DISCLAIMER: If I actually owned any of these characters, you would not be reading this for free! We all know this is all thanks to JKR!
“Really! Aren’t you two up yet?” Hermione hissed as she poked her head through Ron and Harry’s bedroom door. “Ronald!”
Ron’s head shot up immediately at the sound of Hermione’s voice. “Bloody hell, Hermione!” he said, startled. “Don’t you ever knock?” Ron sat up rather quickly and attempted to tame his wild, red hair.
“Honestly!” Hermione huffed, trying unsuccessfully to conceal a smile, as she began summoning Ron’s belongings into a duffel bag. “I did knock already but no one answered. I assumed you were both still sleeping.”
“Well, it’s not my fault I was up so late!” Ron returned, teasing her. Harry had retired from the wedding and already fallen asleep by the time Ron came to bed last night; he had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione didn’t make it to her room any earlier.
Hermione’s face took on a brilliant shade of red. She quickly glanced in Harry’s direction, who had turned to pretend to stuff more items into his already packed bag, as she shot back, “Just hurry up and get dressed! We still have to explain what we’re doing to your parents.”
Ron yawned with a smile on his face; but, with another look from Hermione, rose quickly from the bed to find fresh clothing.
“I’ll go see if your parents are awake,” Harry said, deciding to leave Ron and Hermione alone for a few minutes. He was happy that they seemed so comfortable around each other after last night; Harry was slightly worried that they might be acting a bit awkward this morning. But, he reminded himself; he wasn’t supposed to know about their private snogging session yet. He wanted to give them time alone to sort it out for themselves before either of them approached him.
Harry walked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley hovering over the stove, the smell of sausage just tinting the air. Mr. Weasley was slowly sipping his morning coffee, perusing the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.
“Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said pleasantly from over her shoulder. “You’re up early,” she added before turning back to the sausages.
“Morning,” Harry said, his stomach starting to churn with nervousness. He suddenly wished he had waited for Ron and Hermione.
“Take a seat, Harry,” Arthur absently waved towards one of the worn kitchen chairs while still scanning the Prophet’s headlines.
“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said after taking the seat Mr. Weasley had indicated, “I have to tell you something.”
Mrs. Weasley, her back still turned from him, dropped her spatula unto the countertop. Harry saw her attempting to wring the shakiness out of her hands.
“When are you leaving?” Molly asked tentatively, her voice breaking. Mr. Weasley was looking intently at Harry; his gaze was neither accusatory nor angry.
“You know?” Harry croaked. “You know I’m leaving?”
Mr. Weasley sighed heavily as he slowly put the paper aside. “We know you feel you should be doing…something…well, because of Dumbledore-” Arthur locked eyes with Harry. “We know you don’t want to sit back and let others do it for you.”
“It’s not just that, Mr. Weasley…” Harry started, feeling they had a right to know why he was leaving, and why he was taking their son with him.
“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley interrupted him softly as she turned to face him, her eyes swimming with tears. “Harry, we know what this war has done to you. You have every right to be angry, to want revenge. But, going after You-Know-Who yourself! It’s too dangerous! It’s foolish!” Mrs. Weasley said with a trace of panic as she moved to sit next to him. “We know we’re not your parents and we can’t stop you, but please…”
“It’s not just that,” Harry said again firmly, wanting them to understand his intentions. “You have the right to know this, but I’m asking you to keep what I’m about to tell you to yourselves.” Mr. Weasley, then Mrs. Weasley, nodded slowly. Harry took a deep breath and thought about how best to explain.
“Scrimgeour was right last Christmas; Dumbledore was working on something very important before he died.” Harry fought to keep his emotions in check. “Dumbledore trusted me with what he was doing and asked that I trust Ron and Hermione with it as well. He told me how to do it, how to end this war once and for all.” Harry looked intently from Mrs. Weasley to Mr. Weasley. “And that is what I’m going to do, I’m going stop Voldemort,” Harry finished with more fierceness than he intended.
“And we’re going with him,” Ron interjected, looking very determined as he walked into the kitchen, Hermione in tow.
“We’re sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said softly, searching the older woman’s eyes. “This is something we have to do.”
To the surprise of everyone in the kitchen, Mr. Weasley laughed. “What a family we have raised, eh Molly?” His voice quieted and became serious as he took in the three adults confronting him in his own kitchen. “I’m scared for you Ron, for all of you, but I’m proud of the three of you as well.”
Mrs. Weasley looked back towards her stove and Harry noticed her passing the edge of her sleeve over her eyes. “I wish you were still young enough for me to tell you what to do,” she said quietly, turning to gaze at her youngest son. She seemed to be struggling with what she was about to say. “But, those days have passed. You are an adult now and, though I hate to say this, I will support whatever your decision may be.”
Ron gulped before crossing the kitchen and enveloping his mother in a hug. He was now much taller than her and she sobbed openly on his shoulder. It was several moments before either let go.
“We’ll be careful,” Hermione whispered to the Weasleys. “I promise we won’t rush into anything without knowing what we’re doing first.” Mrs. Weasley smiled weakly in Hermione’s direction.
“I don’t suppose you can tell us what it is you’re planning?” Mr. Weasley asked hopefully, eyeing each of the trio.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley, no one but the three of us knows. And, I think it’s safer that way,” Harry responded, hating himself for not being able to say anything more.
“So, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley started tremulously, “you’ve not told Ginny?”
“No,” Harry replied firmly. Mrs. Weasley heaved a sigh of relief. “No one but the three of us will know anything of what we’re doing. And you can let the Order of the Phoenix know I said so as well.”
Mr. Weasley nodded in response. “I’m sure Ginny was pleased with that,” he added, chuckling and shaking his head.
Harry grinned in spite of himself. “Actually, no she wasn’t.”
Mrs. Weasley gave a very watery laugh before crushing all three with a hug.
“Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione started tentatively, “would you mail this to my Mum and Dad for me. I don’t know when we’ll be settled…” Hermione trailed off as she pressed a seal parchment into Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched hand.
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Weasley returned kindly. “But, would you rather I take it to them myself, and explain everything to them?”
Hermione’s eyes shot upwards in gratitude. “That would mean so much,” Hermione replied in a choked voice. “I was so afraid to tell them, so afraid to leave after a fight…I don’t think they would have understood…” At this last comment, the tears Hermione had held so firmly until this point were threatening to fall.
Mrs. Weasley moved forward to console Hermione, but Ron grabbed her hand first. “It’s alright, Hermione,” he whispered as he pulled her into him and put his arm around her, she sniffled as she moved comfortably into Ron’s shoulder. Mrs. Weasley glanced quickly towards her husband. Harry made a point to avoid eye contact with either of Ron’s parents.
“We’ll take care of it, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said softly, moving to Mr. Weasley’s side and still eyeing her son suspiciously. “Now you three should go. We’ll explain it to everyone during breakfast. I daresay you’d have a time of explaining it once everyone is awake.” The trio turned to the door when Mrs. Weasley started. “Where will you be staying? Do you have a place to stay?” she asked hurriedly, just realizing that they hadn’t mentioned it already.
“Actually, not yet,” Harry turned to respond. “We will be camping for tonight and then…” Harry trailed off, realizing that he had not planned much after that.
“We’ll let you know when we’ve settled,” Hermione added. Harry hoped she had thought further ahead than he had; actually knowing Hermione, he was pretty sure she had.
Mrs. Weasley nodded. “Remember, you are all always welcomed here.”
All three nodded gratefully in return, though Harry knew they would never take her up on the offer. It would put the Weasley family in more danger than he cared to take responsibility for.
Harry left the Burrow that early morning with a heavy heart. With one last fleeting glance, he looked up towards Ginny’s window. The curtain fluttered quickly and he thought he just caught of flash of brilliantly red hair before it disappeared.
“Where to, mate?” Ron asked as soon as they reached the edge of the garden, trying to lighten the tension.
“Godric’s Hollow,” Harry returned quietly, willing his eyes from Ginny’s window. “The town graveyard.” With a quick turn and a soft pop, Harry disappeared from the Burrow and from Ginny’s view.
The town of Godric’s Hollow was small and quiet as the late summer sun silently broke through the early morning mist. In a section of the town lined with small and uncoordinated homes, the town’s graveyard sat back from the road, nestled amongst many old and twisted pine trees. An old church was settled next to the graveyard, though its appearance suggested that it had been out of use for some time. The stonewalls were intact and the dawning light was sifting through the stained glass windows, but the hinges on the front door were rusted with disuse and the path leading to it was overgrown with brush. Harry had just found the small, pine needle covered path that led past the church and to the graveyard when Ron and Hermione appeared behind him.
“We’re right here if you need us, mate,” Ron said to Harry in hushed tones. His quieted voice spoke volumes.
Harry reached the rusted iron gate that surrounded the cemetery as a lump rose in his throat. He slowly pushed open the gate, the loud squeaking of forgotten hinges waking several birds and causing them to noisily take flight. The shifting dawn had not yet reached this discarded section of Godric’s Hollow and the gravestones appeared as empty black slabs.
Harry walked slowly, carefully, through the maze of headstones. Some of the indiscernible stones were crumbling and broken from neglect; some were overgrown with weeds. As the light began slowly and painstakingly to break through the shifting pine trees, broken and tangled in the swaying needles, one ray escaped and managed to cast its light directly unto a small cluster of headstones. Harry froze as his eyes traveled over the grave of his parents. One headstone, placed directly between two graves.
Died October 31, 1981
Devoted Friends, Brave Soldiers, and Loving Parents
We will never forget your sacrifices
Harry slowly approached the grave of his parents, noticing with a start a small bunch of old, rotten flowers propped against the side of the stone. Secured with a rock, a small piece of parchment, bearing what suspiciously looked like a smudged dog print, sat beneath the bouquet. He smiled softly as he took a seat next to what he assumed was his godfather’s memento to his parents.
“Hi Mum, Dad,” he whispered in the general direction of the tombstone. “Sorry it’s taken so long for me to come and visit.” Harry felt more clearly than ever the sense of loneliness that comes with losing one’s family. He had a powerful urge to disclose to them everything about his life, although he knew that the graves contained only their bodies and not their spirits. “The world is pretty messed up right now,” he started, feeling the urge to continue speaking. “The war has continued from where it left off sixteen years ago. Everyone is panicking. But,” he paused to wipe the forming tears from his eyes, “we have a plan; it will end differently this time,” he said with a confidence he was trying to build. Harry looked up into the newly lit sky. “I just wish you could be here. I wish you could have met Ron, Hermione. Ginny. And…I’m good at Quidditch, Dad. Lupin said you’d have been proud.” Harry’s tone was soft as his hands began to tremble. He felt his shoulders shake as he exhaled and allowed himself to release all the emotion that had been pent up for so many years. His overwhelming sense of loneliness was tearing a hole through his chest…
“Harry,” Hermione whispered softly as she put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. He turned his face towards her as she sank to her knees and embraced him. Harry allowed himself to sink into her arms, realizing that the two people standing next to him were as close to him as any family ever could be.
“Thank you, Hermione, Ron,” Harry said quietly after many minutes had elapsed, diverting his eyes as he released Hermione from his grip and helped her to her feet. “You are the best friends…family…I could ever…”
Hermione interrupted warmly, “We know, Harry, we love you, too.”
Harry smiled as he wrapped his arms around both his friends’ shoulders and led them from the graveyard. He turned just once, as he reached the rusty gate, to smile back on the grave of his parents.
The sun had just fully risen by the time the trio made it out to the road that had led them to the church and the cemetery. Harry was inhaling deep breaths of cool, summer morning air as he, Hermione, and Ron strolled wordlessly down the strip of asphalt.
“I wonder which house they lived in,” Harry murmured, more to himself than anyone in particular.
“Do you have any idea where it is, or what it looked like?” Hermione asked, peering about as though she was expecting to see ‘Potter Residence’ plastered on the side of one of the un-orderly homes.
“No, no idea,” Harry responded, though he was enjoying the fact that his parents lived someplace like this. The houses were all mismatched and most lawns needed trimming. It was as unlike Privet Drive as Harry had always imagined it would be.
“I expect it would still be hidden, wouldn’t it,” Ron responded vaguely, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he kicked a stone along with his trainer. “The Fidelius Charm and all that?”
“Not necessarily,” Hermione added thoughtfully. “Harry, was your parents’ home protected with the charm, or were they?”
“I dunno,” Harry responded hopefully. “If they were protected by the charm then would I be able to see their gravesites?”
“I suppose so. Firstly, the graves wouldn’t be protected, they would have been. Also, the charm may have been lifted after…” Hermione trailed off.
“So, if it was Harry’s parents, and not their home, that was protected with the Fidelius Charm, then we could actually find the house?” Ron asked, gathering his thoughts.
An older man in flannel pyjamas and a dressing gown had just exited the house they were passing on the right, carrying with him a large rubbish bag. He stopped suddenly at the sight of the three young adults casually strolling down the road at the break of day.
“Excuse me,” Harry addressed the old man, a flame of hope igniting, “Do you happen to know where the Potter house is?”
The old man looked slightly taken aback. “Potter house? Never heard of anyone by that name around here,” he said, shrugging pleasantly enough. “Sorry.”
“How about an old, destroyed cottage,” Harry continued, refusing to give up just yet. “Are there any old, run down cottages around here?”
“Plenty of those,” the man responded. “There’s one just around the corner,” he pointed over his shoulder vaguely. “Are you three looking to buy?”
“Not just now,” Hermione responded, glancing in the direction the old man had pointed. “Thank you for your time.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way around the block and, just as the pyjama clad man had indicated, an old, run down cottage came into sight. It looked just as overgrown as the church and cemetery had. The sun, being fully above the tree line now, was shining spottily through the dirty, broken windows. A stained ‘For Sale’ sign hung crooked from the shards of what was once a fence. Harry approached the front door with trepidation. This time he summoned Ron and Hermione to follow him straight off.
The lock on the front door was broken and Harry pushed the door open with ease. The room he was facing must have been a living room of sorts, but the walls were buckled outward. It looked as though a mini explosion had erupted from the center of the room. Harry walked through slowly, knowing this is where his father had been killed.
He entered a hallway just off the main room; three closed doors stood facing him. Harry slowly eased open the door to what was once his nursery. This room saw even more damage than the previous one. The wall directly across from the door had a giant black mark etched into it. It looked as though the realtors had once tried to cover it with paint, but the mark had refused to remain hidden. Harry realized with a pang that Voldemort’s shattered soul escaped through that wall. In the center of the room lay an old, shattered crib. Harry fingered the bars gently.
“Harry,” Hermione gasped softly, pointing to the interior of the crib.
Harry’s downcast eyes shot up at her exclamation. In the middle of the crib, a large, brown package was beginning to materialize. On the very top of the package lay a small folded note with a distinctly recognizable spidery handwriting sprawled across it. Harry ripped open the letter without hesitation.
If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you. I am truly sorry for your loss. I am writing this after we have already had our final discussion. I leave believing I have dealt the task to capable hands.
This is advice I have given you before, and though I do not doubt your memory salvage abilities, I am forced to remind you: It is important to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then can evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated. You have fought many battles in your young life, and heeded my advice exceptionally well. I ask you to continue to do this, even if I might not be there to remind you.
Remember Harry, death is but an adventure to a mind organized as well as my own. Though I cannot tell in this letter, I’m sure I’m having a magnificent time. Send my greetings to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger for me; I am sure they are standing right behind you.
With greatest affection and sincere friendship,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
P.S. The package contains items that may be of use, should you choose to utilize them.
P.P.S. This could possibly be a charming residence, should Miss Granger decide to assist you in renovating it.
P.P.P.S. I’m sure your parents would not mind.
Harry smiled for the first time that morning. “Well, what do you think, Hermione?” he asked, laughing out loud. “Will you help me renovate this into a more,” Harry glanced back down at the letter, “’charming residence?’”
Hermione smiled broadly in return, her wand already in hand.
One week had passed since Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived in Godric’s Hollow. They had taken Dumbledore’s final advice to heart and rapidly transformed the broken down cottage that once housed Harry’s parents. Before anything else, Hermione suggested they perform the Fidelius Charm on the location of the house. Harry and Ron both agreed, though Harry insisted that he be the Secret-Keeper. He knew either Ron or Hermione would have offered and gladly accepted the responsibility; but, he felt it was his own duty to fulfill. The trio spent the first morning working on the spell, following Hermione’s flustered instructions, and by lunchtime they had secured their secret location. As soon as Harry disclosed the location of the house that Hermione was standing in front of, she quickly began re-decorating the interior. On top of that, she also located the realtors and arranged the legalities.
“Are you sure we didn’t have to pay anything for it, Hermione?” Harry had ventured to ask.
“Of course not,” she bustled in return, “besides, it is rightfully yours.”
Neither Ron nor Harry chose to investigate Hermione’s methods.
Ron had been quick to inform Harry of his relationship with Hermione. The day they arrived in Godric’s Hollow he had sent Hermione to Diagon Alley to buy some necessary supplies while he approached Harry.
“So, where do you want to start?” Ron asked Harry, eyeing him nervously as he gestured to the upturned state of what was once a very nice living room.
“I dunno,” Harry responded, gazing around, “Hermione’s much better at this than I am.”
“You alright? With staying here, I mean,” Ron asked tentatively, following Harry’s gaze.
“I suppose. It’s what Dumbledore suggested, so…” Harry trailed off, circling back towards the former nursery. In the unwrapped brown package that Dumbledore had sent lay a pensieve and several small bottles containing what looked like swirling mist. “I’m glad he sent me these,” Harry said, fingering the bottles. He was sure were the memories he had visited with Dumbledore last term. “I’ll have to have you all see these, maybe there’s something I missed…”
“Yeah, right,” Ron responded vaguely, following Harry into the nursery.
“Ron, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, laughing. “You seem more upset to be here than I am.”
“What? Oh, no, it’s not that…”
“What then?” Harry asked, knowing full well the answer.
“It’s that…well…Harry, I know this may not be the best time, but…”
“Ron.”
“Right, well…” Ron mumbled incoherently. “Hermione and I…well…we sort of…”
“Finally!” Harry exclaimed as he thumped Ron on the back. Ron turned a considerable shade of red before grinning sheepishly back at Harry. “Took you long enough, mate.”
Ron wiped his forehead. “So, you’re alright with it then.”
“Of course!” Harry responded heartily, “I’m happy for the both of you. Just no snogging in front of me, yet. Alright?”
Ron nodded his head fervently.
“Good, because as happy as I am for you, Hermione is like my sister and that will take a little getting used to…”
Hermione arrived moments afterwards carrying several large bags. Ron rushed to grab the parcels from her and went to put them in the kitchen.
“Ron told me,” Harry said after greeting his friend. Hermione laughed.
“You have no idea how nervous he was to tell you!” she snorted. “But, I told him it would sound better coming from him. You’re still alright with it, right?” she asked, suddenly appearing nervous.
Harry put his arm around her as he led her to the kitchen. “Never happier.”
As the week flew by, their new home looked better and better. Hermione taught Ron and Harry a spell to reinforce the structure of the house; they had spent nearly the entire first afternoon doing so. As there were only two bedrooms in the small cottage, in addition to the nursery, Ron and Harry shared the master bedroom and Hermione claimed a smaller room just down the hall. Harry decided that the nursery should be turned into a study to house the pensieve and any other aids they might need. Try as she might, Hermione could not remove the stubborn black etching in the newly appointed study. After over an hour of attempting complicated cleansing charms, Harry suggested they simply cover the reminder with a large bookcase. Hermione agreed and quickly Apparated all the books she owned into the room, which gave it the appearance of a homey library.
“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed exasperated, “Why do you have so many of them?” Ron was staring into the former nursery in horror.
“I read them, obviously, Ronald!” Hermione replied in equal exasperation, hidden by a massive pile of literature.
Harry was relieved to notice that Ron and Hermione acted much the same as they always have, regardless of their recent status change. The bickering continued, only now Harry was thankfully not present for the apologies. Ron had definitely kept his word; Harry had yet to walk in on them during a snogging session.
The kitchen and the loo, though not the most modern by any means, were the least damaged. Hermione resumed her role as an excellent cook, though she insisted Ron and Harry clean the kitchen afterwards. Neither found the need to complain over the arrangement.
Their nights were spent in quiet conversation as the renovations continued. The trio resumed their endless speculation of the whereabouts of the remaining Horcruxes. Hermione had painstakingly reviewed all of the memories that Harry had perused last term with Dumbledore and was reluctant to commit to any new theories. Harry was beginning to feel restless. The location of the Horcruxes and the mysterious R.A.B. plagued him every night and, on many occasions, flung him into unrelenting dreams.
“Well, this place is finally livable,” Ron sighed in exhaustion as he flung himself next to Hermione on the newly Transfigured couch in the redone living room.
“It’s actually quite nice,” Hermione commented from behind the book in which she was immersed. “Though I still wish there was another bathroom available,” she continued, glaring at Ron over her book.
Ron’s face went red as he slouched lower into the couch. “I swear I didn’t know you were in there…” he mumbled. Hermione snorted.
“I’m glad the house is set to rights,” Harry said as he entered the room carrying a large bottle, “but, I’m getting restless. I just wish we had an idea on where to go next!” Ron and Hermione knew he was talking about the Horcrux search. Despite never-ending conversations on the topic, none of them could figure out who R.A.B. was or where they should look for the next bit of Voldemort’s soul.
“Maybe if we took the night off,” Ron suggested hopefully, eyeing the large bottle Harry was carrying, “give it a rest for a minute…”
“Exactly what I was thinking, Ron,” Harry returned. “It’s been a long week,” he added quietly as he sat in a chair opposite the couple and raised his wand towards the kitchen. “Accio glasses!” he muttered and three small glasses flew from the kitchen towards him. “Hermione,” Harry said, levitating a glass of recently poured Firewhiskey towards the large book that Hermione was still hiding behind.
Hermione emerged from her book with a rueful look on her face. “I don’t know, Harry,” she started cautiously.
“Oh c’mon, Hermione!” Ron interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Harry’s had a hard week, we’ve been working non-stop on this house, and we still have no idea what to do next! Put down the book and enjoy a night off, what are you afraid of?”
“For your information, I’m not afraid of anything!” Hermione returned, shooting a nasty look towards Ron. Harry was already sipping his own Firewhiskey. “I just think we should stay focused!”
“We can’t be focused all the time,” Ron said exasperated, refusing to back down. Harry was actually starting to enjoy their bickering. It was entertaining to watch and he now knew that he would not have to participate in the reconciliation procedure. “Besides,” Ron continued, his tone softening, “it’s just the three of us here. What could happen?” Ron grabbed the glass that was still levitating in front of him and took one small sip of the Firewhiskey Harry produced. “Where’d you get this from anyway, Harry?”
“Fred and George. It was my birthday present,” Harry responded, pouring himself a second glass.
“Well, to Fred and George then!” Ron exclaimed, raising his glass in a toast.
Hermione peered at both Harry and Ron before accepting her own glass and muttering, “Fred and George.”
It took at least two more glasses before Hermione actually released the book she was insistent on holding. All three had loosened up considerably as they diligently avoided all conversations on the topic of Horcruxes and were reliving an assortment of adventures they had participated in while at Hogwarts.
“I really miss that place,” Hermione interjected wistfully, just having recovered from an unexpected fit of giggles.
“It’ll open again,” Ron said confidently, draining his glass. “It has to, once this mess is all over.”
“It would be funny to go back to that,” Hermione chuckled, resting her head on Ron’s shoulder, “after living here with the two of you.”
“S’not all that different,” Harry slurred, “well, I suppose Ron wouldn’t be barging into your bathroom there…”
Hermione let out an uncharacteristic peal of laughter as Ron’s face screwed up in embarrassment.
“I wonder how it is at the manor,” Hermione continued, laughing feebly, referring to the school Professor McGonagall had set up that summer. “Are they still separated into houses and years?” she asked, addressing Harry.
“Wouldn’t know,” Harry responded, burying his face in his Firewhiskey. “I haven’t written to Ginny, yet.”
“Probably not,” Ron said, unaware of how uncomfortable Harry seemed, “they can’t have that many students. Mum said the Daily Prophet publicized a list of students refusing to attend Hogwarts, she said the list was…”
Hermione interrupted Ron’s rambling with a shattering glass.
“Hermione! You alright?” Harry asked alarmed. His friend’s face had gone suddenly blank as her glass slipped through her fingers and smashed on the floor.
“Of course,” she whispered hoarsely to herself. “Why didn’t I think of it before! I can’t believe I didn’t think to check… I’ll be right back!” Hermione stood unsteadily and Apparated on the spot.
Ron’s jaw dropped as he stared in Harry’s direction. “I hate it when she does that!”
Hermione Apparated back ten minutes later, landing dangerously close to Ron as she stumbled backwards unto the couch.
“Hermione,” Ron started, concern overriding his slur, “where did you go? Are you alright?” Hermione was clutching her stomach.
“Apparating after drinking is not an excellent idea,” she panted, smiling up at Ron with watery eyes. “But it was worth it. I know who R.A.B. is.”
A/N: No too much of a cliffhanger, right? We all know who R.A.B. is… You do, don’t you? But, finally, they figured it out as well! Leave it to the Firewhiskey! Thanks, as always, to my beta reader Asphyxiated; without her it would be months of rejection! Reviews are very much appreciated! ~ozma333