A/N: Here's chapter 7! This one's a biggie, and not just in the word count... Thanks for reading! :)


To our immense relief, Flitwick wakes up just a day or two later. The diminutive professor fashions himself an eyepatch, and we spend some time getting him adjusted to life with one eye. It's a big adjustment, to be sure, but Flitwick wasn't a dueling champion in his youth for nothing, nor is he one of the most respected Charms masters in the world without good reason – barely a week after the battle, he bests Ginny, Dean, Bill, and myself in a four-on-one duel, and though my backside is sore for hours afterwards from crashing into the wall, I can't help but feel a little lighter knowing that he's back.

It's a mark of how serious the situation is that McGonagall lifts Ron's house arrest. He's still not allowed on raids or supply runs, but he's allowed to join us if fighting breaks out again. Ron's one of our best strategists, and we can't afford not to have him on the front lines.

And fight we do – skirmishes erupt almost every other day for two weeks straight. The Surrey contingent manages to join us partway through the second week, but not without immense difficulty – Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell haul an unconscious Alicia Spinnet over the threshold as soon as they arrive, their fellow Chaser trapped in some sort of magical coma, and Dedalus Diggle, hit with a truly awful hex on their journey into the city that none of us can figure out how to counter, dies three days later. We worry about the Scotland group, with so much further to travel, but as we have little means of contact other than the charmed Galleons, worrying won't do us much good. They haven't reported any disasters or sent out a distress call, and that's about as good as we can hope for.

During one of the mini-battles, Ron returns to headquarters bleeding heavily from a gash in his side. It's all I can do to stop the bleeding and get him stable, and in spite of our fractured relationship, I worry about him. We were friends for so long that even though we barely interact nowadays, I'd honestly be heartbroken if he died. After a few days, though, he's back to his usual self.

"I'm glad you're alright, Ron," I tell him truthfully.

"It's not over yet," he says. "I've got to see this to the end – for Harry."

"For Harry," I agree. I glance at the clock – three years, seven months, six days, thirteen hours, twenty-two minutes, and twelve seconds. My heart hurts.

"We should brush up on our Warming Charms," Ron continues with a slight frown. "Won't do us any good if we freeze to death in battle." He stares at a nondescript spot on the wall, and while I agree with him – it is December, after all – I can't help but think that's not all that's bothering him.

"Something on your mind?" I ask, taking a seat on the end of his cot. Ron sighs.

"I guess…well…I guess it's just really hitting me that we could die," he says. "Any day now. The Surrey group is here, of course, but…the Death Eaters just don't seem to stop coming, do they?" He chuckles in a self-deprecating manner and shakes his head. "It's not like I didn't know it before – we've almost died about a million times already. I just…" He shakes his head again, more sincerely this time. "This is really the end, isn't it?"

"It could be," I say softly. "And if it is, we'll take down as many of them as we can before we go."

"If only…" Ron sighs again and looks at me, almost as if he knows I won't like whatever he's going to say next. "I wish I could say goodbye to Colette…in case I do die, I mean."

"What an awful thing to say, Ron," I say with a sigh of my own. Honestly, I don't even care that he brought up Colette. I don't want to encourage him, but I don't have the energy to fight with him anymore, either. I do too much fighting outside headquarters as it is.

"We just said it, Hermione," Ron counters firmly. "Any one of us could die at any time. It could be a stray spell, or it could be a rout like the Battle of Hogwarts, but it could happen. And…well, I know you don't like hearing it…"

"I'm long past having feelings for you, Ron," I sigh. "You know that."

"Right." His ears flush pink. "I just…I really liked her – Colette. And…"

"And part of you, no matter how foolish, is holding out for that happily-ever-after," I finish for him. "I get it, Ron, I really do. Do you know how many times I've sat back and wondered just how different my life would be right now if things had gone our way? If Harry had somehow survived the battle, or if we'd learned about the Horcruxes sooner, had more help from Dumbledore? We'd have finished school, taken jobs, settled down…some of us would probably be married by now, or even have children. I know it's useless to dream, but part of me still wonders anyway. Where would I be? Is that dream still possible?" I shake my head and look at my longtime friend.

"Once upon a time, my dream included you," I say softly. "That dream's gone now, but I can't resent you having yours, even if it came about because you did something monumentally stupid. Maybe holding onto a dream isn't such a bad thing – it's a hope for after, if nothing else."

"I wish I could tell her this," Ron whispers. "I wrote it all down and everything, so I wouldn't forget what I wanted to say." I chuckle.

"It would be just like you to write down what you wanted to say to a girl," I tease. I pause then, because I don't want him to think my next words are teasing as well. "Don't let your dream die just yet, Ron – you just said yourself that you're going to see this through to the end. Maybe you'll see her again." This time, I refrain from pointing out that we never did figure out which side Colette is on. Every reason to see this war through is precious – we can wrestle with the wisdom (or lack thereof) of our dreams once Voldemort's dead.

"I dunno what I did to deserve you," he says. He swallows heavily. "D'you think…do you think there's hope for us, too? To be friends again?" I consider his question carefully. Our relationship really has fallen apart without Harry, and we have so little in common, but so many years of close friendship has to mean something, right? After all, if I'd truly disliked Ron, I could have found a way to be friends with Harry independent of his relationship with the Weasleys, but I didn't.

"Maybe," I say quietly. "Maybe we shouldn't give up on that hope just yet, either."

Later that night, after tossing and turning for ages, I get out of bed and creep down the hall to Ron's room. Thankfully, his sleeping habits haven't changed all that much, and he's snoring soundly as I slip into the room. It doesn't take me long to find what I'm after – Ron's never been all that original with his hiding places – and I slip the piece of parchment into my pocket and go back to bed.

It was Ron's mention of his note to Colette that had me restless for hours after everyone else had fallen asleep. I couldn't shake the feeling that he somehow intended to deliver the letter – how he planned to accomplish that, I have no idea, but Ron can be quite stubborn when he's set his mind to something, and our conversation showed just how much he regrets not being able to say goodbye. I wouldn't put it past him to aimlessly wander down every street in Kensington in the hopes of stumbling upon her, heedless of the danger – in addition to his stubborn streak, Ron gets tunnel vision when he's determined about something, so his focus would only be on finding Colette, leaving him vulnerable to capture, torture, or death. I'd love to make him forget about the note entirely, but after what I did to my parents, I swore I'd never do that to another person again unless there was no other choice. I can only hope that it will take Ron a while both to notice that the letter's missing and to recreate it – since he outright admitted to writing the letter because he'd forget what he wanted to say otherwise, I'm optimistic about the latter bit, at any rate.

Quite honestly, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the letter. I hadn't thought beyond getting it away from Ron when I hauled myself out of bed, but I think I'll hang onto it for now. I can't bring myself to kill his dream entirely, but I can damn well make sure that dream doesn't kill him first.

Ron's letter actually serves a purpose roughly a week later. In between skirmishes, certain GHRS members have been taking it in turns to stake out Kensington. It doesn't seem important in the grand scheme of things, but we really can't rest easy when we're still in the dark about Colette's allegiance. If we can find concrete evidence one way or another, we'll have a better idea of if we need to pursue anything further with regards to the blonde. Tonight, I'm the one on duty, and I'm really hoping to see something so that I can go home – for one thing, I've been here for hours, so I'm stiff and bored, and it's also quite cold, with a hint of snow in the air. I've got a Warming Charm on my coat, but the coat, like all the rest of my clothes, is so threadbare that it doesn't make much of a difference.

At long last, I hear a noise – only, it's not the noise I was expecting. Instead of shoes tapping on pavement or even the faint pop of Apparition, I hear hooves clopping down the street. Curious, I poke my head around the corner and freeze. I've seen that opulent carriage and those stunning white horses before – it's Lucius Malfoy. I quickly whip out of sight once more, and the hoofbeats stop. Unless I'm very much mistaken, the carriage is now standing right outside the entrance to Colette's hidden house. This cannot be good. I try to stay as quiet as possible. The carriage's presence definitely suggests that Colette is trouble, but I can't leave without concrete proof. But if I'm caught…

And then it happens. I feel the hint of a tickle in my nose, and before I can stop myself, I've let loose an enormous sneeze.

"Ah-CHOO!"

"Who's there? Show yourself!" The voice is unmistakably that of Lucius Malfoy, and I cling to the brick of the wall I've been leaning against all day, frozen in terror. Seconds later, however, I remember the letter in my pocket, and I suddenly have an idea. Affecting a casual air, I poke my head around the corner.

"'Oo's that?" I ask, pretending to look around. Resting my gaze on the carriage, I gasp. "Oh, my Gawd! Beggin' your pardon, Mista Malfoy, sir!" Lucius, who has stepped from the carriage to stand on the pavement, narrows his eyes at me.

"And just what are you doing here?" he drawls, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. With my bedraggled clothes and my hastily-donned accent, I must seem to him exactly what I'm trying to be – a London street urchin, one who has no business even thinking about a place like Kensington, never mind actually setting foot there. Thankfully, even if the Muggles aren't aware of magic yet, they certainly know the names of who's in charge, so the fact that I've addressed Lucius by name actually isn't strange at all.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," I say again. I affect my best devil-may-care attitude and take a few carefree steps forward. "Y'see, I've got a let'er, for a Miss Colette – on'y, I dunno who she is, see. The bloke done asked me to d'liver it just tells me she's pret'y an' blonde." I lay the accent on thick, making my 'I's sounds like a cross between 'aye' and 'oi' and dropping consonants all over the place. I'm a terrible actress – Ginny would be howling with laughter if she could see me now – but I'm hoping Lucius' distaste for all things beneath him will mean he won't pay much attention to my atrocious accent. As a bonus, if he thinks I'm just a Muggle street rat, he won't hex me – the Death Eaters have been attacking in the open, that's true, but this is a one-on-one situation, and unless he kills me outright, I'll have seen something no 'Muggle' is supposed to see. I'm banking on a lot, here, and I cross my fingers that my gamble pays off. I pull Ron's note from my pocket as I speak and show it to Lucius.

"Colette?" To my surprise and dismay, Lucius clearly knows the name. He looks surprised. He masks it quickly, though, and adds, "I happen to know Miss Colette – she is unavailable at the moment, but I will deliver the letter to you." I clutch the letter to my chest.

"Beggin' your pardon again, sir," I say, "but 'e – the bloke, that is – 'e said not to give it to anyone but 'er." I drop my voice to a breath above a whisper, like I'm telling a secret, and twirl a loose lock of hair around my finger. "Just between you an' me, I think 'e fancies 'er, 'e does."

"I give you my word that Colette will receive the letter," Lucius says, just a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "The young lady is an old family friend." Realizing I've run out of ideas, I warily step closer, and hoping I haven't just doomed Ron, I slowly hand Lucius the note.

"Thank you," Lucius says drily. "Now, get out." He tosses a coin at my feet, the metal chinking softly against the pavement, and I scramble for it, pretending to be excited.

"Thank you, Mista Malfoy, sir!" I say. "I'll just be on my way, then!" I barely register Lucius' snort of disgust as I skip merrily around the corner, continuing to skip in place for several seconds once I'm out of sight so that he'll hear the sound and think I've gone. I have no intention of going anywhere, though – I finally have a lead about Colette, and I'm going to stick around until I've gathered all the intel I can.

Slowly, soundlessly, I poke my head around the corner again, just enough that I can see Lucius. He's turned away from me now, and I see that he's opened the note and is reading it to himself. The bastard – of course he wouldn't think it beneath himself to read other people's post. I shudder involuntarily, hoping there's nothing too obvious in the note – I've been carrying it around since I stole it from Ron, but I never actually read it. What have I done?

A sharp gasp, quickly cut off, catches my attention, and I turn my focus back to Lucius. He's still staring at the note, but I can't imagine why – it's only a standard sheet of parchment, and Ron's writing isn't exactly small; surely the note can't be all that long? But it seems the Death Eater before me has been stunned speechless, because he's looking at the note as if he can't believe his eyes. One minute passes…two…I start to grow uncomfortable. I'm seriously pushing my luck spying on him like this – what if he sees me?

And then something happens that I can't believe. Lucius' form begins to change, his skin bubbling and shifting and his long hair rapidly receding back into his head, until seconds later, someone I recognize – someone I know very well, in fact – stands in his place.

Draco Malfoy stands just feet away from me, and unfortunately for me, I'm not nearly as successful at holding back my gasp.

Pounding feet reach my side before I can even think to move, and my arm is nearly wrenched out of its socket as I'm dragged down the street toward the carriage and pulled through thin air. I land hard on my knees in the front garden of a stately brick home, and I only just roll out of the way in time to avoid the carriage pulling in the drive. A quick look around confirms that I've just been pulled into the Fidelius charm of the hidden house, but that's not what surprised me so. What surprised me is the person who dragged me through those wards, the person now standing over me with his wand drawn and a furious expression on his face.

"Who are you?" he demands. I can only stare at him in shock. He definitely looks – and sounds – like my former schoolmate…but how is that possible? Malfoy's death at his father's hand was front-page news when it happened.

"Who are you?" he repeats, his tone venomous. I have no doubt that he won't hesitate to hex me now that we're alone, but I still can't believe what I'm seeing.

"How are you alive?" I ask, then gasp again at my own stupidity. In my shocked confusion, I completely forgot about my fake accent. Malfoy's – Draco's – expression morphs from one of anger to confused recognition.

"Granger?" he asks in disbelief. I meet his gaze defiantly.

"If you're going to hex me, get on with it," I snap. Malfoy makes an exasperated noise and lowers his wand.

"I'm not going to hex you, you stupid woman," he mutters. "Get inside."

"What?" My brain is all fuzzy. He's not going to hex me? Why not? And why does he want me to come inside?

"Merlin, have you gone deaf under all that hair? Or maybe it's your disguise…" He waves his wand; I recognize the motion for a Finite, and I can't help my smug smile when he looks confusedly at my still-blonde braid.

"I'll explain if you do," I say. I'm walking a very dangerous path here, but he hasn't hexed me yet…

"If you want an explanation, Granger, then get inside," Malfoy snaps.

"Fine, fine…so testy." I follow him into the house, my wand firmly within my grasp. Malfoy hasn't Disarmed me yet, and I'm not going to give him the opportunity to do it if I can help it. If he suddenly attacks, I'm going down fighting.

"Have a seat," Malfoy says once we're inside, gesturing towards a floral-patterned sofa. The sitting area is a bit old-fashioned, but decidedly expensive, nonetheless.

"I'd rather not," I reply. He shrugs.

"Suit yourself." A wave of his wand brings a fire to life in the grate, and he conjures a glass and pours himself a drink from the sideboard. He then crosses his arms over his chest, studying me. He went ahead and made himself comfortable, so I don't think he sees me as a threat…but if that's not the case, then what does he see?

"Draco? What's going on?" A young woman appears on the staircase at the back of the room, and my eyes widen as I recognize her.

"Colette?" I say.

"Do I know you?" the young woman asks, a hint of a sneer in her tone as her eyes rake over my bedraggled form. This is who Ron fell for? What a snob.

"I think you've got some explaining to do, Colette," Malfoy says sharply, but before he can elaborate, a side door opens near the fireplace, and a young man steps into the room. His hair is a mousy brown and his looks utterly unremarkable, but he seems familiar, somehow, and I quickly realize that it's because he's the carriage driver. To my utter shock, he gasps, unable to take his eyes off me.

"Hermione?"

That voice – I know that voice, almost as well as I know my own. Instantly, I raise my wand, although I have no idea who to point it at first. My voice is a deadly whisper.

"Somebody had better explain what the fuck is going on."