The first few weeks were sheer agony, even more complicated and painful than her Christmas break. Initially, after they discovered her by the lake, freezing and incoherent, the Order assumed she had fallen victim to a curse, just like many others had during that fateful night.

However, as time passed, her health concerns were overshadowed by other events: Dumbledore's funeral, the unveiling of his will, and the Seven Potters mission. Her deteriorating condition went unnoticed, whether it was her weight loss, the dark circles under her eyes, or her mysterious silence. Perhaps they dismissed it as a consequence of the trauma inflicted by the invasion at Hogwarts.

At the Burrow, the constant hustle and bustle left her no room for solitude, no opportunity to regain her equilibrium.

Then came the wedding, followed by the Death Eaters' attack and their hurried escape. She hadn't anticipated any of this. She found herself navigating each day as it came, desperately waiting for an opportunity to reunite with him.

When they ended up in Grimmauld Place, shortly after Apparating to London, for the first time since Sirius' death, she rushed to the Black Family Tree, just to be sure. Alive.

There was only one way out now. Only one way to bring them together, to find him, to never again be separated by anyone.

She had to end the war.

She had to free him from those Death Eaters. From his family. From those people who had used him, who had made him suffer.

Only she really understood him. Only she knew how he felt. Only she could give him what he needed and had never had.

Peace.

Security.

Love.

Fueled by this newfound determination, Hermione threw herself desperately into the mission she had set herself. Harry and Ron appeared relieved to see her finally taking charge once more.

Hermione had to be strong; she had no other option. There was no room for error.

The trio was once again gathered around the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place, which had become their headquarters. Their days passed much like the ones before, attempting to haphazardly organise their upcoming Horcrux hunt. To be frank, Hermione thought that they were preparing to venture into the unknown. They were sorely lacking in information, and Dumbledore had not been much help.

Their only solace lay in the knowledge that they were together and, for the time being, relatively safe.

Over a well-deserved lunch, discussions turned once more to the elusive R.A.B.

"Are you absolutely certain you have no idea who this RAB might be? They can't have just materialised out of thin air. They must have had some proximity to Voldemort to know about the Horcruxes and exchange one for a fake without getting caught," Harry inquired.

Without getting caught.

"But how can we be sure that he—or she—hasn't been apprehended and punished, Harry? We can't even be certain if Voldemort isn't alerted when his Horcruxes are destroyed," Hermione countered.

Hermione's newfound determination drove her to take charge of the mission once more. Harry and Ron watched with relief as she stepped up to the task at hand.

"Well, that doesn't get us any further... And with a Horcrux on the loose, and who knows how many others whose existence we're probably unaware of, we're not getting rid of the snake's head anytime soon," Ron said, disheartened.

His two friends wore equally grim expressions.

Her ritual. The moment she eagerly anticipated all day.

At night, when Ron and Harry slept in the living room, sprawled uncomfortably on the couches they had converted into makeshift beds, Hermione slipped away to return to the small room containing the Black family tree.

She needed to make sure it was still intact.

She had to see his face, so she wouldn't forget.

Draco Malfoy.

The son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black.

Sirius' cousin.

Sirius.

Sirius, who had a brother. A younger brother who died at the tender age of eighteen. A younger brother named Regulus.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

R.A.B.

Oh, sweet Circe. Thank you, Draco.

"Right, I'll be heading to bed," Harry announced as he rose, stretching and yawning. They were both chilled to the bone, huddled by a makeshift fire in the heart of the Forest of Dean. "Could you keep hold of the locket? I don't think I can bear it much longer."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione replied, her voice laced with concern. "I think we should break camp at first light. We've lingered here far too long." The memory of their Christmas in Godric's Hollow was still fresh in their minds, and their brush with death had left a deep impact on them both. In the following days, they moved in silence, their senses on high alert, sleeping scarcely at all, ever watchful for the slightest suspicious sound, the faintest shadow, or the most subtle movement.

"Have a restful night, Harry. I'll wake you when it's time to leave," Hermione whispered, tenderly embracing him and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. She then carefully unhooked the locket from his neck, and secured it around her own.

Once Harry had entered the tent, Hermione resettled herself near the fire and curled up. She dreaded those moments when she relieved Harry of the burden of the Horcrux. Her unease would deepen during those times, stronger than ever before.

Her soul felt divided, torn in two. On one side was Draco , a constant presence within her, her anchor, her guiding star, her unyielding motivation. But there was something else, something darker and more insidious, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but knew that she despised whatever it was. It was an unsettling distraction, no doubt designed to hinder her pursuit of Draco, to keep her from finding him .

On most nights, her unease prevented her from focusing on any of the books she had brought from Grimmauld Place. But she managed, albeit with great difficulty, to draw upon her memory to relive happier moments. Some nights—like this one—the Horcrux's influence was simply too strong for her to do anything else. And even more rarely, she saw him . When she was truly exhausted, when she felt weak and drained of energy, he would materialise before her, like a mystical vision.

He appeared just as she had last seen him, clad entirely in black. Still as handsome, as elegant, as majestic as ever. He was there for her, gazing at her, and she drank in every detail of him. Then, as he did every time he appeared, he began to speak to her. His voice soothed her as much as his words shattered her heart. His eyes, once a captivating grey, now glowed with an otherworldly, unsettling light. "You're nothing but a filthy Mudblood, " he hissed, the words dripping with venom, each syllable like a razor-sharp fang that sank deep into her psyche. "I could never love someone as beneath me as you, Granger. It's a pathetic delusion to think otherwise." A sinister laughter echoed in the eerie space around them, chilling her to the bone. Shadows danced maliciously, their tendrils clawing at her very soul. Despite the cruel torment, her love for him remained an unwavering ember, casting a stubborn, warm light against the encroaching darkness, a testament to her unbreakable resolve. She knew it was not really him . She knew it was the Horcrux speaking. She knew that they were meant to be, no matter what.