The boy in the hammock

Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

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Things moved very quickly after it became clear that all Voldemort's horcruxes were gone.

The Order went into hyper-planning mode, deciding how and when to infiltrate the manor and stage a final showdown with the current occupants. Meetings took place around the clock for the following two days, making the old house buzz with excitement. Eventually it became clear that one group would stick with Harry as he sought out Voldemort while everyone else rounded up the remaining Death Eaters. The idea was to catch the whole lot, culminating in the death of Voldemort and Harry's triumphant victory.

This is what had Hermione suddenly concerned.

She had always been an optimist about the outcome of the final battle. She trusted that Harry would destroy Voldemort and save the wizarding world.

But Hermione was also a realist, and she could see that in the excitement of the planning, the Order was overlooking a rather key possibility.

Harry may not survive the final battle.

Nobody really understood the true nature of his connection with Voldemort, and frankly, Hermione had always found the wording of that prophecy to be a little too vague for her comfort. While the Order was fussing about, dreaming of their glorious finish, Hermione was cradling this hidden terror in her chest that she was about to lose Harry forever. It made it hard to seem enthusiastic as everyone raved about the impending battle.

She knew she wasn't the only one who had fixated on the possibility, either.

Since Narcissa had brought back Nagini's head, and the truth had sunk in, Harry had been walking around the house in a dream-like state. He participated in the planning, of course, and talked excitedly with Ron about everything they would do after Voldemort was gone, but Hermione could see the doubt in his eyes. He knew. He knew it was just as likely that he would die as it was that he would survive. He just masked it as best he could and put on a happy face.

Hermione saw right through it. Ron had yet to notice, but he was always a bit slower to catch on to things like this. He usually needed things spelled out in order to deal with it properly.

It was with this knowledge that Hermione snuck away from the kitchen one morning and found Harry and Ron in the backyard, tossing a quaffle around while they waited for the next planning session to begin. Hermione silently warded the yard so they wouldn't be interrupted for a little while - she needed to talk to her friends alone.

"Harry? Ron? Could we chat for a minute?"

Harry turned his head sharply and the quaffle sailed past him. He looked worried, and Hermione realized that he knew she had figured him out.

"Shouldn't you be off with your beloved?" sniped Ron. Some days were better than others with him. It's like he alternated between being okay with Hermione's relationship to being childishly, dramatically jealous.

"I'm not in the mood, Ron," she sighed. "This is bigger than me and Draco. I'm asking you to back off on that for a moment so we can all talk. Can you do that?"

Ron looked a little guilty. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Fair enough," she replied, relieved that he wasn't fighting her. "I appreciate the effort, though. Can we sit?" She gestured to the bench in the tiny garden, and they all made their way over. The boys sat on the bench while Hermione sat on the large rock facing them.

Then she hesitated.

Her plan had really only gotten this far, she realized with surprise. She figured it would be harder to get them alone, and had only mapped out different possibilities for cornering them. Now she had to articulate a lot of very heavy emotions in one go.