Another Harry chapter. Will probably be back to Hermione next chapter, but really whocansay? Cheers.

Harry awoke with a start.

A piece of parchment was plastered to the side of his face when he'd fallen at the desk. He peeled it off blearily, and stumbled out of his makeshift office. It was really the smaller room of the two-bedroom flat he was renting for the time being.

The clock in the hall told him it was 3:17AM.

As he stepped into the bathroom he noted the ink had transferred onto his face, and with a sigh he washed it off. Dark circles under his eyes were a testament to the lack of sleep he'd been getting in the week since Ginny had left him.

He returned to the office. Rolls of parchment and reference books littered his desk, and he began to sort through them. He eventually dug Ernie's notebook out of the pile.

Similar phrases had kept cropping up, and he'd written them on a separate parchment. Most of it was gibberish. It had been slow going. This sort of research had always been Hermione's job. It was hard work; he'd taken her for granted so many times in their youth. Now it was his job. He'd been planning to become an Auror, but after Hermione lost her mind, he had dedicated himself to this. Besides, Ron was working in the Auror office, and Harry couldn't even stand in the same room as him.

He attempted to tidy his desk a bit before he once more tried and failed to sleep alone, and in doing so, he nearly knocked a small box to the floor. He caught it at the edge and opened it. It was the memory Ron had left with Ginny.

"I owe him to at least look at it…" Harry muttered the words Ginny had spoken when she'd given it to him. He hadn't yet, he was afraid of what he'd see. He set the vial on the desk, and stared down at it. It seemed so harmless, but he was sure it was anything but.

Ron's fevered hatred, born when his mother died, was absolutely terrifying. Most everyone else had realized something wasn't right with Hermione, and knew that the real her would never, never do anything like that. Ron though. He'd wanted her dead, or kissed by the Dementors.

His curiosity overcame him, and grabbing the vial, Harry moved across the room where he had stacks and stacks of boxes.

Most of them held research. Several were filled with page after page about Bellatrix herself. Newspaper clippings, prison psych reports, even her detailed OWL and NEWT reports. There were boxes of Black history, information on dark enchanted objects, Voldemort himself, and everything on Hermione he could get his hands on.

The few boxes that didn't hold research or books had magical objects inside them. Her found the box he wanted, and moved it to the newly cleared desk, with a flick of his wand.

He opened it, and removed the small stone basin from the packing peanuts. He moved the box to the floor and gently lowered his Pensive to the desk.

It was much smaller than Dumbledore's, not intended for storing memories at all, just for reviewing them. He'd found it tucked in the corner of his parent's vault years before.

With a sigh he poured the bottle's contents into it, watching the silvery liquid swirl about for a moment. Finally, he steeled himself and plunged into the memory.

…

Harry recognized Shell Cottage as he landed gently in the room. It was dark but he could make out Ron was standing at the window. He recognized his own sleeping form on the floor, a blanket draped over himself, his arm under his head for a pillow. This was a few nights after their escape from Malfoy Mannor. Hermione had been acting strangely, and Ron had been concerned. He stepped forward, looking out the window too.

Hermione was dashing up the slope, quickly and quietly. Ron glanced down at the sleeping Harry, then back out the window. He seemed to be deciding what to do.

"Oh hell," He muttered quietly, as he turned to slip on his shoes. He slipped out of the room, Harry following, as he ran after Hermione.

Ron, it seemed, was trying to be stealthy as he followed Hermione's path up the sandy ridge, but he was failing rather miserably. As he reached the top, he ducked down. Hermione was standing just inside the line of trees. She seemed to be talking to someone, but from Ron's location, it was unclear to whom. Harry strode forward, knowing he could find out. Ron hadn't moved.

Hermione had slipped a bit further into the trees. No doubt Ron could no longer see her, but he probably wouldn't chance her spotting him to come much closer.

Harry walked into the shadows of the trees, and stopped. The sight before him sent his heart pounding.

Bellatrix herself was pressing Hermione up against a tree. The dark witch's hand had slid up Hermione's leg to her-

Harry felt his face turning red, embarrassed at seeing such an intimate encounter, even in memory form.

Hermione was wimpering softly, her fingernails raking across Bellatrix's back. The dark witch moaned in response, and pressed her harder into the tree, letting the bark scratch her up as well.

Bellatrix was whispering something to Hermione who was at this point panting. As much as he didn't want to move closer, Harry did, trying to hear.

"-mine. You understand me? You are mine."

"Yes. Yes…I'm…yours." Hermione managed.

Bellatrix suddenly leaned forward, kissing Hermione passionately. The reason was made clear a moment later as Hermione moaned loudly. The sound of her orgasm was muffled by the kiss. Harry was sure Ron wouldn't have heard it.

As soon as she was quiet, Bellatrix stepped back, and Hermione slid to the ground, there was a soft trail of blood down the tree, where the bark had ripped open her skin.

"Good Muddy." Bellatrix began to lick her fingers as she turned to walk away. Hermione began to weep at the guilt of what she'd just done. "See you soon!" Bellatrix Disapparated with a mad cackle and a crack.

The sound of hurried footsteps, trampling the undergrowth reached the small clearing, and a moment later, Ron appeared, wand out, huffing.

"Hermione, you okay? I thought I heard someone else." He was looking around for danger. Finally his eyes fell on her, "What happened to your back?"

She looked up at him, her eyes distant, "I'm sorry…" she mumbled, "The nightmares…please promise you won't tell Harry…" Ron was accepting her half formed lies as the memory faded.

…

Harry found himself in a second memory a moment later.

He recognized the dark damp passage he found himself in quickly, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Ron and Hermione were standing a few feet in front of him, at the large door. Ron was attempting some garish hissing/gurgling noises.

After a few minutes, the snakes moved.

"I did it!" He was triumphant.

"Good job Ron!" Hermione grinned, "Lets go."

Hermione charged down the passage, Ron in tow. Harry followed quickly. Despite it being a memory, he didn't like being back here, the memories from second year still hung darkly in his mind.

"There it is!" Ron shouted as they walked into the main chamber.

"Clearly." Hermione muttered. The giant skeletal remains were very obvious.

Ron dashed forward to grab a fang. "Careful Ron!"

He took his sweater off and used it to grip a sharp fang without cutting himself. He yanked, but the fang didn't budge.

"Do you know a spell to-" Ron's question was cut off as Hermione flicked the wand in her hand and all of the fangs tumbled from the carcass. Ron nearly lost his balance. "Whoa. Sweet!" He grinned, "Let's kill the cup then!"

Harry watched as they set Hufflepuff's cup on the stone floor.

"You do it Hermione." Ron held the fang out to her.

"M-me?"

"Sure, you haven't had the pleasure of doin' one in yet."

Harry's eyes were locked on Hermione as she shakily too the fang from Ron.

"Stand back Ron." Hermione placed the tip in the center of the cup and lifter her arm, ready to deliver the fatal blow.

A strange wind whipped around her, and Hermione struggled to keep her aim true. Just as she was about to strike, she stopped, nearly dropping the fang. The wind roared around her, circling her, picking up the water from the channels around the room, until it was like Hermione was in the center of a hurricane, obscured from sight.

"Hermione!" Harry could only barely hear Ron's scream as the wind forced him backward.

Luckily for Harry, the wind didn't have an effect him. He strode forward to see what was happening to Hermione.

He could see her, slumped to her knees, sobbing. A figure of water and wind stood before her. Harry recognized Tom Riddle, a bit older than the diary version, but still handsome.

''I have seen into your soul, Hermione Granger. I have seen that it is tainted with the darkness." He was hissing, "You want the darkness inside you, you have come to crave it."

"N-no!"

"All your life you've been an under-appreciated little swot. Your friends don't really care about you, only She does. She appreciates your talent, despite your tainted blood. You don't want to kill me, for She does not want you to kill me! Join us and have the power and respect you deserve!"

Hermione was trembling. "No, I do want to kill you!"

She managed to grip the fang tightly and raise it up, "When you're dead, she'll be all mine!" And with a wild howl, she plunged the fang into the Cup. The Horcrux screamed as the water crashed down. Hermione stood up, looking down at the broken cup, a strange look on her face.

Ron was rushing forward, "You did it Hermione!" He was grinning. He grabbed her, pulling her close to him, "I knew you could do it!" And then he did something she did not expect. He kissed her.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she pushed him away. They both stood, a few feet apart, staring at each other, horror in both their expressions.

Ron turned bright red, and he flustered, "I-I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't mean. I thought…"

"I know what you thought." She whispered almost angrily, "But you waited too long."

"I-There's someone else then?" His tone darkened with rage, "Who!"

"It doesn't matter, Ron." She turned to scoop up the cup and tossed it into her beaded bag.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" He was shouting now.

"Because we don't have time for this! We've got to get these fangs up to Harry, so we can find the diadem and kill it. Stop worrying about us and start thinking about the Horcruxes!"

Ron's face was nearly purple, but he managed to calm himself a bit. "Just, just tell me…" he breathed deeply, "Is it my fault?" There were tears in his eyes, "Is it because I didn't-"

"No. This would have happened anyway, I've changed with this war...I'm not yours." Her eyes were distant; "Can we pretend this didn't happen?"

Ron wiped his eyes, even as his nose ran, "Ye-yeah, sure. We just killed a Horcrux, and we've got a few more to get! But, when this is all over…can we talk about it?"

"Sure Ron."

As they walked away, arms loaded with fangs, Harry remembered how they'd seemed distracted when they'd met up with him.

This memory too faded.

…

This time, he was on a muggle street. A house was burning just ahead of him. There were people running all directions, screaming. Wizards were Apparating all around him, moving toward the fiery building, wands raised.

He swallowed hard, he remembered this night. It was after Voldemort's defeat, Hermione had fled the castle, and shown up here a few days later.

A blood-curdling scream echoed from the house. He looked away, unable to stomach it.

Ron was standing a few feet away, mouth agape with horror at the sight.

The brutal murder of her own parents had been nightmarish and bloody. When they'd captured her, she'd been laughing, blood dripping down her face, a maniacal grin locked in place.

The image was burned into his mind.

They'd tossed her into Azkaban for the duration of her trial, and the insanity had only gotten worse.

Harry pulled himself from this memory; he didn't need to see it again.

…

Harry found himself in an apartment he didn't recognize.

Ron was sitting at a desk in front of him, looking out the window. This was very recent, Ron's once wild hair was cropped short, a neatly trimmed mustache graced hit upper lip. He was looking out an open window. With a sigh he raised his wand to his temple and removed a memory. He placed it in the vial in front of him. Then another. He sat back for a moment, then spoke.

"Harry." He closed his eyes, "Mate it's been so long. And it's my fault we haven't spoken, and I'm sorry. I miss you. And I miss her, too." A tear was leaking down his cheek, he brushed it off quickly. "Look I…I don't think I'm brave enough to face you yet. So I'll just say it now." He laughed, and turned away from his desk and the window, looking just where Harry now stood.

"Harry. Listen to me. Hermione is dead. She has been, all this time. What's left is Bellatrix's bitter, twisted revenge. I know you don't like to hear it. Hope is all we have right?" Ron was looking out the window again. "But it's killing you. Gin, she doesn't know what to do anymore, and I know you're neglecting her and your kids for this stupid false hope of saving Hermione. Mate, she murdered my Mum! You were there! And her parents! I don't understand how you can't see that she's become a monster." He drew another memory from his mind a moment later.

"And she doesn't care, she doesn't! She is not Hermione anymore. She deserves the Dementor's Kiss." Ron was silent for a long moment. "No, maybe she doesn't." His voice had grown soft, tired. "But she does deserve more than that cozy little room at St. Mungo's. She's dangerous, and she's hurting people. That's why I'm trying to get her locked up in Azkaban again, it will be safer for us all. She is not Hermione, as much as you're trying to kid yourself that she is."

Harry watched as Ron stood up.

"Look, you were my best mate all through school. I know we don't agree on this, but…If you feel up to it, owl me." Ron raised his wand to his temple to remove this memory, and Harry returned to the present.

…

He stood before the Pensive for a few moments, before gathering each memory into a separate vial, and labeling them carefully. He opened one of his many boxes, and found racks filled with similar vials, all of the memories he'd collected. He carefully placed them in empty slots and closed the box. It was nearly 6AM as he finally slipped into his bed.