Chapter Twenty-Six

A/N: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR. I make no money. Thank you to Shellsnapelover, who betas this story with love and care. Look out, folks, it's the camping chapter.

In the weeks that followed the discussion through the portrait, Hermione, Harry and Ron, relocated several times, setting up camp in various wooded areas. Harry had become adept at casting the Shielding and Masking Charms around their encampment, but Ron was either less able or unwilling to try. She and Harry had agreed that this was due in large measure to the Horcrux. They wore the heavy silver locket in shifts, trading it off every six hours or so. Whoever was on watch wore it the longest, as none of them liked to sleep with the thing on. It was bad enough awake, but... the dreams. She had been the first to discover them on the night that she had spoken to Snape. After she had shaken Harry awake and thrust him out into the night, she'd fallen onto his bed and slept almost instantly. Perhaps this was because she was strung past the breaking point with nerves and adrenaline. Or perhaps it was because the Horcrux had wanted her to sleep, had wanted to slither into her defenseless mind and find the nasty secrets hidden there.

By the light of day, the dreams did not mean much: tangled images in which she saw the Dark Mark burned into her own left forearm and knew that she had chosen it, had betrayed them all; visions in which Snape lay writhing and tortured before her, while she screamed and Harry and Ron laughed; horrible dreamscapes of barren land and blackened trees; of the castle, crumbled and burning; of locating her parents and opening the door to their home to find them mired in filth and excrement--alive but insane. But in the darkness, in the woods, the dreams pursued her and left her panting, slick with sweat.

She had woken with a gasp and reached out blindly for her wand, shouting, "Lumos!"

Ron sat up in the bed across the room.

"Wha? Izamyturnaready?"

Despite the sight of his whole and normal face, Hermione had almost screamed. As she had tried to explain to Ron what had happened, as she spat the loathsome images out, hoping that they would be conquered by the familiar sound of her voice and the presence of her friend, she had felt--she could swear she had felt--the locket twitch. As if it were laughing. As if it were laughing at her. She ripped the chain from around her neck.

"It's this! It's this fucking horrible thing," she had cried and flung the necklace across the tent. Ron picked it up and slipped it over his own head, crossing the room to sit on the edge of her bed.

"It's all right, Hermione," he said nervously. "It was just a dream."

"No, it was not just a dream. We are at war, Ron! We were nearly killed today. And now we are stuck in a tent in the woods, hiding like... like rodents."

"Like rodents?" Ron said, raising an eyebrow.

"Rodents hide," she said, a bit sheepishly. "You know, from owls and things?"

Ron began to chuckle, though he tried to disguise it by coughing into his hand.

"I know it seems funny. But I dreamed--Ron," she said and then the tears came, hot and burning, "I dreamed that I was dying. I dreamed that Snape had found us and that he..." She couldn't finish.

"Shhhh," Ron murmured and put his arm around her. The amusement had vanished from his face. "It's okay. You're safe. Snape can't find you here. You're brilliant, remember? You've made it so that no one can find us. It seems horrible now, but dreams fade. They always do."

"It's that Horcrux," she sobbed. "I feel like it's eating me, like it's eating my heart."

Ron picked the locket up between his fingers and grimaced. "It's bloody awful; I'll grant you that. But I'll wear it for the rest of the night, Hermione. Don't worry. Do you want some tea?"

"No. I didn't pack any when we left Grimmauld Place. Go back to sleep. I'll be all right. Like you said, it was just a dream."

"I'll sit up with you a while longer if you like," he said, though he yawned hugely.

"No. I'm sorry to have woken you. We all need to sleep as much as we can." She lay back down to encourage him to do the same.

Hermione had been convinced that she would not sleep anymore that night, and was surprised to wake at eight when Harry came in from the watch. She blinked owlishly at him.

"Thought you'd have a lie-in?" Harry asked her, smiling. It was rare for her to sleep past six.

She smiled back, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. "It's Ron you should talk to--he got to sleep most of the night. I've only had about four hours, I guess."

Ron was sitting, pale and clammy-looking in his bed. His eyes looked deep and hollow, and Hermione wondered if he believed her now. That thing--it chased you while you slept.

"I'd have slept better if Hermione had kept quiet," he said nastily.

"Sorry," she said, looking at him curiously. He had been so kind in the night. Bumbling, but kind.

"Whatever. Just like a girl, crying over dreams." He hadn't moved. He was still sitting there, wrapped tightly in his blanket as if he had been shivering. As if he had, perhaps, been crying himself.

"Give me the Horcrux back," Hermione said, holding out her hand uncertainly as she would to a strange dog.

"No. I don't want hear anything else about the bloody Horcrux. It's just a piece of metal, Hermione."

She glanced at Harry, trying to urge him with her eyes to take the Horcrux.

"It's my turn, mate. Give it here," Harry said.

"Don't know what the big deal is about turns," Ron said, but he handed it over nonetheless.

Harry slipped the necklace over his head with an apologetic look to Hermione, and thus had begun the cycle. Six waking hours on at a time, unless the wearer had become unbearable, which made things difficult, as the person in question became more stubborn and unwilling to give up the Horcrux the worse its influence became. Ron seemed particularly susceptible to its waking effects. Hermione shuddered to think what his dreams must have been like.

Autumn was upon them, and patience had grown as thin as they themselves had. Harry's sweatshirt hung from his thin frame, and though she had little cause to look into a mirror, Hermione knew she had passed slim and ventured into skinny. Worry and strain were carving her away. When she caught her reflection, now, she hardly recognized herself.

The morning of her birthday was chilly and damp. She'd had the evening watch, and so had been sleeping and Horcrux free for nearly seven hours. She was almost cheerful when she woke, swinging her legs out of bed and pulling on her denims.

"Scourgify," she said, aiming her wand at her clothing. It was a good sign, she thought. She hadn't bothered cleaning her clothes in days. She tucked the Vita Secundus into her pocket, twisted her hair into a knot and peered out of the tent flap. Harry and Ron were sitting on the ground with their backs to her, their heads bent together over a piece of parchment.

"Good morning," she said, and both of their faces jerked up. Ron made to fold the parchment. She saw with dismay that he was wearing the necklace. It had been his early morning watch.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Ron said.

Harry glanced at her and rolled his eyes. "The map," he said. "We were checking on Ginny and Lavender."

"Can I see?" she asked, settling herself on Harry's other side.

He spread the map before her, and her fingers smoothed it flat. She traced the familiar corridors of Hogwarts and fancied for a moment that she could see the smooth stone walls, the suits of armour, the portraits...

"What do you care, Hermione?" Ron said. "It's not like you left someone behind."

"Hogwarts was my home, too, Ron," she said quietly.

Harry patted her surreptitiously under the map. Ron stood abruptly and walked into the tent.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted something," she said to Harry.

"You didn't. You know how he is when he wears that thing. And we're all tired. Here--have a look."

Hermione glanced at the dot that bore Ginny's name. It was moving slowly around the sixth year girls' dormitory. A layer above, Lavender's dot was unmoving in the seventh year girls' room. Parvati's dot was also stationary. They always slept late on Sundays, Hermione thought wistfully. I wonder if my bed is still in there. I wonder if Lavender has guessed where we are. I wonder if they think of us at all.

"Let me see some other floors," she said, and Harry folded the map again, deepening their view of the castle.

"The Arithmancy corridor," Hermione murmured. "And Charms... Can I see the Great Hall?"

Harry folded the map again.

"I don't like to look at this," he said bitterly. "Snape up there, in Dumbledore's place--bloody traitor." He paused and addressed the map. "You had to kill him to get into that seat, you bastard."

Snape's dot was, in fact, at the head of the high table. To his left was Amycus Carrow; to his right, Professor Sinestra.

Hermione looked at Harry steadily. She took a deep breath. She was feeling strong. Maybe today was the day she had been waiting for. It was her birthday, after all; a year since she had taken her vow of loyalty to Snape. "Don't you think it's odd that he didn't come after us in Grimmauld Place? The Death Eaters knew we were there--they stood outside, looking for the house every day. And Professor Snape was a secret-keeper, same as we were. Why didn't he tell them?"

"Professor Snape?"

"Snape, Professor Snape, whatever. He could have come for us, and he didn't."

"Because he knew the place had been warded against him! He knew that we wouldn't just leave it wide open--"

"But he didn't even try!"

"How do you know? Maybe the jinxes turned him away. Maybe he was afraid of whatever else there might have been! Besides, I'm sure he was too busy setting up his posh new office to think about us."

"Do you really believe that? That he just couldn't be bothered? When he could have brought the great Harry Potter before his 'master'?"

"Hermione, I was kind enough not to say I told you so after Snape murdered Dumbledore. But if you insist on dragging all this up again--"

She bit her lip. Not today, after all. "You're right--I'm sorry, Harry. I was just thinking out loud; I wasn't trying to imply--"

Harry's look softened. "It's all right. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know you feel terrible about Dumbledore."

Hermione looked down and busied herself refolding the map. "I guess we should go back inside."

"And face Ron?" Harry said, a timid half-smile on his lips.

"It hasn't frosted yet," Hermione replied. "Maybe there are still some berries. I'll go out and look. See if you can get that blasted Horcrux off of him, and I'll try to bring back some food."

Hermione Disillusioned herself, crossed out of the circle of her enchantments, and took five large steps forward. She raised her wand and slashed a red X into a tree before her. Without it, she would be unable to find her way back to the boys. Once she was outside their protective circle, even she could not see the tent or hear anything that was going on inside. Hermione was the only one of the three of them who went on these food-finding missions. Ron did not consider anything in the woods worth eating, and it was too dangerous to send Harry out on his own. If she did not come back--well, the two of them could carry on without her. But if Harry went out and never returned... that would simply not be allowed to happen.

She counted her steps as she ventured into the underbrush. Twenty-five steps to the east, where the forest grew denser. She swore lightly as she picked her way through the brambles in search of the year's last blackberries. What remained had been heavily picked over by the birds. Most of the berries that she found had a wizened look about them, but she picked them all the same, and was delighted to find a few raspberries that had been overlooked by the wildlife forty five-steps out. She turned south down the embankment.

Thirty steps to the river. She Accio'd two skinny salmon from the water, wincing as they slapped wetly into her palm. She Stunned the fish and laid them on the ground. Then she bent and conjured a large water skin, filling it to the brim. Gathering the salmon, she turned back toward the forest. Thirty steps north. Forty-five back toward camp.

For a heart-stopping moment, Hermione could not see the tree she had marked. Panic rose hot and sharp at the back of her throat, and she felt her knees tingling with the itch to run pell-mell in the first direction that seemed likely. Stop, Hermione. Think. You can't be more than forty-five steps in the wrong direction. Go back to the river and try again. Forty-five steps. Forty-five steps? She considered just starting to scream and hoping that one of the boys would come for her. Forty-five steps stood between her and safety.

Suddenly, she heard Ron's voice in her mind. Are you a witch or not? Immediately, her breathing slowed to normal, and she felt brief gratitude for Ron's sarcasm. At least it would aim her home. She set down the fish once more and laid her wand flat in her palm. "Point Me," she said clearly. Her wand spun in her hand and came to rest pointing only a few feet from where she stood. The tree had been right in front of her. Merlin, she thought. It's not even breakfast, and I'm already falling to pieces.

"I'm back," she called and waited for one of the boys to come and help her through the enchantments. In a moment, Ron stuck his arm through. She had learned not to try to bumble back in on her own. Once, she had fallen and smashed into one side of the tent, nearly crushing Harry, who had been sleeping inside. She erased the mark on the tree, took Ron's hand, and crossed back inside the circle.

Ron glanced at the Stupefied fish in her hands and sighed.

"Well, there's no use griping about it," she said as cheerfully as she could. "At least there's enough for all three of us." She ducked into the tent and deposited the fish on the counter of the kitchenette. "Here, you take the water. We can use some for washing and some for drinking."

"Yes, Mum," Ron said, but he already sounded a bit better now that the Horcrux was off him.

Hermione charmed the fish out of their scales and off of their bones and threw them into a pan. She hadn't quite gotten the hang of all the household charms yet--she'd never been allowed to use them at home, and there was no need for them at Hogwarts, but she knew them well enough, and it frustrated her that she seemed to have no knack for cooking. Why should cooking spells be any different from other spells? she thought angrily. I can duel, but I can't cook? She snapped her wand at the pan to start a fire under it.

She washed the berries in a shallow basin and doled them out onto three plates. She looked back at the pan only when the smell of it hit her. The fish was blackened on one side and seemingly raw on the other. Damn. She prodded the fish with her wand, flipping it over and hoping that it was still edible.

***

The three of them sat silently for a time, chewing the charred fish.

"So, what's next?" Ron said, finally, and Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. They had this conversation nearly every day. The outcome never changed, and yet it seemed impossible not to have it. One of them would raise it, and the others would admit that nothing brilliant had occurred to them in the night. Despite the fact that she had read the Horcrux books upward of twenty times--she had most of Secrets of the Darkest Arts by heart--they were no closer to finding more Horcruxes or destroying the one that they had. And she had made neither heads nor tails of the book that Dumbledore had left her. She knew she must be missing some obvious clue, but The Tales of Beedle the Bard remained, for the time being, nothing more than a worn old book of children's stories.

This was what they had come to. She wasn't angry with Harry; she knew he was just as frustrated as she and Ron were. If truth were told, the person she was truly angry with was Dumbledore. What had he meant by sending the three of them out into the world with nothing but an old snitch, a Deluminator and a book of nursery stories; with no more plan than to get rid of the Horcruxes? Would it really have been so hard to suggest how to destroy them, to perhaps make some guesses as to where they might be? It seemed to her that the old wizard had been deliberately vague. And when she thought of the way he had spoken to Snape--what Dumbledore had accused him of--bile rose in her throat. She hoped that she would one day get to stand before his portrait and tell the former Headmaster exactly what she thought of him.

The afternoon passed in tedium. Harry passed the Horcrux to her just after noon, and he and Ron settled in for a nap. Hermione gathered her books and the bag and settled in a mouldy smelling armchair in the front room of the tent. She had the vague hope that Snape would contact her today. She knew it was unreasonable--what would he say even if he did? But she couldn't help thinking of him. He had not told her anything about what was going on at Hogwarts, and she worried about his state of mind. The man was as close to unbreakable as anyone she had ever known, but it had to be a strain, living under Dumbledore's watchful eyes, hated by everyone, his life nothing more than one long pantomime, and he the only player.

She thought back over their last conversation. It had seemed hopeful to her at the time, their alliance against Dumbledore, and she hoped that he had drawn strength from it. There had been some unnamable quality to their exchange that had reminded her of their winter lessons--a kind of smirking camaraderie that she had missed. And it had seemed to her, too, that in their formality with one another there was an unspoken mutual promise to guard their relationship from scrutiny and scorn--it been placed in priority alongside their other duties, and in some way that she could barely articulate, its position there had given it an importance that reassured her.

She wished idly that she had Harry's map. It would be nice to see what Snape was up to, even if he was simply sitting in his office. She could press her finger over his little dot as if she were laying her hand on his chest, and no one would be there to see her or to sanctimoniously remind her that Snape had killed Dumbledore, a fact of which she was well aware, thanks much.

And while she was on the subject of those who were entirely too sure of their own positions, what on earth had Dumbledore meant by asking Snape about his Patronus? Clearly, it was somehow related to Harry's mum, as Dumbledore had all but said that he'd been convinced that Snape would never love anyone else. Whenever she thought of this strange revelation, her heart sped up and her fingertips tingled. It was not that she'd thought he'd never cared for anyone but her, but--

Her mind worried at the notion of the Patronus, and she remembered a long ago conversation in which Harry had mentioned that Tonks's Patronus had changed... had changed into a wolf... had changed because she loved Lupin. Had Dumbledore been looking for a Patronus that somehow reflected Lily Potter? And if he had... well, he had obviously been satisfied with what he saw. Absentmindedly, she twisted the heavy silver chain around her neck. Did it mean that Snape still loved Lily Potter? Was it possible that all this truly was for Harry--for some weird, twisted devotion he had to a dead woman? Was she just another pawn in this psychological game between Dumbledore and Voldemort? Had Snape used her to protect Harry?

Slowly, she was filled with a deepening sureness that she had been duped, that Snape was simply carrying out whatever duty he had to save Harry. The feeling of burning certainty seemed to travel through her bloodstream, settling in her heart. Hadn't he told her as much? She rifled through his words in her mind. Potter, you fool! It was all for Potter... You recall, I'm sure, that we married for a reason... Your job is to save Potter.

Self-hatred coursed, quick and burning, under her skin. Shame. He would never want her--why had she thought he had? She'd somehow misunderstood and had got herself all tangled up. Oh, how he would laugh if he knew. He would laugh, and Dumbledore would say, "I told you, Severus. Young girls are susceptible to this sort of nonsense..."

She rose determinedly and turned toward the tent flap... She was leaving. This was all senseless anyway. They had no plan, and she was deeply tired of pretending that they did. She would go to Australia and find her parents. Once she'd lifted the enchantment, she'd snap her wand and forget these conniving wizards and their impossible plans, their unwinnable wars...

But first, she had best take off this disgusting necklace. Let Harry and Ron cope with it if they could; she wanted nothing more to do with the machinations of old men and boys who seemed to think she was something less than human that they could use to achieve their ends...

She fingered the locket and made to lift it over her head, but it had somehow grown quite heavy. She grasped it more firmly and tried to move it. The damned thing seemed to have become stuck to her somehow, and if she wasn't mistaken, it was growing noticeably warmer. She scraped her fingernails under it, but gained no purchase on the metal that felt almost molten now, as if it were trying to burn its way into her body by force.

"Harry!" she screamed. Nothing happened. Nothing happened because they were already gone. They'd snuck out somehow... maybe Disillusioned themselves and crept through the tent right before her, trusting her swotty, know-it-all nose to be pressed into a book as usual, and now they'd left her here alone, alone in the woods, alone to be destroyed by this monstrous thing.

"What's wrong? Hermione!"

Harry was there, but it wasn't Harry at all, it was Voldemort, disguised to look like Harry, and he'd come to claim her at last, to show her exactly what the Dark Lord did to worthless little Mudbloods like her. He was going to burn her and eat her, and it was exactly what she deserved.

The next thing she knew, Harry had wrenched the necklace from her chest and whipped it over her head. "Hermione!"

She was in the same chair that she'd been in when she settled down with her books, but it was long past dark now. The only light in the room came from Harry's wand. The day had drifted past while she'd been lost in the maddening world of the Horcrux. She had been wearing it for almost ten hours. It was impossible to know whether she had slept or simply dreamed--athough the roiling, nightmarish quality had left the room, she still remembered her visions clearly.

"What the ruddy hell?" Ron was saying as he, too, emerged from the bedroom.

Hermione was almost unable to speak. "The Horcrux... I don't know, but I might have fallen asleep--"

"Merlin, Hermione. You about scared the life out of me," Ron said dismissively.

"No one wears this for more than three hours at a time," Harry ordered suddenly. He was pale and wide-eyed. "Hermione--when I tried to get it off you--it was sticking. I--I was afraid for a minute that I was going to have to carve it out of your chest. It felt like it weighed a ton, and you... you weren't sleeping. At least, not any kind of sleep I've ever seen."

She shuddered. But already, sensation was creeping back into her limbs. Harry believed her. It was crazy, but Harry believed her.

Ron snatched the necklace from Harry's fist and peered at it in the dim light of his wand. "It seems the same to me," he said and slipped it over his head. "I'm sure you fell asleep, Hermione. We all did. And all the better. It's one less day to spend staring at the walls of this tent."

Neither Harry nor Hermione replied to this.

"I'm hungry," Ron said finally. "Do you think we could get some more fish--"

"Shut up!" Harry said suddenly.

"What? You're telling me you're not hungry?" Ron said, all injured innocence.

"I can hear someone!"

No one dared to breath as they waited to see if the enchantments would hold. There was a furious shuffling and crunching of leaves outside, and the low babble of voices, but none came closer to the tent, where the three of them sat frozen and waiting.

Hermione rose soundlessly and took her wand from her pocket. She pointed it at her bag and whispered, "Accio Extendable Ears." She threw one each to Harry and Ron and jammed her own into her ear, creeping toward the entrance to the tent. She slid the flesh colored string under the flap. On their hands and knees, the boys did the same. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, the three of them listened.