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The sun was still an hour away from cresting the horizon when Hermione decided it was safe enough to take the trip for what would most likely be the last time. She and Sam had exchanged letters for over a year, and met in person three more times. She felt a kindred spirit in Sam, and she had gotten to the point where her heart jumped every time she opened the cabinet and saw one of his carefully folded sheets. And after the last time she had visited she may have even admitted to herself that she fancied him, but it was no time for her to even consider adding a relationship to the list of things on her plate.
It was risky, going without warning. While Sam seemed to be spending most of his time at Bobby's there was no guarantee he'd even be there, and there was always going to be the risk of running into a Hunter who didn't share his merciful nature. But there was just too much to say to leave a note and have that be the end of it.
The cellar was dark when she made her way through. She covered herself in Harry's invisibility cloak as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. “Lumos minima,” she murmured, and a very soft light shone from the tip of her wand, just enough to illuminate the shapes of things around her. She made her way up the stairs out of the cellar. She knew from her last visit where she needed to avoid to keep away from a trap, and she luckily managed to make it to the room he stayed in without incident.
Unfortunately that's where her luck seemed to run out, because there were two figures on beds in the room. The one on the closer bed was sprawled across the top, still fully clothed including boots. Dean. She extinguished the light from her wand and instead used the moonlight coming in the window to navigate to the other bed.
“Sam,” she barely breathed.
“Hermione?” she heard him immediately respond, a little too loudly.
She dared uncover herself just enough for him to see her. “We need to talk.”
He glanced over at Dean's bed, gathered something off the table next to his bed, rolled it in his blanket, and motioned for her to follow as he slipped silently from the room and out of the house. He used a small flashlight to navigate them between rows of stacked cars until they got to a van, where he opened the door, waited a couple seconds for her to climb in, and closed it once he was in as well. Sam seemed to have set up somewhat of an escape in the van, covering the windows with cardboard, a battery powered lantern, a nest of blankets and a couple secondhand throw pillows, and some books. She carefully folded the cloak and placed it on one of the front seats, which were the only ones still in the van.
“What's going on?” Sam asked.
“Dumbledore's dead,” she said softly. “There was a battle... at the school.”
“Another battle?” he sounded concerned. He had been quite anxious when she had disappeared the year before the battle at the Ministry, when she made it back to the cabinet there had been six notes waiting for her, begging to know if she was alright.
She nodded, feeling the weight of everything push down a little harder on her. “Lucius Malfoy is already working on installing a new Headmaster. Whoever it is... it's not going to be safe for me to go back.”
His jaw dropped as he realized what she was saying. If she couldn't go back to Hogwarts she was leaving the cabinet behind. “You're not coming back,” he said softly, his voice cracking.
“I hope to, if it's ever safe,” she tried to give him a reassuring smile that didn't assure him at all.
“You don't think you're coming back,” he guessed, his voice so soft he wasn't sure he had actually said the words.
“Being a Muggle-born is going to be a crime, soon. They're going to be hunting me, probably much harder than any other Muggle-born because they know I'm going to be with Harry. Vol... he thinks that Harry has to die, and so they're not going to stop looking for him, and I'm going to be right there with him. There's something we have to do, I don't even know where we're going to start to be honest, and considering what happened that night there's a good chance that the next few months are going to be even more dangerous than just having Death Eaters trying to kill me,” she finished with a sad smile as a tear started trailing down her cheek.
Sam moved next to her, wrapping an arm around her and pulled her to his chest. “You don't have to stay there if you don't want to,” he murmured.
“I can't leave Harry,” she shook her head, and he tried to ignore the flash of jealousy he felt as she said it. “And there's nowhere on the planet where he is going to be safe. I don't have a choice, either we stop him or I die trying.”
He felt as though someone stabbed him in the chest. He wanted to beg her to stay with him, where it was safe, except it wasn't safe. Not for her. He couldn't believe this might be the last time he got to spend with her. But he dismissed the thought with a slight shake of his head. Hermione had to be terrified, knowing she was facing the possibility of her own death. He needed to be strong for her in that moment, he could fall apart after.
“I know you are brilliant enough that you will get done what you need to get done,” he said, trying to convince himself as well. “Besides, I just realized something.”
“What's that?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Your life is officially way more fucked up than mine,” he smiled. “I guess that means when we finally escape everything and get to spend some time together you get to pick where we go and what we do.”
“You remember that promise?” she asked.
“Did you not mean it?”
“I did write that letter to you while I was under the influence of some of the finest painkillers Madam Pomfrey had to offer, but alright. As soon as you are free of all the Hunting and are studying at whatever brilliant university you get into and if...”
“When,” he corrected.
“We achieve the impossible and win this war,” she continued without correcting, “I will choose a place where you and I will go and spend a week talking about everything.”
“Deal,” he nodded. She bit her lip, and he brought his hand up to touch her face. “This can't be it, Hermione. Is there any way...?”
“No,” she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “If I get caught and they catch wind of you... you're an easy target, and they won't think twice about hurting you if they think it'll bring me out. I'm not going to risk you, Sam.”
“I'm not afraid of them.”
“You should be, you're lower than an animal to them. They'd think nothing of doing the most inhumane things imaginable to you, it's just a bloody good time to them.” She put her hand on his hand, pressed her cheek into his palm. “I won't risk it, Sam. Please don't push this.”
His jaw tightened and he took a shaky breath before nodding. “I just can't stand the thought of not knowing.”
“I wish there was a way, but I don't want to risk even telling anyone about you,” she looked up at him. “But please, don't wait for me. Get out of here, go to school, escape this life like you wanted to do.”
He had never been more tempted to stay, because staying would be the only way he could justify staying near the cabinet, hoping for some news. But she had enough to worry about without him adding any stress. “I will go to school,” he promised. “But I can't promise I won't wait for you.”
She bit her lip, then reached up to wrap her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and pulled him down to press her lips to his. He responded by holding her tightly to him, catching her lips again when she tried to pull away. She allowed herself to relax into him, and he could feel her body pressed against his. He tried to remember everything about this moment, not knowing if it would ever happen again.
“I should probably get back,” she muttered sadly.
“Just a couple more minutes?” he asked.
She nodded, resting her head against his chest as he savored the feeling of having her in his arms. They could only have just a few more moments together, and too soon he was helping her sneak back into the house and down into the cellar. She stowed the cloak into her bag as she opened the cabinet door. Before she could step in he grabbed her again, wrapping his arms around her and crashing his lips into hers. She allowed herself one more long kiss, one more moment of feeling safe in his arms, before breaking their embrace.
“Please be safe,” he begged.
“I'll try,” she promised.
“Goodbye” was too hard, so neither one said it. Sam watched as the cabinet door closed, and a moment later opened the cabinet to find it empty. He closed it again, moved a few things in front of it to keep it hidden, and headed back to bed. He was about in his room when he could feel someone watching him.
“Everything alright?” Bobby's concerned voice asked.
Sam turned and looked at the man who had become a second father figure in his life. “No,” he admitted. “But I can't explain why.”
“You know you can talk to me,” he assured him.
“I know,” he nodded. “But it's a secret that isn't mine to tell. I'm just going to go back to bed, if that's alright.”
“Course it is,” Bobby assured Sam. “Night.”
“Good night,” Sam replied, but a moment later he said, “Bobby?”
“Yes?” Bobby turned back to him.
“If a girl ever shows up here, a girl with bushy hair and a funny name, I know you might be suspicious but she's okay. She's not safe right now, and she won't come try to find me unless she's completely safe, and I'm worried she might show up when I'm... not here.”
Bobby seemed to be analyzing each of his words, trying to decipher each possible meaning. He never made a promise he wasn't absolutely sure he could keep, especially not to those boys, so he meant it when he said, “She'll be safe here.”
“Thanks, Bobby," he muttered, waiting for Bobby to disappear into his room before slipping silently back into his, where he laid on his bed, listened to Dean's rhythmic snoring, and tried to ignore the knot in his stomach that may never go away.
“Anytime.”