A treat for everyone - a new chapter after one day! I'm so ashamed that I couldn't keep it cool and wait like a week. But it's so funny to see your baby story being published and accepted on that I couldn't resist. Now the story gets more exciting, at least I hope you will think so. Feel free to review.

Music I listened to when writing this chapter: A small measure of peace - Hans Zimmer.

Chap. 2 Companions

Hermione dreamt about her parents. How happy the whole family was even though she was a witch and away most of the years. She saw how her mum prepared a typical Granger Saturday Breakfast while her dad read the papers before he rose to help his wife. They suddenly heard her on the staircase and turned to greet their daughter who loved to sleep in on weekends. Then the scene shifted to a grey mist and then she was slowly awakening to the cold, dark night.

She opened her eyes calmly and started to lift her head from the tree. The movement made her grimace; her neck was paying the price for sleeping uncomfortably. She lifted her right hand to massage the neck but when the hand made contact with the neck, she yelped. Her hand hurt so much and when she looked at it she became horrified. The tip of every finger was shiny and red and upon inspection of the other hand, it had the same symptom. She knew of course what it was. The beginning of frostbites.

When she skied with her parents in the Alps years ago they always warned her about exposing her fingers too the cold for too long. Being the seeker of knowledge she was, she had started immediately to read about frostbites and how to take care of them, at least the muggle way.

She got up, reached for her wand and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and managed to lift them with her elbows before carrying them inside the tent. On the bed to the left lay the Undesirable No.1 and slept heavily after having a satisfying dinner. Hermione tiptoed to her own bed and carefully dropped her burden on it. With a guilty conscience she went to Harry's bed to wake him up.

She knew he needed to sleep more, especially with Voldemort sharing mind with him occasionally, the horcrux dangling around his neck twelve hours per day and his worry about her, the quest, and yes, even the absent Ron.

"Harry, Harry please, wake up."

Harry groaned a bit before he opened his eyes and saw a brown blur. He quickly reached for his glasses on the bedtable and put them on. Hermione, his best friend and sister leaned over the bed.

"Is it my turn already?" he sighed tiredly and began to get up.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Harry. Next time it's my turn I can take four hours, honestly."

"Sounds tempting now," Harry said as he stretched his back and rubbed his face. "But I would never demand that of you, you know that, right?"

"Always the gentleman," Hermione teased with a small smile.

"Always…But Hermione, what happened to your hands?" Harry exclaimed as a frown settled on his forehead, when he spotted the shiny digits.

"Oh, nothing, it was just me being stupid. I forgot to wear my mittens and here's the result," she answered quietly. She lowered her head in shame and continued. "Harry, I fell asleep for a half-hour outside. I'm so sorry, and I know that I endangered both of us and…"

"Stop it, Hermione, you've got nothing to be sorry for," Harry interrupted and said firmly:

"Nothing happened to us, so everything's fine and you've got to take care of your fingers with your wand now, please." And with that he rose from the bed and brought up a hand to her cheek and caressed it quickly before handing over the locket to her. He took his thick knitted sweater and went outside the tent, leaving her to tend to her hands.

Hermione immediately went to fetch the pot and put some of their water supply into it, before placing it onto the table. She started to warm the water with magic. Her elbow came to use again, as she felt the temperature with it. She had to cure herself the muggle way because of their rather spartan existence with limited capacity for brewing potions.

When the water was lukewarm, which meant that the nerves would not be damaged, she nodded contented and went outside to give her wand to Harry. When she returned she sat down at the table and slowly put her hands into the water. It burned her poor fingers so much that she let out a hiss of pain before she could control it.

She kept her hands in the water anyway, as they needed to get warm. She tried to flex the fingers slowly but stopped quickly when the pain rolled over her again. And then she waited for her fingers to recover.

Hermione passed the time by thinking about every trouble they had. How Ron had disappointed her with his leaving when so much was at stake. Their hunt and destroying of horcruxes should mean more than a fight about what Ron and Harry cared about in the war. It did to her and to Harry too, but Ron seemed to ignore that and thought that Harry didn't care about Ginny or anyone else in his life.

Hermione knew this to be utterly untrue, but Harry was actually able to hide away his feelings and focus on the task he had been given by Dumbledore. Like an adult. While Ron found it difficult to do the same. A tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek but she didn't try do wipe it away. She missed him so much but was still so mad and betrayed by his words and childish actions. And yet she had tied her pink scarf around a tree beside the lake where they had last been a trio. Just to offer some comfort to Ron if he returned to that place.

Her body couldn't suppress the small tremble which went through her. The movement caused the locket to rattle and the sound made Hermione forget about Ron for a moment. She became aware that the damned thing was a big reason to her emotional misery, but at least she shared the burden with Harry. If only they could find a way to destroy it so that they could weaken Voldemort and feel some conquest over the dark powers in the world.

Recently it had seemed very hopeless although she used every spare time to look through her books, and especially the book with fairytales and the strange symbol of a triangle with a circle and a line inside, to try to find an answer to their many problems. At least the stories provided something that made her smile now and then with their silly characters. In a way it felt as if she was a little girl again, with her parents reading bedtime stories to her until she could read them herself.

With a sigh she thought about how lucky she had been to have a wonderful childhood with loving parents. She asked a silent question to the almighty powers, magical or not, how come she could have a happy family, when Harry could not. Why would he not be allowed his own instead of the horrible Dursley's? Her heart bled for him during Christmas, when the two of them visited Godric's Hollow and paid their respect to James and Lily Potter.

Hermione knew it had been a hard day for Harry emotionally, and fighting a snake and losing his wand at the same time hadn't made things better. So after that day she vowed to herself that she would do anything to support Harry and perhaps, if the light won the war, make sure he would find some lasting happiness.

The water had become cooler and Hermione slowly let her fingers re-emerge from the pot and studied them intensely. They were not so red anymore and when she flexed them it didn't hurt so much like the last time. The pain would wear off after some days and Hermione considered herself lucky for having awakened before any serious damage. Suddenly it hit her that Harry would probably be cold outside and would appreciate a cup of tea. She rose from the table to prepare the kettle.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Scabior snaked through the little hole in the protecting shield like a fox who found his way out of the chicken yard. He congratulated himself for being such a sly man. Not everyone in his band of snatchers had the patience or wand skills required for piercing a strong shield.

It had taken a long time for Scabior before he mastered the slow penetration but now he reaped the fruits of his patience. He was able to conjure a passage large enough for him to get through but small enough to not be felt by the one who cast the repelling spells. It almost made his job too easy. Almost.

With a swift pace to warm up the body, he soon arrived at his camp where a campfire burned and spread some light and heat over the group hunched around it. He walked purposefully towards it.

"Welcome 'ome, sweetheart! Did ya want some o' that pumpkin pie before bedtime?" the young obstinate Lackie with the weird crew cut asked in a false squeaky voice as the other snatchers began to snicker.

Scabior regarded the apprentice with disdain. He was the leader of the group and should, as such, receive respect from the others. If gone too far, the mockery could endanger his position. He would not let it pass this time, and countered:

"Thanks, dear, but I would rather have some of you after bedtime," and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, which made Lackie pale. The rest of the snatchers laughed uncontrollable at Lackie now, and Scabior saw the order restored. Smirking, he sat down on the ground and stretched out his long legs before him while he supported himself with his hands placed at the sides.

"Did our little kids do something special this evening?" one of the snatchers asked when the glee had died out.

"Na, just being obvious and usual as always," Scabior muttered, setting his eyes on the flames.

"So, why aren't we making a move for them? They could be worth hundreds of galleons each."

Scabior continued to stare into the fire and answered.

"Well, we don't know that yet. Would be a waste of energy if they're only half-bloods."

"But if we haven't found out that information after our spying, then maybe we should just take a chance and catch them?" another man proposed carefully.

Scabior turned towards him with angry eyes and said with firm voice:

"It takes days of planning before one can be sure of a successful snatching. Wouldn't be so fucking funny if we harmed them in the hunt only to find out they're some run-away purebloods. You know what happens if snatchers injure purebloods. A certain Dark Lord has claimed them all, no matter which side they stand on. If an accident happened he would get mad, and we don't want that, do we?"

The snatchers squirmed with discomfort, but no-one argued with Scabior. He sighed and promised them that he would soon figure out a way to catch the couple in the tent.