Hermione Granger and the Deathly Hallows

Ann Margaret

Story Summary:
The end of the series from our favorite herione's point of view--discover the millions of things that happened that not even the Boy Who Lived knew about! Follows Hermione Granger and the Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince.

Chapter 09 - Chapter 9

Chapter Summary:
Grimmauld Place is no longer safe and now our heroes are really on their own...
Posted:
11/07/2007
Hits:
3,937


They had a very bad landing. Hermione hadn't concentrated properly so the three of them fell flat on their stomachs, knocking the wind out of them. The force of the fall caused Hermione black out for a few seconds, but she quickly recovered, gingerly pushing herself up onto her hands and knees to see if she had sustained any injuries. Her arm ached from where Yaxley had seized her, but other than that, she appeared to be unharmed. She took a moment to calm her breath; thanks to the poor Apparition, her lungs felt rather deflated and flattened. But it could have been a lot worse.

A groan to her left caught her attention and Hermione quickly crawled to it, not quite ready to stand. As she reached the source of the pitiful sound, she came to realize that it was a lot worse. Infinitely worse, actually. Ron had managed to roll over onto his back despite the fact that the whole of his left side was drenched in hot, sticky blood. There was absolutely no color left in his face. Hermione's brain buzzed as she tried to comprehend that she had done this to him, she had Apparated too hastily and he hadn't been ready and he was the one who hadn't been in direct contact with her so he had been most vulnerable to Splinching. And because of that, she may have killed him.

Harry's face faltered in a way she had never quite seen before. "What's happened to him?"

"Splinched," said Hermione, her fingers unconsciously already busy at Ron's sleeve, where the blood was wettest and the darkest. That had to be where the wound was. She ripped open his shirt so she could very carefully remove the damaged arm and inspect the gaping hole in Ron's upper arm. His bicep was almost completely gone, gallons of blood oozing forebodingly out of him. Since they had been knocked out for those few seconds, they already lost a lot of precious time; if they wasted any more, Ron wasn't going to make it. Her brain buzzed dazedly again. She hardly realized what she was doing or saying. "Harry, quickly, in my bag, there's a small bottle labeled 'Essence of Dittany'--"

"Bag--right--"

Harry sped over to where Hermione had landed. Ron groaned again, his head rolling towards her. His lips stammered to speak, but his voice failed when he saw that he was missing a chunk of his flesh. She placed her hand on his cold, clammy forehead, hoping her touch would rouse him. When he didn't respond, Hermione began to speak in a low, calm voice that would hopefully placate him. "Ron, listen to me. You've been Splinched and you lost a lot of blood; I think you're going into shock. I'm going to try to elevate your feet--just stay awake, you hear me?"

She wrenched off her Ministry robes and slid them under Ron's heavy shoes, remembering her Muggle first-aid training for when someone went into shock. She was trying not to dwell on the fact that many Muggles soon died after going into shock if they didn't receive the proper care. She was only gone for three seconds, but it was enough for Ron to have lapsed into unconsciousness. Her heart threatened to stop completely. If someone went into shock, you had to keep them conscious, because if they passed out, they could die. The word 'die' crawled throughout her entire body. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and twisted around to see how Harry was getting along. He was still rummaging frantically through the bag. "Quickly!" she hissed at him.

Harry grabbed his wand from the ground and pointed it into the depths of the magical bag to speed things along. Hermione pushed back Ron's now-red hair and tried to rouse him with no success. Harry ran back to their side, small brown bottle in hand. He was almost as pale as Ron.

"He's fainted," said Hermione. She started to reach towards the bottle, but when she saw the terrified tremors attacking her limbs, she knew she couldn't handle simple tasks at the moment. There wasn't any time for mistakes. "Unstopper it for me, Harry, my hands are shaking."

Harry wrenched the stopper off the little bottle. Hermione managed to quiet her hands long enough to take the bottle from him and pour three drops of the potion onto the bleeding wound. Greenish smoke billowed upward; Hermione had to duck her head to keep from inhaling it, praying feverishly that this would work. After the smoke cleared, she found that the bleeding had stopped; the wound now looked several days old: new skin stretched over what had just been open flesh. Hermione rather felt like fainting herself; she really wanted to find the inventor of 'essence of dittany' and give them all of the money they had left in the beaded purse as well as a kiss or two to express her infinite gratitude.

"Wow," said Harry, impressed by the quick-acting potion.

"It's all I feel safe doing," said Hermione shakily. She replaced the stopper in the bottle and wiped her face before any of the tears could come loose. "There are spells that would put him completely right, but I daren't try in case I do them wrong and cause more damage...He's lost so much blood already..." Why hadn't she taken more care to study Healing, Hermione cursed herself furiously. She had taken so much time making her stupid lists; she should used that time to study Healing. Ron had Splinched himself before--albeit it was half an eyebrow, but still--if you had Splinched yourself once, you were more likely to do it again. She should have known.

Harry was asking her a question, probably wondering why they hadn't gone back to Grimmauld Place. Hermione took a deep breath. That was her fault as well. "Harry, I don't think we're going to be able to go back there."

"What d'you--?"

"As we Disapparated, Yaxley caught hold of me and I couldn't get rid of him, he was too strong, and he was still holding on when we arrived at Grimmauld Place, and then--well, I think he must have seen the door, and thought we were stopping there, so he slackened his grip and I managed to shake him off and I brought us here instead!"

Harry's face was growing more and more startled as he started to grasp just what had happened. "But then, where's he? Hang on...You don't mean he's at Grimmauld Place? He can't get in there?"

It was getting much more difficult not to cry. "Harry, I think he can. I--I forced him to let go with a Revulsion Jinx, but I'd already taken him inside the Fidelius Charm's protection. Since Dumbledore died, we're Secret-Keepers, so I've given him the secret, haven't I?"

For one brief moment, Hermione hoped that Harry would say something to prove her wrong. Perhaps she had misunderstood what the Order had told them. But, as always, she was never wrong. Harry closed his eyes and sighed; Hermione bowed her head. She had just lost them their home. "Harry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be stupid," Harry quickly recovered and gave her arm an encouraging little shake. "It wasn't your fault! If anything, it was mine..."

Harry put his hand in his pocket and drew out Mad-Eye's eye. Hermione promptly recoiled; that really was the last thing she had ever expected to come out of his pocket. "Umbridge had stuck it to her office door, to spy on people. I couldn't leave it there...but that's how they knew there were intruders."

Hermione's hand actually rose to knock some sense into Harry's head, although she was very glad that he had retrieved Mad-Eye's eye so it could be properly buried, but Ron's groan halted everything in her. He opened his eyes, his face gray and glistening with sweat. "How d'you feel?" Hermione whispered as she dabbed at his forehead with her sleeve.

"Lousy," croaked Ron honestly, wincing as he felt his injured arm. "Where are we?"

"In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup," said Hermione. "I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was--"

"--the first place you thought of," Harry finished for her, glancing around at the apparently deserted glade. A anxious sensation of déjà vu began to creep over them as they all remembered too well how those Death Eaters found them after the wedding, after she had Apparated them away. Hermione ducked her head to wipe her face on her upper arm, still mopping Ron's face. That was another horrible mistake she had made. She wasn't doing very well out here on their latest adventure.

Ron moved his head very slightly, but it was enough to tell her to stop. Hermione dropped her hand, stomach plummeting. He was angry with her. She was sure of it. This was all her fault. Ron tried to raise himself up to gain Harry's attention, but couldn't manage it and said from the ground instead, "D'you reckon we should move on?"

"I dunno," Harry admitted. He looked down at his best mate who was clearly too weak to do much of anything, and suddenly knew precisely what to do. "Let's stay here for now."

Hermione sprang to her feet, very relieved. They needed to get their bearings before deciding what to do next.

"Where are you going?" asked Ron. If she hadn't been feeling so self-deprecating, she would have noticed that he sounded very disappointed that she was leaving his side.

"If we're staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place," she replied. She walked in a wide circle with her wand in the air, murmuring incantations as she went. Her spellwork was flawless, as always, but Hermione couldn't conceal the cold aching of loneliness clinging to her chest. They had the Horcrux, but at what cost: she had just lost them their home; Ron was very badly injured, but there was no hope of getting him proper medical attention; and now here they were, out in the middle of nowhere as she isolated them even further from the world. Lupin would never be able to find them again. She pocketed her wand a bit shakily; for the first time in the Horcrux hunt, they were really and truly on their own.

**

Harry nudged her with his knee so Hermione would look up from The Tales of Beedle the Bard to see him silently raise his eyebrows at her spot. It was his turn.

"Thanks." Hermione rose from the entrance of the tent so Harry could take her post. However, he nodded his head towards the night to indicate that he wanted to take a look around. "Be careful," she warned him. Harry gave her a terse smile before disappearing out into the night.

Hermione returned inside the tent and realized why Harry had been so quiet: Ron was stretched out on the lower bunk, eyes closed, breathing a bit ragged, hopefully fast asleep. She considered going to the bed to examine him once again, but nerves held her back. Instead, she set her book down on the table so she could inspect the dishes they had used for dinner. It looked as though Harry had thoughtfully wiped them clear of food, but did not actually clean them. He probably thought they looked clean enough and would suffice. She fondly rolled her eyes as she reached for her wand. Boys. She was just going to have to teach them a thing or two while they were here.

"Harry already did that."

"Not very well," Hermione returned. Somehow, she had known that he wasn't asleep. She picked up the billycan she had used to cook the mushrooms and cleaned it with a quick flick of her wand. "How're you feeling?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Less lousy," Ron reported. He tried to prop himself up on his pillows so they could have a proper conversation, but the effort caused him to have to stop and blink several times. "Bit light-headed," he added when he realized Hermione was watching him with wide eyes.

"Probably from the loss of blood--or from hunger. You hardly ate a thing at dinner," Hermione found herself scolding him. She needlessly picked up a rag so she could wipe the bottom of the billycan. "You should have eaten more. It'll help you recover."

"Believe me, I would if I could," Ron answered. His face was still an awful shade of grayish-white. "I just don't think I can get anything down."

"It's normal to feel nauseous after a Splinching," Hermione informed him with a knowing nod. "But it's like when you have a hangover; you don't want to eat, but you really should try to force it down, because it will help. I could go try to find some more mushrooms if you want--"

Ron however was more interested in something besides food. He pushed himself up on his elbow with a whisper of a smile on his face. "Hang on, it's like when you what?"

"Have a hangover," Hermione repeated.

If Ron had enough strength to bounce up and down in glee, he would have. "And how, Miss Granger, do you know about a hangover?"

"Don't get any ideas," Hermione scolded him lightly. "My cousin told me."

"Yeah, sure," Ron said sarcastically. He lifted his good arm to indicate air quotes with his fingers. "Your 'cousin'."

If Hermione had been feeling particularly cruel, she would have changed her answer to Viktor Krum, but Ron had been through enough for one evening so she just gave him a withering look and let him think that he had won for now.

Ron rolled back onto the mattress, chuckling uproariously. "That's it," he said. "When we go to Australia, we're getting you good and pissed."

"Just try it," Hermione challenged although she was secretly very pleased that he still seemed to be excited about their travel plans, not to mention that their bantering had caused the color to return to his face

Ron was back into a sitting position with raised eyebrows. "I'd be careful," he warned playfully. "I'm Fred and George's brother. I think I could get you pissed if I wanted to."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Hermione returned coyly. She returned to the dishes, blushing brightly and grinning as though she had Transfigured a match to a needle for the very first time. She was flirting. She was actually flirting. With Ron. It was an amazing feeling.

"I can't wait for this holiday," Ron said cheerfully. He however sobered rather quickly and glanced over at Hermione. "Well, not that's it's really a holiday."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed softly. She tilted her head to peek out of the flaps of the tent so she could see the night sky. The trees obscured most of her view, but she could still pick out some stars here and there. The night before she had left home to go to Hogwarts for the first time, her dad had taken her outside and pointed out his favorite constellations to her so if she ever felt lonely, she could find those stars and know that she wasn't alone. It was slightly corny, yes, but it had comforted Hermione immensely at the time, especially during the few lonely stretches of time at Hogwarts when she had been rowing with Ron or Harry. Her quick eye found Orion, her dad's personal favorite, but it didn't bring her the same sense of security as it had long ago. Besides, it was probably already dawn in Australia, so the stars were obscured by the dawn's early light. She twisted the rag she was holding with a suppressed sigh. She knew that her parents had to be safe, but she couldn't help but wonder what they were up to. She just hoped that they were happy. They deserved that after all she had put them through.

She had her back to Ron, but he could still read her thoughts as if she had spoken them out loud. "You know they're fine," he reminded her. "Dad'd find a way to get to you if something was wrong. Like he did to tell me that they were all okay after the wedding."

"I know," Hermione replied. She turned back around and shrugged. "I still--"

"I know," Ron echoed solemnly. He felt the exact same way.

They shared yet another smile before Hermione set aside the rag so she could return to his bunk. "Let me see your arm again."

Ron groaned. "Hermione, you've looked at it five hundred times."

"One more time won't hurt," Hermione told him. Ron mumbled something indistinguishable as she sat down on the edge of the mattress and removed the gauze she had conjured to cover the wound. The brand-new skin was stretched across his bicep, resembling a nasty scar from a stab wound. Hermione bit her lip as her eyes traveled lower to examine the marks the brains from the Ministry had left. Even well over a year later, they were still a rather nasty shade of purple, as if he had been attacked only a few weeks ago. Madame Pomfrey had warned him that it would take a long time to heal, but Hermione was starting to suspect that it never really would. Ron had even taken to wearing long-sleeves at all times in order to avoid any more questions about the subject.

And now, thanks to her failed Apparition, he was not only going to have another scar, but his bicep would always be a little bit lopsided since she hadn't been able to replace the missing flesh. No one would probably notice unless they knew him rather well, but Hermione still felt guilty nevertheless. She pulled out her wand to replace the bandage on his arm. "I'm sorry," she mumbled under her breath. She had made Ron promise not to get a single scratch throughout their quest, and here she was, repeatedly injuring him. She had given him that cut at the café and now she had nearly lost him his arm. She very nearly could have killed him. She really could a bit useless at times.

"Hermione, you've apologized five hundred times," Ron reminded her exasperatedly. "You had a bloody giant Death Eater hanging onto you--I wouldn't have been able to Apparate at all." He tried a smirk on her. "Now, Twycross may not be calling you the Queen of Apparition now that you've Splinched someone, but I don't think that you'll be too disappointed to give up that title."

"Ron--"

"Oh, come on, don't worry," Ron said dismissively. "You'll still be the reigning queen. Twycross probably has your portrait up in his office."

"The Ministry would love that," Hermione said wryly. "A portrait of a Muggle-born in a Ministry office."

"Well, they'll just have to get used to it," Ron said with mock severity.

Hermione didn't answer; she had finished rewrapping Ron's arm with fresh gauze, but she had no intention of returning to her dishes. Instead, she pressed her hand against his forehead, pretending to check for a fever even though she knew perfectly well that running a fever was not a typical after-effect of a serious Splinching. She then slid her hand up to smooth back his hair as he had done for her hundreds of glorious times. It was starting to get a bit long after the months of being away from home. He was actually starting to resemble Bill in a way. Hermione wondered if he'd let her give him a hair cut; she didn't want him to look like his older and admittedly very cool brother. She just wanted him to look like Ron. "I think you'll be fine," Hermione finally said as she realized that Ron was watching her curiously, uncertain what she was up to. "But you are going to have to take it easy; you lost a lot of blood."

"I know," Ron responded wearily. As she expected, Ron was starting to look rather tired. "You've told me five hundred times."

There was a slight, unnecessary edge to his voice and although he was ill, Hermione responded immediately to it. "Well, pardon me for worrying about you," she said while pulling her hand away from him.

"No, don't," Ron instantly protested. He tried to sit up to stop her, but winced at the sudden movement cause another dizzy spell to flare up again. Hermione's hand halted in mid-air, fighting the urge to tell him 'I told you so'. He lowered himself back onto the pillows, face coated with cold, clammy sweat once again. His eyes flicked up to his hair. "Keep on doing that."

Butterflies were starting to take flight in her stomach, butterflies she hadn't had in a long time. There really hadn't been time to get caught up in Ron-induced hormonal rushes. She and Ron had had an unspoken understanding that they couldn't begin anything just yet and although it was all she ever wanted, she forced herself not to think about it, just like her parents. All of their attention needed to be on Harry and the Horcruxes.

But sometimes--Hermione resumed pressing her palm reassuringly against the side of his head and smoothed back every individual strand, similar to the way her mother would caress her whenever she felt ill--sometimes it was not only acceptable to give in to each other, it was necessary. It allowed her to keep on fighting with everything she had, because the sooner they completed their task, the sooner she and Ron could go to Australia.

Ron let out a little soft moan as his eyes fell closed again. Hermione knew that he was starting to drift off to sleep, but she couldn't help continuing to speak in a low, gentle voice. "You still feel really poorly, don't you?"

"Find me some real food tomorrow and I'll be brilliant," Ron promised drowsily. "And if you apologize again, I will find Hogwarts: A History in that magic bag of yours and use it to line Pig's cage," he added as Hermione opened her mouth to utter apology number five hundred and two. His good arm lifted slightly so he could blindly pat Hermione's thigh. "You saved us. You were great."

"I suppose," Hermione said very quietly. With another grunt, Ron shifted himself deeper into the mattress so he could finally get some much needed rest. Hermione never stopped passing her hand tenderly through his hair as just looked at Ron as he often studied her, drinking in every little feature of his. She had known for nearly two years now that she loved Ron in a way that she would never love anyone else, but she had never once thought about telling him. That is, she had never once thought about telling him until right now. She didn't know what it was about this precise moment, but the moment was here nevertheless, causing her blood to warm and her heart to pound with anticipation. "Ron?"

His eyes popped open. "Huh?"

Hermione promptly chickened out and averted her adoring gaze. "Nothing." She really shouldn't have been a Gryffindor.

THUD.

Hermione's wand flew up towards the source of the sound. A Harry-size lump was smashed against the wall of the tent, limp and unmoving. Ron attempted to scramble to his feet, but Hermione was already pushing him back. "Stay down!" she hissed to him. She couldn't investigate anything if Ron was passing out on her again. Ron grumbled something under his breath, but obeyed. Hermione hurried to the entrance of the tent. "Harry? Harry, are you all right?"

"Hermione--" Ron warned, trying to advice her to be quiet so Harry's attacker wouldn't know that she was coming. But Hermione was already starting to suspect what was happening and she ran out of the tent to Harry's side without any fear of attack. Harry was sprawled on the ground, moaning and bathed in sweat. His ashen face was scrunched up in agony, confirming her suspicions were indeed dead on.

"Hermione?"

"He'll be all right, Ron!" Hermione reassured. "It's his scar!" She fell onto her knees next to him and shook his shoulder in hopes of rousing him. "Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" Harry didn't respond, murmuring something about a thief. Hermione squeezed his shoulders tighter than ever. "Harry!"

Harry's eyes flew open, panting. He looked up at her and promptly quailed at the glower she was giving him. "Dream," he said, sitting up quickly and attempting to look innocent. "Must've dozed off, sorry."

Harry had to think she was really stupid if she was going to fall for that. She had been afraid that this would happen; this could be the one way that they could be found in spite of all of their spells and charms and precautions. If Harry was peeking into Voldemort's mind, Voldemort could gain access into his and discover their whereabouts. "I know it was your scar! I can tell by the look on your face! You were looking into Vol--"

"Don't say his name!" came Ron's angry voice from the depths of the tent.

Hermione wished she had something to hurl at Ron to shut him up. His sudden inability to even hear Voldemort's name was already annoying her to no end. "Fine," retorted Hermione. "You-Know-Who's mind, then!"

"I didn't mean it to happen!" Harry said. "It was a dream! Can you control what you dream about, Hermione?"

Of course I can't, Hermione thought angrily at him, but you could. "If you learned to apply Occlumency--"

But Harry was about to listen to the same lecture he had heard numerous times in fifth-year and scooted towards her to feverishly relay the contents of his dream: "He's found Gregorovitch, Hermione, and I think he's killed him, but before he killed him he read Gregorovitch's mind and I saw--"

"I think I'd better take over the watch if you're so tired you're falling asleep," said Hermione coldly. She wasn't in the mood to listen about another vision that wasn't going to be any help to them. They had to focus only on the Horcruxes if they expected to get through this alive.

Harry looked indignant at the idea that he wasn't capable to completing his task. "I can finish the watch!"

"No, you're obviously exhausted. Go and lie down."

Harry gave her a disgruntled glare, but he didn't argue. He ducked inside the tent and Hermione listened to him climb into the bunk while taking her position at the mouth of the tent. She wanted to make sure that Harry knew she was right there so he wouldn't try to tell Ron about his dream. It was horrible that Gregorovitch had been killed, of course, but it wouldn't do to dwell on it. They needed to focus.

She couldn't hear anything for a fair bit, but Hermione knew better than to assume that her pair of idiots had fallen asleep. If they had, she would be able to hear Ron's snores. They were awake and discussing Harry's dream in avid detail; they had either managed to talk so softly that she couldn't even hear them from here or cast a spell to muffle their voices. She was tempted to interrupt them so they knew they weren't fooling her, but decided against it. Talk all you want, she informed them silently while shaking her hair out of her eyes and leaning forward to once again gaze at the stars. She would have plenty to say on the matter tomorrow morning.

**

"Hermione, stop," Ron moaned while collapsing back onto his bunk to bury his face in the pillow. "I'll use my bad arm if you keep it up," he threatened.

"Fine, be stupid if you want," Hermione replied, unperturbed. "That's never stopped me before. You can't encourage Harry to have those dreams--"

"Using my arm, using my arm, using my arm!" Ron yowled as he flapped the bandaged arm as best he could in the poorly constructed sling. The sling promptly fell apart and the swatch white material slumped into his lap. Taking advantage of the unexpected freedom, Ron waved his arm around with new fervor, face smashed up in agony. "Ow!"

"If Harry can see into Vol--You-Know-Who--" Hermione amended exasperatedly as Ron halted his ridiculous flapping to gasp at her in horror. "If Harry can see into his, he can see into Harry's--and you know what happens when that happens!"

"Yeah," Ron concurred. "He saves my dad's life!"

Instantly, Hermione realized just why Ron was always so eager to hear every detail of Harry's dreams. "He's not a telly, Ron! He can't see your family whenever he wants to!"

"Well, someone ought to," Ron grumbled hatefully. His arm was aching too badly to continue moving it, so he gingerly bent his elbow and attempted to rewrap the sling one-handed. He, of course, was failing miserably.

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione stepped forward so she could give him a hand. Ron initially jerked away, but eventually relented when it became evident that there was no possible way to do it on his own. He however continued to show his discontent but letting out exasperated sighs every three seconds. Hermione did her best to ignore him; she knew that he was just really hungry and it was affecting every little thing he did.

"Look," she said in a calmer voice in hopes of quieting his roaring temper. "You know that we can't have You-Know-Who peeking into Harry's head, even if it does mean that Harry can't see what's happening to your family. It's just not safe."

Ron stubbornly refused to look at her. Hermione pulled out her wand to secure the knot she had just tied and when she finished murmuring the spell, she pocketed her wand and returned her hands to his shoulders. "And you know that I'm worried about them too. Maybe I can find a way to stay in contact with them. It has to be awful not to know anything--"

"Stop feeling sorry for me," Ron bit out.

"It's not that at all," Hermione protested, stung. "You know how much I love your family! And Harry too! We care very much and it has nothing to do with feeling sorry for you, because, frankly, right now, I don't! I happen to think you're being a gigantic prat!"

Ron finally looked at her and although his eyes still smoldered with intensity, she thought she could detect a hint of an impressed smile at her display of temper. He had always loved seeing her argue. "You think you could find a way?"

Not quite expecting that, Hermione looked down and frantically flipped through her mind for anything that would allow them to communicate with the Weasleys without attracting attention. The talking Patronus seemed to be the surefire way, but Hermione wasn't quite confident about her skills in that area. She still had trouble producing a regular Patronus. But the idea of disappointing Ron was much too awful to comprehend, so she just smiled and nodded. "Maybe," she said with forced optimism. "I'll see what I can do."

"All right," Ron agreed, looking only slightly less grumpy. He kicked his legs up so he could lie back down on the bed. He craned his neck back to stare hopefully at the door. "Where the bloody hell is Harry with the food?"

"It's nice to know that you're so worried about his well-being," Hermione said flatly.

"Harry can handle anything," Ron reminded her impatiently. "He's fine."

Hermione checked her watch again and strode to the flap of the tent to anxiously peek out of it. "He should have been back by now."

"D'you want me to go find him?" Ron said reluctantly as he struggled to sit back up.

"No, I want you to get some more rest," Hermione returned sharply. "You've done enough for today." Ron had managed to help them pack up and Apparate just fine, but Hermione wasn't certain how much more he would be able to handle. He really should have stayed in bed for another day.

"I'm not helpless, Hermione," Ron reminded her as he collapsed back to the mattress.

"No," Hermione agreed. "You're sick. You need to rest and feel better so we can get back to work."

"What are we going to do next?" Ron asked, suddenly serious. "Do we find something to kill the locket with or should we go find another one?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "We don't even know where to begin looking and as you've pointed out, we don't have a supply of basilisk fangs..."

She trailed off as she returned to her beaded bag to find Secrets of the Darkest Art. Perhaps she had missed something in her research that could help them. However, as she flipped through the pages, she discovered that she hadn't missed anything. She simply had no idea where to go next in their search.

She closed the book with a bang. Ron swallowed hard, recognizing her defeated slump of her back. "We're stuck, aren't we?" he said in a low voice.

Hermione returned the textbook to her purse. Her disappointment was so acute that it actually made her stomach ache. "I think we are."

Ron somberly stretched out on his bunk and closed his eyes, deciding to take a short nap before Harry came back; he was rather tired out from all the moving around. "Harry'll know what to do," Ron said drowsily, his weariness somehow renewing his complete faith in his best mate. "Dumbledore had to have given him something that can help us out. We'll be home by Christmas."

Hermione didn't think it was the right time to remind him that he had once said they would be home by mid-September. Nor did she tell him that she was fairly certain Harry had told them everything he knew. All she did was nod and smile, wishing that for once in their lives, her instincts were wrong and within a few months, they'd all be at the Burrow, sipping cider around the Christmas tree.


Text taken from the following----Dialogue with Harry and Ron during their arrival at the forest: Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Scholastic. New York: 2007. Chapter Fourteen: The Thief. p. 268-272.-- Dialogue with Harry after Harry’s vision: Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Scholastic. New York: 2007. Chapter Fourteen: The Thief. p. 280-281