When the first snow fell, Hermione started seeing him everywhere.

He was there in the darkened corners of her bedroom, clothed in the Death Eater robes. He was right behind her when she looked in the mirror to inspect her reflection. He was lurking outside while she had dinner, peering at her through the window. He was looming in the shadows by her bed right when she was about to fall asleep. And when she did eventually fall asleep, he haunted her dreams.

When she saw him for the first time while being awake, she screamed, searching frantically for her wand which she didn't have, and even if she'd had a wand, she couldn't do any magic, she was so hurt; still, it was instinctual. The Phantom was one with the dark. Her screaming woke Ron up.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

"He's here," Hermione whispered, staring at the corner in panic.

Ron sat up immediately, looking around. He frowned. "There's nobody here."

"No, he is, he is right here," she pointed where she saw him. The mask was indifferent. The Phantom didn't move, didn't run away. He didn't get closer. He just stared.

Ron looked where she pointed. Then looked back at Hermione. "There's no one here. Just us, Mione."

"No, no…" Hermione kept repeating hysterically.

Ron sighed, got out of bed, and turned on the light.

The Phantom was gone. The space by her bed was empty.

Hermione shivered.

She could swear he was there. No, he was inside her.

When she did fall back asleep, the Phantom haunted her in her dreams, running after her, catching her, yanking her by her hair, raping her. But she was used to those nightmares by now.

The next day, when she saw him in broad daylight, she ran outside to check which was far beyond her body's limit. When she got there, the Phantom was gone, however, his footsteps were deep in the snow. Hermione crouched down to touch them, but then she blinked, and the footsteps were gone too.

Ginny, who had run after her, bolted through the door. "Hermione, is everything alright?!" she exclaimed.

Hermione's breathing was coming back to normal. She was almost disappointed that she didn't catch the Phantom.

"Yes," she answered. "I just thought I saw something."

Ginny looked around too as if expecting to see someone. But beyond the courtyard there were only trees, nothing else.

"Get inside," she said. "It's freezing out there."

Hermione went in. Ginny put a bowl of porridge in front of her when they got back to the kitchen. Hermione only nibbled at it, staring at the soggy mash of oats. The hand that held the spoon started to shake violently. Hermione felt sick. She knew what was coming. The memories were coming back more quietly now, sometimes she even managed to hide she was having a seizure especially if she was in her bedroom and because they were happening so frequently, they had practically become a part of her routine.

Hermione put down the spoon and closed her eyes. She hugged her arms around herself so she wouldn't hit anything and pulled her knees up to her chest, waiting.

The Phantom is back. He left her all alone, he stupefied her so she wouldn't go anywhere, and when she could move again, she found herself chained in his bedroom – that's where he kept her most of the time. The walls of the bedroom, as well as everything else, are blurred. It's impossible to tell the things apart, impossible to name them. It's all just one thing. She focuses on her breathing. The Phantom was gone but now he's back. He enters the room with his mask still on—

—glitch—

—he yanks her by the hair, pulling her body up. She hisses in pain, but he doesn't stop, dragging her to his bed and throwing her on it.

"You're mine, Mudblood," he hisses in her ear. "You're all mine and I can do whatever I want to you."

That's what he always tells her. He likes to remind her that she is nothing to him.

"So tell me—"

—glitch—

She cries and screams when he puts his whole- body weight on top of her and when his gloved hands reach for her neck and squeeze. If she could see his face, she knows he would be furious. But there's only that indifferent mask.

She can't breathe. He uses all his might to choke her. She's red in the face, she's losing her consciousness, but he doesn't care.

—glitch—

"I'm going to destroy you."

—glitch—

She was back in her grandparent's kitchen. She opened her eyes but stayed in the safe position because her body was still shaking.

"Aunt Mione, are you okay?" James asked, his little face filled with worry.

Hermione was trying to catch her brief. Ginny and Harry were looking at her just as concerned as their son.

"I'm fine…" she managed.

"You got a memory back?" Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded.

"What was it about?" Harry asked, sitting down next to her so she wouldn't be able to avoid his interrogation.

"Nothing," she said.

"It's not nothing if you're so scared."

"It is nothing. Nothing useful, nothing that could help the war," Hermione insisted.

"Tell me anyways."

Hermione finally met Harry's eyes. "It's not important."

Harry's face hardened. "Ginny, take James with you and leave me and Hermione alone."

Hermione didn't look at her, but she could glance from the periphery the way Ginny froze in place. She could feel Ginny's eyes on her, then she looked at Harry.

"You won't… do anything?" Ginny asked. She sounded scared.

"Ginny, leave," Harry commanded in a harsher tone.

Despite how much she wanted to stay, Ginny eventually took James in her arms and left them alone in the kitchen. Harry addressed her immediately.

"Hermione, it is up to me to decide whether your memories are important or not."

"They're not."

Harry wasn't going to give up, she could see that fiery determination in his eyes that she was so familiar with despite the lost ten years.

"Tell me what you saw," he requested.

Hermione swallowed and stared down at her hands, playing with the ring. "It wasn't even very clear. He choked me. He wanted me to tell him something."

"Tell him what?"

"I don't know. The memory got distorted, I didn't understand what he wanted exactly."

"Then what?"

"I'm not sure. He kept saying that… I belong to him, and something like that. And then he was getting ready to rape me which I assume he did, time and time again." She looked up at Harry sharply. "Happy?"

Harry was not even close happy. He seemed tired and distressed. Hermione knew how much it annoyed him that she couldn't tell him anything, but there was nothing she could do about it.

A muscle twitched in Harry's jaw. "Didn't you see anything else? What he looked like, his face?"

"He wore a mask."

"The whole time?"

"The whole time."

She saw the way Harry's fingers formed into a fist. "That was this time, what about the other memories? Didn't you see his face or anything? The color of his eyes, his hair? His built? Is he old or young, tall or short?"

"Tall, I think. Must be on the younger side," Hermione answered.

Harry's frown deepened. "In his twenties? Thirties?"

"Thirties, I think. But I don't know. Didn't see his face."

She had told him a million times that she didn't see the Phantom's face. But Harry was still hoping there was something she was missing.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"It could be anyone," he mumbled.

Hermione looked away. There, at the kitchen table, right in front of her, sat the Phantom. Harry didn't see him, otherwise he would've taken the mask off with his bare hands just to see the face of the villain he was chasing. She stared at the Phantom. He didn't do anything. He didn't move, didn't speak, not a single muscle in his body twitched. He clearly knew his mere presence was enough to send her over the edge.

But all that echoed in Hermione's ears was I'm going to destroy you.

The Phantom did as he had promised. She was beyond repair.

The first week of December was coming to an end when Hermione finally got to see someone from her past who wasn't Harry, Ron, Ginny, or Padma.

It was just over a month since she had woken up from the coma, and she could finally walk on her own, the bruises on her face and most of her body were essentially gone, although she still suffered pain of all kinds – her head was constantly throbbing, her bone marrow ached, almost all movement required exertion that her body was still unwilling to provide. But she was healing. She drank the potion every day, and she was healing. Her mind, however, seemed to be incurable.

Hermione probably wouldn't have enjoyed someone else's company so much had she still carried bruises all over herself and was unable to walk without Ron's help, but now that she somewhat resembled her old self, meeting Neville was almost nice.

He came by in the late afternoon when the sun was already setting because days kept getting shorter. Ginny opened the door and let him in while Hermione was in the living room with James, teaching him how to read with the same books she read as a child before Hogwarts. Neville came in and before greeting Ginny, she told him, "Hermione's back."

Neville saw her from the hallway and nodded in her direction. Hermione was hoping he would come up to say hi, but he didn't. From what she could see, the war had most definitely taken its' toll on Neville – he seemed gray in the face and his shoulders were slouched from heavy burdens granting he had grown into a man and no longer reminded her of the boy he was.

"I'm here with business, Ginny," Neville said, turning away from Hermione. "Is Harry home?"

Ginny nodded. "He is. He's been expecting you."

Neville gave one last glance to Hermione and went to Harry's room.

"He's the first person of the Order I see come by," Hermione commented. "You don't get visitors from outside often, given that this is the Order's safehouse."

Ginny looked at her. She started treating her somewhat cooly ever since their quarry at dinner a few weeks prior.

"There aren't many people left to come here," she said.

Hermione said nothing to that. This was the time to ask questions, to get all the names of the dead. But she didn't want them. They might start haunting her just like the Phantom. She was already an insomniac.

Neville came back about half an hour later, this time Harry followed him. Neville had a sword at his side.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"It's a sword," Neville said, then looked at Harry.

"It's Gryffindor's sword, Hermione," Harry explained.

"Why do you need it?" she asked Neville.

Neville opened his mouth to answer, but Harry was faster, "To fight in the battlefield. It's one of the very few weapons immune to dragonfire."

Right. The Phantom and his dragon.

"Well, I better get going," Neville said after an awkward silence. "It's good to see you, Hermione. We've been hoping for your fast recovery."

Hermione stared at him. She needed to say something polite, so she thanked him, but this conversation felt strange, just like all the others she had with the people she thought she knew. She felt like a character in a video game where everyone around her knew the rules of the game and she was left to figure it all out by herself.

"Neville, stay for dinner," Ginny asked. "I made your favorite casserole."

Neville scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Oh, I don't know…" he mumbled, looking at Harry.

"Stay," Harry seconded Ginny's invitation. "The situation isn't as bad that we couldn't have a friends' dinner."

Neville couldn't disagree with that. Ron and Harry levitated the chairs and the table to the living room while Hermione and James gathered their books from the floor and put them away where they belonged. When the table was set, Hermione made sure to sit next to Harry. She wanted to ask him things, and he wouldn't be able to avoid her questioning in front of others. She considered Neville's visit a lucky charm.

"So, you do need more fighters," she told Harry when everybody started eating.

Harry gave her a questioning look. "Where did you get that idea from?"

"Neville is taking the sword. He's fighting. And most of the Order is dead. You need everyone you can get. I want to help and fight with you."

Harry sighed. "We've already talked about this, Hermione, there is no need for you to fight. You've been through enough and we just got you back. I would never forgive myself is something happened to you again, if I was the one who put you in danger. Besides, I'm already winning. Or I will win sooner rather than later. Things are going according to my plan."

Yes, they kept having this same conversation for the past week and a half, ever since she started seeing the Phantom, ever since she couldn't sleep or do anything without seeing him. So, Hermione wasn't listening because she heard Harry say it many times before. She just needed to do something, anything to keep her mind off things.

"Who are your fighters, anyway?" she asked. "If almost everyone from the Order is dead, who is fighting for you?"

Harry turned his whole body to her, implying that he had neither the patience nor the willingness to explain it all to her.

"After Voldemort died, many people came to support me. Even some of the Death Eaters. A lot of them, actually."

Hermione frowned.

"You're fighting the Phantom with Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

Hermione turned to Neville. "Did you destroy Voldemort's horcruxes? With the sword? Did you kill him?"

Neville's mouth fell open, he was caught off guard by her questioning. He looked at Harry for support. Harry nodded.

"I destroyed… only one," Neville answered.

"Which one?" Hermione asked.

"The diadem."

She narrowed her eyes. "The diadem was left at Hogwarts, how did you get it back?"

Neville clearly didn't have the answer for that, he only looked at Harry.

"We got it back from Hogwarts, Hermione, it was a whole mission that lasted weeks. And then Neville destroyed it," Harry explained to her patiently.

Hermione turned back to him. "What about the other horcruxes?"

Harry sighed. "Hermione, I understand you want to know what happened and how it happened, but it will be of no use if I just tell you everything – if I do, your own memories might never come back, that's what Padma said, remember? And I want you to get them back, we all do…"

She felt her lower lip tremble.

"I deserve to know, Harry…"

Harry's expression faltered, softening at the edges. He took her hand in both of his palms, bringing back warmth into her fingers.

"You deserve everything, Hermione." Another sigh. "After destroying the diadem, we spent over two years trying to get the scepter because we knew we would be unable to get close to Nagini since it was always at Voldemort's side."

"There was another horcrux?" Hermione asked, shocked.

Harry nodded. "Eight in total. It was the obsidian serpent scepter, an heirloom that Voldemort inherited from Salazar Slytherin himself. We found it, and we destroyed it with the sword too."

Hermione swallowed. Harry was right, this was too much new information all at once. But she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"And Nagini?"

"Eventually all of Voldemort's horcruxes were destroyed."

"What about Voldemort himself, who killed him? You did?"

Harry looked at her while everybody – Ron, Ginny, Neville, even James – looked at Harry. The tension in the living room could be cut with a knife.

"No," Harry said.

"Who did it then?"

"Hermione—" Ron began, peering at Hermione with wide eyes as if he wanted nothing more than to stop this. Once again, Hermione felt there were rules to this game she knew nothing of.

"No, Ron, I'll tell her," Harry gestured in Ron's direction before laying his eyes back on her. "The Phantom killed Voldemort, not me."

It took a minute for the news to hit home. A thousand thoughts hit Hermione at once, she started thinking about the prophecy that Harry was supposed to kill Voldemort himself, that the Phantom was the man who tortured her, so how could he have ended the evilest man of all? It didn't make sense.

"So, the Phantom was against Voldemort too?" she asked quietly.

"No, I was against Voldemort. The Phantom was only one of his Death Eaters. He waited until we destroyed all the horcruxes and Voldemort was left vulnerable and exposed, that's when he betrayed his master. The Phantom didn't do it to save wizarding Britain; he killed Voldemort because he wanted to take his place – and he did."

Hermione took her time looking around the room. Everyone' s expression was the same – a composed type of neutrality like they were scared to show off more than they were supposed to. Only James gawked in confusion.

"And now the Phantom wants to kill you?"

Harry nodded. "He wants to kill me and to rule the world. But this is where his similarities with Voldemort end, he is nothing like him. He has no motivations whatsoever. You see, I knew what Voldemort wanted, he wanted to be immortal to live forever. What the Phantom wants – that I'm clueless about."

"To rule the world?" Hermione offered.

Harry pressed his lips together. "I think he wants me to believe this is his goal. But I don't think so. I reckon he is obsessed with killing me for personal reasons."

Hermione frowned. "Why would it be personal?"

"This is what I need to figure out. I need to know who he is. I must understand what exactly he wants from me. That's why you must remember what he looks like, Hermione. This is what's the most important to us right now."

The Phantom was standing right behind Harry. His leather gloved hands hovered right above Harry's head, but he didn't do anything else.

She saw Harry lean into her in her periphery, but she only had eyes for the Phantom. "Hermione, you're my only hope," Harry said. The Phantom took off is gloves. His hands were pale and scarred all over, the scars reminded Hermione of dried out riverbeds.

"I swear, Harry," she said. "I will remember who he is."

She could swear the Phantom smiled under his mask.