Unofficial Portkey Archive

"Do you think that I don't know you two were whispering behind my back?"

"It wasn't like that - " Hermione cried, desperately. "We were just worried -"

"Don't lie!" Ron hurled at her. "You said it too. You said you were disappointed, that you thought he had a bit more to go on."

"I didn't say it like that!" Hermione yelled at Ron, then turned to Harry and said, eyes glistening, "Harry, please believe me, I didn't mean it like that."

Harry's insides had turned to ice. He knew that Ron had been miserable; that his arm, although healed, still hurt him and that, after being well-fed his whole life, hunger was worse for Ron than he and Hermione. With all of Ron's complaining, Harry had been half-expecting a fight for weeks now. But the thought of Hermione also doubting him, that she questioned whether he knew what he was doing, made Harry feel hollow inside. She had always been his biggest supporter, she had always believed in him. The excitement he had just felt, all the triumph of a few minutes ago, was gone. Harry realized that they were just three teenagers who had been wandering around forests for weeks and that his only accomplishment so far was to have not gotten himself or his friends killed. His own frustration and self-doubt boiled up in him.

"So why are you still here then?" Harry glared at Ron, avoiding Hermione's eyes.

"Search me," said Ron, coldly. He rounded on Hermione, sneering, "You're so sure my family is OK, are you? Pretty easy for you to say, with your parents safe and out of the way."

"My parents don't even know that they ever had a daughter! At least you still have a family. If I died, nobody would even know I ever existed!" The last part came out in a strangled sob. Harry's stomach turned to lead as it hit him again how much Hermione's loyalty had cost her.

Before Ron could continue yelling at Hermione, Harry cut in, icily, "My parents are dead, Ron, so I guess you could say that they're safe, too."

"But mine could be dead NEXT," Ron yelled.

Harry felt his growing fury at Ron balloon in his chest. He didn't care how hungry Ron was or how bad his arm hurt; he was sick of being the one who was supposed to have all the answers while Ron just whinged on about when they were going to eat next. Disgust churned inside him, feeding the bitter disappointment that he already felt at himself, for letting his friends down, for failing to be the Chosen One that everyone expected him to be. Ron's lack of confidence in Harry's ability to lead them cut into him all the more coming right after the first sign of progress they had had since escaping the Ministry. All the frustration of the last few weeks surged inside him at once and, without quite realizing what he was saying, Harry roared at Ron, "Then GO! Go back to Mummy and pretend that you've gotten over your spattergoit and let her feed you up and -"

At the mention of Ron's mother, Ron made a sudden move. Harry instinctively reached in his pocket, but before either boy could raise their wands, Hermione had already flourished hers and yelled, "Protego!" An invisible shield expanded across the room, separating Harry and Hermione on one side from Ron on the other. Despite all the hatred he felt towards Ron in that moment, the anger filling his head with a dull roar, Harry was too astonished to do anything but glare at Hermione.

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry, accusingly, "Why aren't you on his side of the shield?"

"That's a very good question, Hermione," said Ron, acidly. His freckles stood out in sharp contrast to his now white skin, "What are you doing over there? Better yet, what are you going to do now?"

Hermione, tears flowing freely down her face, looked just as stunned as Harry felt. "What- What do you mean? Ron, please, we promised to help Harry. To hunt down the Horcruxes - it's the only way. We can't - we can't leave now." She held out her hand beseechingly towards Ron, but the shield charm prevented her from reaching him.

Ron stared at her outstretched hand, breathing heavily, then scowled at her, anger and hurt blazing from his eyes.

"Don't bother, Hermione. We can all see who your real choice is. I should have known," he added bitterly. "Here's your precious Horcrux. You don't need me, then." He ripped the Horcrux off his neck and threw it on a chair.

Ron snatched up his rucksack and without another glance at Harry or Hermione, ducked under the tent flap, disappearing into the rainy night.

"Ron!" Hermione's scream echoed the panicky desperation building in Harry. Hermione moved towards the door but was prevented from leaving by the shield charm. She looked back imploringly at Harry, her eyes filled with pain. Harry gave a jerky shake of his head, refusing; he was still too angry to do more. As the charm faded, Hermione ran from the tent and Harry could hear her yell Ron's name into the blackness.

Then, as suddenly as it had flared up, his anger dissipated, and Harry felt sucker-punched by the emptiness that was left. He couldn't make sense of what had just happened: Ron and he had fought before, but to leave them? To go home to a safe, warm bed and family while he and Hermione were left to battle Voldemort alone? Harry had never felt as hopeless as this, not when he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys, not when the whole school had thought he was lying, not even when Voldemort had killed Cedric… Ron - gone? It was like a thousand Dementors were gliding towards him at once. Harry stood there, trying to stave off the despair that was threatening to overtake him. He searched for some nugget of joy, of non-pain, to fight off the darkness as Lupin had taught him and after several panicked seconds, finally found a small part of him that was calm and almost peaceful. He couldn't name it, but it was the barest moonbeam of light pushing through the darkness and so he clung to it.

Harry focused on this wisp of peacefulness as his breathing gradually slowed and evened out. It took him a long time to realize that the feeling was relief. It seemed so unnatural, so contrary to what he expected to feel that it only confused him more. Ron had just said everything that Harry had been tormenting himself with ever since they left. He didn't know what they were supposed to do and he didn't have a clue how to begin finding the Horcruxes. He knew Ron and Hermione were counting on him and he had failed them. He had failed Dumbledore. But, for the first time since Ron had started shouting, Harry felt like he could breathe again, like he had been petrified and just woken up.

Harry was still standing in the same spot when Hermione ducked back into the tent. She was soaked through; the rain on her hair glistening as it dripped to the floor. She stood in the doorway, frantic, while her eyes darted about the room as though searching for something. Hermione was so wet Harry wasn't even sure she was still crying, until he met her eyes, full of hurt and anger and concern. Harry tried to think of something to say that would make her feel better, reassure both of them that Ron would somehow come back to them, but his brain wasn't working right. He just stared at Hermione for a moment, and suddenly felt light-headed and nauseous, and unbelievably tired. The random thought came to him that perhaps he was coming down with the flu. He didn't know why he felt relieved and he didn't care, he just wanted to lie down and sleep for a long time.

"Harry…" Hermione began, "…Ron...I…" A great sob escaped her as she buried her head in her hands and crossed towards him. Harry held her, patting her back, not sure what to do or say, "Shh, shhh, it's all right. It'll be all right, Hermione." And then, knowing how empty those words were, he went silent. As Hermione tried to get her crying under control, Harry realized that he felt strangely calm. Ron had left, yes, but Hermione was still here, at least; he wasn't completely alone. Hermione may have doubted him but not enough to leave. She must have had enough faith in what he was doing- in what they were doing- to stay.

Hermione took a deep breath, and looked up at him, sniffling, "Harry?" He looked down, strangely surprised at how close she was; he saw that her eyes were puffy and red from crying and her lips were slightly parted, as though she were about to say something. Looking at her mouth, Harry had a mad urge to kiss her and block out everything that had just happened. You have that saving-people thing, Harry, Hermione's words came back to him and then that reasonable part of him that often sounded quite like her in his head: You don't want to kiss Hermione, not really. Your best mate just did a runner and you're happy that she didn't go too.

Hermione's eyes, filled with sorrow, began to search his, questioning the intensity of his gaze. Her brow furrowed for a moment before her eyes widened briefly and color rose on her cheeks. "Harry…" she said again, sounding bizarrely certain and skeptical at the same time. For the briefest moment, Harry thought that Hermione might be thinking of kissing him, too, but, then her eyes narrowed and her quizzical look turned to uncertainty. Hermione hastily pulled away, retreating a few steps, and the air was filled with awkward silence. The rain pounded against the roof of the tent and Hermione seemed to notice for the first time that she was drenched. She began to try to wring out her water-logged jumper, looking flustered. Harry's heart was pounding in his chest and he didn't know where to look.

"Harry," Hermione began for the third time. She had given up on her jumper and was pulling dry clothes out of her beaded bag while she spoke, avoiding his gaze, "I want you to know that Ron and I did talk about you and what you seemed to know. I… I had hoped - believed- that you knew more than you do." Finally she met his eyes, and Harry's insides twisted into knots; he didn't want to hear any of her misgivings or apprehension: He had enough of his own.

"But - I've never doubted what we need to do. I trust Dumbledore, Harry." There was a determined look in her eye, "I trust you." And then she ducked into the bathroom, leaving Harry dumbfounded and alone.

The next few weeks were some of the most exasperating and disorienting of Harry's life. When he first woke up the morning after Ron left, the airy feeling of relief was still there and he was happy although without knowing why. It was only a few seconds, though, before a weight dropped into his stomach as he remembered shouting at Ron and Ron storming off. Then a wall of embarrassment washed over him as the memory of comforting Hermione came back to him, and Hermione jerking away just when he had had an urge to kiss her.

Harry covered his head with his pillow and chastised himself, What was I thinking? By the cold light of day, he could see how mental that impulse had been. He loved Hermione, of course, he supposed, like he loved the Weasleys and Sirius and Lupin and, even, in some way, Luna and Neville. But what he felt for Hermione was nothing like what he had felt for Cho or Ginny. With them, he had been more nervous and excited than he had ever been in his life outside a Quidditch match. Being with Ginny those last few weeks at Hogwarts was like a fairy tale that belonged to some other life, like he had just won the World Cup every day.

Being with Hermione was nothing like that, Harry thought. It was wonderful, being friends with her, but a quiet sort of wonderful, like flying through a forest or being at the Burrow for Christmas. Harry groaned as he remembered how awkward the rest of the night had been after she had backed away. She knows what I was thinking, he thought and closed his eyes to avoid the painful facts. Ron was gone, they had no idea where the Horcruxes were, and his remaining best friend now thought that he was in love with her. Harry felt lower than he had since they had started this journey.

Harry could hear Hermione in the kitchen and he pulled himself reluctantly out of bed. It wouldn't help to leave her to pack everything up alone. He couldn't tell if Hermione had been crying again, because she averted her eyes as Harry passed by and then she barely managed a small nod when he greeted her. With Ron gone, the tent, which had felt perfectly adequate for three people, now seemed much too small. The rest of the day Harry tried to avoid Hermione, who had yet to look him in the face, but it seemed that she was everywhere. What's more, he had never really noticed touching Hermione before, but now he found he had become ridiculously self-conscious whenever he was near her, worried about what she would think. Even the simplest things accepting a sandwich or handing her the Horcrux when it was her turn to wear it, made him feel like an awkward first-year caught out doing something he shouldn't.

Hermione wasn't making things any easier, either, Harry thought ruefully. The few times that he had brushed her by accident she startled and snatched her hand away as though she had been burned. Harry realized that he was not much better: Hermione had come up behind him when he was collecting mushrooms and his stomach lurched when she touched his shoulder to hand him a bowl. There was something very unnerving about being too close to Hermione when he didn't expect it, he realized, and redoubled his efforts to keep a safe distance away.

As the days passed, Harry and Hermione resumed their speculation over where the Horcruxes could be. Gradually, some of their easy friendship returned. Although they both studiously avoided saying Ron's name, they could now pack up together without one of them getting skittish or turning red. After a few days, however, it became obvious that they were simply repeating the same possibilities over and over, with little progress to show for all their discussion. Finally, one night in frustration, Harry threw up his arms and said, "I give up! We're not getting anywhere. There are loads of places that a Horcrux could be and I don't know how we're ever going to find them! I say we just go to the places we think are important and start looking around."

"Well, of course they could be anywhere, Harry!" Hermione retorted, "But we can't just pop up in odd places all over the world, hoping we get it in one. We need a plan - I'm going to go over that History of the Dark Arts book again, there must be something I missed." Hermione grabbed a musty, black tome the size of a telephone book and settled into an easy chair.

Harry stood up and said, "I need some air." He grabbed his wand and left the tent, heading to the river next to their campsite.

When he reached it, he sat on a large outcropping, watching the water gush over the half-submerged rocks, using his wand to stack the rocks into a lop-sided dam. As he tried to balance an especially large rock on top of a particularly fidgety pile, Harry's thoughts drifted towards Hogwarts. He wondered what Hagrid, Luna, and Neville were doing, and then thought about Ginny and the Weasleys and how relieved Mrs. Weasley must be over Ron's return. He pictured Ginny flying through the orchard with her hair streaming behind her, that blazing look in her eye as she raced him. Hermione can't fly half as well, came the unbidden thought, followed almost immediately by, Why am I thinking about Hermione?

Harry turned his thoughts back to Ginny and spent a few minutes in reverie, remembering the smell of her hair, of reading with his head in her lap in the Gryffindor common room, and sitting with her by the lake at Hogwarts. An image came to him of sitting with Ron and Hermione in the same spot, Hermione laughing so hard at something Ron said that she had snorted out her drink. Then a jumble of memories came back to him: Ron and Hermione laughing on the Hogwarts express, seeing Hermione standing outside the Great Hall on the night of the Yule Ball, and the rock hard feeling in his stomach when Dolohov's spell had hit her in the Department of Mysteries. Harry remembered the look of admiration in Hermione's eyes when she said that he was the best wizard she knew, back when they were nervous first-years trying to get through the Chamber of Secrets.

Wait, what? Harry shook himself and the rock dam fell over. Enough Hermione, you're just lonely and she's here, but it's a non-issue, mate. Back in the real world, he reasoned, you chose Ginny. But Ginny felt very far away right then. Harry hadn't felt so disconnected from the magical world since that first summer when he went back to the Dursleys and Hogwarts had felt about as real as a show on the telly. Harry realized that it had been a long time since he had taken out the Marauder's Map. He had stopped looking at it to check on Ginny and now only took it out to see if Ron had returned to Hogwarts yet.

After a long while spent focusing on building a tricky arch to span the little dam he had built, Harry's thoughts turned back to Horcruxes. He decided that if everywhere was just as good as anywhere else, then there was just one place he wanted to go. It seemed as magical and important as any other. His mind made up, Harry shot a final spell wrecking his dam, watching as the water flowed freely again. He headed back to the tent, preparing arguments to give Hermione when she objected to his idea, as he was sure she would.

Harry pulled the flap back on the tent and strode into the room, his arguments dying on his lips as he saw Hermione curled up in the chair. The light from the little blue flames she had conjured cast a luminous glow around her, as she sat frowning at the book on her lap. She was deep in concentration, chewing on the end of a quill and scratching notes on a piece of parchment next to her. She was so engrossed in what she was reading that, as Harry knew from past experience, a dungbomb could go off and she'd barely notice.

Harry had seen Hermione in this exact pose a million times over in the last six years and the reassuring familiarity of it knotted his stomach with affection and homesickness. More than anything, he wanted to be back in the Gryffindor common room, sitting in front of the fire, laughing with Ron and Hermione, all his creature comforts taken care of, safe in the knowledge that somehow Dumbledore was watching over all of them.

As Harry stood, transfixed, wanting to talk to her but not wanting to break this spell of normalcy, Hermione suddenly slammed the book shut, setting it down on the table next to her. She yawned, her profile silhouetted in the cool light of the flames, raising her arms above her as she arched her back and stretched. Harry's throat constricted and he could feel his blood pounding in his veins, in a way that he hadn't felt since that first kiss with Ginny, after the Quidditch match. He had snogged Ginny plenty since then but it hadn't had the same effect on him. Get a grip, mate, Harry scolded himself, You're just lonely, you miss Ginny.

Harry moved into the room. Hermione jumped and grabbed her wand from the table next to her before exclaiming, "Harry! You frightened me half to death! What are you doing there?" She set her wand down again and motioned him towards the empty chair next to her. "Come on, there's something I want to discuss with you."

"I want to go to Godric's Hollow," Harry blurted out.

Hermione looked momentarily startled then broke into a grin. "But that's exactly what I was going to say! Why do you want to go?"

Harry was flummoxed. He didn't think that Hermione would risk it just so he could see his parents' graves.
"Erm… it just seemed like the next best step."

"Exactly!" Hermione responded eagerly, to Harry's surprise. "I don't know why I didn't see it before but it all connects: Godric Gryffindor, Dumbledore, your parents... there's got to be some connection. Everything seems to circle back to it."

"Gryffindor? Dumbledore?" replied Harry, taken aback.

"Honestly, Harry, did you ever even open A History of Magic?" said Hermione, exasperatedly. Hermione expressing her disapproval over Harry's failure to read something was so familiar to him that he had to bite back a grin. Apparently Hermione felt they were on well-trodden ground as well because she didn't bother to wait for Harry's answer and went right into what Harry and Ron had always thought of as her professor mode.

"Harry, Godric's Hollow is a very ancient magical village. It was the home of Godric Gryffindor - I would have thought you should have cottoned on to that much at least, even without reading A History of Magic. And besides being the site of at least half a dozen of the greatest battles and duels ever fought, it was the home to three of the greatest wizards in history. Dumbledore's family is from there and he must have known that at some point you'd want to see where your parents lived. Perhaps he left the sword there for you to find!"

"Dumbledore is from Godric's Hollow?" asked Harry, with a pit in his stomach.

"Well, yes," said Hermione, looking slightly uncomfortable, "I overheard someone talking about Rita Skeeter's book at Bill and Fleur's wedding and they said there was a whole chapter about Dumbledore's childhood in Godric's Hollow." As though she knew this news might hurt Harry's feelings, Hermione continued more gently. "Harry, I'm sure that he would have told you himself someday. There just wasn't time."

"That's rubbish, Hermione, and you know it," argued Harry, growing red in the face. "He had loads of time to tell me. He just didn't want to."

"Harry, Dumble- … oh, never mind." Hermione sagged more deeply into her chair. She seemed to want to avoid a fight and stared down at her hands in her lap. They sat in silence as Harry brooded over Godric's Hollow, his parents, Dumbledore, the sword, and Godric Gryffindor.

"Hang on, who's the third, Hermione?" asked Harry.

"What? Oh…" Hermione straightened up, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously as her cheeks flushed.

"The third," repeated Harry, growing wary at Hermione's obvious discomfort, "You said that there were three great wizards who came from there. Gryffindor, Dumbledore, and who?"

"Well, you know…. Oh, really, it's obvious isn't it, Harry? It's you, you're the third."

"I'm not a great wizard," said Harry, dumbfounded.

"You are," said Hermione quietly, as though trying to break bad news to him as gently as possible. "Look, Ron and I never say it in front of you because you nearly take our heads off when we do, but you a very good wizard, Harry. And you've fought harder battles than any other wizard our age, ever. It's not just us that think this, either, there are loads of people at school who are kind of in awe of you, Harry. It's just no one knows how to talk about it, really. The people who showed up for Dumbledore's Army are the ones who are brave enough to admit it and be willing to follow you." She put her hand up when Harry started to protest, "Don't deny it, Harry. You know you've faced more advanced magic than anyone has ever seen. In fact, I believe you've shouted as much to Ron and I on more than one occasion." Hermione's twisted into a rueful smirk, and then softened again, "But, you're alive. You've fought one of the most powerful wizards in magical history, more than once, and here you are. And that doesn't even count the fact that you're The Boy Who Lived and all that. Accept it - you're one of the great wizards, Harry."

Harry felt as though he had been hit by a Stunning Spell. He protested weakly, "But you're better than me. You do loads better in all our lessons."

"I do," agreed Hermione, with a small note of pride in her voice. She raised her eyebrows, "But, then, neither you nor Ron exactly apply yourselves, do you? Books and cleverness, remember? I am very good at those, but there are more important things. I've never faced anything like you have and I'm quite sure the result would have been very different if I had."

Harry felt his own face turning red and he squirmed a little in his seat. He had never known that Hermione or Ron had thought of him like that. He had never known anyone but the rather ill-informed readers of the Daily Prophet had thought of him like that. People that he knew, that knew him, actually believed that he was a great wizard? He felt like a fraud, but it was also some comfort to know that others thought that he might have a chance at defeating Voldemort.

Harry reached over and took Hermione's hand, waiting until she met his eyes. "Thanks," said Harry, trying to convey all that he felt with that one word. "Those books and cleverness have saved me more times than I care to count, you know."

Hermione smiled and gave his hand a squeeze back before releasing it. Apparently relieved that for once he hadn't shouted at her for thinking well of him, Hermione turned back to the business at hand. "Harry, we can't just depend on the cloak if we go. We're too big for it to cover our feet anymore and what if we get split up? No, we have to do it right. We have some of Mad-Eye's Polyjuice Potion left. You can sneak into the village and get some hair from a couple of the Muggles."

"Right, of course. Brilliant. I'll go first thing in the morning." Harry was elated at how easily Hermione had agreed to go to Godric's Hollow. He was going to get to go visit his parents' graves, the place where he had had a family, where he had been coddled and loved.

"We best get to bed, then. We've got a lot to do tomorrow." Hermione smiled at him and uncurled her feet out from under her.

Harry reached out to help Hermione up to her feet, but as she stood she realized they were still numb from sitting on them so long and she stumbled against him laughing, "Oh, God. Ouch."

"Too much butterbeer again?" teased Harry, holding on to her elbows as she hopped a little from foot to foot.

Hermione looked up at him and as their eyes caught each other's, the smile slowly faded from her lips. Harry was afraid that she was going to jump away again and dropped her arms quickly.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, but her voice sounded suspiciously husky. She cleared her throat before continuing, slowly, "You know, I was thinking, with Ron home, Ginny will know that you're safe - well, alive at any rate. If it's any comfort, Ginny will probably take fewer risks, knowing that there's still hope for the two of you." She looked expectantly at him.

Harry was completely baffled by Hermione's little speech. What was she getting at? How had she gone from Godric's Hollow to Ginny? Not for the first time, Harry wondered if he had dismissed Ron's book on understanding females a little too quickly.

"Well, right, yes... that's good," Harry stammered out the most neutral response he could think of, not wanting to inadvertently offend Hermione and return to those awkward days of barely talking to each other. "I wouldn't want Ginny to put herself in danger."

He watched Hermione's face fall a little and her shoulders sag. "No, of course not," Hermione responded somewhat brusquely. With a flash of an overly bright smile that didn't seem to touch her eyes, she added, "I'm off to bed then. Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Hermione," Harry said, feeling wrong-footed but not knowing why. Girls were altogether too confusing. He wanted to end the night on a good note, though, and so added, warmly, "Thanks, again, Hermione, for everything. I couldn't do this without you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she appraised him for a moment before letting out a noise something like hmmpff and disappearing into the room where she slept. Harry found himself once more watching Hermione leave a room as he stood there, feeling as though she were a half-step ahead of him. He found it strangely reassuring.

Hermione hesitated, but recognized the dismissal. Harry watched her, not daring to move because if he did the disappointment and betrayal that was swelling inside him would break him open. She picked up the book and then, giving him the briefest of glances, walked back past him to go into the tent. As she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand, letting it linger an extra heartbeat. Harry felt something inside him break and he seized her hand, pulling it down and resting his forehead against it. He needed her to stay another minute, he wasn't ready to face the emptiness that threatened him alone. Hermione stood unmoving, gripping his hand tightly as the wind blew around them, and then, so softly he could barely hear it, she whispered, "You've always been more loved than you realize, Harry." She disappeared into the tent while Harry sat staring in the blackness, wishing desperately that what she said was true.

Harry stared, mesmerized, at the undulating image of Hermione and him, naked and entwined. He felt a heat spread throughout his body and his fists clenched at his sides. Ron stared at the apparition, the sword all but forgotten. His face was drained of color as he gaped at the figures with an expression of horrified pain. Harry had never seen his friend look so pale and wondered if Ron was going to faint. Harry had suspected for years that Ron fancied Hermione. Understanding dawned over Harry that, if this was how Riddle chose to torture him, then Ron must feel a great deal more towards Hermione than just fancy her. Harry felt sick with shame; Ron, his best mate, was obviously in love with Hermione and he was just letting loneliness get the best of him. Ron was his first, his best, friend, and Harry wasn't going to betray that just because he had suddenly woken up to the fact that Hermione was a girl. Harry pushed past the tightness in his throat and damped down the longing to do exactly what the fake-Harry and fake-Hermione were doing. Hermione had always been his friend and that was the most important thing, really; that would have to be enough. Harry had only just got his one friend back and he wasn't going to risk losing either Ron's or Hermione's friendship again.

Ron's back was to him, his shoulders shaking. Harry was sure that what they both had seen could drive a slow but insidious wedge in their friendship as surely as Ron leaving had almost done; it was too close to the truth. With a sense of loss, Harry did the only thing that he could think of that might repair the damage the locket had caused. He reached out and put a hand on Ron's shoulder and, for the first time, lied to his friend.

"She's always been like a sister to me. And I reckon I'm like a brother to her. I thought you knew that. There's nothing between us," said Harry, haltingly. He removed his hand and continued with more confidence, since now he was just reporting facts; Ron could interpret them as he wished, "She cried for days after you left… weeks probably, I'm not sure. We didn't talk much. It was all different with you gone."

As they settled into their bunks, Ron whispered, hopefully, "Well, that went about as well as could be expected, don't you think?"

Harry smiled at his friend, his relief at having Ron back worth the discomfort he now felt with Ron and Hermione. He wasn't sure that he agreed with Ron; he had expected Hermione to be angry, but not attack Ron like that. "Well, I think you may have made some progress with that whole hearing-her-voice thing."

Ron grinned, sheepishly, "Well, mate, I got that from the book I told you about. Don't tell her this, but I actually heard both of you talking. But it lets her know I was thinking about her, doesn't it, if I leave out your bit. Girls love that stuff, I tell you." Ron sighed comfortably and turned over, pulling the blankets over him. Harry was still puzzling over why he felt annoyed when he heard Ron start to snore.

The three friends appeared, holding hands, on a hillside somewhere between the Lovegoods and the Burrow. They could see the trees that surrounded the Burrow off in the distance. Harry realized that this was the closest that he had been to Ginny in months, yet he felt no pull to go see her. He wasn't sure, for all her magical talent, that he wanted her with them right now, even if he hadn't felt the need to keep her safe, out of harm's way. Harry admired Ginny's strength; he liked that she was passionate and unashamed about her own talents and didn't apologize to anyone for what she thought. Ginny was so sure about everything, so utterly confident that the way she saw things was the way that they should be seen. Harry sometimes felt that she couldn't help but persuade people, persuade him, into seeing things her way, even if they didn't whole-heartedly agree. And, right now, Harry felt that it was important that he be able to listen to his own thoughts clearly.

Ginny was safe, where she was. Mrs. Weasley would never let anything happen to her, of that Harry was sure. At the thought of Mrs. Weasly, Harry felt his stomach knot. She had never been anything but kind and loving to him, the mother he never had, no matter how many times he had put her own children in danger. His fear for Ginny was the same fear for all of the Weasleys. He couldn't put them in any more danger than he already had. What he wouldn't give to be back at the Burrow with Ron, playing Quidditch, eating Mrs. Weasley's cooking, letting her tut over him and grumble about how thin he had gotten.

Harry felt unbelievably tired and drained. As tempting as the thought of being fussed over was, he knew that what he needed was someone strong to get him through. There wasn't a choice in what he was about to do and he needed someone to keep him focused on his ultimate goal, to destroy Voldemort. He looked over at Hermione, who appeared to be using her wand as a sort of compass as she looked at a map. Ron, like Harry, was looking towards the Burrow wistfully as well. Harry knew that Ron longed just as much as he did to Apparate the few miles over and be welcomed into the embracing safety of the Weasley clan. To surrender all this responsibility for just one night and forget about the impossible mission they were on. Harry regarded his friend. Ron was what everyone wanted in a mate: Always up for a laugh, loyal to the end, supportive of whatever Harry decided to do. After so many years of having no friends, of being criticized for everything he did, Ron's easy friendship and openness was a welcome relief.

Harry knew that Ron accepted him no matter what. But that's not what Harry needed, because he could be scared like anyone else, he could be wrong like anyone else. Right now, he would have to trust in Hermione's unerring sense of what was right and, when he was getting too impatient or tired, her stubborn insistence that those around her also acknowledge what was right and do it. She rarely argued with him, he realized, but she did try to reason with him an awful lot. Hermione was probably even more loyal than Ron, really, but she never let her loyalty interfere with her principles. Harry realized that as annoying as her nagging and bossiness had been over the years, it was that stubbornly steadfast quality about her that made him feel safe no matter how risky the situation was. He relied on her, trusting Hermione to have thought out all the things that could go wrong, confident that she would know just the spell to get them out of whatever mess they had gotten into.

For the first time, Harry realized that he needed Hermione. Not just enjoyed her friendship, not just needed her brains or her talent; but needed her. It was only with her that he could let his guard down and be less than the Chosen One. Even Ron looked to him to lead. It was only Hermione that he could trust to never waver from the truth, to resolutely push on regardless of the odds. It was to Hermione he turned to when he was filled with doubt or didn't know what to do. She was really the leader as much as he was, no matter how anyone else saw it. He needed Hermione. Harry wanted to reach out and touch her, explain what he had just realized, how it changed everything, but he pushed the longing down. There was still Ron. And there was still Hermione: What did Harry give Hermione? All he ever did was wheedle her into doing things that were dangerous, things that were terrifying to her. Harry stared unseeingly over the hills as a cold thought arose: What if Hermione didn't need him?

Greyback. Snatchers. Harry whirled towards Hermione, knowing they only had seconds to spare, and was taken aback by a fierce, blazing look in her eye. He had only ever seen someone look at him with such a fixated purpose the night Ginny tore across the common room and kissed him for the first time. For one wild moment, Harry wondered if Hermione were going to kiss him. There was a heated flash of anticipation and the thought bugger all timing, though, before it registered that Hermione's wand was pointed directly at his face. Harry saw a jet of red light and then his face burned as though it were on fire. He clutched at his cheeks. He felt his features stretch and twist into unnatural shapes and realized that Hermione hadn't been about to kiss him at all. She had been trying, once again, to save his life.

The lights from the Deluminator had just drifted through the dungeon when the air was rent with an anguished scream of pure pain. Ron called out desperately, "Hermione!" and started to ram his shoulder against the door. Harry was frozen, all the air had gone out of his lungs and he couldn't remember how to breathe. He was dimly aware that there were shapes moving in the gloom, perhaps people, even, but he had no conscious thought to spare on them. His world had narrowed to that one sound. Listening to it was agonizing, but when it stopped, Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach and like he might go mad if he didn't hear it again. At least screaming meant she was alive.

Harry could feel his heart beating in his chest, heard Ron screaming Hermione's name over and over, heard Ron's body hit the door repeatedly, uselessly. Several long heartbeats later, more terrible and ragged than the first, Hermione screamed again and Harry was ignited into action. The basement came into focus for the first time. Harry saw that the moving figures that he had barely registered were Ollivander, the goblin from his first trip to Gringotts, and Luna Lovegood. Luna was already using a nail to cut through the rope that bound him. Harry surveyed the basement impatiently while Luna worked through the ropes, but he saw nothing that would be of any use to them.

The moment that Harry felt the tension of the rope relax, he yanked his hands apart and they flew, almost of their own accord, to the moleskin bag still hanging from his neck. He thrust his hand in and was flooded with relief as he felt a sharp stab as his hands found the piece of broken mirror. Harry yanked it out; he couldn't tell if he saw a blue eye winking back at him or if it were simply his mind or playing tricks on him, but neither did he care. He just wanted to get them all out of here, to stop Hermione's pain. "Help us!" he yelled and then the mirror was dark. Another scream pierced his heart; it sounded weaker than before. Harry felt sick picturing Bellatrix Lestrange using the Cruciatus Curse, or worse. If Hermione died….

Harry had the vertiginous feeling of standing the edge of a bottomless precipice. His heart was hammering in his chest as though he had just run a mile. He knew, he knew without a shadow of a doubt and he vowed if that they ever got out of the dungeon he would tell her. Ron was all wrong for her, it didn't matter that he was his best mate, it wasn't Harry's choice - Ron brought out the worst, waspish, know-it-all part of her and Harry didn't. It was that simple, really - Hermione and Harry fit together; they were equals. As Hermione's screams grew less frequent and alarmingly weaker, Ron's yells became increasingly louder. Shut UP! Harry wanted to yell at his best friend. Shut up! I can't hear her. Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to hear her through Ron's tormented sobs. There was a sharp crack! somewhere near him. Harry's eyes flew open and he saw his only chance, his only hope of saving Hermione, Ron, the others, and himself, standing in front of him, trembling slightly in a dirty tea towel.

"Dobby is here to rescue Harry Potter, sir," said the house-elf.

After the burial, Harry walked over to Ron and Hermione. During the long night shoveling Dobby's grave, he had come to terms with many things and one of those was that he loved Hermione Granger and he loved her most definitely not like a sister. He must have always loved her, he thought. Harry wanted to tell her this, let her know how he felt; he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it in. Hermione looked so pale, so fragile, though, that Harry simply wrapped her in his arms and held her. Some time had passed before he pulled away a little so that their foreheads touched and, looking into her soft, brown eyes, said, "You're amazing, Hermione. That was brilliant. Unbelievable, really. I don't know how you could make up a story like that when you were being tortured…. I reckon the Sorting Hat knew what it was doing when it put you in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. I've never seen anything that brave."

Hermione whispered back, tears forming in her eyes, "I'm so sorry about Dobby, Harry. He was wonderful. We all loved him." She hugged him tightly.

I could stay like this forever, Harry thought: The sea, the quiet, Hermione in his arms. Easy, mate, she was almost killed. Harry pulled away a little and put an arm around Hermione's waist to support her, "Let's go inside, we're all pretty knackered."

Ron made a move to take her other arm, but Hermione stopped him, "It's all right Ron, thanks. Harry's got me." She laid her head on his shoulder but didn't look up. Harry glanced at Ron, worried, but after what looked like a brief internal struggle, Ron deflated slightly as he seemed to accept the inevitable and jerked his head in a shaky nod.

After talking to the goblin and the wand-maker, the trio went for a walk on the beach so they couldn't be overheard. They walked slowly since Hermione was still getting her strength back after spending most of a week in bed. She refused to give any details about what exactly Bellatix Lestange had done to her, although the scars she bore on her arm and neck spoke for themselves. Hermione had barely spoken over the last few days and Harry was afraid that something had broken inside her. He had tried to apologize once; it was his fault they had been caught, his fault that she had been tortured. She had cut him off, uncharacteristically abrupt, and simply said, "Shut it, Harry- I don't want to hear it again. For the last time, I knew it would be dangerous and I wanted to help anyway. It is not your fault I'm a mudblood." Ron's eyebrows had shot up at her use of the word and Harry had been too nervous to try to apologize again, but that didn't make him feel any less to blame.

The waves lapped quietly against the shore, but their soothing rhythm was lost on Harry, who was trying to think of a way out of what he was about to say.

"I have a plan," said Harry and then fell silent. He wasn't sure if he could face Hermione once he explained it. It was asking too much of her, he knew, but the idea had come to him when they were talking to Griphook. Hermione stopped walking when he didn't go on and considered him. Harry tried to meet her eyes but his ears burned with shame. He saw her face pale and her brows furrow as she turned towards the sea.

"Well, mate?" asked Ron, "Care to share it?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was still looking out to sea, hugging herself for warmth as the wind played with her hair. He couldn't do it.

"Well, it's just an idea. Never mind, it's nothing. I'm sure we can think of something else."

"No," Hermione's voice carried back to Ron and Harry, and then she turned to face them. She said grimly, "I can handle it, Harry. Whatever it is, I've faced worse."

Harry winced and said, apologetically, "It's the only thing I can think of that might work."

"Oi!" said Ron, losing patience, "What is this Mermish or something? What do you think might work?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione, evenly, "But I'm guessing that Harry wants me to pretend to be Bellatrix LeStrange so I can break into her vault at Gringotts and get the Horcrux."

"Bollocks," Ron snorted, "Hermione, that's just the pain potion talking. Harry- tell her she's lost the plot, you're not really asking her to do that."

"No, Ron, she's right," Harry's eyes never wavered from Hermione's. He was searching her face for some sign of fear or hesitation but all he could see was a stubborn resolve. "I think that's what has to be done and I don't think that you or I could pull it off. Hermione's the best at spellwork."

Ron's face reddened and his voice rose, blocking out the sound of the waves, "Bellatrix almost killed her! Hermione just left the cottage for the first time in a week two days ago. Now you want her to waltz into Gringotts - a place that's impossible to break into, I might add - pretending to be that woman?"

Ron turned to Hermione and said, roughly, "Tell him he's mental. Tell him he's totally out of line or I will."

Hermione's eyes softened and she took Ron's hand, "Come on, Ron, you're the best chess player out of any of us. Breaking into Gringotts is the next move - it's the only way to get the cup. Honestly, I don't like the idea of being Bellatrix either, but, I can't see a way around it. And if one of us has to do it, I'd rather it be me - I don't know if I could manage it if I had to talk to one of you when you looked like her. Besides," she smiled slightly, "Harry can't always be the one to save the world."

Harry let out a sigh of relief, without having realized that he had been holding his breath. He should have known that Hermione wouldn't hesitate. For all her planning and triple-checking, when it came time for action she always came through. He admired her all the more precisely because she was so cautious and deliberate by nature. More than once, Harry had wondered how he would react if he didn't have the adrenaline of a battle to push him through the fear. He wasn't sure he would have done half the things that people found so brave if he had stopped to think before he leapt in. But Hermione always knew exactly what she was getting herself into and she did it willingly anyway, because it was the right thing to do and it had to be done. Harry hoped that if a time ever came when he knew that he was about to face his own mortality head-on, he handled it half as well as Hermione did.

Ron groaned in frustration and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, exhaustion clearly outlined on his face when he looked up. "Look, let the record show that I still think this is a crap plan. There's got to be a better way. But," he held his hands up in surrender, "we don't really have loads of time to come up with something that actually has a chance of working, do we?"

"Hermione, you won't be alone," said Harry, eager to reassure her. "I reckon you can jinx Ron like you did me when the Snatchers came. I'll carry Griphook…"

"…under the Invisibility Cloak. I get the general idea, Harry." interrupted Hermione. "It might just work, you know, but it's mad, totally mad. Just give me a minute, all right?" She sighed, and added longingly, looking over the sand and sea, "I was hoping for more time here, to be honest, it's really lovely. Ron, do you think Bill and Fleur will let us come back when we don't have an evil Dark Lord to destroy?"

Harry knew that Hermione was trying to ease Ron's objections by making light of the situation, but he didn't think she was fooling anyone. Hagrid's words from the first time Harry had stood on the steps of Gringotts floated back to him, "Yeh'd be mad to try and rob Gringotts, I'll tell you that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. More than your life is worth." Harry thought back to that first day; he could never have guessed then just how completely he would end up ignoring Hagrid's advice.

Harry shook himself out of his reverie and looked over at his two best friends, still standing close together, talking. Watching Hermione rub Ron's arm, speaking quiet words of reassurance, a little red beast clawed inside him at the sight of Ron and her together. He wanted to pull her away from Ron and hold her tight to himself. Harry imagined kissing her, his hands entwined in her hair, her arms around him, and he wondered what her lips would feel like against his. He saw Hermione give him one of her searching, quizzical looks and he pushed the jealousy away.

"Come on, Harry, let's go back," said Hermione, turning towards the lonely cottage with Ron, "We've got a lot of planning to do. You know that's my favorite part."

"This is mental, you know that, right?" asked Ron. "You two are both worse than Luna - you're barking mad. Really, Hermione, I expected more sense out of you at least."

"You know, Ron, some people might be more careful about what they say to the witch who will be in charge of the jinxes they need for a disguise," said Hermione, matter-of-factly, "I've always found boils to be particularly effective at diverting attention." Ron pulled a face of exaggerated horror, and Hermione let out a small giggle, tugging on Ron's sleeve, leading him up the path.

Harry realized that this was the first time Hermione had acted something like her old self since their escape from Malfoy's mansion. A little knot of guilt that he had carried around for a week loosened. Hermione would be OK. Total Gryffindor, he thought, and was absurdly, irrationally, proud.

After the battle, after the hugs and tears, after kneeling by the wounded and the dead, after attending to everyone who wanted Harry to share in their part in the battle, Harry looked around the Great Hall for the two people he loved most. He sought out the red hair of the Weasleys, assuming that is where they would be, but he found Hermione and Ron sitting with Luna and Neville, the sword of Gryffindor lying on the table between them as Neville ate. Harry watched his four closest friends, thinking he still needed to thank Neville for killing the snake, when Hermione glanced up and met his eyes. Harry gestured with his head towards the castle doors and Hermione stood up and took Ron's hand, weaving around the crowded room, stopping every few feet to say a word or hug another battle-wounded classmate.

They finally reached Harry and the trio wordlessly started down the steps out of the castle. Ginny caught up to them on the steps, "Ron, Mum wants you to come be with the family. She's still really shaken up, she wants to have us all near her so she knows we're safe."

Ron nodded, but didn't move. He still held Hermione's hand and Harry saw that his knuckles were white. "Yeah, of course, but, Ginny, it's just... I don't want to see him, not now, not like this."

Surprisingly, Ginny's face softened and she looked at Ron tenderly, "I know, Ron - but, it is what happened. Fred is dead. And mum needs us."

Hermione let go of Ron's hand and gave him a gentle hug. After a moment she looked up at him, shaking her head slightly and wiping her eyes as she stepped away. Ron looked back at Harry.

"Look, Harry - you're amazing, mate. I reckon you deserve … well, anything that'll make you happy." His face twisted in a rueful smile.

"Come find us when you can, OK, Ron?" Harry smiled back at his best friend of so many years, grateful that they were all still alive, grateful that Ron understood.

Harry turned to Ginny, feeling embarrassed. Whatever had been between them was clearly gone, but he wanted to say it out loud, to make it real, "I'm so sorry about Fred - and… everything." Ginny looked at him a moment, flatly, and nodded slightly before Ron and she disappeared back into the Great Hall.

Harry turned to Hermione and saw her looking up at him, giving him one of those looks like she was trying to read his mind. "Come on," he said, and led her out to the ruins of the courtyard. They found a spot where the wall had been blasted away and sat, half-hidden behind a fallen pillar, overlooking the Forbidden Forest, and the noise from the Great Hall faded away. Harry and Hermione sat silently for a long time, his arm around her as she leaned against him like she did when they visited his parents' grave. Harry felt himself let go. The anger, the adrenaline, the fear, the hatred, all started to slowly melt away, bit by bit, as they sat there until the sun was high in the sky. Harry couldn't see Hermione's face, but he could feel her even breathing; it had been so long since she had moved, he wondered if she were asleep.

Harry knew what he had to say, and he knew that it could change everything, but to try to hide it was useless, really. Besides, everything already had changed. Voldemort was dead. Hogwarts was destroyed. Fred and Lupin and Tonks were gone - Teddy was now parentless, like he had been. Colin Creevy was never going to ask for another photograph of Harry. It was too much to think about, so Harry decided to turn to the one thing that he knew to be true.

His throat was dry and hoarse after hours of yelling during the battle and then the celebration. He didn't know when he last had anything to eat or drink. He tried to sound sure of himself, but his voice came out as kind of a whisper, "Hermione?"

She stirred slightly, raising her head to look up at him, her brown eyes warm, concerned, tired. When he didn't say anything else for a moment, she sat up a little straighter so she could look him directly in the face, "What is it, Harry?"

Harry looked back at Hermione and memories washed over him. This was the girl who had followed him without hesitation onto the back of a dragon even though she hated being more than ten feet off the ground. This was the girl who had saved him with her brilliant wandwork more times than he could count. This was the girl who cried when she saw anyone - witch, wizard, animal, house-elf - being mistreated. This was the girl who had come to almost every one of Harry's and Ron's Quidditch matches not because she loved the game but out of loyalty to her friends. This was the girl who had managed to outwit Bellatrix Lestrange under pain of torture. This was the girl whose voice he heard in his head whenever he was confused or unsure. This was the girl who risked everything - everything she had to help him on an impossible quest. She was more than his mate, she was his soulmate, Harry thought, cringing and delighting in that word, thinking it sounded altogether too girly to describe what he felt.

Harry couldn't think what had kept him from seeing it for so long, but he knew that he loved Hermione, loved her in a way that he had never loved anyone else, and the thought came to him that he never wanted to be apart from Hermione Granger again. Harry was so sure of what he felt; it was so true, so right, that rather than feeling awkward and tongue-tied, he found he was not the least bit embarrassed. He felt nothing but happiness as he drank in the sight of Hermione, alive, in his arms. He gazed into the brown eyes that seemed to sear his soul with their intensity. Harry watched the emotions flick by on Hermione's face as she gazed back into those famous green eyes, frowning slightly at first and then, as she saw the joy and certainty there, flushing. A sharp, quick laugh escaped her and, flustered, she looked away before finally looking directly at him once again, radiating his joy back at him. Harry smiled.

"So, what am I thinking this time, Hermione?"

"Well, I could be mistaken, but I don't think so. I always know what you're thinking, Harry." She nudged him gently, "It's all that time spent as best friends, you know."

"What a waste," Harry said, shaking his head. He felt as if he would never stop grinning. "Friends. What a bloody waste."

Before Hermione could respond, Harry plunged on recklessly, "I'm in love with you, Hermione Granger. I don't know how long I've been in love with you, but it doesn't matter because I know that I'm going to stay in love with you until we're old and gray and ... well…"

Hermione's eyes had gone wide and she was so still he wasn't sure that she was still breathing. Harry was suddenly hit with a wall of doubt at the enormity of what he was doing. What if he were barking up the wrong tree entirely? What if this ruined their friendship? He stammered out the last, most important, part, suddenly much less sure of himself.

"That is, you know, if you want to - be with me. Please, Hermione... say you want to."

Hermione remained frozen, her lips parted slightly, staring at him for a moment that felt unnecessarily long and cruel to Harry. Her face was covered in dirt and a thin trail of blood lined her cheek; he wanted to reach out and wipe away the grime and the pain that had caused it. Finally, Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she half-gasped, shaking her head slightly. The corners of her lips lifted the smallest amount and there was quiet wonder in her voice.

"Why, Harry Potter - just when did you learn how to sweep a girl off her feet?"

Harry felt as though he were flying, lighter than air, breathless and alive. He grinned back, he would never stop grinning, he was sure. "You're not just any girl, Hermione. I was an idiot not to see that sooner. A total idiot."

"Oh, well, I've known that since our first flying lesson," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. She tipped her head to the side, contemplating him, and Harry's insides contracted at the look in her eyes, one that he had never seen her give before, "Besides, why else haven't you started kissing me?"

McGonagall stood on the steps of the castle and looked over the ruins, relief that the battle was over still coursing through her. She surveyed the grounds scanning for any survivors that needed to be brought inside and deliberated on what would be needed to rebuild Hogwarts. McGonagall saw a head on the other side of a pile of rubble and started to make her way over, stepping through the debris carefully. She stopped abruptly when she realized that it wasn't a bleeding, injured fighter, at all, but two students, kissing each other. No, thought McGonagall, the proper word was devouring each other. Although she had the instinct born of thirty years as Head of Household to mete out a lecture on what exactly constituted appropriate decorum at Hogwarts, the clarity that comes from battle won out. Today was a day of celebration, of joy, of life. She would not step in the way of that.

McGonagall glanced back at the couple briefly before turning to continue her search and was suddenly struck by that particular shade of black and that particular degree of bushiness. Tears sprang to the professor's eyes; she had watched this develop for years now and her assumptions had proved correct. The war was won, good had triumphed, wizards and half-bloods alike could go outside without fear, and, after years of being practically inseparable, two of her favorite students had finally found each other.

Harry and Hermione separated then. She was touched to see that, despite everything, they both blushed to the roots of their hair as they saw their professor standing a few yards away.

"Well," McGonagall said, drawing herself up to her full height with a sigh of satisfaction before allowing a small smile to deepen the well-earned lines on her face, "It's about time, Potter. Granger." She gave a business-like nod of approval, "Carry on."

McGonagall turned and made her way back to the castle. As always, Dumbledore had it right: There was nothing more powerful in the world - magical or muggle - than love.

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