A/N: I feel it's only fair to warn you now that the next chapter is currently 0% complete, so chances of it being up tomorrow are a little slim. You can, however, keep track of my frustrations via my twitter (username Flaignhan, link in profile) if you enjoy angry writers venting into the cybersphere. Hope you enjoy this one though - let me know what you think!


Before the Dawn.

by Flaignhan.


He's getting anxious.

It doesn't matter how often she tells him Harry is going to be fine, that Peter won't lay a finger on him, (for now at least - though she leaves out that particular detail) he still spends his evenings obsessing over finding him.

It's nearing Halloween, and she knows it won't be long until she wakes up to find him gone. She's dreading it. Even though she knows he'll escape from the castle unscathed on Halloween night, even though she knows he'll break in again and get away with it, she still worries that something will go wrong. Something could change, and she can't allow that.

Or rather, Dumbledore won't let her allow that.

She finds more and more reasons for being angry at him, nearly every day. It had started with Lily and James, then Sirius. She could never forgive him for Sirius. He could have withdrawn his statement, told the Wizengamot that he had believed that to be the case at the time, but had since found new evidence.

He could have stopped the war.

Today she is angry because he never warned her. All those years she was working with Harry, as one of Dumbledore's pawns, and he never once said 'make the most of it, you won't be young forever.' Anything would have been better than nothing. Of course she didn't expect him to tell her outright, but being pulled out of time, right in the middle of the war...that was quite possibly the final straw. He never once let on that she would have to live through three wars, never once let on that she would have to wait twenty years to find out if her best friends died or not, never once let on that she would fall in love with a man she'd already seen die.

She had plenty of reason to be bitter, but she still obeyed his rules.

For that, she hated herself even more than she hated him.

"Is Peter going to go back to him?"

"What?" she frowns, and looks at Sirius, who has stopped pacing and is now leaning against the mantelpiece.

"Peter. Is he going to go back to -"

"You know I can't answer questions like that," she picks up the nearest book, if only to avoid looking at him, and opens it to any page.

It's a book of crossword puzzles, and she summons her quill in order to keep up the pretence of actually being interested in them.

She can still feel him looking at her.

"So that's a yes then."

"I didn't say that," she doesn't look up, just carefully traces the letters in for three across, then draws a line through the clue, removing it from her list.

"I have to stop him."

He's pacing again, faster this time, and the tiny lounge can barely cope with his long strides.

"Hermione."

"What do you want me to say?" she says, slapping the book down on the sofa, finally meeting his eye.

"I want you to tell me that I catch him. I want you to tell me that he won't be responsible for any more deaths."

She picks up the book again. She can't tell him what he wants to hear, and she certainly can't tell him the truth. It would destroy him.

He swipes an ornamental dragon off of the mantelpiece, and it smashes on the hearth, shards of porcelain scattering all over the floor. She gives him a steely look, and after a moment, he takes her wand, repairing the dragon and returning it to its rightful place. He takes a seat in the armchair and sighs heavily, his head in his hands.

She won't feel bad. He's being unreasonable.

"You know I can't tell you," she says quietly. "I'd tell you everything if I could, but I just can't."

"I'm going to find him," he sits up, waiting for her to protest.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She nods, and returns to her crossword.

"Everyone'll be down in the Great Hall during the feast," she says. "Seven letters, used in Draught of Living Death..." she looks up, hoping for an answer.

"I...moondew - what?"

"Oh of course," she says, marking in the letters. "Thanks."

"You're not going to stop me?"

"I'm not supposed to interfere, remember?" she's doodling around the edge of the page. She needs to keep busy. She can't stop him. She has to let him go.

"Can I borrow your wand?" he's pushing his luck now, and she can tell by his tone that he knows it just as well as she does.

"You won't need it."

"But what if -"

"You won't need it. You won't be there long. Get out as soon as you can afterwards though. They'll be looking for you."

He stands and paces a little more, before deciding he's ready. Her attitude has thrown him, and she just hopes it makes him be extra careful.

She wouldn't put money on it though.

"I'll...see you soon I guess." He leans down and presses a kiss on the top of her head. She says nothing, she doesn't trust herself to open her mouth. She grabs his hand just as he's about to leave and kisses the back of it. He pauses, touches her cheek gently, then walks out the door.

She hears the front door close quietly behind him, and puts her crossword down.

She goes to bed not long after.


"You could have told me the password."

"No I couldn't," she's peeling potatoes again. Celestina Warbeck is warbling out of the wireless on the kitchen top. Sirius slams the off button and her ballad is cut short.

Hermione's not too fussed.

"It was a complete waste of time and you knew it! That's why you let me go!"

"I let you go because you went before! I let you go because I knew you'd get back safe! D'you really think that I don't know you're going to run off regardless of what I say anyway? You were always going to!" she pauses to regain her composure. "There's a quidditch match in a few weeks by the way - Harry's playing, you might like to go and watch."

"Oh I might, might I?"

"Yes," she says firmly, putting down her knife and turning to face him. "You might."

He's still angry that she let him go four hundred miles on foot (or paw) just to scratch a painting.

She feels he's learned a lesson though.

At least she hopes he has.