I'm baaack. It's been a long time, I know, but please accept my apologies—my life is really crazy right now. I hope to be able to update more frequently, but I can't make promises.

VERY IMPORTANT NOTICE! This chapter will begin THREE DAYS BEFORE THE FINAL BATTLE. This means that it's been about a year. They've found all the Horcruxes, and Harry knows where Voldemort and his remaining cronies will be. (You'll find out who those "cronies" are later.)

Anywho, on with the show…

"How's he doing?"

Hermione's worried voice reached Harry's eardrums, stinging them. He ignored her.

"He's still…I don't know…" Ron looked upon his friend sadly. "He's just sitting there…maybe we should leave him alone for awhile…"

Harry managed to nod his head in agreement through the hazy mist of thoughts. Ron and Hermione edged away.

Harry sighed; his eyes were glazed over, expressionless and misty. The weight of all the information was too much to handle.

They were staying in an abandoned house, somewhere in the north of England. Harry knew Voldemort was not far away. He also knew that they would have to attack before he did, so the trio were waiting on tenterhooks for the moment Harry knew must come.

Harry continued to stare out of the window through the thick layer of dust that was a product of years of disuse, and didn't bother to wipe it away. His mind was swimming with images of a certain fiery redhead. Ever since leaving, Harry had written her as often as he could, using the brown barn owl Ginny had sent him. He couldn't afford to reveal too much in these, knowing how easily they could be intercepted. He tucked little notes for her in with the long letters to which he, Ron and Hermione all contributed, sent regularly.

He reached into his pocket unconsciously and pulled out the small, folded parchment, one of her most recent letters. Though he had read it over many times and now knew it off by heart, his blank eyes still traveled across the letter, taking in the words.

Dear Harry,

It's been almost a year now since you left. You probably forget that, but I think about it every day. Life here isn't the same without you. Now that I'm off school it's lonelier than ever.

I've kept all the little letters you sent me in a box in my dresser. Every now and then I look at them and they make me feel better. I'm so glad to know that you're all safe.

Well…not much is happening here. Yesterday Damien (Fleur and Bill's baby boy was now nine months old) spit up all over me when I was trying to get him to sleep. Luna's coming over in one week to keep me company, but it isn't the same. It's getting so that I even miss the annoying parts about you three!

Harry laughed despite of himself. Ginny always found a way to cast a light on a dark situation.

I miss Ron hogging the bathroom every morning. I miss Hermione always telling people off with her nose in a book. But most of all, I miss you, with that annoying little proud side.

Here several large splotches wrinkled the parchment where Ginny's tears had dripped. Her words were formed with shaky lines and blots of ink all over.

I miss you more than I can say here. You gave your word that you were coming home…now I'm not so sure. I'm always with you, Harry. When you're fighting Voldemort (yes, now I'm not afraid to say it), think of me. Think about all of us back home who love you.

Love,

Ginny

Harry folded up the note and slid it back into his pocket with a sigh. He wanted so much to simply go home, but he knew this was not an option anymore.

It had never been an option.

Meanwhile, Hermione walked solemnly into the sad excuse for a living room. With a single sofa cushion for seating and a fire grate so old that it had been sprouting tiny blades of grass before their arrival, it couldn't be even called a room. More like a hovel. There was a singular piece of parchment, an ink-bottle and a quill sitting on the floor.

Ron followed her in and stared gloomily at the fireplace, flicking his wand so that a happy, cheerful flame sprung up in the grate and plopping down in front of it. The fire, dancing merrily, did not dampen their sour mood. It was the grounds for a row brewing in the distance.

Hermione flopped on the sofa cushion and a little cloud of dust shot out from several holes in it with a wheezing sound. Hermione dragged the parchment, ink and quill towards her and began to write. Ron wasn't consciously aware of this until a particularly loud pop from the fire made him jump. Hermione had filled the page with tiny, perfect writing.

He cocked his head at an odd angle, trying to see what she was writing. He read the first line and felt a familiar twang in his stomach.

"Dear Vicky," he said mockingly. Hermione looked up sharply.

"Don't call him Vicky," she said quietly.

"All right," Ron said, aware of the unnatural loudness of his voice. "How about Vicky-poo? Vicky-cuddles?"

Hermione reddened. "Stop it, Ron," she said, voice wobbly in her attempts to keep cool.

"Why should I?" Ron demanded of her, all the while regretting his words. "It's obvious how much you miss Vicky-kins—"

"Ron," Hermione said dangerously. "You know we're just friends. Viktor is concerned about me—"

"That's not the way it looks to me," he retorted.

"Well, what does it look like then?" she said hotly, abandoning pretence and getting to her feet. "Why can't Viktor be concerned? Why can't I communicate with him at all?"

"Because he's obviously trying to manipulate you!" Ron yelled back, standing also.

Hermione froze. "He's not trying to do anything of the sort…"

"Oh, yeah! You say you're 'just friends'. Well, it's pretty obvious that dear Vicky wants a little more than friendship!" Ron spat.

"He respects me!" Hermione shrieked. "He treats me like…well, like I'm actually something! Like I'm different! Like…he values my time! He's told me! He tells me what he loves about me, and that…that's never happened to me before!"

"Then why don't you try getting off with him again?" Ron growled.

"Because—oh, it's so complicated…but…I like Viktor, very much, but…there's somebody else."

You could have heard a pin drop.

"S-Somebody else?" Ron said uncertainly. Hermione knew she'd found a loophole, and played along.

"Yes," she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. "I don't love Viktor. I never did, because all the time I was in love with another boy. I still am."

Ron looked taken aback. "You're—you're not serious," he stuttered. "You're l-lying to me."

"No, I'm not."

"Who is it?" he demanded sharply.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Hermione said in a very quiet voice.

"Fine," Ron said harshly. "Just fine. Bloody brilliant. You go off with this guy, and—"

"Ron." Hermione turned away from him, not wanting to look him in the eye anymore. "Viktor treated me like a lady. This guy never has. I don't stand a chance with him. But for some bloody reason I can't get over him."

"How do I enter the picture here?" he snarled, but she could hear his voice quavering. She whirled to face him, hot tears leaking from her eyes.

"What you said to me hurt, Ron," she said sadly. "It hurt a lot. You have no idea what I'm dealing with here."

"What you're dealing with?" said Ron incredulously. "Have you ever stopped to consider what I'm going through?" He didn't want to let slip too much…

"How can you be so selfish?" she whispered. "How can you worry about yourself? Sure, I've got my problems, but Harry is the one who needs us in this! Harry, our best friend! He needs our support, and I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to—"

It was as if Hermione had slapped him. He teetered on the balls of his feet, unstable.

"Selfish?" he repeated quietly. "Selfish? I'm doing this for Harry—and for you! If you only knew, Hermione—"

"If I only knew what?" she snapped. "What have you done for me?"

Ron felt a surge of anger. What had he done for her?

"I've protected you!" he exclaimed, astounded that she might think such a thing of him. "I was always there for you, whether you wanted it or not!"

"You're overprotective! If some guy so much as looks my way, you try to kill them! Sometimes I wish—I wish you'd just let me be!"

Ron stiffened. He felt angry tears well in his eyes and pushed them away. "Fine then," he said quietly. "If that's how you think of me, I will leave you be. If you don't want me around anymore, I won't be. I'm sorry if I hurt you. And...and if I don't hang around much anymore, I won't have the opportunity to hurt you."

And he turned and trudged away. Before she had a chance to go after him, the front door slammed.

She knew he had been wrong. But she'd jumped to conclusions. Her vision blurred with tears as she remembered the ones filling his eyes, his deep blue eyes. What she had said had obviously cut deep. She felt a swoop of regret as she remembered the words that had spewed from their mouths, searching to cause pain and hurt.

She gulped and sat down to collect herself. Suddenly, from behind her, she heard the ominous creak of a floorboard. Her heart sped up, and she looked around.

"Harry? Is that yo—" She was cut off as a cold, clammy hand was clamped over her mouth. She felt a terrible, dizzy sensation, and the last thing she saw in her mind's eye was a picture of Ron, with depressed tears in his eyes, before everything went black.

Harry sighed sadly. He had listened to Ron and Hermione's blazing row with a heavy heart. He'd also watched Ron storm out, and then silence for a while. Just when he had begun to worry about Hermione, there she had come, smiling as if nothing was wrong. He let her go with an odd feeling in his stomach.

Ron stomped out to the garden and perched on the bench that had long warped into an odd, twisted shape. He sighed, and stared up at the moon, which was just beginning to appear in the early night sky. He shivered.

A rustling of bushes behind him told him somebody was coming. Taking no chances, he jumped to his feet, wand at the ready.

"Umm…it's just me, Weasl—I mean Ron." Hermione's voice was unnaturally high-pitched.

So she was calling him by his last name now, Ron thought. She really was mad at him.

"Oh, it's just you, Hermione." Ron relaxed. "Sorry…instinct."

She smiled, but not the warm smile that Hermione usually wore. This was a twisted type of smile.

"Want to sit down?" Ron asked tentatively. Her smile widened.

"Sure." She sat next to him, eyes reflecting the shadow of the moon behind the wispy clouds.

"Look, Hermione, I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

"Um…it's okay." Her voice went down about an octave on the last syllable.

"Are you alright?" he asked her worriedly. She nodded, smiling at him again. Ron's stomach churned with suspicion—this was not the Hermione he knew and loved. And there was only one way to find out if his hunch was correct. He slid his hand into his pocket, clenching his wand tightly.

"Um…did you hear? Dumbledore had all the books in the Hogwarts library burned!"

She looked indifferent. "About time they got rid of those useless things."

Absolute silence...

She didn't seem to have realized what she was saying. When she did, she stuttered, "I-I mean, um, that's terrible…" Ron felt a terrible swoop in his stomach.

This was not Hermione.

Just a little cliffhanger there to keep you awake! Sorry for the short chapter.

Kamiangel-Wow, thanks for another great review! I do agree with you, Jarno said that they miss Ginny being funny and spunky, but those traits are not common when you're in that position, even for Ginny. Thank you for giving me your honest opinion.