A/N:

Thank you all for the support you provided with your words. Really means a lot. I hope this story meets the expectations it has built for itself.

This warning might be coming in a bit too late but now that I have kind of wrapped the plot of the upcoming chapters, I feel it's important to keep you all notified that the story is going to get extremely angsty and dark once the Hunt begins. Please be braised.

When I wrote that note in my previous chapter, this is not what I expected would happen. I was trying hopelessly to add two plot lines but something was still missing and hence the delay. Then this happened.

All Characters belong to JKR.

Chapter 31: Instinct

She looked around the cavernous kitchen where multiple pots and pans were put to work under Molly's expert ministrations. Ginny, Tonks, the boys and herself were helping around with setting of the table that would soon accommodate most of the Weasley family and the members of the Order. It was the last day at the Grimmauld Place, and Hermione felt a pang of sadness at the thought that early the next morning they would be back at the school, where she would yet again, be confined to her chambers. She would miss Ginny and Molly but most of all she would miss being a part of a large colourful family.

Carrying a large pile of plates with her wand, she crossed Tonks, who was made to handle the cutlery, as Ginny had earlier told her that the young Auror was quite prone to little accidents. She looked slightly better than the first time Hermione had seen her, and if her deductions were correct, she assumed, the mystery man would be their ex- Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin.

Meeting Professor Lupin, or Remus as he had insisted on being called, was a little embarrassing. She remembered how she had figured out that he was a Werewolf, after Professor Snape's DADA lesson back in their third year. It had taken her only one more month to match his absence with the cycle of the moon to know that she was right. She had seriously considered telling the others, but eventually only confided in Daphne. Together the two girls had debated about disclosing their findings to their Head of the House. Daphne had been much too worried about their fate in case it became known that they were the ones who had identified his secret. It was a well-known fact that Werewolves were foul, vicious creatures and Hermione had no intentions whatsoever to set the creature on her trail. In the end, they had divulged their finding to Professor Snape, who, had suggested them to write to their parents about their suspicion.

But she hadn't.

It was not because she pitied the infected Professor. Honestly, the infection was an abomination, not to forget that he appeared to be shaggy and much too poor for her liking. But despite all of that, she couldn't deny that she would be sad to see him go. He was, after all, a very good teacher, and she had really learnt a lot that year. It had been an intense internal debate with herself where the zeal to benefit from his vast expertise had won over. She told herself that keeping the secret intact was actually in her best interest. There could be many occasions from him to attack her in the future if she cost him his job. And seriously, they had survived almost a whole year without a single Werewolf related incident, hadn't they? Surely, the Headmaster would have put necessary precautions in place.

She realised now that the secret had been released after all, and the whole episode saddened her immensely on hindsight. Remus Lupin was seriously one of the most sensible, kind and amiable men she had ever met and she could see what Tonks saw in the much older man. If her assumption was correct, the ex-professor was equally enthralled by the young witch but most likely refuting her approach because of his infliction.

She had already shared her assumption with Ginny and the boys and had got to know that Molly was still hopeful that her eldest son, Bill would find the Auror fascinating. That seemed to be more than a little difficult as the ruggedly handsome Curse Breaker was madly in love with the part Veela and Beauxbaton Champion, Fleur Delacour. It still amazed Hermione how many fantastic people were part of the Weasley family, and there was no doubt that the Weasley Seniors had passed on some seriously strong genes to each of their children, both in terms of looks and talent. Speaking of which, the one Weasley she found the most attractive had pulled up a chair and was sitting alongside Harry at the finally set up table.

Ever since the evening when Harry had defeated him, Ron had seemed a little aloof to her. He still spoke and made jokes like always but there was some change that she could sense, a hint of sadness that seemed to envelop him all the time. However, in the constant company of so many people, the three of them had not found a single chance to go back to their discussion on Horcruxes, and she could not really decide if he was retreating into his shell again. At first, she would have attributed his mood to the unexpected loss at chess although, to be honest, it would be darn right immature on his part. But in the two intervening days, Ron had checkmated Harry every single time they had played. So she had mentally struck off that to be the reason. The bespectacled boy had unsuccessfully tried around twenty times so far to work up the magic again, perhaps in an attempt to show that it wasn't a fluke win but all in all, it had only served to prove otherwise. Ron had practically beaten his own record at defeating the Chosen One in a progressively lesser amount of time the more they played. It was only this afternoon that a frustrated Harry had packed up the board and declared that he was only going to play Exploding Snaps from now on.

Hermione bit back her smile and took a seat next to Ginny, who was sitting on the other side from her two friends and a few spaces ahead on the table. People trickled in slowly and soon the table was full of the familiar sounds of food passing around and talks that ranged from the Order's plans and the latest information about Voldemort's increasing power to the news of more deaths and disappearances.

But somehow still with all that was dark and gloomy, Hermione could sense the resilience, the hope that emanated from the people all around her. She looked around herself. In some strange way, this odd assortment was her friends and family now. Her past, the life she had seen seemed to have faded away in the background somewhere.

Her eyes lingered as always on the tall and fair young man who seemed to be busy talking to the people sitting closer to him. She could hardly hear what they were saying but noticed his brows furrow in concern. She took a deep breath wondering what it would be once they were on the other side of the war. It was a far away thought and the more she knew and thought about it, the more it seemed less likely that all of them would see through it. A shiver ran up her spine at the thought. How many of them would survive to tell the tale? And what if the Light side lost? What would become of the survivors then? She knew enough to know that the Dark Lord and his minions would be least likely to dole out pardon statements. In fact, death would be more merciful than most of the other 'games' they would most likely make up to play with their prisoners.

The world was already reeling trying to deal with the atrocities of one madman who was hell bent on eradicating the ones he didn't see fit to live in his regime, and if that thought wasn't daunting enough, there were four more fragments of him hidden somewhere in this world.

It was at that precise moment that the true enormity of the task that lay in front of them hit her. She had been chosen to fight too, chosen and given a chance to take revenge for the murder of her parents and the life that was snatched away from her. But as Dumbledore had said, neither this choice nor this path was going to be easy. Perhaps so for these brave-hearts who sat all around her; they had chosen to be in this fight willingly, each one of them. But she had been thrust into it in an ugly twist of fate. Her very identity that was her safeguard had been the reason why she had been pushed right in the middle of an inferno and there was no way out.

Yes, the Headmaster had told her that she could choose to sit on the sidelines, but would she be able to do that now? She breathed out slowly and looked at her two friends. They were the forerunners of this revolution. Yes, Dumbledore was their general, but the hope of the wizarding community lay on the young shoulders of Harry, who had been marked by the Dark Lord himself to bear this colossal burden. And then there was Ron, the one who was not chosen by fate, but who had stepped up to back the marked man for years. He was at a greater risk than Harry because while the Dark Lord intended to be the one to kill Harry, Ron would be the one who would be easily blasted off by anybody from the other camp in their attempt to capture Harry. And knowing Ron, he would take the curse for Harry if need be, and not think twice. Hermione could feel panic flow through her at the thought. Not Ron, please...

She took a deep haggard breath while twisting the napkin in her lap. The room wasn't feeling so light, cosy and noisy anymore. This was an enormous responsibility. What if she was not cut out for it? She wasn't sorted into Gryffindor after all. Her basic instinct had always been to save herself. What if when the time came, her instinct would drive her to flee or worse, move over to the other side to save her skin? Her trembling hand grasped her goblet and brought it her lips, but her hands were shaking so much that she ended up spilling the most on herself. Thankfully, everyone around her was busy talking to someone or the other, so she cleaned herself up and told Ginny that she was going upstairs to use the loo. Without wasting any more time, Hermione left the room as quickly and inconspicuously as she possibly could.

...

Hermione ran up to the old, familiar room on the third floor, suddenly wishing for the time when she was almost a prisoner, devoid of choices and responsibilities, hidden away for her own safety. Pushing open the window and gripping hard onto the bars, she felt the shivering of her hands reach out to her entire body. She held on tighter to prevent from falling while she breathed deeply through her nose. The cold wind bit at the exposed skin but she held on nonetheless.

She wasn't strong enough for this, Dumbledore was wrong. Neither was she brave enough to face death nor did she have the strength to see Ron and Harry off as they went away to fight once more, this time with much less guarantee of return. Frustration for the situation trickled out in the form of tears to pool in her eyes, and once they were filled to the brim, they slid down her cheeks. She made no attempt to wipe them off or arrange her hair that was blowing all around her face. Instead, she watched the few people who were braving out the chill and couples that walked below in the streets holding hands and smiling contently. They were completely unaware of the storm that was building all around them and she felt furious at the muggles. Their entire world was on the brink of collapse, and here, they were still hiding away from the people who were doing nothing to help the situation, although they were at equal risk, just because those morons did not believe in magic, just because of that idiotic Statute of Secrecy.

She cringed at her thoughts a moment later. These hapless people were not even aware... They did not even know that each of them, their families, their children and all their loved ones were in grave danger, they were not even given a chance to defend themselves...

Hermione finally let go of her hold and collapsed down on the ground shivering with sobs and cold as the chilly gust entered the room and made it steadily colder.

...

Ron walked up the stairs gripping his wand tightly and telling himself that she would be just around somewhere. But so far, all the rooms and washrooms he had checked had been empty. There was no logical reason but he knew she would have gone back to her old room. Why would she do that in the middle of dinner is what he could not figure out. There were washrooms in the ground floor as well so the only reason he could think of, was to research the Horcruxes. But still, that was just plain odd.

He reached the third floor and crossed the other rooms to knock softly on the familiar door. There was no response and, this time, he was actually worried. He shoved aside the thought of any danger and pushed the door open, immediately struck with the chill of the room, and the small figure slumped on the floor next to the wall, close to the window. She was barely visible in the dim light floating from the candles high above on the ceiling.

"Hermione?" he called softly and was surprised at how fearful it sounded.

Closing the door behind him, he first shut the window and then cast a strong warming spell around them. Lighting up a few candles on the lower bracket, he proceeded to kneel down next to the girl and noticed that she was shaking vigorously.

"Hey...You okay?" he asked and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She was cold, very cold.

"Hermione?" he called a little more urgently this time and pulled away her hands that were wrapped around her knees. Her face was buried in the crook of her arms, and he noticed that she was practically freezing all over.

"Hey..." he called again and, this time, placed his palm on the sides of her head to lift her face up to him. The very next instant she pulled herself into his chest and the sobs that wracked her body felt like his own. The cold swept from her body to his and his heart gave a lurch as his arms remained hanging in mid air waiting for his brain's command to react. It would be way too easy to wrap her in his arms, to move those curly locks away from her face and bury his face in them. It would be way too easy to fill her in his warmth and wipe out her tears. Way too easy... but that wasn't his place, was it?

Lying awake on his bed that night, he had come to a discovery that had shattered whatever little was left of him. He knew she was attracted to him even if it was only limited to being merely just physical. But he had also realised that it had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with Ron Weasley. It could have been just anybody in his position. Closed away in her room, and devoid of all human contact, she had obviously sought out the only person she had, as her companion. The attraction, if any, was based simply on the situation. And now, when those restrictions were no longer applicable, her heart would slowly be her own again and function more realistically. As she came to terms with her improved situation, she would soon be disillusioned and seek out a person whom she would have chosen under normal circumstances. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Did she not speak to Harry more often? Did she not always take a seat next to him? Their comfort level with each other was very natural and very open for all to see. And why would it not be? Harry wasn't the one who had threatened to rape her... he was.

Now that she knew she was free to choose, Ron Weasley would be no where in the picture because of everything he had done to her, because of everything that he was.

Ron did not believe in the hocus-pocus that was Devination, but he knew Destiny was a true thing. His best mate was a living proof after all, and so was he- the One Who Was Forever Destined to Lose.

He released a quiet sight and gently pulled her away from himself.

"You are cold, Hermione. What happened?" he asked as his hands remained on her upper arms.

She tried to cling back to him and struggled against his hold. After a while he allowed her to take what she wanted from him and she collapsed back into his chest pressing her face in the crook of his shoulder and fisting the flannel shirt at his chest. But his hands remained at his sides and rose up only to cast a warming spell on her.

The floor, although carpeted, was still rough and hard and his knees hurt perched in that odd angle with most of Hermione's weight pressed on him. He assumed that their position would not be very comfortable for her either. The old, threadbare carpet was not even half as plush as the one in her chamber back at Hogwarts.

"Let's get you on the bed and then you can tell me what's wrong, alright?" he said softly and she only nodded slightly in reply.

"Great... come on, get up..." he added, holding her gently at the shoulder and pushing himself up on his feet while pulling her along.

He guided her to the bed and made her sit, but as she was still holding on to him tightly, it meant that he had to take his place on the bed too. This felt way too personal and he wanted to get away to save whatever little was left of him.

After a while, she edged sideways to face him while her folded leg rested partially on his. He knew Hermione would never sit so close to him if she was not so anguished, and he tried not to think or feel too much. The breath he released came out shaky and he glanced at her downcast face for a while before speaking.

"What happened?" he asked and placed his palm tentatively on hers, rubbing the back of it gently with his thumb.

Hermione looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and he had the insane urge to wipe her tears off. He stifled a small laugh at the sight of her nose that was so pink that it was almost red now. Instead of giving into either of the urges, he conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it with a soft 'thanks' and he looked away as she wiped her eyes and softly blew her nose.

"I-I am not made for this R-Ron." She managed after a while and he turned back to face her.

"... not made for what exactly?" he asked.

"For this!" she replied in anguish as she threw up her arms and fresh tears rolled down.

"I am not a hero, Ron ... This-This fight is huge. And we are barely of age. The D-Dark Lord is way too powerful. A-And I am not brave enough to face h-him..."

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say but he understood her doubts and fear at least.

"No one is born a hero, Hermione..." he replied.

"You all are..." she responded looking back at him in awe and what he thought was admiration and laughed a little sadly to himself.

"I am no hero. Yes Dumbledore, Harry, Lupin, Mad-eye, they all are. But there are others like us in this too, normal folks. But you are not less. You are the Brightest of our age, Hermione."

She huffed at that. "What good will all my intelligence do, if I am not brave enough to fight, Ron?"

"What makes you think it's all about the fight? Do you see my Mum fighting? She stays back and takes care of the lot. I think that is how she contributes to the war. And Madame Pomfrey? She tends to the ones who are hurt. We all play our roles in this and that is what matters, standing together."

She nodded half-heartedly and he continued.

"Your intelligence is a great asset, Hermione. You can help us solve this problem of Horcruxes and if you don't want to get into the duel, you don't have to. I promise, I'll keep you safe. But you know what? You are fantastic and a very powerful witch. Your wand work is awesome, and honestly, I'd love to see some of those death eaters face your hexes." He grinned softly and noticed a hint of a smile break through her tears.

"And what if I buckle under pressure, Ron?" She asked stifling a sob. What if I end up betraying you all? She finished fearfully in her heart.

"Don't we all have that fear?" he smiled. "You've passed three tests set by Dumbledore, Hermione. Your heart doesn't want that anymore." He added softly but with conviction.

"T-Three test?" she inquired in surprise.

"Yes... Harry and I assume he used Legilimency on you the night he told you what You-Know-Who planned for you." He told her and thought that, for a minute, her shock was overshadowed by embarrassment.

"M-My ward in the infirmary was set up with protective spells." He said very consciously. "That you were able to enter, proved that you have no inclination towards the dark side and you know about the book already." He finished a little quickly and shifted to increase the distance between them.

"We'll lose people, Ron." She said with a sniff and held on to his hand.

He always tried not to think about it, but to assume that the whole lot of them would survive without a scratch was being a little too hopeful.

"I know." He said.

"W-What if something goes wrong and...and we lose?" she said and as she looked up he could see the terror in her eyes.

"Then we gather the remaining and fight again till we win or die fighting." He replied with a small shrug. He didn't want to be so blunt about it but there was no other answer to her question anyway. She let out a sharp cry and crashed into his arms again.

"Hey..." he said and pushed her away firmly but not rudely.

"It won't come to that. That's why we have got to crack these Horcruxes, remember? Harry can do it. You believe in him, don't you?" he asked, even as the small parts of his broken heart twisted painfully inside.

"Yes... I-I do." She replied and he managed a weak smile.

"Hold on to that." He told her. "Now come on, wash your face and let's go downstairs. It's been a while." He added.

She wiped her eyes and bit her lower lip before looking at him.

"I believe in you, Ron. You know that, right?" she said in an almost whisper while her cheeks coloured and Ron had an urgent desire to flee lest he got wrapped in a sense of pointless desire again.

"I do." He replied instead.

"And you know I want you to be safe, right? I want you not to jump in the line of fire just to prove you are a Gryffindor. Will you please promise me that?"

He looked at her tear stained face and messy locks.

"I'll try and be safe, but that goes for all of us doesn't it?"

"Not the way it does for you, Ron." She replied and he laughed a little at the irony of the whole situation.

"I am not going to be a sacrificial goat and give myself up just like that, if that is what you are hinting at."

"You know exactly what I am hinting at, Ron. Promise me you won't jump to take a curse meant for someone else if it comes to that."

"You know I can't promise you that, Hermione. We all have our roles remember? That is my role- to keep Harry safe and now that it seems you are in this mess as much as we are- to keep you safe as well. "

She looked at him as if on the verge of saying a hundred things and after a few minutes, he turned away.

"Go, wash up." He said firmly and a while later there was a soft click of a door closing behind him.

A/N: There was a Guest review for Chapter 16, where the reader had asked how Hermione had not divulged Lupin's secret back in their sixth year. I honestly had no answer for it at the time, but I hope this chapter explains it.

On another note, I know Hermione was anything but doubtful about pursuing what is right in canon and I know her fear is OOC. But I really felt being a Slytherin and having had an extremely protected and secure upbringing would affect certain aspects of her as a person. Do let me know what you think.

As always, thanks for reading.