a/n: Buckle up, babes

Time seemed to slow down completely as Hermione was struck with the sudden realization that it wasn't just a Patronus.

It was a horse Patronus. It was Ginny's Patronus.

Hermione immediately burst into tears. "It's Ginny. Oh, my gods, it's Ginny." She turned to Draco. "Draco, it's Ginny," she repeated.

Draco nodded, pressing his forehead against hers. "They promised they'd send someone you'd trust. They promised that they'd keep you safe."

Overwhelmed, Hermione began to cry harder. She did not want to leave Draco, but she also desperately wanted to see Ginny again. "Draco—"

He cut her off. "It's time to go, Hermione. You know you have to go." Draco paused and swallowed. "This isn't the end. I'm not done with you yet. I promise you, Hermione—I'm not done."

She stared up at him, frantically wiping away her tears. "What does that mean?" she asked. "Are you coming with me?"

Draco smiled sadly. "No," he said. "Not yet. I have one more mission I have to accomplish, and then—hopefully—I'll get to be with you."

"We don't have much time left," the Patronus said in a bored voice Hermione didn't recognize. It certainly wasn't Ginny's.

Draco cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He grinned against her lips. "Go, Hermione. Go be with Ginny." Draco pressed her purple beaded bag into her hands. "Don't forget this—the Portkey and my mother's wand are inside." Draco pulled away from her and took several steps back. He was still smiling at her.

I love you, she thought, as she gave him a weak smile before turning back to the Patronus. She grabbed the Portkey from the horse's mouth and gently unwrapped it. She gave a final look to Draco, who was staring at her intently, before wrapping her fingers around the Portkey

Instantly, she was transported to a dreary beach. It was cloudy, and the air smelled strongly of salt and brine. The beach was quiet, and the only sounds Hermione could hear were the gentle roll of the waves and the chirping of seagulls. There was no other person in sight. She was alone on a beach, and it was beginning to rain. Hermione was confused.

"Hermione, is that really you?" came a voice from behind her.

Hermione whipped around, automatically drawing her wand and found—Ginny. Her hair was longer, and she was thinner and older looking, but the girl before her appeared unmistakably to be Ginny Weasley.

Hermione didn't drop her wand. It appeared to be Ginny Weasley, but there was always the chance that it was an imposter. Hermione wracked her brain, trying to find a question only the real Ginny would know the answer to.

Ginny seemed to understand and gave her a sad smile. "What did you give me for my birthday in 5th year?" she asked.

"A bottle of Laurent-Perrier Rosé that I stole from my parents' wine cellar. We drank it together."

Ginny rubbed tears away from her face. "What item did I let you borrow before the Yule Ball?"

Hermione laughed. "Your aunt's ring. It was the exact color of my dress."

Ginny had begun to sob. "It's really you," she said, her voice shaking.

"It's me," Hermione replied.

Ginny launched herself towards Hermione, wrapping her arms around her. Ginny was—different. Sharper, and too thin. She didn't feel like the Ginny Hermione remembered.

And Hermione didn't particularly like the feeling of being touched. It was strange, because she had hugged Ginny hundreds of times. But her skin began to crawl, and she immediately pulled away.

Ginny flinched, then frowned. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I know it's been a long time."

"It's been—a long time." Hermione glanced around the desolate beach. "Where are we?" she asked.

"An in-between point," Ginny replied. "In case you weren't—in case you weren't you."

Hermione nodded. That made sense. "Is there a safe house?"

Ginny nodded jerkily. "Yes," she replied. "I'll take you there—I just thought we should talk first."

"About what?" Hermione asked.

"Well—" Ginny began, looking uncomfortable. "You might be surprised."

Hermione sighed, feeling exhausted already. "I'm afraid nothing could surprise me anymore, Gin," she replied.

She was thinking of Draco, stumbling into the woods looking for a unicorn. Draco, and the way he kissed her.

No, nothing could surprise her anymore.

The corner of Ginny's mouth twitched. "Okay," she said quietly, holding out her hand. Hermione immediately took it.

Ginny's apparition was sloppy, and Hermione felt her stomach turn as they landed in front of a distinctly French-looking townhouse. "Where are we?" Hermione asked.

"Somewhere in France," Ginny replied with a slight shrug.

Well, that made sense. Ginny was still holding her hand as she led her up the steps and to the door of the townhouse. She knocked twice. "Guerre," she said.

Hermione wasn't sure what it meant, but she was certain Draco would know.

At Ginny's word, the door swung open revealing a living room packed with people. Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest. She hadn't seen so many people together in years. It instantly put her on edge.

Gunny squeezed her hand. "We don't have to do this bit yet. Let me show you to your room."

Hermione nodded gratefully. She was already feeling quite overwhelmed.

Ginny led her up two flights of stairs before stopping in front of a closed door. "Most of us share rooms—but well. We weren't sure if you'd want to. It used to be a closet—but it's roomy."

Hermione opened the door. Roomy was an overstatement. There was a twin-sized bed and a small nightstand, which took up the majority of the room. Over the bed was a small window.

"Is it okay?" Ginny asked.

"Hmm?" Hermione asked as she studied the room. "Oh, yes. It's perfect."

Ginny stood awkwardly in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I don't quite know what to say."

"Me neither," Hermione agreed.

Ginny nodded. "Dinner is in an hour. I'll bring you a plate."

"Okay," Hermione said quietly, laying down on the bed. It was hard, and uncomfortable. She missed Draco's bed. She missed her bed. She turned away from Ginny and faced the wall.

"I missed you, Hermione," Ginny said after a moment.

"I missed you, too, Gin," Hermione replied, squeezing her eyes shut.

Ginny sighed, and Hermione heard the door click shut. She began to cry immediately.

She was already regretting this immensely. She was in an unfamiliar townhouse full of of unfamiliar people. The idea of so many people she didn't know had her skin crawling.

The thought struck her: she wasn't safe.

Hermione jumped out of the bed and began casting every ward she could think of upon the door. When she was done, she was exhausted. She leaned against the door and slid down, burying her face in her knees. Two stories up, she could hear the blare of a television and the happy chattering of voices.

She felt nauseous.

Hermione stayed leaning against the door until there was a sharp knock. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled before standing and opening the door. It was Ginny, holding a plate full of food. "I've realized that this is ridiculous," Ginny said. "We were best friends. We can eat dinner and talk, right?"

Hermione nodded and opened the door wider, allowing Ginny inside. Promptly, Ginny took a seat on the floor and offered Hermione a fork. "Shall we?" she asked.

Hermione grinned weakly and sat down across from Ginny. She wasn't particularly hungry, and she still felt a bit nauseous, but she could pick at some food if it made Ginny feel more comfortable. Ginny ate quietly for several minutes before finally asking, "Where have you been?"

"The Forest of Dean," Hermione replied, stabbing a bit of stewed tomato she had no intention of eating. "For two years."

Ginny dropped her fork. "Fuck," she hissed. "We were sure you were in Australia."

Hermione stared at Ginny. Had they actually tried to find her? "Is that where you looked for me?" she asked neutrally.

Ginny nodded, then wiped a tear from her face. "We—I—was sure you were in Australia."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Why did Ginny keep saying we? "No," Hermione said quietly. "I never went to Australia. I wouldn't jeopardize my parents like that."

Ginny nodded. "That makes sense, I suppose." She bit her lip lightly. "How did you find us?"

"You don't know?" Hermione asked, wondering what Ginny had been told.

Ginny shook her head. "No," she said quietly, looking away from Hermione. "They didn't give me any other information other than you had been located and I was given the task of retrieving you."

They. Who were they, Hermione wondered.

Hermione swallowed, resting her own fork against her plate. "One of your spies found me," she said vaguely. "Quite literally by accident."

Ginny furrowed her brow, then immediately sighed. "I know we have a few spies. And I know one recently expressed wanting to fully side with The Order. Do you know anything about that?"

Hermione couldn't meet Ginny's eyes. Her heart ached inside her chest.

"It's him, isn't it? Your spy—he wants to leave. He wants to come here," Ginny said with wide eyes. "He wants to be with you."

Hermione looked away. She bit her lip. "He said he had one more mission—and then, hopefully."

"I can't—I'm not supposed to know who he is," Ginny said. "But—was he good to you?"

Hermione promptly burst into tears. It was all too much. Being here with the Order, with Ginny, with people she didn't know—around people at all. The fact that they had looked for her, just in the wrong place. Being away from Draco. She was just—overwhelmed.

Ginny was next to her in an instant, her arms wrapped tightly around Hermione. "Oh, my gods, I'm sorry, Hermione. What did I say?"

Even as she sobbed, Hermione let out a strangled laugh. "Nothing, Gin. I'm just—this is a lot right now." She cried for several minutes as Ginny held her. "He was the best, Ginny. I think—I think I'm in love with him."

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said quietly, squeezing her in her arms.

Hermione gulped and forced herself to stop crying. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm being ridiculous."

"No," Ginny replied fiercely. "You are not being ridiculous."

"I'm sorry. It's been a long day—well, it's been a long few days."

Ginny looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I know—this is a lot, Hermione. I just—it's going to be a lot, and for that I'm sorry."

Hermione studied Ginny for a moment, not understanding quite what Ginny was getting at. "Ginny—what—?" Hermione began.

Ginny promptly interrupted her. "We don't have to talk about all of that now. You're tired—you should get some rest."

Hermione pulled herself from Ginny's arms. "No," Hermione said quietly, feeling her skin crawl again. Ginny was keeping something from her. Was this a trap? Was Hermione in danger? Hermione promptly stood and backed against the wall of the tiny closet. She felt for her wand, finding it tucked in the waistband of her leggings. "You tell me right now, Ginny Weasley." Her voice was shaking.

Ginny instantly held up her hands. "Hermione, you're safe here—I promise. That's not—we just—" Ginny began, struggling with her words.

"You keep saying we. Who is we, Ginny?"

"Us," Ginny said softly. "The Order."

"You're keeping something from me, and I want to know right now or I'm leaving," Hermione threatened, pulling her wand free from her leggings.

Ginny's face had fallen, and she suddenly looked defeated. "I—" she began, before shaking her head. "I suppose it's better if I show you."

"Show me?" Hermione asked, confused. "Show me what?"

Ginny looked towards the door of the closet, appearing to be silently warring with herself. Finally, Ginny spoke, "I suppose you should know who's in charge of the Order."

"That would be a great start," Hermione agreed through gritted teeth, her wand still drawn.

"Follow me," Ginny said quietly, pulling open the door. Hermione followed her down the hall, which was full of closed doors. At the end of the hall, they came to another set of steps. "This leads to the attic," Ginny explained. "This is where they meet."

They walked up the stairs, where they found another closed door. Even from several steps down, Hermione could feel the magic radiating from the door. The room was heavily warded, Hermione was certain. Ginny turned back to Hermione, silently asking if Hermione was sure. Hermione nodded towards the door. With a heavy exhale, Ginny turned back to the door, wrapping her knuckles lightly against the wood. "It's me," Ginny said to the door. "I've got her."

Automatically, the heavy wooden door swung open revealing a spacious attic. In the middle of the room sat a large round table, which was currently surrounded by several people. As Ginny and Hermione entered the room, the door slammed behind them. Several sets of eyes looked up expectantly.

For the second time that day, Hermione felt time stop. Her mouth felt full of cotton and her stomach roiled. There was a distant ringing in her ears that Hermione vaguely recognized as someone calling her name.

No, not just someone—it was Ron's voice. "'Mione? 'Mione?" Hermione could hear him calling.

She couldn't answer him—she couldn't make her mouth form words for some reason. She couldn't speak, she could barely hear, and her vision was drastically becoming darker by the second. The last thing she saw before the world became entirely black were the intense emerald green eyes that could only belong to Harry Potter.

When Hermione regained consciousness, she was in an unfamiliar room and in an unfamiliar bed. Ginny Weasley was perched at the end of the bed, a wary expression on her face. Suddenly, everything rushed back to her. She was in an Order safehouse with Ginny and Ron, and—Harry? Had she made that part up? Had she dreamed it? "Ginny—" Hermione began. "Was—?"

Ginny merely nodded, looking resigned. "I told you it was going to be a lot."

"I want to see him," Hermione demanded, even as tears began to run down her face. "I want to see him right now."

"Hermione, you really should get some rest—"

"I don't want to rest," Hermione spat. "I want to talk to Harry."

Ginny nodded and stood. "I'll get him," she said, leaving and closing the door behind her.

Hermione swung her legs over the bed, waiting. She only had to wait a few moments before there was a light knocking at her door. "Come in," Hermione said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

The door opened and he was there—real, and solid. It was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Had Died.

Except he was standing right there in front of her. Like Ginny, he sported several physical changes, but he was unmistakably Harry. He was her best friend, and he somehow was alive.

Harry didn't meet her eyes as he made his way to the far side of the room, seating himself awkwardly on the end table. Finally, he looked up at her, giving her a lopsided grin that was so very Harry.

For some reason, it infuriated her.

"I thought you were dead," Hermione said in a flat voice.

"Everyone thought you were dead," Harry countered quietly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, noticing that he hadn't said that he had thought she was dead.

Harry bit his lip and looked away. "I was dead, technically."

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked.

Harry sighed. "I was a Horcrux, Hermione. Though, I'm sure you'd already figured that out."

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she replied, her voice catching in her throat.

"I died, Hermione," he said quietly. "I was dead until Narcissa Malfoy laid her hands on me." Harry stopped briefly and swallowed. "She lied to Vol—him—She wanted to know if Malfoy was still alive. I told her that he was, and she lied."

Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione looked towards her purple beaded bag, where she knew the dead woman's wand now resided. She wondered if Harry knew—she wondered if he knew that Narcissa was dead, or that they had a spy in Draco. She wondered, briefly, if he knew about her and Draco.

Truthfully, Hermione wasn't entirely surprised to find that Narcissa Malfoy had lied directly to Voldemort. She had wanted to protect her son. Hermione was lost in her own thoughts when she looked up to find Harry watching her expectantly. She was supposed to be surprised. Her stomach plummeted. It seemed unlikely that he knew about Draco, then. "Oh," she said quietly. "Well, that's—surprising."

"I killed Him, Hermione," Harry continued softly. "I killed Him the way he killed me. But we missed a Horcrux."

"I know," Hermione replied quietly. "I also know what it is."

Harry's head turned sharply. "What did you just say?" he asked, taking several steps towards Hermione.

"I know what the last Horcrux is," Hermione said calmly.

"Well—what is it?" Harry asked. He was now standing directly in front of her.

Hermione looked up at Harry. "Who handles your spies?" she asked, ignoring Harry's question for the time being.

Harry tilted his head, and odd expression on his face. "Ron and Kingsley," he replied slowly.

"Well, then I guess we should have a meeting," Hermione said.

Harry's expression wavered for a moment and then suddenly he was kneeling before Hermione, staring up into her eyes. He looked different, less lanky and more muscular, but his eyes were the exact same as she remembered. He looked at her the same way as he always had, too. The look he was giving her was too intense, and Hermione had to look away. She bit her lip. He gently touched her knee. "Hermione," he said quietly.

"Don't—" Hermione said. "I can't deal with everything right now. For two years, I've thought you were dead. Can you just give me a moment to process before we—before we deal with anything else?"

Harry nodded and stood, adjusting his glasses as he did so. They were still crooked even after his adjustment. It was as if nothing had changed, even though everything had changed. Briefly, Hermione wondered what Harry saw when he looked at her. She wondered how she had changed.

"Okay," Harry said. "Just tell me—tell me what you're ready for, and we'll do that—"

"I want a meeting with whoever handles the Order's spies," Hermione replied firmly. "Then I'll tell you about the last Horcrux."

Harry was silent before he finally nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll call them now."

When Harry left, Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Harry Potter was alive. Harry was alive, Ginny was alive, Ron was alive. Everyone she had ever cared about was alive. So—why did she feel so angry? Ginny had said they had looked for her in Australia, but how had they all ended up here, together—without her?

How were they all together, when Hermione had been on her own for two years?

Narcissa Malfoy had saved Harry. It didn't surprise her, really. Narcissa struck her as a woman who would have done anything for her son. Even in death, Draco appeared to be willing to do anything for her. Narcissa Malfoy had always appeared to be cold, aloof, and haughty. But Draco and Harry were painting a very different picture of her. Hermione wondered about the woman she would never know—who had Narcissa Malfoy truly been?

She had saved Draco and Harry, and for now, that had to be enough.

Hermione was certain she would learn more—if she ever saw Draco again.

You will see him again, her subconscious swore fiercely. He promised you, remember?

Hermione nodded to herself. He had promised her, and she believed him.

She missed him.

She had just found out that all her best friends were still alive, and all she could think about was how much she missed Draco Malfoy. How selfish could she be?

There was a light knock at the door and Hermione stood, pulling the door open. It was Harry, and she winced. It was like a punch to the gut every time she saw him—because he wasn't—he wasn't supposed to be alive—but here he was, standing in front of her, wearing a worried expression. "Hermione—" he started.

"Sorry," she interrupted. "I'm not—quite used to this just yet."

Harry nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry."

Hermione didn't want him to apologize. What was he even apologizing for, she wondered. For being alive? It was a ridiculous thought.

He's apologizing for abandoning you, her subconscious supplied.

Hermione pushed the thought down. She had more important things to deal with currently.

"They're ready whenever you are," Harry said quietly.

"I'm ready," Hermione replied immediately.

Harry led her back up the stairs to the attic and with a wave of his hand, the door immediately swung open. The room was the same as she remembered before she had fainted, with a large round table sitting in the middle. Currently, two people sat at the table—Kingsley Shacklebolt and Ronald Weasley. Hermione ran her over eyes over them both, forcing herself to swallow—what? What was she feeling? Besides an anger she couldn't entirely explain, she wasn't sure, so she pushed it down.

She met Ron's blue eyes and her heart thumped in her chest. She remembered how captivating she had once found him. Hermione was certain she had loved him once. But this Ron—she didn't know him. Because he had changed, too.

Harry took a seat at the table and immediately, Shacklebolt turned to him. "We've verified that it's really her?" he asked quietly.

"It's her," Harry said flatly.

"Yes, it's really me," Hermione replied fiercely.

"Yep, that's her," added Ron, nodding

Hermione was in disbelief. They had brought her into the Order, on the word of a spy that they did not trust, and there were still questions about the veracity of her identity.

Seriously—what was the Order doing?

Her thoughts must have shown on her face because Shacklebolt immediately spoke, "Apologies, Miss Granger. We thought you were dead."

"I told you she wasn't dead," Harry shot back immediately.

Ron remained quiet, his eyes intent on his shoes. Apparently, this was a point of contention within the Order.

How curious.

Hermione cleared her throat. "We can discuss the matter of my survival later. But for now, we have more important matters to attend to."

Shacklebolt nodded. "Harry said you know what the last Horcrux is," he said.

"I do," she replied evenly.

Three pairs of eyes were fixed on her. "So—what is it?" Shacklebolt asked.

Hermione crossed her arms. "We don't know how to destroy it, so for now, it's a moot point," she replied. "How many spies does the Order have?"

"Hermione—" Harry began.

"'Mione—" said Ron.

"Three," answered Shacklebolt.

"Who are they?" Hermione asked.

"That's confidential," Shacklebolt replied shortly.

Hermione had expected this. "Fine. Well, I'm aware of one. He's very valuable, and he has no means to contact you. Remind me of how spying works again?" she asked with an irritated tilt of her head.

Shacklebolt clenched his jaw. "The others have proven their loyalty. He hasn't."

Hermione steeled her jaw. "He's proven his loyalty a thousand times over, Kingsley. He's the reason I'm here right now. He kept me safe."

"There was no one to vouch for his loyalty, Miss Granger," Kingsley said calmly.

"I'm vouching for it now," Hermione replied fiercely.

"Who the fuck are we talking about?" Ron asked.

"It's confidential," Hermione said sarcastically.

"Blimey—" said Ron with a shake of his head.

"He's the reason Harry's alive. He's the reason any of us are alive. He's the reason I know what the last Horcrux is," she continued.

Harry's eyes narrowed in sudden realization. "She's talking about Malfoy, isn't she?" he asked, turning to Shacklebolt.

"I don't—" Shacklebolt began.

"Malfoy?"Ron interrupted, laughing. "That's not even possible."

Hermione was dumbfounded. These were the people in charge of the spies for the Order, and they didn't even know who their spies were. "Yes, I'm talking about Draco Malfoy," she finally said evenly.

Harry merely nodded, which surprised Hermione somewhat.

Ron's face turned red. "He can't be trusted, you know that, 'Mione."

She winced at 'Mione. She'd always hated that nickname.

Shacklebolt stayed silent.

"Why can't he be trusted?" Hermione asked.

"He tried to kill Dumbledore," Harry said quietly, looking out the window of the attic.

"Dumbledore knew he was dying, and you know that, Harry. What if I told you that Draco never tried to kill Dumbledore and it was part of a very elaborate plan?" Hermione asked.

"I'd say that you've gone mad!" Ron said.

Harry remained quiet, his eyes far off, as if he were deep in thought.

"It's what he's told us. We have no way to verify it," Shacklebolt replied.

"He killed Draco's entire family. What more do you need to verify?" Hermione asked, exasperated.

Harry's eyes flickered. "She's dead? Narcissa?" he asked.

He hadn't known. Harry owed his life to Narcissa Malfoy, and he hadn't known that she was dead.

What was happening here? How could they have so little knowledge? They were the Order of the Phoenix—their entire purpose was to destroy Voldemort, but they appeared to have even less knowledge than she did after two years alone in the woods. "Yes," Hermione finally said. "She's dead. She died about a year after Lucius did."

"You've got to be kidding me," Ron spat.

"I didn't know," Harry said quietly.

Hermione stared at Shacklebolt, willing him to speak—wanting him to explain himself, wanting him to explain the state of the Order. He stayed quiet.

Disgust. That was what Hermione felt. Disgust. She laughed, feeling somewhat insane. She held her hand out to Shacklebolt. "The coin you use to contact him, if you please," she said. "I have my own, but I'd prefer to make things official. I'm his handler now, and things around here have to change, obviously."

Shacklebolt remained quiet as he pulled a Galleon from his pocket and handed it to Hermione. She gripped it in her hand, her heart racing. It was a link to Draco, and now she knew she'd see him again. She was his handler, and now she could keep him safe—to whatever extent that she could.

She caught Harry grinning at her. "Gods, I've missed just how incredibly bossy you can be," he said.

Hermione held the Galleon tightly to her chest. "The last Horcrux is the snake—Nagini. Draco is certain of it. Now what the fuck is the Order going to do about it?"

a/n: I will do my best to update next Sunday, but I am a wee bit behind so no guarantees. My sincerest apologies.