Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)

A/N: Hello, everyone! It is finally Thanksgiving Break! I am so excited! Can't you tell! Haha, anyway... here is the latest chapter. It's funny to think that I began this story almost a year ago - it's been that long, waiting for me to sit down at the computer and think of new chapters. A whole year of patience and mishaps and exciting new things. I am very thankful to all my readers, whom without, I would have abandoned this story many months ago. THANK YOU. Thank you for being so wonderful and so dedicated. I appreciate it much more than you will know. :)

The story progresses! Carry on.

Hermione did not recall much of what happened after seeing the astonished look on John's face. She watched, riveted to the point of stiffness, as his dark eyes widened in horror and his mouth dropped open to reveal yellowed teeth. Soon after, John crashed to his knees and then later on his face. His arms lay complacently at his sides, his wand stranded in another dune of snow. She remembered the soft whump sound his body made as it collided with the earth and how still everything was for a few moments afterward. Then, there was shouting. It was directed mainly at her, but Hermione heard only persistent static. She did not move from her spot beside Seamus. Not even when prodded and pulled to her feet did she think to take back control of her own body. Instead, she let the shock reign in her limbs and resided complacently in her mind's images of John's downfall. It was a suitable thing to do at the time.

She awoke half an hour later with a splitting headache and cold fingers. As she pushed herself up on her elbows, Hermione began to fully register what she had done. Soon after came the consequences that made her cringe. She looked around and knew that she had been placed back in the secrecy of the forest. However, there was no sign of Ron, Harry, Seamus, or John. It was just her on the tiny mat they shared for sleeping. Hermione groaned, but the sound was lost among the withered branches and carried upwards by the wind, never to be heard by human ears.

God, what had she done? Why had she been so… rash? Foolish? Stupid? Hermione could clearly hear Ron's voice ringing in her smarting ears, demanding to know all the reasons she had propelled herself down into the valley alone and without question. She knew there would be no correct answer and that all that she would be able to supply was a meager 'I'm not sure.' All of the assurance that had once filled her spirit was gone, replaced with an aching sense of regret. Surely she had compromised their position….

…But why hadn't they moved, then? She was still on familiar ground and left to rest. With a thrumming heart, Hermione clambered precariously to her feet. Her headache did not dissipate like she hoped, but stayed with her as she wandered out of the hidden clearing and into the depths of the forest. She dared not call out and draw unwanted attention. Fear was encroaching on the periphery of her mind, hurrying her feet along through the scattered maze of sticks and sod. Eventually, as her wandering yielded only frustration and exhaustion, Hermione heard distant voices. They were familiar and she assumed they were her companions. She followed their trail with a renewed vigor and thrust herself through the woods.

Harry and Ron were standing with their backs to her as Hermione reached the edge of the woods. It was dangerous to be here – so far away from the safety the trees offered. They were stiff with their long arms crossed tightly across their chests, mirror images of the other. She would have guessed they wore the same, serious expressions. Tightened lips, flaring nostrils, furrowed brows, and slits for eyes – the visage of vexation. She had known the boys long enough to tell when their stances conveyed agitation in the way shifted from leg to leg impatiently and scratched the back of their heads shortly. They had grown so old in the time she had been away – their shoulders broadened and voices deepened to clarity – but they still remained set in their boyhood ways. It was comforting, even when Ron and Harry weren't in the best moods. They were still fundamentally the same.

Now, as Hermione pushed through the scrub brush that marred the footpath the boys had created, she saw there was another man with them. This body was laying face-up in the snow a ways from their feet. She concluded from their serious, low banter, they were deciding what to do with the corpse. Wait, John was no corpse yet. There were slight trails of smoke rising from his nostrils, proving that though unconscious, John Rivers still lived. Hermione swallowed and then decided to make herself known.

"What are you doing?" her voice was soft from disuse. She pulled her jacket closer to her body as she made her way across the clearing to join the group.

Harry and Ron simultaneously turned to glare at her.

"Go back," Ron's tone was filled authority. It was if she were a child and he her father. His fist was raised, a finger signaling for Hermione to turn right back around. "Now." There was no question, no asking for her to hear him out. It was an order in a voice she had not heard for a while. It made her stop.

"What?" she balked, feeling her sense of belonging fade. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions," Ron barked, unusually stern. Hermione realized that she had probably earned such treatment, but did not expect it to really be carried out. This is why she did not immediately move, but swayed in her spot with an incredulous look on her face. He approached in her in a few long strides, scooped her upper arm in his fist, and began dragging her back to the woods.

"Why?" Hermione repeated, flustered. She could not believe she was being treated this way in front of Harry. She knew that Ron was capable of much worse humiliation – she had experienced that kind of degradation behind closed door. She did not know, however, why he was behaving in such a way while others could see.

"Don't ask questions," Ron repeated gruffly. He once looked over his shoulder and gave a curt nod. It was so quick Hermione did not have time to comprehend what was taking place behind her. She tried to turn and catch a glimpse of Harry's face, but Ron shoved her roughly forward. It was unusual for him to be so physical.

"Was that John?" she asked, just for the sake of gaining information. She knew John's features and build, knew that was certainly the man laying at the boys' feet. She was out of breath now, being hurried along like this.

"Yes," Ron replied with no embellishment.

"What's going to happen?" Hermione was becoming agitated. She was an equal in the trio and granted, she had acted without reason, but she deserved to know John's fate. She tried to stop – grind her feet into the snow – but Ron's pace pulled her from the spot and made her stumble. Hermione tried to wrench her arm from his grasp, but Ron's fingers only tightened. "Ow!" she declared loudly.

This time, Ron did not reply. His silence ran deeper than any words could. Again, Hermione felt unease creep through her body. Her mind began to whirl with possibilities – with grotesque images of John's mangled body lying in a pool of blood – and steeled herself for the reality of that chance. He certainly deserved a worse fate, but she would accept his death without hesitation or shame.

"You're going to kill him," Hermione said aloud, just to make sure the actual words did not harm her. It was satisfying to know that John's death would not hang heavy on her shoulders, like many others did. The declaration was just that – a statement, a fact – rather than a question that awaited a confirmation.

Yet, confirmation came anyway in a skewed manner. Ron's mouth opened and he blinked rapidly, but chose not to say anything yet. Instead, he focused on the pace he kept. Finally, they were at the clearing and he sat them both down on the mat that still lay on the ground. "It doesn't matter," he shook his head. "This shouldn't concern you. It's an Auror's job and Harry's up for it. Don't think any more about it, for all our sakes."

"Alright," Hermione replied gently. Still, her heart pumped unevenly in her chest. It was a sick sort of exhilaration that John's impending doom brought her. She did not want to celebrate his death, but she refused to mourn it. It was strange to know a man was going to be executed a half mile away – a man she had spent years with, talking, eating, and laughing with. A man she had known, a man who had tried to kill her, a man who believed in evil things. His existence was going to be terminated – the world rid of just another bad person – and she could barely make herself care. Hermione was not a violent or particularly vicious person and her nonchalance was worse than anything that brutality might bring.

"That was a very stupid thing you did," Ron began again, in a heartier voice. He leaned forward, his brows still knit together tightly, and stared her in the eye. Perhaps it was a scare tactic, but it did not work on her. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Luckily, no one noticed the incident. Harry covered our tracks, made it look like we were never there."

"Where's Seamus?" Hermione interrupted, without thought to his original sentence. Just the fact John's murder was being replaced with a different subject allowed her enough space to remember the reason for their trip. Her head whipped around, scattering hair across her face, but she was not rewarded with any sight of the man in question.

Ron sighed heavily and let his shoulders sag. "He's away from here. Harry and I set him up a couple yards from this spot. He needs seclusion. He's got the tent and most of the blankets. Hypothermia added to all his injuries just might kill him. We've got to get him out of here. We don't have much time before they discover Rivers missing, anyway."

"But what about the rest of the Shop?" Hermione felt panic hit her bloodstream. They could not stay and fight with Seamus in such a condition, but they could not take him back and leave the Shop to retaliate. Yet, it seemed the boys had decided to do exactly that. "We can't leave, not yet."

"We have to," Ron answered quickly, harshly. He saw emotion flash suddenly in her eyes and took her hand in his. "We have to get Seamus help. I can't do much without my lab or a proper facility. I've done the best I could for the time being, but he won't last without professional care. We'll definitely lose him if we try to fight now." He touched Hermione's frozen face; trace the outline of blush coloring her cheeks. She was watching him with familiar impatience, waiting for another answer to analyze. God, she was so stubborn.

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head furiously, ignoring the pain that exploded like fireworks behind her lids. She moved away from Ron's touch and opened her eyes into a hard, determined glare. He wasn't understand the impact of their decision. She had already devised a makeshift plan in those mere seconds, one that would allow for both things to happen. "We can do this," her voice was infused with passion. "Someone can take Seamus back – I will, if I must – and you and Harry will stay and fight. You're right about John – Rivers, I mean – they'll be looking for him a matter of hours. Now is the perfect time to act! They don't suspect anything now and this window of opportunity is growing smaller as I speak. Once they discover our plot, there will be no chance in winning. You have to trust me about this, Ron."

It was Ron's turn to shake his head with a grim expression. "It's alright in theory," he told her disappointedly, "but it's not plausible right now. You can't run a long distance, let alone carry a full-grown man over your shoulders while doing so. Harry and I can only do so much. I can't risk his life, I won't do it." Ron took Hermione's hand forcibly this time, refusing to let go even when she shot him a devastating look and tried to take it back. "I would give my own," he hissed, "but I can't ask him to do the same."

"He's asked us to do it plenty of times!" Hermione retaliated quietly, spitting the words out into the cold, clear air. Even as the sentence exploded from her lips, she knew she was lying. Harry had never asked them to give their lives – even tried to prevent them from following – but they had acquiesced and wordlessly followed in his pursuit of Voldemort. It had been her personal choice to face danger. Ron was, as impossible as it seemed, right. This time.

Ron only responded with a hard glower. Hermione turned her face away, but did not take the words back. It would have been ineffectual, anyway.

---

And so, it was decided within the hour that the camp would be packed up and they would leave. The topic of apparition was debated heatedly by all three, crowded around Seamus' sleeping body. Hermione smoothed his blankets and covered his neck with them, feeling sickness swim in her stomach. She wondered briefly if she looked this poorly when she had been found a year ago. Then, her attention was forced back to the conversation. Ron and Harry were hissing and spitting like kettles, trying to keep their voices soft, but still harsh. She added her own opinion into the broil of words and eventually, they decided it would be best to start out on foot. They would find a place an acceptable distance from the camp and apparate to the nearest city. It was dangerous, but a chance they would have to take in order to save Seamus.

Ron and Harry then began to debate the topic of how, exactly, they were going to get Seamus to that appropriate location. They wrapped him in a few blankets tightly, creating a cocoon around his damaged body. Harry took his shift first and hoisted Seamus over his shoulders, grunting with the effort. However, Seamus had lost quite a bit of weight during his absence. The challenge of carrying him was gratefully lessened. Hermione gathered the rest of their things and walked close to Ron. Her heart had not stopped thudding since she had woken and the beat was taking its toll. She felt nervous and vulnerable as sweat broke out across her forehead. She stared at the ground as they began their journey, filled with disappointment and fear. There would be a retaliatory act, she was completely sure of it. It was only a question of who they would kill next time.

Ron kept her from worrying to the extent of tears. Occasionally, he would bump her shoulder or let his fingers accidentally slide across the back of her bare hand. Her head would jerk upwards to be rewarded with a tight, secretive smile. She tried to smile back, to forgive him of this grevious mistake he was committing, but it turned into a grimmace each time. It was easy, of course, for him to blow it off as result of her stupendous stubbornness. The touch of her skin was right enough for him. Ron worried more about how she was going to fare getting back home than how she mulled over the Shop. Of course, that obligatory danger rested on his back, but the impertanence of getting Seamus to saftey made him forget. Sure, there was a part of him that was disappointed that the Shop still stood. It had been his mission since the start to bring it down, but seeing Seamus changed all that. It was like seeing Hermione when she first arrived, mangled and gnarled in his bed. He would ensure care for his friend before returning. This was a promise he had made aloud in Harry's presence and the other man had seriously agreed. They would waste no time in returning.

"Stop," Harry commanded after an hour of walking. It was no ordinary suggestion – a pleading to rest, to breathe, to hand Seamus over to a comrade. No, this one word conveyed a thick, hard superiority that made both Ron and Hermione freeze without question. Harry's leadership experience lent him that voice, that complete control of a situation. They stood unmoving in a triangle, Harry staring off into the distance.

Suddenly, Harry's head jerked back and his stern eyes rested heavily on Ron. "Do you see that?" he asked, turning back to his original subject.

Ron craned his neck and noted something on the horizon line. It was just a black line – probably scrub or forest. It was not uncommon for tundra and so he immediately discarded the sight. Instead, he looked for people, animals, actual living threats on their lives. "What is it?" he asked when there was nothing of the sort in his line of vision.

"Out there," Harry replied. He made no gesture, so Ron had to rely on the way his head faced. Again, his eyes were drawn to the line across the horizon – the nothingness that accompanied the area.

"Is that-" Hermione said aloud, having craned her neck, too. She was almost used to being left out of 'important' things, being as that she was not an Auror. Instead of complaining, though, she merely listened and watched. If either of the boys misinterpreted anything, she would quickly be there to correct it. "Is that thing moving?"

"Yes," Harry breathed, losing some of the edge to his tone to incredulity.

"Those are people?" Hermione asked, recognizable alarm punctuating her words.

"Yes, I think so," Harry replied, still unmoving.

"The Shop," Ron confirmed. "They've found us out."

A/N: I certainly hope you enjoyed it! I wrote it while I was doing laundry in the basement of my dorm building, a perfect time of night to conduct such writing. :) Now that it is Thanksgiving Break, I will have time to regard my map and actually fill in the rest of my outline. Perhaps the ending will be around Christmastime, so it will be a sort of present to all my readers! That would be splendid, I think. :) Anway, please leave me a comment, question, or suggestion. I love reading feedback.

Have a great holiday, everyone! And don't forget to see Twilight, even if it is to mock it. :)