Summery: Harry always loved Hermione, but she died before he told her. Now, eight years later, the Order is in search of an ancient weapon that could end the war forever. The Charmed Ones are believed dead and the war against Voldemort couldn't be going worse. When Harry, Hermione, and a girl from Harry's past wind up with Charmed Powers, the Order of the Phoenix holds out hope for the future. But even the incredible might of the Power of Three may not be enough to stop the great evil gathering to challenge them. Victory may require the revelation of a terrible secret Hermione is harboring, a secret she doesn't even know about...

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A/N: Hope you guys enjoy! If you notice any mistakes, let me know.

Disclaimer: Well, I own socks… and this bag of chips I'm eating, and I sorta own this computer (I'm still paying for it) but alas, I do not own Harry Potter or Charmed.

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Chapter 1

Hell Hath No Fury…

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HOGWARTS CASTLE, NOVEMBER 3rd, 2006.

Harry traipsed along the corridor to the headmaster's office. He gave the password (Wildfire Wizbangs) and stepped onto the spiraling staircase. He rode it higher and higher, becoming slightly dizzy as he rose. Soon enough, he had reached the top and stepped off the stairs. Ahead, a tall oak door stood. Harry was about to knock when Dumbledore's voice sounded from inside.

"Enter." He said. Harry pushed open the door. Dumbledore sat at his desk, pouring over a aged piece of parchment. Piles of used parchment littered the desk. A large, red and gold Phoenix sat on its perch, watching Harry approach the headmaster's desk with large eyes.

"Harry, welcome. Please, sit down. Would you like a lemon drop?" Harry shook his head and sat down.

"No, sir." he said. He waited for Dumbledore to say more. When he did not, Harry said,

"Erm… you said you had something to tell me?" Dumbledore looked up.

"Oh, yes… indeed, I did." Dumbledore folded up the old sheet of parchment and tucked it away in his robes. "You do recall meeting the Halliwell sisters, correct?" Harry nodded.

"The Charmed Ones, of course. Why?"

"Because," Dumbledore said softly. "we have received information that they have died." Harry's jaw dropped.

"Excuse me?"

"The Charmed Ones are dead, Harry. We believe they were killed by Lord Voldemort because of their work for us."

"Damn…" Harry muttered.

"It seems Lord Voldemort is killing people who have helped us in the past… much like Hermione." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Voldemort didn't kill Hermione." Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "He destroyed her. The things he did to her…"

"I apologize, Harry. I understand how close you two were…." Dumbledore lowered his gaze to his desk, examining another sheet of parchment.

"What's more," Dumbledore continued after several moments. "we now have word that another witch who had been assisting the Order over the past few years has recently been attacked. She was wounded, but she'll live. Even so, I want you to go to her home. Her work is vital to our operations. If she were to die, the loss to the Order would be incalculable."

"If she's that important, why send only me?"

"Because I do not want to attract attention to the fact that she is still alive."

"Won't the Death Eaters who failed to kill her report back to Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Alas, no, they will not. She killed them." Harry's widened.

"She sounds like my kind of girl." Harry said. "Who is she?"

"You'll find out when you meet her." Dumbledore said, now very interesting in the fingernails of his left hand. Harry sighed.

"Fine… where is she?" Dumbledore looked up at him.

"You are going South."

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NORTHERN COAST, ANTARCTICA.

"When Dumbledore said 'South', he didn't indicate how far South I was going to go." Harry growled. "Dumbledore must be going mad. Why would anyone live in this desolate place voluntarily?" Harry trudged slowly through the snow, toward a tiny, snow covered hut which sat in the distance, smoke curling from its chimney. He reached the hut before he froze to death, and knocked on the wooden door. He heard hurried footsteps, a lock clicking, and the door opened. Harry's eyes widened when he realized who he was seeing.

"H… Hermione?" Harry stammered. Without another word, he keeled over backward in a dead faint.

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"Harry…? Harry? Harry?" Harry jumped and sat bolt upright. His eyes fell on the curvaceous young woman leaning over him and he leapt to his feet, pulling his wand from his robe pocket.

"You… you… you're supposed to be dead." He said, staring at her through wide eyes. "I saw you die." Hermione shrugged and sat down on the couch where Harry had been laying moments before.

"I'm over that." she said, with the air of someone commenting on the weather. Harry kept his wand pointed straight at her.

"Hermione, you died in St. Mungo's. I sat by your bedside with half a dozen others when it happened." He said, scanning the room.

"Harry, calm down." Hermione said. Her voice was soft and very quiet, she didn't even seem to be concerned about the wand pointed in her direction.

"Calm down? Calm down?! Hermione, you died eight years ago."

"But here I am…" Hermione said airily. "I assure you, Harry, I'm just as alive as you are."

"But how?" Harry asked. "You died, I spoke at your funeral. Magic can't bring back the dead, Mione." Hermione nodded in agreement.

"No, it cannot." Hermione said. "I did die, I don't deny that…" She paused, apparently deciding what to say next.

"You've heard of the Elders before, have you not?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I heard one of the Halliwell sisters mention them once. They're like… the ultimate rulers of good magic, or some such?"

"Well, I wouldn't say they're the 'ultimate rulers of good magic', Harry, but… after my death, they made me a Whitelighter."

"A what?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"It's a sort of guardian angel, but different…" Hermione held a hand to her head. "Now, could you please stop asking me questions?"

"I… I'm sorry, I just… You… you're alive. I thought… why didn't you come back? Why didn't you tell us about this?" Hermione looked blearily up at him.

"If you're going to keep asking questions, do you mind if I lie down?" Harry shrugged.

"Sure." he said. Hermione leaned back across the couch. She let out a long sigh and did not speak. Harry took a moment to survey his surroundings. With the shock of finding himself in the company of someone he believed dead, he had not even given a single thought to his whereabouts. He stood in a well furnished, high ceiling room, decorated in with an eighteenth century style theme. The room itself was dark and he could only see a short distance outside the room.

"Hermione," he said suspiciously. "where, exactly, are we?"

"Antarctica." Hermione responded, sleepily.

"Obviously," Harry said. "I mean, where in Antarctica? There's no way this room is inside the tiny hut I arrived at earlier."

"Oh, but it is. The hut outside is only the result of a spell. It's mainly in place to keep Muggles from approaching, only instead of the hut you saw, they see nothing but frozen tundra.

"So why was I able to see it?" Harry inquired.

"Because I removed the spell when Dumbledore informed me you would be coming. I didn't think you would want to wander around out there for very long… from what I understand, it's quite cold outside. This building is much larger than what you saw outside, but I didn't think it wise for a four story house to suddenly appear in the middle of nowhere."

"Who cares? It's not as though there's anyone around to see it." Harry said, examining the large, stone fireplace.

"Actually, I've noticed several ships in the sea nearby recently and a helicopter or two will pass overhead from time to time, but most importantly, we don't want Death Eaters to find this place." Harry turned to look at her, an expression of dawning comprehension on his face.

"So that's why you're living out here in this godforsaken place. You're in hiding."

"Essentially, yes. More importantly, my work is in hiding. After the attack on my old home, Dumbledore thought it best to relocate myself to a place much more… inconspicuous."

"So, he sent you to the bottom of the world?" Hermione shrugged.

"It's not so bad. Anyway, I suppose I should show you to your room…" Hermione tried to sit up, gave a soft yelp of pain, and fell back again, breathing deeply.

"Hermione?" Harry said, hurrying to her side, a look of concern on his face.

"I'm fine…" Hermione said, doing her best to push Harry away. She managed to sit up, but Harry noticed the grimace on her face and the way her hand trembled as she used it to steady herself.

"Come on." she said, standing to her feet and swaying slightly. Harry followed her out of the room and into a long, dark corridor. As they walked, Harry noticed Hermione was moving gingerly, indicating broken ribs. She walked with a slight limp and when they reached the foot of a staircase, she took each stair slowly and with care. Even though she did her best to hide it, Harry could hear small whimpers of pain emitting from her with every step. Hermione led him all the way up to the forth floor. The deeper they went into the house, the more amazed Harry became. They traveled down at least seventeen different corridors, all of which were furnished in the same style as the room he had awoken in. On the third floor, they passed through a massive library that extended from the ground floor all the way to the fourth, even though Harry was certain he hadn't seen the library he they were on the other two floors. After about ten minutes of walking, they arrived on the fourth floor and Hermione led him a short distance down a corridor to the left and opened the third door on the right. This room, like all the others, had an eighteenth century theme.

"You can pick another one if you don't like it." Hermione told him from the doorway.

"No, no…" Harry said, walking toward a sliding door which led to a balcony. "This is wonderful." He slid the door open and gasped. "Hermione, how…" Hermione moved toward him, out onto the balcony. Below them lay a sandy beach. A vast ocean lapped calmly at it's edges and a blood red sunset was visible on the horizon. Hermione smiled.

"Oh, the house just likes to show off a bit." she explained.

"But it's not even cold out here." Harry said.

"Magic can do a great many things, Harry." The sun slowly dipped beneath the edge of the sea and the balcony became bathed in moonlight. Harry's eyes shifted from the darkening view and onto Hermione. He was amazed at the difference eight years could make in a person. When he had last seen her, Hermione had had a large mane of bushy brown hair and chocolate eyes. The clothing she had worn didn't reveal just who attractive Hermione really was. Now, her hair was almost waist length and rather wavy, the bushiness was completely gone. Her eyes were now hazel and her clothing, a fluffy white bathrobe hugged her figure nicely. Without warning, Hermione turned to leave the balcony. As she did, the thick and fluffy bathrobe slid off her left shoulder. For a reason he was never able to discover, Harry turned to watch her go. His eyes watched the robe slip just far enough to reveal the existence of several deep cuts on her back.

"Hermione." Harry said suddenly.

"Yes?" She asked, turning around and tugging the robe back into place. Harry reached out and caught her hand before she could finish and gently pulled the robe off her. Harry could hardly believe his eyes. The skin not hidden under her thin silk nightgown was bruised. Cuts and scrapes coursed across her flesh. Harry could see the outline of a numerous bandages covering more wounds beneath the white material.

"My God, Hermione… what did they to you?" Hermione, who was a head shorter than Harry, looked up at him, a pained expression in her hazel eyes. "I thought you were a Whitelighter. You would be dead, how could anyone hurt you?" Hermione wrenched her robe from Harry's hands, but didn't put it back on. Instead, she draped it over the back of a chair and collapsed back on Harry's bed, one hand over her eyes.

"I'm not a Whitelighter anymore…"

"Then how…" Harry began.

"If you would shut up for a minute and stop interrupting, I might be able to tell you the story." Hermione said, her voice cold. Harry fell silent.

"I was a Whitelighter for a while. I looked after my charges for about a year, but… but I felt… I gave it up. I went to Dumbledore. He appealed to the Elders to allow me to return to Earth. I've been helping the Order ever since."

"Doing what?" Harry asked.

"A lot of things, actually. I've been making potions and spells for the Order, along with something else…"

"What?" Harry inquired.

"I… can't tell you. It's more than my life's worth to reveal what I'm working on. But, just know that whatever it is, it could possibly end the war."

"Fine," Harry said. He knew Hermione well enough to know that pressing the issue wouldn't make her tell him anything. "what about these injuries? Shouldn't you be in St. Mungo's?" Hermione sighed and sat up.

"Yes, I should." Hermione said. "Dumbledore didn't think it was wise for me to remain in a public hospital for long, so I've been taking care of myself." Harry moved to her side and took her hand.

"Well, that's over. I'm staying here now, so I'll be taking care of you."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me." Hermione exclaimed. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

"Hermione, I lost you once. Now fate, or luck, or… whatever has brought us back together. I'm not going to lose you again." Hermione gazed into his emerald eyes. She saw the defiance reflected in them. Her shoulders drooped in a show of defeat.

"Fine." She said quietly. "But if you're going to stay here, you're going to have to do a few things." Harry chuckled.

"And what's that?" A playful smiled crossed Hermione's face.

"Do you know how to cook?"

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A/N: Well that's it for now. Please tell me if you liked it, hated it, or believe it should be boiled in hot oil and run through a meat grinder. Suggestions, criticism (constructive or otherwise) are welcome. Cheers!