Author's Note:
This is probably one of my bleaker stories I've posted, for the most part. It stems from speculation as to how the Locket may have potentially complicated matters between Harry and Hermione in the wake of Ron's departure. We know how it affected Harry and Ron, but how did it affect Hermione? Just a potential insight into how she may have handled first off Ron's departure in the nights when Harry wasn't observing her, and also the Locket's subsequent machinations and how this would have come into conflict with her loyalty to Harry and the mission. The title is taken from a hit song by a certain excellent rock band.
"Harry – you're a great wizard, you know."
"I'm not as good as you."
"Me! Books and cleverness! Friendship, and bravery, and – oh Harry – be careful!"
It was only the second night of camping in their new location, after Ron left them – left her, and to call Hermione's morale depleted would be then understatement of the Century, she reckoned bitterly, punching her pillow as she vainly attempted to will her drifting into sleep to come faster. There was nothing to be gained by staying awake further, about fears of Death Eaters finding her and Harry, of heartache, of the numb chill that now surrounded her and Harry in their secluded location – evidence, surely, of the growing plague of Dementors feasting on this atmosphere of terror across Wizarding Britain.
What disturbed her even more than Ron's unhinged, jealous final accusation before he stormed out, were his cutting criticisms of her and Harry's leadership, his pointing out the obvious…they had no firm plans, Dumbledore had left them with next to no clues and right now, their only achievement to date was simply surviving so far, and forget about destroying any Horcruxes. It was, after all thanks to her incompetence that Yaxley had found Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and her fault that as a result, Ron got splinched, commencing this downward cycle. After all, didn't it say everything about her and Harry's leadership that Ron appeared to believe that all she was good for now was trying to make their dinner of wild mushrooms and the solitary fish slightly better-tasting? They were teenagers, trying to play a key role in a war for which they were beyond ill-equipped to win.
She brushed away her even more excessively knotted than usual hair out of her face, scooping it to the other side of her head. But she didn't even bother to brush away the tears that slowly but surely, trickled down, soaking her sheet and pillow, nor stop the muffled sobs that now rhythmically erupted from her, unbidden. If she and Harry were together, she could keep them at bay, but if she was left alone, or was attempting to fall asleep, it would be a different matter.
She heard the rustle of the canvas, the familiar sounds of the kettle boiling, heard the sound of Harry pouring two cups of tea, and leaving one for her. She could not bring herself to find the energy, to turn over and acknowledge her gratitude as Harry gingerly, with the timidity of an explosive expert disarming a landmine, draped an additional layer over her trembling shoulders, before resuming his watch. A silent protector, and a role in which she was presently grateful to him in fulfilling. She could tell Harry didn't want to broach the subject of Ron's departure any more than she did – it would be as if by doing so, she was acknowledging that Ron would never return, that there would be no mutual firsts of any kind. No first kisses, no first dates, no first child (Merlin's teeth, was she really acknowledging this as an eventual desire now, of all present situations?), nor a first time for….any other activity that generally preceded having children. There was nothing further ahead in their shared future. Not even a funeral – it was as if the declarations both she and Ron had made to Harry at Dumbledore's funeral had been made by a different Ron and a different Hermione, not yet burdened by the reality of going to ground with this Horcrux hunt.
Both she, Harry and Ron had fought previously in battle when the situation called for it. They had collectively faced down a troll, giant spiders, a gigantic millennium-old killer snake, malevolent soul-sucking apparitions, a transformed werewolf (Had Remus returned to his wife and unborn child, or had he judged that given his condition, he should remain in isolation?) and numerous plots by Death Eaters. But this next step was going to require bravery of a completely different kind, and perseverance. And Hermione knew it wasn't just the presence of the Locket that was making her feel like this. It couldn't.
Without Ron, they were both stuck in a minefield.
And she had no access to a map to navigate their way out of this mess.
Not anymore.
…..
It really was bizarre, she thought, blinking furiously as her eyes attempted to adjust to her wandlight. No matter how hard she tried to stay awake the whole period during watch, the dreams always came during the early hours of the morning when the dew would freeze and even the protection of her signature bluebell flames had been reduced. Of her and Ron, him whispering meaningless, hollow words in her ear, warm embraces and…intimacy of a kind they'd never actually engaged in. Of him encouraging her to pull herself together….that she'd best use her brain together with him, track down her parents and Crookshanks again, hold them tight and savour with them what time was left before the inevitable happened. That this fight against Harry and Voldemort could best be achieved by letting him face him on his own, as per his wish at Dumbledore's funeral so many months ago. That by her remaining, Harry would simply be weakened.
She wiped away sweat from her forehead and steadied herself, sighing in exasperation as waves of chilled air washed over her. Dreams of that kind should have warmed her up, even embarrassed her….not make her feel as if she'd taken an ice bath. It may have been the product of wishful thinking, seeing Ron once again like that, but she couldn't deny that her subconscious had made some very logical points. This was futile for as long as neither she nor Harry could establish a strategy on either finding additional Horcruxes, or destroying the Locket. This was simply running in circles and coming up tails.
Thoughts of packing had crossed her mind more than once prior to tonight. It would only take a few minutes….but would the beaded bag stay with her or would she donate it to Harry?
She at least owed him a message, however. If she was to go into hiding like everyone else, removing her burden of heartbreak and incompetence from Harry's shoulders, the message would be quick, simple and surgical. Far less unnervingly complex than one of her father's dental checkups, particularly after she'd let Madam Pomfrey modify her teeth almost four years prior. But if Harry woke up, the plan would be aborted. Best not to put him through that kind of emotional agony. Or was that her own selfishness justifying the means? She was particularly jumpy at the moment….her suspicions were that now Harry had suffered the loss of one friend, he was constantly on guard for warning signs that she too was about to bail.
In any case, she knew what she could write, she thought, as she gingerly re-entered the tent. She didn't have to leave right now, but she could at least have the message ready to be put on the table whenever it got too much….
Dear Harry,
In these circumstances, you said last May at Dumbledore's funeral that what we would be doing was more dangerous than anything we had ever encountered. That we had the right to walk away whenever we wanted. You were right, and we were wrong. It was always meant to be you and You-Know-Who and no-one else needed to risk getting hurt.
By removing myself and going into hiding, I hope this makes your task of catching the remaining Horcruxes and defeating him easier, and you can focus exclusively on that.
With love,
Hermione.
Yes, something like that would do it, she mused.
Taking care not to rummage too loudly through her beaded bag (It did after all contain several books, in addition to more urgently needed gear), she eventually obtained parchment, a quill, and an ink well. She opened it, dipped the quill in, and paused over the sheet of parchment. Something didn't quite register. Why was this feeling like a case of deja-vu?
The locket twitched slightly, and let out a small metallic noise – almost impatient.
Of course.
In an instant, Hermione tore it off, and threw it at the nearest canvas wall. A couple of solitary mothballs fell with the Horcrux as Hermione let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.
So much for the 'Smartest witch of her age,' she thought savagely. Simultaneously overcome - shame in her weakness, pride in Harry's selfless example…she approached him, and briefly stroked his cheek. He didn't respond. Clearly, this was one of his calmer, restful nights, unencumbered by insights into the mind of his nemesis. It was then that she noticed the corner of dilapidated, crumpled parchment underneath his outstretched hand. Gingerly prising it from under his fingers, she felt her eyes water as an unfamiliar emotion fell upon her.
Pride.
In front of her was the Gryffindor Common Room, and in one of the armchairs, was a dot labelled 'Ginevra Weasley' – Harry's outstretched fingers had been mere millimetres from her dot, as if physical touch could be transmitted through the map….
There were numerous other dots too. She leaned over Harry's prone, peacefully breathing figure to read the names in the Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory. Funnily enough, there was no Dean there - she fervently hoped that Dean, Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell and the two Goblins were all laying low, avoiding trouble. She brushed all thoughts of what it meant if Ron was not showing on the map - of course, his cover story was severe Spattergroit. But Seamus was soundly asleep in his bed, and Parvati and Lavender were also asleep in the dormitory she once shared with them. She'd never particularly given much time to her dorm mates, and there had of course been the inevitable tension with Lavender, but she couldn't help but wonder how their character –hell, the character of Hogwarts as a whole- had altered under the new regime. To her fury, she saw Neville's dot, isolated form the others except for one.
Severus Snape's dot. Both in the Headmaster's Office.
Fighting back the revulsion that came with the reminder of what role that murderer and sadist had taken up, she let go of the map, and Harry stirred slightly, his hand closing once again over the parchment. Hermione was content to just watch him for a minute or two, wiping her eyes. All along, he'd never stopped looking out for Ginny. She even now found herself envying the moment the two had shared before Bill and Fleur's wedding that she had tried to stop Ron from intruding on.
Motivation. Both she and Ron had discussed it briefly, that first terrifying night at Grimmauld Place. Motivation to see a loved one after a conflict – as old as humanity itself, she reasoned. The same was true of lovers before war – giving each other special farewells right before one would leave the other, perhaps for the final time. She knew this was certainly true of her maternal great aunt and infantryman Great Uncle during the early stages of the Second World War – indeed, rumour had it this period was responsible for her aunt coming into existence….
Yes, she even envied Harry now. But that was no excuse for adopting a cynical outlook. Seeing her parents again, ensuring Harry survived, ensuring the rest of the Weasley family remained safe, ditto with her classmates and Order members, ending the imprisonment and forced 'cleansing' of bloodlines by the Ministry, toppling the current rotten regime, ending the reign of terror…
Wasn't that motivation enough, even without Ron?
On an impulse, she looked once more at the map which was dotted by Ginny and her old classmates then leaned over and kissed Harry's forehead.
"We love you, Harry," she whispered. "We all do."
Her morale was still at a critical level, and they had no clue on what the next day would bring. But she had enough motivation, at least, to finish this specific watch.
Friendship and bravery.
00.30, 26 December 1997
To be, or not to be – that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them.
Absolutely typical, Hermione thought wryly. They'd just escaped by the skin of their teeth from an ambush at Godric's Hollow, she was making do on around three hours' sleep following none at all the previous night while tending to the violently ill Harry, and Harry had been thoroughly rattled by Rita Skeeter's revelations – if one could set any store in the horrible woman in the first place.
And here she was, recalling Shakespeare! It would be the sort of thing that Ron would tease her crazy over – before all this….
Maybe it was the Locket's presence, but not even their definitive present isolation in this forested glen would reassure her any longer. Every snap of a twig from a deer symbolised an ambush party, every unearthly howl of the wind - a howl from Fenrir Greyback, any distant rumble of distant cars - the arrival of apparating Death Eaters. Looking around their clearing as the moon set, an ominous fog began steadily rolling over the peaceful brook below them. The bleak white beauty of midwinter was giving way to a world of grey once more. She'd regained some energy in the previous few days – her determination to keep researching, keep hoping that an answer to their Horcrux woes may be found on the next page had kept her going, alongside Harry's determination to go to Godric's Hollow. But the horror that had been lying for them in Bathilda's House – the sickening smell of decaying flesh, the snake's attacks, Harry's seemingly interminable nightmare – hissing out what could only be phrases of Parseltongue….that had been snuffed out, alongside Harry's morale. His disillusionment with Dumbledore, she knew, ran far deeper than she could comprehend.
As quietly as she could, she sunk deeper into her dressing gown and began tuning the Muggle-made radio she'd secretly stowed away in her bag to whatever station would suit. The assorted protective bubble of charms she'd laid out would provide some interference, but at least a weak signal would get through…..
After much squealing, hissing and popping – the interference really was appalling - she managed to settle onto a station – a frequency that she knew her parents repeatedly tuned into. After tonight, she'd insist on them moving to a new location – the Forest of Dean. She'd first been there long before her first Hogwarts letter and Professor McGonagall's first visit to her dumbstruck parents. Back then, she'd wondered why her primary school bullies had somehow occasionally suffered minor burns, or how she'd been able to climb up a tree despite minimal athletic prowess during particularly bad episodes. Harry had briefly told her about similar episodes involving Dudley's gang. Now, they were in the same boat – for both of them, their relatives had to be protected, and according to Phineas' portrait, her infamy thanks to the Ministry was almost as notorious as Harry's.
That day- Christmas – felt like a watershed for a different reason. She'd mentioned Ron's name out loud for the first time ever since his departure. It was as if a switch had been flecked….and her brain had permitted itself to think about Ron again. And that was not welcome….
The first bars of an oddly familiar song began to play. It took her perhaps ten seconds to recognize the song, through the squeals and hissing. One of her father' favourites, a U2 song….
Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You got someone to blame…
No, definitely not, she reflected. Harry had lost his wand, and though he'd attempted to paper over that tension between them, the loss of his wand, however unintentional, would still cut deep. Three had become two, and they had only one wand between them…
Well it's too late tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We're one but we're not the same
We get to carry each other, carry each other
One….
She'd also battled with on-off denial about Ron's fate, that he was perhaps indefinitely separated from them. After the first few most difficult nights, it had been her coping mechanism to simply brush him out of the fond memories she and Harry had enjoyed, along with times at the Burrow. But if it hadn't been for Ron, she wouldn't have been nearly as effective as a friend in helping Harry previously. If it hadn't been for Ron mocking her in First Year charms, she wouldn't have been locked in with the troll and there would have been no rescue to solidify a lasting friendship among the three of them. If it hadn't been for Ron facing up to his worst fear, Ginny would have died and the Chamber of Secrets mystery may never have been solved, and Voldemort might have begun his reign of terror four years earlier. If it hadn't been for Ron's infuriating antics in Fourth Year, Viktor Krum may never have arrived as a source of tension between the two. If it hadn't been for Ron, she would not have had the courage to try and sell Harry on the idea of Dumbledore's Army. Then was the fiasco also involving Lavender and Cormac McLaggen. She had to admit a year on, she'd been less than stellar in her maturity over the whole thing…
Did I ask too much? More than a lot
You gave me nothing, now it's all I got
We're one, but we're not the same
Well, we hurt each other then we do it again….
In short, Ron had been instrumental, alongside Harry, for every up and down of note over the past six years. But that was no more. In the event both survived, and that was an incredibly tall order, could they even stand do be in the same room anymore? Would she pathetically crumble and forgive him, all for some hollow, temporary relief?
And in the present situation, two months on from his storming out, they still had not disposed of any Horcruxes, not found any more, had become significantly thinner, and had nothing to show for it except Harry's snakebite. All that remained was her and Harry…but she could never fulfil the role of either Ginny or Ron to him, nor could he fulfil the role of Ron to her. They'd never followed through on any disloyalty, notwithstanding her near-desertion so many weeks prior. At this point in time, she no longer felt able to call out Ron on his cowardice, not when she had slipped back into the unwelcome embrace of dejection. Odds were on, her parents would slip permanently into their undoubtedly now-familiar routine in Melbourne, blissfully unaware of their only daughter's distinctly temporary existence.
One life but we're not the same
We get to carry each other, carry each other
One
One….
Wiping her eyes, she switched the radio off, and ignited her wand for some idle reading as the fog enveloped the clearing, leaving her with what she had to assume were simply the natural sounds of the forest being rocked gently by a breeze. But before long, apprehension gave way to exhaustion….she found herself spinning, as though she was Disapparating….
The grey gave way to the baked gold of scorched, summer earth. She was in a playground in the middle of a modern-day subdivision. The hills in the background had acquired the same baked look, while in the middle foreground, an unfamiliar landscape of skyscrapers she had never before seen….colour whirled around her…
She found herself on a bridge in the middle of a river winding its way through a great metropolis. The gold of the setting sun illuminated the magnificent façade of an imposing railway station building, the green of the copper dome on top faded by air pollution from the myriad vehicles passing by. But she only had eyes for a pair of familiar figures on the bridge. She rushed towards them, her inhibitions lifted by the emotion of the event.
"Mum," she half whispered, half-choked. "Dad."
She was barely metres from them when their oddly blank look made her stop in their tracks.
"Are you okay, dear?" said her mother kindly, peering at her as if trying to solve a complex riddle. "Nice evening for a family walk, isn't it? "
"Yes, Hermione stammered. "Um, I'm actually your…"
"You look about the same age as our daughter, Jean," her mother said calmly, stepping aside to reveal a young woman a good head taller than Hermione. Similar facially, but with far more beautiful, non-unkempt hair, she was more elegantly poised, and hand in hand with a very familiar redhead in Muggle clothing.
"You lost?" her father asked, scanning her face with concern. "Come on, Monica can give you directions if you need…"
At this, her mother stretched out her hand. Hermione reached out her hand to reach for her mother's fingertips. "Mum…" she whispered, tears again beginning to trickle…..
She came to with a gasp, upright, about to take another stride. With a muffled cry of horror, she whirled around to find the tent, barely visible in the deepening gloom.
How close had she come to breaching the protective perimeter of her enchantments and losing Harry forever, just like Ron had? Breathing heavily, she took off the locket and pocketed it…. It had become unexpectedly warm. Never before had she felt as psychologically close to the eleven-year-old Ginny as now. They really were dealing with magic that none of them could properly comprehend….not all the textbooks in the world could describe the impact of being in close contact with one of these horrendous things….
There was a snap, and what sounded like a muffled swear-word as she whirled back around to face her would-be challenger…..a rabbit? Half-wondering whether she should simply Stun then kill it for a future meal, there came a distant flash from further in the frozen undergrowth, just beyond her line of sight. It was certainly an advantage that her protective enchantments could collectively let them look outwards without them being seen, but what if over time, her spell making had become rusty with the stress she and Harry were under?
More snaps of twigs, this time closer. She thought of the horror Harry had encountered on their first trip into the Forbidden Forest, of Voldemort feasting on unicorn blood through Quirrell. Was this going to be the way this hunt for Horcruxes ended? An evil intruding rising out from seemingly nowhere and getting the better of her and Harry? Dropping to her knees, she frantically scanned the area for any moving shadow, any ominous hooded, or robed figure.
The odd twig snap and the pervading sense that there was an intruder at close hand continued through to when her night watch finally finished and she and Harry agreed on an early departure under the Invisibility Cloak.
….
If Hermione believed it was only a matter of time before they were found, she would have been right. But unlike her and Harry, this was a source of optimism for a certain Weasley.
It was only a matter of time now….a week….a day…maybe even less. But Ron would find them. They would be one again, soon enough.