Harry arrived with Dumbledore a few nights later.

Hermione had slept fitfully, waking from a nightmare she couldn’t quite remember. Only the sensation of blood on her hands and the heaviness of a familiar corpse in her arms. Her body was slick with sweat and she could hear the echo of the scream that bounced off her silencing charm.

Not wanting to wake Ginny, she crept quietly to the window and tugged it open a few inches to let in the fresh summer air. It was sweet with the scent of the stream close by and the wildflowers that bloomed in the meadow.

A movement in the night caught her attention. She saw Dumbledore and Harry exiting Mr. Weasley’s muggle shack. It was an odd feeling to look upon the man who she would have a hand in killing. She wished she understood the feelings of impatience, grief, and rage that swirled inside her at the sight of him. Her idea of Dumbledore had changed so much over the years: from hero-worship idealization to a fall from grace at watching him again and again send children to do his dirty work.

And that wasn’t even scratching the surface of the environment he’d forced Harry to grow up in, when there must have been a better option.

Dumbledore reached out to pat Harry gently on the back. Harry’s shoulders rounded forward looking like the old man had just placed the weight of the wizarding world upon them.

Not wanting to be seen, she’d crept back to her bed and strengthened the silencing charm around it, just in case. As much as Ginny wanted to help her, even if it was just to keep the nightmares at bay, Hermione hated to wake her. However, that didn’t stop Ginny from still waking in the night and sliding into bed with her anyways. It had become commonplace to wake with Ginny’s arm protectively slung around her regardless of how strong her silencing charm had been.

That next morning she had rushed after Ron into Harry’s bedroom, trying to stop him from waking him up. The moment Mrs. Weasley had told them Harry had arrived, Ron’s face had lit up and he was out of his chair. Hermione had been the only one to try to stop him, much to her annoyance. She’d known Harry hadn’t slept very long, but Ron’s stubbornness won out as he slammed the door back and ripped open the curtains of the window.

Harry looked so small for a moment, curled up under his blanket, eyes squeezed shut. Hermione’s heart gave a lurch. She would try her best to protect him, to save him. Surely the Dark Lord didn’t need Harry dead. If she could change his mind about muggleborns perhaps she could change his mind about Harry too.

But then Ginny came pounding into the room looking harassed – likely by Fleur who had shown up a few days previous. Hermione didn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes brightened at the sight of her or the flush that blossomed over his cheeks while Ginny resolutely ignored his reaction.

After Mrs. Weasley and Fleur had come up to deliver Harry’s breakfast tray, followed by Ginny being almost bodily pulled from the room by an irate Mrs. Weasley, Harry sighed heavily.

“I need to tell you two something,” he said in a voice that sounded well beyond his years.

Ron snatched a piece of toast from Harry’s plate.

“What’s up, mate?” he asked around a mouthful.

“Dumbledore dropped me off last night and… he told me he’s going to be giving me private lessons.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“ Private lessons ? About what, Harry?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, scooting the plate closer to Ron so he could dip the corner of his toast into Harry’s eggs.

“Didn’t say, just that it’d be ‘a little of this and a little of that’ but I assume it has to do with the prophecy.”

Ron stopped crunching mid bite. Hermione froze.

Did this mean Harry knew what the prophecy said? Was this why he looked the way he did last night? The meaning of the heaviness that surrounded him now?

Harry’s eyes grew distant for a moment as he thought, but Ron – having the emotional range of a teaspoon – bulldozed in.

“But no one knows what the prophecy said,” he said, swallowing the large bite he’d taken.

“That’s true…” Hermione added, looking at Ron then at Harry. “Though there’s speculation.”

The Prophet had been running rampant about the battle at the Ministry, even going so far as to call Harry “The Chosen One”.

Harry shifted, pressing two fingers to the scar on his forehead before dropping his hand.

“Well… the prophet’s got it right I think – for the most part anyway,” he answered in a would-be casual tone.

“It does?” Hermione asked incredulously. She had to stop herself from demanding he tell her. It wouldn’t do to act suspiciously, especially now that Harry was going to be having private lessons with Dumbledore.

Harry nodded, choosing to look at her instead of Ron whose mouth was hanging open, bits of egg falling onto his lap.

“Yeah… I guess the prophecy was originally made to Dumbledore so he let me see the memory inside his pensive. It…” Harry took a deep breath, then exhaled with a gust. “It’s got to be me, I think.”

Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest.

“What do you mean it’s got to be you?”

Harry’s bright green eyes pierced hers and there was a deep look of sadness in his face. A look she thought she might have seen on her own after taking the mark. It was the weight of responsibility, the weight of knowing there were horrifying things to come, the weight of so much on young shoulders.

“I’m the one that’s got to kill him. It said… Neither can live while the other survives. ”

Tears sprung into Hermione’s eyes.

This was it. There was no way she could spare Harry from the Dark Lord. She knew she had a choice – she could decide not to pass this information to Him in the hopes that it could save Harry’s life. But then what would happen to Draco and Theo and the rest of her family if the Dark Lord found out? What would happen to her ?

Harry’s thumb swiped her cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“It’s going to be okay, Mione,” he tried to soothe her.

She shook her head.

“You shouldn’t have to bear this weight, Harry. It’s too much, what if something goes wrong?” she said through a catch in her throat.

What she meant was: you shouldn’t have to die for this new world to begin. It’s too big of a choice, too difficult of a decision to make.

Harry smiled sadly at her, only the right corner of his mouth pulling up.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve gotten pretty good at not dying.”

Hermione gave him a watery chuckle.

They both jumped when Ron cleared his throat, obviously annoyed at being left out of the emotional exchange.

“Dumbledore will help you demolish You-Know-Who, Harry. It’ll be easy,” Ron said a little too loudly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to distract herself by looking through the small box of items the twins had left behind, barely even noticing when one sprung back and punched her in the eye.

Compared to the pain living in her chest, the sensation on her face was a breeze.