Chapter 4: The Breaking Point

By: KioSpice

The morning light filtered weakly through the thin fabric of the tent, casting long, pale streaks across the floor. Hermione stirred, her body stiff and sore from the uncomfortable night she'd spent pressed against Harry. The warmth of his presence had been the only thing that kept her from lying awake the entire night, her thoughts too loud, too overwhelming.

She blinked, her mind groggy, as she sat up and took in the stillness around her. The space where Ron had been was empty, cold. His absence was a wound that hadn't stopped bleeding since he'd walked out the night before.

Hermione wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, drawing her knees to her chest. Harry was still asleep beside her, his face calm for once, free of the tension that usually marked his features. She almost didn't want to wake him. It had been too long since either of them had known a moment's peace.

But peace was a luxury they couldn't afford anymore.

The thought of Ron out there—angry, confused, alone—gnawed at her, the guilt twisting tighter with every passing second. She knew him well enough to understand that when Ron stormed off, it wasn't just to clear his head. His insecurities, his self-doubt, were louder than any reason. He'd never believed he was enough, not for her, not for Harry, and now that fear had manifested into something they might not be able to fix.

A sharp pang of worry shot through her as she imagined him out there, vulnerable, with Death Eaters and dark creatures lurking at every corner. What if he didn't come back? What if he didn't want to come back?

Her chest tightened, her thoughts spiraling, when Harry stirred beside her, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the events of last night hanging heavily between them, unspoken but unavoidable.

"Did he come back?" Harry's voice was hoarse, sleep still clinging to the edges of his words.

Hermione shook her head, biting her lip. "No."

Harry let out a long breath, pushing himself up to sit beside her, his shoulders slumped. He rubbed at his face, his fingers lingering at his temples as if trying to press away the weight of it all. "He's... probably just cooling off," he muttered, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.

Hermione didn't respond. She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that Ron would come back, that they could talk it through and somehow piece together what had fractured between them. But the doubt was creeping in, gnawing at the edges of her resolve.

Harry reached for his glasses, slipping them on before turning to look at her. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentler now.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, her eyes dropping to her hands, which were gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles had turned white. "I'm not sure what to do."

Harry was quiet for a moment, his gaze heavy on her. She could feel the concern in his eyes, but also the confusion—the same confusion she felt. This wasn't something they had prepared for. They had planned for battle, for missions, for survival. But not this.

"None of us are okay," Harry said after a long pause, his voice low. "But we'll figure it out. We always do."

Hermione wished she could take comfort in his words, but the weight of everything—of what had happened between them, of what was still happening—pressed down on her like an anchor, keeping her tethered to her guilt, her fear.

"I'm scared," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What if he doesn't come back?"

Harry didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his hand resting on her arm, his touch warm and grounding. "He will," he said, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than her. "Ron always comes back."

Hermione nodded, though she wasn't sure if she believed it. The fear of losing Ron—of losing the connection that had always kept the three of them together—was too real. Too raw.

She let out a shaky breath, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "We've lost so much already," she murmured. "We can't lose him too."

Harry's hand stayed on her arm, his thumb brushing against her skin in a slow, comforting motion. "We won't."

But even as he said it, the doubt lingered between them.

Outside, the wind stirred the leaves, the world quiet and still in the early morning light. The silence inside the tent felt too thick, too oppressive, and Hermione's mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each one worse than the last.

"We need to find him," she said suddenly, the words tumbling out of her before she could stop herself.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Hermione, we don't even know where he went. If we go looking for him and run into trouble—"

"I can't just sit here, Harry." Her voice was more urgent than she intended, but the desperation had been bubbling beneath the surface since the moment Ron walked out. "We have to do something."

Harry sighed, his hand dropping from her arm as he ran his fingers through his messy hair. "I know," he said quietly. "But if we leave this spot... he might come back. The Horcruxes, Voldemort, everything—it's all out there. We're safer if we stay put."

Hermione's frustration surged, her hands gripping the edges of her blanket as she sat up straighter, her heart racing. "Stay put for what, Harry?" she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. "We have nowhere to go! No leads on the Horcruxes, no way to destroy the one we do have, and no plan. What are we even doing anymore?"

Harry flinched slightly, his eyes widening at the force of her words, but Hermione couldn't stop now. The guilt, the fear, the helplessness that had been festering inside her for days—all of it came pouring out.

"We've been sitting here, going in circles for weeks," she continued, her voice rising. "We don't know where to find the other Horcruxes, we don't even have a clue how to destroy this one without the sword, and Ron... Ron's gone."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione pressed on, her voice thick with frustration. "We're not doing anything, Harry! We're stuck, and it's killing us. If we don't go after him—if we don't do something—then what are we even waiting for? To freeze to death in the middle of nowhere? For Voldemort to find us because we're sitting ducks?"

She felt her throat tighten as the enormity of their situation settled over her like a heavy weight. It had been gnawing at her for days, ever since Ron had left, but now it felt impossible to ignore. The truth was, they had hit a dead end. There was no way forward, no clear path. They had no idea how to destroy the Horcrux, and without Ron, the trio felt broken—fractured in a way that seemed irreparable.

Harry stared at her, his mouth set in a grim line. He looked as exhausted as she felt, dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped under the weight of everything they were facing. But still, he shook his head slowly.

"If we go looking for him," he said, his voice low, almost pleading, "we could end up getting caught. We don't know what's out there. Death Eaters, Snatchers... it's too dangerous. Ron might come back, Hermione. He might be out there right now, just... trying to find his way back."

"And what if he isn't?" Hermione shot back, her voice trembling. "What if he's not coming back? What if he's hurt or... or worse? We can't just wait here, doing nothing! We've been doing nothing for too long, and look where that's gotten us."

Harry's face tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "I'm not saying we don't do anything, but running out there without a plan—"

"We don't have a plan!" Hermione interrupted, her voice shaking now. "We're stuck, Harry. We're stuck, and I don't know how to fix it. There's nothing left for us to do here. We've searched for leads, we've waited for answers, and all we've done is watch Ron walk away."

Her chest was heaving, her emotions spiraling out of control. She hated how powerless she felt, how lost they had become. Hermione Granger always had the answers, always knew what to do next. But now, now she was lost, and she couldn't stand it.

Harry ran his hands over his face, his fingers curling into his messy hair as he exhaled slowly. "So what do you want to do?" he asked, his voice tight. "Just go out there and... and hope we stumble into something? What if we don't find Ron? What if we don't find anything?"

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing. She knew Harry wasn't wrong. It was dangerous out there, more dangerous than ever. But the thought of sitting here, waiting, doing nothing... it felt unbearable.

"We do reconnaissance," she said, her voice firm. "We go out there and look for Ron. We stay low, avoid drawing attention, but we look for him. Maybe we'll find something—anything—while we're out there. A lead, a clue, a way forward. Right now, we're just waiting for the worst to happen."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The silence between them stretched, thick and tense, and Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for him to respond. She needed him to understand. She needed him to see that this wasn't about recklessness—it was about survival. About doing something, anything, to get them out of this hopeless cycle.

Finally, Harry let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice strained. "We'll go."

Relief washed over Hermione so quickly it almost made her dizzy. She had half-expected him to refuse, to argue that they should stay put, but Harry had always been willing to act when the situation called for it. And now, more than ever, they needed to act.

"But we have to be smart about this," Harry added, his tone serious. "No unnecessary risks. We keep low, and we don't stay out there for too long."

Hermione nodded, already feeling her mind shifting into planning mode. "I'll pack some things," she said, her voice steadier now that they had a direction, a purpose. "We'll need to be quick, but we have to be prepared for anything."

Harry stood, watching her for a moment as she moved around the tent, gathering supplies. "Hermione," he said softly, and she paused, turning to face him. His eyes were filled with the same worry she felt deep inside, but there was also something else—something unspoken, but understood between them.

"I know," she said quietly, answering the unasked question. "We'll find him, Harry. We have to."

They shared a brief, tense silence before Harry nodded and moved to help her. Together, they packed what they could carry—essentials, nothing more. Time was the thing that had been against them from the beginning. Hermione wanted move fast now that they finally had a direction to go.

As she packed the Horcrux into her bag, its cold, metallic weight sent a shiver through her, a reminder of the darkness that still clung to them, even in their most desperate moments. The locket had torn them apart, and now it hung like a specter over everything they did. But they had to move forward. They had to fight.

There was no other choice.