Harry stood at a small window, looking down into a lush mountain valley. The peacefulness of the view was a healing potion for his troubled soul. Or rather, it had always been before. Now, the serenity mocked him. The tranquility of that valley had scarcely changed since before recorded history, and would likely endure for millennia to come. Its enduring steadfastness had always provided Harry with a subtle reassurance that, no matter how complicated life became, the world remained unchanging, eternal.
Harry turned away. He looked around at the circular walls of the tower in which he stood. It looked the same as always. The same as it did...that night.
Harry walked slowly, aimlessly, letting his eyes wander over the familiar surroundings. To his right was the place where he and Hermione had dined on roast squab and Charmed wine. That night. To his left was where they had danced to the music of Harry's wand, Hermione dressed in brilliant blue, Harry attired in dazzling green. That night. And here, on this very spot, was where Harry had given Hermione the Eternity Glass, had finally found the courage to confess his undying love -- and had vowed some day to get down on his knees and beg her to marry him.
That night.
Harry had visited this tower room many times in the last few months. It had been his first destination the day he received his Apparating License, for which he had qualified at the beginning of second term.
Harry had turned 17 on July 31st, and he'd begun Apparation training almost immediately. But learning to Apparate turned out to be a tricky business, and he'd not yet qualified for his license when September 1st arrived. This was a frustrating state of affairs, as Harry knew that the grounds of Hogwarts were Charmed to make Apparation (and, consequently, Apparation training) impossible. Even assuming he could secure permission to continue his training, he would have to practice in Hogsmeade, away from Hogwarts' protective wards; but the widely dispersed Hogsmeade weekends were hardly sufficient to permit the frequent training sessions he would need to refine the craft sufficiently to earn his license.
But, to his surprise (and undisguised delight), Dumbledore intervened on his behalf. Harry was, after all (argued Dumbledore), Head Boy, which office conferred certain priveleges not accorded to the rank and file; and he had already completed the bulk of the training required by the Ministry, leaving only the finer points to be honed by practice to the sharpness necessary to satisfy the members of the Testing Board.
And he was also no ordinary student. He was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Loathe though he was to agree with Snape, Harry could not refute the Potions Master's assertion in the first class of term that it was his famous name that had, in the final analysis, secured him this special consideration. But, to Snape's disgust, this distressed Harry not at all. For with the passage of time (and the maturity it necessarily engendered), Harry had long since ceased to care what Snape thought or said about him. And would Snape have been quite so adamant had a student from his own House -- say, Draco Malfoy -- been similarly favored by the Headmaster? Harry would not have wagered a Knut against the entire Malfoy fortune.
It was agreed that he would be permitted to visit Hogsmeade every weekend, which arrangement engraved an even more sour expression than usual on the stony face of Argus Filch, whose official checklist was the first and last word for students wishing to visit the little wizarding village. An advert was promptly posted in the Three Broomsticks, and it was answered in short order by an old witch who agreed to take up Harry's interrupted training (for a none-too-modest fee, which Harry paid gladly).
A problem quickly arose when the witch, being overly fond of her cups, periodically changed the appointed hour of Harry's weekly sessions according to her fluxuating state of sobriety. This created inevitable conflicts with Harry's Head Boy duties. Fortunately, Hermione quickly agreed to assume Harry's duties (with Dumbledore's blessing, and over Snape's tacit disapproval) in addition to her own when such overlaps occurred. In his turn, Harry arranged to cover for Hermione at future dates to be determined, giving her extra time to study for their upcoming N.E.W.T.'s, or to knit a few hats and scarves for the Hogwarts house-elves (whose servile status ever remained a sore point with her).
Harry's weekly sessions were necessarily less efficient that his daily Summer regiment had been, but the outcome, if delayed, was no less foregone. Following months of sporadic but rigorous training, Harry journeyed to London by Floo on the morning of Saturday, January 3rd (the last weekend of the Christmas holidays), to take his test. He returned that afternoon, popping straight into the Three Broomsticks (where Ron and Hermione were waiting to celebrate with him), his Apparation license clutched in his hand.
Harry sighed now as he let his eyes roam across the dusty tapestries masking the chill stone walls. This castle had been the base of operations of a small group of hand-picked DADA students (Harry among them) led by Sirius Black during his one and only year as the teacher of that class. Harry had found it to be an invaluable hands-on exercise against the Dark Forces. However, Cornelius Fudge had ruled the following Summer that, with the imprisonment of Voldemort, such exercises were unnecessary, and all such future expeditions were abandoned. Sirius disagreed with the Minister obstreperously, arguing that the Dark Arts, though slumbering, were far from extinct in the world (an argument borne out in short order by the Death Eater Insurrection). But when Sirius left Hogwarts at the end of term to take the Vagabond Road (which would lead him eventually to Beauxbatons, and Michelle) his replacement was only too willing to toe the line wi th Ministry policy. Though the castle remained under the auspices of the Ministry, it promptly fell into disuse and was eventually forgotten.
But not by Harry. Never by Harry. For there were few places on Earth that held such special meaning to him as did this dank, time-forgotten tower. Here it was he had brought Hermione by clever means (a Quidditch book secretly converted into a portkey) three years ago almost to the day, to celebrate their first anniversary as a "couple." And it was here he had been coming (fleeing?) for the past six months, his doubts gnawing at him like a swarm of moonstruck doxies, in an effort to exorcise his inner demons. An endeavor, alas, doomed to failure.
Harry removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. It had all seemed so simple then. With the naiveté of youth, he had declared himself and Hermione to be "Destiny's Lovers," their union written in stone, for ever and always.
Always. He laughed bitterly. How deceptively brief "always" had turned out to be.
His arms hung limply at his sides. In the dim light filtering in through the tiny window, Harry could almost see Hermione before him, resplendent in her blue dress robes, looking lovely as she had that night. No, he amended -- lovelier. Time had wrought its own special brand of magic on Hermione in the ensuing three years, surreptitiously replacing the comely young girl of his memory with a stunning young woman who could steal his breath away with a wink and a smile. For a moment it seemed that he could reach out and pull her to him, hold her softness against him and feel her warmth flowing through him. Harry sighed again. It had all seemed so perfect then. And now...
Though it was only scarcely past mid-day, Harry felt tired. A fatigue of body and soul seemed to descend on him. His eye quickly sought out his bed. He'd brought it up from the lower part of the castle (where he and his classmates had slept on their DADA adventure three years ago), Charmed it to weightlessness, and guided it up the seemingly endless flights of stairs to this chamber. He'd spent many a Friday and/or Saturday night here in recent weeks, the frequency of his visits increasing in inverse proportion to the dwindling distance separating him from graduation day. Alone in this room, with neither teachers nor classmates to distract him, Harry could commune with his deepest, most secret thoughts. But to what purpose? He'd come, then as now, seeking answers, searching the twilight of his soul ever more desperately for signposts by which to divine the right path from among the many laid out before him. Now, as his days at Hogwarts dwindled to a precious few, he had chosen his road at last and was prepared to set his feet upon it.
Why, then, was his soul still not at peace?
His steps leaden, Harry approached the bed, an affair of cast iron and tarnished bronze, with an ornate headboard but no canopy. The blankets were, as always, rumpled and disordered. Harry's housekeeping habits, an emulation of his longtime bachelor godfather's, were rudimentary at best. With a weary sigh, Harry pulled back the blankets -- and immediately jumped back with a cry of astonishment.
Hermione rubbed her eyes, smiling apologetically.
"Did I fall asleep? Sorry. I didn't know how long you'd be in arriving, and this mattress is so comfortable. Did you enchant it, Harry?"
Harry's mouth was moving soundlessly. Finally he managed to croak, "Hermione! What -- how?"
"I told you," Hermione said, sitting up and adjusting her robes, "I was waiting for you."
"But -- how did you get here? How did you know -- how did you even find this castle? It's Unplottable! Even the Ministry doesn't keep a record of it."
"I have my ways," Hermione smiled slyly. "I didn't set the school record for N.E.W.T.'s by accident, you know. Do enough research, you can find out anything. How did I know? Call it...intuition. I knew you were going somewhere all those times when no one could find you. And when I realized today's date, this seemed to be only answer that fit the criteria.
"And as for getting here..." Hermione's smile broadened as her eyes twinkled impishly. "I had a little chat with Professor McGonagall after the Christmas holidays, and she agreed what a shame it was that that poor old witch in Hogsmeade would be losing her only student when term began. And we also agreed that what was good for the Head Boy should also apply to the Head Girl. So," she concluded, "all those times you took over my Head Girl duties for me during second term...well, let's just say I found better things do do with my time than knit jumpers for house-elves."
His mind spinning, Harry sat down at the foot of the bed. Hermione giggled softly.
"I know we agreed to wait until the wedding night, Harry, but you can sit closer to me than that."
Harry slid over, his feet leaving the smooth stone flags until the bowing of the soft mattress precipitated him virtually into Hermione's lap. As her arms slipped around his neck, the walls of Harry's defenses crumbled. His hands tangling in her hair, which the pillow had turned wild, Harry's lips found and devoured Hermione's. She gave back in kind, and the two chaste lovers swarmed over each other like a hoard of nifflers in a vaultful of gold. Harry's glasses were cutting into Hermione's face, and she jerked them off and tossed them carelessly into the air. They struck the stone floor with a pop of breaking glass.
"I'll fix them later," Hermione mumbled into Harry's ear as his kisses crept down her smooth neck and across her panting throat.
With a suddenness as if a Filibuster Firework had exploded underneath him, Harry leaped up and back, tearing himself from Hermione's clinging arms. Standing back out of arm's reach, Harry lifted his eyes hesitantly, dreading the look of shock and horror he was sure would be painted across Hermione's startled features.
But the shock and surprise turned out to be Harry's. For Hermione's face (allowing for the blush their mutual passion had induced) wore only a soft, compassionate expression.
"Are you ready to tell me about it, Harry?"
Though he wanted to look away, unwilling to see the pain he was about to inflict, Harry knew it would be unmanly to speak what was in his heart without looking Hermione in the eye.
"I...can't marry you, Hermione. Not now."
Hermione's smile faded only a shade.
"And why do you think that, Harry?"
Harry swallowed dryly. "Because -- because you're going to accomplish great things, Hermione. You're going to leave your mark on the wizarding world. Change things. Make them better. For everyone."
"Yes," Hermione said, eschewing false modesty. "I believe that, in time, I will do all those things."
Something about Hermione's unflappable manner lit a fuse inside Harry.
"Yes! Time! It'll take time to do all those things. Time, and dedication, and devotion. But you won't have that time if you're tied down to a husband and a family! How in the bloody hell can you change the world if you're busy changing nappies? How can you use that -- that brilliant mind of yours -- if you're up at all hours with a crying baby on your shoulder?"
Hermione's smile had melted away; her bow-shaped lips were tranquil, her deep brown eyes unreadable.
"I never wanted to be the hero of the wizarding world," Harry said in a hollow echo. "The Boy Who Lived. All I ever wanted was a home...a family...I want what my parents had...what was taken from them. I want to be the father to my children that my dad never got the chance to be with me. I want to be...just plain Harry Potter.
"And I want...I want...you...because without you, all the rest isn't worth having.
"And if the day ever comes when you want..." Harry drew a ragged breath, as if to stay the release of something deeper, "...I'll be here. I'll wait as long as it takes. There'll never be anyone but you for me, Hermione. But our time isn't...now. This is your time to shine. Spread your wings and fly. Fly as high as you can. I know you can do it. You can do anything."
"Yes," Hermione said in a quiet, even voice. "I can do anything. And I am going to have it all. Everything I want. And that includes you, Harry Potter. Together, you and I will fly to the stars."
Harry shook his head. "No. I'll just be a dead weight, holding you down. How can I say I love you if I steal away the best years of your life for my own selfish wants? How can I ask you to sacrifice your dreams just to fulfill mine?"
As Harry fell silent, a pregnant hush fell over the small chamber. Harry did not know precisely what Hermione's response would be. But he was in no wise prepared for what met his ears now.
Laughter.
"Harry James Potter!" Hermione said through giggles which were only increased by the look of utter astonishent on Harry's face. "You've been living in the magical world for seven years now. When in Merlin's name are you going to stop thinking like a Muggle?"
"WHAT?"
Harry stared stupidly, his eyes watering for want of his glasses. Seeing this, Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at Harry's fallen glasses. A quick "Reparo!" sent the glass fragments back into their frames, whole once more. She Summoned them to her, then used a Banishing Charm to send them unerringly onto a dumbfounded Harry's face.
"How old are we?" Hermione asked unexpectedly. Harry hesitated at the deceptive simplitity of the question, certain that there was some hidden meaning to which he was unforgivably blind.
"Almost eighteen."
"And if we were Muggles," Hermione said, sounding too much like a Hogwarts professor for Harry's comfort, "we would have used up roughly a fourth of our life span already. Maybe a fifth, depending on circumstances.
"But we're not Muggles, Harry! We're wizards! Do you know how long wizards live, Harry? Do you know how old Professor Dumbledore is?"
Harry hesitated. He knew Dumbledore was old, of course. But to Hermione's question Harry could only shake his head.
"He's nearly a hundred and sixty!" Hermione said. "And does he seem old to you? I mean, really old? He's the most powerful wizard in the world. Despite his age, he was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared. His mind is sharp as a razor, and he's healthier than any teacher half his age!
"Harry, don't you know that a wizard's lifespan is upwards of two hundred years? That is," she added pointedly, "if he doesn't do something stupid, say, like crashing his broomstick headlong into a Quidditch goalpost."
In spite of himself, Harry smiled. He was rewarded by the most brilliant smile he had ever seen on Hermione's face.
"Don't you understand, Harry? We don't have to give up anything! We can have it all!
"You're bloody well dead on I'm going to give the wizarding world a swift kick in the arse. As many as it takes to make the dragon fly, to use the expression. But there's plenty of time for that. Right now...right now I want the same things you want."
Harry wondered all of a sudden if Hermione had mouthed the words, "Wingardium Leviosa," and he simply had not heard. For he was certain that his feet were no longer touching the ground.
"I think I'd like to have at least two children," Hermione said with a far-seeing look in her dark, fathomless eyes. "Maybe three. I was rather lonely as an only child. Ron said in our first year that I had no friends. That condition existed long before I came to Hogwarts. My mates always came from the books I read...but that's scant comfort for a little girl who wakes up from a bad dream and needs someone to hold onto until the demons go away. I always envied Ron and Ginny, having so many siblings. And even though Parvati and Padma are in different Houses, each always knew that she had a sister at Hogwarts when she really needed her. That's what I want for my children -- for our children.
"And I want to start that family now, while I have the strength and sanity to cope with all those things you mentioned, and the thousand and one things you left out. Setting the Ministry of Magic to rights is ruddy tea and cakes compared to raising a houseful of children! And when we've done our best and the last of them finally graduates from Hogwarts, we'll be what, 40 years old? That might be considered middle age for a Muggle -- but in wizarding years, we'll still be babes in the woods!
"And even before then, the kids will be in school ten months a year, leaving both of us plenty of time for our careers. And," she added with a devilish smile, "think what we can do with those ten months, all alone in a big, empty house with no children to burst in on us."
Harry thought about it, and his smile broadened wickedly, mirroring Hermione's.
"When the kids are grown and gone," Hermione said, "we'll have well over a century of good years ahead of us. Prime years! Years do go out and do things, and see things. Time enough to change the world. Together."
Hermione dipped a hand into the neck of her robes, emerging a moment later, seemingly empty. But Harry was not deceived. At a touch of Hermione's wand, a tiny golden hourglass appeared, its protective Charm dissolved; Harry's anniversary present, which she had promised to wear forever as a token of their undying love.
"Still running," Hermione said, holding the Eternity Glass for Harry to see. "The eternal sands of endless love. Our love." Her fingers closing softly about the Glass, Hermione looked into Harry's eyes and said, "We both made a promise that night, Harry. I've kept mine. And as for yours..."
Hermione returned the Eternity Glass to her bosom, her eyes never leaving Harry's.
"If you're not going to say the words, I am! Harry Potter, will you m -- "
"NO!" Harry nearly shouted, his eyes green fire. Then, more softly: "No. You're right, we did both make a promise in this room. You've honored yours. And I can't think of a more perfect time for me to honor mine."
Mirroring Hermione's gesture, Harry reached into his robes and withdrew the chain encircling his neck, the Concealment Charm melting away by pure force of will without benefit of wand or incantation. As Hermione looked on, excitement and curiosity warring in her darkly glowing eyes, Harry folded his fingers around the forward part of the chain and jerked. The fine links parted, and the chain fell away, leaving Harry holding a gleaming object between thumb and forefinger.
Fulfilling his vow to the letter, Harry slid smoothly from the bed and dropped to his knees. Hermione allowed him to take her left hand in his. He caressed her soft palm for a moment, then raised his hand. Hermione held her breath as Harry slid the ring onto her third finger. The Charmed band contracted slightly, hugging itself to her as if a part of her. Raising her hand tremblingly, Hermione felt her mouth go slack, her eyes enlarging like twin crystal globes in Trelawney's perfumed classroom.
"OH-MY-GOODNESS!"
The exquisitely-cut gem set into the gold band was the most perfect diamond Hermione had ever seen. But it was much more than a mere diamond. Floating within the stone's crystal heart was what appeared to be a droplet of frozen fire, pulsing redly in the wan light like a miniature heart in a bosom of purest white.
"Harry!" Hermione said breathlessly, trembling violently as from a chill. "That -- that isn't -- "
"A ruby," Harry confirmed in a soft voice. "Your birthstone. Everyone says a diamond symbolizes purity. But I know of nothing and no one who defines purity more than Hermione Granger. So I simply combined the two. With a little help from McGonagall, of course."
"You -- " Hermione stammered weakly, " -- you Transfigured -- "
"It took me three months," Harry said. "Been at it since Easter. Dodgy business, Transfiguring diamond molecules -- hardest substance in nature, you know. I wanted to finish it before our fourth anniversary. That was the day I was planning to..." He stopped himself, feeling a rush of shame that he had ever considered postponing this moment, especially for such foolish reasons as he had nurtured for so many months. As Hermione continued to admire the stone, Harry added apologetically, "It still needs a bit of work. I can -- "
"Don't you dare touch it!" Hermione said in a commanding squeal. "It's -- it's -- "
"It's nothing," Harry said. "Dust in the wind. I could give you a diamond the size of Hogwarts, mountain and all, and it still wouldn't represent a fraction of the love I feel for you.
"As I said, I was going to give you this ring on our anniversary next week. I arranged with Dumbledore to use the Room of Requirement, and when Dobby told the kitchen-elves, they insisted on preparing a special dinner, just for two -- but only if I promised not to pay them," he added with a grin as Hermione chuckled softly. "I never imagined that we could be here," Harry said reverently, "together again, almost where it all began. Sirius got into loads of trouble the last time for enchanting that portkey without Ministry approval, so I didn't dare ask him again. But I should have known that, if anyone could find a way for us to be here one more time, it would be the smartest witch at Hogwarts.
"I know I don't deserve a wonderful witch like you, Hermione. But will you marry me anyway?"
"Will I?" Hermione sobbed. "I'd like to see anyone try to stop me!"
"So," Harry grinned, "that's a 'yes?' "
"YES, you green-eyed git! YES!"
Harry bounded up and flung his arms around Hermione. They fell onto the bed, laughing and crying, exploring each other with anxious hands and hungry lips in a pique of wild abandon. They became tangled in a confusion of rumpled blankets and disheveled robes, Hermione finally coming to rest atop Harry. Pressing her face to his panting chest, she admonished, "Don't let this give you any ideas, Harry Potter. We're still waiting until the wedding night."
"Pity," Harry said, his hand toying with the nape of his new fiancee's neck. "So, then, what do you reckon is an appopriate term of engagement for 'Destiny's Lovers'?"
"Not long," Hermione said musically as she traced a finger along Harry's collarbone. "Especially seeing as how I already arranged for Dumbledore to marry us just after the graduation ceremony."
"You what?"
"I told you," Hermione said triumphantly, "I go after what I want, and I always get what I go after!"
"You're bloody impossible," Harry said helplessly. "What am I going to do with you, Hermione Granger?"
"Two things," Hermione said. "You're going to change my name to Hermione Granger Potter." And in a barely audible whisper, as if she were afraid that speaking the words aloud would somehow undo the magic, she said, "And love me. For ever and always."
"For ever and always," Harry promised, holding Hermione so tightly that he could feel her heart beating like a sledge hammer in time with his own. "For ever...and always."
Author's Note: This story was very theraputic, as it relieved me of the guilty pleasure I derived in whipping up the extreme fluff of Key To My Heart. That story fits much better as a mere cog in the now-trilogy. The burden is lifted.
But it's not over yet. Two chapters remain. What is left, you wonder? Well, there's the formality of the wedding, for one thing. But you may have to look over the shoulders of two very special (if uninvited) guests to see what's going on. Who are these unannounced observers? Ah-ah, that would be telling! But I leave you with this: In the wizarding world, ANYTHING is possible! And now, as the wheels begin to turn in your brains, I take my leave.
Thanks for reading.