Title: Harry Potter and the Quest for the Other Five
Email: y7.yoli(at)gmail(dot)com
Rating: T
Summary: (WIP) Picking up the series where JKR left off, the Trio is off doing what you thought they'd be doing at the end of Half-Blood Prince, except not quite how you thought they would do it, since it's my muse at work and not yours. (duh)

Notes: My summary stinks and my muse is moody, give it a shot anyway? It is woefully unbeta-d and this is just the ROUGH DRAFT wherein I get all my ideas out and you review and tell me how I am such a hack writer and that I did XYZ AND Q wrong. Be specific and brutal, but use legible grammar plz. I wrote this at midnight and reread it thrice so no miracles but it is a lot of fun and I think I like where it's going. I really do hope you like it though.

Ron was warm and comforting, a little scratchy in the black dress robes but it wasn't as if hers were any better as far as softness went. Hermione sniffed and felt her eyes filling up, again. The tears just wouldn't stop and her lungs couldn't remember what it meant to breathe, to take breaths that went in and filled before leaving again. She was sobbing; smart girls didn't sob. They maintained control at all times over their own emotions-there-was-none-of-this-weakeness-bu-but-Dumbledore-Dumbledore-was-gone-and-the-whole-fate-of-the-Wizarding-world-had-gone-to-pot-and-and—

He hugged her tighter, as if he knew; wasn't that funny? The dullest, thickest, blindest, most stupidly out of touch with his emotions, sweetest, funniest, most adorably awkward and earnest and sweet sweet sweet boy in the whole wide world was holding her and, it was a little tight, she wasn't one hundred percent sure if she could breathe, but it was okay because she was hyperventilating a little anyway so even if she could breathe — haha, sometimes you forget — it would have been all right because then she would be in the same position she was now: snot everywhere and tears and red eyes from trying to discreetly dry them on his dress robes, which didn't really work because wool doesn't absorb water, that's how the sheep stayed dry.

"Hermione?" He tried to whisper but there was all this wet, phlegmy gunk in his throat so it sounded more like "her-myah-nee" with a rasp around the "myah" so he sounded like Filch with post-nasal drip.

The greatest wizard of all time was dead and he had slime in his throat, was going to end up falling in love with some mangy cat and his best friend just walked away all by himself (without his sister! why was he upset about that?) and was being intercepted by one of the top five most dodgy men in Britain, the other four being his brothers Fred and George; Hugo Bagman; Fudge; and, of course, You-Know-Who. Okay, so that was six but it was okay because they're all dodgy. Although not as dodgy as some OTHER blokes, but they were EVIL and there's a difference. But then maybe You-Know-Who should be taken off . . . and there goes his friend!

"Hermione?" He tried again and sounded a little less like Filch with a cold and more like his dad after one of the twins exploded something really big and his mom found out about it first.

"Huh?" She got up gingerly and tried to keep the snot from stringing off of his jacket and onto her face. She felt bad leaving it there but she couldn't clean it off right then could she?

He had snot dripping off the edge of his nose too and she felt a little less bad, except he looked really cute and it made her feel bad because she wasn't supposed to be thinking like that what with Dumbledore ONLY JUST IN THE GRAVE. He would have wanted her to be happy but he definitely would not want her thinking about Ronald Weasley like that right now. Bad, bad!

He was looking at her strangely and she tentatively reached a hand up to wipe her eyes and sort of smear it pass her nose really quickly, one swipe per side. It would be a lot better if he didn't watch her the whole time. That was really unnerving.

"What is it, Ron?" Her voice sounded like Polyjuice after it thickened and she coughed a little, into the back of her really gross hand before trying to wipe it unobtrusively on the side of her dress robes.

He pushed his chin out towards her. That was strange, why would he do that? Oh! He wanted her to look behind her; that made more sense. She turned her head around.

"Hey," she blinked a bit and checked again. "Harry's not here."

"Yeah," he coughed nervously. "He's, uh, over there." He pointed behind her shoulder and she eased herself out of his lap. It was all cold and wet where she'd been lying and he was a little sad that she wasn't there anymore, in a completely nonsexual way because he really did like her, as a person and it was nice to just be able to sit there and hold her and let her cry.

She fumbled back into her seat as she tried to turn around and look. "Oops! Sorry, Hannah!" She whispered really loudly. She hadn't meant to hit her! And she had to squint to see because it was so sunny, which wasn't right! funerals were supposed to be dank and gloomy so you could be sad and not think about how Dumbledore would have loved a day like this or, or any of that stuff.

There was Harry walking around the lake while that . . . that, person Scrimgeour hobbled next to him pretending like he cared or something stupid and completely unlikely. She turned back around because it made her angry and anxious watching them and her heart hurt enough already, she didn't want to . . .

"What do you think they're talking about?"

Ron narrowed his bleary eyes as he stared at them. "I dunno, probably just Scrimgeour pretending like he's really upset that Dumbledore's dead or something." His nose twitched a little as he tightened his jaw.

"Should we go over then?" She bit her lip. It was Harry's battle, it was Harry's battle, he's a big boy now, he can do it, he's Harry Potter —

"Uh," he leaned forward a little because it looked like they had stopped and Scrimgeour seemed angry and if he threatened his best friend then — "yeeeah, wait, no, no, wait, yes. Yes, we should go."

He stood up really quickly because Scrimgeour was limping away like he wanted to hurt Harry and it was bad enough that You-Know-Who wanted to do it; no one else needed to sign up on the list. He held out a hand to Hermione because Harry was her friend too and she'd want to help beat Scrimgeour's head in, although she'd do it in this nonviolent, untraceable not-getting-in-trouble sort of way, and she was better at spells anyway. Her hand was a little clammy and kind of cold as he pulled her up. She looked confused by his changing his mind but didn't ask any questions, just sniffed again and let him pull her before they jogged towards Harry.

Of course Harry didn't stop, because that was not his style, but Hermione had shorter legs and Ron had to slow down so she didn't trip and it took them a while to get to the beech tree, and by then he was totally ready to hit someone.

She rushed forward and stopped about a foot away from Harry before asking him in a whisper, "What did Scrimgeour want?"

"Same as he wanted at Christmas," Harry shrugged. "Wanted me to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry's new poster boy."

He knew it! Fucking no good brother of his, that had Percy's name written all over it. Family obviously meant nothing to him if he would do something like that, prat, motherfucking arsehole, stupid sodding not-brother. He turned over to Hermione and said loudly, "Look, let me go back and hit Percy!"

"No," she said firmly, grabbing his arm. She couldn't let him do that, violent, crazy, lovable, protective, wonderful — Won-Won was going to get them all in big, big trouble.

"It'll make me feel better!"

Harry laughed. She had to grin a little because it was so typically Ron and — she looked up at the castle and the smile died because this was not the place for laughter and there was a DEAD MAN here and the world might as well have died as well with him.

"I can't bear the idea that we might never come back," she said softly. "How can Hogwarts close?"

"Maybe it won't," said Ron. "We're not in any more danger here than we are at home, are we? Everywhere's the same now. I'd even say Hogwarts is safer; there are more wizards inside to defend the place. What d'you reckon, Harry?"

"I'm not coming back even if it does reopen," said Harry. There is this feeling you get when you know that something is over, that there is nothing to do, nothing to change and nothing that will ever happen again: it's time to move on; that was how he felt about Hogwarts.

Ron gaped at him. What was that supposed to mean? What would Hogwarts be without Harry to be Quidditch captain and his Potions partner and . . . and his best friend who . . .

Hermione smiled sadly. "I knew you were going to say that. But then what will you do?" He was too good, too good and noble and everything you read about in the books and she would have given everything to know how he did it.

"I'm going back to the Dursleys' once more, because Dumbledore wanted me to," said Harry. "But it'll be a short visit, and then I'll be gone for good."

"But where will you go if you don't come back to school?"

"I thought I might go back to Godric's Hollow," Harry muttered. He had had the idea in his head ever since the night of Dumbledore's death. "For me, it started there, all of it. I've just got a feeling I need to go there. And I can visit my parents' graves, I'd like that."

"And then what?" said Ron.

"Then I've got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven't I?" said Harry, his eyes on Dumbledore's white tomb, reflected in the water on the other side of the lake. "That's what he wanted me to do, that's why he told me all about them. If Dumbledore was right — and I'm sure he was — there are still four of them out there. I've got to find them and destroy them, and then I've got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort's soul, the bit that's still in his body, and I'm the one who's going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way," he added, "so much the better for me, so much the worse for him."

There was silence as they tried to absorb what he said and Hagrid's sobs echoed across the water. This was the end, of Hogwarts, of safety — real and imaginary, of everything they had ever known and of their childhood, of the innocence of knowing that Dumbledore would always be there, their big wise protector to come in, save the day and award house points before the closing feast. There would be none of that, ever again.

"We'll be there, Harry," said Ron.

"What?"

"At your aunt and uncle's house," said Ron. "And then we'll go with you wherever you're going." So there would be no more Hogwarts, no more boys' dormitories or Quidditch pitch, no Filch and Mrs. Norris to watch out for at night but that did not mean that Harry could do it alone, he needed someone to be his lookout and his backup.

"No —" said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this; he thought they understood that he was going to do it alone, because it was too dangerous. Weren't friends supposed to understand you?

"You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"

"We're with you whatever happens," said Ron. "But mate, you're going to have to come round my mum and dad's house before we do anything else, even Godric's Hollow."

"Why?"

"Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?"

Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that something, like a wedding, something so normal and happy could still exist after . . . after everything was incredible, it was wonderful.

"Yea, we shouldn't miss that," he said finally.