The light of the sun was bright as it reflected off the Black Lake.

From where she was standing, Hermione had a perfect view of Dumbledore’s tomb – stark white and shining in the afternoon sun.

Having never witnessed a magical funeral before, Hermione had to admit it had been beautiful in an odd way. Though she, Harry, Ron, and Ginny had been far enough back that she missed the majority of the incantations, it looked like complex and beautiful spell work.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Daphne’s funeral would be like… if it had already happened. It was strange to be present for the funeral of the wizard she murdered – receiving almost… closure for the act, while continuing to ache over the death of her sweet and kind friend she had witnessed only minutes later.

When the ceremony was over, she watched Harry pull Ginny to the side. She knew that things had escalated between them the day Draco was cursed. She had asked Ginny what happened after Harry had questioned her and the redhead had gotten a pinched, almost pained look in her face. Though Hermione never asked for specifics, it was clear that Ginny had resorted to some sort of physical distraction in order to give Hermione the time she’d needed.

From the quick look of relief on Ginny’s face, followed by a slight frown, then finally a smile full of bravado, Hermione assumed Harry was “breaking things off” with her. She couldn’t help but be relieved for her friend, knowing the guilt she carried around with her at having to be the one to distract the Chosen One .

Slowly Hermione began to walk towards one of the large trees that hung over the lake, seeking respite from the blazing summer sun. That hollow ache was still present in her chest and she had to fight the urge to wrap her arms around herself. Though no one questioned the way she reacted the night of the battle – holding someone as they died would be traumatizing for anyone, regardless of what house they were from – it was clear from the leading questions Remus, Harry, and Ron asked that they did not understand why she continued to be haunted by it.

So she had to pretend as if she was not.

“There you are,” Ron’s voice floated over to her in the wind.

She froze, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand.

“Hey, it’s just me,” Ron said soothingly.

Well, yes, that’s the problem , she thought.

Slowly she turned, pretending to sigh in relief as he made his way over to her. A little farther back she saw Harry, deep in thought, following behind.

“Sorry, still a bit jumpy I guess,” she said softly, tucking her wand back into the pocket of her jeans.

Ron nodded understandingly, running a hand through his hair and giving her an anxious smile. Ever since Blaise had modified his memory, she’d noticed that he was always a bit nervous around her, though she knew through Ginny he chalked that up as having a monumental crush on Hermione. It didn’t exactly make her feel better, though she hoped that the general hesitation he felt in her presence would be enough to stop him from trying anything.

“Understandable… I think we all are,” Ron answered, stepping a little closer as if he was going to offer some sort of physical comfort.

“Hey guys,” Harry said, finally making his way beneath the shade of the tree.

“How you feeling, Harry?” Hermione asked, looking at the still present red splotches on his cheeks.

Harry sighed, removing his glasses for a moment to wipe a hand over his face before replacing them.

“It just doesn’t feel real, you know?”

She nodded, thinking of Daphne.

“I know,” she said, moving around Ron to squeeze Harry’s arm.

“It’s odd to think that Hogwarts might not open next year,” Ron said, stepping closer until he was a part of the small circle.

Harry sighed again, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

“Even if it does… I don’t think I’ll come back,” Harry said in a firm voice, his eyes flicking between Hermione and Ron – watching their reactions.

“You’re not coming back?” Ron said in surprise.

“What will you do instead?” Hermione asked in a similar tone.

Slowly Harry walked around them until the tips of his shoes touched the gently lapping water of the lake. Hermione could see that he was looking at Dumbledore’s only recently closed tomb.

“Dumbledore gave me a job and I have to do it. I have to find the rest of the horcruxes.”

Hermione’s breath caught.

If he was hunting for horcruxes – a subject she was still trying to research – then it was crucial she be there to report back to the Dark Lord once she decided to tell him. Thus far it didn’t seem to be of any importance given the locket Harry had brought back was a fake, but it was important she stayed close in case that changed.

“I’ll go with you,” she said in a voice that clearly stated there was no room for argument.

“So will I,” Ron echoed.

Harry turned; his eyes wide.

“It’s my job. I – I can’t ask you to do that…”

“You aren’t,” Hermione said quickly, cutting across him. “Harry, we have been by your side for the last six years, what makes you think that changes now? I’m. Coming. With. You.”

“We both are,” Ron said, moving forward to clap Harry on the shoulder. “No use arguing mate, you know you’ll never win against Hermione.”

She watched the moment where Harry crumbled beneath their resolved stares. His head dipped and a small, genuine smile crossed his face.

“Thanks… You – you don’t know how much this means to me…” His voice broke.

Hermione clasped his hand, squeezing tight.

“We need to make a plan.” Was her only response.

…

The trio threw themselves into the planning for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. Hermione tried – and failed – to find more texts about the horcruxes until the morning they were due on the Hogwarts Express when she bolted upright in bed, her eyes wide.

Lavender and Parvati had already left for the summer – both of their parents pulling them out of school the moment they heard of Dumbledore’s death – so she was quite alone in the dormitory.

Slowly, she pushed off the covers and opened the window.

Just in case , she thought. You never know.

Then, she lifted her wand and gave it a twist.

“ Accio Dumbledore’s horcrux texts,” she said clearly.

For a few moments nothing happened, she merely stood completely still in the dormitory half-dressed and hair wild. Then, she heard a soft woosh and three books landed on the floor in front of her.

Knowing she didn’t have time to peruse them now, she scooped them up and placed them in her newly charmed beaded bag, and made her way to the platform.

She’d planned to visit her parents for a couple of weeks before heading to the Burrow. It had been a year since she had seen them and with everything happening in the wizarding world, she wasn’t sure when she would see them again.

At first the visit had been a bit… stilted. Though she had written faithfully to her parents, they had been inconsequential letters. Their responses had been similar – usually only an update on the practice and their wellbeing.

There was also the matter of how much Hermione had changed in the last few years. She was no longer the hopeful and innocent girl they’d known. There was something dark that lived inside of her, the echo of dark magic that crawled beneath her skin perhaps, that made her a little more ruthless – a little colder for it.

But after a few days, things evened out and Hermione found herself in a new rhythm with her parents. She was shocked when they had decided to close the practice for a few days in order to spend time with her – it meant more than she could have ever put into words. They took long walks around the park they would take her to as a child, reminiscing on fond memories. They ate chips and ice cream on a bench overlooking the sea while her father said that he was “Finally going to buy that damn fishing rod” he’d always wanted.

Her parents understood that there were things their daughter couldn’t discuss, especially from the way she skirted around the subject of the next school year. They saw it in the hollow look she’d sometimes get in her eyes or the way her expression would darken when they asked after Draco, Harry, or Ron.

One night about a week or so into her stay, she was finishing the washing up in the kitchen with her dad. It was just like when she was a kid – she would wash, he would dry – however at least now she didn’t need a step stool to reach the sink. He’d put on a jazz record for them to listen to while they washed and she laughed whenever he bumped his hip to hers.

“This was the song I danced with your mum to for the first time,” her father said with a wistful look in his eye.

“Really?” she asked with feigned interest – Hermione heard this story every time he would play the song.

David Granger nodded, shooting her a look.

“I was visiting Brighton with my cousin and we went into this jazz club looking for a drink and –”

“There she was in blue taffeta, dancing with someone else in the middle of the room,” Hermione finished for him with a smirk.

Her dad splashed water at her.

“ Hey , this is my story,” he said in a false indignant voice.

“Sorry, sorry.” She gestured with a soapy hand. “ Continue. ”

But she never heard the rest of the story, because as soon as she stuck her arms back in the soapy water, her dark mark burned.