Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

I'm drunk when sober

The room is spinning

You are what I hold onto

You're taking over

I find that giving in

Is the best I can do

Someone to die for

Someone to fall into

When the world goes dark

Someone to die for

Someone to tear a hole

In this endless night

Someone like you.

"Someone to Die For"--Jimmy Gnecco featuring Brian May

**

"How's he doing?"

Hermione just mutely shook her head as she practically fell into the chair across from Harry in the common room. She clenched a fistful of frizzled hair while using the fist to prop her heavy head up. "He finally fell asleep," she eventually revealed. "Hopefully he can get through the night without interruption. Tomorrow's going to be horrible enough as it is, and I don't want him to be exhausted to boot."

"Yeah," Harry agreed heavily. Tomorrow was Percy's funeral. "Is he in your room again?"

Hermione nodded without a trace of a telltale blush. She had no qualms about admitting that she was allowing a boy to sleep in her room for the past few nights--Ron needed rest and he wasn't able to get it in the boys' dormitory, so why shouldn't he sleep in another location? It wasn't as though they were actually doing anything. She would just sit and talk with him until he fell asleep, and that was all. They had reached a point in the war where formalities and out-of-date rules were no longer applicable. The world was a horrendously dangerous and turbulent place right now, and even the strongest were having trouble surviving. When there was an opportunity for a blissful respite from the madness, Hermione was going to make sure that she and her friends took it, regardless of whatever outdated rules they might be breaking.

Rubbing her eyes, Hermione reached down to pull out her Transfiguration book. She was dreadfully behind in her studies. She had been spending a great deal of her time with the Weasleys and in numerous prefect meetings. The students had been quite shaken by the news that a former student had returned to Hogwarts and killed himself, so Hermione had been forced to endure Draco Malfoy's horrible presence several times over the past few days as they met with different professors and prefects in order to discuss what procedures they might pursue to ensure that all the students were properly placated.

"You look tired," Harry noted. Hermione sighed. If Harry, who was perpetually swept up with all of his own problems, noticed that she looked peaky, she must really look quite bad. She was very tired and had been feeling a bit lightheaded from sleep-deprivation, but it was nothing to get concerned about. Ron had been telling her for the past few days that he thought she was getting sick, but she chose to ignore his warnings. She simply did not have the time to be stuck in the hospital wing for something as petty as a common cold.

"I'll be all right," she said truthfully. Eventually, she added silently--she certainly wasn't all right now, but she would be in a day or two when things calmed down.

"I can't believe he'd do that," Harry quietly commented as he twiddled with his quill. Percy's death had been plaguing his thoughts ever since he had heard the horrible news. "Why would he do that?" he asked almost to himself for the fourteenth time in the past few days.

"Because it was his final sacrifice," Hermione answered for the fourteenth time in the past few days. "He was the only one in position to tell Voldemort and the Death Eaters about Ron and I, and he couldn't let that happen. So, he made sure that the secret died with him by--" Hermione paused and lifted her hand limply to indicate the words she didn't want to say. She stared thoughtfully at the tabletop before adding a few more statements for the first time. "Besides, I think it was the only way he thought he'd ever be free of them. And more than anything, he wanted to die free."

Harry shook his head. Even though he had heard Hermione's logical explanation several times, he couldn't swallow it, because he himself would never use that method to solve his problems. "They're so upset," he muttered helplessly, referring the numerous stunned and grief-stricken Weasleys he had seen over the past few days. Hermione nodded in reluctant agreement. Harry twirled his quill again nervously in his fingers, staring down at the essay he was writing. "Have you seen Ginny lately?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual voice.

Hermione was relieved that she was still able to smile. Despite his misery, Harry was as transparent as ever on the subject of Ginny Weasley. "She's been better," Hermione replied truthfully. Harry glanced about the almost empty common room in hopes that one of its few occupants might be the girl in question, but had no luck. He glanced back at Hermione to find her giving him a considering, knowing look. "Harry, why don't you go talk to her?" Hermione suggested hopefully.

Harry groaned. "Hermione."

"She misses you, Harry, I know she does," Hermione pressed earnestly. Ginny had spent more than one night in her room, fretting about the way she had lost Harry. "And you know that she ended things with Michael." Harry suddenly appeared a lot more interested in the conversation. "That's what they were talking about at dinner the other night--it was the high topic of gossip in the girls' loo later that evening." Harry still wasn't rising to the bait, so Hermione decided to keep a typically clueless Harry Potter updated on the latest gossip circulating around. "Apparently, Ginny has now been branded as the latest scarlet woman of Hogwarts."

"What?" Harry demanded with fresh fury. "Why?"

"Because her love life hasn't been exactly normal," Hermione explained as she tried to make a boy understand the catty minds of teenaged girls. "Michael was her first boyfriend, and he dumped her for Cho Chang--who just happened to be your previous girlfriend--and then she dated Dean for over a year. Then he was killed, and a month later it became obvious that she was completely infatuated with you. When that didn't work out, she was back with Michael." Hermione sighed. "Some people think that she and Michael had a deal where Michael wanted Cho and she wanted you so they 'pretended' to date to make the two of you jealous--"

"But she was seeing Michael before me and Cho!" Harry interrupted.

"Yes, but you see, Harry," Hermione bit her lip for a moment before continuing. Ginny would kill her if she knew she was about to tell Harry this. "Ginny and Dean did the same thing--at first. Dean was interested in Parvati, and Ginny was still interested in you, so they teamed up. But then they began to really like each other, and they ended up staying together." Harry just gaped at her. "Not many people knew that. But then Dean died, and I'm afraid it was a bit obvious that you were startled that Ginny had almost been killed, so some of them wonder if Ginny used Dean's death to twist your feelings for her and when it didn't work, resorted back to the jealousy act with Michael Corner--who, y the way, only originally dated her because of a bet among Ravenclaws to see who could shag one of Potter's girls."

Harry continued to gape at her for another moment. "Does anyone date each other around here because they actually like each other?"

"Of course they do--all of this is speculation," Hermione reminded him. "It's just gossip--it's the same sort of slander that Rita Skeeter writes."

"People really think that sort of crap about her?" Harry demanded. "That she was using Michael to get to me and she didn't even care when Dean--" His fist tightened with irritation. "I mean, none of them were there. How would they know what she went through?!" Hermione bit the inside of her lip as she let Harry rant. "And it's not as though she's throwing herself at me. She wasn't planning to do anything until I kissed her, and even then she waited weeks until bringing it up again! If anything, I played with her--I kissed her--she didn't ask for it--and then I said I didn't want a relationship. Who wouldn't be upset when someone you care about doesn't have the guts to say I love you? So, when some other bloke asks you out, you say yes--I don't know too much about dating and all, but that seems normal to me! " Harry seemed to have run out of steam and abruptly deflated. "But then again, I've never understood girls." He looked at Hermione almost hopefully. "Did you ever write that book Ron told you to write about the mad things you girls do?"

For some reason, Hermione's cheeks turned bright pink and she didn't answer Harry's question. "I think you know girls better than you think you do," she said wisely. "I just think that most students don't understand that what Ginny feels for you is more than a crush. I'm sure that's what everyone believes it to be, since you two have never actually had a relationship."

"Yeah," Harry said with a bitter laugh. "We've never had a relationship."

He let out a long breath. It had been a while since Harry went off on an angry outburst, and Hermione could tell that it had done him a bit of good--it had certainly put some things into perspective for him.

It had put some things into perspective for Hermione, as well. There was something about the way Harry's face read and something in the tone of his voice that made her slowly straighten up and peer even more closely at him. She had just assumed that Harry had blown Ginny off because he couldn't make the commitment, but now she wasn't so certain. "Harry?" she said quietly. "I know that it's none of my business what goes on between you and Ginny, and I can't pretend to understand why things didn't work out, but was it because you didn't care or--do you?"

Her question wasn't very coherent, but it was enough. Harry stared down at the table for a long moment, and although part of her always knew, he nodded slowly. She didn't know whether to laugh in relief or slap him across the head for putting Ginny through hell by lying about how he really felt about her. "You can't tell anyone," Harry said quietly, his voice shaking slightly. "I haven't told anyone, not even Ron."

"Why?" Hermione demanded in a low, even voice. She didn't think that yelling at Harry for being a complete idiot would solve anything, but she had to know.

"I will tell her," Harry said vehemently. "I swear. It's just--it can't until--" He broke off and wearily shook his head.

Hermione watched him for a moment before nodding toward the door. "Why don't you go talk to her, Harry?" He abruptly looked as though he were a deer caught in the headlights, so Hermione quickly continued. "You don't have to tell her everything," she said impatiently. "But you can tell her what you think about those rumors that are flying around. I think she'd like to hear some of the things you just said, what with things the way they are right now. It might do her a bit of good."

It was a very sobering thought after the few moments they had dedicated to the frivolous love woes of Hogwarts, and the burden of the world pushed heavily down on Harry's shoulders again as he poked his glasses higher on his nose. With a thoughtful expression on his face, he slowly pushed back his chair.

But of course Harry Potter was prevented from finding true happiness once again, because before he could rise from his seat and inquire about Ginny's whereabouts, a loud, bone-chilling howl reverberated throughout all of Hogwarts and its massive grounds, followed by assorted screams of recognition. Hermione and Harry froze, hearts thudding and blood pumping as adrenaline began to rush through their veins.

"Why do you kidnap a werewolf and let him out one month to torment him only to keep him safe the next month?" Hermione managed to ask despite her dry mouth.

"So he's starving for fresh blood during the third full moon," Harry answered flatly before taking off at a full-out sprint toward the portrait hole. Both of them knew that the longer a werewolf went without the aid of Wolfsbane Potion and prey, the more painful and violent his transformations were. They had kept Lupin for so long in order to make sure that he would be utterly and completely lost to the wolf when he was released at Hogwarts. Hermione took off after him, and Harry was running so quickly, that it wasn't until he got to the stairs before he realized that Hermione was following him. He skidded to a stop and glanced back down the hall. "We should get Ron," he commented abruptly.

"He's on his way," Hermione answered without thinking. She blinked abruptly. Sometimes it scared her how well she knew Ron's every move.

Harry looked to be almost as disturbed by her uncanny, unconscious connection with Ron as she was, but there wasn't time to dwell on the issue. He had to ask a question of his own. "Why do you let loose a werewolf on school grounds? Or why do you let a troll loose in the dungeons? Or graphorns in Hogsmeade?"

Hermione gasped. You let a troll loose in the dungeons so that while all of your co-workers run to protect the students and capture the beast, you can sneak off to a forbidden corridor and attempt to steal an ancient artifact in a desperate attempt to bring a former sorcerer back to full power. And you let graphorns loose in a peaceful magical settlement so that while everyone is so intent on the creatures on a rampage in the village, no one notices that in a glen outside of town, four kids are fighting for their lives. Therefore, it's only logical to assume that you let a werewolf loose outside of the castle so that no one will pay attention to what's going on inside the castle.

Harry's feet danced with indecision for several, precious moments. "Listen to me," he said as fast as he could. "I'm the only one who can deal with Remus, so I have to go, but you and Ron need to go get help and be ready for anything."

If Harry thought that his explanation was thorough enough for her, he was dead wrong. Hermione grabbed his arm before he could bolt and forced him to look at her. "Harry, no way. I know how important Remus is to you, but he is a werewolf! You can't go out there!"

"Hermione, you don't understand," Harry explained tersely, eyes a bit wild with desperation to get out. "Sirius left a letter to me after he died, and in it he told me how to deal with Remus if he was ever this far gone. He wanted to make sure that if anything ever happened to him, someone would always be able to take care of Remus." He wrenched his arm away. "So I have to go!"

"Harry!" Hermione shouted after him, but Harry just raced on. Before she could follow, Ron was at her side. He frowned down the stairs at Harry's back, but made no move to follow, since Hermione was still rooted to the spot. His hair was sticking up, his face pale, and his clothes rumpled, but his eyes were more alert and focused than they had been since Percy died. It was such an utter relief to see Ron's eyes shining with something other than grief, that despite the situation and the need to stay in control, she started babbling away before she could stop herself. She held up a shaking finger to point in the direction Harry had just run off in. "Ron, Professor Lupin's outside, and Harry went after him because apparently he's the only one who can save him, but we also think it's a trap, because they could be using Lupin as a diversion--which means that at any moment, Death Eaters could be bursting in here to try to kill us all! Harry wants us to get help but he's going off to stop Lupin alone, and I don't care what he says, he can't take on a full-grown werewolf by himself, and I don't know what to do--"

"Okay, okay, settle down," Ron interrupted worriedly when her face turned bright red and moisture leaked out of the corners of her eyes. It wasn't like Hermione to get so rattled. Usually she held herself together until the crisis was over, and then she fell to pieces. There wasn't the time to voice his concern, however, so Ron just tugged on her hand so that the two of them could, as always, follow Harry into danger.

Hermione obediently followed, still in somewhat of a hysteria-induced daze that she didn't come out of until she felt a blast of cold night air on her face. Blinking a few times, she glanced rapidly about for a sign of Harry or Lupin, but the only people she could see were the members of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. She could just make out their yellow and black robes in the distance as they circled the pitch. Her eyes narrowed as she watched. Their flight patterns were not of a normal Quidditch scrimmage, making Hermione suspicious that they were very aware that something was wrong. The horrible thing was that only three members of the team were safely in the air and out of Lupin's reach. The other four Hufflepuff players could be in danger.

Ron saw it, too, and took off toward the pitch, dragging Hermione with him. When they were finally close enough to see it all, they stopped short, using a few precious moments to consider their options. Lupin had indeed transformed, and there was no trace of the kind professor Hermione respected. The Hufflepuffs must have just finished up with practice when he had been unleashed, and the four missing Hufflepuffs had been collecting their belongings when the howl had reverberated throughout the grounds. But Lupin was no longer interested in the Hufflepuffs, although they must have been the reason he ran to the pitch. He had whirled around to glare at Harry with bloodthirsty eyes and a dribble of drool trickling out of his glistening fangs. Harry must have just diverted the werewolf's attention moments before Hermione and Ron had arrived.

Harry's cheek muscle twitched nervously as he began to back away slowly with his head high, drawing the werewolf's attention away from the Hufflepuffs. "Come on, Remus," he commanded steadily. "Come and get me." He was now less than twenty feet away from the Forbidden Forest. His hand was slowly but steadily snaking down to his wand. He knew that any sudden movement would send Lupin into a charge that he would have no hope of stopping in time. "Come on."

Ron snapped his fingers quietly at the Hufflepuffs and jabbed his finger authoritatively towards the castle, eyes never leaving Harry and Lupin. They instantly took off, the ones on brooms swooping down to allow their stranded team members to hop on and soar away. Lupin had hunched down low, carefully stalking his prey, and Harry continued to back away, his hand tight on his wand.

"Hey! Professor!" Ron's loud, boisterous voice echoed loudly throughout the grounds of Hogwarts. "You don't want that one--he's too scrawny to have any real flavor!" The wolf turned and tensed when he saw that two more victims were standing within killing range. Ron instinctively pulled Hermione behind him, and pretending to be cowering behind him, she in turn cautiously poked her wand through the narrow space between Ron's arm and torso to take careful aim. She didn't know what spell she would use, but before she even could pronounce a single syllable, Harry recklessly kicked a shower of dirt into Lupin's eyes to bring the werewolf's attention back to him.

Ron let out a frustrated breath. "Harry, we're partners, remember? You got a plan, do it, but do it when he's not expecting it!" Lupin's attention was still torn between the two boys, so Ron placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled piercingly to call Lupin's eyes back to him.

Twang.

Hermione and Ron threw themselves to the ground as they glimpsed a projectile launching its way toward them. The object landed several feet in front of them. Still on his hands and knees, Ron narrowed his eyes toward the still quivering arrow sticking out of the ground between them and Lupin.

"Bloody hell, where did that come from?" Ron demanded as he scrambled back to his feet.

"Centaurs," Harry said in a flat but strong voice as he struggled to regain the focus he had just lost. "We must be too close to the Forest." Lupin was howling and raging at the close call he had just had, whirling in circles as though he were trying to catch his tail like some playful puppy. Hermione scanned the forest behind Harry with a wildly beating heart and mounting suspicion. Centaurs never missed their target.

Ron broke her train of thought by striding closer to Lupin. "Right," Ron said loudly. "Let's try this again." He whistled, and Lupin flinched at the shrill sound, his head rolling in Ron's direction. Ron repeated the piercing sound, and as Lupin began to stalk toward the pest that was irritating his sensitive hearing, all three realized for certain that Lupin's attention was in no way focused on Harry. Brow furrowed in intense concentration, Harry was free to fling his hand into his robes and finally retrieve his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The magnificent white, glowing stag exploded out of the end of Harry's wand, and immediately galloped toward the wolf. Lupin froze in place when it realized that a giant shimmering creature was bearing down on him, and he tried to snap his jaw around its neck. However, his fangs merely passed through the ephemeral skin of the Patronus, and the stag lowered his horns to butt the werewolf away from Harry and Ron. Lupin was scooped into the air and tossed toward the forest, and he streaked off into the sanctity of the woods. Prongs paused only momentarily to lower his head in Harry's direction before galloping after the werewolf.

Hermione let out a soft 'oh' of understanding--of course. Lupin, having been reduced to an animalistic state, must have mistook Harry's Patronus for his dad's Animagus and recalled the threat that James Potter had been able to pose in his transformed state.

Harry let out a long breath of relief. He hadn't been certain that Sirius' plan would work. He glanced over at his best friend to give him a somewhat patronizing look. "You shouldn't have done that." Ron just snorted in disbelief as if Harry had just made the world's stupidest comment. Harry allowed himself to smile tiredly as he stepped to the side to double-check that Hermione, who was still lingering behind Ron, was safe. She managed to reassure him with a shaky smile of her own. Harry nodded once and turned slightly toward the forest. "He may just stay in there all night--"

"But you have to make sure," Ron and Hermione chorused almost as one.

"Right," Harry couldn't help being slightly amused that his friends knew him so well. "I'll be right back," he promised before jogging into the inky, heavy darkness of the dense foliage and almost instantly disappearing from sight.

Famous last words, Hermione couldn't help thinking in a rare burst of cynicism.

"I'm right behind you," Ron called loudly to Harry. Although Hermione knew with all of her heart that she wanted to follow and help all she could, she was also unnervingly disheartened and exhaustedly hysterical. She only made it one step forward before Ron blocked her path and quietly asked if she were okay.

It wasn't a particularly sweet, sensitive thing for Ron to do, considering that it had to be obvious, even to someone as thick-headed as Gregory Goyle, that she felt awful at the moment. However, Hermione was moved by it all the same, and it was enough to make frightened tears burst out of her eyes. She was as taken aback as Ron was by her sudden burst of hysteria, and she clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut to try to banish the crippling emotion far, far away so she could focus on saving Harry and Hogwarts. It was just hitting her for the first time that she was so scared--she had been so incredibly scared for ages now, and it just got worse with every passing second, and there was no end in sight. For all she knew, this bloody war could last forever, and she and Ron and Harry might never ever have normal lives, if they survived at all. Any or all of them could actually die--for all she knew, one of her best friends' lives or her own could end with just a flick of a wand. With every breath anything could happen, and that horrifying reality terrified Hermione to the very depths of her soul.

She hiccupped loudly as she forced back another sob. It was actually getting to be almost difficult to breathe, and she rather wished she had a glass of water and the time to sit down and calm herself. What was the matter with her--she was the logical one, the one who kept her head on her shoulders no matter what, and yet here she was, crying her eyes out and acting like one of those twits that she shook her head, rolled her eyes, and muttered 'honestly' at.

Ron studied her face intently before gently taking it in his hands to wipe some of the streaked tears off of her cheeks. "You're a bloody mess," he commented almost to himself. Hermione let out an annoyed sigh. He didn't have to rub it in. His thumb rubbed against her cheek for a moment longer. "I didn't know how scared you were," he admitted guiltily. "And don't be kicking yourself for acting this way, Hermione--after all we've been through, it's no wonder you're--"

Ron broke off as Hermione rolled her eyes, not believing him for a second. There was no way he was going to make her feel any less silly for her melodramatic reaction. Honestly, after all they'd been through, a run-in with a werewolf should be like a trip into Hogsmeade. He moved her head back toward him. "When this is over," he told her very seriously, "we're going straight up to the hospital wing to find out what the hell is matter with you, because I don't care what you say, Hermione, you are sick."

He didn't wait for her to answer and shook her slightly to snap her out of it. When he spoke again, he had adopted Hermione's matter-of-fact, brisk tone, and this was exactly what Hermione needed to hear to bring her back to reality. "Look, you've got to get Dumbledore and McGonagall and let them know what you're thinking and then you have to follow standard procedure to make sure that none of the students get out, ok?"

"What about you?" she finally managed to speak in a voice that was only a ghost of its former self.

"I'm going to help Harry," Ron told her. Hermione wasn't hysterical enough to just allow Ron to rush out to danger by himself, and as she opened her mouth to tell him so, Ron cut her off. "No offense, Hermione, but you're not going to be any help in this state. Besides, you're a leader here--you're Head Girl. You've got to make sure that everyone says safe, because they'll listen to you more than anyone." He paused. "Unless you'd rather Malfoy just have full run of the school."

Hermione made an unintentional face at the prospect of Malfoy leading all of the students without her, and she let out a long breath, feeling a bit more like her old self. "Why do you and Harry always leave me behind?" she couldn't help muttering.

Ron was in a hurry, but he found the time to flash her that mega-watt grin of his. "Because you're a hell of a reason for a bloke like me to try his damnedest to come back home in one piece." His lips crashed down on hers before she could reply, fueling all of the fortitude and determination he could muster into her. He broke it off abruptly before he lost himself in her. "Be careful," he ordered her. "I'll find you when I get back."

Hermione was still in a bit of a daze from the fresh onslaught of strength he had just given to her, so it was a few moments before she fully realized that he was leaving. "Ron!" she called out after him with a throaty edge to her voice.

He turned quickly, impatience evident in his posture, and Hermione reluctantly realized that she couldn't tell him everything she was dying to say at the moment. She couldn't thank him for taking care of her as usual, she couldn't ask if he felt up to doing this, she couldn't insist that she come along with him, and she couldn't concisely list every little thing that she loved about him. He couldn't know everything that he should know before running off to battle, so she just had to hope that he was going to come back in one piece. He couldn't die without knowing just how amazing, brilliant, and wonderful he really was.

She only had time to say one thing, so she settled on what she decided was the most vital statement. "You be careful, too," she demanded fiercely. Her breath hitched in her throat at the thought of Ron taking on a werewolf, and for a moment, she thought she was going to lose her dinner right then and there.

Ron nodded seriously to reassure her that he was going to heed her advice, but then raised his eyebrows cockily. "Hey," he said with a self-satisfied air. "It's me."

He had meant for the comment to be a parting joke to lighten the tension, but as he, too, vanished into the darkness of the forest, Hermione only bit her lip as she watched him go, the emotional, short-tempered prat who was so fiercely loyal to his friends that he would sacrifice his own life to save theirs. "That's what I'm afraid of," she said quietly to herself.

**

Hermione had never been so tempted in her life to follow her best friends out onto the pitch, but the nagging reminder of the responsibility she had to protect her fellow students kept her from running out onto the grounds after Harry and Ron, and then Snape and Hagrid, who had both run into the forest after Lupin. It had been a few hours since she had last seen Ron and Harry, and for all she knew, both of her best friends could be lying on the forest floor, bleeding to death from the many possible injuries they could have received from the many possible threatening creatures that lurked in the Forbidden Forest.

But she couldn't leave--she had to patrol. Under Dumbledore's orders, all students had been shepherded into the Great Hall, and Filch, Flitwick, Vector, and the prefects had been stationed to ensure that no students left the room. The rest of the teachers were helping Dumbledore search the castle for a sign of possible Death Eater infiltration. Of course, the Head Girl and Boy were placed in charge of watching over the students, and Hermione had ordered that they all be in their sleeping bags and asleep in less than ten minutes. Malfoy had just rolled his pale eyes and wandered over to the one corner that had obviously been designated as the Slytherin area, while Hermione commanded the other three houses' sections.

Perhaps sensing the enormity of the circumstances, the students had given her little trouble, and an hour later, most had managed to fall into an uneasy sleep or at least pretend to be asleep. The hall was almost eerily quiet. Hermione was now standing by one of the windows overlooking the grounds, staring out in hopes of catching a glimpse of Ron or Harry. She considered reaching out in an attempt to touch Ron empathically but decided against it. She always became rather distracted when Ron was speaking to her in her mind, and she didn't want to draw his focus away from more important things, like a giant, growling werewolf, for instance. No, if he needed her, he would let her know, and only then would she race out to his rescue. Until then, she had to stay put and fulfill her obligation as Head Girl. She had to protect these students.

Hermione glanced over at the sealed main doors that Flitwick was stationed in front of. So far, they hadn't heard a peep from the professors who were searching the castle and grounds for Death Eaters, which could mean either that they couldn't find anything, or they were not in any condition to relay news to anyone. Her stomach wrenched into another painful knot at the thought of Death Eaters here, at Hogwarts, the one place she had considered to be completely safe due to the omniscient presence of Albus Dumbledore. Hogwarts: A History had always categorically listed the spells, enchantments, wards, and other miscellaneous means of defense that encircled and protected Hogwarts, and if Hogwarts: A History was incorrect in any way--

Hermione broke off her train of thought and found herself staring up at the enchanted ceiling. It was a remarkably clear night, and the stars shone brightly, dancing pure, white light softly off of the calmly slack faces of the sleeping students. It really would have been a beautiful sight if the situation hadn't been so utterly horrible, and as that realization washed over Hermione, she was also deluged with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. She pressed the heel of her hand against her dully throbbing forehead, knowing these symptoms all too well. Ron may think that she was becoming ill, but Hermione knew better. Not even Ron and Harry knew this, but a few days before Ron had forgiven her for the Scabbers incident in third-year, Hermione had been so exhausted and stressed out from the Time-Turner that Professor McGonagall had ordered her to be checked into the hospital wing for the night. She had been treated for acute exhaustion, and Hermione recalled the experience very well: extreme fatigue, tension headache, dull ache of nausea in the pit of her stomach, light-headedness, dizzy spells. These happened to be the exact same symptoms Hermione was experiencing now, so it was only logical to conclude that that's what was happening again, although she had thought she had been getting the required amount of sleep. Her stay in the hospital wing had done little to remove the stress, so Hermione just shook her head to clear it and let out a little sigh. She just had to work through this on her own. There was too much to do and too much at stake to get bogged down with a little fatigue. With the decision made to ignore her symptoms for the time being, Hermione turned back to the window. That's when it happened.

Pain sliced through her skull--a white-hot, scalding, burning pain that completely took her breath away and rendered her knees utterly useless. Without realizing it, she dropped to the ground with a low thud, flinching as a fresh bout of the agonizing pain exploded across her temples. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't scream or call out for help--all she could do was grit her teeth, squeeze her eyes shut, and fight through the topsy-turvy state of her mind to try and figure out what the devil was happening to her. Pain, terror, love, confusion, fear, faith, surprise, determination, and agony all spun around in a dizzying array in her head, and Hermione was so intent on sorting one thought from the next that the next thing she knew, an old but very strong hand clapped down on her shoulder. Hermione finally opened her eyes to find herself out in the hallway, sitting with her back against the wall with Albus Dumbledore kneeling in front of her. A few other professors hovered around, looking very confused, but all Dumbledore did was stare very steadily at his Head Girl.

"What happened, Miss Granger?"

"Ron," Hermione managed to get out despite the fear clawing away inside of her, flipping her stomach inside out and squeezing her lungs together, making it exceedingly difficult to breathe normally. "He's hurt." The pain had left her as abruptly as it had deluded her moments before, but she kept her hand on her head in commiseration, nevertheless. He was in so much pain right now. Her eyelids fluttered closed momentarily as she fought to keep a hold on Ron, and the fingers of fear leapt up to wrap themselves in a vise around her throat as she abruptly realized what had happened. "I don't know what happened to him but he--" She bit the inside of her lip as a dry sob wracked her entire body, and it became horribly clear why Ron had allowed her to feel his pain even for a moment. He had been trying to pull her forcibly into her thoughts, so she had caught the whirlwind of everything he was feeling instead of the original intent of the message he had been trying to send. She straightened up as her voice became clearer, and the message he had been trying to send became crystal clear. "He was trying to say good-bye, and that he-he's sorry he couldn't stop it." He had also sent the most forceful declaration of love she had ever heard from him, but she didn't tell that to them, partly because it was none of their business and partly because she was too overcome by the reason why Ron had connected with her: he thinks he's going to die.

No, no, no, no, a voice from deep down in her soul cried out at the injustice and horror of her thoughts, you cannot let this happen. A flicker of Granger determination lit a fire in the pit of her stomach, and Hermione started to get to her feet so that she could run like the wind and find him before it was too late. However, both Dumbledore's hand and a cold wave of exhaustion prevented her from standing just yet, and she reluctantly sat back down, head still reeling. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so tired that she didn't even have the strength to help one of her best friends.

"You stay here," Dumbledore demanded with quiet authority as he rose to his feet. "I will go find Mr. Weasley."

"Albus, you can't, you know they're waiting for you--" Professor Vector protested wildly.

"One of my students is in danger. I am ashamed at myself for not going out there sooner to help them," Dumbledore interjected with such force that the mild-mannered Arithmancy teacher immediately closed her mouth and stared down at her feet. He squeezed Hermione's shoulder, and a small reassuring warmth pervaded through her despairingly cold muscles. "I will inform you the moment I return." Hermione nodded weakly and Dumbledore lingered for a moment to stare at her with those penetrating blue eyes. "You have a great gift, Miss Granger," he informed her sternly. "Never forget that." With a swish of his robes and with an agility that no one would have thought possible for a man of his age, Dumbledore swept out of the hall toward the front doors.

Professor Vector watched him go with a skeptical expression on her haggard face, and then she looked down at her best student. "You'd better get back into the hall, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded mutely, her teeth clamped down on her trembling lip as she ducked her head away from her professor while passing back into the Great Hall. She froze with burning eyes as she stared at the massive amount of students. Her chest was almost unbearably tight, and the lump in her throat was so hot that she knew it would be impossible to fight it any longer. But she couldn't do this in here, in front of all of them, so she retreated into one of the small, connecting rooms. After firmly shutting the door behind her, and with a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, she sank down to her knees and burst out into frustrated, frightened tears.

Ron, she thought frantically and desperately. RON.

Infinite, horrible silence echoed unbearably throughout her mind.

Choking slightly, Hermione tried again, putting everything ounce of her into the effort to reach out and find the person she knew best, the person who knew her best. Ron, talk to me.

Nothing.

Her heart constricted in a vortex of terror as she sagged deeper into the floor. She knew that the unnerving silence could very well be because she couldn't empathically connect with Ron, since he was the empath, not her, but she didn't honestly believe it. She had been able to seek him out on a few occasions, because basically, both she and Ron wanted to have that two-way connection. The bulk of Ron's extraordinary abilities had faded along with his scars from the Ministry, but somehow his connection with her had been the only thing that hadn't changed. If anything, it had grown stronger. And it was all because it was being fueled by the most powerful magic of all--love. They had this connection and these abilities to communicate because they loved each other so damn much that they wanted to always be able to just reach out and feel each other. The world was always colder and scarier when the other was gone. But when they touched minds, no matter how bleak the outlook was or what awful thing they had just gone through, things always got warmer and life always became more bearable.

So when Hermione reached out and only sensed empty, cold nothingness, she knew that Ron was somewhere beyond the realm of empathic connection. She knew that he couldn't be dead, because she'd know if that unbelievably bleak, inconceivable possibility had occurred. For one thing, the world would cave in and she'd have to recall the horrific lesson she had learned once before--how to live without him by her side. But he was somewhere that was just as dangerous as whatever lay beyond the mortal coil of the earth, and wherever he was lingering, she couldn't follow--and she couldn't bring him back. Hermione knew that Ron had the strength and tenacity to come back on his own, of course, but the fact that she couldn't help him in any way made her stomach lurch.

A long, colorful slew of curse words made Hermione irrationally think that Ron was back, but to her revulsion it was only Malfoy who was standing in the doorway. He was sneering down at her discomposure, and Hermione hastily wiped her eyes. She had always promised herself that she would never give Draco Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"What do you want?" she demanded as she somehow managed to get back to her feet and toss her hair out of her face.

"Well, as touching as this scene is," he drawled out in the same voice she had heard him use to egg Harry into sneaking out of the tower for a midnight duel in first-year, "I'm afraid I'll have to break up the heart-wrenching scene of a Mudblood crying over her dearly departed oaf." His voice was positively dripping with bitter sarcasm, and before Hermione could even consider whether or not he deserved to be slapped for that comment, he continued to speak. "McGonagall wants to see us."

"Why?" Hermione asked somewhat suspiciously. Professor McGonagall was leading the search for possible intruders, and she hardly thought that the deputy headmistress would want two students to join the search.

Malfoy sighed with annoyance. "I don't know, Granger, she just came by. We're supposed to meet her in the prefect meeting room." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I can handle it by myself if you're too distraught." His disdainful sweep of her blotchy face and watery eyes clearly indicated that he didn't care in the slightest that she was devastated and was gleefully plotting to use the opportunity to weasel more power away from her.

"No," Hermione said forcefully as she instinctively straightened her jumper and smoothed her skirt. "No, I'll be there in just a minute."

Malfoy shrugged and Hermione found herself staring somewhat absently after him. She had planned on taking a few moments to collect herself so that Professor McGonagall would not see her in this condition, but instead she found herself calling to mind a conversation she had had with Harry a few days earlier. It had been the day of Percy's death and that was all that anyone could talk about. She and Harry had been in Potions when Malfoy had strutted into the class, talking to one of his friends. This friend must have not heard the whole story about what had happened, because all that Hermione and Harry had heard was Malfoy almost cheerfully explain that Percy must have either seen a Galleon on the ground and tried to retrieve it or he had tried to do a Wronski Feint, except that he was stupid enough to forget the feinting part of the Quidditch maneuver. Whatever the reason, Malfoy had gleefully added that it didn't really matter. As long as Percy had ended up smacked into a bloody pulp, he was content.

The Slytherin had been appropriately repulsed by Malfoy's description, but that was nothing compared to the fury on Harry's face. Hermione had been ready to raise hell for Malfoy's disrespect, but an immense amount of self-control had held her back, and she'd been able to grab the back of Harry's robes just in time to prevent a brawl. Malfoy had turned at the commotion, and for a moment the two foes had locked eyes. She had felt Harry's shoulders tense up, but all Malfoy had done was calmly ask if there was a problem, and all Harry had said was that he was looking at a problem. Malfoy had laughed and then walked away without another glance Harry's way, and he didn't even look in Hermione's direction.

Harry's cheek had been twitching, and he was glaring at Malfoy not with anger as much as interest, as though he was analyzing the Slytherin. Hermione had been quite confused by Harry's behavior, so she had quietly asked him what was the matter.

"He's up to something," Harry had said instantly in that sage, I-know-everything voice that reminded her of Dumbledore. She had asked him to explain, and Harry quickly explained in a voice that left no room for argument. "Don't you think it's a bit funny that he didn't say anything particularly awful to us?" Harry demanded. "I mean, yeah, he just insulted Percy, but he didn't even know we were here. After he did, he just walked away. He didn't even call you a Mudblood!"

Hermione had sighed slightly then, and she repeated the soft sound now. It spoke volumes about a person if it was incredibly suspicious and unnerving when he didn't insult you. One of the few things that never changed around Hogwarts was Draco Malfoy's ever-present, condescending air. He was relentless in the prefect meetings, classrooms, on the Quidditch pitch, in the hallways, everywhere. Hermione had lost track of how many times she was called a Mudblood, or Harry was called an orphan, or Ron was called a pauper--she would have hoped that over the years Malfoy would have grown out of his childish jealousy of Harry's innate talents and abilities. She would have hoped that now that they were adults, Malfoy would be content to live his own life instead of spending it pursuing the person he hated most. Spending your life in pursuit of making someone else's miserable when you could be focusing on making your life wonderful is a horrible way to live, but Malfoy just couldn't seem to get over his petty, childhood differences with Harry. Instead of fading like most childhood grudges, it had escalated to the point that she had actually heard both of them threaten to kill the other. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the door Malfoy had disappeared out of. Malfoy may be Head Boy, thereby making it necessary to keep some semblance of civility toward him at all times, but she could never forget the animosity he had for her friends. He was always up to something.

But maybe there was something more to it this time, Hermione reflected. Come to think of it--Malfoy had been backing off a fair bit. The last time he had shot off his fat mouth was at the prefect meeting in March when Ron had accused him of being jealous. But maybe he was up to something and he was laying low to lull them into a sense of security before pouncing--not to mention that his father clearly had some sort of plans for her. Hermione's stomach twisted at the thought, and as usual, she reminded herself that Draco was not his father and she couldn't lump them together. For all that she knew, Draco Malfoy could be a tortured soul who was conflicted between his own beliefs and the principles laid down by his entire family line.

She didn't believe that thought for a second, but she had to think it, otherwise it would be impossible to work with the bastard. She had to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt unless she found concrete, irrefutable evidence of Death Eater ties. He was innocent until proven guilty. He could very well know nothing about his father's plans.

But he very well could...

**

Draco Malfoy was leaning against the front table in the prefect room between the gavel they used in formal meetings and the pitcher of water and glasses they kept there with his ankles crossed, arms folded, and lips twisted in a scowl of impatience. "You're late," he accused sharply when Hermione finally rushed into the room.

She didn't dignify the comment with a response and just glared. "Where's Professor McGonagall?" she asked.

"Some people came to see her--she told us to wait here until she finished." Malfoy relayed dully.

Hermione normally would have been much more curious with Malfoy's vague explanation, but she understood it better than the average person. Someone from the Order must have arrived to investigate, and that was why they were having this meeting in the prefect meeting room rather than McGonagall's office. "Doesn't look like I'm late then," Hermione commented evenly.

Malfoy just rolled his eyes and paced toward the window. Hermione stepped forward to the front table but she didn't take a seat, wondering if she should follow through with the idea that had just popped into her head before arriving at the meeting. She didn't know why they hadn't thought to question Malfoy before, but now that she had this golden opportunity, she planned on seizing it for all that it was worth. Ron and Harry--her heart instinctively froze in worry, but she pushed it aside before she became too mired down in fear that she couldn't function--they would kill her if they knew she was about to do this, but as much as she loved those two, they wouldn't be dictating her actions. It wasn't often that she and Malfoy were alone together--thank God--and that was the only time that she could do it. Besides, if she had a plan and a mission, she could focus on that rather than her infinite concern for Ron and Harry. "You mind telling me just why your father has a bizarre fascination with kidnapping Muggle girls?"

If Malfoy was taken aback by the abruptness of her question, he didn't show it. He just guffawed once. "Yeah, sure," Malfoy replied sarcastically. "He's a bit randy since Mum doesn't put out anymore, so he collects concubines from every Muggle community he visits."

Lucius Malfoy was so revolting that Hermione had to seriously wonder for a moment if he was lying or not. "That's disgusting," Hermione muttered. Malfoy had better be lying, otherwise he'd be planning for her to--eugh! Hermione couldn't even finish the thought. She repressed a shudder as she fixed a firm glare on the Slytherin. "Out with it, Malfoy," she demanded forcefully. If she knew Malfoy at all, she knew that he actually wanted to tell her, even if it meant spoiling his father's plans. Whatever his father had cooked up in his sick, twisted mind, Malfoy was practically salivating on the sidelines, drooling to have the chance to watch Hermione in torment. Since he wouldn't be inflicting the actual pain on her, he was dying for the opportunity to inform her of the plan, and revel in watching the terror rise in her eyes.

Malfoy didn't seem to be rising to the bait, so Hermione quickly changed tactics. "Or, on second thought, maybe you don't know anything," Hermione shrugged. "I can understand that. I don't know why your father would tell you anything anyway."

Malfoy just sneered as she feigned casualness. "Reverse psychology may work on a half-wit like Weasley, Granger, but not on me."

"Funny you know about psychology," Hermione commented evenly. "Considering that it's a Muggle field of science." She cocked her head to the side. "But then again, you always seem to know more than you let on, don't you, Draco?"

"Oh, we're on a first name basis now, are we?" Malfoy countered. "Hermione," he added for spite.

Hermione never thought she'd be nauseated at the sound of her own name, but there was a definite gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach. "Just tell me what your father wants with those Muggles," Hermione commanded as she placed her hands on the table and leaned toward Malfoy. "It's sick and wrong for your father to be keeping them from their families and you know it."

"Is this how you convinced Potter and Weasley to join your little house-elf campaign?" Malfoy leaned against the wall and turned his finger in a disdainful circle. "Because, bravo." He clapped with an air of contemptuous superiority.

She ignored the jibe on S.P.E.W. and forged on. "What about all of this?" she demanded as she waved her hand to indicate the night of insanity they were currently living through. "Why Professor Lupin? It's a distraction, isn't it? Why do they want to get into Hogwarts?" Malfoy just glared, and Hermione pointed out the window. "Maybe you don't understand this, Malfoy, but people are dying--there's a war going on and there are much bigger things going on here then some idiot who is still upset that Harry Potter didn't shake his hand on the train seven bloody years ago!" Her chest was starting to burn and tighten painfully again, and Hermione knew that she was really pushing this by pressing the issue, especially when she felt as sick and exhausted as she did, but it had to be done. "Who cares if Harry didn't like you back then--you two never would have gotten along, so he really did you a favor. So, instead of dedicating your life to getting him back, get over it, prove everyone wrong by showing that you are not the heartless bastard you seem to be, and help me!" Her cheeks burned bright red with anger and her hands went to her hips, although her legs were starting to shake and the blood was rushing away from her head. "I know that you're up to something, Malfoy so tell me, what the hell is going on here?!"

Malfoy took a step closer, and they were now standing toe-to-toe. For the first time, Hermione realized that Malfoy was almost as tall as Ron by now, but she kept her chin defiantly in the air. No way in hell she was going to back down to Draco Malfoy. "You really want to know what's going on, Granger?" Malfoy asked in a tone of voice she had never heard from him before--completely without that sarcastic drawl. "You really think that you can handle with what he's got planned for you and your friends?" He glanced at her up and down with an odd mixture of contempt and appreciation. "Look at yourself, you can barely stand up, and I haven't told you a thing." Hermione kept her chin high, but she couldn't counter the argument because unfortunately it was true. She was more than a little weak in the knees and lightheaded. Despite a fresh wave of dizziness, Hermione gritted her teeth, thought about Ron, and didn't back down. However, with a rough shove, Hermione was forced down into her chair at the head of the room, and she couldn't help a little sigh of relief at being able to get off of her quivering legs. "So you just sit your little Mudblooded self down, have some water before you have a stroke, and shut up!"

Hermione stared at him with surprise, no longer wondering once again why on earth she felt so awful. She had never seen Draco Malfoy so ill-at-ease. Malfoy was always polished, unruffled, and slimily slick, and although he had moments where he allowed his true emotions to flicker through, Hermione had never seen him like this. She was really getting under his skin, and although she knew she should press her luck and continue to try to get answers out of him, Hermione decided that right now she wanted to get as far away from Malfoy's skin as possible. Head in the air, she poured herself a glass of water before taking a long, calming sip. She hated that she was actually following Malfoy's orders, but she really needed to get a hold of herself before McGonagall got back--come to think of it, where was McGonagall?

And despite her weakened state, it all became inexplicably clear.

There are moments when you recognize that you are in grave, undeniable danger, but instead of just getting yourself out, you pause, completely baffled by the sudden realization that you allowed yourself to fall for an obvious trap. These instants fortunately only last for--well, an instant--and typically, you get over the perplexity and get yourself out in time, before it's too late.

However, sometimes that moment of paralysis is all that is needed. Hermione stiffened in mid-sip, but before she could lower the glass, Malfoy's arm wrapped around her waist to keep her trapped in the chair. He tilted the chair back on its back two legs much like Ron balanced in his seat during every prefect meeting, and he brought his other hand up to keep the water steadily flowing into her mouth and down her throat. She sputtered and fought to keep from swallowing, but she was still too weak to break free. Since he was keeping her head back at an angle, some water trickled down, although she managed to keep most of it in her mouth. However, the moment the glass was empty, Malfoy dropped it and clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent her from spitting it out, his thumb rubbing over the ridge in her throat to make her involuntarily swallow the remainder of the liquid that undoubtedly contained something she would normally never ever want to consume.

"That's it," Malfoy crooned chillingly as the last of the liquid drained down her dry throat. "Drink up, Hermione--drink it all up--"