A/N: Warning! angst!Harry makes an appearance. Couldn't be ignored. So does 'Mione', but I promise not to abuse it.

Harry was sitting in the bay window of his room, looking out over the view that was deceivingly real. Like the Ministry, the windows of Grimmuald Place were magicked to create the illusion of solitude, but Harry had long since guessed that the view of the area was what the house once resided in.

A thick tangle of trees was off to the side of the house but soon broke off to frame a dirt road that passed close to the entrance. Beyond that was a meadow swathed in fog in the approaching dawn. As his gaze wandered, the discussion he had had with Ron and Hermione played over in his mind.

Three ripped open envelopes lay on Harry's bed; two of them containing Head badges and a third for Prefect of Hogwarts. It had taken a few minutes of congratulations and I-told-you-so's while Hermione was jumping for joy as she read aloud every word of her letter. The other Head badge was for Harry, who was slightly dumbstruck as he looked down at it while Ron clapped him on the back.

Ron laughed at his expression, "What are you worried about? We practically run the school anyway! This just makes it official." He grinned and polished his badge. The trio had settled down into Harry's room, catching up on the missed summer months.

"Man Harry, you should've seen those things- well, not to say that you haven't, I mean with the tournament and all. But working there with Charlie made me realize how mad Hagrid was to think he could bring up a dragon on his own."

"What did you do there?" asked Hermione.

"Ah, kids stuff…shoveling dung and collecting scales for potion supplies…nothing that exciting. I learned loads though! Hey- did you know that an iris of a dragon is used in the Draught of Living Death?" Ron asked with a satisfied air.

Hermione barely suppressed rolling her eyes as she glanced at Harry. It wasn't so long ago that the three of them had tried to produce the same potion in Professor Slughorn's class. Harry in return gave her a supportive nod as if to say, 'Just let him have it this one time.'

Hermione put a quizzical look on her face and said, "No, I didn't know that."

But the fact that she had admitted to not knowing something made Harry break out into a suspicious fit of coughs. Ron smiled at his rarely obtained status and changed his focus to Harry.

"Well?"

"What?" Harry replied off guard.

Ron rolled his eyes, "You were gonna tell us about why we're going back to Hogwarts?"

"Oh, right…" At first, he didn't know how to start, but like he had heard before; the beginning was best. "Well, when I was working with Dumbledore, we made the assumption that since Riddle had made horcruxes out of the ring, the diary, and the locket of Slytherin, as well as the tea cup of Hufflepuff, that it wouldn't be beyond the thought of a horcrux for something of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Not to mention the fact that Riddle was anxious to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He knows that Hogwarts is the most secure place, besides Gringotts."

"Five horcruxes?" said Hermione. She was speaking slowly, and Harry could tell the gears were whirring behind her narrowed eyes.

"Dumbledore also thought that his snake Nagini was one."

"Well that makes sense; an overgrown snake," Ron agreed as he leaned against Harry's bedpost.

"And Voldemort himself," stated Hermione. She turned fully to where Harry was leaning against the fireplace. The room was cast in a soft glow by the dying flames, but the approaching darkness wasn't what was worrying her. "Seven. Harry…" she got up and walked over to where he was standing, making sure that she was in front of the fire that was consuming his attention.

She started in a quiet voice, not really remembering that Ron was on the far side of the room. "Seven is the most magical of all numbers. To destroy a horcrux is to give mortality to its maker, but seven? That's something that nobody knows the result of."

Harry nodded at her theory; of course he had thought about it, of course he had no idea what would happen. Her outline was glowing from the fire, and he could tell that she was waiting for something more.

"But you're not sure about one of them..."

He looked directly into her eyes, not wanting to draw it out any longer. "'One cannot live while the other survives.'"

Harry sighed again and rubbed his face, his features slowing taking on highlight from the rising sun. What had followed that, he should've known; they both went into a right state:

"What?" asked Ron, his mouth dropping open.

To his surprise, the fire behind Hermione flared with a sudden gust. "Don't you dare say that, Harry!"

He kept his voice calm, "What? Overlook the possibility? Even you couldn't do that Hermione."

"Harry that's nutters," said Ron, walking over to where the other two stood. "If there was a piece of V-Voldemort's soul inside of you, I'd think you'd know it. Really mate…it's just- nutters." Ron had gained Harry's undivided attention with the simple statement. First of all, Ron had said Riddle's name. Secondly, he could understand that even though there was a connection between himself and Voldemort, it did not necessarily mean that a piece of Riddle was inside of him. But the prophecy was still in his head, and he remembered the conversation he had with Dumbledore about its meaning:

"There is only one thing that Voldemort cannot do, that you can-"

"I know! I can love!" he'd replied with frustration.

But was that really 'the power the dark lord knows not'? Harry couldn't bring himself to believe it.

The room was dark again, and even though the trio were standing close together; Harry could tell that Ron had gone pale and Hermione was holding back tears. She stood unmoving however, with her arms folded across her chest, "I think that's what he's counting on…for you to believe that, Harry."

The sun had risen as a fuzzy white ball through the dense fog that still covered the horizon. Harry conjured a cup of tea on the window ledge, watching the tendrils of steam that flowed upwards. Were they right? Or were they all completely off track with assuming that it wasn't another inanimate object that belonged to Hogwarts? He had also felt that his friends had changed dramatically, whether it was on the spot, or over their time apart.

There was a soft knock on the door. "It's open," he answered, picking up his mug.

Hermione stepped inside closing the door behind her. He could tell she hadn't slept either; she was still wearing her jeans and white blouse from the day before. Her hair was long now, falling past her shoulder blades. She had started wearing an old silver locket that was intricately engraved which caught the increasing sunlight.

"Morning," he said, not wanting to start with the obvious topic. But then he knew Hermione better than to expect her to just drop the subject.

"You've been up all night, haven't you?"

He nodded. She leaned against the opposite side of the windowsill, facing him. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking you're right, as always."

"I'm not always right. I just have the habit of looking from a logical point of view. You and Ron tend to trust you're guts, that's why your so good at defense...but then again, Ron also trusts you."

"You trust me? Enough to follow me through this?"

She huffed and rolled her eyes, "Bloody hell, Harry. Do you even have to ask?" He raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic language. "Your doubting yourself, with Dumbledore gone, aren't you?"

That was a question that he hadn't expected; almost shocking all of the tiredness out of him. "Well, of course- I mean…"

He trailed off and turned to Hermione. His friends had changed. His time in Grimmauld Place had reminded him of how Sirius had been cooped up, with no options. He felt as if he had no choices, and each day he was beginning to see that he didn't have much control over his life as he had when Dumbledore and Sirius were around. Things were slowly becoming too black and white, and all that he had left of his life before Voldemort was Ron and Hermione. As grateful as he was that they were there, a pressure was beginning to form against his heart, telling him that the danger for them was now even greater...and that he still had the chance of getting them away from harm.

He felt a boiling anger mixed with helplessness and heard the words spilling from his mouth, sounding like a final verbal confirmation that his fears were growing.

"How could I not feel that way? So much was withheld from me- I didn't trust you and Ron- I mean- I was so sure, so ready, and then there I was at the Ministry- endangering everyone! Even though you doubted everything, you we're still there. Everyone was there- because of me. Sirius was only there because of me. And Dumbledore, he believed in me- and where did that get him?"

His voice had risen to a shout and Hermione cast a silencing charm over the room. She waited for him to finish. His voice came out quiet now, a pained whisper that Hermione hadn't heard before.

"My parents. Cedric. Sirius. Even you almost…And now Dumbledore. All I can think of is that it's because of me. And when is it going to end? How is it that there is so much hatred in the world? I'm starting to think that I can't stand it." Harry stared at the dregs of his tea, willing his emotions back down.

"And now this-" he made an erratic hand gesture, "this treasure hunt for horcruxes that I don't know how to destroy. Then fighting him, with his army of Death Eaters, without Dumbledore, just me…and even then… is that the end of it? Where does it end? Can you please tell me where it ends?"

Harry looked up at her. She had carefully hidden her expressions until now; a look of ultimate sadness and fear stamped her features that was accentuated by the dark circles around her eyes.

"You can't think that way, Harry. You just can't," she took a step closer to him and put a hand on his arm. She was trying to get him to look her in the eye, even though her lower lip was trembling. "As a person, are you anything like Voldemort?"

"No," he replied dully.

"Then stop taking credit for his actions."

"Hermione-"

"I could tell you a thousand times in a thousand different ways that you're not to blame for any of those things. Ron and I and so many others always had the choice of not facing this war, but when it came face to face with us, do you think our decision to fight was solely based on you being there? No. And you better come to terms with that."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This was why he needed his friends here; getting in his face about his guilt at five in the morning. It was a few minutes before he let a small smile escape, "Like I said 'Mione, you're right, as always."

She let her features relax and rolled her eyes, muttering "'Mione?" while she pulled him into a hug. Harry could smell the smoke from the fire she sat by all night, along with the remaining scent of a fragrant, spicy tea. Hermione let go and faced him again, "Get some sleep if you can, we're going to Diagon Alley this afternoon."

"Right."

She gave him another glance as she stopped with her hand on the doorframe, her exit letting in the smells of breakfast. "Ron and I are always here, Harry."

Closing the door behind her, Harry let his head fall against the windowsill, feeling strangely at rest since the beginning of the night.