The Nature of Magic

“Yes,” the distinguished old man mused to himself, pacing back and forth in the cramped study. “That must be it.”

A battered old quill, lying limply on the cherry dark desk, leaped up and stood poised over the half-filled page of a beautifully bound leather book. The man paused thoughtfully, the glow from an old-fashioned gas light caught up in his short-cropped silver hair caused it to glow slightly.

“Magic has long been a tool used by those we call wizards without regard or thought to its mechanics or properties,” he spoke strongly and clearly. “A witch or wizard simply memorizes a large list of spells and plucks out the appropriate one when needed. Very little inventing of new spells occurs, and it tends to be highly contained to a small set of extraordinary minds. Therefore, at some point in the distant past, it seems likely a group of wizards must have been responsible for creating most of the known body of magic.”

The quill was busily committing the man's words to the book; ink flowed out in elegant curls and slashes. In fact, it was indistinguishable from a professional printing job. The man took little heed of this otherwise amazing occurrence, for it was quite natural for him. Instead, his brow creased in thought, adding more lines to the myriad smile lines that already spidered across his weathered face.

“For some reason,” the man continued, “the art of crafting new spells has largely been abandoned or forgotten. Even those brilliant individuals who periodically inject new spells and life into our magical world do so by instinct and feel, rather then method and experiment. The only known deviant from this pattern is the well-known, and tragically late, Albus Dumbledore.”

The man completed a circuit of the room at the same time the quill reached the end of a page; the quill patiently paused while the book flipped to the next blank face of creamy parchment. As the man looked up, hands clasped behind his back, the light seemed to gather in his eyes and illuminate the only truly outstanding feature upon his otherwise pleasant, but plain, face: one eye was a warm brown, the other a merry blue.

“Through my long, and fortunate, correspondence with this exceptionally gifted individual, I have come to several realizations. First, and most importantly, there is a method to magic. Magic has its own, unique set of rules and logic. It is not haphazard, random, or particular in any fashion. There are many different ways to effect a particular spell, but they all work for a specific reason.”

“This fact has been overlooked, and perhaps forgotten, for years beyond counting. Whether by chance, or by some subtle intervention, the wizarding world has not thought to probe into this otherwise extremely obvious line of reasoning. In this field we are so far behind Muggles as to be comical; they have achieved amazing accomplishments through the application of logic and reasoning to a strict set of principles. This has led to what they term 'science'.”

The man bowed his head and stopped pacing, apparently deep in thought. He stood there for an unknown period of time, unaware of his surroundings; the deep carpet underfoot, the bookcases lining the walls, the high ceiling with chandelier suspended from the middle. The windows lining the top half of the room, stars shining brightly in the clear night sky. The gentle sounds of night insects and the smell of fresh earth mingled with the recently fallen rain that wafted in through a partially opened window.

“I have studied the scientific process extensively and attempted to apply its principles to the force we know as magic in an attempt to codify its laws, principles and mechanics of logic. Through a long series of experimentation I have determined that magic is a field that surrounds and permeates us. Some people are born with the ability to manipulate this field, which I have so wittingly named the 'M-Field'. These people are know as wizards (or witches).”

“It is a mistaken, and long held, belief that an incantation is needed to affect a spell, despite the wide use of nonverbal spells. In fact, one does not even need to think the incantation; it is one's will that is important.”

The sound of footsteps interrupted the man's dictation and a knock came upon the study door. Blinking in momentary confusion he gazed at the door as if he had never seen one before. The knock came again, more insistent.

“Come in,” he finally called, apparently finished gathering his wits A moment later the door opened and a handsome older woman entered, smiling. She was tall and slender, long white hair pulled back into a loose tail.

“Ignatius, dear, there's someone here to see you,” she informed him, green eyes sparkling.

“To see me?” he asked, brow furrowed. “Who could that be?”

“I'm afraid I don't know,” the woman admitted. “She was most adamant about seeing you, and just as stubborn about not revealing her identity. The protections Dumbledore installed insist she is entirely trustworthy. Though they behaved in a manner I've never seen before... almost like they recognized her.”

The man scratched his head thoughtfully.

“She's quite young and attractive, too,” the woman added with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Is there something you're not telling me? Perhaps you tire of me?”

A glimmer of understanding appear in Ignatius' eyes, then he laughed and swooped forward to enfold the woman in an embrace.

“Cecilia, darling, you're the most beautiful and charming woman in the world,” he said playfully. “How could any little girl ever compare to you?”

“Now that's what I like to hear,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Am I correct in assuming you know who this is? Yes, I see that I am. Shall I bring her down?”

“Yes, please. If you wouldn't mind.”

“As a matter of fact, I would,” Cecilia said archly. “You'll just have to make it up to me later.”

“Deal.” Ignatius winked.

Cecilia left behind a merry ring of laughter as she departed to show the visitor down. Ignatius strode over to thoughtfully review what he had written so far, already focused back upon his work. Clearing his throat, he continued.

“While an incantation is completely optional, a wand is less so. Though not strictly necessary, as any spell can be performed with or without a wand, the effects of the spell will be greatly weakened without it. In some as yet unknown way, a wand is able to amplify and direct the waves in the M-Field, much like an antenna. Thus, I may be able to levitate a pumpkin sized rock without a wand, but I am capable of levitating a house sized rock with one. I have an inkling of a theory that the creatures that supply the cores of a wand are somehow intimately connected with the M-Field.”

“All the mechanics aside, I have come to one inescapable conclusion through my studies: knowledge triumphs over sheer power every time. A twig can stem a flood, or a pebble an avalanche, if placed just right.”

Hermione shifted nervously from one foot to the other in the drawing room; she was wound too tightly to sit. She had followed Dumbledore's final wishes and sought out this wizard, this Ignatius Crane. She had never heard of him before (which in itself was unusual), didn't know what he could possibly do for her, and her anxiety had risen as every step had carried her closer to this residence. The lovely woman who had greeted her at the door dispelled that anxiety somewhat, but it was never truly gone these days.

Speaking of which, the woman had been gone for over a minute. Hermione finally came out of her internal struggles and started to examine the room she was in. Everything was quite orderly and noticeably old-fashioned; in a flash of insight Hermione realized that the woman (and her husband too, perhaps?) must be older than they looked. Gas lights lit the spacious, high-ceilinged room. Fascinating books, objects, and collectibles from all across the world dotted the room. Hermione felt an itching sensation in her hands and had to hold them tightly to her sides to stop from examining anything.

What am I doing here? she thought for what seemed the hundredth time. I've got so many important things to do. Things to help Harry. Why did Dumbledore send me here? How could he die on us!

At the thought of Harry and the terrible task they were facing her features crumbled. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that so much had been taken from them; her, Harry and Ron. It wasn't fair that events asked yet more of them and possibly the ultimate sacrifice from Harry. Why can't they just leave us alone? Why can't we have a normal, carefree life? Why can't someone else kill Voldemort?

“Young lady? Can you hear me, dear?”

Hermione jerked back into reality, staring guiltily at the lady (Cecilia was her name, right?) who was peering at her in concern.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione apologized. “I-I've got a lot on my mind.”

“You remind me of my husband,” the woman smiled charmingly. “I joke that his name is really Ignatius-Ignatius, for he rarely hears me the first time.”

Hermione attempted a smile.

“Speaking of which,” the lady continued, “he is more than happy to see you. Just go on down those stairs over there.”

Hermione followed the woman's arm with her eyes and saw a narrow set of stairs descending in a spiral.

“I, um... thank you so much,” Hermione said gratefully. Cecilia couldn't help but be touched but the earnestness in the girl's voice and pulled her into an impulsive embrace.

“Whatever is troubling you, it will be fine, dear,” she said reassuringly, pushing Hermione towards the stairs. “Go on, now. Iggy will fix it.”

Propelled by the gentle shove, Hermione made her way apprehensively towards the stairs and slipped down them slowly. It was a peculiar arrangement that nearly made her feel claustrophobic; the staircase was narrow and tightly wound, enclosed tightly on all sides by walls. As she descended, she could hear a rumbling voice indistinctly through the partially open door. It was not until she reached the threshold itself that she could make out the words, but once she could she hesitated, mouth hanging open as she listened to the pleasant looking old man inside.

“Thus,” he was finishing, “I may be able to levitate a pumpkin sized rock without a wand, but I am capable of levitating a house sized rock with one. I have an inkling of a theory that the creatures that supply the cores of a wand are somehow intimately connected with the M-Field.”

“All the mechanics aside, I have come to one inescapable conclusion through my studies: knowledge triumphs over sheer power every time. A twig can stem a flood, or a pebble an avalanche, if placed just right.”

A diffident knock on the door frame caused Ignatius to look up and he spied a young girl stepping into the room hesitantly. The first thing he noticed about her was a positive cloud of curly brown hair. Upon further inspection she also proved to be short, petite, and shyly pretty. She had inquisitive and warm, but anxious, brown eyes and a slight hunch to her shoulders, as if an invisible bag was slung across her back.

“Ignatius Crane?” she inquired timidly, her voice a pleasant contralto. He nodded cheerfully, noting the roll of parchment she clutched to her chest.

“Call me Iggy,” he smiled, “all my friends do. Come in, come in! Have a seat. I so rarely get visitors. You would be Miss Hermione Granger, I presume?”

Hermione, who had automatically moved towards a free chair, froze halfway into a sitting position, hovering half a foot above a chair. An apprehensive, slightly dangerous, and extremely weary look appeared in her eyes. She looked ready to fight to the death but, at the same time, just give up and have it all be over with.

“How did you know my name?” she demanded tersely. Ignatius recognized the signs immediately and sighed inwardly, saddened. It wasn't right for one so young to be so burdened.

“Relax, child,” he said soothingly. “I am not your enemy. Dumbledore informed me that you would likely be paying me a visit.”

“His patronus was a phoenix,” Ignatius added. “He was most insistent I tell you that.”

Hearing that, the strength seemed to flow out of Hermione and she collapsed the rest of the way onto the chair, her head hanging low. She remained silent and Ignatius wisely gave her all the time she needed to gather herself.

“Dumbledore,” she finally whispered, looking up with tears in her eyes. “I can't believe he's gone.”

“Yes,” Ignatius said heavily. “A terrible loss. Terrible. And only least of all because of his powers.”

Hermione sniffed tearfully, resembling more the seventeen year old girl she was than the older woman that looked out through her eyes.

“Now, now, child,” Iggy said in a comforting voice. “Don't grieve so. Dumbledore was quite prepared for this and I can say with authority that he would wish to be remembered with a smile, not tears. I know that he was particularly fond of you and your two friends.”

“He-he was?” Hermione asked, a hitch in her voice. “Was he a friend of yours? I-I was always so intimidated by him...”

“He was a bit intimidatingly, I admit,” Ignatius said thoughtfully. “Until you got to know him. Then I realized he was the kindest and gentlest man in the world, though an implacable enemy. We will sorely miss him.”

Hermione didn't respond to this, though she mouthed something inaudibly. While Ignatius' talents didn't extend to lip-reading, he would have swore all the books in his library she had said “my poor Harry”.

“To answer your other question,” he continued, showing no outward signs he had noticed, “yes, we were friendly. He always seemed to think my ramblings would be of importance some day and was kind enough to supply me with whatever I required. He even stopped by occasionally to puzzle through a concept with me. I wish he had done so more often; he was far cleverer than I.”

“You must be very smart,” Hermione said in awe. “If Dumbledore said your ideas are important, then they must be.”

Iggy laughed at her youthful perspective, so black and white. His laugh was infectious, and soon Hermione was smiling too. She felt immediately drawn to this warm, captivating man. Knowing that Dumbledore had trusted him sealed any doubts she might have had.

“So,” Iggy composed himself, “what exactly is it that I can do for you? I assume Dumbledore sent you?”

“Er, y-yes,” Hermione stammered. “He, um, left this for me.”

She held out a roll of parchment. Ignatius recognized Dumbledore's narrow, loopy writing peeking off the bottom edge immediately as he reached of for it. The moment he touched it a tingle passed through his hand, alerting him it had been warded by Dumbledore to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

A nervous sort of excitement ran up his spine as he tasted the potency of the magic. It had to be the most powerful spell he had ever felt imprinted upon an object; what knowledge did this letter contain that Dumbledore had felt it necessary to go to such lengths to protect? Almost reverently he looked down and began to read.

Miss Granger,

Since you are reading this I am surely dead. I know not the exact details, but I have been positive for some time that my death was not far away. Recent events have been conspiring in such a manner that our cause can only be furthered by my removal from the game. I beg you forgive me for keeping so much hidden from you, Harry and Mr. Weasley. Know that I did so for your own protection.

I assure you I did not intend to die, or seek it out. Being the clever witch you are, I am sure you have puzzled out several scenarios where that would make sense. I merely prepared myself for the inevitable and made every attempt to give us the most advantage from my death. Please do not grieve me, and see that Harry understands that death is not the worst thing that can happen to a person. I have lived a long, happy life filled with wonderful people, not least of all Harry, Mr. Weasley, and yourself.

I imagine you are wondering why I left a letter for you, and you alone. I did not have the chance to get to know you half so well as I would have liked; for that I am truly sorry. However, I wish you to know that I hold you and Mr. Weasley in the highest regard and know that Harry could not have two more faithful friends. I dearly hope that you continue to stand by him and not allow him to push you away. Together, you are far more powerful than you realize.

I have long been in correspondence with a Mr. Ignatius Crane. It is my wish that upon receipt of this letter you will see him as soon as possible. Professor McGonagall will be able to tell you where he resides; she is the Secret-Keeper of his address. I believe he will be of help to you and Harry and I have put extremely formidable enchantments around his house for his protection. Know also that this letter is warded and will destroy itself if not in the possession of a select group of people. Most likely it will also consume the thief that attempted to filch it.

A word of caution; trust no one fully except Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Ignatius, Lupin and Harry. Be extremely wary of Professor Snape, he is not what he appears to be. He is vitally important to our hopes, but he is extremely dangerous. Know that he can always be trusted to do what is in his own best interests. Use it to your advantage.

Ignatius, my old friend, I have no doubt that you will also see this letter. Please allow Miss Granger to see your work and answer any questions she may have to the best of your ability.

Farewell, my friends. I will see you all again in the fullness of time.

Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore

P.S. - A twig can stem a flood, or a pebble an avalanche, if placed just right.

“That- what you just said when I came in,” Hermione said unsteadily. “It's the same thing that Dumbledore wrote at the end of that letter. What does it mean?”

“Ah,” Ignatius let out his breath slowly, an excised gleam in his eye. “Hermione, do you know what it is I do?”

“I- no,” Hermione admitted in a small voice. “I, um, heard you talking just a minute ago, but before that I had never heard of you. I'm sorry!”

“No need to be sorry!” Ignatius laughed. “There's a very good reason you haven't heard of me. Albus did not think word of what I work on should get out yet. Which leads me to believe he has been waiting for someone like you for a very long time.”

Hermione sat quiet, her mouth hanging open. This was incredible. Unbelievable. She knew Dumbledore had always, and rightly so, held Harry in great esteem. He had been supremely confident in Harry's character and ability, as was Hermione. But her? He had been waiting a long time for her? But she wasn't special at all! She wasn't brave or powerful like Harry. What could Dumbledore possibly have wanted her to do?

Questions were racing around in Hermione's mind; What did Ignatius do? Did he know anything about Voldemort? Was he working on some new, top secret spell? But what came out when she opened her mouth was a rather plaintive squeak.

“Me? Why me?”

Ignatius regarded her solemnly for a moment, and Hermione had the oddest feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking. His eyes were wise, patient and understanding. His eyes... there was something odd about his eyes...

Oh my goodness! Hermione's thought as her heart skipped a beat. His eyes are different colors!

“Because,” Ignatius finally answered, “because Dumbledore believed that you were the most qualified person in the world for this task.”

“So now let me tell you what it is that I have been doing for the last, oh, six or seven decades. First, however, allow me show you something. May I?”

Ignatius held out Dumbledore's letter and raised an eyebrow. Hermione was perplexed, but nodded anyway. This affable old man aroused a strong feeling of trust.

Concentrating, Ignatius pulled out his wanted and pointed it at the back of the piece of parchment, waving it back and forth as if erasing. The spell must have been nonverbal, for he didn't say a word. However, to Hermione's astonishment, words began to appear on the back of the letter.

“You didn't think Albus would put in such a meaningless message to me in your letter for no reason, did you?” he asked with a slight smile. “He has already left me instructions for what to do with anyone he sent my way. Instructions left in a far more reliable manner. No, he put that in to ensure that you would show me this letter, knowing I would understand what to do. Here, I believe this is for you,” he held out the letter. “I'm sure it is personal, and I would not presume to read it.”

“I- but why?” stammered Hermione, accepting it.

“Ah, I'm glad you asked! It's really very clever, you see. Albus put a very strong warding spell on this letter; I doubt anyone short of Voldemort could have touched it without instantly perishing. Except us, of course; it was meant for us. But still, Albus did not believe in taking chances. Even had a dark wizard managed to disarm the ward and successfully call up the hidden message, they wouldn't have been able to read it.”

“Er- why not?”

Ignatius was so excited and animated now his face was almost glowing. It was really quite endearing.

“Well, Albus and I have always been quite interested in Muggles and we have come to realize that they far outstrip us in most areas of knowledge. They simply don't have, or know about, magic. One of their more ingenious ideas pertains to concealment of knowledge from unfriendly eyes. It is called 'encryption'. Ah! I see that you have heard of it!”

“I have!” Hermione exclaimed. “So... this message? You are the only one with the appropriate key to decrypt it, right? And it's a magical key?”

“Correct!” crowed Ignatius. “Oh, I see Dumbledore has chosen very well indeed! Now, I believe you should read it.”

Hermione looked down at the new message, her hands trembling slightly. It was indeed more personal.

Hermione, please forgive me for the necessity of concealing this message. As confident as I am in my ability to cast a warding spell, I dare not take the slightest possibility of this falling into the wrong hands. Ignatius knows not the true import of the work he has been doing and therefore underestimates the danger he would be in if word of it got out. Fond as I am of him, he sometimes lacks the ability to see beyond his studies to the practical impact they may carry.

I have watched you and Harry for many years now. You have no idea how proud I am of you. I myself would be hard pressed to accomplish what you and he, along with Ron, have done over the last six years. And that means that no one else could have done it. During this time I have watched you grow closer and I am certain that together you are strong enough to defeat Voldemort. For you have something in abundance that he does not possess at all.

Now, I believe I am correct in saying that you find the situation you are in rather hopeless and bleak at the moment. I dearly wish I could have passed on to you the vast knowledge that I have collected over the years. More than that, I wish I could be there to provide some measure of support. However, there is only one thing you truly need to know.

Voldemort is the pre-eminent wizard of this age, and perhaps any age ever. There is no denying it. Perhaps when I was younger I may have been able to dispute for that title... Regardless, listen carefully:

Voldemort holds Muggles in such contempt that it has became his greatest shortcoming. Therefore, he has shunned any knowledge of them whatsoever. He relies on magic for everything. I repeat, EVERYTHING.

So allow me to ask you a very simple question: what would happen if Harry battled Voldemort in a world in which magic did not exist? Think on it. And think on who I advise placing full trust in.

To answer what I know to be your last question, I have not left anything for Ron. It is not that I do not trust him. Far from it. However, I believe he is susceptible to trickery or, terrible as it is, torture. You, however, I have no doubts about. I am sure you would never do anything to harm Harry, even under the worst form of duress.

I know I have not always been forthcoming or approachable. I beg of you to remember me kindly and... I would ask you to please tell Harry, when the time is right, that if I could have chosen anyone in this world as a son, it would have been him.

Albus Dumbledore

“Hagrid, Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Harry,” Hermione muttered under her breath. “And you. But I already trust them. What are you trying to tell me, Professor Dumbledore?”

“Excuse me?” Ignatius asked politely.

“Oh!” Hermione said loudly. She had completely forgotten anyone else was there. “Oh! I'm sorry, Mr. Crane! I, um, completely forgot where I was...”

“Please, call me Iggy,” he repeated. “Don't feel bad; I am sure you have a lot on your mind. Now, is there anything you would like to ask me? I am afraid that Albus did not leave me any specific instructions; he merely requested that I make myself available to who he sent my way. I surmise he thought you would know the right questions to ask.”

“Um,” Hermione mused. “Why don't we start with what exactly it is that you do?”

“Ok,” he agreed. “Well, the easiest way to put it is that I am attempting to figure out how magic works.”

“You're what?” Hermione repeated, confused. “We already know how magic works.”

“No, my dear. We don't. We know how to do it. Some of it, anyway. But that's not the same thing. I want to know how it works. What the basic principles governing it are. What magic itself is and how we manipulate it. Why some people can use it and others can't. In short, applying science to magic.”

Hermione's eyes grew wider and wider and she listened. She put her hands over her mouth and peered at Ignatius, astonished.

“How- how come I never thought of that?” she asked herself softly.

“Don't blame yourself, my dear. As far as I can tell, no one besides myself and Albus ever has. It's almost like there was something interfering, making sure no one did. I'm almost suspicious enough to believe that. You see, someone way back in the beginning must have known to be able to invent most of the body of spells that we have. Did they perhaps stumble upon something that scared them? That they didn't think we should know? Are they responsible for this?”

“I- that's fascinating,” Hermione breathed. “Brilliant.”

Her eyes were alight with curiosity and fire, and Ignatius saw that it lit up her whole face. Where should have been mildly pretty before, now she was beautiful. Striking. Alluring. He wondered if Harry saw this in her.

“You are such a pretty thing, child,” he observed. Hermione's face went crimson and she suddenly looked vulnerable and delicate. His heart went out to her, but he carefully kept his face impassive.

“Nobody's ever called me pretty before,” she mumbled. “Except for my parents. And Harry...” she allowed herself a small smile. “But, well... he didn't really say I was pretty. He said he didn't think I was ugly.”

“An odd comment,” Ignatius noted. “I surmise someone else called you ugly and he was refuting that?”

“Yes,” Hermione was looking at the floor. “I did.”

“Ah,” he smiled broadly. “I think you can rest assured that he does indeed find you pretty. As do I.”

Hermione smiled shyly, then hastened to switch the subject.

“So, um, have you figured out anything about magic?”

“In fact, I have,” Ignatius replied, switching subjects smoothly. “Not as much as I was hoping for, perhaps, but more than nothing.”

“Tell me!” Hermione commanded eagerly, causing Ignatius to throw his head back in laughter. She looked at him, dismayed at his reaction.

“I'm sorry, dear,” he choked. “Your eagerness reminds me a great deal of myself when I was younger. You see, it would take a great while for me to tell you everything I've learned.”

Hermione blushed again at her thoughtless demand. Of course he couldn't tell her everything. She would just have to think of the right questions.

“Would you like to have a copy of my writings?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Ooooh, yes! Could I?”

“Of course.”

He waved his hands and a dozen large volumes floated over to the table. Hermione stared at them.

“All THAT? You wrote all that?”

“Certainly,” he replied modestly, handing her one. “This is the first volume.”

He spoke up again as she opened it and started flipping through it eagerly.

“So all this is for Harry, is it not?”

“What?” Hermione looked up guiltily. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You're trying to help Harry find a way to defeat Voldemort, aren't you?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said quickly, averting her eyes. “Of course.”

“And it doesn't hurt that he's a courageous, handsome young hero who's been your best friend since the first year you got to Hogwarts, does it?” Ignatius said guilelessly.

“What?”

She definitely wasn't meeting his eyes this time.

“Come now, child. I'm an old man. In addition to excusing me from the normal niceties of social interaction, it also means I've seen a great deal of things before. It's no shame if you have feelings for Harry. But you haven't told him, have you?”

“No,” Hermione said in a nearly inaudible voice, book forgotten in her lap. “What if he doesn't feel the same way about me? Why would he? What if he laughed at me, and never talked to me again?”

“What if he does feel the same way about you?” countered Ignatius. “What if he's afraid to tell you?”

Hermione looked up, startled. Obviously such a thought had never occurred to her. Ignatius watched her chew her bottom lip absently, the cogs in her head spinning furiously.

Oh my god! Hermione was thinking. Is that possible? I never even thought of that! But... why would he feel that way about me? It just can't be true...

Hermione jerked back to reality. She couldn't believe she was revealing all this to a man she hardly knew! But there was just something about him... something pure and innocent. Something that made her trust him. She wanted to pour out all her worries and fears and have him make them go away. Dumbledore trusted him... that decided her.

“Harry's convinced he's going to die,” she blurted. “He won't hear anything else! He goes through the motions, and he's determined to defeat Voldemort. But he's already given up on life.”

Ignatius regarded her sadly.

“And if he dies,” Hermione continued in a whisper, “then I will die too. I will walk and talk and eat and do everything everyone else does. But I will be dead.”

“Child,” Ignatius murmured, kneeling down beside her and putting an arm around her. “Child, I know this will sound like an old man's foolish waffling, but believe me when I tell you it is not as hopeless as it looks. One thing at a time. One thing at a time.”

Hermione gave a small sob and turned blindly to bury her head in his shoulder. He held her gently as she cried herself out; first great racking sobs, then normal crying, then finally a subdued trickle of tears. Her emotions ran the whole gamut until she felt almost cleansed.

“T-thank you so much,” she hiccuped at last, pulling away. “You are such a dear man.”

“It's not very often I get to hold a pretty young lady in my arms,” he said solemnly. Hermione laughed weakly, but with genuine amusement and Iggy cracked a smile.

“Now, you have to promise not to tell my wife I said that,” he added, winking.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Hermione vowed, eyes sparkling with fresh life.

Seeking to get back onto safer ground, Hermione looked back down at the book and flipped through it idly, reading snatches and passages.

“Iggy, what-” she began, then suddenly gasped. Hunching over she flipped back furiously until she got to the page she was looking for. Intrigued, Ignatius watched as she read it over and over, mouthing the words to herself.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Um. Um. Um. Iggy... d'you- d'you think it was be possible to, er, 'turn off' this M-Field? Perhaps over just a small area? If it's like, um, sound waves? You know, where one can cancel another one out?”

His eyes widened.

“Dear god... how did you come up with that?” he asked in awe. “Ten minutes and you see something I haven't in fifty years. Yes yes yes! Why not? If you were able to send out the right magical waves, you should be able to do it. It would be terribly difficult, but over a small enough area it may just be possible. You couldn't possibly cancel out every little bit, but enough so that what's left couldn't light a candle!”

“HAGRID! And LUPIN!” Hermione screeched, leaping out of her chair. “Oh my god! I think I know!”

“What?” asked Ignatius, bewildered. “Hagrid? You mean Rubeus Hagrid? And Remus Lupin? Splendid fellows, but they couldn't possibly do something like this.”

“No, no,” Hermione was waving her hands and pacing furiously. “Not that. Harry would have to do it, of course. Only he could. But Hagrid... Dumbledore said... and Lupin...”

She stopped and looked up at Ignatius, and her eyes were shining again.

“I think that's it! I really think it is! Can you help us figure out how to do it!”

“Certainly!” he agreed immediately.

“Oh, thank you so much, Iggy!” Hermione cried and ran forward to fling her arms around him.

“Of course! But now,” Ignatius grew serious, “I have a request of you.”

“Of me?” Hermione squeaked in disbelief, backing up a step. “What could I possibly do for you?”

“A great deal. Of that I am sure,” Ignatius said firmly. “However, what I have in mind is more specific. When all this unpleasantness is finished, and Voldemort is face down in his grave where he belongs, I would like it very much if you came back and visited me. I would like your help on some of my projects. Dumbledore assured me, and I see that he was right as usual, that you are quite keen.”

“Me?” Hermione squealed. “Help YOU?”

“Yes. Please,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I'd really really love that!” Hermione was practically jumping up and down in excitement.

Ah, youth, thought Ignatius with an inward smile.

“I've got to go find Harry,” Hermione continued with a new determination in his eyes, clutching his book to her chest. “Thank you ever so much, Iggy!”

Hermione turned and began to dash out the door, but was halted by Ignatius' voice.

“Miss Granger?”

“Yes?” Hermione asked, turning. Iggy was looking at her gravely and did not speak for a minute. His eyes were very old and wise, but at the same time held the irrepressible spark of the youth he had been and still was. Hermione, on the other hand, was literally dancing on the spot with impatience.

“I suggest,” he said calmly, “that you give Mr. Potter a reason to live.”

“What-?”

At that moment, Cecilia came down the stairs, beaming at Hermione as she passed, and walked over to her husband to affectionately wrap an arm around his waist. He smiled down at her and pulled her close. “Perfect timing, as usual,” he whispered.

“Oh!” Hermione's mouth made an O and her eyes grew very wide. Without another word, she turned and sprinted up the stairs and out of the house.

“Were we that young once?” Cecilia asked wistfully.

“Yes, dear,” Ignatius answered in amusement. “I think we were. I seem to remember quite a few, er, adventures that we had.”

She laughed softly and reached up to cup his chin and shake his head back and forth slowly. Grinning, Iggy looped an arm through Cecilia's and they wandered off leisurely to enjoy the starlit night.

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