Hello! Sorry for the very long lapse. Sincerely. The little guy is approaching six months now, and appears to be falling into some semblance of schedule. So, I think this means I will be back to publishing a bit more regularly again. I won't drone on, as you've waited long enough. Enjoy and as always, appreciate the patience and your thoughts.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Fools who Love

Hermione felt her feet hit solid ground as a myriad of colors whirled around her. She knew from the moment she landed that something was different from her past experiences involving the Pensieve. She could feel the heavy currents of magic around her; thick as the mist from a sauna. She had never felt magic so present and…overwhelming. The swirl of color slowed and began to take shape; brilliant blue formed a backdrop, a sparkling blue-grey flooded out before her, and a golden hue rose high above her. Then, rolling hills of green took shape in the foreground and pointed peaks of white and grey jutted out in the far distance. Everything was blurry still, but Hermione found something familiar about the shape forming around her. The patchwork of colors sharpened and focused; she was on a small island, standing among a gathering of trees, surrounded by water.

Water she knew; the Black Lake.

She turned on her heels and saw it, towers reaching high. Hogwarts stood tall, bathed in brilliant sunlight, a beacon on a hill she had long felt a second home. A light breeze dashed betwixt the branches, bringing with it fresh mountain air. She turned again, looking for the white marble tomb, but it was as if Dumbledore had never been laid to rest here. The island was undisturbed.

"It is good to see you, Miss. Granger," said the voice Hermione had long hoped to hear. She turned a final time toward the voice and the castle. Albus Dumbledore stood in the place where his tomb should have been, the gold-trimmed edges of his silver robes playing a game of tag with the breeze. He looked tired but in good spirits as the sunlight shimmered from the reflection of his half-moon spectacles. She looked at his hands; his wand hand was as it had been—black and charred.

"What is this place," she asked him. "This is…nothing at all like the other memories I've visited..."

"No, it is not," said Dumbledore with a smile. He turned briefly and looked at the castle over his shoulder. "Even after all this time, I can be moved to breathless wonder at the sight of it," he said, nodding at the castle. "A truly magical place, Hogwarts. Centuries of captivating wonder and penetrating magic, some long forgotten. I wonder if anyone will ever learn all the secrets within." He turned his gaze back to Hermione and the same smile he had greeted her with grew quite large. His electric blue eyes twinkled at her, just as they had in life, carrying a joyful, youthful mirth she had never seen in anyone before; eyes that were still filled wonder and surprise.

"How does it work," she asked, unable to resist. "This memory, I mean."

"Through a combination of extraordinarily complex charms and enchantments, and no small amount of frustration," said Dumbledore, waving his injured hand. "However, the detailed explanation you seek, I fear, would take too much time; time we do not have, Miss. Granger…" The headmaster's eyes seemed to dull at the prospect of time. He now looked older than she had remembered him. Then, hardly a moment later, his eyes lit brightly again. "Should one be curious, though, they would find a detailed account in a leather bound journal, tucked between a first-printing edition of The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One, and a much older copy of Grimm's Fairytales."

Neither said anything as a gust of wind rushed through the trees. It was then that Hermione remembered herself and why she was here. She opened her mouth several times in an effort to speak, but found—for the first time in her life—she did not know where to begin.

"How is Harry," asked Dumbledore, finally, after observing her failed attempts to string two words together. The child-like wonder in her eyes dissolved as Harry's name left the headmaster's lips.

"He's…," she started, "he's…he…we've found one…," she finally said, unable to say the words ripping at her heart. "We've destroyed a Horcrux."

"That is excellent news," said Dumbledore, his eyes narrowing slightly as the smile on his face faded and turned to a subtle frown. "But how is Harry?"

Hermione felt the sharp stinging in her eyes but fought it defiantly. She turned away from the headmaster, biting her lower lip and clenching her fists in desperation, frantically clinging to all her remaining resolve—resolve that had been slipping away since rescuing Harry from the pond; she had to remain strong.

The world depended on it.

And Harry…Harry needed it most of all.

She scrunched her eyes and held back salty tears. She wanted to yell, to scream, to holler at the top of her lungs all that was wrong in the world—Harry's world—since Dumbledore had departed from it. Dumbledore said nothing in that moment and instead moved to her side, next to a nearby tree and leaned against its trunk. Hermione chose not to meet Dumbledore's gaze. When she did open her eyes, she looked beyond him, over his shoulders and up at the castle she once believed would always be a refuge from the darkness outside.

"Which Horcrux did you find," asked Dumbledore. Hermione welcomed the change in subject.

"The locket."

"So you were able to discern our mysterious R.A.B.?"

"Yes, Harry…how did you know?"

"When Harry and I last spoke, he indicated the locket recovered from the cave was a fake."

"Wait a minute," she said, forgetting once more the task at hand to satisfy her curiosity. "Are you saying you recall the conversation you had with Harry, from your other memory, or whatever this is?"

"Yes," answered Dumbledore simply. However, he did not elaborate.

"Fascinating," she said, more to herself than Dumbledore before she remembered Dumbledore's question. "Anyway, Harry actually figured it out—stumbled upon it really. Turns out it was Sirius' brother, Regulus, who found out about You-Know-Who's—"

"—Lord Voldemort," interjected Dumbledore. "You are too much a courageous witch to fear a name, Miss. Granger."

"It's a habit now," said Hermione irritably. "Name's been jinxed—Ministry picks up on anyone that says his name—quite brilliant, actually; one more attempt to catch Harry, no doubt."

"I am inclined to agree," nodded Dumbledore. "Forgive my interruption, Miss. Granger. As you were saying, Regulus discovered the Horcrux?"

"Yeah, Kreacher told us about it. Would you believe Voldemort actually used Kreacher to test that poison? He forced Kreacher to drink the entire contents and left him to be drug to the bottom of the lake by Inferi."

"Vile indeed, but not in the least bit surprising," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard. "Pardon my curiosity, but how did Kreacher survive?"

"By luck," answered Hermione truthfully. "Regulus called him back and Kreacher Apparated home."

"Ah, yes, he would have done," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Lord Voldemort would never consider the strength of the magic between a house elf and his master to rival his own protective enchantments." Hermione nodded.

"So Regulus figured it out, I guess, prepared a fake locket with a note inside, told Kreacher to take him to the cave and drank the poison himself. He ordered Kreacher to take the real locket, replace it with the fake, and…and told Kreacher to leave him and destroy the locket as soon as he could."

"And was Kreacher able to destroy the locket?"

"No…no, he couldn't. That's why he was always punishing himself."

"The Horcrux was at Grimmauld all this time?"

Hermione gave a feeble nod and spent the next several minutes describing all that happened at the ministry.

"You three have suffered quite the ordeal, but I must tip my hat to you; acquiring the locket was no small feat."

"We were really lucky, but there was a price," said Hermione. Dumbledore waited, attentive and still leaning against the tree.

"The Horcrux…we didn't have the means to destroy it right away," said Hermione, giving Dumbledore a piercing look for the first time. "We had to carry it—keep it with us—and I think it must have had powerful compulsion charms on it because it was so damn hard to resist wearing it. It seemed to know what we were thinking, made us think things were worse than they were—and things were pretty bad—and well, despite everything, one of us finally gave in." It was then—with hardly any awareness of her own—Hermione slumped down onto her knees and into the swaying grass.

"We were for-forced to leave Grimmauld Place and were on the run co-constantly, hiding in for-forests and hillsides, abandoned sh-shacks—anywhere we could find," she said, wiping away several tears. "Food was dwindling, it was co-cold, and we di-didn't have any idea where t-to start looking for the sword or any of the other Hor-Horcruxes. Then the fighting started; everyone was on edge."

Hermione swallowed and tried to regain some composure.

"One night, Harry and I were outside the tent and heard a group of goblins talking about Neville, and Ginny, and Luna—they were caught trying to steal the sword of Gryffindor from Snape's office. We heard one of th-the goblins say it was a fake. Harry and I ran to the tent to tell Ron; he was wearing the lo-locket." Hermione swept away a few more tears, took another deep breath, and went on, her eyes focused on a single blade of grass.

"He said awful things…hurtful things…mostly unfair and untrue things to Harry. And I know the locket fed on his fears, but he was no more exposed than Harry or I… They fought. Ron left—we've no idea where he is or if he's still..."

She couldn't finish. Angry, upset, hurt as she was by Ron's selfishness, she did not want to think about whether he was alive or not. She silently cursed herself for even contemplating the possibility that she might never hear his laugh again.

And yet, he had left.

"We waited all morning…"

Ron had abandoned her, but mostly, he had abandoned Harry. Hermione had thought she had no more tears for Ron—she certainly had no wish to shed more on his behalf—but closed her eyes shut, willing away the sharp pain in her chest.

"It's just been Harry and me since then…"

Her heart lunged sharply into her ribs. Her lungs constricted at Harry's name. Harry…

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

His words—despite nearly drowning in a frozen pond—were filled with conviction.

No.

Total resignation.

"I'm sorry…but it has to be this way…"

Before she could stop herself, before she could weigh the burden of her thoughts, the words slipped from her lips.

"I…I ca-can't lose him…"

She looked up at Dumbledore then—or she tried to, but her glistening eyes were blinded in the sun overhead—silently pleading that he would understand the turmoil twisting inside her. Blinded still, she did not see Dumbledore leave his tree, drop to his own knees in front of her, and place both hands on her shoulders. The headmaster's gentle touch—unexpected and unseen—melted away the remnant strength she possessed. Her tears unrestrained, dropped quietly into the grass. And Dumbledore did not disturb her. He simply remained before her on bended knee, holding her gently by the shoulders as he waited for emotions to run their course.

"Do not give up yet, Miss. Granger," said Dumbledore after several minutes. "All is not lost—not yet."

"How can you know that," she asked, her voice raising several octaves. "How can you say that? The Order is practically in hiding, Death Eaters roam Hogwarts while the Ministry continues its crusade on Muggleborns, Ron's gone who knows where, we've no idea where the other Horcruxes are—let alone what they are—and Harry…Harry's one of them…"

It was here that Hermione's eyes narrowed accusingly on Dumbledore. Her abated anger poured out from within her in a furious, torrential wave.

"You wanted to know how Harry is; I'll tell you! He needs you and you're not here! He needs you, not a children's book, a magical cylinder, or a defective Snitch!" Hermione was standing now, her chest rising and falling rapidly with short breaths. Her hands were shaking and her throat felt as though she'd swallowed liquid fire, but she couldn't stop. The words came too easily.

"You weren't there at Godric's Hollow," she lamented. "You didn't hear the words he spoke to his parent's grave! You didn't see the longing in his eyes when we'd found the house! You didn't see the disappointment in his face when Bathilda revealed your friendship with Grindleweld, or your plan to enslave Muggles! Harry admired you—stood unwaveringly to the Scrimgeour— and trusted your judgement!

"You weren't there to drag him from a frozen pond as he nearly drowned! You weren't there to pull the Horcrux from his neck as it nearly strangled him! You weren't there to hear his pleading when the Horcrux was destroyed! You weren't there because you trusted Snape!"

Dumbledore did not move as Hermione continued to level complaints against him. He did not interrupt her, nor did he hold his hands up defensively. He did not look away. Hermione turned her back to him. She let her shoulders drop and hung her head in defeat.

"I'm pathetic," she said, finally, "getting angry at what—a memory, a projection—whatever you are? You're not real—no matter how much you look like him, feel like him, speak like him, or act like him—you're not Dumbledore. And even if you were, who am I to criticize you; Harry told me for months Snape couldn't be trusted—years, actually—and I turned an eye, just like you. He was right about Malfoy too. The weasel took the Dark Mark. He found a way to bring them inside the castle. Bill was injured, badly. You were killed. Harry…Harry was left to pick up the pieces." She turned again, looked at the headmaster to see misty blue eyes looking back at her.

"Please," she said, her anger dissolving to a plea. "Please tell me it doesn't have to end the way Harry thinks it does. Please tell me he's not a Horcrux."

"He told you, then?"

"He hadn't planned to tell me, I don't think," answer Hermione. She paused a moment, allowing the night to replay in her mind. "I went to get a few hours' sleep while Harry kept watch just outside the tent…" She told Dumbledore everything; how she woke to find Harry and the locket missing, her frantic search of the forest, rescuing Harry from the pond and the Horcrux, and finally, retrieving Gryffindor's Sword.

"He couldn't take it," she recounted. "Harry said it wouldn't budge. I had to get it."

"You said Harry was wearing the locket," asked Dumbledore, curiously.

Hermione nodded.

"The sword presents itself only to a worthy Gryffindor," said Dumbledore. "That is not to say Harry is unworthy," he added quickly, catching Hermione's eyes. "Simply stated, it is possible the Horcrux within the locket may have interfered. Additionally, I would guess from everything you have told me about the locket—and Mr. Weasley's particular vulnerability to it—that Harry was likely feeling immense guilt over Bathilda and possible others. While one does not need to be fearless to be courageous, guilt—and other emotions like it—can easily overwhelm us. Despair is but one of many products of guilt. Given recent events and the likely state of mind Harry was in at the time, I do not think I am wrong to believe that the sword would not have willingly submitted to Harry."

"Harry said something like that," admitted Hermione. "He told me I had to destroy the Horcrux." That was when everything changed. She told Dumbledore everything; the taunting words of the fragmented soul, Harry's tortured pleading, the shared embrace and confession.

"He said, my life isn't worth any more than anyone else's, those were his words," she said, wiping away fresh tears. "He might never have said anything. Please," she added, her eyes swimming and burning again. "Please tell me he's wrong."

"Identifying a Horcrux is fairly simple when you know what you're looking for," said Dumbledore, his eyes duller than Hermione had ever remembered them, "—though certainly dangerous, as you three have undoubtedly learned. The locket, for instance, played on your deepest, darkest secrets, fears, ambitions—things that Voldemort would attempt to exploit. In other words, they always contain characteristics of the individual whom the soul fragment belongs. But to identify one contained within a living being? That is no easy task. Horcruxes—to my knowledge—had never been created in such a way."

Dumbledore continued to speak, revealing the brief details of his quest for more detailed accounts of Horcruxes.

"I found a spell that can identify a Horcrux," said Dumbledore finally. "I entered Harry's dorm, performed the spell, and left in utter despair. I am truly sorry, Miss. Granger, but there is no question, no doubt, that Harry is the Horcrux Voldemort never meant to make."

Hermione was stunned; fear, anguish, desperation, denial, illogical hope—these feelings swirled in her stomach and chest with incomprehensible force.

"So…So he really…Harry…," she looked at Dumbledore, lips trembling with every word, "Harry…has to die…?"

"The container of a Horcrux must be destroyed, for it is that which keeps the fragment of soul bound to the world," said Dumbledore, gravely.

"But Harry isn't a container, he's a living person!"

"What is a body if not a container for the soul? Remember, while a Horcrux safeguards a fragment of soul from destruction, it also binds it to the world. Without it, the soul fragment would—for lack of a better word—depart. While the great mystery of the soul is far beyond our comprehension, we know when our bodies fail and our vital organs cease to operate, we die. Such as it is, our soul disperses. The difference between our earthly bodies and Horcruxes is the difference of the natural and the unnatural. It is a violation of nature to rend a soul asunder and furthermore to bind it to the world in perpetuity."

"So if Harry dies, Voldemort's fragmented soul will disperse…?"

"Precisely," said Dumbledore.

"But so will Harry's soul…"

"That is what should happen," said Dumbledore, this time his voice carrying a softer note.

"Should happen?"

"Tell me, Miss. Granger, did you make use of the Pensieve I gave you?"

"Yes," said Hermione, heart racing. "Why?"

"Did Harry by chance share with you the night of Voldemort's return?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't know where Dumbledore was going, but a new amber of hope sparked to life inside her.

"You recall what Voldemort required for the ritual to regain his body?"

"Flesh of a servant, bone of a father, and blood of an enemy," she said, her mind racing at full speed.

"Yes, precisely," said Dumbledore, clenching his own fist. "Blood that carries Lily's sacrifice, a protection that now lies dormant in the blood coursing through Voldemort's veins—a protection, Miss. Granger, which still lives within Harry—that could be reactivated. The protection remains, carrying the intent and will of a mother's desire, born out of love, to save her child from the one intent upon destroying him. I believe Harry can reactivate this protection, but to do so is to follow in his mother's footsteps and—"

"—And give his life without defense," said Hermione, her voice hollow.

"Yes."

"And you think this will save him?"

"I believe that such a selfless act would place the soul fragment within Harry's scar at risk, rather than his own."

"I don't understand."

"Simply stated, while Harry forfeits his life—thus his soul free and untethered to the world—Voldemort would still be living, Harry's blood running in his veins, carrying the will and intent his Lily Potter, born of the strongest, deepest magic known."

"Love," said Hermione, almost shouting. "Love…a power He knows not!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I believe this protection would shield Harry's soul, directing the killing curse to the soul fragment residing within him; Lord Voldemort would unknowingly destroy his last remaining tether to immortality, leaving Harry undamaged and whole."

"But you don't know for certain?"

"No, I do not, Miss. Granger," acknowledged Dumbledore heavily. "It is theory, untested, unproven, and unheard of. But then, so was surviving the Killing Curse. Yet Lily accomplished such a thing as this for Harry. Perhaps it is a combination of many highly unlikely events converging into one; a prophecy brought into contention, a mother's love, and one man's pursuit of unnatural magic and his determination to destroy an individual who—despite his upbringing and terrible burdens—carries love so profoundly as to embarrass and shame those who would likewise think they love. It is easy to learn to love when we are surrounded by those who likewise love. It is a miracle to learn to love when all you've known is hate and neglect."

"So I just…let him do it," she asked, shaking her head. "I…I'm not sure I can do that. I can't do that!"

"You cannot," said Dumbledore, looking all the more triumphant. "And it is good that you cannot. Love cannot be deterred, Miss. Granger. We fools who love are bound to it."

"I—" she started to say, but found her words failing. She had not told Dumbledore. She hadn't even told Harry. And yet…

Please help me save him…Please…I love him.

Yes. That was when the vial had turned blue. Dumbledore had known.

"I do love him," she said, admitting the truth she had long kept guarded.

"And that is what you must do, Miss. Granger," said Dumbledore. "For his life depends on it."

"How? What can I possibly do? You've said he has to die. Or at least, try to, right?"

"The power that resides in Lily's protection is founded upon love, Miss. Granger," said Dumbledore. "And while I believe that same protection can spare Harry his fate, it does not demand he remain."

"Are you saying...do you mean to say that Harry could…choose?"

"Little is known about the mysteries of death. But the ghosts of Hogwarts could tell you they chose their feeble imitation of life instead. Thus, they remained as ghosts. Their deaths were by natural means—or as natural as could be, all things considered—and their souls were whole."

"But why would Harry even consider…not staying?" The words had leapt from her throat. But even as the words tumbled from her lips, she gave pause to her thoughts.

"Can you think of no reason he might elect not to remain? His part in the prophecy could be considered complete assuming his passing on. Voldemort, skilled, deadly, and dangerous, would be mortal once again. Anyone could kill him, given no small amount of luck."

"Everyone he loves is already gone," she answered. "Yes…"

"Not quite," said Dumbledore, looking pointedly at Hermione. "But your sentiment is accurate. So you must love him, Miss. Granger. While harry has shown remarkable resilience to the temptations of false promises of reuniting him with his family; however, should he be given a path that offers the true possibility…"

Yes…I understand," said Hermione. "I don't think I could blame him. But then I…the world wouldn't…my world wouldn't be the same without him."

They fell silent then, giving way to the chirping of birds and soft splashing of water against the island's shore. Then, unexpectedly, the soft breeze lofting among the trees picked up and the surface of the Black Lake turned rough. The sound of thunder cracked behind them.

"We have only a little time longer," said Dumbledore, observing the fast moving clouds. "I have a few other things I wish to speak of; Mr. Weasley among them."

"Why," asked Hermione, harsher then she intended but certainly portraying how she felt.

"I believe Mr. Weasley may yet find his way back."

"How," she asked, shrugging hopelessly this time. "It's not like we can leave any sign for him, can we? And who said I want him back? He left us! Harry and I can do it on our own!"

"You do need him, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore with a small but sad smile. "And you do care. Though I would not deny you the privilege of—what is the phrase—giving him what-for."

"Again, professor, how will he find us?"

"I left him the means to do so," said Dumbledore as though it were as obvious as someone saying the sun would rise in the east. Hermione furrowed her brows for a moment, thinking quickly. Then, as though the answer had always been with her, her eyes widened.

"The Deluminator?!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, smiling truly this time. "I admit, adding the ability to turn of Muggle lamp posts was a bit of a whim, but any witch or wizard of modest skill would not need such a device."

"You mean to say it had other functions?"

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore. "Several, in fact."

"Then he shall be lost forever," said Hermione.

"As I said, Mr. Weasley has everything he needs to come back, but it will be his choice when—and if—he decides what is truly important to him."

Hermione didn't respond, but nodded. Another crack of thunder boomed over the mountain tops. Small drops of rain started to fall and the wind was steady now.

"The book," she said.

"One story in particular should draw your attention," said Dumbledore.

"Children's tales," she asked incredulously. "You're not suggesting those stories are actually real, are you?"

"All stories are based on some semblance of truth," argued Dumbledore. "But I refer only to one story."

"The Tale of the Three Brothers?"

"Precisely that one."

"But that's the most farfetched of them all!"

"Is it, truly," asked Dumbledore. "You know there are at least two ways to live in seeming immortality; a Sorcerer's Stone, and Horcruxes."

"But to meet Death himself?"

"Oh, I highly doubt the three men in the story ever met death."

"An unbeatable wand, then? An invisibility cloak powerful enough to hide you from death, and a stone to revive the dead? Even you have said no spell can reawaken the dead," protested Hermione.

"Yes, and that is true," said Dumbledore. "No spell can reawaken the dead. But there are ways, Miss. Granger, to be reunited with loved ones who are gone. Something to think about, yes?"

"All right, asked Hermione, "and the Snitch—what does it do?"

"It will open when the time is right," said Dumbledore. "Something Harry will need before the last confrontation." The rain fell hard on them now as Hermione watched the mountains fade and water of the Black Lake slowly swirl and blur into the background.

"You never answered my other question," she said.

"Which was that?"

"Snape," she said. "You never said why you trusted Snape."

Dumbledore smiled sadly at her before he swirled out of focus. When he spoke, it echoed around her.

"Professor, Snape, Miss. Granger," he corrected. "And I still trust Severus Snape. Things are not always what they appear to be, Miss. Granger."