A/N So last night I realized I may have led you all to believe this is the proposal chapter. It's not. It's something else but I'm still super excited because things are really coming together. I'm sure you're all wondering what it is so I'll skip the pleasantries. Enjoy!

Ginny sat in her room in the Burrow, staring at the ceiling. It was quiet without Fred and George and she was lonely without someone who understood her. Harry was staying with Sirius at Grimmauld Place but Ginny found that she didn't mind his company when he wasn't with Ron. She didn't enjoy him, exactly, but she didn't despise him as much as she thought. He really did want to see the good in Hermione, he just didn't realize he was. Ginny was tempted to tell him about the real goal of the Death Eaters but knew she would be giving herself away. She wasn't sure he would believe her, anyway. With Ron being practically attached to Harry, his rambling would distract him from her words.

Ginny sighed, her thoughts lingering on her brother. He was severely misguided and she briefly wondered if he was under a compulsion charm as she had been. She quickly dismissed the thought when she realized her brother had always been that way. It wasn't visible to everyone, probably just herself, but her brother was jealous of Hermione's role in the Golden Trio. He had contributed, sure, but not with the consistency Hermione had. And when he did do something helpful, he never really got credit for it. Harry and Hermione gave him credit for it, of course, but the rest of the world had been captivated by Hermione's intelligence, especially because they believed she was Muggle-born. Harry was focused on because he was the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived. Ron was always, just, Ron in the world's eyes. She supposed it was unfair, but he didn't have to be an arse about it. Now that Hermione was gone, he was trying to get the recognition he thought he deserved, but the only way he knew how to do it was by being obnoxious. It was sad, really, how much her brother wanted to be loved like Hermione had been and Harry was.

Harry wandered around Diagon Alley alone, wanting time away from Sirius and Grimmauld Place. It was difficult to think about everything that had happened and he needed to do it by himself, without Dumbledore, or Sirius, or Mad-Eye, or anyone. He needed to sort things out in his head on his own, without the influence of other people. He needed to form his own opinions. Harry had realized this one the train ride to King's Cross from Hogwarts. Ron had been telling him something, he didn't really remember, had taken to mostly tuning him out because all he talked about was Hermione. He was tired of hearing about everything that had happened, was still trying to figure out why Hermione had switched sides. She had always been morally driven, but what Harry knew about Voldemort and the Death Eaters was that they were bad. He wished he had handled the situation better, had realized he was failing as a friend.

As Harry stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron, he caught a flash of familiar brown hair. He turned, knowing immediately that it was Hermione. She was alone, which he thought was odd, but he took the opportunity to do what he had been hoping to for months, he followed her. She only had one bag with her, but he didn't recognize the logo, not that he was focused too closely on what she was carrying, he was more concerned with catching up to her. He didn't remember her ever walking so fast. She entered a small apothecary shop and Harry decided to wait outside for her to exit. It was only a few minutes before she was exiting the store, another bag floating magically next to her.

"Hermione, can I talk to you? Just for a moment?" he asked before she walked away. She chewed her lip, eyeing him warily and Harry held his breath in anticipation. She finally nodded, and Harry released his breath in a puff of visible air. She led him to a quiet spot where they were unlikely to be seen by any passerby. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he didn't think Hermione wanted to hurt him, not lethally, anyway.

"Hermione, I-look, I'm really sorry I wasn't a better friend to you. I guess I just never realized how selfish I was being and I know I probably played a big part of you leaving but I-we-could really use you back," he said, stumbling slightly over his words. It was difficult for him to find the words he wanted to say to her.

"I can't, Harry. And I won't apologize, either, because I'm not sorry. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, you were part of the reason I left, but so was pretty much everybody." Hermione shifted awkwardly, not entirely prepared for this conversation. She had noticed Harry following her, of course, but she didn't think it would be so they could have a conversation.

"I can't do this without you."

"I know, Harry. But I can't help you."

"Why not? You used to be so different, Hermione. You used to be on the good side." Harry fought to keep the irritation out of his voice, knowing it wouldn't do him any good.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe I am on the good side?" Hermione asked, turning away from Harry and walking away before she lost her temper. He stood there, staring after and trying to work out her statement. It confused him that Hermione thought she was on the good side when she so obviously wasn't. By the time he thought to follow after her to try again, she was gone. Harry was left standing on the sidewalk in the snow, looking around for any sight of Hermione. He didn't find her again, but he supposed it was a good sign she had talked to him, even if it wasn't much of a conversation. He had more to think about now, but he suddenly felt sick of Diagon Alley and wanted to be back at Grimmauld Place.

Neville sat in his parent's room at St. Mungo's, a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. He stared at it, the mini marshmallows had melted and formed that white froth-like substance. He couldn't bring himself to look at his parents today, had a hard time seeing them as they were. He loved them, even if they didn't know who he was, even though he didn't know who they were. They had given up their sanity to protect him, and he would always be grateful for that. He hoped they would be proud of the man he had become because of their sacrifice. He couldn't wait for the war to be over so he could have them back. His grandmother did her best, but she didn't always know how to help him. Things had changed since she had raised children, and he had the tiny thought that she blamed him for his parents' state. Neville gripped his cup tighter, jaw clenching slightly as he swore to do whatever it took to bring his parents back. He had a part to play, and even though he didn't know what it was, he knew he would need every ounce of courage he possessed. Hermione was risking everything for them and it was only right for him to be willing to do the same, no matter the cost. Neville cast a glance at his parents, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

As he was leaving, Neville accidentally bumped into an older wizard with short black hair and dark, shining eyes. He apologized, receiving a nod from the strange wizard before exiting the reception area of St. Mungo's. The air was cold and the sun was hidden behind clouds. The snow on the ground was dirty and trampled, almost packed into ice on the walkways but not quite. Neville pulled his collar up, securing his scarf firmly around his neck. He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking down the street and wandering Muggle London aimlessly.

Minerva unwrapped the oddly shaped parcel on her dining room table. She wasn't sure who it was from, the owl unfamiliar to her, but it was beautiful. Its nearly black feathers shimmered healthily in the light and its amber eyes twinkled with intelligence. It refused to let her untie the parchment from its leg until she opened the parcel. Minerva slowly peeled back the wrapping, gasping when her eyes fell upon a familiar vine wand. The owl hopped over to her, holding out its leg as she untied the parchment. It flew off when she finished, black feathers catching the light. Minerva unrolled the parchment, still unsure of why Hermione had sent her wand.

Minerva,

I do not wish for you to come to harm. When the time comes, present this wand and you will be left alone. I cannot tell you the plan but you'll know when to use it.

Hermione

She read the short letter again, eyebrows furrowed as she held the wand in her hand. She tucked it into her robe pocket, knowing if the wrong person found it she would be in trouble. She trusted Hermione enough that she believed her, even if she didn't necessarily trust the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Whatever the plan was, it would be dangerous and Minerva couldn't help but worry about the man she respected as a headmaster and the young witch she thought of as a daughter.

Fred and George put the finishing touches on the last outfit they had to make. It was for Ginny, specially designed and requested by Hermione. It was Ginny's Christmas present, made special for her. They were going to give her the basic template but Hermione had asked and they complied. They wanted the best for their younger sister, especially since they knew she would be joining the fray. They folded the outfit, placing it on the gold paper Hermione gave them and wrapping it tightly. On top, they placed a note from Hermione and a note from themselves. They set it on the counter next to Neville's, wrapped in red, and Luna's, wrapped in blue. Theirs had a letter from Hermione with it, too, and Fred and George stepped back, admiring their handiwork. Aurion would deliver it late on Christmas Eve when no one would be awake to see him.

Narcissa surveyed the cavern behind the waterfall without Bellatrix there to stand over her shoulder and pester her. She understood her sister's anxiety and desire for everything to be perfect, but she was a little overwhelming. She smiled, pleased with her work. Given the short time frame Bellatrix had, it was beautiful and romantic. It was beautiful and romantic anyway, and Narcissa knew Hermione would love it. She wished she could be there to see the proposal. She wasn't sure who would propose first, and she wanted to witness the moment she knew would be magical. Satisfied, Narcissa turned on her heel, leaving a single red rose on a ledge for the two witches.