Chapter. 8

A murder most foul and a touch of Christmas's past

(Memory #2)

CHAPTER WARNING: Before you go any further i want you to understand 2 things. Firstly a reminder that the note section is Hermione's thoughts and things she wants to tell to Ron or ask him. Secondly just gonna go ahead and warn you, Harry dies in this chapter. Hermione doesn't witness it but the description is rather gorey and might be triggering. This chapter is DARK. There is no Order of the Phoenix and now the only resistance left is Ron, Fleur and Draco. Actually a 3rd thing to add as well i do not have a beta working to help point out any errors from this point, that being said let's laugh about spelling errors and plotholes together in the comments. Okay, Happy reading!

Hermione's notes: Harry's fault.

You said it was all Harry's fault, Ron.

I don't understand. I'm afraid to understand. To believe you might be right.

Especially now.

I think something the muggle and wizarding world's have in common, is that people who speak negatively of the dead are of ill repute.

I can't bring myself to yet imagine Harry to be at fault for much of anything.

Loyal to a fault, was what my mother used to say about me. Every time you or Harry were brought up. She didn't like that about the friendship we shared, how we stuck together regardless of imminent danger. She thought it was intense. Like we were always all just a breath away from taking a curse for each other.

And i guess we always were.

Weren't we?

My mother could have been a hell of a witch, had the gene not skipped her. She could find that quality in a person, that upon first look, seems like an asset to possess. When in reality it's their greatest weakness.

My mother said for Harry it was his faith. I have to agree. Because he always meant well, but he sometimes had to much trust in other people and often times in the wrong people.

Harry's trust in you didn't do him any favors for example.

It still ended with him dead on the ministry floor.

They strung Harry up, outside the Ministry after you killed him. Did you know that, Ron? Did you know what they did to his body?

I read all about it, Malfoy gave me the daily prophet the morning after. I saw the pictures. It made me think of Bill.

According to the paper Voldemort had been furious Harry's glasses had not been recovered, i'm still not sure how you explained that away. Regardless when i saw the photos i couldn't help but think of how cold Harry probably was, because they took all his clothes from his body. Left him entirely naked, while reporters gathered round. They made him a spectacle Ron, you know how he hated that. Harry never wanted to be famous. I stared at those photos for hours watching the flash bulbs going off, and the light reflecting in his glazed over eyes. The death eaters wanted everyone to see it was Harry's own entrails he was hanging from. Swaying back and fourth in the wind like a fish on a line. Naked and bloody above the grand columns of the ministry entrance was Harry Potter all alone. I expected they would disgrace his body, but I didn't realize how thorough they would be. His green eyes were open, seeing nothing. No one could even be bothered to give him that one decency, in death. No one could be bothered to just close his damn eyes. I didn't want to see him like that, to remember him like that. Now when i think of Harry the first thing I think of is his corpse on the front page. 'The boy who lived- dead.' Was splashed above, the font was swirly and emerald green. I've always hated that color, and i probably always will.

We all used to sit by the black lake. Skip rocks on it, and laugh. We shared our dreams, and secrets. For a brief few years the Golden trio were infallible, and united.

That's how i think i'd like to remember us if it was up to me. If I wasn't your pawn, if you didn't still have use of me. I'd just stop all of my memories after Dumbledore died. I'd relive them over and over on a loop. Just from my birth to 6th year.

Those years for me at least were Golden.

I wish you the most horrible death there will ever be Ronald Weasley. I hope no one closes your dead eyes. I hope they string you up by your insides. I hope you feel everything Harry had to feel when you turned your wand against him for the last time. I hope if there's a hell, you burn in it.

.

.

.

4 unforgivable curses? How was that not common knowledge? What happened with Astoria Greengrass? Hermione stumbles out of the memory with such force she lands sprawled at Malfoy's feet.

The memory gave her so much information, but it also left her with plenty of questions.

Her mind is alight as she digests what she saw, and the prospects of what it all could mean ping pong around her brain.

She had never paid her inner self much mind, having pegged her as a manifestation of her own weaknesses. Now it seems that had been rather brash of her. Inner Hermione hadn't always been a part of her. She supposed the guilt of the deaths she had caused had spurned inner Hermione into existence. A product of her guilty conscious. She recalls first noticing her inner self sometime after 6th year, but she can't pin the time down exactly. There was clearly more to her inner self than innocence and school girl tights. The presence she exuded in that dress, it reminded her of... a villain.

Was it true? If she could be believed her inner self had told her there was a 4th unforgivable. It was still hard to wrap her mind around, even though it was on the paper Hermione had seen herself in the library.

The spell was real she decided. There were in fact 4 unforgivable curses. Why was her inner self divulging this to her? Why? Why now?

Hermione gathers herself up off the floor, realizing she's made a bit of a scene coming out of the penseive. She isn't all alone with Malfoy anymore.

There are pants for her on the table, and Fleur must have taken her potion, the vial she gave Malfoy is empty.

As she pulls the pants on over her hips she can see, something is wrong. There's a tension in the room, like a bomb was about to blow.

Ron is back. He won't look towards her. She isn't sure of how long he's been gone.

As she stands up to her full height she takes it in. The choking silence could put out fiendfyre. No one is sitting but from the way the chairs lay haphazardly it looks they had been only minutes ago.

The exact second her eyes land on Fleur, she knows, she just knows what it is that's happened. Even so, Hermione asks.

"What's the matter?"

Malfoy's knuckles are white, from gripping his wand to tightly. He looks like he might be sick, or maybe he already had been.

Fleur has a streak of tears running down her face. For another woman their mascara would have run. Fleur being part veela meant she didn't have need for mascara. In fact Hermione had never known her to wear a single stitch of makeup. Even when she was crying she was beautiful.

"Iz orrible." Fleur bawls out clutching at her chest and then she devolves into outright sobs. Hermione takes note of the fact that Malfoy and Fleur are standing as far away from Ron as possible.

"Wha-" Hermione's heart sinks. She stares at Ron open mouthed waiting.

Waiting.

For something.

Ron picks up the chairs from the ground and rights them. His face is stone. Unbothered. Hermione wishes she could occlude, she wishes she could be half as calm as Ron looked.

"Take her away." Ron demands of Draco while claiming one of the seats for himself. "I need a moment with Hermione alone."

Draco says nothing, and after a few moments of coaxing her, Fleur allows him to usher her out of the tent.

Ron pulls out his carton of cigarettes and she thinks he might be about to light up, but he just lays it in the center of the table lazily.

He looks deep in thought. Mulling over what to say to her Hermione guesses. She wraps her arms around herself, protectively without realizing.

"Sit down." Ron says. It's emotionless, like he asked to borrow her quill.

"No. No. He can't-" Hermione feels a sting in the corner of her eye. "Tell me he isn't-"

"Sit. DOWN." He kicks the other chair in her direction. "No crying. I command it of you. I need you not to lose it, Hermione."

She bites her lip until she tastes blood, and her hands shake as she rights the chair. She suddenly wants desperately to pick at her cuticles.

WWMMD.

'What would Minerva Mcgonagall do?' She asks herself.

When she sits and stills herself under the gaze of the Red Baron she forces her own face into a mask to match his.

"I'm ready." But was she really? Who could ever be ready for this conversation?

"Shortly after the Order's headquarters were destroyed there were sightings. Almost immediately. In muggle London first. Then Hogsmeade. Even had someone claim they saw him at the black lake. Harry Potter was all over this side of the globe for a few hours."

Hermione nods.

"I was surprised to hear it at first, I wasn't entirely sure he had made it through the all kill order at headquarters. I was surprised Harry would be exerting so much of his energy, that soon after the Order fell. Why not fall back, immediately? I thought he must have gone mad. I realized though it was all part of his ploy. The kind Harry would pull. Harry wanted to distract Voldemort's people from something, and lure them away from their posts. I started thinking about what he might have been after. What would drive him to go to such lengths? What would be so important he would risk aparating all across London, and risk getting caught? He could of just hid himself away, couldn't he? Lived to fight some other day."

Ron blew out a breath from deep in his chest, and the effort seemed to wind him. His voice got lower as he spoke.

"God dammed, self righteous, prat. He should've just-"

His hand clenches around the carton of cigarettes, and he rips one out and had it lit before Hermione could blink.

"I knew. I know, i knew. All that wand waving, and apparition. There was only 1 thing, Harry would have thought was worth getting caught over."

Ron fixes her with a look so intense she has to look away.

"You. Harry was looking for you, Hermione. He wasn't going to leave you behind. You should know that."

The stench of smoke coils around her making her feel light, and like she is drifting. Or maybe her feeling like that has nothing to do with the smoke.

"Voldemort's regime never made any attempt to hide where we take our prisoners, that won't see Azkaban."

Voldemort allowed for a small number of wizards who fought for the Order to be interned at Azkaban prison. They were all pureblood. Any prisoners taken that were half blooded or muggle born, were taken to the ministry where they were imprisoned for a status of short term. The half bloods and muggleborns never made it more than a quarter of the year. They were more often than not tortured in the same fashion of Neville's parents, repeatedly and until they were insane. If they were lucky they just died, if unlucky they lived and had to suffer through the ordeal of starving to death alone in a ministry jail cell.

"Harry went to the ministry?" Her voice is so small. "To find me."

Of course. He had probably assumed they'd taken her there after headquarters's had fallen. The self righteous prat.

"How could he have known i was even alive?" Her throat stung, then. The guilt. It was already pressing in on her. "He couldn't have known."

"I'm not sure. Knowing Harry…" Ron takes a drag and taps his ashes over the table. "He probably just had a feeling, and went with it."

"What happened at the ministry, Ron? Did you see him? Is he-" Hermione has to stop speaking for a moment to bat away another bout of stinging in her eyes. No crying. "Is he okay?"

Ron takes the longest drag, she's ever seen anyone take of a cigarette in her life. Don't his lungs burn? His eyes are closed tight when he says the sentence that Hermione knows will haunt her for the rest of her life.

He only answers her last question. "No he isn't, and he'll never be okay again."

There it was, the bomb had finally blown.

It felt like shrapnel to her heart. Like she'd been impaled straight through.

Malfoy's words come back to her, they make her mouth taste like bile.

'Granger. Knowing what you do. Well i think we both realize Potter doesn't have a future, his won't be a happy ending.'

Hermione had run out of time to save Harry from the horcrux inside him. It was to late, she was to late.

Ron opens his eyes, snuffs the butt of his cigarette out on the table. Long fingers pluck something out of his shirt pocket, and he's sliding it across the table at her.

"I was pretty sure you'd refuse to accept it, when i told you, so i-" Ron looks passed her. "brought these back."

Hermione reaches out and between both her hands she cradles, as delicately as she can, a pair of thin framed glasses. She'd repaired this particular pair more times than she could count, so she was quite familiar with them. Black metal like she remembers, but they are cool to the touch which feels alien. Anytime she ever handled them before they'd come off Harry's head and held the warmth of his body. They were very much cold and lifeless, now. To her disgust, she turns them over in her hands and she notices other things. One lens is cracked the glass has splintered, the frame is warped slightly on one side, and there is a sticky substance on them. When she lays them back on the table and looks at her hands she knows what it is.

Blood.

Harry's blood.

Fuck WWMMD.

"You told me not to cry. So, I won't. Can i scream?" She asks matter of fact, like she used to ask for another helping of her mother's lasagna.

Ron curls his lip slightly, just barely in distaste.

"If you must."

"I think i must."

"I'm familiar with your screams, It won't bother me. Bear in mind Fleur, and Malfoy will probably hear-"

Hermione stops hearing Ron. There is a shrill screech in hear ears like a thousand birds chirping all at once. Than a wailing sound she vaguely recognizes as her own voice. Her animagous claws at her from the inside out desperate to escape, but she pushes it away.

Hermione slams her chair back, a leg breaks off it.

She turns over the sleeping cot.

Smashes anything she can get her hands on. Glass shatters, and sprinkles around the room like confetti.

Ron stares anywhere but at her.

The table squeaks as Hermione lurches across it, to grab at him. She seizes a fist full of his shirt in her hands.

Harry's ruined spectacles clatter to the floor, between them.

"Was it YOU?" She screeches, and sees her own spittle as it flies out of her mouth. "They called you to the ministry, to kill him, didn't they."

"Yes. It was me."

She screams in his face.

He stares her down.

If not for the unbreakable vow she'd made, she would have already turned to her animagus, she'd have already taken a swipe at his jugular. But she can't attack him.

"It wasn't an order i could refuse."

She looks at him incredulously still holding him by his shirt.

"I would have. If it had been me, i would never have- i would have been glad to die refusing to hurt Harry."

"It was over quick. I made sure."

"You could have brought him here!" She accuses. "You could have saved him."

"No. I couldn't, not without blowing my cover. We can't reveal ourselves yet."

"Why not?" She's hysterical. "Why the FUCK not? What are you waiting for? What's the point of me being here? You brought me here for alot more than brewing some contraceptive potions. Harry could have helped us. He would have helped you, Ron."

The sneer he gives her makes her pull back slightly.

"See right there!" He thunders at her. "That's how i know i'm dealing with the lesser version of you. You still think of Harry as the hero, you don't remember yet, but you will. Oh you will, Hermione. Soon. I need the version of you, who knows better, who knows the line between hero and villain isn't all that thick. But until you remember it all, i'm at a stand still here."

He wanted inner Hermione she realized. That was his true reasoning for giving her memories back, it was inner Hermione's help he wanted.

"Then give them all back to me now. Give me all of my memories."

"I can't, not all at once." She knows he's right, she knows it would be dangerous.

Hermione screams until her throat is raw, and aches.

"He was your best friend." She says dumbly. "Our best friend."

The betrayal slices into her deep, it felt like it went passed her marrow, passed her bone. When Ron had killed Neville it had hurt, but not like this. When he killed Neville it had been a dull ache one she could ignore, but Harry's death on his hands felt like she was blistering beneath the scrutiny of a thousand suns. It could not be ignored.

After it all? After all the trio had gone through together? How could he? How dare he!

A troll in the dungeon, a basilisk, dementors, dragons, Dolores dammed Umbridge, Severus Snape. Every year since they were 11 they had overcome every evil set against them.

Harry, dead? Not Harry. Not him. He was her best friend.

'Was'

'Was'

'Was'

Her inner self repeats the word again and again. Loud at first, and then lower and lower until it's barely more than a whisper.

She shoves away from Ron, no longer able to look at him. The anger starts to abate and she feels herself going back to her earlier state of mind. Dissociation. She feels airy, and light. She's so tired. Is she losing consciousness?

Fainting, she's fucking fainting.

Crumbling to the ground she closes her eyes in defeat. Like a dream a memory comes to her. Hadn't Ron and her talked about this one in particular so it's no surprise it comes back now.

Neville had charmed his toad, Trevor to sing. It was Christmas time. They were in Gryffindor tower. Some students were opening presents, the male members of the golden trio were entertaining one another by teasing poor Neville. His fear of Snape always made for a good laugh before the war. When they had their fill of that, Ron had asked in earnest.

"Any tune, right Neville?" Ron peered at the frog with mischief practically dripping down his nose.

Hermione could only imagine what he had in mind. So she intervened.

"Carol of the bells. Please Trevor."

Ron rolled his eyes. Harry laughed. Neville delights at being included.

'Hark! how the bells, sweet silver bells'

A flash of another memory cuts into the first memory. She can still hear the frogs song as the other memory begins to dart in and out of her mind.

Harry riding a broomstick for the first time.

'All seem to say "Throw cares away.'

Another flash.

Harry running through the Hogwarts dining hall, scooping Hermione into a hug. They are the same height. 2nd year.

'Christmas is here, bringing good cheer'

A flash that pulses as it brightens.

Harry's Piercing eyes looking into hers for answers as they watch his soul being sucked out across the black lake.

'To young and old, meek and the bold'

A flash.

4th year. Hermione catches Harry snogging Cho. They both laugh.

'Ding, dong, ding, dong, that is their song'

Another flash.

Harry's grinning at Ginny. At the burrow. He looks happy, probably the happiest he ever was.

'With joyful ring, all caroling'

Another flash as the toads song stops abruptly.

Harry's face gaunt, and hopeless. His hair unkempt. This was a memory from after Ginny died.

Another flash. Neville's hand waves in front of her face trying to get her attention, he smiles. The tree next to Seamus catches on fire, in Gryffindor tower. He tried to make the lights on the tree bigger. Then Neville's changing suddenly. His brown hair fades into red, and his shoulders are more filled out. The memory of Neville fades out like burnt plastic, and it's Ron's hand waving in front of her face. He frowns.

"Still with us?" 3 simple words. 1 simple question. No simple answer.

Just like that and she's back in her current reality. It's bad here, she thinks.

"Coward. Traitor. Monster." She calls Ron, even though she knows it won't bother him. He's to damn good at occluding.

"Anything else?"

"I hate you."

In all the time they'd been apart. All the things Ron had done, all the people he killed. She had never said those words aloud. She thought them on occasion of course, but actually saying them out loud, and to his face. She knew there was a certain line Ron would have to cross in order for her to declare her hatred out loud. He finally crossed it.

Inner Hermione makes another brief appearance. She does not weep for Harry like Fleur did. She doesn't look sick like Malfoy. She isn't concealing her emotions like Ron.

No. Inner Hermione looks positively wrathful. She paces around with a hostile look about her face, all the while her black silk dress is billowing in her wake. It makes her look like a puff of smoke. She calls out a single word.

'Revenge.'

It bounces around Hermione's head until they are both staring at each other. The 2 Hermione's couldn't be more different.

Hermione realizes while looking at her. This version of her inner self. She must remember. Everything Hermione has forgotten, all the stolen memories. Her inner self knows things she doesn't. And that thought is how she knows she should be afraid of her inner self. Very. Afraid.

"Give me another memory."

Her inner self helpfully suggests a more specific memory.

"Something with Harry, at Christmas." She demands.

Hermione can't bare the thought of having to picture Harry's crumpled body on the ministry floor. How the blood had probably pooled around him. How the warmth had slowly drained out of him whilst death eaters came to laugh and gloat. The death eaters would give his body any form of ill treatment they can imagine. They'll mutilate him, probably even display the body as a warning. Hermione just wants to see him alive again, if only in her memories.

There's no where left for her in this world. No one for her to fight for, no one for her to run to. She doesn't have anyone, except Ron and that thought makes her stomach turn. The only thing she has now are memories.

Ron stares at her, probably only deciding to relent to her demand because he didn't want to deal with her anymore. She hadn't cried like he commanded, but it's obvious in his body language he doesn't want to be near her anymore than she wants him near her.

He gives her 3 separate vials. Only the 1st for now he tells her. He commands her to save the other vials for tomorrow. She should sleep. Get her rest. Compose herself.

By the time her face plunges into the icy water of the pensieve she had all but forgotten the 4th unforgivable curse, and Astoria Greengrass. They would be a questions for the Red Baron on another day. On a day he hadn't murdered their best friend.

July 1997

It was hot outside, in the memory. She could tell by the clothes her younger self wore. Shorts, and a peplum tank top. Sandals with little red bows.

Ginny tried to cast a charm to make it snow in her bedroom, where they all sat. Hermione. Ginny. Ron. Harry. The charm failed and instead it started to rain. Hermione dispelled it, and they were all grinning.

It had been Ginny's idea, their little gathering.

It was Christmas in July.

Hermione had listened to the lot of them speaking and she gathered a bit of what was happening around the time.

They were all about to go their separate ways. They had to be scared but Hermione couldn't remember feeling that way. She did remember they were apart for sometime before the hunt for horcruxes began.

Ginny was being sent off to learn from healers across the country, she wasn't going back to Hogwarts. Being so closely tied to Harry, the Order had arranged her training to protect them both. Ginny was out of immediate danger, and Harry wasn't likely to stray far from her once she could be of use to the Order. A medic at Harry Potter's side for whatever was to come could only be good in the eyes of the Order. Ginny was a tool like the rest of them, and they wanted her sharpened.

Ron and Harry were going with Shacklebolt. Auror training but harder she remembered the boys calling it. It was modified training for battle. At the time Hermione had been naive enough to think dark magic wouldn't be involved in that training.

Neville had already been sent off somewhere. They hadn't been allowed to know where exactly. Top secret they were reminded when they'd asked. Something itched at Hermione while she thought about Neville and his top secret mission. Had she known what it was at some point?

Hermione spent her time apart from her friends working under Professor Mcgonagall. Her tutelage during that time ensured a lifetime of respect between them. Allthough illegal the Professor had helped her become an Anamagi. Hermione had to swear she'd never tell anyone though. Mcgongall had given her a secret weapon.

'It may well save your life someday.' Her mentor told her over a tray of biscuits and tea.

Commander moody was in charge of the Order, and he was grooming Bill Weasley to be his second in command at the time in the memory.

They couldn't be sure they would even see the next Christmas, that's why Ginny made them do Christmas in July.

Ginny had hung wreaths, bows, and even erected a tree in the corner of the room. The green and red of Christmas clashed with her bubblegum pink walls. She spent most of her day trying to make everything perfect, Ginny told them. Ginny was always like that, a perfectionist. Her handwriting was neat, and she didn't like messes. When she wore lipstick it was never out of place or on her teeth. Pretty, perfect little Ginny she was.

Harry had apparently found an old record player in the shed. In the background a muggle song played by the man from the Beatles band, Hermione was pretty sure it was called Happy XMas, but Harry disagreed

Ginny and Harry were together on her bed. In a position Hermione was surprised to find Ron didn't protest. Hermione was in the desk chair, Ron had made her take it, he took the floor.

"A year tops, i'm telling you guys."

Ron was convinced that by the next July they would all be back at the burrow, and the war over.

"That'd be great." Harry chimed in. "The magpies can't wait for me forever."

Harry had already been to 3 separate international league tryouts and he had it on good authority they all wanted him to play. He of course couldn't accept any offers until his other affairs were settled. It wouldn't have been beneath Voldemort to show up to a match and try to avada him on the pitch after all.

Hermione cringed at the thought. Harry could have had such a nice life if it were not for Voldemort. They all could have.

"Quidditch?" Hermione never liked the sport at all she knew, and could tell her other self was gearing up for a lecture of some kind. "I would honestly hope the both of you would have more on your minds than quidditch."

Ginny torpedoed the sermon, thank merlin. "Okay new rule. To keep Hermione from imploding on herself. No war talk, or training or whatever. And no quidditch. Only fun things." She looked between her brother, and her boyfriend. "Okay boys?"

"Firstly. I didn't say a word about Quidditch. Secondly quidditch is fun." Ron defended.

"Says you." Hermione told him.

Harry sniggered.

"Okay, well fun according to Hermione i guess." Ginny grinned.

"I think we can handle that. We have matured you know. We are very grown."

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a look. As if to say 'sure'.

"Oh, i have definitely noticed how much you've grown, Harry." Ginny wagged her eyebrows suggestively, and Hermione's cheeks burned.

"Ugh, okay, none. I mean none of that!" Ron pretended to heave. "Do i need to separate the 2 of you?"

"Couldn't if you, tried big bro." Ginny snuggled closer to Harry, who looked like he might want to put some distance between them if only to appease Ron.

This, Hermione thought to herself watching the memory unfold, was worth whatever the Red Baron planned to do with her in the end. This was everything. She was reliving a point in time where there hadn't been any betrayal, and none of them were dead. This memory was golden.

"Who wants presents?" Hermione watched her younger counterpart pull her wand and summon gifts.

The gifts are distributed and they've begun to unwrap. From Ginny she received a sweater, made in the same fashion the matriarch of the family wove them. Hermione doesn't remember that sweater, what had happened to it she briefly mused. Her first initial is magically sewn into it, it's red, she would have definitely kept it. She decided not to dwell, and she turned to find from Harry she received a rather fine looking quill. It's pearly white, and had gold flecks intwined in the stem, knowing Harry she wouldn't be surprised if it really had been gold. It came from an albino thestral, Harry told her when she asked. Like the sweater, it's current whereabouts are a mystery. From Ron she got a worn copy of 'Hogwarts a history.' It was probably a family hand me down copy, but what made it special was the inside. Ron had scribbled inside it. Funny little notes, or his thoughts. There were even doodles on the corners of of the pages depicting a dragon chasing an egg as it rolled away. She doesn't know where the book went either.

Those had probably been the last things her friends had ever given her, and she didn't know where those items even ended up. It sours her stomach.

Harry, and Ron were carrying on about something, both of them snorted laughing then there's a knock at Ginny's door.

Before anyone could get up to get it, the doors pushed open.

A very familiar red head of hair.

"Bill!" Ginny yells out, and practically shoves Harry into the floor. She's clears the room in half a second and she's got her older brother wrapped in her arms.

Bill was only just returning from a mission from the Order. Fleur Del- Weasley appeared behind Bill only moments later.

"ello!" Her smile was wide, and her teeth gleaming, and pearly.

Fleur was and still is the kind of woman who when she entered a room, all the other women around took a hit on their self esteem. She was so beautiful to look at but it was almost painful. Something to do with her veela blood, Ginny told her a long while ago.

Ron is across the room circling his siblings in a hug.

The Weasley had always been Hermione's ideal picture of a perfect family. They were warm, inviting, and loving. Fleur never knew how lucky Hermione thought she was.

"I heard some kids, were throwing a Christmas party up here."

Bill Weasley was likable, all the Weasley's were, but Bill especially. He had a way about him that when he talked he made you feel heard, and seen. He was an excellent conversationalist.

"Gin's idea." Harry says to Bill as his siblings give him some room.

Harry shakes Bill's hand. Fleur wraps Harry in her own embrace for a moment.

"How are things looking out there, Shackleb-"

"Harry James Potter!"

Ginny gives him an exasperated look.

"What did we just agree, about our Christmas? Ron, remind your best friend."

"Not to talk about the war." Ron rolls his eyes. "Later though?" Ron asks Bill who shakes his head consenting.

"Anyways when mum told me, i decided to scrounge up a little something for you kids."

"Kids? Kids! What's this about kids. Were all of age." Ron says sourly. "Well Ginny doesn't count, she's a kid."

Bill laughs. "Sorry. Sorry. Didn't mean to offend, little brother. To me though, it doesn't matter how old you get, the two of you will always be kids."

Bill seems to have finally taken in the room, and notices Hermione who's been quiet during the exchange of the Weasley family.

"Hermione, I didn't even see you over there. Great to see you. How are your mum and dad?"

Hermione knew they were still alive during this time. She watches as her younger self smiles, and answers Bill's pleasantry.

"Well don't keep us in suspense." Harry says enthusiastically. "What did you get for us."

"My darling?" Then Fleur is reaching into her pocket, and as she pushes her robes aside Hermione really can't help but to notice.

"Oh!" Ginny notices at the same time.

Fleur is still looking in her robes but her cheeks take a pink hue. She exchanges a knowing look with her husband.

Ron and Harry really could be thick because Ginny has to tell them.

"We were going to wait and tell people but,-"

"Who, knows when we may see you next." Fleur finishes for him.

Fleur's robes are completely on one side, and her stomach is prominently round.

"Oh can i?" Ginny asks already extending her palm. "Have you felt it move yet?"

Ginny tenderly rubs the top of Fleur's stomach.

"Yes, 'e is quite the kicker. Must take after iz father."

"Oh! I felt it." Ginny's face is that of pure wonder at the prospect of a new member of her family. "Hermione, come feel, you have to feel."

"Umm i don-"

Ginny's grabbing and pulling her over by her wrist before she can protest more. She splays Hermione's fingers on Fleur's abdomen. It's rather intimate in Hermione's opinion and she isn't sure that she and Fleur were ever close enough for this, but the veela woman doesn't seem to mind.

Everyone has begun to talk about what the baby will be named, and if it's a boy or a girl. If they'll have more kids after.

"Wow." Hermione's younger self says. She can see she's awestruck. It really was something. To feel new life.

Young Hermione looks to Ron, her hand is still on Fleur's stomach. Blue eyes meet Amber, and for a moment it's overwhelming and confusing. Ron had never looked at Hermione like that before. Or at least that's what she thought. The look he's giving her it can only be called one thing. Desire.

Hermione's disgusted. The irony doesn't fail to reach her. Earlier before Ron killed Harry, she had been entertaining the thought of Ron Weasley touching her. Now though it disgusts her to see any Ron, past or present look at her like that.

"Finally! Ere they are."

Fleur deposits something into each of their hands.

"Rings fir the girls, and watches fir the boys."

Hermione inspects it behind her counterpart. A simple silver band. It looks much to big for her fingers but when she slips it on it resizes. Magic. Yet again another present Hermione cannot recall the whereabouts of. Had she simply trashed all of the gifts she received this day? No that didn't seem right.

"They're all enchanted. You can use them to stay in touch, only for when you really need to talk though. It would be hard to use them all the time."

"Cool."

"Amazing!"

"Thank you Bill, Fleur. It's lovely." Hermione is fumbling with her ring, tapping at it suspiciously. "How do they work though? How do we stay in touch?"

"When you need to reach out you have to have their face in your head, then tap your wand to your object 3 times. Once that's done their object will start to glow. Then when they decide they want to have a chat, you'll enter each others minds."

"Enter each other's what?" Harry looks both shocked and horrified.

Bill laughs. "Yeah, you'll be able to read each other's minds when you use them. So a bit of caution."

"A bit!" Ron barks out looking like he might take his 'gift' back off. "What if-" his eyes slide down, and everyone feels awkward.

"They won't be able to know every thought you ever had Ron. Just what you think in that moment when you make contact. You can tell them about your day, about what you're doing."

"Okay but I'm more worried about accidentally thinking something maybe I shouldn't."

"Ah. Yes that requires some degree of restraint little brother." Bill explains. "If you don't want to share something you need to bury it deep down while the connections active. If there are any bad memories you don't want someone to see." Bill's eyes linger on Harry a little to long. "Once you master it, this will give the 4 of you an edge you know. Moody's not told me i could tell you this, but he also didn't say I couldn't... the 4 of you are going to be sent on some missions together. Once you've completed training of course."

The golden trio knew they would be sent after the horcruxes but they hadn't known Ginny would be coming. The only one who seems displeased by that notion is Ron. Had Ginny been with them during the horcrux hunt? When she tried to remember where Ginny was during that time she can't come up with anything. Her memory is still swiss cheese.

"Give them a shot, Ron you first."

These gifts Hermione imagined could certainly come in handy. Had the 4 of them mastered them?

Ron's face concentrates for a moment. He taps his wand 3 times to his watch. Then he seems like he's finished with whatever message he wants to send then they all wait.

Hermione's ring starts to glow a bright blue.

"You to." Her younger self smiles at Ron.

"Well what did it say?" Ginny asks.

Younger Hermione and Ron share a conspiratory look. Hermione is annoyed once again with the use of pensieve to restore her memories. She can't know what it was that Ron sent in his message because she can't hear what her other self is thinking.

Mrs. Weasley is at the door then. She's asking about dinner and if they're staying the night. She doesn't remark on Fleur's still obvious stomach. So Hermione gathers she knows already. Bill is hurried out of the room to follow his mother. Ginny dives in to give her brother another hug. Before he leaves. Fleur is in their wake. Right as she gets to the door though, she turns around with a look of mischief that can rival the twins. She tips her wand upward at the ceiling above where Ginny and Harry now stand. She winks at Hermione and is gone.

A mistletoe has grown out of the ceiling. This doesn't escape Ginny for long. She points it out to Harry. Then like nothing else in the entire world exists they melt into each other. Their kiss is tender, and loving.

Ron turns to ask her something but falters when he sees what she's smiling at.

His hand is on hers, and he's pulling her out of the room. To let his sister and his best friend have some privacy.

The memory ends.

When she comes out of the pensieve, she sees only Malfoy. The destruction she wrought prior has been righted. The chair fixed, and there are no bits of broken glass she can make out on the ground.

Malfoy is sitting at the table. A quill in hand as he scribbles furiously into what she thinks is some kind of journal. He doesn't look up from his work.

Hermione drags herself into the cot, pulls the sheet over her head, and silently bids farewell to Harry Potter without spilling so much as one single tear.

….

There is a bitter triumph in knowing the Order had crashed and burned.

Although death was more certain for her than ever Hermione couldn't help but feel grateful for the small luxuries in life now afforded to her. She never could have wasted precious time on something so frivolous as star gazing. Not when the Order needed her. Not when they demanded everything she was, and took everything she had to offer. Now though she could gaze at the stars and not feel a single pang of guilt that she might have killed someone with her inactive state of laziness. Everyone was dead now. It didn't matter if she laid in this spot for 1000 years, nothing could change what had happened.

It had been years since Hermione had the time or forethought to look up at the stars at night. She used to find it therapeutic, relaxing. She used to look at them all the time, most evenings while she'd been at Hogwarts. To see the velvety curtain of black embracing each of it's tiny dots of light with ones back to the dirt, and hands supporting ones head was the closest Hermione Granger figured she would ever get to Heaven.

An entire summer of her youth had been devoted to learning the constellations, and the myths that came with them. Her mother taught them to her. Absorbing the intricate names of the stars hadn't been a chore like she sometimes found aspects of Divination classes to be. Instead she found it enthralling.

Adara. Astra. Cassiopeia. Delta. Draco.

Hermione could go on. And on. There were so many stars, and so many names to learn.

She had found a bit of amusement in knowing the Black family chose to name their children in the fashion of the stars. How very gauche they thought themselves, she remarked. To have placed themselves among the stars, the purebloods really did think highly of themselves didn't they?

If the pureblood house of Black were stars, they were burning out at an accelerated rate. How many of them were even left now? Malfoy's daughter was the only legitimate heir now, and now that Hermione had been informed of her mother's true ancestry little Cassi's claim to the family throne wasn't what she would call stable.

The Black family: dying stars. What a remarkable name that might make for a book, someday. If Malfoy lived. Or if Cassi lived.

The stars above start to make her think of them, her parents. They were dead, long dead. She hadn't ever seen the bodies to be sure, but she knew. At one time she meant to obliviate them, get them the hell out of the country but everything spun out of control so quickly she couldn't anymore. Hermione didn't know how the Grangers met their end exactly. She only knew that they'd prearranged a meet up at an abandoned theatre they used to visit together. When they never showed it was because they were dead. The war taught her something about death. It was unpredictable. It felt like she'd never have closure, like the book telling the stories of their lives has been dog-eared but ultimately forgotten and never returned to. That was the real reason Hermione had started helping sort the bodies during the war. She hoped one day she might come across one of them, she hoped she'd be able to close the book on them. Hermione lost sleep thinking about the possibility that another girl on the other side of the war might have been tasked with the same job as her. There was someone out there that probably tagged her parents LTR, only they never lost any sleep over it.

Hermione felt the coolness in the soil, she didn't care that she was probably filthy now. She had long grown accustomed to being covered in filth. Blood was the most irksome. It got under her nails, and it always took days for her to completely get it off of her.

She's not far from the tent, and Malfoy is only just inside still writing away in his journal. A stream of her breath puffed out, swirling into the night's crisp air above her. Like she'd been smoking and blew out after taking a drag. She's been getting these funny urges lately. Like she needs to take a smoke. Like she needs to roll the nicotine between her fingertips, and inhale it into her lungs. It was an oddity to her. Her rational mind knew smoking was bad, unhealthy even. And yet… she felt like if she could just take 1 pull off the next cigarette Ron lit up, she'd be okay.

She hates Ron. She hates him. She hates him.

Inner Hermione is quiet.

Hermione grows tired of looking at the stars. She decides to look at another memory. 2 vials now.

She has a brief talk with Malfoy before she goes into the pensieve. She asks what he's writing, but he doesn't answer.

Author's note/ Wow! Guys! 5 months since i updated. I have not stepped away life just tossed curveballs my way sorry! This will be finished eventually, maybe just with more time than i expected. Not to mention i focused on another WIP for awhile, that is now completed. My latest chapter was inspired by Seventeen by Marina. I know this chapter was alot i think it was nearly 10,000 words. Super heavy in many aspects, get some coffee and snacks my friends. I wish i could tell you it gets less painful from here, but now that the titular death of the chosen one has happened Hermione will start going back and the story will be told from her memories for quite some time. We're putting a bookmark on the current timeline so to speak. I feel that once what happened in France comes out you guys will either love or hate it, either way i'm looking forward to the reactions. Love the comments you guys send my way, so far no trolls but i'm sure they'll come eventually. Thanks for reading!