Hermione was having a hard time not swallowing the liquid in her mouth. She knew one of the boys would realise she hadn't swallowed the Truth Potion soon. She wasn't going to answer that stupid question. She didn't even know the answer herself.

Harry – he had been her best friend, and she had fancied him then. But now, that just made everything worse. He betrayed her and she could never forgive him for that.

Malfoy – At least he didn't try pretend he was good. Hermione had known he'd end up on the Dark Side.

She hated them both. They had just killed Dumbledore. Hermione knew that she seemed to be in a state of shock. Nothing made sense and at the moment she didn't even care about Dumbledore's death.

"Hermione?" Harry crouched down to her face level wearing an impatient frown.

She looked at that face, gazing at his strong jaw, his bright green eyes, his hard features, and his scar. Her probing eyes remained at his scar, memorising off its shape and structure.

This person looked so much like Harry, but Hermione knew she had already lost her best friend. Brushing aside her brief hesitation, she spat the bright purple liquid at him.

Nobody moved for another minute. Harry's face was saturated. The only sound to be heard was the dripping of the liquid from his hair. Everyone seemed to be in a state of disbelief.

Then a ghostly laugh erupted, breaking through the tense silence. Malfoy was laughing. Hermione looked up at him but Malfoy was looking and laughing at Harry.

Harry glared up at Malfoy, who stopped laughing abruptly, then turned to Hermione with a mad glint in his eyes.

"Keep the hell away from me," she cried as he closed in on her.

"I'm going to kill you for that, bitch. I'm going to kill you," Harry lunged at her, discarding his wand and wrapping his hands around her neck.

Sheer panic overcame her. Harry was restricting her windpipe and she could no longer breathe. She was sputtering and there was tears dripping from her eyes. She was pulling at his hands with her own but her strength was draining away.

Harry wasn't wearing a grin. He didn't look menacing or angry or happy. He looked merely frustrated. Hermione was suddenly aware of the feeling of hate running through her veins. She hated Harry. He'd killed Dumbledore. This was all his fault!

She stopped struggling and spluttering to a certain degree and said, in a hoarse voice, "Malfoy."

"What did she say?" Malfoy asked.

"I don't care," Harry said.

"Malfoy," she repeated.

"She said my name," Malfoy said, and suddenly pulled Harry off her. She gasped painfully, taking in the air. Lovely, life-sufficient, beautiful air. "Well, Granger?" Malfoy said expectantly.

She looked at Ron, who was looking at his own hands, apparently trying to block out the current events. No, he wasn't looking at his hands, Hermione realised, he was looking through the gaps in between his fingers and at Dumbledore's body.

She looked at Harry who was breathing heavily and staring at her with those emerald green eyes. Then she looked at Malfoy, who was leaning against a tree, looking calm and satisfied.

"I pick Malfoy. I pick you before Harry," she managed to croak.

"I know," Malfoy said calmly. "Then it's settled, Harry. Granger's mine. Weasley's yours."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. "I'll fight for Hermione."

Malfoy ceased Ron by the shoulders and pushed him towards Harry, saying. "Fine. Let the best man win."

Harry grabbed Ron by the arm, saying, "She will love me as much as I love her. I'll make her love me." Then he stormed off, dragging Ron.

Hermione wondered if she'd ever see Ron Weasley again and reluctantly followed Malfoy, who was striding ahead of her into the night.