Chapter Four

She couldn't breathe. Her heart raced. Was it possible for one as young as she was to just drop dead from anxiety and fear? From the moment Hermione heard Kingsley's patronus warning with all of the other wedding guests that their enemies were on their way until they made it safely to Number Twelve, she had been convinced they were going to die. When she could collapse on a moth-eaten sofa to catch her breath, she nearly burst into tears of relief. She had been trying to keep a tight hold on her emotions in recent days with varying degrees of success. Crying only seemed to make everything worse.

Whether they were ready or not, their hunt had begun. There was no turning back. If Voldemort truly had control of the Ministry, they were in danger. She knew their time on Earth had become even more limited than the average person. War didn't care how young a person was.

The fight in the Muggle cafe had been too close. Rowle and Dolohov hadn't been playing around. She hated herself for not paying as close attention as she should've been. The glamours they wore to distort their features when they first entered the cafe had been subtle. She should've been able to see through them before they began hurling the curses in their direction. In a fight for her life, moments mattered. She could've used every advantage. The fearsome Death Eaters were out to kill them.

She replayed every single moment over and over in her head that night and for several days afterward. Nearly to the point of obsession or madness she recalled every last detail, every last spell. No longer were they fighting childish fuels in the corridors of Hogwarts against school rivals. This was for survival.

Rowle seemed reluctant to send the worst curses in her direction, but Dolohov certainly wasn't. It was something of a miracle that they weren't all dead or screaming for mercy in front of Lord Voldemort. Several times she thought for certain they would lose.

Of course she couldn't express that thought out loud. Oh, no. She had to remain calm and confident in the ability of three teenagers to bring down an insane, evil dark wizard who had already killed dozens of adults. What could possibly go wrong? Any amount of visible worry or fear seemed to upset Harry or Ron. Though she felt she was teetering on the very edge of a complete emotional breakdown, Hermione wouldn't let them see it. Morale was important. She didn't want to negatively affect it.

But in the darkness of the night when she could hear Ron's light snores and Harry muttering in his restless sleep, she let herself cry. She allowed herself to dream up the worst-case scenarios of every little decision they made. It was okay not to be confident when no one else was looking. She found it easier to pretend in the daylight hours that everything was great when she indulged in self-pity at night.

Often her thoughts dwelled on the two very different men that attacked them in the cafe. She thought about Rowle's repeated warnings that she pack up and run. Was that what he imagined she was doing the night he tried to offer her comfort? What did he think when he saw her sitting with Ron and then Harry appeared to fight? She suspected he was angry and she would get an earful of his displeasure if their paths ever crossed again. Dolohov would be even angrier if she had the misfortune to see him. She hoped the memory charms she cast on them held.

Lost. There was no other word for what they were. None of them knew what to do next or where they would go next. The locket had been stolen from that wretched cow Umbridge, but the price had been high. When she thought about how close they'd been to being captured trying to escape the Ministry, Hermione felt sick to her stomach. They seemed to always exist just one step ahead of disaster. Was that how the rest of their mission would go? Would they scrape by until the moment fate finally caught up?

It was no longer safe to return to Number Twelve. Harry tried repeatedly to assure her that it wasn't her fault. There was no use. She was the one who brought the arsehole Yaxley to their hiding place. Because she'd been unable to shake him off, they'd been forced to resort to sleeping in a tent that smelled strongly of cats in the middle of nowhere. Every day the temperature outside dropped making the whole experience just a little more unbearable.

They were all miserable. None of them wanted to admit that months earlier when they planned to go searching for Voldemort's horcruxes together, they assumed it would be easier. Maybe by Christmas they would've found them all. To know they only had one and no clue where to begin finding any of the others after weeks of searching was discouraging.

Over and over again Harry and Ron looked to her to provide answers to questions she didn't know. That was infuriating. Why was she expected to come up with the plans? They looked to her for guidance and direction when she was just as lost as they were. Because she spent most of the time she was awake with her head stuck in a book, they assumed she knew everything. How could they have been her friends for so many years without understanding that she looked to books when she was lost or scared or overwhelmed hoping she could find what she needed to grant her a few seconds free of anxiety? Her biggest fear was failure, being told she wasn't worthy enough to be a witch. How could they be her friends and not know that? Where the assumption started that she always had the answer was something she would like to know. She wished she knew everything. Maybe then she could sleep for more than a half hour at a time.

Another source of frustration for them was the fact that even though they possessed a horcrux, they didn't know how to destroy it. Nothing they tried worked. Harry destroyed the diary with a basilisk fang. Unfortunately, those were nearly impossible to find.

So they were forced to continue existing under the influence of the evil locket. Ron was affected more than the other two, but they were by no means spared from its insidious nature. She felt physically ill every time it was her turn to wear it. As much as she could understand Ron's frustration and irritability, she was losing her patience. A person could only endure so much without breaking.

Ron was gone. Part of her couldn't believe he would actually leave, but mostly she wondered why any of them were still trying to complete what she was certain was a waste of time. Still she couldn't deny she was angry and sad that he finally left. Nor could she blame him.

Hermione was so jealous she could hardly breathe when she allowed herself to think about him. If she still had her parents, she would be tempted to find them too, but life wasn't fair. Because her parents were Muggles, no better than animals in the eyes of those in charge of the country, they were defenseless. She had to say goodbye to them, likely forever, just to keep them alive. It wasn't fair. None of it was.

As soon as Ron walked away, she couldn't stop crying nor did she even try. Attempting to hide her emotions from the others to keep spirits up clearly didn't work. Why should she continue making the effort? Crying was supposed to be cathartic, healing. Maybe it was for other people who weren't trapped in hopeless, impossible situations. She felt like she was always crying. Her eyes burned.

Why shouldn't she be upset? They had no business being out there. No one should've been asking them to fight in a war they didn't start or risking their lives. They were little more than children! Their biggest worries should have been making good marks in school or getting the courage up to ask out the girl they fancied or if their spots would ever clear up. What was being asked of them and expected was too much.

Though she would never dare say it where Harry could hear, Hermione grew to hate Albus Dumbledore with every cell in her body. Harry was too blinded by his loyalty to see what a monster the wizard was. She scoffed when she imagined a future where her best friend might actually honor the sociopath by naming his son after him. It would be laughable if it wasn't so damn infuriating. She wouldn't deny that a part of her was glad he was dead even if they really could've used his help.

To put the weight of the world on Harry's shoulders was unforgivable. Dumbledore knew he was going to die for months and instead of assembling a team of capable, well-trained adults he could trust, he treated stopping Voldemort like an inconsequential school assignment. Knowing he could manipulate Harry into accepting a task he should've been shielded from, Dumbledore sent three students not even finished with their studies out to fight battles most adults wanted nothing to do with. And what did he offer them to bring down the most powerful Dark wizard the world had yet to know? A golden snitch, an old book of children's stories, and a Deluminator that seemed to serve no useful purpose other than to be obnoxious and trying one's nerves.

She hoped the Headmaster burned in hell because she had no doubts that was exactly where he ended up.

After their close call in Godric's Hollow, Hermione was even less pleased with the circumstances of her life. How did she end up where she was? The guilt she felt at being responsible for his wand breaking was immense. Each time she thought about it, she started crying again. Harry never showed he was angry with her. Maybe it would've been easier if he did.

She was losing what little remained of her hope that they would be successful or even alive much longer. No matter what hopeless thoughts she carried in her head, she tried to remain strong for Harry. If she turned on him, he would be by himself.

There weren't enough words to describe how furious she was that they were alone. Not just because Ron left, but that was part of it. She would never understand why they couldn't have some or all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix helping them. Wasn't that the purpose of having an organization like that? So they would have more powerful allies and a better chance at success?

She could understand why Harry turned down Remus' offer to join them even though in the moment she felt relieved that they would have a strong, capable adult with them. Remus had obligations to his family. But what about the others? Why couldn't some of Ron's older brothers join them? Why couldn't his parents help? She wouldn't even be all that picky about who helped, just so long as they weren't alone. If he hadn't proven himself a traitor, she would've even welcomed Professor Snape.

Of course the one person she wished was there to guide them and help them more than any others was Kingsley. He had been such a source of both comfort and confidence the night they battled Death Eaters together that she knew she wouldn't feel so alone or frightened with him. Where was he? Was he still protecting the Muggle Prime Minister or was he on the run too? She knew he would be a target because of who he was and what his job was. The infiltrated Ministry wouldn't want an auror whose complete loyalty they couldn't trust.

Why couldn't Kingsley be there with them? There was plenty of room in the tent. She pushed away the thoughts that brought shame to her reddened cheeks. It was impossible to forget how safe she felt with her back up against his firm chest. The man was at least fifteen years older than her, likely more, but she didn't care. What was age anyway? He had the experience their tiny group needed to keep going forward. The fact that Dumbledore discouraged anyone from helping Harry beyond his two best friends made her hate the dead man all the more.

She was using all of her available energy to try to remain positive and strong for Harry's sake. Thanks to his savior complex that Dumbledore manipulated and used against him, he was under an enormous amount of stress and pressure. Never did she wanted to be the one to add more to his burdens. She tried very hard never to vent her frustrations out loud or let him see her cry. The latter was more difficult. Tears never seemed very far from the surface. She'd always cried too much. Expecting her to magically stop was asking far too much.

If she had anywhere to run, Hermione couldn't deny she would be tempted. As angry and disappointed as she continued to be with Ron, she would never blame him. Maybe that's why his absence was felt so much stronger. It reminded the two that remained that they had no family left, no hope for refuge. Many morning she woke up bitter, angry, disillusioned, and had to make the conscious choice that she wouldn't abandon Harry to his fate alone. How easy would it be just to give up? Everything was so hard. Did anyone actually believe teenagers would succeed where adults had repeatedly failed?

Each time she allowed her mind to travel down that dark path to the point where she actually considered abandoning Harry too, she felt choking guilt. What sort of friend was she? She knew she should be ashamed. All she wanted was to feel her mother run her hand over her hair, kiss her forehead, and tell her she was going to be all right.

Thinking about her parents was never easy. She hoped they were able to make it out of the country safely. There was no way she was aware of to verify they did. Each time she was tempted to suggest they return to their childhood home to check, she had to remind herself she was asking for trouble. She was an Undesirable right along with Harry. Her old home would be under surveillance. She had to trust that the precautions she made before she went away were enough. When the war was over, assuming she was still alive, she would search every corner of the globe for her parents. Until then, she couldn't allow herself to give up. There was far too much at stake.

Harry might have tried to be quiet when he wandered away into the woods away from the tent, but Hermione heard every single footstep crunching in the carpet of snow. Sleep hadn't come easily to her in a long time. As she laid in her bunk, she wondered if she would ever see her friend again. Had he finally reached his end where he would go no further into certain death with his friend? She knew from the beginning there would come a moment in their journey when Harry would go on ahead on his own. It was just something that he did. Maybe it was part of his whole saving people thing. She didn't know nor did she think she possessed enough energy in that moment to care.

Morale was at an all-time low. She wasn't sure if it was even possible for it to get any worse. Entire days would pass where no more than a handful of words were spoken. As much as she loved Harry and wanted him to be successful, Hermione wasn't sure what else she could offer. They were no closer to finding the next horcrux nor did they even know how to destroy the one they already had. Perhaps they'd reached the end. Feeling the thickness in her throat that usually meant she was on the verge of bursting into tears again, Hermione rolled over onto her side to give in to the emotions she felt.

Somehow she managed to fall deep asleep. Her name had to be repeated multiple times before she realized Harry was back. He hadn't abandoned her after all. She wasn't sure at once if she should be pleased or devastated. It took her a few seconds to understand what he was trying to tell her.

The next several minutes were mostly a blur. After seeing Ron standing inside the tent with the hopeful smile that maybe she would welcome him back with open arms, she lost it. As relieved as she was to see him safe and whole, Hermione was furious. Did he have any idea what he put them through? How close they'd come to dying Godric's Hollow?

She would never feel the least it sorry for punching Ron when he was expecting a hug. If Harry hadn't been there with a shield charm to break them apart, she wasn't sure what else she would've done. At least one amongst them was able to keep their head.

Listening to Ron's explanations of what he experienced while he was gone didn't help her mood any. The only positive that came out of the whole of that night seemed to be the discovery of Gryffindor's sword. That changed the game. Now they had a way to destroy to horcruxes if they could find more.

As she watched Ron pull her pajamas out of his rucksack like nothing was wrong, she nearly punched him in the face again. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep that night until she calmed down. Harry was reluctant to hand her wand back to her, but once she promised him she wouldn't curse Ron and she wouldn't wander far, he had no reason not to.

There was a little fear inside of her as she walked away from the tent. Neither of the boys had been able to provide a satisfactory explanation how the sword appeared where and when it did. And the doe patronus? That had to belong to someone. Only the reminder that Death Eaters were incapable of producing patronuses helped her relax somewhat. If there was someone out there who knew they were there, at least she could take comfort in the fact that they likely weren't evil.

Ignoring the promise she made to Harry that she wouldn't travel far through the forest, when she approached the ring of protective spells that kept their tent hidden, she kept walking. Maybe it was foolish to keep going, but she knew if she returned to the tent before she was calm again, she might hurt someone… a lot.

All she needed was a few minutes alone to process her anger before she pushed it back down inside to fester until she had another blow-up. Hermione wasn't sure she had ever been so angry in her entire life. Her body seemed to buzz and tremble with rage.

Who exactly was she angry with? Ron? Sort of but not really. How could she be angry with him for doing what she knew she would do if she could? Many times since their hunt began she imagined running away. She would be a hypocrite if she didn't forgive him. Besides, wasn't it more important that he came back? That had to have taken courage. She wasn't sure she would be able to return to their dangerous and fruitless hunt if she did manage an escape.

So was she really angry with Harry for being so damned reckless all of the time? Yes, but she'd always known what kind of person he was. He had been rushing into hopeless situations for years and more often than not, she was right there with him enabling that same behavior. She couldn't start getting angry with him right then. He hadn't changed.

There was a lot to be angry about. Everything could be blamed on one person. If she wanted to be angry, she should at least direct it to the right source.

"Fucking Voldemort."

It was said under her breath, but she still said it. Immediately she knew she'd made a terrible mistake wandering away from the tent alone. Was it possible to summon the Dark wizard just by saying his name? Was that why so many in their world were terrified to say it?

A loud pop sounded right behind her. At once her wand flew out of her hand. Before she could turn around to try to retrieve it, someone grabbed her from behind.

"I was hoping it would be you."

She would never forget the sound of that cold voice. Only able to turn her head, Hermione nearly screamed when she saw Antonin Dolohov's terrifying smile. Completely at the mercy of the Death Eater she feared most, she was fucked.

Author's Note: I would think this would go without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway. From here on out, this story is an Alternate-Universe and won't follow canon. Enjoy!