AN: In Loving Memory of those who never disembarked the Titanic on 14-15 April 1912 (the author is a history nerd).

Falling Covers

Harry had met with Dumbledore the week they returned from Holiday.

He hadn't told her to, but Hermione was staying up to talk with him once he got back. She had returned to the tower after ten, knowing quite well Lavender would be in bed and she'd be able to nestle into her own corner of the Common Room uninterrupted.

What she didn't know was that there would be someone waiting for her when she got back.

Ron was still sitting down there when she came through the portrait hole. He looked up, his long body peaking up over the couch to see who it was. The flames from the fire place mirrored against his face sending camouflage to his own red cheeks.

"Patrol go late?" he asked, trying to busy himself with whatever assignment he had pulled in front of him. His books said it was Defense Against the Dark Arts but his essay said Charms Promoting Continuity in Transfiguration of Small Objects.

She lowered her bag down in the chair opposite him, taking off her shoes and jacket before leaning into the warm embrace of the chair. "Was in the library. I don't patrol on Thursdays."

"Right, Thursdays," Ron said uncomfortably, looking down at the essay's blank bits of parchment and then back at her again, a question furrowed in between his eye brows.

She half expected him to ask for her help. What she wasn't expecting was him to sit up right and say, "Mum missed you this Christmas. She kept your sweater at the Burrow in case you popped in for a visit."

"Ginny told me when she gave it, I still need to write her a Thank You note," she answered coolly, opening up a book but looking over its pages to Ron as though she was trying to read him instead.

She had only spent one Christmas with the Weasley Family. It had been the Christmas of her fifth year, when she had snuck away from the last Skiing party and returned to London to be with the Weasleys and Harry at St. Mungos. Sirius had made that Christmas one to remember, helping decorate Grimmauld place with holly and wreaths, singing off key carols and resurrecting decorations that had last been used prior to his incarceration. She had helped Mrs Weasley, George and Ginny in the kitchen making puddings and cakes they'd take to the Mr. Weasley's Christmas Morning.

Ron came in after he was unable to cheer Harry up and they had been charged with the task of icing cookies and cutting out gingerbread. He had rolled up his sleeves and handed her the various hues of icing, keeping the peace till Fred came in jinxing the knives to flick icing at them.

It was one of her favorite Christmases. It was her first, other than the Yule Ball, where she had gotten to see how wizards did the holiday outside of school. She remembered how that seemed to be the last real Christmas they had before the war seemed to sweep them all away. The next year, she would be hiding in the castle, and the year after that nearly being killed by Nagini at Godrics Hollow.

It was the memory of Christmas Puddings and warm, soft knitted jumpers that kept her that year. Although she couldn't seem to think of the jumper without the thought of Ron kicking at her heart. That was the only reason she said his name that day. Because he had been on her mind so much, she said it in a hope that saying his name aloud would expel him from her memories altogether and she could find a way to dial into the Queen's Christmas Message on Ron's old radio.

"She said you should come next year," Ron said, and Hermione knew he was painfully trying to stretch the conversation out. Perhaps give an olive branch. That maybe there was something else he was trying to say, maybe an apology. That, or see how much he could get her to talk before he did something to annoy her. To see if he could resistate any friendship between them in the silent moments by the crackling fire, away from anyone's inquisitive gaze.

But Next Year seemed to echo in her head.

Next year, Ron would be spending Christmas in hiding with Bill and Fleur.

Next year, her and Harry would be leaving white and red Christmas roses at a grave as they raced towards their own.

Next year, she would wake up in a cold cot without a small, well wrapped knitted sweater or a new book from her father.

Next year, no one would know where she was. Next year, no one would know if she was alive or dead.

"You should take your girlfriend home to meet you family at Christmas, not me." She said briskly, looking down at her own book, trying to tuck the future into a corner that would keep it away. He offers a peace branch and shoot him down with it. "Besides, what would Lav-Lav say?"

That seemed to shut him up. His pen now ferociously working against the parchment, sending flecks of ink to the air while she stared without seeing the words on her page.

When the war had ended, when she, Harry and Ron had decided to go on the skiing adventure that sent her back here, Mrs Weasley had given her consent with a condition: they all meet at the Burrow a few days before to have a proper, family Christmas. The first one since there was peace. Molly Weasley was owed that at the very least.

So the weekend before, everyone was sleeping in the Burrow. Mr. Weasley had joked that he'd have to start adding on another floor if they kept adding people to the family. Fleur was five months along with the first Weasley Grandchild. Charlie was visiting from Romania with a group of friends who had wanted to see England in the post-war. Percy was home and had brought a girl from the Office, Audrey, in to meet his family. Although Angelina and George were in a transition phase from friendship to something more, she was absent from the gathering, staying to man the shop while George was off. She had joked it was also to make sure George didn't show up there, but stay at home with his family.

That night, she and Ron again were tasked with icing cookies and cutting gingerbread men. When Ron rolled up his sleeves this time, she could still see the pink, vine like marks of the brains on his freckled skin. Her own arm baring a one word souvenir of the war. It was like last time, with Ginny and Harry coming in to join, and more often then not steal one of their finished products from the Father Christmas plate.

George snuck in towards the end, rolling up his own sleeves and started to ice a yellow star when his eyes fell on Hermione's arm, as though he was seeing the word for the first time.

It wasn't, he had seen her tug her sleeves down her arm at funerals, his own finger tracing the word with hesitation, as though if he touched it, the wound would open again.

"We all have our scars, don't we?" he asked, brushing his hair behind where his ear should be "The living not left unscathed."

She wanted to ask him how he was doing. How he and Angelina was doing. She wanted to watch the two of them interact, because when they did the lines around his eyes seemed to dissipate and he looked as though the war hadn't aged him as much as it had. She wanted to see the two of them together, his head turned to the other side because when he laughed and she could see his ear, she could pretend that was Fred and George had just stepped out to get some surprise the two of them had concocted for Christmas. She wanted to pretend that he was still there. That the other half of George Weasley wasn't resting beneath the white tomb and Christmas snow. She wanted to pretend he was here, trying to lure them into a calm and Fred would come around the corner and start flicking icing at them.

She felt someone shaking her shoulder pulling her back from her thoughts. She opened her eyes and saw Harry, looking concerned as he tried stirring her from her slumber.

She was curled into the chair, her face towards the fire and a throw blanket pulled to her arm. Her book had fallen from her lap and she looked across to see where Ron had been sitting was now clear, the only thing left in his wake his inkwell.

"You should go to bed Hermione, it's late," Harry said, his own voice sounding tired, but she had a feeling that may be from a different form of exhaustion.

"What time is it?" she asked, her words coming out slurred as she yawned.

"Twelve thirty. I just got done talking with Dumbledore," he answered, collapsing into the couch and rubbing his eyes, " Remember when our biggest concern was how I was going to breath underwater for the Second task?"

She shifted up, picking up her book and sitting it on her lap, "Rather face some Mermaids than whatever it is Dumbledore told you?"

Harry gave a weak smile, " Something like that." He replied as he tried to sit up. She watched as his eyes looked at the fireplace, "How do you get someone to talk about one of their worst memories? Something you'd rather lie about than admit?"

Slughorn she thought trying to go through the notebook in her head.

This term, at least, the next two months, would be Harry trying to extract that memory from Slughorn. The one that confirmed to Dumbledore that Voldemort had indeed created Horcruxes. It was information that she could easily give Dumbledore. She had told him, even before she realized how critical that information was, that they spent their seventh year tracing the countryside for them. She didn't understand why he was giving him this mission. Dumbledore knew they were there, why still press Harry to get this detail?

Because some things you have to work to know rather than have the information provided to you—a voice seemed to whisper to her. Perhaps it was the same reason Dumbledore never told Harry he was a horcrux. He had to work that detail out, have that piece of information given to him at the end of the road rather than the beginning.

She could easily tell you the struggles of knowing ahead of time what the future held.

"One of my worst memories was third year when you and Ron wouldn't speak to me after the Firebolt," she said clearly, flipping her attention away from the fire, "And just when things were looking better Ron came unglued about Scabbers and Crookshanks. Do you remember that?"

She noticed how he winced at her words. " Were we that bad we were the worst memory?"

Hermione shrugged, and then looked to the fire "Oh don't give me that look, you two are also among the best memories," she chided, "Looking back, there's been worst roads since. It was just rough because I lost the two of you so quick—one of the events was out of my control, the other was just trying to keep you safe—I didn't realize why I was the villain for that." Silence crackled against the fireplace and she turned again to see Harry. "See, not too bad. I gave you my worst memory just like that."

That was another lie. Her arm burned as though it knew the word that would be carved there. She supposed before the war it might have been a truth.

Harry gave her a wry smile, tossing a pillow in her general direction. "Memory's a bit darker than two adolescent idiots," he started, staring at the fire as though it had some hidden answer. "I have to get Slughorn to tell me about when Voldemort asked him about Horcruxes."

"You think Slughorn gave him a private lesson on creating dark magic?" Hermione asked, trying to appear appalled, She had gotten better at acting this second time around. "Harry he was a Hogwarts teacher, surely—"

"He trusts his students to be better. If you're a slug you could get away with anything and say it was in the name of academics and maybe get a slap on the wrist. Slughorn probably thought that he was doing research for Defense Against the Dark Arts, or perhaps that it was a term he came around in a book—" Harry started fluffing the back of his hair, "Who knows, maybe he did find out about it that way and he term just sounded cool. I mean—he has a thing for names—"

How did we do this last time—

"You know, I wasn't able to get a lot of research done at home over Christmas, I'll go to the library straightaway in the morning, see if I can find anything about Horcruxes," that wasn't going to work, she knew that. She lived in the library for weeks after Harry first told her about Horcruxes and she had only been able to find them meagerly mentioned in an introduction. Hermione wondered what would happen if she told him to simply take a swig of Felix and ask Slughorn then—

No, that needs to be Harry's idea. She warned herself, You tell him and he'll drown the bottle. Remember how lucky you were last time when the Death Eaters came? If you make one wrong move, Billy Weasley could become a full blown werewolf or even worse—

"Thanks Hermione," Harry smiled, "But don't you dare spend the whole day in the library—we have apparition lessons this weekend."

She rolled her eyes, "If Magdungus Fletcher can apparate, we should have nothing to worry about." That was the truth. She was a pretty fair apparater. After all, she had apparated them out of the wedding when the Death Eaters arrived. She had also taken them when they were at the Ministry, and again when they fled into the forest. Only that one time had one of them been Splinched, but even then she had been prepared. Lessons this time would be easy. She'd just have to play the role of an overachieving Hermione Granger, and she had created that role with ease.

Harry must have said something when she was lost in her thoughts because he kept looking at her, as though he was waiting for a response.

"Sorry?" she poised, hoping he would repeat himself but he just shook his head, looking at her again. "Is everything alright Hermione? You—you have moments when your here and then you seem to—you've just been different lately."

She motioned her head towards the stairs, "Those two still," she said simply. She didn't bring up that she still liked to poke at Ron every now and again when they were alone together that he had chosen Lavender. She didn't bring up how when he was trying to be civil to her earlier she had used Lavender as a means to shut him up.

You didn't have a blanket on you when you passed out, a voice seemed to churn in her head, how did that get there?

"You can't look—"

"Its hard to look past it when its in front of you everyday," Hermione said stiffly. "Perhaps some day—"

March 1st to be exact. She starts to look past it on Ron's Birthday because Ron was able to look past Lavender to Her. But that was then—now, what are you going to do now, now that things with Fred—

Those feelings of affection that had stirred in her the day she told him about her parents. Those feelings that had lingered with her the last few months towards him—they were almost sweeter feelings that those she had held towards Ron when she fell through time.

She didn't know what she was going to do when Ron had his accident. When he said her name in the Hospital Wing. Last time, it had been enough to break the spell. This time— she didn't know what would happen when he said her name surrounded by Hermione and his brothers, surrounded by Hermione and Fred.

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. "If you ever tell him I told you this, I will deny it to the last," he said mischievously, his face finally young and not battle warn. "Try calling him Sweetheart and see what he does…."

((*))

Hermione's free periods became dedicated library time, more so than previously, after her conversation from Harry.

She knew she wasn't going to find any book on Horcruxes. She pulled a few, and made sure to do it more sporadically, mixing it in with a few charms books or History of Defense, just to throw Madam Price off her trail. That was the last thing anyone one needed. She could only envision the conversation between the librarian, Headmaster and Professor McGonagall on why Hermione Granger was pulling the Dark Arts off the shelves.

So while she did her homework and half heartedly flipped through these books, she would take breaks and start planning in Fred's book. She had already started making a budget for the months they were on the run. She had taken all of her savings when she had closed her account at the bank. There was enough for them to live in limited comfort. She hadn't known how long the war would go on last time. With an end date in sight, she could stretch her pounds a little further and make it work out to their benefit.

But there was another thought that pulled at her mind—

If she made the budget tighter, she could squeeze some galleons out to go to muggleborns in hiding, or those that made it back to the school only to go into hiding in Hogwarts itself.

She could make their budget even more limited; maybe if she kept it as strict as it had been before, Ron would get irritated and mixed in with the horcrux, he'd still leave them. Then they'd go through the absence with a budget for two. And maybe she could help someone out that way—

She didn't know who she'd give the money to, Neville perhaps? But how could she give him an envelop and tell him to take it and use it as he saw fit. Neville wouldn't , not without asking questions about what she was going to do. Ginny would be the same—

Part of her wondered what Fred would do if she asked him to take money and see that Neville or Ginny got it. She could give it to him the night before they disappeared. He would be hesitant, but she didn't have a doubt in her mind that he'd follow her wishes.

It could be enough to get them out of the country. Get them somewhere safe. Maybe she could get the Creevy brothers to Illvermorny. The Galleon was stronger than the American Currency. If they transferred their own accounts, they'd be able to study abroad for a year. Or they could even stay closer at Beauxbatons and just use Hermione's scholarship as get way cash.

At the very least, that'd be one less grave she'd have to place flowers on.

She had also started listing assets, that list wasn't long at all. It was, in short, just her house. Her parent's house. It was bewitched to be unseen, muggleproof, just like Number 12. She could put the Filledus charm on it and they could stay there after they get kicked out of Grimmuald place.

Or, she could offer it up to muggleborns to hide in. Or offer it to the Order.

Or she could offer it to Fred and George.

It was insane how much trust she had towards the two. She was prepared to had them her family home and a good portion of her savings so they could use it in a war to safe lives she wasn't even sure could be saved. But she was going to be on the run with Harry looking for Horcruxes they would never find. She had to make sure that course would stay true.

It wasn't to her surprise when she got out of the library after a course of Budgeting the Future that Harry asked her what was wrong. But he knew better than to expect the truth from her.

"She must have heard about it too Harry," Ron grumbled, seeing how far he could dig his fists into his pockets. "It's not bloody fair—I was to come of age on a Hogsmede weekend. We could have gotten Fire Whiskey."

"They canceled Hogsmeade didn't they?" Hermione asked, her thoughts rushing back to the present as they made their way to the Great Hall for Appparation Training.

Ron snorted an answer. "Well you can hardly blame the Governors, Katie Bell is still in St. Mungos and we never caught who jinxed her," she retorted, "Besides, you don't want your Birthday and Deathday to match."

"So long as I get a Bloody Fire Whisk—"

To her chagrin, the Ministry Official had started talking, instructing them on the three D's and describing the horrors of being splinched. She cast a glance around the room and could see Susan Bones, eyeing her hoop with hesitation. Dean and Seamus were talking on the side and Lavender had worked her way towards Ron.

"Now remember, Destination, Determination Deliberation—" the instructor repeated, tapping his hand against his leg as he spoke each D. "If you don't do either enough, you'll be more a harm to yourself than you will be a help.

He told them to focus on the hoops in front of them. Hermione closed her eyes and when she opened she was already in the circle, Ernie MacMillian whistling while Professor Flitwick applauded, awarding her five points to Gryffindor.

"Leave it to Hermione Granger to be the best in class," Ernie winked from across his circle. She could feel eyes on her and turned to Professor McGonagall, looking at her and slightly shaking her head, looking to a Ministry official scribbling notes on a paper.

"You've never apparated before have you Hermione?" Harry asked, still looking at the circle infront of him. "It just comes natural?"

"You can do it Harry," Hermione offered but her eyes were in the distance as well, now locked on the Ministry Official McGonagall had nodded towards. It wasn't anyone she recognized, but she knew what McGonagall was trying to tell her—the Ministry was taking notes of their skills, and this time—and quite possibly until she, Harry and Ron disappeared—they were better off to be inconspicuous than they were to be otherwise.

((*))

The shop had been closed for over an hour when they heard the knock at the back door.

George got up first, flipping a switch he had developed on his desk that masked the mess and made everything look respectable, just in the event it was ever mum that came to visit. Fred had one too he just chose more often than not to keep the mess prevalent. No one could find what they were looking for anyway.

Christmas had been good to the shop, their Guardians having been a best seller and had sold out following another Dementor Attack in Aberdeen they had sold out and were on a rush to produce more each week. The Ministry was also looking into them, seeing if they could produce in bulk so as to start sending them out to the population at large.

Fred and George found it funny that their best customer by far was the Ministry of Magic, but perhaps it was because their father was leading the witch hunt against talismans and tall tale solutions and the Ministry though Arthur would be just as severe on his own sons. Little did the Ministry know some of their defense line was their father's ideas more so than their own.

"Fred, you have an owl," George said, Remus Lupin coming in behind him.

Fred got up from his seat, "I thought you said you wouldn't come to the shop." He looked at Remus and saw how tired the man looked. He scooted his chair towards the guest, offering him a moments respite. He had a few new scars on his hands and Fred could only begin to guess where he found them. He looked through the drapes and saw the moon was waning now. This wounds were all too fresh.

"I waited until I saw you close, and even then I waited for the block to clear," he took out his wand and waved it in the direction of the door, three dead bolts locking simultaneously. That would trigger their defense charms, but Remus knew that.

"There was another attack—" he started, pulling at the sleeve of his arm. "I couldn't wait for word to pass our way, it could take to long for you to get the signal."

George lifted one of the first aid kits that they kept in their work shop and started cleaning off some of the dry blood on his arm, as Fred snapped open a container of Essence of Dittany and put it on a cotton ball.

"Remus, where are you finding this information?" he asked.

Lupin winced as the twins doctored his arm. "I'm undercover, for Dumbledore," he grimaced, "There is a Werewolf colon in the Welsh Mountains. It's independent of Greyback's pack, but there are some that are starting to want to join up with him."

"And Dumbeldore wants you to persuade them to stay independent?" George asked.

"Ideally, Dumbledore wants them to come to our side, but Greyback's feeding on their distrust towards wizards. You take a community that's been ostracized and offer them a piece and role in a new world order it'll only be so long before they want to join up," Lupin answered, flicking his own wand and having wrappings zoom to his arm.

"My mission had been working but Greyback himself showed up in camp right before the full moon. He told them his offer, and many of them have agreed to start coordinating their attacks on Welsh Muggles under Greyback's direction. I took down the names of the communities—" he used his good arm to dig out a scribbled list of towns and villages, taking it's crinkled edges and pushing it towards Fred, "Take this. This needs to go to Dumbledore now."

George took the list before Fred could reach it, his brows furrowing together as he looked at each name, "This needs to get to everyone, we need to let these communities know!"

"We can hardly write a news letter and put it in the Prophet," Remus rebuttled, " It would cause a panic, our best hope lies in Dumbledore and the Order—"

Our best hope, Fred thought and the room seemed to be warmer than it had earlier. Our best hope was in Harry defeating Voldemort in one of his annual, end of term battles to the death.

"What did the Order do last time this happened?" he asked, looking at Lupin.

"Everything happened so quick last time. The war was on its fifth year by the time we finished at Hogwarts. The werewolves were already aligned with Voldemort. They were slower to over this go around—"

"But surely, James, Sirius and you didn't play good little soldiers all the time," Fred interrupted, tapping his hand against the desk.

"Did you ever leak warnings out? In case the Order couldn't get to people in time?" George wagered.

Lupin seemed to look off in the distance with a sly smile, "Sirius and I used to drop pamphlets in pubs. Our kinds pubs. Heightened patrols, suggested vacations-"

Fred took the list of names and scribbled one of his own, tucking his to a corner of the desk and the original to his pocket.

"I'll get this to Dumbledore straight away, but I think we could make a few stops after the fact," he started. "After all, the Kids are supposed to go to Hogsmeade next week," Fred offered surveying the calendar on the wall, a circle drawn in red towards the end of the week. "It's Ron's birthday, maybe we can do a drop of our own."

AN: Kind of an erupt ending of a Chapter, but this chapter is heaped in foreshadow...not only for next chapter but for down the road.

I won't lie though, next chapter is one I've been wanting to write since I came up with this story.

So, Spoilers :

Hermione wakes up to 1 March to memories of her previous life. She's still unsure what she's going to do when Ginny finds her and tells her what has happened. Everything seems to be at a still and only gets harder when Fred and George arrive. As they sit around his bed waiting for any news a name is muttered and everything as they know it seems to fall apart...