"RONALD WEASLEY!"

Ron awoke instantly at his mother's booming voice and fell out of bed during a dazed scramble to retrieve his wand from the nightstand.

"W-what . . . mum? What is it? What's goin' on?"

"'What's going on?'" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "I'll tell you what's going on. I come up here to put away your laundry and find you asleep in this . . . this pigsty when you're supposed to be busy in the yard! Didn't I ask you to take on George's chores this morning while he helps Charlie at Shell Cottage? And haven't I told you a million times to clean up this room?"

"I like my room like it is," said Ron, with a faint tone of defiance. He rose to his feet and stood bare-chested in his pajama bottoms. "Nobody else comes up here except for George, and he doesn't mind!"

"Well," huffed Mrs. Weasley. "You two may be fine with sleeping in filth, but I can't stand to set foot in here."

"Don't come up here, then," Ron grumbled.

There was a tense pause in which Ron's hastily spoken words of dissent seemed to echo through the silence.

"Fine," Mrs. Weasley said coldly. "Fine! Have it your way, then. Live like a pig, what do I care? But I don't have to stomach it; you can carry your own laundry up all those steps from now on!"

"Hey!" yelled Ron, as Mrs. Weasley dumped the contents of her laundry basket onto the bed beside him. She then stormed back across the room to the doorway.

"And if I don't see you downstairs, ready to do your chores, in ten minutes –"

"I'll be there, okay?" Ron's tone was pleading now. "I didn't mean to sleep in. Just let me get dressed and cleaned up a bit, all right?"

After another brief pause, the door slammed shut and Mrs. Weasley could be heard stomping down the stairs.

Ron sat on the bed next to his mound of laundry and fell back onto his pillow.

"That," he said with a long, shaky sigh, "was way too close."

"I nearly had a heart attack," whispered Hermione, whose head and naked shoulders emerged through the pile of Ron's clothes.

The World I Leave Behind
Chapter Ten: Love, Lies, and Loss

"Sorry, 'Mione," chuckled Ron.

"This isn't funny," said Hermione. Her heart was racing as if she had just run a mile. "If I hadn't woken up the moment your mum opened the door . . . if she'd found me hiding under the sheets . . ."

Ron sat up and began to slide a soothing hand up and down her exposed back.

"It's all right, Hermione. We got a bit of a scare, that's all." Ron wasn't laughing any more; his voice was calm and comforting, and he leaned in to trail little kisses from her shoulder to the back of her neck. Hermione barely noticed.

"I can't believe that I forgot to set an alarm. We were so careless . . . Oh! What if she goes to Ginny's room and finds that I'm not there? What if she already knows?" Hermione gasped and, if possible, became even more anxious.

"Hermione," Ron mumbled against her neck, "it's okay; calm down."

Hermione abruptly swung her legs out from under the covers and stood, scattering Ron's laundry as she did so. Like Ron, she wore pajama bottoms but nothing else. Glancing at the window, she noticed that the sun was much higher in the sky than it should be; they had almost certainly missed breakfast.

A second wave of panic gripped Hermione as the events of the previous night came back to her: Harry had not met her in his tent as they arranged. She had left him alone for the day so that he could consider his next course of action from within the solitude of the Invisibility Cloak, with the hope that he would at long last agree to tell Ron and Ginny what only she knew, that Harry Potter was still alive.

It was likely that Harry had remained hidden in the cloak when Hermione went to find him. She had been desperate to hear his decision, but knew that if she pressed him, she was unlikely to get the answer she wanted. With great restraint, she had given him the night to continue thinking things over.

But now a horrible thought popped into her head: would Harry – in a spontaneous moment of stupid, twisted nobility – have left the Burrow during the night without saying a word? Left them all behind to face Voldemort so that he could . . .

Hermione was suddenly overcome with a desperate need to find him.

"Where is my shirt?" she said, distractedly. She began to hurry about the room, picking through the mess.

"Uh," muttered Ron. "By the foot of the bed, I think." As Hermione followed his directions, Ron rose from the bed and slowly walked over to her.

"You, um, seem really upset," he said, standing beside her as she knelt to search the floor. "Is this just about mum, or . . . is there something else?"

Even in her panicked state, Hermione registered a strange tone in Ron's voice. She straightened up to look at him and was stricken by something curious in his startlingly blue eyes.

"What?" Hermione whispered.

"It's just that . . . last night was the best night of my life and, well . . . it doesn't really boost a bloke's ego when the girl looks like she can't wait to go, y'know?" Ron gave a weak laugh and nervously ruffled his hair. His eyes flittered from hers to the floor, and Hermione suddenly realized how fragile he was in that moment.

"Oh, Ron – it's not that . . . I mean, last night was wonderful." Hermione smiled as the warm feelings, tender words, and passionate embraces came flooding back, temporarily halting her drive to leave.

Worried when Harry missed their late-night meeting, Hermione had sought out Ron for comfort. With George, Ron's roommate, out of the house, she and Ron stayed up into the early hours of the morning, first talking and then touching. Their rare private time together had led to amazing new physical discoveries, although they stopped short of giving themselves to each other fully. Ron was more than willing and Hermione had nearly been overcome by the sensations they shared, but she didn't want their first time to be tainted by her concern for her missing friend.

Hermione looked at Ron and saw him in a new light. They had taken a step forward and she felt closer and more in love with him than ever before. The worry on his face softened as she beamed at him, and she reached out to put her arms around him.

"Last night meant the world to me, Ron," she said, remembering that he often needed extra assurance. "I wish that we could stay in bed forever, I really do."

Ron tightened their embrace and placed feather-light kisses along her jaw, causing a soft moan to slip from Hermione's lips.

"You don't know what you do to me, Hermione," he whispered huskily into her ear.

Hermione immediately became aware of two things: first, in her panic and haste to find her shirt so that she could leave, she ironically hadn't given a thought to the fact that she was shirtless. This was now impossible to ignore as her chest was squeezed tightly against Ron's. And second, she could feel Ron's reaction to the contact pressed firmly against her hip.

"Um," Hermione began, feeling as if her whole body must be blushing. "I think I know exactly what I've done to you, actually."

They both laughed awkwardly and broke apart, and Hermione quickly wrapped her arms over her chest.

"Ron," she said, smiling but unable to meet his eyes. "I really need my shirt."

"Oh, well," he said, and effortlessly plucked it from underneath the tee shirt that he had discarded during the night. "If you must."

Hermione took it from him and was vividly aware of his stare as she raised her arms to pull the shirt over her head. Once she was covered, Ron gave a heavy sigh.

"Ron, I'm beginning to think you have a one-track mind." Hermione chided him in a teasing tone, but she was secretly pleased. Growing up with bushy hair and big front teeth had left her a little insecure about her looks, and it was a relief to know that he desired her that way.

Ron gave a shrug and a wicked grin.

"Well, it's your own fault for being so bloody beautiful. And with George coming back tonight, who knows when I'll get another look?"

Hermione gave his chest a playful slap and then found herself momentarily distracted by his toned torso. Stepping to him again, she slid both hands up his chest, locked them behind his neck, and stood on her toes to place her mouth on his. Ron responded with a newfound boldness, using his hands to search out the many curves he had explored during their night together. Hermione began to feel the same stirrings that had almost overruled her better judgment before, so she broke away and collected his hands in hers.

"I really should go," she said, although neither of them was happy at the prospect. "It's a miracle that your parents even let me back into this house after how I left . . ." Hermione felt the familiar pangs of guilt that always accompanied thoughts of the way she had abandoned Ron, his family, and the magical world. She smiled ruefully and looked down at her feet. "What would they think of me if they knew I'd spent the night with you?"

"Who cares what they think?" said Ron, who sounded rebellious. "We're nineteen, Hermione; we've been of age for two years. Nobody can tell us what we can or can't do; that's between you and me."

Hermione wasn't sure what was causing it, but Ron grew more agitated as he spoke.

"It's bad enough that I have to live crammed up in this damned house with everyone looking over my shoulder all the time." Ron gave a dark laugh. "Maybe when we're married, mum will finally back off and give me a little space."

Ron continued to rail against the injustice of their situation, but Hermione no longer heard him. She stared at him, wide-eyed, until he finally seemed to notice her expression.

"What?" said Ron, and he immediately deflated under her intense stare. "Look, I know that mum and dad mean well, and under the circumstances, I guess I shouldn't complain –"

"Say . . . say that part again, about when your mum might give you some space."

"Huh? What do you . . . oh." Ron's face went as white as a sheet; it was as if he just realized what he had been saying. "That. Listen, I . . ."

"Did you mean it?" Hermione asked timidly. Her throat was suddenly very dry. "Do you really want to . . . to get m–"

"No," Ron said, cutting her off. "I mean, yes! Wait, I mean . . ." Ron paused and seemed to steel himself before he went on. With apparent difficulty, he placed his hands on Hermione's shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.

"What I mean is . . . I see Bill and Fleur so happy together, and I want that . . . someday. And, yeah, I guess that sometimes I see us that way. I hope that doesn't . . . I dunno, scare you, or something. I love you, Hermione. You're everything to me." Hermione kept quiet, staring blankly back at him. "You, uh, could jump in and say something any time . . . hopefully before I run into the closet."

Hermione laughed and her watery eyes sparkled. Stretching up to reach his lips once again, she gave Ron a brief but very tender kiss before taking his jaw in her hands and staring into his eyes.

"I feel exactly the same way," she said, and Ron matched her smile. "I love you so much, Ron." They shared one last, long kiss, and then Hermione tore herself from him and walked to the door.

"God, I could get used to waking up like this every morning," said Ron, which caused Hermione to raise her eyebrows. "Well," Ron clarified, "minus the screaming mother, of course – you know what I mean."

"Me, too," she whispered. It was becoming very hard to leave, so Hermione forced herself to turn the doorknob while she could still muster the willpower. "See you downstairs?"

"Yeah. I'm just going to take a quick shower – a very, very cold one.

Hermione glanced at his pajama bottoms and giggled. "That's probably a good idea."

After pausing for a moment to listen at the door, Hermione gave Ron one last glowing smile and quietly snuck down the stairs to Ginny's room, which was empty. She quickly threw off her pajamas, pulled on a pair of white shorts and, thinking of Ron, chose a deep blue top.

As she hurried, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. She had slept in Ron's arms and he had practically proposed to her. Hermione's heart was so full that it felt like it would burst, and on any other day she would be jumping, squealing, and running to Ginny to share the amazing news – well, a censored version of it, anyway.

But outside the warm glow of Ron's room, Hermione's thoughts were pulled back to her concern for Harry. After hastily flattening her bushy hair to make it look less like Ron had spent the night running his hands through it, she returned to the stairs and took them two at a time on her way to Harry's tent in the backyard.

Before she could reach the back door, however, Hermione stopped short upon finding Harry seated at the kitchen table. The room's only other occupant was Ginny, who stopped washing dishes for a moment to flash Hermione an unreadable look.

Harry – disguised as "James Foster," of course – sat fidgeting with an empty glass on the table. He glanced up at Hermione as she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. What had she unknowingly walked into? Had he already told Ginny the truth?

"Good morning, James . . . Ginny," said Hermione, tentatively.

Harry took a deep breath before responding.

"You missed breakfast," he said, in a way that held no sincere interest or curiosity.

"No, I . . . overslept."

Hermione was so caught up in Harry's indecipherable mood that she nearly jumped when Ginny sat a full glass of juice on the table in front of her. As Ginny pulled away, she whispered in Hermione's ear.

"I know."

Hermione's eyes flew wide as Ginny returned to the sink. Harry was staring at his empty glass, which he was absentmindedly spinning on the table with his fingers. The tension was driving Hermione crazy. She pushed back from the table and hesitantly approached the sink to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ginny.

"You know?" Hermione whispered.

Still washing a plate under a steady stream of water, Ginny turned her head to give Hermione a strange look; it was scolding, but the corners of her lips still curled up.

"You didn't honestly think I wouldn't figure it out? We share the same room, Hermione. It isn't hard to guess which bed you slept in if you weren't in your own."

"Oh," said Hermione, stunned with both relief and disappointment. Ginny still did not know about Harry. Hermione shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder before refocusing on the matter at hand.

"It isn't what you think, Ginny," she whispered. "We didn't do anything, we . . . Well, I suppose that isn't entirely true . . ."

"Ugh," said Ginny with a grimace. "Please don't say any more about what you did or did not do with my brother. I don't need those images in my head."

Hermione gave a nervous laugh. Ginny had initially been opposed to her getting back together with Ron, and Hermione could not blame her. It would be easy to understand why she might not support them furthering their relationship.

"Are . . . you okay with this?"

Ginny shrugged.

"I'd already decided to believe in you, Hermione. I trust you to do right by him."

"Thank you," whispered Hermione, and she threw her arms around Ginny, who gave a warm smile.

Ginny turned off the faucet, wiped her hands on a towel, and put an arm around Hermione to squeeze her back.

"Don't mind me, Hermione; you know what a grump I am in the mornings. I'm honestly very happy for you two; I'm glad that you've found each other again."

Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry over Ginny's shoulder and felt her insides squirm with guilt.

Without knowing it, Ginny was standing just ten feet from the one person in the world who could give her the kind of happiness that Hermione shared with Ron, a fact that Hermione kept hidden from her. Of all the sins that Hermione struggled to atone for, her compliance in keeping Harry's secret was perhaps the worst.

"Thank you, Ginny. That means a lot to me." Hermione left Ginny to finish washing up and retook her seat across from Harry, who leaned toward her immediately.

"What was with all the whispers?"

"I wasn't revealing any big secrets, if that's what you're worried about," Hermione said coolly.

Harry looked at Ginny's back, then returned his eyes to Hermione and sat staring at her for several moments.

"Can I talk to you outside?" he whispered.

Hermione nodded, and they rose together.

"See you in a bit, Ginny," called Hermione.

"Sure. Hey, there aren't any leftovers from breakfast, but let me know if you get hungry and I can whip something up for you."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine," replied Hermione as she hastened to catch up to Harry, who had already exited the room in a rush. He was halfway across the yard by the time Hermione reached the back door, and she had to jog to keep pace with him as he climbed the hill and strode past the orchard. Finally, when Harry entered a group of trees at the far end of the Burrow's protective boundary, he stopped and waited for her to catch up.

He leaned against a tree with his hands in his pockets and no longer appeared to be in a hurry. He waited patiently for Hermione to catch her breath before he spoke.

"Hermione . . . do you believe in fate?"

She simply stared at him in confusion until he continued.

"I don't know if I do, but I can't deny that my life has been rolled up in prophecies, chance, and a lot of luck, both good and bad. Who's to say that there isn't some kind of . . . 'divine hand' behind it all?"

Hermione did not understand what he was getting at, but she didn't like the feeling that was building in the pit of her stomach.

"What are you talking about, Harry? What's brought this on?"

"Last night I was standing by my headstone in the Invisibility Cloak, wondering what I should do, and . . . out of the blue, Ginny walked up and gave me the answer. She came to tell me – tell the grave – that she was finally ready to move on. She's putting me behind her, Hermione. She . . . doesn't need me anymore."

Hermione's confusion turned into anger in an instant. More than his words, it was Harry's calm face and steady voice that alarmed her – he was at peace with his decision. His mind was made up.

"This is wrong, Harry. You're wrong. You . . ." Hermione was so upset that she found herself temporarily unable to speak. Shaking her head frantically, she grasped at her only remaining hope.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. Say what you want, Harry, but you'll give in. I've seen it in your eyes when you watch her; every day that you spend here, you come closer to telling her."

Harry did not respond, but looked away ashamedly. Hermione's smug smile faded away.

"You . . . you're leaving, aren't you?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Yes. Today. Now. I would have left earlier this morning, but . . . I wanted to say goodbye."

Hermione's eyes began to well up with angry tears.

"So this is it, then? This is my farewell? I suppose I should count myself lucky; at least I get a goodbye."

Harry's calm mask slipped and Hermione could tell that her words had hurt him.

"Hermione, try to understand," he pleaded. "I'm not doing any good here. I've got enough to go on with Voldemort; being at the Burrow just makes things harder."

"You're so selfish," spat Hermione, and while she hated herself for saying it, she was desperate to provoke any kind of response that might somehow weaken Harry's determination to leave. "Have you even once thought about Ginny? Or Ron? I mean really thought about what's best for them, and not just for yourself?"

Harry reeled back at the words; they had clearly stung. He looked as if he had been slapped across the face.

"How can you – this has everything to do with what's best for them!" Harry was becoming angry now. "And how can you say those things to me after what you did? You weren't the one locked in a dungeon for a year, Hermione. What were you doing to help Ginny and Ron then?"

Harry had never before judged Hermione's past actions, and it was a sign of his distress that he brought them up now. Hermione gladly took the shame and pain that his words caused however, because it gave her the opening she needed.

"You're right, Harry. I made this same mistake a year ago. I left for no good reason, without saying goodbye, and it's the biggest regret of my life. I –"

"This isn't the same," said Harry, cutting across her. Now that his defense had backfired, he appeared eager to drop the subject. "Look, Hermione, I don't want to fight. Please, I . . . I just don't have it in me right now. I know everything you're going to say; you've said it all a dozen times before. And I know now that you were right. You've been right all along. Ginny was hurting, and I . . ." Harry struggled for a moment, closed his eyes in concentration, and his emotionless mask was back in place.

"The situation has changed, Hermione. Ginny is going to get better now. And if I butt in and interrupt that process, I'll only make it harder for her."

"Harry, you –"

"Please, Hermione. Please. I know that you only want what's best for me and Ron and Ginny – and I love you for that – but I have to do this. It's not what I want, but it's for the best. I know you don't agree, and I know that I'm asking a lot. It kills me to have to ask you to do this – to lie – but please respect my decision."

Hermione stood, arms crossed, staring daggers at him as her hot tears began to boil over. Ever since she conspired with Harry to hide his true identity, she had assuaged her guilt by convincing herself that she would, eventually, be able to let the others in on the secret. Now Harry was asking her to continue the lie for the rest of her life.

Hermione cleared her throat and barely kept her fury and panic in check enough to speak.

"And what about Ron?"

Harry's shoulders slumped.

"Ron has you, Hermione; you're all he needs."

Hermione could not look at Harry anymore. Her world was crumbling; she was once again betraying the people she loved. She had just gotten Harry back and now she was losing him again, this time forever.

"I can't keep lying to Ron and Ginny, Harry. Not after how I treated them in the past."

Harry rubbed his face with his hands and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree. They remained in a tortured silence for several minutes; Harry was apparently at a loss for what to say next and Hermione was unwilling to relent and give him his final victory.

"Hermione . . . if Ron needed help and you thought you knew how best to help him –"

"Harry, you're wrong!"

"I believe that I'm right. And if you believed with all your heart that you knew what Ron needed, wouldn't you do anything to give it to him, no matter how much it might hurt?"

"I would. That's what I'm doing now. He doesn't get a say in this, so I'm fighting for him, and for Ginny. And for you, Harry. I wouldn't be your friend if I let you do this."

Harry gave a sad smile and placed his face in his hands again.

"I love you, Hermione. You're the sister I never had." His voice was thick with emotion, but he kept his face hidden. "You know I wouldn't ask you for this if there were any other way. I'm begging you. I want Ginny to move on. I don't want her to waste any more time on me. I want to . . . I want to die knowing that I'm helping to shape a world where she can be happy. I want her to find someone, someday . . . who doesn't always make her want to cry."

Harry sniffled into his hands and Hermione wiped angrily at her wet cheeks.

"Hermione, please. I know I'm asking too much . . . but it's my final request."

Hermione slumped to her knees in defeat; he had finally dared to ask in the one way she could never refuse. At that moment, she both loved and hated him; she wanted to scream and cry, to continue to rage against something, anything. To find a fight she could win.

"Damn you, Harry."

"I know."

Hermione felt sick. Was she really going to let this happen? Could she keep the truth from Ron after what they had just shared? Or from Ginny, who had confided to Hermione how much one more week with Harry would have meant to her? Could Hermione simply watch Harry leave, knowing that he would likely be dead within days?

"Where do you plan to go?" she said, feeling nauseas as she spoke.

Harry lowered his hands and looked at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'll Disapparate to Privet Drive, and then . . . I don't know. I can't really think about that right now; I'll figure it out once I'm out of here."

"Your Aunt's house isn't properly protected, Harry. It would be stupid to go there."

"I'll be all right."

Hermione gave a deep sigh and pressed her fingers to her temple.

"I'll take you to my house; we can use the Order's secure Floo Network. We have room there, and you can stay as long as you need to."

"Hermione . . . I don't –"

"Those are my terms, Harry. If I'm . . . if I'm really going to help you do this, I won't allow you to leave here unprotected. My house has nearly as many protective enchantments as the Burrow, including a Fidelius charm."

Harry stared at her for several moments, then nodded.

"Okay," said Hermione, rising to her feet. Her stomach lurched and she braced herself against a tree and took a deep breath. "I suppose we have to think of some excuse to tell the others . . . and then we can leave after dinner."

"No," said Harry, who also stood. "No, we have to leave now. Right now."

"Harry . . ." But Hermione could tell that any further argument would be fruitless; she could see it in his eyes. Her stomach rolled again and she swallowed thickly.

"Just . . . give me enough time to explain things to Ron, all right?"

"Yeah . . . all right. Of course."

They began to walk back to the Burrow, and Harry caught her in his arms just before they left the cover of the trees.

"I'll never forget what you've done for me," he said, squeezing her tightly. "I don't deserve you."

"Harry," she said, fighting back more tears. "You deserve so much more."

* * * * * * *

Hermione found Ron de-gnoming the garden again, and he accepted her story that James had decided to return to his family home where he would brew potions and take on other tasks for the Order. According to the backstory that Hermione had helped create for James, he lived in her neighborhood, so he would floo to her house and finish his short trip home from there. She would accompany him and visit with her parents for a few hours. Hermione hated herself more with every lie, and she could not bear to look Ron in the eye as she told them.

In truth, Hermione would spend the afternoon explaining the situation to her parents and helping Harry settle in. She planned to visit him there every day, aid him however she could, and spend as much time with him as possible before he must eventually face Voldemort. For a moment she had considered staying there with him, but she quickly decided that she could not leave Ron behind. She would, at the very least, spend her nights at the Burrow, and would never give Ron any reason to think she was leaving him again.

In the short time it took for Harry to collect his meager possessions and rejoin Hermione, Ron quickly spread the news of James's impending departure. A crowd of people met Harry and Hermione at the fireplace, and Harry was forced to decline repeated requests to stay. Although he had mostly kept to himself since arriving at the Burrow, James Foster had made an impression with his impassioned Unbreakable Vow, his spectacular Quidditch abilities, and his inexplicably potent Patronus charm.

Mrs. Weasley lamented the fact that she could no longer watch over him, but trusted that he had some sort of family to take care of him, despite the fact that Harry had previously said that James's parents – like his own – were dead. And although nobody spoke of it, there was evident concern in their voices for a man they believed to have some kind of terminal illness. Harry had been somewhat truthful, at least, in revealing that he did not have long to live.

Despite the fact that Hermione strongly disagreed with Harry's chosen course, her heart went out to him as he shook hands, said goodbyes, and tried to pretend that he was merely leaving behind recent acquaintances and not the people he loved most in the world. He said little and his face gave away nothing, but Hermione knew that he would have desperately hoped to avoid such a scene.

Harry kept his attention away from Ron and Ginny until he could no longer do so without being obvious. Turning to face Ron at last, Harry appeared to be at a loss for words. Before the scene could become too awkward, however, Ron took the initiative and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry to see you go, mate."

"Yeah . . . me, too, Ron."

Harry clapped Ron's shoulder, and Hermione had to look away.

"Take care, will you?" said Harry. "And take care of Hermione, too. She's a special girl."

"You don't have to tell me that," said Ron, smiling. He put an arm around Hermione, who still could not meet either of their gazes.

Harry sighed, and after a short pause, he turned to Ginny with what Hermione knew must be an enormous effort. Hermione watched them intently. Ginny was smiling politely, as was Harry, but his expression was off somehow, forced and frozen.

"I wish you didn't have to go," said Ginny. "I was hoping that we could have another Quidditch match. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."

Harry stood stock-still with his eyes locked onto Ginny. It was hard for Hermione to look at him when she knew how much pain he must be in, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. This was it – the last, best chance that Harry would be unable to go through with his plan. Leaving Ginny before had been the hardest thing he had ever done, and Hermione desperately hoped that he would find it impossible to part with her again.

"You'll come back to visit, won't you?" asked Ginny when Harry failed to give any kind of response.

Finally, Harry took a breath.

"No . . . I won't be coming back."

And then he held out his hand. Ginny looked a little disappointed as she shook it.

"Keep flying," said Harry. "You're brilliant at it, and it's easy to see that it makes you happy."

"You, too, James. Listen, don't . . . don't let your condition keep you from enjoying life as much as you can, all right? And don't forget that you have friends here if you need them."

Harry gave a single, soft laugh and his smile became genuine. He had stopped shaking Ginny's hand, but held onto it. He gave her an intense stare, then stepped forward and embraced her. Hermione stopped breathing. It was a brief and friendly hug – nothing too out of the ordinary – although Ginny was clearly caught by surprise.

Only Hermione was positioned to see Harry's face atop Ginny's shoulder; his expression was so tortured that it looked as if he were in physical pain. Hermione's heart broke for him.

"Goodbye, Ginny."

Harry quickly released her and took his position before the fireplace without a look back. Throwing a fistful of floo powder into the fire, he entered the grate and spoke the address that Hermione had given him. With a burst of green flame, he was gone.

With no attempt at faking a smile, Hermione followed.

* * * * * * *

They emerged from a fireplace in a large study that contained a mahogany desk, a couple of plush armchairs, and rows of bookshelves that stretched across nearly every wall. Behind the desk, a tawny owl observed them from inside its cage, which rested on a small table by a window.

"Mum? Dad?" called Hermione. "They must be downstairs." She walked toward the door but stopped when she noticed that Harry wasn't following her. He remained standing by the fireplace, hunched over with his hands on his knees.

"Harry?"

"I . . . I need a minute."

He appeared ready to collapse.

"Oh, Harry . . . here," Hermione took his arm and steered him to a nearby chair, which he fell into. His skin was pale and waxy; he looked as though he might be sick. Leaving the Burrow seemed to have taken all he had.

Harry groaned and bent over in his seat, locking his fingers behind his head.

"What can I do?" asked Hermione, her voice becoming a bit frantic. The morning's traumatic events had pushed her too far and she felt close to her breaking point. For a moment Hermione considered holding him, but was somewhat ashamed to find that she was too distraught to offer any comfort. She felt so many powerful conflicting emotions that she thought she might explode.

"I'll . . . get you some water. Wait right here, Harry."

But before Hermione could leave the room, her parents walked through the door.

"Hermione!" called her mother. She was a thin and neat woman who wore a black, button-up sweater, a long white skirt, and a hair band atop her shoulder-length bushy black hair.

"We thought we heard you arrive, sweetheart," said Hermione's father, who moved past his wife to hug his daughter. He bore a warm, crinkled smile and was dressed in a red jumper and tan trousers. His short, faded ginger hair was streaked with grey.

"Hello, dad," said Hermione as her father released her. "Hi, mum."

"We hoped you would stop by soon," said Mrs. Granger. "It feels like it's been forever since we last saw you."

In truth, Hermione had visited a few days prior, but she still felt guilty. Her involvement in a full-blown wizarding war – in which she was allied with Voldemort's most hunted enemies – had put a halt to her parents' normal Muggle lives and placed them in terrible danger. Back when she began the hunt for Horcruxes with Ron and Harry, Hermione had left her parents in a somewhat safer situation by relocating them to Australia under fake identities and memory charms. But when Hermione returned home a year ago, broken by the news that Harry had been killed, she could not resist bringing them back. She despised herself for placing her needs above their safety, and had since tried several times to convince them to go back into hiding. However, upon returning to find their daughter in such a terrible state, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had steadfastly refused to leave again, even though it meant they must remain protected inside their house and rely on the support of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione's parents had sacrificed everything for her.

And now she was about to ask them to harbor the most wanted man in the world.

Harry had risen to his feet while Hermione said her hellos. He put effort into forcing a polite smile, but wasn't doing a very a good job of it.

"Um . . . mum, dad," said Hermione, turning toward Harry. "This is going to come as a bit of a shock. This is Harry . . . Harry Potter."

Mr. Granger looked politely confused, but Hermione's mother was faster on the uptake.

"But you said that he had . . . I mean . . . this past year –"

"I know," said Hermione, thinking of the many times she had cried and clung to her parents for comfort after finding what she believed to be Harry's body. "He had gone missing and we thought the worst, but he came back."

"Goodness," said Mr. Granger, breathlessly. "Well . . . this is fantastic news!" He gave a surprised laugh and stepped forward to enthusiastically shake Harry's hand.

"My God, Harry; we thought we'd lost you! We were never properly introduced, but Hermione has always talked so much about you that I feel as though I've known you for ages. We did see each other briefly at King's Cross and Diagon Alley, of course . . . I remember you having darker hair . . ."

"Yeah, um . . . Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, not bothering to explain further. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel well. Could I . . .?"

"Hm?" Mr. Granger responded, still shaking Harry's hand. "Oh, yes, of course; you do look a bit off color. Is there anything we can –"

"No, I . . . just need to lie down for a while."

Mrs. Granger was once again a step ahead.

"Hermione, show Harry to the guest bedroom and help him settle in. We were just about to prepare lunch; Harry, we'll have something for you when you feel up to eating." She gave Hermione a questioning look that told her she would soon be expected to explain this miraculous development in much more detail.

Harry forced a final smile but his eyes were already miles away. His composure was crumbling fast, and Hermione had to take his arm to help him into the hallway. He spoke as they stumbled down the stairway to the ground floor, sounding as if he were only partly aware that he was doing so.

"So . . . I guess we're telling them."

"No more lies, Harry," Hermione said resolutely. "Not here. I'll explain things to them; they won't tell anyone."

Harry did not argue. At the moment he seemed incapable of doing much more than taking one shaky step after another.

Just as they entered a small, plain, and untouched bedroom, Harry's potion began to wear off. As his sandy blonde hair shifted to black and the lightning bolt scar reappeared on his forehead, he pulled from his rucksack a pair of round-rimmed glasses. Hermione recognized the spectacles instantly and recalled seeing them on Ginny's nightstand every night before going to bed.

"When did you get –"

"Copies," Harry muttered. "It didn't feel right . . . to take the real ones." Hermione puzzled over his comment as he absentmindedly placed the frames on his face and sat down on the bed, looking dazed.

Hermione watched him from the doorway, not certain if she should leave him alone. After a minute of silence, she began to walk away.

"I really did it, didn't I?" asked Harry in a quiet voice. He was still staring off into space. "I didn't realize how much I had started to rely on the thought of telling her . . . that I was counting on it."

Hermione, once again torn between conflicting emotions and impulses, could settle on nothing to say.

Without another word, Harry lay down on the bed and rolled onto his side to face the wall. It killed Hermione to see him in such anguish, especially when it was within his power to make things better. After watching his still form for a few moments, Hermione left to study her own feelings.

Without consciously deciding to do so, she returned to the upper floor and sought out the sanctuary of her room. She had always found comfort at being surrounded by her neatly organized collections of books and supplies, but after spending so many months there hiding from the world she truly belonged to, the room had also come to feel like a prison. She looked at her bed and remembered the countless nights she had lain awake crying. She saw her cauldron and thought of the limited, cowardly work she had eventually agreed to take on for the Order.

Hermione sat at her desk and placed her head upon it, resting it on her folded arms. She felt the beginnings of the kind of dark and desperate feelings that had once crippled her, and was frightened of what they might foreshadow. No matter how bad things seemed, she could not go back to being what she once was, hollow and paralyzed. Things were different now; she was stronger. She had Ron.

Ron.

With a fresh tide of emotion, Hermione thought of the myriad qualities and sensations that she associated with the man she loved. His smile. His kindness. His unwavering support and forgiveness. His eyes. His smell. His warmth. His touches, both soft and rough.

Tears were pooling on the desk beneath Hermione's face. Ron deserved better from her. He deserved better than her.

She sat up and opened a desk drawer, taking from it a framed photo. There, frozen forever in the Gryffindor common room, was a sixth-year Harry with his arms around Ginny. The couple looked so much happier together than they ever had apart. Next to them, Ron stole a glance at the Hermione in the picture and nervously looked away when she caught him watching. Hermione now saw more in the gesture than she had before; even then, he had liked her in the way she had always wished he would.

Suddenly unable to look at the photo for a second longer, she lowered it back into the drawer and noticed the pile of letters that had been stacked underneath it. They were Ron's. He had continued to send them to her after she abandoned him, but she had never responded. She had never even read them.

Desperate at that moment to feel close to Ron – and thinking that she deserved the hurt his words would surely bring – Hermione took the top envelope and ripped it open. It was the most recent letter. It spoke of nothing extraordinary, but detailed the minute goings on of life at the Burrow: something funny George had said, an argument Ron had with his mother, an opinion on a book he had read, and his concern over Ginny, who remained despondent; no sensitive information that could have jeopardized the Order had his owl been intercepted. What struck Hermione was that Ron had sent it nearly a year after she left, yet he wrote as if nothing had changed between them.

Hermione tore open the next letter in the pile, and then the next, reading them in reverse of the order she had received them. As she worked backward, the letters became more desperate. Ron had tried so many times to elicit a response, to learn what had become of her. He asked over and over how he might help, pleaded for her to see him, and begged her to tell him what he had done wrong.

After the first few weeks of not hearing from Hermione, Ron had stopped holding anything back. He spoke of his love for her, how she made him feel when they were together, and how he wasn't whole while they were apart. He spoke with an eloquence and passion that she never would have dreamed him capable of.

Hermione sobbed as she read, leaving the sheets of parchment blotchy with tear-stained ink. Ron's words magnified her mistakes by a hundred fold, and the tender moments they had spent in bed the previous night seemed a lifetime ago. How could anyone be capable of hurting the one they love so much?

The drawer was now empty. Hermione dropped her head to the desk again and wept over the countless scattered sheets and ripped envelopes that littered the area around her. How could she fix this? How could she hope to atone for the damage she had done? How could she ever again look Ron in the eye after reading his letters, and while keeping secret the fact that she had stolen his last chance to see his best friend again?

Hermione stilled . . . her sobs ceased . . . and she raised her head.

She jerked open another drawer and yanked from within it a new piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. Without pausing to think of what words to write, she hastily began to scrawl a letter.

Ron,

I don't know how to put this, so I will be direct: I have kept something very important from you, and it is long past time for me to tell you the truth. Will you please arrange to meet with me privately when I return tonight?

I am so very sorry. I hope that you can forgive me.

Love, Hermione

The letter wasn't strictly necessary; Hermione could simply wait until she arrived at the Burrow and then ask Ron for a word in private. But by sending the note, she would commit herself to taking action at last; once Ron read her message, there would be no backing out.

She folded the parchment, stuffed it into an envelope, and addressed it to Ron. Following her newfound sense of urgency, she sprinted from her room and returned to the study, where she tied the letter to the family owl and sent her away.

As Hermione watched her courier's brown wings soar into the distance, her surge of adrenaline came to an end. For a few fleeting minutes she had gained a clear sense of purpose and felt the satisfaction of finally taking action. Now, it was once again time to wait.

She felt a small measure of regret at betraying Harry, but at that moment her devotion to Ron was so strong that the niggling guilt did nothing to dim the inner glow that came from at last doing what she knew to be the right thing. She only hoped that her actions would not result in her losing all three of the people she was closest to.

Weary as if she had already experienced a full day, Hermione went to find her parents and get something to eat. And then, if she could manage it, convince Harry to eat, too. She considered telling her parents how serious things had gotten with Ron – leaving out the bits that no parent would want to hear, of course. She thought they would be happy to know that she was in a committed relationship. Her mother would probably ask all sorts of new questions about Ron and examine their relationship like a logic puzzle. Her father would likely crack jokes to cover his discomfort at the thought of his daughter dating. They would mean well, however, and Hermione needed to focus on something good, something normal.

She darkly thought, however, that it might be prudent to hold the news until after her meeting with Ron in case, well . . . things changed.

As she approached the kitchen doorway, Hermione could hear the clink of utensils coming from inside the room.

"I'm starv –"

The world seemed to go into slow motion as Hermione lost her breath and her balance. She fell to the floor in shock, landed on her backside, and instinctively began to push herself away from the incomprehensible scene before her.

Seated at the kitchen table, as casually as if he were an old family friend, was Lord Voldemort.

He took no notice of Hermione as he watched her parents, who stood on either side of him. Her father was pouring Voldemort a cup of tea; her mother was buttering him a scone. Neither looked at their daughter; they moved mechanically, totally absorbed in their tasks. Their eyes were glazed over.

Hermione became still and watched the scene in absolute terror. Her mind could not accept what she was seeing; it was like some bizarre, confused nightmare. Voldemort simply could not be there, seated in the chair from which Hermione had eaten her meals since she was little.

Voldemort was given his tea and he took a sip. A slight crease formed between his eyes, and he returned the cup to the table, pushing it away.

"Muggles," he sighed.

Mrs. Granger offered him the scone, but Voldemort airily waved it away.

"Mudblood," he called in his high, clear voice, although he still did not look at Hermione as he addressed her. "Call for our dear friend, Harry, will you?"

Hermione remained paralyzed in fear on the floor.

"Perhaps I did not speak clearly enough," said Voldemort. This time he did look at her, and his red, slit eyes snapped her out of shock.

At the same time, her parents each raised kitchen knives to their own throats.

"Call Harry Potter."

"N-no, don't," stuttered Hermione, holding out her hands as if to stop him. Voldemort continued to stare right through her, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger also turned their lifeless eyes to their daughter. Their knives were pressed firmly against their flesh.

"H-Harry . . .!" Hermione had meant to shout, but it came out a whisper.

"I do not believe he heard you," said Voldemort, matter-of-factly. Blood began to flow from her mother's knife.

"HARRY!"

This time her scream was terrible in its fear and volume.

"Much better."

Voldemort removed his gaze and began to look around the room with amused curiosity. As the moments crawled by, Hermione's mind spun back up and kicked into survival mode. How had he found them? How had Voldemort penetrated the Fidelius charm that Mr. Weasley had placed upon the house?

Hermione heard Harry's footfalls as he ran toward her, but she could not tear her eyes away from her parents, who remained a quick stroke away from death.

"Ah, Harry," said Voldemort, speaking warmly as if he were addressing an old friend. Hermione felt Harry come to a stop beside her in the doorway and, from the corner of her eye, saw his wand rise. Simultaneously, each of her parents began to draw their knives across their necks.

"Harry, NO!" shrieked Hermione, and she seized his wand arm, pulling it down. The knives paused, but an alarming amount of blood was already spilling.

"Muggles," mused Voldemort, "are so much more susceptible to magic than wizards. These two," he gestured lazily to Hermione's parents while keeping his unblinking eyes on Harry, "will do whatever I ask without any hesitation whatsoever. Shall I demonstrate?"

"No," Harry growled.

Hermione felt a desperate need to act, to do something, but saw no possible options that would not result in the deaths of her mother and father at the very least.

"But surely you would not hold it against me if I played just a little," Voldemort continued. "You see, I have been without my favorite toy for quite some time . . ."

"What do you want?" Harry demanded.

"What else?"

Voldemort stood and straightened his robes. Beside him, the front of the Grangers' clothes were now soaked with blood. Hermione whimpered.

"Time to go home, Harry. You will be punished, of course, for running away. I will let you live, however . . . for now." Voldemort took a few steps forward and held out his hand expectantly. "Your wand."

Behind Voldemort, Hermione saw her parents' arms slowly lower as if unseen hands were pulling them down. Could Harry be doing this . . .?

"Your wand, boy." Voldemort dropped his teasing tone and his nostrils flared.

Hermione tightened the grip on her wand, feeling that this was her last chance to act but still not knowing what to do . . .

Harry tossed his wand toward Voldemort, whose eyes moved to follow its trajectory. In that instant, Harry wandlessly fired a Reductor curse. The Dark Lord somehow managed to erect a shield in time, but the impact of the wide beam of blue light was so great that it still blasted him through the wall, across the front yard, and into the street. Hermione's parents were simultaneously thrown clear, and Harry's wand flew back to his hand before it could hit the floor.

Harry immediately rushed to Mr. Granger and pried away the man's knife. After Hermione's brain took a moment to catch up to what was happening, she followed suit and disarmed her mother.

"We've got to get them out of here," yelled Harry, and he joined Hermione in pulling her parents to their feet. With their hands emptied, the Grangers stood aimlessly and seemed to await further orders. Hermione hastily sealed their cuts with a healing spell.

"He's blocked Apparition," Harry shouted.

Hermione did not check for herself, but was sure that Harry was right.

"We can f-floo out," she said, and without a backward glance at the hole Voldemort had disappeared through, Harry helped Hermione push and pull her slow, stumbling parents from the kitchen.

Hermione knew that even Harry's powerful attack would not halt Voldemort for long, and her senses were on high alert as the group rushed to the stairs; she felt as if death might strike her down from behind at any moment. Miraculously, they made it safely to the top floor and into the study. Once inside, Hermione hastily shut the door and sealed it with a few quick protective spells – nothing that would have a chance of stopping Voldemort, but which might buy them a few more seconds.

Harry had already crossed the room to the fireplace, which he re-lit with a quick flick of his wand. He grabbed a fistful of floo powder from a jar on the mantle and tossed it into the fire. The yellow flames remained unchanged.

"What –?"

Hermione joined him in front of the fireplace, made a few rapid gestures with her wand, and then turned a wild, desperate look to Harry.

"I-it's no longer connected to the Floo Network . . ."

Harry returned her hopeless gaze and they stood frozen in fear, not knowing what to do next.

Hermione screamed as the house began to shake and everyone fell to the floor. With a deafening sound like the crack of thunder, the roof caved in to reveal the massive, probing head of a giant snake formed from fire.

Hermione looked up in horror and disbelief at the impossible creature, whose red, blazing eyes stretched nearly as wide as the room. Flaming debris dropped all around Harry and Hermione, narrowly missing them as they scrambled to join the Grangers by the door where a patch of protective roof remained.

The snake hissed and the room was filled with an unbearable blast of heat that singed Hermione's hair and stole her breath, and then the monster straightened up to observe them from thirty feet above, its head bobbing slightly but keeping its distance.

"There can be no escape," boomed Voldemort, whose amplified voice seemed to come from every direction. Hermione looked around but could not catch sight of him. "I have blocked Apparition for a mile in every direction. Surrender to me now, or the snake strikes again and again until there is nothing left of this hovel but a pile of ash."

Harry paused for a moment and appeared deep in thought. Then, suddenly, he began to move away from their huddled group toward the side of the room that was directly underneath the snake's hovering head.

"No, Harry!" said Hermione, who reached to grab his arm. Harry jerked free and crouched as he rushed across the dangerously creaking floor, weaving around piles of splintered wood and patches of fire to where a part of the wall had been brought down with the ceiling. Hermione held her breath as he peeked through the opening.

"You won't kill me," he yelled. His darting eyes appeared to be searching for Voldemort on the ground below.

"No," replied the Dark Lord, "but I do not extend that courtesy to the Mudblood or Muggles. Surrender now, or I will burn down every house in sight. I know you, Potter – you would not flee and leave so many innocents to die."

Harry pulled his head back from the opening and swore. He looked up at the fiery serpent – which, even at a distance, continued to fill the room with blistering heat – and then turned his eyes to Hermione, who saw a grim resolve form on his face.

"Hermione . . . get your parents downstairs." She could hear fear in his voice, but also determination.

"What? Harry –"

"Just do it," he shouted. "I'll be right behind you."

Hermione frantically began to undo the charms she had placed on the door and the mammoth snake straightened up, towering above them even higher, preparing to strike.

"I take that as a no," called Voldemort. "Very well. I am almost certain the Elder Wand can repair whatever is left of you."

Hermione's shaking hand fumbled on the doorknob as the snake lunged again. This time it stopped in mid-strike, its flaming fangs held back by Harry's hastily cast shield charm. Harry held his ground a mere ten feet from the beast and the two squared off face-to-face in a battle of wills, the snake struggling to inch forward while Harry fought to push it back by expanding his shield. The scene swam with blurred waves of heat, and the scorching-hot air became impossible to take in. The Grangers stumbled weakly against the door but continued to show no emotional reaction. Hermione held her breath but felt as though she would surely melt away in a matter of seconds. She finally wrenched open the door as Harry began to scream.

Hermione got her parents into the hallway with the aid of a quickly cast levitation charm and then closed the door, remaining in the room with Harry. With the air she had sucked into her lungs from the hall, she shouted a Reductor Curse that passed harmlessly through the monster's head.

Spots on Harry's body began to spontaneously catch fire as his stalemate with the snake continued. Harry's mouth was still stretched open in agony, although his scream had died out. With as much power as she could muster, Hermione reinforced Harry's shield charm with one of her own and the snake lost a little ground.

This seemed to give Harry the opening he needed, because he refortified his stance and swirled his wand in the air. The clouds above them darkened and Hermione's jaw dropped as the sky erupted into a violent downpour. The snake jerked away and appeared to diminish somewhat, and Harry dropped his shield to soak in the rain. Showing renewed strength, he continued to weave his wand and the storm intensified. The beast writhed above them, and for one incredible moment, Hermione believed it was finished.

But then every drop of water in the sky was simultaneously transfigured, and the air was thick with falling nails. Hermione flattened against the door in her corner of the room, which still offered protection overhead, and gasped as the sky-born missiles stuck into the floor before her feet. Harry wasn't so lucky.

Hermione could not fathom how he had managed to get another shield up, because the start of the onslaught had left him riddled with nails. They stuck out of Harry everywhere: his back, his arms, his legs – even his head. He had crumpled to his knees and hunched over so that his head rested on the floor. He was still and Hermione could not see his face.

Another scorching hiss rent the air, and Hermione looked up to see the full volume of the snake's flame returning. Nails continued to rain down, passing harmlessly through the beast and bouncing off Harry's shield, which had started to flicker. The floor underneath him was now covered in blood.

As Hermione urgently considered what she could do without Harry's extra power, she saw the nails in him become vapor and his wounds seal shut. Just as the snake reared back to strike, Harry leapt to his feet and slashed his wand through the air in wide, continuous arcs. The falling nails transformed again into millions of snowflakes, which were instantly whipped into the winds of a raging blizzard. The force of this storm was ten times as terrible as before, and Hermione clung to the wall as the gale came close to carrying her away.

The snake flickered for a moment and then vanished on the icy winds.

Harry swung his wand down and the snowstorm ceased. He stumbled a bit in the sunlight of the once-again clear, normal day, and then looked to Hermione. His eyes reflected the awe that Hermione knew must have shown on her face. She had never seen him open up like that and push his enhanced magic to its fullest extent, and the effects seemed to surprise him, as well.

Their reprieve lasted only a moment, however, before the house shook once more, this time with the force of a tremendous earthquake. They both toppled over and Harry disappeared through the floor as a large portion of it crumbled away.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, and she scrambled to her feet as the tremors stopped. She threw open the door, dashed into the hallway, and found her parents sprawled along the staircase. They writhed and groaned, appearing as though Voldemort's hold on them had finally been broken.

"Dad, come on," Hermione called, stooping to help her father up.

"H-Hermione . . ." he gasped. He dazedly looked around until his fearful gaze fell upon his wife. He gripped the railing and got to his feet, wincing and holding his shoulder as he did so. Hermione followed him down the stairs to her mother, whose face was wet with fresh blood that streaked down from some unseen wound beneath her hair. Thankfully, she was able to walk.

"We've got to find Harry and get out of here," said Hermione in a commanding voice. As a witch, their lives were in her hands and that steeled her. She had to get them to safety; they could not pay for her mistakes. With no possible escape route, her only hope lay with Harry and his ability to seemingly do the impossible.

The three of them hurried across the ground floor to the spot where the upper level had caved in, but they saw no sign of Harry. Hermione realized that the snake must have come in contact with this entire side of the house, because the area still bore small, scattered fires that the storm hadn't reached.

The collapsing rubble had brought down a nearby wall, and through the jagged opening Hermione heard sounds of panic coming from outside. Gripping her wand so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palm, she maneuvered around the wreckage and looked cautiously through the hole, which led out to their driveway, small front yard, and a street lined with a row of houses on both sides.

"Hermione, wait!" cautioned her father in a harsh whisper.

Hermione held up a hand to silence him as she took in the scene before her. It was total pandemonium. Neighbors were fleeing in every direction while others had only just rushed out of their homes to investigate. A jet of green light struck a woman in the back as she ran down the street; her lifeless body fell to the asphalt in mid-stride and slid into the wheel of a parked car. Hermione recognized her as the lady who had always lived three houses down.

"Potter!" called a cold, furious voice, and Hermione adjusted her partially concealed position against the remains of the wall to see Voldemort standing in the street at the center of the chaos. "You continue to defy Lord Voldemort; now watch as these Muggles pay the price!"

Displaying a sick kind of satisfaction, Voldemort struck down another innocent victim before Hermione had a chance to react – a boy that could not have been more than ten years old.

Not knowing how to help but feeling that she must try, Hermione raised a foot to step through the opening but halted at the sound of a muffled impact nearby – Harry had run out from the side of the house and dove into her parents' burgundy sedan, smacking his shoulder up against its door. Hermione simply stared at him for a long, startled moment while he remained crouched, using the car for cover. His blood-soaked clothes were torn and even shredded in some places.

Harry reached into his back pocket, pulled out his flask, and then took a quick peek through the car's side window at Voldemort, who continued to pace down the street but had not yet trained his wand on another target. Harry squatted back down and hurriedly raised the flask to his lips – but before he drank, he met Hermione's eyes.

Time seemed to freeze as he stared at her, and in that one endless moment, Hermione realized what he was about to do.

Harry took one quick sip of Polyjuice Potion and shifted into the unremarkable visage of James Foster. He stowed away the flask, rose to chance another look at Voldemort, and positioned his body to spring into action. He again looked at Hermione, this time with a piercing stare that paralyzed her with fear. He gave a small nod in recognition, and then bolted from his hiding place.

All noise seemed to fade away as she watched him race toward the mayhem on a course that was sure to gain Voldemort's notice. Hermione tore her eyes away from him and found the Dark Lord just as he turned to Harry and raised his wand.

This was it; the moment she had dreaded with all her heart. Amidst the chaos of Voldemort's reckless assault, Harry had at last found a way to complete his final mission.

Hermione heard nothing but her own heart thumping in her ears, but saw the murderer's thin, lipless mouth shape the incantation . . . saw a flash of green . . . and Harry was blasted high into the air before crashing through the windshield of a parked van.

But it was only the concussive force of the Elder Wand's power that had thrown him; Harry had been shifted to the side just before the Killing Curse struck the ground next to him. Hermione looked down and found her wand shaking in her hand, pointing to where Harry had been. She had not thought, only acted.

The van creaked, and Harry laboriously pulled himself out of its shattered windshield, slid across the glass-strewn hood, and collapsed onto the ground. As he did so, his wand clattered onto the street and rolled a few feet away from him.

"What –?"

Voldemort's wide, red eyes took in his intended victim and the loose wand, and Hermione could sense the Dark Lord putting the pieces together, realizing what he had almost done and what it would have cost him. He then looked to where the shield had appeared and quickly glanced around until his savage stare found Hermione.

"Kill her," roared the Dark Lord, and his voice rang with such anger and raw power that Hermione was temporarily paralyzed in its echo. Voldemort then turned and stalked toward Harry, who lay writhing in broken glass.

Without warning, Hermione felt a heavy blow to her back and tumbled forward. Her face slammed hard into the ground, causing stars to pop before her eyes as she fought to roll onto her back and look for what had struck her. With a shock of horror, Hermione saw her father standing over her with a heavy plank of splintered wood raised above his head in preparation for another attack.

Hermione tried to roll to the side as the makeshift club swung down, but she caught it fully against her shoulder. Yelling in pain and panic, she scrambled to get her feet under her but was hit for a third time before she finally got away. The swing connected with her jaw, and she both felt and heard something crack.

Rising to her feet, Hermione dazedly staggered through the open wall and into the yard as she desperately tried to shake her head clear of a thick, painful fog. She wildly swung her arm forward to cast a protective spell but found her hand empty. She heard a sharp crack, and – feeling sick as though she were witnessing another murder – saw the two pieces of her wand in her mother's hands.

Still disoriented and with no means of protection, Hermione turned and fled. She sucked in rapid, shallow breaths as she ran around the side of the house with no destination in mind; her parents' footfalls were close behind her. She heard Voldemort's sadistic shout from somewhere in the distance as he cast his next curse.

"Crucio!"

Hermione looked over her shoulder to see that, past her pursuing parents, Harry had risen to his feet and wandlessly cast another powerful shield charm against Voldemort's attack.

"How –?" screamed Voldemort, sounding both awed and enraged. "Where did you get such power?"

Hermione turned the corner into the backyard, but not before glimpsing Harry summon his wand to his hand and begin dueling Voldemort. The sounds of their clashing spells rang across the neighborhood as she reached the back door just a few steps ahead of her parents. She was in no shape to outrun them, and with only a second to act, she threw open the door, fell through it onto the floor, and slammed it closed with her feet. The door shuddered as her father threw his body against it, and Hermione scrambled to her knees to turn the lock a split-second before he turned the doorknob.

Hermione began to cry as he pounded on the door, and she let out a scream when his arm crashed through the door's window to blindly reach for the deadbolt latch. Pressing her hand to the wall for support, she stumbled from the room and made it as far as the stairway before hearing the door fly open with a loud bang. With her remaining strength, Hermione hurried past the stairs to the guest bedroom and tore through Harry's rucksack until she found his Invisibility Cloak. Her hands were shaking so badly that she barely managed to cover herself before her mother darted into the room.

Clamping her hands over her mouth to contain any frightened sobs or shouts of pain, Hermione moved as slowly and silently as possible into the far corner of the room while her mother – who had quickly been joined by Hermione's father – searched the closet and under the bed. After only a few frantic moments, they moved on and Hermione allowed herself a small whimper as she slumped to the floor.

"How did you escape the Chamber of Secrets? How can you summon such powerful magic? TELL ME, Potter!"

Voldemort's demand carried through the room's partially opened window, and Hermione leaned forward to find that she could look through it to glimpse the battle that was taking place in the street. Dazzling colors flashed in rapid succession as the mortal enemies danced around each other, dodging and deflecting spells at an impossible speed. Harry's small dose of Polyjuice Potion had worn off quickly, and he once again wore his true face.

Hermione sucked in a breath and held it, certain that Harry would be struck down at any moment.

"How can you stand against the Dark Lord and the Elder Wand?" continued Voldemort, desperation mixing with his anger. "Tell me your secret or I swear I will destroy everyone and everything you hold dear!"

"You're going to have to kill me, Tom! I'm too powerful to control now; you can't lock me away anymore!" Harry's voice carried a newfound confidence, and Hermione watched in awe as her friend proved that he was equal to the world's deadliest dark wizard.

Voldemort screamed in anger, losing his calm and commanding demeanor completely. He seemed more snake than man as he lashed out again and again, but his spells either did little damage or hit harmlessly against Harry's shields. Harry also failed to land a significant blow, and the stalemate continued as the rising sounds of sirens began to fill the air.

Hermione moved closer to the window and, as the sirens grew louder, felt a faint spark of hope. Although Muggles stood no chance against Voldemort, she was desperate for any help, any distraction that might provide an opening for escape.

Without disengaging from his duel with Harry, Voldemort threw two blasting hexes down the street and Hermione heard horrible out-of-sight explosions. A heartbeat later, two police cars, trailing flame and smoke, soared through the air over the battle. Harry spun around to swipe his wand at the wrecks as they flew overhead and the cars slowed their descent, apparently under the effect of a levitation charm. But in his effort to save the lives of the drivers, Harry had turned his back to his enemy and was hit with a Full Body-Bind curse.

Voldemort swept forward to stand face-to-face with his frozen foe and appeared to be on the verge of striking a physical blow before he mastered his emotions. His teeth were bared and his shoulders were hunched forward as if he were preparing to pounce – it was clear that Lord Voldemort had never been pushed this far before.

"You . . ." panted Voldemort, winded from battle. "Are going to spend the rest of your miserable existence in a box."

Hermione prepared to rush out to them, not knowing how she could possibly help, when Harry's entire body flashed with a brilliant white light. In the blink of an eye, he shot forward and pushed Voldemort to the ground. Harry once again called his wand to his hand and spun it toward his enemy, who had quickly risen to his feet.

"IMPERIO!"

This time it was the Dark Lord who froze, his wand remaining half-raised in a failed attempt to defend himself. He screamed in protest and his body trembled as he struggled against the Unforgivable Curse.

"THIS IS NOT . . . POSSIBLE!" he bellowed, slowly forcing his head to rise to meet Harry's eyes. "NO ONE . . . CONTROLS . . . ME!"

Harry said nothing, but gripped his shaking wand with both hands to keep it trained on Voldemort. It seemed to take every last bit of Harry's power to maintain the Imperius Curse, which appeared to waver as Voldemort's wand rose to level itself at Harry. The Dark Lord, however, seemed surprised by the movement.

"What are you –?"

"You're going to kill me," grunted Harry through clenched teeth. "And I'm going to kill you." The two men stood with their wands pointed at each other, their power struggle whipping up a frenzied wind of debris around them.

"On . . . three, then?" said Harry, and Hermione was struck by the mad kind of relish in his strained voice. They were going to kill each other; Harry's part of Voldemort's soul would be destroyed along with the rest of its master, and the Dark Lord would be completely finished.

"ONE . . ."

"No," whispered Hermione.

"T-TWO . . ."

Voldemort again screamed in anger and Harry seemed to struggle harder than ever to force his will upon him. The house and surrounding area began to quake under the unimaginable amount of magic at war.

"T . . . TH –"

But Harry's control finally broke as, with a primal roar, Voldemort lunged at him.

Suddenly looking as if he could barely stand, Harry had his wand swatted away as he staggered backward. His head was seized and roughly pulled before the Dark Lord's wide, searching gaze.

"NO ONE can match my power," bellowed Voldemort. "Or the power of the Elder Wand!" He stared at Harry as if he could not believe what he was seeing. "I will have your secrets . . ."

And then, Hermione was sure, Voldemort invaded Harry's thoughts. Only the lure of an unknown power, one greater than his, could have tempted the Dark Lord to once again subject himself to the torture of entering such a pure mind.

For several anguished moments, Hermione watched as Harry's limp body trembled under the assault, his arms flailing helplessly at his sides. But then Harry managed to grip the hands that held his head in place and he slowly pulled himself up to Voldemort's level. Their gazes remained locked, but now they both shook as if a new war was being waged inside their minds.

As they continued their battle of wills, the house began to rattle worse than ever. It emitted ominous creaks and groans, and bits of plaster and dust began to crack loose from the ceiling to fall all around Hermione.

She heard a gut-wrenching duet of screams, and then – as if someone had simply switched them off – Harry and Voldemort collapsed to the street. The house immediately stilled and an eerie silence settled over the area.

Terrified, Hermione watched their motionless bodies through the window for one long, breathless moment, and then she hurried from the room. At long last, the time had come for her to take action. In his rage and rush for power, the Dark Lord had left himself exposed and vulnerable. If she could reach Harry's wand before Voldemort came to . . .

The house was falling apart and she was forced to avoid scattered, shattered furniture and more falling debris as she ran. Hermione was halfway to the front door when something slammed into her side and knocked her to the ground. Ignoring her many pains, she scrambled to her knees and saw that it was her mother that had tackled her. In her haste, Hermione had not thought to keep the cloak wrapped completely around her.

Hermione got to her feet first and ran in the opposite direction, toward the back door, before her father appeared from around a corner to block her path. Her only remaining escape route was the opening in the wall that she had used to spy on Voldemort earlier. Dodging her lunging father, Hermione pushed her aching legs to carry her to the makeshift exit. If she could just get Harry's wand, she could stop her parents and bring an end to this.

When she reached the wreckage that lay before the demolished wall, Hermione found that the scattered fires in the area had spread. Much of the room was now covered in flames, and she paused to search for a safe way through. In the instant that she hesitated, however, her parents charged her and the three of them toppled into the rubble.

Hermione felt herself grabbed and clawed as she blindly struggled to break free. She could see the exit but was overcome by her attackers, who mercilessly beat her as she cried out and begged for them to remember who they were and realize what they were doing. And then the room was filled with a thunderous rumble as the remaining ceiling came crashing down upon them.

Hermione lay broken and blind, immersed in total darkness. She could not tell up from down; it was as if she were drowning in deep, dark water. Parts of her were numb while other areas pulsed in agony, and it was difficult to tell what she was moving as she attempted to work her way free. For what must have been minutes, she simply pushed and pulled whatever parts of her body she could until, miraculously, she rolled out from the rubble. She coughed and felt her chest compress painfully as she spluttered out blood. There had likely been some internal damage, but she couldn't worry about that now.

Through blurred vision, Hermione spotted a still and blood-streaked arm and leg – her mother's – sticking out from the mountain of wreckage. Riding a fresh wave of fear that struck her like a knife to her heart, Hermione willed herself to stand. She then saw her father, who was pinned under a massive beam. He struggled to push it off him as a sheet of flames danced ever closer.

Hobbling to his side, Hermione tried with all her might to move the beam, but it was no good. The heat from the fire was becoming unbearable; there was no time to run for Harry's wand . . .

Suddenly, she felt her father's large hands close around her throat and squeeze. Even while in mortal peril, with his wife dead or dying, he could not disobey Voldemort's last command. The fire crept closer until it enveloped him, but still he did not let go. Hermione pulled at his hands with every ounce of her remaining strength but could not loosen his grip; could not draw a breath . . .

And then she was on fire, and they burned together. It was agony beyond endurance, but she could not scream as she thrashed against the hands that held her within the flames. Her eyes darted around the room and she saw the visible remains of her mother ablaze on the pyre. Hermione turned her horrified gaze to her father and found that tears leaked from his wide, empty eyes. Did some part of him know what he was doing? She vaguely considered this as her all-encompassing pain receded into a numb kind of darkness. Her vision was closing in and she could feel herself drifting away . . .

She was confused, then, to suddenly find herself looking up from the floor. Her father's arms had fallen and he lay unmoving in the inferno. A heartbeat later the pain was back in full force, and as the flames continued to consume her, Hermione screamed at last – a piercing, guttural yell that ruined what was left of her throat. As her voice died, however, another rang throughout the room.

"AGUAMENTI!"

A massive wave washed over Hermione, extinguishing her fire and sweeping her across the floor. She was cradled in a new pair of hands, which sent jolts of pain from where they stuck to her raw flesh.

"H-Hermione! Oh, no . . . no, no, no . . ."

She focused on the source of the frantic voice and found Harry's horrified face hovering before her.

"I w-won't let you die," he said, his voice breaking. "H-Hang on, Hermione – I don't know if this will work, but I have to try; he's right behind me . . ."

Over his shoulder, Hermione saw Voldemort stagger through the opening in the wall; like Harry, he seemed weak and unsteady. She saw the Dark Lord aim his wand at them, saw his mouth begin to shape an incantation, and then everything went black.

Hermione felt as if she were being squeezed from every direction. It was the uncomfortable feeling of Apparition, but many times worse. She was being pressed more tightly than ever before, and quickly felt as if she were being crushed as she lingered in the void much longer than usual. Finally, she felt rather than heard an almighty boom that rattled her bones. There was a moment of relief as the pressure around her relaxed, but then it began to close in upon her again, just as painfully as before. She had not yet been able to draw a breath, and her chest felt as if it would cave in. A second noiseless blast sent a shockwave through her body, and she sucked in air as the darkness and pressure lifted completely.

With great effort, Hermione managed to open her eyes halfway to look through a blurred haze at Harry, who still loomed over her. He seemed to be in only slightly better shape than she was; his skin was deathly pale and his black hair was matted with blood and dirt. His green eyes appeared panicked as they searched her face; she saw his mouth moving but could not hear his words. In fact, Hermione heard nothing besides a constant high-pitched ringing in her ears.

She let her head roll limply to the side and saw evidence of more destruction; overturned furniture and cracked, blackened walls. It looked as if they had been at the center of an explosion.

Hermione clenched in agony as Harry suddenly turned, causing her to shift painfully in his arms. She traced the direction of his gaze and could barely make out the distant forms of several people entering the room. Their faces came into focus and Hermione at last understood what had happened – Harry had somehow broken through Voldemort's anti-Apparition magic and escaped to the Burrow.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, George, Charlie, and others all stared at them in absolute shock. Some drew their wands while others appeared unable to move.

At the center of the group stood Ginny, her eyes wide in an expression that Hermione couldn't name.

People began to shout – at least, it appeared that way; Hermione was still deaf. Only one soft, muffled word reached her because of its incredible volume and the twisted face that screamed it – Ron had called her name. Hermione could tell from the tortured way he looked at her that, if she survived this, she would never be the same. A part of her tried to reach for him, but the impulse could not find its way to her arms. She worked to keep her eyelids from falling as Ron ran toward her, his continued shouts falling dully against her ears . . .

Darkness.

Light – Hermione was jolted back to consciousness by a bright flash, and then she fell to the floor; Harry had been grazed by a spell and dropped her. As she rolled to a stop, every movement, every touch, brought her excruciating pain. More spells were hurled but they struck a shield charm that was smaller and more fragile than any she had ever seen Harry cast before.

Even as Hermione suffered and fought to stay conscious, the pieces slid together in her mind easily: in his haste, Harry had taken them directly into the house, blowing through a second set of anti-Apparition wards and arriving with the force of a cannon blast. Everyone had heard that Voldemort used Harry look-a-likes as human bombs, but nobody knew that the real Harry still lived . . . and he had been discovered crouching over her burned and broken body . . .

Darkness.

"–ione!"

Hermione reopened her eyes to find that Ron's face now swam before her. He screamed her name again and again, his muffled shouts reaching her as if from a great distance. His expression was tortured and crazed, his cheeks wet with tears. He had kneeled to hold her, and Hermione groaned as she suddenly realized the new pains caused by his touch.

Hermione saw a series of colored flashes from the corner of her eye and slowly turned her head to look past Ron. Harry had stumbled away through the room and furniture was being blown into the air all around him by errant incoming spells. He stayed crouched behind his shield charm, which flickered weakly against a relentless barrage of magic. It was clear that the battle with Voldemort – and pushing through the wards – had left him alarmingly weak.

The Weasleys had spread out into the room, some firing spells from behind cover while others, like Bill, attacked Harry head-on. Harry did not return their fire, but appeared to be scrambling to find a way out. There was no escape from a room so small and populated, however, and Charlie soon tackled Harry through his fragile shield. Bill quickly joined his brother, and Hermione watched in horror as they pinned Harry down and pounded him into submission.

The rest of the family converged on the spot and Mr. Weasley pulled his sons off Harry. Ginny and her mother looked on as Bill and Charlie stood and lifted Harry's limp, bloody body to its knees and held him there by his arms. Fleur watched from the doorway, cradling Victoire fearfully. Harry barely looked alive and made no effort to speak or break free.

Hermione's heart sped; she knew that she had to help him somehow . . .

Darkness . . .

. . . and fire. Her father's eyes, crying as they bore into her through the flames . . .

"–tay with me, Hermione, please . . ."

Hermione blinked up at Ron and then looked back to Harry, whose seemingly lifeless body was still being held up by Bill and Charlie.

Ginny now stood before Harry, staring down at the battered boy while shaking off her parents' attempts to pull her away. The ringing in Hermione's ears was fading, and she began to pick out pieces of what the Weasleys were shouting . . .

"–too dangerous; he could blow up at any second!"

"Get back, Ginny!"

"–nish him off; it's the only way to be sure . . ."

"Boys, get him outside! Molly, help Ron with Hermione!"

In the center of the noise and panic, Ginny remained motionless over Harry's sagging form, her wand clutched tightly at her side. Hermione saw longing, hatred, and disgust play across the girl's face while she continued to throw off the hands that tried to tug her away.

"Look," said Charlie, and he raised his hand to show something to Bill – Harry's flask.

Bill let his side of Harry drop as he took the flask, removed its cap, and sniffed the potion inside. He then poured the liquid out, and his face lit with anger as he studied it.

"Polyjuice," he snarled, and then he threw the empty flask hard against Harry's bowed head. The impact stirred Harry; he rolled his head back and looked up to find Ginny, who was visibly shaking as she stared back at him.

The arm that Bill had released twitched for a moment before Harry managed to swing it up to clutch Ginny's shirt. The group responded instantly, simultaneously trying to pull Ginny away while prying Harry off her. But Harry held on and even freed his other arm to help pull closer to her. With his eyes locked on Ginny's, Harry tried to speak but could only sputter a weak, meaningless noise.

Finally, several hands tore him from Ginny and he slid down her to the floor, leaving the front of her clothes smeared with his blood. George stepped between them as Bill and Charlie re-secured Harry's arms.

"Rrrrn . . ." gurgled Hermione. She had to make Ron understand that Harry was not a threat – that they shouldn't hurt him – but could not form the words.

"Rrrrnn . . . H-Hrrry . . ."

"Shhh," said Ron, holding her closer to him. "D-don't try to speak, Hermione; save your strength and just s-stay with me, all right?" Ron's tear-filled eyes turned to his family. "Somebody, please – help her!"

"Har . . . ryyy . . ."

Darkness.

A rush of sound assaulted Hermione as she emerged from the void, the ringing in her ears almost gone. Ginny was screaming at the top of her lungs as she struggled to push past George and get back to Harry.

"BASTARD!" she screeched through tortured sobs. "HOW D-DARE YOU . . ."

As she shouted at him, Harry tried to lift his head to look at her but failed; he barely seemed conscious.

"Arthur!" cried Mrs. Weasley, who Hermione was startled to find kneeling next to her beside Ron.

"Boys!" Mr. Weasley yelled over his daughter's continued shrieks. "I told you to take him out of here! Go! Now!"

Ginny's screams became incoherent; her face was contorted with inhuman agony.

"R-Ron," choked Hermione. Her breathing hitched in her throat from the pain of speaking. "It's . . . Har . . ."

"Everyone get back!" yelled Bill, as Harry unexpectedly broke free and summoned a last burst of strength to stumble to his feet.

"R-Ron . . . it's Harry . . ."

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Green light filled the room and, with a pain that far surpassed all her others, Hermione knew what had happened even before she saw Harry fall.

His wide, emerald eyes showed a faint look of surprise as they stared unseeingly at the girl before him. Ginny had fought around George's side to take aim at Harry, and her quivering wand still pointed at him as he crumpled. The gathered crowd watched in shocked silence as the body thudded to the floor, its arms and legs splaying out at odd angles.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Beside her, Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley draw in a shaky, shallow breath.

George came to life first and snatched the wand from Ginny's hand. She did not resist. She seemed as stunned as the others at what she had done and brought her hands to her face, peering through her fingers at the body that lay before her.

The others were a blur to Hermione as she focused on Harry, who had not been killed by his greatest enemy, but by the woman he loved more than anyone or anything in the world. Had the fragment of Voldemort's soul survived? Was Voldemort now impossible to kill?

And what did it matter? Harry was gone, just like her parents. There was no way for Hermione to come back from this. She lay in Ron's arms, ready for death to take her. Images of empty green eyes and burning bodies pressed upon her as darkness closed in, and she willingly fled into the void, desperate for any escape, any release . . .


Next:

For a long time, Ginny Weasley's life has been a relentless series of challenges. Even when she failed to pass them, she had at least managed to endure. But can she hope to survive what stands before her now?

Coming soon, the eleventh chapter in The World I Leave Behind, "The World Undone."