A/N: Hello fellow Harry Potter fanatics, specifically my reviewers and, most important of all, Harry & Hermione shippers. It's been about 1.5 months since I've last posted for Lock and Key. I was supposed to get the last two chapters up before July 16th (that conflicted date within my heart), but due to various shite, I did not. As it now stands, chapter 34 is finished as is 35. This was the case 1.5 months ago as well, but after reading the Half Blood Prince, my world fell apart. Why?

Because JK Rowling nearly destroyed my, our, dream! I am speaking, of course, about the whole Harry, Ron, Hermione love triangle thing. Not only was I devastated to see Hermione lean towards Ron, I got another kick in the groin when Harry went out with Ginny! If anyone has viewed my profile, then it is known that my two most hated ships are those of H/R and H/G. I could not believe what in God's name I was reading. It was… surreal. (Yes, to know Severus killed Albus and was the HB Prince was shocking, but it was nothing compared to this debacle).

I was so upset that I gave up hope. I didn't even want to finish this story. However, now I've gotten over it and regained my faith in H/H. I really can't, or won't, give up on it, no matter what happens. I love those two together and will always. Besides, who's to say Hermione and Harry won't end up together later down the line? (There's always the future, right)? I still love JKR and respect what she's written (it's HP man!), but I still have my illusions and won't give them up. Harry and Hermione forever!

So, with that said, here are the last two chapters of my story. I worked too damn hard to just give up on it, and had this written before HP 6 came out. I need to finish this story! If certain things bother you, such as Dumbledore still being alive, just try to overlook it, 'cause this is my version. Lol. Ooh! Thanks to all of the new reviewers I got. You people rock my socks and pants.

Lock and Key

Chapter 34

…

Harry could hear his heart in his ears. He was in a poorly lit room—actually, dungeon. Very high above the floor was a single, small bell-shaped window, through which moonlight poured. Chains that hung from pegs were hanging limply from the walls. The sound of dripping water began to penetrate Harry's skull. Maybe he was in a tower, not a dungeon…. He turned slowly around and saw a bell-shaped door at the far end of the room glowing slightly, but with a dark light. Get out of here Harry, he told himself, something is not right.

Indeed, the barren room was eerie. Once again, Harry had no idea where he was. Does it matter? Get out! He took two hurried steps towards the door, not knowing where it'd lead him but assuming it was better than this place, before someone asked him:

"Leaving so soon?" Harry froze. The voice was like ice; it made the hair stand up on his body, and felt as if it were the perfect vessel of unabashed evil. He knew that voice, hated, and feared it.

"I was rather hoping we'd be able to talk, Harry," it commented. He tried to move, not wanting anything to do with the voice, but found he could not. He was literally rooted to the spot. Oh God…

"Don't worry, I shan't keep you long." The owner of the voice materialized out of the shadows facing Harry's front. He took slow, deliberate steps and had his arms cradling one another across his chest. He was wearing a long, black cloak with the hood up, and a smile appeared in the darkness. Then, the red eyes. Harry stared at Voldemort, terrified.

"W-Where am I?" he questioned.

"It does not matter. What does, is that we are face to face, finally. I have not seen you in person for two years, Harry Potter, two. That is the longest time since our first meeting when you but a mere first year. Ah… but I am forgetting your third year, aren't I? How inconsiderate…" Tom Riddle moved closer to the Gryffindor, continuing to smile.

"My, how you've grown in seven years…. You are practically a man now, a healthy, confident, handsome man. And it's not only physical growth, no, but magical as well. Tell me something Potter—do you now know enough magic for even me?" Voldemort remarked. Harry stared at him, grimacing.

"Dumbledore enlisted the help of his incompetent followers to teach you magic in your final year, advanced magic… no doubt likely meant for me. Was that it, boy? Were they preparing you?" He said nothing, but was now gazing at the Dark Lord with an emotionless expression. Voldemort's smile left. It was replaced by an angry frown.

"A waste," he hissed, "Your knowledge is useless! What chance does a wizard right out of Hogwarts have against the darkest and most powerful wizard ever born? You will fall, Boy Who Lived!"

"Funny, because you seemed to do all the falling the five other times we've faced." Harry noted. Voldemort's face turned into a mask of pure fury before it quickly vanished and, instead, took on deep irritation. The Seeker glared at him.

"You have always been arrogant, Potter. It will be your undoing," he hollowly stated.

"And yours will be stupidity."

"Do you sincerely believe you will defeat me! You are weak, half-blood," Voldemort growled, "I know more than you will ever dream of, or come, to know!"

"You don't know about the prophecy." Harry quietly reminded him. The heir of Slytherin blinked, and in an instant, his anger was gone.

"Ah, yes… I do not," he admitted, in a tender voice, "Come, Harry—since you are sure of yourself, tell me of its contents." Harry glowered at his enemy. How dumb did he think Harry was? He would never enlighten Voldemort.

"What did it say?"

"You're thicker than I once thought if you think I'm going to tell you," the boy gruffly said. Tom Riddle's visage did another rapid, spectacular change of emotions. This time it displayed immense rage and hatred.

"Vile scum of a Mudblood's womb," he roared, eyes becoming even scarier, "If I cannot have it by will, I will take it by force!" Harry's head flew back fiercely and he screamed. Voldemort was inside his head and ransacking his memories. The first train ride on the Express, his first true Christmas, Quirrell's turban… no, no—get out… finding out about the Marauders, saving Sirius from the dementors, the second task… leave me alone!... the Department of Mysteries, shouting at Ron & Hermione in the common room during sixth year… NO… fighting with Ron, kissing Hermione—

"I said NO!" Harry yelled, trying vainly to move. Voldemort's body jolted; he had been pushed back inside of it. He composed himself as Harry panted.

"Very well, Harry. You wish to keep it secret." Voldemort quietly pointed out, folding his arms once more. He had a sick smile on his face. This made Harry nervous, so he glowered at the wizard.

"I did unearth something else of importance, however," he smugly went on, "Your love for Ms. Granger. How could I forget about that? Why, it ruined your friendship with the son of the blood traitors! You care for her tremendously." It was silent for a few moments, in which they looked at each other.

"She will suffer." Voldemort plainly told him. Then, a high-pitched, torturous scream erupted all around them, conveying terror. Harry's heart stopped. He recognized it—it was Hermione. He had to move, had to get to the door, had to help her!

"Hermione!" he shouted, struggling against his bonds. He needed to get out! She was in danger.

Another of her screams resounded again.

"Hermione!" Harry was moving desperately. Voldemort gave a small chuckle, eyes shining with despicable pleasure. His gaze bore deep into the boy's twisting head; he really did not want to look at the wicked sorcerer.

"Yes, she will most definitely suffer for your insubordination, and then die," he revealed.

"Don't you touch her!" the seventeen year old demanded.

"In fact, hundreds will, and very soon Harry. Do you hear me," Although he did not wish to look at Voldemort, Harry suddenly found it impossible. The Dark Lord was speaking in a low, threatening, and captive voice and would not let his staring waver, "Our time to meet is approaching rapidly. The Boy Who Lived will face the greatest wizard in existence and be defeated, for all to see. Hundreds of others will also die in the process, those whom so foolishly stayed on his side. Are you listening to me, Harry Potter? I will crush your little world, oh, and much sooner than you can anticipate. Not a single soul will be left when I am done, when I am back in my rightful place."

Voldemort's red eyes seemed to be sucking Harry into their fiery depths, transporting him to a place unknown.

"No…" he begged.

"And don't worry—Ms. Granger will be well taken care of…."

…

Harry shot up in his bed, his entire body slick with sweat. (It was not quite five o'clock on Sunday morning). His portion of the blankets had been thrown off, and the sheet underneath him was tangled. He was panting and there were tears in his eyes. He pushed his bangs up, and then his scar burst with pain. Crying out, he fell back on his bed into a fetal position, cradling his forehead with eyes closed. Breathing heavily through bared teeth, Harry did not hear Hermione wake next to him and then call his name.

"Harry? What's wrong? I-I heard you shout," she said. Gathering her bearings, she looked around her. The bedding was a mess and her boyfriend was curled up in a ball. All of the grogginess seemed to suddenly evaporate.

"Harry, what's the matter," Hermione urgently questioned, moving over to him, "Harry!" She touched his arm, gently shaking him. Harry opened his eyes, continuing to breathe profoundly; the agony had at least subsided. Oh, that dream…. Only… had it actually been a dream?

"Harry?" she repeated firmly. He turned over and looked into her acutely worried eyes. For a fleeting moment, he felt like vomiting.

"Goodness, are you all right?" the Head Girl anxiously asked.

"I… suppose so. I am, now." Harry muttered, dazedly sitting up once more. What if it had been more like a… a vision?

"Was it your scar?" she inquired, scooting closer to him and placing a hand on his forehead. He nodded.

"Yeah." What Voldemort had said…

"Should you go to Professor Dumbledore? It hasn't been that bad in quite some time." Harry had not told Hermione that his scar had been overly active the entire week, and did not plan to start now. He did not want to torment her and certainly did not wish to drag Dumbledore into it. He had had troubling dreams before; it was nothing to call an emergency over. What would he say to the headmaster?

"Er, I had a dream about Voldemort, and he was desperate for the prophecy. He also warned me that we'd fight soon, and I'd die, but he gave no location, time, or any other vital factor for his plan. Should we begin our counterattack? Now that I think about it, I could have figured that out, and it now seems like just a fear. Wow, how stupid of me. Sorry to bother you." Now that Harry thought about it, it was simply that—a dream created out of fear. A vision… right. Besides, Voldemort had seemed real in others.

"No, I'm fine, Hermione. It's okay. It was short lived, nothing serious," he reported, looking at her.

"Are you sure?" she wondered.

"Yes." They gazed at one another for a few moments. The brunette sighed.

"All right," Hermione remarked, "It's… 5:02."

"Let's go back to sleep," he offered.

"Do you need a Sleeping Charm?" she pondered.

"No." Harry half-smiled.

"Wanted to make sure." Harry did not feel cold enough for his blanket so he slipped under his sheet. Hermione chose both and nestled right next to him, in the crook of his right arm.

As it turned out, he should have taken the charm. Harry could not fall asleep under any circumstance, and was still awake when Hermione stirred again at eight o'clock on Sunday morning.

Harry sat in the library, working diligently on his Potions packet. It was about three pages away from being completed and was, consequently, due that very day. But Harry was proud. He had worked until three in the morning, after returning from a training session with Flitwick, to get it done. On top of that, any spare time he had found today, Wednesday, had been devoted to Snapes' assignment. So, yes—he was very proud of his progress. Not to mention, his Charms and Defense review guides were totally finished; all he had left was Transfiguration, and that would be done in an hour.

In two days the seventh years would have their first NEWT… Merlin…. Figuring he had deserved some time to daydream, Harry did just that. He put his quill down and stretched his limbs. Harry's scar had not acted up since Sunday morning, and he hadn't had any dreams either. For this he was grateful. He did not have much longer until he would leave Hogwarts with the rest of his peers, leave and never return as a student. His only real home of seven years would be taken from him. It was clearly sad to think on this. Where would he go? Grimmauld Place most likely… so much for getting a flat with Ron….

Harry frowned. He had been looking forward to living with Ron post-school. But that idea had been hatched back in a world when the redhead had still spoken to him, liked him. Would they really leave without saying a word to one another? Just… go their separate ways? I guess so, Harry bitterly concluded. He ceased thinking about Ron and, instead, focused on Hermione. She brought a smile to his face.

Hermione passed a group of anxious second years rushing in the opposite direction. They were late for their Herbology lesson. She, on the other hand, had 10 minutes to get to her Muggle Studies class. Her very first NEWT was on Friday and she, of course, was horribly aware of this. Hermione had finished all four of her study packets by Monday morning, and was using all of the extra time to study on her own, with her own resources. Sure, she would have loved to begin studying much earlier, but under the circumstances she was fairly pleased with herself. As it turned out, she planned on studying some more as soon as Melbrooks dismissed them.

Right now, however, Hermione did not think on NEWTs or class. The few minutes she possessed at the moment, before she was sucked into academics again, were used to think about Harry. Envisioning him calmed her, and made her happy. There was the concern lurking in the background, always the concern, but that wouldn't go away. Hermione expected to always worry about Harry. Whether he lives to see 19 or 89, an unlikely voice commented. Stop it, she ordered, closing her eyes, Don't even—just stop it! She grabbed her necklace and held it. This too soothed her. Knowing that it had come from Harry, that he had given it to her…. Still cradling the orb, Hermione opened her eyes and gave a faint smile.

She had just gone up a flight of stairs, realizing that her classroom was near at hand. She waved to a fellow classmate who was getting a last minute conversation in with his Hufflepuff girlfriend. As she reached into her bag to retrieve her notes, it happened. There was a loud booming noise that echoed in the halls; it sounded as if it came from outside. Furrowing her brow, Hermione ceased her task. Had a lesson gone noticeably wrong on the grounds? The next second, the floor beneath her trembled so much it caused her to stagger.

After regaining her footing, Hermione looked wildly around at the few others in the corridors. They were equally thrown off track, frowning and muttering. What on Earth was that? Most all of the professors on the floor opened their doors and stepped out, looking concerned.

"What just happened?" one asked. A moment later, a siren sounded. It was deep, low, and penetrating, but a siren nonetheless. This siren had been created by the castle and was echoing all throughout it. This caused the snowball effect of hurried, loud talk amongst the students. What was happening! By the grave expressions on the teachers' faces, they knew. Hermione knew as well. She stood frozen in her spot, her face turning gray from fear, disbelief, and dread. No… no—it was impossible.

Minerva McGonagall carried three books in her arms, their combined weight ringing in at about 10 pounds. Her fourth year Transfiguration class had ended not very long ago, and she was using the break to quickly fetch a few tomes. The animagus was currently on her way back to her office, then classroom; she did not have much time until her next lecture began. As she sighed and irritably shifted the books, the stone floor under her feet shook. McGonagall stumbled. After regaining her balance, she stood and glared at nothing in particular.

"What in the name of Merlin?" she mumbled. That was when the siren sounded. At first the professor thought she was hearing things, but upon realizing she indeed was not, she blanched. The books fell to the floor.

"Oh no… no…" McGonagall had heard the siren only once before this, years ago, during the seventies…. Horror beginning to consume her, she ran to the nearest window.

Harry was answering the last question on a page (of Snape's review guide) when his table quivered. His quill slipped and flew across the parchment, leaving a nice ink splotch. He would have cared much more that he had just defaced a Severus Snape assignment had the library not experienced a small earthquake of sorts. Frowning immensely, Harry put his quill down and looked at Madam Pince; she appeared confused just like everyone else. Any time had hardly passed before an alarming siren went off.

"What?..." Harry mouthed, looking around. He had never heard it before and did not know what it signified. The Seeker did know, however, that he did not like it; it gave a sense of foreboding. He looked back to the librarian, only to see she had turned as white as a sheet.

Draco Malfoy had gotten out of class not very long ago, and was now in the Head Room. During the period in between, he had managed to leave his things in his common room and coax a pretty sixth year blonde to come with him. (She had been showing interest in him for about a month, and the Head Boy had finally found time for her). It took him a couple of minutes to make her relax and break her shy shell, but he had done it. Malfoy continued to kiss her profoundly and was on the brink of undoing her bra (unbeknownst to her), when the ground moved. It broke their lips apart.

"What was that?" she asked, a little frantically.

"Probably nothing," he responded quickly. He went back in to recommence their snogging. Malfoy was stopped fairly quickly however; the siren rang after a brief interval.

"Draco, what's going on?" she timidly inquired. But he wasn't looking at her. He recognized that siren. No, he hadn't heard it before, but he knew all about it. The Slytherin suddenly felt as if he were suffocating, oblivious to his girl of the moment.

It was a dream. No, that wasn't correct—it was a nightmare. McGonagall's breathing seemed to desist as she stared out of the window in fear. The siren sounding made perfect sense from her point of view. One of Hogwarts' safety measures was this said alarm; it could only be heard within the castle's walls, and it meant that the school was in danger—under attack. Gawking at the scene before her eyes, McGonagall saw indeed just that. Hooded individuals, surviving goblins, rogue elves, trolls, giants, wild hags and numerous other dark creatures stood at the gates, raising hell and striving to get inside. A few trolls and giants roared and threw themselves against the barrier. As they moved back to try again, she saw a single, hooded wizard standing in the middle of the vast mass, arms folded. The other cloaked figures attacked the gates with wands.

McGonagall's throat was absolutely dry. Her hands trembled. There was no doubt in her mind as to whom this attack was led by: Voldemort.

"Dumbledore," she whispered. She fled.

Albus Dumbledore's face bore an expression such as had never been seen by most people inside the school. It spoke of suppressed rage and determination, and it only showed itself when the old wizard meant business. (It had crawled onto Dumbledore's countenance the minute his office had shaken along with the rest of the castle). His school, his domain, his students, were in peril. It was unacceptable and disheartening—had the time really come?

Dumbledore prayed that it was something, or someone else. The headmaster quickly bypassed a fifth year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, all looking startled and rather afraid. He made eye contact with Sarai Higgins and nodded. She knew the procedure; she was leading them to the Great Hall. All of the professors knew the procedure—it had been taught to them upon their employment, even if it had been unpleasant. Dumbledore did not know how many teachers had explained to their pupils what exactly was occurring, for he did not know if they even knew.

As he walked by Filch's empty office, face set and want out, Minerva McGonagall came rushing up to him. Her face only confirmed his fears.

"Albus!" she cried, shaking.

"Minerva, what is it?" he firmly asked, holding her arm steady.

"Hogwarts is under attack! It's true!"

"By whom?" She shook her head and sucked in a breath, trying to regain her composure.

"V-Voldemort." McGonagall told him. He let go of her and lowered his head. So, the time had finally arrived….

"What are we going to do?" she pondered, voice quaking slightly.

"Fight," he responded gravely, sternly, "Announce to everyone to report to the Great Hall immediately. Everyone. The outside lessons should be inside by now. I will see to that myself. When you are finished—"

"Go to the Great Hall myself."

"Precisely." Dumbledore said. McGonagall nodded curtly and hurried off. She appeared to have become her old, resolute self. The headmaster went in the other direction, towards the dining hall.

When he walked inside the room, he saw that more than half of Hogwarts was present. The children looked confused and alarmed, but some actually appeared somewhat frightened. Cries of relief resounded when some of them spotted Dumbledore. He, on the other hand, beckoned for Professors Snape, Flitwick, Sinastra, and Trelawney. They came instantly.

"You all know what the siren signifies," he started, "Hogwarts is in serious danger. Severus, go and contact the Ministry and the Order in my office. My gargoyle has fled in order to initiate the castle's safety wards. Tell them Voldemort has waged a war against us." All of Snape's color left his face and the others gasped loudly.

"Sibyll," the old wizard continued, "Accompany him. You will meet Sarai along the way. Please, take her students and then, Severus, both of you proceed to my office. Melaine, gather the rest of the staff. Filius, if you will, come with me." They all set off to their crucial tasks. Dumbledore and the Charms teacher walked quickly through the entrance hall and out the large, oak doors. Sprout and her class was not seven feet away from them, all hurrying. Grubbly-Plank's group was closer to the lake, but on its way all the same.

"Albus," the Herbology teacher panted, eyes wide.

"The Great Hall right away, Pomona," he responded. She and her pupils ambled by rapidly.

"Filius, attend to our Care of Magical Creatures class." Dumbledore told him, walking down the steps swiftly. Flitwick yelled out a spell, and a large, blue protective dome was created around them.

"Inside, quickly," the headmaster remarked, passing the troupe.

Yes, he could hear them very well now, and see about half. Dumbledore stopped near Hagrid's hut and glared at the terrorists, flexing his fingers. The trolls' roars and goblins' shrieks were distinguishable. A few human yells could also be discerned. It was obvious they wanted in, and would break down the gates sooner than later; they would not hold much longer. Dumbledore uttered a spell, his wand trained on Hagrid's home. It glowed a faint green before returning to its normal state. A scream pierced the sky and another deafening thud was heard. The ground trembled again in its wake, as a tree in the forest caught fire from a Death Eater's wand. The end of the war, or Hogwarts, had come.

A/N: I'll put up the last chapter tomorrow! Excitement.