Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The story/plot was borrowed from a movie called The Secret. Also, the beginning of the dream sequence was borrowed from/inspired by Stephenie Meyer's Twilight. Oh I am soooo unoriginal, haha.

P.S. This is a story that I'm republishing, so if it looks familiar that's why. I hope it makes more sense this time around even though it may still seem choppy (there were only 2 chapters up anyway). Nothing too dark, at times bordering on fluffy. Sorry for the mistakes.

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger was more than one-hundred-and-fifty percent certain she was dreaming.

Her first reason being, that, she was sitting next to her best friends Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, in a decorated Great Hall—which laid in ruins beyond simple magical repair just months before. Second, they were watching as Albus Dumbledore addressed the newly sorted first years and commemorated the seventh years, which included them. And unless she dreamt about the previous years' catastrophic turn of events, Transfiguration professor and Gryffindor Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall should have been at the podium instead.

Hermione turned to look at Ron who was busy tearing at a turkey leg; and with leg still in mouth, he sent her a quick sheepish grin before returning to his prey. Next to Ron, Harry was animatedly talking to Ginny Weasley, whose smiling eyes never left his.

Soon after, a series of head-ache inducing flashes and whirrs—courtesy of the one person capable of out-snapping Rita Skeeter's personal photographer—obstructed her line of vision. Colin Creevey, she thought without a hint of annoyance and laughed as her eyes strained to focus on the boy, frenziedly taking pictures of Harry from where he sat.

Further down the table sat the Weasley twins, Fred and George. They were offering a first year some sort of purple gumball-like thing—she wouldn't accept it if that were her. But instead of a knowing laugh, a sad smile touched at her lips.

The scene before her was much too nostalgic. She couldn't remember the last time they all sat together like that and Merlin knows when they'll be able to do so again. And so she allowed herself a few silent tears, and a sliver of a foolish hope. Hope, that this wasn't a dream.

After collecting herself, she let her gaze hover over their table a bit longer, going from one person to the next with restrained anticipation before moving onto the other tables.

A gasp caught her as she spotted Cedric Diggory at the Ravenclaw table next to Cho Chang. It sent her heart into a brief period of erratic thumps—which had nothing to do with attraction, but relief, mind you. And little by little, the weights on her chest were lifted as she became aware of the other familiar faces that had escaped her previously.

She sighted her former professors Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody and Remus Lupin at the high table. She also saw Sirius Black standing next to the latter, looking rather healthy, and well, clean.

Everyone was accounted for. Everyone was still there.

Maybe this wasn't a dream after all? Maybe reality had been a dream all along?

A very long and arduous nightmare, to be exact.

Even though Hermione had allowed herself that sliver of hope, the reason and logic that ruled her wouldn't have any of it.

She shook her head, battling denial.

Remus was sacked—after she had let slip his condition in the Shrieking Shack—their third year; Mad-eye Moody was never a professor at Hogwarts to begin with; and of course there couldn't possibly be two D.A.D.A. professors at the same time; Harry had brought back Cedric's corpse to an oblivious crowd at the end of the Triwizard Tournament; Fred and George haven't set a foot in Hogwarts since their fifth year, the day they left the Great Hall with an array of fireworks trailing behind (besides, they were years ahead of them, so they shouldn't have been there at all); Sirius, died during last year's battle, though his body was still unaccounted for; and Dumbledore . . .

A lump formed in her throat.

Dumbledore . . . was murdered by Severus Snape.

Fate's impending presence grew with each insight and the Great Hall darkened consequently. It was as if a shadow had been cast over the castle, with flashes of green being the only source of light that allowed her glimpses of the now, chaotic hall.

"Not again," she whispered. Tears of anguish flowed freely down her cheeks as she gripped onto the cloth above her chest. She couldn't breathe.

How could I have been foolish enough to think . . .

Something was happening near the high tables, pulling her out of her thoughts. All around her, people had stopped to stare. Hermione slowly followed suit.

What she saw next made her heart sink even deeper.

At the podium, Dumbledore was being bound by a black cloak sprouting from his feet. It snaked around his body until all that could be seen was his mummified silhouette. Hermione held her breath as the cloth began to loosen and unravel. When the cloak's hood reopened—where Dumbledore's face should have been—Voldemort's ashen one came into view.

Piercing cries filled the hall as many of the younger and the cowardly, ran for the doors only to be blocked by more dark-hooded figures, Death Eaters. The brave few swiftly pulled out their wands and assumed a defensive stance as they proceeded to throw curses. At the same time, several Slytherins took to his side to counter.

Streaks of colored light continued to whizz past Hermione. But they did nothing to avert her gaze from the ground blanketed with corpses.

Amongst the hundreds that decorated the hall, she recognized Professor Burbage, Colin, Fred, Mad-Eye Moody, Remus, Tonks, Hedwig, and Dobby. She tore away from the bodies hoping that the images would disappear, only to have one more permanently burned in her memory.

Hermione looked up just as Snape shielded Harry with his own body from Voldemort's fast approaching curse.

"No!"

Then everything went dark.

"Hermione!"

She felt cold hands pressed against her cheeks.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

"Harry? Are . . . am I dead?" she whispered, eyes still closed.

"Blimey, Hermione!"

That sounded like Ron.

"Please don't tell me Ron's rubbed off on you." Harry laughed, but she heard the strain in his voice. "Open your eyes will you?"

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, bracing herself for the bright morning light. But to her surprise, it was still dark, with a single candle flickering atop her bedside table.

"What happened?" she asked, feeling a bit disoriented.

For the moment, the dream slipped away from her memory.

"What happened? Why are you staring at me like that?" She needed a moment to organize her thoughts and their worried faces did nothing to help. It bothered her to see them more unsettled than they should've been.

"Well, Hermione," Harry sat on the edge of her bed, "You kind of scared us."

"I did?" she asked them, not quite sure about what they were getting at.

"We were on our way to wake you when we heard you scream," said Harry.

"Yeah," nodded Ron. "We thought that something might've happened to you."

"That someone, one of them, had managed to find a way in," added Harry, looking very much relieved that hadn't been the case. "Ron was so scared he almost pissed his pants," he snorted.

"It wasn't cause of that," said Ron, defensively. "It was cause you looked like you were – like you were . . . Hey wait a minute, I didn't almost-"

"You just looked like you were in so much pain," interrupted Harry.

"Oh . . . I thought . . ." Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "I'm fine, really." She forced a smile and hoped they wouldn't be able to see through it. It was coming back to her now—the dream.

She pulled her tangled bed hair into pony tail and decided against telling them about it. Now was hardly the time to discuss the contents of some silly dream when there were more important matters at hand.

"Look, it was just a stupid nightmare." Hermione smiled more encouragingly this time, as not to worry them.

"Hermione," Harry began in a serious tone. "I've had way more than my share of unconventional nightmares to call that 'just a nightmare'. I think we should look into it."

"It was nothing, really." She thought something up quickly, "just a dream about not being able to take the N.E.W.T. examinations this year." It was a lie and Hermione knew they'd catch it, well, at least Harry would. But to her relief, he didn't press any further. He knew well enough not to test her patience.

"I told you Harry," Ron said smugly and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry stood up suddenly, though he was still clearly unconvinced. "Well then, you should get dressed soon, Hermione."

"What do you mean. . ." Hermione wondered why they were rushing her; it was usually the other way around. Then intuition kicked in—they weren't telling her something. "What's going on?" she asked the boys, looking from one to the other. "We haven't decided on anything yet."

She clearly remembered their conversation last night. She could recite it word for word if prompted and they definitely hadn't brought up the prospect of leaving so soon. No one even mentioned leaving in the least. There were several Death Eaters still skulking about, beyond Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and the Floo network was sure to have been rigged by then.

Harry sent Ron a look of plea.

"You're better with words, mate," said Ron with finality as he crossed his arms. "Sorry."

Harry sighed in defeat. He ruffled his hair, out-of-habit, as he searched for the right words. "You see, Hermione, why we came to get you . . ."

With his forefinger, he pushed at the bridge of his glasses, but they weren't even sliding down. Hermione knew that Harry only did that whenever he was nervous or fearful about something and times like those were ever so rare. Something was up.

"Uhm . . . Well, you went to bed first last night and. . ." This very early morning, Harry wasn't any better with words than Ron normally was.

Hermione gasped and her eyes narrowed. "You guys went on and made a decision without me."

"No, it's not like that!" he pleaded.

"Then explain quickly Harry." She propped herself up against the headboard, trying her best to stay calm.

"Professor," Harry shook his head at the fumble, "I mean, Headmistress McGonagall contacted us."

Hermione pushed herself up quickly. "But, that's impossible! There's no way . . ."

"Listen Hermione," Harry bade.

After he received a compliant nod from her, he continued. "She was able to contact us through one of the vacant frames here that connects to another one in Hogwarts. I'll explain how later."

Hermione nodded again, though resentfully. She really wanted to know how, now.

"After Dumbledore's death, when the Death Eaters had all gone, somehow the castle's weakened magical defenses increased ten-fold . . . of the original." Harry paused.

At the sound of Dumbledore's name, Voldemort's decrepit face flashed across Hermione's mind causing her breath to falter.

Stupid dream, she thought with the slightest growl.

Harry continued. "No one's sure how or why exactly, but it's a lot stronger than when Dumbledore was alive."

"Yeah, Hogwarts is now the safest place to be," said Ron longingly. "I don't see why we can't just stay there until . . ."

"Ronald," said Hermione as she sent Ron a reprimanding look. "It defeats the purpose. Do you really think that they'd allow us leave once we're there?"

When Ron showed no signs of a response, Harry continued. "After that, McGonagall discovered a letter addressed to her from Dumbledore. In it were his last wishes. The first of which was to keep Hogwarts open so that students could return, not so much to continue studies as for protection. So, the Order has been helping her with that by delivering letters to each student's home, in the guise of Muggle post instead of through owls."

"Less conspicuous," said Hermione who was very impressed with the chosen method.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, and the letters are charmed so that only the addressed can read its contents. If anyone else, like a Death Eater, were to open it, it would read something completely different."

"Beats me why they only thought of doing that now," mumbled Ron.

"That's because muggle post takes longer to deliver than owl," explained Hermione. "It must be similar to how the Marauder's Map works?"

"Yes, except you don't need a wand to activate it," answered Harry.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully at Harry who was now scratching at his nape. She raised a brow at him, there seemed more. "Out with it, Harry," she said sternly.

"Well . . . OK." Harry briefly glanced at Ron, "Dumbledore's second wish was for you to be Head Girl."

"That's odd." Hermione mused to herself for a moment. "We're going to be hunting down the remaining Horcruxes. He should have known that." She frowned. "I'm sure he knew."

"We still are Hermione." Harry looked at her, guilt apparent on his face.

Ron avoided eye contact by studying the patterns on the wooden door.

This was completely unexpected. She looked at them with incredulity as she rephrased his statement. "You mean you and Ron."

"Hermione, you know that we wouldn't dream of this without you," said Harry in vain attempt to lift her spirits. "But even McGonagall was adamant on having you return. It was like she knew we weren't going back. We couldn't ask too many questions about why because it'd give away our intentions. Hermione," he looked her straight in the eye, "before you say what I think you're going to say, reconsider. It's Dumbledore's last wish. I think we should at least honor that."

It was just like Harry to act the hero, to find a way to keep his friends safe at the cost of carrying this great burden alone. Hermione was touched, but remained unyielding in her decision.

"But, you're not going back, right?" asked an anxious Ron. "I told Harry you wouldn't do that to us. You're our brains; you know we'd die without you!"

"Of course I'm not," she huffed. "Do you really think that would keep me from helping track down the Horcruxes?" She raised her hands in exasperation and turned to Harry. "Please. Harry, your life—everyone's lives depend on finding and destroying those Horcruxes. Hogwarts will survive without me as Head Girl, especially now that it's one of the safest places to be. They can find someone else capable. You need me more; you don't have to do this alone. I'm with you all the way, regardless of the late Headmaster's wish."

Hermione looked at Harry earnestly, then at Ron. She was pleased to hear that Ron had been siding with her and couldn't help but beam at him. Sure, her response to Dumbledore's last wish might have been a bit heartless. But honestly, how could he ask for such a thing? She would never opt to abandon her dearest friends—sure to be presented with unexpected dangers in the days to come—for some trifling position at Hogwarts. Even if that was Dumbledore's last request of her, and as much as she respected him, she'd long made up her mind about joining Harry on this quest.

But Harry looked conflicted.

"What?" asked Hermione, puzzled by Harry's expression. Surely both he and Ron, if put in her situation, would respond similarly.

"Well . . ." Harry reached into his sweater pocket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. "McGonagall said to give this to you in case you refused the title."

Hermione reached for the envelope--her name written on it in neat slanted script. The flap was pressed with a red seal bearing the late Headmaster's insignia. She stroked the seal with her finger a few times before finally breaking it. She unfolded the letter; it only had three lines—the greeting and closing included. Her brows knitted at the single sentence. And after reading the last word, the paper shot up from her hands and hovered about before finally burning to ashes.

"What did it say?" asked Ron eagerly.