Awareness tingled at the edges of her senses, and at length, Hermione opened her eyes. She blinked several times in an attempt to clear away the fog that lingered over her vision. With a start, she realised that she didn't recognise her surroundings. Her heart accelerated, pumping in her chest so fast that she could hear the rhythm in her ears. Her breath quickened, deep pants trying to stave off the panic that was coursing through her blood. Her body was surging with adrenaline, and her mind couldn't keep up. Hermione tried to reach for her wand, but her body protested.

She blinked.

The room was white, not the murky green she remembered from before her eyes closed. She wasn't at the Ministry anymore. Wherever she was it was illuminated by failing daylight, how had she gotten here? How many hours had passed? Hermione let her head fall back, and that's when she saw the vaulted ceiling, familiarity cooled the white hot grip of anxiety, she was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. She was alive.

Hermione willed her wild heart rate to slow down further, the battle must be over, she was not in danger. Her chest spiked again, what about everybody else? She forced her head to turn left, though her neck didn't seem to want to comply, she stilled for a second, terrified that something serious was wrong, then she remembered, Millicent Bulstrode's arm forced against her windpipe. She raised her fingers to probe at the sensitive flesh gently. She saw a flash of intense brown eyes regarding her neck, with a dangerous expression, but it was gone before she could recall it properly.

Neville was lying in the bed next to hers. They must have pushed the cots closer together as there was barely a gap between them. He was asleep; his body curled up to face her, it seemed strange to see him like that, too intimate maybe? He had some mottled bruising over one eye, but he appeared to be ok, he looked whole at least. Hermione remembered the curse to his arm and another memory burst into her mind, the same brown eyes, this time sparking with rage, a mouth set in a firm, grim line. It was all just snippets, like a grainy old movie, or a jigsaw without all of the pieces, a puzzle she wasn't sure she wanted to finish.

She turned, compelling her head to move to an angle to see Neville's arm. It was laying over the covers of his bed, resting against his torso. It did not appear to be bound; maybe the bones had already been regrown? How long had she been there? How long had she been asleep?

Hermione twisted onto her other side, Ron was there, and his cot had also been pushed closer. He was so pale his face was almost the same colour as the sterile, white hospital sheets, his freckles so much more pronounced, and dark circles were visible under his eyes. His hospital pyjamas were open at the neck and revealed a thick layer of gauze that must have been wound around his chest. The sight of his wounded rib cage triggered a flood of memories as sudden as if a light had been turned on in her mind, her injury, the events before she blacked out, Dolohov. Again she had to focus on regulating her breathing to stop her heart from beating out of her chest. She needed to get up, to check her injuries, to find out where Luna and Harry were.

Hermione moved her right palm to press flat on the bed, pushing down onto the spongy surface to force herself to sit herself up, her body didn't seem completely unresponsive just lethargic and sore. She went to repeat the action with her right hand and realised she couldn't, her hand felt like it was in a vice, she wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed the pressure before. Hermione shuffled as much as possible so that she could see her hand and when she looked down she spotted a small shape at the end of the bed.

Luna was bent up in an impossibly cramped mass, Crookshanks coiled into her arms. She had a small, soft, pale blue throw over the top of her, and mismatched socks poked out from the end of the blanket. One of her arms was stuck out awkwardly, and that was what had gripped Hermione's right hand. Hermione had no idea Luna had such a tight grip, or how she had managed to maintain it while apparently fast asleep.

She resettled herself against the pillows and swept her eyes around the room, the movement easier from this vantage point. She suddenly understood the formation; she was covered from all sides, they had been protecting her. She squeezed Luna's delicate hand gently and watched as her eyes flickered dreamily before suddenly opening wide, a smile formed on her lips.

"I knew you would come back."

After jumping up quickly, disturbing Crookshanks in the process, Luna carefully gave Hermione a massive hug, before hopping down from the cot to wake Madam Pomfrey. Hours passed in a whirlwind of visitors to the Hospital Wing, everyone wanting to reassure themselves that she was ok. When Hermione asked about her wound, the nurse responded that she would talk to her later, once it had calmed down.

At some point, Neville woke up from all the commotion going on around them, and when his eyes fell on Hermione, who was sat up being bullied into eating porridge by Luna, his whole face lit up with a beatific smile. "I'm so glad you're awake Hermione, you gave us all a bit of a scare," he said softly as he sat against the pillows of his cot.

Hermione leant forward to grasp his hand with hers. "Thank you; it's good to be awake again, how are you? How's your arm?" She asked eagerly, keen to be reassured that he looked as well, as undamaged, as he appeared.

"I'm not too bad, had to regrow the bone which was horrible," he shuddered, "I could probably have gone back to the Tower yesterday," he admitted.

"Why didn't you? It couldn't have been much fun hanging around here," Hermione inquired as Luna prodded at her mouth with a full spoon, and she tried not to scowl at her dogged determination.

Neville blushed, a very dark pink shade creeping across his cheeks, dropping his eyes to focus on their joined hands. "I… I wanted to stay here… until… until you woke up," he coughed and shook his head a little, "I thought if I was just a visitor I might not be told when you came to. I knew if I was here I, I would hear soonest."

Hermione clutched his hand softly to reassure him. "Thank you, for staying I mean, when I woke up I was so afraid, thinking I was still there, in the Ministry, seeing the beds pulled over it was like having guards."

"You're welcome," he replied, squeezing her hand gently. He didn't move to let go and Hermione, feeling in need of the comfort and safety his touch afforded, didn't either.

Once the day's medication had been distributed, and Ron and Neville had been reassured, several times, that she was very much alive, only tired and sore, the patients fell back to sleep for the afternoon. Her charge taken care of, Luna went to her dorm to shower and change, she had not left Hermione's side, hardly left her bed, for two days, much to Madam Pomfrey's chagrin.

Harry entered through the Hospital Wing doors not long after Ron's snores had reduced to tiny sighs and Hermione immediately woke at the creaking of wood, snapping her face to the entrance. Her friend looked terrible. She tracked his progress as he moved towards her bed, dropping into the comfortable chair that had been put there for the visitors that afternoon. Through a series of false starts and long pauses, he told her about Sirius, and her heart broke for him. As guilty as Hermione felt for not being there when he needed her, a small voice whispered that she was relieved she hadn't seen the last heir of the House of Black fall through the veil. They had their differences over the years, but she had never been blind to the real man underneath the hurt. He had so much potential, so much vitality hidden under shadows, and now the world, they, would never get to see it. Such a monumental waste.

Hermione kept herself quiet as Harry spoke, his expression was frighteningly blank. Harry had clung to the dream of building his relationship and eventually living with his godfather, since the moment they had emerged from the Shrieking Shack in their third year. The knowledge that he had family that cared for him after the life he'd had was almost all-consuming and now…. Now Sirius was gone, and Harry was alone again. As her friend's broken face looked up at her, his eyes swimming with unshed tears, Hermione mentally added 'Bellatrix Lestrange' to a list she had been carrying in her head since the first year. She didn't know how yet, but she would make her pay for this.

When Harry had talked himself out, they sat silently for a while, until without speaking he stood from the chair, lifted the edge of her covers and climbed into the bed next to her, his arms pulled around her tightly and he kissed her forehead.

"We all thought you were gone Hermione, I was so scared, it would have been all my fault," he whispered as though he were admitting a terrible secret amongst her curls, his voice raw with too much emotion.

"It was not your fault Harry, you went to protect Sirius, and we went for you. You would have come for me; it's not your fault." She soothed him the best she could, repeating comforting words over and over until his breathing evened. Harry scooted further down, resting his head on her shoulder and Hermione moved her fingers through his hair until he fell into a deep sleep.

An hour or so later, Madam Pomfrey came out of her office and roused Neville, informing him that he now had to go back to the Tower. He was physically fine, apart from a few lingering cuts and bruises, and now Hermione was awake he was seemingly out of protests. He kissed her on the cheek and promised he would come by tomorrow, his eyes lingering on Harry's sleeping form for a second, he opened his mouth to speak but the Hospital Wing doors swung open again, and Luna came in, wearing dark blue pyjamas covered in stars, with her school robe thrown over the top. Ignoring everyone present, she jumped onto the end of Hermione's bed and began, settling herself with a blanket and some pillows. Neville seemed to shake the persistent thought he was going to vocalise and instead repeated his promise to visit the next day and left the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey went to check on Ron, who was still fast asleep. Whatever the eerie brain had done when it attached to his chest it was no longer life threatening, but the potions he had to take meant that he needed a lot of sleep. When the matron finally came to Hermione's bed and saw Harry curled up next to her, she sniffed as if she would make a comment, but paused when she noticed the dry tear tracks down his face. Instead, she raised her wand as if she would levitate him but Hermione, sensing that might be her course of action, gripped him tighter before shaking her head as violently as she dared, so as not to wake him. She wouldn't risk disturbing his sleep, who knew when he had last slept?

Luna had retaken her vigil at the end of Hermione's bed, and when the nurse suggested she move, the blonde looked at her like she didn't understand plain English, and carried on petting Crookshanks who had returned from wherever he had hidden for most of the day, most likely the kitchens. The nurse sighed though Hermione was sure if she had been concerned she would have insisted they all move.

"So Hermione, I'm sure you have questions?" she began.

"Yes," she whispered, rolling herself slowly from Harry and drawing the covers around his shoulders, till she could sit up on the other side of the bed. "What was the curse he used? What did it do? Are their lasting effects? And," she swallowed, "is their scaring?" Hermione felt stupid for caring, she wasn't generally consumed by vanity, but this was more than that. The longer she was awake, the more she remembered. She could see the flash of purple light in her mind, remember the feeling of the curse penetrating her chest, how far it had gone? She was sure the scar would cover the whole of her torso. One of her best friends was living proof that curse scarring was not easily fixable, even by magical means.

"I will tell you what I can," the nurse replied, moving to Hermione's side of the bed. "When you were first brought here from the Ministry you were totally unconscious and remained unresponsive no matter what we tried. Miss Lovegood told us what she could about your injuries, but she had not seen the attack, only the after effects. The spell was not one any of us recognised. For the first hours of your care we investigated the mark, it started at your collarbone, on the right side of your torso, and continued down to your left hip." Hermione tried to force down the tears that were threatening. Luna moved knowingly and shuffled so that she was sitting almost across her legs. Crookshanks stalked from Luna's lap into Hermione's, sitting up perfectly straight on high alert, as if he was on guard for potential threats. "Miss Granger, being upset is perfectly reasonable, you have been through a great deal for someone your age. Can I continue?" The nurse asked kindly.

"Yes, please do Madam Pomfrey," she urged, despite her thin voice.

"Well, as I was saying, the curse mark was significant, and it emitted a considerable heat, there was nothing we could do to curtail it. However, on further inspection, the curse did not seem to have any negative impact on your body."

"What? That doesn't make any sense?" Hermione interjected, brow furrowed.

"When is a curse not a curse?" The matron responded with a shrug, as she leafed through the charts on Hermione's bed. "That's what I kept thinking to myself," she sighed as she placed a small comment against the papers before returning them. "We suspected that the spell would be designed to have an impact on your internal organs, but all the diagnostics that we ran came back fine. As far as we could tell, you were just asleep. There was nothing we could do but monitor the situation. Then, on the second day, I went to redress your bandages, and there had been a change, the mark had begun to diminish. Before it had started at your collarbone and now began in the middle of your chest."

"Did the mark continue to reduce?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Let me show you," Madam Pomfrey suggested, getting to her feet, "Miss Lovegood I don't suppose there is any point in me applying for you to leave?" she asked tersely.

"No, I don't believe so Madam Pomfrey," Luna answered politely.

The nurse removed the bindings on Hermione's chest, and instead of the purple mark cutting her open as she had expected, there was a blue-tinged line that ran from her hip to her belly button. It was still large, and the brightness of the colour stuck out against her skin, but it was nowhere near as bad as she had been anticipating. It was almost smooth, not puckered or rough looking at all, it was almost like someone had drawn on her flesh with a vibrant felt tip pen. Hermione didn't understand it. Antonin Dolohov was clearly not a man to be trifled with; she had seen his face when he hexed Neville, his reaction when her friend's arm had given an audible crack, he had enjoyed it. She hadn't understood his expression at the time, but she thought she did now. She had stamped on his arm; she had realised immediately afterwards that that had been a particularly stupid move, in a night of stupid moves, why not just kill her?

"I don't understand Madam Pomfrey, is there any chance of delayed effect, something lying dormant perhaps that will kick in later?" That would have made sense, a sick curse that made the victim feel like they were getting a reprieve only to fall fatally ill once more.

"There is no evidence of that," the nurse sighed, "I do not know what to tell you, Hermione, we are completely stumped. Apart from exhaustion, your body shows no other sign of damage. I would like to keep you in for a few more days to monitor you. You may not have any lasting damage but you are fragile, and it will be some time before you feel back to normal."

"Okay," Hermione conceded, " have one more question if that's ok?"

"Of course, dear," Madam Pomfrey replied as she put the blankets back around her patient.

"You said 'we', was there someone else helping when I was brought in?"

"Yes, Professor Snape," Madam Pomfrey replied absently, "he assists with some of the more complex cases as he has a Master in Potions as well as having a more in-depth knowledge of offensive magic than I do." Hermione was conscious her mouth was gaping open and shut like a fish, but she wasn't sure how to articulate her surprise. Madam Pomfrey just smiled knowingly at her before leaving for her office.

Hermione filed away her new knowledge, she had other things to focus on, she turned to Luna; "He was silenced when he did it, Dolohov I mean, do you think that could have changed the nature of the curse he sent?"

Luna looked at her unblinking, "I would be surprised if it didn't, but I do not believe that was his intention."

"Well, what do you believe, if you-"

"Not here," Luna whispered, and Hermione nodded though her mind was far from satisfied, what could Luna know that she wouldn't discuss in the Hospital Wing? Hermione wanted to interrogate her, but she knew Luna wouldn't react to that, besides, she was already feeling the pull of sleep, she settled down further in the bed. Images flashed before her eyes, all of Him… Antonin Dolohov. She tried to picture his face as he sent the curse at her, had he been savage with anger, or cruel and smug? She couldn't recall an image. She finally slipped into a fitful sleep, her dreams full of watchful brown eyes and blinding lights.

After more rest and recuperation Ron was deemed well enough to leave the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was still insistent that Hermione stayed, for at least one more day, and all of her protests fell on seemingly deaf ears. The nurse had, however, convinced Luna to begin sleeping in her dorm again, but only under extreme duress.

Harry was still struggling. The closer they came to the end of the term the more he regressed into himself, Hermione knew what was taunting him, he had been anticipating a very different kind of summer this year. Spending time with Sirius and Professor Lupin, hearing stories about his parents that would allow him to flesh out their likenesses from the thin impressions he had so far. All of it occurring in the sunshine, far, far away from the shadow of the Dursley's and their negligence. He was still sleeping in the Hospital Wing, there had been no more tears, or outpourings of emotion, but he came in each evening and climbed in next to her. Madam Pomfrey had tried to move him to an empty bed a few times, but whenever she came back out in the morning, he would be back in with Hermione, so she had long since given up.

Harry had just settled facing towards her, with his eyes closed, when Professor Snape entered the Hospital Wing. The Potions Master was carrying a hand full of phials, and Hermione assumed he was restocking the healing potions, the last few days must have made a substantial dent in the stock. He moved as if to approach her, then stilled, almost comically, as he spotted Harry's messy mop of hair over her covers, and his previously blank expression was replaced by a more familiar sneer before he moved towards the corner of the room. Hermione's first instinct was to ignore his presence, allowing him to get away and let the moment pass. She had never been in much of a rush to begin a conversation with her disapproving professor, not since the first year when she had tried every conceivable ploy to gain his favour. But she knew she had to try.

"Sir," she whispered, the faint sound echoing around the empty space. His progress halted, but he didn't turn around, she debated letting him carry on as if she hadn't spoken at all, but she knew that would eat away at her. Hermione resolved that with his back facing away from her it would be easier to find the words. "I wanted to thank you, for helping with my injury; Madam Pomfrey said you offered a lot of assistance."

He turned then, ever so slightly, just enough for Hermione to make out the side of his face, Professor Snape nodded, almost imperceptibly, before walking off to the cabinet filled with phials in the far corner. She knew there would be no further conversation. There was no need for it.

Hermione had started to read a book when the doors swung open again, this time Dumbledore and Professor Lupin entered, both coming to stand in front of her bed. Professor Lupin's eyes looked red-rimmed, and she realised just how deeply the loss of Sirius must have affected him. She didn't know how she would cope in his situation, watching all of her friends die, being the last one left, and still having to sum up the energy to fight. "How is he?" the tired man asked, his moist gaze falling on the dark mop of hair at her elbow, his voice not much more than a rasp.

"Tired and broken, it's been a challenging year, the worst one yet," Hermione replied, and Lupin nodded, he was silent, and his eyes looked pained. She wanted to offer some words of comfort, but she was feeling defeated by the magnitude of sorrow that seemed to permeate the air around them. "He will always have people to protect him professor and care for him," she managed finally, it was a paltry effort, but Lupin nodded again, acknowledging her attempt before he slumped into the chair by the side of her bed. Hermione's eyes turned away from him, he was agonising to look at, and she'd had her fill of pain that year. It was her job to take care of them all, to try to carry their loads, but this year, everyone else's weight on top of her own had made her feel like she was sinking.

The physical marks they had endured would fade, but she didn't think any of them would ever be the same again.

"Miss Granger, I do hope you are feeling better?" Dumbledore said, and Hermione instantly felt more tired. She didn't want to talk around in circles with the headmaster right now.

"Yes thank you, professor, I'm feeling a lot better," she replied tonelessly.

"Good, I am glad. I wanted to speak to you tonight as I believe I can set your mind at ease over a few things." Hermione straightened, was this it? Did he know about Dolohov's curse? Why he did it? What it meant?

"You will be pleased to hear that we retrieved Professor Umbridge from the Forbidden Forest, the day after you got back from the Ministry. She was somewhat, worse for wear, but is now being cared for in St Mungo's." Hermione said nothing, mainly through surprise, it came as something of a shock to discover that she had completely forgotten about Umbridge, and more so that she realised she didn't care what had happened to the High Inquisitor. Hermione had expected to feel terrible afterwards, to judge herself horribly, but there was nothing there. What was happening to her? Misinterpreting the apprehension on her face, Dumbledore continued, "Please do not fear, we have smoothed everything over, there will be no reprisals from the Ministry, or Hogwarts."

She turned to look at him incredulously, "What about reprisals for her professor?"

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, his twinkle fading slightly but Hermione ignored him.

"What about reprisals for her? For torturing students as young as eleven with illegal punishments, for targeting Harry all year, making comments publicly about his mental state, for abusing her power and allowing a bunch of entitled kids to go around taking points from Muggleborns for being Mudbloods." She rattled off her list, her voice never rising beyond normal volume but her tone was arctic. The silence that followed was deafening. Hermione willed her breathing to calm down.

"Don't worry headmaster my question was very much rhetorical, if you would excuse me, I think I need to go back to sleep," she finished with false politeness. Dumbledore looked at her intently for a moment, but he ventured to say no more, at length he drew himself up with the air of a King and left the Hospital Wing, Lupin in his wake. When the doors finally closed behind them, Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief.

Staring after the departed men, Professor Snape's voice made Hermione start, "I told the Order Miss Granger, as soon as I left her office." The door swung closed once again, and Hermione sank further into the bed, she had no idea why Professor Snape had felt the need to reveal that, but she didn't have the energy to ponder it further. Dealing with Slytherin men was so much more complicated than her Gryffindor boys, they might have been annoying, and forgotten she was a girl from time to time, but at least she always knew the motivations behind their actions, mainly because they couldn't hide it very well, but nevertheless.

When the term eventually ended, Hermione felt an almost overwhelming relief. She was tired, bone tired, and she needed time to process everything that had happened, away from all of the others. Time alone was vital, so she could let herself break, properly, thoroughly, before piecing herself back together to face the trials that were no doubt in store for them next year. She packed up her things gladly and rejoiced when she was leant back in the quiet carriage on the Express. Luna, Neville and Ginny had joined the trio in the compartment, and though the mood was distinctly sombre, Hermione was trying her best to clutch onto a thin slither of positivity. She would always look back on this year, painful and dangerous as it had been, as the year that she had made more friends, good friends. Unexpectedly those friendships had strengthened her relationships with Harry and Ron, by not relying on them quite so much, they gave each other more space. She knew they both appreciated her, but her mum had been right, girls did mature faster than boys at her age, and despite Luna and Ginny being in the year below, both had been a comfort and a source of unwavering support.

Luna was sat next to her, reading the latest edition of The Quibbler, upside down, and Hermione had her glittery pink Spectrespecs pushed back on her head, holding her frizzy hair back, while she read Persuasion, she had lifted her self-imposed Austen ban, but only for the journey. When she happened to glance over at Ron she realised something else, she wasn't waiting for his declaration anymore. Hermione wasn't sure when it had happened, but the butterflies had gone. She might have expected to feel sad, but as it was, she only registered relief.

Either unaware of the mood, or purposefully ignoring it, Luna was in impossibly high spirits. Her dad had been approached by the Daily Prophet, after the events in the Department of Mysteries, to buy the rights to The Quibbler article detailing Voldemort's return. They were using the money to go to Sweden, a country they had identified as having the 'perfect conditions' for a colony of Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Hermione and Luna had arranged days ago that she would go to stay with the Lovegoods towards the end of the summer and Hermione was excited but nervous, she had never been to a magical home, except for the Burrow but Luna had been insistent. She had been planning to spend the last two weeks with the Weasley's, and as Luna pointed out, one day in a less inhabited house would probably be welcome.

The summer break, so far, had been everything Hermione had wanted, needed and more. Her parents surprised her with a trip to Rhodes, and they had gone for over a week at the start of holidays. Though they had apparently picked up on her hints to travel to a warm country, Hermione was apprehensive, her new scar had faded enough to cover with a weak glamour, but she didn't have access to her magic while away from school. She settled for wearing a one piece swimsuit whenever they were beach bound throughout the entire trip, to prevent her parents from asking difficult questions about the fading blue mark.

Hermione spent her time on the beach, or in the local markets, as well as dragging her parents to every ancient ruin and museum the island had to offer. When they got back, Hermione spent as much time as possible enjoying the Muggle world and doing Muggle things with her parents. She played scrabble with her dad, contentedly arguing with each other over who was cheating, watched nature documentaries with her mum, and helped out in her father's garden. She made biscuits that tasted great but looked awful, and she even let her mum take her clothes shopping. Jean Granger had insisted that Hermione did not have to wear jeans and trainers 'all the time' and instead brought her tailored but comfortable trousers and ballet pumps. Hermione protested that Scotland in the winter was not a place for shoes like that, but her mum ignored her complaining with a determination that Ron would have been impressed by.

As well as devoting herself to her parents Hermione spoke to her friends regularly. For the first time since she had attended school she received regular post, and while her mum had never quite settled to owls, Hermione could see how the increase in communications made her happy. Not that the uptick surprised her, Harry had never been able to contact her from Privet Drive, she would frequently hear from him when he got to the Burrow. Ron had never been much of a letter writer, however, with fewer of his siblings living at home he did send a couple of lines, once a week, mainly requesting homework help. She heard from Luna every few days, her search in Sweden had, so far, been unsuccessful, but the blonde and her father remained typically confident. Creature sighting or not it was evident from her excited and thoughtful notes that she was enjoying the time away.

Neville had also written a few times, Hermione had often wondered what his summers must have been like, with his austere grandmother. With his last letter, he had sent a plant, a small, sturdy, green clipping that made her smile. In one of their study sessions, they had discussed the viability of growing magical varieties in a Muggle environment, and he was clearly keen to have a go. So he sent the cutting and instructions, and Hermione had coerced her dad into releasing a small section of his vegetable patch. He had agreed although went on, at length, about his concerns for the potential of cross contamination into his cabbages.

All in all Hermione's summer was perfect, but even so, she never forgot about the looming threat. When night rolled around, and her parents had gone to sleep she would dream of the Department of Mysteries, the multiple shining silver masks appearing from the shadows, raging spell fire, and Luna's bloody face. When she would start awake, she would think over what she would have to do. She wasn't safe, she may never have been, but being at the Ministry that day would have painted a target on her back. These were the realities of war. While they had been at school the peril had been more abstract, she was protected by teachers and her friends. Now, after facing the Death Eaters, Hermione realised the weight of her youth and inexperience. She knew she could not protect her parents. Help was not forthcoming from the Order; she wasn't sure she could trust Dumbledore, she needed to make her own plans. Her parents wouldn't just leave if she asked, and even if they would have done, it probably would not have been enough to keep them safe. It only left one option in Hermione's mind, but she wasn't sure she could do it. She resolved to start making plans but take no action until she had considered every available alternative.

When Harry made it to the Burrow, as she had expected Hermione received a joint letter from him and Ron, no doubt prompted by Mrs Weasley, inviting her to got to Diagon Alley with them, to shop for school supplies in three days. Hermione immediately contacted Luna, and they made plans for her friend to attend, and for Hermione to spend the following evening at her house.

When she stumbled through the floo in the Leaky Cauldron Luna was already waiting for her. The girls happily exchanged holiday stories, and Luna talked about Sweden so animatedly she was barely drawing in a breath. After waiting for what felt like an age a cluster of ginger heads appeared, and the gaggle of Weasley's entered into the previously quiet pub. Molly wasted no time in making a bee-line for Hermione, complaining about her weight and that she had not been over to visit yet that summer. Hermione smiled at the familiar clucking and was largely happy to remain silent while Molly exhausted all of her pent up mothering.

Once they had all greeted each other, they left the pub and went through the brick entrance into the alley. Suddenly where there had been happy chaos, there was now stunned silence. Diagon Alley was almost unrecognisable. Gone was the sunbathed cobble street with shop windows displaying curiosities. Many of the shops were now closed, heavy boards nailed haphazardly across the frontages. The road itself seemed darker, people that were walking passed kept their heads down, moving with purpose and without greeting each other.

Luna slid her hand into Hermione's, and after several minutes of inaction Molly walked to the front of the group and began dishing out instructions like a drill serjeant. They were sent off in pairs to get everything done quickly; there would be no hanging around for an ice cream at Florean Fortescue's today. Luna and Hermione dispatched their to-do list swiftly, going from Flourish and Blotts to the Apothecary without delay. As Molly had instructed, they headed to the Twins' store once they were done.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was the only bright spot in the otherwise lifeless street. Hermione mused that the inside of the store was what it might be like to live inside the heads of the Twins. It was incredibly cluttered, everything was loud, bright or both, everything clashed, and it was brilliant.

Hermione moved around the deliberate anarchy, idly picking up things and reading the witty instructions on the packaging. Some of the magic displayed was staggering, particularly the line of defensive products. The charmed objects showed, as she had known for a long time, that there was a lot more than met the eye about the Twins. They were as concerned about the war as everyone else, for all their jokes, they were just going about it in their way. As if thinking about them had somehow conjured them into existence they appeared before her.

"Well, look who it is," Fred began, pulling Hermione into a hug before quickly releasing her and pushing her in the direction of his brother.

"Welcome to the store Granger; it's a pleasure to have you here."

"In fact, you're just the woman we wanted to see."

"Oh yes, and why's that?" Hermione turned to face them, they were wearing some of the most garish robes she had ever seen, but somehow it worked for them.

"We've been ruminating on some of our next developments," George whispered conspiratorially.

"And remembering some of your finer bits of magic over the years," Fred winked.

"We were wondering if you might fancy consulting with us for a bit?"

"Freelance so to speak."

"I don't know, what with N.E.W.T. level classes and-" she protested.

"It wouldn't take up much time," they said in unison, cutting off her argument.

"A few owls a month, a tiny bit of assistance," Fred tried, attempting to reassure her concerns.

"It wouldn't be taxing, a simple case of bringing your brain to the table."

"I'll do it, but I want something in return," she smiled sweetly at them, and they gave her matching concerned expressions. She leant in and named her terms. The twins exchanged a familiar glance; then both broke into matching wide grins

"You drive a hard bargain, Granger,"

"But we think we can agree to that."

While Luna and Hermione were scowling despairingly at the garish stand of love potion related products, Harry and Ron came crashing into the store and began breathlessly recounting how they had seen Draco and his mother in Madam Malkin's. The pale boy had apparently been stood on the dress stool and had flinched when the lady serving them had moved to work on his forearm. Hermione snorted, and Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Well, if there's nothing to it, why would he react like that?" he asked accusingly.

"I don't know Harry, maybe because someone stuck a pin in his arm?" she replied exasperated.

"It was a bigger wince than that," he protested hotly.

"Really Harry? When Buckbeak scratched Malfoy in the third year he wore a bandage, complete with sling, for a month. Then he tried to have him executed. You should be less concerned about Draco, and start worrying about the fate of the poor shop girl that's probably about to be put to death for harming him in front of his mother."

Harry opened his mouth, the look on his face suggesting that he did not care for Hermione's tone, but he was cut off from speaking by Luna, who began waving her arms frantically over his head. "What the hell?" He shouted taking a jerking step back from her.

"Sorry Harry, I'm trying to disturb the Wrackspurts," she replied, her eyes scanning the air around him.

Ron jumped about a meter in the air. "Wrackspurts, what's a wrackspurt? They're not crawly are they?"

"They're invisible," Luna replied absently, "they get into your brain and make it all go fuzzy, it seems they are affecting Harry, I thought I could feel one around her earlier." Harry looked utterly enraged by this point, and Hermione bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from laughing.

"Anyway," he said firmly, "we thought it was suspicious, so we followed him. He went down Knockturn Alley, into Borgin & Burkes and asked about a broken Vanishing Cabinet."

Hermione sighed, "Look, Harry, I know you don't like him, and I get it, but I really can't see Malfoy being a Death Eater. What could Voldemort possibly want with a sixteen-year-old boy?" Harry made to speak but Hermione held up her hands, she wasn't done. "Yes, it's suspicious, virtually everything Malfoy ever does is dubious. Why don't we keep an eye on it, see what happens when term starts? We don't want this ending with you obsessed like you were in the second year, convinced he was the heir of Slytherin."

"But Mione..." Harry's protests were once again cut off n by Luna resuming her arm waving and this time Hermione didn't suppress her laughter.

By prior arrangement, the girls headed back to the Leaky Cauldron to meet Luna's dad. Hermione wasn't sure to expect, the only other time she'd been invited to meet a friend's parents was when she had met the Weasley's, and there were so many of them it didn't matter if you ran out of conversation. When she had visited with them the first time it was with Harry, and he had commanded so much attention it was easy for her to slip behind him at intervals for a little break.

Walking into the pub, it was easy to spot Xenophilius Lovegood, even considering Hermione had never met him before; he was a tall man, with broad shoulders and pale blond hair that was almost the same length as Luna's. He was talking in an animated fashion to Mr Weasley, his face open and exuberant the entire time. Even if she hadn't recognised him from his features and characteristics, his clothes would have done it. Mr Lovegood's robes were a vibrant purple with what, at first glance, looked like fairly sensible tan shoes until you noticed the lime green laces poking out from the bottom of his trousers. He seemed like a fairy-tale 'all that was good' version of Lucius Malfoy.

Xenophilius turned towards the noise as they entered, and his features warmed even further as his eyes fell on his daughter.

"Hello little flower, how was the shopping?" he asked as he beamed at her.

"It was good thank you, Daddy, apart from an unfortunate outbreak of Wrackspurts. Harry is quite infested," Luna replied thoughtfully.

"I dare say he would be my dear, it's been a difficult couple of years for him, and you know how they can sniff out that sort of thing." As Luna nodded sagely her father turned to face Hermione, "and you must be Hermione. It's a pleasure to meet you, a real pleasure, I feel like I already know you to some extent from my little Luna's letters," he said brightly as he shook her hand.

"Thank you, Mr Lovegood it's a pleasure to meet you too."

"Oh, please, none of that, you will be staying in our home you must call me Xeno, but anyway, enough chatting, we should be off. Hermione, we thought it would be best that I take you both via side along apparition rather than the floo. We like to start the tour from the outside for new visitors."

Hermione nodded hastily to the offered plan and then said a quick goodbye to the Weasleys, she would see them in a few days. Xeno gripped her hand and held Luna's in his other and then they were being sucked through space.

Hermione landed unsteadily but did not fall as Mr Lovegood's grip on her hand steadied her. Once she had righted herself and momentarily stilled to allow the rolling nausea to subside, she looked around.

The Lovegood's home was perched on top of a green hill covered in daffodils. The building itself basked in sunshine and was shaped like a giant rook from a chess set.

"We call it the castle," Luna said smiling.

"It's amazing!" Hermione said truthfully.

The merry band of three walked towards the house through a waist high gate that was covered in various, seemingly homemade signs of all shapes and sizes. Hermione's eyes scanned a few as they walked passed 'Editor of The Quibbler', 'Please be mindful of the carnivorous plants'. As the outside had suggested all of the rooms were completely circular, with an annular wrought iron staircase in the middle. The Lovegood home was bright and filled with clashing colours, soft furnishings and odd objects littered all over the sides. It suited its inhabitants perfectly. In the same way, Hermione's parents seemed so well adapted to their suburban home with its well-manicured garden and the Weasley's fitted into the ramshackle add on brickwork of the Burrow.

Once a tour had been offered and excitedly undertaken the afternoon passed peacefully with a lot of laughter. Spending this alone time with her friend Hermione could see the parallels in how she and Luna had grown up. Sure their parents were very different people, but their parenting styles were similar. Xeno idolised his daughter, and the same lively debates happened over the dinner table here as occurred in her own home, though the topics of conversation were wholly separate. Well, that and the fact that the Lovegood's almost fell over each other to agree, whereas in the Granger home, debate battle lines were drawn deep, and they argued mercilessly.

When Luna began yawning, Xeno smiled warmly at her before telling them it was time for bed. They had to climb to the very top of the house to reach Luna's room, but the extra steps were worth it for the view over the lush fields she had from a large bay window. Decorated in a bright blue paint, all of the furniture was mismatched and covered in trinkets, the overall effect was very comforting and homely, Hermione found she liked it very much. After changing into her pyjamas, Hermione climbed into the bed. Despite the small size of the room the bed was more than big enough for two, especially when those two were Hermione and Luna, who were both on the small side.

On the bedside table, closest to her, Hermione noticed a copy of the picture Luna gave her for Christmas the year before. Luna's version was slightly larger, and the frame housed lots of little pictures, mainly featuring different members of the DA. There were two other photographs next to it, the first showed a truly beautiful blonde woman, who she imagined was Luna's mum, Pandora, holding a tiny baby Luna on her lap, she was smiling beautifully at the camera, lifting Luna's pudgy arm to try to get her to look in the same direction.

The second was a picture of Luna's parents on their wedding day, set in a massive clearing, with assorted guests in a circle around them, but the figures in the middle looked so lost to it all. Even though it was a magical picture, it may as well have been a Muggle still one, for all they moved. The couple were stood facing each other, both hands linked. At the start of each charmed rotation, Xeno Lovegood swiped his thumb slowly across Pandora's knuckles, and his new wife's smile widened at the touch, there was no other movement.

"It's lovely isn't it?" Luna asked quietly.

"Very," Hermione answered honestly, she felt a familiar hesitation, it was hard to know what was ok to say about Luna's mum and after such a lovely day she didn't want to say the wrong thing and upset her.

"Told you were a romantic Hermione," Luna said teasingly, and Hermione hit her with a pillow, all feelings of unease gone in an instant. The girls settled down into bed and after chewing it over Hermione turned on her side to face her friend.

"Luna what did you mean, in the Hospital Wing, when you said you didn't think it had been Dolohov's intention for the spell to altered?"

"I'm not sure really." Hermione sighed, and Luna turned to face her. "No one expected the purple colour; it wasn't readily identifiable. If he had wanted to hurt you, badly, there were a million ways he could have done so, but he didn't," she explained.

Hermione mulled over her words, trying to follow Luna's line of thought, "So you think the purple spell was a misdirection?" She asked eagerly.

"I think you should ask yourself why you want to know," Luna responded studying her face. Hermione returned Luna's gaze carefully; this wasn't a conversation she was ready to have yet. Mainly because she wasn't sure she was ready for anything she might reveal. She quickly changed the subject and minutes later they were saying goodnight.

Sometime later Hermione woke, she had never been that good at sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, she rolled onto her back to get comfortable, and that's when she saw it. Painted delicately and accurately, taking up half the ceiling was a mural depicting Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville and herself. The pictures didn't move like magical ones, but they were so realistic Hermione almost believed she saw them breathing. She sat up slightly, careful to not disturb Luna, squinting her eyes at the ceiling. Around all of the pictures, in golden ink, were circles that connected them all together, all comprised of the same letters written over and over.

Friends.

Hermione arrived home the next day, eager to tell her parents everything about the Lovegoods. Her mum sat happily at the kitchen table as she waxed lyrical about all that had happened and Hermione realised how much she had been holding back from her parents before now, how much she had missed by throwing herself wholeheartedly into the Wizarding world. As she spied her mum's glassy eyes over her tea cup, Hermione stilled her rush of descriptions.

"Mum, are you ok, what is it?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh don't you mind me, I'm just being a silly mum," at Hermione's stern look Jean laughed. "You just sound so happy darling, it's lovely for me to hear," she set her cup down on the side of the sink. "I know you have stuff going on, lots of stress. I've always seen it. I know there is more happening than you tell me but it's probably magical, and I wouldn't understand it, but it has been so nice to see more of you this summer, and to see you so much more confident in yourself. I may have been the one to suggest it, but I think developing your friendships has been good for you." Hermione was unsure how to respond, Jean Granger was not typically the type to get emotional.

"So now that you have good friendships, what about boys?" Her mum interjected, smiling knowingly at her, she was clearly trying to lighten the mood, but there was a hint of genuine enquiry in her voice that made Hermione worry. Hermione had never felt so relieved when they were interrupted by a huge eagle owl landing on the table. Her mum jumped back, startled by the sudden appearance and usually Hermione would have rolled her eyes, but she was slightly stunned herself. She wasn't sure she had ever seen an owl as big as this one, or as mean looking, as much as an owl could look mean.

Hermione tried to untuck the note it was carrying gently but the bird nipped down on her finger so hard its beak drew blood. "Ow you horrid thing," she hissed before resuming her action, this time not breaking eye contact, almost daring the owl to bite her again. Eventually, after what felt like an epic battle of wills, she was holding the folded up note in her hand. Hermione didn't want to feed it, but it swiftly became apparent that it would not leave till it had taken something, so she pushed a little bit of bacon towards its claws, the bird stared hard at her. "What? I'm not willingly putting my fingers anywhere near your beak."

When Hermione had finally shoved it out of the window her mum noticeably relaxed before leaving the room to get the first aid box, Hermione, still grumbling about avian manners, opened the note. Inside the tiny envelope was a ripped scrap of parchment, smaller than her palm, and scratched onto it was a short missive in an unfamiliar hand;

You have a matter of days
We are coming