A Drop of Venom

It had been three months since he had left - three long, painful months since she had found the note lying there on his pillow. No one had seen it coming; he was so docile and peaceful for weeks. But it had happened, and it had hurt.

They were at the Weasley's - it was a week until the Bill and Fleur's wedding and everyone was as happy as could be. Even Harry had smiled, though only once, and joined the festivities. Hermione had spotted his smile as she laced the hem of Fleur's wedding robes. It was like the moon breaking through a cloudy night. It was then that she decided he didn't need to be watched any more. If he hadn't made any attempts to leave yet, then he wasn't going to make any attempts to leave. Thirty minutes later, she walked into Harry's room and found out just how wrong she was.

The note on the bed lay like a gleaming blade, splattered with blood. It was slightly crinkled and written in a hurried scrawl, pinned to the bed by a small, red umbrella.

Hermione,

I know you will be the first to find this note; your watchman ship is most remarkable. I also know that you will be angry with me, and rightly so. But you must understand that this is something I must do alone. It is my task, assigned by Dumbledore, who trusted me to make the right decision. This is the right decision.

Don't come looking for me. You won't find me. I will not be at my relatives' house until the thirtieth of July. Until then, you know what I will be doing: searching and training and keeping myself safe.

See you at Hogwarts.

Your best friend,

Harry

Hermione crushed the note in her hand and blinked back a wave of hot tears. Harry hadn't written once since then, and he hadn't shown up at the Dursley's. She had waited all day and night, sitting alone on his bed with nothing but her old copy of Hogwarts: A History to keep her company, but he didn't show up.

And again, same as countless nights before, Hermione cried herself to sleep.

"Hermione, wake up. We're leaving in an hour!"

A hand was roughly shaking Hermione's shoulder back and forth. Hermione swatted at it.

"Coming," she grumbled, shoving her head under a pillow. "Just five minutes."

It was silent for a moment. Then Hermione's mattress was violently jerked into the air and she fell onto the floor in a tangle of sheets.

Hermione glared at Ginny. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And you have to help mum with breakfast. I'm going to take a shower." She grabbed her bathrobe from the wall, jumped over the tangled mess that was Hermione and swept out of the room.

Five minutes later, Hermione entered the kitchen much refreshed and joined Mrs. Weasley with the cooking.

"No, no, Hermione dear," clucked Mrs. Weasley as she pulled Hermione's arm back. "It's more of a swish and a sharp cut, like this." She swung her wand around and a fire appeared under the pot.

"Oh no," said a familiar voice from the doorway.

"Not her," came its partner.

"We might as well eat bricks," said Fred.

"Or ticks," said George.

"Or hicks," said Fred.

"Eww," said George, sticking his tongue out. "That's disgusting."

"Oh, please," said Hermione, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

At that moment, another red-headed Weasley entered into the kitchen.

"What smells so good?" asked Ron, rubbing his stomach. "Ah," he said as he saw Hermione. "Another excellent breakfast."

A loud sniggering erupted from the corner.

"Excellent like burnt waffles," said Fred loudly.

"Good one!" said George.

They high-fived across the table, eliciting an eye roll from Hermione. It confused her to no end how Fred and George could be so talented at Charms, Potions and Transfiguration, but without studying at all. She didn't even know half of the spells they used, never mind how to reverse them. Not just once that summer had she found herself stuck to the ceiling, of all places, or with a wooden nose, or wearing heavy steel boots, or suddenly blinded by the flashing of a thousand cameras. Though she had to admit that the pictures were quite amusing.

But nothing amused her much any more, at least not since Harry had left. She couldn't help thinking that it was her fault that he had left; if only she had been nicer, more understanding. It had been her fault, she was convinced, that he had left. Her leash on him had been too obvious, too noticeable; after all, it had been the first sentence in his letter, "I know you will be the first to find this note; your watchman ship is most remarkable." She would have to brush up on her diversionary spells after lunch.

Hermione had been training since the day Harry left. Every morning between breakfast and lunch, she read about various defensive charms and curse-breaking techniques. The rest of the day she practiced in the back yard by conjuring injured dummies, healing them, casting protection over them, and then hexing them to smithereens.

With a dull sigh, Hermione asked Mrs. Weasley if she could leave, and went out to the garden. After checking for any stray gnomes she pulled out her wand and conjured a makeshift dummy in the center of the garden. She was not in the mood for reading.

"Now," said Hermione out loud, "the Abrasium Hex leaves a stinging cut across the lower abdomen, and must be treated within twenty-two minutes of the incident. Otherwise the mark will permanently embed itself into the body. If struck with the Abrasium Hex, the victim must perform the following wand movement to deactivate the spreading: one swish upwards, a jab..."

Hermione repeated the procedure like a robot. With two swift flicks of her wand, a gash appeared around the dummy's waist. After another swish, two ropes flew from the end of her wand and pulled the dummy to the ground. She sprinted to its side and chanted the counter-curse under her breath. The cut immediately stopped growing and, with a loud pop, disappeared completely.

The sound of clapping made Hermione spin around. Ron was sitting on a log near the outskirts of the garden with a goofy smile on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes and pocketed her wand.

"It wasn't that good," she said as she sat on the log next to Ron. "Breakfast is already over?"

"Yes," said Ron gloomily. "And I couldn't help but notice that you didn't eat anything. Here, I brought you some eggs and toast."

Ron turned around and picked up a plate off the ground. Hermione took it and set it on the log.

"Thanks Ron," she said gratefully. "I'll teach you some healing spells after I eat, if you want."

"Sure, I'd like that," said Ron as he folded his arms across his chest and sat on the ground, using the log as a backrest.

Hermione finished her breakfast and sat next to Ron. His eyes were downcast, staring at the ground and he was holding tightly onto his side.

"Is something wrong?" asked Hermione, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ron looked up. "He didn't show up, did he?"

Hermione felt like a hand had just crushed her throat. She had spent all morning trying to forget, vented her rage into the Abrasium Hex. Now she had to relive it again.

A floodgate of tears nearly opened behind Hermione's eyes, but she wiped them with her hands and sniffed. She couldn't bring herself to answer. She didn't need to answer.

A pair of arms wrapped around Hermione's shoulders. "Stupid git," muttered Ron.

"Ron!" shouted Hermione suddenly, pushing him away and jumping to her feet. "How can you say that? He's sacrificed himself so that you and I won't get hurt. He's not a stupid git, he's selfless and thick-headed... but he-he-he..."

Ron placed a finger on her lips and stared into her eyes. His face was not angry or upset, but calm and collected. "Either way, he's gone and we can't do anything about it."

His words cut Hermione deeply. He had phrased the idea, the thought, that had terrorized her dreams for the past three months. The very dream of it gave her chills, made her spine shiver. She had never felt so detached, so alone. Without Harry she felt like an empty cup: useless and expendable.

A sob escaped Hermione's mouth and she buried her head in Ron's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled him close, latching on to make sure he wouldn't leave.

"I miss him so much," whispered Hermione shakily.

"We all do," Ron said, burying his face in Hermione's hair.

They held onto each other for as long as Hermione could remember.

After Hermione had calmed down, a voice called from the house.

"Hurry up you loafers. We're going into Diagon Alley!" shouted Fred - or was it George?

Hermione and Ron shared a quick glance, then they rushed into the house, their problems forgotten and their hopes guiding their futures like a lamp in the darkness.

Diagon Alley had not changed since the last summer. It was still and quiet and the sidewalks were marked with occasional wizards and witches. Hermione's favorite bookstore was still covered from floor to roof with Ministry posters, which she noticed with much annoyance.

"Come on kids, let's get our robes first. A little pixie told me something of a Ball this year," said Mrs. Weasley as she winked not-so-surreptitiously at Hermione.

Hermione grimaced. She couldn't imagine having fun at all this year without Harry around.

"I'd rather like to buy my books first," said Hermione. "I've got a few extra items I need to buy anyways."

"But Hermione, dear..." sputtered Mrs. Weasley.

"I can take care of myself," said Hermione. "I'm a legal adult."

Mrs. Weasley appeared to be on the brink of explosion, but Remus placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "She's right Molly. It's about time she and Ron started looking after themselves. Merlin knows they've done it every year at Hogwarts until now."

"But they're just children!" protested Mrs. Weasley.

"And so were you, once," said Remus calmly.

Hermione felt sick. "I'll meet you in an hour, and if I don't find you then I'll be in Flourish and Blotts."

Before anyone could respond, Hermione whisked away and walked down the street. A few moments later she pushed open the door to Flourish and Blotts.

It was so similar to the previous year that Hermione suspected someone had cast a freezing charm after they had left last, and it had just finished thawing. The same aisles were in place, still bolted to the ground and still filled with the same alphabetized books, and the same jar of Chocolate Frogs rested on the checkout counter by an ancient cash register with an equally as ancient book-keeper seated behind it. He raised a wrinkled hand in greeting.

Hermione smiled and waved back. She had always liked this store, the way it made her feel at home, the smell of new books. Albeit, she did think the dusty and dank smell warranted some improvement.

She quickly made her way to the far end of the store and began running her finger over the covers of the books as her eyes scanned the titles.

Hogward's Harangues... Hog Wars and Heliopaths... Hogwarts: A History, Twelve Edition...

Hermione grabbed the book from the shelf. It had changed colors twice since she had discovered it. First it was red, then brown, and the newest edition was blue with gold trim. She thought it looked rather nice.

The book made a slight cracking sound as Hermione bent the covers apart. An aroma of new paper drifted into her nose and she sat back, reveling in it. She quickly scanned the contents and flipped to the page on the Founders.

Slytherin was a master of Charms and Enchantments. The protections guarding the ancient school were set into the stones by Salazar himself. But his greatest work had been the Great Hall. He placed such powerful and ancient Enchantments that even the great Albus Dumbledore has failed to ascertain their origin. All that is known about them is that they cause the ceiling to reflect the Headmaster's mood, and negate any outside magical source - the perfect protection from dark wizards.

Hermione leaned back. There was nothing new in the book, just one short paragraph about Salazar Slytherin. She had expected that, after all; it was just her luck. She sighed and bought the rest of her books.

As Hermione rounded the corner of the bookstore, she saw a flash of black to her left. A man was walking swiftly down the alley adjacent to the store. And his smooth strides and long, greasy black hair strewn about his shoulders could be only from one man: Severus Snape.

An insane anger bubbled up in Hermione's chest. Here was the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore in cold blood, run away from everything that was good, played spy for the Dark Lord and treated Harry like an incompetent child for all of six years. He deserved Azkaban.

Hermione snatched her wand and followed silently down the alley. She held her nose, nearly gagging from the stench, as Snape ducked behind the store. He spoke in a low hiss.

"Draco, you must move quickly. The Dark Lord will be most displeased if you fail him again," said Snape.

"But, but, sir," sputtered Malfoy. "I can't just murder her in a public bookstore. That's not very Malfoy-like."

"Fool of a Malfoy," spat Snape. "You'd rather be crushed in the Dark Lord's claws than murder a puny Mudblood in a public bookstore. Lucius would be ashamed."

"Don't talk about my father!" shouted Malfoy.

"Silencio! Keep your mouth shut, fool. I will give you one last chance before I go in and kill her myself. You have ten seconds."

"But sir!" protested Malfoy. "We should wait to get her alone, shouldn't we?"

"Three seconds!" hissed Snape.

"I'll do it!" shouted Malfoy suddenly, though his voice sounded unnaturally shaky. "Just... Just wait here."

Suddenly the world came spinning back and slammed into Hermione's head. She glanced around frantically for a hiding place, then dove behind a fallen trash-barrel just as Malfoy rounded the corner. He walked to the end of the alley before pulling something out from the back of his hood and attaching it to his face; it was a white skull mask.

Hermione gasped as he rounded the corner. Harry had been right; Malfoy was branded, and he had the entire Death-Eater garb along with it. There was no turning back for him now. He was gone.

But her thoughts were interrupted as she was jerked to her feet by the back of her hair and spun around to face a greasy, grinning face.

"And now," said Snape, "you will die."

Hermione screamed, but no words came from her mouth. She struggled for her wand, but realized Snape had already bound her arms. Her heart pulsed and pounded into her ribcage. It couldn't end here, not without making up with Harry, not without saying goodbye to Ron and Ginny and Mrs. Weasley and Fleur and Bill and Charlie and... she delivered a swift kick to Snape's shin.

It took all of two seconds for Hermione to realize she was free, and she bolted down the alley with her arms still bound to her side. She was a mere meter from the end when a tall, dark figure rounded the corner with his wand drawn.

"What?" asked Malfoy stupidly, his voice muffled through his Death-Eater mask. "What're you doing here?"

"Stop her!" shouted Snape from the back of the alley.

Malfoy hesitantly raised his wand, but not before Hermione crashed headfirst into his sternum, sending him sprawling into the center of the street.

Hermione lay in a daze on the cobblestone. The world was spinning in mad circles, back and forth, up and down. It was a minute before she finally came around, and she was very displeased to find a knobby knee shoved into her neck. She tried to wrest it off with her arms, but they were still bound to her side. She tried jerking her head, rolling over, kicking, screaming, but they all failed. Her breath was steadily decreasing and she felt a slow pounding in the back of her head.

"You will die, Mudblood," hissed a voice in Hermione's ear. "And you won't have any hero to save you."

It was true; Harry was gone. She had finally come to realize it, and only moments before her death, which was coming as swiftly as an eagle in flight. It only had to tighten its talons in her shoulders. But it never came.

Snape's knee lifted and Hermione felt a gush of cold air rush into her lungs. She jerked forward and coughed into her hand. It came out as thick, running blood. And just for a short glimpse as she looked up, before everything went black, she saw a tall man with a flaming wand jump over her body, and she felt a tingling sensation as his sparkling green aura passed over her skin.

It felt like someone had smashed her over the head with a heavy rock. She could feel her swollen neck and chin hanging off her face like water-filled balloons. Her head wouldn't turn in the slightest way, and her arms and legs were tightly bound to her sides by an invisible force. Only the stone ceiling and warm white sheets comforted Hermione, as she knew the place quite well. She was in the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And suddenly she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, two men standing beside her bed with worried looks plastered all over their faces. A warm rush filled Hermione's throat as she recognized the figure closest to her bed. With his mop of messy black hair and radiant green eyes he could be none other than...

"Harry!" shouted Hermione through her swollen lip.

Harry's face lit up like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky. He was standing with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall and eeking comfort and contentedness like no one Hermione had ever seen. If someone had found himself during this summer, it had to have been Harry. He made to come to Hermione's bedside, but a shrill shout from across the room stopped him in his tracks.

Madam Pomfrey bustled across the room carrying a tray of nasty looking potions.

"Out, out!" she shouted. "She needs room and rest."

In all honesty, Hermione was ticked off. But Harry thought otherwise, as he bent over, mouthing "See you tonight," and then turned around, leading a distraught looking Ron Weasley out of the room.

It was going to be a long day.

As Hermione sat in her hospital bed waiting for the swelling to go down, she mulled over what had happened. All she could remember was running into Malfoy and crashing into the street. There was a blank spot after that, which was followed immediately by her waking up in the Hospital Wing.

Then there was Harry. Despite all she had expected, all she had told herself, he had come to Hogwarts. He didn't get mauled, maimed, mutilated or beaten. In fact, he appeared to have done just the opposite: he was rejuvenated and invigorated. That was just a little scary.

Hermione gulped the last of her anti-swelling potion and swung her legs off the bed. Madam Pomfrey said she could go when she was done, and she was done, so she hopped to her feet, felt a dizzy sensation overcome here, and fell back onto the bed. Her second attempt was more successful; she slowly stood on her feet and steadied herself with the bedpost, then, once she had regained her balance, took off for the Gryffindor Common Room.

When she reached the portrait-hole, she was anxious enough to jump right through it. She glanced frantically around, but no one was near, and cursed herself for not thinking to ask Harry or Ron for the password.

"Hello," whispered a voice behind Hermione, causing her to spin around.

"Who is it?" shrieked Hermione into the darkness.

A voice from just over her left shoulder said with much amusement, "Why it's me, Harry Potter."

In one smooth motion, Hermione whirled around and pulled Harry into a crushing hug.

"Harry!" she screamed. "You're here!"

Harry gurgled some inarticulate response about "air," and Hermione pulled back. He gasped for breath and held a hand to his neck.

"Merlin, Hermione, it's good to see you," said Harry, coughing. "Bumbleweed."

"What?" asked Hermione.

The portrait swung open and Harry jumped through it, dragging Hermione by her hand. They entered the Common Room, which was more or less empty, besides a few stragglers who had already begun pre-reading their course material and Ron, who was laying contentedly on his back in front of the fire, sprawled out like a lion basking in the sun. Harry brought Hermione to the couch behind Ron and motioned for her to sit. She did, then jumped back up and tackled Harry in another bone-crushing hug.

Harry gasped and coughed and wheezed until he tripped over Ron and fell into a tangle on the couch with Hermione.

"Glad to see me?" asked Harry, clearly amused.

Ron was apparently over the excitement already as he grumbled something about rest and injustice and rolled over, trying to fall back to sleep.

"Where have you been?" shouted Hermione suddenly. "You scared everyone half to death! How could you do that?"

If Harry was surprised earlier, it was nothing compared to his reaction now. He rolled off the couch and jumped to his feet.

"You know why," he whispered as a cold look crossed his face. "And I swear I'll kill him next time, the fool."

Hermione nearly cowered in fear at the look of malice and loathing on Harry's face. She knew then that something terrible had happened to him over the summer, something horrible. His eyes were creased into a line and the corners of his mouth curved into an angry grimace. The air around him glowed green and Hermione could swear that she heard a crackling sound as he turned.

Then everything came back to her. She was hoisted into the air by her hair, lying in the street, a knee pressed to her neck. And then she realized, with her brilliant calculating mind, that Harry had saved her life from Severus Snape and had just vowed to kill him.

"H-Harry?" asked Hermione in a whisper. "It was you, wasn't it? You saved my life."

Harry turned away. "You shouldn't have gone out alone."

"But it was you, wasn't it?" asked Hermione.

With a deep sigh, Harry deflated back to normal and turned around, sitting on the couch next to Hermione. He stared into her eyes with a blank expression. He had definitely changed.

"Yes, it was me, and I pray I'll never have to do anything like that again. I thought you had died... and it would have been my fault. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"No!" shouted Hermione. "Don't blame yourself! It had nothing to do with you at all."

Harry merely shook his head. "But it did, Hermione, in more ways than you could ever know."

"Don't you dare blame yourself," hissed Hermione. "It wasn't your fault. And," she said before Harry could respond, "I'd rather like to hear what you've been doing this summer."

A confused look crossed Harry's face for a moment, then he sighed and laid back into the couch. "There are only four left," Harry said.

Hermione gasped. "You found it and destroyed it? How did you? Are you sure it's gone?"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Harry. "Though I don't know how Dumbledore saved the ring. Mine is in about six-thousand pieces and sitting in the stomach of a Dementor."

Of course, shouted Hermione's mind at herself. A soul eating machine, it makes so much sense. Why didn't I think of it? More importantly, how did Harry do it?

"And?" pushed Hermione. "How did you do it?"

But something like a sheet of ice had pulled itself over Harry's face, under his skin. His gaze became stern and cold, and his face hardened like an orb of Adamantium. He was on his feet and walking across the room before Hermione's reflexes kicked in and she jumped up to follow him.

"No!" she shouted. "You're not leaving again, I won't let you. You're sleeping right here," -- she gestured towards the couch -- "and I'm sleeping right there" -- she gestured towards the love-seat -- "and if you so much as flinch I'll tie you up and hex you and shove a Dreamless Sleep Potion down your throat."

Harry stopped. For a moment, Hermione stood in anticipation, then her blood froze as the room was filled with an electrically charged, but flowing and smooth voice. "And how would you do that if I'm already gone?"

And suddenly there was a flash, a trick of the light, or so thought Hermione, and she realized that Harry was nowhere to be seen. He had just vanished, as he had said, from under their very nose. But more shockingly, he had done it under the protections and wards of Hogwarts, breaking every law of magic and every rule in every book Hermione had ever read.

Hermione spun around - she had to stay calm. She knew he hadn't Apparated; that was impossible. He was in the room - the portrait was shut, so he couldn't have left through it. Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked towards the exit, keeping her eyes trained on the portrait. She pulled her wand out and aimed it at the edge of the door. It opened.

Two words jumped into Hermione's mind: Petrificus Totalus. The usual flash of light that followed didn't appear. Instead, there was a loud thump as Harry, who was now visible, fell against the wall, stiff as a board.

"I told you," snapped Hermione. "You won't leave again."

As Hermione approached Harry's still body, his eyes flashed open and glared at her. He was trying to move his mouth, but it was glued shut by the body-bind.

A cold feeling washed over Hermione. The look on Harry's face was not angry or mad or anything of the sort. No, it was blank, unmoving, calculating. Like a Slytherin, thought Hermione.

She shuddered. "I think it's time for bed."