It's the end.

Harry is suffocating and drowning, he is sure is going to die. The locket is dragging him under, pulling him away from the hole in the ice. He slams his fists against the glassy surface, fingernails leaving long thin lines, trying to escape. He's choking down the frigid water and his lungs and heart feel completely brittle. Hands drag him out of the water and Harry collapses onto the ground completely frozen.

"Hermione, I—" He stutters out, teeth chattering as he gropes for his glasses. He slips them on and is shocked to see Ron, soaking wet and gripping the sword of Gryffindor. Harry shoves his clothes on, frozen hands barely functioning, and sets the horcrux on a rock between himself and Ron. The two stare at each other for a moment and Harry doesn't know what to say. He's torn between hugging him and hitting him. Ron shuffles nervously on his feet.

"Do it then. Destroy it."

"I…I can't. It affects me more than if affects you and Hermione."

"All the more reason."

"I can't."

Harry feels irritation creeping up his spine. Why is he here? He shoves his freezing hands into his pockets, "Then why did you come back?"

They stare at each other again for a long moment before Ron finally nods, his face white, and Harry tells the locket to open. A piercing shriek fills the forest and he and Ron are thrown to the ground as the horcrux comes to life. Blackness swirls around them and the roar is raucous. For a moment Harry feels blind and deaf. Two figures begin to form in the dark mist— first a pair round glasses and bright eyes, then shapely lips and long curly hair. Harry sees a copy of himself and Hermione, hand in hand, perfect and cold.

He hears himself speak, "We were better without you, happier without you."

"What woman would want you when compared to the Chosen One?"

To his horror and fascination the copies of himself and Hermione begin to kiss. The copy of Hermione is aggressive and when his doppelganger responds in kind, he feels his insides turn over with a strange kind of desire. He wonders if the horcrux is able to read him as well, as every that was said was at least partially true. Harry knows that he and Hermione have changed, how they see each other has changed, and he isn't sure they can go back to platonic friends. He knows he doesn't want to.

It started off innocently enough. It was the first time she had been to the Dursley's house on Privet Drive and her had eyes lingered on the small door under the stairs. She frowned, eyebrows coming together, and Harry ran his fingers across the toy solider in his pocket. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine her as an eleven-year-old girl again with bushy hair, glaring disapprovingly. He remembers her horrified teary eyes when he had finally told her about his place with the Dursley's. He had never seen her so angry, before or since.

He noticed her touch when he drew her into an embrace. She had pressed her lips to his cheek and stepped inside. Madeye began to explain their plan and when his irritation rose she ran her hand across his shoulders, almost like a caress. Then she promptly ripped a handful of hair from his head. He swore and she shrugged, but he didn't miss the small smile on her lips. Harry watched her drop them into the polyjuice potion and the transformation begin around him. It was a strange thought, the idea of her drinking him in, absorbing his essence — quite literally – and he was surprised to feel heat rising to his face when he noticed a copy of himself starting to pull her clothing off. It was strangely tantalizing and not only because she was now intimately familiar with his body, but because it was all too easy to still see Hermione standing there. He pretended not to notice the blush spreading across Hermione's face, his face, when she saw him staring. Madeye shoved a pile of clothing into his hands and he turned to change, not worried about decency. Afterall, his body had just been on display by six others. Her kiss still burned his cheek.

Harry couldn't shake the sight of George's ashen face and the rivulets of blood streaming down his neck but then Kingsley arrived and, much like before, Lupin went to check his identity. He saw himself, with his hands on his knees, a long ponytail rapidly growing out of the back of his head and his features shifting and softening. Finally Hermione straightened and laced her fingers together and apart, a nervous habit. He started to go to her, when Ron arrived with Tonks, but stopped when Hermione embraced his friend. She lingered there. He dug his fingernails into his palms. But the relief in his gut was so strong that he ran to the both of them and pulled them to him. He felt a little more complete again. He tried to leave during the night. He couldn't stand the idea of leaving her, but he didn't want to think of the consequences of taking her either.

Things started to feel normal until he began to count the seconds when he's holding her later that night when he found her awake in the wee hours of the morning in Weasley's living room. They had shared a long look when he joined her and he wondered how long she had been sitting there. He was pretty sure she knew he had tried to leave without her; Hermione had a clear view of the door. They sat in silence before she finally said in a low voice, "If you ever try anything like that again…"

Hermione glared at him for a moment then softened. She wordlessly handed him her mug of tea and he sipped it while she told him how she changed her parents' memories, how she erased herself from their lives. His heart hurt to see her curled into herself by the fire. Ron was asleep upstairs and he couldn't stand to hear her voice break as she talked of empty picture frames and the new life awaiting her parents in Australia. So he held her and rubbed her back as she cried. He had to remind himself to pull away. She was gone from his mind, however, when Ginny asked him to zip the back of her dress. It was easy to push her from his mind as Ginny's skin was nothing like Hermione's, nor were her eyes. He tried really hard to forget her.

It worked until they apparated from the wedding. Her hand was smooth and soft and then all at once vice-like when they apparated onto the bustling streets of London in front of a bus. Hermione, small as she was, somehow managed to yank all three of them to the sidewalk where they had stood momentarily breathless. Harry followed her, weaving in and out of the crowd and nearly collided into her back when she took a sharp turn into an alley. She turned while he and Ron changed and they did the same for her, but Harry couldn't ignore the whispers of clothing being removed and jumped when he heard her hurried zipping of the fly of her pants. He also noticed that Ron's ears were red and Harry felt a pang of guilt. Forget forget forget.

He managed for a while. That is, until Hermione threw herself into him at the Ministry of Magic. Yaxley had seen them and the trio made a mad dash for the floo fireplaces. He turned at the sound of a loud crack and saw Hermione firing curses behind her. She managed to catch up to him then, heels slamming against the wood floors. But Yaxley was closing in on Ron. Harry slid into the fireplace, waiting for them, when she suddenly slammed into his chest. He threw his arms around her and they cracked heads. Dizzy, he felt Hermione twist against him and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to remind himself that this was his best friend—and really thinking of her in that way while in this kind of situation was idiotic. Ron fell into the fireplace as she grabbed hold of his arm and they apparated. Just when he thought he could begin to breathe again, Hermione screamed and they apparated again. This time Harry landed hard on his back, lights flashed behind his eyes and he was dimly aware of some sort of strange, groaning sound. Hermione was calling his name. Ron had been splinched; bone and muscle exposed where skin had seemingly been peeled away across his shoulder. He set up the tent with shaking hands. Harry later thought that it is the stress of the day that made him snap at Hermione.

"Take it off."

Harry whirled to look at her. Surely he hadn't heard her correctly; surely she didn't know where his thoughts had been wandering lately. His face colored and he balled his hands into fists to stop himself from yelling at her

"I said take it off. Now!"

He realized with a jolt that she meant the horcrux. His face felt hot as he wrenched it up and over his head – and suddenly he felt awful for shouting at her. They locked eyes and she seemed to understand, patting his shoulder and telling him that they'd take turns. Harry tried to be patient with Ron, who was still healing, but he found himself spending more and more time with Hermione. He didn't care that it was the horcrux making Ron particularly nasty; he didn't want to deal with it. The Burrow and the people there seem like a distant memory and Harry didn't bother to try to recall them.

Ron's radio nearly drove him crazy. He had been dozing when the radio had suddenly blared static, unable to hold his tongue, Harry jumped up and left the tent. His heart had stopped when Hermione wasn't sitting outside. It was nearly dark. He heard voices and followed them, his stomach twisted into a knot. Harry found Hermione at the edge of their enchantments and reached for her hand when he saw what she had been looking at; snatchers were carrying a small girl and a woman. The girl's face was bruised and bloody and Harry wanted to pull Hermione away, almost afraid the Snatchers would turn around and come for her.

"Snatchers," he said quietly, "They round up muggle-borns."

When she was silent he squeezed her hand, trying to bring about a response. She finally managed, "He could smell it…my perfume."

She turned to him and closed the space between them, leaned her forehead against his shoulder, and exhaled shakily. Harry put his arms around her and they stood in the gathering darkness. He could smell it too, a mix of something sweet and woodsy. Eventually they turned to return to the camp. He reluctantly let go of her hand upon seeing Ron's silhouette at the entrance to the tent. Hermione's shoulder brushed his and he said teasingly, "And as much as I like your perfume, you probably shouldn't wear it next time."

They hadn't made any progress for weeks. The locket was proving impossible to destroy and none of them had any idea where the next horcrux could be or even what it was. Ron still wasn't stable enough to apparate. But they couldn't linger too long in one spot and so they traveled on foot. Harry didn't miss Ron's increasingly long, suspicious glances at himself and Hermione. They would stay in one spot for a little over a week and then camp somewhere else. The camp was set up on the shores of a lake when Harry mentioned needing a haircut. To his surprise, Hermione had told him she would do it.

"Oh my god!"

Harry turned his head, fingers brushing against his newly trimmed hair at the base of his neck, but she had already crossed the tent and gone to her books. He hehenc He joined, sitting across from her, as she flipped through several pages, "The sword of Gryffindor is goblin made."

He shrugged and she smiled and explained to him that Godric Gryffindor's sword could destroy horcruxes. Harry felt a surge of excitement – they hadn't had any clues for weeks. He and Hermione had been bouncing ideas off one another, excitement building, when Ron had suddenly snapped, coming from his bed and reminding them of his presence. Harry's resentment quickly mounted after Ron shoved Hermione away and she stumbled into him, trying to convince Ron to take off the locket. She was trying to keep her voice level, but Harry could hear it shaking as she begged him to stop.

"Your parents are dead! You have no family."

Harry saw red; anger, betrayal, and frustration all bubbled to the surface. He lunged for Ron, both of them trying to get at the other, while Hermione tried to worm her way inbetween them, eventually succeeding. Harry told him to go and Ron was only too happy to oblige. He felt a knot form in his stomach when Ron asked Hermione to come with him. Her shoulders sagged and for one terrible moment, Harry thought she would go with him. But instead she stepped back to stand beside him, shaking her head mutely. He felt relief and even a spiteful glee. His mind seemed to echo what Ron had said – Hermione had chosen him. She chased after Ron, calling his name into the night, and when she returned she collapsed into her bed. He fell into an uneasy sleep to the sound of her sobbing. The next morning he found her by the lake, arms wrapped around her middle, and when she turned he didn't know how to read her expression. Her lips quirked upwards in an attempt to smile, to reassure but he knew it was a lie. When they were ready to leave, Harry took her hand and they apparated away. This time her hand was rough and calloused.

They apparated onto a craggy mountaintop and Hermione sank onto a nearby rock and wiped at her face, vainly trying to hide her tears. Harry took up her task of casting the protective charms around their camp and went to set up the tent at a lower, smoother spot. When he returned to Hermione, her eyes rimmed with red and still in the same spot, he took her hand and led her into the tent where she collapsed onto Harry's bed. He went to take another look around but Hermione, buried under blankets, grabbed his hand. He paused and then sank down on the floor next to her. He hated Ron for leaving but he hated him even more for what he did to Hermione. She slept and Harry kept watch from her bedside. Harry, having dozed, awoke to her trailing her fingers along his shoulders and her eyes peering at him from underneath the blankets.

The next night, during his watch, Harry was surprised to hear Ron's radio. Hermione was trying to tune it and had stopped once she found music. He ducked into the tent and took a seat. Hermione was sitting on some of the steps, head bowed towards her knees. He'd had enough. He wanted the Hermione he knew back, he wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh. Harry crossed the distance between them and offered his hand. She looked up; eyes wary and distant and he pulled her to her feet. The locket glittered in the light and Harry reached around to unclasp it, fingers lingering on the soft skin of her neck, and tucked it into his pocket.

Harry pulled her toward him, swinging his hips, trying to get her to open up. She was stiff but eventually mimicked his actions. Her lips twitched upwards at his exaggerated movements. He twirled her around and finally saw her smile. She laughed when they bumped into each other. Hermione was suddenly dancing with him in earnest, grinning with him. They turned in a circle as the song was ending and Hermione rested her head against his shoulder. Eventually they pulled apart and their eyes met. Harry wanted to tell her then, tell her that Ron was fool and that he should have never abandoned her. Tell her that he was beginning to think he was in love with her. They stared at each other, each trying to make sense of what was happening. She started to turn away but he pulled her back and pressed his lips against hers. It was a chaste, gentle kiss that persisted before Hermione put her palm against his cheek and went to change for the night.

They circled around each other for weeks with light touches, lingering hugs, smiles, and finally Hermione seemed to be better. Ron was never brought up but he no longer hovered over their heads like an unspoken illness. She was the one who finally talked about him one morning, "When Ron left, he said I chosen you and I…I don't know how to do this without you," He had opened his mouth to speak when she leaned in and took his hands, "I can't just walk away. It's never been that simple."

When they decided to go to Godric's Hollow later, Harry was glad Ron wasn't there; this seemed like something that he should be doing with her alone. Hermione grasped his hand and for a moment Harry almost felt normal. She stopped him when they passed a church. Lights were twinkling in the distance and he thought he could hear the distant sounds of singing.

"Harry, I think its Christmas."

It was then that he noticed the cemetery, "Do you think they'd be in there Hermione?"

He knew he didn't have to say whom and she nodded, squeezing his hand. The graveyard was quiet and empty, the snow undisturbed. Harry went one direction, her the other, to search for his parents. Many of the graves were old with faded names. He saw Hermione stop occasionally to wipe snow off of headstones but stopped suddenly when he found them. The grave was simple, with their names and the date of birth and date of death. The headstone was well cared for or it was impervious to time, he thought it was a little of both, and he spotted a small adage. Hermione came up behind him and conjured a small wreath. When she stepped back, he took her hand and for once he didn't bother to try to hide his tears, "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

She sighed and put her arm around him, dipped her head to rest on his shoulder, "Merry Christmas, Harry." He turned into her embrace, buried his face into her hair. She was pressing small kisses to his wet cheeks when she had suddenly stiffened, "Harry…there's someone watching us, by the church."

Harry turned and followed her gaze. An elderly woman, stooped and cloaked, was standing by the gate, "I think I know who that is… Are you Bathilda Bagshot?"

He tugged Hermione along, ignored her protests. The old woman had led them into what must have been her home and when they were inside, he had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat at the smell. Hermione's hand was pressed tightly against her mouth. He frowned, peering at an old photo of the blond-haired boy he'd seen in his dreams. Bathilda turned towards the stairs, beckoning him with her hand, and Harry went to follow when Hermione grabbed his arm, "I don't like this." He brushed her concern away and took to the stairs.

The sight of Bathilda Bagshot's decaying body falling away and Nagini bursting out of her neck in a spray of skin and bone was an image Harry knew he'd never forget. He jerked backwards, away from the python, and grabbed the nearest object he could find to keep her away from him; a chair. Nagini lunged toward him and smacked against the chair, hissing angrily. Harry thought he heard Hermione scream. He felt sick – what kind trap had he led them into? Nagini reared back and lunged again; this time hitting him with enough force to send them both through the wall of Bathilda's house and into the neighboring home. Dazed, he struggled to get to his feet throwing whatever he could find at the snake to keep her at bay but Nagini was faster. She wrapped around his middle, dragging him to the floor and back into Bagshot's home, but Harry managed to stun her with a well-placed hit to the neck. He struggled away from her and groped for his wand when she came after him again, but Hermione came out of nowhere and fired a curse directly into the snake's face. Nagini fell away, back down the stairs, and Hermione quickly snatched Harry's wand from the floor and retreated against the far wall opposite him. The pair stood together in tense silence for a moment before Nagini suddenly sprang back up the stairs, diving for them. Hermione was prepared, however, and cast a hex at the python. It rebounded around the room, slamming into wood and glass, sending debris everywhere. Harry leaned across the bed and grabbed hold of Hermione, yanking her across and to the window. His scar was on fire, throbbing to some unknown beat. He stumbled to the window and threw them both into it – shattering the glass and sending them tumbling into the cold night air. Near blinded with pain, Harry saw himself and Hermione through Voldemort's eyes as he crossed the rank bedroom only to see the boy and girl apparate away. The last thing he remembered was a cold, furious scream that echoed across the night.

Harry didn't know how long he had been out. He called Hermione's name, his voice croaking from disuse, before standing and seeking her outside the tent. She was curled on the ground, covered with a blanket, reading. He recognized the book and frowned in distaste. Hermione looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "We're in the forest of Dean. I used to come here with mum and dad. Everything is just how I remember it – the trees and the river. It's like nothing has changed."

He took a seat across from her and she continued in a melancholy tone, "But if I brought my parents back today they wouldn't recognize any of it, not the trees, not the river…not even me. Maybe we should just stay here Harry. Grow old together."

His heart seemed to skip a beat at that. They had never put to words what they were now. Is that Hermione wanted? She seemed to see the questions on his face and flipped open her book. She handed it to him and Harry saw the same young thief that had been in photographs at Bathilda Bagshot's home. "You wanted to know who the boy in the photograph was? I know; Gellert Grindlewald."

Harry was surprised at that, "The dark wizard?"

"Yes, Dumbledore defeated him…it seems there were friends at one point."

That was a disturbing thought. Harry frowned down at the book and glanced back up at Hermione, "You've probably been out here too long. Go inside, get warm...I just need my wand."

Hermione's face fell and dread settled into his stomach, "Where is my wand Hermione?"

She slowly handed it two him and numbness began to spread through him when he saw it was cloven in two. Hermione looked at him miserably, "I'm so sorry. That last curse I fired at Nagini...it rebounded and it must have hit your wand. I—I tried to repair it but wands are different."

Silence loomed between them and Harry saw her eyes fill with tears. He took a deep breath before saying slowly, "I'll just use yours then. Go inside and get warm." She paused, but turned and went inside. He knew he wasn't angry with her. She had saved his life. He was angry that Dumbledore hadn't trusted him enough to tell him everything. Angry that he had ripped Hermione's family to shreds, angry that Ron couldn't see past his own needs to stay with them. Ron was right; they were no closer to their goal, they had no idea what to do next. He was leading Hermione on a pointless journey with only one possible ending. He wanted her to see her family again, to have a chance at a normal life. He took another look at the book and opened it to the first page.

Later, when it was dark, he still wasn't ready to face Hermione yet. The book had left him deflated and hopeless. There was so much he hadn't known, so much he couldn't reconcile to the man he knew. He turned Hermione's wand over in his hands, fingers lingering on the unique vinewood. It was then that he saw the patronus. He squinted, blinked a few times to be sure. It was a doe. He stood, remembering that patronuses could carry messages, and the doe began to walk away. Harry glanced over his shoulder, Hermione would be safe in the tent and he couldn't afford a delay in case the patronus's caster got away. The doe lead him away from the campsite and further into the forest until it stopped at a pond before disappearing into the center.

Harry followed, carefully navigating the ice, and brushed away the snow. He cast lumos and peered into the pond. He realized, with a jolt, that the sword of Gryffindor was on the bottom. He stood and looked again but the patronus was gone and there was no witch or wizard in sight. Harry knew accio wouldn't work on a horcrux and so created a hole in the ice. He would need warm clothes to get into when he got out and began to strip his off until he was in his underwear. Harry sat down on the ice, shivering, and dropped his legs into the water. He gasped but didn't give himself enough time to change his mind, dropping into the icy depths. Pain and shock blossomed across his body and Harry quickly swam down and grasped the sword. Immediately, the chain of the horcrux closed around his neck.

Harry sees nothing in the darkness and is caught unaware when Ron suddenly emerges and brings the sword crashing down onto the locket. It is over. Ron and Harry stare at each other for a moment before Harry begins the long trek back to the campsite, Ron in tow. His stomach is churning. Ron is back, Hermione is…. What? He hates himself for thinking that maybe it is better if Hermione forgives Ron and goes back to him. That perhaps he can ignore the hollow feeling that now spreads through his center when he thinks of Ginny. She is a pale specter in the back of his mind and he wonders if any of it was real.

They reach the camp by morning and Harry calls for Hermione. She comes to hit immediately, worry evident in her voice, and stops dead when she sees Ron. He waves at her, perhaps hoping the two of them could pick up where they left off, but Hermione is livid. She lunges at him, hitting him with whatever she finds around her and she is screaming, and Ron is dumbstruck. He explains how he found them, with the deluminator, and how sorry he is.

"Don't think this changes anything." She snaps before stalking away.

Harry hopes it won't.

Been in my head for a while, ever since I saw DH:1 in theaters, just never got around to getting it all down till now. Considering doing DH:2, we'll see.