Another Witch in the Family

A/N: Hello, hello! So, I know I ought to updating “Powers of Persuasion” and I hate writing two fics at the same time, but I needed this to help me out of where I’ve cornered myself. As you will see, this chapter is mostly in Hermione’s pov, but it’ll change back and forth as we go. So this is just a little do, maybe three or four chapters. I haven’t really broken it down, but I felt like writing and posting, so there.

Disclaimer: I constantly forget these. Therefore I will say this once and only once for this fic and hope that it extends through the rest of it. I don’t own Harry Potter or anything else. I own nothing. Niente. Nada.

Another Witch in the Family

Chapter 1~~~ Since You’re Not Doing Anything…

“Hermione, dear, are you still there? Edward, I think there’s something wrong with the phone…No, I can’t hear a thing—Hermione, darling, please answer, you’re scaring Mummy—”

“Sorry, Mum,” the twenty one year old finally replied, still blinking her eyes in wonderment. “I must have misunderstood you, did you say—”

Again Hermione held the receiver away from her ear as her mother let out a very uncharacteristic squeal. “Yes! I got the call from your cousin Mary this morning. Imagine, another witch in the family!”

Hermione was grateful that she had finally convinced Harry and Ron to put a chair next to where the phone sat on a table in the hall, for she greatly needed its supporting cushion now. Her mother’s bi-weekly calls came like clockwork, but the difference in this one was that it bore some rather unusual news.

Mary had always been Hermione’s favorite cousin, mostly in the sense that she envied her normal-sounding name with its minimal syllables and low employment of vowel sounds as well as her straight and glossy golden hair. Growing up, Mary seemed to embody everything that was sophisticated and graceful, when Hermione, eight years her junior, was still growing into her body and coming to terms with her bushy, boring brown hair.

Not that the envy extended both ways. Though Mary was not exactly an academic, she was clever, and she often used her biting wit to torment Hermione in the way that children do. But the malice Hermione saw so frequently behind those piercing blue orbs cut deeper than any foul name or jest uttered from the older girl’s lips. It was by those eyes too that Hermione felt so exposed, as though she had been turned inside out and all of her emotions and feelings were being carefully studied. Perhaps that’s what makes her such an effective scientist, Hermione thought ruefully. I was her first specimen.

Indeed it was after the first bits of uncontrolled accidental magic, triggered by the embarrassment of Mary’s taunting, that Hermione felt the most scrutinized by Mary’s sharp and probing eyes. When Hermione went off to Hogwarts it was practically salvation; she told herself that in Scotland she wouldn’t constantly be plagued with the feelings of inadequacy and insecurity that Mary seemed to effortlessly awaken in her. At least that was what she hoped. It was hard to imagine that a feud could develop between two girls so far apart in age, but the reasoning behind Mary’s obvious disdain for Hermione remained a mystery to that very day, when Helen Granger called to break the news to her unsuspecting daughter.

“Honestly, Hermione, are you even listening?” came her mother’s impatient voice.

“Sorry, Mum,” Hermione repeated automatically. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. I mean, I’m happy for Mary I suppose—if she’s happy, that is. How does her daughter feel about all of this?”

Helen laughed and seemed satisfied that Hermione’s previous bout of silence was purely due to surprise and not some less than happy memories. “Little Katie is very excited, yes, probably as much as you were when you turned eleven, though I doubt she’s cleaned out Oxford’s main library yet like you nearly did.”

Then her voice took on that motherly tone that Hermione recognized as a sign of an impending guilt trip. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, dear. I’m sure Mary would have called you herself, but she’s been very busy lately, and well, you’re not doing anything are you?”

Hermione bit back the instant defensive retort and said in a determinedly calm voice, “Mum, you know I can’t tell you what I’m doing.”

There was a little huff on the other end of the line and Hermione rolled her eyes, her voicing taking on the same impatience that her mother had shown only minutes before. “Honestly, Mum! I’m an Unspeakable! It means I can’t exactly tell you what I get up to!”

“But Harry and Ron know, do they,” Mrs. Granger said petulantly.

Hermione’s forced calm disintegrated at once. “No, Mum, we’re not getting into this again. It’s not anything personal, I can’t tell anyone! Honestly!”

She heard a sigh from the other end. “Well, I guess we should be used to you keeping secrets from us by now,” her mother replied, dropping her one trump card that she knew was bound to dredge up her daughter’s guilt for her school-day transgressions, most of which the woman had learned of several years after the fact.

But Hermione wasn’t taking the bait. Instead she retorted in as controlled a voice as she could muster, “If you had known everything that I was doing, would you have let me return to Hogwarts?” She heard with some satisfaction the swift intake of air before Mrs. Granger’s reply of, “I suppose not… Touché.”

And just like that, Hermione’s anger ebbed away through every one of her pores, effectively deflating her, but not in a way that was unwelcome. Hermione remembered countless arguments from her teenage years resolving in a similar manner, with that one simple phrase: “Touché.” Once that word passed your lips, you’d admitted defeat and conceded to your opponent. It had become a sort of game for Hermione and her mother, to see whose logic was mightier and better grounded. This was how Hermione knew she was a step closer to forgiveness for all of those years she had lied and used schoolwork as an excuse to get away from home—never mind that the time was usually spent ensuring Harry’s survival as well as that of the wizarding world. But every step nearer to that destination, however small, would be worth it.

Hermione found that she didn’t need to even force the smile as she asked, “Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Both women ignored the current of understanding that had just passed between them as they had numerous times before.

“Weeellll,” Helen Granger began, reverting to that sweetly cajoling voice from before, “Like I said, Mary is very busy, and I thought ‘who better to teach little Katharine the ropes, so to speak, than Hermione?’ And since you aren’t doing anything and you’re the first magical one in the family, I figured you’d do so well at it. What do you think?”

Hermione’s smile dropped instantly from her face as she pictured the three-foot high stack of files in her ‘in’ tray at work. There were labs to read though, experiments to monitor, not to mention that she was on call to report to the Ministry at all hours. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think of an excuse, but the determined voice of her conscience spoke up. Remember how curious you were about everything, and how the descriptions of people and places in books didn’t do justice to meeting and seeing them in person? Maybe the whole experience would be less daunting for the girl if you were there to support her… It’s not as if it’s her fault that she’s Mary’s daughter any more than it’s yours that you were born a witch—you shouldn’t hold it against her, it added wisely.

Squaring her shoulders to solidify her decision, Hermione hoped to Merlin that she wasn’t making a mistake. Her voice was strong when she responded, “I think that’s a brilliant idea, Mum.”

And so Hermione found herself dawning her cloak (“Better let her get used to seeing wizard garb,” was her reasoning) the next morning. She had to walk past Harry’s room to retrieve her handbag from her own, and she paused to tell him to get a move on since the train was due to leave in twenty minutes. She would thank him for agreeing to accompany her to Mary’s house later; right now she was far too jumpy.

“I can’t believe you let your mum talk you into this, Hermione,” called Harry’s voice from inside the t-shirt he was struggling to pull over his head. He met her in the family room where she was pacing back and forth near the fireplace and absently nibbling a nail on her left hand.

She seemed to come back from far away. “I just remembered how hard it was to find out that all those odd things about me were because of magic. Don’t—” she said, point a finger at Harry, whose mouth had opened to form a smart reply.

He shrugged and the corners of his mouth quirked upward as he bent down to tie the laces on his trainers. “You just seem a little on edge, is all. Any particular reason?”

“I am a little apprehensive,” she admitted. “It’s just that I haven’t seen Mary in, oh, four years I suppose, and a lot happened in those four years.”

Harry nodded in understanding. A lot had happened: several destroyed Horcruxes, including the bit of Voldemort’s very own soul, the rise and decline of her relationship with Ron, and the gradual returning of the old friendship dynamics that the trio shared before the incessant interference of You-Know-Who. Oh, and she had fallen in love with Harry, but no one was to know about that. Hermione certainly spent a great deal of time and energy squashing those feelings to the depths of oblivion, only allowing them to the surface for air when she was assuredly alone in the flat she shared with Harry, Ron, and occasionally Luna Lovegood.

“But she doesn’t know about any of that, of course. I haven’t a clue what my mum told her I do for a living, but because of the International Statute of Secrecy and all that, I know it wasn’t anywhere near the truth,” she sighed.

Harry shut and locked the door behind him as the pair started on their short walk from their flat to the train station. “Maybe she said you work at St. Brutus’ School for Incurably Criminal Boys or some such rubbish,” offered Harry, earning himself a playful squat in the arm and a genuine smile from Hermione.

Ten minutes later, after boarding the train and tucking themselves safely into one of the emptier compartments, Hermione reiterated her real concerns to Harry in a low voice. “You don’t know what she’s like, Harry. She doesn’t even have to utter a word to reduce you to nothing. I thought I was grown up when I was seventeen, of age and all that. But when I saw her again that Christmas, everyone was alight that she was pregnant again and little Katharine was ‘so smart just like her mum’ and the only words said to me were questions of when I was going to settle down. That was just after Slughorn’s party, and let me tell you, those comments did not go over well with me. I spent the entire time home apologizing to my mother for accidentally shattering my nana’s entire collection of antique crystal stemware. She and Dad were that only ones that had known for sure I’d done it, but I felt Mary’s eyes on me the entire evening as though she were accusing me. She’s just so…awful!” declared Hermione passionately.

“Then let’s hope that her daughter takes after her father,” was all he said, though Hermione knew he understood where she was coming from. “What’s he like?” asked Harry curiously.

Hermione frowned in thought. “I don’t know how to describe him really, sort of not really there but not in the same sense that Luna isn’t all there. Do you know what I mean?” At Harry’s amused nod, she continued, “To be honest I think I’ve only talked to Jack—that’s his name, Jack—a couple of times, and never more than small talk. He’s tried to ask me about my school a few times, but obviously I couldn’t tell him much. But to his credit, he never participated in those little verbal jabs that Mary used to disguise as simple observation.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown. “Like what?”

Rolling her eyes and adopting a shrill voice she spoke, “Oh, Hermione! Your teeth are so much straighter, they really take the focus off your hair!” She chuckled at how petty her cousin could be, and Harry, seeing that it was all right, joined her in coming up with more examples of these ill-laced compliments. It was a pleasant way to pass the time on the train ride and Harry seemed to agree with her.

“We don’t do this enough,” he asserted.

Hermione laughed and leaned farther into the cushion as the only other remaining passenger in the compartment passed her to exit. “What, ride the train? I would have thought that you and I would have had enough train adventures to last a lifetime,” she joked.

In response Harry rolled his eyes at her affected obtuseness. “No, not train rides. This,” he said, indicating with his hands the empty air between them. “Just hanging around and talking, we don’t do it enough.”

She opened her mouth to disagree; after all, how could two people who got along as well as the two of them and who lived together not find time to spend together? But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she and Harry had become working adults and the majority of the conversations they’d had as of late centered around who would able to do the shopping or if they would please not leave their dirty socks in the hall (the last one was usually directed at Ron though). Instead she said, “You’re right, we don’t do it enough.”

Harry nodded again and Hermione suddenly found herself at a loss for words. It was one of those awkward moments when you feel that you should discuss something serious but can’t for the life of you think what. And just like that, the moment was gone when Harry announced, “We’re nearly there, I think.”

He slid open the compartment door for her and she led the way off the train and toward her cousin Mary’s house which, thankfully, was only a few blocks away. The pair slipped into a companionable silence that Hermione thought to fill with belated thanks for accompanying her. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand and asked, “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to Mary about what your mum said?”

The last part of her conversation with her mother came back to her—chiefly, the part where she casually mentioned that Mary had seemed a bit put-out about the whole ordeal and still didn’t understand why Hermione would be the perfect chaperone to her daughter. Only Hermione’s parents, and now her nana after the crystal-shattering incident, knew of Hermione’s magical ability, so that would have to be fully explained. And as for Mary’s lack of enthusiasm about her only daughter’s acceptance into the best school for witchcraft and wizardry ever created, Hermione thought it smelled strongly of Dursley, though she hadn’t said as much to Harry.

As they rounded the corner on Mary’s street and her house came into view, Hermione’s eyes met Harry’s and he gave her a ‘here goes nothing’ grin that felt keenly to her bones. In answer to his question, she replied, “I guess I’ll just have to call it as I see it. Hopefully Mum was exaggerating some things a bit.”

Harry lowered his voice as they got closer to the house and slowed their pace to ask, “Wait a second, if she wasn’t exactly overjoyed to find that her daughter was a witch, why did Mary call your mum to tell her?”

Slowing their walk down to a leisurely stroll, she said, “I thought the same thing! Mum said that Mary hadn’t originally explained exactly what kind of boarding school Hogwarts was, but of course Mum recognized the name and she had to admit the rest of it.”

“So she was just calling to brag?” Harry asked behind a grin that turned Hermione’s insides to water.

She shrugged lightly. “I guess so,” she said, reaching forward to ring the bell of Mary’s house.

As the door was being opened, Hermione poked Harry in the side to stop his laughing. He barely managed to arrange his face into an expression of reserved curiosity when the form of Mary Moore emerged from behind the front door. One of her eyebrows raised in distaste as her eyes raked them up and down and took in their cloaked appearance.

“Hermione, how nice to see you. Oh, and you’ve brought your boyfriend, have you?” Mary asked sweetly. Though her tone was civil enough, Hermione thought it was a deliberate goad to falsely assume that Harry was more than just her friend, especially since Mary and her mother had inevitably spent ten minutes of their conversation discussing Hermione’s lack of prospects in that department as married women with single relatives or friends often do. Hermione didn’t begrudge her mother that though; it was only natural for her to drudge up every bit of Hermione’s personal life to family if it was in the hopes that Mary knew someone “Hermione’s type” (which she described as “intellectual” when Hermione was in earshot, much to her chagrin, and “nerdy” when she wasn’t), but Hermione was surprised that motherhood hadn’t changed her cousin all that much from when they were children. Clearly, Mary still felt some kind of resentment toward her, even if she was doing her a favor.

Hermione was just about to force a greeting through clenched teeth when Harry threw his left arm around her shoulders and said politely, “That’s right. I’m Harry Potter, nice to meet you.” He held his right hand for Mary to shake, which she took and completed the introduction. Through her shock at Harry’s bold action, which she would surely berate him for later, Hermione saw a glimpse of genuine incredulity in Mary’s blue eyes. That alone seemed odd, when she seemed to spend so much energy pretending to have no emotions, but Hermione focused on keeping the pleasure from her face as seized Harry’s hand as they entered the house and sat down in the living room. Best keep up with the charade, she told herself, though she would have been happy to hold his hand in any case.

He released her hand to indulge in the refreshments that Mary had laid out on the coffee table and while Hermione seemed to feel the absence of its warm support keenly, she noticed that he didn’t try to surreptitiously wipe it off on his trousers before snatching the nearest scone. She realized with a guilty pang that she had hurried him out of the flat so quickly that morning that he had skipped breakfast.

“--the news?” Mary’s voice said.

Shaking her head to banish her wayward thoughts, Hermione focused on her fair-haired cousin and repeated the only words that she’d heard from Mary’s question. “The news?”

Mary seemed to think Hermione was being deliberately dim and her response was laced with slight irritation, “Yes, Hermione, the news about Katharine and Hogwarts. Your mum said that you would know all about it. Is that the school you vanished off to every year?”

Stirring her tea in slow clockwise circles, Hermione pondered just how to handle this. She decided not to beat around the bush. “I’m a witch if that’s what you’re asking.” Mary nodded curtly, but Hermione did not give her a chance to reply. “Yes, I attended Hogwarts for six years as a matter of fact, and while I can readily claim that its magical education is unrivalled, I admit that most of the lessons I learned within those walls had little to do with magic.”

Mary’s blue eyes flickered over to Harry and he answered her unasked question. “Yep, I went there too. Fully fledged wizard over here.” Hermione appreciated his humor, but judging by the pale face of her cousin, she guessed it was mostly lost on her.

A few moments of silence went by, and Hermione saw that Mary appeared to be struggling with herself. Finally she leaned forward and demanded somewhat desperately, “So it’s real then? All of those things Katie does like levitating her food and making the lights flash when she’s upset, those are all magic?”

Hermione nodded, feeling strangely compassionate to the woman who had so frequently teased her about the odd happenings that seemed to follow her around. Understanding suddenly dawned on Mary as though her thoughts had paralleled Hermione’s. The older woman put a hand to her mouth and Hermione could barely make out the words, “I never realized…”

Once again Harry broke the awkward silence. “Those were just the uncontrolled bursts of magic, usually brought on by stress. If she goes to Hogwarts, she can be taught how to control and direct her magic through a wand.”

Hermione could see that Mary was still re-living all of the odd occurrences that had happened throughout their childhood and was only half listening to what Harry was saying. Her piercing blue eyes looked up into Hermione’s seemingly dull brown ones and for a moment Hermione saw a fleeting sign of apology before they shifted to Harry in confusion. “A wand?” she croaked in a strangled voice.

“A wand,” he repeated. “Here, like this—” he said, fumbling in his cloak before Hermione stilled his arm.

“Let me,” she said, whipping out her wand and silently casting the incantation to transform the teacup that Mary was holding into a large green and slimy toad. Mary let out a shrill squeal and promptly dropped it on her white carpet, where Harry wandlessly transformed it back into original state. He threw Hermione a reproachful look, but she missed it because she was staring at a little form standing wide-eyed by the doorway into the living room.

“How did you do that?” the girl asked in an impressed voice. The blue eyes that she had clearly inherited from her mother concealed none of her wonder or excitement.

Hermione couldn’t help but be taken with the girl who had changed so much from the time she had last seen her. She found herself smiling indulgently and explaining, “It’s a rather simple form of Transfiguration, one of the subjects taught at Hogwarts.”

“And you both went there?” she asked, including Harry in her address. Both wizards nodded, and Hermione briefly made eye contact with Harry as the flashes of happier memories swept through her head.

Mary had stood up unnoticed by the other two adults and was approaching where her daughter stood at the edge of the carpet. “What have I told you about eavesdropping, young lady?” she demanded in a chilling tone. Hermione immediately went to the young girl’s aid.

“Oh, it’s all right, Mary. I’m sure Katharine is only curious about her future school and home away from home,” she said, injecting a slight warning in her voice that was only detectable to Mary and aiming a kind smile to the girl who appeared to be cowering slightly. Hermione ignored the glare that Mary sent her and beckoned her cousin’s daughter to the chair nearest the couch that she and Harry were sharing. “So tell me about your letter,” she requested.

The color seemed to return to the girl’s face as a grin spread across it. “It was ever such a surprise! No one else in the whole family is magical except, well, you, Hermione, and mum and dad were beside themselves! I went to the library to try and find some reading material on Hogwarts but I suppose since it’s such a big secret, magic I mean, that it’s not going to be that easy to find. The letter said that we could have a special messenger come and explain everything, since I’m Muggle-born and everything—” at this her mother let out a puff of air through one corner of her mouth, “but then great Auntie Helen said that you could come instead, and we didn’t know why you should be the one to tell us about it, but you were always so smart and I thought that was why you were coming. But now we know, you’re a witch just like me!”

Hermione laughed indulgently at Katharine’s obvious excitement. “Well, yes, I was hoping to tell you more about the wizarding world. And I had some plans to take you to some areas populated by wizards and where you would buy your school things if you were to go to Hogwarts—if it’s all right with your mother that is.”

Mary found three pairs of eyes directed at her pleading for her acquiescence. “Well, I suppose,” she said uncertainly, checking her watch. “Where will you take her exactly?”

Harry answered her, his calm exterior betrayed by the childish eagerness in his voice. “Hermione was talking about Diagon Alley, that’s where we buy most of our supplies—clothes, potion ingredients, owls, you name it—”

“Potion ingredients?” Mary spluttered, having missed the mention of pet owls. “As in…Macbeth and cauldrons and—”

This time it was Hermione who interrupted, though she had a difficult time keeping the frustration from her tone. “This is what you must first understand if we’re going to get anywhere with this, Mary. Magic is not necessarily evil—there are good and bad wizards just like there are good and bad Muggles, erm, other people…” she trailed off momentarily but rallied at once. “It was long ago that people were presented with the negative view of witchcraft and wizards have been fighting the prejudice for many years. And while certain practices like potion making and broomstick flying” at this Mary gripped her spoon so tightly her knuckles turned white, “may not have the best reputation, it has proved essential to the survival of the magical way of life.”

Mary’s head moved up and down mechanically, but Hermione sensed that in time she would come to terms with the idea that her only daughter was a witch and there wasn’t much that could be done about it. But it seemed she wasn’t finished with her questions. “Does this mean that Michael, my son, will be a…a wizard too?”

With a swift glance at Harry, Hermione indicated that he take this one. “Not necessarily,” he began. “My mum was a witch, but her sister, who raised me, was not, so I grew up Muggle just like you and Hermione.”

“It can also happen in reverse,” Hermione continued. “A person can be born into a wizarding family with no magical ability at all. We call them Squibs, but it’s a very rare thing, just like being a Muggle-born witch or wizard. In fact, it’s quite interesting that we have two witches in the one family,” Hermione remarked, looking back toward Katharine. The girl blushed as though Hermione had just praised her homework, and Hermione couldn’t help but grin back. It was then of course, that Mary unconsciously ruined the moment.

“You both said that you went for only six years, when it said in the brochure that Hogwarts education lasted for seven. Did you both leave early?” she looked between them as their gaze caught and held for a moment. Hermione knew that Harry was keenly aware that how they answered this question would probably determine whether or not Mary allowed Katharine to attend Hogwarts.

Harry cleared his throat and glanced again at Hermione, who nodded. He seemed to gain some strength from that and said, “Well, a few years ago, there was a war in the wizarding world. I’m sure to some extent that you knew of it as well, except that everything odd that happened was explained away. You heard tell of hurricanes and collapsed bridges and cold, dowsing fog that seemed to invade every part of your body?”

Surprisingly, Mary leaned forward in her seat suddenly. “Yes, I remember the fog most of all,” she said in a quiet voice.

“And that was only the beginning,” said Hermione, pulling Mary from her thoughts. “Luckily our side was able to do some damage control to keep the Muggles from noticing anything overtly suspicious, but every now and then…” She stopped and Harry grasped her hand firmly.

“Eventually the good side won,” Harry continued. “But that’s why Hermione and I, and our friend Ron, left school. To fight,” he finished.

Mary sucked in a breath and Hermione could almost follow her thoughts as they calculated the real reason behind Hermione’s absences from family gatherings. When she looked up and her lovely eyes bore into Hermione’s, for the first time Hermione didn’t feel repulsive or disgusting, but rather beautiful. And although this sudden understanding did not account for Mary’s teasing and goading throughout the years, Hermione felt that at least it was a step on the road to some kind of reconciliation.

Harry and Katharine followed this wordless exchange as though they were at a tennis match, and when she couldn’t contain herself any longer, Katharine burst out, “Okay, so now can Hermione take my to Diagonally?”

Hermione was careful to turn her laugh into a cough but she still caught Harry’s embarrassed smile out of the corner of her eye. Hopefully they would avoid the Floo network in their travels if they could. Mary appeared to still be debating within herself—she knew that if she allowed her to explore the wizarding world it would be akin to allowing her to accept her offer to attend Hogwarts. Before making her decision, she leveled her gaze on Hermione once more. “And the war is over? She won’t be in any danger?”

“Katharine will be safe with us,” was all Hermione said. There was no point in worrying her cousin and possibly delaying her decision by telling her that despite repairing the physical damage wrought during the war and restructuring the Ministry from within, the wizarding world was still a long way from total recuperation.

This seemed to be enough for Mary, who nodded once and leaned over to accept the embraces and thanks from her daughter. Hermione saw that when Mary smiled her way, it was a genuine grin free from malice, and she nearly reeled from being on its receiving end. This must be the Mary that everyone else sees, Hermione thought to herself. She vowed to one day uncover what caused their childhood relationship to sour.

With a light heart and many prolonged goodbyes, Hermione and Harry escorted a bouncing Katharine out the door and down the road back to the train station. Katharine hardly drew breath along the way and kept Harry much occupied with answering her many enthusiastic questions as Hermione negotiated their way through the crowd. Suddenly she stopped, feeling around in the pocket of her cloak and being jostled by the masses of people around her.

“What is it?” Harry asked in concern, seeing the worried frown on her face.

Hermione pulled a quill from one pocket and searched through the other for some parchment. Carefully she used her body to shield the quill from the Muggles around her as it sat poised in mid-air, its shaft quivering in agitation. “There,” she sighed in relief, thrusting the parchment beneath it so that it could translate its message.

Katharine’s jaw had dropped and Harry grinned at her in a “you can learn that too” sort of way.

A minute later, the limp quill was stowed hastily back in her cloak as Hermione read the message. When she finished she looked up at Harry in apology. “It’s from my work,” she explained, looking from Harry to Katharine in turn. “They’ve called me in to supervise one of the new experiments in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Do they need you right now?” asked Harry, starting to get the implications of Hermione’s absence. He’d never spent much time with children, other than the growing Weasley brood, and he wasn’t sure what an eleven-year-old girl would find interesting. Being related to Hermione, Katharine would probably be swallowed by the bookstore in Diagon Alley and never see the light of day.

Hermione noticed his discomfort. “I’m sorry Harry, there’s no way I can get out of it. I’ve never been called in like this before, so it must be important. Do you think you could manage to take Katharine back to Mary’s? Katharine, would you mind taking a raincheck on this?” she asked, bending down to make herself heard above the noise of the train platform.

“Well, can’t Harry still show me around?” asked Katharine logically. Behind her Harry’s face was reflecting his internal struggle and Hermione stuttered for moment to stall for time, all the while conscious of her need to report to the Ministry immediately.

Finally, Harry found himself saying, “Go on Hermione, I’ll show her around.”

“Are you sure?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I think I can handle her,” he said jokingly, winking at Katharine who suddenly turned a delicate shade of pink.

Hermione laughed at the display and turned back to her best friend. “Thanks, Harry, you’re a lifesaver. Literally,” she added, quickly hugging him and then Katharine, to whom she whispered, “Take care of my best mate, will you?”

The young girl nodded dutifully and with a quick check that no one was paying attention, Hermione waved cheerily and Disapparated. Silence descended awkwardly on the pair, despite the clamor of the other travelers and Harry’s earlier confidence.

“So it looks like just the two of us, doesn’t it?” he asked, nudging Katharine in the shoulder. Harry marveled at how much she resembled Hermione if one ignored the sharp, blue eyes. In fact as snippets of their earlier conversation came back to him, he noticed that they shared many common mannerisms—like what she was doing now, worrying her bottom lip in thought.

“I suppose so,” she replied. “And you can call me Kate, you don’t have to bother with Katharine. No one calls me that except family anyway.”

“All right, Kate,” Harry said, trying out the new form of address. “Off to Diagon Alley?”

Kate beamed excitedly. “Yes, off to Diagon Alley!”

As Harry followed her onto the train that would take them nearest to the Leaky Cauldron, he thought to himself with a grin, And she learns quickly too—just like Hermione. Oh, what have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Well, what do you think? Let me know in a review! ~Ronnie

A/N: For some reason, writing the middle chapters is always the hardest, but I wanted to get something up for y’all at the end of the weekend like I promised. Umm, stuff of note: the flashbacks are in italics, I purposely haven’t gone into detail about Harry’s job but it will come up eventually, and I now realize that I should have called Mary something else—since I can now not ever put Harry and Mary into a sentence together. Anyway, please read on, and please enjoy, and please review! ~Ronnie

Disclaimer: Do not own. Yadda yadda yadda…

Chapter 2 Certain Things, Certain Similarities

Harry and Kate managed to emerge from the hordes of train travelers relatively unscathed. Kate had asked Harry if they could “disappear themselves” just as she had seen Hermione do, but Harry suggested that since she would have to come back to Diagon Alley at some point to get her school shopping done, he should show her the entrance from Muggle London.

Though there were some initial awkward silences, Harry thought he’d been doing rather well with the practical stranger who practically never stopped talking. Harry had spent the majority of the train ride describing the entrance through the Leaky Cauldron and what they might expect on a busy Saturday. Fleetingly, he remembered the subdued crowds during the times of Voldemort’s rebirth and subsequent rise to power, which weren’t anything like the bustling packs that congested the Alley nowadays.

He neglected to prepare Kate for the inevitable onslaught of fan girls, paparazzi, and autograph hounds, nor the more subtle and polite requests for photographs by families and such, hoping naively that if he didn’t mention it, they might not encounter them. Also, he was uncertain just what to tell her about why they would followed because, he reasoned, that would be quite a long story and maybe more information than an eleven-year-old could handle so soon after learning about the existence of magic in the first place.

‘Just ignore the flashes and gawking, Kate, people are just excited that the Chosen One is out and about,’ he imagined telling her, his eyes rolling sardonically. His thoughts went in their usual direction as when he was unsure of something. I need Hermione for this sort of thing, Harry thought to himself, suppressing a sigh. Checking quickly over his shoulder for eavesdroppers he said out loud to Kate, “You remember what we’re looking for, right?”

“The entrance to Diagon Alley is concealed behind the Leaky Cauldron, a pub which is hidden from the Muggle eye,” she recited promptly, not looking at him but scanning the buildings on each side of the street with her sharp blue eyes. They walked briskly along in a comfortable silence, as Harry had warned her on the train after a rather exuberant outburst (when she learned of the Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling) that it was best they keep their voices low in the presence of Muggles. He had explained that it was sort of a duty for all wizards to maintain the secrecy of the wizarding world and had watched as Kate squared her shoulders as if donning that invisible mantle shared with the rest of the magical population.

A minute later they were looking at the grubby and aged sign of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry turned to Kate, expecting the return of her excited grin, but his steps faltered when all he saw was a slight frown and a wrinkled nose of disgust.

“What’s the matter?” he asked confusedly, thinking perhaps she was already overwhelmed.

Kate shook her bushy brown head, her eyes darting between Harry’s face and the sign. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Well, I just would have thought that it would be…nicer,” she explained. “It’s just meant to be such an easily recognized feature. I thought it would be…nicer,” Kate repeated helplessly. She stood there tensely only yards away from the door to the pub shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Harry’s mouth formed a silent ‘O’ in understanding. Unlike when Harry had found out he was a wizard, Kate had had time to adjust and come to terms with the idea. She’d probably conjured up some picture of what she imagined it would all look like too, and knowing how young and fanciful she was, it would have surprised Harry if she had envisioned a filthy wooden sign hanging about a darkened doorway.

“I think you’ll find that a lot of things in the wizarding world aren’t what they seem,” he suggested delicately, knowing that it might be the most important lesson that she would learn that day.

She nodded a little hesitantly, but still trustingly followed Harry into the dimly lit pub. They paused a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness and Harry took the opportunity to point out the stooped form of Tom the barkeeper. When the wizened old wizard shot him a toothless grin, Harry led Kate up to the bar for an introduction.

“Anything for you today, Mr. Potter?” Tom asked cheerfully as he wrung a wet rag out over the sink.

Harry shook his head and laughed as he deliberately repeated the same words Hagrid once used over a decade before. “Not right now, thanks Tom. I’m on official Hogwarts business.”

Both men directed their gaze to Kate, who had been studying everything from the bar stools to the dusty wooden floor to the diverse patrons that milled to and fro. She smiled politely at Tom and offered her name as a greeting.

Tom gave her a gummy smile and Harry explained, “She’s Hermione’s cousin, just got her letter from Hogwarts.”

Tom nodded in a grandfatherly fashion as Kate proudly presented her letter and its accompanying list of necessary purchases. “I’m her first cousin, once removed, actually,” Kate said.

Tom let out a wheezy chuckle. “But she’s definitely made of the same stuff, ain’t she?” he laughed, winking at Harry. Turning to Kate, he said matter-of-factly, “It’s lucky for you that Ollivander’s has just reopened, as there ain’t no finer place to buy wands than Ollivander’s.” Kate imitated Harry’s nod of agreement much to the latter’s amusement.

“Well, we’d best head on before the crowds pick up,” said Harry.

Tom began the process of wiping down the counter. “Are you sure I can’t interest you both in anything before you go?”

“We will definitely have to take you up on two butterbeers on the way out,” he said, waving as he and Kate departed to the enclosed alcove behind the pub.

Harry deftly retrieved his wand and found Kate to be regarding the brick wall with an open curiosity. “Watch closely, because you’re going to have to do this every time you enter from the Leaky Cauldron,” he instructed in a manner fitting to his position. Kate’s spine immediately straightened and she obediently observed as he tapped the brick which caused the wall to remold itself into an archway the two could pass under.

Immediately their ears were assaulted by the deafening sound of witches and wizards hurrying quickly past them, too intent on their future and past purchases to spare a glance at the young people who had just seemed to materialize from behind a brick wall.

Harry allowed Kate a moment to register the extent of the chaos before seizing her hand and diving into it. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to see but was saved the trouble of asking when she yelled above the din, “So what exactly do wizards do after Hogwarts?”

Pulling her into a small gap between buildings and pausing to regain his breath, he replied, “There are several options for careers, depending on what exams you passed in your fifth and seventh year. Hermione, our friend Ron, and I, received honorary diplomas since we missed our seventh year, so we were somewhat limited. Hermione had to take an entrance exam to become an Unspeakable, Ron went on to play professional Quidditch, and I—”

“What’s Quidditch?” Kate interrupted.

Finally understanding how Ron must have felt on their first trip on the Hogwarts Express when he was trying to compress everything worth knowing about the wizarding world into only a couple of hours, Harry did his best to explain the game. When he finished, Kate was still looking confused and he was struck with a sudden inspiration. “Here, I’ll show you,” he said, dragging her once more into the crowd.

Not a minute later they were standing in front of an old-fashioned shop with the words “Quidditch Quality Supplies” boldly emblazoned over the door and overlarge front windows in which several new broomsticks and snitches were displayed. Harry gazed longingly at one broom in particular—a reincarnated version of the old Silver Arrows that Madam Hooch favored so openly—but was drawn from the window by a tap of his arm.

Kate was smirking at him in that knowing way that Hermione was sometimes wont to do. When they entered the shop and Harry’s mind wanted him to split off in all directions at once, Kate kept him firmly near the section featuring golden snitches.

“So this is Quidditch?” she asked.

Harry nodded and began to point out the various key aspects of the game. “Those there are Snitches, they’re the ones that the Seeker has to catch to end the match and that’s worth 150 points. And over there,” he gestured over the heads of several shoppers to the far wall where a case housed dozens of scarlet colored balls, “are the Quaffles, which the Chasers use to score point against the Keeper—that’s the position Ron plays, but the season’s just finished. These—” he stopped, for Kate had gone slightly pale and her blue gaze was locked on the same Silver Arrow that Harry had just been eyeing.

“And this is all played on broomsticks,” she stated with a small quiver in her voice.

“Well, yes,” he answered, uncertain as to why this seemed to trouble to girl so much.

She looked away from the window and shivered slightly. “I don’t like heights,” she told him, giving a wavering smile to cover her apparent embarrassment.

He nodded in sympathy. “Well, flying on a broomstick is probably quite different than anything else you’ve ever done. You might end up liking it,” he shrugged, but Kate looked resolute. “Don’t feel bad about it, Hermione doesn’t like flying either. In fact, the one time I remember flying with her was on the back of a hippogriff called Buckbeak and she nearly severed my midsection with how tight she was gripping me. We must’ve been a few hundred at least…” He stopped, thinking he probably wasn’t helping, but Kate merely stared at him, intrigue written all over her face.

“A hippogriff, really? I’ve read about those, but I never thought—that’s amazing!” she gushed. “Why were you riding one?”

Harry found her enthusiasm to be contagious. Soon, he had launched into the story of that fateful night. “And all Hermione kept saying was ‘We can’t be seen,’ when I was just trying to figure out how it was even daylight again! Eventually we figured out how to spend those three hours, and I found out that it wasn’t my dad who had conjured the Patronus, but me from the other side of the lake! She was so upset when she saw what I had done, thinking that I had interfered and just broken the most important law of time travel by letting my past self see me. It still confuses me how it all happened, but somehow we were flying above Hogwarts, Hermione was going spare and I was just trying to count windows to find Flitwick’s office like Dumbledore had said.”

Kate stood raptly, her eyebrows high on her forehead and her mouth open enough to reveal her large front teeth. “But you got Sirius out in the end, right?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah, we got him out,” he replied, smiling inwardly at the memory of Sirius’ silhouette against the bright full moon. Kate visibly relaxed though she was now gazing at Harry with profound adoration.

There was movement on his right and Harry’s wand hand twitched compulsively. “Excuse me,” said a middle-aged woman with two children a little younger than Kate by her side. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Harry Potter?”

Harry smiled and nodded at the woman though inside he was heavily sighing. Years of occasions such as these had taught him the social grace necessary to hide the resignation of his fame from those who admired him. Soon after the Victory he and Hermione had had an impromptu conversation regarding their probable future with the public and the press. Hermione had concluded that the day they stopped being uncomfortable with their fame would be the day they lost sight of what had gotten them there in the first place, and Harry was quick to agree.

Now in the presence of this woman, whose eyes were welling up as she graciously shook his hand again and again, he obliged to her requests for an autograph and a photograph with her two children with as much humility as was genuine. When the family made their goodbyes, he turned from them and met the intense gaze of Kate, but the onslaught of questions never came. Despite having known her for less than a day, Harry thought it was a bit odd that she only quirked one of her eyebrows in puzzlement and remained silent.

Meanwhile, on the other side of London, Hermione Granger joined the queue of wizards in line for the security check. The line was remarkably long given that it was Saturday and most Ministry employees were probably enjoying the summer sunshine. She surmised that she wasn’t the only one not too thrilled to be there.

The wizard behind her was giving her strange looks and she realized that she had actually been grumbling about the injustice of being called in during the weekend aloud. She smiled apologetically at him and her gaze was caught by a long mane of dirty blond hair attached to the head of one of the most vague visages Hermione had ever seen.

“Luna!” she called, sticking her hand up to hail one of her dearest female friends.

A moment later Luna Lovegood joined Hermione in line, much to the annoyance of the wizard behind them, though he said nothing once Hermione shot him a challenging glare and adjusted her Ministry badge so that the title “Unspeakable” was discernible. She remembered a conversation she had had with her present companion some time ago about how Unspeakables were undeniably the Ministry elite—either that or they were so strange that most people just avoided them on principle. She was jarred from her reminiscing by the blond beside her.

“So it looks like all us underlings have been called in,” Luna said conversationally. Her eyes were wide in that permanently surprised look and Hermione thought she looked rather untroubled by the whole thing.

She sighed, “I suppose, though to be honest, I’d really rather be elsewhere.”

If possible, Luna’s eyes widened even more when she turned to look at Hermione. “I believe the Daily Prophet would pay big galleons to hear you, Hermione Head Girl Granger, admit to wanting to skive off from work. You and Ron have lived together for too long; he’s rubbing off on you.”

Hermione laughed at Luna’s take on her desire to play hooky now when she never intentionally missed a class in her life and replied, “Honorary Head Girl, you mean. Not quite the same thing.”

Luna shrugged, her face still serene. The line shifted forward a few steps but still stretched almost the entire length of the Atrium. “Ron said you and Harry left early this morning,” Luna said.

The brunette sighed again, and shuffled along morosely with the queue. “Yeah, my cousin’s daughter just got an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, and since none of her family is magical, the task sort of fell to me to show her around.”

“And Harry was helping you? That’s very sweet of him,” said Luna, twisting the chain of butterbeer corks around her neck absently.

“I know,” agreed Hermione glumly. “And now I’ve left him to do it just to come here and make observations for a few hours. I’m such a horrible friend!” she cried passionately.

Luna laid a calming hand on her arm and Hermione was reminded that she was in a public place. “I don’t think you’re a horrible friend, Hermione. And Harry doesn’t either.”

Hermione nodded and relaxed and they gained another ten feet in the line. She stopped twirling the ring around her finger in agitation—she needed to focus on the task at hand once she arrived in the bowels of the Ministry, and give each experiment its due; otherwise, she’d have shoddy results at best and would end up staying there until the dead of night. With a new air of determination, she turned to Luna and asked, “So what were you doing before your quill went off?”

“Ron,” Luna replied simply.

Hermione gagged on air. “Excuse me?” she asked.

Luna shrugged again and her expression became more wistful. “You asked what I was doing and I said—”

“NEXT!” shouted the security clerk. Hermione rushed forward and presented her wand at once, banishing any and all mental images from her head. Now Ron wasn’t always the most considerate flatmate, but he never forgot the Silencing Charm, for which both Hermione and Harry were immensely grateful. It wasn’t as though the rest of them hadn’t had their fair share of dates either, so Hermione was not sure why the idea of considering her best mates in any sexual way was crossing some sort of line. I’d certainly done it back in Hogwarts, she reasoned, but she doubted that she would ever pursue the age-old question of boxers or briefs either of them. At least, she would never ask them, but you tend to learn more than you could care to know about people when you do laundry together for a couple of years.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Hermione,” said Luna, misinterpreting the emotions playing across her face.

Hermione started and colored guiltily at the turn her thoughts had taken. Evidently Luna thought she was simply worried about Harry, which, she conceded wasn’t a far leap where she was concerned. “Thanks, Luna. I just wish I could be there with him.” She missed Luna’s growing smile.

“Don’t worry, what’s the worse that can happen? Besides stumbling into a nest of gulping plimpies, that would be awful—”

Hermione cut her off, suddenly serious. “Are you kidding? We’re talking about the same Harry Potter right? Trouble just follows that boy around…”

“What’s next?” Kate demanded eagerly.

Harry looked at her in disbelief—they had already toured the rest of the Quidditch shop, the apothecary, and Harry’s Gringotts vault and Kate’s seemingly boundless energy had surpassed Harry’s long before his long description of goblins and their nature. Though Kate had been aquiver with excitement during the trip beneath the bank and found the currency fascinating, Harry had been reluctant to set her loose in the bookstore just yet. He decided that he needed to refuel before continuing with their excursion.

“How about we stop for an ice cream first? I know a place not too far away and they have virtually every flavor created,” he suggested. Kate nodded and followed closely as he weaved through the other shoppers, still trying to take in as much as possible.

On the approach to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, Harry turned to check that Kate was still with and panicked when all he met was the annoyed glare of a man who had been right behind him.

“Kate!” he yelled, his voice hardly enough to overpower the noise of those around him. “Katharine!” he tried, a little louder. Then suddenly he caught sight of her distinctive bushy hair outside the front windows of a shop they had just passed. He rushed over to her at once, not noticing as he bumped past several people.

“Don’t just wander off like that!” he scolded when he reached her, breathing heavily.

She looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, I just got distracted,” she explained, gesturing to the contents of the display that she had been studying.

Harry’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Kate seemed so similar to Hermione that Harry had been unconsciously basing his conjectures of what would interest the girl on the sorts of things he and Hermione did on their trips to Diagon Alley. And now that he had found Kate drooling over the ornate jewelry in the window the same way that he had been with the broomstick, he recalled a years-old conversation with Hermione that almost disproved his presumption that Kate and Hermione were practically the same person.

He, Hermione, and Ron had just returned to their flat after a particularly long Victory ball and all three were dead on their feet…

“So why was that witch assaulting you there in the end, Hermione?” asked Ron as he collapsed beside her on the couch and began to remove his dress shoes.

She waved her hand impatiently and Harry wasn’t sure if it was to dismiss the question or to ward off the stench that now pervaded the room. He ruled out the former when she spoke exasperatedly, “That was the assistant to the jeweler that kept sending all those owls requesting that I wear his merchandise tonight. She was offended that I declined to show off their best jewel—the Eye of the Snake.”

Harry thought that Ron was nodding in understanding, but his head had drooped to reveal that he had actually nodded off to sleep. Hermione sighed warily and continued to Harry, “As if I could wear such a dreadful, heavy thing. Do you know what the Eye of the Snake is?”

Shrugging, he leaned farther back into the armchair and replied sarcastically, “I can venture a guess.”

Hermione nodded and rolled her eyes, removing the pins from her hair one by one and releasing each curly tendril. “Slytherin,” she confirmed. “Meant to be worn by the highest of the nobility—the purebloods. What a sham, wasting it on a Muggle-born like me,” she spat.

Instantly Harry leaned toward her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione. You’ve done more to erase the dividers between the so-called blood hierarchy than anyone before, and someday the rest of the wizarding world will catch on.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she said quietly but with conviction. “I’m sorry I’m so out of sorts lately, but the things that woman said—”

“We’re all a little tired,” Harry said quickly, effectively distracting her from further abuse of herself or the jeweler. They both looked at Ron, who was now contentedly snoring away. Hermione reached up to rub tiredly at her face and a glint off one of her fingers had Harry saying, “I thought you weren’t big on jewelry, Hermione.”

She looked confused for a moment before following his gaze to the ring finger on her right hand. “Oh, this,” she said, holding up her hand so that Harry could see the ring. “It’s the only thing I can’t really go without. I’ve been wearing it for years, I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed.”

Harry laughed. “Well, I am the most observant bloke around, you know,” he joked. “What is it?”

She held her hand palm down at arm’s length so that he could make out the design. “I got it from my nana before she died,” she explained. “It’s a Celtic clauddagh ring, see? There’s the crown for loyalty, the hands for friendship, and the heart for love.”

He gestured for her to bring the ring closer to where he could see it better. She rose from the couch (the shift in weight causing Ron to slouch over to the other side) and perched herself on the arm of Harry’s chair. Harry held her hand to his face as he identified each of the ring elements that Hermione had mentioned. “But why are you wearing it upside down?”

At this, Hermione pulled her hand from his grasp and turned faintly pink. Harry stared at her bewildered as she voiced a vague answer, “The ring’s orientation denotes your relationship status.”

If Harry remembered correctly, his reply had been something along the lines of “Oh,” and soon after that Hermione had made her goodnights and he had turned to the task and levitating their best friend to his room. But if he was honest with himself, he noticed Hermione’s ring every day from then and her evasive explanation still baffled him.

Coming back to reality, he met the vivid blue of Kate’s eyes, which were still widened in sincere apology. “It’s all right,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder and steering her away toward Fortescue’s parlor, “Just don’t do it again.”

She nodded her head earnestly and didn’t say another word until they were in the line for ordering. She tapped Harry on the shoulder and beckoned him to lean closer. “I haven’t any money, Harry, how am I to pay?” she asked in concern, flashing the ten-pound note that her mum had given her that morning.

“Don’t worry about it, I got this,” he said, smiling at how she had basically just repeated his same qualms when he first came to Diagon Alley with Hagrid almost a decade before.

A few minutes later the pair were ensconced in a booth near the back where they could remain relatively hidden. Kate had wanted to sit outside in the sun but didn’t protest when Harry suggested the inconspicuous table. And so they sat happily consuming their sundaes, Kate having ordered the same toppings that Hermione usually did.

“So what does Hermione do as an Unspeakable?” she inquired curiously, broaching the topic for which Harry had very little information.

He frowned and thought out his answer, then decided to just stick with bare honesty. “I’ve no idea,” he said and Kate raised both of her eyebrows in surprise. “What I mean is, she’s not allowed to say, so I usually don’t even ask. But I do know that sometimes she comes home speaking only Esperanto and one time after she had just started with the other new Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries she had somehow aged herself thirty years, which I admit was pretty amusing once I figured out that it was her.”

“Is it hard to become one, an Unspeakable?” asked Kate, keeping her eyes on her spoon as she stirred the remains of her sundae into a kind of soup.

Harry considered this. “Yeah, I’d say it’s about as competitive to become an Unspeakable as it is to become an Auror,” he reasoned. “They catch Dark wizards,” he said at Kate’s quizzical expression.

Kate did not probe further and Harry didn’t mind; his choice against becoming an Auror after the war was still something he questioned from time to time, but he was still quite satisfied with his present occupation. His spoon clanged a little loudly as he scooped up spoonfuls of ice cream and it took him a moment to realize that Kate had spoken.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, resting his spoon in the bowl.

“Nothing,” she said quietly before letting out an aggravated sigh. “No, not nothing. I just, well, I wish I knew her better.”

“Hermione?” asked Harry, not expecting this change of topic.

The girl nodded gloomily. “She’s seems very nice, not at all like Mum had described her. I only remember her a little bit from when I was younger, and all she used to do was stand alone at family parties. Mum said she was sulking, but I just thought she looked like she needed someone to talk to.”

Harry pictured Hermione off to the side while Mary was toasted by the rest of the family, unable to confide in them the truth about what was happening in her world. How lonely she must have been… And where was I during all of this? Pining away for Ginny or stalking Malfoy…he thought angrily.

Kate ended his self-deprecating thoughts with a cheerful subject change. “So when are you and Hermione going to get married?” She waited patiently with a slight smile as he recovered from the sudden choking fit.

Finally, he wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin and spluttered, “W-what makes you ask that?” having forgotten that Kate had eavesdropped on that morning’s conversation with her mum.

Her grin widened playfully. “Well, you said that you were boyfriend-girlfriend,” she pointed out logically.

He shook his vehemently. “No, that was just a misunderstanding. We’re just friends,” he said. Kate leveled her dubious gaze upon him. “Best friends,” he corrected, but Kate still did not seem satisfied.

She finished her sundae and pushed the bowl away from her so that she could rest her arms on the table in a manner that made Harry feel like he was going to be interrogated. Fortunately for him she was too short to reach the lamp, otherwise she would have undoubtedly aimed it at his face. “But you like her though, don’t you?” she said.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, mistaking the meaning of her question. “Of course I like her, we’ve been through a lot together.”

With a barely noticeable eye roll, Kate persisted, “No, Harry, do you like like her? You know, do you fancy her?”

He swallowed with difficulty, though in the back of his mind he wondered at his discomfort. “Wha—I—er, no. Like I said, we’re just best friends.”

But even as he said it, the words “best friend” didn’t seem accurate enough to describe everything that Hermione had come to mean to him over the years. Harry Potter was in trouble indeed.

A/N: So? Review!

A/N: I am so, SO sorry this took so long. School is sucking out my soul with all the efficiency of a dementor. Sigh, it’s so nice to say that and know that you guys know what I’m talking about. Or at the very least, I can’t see you when you roll your eyes at me. Mmmm to all of my reviewers, I heart you deeply and thank you for sticking with my stuff, despite my unreliability with updating. I also wanted to mention that I don’t have any of my HP books with me for reference so if there are any mistakes, my bad, I’m going off of memory.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the shizzle mentioned in any of my fics. Does that cover all the bases? But the typos are mine—MINE!

Chapter 3 Give and Take

Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood walked in customary silence as they entered the Department of Mysteries and meandered through the mazelike corridors to their office. The fair-haired witch maintained her usual serene expression, but the other moved stiffly with her eyes fixed on the point of her office door at the end of the hall.

Hermione only ever allowed herself to be uncomfortable when she first arrived in the Department of Mysteries. After that, she forced herself to focus on her work, rather than the memories associated with her surroundings.

Waving her wand in a movement unique to every door in the Department, Luna unlocked the door to office that she shared with Hermione and the pair simultaneously removed and hung their cloaks. Many who knew Hermione and Luna in school would have scoffed or at the very least raised their eyebrows dubiously at the thought of the bossy Gryffindor and spacey Ravenclaw working together, but none who saw the two in action could deny that their natures in the workplace were very complementary.

Luna picked up the folder on her desk that contained their assignment for the day while Hermione tweaked the positions of the various items on her desk. Suddenly Luna let out a very uncharacteristic groan and wordlessly handed the parchment to her bemused partner.

Hermione took in the words on the page and matched Luna’s groan in pitch and feeling. “The Time Room?!” she demanded. “Do you remember what happened the last time we were assigned there?”

Wisely not answering the rhetorical question, Luna shrugged and pointed out, “At least Phillips isn’t in there with us this time.”

Bartleby Phillips, due to some dumb luck and a twitchy wand arm, was the trainee wizard responsible for Hermione’s rapid though fortunately temporary aging of sixty years when she had first become an Unspeakable.

While Hermione was fuming at her reminiscence, Luna coaxed her friend out of her ill humor by saying, “And at least you know you’ll still look good when you’re eighty.”

The older witch smiled begrudgingly and replied, “Thanks, Luna, but I’d rather not have to look up the countercurse again in any case.”

“And I’d rather not have to lift the bell jar off you again, that thing was damn weighty,” said Luna as she rustled through her desk for the experiment log.

Feeling more light-hearted than when they’d arrived, Hermione and Luna dug out their tool kits and memorized the procedure for the experiment they’d be performing that day. “With any luck, we’ll be finished by lunch,” said Hermione gleefully, already trying to work out where Harry and Kate were likely to be at that hour.

“And I know how my Ronald loves lunch,” added Luna. Hermione suppressed her giggles and held the door open for her friend and co-worker.

~~~#*#~~~

Kate suspected that she had hit a nerve with that last question, since Harry had hurried her out of the ice cream parlor very soon after. Even though she had only been in their combined company a short time, she reasoned that if her cousin and Harry weren’t actually together, they were very good at acting the part. But not wanting to dig herself an even deeper hole, Kate kept silent and let herself be shuttled through the crowds of shoppers toward a shop with a busy display and large open doors.

If this was Harry’s attempt to distract her from probing deeper into his love life, she was mightily impressed. When they were clear of the throng and in plain view of the greatest sight she had ever laid eyes on—a beautiful shop called Flourish and Blotts—Kate felt her mouth drop open involuntarily. Her eyes flitted from the precariously balanced piles of gold-leafed volumes to the window display of silken-bound books bearing outrageous titles.

A bell tinkled somewhere in the shop when Harry opened the door for her and she came back to reality. She noticed that although he was flattening his bangs for what was probably the thousandth time since they had come to Diagon Alley, he was looking at her in thoughtful amusement. She felt herself color and self-consciously tried to smooth her wayward bushy hair. “What?”

He blinked as though just realizing that he had been staring and said, “Sorry, you just reminded me of something.”

Kate followed him inside and was immediately met by a rush of cool air. Looking up she saw that it was coming from two large floating plumes that were waving back and forth. After the warm summer air from outside, she welcomed the fanning and wondered when she would learn how to make feathers float. Remembering Harry’s comment, she asked curiously, “What did I remind you of?”

“Oh, just some school stuff,” he replied evasively as they walked down one of the many aisles of books. Though she was working on trying to contain her excitement in the site of so many precious tomes, she knew that Harry could tell his answer wasn’t satisfactory to her. He continued with his explanation before she had the chance to ask, his eyes taking on a kind of sparkle that Kate was only beginning to notice. “Back in school, Hermione, our friend Ron, and I set up this group to learn Defense, and there was this special room that we used that would take the form of whatever we needed. Anyway, when we opened the door to the room, it had shelves upon shelves of books on Defense, and the look your face when you got here was the same one Hermione had when she saw all those bookcases.”

Kate beamed at the indirect compliment. She had always liked Hermione, or rather, Hermione had always intrigued her from when she was a very little girl. There was always something so different about her mother’s cousin and now Kate was just beginning to understand and experience it. Kate was just starting to learn of all the things they shared besides the obvious rotten luck in the hair department, and her admiration of Hermione was growing with every anecdote Harry divulged. She filed away the thought to ask Harry more about her from her school days and said, “But why did you have to learn it yourselves? Why isn’t that a subject taught at Hogwarts?”

“Umbrage,” replied Harry with a scowl on his face. “She was the Ministry-appointed professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts at the time, but you’re right, there isn’t a professor for that anymore. It was Hermione’s idea to learn it on our own. But to answer your question, there is a curse on the position so that no one could teach it for more than a year.”

Kate stopped walking and gazed at Harry in astonishment. “Are you telling me that even after there was a war and everything, no one teaches Defense at Hogwarts anymore?” she questioned.

Something like a smirk crossed Harry’s face and he responded, “No, I said that there was no professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but the subject is still taught.”

She screwed up her face in puzzlement at his nonsensical reply, but before she could clarify it, she felt herself being jostled from behind by three twittering girls a few years older than her.

This had been happening all day, starting with that family in the Quidditch shop, and frankly, Kate was confused by it all. Already he had been asked to sign things and pose for pictures no less than five times, and although she and Harry never discussed it afterward, she figured this was why he was constantly pushing his fringe over his forehead. Only briefly did she happen to catch a glimpse of a lightning shape on it, which meant nothing to her but clearly must mean something to the wizarding populace.

Taking no notice of her, the three girls alternately dissolved into laughter and elbowed each other until one of them, the tallest of the three, boldly stepped forward and said, “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Harry Potter?”

When Harry mustered his polite smile and nodded, the girls recommenced their giggling and Kate rolled her eyes in irritation. To her surprise he continued, “Yes, I am, but if you don’t mind, I’m sort of in the middle of a conversation with my friend here.” He gestured over to Kate and she found herself blushing as the girls’ heads swiveled as one in her direction. Fortunately they were content to merely shake the great Harry Potter’s hand before scampering off in fits of giggles.

Harry blew out a breath of relief and she regarded him carefully. She wondered if she had the right to pry into something that could be quite personal or if she should just wait to see if he would talk about it. A moment later, he cleared his throat and excused himself to the loo, first giving her strict orders to stay in the shop.

When he was out of sight, Kate let her eyes wander. Above her a sign denoted that she was standing in the Defense section, which she thought was fitting, given her and Harry’s brief conversation. She didn’t know how students could possibly learn a subject without a teacher but thought with an apprehensive twinge in her stomach, that maybe they were expected to instruct themselves. With that in mind, Kate scanned the titles of the books on the nearest shelf, hoping to get an idea what she was in for.

One she thought looked particularly interesting was a tome with the thickest binding she had ever seen, even her family dictionary. Checking around to make sure no one was watching, even though she was sure that she wasn’t prohibited from looking at books in a bookshop, she lifted it cautiously off the shelf and staggered under its unexpected weight. Blowing the dust that had accumulated on it while it sat unopened on the shelf, she read out “The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Fifth Edition.”

On a whim she opened to the index and looked under P.

“Potter…Potter…” she muttered, one arm supporting the weight of the volume and the other running a finger down the column of subjects beginning with the desired letter. To her amazement, about halfway down, her finger paused on “Potter, Harry. Alias: The Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, The Vanquisher. Page 567.”

With another anxious glance over her shoulder, she flipped quickly to the precise page. She found that her mouth had dropped open again, this time at the sight of a moving picture of Harry, her cousin’s best friend Harry, grinning sheepishly at her from the page. Her eyes quickly flitted over to the rather lengthy description of the “Boy-Who-Lived.” With every sentence she absorbed, the more Harry’s comments and behavior seemed to make sense, not to mention his celebrity treatment all day. Judging by the photograph, Kate guessed that book couldn’t possibly be more than four or five years old, and she wondered why it had been collecting dust. She smiled to herself, imagining Harry hiding each of the books about himself on the shelves that no one really noticed.

“Anything good?” came Harry’s voice from right behind her.

Kate jumped a let out a girlish shriek, slamming the book shut and coughing at the sudden expulsion of dust that hit her face. Carefully fitting the book into its original location and moving to block the title, she hitched an innocent grin on her face and answered as impassively as she could, “It was enlightening.”

After several minutes of him pointing out the books that she would need to get if she came back with her mum, and her trying to stealthily sneak a peek at the lightning bolt on his forehead, he suggested they drop into Ollivander’s before calling it a day.

“I’d take you to Ron’s brothers’ joke shop,” he said as they exited the bookstore, “but Hermione’d probably kill me if you came back with any Weasley Wizarding Wheezes merchandise. Your mum might not be too wild about it either.”

She readily agreed to her chaperone’s suggestion and her curiosity about Harry’s past became overshadowed by her excitement at visiting the finest wandmaker in England. By now she was fairly adept at navigating through the other shoppers and she didn’t lose Harry once between the bookshop and Ollivander’s.

She noticed that while the other shops’ displays had bursts of color and intricate signs, this window was more subdued. A single wand lay on a purple silk pillow and a simple sign above the door read the name of the shop in faded gold lettering. Again a tinkle accompanied her and Harry’s entrance into the shop, but the sudden silence that followed once Harry had closed the door compared to the lively bustling outside was deafening.

“Just wait,” whispered Harry. Kate nodded in silence, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the dusty clutter of the room and on the front desk.

“Ah ha, Mr. Potter, I wondered if I might be seeing you again, though I admit that I thought it might not be so soon,” came a disembodied voice from the dimness of one of the aisles between shelves. A pale man with piercing eyes like Kate’s stepped into the light so that his wispy white hair and shabby robes were visible. He smiled kindly at Kate, obviously mistaking her identity.

“No no, she’s not my daughter, Mr. Ollivander,” explained Harry hastily. The wizened wizard turned his gaze toward Harry in polite puzzlement. Harry went on, “Actually, she’s Hermione Granger’s cousin, you know Hermione Gr—”

“Yes, Hermione Granger, of course. Vine and dragon heartstring, fourteen inches, of course I rememeber. And what may I ask is your name?” he asked, his eyes trained now on Kate.

She swallowed, for some reason uncomfortable by the man whose silver eyes seemed to look right past her. “K-Katharine, Katharine Moore,” she said finally.

Mr. Ollivander nodded as though he had expected her to say this, and immediately went to one of his shelves and peered into a drawer as though searching for something. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Miss Moore, and let me tell you, the wand chooses the wizard, young lady.

“Here now,” he said, approaching her and opening a narrow box. Nestled on the felt was a long piece of wood like the one she had seen Hermione wave to change her mother’s tea cup into a toad. Kate reached out cautiously as though the wand was going to jump at her and grasped it tightly.

Nothing happened. She wasn’t sure what she had expected--maybe a light would shine down on her while a choir sung and a wind whipped through her hair, but definitely not this. Before she could do anything else with it, Mr. Ollivander snatched it from her hand and replaced it with another. Immediately a warmth spread first throughout her arm and then down her body. She looked up at the old wizard with a radiant grin which he returned in kind.

Kate barely listened when Mr. Ollivander began rattling off the details of her wand’s components, so encompassed with the feeling of raw power in her little piece of seemingly ordinary wood. She felt as though as she had found a part of herself amongst the many stacks of dusty wand boxes and she only protested faintly when Harry offered his own seven galleons for its purchase.

~~~#*#~~~

“Willow and dragon heartstring, eleven inches,” Kate repeated yet again a quarter of an hour later when she and Harry were seated at a table in the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry smiled kindly, catching some of her enthusiasm, and Kate noted that this smile was more genuine than the one he had worn in his photograph. She decided that now was as good a time as any to ask him about it, since he seemed to be in such a good mood. Though, if it was a tricky subject, the last thing she wanted to do was offend her chaperone.

She carefully stowed her wand in her pocket, having nowhere else to put it. The pair stared at the menu for several minutes and after Tom came by to take their order, Kate seized on the last thing she had heard Harry say in order to begin a conversation.

“Butterbeer?” she queried.

Harry’s smile widened and nodded earnestly. “It’s the greatest drink the wizarding world has to offer,” he explained. “You’ll love it. Of course, it’s better when it’s cold outside, but—”

Kate couldn’t stand it any longer. “When were you going to tell me you’re the Boy-Who-Lived?” she asked bluntly, keeping her voice low so that no one else would hear. They had sat near the back again, but Kate didn’t want to risk being overheard and interrupted while she was trying to talk to him.

Harry’s eyes became slightly cloudy and his smile faded. “Where did you hear that?” he asked, though not angrily.

Relaxing somewhat at his calm tone, she told him the truth. “In a book in Flourish and Blotts. While you were in the loo.”

He let out a heavy sigh and looked to be carefully forming his reply. Leaning forward onto the table, he asked, “How much did you read?”

“Just about that,” she said quietly, pointing to scar. “You came back before I could read anything else.”

He frowned thoughtfully and stared at his folded hands a while before looking back up at her. “I wasn’t going to tell you who I am because it would probably lead to a lot of explaining. It’s not something I like to talk about much,” he said finally. “But your Hermione’s family, I knew you’d figure it out eventually.” He laughed ironically, and had a faraway look in his eyes as though remembering something.

Kate kicked herself for giving in to her curiosity instead of listening to her intuition. “I’m sorry for asking, Harry, I can’t imagine it would be interesting for you to talk about the war and Voldemort,” she said honestly.

Her last word seemed to sober him at once. She stiffened, thinking that maybe she had just committed some kind of wizarding faux pas, but instead his face broke out into a grin. “You said it, his name,” he said simply.

Kate looked at him confusedly. “Whose name? Voldemort’s? Should I not have said it?”

He shook his head and lead back into his chair, still wearing a grin. “No, it’s just—nevermind. Not a lot of people say it, even now. I’m surprised they even wrote it down in the book,” he said, now beginning to laugh at the absurdity of it. Kate began to laugh too until Harry suddenly stopped. “All right, I’ll tell you, but only because I think you’ll understand what it took to get the wizarding world where it is today. But just remember, it’s not some cute little bedtime story, this stuff actually happened. And since you already know about the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’…”

Kate’s smile dissolved into a grim expression and she patiently waited for Harry to begin.

“Hermione and Ron were…great. They were always there for me from the very beginning, especially Hermione. In my fifth year, Voldemort set a trap for us and some of our friends, making me think that my godfather, you remember—”

“Sirius, yes,” she said promptly, recalling Harry’s story about the hippogriff and his godfather’s escape.

“Sirius,” he said, voicing each syllable reverently as though lost in thought. His eyes snapped back to hers and he continued, “Voldemort sent me visions showing Sirius being tortured and when we all got there we realized it was a trap. Sirius really hadn’t been there at all, but Voldemort needed me to retrieve a prophecy that had been made about us. When word about the prophecy got out, that’s when everyone started calling me ‘The Chosen One,’ because it named as the only person who could defeat him.

“The next year I learned how to do it. It was the same year Dumbledore, the headmaster, was—killed—and I think he knew it was going to happen, because he made me understand what I had to do. Instead of going back to school for my final year, Hermione, Ron, and I went into hiding so that we could figure out how to destroy Voldemort once and for all. Dumbledore had told me that Voldemort, in order to stay alive forever, had split up his soul into pieces. The three of us had to find and get rid of all the pieces before we could even try to kill him.

It wasn’t easy. The pieces had been well hidden and we had little to go on. It took nearly a year, but we did it, and then it was time to go after Voldemort. In the end, it took all of Ron, Hermione, and I to do it, but the newspapers only called me ‘The Vanquisher.’ They weren’t creative with their naming schemes, you see,” he finished, chuckling.

Kate sat, staring at the young man who was younger than her own mum but who had already been through so much. And yet, he seemed so normal. Her mind, so quick in arithmetic and reciting historical facts, struggled through all of the information that was just thrown at her. And through her bemusement her admiration for Harry Potter grew—not the “Boy-Who-Lived” or anything else, but just Harry Potter.

“It’s a lot to take in at once, isn’t it,” he said sympathetically.

She was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the food. The mood gradually lightened as she tasted her first butterbeer and admitted that it was better than any other drink on Earth. Of course, Harry wouldn’t change the subject until she said it, but it was beside the point. She had him laughing again and that’s all she cared about at the moment.

She did not regret asking him about it because the smiling Harry in front of her seemed more buoyant than the one that had avoided the crowds and shown her around all morning. He literally seemed as though a weight had been lifted from him and he could talk freely with her without having to watch his tongue.

“I’m sorry about wandering off earlier,” she said, still feeling guilty for her pleasure for shiny things.

Harry waved a hand and took another sip from his glass. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “What were you looking at anyway, besides just jewelry?”

She shrugged and replied, “They had a really nice collection of antique clauddagh rings.”

Harry’s eyes seemed to go out of focus and Kate checked behind her to see if he had seen someone, but he came back to himself and apologized, “Sorry, got distracted. So, er, do you know a lot about them—clauddagh rings I mean?”

This was not the response Kate had been expecting, but she decided to answer him truthfully. “A fair bit, yeah. I know my mum’s nana had one, but I don’t know where it went.”

“But do you know anything about how it’s worn?” Harry asked in a voice that he was clearly trying to make sound casual.

Kate frowned thoughtfully at his behavior and said, “How it’s worn? Well, what my mum told me was that if it’s worn on the right hand with the tip of the heart pointing to the end of your finger, that means that your heart is free to be claimed, or some such nonsense,” she shrugged indifferently. “And if the tip of the heart points toward your right wrist, that means that you have feelings for someone. If you wear it with the heart pointing toward your left wrist, that is, on your left hand, then your love is requited.”

Harry even looked at his hands in puzzlement as though trying to work something out.

“Do you know someone with a clauddagh?” Kate asked innocently, though she knew he wouldn’t tell her if she was right about the identity of the wearer. The only question now was why he had asked about them. Smirking to herself she asked in a determinedly relaxed tone, “So can you tell me more about Hermione?”

Harry jumped ever so slightly and visibly gulped. “Hermione? Why do you want to know about Hermione?”

Kate swallowed her giggle and said as though it was the most obvious reason in the world, “Well, she’s my cousin and I feel like I hardly know her at all.” This was partly true of course and she really was keen to know more about the only other witch in her family, but she was quite enjoying watching Harry squirm over her cousin.

His eyes took on that same sparkle as before as he began to try to explain the concept of ‘Hermione’ in a few sentences. He began speaking slowly but his voice gained strength and speed as he went on. “Well, er, she’s a—a girl—woman. With brown hair and brown eyes…. Well, they’re not really brown because they have these flecks of gold in them that you can see when she’s out in the sun. And sometimes she bites her lip when she’s thinking or smoothes down her hair when she’s nervous. She’s the hardest worker I know and she always sees things through to the end, no matter how hard it seems. But she’s also the most loyal person I’ve ever known and one of the few people who will put me in my place if I need it. She’s just—Hermione,” he said, furrowing his eye brows as though his answer lacked something.

Kate grinned widely, for standing behind Harry Potter throughout the majority of his heartfelt quasi-speech was none other than Hermione Granger. The older witch, having Apparated from work so quickly that she had forgotten to remove her Unspeakable badge, put a finger to her lips and paused a moment to compose herself before plopping down on the seat next to Harry.

“Well it looks like you’re still in one piece,” she said to Kate as they shared a secret smile. Harry went through four shades of red before adequately greeting his best friend. And while the two were busy taking it in turns to stare at the other out of corner of their eye, Kate rolled her eyes to herself and thought, Honestly, how daft can you get?

~~~#*#~~~

Several minutes and three more butterbeers later, Hermione waited a respectful distance away on the curb while Kate said goodbye to Harry. She smiled wistfully at the silly grins on their faces and Kate’s stammered thanks for her wand which she fingered lovingly before hiding it once again in her back pocket. And she watched as Harry’s face became serious when Kate leaned up and muttered something too quietly for her to hear.

With a quick wave and promise to bring dinner when she came back from returning Kate home, Hermione and her young cousin began the walk to the train station. Once they were seated in a sun-filled compartment, Hermione said, “So what did you two do today?”

Immediately Kate launched into a description of all the places and things she’d seen, even pulling out her wand and boasting about how it was only the second that she had tried. Hermione smiled indulgently and tried to follow along but her thoughts resided on her raven-haired best friend, the one who had said such nice things about her when he thought she couldn’t hear.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” suggested Kate with true concern.

“Wha—oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“You could possibly,” interrupted Kate, effectively ceasing Hermione’s stuttering. “Look,” she continued, leaning over and seizing the older witch’s right hand, “you obviously have feelings for him. And after everything the pair of you have been through, admitting them can’t be more serious than that.”

Hermione let her gaze drop to the ring on her right hand, where the tip of her heart pointed toward her wrist. She smiled at her cousin sadly, “Oh, but it is—his friendship is more important to me than anything. And if that’s all he can give me, then that’s all I’ll take.”

~~~#*#~~~

A/N: I played around a bit with the pov in this chapter, though I dunno how apparent that was. Originally I had planned to just crank out the whole last chapter in one big glob to make up for my lack of updating, but I wanted to know what you guys thought about this bit before getting into the home stretch. So? Review!

A/N: I am so SO sorry that this has taken so long. I blame school, my friends coming home from school, the sun, and Hermione’s tendency to ramble in her subconscious thought. I really hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I cannot think of any witty way to say that I don’t own any of what’s written here, because I’ve now been writing for several hours and my strength has been sapped….

Chapter 4 The Tip of the Heart

The two witches walked in deep conversation all the way back to Kate’s house, but both skirted around the issue of Hermione’s feelings for Harry. Sometimes when looking down at Kate, Hermione felt as though she was looking into a wizarding photograph of herself at that age before she had been touched by the hardships of growing up in the midst of war. More often than not, Hermione caught herself sending a wistful expression the young girl’s way.

“So what does Harry do?” Kate was asking.

Hermione squinted into the setting sun as she checked the street for cars before crossing. “You mean he didn’t tell you? I figured he’d be bursting to let it out.”

“Well he didn’t,” said Kate simply.

“He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts,” explained Hermione.

The younger witch stopped walking and stared at her cousin in confusion. “But I thought he said that there was no Defense teacher because of some curse or something?”

Hermione nodded, surprised at how much Harry had taught her about Hogwarts and the wizarding world in one day. “That is true, there is no formal Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts nor is there a position for it, but Harry discovered a way around the curse by teaching only the practical bit of Defense while the theory is taught in with the other subjects. Does that make sense?”

Kate affirmed this by saying, “So Harry is going to be my teacher then?”

“Probably,” Hermione answered, feeling the excitement of her young cousin.

Hermione reached up to knock when they arrived at Kate’s front door, but it opened before her knuckled could connect with the wood.

“Oh, Katharine, Hermione, I didn’t expect you home so soon,” said Mary with stunning grin. Kate skipped past her mother into the house and Hermione followed in her footsteps somewhat reluctantly. She hadn’t really intended to do more than see Kate safely back home and now as she sank into the same couch from that morning, she regretted telling Harry to go home. She sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled slowly, telling herself that if she could face Dark wizards and the stench of Ron’s dirty laundry, she could certainly deal with her cousin for a few minutes.

“Well, did you have fun?” Mary asked her daughter as they sat down in the chairs across from Hermione.

Kate grinned and nodded, repeating some of what she had told Hermione on the train for her mother’s benefit. She left out the fact that it was only Harry showing her around, for which Hermione was grateful. She doubted Mary would be quite as understanding about her work situation as Kate was.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” said Mary when Kate finished.

Kate turned her beautiful blue eyes to her mother’s matching set and asked as though not daring to hope, “Does that mean I can go to Hogwarts?”

Mary seemed to be ready for this question and smiled a little as she said, “Well I’ve given it some thought and of course your father and I will need to discuss some logistical issues, but yes, you may go.”

Kate jumped up from her chair and hugged her mother tightly. Hermione contained her own excitement and met Mary’s eyes through Kate’s bushy hair, surprised to see warmth there in the place of the coldness that was so often directed toward her while growing up. The next moment Kate was skipping from the room mumbling something about composing her acceptance to her offer letter.

Hermione whipped her head around to follow the girl’s departure and when she turned back, Mary was studying her like she had when they were girls, but without malice. In fact, Mary seemed to be trying to think of something to say to fill the silence, and Hermione took a small amount of pleasure in rendering her perfect cousin speechless.

“I believe the words you are looking for are ‘Thank you,’” Hermione said sarcastically.

Mary’s eyes widened in shock at Hermione’s tone and then she nodded to herself. “I deserved that,” she said quietly. “Look, Hermione, I don’t know if there’s anything I can even say to make up for how awful I was to you all those years—”

“How about telling me why?” suggested Hermione, unconcerned with maintaining civility.

Mary sighed. “I can see you’re not going to make this easy,” she said, shaking her sleek blond head.

“And why should I?” she demanded. “Why should I just laugh it off as some childish thing when you’ve spent your whole life going out of your way to mock me or embarrass me or make yourself look better than me—” She cut off abruptly, willing the hot tears in her eyes to disappear. She did not want to give Mary the satisfaction of making her cry, even if she was trying to apologize.

“But don’t you see, Hermione? You were always better than me,” said Mary as though with physical pain. “Everyone thought so. They always talked about how clever and bright you were. You were always Nana’s favorite, she even left you her ring when she died.”

Hermione snorted derisively. “Are you really going to sit there and tell me that every horrible little thing you did and said to me was all because you were jealous?”

Mary said nothing but her answer could not have been clearer. Hermione began to laugh, quietly at first but then louder and louder until the sound of it filled the little sitting room.

“It’s not funny, you know. You don’t know what it’s like—to look how I do, people expect you to be a certain way. Sure, I was good at making friends, but yours never walked away from you when you stopped being what they wanted you to be. I worked my whole life to stand out because of something other than my appearance, and you just seemed to do it without even trying. And yes, I was jealous,” said Mary, her voice rising in pitch as she pushed the words out. This was probably the most honest she had been with herself let alone with anyone else in years.

The last of Hermione’s laughter died away in her throat. “You were jealous of me for standing out and I was jealous of you for fitting in. What a pair we are,” she said without expression.

Mary’s short laugh rang hollowly through the room. “I don’t know what else to say other than that I’m sorry for treating you so horribly. I thought a lot about what you and Harry said this morning and about the things that Katharine did growing up—the two of you are so similar, and now I finally understand all those odd things you were always doing and why you stopped coming to family holidays. I know there’s no excuse for my behavior, but I just wanted to know how sorry I am. For everything,” she said feelingly.

Hermione took in the blonde’s earnest blue gaze and replied, “Well, I just hope you know that an apology doesn’t automatically fix everything.”

“I know that,” Mary said seriously.

“All right then,” said Hermione, unsure of what had just happened.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you just promise one thing?” Mary asked.

“If I can.”

“Can you promise not to teach Katharine the spell that will change my teacup into a toad?” Mary said, with the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought a smile.

Hermione regarded her cousin sincerely. “Mary, I can tell you in all honesty that I will not teach your daughter that spell,” she said, her face breaking into a grin as she silently added the words but I can’t promise she won’t pick it up somewhere.

~~~#*#~~~

In a considerably better mood than when she’d left the flat that morning, Hermione fitted her key in the lock and opened the door. There were sounds coming from the living room and Hermione called in that direction as she set down the cartons of Thai takeaway and hung up her cloak by the front door.

“Harry, Ron—I’m home and I’ve got dinner!”

The sounds abruptly ceased and Hermione realized that it was the television they hardly ever used being switched off. She turned away from the coat stand and almost directly into Harry as he came from the living room.

“How’d it go?” Harry asked as they entered the kitchen and began grabbing dishes and cutlery.

Hermione sighed for the twentieth time since leaving Mary’s. After the day she’d had, she was feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sank into one of the kitchen chairs as Harry began dividing up the food from the various cartons. “Well, we talked, and she basically apologized for being inhuman for all that time.”

Harry chuckled amusedly. “Did she say why?”

“Yeah, and you’re not going to believe this. Apparently she had been jealous of me the whole time!” she said and laughed to prove to him just how absurd it all was. Harry said nothing, but nodded to his plate. “What?” she asked. “Harry, tell me you don’t believe that rubbish!”

Harry took a bite of rice and chewed thoughtfully. “Well, people do some insane things when they’re jealous, Hermione. I mean, look at Ron during the Triwizard Tournament,” he pointed out.

“All right,” Hermione said after a long pause, leaning across the table toward Harry, “who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

Harry laughed good-naturedly and handed her a plate loaded with all of her favorites. “Hey, I should get to be the wise one every once in a while,” he joked.

Hermione grinned and looked down at her plate, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Speaking of best friends, where’s Ron?”

Harry shrugged and took another bite of rice. “I think Luna came by and kidnapped him. She also mentioned something about working in the Time Room again today.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned at the thought of her less-than-alert friend. “Honestly, that girl and secrecy, how she became an Unspeakable I’ll never know. I hate that room, by the way,” she added as an afterthought.

“Kate and I had a lot of fun today,” Harry said suddenly.

Hermione put down her fork. “Yeah I was going to ask, and when did you start calling her Kate?”

“She told me to,” he shrugged.

“I think she has a little bit of a crush on you,” said Hermione, winking at her best friend.

Harry had the decency to blush. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Hermione, but I am a fairly attractive bloke.”

“And rich too from what I’ve heard. You must have some pretty powerful friends,” she said, playing along.

“Yeah my best friend is the brightest witch of her age,” he said, claiming a small victory for himself when Hermione blushed.

She tried to will the color in her face to disappear but it was to no avail. Suddenly stricken with inexplicable shyness, she looked up at Harry through her lashes and said, “Thanks for today, Harry. I know you probably didn’t want to spend your Saturday off showing around a little girl who was barely more than a stranger.”

Harry held her gaze for several moments and then seemed to come back to himself. After clearing his throat he shrugged again and waved his hand as he replied, “Actually it was all right. Besides, Kate reminded me a lot of you, so it was fine.” He gave her the grin that was guaranteed to turn her insides to mush and she returned it weakly. Then he went on, “You know, she asked a lot about you today. She seems sad that she never got the chance to know you better before.”

Hermione’s face fell as she felt her little moment with Harry pass, though she was honestly touched to be held in the girl’s high esteem. “I suppose I can’t blame all that on Mary. I wasn’t really around for her when she was growing up. In fact I never even noticed her magical tendencies.”

“Well don’t beat yourself up over it, it’s in the past and you have from now on to make up for it, especially since you and Mary are sort of reconciled.”

Hermione huffed quietly, thinking back to the afternoon with her cousin.“Well I don’t know about that, maybe we’re on the road to reconciliation. I mean she was actually jealous that I got my nana’s clauddgh ring when she died!” exclaimed Hermione holding up her right hand. She stood up suddenly, feeling restless, and began to gather the dirty dishes to bring to the sink.

She didn’t notice how Harry’s eyes flicked back and forth from her face to her ring and how they followed the progress of her right ring finger and she flitted between the kitchen and dining area, cleaning up the mess from eating. She also didn’t notice as he seemed to struggle within himself before bursting out with, “Hermione, why do you wear your ring like that, with the heart pointing down?”

The refrigerator door stood open as she paused bent over to shove in a carton of leftover Thai food. She could barely feel the cold on her skin as her heart thumped painfully in her chest and her searched frantically through all of the English words she knew in order to construct a sensible reply.

Kate’s words ran through her head and gradually morphed into her own. Why don’t you just tell him?…Just tell him…Just tell him, Hermione. She turned toward Harry who was gazing at her in concern. From far away she heard herself saying simply, “Because my heart belongs to someone.”

She could have continued, she could have cleared up the perplexed expression on Harry’s face by revealing the identity of the man who had long ago stolen her heart, but at this crucial moment, her bravery failed her and she felt strangely crushed without it. Before Harry had time to reply, she bid him a hasty goodnight and went to her room.

~~#*#~~~

Several minutes after he had heard Hermione’s bedroom door close softly, Harry was still seated at the kitchen table with his half-eaten meal in front of him. Her last words before she made her exit were still echoing throughout the room and ringing in Harry’s ears as though she had shouted them. Not only that but Kate’s final words to him had been running through his mind since he’d Apparated home. Just tell her…Just tell her, Harry. But tell her what exactly?

Maybe tell her how much she meant to him, but Harry wasn’t sure he even knew the answer to that anymore. There was no mistake in his mind that she was the most important woman in his life and probably always would be. Whenever he’d thought over the years about a woman replacing Hermione in his heart or taking her place by his side, the thought was also accompanied by a leaden nausea in the pit of his stomach.

Maybe tell her that she was his greatest friend, knowing without a doubt that there was never a time that she had ever walked away from him. She might have let him walk away from her as he had third year when she had told McGonagall about his Firebolt, but he never saw her back turned on him in anger in all the years that he had known her.

Maybe tell her how the second Kate told him about why she wore her ring that way how all he could think of was how more than anything else, he wanted her to wear it on her left hand. For him.

With that thought he sprang up from his chair and began to pace from the table to the kitchen. He wasn’t sure where that thought had come from but he knew with full conviction that if he could just allow himself to be honest for once, he could admit that his feelings for Hermione weren’t some new development. It wasn’t important when they started, he reasoned, it only mattered that he knew about them now. And he knew what to do.

~~~*#*~~~

Though she could have sworn that she had closed the blinds the night before, Hermione was awakened just after eight that Sunday morning. She wanted nothing more than to turn over and douse the light with a well-placed pillow over her eyes, but she couldn’t fight this nagging feeling that something was different.

Her eyes roamed from the open blinds to the neatly stacked books on her bedside table to her wardrobe doors, one of which was slightly ajar. Could that be what was keeping her from drifting back into a well-deserved sleep? No, even Hermione Granger wasn’t that obsessive-compulsive.

She lifted her hand to wipe the sleep from her eyes and she stared at the band of pale skin on her right ring finger where her clauddagh ring used to be. Immediately she began to panic as she froze in place and searched the top of her duvet with as little movement as possible. Nowhere on there did she see a silver glimmer. Thinking that maybe she had removed it when she brushed her teeth, Hermione hobbled with her fine morning motor skills to bathroom. What she saw was not her ring on the counter like she had expected, but its reflection in the bathroom mirror—on her left hand.

She stared at this virtual image for what felt like an eternity before thoughts from seemingly all directions pummeled her simultaneously. She reasoned her way through impossibilities and through improbabilities—did she switch it herself? Was this some kind of feeble subconscious joke?—until inevitably her thoughts settled on a single solution, try as she might to avoid it.

Harry.

She had instinctively guessed him to be responsible the very moment her eyes laid on the shiny silver in the reflection—after all, the ring had definitely been on her right hand when she went to sleep and there was no one else in the flat. But she wasn’t so sure why her mind was trying so hard to disprove this notion if it meant that all of the passionate yearnings of her heart were finally requited. It was almost too much to hope for after all of these years that Hermione didn’t know if she could bear it if she were wrong.

She exited the bathroom, slung her dressing gown around her shoulders despite the summer morning heat and plopped promptly back down on her bed, not yet ready to face what was outside her door. If she went out there, she would have to demand of Harry an explanation. There would have to be some discussion and she would have stumble through some sort of confession. A jolt of terror ran like ice water through her veins as she imagined the declaration of her feelings for her best friend who quite probably had not known the significance of what he’d done.

But then why do it? a voice that reminded her suspiciously of her mother nagged. She sighed in exasperation. If he did love her, changing her ring might just be his roundabout way of telling her.

He might even be just as afraid of coming clean as I am, she reasoned. Eventually it all came down to the same thing: Harry switched her ring and it would take all over her Gryffindor courage to ask him why.

Three minutes later, after she had shut her bedroom door as quietly as she could and tip-toed through the hall, Hermione peeked stealthily around the doorframe of the kitchen area. Shrugging off the guilty feeling that she was stalking her best friend and love interest, she watched silently as said figure moved in quick succession through the stages of breakfast-making. Her brow knit in wonder as every so often he would pause in his food preparation and grunt in agitation before veering off to some other task.

Wordlessly she stepped into the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the kitchen blinds with her head held high as though coming in to court. Harry did a double take as she came into view in the side of his vision and froze in place. The awkwardness that Hermione had so been dreading pervaded the space between them as neither made the first move to speak.

He cleared his throat after a moment and immediately launched into an apology. “Hermione, I’m so sorry,” he began, taking a few steps toward where she stood motionless in the doorway and halting abruptly. “I don’t know why I did it—I mean, I do, but, well, I can understand if you’re upset with me. I should never have gone into your room anyway, I’m sorry—”

His words faded from her ears and all she was aware of was his lips moving rapidly and her own heart plunging irretrievably to somewhere cold and dark. He did not love her. She felt tears spring to her eyes, not because of his stumbling apology but because he had unwittingly succeeded in getting her to hope again.

“I’m not upset with you,” she replied mechanically. Plastering on a smile that she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes, she asked sweetly, “Why would I be?”

Harry was struck silent and seemed to deflate slightly. “Oh. Well, I thought that since you don’t really like it when me and Ron go in—”

“Ron and I,” she corrected automatically, brushing past him to busy herself at completing Harry’s makeshift breakfast. Surreptitiously she wiped her face on the sleeve of her dressing gown so Harry wouldn’t see the tears flowing there.

“Right,” he whispered.

She heard the sound of his footsteps approaching from behind and she fought to compose herself; she could only imagine what the sight of her red and puffy eyes would do to the conversation. Concentrate, Hermione, she chided herself, Think about something amusing—like the time Ron said that thing and then Harry—No, not that. How about when you stayed over with Luna and Ginny…and all you talked about was Harry. It all comes back to Harry, she thought sadly as a glint of silver on her left hand caught her eye.

“Hermione?” asked Harry tentatively, causing her to jump since he was directly behind her.

“Yes?” she replied, now buttering some toast. She blinked as she realized that she was siphoning all of her emotion into her task and the bread was tearing under the pressure.

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione bit back a groan of irritation. “You already said that, Harry. Really, it’s all right,” she said with as much sincerity as she could manufacture under the circumstances.

Harry’s hand reached from behind her to still her ministrations and she stiffened at the contact. “Then why are you crying,” he stated quietly. It wasn’t a question.

She sniffed inaudibly and tried to remove her hand from where it was clenched in his but he refused to let go. “I’m not,” she said with as much dignity as she could and felt Harry gently use his free hand to turn her around. She closed her eyes in a last effort to hide her pain and shivered as Harry’s hands ran down her arms to hold her in place.

He brought the pad of his thumb up to her cheek to clear the moisture there and whispered simply, “You are.”

Even through her desire to lose herself in his intimate caress, she blinked her eyes in bewilderment at the feel of his touch. Why was Harry, the boy who shied away so frequently from physical contact this close to her, close enough to follow the tracks of tears for which he had been the cause? Some of her confusion must have shown on her face because the soft smile that he had been wearing quickly faded and he looked once again apologetic. But, she noted with a thrill of fear, he had still not moved away.

She swallowed and forced air past her vocal cords, but it came out scratchy and uncertain. “Harry…”

This time he did pull away and she felt strangely bereft in just the absence of his body warmth. He ran a hand agitatedly through his hair and avoided her imploring gaze. Why why why why, she wordlessly plead.

And although he had never seemed to master legilmency, when Harry’s eyes returned to hers, he seemed to understand, for he nodded once and stepped close enough so that she could feel the warm rush of air as he began to speak. “Merlin, you must think I’m mad, but I have to tell you. You, Hermione, you’ve always been my best friend and the most important woman in my life. Always. I never even questioned it, it was just one of those obvious things, like Ron likes food and Harry needs Hermione.”

She smiled weakly at the attempt at humor while her head spun with all the possible directions his speech could be going.

Harry reached out for her left hand and absently rubbed the pad of his thumb—the same one that had just wiped away her tears—on her silver ring, just as she had done in countless moments of anxiety. “I hadn’t ever thought about what that could mean until yesterday, with Kate, the girl who somehow has so much of you in her that I felt like I was eleven again and on the lookout for mountain trolls. The girl who helped show me just how much I care for you, how much I need you, how much I love you.”

Her eyes widened in pure shock at his totally unexpected admission. She wanted to assure him that she felt the same, to pledge her life for his though she already had done so silently long ago, but her voice died in her throat at the intensity in his gaze.

In contrast his voice seemed to be gaining strength as he went on. “I know I said I was sorry before, but I’m only sorry that didn’t ask you how you felt before just moving your ring like that. I know that ring is important to you and you already told me that your heart belonged to someone else, so I’m sorry that I was just so…”

“Impulsive?” she suggested hoarsely.

He nodded faintly and she detected a flicker of insecurity in his eyes. She was torn between running off to think and saying something to alleviate the tension in his expression. The words tumbled out without her permission and she felt like a separate entity from what was producing such clear, fiercely passionate speech. Her body moved even closer to his and the hand wearing the clauddagh tightened around his. “Harry, if I haven’t spoken, it’s because you’ve just said everything I’ve been longing to hear for years now. My heart has been yours for years now.”

Immediately Harry’s face seemed to brighten, but he still looked deathly afraid that he had misinterpreted her. Her eyes were drawn to where his mouth was opening and closing soundlessly, and she decided that since Harry had made the first move, she would not miss the opportunity to make the second.

Slowly and with a grace she did not know she possessed, Hermione leaned in and brought her lips up to meet her best friend’s for the first time. In less than a second he had responded and she acquiesced as he pulled her flush against him. Soon hands were everywhere, exploring the soft curves of skin that had previously been platonically inaccessible and she felt Harry deepen the kiss.

She had never known herself to be capable of such passion, but she welcomed the desire that coursed through her like flame and only half-heartedly chastised herself for not acting on her feelings sooner.

Echoing her thoughts, Harry pulled away and through a dazed grin said, “Wow if I had known it would be like that I would have figured out my feelings for you ages ago.”

“Oh ha ha,” she laughed sarcastically.

Suddenly he grew serious again. “I’m sorry, Hermione. For being such a daft git. I should have realized sooner.”

She cupped his face gently, glad that she could now do so freely, and told him solemnly, “It’s not important when it happened, just that it did.”

When he brought his lips back to hers, she sighed and wondered to herself if she’d ever grow tired of feelings his arms around her. She weaved her fingers carefully through the thick strands of his dark hair and chuckled as her ring became momentarily ensnared.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she pulled away from him. “Wait, how did you know about how my clauddagh ring worked?” she asked curiously.

His bemused expression melted into one of consideration as he constructed his reply. “Well I asked Kate and she told me everything I needed to know. I thought at the time that she really did believe that I was just merely interested in the tradition, but now I think she knew all along why I was asking.” He shook his head in amusement at being conned by the little girl.

Hermione found her grin widening as though Harry’s smile was contagious. “She definitely takes after me then,” she asserted jokingly.

“Yes, but she doesn’t have one of these,” he pointed out, his eyes not breaking contact. Bringing her left hand up to his face in much the same way he had with her right years before, Harry studied the tiny hands, crown, and the tip of the heart that told the world with the utmost certainty that his heart belonged to her and hers to him.

“No, she doesn’t,” agreed Hermione as the distance between them diminished, “but maybe we should look into getting her one.”

A/N: It’s over! I hope that this last bit lived up to your expectation, since it’s INCREDIBLY difficult for me to write fluff. Oi. So, that’s it, please leave a review on your way out!!!

A/N: So……I bet you’re noticing that this is not an update of “Powers of Persuasion.” I would normally offer an excuse, but I’m sure you’re all very tired of those, so I’ll just get on with it. This is an epilogue to “Another Witch in the Family,” and it’s been in my mind for a while. I didn’t originally picture it like this, but this is what came out, so I hope that you enjoy it anyway. So…because portkey doesn’t want to upload italic properly, I’ve separated flashbacks by ***, but some of the text in between might come out in italics because I’m too lazy to fix it!

Chapter 5~ Epilogue

“The ceremony starts in five minutes, Miss Moore, you’re cutting it very fine!” shouts the Fat Lady as I go pelting down the corridor. I wave a hand behind me to indicate that I heard and put an extra spurt of energy into running, feeling my detested bushy hair flapping behind me in wavelike succession.

I absolutely hate being late. It has been said that this is a family trait, and I am quite disinclined to argue. I reckon that with all of the horrible features I inherited—knobby elbows, freckly complexion, a lovely towering temper when in stride—a preoccupation with punctuality isn’t all that bad. So with these thoughts, I speed my way along corridors and down staircases, clutching the copy of the speech that I spent nearly a month honing to perfection.

If someone had told me years ago that when I was seventeen years old, I’d not only be graduating from the most prestigious magical school in all of Europe but I’d be doing so with top honors and the legendary Head Girl status, I would have suggested some medical attention. Since that fateful Wednesday when my acceptance letter from Hogwarts arrived via owl post, the castle has become my third home—the first of course being the house I live in with my parents, and the second the one belonging to my two favorite wizards.

Over the years I’ve become pretty familiar with the castle and most of its features. I suppose it’s hard to be cooped up in one place for months and not get to know it intimately, but I’ve personally never felt trapped within these four walls. I’ve had some of my best memories here: fantastic feasts, grand balls, serious discussions with people who’ve been dead for hundreds of years…just to name a few. I doubt that I would trade it for anything.

But my time here hasn’t always been sugary sweet, and nostalgic reminiscing doesn’t always bring a smile to my face. Even my Sorting was bittersweet. I can feel my steps slowing down as I sink into the memory, despite internal reminders that the seconds are ticking by and I’m barely out of sight of the Gryffindor portrait.

***

I’m huddled with the rest of the first years near the head table in the Great Hall, a magnificent room filled with all of the older students of Hogwarts and the professors who will be teaching us for seven years. I am terrified, but the boy next to me is shivering too, so I know I’m not alone.

The only sound is coming from the whispers of the students sitting at their House table. I can see the little colorful crests sewn onto their robes as they lean toward one another and whisper behind their hands. Their eyes are on us and I know they’re sizing us up. I hear one girl, her blue patch just distinguishable beneath her dark, straight hair, tell her friend that we’re the biggest class of first years since the end of the war. I am strangely buoyed up by the pressure of their expectation; rising above others’ standards has always been a challenge I relish. I just hope I don’t disappoint them.

I glance up as movement from above catches my eye and I remember something Harry said while we were exploring Diagon Alley last summer. He told me that the ceiling to the Great Hall was charmed to reflect the sky outside, but at the time I wasn’t sure what he meant. Now I can make out constellations I’ve only seen sketches of in books and I cant’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I’m not afraid anymore, even though a whisper from the pair of girls next to me indicates that they think there is going to be some kind of test.

I want to tell them otherwise but before I can open my mouth, silence descends as a hooded figure places a stool on the raised step in front of the head table. He steps back and then lays an ancient-looking pointed hat that has a slit along the brim, removing his own hood afterwards. The whispers start up again, this time among the first years, for they have spotted what I had noticed moments before: the robed wizard in front of us is none other than Harry Potter, my cousin Hermione’s best friend and the savior of the wizarding world. I’ve no doubt that many of the people whispering about him now grew up hearing his name uttered with some reverent tone, but I feel fortunate to have missed all that. The man I see in front of us is just Harry.

The girls next to me stifle a swooning giggle and I can feel a slight blush rise in my face. I know what they’re thinking because I’ve thought the same thing when I first met him, but realizing that Harry is already spoken for is something they will have to find out on their own.

Harry’s green eyes rake across the first years until they reach mine and he gives me a little encouraging smile that breaks through his professional exterior. I smile back and I can feel the curious glances directed at me from the some of the other first years.

The next moment, Harry is speaking and I remember how Hermione told me the students were designated into Houses. So that is what the hat is for. What I don’t seem to have recalled from her story is that the hat splits along the brim and begins to sing a song about not only the history of the Hogwarts founders but the individual qualities admired in the students of each House. I know that Hermione, Harry, and their friend Ron who I met once when I had dinner at my cousin’s flat were in Gryffindor, but I suppose I would be okay with the other Houses as well.

Harry begins to read names from the list in alphabetical order and I can feel the nervousness return. Each time a name is called, the student climbs up to sit on the stool and places the hat on their head and, a few moments later, their new House is called. A House is supposed to be like your family when you’re at school, and I look behind me at the sea of faces, wondering if somewhere out there is my best friend.

“Kensington, Acantha!” calls Harry, and one of the giggly girls next to me strides boldly forward. Her friend stands on tip toes to see over the rest of the first years as Acantha delicately places the Sorting hat on her blond head. A few moments later she lets out a squeal as the hat names Gryffindor and Harry offers a congratulatory grin. Her friend Cassia joins her a few minutes later and I cross my fingers, hoping that the hat will find brave qualities in me as well.

“Moore, Kate!” says Harry, ignoring the listed name on the parchment and using the nickname I suggested when we first met instead. I can feel my hands shaking as I make my way through the crowd so I clasp them tightly together. Pulling myself up on the stool, I look over at Harry who holds the hat above my head with an understanding smile on his face. I briefly wondered how many students have perched anxiously on this stool, wishing for a certain House or maybe knowing nothing about it.

I nod to Harry that I’m reading and he lowers the hat on my head. For a moment, silence, and then—

“Ahhhh!” says a raspy voice, which I soon realize is coming from inside the hat. “Steely determination, that I haven’t seen in a long time, a thirst to prove yourself…clever, too, yes I see, perhaps Ravenclaw—but what is this?”

My eyes fly open; I was squeezing them shut. I plead to the hat silently for it to put me where Hermione was, for surely if I am as like her as I heard Ron and Harry say, then I should be in the same House?

“Gryffindor, eh?” the hat says. “Not Ravenclaw? There you can enrich your mind, you could be the brightest of your age…It’s all here. But, no? You want Gryffindor? Very well, GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat shouts the last word and I feel myself sighing in relief as I slid off the stool to polite scattered applause. Harry discreetly pats my shoulder when I hand him the hat and go to join my new scholastic family.

Not too long later, the rest of the students are sorted and the headmistress welcomes us to another (or in my case inaugural) year at Hogwarts. Then enormous amounts of food fill the dishes and platters in front of us. I glance up to Harry at the head table, where he sits next to Headmistress McGonagall, and see that he is amused by my dazed reaction to the appearance of the start of term feast. I turn back and dig in until I am too full to think of anything other than sleep. Luckily at this point some of the older students begin to round the first years up from each House, leading us to the dormitories and giving a condense tour along the way.

I am clumsily following the prefect, slightly lethargic due to my full stomach, when I feel an arm hook through mine. Attached to the newly-bought Hogwarts uniform is the head of Acantha Kensington. A moment later, Cassia McGregor slips her hand through my other arm. Their heads bend close to mine as though what they are about to say is of the utmost importance.

“So, how do you know Harry Potter?” asks Acantha asks sweetly, and I am immediately reminded of my mother when she’s trying to be persuasive. This does nothing to put me at ease, as I am completely aware that these girls will probably be controlling the entire class by luncheon tomorrow.

“What makes you think I know him?” I say automatically.

Cassia gives a ringing chortle and my head whips to her direction. “Don’t mind Acantha here, she forgets her manners sometimes. I’m Cassia.” She speaks with great emphasis; I know her mind is wholly focused on what she’s saying and that Acantha must be the calculative one. I offer my name out of politeness, but purposely don’t give them leave to use my nickname. “ Forgive me,” Cassia continues, “ but you must know Harry Potter, we saw him smile straight at you for Merlin’s sake!”

I glance back at Acantha and I see that they are both wearing identical expectant expressions. I am at a loss as to how to get out of this; I am absolutely rubbish at lying on the spot. “I—er, he’s best friends with my cousin.” Deep down I know this is none of Acantha or Cassia’s business, though I secretly am beginning to find myself wanting to impress them with my connections.

Acantha has raised one of her eyebrows dubiously as if to defy my claim. “And who is your cousin?” she presses.

“Hermione Granger,” I say, forgetting for a second that she is almost as famous as Harry is.

Acantha’s eyes light up as though Christmas has come early and she eagerly looks to Cassia. “Why, how very fortunate that we happened to discover you! You must have met him loads of times!” My stomach drops and I finally realize that I might be making a mistake in continuing this conversation. Without waiting for an answer, Acantha goes on, “So what is he really like?”

I wrack my brain for a response that doesn’t give too much away. Fortunately, by this time we’ve reached the Gryffindor common room and the prefect tells us the password, but I find that in my conversation I hadn’t been paying attention on how to get here. We enter the common room and I want nothing more than to go to bed, but when I enter the first year girls dormitory, I find that I will be sharing it with Acantha and Cassia, who, at the moment, couldn’t be happier. My desire from moments before to impress them is now gone and I don’t want to reveal any of what I know of Harry or Hermione.

“Well?” asks Cassia in a sweet tone I reckon she has copied from Acantha.

I shrug. “He’s just…Harry,” I answer unhelpfully.

Acantha scowls now that she has figured out that I am deliberately withholding what she considers to be valuable information. “That’s all?” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

I shrug again, practically hearing my social status being flushed down the toilet. “You may as well get over your little crush on him. He has a girlfriend,” I tell them. Maybe if they know that he’s not available anyway, they’ll stop pestering me about him. They’re eleven anyway, maybe twelve, what are they thinking?

“Well thank you for the kind advice,” says Acantha sarcastically. Her tone switches back to sweet faster than I can blink. “You know, if you stick with Cassia and I, we can run the school. We could be the second Golden Trio!” She and Cassia share a laugh, delighted at their little joke. Acantha turns back to me. “With your connections in the professors and ours in the students—”

“My sister is the Ravenclaw prefect,” interrupts Cassia, and for a moment I recognize her flowing dark hair as the same I saw on the whispering Ravenclaw student earlier.

Acantha glares at Cassia’s interruption in annoyance. “Anyway, what do you think?”

I stare at the pair of them for several moments, knowing that my next move could very well be social suicide. I don’t want to make enemies of the girls that I will be sharing a dormitory with for the next seven years, but I also don’t want friends who only value my acquaintances with other people. Perhaps I shall give them the benefit of the doubt.

“All right, I’ll join you,” I say bravely. The girls began to squeal and jump up and down on either side of me so that I have to shout the next bit. “On one condition.”

Acantha stops hopping. “And what is that?” she demands.

“You tell me my name.” I cross my arms over my chest as the girls stare at each other dumbly. “Thought so,” I say before I turn and jump onto my bed. I shut the curtains behind me on both the remaining light and my first failed attempt at friendship.

***

“And it wouldn’t be the last,” I mumble to myself as I continue to the graduation ceremony.

A whir whizzes past me and I turn to see who it was. “Hi, Kate! I forgot my hat!” he explains his shoes click loudly on the stone floor. I wave and turn back the way I was going, speeding up my pace to a brisk walk. My watch says that the ceremony is going to start in ten minutes, and as Head Girl, it’s my responsibility to give the welcome speech. I will be the very first person to speak and I’m a bit nervous. Stringing words together in person is not one of my strong suits. I round the corner and begin my descent to the ground floor via many of the school’s magical staircases. I pointedly skip a step and remember the very first time that I was trapped on this very staircase. It was the last day of classes before the Christmas holidays my first year, and I was late to meet Harry in the entrance hall. I was to travel with him to London and stay at Hermione’s until my mum could come pick me up, so Harry was yet again to act as my chaperone. But I didn’t mind, at that point he was the only friend I had at Hogwarts.

***

My trunk was jammed with more things to bring home for the month than I had managed to bring to Hogwarts in September. To be fair it was mostly gifts that I had made in class or books that I borrowed for the holiday. Hermione suggested in one of her frequent letters that I should take up knitting, so my trunk was filled with my pitiful attempts at scarves and hats as well.

After breakfast, Harry came down from the head table and we settled on a meeting time—which I’m late for. Luckily it was at the end the meal and most people were already gone or up in their dormitories packing, so not many were around to witness our conversation. The only people I was really worried about were Acantha and Cassia, who, true to their word, made my very existence at Hogwarts unbearable.

Hermione knows this, because I confided in her in a letter that no one really talks to me, and she told me that when she got to Hogwarts, pretty much the exact thing happened. I was surprised because I always thought that she and Harry and Ron were best friends right from the beginning, but apparently not. She told me that to get a friendship like the one she had with “her boys,” something totally unexpected had to happen. She said friendships like that don’t come about in the normal way, whatever that means.

I forcefully drag my trunk down the stairs, trying to keep it under control. It’s difficult because it’s so bulky and heavy and I find that I’m having a hard time navigating the many twists and turns of the castle. For a fleeting second, I wish that I could bewitch the suits of armor to help me, or that someone would come along and see that I’m having troub—

Suddenly my foot sinks into what I realize too late is the trick step in one of the many magical staircases. The momentum from my trunk pushes me off balance and I find myself keeling over. I reach out to brace for a hard landing when a pair of arms comes out of nowhere and not only stops the progress of the trunk but steadies me as well.

I look up to thank my rescuer and find that he is one of the first year boys in my House, one of the few that acknowledges my presence when we have to work in groups. “Thanks, I didn’t know this was one of the stairs to watch out for,” I say gratefully. I’m about to say more when I stupidly realize that I don’t know his name. I try to cover up my blunder by dusting myself off.

“It happens,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s Kate, right?”

I smile and furrow my brow, surprised that he not only knew the name that very few people call me, but that he remembered it. “Yeah, sorry, what’s your name?” I ask, feeling more and more like an idiot. At this rate he’ll be gone in about five seconds.

“I’m Phillip, Phillip Henson,” he says with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

I can’t help but smile back. “Kate Moore,” I say, shaking his hand.

He gestures down to my trunk. “You heading home for the holidays?” he asks conversationally.

I am still trying to believe that someone is talking to me but I manage out a sentence or two. Sort of. “Well, at first I’m going to my cousin’s house in London, and then my mum is going to pick me up,” I say in a rush, giving him more information than he probably cares to know. “How about you?” I ask out of politeness and because I’m genuinely curious what most people do for the holiday break.

He shrugs again in a noncommittal way but I can see from the downturned corners of his mouth that when he says, “Nah, I thought it’d be fun to have Christmas away from home for once,” that he doesn’t really mean it. My theory seems to be confirmed when he adds, “Plus, my parents have gone on holiday again, so I’m stuck here.”

“Oh,” I say, wanting to apologize but not sure I have the right to. I fumble with my things to give my hands something to do. I know the clock is ticking and that Harry is probably annoyed that I’m so late, but I can’t seem to make my lips or feet move.

Finally, Phillip offers to help me take my trunk down and I accept. The pair of us drag the thing down several more flights of stairs toward the ground floor, chatting along the way. He tells me about his time here so far and we talk about our favorite classes.

“Mine by far is Defense, though I suppose we’re not really supposed to call it a class, are we?” he says, his wide grin back in its rightful place. He has this habit of tossing his head to keep his dark brown hair out of his face which for some reason I find endearing.

I laugh and nod my head at his wise choice. “Yeah, I guess not, after the thing with Voldemort wanting the position and everything. But still, we have an excellent teacher for it.” I turn to smile at him, but he’s gone pale and is staring at me in shock. “What’s the matter?” I ask, afraid that I’ve once again committed some wizarding faux pas.

His mouth opens and closes soundlessly before he finally utters, “You—said His name. You said V-V-Voldemort!” He sounds slightly awed and not a little bit surprised. Only then do I remember Harry telling me that not a lot of people say the name, even now.

“Sorry,” I say, immediately going red and wishing that we learned invisibility spells already.

“No, no, I think it’s cool. It’s just, not a lot of people say it, even now,” he is quick to add. I smile as his words almost exactly match Harry’s and silence invades again. I want to say something funny, something that will have him remember to talk to me again when we get back from the holidays. I bet Acantha could come up with something.

I’m about to settle on another question when he beats me to it. “So, who are you traveling with? I thought all of the school carriages had left a few hours ago.”

I bite my lip and the thought that maybe the reason why he even started talking to me is because he knows that I know Harry and wants me to introduce him enters my mind and I feel a tight knot form in my stomach. What if he doesn’t really care about me and just wants to get an autograph or something? What if he’s just like Acantha and Cassia? “Just a friend,” I answer. He seems unperturbed by the vagueness of my answer; maybe he really was just trying to make conversation. “So what will you do over the holiday?” I ask, trying to make up for my doubt of his intentions.

He fixes another grin on his face, but it looks slightly forced and I find myself wishing that I hadn’t asked. “I thought I’d read or something, explore the castle more. I heard there’s a way into the kitchens if you find a certain painting.”

“Oh yeah,” I say, recalling another of Harry’s stories, “It’s a painting of a bowl of fruit—you’ve got to tickle the pear and it turns into a doorknob.”

Phillip looks at me again in awe. “Blimey, Kate, how did you know all that?”

I shrug, thinking that maybe I should evaluate everything that I say before I let it out of my mouth. “My friend,” I say again. “I haven’t ever been to the kitchens though.”

“Well, maybe I’ll follow up on your friend’s lead over the holidays and we’ll go when you get back?” he offers with raised eyebrows as though fully expecting me to refuse.

We’re just starting to descend down the last marble staircase to the entrance hall where I can see Harry waiting and I feel the first massive grin in months hit me. I finally realize what Hermione was saying and I can’t wait to tell her—Phillip Henson is my friend. “I’d love to,” I say instead.

***

I smile to myself as I begin to descend the very same marble staircase. That Christmas had been one of the best, for not only did Hermione come have dinner with the whole family, but she brought Harry too. And of course, that was the Christmas that Harry had proposed, so Hermione came accompanied by her fiancé and a beautiful engagement ring.

After dinner she took me aside to show it to me—it was a large, rainbow opal set on a silver band. She told me what Harry said when he gave it to her—something about the Greeks believing that those gems held fire, just like Hermione, or something like that. I was pretty distracted by what she did next. She handed me a small, velvet box and said that without me, she and Harry would be doomed to stupidity. When I opened it, my mouth went dry, for she was giving me the heirloom clauddagh that she wore for years. “And now it’s your turn,” she said. When I returned to Hogwarts, I had a friend waiting for me, and by the next year I made the vow never to let him spend a Christmas alone at Hogwarts again.

I glance down at the ring where it sits on my left hand and my eye fixes on my watch, which now reads five minutes until the ceremony. Fortunately I only have a few yards to cover before I reach the large open doors of the Great Hall. My heart is hammering in my throat as the realization that I will be giving a speech to hundreds of people sets in. Granted, it’s not supposed to be Shakespeare, but I will be the first voice they hear at the ceremony. For a moment I feel all of sixteen again.

Sixteen. Merlin, what an age that was. Sixteen was the complete onset of teenagehood, not to mention I had a bloke for a best friend and almost no girls my age to talk to. Life itself was confusing. Suddenly a lot more effort went into taming my bushy hair and I even found myself conversing civilly with my dormmates when clothes needed to be borrowed. Everything was upside down, but thank Merlin I had Hermione to write to and someone who had once been a boy to badger with boy-related questions. I think Harry was more than a little taken aback the first time I brought a subject outside the world of academia. Harry was used to me visiting him in his office when he was between classes, mostly just to chat and occasionally to learn more advanced defense spells, so he wasn’t surprised when I turned up one day toward the end of my fifth year in a panic over what he probably thought was just some inane charm or hex.

***

“Harry! You’ve got to help me!” I cry, breathing heavily after running all the way from where I was studying in the library.

He calmly sets down the stack of parchment that he was grading on his desk and leans back in his chair, indicating with his hand that I should take a seat. “All right, what seems to be the problem, Miss Moore?” he asks very professionally, leaning forward onto his desk with his hands tightly clasped. He gets like this every now and then when I burst into his office in a panic. This is usually after I have decided that I’m unfit to study magic or that I don’t deserve to live or something, and he has to remind me that I’m attempting spells that most full-fledged adult wizards can’t handle.

Right now I just want to shake him by the shoulders because I’m not here for instruction but advice. “Really, Harry, this is serious.”

He relaxes back into his chair and I see the years peel away as he shrugs off his professorship and becomes just my friend. “Really, Kate, what’s the problem?”

“Er—well, you see,” I begin, before I realize that I don’t know what to say. The certainty that coming here would be a solution that I had about twenty minutes ago while Phillip and I were in the library seems to have dissolved on the journey. Why did this seem like a good idea? Harry will just laugh at my predicament, the one I’m not even sure is really a predicament. Oh well, he’s waiting for a reply, so I might as well, just to lay it out there. I really need Hermione for this sort of thing.

“Er, the thing is—oh bollocks. Harry, I need to ask you a question,” I finally splutter.

He nods wordlessly though I see that he’s beginning to notice that this isn’t like my usual tutoring sessions.

“Okay, so…how do you know if a boy likes you?” The words aren’t even out of my mouth before I a completely mortified. As much as I want to take it back, I still want to know the answer.

Harry, however, has chosen to play up his daftness. “What do you mean?” he asks, the picture of utter confusion.

I blow a stream of air through my nose, feeling myself becoming impatient. I can’t waste time elaborating, I need to know the answer! Some of my edginess comes out in my speech as I explain further. “You know, how can you tell? He doesn’t just walk up to you and say it, so he has to let you know in some way, right?”

Harry scratches his chin in thought and I wonder for a second if he’s also wishing Hermione were here to handle this sudden display of my girliness. Finally he formulates a reply. “Well, how is this boy acting?”

I pause to consider this fair question. “Well, he’s nice to me, I suppose, but then, he’s always nice to me—except when we argue about stupid stuff. But even then, even when I’m upset with him all I ever want to do is apologize because I can stand being angry at him, but I can’t stand him being angry at me. Does that make sense?”

Harry nods. “Surprisingly, it does. That seems to clarify how you feel about him, am I right?”

I shrug. We haven’t really made any progress. “Well, I figured out that part a while ago,” I say, holding up my left hand. Harry squints to focus on what I’m indicating and notices the infamous clauddagh ring now on my left hand.

“I see,” he says simply. He doesn’t look uncomfortable anymore, which means I can relax too. “Well, guys don’t often carry a sign so don’t expect some grand, sweeping gesture if he does fancy you. More often than not, he’s just scared to death that you might not feel the same, so if he’s important to you, this bloke, then say something to him. I’ll tell you, having once been sixteen, I can rightly say that the easiest thing for a girl to do would have been to ask me flat-out if I fancied her. If I did, I could answer truthfully and leave no room for doubt.”

Has he gone mad? “Are you saying that I just walk up to him, stomp all over years of friendship, and just say, ‘All right, Phillip? By the way I fancy you’? No. Bloody. Way.”

Harry looks at me in amusement and I can’t think of anything even approaching funny at this point. I trace back over my words, and clap a hand over my mouth. “Well, that saves me the trouble of asking you who the lucky bloke is,” laughs Harry as I aim a glare in his direction. “But, yeah, that would be the simplest thing. Look, someone’s got to do it, and there has to be a reason you were sorted into Gryffindor right? This is something to tell your grandchildren, or at the very least, Hermione. I’m sure she’ll be dying to know what happens,” he adds with a smirk.

“Ugh, that excuse again? How many times have I been persuaded to do something because of that bloody Gryffindor bravery?” I ask the room at large. “We Gryffindors have a very raw deal.”

“I knew that you would be here to ask this someday. Oh, my little Kate’s all grown up,” Harry says, conjuring a tissue and pretending to wipe his eyes.

My smile flickers and then fades as the full ramifications of a confession set in. “And what if he says he doesn’t feel the same, or worse, if he laughs in my face? I doubt he’d do that, but still. Harry, I think it’s more than just a passing fancy. I think I love him, but all I hear in my head is my mother’s voice telling me that I’m sixteen and I don’t know what I want. I don’t think I could bear to lose him. Is our friendship something that I should dare to risk?” I’m voicing my greatest fears, but they’re to someone who’s been through the exact same situation. If anyone can help me, it’s Harry.

Harry’s face wears the most serious expression I’ve seen on him in a long time. He leans forward on his desk again and speaks slowly and deliberately. “Kate, this is really your decision. I can guide you, but I can’t tell you what to do. You must choose for yourself.”

That’s all? Why can’t someone just tell me what to do?

Harry looks on what probably is a very pitiful expression in sympathy and adds bracingly, “Look, the two of you have grown up together. That doesn’t get thrown out overnight if he doesn’t return your feelings. And that’s a big if. Kate, I’ve seen you together, and that boy is over the moon about you, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. Someone’s got to knock some sense into him and it might as well be you.”

I laugh and am a little embarrassed to find tears in my eyes.

“So, is that all, Miss Moore? I hate to be rude, but I have parchments to ink up,” says Harry briskly, all pretend business again.

I roll my eyes, but thank him for his advice, though I don’t know if I will heed it. He sing-songs just as I am about to close the door, “Let me know how it goes!” and I have to wonder how old her really is, because sometimes he acts just like my little brother.

***

When I arrive at the Great Hall, I pause at the threshold for a moment, collecting my thoughts and absently smoothing the creases in my dressrobes. I feel as though my limbs are made of lead and it will require all of my energy to get to where I need to be to give my speech.

“Kate!” comes a breathy but stifled shout from the staircase. I turn to see my best friend Phillip hurrying towards me, hat now in hand. He rushes up to me and takes in my most likely pale and ill appearance and asks unnecessarily, “Nervous?”

I nod wordlessly, wondering if I left my voice behind too.

“Don’t be,” he says easily. “You’ll be the best Head Girl welcome speaker person in the room.”

I laugh begrudgingly and give him a playful swat on the shoulder. “I’ll be the only ‘Head Girl welcome speaker person’ in the room,” I point out.

He shrugs in his usual way. “Then you’re destined to be the best. Now go knock ‘em dead, or rather, don’t because I want them to alive to hear my closing speech. You look nice, by the way.”

“Thanks, Mr. Head Boy closing speaker person,” I say with a faint blush, feeling slightly more human than a few minutes ago. With an encouraging pat on the shoulder, Phillip dashes off to his seat in the front row, and I watch him go for a second before stepping into the Great Hall myself.

I scan the rows of attending guests as I walk down the center aisle toward the podium, trying to spot among the array of wizarding and Muggle garb my cousin’s signature bushy brown hair. I see her and my parents and brother when I am just level with them and I aim a wave in their direction but tap my watch to show I can’t talk just now. I make my way up the rest of the aisle and climb up the raised platform where the podium and rows of teachers are. Instantly I spot Harry’s untidy black hair since it sticks out in all directions underneath his hat. He shoots me the same cheesy thumbs up expression as on my first day of Defense Against the Dark Arts and I return it with a smirk.

When I reach the podium, it’s just in time to receive the nod from Headmistress McGonagall to begin. I look back to the rows of friends and family and I find my cousin. Her left hand rests on her round belly and I can see the ring of fire on her third finger flashing brilliantly in the rays from the windows. She’s not looking up at me, though I have a pretty good idea where her gaze leads.

My eyes drift back up toward the front row and they meet Phillip’s sparkling cobalt ones. He gives me his ever-present wide grin, which I return before glancing down at the opening lines of my speech. On my left hand shines the silver surface of my clauddagh ring, with the tip of the heart facing down. I smile once to myself, take a breath, and begin.

A/N: This is the part where I shamelessly beg for reviews.