He didn't wait for her to respond; he kissed her as though he were trying to brand her with his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
When the hands on the clock pointed to five sharp, she drew back. “I have to go. I have more work.”
She redressed quickly and drew her wand to apparate. Then she hesitated and stepped towards Draco.
“Be careful, Draco. And just — keep in mind what I said, if you get a chance—”
His expression was so hard he could have been carved from marble. “I'll see you after the battle.”
Her fingers twitched. “Please, be careful, Draco.”
Don't die. The unspoken words hang in the air.
She swallowed and apparated away.
Grimmauld Place was almost throbbing with nervous activity. There were dozens of Resistance leaders whose names Hermione didn't even know in the war room, meeting with Moody and the rest of the Order. The attack was being planned as both a rescue and final confrontation.
Hermione was in the hospital ward working on preparations with Poppy, Padma, and the other field healers and nurses the Resistance had.
In the middle of the afternoon, Bill's Irish Setter patronus came bounding into Grimmauld Place in search of Moody. Alastor left, leaving Remus and Tonks to run the meetings for an hour.
Hermione went to visit Ginny. It was off-schedule, but she didn't know how much time she'd have for the next several days.
She handed Ginny a counter-potion for the spattergroit glamour and flicked her wand to remove the additional glamour spells on Ginny's stomach.
“How are you?” she asked, sitting down as Ginny's skin cleared, and her stomach slowly swelled into a bump set low in her pelvis.
“Bored out of my mind, especially when I can hear everyone rushing around out there getting ready for tomorrow,” Ginny said. Her face was pensive and regretful, but her eyes were bright. “Do you think it really could be the final battle?”
Hermione twitched a shoulder and looked away. “If it's not, I don't know what we're going to do.”
“Here, he's awake. You can feel him kicking.” Ginny caught Hermione's hand and pressed it against her stomach, just above her hip bone. There was a pause, then Hermione felt a faint flutter under her palm.
“Feel that?” Ginny said.
“Yes, I felt it.” There was another flutter and then stillness for several minutes.
“He probably went to sleep ” Ginny said, making a face. “You should feel him at night, I think he does somersaults.”
“I wonder where he gets his insomniac troublemaking genes from,” Hermione said in a dry voice as she stroked her fingers along Ginny's stomach.
“Can you imagine him at Hogwarts someday after the war is over?” Ginny's eyes were shining.
Hermione met Ginny's gaze and managed a wan smile as she withdrew her hand. ”I pity the professors.”
Hermione waved her wand and brought up all the diagnostics.
Ginny put her hand on Hermione's wrist. “You don't need to. I've been practicing, and I can pretty much do all the checkups. Just — talk to me. How's Harry? Is Ron alright? Have you seen Mum lately? I've got all these letters from them, but it's always just half the story.”
“Harry is—,” Hermione hesitated and put her wand away, “Well, he's doing better at the moment. Padma and I have had him in the hospital ward for the last few weeks, to get his weight up and monitor his sleep. So, he — he's seeming a bit better, I think. He still has a lot of nightmares, I've been trying to get him to practice occlumency, but he won't listen to me about it. With the attack coming up, he's finally stopped sneaking out and getting into fights. But he's making up for it by smoking more.” Hermione gave a small sigh. “He's been very quiet lately, even with Ron.”
Hermione fidgeted with her nails. “Ron's — Ron's holding on. He knows Harry is relying on him, but he's still broken-hearted over Lavender, and he still thinks Kingsley's death is his fault. But he's — he's holding on.”
“Do you think it's going to work tomorrow?”
Hermione felt as though there were a pit of acid in her stomach. “Well — the Arithmancy numbers are good. Flitwick and Minerva both looked over my theory, and so far we haven't heard anything that indicates it's blown up prematurely.” Her heart was pounding violently in her chest, and she kept speaking more and more rapidly. “If it doesn't go off, most of the Resistance is going to be there waiting and—”
“I wasn't referring to your part. I meant, do you think the Order can win tomorrow?”
Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry. “We're going to try.” She looked towards the door. “Ginny, I really can't stay. I'm supposed to take Dreamless Sleep and get a few hours of rest before tomorrow. I still have a thousand things to do.”
“Oh right. Of course.” Ginny deflated. “I won't keep you.”
Hermione pulled out vials of potion to restore the spattergroit glamours and watched carefully to ensure they took effect properly.
“I'll let you know how it goes, as soon as we know,” Hermione said, glancing towards the door.
“Tell Harry I love him. Tell him I believe in him,” Ginny's voice trembled.
Hermione turned back and gave her a small smile. “I will.”
It was the earliest hours of morning when groups of the Resistance started heading out towards Scotland. Hermione went to triple-check the potion inventories. Padma had already checked the inventory, but there were some potions Padma didn't know about that Hermione wanted to count the stores on. She was halfway through her count when she felt her personal wards breached.
She snapped a compartment closed and was recounting Skele-Gro vials when Harry appeared at the door.
She paused and looked over at him.
Harry rarely came to see her before he left. He'd leave on missions without a word, as though leaving things open-ended meant they'd surely carry on once he came back. Or he'd stop by to give quick, “I'm heading out. See you in two weeks.”
There was never any mention of risk. It was like the summer holidays in school. Just a brief parting. The reunion was always regarded as inevitable.
He looked different. His stay in the hospital ward had gotten his features to fill out slightly, and his eyes seemed less dull and sunken. His colouring was pale but not so grey.
There was a pensive forlornness about him. The skinny boy in oversized clothes with broken glasses, who bought a trolley cart worth of snacks for his friend. He felt bruised. Not physically, but emotionally; as though he'd been beaten into the ground.
Hermione studied him in silence for several seconds.
“What is it, Harry?”
Her voice was soft, cautious. A voice she'd learned in the hospital ward.
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he cocked his head to the side. “I think this is going to be it.”
Hermione gave him a small smile. “I hope so. I hope we're right about this.”
“I—,” Harry started to speak and then fell silent. He fidgeted with the knob on the door. “I–I'm going to try to kill him. I haven't told anyone else. But I keep thinking about the prophecy. If it's real, I have to kill him. I don't think I can fight this war again.”
Hermione stepped over and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his and staring into his eyes.
“I believe in you, Harry. I told you when you were eleven that you were a great wizard. I've never stopped believing it.”
Harry gave her a wan smile, but it faded as quickly as it appeared. He stared at her, and he seemed almost like a ghost. As though her fingers might suddenly fall through his hand.
“Hermione, I think I'm going to die today.”
Hermione stared at him. She'd never heard him say anything like that before. No matter the battle, no matter the injury, no matter the odds; Harry had always believed they'd make it to the next day.