Full Circle

Chapter 3

There is a place on the east
Mysterious ring, a magical ring of stones
The druids lived here once, they said
Forgotten is the race that no one knows

Circled tomb of a different age
Secret lines carved on ancient stone
Heroic kings laid down to rest
Forgotten is the race that no one knows

Wait for the sun on a winter's day
And a beam of light shines across the floor
Mysterious ring, a magical ring
But forgotten is the race that no one knows

--Clannad, "Newgrange"

It doesn't matter how many times I do this, I will never get used to it, thought Harry, as he climbed unsteadily out of the goblin-driven Gringotts' cart. Remus offered him a hand as he climbed out, but Harry shook his head, instead reaching into his pocket for the heavy vault key Remus had given him for his birthday. They weren't opening his vault today; Harry had all the money he could possibly need for the moment. They were opening his parents' second vault, the one he had not known about until his birthday party just the week before. He'd already gone by the Ministry of Magic to pick up his timetable and other information for Auror training, and now his insides were squirming nervously at the thought of whatever his parents had needed a second vault for.

"Key, please," said the goblin in his gravelly voice. Harry handed over the key, and when the goblin opened the vault, a thick cloud of green smoke billowed out into the corridor.

"Nice," said Harry, coughing and waving a hand to clear the smoke from around his face. When it had cleared enough for him to breathe without feeling as if he would suffocate, he peered through the open vault door.

What he saw made him feel as if he'd just taken off at high speed on the goblin cart again.

The entire vault was filled with boxes, bags, and crates of things that could have only belonged to his parents. He stepped into the vault, his held breath forming a tight, heavy pressure in his chest, and lifted the lid of the nearest box. It was filled with folders, each one stuffed with parchments and neatly labelled in clear, rounded script.

"I expect those are your mother's things, Harry," said Remus in an odd sort of voice.

Harry looked up at Remus, standing in the vault's doorway, his profile illuminated by the torches in the corridor, face unreadable. "Yeah?"

"She always kept meticulous notes in every class." Remus moved into the vault, looking around uncertainly, as if he were seeing ghosts. "James tried to get her to throw those out when they moved in together, but she said she'd put entirely too much effort into her schoolwork to just throw everything away."

Harry flipped through the folder, not really taking in the actual words so much as the shape of his mother's writing, the rounded curve of a g or the precise dotting of each i and crossing of each t, as if he could almost feel her presence through the words inked on the page. He was at once filled with the conflicting desires to sit and read every page in the box, and at the same time wanted to look at every single other thing in the vault. He wanted to open every box, peek in every crate, and touch every single object there that had belonged to his parents.

Yet something was holding him back. He thought about Snape's Pensieve, and the way he'd seen his father and Sirius bully Snape for no apparent reason, and his mother's obvious dislike of his father... So far all he'd known about his parents came third-hand - from Sirius, Remus, Snape, his teachers, even Voldemort. But this would be as close as he would be able to get to his parents first hand... through their belongings. What if the 'real' version of them was closer to the one Snape described than the one he'd heard from Sirius and Remus?

He put the folder back into the box, closing the lid carefully.

His heart felt too full.

"Who did all this?" he asked Remus. "Someone had to have, after they... you know...."

"I did," said Remus quietly. "They'd asked us - Sirius and Peter and I - if anything happened to them, if someone would take care of their things, save them for you... and after... when they took Sirius away, I realised that I was the only one around to do it." His voice hitched a bit, but he cleared his throat and continued. "So I went back to their house after the Aurors had deemed it safe to enter again and packed up everything I thought you might want someday." He offered Harry a small smile, his expression going a bit sheepish. "I suppose I went a bit overboard."

"Yeah, maybe so," Harry agreed, grinning a bit himself, but as he looked around the vault he felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap. The sheer mass of stuff was absolutely overwhelming. Where in the world was he supposed to start?

"You don't have to look at it all at once, you know," Remus said gently.

"I know, I just - I haven't got a clue where to start."

Remus rubbed his chin for a moment, looking thoughtful, then disappeared behind a high stack of boxes, talking to himself. A few minutes later, he reappeared bearing two medium-sized boxes about the size of Muggle filing boxes, one stacked atop the other. Harry could just make out a label on the ends of each - the topmost labelled, "James - Personal", and the other labelled, "Lily - Personal".

"I think these might be the best places to start," said Remus, handing the boxes to Harry. "I remember that packing these two were difficult indeed, and perhaps the reasons that made it difficult for me will make it ... better, for you."

"Yeah," said Harry.

"Go on, take them back to the Burrow. You shouldn't be here when you open them, I think."

Harry nodded and followed Remus out of the vault, but couldn't resist a peek back over his shoulder as he crossed the vault's threshold.

My parents' life is in that vault, he thought, as the goblin closed and locked the door.

Once outside Gringotts, Harry said goodbye to Remus and Apparated directly back to the Burrow with his parents' boxes and his stack of parchments about Auror training. Mrs Weasley had a thing about people Apparating directly into the house - "Use the door and don't give me a heart attack, please," she'd say - so he reappeared in the front yard, precariously balancing the boxes as he opened the door and set them on the floor just inside, swiping his stack of parchments off the top and carrying them into the kitchen. After trying to wrap his brain around the fact that he had a vault load of his parents' lives to go through, he could probably use a strong cup of -

He didn't get beyond that thought after stepping into the kitchen. Hermione was kneeling beside Ron's wheelchair, looking upset, and Ron... Ron looked completely bewildered.

Were they fighting? He sincerely hoped not; he didn't think he could stomach another fight between the three of them. And then he noticed their hands.

They were holding hands, fingers twined together and resting on the arm of Ron's chair. Harry felt an odd lurch in his stomach that he couldn't quite find a reason for, and immediately pushed it away. Don't jump to conclusions, he told himself, that's what drove us all apart before... but he couldn't not say anything....

Harry dropped his stack of parchments on the table. "What's going on here?"

They both looked up, obviously startled, and Hermione got slowly to her feet, letting go of Ron's hand.

"Nothing," she said quietly, shaking her head.

"Yeah, nothing," said Ron.

"You both look rather down for it to be 'nothing'," replied Harry, feeling as if he'd walked in on something rather significant that had nothing to do with him, but not sure what to do about it. It was an uncomfortable, nagging feeling, and it left him unsettled. He turned abruptly, rummaging around for the teakettle.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, and her voice was crackly. It irritated Harry, and he wasn't sure why.

"I'm making tea, what does it look like I'm doing?" he said, a little more harshly than necessary, filling the kettle very slowly so he wouldn't have to turn back around and look at them. He couldn't get the image out of his head of them holding hands, Hermione's small fingers entwined with Ron's longer ones....

Water was running out the top of the kettle; he shut it off and tapped the kettle with his wand to heat it.

"Did you have breakfast?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Harry grunted. "Yeah."

He heard the scrape of her chair across the floor as she pulled it out to sit down again, but he didn't want to turn around. He wasn't angry - they were all best friends, and best friends were supposed to be affectionate, right? Hermione was an incredibly affectionate person - it was she that had climbed in his bed and held him through some horrible nightmares, simply out of friendship, an action that Ron had misunderstood - so he knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions, but still....

The kettle whistled, breaking the heavy silence, and when Harry had poured his mug of tea he knew he couldn't just stand there looking at the sink all day.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped at the sound of Ron's voice, sloshing tea onto his hand, and the burn of the hot tea made him jump again and drop his mug. "Shit," he whispered under his breath, dropping to his knees to pick up the pieces. This was ridiculous, there was no reason for them to all be dancing around each other and starting at the slightest sound - over nothing!

"Harry, it was nothing," Ron said. He flicked his wand in Harry's direction; the spilled tea vanished and the pieces of the mug reassembled themselves. "It was nothing."

Harry got to his feet and sank into a chair across from them, feeling suddenly very drained.

"It was nothing," Ron repeated.

"I know," said Harry, and he did.

"Hermione was just telling me she wasn't going through with Auror training," Ron added.

Harry nodded, glancing over at Hermione, who looked positively miserable. She propped her elbows on the table and put her face in her hands, mumbling to herself.

"So I know there's something going on, and it's okay if you don't want to tell me, really," said Ron, his tone of voice indicating that it wasn't okay, not really, and that he was hurt by being left out of the loop.

Ron was hurt.

Hermione was miserable.

And Harry was trapped between the two of them - one who expected his silence, the other who expected the truth. He couldn't do both.

It had to stop.

"Look," he said, taking a deep breath, "I think we need to get some things out in the open."

Hermione's hands fell from her face, and she shook her head. "Harry, this isn't a good time, honestly -"

"No," said Harry, more firmly this time, "it isn't, but there never will be, Hermione. The longer you keep this quiet, the worse it's going to be when you do tell - and you will, eventually, have to tell. Ron deserves to know what you're up to."

Ron frowned. "What she's up to?"

Hermione let out a loud, huffing breath and crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. Fine. But it's on your head, Harry, if this doesn't go well."

"If what doesn't go well?" asked Ron, by this time obviously thoroughly annoyed and bewildered. "Look, just come out with it, whatever it is, or don't talk about it again because this is -"

"Just shut up for a minute and I'll tell you!" snapped Hermione, and as soon as she said it her expression immediately softened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean...."

Ron shook his head. "Forget it."

Harry felt he had to step in, or this was going to go nowhere. "Hermione...."

"Yes, yes, fine, I'm getting to it." She turned to Ron, folding her hands and resting them primly on the edge of the table. "I've found Master Raymond."

Ron's mouth fell open. "Raymond? You mean that odd friend of Dumbledore's that taught you how to do that healing... thing... you do?"

"Yes," said Hermione, launching into the same explanation she'd given Harry the night of the party about the stone circles and the time travel gene and the optimum dates for travel, and Harry felt his eyes beginning to glaze over again, and blinked to clear them, noticing Ron's were doing rather the same.

"Well, that's bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, when Hermione had finished her time travel explanation. "I mean, it's not brilliant that you've got to go by yourself, but I reckon you'll do fine on your own, you're plenty clever enough. I always thought Dumbledore should have told you a long time ago how to contact him so you could finish your training." Then he paused, and a small line formed between his eyebrows, the one that always appeared when he was turning something over in his mind. "But that's not - I mean, why were you keeping that from me? Did you think I would try to talk you out of going?"

"No...." said Hermione, looking less sure of herself than Harry had ever seen her before.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

Harry sat very still and quiet, watching them. Hermione had gone from resting her hands calmly on the table to twisting them together in her lap, and Ron looked annoyed to the point of exploding.

"Look, whatever it is, Hermione, just say it."

Hermione looked from her hands in her lap up to Ron, meeting his eyes, and when she spoke her voice was very soft. "If everything goes according to plan... when I get back...." She swallowed hard, and Harry could tell she was nervous, but she kept going. "If I make it through all right, find Raymond, get him to finish my training, and get back... then...."

A look of immediate comprehension dawned on Ron's face, so quickly it was as if he'd been struck in the head, his eyes going round and wide. "Hermione... you aren't saying...."

Hermione nodded vigorously, seeming relieved that he'd caught on. "I think I can, I mean, if I'd only just known how when you had your accident, I could have helped you then, but I didn't know, and I couldn't really do anything, but after this I'll be able to fix things, and I can...." She trailed off, apparently unnerved by Ron's lack of response.

"Ron?"

It was silent in the kitchen again for a long moment; so silent that the faint tick tock of the Weasley clock in the sitting room seemed to reverberate in Harry's head as if it were right next to him.

"You're doing all this just to fix me?" Ron said slowly, with a flatness to his words that made Harry's stomach tighten.

"Well, no, not fix you," Hermione said earnestly, "I'd be able to help you, even though I wasn't before - I can't promise anything but I'd like to try, really -"

"No."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

Ron's jaw was set, his mouth a stubborn line. "No. If the only reason you're going through all this is so you can fix me, then don't bother. If this - " he gestured to his legs, hidden beneath the table - "bothers you so much that you feel the need to go back in time two hundred and something years just so you can fix me all up, then just - just don't."

"Ron, no, that's not what I meant at all!"

"Don't!" he shouted, wheeling back from the table, an angry red flush creeping up his neck.

Hermione started to push her chair back and get up, but Harry put a hand on her arm and she sat down again. "Let him be," he said under his breath, as Ron turned so sharply his wheels squeaked and stormed out of the room.

"Oh, that was not good," Hermione said, her voice shaking and her face white. "Not good at all."

Harry was almost afraid to move, but he squeezed her arm gently and pushed his chair back, getting to his feet. "I'll go talk to him. Just... wait here. Don't go anywhere. If I can get him to come back...."

He left Hermione in the kitchen, not in a hurry. He had a fairly good idea where Ron might be and he wanted to give him a chance to cool down before he came in. Sure enough, Ron was in the first place he looked - Mr Weasley's shed out back where he tinkered with various Muggle devices. It appeared small on the outside, but apparently it had been magically enlarged; it reminded him very strongly of an old barn, with a high, dusty ceiling with heavy beams spanning the width of the building, and the walls were strung with a bizarre assortment of odds and ends: car hubcaps, bits of plumbing, electrical cords, a toaster with more insides on the floor than inside of it, knobs from a gas cooker, and various other things he couldn't even recognise. Harry could see his Christmas gifts of wire and plugs had been put to good use; one long wall was covered in a jumble of twisted wire and randomly connected plugs, and he found himself grinning at it in spite of the tension in his stomach.

Ron, back to the door, was fiddling with something on one of the workbenches, and Harry could see his shoulders shaking. He coughed softly to let Ron know he was there, but Ron didn't turn around or acknowledge his presence.

"Ron?" he said, stepping towards him.

The only answer was a muffled sort of sound that might have been a 'yeah' but could also have been a 'go away'. Harry chose to take it as a 'yeah', moving closer.

"D'you... " He trailed off, not knowing exactly what it was he was asking. Was he asking if Ron wanted to talk about it? He and Ron didn't talk. They just sort of understood each other without talking; even after the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, they hadn't talked about their fight at all - they'd simply said "forget about it" and grinned at each other, leaving Hermione to tell them they were stupid and dash off in tears. They just didn't talk about anything other than whatever was happening day to day with them and Harry was somewhat stunned to realise it.

Yet, even without talking, Harry knew Ron better than he knew anyone else in the world.

"I don't," Ron said thickly.

"Okay," said Harry, pulling an overturned wooden crate beside Ron and sitting on it, leaning back against the leg of the workbench.

Ron had a Muggle CD player in his hands, studying it with far more care than was likely necessary. It looked like someone - likely Mr Weasley - had disassembled it at some point and not put it back together. Various parts were strewn over the workbench, and while Harry watched, Ron picked up a small rectangular metal part and fit it very carefully into a slot somewhere deep inside the player. He looked through the parts on the bench again, picking up another, smaller piece, and concentrated on carefully fitting it in place, squinting slightly as he worked. Harry was struck by how deftly he managed it, even though he'd always thought of Ron's hands being somewhat large and clumsy.

Then he remembered how Ron's hands had looked; twined together with Hermione's, Ron's freckled fingers against Hermione's tanned ones, and his stomach made that odd, uneasy, swooping feeling again.

This piece wasn't going in as easily as the last one, and Ron grunted in annoyance. "Stupid thing," he muttered.

"It might break if you -"

"I know what I'm doing!" blurted Ron, and a sharp metallic snap came from inside the CD player. He jerked his hand away, swearing under his breath. "Great. It's really broken now."

"You can use Reparo on it, you know."

Ron snorted. "You ought to know that doesn't work on Muggle ekeltronic things. It'll fix the piece all right, but it won't work anymore. When you use it, I mean." He put the CD player back on the bench, his face screwed up in frustration. "It's all so complicated."

Harry frowned. "It's just a CD player, Ron, we can get - "

"Not the damn CD player, Harry."

"Oh."

There was a long pause.

"If she's going just for me... she ought not go."

Harry shook his head. "It isn't just for you... she wants to learn more about this. It's a gift, it's part of her - she has to learn it."

"Yeah." Ron picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans. "If she could... I'd want that more than anything in the world," he said softly, not looking at Harry.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I reckon so."

"But it's fucking dangerous - I can't ask her to, it isn't - it isn't right." He looked up at Harry, and the fear and uncertainty and the not-quite-daring-to-hope in his face made Harry's heart feel too full for the second time that day.

"You're not asking her to, Ron," Harry replied. "She's offering."

"Still." Ron took a gulping breath, almost a sob, and said very quickly, "If I say yes, then she'll feel obligated even if she gets scared and wants to change her mind, which I would, because this is fucking huge, and it might not even work anyway, and if it doesn't work she'll blame herself even though she shouldn't, and I don't want her to because I love her and I don't want to see her beat herself up over something she - " He stopped midsentence, frozen, looking as if he very much wanted to swallow his last few words.

Harry heard what Ron had just said, and he supposed he should be angry or resentful or jealous or something, but all he felt was utter confusion. He wasn't surprised at all, he wasn't angry - he didn't know what he was.

"Harry - I shouldn't - I'm sorry."

"Forget it."

"Harry - "

"I said, forget it!" When Ron flinched at his tone, he added, "Look, I'm not angry, okay? I mean... we're all friends, right?"

Ron nodded, looking as thoroughly confused as Harry felt. "Yeah."

"So...er... " Harry was mortified to find an uncomfortable heat creeping up his neck and into his face, and suddenly even the magically-enlarged shed was seeming far too small for the both of them. "I think you should go and talk with Hermione," he said abruptly, getting up so fast he nearly upset the workbench, and left the shed before Ron could say another word about it.

*****

Hermione was just about to give up on either boy coming back into the kitchen when she heard the squeak of wheels on the scrubbed wooden floor. She looked up to see Ron parking himself back at the table where he'd been before Harry came in.

"Er...." he said, looking flustered.

"Are you all right?" she asked, wringing her hands nervously on her lap.

"Yeah, I think so, I mean... no, not really, I don't know..." He put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands, and Hermione could see his fingers trembling.

Hermione's mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. "I didn't mean to... if you don't want..."

Ron looked up, his face pale under his freckles. "No," he said quietly. "It's not that I don't want... Merlin no... I do, it's just... it's so complicated, I can't explain."

"You don't have to," she said quietly.

Ron's face crumpled into a frustrated scowl. "I need to, but I can't."

"If it makes you feel any better," she began, "I'm not going just for you. I honestly want to learn more about this - I feel like it's something I need to do, something I have to do. I don't know for sure if I'll be able to help you, but if I can..."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"You don't have to say yes or no now, that's why I didn't want to tell you in the first place, I didn't want you to think - well, to think that was the only reason I was doing it, because it isn't. And if you thought that it was, you might try to talk me out of it or something, I know how you are - " Hermione felt her face grow unreasonably hot when she realised she was babbling. "Sorry."

"Can we just not talk about it?" Ron asked slowly. "At least, not right now?"

"All right," she agreed, not having any idea when it would ever be a good time to bring it up again.

*****

The next several weeks passed in a blur for Hermione. August first came and went, the first of one of the four 'safe' dates for time travel since her return from the States, and she had been sorely tempted to go ahead and try it. Instead, she poured herself into her preparations. Other than a brief expedition to Diagon Alley in late August to help Ginny with her preparations for her final year at Hogwarts, she hardly left the Burrow, instead reading and rereading her books and notes and diagrams. Not only did she have to make sure she had every detail correct about the time travel itself, she had to research the time period to which she was going - eighteenth century Paris - in order to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She was usually the first one up in the morning, even once Harry began Auror training, and one of the last to go to bed at night. More than a few times, Harry or Ron, or sometimes both, had come to peek in and say goodnight only to find her asleep with her head on an open book.

Once it was out in the open among the three of them where she was going and why, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement not to discuss it. Ron, in particular, would always turn incredibly pale and change the subject whenever it came up. Harry, for his part, would either fidget anxiously or simply leave the room in a thinly veiled attempt to avoid the topic altogether. Hermione was secretly glad for this because she felt if there were any actual discussion between them about it, she might talk herself out of going entirely. The closer the next 'open' day loomed, the more anxious she got.

She buried her nose in her books, crossed her fingers, and hoped for the best.

Her activities did not remain a secret for long; at the first Order meeting that she, Harry, and Ron were invited to, the subject came up even before she had a chance to think about telling anyone about it. She was sitting between Harry and Ron at the kitchen table at twelve Grimmauld Place - which felt bizarrely foreign without Sirius there, propping his feet up on the table and cracking jokes - surrounded by the rest of the Order, when Remus looked significantly at her and said, "Hermione, I understand you'll be taking a trip soon?"

Stunned, Hermione looked at Harry, then Ron, neither of whom looked any more aware of what was going on than she, and then said, "Sorry?"

"Your trip," Remus said. "To find a certain Master Raymond?" Then he smiled. "Dumbledore told us long ago, Hermione, about your gift. It was when he first called Raymond. He gave us - the Order, that is - about the same explanation he gave you at the time, I expect. Then later, after Ron's accident, he told us some of what you must already know, concerning the stone circles and the time travel."

"He what?" said Hermione indignantly, feeling extremely put out that the entire Order had known all this time what she'd had to go halfway around the world to discover.

"Figures," said Harry bitterly, under his breath.

"No, Hermione, it isn't like that at all," said Tonks, piping up from under her mop of bright purple hair. "Part of the process of becoming a - what was it he called it, Remus?"

"A White Lady," said Remus.

"Right, a White Lady. Part of that process is already inborn in you, a bit like my Metamorphmagus skills, but another very important part is discovering how everything works yourself - if he'd told you anything, or if any of us had, you might not have the opportunity to reach your full potential."

"How convenient for him," mumbled Ron.

"Ron!" said Mrs Weasley.

"Don't 'Ron' me, Mum!" said Ron hotly. "Dumbledore was a good man and all but I don't like how he kept things from Harry and Hermione. He knew a lot more than he let on and it wasn't right of him to keep it from them. If he'd told Harry right from the off about that prophecy - "

Remus coughed politely, bringing the meeting back to order. "In any case, Hermione, we'd like a report from you on how things are going."

She nodded, spelling out for them everything she'd learned so far; she was getting rather good at it after telling Ron and Harry, but this audience was a bit more attentive - or else they were simply better at hiding their glazed-over eyes than either boy had been.

"You know, of course, that we'll do anything we can to help you, Hermione," said Remus when she'd finished. "A skill like this would be extremely valuable, considering what we're facing."

Remus didn't have to say it, but it was obvious from everyone's faces that they understood what he meant - considering that we're facing a war.

"You'll likely need some money," said Kingsley, breaking the silence from the far end of the table. "I have a source who can produce some excellent replicas of old currency - we'll try to have that for you in the next few weeks. Simple Transfiguration isn't reliable enough, considering it might be difficult to get away with anything magical where you're going. Try to stay as Muggle as you possibly can at all times."

"And I'll work up something suitable for you to wear," said Mrs Weasley briskly. "Heaven knows you can't go about in robes, far too conspicuous, and your Muggle clothes simply won't do."

"When do you think you'll be ready, Hermione?" asked Remus.

"Halloween, I expect," she replied, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all the offers of help; somehow, giving the Order of the Phoenix a date for her departure seemed to make everything irrevocable and final.

There would be no turning back now.

*****

The days grew shorter, the weather cooler, and the end of October was upon them before Hermione realised it. True to their words, various Order members had come through with their offers of help - and then some. Kingsley procured a sufficient amount of currency of the time - not only French coin but Scottish and English as well, for while she could Apparate from Craigh na Dun, the stone circle, in Scotland to the English coast, she would have to take any available transportation from that point on. Apparation was only possible when one was familiar with the location; otherwise, one could end up splinched.

"And I wouldn't trust the Floo network of that time, were I you," said Mad-Eye Moody. "There weren't the standards and safety measures we have now, especially in France. Their Ministry was even more corrupt than ours is now, no regulation of the Floos at all, and two times out of three you'd end up somewhere five miles away from where you wanted to be."

Mrs Weasley produced a dress for her, which fit her very well and even contained small secure, hidden pockets in various places under the skirts. It also had a very cleverly designed pocket in the bodice for her wand, which kept it handy should she need it but practically invisible otherwise. She sewed it by hand rather than using magic, which Hermione found very impressive, as she'd never learned to do anything but knit some shapeless elf hats and socks. Tonks taught her a few simple, easily maintained glamours that would help her blend in a little bit with the other women of the time, and Bill Weasley offered to teach her some rudimentary French. He claimed to have known it for quite some time, but George insisted that Bill only developed any interest in the language when Fleur Delacour began working at Gringotts. Even Snape contributed, though somewhat unwillingly. He showed up at the next Order meeting with a parcel of potions that were apparently the wizarding equivalent of immunizations for everything from smallpox to cholera to typhoid fever - and much to her mortification, a long-term Prophylactic Potion and preventatives for some of the nastier sexually transmitted diseases - with extremely detailed directions and dosages. He thrust the package into her hands without a word before swooping off like a large black bat, but the fact that he did not lecture her about how and when to take them told her that he must have had some faith in her ability to manage them on her own, even if he would never admit it.

All these preparations kept her so busy she would have seen very little of Harry or Ron as it was, but they were so busy as well that she sometimes went almost a week without seeing either of them. Harry's absences for Auror training became longer and longer, and he was often gone for two or three days at a stretch. Ron began leaving the Burrow as well, but Hermione had no idea where he went, as he wouldn't tell her, and from what she could gather he refused to tell Harry as well.

The night before Hermione left, she could barely sit still. She fidgeted all through the wonderful dinner Mrs Weasley prepared and wandered aimlessly around the room afterward while Ron clobbered Harry in wizard chess until she finally couldn't take it anymore and went up to her room without saying a word to anyone.

She wandered around the room, picking things up and putting them down again without any real thought to what she was doing when a knock at the door made her jump. Harry peeked around the door, looking as if he were afraid she would throw something at his head.

"Er... can I come in?" he asked. She nodded and he came in, shutting the door behind him and jamming his hands in his pockets. "So, er... are you ready? Ready to go, I mean."

Hermione nodded again, turning to the bed, where the dress Mrs Weasley had made was lying, and picked up the edge of the skirt, pulling out a loose thread from the hem. If all went well, it would be at least three months before she would see him again, if not more... and if all didn't go well....

The outline of the dress began to waver in front of her and she was embarrassed to realise her eyes were welling up with tears. Get a grip, Granger, she told herself, turning her back to Harry and wiping her eyes with the edge of her shirt.

She felt his arms come around her from behind, circling her waist and pulling her close. Instead of being reassuring, it only made her eyes water more and her heart thump madly in her chest. Three months, or more, till she could even talk to him, much less -

"Harry," she said, covering his hands with hers and leaning into him.

"I'm going to miss you," he said, and she could feel his breath in her hair. "I miss you already because I've been gone so much, but knowing you aren't here and I can't even talk to you..."

Hermione turned in his arms and put her finger to his lips in a 'shush' sort of gesture. "Don't."

Harry pulled her close to him. He was just tall enough that he could rest his chin on top of her head, and it was a gesture that usually made her feel comforted but now only made her realise that it was yet another thing she would be doing without for a long time. She slid her hands around his waist, breathing him in, the smell of grass and fresh air and something that could only be defined as Harry, and the finality of what she was doing closed in on her, smothering and hot and she pushed him away.

"I can't do this, what was I thinking, I can't - I can't leave you and Ron - I can't go and do this, it's mad, it's ludicrous, it's impossible!" She crossed her arms over her chest to stop herself from shaking, uselessly willing her breathing to slow down and her heart to stop pounding.

Harry shoved the dress off the bed and steered her to the edge of it, sitting her down beside him. He was talking, but she couldn't make out anything he said for the constant buzz of what if, what if in her brain.

What if you don't find him?

What if you don't make it back?

What if something happens to Harry or Ron while you are gone?

What if? What if?

"Hermione." He put his hand gently under her chin, tipping her head up to meet his eyes. "You can."

She didn't answer him, but instead shifted closer to him so that she was practically in his lap. The fingers of one hand toyed with the back of his neck, the other resting just over his heart, and she was surprised to feel it thumping just as madly as hers. There was a quiet certainty in his eyes that calmed her, but also a deep wealth of emotion that startled her with its intensity.

What startled her the most was how intensely she returned it.

That delicate shift of feeling only took a second, but that's all it took for Hermione to pull him to her, kissing him hungrily. He responded enthusiastically, and she tried to push the thought of three months or more before I'm with him again out of her head as he tugged her shirt out of her jeans, sliding his hands along her back. She peppered his face with kisses, his jaw, his ear, the pulse beating softly at the base of his neck, memorising the taste and feel of him in case -

In case she didn't come back. It was that last thought that made her cup his face in her hands and kiss him deeply, as if kissing him this way would be enough assurance for the both of them that she would make it back safely.

Harry made a deep, throaty sound that was mostly a moan but almost a growl, moving his hands slowly down her sides to rest on her thighs. His thumbs rubbed gently on the inside of her thighs, warm even through the denim, and it made her shiver uncontrollably. Hermione overbalanced, gripping his shoulders, and he fell back onto the bed, pulling her with him. She barely noticed as shirts were removed, trainers toed off, and jeans discarded; she was too absorbed in the feel of Harry's hands on her skin and the taste of him in her mouth, his lips and breath and skin filling all her senses until it seemed nothing else existed but the two of them.

"Are you..." Harry didn't finish the sentence, but she knew what the was asking.

"I am," she whispered, tracing her finger along the line of his jaw. "Before I go, I want... this. Us."

Harry didn't answer, but let out a deep, shivering breath as he rolled her gently onto her back, kissing down the length of her body.

If there were any possible way to preserve this moment, she would have done it. She wanted to remember the way he blinked at her with a trace of boyish shyness when she pulled his glasses from his face and laid them aside, the way he shivered when she brushed her lips over his scar, the soft noise he made when she wrapped her hand around him. Most of all she wanted to remember the way they felt together, the feel of his skin against hers and legs and hands tangled in an almost-desperate fever that left them both dizzy and breathless.

Sometime later, Hermione awoke to find her head against Harry's chest, his arms curled protectively around her. It was the most contented, safe feeling she'd ever experienced, and she didn't want to move. Unfortunately, she needed to use the loo rather badly, so she carefully extricated herself from Harry's arms and pulled on her dressing gown. Harry was so deeply asleep he didn't stir even when she stepped on the creaky floorboard by the door. She padded barefoot down the hall to the bathroom, sidestepping the creaky floorboards to avoid waking up any of the other sleeping Weasleys.

This would be her last night in the Burrow for a very long time, she realised, on her way back to her room. She would be leaving incredibly early in the morning, and she hadn't had a chance to say proper goodbyes to most of them... especially Ron. She passed by her room and went the rest of the way down the hall to the room that Harry and Ron shared, pushing the door open quietly and wary of creaks. It took her eyes a moment to adjust as the room was much darker than she kept hers; only a tiny sliver of moonlight peeked through the window, but it was enough to let her see that Ron was sound asleep, flat on his back.

Hermione perched carefully on the edge of Ron's bed, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her. She wasn't exactly sure what she was doing, as she wouldn't dare wake him, but she felt that somehow she had to say goodbye somehow, even if he wouldn't hear it.

"If things..." she began, and her throat closed up. She knew she wouldn't get to say to him what she wanted to say, that she wished everything that had come between them the last year had never happened, that she would change it if she could - that she still considered him her dearest friend and would miss him as much as she would miss Harry. There was no way she'd be able to say all those things, so she settled for leaning down to kiss his cheek, the coarse ginger stubble on his jaw rough against her lips as she began to draw back.

"Hermione...."

Ron's sleepy voice startled her, freezing her when her lips had barely left his cheek. Was he really awake or just talking in his sleep? She was afraid to move, panicked that the slightest movement on her part would wake him and that would be so incredibly awkward she didn't want to imagine it. He turned his head toward her ever so slightly and their lips brushed; her stomach did a mad swoop and then she was kissing him, an incredibly warm and sweet feeling mixing with horrid, seething guilt and surging through her. One of his hands came up to tangle in her hair, the other crept up her arm... this was so incredibly wrong and yet she couldn't stop... until she heard a creak from the hallway and jerked away as if she'd been burned.

"Oh God, what have I done?" she whispered to herself, getting to her feet. "What have I done?" She looked frantically around to see if someone was behind her - there was no one, and some of the panic dissipated, but her heart was thudding so hard in her chest she was having trouble breathing.

Ron seemed to still be quite asleep, eyes closed, breathing steady and regular. Had he been asleep the entire time? She prayed that he had, that he wouldn't remember any of this and she could pretend it had never happened, but a frantic part of her brain imagined what would happen to the fragile truce they'd built between them if Ron had been at all awake.

What had she done?

In a fit of sheer desperation, she snatched Ron's wand from the bedside table with shaky hands, her insides boiling over with hot, bubbling guilt and her brain swimming with questions she wasn't sure if she wanted the answers to.

"Obliviate."

*****

The pre-dawn air was frosty as Hermione, Tonks, and Remus climbed the hill to Craigh na Dun. Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around her, shivering from more than the weather, and compulsively patted her pockets to be sure that her wand, money, papers, and everything else she needed were stowed safely away in her charmed pockets.

"You'll be fine, Hermione," said Remus, obviously misinterpreting the cause of her discomfort.

She nodded, too wound up to speak, and picked up her stride.

"We'll be coming up on it any minute now, I expect," said Tonks, and not three seconds after this pronouncement, the massive standing stones became visible over the crest of the hill. "See?" said Tonks, pointing unnecessarily.

"What's that noise?" Hermione asked, stopping in her tracks. It was a deep, almost subterranean rumble, not quite audible, and she could feel it in every bone in her body.

"I don't hear anything," said Remus, tilting his head slightly to listen.

"Me either," said Tonks.

"It's getting louder," said Hermione. The closer they got to the stones, the more intense it became, and by the time they were standing at the edge of the circle it had grown into a bone-jarring buzz, almost like an itch inside of her that she couldn't even begin to scratch, reverberating through every cell and pore and making her feel extremely queasy. "It's them," she said, gesturing faintly to the stones.

She swayed slightly, and Remus caught her elbow. "Are you sure?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes," she said, shaking him off. "I think - it's supposed to be like this." The jarring buzz was so strong she was having trouble concentrating, and she stepped toward the tallest of the stones; a massive slab that appeared to have been cleft in two, the pieces separated by a good two or three feet. Impulsively, she reached out to touch the stone, and it screamed.

She jerked back, shaking uncontrollably. She was going to have to go into that, whatever it was, and there was no possible way - she turned to Remus to tell him it was off, she had changed her mind, when she saw a familiar dark head come up the hill, followed by an equally familiar ginger one.

They'd come to say goodbye to her, and she couldn't - she couldn't look at either of them after what she'd done, so she turned abruptly and stumbled towards the screaming stone, throwing herself through the cleft and falling into a mad, howling blackness that never seemed to stop.