Disclaimer: Again, not mine. The characters and happenings of J.K.R.'s creation are simply pawns of my weary mind. Speaking of which, this chapter may be a bit confusing; I apologize. This is just setting a background so that we can move forward. I promise that the rest will be far less confusing. (:

Life in the Wizarding World had undergone a drastic change during the last six years. Though the trio returned to Hogwarts for their seventh year, the school was shut down halfway through the year. Not even Hogwarts was safe anymore; it had become a regular target for Death Eater attacks and recruiting. So, the students were returned to their parents (if they had any left) and the teachers to their homes.

Harry and Hermione had accompanied Ron to the Burrow. There was no way Harry was going back to the Dursleys; that was out of the question. And Hermione?

About a month into the school year, Hermione received a letter from the Ministry. Her parents had been killed in the crossfire between Death Eaters and a handful of Aurors. They did all they could to help the Muggle couple, but they underestimated the number of Death Eaters, and were too overwhelmed to do much good. So, with her trunk and a useless apology from the Ministry, Hermione moved in with the Weasley's.

It was then that Harry decided to search for the Horcruxes.

Hermione, Ginny, and Ron had followed, despite Harry's obvious disapproval. Together they thought they were invincible. How wrong they had been.

Ginny was the first to die. Bellatrix dealt the fatal blow, and it was all Hermione could do to keep from crying as her fiery-haired friend fell cold to the ground. They'd buried her later, after the battle had come to a close. Though she and Ron had expected Ginny's death to injure Harry, he didn't show it. He didn't even cry. He just kept walking, his face blank, eyes masking their pain with rage.

That was the day he left, alone, to fight Voldemort.

Hermione hadn't seen him since; neither had Ron. But that was five years ago. The Dark Lord now had total control over the Wizarding World, and ruled it with a firm, merciless hand. Though there were still those who opposed his rule, most had been killed shortly after the 'final battle'. That's what they called it; Harry's dying at the hands of Voldemort. The Chosen One was defeated, though the details were a bit vague.

Muggles and Muggle-borns had been enslaved and/or killed. Only purebloods roamed freely in the streets, and even they were fearful. The Dark Lord had spies all over, and it wasn't uncommon for Death Eaters to stir up trouble with the hopes of a gruesome murder to appease their boredom.

Hermione stayed with Ron and his family, hidden in an underground cavern. After his parents' death, Ron moved to a flat in London, taking his new fiancé with him. Yes, he'd finally overcome his nerves, and proposed to Hermione after four years of kind-of dating. That was a year ago.

She'd left early one morning for the market, thinking nothing of it. Ron was still asleep, so she slipped out quietly, with a few galleons and her jacket. It was a beautiful autumn morning; a few wispy clouds hovered serenely amid a beautiful blue sky. Hardly a soul was awake, and so her grocery trip had gone quite smoothly. Dry leaves crackled under her feet as she returned to their flat.

She rummaged through her pockets for her key, two grocery bags hanging round her forearm. It was then that she noticed that the door was already open. Pulling her wand from her inner pocket (she always took it with her, just in case), Hermione stepped cautiously into the flat, eyes searching frantically for a familiar mop of red hair.

'He'll be here,' she thought, wand pressed against her thigh as she slowly crossed their front room. 'Just don't panic. He's fine. I probably just forgot to shut the door. Don't panic.'

She screamed when she saw him. The grocery bags fell to the ground as her eyes welled up with tears. He was on the kitchen floor, eyes clouded over as they stared up to the ceiling. His wand was a few feet away, narrowly evading his outstretched hand. The place was in shambles; furniture was overturned; it looked as though someone had heaved their blender into the wall; food stained the tiled floor, spilling effortlessly out of the open refrigerator.

Tears streaming down her face, Hermione rushed over to Ron, placing two fingers on his neck to check for pulse. He was alive; barely, but alive nonetheless. She smiled, relieved, though the tears kept coming. Wand in hand, she Apparated them to one of the few safe places left in the Wizarding World; St. Mungo's Hospital. The doctors assured her that they'd do all that they could as they took him from her, asking her to please wait in the waiting room. After what seemed like a year, a doctor returned, giving the okay for her to see Ron.

Ron smiled weakly as Hermione entered, though even that hurt. His entire body ached, despite the numerous pain-relieving incantations performed.

"I'm alright. Just a few scratches," he said after a minute of silence. Hermione's cheeks were tear-stained and pale; her eyes were red, puffy and anxious. It hurt him to see her this way, hence the joking. It drew a quick, painful smile that faded after a few seconds. But he knew that it was far worse than 'a few scratches'. He explained to her what the doctor had told him; he'd be in the hospital for a while, a few months at the least.

"I'm fixable, but it will take while," he began. "Will you wait for me?" Ron asked nervously.

Hermione grabbed his hand, placing it gently on her cheek, and nodded. They both smiled.

Two months passed, and Hermione visited him everyday, anxious for an update on his condition. It was lonely without him, not to mention dangerous. She was a Muggle-born, and thus needed to remain 'under the radar', which became much harder when flying solo.

She'd kissed him before she left that night -how long ago had it been?-, completely oblivious to what awaited her at home. A quick Apparation later, Hermione was out of St. Mungo's and back home. She turned the doorknob slowly, still cautious, as she entered their home. Somehow, their flat seemed less inviting after Ron's attack.

It wasn't until she'd removed her coat that Hermione sensed another presence. She remembered three hooded figures, and one wand, pointed in her direction. She must have blacked out, because when she woke up, she was here; wherever that may be.