Inevitable by DMHP2014

~ Chapter 2 ~

Hermione gazed at the late eighteenth-century grandfather clock from her spot on the stairs and watched, disgruntled, as the big hand silently struck midnight.

She sighed tiredly, her eyes lazily sweeping up and down the dark mahogany frame of the clock before pausing briefly on the gold and silver cogs that were visible through the glass face.

The clock was grand and beautiful, in great condition, considering what had been done to the manor during the plague - but it no longer chimed on the hour. Of course, Hermione already knew this about the clock, but if she hadn't, she certainly would after tonight. She'd been sitting on the stairs for the past three hours, and the clock hadn't made a peep - except for the pronounced tick… tick… tick… of the second hand, which was slowly but surely driving her up the wall.

She looked back through the wrought iron bannister towards the double doors of the Hub - ignoring Michael and Hannah who were on guard duty tonight - and brought her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs.

She narrowed her eyes, imagining she was glaring at Harry and Ron, and not an inanimate wooden door.

Neither Harry nor Ron had left the Hub in the last three hours, and they'd told Michael and Hannah to not let anyone in, even Hermione.

Apparently, Ron had stepped out to go to the toilet just before nine, but thanks to her incessant thirst, she'd missed the chance to chew him out and demand why she wasn't allowed in during the interrogation. She knew she shouldn't have gone to get a drink when she did.

They could be so overbearing sometimes, it made her want to strangle them both. She knew they had their reasons - ridiculous though they were - but she was sick of being pushed out. It seemed to be happening more and more frequently.

Not for the first time, she wondered what happened to them. They used to do everything together, it was the three of them, the golden trio. There was a time when Harry and Ron relied on her input for everything - from which colour shirt to wear to war strategies. Now their trio was a more like a duo and Hermione was the one left on the outside looking in.

Most of the time she could ignore it - after all, she was still a valued member of The Order, her research had given them significant advantages where there had previously been none. Yet she couldn't help but feel hurt in times like this. She hated being kept in the dark. And even more so, she hated how apparent it was that she wasn't needed as much as she used to be.

Hermione knew that Ginny shared her feelings, even though her situation was different.

Harry had been neglecting his relationship with Ginny for far too long now, and although Hermione hoped they could work things out, she had a horrible feeling it was too late for such things.

Ginny had waited with her on the stairs for a little while, but she was so angry with Harry that she eventually stormed off to her and Hermione's shared bedroom, claiming she was going to sleep. Hermione doubted sleep would claim her friend tonight, she could picture Ginny stewing several floors above her, waiting for Harry to seek her out and apologise for the shoddy greeting - or lack thereof.

The manor was silent, eerily so. Everyone had gone to bed and the screams from the Hub had stopped hours ago. Hermione couldn't even hear any raised voices. She wondered what was happening. Had their hostage decided to talk? Or were Harry and Ron trying another tactic? Like silently staring at him until he spilt details on happenings behind the wall. If that was the case, Hermione could be in for a long night.

Hannah suddenly sneezed, breaking through the silence of Hermione's thoughts.

"Bless you," Hermione murmured.

Hannah smiled tiredly and promptly sneezed again, only this time it was followed by a long groan as she brought both hands up to cradle her head.

The rest of the night went on very much the same.

Hermione mostly remained in her spot on the stairs, only getting up every so often to stretch her legs.

"Hermione, wake up," Michael hissed quietly.

She was totally unaware that she'd fallen asleep until someone was gently shaking her awake. Hermione shot up as if a cannon had gone off. "What? What happened?" she demanded, disorientated. Her head whipped around in confusion, her body screaming at the sudden jerking movements until she finally realised where she was. Her eyes flicked to the clock which told her it was just before six-thirty in the morning. She sighed deeply.

"You fell asleep," Michael told her rather unnecessarily. "You should go to bed and get some rest. I will let Harry and Ron know that you were waiting for them."

Hermione nodded slowly, her disappointment evident. She turned to gaze at the door, which was still firmly closed. "Where's Hannah?" she asked croakily, noticing that the blonde girl was absent from her station.

"I had to send her to bed, she's not feeling well," Michael said, holding his hand out to help her stand. "I think another bout of the flu is making its rounds," he shook his head, looking worried. "Craig went down earlier today and Arthur was looking rather worse for wear."

Oh no. Not again.

Hermione swallowed down her concern. "Well, in that case, I should stay," she began, her tone taking on a note of authority. "There should always be two guards on the door -"

"That isn't necessary, Hermione," Michael objected, shoulders sagging wearily. "Shift change is in half an hour."

"And?" she pressed. "Now is not the time for us to go slack on protocol. There's a hostage from behind the wall in there," she added incredulously, gesturing towards the Hub.

"I'm well aware of that," Michael sighed, his expression one of a suffering nature. "But for Merlin's sake, Hermione, you're dead on your feet. You don't look well yourself. No offence, but you wouldn't be much help if anything happens in the next half hour, you can barely stand, let alone fight. Just go to bed," he sighed. "Everything will be fine."

Hermione wanted to argue, but he was right, she could barely stand. She was absolutely shattered and her entire body ached like she'd gone ten rounds with a troll. "OK," she reluctantly agreed, turning to drag herself up the stairs. "Don't forget to tell Harry and Ron I was waiting for them, or at least pass the message on to whoever's on guard duty next."

"I will," Michael nodded and moved back into position in front of the door to the Hub.

The walk to her bedroom nearly killed her, and she had a horrible, sinking feeling that there was more to it than just being exhausted. She didn't feel right, her limbs felt heavy and her head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

She thought of the Grand Staircase at Hogwarts, and for the first time ever was glad she wasn't there. The manor's four staircases were nothing to the mammoth hundred and forty-two at Hogwarts, yet she was struggling to breathe and not pass out by the time she got to her bedroom. The long trek to the Gryffindor dormitories would have killed her, for sure.

Hermione crawled into bed fully clothed and pulled her duvet tight around her. She had but a vague moment of realisation that Ginny wasn't in her bed before she fell into a deep, fevered sleep.

Hermione woke with a weak groan, her head heavy and mind fuzzy with confusion.

"Ginny?" she called out, voice cracking.

Good grief, she felt like she'd been run over by the night bus.

"Hermione?" Ginny came jogging into the room and upon seeing her, smiled widely. "You're awake, thank goodness. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Hermione confessed, struggling into a sitting position, her head spinning wildly. "What time is it?" she asked, voice deep and nasal. She gripped the side of her head with a wince.

She could tell it was some time in the day, going by the muted light shining through the gaps in the threadbare curtains.

"It's just after nine," Ginny answered, pouring her a steaming cup of something from the copper pot on the nightstand.

"Really?" Hermione frowned, eyebrows drawing together as she took the proffered cup and gently blew on it, the faint scent of honey, lemon, and ginger filling her nose. She sniffed, trying to clear her nostrils, and promptly sneezed, her whole head throbbing with the action. "No wonder I feel like crap. I've only been asleep for a few hours."

"A few hours?" Ginny snorted, giving her a peculiar look. "Hermione, you've been out for a whole day."

"What?!" she croaked, nearly spilling the contents of her drink all over the bedsheets.

"Yeah, you had a terrible fever. Thankfully, it only lasted around twelve hours. You've been sleeping since it lifted."

Shit. She'd been out of it for over twenty-four hours. How was that even possible?

"Oh, God," Hermione groaned, resting her head back against the headboard. "Talk about bad timing with everything that's going on. Where's Harry and Ron? What happened with the hostage? Is he still here? Did they find out anything about behind the wall? -" she broke off at the tight look on her friend's face, dread filling her chest. "Oh no," she said in a deep monotone. "What's happened?"

Ginny shook her head, nose wrinkling. "They haven't found anything out. The guy hasn't uttered a single word, even after..." she trailed off, swallowing hard.

Hermione frowned and sat up straighter, leaning forward, even though it made her head spin to do so. "After, what?" she pushed. "Tell me."

The girl bit her bottom lip, shaking her head again, brown eyes perturbed. "Let's just say they've been getting quite creative in the different ways to get him to talk."

Hermione gazed at Ginny, carefully mulling over her words, taking in her too pale face and her freckles that stood out, stark, against her complexion. Hermione's heart sped up a bit. "How creative are we talking?" she murmured, almost too afraid to ask.

"About as creative as you can be without having magic or the right tools at your disposal," Ginny responded matter-of-factly, a dark look clouding her pretty features.

Fuck.

Hermione was about to ask for specific details when Mrs Weasley suddenly bustled into the room.

Ginny gave Hermione a swift, sharp look that plainly told her Mrs Weasley had no idea what was going on with the hostage. So she closed her mouth and pressed her lips tightly together, hoping she didn't look as startled as she felt.

"Oh, Hermione dear," Molly sang. "You're awake. You gave us all a fright! How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she suddenly halted at the end of the bed, eyes narrowing on Hermione's face. "What's the matter?"

Hermione blinked, eyes widening. Clearly she'd done a poor job. "Oh… um… nothing!" she stuttered. "I mean, I'm just still not feeling a hundred percent, that's all."

Ginny threw her a look that said, really? And looked up towards the heavens.

"Oh, of course you're not," Molly tutted sympathetically. I had the girls boil water over the fire to run you a hot bath. It should almost be done. Drink up," she ordered, stepping closer and leaning down to guide the cup in Hermione's hands to her mouth.

Hermione drank deeply, the drink still hot - but not hot enough to burn – the taste of ginger, lemon and honey exploding in her mouth.

"That's it," Molly encouraged. "You can drink the rest while you're in the bath, and I'll have some soup brought up to you for when you get out. I want you straight back in bed, young lady. I'll be coming back to check on you later. Ginny," she turned to her daughter. "Help her to the bath, will you, darling."

Then she was gone.

Ginny rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently. "Well, you heard the woman, let's go."

Hermione threw her an incredulous look - she didn't want a bath, she wanted answers. Yet she knew it would be futile to argue now that Molly had given the order, so she allowed the redhead to help her from the bed and support her across the long landing towards the bathroom. Besides, now that she thought about it, a warm bath did sound nice. She still had every intention of questioning Ginny - a fact they were both well aware of.

"Do you need help undressing?" Ginny asked once they'd made it inside the bathroom.

Hermione glanced around, taking in the cracked mirror above the sink, the sink which no longer worked. There was a single, boarded up window that had been smashed during the plague, and if not for the candles - carefully placed around the room to create a soft orangey-yellow glow - they would have been in complete darkness. She glanced at the large tub, at the steam rising from it - warm and inviting - and couldn't help the slight shudder creeping along her spine. She didn't want to think about how much of a pain it would've been to get hot water up here. She'd have to find out who'd done it and thank them. She was grateful, she wasn't sure she would have made it to the stream and knew for certain that she wouldn't have been able to bear the icy-coldness of it. "No, it's OK, thanks," Hermione turned back to Ginny, realising the girl was still waiting for her to answer. "I should be able to manage."

The youngest Weasley smiled. "I'll just go and get you some fresh pyjamas," she said. "And I'll bring the pot of tea. Mum will kill us both if you don't drink it."

By the time Ginny got back, Hermione was already submerged in the tub, the rising steam slightly distorting her vision. The hot water was absolute bliss on her aching muscles. She couldn't remember the last time she'd bathed with hot water, it felt like a lifetime ago - probably the last time she'd been ill.

The redhead handed her a fresh cup of honey, lemon, and ginger. "Take these," she said, dropping two tablets into Hermione's waiting hand. "Codeine - the strong ones," she explained with a smirk as she lowered herself to the floor and crossed her legs. "Seamus told me to give them to you. I've left another two next your bed - to have when you wake up. Unfortunately, that's all he could spare."

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, closing her eyes briefly in gratitude. She put both tablets in her mouth and took a few careful sips of her drink. She set down the cup on the edge of the bath and picked up the flannel and bar of soap that had been left for her. She lathered them up and began cleaning herself, the scent of jasmine filling the room.

"Simon's been asking after you," Ginny commented mildly, idly picking at the crumbling plaster on the wall.

Hermione hummed, sounding thoroughly disinterest, and averted her gaze.

"Yeah," the redhead continued, undeterred. "He seems to be really worried about you."

Hermione remained quiet, the only sound was the lapping water against the sides of the bathtub as she meticulously cleaned herself - tiring though it was.

"He -"

"I don't want to talk about Simon," she cut Ginny off, tone harsher than she'd meant it to be. "Sorry," she immediately apologised. "I just... I," she scrunched up her face. Simon was a subject she wasn't in the mood to discuss right now - ever, if she was being honest.

"I get it," Ginny reassured her. "Trust me," she widened her brown eyes for emphasis. "I really get it."

Hermione smiled sadly. Things were obviously still bad with her and Harry, in fact, seeing as things were going so terribly with the hostage, she'd be surprised if Harry had even sought the redhead out yet. "Tell me about the hostage?" she asked, eyeing her friend carefully.

Ginny let out an explosive sigh and leaned her head back against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest. "There's not much more to tell... unless you're after the gory details?" she cringed.

Hermione thought about it for a moment. Did she want the gory details? Her mind was doing a pretty good job already - marred, bloody skin, broken bones. She shook her head. "No, I don't want to know. Not yet, anyway."

The redhead looked relieved and they both fell silent.

"He isn't going to talk," Ginny expressed quietly after the two of them sat for long minutes in contemplation. "The hostage, I mean."

Hermione gazed at her over the lip of the bathtub, taking in her tight lips and tired eyes.

"I'm scared," Ginny swallowed, gritting her teeth as if she hadn't wanted to admit it. "About how far Harry and Ron will go before they realise he won't tell them anything. They've already gone too far."

Hermione felt a chill go through her, despite the hot water. "Have you seen the hostage?" she asked tentatively.

"No," the redhead answered with a sharp shake of her head. "Bill won't let me. They won't let anyone in. No one knows what's going on in that room. The only reason I know is that I mithered Charlie to tell me. And I know he hasn't told me everything."

Hermione picked her drink up and gulped it down, needing something to do. She felt sickeningly uneasy. She was worried about Harry and Ron, about their mental state. How had they gotten to this point? A point where they could do something so awful? It was hard in the Wastes, yes, and she knew Harry carried a lot of guilt about not finishing Voldemort off when he'd had the chance. But that was no excuse for being so cruel. It wasn't like them, they'd never resorted to this kind of thing before. They were no better than those behind the wall if they threw all their beliefs and morals out of the window, she needed to talk to Harry and Ron as soon as possible, see where their heads were at. Maybe talk some sense into them and find out what was actually going on.

"Try not to worry, Gin," she reached her arm out over the bathtub, dripping water onto the floor. The redhead took her hand and squeezed it hard. "It will be alright," she smiled and hoped it looked convincing. Because even as she uttered the words, she wasn't sure she believed them herself.

As instructed by Molly, Hermione got straight back into bed after her bath. She felt so much better now that she was clean and warm, especially now that the codeine had finally kicked in. Her aches and pains were but a dull throb - bothersome, yet manageable.

She devoured her vegetable soup - even though she could hardly taste it - and then brushed her hair out before burrowing under the quilt for a nap.

She ended up sleeping for six hours, waking just before five in the afternoon with a headache the size of Jupiter.

Hermione groaned and reached out a hand to feel around her bedside table, her fingers brushing over the tablets she'd known were sitting there. The previous two she'd taken in the bath had well and truly worn off. She sat up, shoving them in her mouth and gulped down the entire glass of water that had been left for her - bless Ginny.

Hermione didn't dare to move any further, even though her bladder was screaming to be emptied.

She waited for a time, allowing the tablets to do their magic before attempting to move again. She waited twenty minutes until she could wait no more.

Hermione glanced at the bucket in the corner of the room. The bucket she and Ginny used for emergencies only, for when it was throwing it down outside and they didn't want to get soaked during the night. She was tempted to use it now but decided against it. It was more trouble than it was worth, and it wasn't fair to leave Ginny to deal with it.

Hermione left the bedroom and made her way down the four flights of stairs, slowly and carefully. Her body felt so weak and, despite how much she'd slept, she still felt completely knackered.

Lee Jordan bumped into her on the ground floor hallway as he came barrelling out of the common room.

"Ooft!"

"Shit, sorry, Hermione," Lee chuckled merrily, grabbing hold of her shoulders to steady her. "Damn," he cringed, giving her a quick once over. "You don't look good. Don't let Molly see you out of bed," he took several steps back, pointing at her, his eyebrows raised in warning.

Hermione grumbled as she watched him launch himself up the stairs, taking two at a time, and then turned and continued her way to the front door. She shoved her feet into the flip-flops she'd left on the porch and headed down the steps and across the grass to the outhouse - which actually used to be a large shed.

The shed had been divided off into five cubicles along the back wall, each cubicle had a toilet inside and a curtain in front for privacy. All had been made by Alexei, a muggle and a bloody good handyman, who was able to make virtually anything out of the most unlikely materials. They weren't typical-looking toilets and they didn't work the same way as a typical toilet, but they did work. There was no plumbing, so Alexei had invented a sewage system that needed to be emptied and cleaned at the end of each day. Without Alexei, Hermione feared they would still be traipsing into the woods behind the manor with a shovel. This was a luxury compared to those days.

Thankfully, the outhouse was empty - which was a marvel - so Hermione chose the cubicle farthest away from the door to do her business.

The makeshift toilet seat was cold against her bottom when she sat on it, causing goosebumps to break out across her skin. She cursed herself for not grabbing a jacket before she left her room. She was still wearing the mismatched pyjamas she'd changed into after her bath, which, although fit her quite well, weren't the warmest.

There was a huge barrel of water from the stream sitting by a row of eight mismatched sinks that had been bolted to the wall of the outhouse. Of course, they didn't work properly, there was no plumbing. But there were several plastic cups floating in the barrel, so they could scoop out water and fill the sink to wash their hands and face. Alexei had found an old, long hose lying around and had cut it up and secured it to the bottom of each sink so that they could easily be drained of the dirty water.

Hermione plugged and filled a sink and grabbed a bar of soap that was hanging on a hook by a thick piece of string.

The water was bitterly cold as she splashed it onto her face, nothing like the cosy warmth of her bath that morning. She gritted her teeth, lathered up the soap and scrubbed her hands and face, clearing away the remnants of sleep, before rinsing thoroughly.

As she'd forgotten to bring her toiletry bag, which held a small towel and her toothbrush, down with her, she had to use a square of paper towel that had been left on a shelf to dry her face and hands. There was a row of mouthwash on the shelf above the paper towels. Hermione scanned them and then picked up a bottle of Listerine and poured some into her mouth, careful that it didn't touch her lips. She swilled the mouthwash around her mouth for a good minute, revelling in the slight burn and tingle. It would have to do until she brushed her teeth later.

After spitting the mouthwash out, she glanced at her reflection in the spotted mirror by the shelves and groaned. She really did look terrible. Her skin was too pale, her brown eyes dull and smudged with purple beneath, and her usually rosy-pink lips were colourless. She ran her fingers through her hair, hair that was always frizzy these days, like before she'd learned to tame it into luscious curls with magic. Not that it mattered now. Who was she trying to impress? Certainly no one here.

Simon's face suddenly flashed in her mind, followed by a wave of guilt.

Hermione had never once cared what he thought of her. Never once felt like tidying up her appearance, changing into something semi-nice before meeting up with him, putting on a bit of makeup from the limited, out-of-date stock they had in the manor. Nothing. She knew she should never change herself for someone else, they should like her just the way she is, but in her later years of Hogwarts, she'd found she quite enjoyed putting on makeup, just a little here and there to enhance her already pretty features.

She would do it for... him... because she wanted to look her best for him. Loved and craved the way his silver eyes would light up whenever he saw her, that devious smirk in place. Hermione always wanted to look her best around him, not just for him but for herself, too. She remembered making sure she was always plucked and groomed within an inch of her life, just in case they ended up meeting in the Room of Requirement or one of the empty classrooms. She wanted her skin to be silky-smooth for when he inevitably ran his hands all over her - slowly, reverently - savouring every touch, every caress... She sucked in a sharp breath, and instantly blocked the images from her mind. Blocked him from her mind.

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, a startled, pained expression now clouding her features. She hadn't thought about him in a very long time, not properly. No. She never allowed it. It must be due to her sickness - her mind was too weak at the moment and he was able to slip through the cracks and torment her.

Hermione took several calming, albeit shaky, breaths and began to hastily scrape her hair back with her fingers, securing it in a high ponytail with the bobble she had around her wrist. Silver eyes - fierce and oh-so captivating - and cruel, devilish lips still mocked her and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to banish them.

"Go away, go away, go away!" she gritted, anger - at herself - burning in her veins. She hated this. Hated how he still haunted her, even after all these years... Shit. She couldn't go there. Not now. Not ever. It was too much.

"Hermione?"

Hermione spun around so fast she nearly toppled over. She reached out and gripped one of the sinks for support, her head spinning alarmingly.

"Woah, there," came Simon's unmistakable voice and Hermione felt his hands grip her arms to help steady her.

"Simon?" Hermione frowned, squinting up at him, trying to make out his features. There were four of him, all blending together and undulating, causing bile to rise in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, it's me," he murmured, his warm breath fanning across her cheek. Too close. "Are you alright? I've been worried about you. You look..." he trailed off.

"Yes, I know. I look like shit," she growled, pushing out of his grip. She bent over the sink, taking several deep breaths, willing the dizziness and sickness away. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and slowly straightened.

Simon looked as he always did - kind, light brown eyes with wavy hair that matched perfectly in colour. He had a small dimple on his left cheek that appeared whenever he smiled, and a diagonal scar on the right side of his top lip. He was handsome, in a boy-next-door sort of way. He had an approachable, honest face that made him an easy person to talk to.

"You don't look like shit," he tutted, a small smile playing at his lips, that dimple winking into existence. He reached out a hand and brushed his thumb gently across her cheek. "You look unwell."

Hermione gazed up at him, sorrow and something else filling her chest. She didn't feel like herself, she felt weepy and emotional. This flu was really taking its toll on her. Hermione never felt like this. Usually, she had a firm grip on her emotions, was able to easily push them away and suppress them, but today… today was different. It had been a very long time since she'd felt like this.

"Are you alright?" Simon asked, a deep frown cutting lines into his forehead.

"I'm fine," she answered too quickly, turning away from him. She brought her hand up to her temple and massaged it. The tablets hadn't worked as well as they had that morning, her headache was already coming back with a vengeance.

"Maybe you should go back to bed, get some rest," he suggested. "Come, I'll help you up the stairs -"

"No. I'm not going back to my room. I need to talk to Harry and Ron -"

"Hermione -" he began in a low, deploring tone that sent her anger sizzling back to life. "You need to go back to bed. Come on, Harry and Ron can wait."

"Don't," she hissed venomously, snatching her arm back when he tried to grab it. He shot her a slightly hurt, slightly bemused look. "You don't need to mother me. I'm not a child. You just worry about yourself and leave me to sort out what I need."

Simon stared at her for several moments, his expression quickly morphing from bemused to angry. "You know what?" he suddenly bellowed. "I'm sick of this shit!" he spat the last word, baring his teeth at her. Hermione was so surprised she took a step back. He'd never spoken to her like this before, never raised his voice or looked at her with such fury. "Do what the fuck you want. I don't care anymore. I'm done. DONE!"

What the hell?

Hermione scrutinized him. "Good. I've been wanting to end it for a while now anyway. You just did me a favour. Thank you," she crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, her demeanour arrogant and assertive. Yet, inside she felt like screaming. Screaming with rage, perhaps even with some relief.

Simon shook his head, staring at her like she was the most mindboggling thing he'd ever come across. After a moment, his anger slowly abated, and his eyes shone bright with sadness. "This was never going to work, you and me. You made that perfectly clear from the start. I don't know why I ever bothered, or why I allowed myself to hope. I'm a fool, a lovesick idiot," he bit the inside of his lip, studying her, and Hermione could do nothing but stare at him, her stomach churning with guilt. "Yet, despite it all, I want you to be happy. I hope one day you can let go of whatever is holding you back, Hermione. I hope you find peace, love and happiness. It would be tragic for such a beautiful, intelligent woman to live the rest of her life without those things in it."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the outhouse without giving her a chance to respond. Not that she would have anyway, because what could she say to that? She had treated him poorly and still, in the end, he'd managed to be kind to her, in spite of everything she'd done, and the way she'd tagged him along. She hated herself. She didn't blame him for his outburst. Actually, she was surprised it took him this long, it was way over-due and to be honest, she'd deserved worse than that. Ending it with her was probably the best thing he'd done for himself in a while. She was toxic, and he deserved to be happy.

Hermione turned back to the mirror, wondering, not for the first time, who the woman staring back at her was. She was a stranger, vaguely familiar, but ultimately strange. And if it was possible, this stranger looked even more haggard than she did ten minutes ago.

Hermione took a moment to centre herself, wholly unsurprised when it didn't work. She was too wired, her head was banging, bones and joints crying out in protest. She stomped from the outhouse towards the manor, every step sending sharp spikes of pain through her limbs. She pushed through it, kicking her flip flops off when she got to the porch, and padded barefoot through the hallway towards the Hub, sheer determination giving her some much-needed strength.

The house was alive with sounds from the kitchen and the common rooms - laughing and the banging of pots and pans. She couldn't detect any noise coming from the Hub though and wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Anthony and Alicia were on guard duty and when they spotted Hermione marching towards them, they both cringed.

"Um... um -" Anthony began, mouth opening and closing uncertainly as she approached.

Hermione cut off his stuttering with a narrow-eyed look. "Are Harry and Ron in there?" she asked sharply.

"Yes, but -" Anthony started, glancing at Alicia for help. Alicia shrugged and pressed her lips together in a way that said she didn't want to get involved. Smart girl.

"Then I want to see them," Hermione said firmly. "Now."

"Hermione," Anthony groaned. "You know we can't do that. We've been told not to disturb them unless it's dire."

"This is dire," Hermione hissed. "Dire for you and them if you don't let me in, right this instant!" she shoved in between Anthony and Alicia and banged loudly on the door. "Harry Potter! Ron Weasley! You better open this door right now, otherwise, I'm going to -"

The door flung open and Hermione was met with a stone-faced Harry.

Hermione scoffed, taking in his furious expression. "Don't you dare look at me like that," she gritted, pointing her finger in his chest. Harry took a step back, glancing down at the offending finger incredulously. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded, before he could get a word in. "You've barricaded yourselves in that room for days without any word on what's going on and then you have the cheek to look at me like that?" she growled and shoved at his chest, days of worry and frustration finally catching up to her.

"For God's sake, Hermione, STOP," Harry spluttered indignantly, batting her hands away.

"I'm so angry, I could strangle you!" Hermione continued, completely ignoring his complaint. "And what about Ginny?" she added, throwing her arms up. "She didn't deserve that shoddy greeting. She'd been waiting for you, had been worried about you, and you just walked past her like she wasn't there!"

Harry could do nothing, except press his lips together into a hard line. He might not have agreed with her on everything else, but the way he'd treated Ginny was wrong, and he knew it.

Hermione shook her head and stared at him like she didn't know him. Harry was still glaring at her furiously, probably because she'd just reamed him in front of his guards, but she didn't care. She was beyond caring at this point. "You will wipe that look off your face, Harry Potter, and you will tell me what the fuck is going on. I can assure you, you aren't as angry as I am. And I swear, if you turn away from me now and go back into that room, you will sorely regret it."

Harry's emerald eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He opened his mouth to say something - something spiteful, she was sure - but quickly closed it as he glanced over Hermione's shoulder, eyes suddenly softening.

Hermione glanced behind her and saw Ginny standing there, face hard as granite, brown eyes dark pools of ire.

Hermione didn't see Harry swallow but rather heard him.

She turned back to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. Waiting.

Harry sucked in a deep breath and wiped a hand over his face tiredly. "OK, OK, you're right," he glanced back into the room, the view of which was obscured by the door, and then looked back at Hermione and Ginny. "We can't talk in here though," he said, face blanching a little.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at that and she opened her mouth to demand why.

Harry, seeing this, quickly went on. "Ron and I will come up to your room in half an hour or so. I promise," he implored. "Just give us half an hour and then we'll be up. We'll tell you everything. OK?" his eyes flicked between the two girls, oh so green and pleading.

Hermione and Ginny shared a brief look before the redhead turned and walked away without so much as uttering a single word. Harry stared after her, expression pained.

"Fine," Hermione agreed. "Half an hour. But if you don't come, Harry -"

"We'll be there," he said in a rush. "I promise."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment and then nodded once and followed Ginny.

Hermione watched as Harry and Ron entered the bedroom.

She was tucked up in bed, as ordered by Ginny, and the redhead was cross-legged on the end, face like thunder.

Ron closed and locked the door, and both men shuffled, solemnly, to the bed next to Hermione's - Ginny's bed, the bed she'd claimed several months ago after confessing she was lonely with Harry always being away - and perched on it, looking woefully uncomfortable.

The four of them gazed at each other - the girls on one side, boys on the other - and it truly saddened Hermione that it had come to this. That they were so far removed from each other's lives that things had become this painfully awkward. Secrets lay between them like shards of broken glass protruding from the floorboards, stopping either side from getting any closer. It was tragic, but it was life, she supposed. They had all made their decisions - some decisions were made on behalf of others without their consent, though that was neither here nor there. There was a reason why they were in this awful predicament right now, and Hermione tried her hardest not to point her finger and place blame.

Harry leaned forward and rested his elbows on his spread knees, reaching a hand behind his head to scrub his too-long hair. He looked shattered and much older than his twenty-two years, he was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. "How are you feeling, Hermione?" he asked, looking up at her through his dark lashes.

"Really?" Ginny scoffed. "Now you're going to pretend like you care?" she shook her head, throwing a disgusted look at both her boyfriend and her brother. "Where were you when she was deep in a fever?"

"For fuck's sake, Gin," Ron groaned, throwing himself back onto the bed, his t-shirt riding up to expose his pale abdomen. "Can you not jump straight on the defensive?" he complained, flinging an arm across his face.

Ginny's cheeks reddened and her fists clenched as she made to get up, probably to throttle the life out of him. Hermione was almost tempted to let her, but she reached out and grabbed the youngest Weasley's arm, pulling her back down to the bed with a small shake of her head.

Hermione could see the murderous storm raging in her friend's brown eyes, but Ginny nodded once and settled back down.

"I'm sorry, Gin," Harry murmured. "I'm sorry for -"

"Save it, Harry," Ginny snapped. "I don't want to hear it. Not right now."

"Then why the fuck are we here?" Ron asked no one in particular. He sat back up with a frown, gazing at each of them in turn.

"You know why we're here," Hermione interjected, her words biting.

Ron focused on her and took in a deep steady breath. "Fine," he reluctantly acquiesced. "Then, what do you want us to say? I know you're both upset that we've not had time to talk to you, but we have work to do. The hostage -"

"Yes, the hostage," Ginny cut him off, her voice calm and conversational, at total odds with her expression, which clearly indicated she still wanted to murder him. "Why don't you say something about that?" she suggested, eyebrow raised. "You've been cooped up with him for days on end. Doing Merlin-knows-what," a lie, she had an idea what they'd been doing. "There must be something you can tell us."

Ron sighed explosively. "I don't understand what the urgency is," he held his hands out, palms up. "Why don't you just let us do our work and once we find everything out, we'll let you know."

Hermione stared at him, and stared at him, eyes feasting on his arrogance. She willed her anger to calm, willed it with every fibre of her being, but it was difficult, it was so difficult. "You're a fucking idiot," she suddenly spat, unable to stop the words from spewing forth. "Always have been, always will be."

Ron blinked at her, completely taken aback by her vicious tone, that arrogance falling from his face like autumn leaves from a tree.

"Christ, Hermione," Harry hissed eyes crinkling at the sides with judgement. "That was a bit harsh, wasn't it? I told you we'd tell you everything, and we will."

Hermione whirled on him. "I think you and Ron have differing opinions on the matter, Harry. Either that or he really is a fucking idiot."

"Call me a fucking idiot one more time!" Ron growled, getting halfway into a standing position before Harry pulled him back down.

"Why, what are you going to do?" Hermione demanded, scoffing at his show of machismo. "Not tell me what's going on?" she quipped sarcastically.

Ginny snorted and Ron exclaimed angrily, turning to Harry for backup.

"Alright, Hermione, we get it," Harry exhaled, testily. "You're angry. Can we stop this now? It's not getting us anywhere."

"What? I'm only speaking the truth," she argued. "I don't know why this is getting turned on me. If Ron can't understand why Ginny and I are upset about being left out, then he's a fucking idiot. End of story!" she crossed her arms with a huff, refusing to back down.

Harry stared at her, eyes wild as a storm, jaw tight. She could see the effort it took him not to say anything more. She wanted him to, hoped he would. She would gladly knock him down a peg or two. After all, he wasn't innocent in any of this.

"Are you a fucking idiot, too, Harry?" she asked when it was clear he wasn't going to say anything. She moved to sit up so she could face Harry and Ron properly. Her hand shook slightly in her lap, under the bedsheets - partly from anger, but mostly because she was still feeling so unwell. "Do I need to explain to you both, how much it's hurt us that you've pushed us out, time and time again. Leaving us behind while you go on your missions, offering up less and less information each time. All because - what?" she glared at them both, eyes bright with anger that had been suppressed for too long. "You think we can't handle it? You're protecting us? You think we're too weak now we don't have magic?"

Harry and Ron didn't utter a word, in fact, they could hardly look at her, choosing instead to look at the coffee-coloured chipped walls and the beige holey carpet. Hermione couldn't work out from their expression what they were thinking. Ron looked as though he was on the verge of a complete shutdown, something he did a lot in recent years. He either lost his shit or avoided the situation entirely. She wouldn't be surprised if at some point during the conversation he stormed from the room – in fact, she was amazed he hadn't done so already. Harry looked weary, but that was nothing new. He always looked like that.

It annoyed her, their sudden silence. It left a bitter taste in her mouth and she was powerless against the volatile waves building inside her.

"Have you forgotten who I am?" she gritted, pointing a finger at her chest. "I'm Hermione fucking Granger, the woman who has saved both your arses more times than I can count! You would be dead if it wasn't for me. You would have died a long time ago. Most likely back in first year, that first time you came face to face with Voldemort."

"Hermione -" Harry began, his face paling.

"HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN?" she yelled over him, voice cracking with the effort. She wanted an answer. Needed to hear him say it.

"No," Harry quickly shook his head. "Of course not." Ron pressed his lips tightly together and did the same, though it looked like it pained him to do so. He was stubborn to the core.

"Then why would you treat me like this? Why would you push me away like a useless, old toy? And why would you treat Ginny like this? Ginny, who held her own at Hogwarts while we searched for the Horcruxes. Who was there for you, Harry, when you fell apart and wouldn't talk or eat properly for months. We can stand our ground, have proved as much, over and over again. Yet you still treat us like this. Like we're incapable, helpless women, like you don't need us anymore."

"Hermione, that isn't true!" Harry exclaimed, looking horrified. "I've never thought that about either of you, you are two of the most important people in my life. I don't think you're helpless, not at all. We need you, of course we do. How on earth could you think that?" by the look on his face, Hermione knew he truly had no idea of the magnitude of pain he and Ron had caused, and it made her want to shake him out of pure frustration. She made a note of Ron's silence and filed it away. He could be such a prick sometimes.

"It's all in your actions, Harry," Ginny interjected. "In the way you and Ron are so secretive. You don't tell us anything anymore," she threw her hands up in exasperation. "You're like strangers to us now. I feel awkward being around you. It's nothing like it used to be. I literally don't know you anymore."

Ginny gazed solely at Harry now, something like grim acceptance shadowing her features. "Everything has changed, as much as I hate to say it. It's different now. I've been holding onto the old you, the old us, for so long. Hoping we can get back to where we were," she lowered her head and shook it, her fiery hair falling in front of her face. "But I fear it's too late for such things..." she paused, letting her words register.

Hermione briefly closed her eyes - not with surprise, she'd thought the same for a while now - but with sympathy for Harry. Harry who was too lost in his work to see what was really going on around him.

Harry looked away, shaking his head slowly, as if in denial of what Ginny was saying. "I know I've been absent a lot recently," he started, turning back towards her. "But I didn't mean to be secretive and keep things from you. I'm not doing it out of spite, Gin, I swear. I just don't want to stress you out or upset you unnecessarily."

"Harry," she sighed, closing her eyes tiredly. "That is a shit-poor excuse and you know it. We've all been through so much together. We used to share our stress, pain, and grief. What's changed in your eyes? What's different now?" She paused, eyeing him critically. "I know that Hermione and I are hurting for different reasons, yet it's still a pain we share and can sympathise with. She's angry at both of you, you are her best friends, have been for more than half your lives. My pain comes more from our relationship, Harry. The relationship you've neglected."

"Gin," he brought his hand up to his mouth and then dropped it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Or you, Hermione," he added, quickly. "I would never intentionally hurt either of you. I know I've been shit and I know I've promised before that I'd do better, but... It's just... I'm..." he stumbled over his words, struggling to articulate how he was feeling. "I'm trying to fix it - this mess. I've failed all of us. When I see us all starving and dying of fucking illness' that could be cured with a potion or a round of antibiotics, it makes me crazy," he gripped his hair and tugged it for emphasis. "I did this, it's all my fault! This is why I go on these missions. It's why I've been in the Hub these past days -"

"Don't you think we know that, Harry?" Hermione asked, face crumbling. She hated how he did this, tormented himself. "We know why you do it. We know how you feel. But for God's sake, when are you going to realise that none of this is your fault! None of it was ever your fault. It's maddening that you still feel this way. Voldemort did this, not you -"

"I should have stopped him!" Harry cut in, anguished in a way he didn't let many people see. "He was right there, right there in front of me and I faltered. I fucking froze!"

"Mate..." Ron reached out a hand and gripped his friend's shoulder, offering some comfort. Hermione watched on with a mixture of sadness and relief - sadness that it wasn't the three of them anymore. And relief that they at least had each other, that Ron was a good support system for Harry.

Harry glanced at him, silent words passing between them, and then looked away, dropping his head into his hands. "I'm trying to fix it. I need to fix it," he said, voice muffled.

"At the expense of your loved ones?" Ginny asked. And Hermione could hear the resentment in her tone. The years of grief and heartache.

Harry looked up at her, lips parting, brows lowering. "That's not fair, Gin," he whispered.

"No," Ginny shook her head, nostrils flaring. "What you're doing isn't fair. You need to accept that this is our life now. You need to let go of everything else and try to make the most of what we have. No amount of scouting missions or hostage situations is going to change anything. We lost," she said matter-of-factly, if not a little harshly. "It's time to move on. It's time we all moved on."

Hermione blinked, trying not to let her surprise show. Ginny had never said anything like this before, not in the hours she and Hermione had spent discussing the 'why's' 'how's' and 'what-ifs' of the war and their missions. She could hardly believe the redhead had even thought it, let alone voiced it. Hermione agreed with what she said to an extent. They were all miserable and it was getting to a point where the Order couldn't help but ask, was it all worth it?... but to stop missions completely? - which is what Ginny was implying - and move on and accept that this was it, this was how they were going to live the rest of their lives?

No. Hermione couldn't, she wouldn't accept it. She'd rather die than accept that this was it.

Hermione knew they couldn't go on as they were now, they needed a complete overhaul, a new strategy. They needed to sit down and replan everything because the current plan was failing miserably.

"I can't believe you just fucking said that," Ron spat at his sister, teeth bared. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Ginny? You want us to just give up? Are you insane?"

Harry didn't utter a word, he looked as though he was too shell-shocked for such things like speaking and breathing.

"No, I'm not insane, Ron!" Ginny yelled, face scrunching up and reddening with rage. "We are dying here! We will all be dust in the wind in a few years' time the way things are currently going. Don't you want to make the most of it and spend whatever time you have left with your loved ones, trying to make it as happy as you possibly can? Or would you rather keep going on these stupid missions and achieving nothing, except more disappointment and heartache?"

There was a beat of silence. The type of silence where you could hear a pin drop.

"I would rather keep doing the missions," Harry answered in a flat, dead tone, eyes now void of all emotion, like he'd turned them off with a flick of a switch. "I'd rather die alone out there in the Wastes than here in this manor, pretending everything is fine and I'm happy. At least I'd die knowing I tried everything I possibly could to make things right again."

Ginny stood up in a single, fluid motion, chest heaving, eyes brimming with tears. "Then you go ahead and fucking do that, you selfish bastard!" she screamed at him. She stormed from the room, a sharp sob escaping her as she slammed the door behind her.

Hermione stared at the spot Ginny vacated, her heart heavy in her chest. This was not how she'd expected this to go. She'd expected them to talk about the hostage, she'd expected to find out exactly what Harry and Ron were doing in the Hub, find out where their heads were at. What she hadn't expected was for them to all emotionally implode, and she most certainly hadn't expected Harry and Ginny to break up the way they did - because that's what had happened, right? Fuck.

"She's fucking crazy," Ron breathed incredulously. "Maybe she's coming down with a fever too. She's acting completely delusional. Don't pay any attention to her, Harry."

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped, glaring at him. "Stop being such an inconsiderate twat. There's a reason Ginny's feeling this way. Don't brush her off like that."

"Oh, Merlin," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes in disgust. "Don't tell me you agree with that utter tripe."

"No, I don't agree with it," Hermione hissed, resisting the urge to reach across and punch him. "It doesn't mean I don't understand though. She's hurting. She's dealing with it in her own way."

Harry still hadn't uttered a word, his face was blank and, unbelievably, he looked even more weary and withdrawn than he did when he first walked in the room. It seemed to be a theme with all of them these days. They all looked like shit, all had their problems. Hermione sometimes thought that the stress and pressure was killing them more than the food shortage was.

"Look," Hermione began, rubbing both hands over her face tiredly. She wouldn't ask Harry how he was - not right now - she didn't want to draw any more attention to what had just happened. "I need to talk to you both, about this hostage - that's why we are really here after all."

Ron shuffled in his seat and Harry's emerald eyes flicked to her, weariness seeping into them.

"What the hell is going on?" she implored, voice edging towards the whinny side.

"Nothing -" Ron began, brown eyes going wide.

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, holding her hand up to stop whatever nonsense was about to come out of his mouth. "Do not say 'nothing'. Obviously something is going on. What are you hiding?"

"Well, I didn't mean nothing," Ron rolled his eyes impatiently. "What I meant was, you already know what's going on. We're interrogating him, trying to get information about behind the wall. That's it."

"And?" Hermione pushed, hands clenching as she tried to rein in her temper that was rising by the second. "What have you learned so far?"

"Nothing," Ron grumbled, sticking the toe cap of his trainer into a particularly large hole in the carpet. Hermione bit her bottom lip, the urge to lash out at him potent in her veins. If he said 'nothing' once more, she was not responsible for her actions. "We're starting to suspect that he couldn't tell us anything, even if he wanted to. He must be jinxed to not reveal anything while outside the confines of the wall."

Hermione blinked. "So, are you going to tell me anything, then?" She demanded, eyes flicking between them both. "Harry, you said you would tell me everything, and so far all I'm getting from you both is a whole lot of nothing – literally," she threw her arms up in the air, huffing her annoyance. "Why even agree to come and talk to me if you're not going to tell me anything?" She paused, allowing them the chance to speak up, but as usual, she was met with a wall of silence. "You know, this is an absolute joke. This is what you do all the time. It's exactly like what Ginny and I have been saying. You're just full of empty promises and disappointment."

"We can only tell you what we know," Harry sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He sounded tired and utterly fed-up. "I thought that us just coming up here and chatting to you was better than nothing at all. If I'd told you outside the Hub that we had nothing to tell you, you would have lost your shit."

"Yeah, we can't help that this isn't the information you were hoping for. Don't you think we're disappointed, too?" Ron retorted, angrily. "I mean, bloody hell, Hermione. We picked this guy up four days ago outside of London - Merlin knows what he was doing in the Wastes, he was dressed like he'd just been to a fucking dinner party. We brought him straight back here and have been trying to extract any information we can from him, but he's barely uttered more than a few words at a time - and nothing even remotely useful. We're frustrated too, trust me."

"Fine," Hermione reluctantly acquiesced. "But you could have said that from the start. It's like getting blood from a stone, trying to get anything out of you two," she shook her head, knowing it was futile. They'd always been like this, they weren't going to change now. "So, you think he's jinxed?" she asked, frowning.

They glanced at each other. "Yes," they answered in unison. "He must be," Ron added lowly, a peculiar expression clouding his features.

"OK," Hermione pondered, bringing her index finger up to her puckered lips and tapping them. "And did you figure that out before or after you tortured him?"

Ron blanched and Harry sucked in a shallow breath.

"After," Harry answered, not looking even a little bit guilty. "We're not heathens, Hermione. We wouldn't torture him for no reason."

"Alright. And to get information is reason enough?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes," Harry answered without missing a beat, a small frown puckering his brows. "It is."

"How did you do it?" Hermione fired back, crossing her arms. To Harry and Ron, she probably looked like her usual bossy self, demanding answers. But the act of crossing her arms was more for protection. Protection against what they might say. She couldn't explain why she felt so nervous. Perhaps it was the distance between them that was causing it.

"The details don't matter," Harry bit his lip and gazed down at his clasped hands.

"I think they do," she countered. "Ron?" she turned to the redhead, who was hunched over as if trying to make himself small and unnoticeable. He'd have to try harder than that, he was six-foot-two. "Care to share?"

"Hermione," Harry gritted, fists clenching in frustration. "It doesn't matter. You don't need to know. Just drop it."

"And here we go again with the secrecy! Ironically, the fact that you won't tell me, tells me everything I need to know," Hermione told him, lips pulling back in disgust.

She didn't know how to feel about it, about the fact that they'd tortured another human being. She knew that asking the hostage nicely wasn't going to cut it. She had done some wicked things herself during the war, but that was in self-defence. It was different. There was a difference in capturing someone and torturing them for information... at least, depending on who the person was.

Hermione straightened, her heart speeding up a little as she glanced at Harry and Ron, the wheels and cogs turning in her mind. A single thought echoed, bouncing to and fro, a thought that she really should have considered before now.

"Wait, do we know the hostage?" she asked, eyes narrowed, her voice barely a whisper. Was it someone horrible? Someone who'd done unspeakable things? It would all make sense if it was. It would actually make her feel a lot better about it... Did that make her a bad person? That she was fine with torture, as long as it was someone who she deemed deserved it, did that make her a hypocrite?

Before either Harry or Ron could answer, there was what sounded like a giant clap of thunder. It was so startling and so loud that it shook the manor to its very core.

All three of them bolted upright - Hermione with more difficultly as her duvet caught in her legs – their senses instantly going on high alert. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and steadied herself as a wave of dizziness hit her.

"What the fuck was that?" Ron muttered, brows drawing together with a mixture of confusion and worry.

As if in answer, there was a distant long-drawn-out scream, followed by another and another, until the whole manor was alive with cries and wails.

"Fuck," Harry barked. "They're here."

"W-what?!" Hermione gasped, glancing between them, eyes wide as saucers. She kicked the duvet from around her legs. "Who's here? What are you talking about?"

Harry and Ron ignored her and hurtled for the door.

For a second she just stared after them, absolutely dumbfounded, but she quickly gave herself a mental shake and stumbled after them, her socked feet sliding on the carpet.

"Hermione, no!" Ron pushed her back into the room. "Stay here. You're not well enough."

"Like hell I'm staying here!" she growled at him. "I'm sick of being left behind. I don't care that I'm ill. I want to see what's going on for myself. After all, I can't trust that you and Harry will tell me," she shoved him out of the way and ran for the stairs, adrenaline pumping through her veins and giving her a much-needed boost She knew she was being unreasonable by refusing to stay behind, but she just couldn't find it in her to care. Harry was nowhere in sight, he was probably halfway to the bottom by now.

She threw herself down the stairs - Ron hot on her heels - tripping and stumbling as she went, passing people who were running up the stairs trying to get away from whatever was happening down below.

Hermione wanted to ask one of them what was going on, but that would mean stopping, and she'd rather just get down there and find out for herself.

Ron overtook her on the second staircase, pleading with her one more time to turn back. She ignored him and continued down, passing more and more people who were sprinting up to safety.

She had a vague - and rather troubling - thought that she had nothing but her fists to defend herself with, as she cleared the final staircase and came to a sudden halt in the long hallway. Harry and Ron were already there, heads whipping about.

Panting, she glanced around, sweeping her eyes down the hallway towards the front door and then back towards the kitchen, surprised to find nothing amiss. The doors to the Hub were firmly closed. And she could see through the archways to the common rooms - and they were empty.

Everything looked as it should, not a thing out of place, other than the small gathered crowd at the base of the stairs who gawked at each other in shock and confusion.

Bill and Charlie were there, as well as George, Lee, Seamus, Dean, Michael, Anthony and Alicia. Hermione wondered where the other members of the Order were. Perhaps some had gone to guard the vulnerable upstairs. She knew a few were still sick with the flu and likely – wisely - thought to stay out of the way rather than cause further hindrance - something she probably should have done herself.

"What happened?" Harry asked no one in particular, his tone deep and authoritative. His gaze swept around wearily like he was waiting for something.

"We don't know," Seamus answered, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "There was a boom and -"

The doors to the front of the house suddenly exploded with a deafening crash, as if they'd been blasted from the inside out, fierce, icy-cold wind rushing through the hallway and nearly blowing them all over.

Hermione screamed and gripped hold of the bannister, tendrils of hair ripping from her ponytail. She brought her hand to her throat in equal fear and shock, her fingers digging in, as three hazy figures began striding up the porch steps.

Oh God, oh God.

Hermione swallowed and squinted, trying to make out who the intruders were, but the dust was too thick to discern who it was. All she knew was that they were male and huge.

"Harry," Hermione breathed, her body trembling with cold. Her fear was a living thing inside her, making her jittery and lightheaded. "Harry, who..." she broke off, the dust finally settling enough that she could make out a head of silvery blond hair and a pair of dazzling grey eyes – grey eyes so beautiful and so stunning they sent a jolt of electricity spearing through her body, making her tingle all over. She'd forgotten the impact of those eyes, how they could snatch her breath away with but a simple glance.

"Potter," came his low cultured voice that sounded so familiar, yet so foreign. "What have you done?" he purred.

"Draco," Hermione managed to gasp, barely taking in the full sight of him, before darkness rushed towards her and she crumpled to the floor.

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me. It truly means so much. It's been crazy times for all of us, so I know you understand. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please, please, please let me know your thoughts? :D. I hope this chapter doesn't have any formatting issues like the last! FINGERS CROSSED. You'll be glad to know that I'm already 4,000 words into chapter 3 - woohoo! Huge hugs to every single one of you, you guys are awesome xo

Black_Osmosis, you are the best of the best! Thank you for proof-reading this chapter. I'm so glad you're still sticking around with me even though I'm taking forever to write this story, haha. Love and hugs xoxo