A/N: I've never written a suspenseful action-oriented fanfic yet, so I thought I'd try my hand at it. Also non-linear storytelling is fun lol. For reference, '0' scenes refer to the past, with '1' scenes referring to the present.

I initially planned this as a oneshot, but the story kinda ran away from me (which can happen sometimes), so I decided to split things up for my own sanity, as well as the sanity of readers because who wants to read a 20k oneshot in one go?

Most likely, then, this will be a three-shot, with the possibility of a fourth part which I'll explain in the author note at the end.

As always, comments/reviews are always welcome, and I will definitely reply where possible (which is pretty much all the time lol).

For those who are reading HHr Hogwarts Detective Agency, the next chapter of that will come out soon, and I'll alternate between a chapter of this and a chapter of that until this is finished. Don't worry, nothing will be getting abandoned, since I always try to finish what I start.

Also, I wrote most of this on a new split keyboard that I bought to tackle some wrist pain and hand pain I'd been having from writing. It's called a Helidox Corne keyboard if anyone's interested to see what it looks like. Looks funky and takes a good learning curve, but it's really comfortable to use once you get past the frustration.


Summary: On the hunt for the Dark Lord, Hermione provides Harry new ways to defeat Voldemort. And an interesting way to confess her love. Dark, non-linear action-romance, HHr.


0

Binary code was where the main idea came from.

Hermione Granger, seventh-year bookworm that she was, pawed through the tomes in her family home's attic. Dust floated around her, coating every bit of skin like the constant danger wrapping over the wizarding world. The wooden floor did little to comfort her knees. Rather, it jutted into her bones, as though chastising her for her decision.

To obliviate her parents, pack their belongings for them, and send them across the world to Australia.

She sighed, wiped the beads of sweat collecting like marbles on her forehead. Tiredness strung her like she was a broken guitar, and the noose of guilt around her heart rose to strangle her throat with every breath.

Am I doing the right thing?

But with Voldemort at large…what else can I—

No.

She had made the decision already, and that was enough. No second guessing. The world was in turmoil, Voldemort resurrected seemingly from the dead. Civilians dying, muggleborns murdered on a daily basis.

The ministry was useless. Rendered mute as destruction closed its fist around wizarding Britain.

Hermione's hand hit something solid, stashed in a cardboard box. She pulled the box out, ignored the cloud of dust attacking her mouth. Stared at the book that met her.

Computing Principles, Volume One, First Edition.

And on the front cover, in the shimmering shadows of the attic, Hermione glimpsed a string of zeros and ones. Connected. One after the other.

Two digits. But their combinations could contain infinite information.

And that was when the idea formed.

An almost genius idea, if Hermione did think so herself.

And she quickly packed up. As quick as her tiredness, an almost endless exhaustion, would allow her.

Guilt thrummed her chest. But she had to struggle. For the wizarding world's sake.

For Harry's sake.

And then—

Then she set to work.

1

Anti-apparition wards. Soldered defences. Guards at nearly every entrance. Sensors to detect those flying overhead. Charms that alerted anyone inside to their presence.

Muggle buildings used barbed wire.

Magical buildings used death traps.

Malfoy Manor, as protected as ever, not that Harry was surprised in the slightest, stood with all its pride before them. The building was shoved into the middle of English countryside, greenery shielding it from all sides—the forest was charmed to the gills too, and traversing it proved a pain too many.

Rough cobbled roads led in and out of the manor's clearing. Strong warding charms stationed themselves at nearly every juncture, creating a maze they traversed just to reach the front gate.

But reach it they did.

Not a soul breathed for miles around.

Well, other than Harry and his team of four others, of course.

And more that would join later.

They hadn't expected a defenceless Dark Lord to wait for his death in plain sight, not when only two horcruxes remained.

Nagini—the snake constantly by Voldemort's side.

And the other—a secret only Harry and Dumbledore knew of.

Dumbledore had taken that secret with him to the grave at the end of sixth year.

Perhaps one other knew, but Harry wasn't sure of that fact.

Mind back on his objective, Harry steadied himself, cold air swirling around them like Nagini himself squeezed their lungs. Harry sucked in a breath, robes lashed in the fierce gusts of wind, the first drips of rain descending to join the fight.

The final battle wasn't at Hogwarts, as they had predicted.

No, thanks to their innovations, they were on the offensive.

At the end of the hour, Voldemort's reign would be over.

Or Harry's life would be over.

Or both.

Only the rope of time would cinch their fate closer.

And with each second slipping by with each step they took, Harry reached the west-side of the large railing guarding the Malfoys' fortress. He turned back and stared at Hermione, Ron, Remus, and Tonks.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Harry muttered.

His voice was grim, as though the darkness and deadness of night infused itself within every molecule of his body.

Yes, Harry's voice was grim.

But fate would prove even grimmer.

0

In the Hogwarts library. At the tail end of her sixth year. Whilst studying for the end of year Muggle Studies exam.

Cold air, since it was close to curfew. Wooden table exhibiting a metallic chill. Shelves and books loomed over Hermione, as though wishing to trap her. Chandeliers leering, clinks more like knells.

Harry sat beside her, nearly dozing off. But he was a warm presence. Constantly warm, despite the way the wizarding world had frozen over news of Voldemort's return.

And the reality that the world would be plunged into all-out war once again.

"This is so frustrating," Hermione muttered, dropping her Muggle Studies textbook with a thud. "Gosh, wizards and witches really do know nothing about us. Half of the information in this book—half of it, Harry, can you believe that?—is written as if the author just spawned into the Victorian times again."

Harry yawned, head on the table, then turned so his green eyes shone in the dim lighting overhead. Eyebags darkened Harry's skin. But those eyes—Hermione would make sure that light never died out.

If only she knew.

"Ron's dad doesn't even know what a rubber duck's supposed to do." His grin widened, mimicking a crescent moon, a strange sight given the way his head was oriented. "But think about it, Hermione. If wizards know nothing about muggles, then Voldemort sure as hell doesn't. That ignorance can be used against them."

It wasn't until nearly a year later that Hermione realised the wisdom in Harry's words.

0

The tent did little to stave off the constant chill harrowing through the Forest of Dean. The near incessant running had battered them, bruised them. Taken their souls away in a manner that nothing else had.

Constant fear. Dread. Not knowing if tomorrow could be aimed for. If tomorrow could be reached.

But they had to fight. The human spirit was built to fight.

And Harry—he possessed the greatest spirit of them all.

The entire point of teenagerhood, at least in Hermione's eyes, was to prepare for adulthood. To crawl before standing. To jump before leaping.

But hell on earth had thrust them into its deepest depths, and now Hermione faced a larger problem in its bottomless pit.

Harry was outside. In that devastating chill whipping across the forest. Looking for Ron since he had betrayed them and left the hunt.

And any semblance of affection Hermione might have had disappeared with him.

The howls across the clearing they camped in mimicked the cries of a werewolf, and Hermione realised with a start that it was a full moon that night.

Dear God. If Harry…if something happens to Harry…

She rose from the cranky bed in her tent, gripped her wand in a clinch, for both comfort and security, and slipped to the exit.

Inched open the thin parting.

No werewolves. No Harry either.

Worry thrummed in her chest, nearly doubling her heart beat.

Where on earth was he? What was he doing?

How could he leave me alone here?

What if he's dead?

But the voice within her wouldn't find an answer. Not now anyway.

Wrapping a thin jacket around her, and casting a warming charm that felt colder than the wind, Hermione dipped a foot outside. Shivered. Legs shaking from more than merely cold.

Hermione Granger was truly scared. For herself. For Harry.

A level of fright she'd never felt before. A kind of trepidation that flowed through the veins and infused itself within every movement that a person made.

She entered the dimness of the forest, foliage leering at her. Light was obscured by leaves drooping across the clearing like canopies of dread.

And Hermione slinked through that dread, sheer will forming her actions. As though she was Voldemort himself, searching for Harry Potter amongst the void of the wizarding world.

1

The wind roared through the clearing, causing the grass to anger and trees to almost shriek as Harry and those with him slinked across the right edge of Malfoy Manor's perimeter. The stone wall glared at them as they crossed past its crumbling side.

All was silent. Except for their hushed breaths and raging thoughts. Raging worries, circulating with as much force as their pounding veins.

Then Harry stopped. His body stilled.

Four guards. On the other side of that wall. Staring in their general direction. Whispering obscenities beneath the wind's ire.

But thankfully Harry and Co. were out of sight.

For now, at least.

The guards turned, and Harry signalled for those with him to grab their wands tight, before casting a silencing charm around their bodies and a little above and below where they stood.

That was the crucial part, and that would allow them to access the manor with ease, so long as they played their cards right.

See, wizards were a proudful bunch, especially those who viewed themselves as better than others. Especially those of Voldemort's ilk. Purebloods and half-bloods with hatred running through them as much as life did.

Ironically, they were the worst kinds of wizards and witches, and that pride within them led them to their first deadly sin.

Forgetting that the underground existed.

And that underground could simply be dug through to avoid alerting charms present to detect whether the manor walls had been broken into.

The dirt under the walls? Left untouched.

The 'genius' of muggle technology, something that would fascinate Mr Weasley in its simplicity, gave them a way in.

Harry, and the other four beside him, weren't about to let that chance slip.

With breath bated, eyes darting to ensure they weren't being seen, they recited those rehearsed spells into the ground.

And began to dig themselves, with shovels taken from Hermione's magical backpack, into victory.

1

Harry led the pack, as he always had done, as he'd always wished to. He wasn't one to falter in the face of danger, and he would take that mentality with him.

Right to the very end.

Even if…even if it meant his death.

He paused whilst in the middle of the little tunnel he and the others had dug beneath Malfoy Manor. Dirt flanked him on either side, carrying the smell of something humid and stale, whilst Hermione stationed herself right behind him.

Her body heat nearly electrocuted him, and he remembered why he was here after all. To save the world, to rid it of the evil force known as Voldemort.

To give Hermione a world in which she could live in peace amongst her fellow witches and wizards, as equals rather than second class citizens.

"You ready?" Harry asked, turning to face Hermione.

Even in the darkness, her eyes shone with life. A life that Harry wanted to protect, even at the cost of his own.

But Hermione didn't reply. No, her eyes remained downcast, before she pulled her lips into a thin smile.

A fake smile.

But Harry didn't comment on it, for fear of what her answer would be.

And right now, the last thing they needed was fear.

Harry turned, quelling the emotions rising within him, and dug out another mound of dirt. Pushed it to the side, then they continued until they were sure they were beneath the main grounds of the manor.

The shovel nearly weighed his arms down to hell. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his legs crackling from the pressure of hauling dirt.

But that mattered little. Since—

It was only a matter of time before the real fighting began.

He turned to Ron, standing behind Hermione with his shovel, and gave him a nod.

The next phase of their plan would soon set itself into motion.

0

Fear.

That was the one thing that Hermione Granger was growing used to as her life beside Harry Potter played out over Hogwarts and, indeed, the disastrous seventh year outside the castle.

Love and hate, they said, went hand in hand. Like a glove to a hand. Like yin and yang.

But Hermione would add another emotion to the mix.

Fear.

Fear went hand in hand with love and hate, so closely that Hermione often didn't know what she was feeling. Especially when it came to Harry Potter.

And in the Forest of Dean, though Hermione had traversed its depths previously, that fear spiked like it never had done before. Every bit of shrubbery seemed to glare at her, their stares incisive, as if spelled to slice right through her skin with a thousand cutting charms at once.

Her eyes darted left and right, up and down, nearly inside out. But a glimpse of Harry Potter—the world denied her that, outright.

And that fear within her spoke like it always did when it came to her friend.

Her best friend.

Her secret love.

What if I never see him again? What if that moment, in the tent, where all we did was speak of nothing important, where I didn't confess my true feelings—what if that moment is our last together?

Hermione doubled her efforts, ignoring branches snagging at her jeans as she stepped over viney logs and battled the bushes raking their claws over her skin. Battled the wind bashing into her face, as though trying to blind her eyes before they set themselves upon Harry Potter.

She ignored it all, and nearly ruptured her mind with worry as she struggled through the foliage.

Her back ached from unrest. Lungs begged for another breath. Heart nearly wished for death.

And eventually, she came across Harry.

Her secret love.

In circumstances she never wished to have met.

0

Harry was near-drowning in a lake, thrashing around with his legs dangling above the water as though he had already died. When Hermione's eyes fell upon the dreaded sight, that nausea in her stomach intensified, and she felt like vomiting up all her emotions right there and then.

The wind howled. The clouds poked through the greenery, which now turned grey, to watch the scene.

Hermione's heart wished to add its scream to the mix, for her feelings to be heard by someone.

By anyone.

By the one they were directed towards.

But she found herself nearly petrified, as though her second year was coming back full force. She dove through a bush, into the clearing where the lake was located.

Brambles stuck to her jeans and jacket, as though trying to drag her down to the ground and bury her entirely. But she shrugged off the feeling, turned towards Harry, and the lake he was trapped under.

And she dove towards Harry with her wand in hand.

Her mind, constantly moving, with raging thoughts, circled her memories to find a spell that would help him. To find anything that would help him.

But she kept drawing blanks, one after the other, like a wand that was blocked from casting spells, until a statement of Harry's from nearly a year prior flashed into her mind.

A seemingly inconsequential statement, but it had the power to save lives. And could save Harry's life now, as he thrashed in the pool, legs bending and bashing against ice as though about to snap.

But think about it, Hermione. If wizards know nothing about muggles, then Voldemort sure as hell doesn't. That ignorance can be used against them.

Instead of trying to spell Harry out of the lake, she grabbed the chunk of ice he was trapped in and removed it from the lake entirely, set it down beside her in the clearing, before using a warming charm to let it melt away.

After all, her mother had taught her from a young age the melting point for water. Her mother, the bastion of knowledge in Hermione's life, who Hermione had confined to Australia, for her own safety, as the war raged on in the wizarding world.

I'll save them all if I have to, that voice within Hermione said, strong and fierce and brave in a way that Hermione wasn't. In a way that she wasn't sure she could be.

All of the people that I love—I'll save them all if I have to.

And her eyes drifted to the black-haired wizard to her right, her secret love who was dusting out the ice from his hair, shivering as the cold attacked every bit of skin on his body.

He held a sword in his other hand. The Sword of Gryffindor. An object that could destroy a horcrux, a fragment of Voldemort's soul.

Ron returned moments later, as if he'd been in the clearing the entire time, and apologised to them both for running away, and explained how he'd returned to them.

And then, when destroying the horcrux in the locket, Hermione saw something beyond extraordinary.

As though it was a premonition of the future.

0

The locket had burst open, and a silvery smoke shot out like the beginnings of a patronus. The smoke darted into the sky, filled the greenery with grey, and morphed to form something to constitute the worst of Ron's nightmares.

Hermione stood with Harry, to one side of the clearing.

No one spoke a word. No one snuck a breath. Hermione stopped herself from reaching an arm out and grabbing Harry, more for her own comfort than his protection.

Ron had opted to destroy the locket with the Sword of Gryffindor, after all, perhaps to prove himself and his return to the group.

And Hermione didn't know if their companion, who had abandoned them on the hunt, had the guile to complete this mission. Or if his guilt would consume him.

The scene the locket provided, however, was music to Hermione's eyes.

A scene of herself and Harry locked in an embrace, locked in a kiss, circling each other whilst paying no attention to their surroundings. As if so lost in their love that nothing else around them, nothing at all, existed.

Before those ghosts of themselves reared their heads and stared at Ron, taunted Ron, with demonic eyes that belonged neither to her or Harry.

And Hermione, whilst battling the wind threatening to knock every tree in the clearing down, whilst battling the pounding of her heart as that smoke continued to taunt Ron, didn't know what to think.

Didn't know what to feel.

She wished for that scene to become reality. Perhaps more than she wished for peace in the wizarding world.

For what was peace if there was none to enjoy it with? For what was life if there was none to struggle for it besides?

But Hermione didn't want the ugly love that the locket showed them. She didn't want her love to spit in the face of her friends, those she considered closer than family given what they had gone through over the last seven years.

She wanted something pure, something genuine, something free from fault no matter how idealistic and unrealistic that sounded.

Ron soon came to his senses and destroyed the locket with the sword.

That silver scene vanished, shrieking all the while, as though it had never existed.

Hermione erased the red tint to her face, taking care to avoid Harry's eyes.

His reaction could kill her, in that instant, if she glimpsed it. If she glimpsed it and realised that he didn't love her the same way she loved him.

She turned to the direction of the tent and led them back, all the while clutching her chest with a hand, wondering just how much of her wishes fate would eventually grant.

And wondering just how much torment she'd have to struggle through to reach her paradise.

If she would reach it at all, that was.

1

The weather outside did little to penetrate the dirt tunnels Harry, Ron, Hermione, Remus, and Tonks were currently stationed inside. They'd done enough to erase their tracks on the other side of the wall, concealing the start of the tunnel in case the four guards wrapped around and found it.

The concealment, however, wasn't ironclad.

So now they were on a slippery time limit. Air was finite in the throes of the underground. And the longer they waited, the staler it became, before it would soon become far too thin and far too unbearable.

Their plan would make good use of the tunnels. That was for sure. The tunnels were, in a sense, the key to everything.

Harry recalled words he'd said to Hermione, over a year prior, which sparked this idea in his mind.

But think about it, Hermione. If wizards know nothing about muggles, then Voldemort sure as hell doesn't. That ignorance can be used against them.

Most magical places, particularly those belonging to high-ranking ministry arse-kissers like the Malfoys, were warded so the owners knew when spells had been cast within its walls by unauthorised magical signatures.

And also when magical items with heavy signatures, like an invisibility cloak, were brought inside.

Similar to the trace, in a sense, but in a closed environment since only the ministry was allowed to do so on a country-wide level for those underage.

But the Malfoys, in their ignorance of those they were bigoted against, didn't have wards that could detect simple digging with a shovel, unbelievably enough.

So all one had to do was—soften the dirt an acceptable distance away from the manor with spells that couldn't be detected, then cast silencing spells, then dig underneath using regular shovels until they were inside the manor walls, before digging back up and into open air.

Once there, it mattered little if the wards recognised them, because the traps built to tackle invaders had been bypassed with not a single casualty.

It was then person-to-person fighting. Right to the death.

Easy.

Harry rubbed his brow. Wiped the sweat from his forehead. Turned to Hermione, but avoided looking into her eyes. Turned again because he hadn't the courage to glimpse her expression. Steeled himself as he dug a bit more dirt from before him and pressed it into the side.

They had all dug far more than enough, the tunnel now reaching well into the manor grounds, likely close to the fountain in the front garden centre.

"You've all got your things, right?" Harry asked. "The two-ways, I mean."

"Absolutely," Ron said, a little too loud for Harry's liking.

Hermione, luckily, chastised him, whilst Remus and Tonks, who were bringing up the rear, chuckled a little.

"The beginning of the end, eh," Remus said in a rather wistful voice.

Harry nodded, as did Hermione and Ron.

But Tonks, a trained auror, was on high-alert.

"I heard something from behind," she muttered, her whisper sharp.

Distinct.

As though her voice box carried natural cutting charms.

"We fight together and die together," Harry muttered.

And then they all heard the noise Tonks had been referring to. A shake above the tunnel, at its entrance, along with the sound of dirt being shifted.

Meaning someone had…somehow, found out about their tunnel. The tunnel's entrance wasn't ironclad, but to be found out so early wasn't in the plan.

"We've got a fight early," Ron murmured.

"Set the two-ways down, quickly," Harry muttered, throwing his shovel to the side. He retrieved his two-way from the bag Hermione had spelled to store far more than it seemed, and set it against the tunnel walls.

Ron opened his mouth. "But we haven't spelled them—"

"We'll get to that later," Hermione said. "We haven't got the time, Ronald."

Their first fight, one to the death in the throes of war, had begun far earlier than any of them imagined.

Things never went to plan. That was a principle of making plans themselves. But fate throwing a spanner into the works this early was…unprecedented, to say the least.

Harry steeled himself. For what felt like the thousandth time that day. And looked ahead at the tunnel's dimness, lit only by small candles Tonks had placed behind them.

Those candles were quickly snuffed out, leaving them in relative darkness.

Harry blinked. Once, twice. And his mind set itself on war mode.

He stepped forwards, to the front of the pack, and signalled to the rest of them.

"Let's go."

1

The tunnels on either side darkened their surroundings, causing the entire scene to shift into a portrait from some other hell. Blackness, nearly everywhere, since the tunnels were underground and any form of light had been snuffed out.

A stench, perhaps of something rotten, filled the dirt. A damp stench, as though old bodies had been buried here but the corpses were still rotting.

Harry sucked in a little saliva, let it drip down his throat. Bubble on the surface of his stomach. He swallowed again, then steeled himself. Crept a hand to his pocket.

Tonks, since she was a metamorphmagus, shifted into a smaller form so she couldn't be seen as easily, and dipped into the spot besides Harry at the front.

"I could get them with the knife," Tonks said.

Harry nodded, flitting a hand to his pocket where the blade was kept. "That's a good idea," he said, voice low. "Everyone, weapons out, and keep them steady. You know what we practiced."

They couldn't fight with wands and magical items like different plants, in case that tipped off the manor wards to their secret invasion. Which meant they were at a huge disadvantage. For now, at least.

But it was a disadvantage they had to accept, for the sake of victory, for the sake of ensuring that the rest of the order could get into the manor safely.

For the sake of ensuring that the war, which had stretched on near-endlessly, would finally come to a close.

Whether Harry was alive to see it or not.

"The wards ain't gonna tip off their spells, is it?" Ron asked in a hushed voice.

"No, because their signatures are likely already recognised," Hermione answered, and Harry gave a light smile as he stepped forwards.

Trust the resident bookworm, and his favourite person in the entire world, to have an answer at the tip of her tongue.

"They're right there," Tonks said, pointing a dark finger ahead, to where three distinct lumos charms were brightening the broken dirt like vehicle headlights. The lights then vanished, descending the world into the unknown.

A second to breathe. The calm before the storm.

"Ready?" Harry asked. "Surprise them, yeah."

They all replied affirmative, and Harry began the first attack.

He launched himself forwards, knife in hand, right at where he'd seen the first lumos spell. He slashed, knife finding fabric, before bringing his hand back to his side.

A cry rang out from the guard he'd attacked.

Another guard shouted.

"What the actual—"

But the second guard didn't have time to speak.

Hermione and Ron were already flying past Harry, weapons brandished.

They leaped ahead and tackled the man to the ground, Hermione sitting on his legs with her knife and arm shaking.

A few seconds passed, where Hermione couldn't stab, her knife frozen, before Ron hailed his knife high and sunk it into the guard's chest.

Dug it in hard, then snapped it back out with a roar.

The second and third guard, who weren't caught as unawares, raised their wands.

"Diffindo," one of them said.

The spell shot right past Harry's ear, but Remus, standing behind him, wasn't so lucky.

Remus cried out, but continued forwards. Valiance and adrenaline overcoming pain and suffering.

Harry couldn't inspect the damage yet. To themselves, or the guards.

Knife dangling dangerously in hand, Harry lunged forwards, the guard's second slicing spell narrowly shaving the tips of his hair. Harry arced the knife. Brought it down.

Sunk the sharp side into the guard's neck.

Blood spurted out. Stained Harry's face.

The darkness alleviated just enough to illuminate the guard's open agape eyes.

A near otherworldly cry shook from the guard's throat. Ripped through the tunnel like tearing sandpaper.

But Harry wasn't the scared little boy who hadn't seen violence in his life.

He wasn't the frightened eleven-year-old staring at Quirrell for the first time, wondering just how on earth a teacher could be so evil.

He wasn't the terrified boy in the Chamber of Secrets, holding the Sword of Gryffindor with shaking hands and wondering if he had it in him to kill a monster.

No, the real monsters, the Death Eaters—Harry had enough hatred to kill them twice over.

Over the last seven years, that streak of ruthlessness within Harry Potter had been honed, had been trained through the darkest scenes the wizarding world had to offer.

And that ruthlessness rammed the knife straight into the guard's throat.

Cutting off the guard's cry and, in turn, his existence.

Ignoring the blood that jumped out and splattered Harry's face.

He wiped his eyes with a sleeve after watching, with a red-stained gaze, the man's life leave his eyes.

The first guard Ron had killed with Hermione's assistance. The second—Harry. The third had been taken out by Tonks and Remus collectively on the far left.

All three guards were gone, with no magical signatures sent to the Death Eaters enjoying themselves in the manor.

The first battle had been won, with not a trace left behind unless other guards came to check on their comrades.

They were still on a timer, but for now, the timer had been extended. If only a little.

But they all knew the truth.

That the real battle, with Voldemort himself and his closest lackeys—that battle had yet to begin.

Remus had been cut on the shoulder, spurts of blood dripping down his jacket, so Tonks quickly retrieved a guard's wand and healed him up as best she could. They embraced, letting love heal what wounds couldn't be seen. Ron stood on one side, gathering the other wands of the two guards, whilst Hermione sidled up to Harry.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. For a reason Harry couldn't fathom.

He'd never been the best with crying girls, particularly those from Ravenclaw in secret Hogwarts clubs whilst a tyrannical ministry woman reigned over the castle.

But with Hermione, he felt a comfort no one else could provide. Even when tears stained her eyes.

He raised a hand to wipe them away, but Hermione quickly swiped her sleeve across her eyes, knife held in her other hand.

A shaking hand. A hand that couldn't attack when push came to shove, when time came to kill.

"I couldn't do it," she sniffled. "I tried to…kill him…but when the time came, I couldn't do it. I just…didn't have it in me and—and I don't know why."

"You have to," Harry urged, though he kept his voice light and soft. "If you don't kill, they'll kill you, or capture you and worse. I don't want you to be defenceless, Hermione, so you have to be strong. You have to be strong for me and for yourself and for everyone, okay."

He wrapped an arm over Hermione's shoulder, as though steadying the arm that held the knife, and despite the darkness of the tunnel, it was as if every emotion they shared was bared for the world to see.

But Hermione's shoulder suddenly stiffened, and her eyes rose to the far side of the tunnel.

The staleness of the dirt, added to the corpse-like smell in the air and the stench of blood—they all intensified.

They'd made a crucial error. And in the first battle of the day, no less.

There had been four guards outside, not three. So when the three inside the tunnel hadn't returned, the fourth likely came to check on them.

A detail that neither Harry nor the rest had picked up on.

And the curse was already halfway to Harry's face.

A devilish green, an evil green—which meant one specific curse.

A curse Harry couldn't survive a second time.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

0

Hermione Granger had always loved reading—that was a given. Reading was in her blood—a comment her father often used to say with a little Hermione cuddled on his lap and a picture book held before them.

"I'm a much bigger reader than him, though," her mother used to say, with a light smile and twinkle in her eyes.

"That she is," her father said. "You can never win against your mother, Hermione. Believe me, I've tried for many years. In the end, it never works."

Hermione hadn't understood their words, only being told this tale later in life. She remembered not even a little, since she was still at the age where experiences were merely colours and people, not events and things.

But she did understand one detail, a crucial detail—books were awesome!

And so Hermione read and read, until her eyes would water sometimes, late at night beneath her covers when her parents were asleep and unaware.

Those times were the best, though a torch wasn't the easiest on her eyes underneath the duvet. It was a miracle she didn't require glasses, especially since people like her best friend Harry Potter, who didn't read a wink, had eyesight worse than a dementor's.

As Hermione grew older, reading became less for fun and more for necessity. Textbooks for school, old spell manuals that explained the origins of certain charms in the magical world. Books about potions and their properties, how to make them, how they were to be used and not to be used. Books about various plants and what made them magical over generic daisies and daffodils and dandelions.

Books became a source of knowledge, and less a source of wonder.

But that wonder returned with one comment from Professor Dumbledore at the end of their fifth year, a year before the great wizard died at the hands of Professor Snape.

"Indeed, some of the greatest muggles in history were truly wizards, though that side of history is ill-remembered. It would do well, for those who seek the secrets of knowledge, to inspect what they discovered."

And Hermione set to work thereafter, gathering every bit of research she could as Harry and Ron idled about. And in the tent whilst on their seventh year hunt, she spread out many manuscripts she'd taken from the Hogwarts library, in attempts to piece together information to help them in their quest to defeat Voldemort.

Shakespeare, Da Vinci, Newton, Einstein—all wizards, all with knowledge far beyond what muggles were capable of.

And the central two, Da Vinci and Newton in particular, practiced alchemy. Not just muggle alchemy, but magical alchemy too, the details hidden in scrolls that muggles wouldn't be able to understand.

But Hermione wasn't a muggle—she was a muggleborn witch, much to Voldemort's disdain, which meant those secrets were laid bare before her once she got a hand on the scrolls.

Alchemy wasn't just transforming one metal to another—no, Da Vinci in particular looked at how static metals interacted with different spells.

And whether alloys, multiple metals combined together, could cause properties to help in magical armour.

He made various discoveries, largely lost to the magical world but ripe in Hermione's hands as she read endlessly in that tent, far after Harry and Ron had gone to sleep.

One of those discoveries was that mixtures of gold and silver and a few magical herbs, when dipped in tempering solutions in a cauldron and then spelled to make them sturdier, could ward off the harshest of curses.

Cutting curses, the cruciatus curse, curses meant to cause the veins to explode and blood to burst out. The worst curses known to wizard-kind, curses that the Death Eaters were well aware of.

One detail from Newton, however, couldn't be understated. It was unknown whether such metals would defend against the killing curse, since a true killing curse with hatred and intent couldn't be directed at a piece of metal for the purposes of testing.

Da Vinci believed metallic defence against the killing curse was possible, whilst Newton later flung that conclusion away.

Hermione hoped, when the time came for that theory to be tested in the real world, that Da Vinci was right.

Because if the great wizard was wrong, then when that pivotal moment arrived to save those she loved, Hermione would fail.

And to live with that regret—

Well, it would be a fate worse than dying from a mere killing curse.


A/N: That was a very fast-paced (for me anyway) and generally fun first chapter to write, and I had a blast writing it. Especially the non-linear storytelling, which is something I haven't tried too much of. And I don't outline too, which meant it was quite perilous to write into the dark like that over multiple timelines.

Initially, this was meant to be a oneshot, but it sort of just got out of hand and turned into something larger than I expected.

So plans have changed. Instead of a oneshot, this will be a three-shot, with the possibility of a fourth part added just to wrap things up. But that may not be the case.

So, definitely three parts of likely equal-ish length, with the possibility of a fourth epilogue kinda chapter.

Lemme know how you liked the action and how I blended that with the slower moments. I'm not much of an action writer within fanfic, although I have written action-oriented stories outside of fanfic, so it was nice to use that experience here.

As always, comments/reviews are always welcome. I have a tendency to go overboard when it comes to writing author notes, so I'll stop myself here. Thanks for reading, as always, and I hope you thoroughly enjoyed!