Disclaimer: Harry, Ron, Hermione and the Harry Potter universe belong to the lovely and talented J. K. Rowling, not me.

Setting: Hermione, Ron and Harry are 23. Voldemort is still at large, and more powerful than ever. Ron and Hermione, somehow, have never dated. They, and others, are all at Hogwarts, which has become sort of the headquarters for the 'forces of good.' Hermione is in some private spare bedroom in the castle.

A/N: For some reason, I couldn't get italics to come up right on ff.net, so instead I used all capitals for emphasis. It doesn't necessarily mean that the words are being spoken loudly.

Our Precious Blood

Chapter 1: O Let Us Nobly Die

Hermione was vaguely afraid she was wearing a hole in the bedroom floor with her pacing. Some morbid corner of her mind responded to this fear with the despairing thought that by tomorrow's end, Hogwarts would surely have much larger and deeper holes in it than the one she was now making. And the very NEXT moment she was surprised to discover that she was capable of still MORE gruesome musings: "Will I live to be glad that the reason for a hole in this castle is only pacing?" She pushed the thought away, as she'd been doing all day, since the meeting, but noted the increasing frequency of the idea as the day she feared would be her last faded into memory.

She was running every detail of that morning's meeting through her mind, perhaps the way a prisoner relives his trial and conviction. But she was determined that this would be the last time she would desperately search for a solution, an alternative, and then she would work on resigning herself to tomorrow.

Those who most actively opposed Voldemort had stuck closely together these last hard years. A large group of them had all been at Hogwarts the past week or two training, meeting, trying to decide on strategy and formulate new spells and weapons for the battle they believed would take place soon. Surely by next year, Hermione had thought.

They had gathered that morning to receive the important information. Everyone in the wizarding world that Hermione knew and loved was there, along with some she knew only by name, and some she frankly didn't know at all. They had been seated about a large table; everyone had a clear view of every face.

At the meeting, the Aurors had reported the intelligence they'd just received from certain spies: Voldemort's intentions and position. He wanted nothing more or less than the final and total annihilation of Hogwarts, the bastion of good, the school where Muggle-borns and purebloods learned magic side by side. And he wanted Harry Potter, its rallying cry, its champion, its hope: the one person whose very existence seemed to stand in the way of Voldemort's rise to complete domination. In the words of the report, read detachedly by the leader of the Aurors, Voldemort wanted

"to take the life of the boy in his hand and crush it, to break his
body, will, and heart with increasingly creative forms of torture
until he loses all remnants of goodness and is taken over completely
by the dark desires that he cherishes deep within himself. At this
point the Dark Lord will offer the boy the chance to join him in his
quest for power, and the boy will jump at the opportunity. The always
gracious Lord Voldemort will then allow the boy the privilege of
personally and brutally finishing off any of his friends that survive,
before finally restoring him to his mind so that he may realize who
has triumphed and what he himself has become and what he has done.
Thus Harry Potter, the weak and defeated enemy of the great and
powerful Dark Lord, will drink fully of the cup of utter despair
before he is killed with the same curse that should have killed him so
many years ago. Despised by the world he has failed to 'save,'
completely alone and without any recourse, the boy will beg for mercy
with his last breath."

Hermione remembered vividly the chill she had felt all through her at the sickening details of Voldemort's plan for Harry. She had looked over at him as it was being read, had noted his ghostly white face and clenched fists and had been unable to recall ever seeing Harry so scared.

The report then went on to enumerate Voldemort's forces, and state that they were already gathered all around Hogwarts, surrounding it completely. And they were planning on attacking tomorrow.

At this announcement a profound quiet spread across the table. No one could speak. 'So it's finally come to this,' Hermione remembered thinking, as she watched her worst fear take shape before her eyes.

Ron, the strategist, was the first to break the silence. "Right. So we've got to organize Harry's getaway." He turned to his best friend, speaking earnestly, persuasively. "A bunch of us can stay here to hold them off and give you time to find a safe place--"

Uncharacteristically, Dumbledore interrupted, "Merely putting off the day when Harry will have to face Voldemort himself. Our losses--"

"What kind of LOSSES?" Harry cut Dumbledore off, his voice anguished.

There was another silence, this one with a tinge of awkwardness, because the people who would inevitably become 'losses' were present.

"Th-there's no real way of knowing, Harry." Ron said nervously, "They outnumber us but we've got a defensive advantage, plus we've been warned and have a bit of time to prepare. But that's not the point, the goal is to buy you the time to get away--"

Harry pounded his fist on the table impatiently. He did not speak loudly, but his voice sounded dangerous, seeming to come from a different place in his throat than usual. "How. Many. That's all I want to know. How. Many."

"Two out of every three." Mad-Eye Moody gruffly stated in that conclusive, unarguable way he had. They all completely trusted the judgement and estimation of the battle-hardened veteran; his wisdom and expertise had already saved many of their lives.

The silence that followed this pronouncement was punctuated by nervous glances around the table, as everyone wondered which of them would make it. Hermione looked first at Ron, who was staring at Harry, stricken. Then she looked to Harry, slumped in his chair, stunned. He seemed to have taken the figure like a physical blow. Hermione then looked back to Ron, who by that time was looking at her, his eyes wide with a fearful knowledge that she shared.

"And if I stay." Harry had asked, his taut voice turning the question into a statement.

As Hermione had known he would, Ron objected loudly, his face red and his eyes ablaze with a righteous anger that was based on a fierce desire to protect his friend at any cost. Any cost. Hermione agreed with Ron; Harry's survival was the most important thing. If that meant they'd all die defending him, well, that's what it meant.

But Harry did not seem to want to be defended. He ignored Ron's protests completely, speaking over them, "Ron, I'm not asking you; I know exactly what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it! I'm asking Moody." He turned to Moody, bending close to him. "How many if I stay and fight? How many then?"

"Still two thirds, Potter. But it's risking--"

"No more than must be risked eventually." Dumbledore had said gravely, almost resignedly.

"So you think we can win?" Harry had asked Dumbledore quietly, desperately. "If I stay, I can beat him, for good?" Hermione saw his eyes pleading with Dumbledore to tell him what he needed to hear. What they all needed to hear.

Dumbledore had answered slowly and carefully. "I believe that if anyone is capable of defeating Voldemort, that person is, in all likelihood, you. If he was not aware of this, he would not desire your destruction so ardently. Unless you want to make it your goal to elude Voldemort for the rest of your life, you will have to face him one day. It may be that all you must do to win that final contest is to live through it. However, to survive him, you must not cringe or retreat. At the moment, Harry, you have only to ask yourself if that day is tomorrow and whether you have the courage not to flee him when the time does come." Looking back, Hermione had to wonder if Dumbledore had deliberately tried to direct Harry's decision. He had known precisely the right way to appeal to Harry to make him choose he did. As soon as the words were out of Dumbledore's mouth, Hermione had known exactly what Harry's choice would be.

"Well, I do." Harry's bold words defied the fear that shook his voice, and his tone simply DARED opposition. "We need to organize a getaway for the rest of you."

The outcry this declaration produced was instant and universal. Ron was the loudest, of course, voicing sentiments Hermione echoed. "We will NOT leave you to face him alone, we will NOT! I don't care what you say, Harry, we won't leave you alone..."

Hermione watched, conflicted, as her two best friends' shouting match became the focus of the table's commotion. She understood why Harry felt as he did, but she wished he wouldn't push his friends away when he needed them most. She hated hearing them yell at each other, but the things they were saying needed to be said. Even if Harry would not consent to leave (it seemed less likely with every word he said), Ron's vehement protests should prove to Harry how dedicated his friend was to him. Hermione admired Ron for voicing this devotion and only hoped Harry would understand. He didn't appear to. Maybe the things Ron was saying WERE perfectly worthless, as they pertained to the group's planning and strategy, but that didn't mean that the sentiments behind them should run up against walls as well. Why was it that she and Ron both knew how much their best friend needed them now, but Harry himself seemed completely unaware of it? He was either unaware or in deep denial.

"Yes you will, Ron!" Harry had answered heatedly. "You WILL leave me here! I won't LET you stay. You will NOT die for me, ENOUGH PEOPLE HAVE ALREADY."

This statement ended the general clamor. Everyone deeply felt its gravity. The faces of the loved ones that each had lost to Voldemort flashed before them.

Moody, a less sentimental person than should be humanly possible, finally broke the grief-filled silence and scolded Harry. "You're being ridiculous, Potter. First of all, it's logistically impossible. There's no way we can all get away in time without getting caught. We're surrounded on every side and they've surely got all kinds of spells and wards set up to make sure we stay put. And, personally, Potter, I'm insulted. Do you mean to imply that the rest of us DON'T have the courage that you brag to have? Nobody else here wants to run away either." At this, Harry did appear ashamed of himself. Hermione knew that hadn't been his intention. Moody went on, speaking practically. "Besides, you've got no chance of even reaching the Dark Lord without all of us. He's got an army gathered here, an ARMY. You ever seen an army of Dark wizards, Potter? They'll kill you before you get through the door. And then what's the fate of the world?" Moody concluded ironically.

"So I'm supposed to ask MY FRIENDS to shield me from the Death Eaters, to die in front of me, INSTEAD of me, so that I can live long enough to get to Voldemort?" Harry sounded completely miserable. He spat the word 'I' with a self-loathing that had pained Hermione to hear.

She had been moved to softly answer her friend's expectant grief and guilt with a remonstrating assurance: "You don't have to ask us, Harry. We're volunteering."

Harry's head was down, hiding his face. He didn't see the round of nods and wasn't paying attention to the soft murmur of agreement around the table. At her words, he gave a sharp exhalation that was much too dry to be a small sob and had less humor in it than even the shortest, most bitter laugh. It was only because she'd been seated so close to him that she heard him mutter, "That's worse." It almost made Hermione wish she hadn't spoken; she immediately felt remorseful for having made everything more difficult for Harry, but she felt justified as well. Perhaps the knowledge was painful, but he had to know. He had to know that they loved him.

Dumbledore finally called for a decision. "Harry. You must choose. It is up to you now, and no one will think any more or less of you for your choice. Since your suggestion of sending the rest of us to safety, is, as Alastor so succinctly put it, 'logistically impossible,' besides meaning certain failure and being the most ill-received idea I've ever heard--" Hermione marveled at Dumbledore's ability to see humor in the situation, and communicate it in such a way as to lighten the mood without offending anyone. Even Harry cracked the tiniest of smiles. "--it seems we have two options. You may stay here and fight with us, or you may go into hiding. You were most concerned about our losses--Alastor has informed us that, either way, we should expect to lose two thirds our number. And I have told you that, for you, confrontation with Voldemort is inevitable; your leaving would only put it off. If you stay--there is a chance. But that is all."

It did not take Harry long to decide. When he spoke his voice was weary, more weary than any 23-year old should ever feel. It was almost as if making this choice had aged him fifty years. "All right, then."

Ron, knowing, as Hermione did, what Harry meant by that, began to protest once again. But, deep down, Hermione knew there was no point; Harry would not change his mind now. However, perhaps it was important to resist this decision to the very last, since Harry was being so thick-skulled about understanding the real reason why they were doing it.

Harry interrupted Ron's protests, and something authoritative and final in his tone made Ron give up and listen. "Yes, Ron! I won't run away from the same danger that my friends are willing to face.for my sake." Harry was speaking with quiet intensity, looking around the table at each of his friends, his eyes lingering the longest on Ron and Hermione. His voice, tone and delivery communicated his deep respect and love for his companions, his anticipatory guilt for their deaths, and his profound sense of being completely unworthy of friends so true, and of such an enormously weighty destiny. "If you're willing to die, then I am too." Harry paused, and added almost inaudibly, "Maybe more than willing." Hermione, hearing this, shuddered. Was it necessary to have a bit of a death wish to possess the bravery they needed to face tomorrow?

After the moment of weakness he'd allowed himself had passed, Harry continued in a stronger, more sure voice. "I value the lives gathered here too much to let you throw them away just to buy me TIME." At this, Hermione noticed Harry's expression falter for a second. She imagined that the grim thought had occurred to him that perhaps he had just stumbled upon the ultimate purpose of his parents' deaths--they had only bought him time.

Harry sighed before going on, gathering momentum as he tried to justify something they all found unjustifiable, but which needed to be justified if they were to do what must be done. "Professor Dumbledore says there's a chance, so that's what we're fighting for--a chance. But I pledge to all of you that I will do my utmost to make that chance into a victory. I'll hold nothing back. Nothing. I owe you that. I'm not worth fighting for; I'm not worth your lives. But.if we need to be fighting for something.maybe.victory is almost worth it. Victory and everything it would mean. Peace. Almost. As much as anything so abstract can be valuable, and as much as a life can have any price." Harry concluded quietly, apologetically. His last words searched for meaning, and fell quite short. He seemed aware of this, and something in his tone admitted it even as he spoke the words; there was a resigned fatigue in it. But Harry seemed like he was as much at peace with the situation as he was capable of being.

"No, Harry." Neville Longbottom quietly contradicted. "I mean, you're right that no life can have a price, and all, but I don't think we're going to fight and die for victory or peace. That is, for myself, at least." He explained, looking nervously around the table. It wasn't often that Neville spoke up. He took a deep breath and continued, speaking slowly and looking inward for his words. "I'm going to fight, and maybe die, because.if we lose.if you die, Harry, and he wins.the world won't be worth living in."

Neville was rewarded with a few nods. The meeting broke up soon after that; it had seemed like nothing else needed to be said.

Pacing in her room, her reflections finished, Hermione finally understood that they really had no choice but to fight, and fight to the death. 'If Voldemort wins tomorrow,' she thought, 'he'll just make life hell, and kill us anyway, when our torture ceases to amuse him. I'd rather die quickly in battle than like that.' She thought of the students that were housed in the school with the fighters, and of the future they could expect if Voldemort won. She thought of the Muggle-borns.

So Hermione decided she was now reconciled with the idea of fighting, and maybe dying. She had always agreed wholeheartedly that their cause was righteous, and every argument had persuaded her that this was the only way. Harry's survival meant Voldemort's defeat, and she was able to contribute to that directly. She had to fight, and maybe die, so she would. That was how it worked. That was how it had always worked in the past, when she took on too many projects at once. When something had to be done, it somehow always got done.

But at the same time, Hermione was acutely aware of a part of her that held back from full accord with all the ideas and plans that she knew intellectually were true and necessary. Everything within her rebelled against the thought of dying; at a biological level, she found she could not accept it. 'I'm so young...' she thought, looking out the window at a painfully beautiful spring day.

Just then a knock on her door interrupted her contemplation. She knew instantly who it was, and realized that without meaning to, without even being aware of it, she had been waiting for him. They had always gotten through times like these together; now they needed each other more than ever.

She walked quickly over to the door and let Ron in.

A/N: I wrote this fic before book 5 came out, so for all I know, some of the characters I use are really dead or horribly maimed or whatever. However, I honestly don't care because, for the purposes of this fic, I needed these characters to exist in order to say what I needed them to say. The universe of this fic is pretty unlikely to begin with, I freely admit it. But it's interesting!!

Next chapter: Ron and Hermione's last night.

Thanks for reading, please review!!