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Chapter Text

Their train compartment is silent as it pulls onto platform 9 ¾. Ginny, Neville, and Luna had tried their best to keep up a conversation the whole ride from Hogwarts, but any time they’d tried to draw in Harry, Ron, or Hermione the three’s answers would be too forced or melancholy for comfort. Even Crookshanks was completely silent and still, curled up in Hermione’s lap and watching the rest of the compartment with a suspicious eye.

Hermione wished that she could do better but she couldn’t get her mind off of what had happened. Off of Draco and all the secrets she was keeping, off of the promises she had made and everything that had changed.

And then there was also everything that was going to happen now. What she was going to have to do, and how hard everything was going to be.

She had to help Harry with his search for the horcruxes, and she had to think everything through because there were logistics the boys would never even think of. Like where were they going to get food, and where were they going to hide out? How were they going to maintain a low profile, and manage to do everything they needed to without being found by Voldemort and his ilk?

She had to protect Draco, hiding everything she knew about him and nearly every memory of him from the past year. She had to lie, and keep on lying to everyone because this was something she couldn’t mess up. It was life or death, and she was determined to make sure it ended with life.

And her parents…

The train jerked to a stop, and their compartment sat still as they listened to the bustle of everyone else getting up and dragging their trunks out, the thud of doors opening and closing repeatedly, the call of voices outside as children were reunited with their families.

Luna was the first to move, standing and taking a quick step forward to lean over and wrap Ron in a hug. The boy seemed surprised for a moment, blinking over at Hermione, but then he caught on and awkwardly patted the girl on her back.

“Er… Thanks.” He squeaked out, a slight flush on his face blooming when she pulled back to smile sweetly at him. Then she stepped to the side and did the same to Hermione, careful not to squish the cat on her lap, and Hermione didn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around the girl and burying her face in the younger girl’s hair, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to cry but trying her best not to.

Luna smelled like lemongrass, and her hair was silky soft to the touch. Her hug was surprisingly firm and comforting, and Hermione didn’t even mind that her bumble bee earrings were buzzing next to her ear.

Luna pulled back with a tender kiss to Hermione’s cheek that left the girl blinking away the pool of tears in her eyes, and they smiled at each other for a moment.

Harry came next, and the boy held on tightly through the duration of it, face pressed into her shoulder but Hermione could still see the tightness of his forehead, and could tell he was close to tears himself. Their hug lasted the longest, and when Luna pulled back she pressed a kiss to his cheek as well, just a bit longer than Hermione’s.

“Goodbye. I will see you at Fleur and Bills wedding.” She told them with a touch of confidence that they all needed in that moment. They murmured back the sentiment and off she went, dragging her trunk behind her. Neville stood next, rocking forward with his hands lifting as if going in for a hug as well, but he stopped himself in a clumsy jerk. He settled for just waving at them awkwardly and mumbling a quick goodbye before leaving as quickly as he could.

“Well,” Ginny huffed as she stood, looking out the window instead of at any of them, her shoulders just a bit too stiff and her casualness just a bit too forced, “Let’s get going then. It’s not like sitting here is going to actually put anything off.”

And so they all pulled down their trunks and made their way out, going over to where Mrs. Weasley was waiting for them. They all made sure to put on a happy face for the woman, pretending like everything in the world was fine.

“Hello dears, how did your tests go?” She asked, a farce of her usual brightness. “Good? That’s good. Oh, Harry,” She sighed when she focused on the boy, stepping forward to envelope him in a tight, comforting hug. “I’m so sorry about Dumbledore. I know I didn’t get to say so at the time, but I am. I know what he meant to you.” She says, and Harry soaks up the comfort like a dry sponge, eyes growing a bit damp.

“Hermione, where are your parents, dear?” The woman asked once she and Harry were done with their moment, and Hermione smiled reassuringly at her.

“At the muggle station, waiting with the car.” She said, and the woman nodded.

“Oh, that’s alright then. I suppose we should make our way out, then, and Ginny! Ginny, when we get home you must help me talk sense into Fleur about the cake.” She started, hurrying off toward the exit with Ginny on the expectation that the rest would follow.

They hesitated, though, sharing a solemn look.

“We’ll see each other at the end of July.” Hermione whispered, reaching out to grab each of their hands for a quick squeeze. The boys both nod, and off they go.

It’ll be fine.

“And you’ll never guess who got put in the papers the other day,” Her mother continued as they entered the house, her father puffing a bit behind them as he carried her trunk in, leaving them to go up the stairs to set in her room.

“Who?” Hermione asked as she released Crookshanks to reacquaint himself with the house.

“Benji Carmichael! You remember, the one who-“

“Who got chased into that shed fifth year by that dog, yeah. And they couldn’t find him-“

“For two days! Right! Well, he got in the papers because he started this thing to try and help people get over their fear of dogs, and he’s involved the local shelters and everything. He runs a group out of the church on fifth.” She exclaimed as they walked back to the kitchen, the older woman getting out the makings of tea.

“Oh,” Hermione blinked, trying her best to remember the boy. He’d been in the class down the hall from hers up until the dog incident, and then his parent’s had pulled him out because of how badly the attack had shaken him. She was pretty sure he had had a lisp. “Well, that’s good.”

“Yes, his parents are quite proud. Maggie says that she thinks it’s all just attention grabbing and that it’s a stupid idea. I told her that, of course, it was an incredibly meaningful thing for him to do with his trauma.” Her mother sniffed, getting out the package of Hermione’s favorite biscuits they always got when she was coming home. “And oh, speaking of Maggie, you’ll never guess what her girl’s got up to now. I swear, it makes a mother thankful to have a sweet child like you.” She huffed, and Hermione hid her guilt amazingly well.

After all their catching up was done for the day Hermione went up to her room, a smile on her face because she had missed her parents.

She was going to miss her parents.

It was on this somber thought that she opened her bedroom door to find her room looking almost exactly like she left it. The same lace curtains hanging over her window, the same soft quilt laid over her crisp blue sheets. Ceiling high bookshelves stuffed full with books, with stragglers stacked carefully against the far war. Her desk covered with papers and with a mixture of pens and old quills in a cup on top, all of her pictures tacked to the wall. So much hadn’t changed.

What had changed was only two things: one was that there were new books from her parents laid out on her bed, and the other was that there was a squat, fat owl sitting at her window with a package.

“Hello.” Hermione greeted cautiously since she’d never seen the owl before, and the owl screeched harshly at her in answer, like it had gotten tired of waiting for her. She comes forward and accepts the package from the owl, promising to give it a treat in moment, doing the smart thing first and  checking everything over with a quick inspection spell before touching any of it.

The letter was opened first.

Granger,

I know I’m not supposed to contact you, but I felt like I had to send you this. I found this in our searches of the books in the room. I hid it from you because after living around them my entire life I know a dark object when I see one, so I had to get the curses around it taken care of first. Everything is fine with it now.

Oh, and since this was risky enough, the owl won’t be coming back. Do as you like with him.

That was it, and Hermione didn’t need a signature to know who the letter was from. She’d have to be thick not to know from the prattish tone alone.

With a quick look to her new owl Hermione busied herself with opening the package it had brought her, finding a plain blue dragonhide bound, title-less book nestled in the paper. Wondering why he’d felt like risking so much just to send her the book, Hermione opens it curiously, only to drop it to the floor a moment later.

The owl ruffles its feathers a bit, distressed that it’s package was being so thoroughly mishandled, and Hermione ignores it as she quickly stoops down to pick it up, hands shaking as she reads the inside of the cover again.

My Dearest Theodosia,

I will not publish this, because I did not do this for the world. I studied and tested and searched for you, my darling girl. I know how terrible it’s been for you, living with the trauma. And I refuse to use obliviate on you because I have seen how wrong it can go. How it can make you lose yourself as well as the terrible memories.

Use these spells, my beautiful girl. Make a new life and forget me. Forget everything that has pained you. I love you enough to give you a whole new life, should you choose it.

I adore you, no matter your choice,

Papa

A part of her hissed that it might not be what she thought, but as she stumbled back to sit heavily on her bed she flipped through and came upon page after page of trials and tests of memory spells and potions. And finally, at the very end, a singular perfected memory wiping spell with a reversal spell attached.

Hermione stared at that spell for ages, even as the sun went down and her new owl began to impatiently hoot at her, her shaking fingers tracing over the long ago dried ink.

“Mum, Dad?” Hermione interrupted as they sat on the couch watching a trivia show they were preparing to bicker over. The couple stopped and instantly turned to where their daughter stood nervously in the doorway, her tone of voice instantly concerning them.

“What is it, dear?” Her father asked worriedly, and Hermione averted her gaze and blinked rapidly to try and compose herself.

“I have to tell you something.” She whispered, moving to set between them when they patted the middle cushion of the couch in invitation. And then, taking a deep breath, she told them everything. She told them about the muggleborn prejudice in the wizarding world, about how there was a mad man on the loose set on killing every single one of them, leading an army who believed his word as law. A man who tortured and killed muggles and wizards alike if they opposed him or his views.

She told them about Harry, everything she could about Harry and how Voldemort wanted him dead because Harry was the only one who could defeat him. About the danger that put her in because she was his muggleborn best friend.

“Lord… Hermione!” Her mother breathed, on the verge of tears by the time she was done, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” The girl whispered, falling into her mother’s embrace and holding on tight. “And… I was scared.”

“We’re scared too, love.” Her father whispered shakily, his hand petting her hair carefully. “We…”

“We need to leave.” Hermione said into the comfort of her mother’s chest. “We need to leave Britain before the war gets started for real, and before Voldemort can manage to gain any more power. It’s… It’s not safe here.” Her parents were silent for a long, heavy moment, communicating with one another over Hermione’s head with their eyes.

“Well,” Her mother sighed after a moment. “We’ve always talked about going to Australia.”

As her parents talked about the logistics Hermione kept her head down, hiding her resigned, dry eyes from her parents.

Apparently, luckily, there had been someone interested in buying the practice for a while, so that part of their lives was easy enough to handle. They had enough savings to abandon the house all together since it was fully paid off, that way they didn’t have to endanger the next people who would move into the house.

Then it was only a matter of packing what they needed and buying the plane tickets when they got to the airport.

The next two weeks passed in a hectic and frantic hurry to get everything done in time, and without sleep for the young witch, who spent all her nights sitting up in her room and practicing her new spell on her new owl. She felt bad for doing such a thing to the innocent creature, but she had to have it perfected as soon as possible and know that it would work.

Her parents had accepted the animal’s sudden appearance with no small amount of exasperation, but they didn’t have the heart to deny her anything at the moment. Her father had even named it Pippin, with a wistful look in Hermione’s direction as he remembered the simpler times.

She let him. It would make everything… Easier.

“Hermione, hurry up!” Her mother called up the stairs, the girl standing in her room for what she knew may very well be for the last time. Her books had been thoroughly ransacked, and her closet was now almost completely empty. But other than that everything was as it had always been, and it hurt so much more than Hermione had ever expected.

“Coming Mum!” She called down, gripping her wand tightly and lowering her head as she trudged down the stairs. Her parents sat facing away from her on the couch, their bags all packed in the entry way. They were worriedly watching the news with new eyes, knowing that Voldemort was behind the vicious attacks the news caster was talking about. Hermione stared at the backs of their heads and wished that she could say something to them, wished that she could tell them she loved them just one more time but…

She couldn’t see their faces when it happened.

“Memoriae perditus.” She cast, forcing her words to be crisp and clear as she pointed her wand at the back of their heads. They went limp a moment later, bodies sinking back into the couch and onto one another, and Hermione took a breath before doing the spell that would build up entirely new lives for them. Lives in which they had never had or had thought of having a daughter.

Once done, she straightened her back and moved over to Pippin, who sat watching her in his new cage.

“If anything happens to them, come find me.” She told the animal, who hooted at her in agreement. Hermione turned to leave, going to grab her suitcases and coming to a halt when she took in the sight of Crookshanks sitting imperiously on top of them.

She picked him up and cradled him close, walking away from the people who were no longer her parents. Not really.

Chapter Text

Molly Weasly welcomed her into her home with open arms, as she always had, and no one questioned why she’d shown up unannounced. They just assumed that this was where she was meant to be, and Hermione had nearly perfected hiding how she felt in the past months so there were no questions.

Everything went fine.

She busied herself with helping out with the innumerable preparations for the upcoming wedding – something that took a lot more time than she had truthfully been expecting – and helping out around the busy house. She also began collecting and packing things away for whatever was coming, spelling a small bag with an illegal expanding charm she’d figured out by extensively studying the charms on the Weasley’s tent during the nights she couldn’t sleep. And, seeing as every night was a night that she couldn’t sleep, she figured out the spells quite quickly and so she began filling it with things she was sure they would need and things that were there just for emergencies and contingencies, and things for contingencies for her contingencies.

She didn’t let herself think. She couldn’t let herself.

Ginny seemed to be in a similar sort of mood, and together they systematically and viciously went through their tasks.

Mrs. Weasley wanted them to get the gnomes out of the garden? Ginny went out and practiced her meanest spells on the small creatures, teeth bared and sparks dancing through the air around her from dozens of spells cast in quick succession. In the end her hair was in tangles, her face was flushed and slick with sweat, but there were no gnomes in the garden. They’d all run away farther than they ever had before, terrified of the witch.

Mr. Weasley’s shed needed fixing up, so that it looked proper for the wedding? Well, Hermione had helped her father make a cabinet once, and that was without magic. So she studied an old, tattered book on building magic she’d found on a weary bookshelf in the living room – that must have only been half studied, if you took the Burrows everything as evidence – for a few hours, and then she attacked the shed with a thoroughness and singlemindedness it had never seen before. She pried out crooked boards and pulled up crumbling shingles with a precise wave of her wand, a sharp flick sending nails pounding into new and exactly laid boards. By the end of the day the shed was pristine and Hermione had left the Weasley’s looking at it in shock and awe, in search of something else to keep busy with.

And so it went. Ginny pulled up all the weeds in the lawn and tamed some wild vines that were creeping up the side of the house in a little under two hours. Hermione had the entire house cleaned by an overwhelming army of soaring dust rags and scrub brushes following her strict commands. Ginny had the cluttered kitchen organized after an afternoon filled with a cacophony of violent bangs and bit-off curses, and Hermione had every rug and curtain in the house beaten so thoroughly that dust and dirt would think twice before dirtying them again.

The Weasley’s all edged around them, hesitating to ask about the reasons for their sudden aggression. Hermione didn’t mind it all that much, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists and keeping her focus forward.

The coin stayed cool in her pocket.

A squat little owl never appeared at her window.

Hermione woke up each day and worked toward something she didn’t even understand anymore. She readied herself for war and wondered who she would be, and what world would be there for her afterward.

One day she stood at the kitchen window and watched as Ginny sat on her broom outside, hovering just above the grass and not moving, not yet. She was staring off into the distance with a wistfulness that ached, ratty clothes hanging off of lanky limbs and her hair pulled back in an absent sort of way. There was dirt on her hands and face from earlier work in the garden, and for a moment Hermione understood art in a way she had never been able to do before. Because that slice of a moment was beautiful and all encompassing, like a story that had gotten its proper ending, and Hermione wanted to capture it and keep it close.

Then the moment folded away and Ginny gripped her broom hard, shooting off with a sudden violence and energy that had Hermione wondering what she was thinking about.

She wondered what would happen to the girl, after everything. It seemed that everyone had just assumed she would get back together with Harry once they’d won the war and everything was happy and simple again, that everything would return to how it had been and… Well. What if that didn’t happen?

Because that moment of stillness, Hermione hadn’t seen a girl that would just go back to how everything had been. She hadn’t seen someone who was accepting what was happening in the gracious way that everyone thought. She’d seen a monument being built, a pillar constructing itself around the feeling of dissatisfaction, and it had been glorious.

When it was unveiled, it would be breathtaking. No one would see it coming or know how to handle it.

Hermione wondered if that was what she was doing. Hermione wondered – hand in her pocket, rubbing her thumb over the fake coin held within – what people saw when they looked at her.

“Hey,” Ron called from the doorway, hesitating and watching her like he was worried about how she would react, “What are you doing?”

She was reading about muggle wilderness survival methods, just in case, but the look on his face had her setting the book aside, cover down, and saying vaguely, “Just reading.”

“Oh.” Ron said awkwardly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the too-big things sliding down a bit at the force of it.

Hermione watched him for a moment, sitting the bed the Weasley’s always gave her in Ginny’s room with Crookshanks curled against her side, stuck in this feeling of running while drowning and choking on the stone in her gut and all she could feel was… Guilt.

“How are you, Ron?” She asked quietly, and the boy shrugged.

“Good. You know.” He mumbled, looking off to the side before looking at her. “How’re you?” He asked, his eyes direct and firm and strong and she’d forgotten that part of him, how could she have ever forgotten this strength in him? A warmth bloomed in her chest and a small smile curled her lips, and for a moment she could breathe for what felt like the first time in ages.

“I’m fine.” She told him, uncertain for herself if it was a lie or a truth. But after watching her for a moment Ron nodded and relaxed a bit, and that was good enough for her.

“Moody’s coming over to talk to us about how we’re handling going to get Harry.” He told her quilt, and she drew her legs up so that he could sit with her.

“I know.” She nodded, watching him and wondering if this was the same feeling she’d had for so long, and why she felt so… Awkward in all the wrong ways.

They felt a bit like strangers, but that was probably just her. That was probably just all of the secrets she was keeping locked up tight.

“Hey,” Ron prodded after a silence she suddenly realized had gone on for a few beats too long, a bit of a laugh in his voice, “Do you want to hear something weird?” He didn’t give her time to answer, “So Bill, he’s been having all these cravings for raw meat and everything since his attack, right? Well, I heard him talking to Lupin during the last Order talk and,” He paused to snicker, “And he was asking if it was normal to, you know, get really excited every full moon.”

It took a moment for her to connect the dots, but when she did Hermione couldn’t help the sound of disgust that tore out of her.

“I didn’t have to know about that, Ronald!” She shrieked, shoving the wildly laughing boy and nearly forcing him off the bed. With an angry yowl Crookshanks leapt off the bed and walked over to his favorite spot by the window, tail held prissily up in the air as he went. “Now I know that about Bill! I don’t want to know anything like that about Bill! He’s a banker!” She pounded his shoulder with her fist when he collapsed on his side on the bed, long legs hanging off. “Ron!”

“W-What d-does him being a banker have to do w-with anything?” He hiccupped out, snickering and bringing his arms up to protect his head from her slaps.

“I don’t know!” She cried, laughing despite herself, and their eyes met for a moment and everything went soft and good as they calmed down.

“I’ve missed you.” She found herself saying rawly, and Ron nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

The next day the members of The Order filtered in, each person questioned harshly at the end of a wand because times were difficult and they had to be sure. Hermione heard the door knock and each time she held her wand tightly, breathing deeply as she listened to every answer, waiting for the moment an answer would be gotten wrong, or they’d try to brush off the question as a joke.

With every knock she meticulously planned her attack, and despite every person passing the test she couldn’t relax.

They all filtered into the kitchen, sitting around the packed table and talking with hushed voices as dinner was readied around them by the spells Mrs. Weasley had cast that morning.  They planned how they would gather Harry – Mundungus’ plan with the Polyjuice potion was accepted with some surprise, since no one had expected him to come up with anything good – and they decided who would be going.

Hermione was honestly surprised when Arthur Weasly, with his kind face and his soft hands, and who had never really gone to war before, was the first to step forward.

“Arthur!” Molly protested, making a sound when all of their gathered children immediately followed.

“It’s Harry, Molly.” He said calmly, a serene strength about him Hermione had never really noticed, “I would do the same for any of our children.”

They stared at each other for a moment before the kind faced woman finally nodded once, sharply.

“I’ll stay here then,” She said quietly, “And keep it safe for you with the rest of the girls.”

“I vil go as vell.” Fluer announced proudly as she stood, earning a shocked look from her intended mother-in-law, “I must make sure Bill does not ‘et harmed. He must not miss ze vedding.” She declared, slipping her hand into her fiancé’s as he looked at her fondly.

Hermione stood without a word, the other adults following after until Moody nodded.

“That’s good then.” He grunted, their planning done for the moment. After a pause – Hermione didn’t really know if she should sit down now or what – Tonks and Lupin shared a look.

“Well, since we’re all gathered here,” Tonks mused, “I guess this is a good of a time as any to ask if you’d like to come to our wedding.”

“Oh. Oh!” Molly gasped, blinking with her shock, “This is… Yes! Of course! When is it?”

“Oh…” Tonks hummed, looking down at her watch while Lupin busied himself with smiling into his hand and watching the rest of them, “In about an hour.”

“What!?” Everyone cried out as the couple watched, pleased.

“It will be at Andromeda and Ted’s house in an hour.” Lupin said as if there was nothing wrong with the situation, and there was a moment of frozen shock before almost every single one of them burst into movement.

Molly barked orders at her children, shouting for Ginny to hurry up and come down, freezing the working spells all around the kitchen that had still been busy with making dinner.

“If you had told us earlier-“ Molly began, and Tonks grinned.

“Oh, we thought a surprise would work out much better.” She said happily as everyone scrambled to get ready and go.

Moody declined the invitation because, apparently, he hated weddings, and Mundungus just disappeared at some point, but Kingsly smiled kindly and agreed to officiate and patiently waited for all the Weasleys to get themselves together so that they could leave.

It took a bit, what with everyone running around with a small flare of generic panic at the sudden surprise, but eventually it was managed and they all went through the floo one after another, carrying platters of their dinner, which would be eaten after.

The ceremony wasn’t really a ceremony, just a gathering of all of them in the Tonks’ living room as the bride and groom stood in the middle, chairs and tables pushed to the walls and piled atop each other to make room for everyone. There were no flowers or decorations, but Tonks’ grin was bright and happy, and Lupin’s eyes were soft and caring throughout.

Andromeda and Ted cried, and everyone cheered once they sealed their union with a kiss.

And as Molly and Andromeda finished their large feast Hermione watched everyone laugh together and celebrate this happy moment together, and she settled a bit. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t forgetting. She wasn’t… She wasn’t calm.

But as Fred grabbed her hand and pulled her into a dance in the middle of the living room filled with crazy steps that were too wide and twirls that were too fast, she threw her head back and smiled because this was good. It was good and for a moment she was okay.

For a moment, just a moment, everything quieted just long enough for her to laugh.

Chapter Text

One night, just a couple of weeks before they were to go get Harry from the Dursley’s, the coin Hermione had taken to falling asleep gripping in her hand flared hot in her palm, the brief pain of it waking her up.

It takes a moment for her to remember what was happening, what that meant and what could be happening, all of the terrifying possibilities swirling in her head like a paralyzing typhoon of anxiety and fear. She fumbles quickly for her wand, breaths going shallow as she rasped out a shaky lumos , lighting up the darkened room just enough to peer closely at the coin in her hand.

Order’s plan is known. Potter will be attacked. It read, and Hermione’s breath caught.

“How?” She hissed at the coin, her wand pressed against its face, and she only had to wait a few moments before it flared hot again.

Snape. Imperious on someone in Order.

She was up a moment later, tearing the blankets off in a vicious movement before racing out of the room, leaving behind a groggily mumbling Ginny who slipped back into sleep after a moment of confusion, and a glaring Crookshanks who immediately rolled over onto the warm spot she had left behind. Racing down to the ground floor on bare feet to get to the fireplace, nearly slipping and falling down the stairs at one point, she just barely remembered to bother remaining silent.

Harry was in danger, they all were in danger, and she didn’t want to waste time worrying about being calm or quiet though logically she knew this was important. This was the only reason she bothered to take a moment to cast a silencing spell once she had entered the sitting room.

She threw herself in front of the fireplace, reaching into the pot of floo powder with shaking hands that toppled the pot and scattered powder all over the floor and herself.

“Alastor Moody!” She instructed the floo, sticking her head in as soon as the fire flared green.

“Moody! Please!” She cried urgently, and she only had to wait a few moments before the old man was glaring at her, his false eye pointed right at her and staring through her in the most terrifying way possible.

“Miss Granger,” He grit out, “Has there been-“

“Voldemort knows about our plan to get Harry!” She blurted out all in one breath, the words running into one another and jostling each other for space in her statement. He continued to stare at her for a moment of anxious silence during which she worried that he wouldn’t believe her and then everything would go horribly and-

“Move out of the way.” He commanded, and she hurried to do as he had bid, standing up and stumbling out of the way as the floo flared up and Moody stepped through.

He was wearing his normal clothes, though they were rumpled in a way that had her thinking that he had been sleeping in them, which she could honestly see him doing. War was upon them, and there was no time for anyone to be caught unawares or vulnerable, which meant Moody would sleep dressed for battle. Of course, moments after realizing this she also realized that she was standing in front of him in only her pajamas, her robe left forgotten upstairs in her hurry.

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest and tried not to let her embarrassment get the better of her.

“What’s this about, then?” He asked harshly, wand coming up to point at her as if she were a threat and she had a crazed moment of thinking, ‘How could I be a threat when I’m in my pajamas?’ before she realizes that he was not patiently waiting for an answer.

“Before Dumbledore died, he put me in charge of a secret mission,” She hurried to get out, “Only he, McGonagall, and I knew. I was made the handler of a spy who would work to help us by spying on Voldemort, and they just sent me a message, saying that Voldemort knew about our plan for Harry.”

“And who is this spy, then?” He asked, wand never wavering from her. Hermione stiffened her jaw and met his gaze as best she could, trying her best not to be intimidated but it was incredibly hard. His eyes never wavered, the glass of his fake one shining eerily in the low light, and her stomach was tight and tense and she was having a bit of trouble breathing properly.

“No.” She said as firmly as she could, her voice barely wavering, and he considered her for a moment.

“I suppose I should ask Minerva about this, then.” He said as he grabbed her arm with a harsh hand, pulling her toward the fireplace.

“But… I’m in my pajamas!” Hermione exclaimed, bare feet slipping a bit on the wood floor as she attempted to keep herself upright even as he jerked her forward. She didn’t bother to try and fight to get free because she knew that there was no way she’d be able to. Alastor Moody wasn’t someone she could manage to free herself from easily and there was no reason, really. It would all end the same.

Her face still flushed with anger and a bit of embarrassment, though, despite how her mind reasoned her compliance. 

Moody grunted, not caring about her pajamas or her or anything that wasn’t a war he had to fight, his real eye focused forward and the fake one never wavering from her.

“Miss Granger, I think you’ll find that no one cares.” He stated shortly before barking out their destination to the floo, pushing her through ahead of him.

As she hurried out of the fireplace, keeping her feet beneath her despite the dizziness that stuck with her for a moment, she found herself surprised at where she had ended up. It was a house and not any of the rooms at Hogwarts she would have expected, which was strange because Hermione remembered overhearing a few times that McGonagall lived at Hogwarts all year round.

The house was small and mostly empty, occasionally dotted with old furniture that looked like they hadn’t been used in years, barren and lonely looking with blank walls and stiff cushions on the singular couch. From the bright light that came through the naked window Hermione could see discoloration on the walls where pictures used to hang, and it all just served to make her all the more uncomfortable.

 “Minerva!” Moody shouted when he stepped through the fireplace, “The last thing Elphinstone told me was that I needed to take a vacation somewhere with a large amount of alcohol, or read a calming book. I told him that that attitude would be exactly what would get me killed.”

There is silence and then a robed McGonagall stepped out from the hall, grey hair pulled back into an unraveling braid and glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she flicked hard eyes that quickly grew confused and concerned over the two of them, wand held tight in her hand.

“Has the Burrow been attacked?” She asked lowly, and Hermione shook her head.

“Ms. Granger,” Moody growled, “Said that there’s a spy for Voldemort you know about, that the rest can’t know, and that they’ve given her some information. I was wondering what you thought of that.” 

The woman stared at them for a moment before sighing, hand going up to press into her temple.

“Ms. Granger,” She sighed, “What-“

“The Death Eaters know about the plan to get Harry,” She rushed to tell her, “Snape used imperius on someone in the order and now they’re planning their attack.”

A beat and then the woman was nodding, chin out and eyes narrowed as she turned to Moody. Hermione had never seen someone stand so firmly before the man, not intimidated by him in the least.

“Draco Malfoy has been working with us since early this year. He agreed to spy on the Death Eaters if we could help protect him and his parents after the war.” She told him simply, no room in her statement for any questions or doubts. “Though, Ms. Granger was supposed to report anything she found out to me, first.” She notes dryly. Hermione ducks her head and flushes, having forgotten in her panic.

“Draco Malfoy? ” Moody spat out the name like a particularly unsavory curse, “Lucius Malfoy’s son? The same Lucius Malfoy who was wanted in connection to the torture of several muggles, and lied to get out of it? The same Lucius Malfoy who would say anything and do anything to further his or Voldemort’s gain? That’s the boy you’ve trusted?” Moody’s laugh was bitter and mean, and the anger in Hermione’s gut that had been brought to a boiling point as the man had talked nearly overwhelmed her, “The boy will just follow along with his family as his sort always do, and you can see it in him. He’s the spitting image of Lucius Malfoy in every way-“

“He isn’t his father!” Hermione declared, finally taking her arm out of his hold with a sharp jerk that hurt but was well worth it. “I know-“

“What? What do you know?” Moody hissed, getting up into her face in a way that had her stomach dropping and had her stumbling back a few steps even as she strengthened her jaw and fisted her hands at her side, readying herself for a fight. “His father is one of the most despicable sort, making people forget all the blood on their hands because of all the money in them, lying about it until the stupid people who can’t think for themselves believe it! How can you trust that?” He roared, spittle flying and his false eye twitching minutely in its socket as it glared into her.

“Because I know him!” Hermione shouted back, her anger unfurling with a snap of everything , “After months of us using legimancy on each other, after months of being in his head, I know him!” She nearly screamed, panting into the silence that came afterward and flushing as the two adults regarded her grimly.

“Ms. Granger-“ McGonagall started, though she was immediately drowned out by a furious Moody.

“You let him in your head? You let a Death Eater-” 

“He’s not a Death Eater!”

“-Into your head!” The man roared, but Hermione did not cower. 

“He isn’t what you think! You’re just… Narrow minded!” She shouted back.

Before Moody could reply in an even louder, angrier way, McGonagall stepped between them.

“That is enough. ” She told them firmly, towering over them with her anger, “Alastor, you will sit down and be calm .”

“I should have known about this! The safety of the Order is in jeopardy!” He barked, and McGonagall’s glare strengthened.

“Dumbledore said that we weren’t to tell anyone else, and we agreed. And Draco Malfoy, despite your beliefs, is not a danger at this time.” She informed him cooly, and they glared at one another until, with a scoff of disgust and anger, he whirled away.

“Well, then I suppose it’s time for you to explain yourself, Miss Granger.” McGonagall announced, voice dry but firm and managing to intimidate Hermione more than Moody ever could.

“The… We wanted to learn leginamancy to protect ourselves and each other, so we practiced on one another. And so that is why, Professor, I can say with the utmost confidence that Draco Malfoy is not a danger to the Order.” Hermione informed the woman, voice shaking a bit but forcing herself through her trepidation because they needed to know this. If they distrusted Draco now this would all crumble and where would that leave him? Where would that leave her?

McGonagall sighed after a moment of thought. “While the two of you should have had a proper instructor, I agree that it was something that had to have been done. I’m assuming that you both are adequately skilled?” Hermione nodded. “Good. We’ll worry about all of that later, then. For now, I just need you to explain exactly what Mister Malfoy’s message said.” She commanded, and Hermione is quick to comply.

They talk for over an hour, hashing out details and arguing over what they should do. Hermione’s heart raced and her face flushed as she planted her hands on her hips and stood firm against Moody as he came up with several plans that seemed a tad too dangerous and bloodthirsty. Thankfully, McGonagall eventually put her foot down and declared that they would discuss it with a select number of members from the Order. Deciding who took almost another hour, and it was midway through this that the coin burned again where she was holding it tight in her fist.

And he killed Professor Burbage. He tortured her.

She stared mutley at the coin for a moment, aware of the two heavy sets of eyes on her but unsure of what to say for a moment because Professor Burbage was kind and happy and passionate about muggles and their lives and she was dead . Just like that.

And Draco had had to watch. Had he also been forced to participate? To torture someone he knew, someone he had seen daily for a good portion of six years?

Hermione breathed out shakily, feeling unsteadily like her world had been tilted by just the slightest degree, making it dangerous to step forward and making her feel like she was about to trip and fall.

“Draco has let me know that You-Know-Who has… He has just tortured and killed Professor Burbage.” She managed, the words uncertain as they’re spoken.

One of McGonagall’s hands goes to her chest, gripping her dressing robe tightly in her fist, the other going to brace herself on the back of a nearby chair. Moody’s face goes stormy and dark, eye hardening.

“Charity had just published a very passionate defense of muggles.” McGonagall stated unsteadily, voice thick.

“I suppose that was enough to catch his attention.” Moody grunted, staring at one of the blank walls like he expected an enemy to suddenly emerge. McGonagall nodded, eyes distant for a moment before she blinked and pulled herself together. Well, as together as she could be while in her pajamas and with her hair unraveling from it’s grey braid, with dark crescents painting the skin just under her eyes.

“Thank you for letting us know, Miss Granger. Keep us updated if anything else occurs.” She said lowly, tiredly, and Hermione nodded.

“Of course, Professor.”

The most trusted members of the Order met in the Weasley’s living room just before noon; Lupin, Tonks, Moody, McGonagall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, as well as Ron and Hermione. Everyone else was to be kept out of the loop, since their chances of having been caught unawares by Snape and under the influence of imperius was much higher than those in the room.

No one complained about the secrets they would be forced to keep, knowing the cost if anything were to slip. They would not gamble Harry’s or their lives in such a foolish way.

 “But how do we manage to come up with something that the others won’t know about?” Mrs. Weasley asked once it had all been explained. Minus the involvement of Draco, of course.

“We need to be certain we don’t let on that we know something is going on, and that will be the trickiest part.” McGonagall sighed, “We cannot endanger the person who gave us this information.”

“So, what? We just pretend like we’re going along with the old plan and tell everyone it’s changed last minute?” Tonks asked, hair a bright red and eyes hard. Moody snorted.

“And deal with the chaos of people not knowing what they’re supposed to be doing? It would end worse than if we kept our current plan. And, to throw another problem into this shit pot,” Moody growled, and Hermione’s attention snapped to him, “Thickneese is against us and has made it so that no one can apparate in or out of the house.”

“Damn.” Tonks hissed, slumping back into her seat.

After a length of heavy silence Mr. Weasley leaned forward, face as stern as Hermione had ever seen it. “We need to make sure we get Harry out.” He urged, and McGonagall shot him a look.

“No one is saying we don’t, Arthur. We just need to find a way to accomplish the dozen or so goals we have found ourselves with all of the sudden.” She said gently, and the room fell silent as they thought it over.

Hermione desperately scrambled for anything, absolutely anything. She was supposed to be good at this, at making plans and thinking logically, but her brain wouldn’t stop racing and her thoughts wouldn’t settle and how was she going to be any use at this rate? How could this possibly end well?

“Well,” Ron mused, interrupting the silence of the room and the chaos of Hermione’s thoughts, “We could go along with the current plan, but apparate Harry from somewhere within walking distance of the house to make sure that nothing happens to him. He has his invisibility cloak, and the other person can be disguised.”

“Harry won’t be of age-“ Lupin started, but Ron neatly and simply interrupted him. 

“But someone could just take him out of the house and side-along apparate him down the street after we all leave. They can’t track that. That’s what they’re doing for his relatives, after all.” He pointed out, a brilliant and simple fact everyone had overlooked and forgotten in their search for the perfect plan.

“Ron,” Hermione breathed, stunned that no one had thought of it before, “You are brilliant .” 

“Well,” The boy blushed, shrugging and not quite fully looking at her, “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Seeing Harry again is a bit like being able to finally breathe after ages of holding her breath and Hermione can’t hold herself back from running to him to give the boy a hug. She holds on tightly to him, because for all of Harry’s faults he had always brought a sense of capability to the situations they found themselves in.

She’d known Harry for so long, had seen him at his absolute worst, but at his best there was something about him that inspired confidence and was a bit calming. It was why so many people were willing to risk their lives for him, not just some stupid prophecy. There was something about Harry that gave you the sense that everything was going to get better , if not be completely alright, even if you logically knew it wasn’t true.

He curled into her and buried his face into her hair, and from the way he held on too tightly and too desperately, she could tell that he wasn’t alright either. There was something a bit comforting about that too, though maybe that was selfish and cruel of her to think.

They pulled apart and Hermione took a moment to take in the empty house around them and how lonely Harry looked standing alone in the dark hallway. She felt the urge to hug him again because of it, but held back because there were things to do and their group was already filtering into the house and looking a bit impatient to start, though Ron just looked a bit constipated for some reason.

He was probably just worried about what they were going to do. She should have talked to him before they had left the Burrow to make sure he was alright with their plan.

Harry doesn’t take kindly to the idea of them all risking their lives for him, but they hadn’t really expected him to. He doesn’t accept their plan with any good grace, but they ignore his protests and worries valiantly and everyone proceeds as planned.

Or, at least according to the plan they knew.

Hermione made sure she was the last person to take the polyjuice potion, and pocketed the vial while everyone dealt with changing into their Harry clothes. She stayed back and kept silent as everyone chatted and laughed and joked in an attempt to lighten the mood, blending into the background so that no one looked at her twice as they filtered out. And Harry—the real Harry who Moody had been keeping track of for her and pointed out as the man left while looming over Mundungus—is quickly pulled to the side before he can join anyone outside.

“What…?” He hissed, tensing at the sudden change and the fact that he didn’t know who exactly she was.

“It’s Hermione. There’s a part to the plan that most of them don’t know.” She hissed, pulling him back into the one room that had a cracked door. Harry blinked in shock at the two people standing in the room.

“Mrs. Weasley?” He questioned the surprisingly grim faced woman, who tried her best to smile for the boy. “What are you…?”

“We have to make sure they can’t get to you, Harry.” She told him with a bit of forced joviality, “So we’ll be waiting here for a tick and then we’ll go somewhere to apparate you away so that we can get to the Burrow, while Ted here will take your place.” The older man waved with a gentle smile, and Harry took a confused step back.

“But…” He wavered, unsure and confused. Hermione felt for him, she really did, but they didn’t have time for his questions or concerns.

“We had to make sure the full plan wouldn’t get out somehow,” She lied, passing the polyjuice potion over to the waiting man, “We need to make sure you get out of this unharmed.”

“But everyone else-“ He started, but Hermione didn’t have time for his self-sacrificial spiel.

“You can yell at all of us once this is over.” She commanded, shoving him toward Mrs. Weasley, “We don’t have time right now.”

But!” Harry protested, cut off as Mrs. Weasley firmly grasped his arm and Hermione cast a silencing spell on him. Mrs. Weasley would keep him still until it was safe, and then they’d leave to a café Hermione had given the woman a map to.

She and the disguised Ted hurried outside with the excuse of having forgotten Hedwig, who hooted angrily at Ted since she knew the man wasn’t Harry. Moody pretended to be angry but she knew it’s for show, but she kept up the charade as she apologized as she went to where Kingsley waited by a Threstral.

The takeoff, when it finally happened, was terrible and she held onto Kingsley tightly as the creature beneath them raced down the street before leaping up into the sky mid-gallop, wings flaring out and beating heavily until they’re high enough for them to catch on the air properly.

It’s quiet for a moment, a single moment of peace and nothingness, and then the world around them crumbles and narrows to the small spaces they exist in and the Death Eaters that appear with a scream. And as the first curse was thrown Hermione froze, breath caught in her throat and her limbs heavy, unable to move past the sudden fear and uncertainty that overtook her.

She thought, for a moment, that she couldn’t do it.

She thought, for a moment, why?

And then a spell wizzes past her ear with a sizzle of the magic burning the air, and she realized that she didn’t have time for these worries and uncertainties. She didn’t have time to freeze because there was too much on the line, too many lives at risk.

She was the brightest witch of her age , and she would not be the reason her friends were going to die.

So she let go of Kingsley even as something inside of her screamed at how she was going to fall, at how they were up in the sky and she would die . She turned to face the groups of Death Eaters flying behind them, their masks in place over most of their faces and the blank eyes of them making her want to be sick. She shielded herself and Kingsley from a well-aimed spell and has just a moment to think about how Harry would want to use a stunning spell, about how Harry and Ron and nearly all of her friends were truly such gentle people who would try their best not to cause any loss of life, even in their enemies.

She thought about this for the space of a heartbeat, and then viciously sliced her wand through the air to send a spell straight to one of the Death Eater’s brooms that causes it to explode, shrapnel of wood flying mercilessly through the air to attack the others as the one riding it falls.

They must have not been taking them seriously before that, because immediately after the spells sent at them become much more vicious and deadly.

Kingsley called out spells in a loud booming voice, protecting their front and left side as Hermione does the same for their back and right, alternating between what wordless magic she could manage and screaming out the words in an unfamiliar voice, wand never stopping once.

One of the Death Eater’s called out a particularly loud Crucio that Hermione just barely managed to shield from, throwing back a “CONFRINGO!” With a roar, the robed person igniting as the spell hits.

Their broom veered off course as they shrieked, bumping into another Death Eater and nearly knocking them off their broom, their robes catching on fire as well after a moment of desperate grappling. Their brooms drop down and then out of sight, and then Hermione is left with the two remaining Death Eaters who begin to cast so many curses and spells in tandem that Hermione is left almost exclusively shielding from their attacks.

And then, like a sudden shift in a nightmare, Voldemort is there and garing at her with slitted, furious eyes, voice a horrific screech as he sliced his wand through the air and cast crucio at her.

Hermione had never been so scared in her entire life as she felt her shield crumble beneath the pure force of the spell and the rage behind it. The shield managed to disperse most of the attack but even still it hit, her entire body lighting up with a scream as she nearly pitched forward off the thestral. 

But she doesn’t. Kingsley had felt her beginning to pitch forward and reached back to yank the back of her shirt just in time to keep her on, and she managed to gather herself just in time to put a shield back in place for the next round of attacks. Her nerve endings still felt like they were on fire though thankfully the uncontrolled twitching had stopped enough for her to hold her spell.

“Kingsley!” She screamed, hoping the wind would carry her voice, “Voldemort is here!”

The man tensed at her back and the thestral picked up speed after a moment, but it didn’t really make too much of a difference. They were still being chased, and it was just going to get more and more difficult.

But then, suddenly, Voldemort veered off and left and Hermione was caught between a strange moment of relief and fear because that meant that they were going to be left alone by the man for the moment, but now someone else had to face off with him.

“They must have figured out which one was Harry!” Kingsley shouted, having seen Voldemort leave, and Hermione’s everything froze in a moment of fear before she remembered that Harry was safe. That she had managed to protect him. 

“He’ll be fine!” She called back, breaking her shield just long enough to fling a deprimo at the Death Eaters, one veering out of the way in time but the other caught up in the violent gust of wind that knocked them from their broom and sent them hurdling down.

She then sent another expulso toward the remaining Death Eater, hoping that it would hit their broom as it had the first, but instead the Death Eater is just a moment too slow in raising their wand for a shielding spell and Hermione’s spell goes a little too high and it instead hit the Death Eater’s wand directly.

The world flared white for a moment as the wand shattered, the force of the imploding magical core sending the Death Eater flying back and knocking the thestral off course, causing them to fall for a moment as the creature struggled to get its wings back under itself.

Then they’re moving forward again, and Hermione had a few moments to wonder if there had been some part of her left behind to plummet towards the ground because that's certainly what it felt like. 

Hermione really, really, really hated flying.

They continued on their course, not encountering any more attacks or opposition though neither relaxed their guard, and after about an hour they landed in a field next to a small, quaint cottage. They both remained sitting on the exhausted animal for a few moments, silent and weary and shocked, until finally Kingsley climbed down and helped her down as well, holding on as she discovered that her legs did not want to support her.

As her legs gained strength beneath her Hermione stared at a lovely bit of stitching around the buttonhole of Kingsley’s jacket and came to the realization that she had certainly just killed people.

“You did a good job, Miss Granger.” He told her gravely, hands firm on her shoulders and his face severe as he looked down at her. Her breath caught and for a moment she was tempted to cry because had she? Had she really?

“Thank you, Mr. Shaklebolt.” She whispered back, and after a moment they made their way to the door of the cabin, and Kingsley knocked.

The door opened after a moment to reveal a severe faced McGonagall, who immediately pointed her wand at Kingsley’s throat.

“What was it Dumbledore warned us about during our first meeting a few years ago?” She asked precisely, never wavering.

“’What we must watch for is the allowance of ignorance, because that will be what will truly harm us.’” He answered just as severely, and after a moment McGonagall had the wand pointed at Hermione who had truthfully, just for a moment, not been expecting it.

“What did I tell you before I left when I first came to your house to tell you that you were a witch?” She questioned, and Hermione swallowed thickly and searched frantically for the answer.

“Th-That the wizarding world was different than the muggle world, but if I was brave I could do amazing things.” She managed, and McGonagall drew her wand back and allowed them into the house.

“Take a moment, if you need to, before taking the portkey.” She told them, and Hermione nodded as she took in the bare room, even more lonely looking with the stark and unforgiving lights on than it had been in the darkness the other night.

“You have a lovely home, Professor,” Hermione managed, stilted and unfeeling but the manners her parents had instilled in her forced their way out. McGonagall’s jaw clenched and she looked around the room with hard eyes.

“I’ve left it alone for too long. It’s falling apart.” She said stiffly, and Hermione, in a moment of curiosity, wanted to ask why. She wanted to prod, just a bit, curious at the admission and why her professor had moved out of her rooms at Hogwarts to come to a house she had admitted to not visiting in a very long time.

But she’s not there for that, and there’s something about the hollowness of the house and the stiffness of the woman’s voice that clearly tells her not to prod.

They’re ushered to the portkey, and take it with a swift thank you to the stern faced woman watching them. 

Harry ran to her when they had arrived, looking anxious and harried and furious , and after confirming that she was alright, perfectly unharmed though a little shaken and trying valiantly to hide it, he turned away from her and refused to talk to her again. It hurts, but she understood why he did it. He needed someone to blame, and as long as he was safe she’d let him blame her for a little while.

Not too long, though, because that would get annoying. They had things to do, after all.

George was hurt but he laughed it off, and Hermione tried not to stare at the bandage on his head, hand to her stomach as bile rose. She instead watched Molly, watched as she fretted and hurried around to try her best to fix things, new lines digging themselves into her face with every passing moment, her eyes worried and knowing.

She’d gone through war, before. She’d lost brothers and friends, and had had children throughout the turmoil filled years despite the dangers the world held. Her face held fear, yes, but also a familiarity. An understanding. An almost resigned quality that caused the world to tinge a bit gray.

Arthur Weasley, the sweet old man who would eagerly ask her about balloons and pez dispensers whenever she stayed at his home, had a similar look. In fact all of the adults did. Even Tonks, though she hadn’t gone through the last war. But she was an auror. She’d fought and bled and she was certainly on the front lines of this one, and so she stood firmly with her wand at the ready, eyes flitting from every potential place of attack.

Hermione’s hold on her wand tightened and she realized that she’d never managed to put it back in her pocket. She’d held on tight since the moment they’d left Privet Drive, like an attack was just a heartbeat away.

Fleur and Bill stumbled in with news of Moody’s death and while she is saddened at the man’s passing, the first thought she’d had upon learning that he was dead is that at least she wouldn’t have to worry about him doing anything to endanger Draco or herself. And as soon as she had thought it, she hated herself for it.

She held her wand tight in one hand, her coin in the other, and listened with a sinking weight on her chest as Harry swore up and down that no one would betray them. She pressed her lips together and held back the words that wanted to spill as Harry, with his heart on his sleeve and always believing the best in those he loved, said that he trusted everyone without fail.

She listened, and wished the boy wasn’t so trusting because she knew that he’d never see her or anyone else he cared for as the liars they were until it was too late.

It’s okay, she tried to tell herself. It’s alright . You’re doing it for good reasons.

But was she?

Was she really?

Chapter Text

She woke up one morning to find the coin missing from her hand and panicked so hard she had felt like the world was collapsing all around her. The air had been sucked away and everything had tilted on its axis as she pulled her blankets up, nearly tearing the mattress apart as she forgot about her magic and how it could easily help as she’s overcome with terror. 

She found it after a few minutes, halfway through a crack in the wood of the floor. Her heart didn't stop racing even as she sat on the floor with her blankets and sheets in a tangle around her, the coin held tightly in her fist as everything that could have happened raced through her head.

She found her wand in the tangled mess she had made of her bed and focused that fear to power the spell she cast, wand pressed to the center of the coin and drilled a hole through the spelled object. She was not able to properly breathe until she’d run a long chain through the newly formed hole and had pulled it over her head, spelling the chain to never break and never come off unless she allowed it.

The coin rested in the center of her chest once settled, the press of the metal against her skin comforting when she slipped it under her shirt to hide it. Throughout the day as everyone hurried to and fro to prepare for the upcoming wedding, she found herself pressing her hand against it, taking deep breaths to assure herself that it was still there. That it was alright.

The coin didn’t burn, a pudgy owl did not come, and Hermione forced herself forward.

Mrs. Weasley plied them with task after task, just like she had while they’d been waiting to get Harry but now she does it with the knowledge that the three teens had planned something that she did not want to happen. And so she hoped that she could somehow thwart them with chores.

Mrs. Weasley’s heart was a large, durable thing that had accepted them all in eagerly, but it was scarred by the losses she had felt and the near misses of her husband a few years ago and one of her sons only a few days ago. She knew that they were wanting to put themselves into danger, and was trying her best to protect them and, in turn, herself.

But they couldn’t let themselves be protected, not when there was so much depending on them. Harry, the self-sacrificing martyr that he was, was determined to not endanger them but they refused. The world was too big of a burden to carry on your own, and Harry couldn’t handle the expectations everyone placed on him without help.

Harry is the best hope we have . Trust him .

All of that, placed on a seventeen year old who was told by prophecy that he had to kill the most powerful and dangerous wizard alive. And everyone seemed to be going along with it except for Mrs. Weasley, who had fought the whole way through for them to stop depending on Harry so much and to let the boy just breathe. But she was fighting a losing battle, a prophecy and the words of a dead man had egged so many into putting everything they had onto the chosen one instead of figuring it out themselves.

At least, that was how Hermione saw it. And Harry might have been the chosen one , but she and Ron were his best friends and they refused to let him face that on his own.

A few nights before Harry’s birthday Hermione was pouring through all of her books in order to organize them, along with a trunk of books she had found in a dusty, forgotten corner of a storage closet. There was a slim, water stained volume about  food preservation charms that she was eager to read, since she was certain it would come in handy during whatever came next. She’d been expecting to do this chore on her own, but Ginny had stomped into the room and had thrown herself down next to her not too long ago, and boredly poked through some of them alongside her, obviously stewing over something.

Finally, after too long of a period of the younger girl just disrupting Hermione’s work instead of helping, Ginny sighed heavily and rolled over on the floor, burying her face into the old rug on her floor and groaning dramatically.

“I want to do something.” She angrily declared, voice partially muffled because of how her face was pressed against the floor. Hermione hummed in answer, knowing that the other girl just had to get it out of her system and wouldn’t truly appreciate an interruption.

“We’re all focused on the wedding and making the house presentable while you guys are getting ready to go off and single handedly win the war if what everyone said about Harry is true, and I can’t be a part of anything. Anything . I’m too young . I’m the girl . It’s too dangerous . Uhg!” She groaned, pounding the floor once with her fist. Suddenly she sat up and pointed her finger accusingly at Hermione, ignoring the clumps of hair that fell into her face and made her look a bit deranged.

“You guys are going to go out there and you’re going to be safe, alright? You’re going to go off and do whatever you’re going to do and you’re going to come back because you… You’re one of my best friends, and Ron’s my brother and Harry’s… You’re all important to me, and if you get hurt and don’t get back to me I will destroy you, I swear I will.” She threatened, looking like she more than meant it.

Hermione surprised them both by laughing, smiling with a dark sort of humor at the girl when she was done.

“I don’t really see that happening.” Hermione said wryly, and Ginny watched her for an uncertain moment before letting out a slow breath.

“Then make it happen.” She commanded, loose hair a bit tangled and falling into her face, eyes furious and staring the world down. Her skin was sun darkened, her lips were so chapped it was impossible not to notice, and there was a long scrape going up the length of her tank bared bicep from something she’d undoubtedly dealt with with too much force and not enough thought and…

“You too.” Hermione whispered, staring the younger girl down and knowing that if danger didn’t come to the red head she’d just go out and find it. She was bull headed and brave and there was no doubt that she was going to fight in one way or another, allowed or not.

“Deal.” Ginny nodded, like now that they’d said it the universe would just bend to their will. It was certainly a nice thought. She gave the books surrounding them a considering look, acting like she hadn’t really noticed just how many there were before that moment.

“Where did you get these anyways?” She asked, picking up a large, menacing looking volume from the nearest stack.

“Some I’ve bought, some were presents. Those, though,” She looked at the ones Ginny was poking at and weighed the merits of telling the truth, “Those are the ones I stole from Hogwarts.”

There was a long beat of silence as Ginny stared at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted in shock.

“No way.” She finally declared and Hermione shrugged, more than a little embarrassed.

“Those are from the library,” She mumbled, pointing to a gathering of stacks off to the side, “Those are from the restricted section,” She pointed to a tall stack a careful distance away from the rest, “And those are from the Headmaster’s office.” She finished, gesturing to the piles the other girl was sitting near.

Ginny continued to stare at her for another dumbstruck moment before her face split with a stunning and fierce grin.

“That is the most brilliant thing you have ever done.” She declared, laughing at Hermione’s embarrassed blush.

“I’m going to give them back.” The older girl muttered, and Ginny laughed, short and sharp and pleased.

“Why? Merlin, Hermione, you should dedicate yourself to this. Become a real book thief, stealing from all the people who won’t appreciate the books like you would. You missed your calling.” She snickered, eagerly flipping through the book in her hands now that she knew it was stolen and wasn’t just a regular boring book.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Hermione said wryly, rolling her eyes and going back to her work as Ginny enthusiastically grilled her on how exactly she’d managed to pull off her crimes.

“Harry, what did you do with Snape’s potions book?” Hermione asked the brooding teen. She had never liked the thing, had feared it and what it was doing to her friend, but now that they knew the origins and the full power of the spells, and now that they were preparing for war…

It could help, maybe. And they needed all the help they could get.

She was going through their combined piles of books one more time, this time with Harry and Ron in the room so that they could have some input setting aside the ones she wanted to take and the ones she would only maybe take. Ron looked through the maybes and gave his opinion, switching between humor, sarcasm, and genuinely helpful insights in a way that actually put Hermione at ease, which was likely why he was doing it.

Harry stared out the window, watching as the tents for the wedding were set up outside, the Weasley’s trying to set them up to Molly’s specifications, Fleur’s parents down there adding their opinions in every moment or so. Hermione knew that Ginny was one of the ones tasked with placing strings of lights all around, and had no doubt that she was who Harry was really watching.

“I got rid of it,” He said lowly, “There’s a version of the room of requirement where people have been hiding things for years, with all sorts of stuff just… there.” He said and Hermione froze, heart thundering in her chest and her hand clenching tightly on a soft bound copy of a quidditch fact book she was arguing with herself about because of how the boys might have favored it. “I put it in there.” He finished, and Hermione forced herself to breathe because there was no way he knew. No way.

“Okay.” She said, voice just a bit too high pitched, and Ron shot her a concerned look.

“You didn’t like the book anyways. You were right about that.” Harry muttered a bit bitterly, having also caught on to her discomfort.

“Yeah, ‘Mione. I know you like books, but you can’t get your knickers in a twist when an evil one gets abandoned. It’s for the best.” Ron said, laughingly, and Hermione takes the excuse with desperate hands.

“Books should not be abused, Ronald.” She sniffed imperiously, hoping it wasn’t too forced, “The knowledge inside of them is priceless and…” She quickly went on a rant that had Ron groaning dramatically, begging her to stop.

She, of course, refused.

Ron eventually pushed himself off of the floor to go downstairs in search of snacks, and Hermione sat on the floor for a moment in silence before she sighed, fortified herself, and looked up at Harry.

“I think I need to explain what happened.” She started, the weight of Harry’s disapproval the past few days having been a heavy, almost unbearable thing. They needed to clear the air, and she knew that Harry wasn’t likely to take the first step anytime soon. He liked to brood a bit too much.

“It’s fine.” Harry muttered, not looking away from the window.

“I’m not apologizing,” Hermione snapped, “We didn’t do the wrong thing. I’m trying to explain to you why we did what we did because you obviously don’t understand.” 

“Moody died-“

“And? It’s war Harry, people are going to die. Grow up.” She snapped out before she could stop herself, and she immediately regretted it as he flinched back from the whip of her anger. She took a breath, and tried again.

“We knew that we’d been betrayed, Harry. Not everyone, but some of us. We couldn’t change the plan entirely because then Voldemort would have been suspicious, but we needed to keep you safe.” She said lowly as he finally looked at her, eyes a bit wide from the shock of the admission.

“I’m not any more important than anyone else.” He croaked out and Hermione sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling up a bit for comfort.

“Maybe not. Probably not. I think prophecies are shit, so I’m not trying to protect you because of that.” Hermione sighed, quirking a brief smile as Harry snorted at her little dig to the whole practice of divination, “You’re my friend, and I’ll protect you because of that. You’re a symbol of hope for the wizarding world, and I’ll protect you because if we lose you, to some people that means we lose the war. We won’t,” She interjected before he could protest, “We’ll keep fighting no matter what because it’s right , but... Voldemort wants you dead, and he thinks he’ll win if he manages it. And I will not allow that. So I and everyone else will protect you, sometimes more than we will protect ourselves, because you are important in ways that none of us will manage to be.” She declared angrily. Harry looks away.

“I’m sorry about Hedwig, and I’m sorry that you’re blaming yourself for Moody’s death and the fact that George got hurt.” She finally muttered, more to her feet than anywhere else, “But I’m not sorry that we protected you.”

They were silent for a moment as Harry continued to stare out the window, and in it Hermione heard the familiar sound of Ginny’s loud laugh, followed a moment after by either Fred’s or George’s. She could imagine, for a moment, that the three were fooling around, stringing lights into offensive shapes or bothering the other in a way that would have Mrs. Weasley shouting at them in a moment. Harry’s face softened as he watched the scene, and Hermione took the moment and stored it somewhere safe inside of her because of how good it felt despite the bad.

“Are you scared?” Harry asked hoarsely, green eyes finally meeting hers, looking tired but so very, very determined.

“I’m absolutely terrified.” She admitted quietly, knowing that her secret was safe with him, and Harry smiled.

“Well, I suppose it’s nice that I’m not the only one.”

Chapter Text

The wedding was beautiful, a bit like it had been pulled right from the ending of a fairy tale as Fleur descended upon them like a queen in her exorbitant dress and sparkling tiara, smile never slipping as she and Bill met in front of the officiant. Bill looked fond and she looked ecstatic, both of them glowing as they clasped hands and promised themselves to one another. As Bill smiled his scars stood out starkly on his face, even more noticeable than usual, but it took nothing away from how dashing and happy he looked.

And Hermione couldn’t be anything but happy as the party started, distancing herself from Scrimgeour’s visit the day before and the upcoming Horcrux hunt as everyone danced and laughed and relaxed for a while. It was a wedding, after all, and the war wouldn’t dare touch it.

Harry was off somewhere looking hilariously like a Weasley, and the brief glance she managed of him through the sea of red heads and friends was of him sitting with an elderly wizard and questioning them. Which, really, was just like him to do when he was supposed to be relaxing.

“Might I have this dance?” A familiar voice asked at her side, and Hermione turned with a small smile, snorting at the man’s frankly ridiculous suit. It took her a moment, but she finally realized it had to be Fred due to the fact that he had both of his ears.

“Two weddings in a row.” She noted as she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her onto the dance floor, “I know it can’t be because I’m a good dancer.”

“It’s not,” Fred said happily, turning to place his other hand at her waist, “It’s because Ron’s face is always hilarious .”

And, with a burst of laughter, they began to twirl.

Fred was a madman on the dancefloor, following the steps like they were only suggestions to be improved upon, adding in random lifts and spins, twirling Hermione out to nearly collide with the rest of the crowd and pulling her back in for a dramatic dip that had her laughing so hard it hurt. He started creating silly, ridiculous footwork that Hermione breathlessly tried to follow along and improvise to, which had him adding in a laugh of his own, even as Hermione accidentally stomped on his toes during one particularly ridiculous jump.

When they finally whirled off the dance floor Fred gave her a jaunty bow before scooping up a wide-eyed banker Bill knew and twirled away with her, leaving Hermione flushed and breathless, stumbling over to the punch bowl on legs that were nearly jelly.

“That was lovely,” A wispy voice sighed at her back as she filled her cup, and Hermione turned with a smile, taking in the bright yellow sight of Luna who was watching the dance floor with a slight, dreamy smile, “Your dance was almost similar to the way fairies dance just before their sacrificial rituals. I hear it’s a very fun event for everyone, except for the sacrifice, I suppose. Or maybe not. It depends on how you feel about parties, and your own death.” She mused.

“There is absolutely no such thing.” Hermione declared, trying to hide her incredulous expression behind her cup. Luna hummed in consideration.

“No. There is.” Luna smiled, turning to her and pressing a quick and cool kiss to the older girl’s cheek. “Have you seen Ginny?”

“She’s dancing with Charlie, I think. Or she might be arm wrestling with that cousin she doesn’t like. Or punching him.” Hermione told her, and Luna laughed.

“It isn’t a true wedding unless there’s a good fist fight.” She smiled, and Hermione couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Usually she wasn’t so quick to advocate violence.

“Another fairy tradition?” Hermione finally ventured, and Luna sent her a sly look that had Hermione almost choking on her next sip of punch.

“No. Just humans. And, of course, giants. But they just prefer violence with everyone.” She smiled fully, a quick and brilliant thing, before turning to Hermione and bowing, holding out her hand. “I’d quite like to dance now, if you’d join me.”

Hermione laughed – how could she not?—and sat her punch down to take the other girl’s hand.

“Alright. I’ll lead though.”

“I quite like the idea of taking turns, actually.” Luna mused, and they proceeded to do so, Hermione leading a normal, measured dance with the first song and then Luna leading them in winding circles, the two of them occasionally stumbling over one another’s feet or into other pairs, too busy debating with one another about the legitimacy of muggle clothing designers secretly being leprechauns —“Who else would make their shoes?” Luna questioned as if it were a legitimate argument to make—to properly apologize.

By the time their dances had ended their argument had gone nowhere, and Luna had to excuse herself to go and find her father. Hermione bid her a temporary goodbye with exasperated fondness, scanning the crowd for Ron in order to tell the boy about the ridiculousness she’d just had to suffer through. He’d definitely get a laugh out of it.

She stepped out of the tent, scanning the scattered crowds for the familiar figure, but froze as the coin against her chest flared painfully hot.

She hurried around the shed she had fixed up a month ago, and once hidden in its shadow she pulled out the coin from the front of her dress with shaking hands.

He is taking over the Ministry. Run.

Hermione braced herself against the side of the shed, knees forgetting to bear her weight. She tried to keep calm and tried to breathe, drawing her wand and holding it tight as she pressed the tip of it to the coin and hissed, “When?”

Now , Granger, stop wasting time, it answered after a torturously long minute, and Hermione was running a moment later, eyes wide as she searched the sea of redheads for Ron and Harry. 

She found Ron looking awkward as an end-of-middle-aged woman pinched his arm and waggled her finger in his face with her lips pursed unpleasantly. Hermione ignored her as she grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled, tugging him after her as she ran toward the tent where she hoped Harry would be.

“Hermione-“ Ron tried, but he was viciously ignored as Hermione searched the gleeful crowds for Harry, though for a few desperate moments she forgot what his borrowed face looked like. Then, thank goodness, she saw him, polyjuice potion starting to fade, red hair darkening from the roots and beginning to go unruly, freckles fading back into brown skin.

She runs to him, barely keeping herself from calling out his name and ruining the whole carefully constructed ruse, and grabs his arm with jagged desperation.

“Hermione?” He questioned, voice wavering in its pitch as the potion faded that much more. Hermione’s breathing was harsh and her eyes wild as she opened her mouth to demand they leave, right that moment and with no explanation, but then she was silenced as a ball of light shot into the tent, forming into a patronus.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming." It intoned with Kingsley’s familiar seriousness, edged with a bit of grim desperation.

There is a moment before hysteria breaks over the crowd in which Hermione tightened her hold on her friends and took a bracing breath.

“Mum-“ Ron started to shout to the woman who was running toward them, but then the first Death Eater arrived with a screech and a quickly shot off spell and Hermione can’t allow them to waste any more time. She closed her eyes and pulled , dragging them all through the suffocating squeeze of apparition until they stumbled out onto a muggle street. Hermione’s heels caught on a crack in the pavement and she was only saved as Harry, thanks to his quick reflexes, caught her arm and rightened her.

“Where are we?” Ron questioned, mouth pressed tight in the same way his mother’s did when things weren’t going right, eyes worried and hands fidgeting as he looked around at the apathetic muggles who were walking past.

“Tottenham Court Road.” Hermione answered through gritted teeth as she began to pull the boys down the sidewalk, “Hurry now, keep walking. We need to find somewhere to change.”

“But we don’t have anything to change into!” Ron exclaimed, trotting to keep up with her. He then sent her a suspicious look, “Are we going to steal something?”

“No,” Hermione huffed, cursing Ginny and the girl’s gleeful retelling of Hermione’s crimes to her brothers and Harry. Fred and George had gotten more than a little carried away with it, eagerly pestering her to know the full extent of her rebellious streak. They’d made it out as if she was eager to steal.

 She shouldered past a group of muggle girls who took in their strange looking dress robes with a giggle and hurried, frantic as she looked for somewhere that they could change.

“I should have had the cloak on me,” Harry bemoaned, “All last year I’d kept it with me and I should have-“

“I have it, and changes of clothes for the both of you.” Hermione told them before he could worry too much, quickly turning down a mostly barren side street down it, going down a narrow alley a moment later and pulling to a stop in the middle, once they were safely hidden in the shadows.

“Here, this will do.” She huffed, dropping their wrists.

“Where do you exactly have our clothes hidden?” Ron finally asked, more than a little incredulous. He looked her over and gestured at her dress as if it was evidence. “What, does that thing have pockets none of us have seen?”

“ No, but I wish it did. It’s all in here.” Hermione huffed, holding up her beaded handbag and giving it a little shake to show them, forgetting for a moment that doing so would topple all of her nicely organized things. She heard a terrible clatter from inside the purse, and stared at it for a moment in slight despair. 

“That would be the books.” She sighed. Ron and Harry both gave her baffled looks that made her roll her eyes.

“It’s an undetectable extension charm.” She told them as she stuck her arm into the bag to pull out a pair of jeans—Harry’s, according to the shorter length. “An illegal one,” She admitted as she handed the clothes to Harry. Harry snorted and Ron grinned, accepting clothes of his own a moment later.

“Maybe Ginny was onto something about you being a criminal mastermind.” Ron teased, and Hermione’s lips quirked in answer. 

“That’s good for us, considering.” Harry muttered as he pulled his shirt off over his head, muffled by the fabric, sobering everyone for a moment. 

Hermione dug her own clothes out and sat the bag down so that she herself could get changed.

“Y-You can’t change here!” Ron stuttered as he realized what she was up to, shirtless himself, looking wildly around at the abandoned alley with wild eyes, “What if someone sees?”

Hermione blankly stared at him for a moment. “Well, I suppose we’ll deal with that when we come to it.” She sniffed before she turned and quickly changed into a sweater and a pair of jeans, as well as a sensible pair of sneakers. True, she now had a flushed face now that Ron had oh-so helpfully reminded her she was about to get down to her underwear in a wide open alley, but needs must.

“Don’t worry Ron,” She heard Harry say to Ron with faux seriousness behind her, “I’ll protect your virtue if anyone comes around, even if Hermione won’t.”

As Ron sputtered, Hermione hid her smirk and snickered.

“Alright, Harry, here’s the invisibility cloak. Pull it on, quick now. And-“

“When did you have time for all of this?” Harry asked as he pulled on the cloak, incredulous. He earned himself an impatient look for his troubles. Or, at least, the space Hermione thought he was still occupying got the look.

“I told you both I’ve been packing for ages in preparation for this. I just shoved your rucksack and the cloak in today before the wedding just in case because…” Because she’d woken up with a heavy rocklike feeling in her chest that had urged her to prepare, to get ready because at any moment they could be attacked. At any moment it could all come crumbling down around them and she had to be ready.

“It’s best to be prepared.” She finally nodded, securing her purse on her wrist. 

“You’re amazing,” Ron told her, and Hermione’s cheeks flushed in pleasure.

“Thank you,” She said simply, unable to help her small smile.

“Everyone at the wedding…” Harry muttered heavily, hidden beneath the cloak, and that took that little flare of good away as quick as anything else ever could. 

“We can’t think about that right now,” Hermione said quietly, can’t think about it, cant worry, cant… “They want you, so if we go back that will just put everyone in more danger. So for now, we protect you, and we protect all of them.”

“She’s right, you know,” Ron said to the air beside him, a bit of forced joviality in his voice despite the fact that when Hermione looks at him he looks like a brittle thing, “Nearly the whole Order was there, so they’ll make sure everyone’s alright.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered glumly.

“Come on,” Hermione sighed, turning back the way they came, “We should keep moving.”

They hurried out onto the street and she started in a random direction, scrambling for some semblance of a plan that could get them through this.

She was the one with the plans. She was the one who thought things through. 

She also, it turned out, was the one getting catcalled while they were trying to be discreet and while she was trying to think things through. 

Ron opened his mouth to shout what would have no doubt been some incredibly scathing retorts and Hermione realized that, while she also wanted to shout at the disgusting men, it would bring too much attention and take too much time.

“Oh, let’s just go sit down in here.” She huffed as she dragged them all into a nearby all-night café. It was a small and weary thing, with a flickering light in the back corner just above the door to the bathroom and tacky feeling uncleaned tables, the cushions on the booth wheezing lifelessly as they all took their seats.

Ron had hurried to take the seat facing the door, pausing for a moment to allow Harry to slip in, and Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself from asking for them to switch, slipping into the opposite booth and only lasting a moment before she was turned around, eyes flicking over the length of the empty café and then watching the door for a moment before she turned back around. She unwittingly repeated this a few more times, too anxious and suspicious to remain still.

“You know…” Ron started, slow and cautious like he knew what he was going to say was going to be shot down, “The Leaky Cauldron isn’t too far from here-“

“No.” Hermione quickly hissed, “We can’t and you know we can’t,”

“Not to stay or anything, but to see what’s going on, that’s all.” He defended himself, fidgeting with a packet of artificial sweetener. 

“We know what’s going on,” She snapped, shooting another look over her shoulder, “Voldemort has taken over the ministry and now we have to get started on our plan to destroy the horcruxes. Everyone is in danger, Harry especially, so what else do we need to know? What do you think we’re going to learn about what’s going on?”

“It was just an idea,” Ron muttered, accidentally tearing a hole in the sweetener packet and staring in shock as it spilled out over the table.

The waitress came over during the pause in the conversation, tired and uninterested as Hermione ordered two coffees. The bell of the door chimed as it opened and two large men shouldered their way in, and Hermione barely had a moment to spare them a look before she was turned back to Ron.

“I say we head toward the countryside,” She murmured, pausing as the waitress sat her coffee in front of her, “We can get a message out once we’re safe.”

They worked out a potential plan for getting a message to someone in the Order, and even such a feeble plan was enough to allow her to relax minutely. She moved to pay for the frankly horrible coffee they’d been given, and as she did she heard the rustle of Harry moving just before Ron’s eyes widened and he lunged, pulling her out of her seat and to the floor as a spell explosively hit the wall just behind them.

Hermione lay on the floor for a stunned moment as Harry, still invisible, called out a spell of his own against the two apparently magical men, incapacitating one. The other cast a spell that bound Ron head to toe in ropes, and as he fell to the floor with a cry Hermione gathered herself, pulled her wand out, bared her teeth, and grit out a harsh spell that set the last man alight.

He screamed for the moment it took for Harry to cast a stunning spell to knock him out, and then an extinguishing spell to get rid of the fire.

"Bloody fucking hell, Hermione," Ron croaked from his spot on the floor, Harry staring at her from where he'd emerged from beneath the cloak, watching her with a small bit of horror in his gaze.

"I panicked," She blurted out, hands shaking as she cut through the ropes binding Ron, "It was just the first spell that came to mind."

"Well, maybe try to think of something with less fire next time," Ron huffed as he stood, taking in the destroyed cafe around them and the three bodies—apparently the waitress had been hit by a stray spell—lying unconscious on the floor.

"What do we do about them?" Ron asked quietly, swallowing thickly before croaking out, "Do we kill them?"

Hermione gripped her wand tightly and straightened her shoulders, racking her brain for all the possible curses that could be used to kill the men in front of them as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"No!" Harry hissed, unknowingly stopping her, "Can't we just... Wipe their memories?" He asked, and they both turned to look at Hermione. 

She forced herself to relax from her tensed, ready to attack stance, and nodded.

"It will be like we were never even here." She promised.

"Once we clean up this place, that is. It would be a bit suspicious if they woke up in a place a fight obviously happened with no memory of it." Ron pointed out, and with a bracing breath they all got to their tasks, Harry and Ron fixing all of the damage that had been wrought and Hermione taking the memories of the waitress and Death Eaters.

As they set the unconscious people up in the booths, Hermione stared at the faces of the men she had been so ready to kill and feels a sinking worry as she considers her lack of hesitation and Harry’s unwavering conviction that there was a way to go about it without murder.

She shoved it away and kept her focus forward, knowing deep inside that someday they would likely face a problem where they’d have to take the more drastic path, and that she’d have to be the one to do it.

Chapter Text

They go to Grimmauld Place, questioning how they had been found and looking over their shoulders suspiciously every breath they took, brought even closer to the edge by the precautions put on the house to keep Snape out. Ron nearly broke down when they learned his family was safe and sound from his Father’s patronus, and Harry’s connection to Voldemort is still alive and well and…

It’s a lot. It’s all a lot, and Hermione finds herself pushed closer and closer to an edge she does not want to go over.

“We should all sleep in here tonight. Together.” Hermione said as she peers suspiciously out the drawing room window, just the thought of not having her friends close at hand where she could keep her eye on them and make sure they were safe made her uneasy.

“Of course.” Ron muttered, stopping to pull the cushions off the couch to create a makeshift bed on the floor. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Hermione smiled at him, thankful.

She woke up the next morning clutching the coin at her chest tightly, Ron close at hand and sleeping soundly, and for a moment Hermione was calm. And then she saw that the sleeping bag next to Ron was empty, and with a curse she launched herself up to go and frantically search for Harry, Ron just a moment slower as he jerked awake.

She found him in a room upstairs, sitting on the floor surrounded by papers, and her relief is so intermingled with rage that the feelings are nearly one and the same as she calls down the stairs that she’d found him.

“Is he okay?” Ron called back.

“Yeah, he looks fine.”

“Then tell him to piss off!”

“Alright,” She turned back to Harry, who seemed to be ignoring her. “Piss off.” She told him, though he had undoubtedly heard Ron’s shouting, and Harry finally looked guiltily up at her.

“Look,” He murmured, holding out the paper that was in his hand, and she took it with careful hands, finally noticing in her friend’s tear track covered face and watery eyes. She read the letter with her heart in her throat, eyes growing watery as she looked upon the words of Lilly Potter.

“Oh Harry,” She murmured, holding the paper in a gentle hand as she drew him close, letting him sniffle into her shoulder for a moment. “She sounds lovely.”

“There’s a picture,” He croaked, showing it to her with a shaking hand and Hermione laughs at the sight of baby Harry, one of the only pictures of him at that age.

They have a quiet moment in which they savor this happy surprise, and then Harry begins to spout his conspiracy theories, talking about Bathilda Bagshot and Dumbledore Dumbledore Dumbledore .

“Should we really be focusing on Dumbledore instead of the hunt for the Horcruxes?” She asked carefully, trying not to immediately explode at how stupid of an idea this was.

“It’s important, I know it is,” Harry insisted eagerly.

“I think ending the wizarding war and getting rid of a genocidal maniac is a bit more important, Harry.” She snapped, less diplomatically than she perhaps should have.

“Bathilda might know something about the Horcruxes! It might have come up in her research and studies.”

“Oh, and I suppose if we happen to learn anything about Dumbledore it will just be a happy coincidence.” She sarcastically drawled, and Harry glared.

“I need to know the truth about him!” He hissed, and Hermione thought about telling him that he never would, that Dumbledore hid and manipulated and did whatever it took to get the results he wanted.

Instead she decided to try to soothe.

"I understand why you’re upset about all of this," She tried.

"I’m not upset," He muttered mulishly, obviously upset.

"But you knew Dumbledore. You trusted him. You shouldn’t let people who have been known to lie and exaggerate change your memory of him." 

They stand there for a moment, Harry obviously not satisfied and Hermione feeling like this was just going to go nowhere. 

"I’m going down for breakfast. When you feel like it, you need to eat." She finally sighed, waiting for him to nod before she turned and left the room.

As she walked down the hall she suddenly thought of Draco, perhaps because of all the green decor or maybe the general snobbish air of the place, the way it was all a bit overwhelming and pretentious.

Was he alright? Was he worried?

Taking a moment to look around her—Harry hadn't left Sirius' room yet—Hermione held her breath and slipped through the closest door, closing it silently behind her. 

She pulled the coin out from under her shirt by the chain and held it in her hand for a moment before pressing her wand to it.

"We are safe," She whispered, letting her eyes slide closed for a weary moment, both reveling in and fearing the words as she uttered them, "Are you?"

She waited for an impatient moment, biting her lip and shifting her weight from foot to foot, staring intently at the coin as if a response would come if she just willed it so. Sadly though, this did not happen.

“Hermione!” Harry called for her from the hallway, prompting her to hurriedly hide the coin beneath her shirt before stumbling out into the hall, heart jumping into her throat for a moment before she spotted her friend standing in front of a door and not in danger.

“What? What is it?” She asked, hurrying to his side. 

“Look,” He prompted, and she peered closely at the little sign on the door, not sure what was important about teenaged Regulus Black being just like every other teenager in the world and not wanting anyone in their room without their permission.

“R.A.B. I think it’s him.” Harry announced, his voice surprisingly calm. Hermione couldn’t help her little gasp if she had tried, nor the way she suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm and held on far too tightly. This was something, a very big something, that she hadn’t expected they would find so early into their search. Before the search even began, really.

“Sirius’s brother?” She questioned, nearly shaking from the suddenness and importance of the discovery. The sheer luck of it.

“He was a Death Eater, a really young one, but he tried to leave and got killed for it.” Harry explained, and Hermione quickly shouted for Ron to join them.

He quickly did, wand at the ready, and took in the sign with narrow eyes for a moment when prompted, almost immediately getting it. They searched the room with light hearts and heavy expectations, feeling that at any moment the locket would appear just as the identity of R.A.B had, as if it had been waiting for them the entire time. As they searched Hermione took in all of the green and silver, Slytherin and family pride more than evident in the décor, almost obnoxiously so, and tried to remember from Draco’s memories if his room had been similar.

An hour passed and the room in its entirety was scoured with nothing to be found, and while Harry and Ron grew discouraged Hermione forced herself to believe that they would find it soon. It could be somewhere else in the house, after all, and if they gave up what would that amount to?

They needed this bit of good, this one win after the losses and trials of the past day.

And then, like a stunning spell, it hits her in the middle of a thought as they walked down the stairs, she remembered an ostentatious little locket they’d come across while cleaning out some of the rooms of the house back when they’d all been trying to make the place inhabitable. She remembered everyone trying to open the locket, and being unable to. She remembered tossing the locket into the trash pile .

Their only hope was that Kreacher had secreted it away.

The wrinkled, bitter elf was summoned, and their hopes were raised and crushed in quick succession as the house-elf told them that he’d taken the locket, but it had been stolen by Mundungus. And then, choking, sobbing, shaking, Kreacher told the story of how he’d been used by Voldemort, and how Regulus had fought back against it, giving his life in the hope that it would weaken Voldemort.

  Kreacher left with a crack of magic, off to apprehend Mundungus and bring him back for questioning about the Horcrux.

Harry waited anxiously, as if it would be a matter of minutes before the house-elf would pop back in. Hermione, unable to just idly pass time by waiting in the kitchen, went to search through the house for anything useful, stashing what she found in her bag. It was mostly rolls of old parchment or fancy vials of ink—always useful—but every now and then she found a book or some candles.

Then, part way through her search, the coin burned hot against her skin and she quickly fumbled to get it out.

I’m safe. It said, rather shortly, and she frowned at it for a moment before it burned again. Make sure you stay out of trouble .

Hermione snorted, a part of her relaxing at the familiar tone and sentiment. “Same to you. And thank you for the book.” She whispered, holding the coin tight in her hand for a quiet moment, waiting for a response almost anxiously. She hadn’t thanked him when he’d first sent it a couple of months ago, feeling strange about sending what at the time had felt like a foolish message through their secrets spy communication coins, but…

She wanted to talk to him a bit more, so much so that she almost felt a bit foolish for it.

Did it help?

“Yes.” She choked out, feeling a burn in her throat that she was determined to ignore.

I’m sorry.

She wondered, idly, if that had hurt. She knew sympathy was such a rare thing for him to feel.

“It’s better this way. They’re safe.” 

She sat there for a few moments, sad but trying her best not to be, but somehow still calmer than she had been in weeks.

This will be more difficult than I had thought , the coin told her after a pause that had her wondering what he was doing, and Hermione’s heart sunk at the statement. Not because she thought he had changed his mind or that he was switching sides again, because she knew him. She’d traveled around his mind and knew all of the different sides and pieces of him and knew that he wouldn’t do such a thing now that he’d decided. But because the fact that he had discovered it, the fact that he was telling her about it, meant something had happened.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered, curling around the coin protectively, wishing for a moment that they were in the familiar sanctuary of the bathroom of the Room of Requirement so that she could see him and so that they could talk. 

Do not use the Dark Lord’s name, he sent and she only had a moment to be confused before he sent: There is a taboo. Use it and he will find you.  

She stared for a moment, wide eyed as she thought it through. She hadn’t learned much about taboos over the years, just enough to know that historically the ministry had used them to oppress or eradicate certain ideals.

Only a certain few had ever used Voldemort’s name, and Harry had always been one of them. So it made sense for him to do it once he had the power to.

“Understood.” She whispered before sending off the message to McGonagall to warn her of the same thing. The sooner the order knew, the safer they would be.

She hurried out of the room in search of Harry and Ron, mind desperately racing at all the horrible possibilities. Taboos were supposed to be very powerful and could break through the use of all other spells and protections if enough power was put behind them, so if either said the name before she could get to them to warn them…

Ron was sat at the kitchen table, upper body draped over the aged surface as he boredly fidgeted with the deluminator and Harry was anxiously pacing around him. 

“I know how the Death Eaters found us at the café.” Hermione announced as she hurried into the room, basically sliding on the waxed wood of the floor and into the doorway. Her words all came out in one breath making it all a jumbled mess that had Harry staring at her blankly, but Ron seemed to understand.

“Really? How?”

“Vold- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put a taboo on his name! If someone said it, searchers will be able to find them.” Hermione told them eagerly, and while Ron looked thoughtful Harry just looked confused.

“I remembered reading about it in a book,” Hermione hurried to explain, nervous that they would question her as to how she had figured it out and would somehow realize what was going on. “I don’t remember which one, though. But the Ministry has done it in the past so of course he would put on in place once the ministry was taken over. Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense how they managed to find us without there somehow being a trace still on Harry.”

“I think mum said something like that once.” Ron mused, drawing her attention to him, “Fred and George came up with some stupid joke that they’d use just to annoy her, and she said she’d put a taboo on it and smack them every time they said it, even when they weren’t near her.”

“Should we… Test it?” Harry cautioned to ask, and Hermione whipped her head around to glare at him.

“What? No! ” She snapped, “Why would we try to get caught?”

“To see if that’s actually what it is.”

“Or we could assume that that is what’s going on until we’re proven wrong and not be stupid about this!” She snapped, nerves worn thin. Harry shot her a hurt look that had her reigning herself back and taking a breath.

“Let’s just be safe and not say his name just in case, alright? I really think that this what is going on.” She urged, waiting until Harry nodded before allowing her shoulders to relax just the slightest bit. There was so much more to worry about, so much more to stress about and focus on, but now they could not be tracked, and that was a little bit easier on her.

Not by much because nothing would ever be easy ever again, but just enough.

“Hey ‘Mione,” Ron interrupted her stressful train of thought, “Did you pack any cards in that bag of yours?”

“What? Oh, no, I didn’t. Why?” She questioned, confused.

“Eh, it’s something to do.” He shrugged, though there was something a bit calculating about the way he was looking at her. “There’s probably a deck somewhere around here that was left behind by someone in the order, though. Want to come look with me?” He asked as he stood, and before she realized what she was doing she was nodding.

“I’ll stay here.” Harry said distractedly as he began pacing again, and after they both shot him a concerned look Hermione and Ron both filed out of the room.

As they began to head down the hall Hermione began to worry once more about what would happen now if Kreacher didn’t come back or if Mundungus actually didn’t have the Horcrux, or if she hadn’t packed enough food and-

Ron’s elbow nudged her a little too rough in her side, sending her stumbling off to the side. She blinked at him a moment, shocked, before snorting once she saw the smirk on his face.

“Berk.” She laughed, shoving him away as he snickered.

Chapter Text

Days passed with no Kreacher, which had Harry on edge and anxious, fidgeting with everything he could get his hands on and just generally being anxious and getting in everyone’s way. Ron became clingy, for some reason, following her from room to room and constantly prattling on about inane stuff that just drove her closer and closer to the edge, always fidgeting with his deluminator and turning the lights on and off. On and off. On and off.

Harry spent his days holed up in Sirius’ old room when not prowling around like an angry, caged creature, searching through every last artifact of his godfather in an attempt to find out more about him, to get closer to the memory of the man. Hermione didn’t begrudge him of that, and she didn’t want Ron bothering him as he dealt with whatever he was struggling with, but she wished she could have some time alone for herself.

After finally snapping at Ron for turning the lights on and off one too many times with his deluminator she stomped off to a solitary room to huff and glare at a wall for a moment and just feel a bit sorry for herself. It was a bit immature but she needed it, just for a little while.

She hesitates just a moment, eyes on the door, and then pulls her coin out from under her shirt, hand a bit sweaty as she held it tightly a moment before pulling her wand out.

“I miss the room,” She whispered selfishly, wishing for all those books and towering piles of junk and the quiet moments that had let her pretend for a moment that everything was normal and right. “Parts of it.” The parts that allowed her escape, not the parts that had had her worried about everyone dying.

She heard the alarms at the front door go off and quickly shoved the coin back into its hiding place, wand held at the ready as she ran toward the front hall.

If it was Snape, she’d have to be ready.

But it wasn’t, it was Lupin, looking too thin and ragged and going on about helping the three of them out on the mission Dumbledore had sent them on. And for a moment Hermione was overjoyed, ready for a responsible adult to be there and help them and take on some of the burdens but…

The coin burned and she quickly excused herself, muttering something about tea, hurrying to the kitchen to peer down at it, a little bit breathless.

Don’t be so soft, It warned almost a bit harshly, but she can almost see the tilted smirk of his lips and the lofty, better-than-though look in his eyes.

She really shouldn’t be so fond of the image.

“Um,” Ron said from out in the hall, coming closer. “Hermione, you do remember that we don’t have tea, right?”

She laughed awkwardly, quickly stuffing the coin back under her shirt just before he and then Harry and Lupin filed into the kitchen. “I suppose I forgot, sorry.” She laughed again, and while Harry and Ron shot her suspicious looks Lupin just chuckled wearily.

“That’s alright. Here,” He said, pulling out a few butterbeers from his cloak that they all eagerly grabbed for.

They sat down around the table and traded information, Lupin about what had happened since the wedding and them doing the same in their own more limited scope.

“How did they find you so soon?” He asked, aghast, “There’s no way they would have been able to track you when you apparated. It’s impossible to track an apparition.”

“They couldn’t have a trace still on me?” Harry questioned. Lupin shook his head.

“Well, Hermione had an idea about that. She thought it might be a taboo put on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s… Name.” Ron said, and Lupin hummed.

“Ah, yes, the Order actually learned about that from one of our sources, I just hadn’t thought to ask if you’d said it or not. The taboo is real and is certainly in place, and sure to cause a lot of trouble. A lovely deduction.” He conceded, giving Hermione a look that was almost a bit proud and she flushed, pleased despite the facts that she actually hadn’t figured anything out and that she had to hide that she was actually the Order's secret source.

They went over the work Voldemort’s ministry had done so far, the muggle-born registry and the manhunt for Harry. Finally they got on the subject of their mission from Dumbledore, and after Harry refused to give Lupin the details the man offered to instead accompany and help them.

For a moment Hermione was almost overjoyed at the thought of help, but that was quickly overridden by the realization that it just didn’t make sense.

“What about Tonks?” She asked, and she watched as his face went suspiciously blank and stony.

“What about her?”

“Well, you’re married to her. What’s her opinion on all of this?”

“She’ll be safe,” He said shortly, tone almost cold, “She’ll be at her parent’s house.”

Well, that didn’t make sense. Tonks was like Ginny in that she would always run off to face danger, and she would never happily stay hidden away in safety while there was a war going on.

It took a bit of prodding and a few uncomfortable questions, and quite a few short answers on Lupin’s part, but finally the man told them, quite grudgingly, that Tonks was pregnant.

“That’s wonderful,” Hermione said almost automatically and quite flatly, no true feeling behind it because even as she said it she could tell it wouldn’t be accepted. The man in front of her was not one that seemed happy with his impending fatherhood. 

Harry was not happy to be an excuse for the man to abandon his child, and Lupin was not happy with the implication that he was abandoning his child, though that was exactly what was happening.

Then Harry pushed just a bit too far, calling him a coward, going on about how ashamed Sirius and James would have been and Lupin was pulling out his wand and throwing Harry back with a harsh spell.

Harry was a bit too slow on the draw but Hermione had her wand out barely a second after Lupin, and she sent a stunning spell after him as the man ran away.

“Remus!” Ron called after the man, turning to look at Hermione with incredulous eyes once the door slammed after the man. “What the fuck Hermione?”

“He attacked Harry!” She exclaimed, motioning angrily toward where their friend was in the process of picking himself up off the floor. “I didn’t mean to… But he attacked Harry!”

Ron looked abruptly furious about that, for some reason, and Hermione was confused over it because why would her defending Harry make him angry?

“Well, Harry shouldn’t have said all that stuff to him!” Ron declared. Harry, who had managed to get his feet back beneath him and who was rubbing his head where it had hit the wall, glared.

“He had it coming!” He practically growled, “He was just going to… Parents shouldn’t abandon their kids unless they’ve got to!”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed, anger floating away in the face of such a declaration but Harry sullenly shrugged her away and stomped over to glare dramatically into the fire. 

Once his back was turned to them Ron looked at her with something that was close to an apology in his eyes, but not quite there. Hermione decided, almost wearily, just to take it.

“I know I shouldn’t have called him a coward.” Harry sighed, turning back to them. “But I just… How could he do that to his own kid? Does he really think that there’s anything worse than being abandoned by your parents?”

“Ah, shit,” Ron sighed, moving forward to grab reassuringly onto Harry’s shoulder, giving it a little shake. “Harry, I don’t think there was much thought in it. And ya know, maybe what you said will get him thinking over it again.”

Harry quirked a hopeful half smile at his friend.

Kreacher comes with Mundungus and it all moves pretty quickly after that. Suddenly they’re planning and plotting, though not for too long because they need to move.

They need to break into the Ministry and they need to steal the Horcrux right off of Umbridge’s froggy throat. Easy.

“Well, since you’re some sort of super criminal in training, stealing this shouldn’t be too bad, should it?” Ron joked the first week and Hermione glared.

“We’ve all been doing illegal things since first year, Ronald .” She grit out, pursing her lips as Harry laughed, “So I think we’ve all got a pretty good handle on this.”

Ron attempted to glower, but the smile all along the edges of his mouth belied the truth, and eventually even he couldn’t help but snicker. 

They grilled Ron for every minuscule detail he could know about the Ministry, hoping that he would know more intimate details from growing up with his Father working in the government. Hermione might know things from books, but that would be worthless if they are found out as imposters within moments because they didn’t know the right terms for things.

They took turns leaving during the day to stake out the entrance of the Ministry beneath the invisibility cloak, taking note of who entered and hoping that Umbridge would tottle on by so that they could get everything over with that much quicker. They took extensive notes, and Hermione attempted to chart out a foolproof plan that would end with them leaving unnoticed, unharmed, and victorious.

It was a high order, but she was determined.

One night while they were pouring over the most recent plan, still a little shaky but still coming together fine, when Ron spoke up.

“I think it would be best if just Harry and I go.”

Hermione froze, having just accepted a plate of fish and potatoes from a happy looking Kreacher, and stared at him flatly. “You must be joking.”

“You’re the one most at risk! We shouldn’t just dangle you in front of them!” He squawked. Hermione turned to look at Harry, baffled, and the boy pointedly avoided her eyes and shoved food into his mouth, though he looked a little annoyed as well.

“You must be joking. ” She repeated, “Ron, I’m going to pretend that you didn’t say anything. You should too.” Ron’s face grew ruddy red with embarrassment, but his mouth pinched in the way it did whenever he got stuck on something.

“No, but you see-”

“Ron, if you say one more word about me staying behind while you two fumble your way through the Ministry by yourselves I swear I will hex you blind.” She threatened, and maybe he could see that she kind of meant it because, at least for the rest of the night, he remained quiet.

“The fish is nice.” Harry awkwardly announced, earning two frustrated glares from his friends and a very pleased, “Thank you Master Harry!” From a bright eyed Kreacher.

She was reading through the notes she’d taken that day while watching the entrance to the Ministry when the coin burned hot. Harry and Ron were playing cards in the corner, so she subtly took out the coin and tried her best to look inconspicuous.

He’s taken over Hogwarts. Snape is headmaster.

At first it doesn’t quite compute, the thought so unthinkable that her mind rejected it a moment before it sunk in.

Hogwarts, her beloved home away from home, the most magical place she had ever known, taken over by Death Eaters. Ruled by Voldemort and his lackeys. The thought of it literally made her feel sick to her stomach.

Her hands shook as she gripped the coin so hard the blunted metal almost tore through her skin, and she whispered as quietly as she could, “Be the most Slytherin you can possibly be.” Be crafty, be cunning, be self-serving . He needed to, if he was going to manage not to get caught while being surrounded by Death Eaters all hours of the day every day.

And she’d been partially hoping Hogwarts would be a break for him but now…

“Did you say something?” Harry asked, and she jerked a bit as she was brought back to herself. 

“What? Oh, no, just thinking out loud a bit.” She managed, chuckling weakly and unconvincingly at the end. 

“Is something wrong?” Ron asked, face scrunched with concern. And Hermione wanted to tell them, of course she did, they had every right to know because Hogwarts was just as important to them, maybe even more so for Harry but… How could she explain how she knew?

“No, nothing’s wrong. Sorry, I’m just a little distracted trying to get everything figured out.”

They both shot her suspicious looks but allowed her to get back to her work and worries after a watchful moment.

The coin burned one more time,  When am I not, Granger? And Hermione silently slipped the coin under her shirt, wishing that she could hide her worry just as easily.

It’s so incredibly strange how, after weeks of planning, a plan can simultaneously go well and fall apart around them. They all get in unnoticed, seamlessly hiding that they weren’t who they claimed to be. But apparently nothing can go too well, because she ended up a little too close to Umbridge, Ron ended up with a wife who was on trial, and Harry ended up in too high of a position for anything to go too well. 

They get the Horcrux and then they’re running as the alarms sound, breath caught in their chests and wands tight in their hands, but then Yaxley is grabbing on to her arm, tight enough to grind the bones together, and they’re apparating away before Hermione gets the breath to scream at Harry to wait .

They stop at the front stoop of Grimauld place and Yaxley’s grip slackened just enough for Hermione to whip her hand from his grasp, throwing a quick incendo to keep him back and hopefully buy them a moment of time. Also, to hopefully hurt him at least a little bit. She held on tightly to Harry and pulls , yanking the three of them away with so much desperation that it felt like acid bubbling beneath her skin.

She wouldn’t let her friends be hurt.

They land on the ground of the woods hard, twigs and rocks poking tender skin, the unforgiving ground stunning them for a moment and Hermione had barely a moment to think, we’re safe , before Ron groaned in pain.

She crawled over to him, worrying terribly about if a stray spell had gotten him, or if he’d hit the ground too hard, and she nearly threw up as she saw all the blood covering nearly the entire left side of his body.

“Harry!” She screamed as she grabbed Ron’s face, tears welling up as he blinked blearily at her, color rapidly draining from his face, “Grab my bag! Hurry!”

She ripped open Ron’s sleeve where the blood runs thickest and nearly sobbed at the chunk that was missing from his arm, like someone had just taken a fistful of his flesh and had torn it away.

She thought about all of the healing spells she had spent weeks learning, pouring over book after book with the thought that she had to be ready to heal her friends. That she would be prepared. But none of her preparations mattered in this moment as Ron bled out on the forest floor, her shaking hands covered in his blood, and every spell she had ever learned completely and utterly forgotten.

Luckily she had backup plan after backup plan and with a healing potion working it’s magic she is allowed to move onto the next problem and the next and the next after that. She casts wards, so many that the air almost tastes metallic with the amount of magic infused in it, not stopping until she’s certain that nobody and nothing would be able to get to them.

Harry pitched the tent, the both of them constantly checking on a bleary Ron, who occasionally groaned in pain as his skin worked to quickly bind itself back together. She and Harry made sure to get Ron in bed before anyone else, the both of them fretting as Ron mumbled “‘M fine. Promise.”

Neither bothered with trying to believe him.

Hermione was a constant blur of movement up until she collapsed into her cot that night, finally taking a moment to breathe, staring blankly up at the ceiling of the tent as the nightly forest life stirs awake around them.

Harry was outside keeping watch, hopefully being smart and staying inside the wards she had carefully put up. Ron was sleeping in the bunk across from her, face scrunched up with his still lingering pain, and everything was quiet for just a moment.

Hermione lifted her hand up and looked at the vividly forming bruises all along her wrist from Yaxley’s punishing grasp, a harsh throbbing letting her know that she’d probably twisted or sprained her wrist at some point, most likely when she had pushed herself to keep going as she’d been setting up the camp and making sure that they were still safe. 

She quietly casts a healing charm, watching as the bruises fade back to her normal skin, and once it’s done she lets her arm fall back down to the mattress.

She dozed for only a few moments, woken by the burning coin on her chest. She hurried to fumble it out with her breath caught in her chest, wand dimly lighting up at her command so that she could blink down at the words sent to her.

Are you alright? Did you escape?

“Yes.” She whispered back, curling up tightly on her side, relaxing just a tiny bit, “Safe and sound. Hiding.”

Stay that way.

“Of course,” She murmured, warmth blooming inside of her, gently and softly, such a bright and lovely feeling. “You too. Goodnight.”

The pause after her message is long enough for her heavy eyes to sink all the way down, just long enough for her to begin to drift away. She’s jolted back awake when another burning message comes, though once she’s read it she finds she didn’t mind being woken up too much for it.

Sleep well, Granger, he gently ordered her, and she did her best to comply as she slid back into sleep with a small smile on her lips, the coin held close.

Chapter Text

Sometimes she would dream of his memories, blurry remembrances that is surely a side effect of the occlumency, though she hadn’t found such a thing documented yet. But maybe it had never gone as far as they had pushed it, maybe people had never allowed another in as intimately as they had done with each other, though it had been for means of practical survival more than anything else. But at nights when she closed her eyes sometimes she would see what he had shared with her or what she had taken from him in their training, pictures of a spoiled boy growing up loved in a world of magic, of the person she had truly gotten to know through their months together inside of one another’s mind.

She woke up in the middle of the night one night to the sound of rain against the fabric of the tent accompanied by Harry and Ron’s sleep-heavy breathing, and it took her a moment to anchor herself to the moment. To draw herself out of the sunny-day dream she’d been having of a young Draco at a pure blood party, gorging himself on sweetcakes while commanding Crabbe and Goyle to play with him.

She drew her blanket up and over her head, casting a muffling charm just in case, and whispered gently to the coin. “Are you having dreams of my memories?” Just to check. It was scientific, really, not just because they hadn’t spoken in a few weeks other than to pass on basic information. Though, sure, she may have missed speaking with him. Really talking, those quiet moments shared in secret away from everyone else.

Yes. Came a little under a minute later, and she wonders if he’s in bed. If she’d woken him up. If he’d been worried, which would have then morphed into annoyance once he discovered everything was alright. She could clearly picture him scowling at the coin now, wishing it was her he was scowling at.

She huffed at herself, pushing the thoughts away because she was surely reading too far into the one word answer she’d been given.

Better than the alternative, though.

She hesitated at this follow up, brow scrunching up in worry because he sometimes hinted at something wrong but he just wouldn’t tell her. Or, at least, he hadn’t so far. Maybe she hadn’t been trying hard enough.

“What’s wrong?”

Nothing .

“Obviously something is wrong, Malfoy.” She hissed back, not liking his immediate and seemingly terse response.

Leave it, Granger.

“I will not.” She declared primly, frowning at the coin after she sent the message, and the silence that followed it. “I’m here for you, Malfoy. Just let me help.”

What’ll you do? What can you do?

“I don’t know, tell me what’s going on.” She shot back a little too loudly, but thanks to the charm Harry and Ron continued to snore away, unaware.

The Dark Lord made a few points. I was involved.

She imagined, for a moment, what that could mean. And of course she imagined the worst. Torture, namely, or focing Draco to torture more muggles. Or maybe some muggle-borns. All of Draco’s memories of the tortures, the ones she had stolen glances of, had always been tainted with a inky black stain made of horror and fear.

She imagined dreaming of that, night after night. She imagined living through that, day after day.

“What can I do?” She asked, wanting to make it better but not knowing how. Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed, because knowing now but being unable to help was going to be maddening. But, Hermione had never been one to look for consequences before pushing people too hard when her curiosity got the better of her.

Nothing. And this response, she knew, had to have been bitten off and angry. She couldn’t see him saying it in any other way.

“I’m sorry.” She tried lamely, curling up tighter beneath the blankets. It wasn’t enough.

Don’t be. You’re not the one doing it.

“Just accept the sentiment you prat.” She sighed, closing her eyes and wondering why she was doing this. It obviously hadn’t been a good idea.

What did you dream about? Comes after a couple of minutes and she takes the olive branch all too eagerly, blushing a little because for some reason it seemed like such a forward question. It isn’t, he didn’t mean it that way, but her face flushed red and she hid it in the crook of her arm a moment before answering.

“The party where you knocked over the punch.” She murmured after taking a second to gather herself.

My apologies.

She snorted, the sound almost surprising her. “I thought it was cute.” And oh dear, why did she say that? What if he took it the wrong way? What way did she even want him to take it?

“I mean, you were always such a Slytherin.” She hurried to add, closing her eyes and for a moment hoping she’d sent the second so fast he hadn’t been able to read the first.

Mine was the one with your grandparents. He answered after what feels like a couple of eternities. And oh, she remembered that one. It had been a quiet, cloudy beach memory, the last she had with her mother’s parents, spent building a horribly shaped sand castle with them on a grey beach. Her hat had flown away on a strong burst of wind, and she’d ran into the ocean to get it even though she hadn’t known how to swim. Her grandfather had had to save her.

She hadn’t remembered remembering it, really, until she’d seen it again with Draco.

You were always such a Gryffindor. 

“ Prat.” She shot back, blaming the fact that she said it so fondly on how tired she was.

Go to sleep, Granger. He answered back, and she was trying to think of a good comeback when her eyes slid shut one last time.

Things go terribly.

They figure out the truth of the Horcurx’s influence easily enough, but there is no way to get around the feelings of frustration and anger and helplessness that came from wearing it. But it was fine, they could work with a person being irritable for a few hours at a time.

But food ran short, the stores Hermione had hid away disappearing so quickly she was almost concerned. She should have rationed better, should have planned more, but it was difficult to keep to small meals when a pale faced, still injured Ron begged her for just a little more. Just a few more bites.

That was nothing compared to how he was when the food was gone, though.

“Why didn’t you bring more? You have enough room in that stupid bag of yours!” Ron snapped, and it was bad luck that Hermione had the locket against her chest, sitting coldly just an inch above the coin below her shirts.

“Well I don’t see you having brought anything! You’re lucky that I thought far enough ahead to get us any food! I don’t know why I’m expected to be the only competent one out of all of us!”

“I’m injured!” He spluttered, face growing red.

“And I’m sick of you acting like this!” Hermione screeched, taking a step closer to him, fists at her side. Harry slid between them before she could take another step and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Hermione,” He said lowly, meeting her wide, wild eyes straight on, “It’s time to give me the locket.”

With a sound of disgust she tore it off and shoved it at him, feeling better the instant the cold metal left her grasp.

“Sorry,” She muttered, and Harry gave her a weak smile.

“It’s alright. We’re all going through it.” He murmured, taking a deep breath before slipping the locket over his head.

Ron scoffs and skulks over to his bed, rolling over to scowl at the tent wall. Hermione took a breath, reminding herself that they were all in it together, and attempted to think about where the next Horcrux could possibly be.

Months pass like this, the three of them in a constant cycle of anger and snapping at one another, and then feeling so guilty about it that they try to make it right until it all begins again. It’s infuriating and frustrating and exhausting in turns, and there doesn’t look to be an end in sight.

Hermione was more than a little upset that they were stuck and Ron shared the feeling, muttering about how he’d expected them to at least know their next step, to understand how to move forward.

“Me too.” She sighed, curled up in the chair wishing she knew what they were doing, hidden out in the woods with empty stomachs and sore bodies, an evil necklace driving them all mad. It was crazy, and in moments like this it didn’t seem worth it.

They never said anything when Harry was around, too guilty to ever say such poisonous things to him, but it was a bit therapeutic to vent to one another, at least.

And maybe the last thing that is keeping her sane is that every night, just before she falls asleep she whispers to her coin, “Good night, be safe.” And without fail, though sometimes it takes a little bit longer than others, it burns back, Go to sleep, be safe.

They don’t talk too much, too nervous about the potential of being caught, what with a house full of Death Eaters and a tent full of Harry and Ron for them both to hide from.

Ron left in an explosion of accusations and anger, though he had turned to her at the last minute and had spat out, “Well ?” Expectantly, staring at her like she was supposed to do something now. “Are you coming?”

But it hasn't been a question.

“No,” She whispered hoarsely, tears wetting her face because they were tearing each other apart and it wasn’t how anything was supposed to go. “Ron, we can’t. This is too important.”

“You’re choosing him, then.” He grit out, and she quickly shook her head, biting her lip at the warring urges to scream and cry. 

“I’m choosing to do what’s right ,” She croaked, and Ron scowled at her, looking at her like she was disgusting. Like she was nothing. It hurt so much more than she had ever expected, and maybe that was because she had never imagined Ron hurting her like he was, even after everything. He turned away and stomped out of the tent, hitting the canvas front flap out of his way in a burst of furious movement, and Hermione couldn’t stop herself from running after him.

But by the time she was outside he’d already disappeared, leaving just the harsh rain and empty space in his wake.

“H-He’s gone.” She sobbed, stumbling back into the tent, finding herself faced with a blank faced Harry.

She’d shuffled over to a worn armchair and collapsed into it, shaking as she shoved her fist into her mouth to muffle her gasps as she tried to get ahold of herself and stop her tears. 

At some point Harry walked off, and she could see him through the slim opening of the tent flap, standing out in the rain and staring off into the dark woods around them, a pillar of anger and frustration.

Watching him carefully, hands shaking, she pulled the coin out from under her sweater and whispered, wand pressed to its face, “Tell me why we’re doing this.”

And it wasn’t a good idea, she knew it wasn’t, but one of her best friends had just left her and had her questioning herself and this cause, and Harry had never been dependable for unbiased support. 

With her parents, her friends, and every other single person in her life gone and unable to be contacted for a moment of weak selfishness, she was left with only Draco Malfoy. Who she was supposed to support and take care of and not make question the mission they were on. His life was in danger, his entire family was literally moments away from Voldemort and his wrath at all times, and she was just-

The coin burned and she blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes.

Saving everyone we care about. She could almost hear him spitting out the words, the disgustedly furious look on his face, the arched brows and the thinned lips, the way he would lift his chin.

Just a moment later the words disappear and are replaced as the coin burned again. Get it together, Granger.

It takes a few more shuddering sobs before she could breathe freely again, and she was so relieved at the feeling of fresh air that it’s dizzying.

“I will, thank you.” She murmured, closing her sore eyes and keeping them closed as Harry pushed his way back into the tent, keeping quiet as he made his way over to his bunk. He hesitated just a moment in front of her, like he’d been expecting her to say something to him or maybe do something. She didn’t know what. She just kept her eyes closed and let him pass.

She would deal with it all tomorrow.

Harry was talking a walk, having gone off to brood with a frown on his face that Hermione had happily ignored. It had been a particularly bad day with the locket, and neither were faring well.

Ron had been gone a week.

Hermione took a deep breath once he had gone and pulled out one of the books she’d brought from the Burrow for some light reading, a romance novel that she assumed Molly had shoved away a very long time ago if the brown pages old smell was any indication.

It was mindless, but that was what she needed. She just wanted a little bit of a break. 

Then, of course, the coin burned.

It was the first time she considered, just for a moment, ignoring it. The thought wasn’t serious, she would never actually do it. But she did think about it for a good couple of seconds before she sighed and pulled the coin out. 

Tell me something good. He demanded, and she immediately sat up and at attention.

“What’s wrong?” She hissed, keeping her voice down even though she knew that no one was around to hear. It was almost a habit, now.

Fucks sake, answer me Granger.

She blinked, flustered, and wondered what he wanted. What was going on. For him to reach out and ask for something like this, it meant that something had happened. She just wished he wouldn’t be so stubborn and would just tell her .

And what sort of good did he want, anyways?

“We’re alive.” She finally settled on, floundering. She waited, worried as long minutes passed by with no answer. “After everything we’ll get to see each other again.” She admitted once the silence had become too much for her, face flushed red and more than a little embarrassed at the words.

But she needed to say something .

The coin finally flared hot again and she was almost overwhelmingly relieved up until she read the message. Then she became very, very angry.

Well Granger, it’s almost like you miss me.

She could just picture his stupid smirk, the smug way he’d say the words. The way he’d look down at her like he knew something she didn’t all because he knew she hated it. He absolutely infuriated her and made her regret ever answering his request. She narrowed her eyes on the coin and scowled.

“If you’re going to be an ass, why message me?” She muttered petulantly. 

Tell me something about you I don’t know.

“Like what?” She asked, exasperated and off kilter because of how little sense this whole mess of a conversation was. 

What’s your favorite animal?

The question felt like it had come out of nowhere , so strange and unexpected that she could only sit and stare at the coin with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“I… A fennec fox.”

Never heard of it.

“They’re from some of the northern Africa countries.” She said slowly, still unsteady in the conversation. She waited long enough for him to have read the message before she shrugged to herself and stated simply, “They’re cute.”

I expected something that was supposed to be smart, He admitted, like the absolute prat he was. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Not everything has to be about studying and smarts.”

Have you tried telling yourself that? 

Hermione huffed, pursed lips showing her disapproval even though no one was there to see. “And what about you?” She finally prompted, her curiosity not allowing her to remain silent for long.

I’ve always liked dragons.

Hermione scoffed. “How predictable, Draco. ”

I wouldn’t talk about predictability, Granger. 

“And what does that mean?”

I bet your nose is scrunched up right now.

Hermione flushed, hand going up to touch the wrinkles on her nose as she scowled at the fact that they were there.

“It is not!” She protested.

It does that whenever you pout.

“I’m not pouting!” She sputtered, flushed a deeper red at the suggestion that he was thinking about her face, maybe even picturing her as she had been doing with him.

What’s your favorite color?

“What are you asking all of this for?” She finally asked, exasperated.

I realized I don’t quite know everything about you.

Even after all the legilimency, He sent a few minutes after the first in order to give her enough time to read.

She’s confused for a moment, her frustration overpowering everything else, and she just couldn’t figure out why he thought that this had anything to do with their legilimency lessons but then…

“Oh.” She whispered to herself, curling up in the chair around that warm feeling that grew in her gut, pushing aside her frustrations and annoyance as it bloomed inside of her. She pressed her hand to her red face for a moment, trying to gather her wits even as her heart quivered in her chest.

“Blue.” She murmured, gently toying with the edges of the coin as that warmth fluttered and grew inside of her.

Green.

“What is it really?” She prodded immediately, knowing that he couldn’t be that bad, liking dragons and the color green like a cardboard cut out of a Slytherin.

The pause this time lasted for a few minutes, long enough for Hermione to sigh and pick her book back up.

Purple, sometimes. And I do like black.

She grinned, feeling moments away from giggling though she hadn’t really accomplished anything of note by getting him to tell her his favorite color.

“What’s your favorite food?” She prompted, all too eager to continue.

Chocolate truffle cake. I get it every birthday.

“There’s this curry shop not too far from home.”

That’s a shop, not a food.

“I can’t choose! That’s how good it all is!” She laughed, catching the offer to take him there on her tongue before she could accidentally say it. It felt too much, like it would tip everything the wrong way because what if he said no? He’d hated muggles his whole life, would he really want to go to the muggle world with her just because they were… Friends?

They continued on with the questions for a little while longer, but then after seeing who had been their least favorite professors—Trelawney for Hermione because she was absolutely useless as was her topic, Binns for Draco since he found the ghost to be the most boring person he had ever had to listen to—when she finally heard Harry approaching.

Wishing Draco a quick goodbye she tucked the coin under her shirt just in time for Harry to walk in. Her friend blinked, taking in her flushed cheeks and well-bitten lips from her more nervous moments of questioning, before his eyes drifted down to the book in her lap and the suggestive cover, with a half-naked witch dramatically swooning in the arms of a rakish looking wizard.

Harry’s face curled in disgust as he shot her an almost betrayed look that made her gasp.

“Shut up!” She yelped, more than a little scandalized by what he must have thought she’d been doing.

“I mean… Hermione you have a bed…” He tried, awkwardly.

“Harry Potter if you speak another word to me I will not be held responsible for my actions.” She whispered, mortified as Harry awkwardly hurried past. She pushed the book into her bag to die a quiet death as it would never see the light of day with what had just happened, embarrassed more than she could ever remember being.

And she hadn’t even been doing anything!

She busied herself doing anything and everything around the tent to take her mind off of what had happened, avoiding Harry as if he were Voldemort himself. But even still she found herself stopping every now and again to gently touch her fingers to the cool coin over her chest.

Chapter Text

The first snow had fallen, and Hermione was taking a few moments for herself as she strolled around the perimeter of their camp to create a ring of footsteps in the powder as it covered the brittle grass.

Harry had stayed in the tent, not caring for the cold or snow, and so Hermione savored these moments of peace by herself.

Even the coin burning over her chest was welcome, since she had not spoken to Draco in a few days. She supposed he was just busy at school and didn’t have any new information for her.

She checked to make sure Harry hadn't come out of the tent before she pulled the coin out to eagerly look down at it’s face.

He uses me to get my parents to do what he wants.

And then, just a few moments after: If you read that ignore it.

She licked her chapped lips, a little unsteady as she thought over how she wanted to move forward. After all, what he’d just said was far out of the realm of what she thought he’d say.

“I don’t think I will.” She finally decided on. She wondered, as she waited for him to respond, if this was what he had been dancing around telling her all these months they’d been separated. If this was the taboo topic that had always felt so close but just out of reach. 

He’d told her to ignore it but him bringing it up in the first place was him trusting her, was him giving her something he couldn’t give anyone else. She wouldn’t let that slide past her.

It’s not a big deal.

“Does he hurt you?” She asked, knowing without asking who this he was, since there was really only one option.

What do you think, Granger? The he most certainly snapped back. She took a breath and reminded herself not to press too hard or too far. He’d trusted her, but just barely. 

“At least you’re at school.” Though not for too much longer. The air had grown almost unbearably cold, and the holidays were fast approaching. 

He takes me out, if he needs to.

She froze, heart in her throat as she realized that Draco had not even been afforded the safety of Hogwarts. “Does he need to often?” She managed to coke out.

He did this week. 

“What’s he done, Draco?” She demanded to know, worry erasing every other concern as she felt a cold much different than the one in the air settle into her bones.

I know my parents would do it anyways. He said, and while he’d avoided her question he’d managed to bring up so many more. 

“Then why would he do it?”

He just likes to make them squirm.

And you too , she held herself back from saying, because he already knew. Of course he did.

“Are you hurt?”

No. And not if they don’t mess up. That’s the deal.

“Have they messed up?” She asked, throat dry as her free hand curled into a fist, chipped nails digging crescents into her skin, feeling like there were heavy weights pressing down on her chest.

Not today.

“That’s good,” She managed, voice thick at the thought that his statement in no way told her about yesterday or tomorrow.

“Please stay safe,” She urged uselessly, and she hated that there was absolutely no way for him to actually manage to stay safe with what they were doing. 

I’m doing my best, Granger. He told her, and she knew reading the words over that she wouldn’t get another response that night. 

“I don’t even know where they are.” Harry whispered, face pale and voice distraught as they looked over the empty graveyard, the headstones standing peacefully in the snow covered blackness of the night. 

“We’ll find them.” Hermione told him, heart breaking in her chest.

She starts off determined, wanting to do this for her friend, but it’s almost too easy to be distracted from the task at hand, especially when she came across a gravestone with the same symbol on it as the book Dumbledore had left her.

“Harry!” She called out excitedly, and he quickly ran over.

“Did you find them?” He asked, breathless and eyes wide. Hopeful.

“No, but look! That symbol! It’s the same as the one in The Tale of the Beetle and the Bard. Maybe Dumbledore meant us to find it!”

“It’s the symbol for Grindelwald. It doesn’t  matter.”

“No, don’t you see? This gravestone is from a long time before that, so it must be something else.” She hurried to say, feeling excited because maybe they’re  finally on to something. Maybe this was it.

“Whatever.” Harry muttered under his breath, turning and stomping away through the snow.

Hermione has a moment to be absolutely incensed that he  wasn’t more excited about what could possibly be a lead when she took notice of how angrily sad he looked, and how he bent down to look intently at each of the gravestones.

Oh. Well, she had certainly screwed this up.

She began looking with renewed dedication, making a note to try and figure out if the name on the headstone with the symbol could be connected to anything. But, honestly, she needed to take a moment to try and be a semi-decent friend and help to find the headstones of her best friend’s parents before focusing on what may just be a random headstone.

They found them after a few more moments of looking, two simple stones, Lilly’s with a lovely poem. Hermione created a flower wreath to hang over the stones and wished that she could do something else as Harry stared down at the stone almost hopelessly. Momentarily adrift in a world where he was suddenly standing over the body of parent’s he would never meet.

Hermione quietly slipped her hand into his, allowing him to squeeze it desperately tight.

“They weren’t too much older than we are.” He whispered, staring intently down at the dates.

One day, Hermione thought to herself with a viciousness that would have surprised her a year ago, You're going to be older than they ever were. I’ll make sure of it.

 The visit to Godric’s Hollow quickly deteriorated just as everything else had since they’d been on the run. She got too caught up in the thought that they were finally getting somewhere in their quest—that tombstone had to mean something —to realise that there was something too suspicious about Bathilda Bagshot.

They manage to escape, but they come out of it no wiser, with Harry’s wand broken and a new deep scar on his chest from the locket and small ones on his arm from Nagini’s bite, and the ever present feeling of hopelessness nearly suffocating them. 

“Well, happy Christmas.” Harry muttered tiredly that night, broken wand held in his hand and mouth twisted unhappily. Hermione very abruptly felt like it was all just some sort of test, some horrible taunt by the world even though it didn’t make any sense for her to feel like that. 

But everything was going wrong and it was Christmas.

Get it together, Granger, she heard, harsh in her ear, the posh accented voice equal parts infuriating and soothing as she imagined it. So she would. She would continue forward, come up with more and more and more plans because they had to succeed. They had to win. There was no other option for them, and no other direction but forward.

The lush green gardens were almost unnaturally bright and lovely, the roses the size of a grown man’s fist as they bloom pure white and bloody red. Draco stood stiffly on the cobbled path, perfectly pressed and put together to an almost unnatural degree, especially with how young he looked. His white hair was parted with precision and robes were so formal and stiff they looked like they had been carved out of grey marble rather than made out of fabric. It almost looked like if he tried to move the stiff clothes would refuse to let him.

The girl who walked in front of him was done up in a similar way, pale summer robes too elegant for her youth, dark hair magicked so straight it looked liable to shatter if a single strand moved.

“My parents say I should marry you.” Pansy said, nasally voice at a high pitch that grated on the ear. Draco scowled.

“We’re seven.” He muttered, a slight lisp to the words, and as he spoke he revealed two missing front teeth, one on the top row and one on the bottom.

“It’s normal. But I don’t think I want to marry you.” She sniffed haughtily before taking a few steps so that she could study the statue of the nude woman that stood proudly amongst the flowers. The boy scowled, offended.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know you, and I don’t want to marry someone I don't know.”

“I’m a Malfoy. You should want to marry me.” He protested, face flushing red at the perceived insult to his family’s line.

“And I’m a Parkinson, one of the best matches you’ll find.” She returned in an equally snooty tone. “And maybe I will marry you, but first you’re going to be my friend. Then you’ll have to prove that you’ll be a good enough husband.”

“I don’t have to do that!” Draco yelped and she turned quickly, a flare of her robes and her long hair on the breeze she creates, an impish smile on her squat face.

“Yes you do. Because I say so. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be a fine friend. Not as good as me, of course, but that’ll be fine for now.” She said it as if it is such an obvious truth, stubby nose pointed up into the air, lips curled into a smug smile and Draco took a breath, preparing himself to shout or scream or demand for the girl to be taken from his sight and…

She jerked awake with a small gasp, the vibrant technicolor of the dream shocking in contrast to the world she woke up in, bleak and monotone, the early morning air damp with the dew that would be covering the world outside. Everything around her was cold and dreary except for the burn of hot metal she felt against her chest.

She looked over and saw that Harry was still asleep, murmuring in the agitated way he got sometimes when he dreamed, no real words coming out just little grunts and moans of sound. She watched him a moment before slipping under the covers and casting a muffling charm on her self made cocoon before lighting the tip of her wand, pulling the coin out and tenderly cradling it in her hands.

There's a lot happening Granger. Respond.

“What is it?” She whispered at the coin, anxiety gnawing at her gut in the seconds it took to get a response.

There are raids on suspected muggle-borns happening.

“When?”

Thursday. I have some names when you're ready.

She shoved her hand out of her cocoon and pat around for a few frantic moments before managing to grab onto a notebook and a pen she had brought from home.

“Ready.” She finally whispered, glad he couldn’t hear the way her voice shook.

In total there were seven families who the Death Eaters were planning to terrorize, capture, and maybe even kill.

“Is that everyone?” She asked, hoping it was.

Every name I could find without being suspicious.

She closed her eyes against the statement, hands shaking at the thought of how many more there could be. At how many people they would be able to even try to save.

“I’ll get it to McGonagall.”

They’ve also taken the Lovegood girl.

For a moment the message didn’t compute as her brain couldn’t connect the words to their meanings, like it was all just random gibberish printed on the coin. She read it again, then again, then one more time.

“How? Why?” She hissed urgently, curling up even tighter as her stomach threatened to revolt at the image of sweet Luna captured and tortured by Death Eaters.

To keep her father’s paper in line. 

They took her on the holiday train from Hogwarts.

“That was weeks ago! Why’s it taken this long to know?”

I just found her. She’s in the manor’s cellar.

“They didn’t tell you?” She hissed, not knowing if that was good or bad. Surely if they were torturing her Draco would have been told, especially within his own house. But then, since he hadn’t known what were they doing?

No. I’ll keep an eye on her.

She wanted to demand that he free her, that he take her out of the dungeons and to safety some way, somehow. But she bit her tongue until it bleed against the urge because she can’t do that, and she won’t . It’s the safety of Luna or the safety of everything they were doing and… And she knew what she had to choose.

They were about to save seven families, and they needed to be able to save more if it ever came down to it. She hated it. It made her feel dirty and wrong and sick, but she knew what she had to do.

“Thank you.” She paused, swallowing thickly, clenching her eyes tightly in order to calm down and gain some control. “But look after yourself first.”

Of course .

“Ron abandoned us weeks ago.” She whispered completely out of the blue and uninvited once she’d sent her messages off to McGonagall, having nervously played with the coin for a few moments of uncertainty. She just wanted to get it off her chest like she couldn’t with Harry, who was still so upset about Ron. About Dumbledore. About everything. But she was finally ready to say the truth out loud, no matter how it hurt.

 And if there was anything she could trust, it would be that Draco wouldn’t be overly emotional about Ron’s leaving. 

The coin burned in answer almost surprisingly quickly.

Knew he was useless. Always said so.

She sighed, curling up a little tighter. “No. He’s just… Emotional. It’s been hard.”

Do you love him?

Nevermind. It’s not important.

Right after one another, so quick that she barely has time to read the first before the second appears. Hermione felt that blossoming warmth in her chest, and smiled a little though she can’t quite manage to pinpoint why.

“Not like you think. Not anymore. Not for a while.” She whispered, and the pause as she waited for an answer was a bit longer this time.

Good. After all, he is a weasel.

Even you can do better.

She laughed a little at that, and it was almost like being back in the bathroom with him.

What’s your favorite thing about the muggle world? He asked apropos of nothing, and she had a stunned moment of silence in which she questioned a little bit of everything before she managed to gather herself.

“There are so many people.” She murmured once she’d finally found the words to respond, pausing to allow him to read the message, “And everything moves so fast .” She closed her eyes and remembered it, trying her best to not focus too hard on the memory of her parents. “Nothing is ever the same when I go back.”

So different from the wizarding world, which was constant and unchanging. Stagnant. Going back to the muggle world after months in the wizarding world was like being shocked with cold water, invigorating and refreshing, a nice balance. Dizzying, sometimes confusing, but sometimes exactly what she needed.

Show me one day . He demanded, and she felt a flutter of something at all the layers of implication in that single sentence.

“Yes. Of course.” She murmured, lingering in this feeling for just a little while longer. Thoughts of the war and Ron and impending doom on the horizon an almost distant thing for just a few moments as she drifted away into sleep.

Chapter Text

Ron returns and it is simultaneously like being stabbed in the heart and being put back together all at once. It hurts, it soothed a piece of her that had been badly bruised, and it made her absolutely furious . 

“You!” She hissed, hands forming claws at her side and her breath coming as if she were being strangled by her rage. “ You!”  

“Hey, Mione.” Ron said quietly, looking wet and slumping into himself as if expecting the worst from her. But he was also smiling a bit, taking her in as she stood there completely silent and still, shocked eyes wide as he took a few steps toward her. “I’ve missed you.”

And that, that little phrase, is all it takes to break her.

She goes for her wand but it wasn’t in her pocket, of course it wasn’t because she’d leant it to Harry and she could barely think straight from the shock and adrenaline of the moment so she’d forgotten. So not having that on hand she goes for the next best thing and picks up a rock off the ground to chuck it right at the shocked boy’s stupid face.

“You missed me?” She shrieked, voice too high and too shrill, but she couldn’t help it as she picked up another rock to throw, the boy quickly ducking out of the way. “ You missed me? You left!”

“I’m sorry!” Ron yelped, scrambling back and behind Harry as the enraged girl began to march toward him.

“You’re sorry? ” Hermione asked, letting out a quick and almost hysterical laugh. “Oh, well, that makes everything right then. Harry, give me my wand. Give it to me!” She snapped at the other boy who tightened his jaw and stood strong and steady in her path as she approached.

“Hermione, he saved me. He’s back. That's all that-”

“That’s not all that matters, Harry!” She shouted, thunking her fist just a bit too hard against his chest to run her point home. “He left . That matters.”

“He came back.” He pleaded, shining those big, sad eyes at her, but she wouldn’t fall for them. Not this time and not over this.

“I don’t care!” She exploded, shoving him back a step as she saw his hands coming up to rub soothingly at her arms. “I don’t care because he is the one that left in the first place. And, what, you think you can just come back here after weeks and weeks and say sorry and I’ll just forgive you?” She scoffed, glaring at a shrinking Ron, “Well, I won’t.” And saying so she turned on her heel and marched into the tent, placing a sealing spell on the flap so that the boys couldn't follow after her.

She paced for a good bit of time, angrily snapping insults and quips into the empty air that she wished she had thought of to say right to Ron because oh, he had missed her . Well, gosh, it was almost like he shouldn’t have left in the first place! And, what, he just expected her to accept him back with open arms?

He was the one that left! Why should she just forgive him for that?

“Ron came back. I don’t know what to do.” She lamented to the coin, waiting anxiously for a few minutes and nearly screaming when no answer came. 

“Hermione.” Harry’s voice called from outside the tent, muffled by the fabric and magic separating them. “We should listen to him. He just saved my life.” He said, calm and steady, and he’d already forgiven Ron, hadn’t he? Already decided that none of what had happened really mattered because Ron was here now. He’d come back.

So few people came back, so maybe Harry thought that was more important than the leaving. But it wasn’t for Hermione. She wasn’t as kind as Harry was.

But even still the weight of his plea pulled at her and she took down the charm on the tent flap, standing aside to allow Harry and Ron to come inside before she  marched over to the sitting area to throw herself into the armchair. She held herself tightly, arms and legs crossed defensively and foot jiggling as she glared at the tent wall and maintained the anger inside of her like a survivalist would tend to their fire.

“I wanted to come back the minute I’d disapparated.” Ron promised eagerly, and Hermione’s nostrils flared with the angry breath she let out. “But I walked right into a gang of snatchers and then I couldn’t go anywhere!”

When Harry asked Ron explained that the snatchers were basically bounty hunters for muggle borns, who the ministry paid for capturing perfectly innocent people. Then he told of his escape, his splinching, and the fact that he couldn’t find them again, all while shooting her looks to see just which point she would begin defrosting for.

The answer, he would find out, was at no point. To Hermione it honestly felt like there was no coming back from the level of rage she felt.

“Oh, that must have been so terrible for you.” She acidically shot out, relishing the way he flinched back, “Losing two whole fingernails. Meanwhile, Harry and I were  just, you know, nearly being murdered by a giant snake and then very nearly captured by You-Know-Who.”

“What?!”  

“Oh, well, it definitely doesn’t compare to the fact that you lost a couple of fingernails, so I’ll just shut up about it.” She snapped, taken aback a moment as the coin burned hot against her chest but she managed to quickly gather herself before she could let on that anything was wrong. She would just have to ignore it for the moment.

“Hermione…” Ron started, eyes big and shocked, but she wouldn’t let them sway her. 

“The only thing I really want to know is how you managed to find us, that way we can make sure it can never happen again.”

That seems to be the tipping point for Ron, who now glared at her as he shoved his hand into his pocket to pull out the deluminator.

“That is how you found us ?” She asked, honestly shocked that the useless lighter had managed to actually be of some use. 

He explained how it had led him here, some kind of guiding magic that she’d have to look into later, and then he and Harry got into the explanation of how they had managed to destroy the Horcrux and for a moment Hermione sat there, stunned with all this new information. 

Seeing that she was too caught up in her own head to be of any danger now, Harry and Ron began to talk about Harry’s wand being broken and it’s too much. It’s too much. What was she supposed to do, just move forward like nothing was wrong?

Without a word she marched out of the tent, going to a tree that was just inside the protection of her charns and resting her forehead against it, taking a deep, gulping breath to try and calm herself. And then another. And then another.

Finally, she pulled the coin out.

What do you want to do about it?

“I don’t know .” She hissed back. “I’m just… I’m so angry right now.”

Then be angry .

She laughed hollowly and rested more of her weight against the tree. 

“It doesn’t feel as easy as you’re making it out to be.” She sighed, abruptly so very, very tired. 

That’s all those squishy Gryffindor emotions talking.

Her lips quirked but it didn’t feel like she meant it. “I don’t want to forgive him.” She whispered, a little ashamed at the fact.

Then don’t. If he doesn’t deserve it, don’t.

Hermione thunked her head lightly against the tree, hoping it would knock everything inside of her right, but it didn’t work. She was still caught on this tightrope over an abyss of anger and betrayal and hurt that she kept falling into, and every time she managed to get back on the rope, she fell right back in.

Why did this have to be complicated? Why did she have to complicate things so much?

She’s surprised by the next message.

Lovegood is doing well. She’s strange.

She wonders if it’s meant to be a distraction, and is too relieved to care.

“Has she talked to you about nargles yet?”

Ron continued to act extremely morose near her, going out of his way to try and make sure she saw him acting pathetic and that she wasn’t bothered by anything he did, always checking in with her like he thought she’d like that he asked her for permission for the stupidest things. And it somehow made it all worse .

Did he think that pretending would make her happy? Because she had eyes, she could see how he immediately changed into his usual, happy-go-lucky self when he was alone with Harry and he thought she wasn’t close enough to notice. Or does he think that she appreciated him acting like an errant breeze would send her into a rage? It just made her feel like a crazed lunatic who was being handled with kid-gloves!

A week or so after Ron’s return she’s curled up in her cot, facing away from the two boys as she flipped through The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. It was the only book they had that she hadn’t read in full yet, though that was mostly because she had felt that she’d heard enough from Harry about it. Now that he was focused on Ron, though, he hadn’t really been mentioning Dumbledore or any of the information in the books.

She supposed that that was one good thing that came from Ron returning.

Hermione, obviously, takes everything with a grain of salt because the day she blindly trusts Rita Skeeter’s writing is the day Voldemort claims a love for muggles. But still, beneath all the embellishment and horrible grammar there’s a vein of something there, a something she had seen when she was dealing with Dumbledore and his betrayal of her and Draco the year before.

The things she focused on the most were definitely the letters, things that Rita had no hand in writing, though she was obviously influencing the context they were presented.

And there, right at the end of one of Dumbledore’s letters is that same symbol they’d been coming across over and over again. In The Tale of The Beetle and the Bard , on the gravestone in Godric’s Hollow, and in this letter... Maybe it meant something. Maybe Dumbledore was trying to tell her something through the book, an idea she had been dismissing with the thought that nothing Dumbledore had ever given them had really amounted to anything.

But then they’d found the sword and its ability to destroy Horcruxes, and the deluminator had guided Ron back to them, surprising Hermione with the fact that it had managed to do anything . So maybe this was what the book was for. If only she could figure out what the symbol meant …

She remembered Xenophilius Lovegood’s necklace at Fleur and Bill’s wedding after five minutes  of struggling to remember if she’d seen the symbol anywhere else, the memory coming to her so abruptly that for a moment she was thrown.

She rolled up and off her bed in one quick movement, which had the effect of immediately silencing Ron. 

“I’ll stop!” He yelped, but Hermione ignored him, partially because she didn’t even know what he was talking about. 

“I want to go see Xenophilius Lovegood.” She told Harry, and the poor boy looked incredibly confused at that.

“Sorry?”

“Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna’s father. I want to speak to him.”

“Why?”  

“That mark, Harry!! The one from the Beetle and the Bard. I found it in one of Dumbledore’s letters!” She practically shoved the book into his face, pointing at the mark Dumbledore had signed his name with. 

“I know that Viktor said that it was Grindelwald’s mark, but it keeps cropping up everywhere we go, and it was on the headstone at Godric’s Hollow which was dated a long time before Grindelwald was even born. And Lovegood was wearing that necklace at Bill’s wedding, so he’s the only lead we have to figure out why this symbol keeps showing up. It has to be important.”

Harry looked down at the book and then up at her, studying her face for a moment in that quiet, intense way she sometimes forgot he had. Intent and measuring. 

“We don’t want another Godric’s Hollow.” He finally said, the words quiet and precise. “We forced ourselves to go out there-”

“This is different.” Hermione huffed. 

“How can we know that, Hermione? We can’t.”

“Dumbledore left it in the book and-”

“We can’t keep going on thinking that Dumbledore left us all these signs and clues when he obviously didn’t!” Harry snapped, standing up from the armchair and brushing past her. Hermione was halfway tempted to let loose a tea-pot like screech, because of course once she was willing to follow along with the wispy threads and hints that the man had left them is the very moment Harry decides to give up on the very same thing.

“Harry! It’s not that I’m expecting this to be a map from Dumbledore with helpful notations saying ‘find the Horcrux here,’ But it makes sense . This symbol has to mean more than what we know because it just won’t stop popping up! And the only clue we have for it is that Xenophilius wore it. He might know more.”

“I think Hermione is on to something.” Ron piped up, smiling at the frustrated look that earned him from Harry. “Let’s vote on it! All in favor?” His hand immediately shot up into the air and Hermione’s followed a few moments after, and she had to press her lips together to keep from smiling because she was still mad at him, damn it. 

“Oh, well, two against one. So Sorry, Harry, but it looks like you’re outnumbered.” 

The other boy huffed, but seemed resigned to the new course of action as he crossed his arms and pouted just the slightest bit. Hermione patted him on the shoulder as she slid past, going back to her bed to now plan how they were going to safely get to and from the Lovegood’s.

“And anyways,” Ron started as she settled in atop her sheets, pulling out a fresh notebook from her bag, “We can trust him, Harry. He’s always been on our side and has been writing articles in his newspaper in support of you even after You-Know-Who started taking over. And, you know, he’s Luna’s dad! We’ll even get to see her since it’s the holidays.”

Hermione froze, ink bleeding into the page she had begun writing on as she realised, with a dawning sense of horror, that she had forgotten about Luna..

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry sighed. 

Shit . She had no idea how this was going to go, if the man would even want to speak with them. She wondered if they should back out but it wasn’t like she had an excuse for them to, and she needed to know what the symbol was meant to be and she had been the one to bring it up. This was Luna’s father anyways, and his daughter was one of the nicest, best people Hermione knew. If she was so good then her father must have at the very least a portion of that kindness himself, and he would help them. Of course he would.

To be able to move forward, to know what they had to do to stop the world from crumbling around them, they needed this because there was nothing else. So he would help them.

Slowly she unfroze, pushing down the uneasy sinking feeling in her gut as she focused her attention forward and decided that no matter what happened she would handle it.

She had to handle it.

Chapter Text

Xenophilius Lovegood looked like a man balancing on a razor’s edge with his stringy hair and his wavering voice, lies tripping out of his mouth like he hadn’t done it enough to know how to get the words to move smoothly.

He managed to stutter out that Luna was fishing at the river but would be back soon, and Hermione wondered at the lie. What was the point? He was the very picture of a distraught father, and he was obviously worried with the way his eyes darted toward the window every few moments.

Once he'd taken them up to the sitting room he quickly hurried downstairs to grab some drinks, waving off their offers to help as quickly as he could. Once he’d gone out of earshot Hermione leaned in close to the two bemused looking boys and lowered her voice.

“Somethings wrong,” She hissed, eyes to the stairwell as she anxiously waited for him to return. “He’s acting suspicious.”

“I’m pretty sure acting suspicious is just a Lovegood thing.” Ron attempted, humor threaded in his voice that Hermione’s brief glare clearly stated she did not appreciate. She turned to Harry beseechingly.

“This feels off. You feel it too, right?”

Harry shifted on his feet, looking more than a little uncomfortable.

“I mean, sure, but maybe it’s like Ron said. And he’s always been on our side with his paper.”

“We’ll just ask Luna when she comes in,” Ron waved away her concerns easily, and she was half-tempted to begin pulling her hair out.

She’s not here! She wanted to screech, She’s in the cellar of Malfoy Manor telling Draco tales about wizbeys and such!

But there was absolutely no way she could explain how she knew such a thing to them, and so all she could do was grit out, “Just keep your guard up.” And clench her teeth against the words that wanted to escape.

Xenophilius returned shakier than before, but once they began asking him questions it suddenly seemed as if the answers were slipping from his tongue. It felt, just for a moment, like he was handing them a promise for an end to everything that had kept them up at night, so the thoughts of his lies slipped away like water through her fingers. 

They read a children’s book and sat on the edge of their seats as he went on and on and on, and it was somewhere near the middle of him prattling on about magic items won from a bet with Death that Hermione realized that this excursion was not going to be worth it. That he was just telling them a story, nothing more than that. 

She could tell that Harry wanted to believe in it, always swayed so easily by fairytales and especially if it meant he could reach out toward those he missed. If there was even a chance he could see his parents and Sirius again. He was now one hundred percent behind the idea that Dumbledore had been guiding them down this path the whole time.

Once their storytime was done Xenophilius went downstairs to warm up something that smelled like feet, and once he’d gone Hermione took a bracing breath, uncertain of how to proceed without giving away too much. Her skin itched against the secret truth she knew and she bristled against the fact that their time had been wasted, but more than that she knew she felt off because something felt wrong. Like there was something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Why had he been lying about Luna? They were her friends and he should know they’d be sympathetic. 

Ron tried distracting her by arguing about the cloak, his opinion changing suddenly on the thought that maybe Harry’s cloak was a Deathly Hallow since apparently his life’s goal was to absolutely vex her. It was difficult to ignore, more difficult still not to argue against, and it was during this argument that she looked over to see Harry looking contemplative.

“There’s something wrong here.” He admitted to her, and she doesn’t bother to smother the smug look she shoots him. 

“I’m glad you finally agree.” Hermione stated primly, pleased at the disgruntled look he shot her. 

“Luna should have shown up by now, and he’s acting different than he did at the party.”

“Oh,” Ron sighed after thinking their points over, “We’re going to cause a mess, aren’t we?”

“No! We just need to figure out what’s going on and what he’s planning.” Hermione corrected, narrowing her eyes at him when he shot her a disbelieving look.

“I’m just saying,” He started as Harry hurried up the nearby stairs to go into the room above them. Luna’s room, “I know Luna is a pretty out-of-it girl, but even she would be upset if we trashed her house or did something to her dad.”

Harry stomped back down the stairs a few moments later, just as Xenophilius began clattering his way up to them. Hermione and Ron both shot the cross looking boy a look when he marched back to stand next to them. 

“No one has been in that room in months.” He spat, and Ron winced as all three of them pulled their wands out.

The unsteady looking man carried a tray covered with bowls of sludge he called soup, mumbling every word nervously as he shuffled over to them, not having noticed the wands in their hands or the look Harry was giving him, angry and righteous in that old familiar way of his Hermione felt like she hadn’t seen in far too long

“Mr. Lovegood, where is Luna?” He asked, words cracked out like a punishing whip that the man physically flinched back at.

They all pointed their wands at Xenophilius as he stuttered out his excuses, but his poorly constructed lies crumbled easily. 

“They have my Luna,” The man gasped like they were the words of the dying, and Hermione bit her lip against the words that wanted to come out. The assurances that she would never be able to give him no matter how much he deserved to know that his daughter was as alright as she could be. “But they might give her back if I…”

“If you give up Harry?” Ron asked, his voice low and dangerous now that he knew the threat this man posed was real, “No. Move, we’re leaving.”

Xenophilius spread his arms to block the stairs, quivering like a stiff breeze could push him over, his eyes desperate and wet. “They’re on their way,” He gasped, and Hermione’s heart sank to her gut like lead because that was what he had been doing when he’d left with the claims of getting Luna. For some reason, she hadn’t thought he would do it. He had always supported Harry, had always stood behind the chosen one . 

And now he stood against them, shaking but determined to save his daughter when pushed up against the edge.

Well, she could be pushed too.

Quick as a flash of lightning she flicked her wand and cast a body binding curse, and the man must not have been a very good duelist because he hadn’t even begun to raise his wand by the time the spell took effect and he fell to the floor stiff as a board.

His eyes were wide as they flicked wildly over the room, panicked, and Hermione wondered if he would ever realize she’d just been merciful because he was Luna’s father.

“Well… There’s that, I guess.” Ron muttered awkwardly as they all stood over the man.

Harry sighed as he sadly looked down at him, as gutted as ever by a betrayal of someone he’d trusted, and asked, “What now?”

Hermione sees a dark figure zoom by the window on a broom in the periphery of her eye, practically blurring into the growing darkness outside. “We run.” She announced quietly as another passed. 

“What about him?” Ron asked, nodding back down to the now crying man on the floor. At the sight of his tears all three of them averted their eyes, feeling so incredibly awkward. “They’re not exactly going to be happy to be called here and not, you know, have Harry to show for it.”

“We should go,” Harry said despite the fact that he doesn’t look like he wants to, eyes flicking back to Xenophilius like he couldn’t help it. “They’ll ask him and he’ll say that we were here but we overpowered him and he’ll be fine.”

“He can’t remember what we were asking about.” Hermione hissed, hearing the downstairs door slam open.  “The more they know about what we’re doing and looking for the more danger we’re in, even if it’s only about some ridiculous fairy tale.” 

Harry froze, staring distraughtly down at the man on the ground like if he didn’t look up at her he wouldn’t have to see the truth in her words.

“But if he can’t give them anything…” He whispered, and Hermione squeezed his arm to quiet him, the Death Eaters now almost to the foot of the stairs.

“I know.” She admitted, and she did. But even knowing, she stepped forward, lifted her wand, and obliviated the man.

At the flash of the spell the Death Eaters shout and begin to run up the stairs. Now with limited time Hermione stepped back between her two friends, gripping their arms tightly as she readied herself to go.

But Harry’s arm shook as she grabbed it, and she hesitated. 

“Do you trust me?” She found herself asking. Her heart beat heavily in her chest and her skin buzzed with the need to leave , but she had to fix this somehow. She couldn’t leave Harry looking so shattered.

Harry nodded like it was impossible for him not to trust her, and Hermione smiled gratefully at him. 

It was over in a matter of moments. The Death Eaters were allowed just the barest glimpse of them as they came up the stairs, shouting in joy at their find but just a little too slow to draw their wands. Hermione took a breath, nearly shaking at the risk they were taking, at how stupid she was being.

But Harry was beside her, kinder than he deserved to be despite it all when it came to people he cared about, and Luna was in her mind like a particularly flighty conscience, smiling in a way Hermione knew she wouldn’t if anything would happen to her father.

“Hey, fuck off !” Ron shouted, flipping the pair of Death Eaters away barely a moment before Hermione apparated them away to safety.

Hermione laid in bed that night, body aching all over from too many nights camping in the wild, Ron and Harry snoring in their cots like the blissfully ignorant idiots they could sometimes exceed at being, and she regretted it all so much.

A bunch of fairy tales , she mentally groused, rolling over to try and sleep. But just as she began to doze off the coin burned reproachfully against her chest and she fumbled for it, sleep a distant thought as she lit up her wand under the safety of her covers to read it’s face.

Are you alright?

Her heart beat an urgent rhythm in her chest as she saw a little bit of something peeking out through the question, though she tried to shove that increasingly familiar warmth away and dismiss it as her reading too much into the question. After all, of course he heard about the run-in at the Lovegood’s and of course he wanted to make sure she was alright. They were in this together, after all. 

“Yes. Are you?”

I’m not the one that tried to get captured today.

“That wasn’t my fault!” She hissed, waiting a few moments for the message to go through, “What did they report?”

You and Potter attacked them and escaped.

Hermione scoffed, “Please. We didn’t even lift our wands against them.”

Ah, according to them you were blood thirsty. She read, practically hearing his voice in her ear, low and with a curl of amusement. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and in short, coin-fitting bursts, managed to get the story out.

I see she came by it naturally, then. Draco said, and Hermione huffs out a quiet laugh before quieting. Sobering at what she had to force herself to ask.

“What happened with Xenophilius?” She asked quietly, almost wishing her magic didn’t pick up the words to etch them into his coin.

He’ll live. He answered shortly, and she let out a shaky breath as she worried about what, exactly, that meant.

She was selfish sometimes, though, and the last thing she felt like doing with this topic was pushing for details.

“And how is Luna?” She murmured, eyes dry but aching as she stared intently at the cloth wall of the tent.

Annoying. But she doesn’t talk when it’s important.

“What do you mean?”

She never mentions my visits.

Draco had mentioned Luna a couple of times, letting her know that the girl was alright, and that she talked about looney things but she hadn’t… She had thought he was just looking in on her, not that he was visiting.

“Tell me you’re being careful.” She ordered harsly.

Of course I am, don’t be thick.

“Tell me that no one has noticed.”

They haven’t. I’m not an idiot, Granger.

She could imagine the bite to his tone, the way he’d glare and bristle, and it made her grit her teeth because for some reason just imagining it made her sad and angry and she hated it . She wanted to see him so she could ask him what in the hell he thought he was doing, risking everything like this. For Luna? He didn’t even like her! He complained about her all the time when she asked about the girl!

“You could have fooled me!” She hissed.

Here I thought she was your friend, Granger.

“She is, but so are you.” Hermione whispered, all the fight going out of her like it had never been as she curled up tighter, a protective curve around this one point of contact she had with Draco.

The wait for his answer was agonizing and she struggled to stay awake through it as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier every time she was forced to blink her eyes closed.

Then the coin finally burned in her hand, so long after her words she had half convinced herself he’d gone to sleep to leave her to stew, and she had to squint to force her eyes to focus on the blurring words. 

Careful Granger. He warned, and she wondered how he would say it to her. The tone of his voice, the look in his eyes. 

Her stomach flipped, breath caught in her throat as she pressed her face into her pillow in the hopes that it would calm her down. But her entire body seemed to tingle, something she could only call anticipation racing along her nerves, and even as she waited in only seemed to simmer and build. 

“Too late, Malfoy.” She murmured, sly smile curling her lips as that topsy-turvy feeling in her gut refused to settle down.

Go to sleep, Granger. You’re embarrassing yourself.

“Goodnight, Draco.” She sighed, smile still in place as she slipped into sleep.

They continued their search, the days dripping past and almost without their notice accumulating into months like a leak turning into a flood.

Harry had fallen in love with the story of the Deathly Hallows and believed that it was what was really important in their quest. While he did continue on with the search for the Horcruxes, he did so like he’d become resigned to it, always talking about how that story was what they really needed to go after. He would spend his days pouring over any books Hermione could lend him, more than willing to study if it was for this .

Hermione and Ron spend their time trying to find the Horcruxes through every connection to Voldemort’s life that they could find. Harry would sometimes follow along, but he was so focused on finding any clue on the Hallows that he would usually just stay at their camp unless forced to go along.

“Hey,” Ron cleared his throat one day as the two of them once again walked through the grounds of the abandoned orphanage Tom Riddle had spent the first years of his life in. “How are you, you know… Feeling? About everything?”

“I’m fine.” Hermione muttered, arms crossed and her eyes to the ground as she looked for anything even slightly suspicious looking. 

“Yeah, but…” Ron cleared his throat again, and she watched as he awkwardly pushed his hands into the pockets of his own coat before taking them out quickly after to cross his own arms, face flushed with the cold. “It’s just that… Harry’s been off recently, yeah?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Hermione huffed, going over to a plain looking, chipped statue of an angel just to be able to do something. And she really didn’t want to talk about it, at least not with him. Time was slowly but surely wearing down her anger and frustration but that still left behind a sizable amount of hurt even after the rest faded.

“We kind of have to, though. That’s how these things work, yeah? Harry acts like a crazy person and we talk him down before he hurts himself. That’s how it’s always worked.” Ron said cajolingly. 

That was before you left , she just barely kept herself from saying. The words left a stale taste in her mouth even without having been spoken, like something that had been said one too many times before. 

She didn’t want to hate him any longer, but it all just kept feeling so raw so how could she stop?

“You’ve heard him talking about the stone, right?” Ron asked quietly, and she stopped because of course she had. A magic stone that could bring back dead loved ones? How could she miss Harry’s wistfulness, the way he swore that Dumbledore had to have left it to him. That wouldn’t it be worth it, hypothetically? If you could just see them again, love them again?

It made her hair raise each time, an animalistic sort of awareness warning her that it was not right .

“Yes.” She said, just as quietly, staring dry eyed across the empty, overgrown back garden of an orphanage that had been abandoned before they’d even been born.

“Mione,” Ron sighed, coming up closer to her back, “He’s too focused on it.”

“I know.”

“He’s… He’s almost given up on looking for the Horcruxes.” 

“I know. ”

“What do we do? What do we say? No matter what he just keeps on it, swearing up and down that it’s the true quest that Dumbledore gave him and maybe it is! Maybe they’re real but what then? Has he… What do we do if he’s really just given up on finding a way to stop You-Know-Who?”

Hermione whirled around, fists clenched tight as she fumed. “I know! I know, Ron! Of course I do, because I have eyes . And do you know what we’ll do if Harry gives up on this? On actually defeating You-Know-Who instead of the bloody fairy tales he’s obsessed with?”

Ron’s eyes were wide, concerned and wary as he shook his head.

She was shaking, her body trying to rattle the words right back down to stay hidden safely in her gut but she forced them out through gritted teeth. “Then I will just keep doing it! I will keep searching! Just like I did after you left!” Her voice broke, and she hated herself for it. 

Ron looked like she’d just gutted him, eyes hurt and posture slumped, and looking at him made all that mad inside of her quiver weakly.

“Hermione, I’m-”

“Stop!” She snapped, backing away as he reached out to her. “Just stop! Stop pretending all the time that you’re sad and pitiful and that if you just act like you’re sorry that I’ll forgive you!”

“I am sorry!” He shouted, face turning a splotchy red as she watched. “I’m just trying to show you that!”

“By acting like... Like I am an idiot ? ” Hermione shouted back, crossing her arms defensively over her chest as her eyes prickled and she stomped her foot to keep herself focused. She was angry, damnit.

“No! No it’s just that I don’t know what to do! You’re always so angry and I… I want it to go back to how it was! ‘Mione, I miss you.” He pleaded, and she sidestepped him as he once again reached out to her.

“Do you really think that we can go back? That we can pretend that you didn’t just leave? ” Hermione looked up and grit her teeth against the tears that were prickling at the corners of her eyes. 

“Can’t we?” Ron asked plaintively, knowing better this time to not come toward her, just hovering at the edge of her space. 

He stared at her like she was so far away, like he’d finally realized that what was between them may have been too broken for him to just hope for it to get better.  And maybe it was that, maybe it was something else, maybe it was no one specific thing, but something made her stop, made her really look at him for the first time in a while.

 He was just as dirty and ragged as she and Harry were, hair stringy and greasy as it fell across his forehead, clothes carrying snags and holes and the dirt of the last few places they had visited. He’d gotten thin with the lack of food, though she realized now he didn’t really complain about it any more, and the dark circles under his eyes were deep and heavy.

She hadn’t looked at him in a long time, longer than he had been gone even because somehow he looked almost like a stranger to her. Had he always been that tall? That lanky? Had his freckles always overwhelmed his face like that? Had his nose always been that long and straight, his eyes the kind of blue that clearly showed his hurt and pain?

Had she always caused him to look at her like that?

“No.” She finally said, a few tears leaking through her vigilant guard, “We can’t.”

I want to, though. I really do.

“Then what can I do to fix it? Tell me and I will, I promise.” He sounded small, smaller than he ever had, and she wanted the person he’d been a couple of years ago back. She wanted the person she used to be back too. Couldn’t they just do that? Couldn’t they just pretend it was how it used to be and that nothing had really changed? Wouldn’t that be so much easier? Was it selfish to want that, instead of wanting to move forward?

But what would that accomplish, really? Wouldn’t they just end up right back here eventually anyways? And did she really want to go back to the person she used to be, without the knowledge she’d gained, the power in herself she had found that pushed her forward despite everything that had happened?

What about Draco?

Hermione shook her head, aggressively brushing her tears away. “I don’t know.” She sniffed, and he looked a moment away from tears himself. 

“Then can I try? Really, really try?” Ron asked, voice a thin thread of hope that she knew she could snap depending on her answer. 

She nodded, and took that first step toward him, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his coat.

“I will too.”

She’d missed the way he could just fold himself around her when they hugged, so tall that she felt almost surrounded by his long arms as he buried his face into her hair with a quiet sniffle.

She’d missed him.

Chapter Text

It all goes horribly wrong very, very quickly. 

They’re listening to the radio, holding their breath as familiar voices deliver unfamiliar news, and Harry gets so excited at something he thinks proves that Voldemort is also on a quest for the Deathly Hallows that was said that he doesn’t stop himself before saying his name.

“Voldemort!” 

“Harry, no! We told you! The name is taboo!” Ron whirled around to stare pleadingly at Hermione. “Hurry! We need to throw up the wards again before-”

But it was too late.

The snatchers were there, jeering and demanding their surrender and they were coming up to the flap of the tent, they were going to come into the tent, and Harry stared at them both with horrified regretful eyes and it all sort of… Stops. 

She had a few different options, and none of them were good. They could run, but they wouldn’t likely get far. They could fight, of course they could, but they were cornered by unknown numbers of people whose entire job was to bring in half-bloods and muggle-borns and all the undesirables. They were all three of those things, wrapped up with the fact that they had Harry Potter in the tent with them like a nice little bow on top of everything.

If they found out who Ron was, his entire family would be in danger.

If they found out who she was, there was no telling what they would do to her. Take her wand, most definitely. But after that... Prison? Torture?

And Harry? Well, Harry was as good as dead. And what was that, compared to everything else?

She had her wand out just as the snatchers reached for the tent flap, shooting off a spell at Harry’s face as the flap was entered that made the boy swell instantly, disfiguring every identifiable feature that she could. 

Harry crumpled to the ground with a grunt of pain, and then they’re surrounded and tied up in short order, their tent pillaged. She was lucky in that she’d been planning on going for a walk and since she never left her bag behind she’d folded it up as small as possible and shoved it securely into her bra. The snatchers had thought to check their pockets, but not there.

“What do we have here?” A voice growled that had Hermione’s spine freezing from a pure shot of icy fear as Fenrir Greyback loomed over their tied up forms, all claws and fangs and bloodshot eyes that held more than a fair amount of blood thirst. His eyes lingered on her and she knew why; she was the smallest, the softest looking out of the three, just how he liked.

She swallowed down the bile that built in her throat and repeated her lie like a mantra, keeping her eyes forward and her jaw clenched as Greyback loomed. 

“My name is Penelope Clearwater,” She told them, voice convincing and firm, “Half-Blood.”

Harry lied like an expert, all his responses quick and convincing despite the fact that he can’t speak clearly due to the travesty of his face. Ron had the lucky honor of getting punched in the face by Greyback, so he didn’t even really need to worry about lying perfectly since he couldn't really be fully understood anyways from the way his mouth refused to form words. 

And they were selling it, they really were, her chest burning with anxiety and the knowledge that they were going to get through this. They were fooling them . Gryfandor’s Sword that they had stupidly left lying around? Well, that’s a family heirloom of course. Why were they out in the middle of nowhere saying Voldemort’s name? A mistake made while having a friendly camping trip for the holidays.

And then someone saw her, really saw her with her unforgettable mess of hair and her features that were never quite quiet enough on her face to not be noticable, and said she reminds them of someone.

Of the little mudblood always seen with Harry Potter.

It’s almost a blur, honestly, being trussed up like a chicken about to be baked, shoved and pulled and bruised until they’re all squished together and Greyback grins with sharp yellow teeth. 

“Let’s get them to the ministry, then.” One of the snatchers said, eyes wide and movements frantic with excitement, hands vibrating as they reveled in the high of catching the most wanted people in the wizarding world.

Greyback growled, and the man sank back immediately. 

“No. We got him, we get the credit. The Dark Lord is supposed to be at the Malfoy’s, so we’ll take ‘em there.”

Hermione couldn’t hide the small jump she made if she tried, so surprised that it’s just an unthinking and unstoppable reaction. 

Draco .

They’re grabbed and are quickly dragged sickeningly through the tight space of apparation before landing outside of the gates that are painted over in her mind with second-hand, well loved, memories. 

They were dragged harshly through the gates and up the usually pristine pathway—it was not as well kept as she had seen in Draoco’s memories, her frantic brain noted—and are met at the looming doors with the disapproving face of one Narcissa Malfoy.

She looked haughty and furious in a glacial way, looking down at them like they had no reason to be there. She looked so different from this vantage point than Hermione had grown used to looking through Draco’s eyes, and it was so incredibly odd. There was no warmth or affection at the corners of her slim lips, or fierce pride in the blue eyes that glared down at them like they were worth less than nothing to her. 

“What?” She questioned, and Hermione shivered from the icicles that hung from that singular word.

“We’ve got Potter and his little Mudblood friend.” Greyback boasted, chest puffing out, “It’s hard to tell it’s him, but she’s noticeable enough.”

Narcissa’s eyes flicked over them, taking a few extra moments to study Harry to try and see through all of the swelling, before she stepped back and beckoned their small group forward.

They were pulled through the entry hall and shoved into the drawing room, everything tasting a bit like dejavu on the back of her tongue as they went because she had seen the memory of Draco breaking that vase when he was five, crying so hard it hurt because he was terrified that his father was going to be upset and not take him to the quidditch game for his birthday. One of the House Elves had found him cutting up his hands trying to fix it, and had done it for him with a bit of magic, a pat to the head, and a treat fresh from the kitchens. It had never been mentioned to his parent’s, and he’d gotten to go to the game.

Hermione realised she was breathing shallowly, the edges of panic racing down her nerves because she couldn’t be here . What if Draco saw her? What if this messed up everything they had done? Everything they were working toward? What if this was the end to not only Harry and Ron and herself, but also Draco and his family?

Please , she wanted to beg the rigid back of the woman before her, Don’t do this. He loves you so much, please don't.

But she couldn’t, not with everyone around them. Not with her knowing nothing about what was going on. And not when it was too late, because she had already been forced through the doors and there he was, sitting on a wing-backed chair across from his father, a chess board between them.

Their eyes met and her stomach fought with itself over whether to flip or sink, instead just quivering queasily somewhere in the middle as she hurriedly took him in. 

His hair had gotten longer, his face a little sharper. He looked just a little too gaunt, a little too on edge, and absolutely overwhelmed with shock and panic at the sight of her.

His hand, almost without his knowing, flitted up briefly to touch the place on his sternum where, she was certain, the pendant from his necklace lay. That alone made her breath rush out like she’d been punched in the gut. 

Lucius stood up from his seat, looking haggard and exhausted, a ghost of the man who had tormented them in various points of their childhood and the man Draco had tried so hard all of his life to impress. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, eyes never wavering away from his wife as behind him, unnoticed, his son struggled to get his expression under control.

“They say they’ve captured Harry Potter. Draco, come here.” She commanded, and Hermione watched as Draco finally managed to shutter his expression as he stepped forward.

“Is this Harry Potter?” She asked, pointing her son toward the bound and swollen Harry, and Hermione had no idea what Draco was going to do. She didn’t even know what she was going to do because there was the mission to think of, there was Draco, and there were her friends and…

And Hermione knew what she would do if this went wrong, of course she did. But she didn’t want to do it. She’d fight against it. She’d do her best to save all three of the boys in front of her but if it came down to it?

She swallowed the bile that built up in her throat, and panicked as she struggled to lay out any sort of plan for escape.

Draco stared down at Harry, face drawn and jaw clenched, then looked away.

“I don’t think so, no.” He said lowly, voice rougher than she remembered, “Doesn’t look much like Potter.”

“Draco, be sure.” Lucius demanded as he hurried over, frantic with excitement. “If this really is Potter everything will be forgiven! Everything will go back to how it was.”

Hermione watched the way Draco's hands clenched, and her heart sank because she knew this was it. What Draco had wanted, the entire reason he had started this that night in Dumbledore’s office.

His parents, safe and sound and unharmed by this entire mess.

“How can I be sure when he looks like that ?” Draco bit out, his parents looking more than a bit taken aback with his tone.

“We got the little Mudblood he goes around with, of course it's him.” Greyback growled, glaring down at Draco until the boy flinched back and away, careful to keep a good distance from him. 

Narcissa stepped forward, uncowed by the werewolf everyone else was keeping a reasonable distance from, and grabbed Hermione’s face to lift it to the light, long nails biting into her skin and her grip harsh. Her eyes were a shade of blue that made Hermione shiver, and it was disconcerting looking up into the face of a stranger and seeing the shadow of someone she had never really met but knew so well. 

“Yes… Yes! I recognise her.” Narcissa murmured, growing more animated as she had the realization. 

Just over her shoulder, going unnoticed since everyone’s attention had gone to Narcissa and herself, Hermione watched and Draco’s head snapped back around, eyes wide with something that looked like panic before he was able to hide it. 

“No- I don’t-” Draco tried, but the room was past paying attention to him, caught up in the momentum of their discovery.

“And this, this looks like a Weasley!” Lucius practically shouted from his excitement, coming closer to examine a struggling and glaring Ron. “They all look the same, but I’m sure it’s that one boy of Arthur’s that hangs around Potter. Draco, what’s his name?”

Draco didn’t answer, face sculpted out of stone and body still and tense like he was moments away from breaking.

And then the door behind them opened and a high pitched voice asked, “Cissy? What’s going on in here?” And Hermione could assume who that was from Harry’s jerking, terrified reaction alone. 

Bellatrix came around to the front, looking just as she always had every other time Hermione had seen her and the girl felt everything in her just screech to a stop with fear because every other time she had seen the woman? That had never ended well. And all of that woman’s attention, all of her crazed focus was directed right at Hermione. 

“That’s Potter’s Mudblood.” She whispered, head tilting ever so slightly with an almost animalistic interest. And if she'd thought Draco had looked scared before, it was nothing compared to how he looked as he watched his aunt approach Hermione. 

“Yes! And this, this is the Weasley boy and we think this is Potter. Hit by a stinging curse or something!” Lucius practically crowed, looking so happy that his hands were shaking with it.

“Well then,” Bellatrix purred, teeth bared in a terrible grin as she pulled up her sleeve to bare her dark mark.

“Wait! As this is my house it is my right to-” Lucius tried, grabbing onto the woman’s wrist to stop her.

They all argue for a few moments over who will get the credit. Shouting over her head as she tried desperately to think of a way out. Could they use this? Could they somehow take advantage of all the infighting to make a break for it before Voldemort came? They just had to get far enough to apparate and they’d be safe. If her brain would just work they could get away and she could save them and what good was it being the brightest witch of her age if her brain didn’t fucking work when she needed it to?

It all stops when Bellatrix sees Gryffindor Sword, held by the snatcher that had found it in their tent originally, and she lost what was left of her composure. 

She stunned all the Snatchers in quick succession, taking and gripping the sword desperately as she ordered everyone to do as she bid. She sent Draco outside with a shriek, having him drag the bodies of the snatchers out to be dealt with later.

He hesitated, Hermione saw him do it, but he doesn’t dare look at her before complying with his head down.

“This is supposed to be in my vault in Gringotts!” Bellatrix shrieked, brandishing her wand at Greyback, “How did you get this?”

“It was in their tent!” He growled, hands held up pacifyingly as his eyes burned holes through her. She whirled around to stare at them, eyes wild and chest heaving as she struggled with what to do. 

“If the Dark Lord comes now… With this? He’ll be furious.” She whispers, and the room freezes because they all know what that means. “Potter… He needs to be kept for the Dark Lord. We can’t touch him. But…” She muttered, eyes landing on Hermione. 

“Take them down to the cellar.” She ordered. “But leave the Mudblood with me.”

“NO! Stop! Take me instead!” Ron shouted, struggling and calling for her as they were forced out of the room.

Hermione had a moment to desperately  think, this isn’t real, this isn’t happening before Bellatrix grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her across the room.

She couldn’t help her cry of pain at that, hand’s flying up to pry at the hand before it pulled all of her hair out of her head and her scalp along with it. Her feet scrambled against the floor for purchase as she was pulled across it, desperately trying to keep her hair from being painfully pulled out.

“You’ll tell me how you got that sword.” Bellatrix hissed, throwing Hermione forward toward the spot she had chosen right in the middle of the room, wanting this to be as much of a spectacle as possible. “I’ll get it out of you.”

Through her tear-filled eyes Hermione could just barely see the figures of Narcissa and Lucius standing off to the side to watch, and then she couldn’t see anything because with a cry of “Crucio!” She was screaming, arching up off the floor as the most pain she had ever felt in her entire life filled her up until she was overflowing from it. It was like burning knives had been stabbed into every inch of her and then they were dragged until she was just shreds of the person she had been before, the world going white and painful around her as she screamed and screamed and screamed.

It stopped just long enough for Bellatrix to demand, “Tell me where you got that sword!” But then she started the curse all over again before Hermione could even struggle to get her breath back, coughing as her throat burned and protested before once again screaming it raw. 

The door slams open and the shock of it is enough to stop Bellatrix for a moment, everyone’s attention turning to the wide-eyed Draco.

“What’s going on?” He asked, voice just a wispy thing as he stared down at her.

“I’m finding out how they got this sword from my vault.” Bellatrix practically cooed, wand in one hand and a silver knife she had pulled out of the folds of her robes in the other. 

Hermione blinked the tears out of her eyes, gasping for air as her body shuddered and shook from the memory of pain still dancing along her nerves, and from across the room her and Draco’s eyes caught.

She wanted to call out to him, to beg him to stop this. It hurt worse than the worst pain she had ever felt in her life, and even after it stopped echos were ringing out through her bones and teeth, making her shake from it.

She remembered the Longbottoms, driven mad from the pain of it and living out their days quietly in St. Mungos, just fragments of who they used to be and she didn’t want that. Suddenly, the thought of it became one of the worst futures she could think of and she couldn’t take it. Not again.

Maybe he saw it in her face or her eyes, or maybe he just wanted to help because he took a single step forward, eyes terrified and wild, and Hermione broke.

She couldn’t make him do this, to ruin everything they had worked for. To put himself and his family in danger. to take one more step while looking like that, knowing how badly this would end for himself but wanting to do something.

She could take pain. She could . It was what she had to do, after all, and needs must.

“No.” She choked out, tears coming faster as she held onto his gaze. “No.”

“No?” Bellatrix hissed, the terrifying brunt of her attention once more on Hermione as she kicked the girl in her stomach so hard that she groaned and curled up in the fetal position in an attempt to protect the vulnerable spot. “You think you can say no , you little Mudblood bitch ? Crucio!”

Hermione screamed as she was torn apart once more, closing her eyes against the sight of a waxy looking Draco being dragged over to his mother’s side as they watched. This went on for longer than the last, going on and on and on for so many eternities that it seemed all there was, was pain.

Bellatrix finally stopped, panting from her anger, glaring down at the writhing girl before her like she was nothing, and she grinned with a sharp baring of teeth.

“You’ll tell me exactly what I want to know,” She threatened, hiking up the skirts of her robes and grabbing on to Hermione with hard hands. Hermione couldn’t fight, muscles still uncertain of what they were supposed to be doing after being wracked with so much pain, She was too weak to put up any sort of resistance as the woman sat on her stomach, her arms pinned down by the woman’s knees. She whimpered as the woman’s knife cut through the fabric of her jacket and the fragile barrier of her flesh on her bicep, fabric being torn away to reveal pale, vulnerable skin underneath.

Hermione’s breath caught as that knife was pressed into the fragile curve  of her throat, hands pinned down by Bellatrix’s hard knees as a spindly wand dug into her bared bicep. “And I’ll show you your place.”

Then Bellatrix hissed a curse Hermione was unfamiliar with and her wand lit up with bright red light at the tip where it pressed against her. Hermione choked out a ragged cry as the spell tore through her skin, her arm burning like it was trapped in a fire as she tried to buck but was met with the cold steel of the knife at her throat.

“Where did you get the sword?” The looming woman demanded, digging the wand in even more as she carved some sort of pattern into her skin. Hermione’s cry turned into yet another scream as the wand tore further, dug deeper. “Tell me!”

“I-It’s a copy!” She cried out, screaming the lie in her own mind as well to make certain the truth wouldn’t come out, tears running just as thickly as the blood she could feel seeping down her arm and throat, every word coated in the desperation for it all just to end , “Just a copy! W-We’ve never been to your vault!”

“A likely story.” Bellatrix scoffed, dragging the knife down to split the skin at her collarbone as Hermione sobbed. “Did that little Goblin help you? What else did he help you take?”

Goblin? Hermione could barely remember the angry little goblin the snatchers had caught before them, along with a crowd of people Hermione had hardly managed to notice and hadn’t focused on since she’d been too busy trying to think their way out of the situation as it had been unfolding.

“N-No!” She sobbed as Bellatrix dug the knife and wand in at the same time, “I swear! We have never even met before tonight, it’s just a copy! A copy!”

“Easily verified.” Lucius drawled from the other side of the room, and Hermione refused to look over, refused to look at Draco because she was sure her resolve would break if she saw him again. “Draco, go grab the goblin.”

“I-“ Draco’s voice cracked, and Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly shut at the sound, whimpering once more, biting her tongue until it bled to keep from calling out to him. “I need-“

“Go, Draco. Hurry now.” His mother ordered firmly, and Hermione was listening to his shuffling steps go past when she was hit with another Crucio .

Draco was back a few moments later with the Goblin, so quickly it was almost like he had run, and Bellatrix cut off the spell to go over and demand, “Is it? Is it real?”

A heavy pause as, Hermione assumes, the goblin examined the sword. But she can't look to see, cant even bother to spare a moment of attention for it because she’s opened her eyes to finally look at her arm, and her heart stops at the sight of the skin mutilated by the MUDBLOOD carved into her flesh and heavily bleeding.

A part of her knows that no matter what, no matter if magic is able to wipe it clean and clear it all away, she’ll always see it there.

“It’s a fake,” She distantly heard the grizzled voice of the goblin say as her eyes drifted away from her arm and up, right over to the gaunt looking Draco where he was standing a handful of steps away.

His hands hovered awkwardly just in front of him like he wanted to reach out to her, and he looked like he was just breaking apart in front of her, grey eyes shattered and throat working as he tried to find words but couldn’t.

And what could she do? What could she say? A part of her wanted to fix it and another part didn’t because why should she be the only one to hurt like this? Why did this have to happen at all?

For a moment, as he watched her, she wanted to hate him. She wanted to hate this entire thing they were doing because what was it worth? She’d lost her parents, she’d lied to her friends, she’d lost so much of herself she was almost sure if she looked in the mirror she wouldn’t even recognize her reflection anymore. She’d lost more than she’d gained and so what was it worth? Why were they doing this?

She remembered the last time they had seen each other, hidden away from a world going wrong by a heavy tapestry that cocooned them against it all and how she’d naively said she would protect him no matter what.

And he’d looked back, hand parting the tapestry and letting the light in, and he’d promised the same. And right now, right in this moment, that was what this was about. He obviously wanted to do something, he didn’t make promises lightly, but this? She needed to protect him too. To protect what they were doing and to protect Harry and Ron. To protect the Order and the people they were helping by keeping these lies going.

She remembered the muggle-borns that had been saved by Draco’s tips, the raids on resistance hot-spots he’d told them of in time for the people to go to ground. She forcibly reminded herself that what they were doing was worth it . They’d saved lives.

She shook her head slowly, every movement painful as she bit her lip to stop from making a noise, and Draco watched a moment before slowly stepping back.

The rest of the room had been talking behind Hermione’s back the few moments it had taken for Hermione and Draco to communicate and she hadn’t been paying attention to anything outside of Draco so she was surprised when Bellatrix came back over to kick Hermione’s side, causing the girl to roll over with a weak groan to try and get away.

“Well then,” She sighed happily, foot coming down to grind down into the word carved into Hermione’s arm so that the world whited out once more and everything went woozy, “Now that that’s over, Greyback can have this thing and we can finally call The Dark Lord.”

“NO!” Ron and Harry both cried as they burst through the doors, and even though she wanted to focus and stand up and go to them she couldn’t. Even though she was laying still the room was tilting around her, and her eyes felt too heavy to even stay open.

Against her will she closed her eyes, and didn't manage to open them back up for a while.

Chapter Text

There's a moment where she opens her eyes and Ron was there, arms around her as he struggled up a grassy hill, voice panicked as he cried out, “Bill! Bill, she’s hurt! Please-”

She blinked slowly, and the next time she opened her eyes she was inside, blurred pictures passing her by as a heavily accented voice urged, “Bring ‘er ‘ere! ‘Urry!” And she couldn’t fight against the need to close her eyes once again.

When she finally managed to keep her eyes open she was laying in a comfortable bed and Fleur was hovering over her, wand glowing softly as she cast a healing charm over the split skin at her throat. 

“You are awake,” Fleur smiled gently, looking so tired but still so amazingly beautiful. 

“What happened?” Hermione asked, though it came out as: “Whahappuns?”

Fleur shushed her. 

“You all came, zey said you had been at ze Malfoy’s. But you are safe now.” She murmured, tucking her wand away once the charm was finished. Hermione turned her head toward the window, taking in the bright light that shined through it, the soft sound of windchimes drifting through the crack on the breeze and it was almost too much when compared with the oppressive darkness and dreariness of Malfoy manor’s drawing room.

It didn’t feel real, like it was a dream she was just viewing and wasn’t worthy of being a part of. 

She looked down at her bicep and saw the wite bandages wrapped around it, felt the twinging of deep pain, and she couldn’t look away.

“Were you able to…?”

“It is too dark, the magic she used.” Fleur sighed apologetically, too blunt to ever think of trying to soften the blow or try to paint the picture kinder than it was.  “I am sorry.”

Hermione tried to be grateful for the lack of sugar-coating, she really did. But all she could remember was the sight of the word carved into her and bleeding darkly, the twistedness and ugliness of if. She could only remember the pain of it, and even though it was over it didn’t feel like it was because her arm was throbbing, her chest was racing, and her breath refused to come evenly and instead jerked in and out of her chest in heavy wheezes.

“You are strong,” Fleur stated as she pulled the sobbing girl into her arms, smoothing back the tangled mess of curls as Hermione wets the front of Fleur’s blouse with her tears and snot. “Zat word is weak and scared. Zat word is nozing. ”

She cried until she didn’t have any tears left and Fleur had to leave, and then just dozed for a few moments, the healing potion Fleur had given her making her drowsy. A light knock at the door roused her just enough for her to call for the person to enter.

It was Ron, and he hovered awkwardly in the doorway a moment, not looking at her as he mumbled, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” She croaked, eyes tracking him as he shuffled over to slump in the chair that had been pulled up to her bedside. He buried his face into his hands, the very picture of grief and agony as he took a moment before speaking.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, and Hermione shook her head.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“It should have been me! You shouldn’t have-” Ron cried, looking up at her so that she could see the tears in his eyes. 

“Neither should you. Nobody should.” Hermione whispered, “But you and I both know why it was done. She made that very apparent.”

Mudblood.

“She just thought that she was more likely to get me to talk, I think.” She muttered. 

“Well,” Ron sniffed, rubbing the tears away, “She was wrong. You didn’t tell her a single thing, ‘Mione.” He looked proud of her, a little in awe, and it was nice to have that again. To see him look at her like she was amazing.  It soothed a minute part of the ache she now held, and she allowed herself to paint on something resembling a smile.

But a part of her, an ugly part that throbbed in time to the wound on her arm and all the aches and pains across her body, wondered why it took her being tortured to have this piece of him back.

She couldn’t think like that. She couldn’t be like that. So she shoved it away, into one of the little compartments she had made within herself for all of her secrets and worries, and locked it away with a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. 

“You wouldn’t have either.” She said confidently, because no matter what sort of things bubbled up within her she would always know the truth of the strength of Ron Weasly.

She had loved that about him the most out of all the pieces and parts of him, once upon a time. 

He smiled at her like she’d said something special instead of just something she knew was a fact, and she suddenly felt so very, very tired even though she’d just woken up.

Ron must have sensed this, or at least the fact that after everything she might not be anywhere near the realm of okay, because he silently and gently took the hand closest to him—the one that was attached to the arm she was sure was ravaged and ruined forever and ever—into both of his own. They sat there in a silence that was close enough to everything that had been missing between them that it soothed a ragged piece of her that scratched her insides with every breath she took. It was like a hard, thorny knot in the middle of her chest that bristled every time she dared to allow her thoughts to wander back to that room. To Bellatrix. To Draco watching.

They were unable to find anything they wanted to say to each other, the space between them too large after so long for either of them to feel comfortable with trying to fill it. But for the moment it was fine because him being there with her? Tethering her to that moment in the best way he could? It didn’t fix anything but it kept everything away for just long enough for her to remember how to breathe correctly.

“Where’s Harry?” She asked once the shape of the sunlight on the floor had shifted slightly to the right, realizing suddenly that though Ron was with her, Harry definitely wasn't. 

“He…” Ron looked uncomfortable in the way that meant he was thinking about hiding something from her, so she glared until he sighed wearily and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “Dobby died, getting us here. And Harry is… He’s digging a grave for him. By hand.”

“Oh.” She said, the word useless and obviously too small for the moment but it felt like there wasn’t anything else she could say. Like the space within her where the words usually came from was just empty now.

Like she finally had nothing left to give.

Suddenly the feeling of Ron’s hands on her’s was too much, the silence between them too suffocating. “I’m tired.” She said abruptly, startling Ron from here he had begun to stare worriedly at the wall. He blinked at her a moment, tried to see past the walls she built between them, and in the end just sighed and slumped into himself a bit.

“Oh, um. Alright. I’ll let you rest.” He muttered, patting her hand a tad awkwardly as he stood and turned to go.

“Ron,” She said just as he reached the doorway, and she felt like she was breaking apart into all these pieces that all wanted different things, everything she had been working on keeping together and controlled suddenly unraveling all around her as she struggled. But a piece of her knew that she wasn’t saying what she needed to. Wasn’t doing what she should and what was right.

She didn’t want him to walk away like this.

“Come get me when he buries him. Please.” She asked, not quite everything but enough for the moment.

Ron looked back to give her a smile that is almost normal.

“Sure ‘Mione. Get some rest.”

The door clicked closed behind him and she could only hope that she hadn’t started crying until that happened. 

Her grief is quiet, sudden, and confusing. What was she crying about? What was she mourning? She didn’t know, it didn’t make sense, and every tear hurt because she felt like there shouldn’t be any more tears left within her. She’d cried too much, dug too far, and the well was dry now. Or, at least, almost dry. She apparently had enough within her to cry for just a few moments more, painful as it was to do so.

She knew she wasn't mourning Dobby, not really. A part of herself felt like she should at least try to dedicate a fraction of this feeling to him but the rest of her selfishly hoarded it to herself. 

She just wanted it all to end . The war, the death, the constant fear that had her on the edge of insanity with how frantic she was with protecting Harry, protecting Draco, protecting Ron, protecting her parents. She wanted to wake up in a place where this was all distant, a dream she’d never dreamed, and finally be able to last one day without breaking in one way or another.

Dobby died and she couldn’t mourn him because it just felt like one more failure. And wasn’t that just terrible of her?

She wiped away her tears with a corner of the bedspread, sniffling quietly and pathetically to pull out the coin just to hold on to it’s comforting weight. She’s surprised to see a message waiting for her, knowing that they’re only supposed to last for an hour before fading away.

Respond, Granger. Or else. 

No.

Or else what?

What more could be done to her?

“I’m… Awake.” She whispered to it, thumb pressed harshly into the hard metal, the raised words biting into her skin.

His response came quickly, and she wondered if he had been waiting for her to answer.

Are you safe?

“As safe as we can be.”

I don’t care about them, Granger. 

She cast a suspicious eye over the door as she slouched down, wincing as her arm burned and her barely healed wounds twinged from the position. She felt too hot, all that anger and sadness and fear bubbling up beneath the surface of her skin and making her feel like her blood was boiling inside of her. 

“I’m safe. If not, I’ll make it safe.” She whispered to the metal. She was half tempted to ask if he was safe, but she pettily didn’t. She knew he would be, since he hadn’t been the one tortured after all.

He is upset. Better keep your head down for now.

Her heart jumped like a  jack-rabbit in her chest as she went rigid, knowing what he meant. Knowing who he meant.

“He was there?” She hissed.

Came just as you escaped.

Which meant he was with Draco. Which meant he was there, and he knew Draco’s family had failed.

“Are you okay?” She asked, knowing he wasn’t and knowing that her question was too small for the situation.

If someone asked her if she was okay, lying there in bed freshly tortured, she would wonder why they couldn’t think of a better question. Because what would okay even encompass? Was she okay physically? While she had been healed and would be out of bed in a matter of days, she felt as if she would always feel the mark on her arm as a physical weight dragging her down. Anchoring her to those moments in the drawing room as Bellatrix pinned her down and cut into her. Was she okay mentaly? Well, the question alone was enough to tempt her towards deranged laughter, so that was answer enough.

And yet, even knowing how much that question lacked she couldn’t help but ask it because it was all she felt she could ask at the moment.

Don’t be daft, Granger, 

She closed her eyes and pressed her face into the softness of her pillow, tired of watching the world unravel frighteningly fast.

“I’m safe, Draco.” She whispered, holding on to the coin so tightly she wondered if the words would permanently indent into her thumb. “And you will be too.”

What did I just tell you? Came after a pause that felt almost too long. 

“Sleep well, Draco.” She murmured, ignoring his point because even if she didn’t believe such things were true at this moment she had to say them. They had to keep moving forward.

Its the middle of the day.

You too.

One after another, quick enough to make a small smile appear on her lips from habit, even for a moment.

Her nap was a restless thing that she was glad to leave behind her when Ron came to get her for Dobby’s funeral. Fleur wrapped her tight in a fluffy and well worn house-robe, looking frazzled as she muttered under her breath in french about—Hermione was somewhat certain from what few words of french she knew—the goblin.

They all trudged down the hill to a dirty, beaten down Harry, who looked half crazed in the dim wand light that cut through the dark night around them. His hair had become more of a mess than usual, sticking up wildly and soaked through with sweat while his clothes and skin were saturated with layer upon layer of dirt. 

What was more concerning to her, though, was that he had the look on his face he always got before they went to do something dangerous with a plan they were sure of but still felt was fated to fail.

Luna stepped forward to say some kind words as they all stood around the grave, a mix of sadness and awkwardness at the fact that a lot of the people there hadn’t known Dobby. But Harry? The kindness and earnestness of Luna’s words for Dobby looked like it was rocking him to his core, and Harry just cared so much and loved so deeply she just wished people would stop dying on him.

As the last of the dirt was smoothed over Dobby’s body Hermione felt a familiar burn against her chest, and knew it was too soon after their earlier discussion. Draco wouldn’t message her so soon for nothing.

As subtly as she could she bowed her head, everyone too focused on their own various shades of grief to pay attention to what they assumed was mourning, and pulled out the coin.

He left very suddenly. Bellatrix is excited. 

Her entire body tenses in a single moment, and she couldn’t help but panic at what to do because those two sentences were absolutely terrifying. 

Where did he go? Did he somehow find out where they were? And Bellatrix being excited about it…

She saw a flash of a gleeful grin as she’d writhed on the floor from the pain, and though she tried to push the memory away it stuck with her like a stone caught in her throat, choking her and leaving her absolutely defenseless.

“‘Mione,” Ron whispered, a gentle hand coming to her elbow, “You okay?”

She jolted away from the memory and the touch, though the fear of it lingered like a bad taste on her tongue, and as she came back to herself she came to the realization that she’d begun to shake. 

“Yes.” She said through numb lips, “But I need to talk to Harry.”

Ron sighed heavily, shoulders slumping, and he looked a bit like someone had told him he would never be able to have his third favorite candy again: like he was upset, but not devastated about the loss.

“We can in a minute, yeah? Let’s just go inside for now. You look cold.”

“I’m fine. I just really need to talk to Harry.” She muttered, pushing out of his supportive arm as Harry walked by. “Harry! I need to-”

“Not now, Hermione.” He said, voice a determined, firm thing that had her faltering just long enough for his long legs to eat up a decent amount of the distance between them and the cottage.

“Harry! It’s important!” She cried at his seemingly unhearing back, forcing her weary legs up the hill as Ron let out a curse behind her.

“Blimey, Hermione! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Harry!”

 “Slow down, damn it!”

“Harry, you had better listen to me!” She gasped as she finally caught up to the boy in the hallway of the house, managing to catch on to his sleeve with shaking hands. 

He turned just the slightest bit, only just enough for her to see his eyes and the hard set of his face, and what she saw had her loosening her hold on him, words dying in her mouth before they could be spoken.

“Not now.” He said firmly, and she let him go.

“Hermione, come one now. Maybe we should get you back to bed, yeah?” Ron murmured gently, just the right way to rub her wrong but luckily for him she has more important things to worry about. 

“Harry’s up to something.” She whispered back, watching as he approached Bill. “He’s… He knows something.”

“That’s a good change, yeah?”

“Maybe. But… He’s made a decision, and I don’t know if I’m going to like it.”

Harry was asking about Olivander and the goblin—Griphook, apparently. And she didn’t know why, didn’t understand, and the coin was burning at her chest but what was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to say? Was she just supposed to come out and scream that Voldemort is on the move and had a plan that was making his people in the know very, very happy? How would she explain that? And what did Harry know? He’d never managed to completely sever the connection between him and Voldemort so maybe he already knew…

Harry took them to talk first with Griphook about Bellatrix’s vault and then Olivander about the Elder Wand. The entire time Hermione itched , knowing that there was something she was missing. Knowing that there was something outside of her grasp, outside of her control, and it was maddening .

They left Olivander’s room and Hermione nearly tackled Harry in the hallway, grabbing on to the back of his shirt and gripping tightly to pull him to a stop.

“Harry!” She hissed, “What’s going on? You’re not telling us anything and-”

“Dumbledore had the Elder Wand.” Harry said quietly, turning slowly around with such an unknown look on his face that she let his shirt go, fabric slipping from her slack fingers. “It… It was buried with him.”

“Then we should go get it! An unbeatable wand like that… What are we waiting for?” Ron asked, ready to take action and move forward as always and Harry was usually the same. This is what he had been searching for the past few months and he just stood there with a calm, almost sad look in his eyes. Her hands still hovered in the air, not knowing what to do, and when Harry took them into his own to give them a reassuring squeeze she just… Settled.

“What’s happened, Harry?” She asked, quiet.

“He’s already there. It’s too late to stop him from getting it.” He answered gravely, not quite meeting either of their eyes. There was dirt and sweat streaking his clothes and skin, jagged nail tips blackened from the earth caked under them. He looked like a mess, but his shoulders were back and his chin was set in the all too familiar way of his when he had figured out what he wanted to do. 

She nodded, numb. Ron looks dumbstruck.

“You didn’t want to go after it.” Ron murmured, looking so confused and somewhat hurt. “Harry, it’s an unbeatable wand!”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, weary but determined, settled into his path, “Maybe. But I'm done running from what I'm actually meant to be doing. We need to get the Horcruxes, not a wand.”

Ron sputtered, a string of sounds that may have been intended to be words, and looked to Hermione for support. And she might have backed him up if she could have felt anything but exhaustion at that point, her arm throbbing and her chest aching with an unfamiliar hollowness, all of it dragging her down to the point that she just wanted to rest.

“Bellatrix’s vault has to have one, especially after how she reacted to the sword,” Hermione didn’t know if he'd been referring to her terrified screeching, or the torture, “If we can get in there-”

“Do what you want,” Hermione interrupted quietly, bringing a hand up to her face to press into the ache in her forehead, surprised to feel how it trembled. “I’m going to bed.”

They called after her, perplexed and worried, but she ignored them as she trudged back to the safety of the soft quilts of the guest room bed.

Chapter Text

Hermione spent four days in bed.

Throughout the first she refused to speak more than a handful of sentences to Ron and Harry whenever they miserably poked their heads into the room, begging her to tell them what was wrong, to let them help, to just talk to them. But she didn’t want to tell them. She didn’t want to open her mouth and let it all pour out, every single worry and fear that had been clinging onto her like leeches. She threw a pillow at the door the fourth time Harry and Ron sadly let her know that they were there for her whenever she wanted to talk, the absolute rage that washed over her leaving her drained down to the husk of herself after mere moments.

The second day she woke up to hear Fleur chewing the boys out just outside of her closed door, having caught on to what they were doing and demanding they stop. She stomped into the room after the pair shamefully slinked away, cursing under her breath in colorful french as she brought in a simple plate of eggs and toast.

“Bill is very good at breakfast.” She murmured as she basically forced Hermione to sit up, propping up pillows and fluffing them just right for the exhausted girl to lean back in to. “You vill eat.” She demanded.

“I’m not hungry.” Hermione found herself saying, though as it always was these days her stomach was gnawing at her, protesting months of never quite being full.

“No. You vill eat.” Fleur sniffed, and she sat there until Hermione had eaten half the plate.

The third day is quiet and Bill temporarily took over the delivery of her meals mid-day, the man too awkward to be as forceful as his wife at getting Hermione to eat. She lay there all day, hungry, staring at the gauzy curtains and wondering why it all just felt so hard.

The fourth day started early, and Hermione woke up in part to both the smell of breakfast and the feeling of a hand petting her greasy hair.

She turned over slowly, silent, blinking blearily up at the pale face watching her silently.

It was strange, but with it all coming down around her she had forgotten about Luna. 

Luna shifted so that the plate of breakfast she had brought in was placed in the chair placed next to her bedside that had seen a number of people in it throughout the past days, and in turn she lifted the covers and slipped into the bed. 

“Hey,” Hermione whispered once the other girl had settled, foreheads only a foot apart, bodies curved so that they’re like mirror brackets around the space of the bed between them, nothing touching or coming too close but undoubtedly there.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Luna whispered, her light voice so hushed it would be impossible for anyone more than a foot away to hear.

“Okay.” Hermione whispered back, hand clenching tightly around the fabric of the bedspread beneath them, hating the part of herself that could do nothing but wonder if this was just going to be another burden to bear. 

“When I was kept in that cellar, one of the Death Eaters would sometimes come down when no one was around and talk to me or give me food. He was kind, though it was difficult and dangerous for him to do so.”

“Oh, wow…” Hermione muttered as that familiar ache bloomed harshly in her chest at the taste of a secret needing to be kept on her tongue. “Who was it?”

“Do you want to hear another secret?” Luna ignored her, and Hermione couldn’t help her weary sigh this time.

“Luna, I don’t think-”

“The secret is that you know who it was without me saying their name.” Luna whispered so quietly Hermione almost couldn’t hear her. 

They’re silent for a moment as Hermione breaths tore out of her chest harshly, Luna silently laid next to her with her eyes closed to give her friend a moment of peace as the panicking girl tried to gather herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hermione whispered, the words just pillars of dust that crumble as soon as they were crafted. She was just too tired to hide the lie, too tired to speak any more once these feeble words passed her lips. Just so very, very tired even after days of doing nothing but rest. 

Luna hummed, playing with the edge of the quilt. “Alright.” She said finally, and Hermione let out a shaky breath at the agreement to let the thought die between them. 

“Though,” Luna murmured, still kindly focusing on the quilt instead of the girl in front of her, “He was different than I thought he would be.”

Different. That was one way to put it. Comparing the Draco she could remember from the years before to the person she knew was now, the person who was working against everything he had ever learned, was like comparing oil to stone.

“You’re not okay.” Luna said quietly after the silence between them had long ago stretched past comfort, “And that’s alright.”

“I don’t-”

The other girl finally reached out now, hand calloused and dry when she grabed and lightly held on to one of Hermione’s trembling hands.

“It’s alright. Sometimes, you can’t be okay even when you really want to be. And you can’t say you’re fine when you’ve decided to live in this bed for as long as you can manage.”

Hermione’s breath hitched but she couldn’t cry, feeling dry and wrung out like she had cried out all that she would ever be able to. Like she just didn’t have the emotions left to manage it.

“I don’t know what to do.” She whispered, clutching tightly onto her friend’s hand like it was her one life line remaining. “I’ve had plan after plan after plan throughout all of this, and now all the sudden it’s all is just gone and it feels as if I couldn’t think of anything even if I wanted to.”

“Sometimes, people can find not planning and thinking to be relaxing.” Luna mused, lips quirked at the laugh that she had surprised out of Hermione.

“It’s the most stressful thing in the world, though. Not knowing what’s next.” Hermione whispered, curling in closer to the other girl. 

“There are Sun Spiders that live in China where they spend their entire lives searching for the best place to weave their gold webs, because they only have one go at it. They die, you know, once the web is done. And the webs are always these works of art that I think they spend all that time they were searching planning it out. Butsometimes, no matter how perfect their spot is, it rains and the web is ruined.”

“And what, they go again? I thought you said they only had one go at making the web.” Hermione asked, confused at what sort of uplifting message she was supposed to take from this. Luna shook her head.

“They do, when it rains the web is ruined and the spider dies not long after.” She stated simply.

“I really don’t get it. Are you saying that since everything has been ruined I should just… Give up?”

Luna smirked, just the tiniest quirk of her lip but it threw Hermione so much to see it. “No. I’m telling you that the spiders die when their plans are ruined. But you’re not a spider.”

Hermione let out a brief, incredulous burst of laughter, and inched just that little bit closer to burrow into Luna’s shoulder.

“I guess I’m not.” She chuckled, and after a brief moment a memory struk her and she peered up at Luna, a little bit incredulous as she exclaimed, “I remember those from class! Those are a real creature!”

“Yes, of course.” Luna said simply, like it was obvious.

That night, as with every night before, she dreamed of the parlor, of Bellatrix’s face above hers. Of her laugh and smile and the eyes of the entire room on her as she screamed and pleaded and bled. She woke after a few short hours of sleep to a thundering heart, a silent house, and an empty feeling in her chest she would do anything to chase away.

Curling up, as silent as she could possibly be, she pulled out the coin and holds on to it like it's a life line.

“Tell me something good.” She demanded, hoping that he’d be better at comforting her than she had been with the same demand all those months ago.

After a pause that felt big enough to encompass a universe, the coin burned hot.

We’re both alive, and nobody knows.

Not exactly what she had been looking for, but even still it does make it a bit easier for her to breathe.

“Well, I think Luna knows.”

That’s fine. As if anyone would believe her.

“Someone gave us away with all of your visits.”

Then next time I’ll just leave her to rot.

She couldn’t help the slip of a smile she gave at that, imagining his droll tone, the way he’d play at boredom and derision. 

“Why didn’t you this time?” She asked, an idle question she’d never voiced because it had always felt rude. Like she was questioning the type of herson he was by questioning the fact that he’d been nice to someone in a terrible situation.

But still… He’d been nice to someone with seemingly nothing to gain out of it and so much to lose. That wasn’t like him. 

Why do you think, Granger? The coin asked her, and her breath caught a little as a flush rose on her face, and she was pretty sure she was reading too much into it but still… Maybe not.

“I think I’m on to you, Malfoy.” She murmured back, relaxing into the bed and the banter with relief. 

She smiled at it for a moment, then quietly asked, “Do you still want to go with me to the muggle world?”

If it’s with you, yes.

“Alright. I’ll take you to my favorite places.”

I’ll look forward to it.

She rolled over onto her back, staring up at the dark, feeling a moment that it was all just a bit too much for her quickening pulse. 

“I feel like I should let you go.” She whispered mournfully. She didn’t want to, but who knew what time it was and at least one of them should be reasonably well rested.

I can’t sleep.

“I can’t either.”

Then talk to me, Granger.

“Okay,” She whispered back, a flush on her cheeks as she pressed her hand to the fluttering in her stomach.

Chapter Text

On the morning of the fifth day at Shell Cottage she heard Harry and Ron whispering outside her door, and so Hermione took a bracing breath and pushed herself up, adjusting her blankets nervously as she called out, “You can come in.”

They both immediately stopped their loud whispering, and after a few moments the door creaked open and two tussled heads poked in, both boys looking concerned and tentative almost as if they were worried she’d rescind the offer as soon as they came in.

She laughed a little at the concern on their faces and beckoned them closer, unable to help but smile as they practically scrambled into the room to hurry over to her side, Harry taking the chair and Ron taking up the space on the bed beside her. 

“Are you feeling better?” Harry asked, watching her carefully. Hermione forced a smile. 

“Yeah Luna gave me a bit of a pep talk yesterday.” 

“Huh, wouldn’t think it would be that good coming from her. I’d be more likely to get lost with whatever she was talking about.” Ron commented, leaning against her shoulder slightly and resting his weight against her. She huffs a bit at that, torn between laughing or defending her friend, but relaxes into the reassuring weight of him against her.

She hadn’t wanted them near her the past few days, but she’d missed them anyways.

“Tell me what’s happened.” She requested, and she immediately became worried when the two shared a look that meant they had been conspiring . Hermione had no idea why she kept leaving her friends alone, because every time she did something idiotic happened.

Ron and Harry were planning on going back on a deal with Griphook in order to get him to help them while still keeping the sword: Idiotic.

They wanted to break into Gringots: Idiotic.

They plan on her going along with all of this with no questions asked: IDOTIC.

She picked up a book Fleur had leant her that she hadn’t managed to bring herself to read quite yet and leaned forward to quickly whack the two boys in the shoulder with it with as much strength as she could manage, taking a moment to revel in their winces and whining protests. 

“Has me ignoring the two of you for a few days really led to this?” She hissed, crossing her arms imperiously over her chest and looking down her nose a bit, the way she’d seen Fleur do and that always had them meekly following any orders the woman gave out. 

She wondered if she was just not blonde enough, pretty enough, or french enough for it to be effective because the two just glared right back at her.

“Well, what would you have us do? We need to get into the vault, and we need to keep the sword until all of this is over.” Ron huffed. 

“I don’t know!”

“We have a plan. Do you really think it won’t work?” Harry prompted. Hermione sighed and begrudgingly shook her head.

“It will work if you’re able to pull it off. But it’s dangerous! We only just escaped them, do you really want to dangle yourself in front of You-Know-Who in an extremely lockable and likely booby-trapped vault?” Bellatrix’s vault, she thought for a moment before shoving that thought and the anxiety it brought to the side. She’d woken up and decided to be better than a stupid sun-spider, because she needed to move forward. 

Shadows seemed larger than they had been before the parlor, she felt smaller, and everything just felt so exhausting. But she could pick herself up and move forward, to fix what had been destroyed even if it took longer than she’d like. They had a war to win, she had people to protect, and sure, nightmares were still waiting for her at night. But so was Draco.

“It’s time we did more than hiding in the woods. And that means that we will be more dangerous.” Harry determined, that all too familiar look in his eyes telling her he’d made his decision. And once he had she knew that there was no way to sway him on to any other path.

She took a deep breath, tucked her shaking hands under the quilt so that they wouldn’t be able to see them, and calmly asked, “What do I have to do?”

The first time they put Bellatrix’s wand in her hand she wanted to chuck it into the ocean, swim back out to find it, burn it, and then grind it to dust. She managed to restrain herself, but just barely. 

“I hate this thing.” Hermione hissed, hand clenched tightly over the thin wood.

“Good! That and the wand will help you get in character!” Ron exclaimed, helping Harry set up more bottles for her to practice on since she was struggling  to control the wand.

She swallowed down the urge to snap the wand in half just to spite him and this stupid plan, and ignored the way her arm throbbed as if knowing that this was the wand that hurt her. That this was the wand that had tortured numerous people before her. 

She took a breath, tried to bottle all of that up, and aimed a spell at one of the bottles on the fence. She hissed out a curse and stomped her foot as the spell went wide.

“It was closer, I think.” Luna piped up from where she was relaxing in the shade of a nearby tree. She smiled guilelessly at the exasperated look Hermione shot her.

Closer didn’t really matter for much when they had already been at this for hours .

“You know what I realized? We also have to worry about Hermone acting like Bellatrix. Hermione! Acting. ” Rod decried, hamming it up to make Harry snicker and Hermione glare at him, chucking the damned wand at him so that it would manage to land at least one attack for the day. 

His cry of outrage was wonderful.

“Oh, I think she’ll be fine.” Luna hummed, knowing more about just how good Hermione was at acting than anyone else at the cottage, even if she couldn’t  be allowed to have the full picture. 

“Yeah, I guess she’s got the crazy part down.” Ron muttered to Harry, not realizing that he had said it just loud enough for the words to carry on the wind to the girl in question. Hermione’s face flushed in outrage, and she stomped toward the boy.

“Ron Weasley you had better take that back or I’ll make you regret it.” She hissed lowly, dangerously, fists tight at her sides as she got so close to the other boy that he stumbled back a couple of steps, his eyes wide.

“Sorry!” He yelped, hands coming up between them in an attempt to ward her off, “I didn’t think you could hear me!”

“Don’t apologize for me hearing you, you dolt , apologize for saying it!” She hit her fist into his shoulder, prepared to do that and much worse to him, but Harry’s hands grasped her biceps and he held her back.

“He didn’t mean it, we’re just all a bit stressed,” He soothed, trying to be diplomatic. Though he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the glare Hermione shot him. “Come on, calm down and let’s keep trying.”

Instead she huffed and shook his hands off, scooping up the stupid wand and striding away with her nose up in the air.

“What are you doing? We have to practice!” Ron cried out after her. She shot an icy glare at the pair over her shoulder as she wentover to Luna, the girl smiling sunnily up at her as the two boys balked at the look in her eyes.

“I am going to hang out with someone tolerable, and then I’ll practice some more. By myself .” She declared as she sat down next to the other girl. Her other two friends grumbled, but eventually went away to the other side of the house to continue practicing with their own stolen wands. 

Harry had Draco’s, and a childish part of her wanted to demand they trade. That Harry pretend to be Bellatrix. She wondered if Draco’s wand would react better to her, considering everything.

“They’re impossible sometimes.” Hermione huffed, and the other girl hummed sympathetically, twisting so that she could begin braiding the mass of hair Hermione had just pulled back into a tangled bun at the nape of her neck. A few minutes of slim fingers combing through her hair and sorting out the mess of it had Hermione relaxing, irritation flowing out of her like it had never been. 

“You’ve never used a wand other than your own, right?” Luna asked gently. Hermione hummed her agreement. “Then I think you might be thinking about it wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, wands are smart. They choose us, they know us, and there’s a certain way ownership is supposed to transfer. You didn’t get this wand through proper means, so it's upset, I think.”

“Wands don’t have emotions.” Hermione protested. 

“They do.” Luna announced, like it was so simple and straightforward. And, Hermione supposed, they were to her. What was that like, to not have to question and worry about every little thing? To be so secure in what you knew that nothing could make you question it?

“The wand you have is upset, so it’s not listening to you. It’s going to fight you. So just fight back harder. You’re an extremely determined person, I’m sure you can do it.” Luna continued, tying Hermione’s hair off with a ribbon she had tied around her wrist. Hermione had absolutely no idea where she had gotten it.

Herminoe turned to smile at the other girl, to thank her because even if she necessarily didn’t believe her the words had helped and she felt better, but when she turned Luna’s eyes were staring so hard at the tail of the ribbon she had just tied off, fingers fidgeting with the length.

The girl was so pale and thin from her time locked away, though Fleur and Bill were doing their best to change that. She was fed throughout the day, spent as much time outside as she could, but even still she looked like a stern breeze would blow her over.

There were dark bruises beneath her eyes, and she seemed so much more subdued than Hermione could ever remember her being before.

“Hey,” She whispered, “Are you okay?”

Because, she realised, she hadn’t thought to check before now.

Luna thought about it, head tilting as she considered the question.

“No.” She finally sighed, “I’m quite worried. I don’t know where my father is, or how he’s doing. I know Bill said he’s under Order protection, but still… I’ve also realized I may be a bit afraid of the dark now, after being locked in the cellar for so long. And I keep having nightmares, about the sounds of them torturing people, about how dark it was when I was all alone.” Luna sighed and leaned forward to rest her head on Hermione’s shoulder. “I know thinking about these things makes me more attractive to wrackspurt attacks, but I can’t help it. They seem to be the only things I can think of.”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione whispered, feeling guilty because she hadn’t even paused to wonder how Luna was. Luna always seemed so unaffected by everything, she had kind of assumed this would all be the same. 

“War is quite horrible, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” 

They sat quietly like this for a few moments more, Hermione resting her head on the younger girl’s and feeling a bit small and selfish for being thankful Luna was there, with what she’d had to go through. 

The blonde sighed and raised her head, a small smile on her lips as she placed a soft kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “Thank you for listening. Now, maybe you should try the wand again, but firmly.”

“Alright.” Hermione agreed, standing and pulling the dreadful thing out, trying her best not to focus on the horribleness of it or the wistful wishes for her old wand, figuring that even though the wand wouldn’t understand her despite whatever Luna believed, it would be best to be stern with herself until she got it right.

At least tell me you’re the one with my wand , Draco requested one night. Hermione winced, knowing her answer would not go over well with the boy.

“Ah, actually that would be Harry. Since he… won it.”

Granger, you had better be joking.

“Sorry.” She murmured, “I’m stuck with Bellatrix’s, so no one’s happy.”

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

“I guess not.”

I just can’t believe you let Potter have my wand.

“I can’t exactly wrestle it out of his hands.”

You should. Who knows what he’ll do with it.

“If you mean anything inappropriate, I’ll hit you.” She threatened. 

I didn’t, but funny you went there. 

Hermionie was glad he couldn’t see her, since undoubtedly he’d have something to say about how red her face got.

“He’s not going to do anything to it. He needs it.” She pivoted, deciding to just completely avoid where the conversation had been heading. 

I’d just rather you had it.

Hermione smiled, burrowing a little deeper into the covers she was under as her stomach dipped and then soared.

“That’s sweet.” She murmured.

Try not to get your Gryffindor emotions everywhere. 

She grinned, and for a moment let her thoughts get away from her and wondered if she could make him blush like he made her. If his heart beat a similar tempo when they pushed things just that little bit further. She wondered if he let himself get carried away as well, if this was also his escape from everything going on.

She knew now wasn’t the time to be having all of these thoughts, not with a war outside the door and all of them in hiding from certain death. But she was having them anyways, and she didn’t really want to stop.

She deserved this one thing that could make her feel good. This one thing that could make her almost feel like she had before all of this had started.

“Why should I?” She whispered back, lip caught between her teeth as she waited for his response. 

You don’t know what you’re getting at.

“I do,” She challenged, “Do you?”

Good night, Granger. Came curtly after, and she wondered if it was strange for her to view something that so obviously was a dismissal as a victory.

She would bet that if she’d never managed to make him blush before, he probably was now.

“Good night, Draco.” She murmured back with the last bit of daring she could muster before she tucked the coin under her borrowed nightgown and began to read, deciding that she would avoid sleep and the nightmares it would bring as long as she could, since she didn’t want the good that was filling her up to end just yet.

With a harsh slice of the stolen wand through the air the row of bottles were shattered by her spell.

She had to hold this wand tighter than she ever had to with her own, had to put more effort and thought into spells, and had to be careful to keep all of herself focused on the spell and not let a single thought or emotion tarry.

This wand was exhausting, but after weeks of effort she had managed to learn to use it consistently.

Luna would say that she had become stern enough to get the wand to submit to her, and though Harry and Ron had been intrigued by the idea she had simply argued that she had just learned to use it properly. Like any tool, it had just taken time to learn.

She did miss her own wand, though. 

She was torn from her thoughts at Ron’s whoop of victory, moments before he ran over to her to pick her up into a hug and give her a brief twirl that surprised a laugh out of her. 

“You did it!” He cried, “I knew you could!”

Hermione laughed again and patted his shoulder as he sat her back down. With a bit of flustered surprise, Hermione realized the red-head was over a full head taller than her. It was strange, the things you could forget or not notice about someone you saw every day.

“Now all we have to do is break into Gringotts.”Harry declared grimmly, immediately putting a damper on his friends’ good cheer. Hermione looked over to him and saw that his eyes looked so distant, looking out to the sea with a stern determination that she’d been missing all those months wandering aimlessly through the woods. Harry with the weight of the world on his shoulders could accomplish so much once he’d set his mind to it, though she hated the fact that he felt he had to carry the burden all on his own.

“Easy,” Ron shrugged, an almost cocky grin on his face that was ruined by the concern in his eyes as he watched Harry.

Chapter Text

If a single one of their plans would ever go well, Hermione bitterly thought to herself as she prepared herself to be drowned by millions of pieces of burning gold decorations and coins, it would be a bloody miracle. 

Griphook was running away with the sword, betraying them before they could get a chance to betray him first. Dozens of armed and furious goblins were rushing into the vault, furious and bloodthirsty, certainly not ones to forgive and forget, and she didn’t even know if Harry had managed to grab the Horcrux. 

She wished, just once, that something could manage to go right for them.

She struggled to stay above the multiplying sea of scalding gold, and blinked as she heard Harry call out a stunning spell at one of the oncoming goblins. She quickly raised Bellatrix’s wand above the attacking sea of items swallowing her up and called out spells alongside Ron and Harry as they struggled their way out of the vault.

Hermione wanted to ask what was next, what the plan was, because from her view they were pinned in on all sides. She could hear more goblins racing toward them, so they couldn’t go back up and even if they managed to, who knew what would be waiting for them on the streets above. Death Eaters? Undoubtedly. Furious goblins? Yes. Voldemort himself?

She hoped not. She really, really hoped not. 

And should they go deeper? What point was there, but to be lost in a maze of vaults and traps that their pursuers knew far better than they ever could?

So Hermione couldn’t manage to claw a plan together, and she couldn’t help but worry that by struggling she was dooming them completely. 

She should have learned years ago to not underestimate Harry, though. She needed to stop forgetting how incredibly clever he could be. He had always come through when they were caught in an inescapable corner, even if it was in ways she was almost certain were meant to drive her certifiably insane.

“Come on!” He called back as he freed the trapped and tortured dragon the Goblins had guarding the vaults. 

“WHAT?!” Hermione cried as she watched Harry begin to scramble up the dragon’s back. She slowed, though she hadn’t meant to. But… What did he think he was doing?

Ron grabbed her and pushed her forward, practically forcing her up the dragon as she balked. 

“Come on, come on,” He urged, panting as he hurried up right after.

With a roar that sounded more like a scream than any other noise she had ever heard from a creature the dragon surged up into the air, and she nearly choked on the cry that tried to tear out of her throat, clutching on desperately as she tried her best not to think of falling of to her death. 

Then, as she watched the dragon soar up toward the tunnel’s stone ceiling above them, Hermone’s greatest fear became that they were going to crash into the ceiling and then they would fall toward their painful death. 

But the dragon was determined to be free after an untold amount of time trapped underground, chained up and tortured, and so with a burst of fire and another scream it began to claw its way through the stone desperately.

She took a deep, bracing breath and forced her wand hand to let go, quivering uncontrollably as she pointed the wand up to help carve away the stone, Harry and Ron following her lead a few moments later. 

She screamed spells out until her voice was raw, hearing the clamor of the goblins beneath them get further and further away, and then just when she wasn’t sure they’d ever be free the dragon burst through the ground into the marble halls of the bank.

And then, with one final scream, the dragon burst out of the building with them still on it’s back, and they were flying away.

They flew for hours, Hermione clinging desperately and unwilling to shift one iota for fear of falling. She was shaking from the cold of the wind whipping her bared skin, sore from the effort of keeping still, body screaming from the burns all over her skin, and she was worried at any moment that the dragon would notice them and then eat them . 

“Are we getting lower?” Ron called out, and Hermione had to bite her lip against a burst of hysterical laughter, because did he really think she was looking? Her eyes had been firmly closed since the dragon had leapt into the air. 

“We should jump when it gets low enough over the water! Before it sees us!” Harry called out. 

They were over water. That was nice to know. 

“Okay,” She called out, voice quavering. But the word tasted like a lie on her tongue because she wasn’t a hundred percent certain she could do it. Flying terrified her, but it terrified her because she was worried about the inevitability of falling. And now she was supposed to purposely fall?

Harry called out, “NOW!” And she almost couldn’t let go, fear freezing her solid. Only the horrific thought of continuing to fly for the rest of her life, along with a brief tug on her ankle by Ron just before he slipped off,  motivated her to relax her grip to allow herself to slide off the side of the dragon and into the water below. 

The water was freezing, and the shock of hitting the water’s surface rang out through all of her bones like a gong. She gasped from the pain and shock of it, accidentally letting the murky lake water in and she struggled to the surface, choking on water and straining against the heavy weight of the ostentatious old robes she’d donned as Bellatrix.

They struggled to shore, and once she had reached the grassy shore she collapsed, gasping and coughing, swearing to herself that she would never fly again as she shook and gagged. 

Once her breath was caught she forced herself up and pulled out her beaded bag, hands unsteady as she pulled out the bottle of Essence of Dittany she’d packed and began to dab it on her throbbing burn wounds, passing the bottle to Ron once he had managed to drag himself over to her. Harry joined them and once their wounds were healed enough to be manageable Hermione pulled out the spare clothes she had packed and they all quickly changed, eager to be rid of their soaked clothing. 

As if the world was laughing at them, amongst all of this Harry had another one of his Voldemort visions, which left Hermione and Ron to sit awkwardly beside him to wait.

They needed to sleep, to go to ground and rest, gather themselves and plan their next steps. They had a hero roux which was great, more than they’d had in months, and now they just needed a bit of time before whatever came next.

The news that the next Horcrux was in a mysterious location at Hogwarts wasn’t what they’d been wanting to hear, and neither was the fact that they would have to look for it to find it before Voldemort could get it.

“Hogwarts is humongous! And we have, what, a few hours? How are we supposed to find something when we don’t even know what we’re looking for?” Ron protested as they hurried away from the lake. 

They may have hated the need for it, may have wanted to protest and whine, but they moved forward anyways because they were with Harry until the end.

“We’ll figure it out when we get there.” Harry announced, which was not reassuring at all. 

When they finally reached Hogsmead, they stumbled upon Dumbledore’s brother with that odd bit of luck that occasionally hit them at the strangest times. Then there was Neville, battered and bruised and worse for wear, but so happy to see them. 

He told them, so matter-of-factly, about the torture, the people gone missing, the classes structured around terrorizing other students and villianizing muggles. The heavy weight in her stomach slowed her steps as they went through the hidden passage into the school, worried about the Hogwarts they were sneaking in to.

She knew it wouldn’t be the place she loved, her precious and magical safe haven. She didn’t quite know what it would be but it wouldn’t be the Hogwarts she knew, not really. 

They stepped into the room of requirement and stumbled upon the waiting group of battered, abused, and furious members of the DA who were ready and willing to fight. More than that, they expected a fight and were quickly growing agitated at Harry trying to wiggle his way out of the situation.

“We’re looking for something,” He flatly informed the room, stiff and agitated, uncomfortable as he always was when he was forced to come face-to-face with a group of people who expected him to lead them. “But we need to do it alone.”

“But it’s time to fight back!” A too young voice called.

“Yeah!” Another piped up, “You’re here now! That means you’ve come to take back Hogwarts!”

Hermione had absolutely no idea why people continued to do this to the boy when every single time Harry looked like someone had simultaneously shoved something disgusting smelling under his nose, had told him he was expected to sing and dance a show tune, and also that he had a 24 inch essay due and he only had five minutes to do it.

She wanted to smack them all upside their heads and demand they look elsewhere. Harry was seventeen and an absolute mess on his best days, so why did every single person in the fucking world want to look to him to fix their issues?

But as always, expectations had overcome reality. Harry stood strong on his “ I have to do everything on my own and I can’t depend on anyone else ever because Dumbledore told me so,” shtick, and the room had begun to turn on him.

“Hey,” Ron hissed before Harry could start a riot because of his stubbornness, pulling Harry and Hermione slightly to the side, “What if we let them help? We don’t have to let them know everything , but… We have no idea what we’re looking for and we have an entire school to look over.”

“Yes, I agree.” Hermione immediately inserted, not wanting to give Harry a moment to protest. He looked like he was sucking in his breath to do one of his all too familiar “ I can’t put others in danger,” lines, so she hurried to speak before he could, “Really, you need to stop trying to do everything all on your own. It’s like you want this to be harder than it already is.” Ron nodded along with her, and the stiff line of Harry’s shoulders collapsed.

“Fine,” He sighed, turning to face the room.

As they’d been talking more people had come in through the passageway, Luna and Dean, Lee Jordan and Cho Chang, George and Fred.

And then, before Harry could say anything, there was Ginny. 

She must have hit a growth spurt because she was taller than Hermione remembered, all long legs and arms, sun tanned skin and freckles over almost every bared inch of her. Her long hair trailed down her back in a high ponytail that made her sharp features stand out, and also made the fact that she must have broken her nose again more noticeable because it was a bit crooked now.

She looked over to them and grinned, a sharp thing as she breezed pass with barely a word to go and reunite with her other friends, and Hermione was half tempted to hurry after her because she had missed her so much. Harry though, well he looked like he was still trying to decide if he wanted to go after his ex or not, a gobsmacked look on his face as his eyes state glued to her until Ron none-too-subtly cleared his throat beside him.

“We are trying to find something. Something that will help us defeat You-know-who. Something attached to Ravenclaw… Important to the founder or house probably.” Harry haltingly described to the eager room. As the called out suggestions Hermione looked the crowd over, mind rushing with thought after thought and plan after plan. They needed to find the Horcrux, and they needed to find a way to destroy it and the cup. They needed to escape and disappear before Voldemort got back, and then figure out how to kill the snake since that was the last one they knew of. And then they needed to kill Voldemort.

Easy.

Harry ran off with Luna to look for clues to the Horcrux, leaving Hermione and Ron behind in a room full of people whose attitude was building more and more as they salivated for a fight Hermione knew they weren’t really prepared for.

With a huff Hermione hurried over to Ginny, determined to ignore everyone else so long as she was given the chance to, and she quickly threw her arms around the younger girl.

“I’m so happy to see you’re alright!” She gasped, and Ginny chuckled and squeezed tightly back.

“You too.” Ginny pushed her back to hold her at arms length, a shrewd eye looking the older girl up and down. “You are alright, aren’t you?”

A startled, somewhat hysterical giggle was torn from her throat, and Hermione surprised herself by shaking her head and smiling as she announced, “Not at all.”

She supposed that the lack of sleep, the stress, and the relief of seeing her closest female friend was making her a bit more loose tongued than she would usually be.

Ginny’s angular face scrunched up in concern, and she had opened her mouth to demand answers when Ron barreled into them, taking ahold of Hermione’s shoulders desperately. 

“Hermione! ‘Mione, I just had a thought!” He hissed, then took a moment to shoot a look to his younger sister to nod a greeting to her. She lifted her chin back.

“Ginny.”

“Ron. Good to see you’re not dead.”

“Right, you too. Well, Hermione, I realized that the journal was a Horcrux right? Tom Riddle’s diary?”

“Yes…” Hermione said slowly, seeing from the corner of her eye how the other girl’s face shut down at the mention of the diary. 

“Well, it was destroyed, yeah? By the basilisk fang. So that means those must destroy Horcruxes.”

“Well, yes, I suppose-”

“And there is a body of a dead basilisk under this school. Fangs intact.” Ron whispered intently, giving Hermione’s shoulders a little shake as if to drive the point home and Hermione couldn’t help her gasp as she stared up at the grinning boy with wide eyes.

“Ron, you are absolutely brilliant.” She breathed, and he flushed at the praise. “Let’s go!”

And they hurried out the door, hating that they were going out without any cover but not seeing any other way since Harry had the invisibility cloak and they were under a time crunch. Just in case they held their wands at the ready, preparing themselves for a fight.

They managed to get to the bathroom through a combination of sneaking around and stunning anyone they came across that could have potentially made trouble, and then stuffing them behind some of the tapestries along the walls or into empty classrooms. It wasn't a perfect strategy, but it got them through without any serious confrontations. 

Hermione’s heart thundered as they raced through the tunnels under the school, adrenaline making the blood in her veins burn as they hurried through twists and turns Ron hadn’t seen in years but still remembered well enough that he could guide them through.

They come upon the crumbling cavern and the basilisk held within, the flesh having decayed away years ago to only leave a massive skeleton that dwarfed them as they approached. She pictured a twelve year old Harry going up against it, all by himself with nothing but a sword and a bird, and the image was terrifying. 

They run up to the skull and pry off all of the fangs they could grab, working as quickly as they could in spite of the fact that dealing with the bones and teeth of a long dead snake-monster was a singular experience neither wanted to repeat. Once this was done they laid the cup on the ground and stood over it, fangs in hand and ready to move on, but Ron hesitated right as he lifted one up to strike. 

Just as she was about to ask what he was doing, he turned to her.

“You should do it,” He stated, “You haven’t destroyed one yet so it’s your turn. Yeah?”

“Oh. Well, yeah, I guess that’s true.” She noted, surprised. She took the fang he offered and stepped forward, uncertain for a moment as she wondered what was about to happen. All of the other horcruxes had had defenses set up and this one undoubtedly would as well. What kind that would be, though, was unknown.

“Be ready,” she warned him as she lifted the fang up, “Just in case.”

Ron nodded, face drawn with determination, and readied his wand.

She struck, forcing the fang down with all of her strength, putting all of her weight into it as she forced it through the soft metal of the cup, and she had just a moment to be thankful that the cup had been made of gold instead of iron when the screaming started.

The cup wailed as a thick black gunk began to seep from the wound , the cry so loud it caused Hermione and Ron to stumble back, hands defensively going over their ears to try and block out as much as they could, though it didn’t help. 

Hermione’s ears were ringing and she couldn’t focus, her thoughts being knocked away before she could even really think them. A chunk of the stone ceiling fell just behind them and they only just barely had enough of their wits about them to stumble forward, feet unsteady underneath them as they tried their best to run out of the collapsing cavern.

Once they were back in the tunnel it became a bit easier to run, the screaming beginning to become muffled both by distance and the rock falling on top of the cup. They raced out of the tunnel as it shook dangerously around them, keeping a careful hold on the fangs they had managed not to drop.

They collapsed once they’d managed to climb up and out of the opening to the secret passage, laying there panting on the cold tile floor of the girl’s bathroom where so much had changed for her throughout the years.

“Ron,” She panted, looking over to him, “I have to say again. Brilliant .” Because they had done it. They were one step closer to defeating Voldemort. To ending things, and now they had the weapons to take care of the rest as well.

He grinned at her, face red and sweaty from their run, chest puffing up from pride, and Hermione realized in that moment that she had forgiven him. That all that anger, all that pain, was nowhere to be seen inside of her as she looked over to him. It was a relief to know, a relief to look at him and know that they would be okay, really and truly.

Suddenly, Voldemort’s voice cried out, telling them to hand Harry over and if they did he would spare everyone. That he would be kind and merciful.

Ron cursed and Hermione vehemently agreed, rage pushing her even faster as they ran out and through the chaotic halls of the school to look for Harry, needing to see with their own eyes that he was alright and that no one would have been stupid enough to hand him over.

The coin burned, but she had to ignore it. It pained her to ignore it but there wasn’t time to stop and look, they had to find Harry, they had to find the next horcrux, they needed to keep going because Voldemort was here and she refused to let him have Harry. 

She hoped more than anything that Draco was okay, but Harry needed her more now.

“Harry!” She and Ron shouted, practically running their other friend over as they came upon him suddenly in the chaos of the halls, everyone running this way and that to prepare for a fight that Hermione, just for a moment, wanted to run from so badly. To just grab Ron and Harry and hurry them away so that they could survive at least one more day. So that she would have time to make some sort of plan, to think of something. 

She was so scared but she didn’t have the time to be, so she bottled it all up inside and ran after Harry.

“I know where the diadem is!” He informed them as they ran, dodging out of the way of a group of students who were taking a moment to practice their wand movements. Preparing themselves for the battle ahead of them. “Do you remember the room I told you that I hid Snape’s book in?”

Hermione very nearly tripped, heart in her throat as her eyes widened and she choked out a shaky, “Yeah.”

They raced back into the room of requirement, forcing everyone inside out so that they could reset it, and when they next went inside Hermione saw an all too familiar sight that had her stomach dropping to her feet and her throat tightening from the force of her nostalgia.

She’d dreamed of it, sometimes, of sitting in here and reading with Draco. She’d wished for those pockets of moments they were able to steal together more than anything during some of the moments at night that she’d held a cold coin close. It was so strange to realize that she hadn’t quite managed to remember it correctly, that it was more cluttered than she’d daydreamed of, more chaotic and sad looking.

They hurried past the tower of books that she and Draco had carefully picked through, past the stuffed rabbit she’d thrown up on when she’d touched Draco’s mark so long ago. All the way back toward an all too familiar cabinet she couldn’t help but stop in front of as the memories made her feel so unbalanced.

Harry and Ron had split away to run down the aisles in search of the Horcrux, and so she allowed herself just a moment to wallow before she had to start looking again. Just a few seconds of selfishness. 

It was in this moment that she heard voices to her left, the next aisle over. Voices she hadn't heard in a long time and that shouldn’t have been there. She started to sneak around the piles and found a table holding up a cabinet, but underneath was an old trunk she could carefully and quietly pull out of the way. She crawled silently between the legs of the table to get into the next aisle, her head carefully peeking out to see what and who was there, and she almost choked at the sight she stumbled across. 

Harry stood about fifteen feet down the aisle, stiff backed and furious, his back to where she had just emerged. He’d squared off against Crabbe and Goyle who had somehow managed to get stockier, stronger, and meaner looking in the almost year it had been since she’d last seen them.

And Draco… Draco stood just behind the two other Slytherins with his face a stiff, uncomfortable mask as he protested whatever Crabe and Goyle had just said.

Chapter Text

“We’re supposed to take him alive,” Draco said cooly, an imitation of the tone she could remember from years ago and so different from how she had been remembering him all these months.

Crabbe scowled at him, red face scrunched up a bit like a pug as he spit, “Alive doesn’t mean not hurt. And don’t think of telling me what to do! Not with how useless you and your parents have been.”

Draco’s face curled, and Hermione had to force herself to tear her eyes away from the sight of him there in front of her to instead focus on trying to get up as silently as she possibly could while they were all distracted. Breath held tight in her throat, she crept slowly forward and carefully began to push herself up.

Ron’s voice called from the other aisle, “Harry, is that you?” And her heart sank as the attention of the three slytherins shifted away from each other and Harry. They looked toward Ron’s voice but their attention stopped on her, frozen right there in front of them, and there was nowhere for her to hide. 

Crabbe and Goyle’s eyes widened with bloodthirsty glee, Draco’s with shock. Harry had not dared to risk turning around but he twitched when Crabbe spat out, “It’s the mudblood!” As he raised his wand.

Harry and Hermione were just a bit too slow, Hermione still not fully up and Harry without a grip on his wand, but Draco wasn’t. Before Crabbe could finish hissing the killing curse he’d begun to utter Draco was quickly shouting, “Stupify!” Once and then twice, watching dispassionately as the two other teens fell unconscious to the ground. 

Harry had frozen from shock, staring at Draco with the caution of someone who had absolutely no idea what was going on, hand caught in the air over the wand sticking out of his back pocket. Hermione stared as well, so overwhelmed at seeing him again. At the danger he’d put himself in by openly helping her, even if Crabbe and Goyle were stupid enough to be tricked into thinking differently if it came down to it.

But there he was, real and tangible in front of her, looking worse-for-wear with his limp hair, wrinkled clothes, and wary eyes. His skin had pulled tight along his already sharp cheekbones and he looked like he hadn’t been eating right… But he was there.

She didn’t know what to do, what they were supposed to do. Did she pretend to not know anything, to keep all those secrets tucked close so they could move forward with the facade? Did she ignore him? Were they supposed to fight? How were they supposed to handle this?

“Granger,” He uttered, eyes watching her just as closely as she was him, and the absolute weight he gave her name nearly bowled her over.

Breath caught in her throat, she couldn’t hold herself back one moment more from running forward, shoving past a bewildered Harry to throw her arms around the blond, nearly toppling him over. But he kept his feet and his arms came up to hold on to her as desperately as she was clinging to him.

“You’re okay,” He whispered into her hair, a question or a reassurance to himself or her, she wasn't sure. But she felt it to her bones and she could feel that the little pieces of fear that had dug themselves under her skin like splinters were slowly dislodging. She’d held on to so many worries about what might have been happening to him, if he’d really been holding up well, if he'd been close to breaking and betraying her in ways she had only thought of in her lowest moments. 

But there he was, right in front of her and in her arms, and though she knew that it really wasn’t the danger felt far away for just a few minutes while she buried her face into his shoulder. 

“Get the hell away from her!” Ron bellowed, having just entered the aisle, and Hermione had to force herself to turn away from the comfort of Draco to face her friends.

“Harry, Ron,” She said, trying to show them absolute calm because she could see from their furious faces and pointed wands that the situation was extremely uncertain, “I’ll need you to put your wands away. Please.”

“Step away from her, Malfoy.” Harry said lowly, looking about as dangerous and she had ever seen him. Hermione swallowed thickly, nerves bubbling uncertainty, but spread her arms defensively in front of Draco despite the boy’s hissed protest.

“You two need to listen to me,” She demanded, “Draco isn’t any danger, I promise.”

“Just because he stunned Crabbe and Goyle? He’s never even liked them!” Harry scoffed, eyes hard. “He tried to kill Dumbledore. His family tortured you. He’s a death eater!”

She felt Draco stiffen behind her, and Harry’s words had succeeded in riling her two friends up above and beyond where they’d already been. She stared at the two, people who had been with her through nearly everything, unsteady on this uncertain ground. She remembered long nights in the woods where it felt like the world had just fallen away, only her and Harry in the tent talking each other through it and keeping one another going through the low of it. She remembered Ron, just sitting beside her and trying to distract her from her worries at the beginning of this all at Godric’s Hollow.

She remembered years and years of trusting them, of loving them, of knowing them like she knew herself and she knew they weren’t going to let this go easily.

Not without the truth.

She glanced over Crabbe and Goyle, confirming they were both still unconscious, and took a deep breath.

“Draco has been spying on the Death Eaters for the Order.” She admitted quietly, voice hushed from the sheer fact that she dared to even utter the words to them at last. 

Ron snorted and Harry scowled.

“An Imperius?” Ron muttered to Harry, not managing to be quiet enough for Hermione not to hear. Hermione scowled right back, the dark and dangerous kind that made both the boys blanche in horrified familiarity, and pointed her finger at them like one might point a loaded and deadly weapon.

“You two had better listen here. I am not under a curse and I am of perfectly sound mind. You are very familiar with how someone will act once they've been cursed so don’t you try any of that with me. Draco has been working for The Order for well over a year now.”

“Then why didn’t we know?” Ron protested, voice getting just a bit higher at the end when the full force of Hermione’s irritation was directed at him.

“Dumbledore would have mentioned it, if it was over a year ago.” Harry said, quiet and confident. Hermione sighed heavily, shoulders slumped as she realised that what she needed to tell him would hurt him so, so much.

“Dumbledore is the one who told me not to tell you, Harry.” She sighed, averting her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the devastation on his face. There had been so much since Dumbledore’s death that had been forcing Harry to see that the man he had admired and adored was not quite who he’d thought, and Hermione hated to add to it.

Harry rarely thought first about underhanded and manipulated paths toward his goals, he was so direct more often than not. The idea that the man he’d loved as a parental figure had kept so much from him, that he may have been directly lied to… Harry, when he trusted, did so with his whole heart. It was why he could forgive the people he loved so easily. To know that he’d been betrayed by the person he had trusted the most and to have it confirmed time and time again over the past year…

Hermione decided, in that exact moment, that even if she already hadn’t trusted the memory of the man from what he’d done to her and Draco last year, she could have hated Dumbledore for this precise moment as she watched Harry get just that little bit smaller.

She forced herself to look at Harry, both of their hearts breaking, and the only thing that kept her from going to him was the knowledge that she’d have to leave Draco vulnerable to do so.

“Professor McGonagall is the only person left who knows. But I promise, Draco is on our side.”

Harry looked away, but Ron just looked angrier and angrier the longer she stood in front of the other boy.

“I still don’t buy it.” He snapped, “Do you really think I’d believe Malfoy chose to help The Order? Why? Out of the goodness of his own heart?”

“ I don’t need you to believe anything, Weasel. The only one of you I really need to speak with is Granger.” Malfoy bit out, grabbing Hermione’s wrist and tugging so that she would turn around to face him. His face was closed off to her in a way that it hadn't really been in a long time, but she bit her tongue against the urge to say anything because they just didn’t have the time and this certainly wasn’t the place.

“He’s held up in the Shrieking Shack, and he’s bringing everything together for this. The giants have been called, every Death Eater is here, and there are apparently some creatures from the forbidden forest that have been gathered as well. Everyone has been told to not hold back on the students.” Draco informed her, words hurried and tone urgent. She nodded her head seriously as she took it all in.

Why would he pull all of his power here, to a school he had thought was under his control? Even knowing Harry was here, even knowing how close they were getting, it didn’t make sense to her. It was an overreaction.

Unless... 

“Then he thinks this is it,” She murmured, staring into his eyes as she wondered why the world had decided that this of all occasions would be the time to have everything move so quickly that she would struggle to keep up. How could she figure out how to fix everything if it just continued to become more and more broken before she even got the chance to try? She hadn’t slept in a day, hadn’t had anything to eat in just as long, and this was all just so exhausting. 

“Okay,” She whispered, reaching up to grab on to his hand where it still held her wrist, squeezing tightly as she hoped it would clear away some of the turmoil and worry in his eyes. “Okay.”

“What’s the plan?” Draco asked, and she wanted to laugh and tell him that she didn’t know, that she had nothing , but she couldn’t. Of course she couldn’t.

“We’ve nearly made him vulnerable.” She admitted to him, ignoring the sounds of protest Harry and Ron made behind her, “We just need to get to his snake. It’s tied to his life, you see, and if we can get it then we’ll be able to end this. End him.”

Draco nodded, eyes so troubled as he thought this over. 

“Last I heard, he had Nagini trapped at his side. It’s put everyone else on edge because they don’t understand why.” 

“And you said he’s at the shrieking shack?” Harry’s voice acted as a shock, jolting and pulling their attention away from one another. Hermione turned to see her dark-headed friend had stepped close,  frowning at them with the diadem in hand and his brow furrowed in thought. 

“Yes.” Draco drawled, his tone alone bringing in question Harry’s intelligence in a way words wouldn’t have been able to.

Hermione scowled and shot the boy an annoyed look, but it was half-hearted at best because there was something so reassuring in seeing him being an asshole. A bit of normalcy in the cacophony of chaos that their lives had turned into. 

“So that’s where we need to go.” Harry nodded, decided on the path he could see set before them. “We’ll go to him and end it, just like you said, Hermione.”

“He wants you to come to him. He’s planning on it.” Draco spit out, hand squeezing just a bit too tight where he was still holding on to Hermione’s wrist. A part of her wanted to soothe him, another part wanted to smack his hand away, and she waffled in between the two different urges for so long she just ended up doing neither.

“It’s the only way.” Harry determined, eyes blazing as he and Draco stared one another down. For a short moment it was like being thrown back to simpler times with Draco and Harry fighting over Quidditch or something else equally inane, when all of their near-death experiences were restricted just to the end of the year and weren’t quite such daily occurrences. 

Hermione wanted to protest, to think of any other plan, but a part of her was forced to admit that he was right. They needed the snake, and Voldemort had come planning for a war which meant he was far better prepared than they were. If they ran he could just choose to send his army into the school to fight anyways and kill a portion of The Order, teachers, and students in an effort to teach them all a lesson. If they tried to fight in an attempt to draw him out no one would be able to say how long that would take, or how many lives would be lost.

Looking at the determined set of both Harry and Ron’s faces, she tried to reassure herself with the thought that they’d managed to get through everything Voldemort had thrown at them so far.

It wasn’t as reassuring as she wanted it to be.

“We need to go,” Hermione told Draco, who’s eyes flared with alarm that she immediately wanted to soothe and tried to do so by squeezing his hand again. “Ron, Harry, and I… We’re going to take care of this.”

“And what am I expected to do?” The blond hissed, jerking his hand away from her in a sharp movement, “Go out there and keep playing at all of this? To fight my teachers and all of the students and…” His pale face was flushed with anger, his movements sharp and agitated like a cornered animal as he glared at her.

She wanted, in this moment, to tell him that he could go. That they would end it and he would never have to worry about his role as a spy ever again. But how could she? She wasn’t certain it was the truth, and she had found that the one thing she hated the most throughout all of this was false hope so she refused to give it. 

“You could go out there and do the right thing for once in your life, Malfoy, and fight with the right side.” Ron spat out venomously, crossing his arms over a puffing chest as he tried to glare the other boy down. 

“Oh, as if it were that simple you absolute imbecile!” Draco hissed as he tried to surge forward, anger and frustration boiling over from the heat of his temper, fist clenched tightly as if to strike, and Ron stepped forward with his teeth bared as he was more than happy to fight back.

Hermione lifted her hand and put it to Draco’s chest, not pushing or holding him back but just resting it there, and he froze at her touch and looked immediately to her. 

“I’ll do what I told you I would do. Protect you.” She vowed, staring into his eyes and feeling for a moment like they were in the bathroom again, like they were pouring over long forgotten books together as secrets flowed between them in the very room they stood in. Like they were behind that tapestry all over again, all these secret moments between just the two of them that they’d held so close until now. “As best I can, until the end, I’ll protect you.”

Ron sounded a bit like he was choking, and Harry was muttering something she couldn’t quite hear, but she barely paid them any mind because Draco’s stared back at her like she'd sometimes imagined he would throughout all those long nights, whispering to a coin with her eyes closed so she could pretend. 

He relaxed, hands dropping to his side like they’d never been raised, head tilting a little as he watched her with something almost kind in his eyes. She could feel his necklace beneath her fingertips, and wished she could press just that little bit closer to finally see if his heart beat the same unsteady rhythm as hers.

“Then I’ll protect you, too.” He promised quietly, trying to hide his words from their audience. The promise was just like the one he had made to her all those long months ago when they’d been preparing to separate, though there was a weight to it now that made her shiver. He sighed and broke eye contact with her just long enough to look down and reach into his jacket, pulling out something so familiar to her that she could feel her heart surge at the sight.

“We are supposed to burn the wands of the muggleborns that are… That are taken.” He told her as she greedily took her wand from him, and it almost felt like the magic in her sang at the familiar feeling of her wand in her hand after so long. “I managed to grab yours before it could be, and I brought it here with me to Hogwarts just in case.”

She couldn’t have kept herself from throwing herself at him again if she would have tried, though this hug is much shorter than their last.

“Thank you,” She hoarsely whispered, pulling back to yank Bellatrix’s wand out and throw it as hard as she could into the depths of the room, listening to it clatter away to never be seen again with no small amount of satisfaction. 

“And did you manage to grab mine as well?” Ron asked acidically, bringing their attention back to the fuming duo that had been watching them carefully, his eyes narrowed as he looked high and low for a fight. Draco sniffed, looking down the long slope of his nose derisively, apparently having been calmed away from his urge to fight. 

“No.” He declared, smirking a bit as Harry practically struggled to hold Ron back, the blond once again on the familiar ground of superiority. 

“We need to take care of the Horcrux and then go .” Harry grit out, and Hermione nodded her agreement, still glowing a bit from the familiar wand now happily held in her hand. 

Draco watched with no small amount of interest as Harry placed the diadem on the ground, and though the two other boys obviously  didn’t want him to the looming threats of time and Hermione kept them quiet.

It was relatively unremarkable, watching the basilisk fang sink into the metal of the crown, watching the black smoke raise from the wound with a pitiful screech, so much weaker than any they’d come across yet that it was almost concerning.

One to go .

“I’ll go and make sure there isn’t anyone to make trouble for you out in the hallway.” Draco told Hermione, shaking off his uncertainty over what had just happened. 

“Then what?” She couldn’t help but ask, worried what would happen to him the moment he was out of sight. She had only just gotten him back to where she’d been wanting him all these months, real and tangible and right in front of her. And now they had to separate again?

But they both had their parts to play, their roles in this war that had to be seen through to get to the end. There just wasn’t a way around it.

“I’ll protect you, like I said. Do try to listen a bit better, Granger.” He murmured, stepping away with a small smirk and she hoped beyond hope that she wasn’t flushing as badly as she thought she was.

Stay, She didn’t say, because she knew better.

See you soon, she bit down on for the same reason. 

Be safe , she buried deep in her chest, the words feeling like more of an admission that she was willing to give. 

“Don’t be stupid, Malfoy.” She called out instead, voice weaker than she would have liked.

He grinned at that, something just a bit bigger than his usual smirk that she’d only seen on the rarest of occasions, something that made her heart seize and her stomach swoop and oh. Oh. 

She really, really wanted him to say. Because what if she never got the chance to tell him about the feelings that she’d buried beneath her ribs in the hopes that ignoring them would have them go away, only to look now and realize an entire garden had bloomed from the seeds of what she’d planted. She’d been carved empty and filled again and what if this was it, what if this was the only chance she had to tell him?

“I’ll leave that to you over-emotional Gryffindors.” He called back, turning to leave before she could blurt everything out, back straight and stride determined. 

Hermione fisted her hands at her side, bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else, and desperately wished that if nothing else she could have been able to speak with Ginny for a few moments about this. Or even Luna. Someone who would have enough emotional intelligence to guide her through the tangle of emotions inside of her.

“REALLY? Hermione, you can’t be serious right now because that was Draco Malfoy and you’ve been working with him? In secret? I can’t believe it! I refuse to believe it!” Ron stated hotly, his blustering going on just long enough for her to shove the complicated mess of her emotions to the side. It was more difficult than it had ever been before, but now wasn’t the time and it certainly wasn’t the place. 

“Enough.” Harry said, voice rough and so chilled it brought both of his friends to a stop. “We’ll focus on that later. We need to finish this.”

Chapter Text

The world was nothing but chaos when they stepped back out into it, pulling the still unconscious Crabbe and Goyle out of the room behind them so that they could allow it to reset. Spells and screams rang out in a horrific call and response that would haunt their dreams into perpetuity. Death eaters raced after students barely into adulthood with the viciousness of people who were more than happy to fall back on orders so long as violence was the goal, and students fought back desperately.

There were too many who hadn’t really understood the scope of the horrors a fight like this would entail. Too many who had thought this would be like a duel, not quite understanding that they would be fighting to the death and not understanding that they would have to kill or be killed in turn.

Hermione had a moment of hysteria as they ran, having barely called out a spell in time to freeze a death eater towering over a cowering girl, killing curse half uttered, in which she wondered why no one had warned them .

The girl turned with a thank you on her lips, tear tracks digging trenches through the soot and dust that caked her face, but they passed by unseen, hidden beneath the invisibility cloak as they hurried toward what they hoped beyond reasonable hope would be the end of it all.

A boy fell to the ground in front of them, dead, and he looked far too young to have been of age. He must have snuck in, must have thought such grand and idealistic things about the battle.

They leap over his body, no space or time to move around.

She refused to think of Fred, left behind them and just as limp as that boy, eyes just as sightless and with one last smile like some kind of twisted joke on his lips. 

Her brain treacherously thought about the fact that she would never dance with him at a wedding again, that the two they’d had would always be the only ones. And the thought made her so angry and desperate that she felt like she was choking on it.

She heard a growl in front of them and to the left, and they’re passing by in time to see the crumpled form of Lavender Brown on the ground, unmoving, blood staining the stone beneath her, and the hunched monstrous form of Fenrir Greyback over her.

Her brain couldn’t quite figure it out, couldn’t quite understand the fact that Lavender Brown, who had been so vivaciously and annoyingly in love with Ron, was lying there. That she very well could be dead. She couldn’t quite understand what the horrid werewolf was doing until he had bit down on the girl’s arm with a savage growl and she screamed out, “No!” With all the horror the word could contain, wand coming up and a spell on her lips but she was too late. 

Because a familiar voice cried out the same spell on her lips, knocking the monster violently away. And there is Draco, battered and bruised, his lip split and clothes covered in debris, throat bobbing and eyes wide, but his shoulders were set as he looked down at the crumpled form of Fenrir Greyback as he stood between the creature and the bloodied girl on the floor.

Hermione felt like laughing, felt like crying, felt like doing anything in the world to call out to him but she couldn’t. She was already running past, ducking beneath spell after spell and racing past body after body, and he was turning to an approaching cloaked figure, chin high as the mask person spit out, “Traitor!”

She reassured herself that he would be fine. That if he needed to it would be simple enough to twist this all back on Greyback since she knew that Voldemort hated werewolves and that Greyback had just been a means to an end. Draco could handle himself.

She hoped.

Staring at Snape’s body, crumpled and lifeless and without the typical terrifying aura the man had held in life, Hermione became so utterly weary it hurt.

Another body, eyes staring sightlessly up, unable to see anything ever again. Just like all the ones they’d passed in the school. Just like Fred. 

She hadn’t even liked Snape, but looking down at how pathetic death had left him she still felt like sinking down to the ground and crying.

Ron was helping Harry stand, the dark haired boy holding tightly onto the faintly glowing tears Snape had shed in his last few moments, kept safe in a slim vial Hermione had managed to pull out of her bag in time to catch the memories before they could fade away.

“ I shall give you valiant fighters a moment of rest and contemplation as you tend to your dead and see the error of your ways. Death Eaters, return to me. And Harry Potter… I will give you an hour. See what your resistance has brought, see the death and destruction you have caused, and then give yourself up to me so that it may end. If you do not, I will join the fight myself and no one who shields you will live.” Voldemort hissed out over the battlefield, his voice ringing so loudly they could even hear it in the shack.

Hermione wanted to point out that this was a terrible plan, that giving them time to gather and formulate a better strategy was idiotic even if the man felt like the Death Eaters were winning, but the drawn and jagged look on Harry’s face stilled the words before they could be uttered. 

“There’s a Pensieve in the headmaster’s office. I need to go there.” He said, not lifting his eyes from where they were stuck staring on the corpse in front of them. “You guys should go check on everyone.”

“Right.” Ron agreed quietly, as he and Hermione shared a concerned look behind their friend’s back.

They left the Shrieking Shack in a heavy, suffocating shroud of silence, stepping through the rubble of their beloved school like mourners approaching a funeral. Harry was silent as he left them to begin his trek to the Headmaster’s office, and as Hermione watched his slumped shoulders walk away she was tempted to run after him, to grab hold of him and shake him and not let him go because she could feel something inside of her, some niggling thought that wasn;’t quite able to make itself known. Something that made her feel like she’d regret if she let the boy out of her sight.

But then Harry was gone, and there were so many other things that pulled her attention away from that elusive worry that she couldn’t be bothered to focus on it for one moment longer. 

She and Ron entered the Great Hall and stared with a crippling numbness at the bodies that lined the floor, more and more being carried in every second. Students and adults hurried back and forth among the wounded with potions and wands held at the ready, but the ones they don’t approach are the ones that take her attention.

The ones that can’t be healed. 

Ron raced over to where his family was clustered around the still form of Fred, the group standing out even in the chaos around them with each of their bright red heads acting as a beacon. Molly was wailing, clutching the body of her son tightly to her as if she could will him back to life. George was making sounds she would have only associated with a dying animal otherwise, collapsed against his father as he mourned. The rest stood or sat close, weeping and holding on to each other with the new knowledge of just how fragile their lives were. 

Hermione began to walk forward, tears pricking her eyes as she readied herself to stand and mourn with the family who had accepted her into their fold so lovingly, but before she could her attention was caught by a flash of hair so blonde it could almost be white.

She turned, stunned to see the slight form of Luna squaring off against Seamus and Dean, all three of them dirtied and bloodied by the fight, cuts and bruises blooming along their skin. A large, blackening bruise took up almost the entirety of the right side of Luna’s face, dirtying her pale skin, but even still that and the swelling of her eye couldn’t manage to hide the icy glare in her eyes, so out of character for her that it drew Hermione up short.

That, and the fact that all three had their wands drawn.

“You won’t touch him.” Luna declared, voice still so light and airy even with the weight she put behind the words. 

“His kind did this.” Seamus spit out, shaking so badly the words come out a bit jittery. “His family was probably right on the front lines!”

Luna shifted her stance ever so slightly, readying herself for a fight, and Hermione was running across the room as soon as she spotted who the other girl was guarding. 

“He saved Lavender’s life.” Luna argued, and she was the only one unmoved from her spot when Hermione came barreling in, wand held tightly in one hand as she shot a glare at the two boys that was so furious it had the duo taking a step back.

“Go help with the wounded if you are going to do anything other than continue to be useless.” She barked at them, not bothering to watch the pair march off to sullenly do as ordered, instead immediately ducking behind Luna to grab on to Draco.

He’d been sitting behind the blonde girl on the floor, head cradled in his hands as he finally dropped that veil of arrogance he had always presented to the world. War, after all, was not the time for such things. But as soon as he heard Hermione’s voice he finally looked up, and when she urgently pulled him out of the room he willingly followed after despite the heavy weight of the eyes staring after them.

They didn’t go far, Hermoine couldn’t find it in herself to manage more than a hall over, but as soon as she was sure they were protected from any prying eyes of people who may wander out of the Great Hall she whirled around and threw her arms around him, holding on to the blond just as desperately as he held on to her.

She felt his tears dampen her hair and the side of her throat where he had buried his face, and she had no doubt her own were soaking through his shirt from where she had buried her own face into his. She felt his fingers digging into some of the bruises that dotted the skin of her sides and back, no doubt worsening them, but the pain was negligible to everything else. She held him closer to her, one hand clutching the back of his shirt and the other burying itself into the sweaty mess of his usually pristine hair.

“They saw me,” He croaked out eventually, lost and tired. Resigned, really, “Some of the Death Eaters. But I couldn’t…”

“I know.” She sniffed, calming down now that she had him, now that she was holding on to him and the fighting felt like it was miles away. 

He chuckled, unprompted by anything and so hollow sounding she almost couldn't identify the sound, squeezing her waist lightly where he had relaxed his grip to once their panicked crying had begun to ease. 

“Probably wouldn’t have happened without you in my head urging me to do the right thing.” He muttered, tired voice tinged with amusement. She couldn’t find it within herself to laugh, though, because it didn’t feel very funny.

The Death Eaters would doubt him now, if this all had to continue on past today. They would know he had fought against them, even if it had been only for a moment, and they would question him and his loyalties moving forward.

“You and your Gryffindor emotions.” He had always joked, but what if that was what would get him killed?

She’s thought of this during long, quiet nights when she couldn’t sleep in their forest camps, staring up at the dark ceiling of the tent and idly rubbing the coin between her fingers. Tired, over complicated musings that had seemed simpler than the chaos occurring around her. 

A true Gryffindor couldn’t manage the espionage they had been doing, not really. Too brash and impulsive, traits their house seemed to inadvertently encourage with all their talks of bravery. She knew, logically, that no one person was just one thing. She knew that to base very thing off of a sorting ceremony she’d been gone through when she was eleven was practically idiotic. 

But still.

She had secretly wondered if the only reason she’d really managed through this past year was because she had carried that piece of him with her in her mind. She’d thought herself to be cunning and shrewd before everything, but what if that wouldn’t have been enough? What if Draco had changed her during those long sessions they had spent traipsing through one another’s minds. What if she'd changed him? What if she’d become Slytherin enough to keep them alive, but he’d become Gryffindor enough to get them killed?

And sure, it was stupid and impossible. Maybe it was just that he had become a nicer person just by learning she was a living person and not a thing , and maybe she had simply become more vicious by necessity, but these were some of the thoughts that had kept her up at night.

“Sorry.” She whispered, looking up into eyes she'd spent many nights dreaming of, either through the remembered second-hand memories or through musings she couldn’t quite fully remember once she’d awoken. It was so strange to be here now, to see him so closely after only being able to imagine him as they spoke, to try and remember exactly the way he looked and sounded.

To try so hard to forget the last time they'd seen one another. 

His hand came up and carefully cupped her cheek, thumb brushing at a trace of some sort of dirt or blood on her face as he stared down at her, cool eyes calming as they stole their moments together before the chaos all had to start all over again.

“Regrets?” He asked her, quiet and careful. He looked like he was asking himself just as much as he was asking her, like her answer would answer for the both of them.

“Yes,” She whispered back, lifting one of her own hands to press against his, holding it to her as she closed her eyes and grounded herself to his touch and the moment. “So many. Too many to count. But we got here, we’re safe, and we’ve helped people. I don’t regret that, at least.”

He let out an unsteady breath, leaning forward so that for a moment she thought he would kiss her. Right in the middle of the remains of their school, still in earshot of the cries coming out of the Great Hall, only just minutes removed from violence they hadn’t truly been prepared for even with all of their planning and scheming. 

Before she had to decide if she wanted to kiss him back or if the moment was just too wrong, he gently pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes.

“That’s good.” He said simply, and she almost collapsed against him as they leaned into one another.

They had a war that had only just barely been put on pause. People they had known for years, people they had sat in classrooms with and talked with and known were just a room away, dying or dead. Ron was in mourning, Harry was in so much pain from having the weight of the world put on his shoulders, but Hermione couldn’t help but want to be a little selfish. And couldn't she be, just for a little bit? After all these months of tearing herself apart, of lying to the people she loved and juggling every single worry and danger to try and keep everyone else safe, couldn’t she just be there in the moment and not struggling to stay three steps ahead of everyone else?

She held onto Draco, and just for a moment pretended like there was nothing else she had to worry about.

“Harry Potter is dead!” That horrid voice that had been haunting and taunting them all night cried from outside the castle doors, and their entire beaten down army seemed to gasp and rush out toward it.

Hermione tore herself away from Draco where they’d just been sitting next to one another quietly, sharing a whispered conversation that meandered and had no real goal other than to finally speak to the other after so long apart. She quickly left him behind to push through the surging crowd desperately, bouncing up to try and see over peoples’ heads and not paying any mind to who she had to shove away or how.

He had to be lying.

But just outside the door stood the twisted and proud form of Voldemort, grinning widely at the horrified people pouring out of the school towards him, standing beside Hagrid as the man sobbed over the body lovingly cradled in his arms.

Hermione cried out, the sound torn from her throat against her will and so aching she could feel it in her gut. She didn't recognise the sound, it was one she had never made before, and even as it poured out of her she had a moment to wonder where the cry had come from. How could her body have made something so horrible sounding, so long and sharp and jagged that it tore her to pieces as it came out? A wordless shout of agony and mourning because that was Harry , Harry was right there, limp in Hagrid’s arms, eyes closed and he would never open them again. He would never open his eyes again.

It felt a bit like her knees had been taken away as she remembered, suddenly, that niggling bit of worry from before that had urged her not to let Harry out of her sight. Draco, who had managed to push his way back to her side, had to brace her in order to keep her standing, his shaking hands grabbing on to her forearms to keep her up as she finally recognised the reason why she’d been worried before.

Of course Harry would take the obviously fake deal Voldemort had offered, because if there was even a chance that his life could save others Harry would take it. That was why Voldemort had broken the fighting off, had given them that time. It had been for Harry to stew and fester and decide that his life was a price worth paying. She should have gone after him, should have ignored everything else besides that worry and she should have stayed with him. Then when he would have thought about dying to save everyone else, she could have talked him out of it. She could have pointed out that there was no way Voldemort would keep his word to spare them.

The stupid self sacrificing idiot, she thought as she clutched on to Draco’s shirt and cried out, throat and heart aching as she stared at the body of her best friend and realized that she had failed. That he was dead, and it was all her fault.

Chapter Text

“Harry Potter was caught trying to run away and leave you all behind to die, and was killed like the coward he was.” Voldemort hissed smugly, so satisfied he couldn’t even bother to hide it. 

“Liar!” Ron calls out, voice hoarse and cracking under the weight of his grief, but when Hermione looked across the crowd to him he was standing tall, chin jutting out even as tears streak his face. 

“I only speak the truth. The proof is right here in front of you.” Voldemort said as slickly as an oil spill into the ocean, motioning back to Harry’s still form. “Now you will see that all of you plans of resistance are delusions -”

There was a shout from the front of the crowd, guttural and almost a bit savage, and then Nevill charged forward like he’d forgotten his wand, forgotten that he was magic, forgotten all of the danger that stood before him. It was like in his grief he’d forgotten everything but his fists as he charged right at Voldemort. 

There was a flash of a stunning spell by one of the Death Eaters and then Nevill stood frozen, the crowd behind him forced to hold their breath out of fear as Voldemort began to taunt the boy, hissing promises of power and acceptance if the boy would just come to his side.

“Draco!” An oddly familiar voice hissed off to the side, and Hermione wrenched her gaze away from Nevill to look across the crowd to where Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood at the fringes of Voldemort’s lot, motioning to their son while trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible as to not grab too much attention. “Draco, come over here!” Narcissa called quietly, eyes as frigid as unfeeling glass but her mouth pursed anxiously as she urged her son closer.

Hermione realized that this was it, that this was where they had to continue forward separately and she hated it so much she wanted to scream and give it all up. Harry… Fred… What was the point if she couldn’t protect the people she cared about?

But, she supposed, that was the point entirely. After all, protecting Draco was why she had started down this path of secrets and lies in the first place. So she clenched her fists at her side to keep from reaching out to him as he left, and resolved to be strong enough to continue forward just a little longer. Just a little more.

Draco stared at his anxious parents, so openly lost and conflicted it was concerning because the fact he wasn’t hiding behind a mask showed just how shaken he was. He looked torn, which was more than she would have expected him to be, but she knew how this would end. How this was always going to end.

But when she looked down she saw Draco holding on to his dark mark, fingers practically clawing into the fabric covered burden on his arm and her heart struggled to choose between sinking and soaring at the sight.

Nevill screamed, jerking her attention away from Draco to see that in her distraction the sorting hat had been forced over his head and set on fire, and Hermione choked on the sound that wanted to escape at seeing her friend tortured in front of her, everyone too terrified to intervene. She watched for barely a moment before it became just too much, the need to do something warring with that ever present logic inside of her that urged her still, that told her to make a move would be too dangerous with the entirety of Voldemort’s forces standing behind him and ready to strike. 

Harry would have done something.

Hermione looked away, only to find her eyes automatically falling on the only other thing capable of catching her attention at the moment: Draco. He was looking around, eyes skimming the crowd of elated Death Eaters and the clearly separated crowd of the agonized resistance as they stood apart from the other. His parents in front of him, waving him forward with commanding eyes, standing beside the monster that had caused all of his pain the last few years. His school behind him, the people he'd secretly helped over the past year and the majority of which still openly hated him. Nevill’s screams hit a crescendo, the cry ringing out damningly around them all, and Draco’s face and resolve hardened.

He looked back to his parents, mask in place as he lifted his head to carefully and clearly shake his head no at them, staying right where he was. He looked so immovable in that moment that it took Hermione’s breath away, though the shaking hand he secretly slipped into hers hit so much harder as she squeezed back.

Before either of them could really register the looks of devastation on his parent’s faces Nevill was pulling their attention away as he suddenly broke free from the binding curse on him. He tore the hat off of his head to reveal his wild, furious eyes before reaching into the hat to pull out Gryfindor’s sword like it had always been there and they’d all just been too stupid to notice.

He raised the sword like he was born for it, stepping right in front of Voldemort and swinging the sword in a wide ark that drifted just a little left, and had he been aiming at the man in front of him he would have missed but he wasn’t. And before the stunned eyes of everyone on the battlefield, Nevill Longbottom cut through Nagini with a war cry, breaking the protective spell around her and causing the snake’s detached head to fly through the air in an elegant arch.

That’s it, She realised distantly, standing there and holding on to Draco’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the moment, That’s the last horcrux.

There was barely a moment for shock, and then there was only chaos as the battle began anew.

Haggrid was calling out somewhere too far away for her to reach, desperately screaming over and over again, “Harry? Harry!” And as she blocked a crackling spell sent right at her head she felt an almost savage anger at what his cries must have meant.

Someone had taken Harry’s body. These bastards couldn’t allow him a moment of peace even in death.

She bared her teeth like a feral thing and cut her wand through the air once, then again, then again, overwhelming the defenses of the Death Eaters in front of her and cutting down three of them with a stream of fire that leaves them screaming and rolling desperately around to smother the flames.

Draco was at her back, teeth gritted as he called out spell after spell against the people who only moments ago thought that he was one of them. Those that have noticed are not taking it well and are coming after him like it was a mission handed out to them by Voldemort himself, grouping together to gang up on him with cries of “Traitor!” Again and again.

Once her attackers were down Hermione risked shooting a look over her shoulder to check on the blonde teen, who seemed to be starting to struggle under the strain of having four attackers on him all at once, sweat dripping down his face and his lips drawn into a thin, tense line.

He was so focused on the four in front of him that he didn't notice the masked figure pointing it’s wand at him off to the side, just out of the reach of his periphery. Hermione saw, though, and hissed out a spell that slammed into the figure’s chest like a wrecking ball, throwing the person back and sending them toppling over the edge of the blown out wall they were standing in front of.

There was a rumbling sound as the building almost seemed to quake, and an incessant sense of wrongness prickled the back of Hermione’s neck in just enough time for her to yank Draco back, the two of them already running when the giant’s arm came crashing through the wall right onto where they were a few moments ago, stone and glass shattering and crumbling around them as they stumbled out of the way of the chaos.

It did manage to take care of the Death Eaters who had been attacking Draco, though.

Without another thought she grabbed onto Draco's hand and pulled him after her, shooting off spells as she went to take down any Death Eaters that dared to try and attack. As they ran through the entrance hall Draco yanked her back just in time for a large section of a fallen wall to just barely miss her, sailing past as it was propelled by a spell to knock into a Death Eater instead to pin them against the opposite wall and knock them out cold.

Hermione barely gave herself a moment to take a few bracing gasps of air before they were running again.

She couldn’t stop, she wouldn’t stop, because while she had Draco with her and she could protect him she didn’t know where any of her other friends were. Where was Ron? Ginny? Luna? They were gone and she now realised that she had to find them, had to keep them close just in case. Just so that there was no chance that anything could happen to them.

They couldn’t end up like Harry. Like Fred. Like the dozens of half-known people littering the castle grounds that they couldn’t take the time to mourn yet. 

They burst into the Great Hall to find two duels ongoing; Molly Weasley versus Bellatrix, and Voldemort against McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley. Everyone else was pressed up against the walls, bloodied and bruised as they leaned against each other to watch in stunned silence. From the crowd Hermione’s desperate eyes were able to pick out Ron against the far wall, Ginny and Luna standing back behind Molly as they all watched the duels with shocked faces.

The three against Voldemort were dueling expertly, as was to be expected by wizards of their standing. But the surprise Hermione felt came from the other fight as Molly fought against Bellatrix like a woman possessed, teeth bared and eyes wild as she shot spell after spell better than a seasoned duelist might as the other woman taunted her. Her fluffy grey-streaked red hair flew out behind her as the force of spells meeting rustled the air around her, typically kind face lined with fury, eyes hardened as she called out spells even her children balked at. 

Hermione looked to her side, wondering how Draco was doing as he saw his aunt fight for her life, and watched for a few moments as Draco tensely watched the two women duel, fists clenching at his side at his aunt’s taunts and laughter.

“You will never touch our children again!” Molly bellowed, one final curse flying between them and finally hitting its intended target, Bellatrix’s body thrown back from the force of the spell to land in a crumpled heap on the ground.

She knew they had never been close, that Draco feared his aunt just as anyone else had, but she honestly hadn’t expected the boy to release a shaky, relieved breath when the woman didn’t get up. At the way she would never move again.

The resistance in the crowd cheered, the Death Eaters were stunned silent at their highest ranking member being taken down, and Voldemort screamed out his fury as he finally cut down his opponents with a single spell.

And then… Harry.

Several people in the crowd screamed, many more called out to the boy suddenly standing between Voldemort and a stunned Molly, his chin high and his eyes clearer than Hermione had seen them in years. 

“Harry!” She couldn’t help but gasp, kept from running forward only by Draco’s steely grip on her arms.

She held her breath, caught between terror and elation as Voldemort and Harry began to circle one another, everyone hovering on the fringes as the world narrowed down to just the two of them. And they began… To talk.

“Come on,” Hermione whispered, eyes never leaving Harry almost in the hopes that the unfailing attention would somehow protect him. Harry didn’t want them to interfere but that was so stupid . They could take Voldemort, all of them together, and then Harry would be safe and Hermione could go over and throttle him for making her think he was dead.

“The wand is not loyal to you, Tom.” Harry said calmly, and it was so strange but Hermione had never seen him so at ease. So sure of his path forward.

“I killed Severus, so the wand’s loyalty-”

“The wand was never Snape’s, not even for a moment. It went to someone else, someone who had never touched it or thought to take it.”

“And who would this be? Hm?” Voldemort hissed, attention never wavering from Harry.

“The person who disarmed Dumbledore the night he died. A person Dumbledore hadn’t expected would interfere with his plan. Draco Malfoy .” Harry announced, never faltering in his calm and steady circular path, eyes never straining.

A few in the crowd gasped, and those close by looked over to where Draco stood, white as a sheet and looking like he was about to collapse under the weight of what had just been told.

Hermione put her hand onto his shoulder, wanting to comfort but not knowing where any of this was going. Not knowing what Harry’s plan was. Not knowing what Dumbledore’s had been. And damn them all for leaving her in the dark and making her feel so uncertain.

“Then once this is done I’ll take care of him as well and the wand will be mine fully.” Voldemort announced, though he’d obviously been thrown off by the fact that he’d missed so many important things in his grand plan.

At his words Hermione took a step in front of Draco, ready to shove the boy back and make him run if they needed to. Draco would not be harmed by him, not again. She’d make certain of that any way she had to, for every single one of her friends.

“But it's too late. I disarmed Draco weeks ago and so by all rights that wand’s loyalty belongs to me now.”

“We’ll see.” Voldemort hissed, lifting his wand.

“Yeah, we will.” Harry said gently, lifting the wand he had taken from Draco all those weeks ago.

They cried out their spells, wands thrusting forward with a bright flash of light bursting from each of their tips, and then it was over.

Just like that, so mockingly simple, Tom Riddle crumpled to the floor lifeless, and Harry caught the Elder Wand deftly from where it had gone flying into the air, face calm and almost sad as he looked down at the enemy who had terrorized him since he was a baby.

The room around them was stunned silent, and before the first cry could sound out Hermione was racing forward, tears streaming down her face as she practically tackled Harry, the boy only kept standing by the fact that Ron had done the same thing from is other side and so it allowed him to keep a wobbly sort of balance as his two weeping friends clung to him.

“Hey,” Harry said, that calm mask gone now as he awkwardly patted them on whatever bit of back or arm his trapped arms could allow his hands to reach. “Sorry if I worried you.”

“You do that again and I’ll fucking kill you.” Ron choked out and Hermione could only nod and continue to hold on as tightly as she could even as they were swarmed by everyone else in the room surging forward to cling and congratulate.

Chapter Text

Harry went off with a grim face to help with the collection of bodies while Ron hurried to his family, wanting to make sure they were all alright, and Hermione found herself once again looking for Draco, worried about a repeat of what had happened earlier with Dean and Seamus.

All around her people are scurrying to action, carrying bodies either to the makeshift infirmary that had been created in the kitchen or carrying them to one of the rooms sat aside for laying out the dead.  The aurors began to work to detain every Death Eater they could catch and escort them to a now guarded classroom that had remained mostly intact, though Hermione knew more would run than they would be able to catch. McGonagall was leading the teachers in the efforts of getting the Great Hall into a passable condition since everyone was naturally congregating there, and through all of the chaos Hermione struggled to find Draco.

She almost walked right past them, hidden as they were in a shadowy little nook in the hallway that must have once held a suit of armor but now just held only a crumbled base. Draco stood before his parents with eyes to the ground as the two adults hiss urgently at him, the three of them huddled together as they tried to keep the conversation hushed.

“What would have been your plan if the Dark Lord hadn't been defeated?” Lucius asked, hands clenched anxiously over his cane, “It all worked out but what were you thinking ?”

“And what now?” Narcissa prompted, speaking so quickly her voice shook as she very carefully smoothed her hands down her son’s arms as she checked him for injuries, “They’re rounding up Death Eaters and you are refusing to leave. Just because you switched sides at the last battle does not mean that they will forgive you for what has been done. Just like with the last war they’ll round everyone they can up, but it won’t be as easy to get out of prison sentences this time.”

“We still have time to leave.” Lucius nodded.

Draco shook his head, still refusing to look up at them.

“I couldn’t take it any more, not the torture or Bellatrix or him. And I can’t leave now because…” He hesitated, looking so torn Hermione didn't bother to stop herself from clearing her throat and causing all three blondes to look up at her, startled.

“I’ll take care of it.” She promised Draco with a confidence she didn’t quite know the origins of, relieved to see his eyes lose some of their worry. “The aurors, I mean.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at the girl suspiciously. “Why would you help us?” She asked, unable to fully hide that little curl of disgust from the end of her words. 

“I have my reasons.” Hermione evaded simply, turning on her heel to march toward the Great Hall and right over to where a bedraggled McGonagall was setting up tables for everyone to sit at.

“I need your help for a moment, please.” Hermione murmured once she had ducked close enough to be certain no one could overhear.  McGonagall looked her over while obviously trying to judge if the interruption would be worth it, before nodding sharply once.

As they walked quickly through the chaotic halls, they leaned in close enough and talked quietly enough that no one could eavesdrop. 

“Draco and his parents are concerned about being arrested.” Hermione whispered, “And with Voldemort dead… I think it’s time to tell Kingsley, at the very least. We promised to protect Draco in exchange for his help.”

“Yes, of course Ms. Granger. And so we shall.” McGonagall determined before straightening her shoulders and forcefully marching forward, the crowd easily parting for her.

They hurried to the room the captured Death Eaters were being detained in, pleased to find that their search for the man would be a short one since Kingsley was standing right outside the door. He stood in front of the two aurors guarding it, the three of them having a low but serious looking conversation. Hermione hesitated a moment, suddenly uncertain about sharing this secret after over a year of guarding it so closely, but McGonagall couldn’t be bothered with second thoughts and marched right up to the little grouping.

“Kingsley, Ms. Granger and I have an urgent matter to speak with you about.” She declared, and the tall man stopped his conversation and almost immediately inclined his head toward the formidable woman.

“Of course, Minerva. Blathers, Malik, guard the prisoners until I return.” He said, his deep voice commanding easily and not even bothering to look back at how the two immediately stood at attention at the order. He obviously knew that it would be followed.

They walked a little further down the hall and slipped into an empty classroom that Hermione couldn’t ever remember being used. One of the many that had been left empty after the losses of the last war.

“What can I help the two of you with?” Kingsley asked, back straight and eyes kind, but not too familiar. He radiated competency in a way that Hermione coveted, having gone on so long without someone she could really, truly depend on with this secret outside of McGonagall. Kingsley, for all the danger and power he represented as a top member of the Order and as an auror, felt like the safest option for the secret they needed to tell.

“Since late winter last year we have been working with Draco Malfoy as a spy into the Death Eaters. This was directed by Dumbledore himself.” McGonagll confided, voice still hushed by the weight of the truth finally being freely given. 

“Moody also knew… Before…” Hermione murmured awkwardly, hating to bring it up but feeling like knowing that his old boss had known would hold some weight with the man.

“This was how I knew about the raids I warned about. Ms. Granger reported it to me after Mr. Malfoy informed her.”

Kingsley hummed, looking contemplative. “And I must assume he was promised something for his compliance?”

“Safety for himself and his parents.” Hermione admitted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and grimacing as she felt some bits of rubble caught in the sleeve scrape harshly against her skin. She needed to bathe and change, but she supposed everyone did, and no one had the time just yet. “I know the aurors are gathering up Death Eaters, and so…”

“And so you want to see to it that he is not imprisoned, because of the work he has done for the Order.” He hummed, contemplative as he looked them over. “Well, we will of course need to verify quite a bit with all three of you in order to get a better understanding of what has been done since it was done in secret, but that questioning can come later. The Malfoys can remain undetained for now, though they will be questioned for any involvement in the crimes of the Death Eaters. And if found guilty they will be punished, though young Mr. Malfoy’s assistance will undoubtedly lend a great deal of leniency. Depending on what he was actually able to accomplish.”

Hermione scowled, opening her mouth to demand better. To demand that he promise no harm would come to Draco . Depending on what he was actually able to accomplish. Draco had risked everything and there were people out in the world alive because of that. How dare that be questioned. McGonagall’s thin hand coming to rest heavily on her shoulder was the only thing that stayed the words. 

“It is understandable that you will need a better understanding before you promise anything. We appreciate that they are allowed to remain free in the meantime.” The older woman stated, forcing Hermione to bury her protests and demands behind angrily pursed lips. Kingsley nodded to them again, and followed them out of the room and back to the two aurors standing guard. 

“Thank you, Professor.” Hermione managed to get out through the frustration choking her. McGonagall looked at her, seemingly torn between weariness, exasperation, and pride.

Hermione had never seen the woman so undone, but she supposed that no one had really had time to truly prepare for the battle they had just worn. Half of the people in the halls wore their pajamas and dressing gowns, now filthy and ragged. But it was strange to see her long time teacher in the simple long-sleeved shirt and pants she must have hurriedly dressed in before the fight, grey hair falling out of an unraveling braid and sticking to her exhausted face. 

“You have done well, and so has Mr. Malfoy.” McGonagall sighed, “The two have you have worked hard these past months to carry out your mission and save who you could. Though, I feel I have to tell you, the road forward from here won’t be as straightforward as you may hope.”

Hermione wanted to stick out her chin and stomp her feet, wanted to demand to know why. Why couldn’t it be easy? They had given everything they could and so why couldn’t they just get some of that back now that it was all done? She wanted her friends safe, including Draco, and why did it feel like asking for that even after everything they had done was asking for the impossible?

“Alright,” Hermione whispered, not really knowing what to do with all of the anger and frustration that brewed inside of her. McGonagall’s strong hand coming down on her shoulder and giving her a reassuring squeeze pulled her out of her mind long enough to focus back onto the woman again.

“I’ll support the two of you in any way I can, though. The three of us will get through this.” She promised, hazel eyes hard and unwavering. Hermione looked into them and suddenly felt like she could breathe just a bit easier, like some of the heavy weight in her chest had been lifted.

“Thank you, professor.” She whispered, giving the woman a small simple before turning to hurriedly try to find Draco and tell him the semi-good news.

It took her a while, she was waylaid by far too many people wanting to congratulate her or talk to her about increasingly inane things. More than one person wanted to speak with her only about Harry, hoping for a personal tidbit or some insight as to what their savior had been doing the past year. Acting like they deserved to know. By the time she had managed to find the small family again they had relocated into the Great Hall, sitting by themselves at one of the tables, separate from everyone else and incredibly awkward looking. Everyone else seemed to be giving the trio a wide berth but Hermione didn’t bother, ignoring the stares as she strode hurriedly across the room to them.

Draco had hunched in on himself, staring down at the table as his parents sat like silent sentries on either side of him, their backs straight but their eyes uncertain as they kept watch for any threats. Their guard went up as Hermione approached, but Hermione couldn’t manage to pay that any mind because Draco had looked up and spotted her, his eyes immediately clearing of their troubled shadows as he straightened up and waited for her to reach him.

“Granger,” He greeted, his voice a bit guarded with others so near but the slight tinge of familiarity and warmth was impossible to miss if you knew him.

And his two incredibly shocked parents knew him as well as they could, though they now knew that didn’t necessarily amount to much what with what they perceived to be a sudden betrayal of the Death Eaters and his apparent closeness with a mudblood. 

“Malfoy,” She greeted back in the same way, so relieved to be able to acknowledge him openly even if it was getting her numerous looks from everyone else. She sat down across from him and leaned in close, much to the shock of his parents who were taking this all in like they suspected Hermione was about to snap and pull a knife out to suddenly stab their son at any moment. 

Ignoring them and the hissed, “Draco!” His mother let out in surprised protest, Draco leaned in as well until there was very little space between their heads, and very little room for their secret to escape. Narcissa breathed in sharply, obviously a bit scandalized by their closeness both in physical proximity and otherwise, but they ignored her.

“I had a talk with Kingsley. You and your parents will remain free, but the aurors will have to question all of you. He knows about… that now, though. I’ll make sure everything works out right, and McGonagall has offered her support and help as well.” She whispered, eyes caught and kept so easily by Draco’s as he considered her words.

“Alright.” He said after a few heavy moments of consideration, once again putting his trust in her. But he did it so easily now and the fact that he did, that they had come so far, took her breath away.

“And why would you do that?” Lucius asked coolly, breaking the moment between them easily and viciously. Hermione leaned back and away from Draco with a sigh, eyes flicking over his furious and confused parents.

She could see that beneath it all—knowing now who they were from Draco’s memories and from knowing Draco —they were scared. Their son was doing things they couldn’t understand or explain, someone they hated was offering to help, and the man they had dedicated their lives to had died not even an hour ago.

She was surprised to find that she felt a bit of pity for them, these people who would have happily killed her for the way she was born. These people who had easily watched her be tortured in their own home. She didn’t really like the feeling.

“I’ll leave this up to you.” She murmured, looking back to Draco as she stood. She wanted to wish him luck but didn't, knowing that it would probably be seen as condescending way no matter how close they had become. She wanted to reach out to him to grab on to his hand or his shoulder, even just for a moment, but she couldn’t because the weight of this thing seemed too great to share with even one other person in this room.

So Draco nodded, and she left. 

Harry was being swarmed by his admirers across the room, everyone wanting a piece of the great hero and not bothering to notice the constipated look his face held. Hermione stepped forward, ready to go over and forcefully pull him away no matter how exhausted she was at the thought of having to fight her way through the crowd, but before she could go more than a few steps a body collided into her side.

She forcefully fought down all of her fighting instincts, though she couldn’t help but stiffen as arms circled around her and squeezed tightly. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay.” A familiar voice choked out, and Hermione immediately relaxed into the strong arms surrounding her. 

“You’re alright too, yeah?” Hermione asked Ginny, twisting around to wrap her own arms around the girl before pushing her back a bit to look her over. 

Her long red hair was an absolute mess, tangled and stringy and caked with dust. Her t-shirt had some small tears in it, the design on the front practically indistinguishable now from the dirt and small splashes of blood that streaked it. She had bandages wrapped around her arms, a freshly healed cut on her cheek, and dark bruises underneath her tired eyes.

“Yeah,” Ginny nodded, shoving her rough tangle of hair away and smiling in absolute delight when Hermione pulled the spare hair tie she always had off from around her wrist to hand it over. “Thanks, mine broke during the fight. But I’m alright, just a few cuts and burns I’m waiting to get healed until after the more seriously injured have been taken care of. Mum healed the one on my face though since it was bleeding so much, and she didn’t want it to scar. Have you been checked out yet?”

Hermione shook her head, all of her aches and pains and stinging cuts hurting so much more the moment that they were brought to her attention. 

“Pomfrey and anyone else able to heal worth a damn is busy right now with the critically injured, but Mum can heal some pretty basic wounds in the meantime. Come on.” She urged, pulling Hermione along to where Mrs. Weasley was finishing up healing a Ravenclaw with a broken nose.

“Got another patient for you.” Ginny announced, shoving Hermione down just as the other girl stood and left. Mrs. Weasley’s face was caked heavily with the dust and dirt just as everyone else's was, the mess disrupted by lines where tears had fallen, all of it unable to hide how absolutely weary the other woman looked. She still tried to smile at Hermione though, and despite the fact that it was nowhere near the woman’s typical level of warmth and cheer it was still a bit of a comfort.

“So that’s where you’d run off to, Ginny. Hello, Hermione dear. Let’s take that jacket off and see what’s going on, hm?” She prompted, helping Hermione shrug out of her cotton hoodie and wincing at what she saw.

Hermione looked down and saw that her arms were completely covered by a chaotic collage of bruises and cuts, so many that a basic healing spell wouldn’t be able to handle in one sitting. 

“Well, lets take care of the worst of it. Then we’ll get you to a mediwitch once they’re a bit less busy.” The woman stated brusquely as she went to work. After a few moments of tiredly watching her mother work from the woman’s other side, Ginny leaned across her to get closer to Hermione, eyes lit up with that familiar devious curiosity.

“So, what’s going on with you and Draco Malfoy? Do you know why he suddenly switched sides?” She prodded, her mother’s eyes flicking up in their own curiosity. Hermione looked away at the weight of their stares, eyes traveling across the room almost of their own volition to land on Draco through the crowd  like a compass finding true north. 

He looked up a moment after and his eyes met hers. His parents were leaning in close on either side of him and speaking urgently, though he seemed to not really be paying them any mind as he focused instead on her. He quirked an eyebrow questioningly at her staring, and against her will her face began to flush. She quickly looked away just as a familiar smirk began to twist his lips, not even necessarily knowing why she was suddenly embarrassed but not liking that she was.

Of course, as soon as she looked away she found the mother and daughter duo in front of her watching slack-jawed, Molly looking like she was a moment away from fainting and Ginny looking like she’d had Christmas come early at this new and scandalous discovery. 

“I’ll tell you about it later.” Hermione muttered, and Ginny grinned in a way that let Hermione know she would never be able to get away with breaking that little promise.

Chapter Text

Once she was done being healed Hermione left the two Weasley women with murmured excuses, once again ready to go and track down Harry and once again waylaid by a Weasley.

Ron sat on his own in the middle of the room, head pillowed on his arms as he looked to be napping, though Hermione could tell by the crinkles on his forehead that he wasn’t. He only got those when he was thinking too hard, and they always went away when he slept.

She quietly sat down beside him, laying her own head down in a mirror of him so that their faces were toward one another, and waited for him to open his eyes.

“I need to sleep for at least ten years.” Ron groaned tiredly, and she hummed in understanding and agreement. Even ten years felt too short a time from where she was standing.

“Do you think they’ll let us take over a class room just for naps?” Hermione asked, trying to inject some humor into her friend’s troubled eyes. 

“So you and Draco, huh?” He asked with all of the tact of a rampaging dragon, though Hermione tried to remind herself that it was a good thing he was being direct. If he hadn’t been they would have circled around the subject for ages.

She really didn’t want to talk to any of the Weasleys or anyone else about Draco, though.

“Me and Draco what, Ron?” She sighed, closing her eyes against the sight of his big blue eyes staring at her and trying to forcefully drag the truth out of her through glaring alone.

“I get that he was working with us, apparently. I don’t believe it but I know that’s what he was supposedly doing.” He said lowly, the words rushing together like he knew there was only an extremely limited window of time in which he would be able to get his thoughts out.

“He just fought against Voldemort with us!” She protested exasperatedly, but he steamrolled right over her.

“And I don't know why he would have done this if it even is the truth. But I don't really care, honestly.”

“Okay…” She murmured, not really understanding where he was going with this if he didn’t care .

“But what I want to know is, are you with him? Like, dating?” He prodded, and for a moment she couldn’t do anything but groan and bury her face in her arms.

“No, Ronald. When would I have found the time?” She asked, exasperated beyond reason. It was like he’d forgotten that she’d been traipsing through the woods and fighting for her life for nearly a year. 

“Do you want to be?” He asked, voice argumentative and prickly in that way of his that only happened when he was trying to stop what he was being told from hurting him.

She froze for  a moment, not certain what to do now that the question has been asked. Now that the words were out there in the universe.

She wasn’t stupid . She’d felt that something building up inside of her since those days in the bathroom, a hint of a crush she’d shoved aside because it was Draco Malfoy. The thought itself was ridiculous, but she’d had crushes on more ridiculous and far fetched people before. Then, without her permission that something had grown beyond her control. She’d missed him, all those long months away, lying in the darkness of the tent at night. She’d imagined him saying the words he sent to her in secret, had pictured the way his smirk would curl his mouth or his stiff shoulders would slowly soften as he allowed his walls to come down ever so slightly with her. Had imagined his eyes, the way they would look at her and see parts of herself she had hidden from everyone else. Cold grey eyes that hid what he felt so well but she knew he would let her see, if she wanted to.

She wanted to.

She sighed, turning her head to look back over at her friend.

“What does it matter?” She asked, weary of this conversation, of the fighting, of being awake for more than twenty-four hours straight.

“Because I thought… Us. ” He said simply, looking at her like she has all the answers to make him feel better and she supposed she did. She just couldn’t give them to him because it would be such a terrible, terrible lie at this point.

“Ron, do you remember how terrible everything was between us before this year?” She finally asked after the silence between them had gone into awkward territory and Ron had begun to grow angry at how discomforted he obviously felt.

“Well, yeah.”

“It was because I liked you as more than a friend.” She admitted, face flushing as she felt like she wanted to crawl somewhere and die because of how embarrassing it was to give away that truth. Ron perked up beside her.

“So you’re saying-”

“I realized that I’m a very selfish person from liking you, you know.” She sighed, causing his excitement to wane out of sheer confusion by the perceived topic change. “I got so angry at you and everyone else for every little thing. I made everyone miserable, especially Lavender, and that’s not normal or good. I think… I think our tempers are just too similar. When we get angry we both just explode and I realized that if I was making the both of us, as well as all of our friends, completely miserable with just a little crush then how much worse would it be if we actually did something about it?”

“You don’t know that for certain,” He protested hotly, but she could see the hint of doubt in his eyes. He’d need time to think it over, and he’d be so angry in the meantime, but she knew that he would see it too.

“No, I don’t. But if there is even a chance of it ruining our friendship, why would I try? Ron, I’m done fighting with you. I’m done being so angry it hurts. I want my friend back, one of my best friends in the world, and I want you to understand that in order for that to happen we are never going to get together.” She urged, untwining her arms so she could reach out and grab on to his arm.

“But you and Malfoy might, apparently.” He spit out, always so stubborn.

“Maybe.” She snapped back just as harshly, the two glaring at one another before realizing that this was exactly what they were talking about. 

Ron deflated just like that, anger fading away like it had never been there as he sighed out heavily, reaching to grab her hand before she could pull it away from him.

“I’ve missed you too, ‘Mione.” He murmured, struggling for a moment to meet her eyes. He looked just as torn and tired as she felt, and that little bit of anger was still lurking in the background but she knew him well. They needed time, he needed to be able to process everything, and then his eyes would be clear and they would be able to move forward. 

She shifted with a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes against the world and all of the emotions that wanted to suffocate her.

“I do love you.” She told him, and he huffed quietly.

“Not like that, though.” He pointed out sadly, beginning to mourn something he hadn’t realized was long dead.

“No, not like that. But that doesn’t make it any less.”

He was silent for a moment, the two of them just sitting together like they hadn’t been able to for so long. Then she felt the gentle pressure of his lips on the top of her head. 

“Love you too, ‘Mione.”

“It’s me,” She heard a quiet, familiar voice whisper in her ear, startling her and Ron out of the nap they’d fallen into against their will. “Will you come with me?”

Without another word she and Ron stood immediately and drowsily followed after the invisible form of Harry.

Once they were at the stairs and away from curious eyes Harry took off the invisibility cloak, and together they began their ascent up the crumbling stone steps, all of them slowed by the weight of their exhaustion and loss but still moving forward in spite of it all. 

Harry stopped midway through a hallway a few floors up, sighing heavily before he looked back at them with a chagrined look on his face.

“I owe you two an explanation.” He said like it could be so fucking simple, and Hermione barely restrained herself from screaming because that simple sentance reminded her of all of the anger inside of her she’d put to the side.

Well, it was front and center, now.

“Yes,” Ron and Hermione snapped together, the word coming almost as if from one very upset, very mutated voice. Harry winced.

“Snape’s memories… He’d been a good friend of my Mum’s, apparently, though they’d had a falling out during school. Then with the prophecy… He hadn’t expected Voldemort to go after her. So he began working against the Death Eaters,and even after she died he tried to protect me.”

“Mate, I really don’t think he managed it.” Ron stated bluntly. 

“He did certainly have an odd way of showing it. What with being a completely terrible person.” Hermione agreed, though they both quiet at the look Harry shot them. 

“He sent us the sword. He’s always loved my mother, even now, and he did everything he could to keep his promise to Dumbledore.” Harry contested to his unconvinced audience. “But Dumbledore’s plan… The thing was that Nagini wasn’t the last Horcrux. I was.”

“ What! ?” Hermione and Ron shouted, both of them racing forward to grab on to Harry and make certain that he was really there and that he was unharmed. To make sure that he wasn’t just some sort of extremely corporeal ghost.

“Dumbledore knew and he hid it, I guess he didn’t know how I’d take it.” Harry shrugged like it was so easy, like Hermione wasn’t filled with rage to her very core at the fact that this whole time, from the very beginning of it all, the mighty plan Dumbledore had concocted had always revolved around Harry dying. 

“You… You actually died?” Ron choked out, shaking Harry harshly when the other boy nodded his head.

“The last Hollow, he put it in the snitch he left me. Once I knew I was about to die… I saw my parents again. And Sirius and Lupin. Then I went to Voldemort and let him shoot a killing curse at me because it was the only way, don’t you see? I had to give you guys a chance, and knew you’d manage even if I wasn’t there.”

Harry said this like it should all be so obvious, like he was telling them about any other day and like it was normal. 

“What the actual fuck, Harry?” Ron asked harshly while Hermione stayed silent, shaking with the force of the words that wanted to bubble up from inside of her. 

“It sounds worse than it actually is.” Harry shrugged. 

“That’s funny, because it seems like it is just all around fucking terrible!” Ron shouted, and Harry hurried to explain that the power of love and his sacrifice had saved him. That he’d met Dumbledore again in this place in between life and death and they’d talked, really talked.

Then he’d come to and he’d been alive, and he’d hidden this fact just long enough to strike.

“You sound like a nutter.” Ron stated bluntly, and Harry rolled his eyes like Ron was overreacting, not seeing that he was severely under reacting.

And Hermione, torn between terror and fury over what could have and had happened, could see the truth of what had really happened written plainly on her friend’s face. Harry, who always loved completely and treasured those he gave his trust and heart to above all else, had already forgiven Dumbledore for everything. All the plans, all the secrets that had tormented him for months, the fact that Dumbledore had been right beside him all these years guiding him toward his death because it fit into his plan ...

Harry would pretend like it had never happened, faith held tightly around him like a shield against what had been done to him and everyone else. Harry had probably begun forgiving Dumbledore a long time ago, and now all of this had apparently transferred onto Snape as well.

Harry and Ron squared off against one another, moments away from fighting because Ron couldn’t understand why Harry was taking everything so easily and Harry couldn’t understand why Ron couldn’t understand, and their stubbornness would draw the entire thing out into perpetuity if it wasn’t stopped. And Hermione had words she needed to give to someone, so she didn’t really have time to dawdle.

“We’re going to the Headmaster’s office, right? We’re just down the hall from it.” Hermione prompted, pulling the pair from their fight.

“Ah, yeah.” Harry agreed, surprised.

“Then let's go.” She commanded slowly, turning on her heel to march forward. After a brief pause the two boys followed after.

They entered the Headmaster’s office to the cheers of a hundred portraits, Harry and Ron surprised and flushing at the attention but Hermione had no time for them, eyes only on the large portrait situated just behind the desk, Albus Dumbledore looking down upon them so proudly that it made Hermione itch.

Harry discussed the Hollows with him, taking time to mend his wand since he didn’t want the Elder Wand anymore, the stone lost forever to the depths of the forest and the cloak kept right with Harry as it should be. And through it all Hermione bided her time, biting her tongue against the words that wanted to burst free.

Once he was done with his part Harry looked ready to turn and leave, Ron looked confused and frustrated, and all of the portraits looked on like the chosen one had done some great trick they were all very proud of. Hermione’s voice cracked out like a whip, breaking through it all and bringing the room’s attention on to her, though she only cared that one of the portraits was paying attention.

“Draco is safe.” She declared like she was throwing down a gauntlet. 

“Ah, well, that's wonderful!” Dumbledore’s portrait enthused, though he watched her carefully now that she had spoken.

“He is safe and I wanted you to know… I wanted to let you know that it is in spite of everything you did. You tried your best up until the moment you died to ruin what we were doing. You tried to play with him the way you’ve played with everyone else but I didn’t let you.” She said quietly, so angry she couldn’t even manage to shout the words. The portraits had fallen silent around them, and were staring down at her in shock.

“Hermione!” Harry hissed, incensed at her tone and words but Hermione ignored him easily, taking a step forward to glare at the painted face of a man she realized she could easily hate if she let herself. 

“You wanted to leave him to Voldemort, for him and his family to die if they had to, but I made sure it didn’t happen. I protected him, and I may not have protected Harry from your plans but I assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“Ms. Granger, what had happened to Mr. Malfoy was unfortunate but I didn’t think we needed another spy and the risks-” The Dumbledore started, looking sad and remorseful but she didn’t care. 

“Harry may forgive you, the whole world might, but I won’t. I will refuse to because you have done nothing to deserve it.” Hermione spat out before she turned on her heel and marched out as protests and shouts were thrown at her back like weapons from the other portraits.

Ron caught up with her in time to give her shoulder a supportive squeeze, and then Harry was running up to her, so angry and confused.

“Why did you say those things to him? He’d done his best-”

“But he didn’t! I know he didn’t! McGonagall and I had to convince him to save Draco’s life and from the beginning with you…” She stopped, hesitating at the look on her other friend’s face. 

She’d known, from the very beginning of all of this over a year ago, what Dumbledore meant to Harry. Where he would fall if her anger and concerns ever came to light. She wasn’t stupid, and she didn’t need his approval to feel what she felt.

“You can feel as you like about Dumbledore, Harry.” She offered, voice gentle now as he bristled, “I know you loved him. But the things he’s done to me and the people I care about? I don’t have to forgive him just because it will make you happy.”

Harry looked so torn, so tired, and Hermione knew that this wasn’t the time to hash this out. That it may never really be the time. So she reached out and squeezed his hand once to comfort and reassure him.

“Let’s just… Talk about this later, yeah?” She offered, not waiting for him to nod before she turned to walk back the way they'd come, hearing Ron beginning to soothe Harry back behind her.

She meant to go back down to the Great Hall but somewhere along the way her feet began to lead her into a different direction, and she was not really surprised to find herself in front of the door to the second floor bathroom, the wood of it scarred black by a spell that must have hit it during the battle.

When she stepped inside she found that the interior of the bathroom was largely untouched compared to the rest of the school, and she supposed that no one had wanted to find themselves fighting to their death in a bathroom. The floor was wet, which meant that Myrtle must have flooded it at some point, and a piece of the ceiling had fallen in, crushing the stalls on the far wall, but besides that the room was pristine.

She turned past the little half wall that kept the sinks from the door, and for some reason she found that she wasn’t surprised to see Draco sitting in his spot, having dried the floor around him off with a spell. It was a bit like déjà vu when their eyes met and she’s thrown back to that very first day, though this time the ice in Draco’s eyes melted at the sight of her.

“I was wondering where you’d gone off with the weasel.” He said casually, though his eyes were intense as they watched her walk over to him.

“We needed to talk to Harry.” She went over and sat down beside him, hiding a smile as she realized he had made his dry patch just big enough for two people.

She leaned back against the wall beside him, their arms pressed together, thighs and knees brushing as she shifted closer than they’d ever sat before. 

Hermione was a mess, bandages on her arms and her shirt and jeans ripped and dirtied, hair thrown up into a bun that had long ago deteriorated into a mass of frizz and tangles. This wasn’t to say that Draco looked any better with his expensive clothes worn ragged, dust and bruises covering his pale skin, his usually pristine hair a concerning mess with how the sweat had caused all of the dust and dirt to create a kind of mud in the mess of it.

But sitting together, looking like the most terrible versions of themselves, Hermione couldn’t help the small thrill that pulsed through her at how the barest blush highlighted his high cheekbones at her proximity. 

“Oh? And what did our savior have to say for himself?” Draco asked, though his exhaustion kept him from making the question as biting and sarcastic as he had wanted it to be.

“I don’t want to talk about Harry. Or Ron.” She declared with a finality that left the boy blinking at her with a small amount of shock. She took him in and let herself begin to relax for the first time in a long time, hidden away in this little sanctuary of theirs. 

“Oh? Then what exactly do you want to talk about, Granger?”

The war was done, Voldemort was dead, Draco was safe and so were all of her other friends. Moment to moment she felt torn between crying and laughing and passing out, and no matter how hard she tried to think of something she didn't feel like there's any other impending doom on the horizon.

She would go and get her parents, give them their memories back. She would protect Draco through whatever process they had to go through to keep him out of prison and prove his spying had helped. She’d missed her seventh year of school, and she had no idea how that was going to work.

But all of that could come later.

‘But you and Malfoy?’

‘Maybe.’

“I missed you.” She admitted simply, watching that faint blush bloom once again. 

“Same to you, Granger.” He practically mumbled, evading her eyes for a moment as he tried to get himself back on even ground and figure out what her angle was. She realised, with a type of confidence that felt more than a little forign, that she didn’t want to let him.

“Draco?” She prompted, a curl to her voice that was different and something she could only vaguely remember from when she’d first really tried her hand at flirting with Viktor and some muggle boys back home. Draco whipped his head around to face her like she’d pulled a gun out and pointed it at him, though he wouldn’t really know what the gun was.

“Yes?” He whispered back, watching her like he wasn’t necessarily sure what she was about to do. But not exactly like he cared. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” She asked, unsure where her confidence had come from, face already flushing at what she was saying but…

But they’ve just won a war, and all of that anger that had been festering had morphed into something very, very different. 

Draco nodded, starting to catch on if the way he’s starting to look at her or the building heat in his eyes is any indication.

“We’ve talked about how we’ve dreamed of each other’s memories. But… Did you ever have a dream that wasn’t a memory?” She whispered, a little surprised to find that they’d slowly been leaning in to one another, closer and closer as if they were being dragged in by gravity. 

“That’s a question, Granger. Not a secret.” Draco whispered back, caught up in the moment but not so much that he could let an opportunity like that pass him.

Hermione blinked, pulling back slightly as irritation grew like a prickly weed inside of her. She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. 

“You absolute ass, you are not that thick.” She hissed.

“I’m not,” He agreed with a sharp grin that disarmed her far too easily, before leaning in and pressing their lips together with only the slightest bit of hesitation.

All hesitancy faded as Hermione lifted her hands with a quiet sigh, cupping his face gently as everything that had been so tangled up inside of her about Draco slotted into place like nothing had ever been amiss.

He pulled back after a few moments, familiar smirk in place though the hand cupping the back of her neck was gentle and steadying.

“But maybe you should be a bit clearer, Granger. Did you dream of me or not? And do be specific about what type of dreams they were.”

He surprised a laugh out of her, and she leaned back in with a roll of her eyes and a soft grin.

“You’ve got to earn that knowledge, Malfoy.” She murmured back before their mouths met again.

And there on the bathroom floor where this had all begun so long ago, very little else was said.