A/N: Hi everyone! This chapter is essentially just a love letter to Hermione Jean Granger and anyone who's ever felt seen because of her. You're not alone. You are loved. You are worth more than what you can do for others. You have value just by existing in all of your fullness. Thank you for being here.

🩵💛❤️💜🩷

LUCY:

I was keeping watch when Hermione appeared, arms still crossed tightly over her chest. I wondered offhandedly if she'd loosened her arms at all over the course of the night.

"Good morning," I said, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

Hermione hummed as she started pacing back and forth in front of me. "Is it? Is it really?"

"I'd say so. Are they both arses? Yes. But are they both safe and sleeping soundly? Yes. I would consider this a net positive."

Hermione hummed again. "You would, would you?"

"Yes." I pushed myself to my feet and went to stand in front of Hermione, who halted abruptly as anger flashed in her eyes. I stood my ground, crossing my arms over my chest, mimicking her posture. Hermione's anger often scared me, and it often hurt me, but I refused to let it bother me in that moment — there had been enough strife overnight to last us for at least another couple hours, until Ron woke up and Hermione had her favorite punching bag once again. "You're glad he's back."

"No, I never wanted to see him again," Hermione argued. "He's caused nothing but anguish whether he's here or not, he should have never showed his face again — "

"Harry would have died without him," I replied simply. "Harry and the sword and the locket would be in the bottom of whatever frozen pool he found last night, and we would have woken up even more alone and even more scared and even more lost than we already are. I know you're angry, and you have every right to be, but don't tell me you would rather have Harry dead and your anger fully justified than Harry alive and Ron back bearing the sword of Gryffindor and the destroyed locket and your anger slightly complicated by the fact that Ron did something good and helpful."

Hermione huffed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe so. Talk to me, then, so I can understand," I said with a shrug.

Hermione's steely glare faltered, and she looked down at her feet, arms crossed ever tighter. "You're so — so understanding it's infuriating."

"I'm... sorry?" I replied, at a loss for how else to respond.

"Ron left us, he abandoned us, and that's okay, because he got lucky and saved Harry's life when he was idiotic enough to endanger it in the first place," Hermione spat. "Harry could have killed Draco with the same spell that nearly killed you, but that's okay, because you love him more than you love me — "

"Hermione — " I tried to interrupt, but she wasn't done yet.

"Why are you so willing to play devil's advocate for everyone except me?" Hermione half-cried, half-shouted, glaring at me through tear-filled eyes.

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not perfect," Hermione continued with the same high-pitched desperation, "I know that, trust me, but it feels like you're so quick to forgive everyone's faults except mine."

"If this is about what happened with Marietta Edgecombe last year, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry about the silent treatment, I'm sorry you got hurt because of it. I'm being more forgiving of Ron right now and I was more forgiving of Harry back in May than I was of you, that's true, because I unfortunately had to learn the hard way that my anger leads to people I love getting hurt and I don't want what happened to you to happen to anyone else. I didn't want it to happen to you in the first place, but I can't — I can't go back and change that, as much as I wish I could. All I can do is try to be better moving forward, so history doesn't repeat itself with anyone else, or with you again."

Hermione shook her head. "It's not just that. I know you're sorry. I wish... I wish it could be enough."

"What do you mean, Hermione?" I asked, feeling my own answering desperation surge in me as I dropped my crossed arms and laid a gentle shaking hand on her shoulder. "What would be enough? I love you, I'm sorry, I wish I could... I don't know, I wish I understood you the way you apparently want me to understand you."

"I never would have done that to Marietta if I'd known how much it would hurt you," Hermione said, her voice breaking.

I froze. I couldn't remember if she'd ever told me that before.

"I know I defended myself in the moment, but I panicked. You know how I am any time anything unexpected happens. I panic and I become someone I don't want to be."

"Oh."

My voice didn't sound like my own. I couldn't find anything to say in response to that, so I just nodded, silently urging her to continue.

"Would you believe me if I said I've never wanted to hurt you, or Ron, or Harry, or anyone else I love?" Hermione asked in a choked-out whisper. She shook her head before I could reply. "You don't have to answer that. I know that would be awfully hard for you to believe, but it's true. It's easier to let everyone believe I hurt people on purpose than admit that I just fail when it comes to trying not to hurt the people who matter most to me. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you all to have reason to leave me, because you — you actually love me, I think."

"Of course we do," I said, pulling her into a hug. "We love you so much, Hermione."

"I wish it was simpler," she confessed as she dropped her arms and just let herself be held. "I wish I didn't make it so complicated all the time. I wish I could just be like you and see the best in everyone and not all of the ways they could hurt me."

I faltered. "Hermione — "

"It's just so hard being a Muggle-born," she continued, not seeming to have heard me. "I started at such a disadvantage, I've had to fight tooth and nail for every shred of respect and love I've had to try to earn in this world that doesn't even want me. I latched onto academia as the best way to prove my worth, I used my knowledge as a weapon against the people who doubted me the same way I doubted myself, but then — but then my knowledge turned into a weapon against the people I loved too." Hermione sniffled. "You looked so afraid of me when I confronted you about being a werewolf."

"I'm not perfect either," I interrupted.

Hermione sniffled again. "I know."

I held Hermione closer, trying to corral all of the racing thoughts in my head and turn the endless jabber into something coherent. "I've been unfair to you. I'm sorry." Hermione shook her head and tried to say something, but I pressed on. "No, it's true. I've been unfair to you, and I'm sorry. You're right, I was afraid of you when you figured out I was a werewolf when we were just first-years. You've always impressed me, Hermione, and... you've always scared me a little too, ever since that day when you did something I had hoped was impossible. It's — "

I paused and tried to gather my thoughts a bit more.

"I may not understand exactly how you feel in terms of your experiences as a Muggle-born, but I do understand the lengths to which you go to try to prove you're worth something in this world. I don't work as hard as you do academically, but I try to make up for what I am in other ways, just to try to give myself a sliver of a chance to be worth something in this world. I've been a monster for — for as long as I can remember. I know it's not the same, but maybe it's not entirely different, either."

"The difference is I never would have told anyone about you," Hermione said in a soft voice, "but everyone knows about me."

I nodded. "Yeah. I — I understand. I guess all this time I've — I've been afraid you would tell someone. Which is unfair, I know, I realize that now, and I'm sorry, but it's — it's the truth, such as it is. I was always so afraid I'd anger you and in your anger you'd do something rash and ruin my life." I cleared my throat and released Hermione, whose pensive face was streaked with tears. "I was wrong to ever treat you like someone I should fear. I know you'd never hurt me like that. I'm sorry."

"I understand," Hermione whispered. "I do have a bit of a history when it comes to acting in regrettable ways when I'm angry. Last night is... a rather good example. I'm still angry, very angry, but... I shouldn't have punched him. And I'm sorry, Lucy, I really am glad Harry's okay."

"I know, it's alright," I said, nodding. "Me too. And I'm glad Ron's okay, and I want you to be okay too. What can I do to make this better?"

Hermione froze. She appeared to be at a complete loss.

"I don't know," she said after a moment.

"It's okay," I said, "you can think about it — "

"No, I mean — I mean I have no idea." Hermione pulled away and shook her head, scrubbing her cheeks with her sleeves. "I've spent so much of my life trying to be self-sufficient, I don't have any idea if there's anything you can do to make me feel better. I'm an only child, I'm the only Muggle-born in our little friend group, my parents are — my parents are in Australia — "

Fresh tears rose to her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, and I surged forward to wrap my arms around her again.

"I'm here, Mione, I'm here," I said fiercely.

"I'm so afraid of doing something that will push you away for good," she continued, fully sobbing at that point. "I'm so afraid of hurting you, any of you, in a way that can't be fixed. I'm so scared of being alone one day I've tried so hard to be as self-sufficient as possible so I'd be okay if that ever happened. I think — I think I'm scared of me too, Lucy."

I tightened my grip on Hermione, as if I would convince her of my sincerity if I held her tight enough. "There's nothing you could do that would keep me away forever. I — do you remember what I told you when Lavender and Ron — you know what, this is a terrible example considering what happened last night — "

"No, no, it's okay," Hermione said with a watery laugh. "Go on."

"I have far bigger enemies than you, no matter what you do to me. You're my friend, and I know you love me and mean well, even if you hurt me from time to time. We're human. Everyone hurts everyone else. I've hurt you, and you've hurt me. I've hurt Harry, Harry's hurt me, I've hurt Ron, Ron's hurt me, I've hurt everyone, everyone's hurt me."

"You didn't deserve any of the hurt, from anyone."

"Neither did you. It happened whether it was deserved or not," I replied, shrugging, "and that's okay. I just do the best I can, and I try to remind myself that everyone is doing their best too, for the most part. I don't know if I'll ever find it within me to forgive, say, Greyback, or You-Know-Who, or — or Amos..." I swallowed hard. "But when it comes to you, I know you. And I trust you. And I love you. And when I remember that, well, I don't think anything could get in the way of that. You're worth so much more than the mistakes you've made in the heat of the moment, Hermione Jean Granger, and you're one of the best friends I've ever had. I don't know what I would have done my first few years of school without you."

"Really?" Hermione asked.

I pulled away and looked her in the eyes as I nodded. "Yes, really. As much as you knowing my secret scared me at the time, I see now that it saved me, too. We worked together to keep it. I never would have been able to do that by myself."

"You had Cedric, though, and he was far more helpful than I was."

"He wasn't in the dormitory with me. He wouldn't have been able to explain every absence to my roommates, or quell whatever conversations arose overnight when I was gone, in the Gryffindor common room or in the dormitory. If you hadn't known, I think a lot more people would have known, before I was ready." I shook her by the shoulders a little bit. "You're worth far more to me than just the ways you've been helpful, though, you know that, right? I've always enjoyed working on school projects with you, and complaining about Ron and Harry with you, and teaching you how to fly, and learning about the Muggle world from you. You matter in many ways, both big and small, Hermione Granger, don't forget that. Don't let me let you forget that."

"Okay," Hermione said in a small voice. "If you're sure."

"Of course I'm sure. I — Merlin, my thoughts are racing right now and I'm having a hard time organizing all of this mess into something coherent, I'm sorry, but I — I love you, Hermione, I really do. I'm so sorry about, well, everything, and I know now that my apologies aren't enough and I'm sorry for that too. I didn't know you felt this way, but I'll do everything I can to make it better, now that I do know."

Hermione sniffled. "It already is."

"Good." I nodded, still reeling a bit. "I'll keep going then. Just — " I lowered myself rather heavily onto a nearby rock. "Just from down here. I'm feeling a bit... sitting would be good."

"Yeah, I don't feel much like standing right now either," Hermione said as she lowered herself next to me.

"I — I hope this doesn't come across as defensive, but I — I promise I understand how you feel, and I'm sorry, and I'll do my best to make sure you never feel so misunderstood again, but I haven't only been forgiving with Ron and Harry. If I'd seen you start punching Ron like that a few years ago, I would have been terrified of you. But now I'm just sort of... I know you, I know you were just reacting in the heat of the moment, and you said you didn't actually want to hurt him deep down, so I trust you. I still find it a bit unsettling that your first resort is often physical violence, but I understand it, too. This is war. You've always had to fight. I mean, hell, we all cheered you on when you slapped Draco our third year. We're all so incredibly traumatized. We can work on it, we can heal when this is all over, we can figure it out together."

Hermione pulled her knees to her chest. "That's what I meant when I said I become someone I don't want to be. I don't want to be a fighter, at least I don't think I do. I'd much rather just be a scholar, locked up with my books gaining knowledge for the sake of knowledge and using it to make the world a better place just because I can. I want knowledge to be more than a weapon, but... well, like you said, this is war. What choice do we really have?"

"Yeah, I..." I looked down at my hands and conjured sparks, a confused rainbow of colors because my emotions were all over the map. "Think about my magic. I only found out I had it because of horrific experiences, and then it was briefly beautiful, and now it's just a weapon. I used to use it to open butterbeer bottles and generate colorful sparks, but just yesterday we talked about how we could weaponize wind. This magic knocked Harry and Ginny out last Christmas. This magic is just a weapon now, and I'm afraid it'll never be anything more than that."

"I think it's still beautiful," Hermione said. She leaned her head against my shoulder, watching the sparks swirl. "I didn't realize you felt like a weapon too."

"What else could I ever be?" I replied.

Hermione shook her head. "We're both more than just weapons. This war won't last forever, and weapons won't be necessary anymore. You'll be more than a weapon once this is all over, not that you'll have much of a choice."

"Yeah, maybe I'll get lucky and be a martyr," I muttered.

"Don't think like that," Hermione said. "Please."

I sighed. "Sorry. It's just easier than trying to imagine what could become of me after the war. You can go back to your books once this is all over. Ron can go back to his family. But I've always... and Harry... Merlin, don't even get me started on Harry, his whole life has been defined by this fucking war. Sometimes I really do think I'd be better off a martyr. Everyone could paint me however they wanted once I was gone. The reality of me is far more disappointing."

Before Hermione could say anything, Harry stumbled out, and we turned to look at him in sync.

"Morning," he said groggily.

"Morning," I replied with as much cheer as I could muster. "I would have expected you to sleep in, after the night you had."

Harry shook his head and drooped onto the ground beside me, leaning his head against my knee. "Didn't want you worrying about me. 'M sorry for almost dying."

"It's alright," I said, ruffling his hair with a fond half-laugh. "As long as you always come back to me, I'll never hold almost-dying against you."

Harry made a contented sound, so I continued raking my fingers through his hair.

"I don't think your hair's ever been this long," I commented. "Do you want to grow it out, or do you want me to try to trim it?"

"Oh, no, it's okay, but thanks," Harry replied. "Now that Ron's back, he can do it."

"I reckon I'd do a decent job at cutting your hair even though you're a boy and I'm not," I retorted with a playful tug on the lock of his hair currently in between my fingers.

"What? No, it's not that." Harry twisted his head so he was propping his chin on my knee, looking up at me with sleepy eyes. "Ron always cuts my hair."

"Are you joking?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "Ron cuts everyone's. He's rather good. His mum taught him. He can cut it now that he's back. He knows what to do."

I blinked. I had rather taken for granted the fact that Harry's hair was always close to the same length. I'd never particularly noticed it being longer or shorter, I'd really only ever taken note of which cowlicks were making their appearance on any given day.

"Are you joking? Because I almost believe you," I muttered.

"Not joking," Harry said. "Why, who cuts yours? Does anyone? Your hair was short when we started school, and now it's not. Have you ever had it cut?"

"Well, yes, if I hadn't cut my hair in six years I reckon it'd be dragging on the ground by now," I replied with a laugh. "Lavender always offered to cut and style mine, but I always just settled for my own Severing Charm. I always wear my hair in ponytails and braids, so it doesn't matter much if it's styled or not."

"Fascinating as this is," Hermione said, reaching for her bag, "I finished the book about Dumbledore last night, I was too angry to sleep, and, well, I think there's something the two of you should read."

I eyed the book apprehensively as she handed it to me. "Why?"

"I figured out who the man in the picture was," she said, tapping the bookmark she'd wedged into the book.

Harry was suddenly wide awake and joined me on the rock. He pressed himself so close to me he was practically sitting in my lap as he wrenched the book open.

"'Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother's death, with his friend Gellert Grindelwald,'" Harry read aloud. "That's what the caption below the picture says. His friend, Gellert Grindelwald?"

"Flip back to the beginning of the chapter," I said.

Harry complied immediately, and I propped my chin on his shoulder as we read it together.

According to Rita Skeeter and the veritaserum she administered to Bathilda Bagshot, the night before Dumbledore and Elphias "Dogbreath" Doge were supposed to set off for their European tour, Dumbledore received word that his mother had died and he abandoned his trip at once in order to take care of his two younger siblings.

Bathilda Bagshot, his mother's only friend at the time of her death, was the great-aunt of Gellert Grindelwald, who was expelled from Dumstrang at the age of sixteen for troubling experiments with the Dark Arts. The same summer that Dumbledore found himself in Godric's Hollow, Grindelwald found himself living with his great-aunt, and a friendship between the two boys was born. The friendship was immediate, and intense, and the fruits of the friendship were horrifying.

A letter from a teenage Dumbledore to a teenage Grindelwald was included that made me sick to my stomach. In it, Dumbledore said he agreed with Grindelwald that wizards ought to dominate Muggles for their own good, and that only "necessary" force should be used in order to secure that power.

Their friendship ended with the death of Ariana Dumbledore. Grindelwald was apparently there in the Dumbledores' house when it happened and left Godric's Hollow immediately, not even showing for the funeral. And, to everyone's knowledge, Dumbledore and Grindelwald didn't see each other again until their duel in 1945. There were many questions, though, raised by these circumstances, to which, I thought, well, fair enough.

At the end of the chapter, I snatched the book out of Harry's hands and went back to read the letter again for myself, just to be certain I'd seen it correctly.

Gellert —
Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD — this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
Albus

I snapped the book shut and handed it to Hermione as if it had burned me. I was reeling, struggling to process everything I'd just seen and read.

"Don't forget that this is Rita Skeeter writing," Hermione said, in what sounded like an attempt at a placating tone.

"You read that letter to Grindelwald, didn't you?" Harry snapped back.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I — I did. I think that's the worst bit. I know Bathilda thought it was all just talk, but 'For the Greater Good' became Grindelwald's slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And... from that... it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. They say 'For the Greater Good' was even carved over the entrance to Nurmengard, the prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him. Anyway, it's — it's an awful thought that Dumbledore's ideas helped Grindelwald rise to power. But on the other hand, even Rita can't pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and — "

"I knew you'd say that," Harry grit out. "Sure. They were young. Fine. They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there he was, in a huddle with his new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles."

"I'm not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote. All that 'right to rule' rubbish, it's 'Magic Is Might' all over again. But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house," Hermione said.

"Alone?" Harry jumped to his feet and started pacing. "He wasn't alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up — "

Hermione stood too. "I don't believe that. Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don't think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we knew would never, ever have allowed — "

"The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn't want to conquer Muggles by force!" Harry yelled.

I curled in on myself, pressing my thumb over my mouth, thinking. There was something odd, something odd that wasn't as obvious as all of the other oddities and inconsistencies of Albus Dumbledore, something just out of reach...

"He changed, Harry, he changed! It's as simple as that!" Hermione insisted. "Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Dumbledore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle-born rights, who fought You-Know-Who from the start, and who died trying to bring him down! Harry, I'm sorry, but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself."

"Maybe I am! Look what he asked from me, Hermione! 'Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!'"

I was going to be sick, well and truly. Oh Harry, my sweet boy who deserved so much better.

"He loved you, I know he loved you," Hermione said in a quieter voice.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me." He glanced at me. "What do you think, Lu?"

"You're right, Harry," I replied after a moment. "I'm sorry, I know none of us want this to be true, but Dumbledore never loved you. The way he treated you was — was never love. He should never have put you in this situation, or in any life-threatening situations, that's not love, that's — that's — and — " I glanced at Hermione. "So what if Harry's angry that Dumbledore never told him any of this himself? I think that's a very valid reason to be angry. Hermione, I think maybe the real reason you're so set on defending Dumbledore with something this revelatory and repulsive is because you've spent so much time wishing we would defend you when it came to smaller transgressions. Which is okay, I understand why you'd feel that way and I'm sorry, but Hermione, this isn't that. Yes, we have proof that Dumbledore changed, but prior to this morning, we didn't know that he ever had to change. What he believed as a teenager, that's not normal. He should have known better by then, no matter what his circumstances were. I mean — " I huffed a slightly-hysterical laugh. "That would be like me actually siding with You-Know-Who after every other Diggory died. In case you've forgotten, I didn't, I rescued myself before he could try to recruit me — "

I stopped abruptly as a realization slammed into me. I could feel Harry and Hermione's stares, but my eyes were too unfocused to really see anything in that moment.

"Are you alright, Lucy?" Hermione prompted gently.

"Maybe she wasn't a Squib," I whispered. "I — I was locked away too. My parents, they — they didn't want — I don't know, but maybe — no — but what if — what if Ariana was somehow a werewolf too?"

"Oh fuck," Harry said.

I shook my head. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't want to know, it wouldn't change anything, but... but what if?"

"You're welcome to try to find context clues in here," Hermione murmured, offering the book to me. "I didn't get the sense that she was a werewolf, but I know you would be able to read between the lines better than I would with something like this."

I shook my head again. "I don't want to know. Not right now, anyway. But — but thanks."

At that exact moment, Ron emerged from the tent.

"Good morning!" he chirped.

When we all just turned to look at him, none of us really able to find anything to say in response, his face slowly fell.

"What did I miss?" Ron asked.

"You've missed too much," Hermione huffed, shoving him out of the way so she could storm back into the tent.

I winced. "You missed quite a bit. Good morning, though."

"Good morning," Ron said with an appreciative nod my direction. "Merlin, you two look like you've seen ghosts. Have you?"

"No, but I sure wish Dumbledore's would show up." I sighed. "I have a lot of questions for him."

Ron settled on the rock beside me with a nod. "Well, that's fair. Speaking of questions, I wanted to ask. How did you find out about the Taboo?"

"The what?" Harry asked, sitting back down on my other side and propping his chin on my knee so he could look at Ron.

"You've stopped saying You-Know-Who's name," Ron replied.

"Oh, yeah. Well, it's just a bad habit we've slipped into, but I haven't got a problem calling him V — "

"NO!" Ron shouted with so much intensity Harry toppled backward and I jolted upward. "Merlin, sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you both, but the name's been jinxed. That's how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance — it's how they found us on Tottenham Court Road!"

Harry returned his chin to my knee, blinking at Ron. "Because we said his name?"

"Yeah. You've got to give them credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who ever dared use it. Now they've put a Taboo on it, anyone who says it is trackable — quick-and-easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said, but he fought his way out. He's on the run now, just like us."

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse," I muttered.

"Fair enough." Ron tilted his head. "What if Kingsley sent the doe?"

"His patronus is a lynx, sorry," I replied.

"I thought it was yours at first, you know," Ron said, winking at me.

I snorted. "I haven't cast one since Cedric died, but it was a bear last I checked."

"They can change though." Ron winked again. "For specific reasons. Take Tonks, for instance, hers changed when she — "

"Noted, Ron, thanks," I interrupted. "Any other theories?"

"Well — yeah, actually. What if it was Dumbledore? He had the real sword last, didn't he?"

Harry shook his head. "He's dead. I saw it happen, I saw the body, he's most definitely gone. Even if he was somehow alive, though, why wouldn't he show himself? Why wouldn't he just hand us the sword?"

"Search me. Maybe the same reason he didn't give it to you while he was alive? The same reason he left you an old Snitch and Hermione a book of kids' stories?" Ron mused.

"Which is?" Harry prompted.

"Search me," Ron said again. "Sometimes I've thought, when I've been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or — or he just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don't think so, not anymore. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn't he? He — well, he must've known I'd run out on you."

"No, he must've known you'd always want to come back," Harry said.

"He must've known he was asking too much of all of us," I muttered. "I mean, Fawkes. His tears can heal even mortal injuries. Dumbledore must have known what he was doing, sure, but acknowledging that he must have known what he was doing implies that he knew exactly what he was asking, what this all would entail. How many times has Harry nearly died now?"

"Too many," Harry grit out. "Speaking of Dumbledore, have you heard what Skeeter wrote about him? That's what we were talking about right before you woke up."

"Oh yeah, people are talking about it quite a lot. 'Course, if things were different, it'd be huge news, Dumbledore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it's just something to laugh about for people who didn't like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought he was such a good bloke. I don't know that it's such a big deal, though. He was really young when they — "

"Our age," Harry cut in.

I heard Hermione approaching the entrance of the tent in the moment of silence that lingered. Harry drew the new blackthorn wand from his pocket and pointed it at a spider that was weaving a web in a nearby bush.

"Engorgio," he said. When the spider didn't grow at all, Harry sighed and tried again. "Engorgio."

That time, the spider increased just a bit in size.

"Stop, I'm sorry I said Dumbledore was young, okay?" Ron said desperately.

"Oh, shit, sorry, I — I forgot about your spider thing," Harry replied, and I could tell he was sincere. "Reducio."

But the spider didn't shrink. Harry sighed, but before he could try again, Hermione spoke from behind us.

"You just need to practice. It's all a matter of confidence, Harry," she said.

"I can practice with you," I offered. "But first — " I drew my own wand. "Reducio."

Ron deflated with visible relief when the spider returned to its original size. "Thanks. Well, er, I'm a bit hungry. Do we have — "

Hermione stalked off before he could finish the question, but I nodded.

"We have enough food, yes," I confirmed. "Help yourself to whatever. I'll make a food run once we apparate somewhere else."

"Do you want to do anything else before we leave?" Harry asked. "Since this place is, well, important to you? For lack of a better word?"

I shook my head. "I've seen enough here. I want to go."

With that, the four of us set to work packing up the tent. I wanted to talk to Harry about Dumbledore, but that would just have to wait. I wanted to gather my thoughts before I did, too, in light of all of the new information. Hermione apparated us to the wooded outskirts of a small village, and while they all set to work erecting the tent, I donned the invisibility cloak and made my way into the village, Ron's patronus both keeping me company beneath the cloak and keeping the dementors away.

As I went about scrounging up enough food for four people instead of just three, my thoughts drifted once again to the magnificent puzzle that was Hermione Granger. A couple more puzzle pieces clicked into place as I reached for a bunch of bananas she could put in her porridge.

I'd always subconsciously counted on other people, even when I'd convinced myself in my conscious mind that I was alone. I always had Cedric in my corner growing up. Even when he was away, at school or Henry's or St. Mungo's, I always knew he'd come back if I ever really needed him. His death had destabilized me in more ways than one; the one person I could always trust to have my back was suddenly gone. It didn't matter anymore how much I needed him. He was gone, forever. My letters were sent to no one, into nothing.

There had been people who rushed forward to try to help fill the gaping hole of Cedric's absence, though. When I'd been kidnapped, there had been people who had tried to come to my rescue, even though it had been up to me to save myself in the end. I hadn't saved myself though, not in the aftermath. That had been Harry, and the twins, and Ginny and Hermione and Ron and Henry and everyone in the Order. Even in the moments when I felt most alone, I had been surrounded by people who I knew would do everything they could to help me if I was brave enough to ask for it.

Hermione, though... I wasn't sure if she'd ever had that. I thought of Hermione in her first weeks of Hogwarts, trying so hard to make friends and not understanding what she was doing wrong. I thought of the troll on Halloween, and how the three of us had banded together for the first but not the last time in defense of one Hermione Jean Granger. In moments of crisis, we always banded together to defend her. Like she'd said, she was the only (known) Muggle-born in our little quartet, and whenever she faced adversity in that regard, we were always right there.

But we were human. We had our disputes. Her comment about monsters our second year. Harry's broom incident third year, the Scabbers and Crookshanks incident our third year. The Yule Ball fiasco our fourth year. And the Marietta situation our fifth year, and the Lavender situation our sixth year. In all of those, though, I could see how Hermione would feel like she could count on no one except herself.

She had her parents in all of that, but she didn't tell her parents much of anything that happened in the wizarding world for fear of (sensibly, I'd say) being withdrawn from our human rights disaster of a school. And then she wiped her parents' memories and sent her mum and dad away to Australia, so she couldn't even count on that anymore. For the first time in her life, she was forced to rely on the three of us, but then I went and almost died, and then Ron left, and then Harry went and almost died.

Hermione Jean Granger had always felt like she could count on no one but herself, in the end.

When I isolated myself, I knew, somewhere deep down, that it was my choice. I could choose to let myself be held and loved by safe arms if I was willing to be brave enough to face the possibility of rejection, a possibility that seemed more and more impossible every passing day. Hermione, though, had reason to fear isolation that wasn't her choice. Whether it was being a Muggle-born or being stubbornly committed to her own moral compass, Hermione knew she walked a fragile line. Hermione knew that fragile line could break one day, and she'd be well and truly alone. Even if it couldn't be said it was through no fault of her own, it would certainly never be her choice to be alone.

Hermione Jean Granger was brave. She grappled every day with the unknown, with the difficult to understand. Magic, love, it was all the same to her, in a way. She was relentlessly brave for facing it all, no matter what, with her head held high and her pride clutched in her clenched fists.

I held the bananas tighter and resolved to myself that I'd be brave too. I'd lean in and prove to Hermione that the line she walked was not as fragile as we'd all let her believe for far too long. At the end of the day, I loved her more than I feared her. She was doing her best, same as me, to exist in an increasingly-hostile world. I didn't need to make it seem any more hostile than it already was. I was her friend, and, until further notice, I was her family, too. We all were. And we all loved Hermione Jean Granger, and the time had come to prove that we meant it. We needed each other more than ever.

A hazy memory rose to the forefront of my mind, something I'd heard in the immediate aftermath of Cedric's death. Dumbledore had said it, I thought. We were only as strong as we were united, and as weak as we were divided. I hadn't understood at the time, but I thought I was starting to get the idea. We'd only be effective world-savers if we worked together, truly, cohesively, trustingly, closely. Tried and true. And as much as I hated the thought of relying on Dumbledore's guidance in that moment, even a little bit... I had to admit he had a bit of a point.

Hermione Jean Granger was unfortunately rather skilled when it came to working alone. I could only imagine how much more powerful she'd be if she was secure in the knowledge that we'd always support her, come what may. Even when it hurt, even when it was difficult, loving Hermione Jean Granger was worth it all, and she deserved to know that.