Accio Memory by Amethyst and Goldy

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Suspense
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 11/06/2005
Last Updated: 20/06/2005
Status: Completed

"Right now, he was looking at a scared, lost girl. One who looked unbearably different from
the self-assured Hermione who’d stood by his side over the years." A spell goes wrong, leaving
Hermione without memories of her life at Hogwarts. Now completed.




1. Accio One
------------

**Title:** Accio Memory

**Authors**: Amethyst and Goldy

**Category**: Romance

**Pairing**: Harry/Hermione

**Spoilers**: Books 1-5. Duh.

**Disclaimer**: Still not ours.

**Summary**: Ron thinks Hermione needs to relax. It has consequences. Bad consequences.
*points to title* It might have something to do with memory.

**A/N**: This was written for the LJ community fanfict00bs, in which a new fic is posted
every Monday. We decided to do a joint-fic when the two of us discovered we’d be the only posters
for several weeks. It’s been a blast writing this and we’re terribly excited to finally be able to
post to PK. We each did a chapter a week and, no, we won’t tell you who wrote which chapter—what
would be the fun in that?

Harry felt like he was underwater and the world was continuing around without him. Up until now,
it had been a rush of colours and noise, blurring together into a memory that was hazy.

They’d been on their way up from the Great Hall after breakfast. Like normal. They’d been
laughing and talking and joking. Like normal. They’d clambered in through the portrait hole. Like
normal.

“What happened?”

Harry felt McGonagall’s question being asked more than he heard it.

When Hermione seized up and fell unconscious it hadn’t been normal. Not for a healthy
seventeen-year-old girl who had been joking and laughing with her best friends only a minute
ago.

She slept on a hospital bed only fifteen feet away, her eyes closed and chest moving up and down
to the steady rhythm of her breath. At least, Harry *hoped* her chest was moving up and
down—he couldn’t be certain from where he was sitting, even if he squinted his eyes and thrust his
neck forward.

And here it was, the question he’d been waiting for. *What happened?*

“Yeah.” Harry heard himself speak and his voice sounded far away. “What *did* happen?”

“You don’t *know*?” Professor McGonagall repeated, sounding at the end of her patience.

Madam Pomfrey tutted. “Mr. Potter, the only way we’re going to be able to help Miss Granger is
if we have all the information. As best I can tell, she’s simply in a deep sleep.”

“She’s not just sleeping,” Harry said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Very well, then, young man,” Madam Pomfrey. “Do tell us what *happened*.”

“I *told* you,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably in the small plastic chair. It was
unnerving to have both Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey staring at him with narrowed eyes. “I
don’t know.” Harry jerked his head to his right. “But Ron does.”

With an audible snap, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned their attention to Ron. The redhead
clenched his hands in his lap and stared at the floor.


“It was my fault,” he managed, in a strangled voice.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey glanced at Harry for confirmation. “Yeah,” Harry said,
less than thrilled with his best mate. “He’s telling the truth.”

Ron turned a pasty white colour.

“It was the twins,” Ron said. “They thought it would… I didn’t think… I never wanted…”

“Mr. Weasley!” Professor McGonagall said. “Are you telling me that you tested one of your
*brothers* products on Miss Granger?”

“Well,” Ron whispered, looking like he might run away. “I thought she needed to relax some.”

“*Relax*?”

“It’s just…” Ron looked at Harry for help. Harry glared at him. “She’s so high-strung. Hermione,
I mean. All the time, especially with N.E.W.T.’s coming up. I thought she could use a bit of a
break. She never listens to us when we tell her to slow down so I just—I just…. I wanted to sort
of… *help* her along…”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure this was right out of the *goodness* of your heart, Mr. Weasley,”
Professor McGonagall snapped.

Ron, if possible, paled even farther.

“You poisoned her,” Harry said softly, eyes ticking to where Hermione was lying on the bed. He
thumped a hand on the side of his chair. “Bloody hell, Ron! Do you *ever* think? *You
poisoned her*!”

“Not on purpose!” Ron said, voice rising. “I didn’t know *this* was going to happen. Fred
and George promised it would be safe! You’ve seen how she’s gotten recently, Harry! She’s always in
the library, she’s always snapping at us when she gets the chance, she needed a break and you know
it!”

“That doesn’t matter!” Harry said. “That doesn’t make it alright! You had *no right* to do
what you did! What did you do? Slip it into her tea when she wasn’t looking?”

From the horrified look on Ron’s face, Harry was willing to bet a hundred galleons that was
*exactly* what he’d done.

“Shame on you, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said scathingly. “You *cannot* mess with
potions! Who knows what it mixed with? It could be having any number of effects!”

Ron scrubbed his face with his hands. “I didn’t mean to,” he said again. “I never wanted to—I’d
never do anything to hurt Hermione and you lot know it.”

“Be that as it may,” Professor McGonagall said. “Your carelessness has landed her in the
Hospital Wing. For your sake, I hope she comes out of it without any serious damage. You might
avoid suspension.”

“Suspension?” Ron croaked.

“Consider yourself *lucky*,” Professor McGonagall said. “Now, I’m going to contact your
elder brothers for a copy of this mixture. It would be wise to hope that this potion contains
nothing more than basic ingredients.”

Professor McGonagall swept past them, wearing a grim look. Ron shifted miserably.

“It was coffee,” he mumbled. “That I put it in. Her morning coffee.”

Disgust with Ron’s actions rose in him and Harry resisted the urge to hit something. He
understood that Ron’s intentions had been good, but it didn’t stop him from being furious.

“Coffee?” Madam Pomfrey repeated shrilly. “*Coffee*?’

She jumped up and rushed to Hermione’s side. Harry and Ron looked at each other in alarm.

“*What*?” They said in unison.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t answer. Her wand glowed as she waved it up and down Hermione’s body.
Finally, she stopped and turned to glare at Ron.

“Mr. Weasley, coffee is all ready a drug, engineered to give your system a boost. When combined
with magic, it provides that boost to the magic as well. Whatever you gave Miss Granger, she’s
feeling its affects tenfold.” Madam Pomfrey frowned. “Any student who paid attention in Potions
should know that.”

Ron looked like he was going to be sick.

“So what does that mean?” Harry asked, standing up and going to Hermione’s bedside. “Is she… is
she going to be okay?”

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes seemed to soften when she looked at him. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not
certain there is any way we can know… not until she wakes up.”

***

“Hold on, Ron.”

The moment they had been dismissed from the Hospital Wing, Ron had taken off. Harry rushed to
catch up with him, not certain if he wanted to yell at him or curse him.

Ron spun around. “Look, Harry, I feel right guilty enough as it is. I don’t need it from you
too, alright? I get it—I messed up. Okay?”

“No,” Harry grit out. “*Not* okay. You know, you’ve pulled a lot of stupid things in our
last few years here—”

“*I was trying to do the right thing*!”

Ron looked primed for a fight. Harry took a step backwards in order to gain control of his own
precarious emotions.

“I don’t care,” Harry said. “Look around, will you? We’re in a middle of a war, Ron! You can’t
go dumping unknown… *stuff* into people’s coffee mugs!”

“I *know*,” Ron said. “I told you, I feel horrible. I’m not certain I could feel
worse.”

Harry shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’ll feel worse once Hermione wakes up.” He fixed Ron with
a level stare. “*If* she wakes up.”

“Come on, Harry!” Ron said, voice cracking. “Don’t say stuff like that. She’s gonna wake up, you
know she is. It was only a stupid, little thing. I just wanted—”

“Her to relax,” Harry finished. “Yeah, I know.”

They stared at each other for a moment in silence.

“It was awful when she passed out in the common room,” Harry said, the image replaying itself in
front of his eyes. “I thought—I thought that Voldemort had found a way to get to her, somehow. If
you hadn’t mentioned that it might have been something you’d given her—well, I reckon I would have
done something stupid.”

Ron folded his arms across his chest and pawed at the floor with the toe of his boot.

“Harry, I’m really sorry. I know we don’t ever talk about… well, you know, but I know that you
two are close—getting closer all the time. I’m just… I’m sorry.”

Harry felt like he couldn’t forgive him—not quite yet—but he nodded and let the subject drop.
For the moment.

***

Harry was in the middle of Potions when Hermione woke up.

He was glad the interruption happened when it did, since he hadn’t been able to concentrate
much. Snape kept shooting him eager looks and Harry suspected he was gleefully anticipating being
able to use Harry as a test subject. Every time Harry tried to focus on what he was doing, his mind
drifted back to Hermione lying in the Hospital Wing. Numerous times, he found himself silently
cursing Ron into oblivion.

Professor McGonagall came to the classroom herself, her jaw set. Snape’s disappointment was
apparent when she asked if Harry could be excused. It was with shaking hands that Harry followed
her out of the dungeons. He knew that if Hermione was fine, Professor McGonagall would never have
interrupted class.

They set off towards the Hospital Wing in silence, McGonagall’s face grim. Instead of asking the
hundreds of questions zooming around his mind, Harry simply waited for McGonagall to tell him what
happened. Finally, when she spoke, her voice was terse, but gentle.

“Miss Granger is awake.” She paused to let that sink in and Harry nodded, having already
determined that much. “She does not appear to be injured or hurt in any way.”

Harry sucked in a breath and waited for the other shoe to drop. “But…”

McGonagall stopped and turned to Harry, her face turning into an even deeper grimace. Harry
glanced around them relieved to see that the corridor was deserted. Whatever it was that he was
about to learn would be kept secret.

“Miss Granger is suffering from amnesia.”

Harry stared. *Amnesia*? *How could she—how did Ron’s spell…*

“What—what do you mean?”

McGonagall sighed. “She remembers her name, her parents, her age, where she lives. But… as far
as we can tell… she can’t remember anything of her last seven years at Hogwarts.”

“She can’t remember *Hogwarts*?” Harry said.

“That’s correct.”

Harry swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“Certain,” McGonagall said. “Miss Granger has no memories of ever receiving her Hogwarts letter.
She does not know she is a witch. I’ll be honest with you, Potter… she is a very confused and
frightened girl at the moment.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. *Hermione doesn’t remember Hogwarts. She doesn’t
remember our last seven years. She doesn’t remember anything we’ve done together. She doesn’t know
about Voldemort.*

Another thought struck him, one that made his insides turn cold. Throat stinging, Harry looked
back at McGonagall. “So… she doesn’t—I s’pose she doesn’t… know who I am, then.”

“No,” McGonagall said softly. “She doesn’t.”

“What—how… I don’t understand…” Harry’s voice was rising. “How could this *happen*?”

McGonagall gestured for him to follow her down the hall. “The potion Miss Granger ingested was
meant to help her relax, relieve stress.”

Harry waited for McGonagall to continue. When she kept walking and no further explanation was
forthcoming, Harry realized she’d left it for him to come to his own assumptions.

“Stress…” Harry said. “She’s been stressed ever since she got her Hogwarts’ letter, hasn’t she?
Especially the last few years, what with Voldemort and—”

Harry stopped, about to say ‘me.’ He wasn’t certain he could voice that aloud. *The last time
Hermione was able to truly take a break was before she came to Hogwarts. Before she met me. Before
she had to live in this world*.

“Why me?” he finally managed, glancing sideways at McGonagall. “Why come get me?”

Professor McGonagall paused outside the Hospital Wing, a serious look on her face. “Mr. Potter,
we’re all quite aware of the relationship you two share—”

“Relationship?” Harry interrupted, flushing. “That’s not—I mean… we aren’t… nothing like
*that*…”

“In any event,” McGonagall continued crisply. “Poppy seems to think, and I agree, that you would
be the best person for her to interact with. If anything else, you know her best, her habits, her
manner of conducting herself. Perhaps your familiar presence will even jog her memory.”

“What about Ron?” Harry croaked.

McGonagall pursed her lips. “He may help too. But you should know, Potter, I’m not feeling
particularly generous towards Mr. Weasley at the moment.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Harry said, the strong urge to hit Ron returning to him.

McGonagall gave a tight smile. “Go in and talk to her, Potter. She’s rather… upset.”

“No kidding,” Harry said. He remembered how it felt when he’d met Hagrid all those years ago. He
couldn’t imagine waking up in the Hospital Wing with almost seven years of his magical existence
missing. It would be terrifying.

“What do you want me to do?” Harry said. “How do I—what do I tell her?”

McGonagall put a hand on his shoulder, looking dangerously emotional all of a sudden. “Use your
judgment, Potter. She’s your…” McGonagall gave an audible sniff and dabbed at her eyes. “Treat her
as you think best. She needs you now, more than ever.”

For one horrifying moment, Harry was worried McGonagall was going to burst into tears. He wasn’t
certain how he’d manage *that*. He thought it might send him over the edge himself. To his
immense relief, however, McGonagall turned away, still sniffing and hurried down the corridor.

Harry opened the doors to the Hospital Wing, duel feelings of concern and trepidation battling
it out in his stomach. How did he even *begin* this conversation?

*Lo’ Hermione, you don’t know me, but I’m your best friend. Possibly more than that, given
nearly everyone’s reactions to this whole fiasco. By the way, it’s because of your* other
*best friend that you’re in this mess to begin with. Fancy a walk around the lake?*

Madam Pomfrey glanced over at him when he entered. She smiled warmly and nodded her head in the
direction of Hermione’s hospital bed. Feet feeling weighted down, Harry shuffled over.

She was sitting up in bed with her legs crossed. Her eyes studied the room around her and her
forehead was creased in concentration. Harry felt a jolt of hope. It was the same look she wore
when she was working out a difficult problem in her head.

*Wish I could ask her what to do about this*, Harry thought, with a sudden ache. He
suddenly missed Hermione terribly—the one who remembered who he was. He wasn’t certain he knew how
to survive without her by his side.

It was then and there that he vowed to himself to do whatever it took to get her memories back.
He owed her that, at least. His stomach twisted in guilt, reminding him that part of her had chosen
this amnesia—the part that believed this life was too difficult. But if Harry knew Hermione—and he
*did* know her well—he could admit that she’d want her memories back. She never ran away from
anything, certainly not challenge, in her life.

He cleared his throat and Hermione turned her eyes on him. There was no glint of recognition in
her eyes, no warm smile of greeting. Her eyes were cool as she studied him.

“You must be Harry,” she said, without preamble. “They told me about you.”

“They… er… they did?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “They said we were friends.”

“We are.”

From the skeptic look on Hermione’s face, Harry suspected this wasn’t going to be easy.

“I don’t know who you are, *where* we are, but I *demand* to be let go this
*instant*!” Hermione’s voice took on the shrill tone she used whenever she was nagging Ron to
study. “You can’t keep me here. My parents will call the police, I assure you.”

“No, they won’t,” Harry said softly, internally aching for her. “Hermione, I know this is hard
for you. But you *must* believe me. You’re safe here. Nothing will hurt you. This—this world
that you’re a part of? It’s dangerous. There’s things out there that you don’t know about. You’re
missing seven years of your life. You just… you need to trust me.”

“Trust you?” She hissed, sitting up straighter. She gestured around her. “*Trust you*? I
don’t even *know you*! This whole place—the whole lot of you, you’re all completely mad!”

Looking at her, Harry could tell it didn’t matter how much he said, she wouldn’t believe him. He
couldn’t blame her. The entire thing sounded ridiculous to his own ears. What he needed was some
way to prove it to her.

He moved closer to her and looked directly into her eyes. The less sure of himself he was, the
more inclined she’d be to disbelieve him.

“You grew up in a nice house just outside of London with your mum and dad. They’re good enough
people, dentists, they fight sometimes, but not enough for it to be a worry. Growing up, you never
had any real friends. You felt isolated from others your age, so you threw yourself into your
studying. If nothing else, your teachers always admired you. But something felt like it was
missing, there felt like there should be more to life than homework and family walks in the park
and Sundays spent watching television with your father. You could feel it. You weren’t sure what it
was, not until you got your Hogwarts’ letter. That’s when things fell into place.” Harry sighed.
“You don’t remember that part, of course.”

Harry could practically see Hermione’s brain working as she processed through everything he’d
told her. She was judging him, he knew. She was judging his sincerity, his veracity. That’s the way
she was. She needed hard proof.

“How do you know all that?” Hermione said.

“Because we’re…” Harry trailed off, not sure exactly *how* to describe their relationship.
“We’re best friends,” he finally said. “We’ve been best friends for seven years. That’s why.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. “It’s just… it’s not possible!” she finally
said. “This whole magic bit? That’s complete and utter rubbish! I would never—I mean, it’s not
possible—”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Harry said, taking out his wand. After a moment of indecision, he handed it to
her. She examined it carefully, turning it over in her hands and shaking it a bit. Harry gave a
strained smile. “Careful.”

“Bothers you, doesn’t it?” she asked, turning it over. “Me, waving it around like—”

Hermione gave a small shriek of surprise when several sparks shot out of the end of it. Quickly,
she thrust it back at Harry, face paling.

Harry laughed. “Yeah, that happens.”

“What—what was that?”

“Magic,” Harry said, with a grin. It was an odd feeling, being the one to explain things to
Hermione. “I know everything in you goes against believing this, Hermione, but I promise, it’s
*real*. More than that, I know you feel it. *This* is what’s been missing all your life.
Don’t you see?”

Hermione looked suspicious. “Am I being held captive?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “What?! Of course not!”

“So I can leave at any time, then?”

“Er…” Harry glanced around, suddenly feeling like he’d just made a grave error. “Not…
exactly.”

Hermione’s lips pursed. “I see.”

“It isn’t like you—”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You seem like a perfectly nice boy.” She cocked her head,
going back to examining her surroundings. “I certainly don’t trust you, but you seem very nice,
Harry.”

Harry didn’t like the way she pronounced his name, like she was drawing out each syllable. From
her tone of voice, he suspected she didn’t think he was “nice” at all.

“So tell me,” she continued, voice steady. “What is it that you want from me? Money? Sex?”

Harry choked. “*No*! How could you—I mean… I would *never*….”

Harry stood up and began pacing. Hermione’s stubbornness was out full force and he wasn’t
certain he could say anything to make her believe him. He hated the way she was looking at him, not
only as if she didn’t know him, but as if he was her enemy. With a small growl of frustration, he
spun around and fixed her with a stare.

“Listen,” he said, speaking quickly. “I’m your *best friend*. Alright, Hermione? I would
*never* hurt you. I would never let anyone else hurt you. Please, just *trust* that. I
know you can. There must be some small part of you that—”

“There isn’t,” Hermione snapped. “I’m certain that being told I’m a *witch* would be a
memorable moment for me. Why don’t I remember *that*? If I’m so important to you, why don’t I
remember *you*?”

Hearing the same question he’d been asking himself, deflated him somewhat. Harry glanced around
the Hospital Wing when inspiration suddenly struck him. He turned back to Hermione, excited.

“You’re the best in our year, you know,” Harry said. “There isn’t a spell out there you don’t
know how to do. I bet, even with your memory gone, *you’ll* still remember how to do magic.
Watch.” Harry pointed his wand at Madam Pomfrey’s office. “*Accio* wand!”

Hermione’s wand came zooming out of the office and into Harry’s hand. He handed it to Hermione.
“Try that,” he prodded. “Just point it at something you want and say the incantation. You’ll be a
natural, I promise.”

Hermione seemed to think it over. Finally, she pointed it at her beside table. “*Accio*
water glass!”

The glass flew off the table and landed in her hand. Harry raised his eyebrows at her. Hermione
appeared unconvinced. She pointed her wand at Harry.

“*Accio* glasses!”

Harry’s glasses flew off his nose and into her waiting hand. Hermione was reduced to nothing but
a blurry shape.

“Ha. Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

Relieved when she handed his glasses back, Harry studied her. She wasn’t convinced. Not yet.

“*Wingardium leviosa*,” Harry said quietly.

She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“The reason we’re friends.” Harry smiled a little at the memory. “You were—when you first came
here, well, we didn’t much like each other. You drove Ron batty, trying to get him to pronounce
that spell right. Anyway, it ended with us rescuing you from a very large troll.”

Hermione stared. “A… *troll*?”

“That’s not the important part,” Harry said quickly. “The point is, from that moment on, we were
inseparable.”

After the words left his mouth, Harry realized how it sounded. “You, me and Ron, I mean,” he
said. “The three of us—*we* were inseparable.”

“Hmmm,” she said, twirling her wand around in her fingers. Finally, she pointed it at her
pillow, like she knew exactly what to do. “*Wingardium leviosa*!”

Neither of them were surprised when it hovered a few feet above the bed. Flicking her wand down,
the pillow sank back to the bed.

Hermione stared at it, her face unreadable. Hesitantly, Harry sat down next to her.

“See?” he said. “You’re a witch Hermione. A damned powerful one too. You might not remember any
of this, you might not remember me, but you can’t change *what* you are.”

“This isn’t possible.”

The disbelief was gone from her voice. She was only denying it because she felt she had to. That
was Hermione—ever the rational one. Harry wished there was something he could do to ease the
confusion she was feeling.

“I promise we’ll get your memories back, Hermione,” Harry said instead. “No matter how long it
takes. We’ll get them back.”

Hermione stared at her wand. “I don’t know if—if I should trust you.”

“Right,” Harry said, wounded. “Well—that’s okay. I mean, it would make sense for you not to. I
just want you to know I’m here for you. I’m—I’m your best friend.”

“But I do,” she said, lowering her wand so she could look at him. “I don’t know why, but I
do.”

Harry felt warmth spread through him. “That’s—good, Hermione. Great. You need someone you can
trust in this.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose.” She cocked her head. “What’s your last name?”

Harry smiled. He wasn’t certain anyone had asked him that before. “Potter—Harry Potter.”

“Potter,” Hermione repeated, closing her eyes. “Potter… Potter…”

It made Harry feel a little strange watching Hermione repeat his name over and over again with
such deep concentration. He realized she was probably attempting to stir some of her memories, but
it didn’t make the situation any less weird.

“Nothing,” Hermione said, eyes snapping open.

“I reckon you can’t force it,” Harry said. “It’ll probably come on its own.”

For a moment, Harry was able to read all the anxiety Hermione was feeling. Vulnerability shone
in her eyes and he suddenly realized how dangerous this was for her. She had no comprehension of
the world they lived in. She wouldn’t have any notion of how to defend herself.

Right now, he was looking at a scared, lost girl. One who looked unbearably different from the
self-assured Hermione who’d stood by his side over the years.

“It’ll be alright,” he heard himself saying. “I’ll take care of you, Hermione. I promise.”



2. Accio 2
----------

Accio Memory – Chapter Two

“Would you like to take a walk?”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him, something Harry had gotten very
used to over the past two days since she’d lost her memories. “Take a walk? I thought I had to stay
here, for my own *safety*,” she scoffed.

Reminding himself to be patient, Harry suppressed a sigh. “You have to stay at Hogwarts,
Hermione, because there are people out there that you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against
now that you don’t know magic, and you haven’t been allowed to leave the Hospital Wing alone
because you would get very, very lost. I *know* you know I’m right, even if you don’t want to
admit it.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry took a step back, bracing himself. “Oh, but I can leave
with you because you’re my brave, noble protector and *nothing* could harm me with you
around.”

*Don’t snap at her, Harry. She’s angry with the situation, not you.*

“Do you want to get out of the Hospital Wing or not?”

Hermione eyed him warily, sitting back against the pillows of her bed. “Where would we go?”

Harry shrugged. He hadn’t thought beyond convincing her to take a walk with him. “Wherever you
want to go, I guess. I could show you the castle, the grounds…I could take you to the library,” he
suggested. *Books – now that would jog her memory.*

“I’d like to go outside,” she said tentatively, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “You
said we used to spend a lot of time by the lake, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded, fighting off a wave of nostalgia. “I did.”

He watched her put on her shoes – how could she not remember those familiar Mary Janes? – and
led her out of the room.

~

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Why can’t I go home?” she asked. Harry looked at her. She stared straight ahead as the breeze
sent her hair flying about.

Harry sighed, not knowing how to explain without frightening her. “You can’t leave Hogwarts
grounds, Hermione. For one thing, if you’re ever going to get your memories back, it’s probably
going to require magical treatment.”

“You never did tell me what happened to me.”

Harry focused his eyes on the trees across the lake, tensing at the question. A part of him
wanted very much to tell Hermione exactly why she was there…but he didn’t want to turn her against
one of her best friends before the prat had even worked up the nerve to visit her.

“It was a magical accident.”

“That doesn’t tell me much,” Hermione said with annoyance. “What *really* happened to
me?”

He decided to tell her the truth – most of it, anyway. “Someone wanted to give you a potion to
help you relax, and it didn’t work quite the way he’d anticipated.”

“…Not the way he’d *anticipated*? Is that your way of saying that – whoever this was -
buggered everything right up?”

Harry almost smiled. “Well, it did make you forget everything you were stressed about.”

“And everything else,” she replied darkly. They strolled on in silence for a few moments before
she spoke again. “Who did it?”

Harry’s step faltered and she noticed. “I’d really rather not say.”

Hermione tilted her head and looked owlishly at him, her eyes sharp. “Was it you?”

“No,” Harry said evenly. “If you really must know, it was Ron.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Ron? The supposed best friend that I have yet to meet?”

“I reckon he would have been by to see you if it wasn’t for me,” Harry told her, privately glad
that Ron had kept his distance. Not only would Ron have made it that much more difficult to reason
with Hermione, but also Harry felt that Ron didn’t deserve to see her or have his conscience
consoled by the knowledge that Hermione was, memories aside, perfectly fine.

“You’re very angry with him, aren’t you?” Hermione said, stopping and forcing Harry to cease
walking and turn to face her.

“Of course I am. What kind of stupid prat slips a potion into his friend’s morning coffee?”
Harry ranted, relieved to finally be saying this to someone, even if Hermione probably wasn’t the
best person to hear it. “All because he wanted you to stop bothering him, not really out of genuine
concern! And in the process he – he…”

Harry faltered and shut his mouth before he could say what he was going to – *he took you away
from me*.

“He what, Harry?” Hermione asked gently. It amazed Harry how much it sounded like the Hermione
he knew.

“He made this happen,” Harry said evasively. “I’m having a hard time forgiving him.”

Hermione nodded and looked down at the ground. “This has really been hurting you, hasn’t
it?”

Harry shrugged, though his indifference was a lie. Of course it had been hurting him. If it had
been anyone else – even if it had been Ron – Harry would have been in much better shape, so long as
Hermione had been there to comfort and guide him. Hermione would have known what to do. And now,
thanks to Ron’s poor judgment, she was gone – and the rift that this had caused between he and Ron
now left him completely alone.

“I’m sorry…if we’re as close as you say, I’m sure you must miss me…whoever I am now,” she said,
reaching to squeeze his hand in such a way that for a moment Harry thought he saw the old Hermione
looking back at him…and then she took her hand away, and it was gone.

“You’re not very different,” he said with a slight smile that faded as soon as he continued.
“You just don’t remember me.”

~

“So…tell me more about Hogwarts,” Hermione said as they settled themselves down underneath
“their tree.” “What sorts of things do they teach here?”

“All sorts of things,” Harry began, happy that she was becoming more interested in learning
about magic. “Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts –“

“Dark Arts? What sort of things are those?”

Harry shifted uneasily. They were wandering into territory that he didn’t want to get into just
yet. “Well, you know. Dark magic. Mean-spirited magical creatures. Things like that.”

“You mean like ‘black magic?’ Bringing people back from the dead and things like that?”

Harry almost laughed. “Um, no, not really a lot of necromancy going around. It’s more hexes and
jinxes…curses meant to injure, cause pain, control, or…kill.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “All that goes on often in the wizarding world?”

Harry nodded grimly. “It’s…it’s like the Muggle world. A lot of times, it’s peaceful, and there
are a lot of good people. But there are bad ones, too. And you have to know how to protect
yourself.”

“That’s the real reason I can’t leave, isn’t it?” Hermione said with her usual astuteness.
“Because I won’t be able to protect myself.”

Harry braced himself, sensing a confrontation. “It’s not that anyone thinks you’re weak,
Hermione. You’re the most powerful witch I know. It’s just that you can’t remember anything to
protect you from magic, and there are people out there that would love very much to take advantage
of that. You need to stay here, where you’re safe. There’s nothing to protect you at your parents’
house.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the castle in the distance. “I don’t see
why I would matter to anyone out there. I can’t be that important.”

Harry sighed. “You have no idea.”



3. Accio Three
--------------

**Chapter Three**

Harry headed to the hospital wing as soon as the lunch bell rang. People stared at him as he
passed, but he ignored them. Nervousness had him fiddling with his wand as he moved along the
corridor.

They were trying to unblock Hermione’s memories.

It made Harry feel sick. He knew what it was like to have Snape invading his mind. He didn’t
trust Snape to be gentle or kind about it. Not even when Hermione had no way to prepare
herself.

“Snape is very skilled at legilimens, Harry. I have no doubt he will do his best to return
Miss Granger’s memories.”

Harry didn’t have the same trust in Snape that Dumbledore did. But he was anxious that Hermione
get her memories back as soon as possible. People were starting to ask questions. Their curiosity
abounded over Hermione’s absence from class and Harry’s solitary contact with her. Only Ron knew
what had happened and even then it had been an effort for Harry to choke the words out.

It scared him. Her ignorance of the dangers of their world—of her tie to him—it made her a
target.

What Harry was willing to do to keep her safe, *that* scared him even more. He wondered how
far he would go to protect her…

He opened the doors to the hospital wing, these thoughts weighing on him. It took him a moment
to realize that Hermione wasn’t occupying her usual corner. Hearing a muffled noise, he followed
the sound around to the hospital wing’s tiny bathroom. The door was open and Harry stopped, feeling
his stomach clench.

Hermione was on her hands and knees, vomiting into the toilet. Madam Pomfrey held her hair back
from her face and whispered to her in soft, soothing tones. Harry stared, unable to move—to speak.
Every muscle in his body had seized up.

Hermione shuddered once and then relaxed, panting.

“What happened?” Harry said, voice coming out as a croak.

Madam Pomfrey looked up, startled. Hermione gave a small cry of surprise. Harry could see tears
glistening in her eyes. He came forward.

“What happened?” he demanded. His fists clenched. “If… if… *Snape*…”

“No,” Hermione moaned. “I’m alright… please, go away, Harry… please…”

The plaintive note in her voice seemed to go right through him.

“Leave? But I… but you…”

Madam Pomfrey stood up. With one swift move, she had him out of the bathroom, the door shut
behind her. Harry clenched his jaw.

“Let me back in!”

Madam Pomfrey made a sound of disgust. “Really, Mr. Potter, I’m not in the habit of taking
orders from you.”

“*What happened*?” Harry asked again.

“Miss Granger will tell you, once she has herself cleaned up.” Madam Pomfrey gave him a beady
stare. “Honestly, Mr. Potter, haven’t you learned *anything* about girls?”

Leaving Harry open mouthed, Madam Pomfrey disappeared back into the bathroom. A moment later, he
could hear the sounds of water running.

Harry paced the hospital wing, drumming his fingers nervously against his legs. *I can’t
believe Hermione’s suddenly all concerned with **vanity**! Since when?*

Harry’s thoughts turned to Snape and a burst of anger clouded his mind. He was *certain*
this was his doing.

The bathroom door snapped open and Harry turned around. Hermione’s eyes met his. *She looks
better*, Harry decided. She had colour back in her cheeks and her eyes were more focused.

Harry had opened his mouth to ask what happened when she took three quick strides towards him
and flung her arms around his neck. Harry felt the breath go out of his lungs.

He almost asked if she had her memories back when he realized she was shaking. Her arms
tightened around him. Harry tried his best to comfort her, startled by the way she had her face
pressed so tightly against his shoulder.

She began to relax, allowing Harry to notice several things. One, she was very soft and warm,
nestled like that in his arms. Two, her breath was hot against his shoulder. Three, her hair
smelled nice, which was nothing short of remarkable, considering she’d just finished vomiting in a
toilet.

“Hermione…” he finally said. “Not that this isn’t nice, but could you tell me what
happened?”

She pulled away and Harry realized he didn’t want to stop touching her, not yet. Her eyes were
still red from her tears and she looked fragile. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and
looked into her eyes. He couldn’t help thinking how odd this was. It seemed like she was always
doing her best to comfort him over one thing or another. Despite their situation, Harry felt a jolt
of pride to know he could reciprocate that comfort.

“P-Professor Snape… he…”

“Yes?” Harry said, feeling his ire rise.

“The mind probe that he…” she chewed nervously on her bottom lip. “It was awful, Harry. I’ve
never felt so… so… open and exposed. I thought I was going to burst from the inside.” Her voice
turned tearful. “He couldn’t get anything, so he pushed harder… I didn’t… I couldn’t—”

I’llkillhim. KILL HIM. Kill. Him.

“Wh-what?”

Harry blinked. He felt his cheeks warm. “Erm… did I speak aloud?”

“Yes, she said sternly. “And you mustn’t do anything of the sort! He’s a professor! You could
get in serious trouble!”

Harry blinked at her, surprised by how familiar her tone of voice was. On impulse, Harry hugged
her close again.

“Alright. I won’t.”

She let out a tiny sniff. “I want my memories back—oh, you know I do! But I don’t know if I
can—”

“Shh. It’s okay. We’ll find another way. I promise.”

She pulled away to study his face. Harry hardly dared breathe; she was so close to him. The palm
of her hand slid down his shoulder and his arm, before she linked her fingers through his.

“You always make me feel better,” she whispered. “How do you do that?”

Harry swallowed. “I… I—I *know* you, Hermione…”

“I don’t remember having any friends,” she said. “And I certainly never had any like you.”

Harry couldn’t say anything. Her eyes… her face… she was so close…

“Harry?” she whispered. “Were we… I mean… are we… you know…?”

She nodded her head in the direction of their joined hands. Harry felt his heart jump into his
throat. Quickly, he pulled away from her.

“I… er…” Harry looked around, feeling a sense of desperation. “That is… we… no. No… we
weren’t.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“Yeah.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Hermione tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to put you on
the spot.”

“It’s… don’t worry about it,” Harry said.

He couldn’t do this to her. *They* couldn’t do this. Not when she knew so little about who
she was—who *he* was.

“I… er… Ron was hoping to come by later.” Harry forced a smile. “He said he’d bring you a copy
of *Hogwarts: A History*. If that doesn’t jog your memory, I don’t know what will—it’s your
favourite book. He’s been wracked with guilt over what happened. Don’t be too hard on him.”

“Alright.”

Hermione’s forehead had creased into a frown. It made Harry nervous—he couldn’t figure out what
she was thinking about.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

Without waiting for a reply, Harry turned. And fled.

***

Hermione had always been a smart girl.

She knew perfectly well there was something she wasn’t being told. Grudgingly, she had accepted
the world around her. She was a witch, she was eighteen-years-old, and she could not remember the
last seven years of her life. The facts were immutable. She had no choice but to accept them.

But Harry was keeping something from her—a rather large something.

Her meeting with Ron had proved fascinating. Her mind wandered freely as he babbled talking
about Quidditch and food and things she had no interest in.

Harry had said that they hadn’t been… *involved*, for lack of a better term. But his
reactions towards her told a different story. From the descriptions Ron provided of their
relationship, Hermione had gleaned that, yes, Harry *had* been telling her the truth.

But they were in love.

She was certain that’s what it had to be—for there was simply no other way to describe her
actions around him. She had no memories of him, but his mere presence was enough to make her
*feel*, deep inside. She only felt calm when he was around, as if he brought the real Hermione
Granger with him.

*That’s what it is*, she decided rationally. They were in love. Plain and simple.

And he was keeping something from her.

Since he wouldn’t tell her himself, she’d go investigate. She refused to sit obediently in the
hospital wing while others determined her fate.

That decided, Hermione waited for Madam Pomfrey to go to bed before heading out. After a short,
internal debate, Hermione grabbed her wand. She knew it was useless to her, but it would make her
*look* more intimidating.

Out of the hospital wing, she eyed her surroundings with trepidation. She’d only been in the
halls of Hogwarts a few times—and always with someone to guide her. Shrugging, she set off.

The halls were nearly empty. The few students she passed openly stared, making her cheeks warm.
She set her jaw and ignored the looks.

*I have to find Harry*, she thought, glancing around her. If she could prove to Harry she
could take care of herself, he would *have* to tell her what he was keeping secret.

The only problem was, she had no idea *how* to go about finding him. After winding her way
through several corridors without any sense of direction, Hermione gave up. She had no way of
knowing where to go.

Just when Hermione was beginning to consider trying to find her way back to the hospital wing,
she was stopped by the sound of her name.

“Granger, what are *you* doing down here?”

Hermione froze. She turned around and saw a blond boy she didn’t recognize.

She tried to smile. “I’m looking for Harry, actually. Have you seen him?”

The boy didn’t smile back. “*Why* would Potter be down here?”

Well, I’ve tried everywhere else…”

The boy took a step towards her. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Hermione backed up. “No, of course not.” She faltered. “What did you say your name was again? I
can’t seem to recall it.”

“What are you playing at, Granger?” The boy took another step forward.

“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly, looking to step around him. He put an arm out to block her
path. “I’m really just trying to find Harry.”

The boy’s nose flared. “And just *why* are you looking for Potter down here? What, did he
run away from the common room in his haste to get away from you?”

“Common room?” Hermione repeated. “Where’s… could you tell me how to get there, by any
chance?”

“What are you, Granger, daft?” said the boy. “You know I have no desire to speak to filthy
Mudbloods like yourself.”

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from asking what a “Mudblood” was. From the boy’s tone, she knew
it was an insult.

“Why are you saying these things?” Hermione said. “You don’t… you hardly know me.”

The boy snorted. “You think you’re funny, don’t you? You think—” the boy broke off, realization
dawning in his eyes. “You really *don’t* remember anything, do you?”

Hermione hefted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re—”

The boy laughed.

“My, *that* is rich! No wonder Dumbledore’s been trying to keep this quiet.” The boy
grinned. “You really have no idea who I am.”

Hermione thought back to the warning hints Harry had dropped—the reasons she couldn’t leave
Hogwarts. Her stomach clenched in fear.

The boy’s voice turned softer. “Potter’s the only one that knows, is he?” the boy was so close
to her that Hermione was forced to shrink against the wall. She could feel her heart thudding
against her ribcage.

“With good reason,” the boy continued. He stared into her face. “I could tell you anything and
you would have no way of knowing what was the truth and what wasn’t.”

He pressed up against her. Hermione struggled not to cry.

“Get off me.”

He chuckled.

“Look at you… so meek… so helpless…”

“I am *not* helpless,” Hermione snapped, jerking her knee up between his legs.

Anticipating her, he backed out of the way and scowled.

“Now, Granger. That’s no way to play nice.”

The next thing Hermione knew, he had his wand pointed between her eyes.

“Do you know what this is?”

Hermione hesitated. “Yes.”

“Then you know what I could do to you with it… what I could *make* you do…”

“Yes.”

“Play nice, Granger,” he said again.

Hermione felt dizzy. Anger with Harry erupted in her. He should have *told* her. Whatever
he was keeping secret… he should have told her.

“What do you want from me?”

“Oh, it’s not really *you*,” the boy said. “If you had just kept your head down and stayed
out of the way, you could have avoided trouble, Granger. As it is… your close connection to Potter
puts you into a fair amount of trouble.”

*Harry*? *What **isn’t** he telling me?*

The boy must have noticed the look on her face.

“He didn’t tell you *anything*, did he?” he said softly. His eyes glinted. “When the Dark
Lord takes you, Granger, he’ll torture you until you die. And you won’t even be able to understand
why.”

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face. She leaned back against the wall to steady
herself. Her legs were shaking.

*Torture… Dark Lords…*

“You’re mad.”

“Mad?” the boy hissed. He jabbed his wand under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“Perhaps. But you believe me, Granger. Don’t you?”

Hermione swallowed. “Who are you?”

The boy’s eyes glinted. “Does it *really* matter, Granger? I’m the one with the wand. I
have you trapped. Scared. Alone.”

Hermione bit her lip, looking around for an escape, some way to outsmart him. She’d always
fallen back on her brains. She *had* to be one step ahead, thinking of the future… thinking
of—

“Malfoy, you will get the fuck away from her *right now*… or *I will kill you*.”

The boy raised his eyebrows and turned, hands held in the air.

“Potter,” he said. “We were just talking.”

“Funny,” Harry said, taking a few steps towards him. “Looked more like *assault* from over
here.”

Hermione felt a sob threatening to tear itself out of her throat. Harry looked so… scary, she
realized. His wand trained on Malfoy, the dark look on his face… he was holding himself together
with sheer determination.

Malfoy knew it.

“You should tell her, Potter,” he drawled, trying to look unconcerned. “You wouldn’t want
anyone… taking *advantage* of her situation.”

“You come near her again, Malfoy, and I *will* kill you.” Harry paused. “And I’ll consider
it a warm up.”

“That’s sweet, Potter. Falling in love with a Mudblood. Just like your father. You’re a disgrace
to the wizarding world.”

“No, I’m not.”

Harry said this quietly, his eyes unblinking. Hermione pressed a fist to her mouth to hold back
her sobs.

“Get out of my sight, Malfoy.”

Malfoy seemed to consider the validity of Harry’s words. Finally, Malfoy slunk off,
grinning.

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes. She looked at Harry and a mixture of fury and concern
flashed across his face. Fury dominated and he took a few steps towards her, shaking.

“*What* are you *doing*?” he exploded. “Do you have any idea what could have happened?
If I hadn’t—”

Harry broke off and kicked the wall. He grunted in pain.

“Oh, *fuck*,” he said. “That *hurt*.”

His eyes watered and Hermione had to stifle hysterical laughter.

“We need to talk,” Harry said, grabbing her arm. He steered her down the hall, his fingers warm
on her skin. He held onto her tightly, but not tight enough to hurt her.

She glanced at his profile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Harry grunted and pulled her into an empty classroom. He closed and locked the door behind them.
His eyes seemed to soften when he looked at her.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “I should’ve told you… I’d have done the same thing, if it was
me.”

“The things Malfoy said…” her voice trembled. “I don’t know if… was it true? Does—does someone
want to kill me?”

*Because of you*? she added silently.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Oh,” Hermione whispered.

“He won’t—I won’t…” Harry trailed off and slammed a chair at the nearest desk. Hermione
flinched.

When he turned back around, he was breathing hard.

“It’s complicated,” Harry said. “How do I tell you you’re in danger because of me? When you
don’t even remember who I am?”

Hermione clenched her hands together. “I still… I still *feel*,” she said tearfully. “Oh,
Harry, don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what you tell me… I can’t change how I feel about you.” She
moved closer to him. “Tell me. I need to know.”

Harry took a breath and gathered her hands in his. “Listen to me, Hermione,” he said. “I’ll do
anything I can to keep you safe.”

Hermione’s heart pounded and her mouth was dry. She nodded.

“It’s… it’s like this. It started when I was a baby…”



4. Accio 4
----------

Accio Memory 4

At some point during Harry’s life story, Hermione had sunken onto a desk in the empty classroom
he’d led them into, and as he finished, Hermione found her fingers gripping the desk’s wooden edge
tightly.

“You’ve spent the last seven years battling the most powerful evil wizard in history and now
you’re destined to kill him. That’s what you’re telling me?” Hermione paraphrased faintly.

Harry nodded, leaning against the desk beside hers. “It’s crazy, I know. I guess that’s partly
why I didn’t tell you – there was so much to explain, and you knew nothing of the magical world,
and you were confused already...”

“I understand,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s…it’s quite a lot to process, certainly. I must say,
I don’t envy you.”

Harry laughed dryly. “And thank Merlin for that. I get enough envy from other people.”

Hermione looked at him and began to fully understand the person he was, knowing now the life
that had shaped him. He was in many ways the typical hero – burdened with a destiny he didn’t
particularly want, longing to be normal, forced into the isolation of fame.

And all he’d ever wanted was to be loved – not as the Boy Who Lived, but as Harry.

As she looked at Harry – who stood staring at his hands, as if waiting to be rejected – she felt
her chest swell with tenderness, a familiar feeling that she must have had a thousand times before
for this boy. This extraordinary boy whom she loved, with or without memories, and who, for some
reason, loved her as well.

Acting on instinct, she stood and hugged Harry. He tensed momentarily before bringing his arms
around her, pulling her closer.

“I don’t really know how to react to all of this,” Hermione told him, “but I meant what I said.
I can’t change how I feel about you, even if I can’t remember you or why I feel this way. I still
*know* you on some level, and I still feel things around you that you can’t possibly feel for
a person you’ve only known for a few days. I still love you, Harry. You should know that.”

She felt Harry’s hand moving up her back, finally coming to rest at the nape of her neck,
holding her in place as if she wasn’t already captivated by the look on his face.

“I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until you said it. I was so worried about what
might happen to you without your memories…what might happen if you didn’t get them back…that I
barely stopped to think about what would happen to *me* if I lost you – if I lost your – your
love.”

Hermione blinked back tears. “Harry…”

Harry’s eyes dropped to her lips and she knew right away what he was going to do. Her body
reached for his automatically, as if it knew something she didn’t, but that was all right. At the
moment, she trusted her body far more than her mind.

Hermione stretched her body up toward his as he leaned forward, and her heart pounded painfully
in her chest as their lips touched.

~

*What are you doing? Idiot! You **can’t** do this to her – she doesn’t know what she’s
getting into. She has no idea what she wanted before…she doesn’t completely understand who you
are…*

*But, oh, Merlin, she’s beautiful…*

Hermione smiled as he pulled away. “I knew you must feel the same way,” she said, looking so
happy and so lovely that Harry couldn’t bring himself to take it back.

“We should get you back to the hospital wing,” Harry said, pulling away from her. “Wouldn’t want
Madame Pomfrey waking up and finding you out of your bed.”

Hermione nodded, and Harry knew by her expression that he’d disappointed her, but he couldn’t do
anything else. He had to leave room for her to back out of this if she changed her mind once she
remembered who he was and who she had been. Harry took her hand and led her out into the corridors,
creeping silently through the castle until they reached the hospital wing and Harry saw her into
her bed.

Hermione smiled warmly at him as she settled back against her pillows.

“Will you come to see me tomorrow?” she asked as though worried he wouldn’t.

“Of course,” Harry replied, still feeling guilty for having allowed himself to kiss her. *Fine
way to protect her, Potter – who knows what kind of mess this will leave when she’s back to her
normal self?*

“All right. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he said, quickly kissing her forehead before he quietly left the room.

~

Late the next evening, Harry found himself completing a rather time-consuming request that
Hermione had given him earlier.

“I want you to show me around the castle,” she had said. “I need to know where to go to find you
if I need to – and where not to go on my way there as well. I don’t fancy running into that…Malfoy,
was it? Or anyone like him again.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Harry had been forced to agree, “but I don’t want you coming
after me unless it’s an absolute necessity. Now that Malfoy knows you’re missing your memories,
he’ll have told a lot of people, and they’re going to try to take advantage of that.”

Hermione nodded grimly. “I know.”

Now Harry was leading her through the castle, showing her the dungeons – “Avoid those at all
cost. That’s where the Slytherins live. Very nasty lot.” – the Great Hall, the library – “The
library! It looks huge…you must take me soon. I want to try to research that potion Ron slipped
me…” – the upper floors, and finally, the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

“If you ever need me,” Harry told her, “I’ll be in here.”

“I don’t understand. What are all these funny names you keep mentioning? Gryffindor, and
Slytherins…what are they?”

Harry mentally smacked himself on the forehead and explained the four houses to her. “Gryffindor
is the house we were sorted into. Come on, I’ll show you the common room.”

Harry gave the password and helped Hermione inside. She eyed the room appraisingly. “It’s very
nice. Looks cozy.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah. It’s more like home than any I’ve ever had.” He cleared his throat, cutting
off that thread of conversation. “Anyway, over there, those stairs – those lead up to the
dormitories. Boys to the left, girls to the right. If you need to find me at night, I’m in the
seventh year room – you’ll be able to find it easily, it’s the one with a big 7 on the door. My
bed’s the second to the left.”

Hermione smirked. “Planning on me visiting your bed, are you?”

“Hermione!”

She laughed. “You looked just like a fish just then, I hope you know, the way you were gaping at
me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and began to lead her back out. Her suggestion was entirely too
flirtatious and likewise, entirely too tempting, making him irritable that he couldn’t take her up
on it – and even more irritable that he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to.

“We’re leaving? Already?” she asked, surprised.

“Well, what else are we going to do here?” he questioned, looking around at the assortment of
chairs and sofas.

“Well, we could sit awhile on one of those nice, cozy couches,” she suggested in an oddly coy
manner that made Harry immensely suspicious. She couldn’t want to *study,* could she? There
were no books. *What else are we going to…oh.*

“Um, Hermione, if you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, we should really go
somewhere else. Anyone could come downstairs and see…”

“Well then,” Hermione said, going to the portrait hole. “Where do you have in mind?”

Harry contemplated the matter. If he took Hermione somewhere, they would likely find themselves
in a round of heavy snogging, something that Harry had hoped to avoid until Hermione’s memories
returned. A peck here and there to keep her – and himself, he had to admit – satisfied, but no
more. *But what if her memories never return? Are we going to wait forever?*

“Er…follow me. I know a place.”

~

An hour later Harry was trapped on a bed in the Room of Requirement – and what a perverted room
it was, thinking they’d need a *bed* for what they were there to do – with Hermione asleep on
his very numb arm.

Harry wondered if he should talk to her about their situation. He didn’t really doubt that this
Hermione loved him – no more than he could help himself from doubting, given his past – and if
those emotions, as she believed, were always there, then the old Hermione must have loved him,
too…which made him wonder why she was kissing him now and hadn’t then.

Surely she’d known how he’d felt about her before, if it had been obvious enough for Hermione to
pick up on it without knowing a thing about him. Why hadn’t she done anything, then, if she’d known
their feelings were mutual?

Hermione must have had a reason for abstaining, and Harry knew it. He also knew how completely
pissed off she would be if she got the impression that he was trying to decide her love life for
her.

*What a ruddy idiot I am, kissing her in the first place. I should have just backed away last
night…then we wouldn’t be in this mess.*

Hermione began to stir, stretching against him and nuzzling his neck in a way that made him
completely forget about whatever he’d been thinking about.

“Can we just stay here?” she asked sleepily. “I don’t want to go back to the hospital wing.”

“Madame Pomfrey will have a heart attack if you’re not there in the morning.”

“You said this room would provide anything you needed, didn’t you? Ask it for an alarm clock,”
Hermione muttered.

“I’m still not sure it’s a good idea,” Harry said as a clock materialized on the bedside
table.

“Why not? You said this was the best place in the castle to hide – surely we’re safe here.
Besides, I know I’m safe with you. As long as I’m back on time, I don’t see what the problem
is.”

Harry swallowed. *I’m awful. Completely awful.* “Hermione, it’s not that…what I mean is,
I’m not sure if us, here, doing this is a good idea.”

“What…why? I don’t understand, just awhile ago you –“

“I know,” Harry interrupted her quickly, desperate to get the injured look off her face. “It’s
not that I don’t want to be with you or that I’ve changed my mind – the only problem with this is
that you don’t remember the last seven years.”

Hermione sat up and shook her head at him. “But Harry, I told you, I know I loved you before
this –“

“I know,” Harry said again. “I believe you, I do. What worries me is that if you loved me
before, and you didn’t do anything about it, you might have had a good reason for it. I don’t want
you to regret this once your memories return…I don’t want to risk losing you later on because I
couldn’t control myself now.”

Hermione sighed and her face shifted to her all too familiar patiently understanding expression.
“Harry…I don’t know what I was thinking before. Maybe I didn’t know how you felt and I was too
afraid to take a risk, and if that’s not the case…then I don’t know why I didn’t do anything. I
can’t imagine why. But I’m absolutely sure that in my heart, I want this. I wouldn’t be here with
you if I had the slightest doubt that this was right. Can you trust that, Harry?”

Contemplating, Harry looked at her. Her hair was adorably mussed from their earlier activities
and her nap afterward, her lips were a darker pink than usual, her cheeks were flushed, and her
eyes were wide and dark and imploring. *Did you really think you could walk away from her after
you’d had a taste?*

“I trust you.”

Hermione’s face lit up in a smile. “Don’t worry. If I try to back out of this later, I’ll talk
some sense into myself.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t know. You can be rather stubborn.”

She swatted him on the arm and settled down beside him once more. “Set the alarm and go to
sleep, you git.”

“Mmm, I may be a git, but I’m a lovable git,” Harry muttered as he reached for the alarm clock
and found it was already set to the proper time. Hermione answered with a chuckle and a, “We’ll see
about that,” as he pulled the blankets up over them and the Room considerately turned out the
lights for them.

~

Both fortunately and unfortunately for Harry, the next day was Saturday. Under normal
circumstances, he would have been able to sleep in as he very much needed to do after a night like
the night Hermione had put him through. Hermione, however, had other plans.

“I want to do a full day’s research,” Hermione had insisted. “We have to get an early start!
Let’s try to get there as soon as the library opens.”

And so Harry found himself in a very familiar situation – following Hermione around the library,
half-asleep, while she searched for books.

“What, exactly, are you looking for?”

“Books on coffee and other stimulants,” Hermione answered readily. “Madame Pomfrey believes that
having the potion in my coffee multiplied the effects. If that’s the case, it’s possible that we
can find away to reverse the effects of the potion without any more legilimency, if we can simple
reverse the effects of the potion and find a way to compensate for the effects of the coffee…”

“Why don’t you just put the counter-potion in coffee?”

Hermione turned and frowned thoughtfully at him. “You know, that’s a thought…”

Harry’s favorite bookworm quickly accumulated a gigantic stack of books, which his chivalrous
nature demanded that he carry back to Hermione’s table. Harry watched her with a nostalgic smile as
she began flipping voraciously through the first book.

Moments later she looked up, seemingly amused to find him still standing there. “Why don’t you
look these up?” she suggested, handing him a list on a sheet of parchment. “They’re the ingredients
that were in the potion.”

Harry acquiesced and went off to find yet another stack of books. Normally he would have
complained just a little bit at the prospect of having to do any of the researching bit himself. He
still didn’t fancy the idea, but it was for Hermione, he reminded himself.

When Harry returned half an hour later, laden with books, Hermione was looking very pleased with
herself.

“Did you find something?” Harry asked, gladly dropping the pile on the poor, overworked
table.

“Nothing too substantial,” Hermione said, grinning, “but I did find that stimulants never do
more than add to the effect of a potion, so the memory loss had to be caused by something in the
potion, not the coffee.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Harry said, feeling as though Hermione was celebrating a little too
soon. The possibility remained that they might never find a counter-potion to reverse the original,
whether coffee had anything to do with it or not.

Fighting off a wave of melancholy, Harry settled into the chair across from Hermione and dug
into his pile. Somehow, together, they had to find a way to fix this.



5. Accio 5
----------

**A/N**: Thanks for all the reviews! We’ve had such a blast writing this together, it’s
fantastic knowing other people are enjoying it too. Yes, we’re trying to update every day, barring
any kind of natural disaster that will keep us from a computer. *laughs*

Hermione flipped through her book without much interest, barely scanning pages. She shifted on
the hospital bed, trying to get comfortable, before peering blurrily back down at the pages sitting
on her lap. She still hadn’t uncovered *what* it was about the potion Ron had given her that
took away her memories.

Unfortunately, Hermione found that her concentration had been waning over the last few hours.
Her mind kept drifting… to Harry.

He hadn’t been by to see her in two days. They wouldn’t tell her why. Only that he was busy.

Busy.

She wanted to laugh. *No, you don’t understand*, she told them in her head. *Being busy
wouldn’t keep him from me.*

Something was wrong.

Her mind flashed to hot kisses, his breath panting in her ear, and the brush of his hands down
her back. She shivered and slammed the book shut. She wouldn’t find anything. Not if she had to do
this alone.

Something was wrong.

It suddenly struck her that as much as she *thought* she knew him, she didn’t know Harry at
all. Perhaps this love she felt was all part of a secret desire to feel wanted. Perhaps he did not
care for her at all and had grown tired of her…

This thought made her throat burn. She couldn’t stop herself now. Her feelings for Harry were so
deep they hadn’t been tarnished by the loss of her memories of him.

Something had to be wrong.

***

He shook her awake in the middle of the night.

“Hermione… wake up… c’mon…”

Her eyes fluttered open, but her eyelids felt heavy and the room’s darkness pressed against her.
She felt a wave of dizziness.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

She felt a hand smooth past her temple.

“Hermione, it’s me—Harry. You’re in the hospital wing.”

His voice was soft, but different somehow.

Different.

He’d been crying.

*Harry*.

She came fully awake then, her arms reaching blindly out to him in the darkness. She encircled
his neck and held him tightly. He smelled like aftershave and sweat and grass, and
oh-so-obviously-Harry.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here the last few days. There’s been things that have… there have
been… incidents. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she whispered, her fingers curling on the nape of his neck. She could feel the
stiff material of his collar between her fingers.

Unlike Ron, Harry never let his uniform become disheveled and unkempt. He always looked put
together, tie done up, shirt buttoned, and sleeves down.

“It’s alright,” she said again. “You’re here now. I thought… it doesn’t matter what I
thought.”

He stiffened in her arms. Hot pinpricks of tears gathered in her eyes.

She could feel his breath whisper over her cheek and tickle her ear. She closed her eyes.

He was here now.

“Hermione…”

His voice broke and she held him tighter, murmuring that it was okay, it was alright, it was
going to be fine.

“I have to… Hermione, I have to go away.”

Her insides turned to ice. She couldn’t breathe.

“I have to leave. Now. Soon. In the morning. I—oh, god, Hermione, I have to leave Hogwarts.”

“Leave Hogwarts?” her voice was a whimper.

“It’s Voldemort. He’s coming for me. As long as I’m here, I’m endangering the rest of the
school. I have to go.”

His voice begged her for understanding. He sounded… scared, she realized. Her brave, strong
Harry—he was scared.

She pulled back and cradled his face, her thumbs smoothing aver his cheeks. She kissed him,
quick kisses, over his cheeks and nose and lips and, *oh*, she felt herself begin to cry, but
she couldn’t stop kissing him.

“I’ll go with you,” she whispered against his mouth.

He groaned, the noise coming from somewhere in the back of his throat. He pulled away. Her lips
tingled where they’d been against his. She moved back towards him, but he held her back.

“No.”

She froze. Time stopped. He was still there, still in front of her, telling her it was time, he
had to go and—

And she’d always been with him.

“I’m going *with* you,” she said again.

He kissed her forehead and his palm was warm and firm on her back.

“No, you won’t. You can’t. It’s too dangerous… for both of us.”

She shook her head. “But that—but that would…”

“I know,” he said heavily. “We’d be… separating. But I can’t… I don’t have a choice. Ron’ll
still be here. He’ll look after you, I promise.”

“Ron?” she echoed. She seized his hands. “Harry, you’re going to be alone!”

Hermione’s head hurt. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“We were going to go with you,” she said. “Ron and I. When the time came, we were going to go
with you. But now… I….”

*I can’t help you.*

*Not like this.*

Her head was pounding. She was going to be sick.

His forehead dropped forward to rest on hers.

“I don’t blame you, Hermione. This isn’t your fault.”

“Harry… I can’t let you… what if I never see you again?”

“Shh,” he said.

*I need to be able to **help** you… that’s what I’ve always done…*

He kissed her. She gave into him, her fingers locking themselves in his hair. Their kisses were
familiar by now, but this one felt different. It was more desperate, more painful, more real.

He pulled away and she wanted to clutch him closer. Her headache was making her eyes blur.

“I am so thankful that I was able to do… well, *that* before leaving.”

His tone was playful and she could see the little boy in him, simply proud of being able to snog
his girlfriend.

*Oh, Harry…*

He touched her cheek with his palm. “Whatever happens… I’m just happy you know I… love you.”

“Always.”

Her headache was so strong, she felt herself begin to tremble. She forced herself to focus.

“When will you face him?”

He sighed. “It’s going to be soon. I can feel it.”

“Harry… what if… I don’t know…”

“Hey, don’t sound like that. I’ve had good luck before, haven’t I? I don’t s’pose you’d remember
though…”

No, she didn’t, but she *did* know it was her job to help him.

That’s what Hermione did, after all. She helped Harry Potter. She told him what potion was safe
to drink, she researched Basilisks, she taught him spells, like *Accio*, yes, *that* was
it.

*Accio.*

She taught him that.

***

“Mr. Potter, she’s waking up.”

Harry jumped up, dizzy for a moment as the room spun around him. Eyes heavy, he approached
Hermione’s bed, fighting exhaustion.

It was late morning.

And he hadn’t left yet.

He was aware that with every passing second, he was putting the school into more danger. But it
was Hermione. And he wasn’t leaving until he knew.

He couldn’t help the small, niggling feelings of hope. When she’d passed out in his arms, it had
been just like the last time. And the last time she had *lost* her memories…

*“The stress, Potter*,” *Madam Pomfrey explained. “The potion was intended to
**relieve** her of stress. The news you shared with her last night… well, once the potion
stopped working…”*

At least, that’s what they were all hoping. Harry refused to contemplate the other reasons why
Hermione went unconscious. He had to believe it was in some way connected to the potion.

Harry pushed his way to Hermione’s bedside and took her hand. Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore,
and Madam Pomfrey all took a step back, but continued to hover over them. Harry ignored the looks
they exchanged.

“Hermione,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “It’s… Harry. Are you awake?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked at the faces staring down at her.

“Harry? What’s… where am I?” She fought to sit up, glancing around her. “The hospital wing! Why
am I—”

“Your memories,” Harry cut in. “Are they, you know, back?”

“What?” Hermione said, still struggling to sit. She pushed hair out of her face, breathing hard.
“Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore… I don’t understand. What happened? Why am I….” Alarm
spread over her face and she turned to Harry. “Oh, are you alright? Did Voldemort… I can’t remember
the… what *day* is this?”

“Hermione,” Harry said urgently. “Do you remember getting your Hogwarts’ letter… do you—do you
remember me? Meeting me?”

Hermione frowned. “*Of course* I do, you git. Why wouldn’t I?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“What—”

“Just *tell* me. It’s really important.”

Hermione looked near tears. Harry held her hand tighter.

“We were on our way back to the common room… I had a headache. The coffee this morning tasted
funny. I thought perhaps it had been food poisoning.” She looked hopeful. “Was it food
poisoning?”

“No, Hermione, it wasn’t food poisoning.”

Harry let go of her hand. He was shaking.

Hermione looked scared. “Harry, what’s going on?”

Harry turned to Madam Pomfrey. “She doesn’t remember. Why doesn’t she remember?”

“Remember *what*?” Hermione said. Her face was pale.

Madam Pomfrey merely shook her head. “This entire incident has been most unprecedented.”

“Incident?” Hermione’s voice was trembling. She looked at Harry. “What happened to me?”

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore cut in. His voice was gentle. “Let me first assure you that you have
not been harmed in any way. You have been kept safe and contented. Allow that to rest your
mind.”

Harry moved closer, wanting to reassure her before jerking himself back.

She didn’t know. *She did not know.*

Harry took a deep breath. “Maybe—maybe if you give it a moment, things will come back. You’ll
remember, you—”

“Harry, *remember* what? Why can’t you tell me?”

Harry stared at her, at a loss. She looked so much wearier than she had over the last few weeks.
Without her memories, Hermione had been freer, loser… more daring. And when their relationship
changed, she was always reaching for him, smiling at him, looking contented by his mere presence.
He’d never seen her more carefree.

How did he even begin to describe any of that to her? Her memories—their first kiss—their
promises of love—she didn’t know *any* of it.

“Harry?” she prodded, worry causing her to chew at her bottom lip.

“I… er… you…”

Professor McGonagall interrupted him, her voice brisk. “Your friend Mr. Weasley slipped a stress
reliever into your coffee, Miss Granger. The mixture had a disastrous effect—it removed all your
memories of Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?” Hermione repeated. “But why would that… oh, of course! A life without Hogwarts—my,
would that be uneventful.”

She smiled at Harry to show that she didn’t blame him. Harry’s stomach tightened, aware of the
inherent truth in her words.

“But that doesn’t make sense!” Hermione said. “I should remember… *not* remembering. It may
as well be gone! There are no feelings… no sense—nothing.”

“Maybe it only worked for as long as you stayed stress free,” Harry mumbled. “Maybe you’re not
s’posed to remember it.”

Hermione peered at him. “Perhaps.”

“Miss Granger, if you don’t mind, Poppy and I would like to attempt some tests… it is of the
utmost importance we’re able to uncover the reasons behind all of this…”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all, Professor! I’m quite curious myself. Fascinating, isn’t it,
Harry?”

“What? Oh… er… yeah. Right.”

Hermione barely heard him, gaining a far off gleam in her eye. Harry took the moment to slip
unnoticed from the hospital wing. Outside, he jammed his hands in his pockets and began the long
trek back to the common room. He had to pack.

Walking upstairs, Harry mentally went over everything in his head. Why hadn’t the potion stopped
earlier? Hadn’t Snape’s *Legilimens* been stressful? Malfoy’s attack?

*Maybe that wasn’t enough… maybe it needed something more personal…*

In a flash, their goodbye in the hospital wing came back to him. He could *feel* her
fingers gripping his neck, her warm tears against his cheek.

*As usual*, Harry thought, making his way into his dormitory. *I’m the problem*.

The fact that the return of Hermione’s memories had been something he *wanted* suddenly
meant very little.

The dormitory was empty, the rest of the seventh-year boys were in class. Harry haphazardly
began stuffing clothes and objects into a bag, mind far away from his task.

What did he tell her? What *could* he tell her? Hermione without her memories had been so
insistent on *them*, so *sure* of them.

Finished packing, Harry grabbed his suitcase and yanked it out of the dormitory. *I have to
get Hedwig before I go*, he thought absently. His suitcase made soft thudding noises as he
dragged it downstairs.

Stumbling to a halt in the common room, Harry nearly fell over when the portrait hole swung open
and Hermione walked in. She was dressed in her school robes and looked as well put together as
always. Her face was grim and Harry found himself missing the adventurous, carefree girl she’d been
without knowledge of their world.

Her eyes flicked to his suitcase before settling on his face. “Is it time to go, then?”

Harry opened his mouth, momentarily stunned. “What… what do you—”

“Oh, come off it,” she said. “I’ve been packed for a month. If you’re going, so am I.”

Harry felt a rush of gratitude. She had her chin raised in the air, her posture *daring*
him to argue.

“But—but… you shouldn’t leave, we won’t know how the potion—”

“*Accio* trunk!” Hermione called.

There was a moment of silence, followed by a large *crash* and Hermione’s trunk zoomed into
the common room, coming to a stop at her feet.

Harry watched, wide eyed.

“I’m going with you,” she said.

Harry didn’t argue.

“Now, let’s find Ron. I’m sure *he* hasn’t packed yet…”

With an air of disgust, Hermione turned and Harry stared at her retreating back, conflicting
emotions running over his face.

He wanted—*needed*—to tell her what happened between them.

But he didn’t know if that was his right. She deserved to sort out her own emotions, separate
from him.

And he didn’t know if he could handle a rejection.



6. Accio Memory Six
-------------------

*Harry, hovering over her, his warm weight pinning her to a soft bed, lips descending hungrily
onto hers. Hermione pulled him closer, fingers gripping him tightly, tasting him, coaxing him.
Calloused hands on soft skin and throaty moans and no, please don’t stop…*

*“Hermione…Hermione…”*

She awoke slowly to find Harry shaking her gently.

“We’re almost to London,” he told her, and she nodded, still too lost in her dream to absorb
what he’d said.

Of course she’d dreamed about kissing Harry before; extraordinary witch or not, she was still a
teenage girl. But the dreams had never been so…*real*. There was something different about
that dream....

“Hermione? You all right?”

Harry. He’d been…strange ever since she’d awoken with her memories returned. Of course, one
could expect him to be a bit strange with Voldemort on the offensive, but this was a sort of
strange that seemed to revolve solely around her. It was confusing, to say the least.

“I’m fine,” she answered him for what had to be the fifth time that day. Ron momentarily joined
the conversation with a loud snore that had Crookshanks poking his head out of his basket to
investigate.

A moment of unnaturally awkward silence followed – since *when* did they have awkward
silences? – and Hermione had the distinct impression as she looked out the window that Harry was
staring at her. When she looked over at him, however, he was staring straight ahead, his gaze
resting somewhere on the wall above Ron’s sleeping form. Hermione suppressed a sigh of frustration;
Harry had been doing that ever since the accident.

Hermione supposed they would have time to work it out – whatever *it* was – while they were
hidden away at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. To defer Voldemort’s attack on Hogwarts, Harry was
being taken away to the safest location possible. She and Ron, fortunately, hadn’t had to fight
hard to be allowed to go with him. After all, they were targets, too – the fewer people Voldemort
wanted to get to at Hogwarts, the better.

And so they were on a train to London, where they would stay for Merlin knew how long –
presumably, until Harry finally vanquished the Dark Lord. The thought of how uncertain their
futures were left her chest feeling crushed, making it hard to breathe. Who knew how long she would
spend there, or if she would ever see Hogwarts again, or if she would be killed before she could
take her N.E.W.Ts?

Her fears and dashed dreams were somewhat soothed by the knowledge that whatever happened, she
would be with Harry. With Harry…and Ron…cooped up in a house for an indeterminate amount of time,
unable to leave…. She would go mad quickly, either from bickering with Ron or attempting to endure
these new awkward silences with Harry.

But she would not be left behind. That was the most important thing.

~

“Voldemort has laid aside his plans to attack Hogwarts, although information is hard to come by
now. Our drastic action has fed his suspicions that one of his men is leaking information to us –
he’s much too paranoid to give substantial information to anyone.”

Harry sighed. “So we have no way of knowing what he’s planning now?”

“Not until he grows to trust our spies again,” Dumbledore said grimly.

Beside him Hermione made her dissatisfied noise – a puff of air through her nose, not quite a
snort, but quite telling just the same. “Do you think he’ll still try to attack Harry specifically,
Professor?”

“That’s debatable. If Voldemort knows of the prophecy as we’ve suspected, then, yes, he will
certainly come after Harry. He’ll have a difficult time finding him, however. I wouldn’t advise
worrying about that possibility yet.”

“What’s our plan, then?” Hermione asked. “Will we continue schooling here? Are we just going to
stay until something happens, or will we go home for the summer?”

Harry tuned out the rest of the conversation, knowing that they would not be leaving any time
soon. Ron’s family would be there in the summer anyway, and Hermione couldn’t go home. There was
nothing to protect her there.

Harry watched Hermione speak, eager as always to know precisely what the new order of things
would be. His jumbled mind wanted very much to take comfort in her now, and the knowledge that he
could not do so left him feeling hollow inside.

“Harry? Harry – we’re done,” came Hermione’s voice through the fog in his head.

“Oh – sorry,” Harry said, looking around the kitchen to find it empty.

Hermione smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “Harry, relax a little. We’re safe here.”

Harry watched her walk out of the room. Somehow, he had a hard time believing her.

~

Hermione forced the boys to resume their studies the next day, but she could tell they were not
taking it seriously. Harry hadn’t turned a page in his book for an hour, at least, and Ron wasn’t
even pretending to read. He was staring idly into space. Hermione wanted very badly to tell him
off. Perhaps she’d slip some potion into his coffee and see how *he* liked making up weeks and
weeks of homework.

Hermione’s eyes shifted back to Harry as he repositioned himself in his chair and went back to
pretending to read. Harry’s inattentiveness was understandable. Things were worse than ever before
for him, trapped in a house he hated and unable to prepare for the fight that was coming. Of course
his mind was somewhere else.

And she…she was having a difficult time focusing as well, much as she wished her mind would
obey. Her dreams the night before had been again oddly vivid, all starring oddly normal scenes with
Harry – sitting in the library, visiting in the hospital wing – but she was in the bed, not him…and
then there were more dreams of kissing him. All of the scenes were unnaturally normal to be mere
dreams; they played more like memories. But if they were memories, Harry was hiding something very,
very big from her – and she had to know why.

Ron yawned noisily and shut his book, tearing her away from her thoughts. “That’s it,” he said.
“I can’t take anymore. I’m going to bed before I sustain brain damage.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, the only danger to your brain is that it will atrophy from lack
of use.”

“Hilarious, Hermione. Hilarious. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, *Ronald*.”

“Don’t you *Ronald* me,” he said from the hallway.

“Go to bed before I bring out the ‘Bilius,’” Hermione called back to him, setting aside her
book. Harry, looking very relieved, closed his own book. Hermione almost laughed. “I suppose today
wasn’t the best day to force you two back to the books.”

Harry smiled grimly. “Somehow, I don’t think transfiguration will help me much against
Voldemort.”

Hermione shrugged. “If you could turn him into a cockroach, you could step on him.”

“If only it were that easy,” Harry sighed as he dropped his head back against his chair and
closed his eyes.

Always at moments like these, the rushes of emotions would flood into her and overwhelm her
normally composed mind. Was it love – real, romantic love? Yes, she felt some manner of lust for
Harry, and it was Harry, so there had to be a deeper emotion involved. Everything she felt for
Harry was frighteningly powerful and intense. But had she done it – had she made the fatal mistake
of falling in love with her best friend?

As Harry continued sitting there with his eyes closed behind his glasses, Hermione felt the
familiar panic that always accompanied such thoughts set in. *Could he possibly feel the same
way? If he doesn’t, will it drive us apart? What if I ruin everything and I’m not there for him
when he needs me most? What if this isn’t really love and I risk everything that matters on my
hormones?*

And now, new questions crept in – *are the dreams real? Did something happen between us in the
space I can’t remember? Is he hiding it from me? Why? Does he regret it? Did he like me better that
way?*

Hermione shook her head in hopes of clearing out all of the thoughts. She was taking things too
far; she had absolutely no proof that anything had happened yet. Besides, Harry would tell her if
something like that had happened. Surely, he would tell her…

After a quiet yawn, Harry opened his eyes and stood, stretching slightly. Hermione resisted all
of the impulses her mind was demanding – *talk to him, beat the truth out of him, kiss the truth
out of him* – and said goodnight to him as he left the room.

~

*“Hermione…. I have to…Hermione, I have to go away.”*

*No. No, no, no, no, no.*

*“I have to leave now. Soon. In the morning. I – oh, god, Hermione, I have to leave
Hogwarts.”*

*“Leave Hogwarts?”*

*“It’s Voldemort. He’s coming for me. As long as I’m here, I’m endangering the rest of the
school. I have to go.”*

*Kissing him as if it would help…why were they in the hospital wing? No matter, she wouldn’t
be there long.*

*“I’ll go with you.”*

*“No.”*

*No, he couldn’t leave her behind, not when they’d finally reached each other…not after…no, he
couldn’t…*

*“I’m going* with *you.”*

*“No, you won’t. You can’t. It’s too dangerous… for both of us.”*

*“But that—but that would…”*

*“I know. We’d be… separating. But I can’t… I don’t have a choice. Ron’ll still be here. He’ll
look after you, I promise.”*

*“Ron? Harry, you’re going to be alone!”*

*Pain…her head was so heavy…where was the pain coming from?*

*“We were going to go with you. Ron and I. When the time came, we were going to go with you.
But now… I….”*

*More words and kisses and she couldn’t let him go alone and why was the room spinning and no,
no, he couldn’t leave without her, she had to help him….*

Hermione woke abruptly and was surprised to find that she wasn’t alone. She almost screamed, but
Harry’s hand on her cheek soothed her immediately. Harry…why was Harry there?

“Hermione? Are you all right?

“I – no – yes – I think so.” Was it a flashback? Why would her brain produce such a scene?
They’d already left…her subconscious wouldn’t play for her a conflict that had already been
resolved…it had to be a memory. “What are you doing here?”

“I went to the loo and on the way back I heard noises – you were whimpering in your sleep.”

Hermione almost wrenched herself away from him. They’d been kissing – something *had*
happened and he hadn’t *told* her.

“Harry,” she said shakily, forcing back tears, “Harry, I think my dream was actually a
memory.”

“Really?” Harry said. “What happened?”

“It was at night, and I was in the hospital wing. You came and told me that you had to leave
because Voldemort was coming.”

Harry paled slightly. “Yes, that…that happened. Right before you passed out…then you woke up
with your memories back.”

Hermione nodded as a wave of hurt washed over her. *Why*?

“Harry, in the memory, we were kissing.”

Harry stiffened and Hermione knew automatically that her suspicions had been correct all along –
here was her proof. It had all really happened, his body language said so, and he hadn’t wanted her
to know…

“Hermione –“

“Why?” she interrupted, sitting up and forcing him to back away. “Why didn’t you *tell*
me?”

“Hermione, I know you’re angry –“

“Of course I’m angry!” she said, beginning to cry against her will. “You’re my best friend…I
trust you more than anyone, and you didn’t see fit to tell me that we’d been snogging all over the
castle? Why, Harry? Did – did you regret it? Did you like me better when I couldn’t remember you or
who I was? I don’t *understand*.”

“Hermione, will you just hear me out?” Harry pleaded, looking so sincere that Hermione couldn’t
refuse. She nodded for him to continue.

Harry sighed. “I don’t regret a thing, Hermione, it’s just…when I told you about who I really
was – about Voldemort and the prophecy and everything – you said that you loved me, that your
memories were gone, but your feelings weren’t – that you’d loved me before the accident. And I
kissed you. I knew I shouldn’t have – I mean, we were just friends before, and I thought maybe
you’d had a good reason for that…but then it was too late, and you know how stubborn you are. I
talked to you about it, and you just insisted that you would understand when you got your memories
back…but then you couldn’t remember any of it.”

Harry swallowed. “Hermione, I never meant to hurt you. I just…I didn’t want to throw that upon
you, especially with everything that was going on – it didn’t seem fair, to force that upon you
whether you really wanted it or not. I thought I’d just…wait and see, you know? If you decided you
wanted to be with me…then, well, it would happen.”

Hermione wiped at her damp cheeks, not knowing what to feel. Happiness? Harry had wanted to be
with her – it was what she’d always hoped for, though she’d never quite admitted it to herself.
Loss? She’d received her first kiss and she couldn’t remember it…. Had Harry told her he loved her?
Had she missed that, too? Was it betrayal? They’d done god-knows-what together, and he hadn’t seen
the importance in telling her. But Harry had, as always, done what he believed to be right, and as
extraordinary as Harry was, he was still a very stupid teenage boy. His heart was in the right
place…was there any point in remaining angry at him?

Hermione sighed heavily. “Harry…you should have just *told* me. It’s much easier to come to
a decision when you know a decision needs to be made.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry said helplessly. “I’m so sorry.”

Hermione nodded, giving in. No matter how angry she was – with Harry and the entire situation
alike – there still lurked the possibility that their time was running out. If he needed her, she
couldn’t refuse him.

“It’s all right, Harry.”

Harry smiled tentatively. “You’re not…you’re not still angry with me?”

“I’d very much like to be, but there’s no point. Time is too precious –“ Hermione broke off as
her voice cracked unexpectedly with tears. Harry’s smile faded and she wished she’d never said a
thing.

Oh, *gods*, what if there wasn’t much time for them? Voldemort would attack soon – either
directly or by luring Harry out with an attack on someone else. And what then? If he lived…well, it
would be the happy ending she’d always desperately wanted for Harry – and now, it seemed, his happy
ending was fully entwined with hers. If Harry – if the worst should happen, how could she possibly
go on? The simple fact was that nothing else mattered at all without Harry…nothing else was worth
living for….

Harry moved closer and embraced her as her fears overwhelmed her, and she knew the truth beyond
a doubt. Her feelings for Harry were beyond anything she could possibly comprehend, deeper than
words and more essential to her being than oxygen. How she loved this boy – this reserved,
unassuming boy who’d always loved her fully and unconditionally, never asking her to be anything
but what she was. He deserved so much more than the life he’d been given.

“Shhh…it’s going to be all right, Hermione…it is….”

Hermione clung to him, listening as he tried to convince himself that what he said was true. She
pulled him closer and kissed him, trying to comfort him even as tears continued to stream down her
face. She could not be consoled by him without trying to ease his pain as well because their pain
was no longer distinguishable as one’s or the other’s. The simple fact was that his pain was her
pain, and if one died, so would the other.

It was all painfully, undeniably simple.



7. Accio 7
----------

**A/N**: When this chapter was first posted (June 7), it was Amethyst’s birthday. I feel like
that should be immortalized. Happy birthday, my dear! Woot. *grin*

Anyway. After this, there’s one more completed chapter that will be followed by an
as-of-yet-unfinished chapter nine next week.

Thanks to everyone that’s read and reviewed!

-**Goldy**

*******

When Hermione was eight, she’d been forced to stay after school for copying a student’s answers
during a spelling test. She’d momentarily lost her head and couldn’t remember where the “i” went in
“receive.” From that moment on, Hermione vowed to be the best in all her work. She would never
again get detention.

How unimportant that all seemed now.

She told Ron and Harry to study for N.E.W.T.’s, not because she particularly cared, but because
it was what she *did*. They needed to hear her nag them for that little bit of normalcy it
brought to their lives.

She was growing to hate being the responsible one.

But now… her feelings for Harry overwhelmed her. She was aware she could be close to losing
him.

She stood in the living room doorway, watching him. His back was hunched over and he stared into
the flames flickering in the fireplace. Knowing he could sense her presence, she settled herself
down on her knees next to him. For a long moment, neither spoke. Hermione watched the firelight
dance over his face.

“What was our first kiss like?”

His shifted slightly to look at her, gaining a far-off look in his eyes. She wished she could
share this memory with him.

“You know what would be helpful?” he cracked a smile. “A pensieve.”

She reached out to touch his face and his skin was warm under her fingertips.

“We haven’t got a pensieve.”

“I know… I…” his smile faltered. “I just wish you could see what I can.”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

Harry was quiet. “I’m not much good at explaining these things, Hermione. I don’t want to mess
it up.”

She shifted closer to him and dropped her hand down to his shoulder.

“You won’t mess it up.”

“Alright. Er…” he squeezed his eyes shut and frowned in concentration. “It was right after I
told you about Voldemort… and—and the prophecy. You… you were just *looking* at me, you know,
in that way you do. ”


”What way?” she said.

“Like… like there’s no one else in the world. It’s this fierce, protective look.” A smile
touched his lips. “You sometimes get it when you tell me to do my homework.”

She laughed. “Go on.”

“I knew I shouldn’t… but it didn’t matter, not right then. I wanted it so badly. So… I, er… I
kissed you.”

“And?” she prompted.

“And?”

“Well, was it any good?”

“It was brilliant.”

Hermione smiled. “Show me.”

Harry’s eyes flew open. “What?”

Hermione moved closer to him until their noses bumped. The heat from the fire was making her
feel flushed. His hands had grabbed her upper-arms and his breathing quickened.

“You mean… you want…”

“Yes,” she said. “More than anything. Don’t hold back.”

Harry leaned forward and kissed her. He didn’t hold back.

She kept her eyes closed after he’d pulled away, imprinting the kiss on her memory. It was
something she vowed she would never allow herself to forget.

“Hermione…”

He sounded hesitant, so she instinctively threw her arms around him, holding him close.

“It’s… er… I’ve got a bad feeling,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

“A bad feeling?”

“Yeah, about Voldemort. I… Hermione, I think he’s planning something. Something awful.”

“How can you know?”

Harry shrugged. “I feel it. Not the way I used to, but I’m still connected to him.”

Hermione shivered. How impossible it was to think of her Harry… connected to Voldemort…

“It’ll be okay,” she said.

He heaved a sigh and let his forehead droop on her shoulder. She rubbed his back slowly, trying
her best to comfort him.

***

Harry was missing.

Thunder rocked through the house and lightening lit up the cobwebs and scratches hidden in the
furthest corners. Hermione peered out a window, her forehead creased into a deep frown. The rain
obscured the street below and the lights blurred into each other.

She heard a creak behind her, but didn’t look away from the window.

“Did you find him?”

Ron came over to stand beside her, soaking wet and shivering. He shook his head.

Hermione pressed two shaking fingers to her eyes. “I wish Professor Lupin was still here.”

Harry had been missing for two hours. Professor Lupin had left that morning, leaving the three
of them on their own for the afternoon. *We think he’s planning something*, Lupin explained.
*It’s… it’s rather serious. Whatever you do,* do not *leave this house*.

“I walked two blocks in each direction,” Ron said. “I nicked Harry’s invisibility cloak. I
could… d’you want me to go out again?”

“No,” Hermione said. “It’s too dangerous.”

Ron thumped his first against the window frame.

“*Why*?” he said. “Why would Harry *leave*?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered. “I should’ve known there was something… he was acting
strangely yesterday, Ron. I should have known.”

“Hermione…” Ron trailed off and sighed. He put an arm around her shoulders. Hermione sniffed and
leaned against him. “It’s not your fault, you know it isn’t. We’ll give him one more hour,
okay?”

Hermione felt a tear roll down her cheek. “What if we’re too late? What if he… Ron, what if it
wasn’t his choice?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But we’re safe here. It’s must’ve been Harry’s own decision to
leave.”

“And in an hour?”

Ron sighed. “We’ll get Dumbledore.”

“How?” Hermione said. “We don’t know where he is—we don’t know where any of the Order is!”

“We’ll find a way.”

“*How*?”

“I *don’t know*, okay?” Ron said. “But we’ll have to. If Harry’s not back in an hour,
*we’ll find a way*.”

“Alright,” Hermione whispered.

Together they stared out the window, watching the pouring rain.

***

They watched in silence, speaking only when they checked the time. The hour crawled by.
Hermione’s ears picked up every creak and groan and her legs were stiff and cramped from standing
immobilized by the window.

With forty-five minutes gone, they heard the front door open and slam.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look before rushing into the entrance hall. Ron stopped short and
Hermione nearly plowed into him.

Harry stood stock still, dripping water all over the floor. For a long moment, they simply
stared at each other, frozen.

Finally, Hermione’s legs began to work again. A sob tore its way out of her throat and she took
three running steps towards him, throwing her arms around his neck.

His shirt was damp against her bare arms and he smelled like rainwater. His hair was plastered
to his forehead and his skin felt like ice against hers.

“I’m alright,” he said, his words sounding awkward. “I’m sorry. I… there was something I had to
do.”

“Shh,” she said, pressing her palm to his cheek. His face was pale and cold. He closed his eyes,
swaying on his feet.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s put you to bed.”

Harry nodded, shoulders relaxing. Hermione took his hand to lead him to the stairs.

“Why don’t you make us some tea, Ron?”

Ron snapped to attention. “Yeah. Alright.”

Hermione took Harry upstairs. She pushed open his bedroom door, and the lights were muted,
making it hard to see. Harry sank onto his bed, his face still white. He was silent as Hermione
rummaged around, pulling out a sweatshirt and sweatpants.

She dropped to her knees beside him to undo his shoes. Harry stared at her, unblinking.

His trainers were soaked through. Hermione’s eyes stung with tears.

“Why?” she said, voice low. “Why did you—”

The door opened and Ron came in, holding a mug of tea. Hermione straightened up, brushing away
her tears. Harry’s expression was carefully controlled.

“Why don’t you help Harry get changed?” Hermione said, voice overly bright.

She didn’t wait for Ron to answer and hurried from the room. Out in the solitude of the hall,
she leaned heavily against the closed door, finally letting her tears fall.

***

When Ron came out, Hermione had herself back under control.

“He wants to talk to you,” Ron said. He peered at her thoughtfully, looking like he wanted to
say more.

“What?”

“He… uh, he really loves you, you know,” Ron shrugged. “Don’t be too hard on him. He was just…
doing what he thought he ought do.”

“Oh, so he can tell *you* why he ran off, can he?”

“No!” Ron said. “But it’s going to tear him up, not being able to tell *you*.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I just want this to be over.”

“I know,” Ron sighed. “Go on. He needs you.”

Hermione nodded and pushed the door open. Harry was in the same place she left him, but she was
pleased to see colour coming back to his face.

He looked up at her as she entered, eyes worn and exhausted. He took a breath.

“Harry…” she whispered, overcome at seeing him. The worry of the last few hours caught up with
her, and she grabbed the doorknob to keep herself from falling over. “*Why*, Harry? Why did
you—”

“I can’t tell you,” he said, looking away. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“Sorry?” she said. “ You’re *sorry*? You *disappeared*! I thought—I thought something
horrible had happened to you!”

Harry leaned his elbows on his knees, cradling his face in his hands.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said again. “But there was something… I had to. Please don’t make me
tell you.” He looked back up at her and seemed to read her mind. “Don’t tell on me either,
Hermione, please.”

Hermione felt a pang of guilt, her thoughts turning away from writing to Lupin.

“I need you to trust me,” he continued, eyes pleading. “Do you?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “But this doesn’t have to do with—”

“*Please*,” he said. “Please, Hermione. I *had* to. Voldemort’s coming, I *know*
he is. I can’t take you being angry with me. Not right now.”

Hermione hesitated, but the sensation that they were running out of time fell down on her again.
How could she *possibly* remain angry?

She settled down next to him, the bed creaking with the extra weight. “I’m not angry,” she said.
“Worried sick, but not angry.”

Harry’s face relaxed and he put his arms around her. She pressed her face to his chest,
listening to his heart thump under her ear.

***

They made love that night. Hermione hadn’t planned it that way, but being in his arms, his lips
on her face, and his hands sliding down her torso left her dizzy.

Harry’s kisses had a hungry, worshipful feeling to them. When his hands slipped under her shirt
to unhook her bra, she did not protest. When he ran his tongue along her nipples, she arched
against him and reached for his buckle.

Hands tugged, teeth bumped, and tongues licked. She stopped wondering where he’d gone and only
felt relief that he was with her. He filled her, pushing inside until she thought she would break
in two. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and listened to his ragged breath in her ear. Words
of promises slipped from both their tongues.

The ceiling blurred and the room spun, and she did her best to hold on.

***

There was such power in it—this secret she now shared with Harry. She felt more in tune with him
somehow. She was aware of his every gesture, his barest presence.

Every look from him, every smile contained *more* behind it. She could look at him and
remember how it felt when he was inside her, his lips on her neck, her breasts, her mouth.

“We should really be thanking Ron, you know,” Harry remarked at one point.

“Ron?”

“Yeah, well,” he flashed her a grin. “If he’d never caused your amnesia, I probably never would
have kissed you.”

She laughed. “Oh, Harry, don’t you think we would have happened even without Ron’s
intervention?”

“God, I hope so,” Harry said. He sighed. “Hermione, I know things are… *bad* out there, but
I’m—”

“I know,” she said. “You’re worried. You have this destiny hanging over you and you don’t know
*when* it’ll be.”

“That’s just it,” he said. “I’m… I’m happy.”

The last word was a whisper and he looked at her as though afraid she’d contradict him.

A smile spread across her face and he relaxed.

“Me too.”

***

Their happiness was shattered later on that evening.

Lupin Apparated in while they were eating dinner. His look was so grave even Ron set down his
utensils.

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face, but Harry looked unsurprised, even resigned.

Lupin heaved a sigh and spread his palms on the table.

“It’s time,” he said quietly.

Harry nodded. “I know.”

Hermione felt her stomach clench, but she couldn’t allow herself to think about Harry facing
Voldemort—not yet.

“Voldemort has taken control of Hogwarts,” Lupin said flatly.

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth.

“But Harry isn’t *at* Hogwarts!” Ron said triumphantly. “There’s nothing for him
there.”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione whispered. “Don’t you get it?”



Ron looked back and forth between her and Lupin. Harry had folded his arms across his chest and
was staring out the window, silent.

“Get what?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry said, back to them. “Voldemort went after Dumbledore.”

“But—but… he’d be mad to do that!” Ron said.

“Not if he had a school full of children to use as bait,” Hermione said.

Ron looked sick.

Harry turned back around. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Hermione jumped at Harry’s words and turned to Lupin, biting her bottom lip until it hurt.

Lupin nodded.

Hermione didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Dumbledore was dead. *Dumbledore was dead*.
This fountain of knowledge and power, this symbol of *hope*, he was dead.

Hermione looked at Harry to see how he was taking it. His face was blank.

“Is…” Harry swallowed. “The students… are they…?”

“They’re alive,” Lupin said.

“What does he want?” Hermione whispered.

“Want?” Ron said in a strangled voice.

“Well, he’s holding the school hostage for *something*, Ron! Use your head!” Hermione
snapped.

Ron paled and sat down, breathing heavily.

“Yes,” Lupin said. “Voldemort wants something.”

“Me,” Harry said.

Hermione felt like the breath had been knocked out of her.

“No…”

“I’m sorry,” Lupin said. His forehead wrinkled into a deep frown. “There are hundred of children
at Hogwarts. Harry…”

“I know,” he said, still in that maddeningly calm voice. “If Voldemort wants me, he can have
me.”

“Harry, no!” Hermione cried. “Don’t be stupid. This is a trap, you know it is!” She looked at
Ron. “*Tell* him he can’t do this.”

Ron put a hand on the table to steady himself. “Ginny’s still at Hogwarts,” he said hoarsely. He
looked at Harry. “I’m sorry, mate.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

Hermione felt like the floor had been pulled out from under her. Harry still looked
emotionless.

She wanted to scream at him.

“How long do I have?” he asked.

Lupin looked torn and old. “Not long.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. I…” he swallowed.

Hermione felt a sob tear out of her. Ron stared at the kitchen table. Lupin looked away.

“Harry… if you… you can’t.” She was shaking. “If you die, he wins. Don’t go. Please don’t
go.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.”

There was a moment of silence. Harry thrust his hands in his pockets and glanced at Lupin and
Ron.

“I’m going to pack some things.” He jerked his head towards the door. Hermione forced herself to
take several deep breaths before following.

She went upstairs, her legs feeling heavy. She supported her weight on the banister, her legs
moving slowly as they climbed each step. She went down the wall, still feeling too heavy, and her
head too light. She opened the door to Harry’s bedroom and willed herself to calm down, to think
*rationally*—like she was best at.

Harry walked stiffly around the room, gathering random items together and stuffing them in a
bag. She could see he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. He stuffed three different
socks in the bag and bent down for his chess set.

“Oh, Harry…” she said, her voice catching.

He looked up, a lost gleam in his eyes. “Hey,” he said. “I’m just… packing.”

She nodded and went to him. “I don’t think…” she glanced into his bag. “Harry, do you have your
wand?”

“Yeah, in my pocket.”

“I don’t think… well, I don’t think you really… *need*… anything else, do you?”

Harry paused, looking caught. “No… I don’t… I don’t s’pose I do.”

“Harry…” she reached out to him, but he backed away.

“Don’t,” he said. “I’m trying to… Hermione, it’s *Hogwarts*. I can’t… I *have to
go*.”

She sighed. “I know.”

With her quiet admission, he looked up, startled. “Oh.”

“I’m going with you.”

Harry sucked in a breath. “What? You can’t… Voldemort wants *me*.”

“I don’t care, Harry!” she said fiercely, getting closer to him until they were practically eye
to eye. “*I’m going with you*.”

“No, you’re *not*!”

“Yes, I’m… I’m *not* arguing!” Hysteria bubbled in her and she grabbed his arm. “Don’t you
see? Nothing *means* anything anymore unless I’m with you. I can’t sit here while you go off—I
won’t. You *need* me, Harry. You always have. Nothing’s changed.”

“*Nothing’s changed*?” he repeated, incredulous. “How can you say—*everything’s*
changed, Hermione! *I* *won’t put your life in danger*!”

“And I won’t sit by and let you put *yours* in danger,” she said through clenched teeth.
“That’s not the way it works.”

Harry glared at her, and Hermione knew he was contemplating what his chances were of shaking her
off before he left. She dived at him again and held his arm with more insistence. She could feel
her nails dig into his skin.

“Don’t you dare think of stunning me, Harry. *Don’t you dare*.” She let out a little cry of
frustration and shook his arm. “Harry, *please*…”

He hesitated, staring down into her face. “Hermione…” his voice quivered. “Don’t you understand?
As soon as I get there… well, I reckon Voldemort’s going to kill me. That’s what he’s after. It’s…
it’s hopeless. My life for Hogwarts, *that’s* what they want.”

“No,” she shook her head and several tears splashed down her face and landed on the hand
gripping his arm. “It’s *not* hopeless. It is *never* hopeless. You have your wand… you…
you have a plan. I *know* you do. You’ve been…” her voice cracked. “You’ve been expecting
this.”

“Hermione—”

“Look,” she cut in briskly, wiping her eyes. “I’m *going*. Now, you can spend it angry with
me, or you can kiss me before we go. Your choice.”

He kissed her, but he pulled away quickly, his face set in a resolute frown.

Taking her arm, he strode from the room, holding her close. “I’m still angry,” he said as they
descended the stairs. “But we don’t have time to argue and… and… I *know* you can handle
yourself.” He looked ill for a minute. “That doesn’t much matter, though. I’ll still... just stick
close by me, okay?”

She nodded. “Harry, I love you.”

Harry turned so sharply, he nearly fell down the stairs. She reached out to steady him, and she
could feel his skin vibrating with nerves.

He gaped at her, and his mouth opened and closed a few times. “D’you mean that?”

“Of course I do.” She tried to smile, but it faltered. “After everything we’ve shared, how could
you doubt that?”

“I… I don’t… not many people have…”

She covered his lips with her hand, cutting off his words. “So you see why I have to go, don’t
you?”

His eyes clouded over and she removed her hand.

“I can’t bear the idea that I’m putting you in danger,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her
face with his knuckles.

“I know.”

“I… I love you too.”

His words were shy and hesitant, and she felt something in her swell with them. She wanted to
yell at the fates for choosing *him* to kill Voldemort. There was simply no such ruthlessness
in him—and she shuddered to think what this destiny would do to him.

“Let’s go,” she said, her lip trembling.

He kissed her, a real kiss, insistent and demanding, tongue sweeping into her mouth and hands
curving down her back. He pulled away and took her arm again, keeping her partly behind him—even as
they descended the stairs.



8. Accio Memory Eight
---------------------

For the first time in his life, Harry was not happy to see Hogwarts looming in the distance. If
he could just make it into the school – if *they* could – then perhaps all would turn out
well. But there was so much territory to cross, and there were so many places Death Eaters could
hide, waiting for a chance to kill them off, one by one.

The majority of the Order would be fighting ahead of them if necessary, clearing a path. If he
could keep Hermione and Ron safe – if he could just get to Voldemort – well, then maybe there was
hope.

*“You have a plan. I* know *you do.*”

Harry sighed aloud. He wished he could tell her, but she would try to talk him out of it, tell
him not to trust the information he’d received. He gripped his wand tightly. No, it was too late to
go back. He had to trust it.

A small hand slipped into his. Harry looked to his left to find Hermione staring back at him
wearing the steely, determined expression she always had in times like these. The sight of it, even
with the fear he could see lurking beneath the surface of her eyes, was strangely comforting. If he
could protect her, just long enough to get out…

Harry squeezed her hand. “We can do this.”

~

They were all too soon within the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. Nothing had hindered them on the
way into the school, setting them even more on edge. Hermione had the horrible feeling they were
walking into a very elaborate, very deadly trap.

Like the grounds, the Entrance Hall was completely empty – save a masked Death Eater standing
before the doors of the Great Hall. Hermione clutched Harry’s hand harder as the man stepped
forward.

“Harry Potter. The Dark Lord wishes to duel with you alone.”

Hermione watched Harry’s throat move as he swallowed. Before he could reply, several members of
the Order had stepped forward.

“You’re insane if you think we’re going to send Harry in there alone,” said Tonks.

“No,” Harry said quickly. “Stay out here. There’s nothing you can do.”

“I’m going with you,” Hermione said, hardly realizing she was speaking. Harry tried to pull away
from her, but she held on, feeling as though letting him go now would mean letting go of him
forever.

“No,” Harry said vehemently. “Absolutely not. He could kill you the moment we walk in! I can do
this, Hermione, but I need to know you’re safe.”

“I’m safest with you!” she insisted. “Please, I can’t leave your side, not *now*!”

“Hermione,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this. This is my fight.”

“Then it’s mine as well,” said Hermione, staring insistently at him. Harry stared back, and she
could see the thoughts flitting around behind his eyes. She wished she could read them all.

Finally, he blinked. “All right. But stay behind me, and watch your back.”

Hermione nodded and together they went forward. Hermione could feel the eyes of every Order
member on them.

“She can’t go in with you,” said the guard when they reached the doors. Hermione glanced to her
right. Harry had very subtly taken his wand out, and the guard had yet to notice.

“I can, and I will,” Hermione said, attempting to divert the man’s attention from what Harry was
doing.

“Don’t talk back to me, you Mudblooded –“

“Stupefy!”

Hermione recoiled as the man slumped to the ground at her feet. “You know, it would have been a
lot easier if you’d only done that the moment we walked in,” she said, shooting a look at
Harry.

He shrugged. “Just occurred to me.” He hesitated, looking at the tall, closed doors of the Great
Hall. Once they had been welcoming; now what lay behind them gave them a bleak, desolate
appearance.

His hand was cold in hers. Hermione squeezed it even more tightly, knowing she was probably
holding onto him too hard and not caring. Why had this moment come so soon? They needed more
time…so much more time.

“It’s now or never,” she whispered, voice shaking. He nodded.

Together, they pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

~

The Great Hall was completely empty, save for the creature sitting in an elaborate chair on the
dais where the teacher’s table had once been. The house tables were gone, leaving the Hall looking
larger than ever before. Harry chanced a glance at the enchanted ceiling. It had begun to rain.
*How fitting*.

Voldemort stood and raised his wand. Harry instinctively forced Hermione behind him, but to no
avail – in the next second, Hermione was flying across the room, bound to a wall.

Harry fought back the panic threatening to overwhelm him. *She’s not hurt. She’ll be
fine…focus…*.

“I believe I requested that you come alone,” said Voldemort, stepping down from the platform.
“You’re not to have any help.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the mutation of a man before him. “She’s harmless. You know it.”

“Can’t take any chances, now, can I?” he said with a smile that Harry desperately wanted to wipe
off his face.

Voldemort shut the doors to the Great Hall with a flick of his wand. “As the prophecy
suggested,” he began, “one of us is going to die today. So let’s make it a fair fight, shall we? A
simple duel, just you and I.”

Harry scowled. “Fair? You’re worried about what’s fair?”

“Would you rather I cut to the chase and kill you now?”

*Fair…he’s not going to play fair. Now…now’s the time….*

Instead of replying, Harry raised his wand and cast a simple spell. A memory flashed through his
head of a girl with patient brown eyes telling him, “Try again. You’ll get this, Harry, you will.”
Hermione…

“*Accio* *talisman!*”

Harry was pleased to note the complete shock on the wizard’s face as a circular glass talisman
flew into his hand. Quickly, he raised it, poised to drop it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Harry. If you break that, the girl will die.”

The panic pushed forward. *It’s a trick, he’s just playing on your emotions…it has to be a
trick…but if it isn’t?*

“Harry, don’t listen to him,” Hermione cried from where she was bound. “He’s just saying that to
mess with your mind.”

“And if I’m not?” said Voldemort, twirling his wand. “Can you risk killing her as well,
Potter?”

“Harry, *trust me*. This is a trick. Please, *believe me*.”

Harry took his eyes off Voldemort just long enough to meet Hermione’s eyes, wide and insistent.
*Trust me*.

*Please…oh, please, let her be right,* Harry thought frantically as he threw the talisman
to the ground.

A flash of blinding white light filled the room. Harry shut his eyes against it, hearing
Voldemort’s cry echo against the stone walls. In the next instant, the light was gone. Harry opened
his eyes. The room was that much darker after being so brightly illuminated – his eyes hadn’t yet
adjusted well enough for him to see Hermione.

“Hermione? Hermione, are you all right?” he said, trying to call to her, but the sound came out
as a hoarse whisper.

“I’m alive.” Harry almost fell to the floor as powerful relief hit him. *I’m alive* –
easily the second most beautiful words he’d ever hear her say.

As his vision cleared, his eyes fixed on the spot where Voldemort had last stood. All that
remained was a small pile of dust on the floor.

*Ashes to ashes, dust to dust*. *How fitting*.

Harry looked over to Hermione. She still sat on the floor. Harry quickly went to her, noticing
as he approached that there were tears on her face. “Hermione?”

“I – I think I hurt my leg. I wasn’t expecting the spell to break…when I fell, I didn’t land
properly –“

“Come on, then,” Harry said, helping her up and steadying her as she stumbled. “Let’s get you to
someone that can fix that.”

“Harry, what – the talisman – how did you know…?”

“I’ll tell you later. It’s still not safe here, with Death Eaters running around. We shouldn’t
linger.”

~

Two hours later, Hermione lay in her bed at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The rest of the
Order, save Harry, who had returned with her, and Ron, who by Molly Weasley’s orders had been
forbidden to leave in the first place, were still at Hogwarts, clearing out all of the Death
Eaters. One of the Aurors had mended her leg. Now she was settling in for a well-deserved rest.

Unfortunately, her plans were quickly laid to rest when a knock sounded on her door and Harry’s
head appeared in the doorway.

“You awake?”

“Yes. You know, you’re supposed to wait for a reply after you knock. I could have been
naked.”

Harry grinned as he stepped into the room. “Would you slap me if I said I was hoping you would
be?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re a git.”

“I know,” he said, sitting beside her on the bed. He looked tired…so very tired.

“I thought you were going to get some sleep.”

Harry ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “I tried, but my mind’s still too mixed up. Is
your leg –“

“Still perfectly fine, Harry,” she interjected. “I’m fine, really.”

Harry looked down at his hands. Hermione could feel a long talk coming on.

“I feel like I betrayed you today,” Harry finally said.

Hermione frowned, sitting up. She hadn’t been expecting that at all. “What? What are you talking
about, Harry?”

“What if Voldemort hadn’t been bluffing. I – I could have –“

“Oh, Harry, no – I told you to do it, didn’t I? I knew he was lying.”

“But *I* didn’t.”

Hermione sighed. “Would you have done it if I hadn’t asked you to?”

“I – I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Harry, I told you to do it because I *knew* there was no way I could be killed by that
binding spell that he used, and it’s impossible to kill a person once you’re dead. It’s good that
you trusted me there, Harry, because if you hadn’t, we both *would* be dead. You did the right
thing today, Harry, you did.”

She reached out for his hand, and he finally looked up at her. “Harry, you trusted me. It’s our
faith in each other that makes us so strong. So stop dwelling on it, Harry. It’s over now, we
*won*. You should be celebrating.”

He smiled slightly. “Yeah. I suppose I should.”

“You still haven’t told me how you knew about that talisman.”

Harry suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “Well, that’s sort of what I was doing the other day,
when I couldn’t tell you where I was going.”

Hermione frowned. “Who told you?”

“Pettigrew. He asked me to meet him; he said he had information for me. And I knew that if any
of you knew what I was doing you’d try to keep me from going.”

“Yes, we would have,” Hermione said, digesting the information with some difficulty. It was in
the past, of course, and Harry was alive and well now – but what if it had been some sort of trap,
and she hadn’t known where he’d gone?

Harry nodded. “He told me about the talisman. It was connected directly to Voldemort’s life.
Evidently, he was so close to being dead already that the only thing holding him together was
magic.”

“And you didn’t tell us afterward because you knew we wouldn’t want you to trust that
information,” Hermione said for him, unsure whether or not to feel angry with him.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his fingers toying mindlessly with the fabric of her comforter. “But I had
to believe it, Hermione. It was the only way I’d found so far to defeat him, and Pettigrew…well, he
owed me.”

Hermione watched him fidget, looking for all the world like a boy who’d just been caught with
his hand in the cookie jar. *It’s our faith in each other that makes us so strong.* No, she
couldn’t be angry with him, not when his judgment had saved them all.

“That was a good Summoning Charm,” she said, and he looked up at her with a wide grin.

“I had a good teacher.”

Hermione blushed. “You would have learned, eventually.”

Harry shook his head. “It wouldn’t have worked in there if it wasn’t for you,” he said so
sincerely that she found herself blushing all over again.

At that moment, before Hermione could come up with a reply to his words, Harry gave a forceful
yawn. He chuckled and smiled sleepily at her. “I suppose I should get to my bed now.”

Hermione swallowed. She couldn’t believe what she was about to ask, even after all they’d done.
“Do you…do you want to stay here? With me?”

She watched as he wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Hermione scooted over and he slid between the blankets next to her. Immediately her heart was
racing – how *did* he do that? He pulled her nearer and then she was against him, wrapped in
all his warmth. Contently she let her eyes drift closed.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” she murmured. “We’ve finally made it to the end.”

“No,” Harry said. “It’s only the beginning.”

Authors’ Note: For those of you wondering, there is one more chapter left to this story. This
was originally supposed to be the last, but then Goldy was attacked by a plot bunny. Chapter 9 will
be posted sometime next week. We’ve been updating daily because the story was already written and
ready to go thus far, but as 9 was not, there will be a bit of a wait.

See you soon!



9. Accio 9
----------

**A/N**: So this is the last chapter. I really hope it ties up some of the loose ends.
Thanks, if I haven’t said it before, to Amethyst for writing this fic with me –it’s really been a
lot of fun, and a start to a long-lasting partnership. Also, thanks to everyone’s reviews. You’re
all lovely.

Everywhere people were celebrating.

Voldemort was gone. The Death Eaters were being rounded up. The fear that had accompanied daily
life was slowly giving way to reckless abandonment. Midnight parties went on to morning. Owls were
seen zooming hither and thither in the air, bringing the good news to all corners of the earth.

Voldemort was dead.

Good triumphed over evil.

Harry Potter miraculously saved the day—and what a story it was. *He’s just a boy*, they
all whispered to each other. *Just a boy*.

***

“The Winzengamot would like to call Harry Potter to the stand. Harry Potter?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Good to see you, Mr. Potter. You look quite well.”

“Thank you.”

“Good piece of magic you did. Summoning charm—created by Merlin himself, you know.”


“Er…”

“Shame we have to call you in here—terrible inconvenience, especially for such a popular and
busy boy as yourself.”

“It’s not—”

“*Awful* shame. We’ll keep it brief, Mr. Potter. We wouldn’t want to bother you—”

“*Ahem*.”

“Golloping Gargoyles, Amelia, can’t a man congratulate the boy who saved the world?”

“Well, I—”

“Oh, no need to be modest, Mr. Potter. Yes, well… I do say… I suspect you know why you’re
here?”

***

“Harry? Harry?”

Harry opened his eyes as a hand shook his shoulder. He fought to sit up, the world a blur of
colours around him.

“Here,” said Hermione. She pushed his glasses up his nose.

Harry blinked, the room coming into focus. He was still fully clothed. He couldn’t remember
falling asleep. All he’d wanted was some solitude.

“Harry?”


He felt a flash of irritation. Hermione *always* made it her business to know every thing
about him—even the things he wanted to keep private.

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

She looked hesitant as she took a seat beside him. “Well… I was just about to ask *you*
that, actually.”

“Me?” he said, avoiding her eyes.

She placed a hand on his knee. He shifted.

“The whole world’s celebrating, you know.”

“Good on them.”

“You’re… well, you’ve been getting loads of mail recently. Have you looked at any of it?”

Harry grunted. There was a pile of letters sitting unopened on his bedroom floor. He didn’t much
fancy reading them at the moment.

“What is it that you want, Hermione?”

She bit her lip. “I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Her eyes went bright. “It’s just that… Voldemort, you defeated him and it seems like you should
be proud or—or feeling *free*, but you don’t… you don’t really… seem all that *happy*.”
She faltered. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong.”

“Because there *is* nothing wrong,” he said from between clenched teeth.

“Oh,” she whispered. She waited a moment. “Is it me?”

“What?” Harry said.

She linked her hands together in her lap, her fingers clenching until they turned white. “I’ll
understand if it is. I don’t want… well, you shouldn’t worry about hurting my feelings.”

“It’s not—”

“You’ve been so distant lately,” she said, her voice oddly high pitched. Harry could see tears
glistening in her eyes. “If you need time… then that’s… that’s fine. I’ll always be here if you
need me.” Her voice wavered. She touched his hand and smiled. “I’ll never stop being your best
friend.”

Harry swallowed and ducked his head. Guilt swamped him, making him feel sick to his stomach.

“It’s not… I swear I don’t…” he sighed. “You shouldn’t have to doubt that I love you, Hermione.
Not ever.”

She sniffed. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Harry!” she said, throwing her arms around him. “I was so scared. I know it was silly,
Harry, I know! But we haven’t, well… *you know* in a while and I thought… oh, I don’t suppose
it matters what I thought. I love you too, even if you *won’t* tell me what is that’s
bothering you…”

She started planting kisses over his face.

“Mmf… Hermione…”

Her tongued slipped into his mouth and Harry suddenly realized it *had* been a long time
since they’d… you know. He slid his hands around her waist, playing with the bottom of her t-shirt.
The smooth skin of her back brushed against his knuckles.

He couldn’t quite contain his small groan of disappointment when she pulled away.

Her face was serious and she frowned resolutely. “Harry, *please*. Just *tell* me
what’s bothering you.”

*She’s so* bloody *persistent*, he thought, breathing heavily. Giving in, he
nodded.

Hermione scurried off him, pulling her legs under her. She stared at him with a look of outmost
concentration.

“It’s… I can’t stop thinking about Pettigrew.” He saw her furrow her eyebrows. “It’s just that…
by betraying Voldemort, he allowed me to win.”

“You think you owe him your life.”

“No,” Harry said. “On that, we’re even.”

“Then what…” Hermione’s expression cleared. “He was the one who betrayed your parents,” she
breathed. “Oh… *Oh*, *Harry*.”

“He’s also the reason Voldemort came back, the reason Sirius…” Harry’s voice dropped and he
paused. “I just don’t *understand*. Voldemort chose *me* as his equal—that’s why my mum
and dad died. That’s why I was the one who had to defeat him—and that was because of
Pettigrew.”

“Yes, but—”

Harry’s voice was a whisper. “*Who* defeated Voldemort? Me or him? Was it Pettigrew who
saved the world?”

“*No*!” Hermione said, looking horrified. “It was *you*, Harry. It was…” she gestured
uselessly with her arms. “You and me and the rest of the Order. The only thing Pettigrew did was
pay back his debt.”

“I didn’t know what to say at his trial. He escaped death, you know. Because of me,” Harry said
bitterly. “Because I told them what Pettigrew told me. They Winzengamot spared his life.”

“Harry… you—“

“That’s the second time I’ve let him go.”

“It’s not like that!” she said, moving closer to him. “Don’t you see, Harry? That’s what makes
you different from him! You had the chance to kill him and you wouldn’t take it. That’s why
*you* defeated Voldemort, because you could *never* be like him!”

“Maybe,” Harry whispered. “But I… I can’t help but wonder… what d’you reckon would’ve happened
if Voldemort never killed my parents?”

Hermione shook her head. “*No*, Harry!” she said urgently. “You mustn’t think that way.
It’s not worth it.”

Harry was disappointed with her answer, but realized she was right. “Yeah. I s’pose.”

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Does it matter, in the long run? You’re a great wizard,
Harry. That’s the important thing.”

Harry flushed at her compliment, suddenly feeling like an awkward and hormonal teenager again.
He reminded himself that he didn’t have to worry. It was *Hermione*. The one person he never
had to be unsure of.

“Thanks,” he said. “You’re, um…” he cleared his throat. “You’re not a bad witch yourself.”

Hermione’s mouth quirked upwards in a half-smile, revealing a tiny dimple in her cheek.

He leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth before pulling away. He met her eyes, silently
asking permission to continue. She shifted to her knees, letting her hands slide up to his
shoulders. They kissed, letting tongues meld together.

“So you think I made the right decision?” he mumbled, between kisses. “About Pettigrew?”


“Oh… *yes*,” she said. “You… mmm… very noble of you, Harry.”

“You think I’m noble?”

“Eurgmmfff.”

“What kind of an answer was that?”


“*Harry*!” she said, nipping lightly at his bottom lip.

He pulled away, and she almost fell forward. She looked at him in worry, her lips swollen and
hair mussed.

Harry felt a touch of embarrassment. “Er… thank you.”

Hermione frowned. “For what?”

“I dunno. I just… I wanted to tell you. Thank you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, touching his face with a light brush of her fingertips. He closed his
eyes and felt her lips against his again. Her hands slowly undid the buttons of his shirt and her
skin was warm as she slid her palm down his bare abdomen. He sucked in a breath and her hands
travelled further, brushing over the bulge in his trousers before beginning to work on the fly.

The door banged open.

Hermione squeaked, jumping nearly a foot in the air. Harry let out a muffled groan when she
landed on him, her knee uncomfortably close to he groin.

“Oops. Bad time?”

Hermione whirled around and scrambled off Harry, her hands automatically checking to make sure
her bra was still done up.

“*Ron*!” Harry and Hermione yelled in unison.

Ron took a step backwards and tripped, landing on his bottom.

“Er, hello.”

“*Have you heard of knocking*?” Hermione shrieked.

“Well… I… er… you should lock the door, you know!”

“What do you want, Ron?” Harry snapped, not feeling particularly good-tempered.

Ron fidgeted, but continued to sit sprawled on the carpet. “I… wanted to talk.”

“*Talk*?” Hermione said.

“Yeah, I…” Ron’s mouth bobbed up and down soundlessly. “It’d be a good idea.”

“Good idea?” Harry said, distracted by Hermione gesturing frantically at him.

“Your *buttons*,” she hissed.

Harry glanced down at himself and hastily buttoned up his trousers before starting on the shirt.
*I’m going to* kill *him*, he thought. *I don’t* care *what he wants to talk
about, I’m still going to kill him.*

“So,” Ron said, picking himself up from the floor. “I… think… well… I don’t… I never…”

“*Yes*?” Harry said.

Ron glanced at him and paled. “I just… I wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

He shrugged helplessly, his face eager as he looked at Harry and Hermione.

“Sorry?” Harry repeated blankly.

A serious look settled onto Hermione’s face.

“That’s quite alright, Ron,” she said.

Harry glanced back and forth between them.

Ron slumped in relief. “I didn’t mean to… to… *hurt you*,” he said. “I just… I wanted to
help.”

“I know,” Hermione said gently.

There was a long moment of silence. Ron rubbed the back of his neck and shifted.

“And…” Ron hesitated. “I’m rather… happy for you two. I just… wanted you to know that.”

Hermione reached for Harry’s hand. She smiled.

“Thank you, Ron.”

Harry stared at him. “Really? You’re okay with this?”

“What?” Ron asked. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

“Er,” Harry said. “It’s just… you…”

Harry jerked his head in Hermione’s direction and Ron reddened.

Ron cleared his throat. “Actually, I’ve had… time… to get used to the idea of the pair of
you.”

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand and let go.

*How long have we had feelings for each other*? Harry wondered. *Took Hermione losing her
memory for me to realize mine… but they’d been there for ages already…*

He wanted to ask Ron how long he’d known. He couldn’t remember *when* things had changed.
He wasn’t certain he knew what it felt like *not* to be in love with Hermione.

“You doing alright, mate?” Ron asked.

Harry thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Voldemort’s gone, isn’t he? Things are… good.”

Ron snorted. “Must be nice not having an insane murderer out after you. You can think about the
future for once. And *hey*! You won’t die a virgin!” Ron laughed to himself.

Harry and Hermione very carefully avoided looking at each other.

“In fact,” Ron continued. “You won’t die at all—at least, not if you don’t get some horrible
disease or blow yourself up or—”

“Thanks, Ron,” Hermione said loudly.

“Didn’t you have to be somewhere?” Harry said.

“Be some—”

“*Yeah*,” Harry said. “You were *just going*?”

Comprehension dawned in Ron’s eyes, and he fumbled behind him for the doorknob. “Oh, yeah. I…
yeah, I was just…”

The door opened and Ron quickly slammed it shut behind him. Harry let out a sigh of relief when
he was gone.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Hermione said sharply.

“You know what?” Harry said. “I don’t care. Where were we?”

“Where—”

“You know…” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “Before Ron—”

“*Oh*!” Hermione said, flushing. “Well… I suppose… I was trying to remove your
trousers.”

So it wasn’t perfect or terribly romantic. And perhaps asking her where they’d left off wasn’t
the best way to go about it. Still, Hermione wasn’t complaining, so he leaned forward to kiss
her.

He imagined Pettigrew sitting in a dirty jail cell somewhere, covered in grime. He was
alone—cold, shivering, covered in insects and bacteria and forbidden from using magic. *That’s
for my parents*, Harry thought.

But with Hermione’s tongue swirling his and her hands reaching down to cup him, the image of
Pettigrew faded from his mind. What did it matter anyway? He won—like he was destined to.

It was over.