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A/N: A quick update! I'm trying, I really am! Anyway, please review.

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Take Me Home

Chapter Eleven: Mask of Death

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Ron was holding a bottle of Butterbeer when he knocked at Hermione's bedroom door. He heard a voice call, "Come in!" and he went in to find her sitting up again and compiling the photographs into the album once again. She was muttering to herself as she sorted them out by type and date and all kinds of other categories that were a little disturbing, to say the least, but comforting because it reminded him so much of the Hermione they'd known.

"Hi," he said a little awkwardly, shutting the door behind him and walking in. "I brought you a warm bottle of Butterbeer. Thought it might make you feel a little… er… better."

"You've been talking to Ginny," stated Hermione, picking out a picture of Harry, Ron and herself.

Ron got defensive. "And so what if I have? She's worried about you. So am I."

"Tell Ginny I'm sorry," Hermione told him, still staring at the photograph. She was in the middle, and trying to look disapproving as Harry and Ron wrestled around her. They were all laughing. It had been taken in their sixth year sometime, she couldn't quite remember when. She looked up at Ron and said, "I didn't mean to frighten her. Where is she now?"

"She had to go meet Terry, some kind of fertility test or something – " Ron turned maroon. "They – er – they've been trying to have kids but it's not happening so they want to know why."

"I see," said Hermione, letting out a smothered giggle in spite of herself at Ron's horrified embarrassment at the thought of his sister and her husband going at it. She looked down at the picture and gently stroked it, fondly, tracing Harry's face lovingly and sadly. 'Oh, Harry,' she thought.

"But – " said Ron on a brighter note, with the voice of one determined to change the subject at all costs, "Fred and George came over to, you know, watch over you because Ginny left. They don't think Luna and I are responsible enough. Tonks went off to look for Harry; Lupin will kill me and her if he finds out, 'cause she's four months pregnant and shouldn't be off doing tiring stuff." Ron looked entirely out of his depth. "At least – I don't know – "

Hermione smiled to herself, put the photograph into a spot in the album, and said, "How are you, Ron?"

"Me?" He looked surprised, and answered too quickly, "I'm fine."

"Of course you are. And?"

Ron turned red again, and he looked, if possible, even more embarrassed, only this time it was in a happier sort of way. Hermione thought she knew what was coming even before he answered her, and she waited with a grin as he said, "Um… I just thought you might want to know that… er… Luna and I are going to get married next summer."

"That's excellent, Ron!" Hermione said, scooting forward on the bed a little stiffly because of her muscles but with genuine delight. She hugged him and he patted her on the back. "I'm so happy for you! It's about time."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm kinda happy about it too. And I really have to thank you for it."

"What did I do?" she asked, bewildered.

"Look, Hermione, I'm not the most sensitive kind of guy and I really don't mean this in the wrong way, but it's just that having you back made me realize that I need to value and hold onto the things that matter to me – like you, and like Luna. And – and, you know – what with your being sick and – look, don't take this the wrong way – "

"I think I understand," said Hermione gently, "Seeing me sick made you realize you never know how much time you might have with the person you love."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. "I can always count on you to put feelings into words."

"Thanks. And thanks for the Butterbeer, Ron."

"No problem." They both turned their heads at the sound of a dull crash from below. Ron uttered an oath and stood up. "Those gits! I told them not to make any noise. I think I'll go downstairs and shake some sense into the two of them." He winked and went to the door, and closed it gently as he left the room. He glanced back at the door, feeling a pang of sorrow as he acknowledged how fragile and pale Hermione looked, how much weight she had lost. Then he walked down the corridor, and Hermione, sitting in her room, touched a photograph of Ron giving Luna a "are you crazy" look back in their fifth year, and smiled to herself, glad that there was still some happiness left in a world that looked so bleak and dark to her.

Ron wandered down the stairs, and came to an abrupt halt halfway down them. Fred was lying sprawled face-up, absolutely still, at the foot of the stairs. Ron could tell, through a suddenly panicked and fevered brain, that Fred was still alive because he was breathing. Probably stunned. George was lying several feet away, trying to get up, his nose bloody, and Luna… Ron froze… Luna was standing in front of him with her wand drawn, pointed at a hooded figure standing with his back to the stairs and to Ron.

"Get away," Luna said threateningly, but her wide eyes were even wider than usual, telling Ron that she was genuinely frightened. And for good reason. This was obviously a Death Eater.

Ron didn't bother questioning how a Death Eater could have gotten into Number 12, he didn't bother wondering who it was or why they were here. All he saw was his fiancée in confrontation with a man who had bloodied one brother's nose and Stunned another. And Ron, as he had always done in such a situation, reacted on pure instinct and adrenaline alone.

He had left his wand in the kitchen, foolishly, and so all he could do now was throw himself forward and tackle the hooded figure around the legs. Both went crashing to the floor, and Ron found himself pinning a strong, thin figure down. Next thing he knew, the man in question had his wand pushed into Ron's cheek and as the hood fell back, Ron recognized him and his blood ran cold: Antonin Dolohov. Ron was not a quick thinker, but in that instant, it clicked: Dolohov was here for Hermione. That was why he hadn't killed anyone else. Ron's goal suddenly became about keeping this monster away from Hermione at all costs.

"Luna," he shouted, "Get out. Get out onto the street and scream for help. There's bound to be some member of the Order keeping watch nearby. Just keep screaming until someone finds you. Go! Luna, go now!"

She hesitated, then probably saw the force of his argument, and she took off for the door while Ron faced the dangerous wand. He had his hands on Dolohov's throat, which was probably why the latter hadn't yet tried to curse him. Obviously, Dolohov was about as much a master of non-verbal spells as Ron himself had been back in school. Ron squeezed the throat harder, trying to ignore the hammering of his terrified heart, and he yelled, "George! George, Apparate home and bring Mum and Dad!"

George was gone in a flash, with one last worried at his two brothers left behind.

Distantly, Ron could hear Luna screaming for help out on the street. He felt a sudden pang of panic. Obviously, no one was coming. And if he could hear her screams, then that meant that someone else might be able to…

Ron let out a groan as Dolohov, seizing his moment of abstraction, kicked him off and pointed his wand down dangerously, eyes glittering.

With all the speed and dodging imbibed into any Quidditch player, Ron ran for the kitchen. Jets of deadly green light missed him by inches as he seized his wand off the table and turned and yelled "PROTEGO!" just as Dolohov began the Avada Kedavra again. Before Ron could react again, Dolohov muttered "Expelliarmus" and Ron's wand flew out of his hand and hit the nearby window. Ron sank to his knees desperately, panicked and wishing for forgiveness, and all the while, his mind screamed for Harry to help him.

"And now, Weasley," hissed Dolohov, "You can die. Don't worry, though. Your pretty friend will join you soon enough."

Ron closed his eyes. "I've failed," he thought miserably.

Then a blinding flash of light, and –

"Protego!"

The light from Dolohov's wand was deflected, and Dolohov looked up and behind Ron with a truly evil grin on his face. Ron turned and saw Hermione, shaky and white-faced with anger and effort and determination, standing in the kitchen doorway in her pajamas and a tank top, wand outstretched and pointed at the Death Eater.

Dolohov smiled triumphantly. "I see my spell's been working rather well, eh, Mudblood?"

Ron was on his feet in anger in seconds, but Dolohov kicked him hard in the gut and cried out a "Petrificus Totalus!" and Hermione shrieked, "Get out of the way, Ron! Don't you dare risk yourself again!"

Then she turned and ran. As she must have expected, Dolohov abandoned Ron and took off after her, obviously afraid she might run outside. Ron, stiff as a board and unable to do anything but watch, prayed that she would go outside, because Luna could help her, someone would come, even a Muggle… but as his eyes twisted around, trying to look through the doorway, his heart sank as he saw Hermione take off up the stairs of the house. From the den, Ron could hear Sirius screaming, "Ron! Hermione! Hermione! What's happening!"

Tears began to trickle down Ron's stiff face, and he wondered how he would ever face Harry again.

Hermione shot into her room and slammed and locked the door behind her, breathing hard and feeling like her heart was about to burst out of her chest and her head was spinning, making her feel horribly sick. Dolohov would spend a few seconds trying to unlock a magically locked door, and she could buy herself some time.

The images of Fred and Ron lying prone on the floor, of hearing Luna's screams out on the street, made Hermione feel nauseous and took her back to those final days in the war against Voldemort. How much death and torment had she seen? How much had Voldemort made her see, subjected her to? She hurried to the window, threw it open, letting in the bitterly cold air and flecks of snow, and she looked out, trying to see whether there was any way she could jump out of here. She could hear Dolohov roaring spells outside her room, and every second brought her closer to death. She realized it was much too far to jump. She would die in the attempt, and there wasn't even a broom here to help her, and she didn't have enough energy to Apparate. That effort would certainly kill her.

The door burst open, and Hermione, standing straight and tall, turned, wand out, determined to face whatever came at her because she was not about to run from her demons or from death.

"So," Dolohov drawled, "Filthy Mudblood, did you really think you could escape me?"

Hermione sent curse after curse at him, but he blocked every one and kept advancing on her. When he finally got close enough to touch her, he reached out and backhanded her hard across the face. Hermione felt her lip tear and bleed and pain bloom through her face as she fell forward onto the ground. Dolohov stood over her.

"You know," he said with a horrible grin, "Maybe I could take advantage of your helplessness before I kill you. After all, I can't catch your sickness." Hermione began to tremble. She could have borne anything, anything but that horrible thought of being violated and used in the worst possible way. She felt the first few tears roll down her cheeks and she tried, with whatever strength she had left, to attempt another curse, but it was so feeble that Dolohov barely had to flick his wand to deflect it. He looked sickeningly triumphant, sickeningly intent, the mask of death.

"Get away from her," a voice growled from just inside her bedroom.

Hermione turned. "Harry," she whispered, and such joy and relief flooded her that she felt giddy and light-headed at the sight of him.

His face was a cold mask of fury and his wand was out, perfectly steady. In that moment, Hermione knew Harry could kill another man if he had to, and he was perfectly capable of doing it now. He pointed his wand and said, "Get away from her. Step back, slowly." His face twisted into a mocking grin. "You ought to be careful about who you let in on your plans. People aren't always as loyal as you believe them. And some," Harry's voice shook, "Are more loyal than you ever thought."

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "Harry, don't!"

Dolohov stepped away from her and turned his wand on Harry. Harry shouted, "Sectum – "

"Protego!" Dolohov screamed.

"Come on," Harry hissed, "Come closer to me."

Their wands flashed like lightning, and Hermione watched in horror as Dolohov drew closer and closer to Harry. Then, unexpectedly, Harry pulled back his fist and punched the Death Eater in the face. Dolohov stumbled, blood streaming from his nose, and Harry hit him again. And again. And kept going until Dolohov spun around and elbowed Harry in the stomach, making Harry double over. He pushed the tip of his wand to the back of Harry's head. Harry muttered something under his breath and Dolohov glowed in silver light for a moment. Hermione knew what the light meant, but she didn't think the Death Eater did.

"Come on," Harry whispered, "Come on. Kill me. Kill the great Harry Potter."

Hermione felt panic and fear claw at her insides. The spell was a highly complex, highly advanced magic-removal spell that had obviously taken its toll on Harry's energy. It meant that Dolohov now only had one spell left to cast, one spell only, before his wand would automatically snap in two. And if Dolohov killed Harry, he wouldn't be able to kill Hermione.

"No!" Hermione screamed, staggering to her feet, and drawing on the last bit of her strength, on the deepest core where her love lay, untouched like a fountain spring. "No, Harry! I won't let you die for me! I won't!"

She pointed her wand at Dolohov, and in that split-second in which Dolohov hesitated, wondering whether to kill Harry or not, she called upon the force she never knew she had.

"Avada Kedavra."

Dolohov slumped to the ground. Harry looked at her, his face white. He understood, of all people, what it took out of you to kill another human being. It was ten times worse when you were tired and on the brink of death already. Hermione felt her eyes swim and her heart soar as Harry came closer to her. She felt his arms around, that last time, as tears fell down her face and his face was wet too. He held her tightly, and she heard him beg:

"It'll be all right, Hermione, it'll be all right. Just hold on a little longer. Just a little longer."

She looked past him, out of the window. Somehow, the leaves had fallen quicker. The tree was utterly bare. She smiled faintly, and touched Harry's lips, looking into the green eyes she had always loved. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he sobbed.

Then she let her eyelids flutter closed.

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TBC.

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