on one of our parents to `bail us out?' Did I get that right?” He'd had trouble the night before with the muggle expression, but Hermione assured him it was correct.

“Well done, Ron. I always knew you had it in you to do better on your exams,” she replied, grinning cheekily.

“Thank you, Prefect Granger. I aim to please,” he gave her a mock bow and then started down the hill.

Harry gave her hand a tug and they followed.

Streets were busier, there were more people on the sidewalks, and she saw quite a few other young people who looked a lot like them.

They paused in a small park right near the hostel and Harry pulled the map out again, not because they needed it, but because it gave him a chance to observe the park and see if there was anyone there who seemed out of place. Ron lay on a bench and pretended to take a quick nap, although Hermione was sure she heard an actual snore come from him once.

She and Harry cuddled on another bench, and when he dipped his head down to press a kiss to her neck, she didn't have to fake the shiver that went through her, even though she knew he was looking over her shoulder to see the people behind them.

“Anything?” she whispered, taking the opportunity to scan the rest of the area, unobserved.

“No. Mostly just early morning dog walkers,” he replied, kissing her again. “Oh, and a member of the park police heading right for us. They must not like loiterers here.” Then he was scrambling to his feet, thrusting her pack at her and hauling Ron up as well. They ran off across the grassy lawn and cut through a busy intersection, narrowly avoiding being smashed by a delivery truck, before they were back on the street that would take them to the hostel.

She was still gasping for air when she looked up at Harry and saw him grinning at Ron, his eyes bright, the exertion having caused his cheeks to flush, and a rush of love went through her. He looked like he had at Hogwarts, when times were good and the weight of the world wasn't quite on his shoulders yet. She wrapped her hands around his arm and pulled him towards her, wanting to feel him close.

He smiled down at her and took her hand again, before looking around to see where they were. “There it is,” Harry said suddenly, and within a few feet he was pushing open the door of a nondescript building.

The open lobby of the hostel was half full. Sleepy travelers lounged on various surfaces, and one rather boisterous group had taken over the floor space in the far corner. A woman at the check in desk saw them come in and held up her finger in the universal sign of `one minute' before ducking into a back room.

Hermione let her pack drop to her feet and leaned heavily into Harry, trying to perfect the look of an uninvolved, tired, girlfriend.

Ron left his bag with hers and then wandered over to the group in the corner, pretending to look at a rack with brochures of local sights.

Harry's arm wrapped around her waist and she felt his chin brush over the top of her hair as he pressed a kiss into it, but she also knew he was using it as a way to check out the space without being obvious, much like he had done at the park.

The desk attendant returned and spoke in slightly accented English. Soon enough, Harry had secured them two rooms that shared a bath, which was an apparent luxury at a hostel. He had also gotten them a discounted rate since he paid for a week in advance. Harry was the last person who needed a break on the price at a hostel, but it fit in with their guise of being broke university students.

They were given their keys and Harry grabbed his pack and Ron's and he and Hermione went to join Ron. The guys in the corner had drawn him into a discussion about football, and even though he didn't know a lot about the sport he knew enough from the Muggle born boys at Hogwarts to carry a conversation.

Ron greeted them and introduced them to the group from Portugal.

“Hey,” she said easily, calling on images of the young students she used to tutor and their casual, easy going natures. Letting her chin rest on Harry's upper arm, she looked around distractedly, like she was half bored.

“These guys offered to show us around the city if you're up for it. They've been here a few days and know where all the best pubs are.” Ron was so good at his role she half wondered if he was acting at all.

“Thanks, mate, but I think we're going to go check out the accommodations if you don't mind.” Harry's tone was downright lecherous, and she was certainly not pretending when she buried her flaming face in his jacket. Ron thumped him on the back, and his new friends let out cat calls.

Hermione couldn't make eye contact with any of them, but she just knew Ron was reveling in her embarrassment. “Harrrryyyyy,” she mock whined, “can we go?”

“Coming, love,” he answered, playfully grabbing her about the waist and bending down to whisper in her ear, “Sorry about that.”

She wanted to smack him, but instead she went along and forced a giggle, when a stroke of genius came over her. She pulled back slightly so he could see her and have a moment to be concerned, and then she went in for the kill.

Her mouth slanted over his, and her tongue conducted a thorough investigation, while one leg hitched itself over his thigh. She ran her hands through his hair, knocked his glasses askew, and had succeeded in completely catching him off guard. Just as he was beginning to respond she pulled back so their lips parted with an audible pop.

She licked her lips slowly and purposely ran her hands over the front of her hoodie before straightening it. Harry had a gobsmacked expression on his face, and Ron and the Portuguese footballers were staring at her, mouths agape.

Plucking the room key from Harry's slack fingers, she stroked one more hand across his jaw and turned, heading straight for the stairwell. “Grab my bag, would you dear?” she called over her shoulder, putting an extra swing in her hips.

The heavy metal door shut behind her with a loud bang and she let out the breath she had been holding. By the time she made it to the second floor landing she heard the door bang again, and then Harry's heavy footfalls on the concrete stairs.

She waited for him by the door to their floor and tried to look contrite, but she knew he'd see right through it.

He took his time climbing the stairs. When he made the last turn she saw he had his pack on his back and was carrying hers in one hand. His face was carefully schooled, but he didn't meet her eyes until he was right in front of her, forcing her to look up.

She clenched her jaw to keep from speaking. This was one of those situations where the first person to speak was going to lose and she was determined it was not going to be her.

But Harry must have been familiar with this tactic as he didn't say a word either. The longer he stared at her the more uneasy she became. She began going over what she had done and started to second guess her actions. Had she brought too much attention to them? Had she distracted Harry from something important? Had she broke her cover of the vapid slacker?

Her apprehension must have begun to show because the muscle in Harry's jaw ticked and then he moved so slowly at first she thought she was imagining it. When she realized he was leaning in towards her, she held her breath in anticipation. His mouth was right by her ear when he finally spoke. Lips brushed the lobe and she shivered. “Just don't do it again,” he breathed out, the warm air making her stomach flip. And then he was gone, and so was the key to the room.

She let out a growl of frustration and looked to the rapidly closing door that Harry had disappeared through. Now she had no choice but to follow after him. She caught the door before it closed all the way and jogged a few steps to catch up, taking the pack out of his hand and slipping it over one shoulder without saying a word.

The rooms were at the end of the hallway, and were adjacent to each other. There were bunk beds, a small dresser, and a chair that had seen better days. Immediately Hermione eyed the narrow mattress on the bottom bunk and knew that was never going to work.

Harry had gone through the door to the bathroom and into Ron's room where he had started setting wards. Taking her wand out she quickly enlarged the bed, and added a charm that would keep muggles from noticing. Harry finished up with the wards in their room and then noticed what she had done to the bed. By the lift of his eyebrows, she didn't think he minded.

She sat her pack on the bed and began to take out some of the files and books she had brought. Her magical bag was in there as well, with their emergency supplies if they ever needed to run.

“You think Ron will be ok?” she asked, trying to sound like she hadn't just half ravished him in public.

His pack was tossed on the upper bunk and he sat in the chair, facing her. “You gave him a pretty thorough `Muggle Do's and Don'ts' before we left. He knows to keep his wand hidden, and keep a low profile. I trust him.” The tone of him voice however, implied that she did not know how to keep a low profile.

She nodded, and worried her lip as she looked through the files, trying to find the one with the newspaper articles that had started all of this. Harry kept silent and finally she couldn't take it anymore. She tossed the correct folder on the bed and then dumped her pack rather unceremoniously on the floor, before she flopped heavily on the mattress.

“I'm sorry,” she said hurriedly, “but I'm not used to acting like an idiot, nor am I used to being treated like...like a piece of meat. You and Ron aren't exactly being asked to behave completely contrary to your normal selves, but I'm just expected to sit back, shut up, and look pretty. I'm not very good at that.” The more she talked, the more annoyed she got. “I mean, why couldn't you have been the dumb jock? And I could have been doing a semester abroad from Oxford conducting ethnographic research on my ground breaking work on...” she paused, her hands gesturing into open space as she clambered for something that would make sense. “...on, class disparity of British university students in the 21st century, or something of the sort. I mean, really? Would that have been too much to ask?”

Harry hadn't blinked while she ranted, and when she finished he sat quietly and just looked at her. His silence was starting to become disconcerting. “Really, Harry? You have nothing to say?”

Then he was kneeling on the bed next to her, one arm going to the other side of her waist, effectively trapping her. “You're cute when you're angry, but then again, I already knew that.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but he laid a finger across her lips before she could speak again. “I'm sorry about this, but it's the easiest and most believable story. These things always work better when they're kept simple. Trust me, no one who's spent more than three minutes with you would think you were an idiot. And you aren't bad to look at, so...” He trailed off with a small smile, and she could feel her ire abating.

“Don't think you're going to sweet talk your way out of this one, Harry Potter,” she said in mock exasperation. He looked as if he intended on trying just that when she placed her hand on his chest and gave him a gentle push. “We've got work to do. I haven't even begun to look at these files that Kingsley got us.”

With an exaggerated sigh Harry fell to his side next to her and picked up the nearest folder. They worked in relative silence for almost an hour before Harry's stomach announced its displeasure at having not been fed.

“Let's go. It'll give us a chance to find the school and see if any of our former acquaintances are in town,” Harry said, nodding to the stack of Death Eater dossiers they had been going through.

Hermione grabbed her magical bag and selected a few of the files before transfiguring them to look like trashy tabloid magazines. When Harry gave her a look she just rolled her eyes and placed them in the bag, pulling the drawstrings taut with more effort than was necessary.

The day was sunny and warm, and she actually found herself forgetting what they were doing a few times. Her joy at just walking down the street with Harry, holding his hand trumped anything else that she should have been doing.

The main center of the city was open to foot traffic only, but it was bustling. Harry's hand gripped hers tighter and she could feel the tension in him gather as the crowded space meant he couldn't get a good measure of the area.

When a man paying more attention to his phone than to where he was walking plowed into her shoulder, she put her hand out just in time to keep Harry from pulling his wand.

“We're fine,” she whispered loudly and then looked around, hoping to find someplace they could go sit and get out of the way.

This time she led him, and towed him quickly towards an outdoor cafe. Large table umbrellas provided shade from the mid-day sun, and there was an open one at the end, against a wall, perfect for surveillance work.

Harry relaxed slightly once they were sitting and he could see everything in front of him. They were handed menus, but he spent more time looking around than looking for something to order. However, when the server returned, he ordered for both of them in fluent German.

It took her longer than she liked to get the shocked expression off her face. Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Just something I picked up,” he said by way of explanation, and she had that sinking feeling in her stomach that there was still so much about his life that she may never know.

She gave him a tight smile and pulled the `magazine' out of her bag. Harry reached into his jacket pocket and emerged with sunglasses and a worn paperback.

By the time their food came, the street had cleared out some and it wasn't so difficult to see the people around them.

They were almost directly across from the largest building. It rose for four stories, had an enormous marble staircase, and pillars that supported an intricately carved relief. Harry had kept most of his attention on the people entering and exiting the structure and anyone that seemed to be spending too much time just looking.

From what she could observe, and what Harry had told them, the building held the city's main government offices. The people going in and out certainly supported that claim as most were dressed in business attire and had phones permanently clutched in their hands.

“Are you sure the school is here, Harry?” she asked. She hadn't seen anyone that looked like a student at a magical school. Everything around them looked completely Muggle.

“It's here. I just don't know how they're hiding it,” he said in a voice that let her know he wasn't pleased he hadn't figured out their secret yet.

They had finished eating and ordered coffee in an attempt to keep their table without looking conspicuous. Harry had his mug halfway to his mouth when he suddenly froze and stared hard at a point to the far right of the building. He placed the mug back on the table with a rueful shake of his head. “Clever,” he said almost to himself.

“What is it?” she asked impatiently.

He picked the mug up again and took a long swallow before casually sliding his arm across the back of her chair and over her neck, playing with one of her thick braids. She put down what she was reading and leaned in so he could whisper, her hand slipping over his knee, drawing lazy circles on the denim.

“The spell that conceals the magical entrance is similar to the one that hides the Leaky Cauldron. You have to know what you're looking for before it will reveal itself to you.”

“But we know what we're looking for,” she countered, not understanding where he was going with his explanation.

“True, but in this case, you not only have to know, but you also have to be with another magical person in order to get through.” The corner of his mouth lifted at her little gasp of breath. “Look at the side, where the stairs go down right before the next building joins.” He waited for her to find the spot and when she nodded he continued. “It's right there. It's fairly well concealed on its own, not many people are going to notice someone coming out of that area, as there very well could be an auxiliary entrance door there. But if you wait long enough...See, there. Those two kids with the satchels. They just appeared.”

Now that she knew what she was looking for, she didn't move her eyes from the spot, and within a few minutes another group of students suddenly emerged. There were three of them this time. They stepped onto the sidewalk and kept walking and talking like they had always been there. If anyone around them noticed anything strange, they certainly didn't react.

“Do you think they have any sort of distraction spell on the area as well?” she asked.

“Possibly. We'll know more tonight when we get a chance to take a look without so many eyes.”

“Want to go walk around some?” she asked, loud enough for the passing server to hear. They had been sitting there for almost two hours and had to be either noticeable or obnoxious at this point.

“Sounds good, love,” he said lightly, taking the hand she still had on his knee and pressing a kiss to the palm before tucking the book back inside his jacket.

Harry dug around in his pocket and pulled out a handful of wadded up Euros, which he dumped in a pile before slinging his arm around her neck and guiding her out into the street.

They meandered slowly across the plaza, stopping to browse in small kiosks along the way. She made sure to make comments about how sparkly the necklaces were, or how much she liked the garish scarves, not missing the knowing grin Harry would give her when she did.

By the time they had made it across to the building where the school was the foot traffic had increased and it was easier to take their time approaching the magical entrance. A small group of girls exited just as they passed, allowing them to see the ordinary looking door that faded into the stone as soon as it had closed. Hermione moved as if to follow the girls, but Harry tightened the grip he had on her. “We'll follow them tomorrow,” he said softly, and she nodded her understanding.

They made it to the end of the block, and she was pleased to note there was an internet cafe two spaces down from the school. Leaning her head into Harry's arm, she looked up at him as she spoke. “We should come back here in the morning,” nodding her head at the shop as they walked past it. “I wouldn't actually mind checking my email. I haven't even thought about my classes since I've been back.” There was a note of guilt to her voice, as well as some surprise at the realization that she had actually forgotten about her school work. “And it's got a good view of the school,” she added, in case Harry needed a better reason than she wanted to use a computer.

Harry was quiet and she was becoming concerned that her idea hadn't been a good one, that it had violated some sort of secret Auror field code she wasn't aware of when he finally spoke. “Do you think you'll go back?” his voice was unsure, and she was reminded of the boy he had been at Hogwarts.

“Go back?” she repeated, not understanding what he was asking.

“Go back to school? In France.”

“I'd like to finish. I was almost done when I left and it wouldn't take anytime at all to do what I need to do.” She stopped and pulled them to the side. “What's all this about? I thought we already talked about this.”

He scraped a hand through his hair and looked at her. “We did. I'm sorry. I just hadn't thought about that. It occurred to me that maybe you'd want to go back to school, and I didn't want you to think I was trying to hold you back or anything. I told you, I'm with you wherever you go.”

She smiled at him tenderly and reached up to try and fix the damage he had just done to his always untidy hair. “You silly man. Stop thinking about that. We'll sort this out when the time comes. Until then, we do have other things to be going on about.”

“Quite right,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple, before pulling her towards him for a quick hug.

They took a wide loop around the next few streets, circling back to their hostel. Harry carefully noted where everything was; shops, bus stops, hotels, restaurants, and even where the longer duration parking was along the side roads. Almost back to where they had begun, they spotted Ron, slightly stumbling down the sidewalk towards them.

Harry let out a long sigh. “Well, at least he remembered where the hostel was.”

Ron was grinning widely as he approached. He clapped them so hard on the shoulders that Hermione's knees buckled slightly and Harry had to slide an arm under her elbow to keep her upright. “Easy there, mate,” Harry said to Ron, a slight warning in his tone.

Ron lost his balance some, sending him even closer to them which he used to cover his whisper. “No worries. I'm fine. Those guys are lightweights, but I figured it would be better to just play along.” He gestured behind him and Hermione looked up to see the footballers staggering against each other and causing a ruckus. When they saw her look in their direction, they began hollering and attempted to quicken their pace.

Hermione looked to Ron with disapproval and didn't understand when he mouthed a quick `sorry' at her. “So I see you two managed to come up for air,” he slurred, and then exchanged high fives with two of the guys who had overheard.

Harry's arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in close to his side. “Well, we finally decided we needed to get out and fuel up again.”

Hermione swallowed down rage and tried to will her cheeks not to flush. Raising up on her toes, she brushed her nose over Harry's and gave him the biggest, enraptured smile she could manage, even eking out a short giggle before she snuggled under his arm.

There were ribald jokes thrown about and she pretended to not notice, studying her fingernails and looking around absently while the rest of them talked. Harry had the ability to talk to anyone and get them to open up without even realizing it. Within five minutes he knew the names of every underground club and bar within five miles, and even the contact information for the bouncer of the one nearest to the school.

While Harry was busy gathering his intel, she took the opportunity to observe these young men from Portugal. There were five of them total, but the more she watched, the more it seemed like one of them wasn't really attached to the group. He didn't have the same team jacket as the rest did, didn't join in with their joking around either, nor did he seem to be drunk.

He must have felt her eyes on him because his gaze locked on hers and a shot of fear went through her. She unconsciously moved closer to Harry, who dropped his hand to her back and rubbed it up and down even though he didn't know why. The man's eyes had been so dark they were almost black and she felt like there was something very, very wrong with him. She planned to ask Ron about him as soon as they were alone.

“Alright?” Harry asked, leaning down so he didn't have to speak so loud. She gathered her composure before flashing him a tight smile that she knew didn't meet her eyes. “Of course,” she murmured. Harry's eyes narrowed, and she could tell he was about to ask her what was wrong; cover be damned. A squeeze to the hand he still had around her waist was enough to hold him off for the time being, but she knew he was aware something was wrong.

Harry's hand clenched the fabric of her jacket and before she knew it they were calling out good-byes and promises of meeting up the next day.

As soon as they were in the lobby, he was grasping her by her upper arms and turning her to face him. “What is it?” he demanded, his voice hard.

“Not here,” she said with a shake of her head, and Ron looked back and forth between them in confusion.

Harry took a deep breath and gave a stiff nod, grabbed her hand in his and practically dragged her to the stairs.

He dropped the wards three feet from the room and then stood at the door waiting for her and Ron to enter before once again securing the space. As soon as he was finished he spun to look at her. “Tell me.”

She gave him a look that she hoped he understood and then turned her attention to Ron, who clearly wasn't expecting it. “Who was that other man with the football players? The smarmy looking one with the dark hair. He wasn't part of their team. They didn't even seem like they knew him that well.”

Ron was taken aback and paused before answering, “Oh yeah, him. Yeah, he's not, part of their team that is. His name is Lazlo, but I didn't catch his last name.”

“Why are you asking?” Harry asked quickly. “You looked spooked `Mione. Have you seen him before?”

“No. Nothing like that,” she assured him. “But I noticed he didn't seem to fit with them very well, and then...he looked at me and...it was disturbing. I just got a bad feeling.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know it's not very empirical, but...there's something about him.”

Harry held her gaze for a long minute and then turned on Ron. “Tell me everything you know about him.”

Ron blew out a loud breath and turned the lone chair around so he could straddle it backwards. “Let's see. They just said they had met him two days ago. He's staying here in the hostel. He said the person he was traveling with had had an emergency and now he was on his own. He decided to stay because he's got family in the area or something. They asked if he wanted to join them and he agreed.” Ron shrugged his shoulders. “That's about it. He was nice enough I suppose. Kind of kept to himself, only had one drink. I didn't talk to him very much because the other guys were more than willing to talk. Sorry.”

Harry paced to the window and placed his hands on either side of the sash. Ron's eyes cut to hers, but she looked immediately to Harry and waited.

“Okay. It could be nothing, but we should try and pay closer attention to him when we can,” Harry stated before turning.

Hermione lowered herself to the edge of the mattress and for the next hour they exchanged stories. Harry filled Ron in on the entrance to the school, and Ron explained how he'd managed to stay sober while the experienced party goers got more and more intoxicated.

When they were finished Ron offered to go out and grab them something to eat while Hermione dragged out the rest of the files and books and made a makeshift desk on their enlarged bed.

The night progressed slowly. She kept finding herself nodding off in the middle of reading yet another Death Eater biography, where there had been little more than `possible sightings' since the war.

Ron headed for his room just past midnight and didn't bother making a joke about silencing charms. Somewhere around two, Harry pulled a file from beneath her cheek, removed her wand holster, and tugged her jeans off before pulling her under the covers with him and falling asleep with his arm tucked around her waist.

They awoke later than she would have thought. The sun was fully up and Ron was actually knocking on their door. Harry staggered over to let him in and she just pulled the covers higher and tried to block them out.

“I didn't realize we were pants optional this morning,” Ron deadpanned, and she peeked open one eye to see that Harry had forgotten he was in nothing but boxers when he had gotten up.

Harry responded by sending a wandless stinging hex in Ron's general direction. She smirked when she heard him yelp.

“Let us get dressed and we'll go to that cafe for breakfast,” Hermione called, but when she didn't hear Ron exit she had to up the stakes. “I'm not wearing any pants either, Ronald, so unless you want a full show you should give us five minutes.”

He was gone before she could throw the covers back.

Twenty minutes later they were tucking into coffee and pastries, and Harry was trying to keep Ron from hanging over Hermione's shoulder while she used one of the cafe's computers.

She didn't have as many emails as she had feared. The ones from her department head she answered immediately, asking for an extension on the time allowed to defend her dissertation. There were a few from some of the students she tutored, and she cringed with guilt that she had just abandoned them so close to the end of the semester.

Her classmate Sarah had sent several, each one getting more and more concerned about her lack of reply. Hermione responded to the most recent, which had only been sent a few days prior.

Harry came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just feel bad I had to leave everyone there with so little notice. Sarah's sent me one a week since we left. She sounded worried.” Hermione reached up and covered his hand with hers and leaned her cheek into it.

“Sarah?” Harry asked

“She's a classmate, and she lives in my building. Probably the closest thing I had to a friend while I was there.” Her throat closed as she was swamped with feelings of desolation and sadness that had plagued her during their years apart.

Harry didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed his lips into her temple. She let hers eyes fall shut and just enjoyed the moment of feeling him there with her. She wasn't alone anymore.

Ron had begged to be let onto the computer, but she refused to pay for another five minutes just so he could play around. She bought him another piece of apple cake instead and he seemed to consider it a fair exchange.

Harry had decided they wouldn't stay there long. Instead he wanted to try going around to the back of the building the school was in to see if there were other entrances there as well.

Hermione packed her files back up, still disguised as magazines, and slid them into her beaded bag. Harry's fingers found hers as they stepped out into the chilly air, Ron behind them.

They hadn't made it fifty yards down the street when she gasped in shock and pain. She dropped Harry's hand and spun to her right automatically, her hand immediately pulling her wand, not even considering she was in broad daylight in the middle of a Muggle street.

Her right hand held her wand while she clutched the left one to her chest, where she was trying to put pressure on both her scars at once; the mystery pain had returned.

She didn't see anything or anyone.

People around them looked at her with concern and took a wide berth to avoid her, but no one stopped.

Ron cursed behind her, as both he and Harry pulled their wands when they saw her reaction. Harry was now half in front of her, his body trying to block her if possible, and she knew he was talking to her but she couldn't hear him.

There was nothing. Other than the few pedestrians who had been close enough to see her display, no one on the entire street was behaving out of the ordinary. With a shaking hand, she slid her wand back in her holster.

Harry's head whipped back to look at her, his eyes frantic. He lowered his wand to his side but didn't put it up. His hand cupped her elbow, pulling her in towards him and bending around her, still providing protection if necessary. “What happened?” he practically hissed.

Ron was at her back, surrounding her. No one paid them any attention now, having decided it wasn't worth their time.

“My scars,” she responded, hating how her voice sounded, and her hand came up and pressed into her chest. “They hurt again.” Her eyes met Harry's, and she knew he saw the fear in them. Ron swore, and she could tell by the shifting he was doing that he was constantly looking for danger.

“Let's get back to the hostel...” Harry began, when something down the street caught her attention and she ripped herself from between them and sprinted.

The boys were right behind her, and when she slid to a halt next to a tall black lamp post she could already hear Ron's thoughts questioning her sanity.

Looped through a ring on the post was a long multicolored scarf.

Her mind had gone blank. There was no possible explanation for how that scarf could be there. A whine of panic began in her head and a rush of blood to her ears made her feel weak.

There was no point in trying to control the tremors in her hand as she reached for it. She gave a gentle tug and the scarf slipped loose of the ring to trail from her grasp.

She ran her fingers over the stitches and the fringed ends, paying special attention to the spacing. One end had more fringe than the other. She kept touching it, as if the tactile experience could somehow explain how it was here, in Germany.

Harry's hand entered her field of vision and took the scarf from her, and it was this that broke her from her trance.

With a gasp and tears blurring her eyes she turned to look at him. “That can't be here.”

Harry shoved the scarf at Ron and then cupped her face in his hands. “ `Mione, you're scaring me. Why can't the scarf be here?”

She reached up and clasped onto his wrists, anchoring herself to him. “Because, it's supposed to be in France.”

“Is it yours?” he asked, his voice hard.

She shook her head. “It's Sarah's.”

Harry's eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment before he remembered who Sarah was.

Ron stepped to Harry's side and gestured with the hand that held the scarf. “I bet loads of girls have scarves like this. It's probably not even hers.”

“It's hers,” she replied, cutting her eyes to his for a second before looking back at Harry.

“How do you know for sure?” Ron countered.

Without looking away from Harry she replied, “Because I made it for her last year.”

She felt more than saw Harry exchange a look with Ron over her head. Then his arm was around her waist, Ron was on her other side, and they were on the move. Harry's right hand stayed inside his jacket, ready to pull his wand if necessary.

She couldn't remember the trip back to their rooms, just that she was suddenly there, with Harry pushing her to sit down on the bed as he kneeled in front of her.

“Are you alright?” he asked, pushing loose hair out of her eyes.

“I knitted it during finals. I ran out of yarn at the end.” The scarf was still in Ron's hands and she tugged gently at a trailing bit so that it fell into her lap. “See,” she said, turning it so both ends lay together. “This end has more fringe than the other. I didn't want to wait to give it to her, so I just spaced these out some and hoped she wouldn't notice. I made this. It's her scarf.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and blinked furiously to keep the tears from falling.

Harry stroked a thumb under her eye and sighed heavily before he stood up and paced in the three feet between the bed and the window.

“What if they took her? What if they took her to get to me?” she said suddenly, the thoughts coming into her head and tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. “We know they tried to get into my place. Maybe they went back and she was there, or...”

“But how did they know where you were?” Ron spoke up, and Harry's head whipped around.

“Exactly, mate. No one knows we're here except the Order.”

They were all silent, each lost in thoughts they'd rather not voice.

“Shit!” Harry exclaimed and ripped the scarf from her lap before barging through the bathroom and into Ron's space.

Ron was on his heels and Hermione followed, coming to a stop in the doorway, trying to see around Ron. She squirmed her way under his arm and pushed him to the side, but he brought a hand down on her shoulder and held her still.

Harry had thrown the scarf on Ron's unmade bottom bunk and had his wand drawn and pointed at it. The image immediately made her think of all the times they had tried to destroy the locket during the horcrux hunt and her knees buckled a bit at the memory.

Harry was going through an array of spells and charms both verbal and non-verbal and she only knew a handful of them. She knew enough, though, to gather that he was attempting to detect if there was anything on the scarf that could cause them harm.

She was holding her breath, and when Harry finally lowered his wand and turned to them she let it out slowly.

“Nothing. No charms, no spells to transmit back what we're saying, no delayed portkeys. Nothing. It's just a scarf,” he said harshly, as if he was slightly disappointed it had not given him any information.

“What if...” Ron started, and she saw a pained look on his face, as if he couldn't bring himself to finish his thought.

“What?” Harry prodded

“What if she hasn't been taken at all. What if she's a part of this?” Ron finally said, not meeting her eyes.

“Don't be absurd, Ron!” she replied immediately, pushing against him, and stalking back into the other room. “Sarah is a Muggle from a Muggle university. That's all.” Anger rose up inside her at his insinuation that the one person she had any sort of connection with in the past few years could have been anything but what they seemed. She refused to even consider it. Ron had no idea what he was talking about.

“You were there! You weren't using magic. How does that make her any different from you? Maybe she was doing the same,” Ron threw back, once again right behind her. Something in all of this had made him wonder, and as much as she hated to admit it, when it came to tactics, and strategy he had an aptitude for it that she couldn't match.

“But why? Why do that for years and never act on it? You honestly believe someone who works with the people we're up against would actually pretend to be a Muggle! A Muggle, Ron, think about it!” She couldn't sit still, the room was too small, and Ron and Harry took up entirely too much space; she felt like something in her may crack soon. “They hate Muggles, actually despise them and don't believe they should exist! That's what the entire war was about; oppression and control, and a need to rid the world of people who weren't pureblood. Or did you forget about this?” she yelled, wrenching up the long sleeve she wore and shoving her scarred arm in his face.

Ron's face blanched, and as soon as she had done it she wished she could take it back. She pulled the sleeve down in haste and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Ron! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have done that.”

“I didn't forget. I can't.” His tone was probably the hardest she'd ever heard come from him. “And you're right, it doesn't make a lot of sense, but none of this does, and these people, whoever they are, are well organized and willing to take their time. So pretending to be a Muggle and keeping an eye on you for three years does fit the pattern.”

They were frozen in place; she and Ron facing off, and Harry paused in the doorway. He was the one to speak next, saving them both from anything she might say. “They've plotted this carefully, Hermione. It's not entirely out of the realm of belief.”

Harry's support of Ron's wild theory completely deflated her and she stumbled to the chair and collapsed.

“Harry it can't be her,” she protested, but she didn't sound sure and she knew it.

“Why can't it?” he asked gently, and she knew he needed to hear her answer.

“Because if it is her, then it means that I was tricked, and I was used, and I was played.” Her voice wasn't bitter, it was beaten. “She was the only one I...” she trailed off and brushed hot tears off her cheeks, putting a hand out to stop Harry from coming any closer. She couldn't do this if they were touching. “When I left England I had no one. And slowly, over the months, she became a friend. I wanted...I wanted to get closer to her. She reminded me a bit of Ginny. But I kept her at a distance on purpose. I was...” She took a shuddering breath before she could continue. “I was selfish as a way to protect myself. I'm not sure I actually realized it for a long time, but it was very clear. If I didn't let her in I couldn't get hurt.” The `again' at the end of the sentence was left unspoken but they all heard it.

Ron scraped a rough hand through his hair and let his head hang.

She couldn't look at Harry. She knew she'd see guilt and self-loathing, and she was too raw at that moment to fix him.

A nagging thought distracted her. “It still doesn't explain how the scarf got here. No one knew where we were.”

Ron cleared his throat. “What about your computer stuff?”

“I certainly didn't tell anyone where I was! I told them I was still in England,” she returned, dismissing the idea immediately.

“Ok, well I don't know how all that works. I mean, with owls you can trace where the owl came from. Same with the letters in the muggle post. I didn't know if your e-mail thingy was the same or not,” Ron explained and leaned against the doorjamb, the look on his face clearly expecting Hermione to harp on his lack of Muggle knowledge.

She didn't have the heart, not after what she had just done. She stared at a stain on the thin carpet, still not wishing to meet anyone's eyes.

“Hermione...” Harry said slowly, as if he was in the middle of a thought and didn't want to interrupt himself and lose it by being too quick. “Hermione, he's not entirely off, is he?”

She didn't understand what Harry could be alluding to.

“I don't use computers all that often but...I thought, it was like that, that you could in fact know where an email came from.” He was slightly hesitant, and she at first shook her head at him in dismissal when it came to her like a bolt.

She gasped aloud and sat straight up. “I did it! I brought them here,” she said frantically. “They tracked the IP address! That would have told them exactly where we were. Not only the town, but it would tell them the cafe as well!”

Harry's eyes locked onto hers and she knew he agreed. “How many pure-blood wizards do you think know how to do that?”

She looked gaped mouth at him. “I have no idea. Not many I'd presume. But that doesn't mean they couldn't have learned.” She wrapped her arms around her middle as she realized where he was leading.

“Would one who lived amongst muggles for three years know?”

The moment hung between them until she answered. “Yes. I would think she would.” Her use of pronoun was purposeful, and Harry reached out to cover her knee, and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“It's possible she was under surveillance. They could have been monitoring her computer or her flat?” Harry offered, but that sounded weak even to her.

“She's the only one who knew the significance of the scarf,” Hermione had to admit. “If someone had taken her they wouldn't know that, not unless she told them or was forced to tell them. And while I can accept the possibility of her working for them and living as a Muggle, I truly can't see them having an entire team of wizards who were familiar enough with Muggle technology to hack into email accounts and monitor computers. It just...it goes against everything they stand for.”

When she said it like that, the possibility of Sarah not being a part of this dwindled to almost nothing, and she felt hollow inside.

“So who is she, really?” Ron provided from the other side of the room, pushing off the doorjamb with his shoulder.

“That's the question, mate,” Harry said, standing upright and moving to the bed to pull the magical bag towards him. With a flick of his wand, every file, folder, and book they had were now laid out on the double mattress.

“Let's get to work,” he stated. “You can start, `Mione, by telling us everything you know about her.”

She hugged herself a bit tighter and then crawled over the mattress so she could sit against the back wall under the bunk. Ron claimed the chair she had been in and Harry continued to pace.

“I can't exactly remember if she was already in the building when I arrived or not. She was in my department but was younger so she wasn't taking a lot of the same classes that I was. She may have mentioned something about having transferred in, but I'm not sure.” Harry nodded at this, and she knew if she was remembering correctly it fit the idea that she had been planted there on purpose.

“She'd invite me out to the pub with the rest of the students, or to campus concerts and plays, things like that. I didn't go that often, especially that first year. But she was persistent. She never gave up on me.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she began thinking harder about their relationship and tried to step back and look at it critically.

“How was she persistent?” Harry asked, trying to keep her on track.

“Well, you two know. I was involved in my studies. I was...I was lonely, and sad, and quite frankly I wasn't very good company. Even if I did go out with her, I wasn't much fun. But she kept asking. I just thought she was being nice and liked me. Now...I have to wonder.” She was now second guessing every interaction they had ever had, and tried to scrutinize any minutiae of detail that she could have missed that would have tipped her off.

“The last two years...we've gotten closer. We'd study together more, get dinner sometimes. I can't place any point where she acted suspicious or said something that didn't make sense...” but she trailed off as a thought scraped across the back of her mind.

“What is it? Did you remember something?” Harry asked quietly, waiting as patiently as he could.

“I think...yes, I think so. It was last February. I was going to a conference in Paris and I was going to be gone for three days. She kept asking me if I needed her to look after my flat.” Hermione looked up and saw that Harry and Ron were both staring at her with confused expressions. “You don't understand. She was...desperate to watch my place. She asked me again and again. Even after I assured her I had nothing that needed to be tended to; no plants, no post, nothing. There was no reason my flat couldn't sit empty while I was gone, but she just kept insisting that she should have a key in case of an emergency. At the time it seemed odd, but I just brushed it off as her trying to be helpful, but it was excessive, and was probably...”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out.

“What do you think she was trying to do?” Hermione asked with a small voice.

Harry paused before responding. “I'm not sure. Maybe plant a listening device if they were using Muggle tech. Maybe charm something in your flat to cause you harm. It could be a whole host of things.” That muscle in his jaw was ticking again and she scooted to the edge of the bed so she could reach him.

“I'm fine,” she said softly, pulling on the bottom of his jacket so he'd drop down to her level. “I didn't give her the key. She didn't do anything to my flat,” she assured him, stroking a hand across his cheek and then down his arm so she could tangle their fingers together.

“She never tried anything else after that?” he asked

Hermione shook her head, “No. Not that I can think of.” She sat back with a gasp as a realization came to her. “She's been the one following me! The one causing my scars to hurt and attacking me on the road! Oh gods! I was such an idiot!” The anger welled up and replaced the fear and doubt she had been feeling. Now she was just enraged with the knowledge that she had been fooled.

Harry brought his hands up to grasp her elbows, and didn't allow her to look away. “Listen to me. You're not an idiot. You had no reason to believe she wasn't who she said she was.”

“Don't placate me, Harry! I know better. The war taught me that. You can't trust anyone! Polyjuice, glamours, imperius, traitors! We've seen it all! As soon as you let your guard down, bad things happen.” she couldn't sit there any longer, she felt like she was suffocating with the bunk above her and Harry in front. She felt trapped.

Hermione scrambled off the bed, practically bowling Harry over in the process and headed straight for the door. She had forgotten about the wards, but before she could pull her wand a hand slammed into the wood above her head, keeping the door shut by force.

“You can't leave,” he said with a ragged voice, his head bowed so the exhales crossed the back of her neck and made gooseflesh appear.

“The war was over. Over. You shouldn't have needed to think about any of those things. No one faults you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I fault me. `Brightest witch of her age,' isn't that what they always said,” she said sarcastically. “Not so bright now, am I? If I had found her out then, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe they wouldn't have had three years to plan all of this. Maybe...” She couldn't finish the thought because she was going to say that maybe Harry wouldn't have been away for so long, and she knew she couldn't put that on him.

His hand wound around her waist and turned her to face him.

He lowered his head to hers, but the one hand was still planted on the door above her. The look in his eye let her know he was aware of what she hadn't said. “I would have been no use to you, `Mione. I was a drunk then.” Over his shoulder she saw Ron's chair drop from two legs to four and she thought that maybe Harry hadn't shared everything with his best friend yet. “Don't blame yourself because you think you could have somehow prevented all of this. No one could have. And even if they could, it's moot. We're dealing with the now. And right now, we have enough evidence to support the theory that someone from the other side has been spying on you for three years. This runs deep. Much deeper than I think we ever imagined.” The hand on the door dropped down to run along her jaw and then her neck, before tangling in her hair. “Now you can start living by the old rules. `Constant Vigilance' and all that, but stop blaming yourself for the past,” he said with a small smile that she attempted to return. She was not sure the Harry from the war could have made that statement. Something had changed in him.

His eyes burned bright and the way he looked at her made her heart full. She had never loved him more.

The hand in her hair tugged her forward and she raised up to meet him halfway. Before things could advance, however, there was a loud “Ahem!” from the other side of the room and she felt Harry's mouth turn up at the corners before he pressed another kiss to her lips and turned to face Ron.

“This all sorted now?” he asked sardonically, the chair tipped back once more and his feet propped on the bed. And then his face became serious almost instantly. “I'm sorry Hermione, really. I didn't want to suggest...”

“I know. But even I have to accept that it seems like that's what happened,” she offered, able to see how hard it was for him to bring it up. “Now. How about we get to those files. There's a stack of Death Eaters we haven't even looked at yet.”

They settled in once more. The only interruption coming from Ron's growling stomach, which he took as invitation to leave and grab something to eat. Hermione barely tasted it. She kept looking at Harry out of the corner of her eye to see if she could tell how this latest development was affecting him. Whoever this was, they didn't wait long after Voldemort was gone to start this plan, and they definitely had the advantage.

“You know what's not in any of these files?” Ron said suddenly, crumbling up a take away wrapper and tossing it in the vague direction of a trash bin. “We don't know anything about their families. These Death Eaters had kids. Look at Malfoy. Look at half the Slytherins in our year. We don't have files on them. And how many others are out there that were older, or younger, or didn't go to Hogwarts?” The words hung in the air around them, and Hermione was stunned by what he had just suggested.

“You're absolutely right,” Harry agreed. “You're wasting your talents at the store, Ron. The Auror office needs you.” He didn't pause for Ron to react, but Hermione saw him flush red and look away at Harry's praise. “There could be an entire new generation of those against the Order out there and we have no idea who they are. They've been able to function anonymously, and without suspicion. Merlin knows what kind of damage they've caused.”

“That could be Sarah's connection, if that's even her real name,” Hermione added.

“What about the guy from yesterday? Think he may have something to do with this?” Ron thought out loud

Harry took a moment to consider. “It's possible. His story is suspicious. If they're planning to do something at the school here, he could be in place to see that through.”

There was a loud thumping on the door to Ron's room and they had all spun with their wands drawn before it registered.

“Just a sec!” Ron called out, and they could hear more pounding and the loud calls of the group from Portugal.

“Go see what they want,” Harry ordered, and dropped the wards as Ron exited their room.

Harry and Hermione sat in silence while Ron was in the hallway. They could hear muffled voices and the occasional laugh, but didn't know what was being said.

There was a slight smirk on Ron's face when he returned, and they waited in anticipation for him to tell them what had happened.

“Hope you've got some other clothes, Hermione. We're going out tonight,” he announced.

“Care to explain?” Harry said, rising to his full height and crossing his arms.

“They invited us to go to that club, the one you were asking about yesterday. And the Lazlo bloke is going too. I figured it would be a good way to keep an eye on him and see if there was anything else going on at that place.” Ron's voice was sure, but she could see he was slightly worried Harry wouldn't approve of his decision.

Harry seemed to be considering the plan, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, it'll work. The operation in St. Petersburg used a club as a cover. It's possible they're doing the same here. If nothing else, maybe we'll at least be able to rule out this Lazlo. Or he may prove to be what we think he is.”

Ron clapped his hands together and headed back towards his room. “I'm gonna go take a kip. Don't want to be too tired tonight,” he said, and before anyone could protest he had disappeared.

“Not a bad idea. You should probably do the same,” Harry said, returning to the bed to pick up the file he had been reading.

“I'm ok right now,” she replied, and then it occurred to her exactly how she was going to have to dress that night and she let out a groan, falling backwards and covering her face with a pillow.

“What?” Harry asked evenly, and she had an idea he knew exactly what she was reacting to.

“I'm going to have to transfigure something to wear, Harry. I doubt this is going to work,” she said, pulling at her torn jeans.

Harry grinned and tossed her the file she had turned into a magazine. “Maybe you'll find some inspiration in there.”

One look at the cover was all she needed to see. The latest celebrity bad girl was wearing a dress that looked like it was intended to be a shirt and left little to the imagination.

“Maybe I will take a kip, and when I wake up this will all have just been a nightmare,” she said with a groan and rolled to her side, shoving the pillow under her head.

The mattress dipped behind her and she felt Harry align his body with hers. “I hope you don't think it's all been bad,” he said softly.

“No. Not all of it.” she replied, twining their fingers together. She gave a sigh as she looked at her left hand, not used to seeing it bare.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just...I didn't like that I had to take my ring off for this. I understand why. It's just...never mind, I'm just being silly.”

He turned his hand so he could hold hers and ran his thumb over the faint mark where the ring used to be. “It's not silly. Maybe when this is over...we can make sure a ring is back on this finger.” His voice is tight, and unsure, and her breath has caught in her throat at his words.

Neither of them were breathing, and she had to swallow twice before she could respond. “I...uh...I think I'd like that,” she finally managed to say, and his answer was to wrap her up even tighter and lay his head on her hair, chin resting on her shoulder.

She didn't mean to fall asleep, but it happened.

She awoke with a start, the dream slipping away before she could identify it, but by the way her heart was pounding she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Harry was already up and she could hear the shower going.

The magazine was still on the bed, taunting her.

By the time Harry was finished, she managed to transfigure a pair of shorts and a t-shirt into something she thought would work for the club, and she wondered what Harry was going to think about it.

She grabbed the scraps of fabric and headed into the bathroom to begin getting ready, seeing Harry's eyebrows raise when he noticed that was all she was taking in with her.

The clothes were easy enough to transfigure, and her hair and make-up weren't difficult either with a few sticking charms and glamours she remembered the girls using back at Hogwarts.

The problem was when she stood back and looked at the final product in the mirror. The black mini skirt was positively indecent, and while the shirt covered everything in front, the back was completely open, making her feel naked. Towering high heels completed the look, and she hoped she wouldn't make a fool of herself attempting to walk in them. Add in her purposely tousled hair, smoky eyes, and red lips and she looked like a common tramp. Ron was never going to let her live this one down.

She took one more look in the mirror and muttered, “Gryffindor courage,” before stepping into the bedroom.

Harry didn't look up, his head was bowed, attempting to fasten cufflinks and she was grateful because it gave her a moment to study him before he saw her.

He wore a dark suit that fit him all too well and a deep red shirt that was almost black. When he did look up he did a double take, and she realized his glasses were missing, allowing his eyes to be even more prominent.

This was a Harry she didn't know. He was slick and dangerous looking, and while yes, it was incredibly sexy, she felt a little shiver go down her spine and she didn't know quite why.

His cufflink was forgotten as he stared and she felt herself begin to flush at the look that came over him.

His hand spanned her waist and then she was flush against him. “This is never going to work,” he said huskily, lips ghosting over her neck. Her heels put her at almost eye level with him and he was definitely taking advantage.

“Wh...what do you mean?” she managed to stutter.

“I'm not sure I can let you go out in public looking like this.” The hand at her waist dropped down the outside of her thigh, fingering the edge of the fabric. As he ran one digit under the hem she gasped, and lost her battle to keep her hands out of his hair.

“How are you hiding this?” he asked, indicating the wand holster he had just discovered.

“A few...well placed charms,” she breathed out, her eyes slamming shut as the edge of the dresser hit the back of her legs and he pressed her against it.

“Oi!” an aggravated voice came from behind Harry. “You two may want to save the show for later.”

Ron stood in the doorway, tugging at his collar, clearly not as comfortable in these clothes as Harry was.

Hermione straightened her skirt and put a hand through her hair while Harry went to finish getting ready.

“You can't go out looking like that!” Ron erupted once he saw her, eyes bulging out of his face. “Harry! Do you see what she's wearing? How can you allow this?”

“Allow this?” she repeated cooly, but he was still ranting at Harry and hadn't heard her.

“She's practically naked. That's not even a shirt. It's a half a shirt!” Ron's getting louder by the second, and his wild gestures almost made contact with her once. “Harry! Are you even listening to me?”

“Mate, you walked in on me seeing that outfit, so, yes, I know what she's wearing,” Harry replied, raking one hand through hair that suddenly worked for this look he was going for.

Hermione had had enough and marched between the two of them, only having to tilt her head back a bit to see Ron.

“Ronald Weasley! You need to calm down! In case you forgot, it was your harebrained scheme that got us this invite in the first place, so if anyone is responsible for how I have to dress tonight it's you!” He had sense enough not to reply. “So you're just going to have to learn to live with it. I'm not exactly pleased. Honestly! Have you ever seen me look like this before?” Her eyes flashed as she stared him down.

Knowing she had made her point, she stalked to the dresser to grab the magical beaded bag she had charmed to look like a small black clutch.

“She doesn't even have her wand!” Ron tried one last time, and she turned to see Harry clapping a hand on his shoulder and turning him towards the door.

“Who said I didn't have my wand,” she threw over her shoulder, smiling wickedly as Ron gasped behind her.

“What? Wait! There's a wand under there?” He must have turned to Harry because there was a scuffling sound and then Ron was practically being frog marched past her and into the hallway.

She laughed at the gobsmacked expression on Ron's face, until he started scrutinizing her at every angle. “Knock it off!” she commanded, and smacked him on the back of his head with her clutch.

Harry caught up with her, and she slipped her hand through his proffered arm.

The walk to the club didn't take long, and Harry mentioned that it was one block behind the building where the school was. Certainly close enough to question.

The group from Portugal, except for Lazlo, was waiting for them out front. After all their appreciative wolf whistles and leering looks, which caused Ron to bristle and Harry to place his hand against her bare lower back as a sign to back off, they were making their way inside.

It was a relatively new space. Although housed in a refurbished factory, the blue and silver color scheme, multiple levels, and secluded alcoves gave it a futuristic look that seemed to appeal to the crowd.

There was barely room to move, and Hermione held tight to Harry's hand as they wove their way through the mass of bodies to the glass fronted bar. Two of the footballers went off to find a table, and finally Hermione got the chance to ask where Lazlo was.

“They said he'd be meeting everyone here. He's how we got on the list apparently. Claims his cousin works here or something,” Ron shouted over the din, before motioning to the bartender he wanted to place an order.

Harry's eyes met hers at this bit of information. “He's never mentioned this cousin before, has he?” but Ron just shrugged his shoulders.

“Don't know. I'll see what I can find out,” he promised before asking for a round of shots to go to the table that had been secured.

Harry's thumb kept drawing circles on her lower back, distracting her from surveying the room. Turning towards him she stretched up to press her lips to his jaw. “You're really going to have to stop doing that,” she whispered.

His answer was to slide his hand even lower. She nipped his ear lobe in retaliation and was pleased with how his hand tightened in response. Taking her time, she slid back down and left one hand resting on his chest, absently playing with the buttons on his shirt.

The bartender returned and Harry ordered two soda waters with lime, and she felt a flare of pain for him, remembering how he had said he'd spent a year doing nothing but drinking away his memories.

Drinks in hand they made their way to the table. It was so crowded there was hardly enough room, but Hermione played into her part well and sat on Harry's lap, giggling as she pretended to make herself comfortable.

There was more talk of football, and she didn't have to pretend at all to be bored to tears. She sipped her drink, tried to ignore Harry's wandering hand, and watched the others around them.

They had been there almost an hour when she saw Lazlo emerge from a back door near the bar, clearly an area not for the general public.

Ron was rising to get round number three and she shook her empty glass at him. “Ronnie!! One more!” He just rolled his eyes as he passed her.

Jumping to her feet she grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him up. “Dance with me,” she demanded, and dragged him to the crowded floor.

Club dancing was not exactly something she had ever done before, but by looking at the people around them all she'd really have to do was wrap herself around Harry and move with the music.

They found a relatively clear spot and she pulled him close, winding her arms around his neck, as his hands were once again drawn to her bare back.

“I saw Lazlo,” she said into his ear, running her hand through his hair as they moved.

He tried to draw back, but she held him still. “Where?”

“Door by the bar. He came out of it like he's been here before,” she replied, letting one hand drag down the side of his face.

He grabbed the hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. “Let's see if we can't get some more info out of him, or maybe some of the people who work here.” She nodded her agreement and they stayed on the floor a little while longer before working their way back to the table, thirsty and hot.

She grabbed her new drink as soon as Harry tugged her back into his lap and took a great gulp, sputtering a bit when the taste was off.

“Everything alright, `Mione.” Harry asked. No one else had noticed.

“Yeah, I just think Ron actually got me a vodka tonic, instead of just tonic.” She smiled. “No worries, I'll just share yours,” she said, taking the drink from his hand. The last thing she wanted to do that night was become inebriated.

There wasn't a chance to pull Ron away and tell him about Lazlo, but soon enough the man arrived at their table, apologizing for taking so long.

He seemed laid back, and talked with everyone, even if he wasn't overly loquacious.

The longer they sat there the stranger she started to feel. At first she thought she was just over-heated. But she drank more of Harry's water, and felt more flushed and a bit light headed.

Hoping a trip to the bathroom would help, she pushed off of Harry and turned to lean on his shoulders. “Just going to head to the loo. Be right back,” she promised and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before making her way carefully down the steps and around the surge of people at the bar.

She hoped he hadn't suspected anything was wrong. She didn't want to worry him, but every step she took she became more and more concerned. She was beginning to stumble, and the brief thought she'd had that it could be food poisoning immediately vanished.

The ladies' room was straight ahead and there was thankfully not a line. She pushed open the door and barely made it to the sinks for support. A pain shot through her stomach and she doubled over, gasping.

When she straightened up, there was a presence behind her and, for a second, she thought maybe Harry had followed her. Looking into the mirror she never expected to see the sight that she did.

“Hello, Hermione. What a surprise meeting you here.” It was Sarah, and she had a wand pointed straight at Hermione's head.

It was true. All of it. Everything Ron had postulated. Every guilt inducing thought she'd had about the person she assumed to be a friend. All of it was true.

Hermione turned on instinct, her back pressed into the counter behind her for support, and felt her fingers twitch towards the holster on her thigh.

“Don't,” Sarah warned with a cruel twist of her mouth that Hermione had never seen on her before. But there was something...something that caught at the back of her mind, something familiar about it. She couldn't waste time wondering right then however; she had to figure a way to get out.

Harry and Ron wouldn't notice her absence right away. She probably had at least ten minutes before anyone got worried. That was entirely too long. The best she could do was to try and get Sarah to talk and find an opening.

Much like what had happened during the war, when death seemed imminent and she had no one but herself to rely on, her thoughts cleared and became focused on only that which could help keep her alive. Like a wave was washing over her, the fear got shoved into a back corner of her mind; it would be dealt with later.

She stood a fraction straighter and looked Sarah in the eye, please to see a small twitch in response. Sarah had never known Hermione Granger the soldier, and that gave her something to work with.

The main concern was not that she wasn't armed, it was that she wasn't armed and, as it was becoming even more obvious, she had either been drugged or poisoned. Adrenaline was helping keep the effects at bay for now, but she had no idea what she had been given and how long she had before she succumbed.

Hermione took a slow, deep breath, and tried not to wince as another pain went through her; never taking her eyes off of Sarah. “So...how did you do it?” she asked evenly.

Sarah didn't respond.

“How did you manage to live amongst Muggles for three years and never drop your cover?”

Sarah readjusted the grip she had on her wand, and Hermione thought that just maybe this was the way to get to her.

“Three years. That's a very long period of time. You had to talk like a Muggle, dress like a Muggle, act like a Muggle. That must have been difficult.”

“Shut up, Granger,” Sarah warned, taking a step closer.

“We went to pubs, Sarah. Went to the movies. Spent hours in the library, or over coffee in your flat. How'd you do it? How could you stand living like that?” Hermione actually managed to move forward a fraction of an inch. Sarah seemed frozen.

“You're obviously a phenomenal actress to be able to pull that off for so long. And to only ever have messed up once...very impressive.”

Sarah's eyes narrowed, and her shoulders dropped slightly.

“What? You didn't know? Remember when you begged me to give you a key to my flat? It was the one thing the stuck out. The one thing that was odd. You were desperate to get that key.” Hermione sounded much calmer than she felt.

There was recognition in Sarah's eyes and a flare of anger. “You think it was easy? Becoming friends with you. You were supposed to be this force to be reckoned with. That's why they sent me. I'm the best. The ginger wasn't worth the trouble, and Potter couldn't be found. You were our main focus. And then I find out instead of a lion I got a mouse. My talents were wasted on you!” she spat out. “So depressed all the time. It was pathetic!” Her voice was scathing and Hermione tried not to let the words phase her even though they stung and were close to the truth.

Hermione wasn't about to back down now. She didn't drop her gaze, and steeled herself for what she was about to say. “Tell me, after all that time living as a Muggle, does that make you a mudblood now?”

Sarah let out a roar of rage and advanced. Hermione was bent backwards over the sinks with a wand pressed against the underside of her throat. “Shut up, right now, or I'm going to reducto that brain of yours clean off.”

With Sarah so close to her, she couldn't see where Hermione's hands were. Hermione used the distraction to her advantage. Her fingers had just brushed the end of her wand when a hand clamped hard around her wrist, tore her away from Sarah and threw her to the floor.

The breath was knocked out of her and her vision blinked for a moment, either from whatever she had ingested or from where her head hit the unforgiving tile.

“No, no, little one. We can't have that.” A voice that sounded familiar but she couldn't place purred in her ear.

Her hair was pulled out of her face and she saw the smirking visage of Lazlo. She tried to scramble backwards, but he clamped a hand on her waist and pushed down hard to hold her still. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain, and tried to swallow down revulsion as her shirt had been raked up and he was touching her bare skin.

The fear she had tucked away began to make itself known. She tried to tramp it back down, but her limbs were heavy and not responding like they should and her head was getting foggier by the second.

“So...is it poison or did you use a Muggle drug?” she asked, slightly breathless, but trying to keep her voice even.

He was crouched next to her, a wand dangling casually in his hand as if he didn't think she was any threat to him at all. “I wouldn't want to give up all my secrets,” he replied. His hand fell from her waist to move slowly up and down the exposed flesh of her thigh, making her skin crawl.

“How'd you do it, Lazlo?” Her only option was to keep him talking.

“Ha! That was the easy part. That idiot ginger let me carry a tray of drinks back to the table,” he sneered.

“That `idiot ginger' was on to the both of you before anyone else,” she threw back, and briefly regretted it as his wand flashed up and snapped a cutting curse across her cheek.

The wound stung fiercely, and her head was knocked to the side from the blow. The taste of copper filled her mouth.

“Who are you working for?” she tried, anything at this point to keep him talking.

A hand trailed down her cheek and across her lower lip and she had to restrain herself from biting him. “You have no idea. Do you?” he responded.

“We know more than you think,” she countered, wincing as he wrapped a hand in her hair and tugged her closer.

“You have no idea.” His voice was deadly, and her stomach dropped with fright. He pulled her in even more. His face was now inches from hers. “You and your `Golden Trio',” he said mockingly. He pushed his nose into her neck, breathing deeply before he licked a long path up to her ear. She tried to squirm out of his way but he held her fast. “You're not getting out of here. You may have tracked us to the school, but you're not getting any further. And after tonight, it won't matter.”

Tonight! The school was being attacked tonight, and she had no way of stopping him or letting Harry and Ron know. While Lazlo was gloating and she still had some command of her body, she decided she needed to act.

Turning to look at him, she locked eyes and gave him a small smile. “You know what you purebloods always forget?” she asked, not waiting for him to answer. “You can live with Muggles, and act like Muggles, but you'll never actually be a Muggle. And that's why even though you think I'm helpless without my wand, I can do this!” As she said her last word she spat blood in his face and then used the only weapon she really had, her four inch stilettos, bringing one of them up right between his legs.

Lazlo howled in pain, and stumbled back from her. His ability to retaliate was non-existent.

Sarah, who had been merely observing, sprang into action. Before Hermione could get her uncooperative arms to do her bidding, Sarah blasted her from behind, causing her to go skidding across the bathroom floor into a stall door.

White hot pain seared across her ribs, and she couldn't catch her breath. She knew they were advancing on her but there was nothing she could do, and helpless fear began to creep in.

She tried to reach for her wand, tried to muster the ability to summon it to her hand, but she was too weak and she could see Lazlo out the corner of her eye as he staggered towards her.

The Cruciatus curse was not unfamiliar, but it didn't make it any easier to endure. Her body bowed at the pain, and spots danced in front of her eyes. She wanted to cry out, but couldn't draw enough breath to do so.

When he finally released the curse, she was barely conscious. He knelt beside her, a hand ruthlessly gripping her hair as he pulled her back to see her face.

His hand wormed its way beneath her skirt, under the pretense of searching for her holster, but he located it quickly enough and his hands kept going. She had to swallow down the bile that was threatening. The whine of panic was back and she was truly frightened.

“What's wrong, little one? You dress like this, you must expect...” but his words were cut off by an explosion from the entrance to the bathroom.

The lights flickered twice before they began exploding one by one. One dim bulb remained and she was able to see around Lazlo's arm.

Harry.

She'd never seen such righteous fury on his face before. She could feel the magics rise in the room and the hairs on her arm stood on end. For a second, cool relief flowed over her, and then she saw the change. Harry spied where Lazlo's hand was, still under her skirt.

It was over.

She didn't even see Harry's wand move, just the hot spray of blood as a curse cut across Lazlo's chest and he dropped to the ground, wand clattering to the floor.

The body was heavy as it lay partially on her legs and she couldn't muster the strength to push him off or move, but his hand was still there and she was beginning to lose every bit of control she had.

Sarah froze when the door exploded. Out of her periphery, Hermione saw Sarah's wand go flying as she was disarmed. Ron caught it in mid air, and stepped out from behind Harry who still had his wand pointed at what used to be Lazlo.

“Alright, Hermione?” Ron called out, his voice tight.

She tried to reply, but her throat felt small and she didn't know if it was from shock or whatever they gave her. She couldn't take her eyes off of Lazlo. His head was turned away, but she could feel the warm blood beginning to pool beneath her and panic started to set in.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand,” Harry said, his wand now trained on Sarah, who for once doesn't look sure of herself. The tone he used was one Hermione had never heard before. It was beyond hard, beyond dark. It was powerful and frightening, and she thought she was the only one who can stop him.

“No,” Hermione managed to get out. It was a whisper, and so quiet she wasn't sure they heard her. “Don't, Harry.”

“Take care of her,” Harry said suddenly, and for a brief moment Hermione thought he was telling Ron to see to her and not Sarah. Her brain felt fuzzy and her thoughts were jumbled. She was even more confused when Ron stunned Sarah and put her in a full body bind.

Hermione couldn't keep her head up to look at them any longer, and she let it fall back to rest on the floor. Then the weight on her legs was lifted and her skirt tugged down as far as it would go. That sent a flare of panic through her, and then it was gone because all she could see was Harry.

That hard look was still on his face, as if it had been frozen, but his eyes...his eyes were both young and old with uncertainty and fear; she wished she wasn't the reason.

The tenuous grasp she had on consciousness was rapidly fading and she needed to get what little information she had to Harry as quickly as possible.

His hand ghosted over her jaw and slipped behind her neck to support her head. Tears sprang to her eyes at the contact. “`Mione,” he said shakily.

She wanted to tell him it was okay and she would be alright, but she didn't have that kind of time.

“Poison or a muggle drug,” she said, slowly and carefully. Harry's jaw went rigid at the information. “My clutch. At the table...” She shut her eyes tight as a wave of nausea came over her. “Small potions kit.” Her words began to slur.

“Get her bag!” he barked to Ron, over his shoulder.

“ `Mione, just hang in there ok. We'll get you fixed up and take you back to London.” His voice shook, and she realized that he thought he was going to watch her die again. She tried to bring her hand up to his, but she could barely twitch a finger.

“I'm okay,” she managed to get out, and he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Don't leave me again,” he murmured into her, and her heart broke for him.

His wand was raised over her as he performed the diagnostic spells. His eyes closed tight and she watched him struggle for control before healing her ribs and other obvious injuries. Her ability to breathe eased and she gave him a grateful smile.

Ron skidded to a halt on his knees next to them and thrust the bag at Harry. “Here,” he said, out of breath, and when he looked at her, his face was pale with fear. She felt him grab her hand in his but couldn't manage to squeeze it back.

Harry Accio'd the kit and started rifling through it. “Veritaserum,” she said and tried to look towards Sarah.

Harry looked confused at first, before realizing what she was trying to tell him.

“Wake her up,” he ordered Ron, and soon enough they had Sarah wrapped in conjured ropes and seated against the back wall.

Ron was not gentle as he poured the liquid down her throat. She sputtered and tried to fight but failed.

Hermione assumed that Harry would conduct the interrogation, but it didn't seem like he intended to leave her side. In fact, he didn't take his eyes off her as he let Ron do the questioning.

“What did you give to Hermione?” Ron demanded

The internal struggle was evident, but the potion was stronger. “Muggle drug,” Sarah gasped out.

“What does it do?”

“Makes her weak and tired, and causes stomach pains.”

“Is there an antidote?” Ron asked, the grip on his wand getting tighter as he struggled to hold back from hexing her.

“No antidote. Just a muggle drug. They give it to the girls here.” The implication of what the drug was for was not lost on any of them, and this time it was Harry calling out to Ron to keep him from reacting out of anger.

Sarah just laughed, and Hermione saw again the way her mouth twisted. Suddenly she knew Sarah's identity.

“Dolohov!” she gasped out. The way her mouth turned was the same as Dolohov's. Sarah must be his daughter.

Harry's eyebrows rose at her outburst and she knew she had to explain. Her vision tunneled down to what is right in front of her. “Dolohov's daughter.” Harry understood, his eyes alight with comprehension.

“The school. She knows about the school.” She felt like she was talking from the end of a long tunnel. She could hear Harry but couldn't make out what he said even though he was right in front of her.

“So tired...love you,” was the last thing she could manage to say before she gave in to the darkness.

When she came to, the first thing that registered was the pounding headache. Her eyes opened slowly, and even in the dim light she could tell they were still in the bathroom. Relief came over her as she realized she couldn't have been out that long if they hadn't left the club.

Sarah was still tied up and unconscious. Lazlo's body had been covered with a conjured blanket, but the blood stain was still there.

Hermione realized they had moved her. She was laying on something soft and Harry's jacket covered her.

Ron and Harry stood between her and Lazlo. The tension in both of them was palpable. Harry's shirt sleeves had been rolled up and she could see his trousers were stiff with blood from the knees down.

They were both looking at something in Harry's hand, but she couldn't discern what it was. She could make out speech, but not the words that were being said. She tried to push herself up to her side, but her head throbbed harshly and she let out a low moan.

Immediately Harry was beside her, his hands skimming everywhere. “ `Mione, Gods...you have to stop doing this.”

She clasped his hand in hers and squeezed hard. “Then people really need to stop trying to kill me.”

Her voice must have broken something within him because he hauled her into his chest with a ferocity she'd never seen before. His hands clenched in the material of his jacket where it hung off her frame, and he buried his face in her neck.

She found herself shaking, and wound her arms around his back, fingers scrabbling on the too slick material of his shirt to find any purchase, as the events of the night started to resonate with her.

Harry stroked a hand over her hair and held her until she pulled back on her own and looked at him with red rimmed eyes.

“Alright?” he asked and she nodded once.

Her head still pounded, but the weakness and pain in her stomach was gone. Her body ached from the Cruciatus, but there was nothing to be done for that.

“Help me up?” she asked.

“ `Mione, no. Just stay there. We're...we're almost done and then we can go back to London,” Harry said, his eyes darting from her to Ron, and she knew there was something he wasn't sharing with her.

“London?” she exclaimed. “What do you mean? We're not done here. Did you ask her about her father? Was I right? What about the school? Lazlo said they were planning something tonight. Are we too late?” Her questions became more frantic and she used Harry as leverage to pull herself to her feet.

As soon as she was upright, she regretted the action. Her head swam, and she wasn't sure her legs were going to hold her, especially in those damn shoes.

Ron was the one that caught her by the middle and steadied her. Harry looked defeated and wouldn't look in her direction.

“What happened?” she demanded, taking two steps so she could touch Harry. His hand grasped hers desperately.

“She's Dolohov's daughter,” Ron said, his voice strained. “Her real name is Seraphina Dolohov. She's been trained by him her entire life. After the war he suggested that she be the one to follow you. Sarah...Seraphina doesn't know anything about anyone above her father; she was never privy to that information.”

The news was shocking, but not unexpected, and it didn't explain Harry's reaction. “I still don't understand why we're going back to London.”

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly before taking both her hands in his. “We're too late to save the school.”

She heard the words, but they didn't register at first. “What do you mean?”

“The museum break in, the one where we thought something had been replaced but we didn't know what?” She nodded, not wanting to interrupt. “The item taken was an ancient magical artifact from hundreds of years ago. It was supposed to be dormant.”

“Dormant?” she repeated with a shaky voice. “What did the artifact do?”

“Once opened, it...strips the magical core of anyone within a set radius.” He was barely able to grind out the words.

“You mean...they're...they...oh gods!” Her hands came up to cover her mouth in horror, and Harry couldn't seem to confirm what she was thinking.

“They're squibs now. All of them.” Ron looked sick as he spoke.

“How...who could do such a thing, it's horrific!” Anger swept through her, as she unconsciously pressed her hands into her chest, as if she could physically touch her magic and keep it safe.

“Is there a chance there are any survivors?” she asked, hoping there would be some way to mitigate the horror.

“No. There's nothing we can do. The artifact is active for twenty four hours, and it was opened earlier tonight. That's what Lazlo was doing before he got here,” Harry said, his jaw clenched so hard it must have hurt.

Her mind raced, trying to find some answer, some way to make this right. Then a thought so horrible came to her that she couldn't verbalize it at first.

Harry and Ron stared at her in sympathy and she knew they already were aware, but she needed to say it out loud to believe it. “If it's active for twenty four hours then...then no one else can go in. All those kids are trapped in there, without magic, and without knowing what has happened.”

Ron nodded, and she staggered back to lean against the wall. “Kingsley's contacted the German Ministry and they're going to provide support through floo and owl...” he trailed off, aware that such a response would be nowhere near adequate enough to truly help the people trapped.

“Is there any way to restore a magical core?” Her voice sounded weak, even to her, and she knew enough about how magic works to know it's probably a pointless question.

Ron just shrugged, and the room was silent except the frizzing sound of the overhead bulb.

“They just lost an entire generation of wizards,” she said softly. “And we failed them.”

A low tremble ran beneath her feet, and her eyes flew straight to Harry.

He was standing stock still, his hands clenched at his side, chest heaving as he tried to control his magic.

She eliminated the distance between them, and grabbed Harry's face in her hands. “Harry! Look at me!” she commanded.

So incredibly slowly, his eyes opened and she could see it all: guilt, despair, anger, and frustration.

“No. This isn't your fault. They're ahead of us on this, but we're getting closer.” He tried to look away, but she wouldn't let him. “We've got one of their people now. We can use her to get more information. We know for sure it's the schools they're going after. You have to see the good here.”

“How many more people are going to die, or have their lives destroyed because I haven't figured it out yet?” he threw back at her, his eyes locked on the floor.

“I don't know, Harry. There may be more deaths, but that's a part of this. You have to remember that you didn't start this, they started it. So the deaths are on their souls, not yours.”

When he looked at her again, there wasn't as much guilt, but still plenty of anger.

She stroked her thumbs under his eyes and gave him a tight smile before she stepped back and looked at both of them.

“What are we...um...what are we doing about...” She couldn't bring herself to turn and look at Seraphina, or Lazlo's remains.

“Kingsley authorized an emergency portkey to send them back to Auror headquarters,” Ron supplied.

Harry stepped forward and pulled a matchbook out of his pants pocket. He twirled it twice through his fingers and then cast the spell before tossing it on top of Lazlo's body.

He hadn't mentioned Lazlo and what he had done. How he had killed him without chance, and without remorse if Hermione had read him correctly. Harry looked at her then and his eyes begged her to wait. They told her he couldn't discuss that right then, and could they please wait. She answered back, yes, and the fingers that ghosted over the back of her hand on his way to set the second portkey was his thank you.

Then it was just the three of them. The only evidence that anything had happened were the blown out light fixtures and the bloodstained floor.

Ron sat himself on the counter and stared at the now vacant spot, the freckles stark on his pale face. When Hermione walked over to him, he didn't acknowledge that she was there.

“Ron,” she said quietly.

He was still for a long moment, and then his hand came up and engulfed hers. “You okay?” he asked gruffly.

“No,” she answered honestly, “but I will be.”

“Good,” he replied, his gaze still locked on the floor. She stifled a yelp when he suddenly pulled her to him, her arms locked to her side underneath Harry's jacket and trapped by his embrace. She felt a flare of panic, and had to remind herself it was only Ron. He felt her shake, and mistook it for something else.

“You gotta stop almost dying Herms. He can't take much more,” he whispered into her ear, and all she could do was frantically nod and blink back tears.

Harry was right behind her when Ron let her go.

“Ready to get back?” he asked in a clipped tone, and they both nodded.

Her body shuddered with pain, and Harry put an arm around her waist. “What is it?”

“Just the after effects,” she said as if it hadn't been that bad.

“I've been hit with Crucio before, `Mione, don't lie to me.”

She gasped again at another one. “I know. It's just...there really isn't anything you can do about it. You just have to wait it out.” She saw the pained expression on his face and wished she could make it disappear. “At least it's not as bad as last time.”

His face fell as soon as she said it and she cursed her poor choice. No doubt he was hearing her screams at Malfoy Manor in his head.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered in haste.

“Don't. Just...don't ever apologize, for that. Okay?” He sounded so raw she could do nothing but agree.

“Let's go,” Ron said suddenly, and with a quick turn the bathroom faded away and they were once again on the steps to Grimmauld.

The second she pushed open the door, she realized she had no idea what time it was. It was late, it was dark; that was all she knew.

The house was quiet. As Harry entered behind her, she turned and saw his shoulders visibly sag in relief; the place he had never wanted was slowly beginning to turn into home.

“It would be nice to come through that door once without blood all over us,” Ron deadpanned, and immediately winced at his timing.

“Yeah it would, mate,” Harry agreed, and clapped a hand on Ron's back.

A light flickered underneath the door to the library to let them know that someone was still awake and waiting.

They pushed open the door to find a blessedly small group. Hermione wasn't sure any of them could have handled a full Weasley onslaught.

Percy, Ginny, and Bill were the only ones in the room, grouped in the chairs around the fire.

They rose when the door squeaked out their entrance, and Bill had his wand half drawn when he turned.

“Bloody hell!” Ginny exclaimed. “What's happened now?”

Harry didn't respond. He guided Hermione to the fire and pushed her into the chair Ginny had just vacated.

“Where have you been?” Bill asked, gesturing towards their less than normal apparel.

Hermione looked up to see Ginny studying her and thought she actually saw her raise an eyebrow in approval.

“Nice shoes, Hermione, I may want to borrow them,” Ginny said, in an attempt to add levity to the situation.

All it did, however, was make her remember using those shoes to fight off Lazlo while he was trying to put his hands on her.

She must have blanched at the memory because Harry crouched in front of her, being careful to keep his hands on the chair and not on her. She almost wept at the gesture. It made her ache, to have him believe she wouldn't want him near her.

She reached out a fumbling hand to find his and clung to it desperately.

The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire, and could feel herself begin to sway even while seated.

A hand with a glass half full of amber liquid entered her field of vision and she looked up, startled to see Bill kneeling next to Harry.

She started to protest, but he stopped her. “It's got some restorative properties as well. Just give it a try.” She took it with a shaky hand.

She took a small sip and it burned her throat, but the warmth that grew inside her made it worthwhile. Bill was rewarded with half a smile, and he returned to stand by the mantle.

“Can we do this later?” Ron asked from behind her. She gave a small jump as she hadn't realized he'd made it no further than the back of her chair.

“Of course,” was Bill's immediate reply, but she saw Percy's mouth flop open in disagreement.

“Hermione,” Ginny started off slowly, as if she were about to approach a scared animal, “Do we need to call Madame Pomfrey? Are you injured?”

She almost gagged when she looked down and saw how the light from the fire flickered off the now rust colored blood that had dried on her legs.

Ginny reached forward in time to catch the glass before it tumbled from her loose fingers.

“It's not hers, Gin, at least...not all of it,” Harry said in a low tone, barely audible.

Images replayed in her head as if on a loop: A wand to her throat, Lazlo's mouth on her, his hand under her skirt, his dead body on her legs.

A hand softly resting on her shoulder broke her out of her memory, and she turned quickly to see that Ron had leaned over the back of the chair. Harry was lost in his own thoughts, his hands now braced on the mantle, while he stared unseeing into the fire.

“They really need to go get cleaned up,” Ron tried again, acutely aware of how quickly everything was going downhill for the three of them.

However, this time there was no stopping Percy and he stepped forward and cleared his throat before speaking. “We haven't had much information from the Minister. He floo'd in once to say he'd talked to you, Harry, and that there had been an incident at the German school, but that was all.”

“Give us a few hours and we'll fill you in. Right now there's not much anyone can do, and we need some time.” Harry's voice got more tired and dejected the longer they were down there, and she knew she needed to get him out of the Weasley eye.

“Well, I think that can wait don't you?” Percy asked in that horribly haughty tone he'd been so fond of when he was Head Boy. “I'm sure you're tired, but..”

It had taken all of Hermione's considerable patience to keep quiet, but she suddenly found that she couldn't any longer and rose angrily to her feet, the jacket slipped off her shoulders to pool on the floor.

“No, it can't wait, Percy! I've been drugged, beaten up, hit with Crucio, and am covered in the blood of the man who was threatening to rape me to get what he wanted. And Harry and your brother saw him do it, which is why I'm covered in that man's blood, because Harry cut him in half to save my life.” Percy flinched at her words and staggered back two steps. There was a gasp from Ginny as she covered her mouth with her hands. “Right now, what we're going to do is go get clean, in every possible sense of the word. I'm going to take a potion that won't do a damn thing to stop the effects of an Unforgiveable, and then I'm going to go work damage control on Harry's psyche, since it's what I do best. So, I'm sorry, but this really can't wait. If you want answers, you can get them when we give them to you or you can bloody well try my patience once again and see what happens.” Her voice was shaking by the time she finished and her breath was ragged, one hand pressed over the ribs that had been broken.

No one moved. She wasn't even sure if anyone breathed.

“This is tabled for now, Percy,” Ron said from behind her, his voice hard as he locked eyes with his older brother. Finally, Percy stuttered out an apology and acquiesced to waiting for information before he excused himself from the library.

Her outburst had taken the last of her reserve and she was never as grateful for Harry as she was when he pulled her in close to his side and took most of her weight.

“Let me go grab the potion,” Ginny said helpfully and raced from the room before anyone could speak.

Before the door could fully shut behind her, Luna slipped in and drifted over to Ron. She didn't say a word, just slid her hand into his and turned back the way she came, Ron in tow.

Ginny was back quickly and held two potion bottles. “Here,” she said, and started to press them into Hermione's hands, but thought better and handed them to Harry instead. “There's a dreamless sleep there too, just in case...”

Harry nodded his thanks and turned towards the door.

“Hermione, if you need anything...” Ginny started, but didn't know how to end.

Hermione gave her a tight smile, and more mouthed than said, `Thank you.'

Harry steered them out of the room, to the staircase. Halfway up, a flare of pain tore down her legs and she stumbled, knocking her shins hard on the riser before Harry caught her.

With a flick of his wand he vanished the potions to their room and ignored her protests when he picked her up.

She was too tired and in too much pain to fight him, so she turned her face into his chest instead.

Harry paused at the top of the stairs, and she heard a soft gasp and a muttering of French that could have only come from Fleur.

“Will she be alright?” Hermione heard her ask, and Harry paused far too long for her liking.

A soft hand brushed the hair off her face and she remembered when Lazlo did the same thing and let out a whimper. Harry pulled her in closer and took a step back.

Fleur's touch, was the proverbial straw. She could no longer hold back everything she had been keeping contained. Her body began to tremble and something in her chest was climbing north, trying to get out.

She felt Harry begin to walk again. The first moan emerged before he made it to the door. She tried to shove her fist in her mouth to stop it from escaping, but the harder she tried the harder it fought, and finally a keening wail, much louder than she would have wished, broke free.

Harry's pace increased, and she could feel him shush her as he hurried her into the room. As soon as the door shut, she felt wards and silencing charms go up.

She was breaking for her and for Harry, for what had happened, and what could have happened.

She was hearing sounds, but not really registering them. She clung to Harry's shoulders like it was the only thing keeping her from completely flying apart.

He was talking to her, and she knew he was trying to calm her. Her body was set down and then shifted as her clothes were removed. Before she knew what was happening, Harry had stepped inside the steaming shower.

As soon as the hot water hit, her eyes flew open. Harry set her gently on her feet, but kept an arm wrapped around her middle. She made the mistake of looking down and saw the rust colored swirls as the blood washed off of her. She bent over and retched.

When she was done, she let the water clean her and leaned heavily into Harry's chest. “He was going to...” She couldn't finish the sentence, her throat clogged with tears that finally made their way out.

Harry's arms tightened around her and she could hear the frantic beat of his heart beneath her ear.

When she was out of tears and her legs had completely given out on her, Harry wrapped her in a towel and carried her straight to the bed and under the covers. He made sure she was warm and then went to step across the room.

Hermione sat bolt upright. “No!” was torn from her throat. “Don't leave!” she cried and latched onto his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. He crawled in next to her without making her move. She burrowed into him and finally felt the fear start to abate. Here, with Harry, in this bed, in this room, in this house, she was finally safe.

Her body still shook from the occasional Crucio aftershock, and after a particularly violent one she felt Harry reach across her and grab a potion. “Here,” he said gently, “Take this. I know it won't make it go away completely, but...” He helped her bring the vial to her lips and grimaced with her at the taste. “Do you want the other one?” he asked, indicating the dreamless sleep.

“No,” she said with a voice stronger than she felt. “Not yet.”

The longer they lay there, the more present she felt. However, she could tell that however Harry had managed to keep control all this time was beginning to fade quickly.

His breath became ragged, and his heart rate increased beneath her hand.

“I'm not sorry,” he ground out, his teeth clenched.

“I know,” she said soothingly, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “I'm not sorry either.”

“He was...his hand was...and…he was touching you and...I heard what he said.” He buried his face in her neck, and the fingers around her waist were almost painful.

She held him and stroked his head, just as he had done for her.

“I didn't even think, Hermione...I just did it. And I'm not sorry.”

“I know you're not, and that's ok, Harry. He was a horrible man doing a horrible thing. You saved me,” she told him, and she told him what seemed like one hundred more times before he finally lifted his head and looked at her.

“I need you to be safe, `Mione. I need it.” His voice broke with conviction and she tried to get closer to him.

“I'm with you. I'm safe,” she promised, pressing her forehead into his. She grabbed his hand in hers and laid it very purposely on her thigh where her holster had been.

His hand was stiff and very still, and it looked as if he was holding his breath.

“It's okay,” she assured him, running a hand along his jaw, and down his neck. “It's okay.”

He didn't respond immediately, but after she leaned in and pressed her lips to his she felt the slightest movement in his fingers. She kissed him again, and very slowly he kissed her back.

Then, it was as if a dam had burst. In a blink she found herself on her back, Harry's mouth fused to hers, with the hand on her thigh no longer still. His lips were everywhere. Every scar, old and new, he covered.

Her fingers were clutched in his hair when he suddenly froze, and scrambled back from her.

“I'm sorry. Oh, gods, `Mione. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to...” He looked ashamed and disgusted with himself and wouldn't look at her.

“Harry!” she said sharply, and rose to her knees in front of him. He was frozen as she leaned in and picked his hands up to place them at her waist. She pressed her head into his shoulder. “I need you,” she exhaled.

“Are you sure? I don't want to...”

“I'm sure,” she said with conviction. She needed him to erase Lazlo's touch from her skin.

His first kiss was hesitant, but as she returned it he raised a hand to her face, tracing her cheekbone, and the shell of her ear before deepening the contact. As his lips trailed down her neck she heard him murmuring and was able to make out, “I'm sorry,” over and over again. He was still repeating this mantra as he laid her down slowly and made her forget about her pain, and that night, and everything that had happened.

Hermione sat at the worn kitchen table, curled in a chair wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt of Ginny or Luna's that she had nicked from the laundry room. The mug of tea clutched in her hand was lukewarm, but she pressed it to her front all the same, as if she could leach the last bit of warmth from it.

She had woken up almost an hour ago in pain and hadn't had the heart to wake Harry. The rest of the house was also asleep and she slipped noiselessly down the stairs, forgoing the library for the brightness of the kitchen.

The potions cabinet hadn't revealed anything that could actually help with the after effects of Crucio, so she settled on tea.

The last few days had replayed in her mind as she wondered if they could have done something to help those students. She also felt guilt as she remembered the two years she had willingly rejected her magic. Even though she hadn't used it, she had still known it was there and felt its presence. She couldn't imagine not feeling that anymore. The thought caused her to shiver and she curled herself tighter.

What was clear was that whoever was behind these actions had a very deliberate, very diabolical plan, and they were committed to seeing it to the end. Who it was and why they were doing it were the two most important questions they hadn't been able to answer.

The door to the kitchen pushed open easily, and Hermione was pleased to see it was only Fleur carrying a sleeping Dominique.

Fleur looked slightly sheepish when she spotted Hermione, and began to say something several times before she gave up.

“Sorry I wasn't very good company last night,” Hermione supplied as a way to minimize the discomfort.

“I'm sorry if I frightened you,” Fleur responded. “Are you...better?”

Hermione nodded, “Somewhat.”

“Can I get you a potion? Dominique woke me up a few minutes ago, but now she's fallen back asleep,” Fleur said with a smile.

“No thank you. It was...it was crucio so...” Hermione answered in a low voice.

Fleur gasped and held the baby tighter. “I'm so sorry. Was anyone else hurt?”

A flash of Lazlo's body went through her mind and she had to swallow heavily before she could answer. “Harry and Ron weren't injured.”

Fleur nodded, and Hermione wondered if she was aware of what hadn't been said.

“Could I hold her for a bit?” Hermione asked. The words had come out of her mouth before she could consider them.

“Of course. It's nice to have another woman around. She and her sister are overrun with uncles, I'm afraid of what will become of them,” Fleur said with a smile, and handed the baby over.

Hermione took her easily, moving her slowly until she could rest on her chest the way she had been laying on Fleur. “She is a Weasley; you could be fighting a losing battle,” Hermione cautioned and Fleur nodded sagely.

The area around the fire was overly warm, so Hermione took a turn around the room before settling at the other end of the table while Fleur put away last night's dishes.

The baby snuggled in closer and Hermione studied her petite features, not daring to touch the plump cheeks in case she woke her up.

In that moment there was no Lazlo, no death, and no one hunting them. She was very grateful she got to have this reminder of the good things.

The peace was broken by a loud scuffle and thuds coming from the hallway right outside the kitchen door. Without thought, she drew her wand and turned her body so the baby was the furthest thing from the door and any curse would hit Hermione first.

Her heart pounded, and when the door opened there was already a spell lighting the tip of her wand. Fleur hadn't even turned from the stove, but Hermione didn't notice that.

Bill and Ron came through with wild grins as they pushed each other like they must have when they were much younger. Ron noticed Hermione first and froze, the smile slipped off his face. He threw a hand across his brother's chest to halt his forward progress.

Her mind knew there was no threat, but she couldn't seem to drop her wand and relax.

Bill very slowly pushed Ron's arm down and approached with caution. By now she had blinked twice and let her wand hand sag as she tried to convince her body that they were safe.

“It's ok, Hermione,” Bill said. “It's just me and Ron.”

She felt herself nodding, and her wand fell even further. “I'm sorry we startled you,” he said evenly, now only a couple of feet away.

With a gasp of air she came back to herself and dropped her wand to the table with a clatter. She shut her eyes tight for a moment, and then focused on the others around her. “Oh gods! Bill...I'm...I'm sorry, I just...” She ran a shaky hand through her hair and sank back into the chair.

Dominique shifted in her arm, and without thought she brought the baby to lie on her chest, bouncing her slightly to settle her back down and running a hand over her whisper fine hair.

“It's ok,” Bill assured her again, as he crouched next to the chair and laid a hand on his daughter's back. That action made her stomach drop as she realized exactly what she had done.

She blanched and made to give Dominique back to her father. Hermione's mouth was dry and she didn't think she'd ever find the words to apologize. “Here. I'm...so...I'm sorry if I scared you, I didn't...”

But for some reason Bill stopped her and held her hands over the baby's blanket. “Hermione, you thought there was a threat and you protected my daughter. Don't ever apologize for that.”

She couldn't speak, but Bill didn't seem to mind. He dropped a kiss on Dominique's cheek and then crossed the kitchen to tell his wife good morning.

Hermione let out a shaky breath and sagged into the chair. She could feel Ron's eyes on her, but couldn't look at him yet.

When she finally raised her head it wasn't Ron she saw, but Harry.

“Morning, luv,” he said quietly. She had no idea when he had entered the kitchen, or how long he had been standing there.

“Still a bit jumpy,” she said with a half smile.

“Understandable,” he replied and knelt down so he could see Dominique better. She had woken up and was studying Harry. “You seem to be more comfortable with her,” he observed.

Hermione's cheeks flushed and she looked down at the baby who attempted to grab Harry's glasses. “It's not so hard really,” she admitted, and sat Dominique up so she had a better chance to reach the metal frames.

Harry was focused on the baby, trying to keep her entertained and get her attention on something other than his glasses. When he spoke, he deliberately didn't look at Hermione. “That's good. That's very good.” His voice was filled with emotion that betrayed the calm he attempted to project.

Her stomach flipped at his words, and the room tunneled down to just him, her, and the baby, and a future that she hadn't ever really let herself consider until now.

“Yeah, it is,” she said, and they both knew she wasn't talking about her newfound ease with Dominique.

“How's your pain?” Harry asked after a long moment of silence.

“Better. Not as bad as last night,” she said truthfully.

“Here. Take her so I can get another cup.” She turned the little girl towards her for a moment. “Would you like to go see Uncle Harry?” she asked in a lilting voice and knew Ron would get on her for talking `baby talk'. Dominique gurgled her agreement, and Hermione transferred her to Harry before he could protest.

After a stutter of hesitation, he took her, settled her against him, and looked quite at home doing so. He grinned at Hermione proudly before he walked off to see Ron.

Fleur was still tending the stove and helpfully poured another cup of tea when Hermione came up next to her. She smiled her thanks and blew on the top before she took a sip. Fleur looked up and smiled at Harry, who was pretending to use one of Dominique's tiny fists to box Ron in the nose. The baby, of course, thought this was hilarious and giggled uncontrollably.

“Harry looks good with her, non?” Fleur asked with a sly smile, and Hermione had to duck her head into her mug to hide her pink cheeks. However, when Fleur's attention was taken by Bill, Hermione whispered, “Yes, he does.”

By the time the rest of the Weasley's had risen, Fleur had prepared a breakfast even Molly couldn't have found fault with.

However, as each person entered and made their greetings she saw eyes slide her direction, and Molly dabbed at a tear as she headed towards the stove.

With a start, she realized they had heard her last night as she had lost control in the hallway. She must have been loud enough to wake the entire house.

Harry had given the baby back to Fleur and Bill and made his way to her side. His hand rested on her shoulder, but he didn't say anything. For that, she was grateful.

Ron dropped a plate in front of her and then sat to her left and began to inhale his food. She began to admonish him when she caught the glint in his eye; he was doing it on purpose.

“Thanks,” she whispered, smiling as he ate at a more respectable pace.

Harry cleared his throat until everyone turned their attention his way, but he didn't move from his spot behind her.

“We don't have a lot of information to report. The German school was attacked last night.” Molly's gasp filled the room and Harry only paused for a moment before continuing. “They used...they used a magical artifact that was stolen from a museum. When activated it removes the magical core of any wizard near it.”

The silence in the room said everything.

“That's barbaric!” Percy bellowed.

“We have one of their people. She's in custody at the Ministry right now. Hopefully we'll be able to get more information out of her. She's Dolohov's daughter.” Harry's hand tightened on Hermione's shoulder, and Ron shifted in the chair next to her.

There were sounds of surprise at this revelation.

“Harry, it seems like they're still five steps ahead of us. Who are these people?” Charlie asked with frustration evident in his voice.

Harry just nodded his agreement, and she knew the guilt he was feeling because she was feeling it as well.

“We're getting closer. Kingsley has doubled the teams at the other schools, and we may be making recommendations that they withdraw their students soon. It's not...it's not worth the risk unless we can get a lead that directs us to whoever is behind this.” She knew that taking the students out of the schools would be tantamount to admitting defeat, and that was the last thing Harry and the Ministry wanted to do.

“You weren't at the school, when it...” Molly asked in a scared voice. “You're not...”

She was asking if they were squibs.

“No, Mum. We weren't at the school when it happened,” Ron answered.

“Then how did Hermione get hurt?” George asked, not even noticing the glares sent to him by half of his family.

Hermione blanched, and Ron's hand shot out to cover hers where it was clenched in her lap.

“There was...there was an incident with Dolohov's daughter and another one of their lieutenants,” Harry supplied quickly.

“You said you have Dolohov's daughter in custody, but what about this other one?” Charlie asked perceptively.

“He's dead.” Harry answered back so quick and with such venom in his voice, no one dared ask anything else.

Hermione slid her hand over Harry's and tugged until he dropped into the chair next to her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy actually open his mouth, but she fixed him with a look that made him reconsider.

Arthur twisted to look at his son and then turned back to Harry. Before he could speak however, Fawkes appeared on Harry's shoulder to drop a parchment and then vanished just as quickly.

Harry unrolled the paper and read it before he performed Evanesco with a wave of his hand. He looked over at her and Ron as if they were the only people in the room. “Kingsley wants us at the Ministry.”

The breath she had been holding came out in a rush and she couldn't find a voice to respond, so she settled on nodding instead.

Ron had already gotten up from his chair.

“We'll be in touch,” Harry said, his hand on the small of her back as they exited the room.

As soon as they were in the hallway Ron turned. “Is that all it said?”

“Yeah, just that he wants us there as soon as possible,” Harry answered.

Ron's response was to take the stairs two at a time and disappear into his room to change.

Hermione was quiet until they entered their bedroom. The door shut behind her and she leaned against it while Harry stripped off the shirt he had slept in and dropped it on the floor. They hadn't had time to unpack; in fact she wasn't even sure who had gone back to the hostel to get the rest of their things. She assumed that had happened while she was unconscious.

“What do you think he wants?” she asked quietly.

Harry was pulling on boots when he looked up. “Not sure.” He seemed uneasy and she wasn't sure why.

Hermione pushed herself off the door and sat next to him on the bed. “What's wrong?”

His hands paused tying a shoelace. “I haven't been back there since...” She knew what he meant. They hadn't been at the Ministry since they had gone there Polyjuiced and had barely made it out with their lives.

She took a shuddering breath as she remembered racing through the main hall and past that horrible statue. “I haven't either,” she admitted.

He finished with his shoes and took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips. “Guess we'll have to get through this together then.”

“Good thing we've got experience in that field,” she replied, and then forced herself to stand up and pull fresh clothes out of the pack propped up against the dresser.

Black jacket, black shirt, black pants, black boots, hair pulled back in a low ponytail; she was ready.

Ron was waiting for them in the hall and had put on his `war time' outfit as well.

“Ready?” he asked unnecessarily.

Harry's answer was to head down the stairs.

Thankfully, Luna was the only one waiting in the foyer. Ron gave her a forced smile, but it fell as she approached Harry instead of him.

“Good luck, Harry. You'll have answers, but many more questions. Don't despair.” Her soft voice hung in the air, and neither Hermione nor Harry moved as Luna glided to Ron to say goodbye.

Harry led them into the library and took the floo powder container off the mantle.

“No offense, mate, but I thought we'd have to go through those magical toilets again.” Ron said, not understanding why they were floo'ing in.

“I've got direct access to the Ministry floo network, I've just never used it before,” Harry explained as he grabbed a handful of powder and threw it into the fireplace.

“Ministry of Magic. Special Auror Harry Potter and two guests,” he said loudly before stepping through. Hermione followed, and Ron was right after her.

She stepped out cleanly. The atrium was the same as she remembered. The reflective greenish tiles looked the same, and wizards and witches were bustling in every direction.

Harry's fingers brushed the back of her hand and she gave him a tight smile. He looked calm, but she could see the subtle way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

The hub of this level was the same, except that horrible statue was gone. In its place was what appeared to be some sort of memorial. Ron fell behind them, and she and Harry approached it slowly. It was in fact a memorial from the war, but as she walked slowly around the base, she realized it wasn't just for the one that had ended four years ago. As she studied the names and looked at the dates, she realized it was to remember everyone who had died during the entirety of Voldemort's reign.

Harry was a few steps ahead of her and moved just as slowly, until he stopped suddenly and looked as if he had been punched in the gut.

She closed the space between them and laid her hand on his arm before she followed his gaze to where it was locked on the carved black marble.

The names Lily Potter, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Fred Weasley, Albus Dumbledore...There they were, all together. Every single name that could have possibly brought him to his knees individually were grouped together to be seen all at once; it was both comforting and devastating.

Her fingers tightened in the cloth of his jacket as she took this in as well, not sure she had remembered to breathe until Ron joined them and dropped a hand on her shoulder.

“You've seen this before,” she said to him, barely audible even to her own ears.

She saw him nod out the corner of her eye. “Yeah, I was here...I was here for the dedication. They wanted me to give a speech but...you know that's not my thing.” He said the words nonchalantly, as if it hadn't been a big deal; however, the words he hadn't said were so loud they were almost deafening. `You and Harry weren't there and I had to do this alone. You and Harry weren't there and they came to me as a last resort.' She felt all the bitterness, guilt, and abandonment he must have felt and took a deep shuddering breath.

Harry still hadn't moved. She released the grip she had on his jacket and let her hand fall to cover his. He grasped it tight, but that was the only indication she had that he was conscious of her presence.

She had no control over how her attention kept going back to the names, and when she saw Dobby, a free elf, her eyes began to blur due to the tears that came unbidden.

“Wonder if they left any blank space,” Harry said suddenly, his voice dark and disgusted

She looked at him in shock, too surprised to reply.

“They've got about two hundred Norwegian school children to add to the list here. That's going to take up some room,” he bit out, and she gasped at the words that were so unnaturally cruel.

He turned to look at her, and his eyes were narrowed slits behind his glasses. “What the hell are we doing, `Mione? Why put this damn thing up if people keep dying. It's not over. It may not be Voldemort this time, but the outcome is the same; dead witches and wizards and me trying to stop it.” His eyes cut one more time to the names before he stalked off towards the lifts.

She heard Ron sigh behind her, and then she took off after Harry.

She caught up before he made it to the hallway where the lifts were, and then she and Ron had flanked him. She knew he had spoken out of anger and pain, and she chose to shelve this conversation until later.

They had managed to avoid notice until then. Suddenly though, it was as if a bulletin had been sent throughout the entire building simultaneously that had announced their arrival.

Once people started looking their direction, it didn't take long for others to follow.

She was self conscious as she could feel the stares on her and hear the whispers. “It's the Trio. It's Harry Potter. Where have they been all these years?”

Her pace quickened, and Harry and Ron followed her lead as she stared straight ahead and entered the waiting lift.

When the car arrived on the correct floor, the tension amongst the three of them was so high it was almost tangible. Even seasoned Aurors were turning their heads to stare, and Harry's stride became more staccato as he marched to Kingsley's office.

The door was open and Harry didn't even bother to speak to the wizard who sat in the anteroom. The look of complete shock on the poor man's face at seeing the three of them walk through was enough to know he wasn't going to stop them.

Kingsley's desk was strewn with files and newspapers and he barely looked up as they entered.

Harry shut and sealed the door with a flick of his hand before turning his attention to his boss. “You wanted to see us?”

Kingsley glanced up for a moment and then sat heavily in his chair. He swept a hand in front of him in open invitation for them to sit as well.

Harry paused for a moment before he sat gingerly. Hermione knew he liked to have the space to pace and move when he was thinking or troubled, so being confined to a chair was not going to sit well with him.

Ron and Hermione took Harry's lead and sat as well.

Kingsley slipped off his glasses and rubbed tired eyes. “There have been some developments.”

“The body you sent here, this Lazlo; we were able to determine that he is the nephew of Igor Karkaroff.” Kingsley said, not taking the time to ease into what he knew.

Harry finally slid a look in Ron's direction. “Seems like you had the right idea.”

Kingsley quirked an eyebrow at Harry's comment.

“Ron made the observation that we have little to no intel on the family of former Death Eaters. Like Seraphina Dolohov and Lazlo Karkaroff have just proven, this is an area for potential recruitment by the other side that we've ignored,” Harry explained.

Kingsley nodded. “Quite right, Mr. Weasley. Well done.”

To his credit, Ron didn't so much as flush at the Minister's praise.

“Dolohov has been interrogated further and we've discovered some interesting information. She was, in fact, sent to spy on Ms. Granger. She had minimal contact with her father and other members in an effort to cut down on the possibility she could be caught. What we do know is this plan was developed prior to Voldemort being defeated in the war. Apparently even his top Death Eater's weren't sure of his success and may have thought the opportunity would present itself for them to advance after his demise.” Kingsley fell silent and let this news sink in.

Harry let his head hang forward supported by the palms of his hands while his elbows rested on his bent knees. Hermione sat stunned.

“Who could be leading this?” It was Ron who spoke up in a voice far stronger than she felt she would have been capable of.

“We've narrowed it down to Voldemort's top advisors: Dolohov, Macnair, Rookwood, and Carrow. That being said, Carrow doesn't strike us as someone who could coordinate something of this magnitude; however, that doesn't mean he still couldn't be involved. Based on the information you brought back from Russia, we know Rookwood does have a hand in this, and it could be he's our man. He was an Unspeakable, so he knows how the Ministry works.”

“What about Dolohov?” Hermione asked, as she willed her voice not to shake.

Kingsley nodded before answering. “It's possible. His daughter has confirmed he's a member, whether he's the one in charge...that's what we need to determine.”

The Minister looked hard at Harry until he finally lifted his head and stared back. “We also know the first part of their plan. The reason you three were targeted was no accident. They intended to take you all out before anything else, before they moved on the schools, and before the rest of their plan was enacted.”

Hermione felt a small charge in the room before Harry got control of his magic. She reached a hand towards him, but he leapt out of his chair before she could make contact. He began to pace in the area behind the chairs.

They had known they were targets. They had known they were being hunted. But to have it confirmed was sobering and sent a shiver down her back.

“Why did they move forward if they hadn't succeeded?” Harry ground out, his track taking him back to the fireplace at the end of the room. He paused in front of it and rested a heavy hand on the mantle.

“We don't know. It could be that they tried twice, weren't successful and decided to move on to the next step regardless. Dolohov didn't have specifics, just that they wanted to proceed and...continue their attempt on you three at the same time,” Kingsley supplied.

“That's why they went after Hermione at the club,” Ron said, and a strangled noise from Harry made Hermione whip her head towards him in time to see his fist crash down on the mantle.

“Har...” she began, but he cut her off, so involved in his thoughts he probably didn't even hear her. A stray thought flit through her mind that maybe she should have found the time to talk to him after the incident at the memorial.

“What are we doing about this, Kingsley! Why can we find nothing about who is doing this and why!” Harry shouted, as he spun to face them again, but didn't wait for an answer. “And now you're telling me that this has been going on since the war! That I've traded one psychotic megalomaniac for another! That we're the top three on their hit list again! What the hell do I have to do for this to end? Because I've already died once! And I have lost EVERYTHING! I'm not sure that's going to work again. So you may want to come up with a different plan.” Harry's eyes were ablaze as he stared down Kingsley and then turned heel to stalk from the room.

It was as if time had stopped. Hermione didn't breathe. No one moved. The door slammed behind Harry and reverberated around the room before it finally rang quiet.

She jerked herself out of her stupor and looked from Ron to Kingsley to the door Harry had just exited. Ron looked stunned, and Kingsley looked resigned and tired.

Hermione didn't think, just rose from her seat and jogged to the door. She threw it open to see the same poor wizard staring, mouth agape, in the direction Harry had just gone.

She went down the hallway to the lifts and saw one as it just left. She sighed with irritation, and as she turned to wait she saw him. There was a small alcove set into the wall, designed to look like another doorway, except there was no door, just a niche with a low bench.

She didn't say anything, just went and sat next to him.

“Hermione, I need some answers. I need some direction. I'm operating blind here and everyone seems to think that I'm going to be the one to save them again, and no one seems to understand that I don't know any more than they do!” His hands came up and grabbed fistfuls of his hair in frustration. “Why me? Why us? Am I really the best the Ministry has? I know I've been doing this for a couple of years officially, but I'm by no means the highest ranking Auror on the payroll. I don't know if...” he trailed off, the hands falling from his hair to scrub over his face.

“You don't know if what?” she asked evenly, her heart breaking for him.

“I don't know if I can shoulder this again. I don't know if I can risk losing...you and everything we have.” He sounded so tired and so old that it took everything in her not to march back into Kingsley's office and tell him to figure it out himself and leave Harry alone.

“You're not going to lose me,” she said fiercely, moving now so she could kneel in front of him, her hands resting on his knees. “I know it's not fair. I know you've done more than anyone should have ever asked of you. But Harry, you are good at this, and not just because there was a prophecy involved last time. You'd make an excellent Auror regardless. But above anything, we have experience. We've done this before and we won. You and me and Ron. We're good at this. So we just have to keep being good. We will end this, again, just like we did last time. Except for one difference.” Her voice became stronger the longer she talked, and it broke with emotion. She waited until he looked at her expectantly.

“The one difference is that when this is finished, you and I will not be apart. Never again.” Her eyes burned with determination and she saw him slowly nod his agreement before cupping her face in his hands.

“Gods, I love you,” he whispered and gently pulled her towards him. “You're amazing.”

“I love you too,” she answered quietly, and then without thought to their location, closed the gap between them.

When Harry finally pulled back, he looked more at peace and had a new glint in his eye that let her know he'd be alright.

She sat back down next to him and leaned heavily into his side. “Can I ask you something?” she said, and it was a surprise to both of them.

“You can ask me anything,” he answered.

“Have you seen Teddy?” she asked and felt him start next to her. “It's just earlier, at the memorial, I saw Tonks and Remus's names and...I just wondered.”

He was silent and she was worried she had upset him. “I send him gifts for his birthday and Christmas, but...” he trailed off, clearly not pleased with how he had taken on the role of godfather.

“Hey, it's ok. After this is over maybe we can go see him,” she said in an attempt to soothe him.

He looked at her from below his metal rims and gave her a half a smile. “Yeah, I'd like that.” She laid her head against the hard edge of his shoulder and smiled to herself.

“Shall we head back?” she suggested, rising to her feet and making to pull him up with her.

“I suppose I should go apologize. I did yell at the Minister of Magic,” he said with half a smile

“I should say so,” she replied with just the amount of reproach she knew he was expecting.

The wizard outside Kingsley's office had just settled back to his work when they came back in and hopped to his feet once more.

When they entered, Ron and Kingsley were still speaking where they had left them.

“Sorry, for earlier,” Harry said, with only a touch of contrition.

Kingsley waved him off. “Harry, we've been asking too much of you your entire life. And I'm afraid I'm asking you once again. It is understandable to be displeased with the circumstances.”

Harry nodded, and reluctantly sank back into the chair he had vacated.

“I've been discussing things with Ron. I agree that we were naive in believing the Death Eaters themselves were our only worry. I've asked him to oversee a task force designed to bring us up to speed on exactly what this new generation could be up to.”

Harry and Hermione both turned to look at Ron, who flushed pink and also looked a bit overwhelmed by this turn of events.

Kingsley continued, “That's one of the reasons why I asked you three to come here. I'd like you to center your operations out of the Ministry. You'll have access to all of our resources. I understand it may be a bit unconventional, but Aurors or not, you three have the most experience of anyone in this building when it comes to fighting Death Eaters outside of myself. I'd like to extend the title of Special Auror to both you, Ron, and you, Ms. Granger, which will allow you to move freely about the Ministry and make it easier to liaise with other Ministries.”

Before they could even process what it all meant, Kingsley slid two badges across his desk, one towards her, and one towards Ron. Hermione took hers out of instinct and held it in her hand without even looking at it. She couldn't imagine what Harry was thinking.

Kingsley apparently decided that it would be best to keep going while they were still trying to comprehend what was happening. “Hermione, I've seen you in battle, and I've seen your test scores. In fact, I believe the Ministry offered you a position several years ago that you turned down.” Hermione lowered her eyes at his remark and didn't miss how Harry's head turned in her direction at what Kingsley said. “You and Harry have a partnership that cannot be taught or trained, it simply is. I'm sure with your considerable skill he will be more than successful in his new role.” Harry now had his full attention on Kingsley.

“New role, sir?” Harry asked quickly.

“I've arranged a room for you to operate from. Harry, there are several team leads waiting to give you updates from the past twenty four hours. This is now an official Ministry operation, and you're Head Auror.” He held his hand up immediately to silence Harry's protests. “It's not open for negotiation.”

A wave of Kingsley's wand, and the badge Harry had pinned to his jacket flashed once and then said `Head Auror'.

“I'm not just using you as a figurehead,” Kingsley stated, bringing up a concern that Hermione knew Harry would have. “Yes, your presence at the top will help, I won't deny that, but as Minister it's my responsibility to run this office to the best of my ability and put in place the people who are going to help me do that most effectively. I have complete faith that you're the wizard for the job.”

Harry sat back heavily and studied Kingsley, a silent battle going on to which no one else was privy. He ran one hand through his hair and then stood up and extended his hand across the desk. “Alright, show us this office and let's get started.”

The Minister allowed a broad smile to crack his face and rose to clasp Harry's hand in his. “Excellent,” he said, relief evident. “You're on the second level. They're expecting you. I can have Wallace show you the way if you'd like.” Hermione assumed he was referring to the wizard in the other room, whom they had startled more than once today. She wondered if he could handle a direct interaction with them.

“That won't be necessary. I remember the way,” Harry said, and without a word to either her or Ron, turned around to leave.

“Oh, Hermione, one more thing please,” Kingsley called out and she turned back to him. He held out a thin chain with an odd looking key attached to it, and she took it without thought. As soon as it was in her hand a rush of magic went through her.

Hermione's wand flashed up and she had the Minister of Magic blasted to the back wall of his office to hang pinned three feet off the floor.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, but she saw him and Harry come to either side of her, both with their wands drawn.

“ `Mione, what happened?” Harry asked in a barely controlled voice.

Hermione ignored both of them and advanced on Kingsley as he attempted to struggle out of her spell. “What did you do?” she ground out, ashamed at her own stupidity for taking the chain before asking any questions.

“It's just a key, Hermione,” Kingsley said, strained.

“A key to what?” she asked.

“To the Department of Mysteries,” he gasped, and she wanted to believe him.

“Harry, check the key,” she said over her shoulder, but never took her eyes from Kingsley. “What was on the chain? A curse? A charm? I felt something when I touched it.”

“It's tied to your magic so you're the only one who can use it,” the minister said. “I thought...I thought there may be some answers there.”

“Since when does someone need a key to enter the Department of Mysteries?” Harry asked darkly.

Kingsley's eyes leveled on his. “Since your fifth year,” he spat back, his patience now worn thin.

Hermione kept her wand trained on him and she saw Harry kneel down to perform detection charms on the key.

When he stood up he dropped his wand and turned to her. “It's clean, like he said. There's nothing else there.”

A flush crept up her neck and threatened to overtake her entire face as she released the spell and had the presence of mind to lower the Minister to the floor instead of allowing him to fall.

As Kingsley straightened his robes, words stuck in her throat. He must have seen her struggle because he summoned the key and held it out to her once again. “This is a key to the Department of Mysteries. There may be answers there for you to discover,” he said deliberately, in an effort to repair the damage they had both just done.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said and took the chain once again. As she dropped the key over her head she had to suppress a shudder. Ever since the Horcrux hunt and the locket, she hadn't been able to wear necklaces.

There was a decided air of unease in the room and she managed to stutter out an apology. Kingsley accepted it with a nod and perhaps a bit of respect at her suspicion.

There was a long moment where she wondered if he was going to push this further but his face wasn't schooled enough to hide his decision to drop it. “Second level then,” he said with only a touch of edge, and they exited quickly.

They stood at the lift once more, quiet, until Ron broke the silence. “Wow,” was all he said, but it was effective and succinct.

Hermione's fingers reached out and touched the back of Harry's hand, a bit of tension leaving her when his reached back and gave a quick squeeze, as he let her know he supported her.

Harry glanced down and saw the badge she still had clenched in her grasp, the metal biting into her flesh. “You may want to put that on, they can get a bit tetchy about proper identification in the Auror department.”

“Is that an order, Sir?” she asked with a wry smile, before she took the badge and affixed it to the belt at her waist.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, and then caught on that she was trying to make him relax.

The lift arrived and Ron grinned at him as they stepped in it. “I don't actually have to call you `Head Auror Potter', do I?” Ron asked sardonically.

“You two through?” Harry asked, as he sent Ron a mock glare.

Level two was a flurry of activity. They were being passed by wizards and witches of all sorts. Some in dark Auror robes, others, who must have been undercover, were in everything from rags to Muggle clothing. There were even some with mismatched features who were partway through an expiring polyjuice potion.

Harry walked through the main office where the Auror cubicles were located, when suddenly the call of `Head Auror!' rang out and everyone around them froze like they had been hit with a hex.

Aurors snapped to attention and waited for Harry. Hermione watched him and saw as he went from slightly insecure and unsure, to completely in control and in charge. His head came up, his back straightened, and he looked very much like the man that had surprised her in that room in France all those weeks ago.

“As you were,” he said in a firm voice, and after staring for a moment they began to move again.

A confident looking witch approached. “Head Auror Potter, I'm Chelsea Worthington. The Minister asked that I show you around and make sure you were caught up.”

“Thank you, Ms. Worthington. I'd appreciate that.”

“If you'll follow me, Sir.” She clutched an overstuffed portfolio to her chest that reminded Hermione of her school satchel from Hogwarts.

Chelsea led them through the maze of cubicles to a wall in the back with one very large wooden door. “Typically, the Head Auror would have their own office, but the Minister insisted we give you this,” she said by way of explanation.

The door already had a placard hanging next to it with their names engraved. Hermione wondered if it had only looked like that for a few minutes, or if Kingsley had merely presumed they wouldn't turn down his offer.

Before they could truly register what they were seeing, the door was being pushed open and they were ushered inside.

It was a war room, no use denying it.

One large table ruled the center of the room, while smaller tables and desks ringed the outside giving them plenty of work space.

“Now, you have five team leads waiting to speak to you. Yaslow is only available by floo call, but he's on standby at your convenience. The other four would like to be seen as soon as possible, especially Calum, as he's needed back in Japan immediately. There is a daily briefing scheduled in one hour. There has also been a request for an appointment with you from Bill Weasley of Gringotts. I've had all reports held until we knew where you would be setting up office, but I'll have them delivered here.” Chelsea hadn't taken a breath, and with a wave of her wand, three one foot tall stacks of files and papers appeared on the closest table.

Without giving Harry time to even begin to process what was happening, she turned her attention to Ron. “Special Auror Weasley, the Aurors that the Minister selected for your team are waiting to meet with you. I'll set the meeting in thirty minutes time if there are no objections.” Ron could only mutely shake his head in response.

“Sir, I'll set up that floo call now if you'd like.” Chelsea said, and Harry nodded his agreement. However, before she could take a step, the door burst open and a young Auror came barging in carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Sir! Sir! Something's happened! You need to see this!”

Hermione saw Harry's hand twitch toward his wand as the door burst open; however, he didn't draw it when he realized who it was.

“What's this?” he asked.

“The Daily Prophet, sir. We monitor all print and this was in the early release of the afternoon edition,” the winded young Auror said.

Hermione calmly stepped forward, took the paper from his hand, and began scanning the front page.

The top story was a letter to the editor. Typically, this wouldn't have been printed above the fold, but what was written was so sensational she knew immediately why it had been.

`Norway School Tragedy Not an Accident! The Muggle Attack Has Begun!'

As she read, she realized that whoever had written this had intimate knowledge of what had really happened. The Norwegian Ministry had stated that the explosion had been caused by an accident in the potions lab which was located directly beneath their main hall. This article had precise details that couldn't have been known except either by someone who had caused the explosion or someone who had been there.

The most inflammatory part was the claim that Muggles in Norway had discovered the school and destroyed it on purpose in an attempt to eradicate what they thought was a threat.

The article concluded by cautioning against future attacks, and warning that the threat of Muggle control and destruction of the magical world was imminent.

Hermione took a deep breath and then handed the paper to Harry. “I think we may have figured out their end game.”

He scanned it quickly and Ron went to his side to read as well. “Damn,” was all Ron said when he was finished.

Before Harry could say anything, another Auror came running into the room. “Sir! The editor of the Daily Prophet has put in a call to the Minister. He claims he did not sign off on that article and he doesn't know how it made it to print.”

Harry nodded once. “Send a team to the Prophet. I want it shut down until we can determine how this article was printed. If it's somehow been compromised we don't need another edition like this going out.”

Chelsea stepped forward and began to speak, but Harry cut her off. “I also want to speak to someone from the Norwegian Ministry to find out if the leak is on their end.” Chelsea nodded and quickly exited.

“What's the point of this? It can't be that difficult to determine how it was printed,” Ron observed.

“It's fear,” Hermione said, and Harry's eyes locked on hers. “Fear equals power.”

Harry nodded his agreement and she could see the weight of this settle upon him.

If they had printed this article about the Norwegian school, it only made sense that they would be doing the same about the one in Germany as well. She remembered the panic that had spread during the war, and that was before there had been any direct attacks. With acts against children and the war still all too fresh in everyone's mind...this was not a welcome turn of events.

“Has the full print gone out? All the deliveries made?” Harry wondered aloud.

“I'll find out,” Hermione offered. “Maybe you should go see Kingsley.”

Harry nodded at her suggestion. “Ron,” he said, to ask the unnecessary question of whether he would go with him to the Minister.

Harry's hand brushed over her back as he passed, and she gave him a supportive smile.

She picked up the paper again and read through once more before making her way into the bullpen. Three steps later she realized she knew no one there and had no idea which auror had been sent to the Prophet.

Just then Chelsea reappeared.

“He's gone to see the Minister,” Hermione informed her before she could ask.

“Quite right,” Chelsea replied.

“Could you tell me which auror was sent to the Prophet?” Hermione asked.

“I believe it was Anderson.”

Hermione nodded. “I'll meet him there then.” She made to exit the department but Chelsea stopped her.

“Just a moment Ma'am,” she said and disappeared into a nearby office. She returned almost immediately with a length of heavy black fabric in her hands. “Auror robes, Ma'am.”

“Of course,” Hermione said and took the robes from Chelsea. She threw them over her shoulders without even looking at them but felt the automatic resizing charms activate as they settled around her.

“If Harry returns before I'm back, could you tell him I've gone to the Prophet?” Hermione asked.

“Consider it done, Ma'am,” Chelsea said, intercepting three messages as they made their way towards her.

Turning on her heel, Hermione made her way to the lifts, only garnering a few looks as most people were too busy to give her the time.

The mirrored sides of the car gave her a chance to see herself in the robes for the first time. If she thought the backpacking outfit had made her look fifteen again, these did the exact opposite. The high black collar only emphasized the dark circles under her eyes, and the tight fit of the front, combined with the flare of the caped back, gave her age and stature she didn't typically have.

The doors opened and she headed straight for the floos. Her boots beat a sharp tattoo that echoed in the atrium.

She had almost made it to the floos when a voice called out behind her and caught her attention.

“Granger! Ms. Granger...I mean...Auror Granger!”

Hermione turned to see a young auror tripping past the memorial, her robes half on as she struggled to get one side over the other shoulder and kept failing. She still hadn't successfully gotten them on when she arrived at Hermione's side, and she took pity on the girl and untwisted the fabric where it had gotten caught.

“Thank you, Ma'am,” she gasped out, no sense of embarrassment on her face at all. It was like getting tripped up by her clothing was an everyday occurrence and it didn't faze her anymore.

“How can I help you, Auror...” Hermione began.

“Oh, Dawlish, Ma'am. Jenny Dawlish. Well, Jennifer really, but everyone calls me Jenny.” Her face was bright and open, and she looked nothing like an auror.

“Dawlish?” Hermione repeated, the name familiar.

“My father is John Dawlish,” she said with the air of someone who was asked the same question quite frequently

“I remember. Were you at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked; she couldn't place the girl at all.

“Yes Ma'am. I was a fourth year during the war, but my mother convinced my father to pull me that year. But I returned afterwards and stayed with my class.” This she did blush at, as if she realized too late she had perhaps shared too much.

“So what can I help you with, Ms. Dawlish?” Hermione asked. She couldn't be but one year out of Hogwarts and didn't exactly seem like a typical auror. Hermione wondered if her father had anything to do with getting her the position.

“I'd like to go with you. I'm not allowed out in the field that much yet, but I asked Ms. Worthington and she said you were going to the Daily Prophet yourself, and I thought that wasn't really the field, and if I ran fast enough I might catch you.” She got out all of this without running out of air, and Hermione was reminded of herself when she went on one of her rants, usually directed at Ron, and couldn't help but feel a bit of affection for the girl.

“You may accompany me, Auror Dawlish.” Hermione told her, and smiled at the look of joy that spread across the girl's face.

“Oh thank you, Ma'am. Thank you so much. I can't tell you how much this means to me!”

“I think I have an idea,” Hermione said wryly and turned again to the floos.

The multi-step process required to enter and leave the Ministry seemed counterproductive, but eventually they arrived in Diagon Alley, twenty feet in front of the Prophet.

The memory came back and hit her with such ferocity she had no time to prepare herself.

The sky was just as blue and the air just as crisp. As she looked around, all she could see were the three hooded figures as they hunted her.

Her breath came in short, quick gasps as the beginning of a panic attack started. Her wand was already drawn and she spun in a quick circle looking for danger that didn't exist.

A hand landed on her arm and she almost blasted it off. Jenny Dawlish was standing just to her right, eyes wide in fright, and hands up in front of her.

With a shaky grip Hermione put her wand back in its holster and wiped cool sweat off her forehead. She took a breath to steady herself before turning to Jenny.

“I'm sorry. Bad memories here,” Hermione said, not intending to explain what from.

Jenny slowly lowered her hands. “I understand Ma'am. I read the report about the attack.”

Hermione had nothing to say to that and instead decided to go up the steps to the doors of the Prophet.

The front was guarded by an auror who looked even younger than Jenny, if that was possible. The need the Auror office had to rebuild after the war was more obvious than ever.

He snapped to attention when they walked in. “Ma'am,” he said nervously.

“Could you direct me to Auror Anderson please?” Hermione asked.

“He's in the editor's office,” he replied.

“Then could you direct me to production.” Hermione decided that if Anderson was busy with the editor, she may be able to discover how the paper had been printed early.

The auror turned to a Prophet employee sitting at the front desk and asked her to take them.

Printing and production ended up being a very small office attached to a very large owlery.

A short, bespectacled man sat dejectedly at the lone desk. The name plate facing them said `Josiah Cavendash'.

“Mr. Cavendash, I'm Hermione Granger from the Auror Department, and I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

“Anything you want, Ms. Granger. I would like nothing more than to discover how this could have happened.” He hadn't even looked up when Hermione spoke or when he answered, his gaze focused on the paper laying on his desk.

Hermione quickly conjured a chair and sat across from Cavendash, while Jenny took up a position behind her. The Prophet employee who had showed them to the office had long since disappeared.

“I know who you are, Ms. Granger,” he said, finally looking up, his sharp eyes cutting across her robes. “Or should I say Auror Granger. You can't do my job and not know everything that happens in our world. Your name has been in my paper for over a decade now, although not so much as of late,” he said perceptively.

“What about what goes on in this building? Are you as aware of that, Mr. Cavendash?” Hermione asked, choosing to ignore his comments.

He sat back in his chair and steepled his hands across his belly. “Ah, well that...I'm afraid I don't know as much about. It's been known for editors to change and I not be aware until it's on the masthead.” He looked around the small office and the door leading to the owlery. “This is my world.”

“Could you tell me how the paper is printed, from start to finish if you don't mind,” she asked, and smiled encouragingly. If Cavendash was as committed to his position as she thought he was, he would love nothing more than telling her the ins and outs of the newspaper publishing trade.

“Of course,” he said, as he sat up and a light hit his eyes that hadn't been there earlier. “I have nothing to do with the journalists, how the articles are written, or the layout; that's all finished by the time it comes to me. We publish two local editions a day, as well as one national edition, and seventeen international editions. The papers come to me and I read them cover to cover to ensure they are correct. When I'm finished, I cast a duplication spell on them.”

“And where do they go after that? They couldn't possibly all fit in here,” Hermione observed.

“No, no my dear, not in the slightest. There is a storage room next to the owlery. After the spell is cast, the papers stack up in there and roll themselves if they are being delivered by owl. The owls deliver on a set schedule depending upon where they are flying. But they all leave within a one hour period.”

“And the owls presumably know their schedules, is that correct?”

“Oh yes. Like clockwork they are. Morning edition begins leaving at precisely half past four in the morning. And the afternoon edition begins at precisely half past four in the afternoon.” Cavendash looked extremely proud of how well his owls operated.

“So what could explain the afternoon edition going out two hours early today?” she asked gently.

Cavendash visibly deflated. “I have no idea. I've been trying to figure that out since I heard it had happened. If the paper isn't reopened soon, this will be the first time in three hundred and seventy two years the Daily Prophet has failed to print an edition,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

“Does anyone else work with you? You can't possibly do all this work every day of the year.”

“As many as possible. But you're correct. I've had an apprentice the past few years. Young Yarborough,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Was he working today? We'll need to speak to him as well.” Hermione felt her heartbeat quicken. A new apprentice placed in the last few years sounded extremely familiar.

“I haven't seen him today. But I believe that other fellow of yours has already talked to him. He knew his name when he spoke to me earlier.” Cavendash said.

“Auror Anderson has already spoken to you?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Not exactly. He just came by and said to make myself available for later and not to leave,” he said with a scoff. “As if I could.”

Hermione stood. “Would you mind showing me your owls?”

Cavendash rose with a grace that surprised her. “Of course, of course. Right this way. They've all arrived back from their early delivery.” He led her to the side door, his hand paused on the handle. “They've been agitated since they returned.”

The smell of hundreds of owls struck them as soon as they stepped inside. It was relatively clean for an owlery, and the chattering birds couldn't seem to settle down on their perches.

“The opening over there leads to the paper storage room. The owls fly through there, pick up their papers, and continue on out the other side to make their delivery. When they return, they come in through the flap in the roof,” he said, pointing up where she could see a sizable entrance for the owls to fly in on their trip back. A tall, spiral staircase wound its way up through the perches, allowing access to both the roof and the owls if necessary.

“How many people have access to this room?” Hermione asked, spotting a snowy owl that looked so much like Hedwig it made her heart clench.

“Just myself and Yarborough. No one else would have a need,” he explained.

Hermione took one more look around and then nodded to Cavendash. “Thank you, if we have any further questions we'll let you know.”

Hermione, with Jenny on her heels, started up the multiple flights of stairs to return to the main level.

The young auror from before was still on duty, and she had just opened her mouth to ask to be led to the editor's office when a booming voice filled the space around them.

“Who in Merlin's name said you could question my suspects without my permission!”

Hermione turned sharply to see an auror in his mid thirties, face set in barely controlled rage, barreling straight for her along with the remaining members of his team.

Hermione held her ground until he was practically toe to toe with her. He was a good head taller and she knew he was trying to use his height as a means of intimidation.

“Auror Anderson, I presume,” she said evenly with just a touch of ice in her voice.

“Introductions aren't needed, Granger,” he sneered. “We're all aware of the Golden Trio. How could we not be.”

Clearly Anderson hadn't been a fan of theirs after the war. She didn't know which was worse; people who idolized them for what they had done, or people who hated them because of the attention they had received.

“I wasn't under the impression I needed to clear things with you first, and the Minister certainly didn't mention it when I saw him a few hours ago.” Hermione typically didn't like to name drop, but in this case she figured it was necessary.

Anderson's eyes flared in anger at her words. For only a moment, insecurity flitted through her mind as she recalled that barely two months ago she was a quiet grad student revising her thesis. But she knew the only way to succeed in a situation such as this was to stand her ground and prove she was capable.

“You may not have as much of a regard for the Minister as I do, Anderson, but if he gives me a job I'm going to do it. I would hate for the Head Auror to hear of your...insubordination.” She said this almost at a whisper and was pleased to see how the flush that had started at Anderson's collar ended at his hairline by the time she was finished speaking.

“You may be under Shacklebolt's thumb and be Potter's bitch, but I'm not going to let the lot of you walk into my department and just take over,” he growled back, also so low that she was the only one who could hear him. Anderson took a step closer and she could feel his breath across her face. It took everything in her to not move away.

“Too bad it's not up to you then,” she replied through her teeth. “The next time you fight on the front lines of a war and kill a Dark Lord though, I'm sure the Minister will sit up and take notice. In the meantime, do your job and let us do ours; and my job means I can go where I want and talk to whom I want, and you don't get to have a say.”

She saw Anderson's hand tighten on his wand, and she wondered for a second if he was contemplating using it.

“I'm going to go see the editor now. Mr. Cavendash is just down those stairs there. I've only just finished with him,” she said in a falsely sweet tone before narrowing her eyes at Anderson, who glared back before finally stepping away.

“This isn't over yet, Granger,” he spat and walked to the stairs.

“I hadn't thought it was, Anderson,” she retorted and watched him walk away. Once he and the rest of his team were fully out of sight, she allowed the breath she'd been holding to come out slowly.

Her stomach was twisted in knots from the confrontation, but she hoped it didn't show on her face. She knew everyone in the room was staring at her and had overheard almost all of their argument. She only hoped she had come out victorious.

Jenny followed her in silence and they made their way to the editor's office. He was clearly distraught, wringing his hands, wiping his face with a handkerchief, and apologizing repeatedly. Hermione asked him every question she could think of, but he swore that when the paper went to publishing that the front page story had been different.

Hermione shut the door firmly behind her and turned to her shadow. “Could you find out where Cavendash's apprentice is? Yarborough was his name. I'm going to attempt to make a floo call back to the Ministry.”

Jenny hurried off, but before Hermione could inquire as to the nearest fireplace, an auror from Anderson's team approached her. “Ma'am, Anderson would like to speak to you in the owlery.” The young man looked quite uncomfortable, as if he had been embarrassed by his boss's behavior earlier.

“Does he have new information to report?” she asked.

“No Ma'am. I believe...I believe he'd like to apologize for the way he spoke to you earlier. You have to understand, until recently Anderson was essentially the acting Head and I just think that his pride has taken a hit,” he stuttered out.

Hermione just nodded, only believing the latter part of his explanation. She wasn't quite sure Anderson wanted to apologize, but she'd go talk to him anyways if it would help things run smoothly.

“Thank you. No need to take me. I know the way,” she said, effectively dismissing him.

Cavendash wasn't in his office when she arrived, a fact she found odd. The door to the owlery was shut, and when she pushed it open, other than the chatter of the birds, she saw and heard nothing else.

“Mr. Cavendash. Auror Anderson,” she called out. She was halfway across the room, heading to where the papers were stored when a voice came from above.

“Auror Granger,” Anderson said.

She looked up in surprise to see him at the top of the staircase, one hand stretched above him as if he had just shut the door the owls used to return to their home.

“You wanted to see me,” she called out.

“Yes, Ma'am,” he replied, with only a short pause before the `Ma'am'. It did sound as if he was trying to be more professional. “I believe I've found evidence of how the owls were tampered with, if you'd care to see for yourself.”

Hermione eyed the staircase with some trepidation. She had never been comfortable with heights.

The wrought iron railing was cold beneath her palm, and she gripped it tightly, trying not to ascend too quickly in case she became dizzy.

The platform at the top wasn't very wide, and it put her directly next to Anderson. He looked over at her, and there was a coldness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. An involuntary shiver went through her.

“What did you find?” she asked, forcing her voice to be firm.

“I found that owl droppings can be very, very slick, and they are a slipping hazard,” he sneered, and then before she could think, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her backwards.

She made an attempt to grab her wand, but her head hit the metal banister and she was dazed. Her legs began to tumble over her head and there was no way to stop her momentum.

And then suddenly, through the pounding in her skull, she realized she was floating gently to the ground. She looked up through half slit eyes and saw Anderson bound from neck to ankle in conjured ropes.

Jenny rushed to her side as soon as she was on the floor.

“Ms. Granger! Are you alright? I'm sorry I didn't catch you sooner. I thought I heard your head hit, but it was all so fast and I had to stop Anderson as well. I may have been a bit slow. I'm so sorry.” The girl was babbling and frantic, and it wasn't helping the throbbing behind her eyes.

“It's ok, Jenny. Thank you. You saved my life,” Hermione assured her, raising a hand to touch the back of her head and wincing when she found the already developing knot. A slight wetness stained her hand and she realized she was bleeding, although it didn't seem too serious. A thought hit her though as Jenny's words replayed in her mind.

“Wait, you caught me and contained Anderson at the same time?” Hermione asked, incredulous.

Jenny flushed and ducked her head. “I've always had an aptitude for Charms work. You just have to be quick and concentrate on each one individually without losing control. I received top marks on my N.E.W.T. It's always just come to me easily. The examiner said he hadn't seen anyone as proficient at Charms since...well, since you, and...” she trailed off, her face flushing an even deeper pink.

“And Lily Potter I'd presume,” Hermione finished for her and Jenny nodded quickly. “Well, if that demonstration is an example of your ability then I think I can say you've exceeded us.” What Jenny had brushed off as easy was actually quite difficult.

“Thank you, Ma'am. I'm just glad I was here and could help.” Jenny shrugged, clearly not comfortable with praise.

Hermione got gingerly to her feet and put a hand on the young auror's shoulder until the room stopped spinning so much. She'd need to have her head looked at after they'd dealt with Anderson.

“Float him down here, would you please,” Hermione ordered. Within seconds, Anderson was bobbing in front of her, stunned and contained.

“Do you think he's a part of this, Ma'am? He's been an auror for ages; my dad's worked with him!” Jenny protested.

“I think it's very possible, Jenny. People you never thought could betray you can end up being your worst enemy,” she said in a tight voice, thinking of what Peter Pettigrew had done to his supposed best friends.

“Should I wake him up?” Jenny asked.

“No. I'll watch him. Go notify the Ministry and tell them we need to arrange transport back to containment.” Hermione winced at how Harry was going to react to this: not only having a mole in the department, but also her injury.

Jenny went to leave when Hermione stopped her. “Oh, Jenny. If you run into any of Anderson's team don't mention this, and be careful. There is every chance he's not the only one. In fact, if you could request, on my orders, to only speak to Ron or Harry, that would be best.”

Her face blanched, but she rallied quickly and schooled her features as best she could.

Hermione locked the door to Cavendash's office as Jenny exited, and locked the door to the storage room as well for good measure. Her wand was set on Anderson, prepared to stun him again if he so much as twitched.

A particularly vicious throb went through her head and she walked backwards until she could sit on the stairs she had almost died on, Anderson in full view the entire time.

Jenny must have been successful, because less than ten minutes later she heard a booming “ `MIONE!” come from further down the hall. She managed to unlock the door from the office only seconds before she was quite sure Harry would have blown it off.

Harry crossed the room in four long strides, his auror robes billowing impressively behind him. Even though her head was killing her, it didn't keep her from appreciating the image he presented.

He barely cut a glance to Anderson, before kneeling in front of her, one hand coming up to cup her cheek, the other laying over her wand hand and gently pushing it down as Ron took over guarding Anderson.

“ `Mione, are you alright?” he asked in a ragged voice. “That other auror, she said you'd been pushed off a staircase and hit your head.” He sounded as if the idea was too absurd to actually be true.

“I'll be fine, just need someone to see to my head. Anderson lured me to the top,” she said and gestured above them. She watched as Harry took in the height of the stairs and what a fall from there would have meant. “He pushed me back as soon as I reached him. He's clearly a plant by the other side. We'll need to take him back to containment and interrogate him. I'm not sure if his team is a part of this or not, but I don't think we can take the chance; they'll need to be looked at as well.”

“I don't give a damn about Anderson and his team right now. I just want to make sure you're ok,” Harry replied, the hand at her cheek now slowly searching through the hair at the back of her head. His fingers stilled when he felt the now drying blood and saw her flinch in pain.

“You're Head Auror, you'd better give a damn about Anderson!” she admonished “It's just a bump. I've had worse, and you know it. Stop being my...” and she caught herself, because she had no idea how to label what they had. Boyfriend sounded too young and insignificant, and they were much much more than that. She took a deep breath and gave him a half a smile. “Stop being my Harry, and start being the Head Auror.”

“That's not an easy thing to do,” he replied before bringing her hand to his lips and then pulling her to her feet.

She swayed once and he caught her around the waist. “I'm fine,” she assured him, but the look he gave her made her believe he thought she was lying. Hermione looked around and saw Jenny trying not to watch them and being wholly unsuccessful. Her face flushed once more when she saw Hermione looking at her.

“You really should be thanking Jenny Dawlish. It was her wand work that captured Anderson and saved me,” Hermione said to Harry.

“Dawlish?” he repeated, much the same as she had.

“John Dawlish's daughter, only out of Hogwarts for a year,” Hermione said and pointed out the young auror.

Harry didn't move his arm from her waist until he knew she was stable and then he walked towards Jenny, who startled when she realized who headed her direction.

“I hear you're to be commended for your quick thinking,” Harry said

Jenny stammered for a moment before speaking. “Thank you, Head Auror Potter.”

“Would you return to the floo and request additional personnel to see to the transport of the prisoner? And we'll also need to take the rest of the team into custody until we can determine whether they were working with Anderson or not,” Harry requested.

“Yes, Sir,” Jenny said quickly and disappeared.

“I thought she told you we needed transport originally.” Hermione said, confused.

Harry looked abashed and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“She may well have, but your man here about jumped into the fireplace when the call came in. He didn't give her a chance to say anything beyond Anderson was a mole and you had been injured,” Ron supplied from where he still had a wand on the prisoner.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said sardonically.

“Alright, Hermione?” Ron asked as they made their way over to him.

“I will be,” she replied.

“Good, that brain of yours is our best weapon, so try and do a better job at keeping it protected,” he said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I'll see what I can do,” she responded wryly.

“I've got him if you want to get her back to the Ministry,” Ron said to Harry

“Good plan, transport should be here soon. The rest of his team was waiting in the lobby, although by now they probably know something is up. Be careful, it's possible they won't go quietly,” Harry explained to Ron.

“We are not leaving Ron to deal with all of this on his own,” she sputtered incredulously. “I can wait another hour to be seen, Harry Potter, so stop being so damned over protective.” She turned on her heel and exited the room.

The five others from Anderson's team were stationed at various doors and exits around the lobby and looked over as she came up the stairs. Five blasts in quick succession dropped them where they stood, and at the sound of the bodies hitting the ground, Harry leapt up the remaining stairs to see her calmly placing her wand back in her holster.

“Constant vigilance just hasn't been the same in the Auror department since we lost Moody, has it?” she asked over her shoulder, as Harry skidded to a halt next to her.

“What did you do?” he demanded, looking at the unconscious aurors that surrounded them.

“I just stunned them. This way if they haven't been tipped off yet they won't get a chance to speak amongst themselves before we get a chance to talk to them,” she explained, as if it should be obvious. “And now we can head back to the Ministry without leaving Ron a huge problem,” she said pointedly.

Jenny entered the room and took in the scene. To her credit, she immediately pulled out her wand and approached cautiously. “What happened?”

“Just figured we'd make it a little easier on the transport team,” Harry stated.

As if his words had summoned them, a group of four aurors arrived. Harry stepped away to give them direction, and Hermione was glad to see one of them immediately head downstairs to deal with Anderson.

“They'll each be put in isolated cells while we sort it all out,” Harry said as he joined her once again. “Ron's going to apparate back with Anderson.” His tone indicated that she really couldn't stall any longer and they needed to leave.

“Alright, if everything is under control, I suppose we're no longer needed here,” she capitulated, and was glad to see him smile in return.

Before they left, Harry turned to Jenny, who was now standing off to the side looking as if she didn't know what to do with herself. “Auror Dawlish, your capture is downstairs, don't you think you should accompany him back to the Ministry?” he said in a mock stern voice.

Jenny jumped to attention and looked shocked at his words. “Are you sure, Sir?” she asked, and then thought better of it. “I mean, yes, Sir,” she said enthusiastically and tried her best not to run for the stairs.

“That was nice of you,” Hermione observed, as Harry put a hand to her lower back to guide her out the door.

“She deserved it,” he said simply as they made their way into the still bright afternoon.

Apparating back did nothing to help her head, and she pressed both hands to her skull as soon as they arrived at the floo access. Harry took one look at her and swore under his breath before pulling her to him. “Sod this,” he said harshly and apparated them directly into the Auror Department bullpen.

The second apparation almost did her in, but she heard him bark, “Stand down!” to the aurors around them, who she had to assume had drawn wands since apparating into and out of the Ministry wasn't supposed to be possible.

He guided her into their office and helped her into a chair before turning back to speak to Chelsea. “Get me a Healer in here, now,” he demanded.

“I'm alright,” she said again. “The apparating just wasn't so easy.” The pain was already beginning to lessen.

He stood at her side with his hand on her shoulder until they arrived, and only stepped three feet away while they worked on her. Soon enough, her head was blessedly pain free except for a very dull headache and a slightly tender spot where it had hit the railing.

Chelsea had been in and out several times while the Healers were there to confer with Harry. When they had finally left, Hermione rose from the chair and joined Harry.

“Better?” he asked, but his fingers were already threading through her hair to see for himself. She let her eyes fall shut and leaned forward to rest her head on his chest, hoping that the constantly revolving door to their office would stay shut a moment longer. “I'm fine,” she said again, her words muffled by his robes.

The hand in her hair trailed forward and took her chin between thumb and finger and forced her to look up. “Good,” he said simply, and she lifted on her toes to meet his mouth so she could assure him without words as well.

A throat being cleared from the door caused them both to jump, and she spun to see Chelsea studying them.

“Interrogation is ready for you, Sir,” she said evenly, as if she hadn't just walked in on them.

“Thank you, we'll be right there,” he replied and waited for her to leave again.

“You ready? Ron's waiting for us,” Harry said, and Hermione nodded.

The cells of containment were kept in a far corner of the second level. Heavily warded and manned by guards at all times, it was an imposing and effective place to keep prisoners.

Harry and Hermione were granted access with no issue and shown to a small room that, much like in Muggle police stations, allowed one to see into the interrogation room without being detected.

Ron was already waiting, and they could see Anderson, who had now been revived and sat in a chair with manacles.

“Has he been given veritaserum?” Harry asked.

Ron nodded. “He's ready to be questioned.”

Harry made to leave the observation room, but Hermione laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “Let me.”

“No,” he said and went to move again but she clamped her hand down tighter.

“I'm serious Harry. Let me,” she insisted.

“Why?” was all he asked.

“Because he tried to kill me. I get to question him first,” she said fiercely and saw his eyes flash in response to her words. They stared at each other until finally he relented.

She exited the observation room and stood outside the door to the interrogation room, her hand paused on the handle. Taking a deep breath, she tugged down the front of her robes and pushed into the room in one fluid move.

Anderson's eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw her. “Expecting someone else?” she asked easily. “Sorry to inform you that your attempt to kill me was unsuccessful.”

She sat down in the chair opposite him and casually leaned back. “Now, how about you tell me how long since you turned traitor to the Ministry?”

His eyes alit with anger and she could see the effort as he tried to fight the potion. “Two years,” he ground out.

“What have you been doing for the other side for those two years?” she asked.

“Taking files, keeping an ear out, helping others in the Ministry who were also like me, and ensuring our success.”

“Taking files on who?” She wondered if this was how Harry's cover had been broken in Russia.

“Potter, after he began working for the Minister. His files were classified, but not impossible to gain access to,” Anderson confirmed.

“Are any other aurors like you?” Her heartbeat increased as she waited for his answer.

“No,” he said quickly, but that didn't mean there weren't others he was unaware of.

“Why did you try and kill me today?” She forced herself not to look towards the wall where she knew Harry stood.

“You were getting too close. Our orders were to take you out if we had the chance,” he sneered.

“How was I too close?” A thought struck her about something Cavendash had said at the paper.

Anderson fought vehemently at this question, his arms straining against the shackles as if he was trying to physically hold in the answer. “You were asking about Cavendash's apprentice.”

Hope sprung within her; she had been right! “Yarborough? Who is he?”

“He's one of us.”

“That's how the paper got published, isn't it?” she asked quickly.

“Yes,” Anderson spat, hate for her pouring out of him.

Her eyes darted to the wall and she hoped Harry was sending someone right away to apprehend Yarborough.

Anderson must have seen her look, and he began to laugh. A shiver of fear went through her. “What do you find so amusing?” she demanded.

He continued laughing. “You know nothing! You have no idea what we have planned.”

She chose to ignore his taunt and finally ask the question they desperately needed the answer for. “Who are you working for, Anderson?”

He went still, and the look he gave her made her want to run. “You'll never find out,” he said and made an odd motion with his jaw before his head flew back and his body went rigid.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, her wand drawn. As she watched, Anderson's body began to seize uncontrollably. “Get Healers in here!” she yelled to the room, but Harry was already bursting through the door with Healers in tow.

“He needs to be released so we can work on him,” one Healer said to Harry, but he shook his head no. “He stays shackled. Work around it.”

Five minutes later the head Healer stepped back and looked at Harry. “He's dead, Sir.”

Harry swore loudly before advancing on the body, now contorted in the chair, his eyes still open.

Harry's wand worked and with a shake of his head he turned to her. “A very specific charm released a poison capsule, most likely caused when certain questions were asked.”

“Like, `Who are you working for?',” Hermione said in a low voice.

“Exactly,” Harry replied. “It's a combination of a trigger charm, like Voldemort used to track anyone that used his name, and Imperius to get the person to break the capsule and release the poison. I've never seen anything like it.”

Her head spun with the possibility of such a charm. The skill it would take to develop and implement a charm like that was hard to come by. And then she let out an audible gasp as she realized she had just that day met a young witch who was exactly that talented.

“What is it?” Harry demanded, as he took her by the elbow and led her out of the room.

“I'm not sure, but we may want to bring in Jenny Dawlish for questioning,” she said slowly, not wanting to believe it herself.

“What? The auror that just saved your life?” Harry asked, shocked.

“She told me she excelled at Charms. She said that the N.E.W.T examiner told her he hadn't seen anyone that good since your mother and I were students,” she explained in a hushed whisper. “And from what I saw today, she'd be more than capable of creating a charm like the one used on Anderson.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose over his glasses and shut his eyes tight before responding. “Alright, but you're not going to do the interrogation,” he said firmly, and she could only nod her agreement.

Harry strode from containment and motioned Ron to follow them as he did. They walked in silence back to their office, and Harry asked everyone who wanted to speak with him to wait.

Chelsea stood at the door, her ever present portfolio once again bursting, but before she could speak, Harry cut her off. “Tell the Minister we'll be up in five minutes. Have Anderson's body removed from containment, and I want a lockdown on this department. No one in or out until I give the word.”

Her eyes were round in shock, and Harry didn't even wait for her to speak before they entered the office, Harry shutting and locking the door behind them.

“What the hell is going on around here?” Ron blurted out as soon as they were alone.

“I wish I knew,” Harry said emphatically

“Do you think the entire Ministry is compromised?” Hermione asked.

Harry sat down heavily and tossed his glasses on the table before he scrubbed both hands roughly over his face. “I hope not. Because if it is...” He let it go unsaid because they all knew what it could mean.

“We have no idea who we can trust, do we?” Ron said.

“Outside of the Order, no,” Harry replied. “Not right now. I have no idea if any of the other aurors are on our side or not.”

It was a dangerous place to be. Before, they were on their own. And while that meant they had fewer resources and less authority, it also meant they weren't relying on anyone else and had anonymity, which often worked to their advantage in these situations. Now, with all three of them recruited by Kingsley and Harry as the Head, it meant they were being forced to place their trust in an institution that had been infiltrated before, and that they had just proven to be infiltrated again.

“Do we have time to fully interrogate the entire department?” Ron asked.

Harry let out a long breath and placed his glasses back on. “No. We'll have to keep it to those who we suspect. Right now, that's the rest of Anderson's team and Jenny Dawlish.”

“You spent the day with her Hermione. She saved you for Merlin's sake; do you really think she's a plant?” Ron voiced what she had already thought.

“I think we've all seen what my track record has been with detecting dark wizards. I lived with one for three years and had no idea, so let's keep my opinion out of this,” she replied, upset that once again her gut instinct about someone could be proven wrong.

“Ron, can you handle the interrogation while we go speak to Kingsley? I don't trust anyone else to do it,” Harry said, and Ron nodded.

When they exited the office, the entire bullpen was silent. All eyes watched as Ron headed back to containment, and she and Harry walked side by side toward the lifts.

His hand grasped hers in the car and she squeezed back, not letting go until the doors opened on the correct level.

Kingsley's office was already open, and much like before, he was waiting for them. With a wave of his hand the doors shut as soon as they had entered.

“Hell of a first day, Kingsley,” Harry said acerbically as he fell into the nearest chair with no attempt at grace.

Kingsley sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, Harry. I had no idea Anderson was bad.”

Harry waved him off. “How were you to know? This has been years in the making and we're just waking up to it.”

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Kingsley asked.

“I'm fine,” she answered. “Quite tired of people attempting to kill me, but fine.”

“Ron's interrogating Jenny Dawlish as we speak,” Harry said. “There's a chance she's been developing some of the spells the other side has been using.”

“Dawlish? John Dawlish's girl? Are you certain?” The disbelief in Kingsley's voice was evident.

“Not certain, but Anderson died due to a very complicated charm. Dawlish is apparently top rate at Charms work. It's not much to go on, but we couldn't not look into it,” Harry explained.

“No, you couldn't.” the Minister agreed, looking aged beyond his years. “Any more on how the Prophet was published?”

Harry gave Hermione a quick look. “Some of this will be news to you as well, `Mione. Chelsea received more reports while you were in with Anderson,” he said. “It appears that the man in charge of printing had an apprentice that was also a plant; a man by the name of Yarborough. We've got a team looking for him, but he seems to have disappeared. Yarborough apparently confunded Mr. Cavendash, the printer, and then obliviated him after changing the afternoon edition. He also used Imperius on the delivery owls so that they would do the afternoon delivery early.”

That would explain why the owls were so agitated, Hermione thought, and how Yarborough knew how the printing of the paper operated.

“How long had he been an apprentice?” Kingsley asked.

“At least two years,” Harry answered.

“Do we know if Yarborough was put in place specifically by the Death Eaters or if he was approached after he already had the position?”

“We don't know. Either is a possibility,” Harry said.

The room was silent for a long moment before Harry got slowly to his feet. “I haven't even had a chance to meet with the teams from the other schools yet. One poor chap has been sitting by for a floo call for hours. I'll let you know what we find out about Dawlish,” he said to Kingsley.

“I'd like to meet with you before you leave for the night, Harry,” Kingsley requested.

Harry gave a scoffing laugh. “You assume I'm leaving, Sir.” With that, they were once again making their way towards the lifts.

Ron was waiting in the office when they returned. He leaned back against the main table with his arms and legs crossed and an unreadable expression on his face.

Hermione came to a halt in front of him, her hands twisting in apprehension. Harry waited at her side.

“She's clean,” Ron said, and Hermione let out a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. “She's bright and clever, and caught on to what I was asking about, but none of her answers led me to think she's involved in any way.”

“That's something, I suppose,” Harry said, and she knew the worry of the entire department being overrun had been weighing on him.

A thought struck her. “Why didn't Seraphina Dolohov die as well? She was asked who she was working for.”

Ron and Harry were silent for a moment at her question. “Maybe because she didn't know? She did say that her father kept that information from her on purpose,” Ron speculated.

“We'll have to be careful how we question suspects in the future,” Harry said. “We won't want to risk the charm activating and losing them. Has the rest of Anderson's team been questioned yet?”

“No, not yet,” Ron stated.

“Good,” Harry nodded. “I'll start those after I do these briefings.” He ran a tired hand through his hair.

“I could do them,” Ron offered.

“No, you need to start working on the profiles of the families. Take a couple of hours and get started on that,” Harry said, and Ron gathered a few things before he headed out the door.

“What about you?” Harry asked her as he ran one hand under her robes to the small of her back and pulled her towards him.

She let herself relax against him for a brief moment. “I'm going to start digging through all of this,” she said with a sweep of her hand to indicate the ever growing pile of files, briefs, and messages that had been accumulating all day. “If I make any headway I'll come over and help with the interrogations.”

“Deal,” Harry said with forced joviality and smacked a loud kiss on her mouth. She pushed him away with a laugh.

“Go,” she ordered, and he gave her a mock salute before he left as well.

Alone in the room, she surveyed the mess before her and shook her head. Chelsea had dumped anything she had received onto every flat surface she could find, and if there was a pattern to be found, it was not immediately apparent.

She unhooked her robes, threw them over the nearest chair, and began to sort through the files in front of her.

Two hours later, Hermione stood with her hands on her hips as she studied the map that floated before her. The fingers of her right hand unconsciously played with the edge of her badge as she was lost in thought.

“I like the new hardware,” a voice said across from her. She looked up to see Bill on the other side of the table. She hadn't even heard him come in.

She ran a hand over her hair and blew out a long breath. “Sorry Bill, I didn't see you there. What, now?”

He nodded towards her belt. “Your badge; it suits you.”

“Oh, well, Kingsley didn't exactly give me a choice so...I'm sure when this is over I'll be returning it.”

“I don't know why you'd say that. You're good,” he said with a smile. “Harry around? I've got some information for him from the bank.”

“He went to a briefing. It should be over soon,” Hermione supplied, not mentioning the interrogations he would also be busy with.

Bill cleared his throat before he spoke. “I heard about what happened at the Prophet,” he said quietly, and she thought that maybe this was the real reason he came by after all. “You alright?”

“I'm fine. Just a bump on the head, nothing serious.” She replied in all honesty and was touched by his concern.

“I heard someone tried to push you off a four story high staircase. Sounds pretty serious to me,” he said quickly.

“Honestly, you're as bad as Harry and Ron,” she admonished. “It's a war, Bill; there are no guarantees.”

“Yeah.” He grew quiet and then tapped the folder he held on the table once. “I'll go check in with Dad and Perce and be back in a bit,” he said, and then she was once again alone.

She hadn't made a lot of headway with the files. Since the Prophet had been published, there had been numerous false reports of Muggles at Hogwarts, in Diagon Alley, and at Hogsmeade. Regardless though, they had to at least investigated, and it was stretching the already short staffed department very thin. A memo had flown in a bit ago that said Harry had withdrawn the lock down on the department; he hadn't had much of a choice.

The Prophet had issued a retraction an hour earlier stating that the article was false and there was no reason to believe a Muggle invasion was imminent. Hermione was sure that it would do nothing towards quelling the fears of those who were already willing to believe the worst. Voldemort was still too fresh in everyone's mind. There had only been a few years of peace; nowhere near enough time for people to not jump when they heard news such as this.

The psychological impact was almost more dangerous than any actual attacks that had been made. Fear was such a primal motivator, it caused otherwise rational people to just react without thought and without regard for consequence. Hermione was quite sure that was exactly what the mastermind behind this plan had intended.

Her stomach grumbled loudly and she honestly couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. When Ron and Harry were back she was going to insist they take thirty minutes and go to the canteen whether Harry liked it or not. She was about to head over to containment and see if Harry needed help when the door opened and Ron came in.

His shoulders were slumped, his head was down, and he headed straight for the chair at the end of the table and collapsed in it, not even looking at her.

“How'd your meeting go?” she asked unnecessarily.

He gave a snort of derision and tossed a file onto the table. “Why the hell did Kingsley give me this job?”

Hermione walked over and sat on the edge of the table in front of him. “What happened?”

“These guys don't trust me. They don't know me. They've been doing this for years, and I've had this damn badge for hours. We've put a lockdown on the department. We've been interrogating their coworkers. Not to mention they've just found out one of their own was a traitor..” He threw the badge in anger and it landed on the folder. “And honestly, I don't blame them for not trusting me.”

“Don't say that!” she admonished.

“Why not? What exactly did I do during the war? I abandoned you two halfway through,” he spat out, hand pressed in a fist against his forehead as if he was trying to physically remove the memories.

She started to speak, but he cut her off even though he wasn't even looking at her. “No. Don't deny it; it's fact. And we've never talked about it. After I came back it was just insane, and then when the war was over...no one wanted to call me on it because of Fred, and then...you two left and...Now we're here and it's just sitting there and it eats at me every day.”

She was shocked silent. Ron leaving had been difficult, but he'd come back and she'd never thought on it again, but apparently he had.

“Ron...you shouldn't think like that. You came back,” she tried, but he wasn't able to hear her.

“Did you know Kingsley offered me a job in the Auror department after the war?” Her mouth fell open at this. Ron had never even hinted at such a thing, and she knew what such an important position would have meant to him.

“I turned him down. Told him I needed to help George with the shop. But really...I just really thought I didn't deserve it,” he admitted, and sounded so forlorn her heart ached for him.

Hermione slid off the table and knelt next to his chair. “Ron,” she began gently, and laid a hand on his knee. “You came back. You always came back. Yes, your temper would get the best of you, but eventually you'd see sense and you always came back. Most people would be too prideful to do that. They'd throw everything away because they couldn't bring themselves to admit they were wrong, especially me.” His hand fell and his eyes locked on hers at that admission.

“Don't look so shocked. You know I don't like being wrong.” He couldn't help the turn of his mouth at this. “You came back. That's important. And don't act like you haven't been contributing here. You've seen things both Harry and I have missed. I told Harry this earlier. We may not want to do this, but we're good at it. So we're going to do this again, and finish it.” Her voice rang with a finality such that he couldn't help but nod his agreement.

“So how do I get these guys to respect me?” he asked.

“You don't ask for it, you earn it. You do your job. If they choose not to do theirs because they're jealous or upset, that's their problem and either Harry or Kingsley will deal with it. Don't let their behavior affect how you work. You know what you're talking about. I trust you, Harry trusts you, and the Minister trusts you. What else do you really need?” she asked with a smile.

“I know. That's just a lot harder than it sounds,” he said and looked at her sheepishly, “Hermione, you're really...you're really ok that I left?”

“Honestly, Ron. Yes,” she said, slightly exasperated. “Besides, if you hadn't left, well...Harry and I...” and she let her words fade on purpose, grinning as Ron flushed red.

“Oi! Come on!” he shouted and jumped to his feet to move away from her, but she noticed he picked his badge back up as he did. “In the tent? Merlin, Hermione! That was not something I needed to know about!”

She ignored his protest and stood up calmly, brushing her hands down the front of her trousers. “Sorry, Ron,” she said in mock sincerity.

He just glared at her and she smirked in response, letting her gaze travel to his badge and back. He gave a knowing shake of his head and a nod as if she had just scored a point in a duel. “Touche', Granger.”

“Now, have you learned anything yet about these Death Eaters' children, wives, husbands, nieces, nephews...anything?” she asked.

Ron opened the file in front of him. “Yeah, some. I wanted to tell Harry when he got back.”

“Tell Harry what?”

Hermione looked over and saw Harry paused in the doorway. Chelsea was so close on his heels she almost ran into him when he stopped. Hermione saw his nostrils flare in annoyance and could tell he was tense.

She met him halfway across the room. “Everything alright?” she asked worriedly, her fingers brushing his arm in concern.

“They've captured Yarborough,” he said with a tight voice, and then turned to Chelsea. “Give us a minute.” His fingers flicked at the door to shut it as she backed out.

“Where is he?” Hermione asked.

“They're bringing him in now,” Harry said, but there was something he wasn't telling them.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“It's possible Anderson got to him while they were at the paper. He may have been obliviated,” Harry told them, and any hope she had that they could use Yarborough to get the information they needed vanished.

Ron swore loudly. “Is there any way to recover his memories?” he asked.

“Possibly. A specialist from St. Mungo's is on the way.” Harry didn't sound very hopeful it was going to work. “It could take hours for them to determine if he could be questioned.”

Hermione wandered over to the table, lost in thought. “Is it possible to determine if he has the same charm in place as Anderson had? If so we could potentially disarm it or remove it prior to questioning and not risk killing him.”

Harry considered her question. “I think it wouldn't hurt to find out. Maybe that's something Jenny Dawlish could look into.”

Hermione's eye lit up at his suggestion. “That's perfect! Let me send her a note and then you can tell us about the briefings. Oh, and Bill came by earlier looking for you.”

She scribbled a quick directive and hoped the young auror wouldn't be too traumatized by her earlier interrogation to perform this task.

“Did Bill say what he wanted?” Harry asked.

She shook her head. “No, he just said he had some information from the bank.”

Harry's jaw tightened at this. “What is it?” she asked.

“He may know who tipped off the other side the day you went to Diagon Alley,” he said gruffly.

A response stuck in her throat, and it was quiet until Ron stepped forward. “So, what's going on at the other schools?” he said, forced, not sounding quite right either.

“Nothing. That's the problem,” Harry said angrily. “The areas around the school are silent. There is no indication that anything is in the works at any of the locations.”

“Could be he doesn't intend on hitting any more schools, just wants us to think he is,” Ron suggested, and Harry nodded.

“I thought of that. But then what about all the other links to the schools? Are these people really that detailed that they would leave false trails years in the making?” he asked, frustration evident.

“I think what they've proven so far is there is nothing they won't do; so yes, I do believe it's possible they've left fake trails. I also believe they intend on attacking every single one of those schools and we can't assume they won't.” Hermione said decisively.

Harry sighed deeply and turned to Ron. “What about what you're working on? What do we know about the Death Eaters' kids?”

Ron strode to the table and opened up several files. “We don't know a lot, which is kind of strange. Other than Malfoy and a few others, the majority of the Death Eaters kept their little darlings close to home. Most were home schooled, had private tutors, or were sent away to places like Durmstrang.”

The files he had opened were woefully thin, and other than a few birth records and marriage certificates that had been pulled from the Ministry archives, there wasn't much to go on.

“For example, the Dolohovs,” Ron said, pulling out on folder that was only slightly thicker than the others. “Seraphina's birth record is here, but so is one for another child, a Dominic Dolohov, current age twenty seven. We have no idea where he lives, what he looks like...nothing.”

Hermione pulled the file towards her to get a better look.

“Considering how close Dolohov kept Seraphina and how he trained her and planted her at Hermione's school, we can only guess that he's done the same with Dominic. The man is probably embedded deep somewhere and no one has any clue who he is.” Ron's voice was rough with emotion

“What about the rest? Rookwood, Macnair, and the Carrows?” Harry asked.

Ron just shrugged. “Nothing yet. We're still working on it,” he said, and looked away quickly as though he were ashamed, although Hermione knew it was due to his feelings about being given this position.

Harry paced the length of the room as he attempted to process everything he had heard today. “We are getting nowhere!” he shouted in frustration. “Every time we make any bit of progress, something sets us back again. Who the hell are these people!?”

“Harry, why don't we go take a break and get our heads out of this just for a little bit,” Hermione suggested. Harry shot her a look she fully expected to receive.

“We don't have time for a break,” Harry said, his voice short and impatient.

“You haven't eaten all day, neither have I, and I'm amazed that Ron is capable of even standing right now. We need to eat, clear our heads, and just get away from this for half an hour.” She grasped the front of his robes and forced him to look down at her. “Please.”

He stared her down for a long minute.

“Alright,” he capitulated, and she kissed him quick in thanks before grabbing her robes off the chair where she had left them hours earlier.

Ron was the first one out of the office and had a hand on the lift door waiting for them when they caught up.

“Hungry, Ron?” she asked lightly, and he sent her a mock glare.

“Hurry up, you lot. Canteen isn't exactly a feast at Hogwarts, but it's food,” he said.

Harry leaned heavily on the wall of the car as they rose, and she mirrored his position on the other side. Only then did she allow herself to feel the fatigue that had begun to sink in.

They rose two levels without stopping; the Ministry was quiet this time of night. One more floor passed and then there was a massive explosion of force from below them. The car gave a violent shake before they were all knocked to the floor.

Ron's head hit the glass wall with a sickening crack and his body went slack. Harry attempted to dive on top of her, but the car shook again and fell.

Metal beams and the wooden frame of the lift bent and cracked. She could only watch in horror as Harry was hit from behind, his glasses flying from his face as he too slumped forward, unconscious.

Hermione was thrown into the far corner and tried to pull her way towards Harry, but a beam had fallen across her legs and she was trapped.

Time seemed to slow as she looked up and saw the sides of the lift shaft collapsing in on them. There was nothing above them that could provide protection and they were continuing their descent. She didn't want to think what would happen if they hit the bottom.

She struggled to pull her wand from her holster and without thinking cast Aresto Momentum and Protego in quick succession. She felt the pull on her magic immediately as the shield charm wanted to collapse above them due to the strain of keeping the lift car from plummeting.

Smoke was filling the space, and she could hear fire licking above and below. Her wand hand shook, partly from fear and partly from exertion. She didn't know how long she'd be able to hold them up.

It was a long two minutes while all she could hear was the fire, and all she could see was the smoke getting thicker, making it harder to breathe. There was no possible way she could cast anything to put out the fire or clear the air.

Finally, there were sounds from above.

“Hello! Is anyone down there!” came a familiar voice.

“Arthur!” she cried, and then had to force herself to focus as the car shifted.

“Hermione, is that you? Are Ron and Harry with you?” he called down.

“Yes!” she answered.

“Just a tick and we'll have you out,” he said evenly.

“No!” she screamed. The two spells she had hold of were both tenuous at best. She had no idea what would happen if someone else tried to take over the spell for her. “You can't! I'm keeping us up, and keeping the roof from caving in,” she panted out. The effort it took to even speak shocked her.

There was a long pause and then she heard who she thought had to be Bill say, “Sweet Merlin,” presumably because he had taken in the state of the shaft around them.

“Ok, Hermione. I understand,” Bill said. “We're going to put out the fire and clear the smoke first. Then Dad's going to help you out, alright?”

“Yes,” she replied, and tried not to cough; any break in her concentration could send them to their deaths.

She forced herself not to look at Ron and Harry while she waited. The only thing that allowed her to function was the hope she held that they would be fine.

Water dripped into the car and the smoke vanished. When she looked up, she could see Bill hanging over the side of an open lift door, half a floor up.

“Ready?” he asked, “Trust us, it'll be fine.” his eyes locked on hers and all she could do was nod.

She heard Arthur cast Protego, and felt the strain on her magic immediately drop, as it was no longer an effort. However, she didn't know if she could cancel one spell and keep hold of the other.

“Just concentrate, Hermione. You can do it.” Bill said assuredly

She shut her eyes and allowed the protego to slip away, while putting all her magic into holding the car still. There was a small shudder, but she quickly regained control.

“Good job, I'm coming down,” Bill said, and adjusted his grip on the side before he lowered his legs down into their destroyed car. When his full weight was on the floor, they dipped precariously for a second before she could get better control.

Sweat was running into her eyes, but she dared not move to wipe it away. “Get them out,” she said slowly and carefully.

Bill had already begun to shift debris off his brother and Harry. “How did you manage this?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” she answered honestly, and gripped her wand tighter. Although she was no longer controlling two spells at once she was still weak.

“Dad!” Bill called, and Arthur's head appeared in the open door. “Are there Healers?”

“On their way, son,” he answered. “Are they alright?”

Bill didn't respond and she felt a shot of fear go straight through her.

“You've got this, Hermione. We'll get them out,” Bill assured her, but she didn't waste energy with a response.

“Dad, I'm going to levitate them up to you. Guide them through the door.”

Ron went first, and she couldn't help but get a look at the bloody wound on the back of his head. She trembled as his father grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the hallway and then out of her sight.

Harry was next and she almost shut her eyes, but when it came time she found she couldn't. His robes were dusty gray and there were multiple cuts on his face from the flying mirror glass. Bill floated him face up and she couldn't get a good enough look to see where his injury was.

When Harry was through as well, Bill removed the beam from her legs and she bit her lip so hard it bled to keep from crying out. “Now it's your turn,” he said, and she shook her head fiercely.

“What do you mean, no? Let's go. I'm not leaving you here,” he said, incredulous.

“You need to go first,” she managed to get out.

“No way!” he shouted. “I didn't leave you in Diagon Alley and I'm not leaving you now!”

“Bill, I don't know how much longer I can hold this. You need to get out of this car. Now. As soon as you're clear, I'll drop the charm and apparate out,” she explained, not sure if it would work or not.

He looked at her like she was crazy. “You can't apparate inside the Ministry, you know that!”

“Harry did it earlier. It's possible,” she told him.

Bill did a double take at this information. “Even if that is true, you're drained from holding the spells. How do you know you'll even be able to apparate?”

She swallowed heavily before she answered. “I don't know. But it's the only way I know how. Now go,” she ordered with as much force as she could muster. She was beginning to shake violently now, and the car sank a few more inches as more debris fell on top of them.

“Don't you dare die in here,” he ground out and only hesitated for a second before he clambered onto the broken hand rail and pulled himself out of the shaft.

She thought there was a chance she could wait for him to take over the spell, but she knew she didn't have any more time.

As soon as she saw his feet disappear, she dropped her wand, and concentrated as hard as she could. A silent plea that she manage to apparate ten feet was her last thought as the bottom dropped out from under her.

The first thing she was aware of was a cacophony of voices and the sound of multiple pairs of feet slapping the tiled floor as they ran closer. Her body shook violently and she ached everywhere. Hands were on her, and she was dragged backwards. When she opened her eyes she saw Harry on one side of her and Ron on the other. After a quick assessment she realized she had managed to apparate without splinching herself.

They were surrounded by Healers, but she pushed herself to her knees and crawled a few short feet to where Harry lay, her wand forgotten.

“You need to lie still so we can treat you,” came a voice from her right.

“No, I'm fine. You need to help them. Please,” she pleaded, and shook the hand off her shoulder.

Harry's face was being blocked from her view and all she could do was touch his leg. She knew someone was trying to speak to her, but she couldn't hear them.

Hands on her shoulders began to lift her to her feet and she finally dropped back into the present. She tried to shrug them off, but they were strong, and then Arthur was in front of her.

“Hermione, dear, they need to take them to St. Mungo's,” he said gently, and the whine of panic she had tried to suppress made itself known.

All she could do was shake her head repeatedly to emphasize how much she did not agree.

“Wh...why?” she managed to stutter out. She watched as Healers loaded both of them onto floating gurneys and her knees buckled underneath her. Bill's hands on her arms were the only thing that kept her up.

“Just as a precaution,” he assured her, but she could see the fear in his eyes and knew he wasn't telling her the entire truth.

She summoned a strength she didn't know she had and pushed off of Bill to march to the Healer who stood at Harry's head.

“What is his condition?” she demanded, before she actually looked down at him.

It was a mistake.

His face was pale gray and slack, and so not like the Harry she was used to seeing. Her fingers trembled as they reached out to brush ash from his cheek and forehead, and carded through the messy fringe in front. Whatever the Healer said she hadn't heard.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione said with a raspy voice. “Could you repeat that?”

She felt Bill step in behind her and vaguely wondered if he thought she was going to collapse.

“Mr. Potter has suffered a severe blow to the head. He needs to be under supervision at the hospital and allowed to wake up on his own. We cannot enervate him without risking further damage,” the Healer explained.

Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and she clutched Harry's arm to keep upright. Her leg throbbed in pain, and if Bill hadn't caught her about the waist she would have fallen on the stretcher along with Harry.

“We need to leave now. I'm sorry,” the Healer said, and Hermione felt arms trying to pull her back.

“No!” was ripped from her throat of its own volition, and she leaned forward over Harry. Hair that had fallen from its band provided them a modicum of privacy.

The backs of her fingers trailed over his cheek, and she didn't realize she was crying until they also brushed away tears. “You have to wake up,” she whispered fiercely. “I cannot do this without you. Do you hear me, Harry Potter? I love you.” She pressed her lips to his, but had to pull back when he didn't respond; it was too difficult.

There was no more time. Harry was immediately taken, and Ron passed her as well. She had just long enough to reach a hand out to skim over his arm before they were both gone, and she was alone.

She took a shuddering breath and scrubbed both hands over her face quickly. “I have to go with them,” she said to no one in particular.

“You need to get checked out,” Bill said, and she realized he still had an arm around her.

She shook her head. “I'm fine. I just need to go with them,” she said firmly and tried to pull away, but as soon as she took the first step her leg buckled.

Arthur conjured a chair and Bill forced her down into it without a word. She saw Arthur motion to the Healer that had remained and she sat stoically while they worked on her. She winced when a spell was used on her leg, but other than that she didn't utter a word.

Finally the Healer stepped back. “The leg had a slight fracture but it's been healed, although you may find it painful for the next day or so. Your magical reserves are quite low. I wouldn't recommend attempting any magic until you feel recovered. You'll feel more tired and should rest as much as possible.”

Hermione laughed at the absurdity of what he had just said. Rest. That wasn't even in the realm of possibility. “I'll be fine,” she said offhand and pushed herself out of the chair.

“Where's my wand?” she asked suddenly, as she realized she had dropped it on the floor earlier.

“Here,” Bill said and pressed it into her hands.

“Thank you,” she replied as she slipped it back into its holster. “I'll be at St. Mungo's...” she began before numerous voices began calling out her name.

Kingsley was approaching from one direction, Chelsea from another, and finally Jenny Dawlish seemed desperate to speak to her as well.

“I've only just heard what happened,” Kingsley said, anger in his voice at whatever the reason for the delay was. “Where is Harry?”

“We were in the lift, when there was an explosion of some sort. I'm sorry, I'm not exactly sure,” she said honestly. “I think it came from underneath. There was no one else in the lift besides myself, Harry, and Ron.”

“And where are they now?” he asked impatiently as he looked around and did not see them. Hermione could not bring herself to speak the words and was grateful when Arthur did so for her.

“They've been taken to St. Mungo's with head injuries.”

Kingsley looked shocked and then appraised Hermione from head to toe. “How did you manage to escape unharmed?” and she heard it in his voice, the barest hint of suspicion. She should have been offended or taken aback, but instead it just made her sad that they had been pushed to this.

“She saved them all, Kingsley,” Bill said, his voice hard. He had heard Kingsley's tone as well. “She managed to keep the car from plummeting to the bottom of the shaft, as well as keep the walls from caving in around them. She should be getting your commendation, not your criticism.”

Kingsley looked slightly abashed and began to apologize, but she waved him off. “Don't. We have no idea who we can trust.”

The longer they stood talking was the longer she was kept away from Harry. “I'm sorry, Sir, but could we continue this at the hospital?”

Kingsley stepped forward until he was directly in front of her. “Hermione, I hate to ask this of you, but with Harry unavailable I need you here to run the department.”

She had heard his words, but she wasn't sure she fully understood them. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“We're down two Order members. You're the only one I trust to run this place in Harry's absence.” She realized he was making a point to say he trusted her.

Thoughts swirled, as she realized just what was being asked of her. Not only the responsibility of the department, but also having to do it alone.

Her chest tightened, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. One hand came up to her throat and she pressed the back of the other hand across her open mouth. Kingsley reached an arm out and she stepped back, the hand over her mouth going out to hold him off. “Just...I need a minute,” she said haltingly, and stumbled a few feet before her legs decided to work.

She pushed past Arthur, and Bill, and Chelsea, and Jenny, and half the damn department that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She wasn't even sure what level she was on, and the glaze of tears in her eyes prohibited her from reading any signs.

A door was open to her right and she entered without thought. It was a small office, but it was dark, quiet, and exactly what she needed.

She fell into the chair and let her head fall into her hands. She couldn't do this. She couldn't be expected to run this department while Harry and Ron lay in St. Mungo's. How could anyone think she'd be capable of this under the best of circumstances, much less under the ones they were now making this request. She was research and logic, good with a wand, and the clever one. She didn't think outside the box, or make the hard decisions, or even have one fifth the field experience that Harry had. They were a team; that's why they worked so well.

And now she was being asked to do this broken and incomplete, and everything was being put on her shoulders. She thought that maybe she finally understood how Harry had felt walking into the forest.

A shaft of light cut across the floor at her feet and she looked up to see the figures of Arthur and Bill silhouetted in the doorway.

“Hermione, I'm going to go to the hospital. We'll keep you informed. I promise,” Arthur said hesitantly, and it finally struck her that he, once again, had to deal with his youngest son being gravely injured. She just nodded.

Bill crouched in front of her. “I'm going to go with Dad, but I'll call Fleur and Mum; they won't let Harry be alone, alright,” he assured her, and she made a ragged gasp as he had foreseen her biggest fear; that Harry would have no one by his side. “As soon as they've arrived I'll come back and help any way I can.”

“No, Bill, stay there! Tell me you'll stay there. You have to protect them, Bill! What if...” she said, frantic as she recalled the horror of when they thought Ron had been killed, and the attack that had occurred at the hospital.

His hands covered hers and squeezed hard one time before letting go. “I know,” he said, very deliberately, and she knew he had already had the same thought. “We won't let them out of our sight. I promise you.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line and all she could do was nod.

“I know you don't want to hear this, but half the department is waiting to see you,” Bill said.

She turned away from him. “I can't do this,” she whispered.

“Yes, you can,” he replied with fervor. “You bossed Harry and Ron around on your own for nearly a year. If you can handle that, you can handle anything.”

She appreciated his attempt at levity, but this was so much bigger than the three of them on the run together.

“Maybe I just don't want to,” she admitted, and he gave her a sad smile.

“How often do we get what we want?” he asked pointedly, and she let the words settle inside her.

“Quite right,” she said softly. “You're a good man, Bill Weasley.”

He gave her a broad grin at that and pulled her to her feet. “You're not so bad yourself, kid.”

Arthur stepped forward and gave her a hug. “They'll be fine in no time,” he said with conviction she wished she shared.

“Now, fix yourself up, and go out there and see to your people,” Bill said, before he dropped a brotherly kiss on her hair and headed out the door after his father.

She did as Bill suggested. She re-tied her hair, brushed the soot from her robes, and took a deep breath to center herself before she walked back to where they waited.

Chelsea met her halfway. “Special Auror Granger, I'm sorry, Ma'am, Acting Head...” but before she could go any further Hermione waved her off.

“Stop. Call me Hermione, or Ma'am, or whatever else you want, but do not ever again refer to me as `Acting Head', do I make myself clear?” she ordered.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Chelsea answered. “Ma'am, we have preliminary reports from the origin of the explosion, as well as some new information out of Japan that just came in. Jenny Dawlish wishes to speak with you, the specialist from St. Mungo's has information about Yarborough's condition, and the Minister has requested that you meet with him again as soon as possible; he's returned to his office.”

Hermione stopped dead in the hallway, already overwhelmed. “Ok, let's return to the department. I want to see the reports on the explosion immediately and tell Jenny I'll come to containment as soon as I can.” She resumed her trek to the lifts when she realized they wouldn't be able to go that way. “Is there another way down? Stairs perhaps?” she asked.

Chelsea blushed at her lack of foresight. “Sorry, Ma'am. There is an auxiliary lift just this way,” she said and went down a short hall to their left.

As they stood outside the doors and waited, a streak of fear and uneasiness shot through Hermione. “Have the lifts shut down until they can be inspected. I think we'll take the stairs right now, if that's alright with you.”

Chelsea blanched at the thought that the other lifts could also be set with explosives.

She coughed once nervously. “Stairs are this way.”

The bullpen was subdued, and they had almost reached the office when she stopped short. “Do you think I should say something? Make some sort of announcement?” Hermione asked.

Chelsea looked a bit taken aback by her question. “I think that would be a fine idea, Ma'am.”

Hermione turned and cleared her throat once. “Could I have your attention, please,” she called, and watched as heads popped up from cubicles, and curious Aurors appeared as if they'd been summoned. “Until Head Auror Potter has been released from St. Mungo's I'll be in charge. I expect everyone to continue working with the same diligence and skill that I know you are capable of. Finding out how an explosion was set off inside the Ministry is our first priority at this moment. It may seem as though we have been dealt yet another setback, but I believe we are on the cusp of a turning point and, as we have always done in the past, we will prevail.”

She saw several nods of heads and quite a few muttered words between coworkers when she was finished. She hadn't intended on saying what she had; she wasn't even sure where it had come from.

Chelsea had opened the door to the office and waited just inside. As soon as she had entered, Hermione flicked her fingers at the door, but nothing happened. Her magic had taken a hit. She shut the door manually and took the reports on the explosion to the table.

“Do we know what the explosion was exactly?” Hermione asked as she flipped through pages.

“It seems to be a muggle device called a grenade,” Chelsea said, pronouncing the unfamiliar word carefully.

“A grenade!” Hermione exclaimed.

“But reports are suggesting there was some sort of delayed detonation charm, or some other way to ignite the bomb at a specific time.”

“Where was it located?” Hermione asked.

Chelsea shrugged. “They're not sure. Possibly the underside of the car, although some have suggested if that was the case...if that was the case none of you would be alive right now.”

Hermione nodded; that she could believe. “So it was most likely attached somewhere in the shaft. Who would have access?”

“Ministry maintenance would. Although anyone could access it if they wanted to I suppose.” Chelsea supplied. “There is a team trying to determine when it was placed and if you were its intended target.”

Hermione swallowed heavily at this. “Yes, well...there must have been some way they set it up to make sure there were people in the car. The explosion didn't do much damage outside of the lift shaft did it?”

“No, Ma'am. Damage outside of the shaft was minimal.”

“Is there any way to keep out of reports that this was a Muggle device? Can we just refer to it as a bomb, or an explosion, or even some sort of unknown detonator? The less that ties this to Muggles the better. I believe the grenade was used on purpose to fuel the anti-Muggle bent this other side is on,” Hermione said.

“Yes, Ma'am. We can do that. All reports will cross your desk first, as well as any briefings that are intended for the press,” Chelsea assured her.

“Good. Now, what's going on in Japan?” she asked, and sank into the nearest chair; her leg had begun to hurt again.

“They've reported that the Japanese Ministry is choosing to close their school until further notice,” Chelsea said with some trepidation.

Hermione's eyes shut tight and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can't say I blame them. Is there any chance we can get them to change their mind?”

“Not likely, Ma'am. They intend to close their borders in three hours. No floo, no owls, and anti-apparition wards up around the entire country. Unless there are people embedded there from the other side, no one is getting in or out.”

Hermione sighed again. “What about our people? Have they been withdrawn?”

“Not yet, Ma'am. Only the Head Auror has the authority to pull a team in from the field.” Chelsea said.

“Well, pull them in already,” Hermione said, exasperated. “The Japanese Ministry will just have to do their best without us then. I'm not leaving our people there to be trapped indefinitely.”

“Yes, Ma'am. I'll send the directive immediately. We'll just need your signature.”

“Go take care of that now, and then I'll go over to containment,” Hermione decided, and Chelsea scurried from the room.

As soon as the door shut she fell forward and let her head rest on the table. She was exhausted. It was gone midnight now, and with a jolt she realized it hadn't even been twenty four hours since she'd been in that bathroom being hit with Crucio. Her body still twitched faintly on occasion, but she had been able to ignore it for the most part.

With nothing to keep her attention, her thoughts went straight to Harry, and the pit in her stomach grew as she wondered how he was. It was a physical pull to be by his side, and she was being forced to pretend it wasn't there. She hated this.

Chelsea knocked quietly before she entered, and it gave Hermione enough time to wipe wet eyes and sit up.

The assistant slid a tray in front of her with a cup of tea, half a sandwich, a bowl of soup, and the parchment she needed to sign.

The smells of the food simultaneously made her want to eat and be sick. Very purposely she took the parchment off the tray and then pushed it aside, not caring that the tea sloshed everywhere.

Chelsea opened her mouth to protest but Hermione cut her off with a look. “Quill, please,” she said tersely, and Chelsea handed her one silently.

She looked through the order, and only hesitated briefly when she saw her name and `Head Auror' together at the bottom with a space for her to sign. She scribbled her name hastily and pushed the paper across the table as soon as she was done.

Chelsea gave it a tap with her wand and it rolled itself and vanished. She looked nervous, and then made the decision to speak. “You should eat, Ma'am.” When Hermione didn't respond she pushed on. “You know you should. I'll go tell Auror Dawlish you'll be by in a few minutes.” Before Hermione could answer, she was gone.

Hermione eyed the tray, and finally reached out and pulled it back towards her. With a shaky hand she lifted the tea and took a small sip. When her stomach didn't reject it, she had another.

The file on the explosion was still there and she flipped it open to look through again as a distraction while she ate. She managed half the sandwich and a bit of the soup, although she tasted none of it.

When she could no longer bring herself to take another bite, she stood up slowly and winced at how her leg protested. The walk to containment was not going to be pleasant.

The office was quieter than she had ever seen it, and no one bothered her as she limped her way across the floor.

Jenny was waiting for her at the main door and looked anxious. An older man in a tweed coat and wire rimmed glasses stood next to her.

“You're the specialist from St. Mungo's, I presume,” Hermione said as she approached.

“Yes, I've been able to recover some of the subject's memories,” he said without preamble and Hermione was grateful.

“What specifically?” she asked.

“He was in fact Obliviated, quite recently too. It was directed at very specific memories, but I do believe they will be recoverable. What I have learned is that he seemed to be working for the other side willingly,” he said quite confidently. “His more recent memories are proving problematic.”

“How long until you'll have the rest?” If there was the slightest chance they'd be able to question him, it would mean everything.

“Two hours at the most.”

“Thank you, you can resume your work. I need to speak to Auror Dawlish.” Hermione waited for him to reenter the interrogation room before she turned to Jenny.

“How are you coming along with the charm?” she asked, and hoped that she sounded less desperate than she felt.

“I'm making progress, Ma'am. It's a difficult spell, but I believe I've isolated it, and I've started testing some theories on how to cancel or disarm it,” Jenny said earnestly.

“Very good. You'll have until the memory specialist is done. After that we're going to need to start questioning him.” Jenny nodded nervously.

“How's Mr. Potter, Ma'am?” she asked and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

She didn't know. She hadn't had word from St. Mungo's at all. There had been no owl, no floo call. She had no bloody clue how he was.

“I'm sure he's fine,” she forced herself to say, but the words got stuck and she saw the pity in the young Auror's eyes.

“I'm sure you're right,” she replied with a sad smile. “I'm going to get back to work.”

Except for the two guards, Hermione was alone. She allowed her shoulders to sag and her head to hang for a moment. Chelsea startled her when she approached suddenly.

Her entire demeanor had changed. Her face was pinched, she was slightly out of breath, and her portfolio was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione's stomach dropped, and she felt the start of a panic attack begin.

“There's someone here,” Chelsea said breathlessly. “They've come from St. Mungo's...next of kin...”

That's all Hermione heard. The rush of blood to her head blocked out all sound and there was a pain in her chest that only continued to grow.

“No, no, no, no, no,” was all she was able to get out.

Another set of footfalls approached and she looked up to see George. “Oh gods!” she exhaled, her hand came up to cover her mouth and she knew her eyes were wide with shock and grief. “He's not! I'd know! He's not!” she said emphatically.

George grabbed her by the elbows and lowered his head so he could look her in the eye. “He's not! I swear,” he said slowly and she nodded that she understood, even though the pain in her chest refused to retreat. “But the Healer's need to see you, and Harry had you down as his next of kin.”

This information didn't even phase her, and she just nodded again. “Ok. We'll go. Right now,” she said decisively and wiped her wet cheeks. She didn't even turn back to look at Chelsea. The damn department could go hang itself for all she cared right then, and Kingsley right along with it.

The walk to the floos seemed like it would never end, and George was unnaturally silent. Once they were in the cool night air, she followed him to the apparation point and froze. She didn't think her magic had recovered to the point where she could manage on her own.

“Um, George, I'm sorry to ask, but...could you side along with me?” she said quickly “Or maybe I can just find another floo somewhere,” she added, mortified she had to ask.

George didn't so much as blink. “Bill told me what you did; it's no problem,” he said sincerely. “Ready?” All she could do was blink furiously and nod once. She was about to see Harry.

George apparated them into the main lobby of St. Mungo's, but at this time of night it was deadly silent and empty.

Hermione clutched the fabric of his sleeve for a second longer and then let go when she felt her legs steady underneath her.

Bill was waiting for them, and she limped towards him as fast as she could. His expression was unreadable. She'd been numb since George had come to get her and apprehension grew with every footfall.

“How is he?” she asked immediately.

“He hasn't woken up yet; that's what the Healer's want to talk to you about,” Bill said gently, and she tried to keep her composure.

She let Bill take the lead, George trailing after them. Soon enough Bill pushed through a set of double doors that led to a long hallway.

Bill nodded to a nurse at the desk and kept walking past, but the woman jumped to her feet when she spotted Hermione. “I'm sorry, miss, access to this ward is restricted.”

She was stunned silent. “I'm here to see Harry Potter,” she finally managed to mumble out.

“I'm sure you are, dearie. But the ward is still closed,” said the long suffering nurse.

“You're joking,” Hermione said, but the woman just shook her head.

“No one in but family I'm afraid.” Hermione stared at her like she could not comprehend the words she had said.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked.

“I don't care if you're the Queen Mum, you're not getting through on my watch,” the nurse replied with finality.

Shock was now being replaced by anger as this woman was the last thing standing between her and Harry.

Hermione marched to the desk and slammed her badge on top, pleased to see the nurse jump and also take a long look at it. “I'm the bloody Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic! I want to see Harry Potter. Take me to my hus...” she choked off the last word and clamped a hand over her mouth. Dear Merlin, she had almost called Harry her husband. In public. The press would have had a field day with that if it got out.

Bill finally stepped forward, broken out of his stupor by her outburst. “This is Hermione Granger, she's Harry's next of kin,” he said easily and whether it was this or her display she would never know, but the nurse waved them through without another word.

Bill's hand wrapped around her elbow and he guided her still shocked frame down the hallway. George caught up with them and he flanked her other side.

“You two didn't hear that,” she said in a low voice.

“Hear what?” they said in perfect unison, and she knew they'd never mention it again. Well, Bill wouldn't. George she wasn't so sure about.

Just then Fleur's head popped out of an open door and Hermione pulled away from Bill and attempted to half jog, half limp the rest of the way down the hall.

“Is he in there?” she asked breathlessly, and Fleur nodded and stepped aside.

She didn't remember how she got to the bedside, just that she was suddenly there with his hand in hers. Her eyes blurred with tears and she brushed them away angrily so she could see him. He wasn't as pale as he had been before, and other than some fading bruises and a few small scrapes he just looked like he was sleeping.

She let out a shuddering breath and sat gingerly on the bed next to him. With her legs tucked up beneath her, she leaned forward until she could lay her head on his chest. She held her breath and then, ever so faint, she could hear his heart.

She shut her eyes tight and exhaled shakily, as her hand fisted in the blanket across his middle. Her world had narrowed to Harry. He was all she could see, hear, and feel.

She wanted nothing more than for him to wake up right then, to be able to squeeze her hand and smile and let her know that all of this was going to be alright.

A noise from the far side of the room caused her to lift her head, and when she heard it again she realized it was the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Fleur and Bill still stood in the doorway, but between them was a Healer with an expectant look on his face.

Hermione sat up further but didn't let go of Harry or move to get off the bed.

“Ms. Granger?” the Healer asked and she nodded.

“Mr. Potter's medical orders state that you are his next of kin. Is this true?”

“Um, yes...yes it is,” she answered, not actually aware of when Harry had made that so.

“Mr. Potter suffered a severe blow to the back of his head. There has been bruising to the brain, and while we have been able to minimize the damage and heal the bruise, he has still not woken up.”

“Should he...should he have woken up by now?” she barely managed to get out, and the grip she had on Harry's hand was so tight she was sure it would leave marks.

“That's hard to say. I would have expected him to have at this point, yes. The reason I called you here is because we can try to enervate him, but there is a risk it could do more harm,” the Healer explained.

“No,” she said immediately. “You're not doing it. He'll wake up when he's ready to wake up. I'll sign whatever I need to sign or post a bloody guard here to make sure it doesn't happen, but you're to not go anywhere near him. Do you understand!” she had slid off the bed during her tirade, and now stood between Harry and the Healer, as if she could provide him some sort of physical protection.

The Healer was taken aback by her reaction. “Ms. Granger, I assure you, we would never perform a procedure if directed not to,” he sputtered, and she relaxed minimally. “We will continue to keep Mr. Potter under observation. Thank you for coming so promptly.” Before she could respond, he exited the room.

Fleur and Bill had stepped to the side to let him out and then they approached slowly. “How are you?” Fleur asked quietly.

Hermione slumped back onto the bed, and turned so she could look at Harry again. Exhausted, hurt, overwhelmed, and scared is how she wanted to answer, but instead she just said, “Fine.”

“We'll just be outside if you need us. Ron's in the next room over,” Bill said.

“Oh gods!” she said and spun her head back in their direction. “How's Ron?”

Fleur approached her quickly and laid a hand on her arm. “He's fine. He's already woken up once and asked about you and Harry.”

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered. “Thank you for watching out for them. I wanted to be here but...”

“I understand,” Fleur said and gave her a hug before she left with Bill.

There was just enough room on the bed that she could stretch out next to Harry. She caught herself moving carefully, as if she was afraid she would wake him, and the half laugh that caught in her throat quickly turned into sobs.

She curled into his side and pressed her face into his arm. The bed shook with her release and she clung to him in desperation as she could finally let go of the overwhelming stress and fear she had been burdened with.

Although she only intended to stay for a short while, exhaustion claimed her and she slept deeply until a hand shook her shoulder.

She came to with a gasp and half sat up, as she scrubbed a hand across her face. Her face was puffy and tacky from dried tears. Bill stood to the side, a sheepish look on his face for having woken her.

“Sorry,” he said. “I'd have let you sleep longer, but an owl came from the Ministry.”

“What time is it?” she asked in a sleep roughened voice.

“Half past four.”

“Damn,” she cursed under her breath; she had never meant to be gone that long.

Bill handed her the letter. Jenny had written to say that the specialist was finished and she had news about the charm.

Hermione took a deep breath and sat up all the way to swing her legs to the floor. She was sure Chelsea had a stack of reports for her as well. A thought struck her as she sat there and looked at Bill. “You never got a chance to give Harry your briefing from the bank,” she said suddenly.

Bill looked slightly surprised as well. “You're right,” he said and ran a hand over the back of his head.

“Want to do it now?” she asked, pulling her knees up so she could rest her chin on them.

“If you want. You're in charge,” he said with a half smile, and she sent him a glare.

“Eighteen months ago we had a new hire, a wizard named Byron Murdoch. He seemed perfect for the position; had an aptitude for numbers, and got along with the goblins. They don't hire many wizards at Gringotts, as you know, so his being offered a position was a big deal.” Hermione nodded and waited for him to continue.

Bill drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “He was working the day of the attack. When the request was made to access your vault, he held up the goblins that were supposed to take you to it and made up some fake story about how there needed to be a check of the vault first, before you were taken to inspect the inventory.”

Hermione looked at him in confusion; that seemed like an incredibly weak excuse to use, especially on goblins.

Bill caught her look. “Exactly. Goblins should not be tricked by something so unbelievable. But they did it, they went to your vault first, did an inventory, and returned. In the meanwhile the floo in a private office was accessed. Floo usage at the bank is practically nonexistent. They keep the floos open for customers, but the one in that office hadn't been used in over a decade.”

“He was contacting his master. To tell them I was out in the open,” she said stiffly.

Bill nodded, “That's what I believe as well, but in order for him to do this...I think he Confunded the goblins.”

“Confunded the goblins!” she repeated in surprise “Is that even possible?”

“I wouldn't have thought so but...I don't have another explanation,” he said with a shrug. “I've had to very, very careful; that's why it's taken so long. Even so, I wouldn't be surprised if the goblins had caught on to what I was doing,” Bill said. The way he narrowed his eyes made her think he was in danger of losing his job over what he had done.

“I appreciate what you've done, Bill, and I know Harry does as well,” she said, and hoped he wouldn't get into trouble. “So where is he now? Has he gone on the run?”

“He's at the bank and should be reporting to work in the next couple of hours. I made sure I did nothing to tip him off,” Bill assured her.

“Good. I'll have a team pick him up this morning,” she stated, and hoped this one could also give her more answers.

“Gods, they're everywhere, aren't they?” she said dejectedly. “The Prophet, the Ministry, Gringotts, my bloody Muggle university. And we're just starting to maybe get an idea of what's going on.”

Bill didn't answer, but she didn't expect him to. There was really nothing that could be said.

She sat for a moment longer and then lowered her feet down to the floor again. She rubbed tired eyes and turned once more to Harry. He looked the same, and she sighed heavily. Before she could think too much on it, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispered `I love you', and got to her feet.

“Let's go,” she said to Bill, and left without looking back.

Fleur was in the hallway and she looked worn out, but she gave Hermione the brightest smile she could manage. “I will let you know if there is any change,” Fleur promised, and Hermione hugged her in response.

“Do you need me to take you back?” Bill asked.

“No, I actually feel stronger now since I slept some. I think I'll be fine,” she answered. “Take care of them,” she said thickly and turned on the spot.

She pointedly did not look at the nurse as she passed the desk.

It wasn't difficult to apparate back to the Ministry, and soon enough she was climbing the stairs back to the Auror department.

Chelsea was nowhere to be seen for once, and Hermione headed straight to containment. Jenny wasn't around either, but the guard told her Yarborough had been moved into the interrogation room and the specialist had left a full report for her.

She moved to the observation room and picked up the file, purposely turning her back to the glass so she wouldn't be distracted when Yarborough was brought in.

The specialist had managed to recover the memories that had been Obliviated. He had not questioned Yarborough as to his motives or anything to do with what he had done at the Prophet. His final note said that he did not think there would be any issue with gaining access to memories about who Yarborough was working for.

Hermione heard doors being shut in the next room and closed the file harshly. When she turned, she saw that he had been brought in.

She studied Yarborough through the observation glass. He was thin and gangly and looked so very young. The memories the specialist had been able to recover made it seem that he had done this willingly; that he had chosen to work for the dark side. But Hermione wondered if he really knew what he was doing. However, as soon as she had that thought she realized that if she had been as committed to believing in and working for good at her age, then the opposite had to be possible.

Jenny had asked for two hours, and Hermione had given her four. If she hadn't figured out a way to break the charm, they would be left with nothing to go on.

Without a moment to fully think about what she was doing, she raised her hand and knocked on the door. An Auror opened it immediately. “Yes, Ma'am,” he said.

“Give the suspect veritaserum. I'll be in to interrogate him shortly,” she ordered, and he slipped out.

Yarborough tried to struggle, but they got the potion down him. She waited a few minutes and then went to walk in. “Find Jenny Dawlish and tell her to meet me in the observation room,” she told the same Auror she had asked to administer the truth serum.

She didn't sit when she entered, and chose instead to remain standing. Yarborough looked at her with glassy eyes.

“How long have you been a mole at the Prophet?” she began.

“Two years,” he replied immediately.

“Were you working there before you were approached, or were you placed there purposely?” she asked.

“I was placed there,” he answered.

“What was your mission?”

“I was to learn the inner workings of the paper, and gain access to the print duplication and owl delivery.” His voice had become more strained

“When were you notified that yesterday's afternoon edition was going to be changed?”

“Two days ago.”

“Was the person who told you this the man in charge, or someone who worked for him?” she had to be careful, any direct question of who he was working for would trigger the charm.

“Someone who worked for him.” Sweat had started to bead on his brow, as he struggled against the potion.

“Do you know the name of the person in charge, the person who has masterminded this entire plan?” Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she awaited his answer.

“Yes,” he said and she backed away immediately; she wasn't going to ask him anymore until they knew how to deactivate the charm. They had him.

She exited quickly and turned to the Auror at the door. “No one is to speak to him until I go back in, do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” he snapped off, and resumed his position.

Jenny was waiting for her in observation. Her face was pale and pinched and she looked sick.

“What is it?” Hermione demanded, any hope she had starting to fade.

“I'm sorry, Ma'am. I don't think it's going to work,” she said.

“Why not? I thought you were close?” Frustration, and anger made Hermione's voice break.

“The charm is so...deep. It's twisted around their magic almost. I can find no way to actually separate it so that the trigger doesn't activate the Imperius. I did figure out a way to hold it off some, to delay it, but that doesn't do us much good.” Jenny looked completely forlorn and defeated.

A horrible thought came to Hermione and she actually turned away and covered her mouth in reaction. She forced the thoughts to the side and looked back at Jenny. “How long could you hold it off for?” she asked in a voice so hollow she didn't recognize it as her own.

“Maybe twenty seconds, thirty at the most, but maybe not even that long,” Jenny said noncommittally and, bless her, she had not yet grasped why Hermione had asked.

“But if he was under veritaserum and the charm was held off, he would have enough time to answer the question before the Imperius activated.” Hermione made herself hold the young Auror's eye line and she knew exactly when she understood what she had asked.

“Oh gods!” Jenny exclaimed, “But you'd kill him!”

Hermione turned and rested a hand on the glass as she stared right at Yarborough. “I know.”

There was silence in the small room.

Hermione had never wanted Harry more than she did at that moment. He could make this decision. He could see all the facts and decide whether this was an act they could commit because the end justified the means, or if it wasn't worth it. She had never had to do something like this before. She was the one that provided the information, and she would go along with Harry's plan, but she had never been asked to do this.

“Ma'am.” Jenny said softly. “The veritaserum is going to wear off soon.” Hermione heard her audibly swallow before she continued. “If we're going to do this it needs to be now, or we'll have to wait.”

Hermione nodded. Knowing the name of who was in charge would change the game for them. They would no longer be forced to guess and investigate multiple lines, never knowing which one was correct. If they knew who to look for they could place all their resources behind flushing them out.

They had been made to play catch up from the start. They had never had the upper hand or been ahead. Hit after hit had rocked them, and it was harder to keep getting back up.

She shut her eyes tight, and forced herself to recall everything that had happened. Ron's attack, the car crash, the deaths of all the students in Norway, how Harry had looked after he killed Lazlo, the magical loss of the German school, and finally Harry and Ron still lying in St. Mungo's. When her eyes opened they flashed with righteousness, and determination. She knew later on, when she had time to really consider what she had done, she'd second guess herself. But until then, the department was her responsibility and it was her call.

She placed the image of the dead Norwegian girl who looked so much like Victoire at the forefront of her mind and turned to face Jenny.

“Do it.”

As they exited the observation room, Hermione pointed her wand at the glass and blocked the spell that allowed someone to see into interrogation. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it without anyone watching.

Jenny stood nervously in front of the door and before they went in Hermione laid a hand on her arm. “You don't have to do this. You can explain how to hold off the charm and I can do it by myself,” she assured her. Hermione could barely bring herself to walk through that door and do what she had decided to do, much less ask the same of someone else.

“Thank you, Ma'am,” Jenny said. “But with all due respect, I watched my father fight in the war and I made a decision a long time ago that I was going to be an Auror. I understand what's going to happen here, and I accept my role. Besides, I don't think it's possible to hold off the charm and be able to question him at the same time. It's a two person job.” Her voice shook some, but she sounded sure.

“Alright, then,” Hermione said, and before she could think any further on what they were about to do, she pushed into the room.

Yarborough had the same vacant look in his eye as he had when she was in here last. She forced herself to look away.

Hermione motioned to the lone chair and Jenny took it willingly. She had already pulled her wand and had a tight hold on it. “How long will it take you to isolate the charm and begin to block it from the Imperius?”

“Not long, Ma'am. I'll begin the incantation and when I stop speaking it should be working. You'll need to ask the question then,” Jenny replied as the grip she had on her wand became even tighter.

Without hesitation Jenny held her wand towards Yarborough and began to mutter a complicated incantation while drawing runes in the air. Hermione tried to keep up with her but, with a shake of her head, brought her attention back to Yarborough so she'd be ready when it was time.

And then there was silence. Sweat broke out on Jenny's forehead and her lips were pinched in a tight line as her wand hand began to tremble from the exertion required to hold off the Imperius.

“Yarborough, who is the person behind these attacks?” Hermione asked with a shaky voice.

His body stiffened like Anderson's had, and Jenny slumped forward as she had to push harder to keep the trigger at bay.

Yarborough's mouth opened and shut twice and Hermione felt her stomach twist at the thought that this wouldn't work and he'd die anyway. The third time, however, he groaned out, “Macnair”.

As soon as he spoke, Jenny collapsed on the table and the connection was broken. Yarborough's jaw made the all too familiar motion and he began to convulse.

Hermione couldn't feel anything as her body was numb, and she didn't dare move until the final twitch shook him and he went still.

She couldn't even comprehend what she had just done.

Jenny was breathing hard, and when she lifted her head, Hermione could see tears on her face.

“You should go and get some rest, Auror Dawlish,” Hermione said, and her voice sounded foreign even to herself.

Jenny stood on autopilot and allowed Hermione to guide her to the door. When she saw Jenny disappear around the corner, Hermione turned to the guard on duty. “I need Yarborough's body removed.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” he replied.

Her boots echoed in the empty halls and she wished there was someone else around as she made her way to the office.

Chelsea still wasn't around, and Hermione assumed she must be trying to catch sleep while she could. In a way she was grateful as it allowed her to delay having to tell someone in person what she had just done.

The files that detailed who was working on which lead were on a side desk, and she went there immediately and summoned blank parchment and a quill.

She worked quickly and penned several directives ordering teams back to the Ministry to receive new orders. She probably only had an hour before she'd have to give an all-hands briefing.

There was a sharp rap on the door and she opened it wandlessly. Chelsea was on the other side. She looked rumpled and exhausted, and a trifle sheepish.

“I'm so sorry, Ma'am. I didn't realize you had returned to the Ministry. I apologize if I was not available and you needed me...” she began, already breathless.

“Did you get some sleep?” Hermione asked and the flush of the woman's cheeks confirmed it for her. “Good. You're no use to me if you can't function.” And with that taken care of she turned to the pile of parchment she had accumulated. “There have been some new developments. I need this posted out immediately, and as soon as all the teams have returned I need the department assembled for a briefing.”

“All the teams, Ma'am?” Chelsea asked, surprised as she took the papers automatically.

“We know who we're going after, Chelsea,” she explained, nowhere near as excited as would be expected.

“That's excellent news, Ma'am!” Chelsea exclaimed.

“It's a start, and it's more than we had a few hours ago,” Hermione said, and turned her attention to the rest of what lay before her, only just remembering that Bill had a suspect for her at the bank. “Oh, I need a team sent to Gringotts when it opens to pick up a suspect by the name of Byron Murdoch. Can you see to that?”

“Yes, Ma'am. What are we charging him with?” The portfolio once again making an appearance as she opened it to take notes.

“We believe he's the one responsible for the attack in Diagon Alley. So how about we start with attempted murder, and include accessory to intent to commit treason as well,” Hermione said sharply, as she briefly wondered if she'd be facing her own murder charges or not.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Chelsea said softly. “I'll go send these off now and arrange for the team going to Gringotts.”

“Thank you. I'll be in the Minister's office if you need me,” Hermione stated and then swept from the room as quickly as she could.

The lifts had been reopened but she still chose to take the stairs.

Kingsley's outer offices were dark and quiet and she wondered if he was even in as she approached his door. But after two quick knocks she heard him call out.

He wasn't at his desk, but rather in one of the two large leather chairs that flanked the fireplace.

“Come in, Hermione,” he said tiredly.

She hadn't intended on sitting, but he left her little choice. She sat lightly on the edge of the chair and stared at the dying fire in an attempt to avoid his eyes.

“We know who it is,” she said softly, and she saw him start out the corner of her eye.

“Are you serious! Who?” he exclaimed.

“Macnair,” she replied, and knew what was about to come.

“And you're sure?” he asked, but was already half out of his seat. “We'll need to pull the other teams in from the field. We can focus on Macnair now and...”

“Already done,” she said without preamble.

“Well done, Hermione. I knew you would handle the job just fine,” he said enthusiastically and she couldn't sit still any longer.

Hermione jumped to her feet and began to pace in the space behind the chairs.

“What's wrong?” Kingsley asked.

She wrapped one arm around her middle before she spoke. “You haven't asked me how I found out, Sir,” she said with derision.

“What happened?” he stood and faced her, his tone serious.

She walked to the fireplace and used the side of the mantle for support, not feeling the warmth from the burning logs. “Yarborough had the same charm on him that Anderson did.” She saw Kingsley nod. “Jenny Dawlish found a way to hold the trigger off for a bit, but not disable it entirely.” She paused, and after a beat he realized what she had done.

“I made the decision to question Yarborough even though I knew he would die. Jenny held off the charm long enough for him to say Macnair's name, but he died, just like Anderson, and I allowed it to happen.” Her voice sounded empty and she was prepared for anything he could say.

Kingsley sank back into his chair and rubbed his forehead wearily. “I wish you had come to me and not made such a decision on your own.”

“There wasn't any time,” she replied in a whisper.

“I'm sorry you had to do that,” he said sincerely. “These choices...they're never easy, and they shouldn't be. You struggled with it, I can tell, and you'll live with it the rest of your life, but sometimes...sometimes terrible things are necessary. It doesn't justify it, it doesn't legitimize it, but it does make it easier to accept.” She hadn't looked at him, unable to pull her gaze from the flames.

He walked towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. “If it helps, I would have made the same decision, and I think Harry would have as well.” She nodded and ducked her head in an attempt to hide the tears that had sprung to her eyes.

“No offense, but it doesn't help,” she replied honestly.

“Fair enough,” he said and stepped back. “But keep in mind the good this information will do. This will hopefully be what we've needed to get ahead.”

“I know that. Ultimately that's why I did it,” she said, and lifted her head to meet his gaze for the first time. “I need to know sir...will there be any...repercussions. Did I violate any sort of prisoner's bill of rights or Auror code, or anything that I wasn't aware of? Auror Dawlish operated under my orders, she shouldn't be punished for that.” Her mouth had gone dry as she had spoke.

Kingsley gave her a half smile. “No. This is war and the normal rules don't always apply. You don't need to worry.”

She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, although the overwhelming guilt didn't dissipate in the slightest.

Hermione made her way back to the chair and filled Kingsley in on the mole at Gringotts, the status of the lift explosion, and the reason she had been called to St. Mungo's. When she was finished, she was emotionally exhausted and yet still had to go give a major briefing.

She leaned back against the wing of the chair and shut her eyes for a long moment and Kingsley allowed her the peace.

“I've got to be getting back,” she said, her eyes still closed. “The teams should be arriving soon, and everyone else should be in as well.” She pushed herself forward and looked over at Kingsley who looked as tired as she felt. “I intend to put everything towards finding Macnair and flushing him out.”

Kingsley gave her a stiff nod. “Solid plan,” he agreed. “Let me know when you have something to report.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied and used the arms of the chair to pull herself to her feet.

The Minister's outer offices were now abuzz and morning light poured through the windows. Her thoughts strayed to Harry and she wished she could go see him.

With a long sigh she headed for the lifts and stepped into a car before she realized what she was doing. Her heart beat frantically and she pressed herself into the far corner of the car in the hope that no one else would notice her reaction.

The damage to the shaft and car had been fully repaired, and there was full load of wizards on their way to their jobs. No one seemed to even see her, and for that she was grateful. It was only when the lift stopped at the correct level and she pushed her way to the front that she heard the whispers in her wake.

The Auror Department was busier than she'd ever seen it. Chelsea spotted her immediately and looked fully recovered from earlier. She had new clothes, fresh robes, and not a hair out of place. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had looked in a mirror.

“Almost everyone has returned, Ma'am. And the team working on the lift explosion has a final report for you,” Chelsea said, as she handed her another folder.

“Thank you. Could you assemble everyone in one location? I'll be there in a moment to do the briefing,” Hermione requested and headed into the office.

She tossed the folder on the table and opened it up quickly so she could read it while she performed a freshening charm on her robes and clothes.

The investigation had determined that Anderson had accessed the lift shaft two days prior and cast a delayed detonation charm on it that had been combined with a weight- required activation. She shook her head slowly as she grasped what they had accomplished. Although it had been set to go off that night, it wouldn't actually explode until there were enough people in the car. The fact that it was herself, Harry, and Ron who were in the lift when it detonated had been pure dumb luck.

She ran a hand over her hair and let out a long breath. She didn't know if she could do this; addressing the entire department, giving major orders that would change the entire game plan...she wouldn't be surprised if they all laughed at her. Except, there was no one else, she didn't have a choice, and someone had to do it.

Chelsea was outside the door when Hermione stepped out, and without a word she led the way to a conference room that must have been magically made bigger.

Even with the extra space it was packed full, and the small pathway made for her by Aurors shifting to the side wasn't enough to quell the onslaught of claustrophobia she had begun to feel.

When she made it to the head of the large table she saw a few familiar faces, but the majority of the wizards present were strangers to her. Silence settled in the space, and a cold sweat broke across her skin.

“Thank you for coming,” she said in a loud, clear voice that surprised her. “There have recently been some major developments that have significantly changed how we are going to be approaching the mission from this point onward.” There were a few low murmurs but no one spoke up.

“We now have evidence that names Walden Macnair as the wizard behind these attacks.” Now there was an eruption of noise and she waited for it to ebb before she continued. “However, we do not yet know his motivation or what his next move may be. Our entire focus from this point forward is on finding Macnair and his network of affiliates. I would like to meet with team leaders individually to set your specific tasks.” She paused for a moment and tried to look at as many people as possible. “I do not need to remind you that these attacks are personal. They have come into our Ministry and attacked us on the inside. They have put two members of this department in St.Mungo's. They have killed hundreds of children, and ruined the lives of hundreds more, which is why I expect nothing more than your very best.” She waited a beat for her words to sink in. “Carry on,” she said and then headed for the door.

“Have the team leads meet with me in the office,” she said to Chelsea when she caught up with her.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Chelsea replied and then did an abrupt 180 to find who she needed.

Hermione had all of three minutes before Chelsea rapped once on the door and ushered in five gruff looking aurors.

She spent almost an hour detailing different avenues that should be pursued in order to find Macnair, and when the aurors left the office she felt she might have earned a small amount of their respect.

If she thought she would get a moment of peace she was mistaken. The same young auror who had run into the room only the day before with the Daily Prophet came in again with a piece of paper in his hand.

“Ma'am! You need to see this,” he said, and unceremoniously shoved the page at her.

It was a one page leaflet, but the bold headlines immediately caught her attention.

Muggle attack on German school leaves students without magic! ran across the top, and below another one said: Ministry keeping silent on explosion that almost killed Harry Potter!

Hermione dropped into the nearest chair as the paper shook in her hand.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“They're everywhere, Ma'am. Stacks in Diagon Alley, delivered by Owl post to homes, in Hogsmeade...everywhere,” he said sullenly.

“Has the Minister seen this?” She couldn't imagine what the reaction was going to be now. One incident in Norway could be written off by the public, but multiple attacks on multiple schools...panic would set in.

“No, Ma'am. I brought it to you first,” the Auror replied.

“I'll go speak to him immediately. See what you can do about getting rid of these,” she said, as she looked down at the paper in disgust. “Although I'm afraid the damage has already been done.”

Kingsley was in with another department head when she arrived and his assistant almost had apoplexy as he tried to tell her she would have to wait. She gave him a withering glare and entered anyway.

She knocked as she pushed open the door and saw Kingsley give her a sharp look before he realized who it was.

“Sorry for the interruption, Sir, but something has come up,” she said and waited while he asked the other wizard to come back at another time.

“What is it?” he asked as soon as the door had been shut.

“This,” she said and laid the paper on his desk.

He read it quickly and then crumpled it in his fist. “Macnair,” he said, his voice harsh. “What is his end game?”

Hermione didn't bother to sit. She stood in front, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “I think he's going with fear. Attacking children, not five years after the war with Voldemort...people haven't forgotten, Kingsley. And he's done it very slowly and very carefully and managed to lay groundwork where he can easily blame it on Muggles. You know yourself there were plenty of people willing to go along with the anti-Muggle sentiment, except he's not doing it by force, he's using psychology, and I think that's even more dangerous.”

Kingsley studied the wrinkled paper and then looked up at her. “I think you are correct.” He sighed heavily. “I'll call a press conference. I won't name Macnair directly, but I will give the people the assurance that this is nothing more than propaganda and there is nothing to support this idea that Muggles are to blame.”

“Do you think that will work, Sir?” she said hesitantly.

“I'm honestly not sure,” he answered and she didn't wait to be dismissed.

The Ministry was in an uproar. The leaflets were everywhere, even there, and worried witches and wizards stopped what they were supposed to be doing to whisper anxiously amongst themselves.

She heard snatches of their conversations as she walked by.

“...my husband wants to take the kids out Hogwarts!”

“...should wait until the Minister says something.”

“...just like last time!”

If this was how Ministry employees reacted, she couldn't imagine how the rest of the wizarding world was taking it.

An angry wizard confronted her in the crowded lift and she managed to stutter out instructions to wait for the Minister to make an announcement before she got off one level early and took the stairs the rest of the way.

Her own department didn't seem as if it had held on above the fray. One Auror blasted a howler out of the air that she assumed must have been from his wife. Pinned to the office door were several `official requests' that inquired about the state of Hogwarts and what the Ministry intended to do to protect the school. She vanished them with a sigh as she pushed her way in and stopped short when she saw Neville Longbottom slumped in a chair. Chelsea was in the room as well and looked unsure.

“Neville!” Hermione exclaimed, worry immediately came over her. “Has something happened at Hogwarts?”

He rose to his feet and faced her. “No, I'm sorry if I made you believe that. There hasn't been an attack or anything,” he said quickly.

Her eyes cut over to Chelsea. “Did you need something?”

Chelsea swallowed hard twice and looked between her and Neville. “I'm sorry Ma'am. He insisted on seeing you, and there was no authorization but...”

“Professor Longbottom is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and therefore is authorized to be here anytime he wishes,” she said, perhaps a tad too harshly as Chelsea flushed.

“Yes, Ma'am,” she said in a subdued voice and exited silently.

Neville looked a bit chagrined as he rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Sorry about that, she didn't want to leave me here, but the Headmistress asked me to come so...”

“It's fine, Neville, don't worry about it.” She brushed off his apology and moved to flip through the new set of reports Chelsea had left on the desk.

“How's Harry? I heard about the explosion,” he asked, and took her by surprise.

She drew in a sharp breath. “He's...he hasn't woken up yet. I saw him this morning, early, but...” she didn't finish the sentence because it was too difficult.

Neville looked at her with compassion. “He'll pull through; it's what he does.”

She looked at him gratefully. “Thanks,” she said softly and cleared her throat. “Now, what did Professor McGonagall want?” As much as she appreciated Neville's concern, she didn't want to be reminded of Harry just then.

Neville sat down again and braced his elbows on his knees. “Hogwarts is in pandemonium, Hermione. Poppy's given more calming draughts in the past two hours than she probably has in the past two years combined. Those leaflets were brought by owl this morning during breakfast; a Hufflepuff fainted in her eggs. We've already had several posts from parents asking if the school would be closed. The Headmistress wanted to know if you'd be willing to come to Hogwarts and speak with her. I believe she also thought a visit from you would help appease some of the more frantic ones.”

She leaned heavily against the table and stared at the floor. Never would she have imagined it could have gotten so bad so quickly. Without conscious thought she had been running her right thumb over the too smooth skin of her empty ring finger. She let go quickly and pressed her hands into her robes to still them.

“I'll come, of course,” she answered Neville. “Kingsley intends to make a statement soon, but I don't know if it will do much good and if there's another attack...” She didn't need to finish that thought. Neville didn't answer but he gave her a look that let her know he sympathized with her plight.

“Well, the Headmistress said to tell you she can see you whenever you're available. I need to get back for my classes, but if there is anything we can do, don't hesitate.” He stood up and straightened his robes before he stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. “Hogwarts won't fall, we won't let it,” he said decisively and then quirked his mouth in a half smile that reminded her for a brief second of the boy who had lost his toad all those years ago.

“Thank you, Neville,” she said sincerely. “I'll be to Hogwarts as soon as possible,” she told him, and he squeezed her arm once before he left.

Just as she exited the office to track down Chelsea, a harried Auror approached. “Ma'am, we've got Murdoch in containment. He didn't go easy; one of my men is at St. Mungo's.”

She cursed to herself. “Is it serious?” The last thing she needed was more injured Aurors.

“Not sure. I haven't received an update yet,” he said in a strained voice

“Is Murdoch secure, or does he need to be stunned?” she asked.

“He's both, Ma'am.” There was a hardness to his statement that made her think Murdoch had already paid for hurting one of the team.

She nodded. “Let's keep him that way. Do I need to do damage control with the goblins? I can't imagine they're pleased with what happened.”

The Auror flushed and looked away. “The operation did not go as smoothly as I would have liked, Ma'am,” he said as diplomatically as possible.

Hermione shook her head once. The last thing they needed was to play politics with the goblins. “I'll let the Minister know. Thank you and you have my permission to go to St. Mungo's to check on your Auror,” she said, and hoped there was no bitterness in her voice from not being able to do the same thing herself.

For the first time she considered that maybe Kingsley did have it harder than she did. She stopped at the nearest empty desk and dashed off an informative, but succinct note about what had happened at Gringotts and apologized for the timing of it all. As she watched it fly away she didn't envy the task ahead of him in having to face the press and the public.

Hermione spotted Jenny Dawlish as she emerged from a cubicle on the far side of the room and an idea came to her. “Auror Dawlish,” Hermione called out and headed her direction.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Jenny said, her eyes still rimmed by dark circles.

“Would you care to go with me to Hogwarts. The Headmistress has requested I meet with her, and I thought you could take the time to speak with Professor Flitwick and maybe get a better understanding of how the charm worked,” Hermione suggested.

Jenny's eyes lit up. “That would be a great help. I've been making notes and trying to work out the runic component that's tied into it. Perhaps I could talk to Professor Vector as well.”

“I'm sure that could be arranged. We'll be leaving as soon as possible,” Hermione instructed, and Jenny dashed off to collect her things.

They apparated to Hogsmeade and she barely took a second to look around before she headed straight for the path that lead to Hogwarts. Jenny was silent as they approached the school.

Although she had been back to take her NEWTs, the sight of the castle was still enough to make her heart rate increase. Her mind still tried to superimpose images of the battle over the reconstruction, and it was only with effort that she saw the school in the present.

Professor McGonagall was on the steps to the main doors in anticipation of their arrival.

“Ms. Granger, thank you for coming so promptly,” she said as they climbed the stairs.

“Of course, Professor,” she answered automatically.

“And Ms. Dawlish, I had heard you received placement with the Auror department. Congratulations,” McGonagall said.

Jenny turned pink. “Thank you, Professor.”

“I asked Jenny to come because she has some questions for Professors Flitwick and Vector if they could be spared for a short while,” Hermione explained.

“Yes, yes. Make your way to the Charms classroom, Ms. Dawlish and tell Professor Flitwick you have my permission.”

“Thank you, Ma'am, I mean, Professor,” Jenny mumbled and then disappeared into the school before she could say anything else.

McGonagall looked after her and let out a deep sigh. “She doesn't seem old enough to be an Auror,” she said tiredly and then turned her sharp look on Hermione. “And your eyes look entirely too old, Head Auror or not,” she appraised, and Hermione was shocked by the tears that immediately clouded her vision.

She looked hastily over her shoulder in an attempt to hide them as she gathered her composure. Stress, lack of sleep, and the always present concern over Harry had her on a very narrow ledge of control.

“Shall we speak in my office?” McGonagall suggested and Hermione sent her a grateful look as they entered Hogwarts.

The halls were blessedly empty, and pandemonium and upheaval seemed to be contained, for now. Except for a stray student or two, she had managed to avoid a class change. One older boy did raise his eyebrows when he saw her, but she imagined it was due to the Auror robes more than anything else.

The climb up the twisted stairs to the Headmistress's office made her leg twinge, but she ignored it. She hadn't been in this room as often as Harry had, but she cast an eye around and saw that the majority of the former Heads were sleeping in their portraits, including Dumbledore.

Hermione walked over and stood before it. “Hello, Sir,” she whispered, but he didn't twitch. With a heavy swallow she made her way back to McGonagall's desk to see her former professor send Dumbledore one of her patented glares.

Hermione waited for McGonagall to sit and then lowered herself into the hard back chair across from her. The Headmistress pushed a tray Hermione's direction laden with tea and biscuits. Her stomach grumbled low at the scent and she made the decision that she should eat when given the opportunity.

When they both had cups of tea in their hands, Hermione waited until McGonagall spoke. “How are you, really?” she asked perceptively, and Hermione sat the tea down so it wouldn't clatter in the saucer.

“Not good,” she answered honestly, as she knew that the Headmistress would see through a lie quicker than anyone. “I'm worried about Harry, and I can't be with him, and now Kingsley has me running the department and I'm not sure I'm the right one for the job...it's just a lot of pressure,” she said quickly, as one word ran into the next and her hands twisted in her lap.

“Hermione,” McGonagall began and her head shot up; she didn't think she had ever heard her use her given name before. “You have been given an impossible task, but if anyone can persevere it's you. I have complete faith in your abilities.”

She was stunned silent and could only give a tight smile in return. She picked the tea back up and took a long and deliberate sip.

“Now, what can the Auror department do for you, Headmistress?” she asked with only a glint of cheek in her voice.

“You can tell me if I need to close my school or not,” McGonagall said directly and Hermione sat up straighter.

“I'm afraid I don't know. Two schools have been attacked, this is fact, and we have evidence to support the theory that other schools are targets as well. That being said, it's also possible they just want us to believe the other schools are in danger to spread our resources thin and distract our attention,” Hermione said honestly and watched as the Headmistress visibly deflated some.

“And Hogwarts...do you believe it is also a target?” she asked, her Scottish brogue more pronounced than ever.

“I think...I think considering we're dealing with former Death Eaters and the fact that they first came after Harry, Ron, and myself...Yes. I believe that they plan on attacking Hogwarts.” These words had never actually been spoken aloud, although she was sure everyone involved had thought them at some point.

“It's always you three, isn't it?” McGonagall replied with only a slight tremor and Hermione leaned forward to look at her in earnest.

“You know we will do everything possible to prevent that from happening.”

“Yes, of course,” McGonagall replied.

“You should know the Japanese Ministry has decided to close their school and their borders. Other schools may follow their example,” Hermione said.

Professor McGonagall locked her gaze on Hermione's and stared at her for a long moment before she spoke. “Hogwarts didn't close for Voldemort and it won't close now,” she said decisively.

Hermione gave her a nod of agreement.

For the next hour, Hermione filled her former professor in on everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. Kingsley had sent a few short owls to the Headmistress, but hadn't had the time to give a proper briefing.

“We'll need the Order when it's time...I don't know when that will be, but I have a feeling it'll be soon,” Hermione said, her tea cold by now, but she still kept hold of it for something to do with her hands.

“I'll help if I can, but my duty is to Hogwarts first.”

“I understand, and hopefully it won't come to that,” Hermione said unconvincingly.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a heavy weight balanced on her shoulder and she snapped her head to the right to see Fawkes perched there like he had done it a thousand times before.

“Fawkes,” she exhaled in shock, never imagining the phoenix would come to her. A thin roll of parchment fell into her hand and with a soft trill he was gone again.

With a shaky hand she opened the paper to see a hastily scrawled note from Kingsley. `Beauxbatons next target. Increase in apparation around the school. Return to Ministry immediately.'

With a gasp she shoved the paper across the desk to McGonagall. She gave the woman only a few seconds to read before she made her request. “Can I have Neville please? We need all the Order members available, and I need experienced fighters. The majority of the Auror department is young and has never seen combat,” she pleaded, as the enormity of what she was about to do resonated within her.

The Headmistress had paled as she read the note. “Yes, take Mr. Longbottom. And keep us posted, please, Hermione,” she requested.

She gave hasty thanks and took the stairs as quick as she could manage. Unfortunately, she wasn't as lucky this time and the halls teemed with students. She strode down the corridor and children scrambled to get out of her way.

As she approached the Charms classroom she saw Jenny and Flitwick emerge.

“Jenny! We have to leave now,” she said, breathless. “I'm sorry, Professor,” she acknowledged Flitwick with a short nod.

Flitwick didn't seem put out at all and he thanked Jenny for seeing him.

A minute later they wove their way through the halls. Two Aurors in Hogwarts caused more than a distraction, and she heard her name being whispered more than once as they headed to the main hall. She searched for Neville and finally, just before they got to the heavy double doors, spotted him.

“Neville!” she cried out above the din, and his head turned towards her.

“Hermione, did you just get here?” he asked when he reached them.

“No time to explain. I need you to come with me. McGonagall's okayed it. Order business,” she said in a low voice, and his eyes narrowed at her words.

He just nodded his consent and they exited the school. She didn't want to talk to Jenny about what she had learned while there were others around, but once they were on the path to Hogsmeade she turned to the young Auror. “What did Flitwick have to say?”

“He had some valuable insight. He agrees that it seems almost impossible to detach the spell from the person it's been cast on, but he gave me some ideas for how it could be held off longer.” She chewed on her lower lip and Hermione thought it seemed that she had more to say. Neville looked confused, but she couldn't take the time to explain it to him just then.

“What is it?” Hermione prodded in an effort to get Jenny to continue.

“He thinks it could be possible that it's not just charmed to respond to one single question. He thinks it could be that there are several different questions that could trigger it, and it could have been designed to be specific to the individual and what they know.”

Hermione's stomach dropped. So far they had only seen the charm work when the subject was directly asked who they were working for. If there was a chance that other questions could also activate the charm it would make it that much more difficult to conduct interrogations.

“But I'll work on it. Maybe I'll be able to hold it off for a longer period of time and more than one question could be asked. I mean, we don't know what question will cause the Imperius to work, but it's possible we could stretch the time far enough to ask multiple inquiries, and that could only benefit us. I think we've gotten lucky before, that the trigger questions were the same both times. We could have inadvertently set it off and not even known why, and then where would we be? We would have never found out it was Macnair.” Jenny spoke this ramble of words with no focus on where she was or what was in front of her. Hermione had to grab a handful of her robes and direct her around a broken tree limb in the path more than once. When she finally stopped, her face was flushed and her eyes were still far away as her mind already processed what she had learned.

Neville caught her gaze and she had to tramp down a smile at his obviously incredulous look.

“Then I think working on the charm should be your priority when we return,” Hermione concluded, and Jenny nodded distractedly, still not entirely in the present.

They apparated back and her mind whirled at what the Minister's message could mean for her. There was a brief moment in the lift at the Ministry where Kingsley had installed new security measures. The car didn't want to allow Neville to exit onto Level Two as he was not an Auror or a Ministry employee. Hermione had to override the restriction which caused a security team to show up, wands drawn.

She stared them down, frustrated with the delay and stalked towards her office with Neville in tow.

Chelsea was stationed at the door. “I know he wants to see me. I'll be there in a moment. I know Murdoch is still in containment waiting to be interrogated but he can stay there awhile longer, and I'm sure there are plenty of reports waiting for me to look at; I'll get to them as soon as possible,” she spat out, tetchy and overwhelmed.

The poor assistant's mouth opened and shut several times. “Yes, Ma'am,” she said and slunk away, which only left Hermione with more guilt.

She let out a heavy sigh and pushed open the door. “Sorry about that,” she said to Neville.

“I can't imagine what you're going through right now. I think you're entitled to being a bit snappish,” he justified.

“It doesn't excuse it though,” she said wearily and went straight to the desk to see what Chelsea had left.

The letters and words swam together and she rubbed her tired eyes and tried again, but it hadn't helped. She realized she needed to see Kingsley first.

Neville looked slightly awkward and out of place. “Neville, could you perhaps notify the rest of the Order that we'll need them soon? Ask them to assemble here and I'll make sure they have access. I need to go speak to Kingsley now. We'll have a briefing when I return.”

She caught Chelsea in the hallway and apologized first before she made her request, and then she was once again in the lift on the way up to Kingsley's office.

She walked straight in. “What's happened?” she demanded.

He looked up from the report he had been absorbed with and handed it to her without preamble.

It detailed Macnair's whereabouts for the past three years. He was ensconced in a tiny hamlet in Wales, and from what the report said he hadn't left. The same was true for Dolohov, Carrow, and Rookwood. Intelligence showed that they had inhabited one location for years on end and seemed, for all intents and purposes, to have quiet lives.

“This can't be possible,” she said in confusion.

“I'm aware,” Kingsley retorted.

“They must be using polyjuice. Do we have any other sightings, anything that doesn't match up maybe?”

“There had been a few accounts, but they were dismissed because their presence was accounted for in these other areas,” Kingsley explained.

“Where were the other accounts from? Let me guess. Rookwood was spotted in St. Petersburg perhaps?” she said sardonically and Kingsley just nodded.

“But Macnair has not had the same.”

“Could be he's just been orchestrating the entire operation from this base then,” she postulated

“That is a fair assumption,” Kingsley agreed.

“But the others...we need to look into those sightings,” she said.

“Already done,” he said, and flipped the report to the final page. “That wizarding village near your Muggle university, someone reported some strange activity. The Auror you had assigned to tracking down Macnair in France spotted Dolohov and Rookwood.”

She gasped as she read the information. The French Ministry had reported a decided increase in apparation around that village and in the area around Beauxbatons. This was different than the last two attacks which relied more on stealth and planning. Macnair intended to take the school by force.

She locked shocked eyes on Kingsley. “When?”

“Tonight or early tomorrow is my best guess,” he said.

That left them with very little time. “Have you contacted Beauxbatons yet?”

“I wanted to talk to you first,” he replied.

She nodded once and then a thought came over her. “Wait, why are they doing this? This goes against how they've attacked before. How do they think they can blame a direct attack, by wizards, on muggles?”

Kingsley was quiet for a long while. “Maybe they don't plan on there being any survivors to say otherwise,” he said morosely, and a cold shiver went down her back.

Hermione spent the next several hours with team leads and with the Order in an attempt to come up with a strategy that would ensure their victory. Madame Maxime had been open to any assistance they could provide, and after only some protest, the French Ministry agreed. The French equivalent of the Auror department wasn't as large, but their people were well trained and open to cooperation.

Kingsley's address had gone as well as Hermione had expected it to. The Prophet had published a special edition with a transcript of the Minister's speech, but it seemed to fall on mostly deaf ears. The issue at Beauxbatons was only going to compound their problem at home with the public, but there wasn't much they could do about that now. She had to trust that Kingsley handled that as well as he could.

They had almost come to blows when he intimated that he'd be at the school to fight. She insisted he stay behind and had to remind him that while he may have been an Auror in the past, he was now the Minister and his primary responsibility was to stay alive. He'd dismissed her with barely controlled rage, but she knew she had won that fight.

Hermione sent several teams ahead to the school in an attempt to evacuate as many students as discretely as possible and to begin work to protect Beauxbatons. Their palace didn't have near the amount of inherent protection that Hogwarts had, and she was worried it would prove to be their weak spot.

The entire Order had arrived as well as the remaining members of the DA who Neville had managed to find on short notice. He shot her a sheepish look when she noticed the newcomers, but Hermione needed experienced fighters, whoever they may be, and she appreciated the effort. The only ones not present were McGonagall, who had stayed at Hogwarts, and Hagrid, who had taken up the mantle of protector at St. Mungo's.

Hermione stared at them as they crowded around the table and felt a pang of sadness go through her that Harry and Ron were not with them. Their absence was almost palpable, and she felt more nervous before she addressed the Order than before she had addressed the Aurors.

Everyone had their assignments, and those who needed to go in advance left as soon as she was through. However, the session was not without conflict.

Fleur and Bill had a spectacular row conducted half in English and half in French about whether she would be going along. He tried to use their children as leverage when he told her that one of their parents should come home. Her eyes flashed at that and the string of angry French she spat at him made Hermione look away. Fleur informed her husband that she had already sent the girls to Andromeda Tonks because she knew he would try to keep her at home. The argument ended with her emphatic declaration that she would fight for her former school, especially with her sister being there, and there was nothing he could do about it. It also ended with the two of them not being able to be found for a long five minutes and Neville with pink cheeks after he opened the wrong cupboard and discovered them.

Just when Hermione thought everything had calmed down, Ginny threw them all into a tailspin. The girl had been nervous since she arrived, which Hermione had found odd but hadn't had enough time to truly give it any thought. Finally, she dragged Hermione to the side of the room while everyone else was busy with their own preparation. Hermione should have left already to meet with Chelsea and the team leads that remained, but Ginny insisted she speak to her.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, distracted and slightly impatient.

“I need to tell you something.” She licked her lips once and then made an obvious decision to pull it together. She set her shoulders and locked her eyes on Hermione. “I know someone who can help.”

Hermione looked at her in confusion. “Help with what?”

“Help with information,” she said slowly.

Hermione's mind exploded with the possibilities of what that could mean. “Ginny, you need to start talking. Now. I don't believe you want to know what I'm thinking,” she said darkly.

Ginny swallowed heavily before she continued. “I know, I'm sorry. I've been trying to find a time to tell you, but it's been so crazy, and then Harry and Ron got hurt, and I haven't seen you.” Hermione's eyes flared at the lack of anything pertinent and Ginny hurried to finish. “I should have said something earlier, but...you have to understand how hard this is for me and what this is going to mean for my family. I've had to keep it secret for so long, but he insisted I say something. He wanted to help, and I should have brought it up before now.”

Hermione held up a hand and cut her off. “Ginny, I swear to Merlin if you do not tell me who `He' is, immediately...”

“It's Draco!” she said in a rush, her cheeks flamed red.

“Draco Malfoy!” Hermione exclaimed in shock and every head in the room turned their direction.

“Oh shit,” Ginny said under her breath, and ducked her head.

Hermione didn't breathe; she just ran the information over in her head repeatedly in hope that at some point this would all begin to make sense.

Bill and Charlie were at their side as if they had been summoned. “What's this, little sis?” Charlie asked, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

Ginny sighed heavily and shot a glare at Hermione who returned it. “You need to start giving me information, Ginny.”

“This isn't how I wanted everyone to find out,” she retorted.

“Well, we don't have time. So tell me what I need to know about Malfoy,” Hermione demanded, as she quickly grew tired of this.

Ginny purposely ignored her brothers and looked right at Hermione. “I've been seeing Draco for over a year,” she said in a rush. “After the attack in Germany, he suggested he may be able to help give information on these former Death Eaters. His family knew most of theirs, and he knows where their homes are, who their children are, what sort of assets they have. He could be useful.”

Bill and Charlie lit into her immediately. They questioned her sanity, Draco's loyalty, his family history, ties to Voldemort, and sundry other wholly legitimate issues.

By this point the entirety of the Weasley clan was around them as they slowly began to understand what was being suggested.

Molly shrieked in horror and covered her mouth with her hands as she went on about her `baby'. Arthur and Percy looked dumbstruck. George was the only one who didn't look surprised at all, and Hermione wondered if he'd known all along.

As the din increased Ginny ended up in an argument with her older brothers, her red hair flying as she gave just as good as she got. Just this once Hermione was glad Ron wasn't present as she knew she'd have to scrape him off the ceiling at the news.

The entire situation had dissolved into chaos and she had to get control back. “Stop!” she yelled above the fray but no one paid her the least bit of attention. She pulled her wand and held it high above her head before she cast a small explosive spell. The resulting `Boom!' caused everyone to freeze where they were, although she was pleased to see most of them had the presence of mind to pull their wands as well.

“That's enough!” she roared. “Right now this isn't about Weasley family politics! It's about the damn battle we're about to fight, and if a member of the Order has insight into someone who can provide us intelligence, I'm going to listen to them: Even if that person is a Malfoy. You can lecture Ginny all you want about her choices once this is over, but until then this is my call and you're going to end this. Now.” She leveled everyone with a hard look and then turned to Ginny. “You're with me,” she said sharply and exited the room.

She heard Ginny's footsteps behind her and headed to the nearest empty office. When they were both inside she sealed and locked the door. “Thanks for that,” Ginny said, slightly out of breath.

“Don't thank me yet. You still haven't told me anything that isn't making me think you haven't completely lost your mind,” Hermione threw back.

Ginny sank into the nearest chair. “I know. Trust me, I know. I questioned myself for...months when this all started. I never thought...” she trailed off. “I ran into him, literally, in Diagon Alley one day. He was his usual self, caustic and smug and insulting, but after he stalked off he turned around and came back and picked up my packages he had knocked to the ground. I was just shocked. I mean, it was Malfoy, right? And then he asked if I wanted to get a butterbeer.” Her eyes softened and her fingers distractedly brushed over her lips as she remembered. “That was it. We kept it quiet, obviously. But...he's been living at my flat for the past five months.”

Hermione dropped into a chair across from her with a loud exhale. “Oh Gods, Gin. You're in love with him,” she said in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Ginny confirmed in a whisper.

They sat in silence for a long moment and then Hermione leaned forward and covered the younger girl's hand with her own. “Gin, are you sure...are you sure you can trust him?”

Her eyes flared in indignation. “Yes,” she said in a clipped tone. “He's changed, Hermione. His father is a broken man now, and his mother has all the say. She's totally removed them from that life. He's just trying to find his way and make amends. I don't think he ever wanted to be so...so horrible and bitter while we were in school; he just didn't have a choice.”

Hermione squeezed her hand once and then sat back. “I'll meet with him. But I can't promise you anything. And he can't be here or at Grimmauld. You haven't...” she began and then stopped herself. She knew Ginny would never betray them.

Ginny's jaw clenched but she didn't say anything about the unfinished accusation. “I've wanted to tell them for awhile about him. George is the only one who knows. I had to tell someone,” she said with half a shrug. “And Draco wants this. He wants to...to redeem himself. He knows I'm involved, but he's never pushed me to reveal anything. He's trying to change. He has changed.” Her voice actually broke and Hermione wanted to believe it could be true.

“I'll see him, Gin. After this is over, alright?” Ginny nodded, as if she didn't quite trust her voice right then.

“Let's go back into the lion's den, shall we?” Hermione suggested, and when they reentered the office it was cooly subdued.

“I think you all should go back to Grimmauld and get some rest. There isn't much more we can do until we leave, which isn't for several hours,” she said to the room and was only met with a few protests.

“You should come too, Hermione,” Fleur said softly, and she smiled in response.

“I wish I could,” she said honestly, but she couldn't leave.

She sent Ginny a look of support as she left the room with her mother in her ear. It was not going to be a quiet night at Grimmauld.

Hermione couldn't stay in that empty office. She left to look for Chelsea and got reports on their work in France. Everything was as it should be and the French Ministry said the apparation rate had dropped significantly. She should have been relieved, but she had no way to know how many people were lined up to fight them, and she was afraid the number would be great.

There was nothing left to do but wait, and with everyone involved in their own preparations, she reluctantly returned to the office and told Chelsea to only knock on the door if it was an emergency. She hoped the assistant could use some discretion to determine what that would be.

In the dimly lit room Hermione unhooked her robes for the first time in what felt like forever and sank to the edge of a makeshift cot she had conjured. Before she could talk herself out of it she lay on her side and shut her eyes. She didn't think she would sleep, but she needed to at least rest, and tears leaked out against her will as she was alone with her thoughts.

Harry had to wake up soon. She truly didn't know how much longer she could handle this by herself. She knew everyone said she had the will and conviction and they trusted her, but she felt like she was mostly just barely able to keep her head above water and one big wave would drown her. She was afraid the wave was about to arrive on the southern coast of France that very night.

She pressed her hands tight over her eyes and tried to get the tears to stop, but the harder she tried the more she failed. They slid out faster and faster until she had no choice but to turn her face into the pillow and give in.

She just wanted Harry. They had been apart so long, and now he was back, but she felt just like she had all those years; alone, and miserable and it just wasn't fair. She didn't care if she felt like a petulant child; it just wasn't fair that they would be separated now.

She had been asleep, going through the motions of life, but not really living. The moment she had stepped foot in that inn and saw him there she had woken up. And she knew she had done the same for him, which was why it made this all the more difficult; because she had been given a chance, given a new start, and now it had been torn away from her and she was left to pick up the pieces, alone.

She cried herself into a restless sleep and woke up to her heart threatening to burst out of her chest and the faded memory of a dream where the lift car crashed around them before she could stop it.

Hermione sat up quickly and scrubbed both hands over her tired face before she let out a prolonged breath. Whether she thought she was ready or not, this was about to happen.

Chelsea paced the floor outside her door, and when Hermione opened it she jumped. She pressed a hand over her chest and tried to breathe normally. “I'm sorry Ma'am. The Minister has requested you come to his office as soon as you're available.”

Hermione sighed to herself; she hoped he wasn't going back on his promise. She didn't want another go round with him on the same subject.

“I'll head there now. Have the team leads and the Order ready to go when I return.”

Kingsley's office was darker than she had ever seen it. The only light came from the fireplace, and even that burned low. Something felt off in the space, and she was on edge as she entered. The door shut behind her and it seemed ominous.

“Hermione, come in please.” She had taken three steps into the room when she sensed a presence behind her.

With a whirl she had her wand up, and only Kingsley's shield charm kept her from sending a stunner at the figure she could now see emerge from the shadows.

“Stand down!” Kingsley barked at her, but she didn't drop her wand.

She still couldn't see who it was, but they were tall and broad, and from what she could see they didn't have a wand out, but she wasn't going to take a chance.

“Who is it, Kingsley?” she demanded, as she stepped two paces to the right and put herself between this stranger and the Minister.

“You do not remember your old pen pal, Hermy-own-ninny?” said a voice she hadn't heard in years.

Viktor Krum came into the light. She hadn't seen him since Bill and Fleur's wedding. They had danced once and she remembered how Ron and Harry had sent glares his direction the rest of the night. They hadn't kept in touch after that. Whatever attraction she had felt for him was now long gone, and she was wary as to why he was back after so many years.

“What's he doing here, Kingsley?” she asked cautiously, her wand still up.

“Hermione, please, Viktor is safe; he's been a contact of mine for years,” Kingsley assured her.

“What sort of contact?” She lowered her wand but still kept an eye on him.

“Come sit, and I'll explain everything,” he said, and motioned towards the fireplace but she held her ground.

“No, tell me now.” She was tired of surprises and secrets and this was the last thing she needed.

“Hermione, I've provided information to your Ministry for many years,” Viktor said in almost perfectly unaccented English. She raised her eyebrow at that and saw Viktor nod in acknowledgement.

“As an international Quidditch star, Viktor was in a prime position to gain access to people and places even our best undercover Aurors couldn't get into,” Kingsley explained. “His relationship with the Ministry was kept top secret. Even Harry didn't...doesn't know,” he corrected himself, but to hear him speak of Harry in the past tense made her stomach clench.

“So why is he here now? Why are you telling me about him if it's so important to keep him secret?” she countered.

“I believe I know where Macnair may have a hidden compound,” Viktor said quietly and her head whipped to him in shock.

“How long have you known?” she ground out.

“I've known about it for two years, but I didn't realize the significance until recently,” he said earnestly, and she wanted to believe him, but with everything they had gone through lately that would prove difficult.

“Viktor, I want to believe you, but Kingsley, isn't this too much of a coincidence?” she asked the Minister.

“Hermione, I assure you Viktor is who he says he is. I've already tested him myself.”

At this she finally dropped her wand all the way and made towards the chairs. Viktor and Kingsley followed, and she perched on the edge of the chair, too keyed up to relax.

“Tell me about this compound,” she said to Viktor.

He stood at the fireplace with one hand braced on the mantle. The light from the flames cast hard shadows across his face and he looked much older than he was.

“Two years ago I received an invitation during the off season to come to a country estate in Dartmoor. It was hidden with a Fidelius charm. I didn't know who it was, just that they were rich and had a business proposition for me,” he began, before he crossed to a small table and poured himself a glass of firewhiskey. “My agent insisted I go. It was supposed to be for the weekend. I had gone on several of these before, by broom makers, or quidditch suppliers all wanting me to endorse their products. I expected this to be no different.”

“But it wasn't a quidditch supplier, was it?” Hermione asked, and watched as he threw the drink back and swallowed heavily.

“No. I didn't recognize the people I met the first day. They gave me free run of the house, wined and dined me, and just told me they were interested in sponsoring me for the upcoming season. The second day there was to be a large dinner party. That's when they showed up,” he said with hate in his voice.

“When who showed up?” she asked softly.

“The Death Eaters. I didn't recognize all of them, but some of them I did. Lazlo Karkaroff was with them.” She shuddered at the name and saw Viktor look at her strangely. “We had been at Durmstrang together, so I knew him from school. He was the one who did all the talking. They wanted me to join them. They knew that someone of my stature on their side would help with recruitment,” he spoke with barely controlled fury. “I told them no, of course. Told them after what had happened to my grandfather with Grindelwald they had come to the wrong man, but they still tried. I ended up apparating away, but Lazlo followed me. He Obliviated me before we were through.”

Viktor fell silent and Hermione didn't move as she tried to absorb what he had told her.

“Viktor, if you were Obliviated...”

“I know. I had no memory of this trip until about two days ago. It was late, I was in my flat and...I just remembered.” Hermione looked at him incredulous, and then she realized what had happened.

“Oh Gods!” she exhaled. “That's when...”

“What?” Viktor asked as he came from the mantle to stand next to her.

“That's when Harry killed Lazlo Karkaroff,” she said, her mouth dry as she was brought back to that memory; of Lazlo's blood on her and what he had tried to do.

“Harry killed him?” Viktor asked unnecessarily, his tone a mix of surprise and approval. “Then the memory charm must have been tied to him somehow.”

“And when he died, it expired, allowing you to remember that weekend,” Kingsley supplied.

“Do you know where the house is? Could you still find it?” she asked.

“I remember it, so the Fidelius hasn't changed. I should be able to,” he confirmed.

“Good. We'll deal with that later then,” Hermione said. “Don't worry Viktor, I won't let on about your involvement. No one will know where we got the information.”

He had looked nervous and she assumed it was due to this.

“There is no need, Hermione. When I heard...” He hung his head and looked away and she was reminded of the young man who could barely talk to her back in fourth year. “I told Kingsley I would like to fight. He told me about Harry, and that you were running the department, and...I would like to help.”

When he looked at her again she flushed and dropped her eyes. He still carried a torch for her. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with.

She didn't even care that Kingsley was there. “Viktor, you need to know that there have been some changes in my life since we last spoke,” she said as diplomatically as possible. “Harry and I...we're together.” She wished a hole would appear and swallow her up.

Viktor blinked once, then twice, and she was afraid she had broken him. “Oh, well, yes. Of course. I remember asking Harry about that during the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” he said in a voice that was all too controlled and did not in the slightest way hide his embarrassment.

She couldn't find it in herself to correct his assumption that she and Harry were together back then. “I understand if you don't want to stay. We'll keep your secret. Kingsley obviously finds you a valuable asset to the Ministry.”

“No,” he said decisively. “I will fight. It is the right thing to do, is it not?” She could tell how difficult this was for him.

“If you're sure, then we're glad to have you. My teams are assembling now and we'll be leaving very soon,” she said, and tried to keep her tone even and professional although she knew they all felt the tension that had filled the room.

“Is there anything else, Kingsley?” she asked.

“No, I would like to head down with you if you don't mind, to see everyone off.” The way he said it made her know it was a reference to their earlier disagreement.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied and rose to her feet. “We should leave,” she said, and suddenly felt nervous.

Kingsley stood in front of her and grasped her shoulders. “You can do this. I wouldn't have appointed you Head in Harry's absence if I didn't think you could. You've handled the pressure more than adequately, and I know Harry will be by your side, where he belongs, very soon.”

Her throat had tightened while he spoke, and although it probably wasn't wholly appropriate and threw all form of propriety out the window, she couldn't help it when she gave him one of her patented hugs. “Thank you, Kingsley,” she whispered and then strode for the door, not even sure if Viktor was behind her or not.

The bullpen seemed to be under some sort of controlled chaos when she returned. Viktor had been quiet in the lift and she was grateful.

The teams that remained were about to apparate out, and she saw the rest of the Order as they waited for her return.

Viktor was a step behind to her right and no one said a thing as they came to a halt in front of them.

She cleared her throat once. “I'm sure you all remember Viktor Krum. He's provided some valuable information to the mission and has offered to help,” she said succinctly. Fleur was the one that stepped forward and broke the silence. She greeted Viktor with enthusiasm and kissed both his cheeks. Bill shook his hand and Charlie followed suit.

Chelsea approached with the latest reports, which included a note from St. Mungo's. Harry's condition had improved and they expected him to wake any moment. She couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face, and she tucked the paper away into the pocket of her robes.

Kingsley appeared at her side. “Good news?” he asked, with a sly smile that made her think he knew exactly what she had just read.

“Very,” she replied quietly.

When she looked up she saw Bill with a broad grin on his face, and she thought for a moment he somehow knew what the note had said, but she realized that wasn't possible. His attention wasn't on her though; it was focused on a point over her shoulder.

“What on earth are you...” she began as she turned to look.

At the end of the hall, she saw a familiar, lanky figure. It was Ron.

With a yelp that was completely undignified for the Head Auror she tore through the bullpen. He smiled when he saw her approach and stood still, as if he knew before she did that she would launch herself at him.

He caught her easily and she felt him shake his head at her exuberance.

She couldn't speak and just wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on. With a wet laugh she finally pulled back so she could see him properly. “You're alright?” she said wildly. “You're really alright?”

“Never better,” he replied, and she hugged him again as the weight she'd been carrying was lifted from her chest. She wasn't alone anymore.

His eldest brothers and Fleur crowded around. Ginny and George had already gone ahead to the school, but the rest of the Weasley's were there. She was stuck in the middle and she couldn't care less. She slid down so her feet were on the floor again, but she retained a hold on him, even when Bill slapped his back and Charlie pulled him in for a one arm hug.

Fleur hugged him as well and kissed his cheeks and Ron didn't waste the opportunity to wrap his arm around her as well. “A bloke should get blown up in a lift more often if he ends up with two lovely birds like this.” Fleur laughed and pushed off of him, but Hermione didn't move.

“You alright, Herms?” he asked seriously and she couldn't talk over the lump in her throat. He pulled her in tight again and she buried her face in his robes as she struggled not to have a complete and total breakdown.

When she thought she could speak, she looked up and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Have you had word on Harry?” she asked, her voice still choked. “Has he woken up yet? I wanted to be there, but there's been so much going on, and then we found out Macnair was going to attack at Beauxbatons and I had to put together the force, and there was no time to go to St. Mungo's...”

“Hey, hey, hey! Slow down,” Ron said as he took her by the shoulders and pulled back so he could look at her properly. “He's better. He kind of woke up once and they think he'll be around soon. Hagrid hasn't left his side.”

She nodded vigorously and bit her lip because she couldn't risk words.

Ron looked around for the first time and the bullpen jumped back into motion. Hermione felt her face flare as she realized everyone had witnessed her loss of composure. She straightened her robes and set her shoulders and made herself step back from Ron.

But Ron's attention wasn't on her. He stepped forward in front of her and then she heard him say, “Krum,” in a hard voice.

“Ron,” Viktor returned, and Hermione had to actually shove Ron to the side so she could stand next to him. She shot him a `What is wrong with you' look, and then turned back to Viktor.

“Viktor's brought us some intel and he's going to help defend Beauxbatons,” Hermione explained, but Ron just nodded his head, his jaw clenched.

She had no idea what Ron's issue was, but she couldn't waste time with that now. She needed to bring Ron up to speed and they needed to get to France. Kingsley must have noticed her dilemma.

“The others could go ahead and you could take a few minutes to fill Ron in on what he's missed,” he said, and she sent him a look of stark relief.

There were last minute instructions to give and then she pulled the portkeys out of the bag that Chelsea had brought to her. She handed different portkeys to different groups, made sure everyone knew exactly what they were doing, and wished them luck.

After the last team left, Kingsley headed back to his own office, and she and Ron were left in the almost empty bullpen. The department was down to a skeleton crew, mostly staffed by trainee Aurors or those on medical restriction.

She headed into the office and then turned on him. “What the bloody hell was that with Viktor?”

“Seriously, Hermione? Krum!” Ron said before he crossed the room to lean against the table. “Where has he been all this time? Where was he during the war? We haven't seen him since the wedding. Don't you find that a bit strange?”

She sighed heavily and leveled him with a glare. “Are you sure that's what this is about or are you still sore he asked me to the Yule Ball before you did?” she asked smugly and was pleased to see him get flustered.

“This has nothing to do with the Yule Ball, Hermione. That was years ago. We were children,” he said unconvincingly.

“He's clean, Ron. He's been working for Kingsley for years, apparently,” she said and saw Ron's eyebrows almost reach his hairline.

“Is he an Auror too, like Harry?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I don't think so. More that he provides information that he gathers when he has it. Up until today, Kingsley was the only one that knew.”

Ron was quiet for a long moment and then looked at her close. “How are you, really? Hagrid told me some; that Kingsley made you Head and you've been doing this all on your own while we've been out.”

The concern in his voice was all it took and she pressed a hand across her mouth. “You need to stop asking me things like that Ron Weasley or I'm liable to have a complete meltdown.”

“I'm sorry,” he said simply, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“No more about how I'm doing, alright?” and patted a hand down the front of his robes.

She took twenty minutes to fill him in on everything she thought was pertinent. His eyes clouded in grief as she told him about the charm that killed Anderson and Yarborough and what she had done, but she brushed him off before he could push it further. By the time she had covered everything, he was caught somewhere between anger at not being there and disbelief at all that had happened.

They were about to leave when she remembered one more thing, and she walked him backwards until he was forced to sit in a chair.

“Ron, I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me you'll hear me out and you won't react until I'm completely done.” He looked at her in confusion but nodded his agreement.

“Did you know Ginny was seeing someone?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah, for awhile now, but she won't tell us who the bloke is. I've been trying to figure it out for ages,” he said, still confused.

“Ok, well, what if I told you it was Draco Malfoy,” she said as she winced and waited for the explosion.

Ron sat, emotionless. “What?” he said, his voice the only thing that betrayed him.

“She loves him Ron, and she says he's got information about the Death Eater's families, information that could prove useful. She says he wants to help...” She didn't get any further because the time bomb that sat in front of her finally detonated.

She'd never seen his face that red before. If it had been anyone else she would have worried their heart was about to explode.

Ron leapt to his feet. “Draco Effing Malfoy!” he exploded. “How is that even possible?! How could she be with that ferret! Does she even care what he did? What his family did? What this will do to Mum? He had the Dark Mark for Merlin's sake!”

He stalked the perimeter of the room, unable to sit still. He muttered under his breath. Most of it she couldn't hear, and she was grateful.

On his second full loop he stopped in front of her. “Malfoy?” he said again and she just nodded. “I just...I can't handle this right now. Can we just go to France so I can pretend that everyone on the other side is Malfoy?”

She didn't bother to admonish him. “She really loves him, Ron, and I think there's a chance this is for real.” But he couldn't respond.

With a sigh she pulled the last portkey from the bag and looked at him. “You ready for this?” she asked.

“Are you?” he countered.

“Don't really have a choice,” she replied with a touch more venom than she intended.

There was nothing left to say. They had a plan, they were as prepared as they would be, and they could only hope for the best. She patted down her pockets to make sure she had her potions kit and anything else she could need. With one last look at Ron she gave him a tight smile and activated the portkey.

Please see Author's Note at end!

Hermione lifted a weary hand to her forehead and wiped away blood and sweat. Her shoulder burned from spellfire, and her right knee protested every time she moved it. Other than that she had survived the battle at Beauxbatons relatively unscathed.

Before they had left the Ministry, she sent George, Ginny, and Seamus ahead to lay traps on the perimeter of the school grounds. Her earlier teams of Aurors had strengthened the anti-apparation charms so they knew Macnair's force would approach on foot. As the rest of Hermione's force waited with anticipation at various points around the palace, she had felt the vibrations through the earth as the explosions were triggered.

That simple bit of preparation had taken out almost half of the attackers which evened the odds somewhat. She had four main groups spread along the edge of the building led by herself, Ron, Charlie, and the most senior Auror left who had proven to not be a traitor. Ron had fought her, demanded that he not leave her side, but she insisted she needed someone she trusted. In the end she had won, but he wasn't pleased.

They came after midnight which she expected. The wait was the worst; the constant edge of worry, not knowing when it would start. When it did, it was almost a relief.

Madame Maxime had only allowed the oldest students to remain and those they left in the interior of the palace in hopes they wouldn't see the fight. The rest of the children had been evacuated through an ancient series of catacombs that ran underneath Beauxbatons. It would be the Aurors' evacuation route as well if necessary.

She lost track of time as she fought, solely focused on who and what was around her.

Macnair's group hadn't expected them to be prepared, that much was obvious. They thought they were going to walk into the school without detection and without witnesses.

Hermione thought she saw Dolohov at one point. She certainly saw that purple curse of his as it cut across the field, but Krum managed to throw a shield charm between it and her just in time. In fact, he had managed to stay by her side throughout the entire fight and had proven to be more than adequate.

Through effort or preparation or maybe just luck she saw what remained of Macnair's force begin to retreat back past the anti-apparation wards in the early pre-dawn hours, and she finally let herself begin to believe they had won this one.

Now, she looked around her and saw others in various states of injury. She knew they would have lost some fighters; the other side's attacks were too vicious for that to not be the case. One of the team leads approached her and she directed him to begin evacuating the wounded to St. Mungo's or to the palace and arrange for Healers to apparate in to care for those too injured to be moved.

Hermione saw Fleur and Bill help Madame Maxine through the damaged front doors of the school, and her knees went weak in relief that they were unharmed. It had been too difficult to keep up with everyone once the fighting had become intense.

She hurried up the steps after them. “Bill!” she called out and he turned expectantly. “Hermione!” he exclaimed and pulled her to him in a fierce hug. “Thank the gods you're alright,” he said into her hair. Fleur was next, and she mumbled a similar sentiment in French.

“Have you seen anyone else?” she asked, half frantic and just then saw Molly Weasley emerge from the interior of the building. She gasped in relief when she saw her son, and soon Fleur and Hermione found themselves embraced as well.

Bill turned back to her. “George and Percy I saw just before the end, but other than that...” he trailed off, clearly worried for the rest of his family.

“We'll find them,” she promised. “I'm going to go search and I'll let you know...” but he cut her off.

“No. I'm going to come with you. Fleur wants to stay with Madame Maxine and Mum to help set up a triage for the wounded.” He turned back to his wife and pressed a hard kiss to her lips before he promised his mother he'd find the rest of their family and followed Hermione and Krum down the steps.

The once finely manicured grounds of Beauxbatons were now littered with debris. In some areas fires still raged and they had to put them out before they could make it through. They came across Percy and Arthur first, who were helping to coordinate with the French ministry for transport of the wounded to the French magical hospital.

“I just saw George and Charlie,” Arthur said. “They were trying to find your sister.” He tried not to sound worried, but the concern he had for the well-being of his only daughter was obvious.

“Have you seen Ron?” she asked. She had questioned her decision to have him fight away from her several times that night, and now deeply regretted it as she hadn't seen him since she'd sent him off with a fierce hug and his promise that he'd come back alive.

Arthur and Percy both shook their heads and she felt a knot settle in her stomach that she hoped was premature, but the look Bill shot her made her believe they wouldn't be so lucky. “We'll find them Arthur,” Hermione said and patted his arm before they continued on their quest.

Their pace quickened and they were delayed by several people who needed to speak to Hermione. Bill had gone on ahead and she turned from the Auror she had been stopped by when she saw his pace quicken.

Without a word to the Auror she picked her way across the field as quickly as she could.

Three red heads were feverishly at work over a large pile of half burned timbers and the remains of a large stone gargoyle that had fallen from the top of a nearby portico.

“It's Ginny,” Bill ground out when she reached his side.

“Oh gods!” Hermione exclaimed as she began floating debris off the pile with the others.

“Hermione!” came from across the grounds and her head whipped to the side to see Ron and Luna as they raced towards them. She almost sobbed in relief, but had to turn her attention back to Ginny.

George and Charlie removed one overly large section with Viktor's help and she dropped to her knees when Ginny's face was revealed.

Hermione flattened to her belly and reached a hand into the twist of stone and wood, until she could feel Ginny's cool skin. With fingers that shook, she searched by touch until she found the younger girl's neck and then held her breath until she felt a weak pulse.

“She's alive!” she said in a choked voice and she heard the boys react in relief.

Another large piece was removed and dislodged a chunk of the statue. Her wand flashed and she caught the stone in mid air before it could crush Ginny's legs. “Be careful,” she said behind clenched teeth, and floated it to the side.

Hermione looked up and saw that Ron hadn't moved. His face was pale and slack; whereas Luna had immediately begun to help the others, he seemed frozen in place.

Hermione scrambled to her feet and crossed to Ron. She grabbed him by his arms and gave him a shake. “Ron!” she said sharply, but he didn't respond. He just stared at Ginny with a stricken look and with a flash she realized why.

“Oh Gods, Ron, it's not Norway, alright? Ginny's alive and, look, the boys have her uncovered,” she said as she saw the last piece being removed.

She reached a hand up to direct his face towards her. “Ron, look at me,” she commanded, and slowly he did. “Ginny's alive,” she said carefully, and with a great gasp of air he came out of his stupor.

Ron stumbled back a few paces and then bent over to brace his hands on his knees as he sucked in great breaths.

He scrubbed his face once and then looked at her properly. “Is she going to be alright?” he asked.

Hermione looked back over and saw that George had just left, presumably to find a Healer. “I don't know,” she answered honestly. “But she's still alive, and that's a good sign,” she said with conviction.

He didn't say anything and she wrapped her arms around him. She bit her lip as his hand came up and gripped her injured shoulder, but she didn't protest.

“You alright?” he asked and all she could do was nod.

“Hermione,” Luna said suddenly and she turned to see the blonde kneeling next to Ginny with a worried expression.

Hermione pushed off of Ron and went to Luna's side. “What is it?” she asked.

But Luna didn't need to answer. As she looked down, Hermione could see a large gash across Ginny's abdomen, most likely from the cutting curse.

“Damn,” she mumbled under her breath, cutting a length of fabric from her robes in an attempt to stop the bleeding. As Hermione pressed the makeshift bandage to the wound, Ginny groaned loudly in pain. Bill dropped to her other side and grabbed her hand with Charlie next to him.

“Hold this,” she said to Charlie and slid her hand out from beneath his when he took over for her applying pressure to the wound. With a wave of her wand she performed the few healing spells she knew and hoped it would be enough to staunch the flow until the Healers arrived.

Figures arrived on either side of her and she saw Arthur reach a shaky hand out to brush the hair out of Ginny's face, his own face set in grief.

“Where are the Healers?” Hermione asked, impatient.

“On their way. Percy waited to tell them where to go,” George said from her right. She'd never seen him so pale before.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, turned back the way they had come and searched for any sight of Percy or a Healer. When she saw Percy's form she shot red sparks from her wand and went back to the rest of the Weasleys.

“The Healers are here,” she said gently. “Give them room to work,” she said and laid a hand on both Bill and Charlie's shoulders until they stood up and moved back only as far as necessary.

Ron held Luna's hand tightly and didn't remove his gaze from his sister.

Hermione walked over to George and tugged him away until they were far enough to not be heard. “You need to go get Malfoy,” she said in a low voice. He looked at her in shock. “It's what your sister would want,” she said with conviction and shoved an emergency portkey into his hand. He nodded once and then took a step back and disappeared.

She waited with the rest until an Auror appeared and pulled her away. With a squeeze to Bill's arm, she walked far enough away to not disturb them, but also be close enough in case she was needed.

The Auror briefed her on the members of Macnair's group they had captured and wanted her direction on how they should deal with them. She had just finished with him when she saw George arrive with Draco Malfoy by his side.

Bill, Charlie, and Ron immediately drew their wands, but she pushed them down and turned on them. “Stop it! I told George to bring him here. If you can't control yourself you can leave,” she ordered, and leveled Ron with a glare. “Don't even think about it Ronald Weasley, not right now.” Luna had to drag him away.

Malfoy hadn't even looked their direction; he only had eyes for Ginny. He fell to his knees and grabbed her hand in his. “Hey, Red,” Hermione heard him say quietly and she was dumbstruck as she watched him gently brush dirt from Ginny's cheek.

She could see it. He truly cared for her, maybe even loved her, and she hoped, for everyone's sake, that he was genuine.

Hermione watched as they began to load Ginny onto a stretcher; Draco didn't let go.

Arthur made his way to where they stood and wiped a shaky hand over his head.

“What did they say?” she asked before he reached them.

“She's going to be alright. She got hit with multiple curses at once; that's what knocked her out, and the cutting curse made her lose a lot of blood, but the bleeding has stopped and they see no reason why she won't wake up in a few hours,” he said, relief evident. “They're taking her to the palace. I should go, don't want Molly to be alone when...” His eyes misted and she squeezed his hand in support.

“That's wonderful news,” she said, the twist in her stomach loosening. She stepped back while the Weasley brothers crowded around Ginny's stretcher. George and Arthur were going to escort her back, along with Draco, and Hermione was pleased to see Arthur drop a hand on Draco's back as they walked alongside Ginny.

She heard her voice called from across the field, and she lifted a hand to let the Auror know she was on her way. A fallen pillar from a destroyed gazebo blocked her way, and instead of going around, she decided to clamber over it instead. She had forgotten about her injured leg, and when she went to lower it on the other side it gave out on her. Viktor was quick though and caught her before she could land in an undignified heap.

She sucked a breath between her teeth and willed the pain away. Viktor had a grip on her arms, and she allowed him to take her weight as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Thanks,” she said, and looked up to give him a half smile.

“ `MIONE!” rang out, and she would have recognized the voice anywhere.

With a gasp her head whipped around and she saw him. It was Harry, striding across the grass, whole and awake.

She was not aware as she pulled away from Viktor or as she put one stumbling foot in front of the other. Everything around her had ceased to exist; everything except Harry.

She saw the smile break across his face and then he was closing the gap between them. Her pace increased and she crashed into him. He absorbed her momentum, and had both arms wrapped around her so tight she couldn't breathe, but she didn't care.

One of his hands cradled the back of her head, and she sobbed into his neck as she clutched handfuls of his robes and tried to press herself inside of him. Her toes brushed the ground as he hauled her in even closer, and she could hear his whispered apologies into her hair.

She couldn't have controlled her emotions if she had wanted to. Harry was back and she could finally let it all go. If half the Auror department was watching her have a complete and total breakdown she didn't care.

When she had calmed some she pulled back enough to see his face. Her hands cupped his cheeks. “You're awake,” she said with a clogged throat as her eyes studied every inch of him in an effort to confirm that he was really there. He just nodded, and gave her the time she needed.

Without thought, her mouth was on his and she felt his hand slip to the back of her neck as she kissed him. Her stomach flipped and shots of electricity went through her as he took over. She let out a low moan when he pulled back enough to rest his forehead on hers, and they were both breathing hard.

“I missed you,” she said in a fierce whisper and buried her face in his neck again as a second wave came over her. She could feel the rumble of his voice beneath her but couldn't make out what he was saying, and when she pulled her head up she realized he had spoken to a nervous Auror who stood only a few feet away.

She slid down so her feet were flat on the ground and scrubbed a hurried hand over her face, most likely only doing more to smear the blood and dirt. She put only the smallest space between her and Harry and left one hand wrapped in a handful of his robes as a way to keep herself connected to him.

“Yes? What do you need?” she asked the Auror, her voice nowhere near normal.

“Sorry, Ma'am,” he said and then proceeded to ask her the exact same question the last Auror had. She tried to keep the frustration out of her tone as she gave him the same direction and watched as he tried to leave her as quickly as possible.

“My god, `Mione, I knew you were brilliant, but this...” he said and looked around. “You don't even need me, do you?” he asked with a laugh, but she didn't find it amusing at all and couldn't stop herself from dissolving into tears once more.

“Don't say that!” she said fiercely. “Don't ever say that!” and he pulled her to him once more.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...It was a stupid thing to say,” he said sincerely.

“You don't know. I didn't want this. But I didn't have a choice! And you weren't here, and I didn't know if you ever would be and it was just too hard!” She punctuated this tirade with pounds of her fists on his chest, but they decreased in intensity as she went along until she just clutched at his robes and tried not to collapse.

She was wrung out emotionally and physically, and when she looked up, black spots danced on the edges of her vision. She shook her head sharply and tried to ignore them; she had too much left to do before she could even begin to entertain the idea of rest.

Harry pressed a hard kiss to her temple. “Let's head to the palace. You need to get seen by a Healer, and anyone else that needs to talk to you can do it there.” His voice indicated that he wasn't going to be challenged on this and she readily accepted.

They hadn't gone ten feet when a whoop of exuberance caught their attention, and they saw Ron on a bee-line for them. He didn't slow down until just before he reached them, and soon she was being crushed between him and Harry.

She didn't care that it was hard to breathe. Ron pulled away to slap Harry on the back and give him grief about his `nap'. She couldn't help the smile that broke across her face. She had missed them.

“There it is,” Harry said softly and took her chin in his hand. “I have a feeling you haven't smiled in quite a while.” All she could do was shake her head no.

Their moment was interrupted when she heard a throat cleared behind them. She turned to see Viktor; she had forgotten him completely.

“Yeah, when were you going to tell me that Krum was back?” Harry said in a not so subtle stage whisper that she knew Viktor must have overheard.

Hermione looked at Harry and saw his eyes locked on the Bulgarian. “Behave,” she hissed at him.

“Krum,” Harry said in a hard voice.

“Harry,” Viktor returned, his jaw set.

“It's a long story, Harry, but Viktor's been helping Kingsley for years and he had information for us,” Hermione said in a rush, all the awkwardness of standing between the only two men she had ever kissed threatening to overwhelm her.

“That is what I wanted to ask you,” Viktor began. “Could I come to the Ministry tomorrow to give you the rest of my statement?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Harry.

“That would be fine, Viktor. And thank you. Really. You didn't have to be here with us,” she said sincerely.

“Yes, I did,” he replied stiffly, and she stepped away from Harry to press a kiss to Viktor's cheek.

“Thank you,” she said again, and he nodded once before heading for the apparation point.

She couldn't read Harry's expression when she turned back to him, and she raised one eyebrow as both warning and challenge to say something.

He wisely stayed silent, although she could see a muscle tick along his jaw line, and she lifted herself on her toes to whisper into it. “You have nothing to worry about.” She was glad to see him relax.

“Huh, I never thought about it that way,” Ron said out of the blue, and she and Harry looked at him expectantly. “You've got a thing for seekers, don't you?” he added with a wry grin, and she growled at him in response as he ducked out of her oncoming slap.

Harry had a smile on his face and she sighed in exasperation before she laced her fingers between his. They proceeded to make their way to the school. There was hardly anyone left outside; most had been taken away via portkey or moved into the building.

When they stepped into the large main foyer, she could see it had been made into a temporary hospital ward, but the sight struck her and she almost stumbled backwards. The bodies covered in blankets were all too reminiscent of Hogwarts.

Harry's hand clutched hers and she knew he had thought the same.

Chelsea of all people appeared before them, and Hermione reluctantly pulled her hand from Harry's.

“Good to see you, Ma'am,” Chelsea said, and her voice betrayed the worry she had obviously felt.

“You as well,” Hermione returned.

“The team leads are all accounted for. We've had several Aurors taken to St. Mungo's with serious injuries.” She cast her eyes down for a moment. “We've lost two, Ma'am.” Hermione's heart dropped.

“Who?” she asked quietly.

“Two of the younger Aurors,” Chelsea said, and Hermione held her breath until she said two names that were unfamiliar except for on paper. She felt ashamed that she was relieved Jenny's name wasn't on the list.

“Have the rest of Macnair's men been taken to containment?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, Ma'am, there were four that survived the battle, they...” and then with a jerk her attention went from Hermione to Harry. “Oh, I'm sorry, Sir. I just...you've been gone, and she...and I didn't...”

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink as she realized Chelsea was correct; Harry was back now and she had just been filling in while he was in the hospital. Chelsea should be addressing him instead.

Hermione started to speak, to agree with her when Harry cut her off. “No. I have had only the shortest of briefings, and that was from Hagrid,” he said and then took her by the shoulders. “Hermione, this is your department right now; we'll work the rest out later.” She could see nothing but certainty and support in his eyes.

“Right,” she agreed and squared her shoulders to turn back to Chelsea.

Screeches of `RON! HARRY!' came from the other side of the room and they all turned to see Molly Weasley almost upon them. Soon enough the boys were being dragged away to see the rest of the family and she was left with Chelsea to receive the remainder of the reports uninterrupted.

There wasn't much left to do at Beauxbatons. It would be up to Madame Maxime and the French Ministry to rebuild, and other than ensure everyone was seen to medically, they should be on their way back to their own Ministry soon.

Hermione had decided to stop by the cots of the injured and had made her way through quite a few before she heard a roar of `MALFOY!' and knew it was Harry.

She raced to where Ginny was with her wand drawn and saw Ron of all people holding Harry back. “What is that ferret doing here!” Harry demanded.

Malfoy just stood by Ginny's bedside, hands empty, although there was a small curl of his lip that was all too familiar.

Hermione took over for Ron and had to physically push Harry until Malfoy was out of his sightline.

By the time she had sat him down and explained to him about Ginny and Malfoy he looked like the world had been turned upside down. “Really? Ginny and Malfoy?” he said several times. In the end, however, he did see how Draco could provide them with information, provided he was being truthful.

Harry scrubbed both hands under his glasses and down his face. “We'll deal with that soon enough I suppose.”

Ron joined them and they sat in a semblance of a circle as emergency portkeys kept going off around them.

“Do you think they're going to attack again?” Ron asked.

Hermione sighed heavily and leaned into Harry's side. “Yes, of course. But I think they're going to bide their time. We surprised them today. They'll need to regroup, come up with a new plan...But yes, they're going to attack again.”

Her words settled around them and neither Harry nor Ron had anything else to add.

“Do you want me to find you a Healer?” Harry asked, and traced the jagged tear in her trouser leg, as if she needed a reminder that she had been hurt.

“I'll get it seen to when we get back,” she said decisively. “I mostly just want to get out of here.”

With that, they rose to their feet and headed back to where Ginny was about to be sent to St. Mungo's. Hermione made sure she stood in front of Harry, but Draco was fully focused on Ginny and didn't even glance in their direction. After Ginny was gone, Hermione made sure the rest of the operation participants knew what the plans were and then turned to the boys.

Without a word they pivoted as a unit and exited the school. As they stepped onto the wide front portico of Beauxbatons, Harry flanked her on one side and Ron did the same on the other. Without thought, and as she had done all those years ago at Hogwarts, she reached down and took each of their hands. They had won this battle, but the war was not over. She tightened the grip she had on them and knew they had long days ahead; but for the first time since this had begun, she actually believed they would persevere, no matter how long it might take.

End: Part One

A/N: First, I'd like to thank everyone for reading, and reviewing, and favoriting, and following, and sticking with me. This is, by far, the most ambitious project I've ever undertaken and it's turned out so much better than I could have hoped. However, when I had hit approximately 100K words I knew I was no where near the end and had to figure out where to go next. Multiple parts seemed to be the answer. So I hope I am forgiven, those of you who see the `Complete' and are disappointed this is not the true end. There will be a Part Two, however, although not under the title of `War Widow', so you may wish to follow me as an author to make sure you don't miss out.

Thank you again! I hope you've enjoyed Part One, Part Two will begin soon.