Chapter One – After The Impact

Hermione Granger stared blankly around her bedroom. It looked much as she had left it, except that her window had been opened; no doubt her mother had wanted the room light and airy for her daughter's return. It looked the same all right, but it didn't feel it. Nothing much did.

Hermione wondered why she hadn't grown used to the constant roller-coaster her life had been since she had entered the wizarding world at eleven years old. She wondered why each new drama came as a shock to her, why she could train herself to be prepared for any surprise test or new topic that was thrown at her during her many classes at Hogwarts, but a random attack on the Ministry of Magic by the most evil wizard of all time, or a desperate fight for survival against Voldermort's most feared Death Eaters, or the murder of her Headmaster, widely acknowledged as the greatest wizard of all time and (until recently) the wizarding world's only hope for peace and the defeat of Voldermort shook her world, no matter how many times events of this nature occurred.

But wondering would not change anything.

Hermione flopped down on her bed and forced herself to think about what would happen now, something she'd done little else but dwell on since the impact of Dumbledore's death had lessened. After the impact, reality had set in.

The largest change in her life now would be the lack of school. Hermione could not lie to herself - she would miss it. Harry had told both she and Ron only a few days ago that he was not returning to Hogwarts, even if the decision was taken by the governors to re-open it, and of course she and Ron would accompany him wherever he went, whatever his plans. Part of her hoped the school would re-open, even in the absence of Harry, Ron and herself, though it would be bitter-sweet to know Hogwarts was still running as normally as it could, and they were missing it. But there were more important things to take care of now, and somehow it would give her a little comfort to know that, even in these dark and terrifying times, the one place that had acted as a constant sanctuary would still be there.

It had become less of a safe haven these days though, after the Death Eater attack, and Hermione knew that Hogwarts would never be the same again. She doubted that many parents would want to send their children back to a place where the only wizard in the world Lord Voldermort was ever scared of had been killed, and by a Hogwarts teacher nonetheless. She felt an odd sadness imagining the great hall with a few glum-looking students seated at their respective house tables, Professor McGonagall, acting Head Mistress, addressing them as she took up the spot on which Dumbledore had once stood... and Hagrid, pottering around the pumpkin patch as always, sadly wishing that his three favourite students could pay him a visit like old times, and wishing he had a class to teach.

Hermione shook her head to rid it of these musings. She was falling back into thoughts of the past again, thoughts of how it used to be. No matter what happened from now on, it was certain that things were going to change, and she had to prepare for whatever form that change would take. Harry needed her, and Ron. This was their fight now, not just Harry's; she and Ron had chosen to make it their fight, and she had to focus on their mission, to find and destroy the remaining pieces of Voldermort's soul. Hermione shuddered at the thought. The idea that someone could split their soul and then leave bits of it scattered around... it was like something out of a horror film. They were not protected by the boundaries of a different, imaginary world however, it was real, it was happening, and she had not choice but to face up to it.

Hermione was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she did not hear her bedroom door swing open. A girl of about eighteen appeared there, a girl wearing lots brightly coloured jewellery made of cotton, and light brown hair that, when untended to, resembled Hemione's in bushiness. Phoebe Taylor had straightened out her naturally curly hair to within an inch of it's life and sleeked it (with the help of Hermione's Sleekeazys Hair Potion - which Hermione sent her twice a month via owl post). It spilled over her shoulders and down her back, the purple streak that decorated her fringe looked almost red in the sunlight. Phoebe was a pretty as her Hermione, her eyes as vibrantly hazel-green as Hermione's were deep brown, and though they did not look as similar siblings might, they were around the same height and built and their eyes were the same shape, with the same long, dark eyelashes.

Phoebe watched Hermione in amusement for a moment. Doesn't that girl do anything else but think? she thought, smirking. Then, she closed the door behind herself with a sharp snap that made her cousin leap up so fast that she almost fell off her bed.

"What on ear- Phoebe!"

Hermione charged across her room and threw herself on the new arrival, almost knocking her flat and obscuring Phoebe's face with a tangle of her thick hair. Phoebe tried to speak, but Hermione's grip on her was too tight, and when her mouth opened it was promptly filled with a large portion of Hermione's bushy mane.

"You're pth - happy to see me, pth, then?" Phoebe asked, clearing her mouth of hair and grinning as Hermione finally released her.

"Yes!" Hermione squealed. "I wasn't expecting you until Sunday!"

"I wasn't expecting me until Sunday either," Phoebe agreed, pushing her hair out of her face, and not quite looking at her cousin, "But it's so boring at that new flat of ours. Once you get past the "Wow, I can do what I want!" stage, it's almost as dull as living at home."

She wandered over to the window and looked out absently to where Chrookshanks was trying to bite the end off the hosepipe. "Rosa's out at Edward's at the moment," she added, and Hermione rolled her eyes (she would find it extremely difficult to pin-point a time that Rosa wasn't at Edwards), "So I thought I'd drop round a few days early."

Hermione nodded happily. Phoebe was like a breath of fresh air at the moment.

"So," Phoebe said, turning her back on the now sopping wet Chrookshanks and surveying her cousin expectantly. "What's going on in hocus pocus land at the moment? I haven't seen you in what feels like a million years. What's the latest?"

Hermione was silent for time. She knew she would have to tell her.

Hermione and Phoebe had been like sisters to each other for as far back as either of them could remember. It pained Hermione that lately Phoebe had been away so much of the time, and on the rare occasion she had been in town Hermione had almost always been at Hogwarts. Her cousin had recently bought a flat with the very happy-go-lucky Rosa Blizzard. As their oldest friend Rosa was almost considered as much a Granger as Harry a was Weasley. Rosa lived at the flat during the time she wasn't at Edwards, and Phoebe resided there when she wasn't travelling. Hermione was seriously considering taking a gap year herself next year, if things went well. She thought maybe Ron and Harry would want to take a year out too; get their lives together. And they could stay with Phoebe when they weren't away – it would be the perfect arrangement... if everything went well. If they survived.

She was suddenly not only pleased, but extremely relieved that Phoebe was here. She needed her sisterly advice, now more than ever. Phoebe had been the first person she had called all those years ago when she had got her Hogwarts letter, and Phoebe had believed her at once.

The two of them had always known there was something different about Hermione. She had begun causing strange, unexplainable things to happen almost as soon as she had started walking.

When Hermione was ten and Phoebe eleven, Hermione had somehow managed to turn Phoebe's gerbil purple. Phoebe's mother had insisted they take Gerald to the vet, concluding that he was very sick and should be treated immediately. The vet had goggled in amazement at Gerald when they had put him in front of her, before deciding that there was nothing at all wrong with him... except that he was purple. She had then asked if Gerald had been born that way. When they had assured her that he had not, she had shooed them out of the surgery, threatening to call the RSPCA if she got wind that they had done anything as ridiculous to any animal again, obviously assuming that they had blatantly dyed Gerald purple, then brought him to the surgery to show off their handy-work.

When Hermione was even younger, she had been the only child at nursery-school who could write her name on the chalkboard... without touching the chalk. Hermione's mother Lara Granger has been called in to see the nursery-school teacher, who demanded to know who was teaching Hermione "such ridiculous tricks" that "greatly distressed the other children" (who, on the first occasion it had happened, had fled from the room yelling "ghooostie, ghooostie!"). When Lara Granger had explained that neither she nor her daughter could explain how Hermione could levitate a piece of chalk, let alone manage to control the chalk while it was in mid-air, Hermione had been suspended from nursery-school for two weeks to "think about her unacceptable behaviour".

Of course, neither Hermione's parents, Hermione or Phoebe had ever dreamed that it was magic Hermione was performing. Her mother simply assumed she was learning clever tricks from the other children and performing them at will, while Phoebe purely thought her cousin was special, gifted even, and not just because her reading level had always been way above average for her age.
Then, when Hermione turned eleven and received a letter emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, sealed with wax and delivered by a large post owl that had greatly alarmed her parents, everything had fallen into place.

Since then, Hermione had shared everything about her magical life with her cousin. Phoebe had heard all about Harry and Ron. She knew about Voldermort, had heard every detail of each scrape Hermione and her friends had got into over the years, always received a full update on Harry's latest escape from the Dark Lord. And she had always, therefore, known that there was a possibility, a strong possibility that both worlds, not just the one to which Hermione belonged, (the one that she could picture in her minds eye but had never travelled to) but both muggle and magical worlds could one day be at Voldermort's mercy. Hermione knew her cousin was aware of this, but she didn't want to be the one that had to tell her that that time could come very soon. Yet she knew she had to. Better to prepare her. Better she knew that Hermione was planning to leave Hogwarts and set off with Harry and Ron on possibly the most dangerous task they has ever faced, that she and the other two would have to find all the parts of Voldermort's soul and destroy them, piece by piece. Then Harry would have to kill him. That damned prophecy had spoken. Better she knew all this now, than find out later that Hermione had kept it from her. Phoebe would forgive her. Hermione wouldn't ever forgive herself.

She shivered and noticed her cousin looking at her with concern. Phoebe often wore that look when Hermione talked about the most dangerous aspects of being witch, and it usually accompanied wide, shocked eyes. Seeing Phoebe look worried every time she recounted a tale only confirmed the seriousness of each new situation for Hermione.

Phoebe had always been far more carefree than Hermione. She didn't stress about grades like Hermione - she was not particularly academic, and focused more and art, writing and drawing. This part of her personality was given away by the constant presence of an art pencil wedged firmly behind her ear. Phoebe did not take seriously the things Hermione considered of utmost importance, on the contrary she got worked up about things such as the use of the wrong shade of red in one of her paintings, or the fact that no one took her art seriously.

Hermione sighed. She could not lie to Phoebe. Phoebe would know, and drag the truth out of her anyway.

Hermione glanced out of the window, checking it was still sunny (she never knew when British weather would suddenly turn traitor and rain), then looked at her watch. There was still a good few hours of summer daylight left.

"A lot's been happening, Phoebe," she said at last. "Let's go for a walk, I've got a lot to tell you."

Phoebe nodded seriously, taking note of Hermione's expression. Something was wrong

"Okay," she said, adjusting her pencil. "We can catch up with Rosa and Wilson at the park later too. Rosa said they'd be heading down there when I told her I was coming here early, and she said to bring you. They'll be wanting all the news too I bet."

Hermione nodded. She knew she was so lucky to have such fantastic friends in both her worlds. However, she could not shake off the feeling that her two worlds were starting to merge into one, and this could only be trouble for her Muggle friends. Her friends here had not yet been touched by the devastation Voldermort had brought to the magical world. She knew it was inevitable now that Muggles would find out about Voldermort eventually, that they would be at risk too, but by being tied to her, her friends were in even more danger, just as she was as high risk by being tied to the Boy Who Lived. Now that things were getting so much worse, the fact that her friends at home were Muggles only made the the risk so much greater . She knew that she would never persuade them to abandon her. She understood this only too well; her own loyalty to Harry had no boundaries, but she could not shake off the fear, and this new fear scared her almost as much as Voldermort himself.

It would be a sad day when Muggles, too, would fear to speak Voldermort's name. Even sadder was the fact that this day seemed set to come sooner than she could have ever imagined.

A sharp knock at the door snapped Hermione out of her thoughts. Instinctively, she dived for her wand that she had removed from her trunk and had placed on her bedside table the moment she had arrived home. Phoebe stared at her.

"Hermione!" she said, eyeing her cousin with a mixture or amusement and concern. "Put that thing away before you hurt someone, I don't want it going off unexpectedly!"

Hermione looked down at the wand held in her hands, her knuckles white with the grip. She lowered it slowly, feeling slightly stupid. Not wanting to appear so however, she tucked her wand away in her jeans pocket and sniffed in a dignified manner

"You can't be too careful, you know" she said, matter of factly. "After years of this kind of thing you never know who or what might be lurking round the corner. And it's rather rare for wands to just 'go off unexpectedly'," she added, "especially in the hands of a competent wizard or witch.."

"If you say so," said Phoebe sceptically, eyeing the handle of Hermione's wand that just poked out over the denim of her pocket.

The culprit of the disturbance, having received no invitation to enter, pushed the door open slowly. Curly brown hair appeared in the gap, followed by a pale, pretty face with chocolate brown eyes.

Lara Granger looked a lot like Hermione. Her eyes mirrored those of both girls in shape and matched her daughter's exactly in colour

"Is everything okay girls?" Hermione's mother queried, her voice gentle yet concerned. "I heard yelling a moment ago, from behind the door..."

Hermione sighed and smiled tiredly at her mother. "You just made me jump, Mum, when you knocked, that's all. Everything's fine."

Lara Granger seemed satisfied. She pushed brown, flyaway hair out of her eyes and beamed at them. "I thought we could do some gardening after tea," she said, striding over to the window and observing Chrookshanks, who had given the hosepipe up as a bad, water-spraying job and resorted to chasing bees. "Hermione, that cat of yours has a death wish. You father nearly ran him over last summer, this year he'll most likely fall off a roof."

"Uncle Mark or Chroookshanks?" Phoebe muttered. Hermione giggled. It felt like years since she had giggled.

Lara smiled and rolled her eyes at her niece. "There's a question. Come to think of it I was thinking of sending your Uncle up to fix the satellite dish, the gardening channel's been fuzzy ever since Chrookshanks leapt on it earlier."

"He was just happy to be home, Mum, he just wanted to have a run around the garden... and the roof... to celebrate." said Hermione.

Phoebe held in a snort with difficulty. If there was anything Hermione Granger loved as much as Ron Weasley, it was her beloved cat. Phoebe had light heartedly asked, on her first meeting with Chrookshanks, he had gone five rounds with a wall recently. She had the bruise above the shin that she had received in answer for a week afterwards. She wondered absently what Hermione would do to her if she pointed out the painfully obvious fact that her cousin was in love with Ron. Phoebe was not entirely sure that even Hermione knew how much she obviously cared about him.

Phoebe had dropped the question of whether Hermione had any deep feelings beyond friendship for her red haired freckled face best friend she had heard so much about into conversation before, subtlety of course ("You're completely into him, aren't you?"), but on each occasion Hermione had turned slightly pink about the cheeks and suddenly became very interested things like trees, ceilings and street signs. Phoebe had also now and again asked whether either of her friends were surprised that she could have such a laid back, non-academic cousin. At which point Hermione seemed to think deeply about her answer, before looking uneasy for a moment, almost frightened, then, as though all memory of the question had left her mind, would carry on talking about whatever they had been discussing before as if nothing had been asked of her. Phoebe had often wondered if Hermione was slightly ashamed of Phoebe's lack of interest in class work, and had therefore not so much as mentioned her existence to her friends at Hogwarts, but reasoned that Hermione had never shown any evidence of feeling ashamed of her before. Not one to worry about things that weren't desperately urgent for very long, Phoebe had not dwelt much on the issue.

"Tea won't be ready for a few hours yet, girls," Phoebe's Aunt Lara said, dragging her eyes away from Chrookshanks, who having attempted to chase a wasp through a small gap in the fence, had got his head stuck. "You're not hungry yet are you? There's some salad if you're peckish..."

"We're fine, Mum," said Hermione, picking up her jacket from where it was draped over the chair by her desk. "In fact we were just thinking of going for a walk while it's still sunny."

Lara Granger beamed at them both

"That's a wonderful idea!" she said, enthusiastically.

Lara Granger was always complaining that Hermione didn't do enough exercise, but instead spent all her free time studying in her room. Hermione, no matter how hard she tried, couldn't see the point in walking for walking's sake, or doing any other form of physical activity for no apparent reason for that matter. She didn't consider herself unfit by any means (though she did find running for longer than a about sixty seconds a struggle – but put this down to being quite short and slim and therefore having limited stamina) and the outdoors had never really appealed to her. Getting in touch with nature was all very good if she could do so sat in the garden with a large informative book in her lap. Hiking over hills, through forests and across muddy fields was, in Hermione's opinion, completely pointless. What was she learning? There wasn't even a reward for all the hard work at the end of it... no museum, library, no means of acquiring knowledge, which, in Hermione's book, gave it as much appeal as a tea party with Pansy Parkinson.

But right now, a slow walk around the village then to the park with Phoebe seemed like a wonderful idea, or at least it would seem like a wonderful idea if she did not have to drop several bombshells along the way.

A strangled meowing sound reached them from the garden. Hermione's mother cast a franticly struggling Chrookshanks a weary look through her daughter's open window, then headed for the door.

"Make sure you're back for tea," she said, pausing in the doorway. "Take you phone, Hermione, I'll call you when it's nearly ready. Have a lovely walk!"

Hermione sighed as her mother closed the door gently behind herself. Her footsteps receded with soft thumps down the wooden staircase.

As it was now the summer holidays, and Lara had a precious three week holiday from the dental practice, Hermione had been bracing herself for her mother's annual "let's get Hermione outside for some exercise" campaign. A smile played about her lips as she thought about Ron's face if his mother tried to force him into exerting himself for no other reason than that it was good for him. Zooming around a Quidditch pitch on a wooden stick, and stuffing his face with anything he could find was about as much exercise as Ron ever got.

At the thought of Ron, her stomach performed a familiar little flip. Hermione sighed inwardly. She had been best friends with Ron Weasley for six years now, and she still reacted to the mere thought of him like a infatuated thirteen year old. Except this wasn't mere infatuation. It was... well...

Hermione had always tried to stop her thoughts in their tracks when they strayed into this dangerous territory. Hermione was astute enough to know that Ron had feelings for her, feelings of some sort at least. She had hoped that as they grew older Ron would open his eyes and take a chance with her. Her hopes had risen earlier that year when she had (rather clumsily) asked him to attend a party that Professor Slughorn (their latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher) was hosting in his office.

However, for reasons that were still unknown to her, Ron had suddenly begun acting very coldly towards her, his iciness reaching new heights when he locked lips (and practically every other part of his face) with Hermione's fellow Gryfindorr, the extremely annoying gossip queen Lavender Brown. It had been clear that Ron had done so to prove something, perhaps to prove that he was attractive to girls in general, or simply to so that he could say that he had a girlfriend. Whatever it was, Hermione had not been able to shake off the feeling that Ron had been trying to get at her, maybe even to get back at her for something, but neither Ron nor Harry (and Hermione was almost certain Harry knew more than she did about the matter) had said what that something might be.

Ron had eventually broken it off with Lavender, who had not taken the news that he wanted to end their "relationship" too well.

Now, especially after the way he had behaved towards her at Dumbledore's funeral, Hermione was in a state of confusion about where she and Ron stood.

At the funeral, it had almost felt, for just those few wonderful moments in which he had held her (in such a tender way) and stroked her hair consolingly with his fingers, that he felt as much for her as she did for him. But she couldn't be sure, no matter how closely she'd monitored Ron's body language since, in the last few days at Hogwarts, on the train home, on the platform; just as she had never been able to be sure in the years, months, weeks and days before the funeral, when she had carefully logged away in her mind the little things he did and said around her. She couldn't be sure, and though Hermione's mantra was to never let chances pass her by, she was not ready to take such a huge risk just yet, if ever. She could not bear the thought of losing Ron. She could not take the plunge until she was sure. Until she knew for certain that... well, until she knew they were feeling the same thing... whatever that was...

Hermione did not want to categorise this feeling. In her opinion, in matters of this sort, you had to be careful what labels you gave to your feelings, and besides, she wasn't ready to admit it to herself yet, and until she heard conformation that... that he felt it... from his own lips, she was definitely not going to admit whatever she did feel to him.

But he said it, said the little voice in the back of her head, a voice that had frequently made itself know to her ever since Ron has said the words she'd been longing to hear from him for years. I love you, Hermione. He had said it himself.

She had tossed and turned for hours in her dormitory the night that Ron had spoken the words, ponding them, the circumstance, the tone of his voice... and she had finally come to the sad conclusion that he hadn't meant it. The optimistic part of her reasoned that it didn't mean that he didn't feel it, just because he didn't mean it when he said it. What if he had said it in that casual manner to see how she would react; if she'd be shocked, happy, scared... or maybe he said it so lightly because Harry was there and he was embarrassed ... or maybe... maybe he was just being friendly, thanking her for doing him a favour... for being such a good friend.

When it had all become too infuriating and frustrating to think about, she had forced herself to push it to the back of her mind. Perhaps the only good thing about the dangers ahead was that, although he would be with her on her journey, she would have lots to distract her from dwelling on the depth of her feelings for Ron and visa versa.

"Hermione!"

For the third time that afternoon, Hermione jumped.

"What?"

"For the last time, let's go! It'll be midnight before we get going at the rate!"

"Oh, sorry..." Hermione replied, her cheeks reddening as she cast around for her jacket, before realising it was over her arm.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "Someone on your mind?" she said, slyly, barely disguising a knowing smirk.

"No," Hermione replied quickly, pulling on her jacket and pushing her hair out of her face, looking rather flustered . "I was just thinking, that's all."

Phoebe grinned as Hermione led the way out of the room and down the stairs. But she let her grins fall as a whispering voice in her head branded her a complete hypocrite.

Hermione may not have been completely honest with her about how she felt for Ron, but she knew she most likely would be in her own good time, when she had worked things put in her own mind. Besides, there were bigger matters at hand and Hermione was about to fill her in on all the details, just like she always had.

Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut briefly. She reached the last step and followed her cousin through the kitchen, past her smiling Aunt and out the front back door.

They had never kept anything from each other. Never. Until now.

Phoebe tried to ignore the burning feeling of guilt at the back of her head.

She doesn't need to know right now, said the justifying little voice, a nagging relentless voice, a voice very similar to the one that was plaguing Hermione in regard to her love life, though Phoebe's little voice of reason was pathetic and almost smothered by the guilt she felt in every other bit of herself. Now's not the right time. Later, do it later.

As she and Hermione made their way across the garden and out the front gate Phoebe shock her head to clear in, making room for the coming conversation.

Phoebe had a idea that what Hermione was going tell her was what she had been secretly dreading for two years, ever since Voldermort had returned. Suddenly, Phoebe felt a new found affection for Hermione's wand. Muggles would be almost completely defenceless in a war against the most evil wizard of all time and his supporters.

If Phoebe's suspicions were correct, very soon there would be nowhere to run, no where to hide, and nothing to do but fight.