Fairy Tales

"Oh Ron, don't be ridiculous!"

"What are you talking about?! It's perfectly possible!"

Hermione looked at the red headed boy standing across the room from her, a look of deep annoyance on her face.

"I'm telling you, there's no way one man, a Muggle at that, could defeat a dragon by himself. Even if he were a wizard, which they clearly emphasize that he was not, he wouldn't be able to slay it. It's far too dangerous."

"Hermione, it's just a story! It's called fic-tion. Fairy tales," Ron said, showing her the book of children's stories he'd found hidden deep in his closet.

Hermione let out a sniff of disapproval.

"Rubbish. Utter rubbish, all of it."

"Of course it is! But that's what makes it so great!" He frowned at her. She always had been so literal. Harry just looked back and forth between his two best friends and grinned.

"Well I just don't see why people take it so seriously. Fiction is meant for entertainment, not something to build your entire life on," Hermione picked up a comic book entitled The Adventures of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle and tossed it into a box.

"You know Hermione, some of those stories do teach good lessons," Harry spoke up, while folding Ron's bright orange bed sheets.

"Yeah, that's right!" exclaimed Ron.

Hermione sighed impatiently.

"But not all of that is true! How on earth can you base a lesson on things that don't exist?! A hero rescues a damsel in distress, wins her heart, and goes off to live happily ever after. How realistic is that? Those stories promote false hope. The dream that someday, a knight in shining armour will sweep you off your feet and carry you off to Camelot." Her face was starting to flush as she became more and more persistent.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"Hermione..." Harry began, but she cut him off, shaking her head.

"No. I'm sorry, I just don't believe it's fair." And with that, she left the room. The two boys could hear light footfalls as she went down the many stairs of the Weasley home.

Seven years of being in his company had caused Hermione's patience with Ron to grow thin. Every day, it seemed, her feelings for him lessened. A simple infatuation, it had been, those first five years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Their relationship, which was in no way acknowledged by Ron, she would add haughtily when explaining this to anyone who would listen, had gone no where in no time flat.

He didn't know how to act around her, and the fact that they were constantly fighting, despite how it may have seemed to have helped, only made things worse. And now they were both seventeen, and things were only going downhill.

It may have been partly her fault, she reasoned. She was, after all, very particular about certain things like homework and the accuracy of most everything he was saying, but she was only trying to help after all. It wasn't her problem if he decided to take every one of her comments personally.

And now the Weasleys were moving out of the Burrow. Hermione's own parents were being relocated as well. It was all part of the plan to keep the families safe from any attacks. The Weasleys were purebloods (primarily wizarding descent), but they didn't show it. To support Muggles (non-magical people) and come from an "elite" group, such as the purebloods, was found disgraceful by the opposing force. Hermione's family on the other hand, consisted of only Muggles, save Hermione herself. She was in danger simply because of her gift of witchcraft, when the rest of her family had none.

For Lord Voldemort believed that only those of complete wizarding heritage were worthy of studying magic. It was due to this drive, this motive, that so many families were in danger. There wasn't a witch or wizard alive whose family was not tainted by some non-magical marriage or relation. That is, if one does not count the few true purebloods left.

Hermione sighed and sat down on the covered swing in the garden. She looked up at the crooked, but comfortable, Burrow and wondered if she would ever see it again. It was peaceful, visiting Ron during the summer. It always had been. Despite their arguments, Hermione felt she was always safe, sitting there in the garden, surrounded by nothing but blue skies and rolling hills of green. Even when Ron's parents were out, as they were this particular afternoon, she felt a presence always watching over her, protecting her. Maybe it was being with Ron that caused this comforting thought. She didn't know, and didn't care to know, because deep in her heart she knew it would be gone in a matter of days.

As soon as they would finish packing, it would be off to Hogwarts again, for their last year. It was sad, but she was excited to be able to get out into the real wizarding world. They were allowed to do magic outside of school now, being of age, but it wouldn't feel complete until they had graduated.

"What's wrong Hermione? You have that mournful look in your eye..." She looked up to see Harry looking down at her curiously. My how he had grown over the summer. It startled her to think of him in that way, but he certainly had matured more than Ron had. His outlook on almost everything was just the opposite as Ron's. Harry was more practical, more reasonable, and he agreed with Hermione easier than his best friend did.

She mustered up a grin and slid over to allow Harry to sit down next to her.

"I was just thinking about how much I'm going to miss this place," she said, looking around again. He watched her for a moment; then he followed her gaze.

"I know what you mean. It's got to be hard for Ron too," Harry said.

Ron.

He'd mentioned him already.

"I suppose it would be..." she said, almost stonily. It was enough to make Harry look at her, surprised.

"Hermione, you know," he paused, then continued, "if there's something you need to say, you can tell me."

She looked at him sharply.

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, you're acting rather odd," he said simply.

"Odd? What do you mean? I'm the same as I've always been."

Harry looked at her seriously, and she looked away, fiddling idly with a loose string from her robes.

"No one's the same now that Voldemort's powerful again," said Harry quietly. She looked back up at him; this time she was the one to be surprised.

"It's not that, it's just...Oh Harry-" she stood up and turned away from him. He sat patiently, watching her, hoping she would tell him something, anything. He hated when girls were mysterious like this. "We really should be helping Ron."

Harry sighed. He knew that wasn't what she was going to say. But when she was ready, he knew she would come around, and he'd be there when she did.

A shout from the front of the house made Harry jump to his feet and quickly join Hermione as she ran toward the back door. That was Ron, she thought, it was unmistakably the panicked voice of Ronald Weasley. Rushed thoughts similar to this ran through both minds as the two rushed through the house toward the living room.

Hermione stopped suddenly in the doorway, staring down at the floor where an unconscious body lay face down before her.

"HERMIONE MOVE!" Harry yelled, pushing her out of the way of a jet of light that narrowly missed his own head by centimeters.

Before she knew what was happening, Hermione found herself being forced out of the room, toward the kitchen. She heard the voices, voices that resembled the epitome of evil, the servants of the Dark Lord. She knew them, not by face, but by voice, and she owed it to that day in the Ministry a year and a half previous in the Department of Mysteries.

She was very close to Harry, and could feel him using his wand against the opposing group of wizards. Full-grown armed wizards against a seventeen year old. It didn't seem fair to her, but the thought was wiped from her mind as Harry turned to her with sincere concern in his eyes.

"Hermione, the fireplace is being blocked. Listen to me-" he took her trembling hands in his own and looked into her eyes, and she saw a flash of something, something she couldn't quite recognize, but that she knew was important. It reminded her of something that had happened that day, a conversation, though now she could not concentrate to think of it. "Go upstairs to Ron's room. My trunk is on the other side of his bed. Get the mirror out; it should be at the bottom. Call for help, anyone, even Kreacher, just get-someone-quickly."

She nodded, and hesitated, because a cloaked figure was approaching Harry swiftly from behind. "Harry!" He spun around, wand at the ready and stunned the Death Eater.

He turned back to her, but only for the briefest of moments. "Go! Now!"

Frantically, Hermione spun around and ran for the crooked steps in front of her. She raced up them, tripping frequently and cursing under her breath. Why now? She wasn't ready. She knew this day would come, but never this early, she still had another year of wizarding school to finish, she still needed to get a job, to find a husband. So many things she hadn't done yet, hadn't experienced. She wasn't ready to face this peril yet. No one could be.

Yet she heard him downstairs. Harry Potter. He was outnumbered, and would probably be overpowered without any help, and yet so much rested on him. The lives of so many people depended on what his actions were in this sort of battle. He knew this from the time he found out about his historical past. Everyone knew it. Harry was the Boy Who Lived, not the Boy Who Lived But Died Tragically Seventeen Years Later. This thought encouraged her.

He would not fail.

And neither would she.

Hermione reached the top floor, Ron's room, and she burst through the door-had they closed it on their way out? Ron never did-and looked around. Harry's trunk. Where was Harry's trunk?! Behind the bed! She lunged forward onto Ron's sheetless bed and found Harry's trunk open on the other side.

Mirror. Mirror. Where's the mirror?! Her hands flew through robes and books, and quills stabbed at her fingers, but she took no notice. She had to find the mirror. She searched for what seemed like hours, but was really only a matter of seconds, but she came to the stabbing realization that it just wasn't there. It was then that she realized she was being watched.

Slowly, the young girl sat up and turned around. It began with the cold mirthless laughter. She knew that high-pitched tone, mocking her, toying with her, like a cat batting a mouse that it had caught and planned to consume. Her heart pounded and she realized that he was holding the mirror in his left hand, his wand of course in his right, aimed straight at herself. I can't do this, I'm not ready, she thought to herself before being swept from living consciousness.

Harry was beginning to wonder if Hermione was all right. No, he had always wondered, since he made her go alone. Why had he done that? He knew it was foolish, but had she stayed with him, well the look on her face, terrified and dreading had told him she wouldn't have had the reflexes to fight like this. It was challenging enough having to fight five wizards on his own, but to have to worry about protecting Hermione as well...that would be near impossible.

The last Death Eater fell to the ground, a small trail of blood falling down his face from where he had hit the wall. Harry stood, breathless and looked at the mess that had once been the Weasleys' peaceful living room. Ron was lying on the floor in front of him, but he could tell that he was breathing. Quickly, Harry decided to follow Hermione to see if she was doing all right.

He took the stairs two at a time, careful not to trip and slow his progress. At the topmost step, he stumbled, but caught himself on the doorknob. Why was the door closed? Ron always left it open, and surely Hermione had as well.

Nevertheless, he opened the door and stepped in, looking around. It didn't take long for him to notice Hermione's figure lying across the bed, motionless. He rushed forward and shook her.

"Hermione! Oh Hermione, please no. Please don't, Hermione you can do this, you can get through this!" He felt her cheek and noted that it was as cold as ice. His stomach slipped and he felt as if someone had dropped an ice cube down his throat. He began to check her pulse when an idea struck him. Thoughts were racing through his head, and at this crucial point in time, it seemed the most rational thing to do. Anything to get her back...

"I know you don't believe in fairy tales...and maybe I'm just desperate...but..." he bent over her lifeless form and pressed his lips to hers, clinging to some false hope that this gesture would bring her back to him. He looked into her cold brown eyes, praying some life would come back to them, so that she could acknowledge his presence, his utter devotion to her. As he knelt by her side, he began to tremble with silent tears, the result of one man's cruelty, one man's sadism, one man's heartlessness. All of this was caused by one man. One man that stood now being Harry, a malevolent grin upon his face.

"And so it arrives, the final stage. What will become of the famous cliché of a boy, who tried so valiantly to save the one he cared about, and only succeeded in causing harm to all in the end?" Harry turned to stare at the tip of a wand that was pointed straight at him. This piece of wood would decide his fate, this seemingly harmless object brandished by the most harmful man of the age. "Say your goodbyes, Harry Potter."