A Curse in Reverse by Chance

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 30/12/2005
Last Updated: 20/07/2006
Status: Completed

It was a given that when Harry Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that everything would ok
with the Wizarding world. And, for once, it was. Except... Harry Potter, their savior, their hero,
the vanquisher of Voldemort, was gone. Vanished the instant he defeated Voldemort. No body, no
clues. Everyone was devastated, but some more than others...




1. Where Are You, Harry?
------------------------



Hermione's fingers twitched involuntarily as she saw the clipping in the Daily Prophet.

*Another Harry Potter sighting*, she thought tiredly. Hardly a week went by without one.
She should know; she had every single clipping cut out and plastered neatly into the magically
enlarged and cataloged album.

*Not this time,* thought Hermione. *Not this time... they're all just wild and
baseless rumor*. But her hands betrayed her by scooping up her wand to cut out the clipping.

“Ron does it too,” she said defensively to the empty room. “I'm not the only one!”

With a last defiant glare at the unoffending walls, she summoned the album from the bedroom with
a casual flick of the wand. The handsome, leather-bound book soared through the door and landed
gently in front of her on the bar that divided the kitchen and living area.

For a minute, it looked as if Hermione had forgotten where she was. But then, with a sigh, she
tucked a stray strand of bushy brown hair behind an ear and folded her legs up onto the upper rung
of the bar stool. A moving, magical picture of her, Ron and Harry adorned the cover of the album;
they were standing with arms around each other's shoulders in front of the lake at Hogwarts.
Ron was laughing, Harry smirking, and she grinning.

Harry waved merrily at her as she flipped open the album. Article after article flashed past as
she rifled through to the first empty page. When she found it, Hermione affixed the newest clipping
with a Permanent Sticking Charm and closed the album.

Finished, another great sigh surfaced; the other inevitable half of the ritual was following the
rumor to its source to see if there was any truth to it. Likely, she would do that today; it was
her turn.

The sudden ringing of the phone startled Hermione out of her brooding such that she jumped
straight off her chair. Hurriedly, she rushed over and picked up the receiver.

“Hermione?”

It was Ron. She'd finally managed to teach him how to use a “fellytone”.

“Did you see it?” asked Hermione, without preamble.

“Yeah- listen, I'm sorry I can't go with you today. It's Charlotte's-”

“Yeah, I know. It's ok,” Hermione assured him. “It's my turn anyway.”

“Right-”

There was a long pause.

“Well, say hi to him from me when you find him,” Ron concluded lamely.

“Yeah...” promised Hermione, keeping up the fiction. “I will. I'll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

The receiver dropped to her side with her hand as Hermione stood silently for a minute, miles
away. But with a sudden start, she came to and quickly dropped it onto the base station. The
Saturday sunlight sparkled through the windows of her immaculate flat, mocking her.

It wasn't much, but her flat certainly wasn't a bad place. The kitchen was adequate (she
wasn't much of a cook anyway), and the bar type separator between it and the living room
ensured that she ate a great many meals standing up. The living area contained a shabby, but
immensely comfortable, teal couch and armchair, half a dozen overflowing bookcases, a small table,
and a tv.

Her bedroom was quite similar, but with a chair and desk rather than couch and tv. The same
profusion of crowded bookcases were there as well, though. An industrial gray carpet lurked on the
floor of the living area and bedroom; bland white linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom.

And everywhere, pictures of her, Ron and Harry.

All in all, not a bad place to live to go along with her not a bad place to work job as a
healer. She had friends and pleasant co-workers, enough money, and a few causes, but... it just
wasn't the same without Harry. The three of them had been inseparable for nearly seven years;
they both missed Harry terribly, like a lost limb. Or going blind.

So they searched. They searched the trail of the great mystery of the Boy Who Lived turned The
Chosen One turned the Boy Who Disappeared.

It had all been so frantic. So crazy. So *unreal*. Curses, hexes and bodies flying
everywhere and nothing between you and certain death but, as Harry had once put it, your own brain
or guts or whatever. And Harry; Harry everywhere. Harry killing Bellatrix, Harry felling countless
Death Eaters, Harry saving Ron and Hermione's lives a dozen times over. And finally, Harry and
Voldemort. He had even somehow, unbelievably, blocked the unblockable killing curse that Voldemort
had sent after her.

A tremendous flash of golden light, a deafening explosion and then silence. When the survivors
recovered their sense, Voldemort lay dead. Not only Voldemort, but every Death Eater in sight. But
Harry was nowhere to be found. After all the bodies had been identified, still he was missing. It
had been five long years since and no one had seen hide nor hair of him, the tabloids
notwithstanding.

Most of the time, perhaps every other single instance in history, everyone would have assumed
the hero dead. But this time people just couldn't bring themselves to do it. The vision of
Harry Potter returning to save them when he was needed once again was just too strong. So he was
immortalized and made into myth.

Hermione snapped back to reality, shaking her shaggy head to clear the memories.

*Might as well get this over with now*, she reflected resignedly. Swiftly, she gathered
purse and wand. One last check re-assured her that the sighting had been in Hogsmeade. Two taps of
the wand locked the door behind her and set the magical wards.

*I'm on my way, Harry. Don't go anywhere*.

* * *

Harry Potter froze, his shuffling step quieted as he stared at the back of a black-haired young
man striding briskly down the street.

*He looks just like I used to...*

He was not the only one to notice the uncanny resemblance; a crowd had started flocking around
the man. He waved them off feebly.

“No, no, I'm sorry,” he was saying. “I'm not Harry Potter. Just a passing resemblance.
No scar, see? Name's Ernie. Same guy as yesterday.”

The crowd collectively examined Ernie's forehead and realized he was telling the truth.
Disappointed, they drifted away. Harry's mouth twisted bitterly. If only Ernie knew...
Absently, he rubbed the smooth patch of unblemished skin on his forehead where the scar used to be.
He started forward again wearily, vague thoughts of setting up shop outside the Three Broomsticks
tumbling through his mind. Madame Rosmerta was always glad to see him (or No One, as he went
by).

“Harry!” called a breathless and desperately hopeless hopeful voice from behind. “Harry, is that
really you?”

Harry turned automatically, as did Ernie.

“No, miss, I'm not...” Ernie began patiently, by rote. But Harry's heart lurched. For,
unmistakably, there was Hermione dashing towards Ernie. He immediately turned away, hiding his
features. Not that he had need to anymore; between the scar being gone, the bright white hair,
several extra inches of height, and a wretched gauntness, he doubted anyone would recognize him
now. No one had yet.

“Hey! Hey, mister No One!”

Harry's head jerked up and he spied a tousled-headed young boy running towards him.

“Hi there, Colin,” Harry greeted the grimy child, trying to dredge up a smile. The boy's
clothes were old and ragged and did little to conceal his thinness.

“Are you gonna play? Huh huh?” demanded Colin. “Can I have a song?”

“Um, yeah-” answered Harry slowly. “I am. I'll be ready in twenty minutes or so right over
there.” Harry pointed towards an area in front of the Three Broomsticks.

“Aw, cool!”

“Yes... yes, very cool,” Harry echoed, then knelt by the boy. “Listen. Run along now and give
this to your lovely mother. When you get back, I'll be starting.”

“Thanks, Mister No One!” exclaimed Colin, eyes wide as Harry pressed a Galleon into his hand.
“I'll be right back!”

Colin sprinted off, the Galleon clenched tightly in one small fist. Harry sighed and climbed
heavily to his feet. Hopefully that Galleon would buy him and his mother some new clothes and a few
square meals.

“That was very kindly done,” a voice said quietly, directly behind him. Harry jumped despite
himself and whirled to find Hermione behind him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Oh... it was nothing...” he mumbled, casting his face down. “Nothing at all...”

“Well, then it was the kindest nothing I have ever seen,” declared Hermione. There was a short
pause, then:

“I'm Hermione.”

*I know*, thought Harry silently. But he said, automatically taking her outstretched hand,
“I'm No One.”

“No One?”

“Yes, that's right,” Harry confirmed.

“What an o- have we met before?” Hermione asked slowly, frowning at the back of Harry's
hand. Quickly, he withdrew it and stuck it in a pocket.

“You look familiar,” continued Hermione.

“I, er, don't think so. I wouldn't have forgotten someone as charming and lovely as
you,” Harry improvised. He wasn't *exactly* lying. But she kept frowning for another
minute. At last, she shrugged.

“Is your name really No One?”

“Yeah...” Harry had thought it appropriate at the time. He had been the Chosen One. Now he was
No One.

“Well, um, No One,” Hermione coughed. “Did I hear that boy say you were, er, playing? Um,
music?”

“Yeah, that's right. Madame Rosmerta kindly allows me to set up outside the Three
Broomsticks here and gives me free drinks.”

Hermione was regarding him thoughtfully, chewing her lower lip. Harry was gripped by a strange
mix of emotions. On the one hand, he was glad that she hadn't realized it was him and nervous
that she might. But on the other hand, he was stupidly hurt that she hadn't. *What did I
expect? I'm* **trying** *not to be recognized.*

With a start, he realized Hermione was talking again.

“I- I could really do with some music now. Would you mind if I stayed and listened?”

“Um, n-no. Not at a-all,” Harry stammered, taken aback. “I'll, um, just get my stuff
ready.

Confused, and a bit throw by the turn of events, Harry hurried across the street. With a wave of
his wand he conjured his instruments out of thin air; an acoustic guitar, a bass, a set of drums
and a synthesizer.

* * *

Hermione watched, wide-eyed, as the man (No One, he called himself) picked up the acoustic and
started playing a few random notes softly. He then looked at each of the other instruments in turn;
the bass floated up in the air, unsupported, and plucked out a warm-up; the drumsticks twirled for
all the world like an invisible drummer was there, and the keys on the synthesizer depressed
themselves.

Disappointed as she was at yet another false Harry trail, Hermione couldn't but help being
fascinated. The man had to know how to play *all* of those instruments to do what he was
doing. And- no, surely not! He couldn't be meaning to play every part at once? He'd have to
be a genius!

But it seemed that he did. Already, a crowd had materialized as if out of thin air and started
cheering; obviously, he had played here before. *He must really be good*, thought Hermione.
All subsequent thoughts were driven from her head as he started to play.

It was slow and mournful; it was faster and louder, then furious; it was soft again, with a
heartbreaking strain of hopeless melancholy. The man made the crowd feel every emotion that went
into his music.

When the first song was done coins showered at No One's feet. Hermione found herself
throwing an unheeding handful. No One had an odd expression on his face; it almost looked
self-mocking and a bit nauseated. But he bowed and gestured; the coins flew up and tumbled end over
end to the poorest of the poor standing in the street. It was something Harry would have done,
Hermione thought. He had never cared about money. In fact, the more things he had gained, the more
he had shared. But without another pause, No One began playing once more and carried Hermione's
thoughts away.

Hermione did not know how long she listened with tears in her eyes. The music was inside her, it
knew her. It spoke of her whole trail, her and Harry and Ron, towards Voldemort. From the first day
they met to the last day she had seen Harry and every adventure in between. Of the laughter and
tears they had shared.

Finally, as it grew dark, No One finished. A moment of hushed silence followed, but was quickly
broken by tumultuous applause. Ho bowed again, then vanished his instruments with a flick of his
wand.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot for a full minute and saw him eye her sideways with a frown.
She blushed, but stumbled towards him as the crowd dispersed.

“That-” she croaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “That was amazing! Beautiful...”

“Thank you,” No One said quietly as he bent over to scoop up a few stray coins near is feet.
“Thank you very much.”

“How- how did you know?” whispered Hermione.

“Know what?” he asked from the folded up stance, puzzled.

“Know how I-” Hermione started, then her mouth shout with an audible click. Quick as a viper,
her hand shot forward and fastened onto Harry's arm. Or, more precisely, the wrist above the
hand she had frowned at earlier. Written in faint white scars on the back were the words *I must
not tell lies.*

Slowly, she looked up, disbelief and joy etched in her face.

“Harry?” she whispered. “HARRY!”

-->



2. No One Lives Here
--------------------



“I don't know what you're talking about,” said the man brusquely, pulling his hand back
and avoiding her eyes. Hermione was having none of it; she seized his face in both of her tiny
hands and forced him to look at her. He had bright green eyes.

“Harry!” cried Hermione again and threw her arms around him tightly. But he simply stood there
stiffly and she quickly let go. Something wasn't right.

“Harry, what-? Your hair! And where's your scar? You're so thin! Where have you been?
Where did you learn to play like that...” she trailed off in in the face of his grim gaze.

“Harry?” she asked tentatively. “What-?”

She was forced to cut off as he spun on the heel of his foot wordlessly and walked away. She
thought, *she thought*, she had caught a flash of terrible pain and loathing in his eyes, but
it was so quick she must have imagined it.

Hurt and confused, she stood frozen to the spot momentarily. She had found him (at last!), but
this was not at all how she had imagined it. It was like a bad dream.

Hermione's paralysis lasted only a minute; she quickly recovered and ran after Harry. When
she caught up she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop and face her. She had not imagined it; the
pain and loathing were there, but quickly hidden. A few people were watching them curiously.

“Harry, please say something,” begged Hermione, tears sparkling in her eyes. “It's you, I
know it's you!”

Harry simply stood slumped, staring at the ground between his feet. The silence was
excruciating. Hermione didn't think she could bear it any longer when he finally spoke.

“You're too clever by half, Hermione.”

* * *

Shock ran through Harry's body, but it was quickly drowned out by pain and wave upon wave of
self-loathing. It was all he could do to stand up straight.

*It's all my own stupid fault,* he thought angrily. *I should have known better than
to put myself on display like that in front of Hermione. She's always been more than clever
enough to put it together*.

Hermione! There she was, looking up at him uncertainly. He could read the hurt he had inflicted
on her in her face. That only intensified his feelings of shame and loathing until he knew he
didn't deserve to be alive.

She looked hale and healthy, not broken like him. Full of life and character, just as he
remembered her.

“You should go,” Harry said quietly.

“But-! I *just* found you. I finally found you!” Hermione's mouth hung open as he
brushed past her.

“Harry! Come back!” She tried to grab him again, but he shrugged her off.

Distraught and hurt as she was, Hermione still wasn't going to be denied so easily. This
time she ran ahead and planted herself firmly in Harry's path, legs braced. He tried to step
around, but she stepped in time with him and stared challengingly into his eyes. She had never
looked so beautiful. He had never hated her more. She was like a sister to him; he wanted to crush
her with his bare hands.

“Hermione. Let me be.”

“No.”

“Hermione...”

“No!” she yelled, stomping her foot in a most Hermione-ish way. It was so familiar that Harry
nearly laughed (hysterically).

“I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?”

Hermione shook her head mutely. More people were watching and pointing, though none really
understood the gravity of the situation.

“I could hex you,” threatened Harry.

“No, you couldn't,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly.

“You're no match for me, Hermione.”

“Maybe not... but you couldn't hex me. No, you wouldn't hex me. You would never. I know
you wouldn't.”

“What makes you so sure about that?” Harry said softy, dangerously. “I'm a bad person,
Hermione.”

“No, you're not!” Hermione said, shocked. Harry sighed.

“Ok.”

He started off in a different direction and Hermione furiously flung herself in front of
him.

“No, you don't! I want to know what's going on! I want to know why you're-”

“Ok!” Harry repeated forcefully. “I'm not trying to ditch you. Honest.”

Hermione did not seem mollified. If anything, she looked more suspicious than ever.

“Really! Let's just- go back to my place, ok? It's safe from, well, everything. I'll
make us some tea. Ok?”

She considered it for a minute, then nodded. Falling into step besides him, she wiped her
tear-stained face.

“Oh, Harry-!”

“We'll talk when we get there,” he said shortly, cutting her off.

* * *

“There” conspired to be the shabbiest, most ridden down part of Hogsmeade that Hermione had
never known existed. *What can Harry be doing here?* she wondered. *Is he in some sort of
trouble? And why is he so... callous!*

Harry stopped in front of what looked like a brutal slum lord's domain and conjured a quill
and piece of parchment out of thin air. He scribbled something on it, then handed it it silently to
Hermione.

“Um, what is this?”

“Read it,” Harry commanded impassively.

Hermione glanced down at the scrap in her hand. *No One lives at 46 Mud Scrapper Lane*. No
sooner had she finished than an apartment, as run down as the rest, swelled into being between two
tenements, pushing them aside. Harry hustled her inside quickly.

“Of course... it's unplottable. And guarded by a Fidelis Charm. Harry, who did you get to
cast those?”

Harry looked at her, but only said, “Welcome to my... lovely place.”

Hermione turned slowly. It was, unsurprisingly, quite small and dark. There were no windows and
only three rooms (four if you counted the tiny bathroom). The door to one of the other rooms was
ajar, but the other was shut tightly and an air of menace hung around it like a shroud. Hermione
shivered.

“Have a seat,” Harry offered flatly, blasting a pile of finely grained wood pieces out of one of
the room's two pieces of furniture, a decrepit old love seat. Hermione gingerly lowered herself
onto it and surveyed the rest of the room.

It wasn't really dirty, like one might have expected after everything else. Actually, it was
quite clean in a depressing sort of way. There was almost nothing in the place at all to show that
anyone lived there. The love seat and a battered old table. That was it.

“So what is it that you have to know so badly that you have to force yourself into my home for?”
Harry said roughly as he collapsed into a sitting position on the floor. Hermione winced, but
stayed calm. This wasn't right... something had happened, something awful, to Harry. There was
no other reason he'd be treating her like this.

“Harry, why are you living in a place like this? How you could you *pay* to live somewhere
like this?”

“Pay?” he repeated, looking at her oddly. “Pay? Hermione, no one in the world knows this place
exists, except for me. And you, now.”

“But, what are you hiding from? Are you in trouble? Are you afraid of something?”

Harry started laughing; a horrible, mirthless laughter that dissolved in a coughing fit.

* * *

Harry waved Hermione away as she jumped forward, hand raised towards his forehead.

“Just a cold,” he choked.

“In the summer?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yeah... those are the worst.”

*Why*, he thought. *Why does she have to make me do this? Why can't she just let me
waste away in peace? Or perhaps waste away in misery would be more apt.*

*Because that's not what Hermione does*, answered another part of his mind.

“If you say so...” Hermione sat back on the couch. “You didn't answer my question.”

Harry picked up a piece of the wood and turned it about in his hands. His mouth twisted like he
had bitten into something sour and he laughed that hollow laugh again.

“Who would I be afraid of?” *It's everyone else who should be afraid of me.*

* * *

There was something wrong, something very wrong with the way Harry said that. It scared
Hermione. She didn't know why, but quickly changed the subject.

“Um, Harry? Where did you learn to play music like that?”

“That?” he waved his hand dismissively. “I just picked it up. Playing, it... it helps.”

“Helps what?”

“It helps when-” Harry stopped and searched for different words, but didn't really find
them. “Take my mind- just a little.”

“Um... right.” Hermione said uncertainly.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Harry burst out suddenly. He whipped out his wand in front of a
bemused Hermione and conjured a teapot and two cups.

“The tea I promised,” he said, pouring a cup and presenting it to Hermione with a mocking little
seated bow. She accepted it and took a big gulp nervously. To her surprise, it was quite excellent.
Just the right temperature with the right amount of honey. She noticed that, while Harry clutched a
cup in his hands, he didn't drink any of it.

“Aren't you going to have some?” she asked awkwardly, hating it. She had never felt this
uncomfortable around Harry.

“I- I don't feel like drinking any,” Harry said.

“Harry, what happened to you!” Hermione cried out in frustration. “I can't stand this! Did
he hurt you before... the end?”

“Who, Voldemort? No, no. Didn't even scratch me.” Harry seemed to be growing more and more
agitated.

“Surely- surely you can't feel bad about killing him?” she asked incredulously as another
thought occurred to her. Harry had always been very sensitive.

“Feel bad?” Harry threw back his head and barked out more of that horrible, mocking laughter.
“Oh, no. I don't feel bad about it at all. He had to die.”

“Oh... that's good... Harry, what *is* it? Let me in, *please*!”

“You have to go now!” Harry lunged to his feet suddenly, eyes bulging. Hermione felt an urge to
cower back, but didn't. This was Harry; he had blocked the unblockable curse, for her. He would
never hurt her. She believed that with all her heart. She had to believe it.

Still, he dragged her off the sofa and towards the door. Carefully, if such a thing could be
said of that sort of action.

“Harry, you're hurting me!”

He let go at once. A flicker of something flashed across his face. Shame, Hermione would have
said. And something else as well, unrecognizable.

“It's not safe here! I'm a bad man, Hermione. Go, go!” He pushed her insistently towards
the door.

“But-”

“GO! Please...”

“Oh, ok! But I'm coming back tomorrow!”

“Yes, come back tomorrow,” Harry said hurriedly. “Tomorrow.”

Harry watched as she opened a door, then a sudden thought occurred to him.

“Don't tell anyone me! Don't tell Ron!”

Hermione cringed.

“But, Harry... he'd be so happy to know you're alive.”

“Don't tell anyone! Promise me you won't tell!”

“I-”

“PROMISE!”

“Ok, I promise,” Hermione cried. Harry slammed the door behind her.

* * *

*Oh, my god,* he thought, slumping against the wall once she was finally gone. *Oh, my
god... I was going to hurt her. I was going to hurt Hermione! She was going to make me re-live it
and I...* He covered his face in despair, but he had no tears left to cry. He was broken. So
broken.

-->



3. An Unwelcome Rescue
----------------------



**A/N - I found this chapter turning even darker than I had intended. When I started writing
this, I had a very clear picture in my mind of where it was going. It was mostly uplifting and
light with moments of sadness. But, as I write, it takes on a life of its own and I have no choice
but to follow.**

**Harry is much more scarred and broken than I had intended, and it comes out particularly in
this chapter. I had intended Harry as being haunted and melancholy, but not... well, you will see.
I apologize if it is overly disturbing, but I assure you it will turn out for the best in the end
=)**

**Sorry if there are a few typos or errors. Spell check doesn't catch 'em all and I
have this problem when I proofread my work... I catch most everything, but occasionally I miss
something because I know what I** **meant** **to say so I'll unconsciously add in missing
words without even realizing they were missing.**

------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione slumped against the wall outside Harry's now hidden apartment. She hadn't
handled that well. She hadn't handled it well at all.

*I had all sorts of questions planned out. Where had he been, what had happened, why
didn't he contact us, was he ok? I dreamed about it for FIVE years. I planned it for FIVE
years!* But... everything just flew out of her head with him sitting there, watching her with
haunted eyes, and she had blurted out the stupidest things. Why had she pressed so hard? He was
obviously very fragile, she should have led up to it slowly.

A furtive noise alerted Hermione to the outside world again and she realized that this street
probably wasn't the best of places to hang around. Glancing around warily, she prepared her
mind and apparated back to her flat.

What she *felt* like doing when she arrived was collapsing onto her bed. Curling up into a
ball and letting the flood of tears come. But she couldn't. She had to be ready for tomorrow.
And she had to get up early... he was going to do a runner. It didn't take a genius to figure
it out.

Yes... she would grab a couple hours sleep and then camp out by the entrance to that wretched
place he lived tomorrow. She was going to take him away from there.

* * *

*I've gotta go*, Harry was thinking. It had taken half a dozen hours to pull himself
together after Hermione had left. A racking fit of coughing left him weak and shaking, but he shook
it off. *I've gotta leave before Hermione comes back*.

But another voice whispered to him. *You could just eliminate her. With that nosy little
Muggle gone, no one would know your secret.*

No! Harry shook his head violently. Not Hermione!

*What's the matter? You didn't have a problem destroying Voldemort and scores of his
Death Eaters.*

“That was different!”

*How so?*

“I- I only did that because I had to!”

*Liar,* laughed the voice breathily. *Liar. Tell me you didn't hate them.*

“I... I...”

*Tell me you didn't want to kill them.*

“I had- I-” Harry's face contorted.

*Tell me you didn't enjoy it! Tell me it wasn't satisfying to grind your enemies
bodies into dust!*

“I did!” screamed Harry. “I did! I wanted to hurt them. I wanted them to hurt as bad as they
hurt me!”

The voice's laughter echoed in the expanse of Harry's mind. *So kill the Muggle and be
done with it*.

“No.”

*Kill her.*

“No! I hate you!”

With a tremendous force of will Harry forced the voice to be quiet. He couldn't force it out
of his head because- it was him. It wasn't some other person or entity. It was him. He was the
one who did all those terrible things. He was the sort of evil and twisted person he had been
prophesied to hunt down. He didn't deserve to live.

Dully, he walked to the other door, the locked one. A thought was all it took to unlock it and
another to send a globe of crackling light to the ceiling. The room itself wasn't very big,
perhaps eight feet by ten feet. Unlike the other rooms, it was a complete mess. There were cut outs
from various newspapers everywhere; stuck to the walls, lying on the floor, even a few floating in
mid-air. Some were crisp and new, some had been torn or crumpled and then smoothed out again. A few
were lying in haphazard balls, having been thrown to ricochet off the walls with tremendous
force.

*Augustus Rook, know Death Eater, found dead outside the Ministry of Magic.*

*Three suspected Death Eaters found dead outside Muggle hospital; Ministry of Magic forced to
modify memories to cover up.*

*Death Eaters found dead...*

*Rudolphus Lestrange, torn apart...*

On and on the headlines read like a causality report from a war. Harry knew them all by heart.
Harry held up his hand and another scrap appeared, which he let fall to the floor. Without looking
back, he walked out of the room and it sealed itself behind him.

He considered going into the other room. Sometimes, the music and the creating of things was
enough. But Harry knew it wouldn't help now. Not today. No, there was nothing else for it.
Harry sat on the floor, facing the door, with a blank expression on his face. A long, sharp knife
appeared in the air in front of him and he reached out slowly with his right hand to grasp it. He
wouldn't run this time; let Hermione find him.

* * *

“No, Ron, it was just another mistaken identity,” Hermione said over the phone. “Looked like
Harry, but was this bloke named Ernie.”

“Ah... damn. Next time, Hermione. Next time. I know it.”

Hermione sighed, not trusting herself to speak. She had an overwhelming urge to confess what had
happened to Ron, but she had promised.

“Yeah, next time. So how did it go with Charlotte?”

“It was great!” Ron crowed. “Mum and Dad loved her. She's really special, Hermione. I
reckon... I reckon she might be the one!”

“Whoa now, mister,” Hermione chided. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. But I'm really
glad it went well.”

And she was, though a small part of her reared its ugly green head. She wanted what Ron had; she
was so tired of being alone. But she quashed it ruthlessly.

“Yeah,” Ron was saying happily. “It's like a dream.”

“I'm so happy for you, Ron. Listen, I've got to go now. It's going to be a long day
tomorrow.”

“They got you working overtime at St. Mungo's again?”

“Yeah,” Hermione lied. “Give Charlotte a hug from me.”

“I will,” Ron promised. “And I'll pinch her bottom and tell her it was from you too.”

“Ron!”

“Just kidding,” laughed Ron then, after a pause. “About the saying it was from you part,
anyway.”

“You're awful!”

“I know. Love you, Hermione.”

“You too, Ron... g'night.”

“G'night.”

As Hermione hung up the phone, she reflected that she was pretty certain it wouldn't be a
good night. She tried her best to catch a few hours of sleep, but she couldn't have managed
more than fifteen minutes. Finally, at about two in the morning she abandoned all pretense of sleep
and pulled on a fresh set of clothes.

*Harry, you are NOT getting away from me.*

* * *

Mud Scrapper Lane was eerily quiet when Hermione apparated. It seemed that even the crickets and
night insects didn't want to live here. Hermione cast around for a minute before settling into
a spot slightly less filthy than the rest to wait for dawn.

As difficult as it had been to find sleep when in her flat, it was easily that hard to stay
*awake* now. She found herself nodding several times, but caught herself before slipping away
completely. She was sure that Harry hadn't been able to slip past her, at any rate.

It was still dark and Hermione had lost track of time, so she dug her watch out of her purse.
She hated wearing it; it dug into her wrist unmercifully.

4:27am.

She had waited long enough. Pushing herself to her feet, Hermione marched up to the wall
dividing 45 and 47 Mud Scrapper Lane and thought *No One lives at 46 Mud Scrapper Lane.*
Instantly, the building swelled into existence. Hermione tried the handle and breathed a sigh of
relief as she found it unlocked; she had suspected the lock had been tied directly to the Charm and
it seemed she was correct.

Carefully, she inched the door open, cautious not to startle Harry. She was sure it would not be
a good idea to burst in.

“Harry?” she called softly. “Harry, it's me, Hermione. I'm coming in.”

There was no answer, so Hermione pushed the door all the way open and stepped in. It took a
moment for her eyes to adjust to the room and when they did she had to stifle a scream.

“Harry, no!” she cried, slamming the door behind and racing to his side where she fell to her
knees and wrestled the knife from his grip.

“I can still feel,” Harry whispered quietly, staring at the deep bloody gashes in his arm.
“Barely, but I can still feel.”

“Oh, Harry!” choked Hermione in horror and heartbreak. There were dozens of older scars
crisscrossing his left arm. Swiftly, she drew her wand and ran it over each of the new cuts. They
healed instantly in the wand's wake, leaving yet more scars.

“Harry, we're going,” Hermione said firmly. “I'm taking you out of here. To my
place.”

“No,” Harry said weakly. “No, I don't want that. Go away.”

“Yes! No one will see you, don't worry. And even if they did, nobody would recognize you.
I'd just tell them I found you in this shape and took you in. I'm a healer, nobody would
think it odd. Now, up you get.”

“No,” Harry tried to wave her off feebly as she pulled him to his feet, but he wasn't up to
the task. No sooner was he up than he had to lean heavily on Hermione, or else fall straight back
down.

“Hermione, I can't go with you,” Harry insisted, his face crumpling. “Please, just leave
me.”

“Stop talking nonsense and save your strength,” Hermione ordered. “We're going to make you
better.”

“Hermione, you can't make me better,” Harry said lifelessly. “I'm a monster. I'm
worse than Voldemort ever was!”

Hermione hissed and grabbed his chin in one hand, still holding him up with her other arm.

“Don't you say that! Don't ever say that!”

“It's true... I'll show you. Take me in that room over there.” Harry pointed towards the
sealed door.

“Why?” Hermione said warily.

“Just do it. I won't argue any more if you just take me in there first.”

*I won't have to*, Harry was thinking. *She'll be so horrified that she'll
leave.*

“Ok, fine. But we're leaving right after that.”

Laboriously, Hermione hauled Harry over to the room. The door sprang open as they arrived and
Hermione's feeling of foreboding increased one hundredfold. However, her first thought on
entering was, *that's not so bad, it's just a bunch of newspaper clippings.* That was
until she saw the headlines. Saw what every one was about.

“See?” Harry said with a miserable sort of satisfaction.

“See what?” snapped Hermione, thinking furiously. “Good riddance to them all.”

“You don't understand,” Harry said in disbelief.

“I understand fine,” growled Hermione. “Good riddance, I say. Now, we're going.”

“Ok,” said Harry dully. “Whatever... We can't disapparate in here. We have to go
outside.”

Hermione said nothing in reply, just started dragging Harry towards the door. His sudden
capitulation and lack of emotion worried her more than everything else combined.

Hermione was exhausted by the time she made it outside. Heartbreakingly thin Harry might be, but
he still had almost a foot on her. Harry had shut his eyes and was breathing heavily.

*We're going home, Harry*.

-->



4. Who Cares If I Die, Anyway?
------------------------------



**A/N - This is the first fanfic I've ever written, bit it seems to have lit a fire under
my ass. I just can't stop writing… and I can't stop thinking about it when I'm not
writing it! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!**

------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione apparated herself and Harry straight into her bedroom. She would have apparated Harry
straight into the bed if she could have managed it. As it was, she had to do it the hard way.

Harry wasn't responding at all, so she half pushed, half dropped him onto the bed. A quick
wave of her wand mended and cleaned the clothes he was wearing. After a quick internal debate she
decided to leave his clothes on; he was shivering.

“Harry, you great clod... help me out a little here,” she muttered, trying to manuever him under
the blankets. But he didn't even so much as stir. Hermione grumbled and mumbled imprecations
under her breath that were at great odds with her gentleness of her hands and care.

Finally, she managed to get him tucked away. Only then did he open his eyes and fix her with a
painful green gaze before turning his head away.

“Harry, I'll be right back. I promise. Don't try and move!”

He gave no indication of having heard her. Trusting he was too weak to make an escape, Hermione
dashed out into the kitchen and starting grabbing things from the cupboards and simply
materializing anything else she needed out of the stock at St. Mungo's. Every healer had
special 24/7 access to those supplies, in case of emergencies.

*If this doesn't count as an emergency, then I don't know what does!* Hermione
thought a bit hysterically. Quite soon, she had a small cauldron full of a sky blue potion bubbling
away and stood staring at it intently. At the first indication it was done, she scooped out a glass
full.

“Harry, this is going to make you feel bett-” Hermione called as she returned. Harry was half
out of the bed and struggling helplessly to stand.

“Harry, get back in there!” Hermione said angrily.

“I, um...” he seemed *embarassed*. “I have to use the bathroom.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hermione flushed. “Let me help you there.”

That ordeal taken care of, Hermione tucked him back into the bed and conjured another blanket to
cover his icy body. She didn't understand what was happening at all... after everything else he
was embarassed about needing help to get to the bathroom?

“Drink this,” she orderd, liftingthe potion to his lips.

“What is it?” Harry asked suspiciously before sealing his lips tightly.

“It's a *sleeping* potion, you big git!” Hermione exploded. “You'd know that if you
had ever paid any attention to Snape. Now, drink!”

Harry relented, most likely aided by Hermione pracically pouring the potion down his throat.
Almost instantly he was claimed by the dream world. And no sooner than he was obviously asleep
Hermione burst into tears again.

“Harry, I'm sorry,” she wailed at his unconscious form, seated on the bed at his side. “I
didn't mean to be so mean! I'm so scared about you and, and I didn't know what to
do!”

Harry just snored softly. Sniffling, Hermione stroked his hair gently and noticed for the first
time that it was thick and healthy and a brilliant, pure white. It didn't make him look old at
all, just... distinguished. She enfolded one of his hands in both her tiny ones and started crying
again upon feeling how wasted away it was.

*Stop it! s*he thought furiously. *I'm a healer, damnit! I need to pull myself
together. I've been trained for situations like these. What am I supposed to do now?
Think!*

What Hermione wanted to do was run a full magical scan on him, but she knew she shouldn't.
Such a scan, while extremely informative, was also extremely intrusive by nature. It had to
stimulate the body to find out how it reacted and, by extension, caused a great deal of stress to
the body. Right now, she wasn't sure Harry's body could take that kind of stress.

“I'll- I'll just stay right here with you, Harry,” Hermione whispered, still stroking
the back of his hand. “In the morning you'll feel better and I can run the scan then.”

Despite her best intentions, Hermione was completely exhausted and soon drooped forward.
Daylight came to find her bushy head resting on Harry's stomach.

* * *

Harry had enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep, thanks to Hermione's superb potion making
ability. *Hermione's so good at everything,* he thought proudly before reality came
crashing back in and he remembered the past five years.

'Uhhhhh,” Harry groaned. He felt terribly weak and tried to move, but it was as if a weight
was holding him down. It took him a moment to realize that a weight *was* pinning him down. A
weight called Hermione, who had collapsed in exhaustion with head on his stomach, face turned up
towards his. Her shoulders pinned down his hip and her arms were flung across his body.

*Hermione... why couldn't you leave me alone? Why do you have to be so good? Far to good
to be anywhere near me...*

Hermione stirred, almost as if she could hear his thoughts, but she didn't wake.
Tentatively, Harry reached out and touched her bushy hair. Was there any way he could move her
without waking her up?

Too late, though. Hermione's eyes sprang open, looking straight into his. He immediately
jerked his hand back, not sure if she had noticed. For a moment she smiled hesitantly up at him,
then suddenly jumped up in shock.

“Oh!” she stammered. “I'm sorry, Harry! I don't know what happened... I was giving you
that potion and then all of a sudden I woke up just a moment ago!”

“Don't worry about it,” Harry replied flatly.

“Are-are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, loads,” Harry lied. “Thanks, Hermione. I'll just go now.”

“No, you won't,” Hermione scolded severely. “I have to run a scan on you.”

“A scan?”

Hermione sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a healer now.”

“Oh... oh, yeah. Still, you needn't bother. I'm fine, I tell you.”

“Be still,” Hermione commanded as Harry tried to throw the covers off. He ignored her.

“I said, be still!” Hermione pinned him back down. “I need to concentrate.”

“Ok, fine,” muttered Harry. “Just get it over with.”

But Hermione wasn't listening. A fierce frown of concentration marred her face and she
reached a hand out towards his midsection. A faint glow surrounded the hand and it slowly extended
until it touched Harry. He gasped; hot and cold ripples were rushing up and down his body. It was
like being stuffed in a hot tub, then dragged out and thrown into a cold lake. Over and over. His
limbs twitched uncontrollably.

“Oh... oh, my...” Hermione sat down heavily, cutting off the spell. “Harry, what have you done?
You haven't taken care of your body at all, have you?”

“What's there to take care of?” he asked indifferently, then marred it by coughing
violently. “It's a body. It's still there, isn't it.”

“Oh, Harry. I can't fix this here. I'm going to have to take you into St.
Mungo's.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Hermione was flabbergasted. “Why? Harry, if I don't you might die!”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?” demanded Hermione, scared.

“So what? Who cares if I die? I've been ready for it for ages,” Harry answered.

“Who- who cares?!” shrieked Hermione. “I CARE!”

If she had expected some sort of sign out of Harry, Hermione was sorely mistaken. He merely
stared stonily at her.

“You! I can't take this anymore!” sobbed Hermione. “You're not Harry! He would never say
things like this!”

“You're right,” replied Harry evenly. “Harry's dead. I'm all that's left now,
and I'm a bad person. So just let me go my way.”

“You're not going anywhere. You stay right there until I'm done with you!” shouted
Hermione, raising her wand.

“*Petrificus Totalus!*”

Still sobbing, Hermione rushed out and Harry was left alone in the full body bind. A moment
later, he heard the pop of someone disapparating.

* * *

Whatever Ron's plans had been when he got up that morning, they definitely hadn't
included a disheveled, hysterical Hermione popping up on his front doorstep.

A choked, “Ron, please let me in!” was the first he knew of her presence.

“What-?” he said aloud to Charlotte as he hurried towards the door and yanked it open. Hermione
spilled in and he caught her in his arms.

“Hermione!” Ron said, shocked at her appearance. “What's going on, Hermione?”

She mumbled incoherently and clutched the front of his robes, tears spilling down her face.

“Charlotte, help me!”

A short, pleasant faced young woman rushed over and disengaged Hermione from Ron. Murmuring
soothing nonsense, she and Ron led Hermione over to a chair and pressed her down in it. Charlotte
waved her wand a steaming cup of tea flew over, which she forced into Hermione's hand.

Ron kneeled down on Hermione's other side and peered worryingly at her.

“Hermione, shh, it's ok. Tell me what happened.”

Hermione took several great sniffs and attempted to get herself under control.

“I'm sorry, Ron!” she hiccuped, burying her face in the teacup.

“Don't be stupid. I'm your friend. You can always come to me when something's
wrong.”

“Thanks,” she smiled wanly. “ Thank you, too, Charlotte.”

“Ron's friends are my friends,” the woman replied firmly, but smiled kindly. She was
slightly plump with an open, friendly face and, ironically, shoulder length bright red hair. A
plethora of freckles dotted her face and she sported green eyes startingly similar to
Harry's.

“Now, talk to us, Hermione,” Ron said.

“I-” Hermione opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say. She had *promised*. And
Hermione always kept her word.

“Oh, it's so awful, Ron!” she finally said, and then the words poured out of her in a rush.
“I'm trying so hard, but it just isn't doing anything! It hurts so much... I finally have a
chance to make a difference, and I'm completely wasting it! Nothing I do helps and I don't
know what to do now. And-”

“Is it a bad day at St. Mungo's?” Ron asked quietly. “Were you trying to save someone hurt
really bad?”

Hermione laughed; a high-pitched feverish laugh. Ron had just given her the perfect opening to
lie without lying.

“Oh, yes,” she said bitterly. “And I don't know if I can...”

“'Course you can,” Ron said briskly. “You're Hermione Granger. You can do anything, even
if you are an unsufferable know-it-all sometimes.”

A giggle burst out of Hermione at that pronouncement. It used to infuriate her when Ron called
her that, but now she knew it was a genuinely affectionate term.

“Thanks, Ron,” Hermione replied, taking a deep breath. “You're not so bad, even if you are a
thoughtless git sometimes.”

“Ha! Ungrateful little shrew!” But they were smiling so hard it hurt.

“So, we'll take you back home. They'll understand at St. Mungo's.”

“Oh, no. I have to go to St. Mungo's,” Hermione said hurriedly. “I'm ok, don't worry
about me. And I can get there by myself.”

“Are you sure?” Ron asked doubtfully.

“Yes, I'm sure, Healer Ron.” Hermione hugged him tightly, then Charlotte.

“Thanks so much!”

* * *

*Perhaps I ought to act a little more friendly towards Hermione,* thought Harry. *At
least until I can escape from her.*

He had a lot of time to think about that, being stuck in a full Body Bind. Plenty of time to
formulate a plan. It was almost a funny situation. Harry couldn't have ever imagined a
situation where Hermione would hex him.

A small pop announced the arrival of someone, very likely Hermione. Sure enough, she swept into
the room a second later, a chilly look in her eyes. She removed the Bind, but didn't look any
less menacing for it.

“Hermione,” croaked Harry immediately, “I reckon you're probably right. I should go to St.
Mungo's.”

“Is that so?” aksed Hermione dangerously. There were definitely chimes of pure ice there. Best
not to push it.

“Yeah...”

“Well, I'm certainly glad you agree, seeing as my expert opinion as a Healer doesn't
count for anything.”

Oh yes. Very brittle.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, so he just remained quiet and allowed Hermione to sit
him up and force a large amount of steaming broth down his throat.

The meal, and the preparation for the trip to St. Mungo's, were done in absolute
silence.

* * *

“Ah, Hermione,” greeted the blonde witch at the receptionist desk. “What are you doing in so
early?”

“I found this,” she jerked a thumb at Harry, “and decided that he needed to be treated.”

“Another stray, hmmm?” the witch studied Harry. “Yes, he does look like he's been run
through the mill. Room fourteen in the third ward is free.”

“Thanks, Helga. Come on, you.”

Hermione dragged Harry down the hall, though he was strong enough by now to walk under his own
power. A lift carried them to the third floor, conveniently coming out next to room twelve.

Room fourteen conspired to be a longer term residence ward. Hermione settled Harry into the
large bed and began scuttling around, checking all sorts of medical instruments.

“Um, Hermione?” ventured Harry. Silence.

“Yeah... listen... I'm sorry. Really.” He was, though perhaps not for what she thought.

Hermione slowly turned and gave him an unreadable look. She walked over to the bed, wearing the
same expression the whole way and, ominusouly, clutching a sharp bladelike object.

She suddenly lunged forward and Harry flinched involuntarily, not sure whether he was being
attacked or what. Fortunately, Hermione dropped the blade first, thereby saving Harry from being
impaled on the back end of her fierce hug.

“Just don't say no one cares if you die again!”

“I won't,” promised Harry.

“And... promise me you won't leave until you're completely healed.”

“Er-”

“Please,” begged Herione, drawing back to look him in the eyes.

“Oh, ok. I won't go anywhere until you completely heal me.”

Hermione smiled radiantly, but Harry couldn't miss the flash of triumph that crossed her
face.

*Ah, shit. What did I just promise?*

-->



5. A Glimmer of Light
---------------------



**A/N - This chapter is a little shorter than the previous ones, but I believe there's a
good bit of stuff packed into it. Quite enough to start some ideas forming on the direction I'm
going in and probably just little enough to make you hate me. Sorry about that.**

**I'm likely to be, er,** **indisposed** **over the next couple days, so I might not
have another chapter up until I've sobered up. I've already written the end, though, so
it's only a matter of getting there ;)**

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hermione,” Harry said in an odd voice. She looked up quickly from the potion she was brewing.
“Did you heal one of my scars?”

“What?”

“Here,” Harry pointed at his mutilated arm. “There was a big one, running down through the rest
of them. But it's gone. I thought that, maybe, over the last couple days you got rid of
it.”

Hermione stepped over quickly and ran a gentle hand over the raised white scar tissue that
dominated Harry's arm. She was never far from him these days. Harry wondered idly when she went
home or slept. She always had been a bit of a mother hen.

“No... I'm sorry, but I can't get rid of scars,” Hermione bit her lip. “I know, it
sounds like it would be so easy, especially with everything else we can do. But, well- scars are
more than physical sometimes.”

“Then how come it's gone?”

“Are you, um, sure there was a scar there?” Hermione asked awkwardly.

“Yes,” Harry replied coldly. “I know all my scars. D'you think I'm making it up? Or
maybe you think I'm mental?”

“No!” Hermione denied quickly. “Of course not! It's just that... there are so many! I know I
wouldn't be able to keep track of them all.” As always, her voice broke a little when touching
on the subject of his arm.

Harry stared at her distrustfully for a minute then, incredibly, his expression cleared.

“I shouldn'ta told yeh that! Forget I said it!” he joked, imitating Hagrid perfectly. For
some reason, he felt a little bit lighter, a little bit brighter, than he had in a very long time.
Instead of being completely black, the landscape of his mind was a midnight gray.

Hermione wore a startled look on her face, like a fish caught out of water. He almost laughed.
Almost.

* * *

Hermione felt her mouth fall open; that kind of response was so unlikely with this new Harry. It
was much more in line with the old Harry; *MY Harry*. Unable to help it, she giggled.

“That was perfect, Harry! You sounded just like him.”

“How is he?” Harry asked casually. “I, uh, never got a chance to find out what happened with him
in the final battle.”

“Oh! Oh, he's fine, Harry!” Hermione responded. “What could hurt Hagrid? Especially with
Grawp looming over him!”

“Does Grawp still call you 'Hermy'?”

“Um... well, yeah. But he's loads better behaved now.”

“He would have to be,” Harry remarked dryly.

Hermione glowed. This was the best she had seen Harry yet. She felt absurdly elated and extra
nervous at the same time. She didn't want to do anything to break the mome-

A knock at the door interrupted them. A shadow passed over Harry's face and he said
tonelessly, “Don't forget. My name is No One.”

“Yes, I know,” Hermione replied, crestfallen. A dozen steps carried her to the door and her
spirit lifted slightly when she saw who it was.

“No One, look!” she called. “This is Healer Swift. She's the eldest and best healer here! I
asked her if she could come take a look at you.”

* * *

Healer Swift couldn't have resembled her name less. She was tall and heavy, but with muscle,
not fat. She had a broad, no-nonsense face and a shock of close-cropped iron gray hair and beamed
at Hermione, rather like an Aunt surveying a precocious niece.

“No One, is it?” she asked briskly, glancing at the clipboard in her hands. “Is that your true
name?”

“Yes,” Harry replied defensively.

“Hmmmmmm,” Swift made a thoughtful noise.

“Well, no doubt you'll let us know when you're ready. I'm sure you have your
reasons.”

“I told you, I'm No One!” Harry retorted angrily.

“Of course, dear,” Swift replied, not unkindly, discarding the clipboard on a low table. “Now,
Hermione told me the results of her scan, but I'm just going to double check, ok? Just relax,
it'll take but a moment.”

Harry scowled and bunched up his shoulders, but didn't say anything. He was expecting her to
reach out her hand like Hermione had done, but the old healer merely looked at him. A tingling
sensation swept through Harry, but nothing like what had happened with Hermione.

“Hmmmm, yes,” Swift said thoughtfully. “I believe your diagnosis was correct, Hermione.”

Hermione colored, but looked quite pleased with herself.

“What, you're done?” Harry blurted.

“Of course.”

“But- it wasn't anything like when Hermione did it! It felt like I was being plunged in hot
and cold water then, but this time it was only a tingling sensation.”

“That's-,” Hermione whispered, looking down, “that's because I'm not very good
yet.”

“Nonsense,” Swift admonished her sternly.

“*Healer* Hermione,” she continued to Harry, “is *exceptionally* good. You're
lucky she found you. She just needs practice. She tends to overdo it a bit when she gets
excited.”

Hermione blushed again.

“Healer Swift,” she said quickly, changing the subject. “I thought maybe I could take No One
outside and he could get some fresh air. A walk, you know?”

“Yes,” Swift said, now peering into Harry's eyes. “Yes, I think that would do him good. Be
sure you check out and back in with Helga.”

“I will,” promised Hermione.

“Good, good... now, if I could, a private word with you please.”

“O-Ok.”

“Well, come along then,” Swift shuttled Hermione towards the door.

“Don't you worry, young man,” Swift called back over her shoulder as she exited the room
with Hermione. “You're going to be just fine.”

* * *

Outside the door, Hermione stood twisting her hands nervously as Swift regarded her.

“So,” Swift started, fixing Hermione with a beady eye. “You found this, No One, in Hogsmeade in
his current wretched condition?”

“Y-yeah. I couldn't just leave him there like that.”

“Mmmhmmm. I understand. Do you know what happened to that man? I've never seen such trauma;
any other human being I've ever treated would already been dead.”

“I, um, no,” Hermione looked away. “I just found him like that.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“He is going to be ok, right?” Hermione asked in a panicked voice, looking up at Swift.

“Oh, yes. I'm sure he will. He's the toughest person I've ever seen. If he made it
this far, he'll certainly make it the rest of the way. But he's definitely quite...
brittle, in other ways.”

“Yes,” Hermione whispered. “I noticed.”

Swift gave Hermione another piercing look. It was characteristic of the gaze Dumbledore used to
give people, like he could see right through you.

“Now, would you mind telling me exactly what's going on?”

Hermione opened her mouth.

“Don't bother lying to me. You're a terrible liar. I've seen you the last few days.
I know you've spent every one of them sleeping in the nurse's quarters here, when you sleep
at all. If I need you for anything, I know exactly where to find you,” Swift glanced meaningfully
to the door to Harry's room.

Hermione said nothing.

“Now, listen up here young lady,” Swift continued. “There's no shame if you're in love
with this young man, but you know our policies about that.”

“Love?” Hermione repeated, dumbstruck. “Love? No, no. I mean, yes, but-!”

Hermione took a deep breath.

“Ok, I lied, I'm sorry. I do know him. I do love him; he's a very good friend. The best.
He never would have come here if I hadn't bullied him into it. I couldn't stand it i-if
something happened to him. It would be like losing my other half!”

The old healer just smiled tolerantly at her.

“The best?” she raised her eyebrows. “I was under the impression that your best friend was one
Ronald Weasley.”

“Oh, yes! Him too!”

“Now, correct me if I'm mistaken, but haven't you told us all about your *two*
great friends while you were at Hogwarts?”

Hermione's breath caught. Was Healer Swift saying what she thought she was saying?

“Well, as far as I'm concerned, the young man in that room is No One, who you found in
Hogsmeade and kindly brought here. There's nothing extraordinary about him at all, aside from
that quite magnificent collection of *scars* he has.”

“Y-yeah,” Hermione said unsteadily. “I think- I think we'll go for that walk now.”

“Yes, you do that. And don't give me any reason to regret it,” warned Swift.

“I won't. I swear!”

“And here,” added Swift, conjuring a hairbrush out of thin air, “you hair's a fright.”

* * *

“Hermione?” Harry asked as she returned. “Are you ok?”

“Oh, yeah. I'm fine, Harry. Just fine. Come on, let's go for that walk.”

Harry got the distinct feeling that there was something Hermione wasn't telling him.

-->



6. A Sculpture and a Song
-------------------------



**A/N - Ok, so I may have, er, enjoyed myself a little too much last night. Let's just say
it's a bad idea to drink for lightweight friends (coughgirlscough) when playing Beirut.
Unfortunately, there was no Hermione to whip up a restorative potion. I'd have been too busy
snogging her at midnight anyway ;)**

**Oh, yeah... always destroy or otherwise remove cameras from the premises before you get
potted. That's my word of wisdom for the day. Learn from my mistakes. Fortunately, I wrote some
of this chapter before said condition occurred. I'm not really all that happy with the
beginning, but I think it really picks up as it goes along. Hope you enjoy it!**

------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione had a lot on her mind the next week or so. Healer Swift was as good as her word and
Harry was making an extremely quick recovery. He was still on half a dozen different potions that
he had to take several times a day, though.

*Harry,* thought Hermione as she traversed the halls to his room. *Harry, Harry, Harry.
What am I to do with you?*

Some days he was better, some days he slipped back down into apathy or downright self-loathing.
It hadn't taken her long to figure out how much Harry hated himself, but she also discovered
that telling him he wasn't a bad person didn't have any effect whatsoever. Which was really
too bad, Hermione reflected, because she had an intense desire to shake him until he came back to
his senses or his teeth rattled, whichever came first. Resisting that temptation, Hermione instead
drew up a far more clever plan.

The plan was really quite simple; at the root of it she treated Harry as if he was a wary
animal. First you put out some food for it, then you feed it from your hand. Then you pat it while
you feed, and eventually you gain its trust. With Harry, her ultimate plan was to continually put
him into situations where his many good qualities would naturally come out. Until he recovered
enough to go out, though, she simply chattered on and on about light, frivolous subjects that
couldn't possibly be turned into something darker. Eventually, Harry would get used to her
presence again.

Yesterday had been a particularly good day; he no longer needed two of the potions and he was in
the highest spirits she had yet seen, insisting that yet another scar had disappeared from his arm.
She honestly had no idea how he could tell.

It was a good thing that he was feeling well yesterday, too, because an unforeseen complication
had cropped up. Hermione's mind drifted for a moment as the scene came back.

“*Oi! Hermione!” a voice bellowed behind her. She turned to find Ron stalking down the third
floor corridor, a Healer trainee hopelessly trying to drag him back.*

“*You can't come in here, sir!” the light-haired little man was saying as he was pulled
along.*

“*It's ok, Richard,” Hermione said. “I know this buffoon.”*

“*Oh... ok.”*

“*Where've you been?” Ron demanded, not even acknowledging the other man's departure.
“I've been trying to contact you for days, but you're never at your flat and you
haven't responded to any of the calls I put in here.”*

“*I've just been really busy, Ron. What's the big deal?”*

“*Busy?” he replied in disbelief. “Busy? Hermione, you came bursting into my house in tears,
then you go incommunicado for a week! I was worried about you!”*

“*Oh.”*

“*Yeah. Oh.”*

“*I'm sorry, Ron! I just wasn't thinking.”*

*Ron drew a deep breath. “It's ok, Hermione. Just- let me know what's going on, will
ya? I was scared.”*

*A hot flush of shame ran through Hermione. She had completely forgotten about Ron and it was
a very great admission for Ron to tell her that he had been scared.*

“*Ron, I'm really sorry. I understand; I would have been furious if the situation was
reversed.”*

“*It's ok,” Ron said dismissively. “Now that I know you're ok. So what's been
going on? Is is that patient?”*

“*Yes.”*

“*Is he? she? getting better?”*

“*Yeah, I think so-”*

*At that very moment, Harry himself re-emerged from the bathroom and Hermione's heart
leaped into her throat.*

“*Hermione, I'm ready for-” he stopped short upon seeing Ron, a blank expression on his
face.*

“*Oho, who's this?” egged Ron. “Now I know what happened. You went off and eloped on
us!”*

“*Don't be stupid, Ron!” snapped Hermione. “This is one of my patients. I was about to
take him outside to get some fresh air.”*

*Ron rolled his eyes at her. “Oh, so that's what you're calling it these
days?”*

“*Ron!” fumed Hermione, though her heart rate settled down a bit as Ron obviously didn't
recognize Harry.*

*Ron chuckled and held out his hand. “Hey, mate. I'm Ron. Ron Weasley.”*

“*I'm No One,” Harry said, taking his hand.*

“*No One? You have to be some- blimey, what happened to your arm!”*

*Harry glanced down.*

“*Cut myself shaving.”*

“*That's some cut! What were you using, a chainsaw? Is that why you're here?”*

“*One of the reasons,” Harry replied dryly.*

“*Ron,” Hermione broke in, “I'm supposed to be taking Ha- No One for a walk.”*

“*Woof, woof,” Harry barked quickly to cover up the lapse. It worked well as Ron cottoned on
immediately.*

“*Wow, she's got you trained pretty good, eh?” Ron said with a wink. “Where's your
collar?”*

*Hermione glared at the smirking men and for a moment it was eerily reminiscent of their time
spend together at Hogwarts. The moment was broken as Hermione's face underwent a remarkable
transformation. Her expression turned angelic and her voice nearly dripped honey as she said, “If
you're a really good boy, No One, you'll get another special treat when we get back. I
think we might have one biscuit left.”*

*Harry's smirk melted off his face and Ron guffawed.*

“*Now, would you like to play some more?” Hermione asked sweetly.*

“*I think she's got you there, mate,” Ron wheezed.*

“*And you,” Hermione said ominously to Ron. “You're not off the hook yet either, mister.
I'll deal with you later. Come on, No One, let's go.”*

*Taking a firm hold of Harry's arm, Hermione led him away. They hadn't managed ten
steps when heavy footsteps sound behind them and they heard Ron shout.*

“*Wait! I don't have much going on right now; I'll walk with you.”*

“*No.” Hermione said at the same time Harry responded, “Sure.” She gave Harry a swift
look.*

“*I think it would be nice to have some company,” Harry said levelly.*

“*Go ahead, now. Listen to him, Hermione,” Ron urged.*

“*Oh, alright,” capitulated Hermione. “But don't put any undue stress on my
patient!”*

“*Wouldn't dream of it. Where are we going?”*

“*Well,” Hermione said slowly, “I thought we'd go to Hogwarts. We can apparate to
Hogsmeade, then walk around the grounds a bit.”*

“*That sounds great! Have you been there, No One?”*

“*Yeah...” Harry replied. “I've been there once or twice.”*

“*Oh, then we'll have to show you all around,” Ron said happily. None of the**m*
*noticed Swift standing at the other end of the hall behind them. She was watching them and
wearing a small smile.*

*They ended up apparating to Hogsmeade, with Hermione bringing both Harry (“You're too
sick yet”) and Ron (“You never were very good at apparation”) along with Side-By-Apparation. Within
minutes they were strolling around the Hogwarts grounds. Classes were out for the summer, so there
was very little activity. They spent a good fifteen minutes walking around the lake as Ron
entertained them with old school stories, which Harry already knew.*

“*Well, that was nice,” Hermione said finally as they approached Hogsmeade again. “No One, let
me take a look at you... Yes, you do appear to be benefiting from the physical activity.”*

“*Yeah, mate,” Ron chipped in. “You look pretty healthy to me. How about this: my girlfriend
Charlotte and I and some of our friends all go out for drinks on Friday nights. Why don't you
come along this Friday?”*

“*Ron, No One is sick! He really isn't up to gallivanting off with you and your drunken
friends!”*

“*And bring Hermione here,” Ron overrode her. “She needs to get out more, as you can
tell.”*

*Harry spread his hands and shrugged, plainly saying it was out of his hands.*

Hermione focused back on the present and room number fourteen. Putting on the cheeriest
expression she could muster, she opened the door and stepped in.

* * *

Harry looked up as Hermione came in. He was fully dressed and had been pacing for a solid half
hour. Yesterday he had felt quite good, but today was taking a turn for the worse.

*I want my instruments,* he thought. *I think I'd be ok if I could play a little
bit.*

“Hi, sleepy head!” Hermione greeted brightly.

“Hermione, I want to go back to my place,” Harry said without preamble.

“What?” Hermione asked, smile sliding off her face.

“I want to go to my place.”

“Harry, you promised!” she accused shrilly. “You promised you'd stay until you were
recovered!”

“I know,” Harry said with a desperate patience. “There's just some stuff there I want to
get. Please?”

Hermione flushed.

“Oh... I'm sorry,” she apologized. “I shouldn't have jumped down your throat.”

“Whatever. It's ok. Can we please go?”

She stood there, foot tapping and peering up at him. Harry hadn't ever realized what a tiny
little thing she was.

“Oh, what do you need to go back to that horrible place for? I'm not letting you back in
there; it's not good for you.”

“Please, Hermione? There are some good things, really. I just want to get them.”

“Give me one good reason,” Hermione challenged.

“My instruments are there,” Harry said quietly. “And I can't summon them. The whole building
is warded against that sort of thing. You'd have better luck apparating inside Hogwarts.”

“I suppose that's a good reason,” Hermione admitted grudgingly; her dreams were still
haunted by the one performance she had heard Harry give. “I'll go get them for you. You just
stay here.”

“NO!” Harry shouted in alarm.

“That's my final word as your Healer, Harry.”

“No, I didn't mean it like that. You can't go there alone, Hermione, it's too
dangerous! If you tried to get in without me there...”

Hermione frowned. Harry looked genuinely worried.

“Why? What did you do?”

“You don't want to know, Hermione. Trust me, you don't want to know.”

Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully. Harry noticed these things; he had seen her do it so many
times.

“I have to get permission from Healer Swift,” she said finally.

“Will she let me go?”

“I doubt it,” Hermione replied reluctantly, not meeting his eyes.

“Hermione, *please*,” pleaded Harry. “I need to play!”

Harry was getting desperate; his eyes flickered over to the blade that Hermione had nearly
impaled him with the day they arrived at St. Mungo's. Hermione followed his gaze and then went
very still. Harry could almost see her thoughts churning.

“Come on,” she said abruptly, taking his hand and leading him out of the room, all the while
chuntering under her breath.

“can't believe I'm doing this... going to get in *so* much trouble... can't
stand that horrid place...”

Harry barely heard her.

Finally, they reached the designated disapparation area. Without waiting for her, Harry pulled
Hermione closer and disapparated.

They re-appeared with a pop in Mud Scrapper Lane. It had not been a comfortable apparation,
however, and they sprawled forward, Hermione landing on top of Harry.

“Hermione?” Harry said, shifting her slightly. “Are you ok?”'

Hermione lifted her head slowly off his chest and brushed a tendril of bushy brown hair back
behind an ear. She started at him intently, nose inches from his own.

“Are *you* ok, Harry?” she said in a deathly quiet voice.

“Because if you are,” she continued, voice rising, “I'm going to *kill* you!”

“You're ok,” Harry replied, scrambling to his feet and pulling Hermione up with him.

Ignoring her death gaze fixed on his back, Harry strode over to the rapidly expanding 46 Mud
Scrapper Lane. Hermione uttered a very unladylike oath.

“Hermione,” Harry said without turning around, “you'd scrub Ron's mouth out with your
wand if you heard him say that.”

She growled and shoved him through the door.

“You're just lucky I like you, Potter.”

Inside was as dark and gloomy as before. Harry conjured another of those eerie globes of light
and affixed it to the ceiling. He looked around slowly and shivered.

“You wanted to know what I did?”

“What?”

“When I told you you couldn't come here alone. Look,” Harry pointed. Above the entrance a
head was mounted. A house elf's head. An aura of power and menace was radiating from it.

“HARRY!” screamed Hermione. “That's- that's Kreacher! HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING? AND
THAT CURSE ON IT!!”

Harry saw it coming, but made no attempt to duck or block the full-armed slap Hermione
delivered. It left a red welt on the left side of his face and Hermione rubbing her stinging head.
She abandoned it and used the other arm to deliver another stinging blow. Harry now sported
matching red cheeks, but hadn't so much as flinched.

“I can't believe I let you talk me into bringing us here!”

Another thundering blow left Harry staggering slightly and Hermione clutching a hand, tears in
her eyes.

“You're going to hurt yourself, little witch,” Harry said quietly, taking one of her hands
in his. He massaged it briefly and Hermione felt a warmness spread through it. He did the same to
the other, easily quelling her furious attempt to break free. Only then did she realize that her
hands no longer hurt.

“Harry, how did you do that?” she asked, frowning at her hands. “And I'm still very upset
with you!”

“I watched you Healing and picked up a few things. And you should be upset with me. You could
never punish me enough for everything I've done.”

* * *

Hermione felt her anger and shock fading away to an aching sadness. Harry just stood there,
patiently watching her with flaming cheeks. He wasn't afraid of her being disappointed in him.
He *expected* her to despise him. To be disgusted by him. Feeding into that wouldn't help
anything. And in a sudden flash of insight, she understood.

Her Harry never could have done these things. But this Harry could, because he hated himself.
Because he considered himself tainted, evil. What were a few more murders? Especially if, by
killing Death Eaters, he could be rationalize to himself that he was protecting innocent
people.

“He killed Sirius,” Harry said bitterly, glancing at Kreacher's head.

She didn't know exactly why she did what she did next except that it just *felt* like
the exact right thing to do. Standing on her tiptoes, she grabbed Harry by the ears and pulled his
face down to kiss him on the cheek.

“I understand, Harry,” she said, hugging him so tightly he grunted.

*I want my Harry back. And I'm going to get him, because I'm Hermione Granger and I
never lose.*

“Come on, let's go get your stuff,” she said briskly, releasing him and acting like nothing
had happened. “I imagine it's in this other room here?”

“Yeah,” Harry said behind her. He hadn't moved.

“Well, come on silly,” Hermione teased. “You're the one who made such a big fuss about this
in the first place.”

“Another one just disappeared,” he said in a distracted voice. “I know it did. I felt it.”

A sudden chill ran down Hermione's spine. Something almost clicked in her mind, but then it
was gone.

“Another what?”

“Another scar. Look,” Harry held out his arm. She turned and examined it. This was the third one
Harry claimed had disappeared. And... well, could he be right? The arm was still mutilated, but it
*did* look slightly less scarred.

“I think you're right,” Hermione said slowly.

“What does it mean?”

“I don't know, Harry. I just don't know.”

They stood there bemused for several minutes before Hermione shook herself.

“Come on, let's get your stuff.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Only... I don't think I need it right this instant anymore. I think
I'm ok.”

“What?! After all that fuss?”

“But I still want it,” Harry hurried to conclude.

“You better!” Hermione strode towards the other door.

“Wait...” she stopped. “This one isn't warded is it?”

“No, it's not,” Harry assured her, pushing past and opening the door. Hermione stepped in
and gasped.

This room was also a mess, but of a very different kind. Two large worktables lined the sides
and a smaller table full of tools the far wall. Lying all around were projects in various states of
completion; several instruments, small pieces of furniture, carved figures, all made of wood.
Harry's personal set of instruments were stacked neatly in the corner.

“Harry, did you make all this?” Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

“Yeah...” Harry wandered around, picking up and putting down various pieces. “Sometimes it would
help, creating things, when I... was in a bad place.”

He picked up something small from the far end of the left worktable and turned it around in his
hands; Hermione couldn't make out what it was.

“Sometimes it wasn't enough, though,” Harry continued, looking down at his arm. Hermione
stood extremely still; this was the first time Harry had opened up to her.

“Here,” Harry strode over and pressed the the small, hard object into her hand, closing her
fingers over it. “I made this for you a couple years ago. I was thinking about you...”

He hurried away to a large trunk with seven locks before Hermione could look at the object.
Hesitantly, she raised her hand and opened it. Resting on her palm was a tiny perfect carving of an
otter. The details had been cunningly brought out with meticulously applied stains of different
color.

“Oh... Oh...”

“D'you like it?” Harry asked nervously.

“Oh, Harry. It's the most exquisite thing I've ever seen. And... well, my Patronus is an
otter,” she finished softly.

“Yes... I remembered.”

“Harry Potter... you make me cry an awful lot,” Hermione said, smiling through her tears. “You
have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Please don't cry, Hermione,” Harry pleaded. “I don't want to make you cry.”

“It's ok, you silly boy,” Hermione laughed.

“That otter saved me a great many scars,” Harry said quietly. “It took me longer to make that
than all the rest combined.”

More tears ran down Hermione's face, but she ignored them. Pulling out her want, she
conjured a clear, indestructible container and carefully stowed the otter inside it.

“Let's get this stuff packed up,” she said, tucking the container inside her robes. “We
might have to make several trips. We can store most of it at my place.”

“Oh, I think we can do it in one,” Harry said, opening the chest and motioning her over. She
walked over and looked in to see a normal looking trunk.

“Harry, I don't think that's going to do it.”

He winked and shut the trunk, then put a different key in the second lock and opened it back up.
A different looking interior greeted them. Harry cycled through all seven, the seventh opening into
a large, underground sort of room.

“Where did you get this?” Hermione asked in amazement.

“It was Professor Moody's,” Harry said solemnly. “I filched it after- after I killed
Voldemort. Moody was killed in the battle and I wasn't feeling very scrupulous. He took seven
Death Eaters with him.”

“Oh, right... well, stand back, Harry.”

He looked at her questioningly as she raised her wand, then hurriedly stepped back as all sorts
of objects flew over and started arranging themselves neatly in the trunk.

“Right, that's it. Let's go, Harry. We don't need to be here anymore.”

“Hang on...” Harry looked around. “Ah...” He spied a grubby little sack in the corner and picked
it up. Peering in, he sighed.

“Here, Hermione,” he said, handing it over. “It isn't much, but it covers some of what I owe
you.”

Puzzled, Hermione looked inside. There were a handful of Galleons, a few Sickles, and a heap of
Knuts.

“Oh, no, Harry,” she said, handing it back. “I have enough.”

“Please take it,” Harry said, refusing to accept it back. “It's all I have.”

“But- what happened to all the gold in your vault? You had a small fortune! And this stuff would
sell for even more!” She motioned at the trunk.

Harry looked away, and Hermione had a sudden flashback. A white-haired man was kneeling besides
a ragged little boy, pressing a Galleon into his hand.

“Oh... I think I know. Harry, how can you call yourself a bad person?”

Harry still wouldn't meet Hermione's gaze.

“You can't buy your way into Heaven, Hermione,” he said simply. She sighed and tapped the
trunk with her wand and it floated out behind them.

“Wait,” Harry said suddenly. He turned to the other door and raised a hand. Inside, a dull
roaring sound could be heard. A minute later, it faded.

Hermione edged forward and opened the door. Inside, a large quantity of dust lay on the
floor.

“That's better, I think,” said Harry. “Oh, wait, one more thing...”

Another wave and Kreacher's head crumbled into dust as well. Harry staggered and had to lean
against the wall for support.

“Harry, you've overtaxing yourself!” Hermione cried, rushing over.

“I'm ok,” he assured her. “It was necessary.”

“Come on, we're going back.”

With that, Hermione pulled him outside, gripped his hand tightly and disapparated back to St.
Mungo's.

“Quick, follow me,” Hermione whispered as they apparated. She led Harry through a warren of back
corridors and halls. She peeked around every corner first and they managed to get back to
Harry's room unseen.

“Thanks a lot, Hermione,” Harry said when he was re-situated in his room, the trunk now in the
corner.

“I think,” Hermione replied firmly, “that you owe me a song. A lot of songs. As a matter of
fact, just keep playing until I tell you to stop.”

Harry smiled slightly, the first time Hermione had seen him do so in five years.

“Do you listen to any Muggle music, Hermione?” he asked, summoning his instruments with a wave
of his wand.

“No, can't say that I do.”

“I listened to a great deal while I was away. I find that it's much better than wizard
music.”

Harry bent over his guitar, the other instruments came into motion, and he began to play:

*'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life*

*Try to make ends meet*

*You're a slave to money then you die*

*I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down*

*You know the one that takes you to the places*

*where all the veins meet yeah,*

*No change, I can change*

*I can change, I can change*

*But I'm here in my mold*

*I am here in my mold*

*But I'm a million different people*

*from one day to the next*

*I can't change my mold*

*No, no, no, no, no*

*Well I never pray*

*But tonight I'm on my knees yeah*

*I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah*

*I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now*

*But the airways are clean and there's nobody singing to me now*

*No change, I can change*

*I can change, I can change*

*But I'm here in my mold*

*I am here in my mold*

*And I'm a million different people*

*from one day to the next*

*I can't change my mold*

*No, no, no, no, no*

*I can't change*

*I can't change...
.........*

As Harry played, the door to his room opened unnoticed. Healer Swift stood there, humming
contentedly. Behind her, more people were gathered around the door. One healer waved his wand and
the music was magically amplified to fill the whole building. People too sick to leave their beds
cried as they felt the anguish in Harry's songs, but felt as if a burden had been lifted from
them as Harry slowly progressed towards a final ending song of hope.

Hermione sat leaning forward, oblivious to all else, legs crossed, elbows resting on thighs,
chin in hands and eyes fixed on Harry's face.

-->



7. A Quick Recovery and Unwanted Discovery
------------------------------------------



**A/N - This chapter we introduce a rare creature: the CAPSLOCK!Hermione. Enjoy =) I apologize
to everyone who's going to hate me for there not being as much action in this chapter as you
probably want. This is turning out to be longer than I had ever imagined and this chapter sets up a
lot of stuff. There's some H/Hr goodness, though****. 1000 bonus points to anyone who can
spot the semi-cleverly hidden H/Hr moment (as opposed to all the blatant clues)** **=)**

**Ok, I just read through it again. You are going to hate me. I think I may have overdone it
with the angst. Sigh. It wrote itself that way.** **Thi****nk** **of this as the HBP
chapter of my story ;)** **Take heart; I'm on the chapter a day schedule still.**

------------------------------------------------------------------

As Harry struck the last note, Healer Swift gave a silent signal and the crowd began to
disperse, though she remained. Hermione had slumped sideways and lay peacefully asleep on the bed,
clutching her otter. She must have taken it out while he played. Swift walked quietly over and made
as if to wake Hermione, but Harry waved her off, a protective look on his face.

“Don't,” he commanded softly. Carefully, he shifted Hermione enough to pull the covers back
and then cover her up snuggly, managing to do so without waking her. She curled up on her side and
happily burrowed further under the covers. She slumbered with a contented little smile on her face,
bushy- no, curly, brown hair spilling over the pillow and softly framing her face.

A touch on his arm caused Harry to look up from his study. Swift motioned him towards the
door.

“She cares for you a great deal, No One,” Swift said once they were out in the hall. “But I have
to tell you it's very much against policy for a healer to spend the night in a patient's
room. Especially one of the opposite gender.”

“Are you trying to imply something?” Harry asked bluntly.

“Not at all. I merely feel compelled to inform you of the regulations of this hospital. I have
already stretched them a great deal for you.”

“Well, I don't give a rat's ass about your regulations,” Harry said roughly. “Hermione
is the best friend I've ever had and she's proved it a hundred times over the last week.
I'd die before I let anything hurt her.”

“Even you?” Swift asked softly.

“Especially me. You think I don't know what I am?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I'm sure you don't know what you are. Hermione does,
though.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Swift cocked her head to one side and regarded him dispassionately.

“Some would say you already did die,” she said finally.

Harry's breath hissed inward sharply. A dangerous light came into his eyes.

“You shouldn't have said that.”

“Why? Are you going to kill me, Harry?”

“I could,” Harry snarled. “You couldn't stop me.”

“That's something Voldemort would have said,” Swift responded calmly. “But you're right;
I couldn't. So, are you going to do it?”

Harry stood very still.

“I thought not. Well, a good night to you.”

“What?” Harry blurted out incredulously at the retreating Healer's back. “You're not
going to take Hermione?”

Swift looked over her shoulder at him. “If you couldn't even bring yourself to curse me, you
certainly won't hurt Hermione, no matter how bad you think you are.”

* * *

Hermione woke up very confused. She wasn't sure where she was at first, but it looked like
one of the rooms at St. Mungo's! A thick blanket was tucked right up to her chin and the bed
was warm and extremely comfortable. From the corner of the room a subdued but consistent fluting
sound brought her fully into wakefulness.

Sitting up abruptly, she spied Harry sitting near the window and blowing softly into a handmade
wooden flute. His eyes met her's over it and then he hit a note so sour they both winced.

“I haven't learned to play this one yet,” he apologized. Sunlight streamed through the
window straight onto Harry.

“What time is it?” Hermione yawned hugely. “How did I get here?”

“It's about ten and you fell asleep while I was playing. I didn't want to move you.”

“Wait... this is your room? Where did you sleep?”

Harry smiled and shook his head.

“What! You sat up all night because I was in your bed?” Hermione gasped, appalled. “You should
have woken me up!”

“No, no, it's ok,” Harry said soothingly. “I wasn't tired. And I needed some time alone
to think anyway.”

An agitated Hermione jumped out of the bed and rushed forward to lay her hand on Harry's
forehead. A tingle ran through him.

“How are you supposed to get better if you don't get any rest, you stubborn man? Though you
do seem alrig-” At that point Hermione realized she was in a rather short sleeping gown. She had
fallen asleep fully clothed. *Oh my god! s*he thought, going beet red.

“Another healer came in and swapped you into that,” Harry said quickly. “A woman. I was in the
loo.”

Hermione nodded, still blushing a deep red.

“Your clothes are over there if you want to change back into them,” Harry pointed, carefully
studying the floor. “They must have washed them right away.”

“Yeah, I think I will,” Hermione said, still slightly pink. She scurried over to the little
table and scooped up her clothes. “Turn around, Harry. I'm not walking half-clothed down the
hall.”

Harry obediently turned and gazed out the window. It was a funny feeling to know that he could
look at the streets of London from her, but the Muggles out there couldn't see this building. A
faint rustling sound behind him informed him Hermione was changing.

“Don't even *think* about peeking,” came her muffled voice. “Or I'll hex your
eyelids shut!”

“Wouldn't even dream of it.”

A forbidding silence followed.

“Ok, you can look now,” informed Hermione a minute later, her voice a bit frosty. She glared at
Harry as he turned.

*You could at least pretend you wouldn't mind seeing me without clothes on,* Hermione
thought, offended. *I'm not that ugly!* A moment later shock ran through her at her
thoughts. *What am I thinking??*

“What?” said Harry infuriatingly. Boys were so dense! “Hey, your shirt's on backwards.”

Hermione glanced down her front automatically and emitted a horrified little squeak. Pulling her
arms inside like a turtle, she spun the shirt around and went red again.

“You need to go to bed right this instant!” she ordered, trying to get back in control of the
situation. *I'm such an idiot!*

“Really, Hermione, I feel great,” he insisted.

“I'll be the judge of that. Lie down on the bed, I'm going to take a look at you.”

She stared lasers into his face and he wisely did as bidden. She ran through the scan again.
This time, Harry gasped and shuddered uncontrollably as the sensation ran through him worse than
ever.

“Wow, Harry!” Hermione said, pleased. “You really *are* doing better. I think we can take
you off a couple more of the potions.”

“Hey...” she said suddenly and began patting her pockets frantically.

Not finding what she was looking for, Hermione dropped to her knees and began looking under the
furniture, but it was nowhere to be found. Dismayed, she scrambled back to her feet to find Harry
standing once again and holding her otter in his outstretched hand. She snatched it back.

“Oh, thank goodness!” She thrust it inside her robes and looked up to find Harry studying her
with a strange expression.

“Hey,” she changed subjects at the speed of light, “did you ever make anything for Ron?”

To her surprise, Harry actually snickered.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He waved his wand, and the trunk opened. Out soared a- well, it looked like
a wooden leg. It was extremely detailed (hairy, too) and the foot in particular was quite large and
heavy looking, wearing what seemed to be one of Hagrid's boots.

“Um... what on Earth-?” Hermione started. Harry snickered again and waved his wand. The leg
sprang into action and Hermione squealed as it delivered a swift kick to her rear.

“You big git!”

“Oh, come on now, little witch,” Harry said as she surreptitiously rubbed her rump. “You
can't tell me it wouldn't be funny seeing that happen to Ron.”

On the verge of an angry retort Hermione paused and thought about it for a moment. The situation
played itself out in her mind's eye; the kick, Ron's freckly wide-mouthed look of shock and
outrage, and Ron dancing up and down grabbing his bottom. She started to giggle.

“Ok, that would be pretty funny,” she admitted, starting to laugh in earnest. “But you could
have just told me!”

“Oh, where's the fun in that?” Harry countered. “Besides, I had to test it and make sure it
worked. Maybe I'll sell the idea to Fred and George...”

“They don't need any help,” Hermione snorted, still chortling. It was undoubtedly the first
time Harry had really resembled his old self. He even chuckled briefly.

“Harry,” Hermione asked once she mastered her mirth. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Calling you what?”

“Little witch.”

“I did?” he blinked.

“Yes... at least twice now.”

“I, um, didn't even notice,” Harry scratched his head. “Maybe... because you're..?” He
held his hands a little ways hands apart as if measuring something small.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Hermione flared.

“Nothing,” Harry stared. “Honestly. You're just tiny.”

“No, I'm not, you overgrown ape!”

“Now now, children,” came an amused voice from the door. Hermione spun and flushed as Healer
Swift studied her.

“How's our patient doing this morning?”

“He's doing really well!” Hermione brightened. “I just scanned him and I think we can take
him of the Blood Replenishing Potion!”

“Well, let me take a look, then.”

Harry watched Swift warily as she approached the bed. Swift looked serene as always. Hermione
frowned as she watched them. Something was off.

“Hmmm, yes,” Swift affirmed as she scanned Harry. “He is doing well. Very well. I think we can
actually take him off all of the potions.”

“What?” Hermione said in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Swift replied. Harry was watching Swift, even warier than ever.

“What's going on?” Hermione said slowly.

“Hermione, dear, come with me for a moment. I have some last minute instructions for Mr. No
One's health.”

* * *

Harry watched the women disappear out the door apprehensively. He wasn't sure what to make
of Swift. The woman had guessed who he was, but didn't seem to be telling anyone. He could
barely hear them murmuring until-

“You did WHAT!?” Hermione's shrill voice carried clearly through the door. “You're
mental!”

Swift said something too softly to make out followed by another outburst from Hermione.

“I am NOT!”

The conference lasted a few minutes longer, during which Harry sifted idly through his trunk. He
felt like working on one of his projects, but he wasn't sure which one.

“Harry!” said Hermione's voice right behind him. He jumped.

“Harry, that's the third time I called your name.”

“Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Right. Well, I've got some good news.” She didn't look very happy, though, Harry
noticed.

“Are you sure it's good news? You look like you just swallowed a lemon whole.”

“Don't be silly. Anyway, Healer Swift says you're healed.”

“I'm healed?” Harry repeated, surprised.

“Yes,” Hermione said, looking at her feet. “You're free to go.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Do you know what else the wretched woman said?” Hermione burst out suddenly. She didn't
give him a chance to answer.

“She said that now you can accept Ron's invitation. And she told me I should go too. That
nosy woman was eavesdropping on us! She's trying to se-” Hermione cut off abruptly.

“Yeah...” Harry wasn't really paying attention. “Hermione... where am I going to go?”

“Oh... um...” Hermione prevaricated.

“I don't have anywhere to go anymore,” Harry said dully. “I can't go back to where I
was, and nobody would take me in.”

Hermione looked desperately anxious.

“Well,” she offered tentatively, “there's a flat open next to mine. It's a little
bigger, two bedrooms, so it'll be more expensive...”

“You'd be ok with living next door to a murderer?” Harry asked.

“... but you could easily afford it if you sold even one of your- HARRY, WILL YOU STOP!!”
Hermione shouted suddenly.

“HAVEN'T YOU BEEN PAYING ANY ATTENTION AT ALL?” she shrieked at a stunned Harry. “OR DO YOU
REALLY THINK I'D SPEND ALL MY TIME WITH SOMEONE I THOUGHT WAS AN EVIL, REMORSELESS KILLER!”

“I, uh-” Harry didn't know what to say. He *was* an evil killer. There was just no
getting around that.

“You're so stupid!” Hermione turned away as tears started forming in her eyes. They stood
there awkwardly for a long time, her back turned to Harry.

“Hermione...” Harry tried to step in front of her, but she resolutely kept her back to him,
shoulders shaking slightly. He finally gave it up as a bad job.

“Listen, Hermione... I'd- I'd like nothing better to live in the next flat over from
you. I really would.”

Hermione finally turned to look at him with puffy eyes. There had been an unmistakable note of
sincerity in Harry's voice.

“Would... would you visit me sometimes if I was?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“Yes, you stupid boy!” Hermione hiccoughed, pummeling his chest with her tiny fists. “Yes! Are
you that dense? Do I have to spell it out for you? Y-E-S. And probably more than
'sometimes'.”

“Spell what out?”

“Oh, Harry...” Hermione shook her head sadly. “You were my best friend for seven years. SEVEN
years! We've faced more stuff together than any other ten people combined face in their whole
lives! And then, at the very moment we finally won, you were gone. It was like losing a part of
myself. I never gave up hope, but it was five years... I thought you were dead. And then I found
you! Of course I want to be around you!”

“Oh... I missed you too, Hermione,” Harry said lamely. *That's not very eloquent...* he
thought.

“It's settled, then,” Hermione decided, taking Harry's hand and leading him out of the
room. “Let's go get you a flat.”

-->



8. A Witch's Guide to Cooking
-----------------------------



**A/N - Hey everyone. I'm really really sorry it took me so long to update. I've been
insanely busy. And the one night I had some free time I had go out with my friends before they
disowned me.**

**I'm not sure where this chapter came from. It wasn't really what I had in mind, but I
started writing and this is what came out. It's a bit more light-hearted and Hermione is really
becoming quite amusing and cute. I didn't get quite as much done as I wanted, but I figure
I'll wrap it up where it is instead of including an event with Ron at the end of it like I had
intended. I'll save that for the next** **chapter****. Enjoy!**

------------------------------------------------------------------

Renting a flat seemed to be a tedious process, but Harry was spared most of it.

“I know the landlady,” Hermione confided on the way over. “She's a witch. Don't worry,
there won't be any problems.”

So Harry wandered around the tiny little office, leafing through magazines and occasionally
listening in while Hermione negotiated the deal. His ears perked up when he heard the landlady ask,
“What does he do for a job?”

“Oh, he's an artist. He makes tons of money,” Hermione said confidently.

“An artist?” the landlady repeated doubtfully.

“Yeah. A real one. Here, look.”

Hermione took something out from her robes and showed it to the landlady, who examined it,
openmouthed. Harry craned his head to see what it was, but Hermione was in the way.

“Yes... yes, I can see,” the landlady murmured, handing whatever it was back.

After that they started talking about retainers and maintenance and all sorts of other
uninteresting things, so Harry tuned out again.

“Ok, Harry, just sign here and here,” Hermione popped in front of him suddenly, waving a couple
pieces of paper.

“Ok,” Harry assented, accepting the pen Hermione offered.

“Aren't you going to read the agreement first?” Hermione asked as Harry bent over
immediately and signed *No One*.

“No. If you say it's square, then it's square.”

“You really should know these things,” Hermione admonished, though she was beaming at him for
some reason.

“If I really need to know, I'll just pop over and ask you.”

“Oh, so you think you can just barge into my place any time you want?”

“Er, well, no,” Harry stammered. “That's not what I meant. I mean, if you don't want to
see me, that's ok.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione laughed. “I'm just teasing. You're always welcome. Come on, you
have your own place now. Let's go get you settled in!”

“What, don't I have to pay anything?”

“I covered it for you,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “And shut your mouth. You can pay me
back later.”

Being in London they couldn't very well just vanish into thin air, so Harry and Hermione
took a thoroughly muggle form of transportation: the taxi. Harry's new place was, to his mind,
a strangely long way away from the office. *Shouldn't they be closer?* he thought.

“Close your eyes,” Hermione, who had been humming to herself, commanded. “We're almost
there.”

“Why?” Harry said, suddenly defensive. “What are you going to do to me?”

Hermione started at the hostility in Harry's voice. He had abruptly gone very tense and
suspicious.

“Because I want it to be a surprise,” she responded carefully.

“Oh... ok.” Harry closed his eyes, and then continued. “I don't like this... I don't
like it at all. Anybody could be sneaking up on me. And it's dark. I don't like the
dark.”

There was a very tightly controlled note of panic in Harry's voice.

“And that's stupid,” he babbled on. “I lived in the dark for years. But I still don't
like it!”

“It's ok, Harry, you don't have to do this,” Hermione said soothingly as the taxi came
to a stop. “Really, it's not that important.”

Harry didn't respond, but he didn't open his eyes either. He was biting his lip so hard
Hermione could see blood, but he held out a hand blindly towards her. She took it tenderly and
helped him out of the taxi; since Harry was effectively blind he missed the triumphant smile upon
her face. What he did notice was a tingle in his arm.

“Hang on just a second, Harry, I'm going to pay the driver and get your trunk out of the
back.”

The world was black to Harry, but full of sounds and smells. Roaring traffic and a confused
welter of voices seemed twice as loud as usual; a wonderful aroma of baking break mixed with a not
so lovely scent of sewage. A gentle breeze tugged at his clothes.

“Keep the change,” he heard Hermione tell the driver.

“Thank you, ma'am.”

A moment later a heavy thud announced that Harry's trunk had joined them on the
sidewalk.

“I can carry that.”

“No, no,” Hermione tutted. “I'm just going to get it out of the way... Move over here,
Harry. A little bit more... there. Now you're blocking it from sight.”

“What are you-” Harry began before he heard a soft pop. “Hermione, you just vanished my trunk on
a street full of Muggles!”

“Nobody saw. And it was messing up my plans!”

“You'd just better hope Ministry of Magic officials don't come swooping down on us,”
Harry warned.

“Oh, bother them,” Hermione snapped. “Since when did they ever do us any good? Anyway, come on.
It's right over here.”

Hermione took Harry's hand again and led him carefully forward with a steady stream of
instructions (“Watch out, there's a hole here”; “Here's a stair”; “Watch your head, low
doorway here”). Harry did his best to relax, but there was a definite stiffness in the way he was
walking.

“Drat it!” Hermione grumbled after they had come to a stop for several moments. “Where did I put
that key?” Harry heard a jingling sound that unexpectedly descended to the floor, accompanied by a
pained, “Ouch, my foot!”

“Aha! Here it is.” The sound of a key being turned in a lock, then a door swinging open.

“Ok, Harry,” Hermione led him in, “here it is. You can open your eyes now!”

Harry did so and gazed around wide-eyed.

“I thought you said it was only a bit bigger than yours!”

“Er, well,” Hermione stumbled guiltily, “I might have been, um, a little mistaken. D'you
like it?”

Harry didn't answer right away; he was busy exploring. The flat was large and open, with a
short hallway from the door into the living area. The living could have doubled for a ballroom and
was covered by a deep beige rug. The kitchen was situated in the middle left, extending past the
living area while indenting into it as well; a waist high divider ran along most of the edge
jutting into the living area. Along the wall near the front hallway was a full bathroom, and on the
other end of the living area was another hall.

“Hermione, how much did this cost?” Harry asked as he entered the kitchen, running his hands
over the counters. “And how did they fit it here? I mean, this place is huge!”

“It, um, didn't cost *too* much,” Hermione said unconvincingly. “It was a really good
deal. And the landlady expanded it. You know. Magically.”

“It's... it's very nice,” Harry said, moving towards the other end and poking his head
into the far hall. “But what am I going to do with all this space? This is the kind of place an
important person lives.”

“You *are* important, Harry,” Hermione retorted. He made as if to respond, but she cut him
off. “You're important to me. And you'll be important to Ron, and everyone else, when you
meet them again.”

Harry disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

“Yeah, about that...” Harry said, re-appearing a moment later. “Are you going to see Ron on
Friday?”

“Oh, um... well, I generally don't go out... but that doesn't mean you
shouldn't.”

“I thought I was too sick to go off gallivanting with Ron and his drunken friends?” Harry
remarked wryly.

“Oh, well, maybe I was a bit hasty. Healer Swift says you're just fine.”

“Healer Swift,” Harry said flatly.

“Yeah...” Hermione was shifting from foot to foot. “Harry, did you and Healer Swift get into a
row?”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away moodily.

“No. Well, maybe. Ok, maybe I did with her. She knows who I am, Hermione!”

“Yes, I know,” Hermione admitted. “She confronted me about it a couple days after I brought you
in.”

“And you didn't tell me?” roared Harry.

“No, I didn't,” Hermione shouted right back. “Because I knew how you'd react! Besides,
she promised me she wouldn't tell anyone.”

“But... let's just forget about that, ok?” Hermione pleaded. “Umm... so are you going to see
Ron on Friday?”

Harry didn't answer; he was still muttering under his breath and pacing restlessly.

“Harry!”

“Huh? What? Oh. No, I don't think so. They're better off without me.”

“No, they're not,” Hermione scowled. “Ron looked for you every day. He still does! I should
know; we did it together!”

Harry stopped short and stood motionless for a second. He may have been about to say something,
but he just wheeled and walked over to his trunk, where he sat down heavily. Hermione could almost
physically see the dark mood descending upon him.

“Well, listen Harry,” Hermione interrupted. “I'll just let you settle in for a bit. I've
got to work a night shift tonight. Ok?”

Harry grunted.

“I'm going to leave my spare key here. You don't have a bed or anything, so if you want
you can sleep at my place. I'll be back in the morning.”

Quietly, Hermione placed the key on the kitchen counter and slipped out the door and crossed
back over to her own flat.

* * *

Harry sat on his trunk and thought about leaving. What was he going to do in a place like this
anyway? And he'd have to live up to Hermione's expectations if he was right next to her. He
knew he could never do that, but he didn't want to let her down. She was the only good thing
that had happened to him in five years, and would be much better off with him far away where he
couldn't hurt her. Yes, the best thing would be to disappear once again.

Decision made, he clambered back afoot and tapped the trunk with his wand. It flew open and all
his stuff, limited as it was, flew out. The worktables floated into an empty bedroom and arranged
themselves against a wall, the battered loveseat thumped down in corner of the living area, and his
instruments in the middle.

Walking into the bedroom he picked up a mostly finished guitar and studied it thoughtfully. He
might as well finish it up and sell it so he could pay Hermione back.

*One more day won't hurt anything. Just one more day. I'll leave tomorrow.*

* * *

By the time Hermione was approaching her flat the sun was rising. It had been an extremely long
shift and the only thing on her mind was a good, long nap. And Harry.

Quietly, she unlocked her door and tiptoed in. Her flat was silent and dark; standing still for
a moment she heard nothing. A quick check in her bedroom showed a pristine bed. Why hadn't
Harry taken up her offer?

A moment ago, Hermione had been exhausted, but now her mind was working too fast. She really
wanted to go and check up on Harry. But she didn't want to be a nag. Two sides of her mind
warred briefly before exhaustion won out. Stumbling back into her room, she managed to strip off
her outer garments before crawling into bed.

* * *

“Mom!” Hermione cried desperately over the phone some time later. “Mom, I need to learn how to
cook in... about one hour!”

A garbled voice came from the other end of the phone.

“Why?” Hermione said. “It doesn't matter, I just need to! Help me, please!”

Soothing garbled noises followed.

“Yeah... yeah, I've got those,” Hermione replied. “What do I do? How do I use them?”

“I do what? Oh. Ok, I understand. D'you mind if I use magic to defrost it?”

“No, magic won't affect how it tastes. Ok, good. Let me get out my utensils...”

* * *

*Done*! Harry thought triumphantly, holding up the finished instrument. *Oh, wait*...
Harry spotted a few details that had escaped him before. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do
at all.

Patiently, he picked up a small hand planer and delicately shaved a smidgeon off the edge of the
instrument. He observed the effect, then picked up the sanding paper to smooth it down. Lastly, he
wiped it over with a bit of stain soaked rag. Another spot irritated him, so he picked up the
planer again...

* * *

“Oh my God, thank you so much, Mom. I love you!” Hermione gushed, staring in awe at the piping
hot meal in front of her.

“What? What makes you think I have a date? What do you mean, it's obvious? No, really, I
don't have a date. I'm just cooking for, um, some of the girls from work. Yeah,” Hermione
lied.

“Ok, well I gotta go now. Thanks a ton! I miss you too. Bye!”

She hung up the phone, tenderly massaging an ear gone red from an hour spent on the phone
receiving instructions. An hour well spent, though. Though her mom wasn't too happy about
Hermione cheating a bit. Well, what was the use of being a witch if you didn't use magic??

“You better like it, Harry!” she said aloud, hurrying over to the bathroom to tidy up. A
shiny-faced Hermione peered back from the mirror, hair in total disarray.

“Oh, dear,” she exclaimed. “This won't do.”

* * *

A knock sounded upon Harry's door just as the sun was beginning to sink. He didn't hear
it at first, busy putting the finishing touches on the guitar. But it came again, louder and more
insistent.

“Ok, ok, I'm coming, Hermione,” he called. He answered the door with the instrument still in
his hands to find a refreshed looking Hermione bouncing up and down impatiently.

“Look,” he said, holding forth the guitar. “It's almost done. I can sell it tomorrow and pay
you back.”

“Oh, it's lovely, Harry! That's great. Listen, it's a bit empty in here yet. Why
don't you come back with me for the moment?”

“Oh... are you sure?”

“No, I'm just asking you so that I can kick you back out! Of course I'm sure. Oh, and
here's your key,” Hermione handed it Harry. “I forgot to give it you yesterday.”

“Ah, well, I could always Alohamora it anyway.”

“Yes, well, that's not the point. Especially not in front of Muggles. But who cares? Come
on!”

Harry appraised her; she was definitely acting a bit odd.

“Um, yea-” he didn't have time to finish as she yanked him out the door and, ignoring her
previous statement, waved her wand at it as she dragged him away. The lock clicked tight.

The hallway outside was long and gloomy, with a door set opposite his. Taking a deep breath,
Hermione opened it and plunged in, taking Harry with her.

A mouthwatering aroma hit Harry the moment he entered and he started to drool involuntarily. On
the table in front of him a veritable feast was laid out. He hadn't eaten much in the last five
years or so, hadn't had any appetite at all. Now, though, he had a sudden understanding of what
it was like to be Ron.

“Hermione,” he turned towards where she was standing nervously, “did you cook all this?”

“Yeah...” she affirmed. “I, um, thought I'd make it in celebration of your flat. Come on,
it's gonna get cold.”

Harry didn't have to be told twice as Hermione led him over to her small table, which was
overflowing. He immediately attacked everything he could reach.

“I didn't know you could cook, Hermione,” Harry said around a mouthful of food. “Hey,
aren't you going to eat anything? I can't eat this all by myself.”

“You look like you're doing a pretty good job,” she replied, amused.

“So,” Harry swallowed a tremendous mouthful, “when did you learn to cook? I had to do it all the
time for the Dursleys.”

Hermione went red and merely shook her head. Harry was stuffing himself as if determined to gain
all the weight he'd lost in one sitting. Occasionally he would surface for air and water.

Some time later, Harry leaned back and massaged his stomach.

“This was really good, Hermione!” Her face lit up with pleasure.

“Your place is... a lot cozier than mine,” Harry noted, looking around.

“Oh, don't worry,” Hermione said hurriedly, “we'll get your place filled up soon.”

“Yeah, I suppose... I don't really want anything. I don't need much. But, hey, I was
thinking...”

Hermione cocked her head in an inquiring manner.

“I was thinking, maybe I will go out with Ron... as No One, of course. I can't tell
them.”

“I think that would be really great, Harry,” Hermione said earnestly.

“Yeah... but I'm only going if you go too.”

“What?” Hermione sat up straight.


“You heard me.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Why are you so unwilling to go out with Ron?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“I'm not! It's just... well, I don't fit in,” Hermione bemoaned, looking down.
“It's so awkward and weird. I don't like feeling like an... an outsider. Outside the
loop.”

“So you won't go?”

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head.

“And *you're* the one telling *me* I should go?”

Hermione gave a weak little laugh. “It is a bit hypocritical, isn't it?”

“ A little? Well, you heard the rules. If you want me to go, you have to go too.”

“You fight dirty,” accused Hermione.

“Yes, well,” Harry said modestly, “us evil, murdering villains are like that.”

“Harry!” Hermione said reproachfully, knowing that he was half joking and half deadly serious.
She summoned a cushion from the couch and walloped him with it, a little harder than was strictly
necessary.

“Witch!” yelled Harry, holding his arms up to protect himself.

“That's right!” screeched Hermione, continuing to pummel him. Finally, Harry tore the pillow
out of Hermione's hands and start pelting *her* with it.

“Ok, you win! I'll go!” she surrendered. “So put that thing down! Let's go shopping; you
need a bed. Don't bother lying to me; I know you didn't sleep last night.”

-->



9. A Night of Nearly Everything
-------------------------------



**A/N - Hey, everyone! Sorry about the delay again. Probably going to be several days for every
chapter for a while. I'm moving =/ Anyway, I really had fun writing most of this chapter. Up
until now it had been mostly Harry and Hermione, but I got more people into** **it**
**now.**

------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday approached quickly, but not without several incidents. Harry sold a few of his pieces
(for very handsome prices) and was able to pay Hermione back. Hermione badgered him into buying a
bed, but he firmly refused to buy any other furniture.

“No, Hermione. I'll make it myself.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Oh, fine. But don't complain to me when you have no place to sit!”

That isn't to say that Hermione was given the slip that easily. She was bound and determined
to be involved in Harry's life rebuilding effort. So Wednesday night she showed up with several
buckets of paint and all the various accessories that accompany it.

“What-” began Harry, but Hermione rolled right over him like a runaway train.

“I think this green would look lovely here and this blue in your bedroom,” she mused
thoughtfully.

Ignoring a spluttering Harry, she waved her wand and the masking tape flew up and began applying
itself. Two of the cans of paint popped up, mixing sticks stirred them vigorously and rollers
assembled themselves. A minute later, the pans were filled and the rollers busy applying the first
coat.

“Did you say something, Harry?” Hermione inquired innocently.

“Um... no, nothing,” he muttered, turning back to the table he was working on where he kept
chuntering under his breath. He planed the edge with a bit more force than necessary and swore
darkly when he took too much off.

“Right,” Hermione said brightly.

So now Harry's living room was a very light green color (which he had to admit brightened
the room considerably) and his bedroom a pale indigo, dark enough to be relaxing when going to bed
and bright enough to be suitable for daytime use.

Thursday afternoon Harry laid out the finished table in the spare bedroom with a fresh coat of
varnish to dry. He had just started to sketch out a rough draft of the chairs to go with it when he
heard Hermione call out from the living room.

“Why did I give her that key?” Harry wondered aloud. He wasn't really mad, just a bit
irritated. The continuous work of building his own furniture had kept him so busy he hadn't
even had time to slip into one of his dark moods.

“What? Did you say something?” Hermione asked as Harry strode out to meet her. She was dressed
in patched old jeans and a faded gray sweatshirt, her voluminous brown hair pulled back into a
messy but functional bun. There was still a green smudge on one cheek.

“Don't you have anything better to do than pester me?” Harry said peevishly, regretting it
immediately as Hermione's warm brown eyes filled with hurt.

“Oh... I'll, um, just go then,” she said quietly and turned to leave.

“Hermione, wait!” Harry leaped forward and grabbed her arm. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it
like that. Er- what was it that you had in mind?”

“It's nothing, Harry,” she insisted, tugging her arm free.

“No, it isn't,” Harry pointed at the door, causing it to lock. “You were checking to see if
the walls needed another coat of paint, weren't you?”

“Why should I care about your walls?” Hermione said frostily, still facing away.

“Listen, Hermione, I'm sorry! I was being an ass!” Harry cast around for a new subject.
“Um... have you ever painted anything by hand?”

“By hand?” repeated Hermione, finally facing Harry. There was a glint in her eye. She stood
silent for a moment and Harry didn't see the can until it was too late.

“Why, no, I don't believe I have,” she finally answered a very green Harry.

“Ok...” Harry said, paint dripping down his face and leaking off the end of one particularly
thick clump of hair, “I may have deserved that.”

“I feel better now,” Hermione smirked. “Now, did you really mean that? Would you paint with
me?”

“Er... as long as we're painting the *walls*.” Harry wiped his face clean. Hermione
smiled mischievously and mopped up the paint with her wand and dumped it back into the bucket,
leaving the rug good as new. Harry remained green, though.

“Yeah...”

So Harry spent several minutes showing Hermione how to use the roller and then conjured a step
stool for her.

“This is really fun!” Hermione enthused at one point. “Now I see why you do this without
magic!”

“Yeah, it's relaxing,” a newly clean Harry agreed, running his roller down Hermione's
back. “Whoops.”

“Hey!” squealed Hermione. A full flung paint war ensued, leaving them both breathless and
multi-colored by the time a truce was agreed upon.

The next day was Friday and Hermione was working an early morning shift. She was due back at
four, at which point she would undoubtedly want a good long kip. Harry prowled about restlessly;
tonight he was supposed to join Ron and his friends for a drink. Ron, who was still under the
impression that he was No One.

Harry stopped pacing to conjure a mirror. He examined himself closely; he was a bit healthier
looking and not quite as gaunt. His white hair and the lack of a scar was probably still good
enough to keep Ron off the trail, though. Just to be sure, he practiced roughening the tone of his
voice.

As time has a habit of doing, it disappeared quite shockingly as the moment of truth approached.
One minute the sun was just reaching its apex, the next Hermione was telling Harry she would only
take an hour (an hour!) to get ready. Then she was knocking on his door.

“Wow, Hermione!” Harry exclaimed. “You look- you look... great!”

Her hair was sleek, two braids coiled around the top to join again in the back and fall straight
down with the rest of her hair, which hung loose. Her face was also somehow different, fuller. She
wore a tight-fighting pair of jeans and a low-cut sleeveless shirt that flared at the bottom. Over
that was a white shrug, twisted into patterns which left more empty space than shirt. Harry had
never realized she was so... shapely.

“Thanks,” Hermione blushed. “I don't go out much...”

“So, where are we going?” Harry asked. “The Leaky Cauldron?”

“Oh, no. There's a little Muggle pub they like, right outside the city. We'll take a
taxi there.”

Hermione hailed a taxi once they reached the street and gave a location to the driver. He nodded
and pulled out into the street. Harry didn't really have anything to say and Hermione was
uncommonly quiet.

“Here ya are, folks,” the driver said, pulling over. Harry slipped out the door and then held it
open for Hermione. She fumbled for her purse, but Harry stopped her with a dirty look and fished
some money out of his pocket.

“Here,” he said uncaringly, handing it to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver's eyes widened as he looked at the sheaf of bills in his hand.

“Thank you, sir!” he said fervently, inclining his head before driving off.

“Harry! You just gave that man a £50 tip!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Harry said vaguely. “He has a family; I saw the pictures on the dashboard. He
can buy his kids something nice. Is that the place?”

Harry pointed at a tiny little pub with a decrepit old sign bearing the legend “**Who'd a
Thowt It**”. But Hermione wasn't paying attention. Instead, she went up on her tiptoes and
planted a kiss on his cheek.

“What was that for?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Hermione said offhandedly. “Yeah, that's the one. Come on, my philanthropic date.
Let's go.”

“Date?” Harry said, nonplussed. “Did you start drinking already when I wasn't looking?”

Hermione smiled and hooked her arm through Harry's.

“And what's philanthropic? Are you making fun of me?”

She just gave another tight-lipped smile and steered Harry towards the pub. Harry gave an
approving nod as they pushed through the thick wooden door. The interior was far nicer than the
exterior; all polished wood and clean lines.

“Oh, there they are!” cried Hermione, immediately releasing Harry's arm. A group of people
had taken up two tables and were waving frantically at Hermione. Ron recognized Ron and Seamus, but
the others were strangers.

“Hermione!” called Ron, leaping up and dashing over to meet them. Harry got a good look at him
and noticed the changes five years had made. Ron was now noticeably heavier; not fat, but more like
a tall version of the twins instead of Bill or Percy. His face was filled out and his eyes wiser.
His hair was as vividly red as ever, though.

“Hey, No One!” Ron greeted cheerfully as he skidded to a halt. “Glad you could make it! I see
you managed to get Hermione to come! Good job! And... blimey...”

Ron looked Hermione up and down.

“... you even got her to dress up!”

“Ron!” Hermione went crimson at his scrutiny.

“You *didn't* elope with her, did you?” Ron demanded suspiciously.

“Hmmmmm...” Harry considered. “Well...”

“You're awful! The both of you!” Hermione stormed away to join the rest of the group. Ron
laughed delightedly.

“That was perfect, mate. You'll fit right in. Come on, I'll buy you a drink.”

“No thanks,” Harry declined politely as they walked over. “I don't drink.”

“Oh, come on,” Ron egged him. “Just one. It won't hurt.”

“Well... ok. But just one. I'm not the nicest drunk.”

They reached the table and Ron pulled up an empty chair for Harry and started making
introductions.

“Hey, everyone!” Ron said loudly. “This is No One. Yeah, that's really his name. He was a
patient of Hermione's at St. Mungo's and I ran into him there and invited him out
tonight.”

“No One, this is my girlfriend, Charlotte,” a red-haired woman with his eyes waved at him;

“Seamus,” sandy-haired and short, Seamus looked just as Harry remembered;

“Meg,” Ron indicated a tiny black-haired girl sitting next to Seamus;

“Will,” a medium height stocky fellow with a quick grin, short spiky brown hair and brown
eyes;

“Travis,” a tall burly man with thick straw colored hair and blue eyes;

“And Carolyn,” a merry-eyed skinny brunette with short hair grinned at him.

“Hi everyone,” Harry mumbled.

“Nice to meet you!” Will greeted.

“Is that you natural hair color?” asked Carolyn.

“Er- yeah,” Harry answered.

“Cool!”

Harry plopped down on his chair and slumped a bit, trying to go unnoticed. Immediately, Hermione
drew her chair next to his and hovered beside him protectively.

“Here ya go, mate,” Ron thumped a pint down in front of Harry. “Try it, it's the house ale.
You'll like it.”

Harry sipped it cautiously. It was bitter and strong, but not unpleasant. Several conversations
were springing up around Harry as the rest of the people split off into little groups; Hermione was
engaged by Seamus and Meg. He tried to concentrate on some of the topics as he nursed his beer.

“So, No One,” a booming voice made Harry jump, “what do you do for a living?”

Harry turned and saw he was being addressed by Travis, the large, blonde-headed man.

“I, er, make things,” Harry said rather unhelpfully.

“Well, that really clears things up!” laughed Carolyn, and the others joined in. Harry was
slightly disconcerted to see everyone focusing on him.

“Yeah, like furniture and instruments and stuff,” he had a go anyway. “Some carving, too. Mostly
stuff made from wood.”

“Really?” Charlotte asked keenly. “How interesting!”

“Yeah, he's really good!” Hermione interjected. “Here, look at this that he made.”

She pulled out her otter and handed it around. There was a great deal of oohing and ahhhing.
Harry frowned; did she take the thing everywhere with her?

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Ron, handing it back to a watchful Hermione. “Where did you learn to do
that?”

“I, uh, just sort of picked it up.”

“So you must know all sorts of nifty, um,” Seamus lowered his voice, “*spells*.”

“No... I do it all by hand.”

“By hand??” Will choked on his ale. “You're kidding!”

“Nope.”

Everyone looked at Harry with a mixture of respect and the kind of look you give someone
who's not quite all there. He shifted uncomfortably and attempted to change the subject.

“So, er, what do you do, Ron?” he asked.

“Well, I-” Ron started, but was interrupted by Charlotte.

“Nothing, if he can help it,” she snorted. “Except Quidditch.”

“I work at the Ministry,” Ron said in a dignified voice, ignoring Charlotte. “My dad got me a
position there in the Department of Experimental Charms.”

“Yeah,” Hermione giggled, “he's forever making up new spells. The problem is, he isn't
trying to.”

“Excuse me,” Ron said stiffly as they all laughed uproariously. “It was only *once*.”

“It's ok, sweetie,” Charlotte patted him on the arm, “I still love you... even if you did
turn yourself into a girl for a day.”

Even Harry laughed at that.

“Hey, who's side are you on?” demanded Ron.

“Sorry,” gasped Harry. “Er, you, um, play Quidditch?”

“Yeah... but just in an amateur league, nothing serious. Those gits are on the team too,” Ron
motioned at Will, Travis and Carolyn.

“Yeah, he's our fearless leader,” Carolyn said in mock admiration, miming a very lifelike
swoon. Charlotte pretended to slap her, then they collapsed into each other's arms in
mirth.

“He's Keeper,” Will whispered loudly, “but he gets nervous in front of people. Especially
pretty girls. You should have seen him the first time Charlotte came to see a game...”

“Shut it!” Ron's ears turned red. But Will didn't. In stuttering bits, Harry gathered
that Ron had fallen off his broom but somehow managed to hang on with his *foot*, of all
things. But he'd banged his head on the goal post and managed to kick the loose Quaffle into
his own goal while flailing around.

By the time the story was over Travis was clutching his sides and had tears running down his
face he was laughing so hard. Ron wore a grumpy expression and stomped off to get another
round.

“Oh dear,” Charlotte mourned. “Now you've gone and upset him. You're going to make me
work extra hard tonight to cheer him up.”

Meg snickered and Charlotte gave her a wicked little grin. Ron returned in a slightly better
humor, though he did manage to *accidentally* spill half a pint onto Will.

Harry, to his surprise, found himself enjoying the night a great deal. He was accepted almost
immediately into the group; it was a situation he hadn't found himself in in more than five
years and he rather enjoyed it. The night wore on with more of the same good humor.

“I think it's past my bedtime,” Hermione said around 11:30. “I'm afraid I need to get
going. No, you stay here, No One. I can find my own way home.”

She pushed Harry back down; he had automatically started to rise.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I'm a big girl, I can handle it,” Hermione said dryly, but smiled to take the sting
out of it.

“Oh. Right, then,” Harry said awkwardly, watching her leave. She was walking differently
somehow... something about her hips that made him pay more attention. Ron gave him a considering
look, then leaned in close.

“Pretty, isn't she?”

“What?” Harry said, distracted.

“She's pretty, Hermione. She should take the time to make herself up more often,” Ron said
offhandedly, eying Harry beadily.

“Um, yeah...” Harry said, at a loss.

“You know, she and I had a thing for a bit. Didn't take us very long to figure out we
weren't meant for each other, though. We were always fighting over one little thing or
another.”

Harry didn't say anything. He knew perfectly well that Ron and Hermione had a brief fling.
Almost in the literal sense of the word.

“Funny thing is, we got on much better afterwards. We stopped fighting all the time. She said I
grew up. I think maybe she was right.”

“Er- right.” Harry was starting to feel distinctly uneasy; he was gripped by a strong sense of
urgency, like there was something wrong.

“You know,” Ron was saying, giving Harry a measuring look, “she's been acting awful funny
lately, Hermione. I reckon she fancies you, which must make you quite the guy. I would have sworn
she was still in love with Harry.”

“What?” Harry said sharply, focusing back on Ron. “Harry?”

“Yeah, Harry Potter... you know, she and I were his best mates at Hogwarts.”

“Hermione was in love with Harry Potter?” Harry demanded. “She told you that?”

“Well, no... but I'm pretty sure she was,” Ron frowned at Harry's insistence. “She looks
for him every day, you know. Every single day since he disappeared.”

“Nonsense,” Harry muttered to himself. “We're just friends. You never could see what was in
front of your nose anyway.”

“What was that you said?” Ron asked, his eyes suddenly sharp.

“I said, 'We're just friends',” Harry said louder. “I mean, she was my healer.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron said, still staring hard at Harry, “Hermione's a pretty special person. If
I was you, I'd mull things over a bit. Just my two cents, mate.”

Harry stood up abruptly and the conversation cut off as everywhere looked at him in surprise.
The feeling of unease was greater than ever.

“I'm... not feeling well,” Harry said unsteadily. “I don't think I'm completely
better yet. I'd better go. Thanks for inviting me.”

“That's the ticket,” Ron said with a wink.

“No, no, that's not it at all,” Harry murmured, rubbing his forehead. “Something isn't
right... I've gotta go...”

“Hey, No One, it was nice to meet you!” Carolyn said boldly, and the rest joined in.

“Yeah... nice to meet you too... I'll see you later,” Harry said vaguely then turned and
half ran out the door.

* * *

Hermione was humming merrily as she stepped out of the bar and across the street. Tonight had
been better than she had dared hope; Harry had taken immediately to Ron and his friends, looking
happier than she had seen him in ages.

“Hello there, little lady,” a coarse voice called from behind Hermione. She whipped around to
see a squat little man behind her. He was fat and bald with a small, squeezed in face and wearing
black robes.

“Aren't you a pretty little thing?” he leered.

“Stop playing with her, you disgusting toad,” another voice, much deeper, commanded from the
shadows. “Just stun her and get it over with.”

Hermione tried to pull out her wand and scream, but the toadlike little man was too quick.

“*Petrificus Totalus!*”

Hermione was instantly frozen and toppled forward. The man scurried forward and lifted her onto
his shoulder. He could have easily moved her with magic, but obviously enjoyed it this way
more.

“Yes, sir, coming right along,” he wheezed, carrying Hermione, whose inner voice was gibbering
with terror, over towards a shadowy alley.

“You thought you were all safe, didn't you my little morsel,” the fat man whispered
furiously. “Thought we were all gone now that the Dark Lord is no more. Oh no, no, no. We are still
carrying on his glorious work. And you, you filthy little mudblood, you were with Potter when the
Dark Lord met his downfall.”

“I'm going to have such fun with you before we kill you. You're dressed up so pretty,”
the man giggled grotesquely. "But first, you're going to lead us to Potter. We know
he's not dead. Oh yes.”

They had reached the the alley and the fat man dumped her on the ground roughly, back propped up
against the wall.

“Here she is, sir,” he said obsequiously. “What are we going to do to her?”

“You're not going to do anything, you foul little man,” the other, a very tall man
completely swathed in black, said contemptuously. “Just stand over there and be quiet.”

The toadlike man looked murderous for a moment, but bowed and scurried away.

“Now, my dear,” the man with the deep voice said, “you are going to tell us where Harry Potter
is.”

He waved a wand and Hermione suddenly had control of her head again. She immediately screamed,
but nothing more than a hoarse whisper came out.

“Don't waste your time. Just go ahead and talk to us. It'll be easier that way.
You'll get a quick, painless death that way.”

“I don't know,” Hermione lied hoarsely.

The man clucked disapprovingly and raised his wand. Hermione was gripped in the most intense
pain she had ever felt; every part of her body was screaming in agony. She tried to scream again,
but it was no use. The other man licked his lips and had a sick hunger in his eyes.

“Now, would you like to try again? Where is Harry Potter?” the tall man asked pleasantly,
lowering his wand. *Oh, Harry*... Hermione thought, tears rolling down her face.

“I. Don't. Know.” She gritted her teeth. The man sighed and raised his wand again. At that
moment a shocking, savage animal growl rang out in the night.

“You want me?” growled a voice as the two men whirled. “You've got me.”

The two man were hurled back by a roaring gust of wind, slamming into the wall with sickening
thuds and pinned there. Hermione clearly heard the sound of bones snapping as the paralysis dropped
from her. She couldn't do more than twitch uncontrollably and raise her head. Harry stood not
ten feet away, his face twisted madly into a grimace of hate and rage. He was barely recognizable,
but the aura of power beating on the air around him was every bit as strong as that which had
accompanied Dumbledore or Voldemort.

“Harry,” she whispered weakly, but he didn't seem to hear.

Pain clouded her assailant's faces; they were fading out of consciousness quickly.

“Oh, no,” Harry whispered terribly. “You're not getting away so easily.”

He waved his wand again and the film cleared from their eyes; vertebrae popped as they were
healed. Their wands floated up in front of them and they were released.

“Take them,” Harry said in a deadly voice. “Take them and attack me.” The men stood very still
then, as one, snatched at the wands. It was to no avail. Before they could so much as raise them,
Harry blasted them into dust.

“Now, run, you bastards. RUN!”

They didn't need any more prompting; they turned tail and fled. But Harry was too far gone
into madness. They didn't make it three steps before they collapsed on the ground, shrieking in
agony. Harry cut their voices off so they writhed silently. Hermione watched in horror as huge
gaping wounds appeared and then healed themselves instantly, over and over.

“Harry, stop,” she struggled to her feet and stumbled towards him.

“Please, stop!” she cried, leaning on him. He staggered back a step. A glimmer of reason
returned to his eyes as he saw Hermione and he lowered his wand.

“Harry, what was that? Was it... Crucio?”

“Crucio?” Harry laughed bitterly. “No, that's for amateurs. This one hurts just as much, but
it's much more damaging psychologically to see your body torn apart.”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, shocked.

“They deserved it! You can't feel bad for them!” Harry yelled.

“I don't care about *them*!” Hermione yelled back, tears streaming down her face. “I
hate what it's doing to *you*!”

Harry stared at her like he'd never seen her. The madness faded from his eyes and he wrapped
an arm around her waist, supporting her.

“Please.. take me home,” Hermione begged, leaning gratefully against him.

“They have to die,” Harry said flatly. “They're Death Eaters. And they know who I am.”

“No more killing, Harry,” Hermione said firmly. “Haven't you seen enough?”

Harry didn't say anything for a long time. He seemed to be struggling against himself.
Finally, he raised his wand and Hermione tensed. But all that happened was cords flew out the end
and bound the two men.

“*Oblivio*,” Harry muttered. Another wave after that and the bodies disappeared with a
pop.

“What did you do?” Hermione asked tremulously. Harry laughed humorlessly.

“They're sitting in the Ministry of Magic. When they wake up in the morning they'll find
themselves surrounded by Ministry of Magic officials and have an intense urge to confess their
crimes, plus a few extras I planted in their minds. And they'll remember none of this. Not even
Voldemort could have broken this Memory Charm.”

“Harry...” Hermione whispered, her eyes shining. “I'm really proud of you. Take me home now.
Please...”

Harry picked her up effortlessly and disapparated back to their flats. He kicked the door to
Hermione's flat open, not even bothering with the key, and carried her to her room. Her arms
were curled around his neck and head rested on his chest.

“Here was are, Hermione,” he said quietly, attempting to lay her down in her bed, but she
wouldn't let go.

“Don't leave me alone. I'm scared.”

Harry said nothing, but gently disentangled her arms and tucked her into her bed. She cried out
and felt his weight settle on the bed beside her and his hand reach out to grip hers reassuringly.
Comforted by his presence, feeling safe, she fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, he was gone. His door was locked and no spell or amount of pounding or shouting
could rouse him.

**(Quick A/N. Just so there is no confusion here, there is nothing sexual about th****e**
**scene** **with Hermione being captured****. Her antagonists** **get a rise out of**
**hurting** **people****.****)**

-->



10. Truth is Blind
------------------



**A/N - Got this updated more quickly than I thought. It's a long chapter too. Things are
really starting to happen, though, and you learn what happened to a few of the other important
canon characters. Harry learns that a few things about what the effects of his enforced exile are
too. Hope you all like it!**

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Harry!” called Hermione, pounding on his door at around noon. “Harry, open up!”

There was no response. This was at least the tenth time she'd tried today and she was
getting irritated looks from the other tenants. She couldn't have cared less.

“Harry, please...” Hermione slumped down to the floor and ended up leaning against the door, the
side of her face pressed up against it. She lay crumpled there for quite some time before a sound
intruded upon her. She pressed her ear up against the door and realized Harry was playing.
Straining, she managed to pick out the words.

*Bought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughing at the rain
A little out of touch, a little insane
It's just easier than dealing with the pain...*

“Harry...”

Ron found her like that several hours later, half asleep.

“Hermione!” he cried. “Whatever are you doing?”

“What?” Hermione jumped to her feet, dazed. “Oh... hi, Ron...”

“Why are you sleeping outside this door?” Ron asked, concern in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione countered.

“You first.”

Hermione set her jaw stubbornly and Ron sighed.

“Ok, fine. I tried calling earlier to invite you and No One to my Quidditch match, but
didn't get any answer, so I decided to swing by to see, uh, how things were going.”

“Oh...”

“Now, your turn. What are you doing?” Ron demanded. “Do you know the person who lives
there?”

“I, um...” Hermione gulped. “Well, obviously...”

“Hermione, what's going on? You've been acting very strange for a couple weeks now. Did
you see No One last night after you left?”

“Oh, Ron, it's awful!” Hermione wailed suddenly. “I was leaving last night and this man,
he...”

“He didn't hurt you, did he?” Ron cut in sharply. “He hurried out right after you, all
bothered. I knew he looked shifty...”

“No!” Hermione denied vehemently. “It wasn't Ha-him, he'd never! And now he-” Hermione
was babbling.

“This isn't a good place,” Ron interrupted, glaring at a nosy neighbor that had just poked
their head out. “Come on, let's get inside.”

Ron steered Hermione back towards her flat and she obediently allowed him to walk her over to
the couch and sit her down. She was rumpled and frightful looking; she hadn't even changed from
the clothes she'd worn the previous night. The look wasn't quite the same anymore.

“Ok,” Ron dragged a chair over and sat across from her. “What happened?”

Hermione took a steadying breath and twisted her hands, but launched into an explanation of the
previous night. Ron's jaw dropped as she told him, and a slow anger built in his eyes.

“And... No One lives there, Ron,” Hermione finished. “He brought me home and watched over me
while I slept, then locked himself in his flat. He won't come out. He won't even
answer.”

“But why?” Ron asked, puzzled. “What's wrong with him?”

Hermione's eyes darted nervously.

“He's... he's really sensitive. Remember how Harry started blocking us out when he was
upset? Well, No One is like that, but a hundred times worse. I think he's really guilty over
what he did to those Death Eaters...”

“What did he do?” Ron asked quickly. “You just told me he stopped them and disapparated them to
the Ministry.”

“He, er-”

“Tell me he hurt them!” Ron snarled savagely. Hermione looked up in surprise at the fierce note
in Ron's voice.

“He, um... he was a bit rough with them,” Hermione said timidly.

“A bit rough? That's it? That's why he's upset?” Ron was incredulous. “Those men
were Death Eaters and murderers and they were torturing you! He couldn't have been rough enough
on them!”

“I- I think he was,” Hermione said faintly. Ron frowned.

“Hermione... I think there's something you're not telling me.”

“There are a lot of things I don't tell you, Ron,” Hermione retorted with a touch of
asperity in her voice. Ron held up his hands defensively.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized immediately. “I'm a little upset...”

“Perfectly understandable,” Ron said sympathetically. “Listen... why don't you go take a
shower and get cleaned up? It'll make you feel better and then we can bust into No One's
flat. It seems I assumed the worst of him and I owe him an apology.”

“I'd like that,” Hermione said with a faint smile. “Thanks, Ron. I'm so sorry, it seems
like I'm just having one breakdown after another and you keep getting stuck with me. You're
a wonderful friend. Love you.”

“Any friend would do the same,” Ron said stoutly, a bit red. Hermione kissed him on the cheek
and departed for the bathroom. In what seemed like record time (for a girl), Hermione was showered
and dressed in a fresh set of clothes.

“Ready?” she asked.

“In a minute... I wanted to ask you something.”

“Um, ok...” Hermione said slowly, taking a seat once more.

“So,” Ron said in an entirely too casual voice, leaning back with his arms flung out. “Are you
going to tell me where you *really* met this No One?”

Hermione stared, her heart starting to pound.

“What are you on about?” she asked quickly.

“Well...” Ron drew out the word. “It seems an awful coincidence that he just happens to live
next door to you. And you walked in arm in arm with him; I saw it. *And* you behave as if
you've known him for years. I'm not stupid, you know.”

“I told you, Ron. He was a patient of mine. And a *friend*. And it's not a coincidence
at all that he lives next door. I got him that flat the day he was released from St.
Mungo's.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because he's my frie-”

“You know what I think, Hermione?” Ron spoke right over her. “I think you fancy this bloke.”

“Nonsense!” Hermione denied, though a blush flooded her cheeks. “Really, Ron, where do you get
these ideas?”

“Come on now, Hermione,” Ron said skeptically. “I saw how you were acting; you haven't let
any guy get within shouting distance of you since, well... since us. Except now you hover over this
No One like a mother hen.”

“He was sick, Ron! It was my job! And... well, he was lost. He needed some help; he had no place
to live and no idea what the stuff he made was worth. I couldn't just leave him.”

“Of course... hey, I'm not saying it like it's a bad thing. He certainly seems like a
nice enough guy; reminds me a bit of Harry...”

Hermione's face instantly went blank at the mention of Harry's name.

“I even told him, after you left, that-” Ron stopped suddenly, realizing that he had perhaps
revealed too much.

“You told him what?” Hermione asked in a dangerous voice.

“Oh, nothing,” Ron said breezily. “Just guy stuff. You know.”

“Ron.”

Ron was wearing the most innocent expression Hermione had ever seen on another human being. She
distrusted it on principle.

“Ron, what did you say to him? If you don't tell me, I'm going to do something
unpleasant to you.”

“It was nothing, really. You see,” Ron started talking really fast, “I saw him watching you when
you were leaving. And, you know, I said 'She's awfully pretty, isn't she'? I was
just looking after you, ya know? Trying to feel this guy out.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.”

“Oh, and I might have told him that I think you fancy him,” Ron threw out, almost as an
afterthought.

“You *WHAT?*” Hermione practically screamed.

“Well, maybe not in that many words,” Ron said reasonably. “Oh, yeah. I may also have said that
must make him pretty interesting 'cuz I reckoned that you were still in love with Harry.”

“*WHAT?????”* This time Hermione did scream. And go quite pale as well.

“WHAT GAVE YOU THAT CRACKPOT IDEA?? AND WHY, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, WOULD YOU GO TELLING THAT TO
SOMEONE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!!”

“I, uh, might have had a bit to drink at that point,” Ron said rather lamely. “Hey, you were the
one who brought up my accident! You've got no right to talk! And I liked him; thought he was a
decent bloke. Turns out I was right, too.”

“Of course he's a decent *bloke*! I wouldn't bring some smarmy creep out with me,”
Hermione fumed. “I don't know whether to hex you or just strangle you with my bare hands! Both
sound really appealing. What on earth possessed you to say something like that to him?”

“So you *do* you fancy him,” Ron said bluntly.

“I didn't say that! And since when has my love life been any of your business?” bristled
Hermione.

“Hermione,” Ron said patiently. “You're my best friend and I love you dearly. I can't
help but notice.”

“Well, maybe you should stop noticing and start minding your own business!” Hermione flared. Ron
was coming a little too close to the truth and it was scaring her.

“Hermione. All I want is what any friend wants; I want you to be happy.”

Hermione's lower lip trembled suddenly and she looked away.

“You *are* in love with *him*, aren't you?”

“What? Who?” Hermione pretended ignorance.

“Don't play the fool with me, Hermione! It's not fair to me, and it's not fair to No
One!” Ron said sharply. More sharply than he had intended, for Hermione flinched and started
sniffling.

“Oh no... Hermione, don't cry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.” Ron made towards her
and Hermione let him enfold her in his arms.

“Hermione, he's dead,” Ron said quietly as she wept into his shoulder. “Harry's
dead.”

“No, he's not!” Hermione cried, pulling away. “I *know* he's not.”

“*How* do you know? You've gotta face the facts, Hermione. If he was alive, he would
have been back ages ago. Nothing could have kept him away. He defeated You-Know-Who!”

“He's not dead! I'm one hundred percent certain he's not!”

Ron looked at her in disbelief and sighed.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked patiently.

“I-” Hermione bit her lip. “Ron, you just have to trust me. I know Harry's alive.”

Ron sighed again.

“Are you still going to deny you're in love with him?”

“Ron! You have no idea what I'm feeling!”

“Oh, I think I do,” Ron said softly. “I remember you telling us about Cho. How she was all
confused because she couldn't figure out who she liked more: Cedric or Harry; and how she was
guilty about liking Harry after Cedric died. This is just the same, isn't it? See? I do listen
to you.”

Hermione hiccuped and peered at Ron with wide eyes, then started laughing weakly.

“Oh, Ron... you have no clue what you just said. No clue.”

“If you say so, Hermione.”

“I do,” Hermione shook her head. “Come on, let's go shake No One out of his flat. You've
got to get going for your game soon.”

“Oh,” Hermione added as they got up, wiping her cheeks. “Next time you're going to say
anything mental like that to him, run it by me first.”

Ron chuckled and they made their way over to Harry's door.

“No One!” Hermione called, pounding on his door with Ron at her side. The faint music stopped,
but there was no answer.

“No...” Hermione shook her head as Ron opened his mouth to try.

“Well, thanks for stopping by, Ron!” Hermione said loudly, then waved her wand and what sounded
like a large guy stomping away echoed in the hall. Hermione counted silently to sixty.

“No One,” she spoke softly this time, and sincerely. “No One... I'm frightened. I dreamed
they came back and you weren't be there to save me... Please, let me in...”

This time, the door opened. There was no one there, but they took it as an invitation and
stepped in.

“What-?” Ron gaped. The place was half trashed, half perfect. On one side were splintered pieces
of wood that looked as if they had been smashed in rage, on the other a full set of chairs for the
table, a couch needing only cushions and a lifelike knee high carving of a shaggy dog; unmistakably
Sirius.

“No one is going to hurt you, Hermione,” a voice came from the bedroom. “I won't allow
it.”

“No One!” Hermione said in her brightest voice. “We have a visitor!”

A long minute of silence followed, then Harry appeared in the doorway.

“Ron? What are you doing here? That was a dirty trick, Hermione,” he said reproachfully.

“Ron came by to invite us to his Quidditch match, No One,” Hermione ignored the jibe.

“Yeah, that's right,” Ron said casually. “I thought Hermione and you might like to get out
and see a game.”

“Hmmm...” Harry considered, then turned away to face Hermione. He looked good, all things
considered. Clean, well-groomed. Thoughtful.

“Hermione,” Harry looked her straight in the eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't answer before, I
just needed some time. It was selfish of me; I didn't think about how you were feeling at
all.”

“Oh!” Hermione mouthed, surprised. Harry didn't look distraught at all. Guilty and sad, but
not the self-loathing that had so often marked him recently.

“It's ok. Are you ok?”

“Yes... I'm fine, thanks to you. Thank you very much for... stopping me, last night.”

“Thank *you* for saving me and... staying with me while I slept...” Ron was examining the
carving of Sirius intently, trying to pretend he wasn't there.

“Yeah, well,” Harry replied a bit moodily. “I still think you'd be better off without me. It
was my fault you were attacked.”

“Now wait a minute, mate,” Ron broke in, unable to help himself. “How do you reckon that?
Hermione told me all about it. If it wasn't for you Hermione would be...”

“Listen,” Ron took a deep breath. “I, er, want to apologize. I assumed the worst about you
before Hermione told me the whole story and I was bang out of order. I'm sorry.”

Ron stuck out his hand. For a moment Harry just stared at it, then he slowly reached forward and
took it.

“No, you were just doing your duty as a friend. You had every right to think the worst of me.
And you're not wrong. It was my fault.”

“That's mental, you-” Ron began.

“Yeah, you're such a horrible person, No One!” Hermione interrupted in irritation. “You
befriend lonely children, give all your money to the poor and save damsels in distress. It's
just such a good thing that no one else is like you!”

Frustration shone in Hermione's face.

“I've got to use the bathroom,” she stomped off.

“Er- yeah,” Harry said uncertainly. Ron chortled again.

“Don't worry, that's just how Hermione is.”

“Mmmm.”

“Do you really?” Ron asked curiously. “I mean, give your money to the poor and stuff?”

“Oh, she's exaggerating. I give a Knut or two away every now and then...”

“No,” Ron disagreed. “Hermione never exaggerates. She may fly off the handle every now and then,
but...”

There was an awkward silence and Ron examined the carving again.

“Say, mate... where did you get the idea for this? It looks just like a dog I used to know.”

“That?” Harry glanced warily at it. “That, I... saw a picture of a dog in Hermione's photo
album and I decided to try and carve it.”

“Ah... that would do it, I suppose. You must have a brilliant memory. But, you know something
else that's funny?” Ron mused. “That otter you gave her (a brilliant piece, by the way)... her
Patronus is an otter. I just remembered. How did you know to give her *that* piece?”

“He didn't,” Hermione's voice cut in. She was standing in the doorway to the bathroom.
“I saw it, and asked if I could have it and he was nice enough to give it to me.”

“Come on, Ron. You're going to be late for your game. And we will be going too, won't
we, No One?” It was only half a question.

“Um, yeah,” Harry blinked. “Hang on a moment, I need to get something...”

He shuffled off to the spare bedroom and they could hear the clunk of a trunk opening and
closing. A minute later Harry re-appeared, a magnificent broomstick in his hand, though unlike any
model Ron or Hermione had ever seen.

“Here,” he held it out to an open-mouthed Ron. “Take it. I don't need it for anything.”

“I couldn't do that!” Ron said, aghast. “That's gotta be worth a fortune! Though I
don't recognize the make...”

“Well, you wouldn't. I made it myself,” Harry grinned, then hastened to add. “Don't
worry, it's ok! I tested it out myself; it works perfectly.”

“You made?” Ron mouthed.

“Yeah. Take it,” Harry forced it into Ron's hands.

“Just- just for this one game,” Ron said stubbornly.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

“Yeah...” Ron tore his eyes away from the broomstick. “Ok, let's apparate there. They've
got a special apparation point for us players and you can come along with me. I'll get you
prime seats.”

“I'll do it!” Hermione said swiftly, grabbing each of them by the arm. “I want all our body
parts ending up in the right place.”

A moment later they went through the familiar disjointed, gut-wrenching sensation and found
themselves in a small clearing. Clearly visible behind them was a modest sized Quidditch stadium.
It was a bright, sunny day, not a cloud in sight. Nearly prefect Quidditch conditions, if a bit too
bright.

“Where are we?” Harry asked.

“Somewhere in Ireland, I think,” Ron said vaguely. “They grabbed a spot of land and put Muggle
repelling charms all over it. They'll pack it away when the season's done and find a new
place for next year.”

“Ah... makes sense.”

“Come on, I'll get you seats. You can meet my sister too; she'll be listening to the
game.”

Ron strode away purposefully. Harry started to follow and felt Hermione's tiny hand slip
into his.

“That was a really nice thing, giving Ron that broom,” she whispered in his ear. “It is safe,
isn't it?”

“Oh, yes. I put it through the mill.”

“Good... you're going to have to tell Ron soon, you know. He's going to figure it out; I
can't keep covering for you.”

Harry scowled. “What did Ron mean, 'listening'?”

“Hoy!” Ron himself called impatiently from ahead. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yes, sorry!” Hermione jumped and let go of Harry's hand. They hurried after Ron and he led
them confidently into the stadium.

“Hey, Ron,” an attendent greeted cheerfully. “Friends of yours?”

“Yeah, that's right,” Ron winked. “Gonna get them seated next to Ginny. Ok?”

“Sure thing. I'll just move those tickets to another location.”

“Thanks!”

Ron led them up hundreds of stairs to just below the top box. Seated there were Seamus, Meg and
Ginny Weasley, among others.

Ginny looked just like Harry remembered her; slender with vivid long red hair and, undoubtedly,
beautiful. She was wearing a serene expression he had never seen on her before.

“Hey guys!” Ron called. “Look who I found wandering the streets!”

“Hey, Hermione! Hey, No One!” Seamus greeted them.

“No one?” Ginny tilted her head oddly to one side. Harry's heart skipped a beat as he saw
her eyes weren't tracking properly. “What do you mean 'no one', Seamus?”

“It's a name, Ginny,” Ron explained. “He's a friend of Hermione's. Listen, I gotta
get down to the locker room. I'll see you lot after the game.”

He leaned forward briefly and kissed Ginny on the cheek. She smiled and wished him luck.

“Ginny,” Hermione said, taking a seat beside her, “this is No One. Here's a friend (and a
former patient) of mine.”

“What an odd name!” exclaimed Ginny, but she held out a hand blindly. Hermione gently redirected
it towards Harry, who was standing uncomfortably in front of a seat beside Hermione; two over from
Ginny. “But if you're Hermione's friend, then I'm pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure's mine,” Harry muttered, taking her hand. He meant to let go quickly, but she
gripped it convulsively when she heard his voice.

“Harry?” she whispered.

“I beg your pardon?” Harry said cautiously, trying to extricate his hand.

“It's you, Harry! Harry Potter! Where have you been all this time!?”

“No, he's not, Ginny,” Seamus laughed. “He couldn't look less like him!” Meg nodded in
agreement.

“I'm telling you, this is Harry!” Ginny said angrily, still clutching his hand. “I know what
his voice sounds like! Harry, why are you pretending to be someone else?!”

“I'm afraid you must be mistaken,” Harry said carefully, finally managing to free his hand.
“I may sound like him, but if you could see me I'm sure you'd agree that I'm not.”

“I may be blind, but I'm not stupid, Harry!”

“Ginny...” Hermione began, taking her hand with an anguished look on her face. “Why would No One
lie if he was really Harry Potter?”

She threw a bitter glance at Harry, who looked extremely guilty. This was more than he had ever
bargained for and, for the first time, he began questioning his motives.

“I don't know!”

“Look, the match is about to start,” Harry said suddenly, trying to change the subject. He then
cursed himself for his thoughtlessness.

“I'm sorry, Ginny. I wasn't thinking.”

“It's ok, *Harry*. I don't mind being blind. I can still hear just fine. I do wish
I could play Quidditch, though,” she said wistfully.

“You will someday, Ginny,” Hermione said fiercely. “I *will* cure you!”

Ginny simply smiled and put an arm around the shorter woman's shoulders.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while watching (or, in Ginny's case, listening to
the commentary) the match. Finally, though, Harry's curiosity got the better of him.

“Um... have you always been blind, Ginny?” he asked circumspectly.

“No, of course not. I was a very good Quidditch player once. But you already know that. I was
struck by a curse when fighting with you in the final battle against Voldemort,” she said
proudly.

“Oh... I'm sorry... that's horrible,” Harry said miserably.

“Yes, I suppose it is. But it's not your fault, Harry,” Ginny reached blindly across
Hermione and patted his leg. “So don't you dare go blaming yourself!”

Seamus and Meg wore identical exasperated expressions and gave Harry commiserating looks, but
Hermione just sat looking down sadly.

“What curse was it? Where did it hit you?” Harry pressed.

“I don't know. It just walloped me from behind and I felt a pain in the back of my head and
I couldn't see any more. Neville saw and stood over me and guarded me until...” her voice
shook, “until he was killed.”

“You never told me that!” Hermione broke in.

“Told you what?” Ginny sniffed back tears over Neville.

“That you felt a pain in the back of your head.”

“You never asked. I didn't think it was important... my eyes are in the front of my head,
not the back. It- it isn't important, is it?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said pensively. “I'll have to look it up.”

“You should look up Muggle medicine,” Harry added suddenly. “They know all sorts of things about
eyes, you know. They've got that laser eye surgery and stuff. One of Dud- my Muggle friends got
it and could see loads better afterwards.”

“Muggles can't cure blindness, No One,” Hermione said dismissively.

“I know, but maybe you could find something out that helps you...”

Hermione snorted.

“Listen,” Harry said angrily, “what if they knew something that could help Ginny but she had to
be blind her the rest of her life just because you couldn't be bothered to look it up?”

“It's ok, Harry,” Ginny said soothingly.

“No, it's not! And stop calling me Harry!”

“No, he's right,” Hermione said in a small voice. “I'll research it. I promise.”


“How's Ron looking?” Ginny changed the subject wisely.

“A bit nervous,” Meg spoke up for the first time. “Oh, look! The opposing chaser is going to
break through!”

“He's feinting to the left,” Harry muttered automatically, looking up at the match.
“He's going to cross back to the right hoop. Come on, Ron.”

But it was no use. Ron dove wildly and missed; Hermione, Meg and Seamus groaned.

“He missed, didn't he?” Ginny asked. “He'd be good if he could just get over his nerves.
Or if you were playing with him, Harry.”

“I've gotta go to the bathroom,” Harry announced abruptly, standing up. Hermione looked up
at him, distressed.

“Don't get lost, Harry,” Ginny said blithely.

* * *

Harry stumbled away down the stairs, just wanting to get away. Ginny's sightless gaze and
her insistence on his identity was too much to handle. Halfway down he looked up and saw Ron diving
wildly again, missing another save. A sudden, reckless thought popped into his head and he grinned
madly.

* * *

Hermione strained her eyes, trying to see what Harry was up to. From what she could make out, he
had accosted the stadium manager and was gesturing expansively. His guitar popped into his hands
for a moment and he strummed it briefly before it disappeared again. It was too far away to make
out their expressions, but by Harry's body language he seemed to have gotten what he wanted. He
disappeared from view a moment later.

“He ran away, didn't he?”

“What?” Hermione asked, distracted, searching for Harry.

“Harry. He ran away, didn't he?” Ginny repeated.

“No, I don't think so,” Hermione said absently. “And it's not Harry. It's No One.
He's up to something...”

“Well, then what's he doing?”

“I'm not really sure-” Hermione finished with a squeal as there was a sudden thunderous
*BOOM, BOOM, CRASH*.

“What the devil?” Seamus exclaimed.

There was another thunderous *BOOM, BOOM, CRASH*; the stadium shook. People were looking
around, mystified and frightened.

“Oh. My. God.” Hermione covered her eyes with her hands, but Ginny laughed delightedly.

“I know what this is!” she shouted. “I listen to a lot of music ever since I went blind! A lot
of Muggle music too! I know this one!”

Hermione just shook her head in mute shock as Harry's voice boomed out, magically
amplified.

*Buddy you're a boy make a big noise
Playin' in the street gonna be a big man some day
You got mud on yo' face
You big disgrace
Kickin' your can all over the place

We will we will rock you
We will we will rock you*

“No, he's not,” Hermione whispered too softly for anyone to hear. “He can't be...”

But he was.

“Who is this?” Ginny asked loudly, bouncing up and down happily.”Who's playing?”

“It's him,” Hermione said in an awed sort of voice.

* * *

Harry was still grinning like a madman as he let loose. It felt so good to let it all out; he
played with reckless abandon and magic provided a far better amplifier than any electronics. Above,
he saw a stupefied Ron swing around to look down. When he spotted Harry an unbelieving look crossed
his face. Harry's grin widened, if possible, and he raised one hand to salute. An answering
grin lit Ron's face and he turned back to the game just in time to make a spectacular save.

The whole Lions' (Ron's team) end of the stadium took up the chant and the countryside
was soon echoing to chants of We Will Rock You.

* * *

The section was awash in a babble of voices. Ron's team, spurred on by the upbeat songs
Harry belted out, had crushed their opponent 470-40. Ron, Will, Carolyn and Travis had flown
straight over, looking for Harry.

“Where's No One?” Ron bellowed above the kerfuffle. Ginny was on her feet twisting and
turning in the madness, wanting to join in but unable to. Ron hurried over and flung a protective
arm around her shoulder.

“Hermione! Where's No One?”

“I don't know!” she shouted back, fighting through the crowd. “He isn't here!”

“Well, go find him and bring him to the pub! We'll be over there celebrating! He was
brilliant!”

Hermione nodded and slipped through the crowd. She sprinted to the disapparation spot, clutching
her side and wheezing by the time she got there. She took a minute to get her breath back, then
disapparated back to her flat and snatched up the spare key to Harry's place.

“Harry!” she called, bursting in. “Harry, are you here?”

He was not.

Helplessly, Hermione turned on the spot. In the end she settled herself down on his bed. He had
to come back some time.

* * *

Harry was wandering down a seldom used path in a small town outside London, alone with his
thoughts. The beat from his music was still pounding in his veins and a small grin tugged at the
corner of his mouth.

*I should probably get back*, he thought. *Hermione's probably going spare.* He
wasn't exactly upset, but he wasn't ready to be around other people yet either.

With a pop, he disapparated back to his place to find the door unlocked. Frowning, he edged in
silently. There was no one in the living area or kitchen, but a twanging sound was coming from his
bedroom.

“What the?” he muttered to himself. Quietly, he tiptoed to the door and poked his head around
the corner. There, sitting on his bed with her legs swinging and his guitar in her hands, was
Hermione. A stray tendril of curly brown hair swung over her eyes and she blew it back out of the
way. A slight frown marred her face as she concentrated.

“Hermione,” Harry demanded and she jumped two feet, a guilty look on her face. “What are you
doing?”

“I, um-” she looked a bit sheepish. “I wanted to try your guitar.”

“Why didn't you just ask me?”

“Because...” Hermione lowered her eyes. “Because... oh, Harry, I just want to be able to do
something really well, like you! I read a book on how to play the guitar, but I can't do it.
I'm just no good at anything...”

“What are you talking about?” Harry demanded in disbelief. “You're brilliant, Hermione!
You're the cleverest witch I've ever met! You can do so much more than I can, and do it
better. And that Swift lady said you're a brilliant healer. That's something that's
actually useful; it saves peoples' lives! All I can do is a couple useless things.”

“But that's just it, Harry! I can do things that have instructions in a book and take no
talent, but I can't do anything creative, or make anything beautiful! I'm no good!”
Hermione wailed. “And you're not useless! Did you know that thirty-seven people immediately
took a turn for the better that night you played at St. Mungo's? And four people we were sure
were going to die made miraculous recoveries! You saved more people in one night than I did in a
month and you weren't even trying!”

“Coincidence,” Harry waved his hand. “If I really could do anything like that, I'd cure
Ginny.”

“No, it wasn't!” Hermione disagreed, violently shaking her head. “There's magic in your
music! You were magnificent today, look what it did for Ron's team. And here I am; I can't
even play the simplest tune...”

Harry stood silently, expression unfathomable.

“Here,” he said finally, “stand up.”

Hermione looked up at him and did as she was told, a trusting expression on her face. Harry
walked around behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He placed his hands on top of hers and
muttered something under his breath; immediately, his hands suctioned down over hers, sticking
their hands together. He flexed experimentally and Hermiones fingers flexed with him.

“You've got to let the music flow through you,” he explained, sitting down, Hermione in his
lap. “Let it be inside you; hear it in your head and let it flow out through your fingers. Like
this.”

Harry closed his eyes and his/Hermione's fingers began dancing over the strings. A soft,
simple but haunting melody rose and Hermione closed her eyes too. Leaning back into Harry she let
the music roll over her and Harry control her fingers. It was just like Harry said and unlike
anything she had ever felt. She knew she could never do it without Harry guiding her, but that
didn't bother her.

“Hermione,” Harry said softly in her ear some time later. “Hermione... you're falling
asleep. We need to take you back over to your place.”

“No,” Hermione pleaded, shaking her head and trying to clear the cobwebs. “Just one more.”

“Ok,” Harry sighed in defeat. “One more.”

No sooner had Harry started than Hermione's head drooped once more. By the time he finished
she was fast asleep, snuggled deeply into his arms. With a motion he sent the guitar drifting over
to stand in the corner and unstuck their hands.

Harry's intent was to carry Hermione over to her own bed, but somehow he just couldn't
work up the energy. And it felt so good to hold her, to be so close to and comfortable with another
person. He hadn't had anyone in five years and Hermione was the only person he had ever felt
this comfortable with even before. But it was strange at the same time. He wasn't really sure
how he felt about it... with a wave he set his instruments to playing quietly and started to sing
softly.

*Trying hard to speak and
Fighting with my weak hand
Driven to distraction
So part of the plan
When something is broken
And you try to fix it
Trying to repair it
Any way you can*

*
I'm diving off the deep end
You become my best friend
I wanna love you
But I don't know if I can
I know something is broken
And I'm trying to fix it
Trying to repair it
Any way I can...*

-->



11. Us Girls Gotta Stick Together
---------------------------------



**A/N -** **Hiya everyone. I'm really sorry it took so long to get this next chapter up!
But I'm finally moved into my new place, so I should have a little more time to write now.**
**This chapter isn't quite as long as the previous, but I think you'll find it has quite a
bit packed into it.** **I can't escape the feeling that I rushed a couple parts, but there
you go. Maybe I'll go back and expand them later.** **I reckon most of you will be quite
pleased with some of it****, though** **;)**

------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione awoke slowly from the velvety darkness she was drifting in; warm and safe. Gradually,
shafts of soft light worked their way between her eyelids and sensations began to creep up on her.
She was extremely comfortable, but something seemed off about the position she had slept in...

*HARRY!*

Hermione's eyes snapped open and she found herself in Harry's bed. In Harry's arms,
as a matter of fact, just the same as last night. Memory came flooding back on her; waiting for him
to get home, feeling his arms go around her, the music...

He had shifted back so now he was leaning against the wall with his legs splayed across the bed,
Hermione enfolded in his arms. His grip was simultaneously firm and tender; Hermione felt like
nothing could ever harm her there.

Eyes wide, she tilted her head back carefully and looked up at Harry. He was breathing slowly
and deeply, face relaxed in the most unguarded and peaceful expression she had yet seen. Not
wanting to wake him, Hermione gently shifted her head back into a more comfortable position,
resting against Harry's chest. Despite her best intentions, she couldn't resist also
entwining the fingers of her right hand with his. She grimaced slightly at the taste in her mouth
and whispered a spell. A refreshing taste of mint cleansed the morning breath.

“Good morning, little witch,” Harry's voice breathed in her ear.

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked, jerking a little. Harry was looking down at her, a small smile tugging
the corner of his mouth. She noticed that while his hand remained unresponding, he hadn't
tugged it free either.

“I, um-” Hermione searched for something to say that wouldn't sound stupid.

“You startled me,” she finished lamely. “Were you awake the whole time?”

Harry simply continued to look down at her intently, though it was impossible to read his eyes.
The small smile still tugged at his otherwise serious expression, which combined for a
devastatingly endearing effect. Perhaps that partially explained her next, un-Hermionelike action.
It was as if a stranger took control of her body and she stood watching helplessly from the side.
To her mortification, the stranger raised *her* hand and tentatively ran *her* fingers
across Harry's cheek. His skin was smooth and warm and the contact sent a shiver down
Hermione's spine.

Harry was *still* just looking at her. Emboldened, the stranger snaked a hand up behind
Harry's neck and interlaced her fingers in his hair; her inner voice was gibbering in panic:
*oh no, oh no, OH NO, what am I doing?!* Firmly, the stranger controlling her body pulled
Harry's head down and kissed him full on the lips.

It was a trifle one-sided at first, but gradually Harry responded. The trapped Hermione had
nearly passed out from shock, but the bold Hermione was quite enjoying the situation. Eventually,
though, Hermione came back to her senses and re-asserted control. She gasped in horror, broke off
the kiss and positively leaped off the bed. Cheeks flaming, she scurried away half a dozen steps
and stood facing the wall.

“Oh my God,” she said in a strangled voice, running a finger over the lingering sensation on her
lips. “I don't know what came over me! I'm so sorry, Harry!”

“Sorry?” Harry asked from behind, an odd catch in his voice. “Sorry that you snogged me? Did you
not wan- mean to?”

“Oh... I didn't say that...” Hermione answered inaudibly, blushing furiously at the
wall.

“Or perhaps,” she heard Harry approaching and quailed, “you don't think anyone else would
want to kiss *you*?”

“I- uh-” Hermione floundered. Harry had hit it right on the button, of course. Who *would*
want to kiss her? Plain, bookish, boring Hermione. She felt Harry's hand on her shoulder
moments before he spun her around.

“You know, you're as transparent as glass sometimes, Hermione.”

She was having a very hard time meeting Harry's eyes. What *had* she been thinking!

“You're a brilliant kisser, though. The best by far. Did you learn that in a book?” he
teased. If possible, Hermione went ever more crimson. Harry laughed.

“Come on. I'll make you breakfast; I owe you for that marvelous meal you made me.”

With that, Harry strode off into the kitchen without another word about the encounter, leaving
an extremely confused Hermione behind.

* * *

Harry was presenting a cool exterior, but his insides were roiling in shock and panic. And fear.
He was afraid; he was afraid he was incapable of returning Hermione's feelings. Incapable of
those feelings at all. Joking was the only way he could cover it. He allowed himself to sag against
the kitchen counter for a moment until Hermione entered the room uncertainly.

He had never really thought of Hermione as anything but a dear friend; he enjoyed her company
immensely and treasured their friendship above anything else. She had single-handedly, stubbornly,
dragged him (unwillingly) back from the Hell he had made his life and given him a reason to live
again, all the while shrugging off his repeated, savage attempts to push her away. He would die for
her and kill anyone who threatened her. But... this? She deserved better.

*How could I be so dense? I should have realized she felt that way about me... even RON tried
to tell me! But when did it happen? HOW did it happen?*

“So what do you want? Eggs? Bacon? Toast? Sausage?” he asked politely.

“Um... that would be fine,” Hermione answered in a small voice, timidly taking a seat at the
newly made table. Harry still seemed to hold the upper hand, so he would continue acting
nonchalant. If he never mentioned it, maybe they'd forget about it...

“I'm afraid it won't be anything like your cooking,” he apologized, “but I promise
it'll taste ok. I had to do it enough for the Dursleys.”

“Um, yeah... about that...” Hermione was seized by a sudden urge to confess. “I, um- you see,
that wasn't really me. Well, it was, but it wasn't-”

Harry looked at her quizzically as he fetched out a frying pan and the various ingredients he
required. They were both trying very hard to act normal; too hard. He could see the strain on her
and certainly knew the strain he was feeling.

“It was my mom,” Hermione said in a rush. “I called her and was on the phone with her for a
whole hour! She told me how to do everything. And... I cheated a bit too.”

“Was it you that physically made it?” Hermione looked at him blankly. “Did your hands prepare
it? In your kitchen, with your stuff? All by yourself?”

“Well, yes, I suppose-”

“Then you made it. All that proves is the talent runs in the family. And that I need to meet
your mum.”

Hermione stared at Harry, open-mouthed. A moment later she started giggling hysterically. Not
five minutes ago they had been locked together at the lips and now they were arguing about
something silly like whether or not she could really cook? *And* he wanted to meet her mother?
Her mother, who was convinced that she had been cooking a meal for a date? Hermione giggled louder
as the absurdity of it hit her.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“This-” Hermione tried in vain to control the giggling, “is - heh - stupid. What on earth are we
- hehe - doing?”

Harry grinned sheepishly and also uttered a reluctant chuckle. That fueled Hermione even more
and she was now giggling uncontrollably. Before long they were clutching at the table for support
and gasping for breath, stuck in one of those situations where they couldn't even remember what
was so funny in the first place but just couldn't stop laughing. Every little thing set them
off again and every fifteen or twenty seconds one would recover enough to choke out an inane word
or phrase and throw them both into more helpless gales of laughter. It defused the situation as
nothing else could have.

Harry finally recovered enough to speak, holding his aching sides.

“Hermione, you're the best thing that ever happened to me. Best. Ever. What would I do
without you?”

“Just make sure we never find out,” she poked him sharply in the side. In response, Harry
scooped her off the chair into a bone-shattering hug.

“Oof! Put me down, you big monkey! Wait, no, you don't really have to!”

“Thank you for rescuing me, Hermione,” Harry said seriously, releasing her. “If it wasn't
for you I... “

“wouldn't have just cracked all my ribs,” Hermione finished dryly.

Harry grinned. “You're my hero. My heroine.”

“Oh, stop being ridiculous!” she snapped, looking pleased all the same. They seemed to have
reached an unspoken agreement not to talk about what happened earlier that morning.

“Oh no!” Hermione suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. “I'm supposed to be at work! I
totally forgot!”

“Stay for breakfast. You're already late, you might as well be hanged for a sheep as a
lamb,” Harry said reasonably. The distressed look faded from Hermione's face slightly. Harry
could have said anything; just the fact that he wanted her to stay caused Hermione's face to
light up.

“Oh, alright. You're probably right.”

“Of course I am,” Harry responded, bustling about the kitchen. Hermione could have sworn there
hadn't been two frying pans and a toaster oven a second ago. In a surprisingly short time Harry
was tipping a couple eggs, half a dozen sausage links, a piece of toast and several strips of bacon
onto her plate.

“I can't eat all that!” she protested. “I'm not a boy!”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Harry said with a perfectly straight face. She blushed again; her face
had spent more time being red than not so far.

Not even bothering with pretense this time, Harry conjured a glass of orange juice.

“Hey, take a look at this,” Harry said casually as he pushed the glass towards her. Carelessly,
he flopped his arm over so that the under-arm was facing up.

“Look at what?” Hermione managed past a huge mouthful. She was much hungrier than she had
thought. It *was* good. Harry captured her eyes with his and then let his gaze drift down to
his arm. Hermione followed. It took a moment for her to realize what she was looking at.

“What did you do?” she gasped, seizing the arm. There were only half a dozen scars now; five
little ones and one big, thick one running the length.

“There were twice as many yesterday morning,” Harry said in a neutral voice. “How are you
getting rid of them? I thought you said you couldn't?”

“Me?” Hermione gaped. “I haven't done anything. I swear!”

Harry looked skeptical.

“So they're going away all by themselves?”

“I don't know, Harry!” Hermione cried. “But I'm really glad!”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “Me too... every time one disappears I feel a little better... a
little happier...”

* * *

Hermione was still flustered by the time she apparated at St. Mungo's. She had showered and
changed in less than five minutes, which resulted in a rather striking outfit. Her hair was at its
wildest and she struggled to tie it back.

“You're late,” noted Helga, the receptionist.

“Yeah, sorry!” Hermione apologized, rushing past.

“You have a visitor.”

“What?” Hermione skidded to a halt.

“Yes,” Helga skimmed her appointment book. “A little blind girl. Let me see... ah, yes. Ginny
Weasley.”

“Ginny?” Hermione repeated blankly. “What's she doing here?”

“I haven't the foggiest,” the blonde receptionist responded breezily. “She kept spouting
some nonsense about Harry Potter. Healer Swift is with her now in room 254 in the Ward for
Incurable Curses. Her brother will be back to pick her up in an hour.”

“Oh... thanks...” Hermione reversed direction and sprinted towards the lift; she had a very bad
feeling about this. Would Healer Swift tell Ginny?

Doors flashed past and a shaky patient flattened himself against the wall as Hermione sped
past.

“Sorry!” she called, not slowing down. Panting, Hermione reached the lift and pounded on the
button.

“Open, open!” she wheezed.

A minute later Hermione slid to a halt outside 254. She took a moment to compose herself and
catch her breath, then knocked.

“Come on in.”

“Hi Ginny!” Hermione said loudly as she entered the room. Ginny was sitting on the edge of a
bed, hands folded in her lap and hair spilling down her back. She had an excited look on her face.
Swift was seated in a chair across from her.

“Hi Hermione! Where's Harry?”

“Harry?” Hermione threw a quick, accusatory look at Swift, but the old Healer shook her head.
“Oh, you mean No One?”

“No, I mean Harry!” Ginny said indignantly. “I know you know who 'No One' really is, why
are you pretending?”

“Ginny, I don't know what you're talking about...” Hermione turned to Swift desperately.
“I, uh... oh yeah! Healer Swift, I was going to research what Muggles know about eyesight in the
hopes that I could find something to help Ginny. What do you think?”

“Hmmmm...” Swift said. “Normally, I wouldn't condone something like that. But, Muggles know
some surprising things sometimes. Miss Weasley has proved unresponsive to any of our treatments. I
say, if there is a chance it could help, go at it. As a matter of fact, you can do that today. I
had to shift your patients over to Healer Sprocket since you were late.”

“I'm really sorry,” Hermione apologized profusely. “It was Ha-”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut. She was so scatter-brained this morning!

“It was Harry who said that Hermione should look up Muggle medicine,” Ginny broke in. “D'you
reckon he knows something?”

Hermione sighed.

“Healer Swift, could I speak with Ginny alone?”

“Certainly,” Swift said with a knowing smile. “Don't forget; you've got a lot of
research to do. Just because you're not working with patients does not mean I will expect any
less of you!”

“Yes, Healer,” Hermione said meekly. Swift left and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Ginny,” Hermione began, drawing the chair forward to face her eager friend. “What makes you
think No One is Harry?”

“Oh, all sorts of things,” Ginny bounced enthusiastically. “You see, you hear differently when
you're blind. Not only is my hearing better (and I could never forget Harry's voice!), but
I listen for different sorts of things too. Every person has a different pattern to the way they
talk. I think they call it a cadence. Anyway, when you're blind you learn to recognize these
things. It's almost as accurate as seeing them. Ron thinks I've gone round the twist.”

“And that's it?” Hermione pressed.

“Well, no. You and Harry slipped up a bunch of times. No one else realized it because
they're too busy looking at you and Harry instead of listening. Harry must look really
different...”

“Yes,” Hermione murmured, staring at her knees. “He does. He's still beautiful,
though...”

“It IS Harry! I knew it!” Ginny crowed. Hermione didn't say anything; she sat slumped,
miserable at her failure to keep Harry's secret.

“Hermione?” Ginny asked tentatively after a minute of silence.

“Ginny... are you still in love with Harry?”

“Oh...” Ginny said, a peculiar look on her face. Hermione waited.

“I will always love Harry,” Ginny answered at last, and Hermione's face twisted. “But not
that way. It was wonderful while it lasted, but... I just want him back in my life as my friend.
And everyone else does too.”

“I've had a lot of time to think since that curse hit me,” Ginny groped blindly until she
found Hermione's hand and squeezed it tightly. “And since I heard Neville murdered, protecting
me... Ron told me he killed a dozen Death Eaters before they pulled him down. He was right there in
front of me the whole time and I never realized it... you're the one in love with Harry,
aren't you Hermione?”

Hermione couldn't bring herself to respond.

“You are. You always have been. Anyone could see it, except us stupid kids. It took me years to
realize it. But, you know what?”

“What?” Hermione managed feebly, clinging to Ginny's hand.

“You two are so perfect together. You belong together; anybody can see that. Even Ron is going
on about how you fancy this 'No One'. And... I know Harry loves you too. Even if he
doesn't realize it yet, the foolish boy. We'll straighten him out, don't you worry.
It'll just be between us girls. We gotta stick together.”

“Oh, Ginny!” Hermione fell forward onto her knees and hugged Ginny tightly. “I was so afraid
that you... and I... and you won't believe what happened this morning... and I don't know
what to do with boys, I was never good like you...”

Ginny listened patiently as Hermione spilled her guts, telling Ginny everything she hadn't
been able to tell anyone else.

“Hush,” Ginny hugged Hermione fiercely as she trailed off. “Don't worry, we'll put
everything right.”

“I'm supposed to be the healer here,” Hermione smiled faintly into Ginny's shoulder.
“But I get the feeling I'm the patient right now. When did you become so wise?”

“When that Death Eater blinded me,” Ginny sighed. “It's amazing how much better I see things
now. Tell me... what does Harry look like now?”

* * *

Harry prowled restlessly around his flat all day, picking up and putting down projects. He
couldn't concentrate on one for more than five minutes. He even stepped out for a bit, but
there was nothing outside that appealed to him either.

“What am I going to do?” he said aloud, perched on the end of his bed. Automatically, he glanced
at the clock.

7:23 PM. He fell back into a brooding silence. Several minutes later, the sound of the door
opening jogged Harry back into the present.

“Hermione?” Harry called, springing to his feet. “Is that you?”

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione greeted him as he hastened out into the living area. Not surprisingly, she
clutched an armload of books. Her eyes were a bit red, but she looked quite happy. What on earth
did that mean?

“You were right, Harry,” Hermione said brightly. “I'm sorry I snapped at you. You
wouldn't believe the stuff Muggles know about eyesight. And the brain! I really think there
might be something that can help Ginny in here. They have the knowledge, but they can't do
anything with it without magic...”

“That's great!” Harry exclaimed. “Really!”

“Oh, Ron sent an owl to me at St. Mungo's,” Hermione dumped her books on the table. “Wanted
to know where you got off to the other night. Says you were brilliant and that he needs to give you
your broom back.”

“That idiot,” Harry said in exasperation. “It's his now. If I really want another one
I'll make it.”

“Yeah, well... he'd be much happier if you told him who you really are,” Hermione said with
a significant look. “Ginny's already been telling him it's you.”

Harry sighed.

“Just drop it, Hermione. And see if you can't get Ginny to as well.”

“He asked if we would meet up with him and Charlotte the night after tomorrow,” Hermione
continued with a scowl. “To grab something to eat.”

“Oh. Well, it would be nice to see him...”

“Good,” Hermione nodded in satisfaction. “Because I told him we'd be there.”

“Thanks for asking me first,” Harry's retorted in a voice loaded with sarcasm.

“Mmmmm...” Hermione settled down on Harry's couch with a book; she didn't look like she
had any intention of leaving. “You did a really good job on this couch, Harry.”

“I'm glad you approve. Why don't you just go ahead and move in, Hermione?” Harry joked.
“When's the last time you spent more than an hour in your own flat? You've used my couch
more than I have.”

“Really?” Hermione twisted around and peered over the top of her book. “D'you really think
so? When can I move in?”

“Hermione!” Harry laughed. “I was just kidd- Are you serious?”

Hermione dropped her book (an event unheard of in itself) and clambered onto her knees, leaning
over the back of the couch and eyes shining in excitement.

“Well, why not?” she asked eagerly. “I mean, what's the point of blowing money on two flats
if we don't have to? Besides, we're already practically living together, like you
said.”

“I-” Harry frowned in thought. “I- well, I suppose you have a point. It's just, well, I
haven't lived with another person in a long time; I don't know if it would be a good idea.
And you're, well... a girl. And today...”

“Are you saying you wouldn't want to share a flat with me?” Hermione asked in
disappointment.

“No, no,” Harry said hurriedly. “That's not it. You're really quite welcome to stay
here, but I'm probably a bad flatmate. And I don't care about money. You can stay for
free.”

Hermione squealed in delight and rushed around the sofa to throw her arms around him.

“Oh, what fun! And I'll pay my own way.”

“No, you really don't have to-”

“I'm quite capable of taking care of myself,” Hermione interrupted dangerously.

“-of course, you'll have to pay your share,” Harry switched smoothly. Hermione smiled and
bounced on the balls of her feet.

“I'll go get my stuff ready!”

“N-Now?” stammered Harry.

“Well, why wait?” demanded Hermione, then rushed out the door.

Several hours later, much wand waving and a few frantic dodges of flying furniture and Hermione
was firmly ensconced in Harry's spare bedroom. Harry himself stood in the carnage of his
dismantled workshop, a bit dazed.

“Sooooo. What do you want for supper?” Hermione demanded. Harry stuttered something vague.
*Maybe*, thought Hermione, *Ginny does know what she's about after all...*

-->



12. Painful Recollections and Joyful Deeds
------------------------------------------



**A/N -** **Hiya, everyone. Got a pretty long chapter for you. Lots of stuff happening. The
pace is definitely starting to pick up. I'd like to try and clear up some confusion that may
come up… at one point in the chapter is a section with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Charlotte. I have
referred to Harry as No One whenever it was in Charlotte or Ron's viewpoint, and Harry at all
other times. Hope this isn't too confusing!** **I hope you all enjoy it!**

------------------------------------------------------------------

Living with Hermione was going to take some getting used to, Harry reflected the next day. He
really felt like working on a chest of drawers, but it was two in the morning and Hermione was fast
asleep. He had just peeked in on her.

Thwarted, Harry paced restlessly in the living room, a corner of which he had sectioned off and
magically expanded for his workshop. Thirty-two steps to the kitchen, thirty-two steps to the far
wall. Thirty-two steps to the kitchen, thirty-two steps...

“Harry, what *are* you doing?” a bleary-eyed Hermione yawned from her doorway, clad in her
sleeping gown. “You're making enough noise to wake the dead.”

“Oh, damn,” Harry stopped immediately. “I'm sorry. I wanted to work on a project, but that
would be really loud and I didn't want to wake you.”

“Oh, honestly, Harry!” Hermione heaved a put upon sigh. “Are you a wizard or not? Use a
Silencing Charm!”

Harry froze, a chagrined look on his face. “Why didn't I think of that?”

“Because you're a boy,” Hermione replied in a matter of fact manner. “Will you tuck me back
in? You owe me, waking me up and everything!”

“What, can't you make it back into bed yourself, oh brilliant one?” Harry rejoined, causing
Hermione to scowl.

“Just for that, you have to carry me too!”

Hermione held out her arms, but Harry stubbornly stayed put. After a minute, she lowered her
arms and started tapping a foot ominously. Harry, unwisely, still ignored her.

*Well,* thought Hermione, *how about...*

“Ok, I see,” Hermione said in her best forlorn, little girl's voice. “You don't care
about me anymore. I'll just go...”

She turned and shuffled away. She hadn't made it three steps before Harry scooped her up in
his arms and nearly sprinted back into her room. Hiding a smile, Hermione craned her head back to
look up at him. The utterly woebegone look on his face instantly swept the smile off her face and
made her insides burn with shame. More so the painstakingly gentle way he lowered her into the bed
and tucked her under the blankets.

“I'm sorry I woke you. See, I do care about you.”

“Harry, I'm sorry!” Hermione cried, flinging her arms around his neck. “That was a really
mean thing I did! I should have never said that, I didn't mean it at all!”

“I know. It's ok,” Harry assured her.

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is,” Harry replied firmly, disentangling himself from her arms and then kissing her on
the forehead. “Your apology is accepted. Get some sleep, little witch.”

And that made her feel worst of all, but absurdly happy at the same time. *From now on*,
she decided, *I'll never try anything like that again! Never! It was a stupid idea.*

* * *

“They're late,” Ron fretted.

“Don't fret, Won-Won,” Charlotte scolded.

“I should have NEVER told you about that,” Ron complained. “I thought I asked you not to call me
that?”

“But it was just too good to pass up.”

Charlotte wore a look of wide-eyed innocence.

“Don't do that. It makes you look like my sister.”

“Oh, I'm definitely not your sister,” Charlotte replied wickedly, dropping a hand under the
table and running it up Ron's thigh.

“For Merlin's sake, don't do that in the same sentence as mentioning Ginny!” Ron
squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Charlotte chuckled earthily and leaned in to kiss him.

“Oh, look, there they are,” Charlotte remarked a minute later, taking her hand away with a wink
and pointing towards the entrance. Hermione and No One stood there; No One was peering around while
Hermione stood on her tiptoes, frowning in concentration as she fixed some imaginary issue with his
hair. No One wore a patient expression.

“Yeah, I think you're right for once, Ron. There's definitely something going on
there.”

“Told you,” Ron smirked, waving at them. No One saw and bent over to whisper to Hermione.

“Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. It won't happen very often. Hey, Hermione! Hey,
No One!”

“Hi!” Hermione greeted them with a radiant smile. No One pulled out her chair and then seated
himself.

“Hey, No One, where did you get off to the other day?” Ron asked immediately, then turned to
Hermione. “And you! You were supposed to find him and bring him back!”

“I, um-” for some reason Hermione turned red and Charlotte gave her a considering glance.

“I had to attend to some business,” No One cut in smoothly. “It's not Hermione's fault.
I'm sorry I couldn't stick around.”

“Oh well, no matter,” Ron waved a hand, oblivious. “You were brilliant, No One! Where did you
learn to play like that? Oh yeah... I've got your broom. Don't let me forget to give it
back.”

They were interrupted briefly by the waiter. They quickly ordered drinks and an appetizer. Or,
rather, Ron and Charlotte did for them.

“Oh, I just sort of picked it up,” No One replied vaguely. “And I told you, you can keep that
broom. I can always make another. Besides, it'll get more use with you. ”

“But-”

“Keep it. Or I'll hex you.”

“Ok,” Ron grinned. “If you're going to insist... it's a fantastic broom! You know, you
sounded just like Harry then...”

Nobody said anything for a minute. No One and Hermione busied themselves with the menu, heads
close together and murmuring about the choices. Ron was lost in thought, but Charlotte had a sharp
eye on No One and Hermione. Raising herself slightly, she saw Hermione absentmindedly reach over
and take No One's hand left hand in her right.

“So, any idea what you want?” Charlotte asked loudly.

The other three jerked their heads up. Hermione, Charlotte noted, quickly snatched her hand out
of No One's. His expression was unreadable.

“Of course,” Ron recovered first. “The usual.”

“Mmmmm... I think I'll have some curry,” No One mused.

“I just want a salad,” Hermione finished, pushing the menu back on the table.

“How lovely!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Ron, could you order for me? The usual? And Hermione too? I
need to visit the lady's room. Come on, Hermione, dear.”

A startled Hermione was forcibly pulled from her chair and steered away by Charlotte, leaving
Ron and No One staring.

“What was that all about?” Ron wondered aloud.

“No clue,” No One replied, though there he wore a suspicious expression.

* * *

“So tell me the truth, Hermione,” Charlotte said boldly, perching on the sink counter in the
bathroom. “You did find No One that night, didn't you?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione replied quickly, twisting a lock of hair nervously.

“Oh, come now, dear,” Charlotte waved airily. “Even Ron has noticed, and he's thick as a
brick.”

“Noticed what?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“You and No One. You can tell me; I won't tell anyone. Not that I need to, anyway,”
Charlotte smirked.

“Tell you what?”

“Hermione,” Charlotte said slowly and clearly, as if talking to a small child. “We all know you
fancy him. D'you think it's only a coincidence that we always invite you two together?”

Hermione blushed and shifted from foot to foot.

“So,” Charlotte continued in a more businesslike tone, “now that we've got that foolishness
aside. You found him after the game and then you two... you know. That's why you never made it
back, right?”

“We what?” Hermione asked, puzzled. Charlotte gave her a significant look.

“Oh, no!” Hermione gasped, cottoning on. “No, no, it wasn't like that! We didn't- I
haven't-”

“Hmmmm...” Charlotte made a thoughtful noise. “Hermione, have you ever been with a man?”

“I- I don't know what you mean,” Hermione blurted, eyes darting and face crimson.

Charlotte threw back her head and laughed, but then hopped down and enfolded Hermione in a
hug.

“Oh, I love you Hermione,” she laughed. “You're so innocent and so... good. Now be a dear
and tell me what happened.”

* * *

“How long does it take to go to the bathroom?” Ron muttered.

“Ah, well, you know. They're girls. You wouldn't believe how long it took Hermione to
get ready.”

“About an hour and a half, right?” Ron grinned. “I went out with her for a bit, remember? So,
how are you two getting along?”

“What?” Harry asked blankly.

“Oh, come on now. I'm sure she fancies you.”

“Oh. No, we're just friends,” Harry lied.

“Sure,” Ron said skeptically. “You sound just like Harry again. You know Ginny is convinced that
you are Harry. Says she can tell from your voice, that you sound just like him.”

“Maybe I do,” Harry said cautiously.

“A bit, but that's not unusual. She's just mental,” Ron shook his head.

“I thought she was pretty keen,” Harry said quietly.

“So, what, are you saying you *are* Harry Potter?” Ron demanded.

“Of course,” Harry said lightly, spreading his arms. “I look just like him, can't you
tell?”

“Cheers,” Ron laughed, lifting his glass. Harry lifted his own they drank deeply.

Harry took the brief silence to survey the restaurant. It seemed a nice enough place; clean and
spacious. The wait staff was efficient and courteous and the air clean and fresh. There were a few
obvious signs of magic, though.

“This is a wizard restaurant, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yeah. What gave it away? The bright purple fire in the kitchen? Or the occasional house
elf?”

“Yeah, that had something to do with it,” Harry chuckled. “Hey, look, I think that's our
food.”

Sure enough, a waiter balancing a large tray of steaming food unfolded a portable stand next to
their table and started shifting plates over.

“Hi folks!” he greeted cheerfully. “Curry? Here you are, sir. And a garden salad? And you must
be the 20 oz. Porterhouse.” Ron nodded eagerly.

“Lastly, we have-” but Harry wasn't really listening. They thanked the waiter and assured
him they were all set.

“They better get back soon, or it'll get cold,” Harry remarked.

“Who 'ares?” Ron sat around a massive mouthful.

“Ron, you're as big a git as ever.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Ron demanded.

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly. “Hey, do you think I should go knock and check on them?”

“Nah, here they come.”

Harry twisted around and saw that Ron was correct. Hermione and Charlotte, holding hands and
rather giggly, were approaching.

“Nice of you to join us,” Ron said dryly.

“You look like you're doing ok by yourself,” Charlotte ran an eye down Ron's front,
which was already wearing bits of his meal. Hermione seated herself next to Harry and eyed him
sideways, a speculative look on her face. She colored just a little when he raised an eyebrow, but
didn't look away.

“You're just lucky we didn't eat your meals too,” Ron threatened.

“Oh, be quiet, Won-Won,” retorted Charlotte. Harry snorted in laughter through his mouthful of
spicy curry. A moment later he choked and had to spit it out. Ron, thankfully, was busy being
outraged with Charlotte and hadn't noticed. Hermione caught Harry's eye again and they both
grinned.

* * *

Harry and Hermione got back to the flat late that night, quite full and content.

“I'm almost tired,” Harry yawned. “If I don't watch it, I might get on some sort of
normal schedule.”

“Me too,” Hermione agreed, flopping down on the couch.

“You need to get to bed, Hermione,” Harry ordered from the kitchen where he had been stowing the
leftovers. “You've gotta get to work early tomorrow.”

“In a minute,” Hermione yawned again and kicked off her shoes. “Come over here, Harry.”

“Why?”

“So I can look at you when I'm talking to you!”

“Oh, ok,” Harry said. “Fair enough.” He walked over and stood stiffly across from Hermione. She
made a vexed sound and yanked him down onto the couch.

“There. Much better.”

“Um, ok. So what were you and Charlotte doing in the bathroom?” Harry asked directly.

“What do you usually do in the bathroom?” Hermione countered evasively.

“Come on, Hermione,” Harry said skeptically. “I'm not stupid, you know. It was pretty
obvious. And you were gone for nearly half an hour!”

“What goes on in a girls' bathroom is none of your business, Harry Potter!”

“I have a suspicion it is this time, little witch.”

Hermione scowled.

“A real gentleman doesn't pry,” she responded waspishly. Harry blinked, then grinned.

“Let's just agree that I'm not a gentleman.”

Hermione tried to maintain her stern expression, but that last crack brought an unwilling
giggle.

“Oh, fine,” she gave in. “Charlotte was just giving me some advice. It's a girl thing.”

“You can talk to me too,” Harry responded immediately in an injured sort of voice. “I won't
tell anyone.”

“I told you, you big oaf, it's a girl thing,” Hermione repeated, but she smiled fondly and
slid over to wriggle under his arm and snuggle against his side. “I know I can trust you;
that's not it.”

“But-”

“Quiet, you.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, but Harry remained silent. Hermione closed her eyes and
outwardly relaxed. Her insides, however, were fluttering in anxiety. Charlotte had been quite
direct, and not a little scandalous, but that didn't make it any easier.

Hermione could feel the tension and wariness in Harry's arm and body; it made her feel
slightly braver to realize that he was just as nervous as her. *Not this time, Harry*, she
decided. *Not going to let you get away this time.*

Heart pounding, Hermione squirmed around so that she was sitting on Harry's lap, face inches
from his. He tried to pull away, but she snatched his hand and placed it on her waist, eyes fixed
on his. She nearly faltered then, but steeled her nerves, closed her eyes, and lifted her lips to
his.

She felt his hand tighten around her waist and some resistance at first. But it quickly melted
and he returned her kiss, which started to deepen. His other hand ran lightly down her back,
sending shivers through her.

“Hermione, I-” he started when they finally broke apart, but she shook her head and cut him off
with another kiss. Her mouth opened more and they began to explore with their tongues. But, once
again, Harry pulled back.

“Hermione, no. I can't,” Harry turned away and wouldn't meet her eyes. “I'm sorry...
I-I tried. I really did.”

“I- you-” Hermione felt tears burning in her eyes and swallowed with difficulty. “You don't
fancy me.”

Harry made a helpless motion with his hands, but didn't say anything.

“I'm u-ugly, aren't I?” she hiccuped, sliding away from Harry. “I'm t-too boring.
T-too- too,” she couldn't finish.

“No!” Harry said forcefully, finally turning to look at her. He wore such a sad, defeated
look.

“No,” he repeated more gently, taking her hands. “Hermione, look at me. You are beautiful.
Don't shake your head like that! Look at me, I'm telling you the truth. You're the most
beautiful girl I've ever met.”

Against her better judgment, Hermione did as she was bid and could see the truth in Harry's
eyes. But how could he mean it? There were countless others prettier than her: Ginny, Fleur,
Tonks...

“*I* think you're beautiful, Hermione,” Harry seemed to read her mind. “I don't
care what anyone else thinks; they can go hang. But it's not just me. D'you know what Ron
said to me about you? The first time he saw me as No One?”

Hermione shook her head.

“He said- he said, 'She's awfully pretty, isn't she?'”

Hermione gulped and wiped her eyes.

“And that's not even the most important thing,” Harry continued intently. “You're
wonderful, and smart, and caring too.”

“T-Then, w-why-?”

Harry turned away again, releasing her hands; his shoulders slumped again.

“It's not you, Hermione,” he said heavily. “I tried- I want!- to feel that way about you.
But I can't. There's something wrong with me. And you deserve better.”

“Don't you dare tell me what I deserve!” flared Hermione, feeling hope flutter in her chest
again. “I don't care what you think I 'deserve'! I know what I want, and it's YOU,
not what you think I deserve!”

Harry opened his mouth, disbelief evident in his expression, but Hermione rolled right over him;
her words poured out uncontrolled.

“It took me five years to find you and I didn't give up once the whole time! Everyone else
gave you up for dead, but *I* knew you weren't. I couldn't believe that; I
wouldn't! I haven't even so much as kissed another guy the whole time! And now you tell me
you want to- to- to return my feelings, but you can't and- and some stupid nonsense about me
deserving better and something being wrong with you! There's nothing wrong with you, except
your big fat head! You're just as perfect as you always were-” Hermione finally trailed off
with a sniffle.

There was a long gap of silence, neither really knowing what to say or do. Hermione sat
sniffling quietly; Harry made no noise at all and both looked in opposite directions. At last
Hermione felt Harry's arm around her shoulder and she offered no resistance as he pulled her
close.

“Hermione, listen. It's not that I don't want to. It's not that I don't like
you. It's not that I didn't enjoy, um, snogging you. It's- it's that I'm just
not capable of the emotion.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione demanded, involuntarily leaning closer into Harry's
embrace.

“I think I was, before,” Harry said faintly. “I don't really know; so much of my memory
seems faded and far away. But, after I killed Voldemort... I wasn't the same. It's like
I'm not whole anymore- like a part of me is missing... gone...”

Harry fell silent. Hermione sat thinking hard, absently straightening up and shifting so she was
holding him, rather than the other way around. Her other worries faded as her mind clamped on the
problem; it was always that way with her.

“Harry,” she asked in a small voice. “What happened that day?”

There was no need to ask what day she meant. Harry was quiet so long that Hermione began to
worry that she had upset him. Just as she was about to speak, to say it was nothing, he started
talking.

“It was a mess,” he began in a scratchy voice. “There was so much going on; people and fighting
everywhere. I was trying so hard to protect everyone, but I couldn't... And I was so tired, so
worn down. Finding and destroying the Horcruxes took so much out of me...”

He shifted uneasily; Hermione stroked his hair and whispered words of encouragement.

“Voldemort wanted to kill me himself,” Harry continued in a stronger voice, “but he wasn't
about to do it without everything being in his favor. He waited until his Death Eaters had worn
down the Order before he showed himself. He killed Neville, you know. And Moody. No one else could;
the Death Eaters were scared of them. I didn't even see that Neville had been protecting
Ginny...”

“I lost track of you and Ron for a minute, and just when I found you he found us all. I threw
everything I had at him, but it was no use. He just laughed at me. And you know what happened after
that... he cast the Killing Curse at you.”

“But you blocked it,” Hermione whispered, squeezing him tightly. “You saved me. How?”

Harry considered for a moment.

“I don't know,” he said finally. “I just sort of... lost it when he did that. And then- the
Prophecy, it fooled us all, Hermione! Even Dumbledore. It's not fair; it was a sham!”

“What d'you mean?” Hermione asked, perplexed and intrigued. No one knew this part of
Harry's story.

“Hermione, I thought I hated Voldemort before, but the moment he tried to kill you he crossed
the line and I truly HATED him. I wanted him to suffer; I wanted it so bad I could taste it. There
was nothing I wouldn't have done. Dumbledore told me the 'power I had that he knew not'
was the ability to love. Or I used to have it, anyway,” Harry said sadly. Hermione clenched his
shirt, but didn't interrupt.

“But, the prophecy never said that was what I would defeat Voldemort with! It just said I had
it! It hoodwinked us all!” Harry cried, growing more and more agitated. “You want to know how I
killed him? I hated him. I hated him so much I lost all restraint and didn't care what I had to
do to kill him. His hate was no match for mine. He didn't really hate me. He was afraid of me.
Of what I represented: death. In the end he didn't stand a chance. I just let it all roaring
out of me and I killed them all.”

“I remember,” whispered Hermione. “There was a flash of light and we were all knocked
unconscious.”

“Now, do you see?” Harry finished bitterly. “Now do you see why you deserve better than me?
I'm a murderer; I'm no better than Voldermort. It was hate, not love, that allowed me to
win.”

“Don't say that!” cried Hermione, gripping his chin in one tiny hand and forcing him to look
her in the eye. “You're wrong, Harry! Don't you see? D'you think it would have bothered
Voldemort at all if he'd done the same as you? No! But it's tearing *you* apart; the
fact that it's done this to you proves that you are very different from him! And you didn't
harm one person, not one!, that wasn't a Death Eater!”

“I don't know, Hermione,” Harry said tiredly. “Maybe once that was true. But, you saw me.
You saw what I did to those Death Eaters that attacked you. I would have killed them too, if you
hadn't stopped me.”

“But you didn't,” Hermione said quietly, holding up a hand to forestall him. “You didn't
kill them. It doesn't matter that I stopped you. I couldn't have stopped you if you
didn't want to be stopped, you know that. In the end, it was your choice not to kill them, not
mine. And... I don't think it was hate that killed Voldemort. I think Professor Dumbledore was
right. And if you think about it, you'll see that he was too.”

Hermione's heart swelled and she felt giddy. It wasn't hate, she knew it wasn't. It
was her; Harry lost it when Voldemort tried to kill her. It was something very different from
hate...

“Maybe you're right, Hermione,” Harry sighed wearily. “I don't know. And I just
don't care anymore. I'm too tired; I'm an awful person and I just don't care
anymore. So, anyway, that's what happened.”

“Yes, you're an awful person, Harry,” Hermione hissed, frustrated. “So awful that I want to
snog you at every opportunity. So awful that I have never seen you do one selfish thing. So awful
that I have seen you give everything you own and use every talent you possess, including your very
life, to make other peoples' lives better. How many times do I have to tell you? When are you
going to stop wallowing in self-pity?”

“And I told you, Hermione... how can it really mean anything if I'm just doing it to make up
for the terrible things I've done? It has nothing to do with self-pity.”

Hermione knew it was a bad job; there was just no talking to Harry about it. Yet. She wanted to
slap him, but she drew on a hidden reserve of patience.

“Where did you go after you defeated Voldemort?” Hermione changed the subject. “Why did you
leave us?”

“Oh, that,” Harry slumped even further. “I disapparated. Don't know where to; someplace on
top of a big hill. And I puked my guts out. Fifteen, twenty times. And that's when Snape found
me.”

“Snape?” gasped Hermione. “What happened? We always wondered what happened to him! Did you kill
him?”

Harry laughed hollowly.

“Me? I could barely stand up. And I didn't feel much like killing anyone else yet.”

“But- what happened, then?” Hermione pressed. “You're not telling me Snape let you go?”

“Oh, no. No. Snape was probably even more dangerous than Voldemort. He had a good gloat while I
was lying there. The bastard used Voldemort to kill Dumbledore, then he used me to kill Voldemort.
All he had to do then was kill me and he could be the next Dark Lord. He had it all planned
out.”

“But then how did you survive?”

“You're not going to believe me,” Harry warned. “But another old friend showed up while
Snape was revealing his grand plan to me.”

“Who?” Hermione demanded.

“Perhaps I should have said, an old friend of my dad. Evidently, Dumbledore did know what he was
talking about.”

“But, Lupin never said anything about that!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Not Lupin, Hermione. Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew.”

Hermione's eyes went round and wide.

“*Peter Pettigrew* saved you??”

“Yes. He cast the Killing Curse on Snape. He hated Snape even more than I did.”

“Where is he now?” Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

“He's dead,” Harry answered bitterly. “He turned his wand on himself. Said he was very sorry
for everything he did and that, one time in his life, he was going to be brave like my father. I
couldn't do anything to stop him.”

“Oh, Harry...”

“Well, that's about it,” Harry said in a very final sort of tone. “You need to go to bed
now, Hermione. I just hope I don't give you nightmares.”

Harry tried to get up, but Hermione smothered him.

“No. The only thing that gives me nightmares is when you're too far away. Would you just
hold me tonight? Please?”

Harry looked down at her, then at the door. He looked back at her and his expression
softened.

“Of course.”

* * *

They both woke up at the same time, a bit sore from sleeping on the couch. Hermione stirred
contentedly, face buried in Harry's shirt. Not a terrible night, all things considered. She
*would* fix Harry, whatever was wrong with him, and he *did* love her.

“Come on, lazy,” Harry chided, “you've gotta go to work.”

“Just another five minutes,” Hermione mumbled. “I'm tired.”

“You'll be late,” Harry said unsympathetically. He stood up, lifting Hermione to her feet
and then giving her a gentle shove towards the bathroom.

“Go take a shower. It'll wake you up.”

“Bully,” Hermione accused, jaw cracking in a huge yawn. “Will you scrub my back?”

Harry's jaw dropped and Hermione laughed.

“I'm just kidding. I think.” She swayed off to the bathroom, winking over her shoulder.

Harry stared at her for a minute, then started pulling out breakfast materials, muttering
something under his breath about “bloody Charlotte”. He slammed the frying pan down with a little
more force than strictly necessary, glared at the burner (which obligingly coughed into life), and
set up toasting some bread. By the time Hermione returned, he was laying the bacon and eggs on the
table.

“Your turn,” Hermione commanded, tossing her wet hair back. “I want you to come in with me
today, and I don't want you smelling like a sewer.”

“I beg your pardon,” Harry replied stiffly. “You didn't complain this morning. And why do
you want me to go with you to work?”

“Because I'm going to try and cure Ginny, and I want you to be there,” Hermione replied
casually.

“You're what?!” Harry sprang to his feet and banged a knee on the table; he spent the next
minute hobbling around and swearing.

“I won't have such language in this house,” Hermione scolded sharply. “And I said that
I'm going to try and cure Ginny. You were right; the Muggles know lots of useful stuff and I
think I found what we were looking for.”

“Glad I could be of help,” Harry said through gritted teeth, still rubbing his knee.

“Yes,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I think I'm going to try and integrate Muggle medicine
with Wizarding medicine. Nobody's done it before and it looks like there may be a lot to
learn...”

“That's lovely, Hermione,” Harry said impatiently. “Do you really think you can help
Ginny?”

“Go shower, and then I'll tell you,” Hermione said infuriatingly.

Harry growled and stumped off to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later they stood outside a small house in Hogsmeade.

“This is where Ginny lives? All alone?”

“Yeah,” Hermione affirmed. “Ron and Mr. Weasley spent a fortune on it; they had to work double
shifts for a year. They still wouldn't have been able to afford it if Fred and George
hadn't given them a load of money too. They installed all sorts of features to help Ginny live
by herself, and invented anything that didn't already exist. It was the sweetest thing I've
ever seen. Here, you'll see.”

Hermione raised her hand and knocked on the door. Immediately, a vivid blue eye not unlike
Moody's appeared in the door and studied them.

“Hermione Granger and one person of unknown identity are at the front door,” they heard a
disembodied voice inside the house. The eye closed and disappeared. A moment later they heard
careful, light footsteps and the door opened. Ginny stood there grasping a support that seemed to
be floating in mid-air.

“Hermione!” she exclaimed, staring blindly out the door. “What a pleasant surprise! Who's
with you?”

“I thought I'd stop by and say hi,” Hermione answered brightly, motioning Harry to silence
and leaning forward to take Ginny's hand. “And go ahead and get rid of that pesky blindness
while I was at it. I invited a colleague of mine, Healer Andrews, to come as well.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny embraced her impulsively. “I'm so glad you stopped by. But you
don't have to pretend, I accepted my blindness long ago. Your friend is quite welcome as well.
Come on in; I'll make us some tea.”

“No, really, Ginny,” Hermione continued as they entered. “I learned some amazing stuff from
those Muggle books! Harry was right.”

Harry gave her a sharp glance. Hermione sighed, made a placating gesture and mouthed “She
already knew”.

“Where is Harry?” Ginny asked eagerly. She was walking down the small entrance hall confidently;
a small handrail appeared besides her as she walked which she used as a guide; it disappeared after
she passed. The rug straightened itself out in front of her and any objects that were in the way
were moved to the side by invisible hands.

They emerged into a cozy little kitchen, awash with sunlight. A faint sound of music was coming
from a radio perched on the windowsill; Ginny turned it off by simply saying, “Radio, off”.

“He's at home,” Hermione lied unblushingly. “Doing whatever it is that he does when I'm
not there.”

Ginny giggled.

“Healer Andrews, would you like some tea?” she asked politely.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry replied, deliberately deepening his voice. Ginny frowned for a second,
but then shrugged it off.

“You have a very pleasant voice,” she complimented. “Tea, please.”

A teapot flew over to the sink, filled itself, then settled onto the stove.

“Why don't we go sit down?” Ginny suggested. “It'll take a minute for that to get ready.
It really makes marvelous tea; Fred and George did a great job with it.”

She led them to a small living room, once again being led by the magical rail. It led her
straight to an extremely comfortable looking leather recliner which scooted forward slightly to be
in the perfect position as Ginny sat. Harry and Hermione sat together on the love seat.

The room was quite pleasant with three large windows that bathed the room in sunlight. There was
no tv, of course, but there was a stupendous stereo and a large collection of cds. Despite
Ginny's blindness there were pictures of her family plastered all over the walls, and even some
of Harry.

“This is an amazing house,” Harry said admiringly when they were all seated.

“Yes, isn't it?” Ginny said happily. “Everyone chipped in to make it for me. I couldn't
believe it; I was such a little brat, I can't believe they would do this for me. Fred and
George in particular were so sweet. Would you believe they cried when they visited me at St.
Mungo's and found out I was blinded? It's the only time I've ever heard them cry. Then
they sold one of their stores to raise money for this house. Property is so expensive is
Hogsmeade...”

“But what am I saying? You wouldn't know Fred and George. So, Hermione, how are you
doing?”

“Really well, thanks!” Hermione said. “After I cure you, I'm going to talk to Healer Swift
and start a program to integrate Muggle and Wizarding medicine! They know a lot more than we give
them credit for.”

“That's wonderful, Hermione, but please stop talking about my blindness. I don't mind,
but I know you get upset when you try something and it doesn't work.”

“Why don't you just let her try,” Harry broke in. “What could it hurt?”

“Oh, you don't understand, Healer Andrews,” Ginny said earnestly. “It really devastates
Hermione when she tries and fails, and I don't like to see my friends hurt like that.”

“Please, Ginny,” Hermione pleaded. “Just let me try one more time.”

“Oh...” Ginny prevaricated, “I don't know, Hermione. Are you really sure?”

“Yes!”

At that moment, the kettle started whistling piercingly.

“Oh, very well,” Ginny relented. “But let's have our tea first.”

“Tea, living room!” Ginny called, and a tray with the teapot and three cups came sailing in.
Arriving, it poured three cups and settled itself on a small table next to Ginny.

“The tea is ready,” the disembodied voice echoed around them.

“Help yourselves,” Ginny invited.

They sat there sipping quietly at the tea for a moment, then Ginny and Hermione started chatting
lightly. Harry wasn't really paying much attention until he heard his name come up again.

“So how are things between you and Harry going?” Ginny was saying.

“I'm not sure what you mean, Ginny,” Hermione responded, a note of warning in her voice.
Harry was looking steadily at her.

“I couldn't believe what Charlotte told me,” Ginny continued blithely. “She said you two
moved in together! Of course, she still thinks Harry is No One.”

Harry's gaze was now boring a hole in the side of Hermione's head; she refused to look
at him.

“Well, you know, it just sort of made sense,” she said in a rush. “I mean, what was the point of
spending the money on two flats when we lived right next to each other?”

“Sure, sure,” Ginny giggled.

“I think I'm about done with my tea,” Hermione said hastily. “Let's get started. Ready,
Healer Andrews?”

“Yes, let's,” Harry said flatly.

“I'm just going to come over and put my head on your head, Ginny,” Hermione explained,
taking a deep breath. “I need direct contact to be able to see clearly.”

“Ok,” Ginny said uncertainly.

Hermione walked over, then got down on her knees and laid a hand on the back of Ginny's
red-haired head. She concentrated for a minute and nothing seemed to happen. Then she started
murmuring under her breath.

“Yes, I see it!” Hermione crowed suddenly. “Now, to fix it...”

Ginny swayed a bit and brought one hand to her head, clutching the arm of her chair with the
other.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” she asked unsteadily. “I'm dizzy.”

“Shhh, dear, it's alright,” Hermione soothed.

“Something's happening... Wait! I can see something!” Ginny cried. “There's someone
sitting across from me! Is that Healer Andrews?”

At that moment Hermione shuddered and collapsed to the floor. Harry leaped forward to catch her
and Ginny cried out as Hermione lost contact with her.

“I can't see anymore! Hermione! Are you ok?”

“I'm ok,” Hermione said weakly, clutching at Harry's arms in an attempt to sit up.
“I'm just tired...”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Ginny exclaimed, but there was a note of loss in her voice.

“Just give me a second,” Hermione panted. “I almost had it. I'll get it this time.”

“No!” Harry said sharply, forgetting to disguise his voice. He was cradling Hermione in his
arms. “You're in no shape to try again. It could kill you!”

“You're not Healer Andrews!” Ginny accused, gripping her chair so hard her knuckles were
white. “You're Harry! That's what you look like now?”

Harry didn't say anything; he looked down at Hermione instead. She looked back up at him
helplessly, a pleading expression on her face.

“Yes,” he said heavily. “This is what I look like now, Ginny.”

“Hermione was right...” Ginny murmured. “You are beautiful. I couldn't have had a better
vision for the first time I've seen in five years.”

Harry glanced swiftly at Hermione; she turned red and struggled to sit up on her own.

“Harry, come over here. Please.”

Harry carried Hermione to the love seat and settled her in, then approached Ginny
cautiously.

“Here I am, Ginny,” he said, kneeling down in front of her. A second later her fist lashed out
and buried itself in his stomach. Hermione made a helpless little noise from the other side of the
room.

“That's for leaving us and then pretending you were someone else!” she shouted as Harry
doubled over, his breath whooshing out in an “oomph”.

“And this is for coming back!” Ginny stumbled off her chair to also fall on her knees and hug
him tightly. “Don't ever do that to us again!”

“I won't,” gasped Harry. “I swear.”

“Good,” Ginny nodded in satisfaction, clambering back into her chair. “Now, get back over to
Hermione where you belong, you git, she needs you.”

“Yeah,” Harry puffed, still winded. “Going...”

Hermione was sitting up straight when he got there. She gave him a commiserating glance as he
tentatively felt his stomach.

“I think I'm better now,” Hermione announced. “I'll get it right this time.”

“No!” Harry said angrily. “I'm not going to let you throw your life away any more than you
would let me!”

“It's my choice,” Hermione replied sharply. “I'm ok now, really. I didn't know what
I was doing before. Now I do. There's no danger.”

“Hermione, I don't want you to do anything that could be dangerous,” Ginny sided with Harry.
“You let me see for a second, and that was a great gift. You don't need to do any more.”

“Be quiet, the both of you,” Hermione snapped. “I'm the Healer here. I know what I'm
talking about.”

Hermione got back up and settled herself near Ginny again, throwing a furious glare at Harry
when he got up. He sighed and sat back down.

“Ok, Ginny, just relax,” Hermione instructed, laying her hand on Ginny's head again.

They sat there for a long minute wordlessly until, at last, Hermione swore violently.

“Hermione!” gasped Ginny.

“Harry, help me,” she commanded. “My magic isn't strong enough. Yours is, I know it is.”

“I don't know what to do, Hermione,” Harry shrugged helplessly. “I don't know anything
about Healing. Everything I've done has been in the grip of battle; I don't remember any of
it. I wouldn't even know where to start.”

“Just- just do something, Harry. Please! We're so close...”

Harry sat still for a moment, then summoned his guitar with a wave of his hand.

“You're going to get something... useful... in a minute, Hermione.”

Harry closed his eyes and started playing a slow, almost mesmerizing tune. The music seemed to
flow off his fingertips and directly into Hermione. She gasped as a sudden, overwhelming surge of
power infused her. She suddenly felt like she could do anything. Anything at all.

“No, Harry! Not that!” She tried to push it away.

“Do it, Hermione,” Harry hissed, still playing. “Do it now, or I won't stop.”

“What is he doing?” Ginny asked fearfully.

Hermione gave a cry of anguish and whipped back around to Ginny. There wasn't any time to be
gentle; Ginny convulsed as the power surged through her. A moment later it was done and Hermione
dashed over and ripped the guitar out of Harry's hand.

“I can see,” Ginny said wonderingly, gazing at her hand. “I can see! Hermione, I can see!”

Ginny leaped up and performed a mad sort of jig, then saw Hermione and Harry.

“Hermione, w-what's wrong?”

“Don't you ever do that again!” Hermione spat at Harry in a towering rage. “NEVER!”

“Hermione,” Ginny asked timidly. “What's going on? Is Harry ok?”

“I'm ok,” Harry said faintly from the love seat.

“This IDIOT,” Hermione exploded. “This UTTER FOOL was draining his own vitality, his LIFE, to
give me the power to heal you.”

“He WHAT?” Ginny screeched.

“It worked, didn't it?” Harry protested to the two enraged women looming over him.

“Harry, if you had killed yourself for something as trivial as giving my sight back, I would
have brought you back to life just so I could kill you again!” Ginny fumed.

“I didn't think it was trivial,” Harry argued.

“You- you- you-” Hermione was beyond words. With a wail, she burst into tears and threw herself
on Harry, crushing him so tightly he couldn't breathe. “You scared me to death!”

“Hermione,” choked Harry. “Can't. Breathe.”

Hermione relieved the pressure marginally and Harry breathed deeply.

“I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to scare you. I assure you, I did not intend to
die.”

“Good,” Hermione said in a muffled voice. “But don't do it again!”

“Yeah!” echoed Ginny fiercely, tears leaking from her eyes too. She dropped on the love seat
next to them and spread her arms as wide as she could to embrace both of them.

“Thank you so much for my sight,” Ginny was crying openly now. “It's the best thing anyone
has ever done for me. I don't know how I can ever repay you... I love you both!”

“I think,” Harry said in a subdued voice from the middle of the pile, “I think I'm going to
tell Ron and the others who I am.”

-->



13. Harry. Just Harry.
----------------------



**A/N -** **Ok, a lot of people are going to get their wish come true this chapter ;)**
**I originally thought this chapter would include several events, but the two big ones just
swelled and made a chapter of themselves. I think you'll agree =) I also realize it sounds like
the story is** **over** **at the end of this chapter, but it's not.** **There's
more to come, oh my yes.**

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is everything ready?” Harry asked nervously for at least the twentieth time.

“Of course,” Hermione assured him. “Are you sure you don't want to tell Ron first?”

“Yeah... he'd never be able to keep it a secret.”

“He's going to kill you,” Hermione said in an amused voice. She was in a light mood, and had
been for the last several days since they healed Ginny. Harry, on the other hand, was pacing
restlessly across the room, stopping every now and then to gesticulate wildly and mutter some sort
of speech under his breath.

“Ginny hasn't told anyone else yet, right?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione said in exasperation. “They didn't believe her before anyway.
Why would they now?”

“And don't *you* forget,” Hermione continued, “that Ginny is pretending she's still
blind.”

“Everyone's going to be there?”

“Yes. Stop worrying, Harry! You're driving me crazy!”

“Sorry,” Harry said immediately, coming to a stop and taking a deep breath. He dredged up a
smile and added, “You look lovely, Hermione. Even more than usual.”

“You cheater,” Hermione laughed, blushing prettily. “How am I supposed to stay irritated with
you when you go saying things like that?”

“I'm not completely thick,” Harry smiled briefly. Hermione laughed again and glided over to
take his face in her hands and kiss him. Harry gave in with a resigned sort of expression; he was
allowing her to carry on with the illusion. It wasn't like he minded and if it made her happy
he'd do it a thousand times over. He just couldn't offer anything in return, but she
refused to accept that.

“Ok, its time to go,” Hermione said briskly, heading towards the door.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and turned and walked straight away from the door.

“Come back here, you!” Hermione commanded, rushing back to plant herself in front of Harry.

“Can't we do it tomorrow?”

“No! No more putting it off, Harry,” Hermione scolded, vainly trying to push him out the door.
“You promised you were going to do it. You can't go back on your word.”

“Damn. Ok, I'm coming. No need to push,” Harry chided, then sidestepped and caught Hermione
around the waist as she suddenly found herself exerting all her strength against empty air.

“That,” Hermione said primly as she recovered her balance, “was not nice.”

Harry grinned non-repentantly. Nose stuck in the air, Hermione made as if to walk away, but
launched herself at him at the last moment. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, but
Hermione recovered more quickly.

“Are you sorry now?” she asked conversationally, pinning him down by the simple expedient of
sitting on his chest.

“Yes,” Harry surrendered. “I'm sorry. Can we go now?”

Hermione sniffed and climbed to her feet, straightening her hair. Harry slowly did the same and
trailed after her. She glanced suspiciously over her shoulder, but Harry was behaving himself. At
least until she turned away again; then he sprang into action, grabbing her around the waist and
throwing her over his shoulder.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed, pounding on his back with her fists. “Put me down!”

Whistling, Harry carried Hermione out the door, ignoring her screeches.

A few minutes later they stood outside Ginny's house. Harry was once again looking nervous
and Hermione kept shooting him filthy looks while rubbing her backside and muttering something
about “stupid boys”.

“Hey!” the door burst open to show Ron before they could knock.

“Ron!” Hermione said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“We thought we'd come pick up Ginny with you and No One and we could all head over
together,” Charlotte said from inside.

“Oh. How nice.”

“Invite them in, Ron!” they heard Ginny call.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry,” Ron apologized, stepping back. “Come on in. Why do you keep feeling your
rear, Hermione?”

Hermione snatched her hand away and walked past Ron, head held high. Harry maintained a straight
face and led a bemused Ron in where they all squeezed in Ginny's living room. Ginny was sitting
in her chair once again.

“Hi Ginny!” Hermione greeted cheerfully, winking.

Ginny smiled faintly but was giving a very convincing performance of still being blind. She held
a hand out uncertainly and Hermione rushed forward to take it. Harry hung back, trying not to draw
attention to himself.

“So are you going to tell us what this is all about, Ginny?” asked Charlotte, who was lounging
bonelessly on the love seat. Ron went over to join her.

“You'll see,” Ginny smiled mysteriously.

“I think you owe us at least a hint,” Ron frowned. “You wouldn't believe how much effort it
took to round everyone up and get them to the Burrow. This is the only day for the next four months
that Charlie could make it!”

“And what a beautiful day it is,” Hermione said happily, motioning towards the window where
sunlight streamed in. “Like a sign of good things to come.”

Ron and Charlotte both stared at Hermione.

“What are you girls not telling us?”

“Nothing,” Ginny and Hermione chorused, all innocence.

“No One,” Ron appealed. “What's going on?”

Harry gestured helplessly. He had not been expecting to see Ron so soon. He found himself seized
with a reckless urge to confess all right then.

“Hey, are you ok mate?” Ron asked, peering at him. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

He did indeed; he was white and sweating. Charlotte jumped up and hurried over, laying a hand on
his forehead.

“Do you need anything? Some water?” Ron asked in concern. Hermione and Ginny just watched,
expressionless, as Harry struggled with himself.

“Yeah... yes, please.”

“No problem,” Ron threaded his way through to the kitchen.

“You just sit down here for a minute, dear,” Charlotte ushered him over to a chair. Ron returned
and wordlessly handed him a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Harry gulped it down gratefully.

“No problem, mate. Are you feeling ok?”

“Yeah...” Harry said shakily. “Hey, you were friends with Harry Potter, right?”

“Best mates!” Ron answered proudly. “Why do you ask?”

“D'you- d'you think you'd recognize him if you saw him now?”

“Of course!”

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“Well- no. Why are you suddenly so interested?” Ron asked slowly.

“Oh, no reason...” Harry trailed off. “Hey, would you be furious with him if he suddenly showed
up and you found out that he had been been alive the whole time and hadn't told you? Hadn't
so much as dropped a hint?”

“I-” Ron frowned. “I don't know. I've never thought about it that way... why are you so
keen on this?”

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, but finally, something seemed to give.

“Well,” he looked Ron straight in the eye. “Are you mad at me?”

Ron gaped at him. Hermione and Ginny made identical *hssts* as they drew a breath in
sharply.

“What are you-? Are you claiming *you* are Harry? Come off it!”

“I'm not claiming. I'm telling you.”

“Come off it!” Ron repeated, then spun to accuse Ginny and Hermione. “You put him up to this,
didn't you?”

They both shook their heads violently.

“No!” Ginny denied.

“It's true,” Hermione chimed in at the same time. “It is Harry. It really is!”

Ron whirled back to stare at Harry, bewildered.

“You can't be serious...”

“I am,” Harry said firmly.

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “This isn't funny!”

“Ron, you idiot, it's me!” Harry exploded.

“You're mental... ok, if you're really Harry, tell me who Snuffles is,” Ron
challenged.

“Sirius,” Harry answered promptly.

“No!” Ron's eyes widened. “It can't be- you must have found that out somehow. Hermione
told you. Here's something she wouldn't know... what did Moaning Myrtle tell you right
before we went into the Chamber of Secrets?”

“She told me I could share her toilet if I died. Ron, stop being thick!” Harry exclaimed,
thrusting the back of his hand in front of Ron's face. “Look! Remember this?”

Ron stared at it, silently mouthing the words written carved faintly there; *I must not tell
lies*. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to Harry's forehead.

“But- your scar. Your hair-” He stared into Harry's bright green eyes.

“You knew!” Ron shouted suddenly, whipping around to confront Hermione. “You knew the whole time
and you didn't tell me! You told Ginny, but not me! You- you little lying traitor!”

“Ron, stop!” Harry said furiously, throwing himself between him and Hermione, who had gone
white; Ginny reached up and put a comforting arm around her waist and glared at her brother.

“Don't you yell at Hermione, you big git!” she shouted.

“It's not her fault!” Harry jumped in. “I made her promise! It's my fault; if you've
got a bone to pick with anyone, it's me! And Ginny figured it out herself; it's your own
fault you didn't listen to her.”

Ron turned angrily on Harry, but Harry met him stare for stare. Ron couldn't meet that
haunted gaze for long and soon dropped his eyes.

“But- why? You were supposed to be my best mate.” All the strength seemed to go out of Ron and
he collapsed onto the love seat, hurt and betrayal on his face. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I just did. But first tell Hermione you're sorry!” Harry commanded.

“I'm, uh,” Ron quailed under Harry's furious stare. “I'm sorry, Hermione. I was out
of order.”

“It's ok,” Hermione smiled tremulously. “I understand. I still love you, even if you are a
git sometimes. My- my reaction wasn't much better...”

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed. “At least you didn't punch him, like me.”

Harry nodded in pained remembrance. Ron just looked at his feet and Charlotte took the moment to
quietly sit at his side. For the moment all three woman were silent, only spectators.

“Why?” asked Ron simply, conveying a thousand questions with a single word.

“What, aren't you glad to see me?” Harry joked feebly, then sighed. “I'm sorry, Ron. I
didn't do it to hurt you. If it makes you feel better, I didn't tell Hermione either. She
found me and figured it out herself. She's always been far too clever for her own good.”

Ron nodded his head, speechless.

“And Ginny... well, I didn't think she would be able to recognize me by my voice alone. But
I guess it all starts with Hermione. I don't think I'd be here if it wasn't for her.
I'd probably be dead.”

Ron gave a start.

“Yes, I'm sure I would,” Harry continued. “But... I don't really want to get into it
now. I'll tell you... some other time. I'll just say I wasn't in very good shape after
the... battle. I didn't want to see anyone, so I hid... but I'm back now. All thanks to
that little witch.”

Harry managed a small smile for Hermione. There was a long moment of silence, Ron clearly trying
to sort everything out in his head. It was finally broken by, of all people, Charlotte.

“Are- are you really Harry Potter?” she asked hesitantly. He nodded.

“You have no idea how much Ron missed you,” she stated matter-of-factly. “He talks about you all
the time.”

Ron raised his head swiftly and shot a quelling glare at Charlotte. She sniffed and gave him a
sharp smack on the back of the head.

“Get up, you big lout!” she commanded. “Get up and greet your friend! He's been gone for
five years; you thought he was dead and now you find out he's alive and you've nothing to
say to him?”

Ron stood up, prodded sharply by Charlotte, and looked uncertainly at Harry.

“It- it *is* good to see you, Harry,” Ron laughed shakily. “I'm sorry; it shocked me a
bit...”

He held out his hand and Harry reached forward to take it, but just kept going and they embraced
as brothers, slapping each other on the back. Wordlessly, Ginny groped for a handkerchief and
dabbed at her eyes, passing it on to Hermione and Charlotte.

Ron and Harry pulled back and looked around at the teary women.

“What?” an oblivious Ron asked. Hermione gave Charlotte a sympathetic look.

“Whatever,” Ron said vaguely and suddenly grinned. “Harry, I can't believe it's
you!”

Harry grinned back, his insides swelling as though he had swallowed a large balloon.

“Now can you tell me what this gathering Ginny wants is all about?” Ron demanded, falling
smoothly back into their usual pattern as if the past five years had never happened. “Or have they
terrorized you not to tell?”

Harry's grin faded and panic took ahold again.

“Ron, mate,” Harry rushed forward and seized his shirt. “Ron, you gotta help me!”

“Whoa!” Ron put a hand on Harry's chest and held him at arm's length. “Whoa, mate, take
it easy. What's going on?”

“It's this mad idea of Hermione's, Ron,” Harry said desperately, his stomach a-flutter
again. “This party! I can't do it!”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Hermione jumped in. “It was your idea too!”

Harry shook his head violently.

“No, I just said I was going to tell everyone who I am. I thought, you know, maybe one at a
time...”

“So THAT'S what this is all about!” Ron snapped his fingers. “This whole thing is for
Harry!”

“Perhaps,” Hermione sighed. “And you weren't supposed to be here! You weren't supposed
to know it was Harry until later.”

“But I'm glad you found out first,” Harry interrupted. And he was; with Ron back everything
seemed almost back to normal. To like it used to be. Telling him hadn't been anywhere near as
hard as he thought it would be.

“Ron, I'm really sorry,” Harry felt the need to elaborate. “I wasn't thinking right... I
should have told you ages ago.”

“It's nothing,” Ron waved it off. “Look, I'm just glad you're ok and you're
back!”

“Yeah,” echoed Hermione. Ron looked back and forth at Harry and Hermione and then started to
laugh.

“What's so funny?” she asked suspiciously.

“Ahaha,” Ron wheezed, holding his sides. “And here I thought you were finally getting over
Harry!”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” Hermione said frostily, but Ginny
and Charlotte were also laughing.

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said in an even chillier voice. “We're going now.”

Hermione, Ginny and Ron just laughed louder. Hermione smiled grimly; there was a big surprise
still on the way for Ron and she was going to enjoy it.

* * *

They arrived at the Burrow around one o'clock, Hermione ostentatiously guiding Ginny. It was
just like Harry remembered; wild gardens, discarded boots, rusty old cauldrons and the stone
building growing out of the ground and stitched together with magic. This time, though, there were
several tables set up outside and a gaggle of Weasleys wandering around in groups. Harry recognized
Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Fred, George and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. There was no sign of Percy.

Also present were Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley, Luna Lovegood, Professor McGonagall and Hagrid.

“I thought you said it was only going to be the Weasleys,” Harry said in a strangled voice; Ron
and Hermione had to grab him by the shoulders to keep him from bolting.

“Well, I figured we might as well have everyone over and make it a good do,” Ron said casually.
“I didn't know it was your coming out party, if you recall.”

“Oh, it's perfect, Ron,” Hermione purred, waving eagerly.

Mrs. Weasley saw them first and hurried over with big smile. Hermione took Harry's hand and
hustled forward to meet her.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley!”

“Welcome, Hermione, welcome! Who's your friend?” she asked keenly, spotting the contact
between Harry and Hermione immediately.

“This is Harry, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione introduced brightly. Harry had to bite back a groan.

“Harry?” Mrs. Weasley repeated with a jolt. “Why, what a coincidence!”

“Harry's quite a common name,” Hermione said seriously, squeezing Harry's hand.

“Well, yes, of course, you're right. You're very welcome here, Harry. Any friend of
Hermione is. She does seem to be quite taken with Harrys, though.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said politely. Strangely, Hermione didn't blush at all.

“Oh, call me Molly.”

“I couldn't do that, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry protested.

“Aren't you a dear?” she patted his cheek. “And where are my other two misfit children?”

“Hi, mum!” Ginny and Ron said together. Mrs. Weasley enfolded both of them in a hug, lingering
on Ginny.

“So are you going to tell us what the big event is?” she asked, putting an arm around her
youngest child and taking over as guide.

“What big event?” Ginny asked ingenuously.

“What did I do to deserve such a daughter?” Mrs. Weasley sighed fatalistically. “Well, I
can't deny that I'm glad to see everyone. It's been such a long time since we were all
gathered together in one place. And on such a splendid day! Come on, I'm sure everyone would
love to see you. Nice to meet you, Harry!”

Chattering, she led Ginny away. Ron winked and wandered off towards Mr. Weasley, leaving Harry
and Hermione to fend for themselves. Hermione smiled encouragingly.

“Oh, no,” she groaned a moment later. “Fred and George are heading this way.”

“Brilliant!” Harry brightened a bit. He had been looking forward to seeing those two most of
all.

“Why, what do we have here, Fred?” George said with a ridiculous double-take as they drew close.
They were, Harry noticed, still wearing their dragon hide jackets and matching boots.

“I'm not sure, George,” Fred said seriously, walking around Harry and Hermione, pretending
to study them from different angles.

“It's quite definitely human,” he continued, briefly lifting Harry and Hermione's joined
hands. “And it seems to be connected somehow.”

“D'you reckon it can understand us?” George asked in a hushed tone.

“Hi, George. Hi, Fred,” Hermione greeted them rather unenthusiastically.

“By Merlin!” Fred leaped a foot into the air. “It spoke!”

Harry was grinning, but Hermione finally removed her hand: to cross her arms and start tapping a
foot.

“Aha!” cried George. “It's Hermione!”

“And some poor deluded soul we don't know,” Fred added mournfully. “D'you reckon he
knows what he's gotten himself into? Maybe he's brain-damaged.”

“Very funny,” Hermione said icily. “This is Harry, in case you were wondering.”

“Harry?” George said in surprise. “Wow, Hermione. You sure are into your Harrys. Nice to meet
you, mate.”

He stuck out his hand.

“The pleasure's mine,” Harry responded with a toothy grin.

“Harry!” Hermione warned, grabbing his arm. “Don't you shake his hand.”

“What, don't you trust us, Hermione? We're hurt.”

Hermione just glared. George sighed and removed a small black object from the folds of skin
between thumb and forefinger and tucked it into his belt.

“There. Happy?”

He stuck his hand out again and Harry, who was smirking for some reason, reached out and took
it. The moment their hands touched there was a sizzling sound and George let out a howl of
surprise.

Fred roared with laughter and even Hermione cracked a smile.

“That's not supposed to happen!” George was outraged. “What was that?”

“This?” Harry held out a small electronic device. “It's a Muggle prank.”

“Really?” Fred said keenly, stepping close to study it. “Cool! George, we're going to have
to check this out.”

“Yeah...” George seemed to recover his humor. “You got me good, mate. You're one of the few.
Come on, we gotta go tell Bill and Charlie...”

Harry spent the next half an hour being led around and introduced to everyone by Fred and
George. At each introduction, the tale of Harry's prank grew more and more fantastic. Harry was
extremely nervous when he ran into Lupin and Tonks; he thought they were the most likely to
recognize him. Lupin because he was so observant and Tonks because she was a Metamorphmagus and
more in tune with disguises than most people. Fortunately, there was nothing more than an extended
scrutiny by Lupin.

“Harry, you say?” asked his old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. “Well, Harry, I hope
you realize how lucky you are to have met Hermione.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry agreed fervently. “I do. Believe me, I do.”

“How sweet,” Tonks smiled; her hair was long and blonde today. She looked radiant arm in arm
with Lupin, who was also looking younger and happier than Harry ever remembered seeing.

Hermione beamed and Lupin gave Harry another close inspection. Shaking his head, he excused
himself. Tonks gave them a last smile before heading after him.

“Hermione!” a larger-than-life figure roared, “what am I, a stranger?”

Hagrid, looking, as always, simply too big to be allowed, pounded over and completely engulfed
Hermione.

“Hagrid,” gasped Hermione, grabbing onto Harry for support when he finally released her.
“It's so nice to see you!”

“Who's yer friend?” Hagrid demanded.

“Oh. This is Harry, Hagrid.”

The reaction was predictable by now. Harry couldn't help but marvel at Hermione's
cleverness.

“Harry?” Hagrid exclaimed. “It can' be! Wait... Crikey, what am I thinkin'? Sorry,
Harry, didna mean ter be rude.”

Hagrid shook Harry's whole arm. “There're loads o' people named Harry. Jus' took
me by surprise.”

“No problem,” Harry shrugged.

“So how did you come to meet our Hermione?” Hagrid asked. “She's quite a catch, yeh
know.”

“So I've been told,” Harry replied, amused.

“Don't you think you're assuming just a bit much?” Hermione said pointedly. Fortunately,
Hagrid was spared having to answer.

“The food is going to ready in five minutes!” bellowed Mrs. Weasley from the doorway of the
Burrow.

“Excellent!” Fred, standing nearby, rubbed his hands in glee. “Come on, Harry, let's get
some prime seats.”

The twins had taken a great shine to Harry and hauled him over to the center table. Ron wandered
over and joined them as well.

“Hi, Harry,” he smirked. “How're you getting along with my crazy family?”

“Shut it, Miss Weasley,” George warned. Ron's ears turned red; Harry had a flashback to the
bar and mention of Ron's accidental charm. “Harry's ours now. We're going to make him a
partner.”

Further discussion was cut off by massive plates of every sort of food floating out of the
Burrow and settling on the tables. There was a collective groan of anticipation from the crowd and
a sudden flurry of activity to claim a seat.

“'At's 'etter,” Ron said happily several minutes later. “God, do I miss this
cooking.”

The meal passed in nearly complete silence, so delicious was Mrs. Weasley's cooking. Harry
had thought he was too nervous to eat, but he had not counted on Mrs. Weasley's cooking. He dug
in with gusto, having seconds, thirds, and even fourths.

At last, they all finished and a low rumble of conversation began. Everyone was far too full to
rise yet. Hermione nodded at Ginny, who was sitting at the leftmost table. She gave an
imperceptible nod in return and got to her feet. Slowly, the voices died away as attention was
drawn to her.

“Thank you for coming, everyone!” she said strongly. “It's been far too long since I
*saw* you all.”

She pointedly looked at every person in turn. Mr. Weasley went very still and one of his hands
found his wife's.

“I'm sure you're all wondering why I had Ron gather us together,” Ginny continued,
pushing back her chair and walking easily around to stand behind Hermione. “And I have to admit
that it was Hermione's idea.”

Mrs. Weasley was shaking and clutching her husband; whispers started circulating around the
table.

“Ginny!” Ron gasped, voicing the question on everyone's tongue. “How- Ginny, can you
SEE?”

Harry was thoroughly enjoying the look on Ron's face, but his insides were also twisting
incessantly as the inevitable drew closer.

“See what?” asked Ginny innocently, reaching out to pick a chunk of potato off his shirt. With a
shriek, Mrs. Weasley vaulted up and sprinted over and smothered her daughter, Mr. Weasley not far
behind.

“How?” George demanded over the tears and laughter. “How did it happen? Who cured you?”

“Hermione,” Ginny answered, struggling to break free from her mother. “Hermione did it.”

Now people were crowding around to hug and congratulate Hermione; she looked rather overwhelmed
and in imminent danger of bursting into tears once more. Ginny stole the moment to take Harry's
arm and pull him to his feet. It took a minute for everyone else to notice, but eventually the
cheers grew quiet and silence reigned again. They were all now staring at Harry
uncomprehendingly.

“It was Hermione who gave my sight back,” Ginny repeated into the silence. “Hermione and this
person, who is the real reason for this party. Hermione and Harry Potter.”

The silence that followed was deafening. No one spoke. No one moved. At last, after what seemed
an eternity, there was a disruption. Lupin stumbled forward to stand in front of Harry.

“I knew you seemed familiar,” he said numbly. “I knew it. Didn't I say it, Nymphadora?!
Didn't I tell you we knew him!”

Tonks nodded dazedly and Lupin pulled Harry into an embrace. Harry had barely escaped that when
a sobbing Hagrid lifted him bodily off the ground. That seemed to be the sign that shattered the
tension; instantly all Hell broke loose.

It was quite some time before any sort of order was restored. Initially, Mrs. Weasley had Harry
trapped with one arm and Ginny suffocated under the other. Mr. Weasley was finally able pry Harry
loose and shake his hand vigorously.

“Harry,” Luna said dreamily next, as if it had been just yesterday they had last seen each
other. “How are you?”

“G-Good,” Harry stammered, overcome at the reception he was getting. “R-really good. It's
really nice to see you, Luna.”

“You always say the nicest things, Harry,” Luna smiled. “Even if you don't really mean
them.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that he had indeed meant it but Luna got carried away by the
tide.

“We should've known!” yelled Fred and George, setting off some of their own firecrackers.
“Who else could have beat us at our own game!”

“I can't wait to tell Beaky!” Hagrid roared.

Hermione fought her way through the crowd and planted herself beside Harry, glaring through
moist eyes at anyone who even looked like they would try and separate them.

“Mr. Potter!” Professor McGonagall's voice rang out clearly. Instantly all her former
students (Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Hermione, Harry and even Lupin and Tonks)
stopped talking and glanced around nervously. McGongall was standing in front of Harry with her
pursed lips. But then she smiled.

“My goodness, Harry! I have never been so glad in my life to see someone! But I think I speak
for all of us when I say... what happened? How did you survive?”

A shadow passed over Harry's face. Hermione hovered protectively beside him and her
expression grew fierce, ready to do battle with even McGonagall.

“For heaven's sake, Minerva,” someone called. “Let's not make the poor man relive that.
Now is a time to celebrate.”

Harry turned gratefully to see a grinning Bill Weasley stride up and clap him on the shoulder.
Fleur waved from the table, heavily pregnant but as lovely as always. Shockingly, Ginny was sitting
right next to Fleur, chatting animatedly.

“Thanks, Bill,” Harry croaked. Bill winked at him.

“No problem. Besides,” he added. “I think Hermione is going to bite the next person who gets too
close. I think, perhaps, we should give Harry a little space.”

This time it was Hermione who gave Bill a pathetically grateful look. He winked again and
rejoined Fleur; everyone else respectfully drew away. Harry sat down suddenly as his legs gave
way.

“See!” Hermione exclaimed, drawing a chair up opposite. “I told you. I told you! Look how happy
everyone is!”

“I-,” Harry's throat was a bit dry. “I don't believe it... no one is mad or anything...
they're actually *glad* to see me...”

“Of course they are, Harry, don't you see!” Hermione cried. “They missed you! Don't you
understand how much you mean to all of us?”

Harry hung his head.

“Well, then this should prove it to you! You have no idea it was like, watching- watching every
horrible thing possible happen to you. But no matter how bad it was, you never gave up! You were
always fighting. Fighting to do what was right, to be there when we needed you. Long past the time
anyone else would have given up, but you just wouldn't give in. You inspired us all. Every time
I looked at you I was so proud to be your f-friend. We all loved you, Harry. We still do. Because
of who you were and the way you did things, not what you did.”

Harry shook his head, still looking down.

“Harry?” Hermione asked. “Harry, are you ok?”

“I'm ok,” he said quietly, still not looking up.

“Harry... it's ok to cry.”

“No, that's not it,” Harry finally looked up and his eyes were completely dry. “I'm not
even capable of that anymore.”

Hermione made a distressed sound, but Harry smiled it off.

“It's ok, Hermione. It doesn't bother me. I am content. It's... this.”

He held out his arm; there was only one scar left: the long thick one running the length.
Hermione glanced at it, but her eyes returned quickly to Harry's face.

“It's you, Hermione. You're doing it. I know it.”

“But...” Hermione protested. “I haven't done anything.”

“Yes, you have,” Harry said with conviction. “I don't know what, or how, but I know it's
you.”

“I- I may not be capable of this either,” he faltered. “But I'm going to try. I swear.”

Hermione watched with wide eyes, frozen, as Harry leaned forward. Her brown eyes were fixed upon
Harry's green ones as they grew larger and larger. He paused inches from her face; she melted
into his arms as he kissed her. They were in plain view of everyone else, but she didn't care.
Everyone was smiling and the twins even starting clapping and catcalling, but still, Hermione
didn't care.

-->



14. Home is Where the Weasleys Are
----------------------------------



**A/N - Hey, I'm really sorry this took so long! I'm not sure how happy I am with this
chapter, but I hope you all like it. It spans a very short period of time, but I think some
significant things happen.** **I will try and get the next chapter up sooner than this
one!**

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Harry and Hermione weren't interested in much else for a while. At some point they realized
they couldn't carry on snogging in front of the whole Weasley clan (and company), so they got
up and strolled off, hand in hand. Harry was content, which is as good as he had felt in a very
long time, and Hermione was humming to herself happily.

They passed a goodly distance away and eventually on behind a large hill. It was still a
marvelous day: the sun caressed their bodies, the air was warm but not hot, and the sweet smell of
freshly cut grass surrounded them. Several puffy white clouds broke up the monotony of the blue and
cast small dancing pockets of shadow.

“Oh, isn't this nice!” Hermione exclaimed upon encountering a majestic old tree on the far
side of the hill. It was swaying ever so slightly in the wind and cast a mottled shadow upon the
hill. Almost looking like it had deliberately been made that way (which it very well may have,
seeing as a wizarding family lived near) was a very inviting, root free crook in the trunk carpeted
in soft moss.

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione pulled him over. Smiling, she pushed him down into the crook and
attempted to follow suit, but stopped halfway and frowned in concentration. Harry realized that it
made her look absolutely adorable and was dumbfounded as to why he had never noticed before.

It took a minute to sort themselves out, but the end result was Hermione settled between
Harry's outflung legs, back resting his chest, head resting against his cheek and cradled in
his arms. She stared up in wonder, almost disbelief, as the breeze sighed through the branches and
sang softly in their ears, absently tracing circles on Harry's forearm with a free hand. Her
other hand was tightly clamped in Harry's.

“I can't believe this,” she murmured. “I must be dreaming...”

“No,” Harry looked around briefly. “No, I'm pretty sure we're awake.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione laughed. “You're so romantic.”

“I think you're poking fun at me, little witch,” Harry said patiently.

“Oh, but you're so cute when you're all serious like that. I couldn't resist,”
Hermione teased, then twisted her head back to kiss him gently. She really was quite skilled at it,
and getting better every time.

“Sorry,” she apologized as she finally had to draw back for breath. “I'll let you breathe
now. It's just that... I've waited so long for this day...”

They sat there in companionable silence for a while, not needing to fill it up with random
conversation; they had never needed to. Harry was glad to see Hermione so happy. The weight of her
body against his felt extremely comforting and... good. He was relaxed and comfortable and enjoyed
the sensation of Hermione's hand on his arm. But he was still disturbed by the lack of emotion
he felt. He should feel something... more.

“What do you mean, you waited so long?” he said finally. “You-you didn't feel like this
about me when we were at Hogwarts, did you?”

She gave him a sidelong glance.

“Maybe...”

“You did?” Harry asked, stunned. “But- Rita Skeeter- we denied!”

“When?”

He didn't have to say any more; Hermione knew exactly what he was asking. Still, she
remained quiet for so long that he thought she wasn't going to answer.

“One year,” she said finally, “there was an annoying, ugly little know-it-all crying in a
bathroom. Some mean red-haired kid said she was a nightmare and didn't have any friends. So
when a troll got in the school, she didn't know.”

Harry blinked and opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“Another boy who, ironically, was the best mate of the mean one, knew that the know-it-all was
crying in a bathroom and, even though he didn't like her, insisted they go find her. Breaking
dozens of rules in the process, I might add. They did find her, and the troll too. Instead of
running away, like any normal person would have, he ran in to save her. That boy, who didn't
even like the girl, attacked a twelve foot troll with his bare hands. Just for her.”

Hermione looked up at him.

“I fell a little bit in love with you right then. How could I not? Ron, too. But you especially.
It was you who insisted on finding me; Ron told me. And the better I got to know you, the more
special I saw you were. So much more than just a famous name. I decided by the end of that year
that you were the one.”

“But- you never said anything!” Harry exclaimed a bit dazedly. Though, somewhere beneath the
shock he felt a small twang of amusement at how logically she described deciding that he was,
essentially, her soul mate. When she was twelve, no less.

“Yes, I did. You just didn't understand it,” she smiled. “But it's ok. I didn't ever
expect you to return my feelings. I was, after all, an ugly, insufferable little know-it-all. And
you were Harry Potter.”

“You were never ugly!” Harry blurted, making Hermione's insides melt and leading to another
good, long snogging.

“But what about Ron?” Harry continued doggedly once he regained his powers of speech.

“Oh.” Hermione turned a bit pink. “That, um. That wasn't my finest hour, I'll admit. I,
uh, I didn't think you'd ever like me, and...”

Once again Harry opened his mouth to speak, and once again Hermione shushed him.

“No more questions. It's my turn now.”

Harry swallowed whatever words he was bursting to say and nodded. Hermione took a deep
breath.

“You could- you could feel love before- when we were at Hogwarts, right?”

“Yes,” Harry said slowly. “Yeah, I think I could. I dunno, though... how would I know?”

Hermione ignored the last part and rushed on.

“Did you ever- feel anything for me?”

“I, um...” Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I- well, first, I didn't dislike you First Year. I
just, um, didn't like you either. You always had your heart in the right place; Ron and I were
little snots. And you weren't, er- um...”

“Insufferable?” Hermione finished with a ghost of a smile. “I was. I admit it.”

“But you were always right,” Harry grinned.

“You didn't answer...”

“I know,” Harry said heavily. “Hermione, why did you have to ask me this?”

“Because I want to know that you feel- that you felt something for me!” Hermione said shrilly,
her face flushing a little.

“Hermione...” Harry cast around, searching for something to say. Her eyes were averted, but he
could see her lower lip trembling. “Hermione, I... it's not important now, is it? That was in
the past...”

He finished pleadingly, but Hermione still couldn't meet his eyes. She had stopped caressing
his arm and her other hand was limp in his.

“Hermione, please-”

“No!” She didn't want to hear it.

“Hermione-”

“I'm not finished!” she was almost yelling now, her body stiffening as she removed her hand
from his. “Don't you say anything yet!”

Harry fell silent, shock at the abrupt turn of events evident on his face. How had it gone from
everything being so right to *this* in the span of minutes?

“I've felt this way about you for over ten years!” Hermione cried, choking a little bit.
“I've had to watch you go through so many horrible things without being able to comfort you the
way I wanted to. I lived five years wondering where you were and if you were ok! I finally found
you and it almost destroyed me to see the state you were in!”

The words were pouring from Hermione now and there wasn't any way she could have stopped them,
even if she wanted to. Harry sat with a stunned look on his face as they washed over him.

“It broke my heart to see you like that, Harry. Didn't you ever think what it was like for
me to walk in and see you bloody and hurt with a knife clutched in your hand?! I thought I was
going to die right on the spot! Or when you said you didn't care if you died? That no one cared
if you die! How do you think that made me feel about myself, telling me I was a no one?”

“Hermione, I-” Harry tried to get a word in, but she rolled right over him.

“I never told you how I felt before, but I couldn't hold it in any more after that. Only to
find out that you never even considered my feelings as worth anything! D'you know where I went
after that? I showed up on Ron's front door step and broke down completely. He was so worried
about me and I couldn't even tell him what was wrong. Because of YOU and YOUR stupid promise!”
Tears were rolling down Hermione's cheeks now and her words came in great, heaving gasps.

“Hermione, I never meant-”

“Is it too much to ask if you ever cared for me? Is it- is it too much to-to want to know that
you're not just settling for me?” Hermione finished in a whisper, turning her head away. “I- I
want to be with you, Harry. I want it more than anything else. But not if you're doing it just
to humor me.”

Hermione deflated a little as the emotion drained out of her and studiously avoided Harry's
eyes. Harry didn't respond though and, after a minute, Hermione made to get up, tears still
running silently down her face.

“No.” Harry snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her back.

“Let me go, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “I can't be with you like this.”

She screwed her eyes shut, fighting to cut off the tears. That was almost a lie. She wanted to
be with him so much that a part of her didn't care how it came about. She wanted to collapse
back into his arms and snog him into insensibility. Whisper endearments into his ear. But this way
wasn't right.

“No,” Harry repeated firmly. “You're not going anywhere. You got to say your piece. It's
my turn now.”

Hermione stopped struggling and sat back down suddenly, causing the air to whoosh out of Harry.
It couldn't really get any worse.

“Fair enough.”

“Damn straight it is,” Harry responded heatedly. He still held her in his arms, but it was a
stiff, awkward sort of embrace, like holding a board of wood.

“Now listen here, little witch,” Harry began forcefully. “When I do something, it's because
*I* want to. When I chose to stay with you instead of running away, it's because *I*
wanted to, not because you forced me. When you moved in with me I didn't protest because
*I* wanted you to. When I hold you, it's because *I* want to. When you kiss me, I
kiss you back because *I* want to. I'm not some wishy-washy little boy who does everything
they're told. Do you understand me?”

Hermione nodded, still not looking at him, though her body relaxed a fraction.

“I may not be capable of returning your feelings but... Hermione, that doesn't mean I
don't want to be with you. That doesn't mean that I don't *like* being with you.
It's not a coincidence that you're the only person in the world that could have rescued
from the... place I was in. I don't know what l-love is, but... this is what I do know.”

“I do know that there's no place in the world I'd rather be than with you,” Harry held
up his hand and extended a finger, like he was ticking off the points in a debate. “And that
anyplace I am is better when you are there too.”

“I do know that I would do anything- ANYTHING- to prevent you from being hurt in any way.”

Another finger. Hermione's body relaxed more and she even risked a glance out of the side of
her eyes at him.

“I do know that I would be lost without having you to talk to. There's no way I could go
back to the way I was before. We don't even have to talk; just being around you makes me feel
better.”

Yet another finger.

“And... I do know know that I'd do anything to make you happy. Even if that meant going away
and never seeing you again,” Harry finished. “I may not be able to feel love, but I am certain I
would be miserable if that happened.”

Harry, who had been swelling with every word, now deflated and looked confused and unsure what
to do or say now, so he lowered his hand and fell silent.

Hermione gave a great sigh and turned to look at him.

“You still haven't answered my question,” she stated, but was smiling slightly now and her
brown eyes were warm. There were still tear stains on her face, but the tears themselves were
gone.

“Oh, that.” Harry blew his breath out loudly, raked a hand through his hair and thought for a
minute. Absently, he conjured a wet cloth and gently wiped the traces of tears off Hermione's
face. Hermione was looking steadily at him and when he vanished the cloth she seized his hand held
it cupped against her cheek.

“Listen, I want to say yes. I really do. But- well, that would be a lie and you deserve the
truth. Which is,” Harry took a deep breath and plowed on hurriedly. “There was just so much
happening and I relied on you so much and you were my best friend... I don't think it ever even
crossed my mind and, if it had, I don't think there was any way I'd've risked our
friendship for it. I didn't think you were interested in me at all, anyway.”

“And I was a bit of a coward, really,” he added.

“You?” Hermione choked in disbelief. “A coward? Are you kidding me? Harry Potter, that is the
stupidest thing I've ever heard you say!”

“When it comes to girls, I am,” Harry said firmly. “I'm sorry, Hermione.”

“No,” Hermione said, raising her other hand to touch *his* cheek. “Don't be sorry.
There isn't anything for you to be sorry about. It was a foolish question I shouldn't have
asked. It doesn't mean anything now. And I am so glad you told me the truth, instead of what
you thought I wanted to hear. It was the right thing to do.”

“Hermione...” Harry looked Hermione straight in the eyes, “if I could feel now, right now, I
know I would feel... something... for you.”

Hermione sniffled, but beamed at Harry and melted into his arms.

“Harry,” she said seriously, but muffled, into his chest. “Forget what I said earlier. You
*are* romantic. Even if it is accidental.”

Night began to fall, and a chill with it, before Harry and Hermione made their way back to the
Burrow, hand in hand. Luckily, they caught everyone before right before they left.

“Harry!” Hagrid boomed. “What d'you think yer doing, disappearin' like that? Yer the
guest o' honor!”

“Oh, I think we can cut him some slack, Hagrid,” Charlie winked. “If someone as pretty as
Hermione wanted some time alone with *me*, I think I'd disappear too.”

Hermione blushed bright red.

“Good to see you, Harry,” Charlie shook his hand firmly. “I'm afraid I have to get going
now. I'll be in touch!”

“Yeah,” Harry replied in a heartfelt tone. “Good to see you too, Charlie.”

One by one, the rest came and bade Harry an emotional goodbye and promised to visit. Even
McGonagall teared up. At last only Ron, Ginny, the twins and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley remained.
Charlotte would have remained, but she had an urgent appointment.

“Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly. “Why don't you come inside and have some
dessert?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said immediately. “I couldn't. You've already done so much
for me. Hermione and I should be going.”

“Don't be thick,” Ron cut in. “You're staying here tonight. We all are.”

“Ron-” Hermione started.

“It's a time for family,” he said simply. Harry felt something stir inside him as he
realized that he was being included in that “family”. Which is how, some time later, he found
himself working on his third helping of dessert in the living room of the Burrow. He noticed that
the Burrow had been upgraded and expanded considerably.

“So, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said from the couch, “what do you do these days?”

Harry looked up blankly from his plate of dessert.

“Pardon?” he managed around a mouthful of ice cream.

“What kind of work do you do?”

“Oh, that...” Harry waved a hand vaguely, swallowing.

“He's an artist!” Hermione piped up from across the room where she was ensconced with Ginny.
They had been casting furtive looks over at Harry and giggling behind their hands. She whispered
something else to Ginny, who sighed theatrically and gave Harry an appraising glance.

“An artist?” Mr. Weasley repeated doubtfully. “Are you, er, comfortable?”

“He's brilliant, Dad!” Ron interjected. “Harry, you should play for us!”

“Play?” Fred asked curiously from the armchair he was lounging in, one leg thrown over the left
side.

“Yeah, play,” Ginny joined in. “He's a musician too. He cured my blindness with a song.
Well, him and Hermione.”

“No, that was all Hermione,” Harry protested.

George gaped. “A song? You're winding us up!”

“No, she's not,” Hermione said in a no-nonsense tone. “But he did a very dangerous thing and
he's never going to do it again. Are you, Harry?”

“No, Hermione,” Harry said meekly. The twins grinned wickedly and whispered something about
“hen-pecked”, while the others wore puzzled expressions. But no explanation was forthcoming.

“There's real magic in Harry's music,” Hermione continued, frowning at the twins.
“It's amazing... the most beautiful thing I've ever heard...”

Fred pretended to vomit when Hermione looked away. Harry had to smother a laugh; they would
never grow up.

“I don't suppose you have anything with you we could see?” Mrs. Weasley asked wistfully,
snapping her head up. She had quite spent herself in the excitement and now was barely able to keep
her eyes open.

“No...”

“... but I do,” Hermione finished, pulling out her otter. Harry blinked. She really *did*
take it everywhere with her. “Harry made this for me. Isn't it gorgeous?”

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny made a fuss over the little piece as Mr. Weasley examined it over their
shoulders. Harry took the moment to draw Hermione away slightly.

“Do you take that with you everywhere?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Why?”

“Because you made it for me. And it's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on,”
she added the second offhandedly, as if it was nothing compared to the first. He didn't know
what to say to that.

“That's a very fine job, Harry,” Mr. Weasley congratulated him. Even the twins agreed, but
Ron was frowning.

“You told me he didn't make it for you,” Ron accused. “You said you saw it and asked him if
you could have it.”

“Ron,” Hermione said patiently, “that was when Harry still wasn't ready to tell you who he
is.”

“Oh yeah...” Ron thought it through for a minute, then brightened. “He made me a broomstick too,
you know. It's superb! Nearly as good as a Firebolt!”

“Shut up!” George exclaimed. “Any chance you could make us one too, Harry?”

“Now, boys,” Mrs. Weasley chided, “don't be taking advantage of poor Harry. He's got
quite enough on his mind.”

“Mum!” Fred protested, stung. “We are going to pay him, you know. You could make a fortune,
Harry!”

“I already had one,” Harry waved it off. “It was useless. There are much more important
things.”

For the first time Harry in Harry's memory the twins were left speechless, mouths opening
and closing silently. Finally Fred managed something that sounded like “blasphemy” and it was
Hermione's turn to grin.

“I wouldn't say that it was completely useless, Harry,” Hermione said reasonably. “I'm
sure the people you gave it to didn't think so.”

“It sounds like there isn't anything you can't do, is there?” Mr. Weasley remarked,
cleaning his glasses. But he winked to take the sting out of it.

“I suppose...”

“No, there isn't!” Hermione said proudly.

“I've been thinking about trying my hand at wandmaking,” Harry said quietly on top of her as
everyone else smiled. “Especially since Ollivander's gone. All the wands are imports
now...”

“Wandmaking?” Ron spluttered. Everyone else looked similarly taken aback.

“Yeah... I, um, *took* a wand from a Death Eater and took it apart it to see how it works.
I even made a prototype, but it only sort of works.” Ron grimaced, no doubt remembering his busted
wand during their second year.

“What do you mean, you took?” George asked curiously. “Didn't the Death Eater mind?”

“Sort of?” Fred asked at the same time, a glint in his eyes. No doubt he was thinking of new
merchandise.

“Shut up, George,” Hermione said sharply, a menacing gleam in her eyes.

“Hermione, what-”

“I said, shut it! As if Harry needs to think about THAT now, of all times!”

“What are you talking about?” George demanded, raising his voice. “Don't tell me to shut
it!”

“I'll say whatever I damn well please! You leave Harry alone!” Ginny watched the volley
between them with her mouth hanging open, head whipping back and forth as they exchanged words.

“Hermione, it's alright,” Harry sprang up, put an arm around her shoulders and drew her
away. “Sorry, George. She didn't mean it.”

“Yes, I did!” Hermione struggled to break free. “He's being stupid and insensitive!

The rest of the Weasleys were looking on in shock, bewildered at this volatile Hermione. A
tension had suddenly settled in the room and the twins, normally the ones to dissolve such a
situation, were on their feet and staring angrily at Hermione.

“George, Fred, sit down!” Harry commanded, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. “And
Hermione, stop!”

As unassuming as Harry had been before, everyone responded immediately to the bite in his voice,
even the elder Weasleys. George and Fred, though still a but mutinous, settled on two free chairs.
Harry sat on the very spot on the floor and pulled Hermione down next to him. She struggled a
moment longer, then joined him with a thump. Ron, Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting very
still.

“I think I best tell you some things,” Harry said heavily, squeezing Hermione's hand
slightly to let her know he wasn't mad, though *she* still looked murderous. “Before you
get a... distorted version of the truth and start thinking I'm some sort of saint.”

“Harry, wait,” Hermione interrupted in a quavering voice, her emotions swinging so fast that
Harry just stared at her. “I, um... I'm sorry, George. And everyone else. I've been a bit
short with you all lately. Um, ever since I found Harry. I haven't been myself at all and...
I'm really really sorry!” Hermione finished in a rush. She did in fact look desperately
sorry.

It seemed today wasn't done with its surprises; Fred poked George hard in the back of the
head and jerked his own towards Hermione. George sighed. It was quite obvious that Hermione's
apology was very sincere and it had cost her a great deal to say it. Reluctantly, he strode over,
bent down, and kissed Hermione on the cheek.

“It's ok, Hermione. We understand,” he forgave her and cast a knowing look at Harry.
“You've gotta be a normal girl sometimes. Just yell at Fred next time. Please.”

“But- I hate it!” Hermione burst out. “I'm - I'm not emotional like this! I swear!”

Ron cackled and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny wore amused smiles. Even Mr. Weasley cracked a smile and
gazed fondly at his wife.

“Don't you dare say anything, Arthur Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley said, eyes flashing
ominously.

“Say what, dear?” he asked mildly. She wasn't mollified.

“So, Harry,” Mr. Weasley changed the subject hurriedly. “What was it that you wanted to tell
us?”

Harry gathered his thoughts.

“There are things I did,” he began, “that I'm not very proud of. Especially after I killed
Voldemort. If you were to believe some people I've never done any wrong and heal people by
laying hands on them.”

He managed a small smile at Hermione's *hmph*.

“It's true, Hermione. I'll forever be in your debt, but you have a tendency to brush
aside my faults.”

“And you have a tendency to put yourself down and brush aside all the good things you do and
are!” She punched him in the side. “You have no idea how other people feel about you.”

“Be that as it may,” Harry sighed. “You asked me if the Death Eater minded when I took her wand,
George. Well, she very probably did. I didn't, though. And she became quite uninterested in,
well, everything, shortly afterwards.”

The rest of the Weasleys were listening intently, but didn't seem to be overly perturbed by
what they were hearing.

“Don't you understand?” Harry roared in frustration. “I killed her!”

“Harry, there's nothing wrong with defending yourself,” Mr. Weasley said sympathetically.
“You didn't do anything wrong. We all did things we'd rather we didn't.”

“You have no idea,” Harry said bitterly. “You just don't understand. You don't know the
things I did in the five yeas after I killed Voldemort. There were dozens. Hundreds, maybe! I lost
count... I killed them all!”

“Harry, I've had enough!” Hermione said crossly. “No, shut your mouth! Ron, do you think
Harry is a murderer?”

“Of course not!”

“Fred? George? Do you regret killing Death Eaters when you had to?”

“No,” they replied together, a hard look in their eyes. “They would have done the same to us,
and not felt bad about it at all. We saw Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at Hermione... if we were
you we would have gone mental too.”

“Ginny?”

“They blinded me!” Ginny said, an ugly look on her face. “And they killed Neville! They tried to
kill my family! If you ask me, Harry, you didn't kill enough of them!”

“Mr. Weasley? Mrs. Weasley?” Hermione appealed.

“Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said gently. “None of us are happy about the things we did, but we
just didn't have a choice. It was a war, and we were out-numbered. The difference is that while
they enjoyed killing, we fought for everyone we cared about. We fought to make the world a better
place for our loved ones and the people who couldn't defend themselves. Even for the
Muggles.”

“You still don't understand,” Harry cried, raw emotion naked in his voice. “The war was
over! But I couldn't stop... I had to hunt them down, and kill them. I had to make them feel
the pain I felt. That's wrong... it's evil.”

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. “None of us are saying that killing is right, no matter how
evil the person you killed. We're not saying that you should enjoy it. You should feel remorse,
and the fact that you do is a good thing. But I, for one, am glad you disposed of more Death
Eaters. I know it's not a moral feeling, but... every Death Eater you killed saved countless
innocent lives. I would do the same, and I would do it for the same reason that you did.”

“How do you know why I did it?” Harry said roughly, not caring if he offended anybody.

“Because I know you, Harry. We all do. You did it because it had to be done and you didn't
want anyone else to be burdened with the guilt. You may fool yourself, and claim you did it for
some other reason. But you know, deep down, why you really did it.”

Harry sat silently for a minute.

“Dumbledore wouldn't have approved,” Harry said finally, coming to the heart of the matter.
The one man whose good opinion mattered the most to him. “He never killed. He was the most powerful
wizard who ever lived and he never killed. He didn't even want to give Death Eaters over to the
dementors.”

“Dumbledore would forgive you, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “You know he would.”

Harry sat silent, looking down at his hands.

“Yes,” he said finally. “You're right. He would. He was a greater man than I will ever
be.”

“So are we finally done with this foolishness?” Hermione asked briskly. “Do you still insist
you're a horrible person?”

Everyone held their breath, waiting for Harry's answer.

“I've done horrible things,” Harry finally said, raising his voice as Hermione tried to
break in. “But... I guess that doesn't mean I'm beyond redemption. If Dumbledore gave Snape
a second chance, then he'd give me a second chance too. And anything that Dumbledore believed,
I believe.”

Hermione paused with her mouth open, then shut it with a click. Finally, she smiled.

“I can agree with that,” she said, hugging him tightly.

“Enough with this!” Ron cried. “Let's enjoy the night! Harry, what about some music?
Harry?”

But Harry had the strangest look on his face.

“Harry, what's up?” Fred asked.

“I, uh. I swear I just heard Dumbledore,” Harry said in a bemused voice. “And-”

“Harry, mate,” Ron spoke up suddenly. “What happened to the scars on your arm?”

“They're all gone, except for one,” Hermione said absently, looking down at Harry's arm
automatically. “I don't know why they've been disappearing, though.”

But Hermione suddenly gasped as Harry moved his hand away, which had been covering the scar. The
skin underneath was smooth and unbroken. She looked up swiftly into Harry's eyes, but he shook
his head. She tried to hide the disappointment in her eyes, but Harry saw and turned away.

“No,” she said softly, turning his head back to her and kissing him. “It doesn't matter. You
truly don't understand what you said to me earlier means, do you?”

“Er-,” Harry said, fidgeting. “How about that music!”

-->



15. Third Time's A Charm
------------------------



**A/N - Hiya! This chapter came a lot quicker than the last ;) Not to pat myself on the back,
but I really enjoyed this chapter and I hope you do too. Things are really progressing now. I think
we're really getting close, which is kind of sad =(** **But I promise it'll be good!**
**Oh yeah. Happy Valentine's Day!**

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Harry! Wake up!”

“Wha-? Hmmphmm,” Harry mumbled. “S'early, 'Mione.”

Harry pulled a pillow over his head.

“Harry Potter, you get up this instant!” Hermione ordered, stripping the pillow away and rapping
him smartly across the back.

“Ow!” Harry cried, then shielded his eyes and groaned as the window blinds were opened.

“Today's a very important day, and I don't have much time before work!” Hermione
said.

“Hermione, are you trying to kill me?” Harry complained, sitting up. “Besides, what's so
important about tod-”

He didn't finish; he just sat there with his mouth open and a foolish expression on his
face. Hermione was bustling around his room wearing only a *very* abbreviated sleeping gown.
If he'd needed any reminder that Hermione was an extremely attractive woman, he was receiving
it in spades.

“Come *on*, Harry, we-” Hermione turned to face him with her hands on her hips, which only
served to accentuate her figure, and saw him staring at her. She looked down at herself and turned
scarlet.

“Hermione,” Harry said in a strangled voice. “*Are* you trying to kill me?”

Hermione squirmed and bolted for the door, but stopped halfway. She slowly turned and a wicked
smile lit her face. Still smiling that smile of pure mischief, she- and there was no other way to
describe it- undulated over to Harry's bed, hips swaying provocatively, and seated herself
nearly in his lap.

“Good morning, Harry,” she purred, eyes smoldering.

“Uh, g-goodmmpphh,” Harry stammered before finding himself being thoroughly kissed. Not a chaste
kiss, or even one of the deeper, more meaningful kisses they had shared two days ago at the
Weasleys. No, this was of the intense, tongue-trading, face-eating, hungry, turn your bones to
water and knock your socks off variety and it left Harry gasping. And then she just let him go and
stood up, smoothing her sleeping gown; he very nearly collapsed face first into the blankets.

“Breakfast will be ready soon. You better get yourself out of bed,” Hermione said, a twinkle in
her eyes as she left a speechless Harry behind, still rolling her hips in that arousing strut on
her way out the door. He swore he heard her giggle.

It took Harry a few minutes to recover, and a few more to get dressed. By the time he made it
out of his room Hermione was fully dressed in a conservative set of Healer's robes with her
hair pulled up into a functional bun.

“Took long enough, sleepyhead,” she said, a twinkle still in her eyes as she deposited a couple
of slices of toast onto his plate.

“Um, yeah,” Harry managed, seating himself. He couldn't really come up with anything else to
say, so he just helped himself to some toast, eggs and orange juice. Hermione sat opposite with a
small smile lurking around the corners of her mouth, clearly enjoying herself.

“So, um,” Harry finally spoke as they were finishing. “What's so important about today?”

“Well,” Hermione said brightly. “The rest of us talked it over and decided it would be best if
we came up with a new identity for you. It would just be a nightmare if you were to suddenly
re-appear after all these years, and we didn't want you to have to deal with that.”

Harry felt a huge rush of gratitude.

“That's a brilliant idea, Hermione,” he blurted.

A quick flash of something, relief maybe?, passed across Hermione's face. Harry frowned,
puzzled, then it hit him.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “You were afraid
I'd fly off the handle, weren't you?”

“No, no, of course not,” Hermione said hurriedly. Harry laughed.

“You're a terrible liar, Hermione. But I love you anyway,” he said impulsively, uttering the
expression without even thinking about it. Hermione's eyes widened, then softened and grew
moist.

“I do get to choose my new name, right?” Harry pressed on, not noticing.

“Of course,” Hermione said, reaching out with her other hand to take Harry's in both of
hers.

“Oh, good. Are you ok?” Harry asked, finally noticing Hermione's expression.

“Oh, yes! Everything's just fine,” she smiled. “Come on, let's get over to the Ministry.
Mr. Weasley got us an appointment with the Minister of Magic.”

“Scrimgeour?” Harry asked, drawing back in alarm. “I don't want that man knowing
anything!”

“Oh, Harry! There's a new Minister of Magic. Scrimgeour was killed by Voldemort before you
were able to finish it. Didn't you know?”

“Oh. No, I didn't. I guess I've really been out of touch,” he concluded ruefully.

“Well, now you know. The new Minister is a lovely man. You'll like him.” Harry wore a
skeptical look.

They cleared off the table and then took turns in the bathroom washing up. In short order they
were ready to go.

“Let me Apparate us,” Hermione said, gripping his hand tightly as they settled on the designated
Disapparation spot (Harry still had unbelievable amounts of warding around the flat). “I know where
we're going better than you.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, looking guilelessly into her eyes. “I trust you.”

“You silver-tongued devil,” Hermione murmured, toying with the collar of his shirt. “And
you're not even trying.”

She wrapped her arms around him, lacing her fingers together behind his neck, and went on her
tiptoes to kiss him. A moment later, they disapparated, still kissing.

* * *

“Minister?” the Junior Minister called through the door. “Your appointment is here.”

“Oh, good,” a deep, rumbling voice said cheerfully. “Send them right on in.”

The first glimpse Harry got of the new Minister reminded him strongly of a bear. The Minister
was tall, burly, and sported a heavy, wild black beard. He had arms and legs like tree trunks, a
nose resembling a hatchet, and deep sunken eyes of a startling blue. His skin seemed pale, but it
was hard to tell through the thick covering of hair.

“Arthur!” the man boomed, grabbing Mr. Weasley's hand in a crushing grip. “How good to see
you! It's been too long; I've been awful busy.”

“Smashing,” Mr. Weasley grinned, resembling his twin sons very much in the moment. “Worry not, I
don't expect you to make time to see a minor official like me.”

“Nonsense. You're an important, and trusted, part of my team. You're far too
self-effacing.”

Harry was standing nervously just inside the door; Hermione slipped her arm through his and gave
a re-assuring squeeze.

“Everything will be ok,” she whispered.

Harry nodded and studied the room. It was quite large and ostentatious, but Harry got the
feeling from the way it was decorated that that fact embarrassed the current Minister and he only
put up with it because he had too. The walls were of the most expensive wood and polished until
they gleamed, with ornate carving around the door and window frames. A monstrosity of desk with
clawed feet sat in the center of the room, the edges gilded. The wall was studded with skylights
and windows large enough to serve as door lined the far wall. The parts of the ceiling that
weren't glass were painted in a manner befitting a cathedral.

Yet the only personal decorations were a few understated paintings, a rather utilitarian
wardrobe, a plain wooden chair and a small table upon which sat a truly excellent arrangement of
wine.

“I see you're of a mind with me about this room,” the Minister interrupted Harry's
thoughts, regarding him slyly. “It's a crime against humanity, I tell you.”

“I, uh,” stammered Harry, nonplussed.

“I would have had it stripped down, but they nearly had a coronary when I tried to remove that
beastly desk. So I just leave it as is and try not to let it burn my eyeballs out.”

Harry couldn't help it; he grinned. He had been completely prepared to despise the new
Minister, no matter Hermione's opinion, but he found she was right as usual.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I knew you were too tough to be taken down by Voldemort,”
the Minister said, extending a hand. “Ursus. Magellan Ursus.”

It didn't escape Harry's notice that he had said Voldemort's name, and immediately
his estimation of the new Minister rose several more notches.

“Thank you, Minister. I'm glad to meet you. In half a dozen sentences you've already
caused me to hold you in higher regard than the last two Ministers,” Harry said truthfully.
“Combined.”

Ursus grinned hugely at him and winked.

“And this lovely young lady must be Hermione Granger,” the Minister turned to offer his hand to
her, a smile softening his wild features. Hermione colored and shook his hand shyly. Harry noticed
his grip was a good deal more gentle with her than it had been with him or Mr. Weasley. *His*
hand still ached slightly.

“I hear it was your brilliant idea that brought us here today.”

“Well, it was really sort of everyone's idea,” Hermione said almost inaudibly, blushing even
more.

“You're a terrible liar,” Ursus let out a hearty laugh, echoing Harry's earlier words.
“You'd never make it in politics. Don't be shy about taking credit for your ideas, Miss
Granger.”

“But what am I doing?” the Minister clapped a hand to his head. “Maundering on like this. Where
are my manners! Sit, sit, everyone! Would you like some wine?”

He pulled out his wand and conjured three comfortably padded chairs, which spun and settled down
on the floor near the desk with a *thunk*.

“Yes, please,” answered Mr. Weasley and Hermione, but Harry declined. With a clink the Minister
poured two glass and floated them over to Mr. Weasley and Hermione. With a considering glance at
Harry, he pulled his beard, then waved the wand again. A bottle of butterbeer thumped down on his
desk next to Harry.

“You'll be a butterbeer kind of man, I reckon?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry replied, impressed.

“Thought so. Don't even ask me what I go for.”

A last wave and a glass of some smoking, fiery drink appeared by Ursus' elbow. He lifted it
in one huge paw and drained off half with a contented sigh.

“See?” Hermione whispered gleefully to Harry. “I told you!”

“Yes, yes, you're right,” Harry whispered back. “As always.”

“So,” the Minister grew serious and fixed them all with a steady gaze. “I hear that you think
that Harry should assume a new identity? Well, I quite agree. Stroke of bloody genius, Miss
Granger. Doesn't hurt that you look so different these days either, Harry.”

“Erm, yes,” Hermione said in a small voice. “Harry's had a tough time getting acclimated
even to us knowing he's still alive, and I-I didn't want him to get overwhelmed.”

“Of course,” the Minister agreed. “I share the sentiment. Though I won't deny that there are
some definite political motives behind it as well. Sorry, Harry.”

“I understand, Minister,” Harry said. “I'm not offended. It wouldn't do to have me
stirring up trouble. Why, there might even be people clamoring for me to take over as Minister of
Magic, mightn't there?”

Ursus chuckled.

“Very perceptive of you, Harry. *You* might be suited for a career in politics. Yes, you
are quite right. And I think I make a much more capable Minister of Magic than you, Harry. No
offense intended.”

“None taken. I'm positive you make a better Minister than I would. Even if I wanted the
job.”

Mr. Weasley was watching the exchange, a small smile on his face.

“So. To the business at hand. Have you thought about a new name, Harry?”

“Oh, I just told him about it this morning,” Hermione said, pulling out a piece of parchment.
“He hasn't had any time to think about it, so I made a list of-”

“Yes.”

She turned to stare at Harry, notes halfway out of her bag. He smiled at her.

“Yes, I have. Black. Harold Black.”

“Oh, Harry, I don't think that's a good idea!” Hermione said immediately. “It's far
too obvious!”

“On the contrary,” Ursus interrupted thoughtfully. “I think it's perfect.”

Hermione stared at him, incredulously. Harry was seized by a fit of childishness and stuck his
tongue out at her.

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Weasley. “An excellent choice, Harry.”

“I don't understand,” Hermione confessed.

“Think about it Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said. “Harry is the rightful owner of Grimmauld Place.
This way it'll be easy to pawn him off as some distant cousin of Sirius who inherited when
Harry died. Plus, keeping him as Harry avoids potential slip ups and makes it easier on the rest of
us. And since he's technically Harold, Harry is just a nickname. Harry's real is just
Harry, not Harold.”

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked, comprehension dawning on her face.

“Plus, no one is going to expect Harry Potter to disguise himself as someone else,” added Ursus.
“And even if anyone suspected that, they'd never expect him to take a name so close to his own
and the surname of his godfather and parents' closest friend.”

“Yeah...” Hermione turned and faced Harry and grinned. “Nice to meet you, Harold.”

“My pleasure, Miss Granger,” Harry said solemnly, holding out his hand. Then, feeling unusually
light-hearted, added, “Forgive me for being so forward, but you're bloody hot.”

Ursus exploded into gales of booming laughter as Harry borrowed his mannerism and Mr. Weasley
winked at Harry, who was smirking. Hermione stared at him in shock, but recovered quickly.

“You're not so bad yourself, Black. Your head could use a little deflating, though. Now, if
you'll excuse me, I really must be on my way.”

Nose in the air, Hermione marched out of the room.

“Ahaha,” Ursus gasped, tears running down his face. “I think she got you there, Harry. You
better go, Pott- I mean, Black. Go. Catch her. We'll take care of the rest.”

Harry scrambled out of his seat and hurried out the door to the sound of more laughter. He found
Hermione right outside, tapping her foot and looking impatient.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “I reckon you think you're funny? Well, ok, it was. Come
over here.”

Harry sauntered over, making ever effort to appear nonchalant and cocky. She sighed in
exasperation, reached forward and jerked him forward by the front of the shirt. Then, right in
front of none other than a scandalized Percy Weasley, she jerked Harry forward and snogged him.

“I'll see you later tonight,” she bid farewell and disappeared with a pop.

“What-” spluttered a flustered Percy.

“Hey, Perce,” Harry said with a grin, and strolled off, leaving a bemused Percy scratching his
head.

* * *

Harry had intended to Apparate home and work on his latest project, but a sudden idea occurred
to him.

“Excuse me,” he said politely to a middle-aged woman seated behind a crowded desk in the first
room Harry came to. “Could you tell me where Ron Weasley works?”

“Do I look like a flaming secretary to you?” the woman snarled in reply. “Go down to the first
floor entrance and ask there!”

“Uh, ok,” Harry said, edging away. She gave him a last scowl as he quickly left and he heard the
door slam behind.

The secretary turned out to be far more pleasant, though frightfully dim-witted. Harry had to
repeat Ron's name four times before she finally found him in the directory.

“Oh! Yes, Ron Weasley,” she exclaimed. “Yes, he's in the Department of Experimental Charms,
in the dungeons.”

“The Dungeons?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, thanks,” Harry bid her farewell and she smiled vapidly.

Harry took the lift down as far as it went, then padded down the rough stone stairs, recalling
the journey he had made with Mr. Weasley years ago for his trial. Torches were spaced evenly,
casting flickering orange light. At last, he came to the bottom. He reached out to open the first
door, but a hand shot out of nowhere and pulled him back.

“Oh, no, we don't go around doing that,” a voice said mildly from below. Harry looked down
and saw a squat little man peering up at him.

“Who are you, by the way?” the man asked.

“Harold,” Harry responded, trying out his new name. “Harold Black.”

“Harold Black?” the man scratched his head. “I don't recall anyone with that name working
here. What are you doing down here?”

“Er, actually, I was looking for Ron Weasley. Why don't you open doors down here?”

A moment later Harry's question was answered as a tremendous detonation came from inside the
room and the door flew off and through the spot Harry had been standing. A ragged wizard, clothes
hanging off his body haphazardly, stumbled out.

“Too much sulfur,” he muttered over and over. “Too much sulfur.”

Distractedly, he waved his wand and restored the door, then retreated back inside, not paying
them the slightest attention.

“That's why,” the little man said. “I'm Braun, by the way.”

“Er, nice to meet you,” Harry said, staring at the door. “Does that happen often?”

“Oh, more often than you'd think,” Braun replied offhandedly. “You get used to it. Ron
Weasley, you said? He's down this way.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry muttered, glancing back at the door as the little man led him down the
hall.

“Harry!” Ron exclaimed upon seeing him. “What are you doing here?”

Harry looked quickly over at Braun, but the man didn't seem to think Harry was any different
from Harold and ambled away.

“Well,” Harry began as Ron drew him into the room, “I was just up with your dad and Hermione
meeting the new Minister about getting a new name.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ron said. “How'd that go? What did you think of the Minister? What's your
new name?”

“Whoa, one at a time!” Harry laughed. “My new name is Harold Black. It went well. And I like the
Minister very much. Wow, Ron, what is this place?”

Harry was trying to look in eight directions at once. He was in a long room with polished silver
walls and ceiling and all sorts of arcane equipment and stations. There were potions bubbling in
one corner and a few broomsticks in another. Random bits of what seemed to be garbage jostled
shoulders with priceless treasures.

“This?” Ron swept his arm about. “This is our laboratory. Nice name, by the way. I like it.”

“Thanks. What do you do here?” Harry asked.

“All sorts of stuff. See these over here?” Ron pointed at a table full of objects; there was a
battered old cup, a sock, a book, three sets of brass knuckles and a load of other stuff on it.

“Those all have enchantments on them that we've never seen before, so we try and figure out
what they are and how they work. It can be a bit dangerous.”

“And, of course,” Ron continued, “we bake up our own brand new spells and potions in here as
well.”

“No! I thought your friends were kidding about that! How do you go about making a new spell? How
do you know what spell you want to make in the first place?”

“Well, there's always all sorts of spells that the Ministry would like to have. They dream
'em up and we try to make them. And they give us time to experiment on our own and see what we
come up with.”

Harry stood speechless.

“It's pretty fun,” Ron laughed.

“But- *how* do you make a new spell?”

Ron looked at him a bit oddly.

“Don't you know, Harry? I've seen you make up spells on the spot before.”

“I, uh,” Harry flushed. “I have no idea how I did it. I was always under a lot of stress and I
just sort of... did it. Whatever I wanted I just made it happen.”

Ron shook his head.

“It's a wonder we're all still alive to talk about it, then,” he marveled.

“How did you get to be doing this?” Harry asked. “I mean, uh, this isn't the kind of job I
envisioned you doing.”

“I've got the talent,” Ron said proudly. “See, to be able to make a new spell you need to be
able to- see, I guess you'd call it. You need to be able to see the way the magic goes
together. Most wizards can invent a little spell or two, but they don't really have much
ability.”

“What does it look like?” Harry asked in a hushed voice. “Magic.”

“Um, well, it's really kind of hard to explain,” Ron's face twisted in concentration. “I
know I said 'see', but that's not really it. It's like another sense. It's like
there's strands, maybe, of magic, and I can see how they fit together to make a spell. What the
spell is depends on how many strands there are, how thick they are, how they're twisted, even
the orientation of the whole thing.”

“Amazing... but how do you know what it's going to do, even if you can see these
strands?”

“Um... I don't really know. You just sort of get a feeling for it.”

“Can you... can you make a spell right now?” Harry asked. “A little one?”

“Sure,” Ron bounded forward, grinning. “Stand back.”

Harry backed up as far as he could and watched as Ron relaxed and started breathing deeply. Ron
raised his hands and stared fixedly at some unknown point about three feet in front of him. He was
murmuring under his breath and twisting his fingers as if weaving something together. He stood
there for quite some time and sweat started rolling down his face. Then, with a sudden pop,
Ron's feet changed into cloven hoofs and a small pair of horns appeared on his head.

“Oh, no,” Ron groaned, looking down and simultaneously feeling his head. “Not again...”

Harry collapsed into gales of laughter as Ron stumped awkwardly to the door, yanked it open, and
yelled something down the hall.

“Shut it, you,” he said irritably to Harry, crossing his arms. “Now that I know it, I can do it
to you too.”

Harry couldn't respond, only laugh helplessly, clutching a table for support.

“And not a word of this to anyone else,” Ron said ominously as a Cursebreaker rushed in, took
one look at Ron, covered his eyes and sighed.

* * *

Hermione didn't get back until late that night, but Harry was waiting for her, eager to
relate Ron's latest accident.

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted him. “What are you doing still up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see you before you went to bed,” Harry said, nearly fit to burst.

“That's sweet,” Hermione smiled. “But I don't think that's it. You look like
you're about to explode.”

“Ok, you're right. But I did want to see you,” Harry added, stepping close to give her a
quick kiss. Hermione, however, had other ideas and wasn't satisfied with just a quick snog. It
took all of Harry's willpower not to laugh until they were finished. At that point, unable to
hold it in any longer, he started howling with laughter. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“I assume you're going to tell me what's so funny one of these days,” she remarked.
“And, for your own health, it better not have anything to do with what we just did.”

“Sorry,” Harry gasped. “N-no, it-it was Ron. You won't believe what he did.”

Harry recovered and launched into the tail, embellishing it along the way. Hermione's
expression shifted from cool to incredulous to tragic as the tale unfolded.

“Oh dear,” she said when Harry finished, burying her face in her hands. “He didn't
really?”

“Yes,” Harry choked out. “Yes, he really did.”

Hermione's shoulders started shaking and giggles leaked from between her fingers.

“Too bad you didn't have a camera,” she laughed.

“I'm glad you stayed up for me, Harry,” Hermione said a few minutes later when they finally
regained their composure. “There's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, settling onto the couch.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied. “But first...”

She disappeared into her room and re-appeared a minute later clad in a comfy set of pajamas.
Dropping down on the couch next to Harry she burrowed up under his arm.

“Much better,” she sighed.

“I'm glad you're comfortable,” Harry said dryly.

“Oh yes,” Hermione said happily. “Very much so.”

“So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Oh, that,” Hermione sighed again, a very different sigh, and squared her shoulders a bit.

“Harry, I think we should decide what to do with Grimmauld Place.”

Harry's good mood drained out of him like water and his face grew stiff as he turned
away.

“I don't care. Burn it to the ground.”

“Harry...”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Harry.” She shifted so that she was sitting in his lap facing him, reached up and turned his
face back towards her. His expression was stiff and eyes haunted. She stroked his cheek and
smoothed back his hair.

“Harry, please talk to me. Let me help you.”

“There's nothing to talk about. I hate that place. I hate it! I wouldn't even go back
there when I was all messed up!”

“I know you do, sweetheart. I don't like it either. But... I was thinking...”

“Don't make me go back, Hermione,” Harry begged. “Please. I will, if you ask me to. But I
don't want to.”

Hermione's heart nearly broke at the pleading, broken look on Harry's face and the trust
implicit in his admission. That he would go back to the place he hated the most in the world, the
place that caused him the most pain in a life filled with unfair amounts of pain, if *she*
asked him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. His arms came up and clutched her even tighter
in return, face buried in her shoulder, reminding her that he was still fragile.

“It's ok,” she murmured soothingly. “It's ok.”

Harry nodded into her shirt. Hermione's mind was racing. This was the most naked, the rawest
emotion she had seen him display. That meant it was also the closest to unlocking however he had
bottled up his feelings. Could this help in some way to fix whatever was wrong with him? She chose
her next words very carefully.

“Sweetheart,” she said for the second time, a warm fuzzy feeling filling her at the way it
rolled off her tongue. “I was thinking... I was thinking, what if we cleaned it up? What if we
cleansed it, and stripped everything out? Re-finished and redecorated it, made it plottable again
and opened it up as some kind of- some kind of place for children. You know, for children from bad
or poor families, where they could come and have a square meal and meet other children and have
safe things to do. Maybe even a school of sorts.”

She waited breathlessly for his reply; she was sure he had a soft place for children. She knew
he had a big heart overall, but especially on this. He drew back, took a deep breath and seemed to
be composed once again, only betrayed by the fact that he still held her hand so tightly his
knuckles were white.

“That's a wonderful idea, Hermione,” he said quietly. “But I still don't think I can do
it. Not now.”

“It's ok, I understand,” she said gently. “I do. And I'd never make you go there. But
would you mind if I did? And maybe Ron and some of the other Weasleys? We could start cleaning it
out.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, subdued. “Anything that's mine is yours too. If anyone could turn
that... place into something good, it would be you.”

Hermione felt another thrill go through her and she went boneless and slushy.

“You don't even know what it does to me, do you?” she whispered. “When you say something
like that. You're clueless, aren't you?”

“What?” Harry said, alarmed. “Did I say something wrong?” He tried to draw back, distance
himself, but Hermione was having none of it.

“No! No, you didn't, you silly boy. You said something very *right*.”

“Oh,” Harry said, confused. “Ok...”

“I- I think I'm going to go to bed,” he said a minute later. Hermione reluctantly let go of
him and stood up.

“Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night, Harry,” she whispered, watching his form shuffle off to the bedroom, somehow
seeming smaller and weighed down.

*What did I do?* she thought, stricken.

That thought, and variations, kept haunting her as she climbed into her own bed and turned out
the lights. Try as she might, she couldn't get to sleep. So when she heard a muffled cry from
Harry's room she was out of bed and into his room so fast one might think she apparated. Harry
was asleep, thrashing around and tangled in his sheets, muttering in a hoarse voice. As she
watched, horrified, he curled up into a ball and held out an arm as if to shield himself, uttering
another despairing cry.

“Sirius!”

“Oh my god, Harry, I'm so sorry! What have I done?” Hermione cried softly. She laid a
soothing hand on his forehead and he quieted a bit, but still struggled feebly. Biting her lip, she
crawled under the covers and held him in her arms, stroking his hair. Slowly, he calmed and began
drawing deep, even breaths. *It's ok now,* she thought. *He's ok. I should go back
to bed*. But instead she held Harry tighter and tears slipped off her cheek to mingle in his
hair.

* * *

“Hermione?” a voice murmured in her ear, waking her. “What's going on? Why are you in my
bed?”

Hermione jerked into wakefulness in a fraction of a second and saw Harry's face looming
above hers; he was propped up on an elbow.

“Oh! Harry! I'm sorry... you were having nightmares and I heard you stirring...” she trailed
off, not sure how to explain it. Harry's face crumbled and he turned away.

“Sirius.”

Hermione pushed herself up and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. She realized it was
shaking.

“Hermione, I'm so sorry,” he said brokenly. “I'm so sorry.”

“Harry, what are you taking about? Why are you sorry?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“It's my fault,” he whispered, turning to face her. She was shocked to see tears on his
face. On any other person she would have expected it long since, but Harry had seemed, like he
said, immune to it.

“It's my fault. It's not fair,” he babbled. “You're amazing. You're so
wonderful, and caring, and *perfect*. You've given me so much, and what do I give you in
return? Nothing! Nothing but pain...”

“Shhh, Harry. That's not true at all,” Hermione denied vehemently, visibly upset.

“It is!” Harry insisted. “It is! There's something wrong with me, and I can't fix it. I
tried. I tried so hard, I swear! But I'm not whole. I can feel all the bad things; hate, and
fear, and anger, and grief, and pain. But not the good things. I can't give you what you
deserve, but you still stay with me...”

He broke into great, racking sobs. Distraught, and relieved in a way that he was finally letting
his it out, Hermione drew him close, rocking him back and forth as he cried himself out. He
didn't clutch her closer, or try to draw away, or do anything. He just lay there limp and
cried.

Eventually Harry ran out of energy and reached the point beyond tears; the point where you were
too tired and numb for grief. Hermione cradled his head against her chest and ran her fingers
through his hair, murmuring comforting nonsense. She was supposed to be getting to work, but at the
moment that was the farthest thing from her thoughts.

“It was you,” he finally mumbled into her hair. “You made it go away.”

Hermione instinctively knew that silence was the proper action and didn't say anything, just
kept running her fingers through his hair. She couldn't help it; she couldn't have stopped
if she wanted to.

“I was back in the Department of Mystery,” Harry continued quietly. “And Bellatrix killed
Sirius. She used Avada Kedavra on him. But then he got up and told me it was all my fault. He said-
he said that my parents would be ashamed of me. They were both laughing at me.”

Harry's throat grew tight and he couldn't say any more.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered, feeling it was safe to speak now. “Sirius loved you more than
anything. He was so proud of you; as proud as if you were his own son.”

“I know,” Harry croaked. “Then something changed, and everything was better. Sirius turned into
Voldemort and Dumbledore chased him away. The veil opened and the real Sirius and Mum and Dad came
out and told me everything was ok. They were looking behind me and smiling; I could feel someone
behind me and then I woke up and you were there.”

Harry turned his tear-streaked face up to look at Hermione. She was transfixed by those
prematurely old, haunted, bright green eyes.

“Thanks, Hermione. For everything. Maybe it was me that saved the wizarding world. But you saved
me. You're the real hero.”

Hermione's lip trembled and she couldn't hold it back anymore; she started crying as
well, soundlessly.

“I'm always here for you, Harry. Always,” she swore, holding his face between her hands and
tasting salty tears on his lips as she kissed him.

“Don't cry, Hermione,” Harry said, reaching up to wipe her tears away tenderly. “It's
ok.”

“You're amazing, Harry,” Hermione smiled tremulously.

“Me?” Harry hiccuped, wiping his nose. “Hermione, I just spent the last half hour crying like a
baby.”

“As you should have! Anyone else would have broken down long ago,” Hermione said baldly. “You
have every right to feel sorry for yourself! But even after all the horrible things you've gone
though, the first thing you do is try and comfort *me*.”

“I don't like to see you upset,” Harry explained uncomfortably, looking down. “Anyone else
would have done the same.”

“But that's just it!” Hermione said sharply. “Anyone else definitely would *not* have
done the same!”

“Of course they woul-”

“No they wouldn't, Harry! That's why you're so special!” Hermione burst out. “One of
the many reasons. You're so good, you don't understand what a normal person is like. You do
it without even thinking. That's why I lo-”

Hermione swallowed; Harry was staring at her with wide eyes.

“That's why I love you,” she finished softly.

“You- you love me?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly, her eyes downcast. “Oh, Merlin, yes. Don't you understand
anything I've said and done?”

“I- you- I- I thought,” Harry stammered. “I thought you were, um; I thought you felt sorry for
me...”

“Harry James Potter! You listen to me! You listen to me well!” Hermione commanded, grabbing him
by the shirt and shaking him. “You are one hundred percent lovable! You're sweet, and kind, and
thoughtful, and brave, and loyal, and clever, and *adorable*. You *will* get that through
your skull! You *will* admit that you are worth loving! We want to be around you because we
*love* you, not because we pity you! I won't have you thinking awful things about yourself
any more! D'you hear me?”

Harry was gaping at Hermione like he'd never seen her before; all the while his teeth being
rattled.

“H-h-hermione,” he tried to say.

“Any witch would give her right arm to be with you!” she rolled right on. “But they're not.
I won't let them have you! You're mine!”

“Hermione,” Harry cried finally. “I can't feel love; how am I supposed to recognize it?”

Hermione stopped shaking him. Her endless brown eyes were full of emotion as she gazed at him
mutely. She didn't believe him. He could tell. She thought he was lying. He looked away.

“I believe you, Harry,” she said earnestly, reading his mind. “I do.”

“Sure.”

“Harry, look at me. Look in my eyes and tell me I don't.”

Unwillingly, he raised his eyes to hers and he couldn't deny it anymore. Her eyes were warm
and sincere and contained all the salvation in the universe.

“Harry, I believe you. Now believe me. We're going to fix it. Ok?”

Harry shook his head helplessly.

“Believe in me, Harry! When's the last time I was wrong?”

“You're never wrong,” he said softly.

“That's right. We. Are. Going. To. Fix. It.”

Harry's face screwed up and he fought for words. Fought against himself.

“Yes,” he sighed finally. “We will.”

Hermione threw her arms around his neck and pulled him as tight as she could. Even tighter, as
if she was trying to pull them into one body.

“Hermione,” Harry managed as he was being strangled. “Do you try to strangle everyone you love?
I think it might be safer if you just like me.”

After everything they had just gone through, the emotional wringing, that was just too much for
Hermione. She started giggling. Soon she was laughing so hard she couldn't sit up straight and
collapsed onto Harry, giggling madly. Even Harry was smiling sheepishly.

“I- don't- know- why- that's- so- funny-” gasped Hermione, pushing herself up into a
sitting position.

“I'm just a funny guy, I guess. At least you're not wearing that sleeping gown,” Harry
made another weak attempt at humor. “I don't think my heart could take it right now.”

“Boys!” Hermione said in mock exasperation, throwing her hands into the air. But it was spoiled
by a heartbreakingly sweet smile.

“See, Harry! You *can* feel good things. You can laugh, and feel happy!”

He smiled shyly.

“I guess you're right, Hermione,” he said. “I've been an idiot, haven't I?”

“Yes,” she said fondly. “But you're *my* idiot.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good,” murmured Hermione, leaning forward with a smoky look in her eyes.

“Now, weren't you saying something about my sleeping robe?” she said against his lips,
busily kissing him.

“Ermph,” Harry managed.

“Oh no!” Hermione suddenly leaped up and Harry really did do a face-plant this time. “I'm
late! I'm really really late!”

“I'm late!” Hermione wailed again, running for the door. Seconds later she dashed back in
and planted a long kiss on his lips, then fled again.

Sighing, Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair and then across his face. Just as well, really.
It didn't feel right to go any further if he couldn't really feel the right emotion.
Absently he waved a hand and his guitar came soaring over and he started to play.

*She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

You think you lost your love,
When I saw her yesterday.
It's you she's thinking of
And she told me what to say.
She says she loves you
And you know that can't be bad.
Yes, she loves you
And you know you should be glad. ooh!

She said you were to know
That she almost lost her mind.
And now she says she knows
You're not the hurting kind.
She says she loves you
And you know that can't be bad.
Yes, she loves you
And you know you should be glad. ooh!

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
And with a love like that
You know you should be glad.

And now it's up to you,
I think it's only fair,
If I should hurt you, too,
Apologize to her
Because she loves you
And you know that can't be bad.
Yes, she loves you
And you know you should be glad. ooh!

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah
And with a love like that
You know you should be glad.*

In the other room, Hermione paused in the middle of throwing her robe on and listened. Slowly
she finished and tiptoed to Harry's room; his head was bent and the music and words rolled out
of him as he poured everything he had into it.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered under her breath. “I'll be home really soon.”

-->



16. A/N (Sorry about the false alarm)
-------------------------------------



**Hey everyone. I'm really really sorry it's taking me so long to write this next
chapter. I have, alas, hit a block of sorts. It's just not coming to me. I'm not sure which
direction I want to take it from here and I want it to be right, not rushed. I already have the
ending done, I just need to get there.**

**Rest assured, I will get this sorted out. I even have grand plans to go back and redo the
whole thing after I'm finished, adding more plot, details, events and description. The things
is very dialogue driven, and it's bothering me that it might be too much so.**

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! You guys (and girls) totally rock. I promise
I'll get this updated as soon as possible. In the meantime, I may write another one shot or
more until I get this block worked out.**

-->



17. Curse In Reverse
--------------------



**A/N - Well, here it is! I'm really sorry it took so long for this chapter, but I hope you
like it!**

**Update: I' m really sorry! I put the chapter up last night, everything was just smashing
and several people read it. But it seems that something went wrong after midnight and the chapter
wasn't showing up anymore!**

Over the next several weeks Harry and Hermione fell into a pattern of sorts. Hermione still had
to work, of course, but Harry would visit her at least once a day at St. Mungo's. Oftentimes he
would stop by the Ministry to see Ron as well. They also spent each Friday night out with Ron,
Charlotte and their friends at the pub.

Harry was absorbed as ever in his woodworking and music and frequently played for Hermione. Ron
had even persuaded him to play in the pub one night, which turned out to be a tremendous hit.

It was after this that Harry, flushed with excitement, pulled Hermione down to Diagon Alley and
straight into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. The store was open all night, naturally. To “aid
magical mischief makers in in any possible time of need”. Or so George said. And Harry felt, well-
a bit out of control. He wanted to cause some mayhem.

“Harry!” Fred called out heartily, striding over to clap him on the shoulder.

“Hey Fred,” Harry said absently, busy inspecting the extraordinary, hilarious, mysterious and
often downright bizarre merchandise. “What's this?”

Harry picked up what looked to be a plain leather glove and pulled it on his right hand.
Immediately he pulled out his wand and starting tracing letters in the air. Shortly, recognizable
words formed, spelling out the foulest insults Hermione had ever seen.

“Harry!” she reprimanded, pulling her wand out to wipe them away. But no matter how wildly she
gesticulated they remained stubbornly bright and cheerful. Harry and Fred laughed as she tried,
with increasing desperation, to erase the vile words.

“I think you just figured out yourself, Harry,” Fred winked. “Relax, Hermione. You're going
to do yourself harm.”

Hermione glared furiously at him. With a great sight, Fred pulled out his wand and performed the
counter-charm. Immediately the words faded and Harry was able to remove the glove, still
grinning.

“Free of charge, Harry,” Fred said generously. “Your Galleons are no good here.”

“Oh, I couldn't-” Harry protested weakly. Fred overrode him easily and Harry grinned again,
making to pocket the glove.

“I don't think so,” Hermione interrupted primly, plucking the glove from his grasp and
returning it to its shelf. Fred nudged Harry, his eyebrow raised.

“Oh, come on Hermione,” he complained. “I'm just trying to have a little fun.”

*Whipped*, Fred mouthed. Harry scowled in return and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“We can have fun without *that,*” Hermione said severely. “Let's go over here.”

“Here” turned out to be a corner filled with puzzles and games. Harry groaned as Hermione picked
up a large, multi-colored box with a picture of Hogwarts on the front.

*Days of delight and intrigue*, the box read. *Pit your brain and dexterity against a
dizzying variety of puzzle, riddles, and action pieces. Solve them to reveal the true pieces of the
puzzle. When complete you will own a realistic, scaled down model of Hogwarts complete with a mini
Peeves. Perfect the the Hogwarts alum!*

“This sounds very interesting,” Hermione remarked. “Really, I'm impressed.”

“Thank you,” Fred replied modestly from behind. “Just for that, no charge for you either.”

Harry was about to balk until he saw the fine print. *Ages 14 and up. Sexual innuendo, coarse
language and a smattering of explosions contained within. Face it, how fun could it be
otherwise?*

“Sounds good!” he said quickly, taking the box from Hermione and surreptitiously covering the
warning with one of his hands. She looked at him suspiciously and he put on his most innocent
expression.

So that was how Harry and Hermione found themselves bent over a puzzle, brows furrowed in
concentration with shoulders and knees touching. Harry quickly became engrossed as it proved to be
as far as possible from those ordinary muggle puzzles of stiff cardboard pieces. These pieces were
made in all sorts of all sorts of bizarre shapes and sizes and materials. Some were three
dimensional, others whirred and buzzed, and still others had riddles or puzzles on them and would
only resolve into their correct shape when you solved them. There were pieces that really looked
like they should go together but were just a smidgen off and if you tried to force them together
there was a small, but definite, chance that the whole thing would explode. All told, a much more
exciting experience than the Muggle counterpart.

“You know,” Harry mused, frowning at a piece in his hand. “This looks a lot like Voldemort's
last Horcrux.”

Hermione, working on a piece that was flashing a pattern of lights that she surmised she had to
repeat correctly, looked up in surprise. They seemed to be having such fun, but now Harry was
visibly agitated.

“Harry?” she said tentatively, laying a hand on his arm and wondering where this was going. The
muscles underneath were the slightest bit tensed and a pained expression crossed his face.

“You know, the funny thing is I could have made a Horcrux when I killed Voldemort,” Harry said
suddenly, with a grimace. “If I'd known the spell.”

“But you wouldn't have!” Hermione replied in shock as he voiced the last thing she ever
would have expected. “That's of the very Darkest magic!”

“Of course I wouldn't have,” Harry waved a hand impatiently. “I'm not afraid of death.
But that's not the point.”

“I hated him, and I murdered him. I fulfilled all the requirements,” Harry finished morosely. “I
even had a container.”

“You- what?” Hermione asked, distracted.

“I had a container,” Harry repeated, pulling something out from a pocket. “I carried it around
everywhere with me. Not for that, of course.”

He handed something small over to Hermione silently. Almost reluctantly, she looked down and
nearly dropped the object. She turned it over and over in her hands with a soft “oh!”. When she
looked up at Harry her brown eyes were very wide and vulnerable.

“You- you've been carrying this the whole time?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

“Yes.” Harry said simply.

“It was-” Hermione swallowed. “It was just a silly little thing. I just wanted to make you
smile...”

“You did,” Harry said quietly. “It was the best birthday present I ever got. The best present
period.”

A smile lit Hermione's face and she pressed the little figure of a stag back into
Harry's hands. Harry held it flat on the palm of his left hand and prodded it with his wand.
The stag sprang to life, stamping and snorting, then lowered it's head and charged a small,
illusionary figure that had appeared. The figure was unmistakably Severus Snape, who fled in terror
but was caught swiftly by Prongs and stabbed in the rear by the sharp horns. Snape howled in a tiny
voice and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Harry and Hermione laughed in delight as the memory washed over them.

“But, wait...” Hermione said slowly. “Why did you keep it? I thought you said you couldn't
feel-?”

Harry didn't respond immediately. Hermione grew slightly worried as the silence lengthened,
but Harry didn't appear to be upset, just thoughtful.

“Because,” he said finally, “as long as I had it, no matter how bad it seemed... well, every
time I looked at it I thought of you. And then I had he strength to make it through another day,
because maybe someday everything would be okay. Someday...”

“And is it?” Hermione asked quietly, taking his hands in hers. Harry looked up finally, straight
into Hermione's eyes. There was so much written in his eyes, more than a dozen other people
combined, but behind it all she could see her reflection.

“It's so much better than I ever dared hope,” Harry said sincerely, squeezing her hands.
Hermione's heart leaped, but there was still...

“But not perfect,” she said sadly. “I can't- I haven't- I'm sorry! I'm trying so
hard to fix you!”

She finished the last part despondently, dashing tears off her face. Harry smiled slightly and
reclaimed the hand.

“My Hermione,” he said fondly. “So serious. It's not your fault, little witch. What
you've already done is amazing... more than I ever did.”

“But!”

“Shhh,” Harry hushed her. “You're unbelievable. Can't you see what you've already
done? It's like- it's like... it's like you just cured lycanthropy, discovered the
meaning of life and won the Dumbledore Award and you're upset because your lycanthropy cure
tastes awful.”

Hermione smiled despite herself.

“And-I-DID-fall-in-love-with-you-seventh-year,” Harry said in a rush.

“Wha-?” Hermione's jaw dropped.

“I, um... I fell in love with you during seventh year,” Harry swallowed. “I just didn't
realize it then. I didn't realize it until right now, actually. I may not be able to feel it
now but, well... looking back it how I felt and what we said and did- how could it have been
anything else? That's why I know that, you know, if I was okay these days, this is still right
where I'd want to be...”

“Oh...” Hermione was speechless, but absurdly happy. She pulled him forward almost roughly and
nearly half an hour disappeared as they were otherwise occupied. But suddenly she stopped, her
mouth hanging open and an arrested, I've-just-realized-something-really-important look on her
face. She looked at *his* face, then down to his arm where the scars were completely gone,
then back up at his face.

“No... it couldn't be...”

“Hermione?” Harry asked, unnerved.

“I- I think I've just understood something Harry,” she cried, excited. “But I've gotta
go to the library and look it up. I'll be back soon!”

She jumped up and rushed out. She dashed back in a moment later and kissed him, then hurtled
back out again.

Some time later Harry jumped as a loud *pop* interrupted his concentration. Moments later
Hermione slouched into the room wearing a disgruntled expression.

“Look, I've figured out a bunch of the puzzle!” he said proudly, pointing at his handiwork.
She glanced at it distractedly.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, but already knew from the defeated slump of
her shoulders that she hadn't.

“No,” she said gloomily, sinking onto the couch. “I went back to Hogwarts because they've
got the best library in Britain, but I couldn't find anything. I asked Professor Slughorn too,
but he couldn't help me.”

“Why don't you ask Dumbledore?” Harry suggested.

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione, jumping back up. “Dumbledore- he's dead. You were there!”

“I know that. But don't you remember what I told you he said? 'I will only *truly*
have left this school when none here are loyal to me'.”

“But... what does that mean?” Hermione asked, baffled.

Harry gave her a strange look. “Hermione, this is weird. You're the one who always figures
things out. Don't you remember what's hanging on the walls in the Headmistress'
office?”

“The- the-” Hermione stopped, thunderstruck.

“Harry, you're a genius!” she squealed and leaned forward to kiss him full on the lips. “I
have to go!”

She rushed out again, leaving a bemused Harry shaking his head.

“Professor McGonagall!” Hermione called, puffing as she rushed down the hall.

“Miss Granger!” McGonagall turned, surprised. “What are you doing back again?”

“Professor, I really need to talk with Professor Dumbledore's portrait!”

“You *what*?”

“I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore, please! It's really important!”

“I-” McGonagall was visibly taken aback. “I, well... if it was anyone else... But since it's
you, I suppose I can arrange that. You DO have a very good reason?”

“Yes! I swear it!”

“Very well, then. Come with me.”

McGonagall swept up towards her office, Hermione half-running to keep up with her long
strides.

“Lemon drop,” McGonagall said to the gargoyle, which sprang into life and out of the way.
Hermione looked at her in surprise.

“The day Albus died, I couldn't help but remember how he kept offering me those Muggle
candies all the time,” McGonagall replied, unasked. “I just couldn't get it out of my mind and
and I thought that, knowing Albus, it would have delighted him to see me try one. They're my
favorite.”

Hermione nodded and patted McGonagall's arm in understanding.

“Well, here we are, Miss Granger. Albus is right over there.”

“Er... could I speak with him alone, please?” Hermione pleaded. “It's- it's
personal.”

For a minute, Hermione thought McGonagall would explode, but she just nodded curtly and left.
Hermione rushed over to Dumbledore's portrait.

“Hello, Miss Granger,” the portrait greeted her, a twinkle in its blue eyes. “I've been
expecting you for quite some time.”

“You- you have?”

“Certainly,” Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. “I was sure that you would figure out what
happened to Harry at some point, when you finally tracked him down, so I prepared my portrait with
some special knowledge.”

“You knew?” Hermione squeaked. “You knew what was going to happen?”

“Let's just say I had a strong suspicion. And my strong suspicions have a habit of being
correct. Alas, I was not able to validate it for sure and tell anyone before my demise. At any
rate, to cut to the chase: Yes.”

“Yes?” Hermione repeated almost inaudibly.

“Yes.”

Harry was nearly halfway finished with the puzzle by the time Hermione re-appeared once more. He
was startled once more, but not by the *crack* of her apparation.

“Harry, we have to go!” Hermione was suddenly at his side, tugging his arm. “Now!”

“Go where?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised. “It's nearly one in the morning.”

“We have to go back to the Ministry! Back to where you fought Voldemort!”

Harry's face went cold and he turned away.

“No.”

“Please, Harry,” Hermione wheedled, still clutching his arm. “It's really really important.
I would never ask you otherwise.”

“Please... Hermione. Don't ask me to do this. You know I can't refuse you.”

“Harry,” Hermione stepped in front of him and looked him straight in the eye. “Do you trust
me?”

Harry nodded tightly.

“Then believe in me. I wouldn't ask you to do this unless it was really important. Trust me,
everything is going to be just fine.”

“.......Ok,” Harry nodded again. Hermione threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“Come on, let's go see Mr. Weasley.”

“Mr. Weasley?” Harry echoed, confused.

“Yeah! He's really high up in the Ministry now. He and Ron can get us in!”

Hermione was all for apparating off on the spot, but Harry overruled her.

“Hermione, I can't just barge into the the Ministry in my boxers!”

So Hermione waited impatiently, hugging herself tightly, as Harry dug out some clothes and
tossed on his robes. He paused briefly to brush his teeth as well and gave a cursory pass over his
hair with a brush.

“Ok, I'm ready- what's so funny?” Harry asked curiously, for Hermione was laughing
helplessly.

“Oh, um, nothing,” she managed, an innocent expression on her face.

“Oh?” Harry peered at her distrustfully. “Spill it.”

“I, er,” Hermione searched for words. “Oh, sod it. I was just thinking what kind of a headline
you'd make in the Daily Prophet. *Mad Wizard Storms Ministry Clad in Snitch-Patterned
Boxers*.”

Harry just stared at Hermione as laughter overcame her again.

“You just watch it, little witch,” he warned ominously, “or you might find yourself clad in only
*your* underwear when we get there.”

“You wouldn't!” Hermione gasped. “Ok, then let's move this to the bedroom. We can go to
the Ministry later.”

Harry went bright red and held his hands up in surrender.

“Ok, you win. Let's go.”

“Where?” Hermione asked archly.

“Ron!” Hermione practically shouted, pounding on his door. “Ron, get up, you lazy slug!”

It was pitch black out, being a full moon and cloudy to boot, as Harry and Hermione stood on the
front doorstep to Ron's place. There were faint sounds from inside as Hermione kept hammering
the door. The sounds resolved into groans and complaints as they steadily drew closer.

“Hermione,” Ron whined, opening the door and peering at her through sleep-fogged eyes. “What the
bloody Hell are you doing here at one in the morning!”

“Get dressed,” Hermione said peremptorily, walking into his house like she owned it. “We're
going to the Ministry.”

“What?” Ron gaped at her, hand still on the handle of the open door.

“We,” Hermione said slowly and clearly, “are going to the Ministry. Now get some clothes
on.”

“Harry,” Ron appealed, finally closing the door. “Can't you do anything? She's your
girlfriend, get her under control.”

“Sorry, mate,” Harry shrugged. “You better just do what she says.”

“Ron?” A voice called sleepily from the bedroom. “Who is it?”

“Nobody, dear,” Ron called back grumpily, stumping back in. “Just that mad witch Hermione and
her cowardly boyfriend.”

“What does she want?” they heard Charlotte ask and Ron muttered something indistinctly in reply.
Hermione paced back and forth in the living area impatiently.

“Ok, let's go,” Ron grunted, re-appearing. “And this better be good.”

“We need to get your dad too,” Hermione said briskly, stepping outside. Ron didn't
follow.

“Now wait just a minute...”

“What's your *problem*, Ron!” Hermione demanded.

“Listen, I am NOT walking in on my parents at one in the morning,” Ron said hotly. “We've
all moved out, you know. Do you have any idea-? I do NOT want to see that! I don't even want to
think about it!”

Harry cottoned on immediately and started laughing helplessly. It took Hermione a moment
longer.

“What are you talking abo- OH!” Her eyes went wide.

“Let's just send an owl,” Harry gasped.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed fervently.

Some twenty minutes later, after a very strongly worded owl from Hermione, they met Arthur
Weasley at the entrance to the Ministry.

“Hermione, Ron, what's going on?” he asked the moment they arrived.

“I need to get into the Department of Mysteries,” Hermione said without preamble. “Can you and
Ron get us in?”

“Why-”

“*Can you?*” Hermione said fiercely in a tone that brooked no questioning.

“Please, Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked in a much politer tone.

“Well, maybe,” he frowned. “It'll be dodgy, but I might be able to manage it.”

“Thank you!” Hermione flung her arms around a flustered Arthur for a moment, then released him
and marched into the Ministry. He cast a mystified look at Harry, who shrugged.

“Wait...” Arthur said slowly. “What's to stop you from breaking in by yourself, Harry?
Nobody could prevent it.”

“I'd rather not,” Harry replied quietly. Arthur nodded in understanding.

Passing the night guard proved to be simplicity in itself. Arthur and Ron, of course, were let
in immediately. Harry had simply disappeared between one moment on the next, though a small voice
in Hermione's ear assured her he was still there. They were able to fabricate an excuse for
Hermione as well, helped by the fact that she was the famously brilliant Hermione Granger.

“That was easy,” Harry remarked, popping back into visibility as they passed out of site into
the lift. “I would have thought the security would be upped, all things considered.”

“They did,” Arthur remarked wryly. “But I didn't think the extra warding would give you any
problems. Obviously, I was correct.”

“Hmmmm...” Harry made a disapproving noise. “That was it? That's pathetic.”

Ron whistled in admiration as the lift clanked to the bottom. Evidently, he did find the extra
protection pathetic.

They slipped quietly off the lift and down the hauntingly familiar stairs and corridor. A
feeling of dread began to build in Harry's chest as they came to the room of revolving doors.
But before they could enter an unexpected event stopped them.

“What do you think you're doing here?” demanded a voice, and a squat witch hustled in front
of them to block off their path. Harry stared; it was none other than Dolores Umbridge.

“Dolores, we have business here,” Mr. Weasley said impatiently. “Move along.”

“I'm sorry, Arthur,” Umbridge smiled smugly, not sounding sorry at all. “Not even you are
allowed back here.”

Harry moved forward. Hermione watched in apprehension.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked quietly.

“You're no one,” sneered Umbridge.

“That's right,” Harry laughed unpleasantly.

“Perhaps this will jog your memory, *Professor*,” he spat, holding the back of his hand up
in front of her face. Umbridge mouthed the words and her face went white.

“You!”

“Me,” Harry said grimly. “Now, get out of our way!” Umbridge fled.

“Harry, what was that?” Ron asked shakily. Hermione hushed him, but Ron spoke over her.

“Harry, she's going to tell everyone who you are!”

“No, she won't,” Harry said grimly. He made a motion and a stream of nebulous, somehow
languid, blue light shot out of his wand after Umbridge.

“Harry, what was that?” Arthur asked sharply. “You can't attack Ministry employees, even
her!”

“Don't worry, Mr. Weasley,” Harry assured him. “It was only a Memory Charm.”

Mr. Weasley, Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

“I've never seen one like that before,” Ron ventured.

“Well, no,” Harry said with a half-smile. “I added something else to it. Umbridge isn't
going to feel very well tomorrow morning. Nothing serious. But definitely unpleasant.”

“Ah... that's ok, then,” Mr. Weasley grinned. Harry grinned back and Ron chuckled before
Hermione grabbed Harry and dragged him forward.

“Come on, let's go!”

The chamber was just as they had left it; broken and destroyed, the archway standing alone in
the center. It looked frail, but not even the frantic battle that had taken place there had been
able to scratch it. The veil fluttered softly as Hermione led Harry right to the very middle,
motioning the rest back.

“There's something here,” Harry said tensely. “I can feel it.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked keenly.

“I don't know... it seems familiar...”

Harry looked frightened. Hermione looked excited.

“Hermione... are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Hermione took a deep breath and looked Harry square in the eyes. Ho looked puzzled, unsure, and
frightened.

“Harry, I.. I- I lo-” Hermione closed her eyes and the memory came back to her:

*“**There is a spell that is effectively the exact opposite of the Horcrux, though I may
be the only person who ever knew it. A spell that will heal a torn soul; re-integrate the pieces.
And the beauty of it is that it takes almost no magical power and has but one required ingredient.
Can you think of what that might be?”*

*“**Yes,” Hermione whispered.*

*“**Do you love Mr. Potter?”*

*There was a very long pause. Finally, Hermione spoke a single word. Dumbledore's portrait
beamed.*

*“**This, then, is the incantation... it is very simple,” Dumbledore said gravely. “You
simply have to tell the person that you love them.”*

*“**That's it?” Hermione demanded.*

*“**Well, no, not quite,” Dumbledore said apologetically. “That's just the
incantation. As it takes a murder to create a Horcrux, it takes the opposite to mend a soul. A
person must willingly sacrifice their life, out of love.”*

*“**I have to die?” Hermione said in a small voice.*

*“**I'm afraid so,” Dumbledore sighed. “But do not be afraid of death, Hermione. It
is not so terrible a thing.”*

*There was a long silence.*

*“**I've been wrong before,” Dumbledore finally broke the silence. “There may be a
way around it... perhaps a clever witch such as yourself could find it.”*

*“**If* **you** *couldn't, then how could I?” Hermione said in a defeated
sort of voice. “But... it's ok. For Harry... I would do anything.”*

“Harry, I lo-” but Hermione stopped again suddenly; a spine-tingling song had filled the room.
It was a song such as they had not heard for five years. It was the sound of hope itself; it filled
and surrounded them.

“Fawkes?” Harry whispered in disbelief.

There was a flash of fire and the phoenix appeared. Piping his song, Fawkes soared over and
landed on Harry's shoulder. Harry raised a shaking hand to stroke the phoenix.

Fawkes abruptly ceased his song, though the echoes lingered. The phoenix cocked his head to the
side and peered beadily at Hermione. She gazed back, uncomprehending.

Fawkes let out one more quavering note and Hermione gasped.

“I- I understand! Professor Dumbledore, I understand!”

Satisfied, Fawkes took off and flapped insistently in front of an astonished Mr. Weasley until
he held out his arm. Fawkes perched upon it and watched Hermione and Harry serenely.

“Harry,” Hermione said in a strong, sure voice. “I love you, Harry Potter.”

Closing her eyes, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed a confused Harry tenderly. He stood in
shock for a moment, unable to respond, and then started to gasp and shudder. Hermione wrapped her
arms around Harry to steady him and, at that instant, Fawkes burst into flame. Mr. Weasley cried
out and shielded his face, but the fire didn't seem to harm him. The next instant, he was
cradling a tiny, ugly baby Fawkes.

Hermione stepped back, opened her eyes and looked up at Harry expectantly. He stopped shaking
and tentatively brought a hand to his forehead, feeling around. He stopped when he felt
something.

“Hermione, what did you just do? I feel...”

“Harry, oh, Harry, I figured it out! Why the scars on your arm kept disappearing! And why you
were... incomplete... but I didn't know if there was a way to fix it! That's what I had to
ask Dumbledore!”

“What are you talking about, Hermione?”

“Harry,” Hermione answered, her eyes shining. “It was what you said... you said that *you
could have made a Horcux when you killed Voldemort* if you only knew the spell. You
*didn't* make a Horcux, but you *did* tear your soul! Voldemort didn't care about
his soul, but you... it was devastating for you. That fragment of your soul has been here ever
since! It couldn't go through the veil without the rest of you. I asked Dumbledore if there was
an anti-Horcrux spell. One that puts a soul back together...”

Harry lowered his hand and comprehension filled his eyes; they widened as he took in the baby
Fawkes and remembered Hermione's astonished expression when the phoenix arrived. He understood
immediately what such a spell would cost.

“But... Harry, your scar is back! I don't know what I did wrong!” Hermione cried. “I'm
so sorry!”

“Wrong?” Harry repeated slowly, then he laughed in delight, picking Hermione up and whirling her
around.

“Hermione, you didn't do anything wrong! You did everything- everything!- just right. This
scar... it's *part* of me. I need it; I'm not complete without it. It's not bad...
it's- it's just a scar... ”

Hermione stared up at him, the gears working furiously inside her head.

“Hermione...” Harry stepped close and stroked her cheek softly. “Fawkes... you were going to
*die* to heal me.”

Hermione looked down, but Harry sensed something. He had sensed it ever since Fawkes had burst
into flame. An invisible golden thread connecting him and Hermione.

“Yes,” Hermione looked up fearlessly. “Yes, I was. I would do anything for you.”

The golden thread suddenly blazed and an indescribable flood of love flowed through it to
envelope Harry. Tentatively, Harry flexed his thoughts and sent a return feeling.

“I- I love you, Hermione.”

A brilliant smile lit Hermione's face and he lowered his lips to hers, letting his walls
down and the connection go as full as possible.

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