Hi folks. I want to say that I am not totally happy with this chapter even though I've been over it literally all day to day to the point that I cannot see straight and I have a pounding head-ache. This is not beta'd and it's basically a filler chapter. Just a reminder that this is an AU fic which is not canon-compliant, so please go with the flow.

TRIGGERS! TRIGGERS! PLEASE SEE THE BOTTOM FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS!

Chapter 3

Hermione immediately set about setting up the wards. They were intricate and advanced, so it took time but it would be time well spent. Her bedroom door may well be robust enough to withstand even the Hogwarts Express rushing at it full tilt, but that still wouldn't have been enough to prevent her from utilizing magical protection. She knew that her wards were impenetrable which absolutely assured her safety without question. After all, the pledge of these vampires was of no consequence, no matter how pleasingly affable Felix had come across as he escorted her to her present abode.

Slumping against the wall after finishing the last line of runes and charms, Hermione wiped a hand over her sweat-slicked forehead. She was tired. Exhausted really. Apparating sapped the magical core when done consecutively between great distances, and when you added in her little engagement with Felix in the throne room… Well, both had really done her in.

She felt a momentary flicker of worry when she found a silver tray bearing food and drink in the adjacent room. Had they somehow breached her defenses? No, she was sure that wasn't the case. More than likely, it had been laid out for her before she'd been brought here. Her stomach growled in empty protest as the delectable aroma from the platter reached her nose. The message was clear, but she wouldn't touch it until she checked it over for poisons and the like. After determining all was well, she sat down and began to enjoy some much needed nourishment.

The meal had been one of the best she'd ever eaten. Still, she couldn't even come close to finishing the sumptuous offerings. It was hardly surprising that she could barely consume a fourth of the sustenance provided atop the china plate. After almost a year of inadequate quantities of food, she couldn't tolerate overly rich cuisine, nor large portions. She did, however, drain the elaborate tea pots' contents, savoring the exquisite flavor of Earl Grey as it lingered on her tongue.

Hermione had come to appreciate the every-day comforts that life in an actual home had to offer. Ample food was one such comfort. Magic could do many things, but conjuring food out of thin air wasn't one of them. While searching for the Horcruxes, they had subsisted mainly on berries, edible roots, and a multitude of insects. Wildlife had been scarce, but regrettably, even if it they had discovered a substantial meat source the option of building a fire to roast it would have been unequivocally dangerous.

It had been small consolation to them all when Hermione informed both boys that the majority of insects – which were plentiful and readily available – were pure protein. It had still been gross as hell especially since eating them alive or dead made no difference to how they tasted on the palate. Ron had absolutely refused to partake of any of the spiders which Harry had found and offered up as dinner one evening. Because of his pickiness, he often went without, and a hungry Ronald Weasley was never a pleasant Ronald Weasley.

Ron had been the biggest complainer about pretty much everything. On top of his bad attitude, he'd been a jealous twat whenever Harry and she had put their heads together to formulate a plan of action. This did not sit well with Hermione. They had given Harry their solemn promise that they would see this through with him and Hermione's loyalty and belief in Harry hadn't wavered one iota. She'd been through several years of Ron's absurd envious attitude toward Harry and she refused to stand for it anymore.

When he'd finally left them for the warm amenities of home, she'd been equal parts relieved, angry and hurt. Those feelings didn't really change once he had come back to them. Upon his return, he'd been brandishing the Sword of Gryffindor and with it had eliminated a Horcrux, and she'd felt gratitude toward him for that. Then, he tried to claim that it was the locket that had made him act like a royal berk. Hermione was of the opinion that all the Horcrux had done was amplify their worst traits and one of Ron's was that of a total berk.

There had been a time when she'd fancied herself in love with him and had thought that after this whole thing was over – if they survived – that they might even spend the rest of their lives together. Hermione had finally come to the conclusion that in her heart-of hearts, they just weren't well-suited. Ron needed someone like Lavender Brown who would fawn all over him and boost his ego. Hermione wasn't made that way. She wasn't one to bestow false accolades on anyone not deserving of them.

When he had finally made his clumsy overtures of affections known to her, she'd shot him down as gently as possible. Not that letting him down kindly and with sensitivity made a whit of difference because he still got angrily nasty, which had hurt her a great deal. It all begged the question... Why would she want someone who failed to respect her and acknowledge her finer traits? Someone who genuinely cared for her wouldn't treat her like scum.

All of this reflection on the past was bringing Hermione down, so she sought another way to occupy her mind, eyes rushing eagerly over the titles in the ancient bookcases lining the far wall. Hmm… should she check out the selection of books or take a long, hot bath?

The thought of her weary body soaking in silence, as well as a good washing of her hair, won out over reading what was bound to be fascinating literature. They would still be here when she returned. Right now, she opted to tend to her body's needs. There'd be time enough to feed her voracious love of the written word.

When she walked into the en suite, Hermione gasped in pleasure. Like everything else in the rooms granted her, it was wonderful. A sunken bathing area – that would have rivaled the enormity of Prefects bath – took up an entire corner. Several fluffy towels were draped over a heating rack and various expensive toiletries were offered up for her use.

Yes, indeed, time spent in this luxurious bath would go quite the distance in making her feel more human again. This was a major treat for her because a thorough cleansing had been denied her while on the run.

They'd done what they could in order to stay clean, but it hadn't added up to anything more than a wipe down in a creek or lake. Mostly, they made do with a daily Scourgify. There'd been bigger fish to fry so proper hygiene hadn't exactly been high up on their list of things to accomplish. Horcruxes. That had been their bigger fish to fry. Finding them and destroying them were their priority.

The diary had been destroyed their Second Year even if Harry hadn't know what it had really been at that time. They had Slytherins locket, but other than that, their search had been frustratingly fruitless. Soon after, Ron had done the aforementioned runner and months down the road, while Hermione had been suggesting they stay in the woods and grow old together, Harry confided to her that he'd dreamt of a ring which he was convinced was another Horcrux. So, off they had gone to find this latest item.

After disguising themselves, they had asked countless witches and wizards about a person by the name of Tom Riddle. Most, did not recognize the name. Day three had brought the information they needed and faster than you could say flobberworms, they were standing in front of the Gaunt shack. Describing the place as a shack, was being exceedingly generous. Still, Harry's excitement was palpable and brought a small smile to her lips. This was the place he'd dreamt of, he was positive.

Sadly, it was also surrounded by a mess of wards, curses and hexes. It took Hermione who – according to Harry – was a brilliant genius, about a fortnight to manage to eliminate or disarm them all. Hermione hadn't counted on the natural dangers, so when her foot and broken through several rotted floorboards disturbing a nest of snakes, she screamed as if a league of Dementors were coming straight for her. Harry quickly engaged them in conversation, making Hermione gloriously glad for his ability to speak Parseltongue! Even better, they'd known where the ring was and led them straight to it!

They'd had no way to destroy it, so it was another foul soul-infested thing to have to carry around. Not long after, Ron had rejoined them with the Sword of Gryffindor clutched in his meaty paw and then took to destroying the locket after Harry hissed at it until it opened. Barely a second later, Harry had the sword in his hand, stabbing Gaunt's ring with a victorious yell. Ron had been too busy sucking up to her to see that Harry had pocketed the stone, but Hermione saw. She could have questioned him on it, but figured there was a perfectly logical explanation for his action. The events which followed were pretty much a blur. They broke into Gringotts, retrieved a fourth Horcrux – Hufflepuff's Cup – barely escaped with their lives, destroyed a forth Horcrux and made their way back to towards home.

On the way, they had all speculated on where the last two pieces of Voldemorts soul could be hidden. They agreed that Nagini was a viable option. Clearly, the snake was important to its master since Voldemort tended to keep her near. If Nagini was one, that meant that they would have to get close to Voldemort in order to kill her. Not a thrilling prospect. Their thoughts on the other Horcrux were divided. Both Harry and she believed that the last was the lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. This made sense to them considering the majority of the items used to house Riddles twisted soul had been either Founders relics or of great prestige.

Ron disagreed. No surprise there because that's all he ever seemed to do. He'd gone back to being as miserable as before he left, but without the benefit of a Horcrux as an excuse for his testiness. According to him, in his infinite wisdom, the Diadem was a myth, and a silly one at that. While Ron slept, she and Harry discussed their theory and came to the decision to eventually head back to Hogwarts to search for the Diadem with or without Ron.

The return trip had taken longer than expected. Mostly due to Ron's idiocy. It appeared that he'd finally reckoned that she was of the female persuasion and one worth pursuing. By this point, Hermione was sick to death of him and his company. His incessant whining that she forgive him for deserting them only served to piss her off more. Couldn't he suss out for himself that she was still smarting from the entire thing and needed time to work through it? Was he honestly that dim?

When awkward actions of a romantic nature began to rear their ugly head, she'd tried letting Ron down easy, but he persisted. He'd sit close enough to suffocate, repeatedly tried taking her hand, or whisper – what he thought – were words of wooing in her ear. Poor Harry didn't know what to make of it all being torn between embarrassment for her plight and a mixture of exasperation and bewilderment at Ron.

It all came to head the day he pushed her up against a tree and tried to snog her. Faster than the eye could see, Hermione's wand was in her hand. A mass of yellow birds erupted from out of the tip viciously attacking Ron, but that had been nothing to the verbal lashing he'd been on the receiving end of as he flapped at the birds circling and pecking his face. Infuriated and humiliated, Ron stomped off and was gone for quite some time. So yeah, it took awhile getting back home because apparently tantrums took time and energy.

The three of them had been at Grimmauld less than a day before finding themselves engaged in a violent skirmish at Hogwarts. They'd eaten a meal provided by Mrs. Weasley, but bathing was taking a back burner so that she and Harry – and occasionally Ron – apprised everyone of where they had been, what they had been doing, how far along they'd come with their mission, and that their next move was going to Hogwarts in search of the Diadem.

Ron had tried to argue against their plan but she and Harry held firm. Harry had laid it on the line by telling him that he was welcome to come and help, but if he was just going to be a prick about it, he could leave his lily-white arse behind. The situation was just starting to get heated when Professor McGonagall's Patronus erupted into the room declaring the Hogwarts was under attack.

After Voldemort and his forces had retreated, they'd all returned to Grimmauld where Ron had alerted his family to the fact that she had outright refused his romantic advances. Worse still, he'd told them that she'd had no good reason to refuse him and that she'd been being petty because he'd made one lousy mistake. He'd killed a Horcrux for Merlins sake! That should be enough to redeem himself in her eyes! He'd bellowed out the last two statements so loudly that it woke up Sirius' bint of a Mother.

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley added to the horrid atmosphere by acting personally affronted by her repudiation of the youngest Weasley boy. Hermione was being ostracized and treated poorly by them both. Mr. Weasley had tried to intervene, but they held firm in their convictions that Hermione was being a head-strong, unforgiving cow.

Later, Ron had snarkily informed her that it wasn't as if suitors were lining up to ask for her hand. That acidic comment had not only hit a sensitive mark, but had been so unexpected from someone claiming to be a friend, and potential partner, that she'd burst into tears.

With anyone else, her response would have had the reverse affect than what it had on him. Ron didn't seem to care that he'd deeply wounded her. He'd snottily added that she might want to take time to think on that little fact and he might... might be willing to give her a second chance after she came to her senses.

Mrs. Weasley harrumphed, stating that if it were up to her, her dear boy wouldn't be offering up his time and affections even if Hermione did decide to comply with Ron's wishes. Again, this was a dagger to her heart as she had always thought of Mrs. Weasley as her maternal figure in the Wizarding World. Hermione had been understandably devastated by both Weasley women's words and actions.

Fortunately, Harry had ended up being her ally in this matter, as had the majority of the Order. Harry thought Ron was being a barmy arse, and let him know it. He went so far as to inform Ginny that she was being a right stupid bint and that Molly could take her serving spoon and stick it where the sun didn't shine.

All their former ties to the Weasely family were falling apart, and they were still literally locked in with them at Grimmauld. The whole thing was a marvelous mess that no one seemed inclined to try to clean up. Yes, the old Black Manor was rife with seething indignation and silent accusations once again. Somewhere in the great beyond, Hermione was confident that some such Black ancestor or another was brimming with pride

It was then that Kingsley informed her of this mission. Harry wasn't for it at all and Ron just jeered at the idea of Hermione being able to traverse the distance required let alone face the Volturi. Harry had again come to her defense by telling Ron that his qualms about Hermione representing the Order had nothing to do with her being incapable, but that he was concerned for her safety.

Then, he'd gone on to say that Ron had better shut it and give it a rest or he'd punch him on his freckled snout. Ron had gaped like a fish, then turned and stomped away. The remainder of her stay at Grimmauld found Ron actively ignoring Hermione which suited her just fine.

"Blast it all, Hermione," she yelled out loud. "Stop being such a twit about Ronald Weasley and get your head in the fucking game! You are going to take care of you right now! Get in that tub and relax!"As she was slipping off her shirt, she caught sight of herself in the floor-length mirror and gasped.

Gods! She looked emaciated as well as grubby. Involuntarily, her gaze moved to the constant reminder of Dolohov. Gingerly, she fingered the top edge of the thick, pink scar. It was grotesque with uneven patches of mended skin pulled tightly together. In some places it looked like two entwined ropes with frayed edges spreading out at various angles.

Lightly, she trailed her fingers down the raised center to where it traveled over the curve of her left breast, between the shallow valley of the small duos mounds of flesh, ghosting over protruding ribs until her hand trailed lower, absently noting how the ragged scar narrowed slightly the closer it came to its tail end.

Her trousers hid the remainder of this monstrosity from view, but she knew it edged beyond, bisecting the planes of her flat stomach stretching its wicked tentacle to the area just above the juncture of her sex. Madame Pomfrey had done an excellent job of keeping her alive, but there had been nothing in all of her esteemed medical experience which could have made Hermione completely whole.

Tears burned hotly behind her eyes. Not because she was a vain person but because Madam Pomfrey had told her that it was doubtful that she would ever be able to conceive, such was the darkness in the curse which Dolohov had thrown at her. The Matron had been kind, but no amount of kindness could take away the awful sting of being informed that you were barren. She had told no one. Not even Harry. Pity would serve nothing and no one. Least of all, her. She planned on taking this secret to her grave.

Hermione wasn't prone to being melodramatic. She was a realist in the truest sense of the word. Twice now she'd almost died. Once at the end of Dolohov's wand, and the other at the wretched hand of that psychotic bitch Bellatrix LeStrange.

Thoughts of that mad woman brought her to the other scar on her body. Mudblood. A vile word. A vile word which had been carved into her forearm with vicious glee. It was still slightly sore and would never fade completely.

So, here she was, battle-worn and battle-scarred. How much longer until her life was forfeit? To Hermione's thinking, that day wasn't far off. They had barely beaten back the first attack on Hogwarts.

Thankfully, the castle was sentient enough to use some dangerous magic which sent the enemy head over arse with enough force to chase them away to fight another day. It had helped, but they'd still lost many fine people who'd been fighting on the front lines.

Remus – sweet, wonderful, heroic Remus – who'd taken a curse meant for an unsuspecting Luna. He had called out a warning before leaping to cover the girls back from an attack which had come from behind; his lax form dropping lifelessly under the dark, green burst of magical energy.

Even in death, he was an unknowing protector of the defenseless. His inanimate body had fallen haphazardly over her in such a way as to keep her safe from further fire as Voldemort's followers receded from the battlefield. Afterward, the blonde girl had wept brokenly as she'd cradled his shaggy brown head in her lap, stroking his scarred face tenderly while softly begging him to wake up.

Hermione hadn't cried. She hadn't mourned. There hadn't been time. Three days later she'd been sent out here to the Volturi. No, there hadn't been time. Didn't the Bible say there was a time for all things? She was certain that it did. Yes, yes she remembered some of it now.

A time to laugh… would that time ever come again? A time to dance… she had danced, with Harry and it had been one of the only bright, hopeful times during the Horcrux hunt. A time to kill… if that time ever presented itself to Hermione, she would welcome it with a vengeance, sparing no one she considered an enemy! A time to love… Love? Hermione snorted derisively while rubbing her tired eyes. Doubtful that she would ever have that time. A time to weep… Yes, certainly. Not yet though! Not yet dammit!

Now was not the time to weep. Later, later she would weep for those who had given up their lives for freedom from oppression and hate. For Remus, for Colin, for Cho, for Susan, for Professor Sinistra, for Ernie, and for countless, countless others! That time would come. Yes, it surely would, but not now and not today. Of one thing Hermione was certain… when that time did come, she would embrace every bit of it and weep enough tears fit to over-flow the River Styx.

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS REFERENCES TO BEING UNABLE TO CONCIEVE A CHILD!