New Wave
I'm alive
I don't credit the source
I just drive
And then the fog rolls in
And then they're blind
Breaker - Deerhunter
June 12th, 1998
Harry, Hermione, and Ron had known the risk they were taking in embarking on the Horcrux Hunt. It was, in fact, probable that nothing would go as planned and that multiple contingencies would need to be considered. But it was only a bud of concern in each of their minds, and none of them dared bring it up for the fear of actually needing a backup plan.
Big mistake. After the disastrous Ministry heist, which left Ron badly splinched as a result of barely escaping Yaxley and inadvertently revealing the location of 12 Grimmauld Place, it was time to let go of any pretense and the idea that bullheaded confidence would ensure success. It was time to admit aloud that they were knocking on Death’s door and hoping it was out buying groceries.
It was only after Ron had fallen asleep inside the tent that Harry and Hermione spoke without giving tense orders.
“How did this happen?” Harry asked miserably, resisting the urge to shout his frustration.
“We were naive,” Hermione said simply. The successful retrieval of the locket did little to lessen the traumatic image of their best friend nearly bleeding out on the forest floor.
“He could have died. Fuck, he could have died.” Harry shook his head and felt his chest squeeze at the reminder.
There was a lump in Hermione’s throat as she looked down at her hands, Ron’s blood still beneath her fingernails. “We know what we signed up for, Harry.”
“It didn’t mean signing up to throw yourselves headfirst into slaughter,” he countered immediately. Then quietly, he added, “I’m the one that’s supposed to die. Just me.”
Hermione wanted to argue, to give him hope or a will to survive anyway, because it wasn’t fair. He was just a boy—they were all just children. But what he said was true. She’d known the moment Harry told them about the prophecy. So she said instead, “It’s only going to get more dangerous, if today is any indication.”
He looked at her, ready to accept the hurt that was inevitable—they were going to leave him. With a heavy exhale, he said, “Look, if you or Ron want to go—“
“We know what we signed up for,” Hermione said again, imploring him to understand that they were in it for the long haul. They’d followed him into the fire for the last six years, and the habit proved to simply not be of the breakable sort. Loyalty was not a bridge so easily burnt when it was made of steel.
Harry saw it in her eyes and swallowed back the emotion that suddenly washed over him. “Okay.”
A stillness fell over them for a moment before Hermione continued, “The mistake was ignoring the variables. We have to start basing our plans off of everything that could go wrong. We can’t go in expecting to use Plan A and become blind as soon as something’s off. We need to prepare for every possible outcome if we’re going to win this!” She paused, then with a fierceness that made Harry sit up straight, she said, “We’re taking him down, Harry. No matter what.”
Harry had sacrificed himself in the hopes of propelling them toward a better world. Instead, it had left them in anything but. Still, trying his damnedest to fulfill a duty that no mortal ought to have bore had to mean something.
Ron and Hermione were set to inherit this duty—defeat Voldemort, end the war—it had been decided the moment their bond was solidified with triumph over a stray mountain troll in the girl’s bathroom. So the heartbreak of losing a brother was forged into an iron shield as the living room filled with boards pinned with paper and string.
Plan Z never made it past talk between the three of them; the earlier fear of needing a contingency plan clung to this circumstance. They couldn’t dance around it anymore, not when an abyss was threatening to swallow them and their world.
Ron saw it first in the way they pitted sibling against sibling in an arena that would never leave his mind. He saw it in the way they broke Ginny first when none of them would act against their baby sister. He saw it in the way Fred and George would rather die by their own hand before harming one another. He saw it in the way Charlie begged Bill to just do it, that he had a wife to live for. He saw it in the way Percy apologised with tears in his eyes, as if he could’ve stopped this alone if he hadn’t been so foolish before. He saw it in the way Bill told him to go and find Hermione, that they can end this before he shoved his wand into Ron’s hands and threw himself into the fray.
Hermione knew she was lucky to arrive at the safe house that night without any major physical injuries. As a result, she fell back into familiar grade school compliance, waiting for instructions and reading history when it was too late for that. Ron’s arrival lifted a weight off of her chest, but a new weight replaced it soon enough. She may not have known what made him arrive in near-death or how he came to witness each of his siblings dead, but she knew she was lucky. And that things were worse than she’d dared imagine. Her compliance stopped now. There was a war to end.
The living room filled with boards pinned with paper and string.
***
June 13th, 1998
A Disillusioned owl had knocked on the window at dusk, giving them a fright that the letter promptly apologised for before requesting a response that reported the house’s occupants as well as their health status. To verify the authenticity of the letter, a small purple phoenix was stamped precisely one and a half centimetres below the center of Professor McGonagall’s coded signature, which read G.R. Hatstall in green ink.
Their reply was brief, just two lines of text.
The Knight: ❤❤❤
Polyjuice: ❤❤❤❤❤
***
June 17th, 1998
Somewhere by the sea
Using the spare Unregistered wands to avoid detection, Ron and Hermione Apparated to an airy beach house. The sky was blue, fluffy white clouds floating their way across it as warm sun fell atop of them. In another time, it would’ve been the perfect place for a summer holiday.
The double French doors swung open, revealing Minerva McGonagall flanked by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley, all three pointing their wands at the newcomers. Ron and Hermione did the same, their stances shifting in case all was not as it appeared.
Common courtesy allowed the hosts to question first. “What was the last thing I said to you and your siblings?” Arthur directed toward Ron, looking tense and devastatingly hopeful. Voice rough, Ron replied, “‘We’re tickling the sleeping dragon now. Be careful, and good luck to us all.’”
Arthur’s face crumpled as he moved toward his son, but Minerva pulled him back, reminding him that there was still another person to vet. Her chin lifted toward Hermione. “What did I say to you after your sorting?”
“You didn’t,” she answered raspily. “Say anything, I mean. You squeezed my shoulder and smiled, professor.”
The stony look on Minerva’s weathered face melted to relief. “Correct, Miss Granger.”
The tension of the scene slipped away as wands were quickly lowered and Molly Weasley came rushing out from behind to join Arthur in embracing their remaining son. They shook together, backs heaving with the force of their sobs when Ron’s head bowed and extinguished the tiny flame of desperate hope.
Hermione turned away, unable to intrude on their grief. A gentle hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed. She met her former professor’s determined eyes with ones of her own.
“Let’s get to work.”