A Broader Perspective

By Bambu

Author's Note: After the release of HBP, my mind reeled with numerous thoughts about where JKR would take her final book. As the past six books were Hogwarts based, I assumed the seventh would follow in this vein.

I pursued a number of alternate book seven scenarios, completing several, but at one point in 2007, I began to play with a road-trip scenario in which Harry and Hermione use their Muggle upbringing as a way to escape and hide while they hunted for the Horcruxes.

Once book seven was released and the reality of the camping trip from hell sprawled across 200-300 pages, I abandoned this concept. Still, there are enough bits and pieces I like to revisit from time-to-time to remind myself what could have been.

Disclaimer: The underlying source material belongs in its entirety to JK Rowling (save where she has sold her rights to various entities). Other than my readers' enjoyment, I make no monetary profit from exercising my imagination and honing my skills as a writer.

~o0o~

The Weasleys' home had never been as resplendent as the night Fleur Delacour claimed the family's eldest son for her husband. Skeptics among those gathered to witness the nuptials had their concerns obliterated by the bride's incandescent joy.

The festivities were long and merry, the food and drink savory and generous, and Hermione Granger, guest and family friend, waited at the reception just long enough to determine that Ron Weasley was not going to ask her to dance before she made her escape. She had seen the gobsmacked look on his face when Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's teenaged sister, had arrived at the Burrow. Once before, Hermione had watched him flaunt a relationship in her face, and she wasn't about to endure it again.

Chatting with other guests, Hermione maneuvered through the colorful crowd, making sure to speak with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood before quietly slipping through the enormous marquee's entrance.

"Leaving?"

She should have known. "I'm tired, Harry," she replied. "Tomorrow's a full day."

"We leave in two days, Hermione. Surely you could stay for a dance with me?"

Hermione finally looked into his eyes. They'd darkened over the summer into a deep viridian, and she knew it was a combination of grief and resolve which had changed him. It had changed them all, but the difference in Harry was the most profound.

"Please, just let me go," she requested. Involuntarily her gaze slipped past him, to where an ungainly redhead in forest green dress robes – which matched her own dress - danced with a petite silver-blonde girl in pearlescent lavender.

Harry turned his head, and when he saw what had gained her attention, the muscles worked under the smooth skin of his jaw. Illustrating that he was indeed Lily Potter's son as well as his father's, he said not a word, but wrapped Hermione's small hand in his Quidditch-roughened palm before leading her from the tent.

Together, the two friends crossed the uneven ground of the Weasley's back garden, rounding the corner of the house until they reached the front stoop. For a wonder they saw none of the other wedding guests.

Sitting on twin stone benches the two friends stared at the moon while it played peek-a-boo through the clouds.

"He doesn't mean it, you know. He cares about you."

She sighed. "I know he does. It's just …" Her heart was a little too raw for this conversation as unbidden tears blurred her vision. "… just … if he can treat me like this when we haven't even –"

Harry crossed to kneel in front of her – careless of his own dress robes - his face filled with sincerity. "But it'll be different when you're together."

She smoothed his perpetually unruly hair off his troubled brow, the livid scar merely a shadow in the uneven light. "I used to think that. And after the … after Dumbledore's funeral … we were so close then. I thought -"

There had been so much promise, but it had faded during the days of summer, amidst preparations for the wedding. As if ashamed of having shown his vulnerability, Ron had avoided being alone with Hermione until she took the very broad hint. It had hurt, but it had only been a dull ache in the face of her shattered dreams of a seventh year at Hogwarts, or her childish hopes of being Head Girl, or her last, innocent belief that Professor Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world who could always make things right.

Instead of wallowing, Hermione had thrown all her energies into helping Harry pin down likely candidates for the Horcruxes – engaging Minerva McGonagall as a Secret-Kept confidante and source of information. Harry had reluctantly agreed, but had been very pleased with the results.

Once Hermione had stopped paying attention to Ron in 'that' way, he had relaxed and they'd mostly returned to their former relationship. She had hardened her heart; her folly tonight was the last flicker of hope, but that flame, too, had been snuffed.

"He doesn't know how to show you what he feels."

"He shows it very well, Harry, and you know it. Besides, it's better this way. Fewer distractions." She plucked at the hunter green lace on her sleeve.

He laid one hand atop the restless movement of her fingers, stilling their fretting. "I don't believe that."

She slanted her eyes at him. "You know you do."

"Hermione." There was a warning tone in his voice.

"I'm not going to say more, but we can't afford anything to distract us from our purpose. In a way I should thank Ron."

"What do you mean?"

"After tonight, I won't ever be in danger from him again."

Harry shot to his feet. "What? What the bloody hell does that mean?

"Calm down." She, too, rose to her feet, surprised to realize that he had grown and was now quite a bit taller than she.

"Don't you trust him?" He demanded.

"With my life, Harry. Just not with my heart." And then it was too much, and then she began to cry like a seventeen-year-old witch whose heart had been broken for the second time.

Harry, as awkward as any young man around a crying woman, patted her shoulder. That made her laugh, and then he muttered, "Bollocks to this," and pulled her into a rough but sympathetic hug.

Wrapping her arms around him, she held him as tightly as he held her, and cried until she had no tears left. Then she tucked her disappointed hopes into the far recesses of her heart … never to take them out again.

Raising her head, she brushing ineffectually at the mess she'd made of his robes. "Thank you. I'm sorry about …."

"No matter." He drew his new wand from the sheath along his forearm to cast a non-verbal Cleansing Charm. Then he pointed the slender ebony wood at Hermione's face and she felt the telltale prickle of magic on her skin. He had removed the evidence of her tears.

Just then the twins called out that the fireworks were about to go off, and they returned to the festivities before their absence was noted.

.

.

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Hermione, Harry, and Ron did indeed depart the Burrow two days later, leaving two broomsticks behind in the Weasleys' shed. The fact that brooms couldn't be shrunk to hide made them liabilities.

For the following nine months – enough time for Fleur to bear the first Weasley grandchild, a little girl named Violet, with her mum's delicate features and her dad's bounty of reddish gold locks – Harry, Ron, and Hermione essentially disappeared from wizarding sight.

Their first night after leaving the Burrow, Hermione, following a suggestion McGonagall had made at the wedding, insisted they stay in a Bed and Breakfast Inn, wanting to acclimate Ron to straddling both Muggle and magical worlds while they traveled. They chose Looe, close enough to Ottery St. Catchpole for Ron to recognize it, while still being far enough from his home to be unfamiliar. The ocean air was brisk and the summer sun warm, and it was a thoroughly auspicious start to their quest.

They had two rooms, none of the three quite sophisticated enough to ask for a very large room, but they congregated in Harry and Ron's room to go over their plan and the most recent information McGonagall had given them. Ron cast a Silencing Spell while Harry jabbed and flicked his wand, casting Muffliato.

Hermione admired their facility with their wands and sealed the doors and windows of the large room. She glanced out the window at the flickering lights of the harbor elongating and fracturing in the waves of the bay. Behind her, Harry and Ron settled onto one of the beds, the springs creaking under their weight.

"I think McGonagall's got a spy in the Death Eaters," Ron mused aloud.

Hermione turned her head quickly. It was a thought she'd had for the past few weeks, but she was surprised that Ron had picked up on it.

Harry glowered. "It had better not be Malfoy. Or Snape."

"I have no idea who it is," Hermione commented, "but I trust Professor McGonagall. For all we know her information comes from Remus Lupin when he's undercover with that horrid Greyback."

Ron set his chin. "That one's mine."

Hermione looked back and forth between the two young men, incongruously masculine against the backdrop of the dainty wallpaper and duvets in the quaint room. "I don't want to start a row …"

"Then don't," Ron cut her off, his entire manner suddenly pugnacious.

"But," she began.

"Really, Hermione. Just don't lecture us in that bossy tone." Harry pushed his glasses higher on his nose, light glinting off the much-repaired lenses, inadvertently obscuring his eyes.

"Fine," she huffed and crossed her arms. "I only wanted to point out that we're probably going to run into more than one Death Eater, but we shouldn't fight them."

"Hermione!" Harry snapped as Ron launched to his feet.

"You're barking!" the redhead shouted.

It took a few moments for the two young men to run out of invective, but Hermione tilted her chin, waiting for them to be quiet. Finally she said, "We have to sort our priorities? Fighting a Death Eater or two," even if it's Snape and Malfoy, she added mentally, "or destroying the Horcruxes and V-Voldemort? Which serves our long-term goals? Which gives us a better chance for success?"

To give them full credit, neither young wizard spoke for a long time. Hermione again waited them out, perching atop the small stool in front of the room's vanity. The non-magical mirror reflected a scene of three young people in quiet contemplation, but the charmingly decorated room was electric with tension.

Ron's knuckles whitened. "All right."

Harry nodded. "It's annoying how often you're right."

She laughed, relieved they'd understood. "Let's just hope I improve my average."

"If it was any higher, 'Mione, you'd be really scary." As he leaned back, Ron's head clunked against the wall, and his eyes closed.

All the tension drained from the room, and Harry chuckled. "Brilliant but scary."

"What?" she asked.

"It's what Ron said."

"When exactly did Ron say this?"

"In," Harry was clearly amused by her reaction, "when was that anyway, Ron? First year? Second?"

"I'm sure it was first." The redhead opened one eye. "We knew she was half-mad even then."

Hermione rose from the tufted pink stool and crossed the room, canceling her locking spells as she went. "I'm so glad to know your opinion of me is so high."

"There's no one else quite like you, Hermione."

Mollified by Harry's comment she paused at the door, fingers encircling the doorknob. "Did you really think I was mad?"

Ron's raised his head, red hair gleaming in the light, blue eyes shining. "Brilliant, 'Mione. We've always known you were brilliant."

Her ears turned pink. "Thanks." She opened the door. "And stop calling me 'Mione!"

The next day they took the train to Godric's Hollow as Harry had originally planned. They used the Polyjuice Potion Hermione had brewed while staying at the Burrow, and the three looked like university students on late holiday. Ron was disguised as a mahogany-haired young man, Harry as a blond and Hermione as a raven-haired young woman with very red lips. Harry called her Snow White.

When they arrived, the three friends passed through the Muggle village, buying fish and chips before hiking to the outskirts to find Harry's first home. After considerable time and not a few scratches, they found the house, still under the Fidelius Charm Albus Dumbledore had placed the site when Harry was barely old enough to walk. It was in a sad state of disrepair, much of the upper storey had collapsed and many of the windows had been shattered, but the sign on the mail slot still read Potter in peeling gold lettering.

While his closest friends hung back to give him a little privacy, Harry has mounted the three steps leading to the front door. His fingers shook as he touched his family's name. Then, his shoulders straightened and Harry Potter entered his home.

As one, Hermione and Ron followed behind as Harry passed from room-to-room in the badly damaged house. Somehow the details – such as splintered wood and faded cloth – would never be as sharp in Hermione's memory as the grim expression on Harry's face, nor the tears swimming in his jade green eyes.

When they'd completed the first circuit of the house, Harry left to pay his respects to his parents. Without having to be reminded, he covered himself with his father's Invisibility Cloak. As the golden disk of the sun dipped toward the west, Harry and Ron searched the abandoned house, and Hermione planted a small evergreen between Lily and James Potter's graves, sheltering them from the elements. Using her hands instead of her wand, she knelt in the thick grassy groundcover, her jeans growing stained from the residual damp from the rain the day before.

"Thanks." Harry came up behind her, gripping her shoulder. "I don't think anyone's taken care of them since they were put here. Maybe Remus, but I don't think so."

"I wanted to show my respects. After all, they gave me my best friend, didn't they?"

"Hey!" Ron protested, coming within hearing range. "What am I, then?"

"That's easy. You're my other best friend."

Harry laughed. It sounded a bit rusty, but it was a real laugh, and Hermione was thrilled to hear it.

"Is that what you say?" Harry then affected a falsetto. "Hullo, I'm Hermione Granger, and this is my best friend, Harry Potter, and over there is my other best friend, Ron Weasley."

Ron shoved Harry. Harry shoved back, and then he tickled Hermione. Then they all pushed, shoved, and tickled, laughing and giggling like the second years they'd never had the chance to be.

A few minutes later, Hermione caught her breath and said, "That's not quite it," she said. "Really!"

"Birds!" Ron muttered, giving her a sidelong glance.

She ignored him, just as she'd carefully ignored any and all suggestive comments he'd made since the wedding.

Once they'd left the Burrow, Ron seemed to remember that he liked Hermione. But she wasn't to be swayed, and reminded herself that he only paid attention to her when there was no other … blonder … company to be had. She hoped that one day soon that fact wouldn't hurt.

While they remained at Godric's Hollow, they took advantage of the house, sleeping inside the once-pretty dining room – the only room now whose windows were unbroken and whose doors would close properly. Hermione patched some of the faded wallpaper and Ron repaired the table and chairs. Harry cleared the debris and cast Freshening Charms to dispel the damp. The first night they barricaded themselves inside with every telltale security spell they knew.

The next morning, Hedwig flew toward London; thereafter, Bill Weasley became a frequent correspondent. All three would introduce additional spells to their repertoire as they traveled and learned; Hermione's would be gleaned from McGonagall and her extremely well-informed spy, and from any book the young witch could lay her hands on. Ron was the recipient of Bill's expertise, and Harry, at long last, became a regular pen-pal to his father's last remaining friend.

The friends only stayed in Godric's Hollow for a week searching the house and grounds. It had given them a starting place, but yielded nothing more than a couple of mementos for Harry – a hair clip which had belonged to his mum and a single cufflink which had the initial P engraved in its gold surface.

Hermione insisted each artifact be checked for signs of Dark magic or a piece of Voldemort's soul, but they were nothing more than small pieces missed by the scavenging hordes who had scoured the grounds before Dumbledore had intervened.

After leaving Godric's Hollow, their quest took them to several disparate regions of Britain. They traveled mostly by Muggle means as there were concerns about their Apparition trails being tracked by their enemies. To them, that meant the Ministry as well as the Death Eaters. They shared a small magical tent which they pitched wherever they could find the best protection. Occasionally they slept in an inn, but they ate when they could, and traveled in disguise most of the time. They grew used to the horrid taste of Polyjuice and cycled through hairs of people they knew, although Hermione never again used one of Ginny's hairs after she saw the naked anguish on Harry's face when she'd transformed that one time.

With Minerva McGonagall Hermione kept up a steady correspondence. Each letter the newly instated headmistress sent contained snippets of vital information, and over time, the letters grew more personal as the two witches, burdened by their responsibilities, overcame the age difference and recognized the kindred spirit in one another.

My dear Hermione,

I have it on good authority that a search of the orphanage where that boy was discovered might prove useful.

McGonagall's insider – whom Hermione was increasingly convinced had to be Severus Snape - lead them to Rowena Ravenclaw's family heirloom. The raven's claw pendant was found hidden under the floorboards of the abandoned orphanage where Tom Riddle was born. All agreed the location was a predictable choice, they rationalized it had been one of the first Voldemort had made. The less remembered about getting it out of the orphanage the better. All three would have nightmares for the remainder of their lives about what they'd encountered in the shell of a burnt-out building.

Two days after acquiring the Ravenclaw Horcrux, Hermione had a moment of 'why didn't we think of this sooner.' She mentioned her idea to Harry, who, in turn, asked Remus to check Kreacher's midden at Grimmauld Place. Kreacher, the miserable house-elf, had secreted Slytherin's locket in a broken, Black Family china teacup.

Harry was adamant that he be present when each item was relieved of Voldemort's taint, and he allowed McGonagall to solicit Mad-Eye Moody to assist Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley. Moody might be ridiculously paranoid, but the old Auror had survived all manner of Dark attacks. His advice was greatly valued.

Deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts, a very small group assembled to dismantle the Horcruxes. Remus, being a Dark creature, was able to handle most of the objets de Voldemort without fear. In addition to Harry, Hermione, and Ron, Minerva McGonagall arrived with Moody and Lupin, and then Arthur Weasley and Bill Weasley arrived together. Bill's curse-breaking experience saved everyone's lives when he recognized a secondary lethal layer of spells on the raven's claw pendant. They were a complicated and vicious Tibetan Bloodline Curse, deadly to anyone of the same bloodline as the victim.

The only injury during the dismantling ended up being to Moody's prosthetic eye and two pillars in the underground room of the castle. McGonagall shored up the castle, something she would attend to several times until the damaged supports were repaired. Several weeks after the loss of Moody's eye, he received a new prosthetic which he decided was a vast improvement over the old one. It had an additional advantage of looking more human than the original.

When the two Horcruxes had been neutralized, the Weasleys and Harry and Ron and Lupin returned to the Burrow for two nights' worth of rest, meals, and hot water.

The first morning Hermione descended the narrow stairs into the kitchen, her hair was still wet. It had taken three applications of shampoo to get her hair completely clean, and her fingers were wrinkled from the extended stay under the hot water. It had been heaven to get clean.

She found Harry at the kitchen table sharing a cuppa with Mrs. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley read aloud her most recent letter from Ginny, who had returned to Hogwarts. The naked longing on Harry's face inspired Mrs. Weasley to pat Harry's hand every now and then.

When she'd finished reading, Harry cleared his throat. "Will you … er … will you tell her we're thinking of her, Mrs. Weasley?"

Not one to catch subtleties, Mrs. Weasley couldn't fail to recognize Harry's need. "Of course I will, Harry. I'd be happy to. I know she thinks of you often."

Then seeing Hermione in the doorway, she rose to put breakfast together. The three left two days later laden with all manner of good things to eat.

.

.

.

Hedwig and Pigwidgeon were kept fit, flying missives all over the British Isles as the three friends sought the final Horcruxes. In November, the weather grew colder and wetter, and Hermione withdrew enough funds from her Gringotts' account to buy a third owl which she named George and not, as Ron had suspected with a glower, after one of the twins. George, a barn owl, had unremarkable markings, except it looked as if he wore a beard, and was less likely to draw attention to himself than Hedwig.

They practiced dueling every day, and began to learn some rough forms of hand-to-hand fighting skills.

The first time Harry broached the topic, they'd been camping along the River Wharfe in Yorkshire. They were working their way toward Little Hangleton and had found the solitude along the river's banks conducive to camping and practice. The three were leaner, faster, and more accurate than ever before.

INSERT RIVER WHARFE NORTH YORKSHIRE IMAGE HERE

He tried to demonstrate his point using Ron as his opponent. Regrettably, Ron's height allowed him to easily evade Harry.

"Bollocks!" Ron danced out of the way, laughing. "I can cast faster than this!"

A short spate of red and green hexfire dotted the sky as they dueled in mock earnest. Identical grins lit the wizards' faces with testosterone-charged glee.

Harry blocked a Rictusempra and fired off a Jelly-legs Jinx. "What happens," he called, "if we're disarmed?"

Ron dodged the streak of yellow and sent back a red flare of a Conjunctivitis Hex. "I won't be!" he crowed, dancing out of Harry's reach, but not beyond Harry's quick reflexes.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Harry was uncommonly quick, and he was faster when he was at a disadvantage. Blindly executing a contorting twist of his torso, Harry swirled his wand and nonverbally knocked Ron onto his back.

"Finite Incantatem!" Hermione restored Harry's sight before he loped over to Ron.

For a moment the river's fast-flowing gurgle was louder than the sound of the young men catching their breaths. Hermione kicked a twig with her foot.

His breath ragged, Harry placed one foot (clad in grotty trainers) atop Ron's wand hand. "See," he panted. "You're completely vulnerable. We're not giving up any advantage we can find."

Ron freed his hand, then scrambled to his feet, dusting off twigs and greenery from his jeans. "Yeah, I still remember the look on Malfoy's face when 'Mione slapped him silly. Left a mark, that did."

For a moment, his face held that same transported look that he'd worn the day the imposter, Mad-Eye Moody, had turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret.

"The point, Ron," Harry said quietly, "is that Malfoy didn't do anything to retaliate. He was completely unprepared for a physical attack."

Two weeks before Christmas found Hermione, Ron, and Harry in Harrogate. While there Hermione used most of her remaining galleons to hire a karate instructor for a week's worth of private lessons in how to fall, how to hit, and how to break someone's hold. She was incredibly glad they remained in town for the week, and made use of the hot water every day, sometimes morning and night. By the end of the week she, Harry, and Ron were sore, limping, and bruised, but they could drop an opponent and break his fingers to free themselves from a tight grip.

Hermione lay atop her bed that last night at the Swan, her head propped upon lavender-scented pillows, reading her most recent letter from McGonagall.

My dear girl,

I know you are in hiding, but let me be the first to wish you a Happy Christmas, and all the joys which might attend to such felicitations.

Our absent friend as they had begun to refer to their informant tells me that your efforts have gone unnoticed thus far, but to remind young Mr. Weasley not to go about as himself. I might use his turn of phrase but I believe it would be too revealing, and yes you have met. Nonetheless, Mr. Weasley was spotted him in Matlock a fortnight last. He is lucky to have so many siblings, but you cannot be too careful in this endeavor. I fear all our lives hang in the balance.

Hermione hobbled across the room to knock on the connecting door between her room and the boys'. She heard grunts and groans from the other side, before Ron opened it. He shuffled back to his unmade bed and flopped across it, face down and groaning.

Harry lay on the other bed with his forearm across his eyes. "Whose ruddy idea was this anyway?"

"Yours!" Hermione and Ron replied in unison. All three laughed and Hermione eased herself onto the bed next to Harry.

"Right," he murmured. "Great idea, horrid consequences."

Ron, who had at last been convinced of the necessity of the physical training, remarked quietly, "We'll all be glad of it when it saves our lives."

The invisible erumpent in the room trumpeted a warning as the weight of the task these young people had taken on descended like one of its hooves. In the heavy atmosphere, Hermione hadn't the heart to mention her letter, and before she was aware of it, they were all asleep.

The next morning, Hermione read the public contents of her letter to Harry and Ron while waiting for breakfast to be delivered. For a time they tossed about ideas for the final Horcruxes.

When the bellhop rolled the aromatic trolley into the room they tabled the serious topic for a few minutes, bandying abut complaints and teasing one another about their aches and pains.

As their mixed grill was devoured bite-by-bite, snippets of other topics slipped into their conversation. Their days were consumed with research, dueling, martial arts, and survival, and there was always something to discuss. In general, however, they rarely spoke of their enemies individually. Of Snape, they had never heard a word, publicly, but Harry looked for him, worrying that the traitor would be on the same path as they … only in direct opposition.

"I know we've avoided talking about this, but I think we have to broach the subject." Hermione cut her tomato, layering it between two bits of bacon before taking her bits. She eyed her companions, both digging into their meal like Norbert noshing on chicken legs soaked in Old Ogden's. "You already know who I suspect is McGonagall's mole."

"What mole?" Ron asked.

"Oh, sorry. I should have said spy. It's a Muggle saying."

"I can't believe she won't tell you who it is," Harry said around a bite of toast dripping with lemon curd.

"You know why. She doesn't want to compromise any of us." Hermione lipped the bite from her tongue, letting the flavors burst in her mouth. They didn't have hot meals often enough for her to take a simple meal for granted.

Ron snorted. "She doesn't want to tick off ol' Chosen One, here."

"Ron!"

Harry pushed away from the table, and began pacing. "Snape was a brilliant git, I'll give you that."

"While we're talking about Professor … er … Snape, I've never understood why he didn't kill you that night, Harry?"

"I'm Voldemort's," was the immediate reply.

"But that doesn't make sense. If you were V-Voldemort's to deal with, then why didn't he just Stun you and take you with him … it would have made a proper triumph for the Death Eaters. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore on the same night." Her fingers flew to her mouth as if she'd only just realized what she'd said. "Oh!"

"You do have a point." Ron snagged the last scone, carefully spreading clotted cream on one half. His attention ostensibly absorbed by this demanding task. He didn't look at Harry.

Harry had spun on his heels to glare at his staunchest friends. "That bastard! How could either of you …"

"That's enough, Harry!" Hermione interrupted. "You know what? We're your friends … your best friends. Well," she tried a little humor, "your best friend and your other best friend. We're not going to lie to you Harry. Ever. If you want a crowd of sycophants around you then just go … go … knock on Rufus Scrimgeour's door!"

"That's not what I want!"

"I know that. But you have to stop letting emotions cloud your judgment. That's what we've been practicing for all these weeks to do. To train ourselves to think and react in concert." She gave him a speculative look. "Are you practicing your Occlumency?"

"There's no need to cringe. I'm not going to bite your arm off!"

Hermione just tapped her foot. "You mean unlike last time I asked?"

"Well," he flushed. "I was still a bit …"

"Leave him alone, 'Mione," Ron interjected. "Remus has been teaching him stuff."

"Harry?"

"Yes! All right?" Harry was obviously exasperated, and he ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm practicing. Every night." He held up a dirty hand – it had been three days since their last bath and Hermione was looking forward to the inn at Brighton that very evening – to forestall her next comment. "Just like Remus told me."

"Just like Professor Snape tried to teach you as well."

"Hermione!" This time it was Ron who called her to order.

"It's true, and you both know it. He might have been a nightmare for a teacher, but he knew what he was talking about. Don't give me that look, Harry, you invaded his privacy."

"He's a git!"

"He saved your life! Again and again. And mine, and Ron's." Hermione slumped back into the chair she'd pulled up to the table. "I just don't understand it. After first year, I thought he was on our side. I felt so guilty for thinking he was after the Stone. You know."

"Biding his time," Harry said angrily.

"I don't think so. No one knew Voldemort could come back at that point." He was protecting us because it was the right thing to do."

"What about Sirius?"

Even Ron had to protest. "Harry, that wasn't Snape's fault. Besides, I think Mione's got a point." He ignored her side comment to use her 'proper' name. "Part of what we've been doing is studying tactics and strategies. What if killing Dumbledore was planned?"

Harry spun, his wand suddenly in his hand. This topic was guaranteed to upset him, and no matter how hard Hermione and Ron tried to desensitize him, they'd been unsuccessful.

Hermione stepped between the two men. "You promised, Harry. You promised to listen with an open mind. I know it's hard. I can't imagine watching that … what you saw … but, for once, Ron has an extremely good point."

"Thanks, Hermione," Ron said dryly.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just I think you may be right. It would make sense after everything else."

"You just don't want to give up your admiration of the greasy git!" Harry practically spat the words. "Evil's a strong word!" he sneered.

"Harry! Think! This is a man who was a spy for decades, who walked a very narrow path. Professor Dumbledore, whom we all admired, trusted him. He told you that over and over again."

"Dumbledore made mistakes!"

"He did," Ron agreed. "But I don't think he made one this time. I don't think he would have taken a chance with Snape … or you. I think … I think maybe Snape was trying to help you that night … out by Hagrid's."

"Help me? By cursing me? By knocking me flat on my back so that other Death Eater could Crucio me?" Harry punched the wall, and then hissed as the skin of his knuckles split. He sucked on the blood.

"But he stopped them. He ordered the others to leave. And then he told you to close your mind." Hermione put her hand on his arm. "Don't you see? He was telling you how to defeat Voldemort. He was helping you."

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione and back. Each was nodding encouragingly. It was so unusual that the two agreed Harry actually sat back down on the bed. For the rest of the day, they discussed Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, the events of their sixth year, and especially the night the headmaster was killed.

In the end, Harry agreed to withhold his judgment, especially if Snape was still actively McGonagall's spy. They knew how she felt about Dumbledore, and there was no way she would've accepted help from Snape unless she was absolutely certain of his loyalties, no matter the outward signs … including Dumbledore's death. They all agreed that there was too much they didn't know, even now.

They went out for dinner that night, still in disguise, spending the last of their Muggle money on a decent meal.

The following morning as they were packing to go to the Burrow for Christmas Day, Hedwig arrived with good news. McGonagall's spy - Snape Hermione's mind automatically provided, especially after the day before - had given them a lead on the Hufflepuff cup. It appeared to be in France, in the hands of a private collector. That would account for five Horcruxes.

They made plans to accompany Bill and Remus to Lyons on Boxing Day, which meant that they would be able to have Christmas Day with their families. Harry got to spend time with Ginny, pretending they weren't watching each other constantly, and Hermione was able to see her parents for several hours. Ron was quite content to drool over his new sister-in-law, something which Hermione discovered didn't bother her in the slightest.

Was it possible that she no longer cared in that way? Was it possible, she wondered, to get over a serious, years-long fancy for someone in such a short few months? Had it been just a schoolgirl fantasy … something which vanished in the bright light of adulthood? She wasn't sure exactly, but Hermione was extremely relieved to no longer be carrying a torch for her other best friend.

When they returned from Lyons, Hermione had a newfound respect for Bill Weasley. His reputation had preceded him, and even with his newfound scars – and Hermione shuddered as she remembered the collectors long, scarlet-coated fingernails tracing one of Bill's half-healed scars, almost as if the witch had wanted to collect him – his air of authority and confidence had been captivating. He and Remus negotiated the price for the cup like the accomplished professionals that they were.

Regrettably when they destroyed this Horcrux, for which they had to wait until after the first of the year, Mad-Eye's prosthetic leg was damaged beyond repair, as was the double-handled cup.

"A small price to pay," McGonagall sniffed.

"It wasn't yer heirloom," growled Mad-Eye.

"True. But consider yourself lucky, Alastor. The Order is paying for your replacement parts. Fairly soon, you'll be a whole new man."

Moody's laughter sounded like the bark of some wild animal, but McGonagall joined him, taunting each other. "Hufflepuff!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Thank you," the headmistress said primly. She tucked a stray hair into her hat, before leading her colleagues to her private chambers, where she poured everyone a glass of very good brandy.

The trio accepted room and board for a night while a blizzard raged outside the ancient castle they'd called home for six years. Hermione found herself Disillusioned and dodging the Auror's patrols as she paced familiar corridors and tasted the bittersweet knowledge that she had missed her final year at school. No NEWTs to call her own. She'd made the right decision, but it didn't hurt any the less. It was easier when they were out in the world, far away from memories of their student days. But now, Neville and Seamus and Lavender and Parvati were sleeping snug in their little Gryffindor beds, several stories above her. Nothing would ever be the same. She would never be able to go back.

Unexpectedly, Hermione found herself pacing the hallway outside Professor Snape's old office. She wondered if he missed the school, or was he as unhappy in his current place as he had been here. She wondered if he'd ever found himself displaced from his peers before realizing that his school years were even more bleak than hers. With a final look at the closed door to his office – now someone else's – Hermione climbed the steps to the guest quarters. Her heart heavy.

The only other staff member who was aware of their presence was Madam Pomfrey, who gave them each a physical exam before they set out on the next leg of their journey.

"Mr. Potter you need to wear another pair of socks in those Muggle shoes, otherwise you're courting frostbite." She bustled about the infirmary and by the time they left Hermione, Ron, and Harry each had a small collection of vials containing potions they might need, including a Blood Replenishing Potion. "Carry these with you,' she said, blinking rapidly. "You can always find me here, even during the holidays. You needn't bother Minerva. Come directly here."

Harry hugged her, thanking her for her generosity. The others following suit.

After that, they headed south, toward Little Hangleton, and this time, Harry and Ron had insisted they use broomsticks. "It's to avoid frostbite, Hermione. Like Madam Pomfrey said."

Hermione gave in. She wasn't fond of traveling in such cold weather, but she wasn't a very secure flyer. They traveled Disillusioned and in a wedge formation. It was amazing how much faster they were able to travel. It only took them two days to reach the town where Voldemort's family had lived.

They knew Remus Lupin had searched the manor house and the hovel after Dumbledore's death, but Harry wanted to get a feel for the area. With snow on the ground, the geography was very different, but Harry still recognized the shack and remembered Bob Ogden's being chased off by the Voldemort's malicious grandfather and uncle.

They only spent two days camping in the woods above the Gaunt hovel, remaining heavily Disillusioned the entire time. Harry added the precaution of draping his Invisibility Cloak over their tent, just in case.

Other than their brush with the Inferi at the orphanage, this was their closest encounter with Death Eaters thus far. While observing the Riddle house they'd seen a small detachment of wizards and witches come and go. Hermione was shocked to recognize Penelope Clearwater as one of them. She had known Voldemort supporters could be anyone, but until the moment she saw Penny place the death head mask on her face, Hermione hadn't really believed it could be people she had liked.

Ron rolled over onto the snow, ignoring the damp and cold. "I wonder if Percy knows."

Then the obvious assumption struck them all at the same time. Ron swallowed hard, and Harry laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I – I …." Hermione trailed off weakly. There really was nothing to say; as far ask they knew Percy Weasley was still engaged to the former Ravenclaw.

They broke camp the next morning sobered by what they'd seen, and all were nervous about their coming rendezvous with Arthur Weasley.

Mid-day at the bandstand in Darlington's South Park found Harry pacing, Hermione performing mental Arithmantic equations about defending their position in the small pavilion and Ron nervously watching for his father. None of the three noticed the nascent buds on tree limbs nor the fact that the snow barely covered the ground. The park wasn't crowded, but there were a number of nannies pushing prams and herding children, bundled in brightly colored anoraks against the weather. Others strolled through the park's walkways during their lunch breaks.

Hermione looked down the reverse trajectory path and was taken aback by the sight of two young women laughing as they gossiped. It seemed so normal, and Hermione felt entirely disconnected from that reality. Had she ever been that carefree?

Fortunately Mr. Weasley arrived just then. Hermione and Harry shared a look for his Muggle clothing. It was suitable, woolen black trousers and a heavy jumper, but the maroon color clashed with the fading red in his hair. Surprisingly, Hermione thought it made him look older.

"Hullo, Ron," he said, grasping his youngest son's hand tightly. His intelligent eyes searched Ron's face for any sign of distress. "Harry, Hermione." He nodded to the other two. "I hope you three are hungry. Molly's been cooking for days. She doesn't think you eat on your own." He gave them all an assessing once-over. "I'm not sure I disagree with her. You're all looking a little worn. Everything all right?"

Harry shared a look with Ron, who shook his head imperceptibly. "As well as could be expected, Mr. Weasley."

The bad news could wait until after dinner.

At midnight, Hermione finally retired to Ginny's room. She keenly missed her younger friend, but her owl, George, had brought McGonagall's latest letter. She pulled the heavy duvet under her chin and unrolled the parchment.

My dear Hermione,

Further to our last, men aren't, for the most part, worth the heartache they give you. Yes, I know the prevailing school of thought is 'my man or die,' but truly, they're an awful bother. I have been both wounded in love and happy in love. It is better, by far, to be happy, but finding that rare and elusive thing – a man who respects you – is exactly that, my young friend: both rare and elusive.

Find a man who stands out from the crowd, who is unafraid to stand his ground, whether it be popular or not, and you will have found one of the rare ones. If he happens to respect you, then you are one of the lucky ones.

Never mind me, I'm just an old witch who is missing Albus tonight. He was both rare and elusive … and I miss him dearly.

No more of this sentimental tripe. I have news …

She climbed out of Ginny's snug bed, pulled on her dressing gown, grimacing when her fingers snagged on the material. She'd have to buy some lotion soon, or her skin would resemble the bark of a tree.

Then she went to find Ron and Harry. There was still light coming from downstairs, and Hermione could hear Molly Weasley's distress and she and her husband came to terms with the very real possibility that one of their children had become the very thing they despised most.

She knocked quietly on Ron's door before slipping into his room. His eyes were red-rimmed after the emotional evening they'd had. "Mum still up?" he asked.

"I could hear she and your dad talking just now. They're terribly upset."

Before Ron could say something scathing, Harry interrupted. "Anyone would be. What've you got there?"

"Minerva's letter. There's some new insider information."

Harry propped himself up on an elbow, his Weird Sisters t-shirt snug across his chest as his newly developed muscles pulled at the jersey. "Anything immediate?"

"Our spy thinks we have to go further east in our search."

Ron looked at her. "You mean London? Or Kent?"

"No. I mean Eastern Europe."

Ron jerked upright. "What? Why?"

"Because that's where Voldemort went for all those years," Harry replied.

Hermione yawned, and they decided to talk further in the morning. Her last thoughts before falling asleep weren't about Eastern Europe at all, but about Snape, whom she was certain was the spy.

She thought about the dangers he faced. About what a great actor he was. And about duped and betrayed she had felt after that night the previous May … especially after having given him her trust.

The next month and a half was spent making preparations to travel through Europe during the summer holidays. They could easily pass as Muggles on post-graduate tour of the continent. They continued to visit every known place Voldemort had frequented in his youth, including Borgin & Burkes. Remus Lupin had better success when he tried to sell Borgin one of Walburga Black's music boxes. The sum Borgin paid for it was astounding, but it helped finance their upcoming trip.

During the month which should have seen the three friends – now grown leaner, more resilient, and tougher – taking their NEWT exams at school, they found the final Horcrux. It was quite by accident.

One afternoon they were buying supplies in Knockturn Alley for their next campsite – Romany wizards had devised a portable campfire which Harry decided to buy. As he was haggling over the price with a careworn hag, Ron eavesdropped on a conversation two wizards were having about the former Albania. Something about it niggled at his memory. When he mentioned it over dinner, cooked over their new Romany campfire, Hermione recognized the connection at once.

Quickly sending a letter to McGonagall to confirm the information, Hermione's reply came less than an hour later, only it was two letters. One from McGonagall, the other from their spy.

Miss Granger, was written in copperplate Dicta-Quill. You've extrapolated the information in an entirely plausible and potentially fruitful manner. Having recently ascertained that the snake is not in fact what we were expecting, I suspect yours is the more valuable clue.

The men had been talking about the town was where Bertha Jorkins had disappeared the summer before their fourth year at school.

I anticipate your venture will meet with success. Bear in mind that the subject in question could not have brought with him anything of value.

The note was unsigned and the handwriting entirely useless as a clue, but the style of the phrasing was enough to solidify her belief about Snape.

However, confirmation of their informant's identity – at least to her satisfaction – wasn't enough to distract Hermione from the import of the message. She stared at the parchment, brown eyes unfocused, for several long minutes before speaking. "I think we have to find out where Bertha Jorkins was during her trip to Albania."

The information was surprisingly easy to acquire. After it had become obvious that she was missing, Magical Law Enforcement had issued a Missing Magical Persons Announcement. Bureaucratically slow, but efficient as a grist mill, the previous summer, a package had been delivered from a small Albanian Inn. The package had contained all of Bertha Jorkins' personal effects.

The package had contained a waybill and it had been inventoried and stored in the massive warehouse beneath the Ministry of Magic, where evidence was collected and stored until the Wizengamot might have need of it.

However, the serendipity in this case was that the Auror who had taken possession of the package was none other than Nymphadora Tonks. Remus Lupin, who was dating her, much to the Metamorphmagus' happiness, asked, was answered, and encouraged Tonks to re-inventory the package.

There, nestled deep within the Ministry of Magic, protected by the very government he was attempting to overthrow rested Lord Voldemort's final Horcrux … embedded deep within Bertha Jorkins' favorite Remembrall.

It was the work of mere days before a distant family member could be found, and one who was sympathetic to their cause. Bound by an Unbreakable Vow, this cousin, a shy but kindly witch by the name of Persephone Sutherland retrieved her cousins remaining personal artifacts and turned the Remembrall over the Mad-Eye Moody.

She send a carefully-worded letter of thanks to Snape enclosed in her celebratory note to McGonagall. In both, there were enough clues to allow each correspondent to know that Hermione had accurately guessed his identity.

Thereafter, McGonagall simply enclosed his letters with her more personal tidings. Seeing his bold, flowing script gave Hermione filled her with conflicting emotions. She was thrilled she'd been correct, incredibly relieved and vindicated that he was truly on their side as a small part of her had hoped for so many months, and awed by the number of layers this war was being fought on. She still didn't understand all the pieces of the puzzle or why he had killed Dumbledore, but she knew there were answers to be had. McGonagall would never have accepted his help without knowing he was trustworthy – not after Dumbledore's death.

By the end of July, she had convinced Harry and Ron that their mole was Snape … and Harry had written a very long and scathing letter to McGonagall about keeping people in the dark. His reply was swift and shocking – literally. McGonagall, not being able to use a Howler, had hexed the parchment so that the moment he accepted the scroll from Hedwig he was knocked on his arse on the verge.

Ron laughed until he cried, and then wiped tears from his cheeks, leaving a trail of mud on his freckled skin. Hermione scolded them both and helped Harry to his feet.

McGonagall's letter was tart, to the point, and left no room for doubt. Snape was on their side. Dumbledore had trusted him to carry out his orders and she had seen enough proof to trust him as well. She told Harry to mind his own business, which she granted included Snape, but asked for his forbearance. Matters were so delicate that spreading the information was dangerous … for them all, let alone Snape.

INSERT LAKE DISTRICT IMAGE HERE

One evening, as they were camping in a small wood off Crummock Water in the Lake District, Hedwig refused to deliver a letter to Remus Lupin. Nothing he could do would coax her from her nest. Finally, she nipped Harry's hand, drawing blood.

"Ow! Damnit, Hedwig! What's gotten into you? You've been broody for weeks."

Harry returned to the small witch fire. "She must be sick or something," he said while Hermione cast a sealing spell on the cut. Camping rough as they had been, they were cautious about infections for small cuts and scratches.

"She's been eating though, hasn't she?" she asked and added another piece of deadfall to the fire.

Nearby, Ron suddenly crashed through the underbrush. "Bugger! Bloody bird!"

"Ron!"

He, too had returned with a bleeding finger. Once more, Hermione dutifully cleaned and sealed the wound. Then she went to investigate.

Hedwig eyed her suspiciously, and she gained nasty nip for her troubles, but Hermione was utterly surprised to find that in Hedwig's roosting spot, the crevice of a large oak they'd camped under for four days, a nest with a single egg, and Hedwig sitting snugly upon it.

Harry beamed at his owl, offering her a bit of his leftovers and crooning as if it was his chick in the egg.

Ten minutes later a note arrived for Harry from Remus Lupin and his owl was perfectly contented to return with a reply already written.

Remus' letter contained information that Draco Malfoy and his mother had found refuge under a Fidelius location, and the information he had provided – which he had been providing for months via Snape, was invaluable.

The three friends sat around their small fire, discussing parameters and plausibilities of how to lure Voldemort into a trap. They decided it was time to meet with the Order.

The three called it an early night. In some ways the last task – facing Voldemort directly would be easier than the months living in hiding and pursuing a secretive task. In others, it would be far, far worse.

When Hermione crawled into her sleeping bag after brushing her teeth, she stared at the roof of their tent and listened to Ron and Harry breathe. She could tell that neither was asleep.

Somehow the air was heavy with portent, and she felt compelled to say something into the quiet night.

"I'm glad you two are my friends."

In terms of a stunningly eloquent profundity, it was sorely lacking, however, the statement more than made up for itself by being entirely heartfelt and sincere.

Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah. You two. I never would have found all the Horcruxes this soon without you."

"We'd never have survived first year," Ron joined in.

Hermione said, "Best friends?"

"Yeah," Harry and Ron answered in unison.

They all managed to clasp each others' hands for a brief squeeze, none of them wanting to say more, feeling only a little foolish for the reassurance.

Within moments of one another they fell asleep.

It was their last quiet evening.

.

.

.

With the coming of dawn, a frantic, hooting of two owls and a strange peep from Pigwidgeon woke the three friends.

The final battle had come to them.

The tent was fortunately Disillusioned, but it was only a matter of time before they were discovered. They had emergency escape Portkeys but the wards would need to be dropped first.

Clad in track pants and tee shirts – standard sleep wear for them – Harry, Hermione and Ron scrambled into shoes. Additionally, Hermione crammed her wild hair into one of her knitted caps, and she accepted one of her Protean Charmed galleons from their fifth year at school. They made excellent, illegal Portkeys.

Before they were discovered or had taken down their security spells on the tent, Remus Lupin's voice was clearly heard. "Well, well, well. It is such a pleasure to see you again, Wormtail."

Ron's knuckles were white around his wand, and Harry's mouth was set in a grim line. Hermione whispered, "I don't think they really know we're here. But they're looking for us."

Bellatrix Lestrange shouted, "McGonagall, you old hag! Haven't you died yet?"

And then a scream rent the air, and Hermione jerked reflexively.

Then in a fierce, swift group hug the three friends were ready. Hermione flicked her wand and their tent disappeared, revealing their surroundings.

BATTLE SEQUENCE.

"Oh, for Christ's sake! You can duel over me AFTER the effing battle's over. I can assure you my heart's quite willing to be trifled with. Now pay attention!."

As she's dueling … 'Why didn't I ever realize you were funny?"

"It takes life experience to develop a sense of humor. You're not 30 yet."

"I feel like it."

Later,

Someone disarms her … then is going to kill her and Snape … she launches herself at them physically … they're not prepared at all.