Chapter Text
“Here, ‘Mione,” Harry grumbled as he passed a mug of tea to his best friend. Sitting out in the back garden of the Burrow, the Golden Trio, bleary-eyed, sat on the rickety garden furniture as they shared their breakfast.
“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione yawned, taking the steaming mug from his hands. The air was slightly nippy, not uncommon for a summer morning at the Weasley family home. The golden morning light warmed the friends as they found refuge in the early hours, avoiding Mrs Weasley’s ferocious wedding planning. Her determination to separate the group made this stolen morning all the more sweet, even if they were looking over their shoulder in fear Mrs Weasley caught them together.
Sipping the unsweetened tea, Hermione stared off into the garden with determination. Just as the Weasley matriarch feared, Hermione was planning their mission. She knew they weren’t going back to Hogwarts come September, meaning they had to make their escape soon. She spent the past few weeks pulling Harry and Ron into corners and empty rooms to update them on her plan for leaving. More than often, to demand items she could store for them in her beaded shoulder bag. Her fingers tightened on the strap, mentally resorting the contents to make sure they had everything they needed for their Horcux hunt. Hermione made a note of what else she thought she should pack, relaying this in hushed tones to the boys beside her.
The back door swung open with a creak, announcing that the trios’ time alone had come to and end. Immediately they were assigned with tasks to keep them busy and separated for the duration of the morning.
The next few days Hermione found herself folding socks, cleaning the attic, and full of frustration. She hadn’t managed to corner Ron or Harry at all before they were steered away, and resigned herself to planning quietly and hoping the boys would trust her when the time came for them embark on their hunt. A hand on her shoulder interrupted her from her thoughts, her fingers tapping on her thigh stilling. A grinning Ginny Weasley stood behind her.
“Time to come down, mums’ invited some of the Order over for dinner, thank Merlin, I’ve been going spare in this house.” Ginny pulled Hermione to her feet, slipping her arm through the older girl’s, and leading them down the stairs. “Between mum and Fleur, I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep myself from going crazy. I don’t know how you managed,” she laughed.
Harry met her with a grimace as they fluttered around the packed kitchen, Hermione smiled back, communicating to the messy haired boy that things were fine, that she had a plan. She hoped that was what her tight smile told him. He had a habit of completely misinterpreting things that weren’t directly said to him.
Hermione found herself at the table, squeezed in between Ginny, who was animatedly telling a story to Tonks, and Remus, who was sitting back and listening to Ginny with a look of concentration on his face. He made eye contact with his wife and leaned back to whisper something to her. Tonks broke into laugher, lightly slapping her husband on the arm and returning her attention to Ginny. Hermione felt something in her chest clench and turned her attention away from the couple. Her long-standing crush on her former professor was childish, and just that, a crush. Hermione had always prided herself on being mature, level-headed. She never tried to find trouble, she told herself that the only reason she was ever viewed as brave and courageous was in response to Harry’s penchant for finding himself in precarious situations. She couldn’t sit back and not help him, could she?
Even still, with her self-control, there were things that Hermione simply could not help. Punching Malfoy when she was fourteen, that was a thoughtless response to his cutting words, she reasoned with herself that there were some things Hermione simply couldn’t control or stand back from. She allowed herself this small crush. Hermione was never one for being selfish, but her slight infatuation for the werewolf wasn’t hurting anyone. She knew he was happily married; she knew he was significantly older than him. Hermione was happy to never speak a word of it.
Still, as he leaned over her to grab the teapot from the table, Hermione stilled. She could feel the heat radiating from his arm. He brushed against her shoulder and threw an apologetic grin her way. “Kept busy this summer, I’ve heard?” Remus nodded towards Harry. “The poor fellow is convinced he’s being held hostage by Molly. She’s convinced you’re planning something.” He leaned in closer to Hermione, causing her to jerk back fractionally from the close proximity. With a look in his eyes Hermione couldn’t decipher, he whispered so quietly that Hermione was nearly unable to catch what he said. “Good luck, Maya."
Hermione frowned, and wondered if she had caught what he told her. She turned back to her plate, spearing a roast potato on her fork. At least somebody beside the Golden Trio were in support of their decisions. The nickname though, she decided she had simply misheard. He had whispered so quietly Hermione had to concentrate; she wasn’t even really sure that was what he said at all. The thought was brushed from her mind as the conversation along the table turned to once again, planning the upcoming wedding.
Harry’s seventeenth birthday came and went, Hermione even finding a moment with the man to whisper, “Soon, Harry,” into his ear during a crushing hug. He nodded and released her, pulling Ron into a similar hug. The redhead congratulated him, and then pulled him to the kitchen floor in a tackle. Between roaring laughter, Ronald both wished a ‘good one’, and choked him out in a head lock of manly affection. Hermione laughed as she pulled them apart, falling on top of the wrestling pile. “Honestly Ronald,” she reprimanded, amused. “Couldn’t just say ‘I love you, Harry’?” Ron transferred his ‘love’ to the brunette, standing up quickly and slinging her over his broad shoulder. Hermione squealed, failing to scramble out of his grip.
Ron dropped her on the sagging maroon sofa, falling down beside her. Harry joined them, and there, the three friends huddled together. Hermione basked in the unbridled affection shared between them, sighing as she leaned against Ron, and running her fingers through Harry’s wild black hair. She pulled the birthday boy against her chest, putting herself between her two best friends.
The war was here. She could not realistically expect them all to come through unscathed. As much as she hoped and wished and planned, Hermione couldn’t promise anything. Instead, she made sure to steal these moments. She made sure to show her boys that she loved them. She held on, so tightly should Death himself take one look at them, he would turn away.
The next day, Hermione found herself in all too fancy dress robes, hair curly and wild, wobbling about on heels she was sure would result in a twisted ankle. She let Ginny have her way with her, dressing her up and attempting to do her makeup. Ginny protested when Hermione rubbed her lipstick off with the back of her hand but let her off without much of a fight. Her beaded bag hanging from her shoulder as always. The girls fretted over Fleur, all animosity pushed to the side in favour of getting the bride ready for her wedding day.
“Mrs Weasley told Bill he had to spend ze night at ze joke shop,” Fleur complained as she brushed on her mascara carefully. “It is a silly tradition, he is to be my husband, why wouldn’t I want to see him all ze time?” Fleur turned to the two girls, smirking slyly. “And what of you? Is there anyone you two have your eyes on?”
Ginny blushed deeply, embarrassment painting her uncharacteristically. Usually brash and unapologetic, embarrassment was a rare sight on her. Fleur seized the moment, demanding to know just what Ginny was flushed over. “Just before I came up here, I caught Harry in the kitchen. He … he kissed me!” Hermione and Fleur jumped towards her and the three women laughed together, teasing Ginny. They made their way down to the living room, where Molly was barking out orders, not unlike a general in battle.
“Oh! Fleur dear, aren’t you just stunning!” Mrs Weasley pulled the French Veela into a bone crushing hug, before holding her out by the shoulders to rake her eyes down her future daughter-in-law. “So elegant! Dear, I am just so happy to call you my daughter.” Molly’s eyes misted, and she sniffed. “You can’t imagine how sorry I am, you know, about how I treated you … before. I want you to know that I do support this relationship, you and my Bill, I can’t wait to have you in my family.” And with that, Molly pulled herself together, released Fleur and returned to busying about the Burrow.
Ginny looked at Hermione, slight shock written on her face. “Have to say, I didn’t see that coming.”
The next few hours were a blur. Hermione sat through the admittedly sweet nuptials, and took turns dancing with Harry and Ron, even sharing a short ‘dance’ with Luna Lovegood. She threw herself down on a chair, taking a minute to rest her feet. Hermione watched as the people she loved shared a night of joy, dancing and chatting, long hugs and lipstick kisses stained on cheeks. In her chest settled a mix of contentment, joy, and a slight edge of something else. To quiet her thoughts, Hermione threw back her large measure of Firewhiskey. It wasn’t like her to drink, but Hermione intended to enjoy this night without thinking too much about the looming presence over this event, the war.
“Wotcher, Hermione!” The clumsy Auror threw herself on the chair beside her. Tonks, all pink hair and stomping boots, grinned easily towards the younger witch. “Merlin, I’m wiped.” Her usual cheery disposition faltered, and Tonks opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing.
Hermione looked at the grey-eyed witch, curious. “Are you okay, Tonks?”
“Hermione, I …shit. Listen, he didn’t want me to do this, but I thought I’d give you a heads up.”
“A heads up? Who didn’t want you to …?”
Chaos fell upon the marquee. People started running, screaming, and the loud pop of apparition stole their attention. Tonks jumped up, speared Hermione with one last look, and with a furrowed brow, said with a heavy finality, “Have a good life, Hermione, whatever happens, wherever you are, whoever you’re with, have fun. Fall in love! Laugh, dance, just enjoy it! Promise me this, Hermione!”
Before Hermione could protest, before she could question Tonks, the Order member was gone and throwing spells, protecting those left at the Burrow.
Hermione snapped out of it, brushed the encounter to the side and focused. The plan. She was running, snapping her head side to side, frantically searching the crowd for Harry and Ron. Her eyes locked with Harry, pulling Ron behind him, weaving through the panicked wedding guests. Hermione pushed her way through the crowd, fingers reaching, reaching towards Harry. Her other hand deep in her beaded bag, looking for her wand, jostling the contents about in her search. She had to get them out, had to get away. Her fingers tightened around her wand. Between her palm and the handle of her wand, a metal object Hermione couldn’t identify, due to panic, and because Harry was almost in her reach.
She had to get them out. Hermione held the objects in her purse tight, the wand and whatever else was wedged in her hand, and just as her fingers were about to meet Harry’s, Hermione felt the pull of apparition. Only this time, the squeeze she expected felt crushing, and Hermione let out a scream that fell silent. She was twisting and hurtling through the darkness. The pain was immense, but Hermione fell deep in grief as she realised that she hadn’t grabbed Harry’s outstretched fingers. She had apparated too quickly, in a panic, she didn’t catch him.