Chapter Thirty: Worthy

Harry took the first night watch, grateful for the company of brisk air, silent trees, and the clear night sky above. He held the steaming mug of Earl Grey tea Hermione had prepared for him in both hands. And though his hands welcomed the warmth, the amber liquid could not wash away his troubled thoughts. Hermione had been diligent; she had spent the afternoon doing what she could to comfort him with Bathilda's loss. But Harry had refused to accept the old witch's seemingly pointless sacrifice. To him, Bathilda's stubborn moment of heroics had only served a momentary irritation to Voldemort, an irritation that had resulted in her death. Harry had experienced firsthand the price of playing hero, and it only made the knots in his stomach constrict further.

It wasn't that he misunderstood Bathilda or was befuddled by her choice. Quite the contrary, he understood her actions better than most. He hated it because he had hardly known her. He hated it because he knew she had done the right thing. He hated it because she became a target due to his connection with Godric's Hollow. He hated it because of love: love that had blindly led him home to the feet of his parents' graves. It simply wasn't fair.

And yet, Bathilda's death did not weigh the heaviest on his mind. Each near death or catastrophic event drew him closer to Hermione. She had become his tether, his only life-line, his only light at the end of the tunnel. He struggled to hold the truth in. He knew he was one calamity away from divulging everything and it would all go to ruin.

Never again, he resolved as he stared into the night sky. Never again would hunches and instincts drive his choices. The stakes were just too high to act upon the empty hope and feeble attempts at Dumbledore's seemingly secret plan.

His downtrodden thoughts drifted on without him as he stared blankly into the deepening darkness of the forest. Snowflakes floated lazily around him as they descended upon the forest floor, coating the ground with a thin white blanket. Beneath the starlight, it shimmered brightly, his eyes occasionally losing focus if he gazed at it overly long.

It would be so easy to surrender.

The stray thought startled him. He shook his head and took another sip of tea and looked out into the night once more.

No one would die for you anymore.

He squeezed his eyes tight and swallowed brittle air. His hands constricted around the mug.

Give in; it is the only way to save them. It is the only way to avoid the pain.

"Shut up," he whispered to the darkness.

You know it to be true…why prolong the suffering…

The cup slipped from his fingers and rolled onto the ground, emptying itself of the remaining liquid. His chest pounded and blood rushed to his brain. He clenched his fists and stood from his blanketed spot outside the tent entrance, wholly disregarding the jar of blue flames at his feet as he stormed inside the tent. Hermione stirred in her bed for a brief moment. Harry watched her until he could hear her steady and calm breathing resume. He latched onto her extendable hand bag, opened it, and thrust his arm elbow deep into its contents. The Notice-Me-Not Charm pulsed from the Mokeskin pouch but it did not deter him this time. He could hear the fait heartbeat from within. The soul within the locket would not be denied.

He withdrew the pouch, reached inside and wrapped his fingers around the chain of the locket and brought it into the light of the tent. He stood for a moment, his emerald gaze disappearing into the darker green of the locket. He slid the chain over his head. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the coolness of the metal touched his exposed skin. Quietly—as he knew he must be—he tiptoed out the tent and returned to the welcoming embrace of the cold, dark forest.

He sat once more on the blanket, his legs crossed and his hands wrapped around the locket. His eyes stared absently into the jar of blue flame at his feet.

And then he saw it.

A bright silver light had materialized from within the depth of the forest and moved closer and closer still toward him, gracefully meandering between the trees. Slowly, the orb of wisp-light took shape, forming legs, then a short tail, and finally a slender head and ears.

It was a Doe. A beautiful, graceful, silver-white doe, bright as glistening midnight stars. The doe halted at the edge of the trees that formed the small grove they had taken refuge within, staring at Harry without any further movement. And Harry realized what it was: a Patronus.

He rose from the blanket, his eyes held steadily upon the doe, his hands clutched tightly around the locket. He wanted to approach the creature. Every instinct in his body urged him toward the creature. It was strangely familiar, though he knew not from where.

Do not follow.

His heart beat in unison with the faint pulse contained inside the locket.

It will harm you.

But Harry continued to stare at the doe. He was certain such a creature as this could do no harm. The doe stepped forward in response to his clouded mind, her head held high as her wide, piercing eyes captured his own. Then, without any warning at all, the doe turned quickly on its hind legs and darted back into the trees. And Harry set off close behind, ignoring the frantic caution of his mind and the soul fragment carried around his neck.

The doe traversed the snowy wood without a trace, leaving no sound or footprint. Harry, however, was not so fortunate. The mix of snow and frozen leaves crunched beneath his feet and his heavy breathing carried from one tree to the next. Still, Harry gave chase to the doe as she led him deeper and deeper into the forest, all the while sure the wondrous creature had all the answers he sought.

And yet the locket pushed unrelentingly against his chest. It wanted nothing to do with the magnificent creature. Why, Harry wasn't sure, nor did he give it much thought. Perhaps it was fear? For how could anyone hate such a peaceful spirit as the doe?

And at last, she came to a halt. She had led him into another clearing, this one a field of undisturbed snow, pristine and glowing beneath the moon. The doe gave him another look, then twerked her head toward the field, motioning him to follow. Harry looked over the vacant field as the doe dashed across it. Harry followed her with his eyes, spotting a frozen pond. Harry drew his wand but instinct told him he did not need it. Slowly, then, he approached the doe, drawing closer and closer to the pond. When he was only a few yards away, he gathered his courage to speak.

"Who sent you," he asked. The doe did not speak. Instead she motioned digging into the ice covering the pond. Harry inched closer. Again the doe dug at the ice, but the Patronus was incapable of breaking it. Again Harry inched closer. The doe locked her gaze with his. Harry opened his mouth, his question ready. Then, before he could speak, the doe's form reverted back into the wispy orb.

"No, don't go," Harry whispered, surprised by his own sudden desperation. But the pulsating orb did not vanish. Instead it floated out to the center of the pond, illuminating the surface with intense, vibrant light. Then the orb plunged into the ice, lighting the dark water beneath. He stood now at the edge of the pond, one foot on the frozen water, the other on land. He squinted at the submerged Patronus. And then he saw it; a flash of silver and deep red and a glistening blade.

The Sword of Gryffindor.

Harry rubbed his eyes vigorously behind his glasses and looked again.

The sword lay unprotected at the bottom of the pond. He swallowed hard as the Patronus reemerged from the pond, leaving the water dark once more. The orb floated toward him, eye level, and hovered for a moment. Then it vanished into nothing.

"Lumos," said Harry, holding his wand high. He swallowed, well aware of what he had to do. Only the brave and the daring of heart could take the Sword of Gryffindor. Who had placed it at the bottom of a frozen pool, he didn't know. He starred once more at the uninviting prospect of the frozen pool, reminded momentarily of the second task during the Tri-Wizard tournament. He swallowed again before shedding his several layers of clothing. Bare-skinned in all but his boxers, he stepped out onto the frozen pool, his feet burning the moment his flesh touched the ice. Over the next several seconds, Harry took three timid steps toward the center of the pond, wincing with each creak of the ice beneath his feet. He pointed his wand at the center of the pond.

"Diffindo."

The ice cracked like a whip and echoed through the field. The ice split into several fractures, leaving an opening twice his size at the center. He swallowed again. The pond was no more than fifteen or twenty meters deep, but the prospect of fully submerging himself in the freezing water was very unattractive. But he needed the sword.

He took the plunge.

Every part of his body felt pierced by tiny needles. His blood had surly frozen. His lungs shriveled to the size of a Flubberworm as he pushed toward the bottom, wand arm extended to light his way. He reached forward with his free hand and grasped the hilt. His feet hit bottom. He bent his legs and pushed off.

But the sword did not budge.

Harry planted his feet once more and pushed off harder than before.

Again, the sword would not budge. Harry released his grip on the sword and surfaced for air. His lungs burned as he gulped in the winter air.

Why wouldn't the sword budge? But the bitter cold of the water and the air above did not give him long to ponder. He filled his shrinking lungs with air once more and plunged once more.

He grabbed the hilt with both hands this time, wand parallel to the handle and wrenched with all his strength. Again it would not budge. Then something closed tight around his neck and pulled him away from the sword.

() () ()

Hermione jumped from her bed, wand pointed toward the entry. The noise of what sounded like a gunshot had woken her.

"Harry," she called, slipping on her socks and shoes haphazardly.

"Harry," she called again when he didn't answer. She walked into the small sitting area and found her handbag lying haphazardly on the floor. Her eyes scanned the floor as she bent over to retrieve the handbag. The Mokeskin pouch lay near the tent entrance.

"Oh no," she whispered, clutching at her chest. She picked up the pouch as she pushed aside the flap entrance. Harry had vacated his sitting blanket, leaving the jar of blue flames to burn unattended. His tea mug had rolled onto the snow, empty. She spotted footprints off to the right leading into the forest. She looked inside the pouch; the Horcrux was gone.

"Harry," she shouted into the trees. No answer came. Her heart pounded quickly and her stomach constricted. She eyed the forest. She could follow the footsteps, but was it the fastest way to Harry? Then she held her wand in the palm of her hand.

"Point Me," she said, forcing all her attention, thought, and emotion into the spell, hoping it would work the way she intended. Her wand spun twice in her hand before pointing into the woods straight ahead of her, far to the left of Harry's footprints. Hermione's familiarity with the Forest of Dean also told her the wand pointed south east, which could only mean one thing; her spell had worked.

She took off into the wood, wand alight, dodging between the trees as she determinedly kept the line her wand had directed her to. The reflection of the snow would occasionally blind her but she continued undeterred and her pace unhampered, fueled by a singular thought.

Please be alright.

It wasn't long before she emerged into the clearing. She could see the frozen pool of water, the broken ice, and the pile of clothing at the edge of the pond. Hermione ran the length of the small field. Each step accelerated the beating of her heart. Her breath caught for only a moment as she reached the water's edge. It was dark and she couldn't see anything.

"Lumos Maxima," she shouted, pointing above her head. The frozen pool lit as though beneath a blazing summer sun. And she saw it, ruby encrusted hilt and unblemished blade; the Sword of Gryffindor glistened at the bottom of the pond. But where was Harry?

And then her heart stopped. Harry struggled in the water, his hands grasping at his throat. The Horcrux locket constricted around his neck as it attempted to drag him to the far end of the pond. Without any hesitation, Hermione leapt into the water, fully clothed. The water was torturous, its brutal cold penetrating to her core. She wrapped her arms around his torso and kicked off toward the opening in the ice. They emerged seconds afterward, but harry still grasped for air as the locket continue to strangle him. Hermione held him above the water with one arm and pointed her wand with the other.

"Wingardium…Leviosa," she incanted between a deep gulp of breath. She guided Harry to the shore, away from the ice. She then hoisted herself back onto the ice and crawled to Harry, her body shivering uncontrollably. But her discomfort was not on her mind; the Horcrux locket continued to constrict upon Harry's throat, Harry's fingers the only thing between the chain and complete suffocation. She grabbed the Horcrux by the encasement and pulled it over Harry's head and threw it to the ground.

Harry slumped, his immediate struggle now over. His breathing was quick and sharp as he took in the cold air. His fingers and toes were tinged in a light blue. Hermione waved her wand over his body in a simple, elongated motion, drying him instantly. She repeated the spell on herself.

"The…sword…" moaned Harry. "In the pond…"

"I saw it," she answered back, her heart filling with temporary relief. How much longer he could have held on…she didn't wish to ponder. She summoned his clothes, placed a warming charm on them, and helped him dress.

"How did you find me," he asked as Hermione helped him with his shirt.

"It's not important right now," said Hermione. Her voice was low and almost guttural. Harry noted her tone carried an edge.

"Why did you take the Horcrux from the bag, Harry," she asked.

Silence.

"Harry, answer me."

"I don't know," he said finally. He looked away and starred into the snow. "It…called me…I don't know how to explain it…I couldn't resist the urge…It was like my mind wasn't my own anymore…"

"But why now?"

"I'm not sure, Hermione," he said. "I was keeping watch, thinking about Bathilda…why she didn't have to die..." Harry's voice dropped. He didn't want to share how dark his thoughts had been during his night watch.

"And how did you know the sword was here?"

"A Patronus led me to it," he said. "A doe."

"You followed a Patronus?"

Harry nodded.

"Did you see who cast the spell?"

Harry shook his head. He looked back at the pond. He made to stand up but Hermione pushed him back into a sitting position.

"We need that sword, Hermione," he protested.

"I'll get it," she said. "You stay here. Keep watch."

"Hermione," he tried to argue, but she had turned her back to him, wand stretched out over the black ice.

"No, Harry, I said I'll do it," she said, her voice radiating with raw sharpness. She turned to look at Harry, her chocolate eyes sparkling beneath the moonlight, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. "You scared me, Harry. I thought for one horrible moment I was too late."

Harry couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I didn't know what would happen."

"I know," she said as another stream of tears fell down her cheek. "But it doesn't change what almost happened. I know you feel responsible for Bathilda. I know you feel responsible for every single death in this damned war. But that doesn't make your life worth any less. So don't treat it like you can throw it away. I…I can't lose you, Harry." Harry fell silent as Hermione turned her back to him once more.

"Diffindo," she said, her wand steady in front of her. But Harry could still hear the rawness in her throat.

The ice cracked and fractured, sending echoes of thunder through the forest. The ice broke in a jagged line, parting in two from the shore to the hole Harry had made earlier. The water sloshed and spilled over the ice. Steeling herself, then, for another plunge, Hermione went to the water in a run, diving headlong as the water splashed around her knees. Once more the bitter cold of the water permeated her clothes and sunk into her skin.

She grabbed the sword in both hands, planted her feet solidly on the rocky ground and pushed off. The sword lifted effortlessly with her. She emerged, sword in hand, taking great gulps of freezing air as she waded back to the shore, her clothes sagging and shedding puddles of water. She stood for a moment before Harry, her bushy brown curls flattened around her face, lips quivering and blue. Harry forgot the beauty of the doe that had led him to this field. He realized in that moment he had never seen anything, or anyone, as beautiful as the woman standing before him.

Hermione waved her wand over the length of her body, drying her clothes as before, stowed her wand into her holster and shoved the locket into her jeans pocket. She then held out her free hand to Harry, who took it, his mouth slightly agape. How had she so easily taken the sword when it had refused to budge for him? But he didn't ask Hermione. Instead, he followed her back through the woods at her silent gesture.

As they walked through the silent trees, Harry's thoughts were sporadic; flashes of every moment Hermione had come through for him when no one else had. He had always appreciated her intelligence. He had proudly proclaimed his pride in her spell mastery. But with every step closer to the tent, Harry felt something new, something different than before. The woman leading him through the forest had fully taken his burdens. Weight had fallen from his shoulders and onto hers. He wanted to feel guilty. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to loathe himself at his very core. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he felt relief. His steps were lighter.

Outside the tent, Hermione leaned the sword against the nearest tree and withdrew the locket Horcrux from her pocket. She held it for a moment, her eyes weary as the green encasement twirled on the chain. Then kneeled down and brushed away the shallow snow and frozen leaves, leaving behind a bare piece of exposed earth and laid the locket down with the ornate S facing the night sky. She turned to Harry. Her tears had dried but the whites of her eyes were bloodshot and tired. Still, determination flashed as her gaze captured his.

"Let's destroy it," she said. She retrieved the sword and held it out to Harry. Harry looked at the sword and then back to Hermione.

"No, it's supposed to be you," he said.

"I've never destroyed a Horcrux, Harry; it should be you."

"No, you got the sword, it's supposed to be you," he said. He had learned the unspoken lesson Dumbledore had taught him; this was magic at its deepest, swiftest current. Hermione had retrieved the sword. The sword had yielded to her. Hermione was the worthy Gryffindor this time. Hermione though looked uncertain.

"Hermione, that sword wouldn't budge for me at the bottom of the pond," he said. "I tried. Maybe it was the influence of the Horcrux, maybe it sensed more than me, I don't know. But it yielded to you. You have to wield it."

"Should we open the locket?"

"Kreacher thought so. And I think I know how to open it." He got down on his knees and looked at the ornate, serpentine S. It looked enough like a snake. He looked up at Hermione. "Be ready. Don't hesitate either. Whatever's left of Tom's soul will put up a fight. The Riddle that came out of the diary tried to kill me."

"Alright, Harry, just tell me when." She gripped the sword in both hands and pursed her lips.

"On three, alright?"

Hermione nodded.

Harry narrowed his eyes, blurring everything in his vision around him but the serpentine S, imagining it a living, breathing serpent.

"One…two…three…open."

The locket swung open with a soft click. For a moment, everything was silent. Then, several things happened. A forceful wind escaped the locket, knocking Hermione and himself to the ground. Then a mass of black cloud spewed from its container; the wispy image of the youthful Tom Riddle emerged, handsome but terrifying, his eyes not yet the red slits the wizarding world now feared, but wholesome and empty. Then a terrible pain split across Harry's forehead. Terrible pain, as though his scar knew what was coming, knew that it must avoid the blade once wielded by Godric Gryffindor.

"Stab it now," shouted Harry, his hands clutching at his scar.

Riddle however, paid little attention to Harry. He turned his gaze upon Hermione, sword help limply in one hand with her back on the ground, staring up in horror at the black visage.

"I have seen your heart, and it is mine."

"Hermione, don't listen to it…stab it…stab it now." Another flash of pain washed across his face.

"Hermione Granger…Mudblood…insufferable know-it-all—persecuted for your intelligence and despised for your dirty blood—caught between two worlds as you try to prove your worth…"

"Hermione, please, stab it now…" Hermione looked to Harry, watched his claw at his forehead and chest, his body trembling.

"But you do not fear these things…"

Hermione stood again, sword dangling loosely still in her hands. She swallowed and stared into the eyes of Riddle's fragmented soul. She took the sword once more into both hands and stepped forward. Another blast of wind pushed her hard against the tree.

"But you are afraid…afraid of failing him when he needs you…"

Hermione shook her head, sword gripped tighter still.

"And you fear losing him in the end…"

She looked again at Harry, her heart plunging into a cold far more bitter than the icy pond at the thought. Harry continued to plead through the pain in his scar.

"Hermione, stab it now…don't…listen…to it."

"Your love for him perpetually guarded…it has made you weak…for you fear most of all that he will never love you…"

"HERMIONE, PLEASE!"

Hermione's heart paused with Harry's frantic cry. She swallowed again and propelled herself toward the locket, sword raised high. There was a flash of silver as the blade struck the exposed center of the locket. The shade of Riddle screamed in agony, but it was not the only one. Harry's cry had been far louder, far more gut wrenching.

The fragment swirled, the form of Riddle dissipating as Hermione stabbed the core with the tip of the blade.

"You will never win," said the detached voice of Tom's fading soul fragment. "You've only brought the one you love closer to death."

With a final pulse of energy, the remnant soul fragment of Tom Riddle vanished into nothingness. Harry went limp. Hermione dropped the sword and ran to him.

"Oh Merlyn, Harry, are you alright," she asked leaning over him. Harry could feel her rapid breathing on his neck. Chocolate brown eyes greeted his own.

"I've been better," said Harry softly, reaching up and rubbing his scar. His head throbbed painfully. Hermione helped him into a sitting position.

"We did it, Harry."

"You were brilliant, Hermione," he said, "brilliant and amazing." She hesitated a moment, her lips moving as though to speak, but no words came. The danger was past. Then, before Harry had even regained his bearings, Hermione had launched herself onto him, arms crushing his torso with incredible strength, her hair nearly suffocating him as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, her hot tears tumbling in sheets upon his skin. They remained that way for uncounted minutes. Then, suddenly, Hermione raised her head until her chocolate brown eyes locked with his. They glistened with tears. Tears Harry had seen before. Tears that had surfaced during Bill and Fleur's wedding. Happy tears. Joyous tears. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione hushed him with a finger upon his lips. She gave him a small smile, leaned forward and captured his lips with her own.

Harry was lost. His heart had stopped. For the briefest moment, his chest felt light and empty. Then his heart exploded, pounded against his chest with unrestrainable force and with such purpose that Harry fully expected the vessels to burst. His stomach twisted into knots as his mind turned blissfully blank. He felt as though he'd just lived a thousand eternities.

Too soon her soft lips departed. He opened his eyes. She smiled at him, hopeful.

"Now you know, Harry," she said. "Now you know my deepest secret."

Harry just stared at her, his heart screaming with celebration while his brain tried to reel him back to reality.

"Say something, Harry."

No…he couldn't go down this road…

Harry shook his head. His heart protested, throwing daggers into his spleen and stomach—any vital organ—to convince him otherwise.

"Harry, my heart has just been laid bare for you and all you can do is shake your head?"

"I can't, Hermione…"

"You don't feel the same way..."

He watched her eyes darken, crestfallen and embarrassed.

"No, that's not it," he said quickly, tripping over his words. "I…I can't…we can't."

"Harry, if this is about Ron, again, I think I've been more than clear just now…and the Horcrux was quite blunt about it."

"It's not that…it's…it's something else."

"What is it, then?" she asked, her voice cracking with the fragileness of her heart. Harry looked away, his eyes falling upon the destroyed locket only a few yards away.

"It's the locket, isn't it," she said, her eyes growing wide as she followed Harry's gaze. "Why was it hurting you?"

"I…"

"Harry, is it because of your connection with…You-Know…with Tom?"

"I…sort of…" He wanted to tell her. But how could he? How could he tell her now, after she had just told him—and show him—her feelings?

"Harry, tell me you feel the same way I do..."

"It doesn't matter what I feel," he said, the words tumbling from his lips, unable to stop them. "There's a reason I can feel it...when the Horcrux is damaged..."

And Hermione fell silent. She stared at Harry, her eyes wide, hands cupping her mouth to muffle her sharp intake.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No…no, I don't believe that…I…I can't believe that."

"It's true, Hermione," he said. "Dumbledore told me...in the pensieve." Hermione stood, fists curled tightly.

"The Horcrux...before it was completely destroyed...it knew…"

Harry looked at her confused.

"It said I brought the one I...brought you closer to death."

"I think I've always known, in some way that it would always come down to this," he said.

"And how do we get rid of it," she asked. Harry looked away.

"I supposed Dumbledore didn't say, did he?"

"He did," said Harry. "And I think you know it too."

"I'm not going to let you die, much less watch it happen."

"It's the only way, Hermione."

"So you expect me to help you destroy the rest of these Horcruxes-whatever and wherever they are-so you can just hand yourself over?"

"I'm not asking you to do any of that."

"Why didn't you tell me," she shouted. "I could have been researching-looking for a way to save you."

"I wanted to tell you," said Harry, "but everytime I tried, I couldn't."

"This is why you told me to leave with Ron, isn't it?"

"I just want you to be safe...and happy…"

"You were never going to tell us...tell me…you were just going to walk to your death after all the Horcruxes were destroyed…"

"I'm sorry," he said. "But it has to be this way, Hermione. As long as even one Horcrux remains...he can't be killed."

"And what about you?"

"My life isn't worth any more than anyone else's."

"It is to me," she said, eyes glistening again. "You're the most important person in my life, Harry...the most precious...my best friend...I...I c-can't l-let you d-do it, H-Harry." Harry moved toward her but Hermione held her arms up and walked into the tent, leaving Harry alone beneath the moonlight.

Hermione found her bed, but not before she had retrieved the vial of memory Dumbledore had left for her. She sat, legs crossed on the bed, staring at the dull-colored liquid. She pulled on the stopper with all the strength she possessed, but it wouldn't budge. Frustrated and struggling to see through the tears, she held the vial in one hand and pointed her wand at the stopper. She tried vanishing the stopper, but it remained. She then tried shrinking it. Again it remained. She tried several other magical means, all of which failed. Finally, she dropped her wand onto the bed as she held the vial tightly with both hands, tears falling faster than before.

"Please," she wept, "p-please open...I n-need answers. I n-need to save him. P-please help me save him. Please...I love him." No sooner had the words left her lips that the vial turned warm in her hands. She opened her hands; the vial emitted a pulsing blue glow.

Author's Note: I hope you all liked the twist on this very familiar scene. Now, before some of my readers get upset about why Harry couldn't lift the sword-I'm not saying Harry was "unworthy" to get the sword...but he's not in a good place right now. He's struggling with massive doubt, he's dealing with what he thinks is a betrayal on Dumbledore's part, and while I think there is a level of courage involved with keeping his fate a secret, it's not the most courageous thing. I also think with the Horcrux being in the vicinity would also skew the magic of the sword as it realized there was a very unworthy spirit.

Now, for those that may not agree with the Horcrux's destruction hurting Harry as well; I know there is now history to support this embellishment from the books, but I did get the inspiration from the movie adaptation when Harry tells Hermione, "There is a reason I can sense them." It adds a depth that I think is missing from Harry's struggle, as well as it being very symbolic in the way that "we must die to ourselves."

Finally...I know most of my readers have waited patiently for these two to finally share the big moment may be upset that I've brought them together only for Harry's resistance to get in the way. Please be patient. This story is still quite some time from finishing. And we all know Hermione better than that. She's not just going to let Harry "have his way."

Anyway, hope you all liked the chapter. It was a challenge, but quite fun. The pace is going to really pick up now, as I hope to go full steam ahead and wrap this story up so I can concentrate on my other endeavor.

P.S. What did we think about the modification to the "Point Me" spell?