Follow Through

How the hell did we wind up like this?

Why weren't we able

To see the signs that we missed

Turn the tables

I wish you'd unclench your fists

And unpack your suitcase

Lately, there's been too much of this

But don't think it's too late

Nothing's wrong

Just as long you know

That someday I will--

Someday

Somehow

Gonna make it all right

But not right now

I know you're wanderin' away...

"Someday" Nickleback

**

The secret front door to the Malfoy's estate, the one carefully hidden behind a cascade of ivy that only the privileged few knew about, swung open. The curtain parted to reveal a sandy-haired servant standing there. "Yes?" He blinked abruptly at the sight of the visitor. "I never expected to see you here again!"

Hermione was equally as taken aback. "It's Terence, isn't it?" she said with a smile. "Terence Higgs? You helped me the last time I was here."

"That was me," he conceded. He waggled his eyebrows in teasing disgust at himself. "I'm still here."

Hermione couldn't even imagine what it had to be like to be trapped in this ghastly estate for so many years. She gave him an apologetic smile. "I never got a chance to thank you--" Hermione began.

"Ah, you'd have done the same," Terence said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But what the hell are you doing back here?" He looked anxiously over his shoulder. "Master Malfoy isn't here."

"Actually, he is," Hermione refuted firmly. "My friend told me he's been staying here. I know you probably have orders to send away any unwanted visitors, but I have a feeling he won't mind seeing me." Terence gaped at her with surprise, wondering if he should allow her to enter the fortress; she seemed to know an awful lot about his master's procedures. And she did know about the hidden entrance at the rear of the manor--only the most honored of guests knew about the real entrance to the house. Anyone who came to the ostentatious main entrance was regarded with suspicion, but anyone who came to this door could be trusted.

"Come on in," Terence invited, stepping aside to allow Hermione to pass through. Hermione took her time entering the darkened hallway, letting out a soft whoosh of air when the door closed securely behind her. She had worried about getting this far. "Master Malfoy is in the second library. Walk this way, if you would, please."

"The second library?" Hermione repeated in disbelief. Terence didn't reply, and Hermione followed suit, silently trailing after the house servant as he led her through what seemed like miles of hallways until they reached a thick oak door with ornate decorations embellishing the dark wood.

"Wait here," Terence requested. "I'll announce you."

Hermione nodded, although she didn't think that was a very good idea. If Terence announced that Hermione Granger was here to see him, Malfoy might either make a run for it or casually send a Killing Curse out the door to rid himself of the unwanted guest. Of course, he would probably want to Avada Kedavra her the second he discovered why she had come here. Hermione folded her arms over her chest anxiously. Suddenly, this seemed like a really bad idea.

Terence returned. "You can go in." He gave her a sympathetic wink. "I didn't tell him who you were." He grinned to let her know that he loved to see his master taken off-guard as much as she did.

"Thank you." Hermione walked slowly through the open door, pressing against it for support as she carefully took her time shutting it after her. Luckily, Malfoy was still absorbed in the pile of parchment he had in his lap. His legs were slung up casually on the cedar desk in the far corner. Hermione couldn't help taking a second to marvel at the majesty of the library. It was even bigger than the Hogwarts library with rows and rows of bookshelves, all filled with books that Hermione would probably kill to get her hands on. A steel spiral staircase led up to a plush carpeted balcony adorned with bookshelves built into the ivory walls. Wide, beautiful bay windows lined the back wall overlooking the vast dark grounds. It was the most beautiful library Hermione had ever seen, and she absolutely hated the fact that it belonged to people like the Malfoys.

Malfoy's desk was in front of the center window, putting him in clear view of the door. When he finally looked up, he immediately tossed the papers aside and casually dropped a book on top of them. "Funny," he commented. "Didn't expect to see you ever again."

"I think you know that I'm full of surprises," Hermione returned cheekily. "Congratulations on your release, by the way. I don't think you can even imagine just how thrilled I was to hear about it."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Granger," Malfoy retorted. He looked at her almost edgily. "How did you find me, anyway?"

"Ginny told me you'd been hiding here," Hermione explained, her hands on her hips. "She was all too happy to help. I guess your love spell didn't last very long, did it?"

Malfoy just smirked. "It's sweet--you trying to be tough. You were much better at it when we were at school."

"Well, it's more difficult for me to be immature now," Hermione snapped. "But I suppose we should get down to business." She boldly took a few steps closer and looked Malfoy straight into his deadened eyes. "I wanted to thank you."

He just gawked at her for a second. "For what?" he finally demanded.

"For that suggestion you gave me. About the potion for memory loss," Hermione clarified. "I used it a few hours ago, and I have to say, it was very helpful."

"Oh, was it?" Malfoy snickered. "How so?" The glance he gave her made Hermione feel nauseous. It was as though he thought they were now kindred. Because they had both killed within their young lifetimes, he finally considered the filthy Mudblood he had taunted his entire life an equal. This atrocious act was the only thing that could tie them, in his mind.

And yet, it couldn't. She hadn't risked her life coming here to talk about that. "Well, for one thing," Hermione explained, risking another step forward, "I discovered that surprisingly enough, your father died three years ago, yet he amazingly came back from the dead to defend you in court. It was a good thing he managed that feat of magic just in the nick of time, otherwise you'd be in prison right now."

Malfoy was actually starting to look apprehensive. He hadn't thought she had heard him and Dolohov arguing after he had interrupted his colleague while he'd been torturing Hermione. He got up from his desk chair and crossed to the other side of the slick desk. "Now why would you think that my father was dead?"

"I heard you," Hermione revealed. "When you tried to stop Dolohov in the kitchen, you reminded him that I had been promised to you. Then Dolohov said that since your father had been planning coup he wasn't about to oblige to him, and then you said that your father had paid his debt to Voldemort with his blood because he was dead. I don't know how your father died or why whoever it was who killed him never said anything--unless you were the one to do it, of course--but I do know that he's dead. Therefore, whoever's been down at the Ministry defending you is not really your father. Your father would never stand up for you like that. If I had to guess, I would say that it's Crabbe who is impersonating your father, since we can never find him. I know that sounds a bit impossible, but hey, if Crouch Jr. can be Mad-Eye Moody for an entire school year, I suppose Crabbe can last long enough until he gets to Azkaban where the dementors don't give a damn if they're sucking out the right soul."

She had to stop here to take a breath; revealing all of that information took a lot of air, and she still had a ways to go. Malfoy folded his arms defensively over his chest. "And just how would I manage this tricky bit of magic?"

"Potions was always your best subject," Hermione reminded him steadily. "And after all, the Draught of Living Death is a N.E.W.T. level potion. You seemed to manage it just fine. I bet Polyjuice was a walk in Hogsmeade after that one."

"And Aurors would just let Crabbe keep drinking a potion, would they? They'd stop in the middle of interrogating him and say 'oh, please, drink that mysterious potion you got there?'" Malfoy let out a caw of disbelief. "Please."

"If Crouch Jr. could manage it, so could you," Hermione replied. "Aurors search their prisoners for Dark devices, not a simple flask. There are a thousand ways you could have smuggled it in without anyone noticing. So which way was it, then?"

Malfoy's cheek twitched nervously, but other than that, he remained unperturbed. "Why would Crabbe do that for me?" Malfoy pointed out. Apparently, he chose not to answer her pointed question, which could be an indication of guilt.

"Perhaps he's under the Imperius curse, or maybe he's really that loyal to you, or maybe he's secretly fancied you. I really don't care, but that is what happened, isn't it?" Hermione accused.

"Yeah, sure, Granger, I killed my father and didn't tell anyone because I reckoned that exactly three years later, Potter and company would try to throw me in prison, and I knew I'd need a scapegoat." Malfoy laughed in disbelief at the implausibility of what he had just said. "Tell me, Granger, do you have any proof of this elaborate scheme I have concocted?"

"I don't," Hermione conceded. "But I will get it. I can assure you that I will, no matter how long it takes."

Malfoy laughed even harder. "Granger, the second you no longer amuse me and I either finally cut your throat like I've been promising to all of these years or just kick you out of here, I'm gone. I'm a free man--I can leave whenever I want. If you can somehow ever prove this bizarre story you've spent many of your lonely, pathetic hours thinking up, they'll never be able to find me."

"Oh, I think they will," Hermione contradicted triumphantly. "Because, you see, that isn't the only illuminating discovery I made tonight."

"And what's that, Granger?" Malfoy mocked. "That you snuffed old Dolohov?"

Even though she knew it was an empty, meaningless jab, Hermione's stomach still twisted sickeningly at his words. She didn't let it show on her face, however. She knew quite well that this was going to be the last face-off she and Malfoy ever had, and she was going to win it if it was the last thing she did.

"Yes, I killed Dolohov," she admitted flatly. "He was about to kill me, so in self-defense I killed him first, and Ron, being Ron, Memory Charmed me and took the blame on himself." Her anger at Ron swelled and almost burst through, threatening to ruin everything she was trying to achieve with this confrontation. Luckily, however, she managed to shove all of her fury down and focus it on Malfoy instead. After all, he deserved loads of it.

"I killed Dolohov," she repeated with an uncaring shrug. She paused meaningfully. "Or so it would seem," she amended sharply.

She had finally stated something that had completely wiped that smirk off of Malfoy's face. He was so taken aback that he could only bark out a perplexed, "What?" in response. No snappy retort, no sneer, no filthy, derogatory remark. Hermione had finally shut him up.

"Well, I woke up convinced I had and went straight over to Ron's to tell him off for doing what he did, but of course he wasn't home." Hermione didn't bother to hide the bitterness in her voice. Malfoy seemed to be perfectly aware that the relationship she had with Ron wasn't in the best place at the moment, and regardless of what he said to her now, it didn't matter. She had him right where she wanted him. "But it was probably a good thing he wasn't there, because it gave me a minute to think about what I had just remembered. And that's when I went to Ginny and asked her to help me find you, because, actually, you are the person I need to speak to."

Malfoy knew. He knew what was coming, and he had no idea what to do. He just closed his eyes and waited for Hermione to continue.

"That's when I figured out what must have really happened to your father, but I also discovered some other things," Hermione continued on, mercilessly. "For example, the last thing I remember before fainting is Dolohov falling on top of me, which is odd, because for him to do that, the spell must have hit him in the back. The spell must have come from behind--from the door." She folded her arms defiantly over her chest. "Now, how on earth could that have happened?"

Malfoy didn't answer. "And then I remembered how you had been lying at the bottom of the stairs, unconscious or maybe even dead when Dolohov took me in the room, but by the time Ron got me out, you must have made a miraculous recovery, because you were gone. Now how could that have happened?"

Malfoy's silence was starting to irritate her, so she risked getting straight in front of him so he couldn't back away from the situation. "This is what happened--you woke up, heard me yelling for Ron, ran up there, killed Dolohov for infringing on your territory, and planned on taking me back to do--whatever you had planned for me," she spat out disgustedly. "But then, Ron threw a wrench in your little plan. My guess is that he probably was shouting for me as loudly as I was for him, so you knew he was coming. You didn't have the time to get me out safely, and as much as you hate Ron, you're not stupid--you knew how furious he would get if he caught you taking me again, and you would never risk your own life just for a little slice of Mudblood pie!"

Hermione's face was bright red with exertion, and she was sorely out of breath; she hadn't been this furious since her break-up with Ron. But that didn't stop her from jabbing her finger accusingly into Malfoy's chest. "So instead, you put Dolohov's wand next to me to make all of us think that I had done it! I don't know if you planned on Ron stepping in for me, but it wouldn't really matter to you, would it? Just as long as you got away with it and we were miserable, it didn't really matter, did it?"

Malfoy couldn't stay mute any longer. He roughly grabbed Hermione's wrist and wrenched her poking finger away from him. "Don't touch me, Granger!" he warned between gritted teeth.

Good. She was getting him really angry. When criminals got angry, they typically got sloppy and made an incriminating confession. With as much strength as she could muster, Hermione wriggled her arm free and stood on her tiptoes to shout directly into his face. "It's true, isn't it?! You killed Dolohov--not me, not Ron, you!"

"You have no evidence!" Malfoy yelled right back. "It's just your testimony against mine! That's not enough to convict!"

But he was lying, and they both knew it. Hermione gave Malfoy a taste of his own medicine by mimicking his malicious smirk. See how he liked being on the receiving end of it. "Yes, but I think they'll believe me," Hermione reminded him confidently. "Especially after our past history, I think it makes perfect sense! Once I make my statement, you'll be in Azkaban by nightfall!"

"Once you make your statement? Once?!" Malfoy exploded, throwing off all restraint, any façade of cool composure he had ever put on, and furiously seized Hermione by the upper arms, squeezing her so tightly that he actually lifted her a few centimeters off the ground. Her toes barely grazed the hardwood floor. His eyes were wild and livid with the rage he had always tried to suppress, and now that he was letting it all out, he wasn't about to hold back. It wasn't as though she was going to be telling anyone about this outburst. "How stupid are you, Granger? Do you really think that you could come here alone, tell me about what you know, and I would just let you put me in prison?!"

"No!" Hermione returned victoriously. She seemed strangely unperturbed by the fact that she was only millimeters away from death.

"Oh, so you have a death wish? Weasley's not doing it for you anymore?" Malfoy abruptly shoved Hermione away from him so forcefully that she hit the floor with a painful jar five feet away and then bounced another few feet before coming to a stop. It gave Malfoy all the time he needed to retrieve his wand from the desk. "That's fine with me!" He spat out a spell that caused an ornate dagger to pop out of thin air, and he raised it up with maniacal relish.

Hermione instinctively jumped to her feet, tentatively holding her now insanely bruised elbow. She had always known that Malfoy had fancied the idea of killing her in the Muggle way. It was just too bad that he would never get his wish.

"No, you don't understand," she corrected him calmly. Despite the rising red welt on her cheek caused by the slightly raised corner of a floorboard, she smiled broadly. "Who says I came here alone?"

Malfoy jerked as though someone had stuck the tip of a wand into his neck. His eyes, cold with pure venom and years of deep rancor, never left Hermione's face. "Bitch," he swore hatefully with every fiber of his being.

"I hope that wasn't directed at me," Tonks commented as she pulled off her Invisibility Cloak, revealing that she was standing less than a meter away from Hermione. She had been poised to jump in and pull the civilian out of danger at any moment. "I would hate to arrest you and kick your arse all in the same day."

"Oh, I don't know, Tonks," Wesley Thompson said neutrally as he, too, tossed aside his Invisibility Cloak while keeping his wand buried painfully in the side of Malfoy's neck. "I think can we manage that. I know I would love to." He twisted the wand even deeper into the prisoner's flesh. "What do you think? And while you're at it, you might want to drop the knife and wand."

Malfoy obeyed as he told them exactly what he thought, and it contained such a wide variety of colorful phrasing that even Hermione, who had heard every swear word in existence thanks to Ron, Fred, and George, unintentionally blushed. Tonks, however, only pursed her lips. "Charming. I'm going to have to remember that last one." She repositioned her wand so that it was aimed at a lower, more delicate region of Malfoy's body. "Now stay still for a minute, or else some nice, teeny, tiny part of you will be feeling all toasty warm in a minute." Malfoy scowled and remained still as Wesley cautiously removed his hold on him. He kicked aside the weapons and conjured up ropes for Malfoy's wrists. "Good lad," Tonks praised mockingly. "Maybe the dementors will give you a cookie when you get to Azkaban." She waited until Wesley had returned his wand to Malfoy's neck before gesturing toward the door. "Now move."

Wesley pushed Malfoy forward while Tonks kept her wand up and moved Hermione safely to the side. "You okay?" she asked the younger woman, risking an anxious glance at Hermione's elbow. "You need a mediwizard? I'm sorry we couldn't stop him sooner; Wesley had to move to get behind him, and I didn't have a clean shot..."

"I'm fine," Hermione reassured. "What's going to happen to him now?"

"We'll book him, there'll be a hearing out of formality, but based on everything we overheard and the statement you made earlier, we can probably cart him off to Azkaban by morning," Tonks predicted. "And if we prove that the man we have in custody isn't really Lucius, that's enough to keep him there for life."

"Good," Hermione said with relief, although she still felt like crying.

Tonks patted her on the shoulder in admiration. "You should have joined up with Harry and Ron--I've never seen anyone get a confession out of someone quite like that."

"Thanks," Hermione returned, although she was really watching Malfoy being led out of the room. He was almost gone for good when she remembered one question she had forgotten to ask him. "Wait, hang on," she demanded while striding back to the center of the room. Wesley obeyed, pivoting Malfoy back to face her. "Why did you do that to Filch?"

Malfoy laughed so hard that mirthless tears actually sparkled in his eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he repeated once again.

"I'm sorry, I don't think that," Wesley jabbed the wand so hard that the tip broke through the epidermis, leaving behind a small puncture wound, "was the answer she was looking for."

One of the tears escaped and slid down Malfoy's resentfully proud nose. "He asked me to," Malfoy revealed, still laughing without smiling. "He came here and begged me to do something--he couldn't live a life without magic any longer. It was driving him mad, and I was the only one he could turn to. I don't know how he knew I was here, but he was so crazed, it didn't matter. I knew Dad had done it a few times, and I found the book he used, so I took the magic out of Terence and stuck it in Filch. I never realized that it would actually kill the poor bastard." His borderline maniacal laughter subsided, and he gave Hermione one last resentful glare. "Guess that's what I get for trying to do a good deed, right?"

Hermione didn't feel like pointing out to him that it could hardly be constituted as a good deed, considering that he had probably ruined Terence's life by doing it. "Have a nice life, Malfoy," she said flatly instead.

Malfoy still had enough arrogance in him to give her that smirk that had infuriated her on many, many occasions in the past ten years. "Rot in hell, Granger," he returned in the same voice. And without further ado, he turned and strode into the corridor, Wesley right behind him.

"I should follow them," Tonks said as she laid a hand on Hermione's uninjured arm. "Are you going to be in here for a minute or two?"

"Of course," Hermione replied.

"We'll have another squad in here in a few minutes, and we'll have someone take you home, all right?" Hermione nodded her gratitude, and Tonks gave Hermione's arm a thankful squeeze. "You were really brave tonight, Hermione."

Hermione managed to muster up the courage to fake a smile for Tonks' behalf. "Thank you." Tonks smiled proudly before whirling around and jogging out of the library to catch up with her partner and their prisoner.

Slowly, and still unconsciously rubbing her sore elbow, Hermione wandered over to the nearest chair and dropped into it, blankly staring in front of her. Now that it was over, it was just starting to hit her just how frightened she had been. She hadn't focused on it at the time since she had been so intent on accomplishing the mission, but now that it was over, she was terrified. Her body started to shake in a delayed, panicked reaction. She could have been killed. Coming here to see Malfoy was stupid, even if there were two Aurors waiting under cloaks to protect her. It only took a second to fire a Killing Curse, as she knew well enough after the new memories she had recovered.

Oh bloody hell, Hermione moaned silently. That mess. She had pushed her newfound knowledge aside when she had realized what had really happened and what needed to be done to rectify it, but now it was all crashing back. It seemed like everything was crashing down on her now in stifling, insanely oppressive waves that made it difficult to breathe. Ron had lied to her. Again. He had taken her life into his own not-so-careful hands and made an important decision for her--again. He had just turned her life upside down--again.

It now became extremely necessary for Hermione to bend forward and rest her forehead on her knees. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. Every molecule in her body was writhing with a wide variety of emotions: fear, fury, hatred, disgust, despair, nausea. The events of this day were absolutely killing her, and Hermione wasn't sure how much she could handle. When Ron got here, she wasn't sure how she was going to handle seeing him. She had stormed over to his flat earlier, perfectly prepared to have the row of the century, but now she wasn't so sure what exactly she would say to him. He deserved to be shouted at, that was for certain, but there were so many things Hermione wanted to say that she didn't think she would be able to tell him at once. Which one should she say first? Hermione bit her lip so hard she drew blood. She willed herself to stop dwelling on this with every last bit of energy she had left. She was thinking too much. Her head was buzzing so insanely that she couldn't even hold it up any longer; she kept it propped up against her knees as she tried to breathe and fought not to cry. Her emotions hadn't overwhelmed her like this since the war, and Hermione hated to be reminded of that awful time in her life. It should be over--she shouldn't have to think about those dark times in the past. She should be focusing on the bright future she had thought she was destined to have. But thanks to Ron, she couldn't. She had yet another awful memory she had to try to get over, and she could have had three years to work through that trauma, but no--

Wait, Hermione abruptly realized as she sat up with a start. When Ron got here?

"You used her as bait?!"

It was the only time Hermione could remember when she was actually not happy to hear Ron's voice. At times she may have been annoyed to hear it, but she had never before actually flinched at the sound of his voice. She should have known. Of course he would have come once he heard the news that Draco Malfoy had been captured. It was his job to come. Besides, Harry had probably told him by now about what she had done. He would have been looking for her, which meant that his empathic radar would be turned on. And that probably meant that he could feel her distress and had come running to her rescue.

Hermione sniffed hard as she stood up, hastily wiping away the tears she hadn't even realized were pouring down her face. She really didn't want to be rescued by him right now. His voice had echoed into the room, indicating that he might still be a good distance away; he had a habit of yelling rather loudly whenever he was furious, so for all she knew, he could be at the front door. The fact that she hadn't heard Tonks or Wesley's defensive remarks was another good sign. It meant that they weren't standing anywhere near the door. She could still have time to escape.

Hugging herself, Hermione walked as fast as she could out of the library. If she somehow made it outside, she could Apparate home before anyone realized she was gone. Of course, Ron would be worried sick if she just disappeared. She halted just as abruptly. Ron didn't deserve to hear an explanation about her whereabouts, but she couldn't bear not to give him one. She would be able to sense his concern and feel guilty about it, and if Hermione felt another emotion right now, she was going to explode. She had to face him, just for a moment, and then go home and figure things out.

"There you are!" Ron made it all the way down the corridor to her in just three long, anxious strides. He didn't waste his time with any more words; he had already folded her comfortingly into his arms before she could do another thing.

Oh, hell, there was that one more blasted emotion.

He was so worried about her. He loved her so much. She had actually wondered if he would have the gall to be angry at her for taking that potion, for going behind his back to have Tonks and Wesley capture Malfoy, and for agreeing--and actually suggesting to the Aurors--that she be the bait to lure Malfoy into a confession. For her own sanity, she had needed to be the one to confront Malfoy about what he had done. She knew that Ron would never agree to let her do it, and because she hadn't been able to face him, she had gone to his competition instead. But he wasn't. He wasn't angry at all. All she felt was that blasted glorious, deep, unconditional love he had for her. It was coursing through her like a deluge of scorching potion, conflicting terribly with everything else that was boiling away inside of her. Now she didn't know what to do. She hadn't known what to do earlier either, but now it was worse than ever. She was at a complete loss.

She was crying again, so hard that her breath was barely eking out of her lungs in sharp, high-pitched squeaks. She hated that desperate sound, but it only made her cry even harder. She hated so many things right now. She hated that she was standing in this beautiful library that she couldn't have. She hated that she had almost been killed. She hated that Ron was holding her just as she had hoped he would; yet she was taking no comfort in it. She had never hated so much in her entire life, and for a girl who loved so much and rarely hated, it was exhausting. This was why Voldemort could never have survived, even if Harry hadn't been there; bitter hatred consumes you and will eventually eat you alive, as Hermione was learning at a desperately accelerating rate. Against her will, she sank deeper into Ron out of sheer exhaustion, and he instinctively tightened his hold on her. It was when his reassuringly steady breath warmly blew on her ear that she finally realized that something had to be done.

"Let go," she choked out finally, weakly pushing free of the one place that had ever really felt like home. Perplexed, Ron complied, but he understood when he saw her face.

"You still mad at me, huh?" His hands shot out when she swayed ever so slightly. Hermione pushed him away as she steadied herself on her own. "Yeah," he answered his own question dejectedly. "Harry mentioned he had never seen you that furious before."

Hermione couldn't speak; she just wiped her face in annoyance while struggling to breathe. Ron forced himself to take a minute to actually think before he spoke again. He didn't think he could explain in words what it did to him whenever he saw her face fall and her eyes well with tears. It made him want to tear the world upside down and inflict severe, devastating damage on anything or anyone who might think to do something even remotely horrible to her, and that's why he had done what he did. But Hermione would never understand that fierce protectiveness; it was a guy thing, he knew, and even someone as brilliant as Hermione would never fully comprehend what he had gone through when she had collapsed into him, her slight body racking with sobs over what she had done.

Ron just looked at her for a long moment, wanting to either go kill Malfoy with his bare hands or burst out into tears himself. She was so pale, and it wasn't very often that she cried this heartbreakingly. Hermione cried probably more than the average girl since she was so sympathetic and rather emotional, but now that he thought about it, she hadn't cried in a while--or at least that he had seen; he had been away a lot more than usual. He knew that she wouldn't let him touch her, so he would have to say something brilliant to make this all stop. And he had to make it stop quickly; he couldn't stand it much longer. It felt like a part of him was physically dying to see her like this, and Ron knew he had to do whatever was possible to make it stop before he lost it completely.

"I'm sorry," he finally tried. "If I had known--" His Adam's apple bobbed guiltily. "--I mean, you told me that you had been the one to kill him, and I did say that you wouldn't like it, but you told me to do it anyway--but I guess you don't want to hear excuses, do you?" He stooped slightly to meet Hermione's eyes. "I really am sorry," he said sincerely, but Hermione wouldn't relent. Ron sighed and stepped back, leaning against a nearby table. "All right then, let's have it," he said wearily. "What do you want from me?"

Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble out through the tears. She wanted so many things right now that she didn't even know where to begin. "I-I--I want to go home," Hermione said in a broken, barely audible voice, her eyes on the floor. She couldn't look at Ron anymore; it caused too much to rise up in her, and she was already undeniably dizzy. "I want you to stay here, and I want to leave, so please--just let me leave."

She started to shuffle away, but Ron wasn't about to cater to that request. "That's what you want?" he said in honest disbelief. "You don't want to fight?"

"Do you think I like to fight with you? Do you think I like this?" Hermione shouted from a hidden recess of anger that she didn't even realize was there. She wondered how many of those secret pockets there were lurking inside of her. Goodness, she was discovering all sorts of secrets today.

Ron blinked. "But we're so good at it," he explained awkwardly. His brain caught up with him, and he shook his head slightly when he realized how stupid that comment had been. "And since when do you not want to work things out? It's not like you to walk away from a problem."

"I know, I know, but I can't, Ron," she admitted weakly. "It's taking everything I have just to keep standing right now, and it actually hurts to talk to you, and I can't breathe properly, and--damn it!" she burst out, covering her face with her trembling hands. She couldn't even articulate her thoughts anymore, and the few fragments of her rambling thoughts that had managed to come through were so disconnected that she must sound like she had gone mad.

Much to her dismay and relief, Ron's hands were back on her arms. "Hermione," he said slowly with forced calm. "I think you're in shock. We need to get you home."

"I'm trying to go," Hermione barked in a voice she barely recognized. "I want to go, but I don't want you to come with me!"

She couldn't suppress a miserable wail as Ron's hurt burst through the tidal wave of emotions that were drowning her. Now she felt even worse. But she shouldn't feel bad, because he deserved it after what he had done to her. She also loved him, however, so it shouldn't matter what he did. She should never willingly hurt him, not that she just had.... Oh, dear God, please stop thinking, Hermione screamed at herself internally, irrationally wanting to rip her hair out.

"Fine," Ron said hollowly. There was no anger in his voice, only suppressed hurt. "At least let me get Harry to take you. If it can't be me, I want it to be Harry, okay?"

"Okay," Hermione agreed dazedly. She glanced around the room as if she expected Harry to pop out from behind a bookshelf. "Where is he?"

"I'll go get him," Ron said hastily. "You just sit down for a minute and get yourself together, and I'll tell Harry to come take you home, okay?" The sharp concern in his voice was making Hermione more confused than ever, and she gratefully dropped back down into the chair she had been hunkering in earlier. Should she forgive him? "Can I--can I come see you tomorrow?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes." Hermione's earlier cascade of anger, fear, and hatred had abruptly vanished, leaving behind only the numbingly cold exhaustion and spiraling dizziness that was making her want to fall into her bed and lose herself in a beautiful oblivion. "Come by tomorrow morning--I'll be ready to talk then," she promised.

"I will," Ron agreed. A trace of his lopsided smile flickered across his face. Hermione could feel the hope that had blossomed once again in his heart. He was now convinced that they could work through this.

She, on the other hand, did not share that confidence.