Hermione watched as Harry turned to walk out of the tent to take the first watch of the day: his shoulders tightened and tense at first, but then slumping as if in defeat. When the flap closed behind him she put her head in her hands as tears coursed silently down her cheeks. What had she done? She had destroyed Harry's wand, had torn the best part of his magical power away from him. The wand is only as good as the wizard, she reminded herself, but then she remembered stepping into Olivander's dusty shop what seemed like a lifetime ago, and clutching for the first time the eleven inch piece of vine wood with a dragon heartstring core and believing, knowing,for the first time that magic flowed through her veins…that she truly was a witch.

She could only imagine that it must have been the same way for Harry, while they both came from muggle backgrounds he too must have been disbelieving when he first learned he was a wizard, capable of immense power and magic. No, there was no way she could convince either Harry or herself that this was a trivial loss, losing his wand would be like losing a limb, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Hermione dashed the tears away from her face and stood up, unable to stay still and feeling that she had to do something for Harry. Tea, her mind said as she crossed to the kitchenette and started mechanically filling the kettle with water and steeping the mugs. As she finished filling the mugs she spotted the book she had haphazardly thrown on one of the chairs: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. The book seemed to call to her: had the headmaster truly had secrets that he had never revealed? She berated herself internally as soon as the thought hit her. Rita Skeeter was a conniving snake that was never out for anyone's gain but her own. There was even a note on the front cover stating, "Dear Batty, Thanks for the help. Here's a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it, Rita." But traces of curiosity still lingered and Hermione found herself putting down the mugs of tea and picking up the book.

She flipped to a page at random and gasped when she found the very picture of the boy that Harry had been questioning at Bathilda's home. She shut the book quickly and placed it under her arm as she picked up the mugs of tea. As she reached the opening of the tent her old despair came upon her once again and she slowed down, wondering how she could even face Harry after what had happened. You'll have to face him sooner or later, she reasoned to herself. With a deep breath she pushed open the flap taking in Harry's hunched form against the cold.

She tentatively said his name, her hands beginning to shake with nervousness. Harry's eyes were devoid of the anger that she had been dreading to see, but nonetheless there was hopelessness to his aspect that hadn't bee there before.

"Thanks," he said simply, taking one of the cups and avoiding eye contact as he blew on the liquid. Hermione debated whether she should just leave him alone, but she decided that they had to talk about what had happened.

"Do you mind if I talk to you?" she began.

"No," he stated tonelessly.

Before she could say anything, apologize for what had happened, she remembered the book under her arm. "Harry, you wanted to know who that man in the picture was. Well…I've got the book," she said, quietly placing it on his lap.

He looked taken aback, "Where—How—?"

"It was in Bathilda's sitting room, just lying there…This note was sticking out of the top of it," Hermione started eagerly, cheered by the prospect of anything that would get Harry's mind off of his wand. She read the note aloud.

"I think it must have arrived when the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn't in any fit state to read it?"

"No, she probably wasn't," Harry said bitterly. As he looked down at the page an expression of barely restrained rage crossed his features and Hermione instantly felt a lump form in her throat.

"You're still really angry at me, aren't you?" She asked, unable to prevent the tears that pricked at her eyes. Harry's expression softened and he shifted his body towards her.

"No," he said quietly. "No, Hermione, I know it was an accident. You were trying to get us out of there, and you were incredible. I'd be dead if you hadn't been there to help me."

Hermione felt her mouth turn upwards in a smile and he responded in kind with a sad one of his own. She watched as he opened the book, shuffling through the pages until he had found the picture he wanted. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Hermione scooted over to read over his shoulder, wondering what had caused it. She heard Harry's gasp as she read the caption herself: "Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother's death with his friend Gellert Grindelwald."

Hermione felt Harry's eyes on her as she continued to contemplate the name, not believing what was in front of her. Slowly, she returned his questioning glance, "Grindelwald?"

Harry turned quickly back to the book, flipping the pages until he was at the beginning of a chapter entitled "The Greater Good." He shifted the book so he and Hermione could read it together. As she read on Hermione grew increasingly agitated, hurt, and baffled. How could Hogwarts' most beloved headmaster considered the study of the dark arts? How could the champion of muggle rights propose their overthrowing to achieve the greater good? What was behind his friendship with Grindelwald? Hermione, being the faster reader finished the last page before Harry and looked up quickly to gauge his reaction.

What she saw alarmed her. His expression was nothing short of venomous, showing equal amounts of loathing and abhorrence. When he looked up Hermione tugged the book out of his hands and closing it quickly, cursing the impulse that had ever moved her to open it.

"Harry…" she began soothingly, but he was already shaking his head. His face reflected the inner certainty she was sure he was facing, that he had lost something vital to his very being.

"Harry," she said more firmly, "Listen to me. It—it doesn't make very nice reading-"

"Yeah you could say that—" he spat out.

"But don't forget, Harry this is Rita Skeeter writing."

"You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn't you?"

"Yes, I—I did." Hermione hesitated, unsure how to proceed, how to wipe the stone cold look off of Harry's face, she said the next looking down into her tea, unwilling to look him in the eye, "I think that's the worst bit. I know Bathilda thought it was all just talk, but 'For the Greater Good' became Grindelwald's slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And…from that…it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. They say 'For the Greater Good' was even carved over the entrance of Nurmengard."

"What's Nurmengard?" Harry asked, momentarily sidetracked.

"The prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him. Anyway, it's—it's an awful thought that Dumbledore's ideas helped Grindelwald rise to power," at the stormy look on Harry's face Hermione rushed to continue, "but on the other hand, even Rita can't pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and—"

Harry cut her off, "I knew you'd say that," his voice beginning to shake, "I thought you'd say 'they were young.' They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there he was, in a huddle with his new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles."

Harry stood up quickly, as though unable to hold in his anger any longer. Hermione knew he was upset but also couldn't contain her own irritation that he was letting his emotions get the best of him.

"I'm not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote," Hermione said slowly, "All that 'right to rule' rubbish, it's 'Magic is Might' all over again. But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house—"

"Alone?" Harry exclaimed, "He wasn't alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up—"

"I don't believe it," Hermione said immediately, standing up, "Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don't think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we know would never, ever have allowed—"

"The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn't want to conquer Muggles by force!" Harry shouted, taking a step closer to her in defiance. His voice echoed across the empty hilltop and Hermione suddenly felt very isolated. She took a step towards him in turn, trying to reach Harry across the gulf he had suddenly thrown between him and the rest of the world, between him and her.

"He changed, Harry, he changed," she pleaded, "it's as simple as that! Maybe he did believe those things when he was seventeen, but the whole rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Dumbledore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle born rights, who fought You-Know-Who from the start, and who died trying to bring him down!" she finished on a shout willing him to believe her, to stop letting himself be torn apart by the mere memory of a man.

But she knew before she had finished her impassioned defense that it wouldn't make a difference. Harry's eyes were blazing, his breath coming in short gasps, and all the stress of the past few days seemed to be crashing down on him with this newest revelation. Rita's book lay on the ground between them, Dumbledore's face smiling ignorantly up at them. Hermione was suddenly seized with hatred, she thought at first it was for Skeeter for spreading comments that were nearly vitriolic in nature, and then she thought it was for Dumbledore and his lies and secrecy, she even felt a surge of anger towards Harry…they'd been through so much and he was giving up now? Saying this had been a quest for nothing?

All these feelings and more ran through Hermione quick as a flash but then her mind pointed out the logical cause of this problem, as it always did. Hermione took one more hesitant step towards Harry and then said as gently as she could, "Harry, I'm sorry, but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself."

Harry's eyes flashed and she knew she'd hit on the true source of his feelings.

"Maybe I am!" he bellowed, flinging his hands over his head and stalking away from her, and then shouting to the very sky, as if hoping the dead man would hear him, "Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!"

He looked back at her, and in that moment her heart broke at the sight of him. They were alone, under a vast white expanse of sky, and Hermione had never felt more useless. What could she say to Harry to make him understand? Make him understand that the world couldn't always be seen in stark contrasts of black and white? That shadows were as important as the light?

"He loved you," she whispered, "I know he loved you."

Apparently it had been the wrong thing to say.

"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me," Harry said tonelessly, "This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me."

Harry sank back to the ground, his earlier energy and zeal leaving him.

"Harry, you have to understand, that…that, sometimes people hide things from us, hide the truth…because they love us," Hermione said haltingly, her voice shaking with emotion.

"People who love each other tell each other the truth Hermione, alright? It's as simple as that," Harry said, refusing to meet her eye. Hermione walked in front of him and crouched down, staring at him until he was forced to look at him.

"I keep things from you, Harry, I don't tell you the truth," Hermione stated plainly.

"Hermione," Harry said rolling his eyes, "you could never keep something as big as this from—"

"I'm in love with you," Hermione blurted, shocking them both into silence. After an age she quickly licked her chapped lips and blinked furiously, "Been in love with you for seven years, but I couldn't tell you Harry…for your own good. I kept that from you, because I dolove you. Now you can act shocked all you want, but the truth is, I think if you thought back for a fraction of a second, you could've realized this a long time ago, I don't know if you would've acted on it but you certainly could've seen it. And if you just calmed down and thought of someone else for a bloody second you'd realize that Dumbledore didn't spring up from the earth incarnate as a wizened old man with seas of gray hair," Hermione said fiercely, "he was a man Harry, not a god. He needed to make mistakes and grow up just like the rest of us, and it's because of all those experiences that he became a great man. But don't go playing the injured party because you're getting scared. Scared that you're failing, scared that we'll die. It doesn't matter what's in Dumbldore's past or yours Harry, we're all fighting for the same thing, and if you don't want to be a part of that fight anymore…then you didn't deserve his love."

Harry just stared at her with a blank look in his eyes, as if unable to take in all she'd said. Hermione stood up slowly and walked past him into the tent, but as she did so, almost without her own volition, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. When she went inside she laid down and closed her eyes, hating herself for admitting a truth so long hidden, for forcing him to face the realities of his situation, and most of all for still feeling the disappointment she'd carried for so long: the realization that he would never really care for her.