A/N: to quote a dear friend "I feel the need to rant." An old accusation has been thrown at me. I'm allegedly a Hermione hater. I never thought so, but okay – everyone has their point of view and I can't force anyone to read my stuff. I will admit that I resent so many fan-fiction writers of today, who put her up on a pedestal as miss prefect, for without flaws in my view - she isn't human.
In movie seven she was the only one not negatively affected by wearing the Horcrux and I accept the possibility that evil only affects boys, but really – give me a break. I also understand the need for strong female role model for the younger girls. If that reviewer wants to read prefect Granger stories, be my guest - heaven knows there are loads out there. My Hermione makes mistakes - - my Hermione is a modern girl, not some damsel in distress in a tower waiting for rescue. Which means she should have given better hints to an insecure shy red head that she fancied him - - what's wrong with a smart girl chatting-up (AN: flirting in the US) a guy/bloke.
As for Ron and always putting himself down, I really thought that was cannon - - does "all I have is rubbish", sound familiar. But your right, I do have him put himself down way too much, even when he is showing more maturity and ability than ever before – but that's how I see Ron, I may be wrong but I think that he doesn't see anything he does as special or exceptional. However, I will work on it during upcoming chapters, He'll have one chapter where he does it, but once I get it out of his system (and mine) I promise – pure understated confidence.
Warning; I am still heavily influenced by the story; "those last four days of the war," at this point. I've tried to make it my own as much as possible but I can't see away around my characters getting out of bed and having breakfast …sorry. Hermione's reflections and doubts are what's called character development and vital for the plot, so stay with-me please.
Anyway – on with the show
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Hermione Jean Granger woke up as the first rays of dawn could be seen on the canvas of the tent. Slowly, she opened her eyes and stared at the jar containing the blue flames she conjured each evening and which was the only source of light and heat within the tent. She rubbed her eyes wearily and closed them again, wishing she could fall asleep again, because she felt as though she had not slept properly in weeks. She rolled-over on the double bed, taking care not to awaken the boy sleeping beside her, who was still slumbering and breathing peacefully, and sighed softly in envy. Sleeping with him, snuggling into his body-warmth, was the only source of comfort for her in the nightmare they were both immersed.
Comfort; now that was an odd word for her to use these days. Even though they had not discussed the issue of their relationship in the months after they had fled the magical world, its undecided status hung on her heart like an anchor. Following the news - as conveyed by a silver-patroness - - a Russell terrier in fact - - of the fall of the Ministry and the abrupt loss of semi-security that their hiding place at Grimmauld place offered, she had gradually come to acknowledge a painful truth.
During those long lonely months on the run, the desperation of their situation seemed to grow on them both. The absence of any news about those they'd left behind and the lack of progress in their mission had taken its toll. Instead of uniting them as a couple even more, they had slowly drifted apart emotionally.
Well, that wasn't entirely true: their friendship was stronger than ever, but the lust, passion, the overwhelming desire for physical-intimacy that had given proof of their so-called love - - that once overawed every other consideration and had literally taken over total control their lives - - had faded down to nothing.
A lonely tear escaped her right eye and slowly ran down a careworn cheek.
She still loved Harry in her own way - - she really did. She cared for him more than for anyone else in the entire world besides her parents. But she wasn't in love with him, at least not in the same way she had been. And she strongly suspected that he wasn't in love with her, either. They still carried-on - - yes. They still shared meals, domestic chores - - a bed. But it was no longer out of any irresistible desire for sexual intimacy; they still cuddled at night, of course - - but now strictly for warmth.
They hadn't shared a kiss since New Year's and they hadn't fornicated since Christmas time - - and even then it was mostly mechanical - - just going through the motions without being emotionally driven. Sex was now a physical need they no longer required and that made their relationship - - whatever it was now - pathetic.
Another tear followed the path drawn by the first, and she asked herself how things had deteriorated this far. 'Only four months ago, she'd thought they were in 'happily-ever-after' love - - but she'd been horribly wrong about that. She'd been wrong about a-lot of things this pass year. She had believed that even with the momentous task they both had ahead of them, nothing could go wrong if they were together.
And how could she have not believed that? She was, after all, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, a girl - - no, a woman now - - that could recite word by word, dozens of spells, charms and jinxes, while mixing a hundred potions without looking at the textbook, even once. And he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the boy - - no, he was a man now too - - who had escaped Voldemort five times, he had fought-off one hundred Dementor's - - and single handedly killed a basilisk - - Surely, together they could do anything.'
These thoughts, those hopes, had filled her mind while they were staying at Grimmauld Place, in Sirius' bedroom, the night before their incursion into the Ministry. They had made love, and then he had hugged her against him, and she had felt confident. They had a plan, even though it was a bit dangerous; they had a purpose, they had everything Dumbledore had told them about the power of love, and they had that love openly declared - for one another. With the power of love nothing was impossible.
'When did the doubts begin", she wondered once again. "When did I first start to realize that a huge mistake had been made? When did we both accept that something was not right, that something — no …someone — was missing, because when they had boldly declared their love in the Gryffindor common room – hadn't we inadvertently broken something vital?
She had been so sure she was right about everything. She had been convinced that she had packed everything they'd possibly need for this journey. But she had been wrong again - - more wrong than in any other moment of her life. Everyone makes mistakes and as long as you learn from them, where is the lasting harm – right?
And things had started out so well. Because yes, they had entered the Ministry, and yes, they had taken the locket from Dolores Umbridge. But they had not gotten away clean …which meant they had to flee from Grimmauld Place; they had had to leave the comfort that Kreacher had provided; hot food, hot water showers and warm beds with clean sheets. And now they were dirty - - lived in a cold tent without running water, isolated from the magical world - completely and absolutely friendless.
Half a year of wandering about and they still hadn't been able to find a way to destroy the locket - and they had no clue about where the others Horcruxes could be found. Days of frustration had become weeks - and weeks had become months, and as they had become more and more quarantined from the rest of the world, their money had dwindled along with it their food supplies and now more times than not, they went to bed hungry and cold.
On the Wizarding Wireless they were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, heroes of the anti-you-know-who movement, the Boy Who Lived and a Muggleborn that was the Brightest Girl of her Age, who for months and months had avoided being captured, who had entered the Ministry and freed a group of Muggleborn's and then had escaped - - average people viewed them as heroes - - a symbol of hope.
But Hermione knew the truth: they weren't heroes - they were lost and clueless.
If 'he' could only see us now,' she thought bitterly, 'without any idea about what to do next, or where to go.'
Everything in which she had believed before they had left - had proven to be a colossal lie, and all her hopes had slowly vanished, one by one - - crushed by the cruel reality. Dumbledore's so-called wise guidance from before his death now seemed a pile of worthless information.
The tiny book the Headmaster had left her had nothing useful in it, a few children's fables, with easy to understand morality - - silly really. There was that strange symbol that resembled an eye, the same symbol that was also found on that grave in Godric's Hollow and in one letter that a young Dumbledore had sent to Grindelwald that she had seen in 'The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore' but try as she might - she couldn't make a connection between that symbol and the Horcruxes.
It had the shape of a triangle, with a vertical line and a circle inside it, but neither she nor Harry had seen such a symbol before - and as they could not go to some magical library and research its significance, it was as vague and mystifying as Dumbledore's other so-called pre-death information.
Finally and above all, there were all the rubbish she read in Rita's biography of the Headmaster, a copy of which she had stumbled across inside the murdered Bathilda Bagshot's house in Godric's Hollow - - a DE trap where they had barely escaped death. And so what? Who really cared that the great Dumbledore had been Gellert Grindelwald's homosexual lover - - what importance was it that two self-absorbed egomaniac's in their youth - - planned to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy and subjugate all Muggle's to their will. All boys dream in their teenage years of gaining power, conquering the world - - How did such ambitions affect the Horcrux hunt?
Regretfully, Harry was way more depressed and frustrated than she was. He'd taken the personal discoveries about Albus's past particularly bad - - he clearly felt that Dumbledore, the man he had considered his personal mentor's, was now a complete stranger. He realized only now; that Albus had lied or manipulated him every day of his entire life. The whole Horcrux hunt had turned into a colossal joke due the lack of useful information that Dumbledore had apparently kept to himself - instead of passing on to anyone - - like Harry.
She had argued with him about the whole thing, trying to make him see that it wasn't as awful as it looked; that, even though some things were undoubtedly true - - the book contained copies of actual letters written by Dumbledore himself - - and yet; it was still Rita Skeeter's work and she couldn't be trusted to tell the whole truth about anything. Besides if the Death Eater controlled Ministry allowed the book to be printed; what chance did Dumbledore really have for a fair hearing by history.
Harry had conceded all of Hermione's points with a resigned shrug, but his foul mood only deepened. Now at the beginning of their eight month of self-imposed exile Harry had concluded that his repeated pensive journeys into Tom's past with Albus had been proven utterly worthless. And the sad truth of it was that a big part of Hermione agreed with him about that.
The biography of Dumbledore's private life had actually revealed - Vass amounts of material about Albus's personality - his philosophy and his hunger for power over others, which only provided more evidence that …he was a master manipulator of everyone he met - with Harry being his favorite pawn. As Hermione had been yet another pawn on the headmaster's 'Grande' chess-board - she was hard-pressed to argue the continuation of the quest.
But what else could they do? They couldn't seek-out the 'Order' for it had been decimated and the only other alternative was going into voluntary exile where her parents were now hidden, which Harry - she knew, refused to even contemplate. And then piling onto the disaster that had been their Godric's Hollow misadventure was the destruction of Harry's wand. Hermione now believed, that particular-bit of bad news had brought a definitive end of her and Harry's shaky relationship as a romantic couple; even though their love-life had been festering for several fortnights before that.
Nothing she said after Godric Hallow seemed to help; in fact Harry appeared to become more and more irritated with her never-ending suggestions. After Boxing Day she began to overhear him mumbling under his breath; arrogant know it all whenever he became frustrated or upset at something she'd said.
Although he had said at the time that he'd forgiven her for breaking his wand - - accepting that it had been an accident. It was as if everything she did after it happened was stepping on his final nerve. Losing a wand he'd had since he'd been eleven was part of that resentment - - but only part.
Why had she not realized before getting together with him that she and Harry were polar opposites in interests that didn't directly involve Dumbledore's precious Horcrux quest? They had spent most of their time since Bonfire Night in November bickering about trivialities - - endless rows where they didn't really listen to the other, just pushing angry-words into the air to fill the silence. When not shouting at each other they didn't speak for days on end.
Their lack of anything in common, like books or music leaving them nothing to talk about, outside of the war. They ended-up spending long hours at opposite ends of the tent… off by themselves and lost in their own thoughts. Neither of them really knew how to conduct a friendly conversation or tell a joke to lighten the mood - - because for six years they had someone else to do that for them.
She and Harry both had been brought-up as children lacking in proper social skills and now they were paying for that deficiency. She tried every day to be more lightly conversational and less bossy but a personality change like that was hard work. At least she was trying - Harry with his abrupt mood swings wasn't even attempting to get along anymore. It was the tiny things that upset him now - - like not remembering the last time they'd laughed… which made their incapability as a couple more and more glaring every day.