Chapter XI

The days went on, and life, simple and unremarkable, continued. The snow clad branches outside the window, told them that winter was in full swing. The mornings were dark and cold, and the evenings came early, and as ever, their only comfort was each other. The comfort than was running thin. They spent the days reading, and trying to keep up with the world from which they were slowly detaching. The atmosphere of Grimmauld place was heavy. With Hermione always on edge from weariness and exhaustion, and Ron and Harry trying to keep her spirits up, it was a sombre place.

Harry felt guilty for putting them through this. Specially since he was seeing Hermione drifting away from them, and more importantly, from Ron. She was always tired, and irritable, and she snapped at Ron more often than not. Ron, although despite his best efforts, was losing patience with her. He was trying to be understanding, even romantically considerate, but when he was met with coldness and irritability, he was losing his temper, and his interest in trying to make things work.

Harry saw him take a tray of food to her one evening, and she snapped at him for disturbing her practice. Ron hadn't snapped, nor had he said a word. It was incredibly mature of him, but Harry felt that Ron was reaching his limit. Sometimes when they were alone, he couldn't help but wonder if Ron blamed him for Hermione's state. After all, if it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be practicing such difficult and insanely obscure and vague magic that would stretch her to the limit.

One day, when Ron had left the house for a walk across the block, Hermione broke down. She was sitting at the kitchen table, practicing her incantations, when she suddenly stopped, and pushed her books away. She buried her face in her hands, and started to cry. Harry was sitting across from her, reading a muggle newspaper.

"I'm sorry that I'm like this..." Hermione said one evening. "It's all too much... I feel like I'm losing my mind..."

"Hermione, do you need to take a break?" Asked Harry gently as he pulled his chair closer to her and took her hand.

"No, we are so close now..." She said. "We need to-I need to get over with!"

"We can abandon it altogether if you want..." Harry suggested.

"No... I just... I feel thin.... Like I'm being stretched too far... Like dough being rolled out too thin... I feel like I'm losing myself..." She said, her voice breaking.

Harry drew closer and put his arm around her. "You are not losing yourself Hermione..."

"No you don't understand! I'm losing my sense of who I am! I feel like I'm becoming someone else... Someone I don't know..." She said, her voice trembling. "It isn't just about saying the spells and the right words with the right wand movements... It's a whole different mindset... I'm not fit for it... It's not about magical power... I told you before... It's about intent! I have to want it... And really deeply and viscerally want it..." She paused and drew a breath. Harry didn't interrupt her, he felt like she needs to say it all, while she has brought herself to begin it. "At first, it was like acting... Phinius instructed me to... It wasn't too hard, but the magic stops working when I don't really mean it... It's also true that we haven't incorporated all the different ingredients yet... But those will only be there to amplify the intent... This ritual needs such an unwavering will and intention! That's why there has to be three of us in it... And all the stones and whatnot that we haven't even unpacked yet are only there for support and I guess for dramatic effect..." She finished with a small sob.

"Hermione..." Harry began softly.

"This is why I'm not like myself these days... I have to put my self in that zone, in that frame of mind... To want to penetrate someone deep into their very soul... And there is a predatory aspect to it... It's like hunting... I have to want it so badly... Hunger for it... It makes me aggressive and irritable... And I can't easily snap out of it once I leave the basement..." She said, looking at him with teary eyes.

"The other day, I snapped at Ron for bringing me food... Because I wasn't hungry for food Harry! Do you understand me? I was hungry for something else!" She looked pleadingly at him, like begging him to understand so that she wouldn't have to word it.

"I understand Hermione ..." He said with a nod. "I understand, and I'm so sorry that you have to go through this... I didn't know it would be like this... Phineas didn't tell us..."

She drew away from him and wiped her eyes. "He didn't know that it would affect me like that... He thought it isn't a big deal to just act the part... But it's not like that for me..." She stood up and walked around the kitchen table, it was almost as if she needed to put some space between herself and Harry for whatever she needed to say next.

"The other day... "She began, but she wasn't looking at him. "I came upstairs to grab a glass of water... And Ron was in the shower I think... But you were here... Having a nap on the sofa... And I just walked past you... And I felt... Something... Like a pang of familiarity... Like I knew you... But it wasn't like knowing you as Harry... It was like being familiar with you as... As someone who is familiar with something else... Like knowing a part of you that knows something that we have in common..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "It was like... Something inside you has something that I needed... That I... That I... Hungered for... And I felt it pulling at me... And I felt this deep... Deep carnal desire to just reach and rip it out of you... And take it for myself..." She said, her voice steady and monotonous, but her eyes were wide with fear and horror as she stared at the floor. "I felt like I was going to attack you..." And she lifted her gaze to look at him, and Harry saw the shadow that passed over her face. He saw the truth in her eyes, and he felt a chill run down his spine.

"Hermione..." He said softly, getting up and walking towards her. "I trust you..." He said as he took her hands in his. "I trust you with my life... You're the strongest person I know..." He said firmly.

"Harry... I don't want to mess this up..."

"You won't..." He said, staring into her amber eyes. "Besides, if anyone is going to get me killed it should be you..." He added with a smile.

"Oh don't say that!" She snapped and pulled her hands out of his. "This is no joking matter! You shouldn't even have that thought in your head!" She ran her fingers through her bushy hair, and for just a second, she looked quite insane.

"Hermione it was a joke! I'm sorry!" He said quickly. "I didn't mean it..."

"Do you know why there are three persons in the trinity charm?" She asked him suddenly and angrily.

"Because it's called, a trinity?" He said, trying to defuse the situation.

"NO!" She roared at him. "It's one 'hunter', one 'learner' and one 'victim'! You are the victim Harry!" She screamed, her face red with anger. "You are the one who is going to be penetrated deep into your very soul!"

"Hermione it's just 'looking around' isn't it?" He asked her timidly. "What do you mean by 'deep into your very soul'?"

"No it's not!" She shouted. "It's not just looking around! It's about taking something from you..." She drew a deep rasping breath. "The hunter, huntress in our case, has to stop before the feeding starts... Because if she doesn't, the victim is so vulnerable, that she can take everything... And the victim can be destroyed..."

"What?" Said Harry in shock.

"Yes! The ritual is just a step away from feeding! I know this because I read ahead! I wanted to know what I'm getting myself into!" She said, her voice cracking again.

"Hermione why didn't you tell us this before?" Asked Harry softly. "You've been dealing with all of this alone..."

"Because, you wouldn't want to do the ritual any more... And you very much need it! I wanted to do it, for you... For us... because look what we are getting into..." She pointed at the pile of newspapers in the corner.

"Hermione... You've been carrying this burden alone... My soul doesn't matter in the slightest if the price is your sanity..." He said sincerely as he approached her slowly.

Hermione looked, dishevelled and exhausted, Harry was only now noticing how thin and pale she had become. Her eyes were sunken, her gaze wild and unsteady. Her hair was as bushy as ever, but it looked unkempt and tangled. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Harry I'm scared..." She said in a small voice.

"I'm not scared of you Hermione..." He took another step towards her. "I trust you... You are stronger than anyone I know... You can tame this magic... And I trust you not blindly..." He said as he closed the distance between them and took her hands in his again. Her hands were cold and clammy, Harry could feel every bone and vain in her hands. She didn't pull away this time. "I trust you because I know you... You have a good heart, and you are my best friend... Like a sister I never had... Like the sister I could've had if it wasn't for all the evil in the world... We are up against such evil again Hermione... And I need you to trust me like I trust you..." He said. "Trust yourself as I trust you..." He added.

Hermione looked at him for a long time, her eyes searching his face. Finally, she nodded. "Okay..." She said softly. "I trust you..."

"Thank you..." He said and kissed her forehead gently. Hermione squeeze his hands affectionately, before pulling away gently and picking up her books.

"I... I think I'll take a shower..." She said, her voice relaxed now. "I need to clear my head..." She paused by the door. "And Harry?"

"Yea?"

"Don't say anything about this to Ron okay?"

"Yea... Sure..." He replied, though he wasn't really sure why.

---

The hours stretched into days, and days into weeks, as the three of them prepared for the ritual. Mr. Weasley had finally delivered all the ingredients and with Ron, they had set up the ritual space in the drawing room. The ingredients were an assortment of rare and exotic magical items, most of which Harry could not identify.

There were three large candles, made of a strange black wax that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. There were six small brass bowls, each filled with a different substance, mostly in powder form. These were placed on the table in a triangle, with candles at each corner.

Three large purple amethyst geodes were placed in line with the triangle points, but at a distance of about three feet from the table, this was to create a larger triangle around them to stand inside. An ornate copper chalice of no beauty was magically hovered in the center of the table, and a small dagger with the Black crest hovered next to it. The dagger was to be used by Hermione to draw a small amount of Harry's blood, which would be added to the chalice along with a few drops of her own blood. Mixed with the contents of the bowls, this would create a potion that only she and Harry would have to drink, to prepare for the ritual.

Phineas had kept the details of the blood work a secret until the last moment. He had told them that it isn't a part of the ritual, but a necessary preparation for it, since they were all adults, and the ritual was designed for children. Ron had been extremely hostile to the idea of blood magic, and had flat out refused to be a part of it. Harry had been ambivalent about it at first, but after Hermione researched the effects of the potion, and explained it to him, he had reluctantly agreed. Hermione had been the most accepting of the idea, and had insisted that it was necessary for the ritual to work. She explained that the potion would help create a strong connection between their minds, which was essential.

There were three vials of cyan liquid, which hovered in the air next to each other and at a distance from the chalice and the dagger. The vials were like a magical monitoring system for Mr. Weasley and Phineas to keep an eye on. They would change colour and intensity based on the magical energy in the room, and would alert them if anything went wrong, or was about to.

Besides these, there was one final item, a small cloudy crystal orb, which was to be held by Hermione during the ritual. Phineas told them that the orb would help her focus, and ground her to help her find her way back. But the orb needed preparation too, and Phineas hadn't revealed the means to prepare it to anyone other than Hermione. She told Harry and Ron that she had to meditate with it, and that's all she would say about it. But she always closed and locked the door to their room when she was mediating with it, and Ron had been growing increasingly suspicious of her.

They had drifted quite far apart in the last few weeks. Ron had become increasingly distant and nonchalant, and Hermione wasn't making any effort to make it any better. They maintained a bare minimum of civility, at least in Harry's presence, but when they were alone, they barely spoke to each other. Ron had taken to spending most of his time outside the house, going for long walks, or visiting the shop. Harry felt that the tension between them was palpable, and it was affecting the atmosphere in the house more that ever.

He overheard Mr. Weasley and Ron arguing about it one evening. Ron had accused Hermione of being secretive and distant, and Mr. Weasley had defended her, saying that she was under a lot of stress, and that they should be more understanding. Ron had stormed out, and hadn't returned until late that night. Harry felt caught in the middle, and didn't know how to help. He felt like he needed to take long walks outside himself.

Hermione hadn't mentioned anything about the hunger she had felt that day any more. She had acted pretty much normal towards Harry, but she was still irritable and snappy. Harry caught her staring at him sometimes, with a strange searching look in her eyes, but when he looked back at her, she would quickly look away. He wondered if she was still feeling that strange hunger for something inside him, but he didn't dare bring it up again. Yet he was sure that the hunger wouldn't go away, but it would intensify as the ritual drew closer.

One day, when she had come upstairs from the basement, Harry caught her throwing up in the bathroom. She was breathing heavily, and looked pale and worn out. He asked her if she was alright, and she had scream at him to get away from her. He had backed away, and left her alone. Mainly because she had finally managed to scare him. The look he saw on her face was one of pure desperation and despair. It was the look of someone who was fighting a losing battle with themselves. Neither of them mentioned it again, but Harry had started to retreat to his room more often.

He would've talked her out of doing the ritual, if he thought that he had any chance of convincing her at this point. But she was Hermione, and she wouldn't be swayed so easily. She was determined to go through with it, and Harry knew that there was no changing her mind. She was kind of like himself in this regard. Harry admired her for it, but he couldn't help but worry about her. About her relationship with Ron, their friendships, all three of them, and most importantly, about her sanity, and recovery. He wasn't sure if she would be the same person after the ritual, or if even he would be the same person. He decided to give Phineas another visit, and ask about it.

Harry had been avoiding Phineas for a while, mainly because he didn't want to hear any taunts or lectures. Phineas, as annoying as he was, was a good teacher, even though he kept saying that he hated teaching in life, and he doesn't like it any better now. Yet there was something else that made Phineas helpful, and that was, whatever he knew about how Harry had managed to inherit the house, and whatever made Narcissa call him the patriarch of the Black house. Harry didn't have a shred of doubt that Phineas knew everything about it, but he hadn't asked, and he hadn't said anything either. This was just another mystery that he would have to deal with, in time.

He walked downstairs to the basement. It was a week to Christmas, and the house was quiet. Ron was out at the shop and Hermione had retired for the night. He found his portrait where it always was, yet he wasn't asleep, nor was he pretending to be like always. He was sitting upright, looking at him expectantly.

"Hello Phineas..." Harry said as he approached the portrait.

"Remembered me?" Phineas said with a smirk. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company lord Potter-Black?"

"Huh, I expected you to taunt me with that title much earlier..." Harry said with a small smile. "You're losing your touch Phineas."

"Am I now?" Phineas said with a raised eyebrow. "Well, I suppose the company of women has softened me a bit..." He said with a grin.

"Women? There is only one Hermione Phineas..." Said Harry incredulously.

"And she is quite enough... Somehow you don't even consider her a woman do you?" Phineas asked curiously.

"She's like a sister to me... I might forget that she's a girl sometimes..."

"I've heard that before... And it is quite acceptable... We don't want to complicate things even more, do we?" Phineas said knowingly.

"So you know about her and Ron?"

"You mean the relationship that Dumbledore handcrafted and is now hanging by a thread?"

"I... Yes..." Harry didn't want to admit that their relationship was hanging by a thread, but it very much was.

"Well, I suggest you stay out of it... She's a grown woman, and your friend for whom I haven't got a single ounce of respect... Is a grown man... So let them sort it out themselves..." Phineas said bluntly.

When Harry didn't respond, Phineas continued. "She has confided in me the details of your interactions... On one occasion that she told me about, you performed well... The red head lacks the emotional intelligence to understand this... But you have given her the trust and the confidence she needs to carry out the ritual..." Phineas said. "You have to be the one to give her that final push... She will need to hear your words again... Right before the ritual begins..." He added.

Harry nodded. He half-wanted to defend Ron, but he was making it very hard for anyone to defend him these days. "Is this occasion, the one in which she told me the truth about the ritual?"

"I believe it to be the same one... She is clever... She has given me bits and pieces... But I am a black!" He chuckled. "I don't pry into other people's business... I just wait for them to come to me... And she did... And I am still sharp enough to put two and two together..." He added with a smirk.

"And what do you make of it?" Asked Harry.

"Your trust is what fuels her..."

"I trust her!" Harry said firmly.

"Good. She is scared, and she has every right to be... Guide her, but don't try to protect her, or she will resist you..."

"What do you mean?"

"Just be a friend Potter! It's not that hard..." Phineas said with a sigh.

"I am a friend!" Harry said sheepishly.

"Then we have no problem... The ritual is to be held the night before Christmas Eve..."

There was a pause before Harry spoke again. "I need to know something..." Harry said hesitantly. "There's been something on my mind..."

"Ask away then..." Phineas said.

"She will be back to normal after this right?" He Asked tentatively.

"Define normal..."

"Like... Like herself... Like before all of this..."

"She will be herself... But she will be changed... She will be stronger... More assertive... She will be more in tune with her magic... But she will be herself." Phineas said.

"This thing with the hunger... The predatory nature of it that is straining her... It will go away right?" Harry pressed bluntly.

Phineas took his time before he spoke, Harry could practically see his painted mind at work. After a couple of seconds he spoke in a low voice. "If it doesn't, it is up to you to obliviate her, the redhead and the Weasley senior. But I don't think it will come to that..."

"I'm not going to obliviate anyone!" Harry snapped.

"Then she will be the end of you!" Phineas said sternly.

"What have you been doing down here with her then? We trusted you to be able to teach her!" Harry said angrily.

"I've been teaching her what she needs to know..." He replied placidly. "But I cannot teach her how to control her own mind any further! That part is on her!"

"She said something about-how did she say it-a pang of-"

"A pang of familiarity..." Phineas finished for him. "Yes... That is the hunger, but it is happening only because your soul has known soul magic, and now her soul knows it too! The incantations that we've been practicing are only a conduit to that magic... The ritual will cement that connection... The magic required for soul magic, comes from the soul... That much should've been obvious! Once the ritual is over she should quickly recover."

"Should?" Asked Harry warily.

"Once she stops practicing the incantations." Phineas said in his bored voice.

"She said she fills like she's losing herself... Like she's stretched too thin..."

"She is... But it will go away... Her soul is hungering for growth... Once you tap into the raw power that your soul possesses, it is natural to feel the needs of the soul..." Phineas explained.

"Wait... So you are saying that souls themselves are what cause the soul feeding?"

"Precisely..."

"Then why don't I feel it? I used Voldemort's soul to see into his mind..."

"You didn't use his soul... You allowed it to overflow into your mind... Whether it has overflowed into your soul, or if it has damaged yours, or if some kind of fusion has taken place, we don't know... Hence, the need for the ritual... Remember?" Phineas said.

"Right..." Said Harry.

"What news of the goblins?" Phineas asked, changing the subject.

"Nothing yet... They're taking forever..." Harry said and ran his hand through his hair.

"We will deal with them after the ritual..."

"Yea... We have to deal with a lot!" He sighed. "Good night Phineas..." He said as he turned to leave.

"Good night lord Potter-Black..." Phineas said with a smirk.

Harry walked back upstairs, feeling a little better. He was still worried about Hermione, but at least he had some answers now. He just hoped that Phineas was right, and that Hermione would be okay after the ritual, because he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle it if she wasn't. Obliviating her was not an option. He had no practice with memory charms, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to do it without messing up her mind even more, and he couldn't imagine his life without her, and Ron in it. They were his family, and no matter what happened, he wasn't going to harm them.

There was some noise from the kitchen. Harry thought of Ron immediately and went to check. Ron sat at the table, hunched over a sandwich. He looked up as Harry entered.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How was the shop?" Harry asked, sitting across from him.

"Busy." Ron bit off a chunk, chewed, swallowed.

"How's George?"

"Good. Busy too." He took a sip. "You were downstairs with Hermione?"

"She's asleep. In her room."

"So just you and the geezer then?"

"Yeah."

"How's she doing? I reckon you were discussing her?"

"He believes she's ready for the ritual."

"Yeah... Ready..." Ron pressed the bread flat between his palms. "She's been different lately. More than before."

"I've noticed."

"She's been distant." Ron muttered. "I don't know what to make of it."

"She's under a lot of pressure, "

"Aren't we all?" Ron snapped. "Whatever strain she's under, she's taking it out on me. I can't do anything right for her any more." He shoved his plate away and crushed the wrapper into a ball. "She won't even let me touch her. The other night I tried to hold her hand... She pulled away and called me clingy. So what am I supposed to do? Just stand here and watch her go insane?"

"It isn't easy for any of us." Harry said.

"Yet you're not doing anything to stop her."

"I tried. She won't listen to me."

"Of course she won't! She's waist-deep in it now, obsessed! Just like Rita and S.P.E.W. all over again!"

"Weeks ago I told her none of this mattered if it cost her sanity."

"Oh, you did, did you? That's convenient. You get the private talks while I get the scraps. Since you're a lord now."

"Ron."

"What? You think I'm stupid? I read those books. I know what this ritual is. Soul feeding. Blood magic. The foulest things we've ever touched." He pushed back from the chair and started pacing. "She's drowning in it." He drove his fist into the cabinet. The wood cracked. His knuckles were red in the candlelight but he didn't stop moving.

"It will all be behind us soon." Harry said.

"You love playing lord, don't you? Above us all, moving us like chess pieces. Well you're lousy at chess."

"When did I ever say that?"

"You sound like Lucius Malfoy." Ron snarled. "Dragging us into muck and making sure we drown with you. Manipulating her with your fine words, coaxing her into this. She'd given up until you said it. ‘I trust you more than my eyes.'" He spat on the floor.

"You're an idiot, Ron," Harry snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. "And you don't have a cursed locket to blame this time. You think disappearing to the shop fixes things? Because she wouldn't hold your hand? You let her drift away. Even your dad can't defend you any more."

"I don't need the locket to see how she looks at you." Ron pointed a bloodied finger at him. "It's like she's possessed, and you sit back and let it happen. All for a ritual you pushed us into. I only agreed for Hermione's sake. You, your cursed portrait, your books... You've corrupted her. And now she's lost to me."

He staggered closer, fists trembling. For a moment Harry thought he'd strike, and his hand went to his wand. Then Ron sank down instead, head in his hands, breath rattling through him.

Harry looked down at him. He pitied him, but he couldn't help but feel a deep resentment towards him. It was like that time during the hunt for Horcruxes all over again.

Harry's voice came low and sharp. "She'll recover after the ritual. You'll have her back if you don't drive her away first. But hear me, Ron... Accuse me of having feelings for her again, and you'll find out exactly how much I've learned from those books."

He turned on the heel and left the kitchen, leaving Ron alone to deal with his wounds, physical and emotional.

---

They didn't discuss the argument again, the tension between them was still there, but they managed to keep it under control. Mainly by not talking to each other. Hermione had eyed the sunken spot on the cabinet, and the scars on Ron's knuckles, but she hadn't said anything about it. Ron had been avoiding her, but at least he was home more often.

Hermione was quieter than ever. She moved the portrait of Phineas to the drawing room, and spent most of her time there. Harry could hear them going over the ritual over and over. Besides the well-expected exercises, Phineas was making her act out the ritual. Harry heard him correct her on her stance, her wand movements, and her breathing. He was guiding her like a director with surgical precision.

Once her practice was over, she would retreat to her room, or to the bathroom, where she would stay until dinner with the orb. Ron tried asking Phineas about it more than once, but Phineas brushed him off every time.

"Why does she have to lock us out if it's just meditation?" Ron asked when Hermione stormed passed them with the orb in her hands and took the stairs.

"Because she needs privacy to focus," Came the voice of Phineas from the drawing room. "And because you are insufferable!"

"Hey!" Ron snapped, shouting back. "I just want to know what she's doing!"

"Precisely my point!" Drawled Phineas.

---

The night before Christmas Eve fell upon them like an axe cleaving through an ancient branch, sudden and irrevocable. The frost outside seemed to seep through the walls, settling in their bones. Above them, the dark cloud that had loomed for months swelled heavy, ready at last to break.

They all felt it, the thickening foreboding, the tension that seemed to radiate between them and rebound off the walls, striking them afresh each time they tried to forget. Months of gnawing torment had at last gathered into a moment that promised either resolution or ruin.

Hermione announced that the orb had begun to glow as she sat down for dinner. It was ready for the ritual. The Weasleys had gathered at the burrow as usual, except for Ron and Mr. Weasley who were at the table.

"If all goes well, we'll be having our next meal at the burrow." Announced Mr. Weasley light-heartedly.

"If!" Said Ron bitterly.

"It will go as planned!" Snapped Harry, He wouldn't allow anyone to shake Hermione's confidence, not now, not this close to the ritual.

Ron and Harry locked eyes. Bitter and spiteful, both an inch away from starting a fight.

"Of course it will!" Exclaimed Mr. Weasley. "Hermione has practiced so well, and we are all ready! Failure can wait until the next Christmas!" He raised his cup in a makeshift toast. They all nodded and Hermione managed a faint smile.

"I feel like I need to sleep until the next Christmas..." She sighed.

"You just need some Molly pampering dear..." Said Mr. Weasley with a broad smile as he squeezed her shoulder.

"So when will we get it over with?" Asked Ron.

"We will start 30 minutes to midnight!" She replied without looking at him. "I want everyone at the drawing room not a minute later!"

"Yes boss!" Muttered Ron as he stabbed a potato moodily.

"We'll be there Hermione." Harry assured her.

"We have four hours then..." Said Mr. Weasley as he collected his empty dish and glass. "Ron help me tidy up won't you?"

"Why?" Snarled Ron.

"Now!" Said Mr. Weasley alarmingly.

Ron pushed his chair back with a scrape and stood. His jaw was tight as he followed his father out of the kitchen. The sound of their footsteps faded upstairs, leaving the air heavy and still.

Harry reached across the table and took Hermione's hands. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly.

"You'll do great tonight," he said softly, his thumb stroking her knuckles as if to steady her. "I have no doubt about it."

Hermione's lips curved in a small, uncertain smile. "Thank you, Harry," she said, her voice low. "I hope you're right... I've never doubted myself in magic before, but this, this is different."

"Do you trust me?" Harry asked, watching her eyes.

She looked at him for a long moment. "I do, Harry," she said softly. "I always have."

"Then believe me when I say you'll do great. Better than those old fools from centuries ago. What you're doing, it's the stuff of legends, Hermione. I trust you with every part of me," Harry said, his voice rising with conviction as his grip on her hands tightened.

Her eyes glistened. "I will, Harry..." she whispered, tears threatening to spill as her shoulders sagged.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it, holding it there for a heartbeat before looking back up at her.

"Harry..." she whispered, glancing toward the door. "I have to tell you something."

"Anything," he said quickly, almost too quickly.

"I don't think my feelings for Ron will ever go back to what they were after the ritual," she said, her words coming out low and uneven.

Harry didn't move. He only looked at her, his thumb absently tracing circles on her knuckles.

"The hunger will fade," she murmured, staring down at their joined hands. "But I don't want him any more. I can't stand him."

"Hermione..." Harry said softly, almost a plea.

"Harry, will you come with me after the ritual?" she asked, her grip tightening on his fingers.

He blinked. "Come with you?"

"Yes. Let's go away. I can't go back to the Burrow. I just can't," she said, her voice cracking, almost pleading as she searched his eyes.

From upstairs came the faint sound of raised voices, Ron and Mr. Weasley, shouting.

"Go where, Hermione? We don't have anywhere,.." Harry said, glancing toward the ceiling.

"It doesn't matter," she said, shaking her head. "Anywhere. We can take Ginny too. I have money. We can find somewhere quiet, far away."

"Hermione," Harry began, but she cut him off.

"No, Harry. Promise me. Please promise me you won't leave me after this," she said, her voice urgent, her nails digging lightly into his hands.

"I won't leave you," he said quickly, almost tripping over the words.

"I can't be alone," she whispered. "If you leave me, I'll lose my mind. I need you with me," she said, her voice breaking.

"Anything, Hermione. Anywhere," he said, his voice trembling between sincerity and fear. "Whatever you want. My vaults are full. We have all the time in the world."

"Promise me, Harry. Promise me!" she cried, staring at him as if to burn the words into his skin.

"I swear it," he said. "Whatever you want. We can go to Australia, anywhere you choose."

She studied his face, searching for any flicker of doubt or deceit. When she found none, her expression softened, her shoulders lowering a fraction.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered at last.

She pulled her hands free and stood. As she passed him, she brushed her fingers lightly through his hair, almost absent-mindedly, and left the room.

When Hermione left, Harry stayed where he was, staring at the doorway she had just passed through. The faint warmth of her touch still lingered on his hair, ghostlike. Beneath the ache in his chest, guilt coiled tight. He had promised her everything, knowing that keeping those promises were a stretch. He didn't know what the ritual would do, or if either of them would come out whole at this point. His words had been meant to steady her, to give her that final push as Phineas instructed, but now they rang hollow in his own ears. Pity, fear, and a strange bitterness tangled inside him, because she needed him to be her anchor, and he no longer knew how to stand on solid ground himself.

She had even suggested taking Ginny with them, knowing far too well that travelling alone, the two of them would seem strange, even scandalous. Harry's suspicion that Hermione was falling in love with him, or at least developing some obsessive attachment, was becoming impossible to ignore, like a ghost taking flesh limb by limb before his eyes. He only hoped that after tonight, things might begin to return to some semblance of normal.

He loved Hermione, of course, and though he had always insisted it was the love of a brother or a friend, he couldn't deny the pull of her presence, her intelligence, loyalty, life-affirming energy, and quiet beauty. Everything any man might want. But he was with Ginny, and until just a minute ago, Hermione had been with Ron.

He shook his head vigorously, trying to cast the thoughts aside, yet like some cursed magic eight-ball, his mind spat out another: What if she knows something he doesn't? Why wouldn't she want to go to the Burrow? It was safe. There would be people there to protect her, even from Ron's bitterness.

The creaking stairs announced Ron's return before he appeared in the doorway. His face was tight, his features contorted and his ears red. He didn't pause before he spoke.

"Harry," he said, his voice low but firm, "I won't stay in this house a minute after the ritual."

Harry's stomach tightened.

"I'll go through with it," Ron continued, his hands clenching at his sides, "but only out of respect, for our friendship, and for the feelings I once had for Hermione."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, like dust settling over something long dead. His gaze flicked to Hermione's empty chair, then back to Harry. "That's it. After tonight, I'm gone."

Harry swallowed hard, feeling the tension coil in his chest. He wanted to argue, to make Ron stay, but the boy's pride, his raw sense of hurt, was immovable.

"You are both welcomed to come to the Burrow... But I won't wait for either of you..." Ron added, his voice cold but trembling slightly, as if trying to steady himself.

There was a pause. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, the silence between them heavy with unspoken frustration and sorrow.

"Okay, Ron, I understand..." Harry finally said, his voice quiet, careful. "I think we all might need some time off..."

"Harry..." Ron began, his tone serious, almost brittle. "This isn't like last time... It's over..."

"What's over, Ron?" Harry asked, turning his chair fully to face him.

"Me and her!" Ron punctuated each word sharply, fists clenching at his sides. "My own dad thinks I'm not good enough for her!"

Harry's stomach twisted. "What about us then? We're no longer friends?"

Ron ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I don't know... If she's around... I don't know... if she ended up with you, we'll have a problem. But before that..." He hesitated, eyes flicking away, then met Harry's again with a mix of frustration and reluctant hope. "I think we'll be fine."