Chapter Two

Well, here's the anticipated new chapter. Enjoy.

Hours bled into days and days bled into weeks. Throughout it all, Harry, Ron and Hermione remained concealed behind the wards of 12 Grimmauld Place, passing the locket onto the next bearer with each new sunrise.

On the fifth day, the effect of remaining in the constant company of a Horcrux began to show on Ron. He started lashing out unpredictably. It was clear that he was deeply worried for the safety of his family and friends, but it translated into resentment that he, Harry and Hermione had made little to no progress on how to destroy the Horcruxes they had.

On the seventh day, Harry became irritable. Or rather, more irritable than usual. He sought isolation where his dark thoughts could fester and he contributed little to their group discussions. This did nothing but aggravate Ron further to the point that they were constantly at each other's throats.

On the tenth day, Hermione was no longer able to act the part of the peacekeeper. She became withdrawn, prone to lose her patience easily, and wound up shutting herself behind locked doors with her books.

As a result, both Harry and Ron retreated to their respective rooms and the three seldom saw each other except to shift locket duty.

Ron and Hermione loathed being in contact with it, but they didn't complain when it was their turn to wear it. Harry, on the other hand, anticipated the day he could hang the pendant around his neck again and spend long hours in a darkened corner of the house, feeling closer to Tom than he had in such a long time. The time they spent together was not healthy – even Harry could acknowledge that as he discerned the harmful intentions stirring within the locket – yet he still hungered for their time alone.

It didn't speak to him. But holding the Horcrux close with his eyes shut gave Harry the sense that he was sitting on the opposite side of the room from Tom. Separated by a distance, but still in the presence of one another.

It was a terribly lonely thing.

And yet he rejoiced for this small piece of eternity he had been gifted with.

But after one month of seclusion, everything changed. The universe decided to once again pull the rug out from beneath Harry's feet.

There was nothing particularly special about that day. It was a cold Saturday, the first one of October. Lying on his back on the hard floor of Sirius's old bedroom, Harry had the chain of the locket wound between his fingers, dangling it above his face mindlessly. When he turned his head slightly to the side, pressing his ear against the ground, he could make out the clattering of Kreacher in the kitchen. Dare he say that Kreacher had easily claimed the title of most chipper member of the household of late?

Harry sighed, turning his head back up. He pressed the locket in his hand to his heart and closed his eyes, listening to the soft humming which bubbled up from within the Horcrux.

No, it never spoke to him explicitly. But that didn't mean it never communicated.

Whenever it was Harry's turn to keep it, the Horcrux would choose the quietest time of day to cradle Harry's face in its intangible hands and whisper the most haunting of lullabies. Melodies which bruised his spirit and made him want to weep.

Today was no different.

With the Horcrux humming against his chest and his eyes shuttered against the world, Harry let himself drift up into the clouds. He could almost forget that somewhere beneath him, Hermione was slaving away over books. He could almost forget that somewhere within the same walls, Ron was listening to the wireless radio and praying that Ginny's name would not come up as a casualty of war.

Ginny.

Harry still loved her dearly, but since returning from the past, he had come to realise that he had never been in love with her. To be in love was such a fragile thing – its name couldn't be tossed around lightly. Its touch was both a blessing and a curse, and Harry had felt it before. But for a different person. His love for Ginny was familial, nothing more and nothing less.

He knew that one day, she would understand.

Or perhaps one day, things would be different and they could be Harry-and-Ginny once more. But that was such a far-off future, such a far-off possibility that it merited no proper consideration.

The door to Sirius's bedroom sprang open and Harry lurched upright, wand immediately pointing at the intruder.

But it was only Ron, holding his hands up in surrender. "Relax, mate. It's just me."

"Sorry." Harry's tone was brusque as he lowered his wand and examined his oldest friend from afar.

Ron's face was tense – but whose wasn't nowadays? – and there was a weary cast to his eyes. But he seemed considerably more at ease than yesterday. However, it was his turn to carry the Horcrux again in two days, and his mood would shift again.

"Hermione wants us both to meet her downstairs," said Ron, his eyes flickering to the locket, clasped in Harry's hand. "In the drawing room. She says it's important."

"Fine." Another short and terse reply. Sometimes Harry didn't realise the effect the Horcrux had on him until he was forced to communicate with another person.

Ron made to leave, and then paused, glancing over his shoulder, his head inclined curiously. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like?" snapped Harry, and Ron's face closed up.

"Right," he said coldly. "Sorry for asking."

He closed the door behind him, and Harry listened to his footsteps fading back down the corridor.

With a huff, Harry dragged himself to his feet and caught his own eye in the mirror upon the wall. He hadn't expected the year to pass this way.

"What have you done to us?" he asked the Horcrux quietly before shoving it into his pocket and storming out of the room.

It was the first time in weeks that Hermione, Harry and Ron had been in the same room all at once, and nor was there a pleasant atmosphere about the matter.

Hermione waited impatiently for Harry to settle down in the room. Ron was already perched in the armchair by the window, and Harry opted for leaning against the wall right by the door, ready to flee if need be.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was probably (and almost one hundred percent likely) the Horcrux influencing her, but these boys had been driving her up the wall of late. Even when it wasn't her turn to keep an eye on it, she could sense its filthy presence radiating through the walls of the Black family home, and it made her feel violated.

Researching how to destroy the bloody thing was a good distraction.

"I've been so stupid," Hermione declared now, slamming the book in her hands onto the table in front of her. "Honestly, destroying a Horcrux is so simple! Here, read."

She flipped to page forty-four and gestured for Ron to come over and recite the printed words.

Ron gave her a look before sidling over and leaning over the table, tugging the book over to his side. He read aloud, "Basilisk venom is extremely powerful, and can kill a person within a little more than a minute at best. It has only one known cure: phoenix tears, which happen to be very rare, increasing the venom's deadliness."

"Unless you want to bake You-Know-Who a cupcake with Basilisk venom in it and hope that he'll eat it," said Harry bitingly, "I don't see how this helps us much."

"Last time I looked, you weren't exactly helping out at all," countered Hermione, glaring at him, "so you can shut it!"

Harry's mouth slammed shut, his ears reddening, and he glanced down at the floor, crossing his arms. He had the decency to look at least a little ashamed of himself.

Ron watched with wide eyes, and Hermione ordered him to turn to page fifty-one and keep reading.

Ron hurriedly complied. "Basilisk's venom is extremely long-lasting and can cause fatal damage that cannot be repaired–"

"Don't you see?" Hermione was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, her irritation towards Harry almost immediately forgotten again. "This is the answer to everything!"

"Um," said Ron. "I'm siding with Harry on this one…?"

Hermione ignored him. "Haven't you ever wondered why Dumbledore wanted Harry to have the Sword of Gryffindor? It all makes sense!"

"Not really," was Ron's confused reply, and Hermione grabbed the book out of his hands, waving it in his face wildly.

"Piece it together, Ronald!" she turned on Harry, who had not moved from his place by the doorway. "In second-year, how did you kill the Basilisk?"

"I stabbed it," said Harry slowly, and understanding was creeping into his eyes now. "I stabbed it with the Sword of Gryffindor. You think that it's now embedded with Basilisk venom?"

"It makes sense. And if the venom's long-lasting, then after all these years it should still be potent. Dumbledore must have known this, which is why he wanted you to have it."

"So that Harry can challenge You-Know-Who to a good old-fashioned swordfight?" Ron raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't seem likely, 'Mione. What does any of this have to do with the Horcruxes?"

"Absolutely everything!" Hermione began pacing the floor. "How did Dumbledore destroy the ring? I'd be willing to bet he used the sword, seeing as it was kept in the Headmaster's Office. And he willed it to Harry, so that the next Horcruxes could be destroyed by it also."

Hermione met Harry's eye across the room. Harry's face was drained of colour and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

"Okay, fine," said Ron impatiently. "Say that what you're telling us is true. I can see one tiny problem – none of us know where the Ministry has even hidden the sword!"

"That would be a fair point," said Hermione, "if we were looking for the sword."

Ron threw his hands into the air in disbelief. "So now we're not looking for the sword? Make up your mind!"

"What we're looking for," said Hermione, meeting first Ron's gaze and then Harry's, "is a Basilisk fang."

Ron opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Harry's face was expressionless – he had been expecting this.

"You destroyed the diary Horcrux with a fang," continued Hermione, looking at Harry imploringly, "and we know where to find more. This can be done!"

Harry pulled his shoulders up into a loose shrug, his mouth twisting to the side. "How do you propose we snuck into Hogwarts? We can't well waltz in there – they've got maximum security nowadays."

"Perhaps," said Ron slowly, frowning, "we could send a message to the remaining DA members, and you, Harry, could give them directions on how to enter the Chamber."

Harry, however, was set on acting the pessimist.

"You have to speak Parseltongue to enter," he said coolly. He unfolded his arms and stuck his hand into his pocket, where Hermione could see his fingers forming a fist.

Quirking an eyebrow up, she said, "Send a voice recording of yourself, then."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Harry. "You're perfectly aware that the Death Eaters would check whatever owls carry into Hogwarts."

Ron stepped in front of Hermione, affronted. "Don't you start using that tone on her," he told Harry, which only earned him a sneer.

Hermione rested a reassuring hand on Ron's shoulder, and Ron immediately relaxed into her touch.

They had all been so tense, it was impossible to work like this. But now that she had gained some footing, Hermione hoped that everybody could finally calm down a little.

"That's why we won't be sending an owl," she said to Harry, maintaining what she hoped was a steady voice. "We'll use a messenger spell. I've been practicing so I'm sure I can manage one."

Once again, Harry's jaw worked as he searched from some hole in the plan. This time, he couldn't find one. Messengers spells had been invented by Dumbledore himself, after all, and only members of the Order were able to cast them – this way, the recipient could always be sure that it was genuine. Both the Patronus and the voice of the caster made it easy enough to identify who the message was coming from. It was a genius invention, in Hermione's opinion.

Clearly, Harry had mixed thoughts about it.

His eyes were dark as he stared at Hermione, and she could almost hear the cogs and gears whirling in his head as he considered the whole matter.

"Why are you holding back?" demanded Ron. "What's there to think about? Don't you want to defeat You-Know-Who?"

It was the wrong question to ask.

"I don't know!" Harry spat, then looked taken aback by his own words.

Ron gazed at him, horrified. "What?" he whispered.

Harry refused to meet anybody's eye as he repeated in a softer tone, "I don't know."

A headache was beginning to pound inside Hermione's skull. She leaned back against the table by her side and covered her face with her hands, drawing deep breaths in, pushing deep breaths out.

She had been expecting and dreading this confession for a while.

Ron stumbled a few steps backwards, fell back into his armchair. "You can't be serious," he said, and his voice was awfully loud in that room.

"I don't know," said Harry, and his voice was small, almost as if he hadn't been expecting his confession. "I just don't know anymore, Ron."

Hermione uncovered her eyes, directed a firm stare on Harry. "Give me the Horcrux, Harry," she said.

Harry backed closer to the doorway. "Why?" he asked defensively.

"You wouldn't be saying this if you hadn't spent so much time with it." Hermione shook her head. "I should have known that it would affect you this badly. It's Tom Riddle's soul, for God's sake. Please, Harry. Give it to me. I'll put it away so that we can all speak with clear heads for once."

"Put it away?" Harry gave a derisive laugh. "Why didn't you put it away in the first place, if that was an option?"

Hermione straightened her shoulders. "Because there's only one safe place for it to go, and the diadem is already there. I didn't want to risk putting two Horcruxes together, just in case they could communicate or whatnot. I thought that we were all strong enough to handle the locket ourselves. But I'll put it with the diadem now – it's a risk we'll have to take, I suppose."

Harry jolted, as if she had slapped him across the face. "We are strong enough to handle it," he argued, and Hermione gave a soft smile.

"Not all of us," she said.

Harry's face froze, he stared at her as if wounded. Then he murmured, "After all we've been through?"

"After all we've been through," returned Hermione, "you should respect my judgement."

Harry remained as still as a statue for a few heartbeats longer, then he drew his hand out of his pocket, revealing the locket, its chain wrapped around his fingers.

"Fine," he said heavily. "Take him."

He tossed the locket and it arced up into the air, glimmering in the dim light. Hermione caught it and rested it upon the tabletop beside her. "It," she corrected gently.

Harry looked as if there was something else he very much wanted to say, but ultimately turned on silent heel and left the room.

"Where are you going to put it?" asked Ron quietly, and Hermione turned to face him, weary from the day's trials.

"Inside my bag," she said. "As simple as that. But please, Ron, don't… don't tell Harry where it is. I worry about him."

"If you say so." Ron stood and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Hermione.

She gave a small sigh, allowing herself the support of his lanky frame.

"D'you think Harry'll come around?" asked Ron, his arms warm around her waist. "Because if he doesn't, I close my eyes and I imagine… I imagine a world where You-Know-Who has won. Which he has, as soon as Harry gives in."

Hermione tightened her hold on him, stared with empty eyes at the ground. She wouldn't close them, for fear of seeing the same sight as Ron. "Everything will turn out alright," she said aloud, more to herself than anyone else. "In the end."

Dinner that night, six hours after their discord, was as tense an affair as ever.

Both Hermione and Ron watched Harry the entire time. Hermione's gaze was both expressionless and firm, as if she was attempting to psyche him out. Ron kept staring like he was a particularly exotic beetle in a glass display. Harry had been expecting this change in behaviour. It wasn't even unreasonable on their part – Harry was fully aware of the implication of his earlier words, and it was not good.

Hermione and Ron sat together on one side of the extensive Black family dining table, Harry opposite them as they picked at their steak and kidney pies. The meal with rich and hearty – Harry gathered this from the delicious aromas – but ever since returning from 1945, food had tasted like ash in his mouth.

Eating became a chore to maintain his strength for the task of Horcrux hunting which Dumbledore had set. Harry wondered whether his reaction to food was caused by their time-travel woes, but Hermione didn't appear to suffer from the same symptoms as him. She and Ron ate with gusto (Ron more so), and consequently Harry had not brought his troubles to the table.

They already had so much to worry about.

When he couldn't stomach the silence any longer, Harry dropped his fork with a clatter and said, "What's the plan?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up – she had not been expecting him to be the one to break the rigid barrier between them. "Plan?" she asked.

"Plan of action, plan of attack. You know." Harry fought to keep his patience.

It was impossible to miss the look that Hermione and Ron shared.

"What?" Harry snapped.

"So, you're alright with going along with this?" asked Hermione. "Just earlier today, you were saying that…"

"I know what I said." Harry diverted his gaze. "And I'd be lying through my teeth if I told you that I didn't mean it. But I'm… this doesn't mean that I'm going to give up. I want a world rid of Volde– of You-Know-Who just as much as you two. But I still –" he abruptly choked off, his emotions jamming into a painful lump in his throat.

Hermione sat back, folding her arms. "But you're still in love with Tom Riddle." Her tone was bland.

"Love?" Harry gave an anguished laugh. "You and I both know that I'm not in love with him. I may have once been, but he betrayed me and I'm not stupid enough to forgive him for that."

"Then what?"

"It's like… it's like there's still a shadow of what I had once felt, lingering in my chest. I don't love Tom, and I especially don't love You-Know-Who. But I still… I still feel something for him, and I can't explain it." Frustrated with his own inability to communicate with words, Harry turned his gaze back to his two companions.

Hermione's eyes were boring into him.

Ron was staring at his hands, something akin to shame flickering across his face. "I can never understand," he said hoarsely, "why it is that you always have the worst of luck."

It was the closest thing to understanding that Harry would get from Ron. His lips twisting into a sort of grimace, Harry shrugged and looked away again.

At long last Hermione announced, "Well, if you're not prepared to give up, then that's a good place to start. Neither Ron nor I could ask for anything more from you."

Grateful for the ready acceptance, Harry dipped his head into a miniscule nod.

"Now," continued Hermione, already pressing into the next issue on hand, "we haven't properly sat down to discuss our next step forward. Not since…"

"Since we got the locket," offered Ron. "I think we've been out of business for too long, if you ask me, and it's about time we hit the road again."

Hermione didn't smile, and he reached out to lace his long, freckled fingers through hers, perhaps an unconscious gesture.

An unconscious gesture which Hermione mirrored precisely.

Harry's eyes followed the movement, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead, surprised enough to forget his own problems momentarily.

It appeared that his two oldest friends had finally pulled their heads out of their arses and seen the light. The thought was amusing for a split second, and Harry almost smiled, but then he remembered his own perpetual loneliness.

"Ginny, Luna and Colin, right?" he said abruptly, and Hermione and Ron jumped, pulling away from each other.

"What about them?" asked Hermione, uncharacteristically vacuous. Harry was tempted to roll his eyes at his friends' flustered states.

Once they came to themselves, it was ultimately decided that Ginny Weasley would be their Hogwarts contact. They concluded that Luna would lose the Basilisk fangs after retrieving them and claim that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack had taken them; Colin, on the other hand, was likely to the slip over and give himself concussion in the Chamber before he managed to achieve the objective. Ginny was their safest bet – as much as Ron disliked that.

"It's unfair to ask her to return to that place," he argued. "I mean, she nearly died there!"

"Nothing about this situation is fair," Hermione reasoned, "and at this point in time, we've all got to make our sacrifices. Ginny's strong, she's capable, and she can refuse the task if she wants to. I'll make that clear in my message to her."

"If she refuses – and all the others, too," said Ron, "then what?"

It seemed to Harry that for once, Hermione was at a loss for words. There was a long, drawn out moment of silence during which the three considered the near impossible feat of theirs before Ron managed weakly, "One bridge at a time then, eh?"

"Yes," agreed Hermione, giving what was obviously an attempt at an enthused nod of her head. It wasn't fooling anyone. There was a pregnant pause in which they returned to their half-eaten dinners, then Hermione dropped her cutlery with a clatter and stood. "I'll go draft a letter for our messenger spell."

It sounded as if she were choking on a lump of gristle from their meal. She all but fled the room.

"You know," remarked Ron as the door slammed shut behind her, "you really need to break this habit of yours."

His tone wasn't accusatory but Harry's hackles still rose.

"What habit?" he barked.

"Shutting us out, trying to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders." Wearily, Ron ran a hand through his hair. "Look, mate, these past few weeks have been tough. We're all on edge, but can we try to calm down for a few minutes? You're my best mate, but I haven't been here for you even though you've been suffering. I've just been so… angry. With everything, everyone. This whole world, it's taken a turn for the worse."

Harry simply stared at his redheaded friend, temporarily unsure of what to say.

When he was met by silence, the beseeching light melted away from Ron's eyes and Harry could actually see the defensive walls springing back into place.

His face flushing, Ron lowered his gaze to the table. "I know I'm shitty at these feelings talks, but I just wanted to say that I'm sorry and I'll try harder to be here for you and 'Mione. I just hope that you could try to reciprocate that a bit, too. And I–"

Apparently too mortified to manage anymore words, Ron's mouth snapped shut and he lurched to his feet, no doubt to make his own flighty exit.

"I'm sorry as well." Harry's words were so soft, they could have easily been overlooked if the room hadn't been as silent as a grave. He met Ron's gaze, no longer attempting to hide the exhaustion in his own eyes. A vulnerability he so rarely allowed himself. "I'm sorry for disappointing you both."

Unspoken words hovered between them, but that was all Ron needed to slump back down again, covering his mouth with his hand. "What has happened to us?" he murmured. "Hermione, You-Know-Who's schoolyard nemesis. You, his ex-boyfriend. Me…"

"A perpetually angry person?" offered Harry, and then started laughing. Within seconds they were both doubled over, the air ripe with hysterical laughter, and Harry leaned his cheek against the tabletop, his voice trickling away and tears beginning to blur the room.

He lifted his head again, blinking hard to clear his vision. "Say, Ron," he began, quiet once more. "Do you actually believe us?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Believe that we actually were stranded in the past for half a year." Harry smirked to himself – even to him it seemed an unlikely story when he heard it aloud. "You-Know-Who didn't believe me. Why should you?"

It sent a sharp jolt through his heart and the smirk abruptly melted from his face. Tom, no, Voldemort didn't believe him. Which still begged the question – why?

"I believe you because, well…" Ron pulled his shoulders up into a helpless sort of shrug. "Because you two are my friends."

Harry smiled wryly, bitterly. "That doesn't change the fact that we could just be totally bonkers."

"You're not bonkers," said Ron, his face uncharacteristically solemn. "But on the off chance that you are, then I wouldn't miss out on the ride for the world."

He grinned at Harry and Harry grinned back.

A long year had passed and they had finally reached an understanding.

Harry be feelin' single AF at the moment. Shout out to all the single pringles reading haha. And please note, the words from the book about Basilisk venom are not my own and are taken from Harry Potter Wiki.