1. Black and White

The final battle is over, and Harry has won. But now he has another challenge facing him. A challenge where magic can't help him. He has to be brave for her. H/Hr.

I own nothing, and I'm not making any money from this. Please don't sue.

White.

It was the first thing he saw. The white blankness of the hospital ward. He sat up and looked around, searching for some type of reminder that would tell him what day it was. How long he'd been here.

May 23, 2006.

Only one day, he thought to himself. But that one day had made the difference. He could hardly believe that it had just been yesterday that he had met his fate. It felt distant, yet burned painfully in his mind. Voldemort was gone. It didn't feel real. But as Harry James Potter recalled the events of the previous night, he felt all the pain all over again. He remembered.

Hermione.

Harry laid back down slowly at the thought. He remembered how bravely she'd fought. He remembered how she had been there the whole time. He remembered how she had thrown herself in front of the black light, to save him. To give him one last chance. Tears clouded his vision. But somehow, he felt that she wasn't gone. He still could somehow feel her presence.

He knew she was there.

Though his mind was cloudy, thoughts began racing through his head. Hermione got hit with black light. My parents, Cedric, everyone I saw die was hit with green light. Avada Kedavra is green.

Could she possibly still be alive?

He sat up again, quickly this time. He was hit with a sudden dizziness and fell back. But the noise had been heard, and Madame Pomfrey was on her way.

"Well," she said as she bustled around, taking Harry's vitals. "We're awake, now are we. You're going to be fine, but there were some nasty curses you got hit with. I wanted to give you a memory erasement charm, but nooo, Dumbledore wants you to remember, to know, to understand..."

She continued, talking more to herself than to Harry.

"But all that trauma, I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't remember anything anyway. You'll need to get over the stress, you won't be able to convey feelings, you probably don't remember any..."

"Hermione."

Madame Pomfrey turned with a start. She looked at Harry as though he had just sprouted six more heads.

"Hermione," he insisted.

"Now Harry, you need to rest and not worry your head, you'll have enough to worry about once you regain your rational thought."

Much to her surprise, he sat up determinedly, and spoke in an unexpectedly even, steady tone.

"I have my rational thought. And I remember everything. I remember the battle. I remember when he died. And I remember Hermione jumping in front of a black stream of light from his wand. A curse. I remember everything. Now I just want to know. Is Hermione alive?"

Madame Pomfrey looked at Harry again. She absentmindedly began checking his vitals again. But he refused to give up.

"Is. Hermione. Dead."

Madame Pomfrey sighed. She went over to the fireplace, and kneeled next to it.

"Professor Dumbledore," she called into the fire.

A very old, tired, yet still very alive Dumbledore appeared in the flames.

"Yes, Poppy?"

"It's Harry Potter. He's awake, and speaking. He's asking for Miss Granger."

There was a pop, and the fireplace flames burst forth higher than ever. Professor Dumbledore stepped out into the hospital wing, his face gray but his eyes sparkling. Madame Pomfrey pointed toward the bed where Harry sat very stiffly.

"Harry," Dumbledore declared. "Madame Pomfrey seems to believe that you are awake. I find that quite obvious myself. Although it is surprising that you are speaking so soon, many people in situations as precarious as yours was..."

"Professor. I know how precarious my situation was. I remember everything. I don't care how surprising it is that I'm speaking! The point is that I am, and nobody is listening! I just want to know whether Hermione Granger is alive or dead. Please."

Dumbledore sighed, and sat down on the bed. He looked at Harry with understanding eyes. Harry sat up straighter, and used his last bit of resolve to reiterate.

"Please."

"Headmaster, the boy is fragile-"

"I am NOT FRAGILE!!! And don't talk about me like I'm not here! I'm here! My head is working fine! And I asked a simple question! And the answer means everything to me! Please tell me. IS SHE ALIVE OR NOT!!!" Harry sounded furious, and his voice was filled with desperation. "Headmaster. I need to know. After everything I've been through. After everything that she went through that was my fault. Please tell me. I can take it. I need to know, Professor."

Professor Dumbledore looked at Harry, and then at Madame Pomfrey.

"Poppy, the boy needs to know. He has every right. Would you please excuse us for a minute? I want to talk to Harry, alone."

Madame Pomfrey, defeated and frustrated, threw up her hands and left the room, mumbling to herself. Dumbledore watched her leave, and then turned his attention back to Harry, who was still stiffly sitting on the bed.

"Hermione." Harry wasted no time. Dumbledore would tell him, he just knew.

"I know that you are very concerned about Hermione. Madame Pomfrey had her reasons for not wanting to tell you, but it is not because Hermione is dead. Much to the contrary, in fact. Hermione Granger is alive, but barely. She is unconscious. The curse that she was hit with was extremely strong Dark magic, and its long-term effects are unknown. We do not know when or if she will wake, and if she does, we have no idea in what mental or emotional state she will be. Most of the curse's victims do not live past the initial hit to tell the tale."

Tears once again welled up in Harry's eyes. Tears of happiness, because she wasn't dead, but tears of grief, because he had no idea how she was. Would she ever wake up? Would she recognize him? Would she ever have the ability to think like she once had? Was it possible that she would still die? Harry, overtaken with feeling, could not speak.

"Hermione survived the blast, however. She was protected by devotion. You didn't want her to die, and Fawkes felt that devotion. He died in her place, but was not able to protect her from the rest of the curse. Now, Harry, the possibility still exists that she may not live. But Madame Pomfrey believes that she will. What we are most worried about, however, is in what condition she will be when she awakes. Madame Pomfrey did not want to tell you, because she did not want you to become depressed during your own recovery. I am very sorry to say that Miss Granger may not ever be able to think in the same way again. She may have lost her ability to speak. This is the worst case, however. I am trying to prepare you, because I know that the next thing out of your mouth will be "when can I see her". She may be able to recover, but to do that, she needs positive energy. The effects of this type of curse can be lessened by love. Dark wizards have no love, and no defense against it. The most important thing for us to do for her, if anything, is to love her. Still, she may never be the way she once was. But Harry, it was you who saved her. Your devotion to her brought Fawkes."

Harry felt a huge lump in his throat. "No, I didn't! I didn't save her. I put her in that situation. If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't be almost dead. It is my fault that she isn't up in the common room right now, reading Hogwarts, A History for the 16 thousandth time! It is all my fault!" He took in a shaky sigh. He fought back the tears that were stinging his eyes. "I want to see her. I want to tell her I'm sorry. I need her to know. If she dies before I get to say I'm sorry..." His body racked him with sobs.

"She won't, Harry. You may see her, but remember, love is the only thing that has a chance at saving her. You have to be there for her. She may be competent in mind. We don't know. If she can think, hearing your voice will give her the strength to fight. If she cannot, it will still help her. And you. You may see her." With that, he stood up, a tiny crystal tear in his eye. He helped Harry up, and led him into another room. Madame Pomfrey stood by, clicking her tongue in displeasure.

"Are you sure, Headmaster? I don't think-"

"Poppy, Harry needs to see her. And she needs him. You and I both know that. He needs to go."

Weakly, Harry followed Professor Dumbledore into a slightly darker room. There, on a bed, laying very still, was Hermione.

2. Heartbeat

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Harry looked at Hermione, laying motionless on the bed. Defenseless. Vulnerable. He tried to walk toward her, but his

knees gave way. He once again was overtaken by tears. Dumbledore patted Harry on the back, and helped him up. He coaxed Harry into an easy chair that Dumbledore had just transfigured next to Hermione's bed. Dumbledore glanced over at Hermione, and then at Harry. Two of the best students Hogwarts had ever seen.

"Harry, are you going to be alright? I think that it would be best for me to leave you alone with Hermione, so you can talk to her. I don't know whether she can hear clearly, and it is almost definite that she cannot comprehend at this point, but the sound of your voice will still help her. It will also help you. Would you like for me to leave?" the old Headmaster said, gently.

Harry slowly looked up. His face was tear-stained, and the words did not come easily.

"Yes. Please. I want to talk to her..."

Dumbledore patted him on the back again, and then placed a hand gently on Hermione's forehead. With a tired expression, but still that same old glint in his eye, he turned and walked toward the door. He turned the knob and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Harry sat in silence for several minutes. He slowly lifted his eyes, red from crying, to look at Hermione's motionless form. Her face, though pale, looked radiant with life. Her light brown curls spilled unkempt onto the white pillow. Her eyes were closed, and she lay in a simple nightgown with the sheets up slightly past her waist. Harry observed her in silence. He looked at her face. She looked innocent, angelic even. It lacked the seriousness that was so very Hermione. Hermione had always been intense. Intense in concentration, like when she did her homework. Intense in anger, like when she yelled at Ron. Intense in fear, like her eyes when she hid from the troll. She was even intense in happiness. Harry's mind wandered back to second year. Seeing her like this. Frozen in time. She was like this when she was Petrified. It was after that that he saw her intense happiness. When she had been released from the hospital wing, and she ran into the Great Hall and leaped into Harry's arms. His thoughts took him back to the present, staring at her form, lifeless yet full of life. Would she ever be able to do homework again? To yell at Ron? To hide? Or to leap into Harry's arms? He liked to have her in his arms. It was there that he could protect her. There they both felt safe. Just like a brother and sister should, he consciously thought. But his subconscious mind took over. He knew that his devotion toward her was not brother-sister. He didn't know why it was, but he knew it was. Overcome with emotion, he moved his chair closer to the bed, and spoke, shakily at first, but getting stronger.

"Hermione. I... I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. This is all my fault. If it wasn't for me, you would be fine. You wouldn't be lying here, hit with Unforgivables. You wouldn't be in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey wouldn't be predicting your death. It's all my fault, everything is. I caused you so much pain. You shouldn't have been exposed to everything. You shouldn't have seen it all. You shouldn't have tried to take away my pain. I would give anything, Hermione, to be in your place right now. You shouldn't have to suffer my pain. Those curses were meant for me. I would have been more than yours, until you wake up. I am just so sorry. I can't say it enough. It's all my fault, and I wish th willing to take the hit, if only it would have saved you from this. You jumped in front of the horrible light. You took it for me. You saved the wizarding world, but at a huge expense. And it's all my fault. If we hadn't been so close, if we did not share the bonds of friendship that we share, you would have been so much better off. It's all my fault. All of this. I hate seeing you like this. I want to kill the person who did this to you, and even though in reality I did, it feels like the person who I need to kill is myself, because I was the one who caused it. No, Hermione, I'm not threatening suicide, because you aren't dead. You're alive. You are the hope that makes me want to live. I have nothing left but you. You are my everything. And since I caused this to happen to you, I'm going to devote my life to living yours. I wish I had a Time-Turner, so I could go back and take the curses instead of you. Everything is my fault, 'Mione. I'm sorry. I'm.... sorry." Harry began to sob once again. He body looked so immobile. He needed a sign that she was still alive. He moved the chair again, this time so it touched the bed. He leaned over and placed his head on her chest. He felt her breathing, shallow, but rhythmic. He heard her heartbeat. It was tentative, but obviously alive. He lay there for many minutes, her heartbeat quieting his sobs, until he once again had the courage to speak.

"Mione, I owe you everything. I owe you my sanity, from these last seven years, when you were always there for me. I owe you my personality, because you were like my family. I owe you my life. What you did yesterday. I owe you my life, and the life of so many others who would have died if Voldemort had lived. After all of the pain I caused you, you save me. You were my sister, my guardian, my mother, my best friend. You could always understand me deeper than Ron could." He couldn't help but smile slightly. "More deeply. Not deeper. I know. If I'm going to talk to you while you can't correct my grammar, I should do it myself." He laid his head back down on her chest and listened again to her heart. "I owe you my heart. I didn't exactly grow up in a loving home. You taught me how to feel. All of those times, Mione. You were always my friend, always there for me. Always." He murmured into her chest. He wasn't sure where this was all coming from, it was just pouring from his heart. "No matter what, Mione, I will always be here for you. You broke through my shell. You know the real me. And I love you for it. I love you, Hermione, more than you'll ever know." He wept softly into her slowly rising and falling chest. Silence fell on Harry, both heavy and forgiving. He lay there for a long time, being comforted as a baby would, listening to her heart, still beating.

"Harry."

3. Revelation

Author's Note: I'm sorry for the confusion about this story. Yes, this is the same one that I had posted on fanfiction.net, with some very minor revisions to fix some inconsistencies. The rest of the writing, and all of the plot, will be exactly the same. I am simply moving it over to Portkey before removing it from ff.net. The rest of it, through Chapter 24, will be uploaded as time permits, to most likely be completed before Christmas.

There will be a brand-new one-shot up for Christmas in the next few days. It will be the first that I have written specifically for post on Portkey, and from now on, my stories will be placed here. I have also started work on my next full-length. Until then, I'm very sorry to those of you that have read this one before! If you haven't read it before, please enjoy. :)

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

"Harry."

He lifted his face from her chest, to look around. There was no one else there. No one could be calling him. The voice had sounded distinctly like Hermione's, but Harry knew it couldn't be. It was just his imagination. His imagination calling to him. 'Harry,' it was saying. 'Harry, what a fool you are. Here you are, crying on Hermione's chest. Saying things that you know can't be true. You know you and Hermione are just friends. You know that you don't love her as anything more. You don't know love,' it was whispering. 'You have never known love. You never will.' Harry shook his head, eager to get rid of this voice. He was beating himself up enough already. But, as awful as it sounded, Harry found himself thinking about what his mind had said. 'You have never known love. You never will.' Harry thought about it. He never had parents. The closest thing he had ever had died two years before. He never had a family. Sure, he felt comfort at the Burrow. Did he love Mrs. Weasley? He did not know. Almost afraid, he looked down at the sleeping form on the bed. Finding himself alone in the room with only an unconscious Hermione to hear him, he thought out loud to himself.

"I haven't felt love. I don't know what it is. Do I love you? What is love? Is it comforting you when you cry? Is it laughing with you when you giggle? I don't know. And I've never thought about loving you, Hermione. Nothing against you, just you were always my best friend. I trusted you with everything, but I just could never let that last part go. I can't give my heart away, or it will get trampled again, like it did with Sirius. But you are the closest thing I have to love. You are always there. But how can I be in love with you? You are my best friend. And I didn't realize that I felt so weird until now, watching you helpless on the bed. Sure, I loved you as a friend. But to be in love with you? I just never noticed anything. You are so angelic-looking. So perfect. I don't know how to love. I don't know how to be in love. But I guess that it's true. I just can't get my conscious mind around it. I am in love with you, no matter how little I know. And that's why you can't know, because I don't know what I'm doing or how I really feel, and I don't want to hurt you, ever again." Again, the words came straight from his heart. His mind was blank, tired from the events. But his heart was running on overdrive. And, since no one was in the room, he could say his feelings without any problem. Even Hermione was not in the room- her mind wasn't, at least. He mumbled incoherently. He became softer, barely a whisper now. "I might not know what love is, Hermione, but I know I feel it. I can't give my heart to you. If you died, my heart would too. You may never know it, but I am in love with you, Hermione Granger." He closed his eyes, out of exhaustion. He heard a labored exhale. He sat up again, and looked at Hermione. Her chest rose and fell, but it seemed to be doing so with a purpose now. Her mouth opened, undoubtably a reflex reaction. He sat beside her, watching her chest rise and fall.

"Hhhhh."

He heard the air, and looked at her face, still the same angelic shape it was before.

"Hhhh"

It was softer now, but Harry felt a pang of hope. Maybe she was waking up. The sounds got softer still, and Harry strained to hear.

"Harry."

He sat bolt upright. It wasn't his imagination this time, was it? He looked down at her, still motionless. He waited for several long minutes, and then established that it was again his mind. He laid his head back down.

"Harry. I love you too."

This time, he slowly raised his head. The voice had been so quiet and airy. He couldn't have made it up. Or could he have? He looked at her face, and miraculously, her eyelids slowly began to flicker. She was alive!!! He couldn't move, both out of joy and of complete shock. Hermione was alive! And she had just said... had she? Maybe in his mind, he made it up. She couldn't feel that way toward him.

"I love you."

Her eyes stayed closed, and her body remained motionless. Then it hit him. She didn't know what she was saying. She had lost her mental function. The thought made his heart heavy again. She had really said it, but she didn't know she had, and she didn't mean it. She wouldn't remember when she awoke. "Shh, Hermione. It's OK. You'll be fine," he forced. It hurt him that he felt this way, and the weight of what she had said and how she didn't even know rested on his chest. He looked at her. She was alive, all right, but she didn't remember. And she couldn't think rationally. 'If she had been thinking', he thought to himself, 'she wouldn't have said that'. He resigned himself to just sitting next to her, holding her small hand in his own. He sat there, mentally and physically exhausted, for several long minutes, with no more words from her. He gazed at her, observing again her beauty, even in this situation. After more laborious minutes, her eyelids began to flicker again. This time, it was evident that, even though she might be in a compromised mental state, she was really waking up. Her lids flickered more, this time revealing her warm brown eyes. Harry sat, still holding her hand, and watched her. He didn't want to speak, because he knew that if he did, the full evidence of her disability would be present. He just wanted to enjoy this moment, the last moment he thought he would have with the Hermione Granger that he knew.

4. Awakening

Thank you for all of the reviews!

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

Several of the longest moments in Harry's life passed. Almost in slow-motion, Hermione's eyelids flickered more, and her hand stretched slightly in his. With another deep breath, her brown eyes opened. Her eyes were Hermione. Honest. True. Kind. Beautiful. They blinked several times, and came to focus on Harry, who was still sitting motionless on the bed, holding her hand in his. Seeing Hermione's eyes created another wave of emotion in Harry. He kept his eyes focused on her face, as she continued to awaken.

"Hi, Hermione." He tried to steady his voice. He tried to make it sound like it always had, every morning for the last seven years. He gave her a slight half-smile, the most he could manage. 'Seven years.' he thought. 'Seven years gone. And she doesn't even know.' He squeezed her hand gently.

She moved in the bed, obviously trying with great effort to sit up, but her attempts were fruitless. She relaxed back where she was, and looked back at Harry. His face showed worry, concern, exhaustion. And something else. In that moment, looking at him, she knew that all the things he had said to her just minutes ago were true.

"Hi, Harry."

This time, he knew it was her. He saw her lips move. She had spoken- and she had known his name. How was that possible? Had he identified himself? He didn't remember. He didn't think so. He looked back at her, and saw the look of earnesty that was Hermione. She remembered who he was. How much else did she know? He hardly allowed himself to hope that she remembered more than his name. He didn't want to set himself up for heartbreak again.

"So. Hermione. How are you?"

He knew it was a stupid question. But what else could he say?

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm really fatigued. And my head hurts."

A smile cracked his face for a split second. This was not what he'd expected to hear. Maybe 'I don't know who I am.' Or 'Where am I?' Or maybe even 'How do you think I am! I don't know!' But not 'I'm fatigued.' And not 'My head hurts.' For some odd reason, that he found amusing. That she had been through so much, and all she could say was that her head hurt. But then a pang of hurt hit him. She didn't know how much she'd been through. Her feelings were completely here-and-now, because that's all she knew.

She tried again to sit up, and she was stronger this time. Still, she needed some help.

"Uh, Harry, could you help me sit up?" she said, waking Harry from his mini-reverie. He held her waist and supported her as she shifted. He was amazed at how fragile she felt, yet how strong. She settled into a seated position, and Harry removed his hands from her.

"So, Harry. How long have I been here? What's the date? How long has it been since... you know." She inquired, her voice wavering somewhat at the end of the sentence. He gave her this odd look, like she was speaking a foreign language. At the same time, his eyes teared up somewhat and he gazed at her. "Hey. Harry. I did ask a question, you know."

"Hermione." His voice shook. "You... you... remember? You remember everything?"

"Well, yeah. Some of it I would rather not remember, but of course I remember." She spoke simply, very matter-of-fact. For a minute, she didn't understand Harry's sudden outpouring of emotion. But then, she remembered. He thought her memory was wiped out. Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore- hadn't they both said that she was incapable of normal thought. Harry had thought that the old Hermione didn't exist anymore. But then again, he'd also thought that she was unconscious. That she couldn't hear and understand everything he was saying. She smiled inwardly. He didn't know that she had heard him pouring his heart out. She looked back into his eyes, now brimming with happy tears. She could barely hold back her own. "Yes, Harry. I remember. I remember it all. And my mental capacity is fine." Immediately after saying the last sentence, she wished that she could take it back. He didn't know how she knew what everyone was saying about her. She didn't want him to know just yet what she had heard from him. Luckily, he didn't notice. "But anyway, would you care to answer my first question? Then we can go into more interesting things, like how I remember everything. But I really want to know how long I've been here."

Harry grinned. This really was Hermione. Always on task. She couldn't be distracted by anything. He looked down. "It's May 23. It's only been one day." She nodded. Then, a bright flash of realization crossed her face.

"Harry! You defeated him!!! You had to. You're here, and you're alive!!! He's gone for good!! Oh, Harry!!!!" she fell into his arms, giving him a huge hug. She remembered the old prophecy, and how she and Harry had spoken frankly about death before the battle. He had said that f he had to die in battle, he wanted to die fighting. She had told him that she wanted that too, that she would die for the cause. Grimly, she thought about just how close she had come to doing just that. But she remembered what she had done in the battle. She had done what she did, not for her, but for the cause. She knew Harry was the world's only hope. But deep inside, she knew that she hadn't done it just for the world. She had done it for him. She cared for him more deeply than she had ever known. She loved him.

"Yeah, Hermione. He's gone. And it's all because of you. Hermione..." he couldn't look at her, he had to break his gaze. "You took the hit from his wand. All of those curses, they were meant for me. If you hadn't taken the hit, he would have been here... instead of me."

"I know. I know, Harry. I wasn't thinking about what could happen to me. That didn't matter. If I had died, it wouldn't have mattered to me. Other things are more important, Harry, than my well-being. Things like, ooh, the fate of the entire wizarding world being taken over by an evil being. I had to give you a fighting chance." She didn't dare tell him yet the other reason that she had done what she did. Not yet. Although she knew that he felt the same way. She thought back to what she had heard just a few minutes earlier. "No matter what, Mione, I will always be here for you. You broke through my shell. You know the real me. And I love you for it. I love you, Hermione, more than you'll ever know." Again, she smiled inside. There would be time for that. "Well, Hermione, I... I just wanted to say thank you. I--"

There was a loud crash in the hall. Harry jumped to his feet, pulled out his wand, and looked out into the corridor. There was Madame Pomfrey, standing, staring wide-eyed at a very awake Hermione. She had dropped her medical tray. The healer blinked her eyes, and looked back at Hermione, almost to see if she was really there.

"Miss Granger?!?!?"

5. Analysis

A big thank you to everyone that reviewed. You all bring smiles to my face. :) I'd also like to throw a special thank you to Alorkin. I really had never thought about the summer solstice in that manner, although I had wondered why Voldemort always attacked in June. Thank you very much for enlightening me!

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

"Miss Granger?!!"

Madame Pomfrey looked again at the two teens in disbelief, and then shook her head and swept into the room. She flew to the bed, shoving Harry and his chair aside to look at Hermione.

"It can't be," she muttered. She took Hermione's pulse and placed a hand on the girl's forehead. Shaking her head again, as if trying to shake an understanding into her head, she dashed to the fire again.

"Headmaster!!!!"

Dumbledore appeared in the fire for a second time that day, with a glint of happiness in his eyes.

"Yes, Poppy?"

"Headmaster. She's... she's conscious! And she's talking!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered to Harry. "No small feat. I'm talking. What, did that black curse get rid of my ability to speak?"

Madame Pomfrey let out a small shriek. She turned away from the fire to look at Hermione. "You... you... you just said black curse. You remember?!?!"

Hermione nodded. Madame Pomfrey still looked slightly clueless, so Hermione began on a sarcastic rant. "My name is Hermione Granger. This is Harry Potter. I go to the Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I'm a Gryffindor. I am in the hospital wing. I have another friend named Ron Weasley. He has five brothers- Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George, and a sister named Ginny. My parents are dentists--"

"Uh, Hermione, I think you can stop now." Harry nudged her. Madame Pomfrey seemed to have partially gotten over her shock, and now her face showed a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "I think she gets the idea."

Neither had a chance to say anything more, because a tall figure had just entered the room and was making his way toward the bed.

"Miss Granger." Professor Dumbledore's tone was that of kindness and admiration. "I'm glad to see that you are awake. How are you feeling?"

"Well, actually, Headmaster, my head hurts a little, but otherwise I'm fine. I'm obviously a lot better than Madame Pomfrey thinks I should be." She threw a sideways glance at the Healer, who still stood next to her.

Dumbledore looked humored. "Yes, I guess that is how it appears. I'm afraid that Madame Pomfrey had little faith in a recovery like this one. You gave all of us quite a scare, you know. The curses were very powerful, and as it seems, you are the youngest and the only female victim ever to survive them. I had faith that you would recover, but only time would tell how much you would know. We are all extremely happy that you are in the condition that you are. Speaking of conditions, it is obvious how you are externally, but I would like to know how you are internally, how the curses really affected you, so that we can help you in your recovery. Poppy-" Madame Pomfrey jumped at the recognition, and then resumed her normal busy air. "Since you are the only mediwitch in the room at present, would you please do the honors of running a complete analysis on Miss Granger here?"

Madame Pomfrey nodded, and bustled over to a cabinet to take out a Knut-sized purple device.

"Hermione," the Headmaster addressed her again. "This analysis will in no way compromise your modesty, but if you would prefer that Harry and I leave the room for the duration, we will respect your wishes. Madame Pomfrey can inform me of the results later. Would you like for us to leave?"

Hermione looked over at Harry, who's chair was now a few feet from her bed, and Professor Dumbledore. Harry had several emotions in his eyes. He looked fearful, because she knew that he didn't want to compromise her privacy, but his eyes also read concern, and a desire to stay. She knew how analyses were conducted- she'd read about it. "No, Headmaster, you and Harry can stay."

Dumbledore nodded. "We will stay, but if at any time you want us to leave, we will."

Madame Pomfrey was utterly upset at this. She couldn't even conduct a simple analysis in peace- but this was the headmaster, there was no arguing with him. She approached the bed, purple device in hand. "The Headmaster wants a complete reading, so this must go directly over your heart," she said, partly to Hermione but mostly to Dumbledore. The Headmaster turned around, facing away from the bed. Madame Pomfrey turned her attention to Hermione, and turned down the bedsheets and began to unbutton the top few buttons of Hermione's nightgown. With a gleam in his eye, Dumbledore flicked his wand toward Harry's chair. The chair turned around to face the wall, and moved away from the bed a few more feet. The Headmaster chuckled. "Now, Harry, where is your sense of decency?"

Harry blushed and sat facing the wall.

"All right now, the reader is placed, you can turn back around now," said an impatient Madame Pomfrey. Dumbledore turned around, but Harry sat still for a second, too embarrassed to turn. Eventually, he slowly turned to face Hermione, who was now lying in the bed. Madame Pomfrey took her wand and gently tapped the sensor with her wand. "Diagnosa," she muttered. She then held her wand upright. Several sparks came forth from the end of the wand, and then the wand started to talk.

"Victim: Hermione Granger. Age 17." It spoke in a monotone, as if disinterested.

"Temperature: normal. Pulse: normal. Breathing rate: normal. Blood count: normal. Magic power count: low end of normal."

Madame Pomfrey looked at Hermione, who seemed disturbed by the last phrase. "It's normal, after being cursed, for the power count to be low. I expected yours to be much lower than it is, actually." The wand continued its monologue.

"Mental capacity: normal. Memories: normal. Physical analysis: bruised ribs, head, lacerations on legs and arms. Emotion range: full. Curses used on victim: undisclosed Unspeakables. Other: height 5'6", normal. Weight normal. Next menstrua--"

"Ooook." Hermione interrupted the voice. That was one thing that nobody needed to know. "I think we've heard everything we need to hear," she added, with unease. Dumbledore, thankfully, acted as if he hadn't heard, but Harry had turned a very amusing shade of red. Madame Pomfrey shook her wand. "I'm terribly sorry, dear. I didn't mean for it to say that." She placed her wand on the sensor again, and held it upright.

"Patient was unconscious when brought into the hospital wing. Patient has been conscious for six hours."

"Six hours? I was sure that you were unconscious a few hours ago. I must get this diagnostic equipment replaced..." Madame Pomfrey clicked, while Dumbledore looked at his pocketwatch.

"Patient remained conscious but asleep for two hours. Patient has been awake for... four hours."

Dumbledore did the math in his head, and inwardly smiled. Suddenly, Harry looked at his own watch. Four hours... it had been exactly four hours and two minutes since he had entered the room.

"Madame Pomfrey? You really do need to get that equipment checked. Hermione hasn't been awake for four hours. I came in here four hours and a few minutes ago, and she didn't wake up until thirty minutes ago. She was unconscious," Harry volunteered.

Hermione squirmed slightly. "Hold still, I'm trying to remove the sensor," Madame Pomfrey instructed. "Maybe I'll check that. I have another way to tell how long she's been conscious, and that way never fails to be correct, down to the second." She placed a small wormlike creature in Hermione's ear, and waited. In a few minutes, the worm emerged from her ear.

"Mental activity determines that this patient has been conscious for exactly six hours, nine minutes, and forty-four seconds."

"Hmm," said Madame Pomfrey. Hermione began to squirm uneasily again.

"Hermione, what are you squirming about? The worm isn't in your ear anymore," Harry said.

"Shh!" Madame Pomfrey scolded. The worm spoke again.

"This patient awoke exactly four hours, one minute, and fifty-eight seconds ago. As of that time, the patient was fully awake and conscious, with all mental capacities normal and all thought processes normal, including listening, speech, and comprehension." Hermione shrugged further down under the sheets.

"Thank you, Poppy. I should now tell the students that Miss Granger is alive, as the fact that she was dead was a complete secret last night. The whole school knew within five minutes. I would like to meet with you later, to discuss the results of the analysis," the Headmaster smiled. Glancing at the rapidly disappearing Hermione and the somewhat confused Harry, he turned and left the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey also turned on her heel, to go clean the mess her dropped medical tray had made.

Harry, however, stayed put. He looked at the worm, at his watch, and back at Hermione. 'Four hours, one minute, fifty-eight seconds. I was here when she really awoke.'

That was when it hit him.

Her listening and comprehension had been normal. She had heard and understood every word he had said when he thought she was unconscious.

She shrank further down into the bed.

He turned even redder than before.

6. Perception

Thanks to everybody who reviewed, you all make my day!

You know the drill. See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

Harry sat there, unmoving and unblinking. So many things were dashing through his head, they were all getting blurred. Feverishly he tried to put two and two together.

'Four hours, one minute, fifty-eight seconds. She has been awake for that long. I came in here four hours ago. She was unconscious. At least, that's what it looked like. Four hours, one minute, fifty-eight seconds. She has been able to hear, speak, and understand. I came in here and talked to her. When I thought she was unconscious.

I told her things...'

Hermione was almost completely under her sheets by now. Harry shook his head to try to organize his thoughts. He turned even redder when he recalled the things he had said to her. He saw her almost disappeared figure, and moved his chair closer to the bed.

"Hermione."

Reluctantly, she poked her head above the covers.

"Yes?" she said, as innocently as she could.

"Don't play dumb with me, Hermione. I need you to tell me something. Were you... were you awake as long as the worm said you were?" His voice wavered a little.

She murmured an unintelligible reply. Harry encouraged her, and she gave a very meek "yes". She blushed. She knew what she had heard, and she knew it came from his heart, but she also knew that he hadn't meant for her to hear any of it. It embarrassed her, as if she'd walked in on him talking to himself. He had no idea that she was hearing him. He swallowed, and closed his eyes for a second. She braced herself. Whatever he had to say, she knew she deserved it.

"Hermione. You were awake all that time?"

She nodded minutely.

"You just laid there. You knew how much it hurt me to see you like that. And you didn't move. Didn't give me a bit of hope that you were alive. How could you, Hermione? How could you just leave me like that?" He sounded sad, but his tone turned more angry. "How could you? I sat there, crying over you, thinking you were dead, and you knew it! Bloody Hell, Hermione, I was telling you that I was dying with you! You just left me there."

Hermione began to tear up. She knew he would be mad. This was not how she had intended for him to find out. And she knew what was going to come next.

"Don't tell me that you heard everything."

"I'm so sorry, Harry." It pained her. She had heard it all. But she knew that it was good that she had heard it. There would be time for that.

Harry took in a long breath. "I spilled out my heart to you. I said things... I don't even remember what I said! Seeing you so helpless... it just did something to me. I told you everything and you just laid there and didn't move!"

"Harry."

"I know some of the things I told you. Things you weren't supposed to know. Things that you knew were private, that you shouldn't have just let me rant on about. You didn't have the kind sense to blink, or move, or anything, to say 'Shut up, Harry, I'm awake'. You just laid there. Taking it all in."

"Harry."

He put his head in his hands. "I don't believe this. I told you everything. Everything. And you couldn't even open your eyes. I didn't even know you were alive! I asked you... you didn't answer... you just let me sit there pouring my heart out. You just let me lie there on your chest like there was no tomorrow."

"Harry."

"You... you heard things. Things... I don't even know. Why did you just let me go on? Why, Hermione? What did you hear, Hermione? Can I hope that you didn't hear it all? You weren't supposed to hear... I didn't even--"

"Harry James Potter!!!" She sat up and looked at him, at his green eyes, filled with anger and embarrassment and... love. But she couldn't think that just now. She couldn't let herself. He looked back at her. He stared blankly at her.

"Great. Now you have the decency to get my attention. To make me shut up. Why couldn't you have done that an hour ago? Why couldn't you just blink? Say 'Harry, I'm alive.' You couldn't even just raise a finger." His eyes were filled with fire, not angry fire, but a mix of so many emotions that he didn't want to think about. "You just left me there, Hermione. Why? Why was it so hard just to open your eyes? What, were you enjoying hearing me crying over your lost soul? Just tell me, Hermione. Why did you do this to me? I just need to know, Hermione. Why couldn't you--"

"Because I needed to hear it."

He looked at her. What kind of answer was that? "Why... what exactly did you need to hear?"

Her eyes were downcast. "Everything you told me... I needed to hear it. For... several reasons."

He lifted her chin. "Why did you need to hear that? I think that after listening to my personal thoughts that nobody else was intended to hear, you owe me an explanation."

"Maybe if you didn't want anybody to hear, you shouldn't have said it in a room where you weren't alone," she muttered.

His eyes flamed. "I thought I was alone, in spirit. I had no way of knowing that you were there. In body yes, but for all I knew, you couldn't hear me. But since you did, you owe me an explanation. You know everything about me, everything that you weren't supposed to know. It's your turn to talk."

"It's a long story..." she sighed, tears burning her eyes.

"We have time," he insisted. 'All the time in the world,' he thought to himself. 'Because for all the shock I've had in the last day, I'm not sure there even is a world anymore.' She kept her eyes down, and took a deep breath.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't intend to listen... well, I did, but I didn't--"

"Hermione, please?" She sighed again.

"O.K. You know what Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey said about me, how I needed someone who cared about me to be there, to help me? Well, I did. I guess I sensed your presence or something, because I woke up almost immediately after you entered the room. My first memory of waking up was Dumbledore leaving us alone. I was awake, in a sense. I could think and hear, but I wasn't all there. My spirit was there, but my body wasn't. Theoretically, I could speak, but my vocal cords told me otherwise. You being there at all, it helped me. But when you started talking... what you were saying... it was out of caring... and love." She barely got out the last words. She knew he didn't want to be reminded at that second of what he had told her. "See, Harry, evil curses have a weakness. You should know. Your mother died to save you, and she left her protection, her love on you. Voldemort doesn't know love, and so love is the only loophole, the only defense against his curses. You came into the room, and we share a bond of... friendship. That bond helped me recover more... I woke up and moved when I could. There was an aura around you... you were crying, and you were crying because of me. Because of a devotion that you had to me. Hearing you say those things, even though it made me feel guilty for hearing things I shouldn't have heard, was what gave me strength." She took another deep breath. For the first time since she started talking, she could look at Harry. She hoped that he didn't see in her eyes that she was hiding something. He had never been very perceptive.

"Wow. You're right, I should have known about the whole protection by caring thing, but I had no idea that you couldn't move or anything. There is just so much going on... so many emotions, I'm sorry that I was angry, but you see where I could be--" He looked at her. Into her eyes. "Hermione? Is there something else? Somehow, I don't think that was all. You're hiding something."

He had never been very perceptive, until now.

'Now, of all times,' she thought.

7. Destiny

Another big thanks to everyone who has been reviewing. It really makes me happy to see all of the reviews!

Author's Note: I'm terrible about cliffhangers. Most of the chapters in this story do end with them (sorry!), but you typically won't have to wait more than a few days for each chapter in this story to be posted in this story, seeing as how it is completed.

Italicized text is a flashback.

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

'He chose now to become perceptive. Why, Harry, did it have to be now?' Thoughts raced through her head. 'I can't...'

"No, Harry, nothing."

"Hermione, I've known you for seven years, been in all or your classes, lived in Gryffindor Tower with you. I know when you're hiding something. You have the same look on your face as when you had the Time-Turner back in third year- I didn't recognize it then, but that's aside the point..."

"Really, Harry, it's nothing. I'm just... tired." She gave him her best fake yawn, and looked at him, hoping that she was concealing her secret well.

"No. It isn't nothing. You have something that you are hiding from me. And Hermione, after everything that I told you, there is absolutely no reason why you can't do the same. Well, not the exact same, but you know."

"I'm serious, there is nothing. I'm not hiding anything."

Harry shook his head. "You are. I'm not arguing with you. Look at me, Hermione."

She gazed up for the umpteenth time into his green eyes. He looked down at her with such caring and gentleness that she hardly recognized him. There was no joke in his eye, no element of constant intensity. Just kindness and... love. 'There will be time for that,' she thought, 'and I think that time is fast approaching.'

"No secrets."

Those two words broke her resistance. No walls that she put up could resist that. All of Harry's secrets were out in the open. And with him looking at her like that, she knew that she couldn't keep hers bottled up much longer. She broke the eye contact and looked down again. She couldn't say it. Why she couldn't she did not know. He had told her everything. She knew that. So why was it so hard to say it? Noticing that she had broken eye contact, he reached out and tipped her chin up with his hand. She reluctantly looked back at him.

"No secrets, Hermione."

That was it. She took a deep breath. He let her chin go, but she didn't break eye contact again. She instead reached for his hands and held them in hers.

"Harry, you're right. I am hiding something. I don't know why it's so hard for me to say, but it is. I need to say it. Just promise that you'll let me talk. No interruptions. Just let it flow, because if you stop me I won't be able to start again. It's a long story, be patient. Okay?"

He nodded wordlessly, but the look that he gave her told her that she was safe to speak.

"I guess we have to start at the beginning. The beginning, in this case, is a lot longer ago than you might think. When I met you, and we became close friends, you told me about the protection your mother gave you when she died. Me, being the bookworm that I am, became really interested, and... well... I went and researched it. In your case, your mother's life was taken, but she gave you protection against ever being touched by the one who killed her, well, until he got a hold of your blood. There are many other different kinds of protective sacrifices. Generally, if a person is protected by love, they get resistance against either the person who attacked them or the curse that was used. Obviously, your mother's protection did not protect you from the curse itself, because you are still vulnerable to Avada Kedavra. There is, however, another result of the protection that your mother gave you before she died, one that she undoubtably knew about. It would assist you in the future when someone else tried to make the same sacrifice."

Harry looked very confused.

"O.K. I know that it doesn't make sense right this second. But you'll understand. Just keep that in the back of your mind, and fast forward a few years."

"Just so I have a frame of reference, how many years forward are we talking about?" He knew she had said not to interrupt, but he really was lost.

"I was getting there. Be patient. You'll understand soon. I think. I hardly understand it myself--"

"Hermione. Uh, back on track, please? Madame Pomfrey will probably be back in an hour or two to check up on you."

"Right. Sorry, this is just hard to get out... ok, think back to- well, now I guess it is two days ago," she said, looking up at the clock. "We were talking about the war. You had just told me about the prophecy."

"Hermione, I know that it's hard to comprehend... I didn't believe until this year."

"When... how long have you known?"

"Dumbledore told me after our fifth year. That's what the prophecy said. It was Professor Trelawney's first real prediction."

Her voice grew quieter. "We know that the war culminates tomorrow. We know that it's going to be a major battle. But, let me see if I've got this right..." she grew quieter yet, and her voice cracked. "You're telling me that someone is going to die tomorrow, and it's going to either be Voldemort... or..." She couldn't get it out. It couldn't be true. "It can't be, Harry. This can't be the last night that you sit here with me. It's not. You're going to be here and finish the year. And you're going to become an Auror, and coach the Quidditch team for Gryffindor. And you're going to be here, sitting next to me, tomorrow night. You just are." Her eyes brimmed with tears.

His eyes watered, too. "No, Hermione. I needed you to know, before we go tomorrow. You need to know that this is the only way, and that I may not be here tomorrow. But, Hermione, if that's what it takes- if I vanquish him, but I die in the effort, then that's the way it was destined to be. Anything to save everyone else. Dying is not my fear. My fear is losing. The weight of the world is on my shoulders, Hermione. I'm the only one that can do it. And I'm afraid of losing more people that I care about. You, and Ron, and Remus, and Tonks, and Ginny, and everybody else. I've lost so much, and I know that if it takes my life to protect the rest of the world, I don't mind. If I have to die there, I want to die fighting, and I want to die knowing that I've done what I was destined to do."

Her mouth ran dry. "Yes. I know. I understand, and I would give my life, also, to protect those I love. But the threat isn't on my head, Harry. I just can't believe it. You are the Boy Who Lived, and it's probably the first time since I met you on the train our first year that I thought that. You're just Harry Potter. Why did you have to be the Boy Who Lived? I like it better than the Boy Who Died, but it just puts so much pressure on you. The fate of the world is up to you. I wouldn't be able to take it. But I hold faith that you will be able to endure, and I want you to know, Harry, that I will be right there with you, and while I can't actually carry out the deed, I can give you support. I can help you, and I will do everything in my power, Harry Potter, to make sure that you come back here alive. I would give my life if I could only take this burden from you, but I know I can't. If I have to die tomorrow, it will be in battle, and it will be helping you. Don't tell me no, because it's what I'm going to do. If you have to die, I will die at your side, protecting you. You've been through too much. I'll be right here, always, even if always only extends until tomorrow."

He was holding back sobs. She let hers go, and there they sat, on the plush burgundy couch of the Common Room, comforting each other, preparing for the most difficult and possibly last challenge of their lives.

8. Confusion

Thank you for the reviews! I realize that these chapters are quite short, and I apologize. This chapter is the shortest, but it didn't seem right to go on from here in this chapter. I'll post Chapter 9 very, very shortly. The chapters will be longer in the next story, and the one-shot you can expect in the next week or so. :)

Their eyes hazed over at the memory. It seemed so long ago, but they both knew that it hadn't been long. Harry sighed, then broke the silence.

"Hermione, I remember that, but I still don't know what that has to do with my mother, your being awake, or me being alive."

She smiled. "You would understand, if you'd let me tell the story!"

He resigned himself to silence once again. He really wanted to understand, and even though in all these years, he'd become accustomed to Hermione knowing more than he did, in this case he really wanted to know. He couldn't put it together. Hermione alive- black curse- Harry alive- protection charms- declarations of bravery- Voldemort dead- heartfelt confessions- unconsciousness. They all made sense separately, but together, they were little more than a mess to Harry.

Hermione looked at her hands. This was not going to be easy. She knew what kind of reaction it was going to earn. "Harry, I know... I know about your dreams. Your dreams over the last couple of months where your father and Sirius have been visiting you and telling you what you had to do to destroy Voldemort."

Harry's eyes went wide. He instantly became panicked. "How do you know?! I couldn't have let it slip... I knew what that meant... if anyone else knew, then it wouldn't work... it would only appear to work but-"

"-in reality, it would make him stronger. I know. But it did work, and he really is gone. And no, you didn't tell me."

He was still not at ease. "Then how, pray tell, do you know? I was the only person in the world who knew... not even Dumbledore knew."

"That's not true," she said simply. "Sirius knew. Your father knew. And-"

"They don't count! They're dead!"

"Harry! I know they're dead! Now if you'd let me explain. Sirius knew. Your father knew. As did every other dead member of the Order. They all found out how, after they died. Part of their vows to the Order were that they would not rest until the Dark Lord was vanquished. They wouldn't even rest in death. After he rose again, they all brought their knowledge together, and pinpointed exactly when the final battle was going to occur. They then had the three members closest to you help you to prepare, starting two months before the battle was going to happen."

He looked at her, slightly puzzled. "Three? It wasn't three. Only two. Just my dad and Sirius. Wherever you read this is wrong- where did you read this? It's not public knowledge. How do you know?"

"You'd know by now if you would just be quiet and listen!" Her face showed a small amount of frustration, but also humor.

He shrunk down as if he had just been scolded by McGonagall.

"Three. And my source of information was not wrong. I didn't read it. And I never said that the three people would all appear in your dreams. I said that they would all help you. And they all did."

He looked even more puzzled than before. Hermione was torturing him. Almost holding it over his head. Why couldn't she just come out and tell him?! It was maddening. He couldn't stand the feeling of being totally mystified.

"All three helped you. And my source of information was completely correct, and I put complete trust in my source. Let's just say-" she looked at her hands, and then back at Harry. "Let's just say that you aren't the only one who has been having dreams."

His eyes widened with shock, and he opened his mouth to speak, but he knew that speaking would not do him any good. She had warned him to be quiet and listen. If he interrupted now, she'd never get to it. He was dying to know. To him, it seemed like a big Muggle mystery novel, where each page gave a new shocking twist. These twists were becoming so confusing to him that he decided it would be best to just let her continue. Maybe that would give her a chance to finish. He couldn't help but think again about everything that he'd revealed to her. He'd just poured his heart flat out, and she was taking him on this roundabout trek. This new development, however, kept him interested. Too interested to interrupt her and run the risk of her not telling him. He closed his mouth again.

"All this time that you've been visited, so have I. I was visited at exactly the same time every night that you were. Why do you think Dumbledore arranged for us to have private rooms? No, our roommates didn't all get transferred into other rooms for no reason. He knew that both of us would be visited."

Every second, he was getting more confused. He questioned her with his eyes. As much as he wasn't going to speak, he hoped that his eyes portrayed the same question that he was thinking. 'Who was visiting you?'

She looked at him, and surveyed him with her eyes. She smiled, knowingly. "You want to know who visited me. I told you that the visitors that helped you would be the three closest to you. Sirius and James helped you by coming to you to teach you. The third person came to me. To teach me how to help you. How to protect you. How to come full-circle on something that she started. For the past eight weeks, I have been visited every night by none other than Lily Evans Potter."

Short chapter, I know. I'm sorry, but this chapter was necessary and it didn't sound right to go on from here in this chapter. You'll just have to wait! For now, please review!

9. Explanation

Thank you again for the reviews. It really does make me feel very good to hear that you're enjoying this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please continue to review.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

His eyes went wide again and he sat, stiff as a board. She wasn't serious. His mother hadn't been talking to her this whole time. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. Your mum has been visiting me every night. She didn't tell me the whole prophecy, but she told me that your life was in danger, and she told me that you were the only one who could vanquish Voldemort. I didn't know about the whole he-dies-or-you-do thing until you told me. Your mother also told me who was visiting you, when, and why."

He couldn't believe this. It was just too weird. He shook his head. "So she was visiting you. Why? What was she telling you?"

She took a deep breath. "She knew that I... care about you, and that we are... um... close friends. She knew how close we are, how much we know about each other. She chose me to fulfill her obligations to you."

"What?" he was getting more and more confused. "Please, Hermione, just explain it."

"I would if you would STOP INTERRUPTING!!!" she pushed. "I've been trying to tell you! Now don't talk until I tell you to, and you'll get the whole story."

He sighed and made the motions of zipping his lips together.

"Thank you. Now, where was I... oh yes. Her obligations. I told you earlier about protective spells. The spell she used did indeed protect you when you were young, and protected you against being touched by Voldemort until fourth year. This spell, just as I'd expected, had lasting effects, too. She chose this spell because she knew that in the event of her death, you would live. However, there was another reason for using this one. This particular spell also protected both you and the person trying to save your life with theirs the next time you were in the same situation. Because of the prophecy, your mother knew that you would be the one who would be the world's hope. She gave her life for yours. She didn't want anyone to be able to that, ever again. She wanted you to live, but she knew that you would lose so many that you love in your lifetime. She wanted both you and your savior to live, hence this spell."

"Over the past seven years, you have made many friends and connected with many people. But you and Ron and I grew very close. We tell each other everything, and we are always there for each other. Your mother saw that Ron and I were the closest people to your heart. But for several reasons, she decided that I was going to be the one to fulfill the spell."

His eyes flashed another question. 'Why you?'

She chose to ignore his nonverbal question for the time being. "She came to me in my dreams. She told me that your life was in danger. She told me that you were the wizarding world's only hope. She knew that I'd read up on protective spells, and she explained the specifics of hers to me. She told me, very generally, the plan for the battle. She also told me that Voldemort had a new curse, a black one. You see, Avada Kedavra is green because it lets your soul live on. Voldemort undoubtably didn't know that, because it was that green death that allowed the Order members to live on in death. His death curses were his downfall. This new black curse was different. I can't even tell you the name. It's too terrible. This curse not only kills the body, but also obliterates the soul. He created it for you, Harry. If you had been Avada Kedavra'd, there would still be a possibility, no matter how remote, that you could still destroy him. This curse... there's no coming back."

Her eyes filled with tears. He gulped and patted her hand, silently asking her to continue.

"Your mother told me about it. She told me that Voldemort... he was going to use it on you. She told me there was no defense against it, and there was no living past it. Even her protective spells couldn't save anyone subjected to it. Not alone, at least. She talked to me, prepared me. She told me what I had to do, counseled me. But only I could make the final decision. She told me-" she faltered. "She told me that there were no defenses. She had set up the protection spells to save both you and me, but as it turned out, this black spell was so powerful that it wouldn't be able to do both. But it could save you. And in doing so, it would allow you to destroy the Dark Lord forever. But it would mean giving... giving my life in trade for yours. Taking the hit instead of you. I knew that it would kill me. The protective spell wasn't strong enough, not alone. I had to let myself die and my soul die also, in order to save you."

"No," he whispered. He knew he wasn't supposed to talk, but he had to. "No, Hermione. You didn't have to. You can't die for me. You're alive."

"I did have to. I was doing it for you, giving you a fighting chance. I made up my mind, and when you told me about the prophecy, I was surprised, but at the same time I wasn't. I knew that me giving my life would take Voldemort's. And it would save yours. There was no choice for me. I knew it was what I had to do. You ever wonder why I was put in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw with the other bookworms? This was my destiny. To die for you. So at that battle, I knew what I had to do. You mother had counseled me. Talked me through everything. Told me what was going on in your head. She was there, in my head, when I jumped in front of the light. I saw you and her, and your dad, together as a family, with me, just before I blacked out. I knew it was the end." Sobs overtook her frame, sobs she'd been holding inside for months. She couldn't speak.

"No, Hermione. It wasn't the end. It wasn't. And how could you have known you were going to die and not tell me?" Before she could answer, another pressing thought popped into his head. "But you're alive. You have your soul. What happened?"

She shook her head, her face tear-stained. There was a soft knock on the door, and there stood Dumbledore once again. "That, Mr. Potter, is an extremely good question. Miss Granger has many answers, but I'm afraid that she doesn't have that one. I do, however. May I come in?"

Hermione wiped her face on her sleeve, and nodded. Harry moved his chair over, and within instants, there was another chair by the bed. The headmaster swept over and sat next to them.

"There are many things about what happened that I do not know. You are the only living people who understand. Yet, to understand this occurrence, you must understand several others."

Hermione sat up further and took the sheet with her. Through all of this, she hadn't realized that she was still wearing a nightgown.

"Firstly, you must know that I knew about Lily's protective spell and all of its effects. It is all written right here-" he tapped Harry's forehead. "This scar has taken a lighting shape. Only those under a certain type of protective spell will get this type of scar. Secondly, I knew that Lily was going to use a protective spell in the first place, in fact, I told her to. She trusted me, and even though she didn't know the whole prophecy, she knew that when I told her to put a protective spell on you, she should. Thirdly, although this may come as a shock to you, I knew before you had even met each other that you were to become... friends." His eyes twinkled.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, unsure of what Dumbledore meant by the pause. They quickly turned away from each other and blushed. Dumbledore smiled and continued.

"It was known to me that you would become close long ago. It was fate. Why else would you, Harry, have felt it necessary to go and rescue her from a troll? Yes, you two were fated to know each other and become very close. I knew this from the day that your parents were murdered, Harry."

"I had suggested to Lily that whatever protective spell she chose should have future protection by love included. I knew about the prophecy, and I knew that you, Harry, would need her help more than once, even in times when she couldn't be there. She needed someone else close to you. She wisely chose the spell that she did, and another effect of this spell was that it would bring you, Harry, and your future companion together, before you even knew each other. At the exact moment when Lily Potter was murdered, Harry got a scar, and an infant girl, far away, cried out. Hermione, you were a very serious child. You didn't cry much. When your parents heard the cry, they came in to look at you. You looked just as always, but you were wide awake, and screaming as if in pain. There was one other difference. Hermione, I know this will sound strange, but can we please see your right ankle?"

Hermione and Harry looked at each other, both very confused. Puzzled, Hermione poked her right leg out from under the white sheet. Dumbledore looked over her ankle carefully and stopped at a tiny birthmark just below her ankle bone. He pointed to it.

"Hermione, how long have you had this?"

"Forever. I think I was born with it."

"No, Hermione, you weren't. This is not a birthmark." Hermione looked closer. She really had never paid any attention to the mark on her ankle. It was just a birthmark, nothing strange. But still, she eyed the mark that Dumbledore had pointed out. She gasped.

"Oh my gosh," she whispered.

"What?" asked an increasingly perplexed Harry. "What's wrong with it?"

"Harry," she said softly. "Look."

Harry came closer and looked over her ankle. It took him a few seconds to find it, it was that small. But when he saw it, he gasped also.

"Lightning bolt," he choked. "Lightning bolt. And... it looks just like mine." He lifted the hair off of his forehead to show her. Slowly, he looked back at her tiny scar. Tentatively, and with shaking hands, he drew a single long finger to trace her mark. Instantly, his own scar felt very warm, and a pale pink aura emanated from them both. She trembled at his touch. "It's just like mine."

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said, startling Harry and Hermione out of their daze. Harry's hand remained on her ankle. "It is. At the moment that your mother was killed, you both received a scar- the same scar. It became evident that you, Harry, was the child in the prophecy, and that you, Hermione, would play a part just as important as Harry's. Now, those all contribute to the fact that Harry is alive. Hermione was destined to sacrifice herself for you, as she was destined to care deeply for you. But something went awry. It occurs to me that, sitting in front of me, are both of you, both vibrantly alive. And I know why."

Now they both felt as though they were being tortured. They wanted him to just come out and tell them.

"As it seems, Harry Potter has foiled the limits of his mother's protective spell." Dumbledore grinned broadly. Harry and Hermione still sat, confused. "You yourself said, Hermione, that Lily's protection spell, though intended to save the lives of both you and Harry, would be unable to save you, at least unaided. It was aided. You see, Harry felt a strong pull of emotion to you. He emanated some sort of protective spell, even without a wand. He felt a devotion to you. Now, phoenixes are very intuitive, and what I told you earlier about Fawkes coming to help Hermione was true. Fawkes did help Hermione, but there is no way that he could have really protected her. He did summon a Portkey to get her to the hospital. But with the combined efforts of Lily's spell and Harry's devotion, Hermione was able to live. As you have been told, love is the only defense against dark magic. There was an abundance of love back there. Lily's love for her son, and your love for each other." With that, he paused. Harry and Hermione sat, looking slightly uncomfortably at each other. Hermione felt her heart well up with joy. They both, however, blushed in the realization that Harry's hand still laid on Hermione's ankle, gently tracing her scar.

"Speaking of love," Dumbledore continued, knowing that Harry and Hermione had not yet voiced thoughts of each other in that way, "there is going to be more love in this room, as of about one hour from now. A few people are coming to see you, a few of those who love you. And Hermione, your parents already know about your brush with death. They knew before you went to Hogwarts that the chances laid that you would never graduate. I spoke with them in depth, when you were still very small. I know that you two have a lot to speak about after all that you have heard from me. I will leave you to talk." He took one more look at Hermione's mark. "You each owe the other your life. Both of you tried to sacrifice yourselves for the other. I'm very glad that neither of you succeeded. I will go now, and let you talk." His chair disappeared and he walked into the fire.

Silently, Professor Dumbledore eyed Harry and Hermione from the fire as the room faded. He had never seen both scars together. He had known that they were similar, but it was incredible that they were exactly identical. He smiled knowingly, as the image of Harry Potter and his intended disappeared into the walls of his office.

This wasn't nearly as much of a cliffhanger. Tell me what you think!

10. Comfort

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You all boost my spirits... and persuade me to write more.

This chapter is a break that I took from the heaviness of the plot while writing. It is a short deviation from the plot, and nothing important to the plot happens in this chapter. It's just sugary fluff. Beware: high sugar content.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

They sat, completely dumbfounded. Neither knew what to say. They just sat there, Hermione propped against the pillows, and Harry, sitting in a chair next to the bed, his hand resting on her ankle. On the little spot that had foretold both of their futures. Occasionally they would look up at each other, but quickly blush and look down again. Everything Dumbledore had said was just too much. The silence was unbearable, but neither had the courage to break it. They didn't have to, however, because Madame Pomfrey came bustling back in.

"Well, now, we have had a bit of a shock, you are both alive. Oddly quiet, but alive. Speaking of quiet, I wonder if now I'll be permitted to take care of my patients in peace." She was again talking absentmindedly to herself, not even looking at Harry and Hermione. Startled back into reality, Harry noticed the location of his hand. He quickly pulled it away and sat stiffly as if nothing had happened.

"Hmm," she rambled, turning to face them. "Now, then Mr. Potter, you yourself have been through more than you should have been, and it is not proper to have you sitting here in that chair, you should be in bed." With that, she Transfigured the chair, and Harry found himself sitting in a hospital bed a few feet from Hermione's. With Harry a little bit father away, Hermione found herself able to speak again.

"Madame Pomfrey, it is a little bit cold, may I have a robe?" Hermione looked down at her nightgown. She had forgotten how light this gown was. Madame Pomfrey nodded. Hermione sat up the rest of the way, and pulled her legs out from under the covers. She tried to get up, but didn't have the strength.

"Oh no, dear, don't get up. I'll help you. You shouldn't do anything on your own,, get someone to help you. You need to reserve your strength." The mediwitch came over and supported Hermione's lithe frame as she gingerly put her weight on her feet. She trembled and would have collapsed, had Madame Pomfrey not been holding her up. After a few seconds, she steadied and Madame Pomfrey bustled over to a cabinet. She pulled out a robe, as white as everything else in the infirmary. Hermione just stood there in her nightgown, using the side of the bed to hold herself up. Harry looked at her, transfixed. He, too, hadn't realized how light her gown was. Madame Pomfrey returned with the robe, and, throwing a disapproving look at Harry, put up a magical curtain between the two beds. He blushed again. After several minutes, Madame Pomfrey came over to Harry's side of the curtain to give him a robe and to look over his injuries. She then waved the curtain away.

"It would be the decent thing to do to leave the curtain up, but you will have visitors in a half an hour, who wish to see you both. Now, if you ask me, you shouldn't have visitors, you need your rest..." she rambled on, as she left the room.

Harry looked over to see Hermione, sitting in her bed, propped up on pillows again. She, like he, was wrapped in a robe, and the sheets covered her to the waist. Her ankle was no longer visible. This seemed to lift a burden from them both. There would be time to talk it through, but they both knew that with people coming to see them in a half hour, this was not the time. They didn't want to be emotional wrecks when their loved ones came in.

Hermione shifted in bed. She weakly lifted a hand to her mass of curly hair. She muttered a cleaning spell, but her hair felt terribly knotted and awful. By the time she could brush it again, it would be one big knot. After all, Madame Pomfrey had told her not to do anything, to reserve her strength. She did not care how she looked, it was just that it was so knotted. She settled back in bed. It would have to wait. She wasn't strong enough to wrestle it into a braid, even. At least braided it would not get tangled further. She sighed. When she got out of the hospital wing, she would have to spend hours trying to get the knots out of it, at least a week's worth of tangles, knowing she'd be in the infirmary at least a week. There was nobody that she could ask for help... unless...

"Harry," she said. She knew he'd say no, it wasn't exactly a normal request. She smiled to herself. It really was funny, asking her best friend, who happened to be male, to braid her hair for her.

"Yeah?"

"Umm... this is going to sound so strange, but... well, my hair is in terrible knots, and it's only going to get worse, and I'm not strong enough to take care of it."

He looked at her quizzically. She wasn't going to ask him... no.

"Can you... can you just put it a braid for me? That way, it won't knot any more, and when I'm better I can take it down and brush it properly."

He looked at her. His expression was unreadable. "I can't even manage my own hair. And yours is much longer. And I'm not good with braiding. Last time I tried to braid, it was rope, and it wasn't pretty." He ran his fingers through his own tousled hair.

"I know, I'm sorry I asked. It was rather odd to ask you. I'll ask my mum to do it when she comes in." She smiled.

He looked over at her. "You need it braided because it's knotted?"

She rolled her eyes. She shouldn't have brought it up, now she'd have to go through logistics. "Yes, because it will keep it from knotting more-"

He thought it through. Did he even want to try? He had said he would help her. "Hermione, I can't braid, but I can brush." It had kind of just come out. After he said it, he halfway wanted to take it back, but the rest of him screamed to just do it. "I'll brush it out for you."

She eyed him. "Seriously? It's knotted, it won't be easy, I'm fine with letting my mum do it."

But he had already offered, and now, no matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn't back down. "I can do it. Do you have a hairbrush?"

She glanced over at a small side table. On it were small personal items, all white. Harry got up, as he was much stronger than Hermione, since he had been protected in the battle. He took the hairbrush from the table, and looked at Hermione. He needed to figure out how to do this. He couldn't find another chair to sit next to the bed, because he wouldn't be able to reach her hair. He realized the only way was for her to move up on the bed and for him to sit behind her. He helped her to move forward, and sat down on her bed. He placed her pillows on his lap, so that she could lean her back against the pillows while still sitting up. She relaxed onto the pillows, still partially sitting up. He took the hairbrush in his hand, and looked at the mass of curls before him.

Sensing his tentativeness behind her, she giggled slightly. He was obviously trying to figure out the math involved in brushing a woman's hair. He had never done this before, and had no idea whatsoever about how to begin.

"Uh, Hermione... what... how... uh... where do I start?" He searched over her hair, as if looking for a You Are Here arrow.

She laughed. "Harry, there is nothing mathematical about brushing hair. You just do it. You pick a place, and start. It's really OK if my mum does it."

But he was unwilling to back down. This was a challenge, unique from any other that he had ever undertaken. It was odd to think of his best friend's hair as a challenge, but to him, it was. He finally just decided to start in the middle of the back of her head. Not wanting to hurt her, he gently touched the brush to her curls. He kept his other hand on his lap. He quickly realized, however, that he was getting nowhere fast. He stopped to look at his hand configuration. She giggled again.

"Harry, if you're going to brush my hair, just brush it. Brush with one hand, and use the other hand to hold the hair, above where you're brushing. It helps smooth it out a little, and it keeps it from hurting when you hit a knot. You really don't have to do this."

"No, it's OK." He held the brush in his right hand and laid his left on her head. After a few minutes of clumsiness, be began to get the hang of it. He noticed as he worked on it that her plain, curly, brown hair shone in the light. There were stands of gold and red. By some impulse, he stopped brushing for a minute, to just touch her hair. "So soft," he murmured.

"You say something?" Hermione asked. She was quite comfortable, leaning back against the pillows on Harry's chest.

"No," he answered. "Just, it's curly is all."

After a few more minutes of brushing, he decided that he wanted to try to braid it, partially because he now knew how much trouble knots were, and partially because he wanted an excuse to keep his hands in her hair. It took a while, and he got his fingers tangled in her hair several times (not that he was complaining), but eventually he got her hair into a single thick braid that went halfway down her back. He immediately felt the loss of the feeling of being able to run his fingers through it. It was so strange to him. Hermione's hair had never held interest to him. He'd never known how it felt, and never wanted to. But for some reason, now he was feeling withdrawal from it. He put a hair tie on the end of the braid and sighed.

"Done?" she asked. "Thank you."

He saw that she was still leaning on him, and he climbed out from behind her, propping her back up on the pillows as he did. But he didn't want to go back to his bed. He sat down next to her, on her bed. There was something that he needed to ask her.

"Hermione, your scar. Did you know...?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't know it was a scar at all. I always thought it was a birthmark, and I never paid attention to it. It is so odd, now that I think about it." She poked her ankle out again. "Yours and mine are practically identical." This time, it was her who reached out a hand. Her hand trembled as his did, and she reached out and touched his scar, the one that had made him what he was. He closed his eyes at the gentleness. Once again, they felt warm, and the pink aura returned. "So strange," she whispered. She took her hand away and put it on her own lap. "I never read about this happening. The books always said that if the other person was scarred, the scars would be similar, but still have different characteristics. Yours and mine are identical."

He opened his eyes, and looked into hers. His eyes were startlingly green, yet warm and inviting and kind. Hers were loving and caring and deep. He felt himself lose thought as he stared into her eyes. She melted against the pillows, and they just sat there silently, absorbed. Neither of them moved. It was perfectly peaceful, and at that second, nothing mattered. Everything was right in the world.

Author's Note: My chapters have been painfully short. I apologize, and the next story will not be that way. This story is completed, and I am making only minor edits for posting.

11. Perfection

Thank you very much to everyone who takes the time to review. Please do review, I really enjoy them. :)

Se Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

A week had passed for Harry and Hermione in the hospital wing. They both recovered slowly, in beds next to each other. They passed the time talking and playing Exploding Snap and Wizard's Chess, a game at which Hermione was getting very apt at winning. They were also kept busy in their own interests. Ron kept Harry going on a constant flow of miniature Quidditch games, all of which, to Harry's pleasure, were against Slytherin. Ginny kept Hermione from going stir-crazy by bringing her all of the books she requested from the library, except for her schoolbooks. Madame Pomfrey did not want Hermione to hinder her own recover by doing too much, too soon, and had forbidden her from doing schoolwork, much to Hermione's discontent. After the fist few days, Madame Pomfrey had stanched the near-constant flow of visitors, so Hermione and Harry were alone most days.

Harry sat on his bed, eyes closed, with his wand in his hand. He swayed back and forth, occasionally plummeting into what was obviously a dive for the Snitch. Hermione was curled up in her own bed, reading a book titled "Protective Spells: The Best Gift". Harry, thoroughly involved in his Quidditch game, did not notice Hermione's sudden interest at what she was reading.

'Chapter 16 and a half: Post-Protection Scars'

She skimmed down the page, looking for the protection charm that Lily had used. Finally, she found it, and settled in to read the paragraph. She'd read it years before, but now it would make sense.

"Protection spells always leave scars, and this one is no different. This charm, however, leaves two scars. One scar is left on the one protected, and the other, a smaller one, is left marking the one who will eventually complete the protection. Often, the two people will be linked by blood, but this is not always the case. Sometimes links will be to someone who cares very much about the protected, someone bound to them by love. In very rare cases, they will link two people who do not know each other at the time of binding, but the two people are destined to be close. In such cases, the caster of the spell will not necessarily know who the person to whom the other scar will go. The spell caster is notified immediately after death of to whom the other end went."

"This spell has a very distinctively shaped scar. It produces a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning. The scar on the protected individual will be blatantly visible, and in a place not normally covered by clothing. It will warn the individual of when danger is coming by causing pain. The other person's scar, however, will be much less noticeable. It will be smaller, it will not be painful at all. It may or may not be covered with clothing."

"One characteristic of protection scars is their similarity. All scars obtained from this spell will be shaped like lightning bolts. However, all will be different. The two bolts in a pair, the protected and the second protector, will be very similar, but have some obviously different qualities."

Hermione skimmed the next page. It was all pictures of pairs of lightning bolt scars. Each pair had the same general shape, but had imperfections. Figure A had one bolt facing left and one facing right. Figure B had one more direction change on the first bolt than the second. Figure C had one bolt with a tiny hump on one size, and the other without. They all looked similar, yet different. 'Funny,' she thought. 'It seemed like mine and Harry's were identical.' She uncovered her ankle, to inspect the bolt. She pulled out a picture of her, Harry, and Ron, and muttered a spell to keep them all from moving while she was looking at the picture. She held it next to her ankle, and inspected Harry's scar next to her own. Over and over, she looked at the two scars together. Every turn, every little mark, identical. 'Strange,' she thought. She turned her attention back to the book. At the bottom of the page appeared a small message.

"If this spell has been cast on you, and both you and the other person affected in the spell have identical scars, read this message. This is a very rare occurrence, and it is a condition that is not common knowledge. We will be willing to explain this phenomenon to you, but we want to do it on a case-by-case basis. To verify your identity and reason to know, touch your fingertip to the space at the bottom of this page."

Hermione looked around her, as if to see whether anyone was watching her. She tentatively reached out a finger and touched the bottom of the page. A new message appeared.

"Thank you. Your identity has been verified. Turn the page to find out the cause of your identical scars."

She turned the page.

"At this point, we would like to warn you that the information you are about to discover could change your life forever. You may not want to know. If you still wish to continue at your own risk, turn the page now. We cannot be held responsible for anything that occurs because of your knowledge."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She had never seen a book with a disclaimer, but she was sure that whatever this one had to tell her wasn't going to kill her. Honestly, she thought, if that curse hadn't, nothing could. She reached over and turned the page.

Her eyes scanned over the page and went wide with shock. She shook her head in disbelief. She closed her eyes. It had to all be her imagination. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and skimmed over the page again. It couldn't be. She must have been wrong. Determinedly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up, not caring that she was barefooted on the cold tile floor or that she only wore a chemise. She had to know. In an instant, she was over at Harry's bed. Still playing his game, he was completely oblivious to her presence. That was the way she wanted to keep it, at least for the moment. She quietly sat down next to him on the bed. She studied her own ankle, and then took a deep breath and looked at his scar. She could only see parts of it, peeking out from under his hair. What she could see was completely identical. She reached out a shaking hand to his forehead to move his hair. She had completely forgotten that he was playing the game. She was studying his scar, eyes wide, when he suddenly jolted out of his game. First, he glared wide-eyed at Hermione. After what he'd been through, he had good cause to be afraid of intruders. Then, when he saw it was her, his look softened. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it again. He couldn't tear his eyes away. There, sitting next to him, was his best friend of seven years. Her eyes, her chocolate eyes, were wide open, windows to her soul. Her hair was in a disheveled braid, almost halo-like. She sat before him in a white chemise, and barefooted. She was beautiful. Her hand was on his forehead, and they were surrounded by an indescribable aura. One of happiness. Peace.

Love.

Whatever Hermione was so intent about was fading from her face. Peace enveloped them both, at least for the second. An unbelievable magnetism took over them both. Harry, still transfixed, put his wand down and placed once hand on her scarred ankle, and the other on her waist. The aura intensified the second Harry touched Hermione's scar. They just sat, basking in the glow. Neither knew what had come over them. The feeling was amazing. The room was warm, and a slight breeze seemed to surround them. Harry looked deeper into Hermione's eyes, and noticed all of the previous urgency gone from them. She seemed to be completely lost for words, not something that normally happened to her. Something pulled them closer. Neither knew what was happening, but they knew that whatever was happening, was right. Slowly, painstakingly, they leaned closer into each other. The moment felt perfect. An unknown force was gently pushing them together. It felt like an eternity to them. They broke their eye contact to close their eyes. Slowly, sweetly, softly, their lips touched. A heat radiated through both of them, and aura flashed brighter. It only lasted a split second, but that split second felt as though the heavens were singing. It felt perfect. They separated just as slowly, and Harry was the first to open his eyes. The power of the moment was too much for him to speak.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. She exhaled blissfully, and she, too, could not speak.

12. Evolution

I'm back to "Devotion." Although this story is indeed finished on my computer, I had some major edits to do before posting. That was what the break was for, and also so that I could post my new one, "Something to Talk About." Thank you for all of the reviews! Please continue to review.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

They sat, basking in the afterglow, for a few long seconds, neither of them daring to speak, as if speaking would shatter the moment. Slowly, Hermione pulled her hand away from Harry's face. He seemed to come out of a trance, and shook his head. He looked down, and slid his hand off of her ankle. The aura disappeared. Harry seemed to be hit with a sudden realization as to what had just happened.

"Hermione, I... I don't know what... I'm sor--"

"Shhh," she interrupted, placing a finger over his lips. The moment was heavy, like it bore the weight of fate. Her eyes bore into his again. She knew that it was all true. Every word he had said to her when he thought she was unconscious. Every word that she wanted to say back to him. Every thought she'd had, during those seconds where she was out on the battlefield, dying. It was all true. To apologize would be a lie. She wasn't sorry, and she knew he wasn't, either. There was no reason to be. They were just two people.

In love.

There was no denying it any longer, as far as she was concerned. She had known it all along. This only affirmed it. She had known it forever. The time that she had been waiting for was now. Green eyes met brown again, and they both knew that what they had wasn't wrong. It was right. Completely right. Five words ran silently through each of their minds.

I'm in love with you.

Both knew their thought was true, but neither was ready to say it. Neither knew the other felt the same way. Deep inside, they knew. They had always known. But it's so hard to believe in something so good, something, that for one of them, was so foreign. Harry had never felt this way toward anyone. Love was a completely alien emotion in him, and it scared him. Scared him more than the threat he'd had to live with. He knew death, he'd dealt with it before. He knew pain, and pain didn't scare him. But something about this totally new feeling terrified him. He blinked, and the discomfort was gone. He had broken eye contact, and that eye contact had bonded him to her soul. He wanted that bond. He wanted it more than anything, but for right now, he had to escape it for a second. Glancing around, out of a growing desire to get into a more familiar emotion, his eyes landed on a book lying on his bed next to where Hermione sat.

He shook his head, to try to clear it partially. He spoke, shakily and quietly. "Hey, Hermione, is that your book?"

She blinked. She had been in another world. His words seemed foreign at first, but slowly, comprehension traced across her face. The light that had been in her features faded, and was replaced with a cloud of worry and uncertainty. She looked down. Should she tell him? If it was true, he'd find out eventually anyway. If she told him, would the friendship change? Did she want it to? After what had just happened, wouldn't the friendship change anyway? Was the book wrong? After what had just happened, is it even possible that the book could be... right? She had never considered it. But now, she was thinking differently. Thoughts, both positive and negative raced though her head. Harry, who had, by now, regained his composure, looked at Hermione quizzically. "Hermione? You in there? I asked if this was yours." He picked up the book, and looked it over. The page was blank, except for a disclaimer. "Ooh, Hermione, reading a restricted book... but honestly, what could be so bad that it would need a disclaimer?" He eyed the cover. "Protection spells? What could possibly be in here?"

"You would be surprised." She kept her eyes down. This was not typical Hermione behavior.

He looked at her. "Did you come over here to show me something in the book?"

She shook her head. "I came over to look at your scar," she answered, completely truthfully. He laughed.

"You've seen my scar so many times, it's in the most obvious place on earth. Why now?" Realization came into his head suddenly. "Does the book say something about my scar? My mum's spell?" He tried to read her expression. "Our scars?"

She sighed. "In a way, yes. It does say something about our scars. Not just about our scars, but about us... I can't say it, I don't even know if I believe it yet. You want to know, you read it too. I'm going to sit here while you read it, because I think it's something we both need to figure out together."

"Is it that bad?" His voice quieted. "After living through that battle, and all of the bombs Dumbledore dropped on us afterward, I'm not sure that much can be worse. Can it?"

She laughed uneasily. "Not bad, at least I don't think. Neither of us is going to die or anything. Strange more than anything. I... it just is a shock, and it's something that... well, just read it! But no, not bad, per say."

"Gods, that's cryptic. Can you ever just come out and talk?" He looked down at the page and saw the disclaimer. His intial thought was that books didn't have disclaimers, and he even considered asking Hermione if she'd ever seen a book with a disclaimer before. He reconsidered, however, determining that if it was in a book, Hermione had seen it. Laughing to himself, he glanced down at the page and continued to read.

"Not common knowledge?" he asked, with a bit of sarcasm. "Oh great. I get to know something other people don't know... as long as this one isn't foretelling my death, because that particular bit of information was not a good secret." Hermione giggled. She assured him that it was not a death notice. He touched his finger to the page, and turned it. Another disclaimer.

Hermione, who had seen this disclaimer and not taken it seriously once before, bit her lip. He looked more serious now. "Change my life forever? Continue at my own risk? After all the shock I've had, I'm sure that a book won't faze me." But his voice was less assured. He was a little anxious. The book wouldn't have the disclaimer if it wasn't absolutely necessary. He took one more look at Hermione. There were so many emotions in her eyes, that it was impossible for him to tell what this book held. He smiled at her and gave her a reassuring glance, and turned his attention back to the worn book in his lap. He turned the page slowly. His eyes focused on the words, and he began to read silently. The title was in larger letters, and jumped out at Harry.

"Identical Scars: Incidence #6. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

It knew their names. How? Did their fingerprints identify them? Or was this identical-scars thing known about them before? Did the book have a record of everyone with this condition? It must have been really rare, for them to only be number six. Curiosity got the best of him, and he read the next few paragraphs. He was only half-surprised at what he discovered.

"History of Incidence #6:

Spell cast by Lily Evans Potter, 72 hours before her death. Directly cast on Harry Potter, her infant son. Spell took effect the second that Lily Potter died. At that second, the second half of the spell took effect. Indirectly cast on Hermione Granger, no relation to the Potters. Harry Potter is of half blood- maternally Muggle-born and paternally pure-blooded; Hermione Granger is Muggle-born. Harry Potter's scar is located on his forehead, and Hermione Granger's scar is located on her right ankle. Scars are certified identical."

Harry looked up at Hermione. "This book knows us awfully well," he remarked. She nodded, and motioned for him to keep reading.

"Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger's scars are perfectly identical. Rest assured, Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger. This book is the only record of your condition, and the Ministry of Magic has no idea. Only those affected by this particular condition know what it means, with one exception. Professor Albus Dumbledore knows what identical scars mean, but he does not know that yours are certified identical."

Harry chuckled. "Now the book's talking to us. Have you ever seen a book that... oh well, actually, with all the reading you do, you probably have," he thought out loud, again. "Hmm, Dumbledore knows? No big surprise. He knows everything."

Hermione smiled, but then spoke with a hint of impatience in her voice.. "Aren't you curious? If you keep stopping, you'll never find out!" He turned his attention back to the book.

"Beware. What you are about to read will indeed change your lives permanently. If you wish to not know, turn back now."

He blinked and read the line again. He didn't have a very good history with life-altering pieces of writing.

"Identical scars from this particular curse can only mean one thing. Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger's scars are no different. We are completely sure that we are not mistaken. Nothing can change fate. Mr. Potter's and Ms. Granger's fates were destined to intertwine. In the case of identical scars, they were destined to intertwine more than most. Hermione Granger is Harry Potter's intended, and Mr. Potter is Ms. Granger's."

Harry looked up at Hermione, puzzled. "Intended? Intended what?" She looked at him, with one of her famous how-can-you-be-so-clueless looks. "Intended. Like in the old days," she insisted. Understanding started to dawn on him, but he was sure that what he was thinking couldn't be it. He noticed that there were only three more lines on the page.

"Intended is a Muggle term that dates back to colonial England. In essence, being one's intended means a betrothal. In short, the scars that Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger have, due to their being identical, foretell the future. Destiny will take its course, and its course will end in one thing."

He was starting to get it now, but he needed to be sure. He turned the page. There, in curvy letters, was a single line of type.

"Destiny welcomes Mr. Harry Potter and his intended, the future Mrs. Hermione Potter."

13. Reaction

Thanks to all the reviewers!!! Please do review. I love to read them. This is a short chapter, and I apologize. I'll get the next one up soon.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Another uncomfortable silence fell between them. They both stared wordlessly at the book for a few moments, each mentally begging the other to say something, to break the heavy silence. Hermione tried to process it in her head. She tried to read Harry's emotion through his face, but it was to no avail. Maybe letting him read it was a mistake. She knew that she wouldn't have been able to easily hold that secret from him, but she also knew that he might not have been ready to learn it. After all that shock, she had gone and let him know that they were destined to fall in love and get married. Another bombshell. She beat herself up mentally. It would never even happen now anyway, because he was going to be so mad at her and embarrassed over the whole thing that he would never talk to her again. Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't look at him.

Across from her on the bed, Harry sat, stunned. At first, he couldn't process it. Slowly, it came to him. Realization washed over him. Gradually, almost indiscernibly, the corners of his mouth turned.

Hermione heard little, hushed sounds through her tears. He's crying, she thought to herself at first. Crying that he was supposed to fall for a girl like me. Tears that had been at the brink spilled over onto her cheeks. But inside her, something didn't make sense. Harry crying at this? He had never been an overtly emotional person, at least in that sense. Sure, he'd had a temper, but the only time she'd heard him cry was when he was... oh, no. When he was pouring his heart out to her, when he thought she was unconscious. She cried quietly.

The sounds she was hearing, however, grew louder. They had began as just tiny noises, but they were escalating. She listened. The sounds didn't seem like crying, though. They came, light and bubbling, to her ears, tickling her eardrums. She sat, perplexed as to what the sound might be. It sounded like laughter- but it couldn't be. Could it? She lifted her tear-stained face to look at Harry.

The corners of his mouth were turned upward in a slightly lopsided smile. And he was chuckling. Chuckling, of all things. Her eyes burned from tears and confusion. A million thoughts ran impossibly fast through her head. He's laughing at me. Laughing at the whole idea. The two of us together is a joke. It's hard for me to think of it that way too, but I don't find it funny. He's laughing to hide his feelings. He doesn't want to come out and tell me how horrible it would be to be married to me. The thoughts ran so fast that she hardly even could analyze them. She saw him laughing, harder now, and her tears flowed freely. He was practically hysterical.

"You... book... you thought... had me scared... I thought... death... and it was... marriage!!! And you... upset... scars... disclaimer... Hermione Potter!!! Scared me... no... bloody... reason!!!" he managed to force out in between laughs.

Hermione looked at him harshly. Her stare was filled with confusion and a simmering anger. She didn't even have a clue what he was saying, he was so hysterical. But she did know that he was obviously laughing at her, and not with her. Her face burned.

He tried to stop to breathe several times, but was unsuccessful. Finally, he partially tamed his laughter. Still grinning and chuckling, he looked over at the increasingly red Hermione. He became a tiny bit more solemn upon seeing how upset she was, but he still had small laughs escape him. There was clearly a misunderstanding on both sides. Either Harry didn't see the seriousness of the situation, or Hermione didn't see the humor, but as it seemed, both were true. Harry, his self-control weak, burst into another round of laughter. Hermione boiled over.

"You find it funny!" she started, furiously. "Funny that anybody would ever be fated to marry me. You don't want me to see your horror. It would be so horrible to be married to me that you won't even say it. You find the whole thing funny. And also, there's the minute detail of, oh yeah, the fact that now, our friendship is destroyed, because we found out. The marriage thing isn't going to happen, and it wasn't going to happen anyway, but our friendship is ruined, and you find that amusing!! I can't believe that I tried to give my life for you, you pretended to care, and now you feel I'm not even good enou--"

"Hermione Granger Potter. Has a bit of a ring to it." He broke in, interrupting her rant. He spoke evenly, having managed to control his laughter, at least for the moment.

She stopped, breathing heavily from her burst of anger. She was outright confused now. Her face was red still, but she turned, eyes burning, to look at him.

"Ron would be the best man, Ginny the maid of honor. Dumbledore would perform the ceremony in the Great Hall, because there's nowhere else in the world it could be."

Some of the flush faded from her face. Completely perplexed, she looked him in the eye. What was he doing? Hadn't he just been laughing at the idea? Where was he going with this?

"Got your attention," he said, softly. "I don't find it funny that I was fated to marry you. I'm not trying to hide horror. Our friendship is not destroyed, and it's not ruined. And never say that you're not good enough."

She was still confused, but she was relieved. And touched. He hadn't been laughing at her, and he had just paid her what she assumed to be a compliment. Her eyes watered, but she stopped crying. But she still wondered.

"What... what were you laughing at, if it wasn't me?"

He smiled. "I wasn't laughing at you at all. I was laughing at the way you had presented the whole thing. You had this look of terror on your face, and the book kept giving me disclaimers, and you really had me scared. I thought it was going to say that one or both of us was going to die, or he world was going to self-destruct, based on all of the lead-in. And what was it? A wedding announcement. Yes, it was a wedding announcement for you and I, which did shock me, but it still was a wedding announcement. And I had been expecting some sort of death certificate. You had me so scared, and it was nothing! I found it hilarious that you thought that this would change everything, and how serious you were."

She looked down. "It does change everything." He voice was quiet and still trembling slightly. "That book said we were destined to be married. There's no way we can go forward now, with our friendship the same as always. And we messed up destiny, because now we'll never be the same."

His voice quieted again. "Nothing can change destiny, Hermione. Nothing changed it for my parents, and nothing can change it for us. If that was our fate, then it will happen." He grinned. "Do you find the idea of marrying me to be so grotesque that you would try to change fate to get out of it? We've come this far. Do you really hate me that much, Granger?"

She didn't answer. She simply smiled and hit him with a nearby pillow.

14. Voyage

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See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

She didn't answer. She simply smiled and hit him with a nearby pillow.

"Oi!" He bent, trying to avoid the pillow, but was unsuccessful. It hit his shoulder with a muffled thump. He smiled. "Hitting on me, now are you?" he added, playfully.

Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened into a shocked grin. With that, she gripped the pillow harder and whacked him with it, over and over.

He laughed, a fiery glint in his eyes. He took the abuse like a man, or at least somewhat like a man. He laughed harder and harder, and interjected statements at every possible opportunity.

"Our wedding colors will be red and gold!" "We'd pick hideous bridesmaid's dresses!" "We'd put a lock on the Great Hall to lock out the greasy gits!" "You'll wear a traditional gown, complete with veil and train!" "Dobby can be the ringbearer!" "And just wait until our honeymoon--"

She was temporarily distracted from her abuse of Harry. Her eyes went even wider. Their honeymoon? She got an evil grin on her face, and whacked Harry with the pillow, hard, across the face.

He blinked and grinned. "I shouldn't hit a lady, I know, but you asked for it!" He grabbed his own pillow from behind him, as they were still sitting on his bed. He hit her with the pillow. Soon, they were both engaged in a gigantic pillow fight. Harry, obviously the stronger of the two, quickly took the lead. He succeeded in eventually liberating her pillow from her, and, taking her wrists, wrestled her into submission. She was a strong fighter, and taking control of her was difficult, but after a long laughter-laden battle, he finally pinned her down. His own pillow lay forgotten next to him, as he sat over her. She was laying on her back on the bed, and he was kneeling on one side of her waist, his hands keeping her wrists firmly in submission over her head.

They were both flushed and hysterical. They laughed, almost in their own little worlds, hardly noticing their physical positions. The laughter gently subsided, and Hermione slowly opened her smiling eyes. At that second, they were both hit with the realization of their situation. Harry, on his knees, had his upper body merely inches from hers. Hermione realized that she was completely at his mercy, vulnerable and with her hands pinned above her head, and his body close to hers. She closed her eyes again, expecting it to disappear when she opened them. She would be just sitting there next to him, like always. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Green.

It was all she could see. His eyes, piercing and warm and kind and inviting and intense. A new feeling enveloped her. Though she was completely at his mercy, she did not feel threatened. Even in this position, where she was powerless and defenseless, she felt safe, safer than she'd felt in years. Her breath was hitched and she flushed again, this time not out of laughter.

He looked down at her. She had closed her eyes, as if she expected something to be different when she opened them. In a way, he thought, something was different. He didn't know what was different, but when she opened her eyes and he gazed again into her caring brown ones, he knew something had changed. He looked over her, lying still beneath his frame, her hands in his. She blushed under his gaze. Harry grew warm and flushed also, but couldn't will himself to move from this position.

Neither could move. In reality, Hermione could have rolled out from under Harry's arms. But something told her not to. Hermione lay still, and Harry kneeled over her, both feeling new waves of emotion, that they had never felt before.

Hermione was hit with several thoughts at the same time, all of which shocked her. An idea hit her that Harry was going to kiss her. Her next immediate thought was that he wasn't, because they were friends. More thoughts came, a million miles an hour. They were destined to fall in love. She wasn't in love, or was she? Was he going to kiss her? Part of her was absolutely terrified at the prospect. They had shared a kiss already, but hadn't had a chance to think before that one- it was like her body had run on automatic. She was lying under Harry, and was scared and thrilled at the same time. She was scared that he might kiss her, but deep down she was anxious and excited. Something in the pit of her stomach hoped he would, even though parts of her brain begged that he wouldn't. She noticed their closeness, and her apprehension slowly faded. Her heart began to take over. Deep down, she knew. She was still anxious, but as the seconds passed, she felt an ever-increasing pull to kiss him.

He kneeled, very still, as if moving would break her. He studied her face, her eyes, everything about the moment, because something told him to. She was so vulnerable, but it wasn't like seeing her when she first came into the hospital wing. She was full of life, and it was a life that a voice inside Harry told him that he wanted to be part of. His heart lifted, and the feeling was undescribable. As he bent over her, still inches from her, he suddenly felt terrified. What was this magnetism that pulled him to her? And why did he have the sudden impulse to kiss her? He knew in his gut what it was, but refused to allow himself to believe it just yet. The desire was growing stronger. As much self-control as he had, he couldn't stop this. He abruptly lowered himself those few inches and claimed her lips with his.

This kiss was very different from the previous. The last one had been slow, gentle, peaceful. Neither Harry nor Hermione had thought about it the previous time, it had just taken over them while they were under the aura. It had been calm, soft romance with a kindness and respect that was chaste. This kiss was none of those. It was fiery, sudden, and strong. It, in a few short seconds, captured an undeclared and untapped love and desire. It had been a conscious thought on both of their parts, and despite their apprehension, both had wanted it. It was a bond, and was bold and new. Its fire touched them both in indescribable ways.

As quickly as it had began, it ended. With a sudden, lightning-fast twitch, Harry and Hermione were both sitting upright, facing away from each other. Though they couldn't see each other, they each knew that the other's cheeks burned pink as their own did. They were both quite warm, and blushed almost painfully. They both were humiliated by what had just happened, though they didn't know why. They felt confused by the strings of emotion, and afraid of what they had done and its possible effects on the future. They had just taken a giant leap into the unknown, and the unknown was a terrifying place to be.

15. Discussion

I'm very sorry for the long delay. I went away for the holidays, and I hope that all of you had wonderful celebrations. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Please continue to review. The more reviews I get, the more motivated I become. :)

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Once again, Harry and Hermione sat in silence, but the silence this time was heavy and uncomfortable. Both were dying to say something, but neither dared. They were still reeling from the last moment. How could something that they thought was so wrong feel so right?

Hermione's face burned painfully. She couldn't believe it. It had made her feel so different. That hadn't been a chaste, friendly kiss. It had been raw emotion. The thought thrilled her, but scared her. What did it mean? It wasn't every day that she suddenly got the urge to kiss her best friend, but it also wasn't every day that she ended up pinned underneath him. She remembered, though, that she had started it. She had hit him with the pillow. But she didn't feel guilty. She felt another emotion, one that she could hardly name. Her heart was full, and she felt as if what had happened was wonderful. But at the same time, it was absolutely awful. It made everything complicated, and even with her sharp mind, it was too confusing a knot for her to untangle.

He was mortified. Yet this feeling of mortification was a new one. He'd been embarrassed before. Why did this feel so different? It felt good, in some way. There was something in his heart that had given way, and he could still feel the heat. The heat. It came back to him. He had pinned her down and not moved. He had been so close to her. And then he had gone and kissed her, not in a friendly way, but raw and animalistic. How could he have done this to her? The feeling that had coursed through his veins was new, as was the pressure in his heart.

The silence had been unnerving before, but now it truly was deafening. It bore down upon them with an unbearable weight. They could hear and feel the blood pounding in their ears.

The slam of a door shattered the silence.

"Hermione?" came a female voice. It was followed by a male voice. "Hey, Harry, I got a new Quidditch game for you!"

Harry and Hermione still did not move, they sat stiff and still red-faced on the bed, facing away from each other. "Hi," they both mumbled, rather incoherently.

Ron Weasley crashed into the little room, with his sister Ginny close on his heels. As usual, Ron wore a wide grin. "Hey!" he declared at Harry and Hermione. Ginny smiled. "How are you feeling?" Ron, however, didn't allow either to answer, and didn't seem to notice that they didn't appear as though they could speak. "This match is a great one, Harry, it's a World Cup game. I've been playing England vs. Ireland, and the Irish beaters are--"

He stopped to rub his arm where he had been punched, and to look at who had punched him. Ginny stood there, a strange look on her face. He questioned her with his eyes, and she led him to look at the two figures on the bed. Ron then realized the odd silence and the odd blushes on Harry and Hermione's faces. He thought for a second, and threw another questioning glance at Ginny. They could practically communicate telepathically. It was necessary, living in a house with so many people. There was never enough time to get a word in otherwise. Ginny read Ron's face, and raised her eyebrows. He went slightly red. "You don't think..." he mouthed. She shrugged her shoulders slightly and smiled. "One way to find out," she mouthed back. He nodded. Ginny and Ron wanted to know, but they also knew that Harry and Hermione needed someone to talk to, other than each other right now.

Ginny stood and faced Hermione. "Hey, Hermione!" she said in an exceptionally chipper tone.

Hermione looked up, slightly startled, as if dazed. "Oh, hi, Ginny," she said with a half-smile.

"You want to go back to your side of the room? I've something to show you."

Hermione nodded, thankful to be out of the situation for a while. Ginny helped her up, and the two walked over to the other side of the room, to Hermione's own bed. Ginny put up the separating curtain, and tried to inconspicuously put up a silencing charm. On the other side, Ron did the same. Now alone, Ginny sat down on Hermione's bed next to her, and crossed her legs. She simply stared at Hermione. Stared. And waited. And stared some more.

Finally giving up, Hermione looked at Ginny. "You don't really have something to show me, do you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Hermione knew that she didn't really have to ask, because she already had the answer.

Ginny grinned. "Nope," she said. "But you have something to tell me."

Hermione reddened again. "And what gives you that idea?" She tried to sound confident, but she knew that her attempts were futile. She didn't meet Ginny's eyes.

The redhead giggled. "Everything. You're red. And you're not talking. And there is the little scene I observed when I came into the room, with you and Harry sitting turned away from each other, blushing like mad. You have something to tell me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do, Hermione Granger. And you will tell me. You know that you'll crack. You're dying to tell me. You really are. But you won't let yourself say it. Saying it might make it true."

Hermione thought about that last statement for a minute. Still, though, she wouldn't tell.

"OK then, you don't want to tell me, I'll guess."

Hermione's eyes narrowed some. Ginny probably could guess it in five seconds or less.

"You tried a new blushing potion. You were trying to see how long it would take to make smoke come out of your ears. Or practicing telepathy. Or trying to use a new charm to force all of someone's blood to their face. Or trying to completely ignore each other while less than ten centimeters away. Or having a Blushing BonBons eating contest. Or recalling embarrassing stories. Or trying to recover from being in a compromising position. Or being disturbed after a bout of snogging..."

Her voice emphasized the last bit, and faded out at the end. She smiled broadly, knowing she had done it now, and stared triumphantly at Hermione.

"Itwasntsnogging," Hermione mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Ginny said.

"I wasn't snogging Harry."

"Snogging Harry? Where did you get such an idea?! I certainly said nothing about you snogging Harry. I mentioned snogging, but I didn't suggest that it was Harry that you were snogging. Hmm, guilty conscience? Does somebody want to tell me something?" Ginny gave Hermione a sly grin.

Hermione looked at Ginny with a tiny smile of defeat. Ginny grinned broadly, and sat on her heels, like a giddy schoolgirl ready to hear some gossip. Actually, she was a giddy schoolgirl ready to hear some gossip. "So, Hermione... what exactly were you doing with Harry?"

Hermione blushed crimson. "This doesn't leave this room." Ginny nodded in agreement. "I wasn't snogging Harry."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "And what would you call it?"

Hermione blushed harder. She told Ginny about the goings-on, beginning from the time that she hit him with a pillow. Hermione chose to leave out why she had hit him. She described the pillow fight, and her voice quieted when she described how he had pinned her down. She told Ginny how she'd felt, and how close he was. Hermione's face reddened even further when she told Ginny that he had kissed her.

Ginny grinned. "You said you didn't snog him."

"I didn't," she said quietly. "The whole thing... it was just so odd, so different, like it felt so right and so wrong at the same time. It was only a second. It just scared us so much that we sat up. I couldn't face him. I don't know what he was thinking after it happened. He might be mad at me. I don't even know what I was thinking afterward." Hermione looked down at her feet. Sure, Ginny was her best female friend and she could tell Ginny anything, but for some reason this was uncomfortable.

Ginny smiled. Although she was a year younger, in this department, she was much more knowledgeable than Hermione, who had yet to have a real boyfriend since her half-baked and short relationship with Krum. "No reason to be embarrassed. Follow your heart. And I don't think that he's mad at you," she winked.

Hermione smiled a tiny bit. Talking to Ginny had helped. She was still incredibly confused, but she felt a little bit better. Still, Ginny seemed to not be completely satisfied. A devilish grin grew across the redhead's face.

"So, Hermione, just one more thing. Scale of one to ten."

Hermione turned red again.

"OK, then, he gets an eleven. I always had thought he'd be a good kisser," Ginny remarked, teasing.

Hermione giggled, feeling a weight lift from her heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What was that, Harry?" Ron inquired, sitting down next to Harry.

"Nothing." It wasn't abrupt or cold, it was simply distant.

"I should have known that you were going to say that. Well, no need to wait for you to tell me, it was bloody obvious." Ron had never mastered being quite as sly and sneaky as his sister. He'd always been blunt, and he knew that in this case, blunt was the best way anyway if he wanted to get anything out of Harry.

Harry looked at Ron, whose eyes seemed to be laughing. "Nothing was obvious, there was nothing going on."

"Right," remarked Ron. "Nothing going on, even though you and Hermione were sitting there dead still, not talking, and as red as my hair. You two never run out of things to say, and you never blush. All I'm saying is that it's obvious that you weren't, say, transfiguring yourselves into tomatoes."

Harry gave him a slightly venomous look, although it wasn't too angry. Harry couldn't be too upset, because he knew he probably had been obvious. Still, however, he refused to speak.

Ron waited a minute. "Well," he said boisterously. "It's about bloody time!!!"

Harry blushed even more than before. Ron grinned. No words were required. Ron knew. Harry looked down. "Really, I just have one problem. I can't believe I did that to her. She probably hates me now."

Ron grinned. "I don't think so."

Harry pursed his lips slightly. He smiled, just the tiniest little bit. Ron gave him a goofy grin.

"I only have one question."

Harry looked up. "Yeah?"

"Scale of one to ten."

Harry blushed and again found his feet quite interesting.

"Got it. Eleven. I always thought she would be a good kisser." Ron grinned broadly.

Harry's eyes widened and he punched Ron in the shoulder. They both laughed.

Please review! Tell me what you think!

-Menucha

16. Decision

Thank you to all of the reviewers. Please continue to review. I want to hear from you. :)

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

The next day, Harry was released from the hospital wing. He was told to go back and join his house, and he seemed very happy to be able to leave. Hermione, however, had to stay for another day, to get her strength back. Harry had left, with the same goodbye as always, but Hermione could have sworn that she saw him wink, even through his grief. It was now, after having some time to recuperate, that the two of them were beginning to feel the losses from the battle that seemed so far in the past.

Hermione looked around the now quiet room. It felt so empty, so isolated now, without him there. She gazed at the white, the blankness, the purity of the room. Scooting down in her bed, she sighed and relaxed in the silence. She reached for a book, and curled up to read. She was right in the middle of Chapter 3 of Melodious Mysteries: Musical Maladies and Wizards Blessed With Them, when she got the odd feeling that she was being watched.

Cautiously, but remembering her vigilance, she pulled her wand from under the sheet and looked around. There beside her, was Albus Dumbledore.

"Oh, Professor Dumbledore! I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you."

"That's quite all right, I was enjoying watching you read. Melodious mysteries, eh? I've always been partial to music myself, it's just a pity that I can't carry a tune."

Hermione laughed. She had a mental image of Dumbledore in a Viking cap, singing an aria.

"I would demonstrate, but I don't believe that you really want to hear. Really, though, the reason I came here was not to observe your reading, nor to discuss my musical prowess. I came to inform you that you have visitors. Your parents are here, and they wish to speak to you alone."

She smiled as she thought of the first time that they had come to visit her. Not only were they faced with their injured daughter, but also with the entire brood of Weasleys- and the proposition of magic. That was the first time that her parents had been in a wizarding building, and they, being the practical and intelligent people that they were, were both fascinated and terrified of all of the odd contraptions.

"Your mother and father will be here shortly. They wish to speak to you alone because they feel that now you will be old enough to understand. You see, Hermione, you already know that when you were a baby, Lily Potter's protection spells changed your destiny, and determined that you would most likely allow your life to be taken, for Harry to live." Hermione's eyes lowered. Dumbledore went on. "I know that you probably have many questions to ask your parents, questions only they can answer. You may want to know why they have waited a week to come talk to you about this. We know that it will be emotionally draining, and we wanted you to have most of your strength back beforehand. This is necessary, for both you and them. Questions need to be answered, and you need to understand." He nodded at her. "They will be here shortly. Take the opportunity, Hermione." She nodded and smile her thanks. He stepped into the fireplace and disappeared.

Hermione thought silently. She did in fact have questions, and she was glad that she would have a chance to ask them now. Time would just make the answers hurt more. She sighed, and steeled herself for what she knew was going to be an emotional discussion.

Her silence was interrupted when Mr. and Mrs. Granger softly knocked on the door. Hermione smiled to herself. 'They are coming in the door like normal people, not jumping through the fireplace.' She paused then, remembering that her parents couldn't go through the fireplace. "Come in," she called.

Hermione got up and crossed the room as her parents came in. She greeted them with warm hugs. Her father was tall and kind-looking, with sandy brown hair. Her mother was kindly, too, and had the same brown curls as her daughter. She was beautiful, and seemed to defy the rules of traditional beauty. Both had the look of intellectuals, with inquisitive eyes. They hugged their daughter, and looked around for chairs. Hermione understood what they were looking for, and picked up two empty bottles. With a simple and deft swish of her wand, she transfigured the bottles into chairs. Her parents jumped.

"I will never get used to that," her mother sighed, while her father simply looked fascinated. "That really comes in handy, doesn't it? Don't have to bring in chairs, just make them, with just a wave!" Hermione smiled. Her parents really reminded her of the Weasleys sometimes. Mrs. Weasley was practical, and Mr. Weasley was always wrapped up in some Muggle fascination. Mrs. Granger was practical and affectionate, too, and Mr. Granger thought that wizarding things were truly incredible. Hermione settled back onto her bed, and her parents took their seats next to her. There was a moment of silence.

"Hermione, this week has been very hard for us. We knew how close to death you were. Headmaster Dumbledore has been so kind to us, letting us stay here, but we haven't really gotten to talk to you... about what happened, and what we knew. We somewhat hoped that the prediction wouldn't come true, but in our hearts we knew it would. It's long past time for us to tell you. Headmaster told us that he told you about the protection, and how you were involved." Hermione's mother sighed quietly. It was very unlike her to be so quiet, so unfeeling, but Hermione knew that inside, Mrs. Granger had so much that she was dying to say. They had always been honest with each other, and had both a mother-daughter and a friendly relationship. Hermione could feel that it had pained her mother to withhold this terrible truth from her.

Hermione took a deep breath. "He told me some. He said that he went to you and told you what had happened... explained the scar and the spell. But he didn't tell me exactly what happened that night."

Mr. Granger nodded. "Well, to begin at the beginning, you were already an intellectual child, even as a baby. You were always learning something. There were some times, though, where something would happen around you and we wouldn't be sure how. Even before you were a year old, you got a bad cut on your leg, from running outside in the rain. You loved the rain as a baby. Anyway, you got a horrible cut, and the doctor's office was closed for the night, so we cleaned it up were planning on taking you to get stitched up the next morning. But when we came in your room the next morning, you were happy as anything- and your cut had completely disappeared."

"Early signs of magic," Hermione said, happily.

"Yes," Mrs. Granger added, "but we didn't know it then. Odd things kept happening, though. You had a sense of humor and a sense of wisdom that made it hard to believe you weren't even a year old yet. You really didn't cry much. When you did cry, it was for a split second, before you found another thing to explore. But one night, at midnight, you screamed out. We thought you were horribly hurt, by the way you cried. We ran in, and you looked so pale and like you were in a great deal of pain. You screamed for a few more minutes, but then fell into an oddly peaceful sleep. We, as fist-time parents, were terrified. We didn't know what was wrong."

"And the plot thickens," Mr. Granger added with a grin. "A very old man rang our doorbell. Imagine, an old man with a long beard in odd robes, ringing our doorbell at midnight. We were very confused. He introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, and, of all things, asked us if we wished to join him for tea and a lemon drop. At our house, at midnight. It was quite odd."

"He talked to us for a while, and something about him told me that he was a good man, and sent to us with a purpose." Hermione was mildly surprised. Her parents were so protective usually about who came into their house. Dumbledore must have made quite a good impression.

"We invited him in, and he said something, and a tea set and a basket of lemon drops appeared in front of us. He had said something about being a wizard, but it hadn't made sense. After a long chat, and after he explained that he really was a wizard, he told us that he believed that he knew what had ailed you. He told us about the existence of a terrible wizard, and told us this wizard had killed many people, but that he had just been weakened, after trying to kill a child, the same age as you, Hermione. He told us about Harry Potter and what had happened. We didn't understand, though, what all of this had to do with you." Mrs. Granger looked down. "He asked us whether you had any unusual birthmarks. We told him that you had none. Then he asked to see you. He went right to your ankle, and looked over it, like he'd lost something. He sighed then, and placed his finger over a small area on your ankle. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, it looked like he was about to cry. He showed us what he had been looking at- a lightning-bolt shaped scar. He told us that his thought had been confirmed, and he needed to speak to us."

Mr. Granger took over. "He took us into the living area, and sat us down. He told us then that you were a witch. We've known since you were a baby. Then he told us about the scar. He said that Harry Potter had one that was quite similar. Then he told us that the evil wizard hadn't been killed, and would probably return again. Harry would then be the hope for the wizarding world, to defeat him. We still didn't understand what this had to do with you. That's when he described the charm itself. He told us that Harry Potter was going to become a close friend of yours, and that the scars bound you together. Then," he paused, "he told us that the scar foretold that you would save Harry Potter's life, by giving up your own." Mrs. Granger teared up, but Mr. Granger continued, trying to just get it all out. "Headmaster Dumbledore told us that, indirectly, you were the hope for the survival of their world. But then he gave us a choice. He told us that when the time came for you to go to Hogwarts, we might keep you back. You would save them, he said, but we had the choice of whether to send you to school. If we didn't send you, you wouldn't have met Harry."

Hermione's eyes burned. "You could have kept me home, and never told me that I was a witch?"

"Technically, yes, but I think Dumbledore perceived from us that we would not be so cruel, either to you, or to your world. But Hermione, the reason we never told you prior to your letter was that we couldn't bear the thought. You leaving for Hogwarts..."

"... would have been like sealing my fate," Hermione sighed, very softly. Soft tears were falling now. "But you let me go. Why?"

Mrs. Granger took a deep breath. "We had to," she said, "for several reasons. First of all, we couldn't deny you that part of yourself, we had to let you learn. Never think, though, that we were willing to sacrifice you, never. We weren't. In fact, when you were little, we didn't want to ever tell you. But you got older... there was something about you, and a wisdom about you that is not typically found in children your age. You almost seemed to be missing something. You were always excelling, but you always seemed to know that there was another frontier that you should explore, somewhere. When the letter came, we knew we could never hold you back."

"You were able to let go, for me. How were you able to, knowing... what you knew?" Hermione was whispering now.

"We knew there was a chance that you wouldn't make it, but we had faith in you. We had faith in your decisions, and we knew that in your heart, if we had given you the decision to make, you would have gone in a heartbeat. We were terrified when you began writing us about Harry Potter, we had been hoping that the predictions would be wrong. But in our hearts, we knew that it wouldn't be. It was your destiny, and you had to figure it out yourself. You, in fact, made the final decision, to go out there, with Lily's help. We had to let you go. We couldn't play God. This was your destiny, and nothing can change fate. Nothing." Mrs. Granger looked up. "But you lived. It was your destiny to live."

Mrs. Granger gave her daughter a crushing hug, and Hermione tried to smile through her tears. Mr. Granger joined in the embrace.

Inside Hermione's head, her mother's words echoed.

"Nothing can change fate. Nothing."

17. Reality

Thank you for all of your reviews! I'm thrilled that you're enjoying this story. Please continue to review. Reviews only serve to encourage the author. :)

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

"Nothing can change fate. Nothing."

The words echoed, over and over, in her head. Her sleep was fitful yet deep. The words took on a melodic quality. They sang themselves in her dreams. The chorus echoed, and Hermione found herself standing in the Great Hall. The song crescendoed, and harmonious strains emerged. She stood as candles appeared around her. They gave a heavenly glow over the Hall, which seemed much less school-like, and much more holy. The vision transcended the boundaries of her imagination. As the chords reached another orchestral swell, she gazed up the aisle. There, waiting for her, were two perfect lines, one of women in burgundy gowns, the other of men in elegant tuxedos.

"Nothing can change fate. Nothing."

The chorus continued. As the vision expanded, she slowly realized what this view was. The people sitting on either side of her stood, and turned to look at her. The music swelled, no longer becoming louder, but broadening in tone. She gazed slowly up the aisle again, almost knowing what she would find, but still feeling the need to make sure. Sure enough, standing there before her, was a tall, handsome man. She couldn't see his face, but she knew. She always had.

She suddenly sat up, finding herself in the glow of sunrise in the hospital wing.

"Harry," she whispered.

Her peace was interrupted once again by the constant bustling of Madame Pomfrey. "Up early, I see. Couldn't sleep, maybe? Perhaps because of all of the visitors? People getting my patients riled up? Why, I can't even heal my own patients anymore."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Madame Pomfrey strode over to the bed. Placing a hand on Hermione's cheek and her wand on the girl's forehead, she said, "Diagnosa." The wand spat out a readout that Hermione thought looked very much like that of the laser clock her Muggle father had bought for his dental office. Madame Pomfrey read it, clicked her tongue, and checked the small sensor Hermione had over her pulse.

"Well, it seems that you will be able to leave today. Take this potion before bed-" she handed Hermione a small blue bottle- "and come see me tomorrow evening so that I can complete the records. I will summon Miss and Mr. Weasley to assist you in returning your things, and yourself, to your dormitory. Take care of yourself. Do not overexert yourself, please." She paused, and smiled slightly at her young patient. She looked so young and vulnerable, yet so old and strong in life experience. "Miss Granger, I just wanted to express to you my feelings. Your case was a miracle. You arrived here millimeters from death. I know that I helped you recover, but I will admit my skills as a Healer alone would have never been able to keep you alive. I do not know how you are alive today, but I believe that it is a miracle."

Hermione smiled modestly. This had been a life-changing experience. She had been so close, but now that seemed so distant. She needed to focus now on life. She gave Madame Pomfrey a hug, which caused the old Healer to gasp in surprise. Hermione wondered whether she had ever been hugged in her life. Madame Pomfrey turned and left the room. Mere seconds later, and at breakneck speed, two--make that four--hyper, enthusiastic redheads burst into the room. Ron and Ginny were first, followed closely by Fred and George. Or maybe it was George and Fred.

"Hermione, we're so happy for you! You get to leave!" Ginny threw herself at Hermione in a huge hug, and Hermione saw the tears in Ginny's eyes.

Hermione smiled. She looked at them all, and realized just how thankful she was that they had all survived the war. Her eyes traveled up to the very lanky and tall forms of Fred and George. "How on earth did you get here? How did you know? With you two not at Hogwarts..."

"... the school is much more boring," Fred grinned. At least, she thought it was Fred.

"And of all people, Hermione, you should never doubt our ability to get anywhere on any notice. As far as knowing when, it was intuition. And as far as getting here, well, that's for us to know..."

"... and you to only find out if you're lucky."

Hermione laughed. "Honestly, Fred."

"I'm not Fred."

"I'm Fred."

"You are? I thought I was."

"Shut up, George," muttered Ginny, slapping one of them gently on the shoulder.

Hermione laughed, but then looked at the oddly quiet Ron. Glancing back at Ginny, Fred, and George, she said, "I really don't think I need quite this much help."

George--or Fred, she didn't really care anymore, she was so confused--laughed. "Of course not, fair maiden. We actually were only here to bug you a bit. But while we're here, we might as well take your bag up to the tower. We have some catching-up to do with a certain poltergeist and a few ghosts. And maybe even a few teachers, the ones who haven't threatened to kill us."

Hermione laughed again. She was finally starting to feel lighthearted again. But then she saw Ron. Ron nodded his brothers to the door, and signaled for Ginny to go, too. Lowering her eyelids slightly, she did so, and closed the door behind her.

"Ron," Hermione said, in her familiar self-assured tone. The tone that reminded him so much of his mother. "What is it?"

Ron smiled weakly and sat beside her. "I'm so glad to know that you're fine and you're going to be coming home to the Tower."

"That is not it," she answered, a little less assured. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is really wrong, so to speak. I'm just a little bit worried about Harry. And I wanted to warn you."

Her face melted. "Warn me about what? What's wrong with Harry?" She felt a weight fall on her chest.

"Hermione, you've been in here. You haven't seen... well, you know there were a lot of losses from that battle. Harry saw the number of empty chairs in the Great Hall, the number of canceled classes due to lack of teachers and students. He is feeling guilty. There's nothing he could have done, but it is still affecting him in a horrible way. I wanted to tell you to be careful. It's going to hit you, too. Don't feel guilty."

She pressed her lips together, in an effort to hold back emotion.

"Harry is isolating himself somewhat. I understand his grief, and I know that he needs time, but he has to understand that this wasn't his fault. And... there's another thing."

She nodded. "What is it?"

"Well, I.... he hasn't been telling me much, but he has been talking about you. He just keeps saying that it's his fault that you were so close to dying. He keeps saying things about how he screwed up your destiny."

Her eyes widened slightly. Tears formed slowly. "Really?" she asked softly. She wouldn't meet Ron's eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "He says that he messed up your life. He said that everything was his fault, and your destiny was screwed up, because of him. Hermione, do you know what's going on here?"

"Yes," she whispered almost inaudibly. "I know what's going on. I know that he feels guilty. None of it is his fault. And he didn't... he couldn't... how could he think he messed up my destiny? It was my choice. At least, some of it was. And the rest of it... it was neither of us." She looked up. "Nothing can change fate."

Ron looked confused. "What are you on about? I've listened for the last two bloody days of Harry rambling on in code, are you going to let me in here and give me a clue?"

Hermione looked at her lap again. "Don't curse, Ron. I can't tell you everything yet, because I think that Harry will want to be there when I tell you the whole thing. I can tell you that when Harry got his scar, I got one too. It was part of my destiny to protect Harry in this final battle, to complete his mother's protection spell. If it took me dying, I would. It wasn't my choice to be marked by the spell to complete the charm, but it was my choice to go into that battle, knowing full well that chances were that I wouldn't come out alive. I survived, though, we both did, but it turns out that the connection of the protection spell has other effects on both of our fates."

Ron's blue eyes widened. There was fear evident. "You aren't..."

"...No, we aren't going to die or anything. But Harry feels that his being born, and Avada Kedavra'd, and protected by his mother has forced me into a fate that I don't want. He feels bad and thinks that it's his fault. But it's not, and I don't feel any regrets. And our fates will be forever intertwined, but neither will turn out badly. If we were going to die through this, we would have already."

Ron was obviously still worried, but Hermione saw an element of peace in his eyes. "Well, I'm glad that neither of you did. Since you obviously have much more of a handle on this than I ever will, you should probably talk to him." She gave him a sisterly hug. He grinned, and she immediately knew that he was going to say something stupid.

"So, did you two ever talk about that little... tomato transfiguration that Ginny and I walked in on? Honestly, I always saw it coming."

Her eyes became as big as dinner plates. She smacked his shoulder. He gathered the rest of her things, and waited as she slid off the bed and put on her shoes. He smiled at her and followed her out of the pristine room, turning off the magical light. He filled her in on school news (an awful lot of which was about a certain Miss Lovegood) as they walked.

She knew what she had to do.

18. Seclusion

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Please continue to do so. As this story approaches the home stretch (there are 24 chapters total), I have started work on my next story. Reviews only serve to encourage the author. :)

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Ron walked her out of the hospital wing. She paused at the bottom of the steps to Gryffindor Tower. "You go ahead, Ron. I have something I need to do."

He smiled slightly, and knowingly nodded. He turned and ascended the stairs, leaving Hermione alone at the foot of the staircase. She took a deep breath and began the slow walk to the Great Hall. She steeled herself for what, or who, she might find there. She knew that she wouldn't find Harry there. If he was as depressed as Ron thought he was, he wouldn't be eating. She understood his depression. It took all she had to walk to the Hall. She didn't want to have to look upon the Hall, at one of its formerly peak capacity times. She didn't want to see the empty spaces, the benches that should hold people. People who should still be alive. She paused at the doors to the Great Hall. The doors were heavy oak. She bowed her head, and opened them.

She was met with emptiness. The hall really wasn't empty, there were students in it, yet there was an echo of hollowness and loss. The students weren't laughing. They smiled, but mirth was not at the top of everyone's lists. Tears welled in Hermione's eyes as she saw the decorations.

The House flags and draperies were taken down. They were replaced with gold and silver drapes, each of which was covered with countless names. Names of victims. Around each table were small black bows. One for each person who had perished from that House. Even the staff table, Hermione noted painfully, had the ribbons. The solemn Hall caused her pain. Her heart was filled with heavy grief, the grief that she knew wasn't hers, but in a way, it was. She felt trapped by the emotion. For the first time, she felt claustrophobic in the huge hall. She knew, then, where to find Harry.

She ventured out of the doors of the Great Hall, into the open field. As soon as she left the oppressive room, she felt slightly better. However, she could still feel the pain, the weight, the burden that she hadn't been forced to feel before. The Hall had revived memories of that day which she was trying so desperately to push from her mind. Memories and images that she had suppressed for the last week. They were slowly beginning to weaken the resolve of the brick wall she had built in her soul. She forced the images back and blinked back the tears that threatened her again. "I'm coming here to help Harry, crying won't help," she thought to herself. She walked slowly through the empty field, every step reminding her of another time. Arriving at Hogwarts for the first time. Ron belching slugs. Racing against time with Buckbeak. Trying to grasp that Voldemort was back once more. Trying to comfort Harry after his godfather's death. Trying to make sense of the fact that Harry's life might have to be traded for Voldemort's, and that her own would have to be traded for Harry's. She looked down at the ground below her feet. The grass was standing proud and green. She almost hated it for its ability to be tall and happy. The weather seemed to laugh in her face. It was sunny and beautiful. The breeze played at Hermione's hair, and tried unsuccessfully to lift her mood. It was too pretty outside. It would be more fitting, she thought scornfully, to rain. Cold, bone-chilling rain. She headed toward where she knew Harry would be, thinking all the time about how she understood what Ron had told her about Harry's depression.

She walked across the open field toward the more secluded forest. She did not linger, yet her stride lacked its normal briskness. It wasn't that she didn't feel an urgency. To the contrary, she knew that she needed to get where she was going quickly. But she couldn't. She didn't want to have to deal with any of it. Discussing it might make it real. For one of the first times in her life, she really didn't want to see Harry, because frankly, she had no clue what to say. She wasn't invincible anymore. She was on the verge of breaking, and she knew he was even closer than she. They were both fragile, and though they both needed each other to patch the broken parts, she feared that nearing him would shatter them both.

'Shut up, Hermione,' she told herself silently. 'You're going to talk to your best friend, and it will help both of you. Stop overanalyzing the situation!' Taking a deep breath, she was able to calm herself. She wasn't sure what she was afraid of. She entered the quiet forest gently, and made her way through the woods. She came to a small, secluded clearing. It was silent, and time seemed to stand still. Somehow, this area was calming. She gazed over to where she knew he would be.

He was. He sat on a small stone cliff, inches above the still waters of the lake. Cross-legged, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, and hands clasped under his chin. He gazed out over the lake, in his own world. His expression was unreadable, even to Hermione's best-friend perception. He wasn't crying, or showing any emotion at all. He looked, in that moment, so young. It seemed ironic to Hermione, how young and innocent he looked, while he had seen so much, things that no one ever should have to see.

"I knew I'd find you here," she murmured. He jumped slightly, but relaxed again with the recognition of her voice.

"Hi," came his quiet, unfeeling answer. He knew who it was, but he didn't turn to look at her. She walked, slowly, to the ledge where he sat. She took a seat next to him and turned to look at him. Still, he didn't meet her gaze. They sat in silence for several minutes.

"I see that you're out of the hospital wing," said Harry, in voice that he didn't even recognize as his own. It was too distant to be his.

"Yeah," she responded. "This morning. I'm so glad to be out of there. I think that just being in the hospital wing makes you think that you're not well. Psychosomatic, maybe. Madame Pomfrey released me- she told me how much of a miracle it was that I lived. Then I talked to Ron. He... we... we're worried about you. He told me how you've been..." He voice trailed off, hoping that he would pick up the conversation.

"I'll be fine," he said in that distant, detached voice. He continued to stare out over the lake.

"No, I'm worried that you won't," she began, quietly. "You aren't acting like yourself. I know that everything must be impossible to take alone, but you don't have to. You know that everyone's here for you, and you can't just draw yourself into a corner. You're not an orphan living in a cupboard anymore. You're--"

"I'm the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-Who-Lived, while he watched the others die. The Boy-Who-Lived and caused the family that he did have to get blown up. The bloody Boy-Who-Lived-To-Cause-Destruction-And-Death. The--"

"Don't curse, Harry. And you're the Boy-Who-Saved-The-Wizarding-World."

"Merlin! I didn't save the wizarding world. I destroyed half of it. I contributed to the deaths of too many people to be a hero. A hero doesn't kill the good guys." His voice was cold, and he spoke quickly, like the words were poison to him. He still stared off into the distance.

"You didn't kill the good guys. You can't take responsibility for all of the deaths, because they weren't your fault. You know what is your credit, though? You don't want to think in wide terms? Fine. You saved my life. You can't deny that."

He laughed, a distant and impersonal laugh. Not Harry's laugh. "I saved your life. Right. I saved your life? All I did was hope that you wouldn't die. All I did was care about you." He laughed bitterly again. "In fact, I don't even think I can be called the Boy-Who-Lived. How about the Boy-Who-Would-Have-Died-If-His-Friend-Hadn't-Tried-To-Die-For-Him. You were the one that saved my life. You went into it knowing you were going to die, for me."

"I went into it willing, yes. But you didn't let it happen. I didn't die."

"But you were willing to," he continued in his monotone. "You were going to save my life by replacing it with your own. You were giving up everything, for what? For me? Why? Why would it be worth losing everything? It would have been better if I'd never come into the wizarding world. If I'd never been told that I was the Boy-Who-Lived. If I'd never met all of the people who I hurt." His voice was strained and tense, but not emotional. He was looking out, over the lake. He had still not averted his gaze, nor changed his tone.

"Don't even go there, Harry. Yes, I was willing to give up my life. Not 'everything'. My livelihood is not 'everything'. I did that to give you a fighting chance. You were the only thing between Voldemort and world domination. You know you were the only one who could have stopped him. And I'm a Gryffindor, too. I couldn't have just stood by and watched. You never hurt anyone, at least no one that you cared about. Voldemort hurt them. Dark witches and wizards hurt them. You didn't. You saved so many of them. Including me." She paused for a second. "But you're hurting me now. You know that I've always been by your side. Against Fluffy or Voldemort, it doesn't matter. I was there. I've been there through everything. You're hurting me by shutting me out. I was there, too, when you defeated him. I know how you feel. You can't block me out now." She quieted slightly. "And I came with you because I care. I'm here because I care. I didn't just do what I did to protect the wizarding world. I did it to protect you. I care about you--"

"Stop. Don't say it." His voice finally faltered. There was a tone of hurt in it, tinging the monotone that wasn't Harry. "Don't. You can't. Because I do, too. And I can't. Everyone I've cared about has been hurt, and I can't let it happen again. I can't let you get hurt more because of me. I've done enough to hurt you."

"You haven't hurt me! Why do you think I came? Do you think I'd be here trying to talk sense into someone who had hurt me? I'm here to talk to you."

"No. You shouldn't. You have too much potential."

"Harry! What are you saying? I have too much potential to be friends with you? I could make it far, and so I have to forget your friendship, because you're only going to ruin my life? Honestly, Harry. Think about what you're saying."

"I am thinking. And I'm telling you to get out while you can."

"Get out while I can?!" Her voice quavered slightly in disbelief. "You can't get rid of me now. I know what's best for me, and what's best for me is being right here. Don't try to push me away." She looked at him with her old know-it-all stare.

It didn't faze him. "Hermione, everyone close to me has been hurt. I hurt you, too. Why are you fighting it, when it's the best thing--"

"Harry James Potter!!!" she scolded. She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at her. "Me leaving would be the worst thing. You know I wouldn't leave you like this. You are my friend, and you can't push me away. I won't let you." Her voice softened a bit, but she didn't let go. "You're stuck with me. You've been stuck with me since the troll back in first year. Or maybe since I first fixed your glasses on the train. You're stuck, and I'm not leaving you now."

Finally, sensing defeat, he looked at her. He was ready to explain to her that he was sorry, that of course they were stuck together, because of some ancient protection spell. He was about to tell her that he was sorry that she would be stuck with him for eternity. He was about to let her know that he really was sorry for her that she was his intended, and he was ready to apologize to her for the fact that a book had told them that they were destined to be married. He was going to tell her that he never would have lived through it all without her, and he was eternally grateful, but he knew the best thing for her was for her to leave. He was prepared for her to finally give up, and walk off and leave him there, heartbroken, but with some sick kind of happiness that knew that she would be safe and happy. His depressed and closed mind wanted it, but his heart begged for her not to. But he looked at her, and his strategies all escaped his head.

Her eyes showed worry, and concern, and care. There was something else there, too.

All of the sudden, he realized it. It had taken him a lifetime, but he had finally realized it. An ancient knowledge that most people have at birth.

Harry Potter knew what love was.

19. Interruption

Wow!!! Thank you so very much for the overwhelming review response for the last chapter. To wake up and have fifteen reviews in one day is a truly amazing feeling. Please, please continue to review, I really love to receive them.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Not believing what he had seen, he did what any logical human being would.

He blinked.

Hard.

He opened his eyes, slowly, half expecting it to be gone, half wishing that it was, but at the same time, praying that it was still there.

It was.

Love. He had never felt it or seen it as plainly as this. He had taken so much time, trying to consciously figure it out, that complex emotion that he was convinced he had none of. He had thought he had loved Hermione, thought that it was the right thing to say when she was lying there unconscious. It came from his heart, but in his head, he knew that love was still out of his grasp. One must be loved to know loved, he thought. He had been loved, as a baby, but he couldn't remember the feeling. He looked deeper, and saw everything he had been trying to find, all there, in her eyes, in that moment.

Love was... care and worry and kindness and strictness and laughter and beauty, all at the same time. He felt sincerely humbled, and for once, he did not have the tough shell he had been wearing forever. The feelings and emotions that coursed through him were very uncharacteristically Harry. Where was the cynicism, the humor, the fervor? He had no idea, he just knew that he felt very, very vulnerable, but somehow, he felt safer than he ever had in his life.

"... and I'm not just leaving you here like this. You'd better snap out of whatever you're in, and start thinking, because... are you even listening, Harry?"

The sounds began very softly, and crescendoed to the point at which Harry could hear her. Her voice had drifted into existence once again. No, he hadn't been listening.

"Harry?" She looked at him. "Earth to Harry!"

He blinked and let out a breath that he hadn't noticed that he had been holding. "Hermione... I--"

He really had intended to talk to her. He knew what he wanted to say, and he was actually going to say it. But, obviously, that was not what the fates intended. Harry was interrupted by a sound that could only be equated to the crack of a whip. Harry and Hermione both jumped, and whipped their wands out, lighting fast. Whoever had just Apparated would get a rather unpleasant surprise.

Wait a second.

It's not possible to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds.

Harry and Hermione seemed to come to that realization at the same time, and they both spun around, looking for whoever, or whatever, had caused the noise.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry whirled around at the very familiar voice, and was knocked flat on his back by a very forceful blur. He instantly recognized what had hit him. He sighed and relaxed back. He should have known.

"Dobby. What on earth are you doing here." Harry sat up slightly, rubbing the back of his head. His voice was not a question, not a demand, not a threat. It was a tired statement. A tone that said that he really felt that he didn't actually want to know, but was asking all the same. Harry certainly had nothing against Dobby, but Harry really did think that this particular house-elf had the absolutely worst timing on the face of the earth. Just as it had been a bad time to have a house-elf in his bedroom five years ago, he was sure that this was not the best time to be interrupted by one. He was actually going to tell Hermione. He really was. He sighed again, and waited for the house-elf's explanation.

"Dobby had to find Harry Potter, sir. Dobby had heard that Harry Potter was unhappy and somebody told Dobby that Harry Potter was at the lake. Dobby came here to stop Harry Potter from drowning himself, sir. Harry Potter has been too kind to Dobby, sir. Dobby could not let Harry Potter drown himself in the lake."

How ironic, Harry thought. "So you were trying to save my life?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir, Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life."

"Dobby. What did I tell you about saving my life?" Harry said it seriously, but with a little humor in his voice. He thought back on all of Dobby's previous escapades to save Harry's life, all of which ended in disaster.

Dobby's huge saucer-like eyes grew even larger, if that was possible. After becoming close to the size of platters, Dobby's eyes turned away from Harry. "Harry Potter told Dobby not to try to save Harry Potter's life ever again, sir." With that, he abruptly began to whack his head on a nearby rock.

"Dobby, no!" Harry ran over, and physically restrained Dobby from punishing himself.

"Dobby means no harm to Harry Potter. Dobby thought that Harry Potter was going to drown himself, sir! And Dobby didn't want that to happen! Harry Potter came to the lake, sir, and Harry Potter was not going to return! But Dobby knows, Harry Potter told Dobby to not save Harry Potter's life anymore, but Dobby did it anyway, and Dobby must be punished!"

"No, Dobby!" Hermione rose from her place on the rock and came over to Dobby. "You don't have to punish yourself, anymore, Dobby, you know that. You are free, you work for pay, you don't belong to anyone, and you don't need to punish yourself!"

Dobby's eyes got even bigger. "Hermione Granger! Thank you, thank you, Dobby is free, but Dobby forgets sometimes, thank you. Hermione Granger, was you here like Dobby to stop Harry Potter from drowning himself?"

Hermione smiled warmly. "Sort of, I guess..." She thought to herself that it was not a bad metaphor. She really was trying to keep him from drowning himself in depression. Honestly, though, if she'd had to pick which of her friends she thought would end up depressed and withdrawn, it wouldn't have been Harry that she'd chosen. Harry's defense mechanisms in the past never included withdrawal; denial, anger, and humor were his ways of coping. She'd never seen Harry this way, and frankly, it had scared her.

All of the sudden, a huge smile broke across Dobby's face. His eyes became even larger than anyone thought was humanly possible, and had an odd twinkling characteristic. He got up quickly, and backed up. "Dobby understands! Harry Potter is not drowning himself and Hermione Granger is here to help Harry Potter not drown himself. Dobby will leave Harry Potter and Hermione Granger alone now. Dobby is sorry that Dobby interrupted, sir." With a blatant smirk and broad grin that oddly reminded Harry of the Weasley twins, there was another crack, and Dobby was gone before either Harry or Hermione could protest, or even work out what he had meant.

Harry chuckled slightly, and shook his head. "That's Dobby for you," he said. "Always a savior."

Hermione laughed. "Well, if that's what it took to get through to you," she answered, in a voice that Harry recognized as her famous know-it-all voice. "All I had to do was say your name, knock you over, speak about myself in third person, and tell you not to drown yourself? If only I'd known." She paused, and her voice then took on a more serious tone. "I'm glad though. Glad that somebody could get through to you. I was worried, Harry. I really was. I mean, you have been dealing with so much for as long as you can remember, and with direct death threats since you were eleven. You've always been able to deal with it in one way or another, and although I can't say all of your coping mechanisms were productive, they all helped you, and they were all characteristically you. Just sitting here and being absorbed in the grief... it's just not you. I... you... I was really scared for you."

Harry gazed out over the calmness of the lake. "Thank you so much. I... I know I've never acted this way, but I've never felt this way. I mean, I've always been angry with myself, like with Sirius. It's not that I'm not mad now, but I... it's just different... I feel like it was my fault, but it's not a tangible fury that I can get out by hitting things. I don't know. Just... thank you. The only reason I lived was that I felt I had reason to... and it was you that kept me alive. Literally, yes, you did save my life, but I didn't know that at the time. I think that my motivation to live was just to see all of you again, and to be able to see all of you in peace. You and Ron, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, Fred and George, Remus, Tonks, Bill... all of you. You all gave me something to fight for. I guess that having motivation to live was what kept me alive. But once it was all over, I saw everyone. Yes, many of those people who were on my side lived, and I did see them all again, all alive and in peacetime. But so many didn't... I can't even imagine... I felt that it was my fault that they all had to die. And then after I found out that I lived only because you were willing to sacrifice your life to let mine go on, I felt guilty. Guilty that everyone died, and guilty that you almost did, because you care about me. And then the whole thing with you and your sacrifice and that book, and what it said about... about us. Of all of it, what hurt me the most was that I was hurting the people who I care about... no big surprise, I guess, that's what always seems to happen. But I went about like I always do when I'm upset, punched some things, had a few rows with people, tried to shut it all out and make fun of it, but it didn't work this time. I had this anger, but no matter what I did, it just got worse. I just... had no bloody clue, and I hate feeling like everything is out of control. I... I'm sorry, I'm rattling on."

"No, Harry, it's good. I'm here to listen. I always have been, and I always will be." She smiled at him.

He took a deep breath. She always had been, and she always would be. "You know that if you weren't, I would never have lived through seven years of school, forget the whole fighting evil thing." He laughed uneasily. Looking in her eyes briefly, he knew that this really was the moment. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her everything he needed to.

But once again, he couldn't. He was interrupted by soft whistling, a mysterious, happy tune.

"Who the bloody hell is it now?!" Harry swore out loud out of frustration, more sharply than he'd intended to.

The whistling stopped, and a light, melodic voice laughed cheerily. "You truly are, in every way, your father's son," she said.

I'm not a Dobby fan, but I couldn't resist having him take one more crack at saving Harry's life. :) Please review.

-Menucha

20. Sublimation

Thank you very much for the reviews! I did get several correct guesses as to who the stranger is. I guess that you'll just have to read on and see! Please continue to review. Reviews only serve to encourage the author.

Note: The short italicized section is Harry's flashback.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Harry froze.

Hermione, on the other hand, turned a very vibrant pink. She clapped a hand to her mouth, and giggled. She knew that voice.

Harry knew the voice, too, but it didn't register. He was sure that he'd heard it before, but he didn't know who it could be. It wasn't any of his professors, and he was fairly sure it wasn't a housemate, but the person apparently had known his father. He was confused, and although the person did not show herself immediately, Hermione was laughing harder than before. She was now laughing hysterically. He shot her a questioning look, but her eyes were closed. "Hermione?" he asked, quickly and slightly sharply. "What the hell is going on here?"

Her eyes flashed open at his coarse language, and she laughed even harder. "I... told... you and Ron... you... really... shouldn't... curse..." she managed to get out in between laughs.

The mysterious voice laughed, very lightly. "It is inappropriate to curse in certain company, something that your father never seemed to understand. What is it with men and manners?"

Hermione was truly choking now. Harry was near furious. Why couldn't he place that voice? "Where- no, who are you?" he yelled at nothing in particular.

He heard the light, bubbly laugh once more, and he thought hard about the voice. He looked around, and saw her, a figure across the lake. He squinted- maybe he needed new glasses- to try to see her better. What he saw, however, he was completely unprepared for. His eyes went wide, and his heart stopped in his chest.

"No, it can't be," he whispered to himself. He blinked, and thought back to third year. He couldn't have seen what he thought he'd seen. In third year, when he'd seen his father, it had really been his own reflection. But whose reflection could this be? A wild thought in his heart told him that it was real, but his head knew it wasn't. "You can't be," he whispered, even more quietly than before.

She laughed again. "Yes, actually, Harry, I can."

Harry looked away for a second, as if to make sure that she would still be there when he looked back. Hermione was still doubled over with laughter, and was mumbling things that, while mostly incoherent, included "first time," "cursing," and "mother."

No. It couldn't be. Not within logical thought, and Harry was sick of false hope, like seeing his father in third year, or looking for Sirius as a ghost. There was no way.

"Yes, Harry, there is a way, and you don't have to believe me if you don't want to, but I think that you want to."

It was impossible.

"Not impossible. Highly unlikely. Very improbable. But not impossible." The voice sounded very happy, and gave the impression that the woman across the lake was smiling.

This had to be in Harry's head. All of this... just couldn't be. He couldn't trust in another piece of false joy, of visions that he only desired, but could never be true. He had to stop this dream.

"This isn't a dream, Harry. It is absolutely serious, and absolutely real. I am not a vision. I am a shadow. Believe in the impossible."

Once more, Harry closed his eyes. Hermione had stopped laughing now, and had put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Let her in, Harry. She's real. It's OK," she whispered to him.

He opened his eyes, slowly and deliberately, and she was still there. He felt Hermione rub his shoulder gently in reassurance. Swallowing hard, he said, very quietly, "Mum?"

The figure made her way, very gracefully, around the lake. As she got closer, Harry's heart rose into his throat. She approached, a great smile gracing her face. She was a shadowy, sinewy woman, lithe and pretty, and slightly translucent. Her face showed youth and her hair cascaded in auburn waves down her back. She was beautiful in a tragic sort of way, and her eyes were very open and inviting. They were stunning emeralds, and they held her identity.

"Yes, Harry," was her simple, kind answer.

"Merlin... Mum," was all that he could get out, quietly, and with a great deal of emotion in his words. Hermione squeezed his shoulder, then removed her hand. Lily moved over to her son, and hugged him tightly, for the first time that Harry could remember. Hermione smiled, and tears formed in her eyes.

Lily held Harry out at arms' length and looked him over. "You really do have my eyes," she remarked, with a chuckle in her voice. Harry looked at his feet for a second, and then brought his gaze back to her eyes.

"Mum..." he said, before trailing off. He had so many things to say to her, to tell her, and even more to ask her. He didn't know where to start, as he'd never really been faced with the situation of talking to his mother, sixteen years after her death. Yes, he'd seen his father and Sirius, but they were in his dreams; he'd been asleep, and he knew that dreams could take a person anywhere. This wasn't a dream. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still cracked, as he said the first thing that came to his very confused and overwhelmed mind. "How are you here?"

Lily smiled again. "Good question. It wasn't easy. You of course remember that witches and wizards can preserve themselves, memories of their living selves in inanimate objects. You had a great deal of experience with that aspect of preservation, I'd say, through your experience with Tom Riddle and his diary. He had put himself in the diary. When I knew how much danger that we were in, we took several precautions. First, of course, was the Fidelius Charm, to protect us. Even with the charm, though, I knew that there was a chance of discovery. We switched our Secret-Keeper to Peter Pettigrew because Sirius was too strong, and we knew that no one would suspect Pettigrew of being the Secret-Keeper. But still, I was worried... there was just something about Pettigrew. Also, with the prophecy saying what it did, we knew that you would be in considerable, mortal danger at least once more in your life. I chose to put you under a protection spell, and a very strong one at that. I chose one that would draw protection from more than one source- it would protect you with my love, but it needed more. Of course, you were a baby, and I didn't know who the spell would choose for the other person who would love you and complete the spell. The spell knew, though. When I cast the spell, I knew that someone else would also be affected, and it would be a someone who you would become very close to. The spell was activated when... well, when I died. I found out afterwards who the spell went to. It went to Hermione, as you both know. Since I knew when I cast the spell that the spell would only be necessary if I was dead, I knew I needed a way to communicate with the other recipient of the spell, even if I was not alive. I know that Professor Dumbledore told you that Order members lived on in death, as long as was necessary, hence the name Order of the Phoenix- we were dead, but reborn in another way. Because of that, I would be able to communicate with Hermione, but only in her sleep. Since it was obvious to me that she would not be asleep during the final battle--" she smiled and Hermione grinned back, while Harry just sat on a rock, unmoving "-- I knew I needed a way to be able to talk to her when she was awake."

Harry seemed to regain some of his thought processes, and began to glance between Hermione and his mother. He sensed that Hermione knew something that she wasn't telling him. He knew her long enough to be able to read her expressions; they could communicate nonverbally. He looked, confused and mildly annoyed that he didn't know what was going on, at the two women. He looked Hermione up and down, as if trying to find something on her that would help him solve this mystery. Nothing.

Something caught his eye, though. He could see a fine, gold chain hanging from her neck, though he couldn't see what hung on it, as it dove into the front of her shirt. Hermione had never really been one to wear jewelry, except at balls. The last time that he recalled seeing her wear a necklace... he thought hard. The first thought that came to mind was the Time Turner. Then he remembered it.

She'd been wearing a gold chain at the final battle. He remembered asking her when they'd been getting ready to leave Hogwarts.

The room was quiet. It was filled with witches and wizards, hundreds and hundreds of them, but the air held a sense of foreboding. Harry sat crouched in a corner of the room, staring into space.

"It's going to be OK," he heard Hermione say, to no one in particular. Harry turned to look at her. There was an unreadable expression on her face, but she showed great composure and bravery. She didn't notice his gaze, and her eyes were unfocused in concentration. One hand was absentmindedly clutching a pendant, stroking the thin gold chain that it hung on.

"Amulet?" Harry asked quietly. Hermione had never really believed in the imprecise power and philosophical importance of amulets, but he figured that she might have turned to them now.

She sighed and turned to look into his eyes. "Sort of," she said even more softly. He knew, he could tell, she was afraid, but at the same time, she wasn't. She was ready, and she didn't fear Voldemort. She feared losing the people that she loved. He also knew that buried inside her was an incredible amount of courage, intelligence, speed, fire, and common sense, along with compassion.

No more words were necessary. They sat in silence, waiting for the signal, waiting to meet their destinies.

Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione, that necklace isn't an amulet, is it?" He asked her, although he thought he knew what her answer would be.

She looked down and took the pendant out of her shirt, holding it in her hand. "Not really. It is for luck, and has some magical powers, so it is like an amulet, but... not in the traditional sense." She loosened her grip on the pendant, and dropped it to the full length of the chain. Harry approached her slowly, and reached out to take the small charm in his hand, remotely feeling the heartbeat of the wearer. He blushed, and turned his attention to the charm. It was a delicately cut single ruby, which caught the light perfectly. It was a rich burgundy color, and, on the front, was engraved with a gold phoenix. "I... I didn't know what it was at first. I thought it just was an amulet, to begin with... I didn't know what it really was until a few days before the battle," she offered softly.

"Harry, before we were betrayed, I made this. I Transfigured it from a two-way Order mirror with magical qualities, much like the one that Sirius gave you. I preserved myself, my memory, my soul in that pendant, as Riddle did with the diary. Once I had finished the magical transfer of some of myself into the charm, I put it on a chain and in a special box with locking charms that would only open when in the hands of the person who had received the other end of my protection spell. Since I didn't know who that person would be, I couldn't exactly hand-deliver it. So I put another charm on the box, one that would connect it to the protection spell. That way, it too would be bound to Hermione. Once I got the signal that the battle was approaching, I needed a way to get it to her."

Hermione smiled. "I found the box in the fireplace on Christmas morning."

Harry looked puzzled. "That's not strange, though. The presents are all taken from the Owlery and put on the hearths and rugs in the Common Room."

Hermione laughed. "Somehow I don't think that it came from the Owlery. I found it in the fireplace. In the fireplace, where there was a fire burning." Harry raised an eyebrow.

Lily grinned. "I couldn't very well send it by owl. I performed a Flame-Freezing Charm on the package, and waited for the minute that Fawkes would come. He always comes every few months, for a split second, right after he bursts into flame. We can't send things with Fawkes, though, because he is not an owl and he can't carry packages when he is reborn. I'm not sure why he took this one, I just know that he did, without being asked, and in that flash of time that he was with us. He rebirthed in the Gryffindor fireplace, dropped the package, and somehow- I still don't know how- got back into the Headmaster's office. Brilliant."

Harry shook his head. This was all so unreal. His mother, or a shadow of his mother, was standing before him, talking about Professor Dumbledore's phoenix.

"Anyway, I had been visiting Hermione in her sleep, while James and Sirius visited you. But I didn't tell her about the pendant."

"I found it on Christmas morning," said Hermione. "I didn't know what to do with it- I mean, I was worried it was cursed or something, it had just fallen out of the fire. Professor McGonagall was in a meeting, so I went straight to Professor Dumbledore. I... I showed it to him, and he looked it over. He told me that it was a good idea that I wear it. He didn't tell me differently, so I thought it was an amulet. I trust him, so I put it on. I haven't taken it off since."

"And that brings us to the original question, how I'm here. My memory was able to get out of the pendant only after Voldemort was vanquished, just as Riddle's couldn't come out until the Chamber of Secrets was opened again. I had intended to guide Hermione in the final task, if she chose to accept it, and then talk to you, Harry, face to face, for once. To explain, and to catch up. It's been hard watching you grow up from a distance, with you not knowing that I was there. So really, I'm here because Hermione is wearing that necklace, because you vanquished Voldemort, and because the three of us have a lot to talk about." Lily smiled youthfully, and put a finger under Harry's chin, forcing him to look into her eyes. The eyes that people had been telling him about since he was eleven. His mother's eyes. He was overcome with many emotions at once.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, as if he had been holding his breath throughout the entire story. He looked at the shadow woman, and it occurred to him that this woman was his mother. A mother that loved him and cared for him and died for him. A mother that he had lived most of his life not knowing, but when he looked at her, it all clicked.

Suddenly, he blushed bright red. He glanced over at Hermione, who seemed to think that this scene was a beautiful moment. He remembered how his mother had appeared, when she had appeared, and Hermione's reaction.

"Uh, Mum?" he asked, as if it was a foreign word to him. "I... I didn't mean to... well... I didn't know it was you... it was... you startled me... I'm sorry... that I... you know... cursed at you... it's a really bad thing that the first time in my memorable life that I meet my mother, I curse at her."

Hermione stifled a laugh, but Lily allowed herself to laugh wholeheartedly. "I did always know that you were your father's son, but I do have to admit that I was hoping that you would not acquire some of his... less flattering qualities," she remarked to him, smiling broadly.

Kudos to everyone, especially those of you who guessed correctly. Please review.

-Menucha

21. Guidance

Thanks to everyone for their wonderful reviews! I really am happy with the response to my writing. A big thanks. Please keep on reviewing! You make my day.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Harry grinned. "Less flattering qualities?" he joked, running his fingers through his untamable black hair.

"Not exactly that, Harry... I always did find James's hair to be one of his most attractive attributes--" she shot a sideways glance at Hermione, which Harry didn't notice, "-- but his temper was a less flattering quality that I know that you have picked up. It's who you are, and who he was. I know how much you take after your father, how much you take after me, but I also know that you have taken many of your qualities from the people who surround you now. I also know that you get some of your qualities from someone we never would have wanted you to share anything with."

Harry looked downcast. "Voldemort," he said. "It kills me to think that there is some of him in me."

"You're fighting it, though," Lily nodded at him. "He's gone, Harry. You killed him. With time, his influence will leave you more and more. Just know that now, you can't be used as his pawn. You are you, and what he left in you is just a scar of the kind of life that you had to lead for the first seventeen years of your life. Voldemort can't influence you any more. Now, I know, and I know that you know that evil is not gone. There is always evil, but as long as you keep hope and love in your heart, you can stay afloat."

Under Lily's motherly gaze, Harry absentmindedly reached his hand up to touch his physical reminder of his years of being The Boy Who Lived, and his years of being The Boy Who The Dark Lord Wanted To Kill More Than Anything Else In The World. It reminded him of the last two years, when he became The Boy Who Will Either Vanquish The Dark Lord Or Die. It also jolted him a reminder of exactly what that scar meant. He glanced over at Hermione. She shot him back a comforting, yet assenting look that told him that she knew what he wanted to do, and she approved. Harry took a deep breath, fingering his scar lightly. "Mum," he began, barely whispering. "My scar... the one I got when... well when you died, from the protection charm... did you know Hermione was going to get one too?"

"Not Hermione in particular," she answered gently. "I knew that whoever was going to receive the other end of the spell would get a scar, a small one, but I didn't know it would be Hermione." She looked over at Hermione, who had kicked off her shoe and was removing her sock. "How did you find out, Harry?"

"Dumbledore told us about you, and your spell, and how we both lived... he told Hermione what her scar was, and what it meant..." he trailed off. Dumbledore hadn't actually told them what it meant. No, he'd told them that she was destined to be close with him. Hermione and her eagle-eye reading had told them what the scar meant. Harry couldn't finish the sentence. They hadn't really talked about what that book had told them. But both of them knew that it was going to come true, and Lily was dead anyway. No harm in her knowing, especially because it was partially caused by her spell. The rest had just been the fates. Lily might even be able to offer them guidance. She knew a lot about the fates.

Lily smiled warmly, and knelt in front of Hermione, who was now sitting next to Harry on the rock. Lily looked down at Hermione's ankle, at the mark that, for some reason, had become much more noticeable. It was slightly larger, though still smaller than Harry's. It was raised slightly, and tinted pink. Lily studied it, and glanced up at Harry, whose eyes were closed. She looked them back and forth, and all of the sudden, a look of stunned realization crossed her youthful face, followed by a broad, lopsided grin that looked as if she'd borrowed it from James. She took Harry's hand in hers, and placed it over Hermione's. "I had suspected," she smiled. "I'm not surprised, and I can say that I'm pleased. I would say that I don't know how a Potter like yourself was able to land a brilliant and beautiful lady like this one, but I think that I've lost my right to. After all, I was the brilliant and beautiful lady, and the Potter charm eventually got to me," she quipped, laughing. "Fate. You can't escape it. You see, you two are so close. You share everything, and you already care so much about each other." She paused for a moment and her eyes clouded for a moment, in reminiscence. It was truly incredible how realistic this shadow, the memory of her, was. A slightly shy smile broke across her face. "I believe in fate now. I think I have to, after falling in love with, and marrying, the biggest prat on the face of the earth," she laughed. "You know I once sat here, by this lake and told James I'd rather date the giant squid than him. Actually, I can safely say I did that many more times than once. Thousands of times, probably."

With that, there was a splashing sound, and a large eye surfaced. "Sorry about that, I never got to go out with you, although I'm sure that you're quite a gentleman," Lily said, half-sincerely to the squid. "Honestly, though, I know that fate really came and gave us a shove. I'm not sure how or why it happened, it just did. And then you, Harry. And us. It was fate that the prophecy was referring to you. It was our fate to fall in love and have you and be killed. It was yours to be the one that stood between the Dark Lord and his pureblooded kingdom. And there is absolutely no avoiding, hiding from, escaping fate. Trust me, if anyone told me in fifth or sixth year that I would fall head-over-heels for James Potter, I'd have laughed at them, and then hexed them into the next week. But it happened. There's no escaping it, Harry, Hermione, and I'm fairly sure--" she glanced between them and at the hands that were still joined "--that you don't really want to."

Neither Harry nor Hermione could bring themselves to look the other in the eye, both for very different reasons. Hermione gazed off into the distance and willed the tears not to fall. It wasn't that she was sad for herself, or for the scars. She knew that she loved Harry, and she knew that, in time, it could easily become that kind of love. It was getting there already, she could feel it. And she had nothing against it. All for it, in fact. But there was one thing that held her back, that brought tears to her eyes. She knew that fate couldn't be changed. She'd learned that lesson quite well over the past few months. The one thing that concerned her was, well, Harry. Harry's life had been scripted, it seemed, by fate, prophecies, and predestination. Although Harry had always been decisive and shown very good judgement, much of his life was controlled by things out of his control: his parents, Sirius, the night when Wormtail had escaped, and, of course, the prophecy. The prophecy that had committed him to a life of terror and grief until he met with his destiny. Hermione knew that he had lived, survived, came out on top of all that had been thrown at him. It was all over, now, with Voldemort. Now was Harry's chance to live his own life, his own way. It pained Hermione to know that it was she who stood in the way of Harry living his life on his terms. It was all finally over, and it had turned out that Harry was again committed, scripted to a life that Hermione didn't know that he really wanted. That knowledge hurt her. She couldn't look at him, but she made no move to slip her hand out from under his.

Harry wouldn't look at Hermione, either. Thoughts of the two of them together played through his mind. She was truly wonderful. He wasn't upset at the fates' new twist in his life line, in fact, he couldn't help being pleased with it. But he held himself back from being happy. He couldn't be. He had spent too many years of his life trying to protect those that he loved from having to become wrapped up in his dangerous life. Hermione had succeeded in breaking through his barriers, in fact, she had tried to sacrifice her own life for his, but somehow, he'd saved her as she saved him. He couldn't let her get hurt again, though. He snuck a look at her, while she looked away, out into space. She had grown up with a family, with people who cared about her. She'd been loyal, intelligent, and wonderful to him. He was not going to let her ruin her life, marrying someone who didn't know how to love. If he'd known how to love, he'd know that he truly did love her. He hated that she had been drawn into one of his lines of life, and she had no choice in the matter. He'd hated that she had been willing to sacrifice herself for him. He felt he hadn't deserved it, and that Hermione didn't need to be pulled into the hellish life he had been leading. But he knew that it was her decision. She had wanted to be there with him, wanted to give him that one last chance. She had no decision here, no choice. And it stabbed him inside to know that.

The shadow of Lily saw them, sitting, staring off into space. She looked directly into Harry's eyes, the ones that mirrored her own, and although he did not look back, she could see deeply into the orbs of consciousness. She knew that he had become more skilled at Occlumency, but with him like this, not fully aware of everything around him and with his vigilance slightly compromised, she felt that it might be worth a try to read his thoughts. She looked deep into his mind, and although his memories were closely guarded, she could easily make out his current concerns. Pulling out of his mind, she looked over him again. She didn't need to be a Legilimens to see his thoughts. She was his mother, and that caused a bond, unbreakable even in death.

Harry obviously realized that his mind had been invaded, and he quickly snapped out of his pondering. He looked around, because he knew that whoever had been inside his thoughts was near. He made eye contact once again with Lily, and raised his eyebrow in questioning. "Yes," came the silent answer from her, heard only by him. She was speaking to him, inside his head. "You aren't forcing her into anything. None of this is your fault, and Hermione is not being put into anything that she doesn't want."

"It's not her decision," Harry answered in his mind. "And I don't know how to love. I can't give her what she deserves, someone who will love her above everything else. It's not that I don't want to. I just don't know how."

"Yes, you do," Lily replied, calmly to her son, still communicating with him through his thoughts. "This concern you have for her... how you are seeing her feelings above your own... it all shows love. You do know how to love. Not only that. You know how to love her."

Harry blushed and looked away, breaking the eye contact. To his surprise, though, the voice in his head didn't cease to exist immediately. "She is the best thing to happen to you, and you know it. Don't let it get away because you think you aren't good enough," his mother's voice coaxed.

He was quite confused. How was Lily in his head to communicate with him when she didn't have eye contact? "This isn't Legilimency, Harry. I'm not in your head. I'm in your heart. Someone very wise once told me that those who love us never really leave us. They can be found within us. I'm here, Harry, and I always have been. I am your mother, and you are my son, and that bond is stronger than any bond of the mind." Her voice was deeply comforting, and soothed his soul.

He turned to look first at his mother, who still stood calmly in front of him. Then, slowly, he looked over at Hermione. She was gazing out over the lake, at nothing in particular. Her legs were folded under her, and her finger slowly traced her own scar. Harry took a deep breath and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She looked at him, in his eyes. For the first time, for as long as she could remember, his eyes were empty of fear, of anger, of the weight that wore on him. His eyes were crystal clear, and they bored into Hermione's soul. They shared small smiles.

There was another soft splash. The three looked out at the lake. Gracefully, the giant squid surface again, its huge eye looking them all over. He gave them what was undeniably a large, tentacled grin and Harry could have sworn he saw the squid wink. With a rush or water, it disappeared into the depths of the lake.

"Do you think he's over me?" Lily joked, smiling over Harry and Hermione, her son and future daughter-in-law.

22. Sidetracked

A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed. Please continue to review, as I post the last few chapters of this story. I'm quite into the third chapter of my next story. Reviews only serve to encourage the writer!

Note on chapter length: Yes, my chapters are short. Painfully short, in some cases. This was my first story longer than a one-shot, and was somewhat experimental. Chapters will be longer in the next story. Promise. This chapter is, unfortunately, shorter than the last few, but it's fun. :)

Note on the rating: I still think that this is PG, although this chapter contains some mildly suggestive language. If you think I've misrated, please let me know. I think it's PG, I'm probably just being overcautious.

Have a good time, enjoy, and review!

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Fred and George Weasley traipsed through the worn hallways of Hogwarts, having both terrorized and commiserated with a majority of the faculty and ghosts. They were on the prowl for more mischief-making activities, when George stopped suddenly in the middle of the corridor.

"My dear brother," he began in his trademark humorous tone, "I do believe that, although I am outrageously handsome and intelligent, one of my best qualities is my observance. My eagle-eye."

Fred, once he had recovered from tripping into his brother, raised one eyebrow. He could tell that this was going to be the beginning of a fun time. "You do realize that, being twins, I have some of that ability also. You wouldn't be speaking of the... curious absence of certain friends this afternoon?"

"Why, how did you know?" he grinned.

"It's in the DNA, I think. Now, where might they be?" Fred wondered, somewhat seriously, but somewhat already knowing where they might be.

George laughed. "I think the question is more what might they be doing," he said suggestively.

"Stupid question," Fred snorted. "That is, assuming that they have opened their eyes. Which I'm not sure is a fair assumption."

"Methinks, my dear brother, that they might be finding need of a chaperone," he quipped.

"Or a little bit of a shove," Fred added. "One or the other. But either way, I do believe that the two of us can fit both of those jobs."

With a final grin and a look between them, they dashed toward the stone statue that would take them to the lake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Harry looked out over the lake, he saw quite a curious sight. It looked like two humans swimming up from the bottom of the bottomless lake. He moved his hand in Hermione's to get her attention and bid her to look. Oddly enough, the figures did not disappear. Harry jumped to his feet, his wand out, and shielding Hermione's body with his own. The figures came closer and closer... until two very tall and very wet redheads surfaced.

"Fred? George? What on Earth are you doing in the lake?" he demanded, still not completely calmed.

"I believe a better question might be what are you doing," one of the soggy twins laughed.

"Although I think it's bloody obvious," the other one added, in what he must have though was a helpful manner.

Harry looked confused for a second, and then realized what position he was in, standing with his arm around Hermione and his body wrapped over hers. He blushed. He seriously considered unwrapping himself as quickly as possible and cursing the twins, but he decided on a more interesting course of action.

"I would hope it's obvious," he said boisterously, shooting Hermione a look before staring down Fred and George. "Judging from the type of trouble that you two get into, I would have assumed that you knew snogging when you saw it." Throwing another glance to Hermione, he valiantly hooked an arm under her knees, picked her up (swept her right off her feet, in fact), and set her down on the rock. She blushed like crazy, but her eyes told a different story.

The twins' mouths fell open. "Seriously?!" they chorused in unison. "Is our little Harry-warry a man?" Fred asked, only half-joking.

Hermione sat up impossibly fast. "Absolutely not," she said in her bossy tone, but not able to completely mask the shock she felt at the suggestion. "We weren't snogging, and if Harry is, as you so crudely put it, a man, it has nothing whatsoever to do with me."

They took a step back. She could be downright scary when she was like this. They'd seen it enough times with Ron to know. George opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a totally unfamiliar female voice.

"Don't tell me you tried to get to the lake by using the Honoria Nutcombe statue. Bet you'd never done that before. Didn't think you'd actually end up in the lake, did you?"

Fred had thought that nobody else knew about all of the secret passageways of the castle, with the exception of the Marauders, whoever they were. He whirled around to look for the source of the voice. What he saw was a beautiful woman of what he assumed was around 22. Even though he was sure he'd never met her before, she had a familiar quality. He elbowed his brother, who promptly spun around. Although Fred was in a wonderful relationship with Angelina and George was close to one with Alicia, the two were still big flirts who couldn't resist a good conversation, but nothing more, with an attractive woman.

And she was drop-dead gorgeous. She was almost a tragic beauty, with long auburn wavy locks and cutting green eyes.

George knew she was older than he, but being 20, he figured it was worth a shot. She couldn't be that much older. He strode over to her and sat down beside her on another rock.

"I should ask how you know the passageways of the castle, but I have found that I can't, as I am simply Stunned by your beauty," he began. Fred helped him out. "You must be a nymph or a mermaid, because you must have performed wandless magic on me. I simply can't tear my eyes away." George picked up where his brother had left off, "If looks could kill, you'd be an Unforgivable."

Harry and Hermione could hardly hold back the huge laughs that they were trying to hide. For one thing, the Weasley twins were known for many things, not the least of which were their infamously terrible pickup lines. The funniest part of watching this exchange, though, was that they were using their horrible pickup lines on a shadow. Not just any shadow, but the shadow of Harry's mother. Somehow, seeing Fred and George try their hand at romancing Harry's dead mum was absolutely hilarious, and it was taking all of Harry and Hermione's collective strength to keep from bursting into laughter. They wanted to see this through.

Fred went down on bended knee. "Your eyes, my beautiful lady, are as green as grass-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans."

Lily looked down at the kneeling redhead, and across at the other identical one, sitting beside her. She rolled her eyes. "Lord, what fools these mortals be," she declared softly, biting back laughter.

Obviously not recognizing the Shakespeare reference, George took her left hand in his. "We may be but mortals, but obviously you aren't. Your looks are just too perfect to be mortal."

She was about to quip that she absolutely was mortal; in fact, the real her was very dead. But she didn't get the chance to. George had lifted her hand to kiss it, and all the while looked into her eyes. Lily fought back another fierce laugh.

He kissed her hand, but it wasn't smooth and warm as he'd thought. It was rather cold and hard and... metallic. He looked down at her hand. "Bloody Hell!!!" he cursed, dropping her hand and taking three or four steps back. Fred, too, scooted away from her, eyes wide.

"A wedding ring?" George sputtered. "You're... you're... married?"

Lily finally let out her laugh, but Harry and Hermione sat, stiff-lipped, still holding it back. Lily grinned. "That is generally what a wedding ring means," she teased.

Fred gaped at her. "Married?!"

"For a delightful 19 years," she grinned broadly.

"19 years?! Bloody Hell, how old are you?" George demanded.

"Why, sir, you should never ask a lady her age. It is ungentlemanly. But since you asked so politely, I might as well tell you that I'm 24."

Fred and George's mouths stayed open wide, along with their eyes. She could see the wheels turning in their heads. "You mean to say that you were married when you were five years old?" one of the twins asked, quite confused and frustrated.

"Of course not," she answered in a very ladylike fashion. "I married early, after all, there was a war going on, but I did not wed until I was 22."

"That's impossible," Fred declared. "What the heck are you on about?!?!"

"I've been dead for 16 years," she sighed, as if that explained everything.

The twins looked at each other, their heads extremely muddled. She was not giving them any useful information, and this conversation was getting worse and worse by the minute. Just then, George remembered the other two people with them at the lake, the people that the twins had originally come to see. Sneaking a look at the two of them, he immediately knew that they were in on the joke. They obviously knew who she was and why her answers were so cryptic. Grabbing his brother, George, he whirled to face Harry and Hermione.

"Would you mind filling us in on who your friend is?" Fred demanded.

Hermione let out a huge laugh and found herself unable to speak, as hard as she tried. In fact, the more she tried to answer, the more hysterical she got.

George looked to Harry for an answer, as he seemed to be somewhat more composed than his female companion. Harry looked up at George for a split second before bursting into hysterical laughter himself.

George looked to Harry's eyes and met them prior to Harry's dissolving into hysterics. Those green eyes sure have a funny tint when he's hiding something, George thought. Maybe she was a traggob, a confused boggart that turned first into your greatest dream and then to a horrible nightmare. Or maybe she was some ghost, but she felt solid.

Wait a second, George thought to himself.

Harry's green eyes have a funny tint when he's hiding something.

She was a tragic beauty, with cutting green eyes, as green as grass-flavored Bertie Bott's Beans.

She's been dead for 16 years.

"No," George said to no one in particular, but as always, his brother answered.

"No wha-"

"Look at the eyes, Fred."

Fred looked at Harry's eyes. "Bloody Hell," he swore. Swiveling around, he stared straight at the woman with green eyes. "She's not... she can't be... that isn't..."

Harry managed to grab a breath in between laughs. "Actually, it is," he tossed out.

George looked from Harry to the woman to Fred. "Merlin," he let drop from his open mouth. "You mean to tell me... that we've been... that I was..."

"Hitting on my mum, mates," Harry wheezed, before falling back into the sea of laughter.

Author's Note: "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" is a quote from William Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream."

I love playing with Fred and George. They are just fun characters to work with, and I couldn't resist playing with their heads a bit. What do you think? Let me know. Please review!

23. Reminiscence

Thank you for all of the reviews. That chapter was a lot of fun, and I'm glad you liked it. Please, please review. This story is nearly over; there is only one more chapter left for me to post. I am busy at work on the next one already.

I love Fred and George, too. They are wonderful characters, but they tend to get me off on tangents...

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

For the first time in the young lives of the Weasley twins, they did not have a comeback or an excuse. They simply stood, eyes wide, alternating between staring at Harry and Lily. Harry continued to laugh hysterically, and the harder Harry laughed, the more difficult it became for Hermione to stop. They unsuccessfully tried to catch their breaths.

Fred finally found his voice. "What the bloody hell is going on here?!"

"It's a very long story," said Lily calmly. "The short version is that I am indeed Lily Evans Potter, and I was killed sixteen years ago. I helped Hermione in the final battle, and she helped Harry. I am a shadow, a memory preserved in the pendant that Hermione is wearing."

Harry and Hermione had finally managed to get a grip on themselves and listened to Lily's vague description of her presence. Fred and George, however, did not relax. Their eyes instantly flashed bluer and a hardened fury etched itself onto their identical faces. George strode quickly over to Hermione, and grabbed her pendant, holding it in his palm. He turned it over and over. Fred immediately whipped his wand out and pointed it straight at Lily. "A shadow? Memory? Preserved in a pendant? I don't like the sound of that," he said menacingly to her.

"I know that you have a good deal of experience with preserved memories in inanimate objects, do you not?" she answered. "Memories that kill? I am not here to kill, or injure, or do any harm. I'm not like the memory of Tom Riddle. And just so you know, you can't kill me. I'm already dead, remember?"

Fred slowly lowered his wand. "You're... you're really Harry's mum?"

"That I am," she smiled.

"So, did you two just wander through the lake to hit on my mum?" Harry interrupted.

"It certainly wasn't our intention," George sighed, "but I can't say it was an entirely negative experience."

"Yeah, Mrs. Potter, if you weren't older and married and dead, I'd date you," Fred offered.

"Thank you, I think," she responded, laughing gently.

George spun on his heel to face the two people he had really come to see. "As much as I've enjoyed all of this, we did come here for a reason."

"A very precise and exact reason," Fred added.

"Since when have either of you been precise or exact?" Hermione asked.

"Ouch," Fred said, feigning hurt. "We have always been precise and exact. At least for the last half hour. You see, my brother here and I decided to pay the two of you a visit--"

"-since neither of us had seen you in a few hours. So we got to thinking--"

"-where you had gotten off to. And then we had a brilliant idea. If you both disappeared at the same time, you may have disappeared together."

"And, you being Harry, and you being Hermione," George raised an eyebrow at each of them in turn, "we determined that if you disappeared together, it meant one of two things."

"You either must have finally opened your eyes to the inevitable, or you were sitting somewhere side by side, the same as always. Either of these situations requires us."

Harry looked confused.

"My dear practically-brother," George patted Harry's shoulder, "Had you finally opened your eyes, you would be snogging with seven years' worth of tension. And then you would need a chaperone. Had you simply been sitting, side by side and completely platonic like always, you would still be acting thick, and you would need... well... a shove in the right direction, if you know what I mean."

Harry's eyes flashed in warning at the twins, and he shrugged George's hand away. "Don't..." he began, but didn't finish. He was interrupted.

"I must say I'm disappointed, though," Fred sighed. "When we first saw you, you were in a right compromising position. Makes our jobs much easier. But, you know, Harry, you may not have much experience with this, but let me give you some advice." He leaned in toward Harry and pretended to look around to make sure no one was listening. He didn't lower his voice any, however. "If you're going to snog someone, don't do it in front of your mum!"

"We weren't snogging!!!" Hermione retorted, with a bit of the Weasley temper visible in her eyes. Too many summers spent at the Burrow had corrupted her. "Harry was trying to protect me from the idiots coming at us from the lake!"

"Well, Hermione, you sure know how to hurt a man's ego," Fred quipped, pretending to be insulted and with a hand over his heart.

Harry looked over at Hermione next to him. She was annoyed, to say the least. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her like this before, after all, he shared a dormitory with Ron. Hermione was tense, her eyes flashing with fury. But there was something missing from the picture, Harry reasoned. He looked her over, trying to determine what it was. Head to toe... that was it. Usually, when she was furious, she was standing straight, every bit of her proud and assertive. But she made no move to stand this time. Harry blushed briefly when he remembered why she wasn't standing. She was sitting firmly on her right leg, hiding it from view. She did this, of course, because she had removed her shoe and sock, and she didn't want Fred and George to have another piece of information to misinterpret. Harry, however, knew why she had taken them off. They were going to talk, about her scar, his scar, their lives, and what it all meant. He blushed again, remembering.

Unfortunately, George noticed. "Getting a bit flustered, Harry?" Harry shot him a murderous look. "Shut it," he warned.

Fred clicked his tongue. "Denial won't help either of you, you know. Soon, you'll be out of here. You'll need to face up to it soon, everyone else has. You two are the best couple of your year, and everyone but you sees it." He leaned in to Harry, and whispered to him, "You'd better make your move soon. Or we'll feel the need to really help you out. We've got a new formula down at the shop, you know. Heartspill Honey Drops. A drop in your tea, you'll never know it. Makes you reveal the innermost feelings in your heart. Don't make us use it. You know we will."

Harry's eyes flashed bright green again in anger, but, unbeknownst to him, the twins could read a different emotion on his face. Fred grinned smugly. "Consider that your little shove from the two of us," he said quietly.

Fred and George rose to their feet, satisfied with a job well done. They turned to Lily, who appeared to be very humored by the entire situation. "It was very nice meeting you, milady," George smiled. "Even though you're dead and all, and you're Harry's mum, and I have no clue how it is that you're here, or even if you really are here..." he trailed off, confusing himself thoroughly.

"... we are pleased to have met you. And... you know... sorry for... hitting on you..." Fred's ears became the traditional Weasley red.

"Yeah," George said, his ears also twinging red. "And no offense to your husband... we've heard that Harry's dad was pretty strong and everything... really fast on a broom... we didn't mean to hit on you... wouldn't have done it if we knew... we just got rid of one person who wanted us dead... if it's all the same to him, we don't want another one."

Lily laughed. "James? Want you dead? Are you kidding? Well, you did hit on his wife, and Harry's mother, but all the same, he wouldn't be able to kill you. You have way too many pranks. He'd just want to sit and share prank histories with you. But next time, make sure that when you hit on someone, she isn't one of your mates' mothers."

The twins blushed again, nodded their heads at her, and turned to Harry and Hermione, shaking their heads, as if to rid them of all of the confusion they were feeling. This was Hogwarts, after all, and nothing was strange at Hogwarts, but still, they'd never met one of their friends' dead mothers, looking and feeling very alive.

Fred winked at Harry. "Don't think we won't," he said, smiling. With that, he and George turned their backs on the others, and walked back toward the lake. A step away, however, George spun on his heel, back to look at them.

"Oi, Hermione, I know that it's hard to remember with your boyfriend so close, but do try to dress appropriately when greeting someone. We don't all want to see the evidence of your affair." He grinned broadly, pointed at her shoe and sock lying beside them on the ground, and before Hermione could reach them, they jumped into the lake.

Lily sighed. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she called toward the lake. "You can't get back into the castle the way you came."

The two redheads surfaced. "That brings back my original question," Fred said. "How exactly do you know about the passageways of the castle?"

"The Marauder's Map, of course," Lily smiled.

"You had the Marauder's Map?!" George was amazed.

"Of course I had the Marauder's Map. And when I didn't have it, I had the Marauders."

"You knew the Marauders?!!" Fred and George said in unison, jaws dropping simultaneously.

"I knew the Marauders? I married one," she said, with a wave of her hand.

The twins simply stood there where they were, only their heads visible above water. They eventually managed to shut their mouths, and George tripped over the words that he and Fred both really wanted to say. "You married a Marauder?"

"Prongs."

"You were married to someone other than James Potter?" Fred asked.

"Of course not. I married James Potter. Prongs. And the rest were always hanging around the house. In fact, I do believe that the two of you knew several of the Marauders yourselves."

Their mouths fell open.

"Sirius, Remus, and James... what a group they were," Lily sighed in reminiscence.

George choked. "Sirius Black?"

"Remus Lupin?!" Fred gasped. "A Marauder?"

"Honestly, do you know any other Siriuses and Remuses?" Lily quipped. "Now close your mouths so the pixies don't come in, and get out of the water. Go to that tree over there, the one with the engraving. Tap it twice with your index finger, and then go behind the tree. Straight into the Gryffindor common room closet."

Taking a last amazed look at Lily, they scrambled out of the water and did as she said. They vanished behind the tree.

Harry grinned, but the grin faded abruptly. "Uh, Mum... which closet are they going to find themselves in?"

"The locked one," she declared, with an evil grin. "I've spent too much time with Potter. He's corrupted me."

Please review!

24. Eloquence

Thank you very much for all of the reviews and the support that this story has garnered. This is indeed the end of the road. It has been a very long road for me, and I personally am thrilled that my first full-length story has been given this sort of respect. Thank you to everyone who reviewed for this story, and please tell me what you think of this chapter. Next weekend, I intend to begin posting my next attempt.

Enjoy. This is what you've been waiting for.

See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.

Lily's smiling eyes trailed back to Harry and Hermione. She knew it was her time.

"Harry," she said softly, stepping toward her son and taking his hand in both of hers. "I am just a shadow, and a shadow cannot stay on Earth forever. I am simply a memory. I can't stay here with you, as much as I would love to. I want to be there when you graduate from Hogwarts. I want to be there when you marry. But I can't be there in this state. I preserved my shadow to help you to survive the final battle and to help you defeat Voldemort. You've done that now. I've sat with you, given you a part of my memory to preserve within yourself. I have always been in your heart, but now you will be able to remember me. You have been stronger than most are expected to be. You have made me very proud to be your mother, and there is nothing, nothing, that I regret."

"You're saying you have to leave?" Harry replied quietly.

"Yes," she sighed. "I've done what I came to do, and my shadow will fade."

"But the pendant..." Harry offered.

"The pendant will only carry my blessing. Shadows disappear, and I'm no different. Though Hermione won't carry me around her neck, you will carry me in your heart." She closed her eyes, and Harry once again heard her voice in his head. "I love you, Harry. Those who love us never really leave us. I will always be right here."

Harry looked down. "I love you too, Mum," he thought, more to himself than to her. This was what he had missed all of those years.

Lily smiled, her eyes wet with tears, and stepped toward Hermione. Hermione embraced her as if she was her own mother, and Harry could see the tears flowing from Hermione's eyes also. Lily pulled back slowly and squeezed Hermione's hands gently. After a few moments, she stepped away from Hermione and turned to face her only son.

Her eyes shining but her face young and beautiful, she looked into the eyes that were so much like her own. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, sixteen years' worth of embraces poured into one. "I love you, Harry," she repeated to him in his head. He bit back the tears as he committed the moment to memory. He knew that many teenagers would give anything to avoid being so close to their mother, but at this moment, he would have given anything to keep his mother. He had missed out on all of this, and now he understood. He understood the selfless sacrifice that she had made. It all made sense to him now. She pulled back, hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. "You know how you feel. Don't let your mind stop you. Follow your heart."

With those final words to him, she smiled, and within moments, began to fade away. As soon as she had come, she was gone.

Harry blinked the tears away, staring into the space that his mother had just occupied. As if to make sure that she wasn't still there, he swept a hand through the air. Seeing that she really was gone, he closed his eyes and stood in silence, swallowing the emotions that he didn't want to release. He was in his own world.

Feeling his emotion, Hermione slowly slipped her hand into one of his.

He felt a small hand in his own. He didn't need to open his eyes. It was her. Hermione. He squeezed her hand slightly and his eyes welled up once more. It was out of Harry's persona to cry, but he felt vulnerable. He felt, for possibly the first time in his life, that he was just a boy, one who could be completely open. His guard could fall. He could let it down.

Hermione sensed the change in him. The barriers that Harry always had carried, without fail, had tumbled down. He'd had an immense burden lifted from his shoulders, and she felt that now Harry had finally let it into his soul that the battle was over. It was over. His life had revolved around this force of evil, and his destiny to fight it. But now it was over, and Harry could lift the facade. He didn't have to be the strength of the wizarding world. He had to be Harry, and he finally was. Just Harry. She squeezed his hand again, as they sat together on the rocks. The wind played at her hair and tickled her face. She felt that, just this once, Harry was feeling the wind also. He could now.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He looked at the hand in his. Her hand. He could feel everyone's presence in the wind. Everyone he had lost. Lily was right. He hadn't really lost any of them. They were all around him.

"It's ironic," he said quietly. "How death makes you think about life."

She sighed. She could feel their presences, too, and she knew how he felt.

"So much death and destruction, and it just makes me open myself to life."

"It really is ironic," she agreed, "but really, it holds even more irony than you might think. The..." she trailed off, "killing curse..."

He heard himself whisper, "Avada Kedavra." He made sure that he only said it in words, and as quietly as he could. He had recently discovered that his power was far more than he'd ever known.

She looked at him, a distant look on her face. "Yes. It comes from the word abracadabra, from the ancient language Aramaic. It's not a common language anymore... abracadabra means 'let the thing be destroyed,'"

"Destroyed," he repeated. "The killing curse."

"That's not the ironic part," she said, taking on her characteristic Hermione-giving-a-lesson tone. "Although Aramaic is not widely used anymore, in modern Jewish congregations, there is one very important prayer in Aramaic. It's called the Kaddish, and it is said after someone dies. It's not a prayer about death, though, it is a praise for the person's life."

He looked at her. "So the same language that kills is used to be thankful for life."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Although he felt the presence of death all around him, he could feel his heart beating. He knew that this was life. Life unfettered, without the burden he had always felt. He knew what he had to do. And nothing was going to stop him this time.

"Hermione," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk to you, and I need to say everything. Don't stop me or I'll never get it out. There's so much I should have said... I needed to say... I've got to get it all out."

She met his eyes with her own. "I'm here to listen," she said, her voice as soft and quiet as his.

"It's hard for me to make sense of everything," he began slowly. "It's all over now. When I was little, the only life I knew was being shut in a cupboard. I had no motive, no goal in life, except to grow up and leave. Then... my whole world changed. I was thrown into a world much bigger, a world I couldn't even have imagined. But with that came... responsibility. I went from being a nobody in a cupboard to being the Boy Who Lived for doing something I can't even remember. And I, all of the sudden, was given a goal and a motivation. I couldn't be normal. I had to be the hero. Then... fourth year, and he came back. I knew he would, but the reality was nothing I could have prepared myself for. And then fifth year. The prophecy. I... I just couldn't fathom how I was supposed to vanquish him. And it all was so overwhelming. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord.' The one. Me. It was my life... living halfway and preparing to either meet my doom or his. And now... it's over. Just over. I never really thought about what would happen after the final battle. After it was all over. But here I am. And I guess that I'd assumed that I'd feel empty. Like I was living without a purpose. After all, I wanted to be an Auror, but I don't think I ever really thought I'd get there. I hadn't given up on living, but I couldn't think beyond the battle. So I thought I'd be empty afterwards. No direction, no purpose, feeling like my life had been given to do what I was scripted to do, but nothing else. Like... like I was just a shell."

She looked into his eyes, as if searching for life within them.

"That's how I thought I'd feel. But I don't. Yeah, that part of me is missing, but I don't miss it. I do have direction and purpose. I have a positive reason to live, for the first time. Now it's not like I have to live just so that I can die or kill. I have to live to live. I think I didn't really do that before."

She smiled. That was what she wanted. For him to get a chance to feel life. To laugh for the sake of laughing, to do something stupid just because he could. For him to be happy.

He watched her intently as she smiled. He'd seen it so many times, and this time seemed to be different for some reason. "The first time I met you on the train," he said, "you came in, busy and businesslike, bossy and uptight."

She blushed. "Sorry," she admitted.

"And then you fixed my glasses."

"Yeah," she said.

"Not exactly what rock-solid friendships are built on," he smiled. "You annoyed me to no end. But the first second I thought you were in danger, I went running. What possessed me, I don't know."

She smiled, embarrassed. "I don't know what possessed you either. I was insufferable to everyone. But I'm glad you came. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't."

He laughed. "I'm glad, too. All I did was stop you from getting squashed by a troll. And how did you reward me? You saved me from a man-eating plant, kept me from poisoning myself, believed me when no one else would, told me what was hidden in the Chamber of Secrets, used your Time-Turner to save my godfather, flew with me on Buckbeak even though you were terrified, provided me with countless pieces of information that I thought were useless, but then needed... do I need to continue?"

She smiled. "No, I think that will suffice. I really didn't..."

"...Yes, you did. All of that, and more. You were always there for me. Always. Even when I didn't know I needed someone, you knew I did. You yelled at me when I deserved it, shook sense into me when I needed it, and just listened when I wanted it. And I never really appreciated it... I took it for granted. But then... that battle... you jumped in front of that curse."

The smile faded. She looked down.

"You were right in front of me, you took a hit that was meant for me. And you knew what it did, and you were willing to sacrifice yourself for me. The sheer devotion that you had... it drove me to the edge. I couldn't let you die for me. I just couldn't. I wouldn't let you. So many people have died just because they were close to me. I wasn't going to let him take you, too. But there was something different. You... knowing that you were willing to make that kind of sacrifice for me... it woke me up. Gave me the motivation. The emotion... to..." he struggled to say it, "to kill. I needed to kill him. He destroyed everything and everyone. He couldn't take you from me, too. And I'd be damned if I would stand there and let you die, let you sacrifice yourself for me. He had done that to my life. And it was then... when you did that... everything all crashed in at once. My heart was screaming two very different things. One was to not let you die. And the other was to murder Voldemort. I'd always needed to kill him. He'd taken so many lives, so many people that I cared for, and so many others that I didn't know but felt the same for. But somehow, you taking that curse was the breaking point. If you were going to die, he was too. I don't know where it came from... the power. But I remember feeling this power and rage... and something else, flooding through my body, right before I destroyed him. And I remember that all I could think, thorough the fury, was that I wasn't going to let you die."

Her eyes were now shining with tears. "Harry," she said softly.

"I'd never felt that before. Sure, I had been furious with all of the deaths, but I'd never felt that kind of fury. It was like... like everything I was, everything I'd ever wanted, was being taken away from me. I just kept thinking that I couldn't let you die. I'd never forgive myself if you died for me. You meant everything to me, and you were willing to throw yourself away, for no reason other than to protect me. I still don't know how... how Fawkes came... and how he managed to keep you alive, but I know that he was there because I'd begged for a miracle. After... after I'd killed him, I lost consciousness. As I was blacking out, I wasn't worried about myself, I didn't care what happened to me. My job was done. But I just knew that I couldn't let you die. There wasn't anything really that I could do... I just kept thinking that you had to live. I woke up in the hospital wing... and I asked about you. Madame Pomfrey wouldn't tell me. It was killing me inside. You couldn't die. And then when I saw you... lying there... you looked so peaceful... in some other world. It was like you were dead. I couldn't stand it. I... I needed some kind of prayer of a hope that you were alive. I... listened to your heart. I laid my ear down on your chest and waited. But your heart was still beating. Weak, but alive. Emotion flooded over me... I'd never been one to cry, but I just did. I wasn't sure what had come over me. Your heart was beating. The heart that had been my strength for the past seven years, and the heart that had kept you alive through the worst of situations. The heart that you willingly surrendered to give me one last chance at living. All of it... it broke me. Emotionally. I don't even remember how long I stayed there... I just sat there, pouring out all of the emotion that had finally broken the walls I'd tried so hard to maintain."

She refused to sob, as the tears streamed down her face silently.

"I still don't know what got into me. I don't know how I ended up where I did, but I do know that I ended up there for a reason."

He lifted her chin with one finger, and wiped her tears away with his thumb. He'd never been comfortable with crying. It was always so uncomfortable to be around someone who was crying. He'd been there several times, and none of them had been comfortable. But here, with her, nothing was wrong. He wasn't trying to flee. He wasn't trying lame excuses to make her stop. No, he was sitting beside her, wiping her tears.

She smiled slightly through the haze in her eyes. This was so sweet that it pained her.

"It was all for one reason. You always being there. Me developing an incredible fury that you would sacrifice yourself to me. Fawkes. You still being alive. It was all fate. Destiny. It was always in store for me, though I could never see it. I never knew what I had until I almost lost it."

"Harry," she sighed, his thumb still catching her tears.

"I never knew what you meant to me. How much you meant to me. And when I did think about it, it scared me. Terrified me. I've been touched by death... violence... loss... I can deal with all of them. They're familiar. Pain is not something foreign to me. But you... you were just something different. You made me realize that part of me, and it was scary. I didn't know what to do with that emotion. Had no clue how to treat it. It was something I couldn't shut out, something I couldn't just... throw things over. And the worst part was that the one person who had always been able to help me deal with everything, even when I didn't want her too, was the one person I couldn't go to. It took me too long to figure out that I could come to you, though. And it took me even longer to figure out that I really wanted to. So now I'm here, and I've... I've made up my mind that I need to."

She looked into his green eyes and her own eyes watered. "Harry... you don't have to..."

"Yeah, I do. I can't deny it, and I need to thank you for everything that you've given me." He looked down, and took her hands in his. "Hermione," his voice faded to a whisper, "you've taught me so much. And you taught me one thing that I never could have learned from a book. You," he became even quieter, and met her eyes, "you taught me how to love." He paused to let his words sink in. "I haven't had much experience with love. You taught me what it was, and you taught me how it felt to love someone. And I know now. I love you, Hermione."

Her eyes went wide and she smiled broadly. A new wave of tears overwhelmed her as she threw herself into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. He did the same, holding her, feeling as if nothing in the world could hurt either of them. Her tears soaked his shoulder, but he didn't care. He could feel her heart beat next to his.

He thought that was the best sound in the world.

Sobbing, she whispered in his ear, over and over. "Harry... I love you too...". Then, he knew that that was the best sound in the world. And the best feeling. To love, and be loved. It had taken him longer than most people to find it, but he knew at that moment that he was complete.

He pulled back from the embrace slightly, and looked into her eyes again. And then he kissed her.

He kissed her the way one does when one is in love.

And she kissed him back.

I hope that you consider this to be a fitting end. Please review. Thank you!

-Menucha