Two Months
The atmosphere in Muriel's house was tense, a palpable heaviness that clung to every corner. The flickering candles in the hallways cast long shadows, making everything feel colder, as if hope was slipping through their fingers. Every footstep was careful, every whisper hushed, as though speaking too loudly would shatter whatever fragile peace remained.
Hermione sat by Harry's bed in the makeshift healing room, watching his chest rise and fall slowly. His face, pale and drawn, still bore the faint traces of pain from the battle. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the lines of the bandage wrapped around her own arm where Bellatrix had carved that vile word into her skin. It still burned, an eternal reminder of the hatred Voldemort and his followers harbored for people like her.
A small envelope lay on the wooden table beside her, bearing delicate handwriting. The letter from Astoria Greengrass had arrived earlier that morning, slipped under the door without ceremony. The elegant curves of her script stood in stark contrast to the ugly reality of its contents.
Two months.That was all they had.
Voldemort had made his plans known to his inner circle, and now Astoria—caught in a dangerous web of espionage alongside her sister Daphne—had risked everything to pass the message along. Two months until January 1st, when the Dark Lord would stake his claim on Hogwarts, beginning his terrifying vision of a new order. Muggle-borns would be hunted. Magical creatures would be enslaved. And the castle, a symbol of safety and magic for so many generations, would become a fortress of pure-blood supremacy.
Hermione's hand shook slightly as she opened the letter again, re-reading the words for what felt like the hundredth time:
Dear Hermione,
It's begun. They're preparing the way for him—securing allies, gathering resources. By the start of the new year, he plans to begin his "purification" of Hogwarts and its inhabitants. That gives you until then to act.
He's going to start by turning the castle into his new center of power, torturing anyone who opposes him, using it as a base to build a new order, to crush what's left of hope.
Please be careful. Daphne and I will do what we can from the inside, but we are running out of time. If you fail… there won't be a Hogwarts to return to. There won't be a world left for us.
Yours,Astoria
Hermione's breath hitched as she read the last line.There won't be a world left for us.Astoria was right. Everything, everything they had been fighting for was hurtling toward an inevitable confrontation. Either Voldemort would fall, or he would destroy everything and everyone she loved.
She closed her eyes, leaning back against the chair. How could they possibly prepare in two months? They didn't even know where all the Horcruxes were. And what of Hogwarts? The very thought of that beloved place twisted her insides with a mix of fear and sorrow. It had been a sanctuary, a home—and soon it would be desecrated by darkness.
A soft groan drew her from her thoughts. Harry shifted in his bed, his brow furrowed in pain. Hermione leaned forward, her heart in her throat, but his eyes didn't open. The potion Madam Promfrey had left would keep him sedated for at least another few hours, giving his body the rest it desperately needed.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered softly, clutching the letter in her hand. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to protect you that night."
A familiar presence loomed behind her, and she turned to see Draco standing in the doorway. His expression was guarded, eyes flicking from Harry to the letter clutched in her white-knuckled grip.
"What does it say?" he asked quietly, stepping into the room.
Hermione hesitated, then handed him the letter. She watched his face carefully as he read, his lips tightening as he absorbed the news. Two months. Only two.
"So, that's it," he murmured, folding the letter neatly and placing it back on the table. "Two months to come up with a plan to kill him."
Hermione nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "We have to figure out how to get into Hogwarts undetected. Find a way to get close enough to kill him without being killed ourselves."
Draco's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his jaw set in determination. "We can do it," he said, more to himself than to her.
A small sound of disbelief escaped her lips, half a laugh and half a sob. "Do you hear yourself, Draco? We're talking about killing Voldemort like it's a simple task. We still have Horcruxes to find, and—" Her voice broke. "And Harry… Harry's not ready. I don't think any of us are."
Hermione looked up at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "We have to win this, Draco. There's just so much… I'm so tired of losing people. I don't want to lose anyone else."
His hand tightened on her shoulder, a rare moment of vulnerability passing over his features. "You won't lose me. I'm with you. Whatever it takes."
She managed a shaky smile, nodding slowly, the weight of Astoria's warning pressed down on her chest. Two months to plan the impossible. Two months to gather enough people, to prepare themselves for a war unlike any they'd fought before.
"Two months," she murmured softly, staring at the pale winter light filtering through the small window. "Two months to end this, once and for all."
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November
November came like a thief in the night, slipping past unnoticed as the Order of the Phoenix scrambled to piece together the remnants of their crumbling resistance. Every moment was spent in tense discussion, planning, and desperately reaching out to their few remaining allies. The safehouse—once a temporary refuge—had turned into a war room, its rooms filled with whispered conversations, strategy maps, and urgent correspondence with their spies embedded in Voldemort's ranks.
The nights were colder now, frost creeping up the edges of the windows, and the Order's urgency felt sharper than the chill in the air. Time was running out. The first of January loomed closer every day, and with it, the beginning of Voldemort's final push for domination. The two months Astoria had given them were slipping away faster than sand through a broken hourglass.
Hermione found herself at the center of the chaos, as usual. She divided her time between research, strategizing with the Order members, and maintaining contact with their informants. It wasn't long before the letters started flooding in—parchment pages marked with coded messages, all bearing updates on Voldemort's movements, supply lists, or locations of hidden Death Eater camps.
In the evenings, the house bustled with meetings. The dining room, usually filled with quiet meals, was now packed with Order members crammed around the table, maps spread out across its surface. Harry, still recovering from his injuries, sat beside her, his face pale but determined. He refused to be sidelined again, despite the lingering ache in his ribs and the shallow cuts still mending on his back.
Tonight was no different. The room was thick with tension as Kingsley Shacklebolt stood at the head of the table, pointing at a new map of Hogwarts.
"This is where we believe Voldemort will establish his primary base once the takeover begins," he said, indicating the Great Hall with his wand. "If we can get to him before then, catch him off-guard…"
"We'll never get close enough without the Horcruxes destroyed," Severus Snape interrupted from the far end of the room, his dark gaze flickering over the group. "He'll sense Potter the moment he sets foot inside those walls."
A murmur of agreement swept through the room, and Hermione chewed her lip anxiously. They needed a miracle. Or perhaps, they just needed time. But time was a luxury they didn't have.
"Which is why our focus for now needs to remain on finding Nagini," Hermione said firmly, looking directly at Harry. "Without the snake, it's pointless to even consider attacking him."
Harry nodded, his eyes hard. "I know, Hermione. But how do we find her?"
"We find Voldemort," Draco murmured quietly, his voice barely audible over the others. He leaned against the wall behind Hermione, his face shadowed. "She's never far from him."
The entire room turned to look at him. Despite his presence and the tentative alliance he had forged, many still viewed him with suspicion. Draco was accustomed to the stares by now. He barely flinched under the weight of so many judging eyes, but Hermione's fingers tightened around her quill as if she could will them all to see what she did.
"There's no way to get close enough to track him," Tonks argued softly, her voice thick with exhaustion. "We can't just—"
"That's not entirely true," Theo interjected from beside Snape, his expression blank. "We have a few people on the inside. People willing to risk everything to get us what we need."
Hermione glanced at Theo. His presence had been a difficult one since Blaise's death—strained, tense. Their friendship had been battered by grief and anger, but slowly, painfully, they were finding their way back to something like understanding. He had forgiven her, at least outwardly. In small moments, he would approach her quietly, murmuring an agreement or a suggestion during meetings. And once, just once, he'd put a hand on her arm and said, "I understand why you did it. But it will take time."
Tonight, his focus was sharp, unyielding, as he addressed the Order. "Astoria and Daphne are still sending updates, as are a few others. We may not have eyes directly on Voldemort, but we can narrow it down. With time."
"Time is exactly what we don't have," Snape snapped, his eyes cold. "We need—"
"We need to keep working together," Hermione interrupted, raising her voice to be heard. "We need every bit of information. Every resource. Theo's contacts can help us locate Nagini, and if Draco's right… if she's with him… we'll need a plan in place to separate them."
Silence fell across the room. Kingsley glanced at Harry, then back at the others. "Alright," he said finally, his voice low. "We'll focus on tracking Voldemort's movements. But we need to be prepared for an all-out assault. Everyone needs to be ready."
There were nods all around the table, murmurs of agreement. But as the meeting adjourned and the members began to disperse, Hermione stayed rooted to her seat, staring at the map.
"Hey." Draco's voice was soft as he approached her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "You alright?"
She looked up at him, forcing a small smile. "Just… overwhelmed."
His thumb brushed against her shoulder in a gentle, comforting gesture. "You'll figure it out. We'll figure it out."
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The weeks that followed were a blur of meetings, training, and an endless stream of letters. Each day, Hermione would scan the newest correspondence from Astoria, from Pansy, from Theo's other contacts, looking for any scrap of information that could give them an edge. Each letter felt like a lifeline—and a reminder of how tenuous their position was.
Draco had become a steady presence at her side, a calm, unyielding support as they navigated the ever-shifting tides of war. Their relationship, once tentative and fraught with doubt, had deepened into something steady and unwavering. They spent every possible moment together—stolen glances during meetings, quiet conversations in the evenings when everyone else was asleep. It wasn't perfect; there were still arguments, still moments of doubt. But there was also something else—something real and unbreakable that held them together.
It was in one of those rare quiet moments, as they stood outside in the cold November air, that Draco turned to her, his face serious. "I'm proud of you, Hermione. For everything. For being stronger than any of us."
She blinked up at him, taken aback. "Draco, I—"
"No," he interrupted, shaking his head. "Let me finish. You… you saved me. And I don't just mean that night at the Manor." His voice was rough, edged with something raw and painful. "You made me believe that there's a world worth fighting for."
But as November slipped into December, the tension only grew. Two months. Two months to plan the impossible. And every day that passed was another step closer to the final confrontation.