Haaappy Wednesday lovelies!

This is probably going to be the last daily update I do for a while since I've caught up to all my pre-written chapters. I didn't get quite as far as I wanted to this month, but I think seven chapters short of my goal isn't that bad. I'm also so happy everyone's enjoying this story thus far x

Can I just say that I am overjoyed that everyone is liking Ron and Regulus as much as I am! The slowest of side pairings burns that there is LOL.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)

My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

As always for SableUnstable (especially on this most glorious day) and Lais xxx


Saturday, September 15th, 1979

Potter Manor

Uneasiness in the pit of her stomach rouses her from her restless sleep. The sun's ascension is only now beginning, and the dawn of a new day bleeds into the sky.

Hermione twists in her mate's arms to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, before she slips out of his grasp entirely; thus drawing him from his own slumber. She smoothly rolls off the bed and lands on her feet, brushing her messy curls over her shoulder—it certainly isn't going to be fun trying to wrangle them into some semblance of order.

"Mornin'," Remus mumbles, his long limbs grabbing a hold of her pillow and burrowing into it as a placeholder in her absence. "Where you goin'?" Remus yawns into the pillow, smacking his lips together as he pries his eyes open. Hermione's heart melts at the sight of her sleepy, ruffled Remus.

Hermione firmly plants one hand on the mattress, and she uses it to rest her weight on as she leans down to press her lips to Remus's. When the witch pulls away, there is a dreamy sort of look on his face, and she resists the urge to tease him about it.

"I'll be back shortly, I promise," Hermione whispers, and the wizard makes a humming noise at the back of his throat in acknowledgement.

"Okay...don't be gone too long, I love you," Remus says, scrunching his nose as he fights to keep his eyes open.

"I love you too," Hermione smiles gently, dropping another swift kiss to his lips. She pauses and takes him in as he drifts back off into the land of dreams, and she brushes some of his hair off of his forehead.

There is a slight tinge of guilt bouncing around in her noggin as she straightens up; Hermione has been at war with whether to inform Remus of her plans for the day or not, and in the end after weighing it all out she came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell him when she gets back.

Hermione creeps out of Remus's room like a burglar making away with irreplaceable valuables who does not wish to stir any of the dwelling's occupants.

The Golden trio had retired at an abysmal hour the night prior, tirelessly prepping with their 'meeting' (if one could call it that) with Snape today. Harry turned in first, and then Hermione had had a hushed argument with Ron about assisting as he finished organising all the phials in chronological order, but the ginger insisted that he would be fine; unbeknownst to her, Ron didn't even bother going to sleep.

The plan is to meet in Ron's room and then head over to Regulus's, and from there they are going to apparate to Lilium Cottage—Snape's humble abode.

Hermione heads back to her own room for a hasty, scalding hot shower—it's as if she's hoping that the water will evaporate any nerves or anxiety that she has. She drags her fingers through her curls to untangle them best as she can before she coats it in copious amounts of conditioner.

A few minutes later she's out of the shower, and standing in front of her chest of drawers—normally she would turn off the water and sit in her shower as the conditioner soaked into her hair, but alas, she hadn't the time today.

Hermione's thoughts lay waste to her mental landscape as she begins to get dressed; for some reason the uneasiness has returned, and is surging up inside of her. She supposes it's because she understands the stakes much better this time around, but even scolding herself under her breath does nothing to mollify the unfavourable line of thought progression that is marching through her mindscape.

Hermione's hair is still damp as she makes her way to Ron's room. When she arrives, she halts in front of the door, takes a deep breath, and then raps her knuckles against the wooden surface.

Hermione can hear movement on the other side of the door, and before she can twist the doorknob, the door flies inwards.

Hermione enters the room, and purses her lips at the scene she finds: Harry James Potter is lying on his back, spread out like a starfish on Ron's bedroom floor. There is a sound light droning in her ears that she can't quite place, but she discards it from her mind and instead chooses to focus on Harry.

The wizard in question absently waves his hand, and the door shuts a touch harshly behind her—Hermione stiffens as the sounds reverberates in her ears. Then, as if waking from a daze, Harry's head jerks towards her, and with wide eyes he says, "morning, Mione."

"Why is it that I always find you in strange positions on a morning? What exactly are you doing?" Hermione frowns, strolling towards her best mate. It is odd behaviour like this that causes Hermione to think that perhaps there is a good reason why Harry and Luna used to get on so well. There is a pang of sadness as she recalls the dirty blonde haired witch with wide, pale eyes and an ethereal way about her; Luna always has a way of easing a dismal situation and making things seem far better than they actually are.

Hermione tilts her head, places her hands on her hips and curiously gazes down at Harry as she awaits his response.

"I'm thinking," Harry says as he tears his eyes from her, and instead stares blankly at the cream ceiling.

"About Snape?"

"No...it's not really important."

"Harry Potter."

A long pause, and in the brief lull in conversation, Hermione realises that the sound she'd been hearing is running water, and from that she concludes that Ron is in the shower. She'd been so caught up in Harry looking like a lost puppy that she hadn't noticed Ron's absence.

"Emmeline."

The witch and wizard have been twisting around each other in an elaborate dance, where neither has confessed their feelings or made their 'arrangement' official, despite both parties desperately wishing to leap off the cliff together and vocalise how they feel about one another.

"Ah," Hermione smiles gently, crouching down beside Harry, and reaching out to affectionately stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. Harry closes his eyes, and exhales forcefully through his nostrils. Hermione knows that Harry has never been much good with girls, but he just needs a nudge in the right direction and he can oft handle himself from there; she makes a mental note to do just that if this stalemate persists.

Hermione lowers herself to the ground, and shifts about until she is stretched out on her back beside Harry—careful to flip her still damp hair above her head as to not trap it beneath her. The wizard's smell only grows stronger as she gets closer, and her nostrils are filled with the scent of pine trees, of the forest, and the clean smell of soap; much like hers, Harry's hair is still damp.

The pair doesn't have to wait long before the bathroom door swings inwards, and Ron languidly saunters into the room. The ginger has a fluffy white towel secured around his hips, and there is a smaller one in his left hand that he is idly rubbing across his head in an attempt to dry his tresses.

"Morning, Mione. Sleep well last night?" Ron greets in a jolly fashion, heading directly for his cupboard.

"I suppose," Hermione lies, and from the knowing look Ron shoots her, he clearly catches it, but refrains from commenting on it.

"Good, with that being said, I'm going to throw on some clothes and then we'll be good to go."

Hermione can't help her eyes from raking along Ron's figure from across the room, well, truthfully she is taking in all of his scars. Out of the three of them, Ron may actually have the most, but as they've never sat down to properly compare, that is of course only an assumption on her part.

Sighing softly, Hermione rolls onto her side to face Harry, and snuggles into his side. Harry lifts up for a moment only to wrap his arm around her in order to pull her in closer.

Ron deftly pulls on some black pants, faded blue jeans and a black and white, short-sleeved collared shirt. Wordlessly the ginger strides over to them, and then silently joins them on the ground on Hermione's other side; he slings an arm over Hermione and his face ducks into the crook of her neck as he gets comfy.

They just lay there, with no indication from any member in the trio that they are going to move anytime in the near future.

After some time, Harry offers, "we'll go in a few minutes..."

"Yes...but let's just...stay here for a moment," Hermione replies, eyes still closed.

They did in fact stay in the same position for almost fifteen minutes before Ron gently prodded the other two into getting up. The sun has chased away most of the darkness, and its rays are reaching out to them through Ron's wide windows.

Thus, the three wix take great care to make little to no noise as they make haste over to Regulus's room. Grey eyes squint at them as they enter: the wizard is sitting up in his bed, but his sheets are still pulled up to his midsection, and the heaviness of sleep is still present in his limbs as his whole body is slumped forward.

Regulus grumbles and swears under his breath as he throws back his sheets and crawls out of bed.

Tiredly Regulus scratches his head and takes hold of his wand—it is awaiting its master on his bedside table—with his free hand.

"I hope you three know what you're doing—I'm only awake enough to side-along one of you there...whoever it is can come back for the others," Regulus informs them, and the trio all nod their heads in understanding. Then in a jerky motion he looks directly at Ron and says, "come on, Weasley. Let's get this over with."


Shortly thereafter, the quartet stands on a gentle hill, the incline so slight one may be persuaded to refer to it as a mound. The tips of the vibrant green glass brush against Hermione's ankle bones and the wind is but a susurrus in her ears.

Before them is a quaint yet plain cottage: the exterior brick face has been painted white, with brown trims that bring to mind a gooey dark chocolate. The windows are tall, thin and sparsely spaced about the circumference of the building, and from here Hermione can see that the drapes are all drawn. An interesting note is that there are white rose bushes framing the front of the house on either side of the front door's stoop; another intriguing fact is that there is no path up to the house.

"I think you lot can manage just fine from here on your own," Regulus says, his head tilted upwards. He is staring at the sparse splashes of blue sky through the branches of the lone English Elm tree that towers up above them.

Regulus moves to leave, and Ron's hand shoots out and grips Regulus's shoulder just hard enough to stop him in his tracks. Regulus peers down at Ron's pale hand, and he shoots a severe stare over his shoulder at the ginger. "What is it, Weasley?"

"Thank you," Ron says, nodding curtly.

Regulus's shoulders rise as he draws in a deep breath, and he seems to savour it before he exhales leisurely. "I really hope you lot know what you are doing," Regulus says with a resigned sigh. "Keep in mind that just because he hasn't informed the Dark Lord or any of the others that I am still alive, yet, he might be inclined to if your little meeting goes south."

Harry smiles sardonically, his gaze affixed upon the small cottage, "for some reason, I don't think it will. If it does...then we'll obliviate him, and it will all be simply a forgotten memory."

The witch and the other two wizards present shoot varying levels of perplexed looks Harry's way, as if trying to decipher the cryptic, almost aloof way in which he is speaking.

"Mate, you alright?" Ron asks.

Harry simply nods. His companions share a look between them, and Regulus decides to add on something else before he departs, "your Severus may have switched sides and become a 'hero' or whatever, but my Severus is nothing like that man. Severus is..." Regulus's brow draws together in an exasperated knot as he tries to find the words to continue.

Regulus's head is bowed as he continues, and his words are low and he raptly captures their attention, "Severus is filled with a lot of pain. I'm not saying yours wasn't, but mine is still carrying it all inside of him. All of that raw anger and pain is still boiling in his gut and he has no outlet in which to expound it. Not to mention that he doesn't possess any of that lovely concoction of remorse or regret that yours may have had."

Regulus's head raises, and there is a mocking smile on his face that exposes his canines. A snort of bemused disbelief escapes him. "I may be wrong, but that is my take on the whole situation given the few facts that you've let slip about your Severus. Although as I have little to no information on your Severus, you could possibly discard everything I just said, as it could just be utter nonsense, as opposed to a just conclusion."

Regulus's body stiffens as he finishes speaking, as if realising that he'd said far more than he'd intended to.

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Hermione says quietly. I hope this isn't a terrible idea, Hermione thinks for the umpteenth time.

Ron relinquishes his hold on Regulus, his mouth parts as if he has something to say, but it firmly clamps shut but a moment later. Ron turns away from Regulus, but the wizard has other ideas as he gruffly grabs onto Ron's forearm. The moment electric blue meets the swirl of ashes and smoke, Regulus fixes Ron with an intense look and says, "be careful."

"I'm always careful," Ron smirks, placing a hand on top of Regulus's.

Regulus does not budge an inch, nor does he appear to breathe for several moments, and then his mouth twitches and he jerks away from Ron.

"I don't believe that for a second," Regulus replies with an uncomfortable rigidity in his tone, and he is holding himself in a stiff sort of way, much like a tin toy that has rusted into one position, and is desperately weeping as it waits to be oiled.

When Regulus leaves, he makes barely a sound. There is no telltale crack of apparition, more so there is a murmuration that surrounds them before simply slipping away; leaving the Golden Trio all alone, staring at a remote cottage, and hoping that this isn't a dreadful idea.