Weapons

The rain had slowed to a drizzle and under the thick limbs of the tree it was barely noticeable. Hermione pulled her cloak closer around her, shifting her weight onto her right hip to get more comfortable. The ground was hard and rocky, but she was thankful for a place to rest for a moment.

Her fingers were stiff and cold, she rubbed at them, cupping them around her mouth and blowing tepid breath across them. As she settled down and rested against the truck of the tree she squinted into the dark and then suddenly tensed. Slowly, she slipped the wand from inside her cloak, with slow purpose she slid her other hand down her leg and pulled the knife from the sheath hidden in her boot. Leaning out on one knee she waited like a coiled serpent for another sound. There it was, a footstep. Friend or foe? The nighttime sentry? Or an enemy ambush? She listened for the sound that would signal to all who had paused to rest that the guard was on duty and all was right at this moment. When she heard it coo low from the sentry's throat she leaned back against the tree again, not so much as relaxing, but shifting the tension to a slightly lower setting in her body.

She checked the knife in one practiced motion for any signs of damage. She turned it up in her palm and glanced at the sharp edge, checking for any blunting. Satisfied that her weapon would not require attention this night, she wiped her hands on her damp grimy shirt, tentatively reaching into her front pocket as if fearing that the letter that she had placed there earlier might have disappeared. When her fingers brushed the stiff edge of the parchment her breath hitched a tiny bit in her chest. She grasped the letter and pulled it out into the night air, holding it close to her to keep it dry.

She was lucky tonight, there was enough break in the clouds to allow a watery drizzle of moonlight to leak from the sky. Her eyes had adjusted hours ago while she was on sentry, walking the encampment, looking for signs of danger.

She could make out the strong bold handwriting on the envelope. She sat for a moment, reading each letter in her name, devouring the strokes of the pen. Gently, lest she tear the parchment she pulled it from the envelope. She took a deep breath and began to read:

Dear Hermione,

Morning is dawning here. The clouds have parted some, but it is still so cold.

We may get some sunshine today, I'm hoping for a bit of warmth. I miss the bright hot sun. Sometimes I'm afraid that I will never be warm again.

I have talked to Mum; she said that she and Dad received a post from Fred and George last month. They are well. The fighting has been fierce around Hogsmeade, but they have not been injured.

Neville has sent word that he and Harry are safe. I knew you would want to know. I live for the day that we can defeat the enemy and return to our lives. We will live happily ever after, I promise. We'll sort Harry out and we'll all live happily ever after. Until then know that you are loved and I miss you as much as sunshine!

She pulled the cloak closer against her shoulders and stopped reading, staring out into the night with a slight smile on her face.

Once again she heard the sentry's sound. She shifted her weight again and turned her attention back to the letter.

I don't want to get your hopes up, but after we leave London I'm going to try to get to the Burrow. It may be a month or more before I am there, but if all goes well in London I'll turn toward home. I will try and send you a Portkey. I want to see you, please try to come if you can.

Until then, take care and keep yourself safe.

All my love,

Ron

She folded the letter carefully and placed it back into the envelope. She sat clutching it in her hand, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. Ron and Harry were safe and they would all live happily ever after, her Ron promised.

As much as Hermione lived for the occasional letter that she received from Ron, it made her heart hurt to read them. The love that Ron spoke of and the future that he promised seemed a million miles and a thousand lifetimes away. She knew that she was not the same girl that Ron remembered. It had only been a couple of years since they had left school, but the distance since then was immeasurable.

The weary young woman hung her head and hitched a deep breath. She held her hands in front of her eyes and spread her fingers. They were scarred and bruised. She wondered briefly if they could touch with tenderness and love or had they broken too many bones, spilled too much blood. She scrubbed them across her face and ran her fingers through her long brown strands of hair before shoving them roughly into the pockets of her cloak.

Hermione looked up through the wet tree limbs hanging above her, at the swollen gray clouds in the night sky and wondered, not for the first time that week, if it would ever stop raining. She was not sure what time of the night it was now. It might be midnight or later, it was difficult to judge. The rumbling of her stomach was no indication either. She had been hungry for so long that it was like the disappearance of the sun, one more symptom of the war. She had a sudden thought that the sun had been an unnoticed victim of this damnable war. Maybe it had burst aflame in a blaze of mediocrity on the battlefield and had been left to sizzle and sputter in the mud.

She shook her head and let a smile slip past her lips, oh gods, here she was cold, tense, ready to do battle and thinking crazy thoughts. Maybe that is what makes a warrior so bold; they are not chasing the enemy, they are running away from insanity.

She hitched a sigh deep in her chest and settled back against the trunk of the tree. If she could catch a few minutes of sleep before it was her turn to walk sentry again it might help alleviate some of the fatigue. She closed her eyes and concentrated on sleep. It took a moment for her to realize that her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she had pulled her wand and had a white-knuckle grip on the end.

She took another deep breath and tried to make a conscious effort to relax. Her mind wandered in search of pleasant thoughts.

She thought about her life before the war. When the phrase "I would die for you" was just something you said to flatter, not something that would become your personal creed. She thought back to when warmth was taken for granted, as were clean clothes, a full stomach, dry feet and sleep. Blessed sleep.

She remembered lying in her warm bed in the dorms. It had been piled high with soft blankets and clean sheets, fresh and smelling of the sun and the lavender water that was sprinkled on them as they were dried.

Without warning a picture of Harry came to mind, the last time she had seen him he was standing with sunlight glinting off of his black hair. It was pulled back and hung almost to his shoulders in a messy braid. His green eyes squinted against the harsh sunlight and he had smiled at her briefly and had given her a brotherly hug before turning his tall, muscled body away from her. That had been over six months ago but still she could recall every detail and line on his weary face, she had wanted to hold him and tell him it would be okay, they would all make it through this okay, but she was afraid that it would turn out to be a lie.

She jumped with a slight start as a noise sounded to her left, and squinted into gloom, wand and knife both drawn, and waited. A figure moved toward her. She inched slowly forward leaning on one knee, crouched under the tree like an animal ready to strike. The man moving toward her slowed and made a soft coo in his throat.

She lowered her weapon slightly, but did not relax her stance as she answered with a low, quiet whistle.

She watched as a young soldier knelt in front of her. She noticed the look in his eye and wondered if it was respect she saw, or fear. She knew that her reputation preceded her like a cold mist. The stories that were told about her prowess and ruthlessness in battle were more truth than fiction, but if everyone that claimed to have been at the massacre at Hogsmeade and saw Hermione take on a circle of Death Eaters single-handed to escape victorious from the bloody rubble, had actually been there it would have been too crowded to move about. She was known as a tense, bloodthirsty soldier, but her intelligence and patience coupled with her new-found ability with Muggle weaponry had proven again and again to be a deadly combination.

"You should signal sooner," she hissed softly and raised the blade of her knife until the tip rested against the pale tender flesh of the boy's throat, her wand pointed between his eyes.

She saw by looking at him that a boy was all that he was, one who probably would have still been in his first few years at Hogwarts if the war had not started, but this boy needed to learn the value of caution, and she, ever the teacher, could be the one he learned it from rather than the enemy.

"Always remember that I could have my weapon buried in your throat, or have you hexed into oblivion at the first sound of you approaching before I ever heard your signal call."

He blanched and swallowed.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Make no mistake, boy," she said slowly, pronouncing each word carefully as she looked into his eyes and continued. "I lost the ability to become frightened the first time I wiped the blood of my enemy off the blade of my knife, the first time I watched someone I knew hit with an Unforgivable Curse. Do you understand my words?"

The slender boy looked into icy eyes that appeared silver in this light, he swallowed slowly and then nodded his head. He did not trust his voice to answer her.

She peered at him a moment longer and lowered the knife.

"Now, what was the reason you came to disturb my rest?"

He swallowed again and tried his voice, "Kingsley says we'll be leaving within the hour. He wanted me to let you know."

"Tell him I'll be ready."

The boy nodded, turned and left hurriedly.

Hermione leaned back on her heels and drew a deep breath. It was time to go, again.

She did not have time to rest, to sleep or to do the one thing that she desperately wanted to do and that was to think about Ron and Harry, her boys, her men, her friends, her loves.

Ron, who knew in his heart that he and Hermione were meant for each other, who also believed without doubt that they would win this war, get married, settle down and raise a family. They would live next to their best friend, Harry, who would find a nice girl and settle down and they would all live a nice normal calm life.

A sad smile crossed Hermione lips. They had grown up in the years they had spent together at school; the three best friends had become as close as siblings. She was the one that always tried to be the voice of reason, the strong, sturdy, sensible intellect. She had thought that she would always be able to protect them and keep them out of trouble by just convincing them to be cautious, but the war had come anyway, and she had not been able to stop it with either reason or cleverness.

The war had come for Harry like a vengeful lover, full of fury and rage. It had brewed until it had boiled over, spilling suffering and loss over the entire wizarding world. Fighting for the lives of many had not been Harry's choosing, but it was his destiny and one that he could not run away from. He had not had time for love, or commitment or even a healthy teenage crush; his focus was always about fighting, winning, being the champion.

Hermione wondered sometimes if anything could have stopped the war, stopped this from becoming their destiny. Dumbledore had told them repeatedly that love was the only defense, the only weapon, but what did Harry know about love?

The ones that should love him unconditionally; his family, were either dead or like the Muggles he had lived with, refused to love him. The professors at school were too busy training or protecting him to love him. She and Ron loved Harry, but it was different, they were two plus one equals three.

Harry needed love that was his alone, unconditional; he needed total love, passionate, devotional love. Plain and simple - Harry needed.

Hermione thought to something that happened at the end of their fifth year. All hell was beginning to break loose, Sirius had died and Harry was in such pain and turmoil. He had come back to the common room and told she and Ron about the latest incident with Malfoy.

I'll have you, Malfoy had said to Harry in rage and hate.

She remembered thinking that maybe it really wasn't a threat maybe it was more of a declaration and then she had wondered if either Harry or Malfoy suspected that.

On the train headed away from Hogwarts, Harry had suddenly turned to she and Ron with fear in his eyes and with a trembling voice said, Malfoy needs...

He had paused and Hermione thought say it, say it. Harry you know that you have the same need; love, friendship, understanding. We all do, we need and we want. Say it.

Then Ron interrupted and said, Yea, he needs his arse kicked.

She had thought, Shut up, Ron, shut up. This is it say it, Harry. Say it! It can start to end here. This war is going to be about hate and love and the only way to win is to prove that love is stronger. They were fighting for everyone and even if Malfoy didn't understand that and even if he had it all tangled up with superiority and blood, it boiled down to being able to love and live and be who you wanted to be. And they could prove that, she had thought, but Harry will have to be the one to show him, and damn it, say it, Harry say it she had thought, screaming the words in her mind.

He opened his mouth and said, I want...

Ron interrupted again and said, I know, mate, I want to kick his arse, too.

She saw the words die in Harry's mouth and she knew that they tasted like bile; bitter and poisonous.

She wanted to scream, SAY IT! Throw out the lifeline to him, go now, and say it. But she didn't say anything. Merlin help me she had thought, I can't even find the courage to make him say it, how can I expect him to have the courage to tell us what he wants, needs.

The moment passed and the words were gone and she saw him swallow them and thought, We are lost. Hermione realized that the courage to love was actually the hardest part of love and her heart broke for him, and for all of them.

She wondered why she didn't see it before then and her mind had raced across the past five years replaying every word, every action between the two of them, dark and light, good and evil, lost and lonely, need and want. It was all there; the clues were so obvious as to cause her cheeks to flush with embarrassment at her inability to solve this one simple puzzle.

Love, friendship, compassion, understanding; they were the only weapons that were your very own to brandish as you saw fit.

She hung her head a minute and drew a deep breath. It would be time to go soon. Standing she felt for her weapons; her knife and wand, and drew her cloak around her tighter.

She looked up through the wet tree limbs hanging above her, at the swollen gray clouds in the night sky and wondered, not for the first time that week, if it would ever stop raining.