Intervention

fenriswolf

Rating: NC17
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/09/2004
Last Updated: 14/11/2004
Status: completed

During the summer after fifth year, Harry joins his friends at the Burrow, but the words of the Prophecy are haunting him, and leaving him without hope for the future. None of his friend's efforts are able to break him out of his fatalistic views, until one of them thinks of a unique method for breaking through Harry's funk. Rating raised to NC-17 for explicit content of later chapters.

Chapters

1. Harry really, really needs it

2. Making Plans

3. Taking The Plunge - Part I

4. Taking The Plunge - Part II

5. Consequences

6. Deal With It

7. Morning After Meanderings

8. To Diagon Alley, and Beyond

9. Conversations in the night

10. Proposals and Propositions

11. We Love Good when we Love Well

12. Understanding What’s To Come

1. Harry really, really needs it

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Chapter One

~~~~~~

She watched from the window of Ginny’s room as in the distance the black-haired figure pulled away from the shorter, red-haired one and strode angrily off into the woods. For the last two weeks, ever since she’d arrived at the Burrow, Hermione had been taking turns with Harry’s friends in trying to get him to open up to them, so far with no results. Today had been Ginny’s turn, and from the look of things, the Quaffle had missed the hoop once again.

She fell back onto the bed that had been squeezed into the youngest Weasley’s room for her use and sighed. Ever since their disastrous adventure at the Department of Mysteries Harry had been slipping away from his friends, putting up barriers around himself even higher than those he normally held around his feelings, and it was beginning to frighten her. She knew that losing Sirius would scar him, knew that he would probably blame himself for his godfather’s death, but there was more than guilt working behind those eyes this time.

Over the years Hermione had become adept at reading the subtle cues to Harry’s inner emotions. She’d had to learn, his awful relatives had spent too many years conditioning him not to reveal his true feelings to anyone lest they be used against him. She hadn’t realized that at first, of course. It was hard to comprehend that sort of abuse when you came from a loving home, but after their second year she’d begun to, when she’d heard from Ron, Fred and George what they’d had to do to rescue Harry from the Dursleys. Hermione had never mentioned it to anyone, least of all Harry, but she’d spent a good part of her following summer in the library, reading up on the effects of emotional abuse in order to better understand him.

The stories she’d read had horrified and sickened her, but it had given her the key to comprehending her friend. It was why she refused to get mad at him when he snubbed her after she reported the arrival of his Firebolt, why she restrained herself from mothering him to death, even when the urge was overpowering. It was why she never once doubted him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and why she put up with all his mood swings and tempers their fifth year. There were deep wounds in Harry’s psyche that it would take time and support to heal, and she knew the best thing she could do for him was just be his friend…even when she secretly wanted to be so much more.

It had taken a while for her to realize that her feelings for her best friend had been changing, but even the smartest witch of her generation could be clueless in the matters of the heart. It wasn’t until she saw him in so much pain at the end of their last year that she began to finally realize it, that what she felt for Harry had become something much more than just friendship. She had spent the weeks prior to arriving at the Burrow exploring her newfound awareness, and in hindsight come to the understanding that she’d always felt something a bit more for Harry than for Ron, ever since he’d risked his life to save the bushy-haired girl crying in the bathroom. Watching a scrawny, underfed boy in baggy, ill-fitting clothes fling himself on a mountain troll ten times his size had triggered unfamiliar feelings in the eleven-year old girl, feelings it had taken five more years to understand.

She’d come to the Burrow both scared and excited by this new awareness of her emotions. She’d also known that acting on her feelings would be fraught with risk, especially since she suspected her other best friend harbored feelings for her as well. Fortunately Ron had yet to make any attempt to act on his crush, but she knew that at the very least letting him down would be a delicate matter. She’d still been trying to decide how best to handle that situation a week later when Harry arrived, and one look into his emerald eyes had driven all concern for Ronald Weasley’s temper out of her head.

No matter what his upbringing dictated, there was one place where Harry’s true feelings always shone through, and that was in his eyes. When he yelled at her over some trivial matter, Hermione could look in his eyes and see that his anger was a façade and forgive him. When she’d walked down the stairs for the Yule Ball, feeling like a princess in a fable in her periwinkle dress robes and with her hair for once looking like she’d always wished (and secretly despaired it ever would), she’d seen the stunned look of admiration in his eyes and floated on a cloud the whole night…at least until Ron, the prat, had thrown one of his snits. And when he’d yelled at her and tried to push her away before their ill-fated trip to the Department of Mysteries, she’d seen the fear and panic in his eyes, and understood.

Now, though, the look in his eyes terrified her. Pain she’d expected, and grief over the loss of Sirius as well. Guilt and self-flagellation she’d been braced for, knowing he would blame himself for everything that went wrong, despite all the other factors beyond his control that had contributed to the chain of events leading up to that night. What she had not expected to see was nothing at all. For the first time she could remember, Harry’s eyes were flat and lifeless, devoid of feeling, of the spark that made them so memorable. It had taken a while, but she’d finally remembered where she’d seen such eyes before, in the pictures of the residents of the Nazi death camps, the eyes of people who had lost all hope. Some new burden had been added to Harry’s shoulders, and a threshold had been crossed. The boy she’d grown up with, the boy who’d been there for her when no one else was, the boy she’d grown to love, was missing. In place of the Boy Who Lived was, she’d realized with sick dread, the Boy Who Was Waiting To Die.

~~~~~~

Hermione’s gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of footsteps trudging up the stairs, followed by the opening of the bedroom door. “I guess you saw?” Ginny asked, her tone filled with unhappiness.

Her roommate nodded sadly. “Did you manage to get anything more out of him than I did? Anything at all?”

“No, nothing,” the youngest Weasley admitted, running her fingers through her hair in nervous frustration. “It was just the same as all the other times we tried to get him to open up; first he insisted there was nothing bothering him, and then when I tried to pin him down, he just pulled that ‘you wouldn’t understand’ shyte.” She dropped onto her bed and pummeled her pillow, venting her anger on the eiderdown since she couldn’t on a certain black-haired boy. When that wasn’t enough, she buried her face in its softness and let out a muffled shriek of rage. “Ooh, he just makes me so mad!” she snarled at last.

Hermione shook her head, though she secretly agreed with her friend. Lately she alternated between wanting to mother Harry and protect him from every single thing that had ever hurt him, and wanting to slap some sense into his stubborn head. Instead she sighed and watched the forest where her perhaps-more-than-best-friend had disappeared. “I just don’t…I don’t know what else to try, Ginny,” she admitted. “Nothing I say seems to reach him any more; once or twice I thought I was getting through to him, and then he just…switched off, just like he’d pulled a plug and turned off his feelings. Harry needs something to snap him out of this, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it is!”

She felt the prickling in her eyes that signaled the arrival of another bout of tears, and was struggling to bring them under control before she lost it completely, when another voice joined the conversation. “Personally,” it said in its instantly recognizable tones, “I think Harry needs to have sex.”

It took a minute for the words to register, but when they did, Hermione turned around and stared, wide-eyed, at the figure standing in the doorway of the room. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice filled with disbelief, “What did you just say?”

Luna Lovegood stepped into the room she was sharing for the summer with her schoolmates, pushing the door closed behind her, and after a moment, thoughtfully cast a silencing charm upon it. “I said,” she continued at last, “I think Harry really needs to have sex, and if you stop and consider it for a moment, you’ll see I’m right.”

Hermione exchanged a stunned glance with Ginny, who merely shrugged. She’d grown up near the odd Ravenclaw whose perspective on the world always seemed slightly…skewed would be the polite word, though Ron was somewhat partial to the term ‘barking’ where she was concerned. Hermione, however, had only been indoctrinated into Luna’s personal version of reality over the last year, and even though she’d learned, for Harry’s sake if for no one else’s, to make allowances for her peculiarities, she still found herself being taken aback on numerous occasions, the moreso since they were all staying together at the Burrow for the last month before returning to Hogwarts.

Luna’s father had decided that The Quibbler was going to take a very proactive stance in the burgeoning efforts to combat Voldemort’s Death Eaters, a position that had earned the paper enormous praise from some quarters, and serious threats of violence from others. That the threats were more than mere words was made absolutely clear when the Lovegoods’ home was leveled in a pre-dawn attack. Only the fortunate chance that had taken father and daughter to Diagon Alley and an overnight stay at the Leaky Cauldron spared their lives, and the senior Lovegood had asked his longtime neighbors to look after his only child while he camped out at his office and cranked out more broadsides aimed at arousing public resistance to You-Know-Who’s grab for power.

It had taken Hermione a few days to get used to the idea, but she finally found she rather enjoyed sharing Luna’s eccentric approach to day-to-day living. She didn’t think she could carry it off while actually at school, but during the summer break it was a welcome relief from her normal worries…most of the time.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and frowned at Luna’s complacent expression. “I don’t think Harry’s problems are anything to be making cavalier remarks about, Luna,” she started dismissively, but the girl with the dirty blond hair shook her head, for once her expression anything but dreamy.

“Hermione, I would never be cavalier where Harry is concerned,” she said earnestly, perching on the foot of her own bed like some exotic bird. “I would treat anyone who is in as much pain as he is with care, but Harry deserves even more consideration from me. He is my friend, and I do not have so many friends that I can afford to be careless with any of them. That is why I have thought so hard on this, and why I decided he needs to have sex.”

Ginny could see her bushy-haired friend starting to get wound up, and decided to intervene before the situation deteriorated completely. So far Hermione had avoided exploding at Luna a single time that summer, a record Ginny had decided she’d like to see her friend keep. “What made you come to the conclusion that Harry needs…that?” she asked, drawing Luna’s attention to her while being circumspect in deference to her other friend’s obvious distress.

“It’s very simple,” Luna replied to her childhood friend, her attitude now completely oblivious to the brown-haired girl directly in front of her. “Something traumatic happened to Harry just before the end of school, and whatever it was, he hasn’t been able to come to terms with it.”

“Sirius,” Hermione muttered, but Luna shook her head.

“It was more than that,” she replied. “I talked to Harry afterwards; he was in pain, and he was taking far too much blame on himself for other people’s decisions, but he was still coping. The Harry I saw at the train, and the one who is out there now, is a different person. Not only is he no longer coping with what happened, but also he has become fatalistic. He is not suicidal, not yet, but he clearly thinks he is going to die, and what is more, that there is nothing anyone can do to prevent it.”

No, not Harry,” Hermione whispered, but Ginny was nodding her head in agreement.

“I think she’s on to something, Hermione; you were kind of out of it for the first few days, so you might have missed it, but Harry did go through a change not long after we got back. It was like something in him was broken, and he didn’t know how to fix it.”

Looking back and for between one red head and one blond one, Hermione thought over their words and finally nodded. “All right, what you say is possible; now that I think of it, it’s even likely. Harry saw Professor Dumbledore after we returned to Hogwarts, I suppose something could have happened then.” She focused her gaze on the blue eyes of the Ravenclaw girl. “That still doesn’t explain the comment about…about Harry…” she blushed brightly as her words trailed off.

“About Harry needing to have sex?” Luna asked, ignoring Hermione’s wince at the blunt phrase. “Why, I would think that would be obvious. The only drive that humans have that is even stronger than the urge for self-preservation is the drive to procreate, and Harry is at an age where that drive is at its peak. Whatever it is that is making him think about dying, I guarantee that if he has enough sex he won’t be thinking about it any more; he’ll be thinking about living, so he can have even more sex.”

Luna quirked a puzzled eyebrow at Hermione’s blushing face. “I don’t see why this comes as such a surprise to you, Hermione. Sex magic is some of the oldest and most powerful magic there is. Even Muggles recognize how powerful a force sex is, that’s why the major religions all try and control it. Taliesin, Merlin, Vainonomen, all the great wizards of the past used it.”

Hermione’s embarrassed expression had faded, to be replaced by a stunned one. “Wait a minute, why haven’t I heard anything about this in class?” she asked, somehow offended that such important knowledge, if knowledge it was, had been denied her.

Now it was Luna’s turn to be puzzled. “Well you wouldn’t have, would you? Sex magic isn’t discussed in class until sixth term, after you’ve passed your O.W.L.s. The teachers aren’t about to go into a subject when you’re not old enough to do the practical work.”

“Practical...?” Hermione started to ask, and then blushed bright red as Luna’s words sunk in. “Eep,” she squeaked.

Luna turned a puzzled look at Ginny. “I don’t understand, why is she so surprised?”

Comprehension finally dawned on Ginny’s face. “Luna, Hermione is Muggle-born. Her mother isn’t a witch.”

Luna’s already slightly protuberant eyes widened even further. “Oh, well that explains it!” she said brightly, earning a scowl from the subject of her exchange with Ginny.

“Excuse me, but that explains what, exactly?” Hermione demanded.

“Why you don’t know about sex magic,” Luna said calmly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “With wizards, we’re told all about it by our parents so we don’t mess about with it by accident, girls by their mothers when they start their courses, boys by their fathers when they start having those sort of dreams.” She glanced over at Ginny. “How old were you when your mother gave you the talk?” she asked.

“I was twelve; it was just before I left for second year.” She shivered for a moment. “Mum was so upset; she was sure if she’d just talked to me the previous summer, Tom never would have tricked me with that diary.” She shook off her mood and returned her gaze to Luna. “How old were you?”

“I was an early bloomer, I had the talk just before my first year of school,” Luna replied, and then looked sad for a moment. “Of course, my mother was already dead, so poor father had to do the best he could, but I think he handled it well.” She turned her attention to the goggling brown-haired girl. “I suppose Muggles must do something similar; what did you mother tell you about sex?”

Hermione turned bright red. “Well, we haven’t actually talked about it; she gave me some books when I started asking questions, and had me talk to the doctor when those…changes…started, but…”

Both Ginny and Luna looked scandalized. “You mean she’s never said…I mean, never?” Ginny asked, her attitude one of stunned amazement. “I knew Muggles were strange, but really!”

“Then again, that would explain why there are so many of them,” Luna commented introspectively. “Even if we don’t learn the magical side of things, we’re all taught the most common contraceptive charms right away, just in case somebody starts experimenting early.” Her attention returned once more to their squirming roommate. “What do the Muggles teach about it?”

“Ummm, ‘Just Say No’?” Hermione replied timidly, her worldview undergoing severe alterations.

~~~~~~

Before she was allowed to object or even leave the room, Hermione was given a crash course in everything a witch was normally taught as soon as her body began to mature. At least she already knew the charms that were used to regulate her menses, those she had learned from Madame Pomfrey her second year when she had received her first ‘visit’ and had asked the school nurse for the Wizarding version of feminine hygiene products. All the rest, however, the contraceptive charms, as well as the spells to control the powerful energies that witches and wizards released during sex, came as a complete shock to the Muggleborn girl, and the war between her embarrassment and her excitement at discovering a whole new realm of magical knowledge would have been amusing if not for the reason it all had come up—Harry.

By the time they were done, Hermione figured her ability to be embarrassed by anything her friends said had been permanently shorted out, or at the very least indefinitely exhausted. “Well, that was an eye-opener,” she said at last, sitting cross-legged on her bed, while Ginny lay on her stomach on hers, and Luna perched on the windowsill, gazing out at the sunset. “I’m really glad we had this talk; it certainly answers some questions I didn’t even know I had about being a witch. But that being said, we still haven’t decided what to do about Harry.”

“We didn’t?” Luna asked, surprised. “But I thought you both agreed—”

“Yes, we agreed,” Hermione said hastily, still not completely comfortable with Luna’s bluntness. “Harry needs something to snap him out of the funk he’s in, and…making love…sounds like it might be just the thing to do it.” She shook her head, muttering under her breath, “I can’t believe I just said that…” Returning to the discussion, she continued, “But even with that decided, we still need to work out who’s going to…” she tapered off, at a loss how to continue with the surreal conversation.

Fortunately for Harry, Luna had no such problems. “Oh, you mean deciding who’s going to have sex with Harry,” she nodded, and waved her hand nonchalantly. “Well, it will have to be one of you two, obviously.”

“What do you mean, ‘Obviously’?” Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing.

“”Well, it can’t be me, I’m going to be too busy having sex with Ronald,” Luna said casually, earning a splutter from Ginny and a stare from Hermione. “He doesn’t know it yet, of course, but it’s really for the best,” the blonde girl continued. “I was going to wait and seduce him at school, but this will be better, because I can distract him while one of you helps Harry…unless you two want to share him?”

Hermione and Ginny’s eyes shifted from the Ravenclaw in the window to each other as they gauged their reaction to her blunt words. Hermione found she was after all wrong about her ability to be embarrassed as she felt herself blushing under the youngest Weasleys’ intent stare.

Nodding, Luna hopped down from the windowsill and headed for the door. “Why don’t you two reach a decision, and after you do, let me know so we can work out a plan. In the meantime, I think I’ll go see if Ronald feels like playing a game of Wizard’s Chess. There’s a Queen’s Gambit I want to try that I don’t believe he’s seen before…” She left the room, quietly humming ‘Weasley Is Our King’ as she went, leaving the other two girls sitting silently behind her.

~~~~~~

2. Making Plans

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Chapter Two – Making Plans

~~~~~~

Hermione listened to the staccato pattern of Luna’s footsteps skipping down the stairs, her eyes still fixed on her friend’s in the other bed. After a minute or two she gave herself a little shake and got to her feet, closing the door and then re-establishing the silencing charm. Returning to her bed she resumed her cross-legged pose and cleared her throat. “So, I guess we need to talk about this,” she offered hesitantly.

“I guess so,” Ginny agreed before lapsing back into silence. For a few minutes the only sounds in the room were those coming through the open window, the whisper of the light breeze through the nearby trees, the occasional snatch of birdsong, and the background drone of the insect life going about its business.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Ginny grumbled, swinging her legs off her bed and facing a startled Hermione. “We can dance around this for hours, getting nowhere, or we can be blunt as bollocks and sort this out quickly. Now me, I vote for bollocks. How about you?”

Hermione swallowed nervously, pushing an escaping tendril of her hair back behind her ear, her eyes darting around as she looked at everything other than the determined-sounding redhead sitting across from her. Her eyes’ movement stilled as they came to rest on a photograph sitting on Ginny’s nightstand. It was a picture of a much younger Harry and Ron, obviously snapped the summer before their second year at Hogwarts, before the events in the Chamber of Secrets cast their shadow on Harry’s eyes, a shadow that would grow with each subsequent crisis. Hermione realized she wanted to see Harry’s eyes with that sort of look in them again…whatever it took. “Bollocks,” she said firmly, meeting Ginny’s steady gaze with one of her own.

“Good!” her friend replied. “Now first off, we need to decide just what it is we’re talking about here, right?”

Hermione looked puzzled. “But we already decided that, at least I thought we did. We’re talking about somebody using, um, physical intimacy (she still couldn’t just spit out the word ‘sex’ with any degree of comfort) to get through to Harry and make him open up about his feelings…aren’t we?”

“We are,” Ginny agreed, “but what happens after that?” Hermione continued to look puzzled, and Ginny sighed. “Herms, Harry isn’t the kind of guy who’s going to go for a ‘fancy a shag?’ sort of relationship. For one thing, he’s Muggle raised like you, so he’s probably got all sorts of silly hang-ups about sex, just like you do. But on top of that, he didn’t have anything like the kind of affection from those Dursleys that you got from your parents. Merlin knows what kind of baggage those relatives have left him with, but it’s pretty clear that at best he’s going to have what Muggles call ‘issues’. Whoever beds him is going to have to plan on being there for the long haul. Now, are you up for that?”

“Don’t call me Herms,” Hermione replied absently as she considered the redheaded girl’s words. Of course she’d daydreamed about a life with Harry, a life after school and after the threat of Voldemort was gone. She was pretty sure every girl who fell in love had dreams like that. But Ginny was talking about deciding to make a lifetime commitment now, before she’d even spoken to Harry about her feelings, let alone acted on them as they were considering. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” she complained. “We should be dating, holding hands and kissing, maybe doing some serious snogging before any of this ever comes up. Now I’m talking about…having sex with Harry (there, she’d said it!) and I haven’t even told him how I feel about him yet! It just doesn’t make any sense…”

“Nope, it doesn’t,” Ginny agreed. “Then again, if it made sense we probably wouldn’t be talking about Harry, would we? He seems to attract the strange and unusual like a lodestone; why should his sex life be any different?”

Hermione began to frown at her friend. “Gin, you haven’t said what you think about the idea, either. I seem to recall you used to have quite the crush on Harry…”

“Merlin, don’t remind me!” Ginny half moaned, half laughed. “I was sooo pathetic; I couldn’t even talk around him for two years!” She wiped a couple of tears away, and then whispered, “You know, I almost wrote Lucius Malfoy a thank-you note for slipping me that diary? It was ruddy awful at the time, but in a weird way it sure cured me of my crush!” She smirked at the scandalized look on Hermione’s face, and then turned serious. “Joking aside, Hermione, I care a lot about Harry. I’m certainly willing to do anything to see him happy, if you get my drift. I’m not even going to mention the Wizard’s Debt I owe him for saving my life; Harry’s just too darned decent not to get a shot at happiness, and if it took a lifetime commitment from me to manage that, I’d do it in a shot.” She grinned suddenly. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s dead sexy with that messy black hair and those yummy green eyes, not to mention that tight little butt Quidditch has given him…”

“Ginny!” Hermione gasped, blushing bright red.

“Hey, take it easy, I’m just teasing…I think,” she added slyly just as Hermione relaxed. “The point is, Herms,” she continued, putting a bit of stress on the hated nickname, “that what I’m willing to do doesn’t really matter, since there’s someone much better for the job right in front of me.” Ginny smiled softly as Hermione nervously twisted the bottom of her tee shirt. “You really are in love with him, aren’t you?”

Hermione’s eyes widened as Ginny’s calm question dumped her innermost feelings out on the floor between them. “Love him?” she squeaked. “I never said—I mean, how did you know that…I mean, um…oh, bollocks!” she wailed, for once unable to find the words she needed so desperately.

“Hermione, it’s all right,” Ginny soothed, giggling a little at her friend’s discomfiture. “It’s not like it’s any big surprise, is it?” She smiled at the shocked look on the other girl’s face. “What? Everyone in Gryffindor has been waiting for you two to get together for two years; well, except for a few diehards who are crazy enough to think all that bickering means you fancy my brother. But anyone who really knows you two can see how you both feel.”

“Both?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “You mean, you think Harry feels…” She found herself shaking her head. “No, why should he think that way about me? He spent most of the last two years fancying Cho, not me.”

“And we all saw how well that turned out,” Ginny scoffed. “I’m not saying Harry can’t be a complete prat; he is a boy, after all. Just because he feels something for you, it doesn’t mean he knows he feels it.” She smiled at Hermione’s disbelieving stare. “Hermione, you and I both know that just about the only boys Harry’s age who have a clue when it comes to their emotions are Beaters for the other team. With Harry, it’s pretty much a given that you have to make the first move, just because you two started out as friends. When you throw in all his baggage from Tom, those Muggles and what happened to Sirius…well, Luna is probably right, it’ll take you jumping him to get him to wake up.”

Hermione felt a twisting in her stomach as Ginny’s words sunk in. “I’m scared, Gin. What if he doesn’t want me? What if he thinks I’m a tramp, or I just want him for his money or because he’s famous? What if—?”

“Whoa, whoa!” Ginny interrupted before Hermione could work herself into a full-blown panic attack. “Don’t let’s go borrowing trouble, we have enough to go around as it is. First off, if we do this right, him wanting you is going to be the least of your worries. Second, short of shagging Malfoy in the middle of the Great Hall, Harry could never think of you as a tramp! And third, you’ve been his friend for what, five years? When have you ever been impressed by his money or his fame? He knows you, Hermione; even now, when his head’s messed up, he still knows who you are.”

“Are you sure, Ginny?” Hermione asked, hating how pathetically hopeful she sounded. “I admit I have feelings…no, that I love Harry,” she said firmly, acknowledging out loud what she’d only admitted in her heart, “and that I want to be with him, but that doesn’t mean I’m the best thing for him. I don’t want to make matters worse instead of better.”

“Trust me on this one, Hermione,” Ginny replied with equal firmness. “You are precisely what Harry needs; anyone else who tried would come in a poor second. All you need is a little self-confidence, and a good plan of attack.” She hopped from her bed and headed for the door of her room. “Now let’s get Luna back in here and figure out just how we’re going to pull this off…”

~~~~~~

A few minutes later Ginny returned with the Ravenclaw girl in tow, muttering under her breath as she entered their room, “I don’t know what the bloody hell she sees in him…” Closing the door, she turned on Luna and said with a certain amount of asperity, “I know you fancy my git of a brother, but could you tone it down a bit, at least while you’re in my house? I play with that chess set, too, you know.”

Luna shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the curious looks she was receiving from Hermione. “I don’t understand what you’re complaining about, Ginny; your brother’s hands were sticky from all those chocolate frogs he was eating. I was just cleaning off the pieces before putting them away.”

“Licking the knights and sucking on the bishops is not cleaning them,” Ginny replied repressively, earning another shrug from Luna, although a very observant person might have caught the smirk playing around the corners of the blond girl’s mouth.

Hermione shook her head, deciding that Luna’s flirtation techniques definitely fell, like the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, into the category labeled Things It Was Better Not To Think About. Instead she asked, “We were going to work out a plan?”

Luna’s mood brightened significantly. “Oh, did you two come to a decision? Are you going to share him between you?”

“No, no sharing,” Hermione said firmly, wanting to quell any ideas along those lines before they developed.

“Are you sure?” Luna pressed. “Because there are some interesting references to Druidic practices that emphasized such arrangements, not to mention a number of Tantric scrolls that would apply…”

“We’re sure,” Ginny answered, reinforcing Hermione’s statement. “No sharing; even if we were all willing, and we aren’t, I don’t think Harry’s in the right frame of mind to make that sort of decision.”

“Hmmm, you’re probably right,” Luna finally agreed. “Harry is a bit rocky, at that. Still, you could keep it in mind for later, after he gets used to the idea of regularly having sex.” With that matter settled, she moved on. “So which of you is it going to be? Hermione, I suppose?”

“Told you,” Ginny murmured to her blushing friend. To Luna she continued, “Yes, it’s going to be Hermione. The trick is going to be to catch him when his guard is down, and where Hermione can approach him without fear of being interrupted. It also has to be a time and place where he can’t just bolt as soon as she makes a move. Any ideas?”

The three girls all slipped deep into thought as they mused on the best way to go about deflowering their unsuspecting target. Finally Ginny snapped her fingers and exclaimed, “I think I’ve got it! How about…” Their voices dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as they laid their plans into the night.

~~~~~~

Next Time: Taking The Plunge

3. Taking The Plunge - Part I

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE Part I – First of all, thanks to everyone who’s given me such wonderful reviews on this. I don’t think any of my other stories have generated such a response; I guess I’ll have to devote more on-screen time to Luna from now on, given how much people like her. Hopefully you’ll continue to like the direction I’m taking her character in this chapter.

I know some (perhaps all) of my readers will be disappointed by the continued absence of smutty goodness, but there’s a reason for this. A few people have commented on how this fic started dark and then turned humorous. After giving it a lot of thought, I decided I would be doing Harry and his friends a disservice if I deliberately lightened the overall tone of the work. There will be humorous moments, especially when certain people are attempting to fit tab A into slot B, but for the most part this deals with a very serious matter, and that is, quite literally, Harry’s continuing sanity, and Hermione’s role in preserving it.

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Chapter Three – Taking The Plunge – Part One

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Harry sat on the embankment above the trout stream that defined the Weasley’s northern property line, and once again wondered what it would be like to just sink into its embrace, letting the crystal clear waters wash away all the pain and confusion that seemed to fill his every waking moment. It was a thought that had occurred to him briefly in the past, but this year it was far stronger, and seductive to the point that on one occasion he’d returned to the Burrow with wet trainers and soggy legs on his rolled-up, oversized hand-me-down jeans, the results, he had claimed, of going wading to cool off from the heat.

The only good thing about his friends’ reactions to that rather thin lie was that it had convinced him that sharing the truth with them would be a mistake. Ever since he’d really understood what it meant to be ‘The Boy Who Lived’, he’d hated how it separated him from everyone around him, turning him into something he patently was not. All he’d done that was special was have his parents die to save him, and while his mother’s love could protect him from the murderous spells of a would-be tyrant, it couldn’t protect him from being neglected by those who should have watched out for him, or from being abused by the relatives who should have cared for him. Being the ‘Boy Who Lived’ wasn’t a blessing, it was a curse; the Dark Lord’s Avada Kedavra had rebounded from the protections his mother’s blood gave him, and it was still rebounding, killing those who got too close to him. The fact that Ron and Hermione were his best friends was too well known for Harry to hope that they hadn’t become targets, but the least he could do was try and keep them from getting any closer, especially now that he knew his true destiny. He knew that the awkwardness they felt around him was caused in part by the bizarre happenings that always seemed define his life, how much more awkward would they be once they learned how his life was foreordained to end, in another confrontation with the homicidal madman whose insanity had already warped every facet of Harry’s existence? A confrontation where, he was honest enough to admit, the best he could hope for was that when he died he could take that madman with him?

He couldn’t tell them that, he just…couldn’t. It was bad enough listening to them skate around the death of his godfather in the Department of Mysteries; he knew if he let them talk about it, they’d tell him it hadn’t been his fault, that it was all Voldemort’s doing, but Harry knew better. Professor Snape was right, he was an arrogant little fool, too wrapped up in himself to listen to wiser heads, and his arrogance had gotten Sirius killed.

If he told them about the Prophecy, they’d try and convince him that it wasn’t important, that prophecies were notoriously vague and prone to misinterpretation. Harry could almost hear Hermione’s voice derisively dismissing the whole concept of divination as a ‘fuzzy discipline’. Surely the Boy Who Lived was powerful enough to overcome a vague omen of doom, especially when people had been incorrectly predicting his death for years!

The problem was that Harry knew too much to accept that thin comfort. If prophecies were so much bunk, why would there be a whole Department dedicated to recording and preserving them? Why would Voldemort, arguably the most powerful Dark wizard of his generation, be so desperate to get his hands on the one that concerned him? If the words were so much meaningless drivel, why had Dumbledore gone to such lengths to keep them from Harry?

No, the prophecy wasn’t drivel, it was the catalyst that had shaped his whole life to date, and apparently was going to shape his future as well, what little there was of it. Because of the portion he knew, Voldemort had killed Harry’s parents. Because of that same portion, he had tried and failed to kill Harry. Because he knew the whole prophecy, Dumbledore had husbanded Harry’s life, in the certainty that eventually he would be the key to destroying this latest threat to the peace of the Wizarding world. Because he knew the whole prophecy, Dumbledore had let Harry struggle through ten years of emotional and physical abuse at the hands of his so-called ‘relatives’, just to keep his weapon safe. Because of the damned prophecy, Harry was alternately worshipped and vilified by complete strangers, had acquired enemies who’d hated him since before he was born, and lost every single person who cared about him, plain Harry, not Harry-bloody-Potter-The-Boy-Who-Lived.

A flash of movement in the stream caught his attention, and he watched as a small trout dodged away from the patch of water covered by Harry’s shadow. The sight of his outline shading the rippling surface made him realize that the sun had finally risen above the treetops. The morning was passing, and he’d promised to meet Ron at the little lake in the woods where the Weasleys went swimming.

Most of the people who thought they knew Harry would be expecting him to seek escape from his thoughts on his broomstick. Ever since that first lesson when he’d recovered Neville’s Remembrall from Malfoy’s bullying clutches, he’d been a natural. The drills he’d practiced as the Gryffindor’s Seeker had always been more about teaching him the subtleties of the game than about his flying skills. But the air was no longer a haven for Harry. Every year it seemed that the pleasures he felt while on his broom were being shadowed by darker and darker events.

First year Harry was nearly killed by Quirrell’s cursing of his broom, only to be saved by Snape, a man who had loathed him from the moment he set eyes on him. Second year, Dobby’s attempts to ‘protect’ him almost led to his death, the victim of a rogue bludger, triggering a series of events that eventually resulted in a confrontation with a centuries old basilisk and an echo from Voldemort’s days as a student. Third year the effects of the dementors led to the destruction of his Nimbus 2000, which in turn led to Sirius gifting him with a Firebolt, a bittersweet gift at best, as every time he flew on it he was reminded of the injustices his godfather had suffered on Harry’s behalf. Fourth year, it was his skill on a broom that had allowed him to complete the first task, when it might have been better for everyone if he’d failed. If he had failed, he might have been disqualified from the tournament, and Voldemort might not have risen, or at the very least, Cedric Diggory might still be alive. And then there was fifth year. Even being been banned from Quidditch and having his precious Firebolt confiscated hadn’t been enough to keep him out of the air. He’d mounted a Thestral, the winged beast that was a harbinger of death, and so brought death to his Godfather.

Harry felt the familiar stab of pain as he thought of Sirius, how learning the truth about his Godfather had raised his hopes so high, and how Harry’s own hunger for vengeance had cost Sirius his freedom. He’d kept the last two Marauders from killing Pettigrew not out of compassion, but because he wanted to see his parents’ betrayer suffer. Instead Peter had escaped to resurrect the Dark Lord, and his godfather had remained a fugitive until he died. No, Harry wouldn’t be flying on the broom his godfather had given him anytime soon. The moment Professor Dumbledore had gravely returned it to him during Harry’s brief stay at Grimmauld Place, Harry had taken it upstairs and placed it on the bed in Sirius’s old room, and as far as he cared, there it could stay.

But with flying out of the question, Harry needed another form of exercise to exhaust him so he could sleep. He tried to do chores around the Burrow, but Mrs. Weasley had pitched a fit the first time she saw him scrubbing the floor, so that was out. He’d tried hiking, but the portion of the Weasley’s property that was fully warded wasn’t suited to the type of walks that left a person tired enough for a good night’s sleep. He’d been reduced to spending his time hurling the increasingly timid garden gnome population when Ron had tentatively suggested swimming.

One of the features of the Burrow that Harry had only explored in passing during previous visits was the small lake that served the Weasleys as their swimming pool. Hidden in the middle of the patch of woods that separated their home from Ottery St. Catchpole and the rest of the outside world, generations of redheads and their friends had disported themselves behind the shelter of layers of Muggle-repellent charms. In the past Harry had been an indifferent swimmer, but this year he found himself falling into the rhythm of swimming back and forth, back and forth across the lake until he was sufficiently tired that his turbulent thoughts calmed and he could sleep.

‘Not that sleep is much better,’ he thought despairingly. The only thing that could be said for his nightly sessions wrestling with his personal demons was that they didn’t seem to be inspired by Voldemort. Ever since he’d tried to possess Harry in the Department of Mysteries and been cast out, there had been a barrier between the Dark Lord’s thoughts and his own. The downside was that the absence of pain from his scar meant that the horrors that had him waking in a cold sweat more often than not were the product of his own subconscious, not a pleasant thought when one couldn’t forget the images playing inside one’s own eyelids.

Bodies. In the end, the nightmares always came down to bodies. The bodies of his parents, sprawled in the ruins of Godric’s Hollow, of Hermione, dead under the club of a mountain troll, of Hagrid, beheaded by Nott in his own pumpkin patch, of Ron, a withered husk in an acromantula’s web, of Ginny, cold and lifeless in the Chamber of Secrets, of Sirius, his throat ripped out by a werewolf, of Remus, a silver arrow through his heart, of Gabrielle, Ron and Hermione, drowned by the merpeople, of Ron and Hermione, dying in the abandoned cemetery, of Hermione being tortured by Umbridge’s bloodletting quill until she passed out from blood loss and pain, of Hermione, falling under the glaring purple light of Dolohov’s curse, of Hermione falling backwards under the curse’s effects and through the Veil….

It was the last that always seemed to be the hardest to take, that woke him up, screaming her name in panic. She was his best friend, but something about her was creating a breach in the defenses he was struggling to maintain. The thought of her being hurt again, or worse, killed while trying to help him, was almost more than he could stand. And it was thoughts of what being his friend could mean to her that twisted the knife of guilt even deeper in Harry’s gut, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t resolve the quandary she presented to him. He knew that if he really cared about her, he’d push her away from him and the danger he represented, but at the same time he cared too much about her to let her go. Her friendship was the lifeline thrown to a drowning man, and he knew if he ever lost it he’d sink without a trace.

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It was in this gloomy state of mind that Harry finally arrived at the lake. Anyone examining it closely would realize it was a bit too perfect a setting to be natural; consecutive generations of Weasleys had each added his or her own little improvements to the site, and to the discerning eye it showed, much as the ‘natural’ landscapes of Victorian follies always stood a little apart from the nature surrounding them.

The lake was an irregular oval, some thirty by sixty meters in size, with a small, spring-fed waterfall cascading into one end, while at the other a brook drained the runoff into the nearby stream. Most of the shore was blanketed with a soft, mossy growth that tapered smoothly down into the water, with the exception being where the spring water chuckled down over a time-polished stone surface. At that point a small outcropping of granite provided a low diving platform that conveniently happened to be situated alongside the deepest part of the lake.

The one wizard made concession to the natural setting was the floating platform that held station in the center of the lake. The woods encroached too closely on the water to make sunning on the shore feasible, so the platform provided a spot where a good portion of the day could be spent exposed to the sun’s rays, especially at the height of a lazy summer. Even Harry had been lured by its seductive appeal, his body warmed by the sun as the gentle motion of the water made even the hard wood of the float a relaxing bed. By unspoken agreement no one disturbed him when he was resting there, an added incentive to spend time in the water.

Harry glanced around as he hung his towel from a convenient branch and frowned; Ron usually insisted on joining him during his daily swims, citing a long-standing family rule about a ‘buddy system’ to explain his presence. Harry wasn’t too sure how much of that was true, and how much an excuse to keep an eye on him, but it was reasonable enough not to be able to take exception to it without sounding like a prat. Usually his friend was there well before him, it being a perfect excuse to get away from what he scathingly called the ‘hen sessions’ at the Burrow proper. Mrs. Weasley was taking full advantage of the rare occasion of having estrogen outnumbering testosterone in her home, and Ron was convinced that prolonged exposure to ‘girl talk’ was giving him hives.

Today, though, Ron was absent, leaving the peaceful setting entirely to Harry, not that he minded the change. His redheaded friend was better than the girls about leaving him to his own thoughts, but Harry still caught the occasional concerned look out of the corner of his eye. Ron for a wonder knew better than to pry, but Harry could still feel the questions aching to burst from his friend’s throat, questions Harry wasn’t yet ready to answer, if he ever would be.

Stripping off his shirt and jeans, he adjusted the boxers that served him in place of a pair of trunks and then dove into the water, slipping easily into the economical overhand crawl that long-distance swimmers used and tuned out the world, his mind focused on the movement of his arms and legs as he propelled himself through the water, completely oblivious to the pair of brown eyes that were watching his every move.

Harry was just completing his twentieth lap and was thinking of taking a break when a flash of white and a loud splash announced the arrival of another swimmer. He paused and treaded water, waiting for his friend to join him, but the head of hair that eventually emerged from the water was brown, not red. “Hermione, what are you doing here? Where’s Ron?” he asked, surprised by her presence.

Hermione treaded water next to him and gave her head a quick shake to clear her eyes, her hair bound in a thick plait down her back. “I’m swimming, Harry; I do know how to swim, you know,” she replied, her tone more open and friendly than he’d heard all summer.

Harry pushed down a flare of irrational anger before he answered, her nearness and casual tone for some reason disturbing him. “ I know you can swim, I’ve seen you before; I was expecting Ron is all,” he clarified.

“Oh, well Mrs. Weasley had some things she wanted him to get done; apparently he’s been skipping some of his chores. I expect he’ll be busy most of the day.”

“Uh huh,” he answered, unconsciously drifting a bit closer to her as they both continued to tread water. “That explains why Ron isn’t here, but it still doesn’t tell my why you’re here…and don’t start with that ‘I know how to swim’ line again.” A frown began to darken his features. “Are you here to try and get me to talk again, is that it? Another chance to help poor Harry?”

To his complete surprise she snorted and moved away, maintaining the distance between them. “No, Harry, I’m not going to bother you about that any more. You’ve made it very clear you want to be left alone, and I’ve decided to respect your wishes. As to why I’m swimming now and not some other time, Mrs. Weasley asked me to come. Just because Ron is busy doesn’t mean you should have to give up your swim, and you know the rules about swimming alone. I was going to swim later with Ginny, but she’s helping her mum today, so here I am. Satisfied?”

‘Don’t crowd him,’ Ginny had suggested when they had made their plans. ‘Let him get used to the idea of you being there. If he gets all defensive the rest of the plan won’t work.’

“Um, yeah; sorry,” he apologized, feeling oddly disappointed by her nonchalant attitude. He watched, bemused by the flash of white arms and creamy flesh as she turned and began swimming across the lake. The unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach made him decide to take a break from his own exercise, and a few strokes of his arms took him to the platform where it floated in the warm sun.

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At that moment the object of Harry’s brief concern was striding forcefully through the woods, grumbling under his breath for all he was worth. He should have known first off that something was up when Ginny pulled their Mum aside right after breakfast, and he definitely should have caught on when Mum had summoned her daughter’s other two roommates to join her in the kitchen, especially since she shooed her only resident son out after just three servings of kippers and toast. But no, he’d had to hang around like a complete fool, reading the latest issue of Quidditch Review, until the matriarch of the Weasley home had walked up and handed him a worklist of suddenly urgent tasks that would eat up his whole morning!

And for a wonder, for once his ultimate trump card had fallen on deaf ears. “Harry will be fine,” Molly had insisted, “and if he needs checking up on, I’m sure one of the girls can do it. You, Ronald, have been shirking your chores all summer, and it’s time you caught up!” And with those words he was put to work.

Nor did it help his mood when he discovered that the girls, by dint of their attention to their chores earlier in their stay, were given permission to skive off, and had retreated en masse to Ginny’s room, to spend the day laughing and giggling and discussing subjects he’d rather not think about just yet. He, on the other hand, got to de-gnome the garden, clean out the roof gutters, and basically do about a dozen minor jobs that always seemed to need doing around the house, but never looked any different after they were done. By the time he was finished he was cranky and grubby, not to mention starving, and after wolfing down about a half a pound of thinly sliced roast beef between a couple of slabs of his mum’s fresh-baked bread, he grabbed his trunks and towel and headed for his swim.

Ron was about halfway between the Burrow and the lake, well within the woods and out of sight of either his starting point or his destination, when the sight of something to one side of the path arrested his headlong pace. Seated on a fallen log and humming a little tune as she played with a small wildflower, was Luna Lovegood, but a Luna Ron had never seen before. In fact if it weren’t for the way she cocked her head and the light caught in her dreamy, cornflower blue eyes, he doubted he would have recognized her at all. As it was the sight of her was enough to make him miss his step and land in a tumble practically at her feet.

The first thing he noticed was her hair, his attention drawn by the movement of her hand as it pushed a stray lock back behind her ear. It still hung loose around her shoulders, but instead of its normal stringy appearance, it had been brushed until it shone, with a gentle wave that picked up highlights from the scattered sunbeams that made their way through the canopy of leaves.

He also noticed on a subliminal level that her face looked subtly different, due to the application of the lightest touches of cosmetics. Nothing overpowering or gauche, just enough to accentuate the mature planes that were beginning to develop. Instead of protuberant, her eyes looked thoughtful, and the fullness of her lips was accentuated by a light sheen of lip-gloss.

At that point his eyes traveled lower and conscious thought shut down. Luna Lovegood might be the same age as his little sister, but she definitely wasn’t a little girl any more, not where it mattered. Ron was used to seeing her either in school robes and uniforms, or the comfortably conservative (and loose fitting) jumpers and jeans combinations that witches and wizards in his social group seemed to favor. Whatever else her outfit today was, it was neither comfortably loose NOR conservative.

Her burgundy pants were like nothing he had ever seen before; the snug waistband with its belt of leather and silver studs sat so low on her hips that the shape of her flaring pelvis was clearly visible, its angularity cradling the taut swell of her stomach. Ron swallowed nervously as he realized that there was a flash of silver, almost like an earring if that were possible, in her navel. From the waistband down over her hips the pants were so tight it looked like they were painted on, with the portion of the fabric that covered the place between her legs doing interesting things that made his palms sweat. From there, though, the material of the legs flared enormously, with gigantic pockets that looked capable of hiding a hippogriff decorating their sides. The bottoms of the pants sported three-inch cuffs, and from under them peeked thick-bottomed, platform sandals. Her toenails, he noticed blankly, were painted a brilliant red.

Above that taut stomach with its maddening, slight swell and intriguing jewelry, her outfit’s designers had apparently decided to make up for the extravagance of the pants by providing a bare minimum of fabric for the top—with the emphasis on ‘bare’. A thin band of material, no more than four inches in width, hugged her chest in a way that he was fairly sure should be illegal, not that he was about to file any complaints. The burgundy of the pants had been lightened to a pale pink just shy of white, the pearlescent fabric so thin as to be almost translucent. Ron swallowed nervously as he realized he could not only see the shape of her puffy nipples where they adorned her small, perfect breasts, but a hint of their color as well. The last few firing brain cells he had remaining noted that the fingernails on the hand that was toying with her silver necklace were painted the same shade of red as her toes. Then she licked her lips and the shutdown of rational thought was complete.

“Hello, Ronald,” she said softly, her voice far less dreamy than was her wont. “Would you like some company?”

Ron shook his head, trying to force a bit of blood back into his brain and scrambled to his feet. “Luna? What are you…where…uh, why are you sitting out here in the woods?” he asked at last, figuring that it was the safest question at the moment.

He was wrong. “I should think that would be obvious, Ronald, I was waiting for you.” She paused while he absorbed that statement, and then continued. “I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

“Uh huh,” he replied, and after a moment gave up any pretense that he was looking anywhere but at her breasts. “Uh, you need to be dressed like that to talk to me?” he asked, his voice not judgmental or condemning, but curious.

“Oh, do you like this?” she asked, getting to her feet and doing a quick pirouette. “I saw some Muggle girls in town dressed like this; their boyfriends seemed to enjoy it, so I gave it a try.”

“Well, it’s…different,” Ron admitted nervously, his heartrate picking up in reaction to the interesting way the fabric of Luna’s’ clothing shifted when she moved. “Isn’t it kind of…revealing, though?” he asked, surprising himself as the words came out of his mouth.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet! Watch this,” she directed. Ron’s face flushed bright red as she deliberately pinched her nipples through the thin fabric, rapidly exciting them to hardened buttons that seemed to be pointing right at him, the darkened shade of their aroused state clearly visible through the translucent material. “I thought the fabric must be charmed, the way it clings; look, you can even see the bumps forming on my aureoles.” Ron’s strangled groan made her look up from her inspection of the effects of her ministrations, and she finally realized that perhaps she had overdone things just a bit.

Clucking with annoyance, she pulled the towel out of his unresisting hands and draped it over her shoulders, allowing its ends to cover the most immediate source of Ron’s distraction. As awareness returned to his features, she lowered herself back onto the log, patting the space next to her. “Please sit, Ronald,” she asked quietly, smiling as he answered her request by folding his long legs until he was seated beside her. “I’m sorry if I bothered you, Ronald; it was necessary that I make you reassess certain ideas you had about me, and this was the most effective way I could think to do it. I do hope you aren’t too upset with me.”

Luna’s closeness, and the topic of conversation that was odd even by her standards, did have Ron upset, but not in an angry fashion, but more in the fashion of someone who had been awakened to concepts they had never considered before. After all, she was Loony Lovegood, wasn’t she? She was just his sister’s tagalong friend who’d always been underfoot in the years before Hogwarts, and whose odd perspective on life frequently made his head hurt. As he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, with her arms braced on the log and her head tilted slightly to the side and her gaze lost in the distance, a strange feeling started building in his chest, one that reminded him of something he’d forgotten all about, an event that had occurred the summer he’d turned eleven…

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He’d been returning from an errand for his mum, picking up a few items from the Muggle grocers in Ottery St. Catchpole, when he’d heard some shouts and laughter coming from around the bend of the road. Curious, he’d picked up his pace and come across two Muggle boys from a nearby farm looming over an upset Luna Lovegood, tossing something back and forth between them over her head as she desperately tried to catch it.

Ron felt the beginning burn of the infamous Weasley temper as he saw the tears on Luna’s cheeks; sure, she was an annoying pest, but she was his sister’s friend, too. The same rules that demanded that the only boys allowed to pick on the youngest Weasley were her brothers automatically extended to Ginny’s friends, and even Ron knew that making a girl cry was crossing the line. Then the larger of the two boys shoved Luna, knocking her to the ground, and his temper exploded. “Oi! What the bloody hell are you doing?” he shouted, dropping his parcel and jogging forward.

The two boys, Mark and Jimmy if he remembered correctly, jumped guiltily at the sound of his voice, and then relaxed when they realized that an adult hadn’t caught them in the act of tormenting a defenseless girl. “None of your business, Weasley,” Mark, the one who’d shoved her, taunted. “Just having some fun with the nutter, is all.” He smirked, encouraged by his brother’s laughter at his words. “What do you care, is she your girlfriend?” he asked snarkily, using the deadliest insult available to boys that age.

“She’s my sister’s friend, and you’ll leave her alone if you know what’s good for you, you git!” Ron shouted, giving the older boy a shove. Mark’s face flushed angrily and he took a broad swing at Ron’s head, but one didn’t grow up with five older brothers without learning a few things about scrapping, and Ron instinctively dodged under the blow and struck back, burying his fist in Mark’s stomach.

Ron smiled with satisfaction as the bigger boy collapsed, gasping for breath, and then pain exploded in his head as Jimmy struck him a glancing blow from behind. Spinning around, Ron blocked the next punch and jabbed the boy in the nose, making him stumble back with a yelp of surprise. A quick flurry of blows later both brothers were on the ground, a wild-looking Ron, his eye blackening and lip split, looming over them. “You two clear off, and you better leave my sis and her friends alone if you don’t want more of the same!” he growled. Mark and Jimmy glanced at each other, and in the manner of all bullies decided that this particular entertainment was more trouble than it was worth. With a couple of ego-soothing taunts they headed down the road, leaving the field to Ron.

Once he was sure that his opponents weren’t going to jump him the moment his back was turned, he shifted his attention to the girl he’d rescued. “You okay, Luna?” he asked, picking up the object the boys had been using to tease her and extending it to her.

Luna accepted the book calmly, the only remaining evidence that she’d just been bullied the faint tracks of her tears on her cheeks. “Yes, thank you, Ronald,” she replied, her dreamy voice for some reason not as annoying as it usually was. “Thank you for rescuing me, that was very brave of you.”

“Hey, no big deal,” Ron replied, for some reason embarrassed by Luna’s praise. “Those guys have bugged Ginny a couple of times, I was glad to have a chance to teach them a lesson about messing with Weasleys or our friends.”

“Yes, Father says your family is different from a lot of the purebloods,” she said, her gaze going unfocused as she recited her parent’s opinions. “He also says that you put more importance on character than on bloodlines, and that if more wizards were like you we wouldn’t have the problems we do in our world.”

Ron shrugged, now feeling very uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. “I dunno about all that; I just know what Mum and Dad say, that, uh, sometimes there’s rot in the oldest family trees, and strength in the youngest ones, something like that.”

“That is very wise, Ronald, I see now where you get your intelligence,” Luna replied, her gaze focused on his face once more, earning another flush.

“Uh, can we talk about something else, please?” he asked plaintively, earning a slightly hysterical laugh from the blond girl. Usually that laugh set his teeth on edge, but for some reason this time he kind of liked it.

“Very well, Ronald, we can talk about something else,” she agreed when she’d caught her breath. “What do you think about this year’s chances for the Chudley Cannons?”

The rest of that afternoon Ron had expounded at great length about the greatness lurking beneath the surface of his favorite team, with Luna only occasionally needing to prompt him to keep the torrent of Quidditch trivia flowing. He’d ended up walking her home, where she thanked him once again for rescuing her and then, just before she fled inside, she kissed him quickly on the cheek.

By the time he’d returned home (where he received a thorough tongue-lashing from his mum for being gone so long when there were chores to be done) the day’s events seemed surreal, and given his siblings’ penchant for seizing on any excuse to tease him unmercifully, they became something he kept to himself. The fight he had to confess to, with the evidence of it clear on his face, but the reason for it was modified to exclude all mention of rescuing his sister’s odd friend.

With only two weeks remaining before summer’s end and Ron’s first trip to Hogwarts, the chaos of last minute preparations drove all thought of the incident from Ron’s mind, and by the time he saw Luna again the following summer, he’d completely forgotten about it…until today.

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The passage of five years had produced changes both physical and emotional on the teens, and feelings that had just confused and upset Ron when he was eleven were a very different thing now. It was weird, he thought to himself, how a flash of childhood memory could completely change your perspective. For the last couple of years, all the early stirrings of romantic feelings he’d felt (and the fantasies that went with them) had seemed to revolve around a girl with bushy brown hair. From now on he knew that the hair in those fantasies would no longer be bushy, but straight, and no longer brown, but blond. And hopefully, if he was reading the signs right, there would soon be something more concrete than his limited imagination on which to base those fantasies...

Clearing his throat he brought his attention back to the girl sitting quietly next to him. “So, um, you wanted to talk to me?” he asked.

Given her earlier behavior, it was a surprisingly shy smile that appeared on Luna’s face. She wasn’t nearly as self-confident as the mask she wore made her out to be, and she had been looking forward to this day ever since that morning on the road when her redheaded champion had rescued her from the demons. They weren’t really demons of course; if their parents had caught them they would have scolded them and dismissed it as just another case of boys being boys. But Luna saw more than that when she looked at them; she always Saw more than that…

Luna was well aware how most of the world perceived her odd behavior. They thought her strange, perhaps a little mad, and it never bothered her greatly that they did so. After all, she knew the truth, even if most others did not. One of the last clear memories she had of her mother was of her serene voice explaining the gift and curse of the women of her family. Beyond the gift of wizardry in her blood, Luna, like her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother before her, possessed the Sight, the ability to See aspects of the world that were hidden from others, even those of wizarding blood. It was why she spoke so confidently of things like Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, because she knew that, like the Thestrals that she had always been able to see, there were things in the world that not even magic could reveal. Nargles were one of those things; the true feelings of the boy she loved were another.

As she’d told her two friends, she’d had every intention of seducing Ronald at some point during her Fifth Year, though that statement wasn’t entirely accurate. What was accurate was that she knew she was going to become his lover, for she had Seen them together, and the details of what she’d Seen had made it very clear that they were no longer just friends. What her vision didn’t tell her was how the change had come about, so while she was confident that she and the youngest of the Weasley boys would become intimate, she wasn’t nearly as positive that this was when it would happen. She wanted it to, desperately, and she was fairly sure that, if nothing else, she could get his thoughts moving in that direction, but whether or not he would act on those thoughts was still in Circe’s hands.

With that idea firmly in mind, she decided to proceed with her conversation. Whatever else happened, she had a promise to keep regarding diverting Ronald away from the lake so that Hermione could have her chance to help Harry. “There are several things I want to talk about, Ronald; how you feel about what I am wearing is one of those things, and I hope that it will be a pleasant discussion for both of us, but that is far from being the most important matter.”

Ron thought this over for a minute before answering. Suddenly the series of events leading up to this meeting, starting with his sister’s urgent conversation with their mum and ending with Luna delaying his walk to the lake made sense. “You’re talking about helping Harry, aren’t you?” he asked. “That’s what you lot were talking about, right? I hope you have some better ideas than I do, because pissall I’ve tried has worked.”

Luna smiled, pleased, though a bit surprised by his response; from the way he’d been carrying on all summer, she’d thought he had either completely missed or was in total denial about his best friend’s condition. “I’m very impressed, Ronald. I’m afraid I thought from the way you’ve been behaving that you didn’t notice, or worse, didn’t care about Harry’s problems.”

Ron just snorted. “Hey, just because Hermione thinks I have, what was it she said, oh, yeah, ‘the emotional range of a teaspoon’, doesn’t mean she’s right. Harry’s my best mate, of course I’d notice when he’s not himself. Course, what’s ‘himself’ keeps changing, doesn’t it, what with one daft bastard after another trying to do him in.” He shook his head and sighed. “It’s not fair, you know, all the shyte he has to deal with. Makes me feel about two inches tall when I remember what a jealous prat I was our fourth year. And now he’s lost Sirius, it’s like he’s just…given up or something.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair before continuing, “I know Hermione and Ginny have both been after him to talk about it, but even I can see it’s just making him hold it in all that much harder. That’s why I let him alone; if they can’t break him down, I sure can’t, and at least this way he’s got one person who isn’t after him all the time, reminding him of whatever’s eating at him.”

Listening to his words, Luna marveled at the amount of thought he’d given Harry’s troubles, and his comments made her far more hopeful about his acceptance of what was about to happen to his friend. “So you’re all right with whatever we work out to try and help Harry, then?” she asked innocently. “Even if it might be a bit…unorthodox?”

“Hey, anything that pulls him out of his funk is all right by me…wait a minute, what do you mean, ‘unorthodox’?” he asked suspiciously.

Instead of answering him directly, she tried a different tack. “Ronald, you know that I fancy you, don’t you?” she asked, her tone serious as she stared into his eyes.

Ron blushed, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah, I kind of thought you might, a bit; takes a bit getting used to, though, thinking about someone fancying me.” He shrugged. “I know I’m no great catch…”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ronald, you’re decent, and kind, and brave, and very, very funny,” Luna said, her voice getting a bit dreamy as Ron’s blush deepened. Shaking her head, she continued, “but my point is, I do fancy you, very much, and I think that perhaps if you just thought about it, you might fancy me, too,” she finished, blushing herself.

Ron stayed very quiet for a few minutes, mulling over her words. He thought he might already fancy her more than a little bit, but he suspected she was talking about something more than just his reaction to the outfit she was wearing. Did he fancy her that way, or if he didn’t did he think he could? It was an unsettling thought, but he realized, not an uncomfortable one. “Uh, I might not have to think too long about it, fancying you, I mean. And not just snog-fancying, either…not that I’d mind snogging, that sounds rather brilliant, really, but if I do, fancy you, that is, it’d be more than that—” Luna ended his rambling by the simple expedient of leaning forward and pressing her lips to his.

It was quick and sweet and over before Ron was quite aware what was happening, but as he realized he’d just had his first kiss and enormous smile appeared on his face. He started to reach for her, but Luna held up her hand. “First we talk, then we snog,” she said firmly, ignoring the disappointed look that appeared on Ron’s face.

“The reason I asked you that, Ronald, is that we decided that it’s going to take more than talking to help Harry,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “Whatever is hurting him, it’s much more than just losing Sirius. If he’s so overwhelmed that he can’t talk to his friends about it, that he feels he has to shut his friends out, then someone will have to break through to him the only way left, by becoming more than a friend.”

Ron had been nodding all through Luna’s explanation, following her reasoning, until he realized just what she was leading up to. “Hang on a minute! Are you saying you’ve all decided that someone…that Harry—” he stammered, a blush climbing his cheeks. A second later the chain of logic jumped forward and he scowled. “I don’t care what his problems are, best mate or not I don’t want him shagging my sister!”

“Ginny’s not the one going to him, Ronald,” Luna said softly, trying to ease the shock to his emotions.

Ron frowned, and then blanched. “No…Hermione…” he breathed, flinching as Luna nodded gently.

“She and Ginny discussed it and decided between them, Ronald,” she explained carefully, taking his hand firmly in hers in case he tried to pull away. “For reasons I should think would be obvious, I wasn’t a possibility,” she added, squeezing his hand.

But…it’s Hermione…” he mumbled. “I didn’t think she…does she even, uh, ‘like’ him like that? I mean, they’re best friends and all, but she’s not… just because he needs it, is she?”

“Hermione’s fancied Harry for a while now, Ron,” Luna said, her tone sympathetic as he sorted through his feelings. “She just hasn’t known how to go about letting him know. That, and she was afraid he didn’t feel the same way, which was quite silly of her, really.”

Ron’s head was beginning to ache from all the shocks it had suffered in a short time. “You mean you think Harry fancies her? Are you sure about that? Because if he does, he’s never said anything to me about it.”

“If you consider the evidence, Ronald, it becomes obvious, at least to anyone on the outside watching th three of you together,” Luna replied. “Mind you, I don’t think Harry realizes how he feels about her, which is part of his trouble. But even if he did, I doubt he’d mention it to you of all people.”

“What d’you mean, he wouldn’t tell me?” he asked suspiciously. “I’m his best mate, aren’t I?”

“You’ve also made it clear you have a bit of a crush on her, Ronald,” Luna pointed out. “Harry may not be able to recognize his own feelings, but he’s surely seen yours. I don’t think he’d want to risk another row like the one you two had over the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

“I know, I already said I was a prat about that, didn’t I?” Ron grumbled. “So you think Harry’s afraid I’d get all jealous again?”

“No, I honestly believe Harry doesn’t recognize how he feels, which is why Hermione is going to try and wake him up,” Luna replied, and then paused for a moment. “Are you jealous, Ronald?” she asked hesitantly, a touch of nerves finally reaching her voice.

Ron stayed quiet for a minute before answering, his head bowed in thought. Then he looked up and met her anxious eyes with a crooked smile. “IF this had come up before this summer, yeah, I probably would have been jealous as hell. If it had happened yesterday, I’d’ve been happy for Harry but sad for me, ‘cause I’d be feeling like a third wheel or something. But now, after talking to you? I hope she does get through to him, Luna; Merlin knows he needs it worse than any wizard I’ve ever met.” He blushed as he continued, “Then, if she does, maybe we could double date next year?”

Luna smiled brightly and pulled the towel off her shoulders, using it to encircle his neck and pull him towards her. “Why wait until next year?” she asked coyly, before hungrily sealing her mouth to his.

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END OF PART ONE

AUTHOR’S NOTE Part II – Sorry for the new cliffy, but I promise that part two will contain H/Hr smutty goodness, though with a few surprises mixed in. Ron and Luna may also get a chance to practice the Horizontal Bop, I’ll have to see how the chapter flows. Thanks again for all the great reviews, they really do keep me writing.

4. Taking The Plunge - Part II

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE PART ONE – Sorry this has taken so long, but I had a lot of ideas to work into this chapter, some of which only occurred while I was writing it, which is why this one is so long – 9,000+ words, not counting Author’s notes and such, and all of it Harry and Hermione.

Speaking of which, I was a bit surprised by the reviews I received that were so down on the large portion of the last chapter that was devoted to Ron and Luna. I felt it important that the ease with which Ron accepts Harry and Hermione’s changed relationship be explained, and that in order to do that I had to flesh out his history with Luna. Now I know this story is listed as H/Hr, and that is the main focus, but their relationship doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it affects and is affected by the relationships that surround them. Harry and Hermione are going to have enough on their plate dealing with their own issues without having to worry about Ron being a prat.

Anyway, I hope that answers some reader’s questions about why it’s taken so long for the real Harry/Hermione action to get rolling. Hopefully Part Two will make up for any perceived lack in Part One.

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Chapter Three – Taking The Plunge – Part Two

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The water lapping against the platform and the warmth of the afternoon sun performed their usual charm, lulling Harry into a restful doze, though the occasional sounds as Hermione stroked her way past the float sent shivers of uneasiness through him. Something about the sight of her head and bare shoulders bobbing on the surface as she treaded water, her hair shining and wet, her skin flushed from exertion and glistening with moisture, stirred feelings in the pit of his stomach he couldn’t identify. He remembered the flash of pale flesh when she turned her back and swam off, her long, slender legs churning the water into forth as she kicked powerfully away, and the feeling spread outward, tingling along his nerves. Finally the exhaustion he felt from weeks of tortured days and restless nights took precedence over his body’s reaction to his friend’s presence, and he fell asleep.

The sound and feel of something thumping onto the wood next to him startled him awake, causing him to flail about momentarily before awareness kicked in and he realized where he was. “Sorry, Harry!” Hermione’s voice called, and he opened an eye to see her bracing her arms on the edge of the platform, obviously in preparation of levering herself out of the water. The source of the thump was identified by the sight of a tightly wrapped oilskin bundle on the float next to her, its surface still damp from its trip across the lake.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry grumbled, and then any remaining questions he had vanished along with all cognitive functions as with a kick of her legs and a graceful flip, Hermione left the water.

When Harry had said earlier that he knew Hermione could swim, he hadn’t been lying. More than once she’d mentioned missing swimming while at Hogwarts, and then there was that one time at the Burrow, during the summer before their fourth year. Harry and Ron had been about to head off to the Quidditch pitch for a little one-on-one practice, when Hermione and Ginny had passed them on their way to the lake. Both had been wearing baggy tee shirts over modest, one-piece bathing suits of very conservative cut, and the best that could have been said for Hermione’s gawky figure was that she was coltishly cute. She was all arms and legs with nothing beyond her long, bushy hair to tell anyone seeing her from a distance that she was female, not that Harry paid much attention to that sort of thing. She was Hermione, his best friend, and as far as he was concerned the fact that she happened to be a girl was more or less irrelevant.

Two years had passed, with time working its strange magic, and whatever else happened, Harry realized he would never again be able to forget that Hermione was a girl. If anything, the legs she swung up onto the platform were even longer than he remembered, but where they had been gawky and angular, they were now slender and well rounded, with the firm muscles of her calves and thighs moving easily under her smooth skin. The arms that had been awkward and stick-like, with jutting elbows and bony shoulders, were awkward no longer, her toned biceps effortlessly supporting her weight as she adjusted her position on the float.

But the greatest changes, and the ones that caused Harry’s breath to catch in his throat, had occurred to the body to which the arms and legs were connected. For the most part they were subtle, which was probably how he’d missed noticing it before, but it was hard to overlook those transformations when the body in question was clothed (if you could call it that) in a skimpy string bikini that probably contained less fabric than the average pocket handkerchief, and covered far less. The top consisted of two triangles of iridescent, emerald green fabric, each no more than three inches wide at the base and no more than four inches long on the remaining two sides. They covered just enough of her small breasts to be decent and no more; certainly they weren’t there to provide unnecessary support. The triangles were connected to each other and around her back and neck by thin, black cording that was held taut by two simple bows, the loose ends of which peeked out from under her thick hair and dangled enticingly down her spine.

Below the top, her slender rib cage merged seamlessly with her flat stomach and tiny waist, with only the slightest swell showing her toned abdominal muscles and the navel that nestled there. Below her narrow waist her hips flared out, her bottom firm and round where it connected to those incredible legs. More of the thin, black cording supported the scrap of emerald fabric that provided her with the required modesty, secured on each of her hips by another of those maddening black bows.

By the time he had his pulse somewhat back under control Hermione had pulled a thick towel out of the protective oilskin and spread it on the float, giving her something a little more comfortable than the damp wood to lie on. Next came a small bottle of what Harry assumed was a tanning potion, which she began to apply to her arms, legs, and torso in a languorous fashion that increased Harry’s discomfort to the point where he was very glad he was wearing baggy boxers. His dazed condition became critical when, her application of the lotion apparently finished, she looked over and asked, “Harry would you mind doing me?”

The images that flashed through Harry’s mind at her simple question were not those one normally conjured when thinking about their best friend, even if said friend had transformed into the incredibly cute and sexy young woman sitting next to him. “Wh—what did you say?” he finally stammered, his face turning red.

Hermione gave him a repressive look that clearly said, ‘Get your mind out of the gutter!’, a neat trick considering how she was dressed, and explained, “My back, Harry, I can’t properly reach my back with the lotion. If you won’t do me, my tan will be uneven, or I’ll get a burn. Do you mind?”

Swallowing nervously, Harry accepted the proffered bottle, waiting until she had settled face down on the blanket before moving alongside her; his boxers weren’t that loose, and he didn’t want her to see the effect she was having on him. She flipped her thick braid to one side and settled onto her folded arms, her eyes closed, and though Harry couldn’t see it, a smug smile playing around her lips.

He squirted a generous portion of the lotion into the palm of his hand, and then brought his palms together to spread it evenly between them. Just as he touched her shoulder blades she suddenly gasped, “Oh! Wait a minute!” Harry watched incredulously as she reached behind her and with a swift tug undid the bow in the center of her back before drawing the cord, and apparently her top, under her. “Tan lines,” she explained before he asked. “There might be another Ball this year, and some of the new dress robes are backless.”

Smothering a whimper through gritted teeth, Harry leaned forward again and began to apply the potion to Hermione’s back, marveling at its velvety texture as he did so. Noticing the tight muscles along her shoulders he increased the pressure of his fingers, earning a murmur of pleasure from the girl beneath him. When he reached her lower back, though, he started to pull away, only to freeze when Hermione asked crossly, “Why did you stop? You were doing such a good job.” With a muttered groan he continued, his fingers trembling slightly as he applied the potion all the way to the edges of the skimpy triangle that covered her pert bottom. Thinking he’d finally be able to escape his torture, he set the bottle by her head and moved to his side of the float, only to have her say, “I forgot; could you go over the backs of my legs? I might have missed a spot or two, and I’m sure some of it rubbed off when I lay down.”

Sighing, Harry retrieved the bottle and descended to Hermione’s legs, repeating the process he’d just performed on her back. He found his own breath catching when she shivered at his touch on the back of her knees, and at the sight of the small, strawberry-shaped birthmark that winked at him from the bottom of her left cheek.

Finally finished oiling everything it was remotely possible for him to oil without crossing a line that was already becoming dangerously blurred, Harry settled back down, his knees drawn up to ease some of his discomfort, to discover Hermione watching him from beneath her damp hair, her head still resting on her folded arms. “Thank you,” she said with a slight smirk, the sight of which made Harry suddenly furious.

All thoughts of how much he wanted to touch her, feel her, vanished and his vision narrowed to the face of the girl next to him. If there had been a mirror handy, he might have been shocked out of his blind rage by the murderous expression he now wore, but no such mirror existed. “What are you playing at?” he snarled, his hand flashing out to grip her upper arm with bruising force. “Is this some new game you’ve dreamed up? Is it? Something new idea to get Harry out of his shell?”

“Harry, you’re hurting me,” Hermione said quietly, trying to remain calm in the face of his temper. She’d known this was a possibility, but she hadn’t expected him to flare up so quickly. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, she just stared at the hand gripping her arm, its fingers digging painfully into her bicep.

As fast as it had arrived, the rage passed, leaving Harry feeling slightly dazed as he released the grip he had on her. Hermione touched the spot and hissed in pain, causing Harry’s gaze to return to the place where he saw to his horror the bruises already forming. “Merlin, what did I do?” he whispered. His eyes flashed to hers, the pain and shame clear in them. “Gods, Hermione, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right, Harry; if anyone has a right to a little temper tantrum now and then, it’s you,” Hermione interrupted, triggering another flash of annoyance in him.

Closing his eyes, Harry struggled to bring his dangerously erratic feelings under control. Merlin, he hated this, hated how any little thing seemed to set him off lately. It was as if his emotions had been scraped raw, and the slightest pressure on them sent waves of agony through him. It wouldn’t be so bad if they just went inward, he was more or less used to that, but lately he was lashing out at those close to him, even worse than when he’d been at school, and the closer they were, the more brittle his control became.

After a minute or so of struggle, he felt his control was strong enough to open his eyes again. In the interim Hermione had sat up and refastened the string of her top; it wasn’t much, considering what was still exposed, but he appreciated the gesture. “Sorry,” he said again, and she shrugged.

“It’s more my fault than yours, Harry; I can’t pretend I didn’t know what sort of mood you’ve been in, and I set out to push all your buttons. Though this wasn’t quite the response I’d hoped for,” she admitted wryly, rubbing her sore arm.

Harry drew himself up to a sitting position as well, his curiosity piqued in spite of his better judgement. “Do you mind telling me what you were hoping for? Don’t take this the wrong way, but this is a pretty extreme departure for you…” he concluded, gesturing in a general way at her lack of clothing.

He watched in fascination as the blush that appeared on her face traveled down her body before she spoke. “I was trying to find out…whether you liked me,” she mumbled, looking at her feet.

Like her? Like her? What on earth was she on about? “Of course I like you, Hermione; you’re my best friend. You’ve believed in me when everyone else thought I was nutters, or some glory-seeking prat like Lockheart. Why wouldn’t I like you?”

She uttered a frustrated little sigh and shook her head in exasperation. “Why are boys so…you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” she asked, her gaze meeting his more directly as he continued to stare at her in bewilderment. Taking a deep breath she continued, “I wanted to know if you could like me…the way you liked Cho Chang.” With the words finally spoken her expression became almost defiant, her chin raised proudly.

At first the words made no sense to Harry. What did Cho have to do with anything? She’d never been as close a friend to Harry as Hermione was; certainly he’d never shared a fraction of the secrets with the Ravenclaw girl that he did without a second thought with Hermione. Aside from Ron, Hermione was the closest friend he had, in many ways even closer. Ron was like a brother to him, but Hermione was like his other half, providing the things he lacked, inspiring him to try and be the person he wanted to be, instead of the slightly broken person he was. What he’d felt for Cho didn’t even hold a candle to what he felt for Hermione. In fact, the only thing that was different about his feelings for Cho was—

The world seemed to shift under Harry as his perspective adjusted to what he finally comprehended. Hermione, coming swimming with him while Ron was kept busy elsewhere with ‘chores’. Hermione, wearing an almost-there bathing suit that left virtually nothing to the imagination, and made absolutely sure that the thickest male on the planet (meaning him) would notice that she was a girl. Hermione, lying next to him and flirting for all she was worth, asking him to ‘do her’, for Merlin’s sake! Was she trying to find out if he fancied her? And if so, what did that mean about her feelings for him? The weird feelings that plagued him whenever he thought about her for too long returned full force, twisting his stomach as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea. “Why would you want to know that, Mione?” he asked, unconsciously using the pet name that had always remained unspoken before.

“Isn’t it obvious, Harry?” she said softly, and he was stunned to see unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “I…like you, Harry, a lot, I have for a while…what happened before the end of school, at the Ministry, it made me realize just how uncertain our lives are…” she saw his shoulder hunch at the mention of the debacle that had claimed Sirius’s life, and frowned. “I know you blame yourself for that, and I promised I wouldn’t argue with you about it, but Harry…we’re all in danger, every one of us who refuses to submit to V-voldemort; myself more than most, not because I’m your friend, but because I’m a Muggleborn witch who violates all their notions of pureblood superiority. Being your friend doesn’t change that.

“The point is, none us of knows how much time we have, and I decided that I had to tell you this summer how I felt, because if…if there was any chance…that you might…then whatever time we have, I want it to be with you…do you understand?” she asked, hating that it was so hard to say the words.

She waited nervously, watching the expression in his eyes change as he worked through what she was trying to get across to him, the eyes she’d learned to read so well over the last two years: confusion, surprise, understanding, hope, fear, and finally puzzlement, puzzlement that stayed in place as his mouth opened a couple of times to voice a question he couldn’t seem to put into words. “What is it?” she finally prompted.

He sighed and gave a little shrug. “It’s just…I thought you fancied Ron,” he explained, earning a very startled look from her.

“Ron!” she exclaimed, “Why on earth would you think I fancied him? All we do half the time is fight.” She paused and thought for a moment. “I never really thought about it, but aside from both being in Gryffindor, the only thing we have in common is being your friend, well that and being on the Dark Lord’s list of least favorite people...”

Harry looked down at his hands. “I just thought, you know, all your bickering, it was just your way with flirting with each other,” he mumbled.

Hermione stared at him, her expression one of mild exasperation. “Harry, I do NOT fancy Ron! Oh, I suppose I might have thought about it once or twice; I think every girl does that with any boy she knows once she notices that they’re, well, boys, but honestly! There’s a huge difference between playful banter and cutting each other down. Constantly fighting and picking at each other, me nagging him about school, him making fun of me for caring about my grades, not to mention his complete lack of interest in the things that really matter to me like S.P.E.W…if we really got together, we’d end up hating each other within a month! That’s not the way two people who care about one another should act.”

Harry just shrugged. “It was where I grew up,” was all he said, but the simple acceptance behind those words tore at her. It was all she could do to keep from flinging her arms around him, but it wasn’t time for that, not yet.

Instead she laid a hand gently on his and whispered, “Harry, you do know that the way your relatives acted wasn’t normal, don’t you? That the way they treated you was wrong?” He just shrugged again, and she tried another tack. “What about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? You’ve seen how they act around each other, and around their children. Not to mention how they’ve always accepted you. Doesn’t that seem much more normal to you?”

“But they’re…special,” Harry replied quietly. “I don’t think there’s anyone else like them in the world.” He smiled slightly, remembering the ease with which the Weasleys had taken him into their home, despite all the troubles he brought with him, and the way Mrs. Weasley treated him like one of her own children. He didn’t quite know how to respond when she fussed over and mothered him; he knew, in an abstract sort of way, that most mothers actually cared for their children, but he had no memory of having such affection directed towards him, and the feelings it aroused sometimes left him feeling confused and frightened.

Hermione considered her answer carefully. “They are special, Harry, but they’re not as unusual as you might think. Most couples have good times and bad, but if they’re happy, well, it shows.” She paused, her expression growing wistful. “My mum and dad aren’t anywhere near as demonstrative as the Weasleys; they come from conservative backgrounds, where displays of affection are a very private matter, but I’ve never doubted for one moment that they loved each other, and me, very much.”

“I envy you,” he said quietly, but she heard the pain and longing that were hidden behind the words and couldn’t resist giving him a hug. she was surprised when he returned it, and then she felt his arms tighten further. An odd shaking went though him, and suddenly she felt something hot and wet on her shoulder. She turned her head just enough to see his face and realized his was crying, great, wracking sobs with his eyes screwed shut, but completely, utterly silent.

It took a moment, but she finally understood that this was the way he must have learned to cry growing up with the Dursleys, in silence so that they wouldn’t hear and add to his pain, and she felt a tremendous anger burning in her at this further sign of their abuse. She began crooning him to him softly, her arms holding him and her hands moving in gentle, comforting circles on his back, much as her own mother had held and comforted her when she came home crying from school after being teased for being a know-it-all. Gradually the tremors eased along with his grip on her; she felt him shift uncomfortably, and let her arms slip from around him. “Better?” she asked, and he nodded.

The thoughts that were running though Harry’s head at that point were nothing if not confused. The brilliant and attractive (and nearly naked, his hormones reminded him) girl that Hermione had become fancied him, not Ron. What was more, he was beginning to suspect that those odd sensations that crept into his stomach whenever he thought about her meant that he fancied her, too. ‘Do I?’ he wondered. ‘Do I fancy her, or is it more than that? It’s not like what I felt for Cho…’ The image of Hermione in her bikini flashed behind his eyes, and he corrected himself, ‘Okay, some of it is like that, I admit, but that’s not all there is to it. I want her, but I want her to be happy even more, even if it meant that she was with someone else.’ The brief thought of Hermione in someone else’s arms sent a surprising stab of pain through his gut, and he blinked. “Is that it? I want her happiness, even if it means I’m miserable, and I think I would be without her in my life. Is that…love?’ The idea shocked Harry. Not so much that he loved someone; after all, he loved his parents, and Sirius and Remus, he loved the friends he’d made at school, and loved Ron like a brother. He even, as mad as he still was at him, loved Dumbledore as a surrogate grandfather. But what he felt for her went deeper; the others he loved were a part of him, but she…completed him in ways he could barely comprehend, let alone put into words. He just knew that he needed her, badly, and that if he lost her he’d never be whole again.

She saw the look of realization appear on his face, along with a small smile. Biting her lip, she asked, “What is it, Harry?”

To her utter amazement, instead of answering he leaned forward and lightly touched his lips to hers, just for an instant, before settling back and looking at her expectantly. She felt the beginning of tears in her eyes, and whispered, “Does that mean…?” Smiling, he nodded, and with a cry she flung herself around his neck, raining little kisses all over his face as he laughed with her. When she’d calmed a bit, he took her face in his hands and leaned forward, carefully pressing his lips against hers.

At first both their mouths were closed, but as the sensations of their first real kiss swept over her Hermione’s lips parted with a soft moan. Harry’s followed suit, his tongue tentatively reaching out and touching her teeth, asking for admittance. Hermione obliged, and together they learned the first steps of the dance of intimacy they were starting together. Hermione’s arms slipped around Harry’s neck, her hands finally playing with the messy black hair she’d ached to touch for so long, while his hands slipped down and held her waist before moving to the small of her back, where his fingers began to move in gentle circles.

Finally the kiss broke and they leaned together, their foreheads touching while their laboring lungs calmed. “Wow,” Harry said at last, as Hermione blushed and nodded. “I guess this means we’re dating?” he asked, feeling happier than he had in a very long time.

“Mmmm,” Hermione replied, turning in his embrace and settling back against his chest, his head resting atop hers as her hands trailed possessively along his forearms. Her eyes wandered across the lake, to the low granite bluff where she’d dived into the water, and to something at the edge of the trees just beyond. The sight of it jogged her memory, and she bit her lip as she tried to decide whether to continue with what she’d planned, or leave things as they were. There was every chance that her plan might backfire, that he might resent what she had in mind, even be furious with her. ‘He’ll understand eventually,’ her inner voice argued. ‘And you’re not doing it to control him or hurt him, but to help him; he’ll see that. Besides, if you wait until later, you’ll lose this chance…’

She turned slightly in his embrace and reached one hand up to lightly caress his cheek. “Harry, do you trust me?” she asked.

Harry snorted and with a smile kissed her forehead before answering. “That’s a pretty silly question; isn’t it? I’ve trusted you as my best friend for years, I’m certainly not going to trust you any less now that you’re my…girlfriend,” he finished, hesitating slightly, but sending a shiver through her at the sound of the word on his lips. Still, she kept her questioning gaze on his face, and he sighed. “Yes, I trust you. Happy now?”

She smiled and slipped out of the circle of his arms, moving towards the edge of the float. At his surprised look she explained, “There’s someplace I want you to come with me…no questions asked,” she added as he started to open his mouth.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Aren’t we a little underdressed to go visiting?” he asked, his eyes travelling over her bare form appreciatively in a way that made her skin tingle.

“It’s not far,” she answered, skirting his question, “and we won’t be seeing anyone on the way or there. Please, Harry?”

Not seeing any real point in arguing the matter, Harry smiled and nodded, getting to his feet. Hermione took a moment’s pleasure in looking him over now that he was ‘hers’, at least unofficially. His early years of privation meant that he would never reach the inches he would have growing up in a loving home, but five years of good Hogwarts food and several growth spurts had brought Harry to a respectable 5’10”. He was still whipcord slender, but it was the slenderness of a body type that favored lean muscle, not the gauntness of hunger, and the sight of his smoothly toned chest, flat stomach and narrow hips made the tingle that had started on her skin move elsewhere. She felt a flush color her cheeks, and she quickly ducked her head lest her expression give away her intentions.

The quick swim across the lake was uneventful; Hermione pulled herself out of the water next to the granite outcropping and waited for Harry to join her by their piled clothing. They dressed quickly, Harry in his usual worn and baggy cast-offs, while Hermione simply pulled on an oversized tee shirt that hid the skimpiness of her suit admirably but did nothing to cover her long legs. A brief stop at the charmed stump that served as a wand repository for swimmers had them feeling fully dressed again, Harry with a wand holster wrapped around his thigh, Hermione with a slender belt slung low around her waist with a holster set for a fast draw.

That important task completed, Hermione gave Harry’s hand a quick squeeze before taking the path that led to the top of the little bluff. Once there, though, she turned away from the lake and faced the forest. There, hidden in the shadow of the trees, was something he’d missed seeing on his previous trips. Two small upright stones, each about four feet high, defined a gap in the trees that seemed to indicate a path. The stones were too regular to be natural, but centuries of exposure to the elements and to the lichen that shrouded their surfaces had long since erased any trace of their shaping.

Hermione stepped into the gap between the stones and placed a hand on top of each before whispering a phrase he couldn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it apparently had its desired effect, as both stones began to glow a very soft blue, the color flickering across the surface like and echo of St. Elmo’s Fire. Hermione turned to face him, and somehow he wasn’t surprised to see a flicker of that same blue lurking within her chocolate eyes. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked quietly. She looked for a moment as if she was going to speak, and then bit her lip and shook her head. Nodding, he just said, “Lead the way, then.”

She smiled gratefully and turned, passing between the glowing stones and onto the path with Harry close behind her. Harry noticed immediately that the woods they were passing though seemed older, and far more primal, than the ones he was used to around the Burrow. These trees reminded him more of those within the Forbidden Forest by Hogwarts, and he began to feel a bit concerned.

They walked for about fifteen minutes, the narrow path clearly defined as it wound among increasingly larger, more ancient trees, their trunks covered with moss, lichen and parasitic fungus. Harry was just about to speak again when the trail ended in another clearing, this one far smaller than the one holding the lake. No more than ten meters across, it was almost perfectly circular; its edge defined by a ring of giant trees whose spacing far too regular to be natural. If that weren’t evidence enough that the clearing wasn’t natural, before each bole stood another of the standing stones, like the ones that had marked the beginning of the path but taller, a good six feet above the forest floor in height. The crowns of the trees merged overhead, forming an unbroken canopy that produced an eerie twilight atmosphere, not threatening, but very, very old. Harry was suddenly reminded of the time the Dursleys had dragged him to Westminster Cathedral for services because of something to do with Vernon’s business associates. The reverent atmosphere of the ancient church was reflected in this clearing, though the feeling here was…friendlier, more personal. “Hermione, what is this place?” he asked, instinctively keeping his tone a respectful whisper.

“This is the real center of the Weasley family land,” Hermione replied, surprising him. “This is where all the keys to the family’s protective wards are grounded, and where they come when they need to reinforce them. It’s also the most heavily protected space, magically speaking, on their land, even moreso than the Burrow itself.” Slipping off her sandals, she indicated that he should follow suit with his trainers; moments later she took his hand and led him barefooted into the ring. There was a brief flare of blue light as they passed between the stones, a surge like static electricity that made Harry’s hair stand on end (though oddly it didn’t seem to affect Hermione). Once inside the circle, she approached what he somehow sensed was the northernmost point, where a low, altar-like slab was imbedded into the springy greensward cushioning the ground. Drawing her wand, she laid it at an angle across the stone, and then turned to him. “Could I have your wand, Harry?” she asked quietly.

This then, he realized, was what she meant when she asked if he trusted her. To walk without explanation to this strange, magical place, to enter it without knowing what powers might be awakened by their presence, and now to willingly disarm himself. He didn’t even hesitate as he drew his wand and placed it in her hands.

Smiling now, and with her eyes bright, she laid Harry’s wand at an angle across hers, forming an ‘X’ in the center of the slab. There was another flare of that now familiar blue fire, flickering across the slab and outlining the crossed wands. Hermione looked away from the stone and into her boyfriend’s face, searching for any trace of doubt, and found none. “Thank you,” she said gently, and stepped past him towards the center of the circle.

Harry watched the hypnotic flickering of the blue nimbus for a few moments before speaking. “What now, Mione?” he asked, his eyes still on the wands.

“Now, Harry…I want you to make love to me.” It took a couple of seconds for the words to register, but when they did, his head snapped around and his heart started pounding. Hermione’s tee shirt was lying on the ground, along with the top piece of her bikini. Her hands were stiff at her sides, as if she were fighting the urge to cover the perfection of her small breasts, while the rest of her stance was a strangely enticing blend of nervousness and desire.

Harry felt his body reacting to her, and from the way her eyes flickered downwards, he knew she could see it, too. Myriad thoughts and feelings flickered through his mind as he stared at her: surprise, desire, confusion, fear, doubt, all whirled together until he felt light-headed and dizzy. He closed his eyes, trying to still the chaotic emotions her offer had triggered, and then he felt her hands slip into his. His eyes snapped open and he found himself looking down into her face, her expression a mixture of insecurity and anticipation. “Hermione…why…?” he whispered, needing desperately to understand.

She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him, and then her hands went to the bottom of his baggy shirt, tugging it slowly upwards while her eyes never left his until the fabric passing over his head briefly blocked from view. A moment later his shirt was on top of hers on the ground, and she was gently funning her hands down his arms until she could slip her palms into his. Once their fingers intertwined, she tugged at his hands, drawing him with her to the center of the circle, and then urged him downwards until they were kneeling, facing one another.

After a minute she began to speak quietly. “I told you, Harry, I’ve thought about you, and this, for a long time. And I know this is…rushing things…” she paused for a second, glancing away and blushing before returning her gaze to his, and smiling. “It’s supposed to be you saying this, you know; telling me about how uncertain life is as an excuse to get into my knickers…at least that’s what all those ‘save yourself for marriage’ tracts say…”

Harry actually looked shocked at the idea. “Hermione, you know I’d never—!”

“Shhh, I know, Harry, I was joking,” she soothed, calming him, “although in our case, it’s really true, isn’t it? With the war with Voldemort starting, we don’t know how much time any of us have. And if…something happens to me, to us, I don’t want it to before I’ve had the chance to share this with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Harry thought about it, trying to be as rational as was possible with the nearly nude girl he had just realized his feelings for right in front of him. “I guess I never really thought about it,” he finally admitted. “I’ve never let myself think much about making love to anyone, really; it didn’t seem like the sort of thing that was going to happen any time soon, if at all, if you know what I mean.”

“You’ve never thought about having sex?” she asked, her eyes narrowing doubtfully. “Not even with Cho? That’s a little hard to believe, Harry; you are a teenage boy, after all.”

“I never thought much beyond kissing her…well, maybe snogging a bit,” Harry admitted shamefacedly. “You saw what a balls-up mess I made of things, Mione. I turned into a blithering idiot every time I was around her.” He sighed and shook his head. “I guess I am just a bit thick where girls are concerned.”

A wicked gleam suddenly appeared in her eyes. “I certainly hope so,” she purred, as she patted the front of his baggy pants possessively.

“Hermione!” he gasped and blushed, eliciting a laugh from her, but one unlike any he’d ever heard from her before. It was low and throaty, maybe ‘earthy’ was the word for it, and it sent a shiver up his spine.

“Relax, Harry; you’re my boyfriend, I’m allowed to flirt with you now.”

“That’s an idea that’s still going to take getting used to,” he admitted. “Not that it’s a bad thing!” he added hastily when he saw her face fall, “it’s just…different, is all. I guess I’m just afraid I’m going to wake up and this will all be a very vivid dream, the kind you’re not supposed to have about your best friend.”

“You’re not dreaming, Harry,” she said firmly, taking his hand. “And even if you were, it is the kind of dream you’re allowed to have about your girlfriend.” She paused and bit her lip, and then slowly pressed his hand against her breast. “Does that feel like a dream to you?”

Harry’s pulse jumped at the sensation of her nipple pressing against his palm, the hardened tip burning into his flesh like a brand. He had the feeling that even when he took his hand away, he would continue to feel that incredible pressure tingling along his nerves. Wonderingly he moved his palm across her breast, earning a shiver from her. Intrigued, he gave the firm globe that so perfectly fit his hand a gentle squeeze, and was rewarded with a soft moan as she leaned into him.

Later he would admit to himself that the only thing that made him hesitate was his inexperience; not knowing what to do next made him pause long enough to think about whether they should do anything more. “Hermione, are you sure about this?” he asked, still uncertain. “I mean why here, why now? Why is this place so important?”

“If you’re asking am I sure about doing this with you, the answer is yes, Harry,” she replied. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I’ve dreamed of this forever it seems…” She realized how that might have sounded and blushed. “Well, maybe not this this, exactly, but that when it happened, it would be with you? I’ve wanted that for a long time.

“As for why here, why now…” She took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you everything, not yet, but there are…reasons, things I only just recently found out…” she saw the look of bewilderment on his face and realized she was going to have to be blunt if she wanted anything to happen. Blushing furiously, she explained. “Harry, when witches and wizards…when they have sex for the first time, it can release magical energy…a lot of energy. For most of us, that doesn’t matter that much one way or the other unless we want it to, but while you may hate it, and I know you do, you are different, Harry.”

She saw his sudden frown, and squeezed his hands. “Different isn’t a bad thing; it’s what makes you so special. Not special like all those people who go on and on about ‘The Boy Who Lived’ think you are, but special because of how much you care. Special enough to save a bossy know-it-all from a troll, or a lost girl from a deadly monster, special enough to forgive his best mate for being a jealous prat…special enough to think his best friend isn’t ugly, even when she has mousy, frizzy brown hair, and boring brown eyes—”

“Now just a minute, Hermione,” Harry said firmly, interrupting her. “Before we…before this goes any further, let’s get one thing straight. You-are-not-ugly. Your hair is wicked; it’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you, how you can’t tame it, how little tendrils of it are always getting in your face when you’re working. And besides, it’s not frizzy, not any more; it’s more, curly I guess. And it’s not just brown, it’s all shades of brown, with red and gold and copper all mixed in. I love your hair.

“And your eyes? Mione, saying your eyes are ‘brown’ is like saying the sky is blue or that grass is green!” he exclaimed, and she stared at him.

“Harry? The sky is blue, and grass is green,” she said cautiously, as if afraid he was going to start gibbering any second, but he just laughed.

“And you’re supposed to be the smartest witch of your generation?” he scoffed. “Have you ever looked, really looked at the sky? It’s never just blue, it’s all the shades of blue mixed together, and it’s constantly changing with the time, the weather, and the season. It’s never just ‘blue’.

“And grass; I’ve spent enough time mowing the Dursley’s grass to know it’s all sorts of shades of green, with yellow, and tan, and even blue, all mixed in. It’s never just ‘green’.”

He smiled, his hand reaching up and caressing her cheek. “Your eyes are the same way; they’re chocolate, and caramel, and cinnamon, and coffee, warm and friendly, strong and powerful, deep and inviting. I wouldn’t want them any other way.”

She swallowed a couple of times before saying in a voice that was only half-joking, “Who are you, and what have you done with the boy who couldn’t string three words together around Cho Chang to save his life? Not that I’m objecting, mind you,” she added lest he think she didn’t like being complimented.

“I guess I just had to have the right inspiration,” he chuckled, before turning serious. “Now, you were going to tell me about…sex and magic, and why we’re here, talking about doing this now.” He looked down at her and smiled. “I should’ve added ‘incredibly sexy body’ to that list of why-Hermione’s-not-ugly, but I don’t want to get off track again. So, why?”

She nodded, ignoring the thrill it gave her when called her ‘sexy’, and thought for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell him. Finally she said, “I found out by talking to Ginny and Luna that wizards know a lot about using sex magic, and the energy it releases. Apparently we Muggleborns are supposed to figure it out the hard way, but wizarding children are taught all about it as they grow up so they don’t make a mistake.”

She held up her hand when he started to open his mouth, forestalling his questions. “Why we were talking about sex doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I found out that the first time a witch or wizard has sex, it releases a lot of power, moreso if it’s the first time for both of them…?” At her questioning tone Harry blushed furiously but nodded. She returned his nod and continued. “So there’s a lot of magic involved even for the average couple, and we may as well face it, Harry, we’re not average. Professor McGonagall says I’m the most powerful Muggleborn she’s seen since your mum, and you know she wouldn’t lie about something like that. And strong as I am, I don’t hold a candle to you.” She shook her head when he tried to demur. “Oh, I may know more spells and charms than you, but that’s just books and cleverness; when it comes to the power behind the spell, only Dumbledore is stronger, and you’re still developing.”

She took a deep breath. “And then there’s Voldemort. We both know he has a connection to you, and will use it against you if he gets a chance. When a witch or wizard loses their virginity, their natural defenses are at their weakest. If you weren’t shielded properly, he could possess you, maybe even kill you. But here, inside this circle…it’s sort of like a magical version of a Muggle bomb shelter. Once inside nothing we do can get out, and nothing outside can get in. We can be together in safety, without worrying about being attacked.” She paused and looked around with a smile. “In fact, the only place I ca think of with stronger defenses would be Hogwarts itself…”

“Well, we could wait, Mione,” he offered, though the part of his brain that was focused on matters to the south was screaming at him that he was an idiot. “We’ll be back at school soon enough, and if you still want to…”

“Harry, I told you, I want this,” she said, her voice beginning to show her impatience. “I am not waiting another year to make love to you…and I have no intention of losing my virginity on the floor of a broom closet or in the Astronomy Tower,” she answered primly. She waited until she was sure she’d been understood, and then asked, “Well, what’s your decision?”

She could see the desire in his eyes, see the flush of his skin and the sheen of sweat on his forehead, she could even see the outline of his erection straining against his boxers inside his pants, the sight of which made her own heartrate jump in response. He made a couple of hesitant moves towards her, and then let his hands fall to his side, his eyes dropping to the ground as he admitted, shamefaced, “I…want to, Hermione, I just…I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.” It was a sign of his confusion that he completely missed the double entendre he’d just uttered.

She smiled; unbelievably touched by his confession to something most boys would rather die than admit. “It’s all right, Harry, really it is. When I decided to do this, well, I read up on what happens….don’t you dare laugh!” she said, blushing as he smirked over her predictable solution to any question involving some new piece of knowledge. He shrugged his apology, and mollified, she continued. “What you don’t know, I’ll teach you, and what neither of us knows, we can learn together, all right? Now then, why don’t you shut up and kiss me?”

She leaned forward slightly to encourage him, and the next thing she knew his lips were on hers, hungry and demanding, his arms wrapping tightly around her and pulling her close. For a few moments she lost herself in the sensations, and then as she’d promised, began to lead him in the dance. She pulled her mouth away from his and trailed little kisses down his neck, eliciting a groan when she gave him a playful nip that encouraged him to start doing the same to her. When she felt him nuzzling at the juncture between her neck and shoulders, she gently pulled his hands from her back and, as his eyes watched in wonder, placed them on her breasts, closing her eyes with a sigh at the feel of his roughened palms on her sensitive nipples.

Encouraged by her reaction he began to massage the soft flesh, experimenting and learning what she liked from the way she gasped and shuddered under his touch. Running his thumbs over her nubs produced one response, while tweaking them between his thumbs and forefingers caused another. Emboldened, he leaned forward and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, laving the hot tip with his tongue as she whimpered his name, her nails digging into his back. Suddenly he felt her whole body to begin to quiver violently, and he looked up in alarm to see her biting her lip, her eyes rolled back as the spasms shook her. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked worriedly as the attack passed, and was startled by the burning look she turned on him.

“I’m better than all right,” she purred, and proceeded to show him just how all right she was, her hands and mouth hungrily exploring his chest. Without being sure how he got there, Harry found himself lying on his back, with Hermione’s body pressed against him, her hips grinding against his in a way that was driving him mad. “I think it’s time these came off, don’t you?” she whispered, tugging at the waistband of his pants. He swallowed and nodded, lifting his hips slightly as she tugged both layers of material down at the same time, allowing his erection to finally spring free.

Hermione stared in wonder at…it, fascinated to finally be seeing what she had only read about before. She wasn’t sure, but Harry certainly seemed to be larger than she’d expected, but how much of that was reality and how much anticipation of where his manhood was supposed to fit she couldn’t tell. Slowly she extended one hand towards him; she knew he wouldn’t have much control the first time, and she didn’t want this to end before it started for more than one reason, but she had to see what it felt like…

Her small hand encircled him and she flinched as he gasped, his hips instinctively bucking upwards. She glanced at his face and saw that his eyes were slitted and he was biting his lip in concentration. Turning back to her prize, she ran her hand down the warm, velvety flesh, relaxing her grip only to slip down and cradle the heavy sac at his base, an act that elicited another groan from Harry. The sight of a pearly drop of precum forming on the eye at the tip of his shaft reminded her to be cautious, and she released him, running her hands up his chest. His eyes snapped open as her mouth covered his again, and after a moment they were rolling over so that Harry was now the one hovering above.

Hermione took Harry’s hand and guided it to one of the bows securing the bottom half of her bikini. At her smile he tugged, freeing the knot, and then repeated the act on the other side. Hermione lifted her hips slightly and he pulled the scrap of cloth away from her, revealing her mystery for the first time.

Harry was fascinated; the only nude women he’d ever seen had been in a magazine Dudley had accidentally left lying about, and the pictures had been less than explicit. He knew, for example, that women grew hair down there like men, but that the parts that made them…different…weren’t nearly as obvious, at least not in the photos he’d briefly seen. He reached out wonderingly, and as his hand first touched the soft curls above Hermione’s sex her legs drifted apart, letting him see her lower lips, their pale, pink folds already glistening. Nervously he glanced up for permission, and at her nod he gently touched her. She sighed as his fingers stroked her gently, and then her hands joined his, spreading her folds so he could see what was hidden within, the small nub peeking from beneath its hood, and below that, the flower-like petals that surrounded what he instinctively knew was his goal.

Emboldened by his curiosity, Harry experimentally slipped a finger into her, marveling at how slick and hot she felt. The sound of her whimper made him look up in concern, but Hermione’s expression was not one of pain, but of intense pleasure. He kept watching her face as he started sliding his finger in and out, trying to figure out what she liked best by the way she reacted. Then his thumb accidentally brushed against that small, hard nub he’d seen and she arched her back, her mouth forming a silent ‘Oh!’ of surprise. With a delighted smile he deliberately touched the nubbin again, rolling it under his thumb, and was amazed when her whole body shuddered in response, the passage in which his finger still rested clenching tightly around him.

As Hermione’s vision cleared from her second Harry-induced orgasm, she realized she was going to have to encourage him to proceed to the final act. She pulled him close for another passionate kiss, and when they broke apart she whispered, “Now, Harry.”

Harry was more than willing to comply, despite his lingering insecurities over his lack of knowledge. Awkwardly he positioned himself between her legs, adjusting himself at her gentle instructions, his fumbling efforts not made any easier by his at best vague idea of what was supposed to go where. Finally, when he was close to achieving his goal, she reached down and guided the tip of his shaft to her opening, lifting her hips slightly to better grant him access.

The moment Harry felt her moist heat surrounding his crown, instinct kicked in. Without any warning he drove forward, trying to sheathe himself within her. Fortunately for Hermione, he was still slightly out of position, so instead of impaling her he ended up slipping out and downward, with the beneficial side effect that her juices now coated his length. “Sorry,” he muttered, and started to line himself up again.

“It’s all right, Harry, but…take it a little slower, okay?” she cautioned. “I need to get used to you or it’ll hurt too much.”

Harry’s eyes widened and she felt him start to pull away. “What? I don’t want to hurt you, Mione!” he gasped, but she gripped his shoulders, holding him close.

“Harry, it’s going to hurt the first time, at least a little, no matter when we do it,” she told him, trying to alleviate his fears. “We’ve already come this far, let’s not stop now. Just…be a little gentler, all right?”

Biting his lip he nodded, and repositioned himself at her entrance. Once again she guided him into place, but this time he eased forward slowly, allowing her tightness time to stretch and adjust to his presence. The sensations coursing though him were starting to make his vision grey out, but he focused on Hermione’s face, looking to her for the cues on how to proceed. Suddenly he felt resistance, and realized he was pressed up against some sort of barrier within her. “Mione, what—?”

Before he could finish formulating his question she answered him. Her hands gripped his buttocks and pulled him hard against her as she thrust her hips upwards, rupturing her hymen and sheathing him fully within her.

The feeling of her, hot and wet and oh, so tight around him was too much for Harry’s limited self control, and he began to thrust erratically into her, once, twice, three times and then he felt himself let go, the pressure that had been building up maddeningly within him spilling into her, flooding into her warm embrace.

So completely was he swept away in the sensations he was experiencing, he didn’t see the tears of pain rolling down Hermione’s cheeks as she surrendered her virginity, nor did he see the flaring of the blue fire that was limning the altar where their wands rested. He didn’t see those flames jump to the encircling pillars and briefly flare incandescent as their mingled fluids touched the ground, or hear Hermione intoning quietly, “Blood and seed, bound as one…” The only thing he would remember, and that not until much later, was her whispering softly, “Forgive me, Harry…”

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AUTHOR’S NOTE PART TWO – Well, there it is, a few answers, a few new questions, some of which I know the answers for, and the others…? At the moment I’m enjoying writing this, and the short, three-or-so chapter story I had initially envisaged has expanded quite a bit. Expect the next chapter in around a week, give or take a few days.

5. Consequences

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE Part I – Wow, I’ve never had such a flood of reviews for anything I’ve written! Thanks to everyone who has responded so favorably to the work. Those of you who had honest questions and criticisms about the story, I hope I’ve answered them with my review replies. And to the anonymous loser who couldn’t bother to sign his or her flame; Phpbpbpbt! If you don’t have the stones to sign it, don’t bother posting it, because I WILL delete it!

On another topic: a reviewer pointed out my use of the term ‘smut’ or ‘smutty goodness’ as being incorrect, and given its true definitions, I have to agree. Yes, it’s a popular shorthand term for NC-17 fics, but we need to stop using it. Stories about loving, consensual sex between caring people are not filthy, dirty, or obscene, all of which are synonyms for smut. I write adult fanfics, not smut. Thanks, Romulus Lupin, for reminding me of that. On with the show!

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Chapter Five – Aftermath

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Harry’s awareness of his surroundings returned as the aftershocks of his orgasm faded from his nervous system; nothing in his life had ever felt like what he’d just experienced, and he was pretty darned sure he was looking forward to experiencing it again. His eyes opened, and he looked into the face of the girl—of the woman who made it possible with a smile, a smile that vanished when he saw the marks of her tears on her cheeks. “Hermione! Gods, what—oh, God, I hurt you, didn’t I?” he asked in horror, his gut clenching as a feeling of guilt started to sweep over him.

Before he could get too worked up Hermione’s hand covered his mouth. “Shhh, Harry, it’s all right; I told you it could hurt the first time. It actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. Please, don’t worry…”

Harry shook his head; the idea that he’d been the cause of her tears, whether she accepted them or not, was almost physically nauseating. He started to pull away from her, but she put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “Harry, listen to me: it’s all right. You felt a…barrier inside me. It’s called a hymen, and if it isn’t torn by accident or activity earlier in life, it’s broken the first time a woman has sex. Most girls who are at all active in sports lose theirs early on; I’d lay odds there isn’t a Quidditch-playing witch in the world who still has hers. I’ve always been a bookworm; I’d rather be in the library than on a broom any day of the week.” She gave a little shrug and smiled before kissing him softly. “Really, Harry, it’s no big deal. A little pain, a little blood, and next time—“

One word stuck in his head. Blood? He lifted himself away from her and looked down to where his softening member had slipped out of her, and could make out faint touches of red intermingled with the milky residue of his own spent passion. “Oh my God…” he whimpered, only to have his attention grabbed by a slap to his cheek.

“Harry, stop that right now!” Hermione demanded. There was something faintly incongruous about feeling intimidated by a naked girl lying under you, but he wasn’t about to deny it, not with her brown eyes snapping at him in anger. “You listen to me, Harry James Potter,” she continued, once she knew she had his undivided attention. “Did I or did I not bring you here? Did I or did I not ask you to make love to me? Did I or did I not practically have to twist your arm to make you do so at one point…a fact which, of itself, is more than enough reason for any girl to be quite cross with her boyfriend! Honestly!” She shifted slightly, indicating her desire to move, and he rolled to one side so that they were lying side by side facing each other. She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss before cradling the cheek she’d just slapped with her palm. “Harry, I know it’s hard for you, but you’re going to have to learn to stop taking guilt onto yourself for things that aren’t…your…fault. I’m sure that there will be plenty of times in our relationship when you’ll do or say something for which you really should feel guilty. This isn’t one of them. Please, stop.”

Harry finally smiled and nodded, earning himself a hug. He still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced he wasn’t at least partly at fault, but he was smart enough to recognize an argument he wasn’t going to win. Not to mention the idea of aggravating his best-friend-now-girlfriend-now-lover wasn’t the smartest thing to do, not if he ever again wanted to experience what had just happened. Speaking of which…he felt like cursing his body’s traitorous appetites as he felt himself starting to stiffen again, and then was startled when Hermione…giggled. Giggled? Hermione? Apparently so, as she said, “Seems like someone feels like playing again,” her tone reflecting that same maddening purr that had driven him wild before. Her hand slipped between them and stroked him lightly, eliciting a shiver in return.

“Are you sure?” he asked while he could still think coherently; he didn’t care what she claimed, he damned well wasn’t going to hurt her again, not if he could help it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she replied, moving closer and nibbling his neck. After a minute of making his pulse race and his skin tingle she continued, “According to what I’ve read, it’s only bad the first time; after that, it gets a lot better. All we have to do is…take it slow, and we’ll both enjoy ourselves. Just be…gentle,” she concluded, covering his mouth with hers. And he was.

And they did.

~~~~~~

Luna smiled as she walked hand in hand with Ronald toward the Burrow, feeling pleasantly mussed, if a little bit disappointed. Then again, she should have been prepared for the possibility, but one so rarely encountered nobility these days, how could she have expected that her Knight would be a true knight in all respects, and actually refuse to accept what she offered?

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eyes, enjoying the sight of his madly tousled hair with bits of leaf and twig stuck in it. She supposed her hair looked even more disheveled; she certainly hoped so, anyway, as she readjusted her inside out top once more. Their explorations of each other’s bodies had been enthusiastic, if not as complete as she would have preferred; the memory of his lips wandering over her nipples produced an echo of the earlier sensations along her nerves, as did the memory of the feel of him in her mouth…

Still, she imagined she could understand his hesitancy; they were on Weasley land after all, if not within its heart, and no doubt Ronald and his siblings had all been warned about the possible consequences of certain acts. Not that she would try and force a Bonding on him; well, she wouldn’t mind, but she’d never do it without asking him first, that sort of thing went out of fashion with Bride Stealing, for Merlin’s sake!

Her thoughts and forward progress were both brought a halt when the person holding her had came suddenly to a halt, his fingers tightening around hers. Startled, she turned and discovered him shaking his head, a slightly dazed expression on his face. “Ronald, what’s the matter?” she asked anxiously, giving his arm a shake.

“Something…something’s affecting the family wards,” he mumbled, his eyes slowly focusing on her. “They flared up for a second there, just like they did this morning, and now they’ve settled, but they feel weird, like they’ve been really stretched…” An idea occurred to him, and his eyes widened, but then he shook his head, muttering, “That doesn’t make sense.” Turning his attention to his puzzled girlfriend, he asked, “What did you girls talk about, Luna? Are you sure it was Hermione that was going to go to Harry?”

Luna cocked her head, considering her boyfriend’s question, and then realized just what it was he was suggesting. “I’m very sure, Ronald,” she hastened to reassure him. “Ginevra and Hermione were very clear that it would be Hermione who saw to Harry’s needs, not your sister…would you like me to see if I can See anything?” As her boyfriend, Luna had decided to explain to him about her family’s gift, though she’d avoided mentioning her visions of them together. Ronald had been fascinated, but predictably, his first question had been if she’d ever Seen the Chudley Cannons winning the World Cup.

At his encouraging nod, Luna closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on first Harry and then Hermione, making a conscious effort to open her Sight, trying to see if there had been any changes in the Possibilities surrounding them.

As she did so, she sighed inwardly. One of her many regrets about the death of her mother, aside from how much she missed her, and how much it had hurt Father, was that she’d never had the chance to help Luna learn how to properly control her gift. Left to her own devices, she’d been forced to teach herself by trial and error, an imperfect method at best. It was why she was never completely free of its effects, and why, when she did try and consciously use it, she could never count on success.

First she focused on Harry, hoping that this time would be different, but as in the past the Sight was obscured. It was really quite frustrating, because she had no one who could explain why she couldn’t See him; she suspected that perhaps it had something to do with his connection to Voldemort, or because Harry seemed to be one of those people who had a Destiny with a capital ‘D’, but whatever the reason, the Sight just refused to clear where he was concerned.

Annoyed but not really surprised, Luna shifted her focus to Hermione, and this time her efforts were rewarded. A kaleidoscopic whirl of images flickered before her inner eye as her poorly trained Sight tried to show her all the possible permutations of Hermione Granger’s future. Biting her lip, Luna tried to bring the flow of insight under control. The pace slowed, turning into a slideshow that, while still moving too fast for real clarity, allowed her to gather the gist of the message her Sight was trying to impart. Some of it confused her, some of it embarrassed her, and a little of it frightened her, but the basic answer was the same. Opening her eyes, she smiled up at her boyfriend. “I don’t know why your family’s wards are reacting, Ronald, but Harry and Hermione are together.”

~~~~~~

Dusk was settling over the woods as Harry and Hermione made their way back towards the Burrow, Harry’s arm draped over her shoulders and hers around his waist, as if they were still unwilling to completely let go of the intimacy they’d just shared. Hermione’s lips were pleasantly tender, as were other portions of her body; they’d made love twice more after the first time, and as she’d predicted, each time had been better than the last. A slightly goofy smile was lingering on Harry’s face, the result of the memory of Hermione’s face above him, suffused with the pleasure of her orgasm as he finally ‘got it right’.

Unnoticed by Harry, the expression on Hermione’s wasn’t nearly as happy. The moment was fast approaching when she was going to have to admit to him just what she’d done, and she realized she was more than a little nervous at the prospect. She wished there had been more time, that she’d had the knowledge far enough in advance of the day’s events to lay the groundwork with Harry. Unfortunately, one again the wizarding world’s blindness to the lacks inherent in a Muggleborn’s upbringing had tied her hands. She’d just have to explain matters to Harry as best she could, and hope that eventually he’d understand…

The sight of the Burrow appearing ahead of them as they exited the woods snapped Hermione out of her reverie. Steeling her nerves, she tugged on Harry’s hand, bringing him to a halt with a quizzical quirk of his eyebrow as he turned his happy, relaxed face towards her. “What’s the matter, Hermione? Not ready to go back just yet?”

Swallowing nervously, Hermione shook her head. “Not exactly, it’s just…Harry, there’s something I need to tell you, before we go back in, and I’m not sure…I guess I’m a little scared as to how you’re going to take it,” she admitted, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Harry’s happy expression had been replaced by a frown as she spoke, and then shifted to a white-faced look of panic. “Merlin, we didn’t use any—Hermione, you aren’t pregnant, are you?” he asked, his voice strained with, there was no other word for it, blind terror.

Hermione looked at him blankly for a second while he held his breath, and then she burst out laughing. “Harry…the look on your face….” she gasped as his expression shifted from one of fear to irritation.

“Well, I’m glad you find my worries so funny; I sure didn’t,” he grumbled, and she patted his arm soothingly.

“I’m sorry, I guess it isn’t funny, or wouldn’t be if I hadn’t taken precautions,” she admitted. “But you don’t need to panic, I’m no more ready to be a mother than you are to be a father; I took a potion before I went looking for you.”

“I was not panicking,” Harry said with affronted pride. Hermione just looked at him amusedly, and he finally admitted, “Well, okay, maybe a little, but you have to admit, the way you sounded so serious I had a right to a little panic. Which reminds me; why did you stop to talk?”

Hermione’s amusement faded as she remembered the real reason she needed to speak to him. “It’s just that…Harry, some of the things we talked about, back at the lake, about the way people are supposed to treat each other, do you remember?” She felt his fingers clench around hers, saw his expression go wooden, and took that as a yes. “I know it makes you uncomfortable for me to talk about it, and I promise I won’t ask you to tell me anything you’re not ready to, but Harry, you have to get away from them. I see what it does to you every year, spending even a little time with them; it’s not right, not right at all. You’re much too good a person to have to put up with their abuse…I just can’t let you go back there again, I can’t!” she cried, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied bitterly, his mood darkening as everything that was hanging over him came crashing back. “My mum’s sacrifice and Aunt Petunia’s blood help protect me; it’s not as much as it used to be, not since Voldemort managed to use my blood to bring himself back, but it’s better than nothing. Professor Dumbledore isn’t going to listen to what I want, not if it means putting me at any extra risk. I’m too important to him and the Order for that,” he muttered to himself, not realizing Hermione could hear him.

Hermione gave him a minute to collect himself before continuing; she suspected that he hadn’t intended that last remark for her ears, and filed it away for later consideration, as it clearly was a clue to what was troubling him so much. ‘One crisis at a time,’ she reminded herself firmly. “What if there was a way you didn’t have to go back there again? A way that would counter any objections the professor might want to make? Would you take it if it was offered?” she asked, her determined gaze boring into his.

The first signs of comprehension appeared on his face. “What did you do?” he demanded, his depressed expression changing to one of concern, and to her surprise, fear. “Hermione, what really happened in that circle?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could get the words out, a happy, excited voice called out, “There you two are!” Harry and Hermione spun around in time to see Mrs. Weasley rushing at them from the direction of the Burrow. Before they had more than a second to brace themselves they were both enveloped in a gigantic hug. “Oh, Harry, when I felt it happen I almost couldn’t believe it! Of course for a while I had hoped it might happen differently, but in a way this is…I’m so happy for the two of you; welcome to the family, dear!” she cried, kissing him firmly on both his cheeks.

~~~~~~

Hermione winced as Mrs. Weasley put an arm about both their waists and started dragging them towards the Burrow, completely missing the stunned look on Harry’s face in her excitement as she chattered away nonstop: “I suppose we’ll have to apologize to that awful Cow Skeeter, now, won’t we?” she said, “Imagine her seeing that two years ago! Then again, it could have just been a lucky guess on her part…Hermione, you’ll want to write your parents and let them know…perhaps I could go see them and explain things to them for you, so they’ll understand how it all works…I really must have a talk with Albus about the holes in the education the Muggleborn students, you could have knocked me over with a sugar quill when Ginny told me you didn’t know about bonding magic…dear, do you want to hold the ceremony here next year, or are you going to want a Muggle wedding…?”

That word was enough to bring any teenage boy to a screeching halt, and in this, Harry was no different than anyone else. “Whoa, wait a minute! Wedding? What wedding?” he demanded.

“Why, yours and Hermione’s of course, dear,” Mrs. Weasley replied, missing Hermione’s quiet whimper. “The handfasting the Bonding produces only lasts for a year and a day, surely Hermione told you that. If we want your inclusion into the family’s wards to be permanent, you have to make it official…” Her eyes narrowed as she saw the confused look on his face. “Harry, dear, Hermione did explain it all to you, didn’t she?”

~~~~~~

FLASHBACK

~~~~~~

The morning after her discovery of the eye-opening revelations concerning wizards, sex and magic, Hermione was sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading through her notes while Ginny rummaged through her closet, looking for something she said would help with Hermione’s plans for Harry. Luna had left earlier for town, mentioning something about picking up some ‘appropriate clothing’ before approaching her prospective boyfriend. Hermione’s mind boggled slightly at the the thought of what the strange girl might think was appropriate for a seduction, but at least it meant one less distraction while she sorted through all the new information that had been imparted to her.

Something Luna had mentioned early on was nagging at her, and she was going back over their conversation, using her shorthand to jog her memory. As she turned another page, she idly remembered Ginny snickering when she’d pulled out a quill and parchment as if for class, but the Ravenclaw girl hadn’t even batted an eye…which perhaps was an indication of just how odd it was to be treating the subject in such a scholarly fashion. Still, knowledge was knowledge, and she wasn’t about to change her methods for absorbing it just because it happened to be about sex, instead of transfiguration.

Her daydreaming came to a halt as she recognized the portion of the conversation that was troubling her. Reading through her notes, she finally found what had been nagging at the back of her mind. “Ginny? Can you come out here for a minute? There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Just a second, Hermione, I think I found it…aha!” Ginny said triumphantly, emerging from the closet with what looked to be a couple of scraps of fabric and some string. “This should do nicely for getting Harry to think of you as a girl,” she added with a conspiratorial wink, tossing what Hermione realized was the skimpiest bikini she’d ever seen in her life.

The thought of herself in it, and more, of Harry seeing her in it, made her blush furiously, but she set those thoughts aside to get back to the matter at hand. “Gin, something Luna said worries me. Was she right when she said that a witch or wizard’s magical defenses are at their lowest during sex, especially the first time?”

“Well, yeah,” Ginny replied, shrugging. “That’s why a lot of the old handfasting spells placed so much importance chastity; bondings are more effective if both partners are virgins. Why? It’s not as if you’re planning on marrying Harry…not today, anyway,” she amended when she saw the look in her friend’s eyes.

Hermione shook off the momentary vision Ginny’s words had engendered and continued, “We may have to think of something else, than, or wait until we’re at Hogwarts and I can figure out how to set up stronger protections, then,” she said, her tone crestfallen.

“Why? I don’t understand, I thought you agreed this was the best way to help Harry,” Ginny asked, confused.

“Because it’s too risky,” Hermione replied. “Don’t you remember what led to all the trouble last year? Harry’s connection to Voldemort?” She ignored her friend’s flinch and bored ahead. “Harry’s magic is connected to him somehow; it’s why Professor Snape was supposed to be teaching him Occlumency, to keep Harry free from his influence. So what happens when he not only has a powerful surge of magical energy, but his defenses are at his weakest? Voldemort could possess Harry, maybe even kill him! Hardly the best way to help him, is it?” She shook her head. “We just have to come up with some other idea, at least for now.”

Ginny considered everything Hermione had said, nodding as she did so. “You’re right; good thing you thought of it, it could have been a right mess if you hadn’t. I remember what it was like when just the echo of Tom Riddle used that diary to possess me, I don’t even want to think what it would be like to have the real Tom try it. No wonder Harry was in such a state last year…” An idea occurred to her; she turned it over in her mind a few times, examining it for flaws, and found none. “What if there was a way that was safe?” she asked quietly. “A way for you two to get together here at the Burrow, and still be safe? Would you go for it?”

Hermione’s gaze met hers. “You’ve thought of something to protect Harry when we…when I make love to him?” she asked, hope dawning in her eyes.

“Not so much something, but someplace,” Ginny corrected. “Come on, we need to go talk to Mum.”

“What?” Hermione squeaked, appalled at the idea of discussing their plans with the woman who’d almost become a second mother to her since entering the magical world.

“Well, I can hardly adopt you as my sister without her permission, can I?” Ginny replied, dragging her now thoroughly flustered friend with her.

~~~~~~

“…so that’s where we stand, Mum,” Ginny concluded as she brought Mrs. Weasley up to speed on their discussions concerning what to do about Harry. Hermione had been silent through most of it, sitting with her knees drawn up in an overstuffed chair by the fire and feeling herself blushing bright red as the youngest Weasley told her mother all about their plans to introduce the troubled young man to the healing powers of really good sex.

To Hermione’s chagrin, Molly Weasley hadn’t been even slightly shocked by the concept; on the contrary, she seemed genuinely pleased, if slightly disappointed that it was Hermione and not Ginny that was planning on seducing her surrogate son. The only thing that had shocked her had been much the same as what had scandalized her daughter, and that was the appalling backwardness of Muggles concerning sexual matters.

One thing did trouble the Muggleborn girl, and, biting her lip, she mentioned it. “Mrs. Weasley? I hope you don’t mind my asking…two years ago, during the Tri-Wizard tournament, when you thought I was toying with Harry’s feelings, you sent me a Howler…why aren’t you more upset now? It seems to me this is much more serious than the sort of thing Rita Skeeter was insinuating…”

Molly had the good grace to blush at her remember mistake. “I truly am sorry for that misunderstanding, dear,” she replied, “I certainly should have known better, but I’m afraid I’m a little overprotective where Harry is concerned.” She shot a warning glance at her daughter when Ginny snorted in agreement, and then continued. “But as to why I’m not upset about this, weel it’s a very different situation, isn’t it? For one thing, you are, as you pointed out, two years older. For another, you’re discussing being intimate with the young man you love, not fooling around with his affections like a cheap tart.”

She shook her head in amazement. “Muggle attitudes towards sex truly amaze me; on one hand they treat it as some sort of commodity, and use it to sell anything and everything under the sun, and on the other, they treat it like something dirty, when it’s the most natural, beautiful thing two people who care about one another can share.” She turned and smiled at Ginny. “Your father and I were about Harry and Hermione’s age when we first had sex, you know.”

Ginny immediately squinched her eyes shut. “Mum! There are some things your children just don’t want to think about, and you and Dad having sex is near the top of that list! Ewww!”

Molly laughed, and Hermione was amazed by the roguish tone of her chuckle. “Really, Ginny, you know we must’ve had sex at least seven times, you do have six brothers.” Her expression turned dreamy as she added, “I’ve sometimes wondered if that’s because we did it seven times that first day…”

“MUM!” Ginny shrieked, earning another laugh from her mother.

“Um, speaking of first times, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione interjected, forcing herself to join the conversation in order to get it back on track, “we’re worried about what might happen to Harry while he and I are…involved,” she finished somewhat lamely.

“Worried? Why?” Molly asked with a frown.

“Because of Harry’s connection to You-Know-Who, Mum.” Ginny answered, causing her mother’s eyes to widen. She went on to explain their concerns, and the reasons for them.

“Oh, that poor boy; I knew there was something Albus wasn’t telling us!” Molly cried when her daughter finished. “I said that to Arthur, the first time I met Harry; I said, “Arthur, Professor Dumbledore isn’t telling the Order everything he knows about Harry,” but no, your father just said that Albus knew best. Well, I don’t care, head of the Wizengamot or not, he shouldn’t be playing with Harry’s welfare like that, and the next time I see him—“

“Mum!” Ginny practically shouted before her mother could completely wind herself up. “We’re talking about helping Harry today, remember? Let’s worry about giving the professor a piece of your mind some other time, okay?”

“Oh, sorry dear, you’re quite right, Harry’s welfare does come first,” Molly apologized. “Now, what did you have in mind?”

Ginny glanced briefly at Hermione, and then turned back to her mother. “I was think of…the Circle, actually,” she said, her tone earnest. “If Hermione was able to take Harry there…”

Molly’s face went blank, and then became very serious. “Ginny, you do realize what you’re proposing, what a big step it is?”

“I understand, really, I do, Mum,” Ginny replied, before Hermione cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, but what exactly are you talking about?” she asked, “And why is it a ‘big step’, if you don’t my asking?”

“Oh, no, dear, I don’t mind, since it directly involves you,” Mrs. Weasley answered cryptically, not alleviating Hermione’s concerns in the least. Seeing that, Molly continued, “It’s not something pureblooded wizards normally talk about to those outside of the family, but the old Pureblood lines, those that still live on their ancestral lands, we have personal wards that protect us from magical attack so long as we’re on our own land. We may not be wealthy like the Malfoys or the Blacks, but Weasleys have lived at the Burrow for centuries, and every generation has reinforced the wards with their own energies. Those reinforcements are performed using sex magic.”

She smiled at the look of intense interest on Hermione’s face. “The ancestral home of every family has a Heart, a place where the wards are anchored. Only one of the Blood can enter the Heart, or someone escorted by the Blood. Needless to say, the protections on a Heartsite are some of the oldest, most powerful protections in the wizarding world. Nothing harmful to a member of the Blood can cross those wards, not even something cast by You-Know-Who, I’m sure of it.” Molly reached out and squeezed Hermione’s hand. “If you and Harry are within the Circle when you give yourselves to each other, I promise you’ll be safe.”

Hermione thought about what she’d described, and her face fell. “That’s all fascinating, Mrs. Weasley, but I don’t see how that helps us. Neither Harry nor I are Weasleys, so the Circle really doesn’t do us any good.”

“Oh, well, that’s the big step I was talking about, dear,” Molly replied, sighing when Hermione continued to look puzzled. “Obviously, you need a Weasley’s blood to enter the Circle. Since you weren’t lucky enough to be born one of us, we’ll just have to adopt you.”

~~~~~~

Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley and Ginny through the woods, her mind still whirling from the morning’s events. Her stammered concerns, born more from her insecurities than from any real objections to joining the Weasley clan, had quickly been answered, either by the two Weasley’s women’s reassurances that yes, they really did want her to be part of their family (Ginny had hugged her and whispered, ‘I always wanted a big sister’), or by the simple expedient of pointing out that it was to help Harry.

So here they were, out in a section of the woods she’d never seen before, and suspected she’d never have found if she wasn’t with one of the family. A few minutes later they exited the path into a small clearing, its area defined by a combined ring of ancient trees and standing stones. Seeing the size of the trees and the patina of lichen on the stones, Hermione thought to herself, ‘Centuries? More like millennia…how long have the Weasleys lived here?’

Her thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of two hands in hers as Molly and Ginny led her through the perimeter. There was a brief crackle, and her hair frizzed outward as if from static electricity, and then they were within the Circle’s confines. Molly led her to the northern edge, where a long, flat stone seemed to serve as an altar, and removed a small, sharp-edged bolline from a sheath at her waist. Ginny came up on her other side, and then the older woman smiled at her. “Now, there’s nothing to be nervous about, dear; the adoption ceremony is really very simple. All you have to do is answer a few questions, and repeat a couple of phrases…oh, and there’s the Sharing of Blood, of course,” Molly finished, and then turned to face the stone before Hermione could question her.

Holding her right hand above its surface, she used the knife in her left to score a shallow cut across her palm. The moment her blood dripped onto the stone its surface flared blue, the flickering color jumping from the flat slab to the standing stones and around the ring, until the cool, blue flames surrounded them. “We bring new Blood to join with the Old,” Molly enunciated carefully, clearly a ritual phrase. Turning to Hermione, she held out the hand with the cur palm to her, taking the girl’s hand in hers. “Hermione Granger, do you join willingly, as we willingly join you to our Blood?”

“Yes.”

“Will you give loyalty, as loyalty is given by our Blood?”

“Yes.”

“Will you give love, as love is given by our Blood?”

“Yes.”

Molly turned Hermione’s hand and cut her palm before pressing her own cut to hers. Holding their joined hands over the stone she watched as the drops of mingled blood struck the stone, causing the fire to flare again. “Blood to Blood, Mother to Daughter, I welcome you to our family,” she said with a smile.

Hermione’s eyes were tearing up as she replied, the words coming naturally to her, “Blood to Blood, Daughter to Mother, I am honored to join your…our family.”

Molly gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, her own eyes shining. Then she held out her hand to her biological daughter. Ginny held still while the bolline cut her palm, and then gripped Hermione’s hand in turn. “Blood to Blood, Sister to Sister, I welcome you to our family.”

“Blood to Blood, Sister…to Sister, I am…oh, Ginny, I am so happy to join our family!” she cried, hugging the younger girl. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered as she held her close. “I always wanted a younger sister.”

The ritual completed, the three women chatted as the blue fire faded from the stones, with Molly filling her newest daughter in on some of the family history, as well as describing some of the charms she could teach her that were family secrets.

As they turned to leave, though, Ginny glanced around and remarked, “You know, Hermione, now that you’re officially a Weasley, it’s too bad you can’t just pull a fast one and hold a Bonding with Harry; that way we’d all be the same family!”

“Ginevra Weasley!” Molly gasped, whirling about. “That is far too serious a matter to be joking about, for shame!”

“Sorry, Mum,” Ginny answered, looking a bit shamefaced.

Unfortunately, her new mother’s attitude only had the effect of making Hermione even more curious. ”Mrs. Weasley? What’s a ‘Bonding’, and why is it so serious?” she asked.

“Please call me Mum, dear,” Molly said absently, still frowning at her errant daughter. “Hmm? Oh, the Bonding; it’s a very old handfasting ritual, from a time when alliances between bloodlines were much more important than they are now. Both parties are supposed to be virgins, and they have to consummate their union within the Heartsite of the family the non-family member is joining,” she explained.

“It sounds lovely, in a very old-fashioned sort of way,” Hermione offered, but Molly shook her head.

“I’m sorry, dear; I keep forgetting you don’t have the same background as we do. A Bonding is considered a very serious matter because it can be so easily be abused. So long as the conditions of the ceremony are met, the parties don’t have to be…let’s just say, not all such unions were willing ones; do you understand?”

“Oh,” Hermione replied, finally understanding. She thought quietly for a moment. “But if it’s willing, it’s as effective as an adoption?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, rather moreso, actually; as I said, only the consent of the Blood family member is needed to perform the Bonding. The Handfasting holds for a year and a day, and while it lasts the Bonded couple share one Blood.”

“So, if I could get Harry to agree to the ritual, he’d have the same protections as a Weasley while he was at the Burrow?” Hermione pressed, her thoughts racing ahead.

Ginny’s eyes were widening as she followed Hermione’s line of thought. “Herms, I was kidding!”

“Don’t call me Herms,” her new sister replied absently. “Mrs. Weasley…Mum, if I get Harry to agree, do you have any objections to my Bonding with Harry?”

Molly looked at her in surprise. “Dear, you aren’t serious? Sex with someone you love is one thing, marriage is quite another! I’d think you would want to take things a bit slower…”

She thought her words over carefully before speaking. “Mum, I’d like nothing better than to take it slow. Just because I love Harry doesn’t mean I want to jump right into making love to him…well, part of me does, I admit, but that’s kind of beside the point.

“The point is, there’s another war starting, and it’s pretty clear that Harry is going to be a big part of it. He needs whatever help I can give him, and I…I love him too much to deny him anything I can do for him, whether he wants me to or not. So if marrying him means he’s a little safer, or even better, means he never has to go near those relatives of his again, then yes. I’ll marry him, if he’ll have me.”

Molly’s eyes clouded a bit. “I’d forgotten about those awful Muggles for a moment,” she admitted. “He’s such a sweet boy, it’s hard to believe anyone would mistreat him. Of course, Arthur told me what they were like, but are they really that bad?”

“Believe me, Mum, I don’t think any of us know just how bad they are,” Hermione replied, “but I have some idea; you knew his parents, how tall were they at Harry’s age?”

Molly blinked at the apparent change of subject. “Why, Lily and James were both tall for their age,” she answered after a minute. “James was a bit over six feet, and Lily no more than half a foot shorter…” Her face paled. “Ron was always asking for food to send him…” she whispered.

“Ron said he used to have terrible nightmares about them the first year or so,” Ginny interjected. “After that, I guess they weren’t so bad in comparison to other things…”

The older of the Weasley women reached a decision. “All right, dear, if he agrees to it, you have my permission, but he must agree, otherwise, you can’t perform the Bonding! Is that clear?” At Hermione’s eager nod, she continued, “Very well, here’s what you have to do…”

~~~~~~

END FLASHBACK

~~~~~~

Harry shifted his gaze to his clearly upset girlfriend. “What is she talking about, Hermione?” he asked quietly, his tone very level. For the first time in a very long while Hermione was unable to read the expression in his eyes, and that more than anything scared her.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, her voice choking a little bit. “That’s why I stopped out here, to explain to you. I wanted to tell you everything before, but I was afraid you’d say no, and I just wanted…I needed to help you, and this was the only way I could think of—”

Her tearful voice was cut off by Mrs. Weasley’s outraged shriek. “Hermione Granger, how could you! You gave me your word, young woman! Your word!

Is this how you repay our trust, by abusing it this way? Trapping poor Harry into a Bonding without his consent?” Hermione tried to speak, but the outraged mother continued her rant. “I should have known; you were too insistent on learning how it worked, I should have guessed what you were up to! You didn’t give Harry a chance to turn you down, you just did it!”

She tried to defend herself, but Molly was too wound up to let her speak. “And Ginny, did you even consider how she would feel about this? She’s going to be so hurt, she stepped aside for you, I know she did, and this is how you betray her?”

“Mum, please—“ Hermione finally managed to say, but was cut off by Molly slapping her face.

“No! You do not have the right to call me that!” Molly hissed, her eyes flashing at the shocked girl, the imprint of the older woman’s hand a reddening mark on her tear-stained cheek. “Rita Skeeter was right, you are a Scarlet Woman…“

“That’s enough.” Harry stepped between the two women, his eyes flashing as he sheltered his girlfriend from Mrs. Weasley’s anger. He’d managed to put a few things together during Molly’s rant, and now he was ready to act. “Mrs. Weasley, Hermione and I obviously need to talk. I think she was about to explain everything to me when you came out to congratulate us; thank you, by the way. Now, if you’ll give us some privacy, we can sort everything out.”

“Now, Harry,” Molly started, slipping into her mothering mode, “you don’t have to concern yourself at all. This is partly my fault for trusting her in the first place.” She missed or ignored his darkening expression as she continued, returning her glare to Hermione’s shivering form. “We can’t alter what’s happened, but Handfasting only holds for a year and a day, and at least you’ll be protected by the wards until then. Who knows, perhaps you and Ginny might get together after all, she’ll be of age, and you’ll be free of this trollop—“

“Molly. Shut. Up.” Mrs. Weasley looked up in shock as Harry first used her Christian name and then told her off. “I love Hermione, and what’s more, I trust her. If she says she had a good reason for what she did, I’m willing to hear her out. Given how smart she is, and how thick I can be, the odds are I’ll end up agreeing with her, but even if I don’t, that’s between her and me, not you. Now, if I understand things correctly, I believe my…fiancée and I have a lot to talk about.” With that he turned around and, taking Hermione by the arm, led her off into the garden, leaving a gaping Molly Weasley behind.

So wrapped were the three in their own confrontation, none of them noticed the trio of observers off in the shadows, the two shorter ones struggling with the agitated third. “I’ll kill him,” Ron snarled. “No one talks to my mum that way and gets away with it, not even Harry!”

“Ronald, calm down,” Luna replied, her hands firmly gripping one of Ron’s arms. “I may think that Hermione behaved in a very silly manner, but Harry is quite right, it is no one’s business but theirs unless they choose otherwise.”

“But he told Mum to shut it!” Ron said, outraged, earning a snort from the second short figure holding him.

“Be honest, Ron, haven’t you wished you could say that, at least once?” Ginny asked, a touch of envy in her voice. “I’m a bit pissed at Hermione, myself, but Harry was not only right, he had the stones to say so. Mum will get over it, but we won’t, not if she catches us listening in. Now come on, we have to get back inside before she recovers from the shock of learning Harry isn’t a little boy any more…”

~~~~~~

Hermione tried to control the reaction tremors shivering along her nerves as Harry let her towards a private corner of the Burrow’s garden, his strong arm around her waist catching her a couple of times when she stumbled. By the time they reached the arbor-sheltered bench towards which he’d directed their steps the worst of the shakes had passed, but she still felt the tears on her cheeks from the pain of Mrs. Weasley’s accusations. She’d known that Molly would be mad at her when she found out just what Hermione had done, but she’d counted on having the chance to explain to Harry first, and hopefully having his acceptance, if not his forgiveness, before confessing to the older witch. Now she not only had to make Harry understand, she had to do so after he had seen his surrogate mother’s reaction to her deception.

Once they were seated she tried to control her sniffling, but without much success; she always hated it when she cried, as much because of the blotchy mess it made of her face as the loss of control. Suddenly there was a ripping noise, and then Harry was extending a piece of material that she realized used to be his sleeve. “Harry, your shirt—!“

“It’s one of Dudder’s castoffs, don’t worry about it,” he replied, shrugging. “Now, blow,” he directed, pushing the fabric into her hand.

Several snuffles and one loud honk later, Hermione wadded the now slightly damp piece of cloth in her hands and smiled faintly. “Thanks, Harry…for everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he cautioned, and she quailed slightly at his serious tone. “Just because I’m not willing to stand there and listen to Mrs. Weasley go off on you, doesn’t mean I’m okay with all this.”

There was still enough twilight that she could see his expression, and it wasn’t one that filled her with self-confidence. Harry was clearly waiting for an explanation, and she knew it had better be a good one. “Where do you want me to start?” she asked quietly.

Harry snorted. “How about where you decided you had to deceive me to get me to have sex with you?” he asked acidly, some of his mood leaking into his tone, and she cringed slightly. No, this wasn’t going to be easy.

“I didn’t lie to you, Harry,” she said at last, earning another snort from him in turn. “I may not have told you everything, but what I did tell you was the absolute truth. I do love you, I did want to make love to you, I didn’t want to wait any longer, and the place we went to was the safest place to do it. I did just find out about the magical aspects of sex, and to the best of my knowledge, everything I told you about the first time witches and wizards make love was correct. We did release a lot of energy, and there was a very real chance that Voldemort could have used his connection with you to attack you while you were vulnerable.”

She paused to gauge his reaction, and he slowly nodded. “I believe you,” he said, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“You do?” she asked, her voice cracking a little in relief, and he nodded again.

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “I’m not sure, but I think I’d know if you were lying to me; maybe it’s a side effect of the, what was it, the Bonding. Or maybe it’s just because, now that I finally realized that I, uh, love you, I can just tell when you’re being honest. But yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re not lying to me.” He held up a hand when she started to hug him. “That doesn’t mean as much as you think, Hermione. You didn’t lie, but you didn’t tell me everything, either. Why not? What, exactly, happened, and why didn’t you warn me beforehand? Why didn’t you trust me?” he asked, the pain of betrayal finally evident in his harsh voice.

She realized that she’d come to the moment of truth; if she couldn’t explain herself to his satisfaction, not only would she destroy their newly found relationship, she might destroy their years-long friendship as well. She might lose him completely…

The idea hit her in the stomach like a fist. She hadn’t even considered that possibility before. That he might be mad at her, yes, that he might resent her high-handedness, probably, but that he would be so hurt by her actions that he couldn’t forgive her, that thought had never crossed her mind. ‘I have to win his trust back’ she thought. ‘I have to make him understand.’

So she told him. She told him everything, starting from the end of the school year, when she’d begun to worry about him. She told him how desperate she’d been to get through to him, to comfort him, and how frustrated she’d been by her inability to break through his shell.

She told him of the conversation the day before (had it really only been that short a time?) when Luna suggested reaching Harry with sex; that had them both blushing for a minute, but she went gamely on with the narrative, how she had learned for the first time about the sexual aspects of magic and how it could affect them both. She told him how she admitted to Ginny her feelings, of discussing how best to approach him. She earned a brief chuckle when she described Luna’s part of the plan, and her intentions towards ‘Ronald’, but the chuckle disappeared when she finally got to the part that involved Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, the suggestion and the offer they’d made, and her acceptance of it.

She paused at that point, and after a minute he prompted her. “So what happened? You managed to get through to me and wake me up to what I should have realized ages ago, and you managed to persuade me to make love to you…not that I needed a lot of persuading, I admit,” he added quickly. “Why couldn’t you just tell me that you wanted to perform the Bonding with me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

She stayed silent long enough for him to start to fidget, and then she said quietly, “Because you didn’t trust me, Harry.”

Of all the things that had been running through his mind as possible reasons for her actions, that was the last he’d expected to hear, and it stunned him for a second. “What do you mean?” he demanded at last. “How can you say that? Of course I trust you!”

“Do you, Harry, do you really?” she asked, turning to face him. “Or do you just trust me with what you think I can handle?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, though his voice sounded defensive even to him.

“Don’t you?” she asked again, irritating him by her insistence. “What happened in Professor Dumbledore’s office? What did he say to you after we returned from the Department of Mysteries? What haven’t you told me, Harry?”

“Don’t try and change the subject,” he said, trying desperately to divert her. “We were talking about the way you deceived me—“

“We were talking about trust, if I recall,” she threw back at him. “You asked me why I didn’t trust you with the truth about the ritual. I’m trying to explain it to you.”

“The two things are completely unrelated!” he said hotly. “What the professor told me doesn’t concern you—“

“Don’t tell me what does or does not concern me, Harry James Potter!” she snapped back, interrupting him again. “You’re my friend, you’re my best friend, who not incidentally also happens to be the boy I love! Anything that affects you as much as whatever it was the professor said, concerns me! I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me about it for weeks, and you…didn’t…trust…me.” She realized her fists were clenched against her thighs and made a conscious effort to relax them, stretching her palms out flat against her legs. Finally, in a calmer voice, she continued.

“Can you understand how I felt, Harry? My best friend, the boy I’d been in love with for over a year, was in pain. He’d lost the closest thing he had left to a father, and I knew he was blaming himself for it, and he wouldn’t let me help him grieve. Not only that, but something new and even worse was eating away at him, and he not only wouldn’t talk about it, he denied there was anything wrong at all!

“I was getting desperate, I admit that,” she said, staring off into the now dark night, her face faintly illuminated by the light shining from the windows of the Burrow. “You were slipping away from us, pushing us out of your life, and it terrified me. I could’ve accepted it if you had opened up to someone else, to Ron, or Ginny or even Luna, but I knew you weren’t talking to anyone. You were distancing yourself, as if you were getting ready to…to say goodbye.

“I used to have a cousin,” she said after a pause, startling him with the change of subject. “She was six years older than me, and used to babysit me when I was younger.” She paused again and swallowed. “When I was about nine, she started having…problems. She became moody and sullen, and snapped at anyone who tried to talk to her. Mum and Dad told her parents they should take her to a counselor, but they insisted she was just going through a phase.” Her eyes turned to Harry’s, and his breath caught at the pain there. “Two weeks after my tenth birthday she committed suicide.”

Harry jerked as if slapped. “Gods, Hermione…”

She shook her head. “Harry, when you started withdrawing, it was like seeing my cousin all over again. I couldn’t help her, but I had to help you.” She reached out tentatively with her hand to his, and when he didn’t jerk away, gripped his fingers with hers. “When Ginny and Mrs. Weasley ‘adopted’ me so I could use the circle, I just planned on doing exactly what I told you; seeing if you cared for me, and if you did, seeing if I could convince you to make love to me. I thought if we became lovers you’d have to talk to me sooner or later, if only because, as Luna put it, ‘if he has enough sex he’ll be thinking about living, so he can have even more sex.’” She smiled, and Harry chuckled at the image of Luna saying just that.

“And then Ginny mentioned the Bonding, and wouldn’t it be great if you and I Bonded so we could all be Weasleys together. Mum—Mrs. Weasley was doubtful at first, but Ginny convinced her that I really did love you that much, and that she thought you felt the same way, even if you were too thick to realize it. So Mrs. Weasley taught me the ritual. It helped that we were both…untouched. The oldest, simplest form of the ritual counts on that; it made it easier for me to…”

“Pull a fast one?” Harry asked, his voice sounding a bit less stressed.

Hermione looked at the ground again. “I didn’t set out to trick you, Harry, I swear it. I was going to wait until we were at the circle to explain everything, but originally I had every intention of trying to persuade you to accept the Bonding willingly. But as we were walking though the woods, I started remembering just what the summer had been like and…I panicked. There’s no other word for it, Harry; I just panicked. I became sure that not only would you refuse to accept the Bonding, you’d be so upset with me for asking you’d break off with me.”

Even in the faint light from the Burrow he could see her blush. “I remember what you said at the lake, Harry, and it was sweet, but…I know I’m not pretty, not like some of the other girls…no, don’t interrupt, please,” she said as he opened his mouth to object. “Did my telling you to stop feeling guilty take away all the pain you were feeling?” she asked, and when he unwillingly shook his head, she nodded, “Well, the same holds true for me. I may believe you when you tell me you think I’m pretty; I might even believe it myself someday, if I hear it often enough. But right then, I was the bushy-haired, bucktoothed know-it-all everyone teased, and I was sure all it’d take would be a moment’s hesitation and you’d change your mind. So, I decided that transferring the wards and freeing you from the Dursleys was more important than taking that risk, even if you ended up hating me. I talked you into making love to me, I spoke the charm…and then I asked you to forgive me.”

Forgive me, Harry…

He’d heard her say that in the circle. He’d forgotten it, wrapped up in the moment, but he remembered it now, and felt something ease inside him. She’d known the chance she was taking, even then, that she might be shattering what they had between them in an effort to keep him safe. Something he’d read once, a long time ago, surfaced in his thoughts, that one of the measures of how much you loved someone was how willing you were to sacrifice your own happiness for the happiness of the person you loved. Hermione loved him enough to risk losing him; what he had to ask himself, was hanging on to stupid pride worth what it might cost him in return? Did he even need to ask himself that? “So what now?” he asked her instead.

“I guess that’s up to you,” she whispered, her voice tiny. “I hope we can still be friends, but I’ll understand if…” she couldn’t finish, and waited as he cleared his throat and began to slowly speak.

“That night, after the Department of Mysteries, when all of you were being patched up in the hospital wing…Professor Dumbledore used a portkey to send me directly to his office. When he arrived, he told me a lot of things, some of which I don’t really remember. What I do remember, though, is what he told me about what he heard in a room at the Hog’s Head Inn, a little over sixteen years ago…”

~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE PART II – Not the end, not yet, though the major questions have been answered at this point. Yes, this means that Harry understands why she did what she did, and accepts it in the spirit in which it was intended.

At least one more chapter, maybe more as the muse strikes me. Please don’t ask or expect the next chapters to come as fast as this one, though I admit a steady diet of reviews feed the creative fires better than anything…

6. Deal With It

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

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~~~~~~

Chapter Six – Deal With It

~~~~~~

Some time later, as the couple approached the inviting lights of the Burrow, they were met by a figure stepping out of the shadows. Instinctively Harry went for his wand, but before he could fire off a hex, Hermione’s hand covered his, restraining him. “Good evening, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur Weasley stepped further into the light, glancing behind him at his home as he did so. “And good evening to you, Hermione; Ginny asked me to give this to you, she said you looked like you might be a bit chilly.” As all she was wearing was her bikini and the oversized tee shirt, the robe the Weasley patriarch handed her were both welcome and warm. After she was bundled up, he continued, “Oh, and I believe, from what my youngest daughter said, that you should be calling me ‘Dad’ now?”

Hermione flushed and looked downward. “Not according to Mrs. Weasley,” she replied in a voice filled with pain. She hadn’t realized just how much the older witch’s good opinion meant to her until she’d lost it, and this time, unlike their fourth year when Molly had fallen for the gossip Rita Skeeter had written, Hermione knew that she had grounds for her displeasure. That Harry seemed to be all right with what she’d done was irrelevant; she’d given her word, and she’d broken it.

She felt Harry’s arm tighten around her shoulders, offering her his comfort and support, and she smiled thankfully up at him. ‘This is what’s important,’ she thought. She could accept whatever censure Mrs. Weasley offered, so long as he was safe and they were together. In the long run, nothing else mattered to her.

Arthur Weasley watched the silent exchange, reading the emotions written plainly on their faces, and cleared his throat. “Yes, as to that…I certainly don’t condone Molly slapping you, Hermione, and I’ve already told her so, I promise you. However, as to why she struck you…no doubt you’ve heard about the famous, or perhaps it should be infamous ‘Weasley temper’…” At their blushes, he smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes. What most people don’t realize is that we Weasleys have two very different tempers; there’s the temper of our family line, slow to build up, and slower to cool off. The way we feel about Dark wizards like the Malfoys is a good example of the classic Weasley temper at its finest.

“Unfortunately, there’s another, less attractive form it takes; it flares up hot and fast, and isn’t nearly as…discriminating. You’ve both known Ron since your first year at Hogwarts, so you know how, um, unreasonable he can be when he’s mad about something. That’s that other temper I was talking about, one Ron has in full measure, a trait in which I’m afraid he takes after his mother.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Hermione, the reasons you chose to break your promise to my wife are between you and Harry, and to an extent, between you and Molly. From what I can see, you’ve managed to explain yourself to Harry’s satisfaction…” Harry nodded when Arthur paused, his body language making his feelings for his bushy-haired girlfriend crystal clear to the older man. “I’m very glad to hear that; I have no doubt that you two will be very happy together. Explaining yourself to Molly, though…”

“It’s not really her business, Mr. Weasley,” Harry interjected, but Arthur shook his head.

“I’m afraid it is, more than either of you knows. You see, there is a very good reason my wife feels as strongly as she does about the Bonding, especially about it being performed without one of the party’s knowledge, or against their will.” He seemed to be considering his choice of words carefully as he proceeded. “How much do the two of you know about Pureblood family traditions?” he asked.

“Nothing to speak of, really,” Harry said, shrugging, while Hermione added, “I’ve read a few things that mentioned them in passing, but nothing in detail.”

“Hm. Well, you’re aware at least that some families place great store in Pure bloodlines, believing that someone like Hermione, or Harry’s mother, Lily, would somehow ‘taint’ their blood?” He smiled at their nods and Harry’s darkened expression. “Silly prejudice, I agree, but it does exist. The problem is, that there aren’t really all that many truly Pure lines any more, and those that do still keep to those ways are so intermarried that sometimes it’s hard to find a suitable match.” Here Mr. Weasley frowned. “So hard in fact, that some families don’t leave it up to chance.”

Harry looked puzzled, but dawning comprehension appeared on Hermione’s face. “You’re talking about arranged marriages, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I am,” Mr. Weasley admitted. “They aren’t as common as they used to be, and in most cases the children involved are brought up believing that it’s the way things are supposed to be done, so while they might not be thrilled with the idea, they go along with it. Sometimes, though, on rare occasions, one of the intended resists, and it can get…unpleasant. Molly’s mother was one of those cases.”

At Hermione’s gasp his eyes met hers. “Molly’s mother was named Hypatia Woodwright; her family, while not as well-known as the Blacks or as old as the Weasleys, are still considered to be very respectable, with Pure bloodlines going back many generations. When she was a year old, her parents signed a marriage contract promising her to the youngest son of the Prewitt family, Jonathan Prewitt. They lived near enough to each other that both families assumed they’d grow up knowing of the plans, and would accept them.

“Everything was fine until it came time for the children to go to school. Jonathan went to Hogwarts as expected, but Hypatia’s father had taken a job on the Continent, which forced the family to move, with the result that Hypatia went to school at Beauxbatons. And it was there that she met a young Muggleborn wizard named Jacques Frontenac…they became the best of friends, and later, fell in love.”

“Why do I get the feeling that her parents weren’t terribly thrilled by the idea,” Harry muttered.

“Not terribly thrilled is an understatement,” Arthur replied sadly. “They managed to keep their feelings secret for some time, but while on summer holiday after sixth year, they were discovered. Hypatia told her parents that she loved Jacques and wanted to marry him, but they refused to listen, and immediately moved back to England, dragging her with them.

“If her parents were upset, the Prewitts were furious. Under the terms of the contract, they demanded Hypatia be examined to make sure she was ‘untouched’, and when it was determined that she was indeed still a virgin, they insisted she marry Jonathan at once or face breach of contract.”

“That’s terrible!” Hermione cried, aghast, and Arthur nodded.

“Yes, it was terrible,” he agreed, “and barbaric, and a host of other things the wizarding world could well do without, but unfortunately, it was also completely legal. A wizard marriage contract is binding unless both families agree to dissolve it, and the Prewitts refused to do so. What’s more, Jonathan was convinced it was his duty to go along…and he did love Hypatia. He convinced himself she was just infatuated with Jacques, and that once they were married, she would get over it.

“On Hypatia’s sixteenth birthday, she was brought by her parents to the Prewitts’ ancestral home, where they escorted her and Jonathan to the Heartsite. Her mother gave her a potion that she claimed would make the experience less unpleasant, and foolishly, Hypatia believed her.

“You see, she believed that if she went through with the Bonding, and stayed with Jonathan for the period of the Handfasting, the contract would be satisfied and she’d be free to leave. What she didn’t know was that the potion her mother gave her was a fertility potion, and the night of the Bonding, she conceived. When she found out she was pregnant, she realized that she had no choice but to stay in the marriage; otherwise, under the terms of the contract she would lose all parental rights over her unborn child. So she wrote to Jacques and told him she could never see him again, and so far as anyone knows, she never did.”

Hermione was openly crying now as Harry asked, “How is it that you know all this, sir?”

“Well, like Ginny, Molly was Hypatia’s only daughter, though she has several brothers. When her mother passed away, Molly inherited her personal effects, and among them were her diaries where she’d written it all down, starting when she was around nine and going forward until a short time before her death, when she became too ill to write.” Arthur shook his head. “Molly was devastated by the discovery; she’d always thought her parents were happy together. Not overly demonstrative, but content and in love. We were married then, with Bill and Charley toddlers and Percy on the way. Molly confronted her father with the diaries, and he admitted everything. He swore he’d loved his wife, and done everything he could to make her happy, but Molly would have none of it. She hasn’t spoken to him since, or to her grandparents.

“No wonder she was so upset with me,” Hermione sighed. “I must have brought all those memories back to the surface…”

Harry frowned. “That’s still no excuse for what she called you,” Harry muttered, “or for slapping you, love.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “There’s one last thing; when Molly had her confrontation with her father, and found out that everything in her mother’s diaries was true, she swore on her mother’s memory that neither she nor any child of hers would ever be party to such an act. So, when she realized you’d performed the Bonding on Harry without explaining it to him first…” he trailed off, leaving Hermione to finish.

“Oh, no; I not only broke my promise to her, I broke hers to her mother! No wonder she hates me!” she cried, her face in her hands as Harry pulled her close.

“She doesn’t hate you, Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said, sighing when she threw him a look of utter disbelief. “She’s hurt, and yes, she’s disappointed that you broke your word to her—I know, I’m sure you believe you had good reason to do it, but Molly doesn’t see that, at least not yet. Give her some time to cool down a bit, and I’m sure you’ll be able to patch things up between you.”

Hermione nodded gratefully, but Harry’s expression was less happy. “Mr. Weasley,” he said, obviously choosing his words carefully, “I know it’s up to your wife and my fiancée to work things out between them, but I won’t stand by and watch if Mrs. Weasley insults or abuses Hermione again, especially since it’s partly my fault that the strain between them exists. I hope you can understand that.”

“Harry, this has nothing to do with you!” Hermione scolded. “Mrs. Weasley is angry because I broke my word—“

“Which you wouldn’t have had to do if I wasn’t being a colossal prat,” Harry interjected with a grimace.

“Harry, I understand why now…” she replied, her eyes softening, but he just shook his head.

“No, Hermione; I won’t interfere so long as she remains civil, but another outburst like the one earlier tonight and I’ll…”

He hesitated, and Arthur spoke into the silence, not liking the direction the conversation was going. “You’ll what, Harry?”

Harry shifted his gaze to the older man, and the sight of his frown seemed to stiffen his resolve. “If Hermione’s not welcome under this roof, than neither am I. I love your wife, sir; she’s the closest thing to a real mum I’ve ever had, but she’d better not ask me to choose between her and Hermione, because she won’t like the answer.”

~~~~~~

Despite the combined efforts of both Hermione and Mr. Weasley, Harry remained adamant; he would not stand idly by and watch the girl who was to all intents and purposes his wife be treated with anything less than the respect he felt she deserved. And no matter how frustrated she felt by this latest example of his ‘saving-people-thing’, she couldn’t deny feeling a little thrill from it as well, knowing he cared that much about her.

Finally, after exacting a promise that they would at least try and keep the peace in the house intact until tempers had cooled a bit, Mr. Weasley departed with a vague mention of attending to Order business in Edinburgh. With a bit of trepidation, the young lovers braced themselves and finally entered the Burrow proper.

To their surprise, the comfortable living room where everyone normally congregated of an evening was deserted; apparently tensions were running high enough that everyone had called it an evening early, leaving any confrontations for the hopefully calmer tempers that would prevail after a good night’s rest. On a positive note, they found two covered dishes piled high with Mrs. Weasley’s wonderful cooking waiting for them under a warming charm, so whatever upset she felt didn’t extend to depriving them of food and shelter, at least not yet. Still, neither of them felt particularly hungry despite the day’s exertions, and after a desultory attempt at eating that consisted mostly of pushing various savory morsels around on their plates, they cleaned up and headed for the stairs and bed.

Once at the top of the stairs, Hermione gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek turned to go to the room she shared with Ginny and Luna, only to be pulled into his arms with a muffled squeak. “Harry! What are you doing?” she hissed, only to have her question answered by his mouth covering hers. After a moment’s resistance she melted against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around her, and reveling in the knowledge that he was hers, Hermione Granger’s, and no one else’s…and she was one witch who had no intention of sharing.

The kiss didn’t end until oxygen became an issue, and even then she continued to cling to him, not quite ready to trust her knees just yet. “That’s not fair,” she muttered. “How am I supposed to go sleep in a bed by myself after you get me all wound up like that?”

“You? What about me?” he growled, pressing up against her and showing her just how affected he was by her. “On top of which, I have to sleep with the Human Chainsaw,” he grumbled, though his heart wasn’t really in it. Even with situation with Mrs. Weasley hanging over their heads, not to mention all the other drama that was part and parcel of their lives, the simple fact that the girl in his arms not only loved him, but loved him enough to throw all caution to the winds and make the ultimate commitment to him, made it all bearable. No, not just bearable, but desirable. For the first time he could remember, he thought that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t such a bad thing to be Harry Potter…

He was brought out of his daydream by the feel of two small hands sliding up his neck and tousling his hair. Smiling, he bent and tasted her lips again, a softer, gentler kiss than the last one, but with no less feeling in it. Then she was slipping out of his embrace, eliciting a groan of frustration as her hand ‘accidentally’ brushed across his arousal in passing. “Pleasant dreams, Harry,” she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she disappeared around the corner to her room.

Muttering under his breath that any dreams he had now were likely to have certain messy side effects, Harry turned his steps towards Ron’s room at the end of the hall. When he opened the door, any worries he had about such problems were knocked out of his head by the sight of his best mate glowering at him, obviously in a serious snit about something. “H’lo, Ron,” Harry said cautiously.

“Hey, Harry,” his friend replied, “You and Hermione get stuff sorted out?”

Harry started at the question, but then realized that someone in the Burrow must have filled Ron in on what was going on between his two best friends. Thinking he was upset over the relationship, he answered, “Ron, I know you fancied Hermione a bit; but—“

“I don’t care about that, you prat!” Ron snapped, startling Harry further.

“You don’t? Then why are you—?” Harry started to ask when Ron cut him off.

“I want to know where you get off telling my mum to shut up!”

“Oh. That.” Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He hadn’t known anyone else was watching that particular confrontation, but maybe in the long run it would help. “Ron, mate…look, I don’t know if you will understand; hell, I don’t understand some of what I’m feeling. But I do understand that I love Hermione, and I won’t sit back and watch her being hurt and do nothing. Now she and your mum have some issues to thrash out, the sooner the better for everyone, but it’s not going to happen if your mum goes spare every time she sees her.” He waited for Ron’s reaction, but when none was forthcoming he asked, “So, you going to punch me for talking back to your mum?”

“Thought about it,” Ron admitted, and for a second it seemed a smirk was fighting with his frown for dominance.

“What did you decide?” Harry asked, earning a shrug from his friend.

“I haven’t yet; I’m still thinking,” he admitted.

Figuring that was the best he could hope for at the moment, Harry moved to his part of the room and started getting ready for bed. “Well, let me know when you make up your mind, okay?”

This time Ron did laugh. “Trust me, mate, you’ll be the first to know.” They went through their nightly routines, with Harry disappearing for a few minutes for a much-needed shower. He returned to find Ron already in bed, and the lights dimmed. As Harry climbed into his own bed, Ron spoke quietly. “Hey, Harry, one thing I did decide…”

“What’s that, Ron?”

“Mum may be upset, but that doesn’t change things between us. Hermione’s not just my friend; she’s my sister now. Hurt her and you won’t have to worry about You-Know-Who, ‘cause I’ll kill you myself.”

Harry just snorted. “Ron, if I’m stupid enough to do that, I’ll probably ask you to do it. Tell you what, if I ever hurt her, I’ll hold still while you break my Firebolt over my head. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” Ron agreed. He was quiet for a minute, and then said, “I’m still pissed about Mum, though.”

Harry just grunted an acknowledgement, and Ron accepted it as a sign that, at least for the moment, the conversation was over.

~~~~~~

Meanwhile, at the other end of the hall, a very different conversation was playing itself out. Hermione had opened the door to Ginny’s room, not to discover two sleeping girls as she had expected, but two wide-awake roommates who were apparently waiting for Hermione with questions to which only she could provide the answers.

Before she could even voice her surprise, Ginny began the Inquisition. “I’m guessing from that liplock I saw at the top of the stairs that you and Harry sorted out any questions he had about the Bonding?” she asked with a smirk, bouncing on her bed in her excitement.

“Wh-what? You were watching us? Earlier, too?” Hermione stammered, thrown off balance by her friend’s blatant admission.

“Of course,” Ginny shrugged. “How else do you think I survived growing up with six older brothers? The only way to hold my own was to snag every bit of blackmail I could. Now then…talk! Is Harry as good a kisser as it looked?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermione evaded, but Ginny just laughed.

“I mean it looked like you were about ready to shag him right there in the hallway, that’s what I mean.” She giggled as Hermione started to blush. “Aha! I knew it! He is a good kisser!”

“Well, it’s not like I have a lot to judge by, but I certainly think so,” Hermione admitted with a smile, her expression going a bit dreamy.

Ginny squeed, her hands in front of her mouth to keep the volume down. “Oooh, I knew it! I am sooo jealous right now; you’re awfully lucky you’re my sister, otherwise I might have had to try and steal him from you!”

Hermione’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Ginny, about that…I’m sorry I broke my promise about the Bonding, really I am…I just had to do it, there was no other way…”

To her complete surprise, Ginny just shrugged. “Mum’s the one who’s upset about it, not me. I figure so long as Harry’s okay with it, it’s not anyone else’s business but yours…He is okay with it, isn’t he?” When Hermione nodded slightly, she smiled. “Then I am, too. So you cut a few corners; he’s happy and you’re happy, that’s what matters isn’t it?”

“But your mum…” Hermione started, but Ginny stopped her.

“Our mum, remember? Sure she’s upset with you; she wouldn’t be our mum if she weren’t. But so long as Harry’s not mad about the Bonding, she’ll get over it eventually.” Her smile took on a wicked gleam. “Besides, it’s probably a good idea for her to get used to the idea that you two make up your own minds about stuff, that way she won’t kick up too much of a fuss when you two sneak off and shag like bunnies…how about that, anyway? Does he shag as well as he snogs?”

“I can’t believe you just asked that!” Hermione gasped, turning bright red.

“I can’t, either,” the dreamy voice of their roommate added as Luna finally joined the conversation. “You know perfectly well that a wizard’s magical and sexual potency are closely related. Given how powerful Harry is, I’m rather surprised Hermione can even walk. Are you terribly sore, or did you already take a potion?”

Ginny quirked an eyebrow at her furiously blushing sister. “Y’know, now that Luna mentions it, I’m kind of wondering about that myself…just how stiff are you, or should I ask, how stiff is Harry?”

“I’m not stiff at all, I mean, Harry’s not—ooh!” Hermione stamped in frustration as Ginny snickered.

Luna’s next comment didn’t do much to raise the tone of the discussion, not that that really came as any surprise. “Really? How very odd…oh well, I have heard it said that size doesn’t matter; I’m sure Harry makes up for his shortcomings in some other manner.”

Hermione stuttered as she tried to think of a way to defend her fiancé’s sexual prowess that would dig her any deeper in the hole. Ginny, however, was operating under no such handicap. One eyebrow arched quizzically, she said, “I seem to recall that you had some plans involving my brother, Luna. Should we be asking you how stiff you are while we’re at it?”

Luna shrugged, as unphased by Ginny’s blunt question as she was by everything else that happened around her. “You can ask, but you’ll be disappointed to find out I’m not sore at all. I’m afraid that Ronald was the soul of propriety, and refused to take full advantage of what I offered to him; it really was rather distressing in a flattering sort of way.”

The youngest Weasley goggled as the meaning of Luna’s convoluted statement sunk in. “You mean my brother actually turned down sex? I don’t believe it!”

“More or less,” Luna confirmed. “For some odd reason, he felt he would be taking advantage of me…quite silly of me not to expect that of him, but one so seldom encounters the knightly virtues these days, does one?”

“So you and Ron didn’t…?” Ginny’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Then why did he have such a funny look on his face when you got back to the Burrow? For that matter, why did you ask my mum if she had any muscle-relaxing potion?”

“Oh, that was for my jaw,” Luna said nonchalantly, idly rotating it in a manner that made it frighteningly clear just what sort of activity had led to her problem.

The two newly minted sisters looked at each other as, unbidden, the image of their brother’s activities with Luna was conjured by their imaginations. “Ewww!”

~~~~~~

With a muffled cry Harry snapped awake from the nightmare, as usual his heart pounding and his nightclothes soaked in sweat. It took a few minutes, but gradually his pulse slowed and his breathing eased, allowing him to review the images that had been playing in his brain during the dream. When he did, he discovered that for once his nightmares could be called normal, so much so that he was almost comforted by them. Instead of the usual horrific visions of his past or glimpses of Voldemort’s blood-soaked plans for the future, his nightmare was one about normal teenage insecurities. In it he was back at the lake, only this time when Hermione approached him in her skimpy bikini he froze, unable to say or do anything as she gave up and swam away. It was the image of her diving off the platform and leaving him behind that snapped him awake, and he found it calmed him immeasurably when he remembered that she was just a few doors away, and if they’d both had their choice would have been closer still.

That last thought, comforting as it was in some areas was disturbing in others, so much so that he finally gave up on sleep for the moment and headed down to the kitchen to see if he could scrounge a snack. Upon descending the stairs, Harry discovered that the kitchen in fact was not deserted; someone else was having a sleepless night. Harry paused at the sight of the person sitting at the table with a cup of tea in their hands, and then shrugged inwardly. “Hello, Mrs. Weasley.”

Molly jumped a bit at his voice, a little of her chamomile tea slopping over the rim of her cup. “Goodness, Harry, you startled me! What’s the matter, trouble sleeping?”

“Just a bit,” he admitted, shrugging. “Too much on my mind I guess.”

Molly frowned, setting her cup aside. “Dear, if you’re unhappy with what that silly girl did to you, I’m sure we can find some way to—“

“She’s not a silly girl,” Harry said forcefully, interrupting her. “Mrs. Weasley, I know you’re upset with Hermione; she told me what she’d promised you, so I guess you have a good reason to be mad at her. But please, don’t let one mistake on her part, no matter how much it hurt you, sour your opinion of her. She deserves better than that from you…and you deserve better than that from you.”

“What do you mean?” Molly asked, puzzled by his statement.

Harry paused, trying to find a way to put what he felt into words. Finally, he said, “I never knew what a mum was supposed to be like until that first time I met you at King’s Cross Station. I was completely lost, had no clue what I was doing or where I was going, and with a few words and a smile you made it all better. When it came to understanding what being a mum meant, I learned more from you in five minutes than I learned from Aunt Petunia in ten years. Even when you yelled at Fred and George, or sent a Howler to Ron, I could tell the difference between how you acted and the way my aunt does. She only cared about whether something I did affected her precious ‘appearances’, you get angry with your children because you’re worried about them.”

“I’m hardly the perfect mum, Harry,” Molly replied, shifting uncomfortably under his praise. To her surprise, he nodded in agreement.

“I know that now; you make mistakes, just like anyone else. The funny thing is, for some reason your biggest mistakes seem to always involve Hermione.” She flushed as he continued, “First, when you believed Skeeter’s lies and sent her that Howler, calling her a ‘Scarlet Woman’—“

“I did apologize for that…” she started to say, but he just kept going.

“And then last night, when you slapped her, and told her she was a trollop for deceiving me.” He waited, trying to gauge her reaction to his blunt words as she refused to meet his eyes. He realized from her expression that she was holding back some caustic remark, and he sighed. “The thing is, both times you’ve been mad at Hermione, it seems like it was because you thought she’d done something to hurt me, and both times nothing could’ve been further from the truth. During the tournament, you thought she was playing with my feelings, when in fact she was being the best friend anyone could ever hope to have…if not for her, I probably wouldnt’ve made it through alive.

“She didn’t deserve to have her name dragged through the mud by the Daily Prophet, she didn’t deserve to get hate mail from complete strangers who fell for their lies, and she especially didn’t deserve to be treated that way by someone who knew her, and who’s…who’s probably the closest thing to a real mum I’ll ever have.”

“Harry, dear…” Molly sniffled, but he just held up his hand.

“Please, Mrs. Weasley, let me finish. The point is, as wrong as you were then, it’s not a patch on how wrong you are now. She’s…Hermione’s everything to me; she makes me want to be the person I need to be, just to be worthy of her. People are always going on about how brave I am, but that’s all rubbish. I’m not brave; all those things I did, I just did because I had to in order to stay alive. Hermione didn’t have to risk herself for me again and again; she chose to do it. She chose to do it out of friendship, and…out of love.”

The tone of his voice became wondering as he continued, “I still have a hard time believing how lucky I am. Hermione could have her pick of blokes if she wanted; she’s smart, and pretty, and…and I don’t even have the words, other than she’s too good for me…but she loves me, and what’s more, I love her, more than I thought was possible.”

“Are you sure it’s love, Harry?” Molly asked quietly. “It seems awfully sudden, are you sure it’s not just…?”

“Not just sex?” he asked with a slight flush as she nodded. “I suppose we’ll get that question a lot, but no, it’s not just…that. I know it seems sudden, but is it, really? I mean, yeah, I only just realized what it was I felt for her, but the feelings themselves have been there a while; I was just too thick to realize what they were. As for the Bonding thing, I’m glad she did what she did. She always knows what I need better than I do, even when it would be easier to just let me screw things up. The day she became my friend was the luckiest day of my life, up until yesterday. If she’s crazy enough to be in love with me, I’m going to do the smartest thing I’ve ever done and hang on for dear life…and as long as she wants me, she’s got me, no matter what anyone says.” Harry’s gaze darkened, and Molly paled a bit a she realized that there was very little left of the young boy she thought of as one of her own. “Don’t make me choose between you, Mrs. Weasley; you won’t like the answer…”

~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Not as long as the last couple, I know, but this felt right as a chapter break, so there it is. I still have a number of events to cover, up through and possibly including their return to school. A number of people have yet to learn about the change in Harry and Hermione’s relationship, including her parents and of course Dumbledore. Harry’s given Molly a lot to think about, too, and then there’s that pesky prophecy…and Ron and Luna still are figuring out just what their relationship is all about.

Please review, I love hearing from my readers, and if you want to criticize, I welcome constructive criticism…don’t just say “It’s Crap!”, say why you think so, and SIGN IT. Unsigned and/or anonymous flames will be deleted….more to follow as soon as I can get it done, I promise…

7. Morning After Meanderings

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

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~~~~~~

Chapter Seven – Morning After Meanderings

~~~~~~

The next morning Harry was awakened by an odd sensation tickling his nose. Grumbling, he batted in irritation at whatever was brushing against him, only to be rewarded by the sound of a giggle. It took a second for what he’d just heard to penetrate his sleep-fogged brain, but when it did his eyes snapped open to the sight of a mass of bushy, brown hair looming over him. “Hermione? What are you doing in here?” he asked, his thoughts still disjointed.

“Waiting for you to wake up, sleepyhead,” she replied with a chuckle. The intimate tone of her voice finally triggered his recollections of the previous day, and he found himself grinning up at her as he stretched. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Scooting until he was sitting up in bed facing his more-than-girlfriend, Harry noticed the bright morning light streaming in the window, as well as the relative silence of the Burrow even though the door to his room stood open. “Where is everyone?” he asked, picking his glasses up from the nightstand.

Hermione shrugged noncommittally. “Luna dragged ‘Ronald’ off early, something about looking for a nest of Long-Nosed Hornswoggles or Vermicious Kanichts in the woods. Mr. Weasley’s at work at the Ministry, of course, and Ginny told me she and her mum had a number of errands to run on Diagon Alley, getting a head start on some of her back to school shopping, and won’t be back until this afternoon.”

Harry blinked, and then smiled slowly, taking in her (in his opinion) adorably sleep-rumpled appearance; the lightweight camisole-and-shorts set she was using for her pyjamas was as modest as anything she might have worn on a warm summer day, rather more so considering how snug Muggle fashions had become of late, but the thought of what the lightweight cotton fabric was covering was enough to make his pulse quicken. “So, we’re all alone in the house, just the two of us?”

She caught the direction his thoughts were obviously heading, and blushed. “Really, Harry, is that all you can think about? Besides, I’m hungry.”

“So am I…”

“For breakfast! Honestly!”

He laughed and shook his head. “All right, go get changed; I’ll grab a shower, get dressed and meet you downstairs; if there’s nothing left over, I can whip us up something to eat.” He waited until she started to stand and leaned over, planting a swat on her pert bottom, earning a squeak in return.

“Harry! Behave yourself, or…”

“Ah-ah-ah! ‘Love, honor and obey’, remember?” he said, wagging a finger at her in mock warning.

Hermione just sniffed. “That’s the Muggle ceremony, it has nothing to do with the Bonding. Besides, that last bit’s fallen out of fashion even for Muggles.”

“Mmm, pity, that,” he smirked as he swung his legs out of bed, earning a huff from his girlfriend. She stomped off, or tried to the best she could in the cute little sock booties she was wearing. Shrugging, he grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the bath and the revivifying powers of a hot shower.

A little while later, as Harry leaned against the wall of the shower and let the just shy of scalding water beat on his head, he felt a sudden draft of cool air on his back. Before he could react, two small hands slid across his chest from behind, and two small, firm breasts pressed against the middle of his back, their nipples sending trickles of fire along his nerves. “H-Hermione, what on earth—?” he gasped as her hands wandered lower.

“I decided a shower sounded like a great way to start the day,” she murmured, her mouth tilting upwards his as he turned within her arms. The only good thing about being nearsighted, Harry decided as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers, was that without his glasses Hermione’s features actually came into sharp focus as they kissed, not a trifling matter as he loved to lose himself in the warm, brown depths of her eyes. Her complexion was flawless, free of the blemishes that plagued girls who wore too much makeup too early in life, and the only wrinkle he’d ever noticed was a tiny crease between her brows, a souvenir of long hours poring over the crabbed printing in some of the older texts in the school’s library. Her one concession to vanity seemed to be a combination lip-gloss and moisturizer, which he’d only recently discovered tasted of strawberries, a flavor oddly appropriate as an appetizer for starting the day.

As their kiss deepened he felt his body responding to her nearness, his stiffening erection brushing against her stomach as she molded herself to him. By the time they separated, her hair hung in drenched ringlets instead of its usual bushy waves, framing her face in a different, but as far as he was concerned, even more charming manner. He reached up and tucked a few damp strands behind her ear, earning a smile from her in turn. Her eyes traveled downwards to where his arousal was making its presence known, and then to his horror, she…giggled. His body’s reaction was automatic and unavoidable. “Oops,” Hermione said, her eyes meeting his with a wicked gleam. “Sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to frighten him away…” Her hand matched her words, seeking out and coaxing his flagging resolve back to full attention.

“Then why’d you…ohhh, never mind,” he moaned as her hands continued to prove that books and cleverness weren’t all that terrible a combination after all.

When she was sure he wasn’t about to fade on her again, and after another very heated and oxygen-deprived kiss, she murmured, “If you must know, I was just thinking how much ‘Loony’ Lovegood deserves her nickname…’shortcomings’ indeed!”

At that point Harry didn’t really care all that much why she’d laughed, now that he’d been reassured that she hadn’t been laughing at him. His hands began to demonstrate their cleverness as well, until she became rather insistent that he ‘get on with it’. Harry was only too happy to oblige, the dampness of the shower combining with the wetness of Hermione’s arousal to make seating himself within her simplicity itself, despite the slight awkwardness of their positions. Hermione gasped a little as the angle of his penetration stretched her in new and delightful ways, the crown of his penis pressing upwards within her to touch what she suspected might be the place some of her texts had called a ‘g spot’. Whatever it was, it felt incredible, and she wanted more…

Using her arms around his neck to support her weight, she lifted her legs and locked them around his hips, giving him even greater access to her as he settled into a slow, patient rhythm, rocking his hips into hers in a manner that soon drove her to the peak and beyond, her nails digging into his shoulders as she cried out his name. Harry slowed, giving her time to control her shuddering muscles before he picked up the rhythm again, this time increasing his pace as his own climax neared. He felt her muscles tightening around him a second time and the feeling dragged him over the top as well, his seed spilling into her as the water from the shower continued to beat down on their intertwined bodies.

~~~~~~

Much later, after several more intriguing variations of the water sports they’d discovered were possible when one shared a shower, Harry, now dressed in the clothes he’d carried into the bathroom, followed Hermione to her room, sitting on her bed while she rummaged through her closet in search of an outfit to wear for the day. Personally, he rather liked her current choice of a fluffy white towel that covered just enough to be considered decent, but he supposed he was prejudiced. Meanwhile he listened with amusement as his girlfriend muttered, “No…no…no…oh, honestly, what was I thinking…no…”

“Mione, anything you pick will be fine,” he offered. “It’s not like you could look bad if you tried,” he added, making a conscious effort to say something appropriately boyfriend-ish.

Harry had yet to learn it was possible to try and say the right thing and still well and truly put his foot in his mouth. The sound of rummaging stopped and the frowning face of his girlfriend reappeared from the closet. “So, just because we’re together I should dress like a sack of potatoes?” she asked, scowling. “And don’t call me ‘Mione’!”

“What the…I never said that…and I thought you liked it when I called you Mione,” he replied, thoroughly confused.

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her quest for the right clothes. “Hmph! You might not care how I look, Harry, but I do; and pet names that are perfectly acceptable at…certain moments…lose their charm if they’re used too casually.”

“Oh.” Somehow, Harry had thought that being Bonded with Hermione would help him to better understand the way her mind worked, but apparently that not only was not the case, their new relationship opened up whole new avenues of behavior about which he hadn’t a clue. Deciding in a moment of rare insight that, while it might not save his arse every time, being honest was likely to get him in less trouble than anything else, he continued, “No pet names, and appreciate the effort you take to look nice; right, got it.”

A moment later Hermione emerged from the closet wearing a halter-top in pear green that fit snugly round her bust and then flared to cover her midriff in soft folds of fabric. Below that she wore a pair of khaki safari shorts with a fit that hugged her hips before relaxing to a more comfortable fit that ended mid-thigh with two-inch cuffs. White trainers and sport socks with rolled-over tops completed the look, and his new awareness of ‘Hermione-as-girl’ told him she was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

Unfortunately, wide-eyed silence was not the best way to compliment a girlfriend who was more than a little insecure about here appearance. When Harry just stared, Hermione sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “You don’t like it,” she mumbled, turning back to the closet.

He might be clueless, but he wasn’t completely stupid; like a shot Harry was off the bed with his arms around her waist, earning a shiver as he planted a quick kiss on her neck. “Sorry; it’s just that you look so fabulous I was stunned for a second. You look great, okay?”

It was amazing how many different emotions a little sniff could convey; this time it said she’d didn’t quite believe him, but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Grinning, Harry took her hand as they exited the bedroom and headed down for their delayed breakfast.

~~~~~~

The relaxed, comfortable feeling between them lasted all the way downstairs, enveloping Harry and Hermione in a sensation of rightness, as if all the horrible things that tried to warp and twist their lives were held at bay by the bond between them. For a brief time there was no one else in the world but the two of them, tentatively exploring this new intimacy as they began to become aware of all the ramifications of their altered relationship.

The mood was shattered, however, when they entered the kitchen and discovered that, in fact, they were not alone in the house. Sitting at the table, sipping from a cup of tea and reading the morning edition of The Daily Prophet as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be there was Albus Dumbledore.

All the emotions that had turned the beginning of the summer into a maelstrom of pain and recrimination came crashing back in on Harry; the shame at being deceived, the guilt for the injuries of his friends and the death of his godfather, and all of it magnified by the anger and betrayal he felt rising within him at the sight of the headmaster. Dumbledore’s presence felt like a violation of the sanctuary the Burrow had come to represent to Harry, forcing him to remember the torments that had turned his last year at Hogwarts into one of the worst experiences of his life.

He was still trying to wrestle the surge of anger that was rising within him when the headmaster looked up from his paper and smiled as if he was surprised by the presence of the two young people. “Harry, Miss Granger, how good to see you again. I trust you are enjoying your stay at the Burrow, and that your summer so far has been relaxing and…uneventful?” His eyes twinkled in the manner the Hogwarts’ students knew so well, and Harry felt a resurgence of rage at the meddling old fool who was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong…

The last string of thoughts caught Harry by surprise as a familiar stab of pain lanced through his scar. For a moment he felt the sensation of a serpent uncoiling within his mind, the feeling he’d come to associate with Voldemort’s connection to him, and then something intervened. Warmth flooded through his consciousness, a reassuring presence that placed a wall between his feelings and those of the Dark Lord. The feeling spread and intensified, becoming stronger and carrying with it a message of love and understanding, flavored with respect and protectiveness. He opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he closed, and found himself staring into chocolate and cinnamon gaze, one of her hands still clenched in his while her other hand cupped his cheek.

Taking a deep breath, he smiled at her in silent thanks, and turned his attention back to Dumbledore. “Sorry, Professor, I was a bit…distracted. I wasn’t expecting to see you today, and it took me by surprise.” Hermione shifted so that they were both facing the seated headmaster, but he refused to release her from his grasp, and after a couple of half-hearted attempts, to free herself she relented, remaining at his side with their hands and arms intertwined. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call?”

Professor Dumbledore arched an eyebrow as he set aside the paper and his cup of tea. “Would you believe if I claimed it was, Harry?” he asked with a small smile.

Harry shrugged. “No, I’d believe you were choosing to keep things from me again, just like you have for the last five years,” answering in a disrespectful tone that made Hermione gasp in surprise, even knowing as she did how Harry’s last meeting with the headmaster had gone.

To her amazement, there was nothing of censure in Dumbledore’s reply, just a certain amount of regret as the twinkle faded from his gaze. “I did promise you, Harry, that those days were at an end, did I not?” he said, waiting for the unwilling nod he received in acknowledgement. “I would hope that, knowing the seriousness of the matters involved, you would do me the same courtesy, and tell me of anything that happened that might have a bearing on your safety, and that of those around you?”

When Harry didn’t immediately respond, Hermione stepped into the conversation. “Did something happen to bring you here today, Professor?” she asked, drawing the old wizard’s attention to her. “Something concerning Harry?”

“That is precisely what I am here to determine, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore replied, seeming to sense that the conversation might go more smoothly if spoke mostly to her. “It seems there was a fluctuation in the protections that have been erected around the home of Harry’s relatives, one of sufficient strength to alert the members of the Order who monitor it. They of course contacted me, as I am the one who established the wards in the first place.” He paused and peered at her over the rim of his half-moon glasses. “I take it from your lack of reaction that Harry has already informed you of the reasons he grew up with the Dursleys, and why he still stays with them for part of each year, despite their…ambivalent attitude towards our world?”

Harry snorted at the headmaster’s tactful phrasing. “You mean their complete and utter loathing for me, and for anything having to do with the ‘freaks’ like me?” he asked, his tone scathing. “She knows everything, Professor, and I do mean everything.”

“Indeed? Then perhaps Miss Granger can apply that keen intellect for which she is justifiably renowned amongst her instructors to the reason why, at some time yesterday afternoon, a portion of the protections around Number 4 Privet Drive began to fade? Specifically, the portion dealing with the blood protections provided by his connection to his Aunt Petunia?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as Hermione’s widened. “You said those were already weakened when Voldemort used my blood for his resurrection, Professor.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Weakened, yes, Harry, but still potent, as potent as anything else that could be produced at the time. Combined with the general wards placed around the Dursleys to give them protection while you are away at school, your home was as well shielded as any place in Britain against magical attack.

“Yesterday, however, the blood protections that are the underpinnings of the wards began to fade. I examined them myself this morning, after Alastor Moody notified me of the change in their status. They are still present, but so reduced by whatever affected them that I estimate one more stress of a similar type and they will snap completely.” He paused, looking back and forth between the young lovers before asking, “Now, is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Blushing, Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out Harry interrupted. “Don’t bother saying it, Hermione, he already knows what happened or he wouldn’t be here. Did Mr. or Mrs. Weasley tell you, Professor, or did whatever spells you have on me inform you of my, or should I say our, change in status?”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, shocked into speaking by his continuing attitude towards their headmaster. “That’s no way to speak to Professor Dumbledore!”

“I’m afraid he has every reason for doubting me, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said sadly before Harry could answer her, feeling the resentment radiating off the young man, ”and, I am sad to say, a great many reasons to doubt me. I take no offense.” He focused his attention on the younger wizard as he continued, “Perhaps it will help if I explain what it is that I do know, and then you may fill in the blanks as you wish.

“As I said, I know that something has occurred to affect to blood magic that protects Harry within his aunt’s home. I know of only a limited number of ways that those protections could be affected, and as I am an expert on blood alchemy, the odds that the alteration could occur through some medium of which I am not aware are slim indeed.

“Now, having determined that Harry’s aunt is indeed alive and unharmed, the ways in which the blood wards could be altered are limited to methods that affect Harry himself. One of the most obvious of those is, and I am sorry if this embarrasses you, by the use of some form of sex magic. Might I assume that such is the case, and that it involves the two of you?” At Harry and Hermione’s blushes he nodded. “Yes, well; I’m afraid that your body language and attitudes since my arrival made that conclusion a fairly simple one to reach. However, beyond the obvious, that you two are now involved…my congratulations, by the way…and have been intimate, I know none of the details. And while I normally make it a point not to interfere in the private lives of my students, so long as it does not unduly affect their schooling, your cases are obviously quite different.”

“Because you need me to get rid of Voldemort,” Harry muttered, earning a frown from the headmaster.

“Because Tom would be your enemy regardless of any prophecy; you, Harry, because your mother was Muggleborn and she and James refused to submit to him, and you, Miss Granger, because your very existence is a slap in the face to everything in which he believes, excelling as you do over all the so-called ‘pureblood’ witches of your generation.” He paused and smiled at her increased blush before turning a more serious face to Harry. “However, as you have apparently told Miss Granger, the prophecy does exist, and Tom’s reaction to the part he does know makes it imperative that the Order be kept apprised of any changes in your status that might affect the danger he and his followers represent to you and those close to you.” Professor Dumbledore’s eyes almost pleaded with Harry to confide in him, yet he felt no sign that the older wizard was attempting to use Legilimancy against him. Rather it seemed he was hoping to reestablish some of the trust between them that had been damaged in the previous year’s events. Finally the headmaster looked away, for the first time looking every day of his over 150 years of age. “Tell me what you feel you can, Harry; I will not force you.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, looking for her opinion. When she bit her lip and nodded, Harry cleared his throat and explained the events of the preceding twenty-four hours, with Hermione stepping in and filling in details as needed.

By the end of the explanation the older wizard’s brow was furrowed in concentration. When Harry was finished talking, he cleared his throat. “So, in essence, you, Hermione, were officially adopted by the Weasleys and tied into the family’s wards so that you in turn could access the protections on the family’s Heart Stones. She then brought you, Harry, there as a place in which the two of you could be, shall we say, intimate for the first time without fear of Voldemort attacking you through the connection forged between you, correct? And that while there, Hermione performed a Bonding, with the intent of connecting you to the wards on the Burrow?”

“Professor Dumbledore, I performed the Bonding because I’m in love with Harry,” Hermione said, clarifying her reasons, “and would do anything to keep him safe. I would be with him regardless; this just provided an added benefit that I hoped would free him from needing to stay with the Dursleys again.”

“And I’m…I’m in love with Hermione, too,” Harry added, flushing a little. “It didn’t just start yesterday with…I mean, she’s always been there for me, and I guess I’ve felt more than just friendship for her since I don’t know when; it just took a bludger to the head to make me realize what it was I felt. Being Bonded to Hermione is the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

“And Molly knew of your plans, and had no objections?”

“It wasn’t carved in stone, but we discussed it,” Hermione said evasively. She still had to mend her fences with Mrs. Weasley and didn’t want to hear what the professor might have to say about the manner in which she had performed the handfasting to Harry.

“What’s on your mind, sir?” Harry asked when he realized that something was indeed piquing the old wizard’s interest. “You’re not going to try and say we should dissolve the Bonding, are you? Because if that’s what you’re thinking, I won’t go along with—“

“Nothing like that, Harry,” Dumbledore assured him with a small smile. “But your Bonding will bear closer examination, not to seek to dissolve it, but to see what other possible benefits it might have besides the obvious…”

“What could be better than what it already is?” Harry replied, his hand seeking out Hermione’s again; he wasn’t terribly thrilled with the idea that the wizards of the Order were going to be discussing the intimate details of his life, that once again his privacy was going to be sacrificed in the name of the battle against the Dark Lord’s evil.

Instead of answering directly, Dumbledore followed a habit that Harry found increasingly irritating, and answered his question with a question. “Tell me, Harry, the first time you saw the Burrow, what did you think of it?”

‘The Burrow? What the heck does that have to do with anything?’ “Uh, I thought it was really…unusual,” he equivocated, earning a smile from the headmaster.

“Which is a polite way of saying you thought it was a ramshackle joke that was likely to fall down around your ears, correct?”

“Well, I didn’t think it was that bad, but…yeah,” Harry admitted, blushing.

“But it never did fall down, did it, Harry? In fact, it’s one of the places you feel most comfortable, the closest thing you’ve known to a real home, am I right?” Dumbledore pressed, his eyes regaining their twinkle.

“I suppose…”

“The point I’m trying to make is that the original builders never intended the Burrow to look as it does today. Over the generations it’s been changed, altered, and added on to at need. Sometimes the alterations make perfect sense, other times they clash terribly with what went before, but together they combine to create the home that is the Burrow.” The professor nodded at the building surrounding them, a smile on his face. “That feeling of ‘home’ is woven into the very fabric of the structure. Much of it is due to the magic that holds it together, but as much, if not more, comes from the lives that have been lived within it, the Weasleys who have been born, lived, and yes, died within its walls. The power that represents is reflected in the comfortable way you feel here, and it is a power that resides in the wards as well, a power to which you are both now bound.”

“What do you mean, Professor?” Hermione asked, her voice filled with curiosity and more than a bit of nervousness.

“I mean that the same cycle of growth and change that applies to the Burrow applies to the wards as well,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Perhaps even moreso, as the Burrow is just the latest of a long series of dwellings that have existed on this land, while the wards have been in continuous existence for as long as there have been Weasleys living here; going back to the days of the Saxons, if I remember correctly. It would surprise me greatly if there were not unexpected ramifications beyond mere protection that are the result of the Bonding.

“For example: Harry, when you first saw that I was waiting in the kitchen for you and Hermione, what was the first feeling to cross your mind?”

Harry flushed as he recalled the spike of rage that had flared to life at the sight of the professor. “Well…”

“Allow me to guess, then,” the headmaster continued smoothly. “From your reaction, you felt some of the same anger you felt in my office, perhaps more. Perhaps even the same signs of Tom’s link to you that you’ve felt in the past, am I correct?”

“Something like that,” Harry admitted grudgingly. “But it didn’t last,” he hastened to add. “I shook it off…”

“You shook it off, or it was blocked? Think carefully, Harry.”

Harry did think about it, how he’d felt his scar, how the rage had mounted, and then a presence had inserted itself between Harry and the anger, shielding him from its effects, a presence that felt uncannily like— “Hermione,” he breathed, “I felt…Hermione, coming between me and Voldemort’s anger.”

Hermione looked shocked for a second, and then a huge smile lit her face. “Harry, do you know what this means? The Bonding, you can use it to help you fight his influence over you! Oh, Harry!” and she flung her arms around his neck.

“I believe it is possible it might have even more uses than that, Miss Granger…Hermione,” Dumbledore said with much of his usual twinkle in place. “Perhaps we should ask Arthur what he knows about the history of the family’s wards, and see if he will grant me permission to examine them further. It might be that you two have wrought even better than you know…”

~~~~~~

The next several days saw life returning almost to normal at the Burrow, with a few notable exceptions. Luna and Ron spent much of their time in each other’s company, often disappearing for hours and returning looking a bit rumpled, though both continued to insist (to the Ravenclaw girl’s annoyance, and her friends’ amusement) that nothing beyond some very intense snogging was going on between them. Still, whatever the relationship’s amorous shortcomings as far as Luna was concerned, it seemed to work for them, and their friends couldn’t be happier for the couple.

The other new couple in the Burrow, Harry and Hermione, had their own ups and downs, including one tremendous row over something Harry couldn’t even remember, but the aftershocks of which gave everyone connected to the wards a headache that lasted all day. However, once Harry apologized and the two of them made up (he wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, but it seemed a safe bet he’d done something stupid to set his girlfriend off) the headache faded, and the energy from their make-up sex had everyone on the Weasley property smiling, connected to the wards or not. Harry secretly suspected that Nymphadora Tonks’s sudden interest in Remus Lupin could be directly attributed to the pair of them checking in at the Burrow not fifteen minutes after Harry and Hermione had come down from their own post-coital high.

One slightly sore subject did remain between them; Hermione’s parents. Harry was none to eager to meet them (especially Hermione’s father) given Muggle attitudes about the sort of things he and their daughter had been doing together, but he still felt it wasn’t wise to keep the nature of their relationship a secret from them. Hermione, on the other hand, was rather reticent to tell them the whole truth; she’d informed them that she was now ‘dating’ Harry, but that was all.

Fortunately or not, the subject of what to tell them had been postponed until the Christmas Break. Hermione’s parents were currently on the continent, and would not return to their practice until after Hermione had boarded the Hogwarts Express. The most that Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been able to do was exact a promise from the couple that Harry would Join Hermione for the Christmas holidays so her parents could officially meet her ‘young man’. It wasn’t perfect, but with everything going on, Harry admitted it was probably for the best. And by the time the holidays came around, Hermione would also be 16, a not insignificant distinction when one was being intimate with the object of one’s affections.

Oddly, the strength with which the young lovers were linked to the Burrow’s magical fields went a long way to mending the rift between Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. Apparently being able to feel the intensity of their emotions through the Bonding’s connection to the wards helped convince Molly to accept the relationship for what it was, a serious commitment on both their parts. Nothing else, Harry thought, could explain the older witch granting the two of them their own room in which to spend the remainder of their stay. If that weren’t enough, a conversation Harry had with Molly a week after the Bonding convinced him she’d made her peace with the arrangement.

Everyone was making plans for the final trip to Diagon Alley for their school supplies. Voldemort’s Death Eaters had been oddly quiet since the Department of Mysteries fiasco, but no one was fooled by the false calm before the storm.

The problem for Harry was that he had a very special errand he needed to run, one that Hermione couldn’t tag along on, or even suspect. They would be returning to school in less than a fortnight, and he had promised himself that when they did, she would be wearing his ring…assuming, the nagging voice of his insecurities whispered in his ear, that she’d have him. Fortunately that voice seemed to get weaker with every passing day, and he hoped by the time they caught the Hogwarts Express it would be silenced, if not for eternity, at least indefinitely.

The difficulty remained that he had to get away from the group, find a jewelry store that hopefully wouldn’t immediately blab to the Daly Prophet that Harry Potter had been ring-shopping, pick out a ring, pay for it and rejoin the group, all without Hermione noticing. A suggested stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies took care of separating from his girlfriend for a period of time (not surprisingly, Harry had found his love of flying returning as his depression lifted), but the rest of the plan remained rather vague until Molly drew Harry aside one evening.

“I understand from Ginny that you want to do some special shopping,” she said without preamble once they were alone, her manner somewhat brusque.

Harry nodded cautiously; he was still a bit nervous around Mrs. Weasley, not wanting to go through another test of wills like that first night in the kitchen after the Bonding. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted. “I want to pick up something for Hermione before we return to Hogwarts. She’s done so much for me, the least I can do is make sure she has a proper ring, just in case someone at school decides they want to be catty about us.”

Molly nodded, her eyes showing a touch of brightness. “You’re really that sure, Harry?” she asked. When he nodded again, she sniffed and held out a piece of parchment. On it was written a single line:

“House Of Winton, 23 Vector Lane, Diagon Alley, London”

“What’s this?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“It’s the name of the jewelers the Weasley family has used for items like this for the last ten generations,” Molly clarified. “I’ve already owled them that…one of my boys was coming in for a ring for his betrothed. I gave Roger, the current manager of the shop, a description of Hermione’s and your tastes so he could have a selection ready for you to choose from. I assumed nothing too gaudy?” At his slightly stunned nod she continued. “Ginny and I will take Hermione to Madame Malkins’ for new dress robes…which you will also be paying for, by the way…while you go to the shop. The Wintons have always had excellent taste, so you should be able to get in and out quickly; just be sure to pick up plenty of Galleons when you stop at Gringotts’. The House of Winton doesn’t keep its reputation by selling junk.”

Harry looked down at the slip of paper in his hand and then back up at Molly, his expression neutral. “Why are you doing this, Mrs. Weasley?” he asked quietly. “I thought you made it clear you didn’t think we would ‘work out’…yet first you give us our own room, and now this. Why?”

At first he didn’t think he would get an answer, she was silent so long; he made as if to hand the parchment back, but she refused to accept it. “I…I was wrong to jump to that conclusion, Harry. I’d be lying if I said I was completely happy with the way things were done, but it’s very clear that you two belong together. You’re happier than I’ve ever seen you when you’re with her, and her devotion to you is obviously every bit as deep. I wanted to do something to show you both that I realized that. I just want you to be happy, dear, and she makes you happy.”

Harry smiled and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, I…I really appreciate this. Do you think that you could maybe…tell Hermione how you feel? I know she’s sorry she hurt you, it would mean a lot to her if she could make it right between you.”

“We’ll see, dear; one step at a time.”

~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Well, there you have it, a little more canoodling, and a few more explanations. I think this is going to run for at least a few more chapters, maybe longer. Definitely through the return to Hogwarts, and if my readers don’t get bored, through some explorations of the Bond, not to mention the holidays with Hermione’s folks. Besides, I haven’t put Ferret Boy in his place for a while, it’s about time for him to get bitch-slapped around a bit. Oh, and Ginny needs to find her own Prince Charming…she’s kissed enough frogs, perhaps she should try a toad this time?

Thanks for reading, and please review! They do seem to keep me inspired…

8. To Diagon Alley, and Beyond

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

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Chapter Eight – To Diagon Alley, and Beyond

~~~~~~

With a week left to go before school resumed, the much-anticipated trip to Diagon Alley was finally scheduled for all and sundry, a last chance to load up on all the things that were required for a year at school, as well as a few of the luxuries that made that year bearable. O.W.L. results had finally arrived, along with their school lists for the coming year, and as usual Hermione was frantic to pick up her books and get a head start on her reading.

“After all,” she’d told her patient (and for once, wisely silent) boyfriend, “getting fourteen O.W.L.s is no guarantee I’ll do well on my N.E.W.T.s!” Harry, having received an acceptable but hardly stellar seven O.W.L.s, decided that discretion really was the better part of valour, and merely nodded his agreement.

However, a few of the members of the Order, most notably a certain greasy-haired potions professor, had objected to diverting their sparse resources to cover a ‘bunch of children who should know better than to risk their lives and the lives of those who protect them when there’s a war on’. Apparently the debate over the issue was sufficiently heated that it continued even after the official meeting had broken up, following Mr. and Mrs. Weasley back to the Burrow along with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.

Harry and Hermione were returning from an evening stroll in the garden (interspersed of course with an evening snog) when they heard the voices being raised in the kitchen. They were about to continue upstairs to their room, figuring the argument was a private one, when the sound of Harry’s name caught their attention. Since by definition any conversation that discussed Harry concerned him, they turned from the stairs, approaching the kitchen and the arguing voices therein.

“I see your point, Kingsley,” Arthur Weasley was saying, “but really, how much risk are we talking about? The Ministry is finally paying attention to the threat, The Order will be on alert, and Diagon Alley will be filled with other witches and wizards, not all of whom will turn tail and run at the sight of some black robes and a comic opera mask. And let’s not forget that the so-called ‘children’ are all quite skilled as well. And besides, the Death Eaters have been quiet all summer. There hasn’t even been a sighting…”

“All the more reason to be cautious,” Shacklebolt grumbled. “If they’re quiet it’s because they have something big in the works. Who’s to say that Potter out in public isn’t what they’re waiting for? And it’s not about whether we can handle whatever they throw at us; it’s about whether or not it’s wise to risk provoking a confrontation with them for no better reason than a simple shopping trip!”

So intent were the adults on their argument, the young couple managed to observe from the doorway without being noticed. Mrs. Weasley was clearly torn between supporting her husband’s stance and agreeing with the need for caution, while Tonks’s normal Devil-may-care attitude was evident in the slight look of disgust she was turning towards her superior. “C’mon, Kingsley, I thought you were the one who always fancied the idea of having the chance to bust some pureblood bigot’s arse for his troubles, why pull back now that you might have the chance? Not going soft on us, are you?”

The dark-skinned Auror opened his mouth to respond, but Harry spoke first, causing the adults around the table to jump. “Since it concerns us, shouldn’t you be asking our opinion, too?”

“What? Oh, Hello, Harry…Hermione,” Kingsley replied. “As to what we’re talking about…well, since it’s Order business and you’re not Order members, I’m afraid your opinions don’t count for much at this point. After all, we’re the ones who’ll be doing the guarding and bearing the brunt of it if it goes down the crapper; you kids are really just along for the ride, so to speak.”

Harry frowned, his irritation at once again having people making decisions that affected him without his input rising, but before he could respond, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. “Actually, I think I’d like to hear what they have to say, Shacklebolt; anyone who’s been through as much as Harry has is no starry-eyed dreamer, and Hermione’s not your average witch, either. Frankly, I’d trust their opinions over that of some Order members I could name.”

“So would I,” Tonks piped up brightly. “Wotcher, Harry, Hermione, you two still going at it like rabbits I hope?”

The teens blushed as the two older wizards at the table chuckled and predictably Mrs. Weasley threw a glare at the irrepressible auror. “Nymphadora, really!” she huffed.

“What?” Tonks asked innocently, ignoring for once the use of her hated first name. “Bloody inspiring, it is, young love and all that. Makes me wish my Woofie was back from his mission for Albus…”

Harry’s mind boggled briefly as the image of Tonks calling Remus ‘Woofie’ to his face, and what’s more, him letting her, flickered through his mind. Any more thoughts along that line were derailed when the senior of the two aurors coughed. “Yes, hm, I suppose you do have a point, Arthur. Harry, do you have anything you think is relevant to add to the discussion?”

Harry glanced at Hermione, and that feeling of wordless communication that had been growing between them flared to life again. He nodded slightly, tacitly giving her the floor.

Hermione looked at the expectant faces of the adults and, realizing they were all wizarding raised, asked, “How much do you know about Muggle politics?”

Arthur took in the blank looks of his companions at the young woman’s question and shrugged. “Probably not as much as we should, since we live right among them. Why?”

“Because all across the planet, Muggle governments are struggling with something very similar to the tactics used by the Dark Lord and his followers. People like the Death Eaters are called ‘terrorists’, and deciding what methods to use to deal with them is one of the thorniest problems facing their society.”

“I think I have heard a bit about it, now that you mention it,” Mr. Weasley offered. “Religious fanatics of some sort, aren’t they?”

“Religion is one of the big motivators, but it’s not the only one,” Hermione agreed. “Political factionalism, long-standing hatreds between ethnic groups, you name it, they’ll embrace it as a reason. So far the Americans seem to have escaped the worst of it, but they have their own crazies as well. There was a secret organization founded after the end of their Civil War whose whole purpose was to keep people like Mr. Shacklebolt ‘in their place’. They’ve been pretty much discredited, but the Ku Klux Klan still has followers.

“There’re others; Right-to-Lifers using murder to stop what they view as murder, Earth Firsters torching automobile dealerships to protect the environment, and dumping tons of pollutants into the air in the process, the list goes on. But except for a very few cases, the US has avoided any real widespread bloodshed. Other countries haven’t been so lucky.”

“This is all fascinating, I’m sure,” Kingsley interjected, “but what does it have to do with what we were discussing?”

“I’m getting to that, if you’ll just give me a moment more,” Hermione replied, her tone calm despite his challenge. At the Auror’s nod she continued. “Israel, in the Middle East, would be the best example. They’ve been fighting a continuous battle for existence ever since they were founded as a homeland for the Jews after the Holocaust of World War II, when literally millions of them were slaughtered for their beliefs. They’ve fought tooth and nail to stay alive, against invading armies, economic warfare, and continuous acts of murder and barbarism that would make even the Dark Lord sick, and they refuse to budge. They understood early on that you couldn’t reach a compromise with fanatics. You either resist them or go under. And that’s what we need to do with the Death Eaters.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see the connection, dear,” Mrs. Weasley admitted, her tone towards Hermione warmer than it had been since the Bonding. “What does fighting, um, ‘terrorists’ have to do with a shopping trip?”

“I think I can answer that, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry answered, putting his hand over Hermione’s as he stepped into the discussion. “Every time we change our plans, give up doing what we normally do, alter our way of life, out of fear over what the Death Eaters might do, by that much they’ve already won. The reason they act the way they do is to make people afraid to resist them. And if you start giving into them on little things, it makes it that much easier to give in on big things. You have to show bravery in all parts of your life, not just the major bits, if you want to beat them.”

“So, what, we go about our business as if there’s nothing wrong? Don’t take any precautions?” Kingsley asked skeptically.

“I said bravery, not stupidity,” Harry replied caustically, earning a snort from Tonks. “Sure you take precautions, you’d be fools not to, but you don’t let them stop you, either. As soon as you stop being who you are, the battle’s already half over, and not in your favor.”

To Hermione it felt like she might burst with pride at the respect with which the Order members seating around the table were looking at Harry (and though she didn’t notice it in her case, at her as well). “Damned if that doesn’t make sense,” Shacklebolt admitted. “Arthur? Molly? I already know what you think, Tonks.”

Arthur nodded as Molly smiled. “I’d say it’s unanimous. Who’s going to go back and give them the committee’s decision?”

“What committee?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Oh, the blowhards back at Headquarters couldn’t reach a decision on the Diagon Alley trip, so Dumbledore picked the four of us to make a choice one way or the other, and tell the rest. Congratulations on winning your first debate with the Order!” she finished, clapping as the girl she was only half-teasing blushed.

~~~~~~

Two days later the caravan of shoppers and their watchdogs took the Floo directly to a private room at the Leaky Cauldron, where any final adjustments in the plans would be made prior to venturing out in public. Fortunately the Order did not have to rely entirely on their own resources to protect their charges. The Ministry was well aware that the Alley would be packed with families doing their shopping prior to the beginning of term, and extra squads of Aurors, beefed up with a delegation from the Unspeakables department, were on guard throughout the wizarding merchant’s district.

In the Cauldron the students were animatedly planning their purchases, with minor variations based on gender. The girls were excitedly discussing the latest fashions, and whether they should buy their dress robes on the alley or wait for a Hogsmeade weekend to see what else might be available. There had been another unexpected bit of news included in the packet that had contained their O.W.L. results and school lists. On a separate sheet, signed by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, had been the announcement that another Yule Ball was to be held. Harry still remembered the excited squees coming from the girls’ room when the letter arrived:

In an effort to bolster school morale and ameliorate some of the harsh feelings that remain after last year’s unpleasantness, Headmaster Dumbledore has proposed, and the Board of Governors has agreed to, the establishing of an annual Yule Ball, attendance to which is open to all students in Third Year and above.

Inasmuch as this is to be an annual event, it has also been decided that the Yule Ball will be a Masqued Ball, and that those students who wish to participate may win house points for their costume’s originality, complexity, and adherence to the Ball’s theme. This year, the theme will be The Faerie Court, and any costumes pertaining to this theme will be acceptable, so long as they remain in good taste. It should be noted that a great many advanced forms of transfiguration and charms may be applied to such efforts, and that if students wish to pursue their costume designs as an extra credit assignment for one or both subjects, they should speak to their professors in advance.

Finally, those members of the student body who choose to participate in the Masqued portion of the Ball will choose from amongst their number a King and Queen to reign over the festivities. The faculty of Hogwarts joins together in wishing all our students a pleasant and memorable evening.

Needless to say, all the girls, even Hermione (not surprising after her smashing success fourth year) were aflutter over the idea. Even Tonks got into the act, offering a few suggestions on how to really ‘catch people’s eye’ so wild that even Luna looked askance at them. Still, it meant that Harry had an even better chance of diverting attention from his side errand, and the idea of actually being able to dance with Hermione this time around was exhilarating.

They were all just about ready to head out the door and into the Alley when the fireplace flared green again and Neville Longbottom tumbled into the room, but it was a very different looking Neville from the one they’d seen just a couple of months ago on Platform 9¾. “Bloody Hell, Neville, is that you?” Ron blurted.

“Um, yeah,” the fellow Gryffindor replied, blushing slightly. “How have you all been? Good summer so far, Harry?”

“Bit rough at first, but I’m doing all right; how about you, Nev?” Harry asked, quite pleased to see him again. Ever since he’d heard the Prophecy, he’d felt a special kinship with the young man who might have been the Boy Who Lived instead of Harry. Quiet and unassuming, just about everyone missed the core of steel that had place Neville in Gryffindor, a steadfast bravery that had served him well in their ill-fated journey to the Department of Mysteries

Neville smiled as he brushed the Floo residue from his robes. “Pretty good; Gran bought me a new wand at Ollivander’s to replace my dad’s broken one, and it feels loads better. I think it might really make a difference on how well I can perform the trickier spells in Charms and Transfiguration, bring my marks up a bit.” He shrugged. “Maybe if I do better in class Gran won’t be so upset about having to buy all new clothes for me this year; nothing seems to fit any more. Kind of weird, really.” Neville shrugged his shoulders and tugged at his too-short sleeves

“Well, you have changed a bit,” Hermione interjected in a major example of understatement, while Ginny nodded her agreement, her eyes wide. Like the other boys, Neville had experienced a growth spurt over the summer, but while Harry and Ron had shot up a few inches, Neville looked like he’d been stretched on the rack, standing a full six inches taller than just a couple of months before. The demands on his system created by the growth spurt had finally pared away his persistent baby fat, revealing the angular and not unhandsome features underneath.

All in all Harry suspected Neville might find himself in the awkward position of having to beat the girls off with a stick, and he was somewhat amused to see Ginny noticing this as well. Even more amusing, Harry noticed Ron noticing Ginny noticing Neville, and the resulting older brother glower he threw at his oblivious classmate would have done justice to the Ferret.

“Down, Ron,” Harry murmured. “Neville’s a nice enough bloke; would you rather have Ginny interested in him or a player like Seamus?”

“I’d rather she wasn’t interested in anyone,” Ron grumbled back. “Better yet, I’d like to lock her up in one of those Muggle watchamacallits, a monastery, until she turned 30, that way she’d be safe.”

Choking back a laugh and agreeing with his best mate, Harry resolved to wait until they were in private before he told Hermione just where Ron thought his sister would be safe from lustful males. Instead he just said, “Well, between the two of us, not to mention the threat of the Wrath of Gred and Forge, I think we can keep her safe from any unwanted attentions. However, mate, it’s only fair to tell you that if it’s wanted attentions, all bets are off. Sticking our noses in where they’re not welcome not only will piss Ginny off, it’ll piss her sister off, and I have every reason not to want to have to face a hacked off Hermione Granger.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when Harry Potter was whipped,” Ron observed with a snicker, to which Harry just smirked.

“And loving every minute of it, Ron; loving every minute of it!”

~~~~~~

The initial portion of the shopping went off without a hitch; first stop, as always, was Gringotts’ Bank, where Harry finally picked up one of the Ever-Filled purses the goblins supplied to their wealthier patrons. Of course it wasn’t really ever-filled, that was an advertising gimmick suggested by a Muggleborn employee who’d spent his youth playing fantasy games. What the purse did do was hold whatever amount you put into it virtually weightless, and only allowed the person to which it was keyed to withdraw it. With the purchases he planned to make Harry didn’t want to run short, so he quickly transferred a couple of thousand Galleons to the bag, still slightly amazed that his withdrawal barely scratched the surface of the piles of coins within his vault. Stashing the pouch safely inside his robes, he rejoined his friends and off they went, next stop, their schoolbooks.

Flourish and Blotts was insanely busy with first through seventh years scrambling to pick up their texts and other supplies, while a quick trip next door to the Stationer’s Shop took care of quills, parchment and the like. After that came Madam Malkins, and for a change Ron and Ginny didn’t have to pinch Knuts to make ends meet. Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes were doing so well the Twins informed their siblings that, since they didn’t have to return to school themselves, the next few years’ worth of school supplies were on them. Ginny was positively bouncing after being told, and even Ron showed more than usual excitement at the prospect of back-to-school clothing.

As for Harry, his initial plans to bypass Madam Malkin’s in favor of his errand at the jeweler’s had been altered when Mrs. Weasley took a scandalized look at his own collection of too-small school clothes and Dudley’s castoffs. Ring or no ring, she refused to permit him to return to Hogwarts dressed as a ragamuffin, and that was that. He would still have time for his stop at the House of Winton, but first he would be properly dressed.

He had to admit she had a point as he quickly assembled replacements for the uniforms and robes he’d outgrown over the summer, as well as some casual attire that Madam Malkin had begun carrying for her Muggleborn customers. Dudley’s castoffs were all well and good for situations where clothing might be soiled or damaged (detentions in Potions being a prime example), but now that he was with Hermione, he knew there would be Hogsmeade weekends and the like when he’d want to look nice for her. Speaking of his girlfriend…

When he found her, she was standing before a table loaded with bolts of fabric and rolls of ribbon, as well as a vast selection of buttons, hooks, eyelets, and numerous other items too esoteric for Harry to identify, but which he suspected were all connected in some way to the construction of clothing, or more specifically, ball costumes. To his surprise, though, Hermione looked neither eager nor happy, but rather had a sad expression on her face. “Love, what’s the matter?” he asked, slipping his arms around her from behind.

“It’s nothing, really,” she sighed, clearly lying as she continued to look longingly at the materials, running her hands over a bolt of cloth that had caught her eye. It was a gauzy material with a silvery sheen to it, light enough that it looked to be spun out of cobwebs, and stitched with thousands of small, white crystals that made the fabric glitter as if it were spun from enchanted snowflakes. Next to the fabric were several rolls of embroidered trim, the motif of which was an interlace of leaves and vines in a verdant green so rich and vibrant that it appeared the foliage was a real, living presence, and not a facsimile picked out with bits of colored thread.

Obviously Hermione had already been thinking about what she’d like to make for the Ball, and just as obviously, she had found some of the materials she needed here at Madam Malkin’s. And while Harry had no idea what she intended to do, the idea of her dressed in that gauzy, translucent cloth seemed like a smashing idea to him, which only made him wonder all the more about her sadness. “Come on, Hermione, don’t make me beg; something’s bothering you, and I want to know what it is.”

“It’s not that important, really, Harry,” she tried to insist, but when she felt his stubbornness rising to the surface, she relented. “It’s just that when I asked my parents for the funds to cover my supplies, I didn’t know about the ball. They’ll send more, of course, but by then I’ll be back at school, and—“

Before she could finish, he’d leaned in and silenced her with a kiss. “I know you didn’t bond with me for my money, love; but it comes with the package. You like the material, buy it; I’ll just tell Madam Malkin to add the price to my bill.”

“I can’t let you do that, Harry!” she objected. “It’s far too expensive; what would my parents say? As far as they know, we’ve only just started dating. If I tell them I let you spend that much on me, they’ll know something else is going on, and I want to tell them in person about us.”

Harry shrugged again. “So tell them it was a loan and you’ll pay me back when you can. If it makes it sound any better, tell them we wanted matching costumes and had to get the material for both at the same time. How’s that?”

Hermione looked at the fabric again, biting her lip in indecision. Even before she’d learned of the magical world, the young Hermione Granger had been secretly addicted to the stories and fables spun about the Fair Folk, from the tiny pixies that supposedly inhabited Victorian gardens to the wondrous tales of the realms Underhill, where a century could pass in the course of a single night’s revelry. The material’s decidedly elfin look appealed to her tremendously, and the idea of entering a ball on Harry’s arm dressed as two visitors from the court of Oberon and Titania was almost irresistible.

A thought suddenly occurred to her, and a wicked twinkle appeared in her eyes as she said with her back still to him, “I’ll agree under one condition, Harry, and that’s that you let me make your costume as well. That way, if my parents ask about the costs, I can honestly say I traded my skills in transfiguration and charms for the materials involved. Does that sound all right to you?”

Harry had learned a great many new things about Hermione over the last few weeks, but recognizing some of the personality quirks she showed only to him was still a work in progress. That at least was the excuse he told himself later on when he realized he’d missed the brief appearance of Mischievous Hermione in his arms. At the time, though, all he said was, “Well, sure, that sounds fine to me. I was going to have to ask for your help anyway; either that or impose on the house elves to help me whip something up.” He smiled as she sniffed at his small jibe, and then continued, “You just pick out whatever you think you’ll need, and I’ll cover the tab, okay?”

With another of those un-Hermionelike squeals of happiness to which Harry thought he was in danger of becoming addicted, she turned and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Harry! And remember, it’s not a gift, just a loan; I don’t want you to think I’m one of those girls you have to spend your money on to make her happy.”

“I’d never believe that, love, just as long as you can accept that having the chance to splurge on you every so often does have the effect of making me happy,” Harry replied with a kiss.

~~~~~~

Half an hour later saw Harry and Ron heading back up Diagon Alley, supposedly to make their stops at Quality Quidditch Supplies and Eeylops Owl Emporium while the girls finished their shopping at Madam Malkin’s. In reality Ron took over the announced errands, while Harry made his planned excursion to the House of Winton. Fortunately Vector Lane’s entrance ran alongside the wizarding sport shop, making the detour a simple matter indeed.

The first sight of the jewelry store was certainly impressive, Harry thought to himself. The overall style of the outer façade resembled the Egyptian Revival of Victorian times, but where the Muggle fashion was for motifs that looked like what British decorators thought Egyptian pharaohs might have liked, Winton’s décor gave the impression the pharaoh Ankhnaten himself could have planned it. Certainly the black marble columns veined with gold, the vibrantly painted bas-reliefs done in the stylized realism of the Mad Pharaoh’s reign, all surmounted by the great, rayed disk representing Aten, gave that impression, one of great age, exquisite taste, and extreme wealth.

For a moment Harry was slightly nervous, wondering how a family a poor as the Weasleys had developed such a close relationship with a merchant who clearly catered to only the wealthiest clients, and then he flushed, annoyed with himself for even thinking about it. Just because the Weasleys were currently suffering though a period of financial setbacks didn’t mean it had always been that way; for all he knew, there had been a time when the Weasley fortune had rivaled the Malfoys.

With a quick nod of acknowledgement to his Order-supplied escort, Harry entered the establishment, and quickly discovered that while the style in which it was decorated was quite different from the outer motif, the interior of Winton’s still reflected elegance, taste, and old, old money. Everywhere he looked was rich hardwood paneling, interspersed with sculpted, burgundy velvet wall coverings and masterfully executed wizarding portraits. Bronze gas lamps, cast in the form of stylized dragons, were mounted on the walls, filling the room with a warm glow that sparkled off the jewelry on display everywhere in velvet-lined glass cases, cases over which a handful of obviously well-to-do customers hovered, each attended by a courteous and knowledgeable staff member. The few snippets of conversation he heard told Harry that Winton’s staff maintained an almost familial relationship with their clientele, their conversations over the jewelry interspersed with questions and anecdotes about the day-to-day events that comprised each other’s lives. ‘No wonder Mrs. Weasley recommends them so highly,’ he thought, ‘coming here must be like attending a family reunion.’

Of course, even the best family had its bad pennies, and a reunion was one of the places they were almost guaranteed to turn up. “You’d do well to remember who my father is,” an all-too recognizable nasal voice whinged, attracting Harry’s attention to a confrontation between an elderly, well-dressed wizard and a thin figure with familiar, platinum-blond hair. “A word from him, and half your business would dry up over night,” Draco continued, his tone reeking with Pureblood haughtiness and condescension.

“That would be regrettable,” the older wizard acknowledged calmly, “but the policy initiated by my grandfather stands; the House of Winton no longer creates any pieces featuring that particular motif. If you absolutely must have a cloak clasp of that design, I am afraid you will have to purchase it elsewhere.”

Harry watched the spots of color appearing on Malfoy’s pasty cheeks with a certain amount of satisfaction; it was rather pleasant to see someone outside of the Order who wasn’t even remotely impressed or intimidated by the threat of the Malfoy name. Of course, the little fact that Lucius Malfoy was currently languishing in Azkaban might have something to do with it, but somehow Harry suspected that even if Malfoy Senior had been standing in his son’s place, the reaction of the House of Winton would be the same, polite attentiveness without any trace of servility.

Draco seemed to realize the same thing and with a snarl turned to leave, only to rock back on his heels at the sight of Harry watching his humiliation. “Potter! What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he snapped. “Winton’s doesn’t cater to the sort of riffraff with whom you seem to prefer to associate. You’ll need more than the lint in your pockets to trade here, even blood traitors like the Weasleys should’ve been able to tell you that.”

Harry glanced around quickly and realized that for a change Draco was without the comforting support of his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. “Careful, Malfoy, your muscle isn’t around to back you up, not that they ever did you much good. And not that it’s any concern of yours, but the Weasleys actually directed me here; apparently the House of Winton doesn’t use the same measure of a wizard’s wealth or worth as you do.”

“Talking about the Weasleys and wealth in the same breath is a joke,” Malfoy sneered, his nose raised haughtily as he took in the shabby, ill-fitting hand-me-downs and too-small robes Harry still wore. “From the look of things, you’re no better off, a scruffy beggar without two Knuts to rub together.”

Succumbing to the urge to take the haughty Slytherin down a peg or two, Harry calmly displayed his Gringotts purse, earning a look of surprise from Malfoy as he recognized its significance. “Not everyone who has money chooses to flaunt it; I’ve more than enough to shop wherever I want. And what’s it to you whether I shop here or not? From the sound of things, they don’t have what you were looking for, anyway.” Harry smiled wickedly as he asked, “What’s the matter? Did they stop making the pieces with the ferret decorations?”

He watched as Draco turned a shade of puce that would have made Uncle Vernon proud, and then heard the sound of a strangled snort of laughter coming from the wizard with whom Malfoy had been arguing. Harry was startled, to say the least; the story of the Amazing Bouncing Ferret was legendary among Hogwarts students by now, but he’d no idea it had spread beyond school grounds.

From the wizard’s reaction, though, it would seem that it had, and from the way Draco was all but frothing at the mouth, this wasn’t the first time he’d encountered it. “What I’m shopping for is none of your business!” he finally blustered. “Apparently the House of Winton has fallen even lower than I’d been led to believe, if they’ll deny a Malfoy and cater to the likes of you…” his eyes narrowed. “Who’re you shopping for, anyway? You don’t have any family to buy jewelry for,” he sneered callously.

A month ago that might’ve actually hurt Harry, but these days it would take more than a hackneyed insult to get under his skin. Instead he smiled calmly, something he knew would make Draco even angrier, and replied, “Funny you should say that, Malfoy; sometimes the family we find for ourselves is closer to us than anything mere blood might offer. I’d rather have people who care about me than a bunch or relatives who only care about judging me, wouldn’t you?” Seeing he’d struck a nerve, he turned his attention away from his fuming rival and said to the watching wizard. “In case you haven’t guessed, I’m Harry Potter. I have an appointment to meet with Roger Winton about a piece of jewelry.”

Smiling, the older wizard nodded. “Of course, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Weasley owled us that you’d be coming by. I’m Roger Winton; I have an assortment of items for you to look through, one of which I’m quite should meet your needs. If you’d care to step this way…”

Harry started to move past Draco, only to feel the other boy’s hand touch his arm. Jerking aside in an instinctive, defensive move he turned towards the expected attack, only to find Malfoy eyeing him curiously. “You really are shopping for a gift for someone, aren’t you? The great Harry Potter finally had the stones to get himself a girlfriend?”

“I don’t see why that matters to you one way or the other, Malfoy,” Harry growled warningly, but as usual Draco couldn’t resist the chance to bait someone, enemy or friend it didn’t matter one way or the other.

“Why, that should be obvious, Potter,” he drawled, “I just want to know who it is so I can lay my bets on how long it takes you to get her killed.” He grinned nastily as Harry turned white and continued, “Chang had the good sense finally to get shut of you, so it’s not her, and you were hanging around that other Ravenclaw, what do they call her, Loony? No, even you’re not that hard up; must be one of those Gryffindor chits…”

Harry’s hands were balling into fists as he struggled to control the emotions Draco’s baiting was triggering, but it was getting harder by the second. The smell of ozone was getting stronger and his vision was narrowing to the face of his tormentor as Malfoy continued his taunts. “Let’s see, I wonder if the Weaslette finally decided to repay you for saving her life; I suppose her family figures a short marriage to a rich husband is better than no marriage at all, considering they can’t afford to dower her. Is that it, Potter? She spreading those skinny legs of hers for you?”

Harry barely checked himself from lunging at Draco as Roger Winton snapped, “Mr. Malfoy! We do not tolerate such language on our premises; if you cannot behave in a civilized manner, I will have to ask you to leave!”

Draco just sneered, secure in his belief that the Malfoy reputation would continue to protect him from facing the consequences of his actions. “Oh, do be quiet, Winton,” he drawled in the best imitation of his father he could manage. “You no longer have my business, so I’ll say my piece and leave when I’m ready, not before.” Feeling that he’d properly put this tradesman in his place, he turned his attention back to his favorite sport, Harassing Harry. “So, not the Weaslette, then? I wonder whom else…no, surely not!” he said in mock horror. “You and Granger? Not even you would stoop that low…or would you?” He grinned nastily as the anger in Harry’s face gave him his answer. “So Skeeter gets the scoop after all, you really are shagging that Mudblood bitch—“

“IMMOBULUS!”

Harry managed to control his lunge as the spell shot past his shoulder and struck Malfoy full in the face, freezing him in mid-syllable. “You were warned, Mr. Malfoy,” Roger said in a clipped tone as he stepped past Harry, snapping his fingers and calling out, “Gnarklock! Attend me!”

A goblin dressed in a uniform similar to that worn by the guards within Gringotts popped into existence next to the jeweler. “You called, Master Winton?” he asked, smiling a toothy goblin smile.

Roger Winton indicated the immobilized Draco with distaste. “Please remove this person from the confines of our business. He is to be considered from this time forward to be persona non grata, is that clear?”

“Completely, Master Winton,” Gnarklock replied. “And if he does return…?”

“If Mr. Malfoy returns without permission, he is yours to do with as you will,” the older wizard answered, earning an even toothier grin from the goblin, while within the binding of the Immobulus hex Draco fainted. Taking hold of the unconscious wizard’s robes, Gnarklock vanished with his prize. Sighing, the head of the House of Winton nodded to Harry. “If you’ll step this way, Mr. Potter…”

Harry cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Winton; I shouldn’t have provoked him in the first place; if I hadn’t he probably wouldn’t have gotten all nasty towards me, or caused such a scene. Oh, and if you don’t mind, I’d really rather be called Harry; every time someone calls me Mr. Potter I feel like I’m in class and have done something wrong, or they’re talking to someone else.”

Roger Winton smiled at Harry’s words. “That’s fair enough…Harry, I certainly remember my school days well enough to sympathize. As for Mr. Malfoy, I receive the distinct impression that the simple fact of your existence was enough to provoke him; anything you said was just the icing on the cake, as it were.”

“I suppose,” Harry agreed reluctantly before another question occurred to him. “I wonder what made Malfoy faint, though; goblins look a bit scary, but I didn’t think they were that frightening…”

The older wizard looked at him oddly. “Don’t they teach the reasons behind the Goblin Wars in Hogwarts any more?” he asked.

Harry blushed a little. “Well, they do, but the professor’s a little boring,” he replied, thinking to himself, ‘Dead boring, actually.’ “I must’ve missed that part…”

“Hmm. I suppose you’ve never heard what the goblin name for wizards, ‘chuglirkchyk’ means, then?”

“No, why? Is it significant?” Harry asked, curious.

“Oh, you could say that; ‘chuglirkchyk’ means, literally, ‘food that talks’…”

~~~~~~

To Roger’s surprise, Harry didn’t find the idea that goblins thought he’d look best with an applesauce garnish terribly disturbing. Actually, compared with all the insane reasons people kept coming up with for wanting him dead, being thought of as a random protein source was kind of refreshing. Still, it was something to keep in mind in case the president of Gringotts ever decided to ask him to dinner…

Roger was still chuckling quietly as he lifted the flat case out from under the counter and set it in front of Harry before raising its lid. Inside were well over two dozen different rings, each one a unique and beautiful example of the jeweler’s art. Even so, he was able to quickly pare down the number from which he had to choose.

First to go were the yellow gold and silver rings, it would have to be white gold or platinum, nothing else would be good enough as far as he was concerned. Second, beautiful as they were, the diamond solitaire rings just wouldn’t do. If the gems were small enough to be tasteful, it made them seem commonplace, ad those large enough to stand out were ostentatious. No, In his mind’s eye, the ring Hermione wore had an emerald-cut stone, and the only gem that felt right to him was a true emerald.

Those two criteria were enough to reduce the number of choices to only half a dozen, three in platinum and three in white gold. Two of the white gold rings were discarded as too plain, just bands with a set of prongs to hold the stone. There was a thin line between simple elegance and simply boring, and these two erred on the side of caution. The third white gold ring showed promise, with two ¼ carat diamonds flanking a two-carat emerald, but again the band itself was too plain, and with a shake of his head he turned his attention to the platinum rings

As soon as he took a closer look Harry knew that the problem was not going to be finding Hermione a ring, it would be deciding which ring to choose, as all three rings remaining were absolutely gorgeous. All had large, flawless emeralds, ranging in size from ½ to 1½ carat. Each ring had two additional gems flanking the center stone, accentuating it; two with diamonds, the third with sapphires. After a moment’s scrutiny he set aside the ring with the sapphires, feeling that in this case the blue of the sapphires detracted from the beauty of the emerald.

Now down to two choices, Harry resolved to examine the rings as carefully as he could before making a final selection. “Could I borrow a magnifying glass?” he asked, looking up from his examination of the settings.

“Try this instead,” Roger offered, extending to Harry a watch repairman’s loupe, its framework supporting multiple magnifying lenses that could be used separately or in tandem. Nodding his thanks, Harrys slipped the framework on in place of his own glasses, adjusting the arrangement of lenses until he could see the finest detail or flaw with perfect clarity.

The first of the rings had a ½ carat emerald, flanked by two 6-point brilliant cut diamonds. The band was a half-round in cross-section, with a thin line etched around its circumference to add a touch of individuality to the otherwise unremarkable design. Harry turned to the last ring, and his eyes lit up in pleasure as the details leaped out at him.

The 1½-carat emerald was the deepest color of any he’d seen so far and within its heart there flickered a hint of elusive blue, the sign of the finest quality stones. A tapered, baguette cut diamond was set into the band on either side of the emerald, the counterpoint of shapes making a pleasing transition from the rectangular cut of the emerald to the smooth surface of the ring. With a happy smile Harry held up his selection. “This is the one.”

The jeweler took the ring from Harry’s fingers and held it up in the light, examining it with his own discerning eye. “Ah, yes; an excellent choice, if I may be so bold as to say. I’m sure the young lady in question will be very happy.” Summoning one of his subordinates with a snap of his fingers, he sent the ring off for a final polishing, and to have its various sizing, protection, and loss prevention charms activated. After he’d explained to Harry what was being done with his selection, he asked, “Now, is there anything else with which the House of Winton may help you?”

Harry was about to say no when he spotted a selection of jewelry in a prominently placed display case at the center of the store. An assortment of brooches, combs, pins and ornaments, all heavily enameled and engraved in a style that flowed and swirled in a way that made the jewelry look almost as if it had been grown rather than crafted, was artfully arranged around a Muggle portrait of a striking woman with thick, lustrous hair and dark eyes that were hauntingly familiar. She was dressed in a theatrical costume from some bygone era, and was wearing many of the pieces of jewelry that were on display.

He glanced at the name inscribed under the painting, and was vaguely disappointed when ‘Sarah Bernhardt’ didn’t ring any bells. “Who is she?” he asked, intrigued by the force of personality that was projected the image captured in the photograph, even though it lacked the magical animation a wizarding portrait would have offered.

“That, Harry, is the great stage actress Sarah Bernhardt, also known as ‘the Divine Sarah’ to her admirers,” Mr. Winton replied. “She was an international star in her day, incredibly popular with all walks of society, at a time when society was far more stratified than it is today. She wore that jewelry when she played the role of ‘Cleopatra’ to sold out audiences in Europe and the Americas.”

“Was she a witch?” Harry asked, fascinated.

“No, she was a Muggle, but she had many admirers who were wizards,” the jeweler replied. “One of them commissioned these pieces for her as a tribute; the charms on them are subtle, and the restrictions on the use of magic on items that came into contact with non-wizards were weaker then. Still, having pieces of jewelry that would never break, or allow themselves to be lost or stolen, must have been a tremendous asset to an actress who traveled as extensively as she did, sometimes performing in a different theater every week. The protective charms were keyed to her, so that when she passed away the magic on them faded. The collection came up at auction a few years ago, and we purchased them through a Muggle intermediary and put them on display here.”

Noticing the rapt way Harry was studying the pieces, he said hesitantly, “I’m afraid these are on display only, and not for sale at any price…”

“That’s understandable,” Harry replied agreeably as an idea percolated in his imagination. “But could your still produce something similar to them on request?”

Roger Winton contemplated the items on display, going over in his mind the type of workmanship involved and which of his craftsmen had the necessary skills. “Given enough lead time, it shouldn’t be a problem,” he admitted. “What precisely did you have in mind, and when did you need it?”

“Well, there’s going to be a Masqued Ball at Hogwarts this year, just before the holidays. The theme is ‘the Faerie Court’, and I was thinking…”

~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Sorry this took so long and that I didn’t get to the proposal, but I’ve been wrestling with a cracked molar since last weekend, and between the toothache and the painkillers, I haven’t been writing too well (hence any really bad typos in this chapter, I swear). I’m just about to head off to have it pulled, so hopefully by this time next week I’ll be working at full capacity again. I now have ideas to cover thru the Yule Ball, so lots more chapters to come. Besides, I’m curious to see just how many reviews I can actually generate on this story. Thanks to everyone who’s reviewed, they really make my day!

9. Conversations in the night

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – PLEASE READ: A couple of my reviewers were disturbed and/or offended by the examples I chose for Hermione to use in her discussion of the parallels between Death Eater and Muggle terrorists. First of all, I have no religious stake in the debate; as my author name indicates, I am a Heathen, a follower of pagan gods; I am not ‘of the book’. I chose those examples because, frankly, they are emotional issues and my readers would understand the point Harry and Hermione were trying to make, that there never is, and never will be, any excuse for condoning or submitting to the goals of fanatics, however they’re phrased. I really could care less about who’s right or wrong in the Palestine/Israel issue; the point is, acts of terror cannot be allowed to achieve the goals for which they’re committed.

So please, stop lecturing me about who’s right or wrong in the Middle East; I’d be just as happy if all the sane people pulled out of the region, put up a 100 foot wall around the fanatics on BOTH sides, and then filled it in with concrete. Then maybe the rest of the world could get on with our lives without some nutcases telling us ‘God told them to kill’. In the US, such people go to jail or an asylum; in the Middle East they get hailed as great religious leaders who always seem to get their followers to do the killing and dying for them, and yes, the Jews have them, too. Sheesh.

ON A LIGHTER NOTE – Thanks to everyone for the great reviews on the jewelry store scene. I thought it a bit amusing that I received squees from some of my female readers over the ring’s description, while a couple of guys thought it was ‘ostentatious’. Guys, when it comes to the most important ring you can give a woman, more is better. Trust me on this one…. as the great sage Opus said on the way home from the jewelers, “Who needs a house, anyway?”

After the last couple of serious chapters, it’s time for some fun again. Lots of fluff this time, girl’s night in, manly talks, feelings revealed, all that good stuff…

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Chapter Nine – Conversations in the night

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The sound of squealing female voices drifting down the stairs was enough to make one of the two young men sitting in the parlor and playing chess more than a little nervous, enough so that the other young man was only losing dreadfully for a change, instead of horribly as was usually the case. “What d’you think they’re on about up there?” Ron asked nervously as another especially loud peal of laughter echoed down the stairs.

On returning to the Leaky Cauldron, the shopping party had happened upon another pair of schoolmates returning from their own shopping, and when it was discovered by Mrs. Weasley that the two girls were supposed to spend the night by themselves in a room at the pub before returning home, she extended an invitation for them to stay at the Burrow instead. Neville had already returned to his Gran’s home, so the two boys were now hopelessly outnumbered by the addition of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil to the impromptu slumber party.

“No idea,” Harry replied as he directed his knight to trample the pawn cowering on Queen’s Rook Four. “Oh, and check.”

“What was that?” Remus asked as he entered the room carrying a tray bearing three mugs of butterbeer. “Did you actually manage to put Ron into check?” At Harry’s silent nod he chuckled, “You must be improving, then; didn’t you say that you’ve only done that a few of the times you’ve played, and now twice in one night?”

“I don’t think tonight really counts, Remus. Ron’s a bit too…distracted to play well.” His point was proven when Ron shifted his king in the wrong direction and allowed Harry’s bishop to skewer another pawn on his crozier.

Another peal of laughter echoed down the stairs, this time recognizable as the distinctive bray of a particular bubble-gum haired auror. Ron glared at their old DADA professor as he sipped from his mug, his expression completely relaxed. “How can you be so calm?” he demanded, glancing upstairs nervously. “That’s your girlfriend up there, too, y’know!”

“One of the few advantages of growing up with my…condition,” Remus replied with a slight smile, referring obliquely to his lycanthropy, “is that you learn very early to adopt a certain acceptance of events beyond your control. Every day the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Every twenty-eight days the full moon rises and I turn into a maddened, slavering monster, unless I drink a concoction that’s a hair’s breadth away from being poison, in which case I simply become a monster…which reminds me, I need to be heading out very quickly,” he added, glancing at the rapidly advancing dusk. “Moonrise is late tonight, but I don’t want to take any chances…where was I?”

“You were talking about why you were so calm about Tonks getting ideas,” Harry said helpfully.

“Right; well, I learned very quickly that once my little Nymph—and don’t you dare tell her I called her that—makes up her mind on a subject, Taliesin and Merlin working together couldn’t move her. She’ll listen politely, she’ll nod at your arguments, and then Nymphadora Tonks will do whatever she wants, despite anyone’s efforts to convince her how absolutely insane the idea is.

“So, since I’ve had to accept the idea that I actually have a girlfriend, one who won’t listen to all the perfectly logical reasons why she shouldn’t be my girlfriend, it’s not too hard to accept her being upstairs with a bunch of girls ten years her junior, doing things Circe alone knows that girls do at slumber parties.” He shrugged and shared a mile with Harry, who had something in common with him in the area of stubborn girlfriends. “Besides, it’s kind of nice to think of them all up there, doing something so completely normal, especially with everything hanging over our heads.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tonks looking so happy,” Harry offered as he studied the board in front of him. Ron’s vicious response to Harry’s audacity would have done justice to a Nazi Blitzkrieg, and he was scrambling to hold off the inevitable kill a few moves longer. He managed a sacrifice trade with his remaining rook, watching the two towers crumble one after the other, and then continued, “Not that she’s ever been what you could call moody, but she seems…” When he couldn’t find the words, he tried to think how Hermione might describe it. “…less brittle, I guess? Anyway I’m glad for both of you.”

“Thank you, Harry, I appreciate that, and though I’ve said it before, let me say the same to you about Hermione.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “Did I tell you that Sirius predicted you two would get together eventually?” he said at last, startling the young man.

Harry glanced up, shocked. “He did? When did that happen?”

“He told me last year, after your stay at Grimmauld Place,” Remus replied. “He said that when he was in his Animagus form as a Grim, he could smell your scents change whenever you were around each other. It took him a while to figure out what it meant, but once he did, he said there were other signs that it was just a matter of time.”

“Great,” Ron grumbled as his queen decapitated Harry’s king, ending the game, “Not one, but two stubborn females giving the others ideas about how to go about getting their hooks into the bloke they want. Just what the rest of us need…”

Harry was starting to get a bit irritated by his friend’s crabbing. “What’s gotten into you, anyway? I thought you and Luna were doing great together.” Actually, Hermione had told him that the Ravenclaw girl was a little unhappy—possibly very unhappy, with her it was hard to tell—with the slow pace of the physical part of their relationship. Hermione had become almost as close of friends with Luna as she was with Ginny in spite of her quirkiness, and she’d asked Harry to sound out his best mate as to what the source of the problem was.

Having a chat with Ron about relationships was not high on Harry’s list of things he would enjoy doing, but he decided that if was willing to go into life-or-death situations for the sake of the friends he loved, he should be able to stomach a little self-inflicted embarrassment. He waited as his friend restored and rearranged the chess pieces before asking again. “Come on, Ron, you were after me the beginning of the summer to talk about what was bothering me; now it’s your turn.”

“Why should I?” Ron grumbled. “You never did talk to me, if I remember right, you just stayed all dark and broody until Herms snapped you out of it.”

“Well, if you want to talk to her instead, I can get her,” Harry replied, moving as if to stand. “Just don’t expect her to use the same methods on you that she did on me, okay?”

“Harry, mate, don’t say things like that,” Ron groaned, a look of horror on his face. “Bad enough I have to think about the two of you going at it all the time; now I have to try and scrub that image out from behind my eyes! Argh!”

“You don’t think Hermione’s pretty enough, is that it?” Harry asked, pretending to be affronted, figuring that if he got his friend loosened up a bit it would be easier to talk to him.

“Of course she’s pretty, in a bossy-know-it-all sort of way, but Harry, I think Ginny is pretty, that doesn’t mean I want to think about shagging her—Argh! There’s another one!” He made a great show of grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes, and then grinned. “Seriously, mate, Hermione really is like a sister to me, even more so now that Mum made it official, and no matter what slime like Malfoy might say, Weasleys do not go about shagging their siblings!”

Harry shrugged and grinned. “Well, that’s a relief, I admit, but you know what that means; if you don’t talk to me, they’re going to team up on you and make you talk to them. Girls seem to be into teamwork on things like that, in case you haven’t noticed. So, what’s the trouble?”

Suddenly the sound of the Wizarding Wireless blared from upstairs with the eclectic sounds of the Weird Sisters, followed by more feminine shrieks. Ron glanced upwards and seemed to make a decision. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

Harry glanced over at the last of the Marauders. “Anything you need before we go?” he asked.

Remus waved him away with a small gesture of his mug. “I’m fine; you two go have your chat, I need to get moving anyway.”

Harry and Ron nodded. “Thanks, Remus,” Harry added, which earned another dismissive wave.

“It’s no trouble; now, get going!”

~~~~~~

The slumber party was in full swing; at Ginny’s request Mrs. Weasley had agreed to temporarily expand her daughter’s room by removing the wall between her room and the currently unoccupied bedroom next to hers, the one that had belonged to Bill Weasley when he was a boy. A few quick housekeeping charms had shrunk and packed away all of Bill’s remaining possessions, and Tonks had conjured up several futons and a number of huge, fluffy pillows (in the same fluorescent colors she usually reserved for her hair).

The first part of the evening had been a major hen session, with Parvati and Lavender being filled in on all the doings at and around the Burrow. Hermione hd to endure another round of ‘We knew it was just a matter of time!’ from her roommates when they learned that she and Harry were now a couple, and commiserated with them on their own boyfriend problems. Lavender had been stepping out with Seamus Finnegan before the summer break, and hadn’t seen him for two months. As her boyfriend was not the most enthusiastic correspondent, she was feeling a bit deprived of male attention. Parvati had once again lost another potential boyfriend to her clever Ravenclaw twin, and was more than a bit miffed about it. They briefly discussed the pool of potential replacements before moving on to more important topics like the latest fashions and hairstyles, which led to Lavender and Parvati separating off with Tonks to discuss how being a metamorphmagus affected her choices of conditioners.

With the girls split into two groups, the party’s noise level dropped significantly, something Hermione noticed. “From what I’ve read, loud music is supposed to be a major component of a slumber party,” she commented.

“Well, don’t look at me,” Ginny complained. “I have a WWN hookup (Wizarding Wireless Network), but I haven’t had the knuts to keep the service open, not with being away nine months of the year. It’s too bad Muggle stereos blow up in wizarding homes, we could use one.”

“My mother used to own a Muggle Victrola that would work,” Luna commented. “The mechanism was too simple to be affected by magic. We used to listen to it all the time, but when she died my father packed it away. I wonder what happened to it…”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Actually, I know a charm that could temporarily reconnect your brazier to the system, “she offered. “It’s the one their installers use to test a new wireless. So long as we remember to disconnect it again, it should be all right…”

“Hermione Granger, rule breaker!” Tonks crowed. “Good for you! Guess Harry’s starting to rub off on you, now that he’s had the chance to rub—“

“Finish that sentence and I’ll get every house elf in Britain to start calling you by your first name,” Hermione warned, and then laughed.

With the songs of the Weird Sisters, Druids In Dreadlocks, and Dingoes Ate My Baby blaring from the brazier, the party had split into two smaller ones. On one side of the room Tonks sat patiently in a chair and volunteered (or more likely’d had drafted) her metamorphmagus powers to the cause of allowing first Lavender, then Parvati, to actually see how some of the new hairstyles they’d been considering adopting would look on them. The only catch was that the quirky auror refused to change her hair color to match, so the rest of the girls were treated to the sight of first Lavender and then Parvati sitting face-to-face with their doppelganger, the only difference being the Day-Glo hair color of the temporary twin.

Seeing a version of Lavender with pink tresses was startling enough, but seeing the same tear-inducing shade on top of Parvati’s dusky features was even more surreal. “You know, that actually looks kind of neat,” the Indian girl commented as she studied herself critically. She made a couple of suggestions and Tonks smiled as she obliged. The hairstyle altered into a cute pageboy bob, tapering in a cut that left the nape of her neck and then followed the line of her jaw to the front, while her mathematically precise bangs stopped just above her eyebrows.

Lavender uttered a little squeal. “That’s so cute!”

“Really?” Tonks asked, sounding doubtful. “I’ve never tried this style myself; I went straight from long hair to my spiked look, and kept it that way except when I’m on assignment.”

Lavender thought for a moment. “Well, it wouldn’t work too well with the bone structure you normally favor, but that look really complements Parvati’s. Here, take a look.”

She handed the auror a hand mirror, who contemplated her reflection for a moment. “What do you think, Par?” she asked, turning her attention to the girl she was currently mimicking.

Parvati bit her lip as she considered the style. The way the sides were shaped accentuated her high cheekbones, and the combined with the framing effect of the bands made her eyes look even larger and more mysterious. “It’s a little hard to tell with that color, but I think I really like it; it certainly would make it easy to tell me and my sister apart. Not that I mind being mistaken for her,” she added hastily, “she is my sister after all, but sometimes it’d be nice to be just Parvati, and not just half of the Patil Twins.” She thought for a second, and then asked, “Would you mind, just the one time…?”

Tonks shrugged and concentrated, and after a second her hair shifted from her preferred pink to a black so dark it had blue highlights. Parvati and Lavender both clapped in delight. “I am definitely going to try that when we get back to school!” Parvati squealed. “Padma is going to be annoyed that we aren’t a perfect match anymore, but I don’t care. Thanks for the help, Tonks, I appreciate it, really I do.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, sorta,” Tonks admitted.” At the younger girls’ questioning looks, she flushed. “When you’re a metamorphmagus, sooner or later just about every bloke asks you to help him act out his fantasies by changing into some girl he fancies. Sometimes I wish I was just Tonks, and that I’d never learned to shapeshift. That’s one of the things I love about my Woofie; he’s never asked me to be anything but what I want to be.”

“How did you two get together, anyway?” Lavender asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when Ginny told me about you and Professor Lupin; I mean, no offense, but he’s so old.”

Tonks just laughed. “Don’t let that grey hair fool you; Remus isn’t near as old as he looks, and if anyone knows about looking past the surface, it’s me! As for how we got together…” she paused, not certain how much the two girls were cleared for, despite their being in the same year and house as Harry. “Let’s just say we were doing some things for Professor Dumbledore that had us spending a lot of time together, and we just sort of clicked. He keeps my head out of the clouds, I get him up and moving when he’s feeling all gloomy about stuff, and somewhere in the middle, it works.”

“Have you always known about him being…you know…?” Parvati asked hesitantly, not sure how personal she should get.

“About him being a werewolf? Pretty much; the first time we worked together it was close to the full moon, and he told me in case the job ran long and he had to be restrained. It didn’t happen that time, but it has gone down that way once or twice. No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Lavender gasped, slightly scandalized. “But…he turns into a crazed monster obsessed with ravaging your body!”

“Sounds like a lot of guys I’ve dated,” Tonks drawled, completely deadpan, earning giggles from the girls as they nodded in agreement. “And like a friend of mine says, “There’s three days of every month that I’m not much fun to be around, either”. We make it work.”

On the other side of the room, the other three girls listened to the squeals and laughter coming from the impromptu hairstyling session before returning to their own, more serious discussion. “Ohmigod, I couldn’t believe it when he walked into the room!” Ginny squealed, kicking her feet up in the air. “Who would have ever thought Neville Longbottom could turn out to be a hottie!”

Hermione tsked at her. “Is that all you care about Ginny, what a boy looks like? I didn’t think you were that shallow.”

“Oh, pish. Like you haven’t been checking out Harry in his Quidditch robes since your first year at Hogwarts.”

“Ginny! We were eleven! And besides, Harry was really short and skinny back then…oops,” she squeaked as both Ginny and Luna laughed at her discomfiture.

“Ha! I knew it; you are so busted, Hermione!” Ginny crowed in triumph.

“You really shouldn’t tease her about it,” Luna said reprovingly, though she was smiling. “Of course we have to keep an eye on the boys we like; if we don’t how will we know when they’re ready to stop playing with toys and start playing with us?”

“You mean like you and ‘Ronald’?” Ginny teased, only to stop when she saw Luna’s face fall. “Oh, drat, is my brother being a prat again? I thought things were going so well between the two of you.”

“I thought so, too,” Luna replied, her voice showing very little of the calm self-confidence that was part of her charm. “At first it was very sweet that he wanted to wait to have sex; annoying, but sweet. And there were lots of other things we could do…”

“You mean like really talking, getting to know each other better?” Hermione asked.

Luna looked at her blankly for a moment, and then nodded. “Oh…yes, that too, I suppose. I thought that perhaps he was just nervous, it being our first time and all, and I told him it didn’t matter if it wasn’t perfect the first time, because we could practice until we got it right, but that didn’t seem to help at all, and now I don’t know what to do…”

“Well, it’s not like you’re on a timetable, are you?” Ginny asked. “So it doesn’t happen now, there’s plenty of time when we get back to school for the two of you to, um, consummate things, right?”

To her friends’ complete horror, tears started rolling down Luna’s cheeks. No sniffles, no sobs, no change of expression at all to show she was crying, just the tears. They became even more disturbing when she kept talking in what for her was a normal tone of voice. “That’s the trouble, you see; when we get back to school, Ronald might not want to see me any more. We’ll be back in our own houses, in our own years. We won’t be sharing any classes at all. I’ll be back to watching him from the stands when he plays Quidditch or passing him in the halls, or seeing him with his friends in Hogsmeade. Some girl in Gryffindor will notice what a catch he is and snap him up, and—“

“Whoa, hold up!” Ginny interjected, stopping the flow of words. “What happened to your plans to seduce him next term? You seemed awfully confident that you two would be involved, why the panic attack now, when you’re already together?”

Luna was silent for a minute, and then whispered, “Because I can’t See it any more,” she whispered, starting at her hands.

“’See’? What do you mean, Luna? You can’t imagine the two of you together, or—“ Hermione paused and her eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. “Oh my! Luna, do you have the Sight?”

Luna nodded miserably. “I used to See us together all the time, every time I closed my eyes, but now that we’re together, everything I See that involves us is blurred, and I can’t seem to bring it into focus. That’s why I’m so worried, I’m afraid my gift is refusing to let me See something that will upset me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Hermione said absently. “What’s more likely is that the closer you get, the more overloaded the Sight becomes by your emotions. Very few Seers throughout history have been able to See accurately about themselves.” She noticed the surprised look on her friend’s faces. “What?”

“I thought you said Divination was all rubbish, a ‘fuzzy’ discipline,” Ginny questioned, her eyes narrowing speculatively.

“”Well, it is, really, especially the way Professor Trelawney teaches it,” Hermione huffed. “But the few classes I attended made me wonder why it was being offered at all so—“

“So you went to the library,” Ginny teased, and even Luna smiled.

“Yes, well, if you want to learn, you have to go where the knowledge is stored,” Hermione said with a touch of hauteur, defending her obsession. “Anyway, I found out that such gifts do exist, but that they’re rare, rare enough that it’s unusual for a school to actually have a class on it. Most Seers are taught within a family tradition…”

“My mother died before she could teach me very much; Dad doesn’t have the gift, nether do any of my other relatives, so I’ve had to teach myself.”

“When we get back to Hogwarts I’ll show you the books I found,” Hermione promised. “And maybe we can talk to Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick about seeing what’s in the restricted section, or even a real tutor…NOT Trelawney,” she added unnecessarily.

Luna nodded eagerly (for her, which meant her head barely moved), and Ginny cleared her throat. “I’m glad that bit’s sorted out, but there’s still the little matter of what’s actually going on between you and my git of a brother.

“First of all…Merlin…I don’t believe I’m the one asking this…Luna, what are your intentions towards him? Are you hoping he’ll bond with you the way Hermione and Harry have bonded?” She ignored slightly indignant sound coming from her sister and waited for the answer.

Luna tipped her head to one side, her gaze focusing on the distance. The tears had stopped a while ago, but the trails of their passage were still evident on her cheeks. “No, I know that our age such commitments are rare. Harry and Hermione are a special case, I know that, and I wouldn’t expect Ronald to be ready for such a step. I know that a summer fling is just that, a summer fling, and that when school starts it might end, but I hoped that before it did…even without a bonding, a witch and wizard’s first time should be special. I wanted my first time to be with Ronald, and I wanted his first time to be with me. That way, when it ended, we’d still have that memory to share between us.”

Hermione and Ginny watched as their friend’s composure crumpled, and they immediately moved into hug her between them. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t give up on him just yet, okay?” Ginny said, rocking her gently. “Ron may take more than the average number of bludgers to the head before he catches a clue, but his heart’s in the right place. Just give him a chance.”

“Ginny’s right, Luna,” Hermione added, her arms wrapping around their friend from the other side. “Ron almost always means well, but Harry says if there’s a way to say or do the wrong thing for the right reason, Ron will find it. And I wouldn’t worry too much about someone stealing him away from you once we get back to school.”

“You really think so?” Luna asked hopefully.

“Absolutely,” Ginny agreed. A glint of Weasley mischief appeared in her eyes. “In fact, I think there’s a way to make sure of it…Lavender! Parvati! Tear yourselves away from Tonks for a minute and come here!”

The two other Gryffindor girls rose to their feet and joined their schoolmates, a slightly miffed look on Lavender’s face as she realized she’d missed out on something gossipworthy. “What’s up, Gin?”

“Our friend here is worried that when we get back to school, someone in Gryffindor is going to be unable to resist poaching on the hotness that is my brother, Ron,” Ginny said seriously, throwing a quelling look at Parvati when she started to giggle. “I thought we might reassure her by promising to protect her property rights when she’s not around, sort of make her an Honorary Gryffindor Girl.”

She turned to Luna, who had a slightly puzzled look on her face. “There’s a sort of unwritten code, that the girls of the house don’t do anything to interfere with each other’s boyfriends, and we watch each other’s backs against poachers from other houses. If we spread the word that we’ve adopted you, not only will no one in Gryffindor chase after Ron, we’ll help run interference in case someone from another house sets her sights on him. That way you can concentrate on what’s happening between the two of you without worrying about someone else complicating the picture.”

“You’d all be willing to do that?” Luna asked hopefully.

“Sure!” Lavender agreed with a laugh as Parvati nodded. “It’s a sacrifice, I admit, it being Ron Weasley and all, but somehow we’ll survive.”

“Lavender…” Hermione said warningly.

“Just kidding!” she replied, holding up her hands defensively. “Seriously, Luna, if he’s what you want, who are we to say no? We’ll be glad to help you protect your claim, even though you’re much better than he deserves.”

~~~~~~

At that moment the object of the girls’ plotting was walking though the gardens with his best mate, hands thrust into his pockets. “How do you do it, mate?” he asked, kicking at a pebble in the path an clocking a garden gnome on the noggin in the process.

“Do what?” Harry asked, perplexed by the question.

“You and Hermione, how do you make it work?” Ron clarified. “I mean, you two always had something special between you; even I can see it when someone shoves my nose in it. But ever since you two…you know, got together, it’s been so much stronger. It’s like you two have been a couple for years, not weeks. It’s kind of scary.”

Harry shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I know what you mean…I don’t know just what to tell you. Part of it’s probably something to do with the bonding magic; I know it’s made me more aware of Hermione’s feelings; it seems like there’s other things going on with it, too. Nothing bad, I’m sure!

“But that’s only part of it, and not the biggest part by a long shot,” Harry continued. “I guess the biggest thing is trust. I trust Hermione to never hurt me, not if she can help it, and she trusts me to do the same. What she did with the Bonding made me realize just how much she cares about me and how much faith she has in me, and when someone puts that in your hands…you just can’t not respond to it, can you?”

“No, I guess not,” Ron admitted.

“So, when I finally understood just how much she was risking for me, how much she cared, I realized that she was someone I could share everything with, all the things I’ve kept bottled up inside me. And the more I told her, the easier it got to talk. I told her things I haven’t even thought about in years, Ron, stuff I’ve kept inside for so long I’d almost forgotten it.

“And it goes both ways; she’s told me things I know she’s never mentioned to another soul, and I can’t tell you how proud it makes me that she trusts me that much. It makes me feel like I want to do everything I can to be worthy of that trust.” He smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “So if you want to know how we do it, that’s the key; we trust each other.”

He paused and grinned wickedly. “Of course, having loads and loads of mind-blowing sex doesn’t hurt, either. She makes these funny little yips—“

“Augh! Harry! Too Much Information, mate!” Ron mock groaned, shoving his laughing friend. When they both calmed down a bit, he said, “So, you think I should talk more with Luna?”

“You mean you don’t talk to her? What re you doing with all your time alone with her? Wait, I don’t want to know!” Harry said hastily. He thought for a minute. “Why don’t you try telling me what she means to you first, maybe it’ll help you sort out your head.”

“You promise you won’t laugh?” Ron asked, nervously running a hand through his hair.

“Marauder’s Honor,” Harry said, holding up his hand with his fingers crossed in the time-honored Marauder salute. “Barring matters of life or death, what you say stays between us.”

Ron plopped down on one of the garden benches and leaned back, pondering his words. “I like her, Harry; I really, really like her. She confuses the heck out of me, half the time I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about, but she makes me feel, I dunno, like you said, special, like I want to do things to prove myself to her, and I don’t have any doubts that I could do them, given the chance. And she makes me feel like I matter, just me, Ronald Weasley, Not five-older-brothers-Ron, or Part-of-the-Trio-Ron, but me, Ron. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does, a lot. So what’s the trouble?”

Ron sighed. “The trouble is, I can’t figure it out; why’d she pick me? Sure she’s a bit of a nutter, but she’s also smart, pretty, funny…she could do a lot better than me without half trying. Why me?”

Harry found himself laughing involuntarily. “Sorry about that,” he said when he was back under control. “Ron, don’t you think I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times where Hermione is concerned? You think you have baggage; I’ve got whole steamer trunks of it, and more to come. It near drove me crazy until I realized one thing.”

“What’s that?” Ron asked eagerly, hoping for some answer.

“If you’ve found the right one, you’ll never convince yourself that you’re good enough for her, and crazy as it may sound, they probably feel the same way. I figure as long as we keep trying to be as good as we think we should be for them, we’re ahead of the game.”

Ron looked amazed. “Wow, Harry, that’s really profound.”

“Well, I have my moments.”

“Yeah, but it’s usually only after someone’s nearly taken your head off with a bludger that you have them. You’re not even bleeding this time.”

“Oh, Har-de-har-har,” Harry said sarcastically, though he was smiling. “So, does that help at all?”

“Sort of, but I’m still some confused,” Ron admitted. “You know she wants to…go all the way with me, right?”

“I believe she’s made that clear,” Harry said drily.

“And you know I’ve been dragging my feet about it,” Ron continued.

“Yeah, I heard about that, too; I didn’t believe it at first…I still don’t think Ginny believes it…” He looked at his friend’s face. “What puzzles me is that she wants to, and I’m guessing you want to, and since you’re both wizard raised you’re not supposed to have all the hang-ups us poor Muggle-raised types get loaded down with, so what’s the problem?”

Ron sighed. He’d been dreading this part. “The thing is, you know the first time a witch or wizard have sex, it’s something special, even if there’s no Bonding involved. Even if you don’t end up with the person for life like it looks like is going to happen with you two, it still should be with someone who’s really special to you.”

“Are you saying that Luna’s not good enough for you?” Harry asked, his voice lowering dangerously.

“NO! No, that’s not what I meant at all…bollocks, I knew I’d mess this up, that’s why I haven’t talked to her…Harry, she’s too good for me, that’s clear enough. What I’m worried about is that afterwards…after we get back to school, she’ll realize that, and she’ll end up regretting sharing that with me. I’d rather it never happened at all than have that on my conscience.”

“Brother, you have got it bad, don’t you?” Harry marveled. “This is probably a stupid question, but have you even tried telling her what’s bothering you?”

“No,” Ron admitted ruefully. “I want to, but you know what’ll happen, I’ll start to talk to her and the next thing you know we’ll be talking about Snorkacks or Nargles or Whatsits; I love her like mad, but she’s still Loony Lovegood.”

“Ron, could you stand up for a second?”

Shrugging, Ron rose to his feet. “Sure, what for?”

“So I can do this.” WHACK!

“Ow! Bloody hell, Harry, what’d you hit me for? Are you barking?” Ron cried, holding his suddenly throbbing jaw.

“I did it because I promised myself I’d deck the next bloke who called her ‘Loony’ in my hearing,” Harry answered, cradling his equally throbbing hand. “I just thought it’d be some Slytherin git, not my best mate with a jaw like rock. Ow.”

“Serves you right,” Ron grumbled. “So, what do I do?”

“About Luna?”

“No, about the Easter Bunny! Of course about Luna! Ow!” he finished, as raising his voice made his jaw ache.

“Oh; well, I’d say talk to her, let her know how you feel, tell her what you’re worried about, and don’t let the Nargles distract you. And when you’re done, if she still wants to, find a nice soft bed and have some fun. Ow.” Harry concluded, still rubbing his hand.

“You’re a big help. Ow!”

“I try. Ow.”

~~~~~~

FINAL NOTE – I know, I was supposed to have the proposal this chapter, but Lavender and Parvati showed up and started talking, so what was I to do? Next time for sure, Harry proposes, Hermione squeals, and Ron and Luna have their talk…more to come, I promise!

10. Proposals and Propositions

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part One: Woo Hoo! I can’t believe I’ve received over six hundred reviews on this story so far. I don’t know what it is, but I must be doing something right! Thanks to everyone who have taken the time to review, and especially to those who gave me the in-depth critiques that help me improve my work. I love all reviews, but the ones where my work has moved a reader to say more than just ‘Update Soon!’ really mean a lot to me. Thank you, all of you.

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Chapter Ten – Proposals and Propositions

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The hijinks of the slumber party led to a late start Thursday morning, but by lunchtime Lavender and Parvati had been chivvied out of the Burrow, Tonks headed off to Grimmauld Place to see how Remus had weathered his monthly transformation, and Mrs. Weasley had the remaining teenagers hard at work getting ready for their departure in four days’ time.

By mid-afternoon lists of required school supplies had been re-checked, owl orders had been sent for a few missed things (“Ron! How could you forget to buy more quills? Honestly!”), and clothing had been sorted into piles to be packed immediately, piles to be packed last, and piles to be relegated to the rag bin. To no one’s surprise, least of all Harry’s, his contribution to the last pile was three times the size of anyone else’s, not because he was so hard on his clothing, but because so much of his wardrobe had been Dudley’s worn-out, oversized castoffs.

Harry watched as the rag bin munched happily on his last pair of Dudley’s old jeans, spitting out the occasional rivet like watermelon seeds. Apparently with most of the children now living on their own and the two remaining Weasley siblings spending most of the year at Hogwarts, the poor thing had fallen on rather lean times, and was enjoying its first decent meal in ages. “Thanks again, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said as he fed a tattered flannel shirt with worn-thru elbows into the trap, jerking his fingers back rapidly as the lid snapped shut.

“Whatever for, dear?” Molly asked as she bustled past with a load of damp wash fresh from the enchanted tubs on the back porch. The Burrow might not have modern Muggle appliances, but if there was a household charm Molly Weasley didn’t know, Harry had yet to discover it.

“For lots of things, I guess,” he replied, turning away as the bin uttered a satisfied belch. “For making me feel so welcome in the Burrow, for fussing over me like I was one of your own…for making me get new clothes,” he grinned as he picked up a stray discarded sock and tossed it at the bin, which snapped it out of the air. His expression became more serious. “And I know I said it before, but most of all, for accepting how things worked out between Hermione and me, in spite of how it started.”

Molly smiled, her eyes stinging a bit, and pulled Harry into a hug. After a moment she stepped back and said with a sniffle, “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, dear. Your parents were very special; I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people so in love with each other. We grieved so much when we lost them, and seeing you and Hermione together is like seeing Lily and James alive again. She’s a very remarkable girl, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is,” Harry murmured. “Sometimes I can’t help wondering just what she sees in me; I worry that she’ll wake up and realize what a mistake it was to get involved with Harry Potter…”

“You mustn’t think that way, Harry!” Molly scolded. “Hermione is a very lucky girl to have you, and she’s quite smart enough to know it. I don’t think you have to worry about her changing her mind, now or at any time in the future.” She turned to go, and then paused. “That reminds me…” Glancing around quickly to make sure they were alone, she asked, “Were you able to find what you were looking for on your ‘errand’?”

Harry grinned. “Yes, I did; you were right, the store was absolutely amazing.”

“Good, good,” Molly beamed. “Have you decided when you’re going to give it to her?”

He hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “I did have an idea, but I needed to talk to you and Mr. Weasley about it first. Do you know when he’s supposed to be getting home?”

Mrs. Weasley thought for a moment. “Unless something unusual happens, he’s usually through at the Ministry by late afternoon, and I don’t believe he has anything involving the Order that will keep him away tonight. Would you like me to Floo him to make certain?”

“That’d be great, Mrs. Weasley. Once I know for sure, I can set it up with Ginny and Luna to keep Hermione busy while we talk. I want it to be a surprise, and if she gets wind that something’s up, she’ll wheedle it out of me.” Harry shook his head. “And I thought keeping secrets from her was hard before…”

Molly chuckled in understanding. “”She’s a sweet girl, but I never met anyone with such a thirst to know everything about absolutely everything!” she laughed. “You do realize that from now on you’ll be her favorite subject, don’t you?”

“I’ve already found that out,” he said ruefully. “It’s funny though; I’ve always hated talking about myself, even to my friends, but now…it’s not easy, sometimes, but I don’t get angry when she asks me questions now. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“Don’t you know, dear?” she asked, smiling softly at his continuing look of confusion. “She’s not just your friend, now, dear; she’s part of you, and you’re part of her. There may only be the two of you for now, but you’re still a family for all of that.”

“A family…” Harry breathed, his eyes glowing with remembered longing. “I hadn’t really thought about it that way, but you’re right; Hermione is my family, isn’t she?”

“Well, the start of one,” Mrs. Weasley chuckled. “Hopefully the two of you aren’t planning on rushing into expanding on that just yet.”

Harry blanched as her meaning sunk in. “No, definitely not!” he agreed hastily. “Someday, maybe, a long time from now, but not yet, we’re definitely in agreement on that.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, dear; I may be anxious to be a grandmother and have my children’s babies to fuss over and spoil, but that doesn’t mean I want my own children to grow up any faster than they have to, and you two are mine now as well. So long as you are happy, everything else will come in its own good time.”

~~~~~~

After finishing his introduction to the care and feeding of enchanted rag bins, Harry went looking for his friends, hoping for a bit of distraction from some of the thoughts his conversation with Molly had aroused. He was just about to head upstairs when he heard the sound of laughter coming from the direction of the garden. Glancing out the window, he spotted the two youngest Weasleys engaged in the never-ending battle to keep the garden gnome population at manageable levels, with Luna providing her own unique spin to the process. A doubled-up Ravenclaw scarf had been converted into a makeshift sling, and like David conquering Goliath she was launching the potato-headed pests far out into the fields.

However, the reason for the laughter became evident with her next effort, for while the sling was an inventive method of disposing of the gnomes, it was an inconsistent one. Instead of arcing out over the garden wall, the next victim went straight up, paused for a moment at the top of its flight, and then dropped straight down again, narrowly missing a luridly cursing Ron while his sister giggled at his discomfiture. Harry was chuckling himself when the sound of another feminine voice laughing drew his attention to the bench where his girlfriend sat, watching her friends’ antics with the ubiquitous book in her hands.

Hermione. His family. The concept was strange, and more than a little bit scary, he admitted to himself. What did he know about being part of a family, really? He’d heard it said that children turned into their parents as they got older, but did that mean he was going to turn into Vernon? The very idea made him shudder; he hoped not, the last thing he wanted to do was perpetuate the narrow-minded bigotry that so typified his uncle, but what choice did he have? What other role models had there been as he grew up for him to pattern himself on? Oh, rationally, he knew better than to want to be like the loathsome senior Dursley, what would his subconscious want of him?

Then again, he mused, perhaps he would have to be married to another Petunia to become another Vernon, and he couldn’t imagine anyone more different from his aunt than Hermione. Caring, sensitive, warm, compassionate, she was all of that and so much more. Despite what Mrs. Weasley had said about Hermione being a lucky girl, Harry knew he was the lucky one, that for once the fates that seemed determined to kick him in the teeth at every opportunity had instead given him their blessing. He couldn’t remember just when the voice of his conscience had become Hermione’s voice, but he suspected it was at the same time that he’d unknowingly fallen in love with her. She was his better half, and he would do everything in his power to make her happy, to keep her safe—and the gods have mercy on anyone who dared harm her, because he surely wouldn’t...

His thoughts turned to their first night together in their room; he’d spent half of it just lying awake and watching as she slept, her tousled hair a dark cloud against the crisp white linen of the pillowcase, the slow rise and fall of her breasts a blessed metronome that soothed and relaxed him until he finally fell asleep as well. He hadn’t said anything, but he dreaded their return to Hogwarts and the loss of the simple intimacy of sharing a bed with her. Not once since they’d been joined together by the Bonding had he suffered one of his scar-induced nightmares, and he knew he had her to thank for that as well. He’d felt a presence pushing at his mind a time or two, but every time it happened, the warmth of the love that flowed between them interposed itself between his mind and the darkness.

A tapping at the window snapped him out of his musings, and he focused his attention on Ginny’s smiling face. “All through with your chores? Good!” she called, raising her voice a little to be heard through the glass as he nodded. “We’re caught up, too. Ron suggested some Quidditch practice, how about it?”

Harry considered the suggestion, and was mildly surprised to find the idea actually appealing to him. Then his face fell as he remembered his decision at the beginning of the summer. “I don’t have my broom,” he called back. “It’s still at Grimmauld Place.”

Ginny just shrugged. “So use one of ours, we have plenty of spares. Besides, it’ll be interesting to see if you’re still such a hot Quidditch star without a top-notch broom under you!” she added, grinning at him in challenge.

“You’re on, Weasley!” Harry laughed. “I was on one of the school’s Cleansweeps when I put the Ferret in his place, I think I can handle you!”

“Big words, Potter!” she called back with a smile as she headed towards the broom shed. “Be careful you don’t end up choking on them!”

In the end it turned out they were both right. Harry’s skills as a Seeker were only slightly impaired by the slower broom; in a position where reflexes and reaction time were the keys to success, his inborn abilities at spotting and catching the Snitch were not dependent on what broom he rode, and he consistently beat Ginny to the fluttering golden prize. On the other hand, when he attempted to join her as a Chaser in order to help Ron hone his skills as a Keeper, it became rapidly apparent that the instincts that made him a great Seeker did not translate to the handling of a Quaffle. If anything, they got in the way, and the ease with which Ron blocked his few feeble attempts at scoring a goal, those that even came close to passing through a hoop, was humiliating.

The same could not be said when Ron’s girlfriend mounted a broom. Whether it was natural athletic skill or a fringe benefit of the Sight was beside the point; from the moment the Quaffle touched her hands she could do no wrong. Goal after goal sailed past Ron’s outstretched hands, and when he finally seemed to be getting a handle on predicting her moves, she came up with a way of distracting the Keeper at the crucial moment that was uniquely…Luna. The Wronski Feint might be one of the ultimate moves a professional Quidditch player could perform, but for sheer audacity it paled into insignificance before what became known among those who witnessed it as the Lovegood Flash.

“Ha! Better luck next time!” Ron crowed as he tossed the successfully blocked Quaffle back to his girlfriend. “You’re not bad, Lovegood, but when it comes to not letting the Quaffle in, Weasley is the King!”

Luna cocked her head to one side and contemplated her gloating boyfriend. “You shouldn’t allow yourself to become overconfident, Ronald,” she chided as she balanced the large, leather ball in one hand. “You never know when your opponent will come up with something completely unexpected.”

“Do your worst,” Ron taunted back at her. “I’ve got you pegged now, Love, and nothing you could do will get another goal past the King!”

Harry saw the little smile playing around Luna’s lips before she swung away from the goals to position herself for another attempt. “I don’t think you should have said that, mate,” he cautioned, watching the blond girl as she reached the far end of the pitch and began her run.

“Why, what’s she going to—bloody hell!” Ron shouted. As she approached the goals, Luna tossed the Quaffle into the air, and the moment it left her hands yanked open her robes, baring her breasts. It wasn’t anything Ron hadn’t seen before; he was actually very familiar with those two perfect little globes and their puffy nipples. But he certainly didn’t expect to see them exposed on the Quidditch pitch, and the moment’s distraction was all it took for Luna to recapture the Quaffle and send it sailing past Ron’s head and through the hoop.

Ginny’s peals of laughter snapped the boys out of their daze as Luna nodded in acknowledgement of the accolades of her roommates. Hermione, from her position on the ground where she’d been watching the practice, caroled out in impromptu rhyme; “She will not balk, it’s not a sin, because she got the Quaffle in, Luna is the Queen!”

“That was brilliant, Luna!” Ginny cried as she flew up alongside the Ravenclaw girl who was only now readjusting her robes. “I wish I’d had a camera to capture the look on Ron’s face, it was priceless!”

“Thank you, Ginny, it was rather good, wasn’t it?” Luna replied, smiling in the direction of her still flustered boyfriend. “I did try to warn him that he should try and expect the unexpected.”

Harry watched the girls as they congratulated Luna on her unconventional victory and shook his head at his friend. “Your girlfriend really is a handful, isn’t she?” he commented, nodding in Luna’s direction. A smirk quirked the corners of his mouth as he added (in a voice low enough not to reach his own girlfriend’s ears), “in more ways than one, too.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that—hey! You just forget what you saw!” Ron grumbled.

“Easy mate,” Harry chuckled. “I can admire the landscaping without wanting to pick the flowers.”

Ron turned the phrase over in his mind a few times before he figured out what Harry meant, but once he did, he joined in his friend’s laughter. “I guess I am pretty lucky, at that,” he agreed with a slightly bemused tone as he realized just how true those words were.

Something about the way Ron said the words caught Harry’s attention. “You get the nerve up to have that talk yet?” he asked softly.

“Don’t rush me, I’m working up to it,” Ron mumbled, earning a frown from his friend.

“It’s your choice, Ron, but time’s getting short. We head back to Hogwarts on Sunday, and once we’re back there it’s going to get a lot harder to find the kind of privacy you need for that sort of talk, if you get my drift,” Harry pointed out, unnecessarily in Ron’s opinion. Suddenly he made up his mind.

Tomorrow. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

The approaching sunset brought an end to the practice, and the teens headed back to the Burrow to clean up before supper. Since she hadn’t participated in the strenuous activity on the Quidditch pitch Hermione was still relatively fresh, and after a quick wash-up volunteered her services in the preparation of their meal. When Harry and the other ventured back downstairs they found her and Mrs. Weasley chatting amiably in the kitchen, with Hermione describing some of her mother’s favorite dishes as she set the table in the Muggle fashion, laying out the linens, plates and service by hand.

Seeing the easy way Molly and Hermione were interacting relaxed the last bit of lingering tension that remained in Harry’s heart over the strained relationship between two of the most important women in his life. Of course both had told him they’d resolved their differences, but hearing the words and seeing the results were two very different things. For Molly, the kitchen would always be her inner sanctum, the room in the Burrow where she was happiest and at her most unguarded. If she were still harboring any doubts about Hermione, they would show up here. For her part, if Hermione felt any tension remaining between her and Mrs. Weasley, she wouldn’t be able to hide her discomfort in her presence. For her to be chatting so animatedly about her childhood with Molly could only mean that they truly had made peace with one another.

The pop of someone Apparating sounded from the parlor, and a moment later Mr. Weasley came striding into the kitchen, a cheerful smile on his face. “Good evening, guests, good evening, Weasleys!” he said genially as he came up beside his wife and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Is that roast mutton in the oven?” he asked, sniffing appreciatively at the air. “Whatever it is, it smells fabulous! How long until we eat?”

“Plenty of time for you to clean up before supper,” his wife declared. “And the rest of you, if you’re not helping, shoo! Hermione and I will call you when it’s time to sit down; isn’t that right, dear?”

“C’mon, Harry, if we’re having Mum’s roast mutton we have time for me to give you another drubbing at chess, just what I need to work up an appetite!” Ron said, grabbing his friend by the arm and dragging him to the gaming table in the parlor and the aforementioned drubbing.

After dinner Ginny kept her promise to Harry and diverted Hermione’s attention away from Harry as he lingered in the kitchen by the simple expedient of asking her to check over Ginny’s summer homework assignments. “I’m pretty sure I covered everything I needed on Charms and Transfiguration,” she explained as she urged Hermione towards the stairs and their room, “but I don’t want to give Snapey a chance to dock points the first day back in class if I can avoid it.”

“You know better than that, Ginny,” her mother scolded, having heard her from the kitchen. “He may be unpleasant, but Severus Snape is still your professor, and you should show him due respect, for his position if not his personality.”

“But Mum, you know how horrid he is to anyone who’s not a Slytherin, and especially to Harry!” Ginny objected. “How are we supposed to respect a teacher who’s a worse bully than anybody in his house, Malfoy included?”

“She’s right, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione interjected. “Professor Snape is at his worst towards Harry, but he’s not the only student he picks on regularly. Neville Longbottom is smart enough to be doing much better in that class than he is, but he’s so nervous around the professor he can’t do well. It’s really terribly unfair.”

Mrs. Weasley looked torn between the desire to commiserate with her daughters and the need to maintain proper decorum. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I do understand your concerns, but if anything, it just means you shouldn’t lower yourself to his level. After all—“

“Now, dear, they are young adults,” her husband interrupted. “So long as they don’t do it in class, I don’t see the harm in them using a nickname for their professor, just among themselves. And besides, I seem to remember Professor Snape’s predecessor being driven to distraction by the nickname someone coined for her…” He grinned at his blushing wife, who hastily changed the subject and sent the girls off to check Ginny’s homework, which coincidentally kept Hermione busy so Harry could have his talk.

He waited until Molly and Arthur were comfortably seated in the parlor, and then pulled the sliding door closed and cast a silencing charm on it. He knew that Ginny could only guarantee him a half an hour of distraction, perhaps a bit more, so he got straight to the point. “You know that I want to propose to Hermione in the Muggle fashion, and give her a ring as a symbol of that and of the Bonding, for everyone to see, right?” When they nodded encouragingly, he continued, “The thing is, I want it to be as special for us as the Bonding was…magically, I mean. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What did you have in mind, Harry?” Arthur asked, puzzled. “Obviously the Bonding itself is a one-time only spell in any witch or wizard’s life. You could, well, ‘go through the motions’ again, as it were, but while that might be satisfying emotionally, it wouldn’t represent that much magically, not like the first time did.”

“Well, I got to wondering; the way wizards seem to be about…sex, not everyone who gets engaged is going to be…. I mean, a lot of purebloods must…” Suddenly feeling oddly embarrassed by the conversation and who he was having it with, Harry made faint joining motions with is hands, earning a small laugh from the Weasleys.

“If you mean most purebloods end up having sex before they’re in a position to Bond, you’re probably right,” Arthur agreed. “That’s a big reason that particular ritual has dropped out of common usage, not enough people using it. What was that joke Ted Tonks told me? ‘The parade of the Volcano Virgins had to be cancelled because one was sick and the other refused to march alone’? I’m guessing we purebloods are a lot like that.”

“That’s kind of what I figured,” Harry nodded. “So what do you instead? What would, say, Bill do, if he were to propose to Fleur, and wanted to link himself and the family wards to her the way Hermione did for me?”

Dawning comprehension crossed the Weasleys’ faces. Arthur turned to Molly, who smiled and nodded, and then turned back to Harry’s expectant look. “All right, Harry,” he said, “this is what the two of you will have to do…”

~~~~~~

Hermione glanced at the clock by the door and once again a feeling of aggravation washed over her. When she and Harry had been joined to the Weasley family, her by adoption and him through the Bonding, one of the first visible signs of their connection had been the appearance of two new hands on the family clock; one with the name “Hermione Jane Granger”, and the other, of course, with the name “Harry James Potter”. They’d both become a bit teary-eyed the first time they noticed this concrete evidence of their change in status, especially at the sight of both hands pointing firmly into the quadrant labeled ‘HOME’ while they stood in the living room of the Burrow.

At the moment, though, she wished the charms on the clock were a bit more specific, for while both hands were still proclaiming the presence of the two newest members of the Weasley clan within the boundaries of the Burrow, those boundaries and the wards that defined them covered a great deal of ground, and Hermione had not been able to locate Harry for several hours…and she was beginning to be irritated by the situation.

It wasn’t that she was feeling worried about his safety, or insecure or possessive…well, yes, she did feel possessive about Harry, but no moreso than was appropriate for a young woman to feel about her lover, at least as far as she could tell. No, any nervousness on her part came from the fact that they only had a short time left until their return to school, and she wanted to spend as much of that time as possible with him before then. She knew Harry felt it, too; they had made love that morning with a slightly frantic intensity that both exhilarated and frightened her.

They’d stayed in bed just cuddling for most of the morning, with Hermione talking about her hopes and dreams for the future while Harry listened and offered the occasional comment. She wasn’t terribly surprised that he didn’t have more to say; she knew that talking about his feelings was always going to be difficult for him at the best of times, and it was probably a bit unreasonable of her to expect him to be able to do so with a naked girl cuddled in his arms distracting his thoughts elsewhere. Still it had been a very pleasant morning, and she’d been looking forward to an equally pleasant afternoon.

Unfortunately the imp Murphy seemed to have other plans for them; immediately after lunch Ginny had kidnapped Hermione for some ‘girl talk’, which in Hermione’s opinion turned out to be composed of far too many personal questions for her taste, but which Ginny insisted she had a ‘sister’s right’ to have answered. Somehow Hermione had ended up telling her things about her activities with Harry that had her blushing bright red while at the same time feeling both smug and wicked. Listening to Ginny’s squealing envy was worse than a dose of Veritaserum, and really, it wasn’t gloating to talk about how weak in the knees Harry’s attentiveness left her, was it?

By the time she was able to tear herself away from Ginny’s questions it was late afternoon, but by then Harry had disappeared somewhere, and try as she might, Hermione had been unable to track him down. If not for the clock’s assurance that he was still safely within the confines of the wards she’d have been worried, but as it was, all she was feeling was irritated. She knew that Ron and Luna had wandered off into the woods just after lunch and hadn’t been seen since, so presumably they were doing just what Hermione had hoped to, spending as much of their remaining free time before returning to school just being together.

She glanced outside, noting the changing light that indicated dusk was approaching. Before long the sun would set, another day would be over, and still Harry was somewhere other than where he should be, which was holding her in his arms. With an annoyed huff she picked up one of the books she’d kept out for a little light reading and settled down on the couch to await the return of her wandering boyfriend.

Molly was passing through the living room and heard Hermione’s sigh. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“It’s nothing, Mrs. Weasley,” she replied, and squirmed a bit under the unconvinced look on Molly’s face. “Really, it’s nothing serious; it’s just that…we’ll be returning to Hogwarts in a couple of days, and I wanted to spend as much time together with Harry as we can before then…” she trailed off with a blush as she realized how possessive that made her sound, but Molly just chuckled.

“It’s all right, I do understand; Arthur and I were the same way at first; we couldn’t stand the idea of being apart for any length of time. I know my mother threatened to throw a bucket of ice water on us more than once.” She noticed Hermione’s gaze darting to the clock again and smiled. “I’m guessing that Harry is nowhere to be found, and that you’re a bit annoyed by his absence?”

“Am I that obvious?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.

“Only to someone who knows you; try not to b too upset with him, dear, I’m sure that whatever is keeping him busy, there’s a good reason for it.”

As if responding on cue, Hedwig chose that moment to swoop into the room, hooting softly as she landed on the arm of the couch and extended her leg with its attached note towards Hermione. Her heart lifting, she stroked the snowy white owl’s feathers as she removed the rolled up note. The slightly messy script was instantly recognizable, not that she needed anything beyond the messenger to identify the source:

Dear Hermione;

If you’re not too upset with me for leaving you alone all afternoon, please come join me at the place where we began.

love, Harry

Smiling, Hermione ran upstairs and grabbed her cloak along with a treat for Hedwig, thanking her again before heading out the door of the Burrow at a quick walk. Even at that pace it took about ten minutes before she caught the first glimpse of sunlight reflecting off water, and several minutes past that before the trail ended at the side of the lake, There, waiting as promised, was Harry, a look of anxiousness on his face that turned into a brilliant smile when he saw her appear. “Thanks for coming,” he said quietly, holding a hand out to her. “I was afraid you might be angry with me for disappearing all afternoon.”

“I was, a little,” she admitted, taking his hand, “but not enough to matter. Now, why did you want to meet out here? It’s a little nippy for a swim.”

“Actually, this is just the starting point,” he clarified, leading her towards a familiar trail. “I have a different destination in mind…”

Hermione’s confusion lasted only as long as it took Harry to lead her to the path by the bluff and the two pillars that marked the head of the trail leading to the Weasley Heart Stones. “Harry, why are we going—?“

“It’s a surprise; nothing bad, I promise. You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Yesss…” She did trust him, with her life, and even more frightening In some ways, with her heart, so she held off asking any more questions. At least she did until they stopped just out of sight of the circle and he withdrew a length of cloth from his pocket and made as if to blindfold her.

Something of her uncertainty must have shown on her face and he paused. “Do you promise to close your eyes and not peek until I tell you to open them?” She nodded and he stuffed away the cloth before taking her hand to lead her forward. “All right then, go ahead and close them, and remember, no peeking!”

She had to admit that he was a careful guide, taking it slowly and directing her steps so that she avoided any obstacles that might be in her path. She could even feel when they entered the clearing; the sensation of openness about her touching her skin. She felt the slight tingle of the wards as they passed into the circle, and then they came to a stop. “You can open your eyes now,” he said quietly.

Hermione did as she was told and gasped in delight; she now knew just where Harry had disappeared to for the afternoon, and any lingering irritation she might have felt was banished by the magical sight before her. The stones that formed the Circle were all alight with the cool blue flames of the wards, and long garlands of night blooming jasmine festooned the circle, softening the hard silhouettes of the stones even further. At first she thought the blossoms were glowing with a pale light all their own, but a flickering movement drew her attention to the swirling fireflies that had been persuaded to add their own cool glow to the flowers. Beyond the stones, fairly lights danced through the branches of the outer ring of trees, turning the leaves into a canopy of shifting, luminescent green.

Over the years since learning she was a witch and that the wizarding world secretly coexisted with the Muggle world, she’d seen many sights that could be called ‘magical’, from the simple arrival of her first Hogwarts letter in the beak of a great, brown barn owl, to the first glimpse of the towers of Hogwarts beckoning on the far side of the lake, but none had moved her like this. Perhaps it was because it had been created just for her benefit, perhaps it was because just the two of them were sharing it, but she knew that this was an image that she would treasure the rest of her life. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

She felt his hands come to rest on her shoulders, and at their gentle urging turned to face him. “Not half as beautiful as you,” he said firmly with uncharacteristic eloquence, and she felt her throat constricting as he leaned down and captured her lips in a soft kiss that was both passionate and chaste. Their mouths were open, their breath intermingling as they molded themselves to one another, but this was not a kiss that called for the thrust and parry of tongues, rather it was one of deep emotions being felt and expressed.

When they finally separated, Hermione was feeling breathless and more than a little light-headed. “H-Harry, this is all wonderful, but…”

“But you’re wondering why we’re here?” he asked, smiling as she nodded. Harry guided her over to the low stone that served as both bench and altar, and urged her with a gentle pull on her hands to sit next to him. Keeping her hands clasped in his he kept his gaze averted from hers as he spoke. “Hermione, I’m…I’m not very good with words, not really, especially when they’re about how I feel. These last few weeks with you have made it a bit easier to talk, but I know I bollix it up more often than not…worse than Ron, really; he talks without thinking sometimes, but that’s better than not talking at all. At least now I know that not saying anything is worse than trying and maybe saying the wrong thing, so I hope you can hear what I mean, even if I can’t say it right.”

“Harry, that’s not true, you’re not that bad at expressing yourself…” Hermione tried to reassure him, but he raised his hand and briefly covered her mouth before continuing.

“Please, love, let me finish; I’ve been screwing my nerve up for this for a week, and if I stop now, I don’t know when I’ll find the guts to start again. Just listen, okay? You can tell me what an idiot I’m being afterwards.” She huffed slightly at his self-criticism, but when she restrained herself from further comments, he continued.

Harry opened his mouth a couple of times, clearly struggling to find a way to begin, and then he sighed. “This is what I was afraid of; I had all these speeches rehearsed in my head, but now that you’re here in front of me, they’re like so much smoke slipping through my fingers…

“The thing is, you know what a mess I was the beginning of the summer…what a mess I’ve been for a long time, really. I don’t think I really understood myself how much losing…Sirius…hurt me. It didn’t help that I was sure it was all my fault, that I killed him just by knowing him, just like I killed my parents, and Cedric—“

“Harry, you know that’s not true!” Hermione scolded, unable to keep silent despite her promise. “You know who’s really to blame, that none of what happened is your fault…”

“”You’re wrong, Hermione; some of it is my fault,” Harry responded, quieting her by putting a finger to her lips. “I’m not taking all the blame on myself any more, you’ve helped me past that, but letting go of what isn’t my fault means I have to accept what mistakes I did make…anyway, that’s not really what I wanted to talk about.

“In a couple of days, we’re going to be back at Hogwarts, and it’s not going to take long for people to notice that we’re…well, a lot more than just friends now. I’ll admit that it worries me, a lot, to think of what some people might say or do because you’re my girlfriend. All that nonsense we went through in fourth year when Rita Skeeter was kiting those rumors won’t be a patch on what happens this time. Back then it was just nasty gossip, but this time it’ll be worse, because this time there’ll be something to it, something that I can’t deny, and wouldn’t even if I could.”

“And what’s that, Harry?” she asked softly, her eyes shining with emotion.

“That I love you…that I’m in love with you,” he answered her with a smile. “I am completely, totally, madly in love with one of my two best friends, and it isn’t Ron Weasley.” She giggled a little at his intentional silliness, and he chuckled as well before becoming serious again.

“Anyway, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it, and I realized that since it’s not going to be possible to deny it, I need to make everyone realize from the first just how much you mean to me.” His eyes were locked onto hers now, the intensity of his gaze making her a bit nervous as he continued. “In case I haven’t made it clear by now, you mean everything to me, Hermione. I know that’s kind of lame sounding, but it’s the truth. I just don’t know the words to say what I feel when I think of you, maybe because I think of you all the time…I don’t know how I managed to be so lucky, but I’m going to do everything I can to make you and everyone else understand that at least I know how lucky I am, and how much you mean to me.”

“What are you trying to say…Harry!” Hermione gasped as he slipped from his seat on the stone and knelt before her, holding her hands in his grasp.

“What I’m trying to say, Miss Granger, is that, young as we are, I know who I want to spend my life with, and she’s right here in front of me. I know I don’t deserve you, but if the smartest witch of our generation is mad enough to be in love with me, I’m at least smart enough not to let her go. Hermione, will you marry me?”

Unable to speak, Hermione nodded, and gasped again as he withdrew a small, velvet-coved box from his pocket. Opening it, he removed the most incredible ring she’d ever seen and with hands that trembled slightly, slipped it onto her ring finger. The moment he let her hand go she squealed in happiness and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly she knocked him off balance and tumbled both of them to the ground where she proceeded to cover his face with kisses until they both dissolved into laughter.

When she had regained her composure enough to think coherently, she took a closer look at the ring and almost lost it all over again. “Ohmigod, Harry, it’s beautiful! It must have cost—well, I don’t want to even think how much it must have cost you! You really should’ve picked something more sensible,” she finished half-heartedly, but he could tell her heart wasn’t really in it.

He grinned and pulled her close for a fierce kiss, inordinately pleased that at least he’d managed to get this right. “It’s amazing what they’re putting in Crackerjack boxes these days, isn’t it?” he teased, remembering a conversation they’d had once about favorite movies and her guilty admission that one of her all-time favorites was ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’.

“Oh, you!” she scolded, giving his arm a little swat before kissing him again, more deeply this time. When they came up for air again she sighed contentedly, enjoying their surroundings and gazing up at the stars that were just becoming visible overhead. A thought occurred to her and she frowned slightly biting her lip. “Harry, does…did you tell Mrs. Weasley what you were planning on doing?” she asked, half afraid of the answer.

“Who do you think recommended the jeweler I went to?” he told her by way of answering, enjoying the shocked look of surprise on her face. He smiled as she sniffed happily. “She’s fine with this, Hermione, her and Mr. Weasley as well.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, hoping that her misstep earlier in the summer really was behind them.

“Very sure,” he replied, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I know that for a fact because…I spoke to both her and Mr. Weasley to ask their permission, not for the proposal, but for something else.”

She saw the nervous look in his eyes and felt a quiver of concern. “What…what did you ask them about?”

Harry’s expression became serious as he took her hands again and said, “I asked for their blessing, because I wanted to ask you if you would do me the honor of renewing our Bonding, to seal our betrothal in the magical as well as the physical worlds.” He kissed her hands and brushed away the tears that started in her eyes. “Will you make love with me, here, now, Mione?”

She searched his eyes for any sign of doubt or hesitation, any trace of regrets. Finding none, she answered him with another kiss, this one the most passionate yet, her tongue demanding and receiving access to his mouth as they began the dance once again.

After a few minutes of passionate kissing, Harry drew her to her feet, smiling at the puzzled look on her face. “Well, we have to do things a bit differently,” he pointed out. “After all, neither of us meet the requirements of the first Bonding any more, do we?” He chuckled at her blush, and withdrawing his wand from its sheath, pointed it at the center of the open space.

“Taghairm Pòsadh Leabaidh!”

As the Gaelic words echoed across the Circle a stream of blue light, the same color as the witchfire that still burned on the stones surrounding them, shot into the thick groundcover that blanketed the floor of the circle. Trails of blue fire radiated outward from the impact point, creating a web that connected all the stones to the center of the ring. As they watched the ground shifted, raising itself until a large, roughly rectangular stone platform was revealed, its hard surface blanketed and softened by the same growth the protected the rest of the circle’s floor. Tiny wildflowers burst into bloom like miniature fireworks, filling the air with the scent of clover.

Clearing his throat, Harry spoke the ritual phrase Mr. Weasley had taught him along with the spells. “Wilt thou consummate thy Joining with me, my lady?”

Hermione nodded, but Harry shook his head. “You have to answer aloud, love.” He repeated the question, and this time she answered him: “Yes.”

As the word passed her lips the fires flickering on the outer stones dimmed, not going out completely, but transferring the majority of their energy to the center of the ring where their ‘bed’ awaited them. Harry asked for and received Hermione’s wand, placing it with his own in the same spot they had rested the last time they were in the circle, though this time Harry’s wand crossed over, rather than under, Hermione’s.

With that accomplished, he led her to stand beside the platform, and then silently, tenderly, undressed her, his eyes never leaving hers as he divested her of her tank top, shorts and knickers. He then cooperated as she did the same for him, their gaze breaking only for an instant as she pulled his tee shirt over his head. His jeans were tossed aside, along with his boxers, his extremely visible arousal making its presence known the moment it was freed from its constraints.

Stepping close to her, he buried his hands in her wild hair and tilted her face up to his, kissing her forehead, her eyes, her nose, and finally her mouth, the sensations driving him to pull her body to his as she moaned against his lips in pleasure. Her own hands began to wander, stroking and caressing the hard muscles of his back, wandering down to squeeze the cheeks of his tight bottom. She laughed as he swept her up in his arms and deposited her on their bed, staring down at her, his eyes burning with hunger as she stretched languorously.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his tone reverent as though he was speaking of the Holy of Holies, and so far as Harry was concerned, he was. She was for him a goddess incarnate, and he knew he would worship her all of his days, not the dry, sterile worship of the few church services the Dursleys had dragged him to over the years, but ecstatically in the truest sense of the word, exalted and enraptured by the sight of the naked beauty being offered up to him.

Laying beside her, he began to demonstrate his devotion to her, exploring the temple of her body in ways that made her cry out in passion, the goddess accepting the ministrations of her high priest. Together they sanctified the altar that was created by the joining of flesh with flesh, discovering in each other’s arms the rituals that were as ancient as Man and Woman, and as new as the declaration of their love for one another.

Her breasts were the pomegranates sacred to Persephone, her nipples the very fountains of Ambrosia, the sweet nectar that nourishes the gods. His hands were the skilled hands of Pygmalion, and she became Galatea under their caresses, brought to life by his worshipful touch. The explored each other’s bodies anew, as the magic of the Circle and the power of the Joining transformed mystery into Mystery. Harry’s manhood became the Staff of Life, the catalyst of renewal. Between Hermione’s legs he found, entered and surrendered himself to the ultimate Mystery; the Cauldron of Cerridwen, the Well of Rebirth, where the slain Hero was resurrected. Harry lost himself within her, died, and was reborn.

Finally, their energies expended within one another, the young lovers drifted quietly into the restful and restorative embrace of sleep, the energy raised by their Joining pulsing within the Circle and resonating throughout the wards in tune with the slow beating of their hearts. For the moment the rest of the world vanished, and nothing existed save the couple intertwined in each other’s arms.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part Two: Not too flowery there at the end, I hope. I was trying my hardest to convey the spiritual aspect of their Joining, as well as the intense physical and emotional aspects. Not sure how well I succeeded, and will really appreciate any critiques of that scene my readers care to offer. Depending on reactions, I may rework that section at a later date.

Still a couple of chapters to go to get them on the Express to Hogwarts. I am now considering, rather than making this one continuous fic thru the school year, splitting part one from part two, and picking up the narration as a sequel to ‘Intervention’.

And no, I haven’t forgotten about Ron and Luna. I’ve decided to give that scene and its fallout, good and bad, its own chapter, which will follow this one. Thanks in advance for all reviews, especially those that provide me with impressions and insight into character motivation and development. More to come, I promise!

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POSTSCRIPT – Following the original posting of this chapter a few minor and not-so-minor errors were pointed out to me. Those have been corrected, and a few changes have been added to the imagery of the joining ritual. My thanks to the reviewers who helped me iron out some of the bugs that I missed.

11. We Love Good when we Love Well

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – Everything belongs to JK Rowling and her agents, nothing belongs to me – darn it!

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part One: I still am having a hard time believing the number of reviews this is generating. I may not answer every one, but they are all appreciated, especially those that offer helpful critiques, or that catch mistakes and glitches for me. (thanks especially to Excalibur and Seamus on that front!)

This is the promised scene between Ron and Luna that takes place in the afternoon before Harry’s proposal to Hermione. Enjoy!

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Chapter Eleven – We Love Good when we Love Well

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Ron’s thoughts as he led the way through the woods were chaotic, to say the least. So much had changed in such a short time; if any one had told him at the beginning of the summer that he would even fancy, let alone become involved with, Loony – a sudden wince of pain from his jaw made him pause – Luna Lovegood, he would told them they were barking. Now, he could hardly imagine his life without her in it…and that was the problem.

He was afraid. He’d reached the point where he could admit that to himself, even if he couldn’t find the words to tell anyone else. He was afraid that if he tried to tell her how he felt, he’d put his foot in it like he always seemed to whenever he talked about his feelings, and that she’d finally realize she was wasting her time with him. He’d managed to say some of that in his chat with Harry, and while he was sure his best mate didn’t understand all the insecurities that plagued Ron, Harry had enough of his own issues that any advice he gave on the topic would be as good as any Ron had access to. If Harry thought he should talk to her, Ron was going to try.

After a somewhat unsatisfactory lunch where Ron’s nerves had him eating a fraction of his normal caloric intake (which meant he only ate half again as much as the average wizard), he’d stammered an invitation to Luna to go for a walk to settle their food. She’d gazed at him calmly, though her eyes were oddly shiny, and had quietly taken his hand and followed along submissively as he led her towards the familiar path.

They’d walked in silence, each lost in thought as they enjoyed warmth of late summer, though a bit of briskness remained in the air once they entered the shadow of the trees. Ron was glad he’d thought to bring their cloaks along; the small clearing that had become ‘their place’ had many things to recommend it, but a roaring fireplace or even an area warming charm were not among them. Even if things only progressed as far as they had in the past, the cloaks would be welcome later in the day.

Arriving in their clearing, Ron led Luna over to the fallen log that had been charmed and transfigured until it was almost as comfortable as one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room. Once they were seated he drew his wand from its pocket in his cloak and with a few muttered phrases activated the modifications he’d placed in the wards around the clearing (managed with Luna’s clever help), and insured their privacy. Sliding his wand back into its sheath, he turned to speak to the person who triggered the butterflies in his stomach, only to have her pounce on him and fasten her mouth hungrily to his.

By the time they broke the kiss they were both light-headed from lack of oxygen, though Ron was a bit worse off due to the sudden rush of blood leaving his brain for other regions. “Wow,” he gasped, struggling to bring his surroundings back into focus as the girl who completely occupied his thoughts snuggled against him. “What brought that on?”

“Well, it has been almost twelve hours since we properly kissed,” Luna replied, and then made him jump by nipping at his neck. “I do believe I was beginning to experience the first symptoms of withdrawal. It was very distracting.” She then proceeded to try and show him just how distracted she’d felt, her hands sliding up inside of his shirt and jumper as her nails left little trails of fire across his chest.

For a moment Ron allowed himself to get lost in the sensations she was arousing in him, but the nagging voice of his conscience (which oddly sounded like his two best friends talking to him in tandem) reminded him of the real reason he’d brought her out to their place. ‘Get a grip, Weasley,’ he thought to himself. ‘The bloody Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason, now prove it!’ Steeling himself, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Luna, I think…we need to have a talk,” he said a little shakily.

He felt her tense briefly under his touch, and then she seemed to sag a little as she nodded. “Very well, Ronald, we’ll talk if that is what you want.”

Ron choked back a nervous laugh. “I can’t say as I want to talk, but we do need to, what with school starting in two days.” Gathering all his courage, he continued, “Just…try and be patient with me, okay? I’m not very good at this, and I don’t want you to get mad and storm off .if I say the wrong thing.”

“I don’t think I could ever be mad with you, Ronald,” Luna replied. “And besides, I’ve been expecting this for a while.”

“You have?” Ron replied, surprised and a little relieved. ‘Maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought.’

“Of course I expected it; I always knew you wouldn’t want things to continue the way they have once we returned to school,” she answered softly, her face turned away so he couldn’t se the tears that were forming.

“Huh?” he said intelligently. “What are you talking about? Wait…you think I don’t want to keep seeing you when we’re back at Hogwarts?”

“Well, obviously, Ronald. Why else would you be breaking up with me?” Luna asked, her calm words hiding her inner turmoil.

Ron felt himself floundering for understanding as their conversation hared off in a direction he’d never intended. “Bloody hell, Luna, what makes you think I want to break up with you?” he asked in turn, one hand running nervously through his hair as the other sought out and grasped her hand.

“Isn’t that why you brought me out here to talk? So you could tell me in private in case I made a scene, not that I would?” she replied in that same calm, maddeningly rational tone as she finally met his eyes. He was stunned by the tears that were shining in hers as she gently laid her free hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to worry, Ronald, I understand that this was just a summer fling on your part. The others don’t realize that, but I do. I helped you get Hermione out of your system, and I will always be grateful I was the one to do that for you. But now you’re ready to move on. I won’t hold you back, I promise.”

Ron stared at her for a minute, and for once the gods cut him a break as the meaning of her words sunk in, and he somehow understood the thoughts behind them. Perhaps it was because her insecurities were so close to his own, but whatever the reason, he knew what she was feeling, and a knot that had been slowly tightening around his heart for days finally loosened. Harry’s words from the other evening echoed in his head: ‘If you’ve found the right one, you’ll never convince yourself that you’re good enough for her, and crazy as it may sound, they probably feel the same way.’

Smiling, Ron lifted both his hands and cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears before he leaned forward and gently kissed her on the lips. When he leaned back and saw the wide-eyed surprise on her face, his smile became even broader. “For a Ravenclaw, you’re not very bright, Love,” he said quietly, his gentle expression taking any sting out of the words. “Don’t you know that I’m completely nutters over you? That breaking up with you is the last thing I want to do?”

Luna’s expression grew doubtful. “Then why did you want to talk? You were so serious when you asked me, and you’re never serious about anything…”

“That’s not true, I’m serious lots of times!” he objected. Luna merely raised an eyebrow and he relented. “All right, so maybe I’m not; doesn’t mean I don’t know there’s a time and place for it.”

Easing slightly away from him, she crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. “Very well, Ronald, if you weren’t planning on breaking up with me, why did you want to talk?”

Now that he had to actually say the words, he felt himself blushing. “You see, it’s like this,” he began awkwardly, his eyes now refusing to meet hers. “I thought if we were alone, it would make it easier on both of us…when you broke up with me.”

Glancing up, he saw the stunned expression appear just before she broke into peals of laughter. “Ronald!” she finally gasped. “You thought…would want…and I thought…” she couldn’t get the words out past her giggles, and he found himself laughing as well.

When they both finally stopped laughing, an odd expression crossed Luna’s face. Over the weeks they’d been something more than friends, Ron had learned to see past her façade of dreaminess to the feelings underneath, and this wasn’t one he’d seen before. It looked like…hope? “Ronald,” she asked, “is that the reason you’ve held back from being intimate with me? That you thought I wasn’t serious, about us that is?” He could see that she was hurt by the thought, and he hastened to explain his doubts.

“It wasn’t that, Love,” he said quickly. “It’s kind of hard to put into words…that first day, the day Harry and Hermione got together and you told me how you felt, I was so surprised—well, I didn’t want to rush things, you know? And afterwards I started thinking about it, and I guess I thought too much or something. Ginny’s always on about me not thinking before acting, and this was so important, that I stopped thinking about all the things that felt right about it, and started worrying about what could go wrong.”

“Im not sure I understand what you mean,” Luna said, frowning. Ron sighed, rubbing his hands nervously over his knees as he continued.

“Well, it was after Harry and Hermione got back and Mum blew up over them being Bonded,” he said. “”I knew I fancied you, a lot, but I’m not ready for that kind of commitment yet, not with anyone. I’m not saying I want to sleep around, either, but a Bonding’s a really big step. So yeah, at first I had cold feet because I thought you might want that, too.

“Then, when I realized you weren’t looking for that any more than I was…somehow I got it in my head that if we went all the way, you’d regret it; you know as well as I do that even without a Bonding the first time for a wizard or witch releases a lot of magic. I was afraid that when you moved on to someone who suited you better, you’d regret having done that with me instead of them,” he finished lamely.

Luna stared at him for a minute, her expression blank. Finally she spoke. “That was rather silly of you, Ronald,” she said quietly. “Not that it really surprises me, I suppose.”

Ron’s ears turned red as he muttered, “Well, I told you I wasn’t too smart; that’s why Hermione’s always on me about studying harder…”

“She doesn’t scold you because you’re stupid, Ronald, she does it because she knows you aren’t. I thought you understood that.”

“Huh?”

She sighed, a touch of asperity showing in her tone. “Ronald, Hermione fusses at you because she knows you are smart enough to get much better grades if only you applied yourself. Do you know why her marks are so much higher than everyone else’s, including everyone in Ravenclaw I might add?”

“Well, yeah, it’s because she’s a genius,” Ron replied, but Luna shook her head.

She is very, very bright, but being smart isn’t enough to succeed. She gets the marks she does because she has the discipline to maintain the study habits she learned before she came to Hogwarts. She’s even tutored a few of my housemates in her methods. Believe me, if she thought you were stupid, she wouldn’t waste her time trying to make you do better.”

“Wow,” Ron said, somewhat stunned by the revelation. He raised his eyes to meet Luna’s. “So, does that mean you don’t think I’m stupid, either?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I could never fall in love with someone who was stupid; silly, yes, but then all boys are a bit silly where girls are concerned, but not stupid.”

A slow smile lit up his face. “So, does that mean you want to keep seeing me, even back at school?”

By way of answer she wrapped her arms around his neck and molded herself to him, her lips covering his as her tongue demanded entrance to his mouth. Her legs shifted and she was wrapped around him, her pelvis grinding against his obvious arousal. “And if that isn’t clear enough,” she breathed when they separated for air, “I want you, and no one else but you, Ronald, Bilius Weasley. Is that clear enough for you?”

Ron swallowed and nodded, his gaze moving hungrily down her body and back to her face. He smiled, and then groaned as she rolled her hips against him again. “Luna, if you keep that up, I won’t be able to do what I want to do right now,” he warned.

“And what is that, Ronald?” she asked before trailing little kisses down his neck.

“I want to…make love to you,” he said, blushing. “You know, really make love to you.”

Smiling , she sniffed a little. “Are you sure, Ronald?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” he said, trying to put as much feeling into the words as he could. Apparently it was enough, as Luna’s response was to grab the bottom of her shirt and pull it over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up except for a pink satin bra that quickly joined her shirt.

He reached out and cupped her small breasts, delighted as always by the perfect way they filled his hands. He squeezed them, ever so lightly, feeling her nipples stirring and stiffening against his palms. His hands shifted, eliciting a moan as the slightly callused pads of his thumbs grazed over the sensitive flesh, and then leaned forward and drew her left nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around and flicking the hardened nub at its tip before he began to suckle gently at her heated flesh. His other hand instinctively continued its caresses, and shortly he felt her start to shiver all over and utter the little humming sounds of pleasure that drove him wild.

Luna felt the first waves of pleasure begin to radiate through her at the feel of the hardness of him pressing against her stomach; she’d felt it before, was in fact intimately familiar with Ronald’s broomstick in every way but one, and now that last mystery was to be revealed. The very thought of it was enough to send swarms of tremors echoing along her nerves, the sort that, were she a volcano hooked up to a seismograph, would be predicting a cataclysmic event. Each pull of his mouth on her sensitized nipple sent a fresh wave cascading through her, driving her closer to the edge. Without realizing it she began to hum, the overstimulation of her nervous system spilling over into her vocal chords.

Ron finally ceased his ministrations to her breast, allowing her nipple to slip from between his lips with a soft pop as the suction broke. The sudden exposure of moist skin to the cool air of the glade sent shivers up and down her spine as he recaptured her mouth with his, their lips melding together as their tongues resumed their dance. Her felt her legs slide from around his hips and a moment later they were standing, Ron leaning forward slightly to keep in contact with Luna’s mouth. He felt her hands tugging at his jumper, and they broke apart briefly as his clothing began to join hers on the clearing floor.

He reached out and slowly unbuttoned her jeans, his eyes never leaving hers as she bit her lip in anticipation. They’d been naked together before, more than once, but all those previous times there’d been a line drawn they knew would not be passed, a line that was now eradicated. Luna had already kicked off her trainers while they were wrapped up together before, so once the jeans were unbuttoned it took little effort on Ron’s part to slide them down her long, slender legs and pull them off over her mismatched socks. All she was wearing now were the pink silk knickers that matched her discarded bra.

Her own hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it at much the same rate as he had unbuttoned her jeans. The snap and zipper combination of the Muggle-made garment (a gift from Hermione the previous Christmas) frustrated her for a moment, but she quickly got the hang of it. Ron’s trainers had joined hers while they were seated, along with his socks, leaving him standing before her in just his boxers, the fabric visibly tented by his straining erection. With the enigmatic smile that he’d come to love so much playing about her lips, she slowly knelt before him, her hands sliding down his chest as she dropped lower and lower, her fingers finally catching in his waistband and tugging the red and gold material down until his manhood sprang free.

“I see you Firebolt is fully serviced and ready to fly,” Luna chuckled throatily, her hand sliding over the firm, velvety length of him, eliciting a groan in response. With a wicked smile she rolled his foreskin back and delivered a feathery light kiss to his crown, licking away the white bead that wept from the eye.

Unable to withstand her teasing any longer, Ron sunk to his knees as well, reclaiming her mouth for another heated kiss, the hard length of him pressing against her stomach sending little shivers throughout her body. She felt the heat and moisture building within her sex and she moaned into his mouth, her hands seeking out and squeezing his buttocks. Separating a little, she managed to pant, “Don’t forget the charm; neither of us are ready for any surprises…”

Nodding, Ron groped in their discarded cloaks until he came up with their wands, passing Luna’s to her so that they could both cast the protection charm for added safety. “Conceptus Averto,” they murmured, causing a blue glow to envelop the relevant portions of their anatomy before fading from sight. Unlike Muggle contraceptives, the charm would last for six months unless countered, but tradition called for sexually active couples to renew the charm every three months, on the solstices and equinoxes, just to be sure. Both Luna and Ginny had cast the charm on Hermione before she went off to Harry that first time, in order to help allay her nervousness. To the young pureblooded witches’ knowledge, the charm never failed unless it was deliberately tampered with.

The last technical preliminaries now covered, the young witch and wizard began the final steps in the slow dance they had started weeks before. Ron spread their cloaks out and cast a cushioning charm upon them before pressing Luna down into them, his hands returning to their explorations. A little tug of encouragement caused her to raise her hips, allowing him to slide her now damp knickers off her legs and toss them aside. Unconsciously her knees drifted apart, giving him a clear view of the golden curls between her legs and the delicate, shell-pink folds of her sex nestled within.

Slowly he worked his way forward, trailing kisses along her inner thigh until he reached his goal. Every time he reached this point in the past a look of wonder would appear on his face, and this time was no exception. If anything he looked even more gobsmacked than in the past; he’d explored her mysteries with his fingers and his tongue, learning the special places that gave her the most pleasure, but this time a new threshold was about to be crossed, one that thrilled and terrified him at the same time. He looked up at her from his position between her legs, his eyes travelling the smooth expanse of her belly, past the little silver charm that decorated her navel, past the perfect mounds of her breasts and their delectable nipples, up the long column of the throat to reach her face, to the open expression of desire that was evident there. “Love, are you sure?” he asked, giving her a last chance to change her mind before they both lost control.

“Make love to me, Ronald,” she replied, her voice quivering slightly at the tremors the breath of his words on her sex had aroused. “Make me, make us, complete.”

Needing no further encouragement, he moved forward, bracing his weight above her as he positioned himself at her entrance. Luna had told him early on, in one of her painfully blunt conversations, that her barrier had been ruptured years before when the broom she was riding was caught in a thunderstorm, so that particular concern was absent, but he knew that it would still take her a bit of time to adjust to him. He took it slow, first easing the crown of his penis within her, eliciting a gasp of surprise as she felt the pleasurable pressure mounting.

Nor was that the only pressure that was mounting. The young lovers were too wrapped up in each other to notice, but the family wards were far less subject to distraction. Already sensitized to them by their earlier activities, the spells and charms that for centuries had protected and sheltered the Weasley line recognized that another one of their charges was coming of age. The simple privacy charms that Ron and Luna had erected proved no barrier to the ancient energies of the wards, connected as they were to one of the two by Blood. A shimmering, pearlescent dome of cool blue light formed around the lovers, both drawing from and adding to the primal magic being raised by their intimacy.

Luna’s breath hissed out between her teeth as Ron finally rested completely within her. All her dreams, all her fantasies were as nothing compared to the awareness of his hard masculinity sheathed inside her passage, completing the mystery. Her nails dug into his back as slowly, so slowly, he began to slide in and out of her, building the pace gradually as her muscles relaxed and accepted the length and breadth of him.

Her teeth clenched painfully on her lower lip as she stifled back a moan, and then his voice was whispering in her ear, “Let it out, Love, let it go, let me hear you…” His soft words shattered her restraint and she cried out his name, not in pain but in triumph as she finally became a woman in the arms of the young man she’d loved for so long.

Ron felt her stiffening beneath him, felt her body clenching about his manhood as her climax washed over her. The look of exaltation on her face transfixed him, and the little portion of his mind that remained rational at such a moment wondered why he’d feared this. Then her eyes opened and locked onto his, and the love radiating from them pushed him over the edge. He buried himself within her one last time and felt the hot warmth of his seed flooding within her, completing the act. So lost was he in the depths of her cornflower blue eyes, he didn’t notice the other flare of blue as the bubble that had formed in the wards swelled and burst, transferring the magic released by their act of love.

He didn’t notice it, but of the four other people currently residing at the Burrow, two did. Hermione was too new to her connection to the wards to recognize the source of the shiver that had just run through them, and Harry was too busy creating the perfect setting at the Heart Circle to pay attention when the magical energy flickered and surged.

Up in her room, with nothing distracting her beyond the diary in which she was writing, Ginny definitely noticed the tingle as the magical energies connecting her to her family changed. “Way to go, bro,” she murmured to herself, a wicked grin flickering across her face as she thought about the opportunities this would provide for teasing her favorite brother (though she would never tell him that).

In the kitchen, Molly Weasley looked up from the recipe book she was double-checking before preparing the night’s meal, a novelty minced-meat pie that she’d remembered had been a special favorite of James Potter’s. She closed her eyes as the wards fluctuated, and having experienced it five times before, recognized it for what it was. A single tear rolled down her cheek as the last of her sons crossed the next hurdle into adulthood. Now there was only her baby left, and who knew how long it would be in these troubled times before she chose to seize the moment?

Back in the glade, Luna and Ron relaxed in each other’s arms, their energies momentarily spent. Ron was idly toying with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his fingers and admiring its shimmer in the stray beams of sunlight that managed to make it through the leaves. “One thing puzzles me, Love,” he said quietly, with a smile on his face that could only be called sated. “I don’t understand why you were so worried about us staying together. Didn’t your Sight show you that?” He stiffened slightly as an alarming thought occurred to him. “It didn’t show us…breaking up, did it? Because if it did, you know, divination’s not all that precise—“

Her fingers covered his lips, silencing him. “Please don’t panic, Ronald; my Sight won’t show me anything about us in the future any more. Hermione told me she’d read in a book on Seers that for some of us, strong emotions interfere with our abilities, so the closer we became, the harder it was to See.”

Ron thought about that for a minute, and then brightened. “Hey, that’s pretty good then!” At her puzzled look he elaborated, “See, if we broke up down the line, our emotions would stop blocking things and you’d be able to See us. Since you can’t, we must stay together!”

Luna frowned for a moment, and then smiled back at Ron. She was fairly certain there was something wrong with his logic, but seeing him so happy at the prospect disabused her of the notion of correcting him. For the moment she was content to settle back down into his embrace, and enjoy the gentle, post-coital buzz that trembled along her nerves. Now was good, tomorrow could take care of itself…

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part Two: I know this is a lot shorter than my previous chapters, but I decided to restrict it to just the scene between Ron and Luna, a little vignette for those who love the Red Moon. More to come, I promise!

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12. Understanding What’s To Come

Intervention

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER – Everything belongs to JK Rowling and her agents, nothing belongs to me – darn it!

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part One: ACK! I discovered a major chronological glitch involving the phases of the moon; seems the full moon falls on the same night as the slumber party in chapter nine. Fortunately it wasn’t too hard to write around it, and when I load this chapter I’ll delete and reload the others. You can go back and re-read it if you want, but it’s no biggie.

Sorry this has taken so long to come out, but RL has been more annoying than usual lately; hopefully you won’t be too disappointed with the results. I’m not 100% satisfied, but I don’t want to hold off posting it any longer. Anyway, thanks again for your patience, and here goes nothing…

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Chapter Twelve – Understanding What’s To Come

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The light shining down from the waning, gibbous moon awoke the couple from their doze, a light shiver running through their limbs from the chill that had crept into the night air. Harry pulled Hermione close to him, trying to share his warmth. “I guess we should think about heading back to the Burrow,” he murmured after pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Mmmm,” she replied, her tone inferring agreement, but made no move to disentangle herself from the embrace of her boyfriend. “I wish we could just stay here forever, don’t you?” she continued, one of her hands stroking his muscular forearms where they wrapped around her bare waist. Her other hand she held out so she could admire the settings of her ring in the brilliant moonlight.

“We could, I suppose,” he agreed, a touch of amusement in his voice. “We could probably get Dobby to sneak us food and drink from the Hogwarts kitchens. Of course we’d get kind of stinky after a while, but we’d be stinky together, so that’s not so bad. In fact, I can see only one major obstacle.”

He paused, and she twisted around and eyed him suspiciously. “And what obstacle is that, if I might ask?”

“Well, for one thing, if we stay here you won’t get to see all the other girls turn absolutely green when they see your ring.” he pointed out reasonable, and earning a poke in the ribs for his troubles. “Hey!” he objected.

“Serves you right,” she huffed, pulling away from him a little but not yet ready to leave his arms. “You know very well I could care less what the other girls think. Their reactions are a matter of complete indifference to me,” she finished haughtily.

“Oh, really?” Harry asked, amused doubt evident in his voice. “Then how about you look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not looking forward to seeing the expression on, say, Cho Chang’s face when you casually wave that under her nose.”

To her credit, Hermione managed to control most of her reaction to Harry’s teasing, but the heating of her ears gave her away to anyone who knew her. “Well, maybe just a little,” she finally admitted.

“Good,” Harry said firmly, “because I’m certainly going to be bragging about how bloody lucky I am to anyone who’ll listen!”

“Harry Potter! Watch your language!” she scolded, though her smile took the sting out of it.

“Yes, mum,” he chuckled, earning a swat on the arm.

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The next day was their last before returning to school, and from the moment he woke up to the sensation of Hermione’s lips doing interesting things to his body, the time was spent making wonderful memories. They made slow, intimate love to one another, just savoring the reality that they were truly together. The afterglow was spent cuddling, with Hermione whispering soft endearments and gently wiping away the tears that were Harry’s reply, understanding that there would always be times when the echoes of his years living in a cupboard would make it difficult for him to express his feelings.

Some time later, as they were exiting the shared morning shower that had become somewhat traditional, their movement towards the stairs was arrested by the opening of a beroom door ahead of them and the sound of giggles that accompanied it. Harry glanced down at his girlfriend, his eyes wide. “You don’t think…?”

Hermione shushed him, and a moment later his question was answered as an extremely disheveled Ron exited his room with the arms of an even more rumpled Luna around his neck. He was too busy nibbling on her neck to notice his two friends watching him with almost identical smirks on their faces, but the blonde girl in his arms was under no such handicap. She giggled again as his lips found a particularly ticklish spot, and then in a calm tone of voice that was pure Lovegood, “Good morning, Harry, Hermione; did you sleep well?”

Ron’s head snapped up as he flushed the trademark Weasley red. “Um, hi, guys,” he mumbled.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “So, you two finally…talk things over, then?” he asked, enjoying his friend’s discomfiture.

“Uh, yeah,” Ron started to reply, only to turn an even more brilliant shade of red as Luna interrupted, “We didn’t talk terribly long, we were too busy having really great sex.” She turned a quizzical eye at her boyfriend as a strangled sound escaped his lips. “Didn’t you think so, Ronald? You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself; but then, I did lose count after the fourth time.”

Another voice joined the conversation as Ginny appeared in the door of her room. “Luna, you’re one of my best friends, but I really don’t need to hear the details of my brother’s love life, at least not before breakfast.”

Luna glanced back and forth between the youngest Weasley and her embarrassed boyfriend, her attention passing over the other couple snickering in the hall. “I suppose breakfast would be a good idea at that,” she said cheerfully, slipping out of Ron’s embrace and taking his hand. They do say it’s the most important meal of the day, especially for one’s stamina.”

Hermione poked Harry in the ribs. “Hear that? No more picking at your food in the morning for you!”

Harry put on a look of mild affront. “I don’t pick at my food,” he declared. “It’s just that next to Ron everyone looks like they have the appetite of a bird.”

“Hey!”

“They have a point, Ron,” his sister teased. “Even the house elves have to struggle to keep up with you,” she finished, exaggerating only slightly.

“Can I help it if I have a…what did you call it, Hermione, a fast metal-bowl-sum?”

“Metabolism, Ron,” Hermione clucked, her tone annoyed out of habit.

“Right, right, metabolism. Means I need to eat more, doesn’t it?”

Hermione was about to make another biting comment when Harry spoke up. “Ron, remember Ludo Bagman?”

Ron looked puzzled at the change of subject. “Yeah, what about him?”

Harry smiled. “Just that he used to be just like you, foodwise; thin as a rail and eating everything in sight. Kept him playing professional Quidditch long after his schoolmates Then his metabolism slowed down, but his appetite didn’t. I’ve seen the statistics, he went from 12 stone to 18 stone in less than a year, and his team cut him.”

“So what’s your point?” Ron grumbled, not liking the sudden focus on his eating habits.

“Just keep in mind that you won’t be able to eat like this forever, and enjoy it while you can,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Well, I would, if my friends would stop needling me about it,” Ron huffed, his grumpy expression suddenly disappearing. “Luna!” he squeaked, jumping away from where she’d just pinched him on the arse.

“Don’t worry, Ronald, I’ll make sure you burn off any extra calories,” she said dreamily.

Hermione glanced over and noted the somewhat wistful look on Ginny’s face as she watched her brother’s antics. Giving Harry’s hand a squeeze she slipped over to where she was standing. “Are you okay with them, Gin?” she whispered, slipping an arm around her shoulders and giving the younger girl a hug.

“Hm?” Ginny replied a bit distractedly as she watched her brother and his girlfriend head downstairs. “Oh…yes, I’m happy for them, just like I am for you and Harry,” she answered, trying to smile gamely. “I just wish there was someone who felt that way about me.”

“I thought you were interested in Dean Thomas?” Hermione asked, remembering her comments on the train.

“Oh, I just said that to wind Ron up. Well, that, and he was looking like he was going to try and push me and Harry together. I figured I’d better scotch that before it got started.” She looked up as Harry came over. “No offense, Harry, but I’d seen which way the wind was blowing in fourth year.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Was I really that blind?”

Ginny laughed as Hermione blushed. “Yeah, you were kind of dim, but that’s okay, we girls pretty much expect that from you guys. That’s why we’re always reading those articles in Witch Weekly, looking for ways to strike a spark without being too obvious.” Her smile turned wicked. “Of course, you were a special case; that’s why we talked Hermione into throwing out subtle and going for a ‘bludger to the head’ approach.”

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed, turning scarlet.

“What? It worked, didn’t it? And I don’t think Harry has any objections, do you, Harry?”

“Not a one,” Harry confirmed, slipping his arms around Hermione’s waist and kissing his blushing girlfriend on the top of the head. “Next time I’m being a blind prat, you feel free to be as obvious as you want, love,” he said magnanimously.

Ginny’s eyes went to where Hermione’s hands had joined Harry’s at her waist, and suddenly her eyes widened and she gasped as she caught the flash of facets on the third finger of Hermione’s left hand. “OhmiGod! Hermione, let me see!” she squealed, reaching out and grabbing her sister’s hand to get a better look. “Wow, that’s some ring! Harry, did you pick this out yourself?”

Harry blushed a little and shrugged. “Nothing but the best for my Hermione,” he said, earning a kiss from his fiancée.

“Well, you’ve got great taste,” Ginny confirmed. “Did you go to Winton’s for it? Aren’t they fabulous?”

“Pretty amazing,” Harry agreed. “Not only that, their heads are screwed on right.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

“I mean it takes more than a fancy name to impress them. While I was there I got to watch the Ferret being tossed out on his baby Death Eater arse for being obnoxious,” Harry explained.

“Ooh, I wish I’d had a chance to see that,” Hermione mused, missing it as Harry’s expression briefly darkened.

“Trust me, be glad you didn’t,” he said. “And besides,” he added a little more cheerfully, “if you’d been there, it would have spoiled the surprise.”

“I suppose,” she agreed, her voice colored with more than a touch of doubt.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Molly Weasley’s voice calling from below. “Ginny! Harry! Hermione! Come get your breakfast before someone here eats it all!”

“Mum, not you, too?” Ron’s voice whinged from the kitchen.

Laughing, the three teens headed downstairs to rescue their sustenance from Ron’s rapacious appetite.

Arriving in the kitchen, Ginny immediately returned to the previous topic. “Mum! Did you get to see it yet?” she asked, ignoring Hermione’s shushing sounds.

“See what, dear?” Molly asked, turning from the stove in time to see Ginny grab and raise Hermione’s left hand. “Oh, my! How exquisite!” She set the frying pan off the heat and bustled over, taking Hermione’s hand and gently moving it until the sunlight from the kitchen windows sparked fire from the stones. “Goodness, what a beautiful ring!” She smiled approvingly at Harry. “I told you that Winton’s would do you up proper, didn’t I?” Turning to Hermione, she drew her into a warm hug. “Congratulations, dear, I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione sniffed, and Molly’s expression clouded over a bit.

“Hermione, dear…” she started, and then hesitated briefly before continuing. “I know I said some dreadful things to you, and while I know we’ve patched things up between us, I wouldn’t blame you a bit if, deep down, you weren’t still mad at me.” She took a deep breath. “Even so, I would be deeply honored if you could bring yourself to…to call me Mum again.”

Hermione’s eyes teared up at Molly’s words, and at the nervous expression on the older woman’s face. “Are you sure, Mrs. Weasley?” she whispered. “Even after what I did, you still want me to call you Mum?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” Molly said firmly. “Besides, you know that as far as the Wizarding world is concerned, I am your mum in all but blood.” An earnest look crossed her face as she continued, “I’m not trying to replace your real mother, dear; anyone who knows you can see that your parents did a wonderful job of raising you, but there will very likely be times when you need the advice of someone who grew up in the magical world. I would be so proud if you would think of me as that person, that is, if you can find it in your heart to forgive a foolish old woman her temper.”

“You’re not old…Mum,” she replied as tears started down her cheeks, soon to be intermingled with Molly’s as the Weasley matriarch drew her adopted daughter into her embrace. Over Hermione’s shoulder she saw Harry mouthing “Thanks, Mum,” to her, and then she focused her attention on the young woman in her arms.

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That evening an impromptu engagement party was held at the Burrow, with all the Weasley siblings (save one) putting in an appearance to wish their adopted kin well. On such short notice a great many people who would have liked to attend were unable to do so, but those that could more than made up the difference in boisterous gaiety, especially after Fred and George hauled out one of their Deluxe Gala Party Packs of Weasley’s Whizbangs Fireworks. Huge colored starbursts, streamers, and comets illuminated the night sky over the Burrow in all the colors of the rainbow and a few extra that seemed have been invented especially for the occasion. For the finale the Twins persuaded Albus Dumbledore to set off an enormous rocket that turned into an incredibly lifelike Hungarian Horntail that swooped down over their heads, breathing sparks as if they were fire (“Got that idea from a Muggle fantasy novel,” Fred explained). Bill showed up with Fleur Delacour in tow halfway through the display, and Charlie showed up just in time to compliment his brothers on the lifelike quality of their handiwork.

Remus and Tonks put in an appearance as well, the older werewolf still looking a little drawn from his most recent transformation. Tonks’s squeal at the sight of Hermione’s ring would have done justice to the giddiest residents of the Gryffindor’s girl’s dorm, and she spent a good part of the evening doing her best to make Remus squirm with deliberately over-the-top hints about how it was ‘every woman’s dream’ to receive such a token from the man they loved. Unfortunately for her, she’d forgotten that she was keeping company with the last of the Marauders, and so was unprepared when he orchestrated a little surprise for her.

Tonks was sitting on the couch with Hermione, once again admiring her ring and loudly lamenting that in the risky profession of an Auror, it was unlikely she would live long enough to ever receive such a token from a man. No sooner had the words left her lips that Fred and George appeared before her, with matching grins that rapidly changed into looks of total adoration.

Fred was the first to move, dropping to one knee before the gobsmacked Auror. “Nymphadora, my love, make me the happiest man on earth!” he caroled, holding up before him a flashy monstrosity of a ring that was either a fake or was worth more than the famous Koh-I-Noor Diamond that was part of England’s crown jewels.

Before she could speak George elbowed his brother out of the way. “Don’t listen to him, my Nymph! Choose me, and I will shower you with riches!” he cried, holding up an exact duplicate of Fred’s ring.

Tonks was clearly struggling to keep from exploding, whether from anger or laughter was anyone’s guess, when Charlie Weasley, his dragonleathers freshly polished with scourgifying spells, dropped to his knee next to George, and in a voice roughened by the fumes from dragon’s fire, said, “Tonks, beautiful Tonks, Aurora of the Aurors, ignore these callow youths and come away with me to the far mountains, where we will live in happiness and freedom!” A third copy of the same ring appeared in his hands.

The target of all these protestations of devotion was clearly losing the battle to maintain her composure when the final prong of the assault arrived. A slightly deeper Weasley voice joined the mix as Bill elbowed his was between Charlie and George. “Pay no attention to them, my purple-haired pixie of passion,” he said in his most suave manner. “Be mine, and fill my nights with delight!” By now it was almost anticlimactic as a fourth copy of the ring appeared.

“What’s this, what’s this?” the mellow voice of Remus Lupin asked in mock affront as he appeared behind Tonks. “Is there something that perhaps I should know about, dear?”

The eccentric young auror (whose hair at the moment was, indeed, purple) grinned up at her lover and then, in a surprisingly sweet voice that surprised many of the people in the room, sang,

“So I want to warn you, laddies,
Tho' I know you’re perfectly swell
That my heart belongs to Woofie!”

As the last word passed her lips Tonks reached behind her and snagged Remus’s robes, eliciting a little yip of surprise from him as she yanked him over the back of the couch and tumbled him haphazardly into her arms. Before he could recover from his startlement her mouth was on his, and the whole room whistled, applauded and cheered as she proceeded to do her best to snog him senseless.

Ron and Luna were standing with their arms around each other’s waists in the archway that led to the kitchen, watching the antics in the living room with smiles on their faces. The sound of someone clearing their throat caught their attention, and they turned to see Ron’s mother looking at them with a happy smile on her face. She sniffled a little and then said, “I just wanted to tell you, Ron, and you, too, Luna dear, How very happy I am for the two of you. With everyone celebrating Harry and Hermione’s Joining and engagement, well, I didn’t want you two to think I was forgetting about you, and that yesterday was special for you as well.”

Ron blushed the bright red of the Weasley complexion as Luna smiled widely, hugging her boyfriend closer to her. “Mum, you’re not disappointed we didn’t do the Bonding, too, are you? Because Luna and I, we’re not…I mean, it’s not that I don’t, because I do, y’know, it’s just…” He stumbled to halt as his girlfriend ended his rambling by kissing him on the cheek, and Molly smiled.

“No, dear, I’m not disappointed at all; I much prefer that my children take things one step at a time, so that they don’t trip and make mistakes, rather than rush headlong into decisions that will change their lives.” She sighed, her gaze wandering to the gardens where the newly affianced couple had gone for a walk to escape the Burrow’s chaos for a while. “I would’ve wished that Harry and Hermione could have had that same chance, but their Joining is a special case.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it seems that everything in Harry’s life ends up somehow being a special case…”

Ron chuckled. “Well Mum, somehow I think this is one special case that Harry isn’t going to be too upset about, if you know what I mean.”

Luna’s slightly hysterical giggles joined Molly’s more mature laughter, with Ron swept up by the infectious nature of the sound, while out in the garden the objects of their happiness continued on, oblivious to everything but each other.

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Harry’s arm was draped possessively around Hermione’s shoulders as they wandered the paths of the Weasley’s garden. “I can’t believe we’ll be headed back to school tomorrow,” he murmured. “So much has changed in such a short time…in a good way,” he added as he sensed the question she was hesitant to ask. “But it makes it seem like it’s been years we’ve been away, not weeks, y’know?” He felt more than saw her nod and muttered, “I hate the idea that we have to give up sharing a room together; I’ve gotten rather used to waking up next to you…”

“We’ll find some way to be together, Harry, “ Hermione promised, trying to reassure her boyfriend. “I’m not sure just how, yet, but it’ll work out, it has to.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “And besides, you still have the Marauder’s Map and your father’s invisibility cloak, don’t you?”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and looked down at his girlfriend in mock surprise. “Why Miss Granger, you wouldn’t be suggesting we break the rules, are you? And you a prefect? I’m shocked!”

“Only in a good cause, Mister Potter,” she huffed, her voice assuming a haughty tone he could tell was false. “You do consider spending time with me to be a good cause, don’t you?” she added teasingly, and at the same time far more seriously, as a touch of her old insecurities about their relationship crept into her voice.

“That’s not a good cause for rule-breaking, that’s the best cause,” he replied, putting as much of his feelings for her into his voice as he could. Apparently she heard it, too, as she sighed and relaxed against him.

The last few weeks had been heaven, but she knew that their vacation from the problems that faced them was almost over. The same forces that had conspired to bring about Sirius’s death were still out there, despite their silence over the summer. Voldemort was still out there; the loss of so many of his closest supporters might have temporarily crippled his plans, but it wouldn’t have stopped them. There was no doubt in Hermione’s mind that the Dark Lord would still consider Harry to be a major thorn in his side, even if he didn’t know the full contents of the prophecy. Whatever else he had planned, Harry, and those close to him, would remain prime targets in his obsessive quest for power. The crippling burden that had been crushing Harry at the beginning of the summer still remained, the only difference was that now that she knew the truth, she could help him bear that burden.

Hermione also knew he wouldn’t want her to risk herself for his sake, but Harry only thought he’d seen her stubborn streak in the past. If he thought she could be passionate about the lives and happiness of oppressed beings like the house elves, he would discover the order of magnitude difference that would surface when she displayed her passion for his life and happiness. He would emerge victorious over Voldemort, and she and he would go on to live a long and happy life together, one where he could finally heal from the wounds inflicted on his soul by being chosen by Fate to be the Boy Who Lived. No other outcome was acceptable.

Harry smiled as he felt her arms tighten around his waist. Sometimes he had a hard time remembering just what he had been going through a few short weeks before. Oh, the memories were intact, but the emotions, the great bleeding wounds that had been torn in his soul by Sirius’s death and by what he felt was his responsibility for it, had begun to heal. There were scars, of course; new scars to add to the multitude that served as a roadmap to his past, from his earliest memories of going to sleep cold and hungry in the cupboard under the stairs to his feelings of anger and betrayal at Dumbledore when he finally told Harry the truth, but for the first time there was something to soothe those scars, to soothe the ache that rose in his heart when he thought about his life. The warm presence that was currently nestled against his side, and that had nestled herself within his heart. He still felt like a complete dunderhead when he thought of how oblivious he’d been to how much she meant to him, but at least he knew it now, and he would to whatever it took—whatever it took, to keep her safe. If that meant he had to find the way to rid the world of Tom Riddle once and for all, and throw every one of his surviving minions into the deepest pit in Azkaban prison, well, he hoped Tom had his last will and testament filled out and ready to go.

They reached the arbor at the far side of the Weasleys’ garden, the one that just coincidentally was positioned to give anyone sitting within it a bit of privacy from their surroundings. Hermione didn’t have to tug very hard on Harry’s hand to persuade his to sit for a bit as she settled into his lap. After a bit of tender kissing that never quite descended into full-blown snogging she leaned her head on his shoulder, enjoying the peace and quiet, the faint scent of night-blooming flowers, the slight chill of the evening air, and the comforting warmth radiating from the young man whose arms encircled her waist.

She stiffened slightly as a brief spike in the noise coming from the Burrow told her that a door had opened and closed, and shortly thereafter the sound of soft footsteps on the gravel path told the young lovers that someone was approaching. A moment later the figure of Albus Dumbledore came into sight around the corner of the hedge that helped shelter the arbor from prying eyes. “Ah, Harry, Hermione, there you are! I did hope to find you alone; might I interrupt your evening for a brief word?” He saw the brief look of irritation that crossed both his students’ faces at his intrusion and smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily. “I promise you, it will be a welcome intrusion.”

Harry glanced at his fiancée and, seeing the agreement in her eyes, nodded at the headmaster. “I suppose a few minutes won’t matter,” he said, his tone cool. His feelings towards Dumbledore were still wildly ambivalent, whipsawing at times between gratitude and resentment for all the old wizard had done. The rational, logical part of his mind, the part that most often spoke with Hermione’s voice, accepted that everything the headmaster had done had been done with the best of intentions for the wizarding world at large. However, the voice of his emotions, the one that sounded like himself, and on occasion like Ron, was fond of pointing out which road was paved with good intentions, feeding the lingering resentment he felt for the perceived manipulation of his life. At the moment that voice was the louder of the two, and it was only the comforting presence of Hermione at his side that kept him from openly glowering at the wizard who was the closest thing to a grandfather he’d ever known.

The object of his mixed feelings led the way back towards the Burrow, and then surprised the young lovers by turning aside at the last moment and moving instead to Arthur Weasley’s shed and its somewhat infamous collection of Muggle artifacts. Once inside the professor magically expanded the small bit of uncluttered floor space and then conjured several comfortable, overstuffed chairs before casting silencing and locking charms on the doors and walls. “Now then,” he said amiably as he took one chair and Harry and Hermione shared another, “we can talk without fear of being disturbed or overheard.

“First of all, allow me to reiterate my earlier congratulations to you both on your engagement. I can tell that it has only strengthened and deepened the bond you share, one that is, frankly, remarkable even within the Wizarding world,” he said with a smile as the young couple blushed. “Second, on a somewhat more serious note, I’m quite certain it will come as no surprise to either of you that the blood protections that protected Harry at his relatives’ home have now completely collapsed, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, have transferred and integrated themselves with the wards surrounding the Burrow.”

A small frown appeared on Harry’s face. “Does that mean the Dursleys are defenseless now? That the Death Eaters can just waltz in and kill them if they want?”

“Would that bother you, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, his expression unreadable as he answered Harry’s question with one of his own. “Given their treatment of you in the past, very few people would blame you if you were indifferent to their fate.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “Just because I don’t like someone doesn’t mean I want them dead,” he replied. “I mean, sure, Uncle Vernon and Dudley are about as unlikable as two people can get, and Aunt Petunia’s no prize either…but she’s still my mum’s sister. So, yeah, it would bother me if they were killed just because they were related to me.” The last words came out more bitter than he’d intended, but the dark expression on his face faded as Hermione squeezed his hand.

Dumbledore nodded, his expression more open and approving now that Harry had answered him. “You will be glad to know, then, that the Order has no intention of withdrawing its protections from your relatives, now or in the foreseeable future. The blood wards, of course, cannot be restored, nor would I suggest it even if it were possible, but the protections that guarded them while you were away at school each year will remain in place.” He paused in thought, and then nodded. “And while I will not reveal any of the particulars involved, I will attempt to find some means to allow Tom’s agents ‘discover’ that you have left your relatives’ home for good. I believe that will be enough to ensure their ongoing safety, insofar as anyone can be deemed to be safe in these times.”

Harry just nodded, and Hermione picked up the thread of the conversation. “Was that all you wanted to talk to us about, Professor?”

The headmaster’s eyes twinkled a bit brighter as he shook his head. “No, Miss Granger, it is not…I wonder, would you mind terribly if I addressed you by your Christian name? It feels somewhat odd to do so for Harry and at the same time remain on such…formal terms where you are concerned.”

“That would be fine, Professor,” she replied, blushing a bit.

“Ah, thank you for the courtesy; I assure you, it is fully appreciated. To answer your question, Hermione, I have been able to ascertain some of the answers to the questions raised by the Weasley’s family wards, and while much remains to be discovered, what I have learned, combined with the developments between yourself and Harry over the summer, made it imperative that I talk to the both of you before your return to Hogwarts.”

Harry and Hermione both perked up at his words. They had both felt the power of the wards as the magic of the Heart Circle enveloped them, and Hermione at least had suspicions about some of the after-effects of being connected to such powerful and ancient enchantments. As for Harry, his awareness of the wards was far more instinctual in nature. The feeling of security and of acceptance that had always washed over him while staying at the Burrow had become far stronger after the Bonding Hermione had performed, and those feelings had only intensified when they had reaffirmed their commitment with the Joining.

Hermione was the first to speak, voicing the question that was paramount in both her and Harry’s minds. “Are the wards at the Burrow going to be strong enough to replace the protections he had with the Dursleys, Professor?”

“I believe there is very little doubt that they will perform in that manner admirably,” the headmaster confirmed. “However, as I suspected, there is far more involved in the Weasley family wards than mere protection. I am quite certain, Hermione, that you will find that whether by chance or intuition, what you accomplished with the Bonding will have far-reaching ramifications for both you and Harry.”

Steepling his fingers under his chin, the professor elaborated, “I believe I mentioned at our earlier meeting that the Weasley bloodline’s occupation of the Burrow’s environs stretched back to Anglo-Saxon times, well over 1500 years ago, and it was in part this unbroken line that accounted for the strength and complexity of the wards surrounding their lands?” He paused long enough for Harry and Hermione to nod, and then continued. “I have since learned that my supposition was not entirely accurate. The Anglo-Saxon lineage of the Weasleys does indeed extend to those times, but they did not simply take over abandoned or empty land, nor did they usurp it from its rightful owners. Rather they married into the family that already lived here, one whose oral traditions spoke of a bloodline reaching back to the Beaker people and beyond, to the witches and wizards who raised the great stone circles such as Avebury and Stonehenge.”

“Mrs. Weasley never mentioned that,” Hermione interjected. “She told me that the wards on the land were very old, but I just assumed that the family found the Heart Circle when they moved here and used it as the focus when they set up their own wards.”

“No doubt that is the case with a great many Pureblood families,” Dumbledore agreed, still smiling. “For example, the Malfoys only arrived in this country as part of the Norman forces of William the Conqueror, and I seriously doubt that the Saxon family whose lands they stole ever welcomed them into the fold. However, between what Arthur was able to tell me and what the wards would allow me as a non-Weasley to determine, I would estimate that the lineage extends back at least 4000 years, quite remarkable, really,” he concluded in a truly magnificent example of the art of understatement.

Something about the way Dumbledore worded his explanation caught Harry’s attention. “Professor? It sounds like, uh, from the way you’re wording it, that the wards are, well, alive,” he finished lamely, somewhat embarrassed when he realized just how crazy he sounded.

His embarrassment vanished, however, when the professor nodded his head. “That is quite correct, Harry, though perhaps the term should be aware rather than alive. Any magical construct that exists for a great enough length of time tends to become ‘aware’ as the magic with which it is imbued evolves. You’ve both experienced the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, and I’m sure, felt the presence that resides within the fabric of Hogwarts itself. The Room of Requirement is just one of the ways the school demonstrates its awareness of the needs of its inhabitants.”

The headmaster frowned slightly. “Unfortunately, the school also suffers from a certain amount of…ambiguity as to purpose at times. The Founders each had their own vision as to what the school should be to its inhabitants, hence the four houses. Most of the time the differences between the houses complement one another, much like a team-of-four pulling a carriage. But occasionally the intentions of the Founders become at cross purposes to one another, and until some external force tips the balance, the school, for the lack of a better term…dithers. It is at those times that the school’s inhabitants are most vulnerable to corruption and divisiveness, if not outright attack. Until such time as those of us who are part of Hogwarts are able to re-establish a consensus, the school’s metaphorical hands are tied.”

“That’s how that woman was able to gain control, wasn’t it?” Hermione asked, making the connection while at the same time continuing her habit of never uttering Umbridge’s name. “Tom’s actions as the Heir of Slytherin must have strained the Founders’ alliance; that’s why the Sorting Hat keeps singing about restoring unity between the houses. It’s speaking for the school!”

“Very good, Hermione,” Dumbledore twinkled as she blushed. “If we were at Hogwarts I would say take 20 points for Gryffindor, but as we are not, my approbation will have to suffice.” He leaned back into his chair, his expression a bit more serious though the twinkle that was almost his trademark did not fade. “Now with that as a basis, I believe I can explain some of what has happened as far as the Burrow’s wards are concerned.

“As you have both suspected, the wards at the Burrow are indeed aware of their charges, and what is more, aware of their purpose, or perhaps I should say, purposes.” He nodded as Hermione’s attention perked up at his choice of wording. “The witches and wizards who cast the original wards were exceedingly clever, and since the line has remained unbroken, and each generation has enforced and enhanced them, the original intent has remained in place.”

He paused again, and Harry round himself growing irritated at the professor’s continuing procrastination. Besides, five years of being forced to listen to Professor Binns’ mind-numbing lectures had left him more than a little impatient with anything that smacked of pedantic long-windedness. “Professor, please, what exactly do the wards do?”

“Quite right, Harry; I tend to forget that not everyone shares my passion for the intricacies of ancient enchantments. One final bit of history behind how the wards came to be, and then I will explain what I have gleaned of their construction.

“At the time the Weasley’s Heart Circle was erected and the wards were created, the island that was to become Great Britain was the home of numerous different, and often antagonistic, ethnic groups, those that Muggle archaeologists would identify by names such as Picts, Celts, Aryans, Beaker people, Paleolithic hunter-gatherers and Neolithic farmers, all competing for land and resources, and in the midst of it all ,the ancestors of out own Wizarding world who were almost as culturally divided as the Muggles were.

“Whoever settled on this land realized this, and was wise enough to recognize that it was likely that some of these groups would intermarry, bringing their differing cultures in close proximity and possible conflict. So they set up an additional function to those portions of the wards that were concerned with admitting new members into the ‘family’” The professor paused, his piercing gaze fixing on the young woman before him as he continued.

“Hermione, when you performed the Bonding, you triggered that function. Unions such as yours and Harry’s were often intended to cement alliances, but with magical couples, friction between the handfasted couple could degrade, even fracture the wards. So the wards encourage understanding between the Bonded couple, by making the Bond an empathic one as well as a magical one.”

Harry had to think for a minute before the term clicked in his head. Not surprisingly, it was something that Hermione had said about understanding the plight of the house elves that he remembered. “So, it’s supposed to make it easier to understand what your partner is feeling?” he asked. “Seems kind of trivial…”

Professor Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a tsking sound from Hermione. “Harry, think about it; suppose, say, for some reason the Weasleys and a family like the Malfoys had to form an alliance. Can you imagine what would happen if Draco and Ginny were forced to marry?”

“You mean before or after Ginny performed a double orchidectomy on the Ferret?” Harry snickered.

Hermione gave him a quick slap on the shoulder. “I’m serious! Without some common ground, they’d be miserable at best, always at each other’s throat….not a very promising start for any marriage, but for one with the pressures of a family alliance as well? It really is a clever idea, at least on the surface.” Her own face took on a doubtful look. “I’m just not sure why this would be so important to us; we understand each other pretty well, not like it would be if I’d Bonded with, say, Ron…” she shuddered and the professor took the opportunity to seize the helm of the conversation.

“Once again, there seems to be a great many hidden layers to the wards, many of which refuse to reveal themselves to someone not of the family, but from what I am able to determine, the bond forged by and with the wards will, I suppose the best term is, encourage you to enhance each other’s strengths, as well as draw from one another to overcome your own weaknesses.”

Hermione bristled slightly at the veiled suggestion behind Dumbledore’s words, but before she could respond Harry asked her question for her. “Can you give us some examples of what you’re talking about?”

“I believe so, Harry,” Dumbledore nodded. “These are extremely broad generalizations, of course, but they should convey my meaning. You, Harry, are a powerful wizard whose instinctive grasp of complex magics is, quite frankly, remarkable. You were able to learn how to conjure a corporeal Patronus in your third year, a skill whose necessity in the upcoming war can hardly be overstated. Not only that, but you have been able to impart your knowledge to fellow students. What you may not realize is just how rare a skill that is; only a fraction of fully trained Aurors ever masters it, certainly a lower percentage than you achieved in the DA. Yet you find yourself struggling with the simplest spells most First or Second Year students learn quite easily. Only by availing yourself of Hermione’s discipline were you able to master those basic charms that have more than once saved your life.”

Harry found himself nodding as well; on more than one occasion he’d been frustrated by the difficulty he had performing simple charms and spells, especially when compared with the ease others came to him, especially in life-or-death situations. ‘Nothing like having the most evil wizard in the world trying to kill you to sharpen your skills,’ he thought with a certain amount of irony. To Dumbledore he said, “Do you have any idea why that is, sir?”

“I have my suspicions, but they are not relevant to our current conversation,” the headmaster replied. “However, I would be greatly surprised if one of the side effects of the empathic nature of the Bonding was not a marked increase in your ability to focus on your academic efforts, without the need of this young lady to, what was it Mr. Weasley said, ‘browbeat’ you into applying yourself to your work.” He chuckled as the young couple blushed before laughing themselves.

“That explains what I get out of it,” Harry said after their laughter died down, “But it seems kind of one-sided; I don’t see how Hermione gets anything in return.” He shrugged depreciatingly as his girlfriend tried to voice her objections. “Let’s face it, Hermione, I’m nowhere near as smart as you; I probably wouldn’t have even managed an ‘A’ on half my OWLs if not for your help.”

“Now you listen to me, Harry Potter!” Hermione answered him sternly. “What I told you our first year is just a true today as it was then; there’s more to being a great wizard than books and cleverness; you’re a far greater wizard than I’ll ever be, and I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down again, do you hear me?”

Harry started to shake his head doubtfully, but was interrupted by Dumbledore clearing his throat. ”I would listen to what your fiancée has to say, Harry; while I hesitate to say anything critical of her accomplishments, Hermione does suffer the vices of her virtues, as do we all. Certainly there is much she can gain from being joined with you.” When Harry continued to look unconvinced, he continued, his attention shifting to the young woman at Harry side. “You already seem to be aware of some of this, Hermione; a tendency, perhaps, to be at times too sure of your convictions?”

Hermione blushed as she nodded before turning her gaze back to her fiancé. “It’s true, Harry, you know it is; I do have strong convictions, and am not afraid to back them up with actions. I’m not ashamed of that, but sometimes I forget that other people can have equally strong beliefs that are just as valid as mine, even if I’m too stubborn to admit it.” Harry frowned and started to open his mouth before she shushed him. “When you saw how Dobby was being treated, you didn’t make up buttons or petitions, or come up with wild, impractical plans to change the face of the world overnight, you just found a way to free him from the Malfoys. You did what needed to be done, right then, to help someone you cared about.” She shook her head and blushed a little. “If it had been me, he’d probably still be their slave, not because I cared any less, but because I would’ve just charged ahead, full of righteous indignation, and not accomplished a thing.”

Before they could become deeper involved in their discussion, Dumbledore interrupted. “In time I am sure the two of you will find a great many ways in which you complement each other. That is the way in which it works in all solid relationships. However, there is one other facet that should be addressed, one that is unique to your situation.” He looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry’s cheerful demeanor darkened immediately. “Voldemort,” he said, his tone flat and bitter.

“Precisely, Harry; one of the greatest concerns facing you has been the connection that was forged between the two of you the night he gave you that scar, and Tom’s ability to use that connection to exert influence over you. I cannot tell you how relieved I was when you demonstrated that the Bond formed between you and Hermione is providing you with some protection, but I wished to determine as much as possible about that protection’s nature before discussing any further plans with you. Fortunately Arthur was able to shed some light on the matter, and with his cooperation I was able to discern even more from the wards themselves.

“As Hermione suspected, the wards do indeed act to protect you from Tom’s efforts to manipulate you. My first belief was that it was a simple matter of protection against one more form of attack, but it seems there is more to it than that. From their reactions to my own investigations, I would say that the wards are inclined to resent any attempts by those they do not recognize as part of the family to intrude on their charges. Only the benign nature of my investigations prevented them from responding more forcibly to my own inquiries, and I daresay that Tom would fare even more poorly should he once again try to control you, especially while you are within the family wards.”

Harry considered the professor’s words for a moment. “Does that mean I don’t have to study Occlumency any more?” he asked, seeing a possible escape from the punishing sessions inflicted on him by the potions master, but to his disappointment Dumbledore shook his head.

“While I believe the Bonding will continue to provide you some protection from the link that was forged between yourself and Tom, the nature of your role in the upcoming struggle makes your mastering of Occlumency a continuing priority,” the professor replied, and then smiled. “However, I do believe it will now be possible to take up your education myself, so long as the link between yourself and Hermione continues to shield you from Tom’s efforts. Which brings us at last to the real reason I asked to have this chat with you.” Dumbledore paused in a manner recognizable to those familiar with his penchant for the dramatic. “Have you and Hermione given any thought to your living arrangements upon your return to Hogwarts?”

The young couple glanced at each other and blushed; they’d enjoyed sharing a room (and a bed) at the Burrow, but had already resigned themselves to being separated on their return to school. The last thing they had expected was for the headmaster to so bluntly discuss such a delicate matter with them. “We figured we’d be back in our dorms as usual,” Harry admitted after a moment. “We know the only students who get private quarters are the Head Boy and Girl, and even they have separate rooms,” Hermione added.

“That is essentially, but not absolutely, correct,” Dumbledore replied. “Hogwarts has existed for many hundreds of years and while customs have changed over the centuries, the rules governing the school have not.” At his students’ puzzled looks he continued, “There was a time when Bonded, handfasted and married couples were a far more common occurrence among the later year students than they are now. And while it has been some eighty years since the last such couple attended the school, the rules have never changed. Students in a formalized relationship are granted accommodations commensurate with their status. In your case, the fact that you share the same House simplifies matters immensely. I have already instructed the house elves to make the necessary changes, and you will find the accommodations waiting for you after the Sorting Feast.”

“Huh?” Harry said, puzzled, before his attention was distracted by Hermione’s happy squeal. He watched in amazement as she jumped up and hugged the headmaster, and for the first time he could remember saw the old wizard actually look flustered when she kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, thank you, Professor!” she cried before turning and flinging her arms around Harry’s neck. “Don’t you understand, Harry? We get out own chambers! We don’t have to be separated!”

Harry’s expression was decidedly stunned as he unconsciously settled Hermione in his lap. He’d already resigned himself to prolonged periods when he and Hermione would be unable to be together, so to have all his hopes on the matter suddenly granted was more than a little bit of a shock. “Are you sure about this, Professor? The Board of Regents or the Ministry won’t kick up a fuss?”

“Whether they do or not, and the likelihood at his time is definitely not, the opinions of the Regents or the Ministry are irrelevant on this matter. Hogwarts policy on such unions is set down in the school’s charter, and is binding on all official representatives of the school.” He smiled as Harry’s expression transformed into one that matched his fiancée’s for pure happiness. “In this, at least, you will not have to worry. Concentrate on exploring and strengthening the Bond that joins you together, and as you do so, know that Hogwarts will support and defend your right to do so.”

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FIN

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part Two: There you have it, the conclusion to ‘Intervention’, a long way from the 5000 or so words I originally envisioned for this work. This, however, is only Part One. Part Two will continue after I take a hopefully short hiatus from posting to work out some plot elements. It took me close to 80,000 words to cover the last few weeks of summer, the gods alone know what’ll happen if I don’t frame the next part out better beforehand.

Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, from the insightful to the just plain flattering. It’s the reviews from appreciate readers that are the real lifeblood of fanfic.

~Fenris~

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part Two

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