A/N: This is an old fic that I'm currently revamping after 2 years of hiatus. If there any timeline discrepancies that I have overlooked, please don't hesitate to call me on it. I've always sworn to finish it, so... here it goes.

It had become painfully obvious to Harry that every emotion or thought that ran through his mind had been dulled to an echo. Being only weeks after leaving Hogwarts, he had spent another lonely sentence at Privet Drive, only sharing birthday wishes by post at midnight. But that afternoon, Moody had arrived at the front door, much to the distress of Vernon and Petunia due to his rapidly swiveling eye, and shuffled him out unceremoniously. He had hopefully left the Dursley's for good. But this was a time when things were never certain, and Harry's experience with hope tended to let him down.

He was grateful although to have stayed at Grimmuald Place for the remainder of his summer. It would have been at the Burrow once he had come of age, but Arthur and Molly's time invested in the Order had become a full time job to the point where they had considered moving into Grimmuald Place. With Harry's consent of course.

Sometimes their too damn considerate, he thought with a familiar feeling of guilt, thinking of their unwavering hospitality during the years since his friendship with Ron. Now though, he had spent weeks within Grimmuald Place entirely alone.

He looked over at the pile of letters from Ron and Hermione, the biggest pile he ever had as a matter of fact. Hermione's was currently outdoing Ron's however; the parchment in her smooth handwriting teetering to the point where it looked like only magic was holding it up.

They'll be here, he kept telling himself. His stomach clenched again, reflecting over the past few weeks. Things had not gone according to plan, but they were coming back. Ron and Hermione always did. He knew that they would always risk their own safety for him; the Chosen One.

"Ugh!"

Disgust had risen up inside over the media name given to him because of the prophecy. He seized a balled up pair of socks that he had intended to pack into his trunk, and chucked it at the blank canvas on the wall.

"Oh very mature, is this how you handle your responsibility?" The snide voice of Phineas came from the canvas.

Harry seethed and turned away to start packing his cauldron into his trunk. As a treat to himself after his birthday, he had produced a sleeping draught to keep away the nightmares.

"Someday, I'm going to paint a house elf over you."

"Touché, Master Potter. I'd be more worried about who's at the front door."

Because of the terrible screams issuing from Mrs. Black's portrait every time the doorbell rang, Lupin had disabled the doorbell, allowing guests to enter the headquarters almost unnoticed from others within the manor. Still, the knock was loud enough.

Hermione.

Almost dropping his copy of A Compendium of Advanced Charms on his foot, Harry dashed out of his room and collided with Tonks in the hall.

"Wotcher, Harry!"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" He repeated distractedly as he sidestepped her blinding pink hair and down to the first landing.

Hermione was already in the foyer, tipping her trunk against the wall while being greeted by Remus Lupin. She had a slight tan to her cheeks and seemed to have lost weight; something that immediately alarmed him. Despite the sunglow, she carried a heavy look about her, the type seen most commonly with members of the Order.

Harry ran down the flight, almost losing his balance on the remaining stair, leaving little time to stop in front of her. He did so, managing inches from her and so quickly that she had an alarmed look on her face for fear of being knocked over. After a moment, a grin split over his features and he grabbed her in a hug.

"Glad you're here."

She smiled back, taking in his appearance as she stepped away. "Me too. How is everything?"

"Okay so far," he said while taking her bag and leading her upstairs to the guest rooms. "Everyone is here now, or on their way- even Fred and George stopped by this morning. I think people believe this place is a safe house from the wizarding world. But if you had come yesterday, you would have seen McGonagall. Turns out the ministry has done something right for once; they're having her become Headmistress of Hogwarts." Harry's mind started to race and found that he couldn't stop talking while Hermione walked around the quarters and arranged her belongings, opened windows, and finally sat down in a chair next to an old marble washbasin.

"And Ron's been driving Molly mad by not sending letters every other day. He's lucky though. Sounds like he's taking an interest in dragons, or at least training them-"

"Harry, is everything alright?" she said quite plainly.

"Wha-?" He paused for a moment, staring at her. Then in a defeated tone, "Oh, it's just…I haven't really seen anyone since…you know, I decided to go back to Hogwarts. Ron's been in Romania with Charlie, and you in Italy… I mean, there really isn't anyone else to talk to here."

"And you do know that I had to be there, right?" she gave him a sad look.

Harry felt the familiar guilt feeling rise quickly in his chest. "Yes. Of course I know you had to go, it's just…" he couldn't finish. Being painfully honest wasn't ever his strong suit.

She fidgeted with the sleeve of her shirt and stared out the window, her voice distant. "Things are so hard now…" She snapped out of her gaze and stood up suddenly, walking over to Harry. "But I'm here now, and you can always count on Ron and I- for whatever it is." She had that familiar, hard calculating look in her eyes that Harry was glad to see.

"I want him dead and gone, Harry."

Only the members of the Order of the Phoenix would have immediately understood whom she was speaking of. As his mortal enemy, Harry knew how she felt, the unspoken menace always in the front of his mind. "Glad to hear it. I was about to ask the Creevy brothers if they were up to the challenge, in case you and Ron never got back."

Hermione let a smile spread over her features and slapped him on the chest playfully. "When does Ron get here, anyway?"

"Later tonight, with Charlie."

"Good, then you can tell us both why were going back to Hogwarts. Can I get something to eat? I'm famished."

Harry smiled, "Sure, I think Mrs. Weasley is in the kitchen anyway. She told me to send you in once you got here." He opened the door and led her out and back down the stairs again.

Rounding the corner and through the kitchen archway, wonderful smells reached their senses as they saw Mrs. Weasley gracefully moving from oven to stove, and back to a pile of leafy greens that she was cutting.

"Hello Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione.

"Hermione dear!" she exclaimed while stowing her wand and rushing over to scoop her up in a motherly hug. "Oh honey, how are you getting along? Arthur and I were so worried when we heard about your aunt in Florence- the Order even considered going down there to see what could be done…."

Harry wrestled with the sinking feeling that he had had all summer as Hermione explained her travels to Mrs. Weasley. Her aunt, as Hermione had recently discovered within the last two years, was a witch of high reputation and was a curator within old wizarding archives of Italy. She was only able to visit her aunt twice since the recent connection, and in the process was developing a genealogy of the Granger family with her. After only a week into summer vacation, Hermione and her family rushed down to Florence upon hearing of dementor attacks at the library. Hermione's aunt, Genevieve was among those found dead.

"What of the Italian Ministry?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"They couldn't do much more than cover up the attacks," said Hermione quietly. "My parents had to organize the estate, she was so young and she didn't have a will or anything…"

"I see… well, sit yourself down and rest. I'm sure you and Harry have a lot of catching up to do, and Ron will be in later on -thank goodness- and I daresay Hagrid is returning from his assignment with Madame Maxime, things are still rough with the giants…" Mrs. Weasley continued talking as she turned back to the food. Harry and Hermione sat down at the long scarred oak table and were soon joined by Lupin.

Hermione spoke over the clatter of plates being magically set on the table, "How are you Professor?"

"Hardly a professor anymore, Hermione. Please call me Remus," he replied with a grin. "Glad to see you're fairing well. Harry here has been going spare over how long you and Ron have been gone."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the food that Molly was laying on the table. Baked potatoes, tossed summer salad, and a side of tomato bisque, including pear compote that sat covered; Harry's hunger could see the tendrils of aroma seeping through the linen. He realized that he was finally starting to relax since Hermione had returned, and that Ron was showing up later that night. With the prospect that both of his best friends were going to be there with him yet again, made his heart warm.

As the evening wore on, Hermione showed Harry some the books that she had inherited from her aunt's estate. It was late, nearly midnight, and Ron and Charlie still hadn't arrived yet.

"Harry, you should have seen the place. It was older than Hogwarts and the books…" Her eyes clouded over with memory. "There were hundreds of thousands of them. Books about the first spells, first potions, even ones on horcruxes."

Harry snapped his head up from the book he was reading to look at her. "Really? I thought you couldn't-" He looked around at the piles of books that Hermione had brought back with her from the archive in Italy. Indeed some of them were quite amazing, defining the first documentation of spells and wizards, some even containing killing curses that Harry had never heard of.

"While I was there, I picked up on the family tree that I was working on with my aunt- a kind of project just reserved for the times I was there…I was trying to get my mind off things by doing research, when I noticed that my aunt had made notes on my progress. One that stood out was a comment about my mother's side, suggesting that I 'recheck' this theory I had about my ancestors immigrating from France. It was strange because she helped me with all of this research and she didn't second guess herself."

Harry was starting to lean forward with interest, "Did you find something?"

"Yes," she said, still amazed on her luck. "As I said before, the library is enormous, comparable to the size of Hogwarts even though many levels are below ground to keep out sunlight. I checked the reference again, but this time another book had replaced the one before entirely. Something I believe that she wanted only me to find."

Hermione pulled out a book wrapped in linen and handed it to him. "When I opened it…hissed at me."

Harry peeled off the linen and felt the hard leather cover, and to his surprise a long snake ran down the spine. He looked up at Hermione, practically speechless.

"Ironically enough, the Horcrux spell was developed by a Parselmouth. I couldn't read a lot of it because some of the writing is Parseltounge. Which is amazing because there are no written documents that have the actual language of Parseltounge. I'm thinking that the book tells of a way to destroy Horcruxes, as well as to make them...even the history would be helpful…" She caught his gaze; "Maybe even a way to determine weakness, if that becomes the case."

"Hermione…this is the best thing I could've hoped for. But how did your aunt know about this?"

She was quiet for a few moments, looking at the book he held in his hands. "I think she knew, Harry. I think that she pieced it together how Voldemort was alive all these years. She also knew that you were a friend of mine. With Dumbledore…well, I think she knew you needed help."

"And we wonder where your brains came from."

Hermione smiled a little and could tell that he was still trying to distract her from Ron's late arrival. "It's yours to keep," she said, suddenly sighing with hopelessness. "Oh, where is Ron?"

Harry rewrapped the book and stowed it in his trunk. He helped Hermione off the floor and looked at the clock, "Lets go downstairs and see if there's any news."

As they opened the door, a babble of talk reached their ears from the kitchen below. The two exchanged glances as they hurried downstairs and across the floorboards.

"No mum, really, they know what their doing there-"

"He's right Molly, there isn't anything to get worked up about."

"Nothing to get worked up about?! Would you look at him? And you! Charles Arturus Weasley! I thought you would have known better!"

Harry and Hermione rounded the corner to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looking over Ron and Charlie. It was apparent that the two had taken no more than two steps outside of the floo before Mrs. Weasley's shock sunk in.

Ron had gained another inch or two, but his difference was in his size. His clothes were ripped in many places, not bothering to buy new ones, and he only carried a single duffel that was still slung over his shoulder. His hair was short, but upon close inspection one could see that the ends had singed.

"These are work clothes! It doesn't mean that I scrapped with a dragon every day!" A flush was beginning to climb up Ron's face and he tried to look over at Charlie for backup. As he did, he caught sight of the two in the entrance.

"Harry! Hermione!"

Mrs. Weasley was about to interject, but Arthur put a hand on her shoulder and started to converse with Charlie. Ron ran over and scooped up Hermione first, swinging her around off the ground.

"Ron- please!" Hermione managed through laughs as he put her down.

Ron then turned to Harry and clapped him on the back. "Good to see ya, mate!" He said as well as shaking Harry's hand.

Harry's grin widened, "Practicing being fashionably late?"

"Oi, don't start. I take it you didn't hear half of this mess," Ron said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Mrs. Weasley was still looking shrewdly over at Ron as if not willing to forgive him just yet.

"Ah, she just was worried," Harry motioned to the library as Ron threw an arm around them both. "Come on, we wanna hear all about the summer."

The trio climbed up the stairs together, Harry feeling that Grimmuald Place was suddenly becoming a lot like the home he always wanted to inherit.