Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. If I was, I would have much nicer clothes. I do not own any of these characters, I am simply borrowing them in order to fulfill my warped, SHIP-based needs. Enjoy.

Author's Note:

I plan to update this story on, at a minimum, a weekly basis. So far I have written up through chapter thirteen, but will be posting five chapters behind, as it helps to be able to go back and change certain events as needed. I would like to thank my many readers on the other site at which this story is published. If it were not for all of you, I would never have had the guts to start posting this on Fan Fiction, and, without your constant glowing reviews, I would have no reason at all to continue writing. All of my readers are an immense inspiration to me. I dedicate this entire story to them. And, now, on with the show:

Prologue

The air was rough and haughty, making it difficult for her to breathe. Sweat was beading down her forehead in the sweltering August heat. This was it. This was what she had trained for all those nights with the others. She let out a hollow chuckle under her breath. 'Dumbledore's Army', they had called it. They trained for almost an entire year with Harry as their instructor. 'Harry…'

If ever there was a braver soul than Harry Potter's, she had never known it. Six times he had faced Lord Voldemort, each instance narrowly escaping death. 'What a crime that someone so young should grow up so fast…'

In the end, it had seemingly been for nothing. After years of guarding Harry in every way that he thought feasible, Albus Dumbledore, Harry's protector, had been killed. No, not killed. He was murdered.

A hot tear streaked down her right cheek at the thought of her former Headmaster. 'What a waste.' Shortly after Dumbledore's death, Harry was sent away to train with Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. Training, she assumed, for a final battle with Lord Voldemort. Even now, just the thought of that... thing… running through her mind was enough to send shivers up her spine. Somehow, even on a night as hot as this one, his name alone produced goose bumps on her arms.

Harry had been away for a full 3 months before she was finally able to see him again. He didn't look at all like she remembered him. He looked tired. Weak. Broken…

Three months of training for a battle in which he would ultimately be killed or be forced to commit murder, had obviously taken its toll on him. Still, he rose to the occasion. He explained to her that he had trained day in and day out for an entire quarter of a year. 'He's already done so much… how can we expect him to risk his life for us, yet again?'

But they did. And he was.

Now, as she stood next to Harry on what could be the last day of her existence in this universe, she was afraid. Afraid, not for herself, but for him, and for their friends. What should happen to the world if Harry Potter fails this task? If Lord Voldemort triumphs, and he is allowed to reign over the wizarding universe unhindered, and unopposed? The possibility, she recognized, was too horrible to think about.

She felt a warm, strong hand, cupping her own. He whispered something in her direction that was inaudible in the breeze. He wanted her to look at him, but she could not bring herself to meet his gaze. Not with doubt in her eyes. Not crying. Not like this…

She hoped that he would forget whatever he was apparently trying to tell her. She was too weak to listen to encouraging sentiments of hope right now, and too doubtful to offer such words to him. Her hopes, however, were unappeased.

Her palm felt a second squeeze from his balmy hand, this one firmer and longer than the one before. Evidently he felt that whatever he had to say was necessary for her to know. She hesitated, trying to regain her composure before returning his gaze.

"Hermione," came the soft, gentle voice that she had heard oh-so-many times over the course of the last seven years. "Hermione, look at me."

She tilted her head to her right, causing a few stray, curly hairs to graze her open eyes. She smoothed them aside in order to see her converser clearly. 'So much pain in those eyes…'

"Hermione," he whispered. "Listen to me carefully. Things are not as they seem. When this is over, we will prevail. We are going to win, Hermione, but it will be, and has been, at a terrible price."

She could do nothing but nod her head silently at his words. She dropped her gaze to his lips… those eyes were just too hard to look at… not now, not at a time like this.

"Hermione look at me!" he declared in an urgent whisper.

Startled, she raised her eyes to meet his. She was bemused. He did not look afraid, or timid, or sad. He looked, if it was possible, excited. Anxious, would describe his appearance well.

He opened his mouth ever-so-slighty and whispered to her yet again. "Hermione, things are not as they seem. Remember that after tonight is over. Promise me."

She was confused. 'Things are not as they seem? What is he talking about?'

A dawning realization overcame her. He wouldn't… no, he definitely would not. But, then again, he had been gone for three months. Surely he would have been filled in on any precarious changes in the plans…

Fear filled her heart as she imagined what he might be alluding to. That was it. He was going to sacrifice himself for the good of the Order of the Phoenix. A burning sensation filled her heart as the sudden postulation emerged in her mind. She opened her mouth in preparation of countering his statement. He was crazy. This was madness. They needed him to live. She needed him to live.

As the breath filled her throat whilst the words made their way to the tip of her tongue, she felt a lone finger approach her lips.

"Shhh," he warned. "I'm not going to do that, Hermione. I will live, and so will you."

A powerful bewilderment manifested itself in her eyes. She hadn't said anything about him dying, not out loud, at least. She stared hard into his eyes and suddenly felt a minute pressure at the back of her retinas. His mouth remained closed, but she was able to hear his words none the less.

'Hermione…'

It was his word, his voice, somehow reaching her ears from inside of her mind. She now realized what was happening. He had, in the end, managed to learn Legillimency.

'Yes, I have.' She heard him wordlessly say. 'Everything will be alright Hermione. Things are not as they seem. Remember that. Promise me.'

She projected her thoughts powerfully back towards him. 'Harry, I don't understand, what do you mean?'

No sooner had she propelled her thoughts to him than she was answered once again in her own mind.

'Never mind that. I will explain everything to you when this is all over. Things are not as they seem, Hermione. Promise me.'

She stared at him for a moment longer before answering. 'Harry, I-'

'PROMISE ME!' He literally screamed into her mind.

She was at a loss for words. There was, seemingly, no point in arguing with him. 'I promise,' she meditated, just as his gaze broke free from her own.

She would have pondered the past few moments' events in great detail if she hadn't been abruptly pulled out of her reverie by sudden wave of fright.

A high, malevolent voice filled the air. It was distant at first, making it impossible for her to make out the words that the voice was so painfully attempting to utter. The voice, conversely, was not lost for long. A second wave of words fell dully on the air. This time, she recognized, she was able to understand them.

"You dare to challenge the Dark Lord with such a small entourage? You are groundless, Harry Potter. Groundless, and a fool!"

That voice, Hermione discerned, was unfamiliar to her. She knew, on the other hand, that it would not be foreign to Harry.

She chanced a fleeting look in Harry's direction. His face held a hardened, stone look upon it. His eyes were narrowed as if in anger, but, somehow, they were undisturbed. A look of determination encased his being. He appeared utterly fearless in the mounting moonlight.

Voldemort ceased speaking, ostensibly awaiting an answer from the boy who had already defied him on six occasions throughout his past. When no such answer came, he spoke for a second time.

"It is over, Potter. Subsequent to this evening, The Boy Who Lived, will become The Boy Who Did Not."

A heavy silence fell over the field in which the opposing armies stood. Facing one another, one faction exposed to the world, one hidden behind masks and robes of disguise, they waited.

What they were waiting for, Hermione was unaware of. All she knew was that once Harry gave the order to fight, that was exactly what she would do.

As if reading her mind (which, very well, could have been the case), he gave the command.

"NOW!" he shouted, as he charged forward into the enemy's vicinity. Immediately, faithfully, the rest of them followed.

Hermione was thrust back into reality by Harry's call. Instantly, her survival instincts took over. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she ran towards her enemy, wand held steadily upright in front of her, even with the center of her breastbone. A fury of spells erupted around her as she heard herself screaming various hexes at the Death Eaters that were gradually surrounding her. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Impedimenta!"

She leapt out of the way just as a cruciatus curse flew by her left shoulder. The battle raged on for what she felt must have been hours. In reality, she knew it could only have been minutes. Exhaustion was overcoming her at an alarming rate. They were tiring quickly- and they were losing. Panic engulfed her as she fought for what she now believed would be the last minutes of her life. Just as she felt her courage start to waver, she felt a hand tugging at her elbow. Ron was dragging her into the forest up ahead, shooting stupefy curses from his wand at anyone around them. When they reached the edge of the clearing, they stopped.

She doubled over, hands placed firmly on her knees as if searching the ground for a mislaid object. She gasped for air, attempting to catch her breath before discussing with him their next move. When she looked up at his face, she was horrified. Ron was hurt.

"Ron! What happened to you?"

The injuries were ghastly. Ron had sustained a deep slice to the right side of his face, starting at his temple and concluding just under his chin at the jaw bone. His left eye was bloody and swollen. Where the top of his right ear should have been there was only an empty crevice, patterned lightly with freshly dried blood.

"Oh, Ronald…" she sighed, emptiness trailing in her voice.

The two looked out over the battle as a deafening cry of "Avada Kedavra" reached their ears. Hermione's heart sank as she spotted what appeared to be the limp form of Alaster Moody fall to the ground. 'So much devastation… So much death. And for what?'

She was shaken back to reality at the sound of Ron's desperate voice.

"Hermione, we have to leave. We have to get out of here! We have to run!" he screamed. And run they did.

It was a plethora of twigs and branches scratching against the already raw skin on her face and arms as she ran through the thickly gathered brush. Pain struck her right eye as she took a sharp branch to the cornea. Weary and, now, half-blind, she pushed on with as much speed as she could muster until she reached a clearing at the end of the wood. 'If I can just get far enough away to apparate…'

The thought barely crossed the edge of her mind before she was struck hard in the fissure of her lower back. Simultaneously she heard a woman's voice command "Crucio!" as she fell, writhing, to the damp, slippery earth. An excruciating pain coursed throughout her limbs. The feeling of a hundred serrated knives against her flesh and muscle tore through her to the very center of her bones. A high-pitched cackle met her ears through a haze of sights and sounds encircling her. It was agonizing… unbearable. She could not take the pain any longer. 'Kill me…'

As abruptly as the pain had come, it stopped. Her body shook fiercely as her nerves attempted to regain control of her writhing extremities. She sensed someone approach her from behind, but was unable to react. This was it. This was the end. As Bellatrix Lestrange advanced towards her, she surrendered to the inevitable fact that she was going to die.

She shut her eyes tightly, allowing one hot, painful tear to escape her injured eye and streak down her cheek. Just as the salty taste of her tears reached the corner of her mouth, she sighed the words "Forgive me, Harry."

She was ready. It was all over. She felt Bellatrix's presence to her rear and saw a moonlit shadow on the ground, mirroring the woman's wand being raised outwardly towards her own still-shaking body. The same high-pitched voice met her ears in a cold, even tone, completely devoid of emotion.

"Avada Ked-"

The fourth syllable was as far as the witch was able to get. At that precise moment, Hermione felt an invisible arm wrap around her waist and pull her in tightly. Suddenly she was being pulled into a cyclone… She felt a sharp, outward tug on her navel as if someone was trying to summon her about the waist from across a room. Dizziness soon consumed the inner workings of her mind. She felt nauseous, insecure, and, yet, safe all at once. A falling sensation overtook her. She was reminded of her third year at Hogwarts, constantly drowsy from the time-turner she used as her study aid, when she would drift into an unsteady and barely-detectable sleep during classes. It was then that she had experienced the same unnatural feeling that she felt now. She felt that she was falling, deep into a chasm, only to realize that it was a desperate ploy of her mind trying to summon her back into reality.

Gradually, the dizziness subsided. She imagined she heard someone calling to her- a distant, ghostly voice. The spinning had stopped completely now but the falling sensation had marginally increased. She had apparated. Someone, although she was completely unaware of whom they might be, had rescued her. With an immense thump she felt her head smack against the cold, hard ground, and then- darkness.