Rating:
PG-13
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Hermione Granger Ron Weasley
Genres:
Romance Action
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 06/06/2004
Updated: 01/06/2005
Words: 243,073
Chapters: 26
Hits: 84,040

Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

Ann Margaret

Story Summary:
This is the story of the beginning of the trio's last months at Hogwarts, the beginning of the end of their childhood and the end of the war. But will good prevail? Will they survive? And why the hell did Ron Weasley throw away his relationship with Hermione? Once again, a lot more action, darker, but perhaps this time we shall have a happy ending...or not...

Chapter 19

Chapter Summary:
Is it true? Is Hermione really dead? Well....
Posted:
10/11/2004
Hits:
3,221
Author's Note:
Thanks for being patient with this update; I know that this one was probably the worst cliffhanger ever! Hopefully, this will answer some questions....


So lately, been wondering

Who will be there to take my place

When I'm gone you'll need love

To light the shadows on your face

If a great wave should fall and fall upon us all

Then between the sand and stone

Could you make it on your own?

"Wherever You Will Go"--The Calling

**

The cold that penetrated Hermione right to the very core of her bones was the first thing that jarred her out of the infinite darkness she had been floating in and back into hazy awareness. She tried to open her eyes, but all of her muscles felt unbearably heavy, making any sort of movement impossible. Since she was as of yet unable to rely on her sight, she began to try, with the help of her other senses, to figure out where she was and what had happened. However, they didn't tell her very much, either. The only sound she could make out was the faint ticking of a nearby clock, she couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary, and all she could feel against her skin was the silky-smooth satin of the sheets she was lying on. And then there was that disgusting taste in her mouth that came from dehydration and sleeping with your mouth open. She managed to swallow before trying to shift through the thick fog that was clouding her mind. Despite her disorganized thoughts, she could sense that she wasn't asleep in her bed at Hogwarts. Wherever she was, she had an awful feeling that she really didn't want to be there.

With another strained swallow and a soft groan, Hermione finally found enough strength to force her heavy eyelids open. She winced slightly as the bright candlelight assailed her vision, and the assorted colors of the room swirled together momentarily. While waiting for her eyesight to return to normal, she fingered the blanket beneath her hand. It was some sort of thick fabric, and from the feeling of the thread-count beneath her fingertips, Hermione could tell that it must have cost a fortune. Ignoring the dull throbbing of her temples, Hermione turned her head. By the time the room swam back into focus, she was facing the interior of the room rather than the ceiling. The walls were decorated with a tailored red-orange wallpaper that made the room appear to be on fire when the candlelight reflected off of it. The deep, chocolate-brown hues of the sleek, shiny wardrobe, dresser, trunk, and four-poster bed contrasted nicely with the eerily fiery walls, and the entire room had an extremely elegant, refined sense of disdain. It only took Hermione a few seconds to realize where she must be.

Hoping desperately that she was wrong, she half stumbled, half fell out of the bed, and with her feet padding into the deep, plush carpeting, wobbled over to the window and pulled back the heavy dark draperies to peer out onto the grounds. There was the front circle, the winding mile-long gravel road with patches of Devil's snare and other booby traps, and there was the large, iron barred gate with the cursive M at the peak.

Hermione dropped hold of the curtains and jumped backward as if the thick fabric had scalded her. A dull ache was eating away at the pit of her stomach and with one hand over her mouth, she shakily staggered backward, dropping back onto the edge of the four-poster bed. How could she have been so stupid? She knew that the Malfoys had been trying to get their hands on her for months, and instead of being careful and keeping clear of Malfoy, especially when a werewolf had escaped on the grounds in what seemed for all the world like a diversion, she had played right into his slimy hands. He had captured her for his father, and now Lucius Malfoy had her exactly where he wanted her.

A shiver rippled through her, but instead of dwelling on the fear of having Lucius Malfoy carry out whatever sick plan he had for her, Hermione got to her feet with a refreshing bout of Gryffindor bravery. They may have her precisely where they wanted her, but there was no way in hell that she was going to go down without a fight. She had to find a way out. She was on the third floor, so there was no way that she could go through the window without a broom or the aid of Buckbeak. She decided that she was just going to have to risk going through the only door. She patted her pockets, even though she knew that they would have relieved her of her wand, so she was going to have to do this unarmed. When she had peeked out of the window, she had noticed that it was almost dusk, so maybe everyone would be at dinner and she'd be able to sneak out without attracting any attention to herself. She was just going to have to risk it. Taking a deep, steadying breath and shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, Hermione slowly wrapped her fingers around the gold enamel doorknob, and ever so carefully, she turned the knob all the way to the right. She pushed the door soundlessly open a few inches and poked her head cautiously out into the hallway.

"Oi, look who's up!" Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the loud, cheery voice, and instinctively she tried to yank the door shut again in case they tried to punish her for attempting to escape. However, a wide hand grabbed the knob on the other side to prevent the heavy oak door from closing any further. His other hand closed around the edge of the door, and he wrenched it open to beam down on the startled prisoner. She had never seen this Death Eater before--he had a wide forehead, rather close-set eyes, a nose that had obviously been recently broken, and a boyish exuberance to his entire demeanor that made Hermione very tempted to slap him--especially when she was still rather groggy from whatever potion Malfoy had forced her to drink.

The Death Eater's attitude changed after he looked Hermione up and down for a moment, surprise replacing his earlier glee. "Why, look at you," he exclaimed. "They went on and on about what a threat you were and to keep a close eye on you and all, but you're just a little slip of a girl."

Hermione's chin automatically rose indignantly. This wizard couldn't be more than two years older than her, so he'd better watch who he was calling a little girl. If she had her wand, what with all the training she'd had from DADA and D.A., she'd be able to hex the bloke into the next millennium. However, the Death Eater quickly poked her defiant chin with his wand, and when he glared at her, he looked much older and scarier than he had a few moments earlier. "Don't be trying to prove me wrong, missy," he warned. Hermione kept her jaw cemented shut and didn't say a word, although her eyes were smoldering with insolence. She was not going to be a compliant prisoner in this household, thank you very much.

He lowered his wand away from her jugular artery and hastily conjured some cords to bind her wrists tightly together. "Now, move," the wizard ordered. He grabbed her by the shoulder, steering her in front of him, and kept his wand at side of her neck and a guiding hand on her shoulder. As he pushed her along, she caught sight of a wooden chair on the other side of the hall directly in front of the door she had just tried to slip through. This Death Eater must have been sitting there waiting for her, and from the pile of magazines, Cauldron Cake wrappers, and empty bottles of butterbeer, he had been stationed outside her door for quite some time. His fingers tightened around her shoulder, unintentionally pulling on her hair. "My master would like to see you," he said forcefully.

Hermione kept her face impassive, but inside her stomach was churning as though she were riding a thestral. She was about to discover just what Lucius Malfoy had planned for her. Clamping down on the inside of her lip, Hermione silently allowed herself to be corralled down the many light, glistening cedar stairwells adorned with luxurious blue patterned carpet and carved banisters. Along the way, Hermione made mental notes as to where they were going, so that if she did manage to slip away, she wouldn't be running around the manor like a chicken with its head cut off like she had last February. Rigidly, she was forced into a room lined entirely with sleek bookshelves that were filled with a massive amount of books--more books than Hermione could ever hope to read in an entire lifetime. The room was even bigger than the Hogwarts library, and it even had a small, spiral stairwell that led up to a second floor that housed even more bookcases. It was one of the most beautiful things Hermione had ever seen, but the fact that it belonged to people as twisted as the Malfoys tainted the room with an aura of repugnance.

There was a mahogany, roll-top desk angled in one corner of the room, and behind the desk, seated in a comfortable chair of his own and with his expensive leather boots propped up on the desktop was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's blank face faltered for a moment in honest confusion. "You?"

Malfoy's eyes sprang up from the book he'd been reading, and a sneer crossed his pale, pointed face. "I brought the girl," the eager Death Eater said unnecessarily. He beamed at Malfoy as though he were expecting lavish praise to be laid upon him, but Malfoy just continued to leer and stare at Hermione for several long moments, his fingers very deliberately running over the rice-thin page he had been reading. Pretending to be completely unperturbed by the long stretch of silence, she lifted her chin even higher into the air, ignoring the fact that it was noticeably quivering. She would not let him see her afraid.

A side door hidden behind one of the massive bookcases swung open to reveal Lucius Malfoy and a man who was so huge and hulking that he could only be Vincent Crabbe's father. "We can't move him here with her--" His oily unctuous voice broke off when he spotted Hermione. She stiffened as those horrendous blue eyes that were devoid of any warmth or compassion rested on hers. His lips twisted up into what might have been a smile. "Well, well, well. Miss Granger made it back into the world of the living," Lucius Malfoy drawled, using the nauseatingly polite voice he had used to introduce himself to her at Flourish and Blotts the summer before second-year. Crabbe tilted his head to take a closer look at Hermione, and she was neither surprised nor pleased to note that he looked just as much like a gorilla as his son did. Lucius' contemptuous gaze only remained on her for a few seconds before he turned to his son. "Carry on," was all he said. He turned to walk back through the hidden door, but Hermione couldn't help calling out after him as it hit her that once again, she had been incorrect in assuming which Malfoy had wanted her.

"You never wanted me?" Hermione demanded. "All this time, you were telling everyone to leave me alone and not to touch me because of him?" She nodded toward Draco Malfoy who looked as though he would like nothing more than to either rip her head off or burst out into laughter. If all of this had been for Malfoy's benefit, then that certainly put things into a different perspective. She had thought that Lucius wanted her for some sort of plan he had for those Muggle girls, but if she was really here for Draco, then that was a hippogriff of a different color.

Lucius was looking at her again as though she was some sort of bug that needed to be squashed. "Why don't you ask my son why you're here?" he suggested with a hint of a smirk. "I'm sure he'll tell you all that you need to know." He nodded over to his son before snapping his fingers at Crabbe, and the two Death Eaters slipped through the passageway, slamming the bookcase behind them.

Hermione jumped slightly at the loud noise, but before the two boys left in the room could snicker at her, she whirled around on Malfoy. If he was the one who wanted her, well then fine, now he had her--bad temper and all--and he was just going to have to deal with the receiving end of her infinite wrath. "What the hell is going on here? Why am I here? What do you want with me?" She blinked. "And what are you even doing here? Why aren't you at school?"

Malfoy was ignoring her once again as he tossed his book onto the desk. "That will be all, Terrence. You may wait outside until I'm finished with her." The boy who had escorted Hermione down the hall nodded in humility and slipped out of the room, making Hermione realize that he wasn't a Death Eater--he was a servant.

Malfoy swung his legs off of his desk and slowly and deliberately wandered around to the other side, taking his sweet time and purposefully making Hermione practically squirm with impatience. "Hermione, Hermione." She gritted her teeth. She hated that he was now calling her by her first name. Malfoy tilted his head to the side as if he had been struck with a sudden thought. "That's an unusual name--how'd you get it?"

"Malfoy, if you don't tell me what's going on in two seconds--" Hermione threatened testily. However, before she could launch into a lengthy and colorful description of a method of torture tested and approved by Fred and George Weasley, Malfoy's wand was out and pointed at her heart.

"In case you were wondering, your wand is currently being used as firewood for the servant's washroom," Malfoy informed her coldly. Hermione's stomach positively twisted at the thought of losing her wand, but she didn't allow for her emotions to reach her face. "And as you now know, I am the only person allowed to hurt you." He raised his wand even higher and closer to her and just glared, ordering her silently to answer his question.

Hermione uselessly twisted her wrists in a vain attempt to loosen the ropes binding her wrists before finally conceding to his request. "My mum loves a Muggle playwright by the name of William Shakespeare," she explained dully. "Hermione is the heroine of her favorite Shakespearean play."

"What's it about?" Malfoy inquired.

She fixed him with a skeptical look. "Do you even know what a play is?"

With a stab of his wand, a shower of sparks rushed past her, grazing her skin and leaving a slight burn on her forearm. Hermione knew Malfoy well enough to know that if he had wanted to really hurt her, he wouldn't have missed. As much as she hated to admit it, Malfoy really was a talented wizard, and she had no chance of fighting back without a wand and with her wrists tightly tied together. "It's about a queen named Hermione." She reluctantly relayed the story she had heard and read many times throughout her childhood. "She's happily married with one son, and with a daughter on the way, but her husband, Leontes, becomes suspicious that his unborn daughter is the child of his best friend, not his own. He's driven mad with jealousy and banishes his infant daughter and tries his wife for adultery. She's found innocent, but the strain of the trial causes her son to die of a broken heart. Hearing the news of her son's death, Hermione also dies."

The story came to an abrupt halt as Hermione's eyes widened. Malfoy leaned back against the desk and waved his wand. "Go on," he urged, although she realized that he very well knew how the story ended.

"Sixteen years later, the lost daughter manages to find her way back to the father who has been grieving for his lost wife and children all of this time. The daughter discovers that she is a princess, which is fortunate, because she has fallen in love with the son of Leontes' best friend. She's told the whole story, and Hermione's best friend reveals that she has erected a statue to commemorate Hermione's memory. They go to it, and miraculously, it comes to life." She swallowed hard. "Hermione comes back to life, and they all live happily ever after."

Without thinking to ask for permission, she dropped down into one of the armchairs in front of the desk. Malfoy didn't comment, since he was still smirking at her discomposure. "Funny how stories like that can come true."

Hermione's chest shook as she fought to keep her anger from boiling out of her. "What, Ron thinks that I'm pregnant with Harry's child?" she spat out sarcastically.

"No," Malfoy answered. "Although that would be a delight to witness." Hermione kept her eyes stubbornly fixed on the corner of the desk in front of her, because she knew that if she looked at Malfoy right now, she'd try to do something that she might end up regretting. "No, Granger--I'm talking about how everyone thinks you're dead."

It was as though she had been kicked hard in the stomach, although she had known for a while just what Malfoy had been insinuating with his insistence on hearing the plot of The Winter's Tale. They thought she was dead, which meant that no one would be looking for her. She bit down hard on the inside of her lip and closed her eyes briefly. "What did you give me?" she demanded tightly, hoping irrationally that if she closed her eyes long enough and wished hard enough, she'd open her eyes to find herself back in her bed at Hogwarts.

"Ever hear of the Draught of Living Death?" Malfoy inquired. Hermione groaned in lieu of an answer. She had read about the sleeping potion before she had even begun first-year, and it had been the subject of one of the many unfairly difficult questions Snape had shot at Harry on the first day of class. The potion would cause her body temperature to lower, her breath to still, and her blood to congeal and ultimately push her into a slumber so deep and impenetrable that it could be misdiagnosed as death by even the most competent mediwizard. "They won't be erecting a statue in your memory anytime soon," Malfoy continued sarcastically, "but a few people were rather shaken up by your untimely demise. Although, some say that they saw it coming--you had been noticeably ill your last few days."

Hermione had the insane urge to laugh at her own stupidity. That was why she had been so tired and had such trouble keeping control of herself--she and Malfoy had had several prefect meetings the week before the kidnapping, complete with numerous glasses of water undoubtedly chock full of some potion that made her sick. This would give a plausible explanation for her sudden death, not to mention that she had been considerably weakened and unable to fight back when Malfoy had made his move. She should have listened to Ron and gone to the hospital wing when he had first asked her to--

Ron. For the first time since she had opened her eyes, a flicker of hope warmed her entire being. One of the aftereffects of the Draught of Living Death was disorientation and confusion, which explained why she hadn't been thinking clearly until now. What had she been thinking? Not everyone thought she was dead. Ron would know in a heartbeat that she wasn't dead, even if the vast distance between them impaired their empathic connection. Ron would know she was alive, and he would tell Harry, who would believe him. Since they'd known for ages that the Malfoys wanted her, the first place they'd demand that the Order look would be the Malfoy Manor. Ron would find her.

The blaze of hope must have been evident on her face, and Malfoy quickly spoke up to squash her positive thoughts. "Although, no one was too concerned with the untimely manner of your death." He sighed with mock pity. "Not with the others."

It was as though her stomach was wrenched out of her. "Other deaths?" she asked in a very forced, steady voice. Her lungs constricted as she remembered all too well Ron trying to connect with her to say good-bye. But he couldn't be--she'd know--she'd stop functioning if he was--no, she couldn't even complete the thought. It just wasn't possible. But it was possible for that horrible fate to have befallen someone else.

Malfoy laughed outright. "I don't want to concern you with those trivial matters." Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Malfoy knew that not giving her all of the answers would be much more nerve-wracking than telling her the truth. For all she knew, Malfoy could be lying through his pointed, slightly plaque-riddled teeth. She held his gaze unabashedly, but he didn't back down. She'd have to find another way to discover what had really happened at Hogwarts that night. "All I want you to worry about is tomorrow night," he continued.

"What's tomorrow night?" Hermione demanded forcefully. Her bravado faded much more quickly than she cared to admit as Malfoy pushed himself off the desk and stood too close to her for her taste. She immediately sunk deeper into her chair; however with her hands tied and the plush sides of the armchair preventing her from eluding his grasp, she had to hide a flinch as his long, cold fingers lightly grazed the inside of her forearm. His touch lingered on her wrist, moving aside some of the cords to feel her rapid pulse.

"Tomorrow night, you will be making a very important contribution," he drawled. His fingers traced up her arm to follow the vein he was stroking, up to the area directly below her elbow. Hermione only allowed him to move his thumb in one skin-curling circle on her skin before jerking her arms away and holding them flat against her chest. Malfoy's eyes momentarily raged at her gall, but when he spoke, his voice was as oily and unctuous as his father's. "Tomorrow night, I become one of them."

"One of them?" Hermione repeated in confusion.

To her infinite relief, Malfoy paced back to the desk to retrieve the book he had been reading when she first arrived. "Maybe this will help you understand." He slung the book at her, and Hermione let out a startled 'oomph' as the spine of the book caught her in the stomach and landed on her lap. "I know how partial you are to books," he added sarcastically.

Despite her bound wrists, Hermione managed to turn over the book and read the title. It was a Death Eater manual. The undoubtedly chilling contents of the book prompted her to instantly knock it off of her lap and onto the ground, but she still felt the heavy pressure of the text against her legs. "Tomorrow you're being initiated," Hermione said flatly. Ron was finally going to be right after all these years of assuming that Malfoy was in league with Voldemort. "I suppose congratulations are in order, although I must admit that no one fits the bill better than you." She fixed him with the authoritarian stare that she used on disobedient first-years. "Now, what does this have to do with me?"

Malfoy stooped down to pick up the book and dusted it off as if it were a first-edition original copy of Hogwarts: A History. His eyes, however, were resting on her lower arm again. "Do you know how they do it?" he asked quietly. "How I will become marked with his insignia?"

Hermione mutely shook her head. She really didn't like where this conversation was going, but there was no going back now. It was about time she learned just what this little cockroach had planned for her.

"It's a combination of ingredients similar to the one that brought our Dark Lord back into existence," Malfoy hinted as though she was some silly first-year who didn't know how to Transfigure a piece of straw into a needle.

The only way she was going to get any information out of him was to play along, so instead of rolling her eyes, Hermione thought back to when Harry had woodenly told the story of how Voldemort had returned to his former body. "Bones of the father, flesh of a servant, and blood of an enemy," she recited grudgingly. The wheels in her head finally started to turn properly, and she had halfway figured out what Malfoy was trying to tell her before he finished his explanation.

"We don't need all of those things to complete the ritual," Malfoy said slowly as he gently laid the book back on the desk. "We just need some blood." Hermione moved her arms back against her chest as she realized that he was still staring at her bare arms with too much gleeful fervor. "You see, Granger, blood is our very essence of life. It contains our entire magical essence, and by flowing through us, it records all of our secrets--even a few drops of it can be a very potent and informative thing." He ticked off each person with a calculated finger. "So we get the blood of our father to ensure loyalty and devotion from the entire family, the blood of a servant to prove that we are and always will be in command, and finally the blood of the people that we despise above all."

The fire that always burned in her stomach whenever she went off about house-elf rights and other fierce injustices had just been rekindled inside of her. "Muggles," she clarified flatly.

"Or Mudbloods," Malfoy agreed in the same steady voice.

"I'm here because you need a few drops of a Muggle-born's blood to mix around with your father's and some simple-minded servant's, so that you can brand a hideous mark on your skin and bind yourself to some madman for the rest of your life?" Hermione's voice rose increasingly by the second, so by the time she finished the sentence, it had reached a feverish, shrill pitch. "And that's why your dad has been collecting Muggles? It's not just your initiation tomorrow night, is it? Loads of you are going through the ritual, and your dad has always been in charge of Muggle torture and those sorts of things, so he's been collecting them for ages so that you foul creatures can have your pick of the litter, is that it?" She tried to point toward the door, but she only managed to flail her arms awkwardly. "You took those girls from their homes and families and friends just to get a few drops of their blood for a bloody tattoo? You're sick!" Her eyes started to shine with furious tears, but she ignored them. "And you--you couldn't even be satisfied with the scores of girls your father is kidnapping--you had me specially ordered!"

"I don't know why you're getting so upset, Hermione," Malfoy said with false surprise. "Most girls would be flattered to receive such attention from me."

"I wouldn't say flattered--I think repulsed and revolted are more accurate terms," Hermione snapped, all former concerns about holding her tongue gone with her fury at the injustice of the situation that she and the other girls were in.

His wand went back to poking into her throat, and once again, Hermione pushed herself into the cushions as he leaned so close to her that his hot breath was burning her neck, making the skin turn sticky with abhorrence. "If I were you, Granger," Malfoy said, spitting out her name so that flecks of his foul-smelling saliva clung to her cheek, "I'd be very, very nice to me." The tip of his wand dug deeper into her neck. "You see, I haven't told you yet about what occurs after I extract your blood."

Hermione kept her lips pressed together to restrain herself from making a sharp retort, and by thinking as hard as she could about staying alive to get back to Ron and Harry, she managed to remain silent. "Your blood tells us everything about you," Malfoy explained. "And since yours is already filth-riddled with you being what you are, it becomes necessary for a certain amount of purity to remain in your veins, if you know what I'm saying."

And that was why the ones with boyfriends were taken first, Hermione realized with a disgusted gulp. That explained Malfoy's unusual interest in her and Ron's situation. He had wanted to make sure that his product wasn't becoming damaged goods, so to speak. She couldn't help recalling that fateful night in the common room with Ron and how different her plight would be at the moment if she hadn't made the decision she had made. She wasn't sure what they would have done if they had learned that her blood couldn't be used for Malfoy's Dark Mark after all.

"So afterward, to prove our loyalty to the cause," Malfoy continued cruelly, "we make a sacrifice to the Dark Lord, and of course there is no better sacrifice than to cut the throat of a young, chaste Mudblood such as yourself." Hermione's lips clamped down even tighter to fight the dry heave that abruptly racked her body, and the motion unfortunately brought her in direct line of Malfoy's wandering fingers. They reached out to touch her cheek in the same way that Ron's always did. However, Ron's fingers were always tender, loving, and soothing, while Malfoy's were only absolutely sickening. "But, we do have the option of forcibly removing our sacrifice's virtue before her execution."

As much as she hated to do it, it became absolutely necessary for Hermione to lower her head to her knees in order to return all of the blood that had rushed out of her head. The thought of Malfoy touching her--Hermione's stomach heaved again, and it was fortunate that she hadn't eaten anything in quite a bit of time, otherwise it would have ended up all over Malfoy's expensive robes. This was not happening--he was just toying with her again. He couldn't possibly want to--do that--with her, the girl he had reviled and tormented for seven years simply because not only did he not like where she came from, but also because she was the only student who got better grades than he did. Another heave racked her body, but this time the only thing that threatened to bubble out of her were the tears that she quickly forced back.

She heard him step back, and from the self-satisfied way he sighed, she knew he had decided that his job here was done. "Terrence!" he shouted. Hermione lifted her head when she heard the door creak open, and the servant's expectant footsteps bounded into the room. "Take her back to her room and remain posted outside until further notice." His tone grew much more arrogant and his smile reminded her of how Crookshanks looked directly after he caught a mouse in the seconds before he began to devour the poor creature. "Be a good Mudblood, Granger," he warned. "Otherwise I will do more than just cut your throat."

Hermione wished she had it in her to make some sort of defiant, parting statement, but the aftereffects of the Draught of Living Death, and the horror of what she had just learned, rendered her so horror-struck that she could barely will her legs to move normally. Terrence had support her quite a bit as he guided her out of the library and back into the hall. Hermione remained slightly hunched forward, taking deep breaths in a vain attempt to calm herself. How on earth was she going to get out of this?

"You know," Terrence said awkwardly when he stopped in front of her door to untie her hands. It finally occurred to him that she was breathing so heavily because she was fighting so hard not to cry, and he kept both her wrists pinned in his hands as he spoke seriously to her. "You're actually pretty lucky. None of the other ones got to stay in the manor. They're all crowded in the dungeons." He shifted his grip on her so that he could unlock the door. "At least you can have some peace and quiet."

"Yeah," Hermione said bitterly under her breath. "I'm so lucky."

The faint air of sympathy abruptly vanished as Terrence's eyes flashed with surprised anger. "Just trying to make things a little easier for you," Terrence snapped as he kicked the door open and shoved Hermione inside. She kept her balance until the door slammed shut, and when the lock clicked loudly in place, Hermione fell to her knees, leaning her back against the door. Fists clenched and pressing against her eyes to block the hot salty tears from falling out, she gritted her teeth and fought with everything she had to find Ron. She had never needed him more in her life, so even if they were hundreds of miles away, she was going to find him.

But as she fought and fought to find Ron, all that changed was that her tears spilled more and more heavily down her face. He was gone--it was just like how she had tried to reach out to him after he had tried to say good-bye to her. It wasn't as though she couldn't find him because the connection was too tenuous, rather it was as though she couldn't find him because he simply wasn't there. It was like his mind was completely absent from this plane of existence, but at the same time, Hermione knew with every fiber of her being that Ron couldn't be dead, because a part of her would have died as well. It was that part of her that was one of the few things that was keeping her going. She lost track of how many times she mentally screamed out his name, until finally she kicked her legs in a spastic act of extreme frustration and buried her face in her hands to muffle the quiet scream of desperation.

She was utterly, entirely, and horribly on her own.

But being alone didn't necessarily mean that you were alone and helpless.

Hermione came to that realization after quite a long time when she finally stopped crying with a forceful hiccup that wracked her entire body. Ron may not be able to tell anyone of her plight, but she could take matters in her own hands. She roughly wiped her face with the back her hand and sniffed hard as her eyes began to blaze. Now that the grief and fear had passed, Hermione was royally hacked off that she had been dragged to this awful place away from everyone that she loved. The people that she cared about needed her help, and she wasn't about to sit around and let Malfoy cut her throat when she could be finding a way to get the hell out of here and back home.

A quick, cursory inspection of the room instigated no brilliant plans so she got to her feet so she could first examine the window. However, as she touched the handle, she had to yank her hand away as if she had been burned--because she had been burned. Hermione swore under her breath as she shook her hand with annoyance to dissipate the stinging pain; she should have known that the Malfoys would charm all possible exits with the same burning spell they used in the dungeons. With a little sigh, she began to peer at the walls for any indication of a secret passageway or hidden door. Running her fingers along the wall to feel for a telltale crack, her eyes continued to survey the room, mind busily working to answer the question, "If I were to hide a secret passageway in this room, where would it be?"

Her eyes rested on the voluminous wardrobe. I'd put a false panel in that wardrobe, Hermione thought as she twisted open the curved handle of the rich wardrobe. It was so large that the very tip of the peaked top grazed the ornate, decorated ceiling, creating enough space for someone to be able to climb in and easily stand as long as there were no clothes hanging there. This wardrobe obviously hadn't been used in a long time due to the lack of clothes and multitude of dust bunnies. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the musty smell that brought her back to the summer before her fifth year when she spent many a day cleaning out spaces such as this one with Ron. Her chest got a bit tighter at the thought of him, but she quelled the nostalgia and focused intently on the interior of the wardrobe. She remembered a specific occasion when she and Ron had cleared a wardrobe just like this one. They had been interrupted halfway through the task by Dumbledore's arrival and subsequent request to speak with them, but when they had returned, Hermione had noticed something peculiar. The dust that had been floating in the air when they had left the room had finally settled. Once the air had cleared, she had been able to see properly into the wardrobe and had noticed that the bar used to hang the clothes was more than slightly crooked. She had pointed it out to Ron who had reached up to easily tug on it, and to their great surprise, the bar had actually been a giant doorknob. The entire back wall had swung out to reveal a deep recess in the wall behind the wardrobe. The one at 12 Grimmauld Place had been more of a giant closet than a secret passageway, probably used to hide Dark objects during Ministry inspections, but perhaps the Malfoys' was different.

With the numerous drawers that made up the lower portion of the wardrobe, the floor of the main interior was about a meter from the floor. Hermione had to press her hands against the sides of the wardrobe to help herself step in. Since she was now at a more awkward angle to try to open what might be the secret door, Hermione grabbed the bar and prepared herself to jump backward if necessary. She took a deep breath and tried to pull the clothing rod toward her.

At first, nothing happened, but then Hermione thought to push, rather than pull on the rod. This time, she was rewarded with a soft groan, and the back wall moved away to reveal a pitch-black abyss. She swung the door as wide as she could and quickly hopped off of the wardrobe to retrieve a candle from one of the candelabras hanging on the wall of the bedroom. With her left hand wrapped around the warm wax, she had a bit of difficulty climbing back into the wardrobe, but she finally managed it. Remaining seated with her legs dangling over the edge of the secret opening, she leaned forward carefully and extended the candle to see for herself what lay within.

It was a small, bare, and very cold room with dark, aged stone walls. The temperature around her seemed to have dropped at least ten degrees. She glanced down at the floor to judge if it was a safe distance to jump and found that it was only about two feet down, so she hastily jumped in and held the candle up higher to inspect the contents of the room. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to be found. After running her hand over the very solid walls several times, Hermione determined that there was no other secret door. It must be a storage space like the one in the Black house. However, her eyes lit up when she found a small trunk tucked into the corner farthest from her. Crouching down, she eagerly pulled it open in the hope of finding something that might aid her in her escape.

Her eyes grew even rounder as she seized the satin, sparkling folds of an Invisibility Cloak. Perfect. She dropped the robe to floor and continued to explore the contents of the chest. Her fingers closed over the cold chains of a pair of shackles, and Hermione placed them next to the Invisibility Cloak before sifting through the odd assortment of unknown items for the keys. Her heart racing with hope, Hermione couldn't help smiling as her groping fingers found the items she was seeking. It was a miracle--as though someone had planned ahead and left these items for her to find and use for a hasty escape.

Of course, this was the moment that the rattling of the lock on the door quickly attracted her attention, and Hermione instantly reacted without another thought. Fortunately, her instincts had been honed to react precisely as Harry Potter's would have, and it paid off. She kicked the Invisibility Cloak over the trunk and its contents, vaulted herself into the wardrobe, and hurtled herself onto the bed. By the time the door swung open, the mattress was still springing up and down with the impact of her dive onto the bed, and the wardrobe door was still wide open, but nothing appeared to be too unusual, since she was now pretending to be crying her eyes out onto her pillow. Lifting her head slightly as though startled by the noise, Hermione lowered her head again when she saw that it was Terrence carrying what must be her dinner on a suspiciously thick tray. He set it down on the foot of her bed and poked her warningly in the side.

"You've got five minutes," he warned before disappearing out of the room again without another word.

However, there was something in his inflection that made Hermione sit up in puzzlement. She glanced over at the silver tray which contained a plate of some sort of food covered in a thick sauce, making it unrecognizable and unappetizing. Sighing, she decided to settle first things first and quickly return the wardrobe to close the secret door, so that when Terrence returned, there would be no chance of him noticing that she was up to something.

But before she could close the main wardrobe door, her attention was diverted by finally noticing what was under the tray: a massive, thick book. With a frown, Hermione carefully extracted the book without spilling any of the food or drink and gasped as she recognized the cover in an instant. It was carried by every magical library Hermione had ever been in. It was the annual collection of every copy the Prophet produced in that year that magically added to itself when each edition was put into circulation. Terrence had given her this year's edition. He knew that it was driving her mad that she didn't know what the devil had gone on since she had been sleeping, and feeling sorry for her, he had tried to ease her mind a bit. Smiling slightly with gratitude, Hermione opened the massive volume to the very last page and found the front page of what must be today's paper. The date was printed neatly in the upper right-hand corner and her jaw dropped at the sight of it.

May 7th. She had disappeared on April 23rd, which meant--Hermione let out a short exhale of incredulity and horror as she did the math quickly in her head. Two weeks. Two whole bloody weeks she had been unconscious--she had lost two weeks. Anything could have happened to her friends and the war could have ended for all she knew. She couldn't believe how awful this situation was turning out to be. She quickly scanned the front page and her anxiety mounted as she read the headline on page one:

HOGWARTS REOPENS: BUT ARE THE STUDENTS SAFE?

Hermione blinked with surprise. Hogwarts had closed? That was why Malfoy had been at home.

At five o'clock this afternoon, the acclaimed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will reopen its doors after a two week closure following a massive assault by werewolf Remus Lupin and the Death Eaters that took the lives of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and seventh-year student Hermione Granger.

Hermione gasped audibly. They couldn't have killed Dumbledore--he was the glue that had been holding the Order and Hogwarts together. Besides Harry, he was the greatest symbol of hope, goodness, and light that their side had, and if he was gone--the familiar ghost of chest pain produced from Dolohov's curse flared up and she brought her hand to her chest--what were they going to do?

Two weeks ago, former Defense professor Remus Lupin, a registered werewolf, managed to infiltrate Hogwarts property and attacked a Quidditch team practicing on the pitch at the time. Several students and faculty members came to the aid of the Hufflepuffs in danger and no one was harmed in the werewolf attack. However, Death Eaters used the opportunity to enter the grounds and wreak havoc. In defending the school, Albus Dumbledore was killed when the front stairwell collapsed from the violence, and Granger, a Gryffindor and Head Girl, also perished due to a stress-related illness.

This just didn't make any sense, Hermione thought in disbelief. They were making it sound as though Dumbledore had been killed by accident by one of the bumbling Death Eaters, and that just wasn't possible. This was Albus Dumbledore they were talking about--he couldn't just be killed with a flick of his wand. He was arguably the most powerful sorcerer in the world. It just didn't make any sense.

Not to mention the circumstances of her supposed death. The idea of her dropping dead from some stress-related illness was absolutely ridiculous, and she just hoped that Ron and Harry and everyone else would be able to see the lunacy in the Prophet's explanation.

Several other students and faculty members suffered injuries, including eminent long-standing professors Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape. Both were admitted to St. Mungo's and were released several days ago with a clean bill of health.

The beloved students, however, were not as fortunate. Poppy Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse for almost fifty years, remarked that she had never seen so many students in her infirmary at one time. Injured students include Ravenclaw sixth-year Luna Lovegood, daughter to owner of The Quibbler, James Lovegood, and Gryffindor seventh-year prefect Ronald Weasley, youngest son of the Minister of Magic Arthur Weasley and close friend to Harry Potter. Lovegood was permanently blinded and Weasley has remained in a coma since the incident.

A coma? Hermione bit the inside of her lip so her cry wouldn't be audible to anyone. Oh, Ron, she thought shakily as she unconsciously tried to find him again. She had to get back as soon as she could. She was supposed to be at Ron's side, fighting for him as hard as she could so that he could come back to them.

The article went on to insinuate that Hogwarts would not be a suitable haven for young children with Dumbledore dead and Harry Potter a student, since he was undoubtedly You-Know-Who's number one target due to his critical role in the war, so Hermione ceased reading. She wasn't going to find out anything else from this article. They must have given more information in previous editions.

She knew that her time had be running out since Terrence had to return the book before anyone noticed that it was missing, so she moved as fast as she could. She flipped hastily to the April 23rd edition, and although it was a rather thick bundle of papers, she managed to slowly and carefully tear out two weeks' worth of newspaper articles. She thrust all of them under her pillow and slipped the book back underneath so that nothing would appear out of the ordinary when Terrence returned. Knowing that she had to eat something, she had choked down her roll and a few bites of what had turned out to be some sort of chicken or poultry when Terrence returned to retrieve the tray.

"Finished?" he said flatly.

Hermione nodded, and although she was still trying to swallow a mouthful of food, she was able to speak somewhat coherently. "Thank you."

Terrence's eyes fastened on hers for a few seconds, and he knew that she wasn't talking about the food. He nodded disinterestedly before removing the tray, plates, and book and whisked out of the room once again. She waited until the door had locked before pouncing on her pillow to retrieve the wad of papers. They had scattered and become jumbled together, so they were no longer in chronological order as Hermione began to sift through the papers to find an article of interest, casting aside the pages that didn't tell her anything useful.

A very familiar person's photograph caught her attention, and Hermione extracted that page from the pile to examine it closer. It was one of her, studying studiously in the Gryffindor common room by a table near the fire that was flickering brightly behind her. It wasn't until her photographic self stopped writing to stare off in the distance, the faraway look in her eyes indicating that she was a million miles away, that Hermione realized when the picture must have been taken. Fourth-year, Hermione determined immediately, remembering all of the times she had stopped studying to try to sort out those nagging thoughts she was having about Ron. She had been so confused back then, especially when Viktor had come into the picture, and she reflected briefly that not much had changed. She knew that she loved Ron with all she had, but at the same time, the concept of love was still as confusing as ever. But perhaps it was supposed to be that way--perhaps love is not meant to be understood, rather it is meant to be longed for, sought after, dreamed of, and cherished--but not understood.

Not now, silly, the voice of reason chided her. Hermione shook her head slightly and read on. The caption underneath the picture proved that she was correct: The deceased, Hermione Granger, in her fourth-year at Hogwarts. Photograph courtesy of Colin Creevy, Gryffindor sixth-year. Hermione nodded somewhat absently. She should have known that it was Colin. After his fascination with Harry had vanished, he still took to carrying around his camera and snapping pictures. It made perfect sense that he had taken a picture of her studying, and that she had been completely oblivious to it.

There was another, smaller picture at the bottom of the page, but this one was much more troublesome, so Hermione couldn't bear to look at it for very long. It was undoubtedly taken as her friends and family were emerging from the church after her funeral. It was a tad blurry, but she could make out her parents, Harry, Ginny, and her aunt that she had stayed with all last summer in the front, and her heart practically shrieked with injustice and pity. They were so upset and devastated, and Hermione couldn't even imagine what Harry and Ginny, especially, had to be going through, what with coping with Dumbledore's death and Ron and Luna's injuries, as well as all the other unknown students who had been hurt.

She had the urge to start crying again, so Hermione very purposely kept her eyes away from the bottom picture as she began to scan the article.

HOGWARTS STUDENT BURIED TODAY

All of Hogwarts mourned as their fellow student and Head Girl, Gryffindor seventh-year and Muggle-born Hermione Granger, was buried today in her hometown of Winterbourne. Granger, who was suffering from an undiagnosed stress-induced illness, passed away during the surprise attack on Hogwarts School over a week ago that left headmaster Albus Dumbledore dead and countless other students and teachers injured.

According to Head Boy Draco Malfoy, a seventh-year Slytherin, he and Granger had been in charge of watching over the students who had congregated in the Great Hall, while the faculty members dealt with the werewolf and the Death Eaters that had entered the school property. Granger, a very close friend to the famous Harry Potter and Minister of Magic's son Ronald Weasley, believed her friends to be in trouble. After leaving Malfoy in sole command, Granger left her post to seek out her missing friends.

Unfortunately, Granger did not think to search for Potter and Weasley outside, as they were there, helping the teachers contain the werewolf. She was alone when she eventually collapsed and was not found until early the next morning. By then, it was too late to revive her. Due to the overload of students in need of medical care, Granger had to remain unexamined once it was determined that she could not be resuscitated, and unfortunately, before an autopsy could be performed, her parents had collected her body for a Muggle burial. However, it was quite clear to all what had befallen Granger: she had died of a stress-related illness exacerbated by the extreme stress of the situation.

"It's a pity," nurse Poppy Pomfrey commented regretfully. "If they had brought her in sooner, she might have stood a chance. Poor thing--she was always in here for one thing or the other. It's no wonder it finally became too much for her."

Reports prove that Granger, although an accomplished student and well-respected Head Girl, did not have the best medical history. In her second-year, Granger was one of the few victims of the mysterious attacks on Muggle-born students, and had spent over two months recovering. Other hospital stays included an extensive treatment for acute exhaustion and severe stress in her third-year, and a week-long stay after a run-in with the notorious Death Eater Antonin Dolohov, who is still wanted and at large for several other assaults and murders. That last visit left her with internal injuries that still plague her today.

"She's always been high-strung and sickly, you know?" Head Boy Draco Malfoy remarked. "She was a bit jumped-up if you ask me. I have to admit that I wasn't surprised when she dropped dead like that--loads of us always thought that something was wrong with her."

Other students corroborated Malfoy's remarks, including friend and fellow Gryffindor Seamus Finnigan. "Everyone noticed that she was looking really peaky for the last few days, and I heard [her friend] Ron mention that he thought she was getting really sick, but we never guessed that something like this would happen. I mean, no one even knew she had a history for these types of illnesses."

Seventh-year Hufflepuff Daphne Greengrass agrees with Finnigan. "I know Ron, and he would have done something if he knew what was happening to her. But he didn't, so how could anyone have been expected to help her if she didn't admit that she had a problem?"

Ron Weasley, the Minister of Magic's youngest son, was reported to have been dating Granger at the time of her unfortunate demise. However, Weasley is still reported to be recuperating from his injuries during the Hogwarts attacks, and was unavailable for comment on the death of his girlfriend. (For further information on Weasley's condition, see page 12)

Other close friends of Granger's include the youngest and only daughter of the Minister of Magic Ginny Weasley, and the Boy-Who-Lived himself, Harry Potter. When approached, both refused to make a statement regarding Miss Granger's death.

However, her parents, William and Helen Granger, who are both Muggle dentists, agreed to speak with us. "We saw Hermione a few weeks ago," William Granger recalls wistfully. "She was so happy. I had no idea that she was battling this illness. I thought she had told us everything, but I guess all children keep secrets from their parents, eh?"

This secret unfortunately cost Granger her life. Deepest condolences and sympathies to Miss Granger's family and friends, and may she rest in peace.

For further information on Granger's life, see the obituaries on page 18.

Obituary, Hermione thought with a sick twist of her stomach. She actually had an obituary. Even though the article hadn't been particularly illuminating, Hermione was able to read between the lines and discern just how they had managed this, due to her brief experience with journalism and dastardly schemes. It was quite simple really. Malfoy had slipped her the potion and left her to be found, apparently dead. Due to the numerous other students who were injured but still stood a chance for survival, Madame Pomfrey wouldn't have given her the thorough examination needed to detect the Draught of Living Death swimming inside her veins. She would have passed straight over Hermione, and maybe even have forgotten about her, until someone arrived to collect her body. They must have allowed her parents to take the body and then switched it before she was buried, or maybe they had even let her be buried and dug her up. Her fingers curled around the parchment she was clutching at the thought of having possibly been buried alive.

The nauseating hatred of these people rose at that sickening possibility, and Hermione had to take several deep breaths before frantically rifling through the pile to find that particular edition's page 12. Her hand was shaking when she finally located it by the small photograph of Ron that must have been taken after he had helped the Gryffindor team win the Quidditch Cup in fifth-year. He was wearing his Quidditch robes and riding triumphantly along on the shoulders of cheering students, waving excitedly and every so often sweeping his hair in that way that he thought was so cool. She couldn't help lightly touching his face in bittersweet remembrance. He had been so happy that day--he had been the life of the victory party that had commenced afterward, and although she had been bogged down with fresh worries about Hagrid, and Ginny's breakup with Michael, as well as the awful thought of admitting to Ron that she hadn't seen him play, she had had quite a lovely time at the party. Even with horrible things happening around them, Ron always seemed to manage to make things wonderful.

She watched the photograph for a few more minutes, hoping that his ecstatic face would somehow lessen the pain she would undoubtedly feel as she read the article. After telling herself several times that he wasn't dead, and there was still hope for a complete recovery, Hermione finally felt ready to be able to read the article.

MINISTER'S SON IN CATATONIC STATE

After the horrendous attack on Hogwarts that occurred last week, staff members of The Daily Prophet became concerned when Ronald Weasley, the youngest son of Minister of Magic Arthur Weasley, could not be located. After many rumors and a flurry of concern, the Minister himself finally released a statement on his son's condition.

"My son is apparently in a sort of magically induced coma," Weasley explained with an anguished face and heavy heart. "We have no information on what type of spell produced these catastrophic results, so at this point it is uncertain whether he will ever recover." The Minister then became emotional and was unable to continue.

Ronald Weasley, a seventh-year Gryffindor prefect at Hogwarts School, became afflicted during the Hogwarts attack last week. He went onto the grounds of the school to aid the plight of some fellow students who were being threatened by werewolf Remus Lupin, and was able to help drive off the beast. When the werewolf fled, he chased the magical creature into the Forbidden Forest with good friend Harry Potter. Although Potter refused to make a statement, reports reveal that he claims that he and Weasley were in pursuit of the werewolf when Weasley simply cried out and collapsed. He was taken immediately to receive medical care where he regained consciousness briefly before slipping into his coma. He remains under the care of Hogwarts nurse Poppy Pomfrey.

Rumors have circulated of Death Eater involvement, due to Weasley's close affiliation with Potter, but none of these claims have been justified. However, it is apparent that with the illness of Weasley and death of his other close friend, Hermione Granger (see pages 6 and 18), Harry Potter is once again tormented by the loss of loved ones, making his quest to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a little bit harder and a lot more painful.

It irrationally galled Hermione that these writers could take an article that was supposed to be about Ron and turn it into a story about Harry's tragedies by the time it concluded. However, she supposed that she was dwelling on that in order to mask what she was really feeling about the brief article. It is uncertain whether he will ever recover. That old familiar pain that she had in her chest thanks to Dolohov's curse flared up simultaneously with a stab of determination. Ron was going to recover--she didn't care what anyone said. She and Ron had just finally found their way back to each other, and there was no way that she was going to lose him again, especially like this. She was going to get the hell out of here, get back to Hogwarts, and find a way to bring him back.

She carefully set the paper aside on the bedside table so that she could look at the picture of Ron whenever she felt like it. Her fingers traveled over the photograph again in melancholic nostalgia. This was one of the best photographs she had ever seen of him, and it killed her that she had only seen it in this context. A smile flitted across her features as she called to mind the very best photo of him--the one that was currently sitting in a silver frame on her nightstand at Hogwarts. Feeling that she was due for a bit of happiness, Hermione allowed herself to just sit back for a moment and remember....

**

July 30th

Hermione bit her lip as she always did when concentrating intently on a task, and tried to ignore the summer breeze that was whipping some hair into her eyes. A little more to the left, she decided, and her heart leaped a little with excitement as she realized that she had finally hit on the precise, necessary point. With a quick twist in the way Ron had taught her, the lock clicked open. With a triumphant smile, she opened the back door of the Burrow to reveal Ron's lanky form sitting expectantly at the kitchen table. His eyes were on his watch. "Ta da!" she half-sang in victory.

"Not bad," Ron admitted. "Only took you a minute." A well-known smirk began to creep across his face. "Of course it only takes me about ten seconds."

Hermione's hands went to her hips. "Well, I've only learned how to pick a lock five minutes ago while you had Fred and George teach you five years ago." She raised her eyebrows. "And if you remember correctly, it took you almost fifteen minutes to memorize the proper spell and wand movement for how to seal a door."

"That's because you wouldn't let me actually do the spell," Ron countered. "How the hell am I supposed to know if I'm doing it right if I can't actually try it?"

"Ron, you know we can't do magic over the holidays," she reminded him sternly. "And besides, you don't have to do a spell to know that you can perform it correctly. As long as you know the incantation and the suitable wrist movement and intent, it's theoretically possible to teach magic without actually having to perform it."

"Wow," Ron said sarcastically. "I didn't realize I was going to be educated in the Umbridge school of hippogriff-shi--"

"Ronald," Hermione interjected in a voice that clearly indicated that she was not about to condone his usage of foul language.

"Bloody hell," Ron couldn't help muttering despite her previous warning. "You sound just like Mum."

Hermione's eyebrows rose again and she couldn't stop a small smile from flickering across her face. No one was in the kitchen, but Hermione still lowered her voice and took a step forward in case anyone was in earshot. "I should hope that you of all people don't think of me like you think of your mother."

Ron actually managed to hold her eyes without his ears turning red for all of five seconds. "No," he conceded. "You're definitely not like Mum." His eyes flickered over her in a way she had only been looked at a few times by only two particular people, but they elicited very different effects on her. When it had been Viktor, it had made her feel edgily flattered, but when it was Ron--her breath caught momentarily as it always did when she remembered that Ron, the boy she had been crazy about for going on three years, actually felt the same way--when it was Ron, she couldn't coherently describe what it did to her heart and hormones when he looked at her like that. Ron abruptly shoved his chair backward and got to his feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Hermione inquired as she followed Ron back out onto the back porch.

"Flying," Ron answered simply, but his words caused a deep blush to flush across her cheeks nevertheless. Yesterday, she and Ron had flown together for the first time, and it was the most blissful moment of her life up to this point. That was why it pained her greatly to reach out and grab his arm to stop him.

"We can't," she said with a sigh.

"Why?" Ron demanded. His face blanched slightly as a horrible thought passed over him. "Do you not want to? Did you not like it?"

"Oh, goodness, no!" Hermione said much louder than she intended. Her cheeks grew even hotter, but Ron appeared to be very pleased by her vehemence. "No, it's just that I know that Fred and George are helping train Ginny right now, so they're using the pitch."

"Damn," Ron swore as he stared off at the pitch. He dropped down onto the ground, sprawling out on the grass with his arms folded behind his head. It was a lovely warm, bright summer day, so Hermione was quite happy to sit down beside Ron and soak in the July sun. She lay on her stomach with one leg bent at the knee while resting her chin on her folded arms. The Weasley lake was within eyesight, so she spent a few moments watching the sun sparkle off the waves and sighed with contentment. It was so wonderfully peaceful here.

She heard Ron sit up after a few more seconds, but he didn't say anything for several more minutes. But he didn't really need to--as she spent more time one-on-one with Ron, she found herself slowly becoming able to just be with him. No words were necessary--which was probably a good thing considering that over half the time they spoke together, they ended up fighting. Not that that was a bad thing, Hermione amended with a smile. When she was around Ron, it was becoming easier and easier to just be herself, because she knew that if someone as wonderful as Ron liked her for who she was, then she must be a pretty good person. Hermione had to admit that she had her share of self-esteem issues in her earlier years at Hogwarts, as most teenagers did, but Ron seemed to be making her transition from girl to woman much easier. She knew she had a long way to go, but with Ron at her side, it was going to be much smoother ride down what could very well be a bumpy and tumultuous road.

Hermione was broken out of her reverie when a somewhat hesitant finger poked her bare shoulder. "You'd better be careful not to get too much sun," Ron advised.

She smiled, but she didn't say anything as she rolled over on her back, using her elbows to prop herself up and look at him. He was giving her that look again, and Hermione was starting to realize why. She hadn't realized it when she had put it on, but she was probably willingly showing more skin than she ever had before. Yes, Ron had seen her with almost no shirt at all, but that had been due to rather extenuating circumstances, since she had to convince Malfoy that she and Ron were snogging and not sneaking around the castle with Harry and the D.A. She had only brought enough clothes for five days, but at breakfast she had accidentally spilled syrup on her blouse. She had mentioned to Ginny that she would need to wash the shirt before she ran out of clothes, so Ginny had suggested that Hermione just pull on one of hers. Ginny didn't take to the summer heat very well, so she had an assortment of tank tops and sleeveless shirts that she wore in the summer to help cool her off, and Hermione was now wearing one of them. Hermione was about two inches taller than Ginny and more well-endowed in certain areas, since Ginny was a year younger and less developed, so the light blue shirt with straps only an inch wide turned out to be more revealing than Ginny had thought it would be. Hermione had almost wanted to take it off, but Ginny had insisted that she wear it, hoping that it might jolt her thick brother into realizing that he was crazy about her. Ginny still had no idea about the alteration in her and Ron's relationship, because they had been doing a fairly good job in hiding it from everyone. Hermione hadn't been so sure, despite Ginny's reassurances, but now under Ron's admiring gaze, Hermione was glad she had worn it.

"Now who sounds like your Mum," Hermione teased, trying to hide how much the temperature had climbed in the past five seconds, because she knew that the sun wasn't suddenly getting hotter. She would have liked Ron to kiss her at that moment, as she was finding herself becoming more and more addicted to his lips. In fact, if she had the choice of reading Hogwarts: A History and snogging Ron--well, that was now a rather obvious choice. However, she knew that if she admitted it to Ron, she would never hear the end of it.

She wondered if he was thinking of the same thing, but since they were only ten feet away from the back porch, Ron only cleared his throat and gazed out at the lake. "So what now?" he asked. "You taught me how to charm that door and I taught you to pick a lock, so it's your turn."

"All right," Hermione agreed as she flopped back down onto the grass. "What do you want to know?"

Ron thought for a minute before a mischievous smile crossed his face. "Hey, do you know how to do human Transfiguration?"

Hermione raised her head slightly. "Why do you--" She dropped back down with an amused roll of her eyes. "Ron, I'm not teaching you how to turn Malfoy into a ferret."

"Please," Ron wheedled as he playfully poked her in the ribs. She giggled and twisted away, but she didn't say a word. "Come on," he pressed as she caught his wrist to keep him from tickling her. "You know you'd love to see him scurry around Hogwarts--we have to get him back for trying to jump Harry on the train!" His eyes suddenly lit up as an idea hit him. "I got it!"

"What?" Hermione asked in confusion as she sat up when Ron got to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. "What are we doing?"

"I'm going to teach you something," Ron explained somewhat mysteriously.

"I thought it was my turn," Hermione reminded him.

"But this is better," Ron replied as he took her by the shoulders to move her to the proper place. "Okay, stand with your legs shoulder-length apart and make your right hand into a fist."

"Ron, what are we doing?" Hermione repeated as she complied.

Ron stepped backward and held up his hands. "I'm teaching you how to hit someone."

"What?" Hermione just stared at him. "Ron!"

"Come on," Ron insisted as he slapped his right hand against his left palm to indicate her target. "It's something everyone should know. From what I saw when you decked Malfoy in third-year you have potential, but there's definite room for improvement."

"I think Malfoy would disagree," Hermione retorted as she remembered the dazed, shocked flash of real pain that had washed over his face moments after she had slapped him.

Ron snorted. "Malfoy also thinks that Pansy Parkinson doesn't look like a pudgy dog." He moved his left hand again so that her attention was called to it. "Now, just focus on the target, think about every foul thing he ever said to you, and really mean it. If your knuckles hit dead on it'll hurt him, but it'll probably hurt you more, so be careful."

Hermione nodded as she stared at the palm of Ron's hand, and after a few moments she swung her fist in the air. Ron closed his fingers around her fist directly after her knuckles had thudded into the fleshy portion of his hand. "That wasn't too bad," he conceded with one of those irritatingly glorious smiles of his. "You swing out a bit too wide. You're telling me straight off where you're going to hit, so I know it's coming.

"Of course you know it's coming--you told me to hit you," Hermione said dryly.

"True," Ron replied, unfazed by her sarcasm. "But you have to learn for the next time you hit Malfoy."

"Ron, contrary to proper belief, I don't usually go around hitting Malfoy," Hermione protested immediately. "Except on very special occasions," she added with a wry smile.

"Yeah," Ron agreed with a gleeful grin. "I love those occasions." His grin grew more pensive as he reconsidered what Hermione had said earlier. "But you're right--you need a clueless target." He raised his voice so it could echo across the Weasley grounds. "Hey, Ginny!"

"Ron!" Hermione's eyes went wide.

"I'm kidding," Ron insisted reassuringly before raising his voice again. "Fred! George!"

"Ron!" Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to hit your brothers!"

"Sure you do," Ron replied as his twin brothers and sister emerged from the glen they had been flying over. "At one point, everyone has wanted to hit those two--" He broke off when he realized what Hermione had been about to do--show him how well she could hit someone without telegraphing her blow. She was only going to slap him on the arm, because of course she could never honestly hit Ron, but he still wasn't about to let her get away with it. He caught her wrist and somehow managed to turn her around so that her back was pressed against him, and his arms were fast around her to keep her hands from flying free. "That was rather sneaky of you," he admitted cheekily.

"I learned from the master," she retorted as she tugged to free herself. "Now let go of me." She struggled even harder, but he held her closer, and it felt so wonderful that she was finding it difficult to keep up the defiant prisoner act. "Ron!" she protested with a laugh and huge smile. "Stop!"

"I'd listen to the lady if I were you, Ronnie," Fred commented casually. "Believe me, you don't want that one hacked off at you."

Ron's arms dropped instantly away from her and Hermione stumbled away from him, and they shared almost identical sheepish expressions on their faces. Fred, George, and Ginny were all standing ten feet behind them with raised eyebrows and knowing smiles.

"And what have we been up to?" George asked in a cheerful, teasing voice.

"Nothing," Ron muttered as he sat back and rubbed the back of his neck.

"That didn't look like nothing to me," Fred contradicted in mock-seriousness. Ginny hid a smile as she ducked her head away and brushed past her brothers to return to the house, preferring to avoid the conversation.

"Well, borrow Harry's glasses, because that's what it was," Ron snapped. He nodded toward the brooms his brothers were still holding. "And don't you have to put those away?"

"I reckon," George conceded as he looked down at his broom with interest before looking back at his little brother. "Although I don't reckon that we're the ones you should worry about." He jerked his thumb toward the back porch. "Ginny brought her camera out, and let's just say that your little moment of nothing has now been captured on film."

"What?" Ron almost yelped, but the twins didn't say another word--they were laughing too hard. Fred gave a farewell salute as he and George laughed their way over to the broom shed. Ron's ears had turned bright red and he started toward the porch, not caring that Ginny was his baby sister. She was going to pay.

Hermione hastily stepped in front of his path. "Ron," Hermione said quickly as she caught his wrists. She was fighting not to laugh herself--she found the situation rather humorous, especially since she and Ron would end up having the last laugh once they decided to start telling people about the alteration in their relationship. "It doesn't matter--let it go."

"But Hermione," Ron began angrily, trying to wave his arm in his fury despite Hermione's restraining fingers. "If she develops that--"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted again in a quieter voice. "In case you haven't noticed, no one is using the pitch now." She tilted her head to the side and smiled in a way that she knew he and he alone would ever see. "We could go flying now if you'd like."

The way Ron's eyes lit up indicated that he had forgotten all about Ginny's prank. "I'll be right back," he said hastily and he almost tripped over his feet in his rush. Hermione giggled quietly as she watched him sprint after his brothers to the broom shed--she didn't know what exactly it was, but there was just something about that boy that made her just want to stupidly grin at him and stare into his eyes for her entire life. She sighed slightly when she remembered that that would never happen--she was leaving in two days, and then she'd be back at home alone with her parents. They were still giving her the cold shoulder. Thinking about how much she was going to miss Ron's face, Hermione glanced up at Ginny's room and wondered if she would be able to get a copy of that photograph for herself before she left.

**

Ginny had been perfectly willing to develop that picture, and had kindly given Hermione the only copy the day after Harry's birthday. Hermione hadn't had a chance to look at it until she had arrived back at home and had retreated up to her room. It had been just what she had needed--it was beautiful. She had been worried that because she and Ron had been so oblivious to the presence of the camera, their faces wouldn't be turned in its direction, but that hadn't been the case. They were facing the camera at an angle, and one of Ron's arms was fast around her waist, and the other was gripping her wrist. Her hair was gathered all to one side, so her face was clearly visible, and she was laughing as she had never seen herself laugh before. Ron was also laughing, but their photographic selves would only laugh for so long before meeting each other eyes in a way that Hermione knew all too well--the way that made her stomach somersault, her heart race, and her entire body seize with the overwhelming urge to feel his hands and lips on hers. Sometimes the photograph Ron and Hermione would go back to laughing and struggling, but sometimes they would succumb to their urge. Hermione hadn't the courage to leave the photo at home where her parents could plainly see a boy snog their daughter, so she had brought it to school and had kept it in her trunk for the first half of the year so that no one would realize that she and Ron were together. Then, she'd kept it hidden for the second half of the year, because at that point she had never wanted to see it again. It had remained in the trunk until a few weeks ago when Hermione had returned it to her nightstand after they'd gotten back together.

Hermione leaned her head against the headboard and swallowed hard. She hadn't realized just how much she missed that prat until now, and the ache was threatening to swallow her whole. Hermione sniffed hard and scooted down to lay on her side. She grabbed one of the plush pillows and wrapped her arms tightly around it, hugging it as close as she could to her chest. She knew that it was stupid, and that there were many other more sensible things she could be doing at the moment, but despite all of the logic in the world, she closed her eyes, pretended that her pillow was Ron, and held onto it for dear life.


Author notes: Thanks for reading!

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Next up: Hermione encounters a few familar faces and meets an old friend of Harry's...well, not really a friend...more like a mortal enemy...