When they show up at Dumledore's office with the memory, he's entirely unsurprised, and doesn't look especially impressed or pleased that they've managed to procure it—just smiles, casually, and opens the doors that hide the pensive.

(Unbothered that he encouraged teenagers to emotionally manipulate a professor, however necessary.)

Something about this meeting feels—different, though.

(Like something big is about to happen.)

The weight of it all, the anticipation and mounting pressure, it crashes over them as they fall into the memory, the very air electrified.

The beginning is the same; the end of a potions class, Tom approaching Slughorn with a dazzling smile.

But this time, when he asks about horcruxes, instead of the warped scream, Slughorn's expression grows worried. "That's dark magic, m'boy. What on earth would you want to know about those for?"

Riddle plays it off, of course, citing intellectual curiosity and a need to be prepared; Harry's clutching at Hermione's hand as Voldemort's child self charms his way into seeming innocent even as he inquires about the darkest of magic.

And Hermione's confused, because the questions he's asking Slughorn are clearly distractors, things he already knows—she can see a book about dark magics in his schoolbag, making a mental note of the title.

And then he asks the question he really wants to ask, and the pieces fall into place as she sucks in a gasp of understanding.

"Seven?" Harry demands in a whisper beside her.

(Seven pieces of his soul—six horcruxes.)

The diary and ring are gone, of course, and they have the locket and diadem in their possession, but that leaves two others—the snake, as they'd established last year, and god only knows what the last one could possibly be.

(Two final horcruxes they have no idea how to track down.)

The memory ends, and they're spat back out onto the cool tile of Dumbledore's office, all silent for a moment as they process their shock.

"Is it possible? Could a person survive splitting their soul that many times? We're sure he carried out that plan?" she asks the Headmaster, looking to him for information for perhaps the first time in her life.

"While a very intelligent individual, Tom Riddle's weakness has always been his attachment to significance," Dumbledore says grimly, with a slight shake of his head. "Having been treated so horribly for so long, he became obsessed with feeling like he belonged in the magical world, and proving it. Seven has historically been seen as a powerful magical number—if he fixated on it for something as important as his soul, I doubt he would've been able to focus on anything else until he had succeeded in doing so."

"But what that would do to a person…" Hermione shudders instinctively.

The older man nods, though he doesn't look nearly as disturbed; unfortunately, he's rather unsurprised. "I agree, it is likely the root of the loss of his sanity and humanity, so fractured is his very core. Given the way he produced a new body without the use of any horcrux, it's arguable that the being he is now is entirely soulless, though I'm not sure about the technicalities of such a thing."

They're all quiet, for a moment, taking it in—really, truly attempting to fathom the implications.

"You understand the role you must play in this?" Dumbledore asks, gaze darting between them. "For the remainder of the year, the three of us will attempt to track down and/or destroy the four horcruxes still in commission, but beyond that it will be up to you."

Harry's brow furrows, because while they'd already assumed as much, it seems unlike Dumbledore. "What do you mean?"

He sips from a goblet slowly, holding up his injured hand. "My health is ailing. And when the war is in full swing, I will be needed at Hogwarts, to defend the fortress. This is where the battle will come. You two—and Mister Weasley—must find and destroy the horcruxes that remain, or we will have no hope of defeating him."

Hermione nods, for the first time feeling as though she and Dumbledore are on the same wavelength.

(Have the same understanding of where things are heading.)

"We understand, sir."

(So many years, they've been tiptoeing; so careful, thinking they knew the game.)

(Really, it's only just begun.)

/

"Do you really have the time to be taking that kind of extracurricular reading onto your plate right now?"

Ron's voice is completely serious, and when Hermione looks up at him he's leveling her with a disproving stare. "The bags under your eyes are already out of control, Mione. You need rest, not another project. If you don't take care of yourself you're going to fall apart, and then where will we all be?"

Harry's grinning behind him, of course, because she always gives him grief when he fusses over her not taking care of herself.

"This isn't recreational, unfortunately." She rubs at her temples as if the motion alone will reduce her headache as she marks her page and closes the book to show it to them.

Harry pulls in a breath of surprise at the cover. "Isn't that—"

Hermione nods grimly. "The book on horcruxes Riddle had in his bag—Aunt Andy made some trips to Knockturn to get ahold of it for me. I figure we need to know as much about them as Voldemort does."

"It's cute, how she finds ways to excuse all the ways she doesn't take care of herself," Pansy comments to the others with an eye roll. "Necessary or not, you have too much on your plate, Hermione. You won't be able to relay any of the information in that book if you collapse, first."

Harry's grinning at the way they're all ganging up on her till Pansy and Ron's gazes both swivel to him.

The Slytherin raises her eyebrows. "What are you laughing about, idiot? You do the same shit, with your savior complex and inability to ever consider your own well-being. I swear one day I'm going to slip the both of you sleeping draught and keep you knocked out for a week just to keep you functional."

Draco chuckles faintly, though his attention is mostly on the calculations he's doing on parchment before him, planning for the Death Eaters' invasion of Hogwarts.

He's had the gist of the plan for ages, now, but has refused to leave anything to chance, devising and triple checking every detail of every possible turn of events.

(Fixing the vanishing cabinet. How to keep the rest of the students safe. How to alert the Order and have them come defend the castle without being suspected or anyone being caught in the crossfire.)

And he's been sleeping even less, having to keep a stock of Polyjuice that Hermione and Pansy have both offered to brew for him but he's refused to let anyone else do, knowing they're both already stretched thin as it is.

(Not to mention brewing is…one of the only times he can breathe, these days.)

(His mind is such chaotic hell that he doesn't truly feel like a person most days, except when he's brewing, or drinking firewhiskey in the Room of Requirement with all of his clandestine friends, losing himself while fucking Hermione, both of them desperate to feel anything but the numbness and remind the other that they're so very loved.)

So he brews it himself, though Ginny's the one to procure different hairs for him to use each week, much more adept as she is for being able to strike up conversations and deftly slip strands into the pockets of her robes without the other parties being any wiser.

And Crabbe and Goyle take it, under the impression that they're "standing guard"—not that he needs such a thing, but their involvement is a good alibi, two good death eater spawn who will confirm for the Dark Lord just how much of himself he's devoted to the task at hand.

It doesn't feel like enough, but—it's as much as he can do, right now.

(It has to be enough.)

The door swings open, slamming with the force only Ginny uses, and they all meet her grim expression expectantly.

"We're needed on the grounds," she declares, then makes a face at both her boyfriend and Draco. "Not you two I suppose, that would be too suspicious, but—everyone else."

Harry scratches the back of his head. "Can we have, like, a half of a detail of explanation, please?"

She grimaces, looking rather less than excited to give details. "Hagrid's—spider—friend died."

"Aragog?" Ron shudders at the memory. "Good riddance, that. Bloody menace."

"You knew an acromantula?" Draco demands with wide eyes. "How do you even get wrapped up in these things?"

"I don't know if I would use the word knew so much as he attempted to eat us, once, during second year," Harry says, making a face. "But Ron's dad's enchanted muggle car saved us from him and his hundreds of giant spider children, so that was good."

Blaise shakes his head in disbelief. "Is there any being that has ever been on Hogwarts grounds that hasn't tried to kill you?"

"Get back to you if I ever find one, but as of yet I think they're all in this room."

"Anyway," Ginny continues, ignoring them all, "He was apparently his first…creature, or friend or ally of any sort, and the only one who was there for him after…" she swallows heavily at the thought of Tom, memories icy splinters up her spine.

(Cold whisper in her mind, body moving without her control, waking up with no memory of the night before and blood on her hands—)

Blaise is at her side instantly, linking their fingers together for her reassurance that she's not there, anymore.

(Not coming any closer because he knows she can't bear to be touched, when she gets like this.)

"All of which to say," she stresses, "that he is understandably very distraught, right now. He needs us."

"Of course." Hermione gets to her feet immediately, helping Ron and Pansy stand as well. "Should we stop by the greenhouse on the way for flowers, or something? To pay our respects?"

She doesn't say what they're all thinking—the thing that makes her, Harry, and Ginny lock guilty, knowing eyes.

(That the person best suited to comfort Hagrid right now is Luna, the only other person who's ever understood his love for magical creatures.)

(How fucked it is that she's not here for him, now—that it'll hurt her too, when she hears, and can't even write him with her condolences.)

(Because he believes her to be dead. Everyone does.)

So the rest of them disillusion themselves, Harry throwing on the Invisibility Cloak, so they can go out to Hagrid's cabin despite the hour; Draco forces a smile and a wave as they leave, but Hermione can see how far away he truly is, lost inside what the weeks to come mean for him.

Hagrid is surprised to see them—warmed by their presence, despite the pain of the reasoning behind it.

And it's—none of them have been around much, lately, busy as they've been; and then, the wrongness of going out to the forest without Luna.

But the gamekeeper doesn't seem to begrudge them any of that; understands, perhaps even more than they do, that love covers time lapses and absence and pain-driven avoidance, because that's what friendship is.

(What family is.)

And he sobs, as they do the attempt at a ceremony, opening up to them all about his youth more than he ever has; his mother never being around, but his father loving him so much he never noticed, because he had such a happy and loving childhood, despite the racism and discrimination he faced all throughout the wizarding world.

Losing his father, the loneliness and isolation—a kid that didn't fit in and looked the wrong way during an unforgiving time period; friendless, but able to study magic the way he never thought he'd be able to, and so some semblance of happy all the same.

Finding an egg, all alone, in the wrong conditions; knowing if he didn't help the acromantula inside would die before ever getting a chance to live. And so he took care of it, ensuring warmth and darkness and all of the things necessary, until Aragog was there—and finally, he had a friend of sorts.

(An odd alliance, to be sure, but—someone to talk to for the first time since losing his dad. Someone who trusted him completely.)

And then, the Slytherin Prefect and gem of the school, beauty and authority and righteous charm, telling Dippet he was the one hurting others.

Hurting muggleborns.

(As though he of all people would see the only other people hurting like him as enemies.)

(As though he of all people didn't know well what it was to be seen as lesser in the wizarding world.)

All hope being lost, having no idea where the fuck he could possibly go, just thirteen and completely alone with no light in sight, and then, as he finished packing his trunk through silent sobs, Dumbledore at the door—and a lifeline.

He could stay in the magical world—could stay at Hogwarts.

(Home.)

And better yet, could work with magical creatures, even without his wand; could love and protect them.

"I know Dumbledore's not perfect—maybe he's even corrupt," Hagrid says at one point, having consumed enough ale to be completely honest about his feelings on the matter. "He's done aa lot of things wrong; still does, all the time. But he was—the only one that cared, then. The only reason I'm still alive, y'know? It's—it's hard not to feel like I owe him everything. Hard to look at him and see past that moment, thirteen and hopeless planning to live on the muggle streets, and him offering me—everything."

Hermione understands him better than ever, just then; the complicated mess of emotions that comes with someone pulling you out of your own personal hell.

(Wonders what she would do if Sirius hadn't been a good person when he'd done so for her; if she'd have been able to stand against him when he did wrong, after everything.)

But Harry's own thoughts drift to Voldemort, as they so often do; wondering how he, too, could have been similarly plucked from a shitty home, and yet never develop the same idolization for the headmaster as so many have initially.

And how Dumbledore can have given Hagrid another chance, been so willing to go the extra mile to make sur he was okay; and yet never gave eleven year old Tom a sliver of a chance.

(Might things be different, if he had?)

Either way, Tom is responsible for the damage he's caused; no one should've been expected to save him, love him away from the path to destruction.

But at the same time…Dumbledore is a teacher. Along with that comes a certain responsibility, a certain power. Such blatant cruelness and disdain for a student from day one, as a child, from the very people intended to care for you…

(It doesn't excuse Voldemort's actions, but it feels like a crime of its own to commit.)

Pansy and Ginny take the lead with a lot of the comforting, knowing Ron is absolute shit and putting feelings into words and Harry and Hermione would just crack horrible jokes because that's the only way to deal with pain.

(Not to mention they've spent the most time with Hagrid, recently, having taken to coming down to visit with him and Grawp at Luna's behest even after Umbridge's departure, all throughout the previous term.)

At the end of the night, they're singing ballads, and Ron's put on tea for everyone because he turns into his mother whenever he's not sure what people need, and it's—a complicated, beautiful and sad moment.

And for it to be Aragog, arguably one of the first victims of Riddle's treachery so many years ago, now, just when the bastard has more power than ever and the entire feels tenuous enough to shatter—

(There are so many funerals still to come; it feels like only the first in a line of dominos.)

But they make the best of it all the same, among friends as they are.

Ginny's regaling them all with a horrid rendition of a drinking song that makes Hagrid smile; head on Pansy's shoulder, Harry's own fast asleep in her lap, Hermione makes a point to cement the memory in her mind.

(A moment of love to cling to.)

/

They haven't gone home for the Easter holidays in years, as busy as they've been, but—

Something feels different, this year.

(Like hair standing on end, a revving car engine—like soon, things will change irrevocably.)

And the time home has been—tense, in a way, but also so incredibly grounding.

Hermione forgets, sometimes, how badly she needs them all in her life, Sirius and Tonks and Ted and Andy and Sofia, and even Remus, who she sees all the time at school, but—it's different, in the safety of their own place.

And Teddy—merlin, does she love her little godson more than this entire planet; she spends hours upon hours just watching him look at the world around them with wonder, cuddling and singing to him and generally just attempting to show him every ounce of love she possesses.

And Luna's there, of course, which sets Harry's frayed nerves a bit more at ease, though seeing her life in hiding visibly hurts him; Luna doesn't seem bothered much, always having been one who's okay with solitude, happy to be able to do research and mourn and remember her father in her own time.

The only part she appears troubled by is the idea that her death has caused their friends grief; she's clearly guilty at the thought of them all hurting because of her, though she doesn't regret the article or the situation at all, is even more adamant than older Order members that her being in hiding is necessary.

(If Voldemort's failure to kill her is revealed to him, his wrath will be taken out on others—and they might not be able to mitigate those consequences.)

They're at the burrow for Easter Sunday Brunch; it's the first time all the Weasley siblings' soul mates have been in one place, plus the Black/Lupin/Tonks family, so it's just—chaos.

(A dark voice inside Hermione wonders if this will be the only time they'll all ever be in the same place—how many members of this chaotic, wonderful, loving family will be lost to the war ahead.)

Sofia is sitting with Fleur while she mumbles to Teddy in French, the little boy clapping with glee at his aunt's strange words while his father are Susan are in deep conversation about politics and the current tone of the ministry.

Meanwhile, Tonks is morphing her hair and features to do a spot on impersonation of Snape that has both Blaise and Daphne bursting into laughter, the twins visibly gaining respect for her at the display. Oliver and Ginny are having a loud and passionate argument about Quidditch strategies that has Harry looking on with interest, while Ron, Bill, and Sirius discuss rock bands, both wizard and muggle.

Arthur's positively captivated by everything Charlie's muggle boyfriend has to say, Ted playing mediator and attempting to translate the meanings of unknown muggle terminology, and vice versa, while Charlie himself just listens along.

And it's just—perfect. Everything about it is so positively wonderful and wholesome and the slice of happiness they all needed, right about now; Hermione can see Molly misty eyed at the head of the table, happy just to look on, and—she's not the perfect woman, by any means, but in this moment it's so tangible that the only thing in the world she cares about is her family being okay and happy, and the sight before her is—everything she could ever hope for.

Fleur eventually hands her Teddy, knowing the delight her future mother in law takes in her first grandchild, and comes over to join Hermione and Remus.

" 'Ow are you, mon amie?" she asks, pressing kisses to Hermione's cheeks. "And you, Remus?"

"I'm not your love too?" he asks drily, earning laughter from both women. "I'm very well, Fleur. How've you been?"

"As well as can be expected. It is not ze best time for my legislation—ze people currently in power obviously are bigots, so a lot of my work won't be able to go to ze Wizengamot till after ze war. But we've gotten several more donors, and we're 'aving success distributing Wolfsbane to several packs regularly and establishing ze organization's trustworthiness, so—I count it as progress! And wedding planning is a nice—silver lining."

Her gaze lands on Hermione expectantly, and the younger brunette sighs, knowing to lie would be useless. "I'm…okay. It's been a very rough year, and it's looking like things are only going to get harder, but…I'm very lucky to have such good people around me. The best support system." She nudges Fleur's shoulder with her own, earning a soft smile and hand squeeze of love from the older woman.

"Viktor mentioned in his most recent letter you invited him to the wedding—it'll be so good to have everyone together again."

Grinning, Fleur claps her hands together lightly. "Yes, I am so excited! It will be…right, to 'ave everyone I care about in one place, at least once before everything in the world…what is zat phrase Ginny is always using?"

Remus groans, having overheard the words muttered in class enough times to know what she means, while Hermione lets out a giggle. "I believe you mean 'before everything goes to shit'."

Fleur and Hermione both snicker at his world-weary expression at the expression, as though his husband isn't one of the most profane people in the country.

Fleur kisses them both again as she glides away, citing a need to remind Tonks and Fred about a bet they'd made; Harry's usurping the place she'd been sitting moments later.

"Having a good time?" Hermione asks him with a smile; his eyes are wide with exhilaration, though she knows as much as he loves being around the family the crowd is also overwhelming for someone who spent his entire childhood alone in the cupboard.

"Definitely. I really like Daphne, you know? Not that I ever haven't, but—the more I talk to her, the more glad I am she's stuck with us."

His sister nods. "I think her and Fleur have a lot in common, in some ways. The way they're perceived, at least." At Harry's questioning glance, she explains, "People automatically assume they're both—bitches, you know? Daphne is quiet and doesn't really initiate things, which people take as her being mean or rude, when she really just has such bad anxiety, especially in social settings. And Fleur—people see how beautiful, and how aware she is of her own brilliance, and take it as arrogance when she's just—confident, and knows her own worth, her own strength beyond looks."

Humming with understanding, he looks between the two with a thoughtful expression. "I'd never thought of it like that."

Later in the evening, back at Tonks manor, most of the guests and siblings with places of their own have left, with the exception of Tonks and Percy; Sofia'd been knackered and gone straight to bed when they arrived home, so now they're sitting around playing a card game with Harry, Andy, and Sirius, while Hermione and Remus sit on the floor beside them, having fun entertaining their mutual godson.

The game wraps up, and they all sit down for a bit of the cake Harry had made for the occasion; it's the night before they return to Hogwarts, though, so the conversation grows somber.

"We finished reading the book, by the way," Sirius comments, gesturing to himself and Tonks.

(The horcrux book, he means; Hermione had given it to Remus to read as soon as she was done, and he'd grimly passed it along so they could all put their heads together before going forward.)

"We need to figure out what the last one might be, before anything else," Harry says with a frown. "The diadem ruins our Slytherin-theme theory."

"But not the potential for them all being founder-based objects," Remus postulates, face pinched in concentration even as he pats Teddy's back, the little boy fast asleep in his arms.

Tonks shovels a bite of cake into her mouth before speaking. "Gryffindor's only associated artifact was the sword, but given that you stabbed it directly through a basilisk's mouth and it didn't disintegrate, it's pretty safe to say that wasn't one."

"Goblin made objects only take in that which makes them stronger," Hermione recites instinctively. "A piece of his soul wouldn't strengthen the metal."

Harry's eyes go wide. "Basilisk venom though…do you think?" He meets her eyes. "Is it possible?"

Her eyes make it clear she thinks so, but she turns to Remus to concern, him being the expert in the field.

"Yes, that sounds…very plausible," he sighs. "Which seems dangerous to just be sitting around in Dumbledore's office, now, but if we ever run out of the fangs Hermione salvaged it's good to know we have a backup option for destruction without having to resort to fiendfyre."

"So a Hufflepuff object, maybe," Tonks muses, reaching to take her son from her best friend as he moves to get a cup of tea. "Harder—Helga had several artifacts and trinkets she treasured."

"We'll have to attempt to track them all down," Sirius says with a grimace, moving to pull his hair into a bun and get it off his neck. "Hopefully it'll have the same stain of dark magic and we'll be able to tell…although the book mentioned horcruxes being connected to each other—linked, somehow—so it's possible we might be able to use one of the others to figure out what it is, where it is."

"Still have to get the snake," Harry reminds them. "I mean—we are sure that's one, right? Because of the visions fourth and fifth year?"

There are murmurs of agreement, and the conversation keeps moving, but—

(But.)

Hermione's never been able to shake the feeling that something about that is off; they've never actually been clear on why Harry's able to see into Voldemort's mind, or Nagini's.

(It doesn't make sense.)

She'd like to push it out of her mind, but the last time the pieces didn't fit this much…

(was when the pieces said Sirius wad a Death Eater and a traitor.)

(she knows to trust her instincts, when they're telling her facts don't line up.)

But what could the truth possibly be? There's no explanation for Harry's connection to Voldemort and his snake that makes sense.

And she's still bothered by the way he didn't feel anything out of the ordinary when wearing the diadem, despite how clearly wrong it had been to the rest of the others—why would the horcrux not affect him the same way? Not affect him at all?

Such a thing shouldn't be possible, unless—unless what?

(She can't figure it out.)

Something is off, something Voldemort's done affecting Harry; their mind link, the snake, no impact from the diadem, even his knowledge of parsletongue—a genetic ability none of his ancestors are recorded as having, but Tom Riddle does?

How is it possible for him to have Voldemort's genetic ability?

And the way his scar always hurts—

(A connection to Voldemort.)

"Oh, god," she whispers, feeling all the blood rush out of her face as she puts the pieces together. "Fuck. Oh, god."

("You're like him, you know. So, so much like that other boy. In more ways than you know—more ways than you've ever possibly imagined," Helena had said.)

("Out of your control.")

("I hope the good in you wins out.")

The good in him.

Because the bad is in him, too.

(The diadem not affecting him because a horcrux already is.)

"Mia, what's wrong?" Harry asks, voice gentle.

He's instantly at her side, as always, eyes immediately wide with concern for her well being—because of course he's worried about her, kindhearted boy that he is, thinking she's the one that's in danger right now, when all along—

She's numb, though distantly she can feel tears sliding down her cheeks. "It's not possible," she whispers hysterically. "Harry, it's not possible, but—"

(But his mother had just been murdered, and murder is all it takes, murder and an aimless fragment of soul and some sort of vessel—)

"I—god, Harry, I'm so sorry. But I think," she swallows heavily, trying to hold back shaking and sobs and anger, because this isn't about her. "I think you're a horcrux."

/

The revelation changes everything—and yet also nothing.

The more they consider it, the more research they do, the more comparison to the horcrux text itself, the more everything fits together; Remus speculates that even Voldemort himself doesn't realize it.

(His unintentional seventh horcrux.)

But they have hope; normally objects have to be destroyed, to eradicate the piece of soul they hold, but it's different with a person—a living being with a soul of its own.

Andy and Sirius dedicate themselves to going through every Black possession and text that could possibly have useful information on the subject, reaching out to less savory contacts about illicit texts in the hopes that something horcrux related might turn up.

Tonks does the same with Department of Mysteries contacts, though much more carefully, knowing if word gets out that Order members are looking into horcrux info they're completely fucked.

And Harry…well, he's doing a good job of seeming unaffected and unsurprised, but—

(Hermione knows her brother.)

He says they'll worry about it once they've finished dealing with the other six and the man's corporeal body itself, that they have plenty of time to figure out how to destroy the piece of Voldemort's soul inside him.

(But she knows if it comes down to it, he'll fall on his own sword to end the monster, to protect them all; will let Voldemort take him out if it makes it possible for everyone else to take him down.)

So there's nothing more important than making sure it doesn't get that far; making sure they figure out how to destroy it before things get to that point and he can attempt to sacrifice himself.

(She knows they'll face loss in this war, knows it's going to hurt, and there will be a cost to win, but—)

Harry is a price she refuses to pay.

Several weeks later, it's almost the end of term, and Harry comes into the Chamber where Hermione and Draco are doing homework before the ASA meeting, trepidation in his face.

"What's happened now?" Hermione asks, instinctively reaching for her wand.

"Nothing yet." He tugs at his hair, angst and tension riddled through him as he sits down beside them. "Note from Dumbledore—lesson next week." He meets her eyes, jaw tight. "We're leaving the grounds, for it. He said to dress for terrain. And to brace ourselves."

Her neck cracks with speed her head shoots upward. "You think he found one?"

"Can't imagine anything else so dire."

They're quiet for a moment, before Draco speaks. "That night, then. I'll do it that night."

"You mean—let the death eaters into the castle?" Hermione clarifies, reaching to stroke a thumb along the inside of his arm, knowing how much he hates to talk about it all.

(How much he hates himself for having to do it.)

"Yes. Dumbledore being gone will prove I have intel and make it an ideal circumstance for them all to sneak in, but also will be a good reason for there to be extra precautions, and the rest of the staff on high alert. That way they don't suspect a mole."

It's ideal, honestly; the end of year is far too near for him to put it off any longer.

(Doing so would only make things more volatile.)

"Okay. Right." Harry blows out a deep breath. "Here we go, then."

"Things are going to change," Hermione murmurs quietly. "But it's time."

Draco gives a perfunctory nod, anguish exploding in his every cell.

In a week's time—everything changes.

(The war begins in earnest.)

Other students trickle in a bit later, and they go through the motions, even though it feels impossible for things to be normal right now with what's coming.

(The air seems to crackle, and the three of them carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.)

A/N: chapter title from warrior by demi lovato

There have been so many new readers the last few chapters—welcome! thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. so glad to have you on board!

All my love