Written for Surreal_Angela for the 2012 SS/HG exchange! Her prompts will be listed at the end of the story.

Warning: Dark!Hermione: this includes violence, explicit language, murder most foul - you know, the usual from me. If that's not your cuppa, move along. Portions of The Prince's Tale chapter from Deathly Hallows are recreated in chapter 5.

So much love goes to my supercalifragilisticexpiover beta, Delphipsmith. You challenged me from the beginning and I can't thank you enough for that. Unending love and gratitude goes toToblass for pushing me when I didn't want to budge, and for the countless brainstorming session – you are a gem, dear!

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and canon Potter Verse belong to JK Rowling and associates. I am in no way affiliated with Warner Brothers, JK Rowling, or Scholastic. I do not make any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

You can have no dominion greater or less than that over yourself. ~ Leonardo da Vinci

The first time Harry realised something was not quite right with Hermione was during the reprieve in the Great Hall, just after Voldemort's final defeat.

He was sitting on the dais where the professors ate their meals, watching the general state of confusion, lacking the energy to do anything more to help, completely drained and mind numb with shock. Suffering had been monumental on both sides; lives and loved ones lost, the darkness conquering even the brightest light. A brief vision of what had happened in the Shrieking Shack flashed before his eyes and he was left with an empty grief he could not explain.

To distract himself from the painful thoughts, he focused on the Weasleys: Ron standing with his family in mournful grief over Fred's body. They were clustered together against all outsiders, even Harry. He wondered if they blamed him for their loss, knowing that if the situation were reversed nothing would hold him back from destroying the one ultimately responsible. Earlier, Harry had tried to console them, but no amount of sorrow on his part would gain him entrance into the tight-knit group.

Feeling unbearably useless, Harry moved away to where several bodies lay on trestle tables, covered with white sheets. He knew Lupin and Tonks lay together beneath the fabric of a single large sheet, but as his eyes skimmed over the others he spied one that was particularly bloody. Morbidly curious, he lifted it and to his shock saw Severus Snape. The man was gasping in shallow breaths, blood slowly oozing from his wounds. Stunned, he did the first thing that came to mind and summoned Madam Pomfrey as tears obscured his vision. He didn't know why he cried. All he knew was that Snape needed care and that he had to have it immediately.

With the hospital ward filled to capacity with wounded from the two-day battle, Pomfrey triaged Snape right there on the trestle table. Vieo Viscus closed the largest wounds and a Blood Replenishing potion would, she said, keep him amongst the living for at least a while longer. When Harry questioned whether that was all she could do for Snape, she gave him a curious look and rattled off several adverse interactions with various potions which she suspected Snape had already ingested.

Three hours later, bloody, bruised and aching, Snape was able to sit up and survey the chaos that reigned. Harry stood up from where he'd been sitting beside the table and followed Snape's gaze as it moved around the room. Neville sat with Luna, holding her as if he'd never let her go. McGonagall and Flitwick scurried to and fro amongst the ruins, tending to those with minor injuries. He noticed that McGonagall studiously avoided looking at Snape. Harry couldn't really blame her; based on their history, he wasn't sure why he wasn't doing the same. What he did feel wasn't something he could explain. It went beyond mere obligation, bordering on fixation. The anger he felt towards this horrible yet honourable man was not something that would disappear in the blink of an eye. Too much had happened between them, too much to just sweep under the rug. Harry had a gut feeling—the kind he knew he should listen to but often didn't—that when things were settled, he would still have an unhealthy preoccupation with Snape. It wouldn't sit well with others, this fascination with the unmitigated bastard.

He dared a glance at Ginny. She was covered in muck and dust, pacing slowly in circles around her family. No one approached the Weasleys except… Harry groaned and watched as a battered-looking Lavender Brown made her hesitant way over to Ron and stood behind him. Ron didn't acknowledge her presence, yet she stayed there, unusually silent. Ginny stopped her pacing. Her expression as she eyed the outsider, clearly suspecting Lavender was about to touch Ron, was downright frightening, and Harry shifted a little closer to Snape. Together they watched as Ginny stormed over to Lavender, who shrank from the onslaught of possible violence, and something inside Harry cringed at what he imagined Ginny might be saying to Lavender: Stay away.

To avoid dwelling on his visceral reaction to Ginny's behaviour, Harry scanned the area for Hermione, knowing she would be alone in all of this. He was abruptly brought back by a harsh voice at his side.

"I don't need a nursemaid, Potter," Snape rasped, shoving away Harry's hand, which had been holding the thick bandage against the wound in his throat. "See to your friends."

Harry's first inclination was to snap at him, but the sharp words died on his tongue. "You're still bleeding."

Snape's eyes searched the room, then he nodded in the direction of the double doors opening on the main entrance to Hogwarts. "Granger needs your help more than I, and the Weasley boy isn't likely to notice her at the moment."

Following Snape's gaze he saw Hermione, sitting on the cold stone floor and staring emptily out into the crowd. The dark circles under her eyes—a result of her near constant state of terror in the past weeks leading up to Voldemort's ultimate demise—made her look much older than she was. She rocked slowly back and forth, her arms wrapped around legs pulled tight to her chest, her lips moving in what looked like a silent chant. Even from this distance, Harry could see that no distraction intruded on her senses; every word spoken to her went unanswered. Harry could understand her pain. He had probably looked like that a few hours ago himself. But she had been so strong all these weeks; what could have sent her into near catatonia?

He was about to make his way over to her when she stood, as if in a trance. She approached, heedless of the dead and wounded, and Harry thought she might speak to him, but her attention was focused on the table next to Snape. She lifted the white sheet and stared down at the body of Narcissa Malfoy. Unprepared for the sightless blue-grey eyes, it shook Harry to his core. This witch had saved his life just hours ago. Granted, her goal was to save her son, but he hadn't thought about what it might mean for her when Voldemort found that she had lied to him. Now, looking at the evidence of that twisted evil, Harry knew what a blow had been dealt to the Malfoy family.

A strangled noise shifted Harry's attention to Snape, whose forlorn look was disconcerting on such a lined and weathered face. Apparently he hadn't known that Narcissa was dead, either. Snape's lips were tightly closed, however, so Harry looked around for the source of the sound.

Standing beside the table, clutching his bedraggled son, was Lucius Malfoy. The man was obviously broken, his bleary eyes filling with unshed tears as Draco held him close, clearly frantic at the turn of events. When Lucius slowly raised his head and registered the fact that Hermione was looking at his dead wife, Harry expected an outburst of monumental proportions—how dare a Mudblood defile a pure-blood with her filthy sympathy?—but what occurred was far more peculiar.

Lucius dropped his gaze, but his question was clearly directed at Hermione. "W-what do you see?" he stuttered softly.

Hermione let the sheet fall, covering Narcissa's face, and turned to stare at Lucius. "Look for yourself."

Lucius bowed his head, whether in shame at his weakness or grief at his loss, Harry couldn't tell. "I can't."

Hermione made her way around the tables and stood before the Malfoy patriarch. "You did this to her because you are pathetic," she intoned in a flat voice.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped. Despite his long and bitter history with father and son, neither of whose feelings he particularly cared about sparing, her words seemed unusually cruel.

There was no reaction on her part, only the cold, dead weight of her stare on Lucius.

Lucius' eyes were squeezed shut in agony, the tears he had held at bay sliding down his cheeks as he inhaled shakily. "Yes... I-I did this to her."

"And what did you do?"

"Everything," Malfoy choked out. "This life, her choices, that... madman."

"You dare speak of him that way?" Hermione screeched.

Her piercing tone startled everyone around them and cut through Lucius' anguish. He and Draco gaped at her, even as she swayed as if she might fall.

Someone clutched Harry's arm. "Potter, grab her!" Snape growled.

It was a good thing Snape had been paying attention; Harry been so shocked by Hermione's words that he hadn't realised she was barely hanging on. He sprang forward and caught her just as she gave an inarticulate cry and slumped in his arms. She weighed almost nothing, and the guilt he'd felt earlier at having dragged her halfway around England for the past year redoubled.

Snape rose haltingly and beckoned Harry to follow him. "Come. It's less crowded in the dungeons. We can have a proper look at her injuries."

Harry lifted her in his arms and followed his former Potions Master. Hermione was limp as a rag, making it hard to carry her, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to cast any spells on her until they knew what they were dealing with. They made it to the top of the circular stone stairwell that led to the Slytherin common room before Snape had to stop and lean against a wall, breathing heavily.

"What about your injuries, sir?" Harry asked, shifting Hermione in his arms. "Shouldn't Madam Pomfrey be looking after—"

"Madam Pomfrey has enough patients as it is, Potter. I refuse to burden her further. Now, if you are done offering your expert medical opinion, we can proceed to my chambers."

Ungrateful arse! Serves him right if he were to tumble down the steps and crack that skull of his. Oddly, the thought of Severus Snape lying broken and bloodied at the bottom of a stone staircase wasn't as satisfying as it should have been; in fact, it did horrible things to Harry's stomach, forcing him to cast a non-verbal charm that would allow Snape to traverse the stairs without falling.

Slowly they descended into darkness, making their way past the Potions classroom towards Snape's quarters. When they reached the doorway, Snape disabled the wards and motioned them into the room. "On the sofa, Potter," he wheezed, his skin grey even in the low light.

Carefully, Harry laid Hermione on the soft black leather and propped her head on a cushion while Snape covered her with a blanket. Harry noticed that his hands were shaking. "Sir? I think you should sit down as well."

Snape shot him a glare as venomous as any he'd sent in Potions class. "Mind your own business."

Years of bitterness and anger surged up and took control of Harry's tongue. "Pardon me for saying this, sir, but you and Hermione are my business. So why don't you quit acting like a bastard and let me help you?"

It was a testament to how poorly Snape was feeling that he couldn't muster a scathing retort and instead dropped into the wingback chair next to the sofa. "Black satchel, underneath my bed. Get it," he grunted.

Opening the door to Snape's inner sanctum, Harry expected to see some sort of Gothic horror chamber. Instead he was pleasantly surprised. The room was decorated in dark woods, perhaps mahogany and cherry, and emanated warmth uncharacteristic of what he knew of the Potions master. Dark blue curtains hung from a large four-poster bed and a few plush rugs scattered on the grey slate floor dispelled the chill. Knowing he'd catch hell from Snape if he didn't hurry, Harry scrambled under the bed and grabbed the satchel wedged just under the headboard, receiving a mild shock for his trouble. Of course it had a defensive spell protecting it; he was surprised at how little the spell affected him.

He carried it into the other room and held it out to Snape.

"Open it," the man huffed, one hand on his chest and the other clutching the arm of the chair.

Harry unlatched the buckle and held it out to him. He watched as Snape withdrew a medium-sized bottle, opened it and downed the rust-coloured contents—a Blood Replenishing potion, no doubt. Several moments passed before Snape's breathing eased and his skin turned pale instead of grey, a marked improvement from its normally sallow tone.

"Here. See if you can get her to swallow this." Snape reached into the satchel and handed him a small blue phial.

"What is it?"

"A Calming Draught, nothing more." His eyes glinted with a touch of their old viciousness. "Never fear, I'm not going to poison her."

Harry sent a glare Snape's way, then propped Hermione up against the corner of the sofa and pried her mouth open. With the edge of the bottle poised on her lower lip, he paused. "Why are you giving her a Calming Draught when she's already out cold?"

Snape arched a black brow. "Because, idiot boy, I'm about to wake her up and I don't wish for another episode like the one we just witnessed."

Harry gritted his teeth to keep from lashing out—the man was, after all, clearly ill—and did as he was ordered. Although unconscious, Hermione was able to swallow the thick liquid. When the phial was empty, he handed it back to Snape. "I think it might be best if I were to wake her."

"Fine," Snape said with a wave of his hand.

It was almost a shame to do so; she seemed so peaceful at the moment. Harry cupped her cheek, wincing at the purple smudges beneath her eyes. "Hermione? You need to wake up."

Nothing.

He tapped her cheek in a light slap. "Come on, Hermione. Ron has lost the plot and I'm afraid he'll do something to himself."

Snape snorted. "Move aside, Potter." He stood up with some effort and came to loom over Hermione. "Miss Granger. Gryffindor will lose five hundred points if you do not awaken this instant!"

Harry had to give Snape credit; the tactic worked. Hermione opened her eyes slowly, as if the lids were sticky, and turned her head to face them. "Where am I?" she said thickly.

"In my chambers, Miss Granger," Snape replied. "Where you are less likely to cause a scene."

She sat up a little. "What do you mean 'a scene'? I-I don't remember how I got here."

"What's the last thing you ido/i remember?" Harry asked.

Hermione frowned, starring off into the distance. "I felt like I was suffocating, like my body was shattering. I wanted to scream, but I had no voice. Then everything turned cold and black. I felt as if I were back at Malfoy Manor again." She shuddered, and her gaze darted between Snape and Harry. "I thought Professor Snape was... you were... dead?"

"A lot has happened since then," Harry said. "I'll need to speak to you about everything. Quite a few things have changed."

She gave Snape a nervous look. "Like what?"

"Trust me, it'll take a long time to slog through it all, but just know that Snape is on our side."

"I'm on no one's side, Potter," Snape said bluntly, sitting back down, clearly exhausted.

Harry pointed his finger at the older wizard. "You're not helping here." He let his hand drop into a fist. "I swear, if one of you had just told me the truth from the beginning, I would've—"

"Tell an eleven year-old child that he had to die in order to bring about the demise of a Dark wizard he had no prior knowledge of?" Snape snorted. "Oh yes, that would have worked brilliantly. Even I was not privy to Dumbledore's entire plan, boy. Have some sense for once in your pathetic life."

"Harry is inot/i pathetic!" Hermione snapped, rallying. "He just saved the wizarding world, you ungrateful murderer!"

"Hermione, don't—"

Snape waved off Harry's plea. "No, Potter, let her have her say. I'm curious as to what Miss Granger thinks she knows."

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. He knew what was coming, and it wouldn't be pretty.

"You planned it all along," Hermione said, her voice cold and accusatory. "Bide your time teaching, knowing that Harry would eventually come to Hogwarts, and then treat him horribly so that he would fail time and again. You outted Professor Lupin in third year so that he couldn't protect us. You probably charmed the Tri-Wizard trophy to Portkey Harry to where Voldemort could be resurrected and then stood there gloating while they were duelling, waiting for him to die. And let's not forget fifth year, where you did inothing/i but goad Sirius Black into stupidly going to the Ministry, getting the one person Harry counted as family killed. The last two years must have been a sweet dream for you: killing Dumbledore, at the right hand of Voldemort again, running the school as if it were a recruiting stage, initiating gullible teenagers into the Death Eaters."

Snape arched his brow, his voice low and even. "You think so?"

"I know it! Ginny and Neville told us everything!"

"Hermione, you don't—"

"Silence," Snape hissed, his gaze never leaving Hermione. "Let Miss Granger retain her delusions, Potter."

She crossed her arms. "They're not delusions; they're facts. Everyone knows you killed Dumbledore. Harry saw you—"

"Yes, I killed Dumbledore!" Snape shouted, startling Harry and making Hermione recoil. He rose from his chair. "I relished sending that old fool to his grave," he snarled.

"Stop," Harry murmured. "Please. She doesn't know."

She turned to stare at him. "Know what, Harry? Don't tell me you can somehow explain all of that!"

Snape snorted and moved towards the fireplace, bracing a hand on the mantle to keep himself upright.

Harry sighed heavily. "Now is not a good time to go into it, Hermione. Let's just say you don't know even half of the truth."

Hermione notched up her chin in defiance. "Why are you defending Snape? You used to feel the same way," she retorted, pulling the blanket higher.

Harry grimaced and glanced at Snape. The Potions master's expression was unreadable, but the miniscule tic in his jaw gave away his emotions. "That was before..."

"Before the Pensieve," Snape finished. "Yes, Potter, I am not a complete dunderhead. But, as you say, that is a tale for another time." He turned and studied Hermione. "Do you recall speaking with the Malfoys a few moments ago?"

She studied him intently. "I'm not telling you anything."

"Hermione!" Harry objected. "He's trying to help!"

"Help what?" she snapped. "Does he have you under an Imperius?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know I'm not susceptible to the Imperius Curse, Hermione, you've seen me shake it off."

"Then why are you acting as if you can trust him? He just admitted to killing Dumbledore!"

"Thank you, Miss Granger, for that stunning revelation," Snape said dryly. "However, the truth is rarely pure and never simple."

She looked pained. "Harry, what is he talking about?"

Harry could see from the strain on her face that she wasn't up for the long, drawn-out story that needed to be told, and which had been decades in the making. "I'll explain it later, I promise. Now, will you please let Professor Snape check you for injuries?"

Her eyes widened, then dropped. "I'm fine," she muttered.

"No, you're not. You're exhausted and we haven't eaten anything decent in weeks. Let him—"

"No!" she ground out.

"Fine." Harry hated to do this, but she left him no choice. He withdrew the Elder Wand and pointed it at her, mumbling a diagnostic spell that Hermione herself had taught them while they were on the run; it would reveal any breaks, internal bleeding or abnormalities. To his relief, other than a mild fever, a fair few cuts and a swollen lip, she seemed to be generally healthy.

"Are you quite done?" she groused. "That was low, Harry. I don't go around pointing wands at you."

"Erm, yeah, you did. Or don't you remember the wicked Stinging Hex you hit me with when the Snatchers caught us?"

"That was different."

"No, it wasn't. You were trying to save my life." He grinned. "Thought I'd return the favour."

"I told you I was fine!"

"Do not raise your voice, Miss Granger," Snape said harshly. "There are those of us with greater maladies than a split lip."

"Go to hell, Snape!" Hermione spat. She threw off the blanket and tried to stand, but immediately fell back onto the sofa. "What did you do to me?"

"He didn't do anything to you, Hermione," Harry reassured her. "Just calm down."

"I am calm!" she shouted.

Both Snape and Harry winced at her shrill voice. Snape raised a hand to massage his forehead. "Miss Granger, if you don't cease that caterwauling of yours…"

"What will you do?" Hermione taunted. "Toss me off the Astronomy Tower?"

"Enough!" Harry yelled, startling everyone, including himself. "You need to rest," he said, pointing at Snape, who merely sneered and turned away. Harry looked at Hermione. "And so do you." She gave him a mutinous look, and he had the odd feeling of being in a parental role. "We're all tired and strung out. I, for one, could use a good kip."

"You are more than welcome to leave. And take that harridan with you," Snape barked.

Hermione rose on unsteady feet. "Gladly!" She took several deep breaths. "Where's Ron?"

"With his family," Harry said. "They're probably back at the Burrow by now."

She nodded and stumbled to the door, but turned back at the threshold. "If you ever point your wand at me again, Harry Potter, you'll regret it." She left, slamming the door in her wake.

Snape sighed and returned to his seat, fatigue clearly apparent. "I would advise you to take that threat to heart, Potter."

"I always take Hermione seriously." He tugged on his hair, his mind turning over possible reasons for Hermione's erratic behaviour. Normally, she'd have wanted a full explanation of everything, with footnotes. "Something is really wrong with her."

"As much as I am thrilled with your acumen, I do not particularly care at this moment. Kindly leave, or I will follow through on Miss Granger's threat."

Harry glanced at him, gauging his condition. "Kindly? That must've nearly done you in, for you to be so polite to me."

Snape half-rose from his chair, his face darkening. "Get out, you miserable brat!"

His fury both hurt and comforted Harry. If he could rant and rave, he was further away from death's door, which relieved Harry no end. Still, after everything he'd seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve, everything they had both gone through, Harry felt responsible for the git, and his vitriol was like salt in the wound.

Harry stood up and went to the door. There he paused, knowing Snape's patience was wearing thin but determined to say what needed to be said. "I'll see you around, Snape. And for what it's worth… thank you. For everything."

He went out and closed the door behind him before he could see the sneer taking up its customary residence on Snape's face.

The second time Harry noticed Hermione's odd behaviour came a week later, at the Burrow.

Fred's funeral had been earlier that day and everyone was dealing with the grief in their own way. George was firmly entrenched in denial, refusing to eat. Molly was caught between pain and anger. The rest of the family tip-toed around the two of them, aching with their own pain and not knowing how to help. Harry and Hermione had been invited to stay for dinner after the service; he'd felt a welcome sense of family at the invitation, but now he was uncomfortable. No one really acknowledged their presence, not even Ron or Ginny.

Night was edging into the sky when Harry found Hermione sitting in the orchard, back against a tree, staring at nothing. It was chilly for a spring evening and she was dressed in a black halter-top dress, gooseflesh evident on her bare shoulders. He draped his robes around her thin frame and sat down next to her.

"Where are you staying?"

She slowly blinked a couple of times. "I found a one-bedroom flat on Chancery Lane in London, near the tube station. It's busy during the day, since it's in the business district, but it's very quiet at night."

"Sounds brilliant. I'm in London as well, at Grimmauld Place. There really wasn't anywhere else for me to go." He hesitated for a moment, knowing his next question was a bit touchy. "What happened to your parents' home?"

"Destroyed," she whispered. She plucked a purple tulip from a cluster of them and twisted it slowly in her fingers. "I'm pretty sure Yaxley tore it apart. I need to find them, you know that, right?"

Harry nodded. It had always been a foregone conclusion that when everything was settled, Hermione would go and find her parents.

"I asked Ron to come with me," she went on quietly.

"What did he say?"

She shrugged and stripped off one of the green leaves of the flower. "He said he couldn't leave his family at a time like this."

Harry didn't know how he felt about this. Hermione had always been there for him and Ron, and it seemed like they should be there for her now. At the same time, it was hard to imagine the Weasley clan not being together at a time like this. "You're not thinking of going alone, are you?"

The tulip, now denuded of all its leaves, fell to the ground. "I can take care of myself, Harry. We're not on the run anymore."

He took her hand and threaded his fingers with hers. "I know we're not, Hermione. But, you see… there's this lovely witch, who stood by me through everything—good and too terrible to mention—and she's daft if she thinks I won't stand by her as well."

She gave him a wan smile. "Ah, well, Ginny's a lucky witch." Her eyes dropped to study the grass.

There was something heart-breaking in her voice, and before he knew what he was doing, he cupped her face, tilting her chin until she was looking at him. "I wasn't talking about Ginny," he said fervently. His thumb strayed across Hermione's lower lip, soothing its trembling.

Her eyes were wide and dark in the moonlight. "I thought…" She frowned. "I wanted—"

"There you are!"

Ginny's voice should have made Harry's insides sing, but instead a lead weight settled in his stomach. He dropped his hand and waited for her to cross the length of the orchard to where they sat. He couldn't tell if she'd seen Hermione or not, but she came to a sudden halt once she rounded the copse of trees a few feet away from them.

"Oh!" An awkward silence fell. "Erm, Ron was looking for you, Hermione." Ginny's tone was clearly one of irritation.

"And?" Hermione said, not looking up.

Harry glanced at Hermione; the tulip she had picked earlier hung in shreds from her fingers.

Ginny crossed her arms and shifted from foot to foot. "I think he wants to talk to you."

Hermione lifted her head and glared at Ginny. "Well, I don't want to talk to the moronic twat, so go away."

Harry covered his mouth to keep from objecting… or laughing, he couldn't decide which, torn between surprise at Hermione's words and amusement at Ginny's facial contortions.

"That 'moronic twat' is all you have left, Hermione Granger," Ginny bit out. "Merlin knows how many times you probably shagged both of them while you three were on the run. Couldn't just stick with Ron, could you?" Harry opened his mouth but the words somehow wouldn't come. "Well, it's done. It's over. Voldemort is dead. Harry's mine now. If you're as smart as everyone says you are, you'll find Ron and apologise to him."

Oh, this was not good. "Ginny," Harry admonished, finally finding his tongue. Even as he spoke, he found himself looking around for something to hide behind. Or under.

Hermione rose and stepped around him to stand very close to Ginny. "You're wrong, little girl." She raised a hand and caressed Ginny's cheek. "I would never let that blood-traitor near me, let alone fuck him. You, on the other hand?" Hermione trailed her fingers down Ginny's neck, across her shoulder and then fisted her hand in the red hair at the back of the other girl's neck, yanking her head back. "I bet every one of your brothers has had a go at your pretty, ginger cunt."

Harry's jaw dropped in shock as he heard Ginny draw a gasping breath. He'd seen Hermione angry before, but nothing like this. This sort of vicious obscenity was nothing like the girl he knew. He scrambled to his feet. "Hermione, let her go." He placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed hard.

Ginny was shaking, looking to Harry for help, but Hermione didn't even acknowledge his words or notice his grip on her. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and leaned close to Ginny's face. "I can smell his seed on you." Hermione's free hand drifted down Ginny's dress, skimming her breasts to cup her privately. "You rutted with him before you came looking for Harry."

Ginny jerked away as Harry released Hermione and stared at her. His mind couldn't make sense of what he'd just seen and heard from either of them. "What the hell is she talking about, Gin?"

"I don't know!" she ground out, but her averted gaze told him something different.

"Oi! What's going on here?"

Harry swore silently. Worse and worse. Of all the times for Ron to show up...

"Tell your mad girlfriend to get off me!" Ginny shouted as her brother rounded the shrubbery and stepped into view.

"I'm not his girlfriend!" Hermione released Ginny and shoved her towards Ron.

Ron caught his sister as she fell into him, nearly toppling them both. "What're you talking about?" he said. "`Course you are, Hermione."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You really are thick, you gormless prat!"

Ron looked at Harry, confused. "Is she sick?"

Hermione lunged at Ron with an incoherent cry, her fingers curved into claws, but before she could wrap her fingers around his throat, Harry caught her by the waist and held her tightly. "Calm down, Hermione, come on now," he said soothingly.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!" she screamed, and then went completely limp in his arms.

Ginny and Ron stared at the two of them in absolute horror. He couldn't blame them, after what she'd said; best that they just got out of there until tempers cooled and he could sort out what was going on. "Sorry," he muttered. "Tell your mum it was a lovely service and dinner."

He didn't wait to hear their response. He Apparated both of them to Grimmauld Place, hoping against hope that Hermione was just suffering from stress, or some sort of breakdown.