She felt warm hands on her forehead and softness wrapped around her body. She opened her eyes slowly, afraid of what awaited her, but the relieved face of Neville and a happy smile of Luna wasn't what she had anticipated.

She wasn't dead.

"In Godric's name, Hermione," Neville said, wrapping the blanket around her tighter. "We thought you weren't going to wake up. You were so cold."

"Where—" she started, but her voice creaked and she couldn't say more than that.

"Easy," Neville hushed her, motioning a hand towards Luna. She disappeared from the view. "We're at my grandma's house."

Hermione nodded weakly. She had so many questions, but couldn't will her voice into working. Luna came back a moment later, carrying a vial of red liquid.

"Pepper-Up Potion," Luna explained.

When she was able to find her voice, she asked, "What happened?"

Neville and Luna exchanged significant looks between them.

"Do you remember anything?" Neville questioned.

She closed her eyes, trying to recall any memories.

"I think I heard Ginny," she said weakly. She remembered hearing a voice that sounded a lot like her friend's. "Then I felt cold. Darkness. I was swimming?"

"It's gotten bad at school," Neville said, his eyes turning a shade darker. "This morning, I heard Ginny bragging at breakfast how 'the mudblood is about to become a part of the Blake Lake's attraction'. Some people looked shocked and some laughed together with her. Me and Luna immediately rushed out to the lake."

The Lake. The box. The water sipping inside, threatening to drown her. Her attempts at wandless magic—the onslaught of memories flooded her brain.

"We couldn't see you," Neville continued. "I wanted to jump in, to look for you, but with the current season and how vast the lake is, I was afraid I'd die before I could find you."

"Find you, we did," Luna interjected, smiling at her warmly.

Neville nodded in agreement. "We saw a sudden ripple on the surface. It was like an undercurrent, a riptide about to burst out in the air. Then we saw a body float up and I went in, dearly hoping you were alright."

Her magic. It must have been her magic. She looked at her hands, almost at the verge of tears at what she had done, had accomplished.

"You were so cold to the touch. We brought you here as soon as possible, afraid of going back to the castle. It's like… there's a rebellion forming."

"There probably is," she said.

"Tell us what's going on," Neville said with a determination. "So many students and even some teachers are saying vile things about Muggle-borns. There had been fights with the ones who are against them, people are being jinxed and hexed, the Hospital Wing is full. Anyone who defies them is considered a blood traitor and—"

Hermione listened to Neville go on, inwardly cursing herself and Theo for letting him talk her out of her plan. None of this would have happened if she had gone through with her choice.

"—they are planning to go outside Hogwarts."

"What's the time?" she asked suddenly. "Is it still the same day?"

"Yes."

She was supposed to meet with Shacklebolt today. She shifted in her bed, making a move to get up.

"Don't—" Neville's hands kept her in place, pushing her back into the bed.

"I have to," she insisted, trying to fight his grip off. He was too strong and she was too weak right now. "I have to," she repeated, again and again.

Luna came back to her, pushing another vial towards her. She recognized it immediately as the Draught of Peace. She shook her head no, ignoring their pleadings. She stopped fighting, realizing there was no point in it, sighing heavily. Was it even worth it to have a talk with Shacklebolt now? It was too late. She was too late. She should go back to her original plan.

"Alright," she said. "I'm alright now. I just really need to rest a bit. Could you give me some time alone?"

Neville shook his head at her. "I'm not leaving you alone. Harry told us specifically not to leave you alone."

She growled in defeat and anger. Of course Harry had to meddle in her own decisions, same way Theo had done. Why couldn't they just let her make her own choices?

"Sorry," Harry's voice reached her ears and he materialized beside her bed. "I came as soon as I could. How are you feeling?" he asked, directing the question at her.

She looked at him with resentment, facing away from him.

"O—kay," he said and she could feel the awkwardness in his tone.

"Harry," Luna said cheerfully. "Hermione is making a fuss. Could you please tell her that drinking the Draught of Peace is only for her own benefit?"

Hermione snorted, annoyed with everyone treating her like a child. She crossed her arms, leveling her anger at everyone present in the room.

"Oh, Hermione," Harry said sadly, bringing his hand and running it through her hair in a soothing motion. She kept her eyes focused on the wall.

"Harry, could you please explain exactly what's going on?" Neville spoke up after a beat of silence that fell over them.

Harry agreed, telling Neville and Luna the story she had told him, and Hermione only interrupted and added things of her own—whatever she deemed Harry retold incorrectly or missed any details.

"Merlin's beard," Neville commented with wide eyes. "What are you planning to do? Have you told the Ministry?"

"That's what I was trying to do," Harry admitted, ignoring a look of indignation coming from her. "That's why I didn't come sooner. But Shacklebolt has been busy all day and I couldn't get through to him."

"We need to barge into his office and demand for him to listen to us," Hermione said, ignoring the look of surprise on their faces.

"You should rest—"

"I have survived a war, for Merlin's sake!" she huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "I have survived Voldemort. I do not need to be coddled."

"Fine," Harry gritted out which told her he wasn't fine with it at all. "We'll go. Now. Will that make you less snippy?"

"Yes," she said, ignoring the jab and got out of the bed without any resistance this time. "Neville, would you be able to bring me back my wand?"

Before they left, she had seen the daily prophet with the headlight 'Multiple attacks on Muggle-born witches and wizards. Another war incoming?' Her heart dropped reading through the article, fully aware that she was already too late. She needed to provide Shacklebolt with all the information she had as soon as possible, dearly hoping he would listen to what she had to say. She was a ball of anxiety, aware that innocent people were targeted and while she knew one way to stop it—she hadn't.

They came into Shacklebolt's office without any preamble, just one Auror right on their heels.

"Yes?" Shacklebolt asked in confusion, waving the Auror away with a snap of his hand.

"We need to talk," Hermione said without any pleasantries.

"Yes?" he asked again, a slight tone of irritation coating his voice.

Hermione explained, quickly and in short, about what had been going on for the past few months and what she needed him to help her with.

"Well," Shacklebolt said, nodding his head. "That would explain the commotion out in the streets. There are angry wizards creating chaos out there. Yelling about 'mudbloods'," he accentuated the word, "and more and more people are joining in to stand with them."

"Oh no."

"How can you trust that whatever this ghost that you met was saying holds any truth to it?"

"We can't," Harry said at the same time she said, "We don't have any other choice."

"Listen to me," Shacklebolt started, shifting his expression into a mask of seriousness. "Whether you're telling me the truth or not, and whether I believe it or not—I cannot just execute a prisoner based on the words you told me in my office."

Hermione was stunned into silence. She couldn't believe how stupid she had been. Why would she even think for a second that she could get someone killed on her whim? She didn't know if it was the fact that she trusted and thought she could count on the Minister of Magic, given his alliance during the war, or the fact that Thoros Nott was a convicted Death Eater, the worst kind, devoted to his cause and damned beyond redemption, that made her believe this plan could work.

She was already standing in his office, feeling stupid, but there was no reason for her to try and not press—for something.

"I'm aware of that," she said, weighting her words. "Thoros Nott is a despicable man. I know what I'm asking of you isn't justice in the law's perspective, but he owes his life for the ones he had taken away—and ones he might still take away if we do nothing."

"I understand where you're coming from. I do," Shacklebolt said, looking her in the eye. "But I took this position to ensure that there will be justice in this world. I will not go against my beliefs and what I stand for. No one will treat me with respect if I help you the way you want me to. I will send someone to investigate and I can file for an appeal concerning Thoros' but I'm afraid that's all I can do."

Hermione could already see the world burning, the blood of innocent people running down the streets and her heart felt crushed. Investigation and an appeal? This could take months. She and other people like here were doomed. She had to rely on her only option, waiting for a moment to slip away from Harry's presence—

"I know this isn't what you wanted to hear," Shacklebolt interrupted her inner turmoil, looking at her pointedly. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you. If your appeal is approved and you present enough evidence, then the appropriate trained stuff in the Azkaban will head to the cell number 37, located on the third floor, where they will find Thoros Nott and do what they were ordered to do."

She blinked, letting his words sink in. She held his gaze, blank and devoid of any emotions, nodding her head slightly in understanding. Shacklebolt had laid it all out, giving them—her—a way to do the work themselves.

"Thank you for your time," she said, turning to leave and catching Harry's eye—the weight of his look heavy on her, as if he was trying to figure out her inner thoughts, her next move, her intentions. She had learned from Theo that sometimes you had to be calculating and a plan was already forming in her head.

"Hermione," Harry spoke up once they were back at Neville's place. She felt the oncoming wave of questions the moment they had left Shacklebolt's office and now it was about to spill all over her. "Are you really thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"What am I thinking?" she asked nonchalantly.

"You want me to say it?"

"Say it," she shot back with a bite.

"Are you really planning a murder on a locked up man?" Harry said harshly, wording it as badly as he could, though she knew it was the truth.

She shot him a heated look, crossing her arms. "I find it ironic how defeating Voldemort made you a hero and you're calling me a murderer."

Harry sighed heavily, his tone lighter this time. "It was different."

"No," she said determinedly, having a fleeting thought in the back of her mind that he might have been right. "You did what you had to do to save lives. So, unless you want me to go back to my original plan, this is the only option we have left."

Harry just shook his head, grabbing onto her arm. She pulled it out of his grip.

"You don't even know if what you're planning to do will work! You might take away someone's life and it may be all for nothing!"

Hermione wasn't an idiot—she knew the risks. She had spent every minute afraid that whatever she would end up doing, it would all be useless in the end. That whoevers life was put on the line, there would still be chaos in the world and there would still be a threat of bloodspill. She wasn't going to wait for the world to right itself on its own or for the justice system to work only after innocent people had paid with their lives. She had made a decision and whether Harry was willing to help her or not, she would see it to the end.

"I'm not stopping now. Are you with me or not?"