The sun was gone by the time Hermione arrived at number four, Privet Drive. She could make out familiar faces inside as she approached.
She didn't bother knocking as she slipped in.
Half the Weasleys were there—Mr Weasley, Bill, Fred, George, and Ron—along with Mad-Eye, Hagrid, Remus, Fleur, Tonks, Kingsley, and, lastly, Mundungus Fletcher.
Harry was the first to spot her. "Hermione." He sounded relieved, pulling her into a hug.
She held on a fraction longer than she meant to—just a second—before stepping back and smoothing her jacket as though nothing had happened.
"You're late," Ron said immediately, arms crossed, tone sharper than necessary.
Hermione didn't flinch. "Things took longer at home than expected," she said quietly.
"All right, all right, we'll have time for a cosy catch-up later!" Moody roared. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a serious problem. He's made it an imprisonable offence to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out—all done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting to you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm already does that. What he's really done is cut off your safe means of escape."
"Second problem: you're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."
Harry frowned. "I don't—"
"The Trace, the Trace!" said Mad-Eye impatiently. "The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens—how the Ministry identifies underage magic! If you, or anyone near you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse will know about it, and so will the Death Eaters. We can't wait for the Trace to lift, because the moment you turn seventeen, you lose all the protection your mother's sacrifice gave you. In short: Pius Thicknesse thinks he's got you cornered good and proper."
Harry frowned. "So what are we going to do?" It sounded like a lose-lose situation.
Mad-Eye laid out the plan: brooms, Thestrals, and Hagrid's motorbike to extract Harry. Hermione had already heard it. She was struggling to stay focused, her thoughts drifting back to her parents.
They were safe. That was what mattered.
"No!" Harry's voice cut through her thoughts. "No way!"
She placed a hand on his arm. "I told them you'd take it this way."
"If you think I'm going to let six people risk their lives—!"
"—it's the first time for all of us," said Ron.
"This is different—pretending to be me—"
"Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry," said Fred earnestly. "Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever."
Harry did not smile.
"You can't do it if I don't cooperate. You need me to give you some hair."
"Well, that's that plan scuppered," said George. "Obviously, there's no chance at all of us getting hold of your hair without your cooperation."
"Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who's not allowed to use magic—we've got no chance," said Fred.
"Funny," said Harry. "Really amusing."
Taking advantage of his distraction, Hermione grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled, then walked over to Moody and dropped it into the flask. She turned back to Harry apologetically.
Moody poured out six glasses of Polyjuice Potion.
Hermione looked down at hers, grimacing slightly. The last time Polyjuice had been involved—Daphne had been the one to drink it—things hadn't gone particularly well. Still, she tipped it back.
Her body fizzed and bubbled as she shot up a couple of inches, her hair shortening sharply.
"This isn't creepy at all," Harry muttered, watching as his friends transformed into copies of himself.
"I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo," said Ron, looking down at his bare chest.
"Harry, your eyesight really is awful," said Hermione, sliding on a pair of glasses.
"Oi, keep your eyes up!" Harry snapped at Ron.
Ron scowled. "Don't snap at me." He pointed at Hermione. "She's the one who—"
Hermione turned to face the once-red-headed boy almost instantly. "The one who what?" she cut him off.
Ron hesitated, jaw working, clearly weighing his options—but the look in Hermione's eyes settled it for him.
"Nothing," he muttered, turning away and tugging on a jacket two sizes too large.
"We'll be off in three minutes," Moody snapped.
The Manor was louder than usual.
Not in any obvious way—there were no raised voices or shouted spells—but the walls hummed with it. The clatter of boots on marble, the sharp crack of Apparition just beyond the wards, the low murmur of strategy whispered behind doors he wasn't permitted to open.
Either that, or Draco had officially lost his mind.
He pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to drown out the noise and focus on the conversation around him.
"Remind me—where did you two go today?" he asked, glancing between Theo and Pansy.
They exchanged a look. Pansy turned to him first with a quiet, telling smile.
"Field trip," she said simply.
Draco had asked them months ago—around the time the Death Eaters had really begun moving in—not to mention Hermione by name, or at all if it could be helped. He didn't want to know where she was, what she was doing, or who she was with.
It was safer that way. For her, not him.
If he could keep her out of his thoughts, Bellatrix couldn't find her.
Theo leaned back against the velvet settee as though he hadn't just returned from helping Hermione Granger erase herself from her parents' lives.
"Lovely house," he added. "Her mum left us snacks."
"Theo." Blaise hissed.
Draco's fingers drifted to his ring. He pressed his thumb against the underside of it.
For all his efforts not to think of Hermione Granger, he was doing a spectacularly poor job of it.
His body went rigid as his aunt's gleeful cackle rang through the halls.
"She's high on something," he muttered, forcing every thought of the Gryffindor girl down.
"Victory?" Pansy offered with a drawl. "They've infiltrated the Ministry, haven't they?"
Theo leaned towards the door, catching a glimpse of the woman passing through the crack. "Or blood." His eyes widened as he registered long blonde hair. "Lucius!" he called out.
Draco turned to him. "Why?" he hissed, just as his father entered the room.
Lucius wore a scowl. "It's Mr Malfoy, Nott."
Theo hummed. "Right, my bad—thought we could drop the formalities." Lucius did not smile.
His eyes swept the room. "Sit up straight, Draco."
Draco rolled his eyes but obeyed. "Don't you have a broomstick to be getting on?"
"I'm not going. Your aunt is, however, if you'd like to wish her luck," Lucius said.
"Sorry—what exactly is happening tonight?" Pansy asked.
Draco looked over at her. "Haven't you heard? They're killing Harry Potter tonight." He feigned enthusiasm.
"Behave," Lucius sneered.
"I am behaving," Draco scoffed. "I'm here, aren't I? I haven't left this bloody Manor all summer. I haven't been sent out on a single mission—you lot just force me to sit in that room—"
Pansy kicked him under the leg.
Lucius's expression darkened. "You're not being sent because you are not needed," he said coolly.
Draco glared at Pansy and leaned down to rub his shin. "Neither are you, apparently," he muttered, more to himself than his father.
"Where's your blonde friend?" Lucius asked, his gaze skimming the group.
"Daph?" Pansy said. "The Greengrasses still have her confined to her room."
Lucius acknowledged this with nothing more than a short nod. "You'll tidy this room," he said to Draco as he left.
"I hate this house," Blaise said flatly.
"You don't live here," Draco muttered.
"I meant it more broadly."
Draco's eyes dropped to his ring again. It was pulsing faintly against his finger—subtle, mimicking a quickening heartbeat.
He sighed and let his posture slump. Off they went.
Hermione could feel her face bubbling as the Polyjuice wore off and her features shifted back to her own. Harry came running out of the Burrow towards her and Kingsley, with Remus following close behind.
She practically flung herself at him, shaking her head. "I thought—I thought maybe—"
Kingsley had his wand levelled at Remus. "The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?"
"'Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,'" Remus said calmly.
Kingsley turned his wand on Harry next—but Remus cut him off. "It's him. I checked."
Hermione pulled away from Harry, her brows drawing together. "What—?" Remus's wand was on her then.
She went still.
"Something only you and Harry know," Remus said, nodding towards him.
Her mouth moved before she could think. "Third year, we used a Time-Turner to save Sirius. Fourth year, I—I trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar. I—I don't—" She looked at Harry, eyes wide, something clicking. "Pansy! Pansy!"
"Okay! It's her!" Harry said quickly, his face going pink. The prospect of explaining what Hermione meant by Pansy to any adult wasn't exactly his idea of fun.
Remus lowered his wand, though he looked mildly puzzled. "Sorry. We had to check. What happened to you two?"
"Followed by five, injured two, might've killed one," Kingsley reeled off. "And we saw You-Know-Who himself—he joined the chase halfway through but broke off fairly quickly."
"I couldn't understand why he'd vanished. But what made him change targets?"
"Harry showed a bit too much mercy towards Stan Shunpike," said Lupin.
"Stan?" Hermione asked, still getting her bearings. "But I thought he was in Azkaban?"
Kingsley gave a grim laugh. "There's been a mass break-out. The Ministry has been sitting on it."
Kingsley kept talking, but the words were falling on deaf ears.
That's what Theo had meant—Lucius was back with Draco, wherever the hell they were.
Her hand found her wrist again, trying to steady herself. Draco's fine. If he weren't, they'd have said something. Just because his father wants to kill Harry doesn't mean—
Harry touched her arm. "Let's go inside. We're still waiting on people."
They moved into the Burrow, through the kitchen and into the sitting room.
George was on the sofa. His ear was gone.
"Oh my god," Hermione gasped.
Ginny turned to her. "Thank Merlin you're alright." She pulled her into a hug.
Hermione hugged her back tightly. "Who's still missing?" she asked as she pulled away.
"Fred and Dad. And Bill and Fleur. Ron. Tonks. Moody." Ginny listed them, her eyes going back to George. She swallowed. "Let's make some tea, yeah? We can talk while we wait."
Ginny moved with quiet determination, her hands trembling only slightly as she filled the kettle and lit the stove.
Hermione slipped into a chair, watching her. "I'm sure they're okay. And George… George will be fine."
The kettle began to rattle faintly on the burner. Ginny steadied it with one hand. "Yeah. Just his ear, right?"
The minutes stretched into hours. Mr Weasley and Fred arrived not long after.
After what felt like an age, there was movement outside—a broomstick materialising out of the dark.
"It's Tonks and Ron!" Ginny called to the others as they headed outside.
Tonks brought the broom down in a long skid, sending pebbles scattering. She staggered off and ran straight into Remus's arms.
Ron was breathing hard, stumbling to find his footing.
Tonks was still panting. "Ron was brilliant," she said, letting go of Remus. "Stunned one of the Death Eaters—right to the head."
"You did?" Hermione said before she could stop herself.
Ron's eyes snapped to hers, and then his wand was in his hand and he was storming towards her. "What did you tell him?!" he snapped, wand levelled at her chest.
Hermione stumbled back. "What the hell?!" She reached for her own wand—damn, she'd left it on the kitchen counter.
Harry stepped between them in an instant. "Ron, mate, it's Hermione!"
"And I want to know what the bloody hell she told them!" Ron yelled. "Because your bloody boyfriend's aunt just tried to blow our heads off!"
Hermione's mouth dropped, her face burning. "How dare you?!" she screeched, and Harry spun around to face her, arm out, blocking her from getting past. "Ginny!" he called.
"How dare you?!" she yelled again. "As if I would ever—I haven't so much as spoken to him since before Dumbledore's funeral, you daft—! Harry, let me go!"
Harry made a firm noise of disagreement. Ginny grabbed Hermione from behind.
"Hey—come inside. Come inside!" Ginny snapped, shooting a look back at Ron.
"I'm telling you, she told him," Ron was muttering to Harry.
Hermione stooped and grabbed a handful of gravel, hurling it at him.
"Hermione!" Ginny grabbed her by the wrists.
Ginny's grip was surprisingly firm for someone who had been trembling only minutes before.
"Enough!" she said sharply, hauling Hermione backwards, her voice cutting through the tension like a Severing Charm. "Do you want Mum out here? Because that's how we get Mum out here."
Hermione's chest heaved, her eyes still fixed on Ron as though she were considering hexing him into next week.
Ginny dragged her into the Burrow, past her parents and brothers, and straight up to their room. The door clicked shut and locked behind them.
"I'm going to kill him," Hermione said immediately, already trying to get past.
Ginny planted herself in front of the door. "No, you're not, because I'll have to help you hide the body."
Hermione paced.
Not the slow, deliberate kind she usually did when working through a tricky Arithmancy problem—but fast, frantic, like stopping meant falling apart.
Ginny watched her for a moment. "You really haven't spoken to him?"
Hermione stopped. Her heart was too loud in her chest. "No." The truth, plain and simple. "I don't—I haven't—" She couldn't bring herself to say more.
She sank onto the bed. Ginny came to sit beside her.
They sat in silence, Hermione staring down at the bracelet on her wrist. Sometimes it felt wrong to still be wearing it. But she couldn't bring herself to take it off.
Ginny broke the quiet. "I've been exchanging owls with Blaise all summer," she admitted.
Hermione looked over at her. "How is he?"
"He's… okay. Mentioned Daphne. Er—I suppose you wouldn't know, actually."
"Pansy and Theo came by today," Hermione said. "They helped me move some things out of my house." She didn't need to explain why. "They mentioned Daphne."
Ginny nodded. "He goes to the Manor a lot. Says Crookshanks has taken over Draco's room."
Hermione's expression softened. "Draco has Crookshanks?" Pansy had told her she'd give him to Draco, but she hadn't been entirely sure he'd accept the cat.
Ginny gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Apparently Draco acts like he hates it. But Blaise says he built a whole tower of books by the window just so Crookshanks can sunbathe. Won't let the house-elves move it."
Hermione exhaled sharply—something caught between a laugh and a gasp—her fingers tightening around the bracelet. The metal was cold against her palm. "That's… very him."
"Is it?" Ginny laughed. "Sounded mad to me."
"Yeah," Hermione laughed softly. Then, quieter: "I miss him. And I hate it, because I don't even know if he's still mine to miss."
"Hey—he has Crookshanks, hasn't he? That's practically a declaration of undying love. That cat isn't easy." Ginny said.
Over the next few days, Mad-Eye's death hung over the Burrow like a heavy Disillusionment Charm that no one could lift.
"Well, you can't do anything about the—" Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes, "—until you're seventeen. You've still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can't we? Or," he dropped his voice, "d'you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?"
"No," Harry admitted.
Hermione had just come down from her and Ginny's room. She smiled at Harry and sat down beside him, helping herself to breakfast. "What are we talking about?"
Harry was about to answer when Ron made a sharp noise and shook his head.
Hermione's gaze moved to Ron. "Something to say?"
"Nothing," Ron said. "Just… Harry and I aren't going back to Hogwarts this year."
Hermione blinked slowly, turning back to Harry with a lowered voice. "You haven't told him?" she hissed, as though Ron weren't a foot away.
Harry flushed, glancing between them. "I was going to," he said quietly. "Just hadn't gotten around to it."
"Hadn't gotten around to it—we made the decision before we even left Hogwarts."
"I know, it's just…" Harry's voice dropped further. "I was hoping things would settle between you two. With the time away from each other."
"Obviously that didn't work, given that he drew his wand on me," she said, with the finality of someone issuing an ultimatum. Tell him, or I will.
Harry closed his eyes briefly. If Voldemort didn't get to him first, Ron and Hermione would manage it between them. He turned back to Ron, who had been watching—and listening—with imperfect patience.
"Hermione's coming with us," he said finally.
Ron stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What?"
"I talked to her about it after the funeral. She agreed to come."
"You're mental!" he said, pointing at her for emphasis.
Ron's voice had risen enough that Mrs Weasley glanced over from the sink, brows knitted, though she didn't interrupt—yet.
Hermione didn't rise to it. She calmly bit into her piece of French toast, chewed deliberately, and replied, "You can't do this without me."
"Watch us."
"Harry wants me there."
Ron scoffed. "Right—and is Malfoy going to turn up as well, then?"
Mrs Weasley paused her washing.
Hermione went still. "Don't talk about him."
Ron's expression darkened. "Why? Afraid I'll say something true?"
"Afraid you'll embarrass yourself, more like," she said, setting her fork down with careful calm that didn't reach her eyes. "Again."
Harry groaned. "Enough! I'll go alone if you two can't get past this. Hermione made a mistake. I made a mistake too, with Pansy. It's in the past."
Ron's jaw twitched. "In the past?"
Harry looked at Hermione, his expression somewhere between pleading and desperate. He didn't care if it was true or not. He just needed her to keep the peace.
Hermione's jaw locked. She tugged her sleeve down over her bracelet and met Ron's eyes. "Yes, Ron," she said at last. "In the past. As in… over."
"You're serious," he said—flatly, as if she hadn't just claimed, however obliquely, to having ended things with someone she loved.
He cleared his throat and turned back to his plate. "Right, then. Good."
Hermione stayed behind after breakfast to help Molly with the dishes. She didn't have to—Ginny offered—but she needed a moment to breathe without Ron's silent fury pressing against her like a wall.
Mrs Weasley didn't speak at first. She washed and passed the dishes without a word while Hermione dried. It was almost peaceful. Steady.
Then, gently: "You know he doesn't handle his feelings well."
Hermione didn't look up. "Yes," she said simply. "I've been aware of that since I got attacked by a troll at eleven on account of his feelings."
Molly exhaled through her nose—somewhere between a sigh and a short laugh—and handed over another dripping plate. "Do you want to tell me what it is you lot are going off to do?"
Hermione glanced at her. "Harry didn't manage to put you off entirely, then?"
The older woman shook her head.
"We'll be safe," Hermione said. "That's all that matters."
The next day, Hermione sat on the floor of their bedroom, sorting through the last few things she needed to pack for the trip ahead.
Ginny watched her go through the books—what to take and what to leave behind—flipping idly through one in the discard pile. "I really do think I could help. If you'd just tell me what you're doing."
Hermione snorted. "You know Harry would never forgive me." She had emptied her beaded bag—the one fitted with the Extension Charm—to double-check everything in it was strictly necessary.
The door swung open. "Heard my name." Harry stepped in, surveying the room. "Merlin, Hermione—" He stopped. "Are you opening a library?"
She pressed her lips together against a smile and tucked another vial of dittany into the side pocket. "I'm bringing only what's essential. Healing Potions, a small Potions kit, a handful of defensive texts, clothes, food rations, backup clothes, spell ingredients, and—"
"You said clothes twice," Harry noted.
"They're different clothes." She snapped. "I've got Polyjuice as well—I nicked it from Mad-Eye's stores before…" She shook her head. "Never mind. Just know I've got everything we need."
Harry hummed, picking up a small green dragon. "And is this a necessity?"
Hermione's eyes landed on it and she swallowed. "Not a necessity, no," she said, turning back to her list.
Draco had given her the dragon at Christmas. She'd named it Ferret.
Harry didn't put it down straight away. He turned it over in his hands—noticing the frayed wings, the green velvet worn soft in patches. The kind of wear that didn't come from neglect or storage, but from being held. Kept close.
He glanced at Hermione. She was making a show of being deeply absorbed in organising vials of dittany, but her shoulders had gone rigid.
He set the dragon gently back beside her pack.
"You should bring it," he said, his tone lighter now. "Just in case we need to, you know… bribe a real dragon with emotional symbolism."
Hermione huffed. "I just told Ron things were over with—" she nodded towards the dragon, "—him. I don't need Ron rummaging for a Healing Potion and pulling out Ferret and figuring out the truth."
Harry snorted. "You named it Ferret?"
Hermione shot him a sharp look, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "I was making a point."
Harry laughed—properly—and it was so sudden and unguarded that even Ginny looked up from her book with a grin.
"Of course you were," he said, once the laughter had settled. "I'm sorry you had to say that. For Ron's benefit."
"If it keeps the peace so we can—" She glanced briefly at Ginny. "—do what needs to be done, then it's worth it." But her eyes drifted back to the dragon.
Ginny muttered something under her breath about how she could be perfectly useful if anyone would just let her.