(A/N It's happened again. Damn my short attention span and my overactive imagination. Just keep in mind that this one, like my others, is an eventual slash, and like Thank You, it doesn't have any real direction and may end up being incomplete. Anyway, I love you all and happy reading.)

Hermione sat in semi darkness, Harry across from her, his head in his hands, looking pale. Ron was due back any moment, but nothing was guaranteed those days.

He might not ever come home.

And that thought scared Hermione more than anything.

Harry started tapping his fingers on the rickety table before him, a nervous tic that he had only recently developed. This only happened when Ginny wasn't around. He seemed more at ease with her present, but lately he had not been bringing her to the Order headquarters.

Hermione wondered why that was, but kept her questions to herself. She had to, most days. No one wanted to talk, especially not about the war and what it was doing to them.

What the obvious and unavoidable outcome would be.

Harry's fingers beat against the table at a rapid pace, another hand still holding his head up. He looked much more weary than usual that night, and Hermione was close to asking him what was wrong.

She didn't.

He was likely to snap at her, and she hated making him angry.

An icy breeze rolled through the hallway and into the dining room of the headquarters, signaling that someone had opened the door.

Hermione stood up before she realized what she was doing and half ran through the dining entrance, and threw her arms around Ron, who was a little startled by the embrace. Harry remained behind, head in his hand, staring at the far wall.

"Hey, 'Mione." Ron muttered into his wife's hair.

"I'm glad you're safe," She told him, tightening her grip.

He was always grateful to make it back to her, even if the mission was a simple and relatively safe one.

Though he would never admit it out loud, he loved the more dangerous missions, because when he arrived home, Hermione always doted on him.

"How is he?" He asked, his voice still muffled by her hair.

"Tense. As usual. Why? Has something else happened?" Hermione asked, pulling back from the embrace, worry in her tone.

"He didn't tell you?" Ron asked, concern written on his freckle strewn face.

"Tell me what?" She whispered harshly, worried that something horrible had happened. More horrible than usual, at least.

"Ginny told me something this afternoon, when I went over there." Ron seemed reluctant to share the information, which concerned Hermione further.

"What? What did she say?" She pressed, still speaking in a whisper, Harry was still in the dining room, and could likely hear their hushed tones. She didn't want him to investigate, at least not until Ron had spilled the beans.

"She's pregnant."

Hermione brought her hand to her mouth and her eyes went wide.

"Oh no," She didn't bother whispering this time, she was to shocked.

"Yeah. Great, isn't it?" The sarcastic voice came from behind Hermione and she jumped and spun, guilt on her face.

"Harry, I'm so sorry." She was partly apologizing for being so nosy, and partly for the fear he must be feeling at bringing a child into this world.

"Don't be. It's done. She wont reconsider. So what did you find out?" Harry turned his attention to Ron, who was standing silent behind his bushy haired wife.

Hermione desperately wanted Harry to talk about what she had just discovered, but he had obviously moved on, and there was no getting anything out of the Chosen One when he had that look of resolve on his face.

"It's what we thought it was. One of those damn freelance assassins as usual. Probably working for You-Know-Who, but who isn't these days." Ron sighed and leaned into the staircase, directly where Sirius' mother's portrait used to hang.

"Us," Hermione stated with conviction.

"Lot of good that does." Harry snorted in response.

Hermione wished that she could bring back that old spark in Harry, the glint he used to get in his eyes when he spoke about Voldemort. That certainty that they were going to win.

But it was gone, just like so much else.

"Any idea which one?" Harry asked without missing a beat, obviously not wanting the bushy haired witch to say anything about his previous comment.

Ron mostly let it slide, and Hermione was getting closer to letting it go.

Harry knew, without a shadow of a doubt that what they were doing was pointless. He wanted them to know it too.

They only continued with the order's work because it was all they knew, and it was the only thing they could do.

There was nothing else for them.

"This one was brutal. Didn't know the poor woman who copped it but it was really close to what happened to Aberforth."

"Close how?" Harry asked, intrigued despite himself. If it was the same freelance that got Aberforth, Harry would love to get his hands on him. Aberforth had been a great help to them from time to time.

Not that he could really do much, Hermione insisted that these people didn't deserve to die, and any that they did manage to get into Azkaban under false names and posing as Ministry officials, most were released days later.

Harry, once again, wondered what the hell he was still doing here.

Why he even bothered.

"Skinned. Nailed to her families front door, same as Aberforth. Only he was nailed to his pub."

Hermione blanched at Ron's matter of fact tone.

"Anything else to suggest it was the same assassin? It could have been the same contractor." Harry asked, knowing that most likely, the contractor was either Voldemort, or someone who did his bidding for him.

It was one of the most sought after jobs, being an assassin. The pay was high, and mostly, no one ever had to meet the assassin that they were hiring, which lent itself to the assassin's feeling a whole lot safer about what they did.

Voldemort still made enemies for himself, and he was one of the main contractors for the freelancers getting around.

"Maybe, but it seems so similar, you know? Like anyone could order someone to be skinned, but this was in the same manner as Aberforth. So I think it's likely the same guy." Ron seemed convinced, and Harry decided that he might as well go with it. Even if it wasn't the same guy, what difference did it really make?

"Find anything that might lead us to him?" Harry asked, not much hope in his voice.

"Not yet," Ron sighed, leading Harry back into the dining room and gently moving Hermione out of his path.

Hermione let out a whoosh of breath and decided to call it a night, Harry and Ron would likely be talking about the assassin for most of the night, and when they discussed things like that, they barely ever let her get a word in edge wise. She followed Ron into the dining room and kissed his check.

"I love you," She smiled at him, and he smiled back, though it didn't reach his tired eyes.

"I love you too."

And with that, she made her way up to her and her husband's room.

They had long ago set up home in the old headquarters.

Harry had given it to them, saying that he could never live there. Not after Sirius had died. He had enough trouble just holding their meetings there.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked. They had long ago run out of things to say about the murder, and now, Harry sat drunk in front of a sober Weasley.

This had become a usual thing. Harry couldn't afford alcohol, so he drank the vintage wine he found in the basement of Ron and Hermione's house. Ron had always doubted the safety of anything that the Blacks kept in the cellar, but Harry didn't seem to care. And so far, there had been no adverse affects.

So every time Harry arrived, Ron would fetch another bottle.

"Pshh. Tha' fuck you think? Yer sister's fuckin' pregancy, I can't put feed in 'er mouth. Am I Fuckin' okay he says."

Ron said nothing to this.

"We lost. What're we still doin'?" Harry slurred. He said things like this when he was drunk, and Ron had a feeling he more than wanted to say them when he was sober.

"We haven't lost." This was Ron's response every time, and usually Harry shook his head disgustedly and said nothing more. This time though, he didn't appear to be finished.

"Was over when Dumbledore fell from the tower. Was over when Sirius died. Was over when we got the number of horcruxes wrong. Was over when he took over the minstree. Was over when yer mum died. Was over when Tonks and Remus died. Was over when the Death Eaters where released from Azkaban. Was over so damn long ago I can't even fuckin' make any GOD DAMNED SENSE OF WHAT WE'RE DOIN'! WHAT ARE WE DOIN' HERE! TELL ME!" Harry stood up so fast he sent the table flying into Ron, bruising the other mans legs.

"Harry-"

"Shut up. Unless you have somthin' useful to say jus' shut up." Harry swayed on his feet as Ron removed himself from under the now broken dining table.

"Harry?" The tired feminine voice came from Harry's left.

"Is everything okay?"

The Chosen One was so sick of hearing those words.

"Don' even get me started on how not fuckin' alright things are," Harry slowly turned to Hermione, anger blazing in his eyes.

"We're going to die," Harry spat, all traces of his drunkenness gone.

"And no one can see it but me." He barged past Hermione and out the front door, not bothering to check that it was safe, and apparating as soon as he was out of the wards.

(A/N first chapter is short, but it seemed like the perfect place to end it.)