Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione

A Mad and Last Ditch Plan

Friday, May 29, 1998

12:04 A.M.

Hermione turned her long-lashed eyes toward Ginny, wondering where to even begin.

Although the littlest Weasley was a year younger than Hermione, Hermione had always felt a mixture of parental concern and tremendous kinship toward Ron's younger sister. Although her friendship with Ron and Harry was as strong of bonds as friendship could ever be, she had always longed for someone with whom she could share all her concerns about the typical "girl stuff." Harry and Ron, bless their hearts and try as they might, just couldn't figure out the feminine mystique, and Hermione wasn't about to take a few weeks out of her valuable and possibly short-lived life to explain it to them.

Ginny, however, had been the answer to Hermione's prayers, so to speak, and the girls' relationship had become even stronger after Ginny had joined up with the D.A. and Harry. As the war began to silently, indifferently snatch the lives of far too many Hogwarts students, family, and friends, Ginny and Hermione were rarely seen without the presence of each other or Harry or Ron.

That was what had brought all six of them together, really.

Hermione eventually decided the short and sweet – or sour, depending on how one looked at it - version would probably be best. No padding, no working up to it. If there was one thing Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco, and Lavender could handle, it was the truth, no matter how ugly it was.

"I've spoken to Dumbledore," she started heavily, gnawing at her lower lip thoughtfully in an effort to stall the inevitable. At the same time, she noticed Harry send her a secret, familiar, teasing grin, as he often liked to do when she was acting far more serious than the situation called for.

If only you knew, Harry.

Still, she couldn't stop her solemn expression from softening considerably, her affectionate face sending him a silent hello.

Harry.

With him, she had been through thick and thin, whether it was searching for a giant named Grawp, plunging through a misted, moonlit Forbidden Forest while being pursued by a werewolf, or fighting Death Eaters back-to-back after unwittingly stepping out of Three Broomsticks and into the middle of a battlefield during the last Hogsmeade visit. She and he had never missed their fair share of brushes with death... and they had both survived every encounter.

"Apparently, the information we've been receiving is wrong. He doesn't feel that we have the means to win this war," Hermione continued slowly, pausing when five startled pairs of eyes fixed onto hers. Mentally, she shifted through everything Dumbledore had shared with her. "And quite honestly, now that I think about it, neither do I."

Ron's completely readable, ever-mischievous hazel eyes abruptly connected with Hermione's. Now, however, there was less sparkle to them than usual, and he remained completely oblivious as his hand slowly went limp, the few remaining chocolate frogs squirming out of his grasp and frantically hopping away.

She had to smile. There was no doubt that she and Ron had had their share of fire fights. There was no doubt that, for a few years, a very real spark had existed between them that could have, perhaps, ignited to something more... had not a series of inalterable events been set into motion that had sent the both of them into very opposite directions.

Ron had discovered the glory of the Quidditch, the excitement of battle that war had brought and his particular adeptness at duelling, and the fun-loving love of Lavender Brown.

Hermione had discovered her parents—her entire home, really— lying in smoking, fiery ashes on the day that she had returned home from her fifth year, the excitement and release that nearly every form of dancing imaginable had brought to her during the long, difficult summer after her parents' murders, and the fact that Draco Malfoy was actually an excellent dancer and in constant supply throughout the school year.