Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Legal Guardian
Chapter 1
A piece of parchment fluttered onto the ground and landed beside Harry's foot. The messenger was already gone as silently as it had come.
Tomorrow, meet me in the Shrieking Shack at midnight with Granger and no one else. No Weasleys.
Harry rubbed his temples; a headache was lurking in the darkness. The Final Battle was at its climax. People were dying. Fields of green were not stained with blood and rotting corpses. St. Mungo was overwhelmed with victims of mental torture. Both sides' forces were dwindling. The end was near and everyone knew. Only one Horcrux and Voldemort remained. But they had yet figured the last Horcrux.
Hermione was closed to pulling her hair out from the puzzle. She simply could not decipher the patter of Voldemort's Horcruxes. It was obvious that the founders remnants were destroyed including the elusive locket that took several years of digging and runes translation.
A small boy of fifteen came into Harry's room. "Do you need something, sir?"
Did he call Arnold in? He must have but he could not remember. Harry rubbed his neck to relieve himself of the kink. "Yes, Arnold. Tell Hermione to come see me, don't alert Ron, he needs rest after the last raid," Harry waved his hand wearily at the boy, "Oh, Arnold. Stop calling me sir. You can call me Harry."
"Yes, sir." Arnold was gone before Harry could turn around.
He sighed. He supposed it was because of Arnold's father. He heard from Hermione that Arnold's father was in the navy. He took off his glasses and cleaned it with his shirt.
"Harry. You really should get some sleep." Hermione turned and knocked the door with an advanced charm and alarm spell. It was routine.
"I can't, Hermione," Harry grumbled, "I can't stop thinking about--"
Hermione placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. He turned his face up to look at her. Dark circles marred her pale face and her eyes were bloodshot. There were dirt blended into her face and her hair was a tangled mess that hugged her chin. He remembered how she was caught underneath a boulder when they were escaping the cave where the locket was hidden. A portion of her hair and her left arm was wedged in between two rocks. Harry cut her hair with quick, decisive chops with his knife and Ron carefully slid her arm out. It took forever for her arm to heal; even now, numerous scars marred her skin.
Out of habit, Hermione tucked a strand of stray hair behind of ears. "Why did you ask me to come here?" she spoke softly and leaned closer over his shoulder to read the note.
"Should we go?"
Her eyebrows furrowed in a way that is distinctively Hermione and sat down next to him. "It could be a trap."
"I know," he signed and ruffled his hair in frustration.
"But this is our chance to end the war now."
"I know."
"If we keep going, the chances of winning this war get slimmer and slimmer by the second," she leaned her head on his shoulder. "It has been five years." Her voice cracked.
"I know." He rubbed her arm. He thought of all the screaming and crying, all the graves and dirt, all the blood and scars. "I know, Hermione."
"Do you know who wrote this?"
"No."
A sleepy silence permeated the room.
"We should go."
"Hermione, this could be Voldemort's trap."
"I know, but we are desperate. We can't afford to lose anymore." A tear escaped her hold.
Harry squeezed her hand. "We will go tomorrow then."
Hermione wordlessly nodded.
The two friends stayed like this until dawn with her leaning on his shoulder.
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