A/n: All right, people, this is the last chapter of this fic. But don't worry! There is a sequel coming up, No Safe Haven, in probably a couple of weeks. It'll pick up a few months after the end of this fic. Anyway, this chapter just wraps everything up since last chapter was so powerful, I guess you would say. Okay, I hope you guys like this!

Disclaimer: I own this about as much as I own every other fantasy I'm obsessed with.

Chapter 11: Unspoken Secrets

Hermione's hair billowed into her face, covering her dark brown eyes as they stared at the seemingly endless pit bellow her. She could distinctly hear Ron's uneven breathing beside her as he too looked down upon the final resting place of his beloved brother. Although he was standing right next to her, he felt more distant than ever, and she assumed it was because she still had found no way to ease his pain however slightly.

To her left stood Harry with a protective arm around Ginny, who had her face covered in a fragile looking handkerchief, obscuring all parts of her face except her lifeless brown eyes, blurred by tears. Hermione had to look away.

Mrs. Weasley was kneeling in front of the tombstone that already had Bill's name deeply etched, two wands at the edge forming an intricate pattern around his name. She was gazing at the coffin being lowered into the black hole in the ground, her eyes so wet they had all the water of every ocean in them, except it wasn't water but tears, and they never strayed from the corners of her eyes to her cheeks. In her hands she held a picture of Bill when he was around five, his grin missing quite a few teeth, the little boy who had grown into a fine man that would never grin that way again.

Beside his wife, Mr. Weasley had entwined his arm into hers, and subconsciously he was running his fingers across the face of his son's picture. Slow, silent rivers flowed down his pale freckled cheeks, and he did not bother to conceal his sorrow from anyone.

Hermione felt tears yet again burning the insides of her eyelids as she looked around at the devastated family. She willed herself to look away, to look at her shoes or her dark skirt, anything but the expression of indescribable pain engraved in each person's face. But she could not help gazing at the people she had known for so long.

Fred and George. That was a shock, to see the usually lively and charismatic youths pallid with disbelief, all thought erased from their features, to be replaced by deep eyes of endless nothing. She couldn't stand to see them that way. No taunts, no mischievous grins, no inventive wheels turning in their heads for some new wacky invention. So suddenly it had been snatched away and now a cold aura drifted from them, more chilly than the breeze and gloomier than the dark clouds that obscured the sun.

Fleur Delacour was a mess. Her long white-blond hair hung over her face as she hid her usually pale face now red and blotchy from crying. She seemed to care very little about the dirt staining her ankle-length white dress while kneeling in front of the gaping hole that would home the man she had loved. At the thought, Hermione felt all resent towards the French girl ebb away. Fleur knelt alone, for it seemed like she wouldn't let anyone comfort, or they had tried and failed miserably. Hermione wished she would stop crying, because it just added a heavy burden of knowing how much everyone had cried. She wished she could tell Fleur that a million tears would not bring Bill back, but even so, she knew words wouldn't stop tears from flowing. It was inevitable. It was sorrow.

Still. She wished they would stop crying.

One person was missing, and only because duties with the dragons in Romania prevented Charlie's desperate return home, to the people he knew and loved minus one. Because Percy was present. He was sitting alone under a small tree, his back against the trunk. His head was buried deeply in his arms, his hands hanging limp and white. Despite the fact that he had deserted his family, he would never be absent from his brother's funeral. So far, Hermione hadn't seen him say a word to any member of his family, but she had no way of predicting if he would. She sincerely hoped he would.

It was unbelievable that just a few days before her biggest worry had been whether she should pursue a relationship with Ron. She couldn't grasp the fact that someone had died, that Bill was really gone and no one would ever see him again. She wanted to forget that, in a few days they would return to their home, to that castle atop a hill overlooking that vast lake, everything would be so normal again, yet so different. They would be back to roaming the halls and avoiding the sneering gaze of Draco Malfoy. They would return to the unspoken secrets lying within the ancient structure and hidden by teachers and students alike. They would be at the place that always provided comfort but at the same time created all their troubles. They would be home.

But of course, it would be much more than home. It would be the place where pitiful stares followed Harry and Ron. The place where those unspoken secrets would become abominable truths that would add to the weight of the war on their minds. The place where more responsibilities would be placed on their shoulders for the futures they did not want to face. But, nonetheless, the place they called home.

Hermione's thoughts seemed to be fueled by the wind and the quiet sobbing. This was the deepest thinking she'd done in longer than she could remember. She bit her lip as she saw Bill's coffin gently hit the bottom of the pit. Mrs. Weasley was holding Mr. Weasley's hands, and they both had their eyes closed and were murmuring incoherent words under their breaths, speaking to their son in the only way they could. Next to them, Harry and Ginny stood looking down at the coffin, and Ginny had a soft smile on her lips and a faraway look in her eyes, probably recalling a fond memory of her brother. Fleur had stood and was now beside her father, a rather old man with a perfect white mustache adorning the underside of his nose, and he had an arm draped around his distressed daughter. She had held back any more tears she had and was now quiet, her head down, pressed again her chest.

Standing beside Ron, Hermione realized how lonely he was. How lonely all of them were. They each had a different view on what was happening at that instant, and no matter how much one understood the other, they wouldn't understand fully. At least you can try...

Carefully, she unclenched her cold fingers and slipped her hand into Ron's equally cold one. She felt his skin tense and blood rush into his palm for a fraction of a second, but then he relaxed. His face was emotionless, showing no signs of acknowledging Hermione. At least you tried...

But she did not remove her hand from his.

END

The house was silent. So silent Hermione almost didn't dare step on the stone floor of the kitchen for fear of making a loud an echoing sound so infinitely different and out of place. Shaking her head, she decided to forget the snack she had come down for and instead return to her room.

Her feet felt heavy as she dragged them over each individual step. She was so weary it was unbearable. She barely got any sleep at night because it was plagued with nightmares of more Weasleys dying, one after the other, until only Ron was left...and when the time came for him to die, she'd wake up with sweat drops on her face and arms and neck. It was taking away all her energy and making her extremely paranoid so that she continually checked up on everyone in the household.

Rubbing her eyes, she opened the door to the room she shared with Ginny. She blinked, rubbed her eyes again, and looked at the person sitting on Ginny's bed. "Harry? What are you doing here?"

He looked up from the Quidditch magazine he was flipping through. "Oh, hey, Hermione. I got here a few minutes ago. I think you were outside. I brought all my stuff. It's downstairs," he said.

"Oh," she replied. "I must have missed it...I'm so tired. So where's Gin?"

"She went out with Mrs. Weasley. I'm not sure where they went," he said, shrugging. He sat up and pointed at the bed opposite Ginny's, Hermione's own bed. "Sit. And why are you so tired?"

Hermione sighed and sat on her bed. She propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands. "I just haven't been sleeping much. Nightmares...but I guess I can't complain. I mean...how do you deal with them?"

"The nightmares?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "Well...I don't."

"You mean you just keep getting nightmares?"

"Yeah...I don't get much sleep either."

Hermione gave a weak laugh. "I suppose I'll be stuck with these for a while, then."

Harry nodded slightly. "What are your nightmares about?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Will it help if I talk about it?"

"I wouldn't know, because generally I don't talk to anyone about my nightmares. But I think you can tell me about it, just to get it off your chest."

Hermione gave him a small smile. "Thanks. Well...I just keep dreaming that all the Weasleys are dying. It just scares me, not only because I would be absolutely devastated if anyone else died, but also because I know it's a possibility." She said the last part in a somewhat hoarse voice.

Harry reached out and patted her arm. "I have no way of telling where this is going. But I hope we don't lose anyone else. The ones we've already lost have been..." His voice trailed off. "I have no way of telling where this is going," he repeated in a whisper.

But you do...A voice in Harry's head made him shift uncomfortably. He knew to some extent. He averted his eyes. He knew Hermione would see in a second if he was keeping something from her, and he preferred not to talk about the prophecy just then.

Hermione, however, wasn't looking at him. She was still staring at the ground, and without looking at her face directly, he could tell she was troubled. "Hermione?"

She looked up, and he made sure all hint of his thoughts about the prophecy were erased from his features. She didn't notice anything, and he gave a silent thanks. Hermione was very helpful, not to mention a phenomenal friend, but when it came to matters like these, he was afraid she would ask too many questions.

"It's just...you know, I can't believe we're going back to Hogwarts already," she said softly. "So much has changed in such a short period of time. I don't even feel like the same person. I'm not exactly sure how I'm holding on when everything is crumbling and I can't do anything to stop it." She hesitated and gave him a sympathetic look. "You know, Harry, everyone says you're so strong and brave. And don't get me wrong, I agree with them, very much. But it's just that I don't think they understand how you are strong and brave. You're brave in a way that you're willing to go to so many lengths just to see one person out of danger. People don't understand that you're brave not because you rush into danger but because you do it without thinking about yourself. Nobody thinks of Voldemort as brave even though he walks into danger he is in, but they don't see why they don't call him brave, and it's because he's lacking what you have, that urgency to go into danger if it'll make even one single person live another day."

But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...The words from the prophecy echoed in his head and his eyes widened. Maybe he should tell her, maybe she could help him find the power he possessed that Voldemort didn't...Surely it couldn't be what she had just mentioned? Puzzled, he dropped out of his reverie and continued to listen to his best friend, his ears pricked for anything that could be related to the part of the prophecy he was yet to understand.

"...your strength. People assume you're this great wizard with extraordinary powers."

"I'm not."

"You're a fine wizard, Harry, but not what people imagine. Thinking that a sixteen-year-old wizard can have such magnificent powers is...well, inconceivable. But it doesn't matter that you're not the greatest, most powerful wizard since Dumbledore. Your strength is in your mind and your willpower. You might lose your temper once in a while, but that's just normal. What amazes me about you is that when things are going completely wrong, you don't—freak out or something. Like at the Department of Mysteries..." Her voice softened and a hint of cautiousness slipped into her tone. He imagined she was being wary about a subject she knew was still touchy for him, a wound that was healing but still sensitive. "When we got to the prophecy and you picked it up and Lucius Malfoy spoke, I almost fainted. I...I honestly had doubts that we would make it out before they captured us. But you didn't go crazy and run amok, you devised the best plan you could think of and did as much as you could. And...and you and Ron have shown the same strength lately...because you've been healing yourselves, and it takes the most willpower and a dedicated mind to be able to pull yourself through this, especially when no one can truly help you." She shook her head. "I'm rambling, and I'm not sure if you understand what I'm saying, but just make sure you know that you are much more than people think you are in many ways that people are not capable of seeing because they assume things. Just because you have a scar on your forehead, they make you out to be this typical hero, and you're not. You're a real person who happens to have assets that make you so admirable."

Harry stared at her. "Wow, Hermione. Um...thank you."

She shook her head. "No need. It's the truth." She was quiet for a moment and then said, "Do you remember the Sorting Hat's song?" She laughed suddenly. "Okay, there has been more than one Sorting Hat song, so let me be a little clearer. Our Sorting Hat song. The one that was sung to us on the first day we set foot in Hogwarts. Do you remember it?"

Harry looked incredulous. "Hermione, that was five years ago, as unbelievable as that may be. Only someone with your mind could remember something like that."

She smiled. "Well, the stanza about Gryffindor said:

You might belong in Gryffindor

Where dwell the brave at heart

Their daring nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart

You know, I had never really understood exactly what the Sorting Hat had meant. I understand the brave at heart because of you and—and Ron. I saw it in Ron in our first year when he decided to give himself up on that huge chess set even though he knew he could get badly hurt, but he did it because he wanted to make sure you got to the Stone. I also saw it in him when he stood in front of Sirius on a broken leg and made sure that he could do as much as possible to defend you. And there's been tons of small incidents, like talking back to Snape and standing up to Malfoy—"

"—both done to defend you," Harry said with amusement in his voice.

Hermione blushed slightly and continued, "Whatever the reason, he showed that he was 'brave at heart,' like the Sorting Hat had described. And you've shown it because, like I just told you, you're not necessarily brave on the outside, you're really brave on the inside, and at heart, because you do brave things to protect things—people—you care about." She smiled. "And do you know who else helped me understand the Sorting Hat's song? You can't imagine who it was."

Harry looked confused. "Who?"

"Neville!"

He felt his stomach drop. He couldn't help remembering what Dumbledore had said. All this could be happening to Neville...Neville could have been the one with a scar on his forehead...Neville could have been the Boy Who Lived. He closed his eyes.

"Harry...are you okay?"

His eyes snapped open. "Fine. So what were you saying about...about Neville?"

Hermione gave him a suspicious look and said, "Well, he showed me what the sorting hat meant by 'daring nerve and chivalry.' Last year, I felt so proud of Neville. At the DA especially. Everyone expected him to fail at any charms because of his clumsiness in class. But he showed his daring nerve by trying anyway, in front of everyone, and to his surprise, he was the best student there! I think it's great that Neville finally has a little light, something to be proud of, after being ashamed and calling himself 'almost a Squib' for five years. And then at the Ministry of Magic...I was amazed that he flew there on a thestral. He took such command because he knew Gin and Ron and I couldn't see the thestrals and he had to show us how to ride them somewhat. He fought against full-grown wizards even though he was so insecure about his magic. He was the last one standing, still fighting with you when the members of the Order arrived. When I was sitting in the hospital wing with Ron the few days after that, I thought about how Neville had acted and I realized that is daring nerve and chivalry."

Powers the Dark Lord knows not...Harry pushed the words out of his head and gave Hermione the most sincere smile he could muster. "You've obviously thought about this a lot. And you're right, I agree with you. Except you forgot one person who most definitely has shown bravery, strength, and daring nerve."

"Who?"

Harry kicked her foot. "Oh, come on, you know I'm gonna say you."

Hermione laughed. "Thanks, Harry. I'm glad I have you around to talk to."

"Yeah, I know...I'm sorry about that argument we had before. I know I already apologized but I just want to make sure that you understand how different my life would be if you weren't my friend. Before Hogwarts, I understood people had friends, but I didn't know why. All Dudley's friends ever did was push each other around and throw insults at each other, like it was some caring, loving act. So I wanted someone to talk to but I really didn't want friends, if they were going to be like Dudley's. I didn't understand friendship. And then I met you and Ron and everything just sort of...clicked. Friendship was a puzzle I had for a long time. I was just missing a couple of pieces."

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, that's beautiful. Thank you." She walked over to him, leaned down, and gave him a warm hug. "This year is going to be tough but we're together, aren't we? That's always good to know." She smiled, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and said, "I'm hungry. I'll go down and get a snack, and when Gin comes back I'll tell her you're waiting."

He grinned. "All right." He had a sudden impulse, an urge to tell her about the prophecy that he had spoken about to no one. Hermione was his friend, he could trust her, and he really needed to get the burning load off his chest. "Hermione?" he said, and she turned around, already at the door.

"Yeah?"

"Um...In June—I mean, the prophecy..." He sighed. Obviously now was not the time. "Er...I'm just glad you were there to stop the Death Eaters from getting it."

Hermione tilted her head to one side. "Me too. I wonder why it was so important to them. It's too bad it broke before we could find out what it said. But I guess now we'll never know, huh?"

Harry was holding his breath. There was a tense silence, followed by his exhale and murmur of, "No, I suppose we'll never know..."

For now, he'd keep one more unspoken secret.

END POV

"I love all of you. Take care of yourselves." Mrs. Weasley's choked voice rang out to them above the noise of Platform 9 ¾. She was embracing her youngest children, who were not really children anymore, and the two other young people who had become her son and daughter, hypothetically. Hermione could scarcely breathe in the tight hug. Mrs. Weasley's embrace was squishing her against Ron, and it was a very uncomfortable position indeed. Luckily, she let go of them when she heard the train toot its announcement for every student to board.

Hermione bent down slightly to kiss Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. "Thank you for everything. We promise we'll write to you often." Mrs. Weasley gave her a warm smile still traced with un-erasable sadness left behind by her son's death. Hermione bit her lip and thought of mentioning something about Bill, but decided against it and instead walked over to Mr. Weasley.

"Good-bye, Mr. Weasley. I'm sure you'll find a great job soon." She did something she had never done before. She gave Mr. Weasley a hug, and wished with all her might that the kind man would find some ray of hope in the dim light that was his life lately.

"Thank you, Hermione. Having you with us during a hard time like this made it all the more bearable." His eyes were watering as he patted her shoulder. "Molly and I are glad to have two beautiful, magnificent daughters."

Hermione gave him a grateful nod. She scooped Crookshanks into her arms and started to drag her trunk into the train, with the others close behind her, Ron and Ginny slightly more morose than she and Harry.

The four friends found an empty compartment on the train. After accommodating their trunks in a way such that they had enough room for the ride, they looked out the window and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione thought with a pang at her heart that for the first time, she thought they looked...old. The train began to move and slowly they shrank and shrank, until they were two dim black dots obscured by the smoke.

When they lost sight of their parents, Ron and Ginny lay back, side by side. Ginny lay her head on her older brother's shoulder and heaved a mighty sigh. Ron's face was solemn and pale. Harry and Hermione exchanged quick nervous glances but said nothing.

The train ride was quiet and uneventful. Hermione stared for hours out the foggy window. She watched pudgy clouds form at noon and rain sprinkle during lunchtime; by mid-afternoon, the rain was pounding on the windowsill and everything outside it was too dark to see anything. She rubbed her eyes and reached for a book in her bag when the compartment door slid open.

"Hi, everyone," said a familiar voice. Neville's friendly face smiled from the door, Luna's close behind. There was something about Neville's face that had changed, a new light that brightened it up somehow. Hermione caught a glimpse of his hand twirling a handsome mahogany wand, about 13 inches long. She distinctly remembered him telling her his old one, the wand that had belonged to his dad, had been broken the night at the Department of Mysteries.

Luna's eyes were as wide as ever as she waltzed in and plopped down comfortably next to Ron. Hermione felt her eyes narrow, but quickly diminished the temper that threatened to rise. A bit of the normal Ron flickered on her friend's face as he gave Luna a weird side-glance and then caught Hermione's eye. She was glad to see his mouth turn upwards slightly in the first smile she'd seen on his face in days. She returned it, feeling some heat rush to her cold cheeks.

Neville sat next to Harry, who was saying, "New earrings, Luna?"

She grinned and nodded. "Tiny thestrals. I made them during the summer. I even put a charm on them to make them invisible when I want them to be."

"Clever," Hermione murmured.

Luna looked surprised. "Thanks. I thought of making thestral earrings when I was out catching nargles." She smiled pleasantly.

Hermione discretely rolled her eyes. She was still 100% Luna.

"You know, I haven't heard any rumors about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, have you?" Luna asked, and without waiting for an answer, she went on. "Odd, isn't it? Dad said that it might be a goblin or something. You know, one that got fed up with Fudge's notions of a goblin army and just came to work for Dumbledore. I'm not sure how it would be to have a goblin teaching us, but I just hope we have a teacher who can actually teach us some useful things. Someone—or something—interesting."

Hermione leaned her head back. She had plenty more to think about concerning her sixth year at Hogwarts, and the new DADA teacher was most certainly not the top of her lengthy list. She had a feeling the new year would be hold more unexpected, unspoken secrets than the summer had had.

She had thought her summer would involve developing her relationship with Ron. But she couldn't help feeling he had grown more distant than ever, and it disappointed her. However, she still had a chance to close that gap this year, and the next. After that...who knew? It was difficult to think that there was the possibility their paths might lead them separate ways. She'd rather not consider that. All she wanted was to be able to talk to Ron normally again. She wanted him to heal, even if slowly, the wound that Bill's demise had created. And deep down, she wanted to find out if caring for him for three years had been a waste.

For now, what she wanted the most was for all of them to be safe, alive, and together.

A/n: That's the end of this fic! No Safe Haven, the sequel, is currently up and under progress! Thanks, as always, and please review!