Disclaimer – I forgot to mention, for any of you who aren't paying attention, I'm not J.K. Rowling, I don't own her characters, her magic, her world. I just love to linger with them.

2 – Stuck

Hermione should have known better than to pick up the book. It'd been left out on the table, but not by her. And she was the only one who ever read the books in this library. The rest of them all acted as though they were too good to look at the dark books in the secret library that they'd discovered under the main staircase at Grimmauld Place. Hermione couldn't resist.

The hidden entrance was behind a tapestry in the first floor sitting room. It was a small chintz covered room which had two real disadvantages. First of all, it was open to the front hall where Sirius' grandmother engaged in her frequent cursing, screaming fits. Secondly, it was full of portraits of various Black relatives who grumbled and muttered about the befouling of their pristine pure-blooded abode. As a result, few people chose this sitting room when they needed a place to sit.

However, during the cleaning of Grimmauld Place, Hermione had been helping Mrs. Weasley dust the room one day when she became fascinated by an ornate tapestry of a unicorn and a dragon circling each other warily. Later, when she found herself living in the old mansion again, she'd come back to study it, amazed that even a woven textile could somehow contain moving figures. That's when she'd discovered that they not only moved, but also could speak – the dragon taunting, the unicorn soothing, both using the cadence of medieval speech which Hermione enjoyed.

After the Battle at Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place was reinstated as the headquarters of the Order. Now that Snape's true loyalty was revealed it was clear that its secret location had never been betrayed. Kingsley appointed a new secret keeper, Arthur Weasley, and the Order moved in. Hermione and Harry were the only ones who actually lived there, each with a room on the third floor, still the house seemed to be constantly full of people. Harry wasn't allowed out at all, since they'd been informed that capturing him was now the Dark Lord's obsession. Hermione was occasionally allowed out on raids and various missions, although she felt like they'd been having her stay back more and more lately. The Weasleys were still safe at the Burrow and the other Order members flooed in for meetings.

Hermione found that living in such a busy place was trying for her. Sometimes she craved a quiet place to be by herself and read. So the sitting room became her refuge. A silencing charm kept Mrs. Black's screeching from her ears and the portraits in the room were easily quieted by the threat of turning them around to face the wall. The bickering of the dragon and unicorn became so familiar that she could usually tune them out.

One day, as Hermione was reading a fascinating book on the effects of harvesting times on potion ingredients, the dragon looked up at her and said, "Me, poor man, my library . . . ." Without looking up Hermione answered, ". . . was dukedome large enough." She looked up with a start, realizing that she'd just finished one of her favorite Shakespeare quotes. Her father had teased her with it frequently, due to her inordinate love of books. She bit her lip and frowned at the dragon, wondering where that had come from. Then her eyes widened as she saw that a door had appeared in the tapestry that hadn't been there before. Intrigued, Hermione took a closer look. She found that the door had a handle which she could grasp, and when she pulled it a passageway opened. The unicorn nodded at her, which was enough to entice Hermione to enter, and that was how the Blacks' secret library was discovered.

Of course, many of the books were dark, or at least discussed dark matters, but Hermione felt that it was important to know what was out there. They'd needed to know about horcruxes, hadn't they? And Kingsley gave her permission to study these, so if the others disapproved that was just their problem.

So, the point was, that Hermione should have been more careful when she found a book left out on the table in her secret abode. The book had a particularly enticing title - enticing to Hermione at least – "Advanced Theory of Antidotery: Make an Antidote for Any Potion." But when she picked it up to take a closer look, she soon discovered that she couldn't set it down. Her hands were glued to it. At first she chuckled, glad for another sign that George's mischievous side was re-emerging. She kept trying to smile even as she grew concerned when she couldn't get her hands to budge. Without the use of her hands it was no easy task to open the passageway out of the library - it took her much elbow-maneuvering – then she stumbled into the kitchen trying to remember that it was just a little joke.

Professor McGonagall had been enjoying some tea with Mrs. Weasley and both began to earnestly study the entrapment of Hermione's hands, but Hermione noticed that there was a definite sniggering in the hall.

"Now I don't know what to do. That separating spell should've worked," Molly said, with concern.

"Let me check something." Minerva waved her wand over the book, casting a detecting spell. "Oh, dear. I was afraid of that. There's an imperturbable charm on this book, often done to protect valuable family heirlooms. But it's keeping the usual spells from having any effect.

Hermione knew they'd best go back to the source. "George? I know you're out there. Come help me with this."

George Weasley sauntered into the room, trying to look casual, with Ron and Harry following close behind. "Oy there, Hermione. Got a spot of bother then?"

"Yes, and I'm guessing you know something about it. What did you do to this book?"

"Just an experimental charm – a sticking prank. Comes right off with a separating spell," he said waving his wand. But nothing happened.

Ron's grin slipped into giggles which he tried to muffle in his own elbow. But George began to chew nervously on the tip of his wand. "Hmm – could be a problem."

Fifteen minutes – and a dozen failed charms – later Hermione was forcing herself to take deep breaths. "What do we do? What do we do?" she murmured.

"Don't freak out, Hermione," scolded Ron. "It's just a prank."

"Just a prank? Easy for you to say. So fix it then." Hermione's hands were beginning to hurt.

Ron was the only one still chuckling. Even Harry had grown somber.

"George Prewett Weasley – you got her into this. You take care of it this instant!" Mrs. Weasley's face had reached a dangerous shade of red.

George gave one more wave of his wand and Hermione shrieked as the book tore away from her hands, leaving her bleeding from her palms and several fingertips.

"Oh, I didn't think it would . . . ." but Hermione didn't hear whatever else he had to say. She rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. She was done being a good sport. She just wanted to be alone to try to make the pain go away, make the bleeding stop.

Then she found that her right hand was hurt more than her left and she kept messing up the wand motion for the healing spell. She tried doing the spell wandless, but by now she was way too upset to focus. And every time she thought again about Ron's snide comments her eyes flooded with tears again. She understood that Ron wanted to encourage George, but didn't he care about her pain at all?

At last there was a soft knock on her door. If he'd just apologize, she'd forgive him. But it wasn't red hair that she spied peering in as the door opened. It was brown – Harry.

"Oh – Harry." She immediately felt guilty at the disappointed tone in her voice. "I was just hoping that . . . ."

"Here, stay still. Let me heal that for you." She meekly held her hands out to him and in a few minutes the skin on her hands was a new skin pink. Another wave of his wand, a Scourgify, and Harry'd cleaned her shirt and jeans.

Hermione wiped her face with the back of her nearly-good-as-new hand. Harry dropped down next to her on her bed.

"I was hoping . . . that Ron would . . . ." She sighed. She wasn't sure what she'd been hoping Ron would do, but something.

"I know." Harry seemed to understand. "He was worried about George. Mrs. Weasley was letting him have it. Ron'll probably be up in a bit."

"I just wish that . . . I understand about George, but it'd be nice if I came first sometimes. I'm supposed to be his girlfriend, but it doesn't feel like . . . ." Hermione gave up, but Harry flopped back on the bed.

"I know. If it helps at all, sometimes I feel the same way. Like I'm on the outside watching all of the Weasleys be family to each other."

"Yeah." Hermione lay back too, idly studying the cracks in the ceiling.

"Don't worry. The feeling usually passes."

After a moment Hermione said "How are you doing? You seem quiet lately. Quieter than usual."

"I know. I just feel . . . off. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. I was so sure that it'd all be over, that I was going to beat him for good. I felt like I could do it, too. But, instead, he disappeared. They all disappeared. I don't understand what happened, why he took off, what I'm supposed to do now. And I know you'll say it's a good thing, but my connection with Voldy is gone. It feels good, don't get me wrong - but weird. And I'm wondering if I'm still even the 'Chosen One'."

"You still want to be 'chosen'? I thought you'd had enough of that."

"I would have, if I'd finished him. But now – do I still have a special role? Or am I just another fighter? The Order treats me like I can do something amazing, but I sure don't know what it is. Then there's the horcruxes – they were all gone. Is he making more? Do we have to start all over?"

"Don't you think at some point he'd be afraid to split his soul anymore?"

"Maybe, or perhaps he's not human enough to be afraid. Maybe he doesn't even care anymore. Add to it the whole thing with the Elder Wand."

"Yeah – he killed Snape so he could be 'master' of it and it turned out to be nothing at all. It didn't seem to work as well as a regular wand. You saw that – he couldn't hurt Neville, his silencing didn't stick, . . . nothing."

"Hermione – you know that was a good thing."

"Of course. A great thing. Just . . . what a waste for Snape to die for a myth."

"I'm not sure it's a myth."

"Harry, you just want it to be true. You want some special wand that can kill him, some easy way out."

"None of this is easy, . . . but there's more to it than that. See – I was thinking – I don't think Snape was the master of Dumbledore's wand."

"What?"

"You know what, when we can I want to show you my memory of that night, . . . y'know, the night Dumbledore . . . died. I think it's still important. The thing is, first off Dumbledore wanted Snape to kill him. They had an agreement. So that's not Snape defeating Dumbledore. But even if it was – I don't know how it works – what counts as defeating someone."

"So you don't think Dumbledore was defeated – but then, would taking his wand from him, from his tomb, would that count?"

"Yeah. Or there's more. See Snape didn't disarm Dumbledore. That'd already been done."

"It had? By whom?"

"Malfoy. That's the first thing that happened. Dumbledore was weak, weak from the poison he drank, and maybe from the curse in his hand too. Malfoy disarmed him as soon as he came up."

"Wow. So Malfoy could be the master of the Elder Wand, . . . if there even is such a thing, if it even matters."

"Yeah, or . . . ."

Hermione waited for him to go on, still wondering if all of this meant something or if it was just a myth. She turned to look at Harry. He was just staring at the ceiling.

"Harry? What? What were you going to say?"

"Promise you won't laugh."

"Don't worry. I'm not in a laughing mood."

"The thing is, at Malfoy Manor, you might not have seen it, but I took three wands from Malfoy. Just grabbed them out of his hand. Does that count as disarming?"

Hermione tried to remember. Had she ever seen a definition of disarming? Where would you find such a thing? "It seems like it would. It shouldn't matter if you did it by magic or not. I mean, Voldemort took Dumbledore's wand, just took it out of his hand I guess. He probably didn't use any magic for that. But does it matter whether it was the Elder Wand you took? Is disarming the master of the Elder Wand enough?"

"And what if he didn't fight me? What if he just let me have them?"

"He didn't fight you for them?"

"No, but it might have been because I surprised him. He wasn't expecting me to just grab them."

"Maybe. Although . . . he did act strangely that night."

"Come on, Hermione. I thought you'd given up on that whole maybe he's changed bit." Harry's tone was kind, but his words still stung.

After the Battle of Hogwarts Hermione had told Ron and Harry that she'd seen something different in Malfoy that night, that she thought he'd turned on the Dark Lord. They hadn't been convinced, but she'd run into him in a hallway, while she was looking for Harry. They'd spoken, almost friendly words. When Voldemort disappeared with all his Death Eaters, she'd been truly surprised that Draco had chosen to go with them. It was all settled for certain, at least for Harry and Ron, during the later attack on Diagon Alley. Malfoy had killed Katie Bell, point blank, with an Avada Kedavra. Hermione's head told her she'd been wrong, but she still couldn't forget when she'd seen real regret in his eyes.

It wasn't something she could explain to Harry though. Best to just avoid the subject altogether. She turned her mind back to the Elder Wand.

"Harry – we have to be careful about this. I was thinking . . . at first I was thinking we should ask Olivander about it. We should ask him what counts. I'm not even sure if he'd know. But now . . . I don't think we should. I just don't trust him that much. If you are . . . if you are the master of the Elder Wand . . . that's dangerous. We shouldn't tell anyone what you think."

"I know. In fact, . . . Hermione, don't take this wrong. Don't tell anyone."

Hermione stared at him, trying to figure out if he meant what she thought he meant. "You mean . . . ," her voice came out as a whisper, "Ron?"

"Yeah." Harry's face flinched with guilt. "Don't tell him. . . . It's just that . . . I don't know . . . I don't know how he'd take it."

"Okay." Hermione felt horrible. They'd be breaking their trio again. Somehow though, she thought maybe Harry was right.

"I'll tell him later. When we know more." Hermione bit her lip. She wondered if Harry really meant that. As they lay on the bed in silence, Hermione vaguely listened to the noises below them in the house – talking, doors closing, people moving about.

"Harry? What if it isn't you? What if it's Malfoy?"

"I don't think he'd know. I don't think he'd even know that Dumbledore had it, that Voldemort thinks he has it."

"Unless Voldemort tells him." Hermione tried to picture that scene. She couldn't quite do it.

"Which would be stupid, but he might do it, might brag about it."

"Do you think Malfoy would put it together? What happened on the Astronomy Tower?"

"He might. He's smart . . . and he saw, like all of us saw, that it wasn't working right for Voldemort." Harry frowned, trying to remember where Malfoy had been, there at the end.

"Do you think Voldemort knows? Do you think he'll figure it out?"

"If he does, Malfoy's a dead man."

Hermione shivered, remembering how cold Voldemort had been, how matter of fact, when he killed Professor Snape.

"Harry – so you think it still has to be you – you still have to kill him?"

"I think I have to give it a shot."

Hermione chewed her lip, trying to figure out how to ask an awkward question. "Is that why . . . well, how are things with Ginny? I mean, now that he can't see into your head any more. Is it safe enough for you to . . . ."

Harry smiled at her bumbling. "Did she put you up to this?"

"No. No, although she has talked to me about it. She just wants to know where she stands with you, what you're thinking. You should talk to her."

"You're right. I'm just being a coward. The connection is broken, but it's not like she'd be safe. He still hates me, and still would use any of my friends against me."

"She's not safe then now. No safer than any of the rest of us. Have you talked to her about this?" Hermione heard footsteps, coming up the stairs. It was about time.

"No . . . I want to, I do. It's just that I hardly ever get to see her. Her parents are so worried about her. They're keeping her away from the rest of us, I think. When I do get to talk to her, we're hardly ever alone and . . . ."

"Is that it, really? I think you're just punishing yourself or . . . ."

There was a faint knock on the door – "Hello? Hey, Hermione?" It was Ron.

"In here." She rolled her eyes at Harry and sat up. Ron peeked in the door, then hurried in, holding a plate out in front of him.

"I . . . uh . . . brought you a sandwich." He held it out to her.

She knew this was a peace offering. She wasn't hungry, but she said "Thanks," and took the plate.

"I'll just leave you two . . . to . . . uh . . . chat or whatever." Harry stood and fidgeted for a moment, before heading out. Just as he went out the door, he looked back at Hermione to make sure she was okay. She nodded, then turned to look at Ron.

"So what is this? Turkey on rye?"

"Yeah. Mustard, no mayonnaise." He'd gotten that part right. "So, um, . . . how're your hands doing?"

Hermione had just taken a bite of the sandwich, so she held up a hand, palm out, to show him the newly healed pink skin.

"Oh, so they weren't so bad then." Ron leaned back against the chair by her desk.

Hermione swallowed, and shot Ron a stern look. "No, Ronald, they were. Harry healed them for me."

"Oh. I mean, I was going to . . . ." There was a loud crack of apparition downstairs, followed immediately by the sound of the front door opening, a crash that shook the house, and a deep groan.

"What the . . . ." Ron began, but Hermione was already on her feet. They hurried down the stairs, as others emerged from all over the house. As they reached the top of the first floor stairs they could see Hagrid's enormous form on the floor of the front hall.

Harry had been the first to reach him. He yelled, loudly to be heard over Walburga Black, "Someone get a healer! And some of that dittany stuff! And some towels!"

"Accio dittany!" Hermione summoned the dittany she kept in her room, and grabbing the bottle as it flew down the stairs, ran down to Harry.

"Hagrid? Can you hear me? What happened?" Harry now had Hagrid's huge head in his lap. Hermione started to use the dittany on a set of three slashes across Hagrid's cheek, but Harry waved her off, pointing to Hagrid's torso. Hermione glanced down and realized that Hagrid's shirt was torn and his entire front was coated in blood.

"Was in the forbidden forest, . . ." Hermione was quite relieved that he was conscious and able to talk, even if his voice wasn't as strong as usual. "They jumped me, a half dozen of 'em, the cowards."

"Who? Who did this?"

"Greyback . . . and a whole pack of his friends."

"Where does it hurt the worst, Hagrid?" Hermione was not sure where to begin.

"Me leg. Reckon I splinched meself. Never apparated before." Hermione found a large and spreading spot of blood on his lower left leg. She took some dittany on her hand and reached gingerly into the tear in Hagrid's pant leg.

"Had they turned?" Harry asked. Hagrid looked at him, puzzled. "Were they . . . you know . . . werewolves?"

"No. Just a bunch of mangy looking folks. Most of 'em just hit me with sticks and stuff."

There was the sound of someone pushing his way down the stairs. "Excuse me, pardon me, can I get through?"

Hermione looked up to see most of the house's inhabitants gathered either in the hall or on the staircase, and the short, stocky form of Healer Pye elbowing his way down the stairs behind them.

Harry had one more question, as Healer Pye reached Hagrid and began to roll up his sleeves. "What were you doing out there in the forest?"

"Needed . . . wolfsbane. I'm . . . uh . . . that's a problem. Hermione, I reckon we're gonna need . . . some research."

"That's enough. I have work to do here." Healer Pye shoo'd them away and Hermione and Harry retreated to sit on the stairs with Ron and wait.