A/N: I've decided for the first time I like 5 year to write a HP fic - how random. I remember from when I used to read fics I always wanted one about how the locket affected each of them - and I couldn't find any. If you know of any let me know, until then I decided to write my own! I cover all three of their experiences with it but focus a little more on Hermione as I feel like the movie didn't give anything about her. Tad dramatic but ay its what fics are for.

The fire crackled softly in the clearing, sending flickers of light dancing across the damp earth. The tent loomed behind them, its entrance partially unzipped, offering a glimpse of the warm glow inside. Harry sat with his knees drawn up, absently rubbing at the chill seeping into his fingers. Beside him, Ron shifted, wincing slightly as he adjusted the sling supporting his still damaged arm.

Inside, Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor, her head bent low over the book in her lap. The same book she had been reading all day. The candle beside her burned low, its wax pooling at the base, but she hadn't moved to replace it. Occasionally, she flipped a page, but her eyes never truly left the text, her lips moving faintly as though committing every word to memory.

"She's been at that for hours," Ron muttered, following Harry's gaze. "Not that I'm complaining—she's the one keeping us from walking straight into a trap. But still." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's kind of mad, isn't it?"

Harry frowned, glancing back at Hermione. He had noticed it before, the way she had become even more meticulous than usual. Checking and re-checking their plans, going over spells long past the point of exhaustion, counting and recounting their supplies as if she could make them stretch further just by willing it. He'd woken up more than once to find her still awake, fingers twitching slightly as she whispered incantations to herself, wand gripped so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

"She's just being careful," Ron continued, as if reassuring himself. "I mean, look at the way she keeps track of everything—we'd probably be dead without her. And at least the locket's not messing with her like it does with us. She's handling it better than we ever could."

Harry wasn't so sure.

The locket was heavy around her neck, its dull surface gleaming whenever she shifted. She never complained about it, never even acknowledged its weight, but Harry could see how it had begun to take root in her. Not in anger, like Ron. Not in despair, like him. But in obsession. A need to control what she could, to plan for every possibility, to carry the weight of their survival on her shoulders.

"She shouldn't have to," Harry said quietly.

Ron turned to him. "What?"

Harry tore his eyes from Hermione, lowering his voice. "She shouldn't have to be the one carrying it all the time."

Ron scoffed. "You'd rather I take it? We both know how that'd go. And you—you'd probably run off to try and kill You Know Who alone if you had to wear it long enough."

Harry didn't argue. Ron wasn't wrong.

"She won't let us take it," he said instead. "She thinks it's safer if she wears it."

Ron nodded as if that settled the matter, but Harry wasn't convinced. He watched as Hermione turned another page with precise, careful movements, her fingers tight against the parchment. The candlelight cast long shadows under her eyes, but she didn't blink, didn't waver.

Harry let out a breath. He wasn't sure how much longer she could keep this up.

He stood, stretching out his stiff legs before stepping inside the tent. "Hermione," he said gently. "It's my turn. Actually it was my turn two days ago. You need to take it off."

She didn't look up from her book. "No."

"Hermione—"

"No, Harry," she repeated, firmer this time. "Last time you wore it, I caught you trying to leave in the middle of the night. We can't have that happen again."

Harry clenched his jaw. "I'll be fine. But you—when was the last time you ate?" He hesitated. "Have you pulled yourself away from that book long enough today to have anything?"

"I'm fine," she said, too quickly, too automatically.

Harry exhaled slowly, kneeling in front of her. He reached out carefully, his fingers grazing the cool metal of the locket. She swatted his hand away without looking up. "Bugger off, Harry. I'm keeping it."

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Fine. I'm going to go, uh, kill a rabbit for some food."

"Did it this morning," Hermione said, still fixated on her book. "It's in the kitchen."

Harry paused, frowning. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

She didn't reply.

Before Harry could press her, Ron brightened. "Food!" he yelled happily, bundling past Harry and into the 'kitchen' section of the tent.