A/N - No song for this chapter. This chapter is almost 2,000 words longer than the last chapter, but I felt it was necessary to keep it all as one chapter.

"And then the vicar says, 'In the Biblical sense, of course!'"

"EW! George, that joke is absolutely one of the raunchiest things I've ever heard! How could you even say that? I feel like I need to take a shower." Hermione's face was the perfect picture of revulsion, and George couldn't help his laughter.

"I have to admit, I have no idea what it means, but it gets a reaction, so I knew I had to tell the innocent Miss Granger," his eyebrows wiggled like caterpillars over his twinkling eyes.

"You don't even understand that disgusting, deplorable joke? And you still tell it? George!"

"Hermione, do I look like a Muggle to you? From what I've been able to glean from other's reactions, apparently a vicar is some sort of religious figure, and a football hooligan is one who feels very strongly about a certain group of sweaty men running around a field in shorts kicking a ball. And, well, a prostitute… I don't have to be a Muggle to understand that one, thank you very much."

Hermione's hand made contact with the top of George's head with a very satisfying smack.

"Oi! What was that for?"

Her smile stretched from ear to ear as she answered him in a smug tone, "Just because, love."

"Hey, what's with the physical violence? That's not the sort of dueling I had in mind." Hermione looked to the doorway and saw Harry grinning at them, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame.

"Ah! It's the Chosen One, come to save the day once more. Harry, help a chap out will you? I think all the studying has driven her barmy!" He ducked as Hermione laughed and tried to smack him again, but he was too quick this time.

"Sorry, George, I think you're on your own on this one; Hermione is as smart as she is scary!"

The bright witch's face fell at his words. "You don't really think I'm scary, do you Harry? I mean… after the whole, um, Nott incident, I guess I wouldn't blame you if you were scared of me, after all. I mean, I would get it. It makes sense." She nodded her head, her eyes downcast as she tried to understand, tried not to be hurt.

"Oh Bookworm. It sounds like we still need to talk about some things, yeah? Can I steal you from Georgie here for a bit?" The raven-haired hero held his hand out to his friend, willing her to take it.

He knew their talk in his bedroom hours before had been restorative, but it wasn't enough. Hermione was obviously still feeling the guilt from the previous night's activities, and if she honestly felt that he was afraid of her, that he somehow didn't trust her . . . well, that certainly wouldn't do. Number one, it wasn't true, and number two, that was no way to prepare for battle. More and more it looked like Hermione would be his weapon in this war, and he needed her sharp, confident, and altogether ready for destruction. He had told the others that they fought tonight to maim or kill; he planned on doing little of the former and more of the latter. Tonight wouldn't end with the bodies of his friends scattered amongst the ruins of the arena. Tonight he was playing for keeps; tonight he would avenge the deaths of so many. Bellatrix had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts, so he needn't worry about that bitch, but he had plenty of Death Eaters to keep him occupied. He was particularly looking forward to stopping the heart of one Nott, Sr., if only to revel in the demise of a man who could raise an innocent child to join a creature as dark as Voldemort.

Hermione hesitated, searching his eyes for understanding. When she found it, she gladly accepted his hand and stood to follow him.

"George?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"It's good to have you back, mate. We've missed you terribly. But for the love of Merlin and all that's holy, do not repeat that joke again."

"Agreed, but only if you explain the punchline to me when this is all over," the ginger-haired boy's eyes were full of mischief-making.

"Sure, mate. I'll explain it to you over a pint, as long as I never have to hear it after that." Rolling his green eyes, he led his best friend up the stairs.

"Well, this is cozy," Hermione's voice was rich with sarcasm. Looking around, Harry really couldn't blame her; neither of them had been to the attic in at least a year, and for good reason. It was a bloody mess, full of dust, old Black family artifacts, and what looked suspiciously like bat droppings. Hermione's eyes alighted up on stack of broken mirrors littered with garbage and what appeared to be a dead mouse.

"Lovely. Just for future reference, Harry, if you're looking for a place to take a girl... say, Ginny, the red-head downstairs whose eyes have been burning holes into your lips... don't bring her up here. Just a friendly piece of advice."

"Point taken."

Flicking his wand at the junk surrounding them, Harry mumbled some incantations under his breath. The debris piled up in the corner, and he was able to locate the camp chairs he had remembered throwing up there years ago. A quick Scourgify and the chairs looked almost... well, not new, but not as vile as they had been a moment ago. He gestured towards the one closest to Hermione and motioned for her to sit. She circled the chair several times, inspecting it carefully, before she took a seat.

"So 'Mione, how's the research going?" They were running short on time, and Harry thought the forthright witch in front of him would appreciate his straightforwardness.

"It's not great, Harry. I have no idea which direction to go with all of this. I was talking to George earlier, and I've read so many things recently that the secret to You-Know-Who's downfall could be anything."

"Do you mind telling me some of things you've been reading about the past few months? I have a feeling the answer lies there, since You-Know-Who started seeing you a real threat more recently."

Hermione thought back to her conversation with George an hour before. "Well, as I was telling George, I reread 'Hogwarts, A History.'"

"Of course you did."

"Don't get cheeky, Potter, you're the one who asked me the question."

"Too true, please, go on."

"Okay. So, 'Hogwarts, A History,' concentrating on the founders in particular. Many of the horcruxes seemed to revolve around the founders as well as the school itself, so it seemed like a sensible place to start. I once again researched horcruxes, but I think we have exhausted that subject. I'm almost completely sure that we were able to destroy every last one. As you know, I've dug quite deep into the Black family library, and everything that entails. There's some desperately dark magic, there, Harry. At times I had to force myself to continue reading, but I wanted to be prepared. There were a few books on some of the earliest recorded magic, stretching back far before the Roman Empire. Let's see... I read about the history of wandlore, specifically tracing the Ollivander family. I was able to glean some information regarding the use of wands before Ollivander brought his to Britain, but it's quite hard to find out about anything before 500 BCE. It seems that magic was practiced differently back in the early days, and almost all of it, at least that I've read about, is dark magic. There was quite a lot about blood rituals in particular. I also read some interesting things about magical creatures; for instance, did you know that there is a creature related to both the unicorn AND the dragon? It lives in a small forest roughly five hundred kilometers outside of Bucharest, but it's only been captured and studied twice in the last three-hundred fifty years! It's really quite remarkable."

Harry nodded his head, holding back his laughter. Only Hermione would think to interject a comment about some crazy unicorn-dragon at a time like this.

"Let's go back to the dark magic and the blood rituals. When was it that you first started studying that? Did you practice anything, or just research it?"

"Well, I suppose it was somewhere around the beginning of February, maybe? And what do you mean by practice it? It's very dark magic, Harry."

"I know it's dark, but that's not what I asked you. Did you attempt any of it? Any blood rituals?"

She felt her face turn hot as she averted her eyes. She didn't expect Harry to ask her this sort of question, especially not in such a pointed way. There was no talking around such a direct inquiry.

"Well... yes. I was reading so much about these rituals, and I got curious, I suppose. Most of what I could find were familial rites, mainly bonding rituals, that sort of thing. But I did find a few things that I could try on my own. The one I attempted didn't seem so dangerous, so... yeah. I tried it."

"And?"

"And, I don't know. It seemed to work, I guess. It was a powerful strengthening spell, used to increase one's power and ability. It was a rather nasty spell though, I didn't like the feeling at all. You know how magic carries a charge to it? Sort of like a light spark across your skin? This was more of a grating, pulling sensation. Like I'd rubbed against sandpaper, almost. It wasn't at all pleasant."

"Did it work, though?"

"Yes," she whispered, reluctant to meet his gaze. This was not the sort of magic she was to practice; she was on the Light side of this war, and the shame she felt now was sickening.

"Hermione, look at me," Harry commanded. She drew in a breathe quickly when she saw his eyes; what normally shone like emeralds had turned dark and hard.

"I need to know exactly what happened. What sort of spell was it? What differences did you notice? Were the results temporary or long-lasting? I know this is all rather uncomfortable, but I need to know. I think this may be what You-Know-Who sensed."

"But how?"

"We'll get to that, but I need to hear it from you first. Tell me about the spell."

She bit her lip but kept his gaze. "It is a very old spell; the earliest mention I found predates Christendom by at least two centuries. It involves a sort of potion, but it's very basic compared to a potion like Felix Felicis. It relies on the elements of the earth, and the power is believed to be created from those elements."

"What exactly is used?" Hermione eyed her friend warily; he was fixating on this, and she'd rather they move onto another subject; any other subject, in fact.

"Well, there's water, and fire, and air, which are easy enough. For earth, mud is used, but it must have quite a concentration of clay, which is thought to fortify the elements. And blood, which is the catalyst, and brings them all together. The witch or wizard draws a pentagram on the ground, either scratched into dirt or written in chalk; the five points represent the four elements, as well as the fifth, which is blood. A silver cauldron, or plate, whatever is available, is used. The witch or wizard sits in the middle of the pentagram, holding the silver vessel in their lap. The mud is placed in the vessel, and an indentation is made in the center. The indentation must be deep and wide enough to hold approximately two ounces of liquid. One ounce of water is added, preferably dug from a well or acquired from a stream. The potion's strength is directly affected by the proximity of the elements to the earth, so drawing water from a tap wouldn't work as well as going to the source. Once the water is added, blood is to be drawn from the practitioner's vein and added to the earthen cup. The mixed blood and water must reach to the top of the cup but not spill over. Fire is to be added next, which is difficult, as the water resists it, of course. While there were several suggestions as to what the best solution was, I followed the one that seemed simplest, in terms of availability. Grass or twigs can be added, but they must have been found in the same location as the dirt, so as not to contaminate the potion. These can be laid across the earthen vessel and set aflame. The incantation is to be uttered with a full breath, the words said directly into the fire, as to fan the flames and then extinguish them. The elements bond somehow, and what is left is a hard, red stone. The stone is swallowed, and the spell is complete."

Harry breathed deeply; this certainly did sound like old magic. Hermione hadn't mentioned the incantation or the wand movements, however, which was peculiar.

"Is there a complicated wand movement to go along with the spell?"

The young woman shifted in her seat, obviously uncomfortable with question.

"There is no wand, Harry. This spell pre-dates wands, and is one of the oldest spells known to man. In fact, it's not known well at all. Thankfully we had the resources of the Black library, but this isn't the sort of information you could find even in the Restricted section at Hogwarts. It required extensive curse-breaking to even access this part of the Black library. This magic... it's very ancient and dark. "

"Can I ask why you tried it, then?" He wasn't accusing her of wrongdoing, he was simply curious.

"I... I wanted to be more of a help. I know that my dueling and abilities have grown since the Battle of Hogwarts, but I still feel like my skills are more theoretical rather than practical. I just wanted to pull my own weight, Harry. And I think this may be the sort of magic that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named uses, which may account for his survival, even after his horcruxes were destroyed. I think this may be how he has stayed two steps ahead of us. It's not all bad news, however. The spell can only be used three times in a person's life; any more and it strips the strength of the user. I believe You-Know-Who used it the first time after he regained his body. The second time would have been before the Battle of Hogwarts, and I'd wager that he used it again when he found out that I had escaped from Nott. It's a peculiar spell in that it can last quite a while or for just minutes, depending upon the practitioner. While the spell itself is dark, like all human blood magic, the application isn't necessarily so. If the practitioner uses the power defensively, the increased strength can last for months, perhaps even a year. If the power is used offensively, it will last anywhere from minutes to days. It's primarily a defensive spell, you see, used for protection as well as fortification of the individual. When the power is used as a weapon, however, it's short lived because the power isn't being returned to the individual, but cast outwards. Do you see what I mean?"

Harry nodded his head enthusiastically. "So what you're saying is that You-Know-Who may be under the influence of this spell, but if he is using his power to attack us, he will go through it quickly? And that if you use your powers defensively, you'll be able to retain them for longer?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. But I can feel the spell has diminished greatly in me, because of what happened with Nott yesterday. Too much offensive magic, not enough defensive. Do you really think this is what He was concerned about? That I had knowledge of this spell?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. "I don't know if this is the only thing he was concerned about, but I think we're closer than we've ever been."

"But how could He know what I did?"

"Well, like you said, 'Mione, magic has a feel to it. Maybe he could tell someone had used the spell because so few people know about it; maybe he had some way of knowing it had been used again. It's hard to say exactly. What benefits did you find from the spell?"

"Well, I became much more adept at wandless and wordless magic. Things like closing a door or deflecting a curse have become almost second nature now; I barely have to think about it."

"Maybe someone saw you use that sort of magic and put two and two together?"

She bit her lip, considering his words. "I dunno, Harry, maybe?"

"What's the incantation that goes along with the spell?"

"Well, the original incantation is incomplete, but the most recently used is in Latin – Imperare sibi maximum imperium est. Roughly translated, it means 'to rule oneself is the ultimate power.'"

"And what's the name of the spell?"

"It seems to go by many names, but I've been thinking of it as Imperare Imperium. Harry, if you think we're getting close to the answers we've been looking for, then I think I need to go back to those passages and brush up on some similar incantations. I certainly hope we won't have to use dark magic tonight, but I'm not counting on getting by using Expelliarmus."

"That's actually part of the reason I asked you to come up here with me, Bookworm. I want you to know that I'm not afraid of you; I'm afraid for you, in some ways, but I'm afraid for myself in the same ways. When we spoke this morning in my room, you said when you were with Nott, you felt like you lost control, like it was another person doing those things to him. Is that right?"

"Well, yes. I mean, I knew what I was doing, but I guess I just felt sort of... blank? Except not completely. I felt angry, so incredibly angry, and the anger justified my actions, for the moment. Afterwards, when I realized what I had done, it felt like another person had tortured him. I was aware of what I was doing at the time, but the aftermath was confusing and muddled."

"I can't say for sure whether or not you lost control of your magic; it doesn't seem that way to me, really. It seems more like you may have lost control of what you've always seen as you logical spirit, or your judgment. You knew the end result you required, and you did what was necessary to achieve that end. Is that correct?"

"I suppose, yes, but the ends don't justify the means, Harry."

"Not all the time, no."

She looked at him strangely, then, unsure of what he was saying to her. "Alright, Harry, come on out with it, yeah? Say what you mean to say."

He stood up, turning away from her to look out the attic window. He couldn't see much because of the layers of dirt coating the glass, but at least he didn't have to meet her eyes when he spoke.

"Hermione, I have to ask something of you tonight. It's nothing that I should not be allowed to ask, and I'm sorry to do such a thing to you. But I need you to help me end this. And we're not going to do it by locking up a lot of Death Eaters in Azkaban. Some will need to survive in order for the wizarding community to forgive us for what we have to do. But we need to leave more bodies on the battlefield than in the jail cells, if you understand what I am saying. I didn't want to scare everyone downstairs; we can't afford to lose any fighters on our side. I am asking you to duel to kill tonight, not to maim. I am asking you to use the darkest magic there is, if it becomes necessary. I'll do my best to protect both of us, but I need you knowledge and your power tonight. Do you understand what I am asking of you, Bookworm?"

She stood up and met him at the window, her hands reaching up to his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye.

"You're asking me to lay aside pity and compassion tonight, and to allow the end to justify the means, no matter what. Am I correct in my understanding, Harry?"

Behind his glasses, emerald eyes filled with tears as he listened to those words pass her lips. Hermione, his beautiful, intelligent, brave friend. A friend who had stood by him all these years, who had seen so much death and grief. And here he was, asking her to witness even more, to commit sins he couldn't absolve her of, not entirely.

"Yes, love. I think history will judge our actions and see we fought for the Light, no matter the methods we use. But I can't promise that either of us will be the same after this. No matter what happens, though, I will always love you, Bookworm. Nothing can change that; what happened with Nott hasn't changed that, and what happens tonight won't change that. You and Ron were the first family I ever really had, and that bond is eternal, do you understand? I'm so, so sorry to ask this of you. Gods, I'm so sorry. If I could find anyone else, I swear it, I wouldn't ask this of you. But you're not only the brightest witch of our age, 'Mione, I think you're the most powerful. I need you. I'm sorry, but I need you."

She was quiet for several minutes, and Harry began to worry that she would walk out of the room, walk out of the war and out of his life. He was asking her to put aside everything that made her kindhearted and loving; all the good that made her stand up for underdogs like Neville, that made her fight for house elf rights. He was asking her to embrace the darkness she feared in herself, in order to bring down the darkest wizard in decades. He felt awful, but he also believe it to be entirely necessary. He couldn't kill Voldemort without this woman at his side.

"I'll do it, Harry. I'll do it. Azkaban would be worth it, death would be worth it. If people can live without fear, if children can keep their innocence for longer than we were allowed... then that's worth it. But Harry, I don't know if I can live with myself after that. I don't think I can come back here to Grimmauld Place, and live with you and Ron, knowing that I made a conscious decision to turn my back on the parts of myself that I hold the most dear. But I'll do it."

Strong arms wrapped around her, and she leaned into the embrace, already feeling the blankness fill her mind. She would need to turn off her conscience to do this, and she tried to fall into the feeling, tried to stop thinking about what would be asked of her tonight.

"I'm so sorry, love, I'm so sorry." Harry's fingers ran through her curls, and she felt his body shake with unrelenting sadness. "I am so sorry to burden you with this, Bookworm. I'm so, so sorry."

Pulling back from the hug, she wiped a tear away from his cheek. "We're short on time, Harry. We've got an hour before the Order regroups and we finalize all plans. We can deal with the consequences of all of this later. One hour is long enough to preform Imperare Imperium on both of us. Is that something you want to do?"

Wordlessly he nodded his head.

"Okay. I'll need you to collect the mud and water, and I'll clear space up here so we can preform the ritual here on the floor. Meet me back here in ten minutes, alright?"

"Alright." He turned to walk out the door, then ran back to her, engulfing her in a bruising embrace. "You and me, Bookworm. We're going to bring that bastard down." He released her and strode out of the room.

She fell to her knees on the floor, her legs unable to hold her weight any longer; her head rested in her arms as she gulped in oxygen, but her eyes were dry.

Thoughts? Feelings? Complaints?