Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

"Wait, wait, wait." Ginny Weasley held up a hand. "Stop right there." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "What do you mean by a very good time?"

"Ginny!" protested Hermione with a roll of her eyes. "Honestly--you're as bad as your brother!"

"So what did you do, then?" Ginny asked eagerly as they continued to walk around the lake. They were ignoring the bitter cold of the late morning in order to ensure that their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

"Ron insisted that I stay out of the tower until the firewhisky had worn off," Hermione explained. "He didn't want students to see me when I was obviously under the influence. Harry was still feeling a bit peaky, so he went back to his dormitory while Ron and I went up to the Astronomy Tower." Hermione's cheeks turned bright pink, and it wasn't because of the cold weather.

"And?" Ginny breathed enthusiastically, daring to hope for the impossible, that her brother had finally gotten his head out of his ass.

"And we talked," Hermione said simply, tucking some hair behind her ear.

"Oh no you don't," Ginny countered, and shook her head firmly. "You always play with your hair when you're hiding something, and I am not missing Hogsmeade to just hear that you 'talked'."

"I told you that we could have gone down to the village!" Hermione reminded her, trying desperately to change the subject. "You were the one who wanted to stay!"

"That's because I have to meet Dean in," Ginny glanced at her watch, "less than an hour, so come on." She waved her hands impatiently. "Carry on!"

Hermione continued to hesitate, and surreptitiously glanced at her watch. She had ended up breaking her promise to Seamus and had ordered the four seventh-year boys to remain behind from Hogsmeade in order to carry out a morning detention, allowing them to go into Hogsmeade in the afternoon. The real point of this detention, however, was to enable Harry and Ron to ask both Seamus and Dean some questions about the day Ron had been kidnapped. Her job was to distract Ginny, and ask her friend some questions of her own. Harry had brought up the point earlier that morning that Ginny had spent a great deal of time with Dean that day, and may have noticed something unusual going on with either one of the boys. However, Hermione had been simply bursting to talk to someone about her humiliating experience with alcohol the night before, and Ginny had been the best candidate for a confidant. So, after asking Ginny a few casual questions and learning nothing in the process, Hermione had started to tell Ginny the whole story.

"Ron thought that some fresh air would help me sober up," Hermione finally spoke. "That's why we went up there." She hugged her arms to her chest. "He didn't want to, but I insisted that it would be the best place."

"Why wouldn't you want..." Ginny trailed off when Hermione gave her a meaningful look. "Oh!" she remembered. "That was your spot, wasn't it?"

"That it was." Hermione's eyes inadvertently drifted up toward the tower. It was very peaceful up there; even before they had used it as a secret rendezvous spot, Hermione had often come up there to find solace. She had discovered it in third-year when she had been so horribly stressed out from her overload of classes and her fight with Ron. She had desperately needed to find a sense of inner peace, and found that staring up at the night sky helped tremendously. She had used it all through fourth and fifth-year, and realized in her sixth-year that it was time to share the magic of the secluded spot with someone else. Unfortunately, it had later become a place full of horrible memories, and ever since the night Ron ended their relationship, Hermione hadn't been back. Last night she had vaguely thought that it might not be a good idea to go up there, but when Ron had mentioned fresh air, it seemed perfect. She had been filled with a sense of euphoria, as though she could handle anything.

"We went up there," Hermione continued, "and Ron suggested that we play a game of chess. Did you know that your brother carries around his chess pieces in his robes?" she asked incredulously, not waiting for an answer. "I wouldn't settle for ordinary chess, and suggested a more interesting variation of the game...."

Ginny gasped. "Oh Merlin, you played strip chess!"

"Goodness, no!" Hermione peered at her friend with intrigue. "Have you?"

Ginny sputtered for a moment before putting her hands on her hips, and avoided Hermione's eyes. "This really isn't about me, you know. We came out here to talk about you, so let's stick to the topic, eh?"

Hermione had never seen Ginny's cheeks sport a rosier shade of pink, so she discreetly hid her smile and nodded. "My suggestion was to play a sort of truth or dare chess. Whenever one of us captured the other's pieces, we'd be able to ask any question we wanted, and the other had to answer it. If they didn't, they had to forfeit another piece."

Ginny's eyes grew even wider. "Hermione, that's worse than strip chess, with you and Ron..."

"I know, I know," Hermione interrupted a tad edgily. "It was a stupid idea, but I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."

"And Ron completely took advantage of that!" Ginny raged. "I cannot believe that he would do that to you!"

"No!" Hermione instantly jumped to her best friend's defense. "No, Ron was a perfect gentleman, honestly. I think that he was under the impression that since I was a tad inebriated, I wouldn't play as well--not that I play very well, anyway--so he would get to ask all the questions. Nothing he asked had anything to do with--well, you know."

"But what about yours?" Ginny asked anxiously.

Hermione bit her lip, closed her eyes, and groaned.

**

The previous night, 9:34 p.m.

"Ha!" Ron raised a triumphant fist in the air as his knight captured Hermione's pawn. "Me first."

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly as she leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands. "Fire away," she ordered cheerfully.

Ron gazed upward and tapped a pensive finger against his chin. "Let's see. What does the world want to know about Hermione Granger?" Hermione rolled her eyes so violently that one of her hands slipped, and she giggled. "All right," Ron leaned forward. "Lowest grade on a test?"

"Oooh," Hermione breathed, brow furrowed as she thought hard. "I failed a test in third-year."

"You? Failed?" Ron's eyes lit up as he realized that he finally had some ammunition to use against her. "In what?"

"History of Magic," Hermione replied with pert honesty. "Binns is so dull, and he lectures straight from the text, so I thought that if I could just keep up with the reading I'd be able to use class time to catch up on other assignments. If I just sat listening and taking notes like I normally do, I'd have fallen asleep, since I was so exhausted from using the Time Turner." Hermione was quite amazed that she could talk so easily without the need for air. It must be one of the remarkable side effects of alcohol.

"So you failed? You actually failed?" Ron pressed enthusiastically. "What was your score?"

"70 out of 100," Hermione admitted without her usual trace of remorse. She had been so upset when she'd gotten that test back and had never told a soul about the low score. Now, for some reason, it didn't seem so awful.

Ron let out a disgruntled snort. "That's not failing!"

"It is to me!"

Ron shook his head and indicated the chessboard. "Your turn." Hermione moved a random piece. "70 out of 100," Ron repeated under his breath as he took his turn. "I get 70 out of 100 all the time!"

"And don't think I'm very happy about that," Hermione informed him. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you, Ron, that if you applied yourself, your grades would really improve!" She poked a pawn forward a space. "Then maybe you would have made Head Boy instead of that inbred ferret!"

Ron's grin returned to his face. "Glad you're finally calling him by his real name." He ordered his bishop forward to capture the pawn Hermione had just moved. "Now, for the important questions." Ron rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Your favorite Quidditch team, please, Miss Granger."

Hermione took a moment to think, smirking. The first thought that popped into her mind was to claim that it was Bulgaria, just to see if he was still jealous of Viktor Krum. She also knew that that would only hurt him, however, and she just wanted to be happy for a while. She elected instead to give the answer that would not only make him laugh, but was also the truth. "Chudley Cannons," she admitted with an exaggerated sigh.

"HA!" Ron leaned back and kicked his legs in the air in victory. Hermione giggled gleefully before moving her knight. "Why do you like them so much?" he demanded as he kicked himself upright again.

"Oh no you don't!" Hermione wagged her finger warningly. "Only one question at a time," she reminded him in a sing-song voice, and gestured to the chessboard for him to make his next move.

Ron looked disgruntled for all of five seconds. "All right," he agreed much too readily as he promptly captured the knight she had just moved. "Now, why do you like the Chudley Cannons?"

"Oh bugger!" Hermione slapped her hand on the stone floor with frustration as she squinted at the chessboard. "How did that happen?" Ron snorted and gestured to her to answer the question. "Fine." She wiped her hair out of her face. "I like them because they were the first Quidditch team I was ever exposed to. Not only does your room have so much orange paraphernalia adorning the walls that it's enough to make someone ill, but you talk about them incessantly. After you get used to it, it's really quite intriguing. Are you satisfied?"

"Quite," Ron said with smug pleasure.

Hermione shook her head and examined the board carefully for a moment. "Oh, oh, oh!" she gasped gleefully as she ordered her castle to ensnare Ron's pawn. "Your turn!" Ron conceded with a nod of his head. Hermione tilted her head the side as she thought hard, wondering what she should ask. "Have you ever lost a chess match?"

"Yes," Ron admitted. "Once," he added quickly.

Hermione's fuzzy head was getting to be quite heavy, so she stretched out on her side, head cradled in her arm. "Pray continue, Mr. Weasley."

"It was first-year," Ron explained, crossing his legs and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "in the hospital wing after the whole thing with the Philosopher's Stone. Pomfrey made me stay overnight, and it was the next morning. You were off reading Hogwarts: A History again, or something equally as boring, and Harry was still unconscious, so I had nothing to do. Dumbledore came in to check on us, saw that I was just lying around, and figured that I should be distracted. He asked if I wanted to play."

Hermione's jaw dropped to the floor as she bolted back up to a sitting position. "You played Dumbledore?"

"Sure did." Ron struggled to hide his smirk at her disbelief.

"Ron, that's amazing!" Hermione squealed. "Dumbledore!"

"It'd be even better if I had won," Ron pointed out as a laugh managed to escape his throat.

"I bet you almost won though, didn't you?" Hermione asked shrewdly. Ron's ears went pink as he nodded. "Wow, Ron, that's just--wow!" Ron opened his mouth to continue, but Hermione was already off. "I can't believe I didn't know about this! This is something that you can tell everyone--that you played chess with the most powerful sorcerer in the world!"

"You have, too." Ron looked down at the board to contemplate his next move while Hermione gaped at him in puzzlement.

"No, I haven't!"

"You've played against Harry, haven't you?" He remained quiet as he finally ordered his queen forward, and leaned back to find Hermione staring at him with slightly glassy eyes and a wide smile. "What?"

"You're a really good friend, you know that?" Hermione told him softly. Ron shifted slightly, his ears and face now beet red. "You are," she continued earnestly. "I mean, you're so wonderful with Harry, and you always know exactly what to say to make him feel better. I wish you would just talk to him instead of making me do it all the time, because I think he would open up to you much easier than he does with me." She had to pause to take a long breath. "And then there's you and me."

"Hermione," Ron said sharply, eyes wide and head shaking slightly. "Don't..."

"But I want to." Hermione didn't know why the hell she was about to tell him these things, because the alcohol was starting to wear off and her rationale was kicking in, warning her that this could be a bad idea. However, the whisky was still sending currents of courage through her brain, so she shook her hair back and looked at his profile dead on. Ron by this point had become fascinated with a crack on the ground over to his left side. "I was horrible to you, Ron, after we broke up, because you said that you wanted to be friends. I couldn't do it. That was awful, because you had just come back from being bloody kidnapped, and instead of supporting you and helping you cope, I just cut you loose completely. Instead of being angry with me when I finally came crawling back knowing that I couldn't stand life without you, you didn't even bat an eyelash! You were just there like you always had been. It amazes me that you are always, always there for me, and Harry, and Ginny, and anyone else who needs you." She choked back a sob. "I'm so sorry, Ron, I'm so sorry..."

"Hey." Ron was able to look at her when he heard the tears bubbling in her voice, and he instinctively leaned forward to place his hand on her knee. "You are not horrible, you hear me? You are..." Ron blanched as words failed him, and Hermione stared, eyes wide and tear-filled, mouth slightly open. "You are not horrible," he finally repeated hoarsely. Something flickered in the depths of Ron's eyes. God, they were so blue and God, she loved that color--and all she wanted to do at that moment was to stare into that perfect shade of blue forever. However, she remembered, they couldn't look at each other this way anymore. That horrible reminder was enough to convince Hermione that her first experience with firewhisky had officially ended.

"I, uh, I should go," Hermione managed to speak over the lump of unshed tears lodged in her throat, and she scurried to her feet. "I-I'm fine now. Thanks for staying up with me and um," she pointed down to the chessboard, "sorry about the game."

Now that she was standing, the stone barrier no longer shielded her from the January wind, which was now blowing her wild mane into her face, and biting shrewdly through her robes. Luckily, she had managed to charm their robes when they had first arrived so that they wouldn't freeze. "We can finish it another time."

"Hermione," Ron tried as he stood up to follow her.

Hermione wasn't going to let him finish, however. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I have to go--you don't mind me not waiting for you to clean up, do you?" Ron shook his head and tried to speak again, but Hermione held up her hand. "I have to go, Ron, because if I stay here any longer, I'm going to forget that we--we aren't--anymore. I know that's really stupid, but you have to understand, Ron, that sometimes when you're wonderful like this or you look at me the way you do, I forget that you don't love me anymore." She paused for the slightest of seconds but it was enough time for Odgen's Firewhisky to kill one more brain cell which caused her not to end her sentence there but instigated her to add one final damning statement. "I forget, because I still love you."

**

"Holy shit!"

"I know," Hermione said gloomily, as she raked a hand through her hair.

Ginny shook her head in slow disbelief. "How can you like the Chudley Cannons?"

"Ginny!" Hermione clenched her fists and fought the urge to stamp her foot. "Focus, please!"

"Sorry, sorry," Ginny apologized hastily, waving a gloved hand. She whirled back to her friend a second later. "You do realize that they haven't won in over a century, don't you?"

"I know!" Hermione wailed.

"Wow." Shocked, Ginny stared at her visibly upset friend. "You must have it really bad if you like the Cannons for him."

"Ginny!"

"Sorry," Ginny apologized again, " but I don't see a problem. On the contrary, I think it's great that he knows you still love him."

"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded. "He already knew I still loved him! How could he not?" Ginny stopped walking and raised her eyebrows as if to say, "Do you remember the thick headed git we're talking about?" Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. "He thinks I stopped?"

"Yeah," Ginny replied quietly.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione protested. "He's an empath."

"Empaths sense emotion. They don't rationalize why it happens or why it's there," Ginny reminded her. "He can feel that you're happy about something, for example, but he doesn't know why. He's got himself believing that when he senses your more loving emotions, you're thinking about someone else."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione breathed sympathetically. She knew how horrible it felt to find out that someone had fallen out of love with you.

"Now that he knows you still love him," Ginny continued, "maybe he'll..."

"No," Hermione interrupted fiercely. "No, Ginny, don't say it. I can't get my hopes up..."

"Okay, okay," Ginny soothed. Hermione let out a sigh. She couldn't let Ginny voice the words out loud, because she had been dreaming about hearing them ever since Ron had broken up with her. If they were said out loud, her hopes would fly up to the treetops, only to come crashing down again. She already felt that she pined away for Ron far too often already, and if her hopes rose even in the slightest, she'd lose focus completely. She had to keep grounded, and focused on other tasks. She couldn't lose herself into Ron.

"So what did he say afterward?" Ginny asked.

"Nothing," Hermione answered. "I just walked out and left."

"What about this morning?" Ginny pressed.

"We had some other things to discuss," Hermione explained, not wanting to go into detail. Ginny wouldn't be pleased to hear that Dean had been detained so that Harry and Ron could interrogate him. "I think we're both pretending it never happened. That's what we tend to do after a big row." Hermione bit her lip as she remembered the most vivid example. She thought of the blazing row they'd had in the common room when Ron was jealous of her date with Krum, and realized that she would gladly give anything, now, for that to be the biggest issue between them.

Ginny patted her shoulder sympathetically. "Chin up," she advised pertly. "I think it'll work out better than you think." She jerked her head back toward the castle. "Come on, I have to get back."

"You're fairly excited for a trip to Hogsmeade," Hermione noted, deciding it was definitely time to change the subject. "Does Dean have something special planned?"

"Yes," Ginny revealed, as she extracted a folded piece of parchment from her pocket. "He sent me this earlier this week, asking me to meet him in the Potions classroom."

"The Potions classroom?" Hermione asked.

Ginny glanced sideways and gazed at her meaningfully. "Our spot."

"Oh." Hermione wrinkled her nose slightly. "Why there?" She didn't fancy the idea of snogging a boy in the same place she had spent six years listening to Snape berate the Gryffindors.

"It's a long story," Ginny said dismissively. "Anyway, he says he has something to ask me before we go into Hogsmeade." A shiver of excitement passed through her. "Something important."

"What do you think it is?" Hermione inquired, starting to get caught up in Ginny's enthusiasm.

"I don't know." Ginny's cheeks were a bright rosy pink and her eyes sparkled. "I read this thing over and over again and I just can't decipher it, but I can't wait to find out!" She giggled and grabbed Hermione's arm companionably. "You remember when we went shopping in Diagon Alley and you helped me pick out that green outfit?"

"You mean the skirt that's so short that your mother would disown you if she knew you had it?" Hermione teased, flushing slightly. She wasn't a prude in the least, but she'd always dressed more on the conservative side. The idea of actually wearing an outfit like Ginny's in public, where people could see her, was in her opinion quite out of the question. Ginny, on the other hand, had ostentatiously paraded around the dress store, thrilled with her latest find, and attracting the unabashed attention of every man in sight. It was fortunate that neither Ron nor Harry had been with them that day, because Hermione had a fairly good idea that Ron would have hit the roof, and Harry would have adopted a Ginny Weasley, going beet red and knocking things over.

"Yes, well," Ginny smirked and gave her hips a provocative giggle, "I thought that this would be a good time to bring the skirt out." They had just returned inside the castle and Ginny had slipped off her heavy cloak to reveal the hunter green corduroy skirt that barely grazed her mid-thigh. She'd paired it with a lime-green cotton V-neck that clung to her curves much more tightly than her Hogwarts uniform ever had. The contrasting shades of green accentuated her ivory skin, freckles, and cherry-red curls perfectly. Her hair was swept up into an elegantly messy twist, with a few stray curls strategically pulled out to dangle alluringly in her face. Hermione knew in an instant that Ginny would be leaving all of the male students of Hogwarts with bulging eyes, gaping jaws, and drool dripping down their chins. She held out her hands and twirled. "How do I look?"

"You look beautiful," Hermione answered with a trace of wistful jealousy. She could never pull off an outfit like that.

"Thanks." Ginny's cheeks were still flushed with excitement, and she actually jumped up and down before whirling around to make her way to the dungeons for her mystery date. "I'll see you later."

"Have fun!" Hermione called after her before heading toward the first floor. She had given the boys the task of cleaning the lavatories without the use of magic, and she was rather anxious to see if they had finished yet. She was dying to know if Harry and Ron had found out anything from Seamus and Dean. She began to wonder where they might be, but all thoughts flew from her mind as she rounded corner. She came to a halt and let out a frustrated breath. Myrtle had flooded one of the bathrooms again, and water was gushing under the door and into the corridor. Hermione didn't really want to deal with a howling Myrtle at the moment, but if the Head Girl didn't handle the issue, she didn't know who would. She splashed her way through the inch-deep river, and winced as a horrendous wailing sound assailed her ears the moment she pushed the door open. The high-pitched shriek reverberated painfully inside of her head as she gritted her teeth and made her way toward the cry. "Myrtle, stop it!" Hermione shouted as she rounded the corner toward the stalls, only to stop dead when she got there.

Myrtle wasn't the only one crying in the bathroom.

"Seamus?" Hermione asked in a gentle yet shocked voice. Seamus was sitting on the floor with his back against one of the stalls, knees drawn up against his chest. His elbows were on his knees, and his fingers were ensnared tightly in his sandy-blonde hair. He seemed oblivious to the pool of water surrounding him, and his shoulders were shaking. "Seamus?" Hermione repeated as she fell to her hands and knees next to him and laid a now damp hand on his shoulder. "Seamus, what's wrong?"

Seamus lifted his head partially upward, and Hermione blanched at the sight of his ashen face. He wasn't crying--he was just numb. It appeared as though all facial expressions, all words, and all emotions were just frozen inside of him, making him incapable of speech. He was a cracked, broken, horrified shell of the fun-loving boy Hermione had known for so long, and the sight of his horribly blank face made Hermione's stomach churn with anxiety. Something was really wrong.

Seamus' hand managed to twitch slightly to indicate the stall at the end where Moaning Myrtle typically resided. His head dropped down like a bulging sack of Gobstones, and Hermione knew that getting any more answers from him would be impossible in his current condition. She rose, and cautiously waded through the murky water so she could peek inside, halfway expecting to simply find Myrtle sobbing her fool head off. Hermione really wished Myrtle had been the one in the stall. She had never wanted to see that corporal, pasty, glum face more, just so she didn't have to see who was lying at her feet, face down in the flood, completely motionless.

"Dean!"

A horrible sense of déjà vu rushed over her, and Hermione threw herself down onto the floor so that she could roll Dean over, lifting his head so that his face would no longer be submerged in the filthy water. His skin was incredibly clammy and cold, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was because of the water, or because of whatever the hell had happened to him. There didn't appear to be any signs of external force, but he was so horrendously pale and still. Heart thudding, Hermione pressed her fingers against the side of Dean's neck, frantically moving up and down as she searched for a pulse. When she couldn't find one, she snatched up his wrist, trying to locate a sign of life there. Maybe she had been pressing in the wrong place.

There was none there either, however. Dean had no pulse--none. All Hermione could feel was Dean's icy damp skin against her fingers That's impossible, she thought, and her hand moved rather desperately to Dean's chest so that she could find his heartbeat and realize that she had kidded herself into thinking that Dean was dead.

She couldn't, though, because there was no drumming of a steady heartbeat, no gentle rise and fall of the chest, nothing. He wasn't breathing, and there was no pulse, because there was no heartbeat. There was only one logical inference to make from the evidence. Hermione's hand jerked, and she instinctively fell backward, pushing herself as far away as possible from Dean's still form.

Dean was dead.

Hermione brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she let out a strangled cry of horror. She could still feel the icy coldness of Dean's skin against her fingers, and the sensation pervaded her skin, and fiercely struck her very bones in such a way that Hermione knew she would never, ever be warm again.

Dean was dead.

How? How on earth did Dean Thomas suddenly perish in the middle of a flooded girls' lavatory? Hermione managed to stand, using the wall for support, and tottered back out of the stall, clutching the door as she tried to steady herself. She closed her eyes and shook her head to clear the image of Dean's still form from her mind, but it was burned forever into her optic nerves, and Hermione knew that the image would remain in her memory for a long, long time.

Hermione opened her eyes and focused on Seamus, who hadn't moved since she arrived. Oh God, Hermione thought with an outpour of sympathy for the boy huddled on the floor. She couldn't even imagine what Seamus must be going through--the thought of anything happening to Ron or Harry--Hermione's heart twisted into a painful knot as her stomach churned with the reminder that she did know what it was like to know that you would never see your best friend again. The horror of Ron's kidnapping was still very fresh and raw in Hermione's mind over a year later, so Hermione couldn't even begin to conceive just how gut-wrenching Seamus' pain must be.

Ron and Harry. They had been in detention with Seamus and Dean, but where were they? Maybe they had gone to McGonagall or Madame Pomfrey, or maybe--Hermione gritted her teeth as her stomach ground with horror--maybe they had gone after whoever had done this Dean.

"Seamus," Hermione demanded as she splashed to the floor next to Seamus. "Seamus, what happened?" Seamus' face burrowed deeper into his knees as he tried desperately to escape from the reality of the situation. Hermione swallowed hard, hating that he was in so much pain, and hating that she had to badger him like this, but she had to know.

Seamus was saved from having to answer her with the arrival of a torrent of curious, shocked students, and teachers trying to remain calm. As Head Girl, Hermione was obligated to help restrain the curious students who were trying to discover what the devil was going on, while the teachers attempted to deal with the process of getting all of the students out of there. However, Hermione couldn't deal with all of the hubbub, so at the next opportunity she slipped out of the loo to try and catch a deep breath. McGonagall had mentioned that Ron had been the one to find her, so Harry and Ron had in fact gone for help. They hadn't come back to the lavatory, though, so Hermione still had no idea where they were or what had happened. She placed the heel of her hand on her throbbing head, and leaned against the wall as she tried to sort out where her two best friends could have gone.

As always, whenever Hermione was utterly confused about what on earth she should do, Luna Lovegood appeared at her side. But this time it was different--when the misty-eyed girl raced up to her, there was no trace of the absent-minded, slow-moving, dreamy-eyed girl that Hermione had come to know.

"Where's Ginny?" Luna demanded without preamble.

Hermione gasped and clapped her hand back over her mouth. Ginny. Ginny was still in the Potions classroom, patiently awaiting Dean's arrival, and the revelation of the big surprise he had planned for her. Her hand dropped from her head down to her chest as a flash of sympathetic pain rippled through her breastbone. She didn't know how she could have failed to think about what poor Ginny was going to go through when she heard the news--she would be devastated.

"You have to go now." Luna's voice was actually strong, steady, and scared all at the same time. "Before it's too late."

Hermione nodded and took off down the hallway. Luna's intensity was a bit unnerving, but she was right; someone had to tell Ginny. Although she certainly didn't want to be the one to do it, Hermione knew that she was one of the best candidates for the difficult task. Actually, now that she thought about it, Harry would be perfect--Harry would know precisely what to say, due to the awful fact that he had lost so many loved ones, not to mention the not-so-awful fact that Ginny was completely head over heels for the boy. If she could pick any person in the world to pick up the shattered pieces of her life, it would be Harry Potter. Hermione sighed as she hurried down the spiral stairwell to the dungeons. She just hoped that she would be able to find Harry at some point today, so she could convince him to talk to Ginny.

The torches aligning the length of the corridor weren't lit, so the hallway was much dimmer and eerier than usual. Hermione found herself pausing for several moments, wand in hand, eyes narrowed for any sign of danger. There were no signs of movement, so Hermione finally broke out into a run, rounding the corner at top speed.

BAM

"Oomph!" Hermione grunted as she recoiled backwards after running smack into a tall, well-toned shape that had been running just as swiftly as she had been. Praying that it was Ginny, Ron, or Harry, Hermione squinted to see if she could recognize who she had just run into. Tall, dark, and handsome, the sixteen-year-old boy stared at her with a wrinkle of puzzlement on his brow as he tried to place where he knew her from. Hermione, on the other hand, knew that she'd never seen him before in her life, but from the out-of-style robes he was wearing and the description she had from Harry, she knew precisely who this was. The only trouble was that she really didn't want to add this to the list of disasters that were piling up today. Her heart was hammering so wildly that she thought her chest was about to explode, and the blood in her veins had solidified with the artic freezing power of fear as she jumped backward a step.

Tom Riddle? Alive? The diary had been destroyed, the basilisk had been killed, and that crisis was over, yet why was he standing so close to her that he could feel the vibrations of her violent trembling? I have to get out of here, she thought dimly, mind spinning. She had to find Harry and warn him, she had to tell Dumbledore, and oh God, Ginny. Ginny would absolutely fall to pieces when she found out. It had taken her ages to get over what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets--in fact, Hermione wasn't sure that Ginny was over it; Ginny still had nightmares about the ordeal and she flinched every time she heard the word 'diary'. And Ginny had been waiting in the basement this entire time and...oh my God, that was why he was here. He was here for Ginny. He had lived through Ginny for all of Ginny's first year and now Riddle was lusting for more...

And then all of the puzzle pieces, all of the loose ends from the day of Ron's kidnapping snapped directly into place. Hermione's hand clapped over her mouth. Somehow, someone, maybe a Death Eater, had restored Riddle's diary and passed it to a new victim: Dean Thomas, who was coincidentally enough Ginny's boyfriend. Riddle possessed Dean in a similar manner to how he'd possessed Ginny, but when the time had come to break free from the tiny black book, Riddle had drained Dean instead. That's why Dean was dead. That was why they selected Dean to use the diary--Riddle wanted Ginny. Not only that, Riddle had been having Ginny for months by living through Dean. Riddle wanted to possess Ginny again, and not just mentally, but physically. The thought of that actually happening made Hermione's skin crawl with revulsion.

And just how had Dean managed to get hold of this diary? She wasn't certain if this was true, but if Dean had received the diary at the same time that Ron was kidnapped, that would explain a load of the unsolved riddles of that day. For one thing, it could explain why there had been an imposter masquerading as a student. Someone had turned into Seamus, so he could go to Dean and give him the diary. How "Seamus" managed to convince Dean to take the diary didn't really matter. What mattered was that Dean had believed him. The attack in Hogsmeade hadn't been just to capture Harry; it had also been to implement another measure into a carefully laid plan, and if this plan succeeded, there would be two Voldemorts. Hermione swallowed hard. The world was frightening enough with one Voldemort running around slaughtering Muggles; the concept of two of these crazed and extremely powerful sorcerers was beyond terrifying. It pushed Hermione into a realm of fear that couldn't be coherently expressed with mere words. It made her feel as if the world had been flipped upside down to an unbelievably horrible place, where even the valor and goodness of people like Harry and Dumbledore wouldn't be able to save them from the madness. For the first time since the war began, Hermione began to doubt that good could prevail.

All of these revelations flashed through Hermione's sharp mind at lightning speed, but it gave Riddle all the time he needed. His hand swung out as he elected to take care of her in the Muggle method of backhanding her viciously across the cheek. Dull explosions of bright light popped across her vision as a sharp current of pain blossomed up and down the side of her face, and she fell to the floor with a low thud. Scrambling for her wand, Hermione forced herself to leap back up to her feet, poised to deflect another attack.

He was gone.

Hermione stood stock still for a moment, not daring to believe that Riddle had actually left a Muggle-born alive. Her eyes roved up and down the corridor for several more seconds in anticipation of another attack, before continuing at a full out sprint down to the potions classroom. Riddle had been coming from that direction, which meant that there was a very distinct possibility that he had already been in there with Ginny. Riddle probably had been the one to coerce Dean into writing Ginny that letter so that he could get Ginny all to himself.

And then the second attack came.

Hermione screamed as loud as she could manage when the figure darted out from a classroom. Riddle--she'd recognize that tall build and dark hair from anywhere. He must have somehow been able to get around her so that he could cut her off before she could get to Ginny. Strong fingers twisted around her upper arms, and Hermione jerked so fiercely that her heels skidded on the floor, tearing the hem of her robes and causing her to lose her balance. She screamed again as she struggled to free herself from Riddle's strong grip as he hefted her back to her feet.

"Hermione, stop--it's me!" Hermione's muscles instantly weakened with relief when she recognized the very familiar voice. Harry. Before she could gasp out an apology, another pair of hands seized her, but this time she was anything but terrified--she knew who it was the moment his fingers grazed her skin.

"What is it? What happened? Are you all right?" Ron demanded all with one breath. His eyes were filled with the same wide smattering of emotion they held the night of the Ministry attack, and it wasn't until those blue eyes were on her that Hermione fully realized just how frightened she really was. She had been so focused on trying to logically discern what was happening and getting to Ginny, that she hadn't fully realized that her heart was racing a mile a minute. Her blood was pumping wildly with searing fear, and her lungs were sorely desperate for calming air to flow through them. Hermione knew she had to tell them what she knew, but despite the severe lack of time, she took a moment to draw a shaky breath and swallow hard. Ron's fingers were still soothingly encircling her arms, and she desperately wished she could bury her face into his chest and cling to him as she told them what had just happened. She knew that being in Ron's arms would dissipate the nauseating ache eating away at her stomach, and irrationally make her think that everything would be okay. Ron would make everything all right again. However, she knew that she couldn't allow herself to fall into his embrace, so she simply focused on catching her breath instead.

"He's down there," she finally got out, tilting her head in the direction she had just come from. Hermione fully expected both of them to go charging down the hall but to her surprise, Ron was still holding on to her, eyes trained to Harry in expectation, while Harry just stood in the hallway, eyes going back and forth from the direction Hermione had indicated, to the classroom he had emerged from.

"Harry," Ron said in a cracked voice, "what do we do?"

"We--uh--we..." Harry's face was completely devoid of any color, and he had to swallow hard before speaking again. His eyes were now riveted to the classroom, and his jaw clenched as he made his decision. "We stay put."

"What?" Ron demanded. "You're just going to let him get away?"

"What can I do, Ron?!" Harry exploded as angry sparks shot out of the tip of his wand, which was luckily pointed toward the floor. "This is Tom Riddle we're talking about--he's Voldemort. He's one of two Voldemorts!" Harry's chest heaved with a mixture of emotion, and he looked as though he was teetering on the edge of insanity from the implausibility and horror of the situation. "I--I can't do anything about it now." Harry's voice lowered and shook. "I just have to wait until I know how to beat him--I don't know how to beat him now, so getting myself killed won't help matters. What will, is getting her," Harry's finger jabbed furiously into the classroom, "some help."

"What's wrong with Ginny?" Hermione asked in a horrified whisper.

Ron glanced down at her, and Hermione could sense that the last thing in the world he wanted to do at the moment was tell her the truth. This realization caused all of the nerves in Hermione's body mesh together in anxiety. He dropped his hold on her and turned back to Harry, who had already disappeared in the classroom. "Harry," Ron called after him in a voice of extremely forced calm. "Harry, we can't do anything for her."

The world spun for a moment at Ron's words, and Hermione had to grab hold of the doorframe to remain standing. What was Ron saying?

"She's not dead," Harry returned sharply. "She's not."

Ron's whole body shuddered as he pounded his fist furiously against the doorframe over Hermione's head. "She's not breathing, Harry." Ron's voice weakened and cracked, and he was so desperately pale that Hermione immediately pushed herself away from the doorframe in order to place both of her hands on his waist to steady him. Ron's hands darted down to squeeze Hermione's wrists, so that she would remain close to him. "She's gone." Ron's voice was barely audible.

Hermione really didn't want to leave Ron's side when he was in this state, but Harry had just gathered up Ginny's limp body into his arms. Hermione knew she had to examine Ginny for herself. A dry sob was threatening to wrack violently through her chest as she silently walked up to Harry in order to take a closer look. Ginny was so pale--her freckles stood out as vividly as Hagrid did in a crowd of first-years--and even her lips were a pasty, chalk-white. The only sign of color on Ginny's face was the speckles of blood that she must have coughed up before ceasing to breathe. There weren't any other marks, cuts, or bruises on her, except for a ripped sleeve, the missing buttons on her skirt and shirt, and a gaping hole on the knee of her black tights. This indicated to Hermione that Ginny had been struggling rather fiercely. Now, however, she laid dreadfully still in Harry's arms, her unconscious form not even moving in the act of breathing.

Biting her lip, Hermione blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that were desperately trying to break through. Ginny's neck was limply arched backward against Harry's arm, and her head was dangling back off of his elbow, making it quite easy for Hermione to reach out and press her fingers against the side of Ginny's neck.

She almost died of sheer relief right there on the spot, when a steady but faint pulsation vibrated against her fingertips. "She's not dead," Hermione said instantly and she then moved to double-check with Ginny's wrist. The skin was cold and painfully dry, but the drumming of her pulse was nevertheless there, and that was all that mattered.

"What?" Ron said with a strangled cry, and he darted forward to inspect his sister himself. Harry simply hitched Ginny up higher into his arms, so that he could take a better look at her. He kept his head down, but Hermione still caught a glimpse of his over-bright eyes. "But she's not breathing," Ron uttered in disbelief.

"You can still be alive even if you're not breathing," Hermione reminded Ron. "Remember?"

Ron had just felt Ginny's pulse for himself, and that, coupled with Hermione's reminder, caused his hands to tremble with relief. He backed away with a loud sniff. Harry didn't even pretend that he understood what Hermione and Ron were talking about, and personally, he didn't care. All he really cared about at that moment was getting Ginny the hell out of there before that blessed sign of life vanished. "I'll get Madame Pomfrey down here," Ron offered.

"Don't bother." Harry finally spoke, and the unsteady tone of his voice unnerved Hermione more than she cared to admit. "I'll take her up."

Ron looked as though he were disappointed that he couldn't do something for his sister, and Hermione knew precisely why. Ron was such an empathetic person that he felt others emotions so readily, and it was sometimes easier for him to focus on the emotions of others, rather than dealing with his own. One glance at Ron's face proved that he was experiencing such an influx of pure emotion, that he needed to focus on helping--or else he'd fall apart completely. "Madame Pomfrey might still be in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory with Dean," Hermione told Ron quietly. "Why don't you check there just to be sure?" Ron sniffed again as he whirled around, and he took off out of the classroom. Hermione turned back to Harry while he started to carry Ginny out of the room. "Harry, do you want me to conjure a stretcher?"

"Uh--no, no I've got her," Harry said as he looked down at Ginny with an expression on his face that made Hermione's heart flip-flop. It wasn't often that Hermione saw that look, but she had one very vivid memory of someone giving her that same look once before. Ron had given it to her when she had just woken up after the ordeal in the Department of Mysteries. Though the situation was so desperate and terrifying, Hermione couldn't help but smile at that look on Harry's face. Maybe something good would finally emerge from all of the madness.