Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Hermione reconciles with her mother, tells her the story of her and Harry, and explains canon events; Harry has another nightmare, meets with Dumbledore and some goblins, and learns about Gaunt, Horcruxes, and Umbridge; the goblins bring a gift; Harry and Dumbledore see an important memory; there is a Tarot reading; and an important piece of Voldemort's past is revealed.

Thanks to: Betas Catch_the_Snitch, Sonicdale, Mr. Sean, MarkGardiner, Shane and Mumrarj.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 45 -The Parent And The Pensieve

Hermione was so upset over Harry's accident in the D.A. that she almost cancelled her trip. If she were visiting anyone in the world except her own mum, she would have rescheduled. But things were what they were, so promptly at nine in the morning she departed the Castle under Tonks' watchful escort.

Still, Hermione worried. Anxiety was in her nature, especially where Harry was concerned. Despite Madam Pomfrey's assurance that he would be fine - and would be awake long before she returned - she worried.

To Hell with Voldemort - Harry could have been killed right then and there - killed by the sheer happenstance of an inexperienced Fourth Year's accidental and premature ending of a Weight-Reversing Charm. Equally coincidentally, Hermione just happened to be with Harry at the critical moment. Her hasty spell had barely managed to deflect that cobble just enough so it had not dropped squarely on….

An involuntary attack of goose pimples swept over her.

…But then, if her conversation had not distracted him, maybe he could have avoided what happened. Everything could be second-guessed. Holding an overcrowded D.A. meeting in the Room of Requirement certainly invited second-guessing. It was unsafe. Something would have to be done.

Forget second-guessing. The actual event was bad enough. Although Hermione diverted it somewhat, a two-stone cobble still fell on Harry. Just the glancing blow fractured his skull. The solid strike to his shoulder shattered his collarbone so badly that it needed to be completely regrown. As he might thrash about in pain from the Skele-Gro and exacerbate his head injury, Madam Pomfrey consulted with Hlr. Huxley by Floo. Together, they made the Healing decision to leave Harry unconscious until the regeneration was complete.

Hermione stayed resolutely by her boyfriend's side, holding his hand whilst working through her complicated Arithmancy homework. At midnight, Madam Pomfrey finally put her foot down and shooed her out.

Ordinarily Tonks could be counted on for something to lift Hermione's spirits, but not this time. Rather than her usual outrageous hairstyle and flamboyant dress, the Auror accompanying Hermione was strangely subdued. She wore drab brown hair straight, close-cropped (for her) and in nondescript, mousy fashion. She looked, and acted, as if suffering from a stomachache, gas pains, or both.

Tonks offered no explanation, and deflected Hermione's questions. With more than enough to worry about - Harry in the Hospital Wing, and Mum awaiting somewhere at Order headquarters - Hermione did not pursue Tonks' mood swing.

Hermione felt like a cat on hot bricks as Tonks led her through the ever-changing magical labyrinth of what was once her own home. For better or worse, she would have closure with her mum. Mum had left Hogwarts Castle - by all accounts both defeated and desolate - when Hermione ordered her from her sight. Now, either they would reconcile or probably never see one another again. Her father had already vanished … and Australia was half a world away.

Only when Tonks stopped at a familiar door did Hermione know where the Order had lodged Mum. "Oh, Tonks," she complained. "The Order didn't have to rub it in like that, did they? The thought of Mum having to stay in my room - isn't that a little much?"

"I would agree, Hermione," Tonks replied seriously. "Except it wasn't anyone here looking for payback. She requested it."

Hermione considered that as the Auror wandlessly opened the door. "Take as long as you want," Tonks instructed. "When you're done, tap the doorknob twice with your wand. If you need anything - or anyone - let me know via your mirror."

The implicit offer to get Harry if Hermione needed him produced a faint smile. The girl knew better than anyone that Harry was at the centre of most of what had gone pear shaped with her family - just as he was now the fulcrum of her existence in so many other ways.

Mum was seated at Hermione's old davenport, nondescriptly dressed and in her stocking feet. Uncharacteristically Mum wore no makeup. Her brown hair, now flecked with grey, was held back with a simple clasp. At the sound of the door opening, the older woman looked up expectantly. The moment she saw her daughter enter the room, Dr. Eva Granger smiled broadly. It was a smile suggestive of deliverance.

Even upon seeing she was welcome, Hermione was tentative … after all that had happened.

"Hermione dear, why your hair…. It's - it's amazing," the older woman began. "It's lovely. Whatever did you do to get…?"

"You really don't want to know," Hermione responded with unusual frankness. She would no longer sugarcoat anything for Mum's benefit. Mum would have to accept her and her life the way it was. "It's one small benefit of nearly being burnt alive."

"Oh my dear," Mum retreated hastily. "I'm sorry. That wasn't a very good start, was it? I'm so relieved you've come." She beckoned her daughter to make herself comfortable in the other chair, or anywhere she chose. "Don't worry; I won't go off on you again. I've been so afraid I've lost you after what that damned lawyer talked me into doing."

Hermione cautiously slid into the chair. She'd made up her mind - there would be no blame shifting. "Mum," she said evenly, "that barrister worked for you, not the other way `round."

Dr. Granger's face fell at the reminder, more in sorrow than anything else. "You're right," she conceded. "Everything happened because of me. It's just … I thought they were killing you. I've lost everything else - your father, my friends, colleagues, much of my reputation - everything I had. I couldn't bear losing you, too, at least not without fighting to keep you."

Hermione continued being blunt. This would be a conversation between equals. "You know, don't you, that, if you'd succeeded in separating us, you'd have killed us both? Harry would have died instantly, and I would never have returned without him."

Mum nodded dolefully. "On the way out, your Head of House, that McGonagall, explained what I'd almost done - after I'd told all those reporters that everything was a huge mistake - that you were fine, after all. At least I did that right, I hope?"

"Yes, I think you did, Mum," Hermione allowed, permitting herself the first hint of a smile.

"But … you mean … you were in that state - whatever you were in - voluntarily?" Mum asked incredulously.

"Not at first," Hermione explained. "But later, by the time you found me, yes. I didn't realise it. I didn't even care. It took Harry coming for me to figure out that I ultimately held the keys to my own mental prison."

"So you'd never have come out, and would've shrivelled up and died otherwise?" Dr. Granger asked tentatively, still not seeming to grasp her daughter's motivations.

Hermione had trouble maintaining her even keel. The emotional baggage between the two women was tremendous. "Mummy, I need you to understand - or if that's too much, at least to accept…. I didn't want to live in a world without him, and I thought he was dead. Even though I thought he hated me."

"But he doesn't hate you, dear," Mum replied with that irritating expression that meant she thought she was telling Hermione something obvious. "Even I can see that."

"I know, Mum," Hermione replied with a touch of annoyance. "It's so much stronger now. Please - please, don't fight Harry. I love you both, but if you force a choice, I'll choose my future over my past. But … please … don't make me choose."

The dam burst. Hermione's face was soon half-hidden in her hands, as she tried to stop - or at least conceal - her tears. Internally, she berated her weakness. She arrived so determined not to go to pieces, and all her resolve vanished within five minutes.

"I won't make you choose, dear," the older woman said softly. She closed the space between them and kneeled down beside Hermione who sat in her favourite rocker. "He saved your life, and not for the first time. When I saw how he looked at you…. I can't deny what's there any longer. Your father did, and look where that got him."

"Is there any word?" the girl mumbled. "Any word at all?"

"None, I'm afraid," Dr. Granger admitted. "None whatsoever. It's as if he vanished from the face of the earth after Singapore. I'm almost positive he's not dead, but he obviously planned this. And then - everything happened. He had to know what was coming … and he left us."

Mum started sniffling, too, and then worse. Soon they both sought comfort in each other's arms - the mum trying to prevent her future from slipping away, the daughter similarly trying to preserve her past.

"Can you … forgive my stupidity?" the older woman asked.

Hermione answered, "If you can set aside everything I kept from you the last several years."

"I can't dwell on the past, anyway," Mum confessed. "It's too painful."

"I still love you, Mum, and I always will," Hermione blubbered.

With that, they shared their biggest hug since before Hermione went away to Hogwarts.

Having renewed their bonds in the shadow of their separate, but mutual, tragedies, Hermione's mum asked in a faltering voice, "Have you known for long, Hermione - about Harry, I mean?"

"It's - It's a long story," Hermione answered. "More of a continuum, than some sudden revelation. At least for me. Harry? I'm still not sure when he knew."

"One thing I have right now is time, I guess," Dr. Granger sighed, encouraging her daughter to confide in her, as she once did before magic - and a certain magical boy - came between them.

"It - it goes back before I even hoped that Harry might think of me in that way," Hermione began. "Of course I've always thought him more just-plain-Harry than anything else. That's what he wants. But after what happened in First Year, a part of me can't stop seeing him as almost some Prince Charming, and me the færie tale princess. I know that's stupid…. I'm nobody's princess."

"That's not stupid, that's sweet," Mum commented.

"But face it, most people wouldn't call me a sweet person," Hermione protested. "It's stupid for me of all people to think in those terms. And in my stupidity, I deliberately fought against what I actually wanted - him. At least, unlike some, I made sure to stay away from overt hero worship…."

"But you just told me, and from what I've seen, he really is a hero - not to mention a prince," Mum pointed out.

"It doesn't matter, he hates that kind of thing," Hermione answered. "I knew it, and was bloody determined to stay away from that. So I went overboard in opposite direction. That's how I nearly drove him away for good. I just … well, I couldn't deal with so many complications. Then all the other things began emerging - first, his fame, and then, wham, all that money," Hermione ended, muttering as much to herself as to her mum.

Mum had the good sense to say nothing.

After collecting herself, Hermione continued.

"You know, I went to Hogwarts - to this new school - not much different than I'd fled the other one, as a know-it-all, the Bookworm. I was bossy, bushy-haired, and bucktoothed. In short, a perfect bitch-in-the-making. That's what they had called me, you know, in primary. First `Bitch Hermione,' and then after the staff got on them for language, shortened to `B-miney'."

Mum lifted her hand to her mouth in shock. "I had no idea. Why didn't you say something?" she commented.

"Getting you involved would only have made it worse. I'm sorry, but that's true," Hermione answered. "If I'd grassed on them, everyone would just have hated me worse."

"I'm so sorry," Dr. Granger commiserated.

"And Hogwarts started out the same way," Hermione continued, regaining her stride. "I had no friends, and worse I didn't know how to make any. If not for Harry, I'd probably have been so lonely as to have a psychotic break."

Hermione declined to mention that she had suffered just such a nervous breakdown only a few weeks before, the first time she thought Harry had died.

"Then, tell me honestly," Mum pressed, seeing her daughter both reasonably calm and reasonably willing to talk, "do you think he's the one?"

Hermione cocked her head and looked somewhat askance. "I suppose you did have to ask, but I thought it was obvious - to you, of all people. Yes I do. If he'll have me. After what's happened, I don't see myself ever voluntarily leaving him…. He'd have to drive me away, and he's not like that."

Mother eyed daughter with a smile, but one that carried an air of defeat. "Actually it has been obvious, and for some time. I tried to fight it, that's all. I need you to humour me. I'm trying to come to terms with it all. I've been in denial. Edwin - we both were."

A faraway look - one that Hermione could sympathise with - shone in her eyes.

"Let me put it this way," Mum continued, "how many letters have you posted to us since you started at Hogwarts - what is it now - you were eleven then, and now you're seventeen?"

"It must be hundreds," Hermione guessed. "I tried writing at least once every two weeks, and until this past year I was pretty good about it."

"Good?" Mum chuckled. "That doesn't do you justice, Hermione dear. You were like clockwork. It was every week through your first two years - except for when you were paralysed in your Second Year."

"That's `petrified,' Mum," Hermione corrected.

Dr. Granger shuddered at the memory, "Very well, petrified, then. And you wrote reliably every two weeks thereafter. Now, in how many letters did you not mention Harry, at least by reference, if not name?"

"Er … I don't know," Hermione said slowly, mentally reviewing the mass of her correspondence. Many of those letters had been less than fully honest - or at least incomplete - but she had always written about something going on at Hogwarts.

Mum held up her hand, thumb pressed against forefinger. "Exactly zero," she said. "Edwin saved them all, and we even had them bound…."

"Why on Earth do that?" Hermione wondered out loud.

"It figures," the older woman sighed. "From our perspective we've always worried…." She looked down, unsure of herself. "We wanted to save a record of what you were like…. In case, well, we lost you to this other world…."

"You should have known you'd never lose me," Hermione responded quickly.

"But you know that's not true," Mum stood her ground. "You've as good as said as much in this very conversation…."

That stopped Hermione cold - because Mum was quite right.

"I'm sorry, Mum," Hermione conceded.

"That makes two of us," came the maternal response. "But I, at least - Edwin probably didn't - thought you might want them some day for your … well, children…."

"I don't know when, if ever, that will be," the daughter immediately tried putting the kibosh on such speculation. "I certainly haven't discussed it…."

But, Hermione realised, there were other parents, and other children.

"All in good time," Eva answered, in her most condescending, mother-knows-best tone of voice. "It's not like the other party to that conversation is a mystery anymore. Edwin always thought…."

"I'm not at all interested in what Daddy thought," Hermione cut across. "He made his opinion of Harry quite clear when he tried to start a fistfight."

"Edwin wasn't always that way," Mum said defensively, "only after all those dangerous things you hid from us came out. As I was trying say … your letters … last year he checked them. He suspected your feelings for Harry before I did - or at least before I was willing to look at reality."

"You were always, Harry this and Harry that," she continued. "We thought nothing of it - until you first mentioned his doing something dramatic. You were economical with the truth at the time, but that was the troll incident, I believe…. After that, we paid attention."

"As well you should have, Mum," Hermione commented. "That troll … Harry saved my life for the first time, and we became friends. You do know that he - and Ron - were the first real friends I ever had?"

Hermione sighed. Such intense friendship was a two edged sword. She understood that now. Harry's friendship was so very valuable that fear of losing it had restrained her - maybe both of them - from going beyond, until almost too late.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Mum answered. "That much was always clear. But as far as things being more than friendly, we first suspected when you wrote so much about that broom game … er…."

"Quidditch," Hermione offered.

"Yes, Quidditch," Dr. Granger agreed.

"Your father first broached that possibility when you began writing about Harry's play - even though you had nothing to do with the game yourself."

"I never had anything to do with sports," Hermione protested.

"Precisely my point, dear" Mum emphasised. "You set off Edwin's fatherly instincts the moment you, of all people, betrayed interest in a competitive sport…. You'd never had that before. You disdained them all - football, cricket, even badminton."

Hermione fidgeted. Her father had been rather more perceptive than she had thought.

"So, you see, on some level, we both sensed that Harry was special - extremely special - to you for quite some time. We let it go, because it … he … made you happy." She sighed, and Hermione could see the wistful glint in her eye returning. "But finally, it got so dangerous. We felt we had to do something. We tried, at least, but I'll bet you'll tell me it was already too late."

"Yes, too late," Hermione agreed. "But I'm afraid it got late early."

"Late, early," Mum repeated. "Yes…. So how far do you see it going?"

For one crazy instant Hermione considered telling her about the Mirror of Erised, but thought better of it. Mum could be rather prim, and throwing something like that in her face - why do that, when she seemed groping her way towards acceptance?

Hermione leaned back in the rocker, and stared for a moment at the ceiling, gathering her thoughts. Without making eye contact, she asked, "Mum, when you fell in love with Daddy, how did you know he was the one?"

Hermione heard the expected audible intake of breath. "That's both a question and an answer, dear," Mum commented.

"I suppose it is," the daughter agreed, "but from what you saw the other day, you must've suspected."

"That's why we're having this conversation, dear," Mum conceded. "You're my daughter; I love you very much; and I've accepted that I can't - and shouldn't - stand in the way of what you truly want."

"You never answered my question," Hermione reminded.

"How did I know he was more than some passing crush?" Mum looked rather anxious. The two had conducted a rather pro forma birds-and-bees chat on the occasion of Hermione's first period (thankfully, during the summer holiday), but never had they discussed anything like this - focussing on specific people.

"Well, Edwin … you know … he was always a little hot-headed - sometimes rather more than a little. And he was always fascinated with those awful guns…."

"How was he allowed to keep them?" Hermione broke in. Her impression was that UK gun control restrictions were quite strict.

"Oh, he always had some official connexion or another," Mum complained. "Usually some cock and bull story that keeping cocaine on hand at the surgery made him a target of some sort. But anyway…."

"I'm sorry," Hermione realised. "I shouldn't have butted in like that."

"No matter," Mum dismissed it. "He caught the awful habit from his time with the Yanks, I think. Once, shortly after we were dating, he got so angry at someone - I don't even remember who anymore - that he stormed out of his flat taking one of those guns with him. I was so terrified that I couldn't move. I was afraid he would end up in prison, or worse. He didn't, of course. Cooler heads prevailed. But that's when I figured out that I really, really fancied him, and that I'd be devastated if he were the victim, or the cause, of anything untoward…."

She started sniffling, and daubed her eyes with a tissue from her handbag. "…and I still feel that way … to this day. Oh, I miss him, and I'm so afraid!"

Another crying fit ensued, and again Hermione found herself in the unusual position of trying to comfort her mum. Once she had Mum calmed down, it was Hermione's turn to field the next personal question.

"And - and you," Mum looked at Hermione with troubled eyes, but with more happiness mixed in than before, "I'm sure it wasn't guns, but there must have been something … something that prompted, well … you and Harry?"

"He's been my best friend and confidante for years. You've read all my letters, and now you've seen the stories in the Prophet as well - the truth as well as the junk," Hermione commented. "I'm certain you've gotten reasonably familiar with the story of his life."

"Not him," Mum corrected, "you and him."

"Umm…. How far back do you want me to go?" she looked at Mum.

"Like I said, I've nothing but time at the moment," Dr. Granger answered. "How about at the beginning?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Right. The beginning it is, then," she reluctantly agreed. Harry had recently adopted the slogan "no more lies." So would she. It would be so much easier if Mum would accept, rather than just tolerate, the truth about her relationship with Harry.

"You know, it could have been love at first sight … only it took me ages to acknowledge it." Hermione repeated out loud something she had grasped during those weeks of desolation. "I never realised just how long it could take to fall in love at first sight."

"Hermione, I do believe you're turning into a romantic," Mum commented.

"It's Harry's doing," Hermione replied. "The story…. Well, first there was … you've seen the Hogwarts Express. As you know, I was eleven. A fellow First Year - his name was Neville - lost Trevor."

"Trevor? Was he one of those…?"

"No, Mum, Trevor was Neville's pet toad."

"Neville, then?" Mum repeated, as if searching for something mentally. "Was he one of those…?"

"Yes, Mum," Hermione anticipated. "He was one of the Ministry Six. Now if you will…."

"Poor boy," Mum went on, "he lost his parents the same evening our surgery was attacked."

Hermione had to stop and take another breath. She had not known Mum to be aware of that. Worse, thinking about all those attacks - how Death Eaters had deliberately targeted all six of their families - made her stop and perform an emotional gut check.

"Anyway, I'm willing to tell you the story of Harry and me, if you're willing to hear it," Hermione finally offered.

"Yes … quite. Please go on." Mum got the message.

"So I was helping look for this toad, and I checked a compartment where a scrawny, black-haired boy with taped-together glasses was watching another boy, whom he'd just met, trying to do magic. The spell was rubbish, but that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was the expression on his face. He was enthralled; magic was obviously new to him."

"From that I deduced that here was somebody like me - another Muggle-born, even though I didn't know that term at the time. He'd just found out about being magical, and why he'd always been different than the other kids. That was him, and that was me." She held up two fingers, side by side. "I was horrible, I'm afraid," Hermione admitted. "I was quite abrupt with Ron - the other boy…."

"The boy you shared so much time with at that grim place over last year's holiday," Mum remarked vaguely. "The redhead…."

"Yes, indeed, that was he," Hermione confirmed a bit impatiently.

"We liked him - your father and I," Mum went on, "as a safer alternative to Harry."

Hermione's back stiffened, with confirmation of something she had always suspected. "He wouldn't have been any safer," she said a bit peevishly. "Almost every time I've been endangered, he's been in the thick of it, right with Harry and me. And besides, when we're together for very long, all Ron and I do is fight. Sometimes it's so hard to have a civilised conversation with him."

"I'm sorry, then," Mum retreated. "Sometimes, though, bickering can be a form of flirting."

Hermione's lips pursed. "Well, at times I've suspected that Ron may have thought the same thing," Hermione replied evenly. "But for me it's not. Bickering is just that - bickering. I don't like fighting. I don't want to work that hard, and with Harry, petty bickering isn't an issue."

"Poor dear," Mum continued. "Maybe he was just being overenthusiastic."

"Maybe he was just being a prat," Hermione cut her mum off. Ron was one subject they did not need to discuss in any depth. "It doesn't matter anyway. I've told you before and I'll tell you again, he never really had a chance. In fact, I told him so the summer before Fifth Year. It wasn't just Ron, though. Nobody else really did, except for a couple of months with Viktor."

That drew a response. "Ugh! That horrible Russian who tried to get you to marry him when you were only sixteen? Even Harry has the sense to wait."

"He was Bulgarian, Mum," Hermione corrected. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Yes … Please," Mum answered. "I'm sorry."

"We're getting ahead of ourselves, so back to First Year," Hermione circled back. "It was all too obvious to me that history was repeating itself. I started being ostracised again. All those Pure-bloods - the kids with Wizard parents … they had been brought up to feel superior, and I reacted by constantly demonstrating my own superiority at anything I was good at. That hardly endeared me to my classmates. They talked about me behind my back. I heard the dreaded B-word again. Even Harry wasn't my friend then, but he wasn't horrid, either. I at least felt like I had something in common with him. The others could be hateful; he wasn't."

"Along came Halloween, and the troll…," Hermione paused. "You already know the outlines of that. Ron made a nasty comment about me to Harry, which I overheard. I thought, `even them,' and I cracked. That's how ended up in that bathroom, crying my eyes out. I was wondering whether I even wanted to stay at the school, I was so lonely."

Hermione shuddered and continued, "Well, enter this three-metre tall troll. It would have killed me, I'm sure of it. Then, from out of nowhere, here come Harry and Ron…, two absurdly tiny boys against this huge monster. Harry jumped on the thing's back to distract it whilst Ron cast a lucky spell that levitated the troll's club and dropped it on its own head. The image that's stayed with me - and sometimes haunts me still - is Harry on the back of that raging beast, his wand up its nose, hanging on for dear life."

Hermione sighed. "At that moment, he was my savior, a færie story come true in a færie story castle. He had saved my life - something he's done quite a few times since, but the first time still stands out."

"First times always do," Dr. Granger commented obscurely.

"From then on the three of us became friends - that's three, not two," Hermione emphasised carefully. "They were equal, but Harry was always somehow a little bit more equal than Ron. I couldn't have told you why at that point. But the end of the term brought that episode with the Philosopher's Stone, and as I told you before, brought Harry face-to-face with Voldemort, and with death."

At the name, Dr. Granger made a hissing noise.

"Oh, don't you go doing that too!" Hermione interjected. "Anyway, I went along part way. He was my first real friend and a natural leader to boot. When I had to let him go finish it alone, I couldn't bear the tension, and I gave him a hug and … well, I wanted to kiss him for the first time in my life, but I didn't."

"Why not then? What happened?" Mum asked.

"Immaturity, I guess … that and the consequences of being wrong. Before I left, I-I called him a great wizard, but I'll never forget his reply," she explained. "He said he thought I was better, more clever, than he. It still shocks me when I think of it - but crazy as it sounds, he meant it. Here was this genuine hero, and … and …he respected me … little bookworm me … for what I knew from all those books. I knew then he really wasn't like the rest, not just for being some great hero, but in his attitude. He was the first person outside my own family who actually valued me for what I was. At that point, he was still just a friend. But for the first time I caught myself wanting him to be more."

"You were twelve years old," Dr. Granger commented.

"Yes, I was twelve years old," Hermione agreed. "That's five years ago. Harry is no passing fancy, Mum. You have to believe me. That's why I asked about you and Daddy."

Mum nodded for her to continue.

"Second Year we remained just good friends. I was still too immature to know what I was feeling, or what it meant. That year I got petrified. Whilst I was out of it, Harry and Ron saved Ginny's - Ron's little sister's - life from that almost twenty-metre Basilisk."

"Yes - one of those hidden incidents that came spilling out of you this June, I recall," Dr. Granger reminded. "I complained to that McGonagall about their vague notice omitting mention of any beast."

"I've said I was sorry over and over, Mum," Hermione said stiffly.

"I know," Mum responded. "I'm sorry too."

"Anyway, that's not why I brought it up," Hermione went on. "Rather, just after I'd recovered, at the final feast of the year, I ran to Harry when I first saw him. I gave him a huge hug and almost kissed him - on the cheek, Mum…. But again I didn't quite have the nerve. I wasn't that precocious. He was my best friend, and … well I never really had many friends. I had to protect that."

"Third Year … that was different. Harry's godfather - whom we all thought was a vicious murderer, but wasn't - escaped from the wizard prison, Azkaban. Everyone thought he wanted to kill Harry. Again, I was so frightened that I might lose my best friend … friends, actually, since Ron was attacked too. But I realised that, even though Ron was the one actually assaulted, I was more worried about Harry. He was the target, we thought. And but for the grace of Merlin, what happened to Ron … it could have been Harry, and I didn't know if I could handle that. Those feelings led to my entertaining for the first time that someday there might be something more than friendship between us … that there might be a happily ever after in our lives."

Hermione started coughing. She had been monologuing quite a while, and her throat was incredibly parched.

"Oh, you poor dear," Dr. Granger said worriedly. She went to the tiny Muggle refrigerator the Order had supplied (anything bigger would have been shorted out by rampant magic). "Care for a Sprite Z?" she asked.

"No fizzy drinks for me, thanks," Hermione declined. "Have you any juice?"

"There's an Orangina," Mum answered, rooting about.

"Yes, please," Hermione gratefully rasped.

When seated again, Mum prompted, "Next is the rescue of Sirius Black. You and that Time-Turner. The same thing that wrecked my best-laid plans."

"Plans that could have killed both me and Harry," Hermione pointedly reminded her in a noticeably harsher voice.

"My best hasn't been very good, has it?" Mum sighed in resignation.

Hermione let Mum's comment pass.

"Harry had a number of scrapes that year, with werewolves, Boggarts, and - we thought - Sirius Black. He survived them all, and each time I felt more and more profound relief, like you did after Daddy didn't shoot anyone, I'd reckon. From that point on, my emotional state depended increasingly on his safety. Ron got hurt too. He broke his leg, but qualitatively it wasn't the same, and I knew it."

"Then Harry saved my life again, although I didn't know it was he at the time."

"You didn't?" Mum asked, the incredulity being obvious.

"It was Harry from the future," Hermione explained. "He produced a Patronus … er … did some very difficult and advanced magic. With it, he drove away a horde of awful, disgusting Dementors, who were probably seconds away from stealing my soul and leaving me a vegetable."

"Ugh," Mum recoiled. "I don't think you've told us, or at least me, about that before."

"I found out who a few hours later, although `later' really doesn't make a lot of sense. The rescue itself was when I mentally crossed the divide between friendly and what I had to admit were romantic feelings for Harry," Hermione disclosed. "We went back in time - just the two of us - with this golden chain holding us together."

Hermione saw Mum shaking her head in wonder. "I still don't believe all this," Mum remarked. "It's just so astounding - like something out of H.G. Wells … a time-travelling daughter."

"That was the least of my problems, Mum," Hermione corrected. "I'd been using it almost every day for months. What was new, and terrifying, was flying on the back of Buckbeak. He's a Hippogriff, a gigantic half eagle, half horse. We flew up to a seventh storey window - and I've always avoided flying. I was scared to death, but I wasn't going to leave Harry, I just couldn't. So I rode behind him, bareback, and sort of hung on with all I had. I wasn't even looking; my face was jammed in his back so hard my nose hurt. I held onto him like there was nothing else in the world."

Hermione paused, took a sip, and mentally calmed herself down.

"And you know what? With him, I felt secure. Although I was twenty metres in the air, on the back of this lunatic, heaving animal, holding onto him I felt that somehow everything would turn out okay. And for a brief time, it did, but only for a bit. Although we rescued Sirius, he was a fugitive. He had to leave, and that meant Harry was all alone again. Poor Harry!"

"He'd never known his parents, and now he had to stand there and watch - watch his godfather fly off and leave him. Harry was always so alone. Well, I didn't want to leave him alone that night. That's when I knew that, if he'd let me, I would be with him, for as long as and in every way possible. Sure, a lot of little girl `Some Day My Prince Will Come' was still wrapped up in it, but the basic feeling hasn't changed much since - it's just matured."

Hermione looked at her mum, sitting across from her. For the first time, she seemed to be tearing up over her daughter's description of her feelings about Harry - the boy Mum had only recently come to Hogwarts determined to separate Hermione from, no matter what.

Hermione took another long slug of Orangina.

"But then things got bad," she added. "Harry sort of, well … fell in love … with someone else - someone so pretty that I had no chance of competing. I had to stand there and take it. And I did."

"Actually, you didn't," Dr. Granger reminded. "You dated Viktor Krum."

"He dated me," Hermione corrected. "I-I-I admit, I wasn't sure what I wanted for a while, but I eventually concluded that I never really wanted Viktor. There weren't any sparks, even when I let him kiss me."

"Given what happened, I suspect he'd disagree," Mum observed. "He sent letters too, I recall, but we never kept them. And he asked you to marry him when you were barely sixteen.… Ugh!"

"Mother, I turned him down!" Hermione raised her voice. "And as for the letters, well, they weren't addressed to you. They were for me."

"And what exactly was Krum for you?" Mum asked directly.

Hermione sighed. "Viktor … for me, I think I simply wanted the feeling that came with someone wanting me. It was an ego boost, yes, since so many other girls got jealous, but ultimately, it's always been Harry. Anyway, after the blow up with the marriage proposal, Viktor and I agreed just to be friends - and now we're not even that, I'm afraid."

"Well, it's not surprising that someone like him, a famous athlete and all, found someone else," Mum sniffed.

"Actually, that's quite wrong," Hermione disclosed. "He was still - as far as I could tell - unattached when I wrote him earlier this summer and told him I wouldn't be writing him anymore."

"Why did you do that?" Mum queried, mystified.

"I thought he'd become an obstacle to what I really wanted," Hermione explained. "Harry seemed somehow insecure, or maybe jealous, of Viktor. It seemed like a small enough price to pay, since we had nothing more between us, but Viktor wrote a long, pleading letter back. He guessed what was going on - that it had to do with Harry."

"He shouldn't have made you do that," Mum tutted. "Just because you fancy Harry, doesn't give him the right to tell you who your friends are."

"He didn't," Hermione answered. "Harry doesn't even know what I did. Truthfully, Ron was always more bothered by my corresponding with Viktor than Harry ever was. But now, I don't think I even needed to do that. I think I misunderstood what Harry was feeling. Unfortunately, it's water under the bridge."

"Just as well," Mum supposed. "There was always something creepy about that Krum. But maybe I was just prejudging. It's just - that accent could be quite off-putting."

"Mother! You couldn't have talked to him more than twice - and then only about travel arrangements," Hermione reproached. "But anyway, Viktor turned out to be a substitute, although not a bad one for a while, for what I really wanted. All his jealous fan girls would be shocked to hear that. They envied me more over Viktor than when all those horrid press stories linked me with Harry during that same year - even though that wasn't true."

Hermione sighed again. "But I couldn't tell him then. He wanted a relationship with someone else, and I was mortified that he would tell me he didn't feel the same way about me … why should he with someone so much prettier in the picture? His knowing how I felt would have ruined our friendship - made him unable to confide in me. He was always uncomfortable with that kind of emotion. He was so unloved as a little boy. He had horrid relatives…." Hermione stopped, and grasped what she was doing. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just rambling now."

"Don't be, dear," Mum said softly. "It's a lovely story - really…."

"Only if you didn't have to live it," Hermione muttered. "There was the Yule Ball - something I did tell you about. I was certain Harry wouldn't ask me. Nor was I ready to ask him. He finally scraped together the nerve to ask Cho Chang, the pretty one I mentioned. Who's ironically with Ron now…."

That brought back Hermione's memory of those pictures and the aftermath. She shuddered again.

"Are you cold, dear?" Mum asked.

"Oh, no! Just, anxious, I guess," Hermione recovered. "This next part's not very nice. Anyway, he'd been making eyes at her for … oh, too long. He was more obvious than he thought he was." Hermione fidgeted because this part of the story was difficult. "It hurt me to see it. Anyway, Harry asked her out - and she turned him down. I just prayed after that … that he wouldn't ask me, and he didn't."

"You didn't want him to ask you to the ball?" Mum repeated incredulously.

"Viktor had already asked me, and I'd accepted," Hermione explained. "I was locked in … sense of obligation, I suppose. It would have ruined everything for us both if I had to turn him down - especially right after Cho's rejection. A second turn down would have crushed him. Harry's suffered so much rejection in his life. His upbringing has left him with self-esteem problems."

Mum shook her head at that bizarre but undeniable truth.

"Anyway, instead of Harry, Ron asked me, and I had no trouble refusing him," she continued. "He was very mean upon being turned down - and I wasn't nice to him either. Ron was being … a prick…."

"Hermione!" Mum responded to the language.

"Get over it, Mum," Hermione reacted. "My two best friends are boys, after all."

"It's just not very ladylike," Mum persisted.

"I'm not much of a lady, then," daughter resisted. "Now let me tell you why that's true."

"Oh, go on, then," Mum surrendered.

Hermione did. "Anyway, Ron presumed I would be a wallflower - that nobody would think of going to the ball with me. He expected me to fall all over myself when he finally asked, at the very last minute. He acted like he was doing me a favour. I'll never forget the look on his face when he finally got it through his head that I meant it when I said I already had a date. I purposely didn't tell him it was Viktor. Ron was Quidditch-crazy and fawned over Viktor like so many others. He didn't find out until the ball itself. We had a huge row after that. He was mad at me, mad at Viktor, and mad at the world. Ron implied that he'd actually wanted to invite me for some time. I screamed at him that he needed to learn how to ask, but let slip that I likely would have agreed."

Mum knew what that meant without having to be told. "That's unfortunate," she commented.

Hermione gave her a wry smile. "Yup, even though true. Before Viktor I was afraid I wouldn't have any date. Still, it was a very wrong thing to say. Quite wrong. I think it gave both Ron and Harry - he overheard us, almost everybody in the House did, since we were both screaming…. They both got the wrong idea. It suggested to Ron that I might like him, that way. And it drove Harry away. He later told me that he thought I fancied Ron because of what I'd said."

"Well, back to Cho, anyway," Hermione changed direction. "I never really believed they were right for each other - no surprise there. But Harry had to get her out of his system; that I knew. He would never look at me until he'd seen through her. That much was obvious at the end of Fourth Year, when I snuck him a kiss when nobody else was looking."

"That was rather bold of you," the elder Granger remarked.

"Hardly. I'd only waited three years…. Anyway, it was something of a test. I'm not the type just to pine away, even after Harry. I was feeling my oats after outsmarting that obnoxious reporter who'd written all those terrible stories I've mentioned. Harry - well, he just looked so sad, there in the station, after the Weasleys said their goodbyes. He had to go back to those awful relatives of his for the entire holiday, or so I thought. But I'm not kidding myself; I wanted to do it for me, too."

"But, as a test, it failed," Mum commented.

Hermione's face fell. "As a test, it failed," she agreed. "He wasn't ready for me. I had to back off."

"And then last year was just miserable," Hermione continued with the story. "Harry was constantly in trouble about one thing or another. He was having terrible nightmares. That, that … bitch … Umbridge took over the school. And in the midst of it all, Harry finally got what he thought he wanted, and got together with Cho."

"Well, you got rid of her," Mum offered. She had remained stoically silent at her daughter's latest choice of adjectives.

"I did indeed," Hermione confirmed. "Not one of my finer moments in some ways. But still, when Harry finally decided he'd rather be with me than her - I had a hard time believing it, I was over the moon."

"I meant that Umbridge," Mum responded, her eyes darkening as the name crossed her lips. "But you said you also got rid of Cho?"

"Umbridge I'm proud of, but Cho…. I said it wasn't one of my finer moments," Hermione admitted. "It was devious, and it's probably not right to be devious about something like that."

"All's fair in love and war," Mum commented. "So what did you do?"

"In that case, it's more like `failure comes not from falling down, but in not getting up again,'" Hermione replied to Mum's adage with her own.

"So what did you do?" Mum asked as she leaned forward to hear the next bit.

"He kept Cho on a pedestal, and I had to knock her off. So I gambled. I more or less encouraged Harry to go out with her," Hermione explained, "reasoning in my heart of hearts, that if they did, they probably wouldn't like each other. It was a calculated risk, but it worked. Anyway, after quite a bit of hemming and hawing - from his upbringing, Harry's always had a hard time believing that anyone could have feelings for him - they stumbled into each other's arms around Christmas. I think I was the first person he told, along with Ron, that they'd kissed."

"But like I thought, they weren't very compatible," she added. "For the first time in my life I actually paid attention to the gossip-mongers around Hogwarts. The word I got back was that she still wasn't over Cedric - that's a previous boyfriend of hers, who got in Voldemort's way and was murdered."

Mum shuddered. "That's what I hate about this magical world. You toss around somebody getting murdered like it was something that happens every day."

"Unfortunately, we have a war on," Hermione replied tersely, her hackles being raised. She was glad she had omitted Harry's part in Cedric's death. "But actually, he was the first Hogwarts student to die like that in I don't know how long."

Hermione doubled back from that line of inquiry. "Anyway, back to Cho. The other thing I heard was that, when Cho wasn't moping about one thing or another, she was saying catty things about me - she didn't like me being Harry's best friend. Right jealous, she was. It wasn't very hard to figure out that, eventually, she'd force Harry to drop me if he wanted a serious relationship with her."

"That's not very nice," Mum agreed.

"She's not that nice of a person, either," Hermione replied, grimacing a bit. "She's got her hooks into Ron now, and even though I'm relieved he's not focussed on me anymore, I'm still somewhat concerned. If she lets him down, it won't be easy for him."

A mischievous look appeared in Hermione's eyes as she recounted what happened next. "Anyway, she wasn't wrong, either - to worry about me, I mean. Whilst I'd never stoop so low as to make a direct move on someone else's boyfriend…." Hermione paused, remembering how close she had come to just that when Harry was with Eliza. "…I'm not above a little indirect plotting. I encouraged him to ask her to Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day, but I set up a press interview for him in the middle of that date. The reporter chose the time, but I didn't object. I'd be present to supervise the interview, of course."

Mum gave Hermione a conspiratorial grin. "And I gather things unfolded the way you expected."

"They certainly did." Hermione grinned back. "They were together in a tea shop when he told her he had to leave early for the interview. He must have mentioned me being there, because she certainly did. She made him choose. When he did, she yelled at him at the top of her lungs and dumped him right then and there, in public, for all to see. I heard several versions from eyewitnesses. The one most sympathetic to Cho came from Harry himself, which tells you the kind of person he is. And I don't have to tell you I was so pleased - when forced, he chose me rather than her, even though she was snogging him, and I wasn't."

"So then, Harry was free and so were you," Mum observed.

"Yes, but," Hermione said as her shoulders slumped, "we were still only best friends."

"You know the saying, though," Mum broke in, "the one about good friends making good lovers." To Hermione's astonishment, Mum actually giggled a bit.

"I do, and believe me, I think so, too," Hermione replied a bit impatiently. "The problem was going from him and me to us. It still wasn't in the cards. Umbridge was awful. The D.A. got found out - thanks to one of Cho's unreliable friends. Dumbledore got sacked. Umbridge replaced him and was looking for some way to expel Harry. She found it too. I managed to worm us out of that one, but doing that turned into the Ministry adventure where I was almost killed. And I think you know the rest."

As she mentioned the Ministry fiasco, Hermione's hand instinctively went to where Dolohov's curse had hit her. But she drew back. That scar was gone - because the affected skin was also gone. Her latest ordeal had required complete regrowth of almost every bit of her skin.

"Well, there's one thing I don't know, and I hope you can see fit to tell me," Mum asked. "What you just went through - the coma - did Harry cause that, too? I could never get a straight answer from anybody at your school, which was a big part of why I did what I did."

"I'm not sure," Hermione replied carefully, looking into her hands. "Harry was involved, yes, but we haven't discussed it much. It's so traumatic. He went missing for weeks. I found him, mentally, using some very difficult magic. Our minds were in contact when suddenly, somehow, Voldemort appeared. Harry screamed something about protecting me. Then I felt something awful, like I was in the presence of immense out-of-control power. Something struck me. Whether it came from Harry, Voldemort, both of them together, or something else, I still don't know for certain. It was incredibly hot, incredibly bright … and then I was gone. I woke up deep in the recesses of my own mind - wherever it is that my magic is seated. There I stayed until Harry came and drew me out. And that's the truth as I know it."

Mum heaved a great sigh, feeling very stupid and very lucky at the same time. "So where does it go from here?" she asked. "Was Harry being honest the other day when he said the two of you had never had sex?"

"Mother!" Hermione replied, with her best scandalised voice. Still, the question was one she had always thought would arise at some point in this conversation.

"I'm sorry," Mum backtracked.

"No, it was just … rather abrupt," Hermione spoke more calmly, afraid she might have overdone things. "Like I said, I'd rather you ask me, not him, the sex questions."

"And?"

"No, we haven't. What's going to happen? Well, I can't see myself without him, now. Why didn't I want to come back from the coma? I thought he'd died, and I didn't feel like living without him - it was slow suicide, I guess. I know I'm terribly young for this, but I'm convinced I want to be with him for the rest of my life…. That is, if he'll have me."

"You're in love," Dr. Granger summed things up.

"We're in love," Hermione corrected. "We had that conversation, and that's why I'm back here." The girl looked out the window dreamily. "I just don't know where it goes from here."

Mother studied daughter very intently. "I suppose you want to have sex with him, then?"

This time Hermione did not even bother trying to feign embarrassment. Instead, she returned an ironic sort of smile. "What do you think?"

"Other than that you should take precautions…? Well, I only have one frame of reference," Mum replied. "When I was with your father, with that gun incident behind us.… My God! Sometimes I wanted him so badly, that I dreamt about it. It was all I could do not to ask him."

Hermione got squeamish. Perhaps answering her question with a question had not been a good idea. Over the years, mother and daughter had shared many things - even sex, from an academic standpoint, of course - but one thing she had always avoided discussing had been her parents' sex life.

Ugh! Too much information.

Having a choice, she'd rather talk about her own sex life, since so far that remained entirely hypothetical.

"I think that's about right," the girl allowed. "I can't say that I haven't had my own dreams of that sort." For a second time, steered clear of the Mirror of Erised, and also that incident with the condom. "…And the generation gap being what it is, if Harry doesn't ask me, after all that's happened, unlike you, I may well ask him."

"Hermione!" Mum gasped, "you wouldn't be that forward, would you? I was being facetious. Well, sort of…."

"You raised it," Hermione replied strongly. "I assumed you wanted the truth. Besides - you know Professor McGonagall, the prim one? She said after you'd left that Harry and I, what we did to rescue one another was already altogether more intimate than mere sex."

"So it's `mere sex,' is it? Well, you will be careful, won't you?" Mum asked urgently. "We've already had that talk, so I assume you remember what to do. It's just - well, things can happen so suddenly, and it's hard to think straight sometimes. I'll tell you what my mother told me. Until you're sure, don't dare lock the door."

Hermione once again feared learning something she'd rather not know about her parents, so she answered one of Mum's questions, and let the rest pass. "Of course, I'll be careful. We witches have plenty of options. I've already learnt several. That parental consent form you signed for Fourth Year involved that. But I will revise that material, I promise."

"Young lady," Mum remonstrated. "I'm not trying to encourage you."

"I don't need encouragement, Mum," Hermione retorted. Then she sighed, and added. "If anything, he does."

"I'll be thankful for small favours, then," Mum replied.

Hermione clenched her jaw, gritted her teeth, counted to ten, and then replied, "Look, there'll come a time that, yes, Harry and I will have sex - but not right away. I'm in love with him, and he's in love with me. I want that moment to be perfect, and I have to think he does too. It's not going to be some bumbling grope session in a broom closet, like some people I've known." Hermione stopped. She was not going to bring Ron and Cho (or, if the rumours were correct, certain others she could name) into things.

"That's nice to hear," Mum said demurely.

"But don't expect me to wait until after we're married if Harry doesn't want to," Hermione warned. "I've already committed my heart and my soul to him - not to mention risking my life - and I expect that someday in the not too distant future, my body will follow … and his too," she added suggestively.

"Well, I know I can't stop you," Mum admitted, with a touch of regret. "And I can't bear losing you over him. You've always had a wonderful head on your shoulders, so I have to trust you. Anyway, what do you think I should do now?"

"There's nothing you need do," Hermione responded, happy with their evident reconciliation, "you've already done it."

"Sorry," Mum said. "I meant with myself. I mean I can't stay here. I have to go somewhere, but - but my life's been turned upside down, with Edwin a fugitive. I never thought…."

Her mum started to cry. Hermione put her arms around her, trying to comfort her. Hermione remembered her conversation with Dumbledore about just this eventuality, and once again marvelled at the Headmaster's prescience.

"It's not really my place to say," Hermione struggled, "but - for me - I think you should go on and start your new life Down Under. That's where all your things are, and it's pretty far away from … the unpleasantness here."

"You really think so?" Mum replied. "I mean - you won't…. I won't…. I wouldn't want to miss anything."

"Mum, it's not like Harry and I are on the verge of eloping," Hermione reassured. "Whatever happens, believe me, you'll be the first to know." She did not remind Mum that Harry essentially had no living relatives that he cared about.

The elder Granger sighed, a faraway look in her eye. "Well, whenever and wherever your wedding is, I want to be there."

"You will be, Mum. I promise."

"What do you think about…?"

The question was never asked, because at that moment, the door opened and Tonks reappeared. She bore a message from Dumbledore requesting that Hermione return to the Castle as soon as possible. Something had developed. Either Tonks did not know what it was, or she was deliberately playing ignorant in front of Hermione's mum.

"Oh, very well," Mum said with amused exasperation. "Your remarkable life calls." She rose and approached Hermione. "Thanks, dearest … for everything. I think I'll take your advice." She gathered her daughter into a great hug. - something they had not done in several years - since Hermione decided she had outgrown such things and let her parents know after First Year.

As she was leaving, Hermione turned back for one last piece of information. "Mum … uh … where are my letters, anyway?"

"Why right there in the bookshelf," she pointed at two large privately-bound tomes. "We moved them here whilst packing…."

"Thanks, Mum."

* * * *

In the Hospital Wing, Harry's concussion-induced sojourn with his deceased loved ones' memories faded. For an indeterminate period, he floated along in black, velvety nothingness. That void began swirling with unsettling and broken fragments of dreams. First, he was at the Ministry again. Then he was back at Hogwarts; then he was outside….

Somehow Death Eaters had managed to infiltrate the Castle. A furious battle developed. The staff shooed all of the students outside, where it was safer, whilst they battled the intruders within.

But outside proved not much safer after all. The students were beset by Dementors, giants, trolls, and giant spiders. Harry rallied the D.A. into action. Hurling Patronuses right and left, the group he and Hermione had founded fought valiantly and eventually routed Voldemort's Dark allies.

The battle was over. Harry spoke with the Headmaster, speculating about how Death Eaters could have accessed the Castle. Hermione worked in tandem with Professor McGonagall supervising captured Dark creatures.

Suddenly he heard a snapping sound - then a roar. Harry whirled around in time to see the biggest of the giants break free.

"Hermione!" he yelled as he saw the giant scoop her up with one massive hand. Chaotic incantations drowned out her screams as staff and students alike fired spells at the huge creature.

Giants are extremely resistant to magic, and the assorted spells only maddened this one even more. He lumbered off, trying to escape around the side of the Castle

Harry raised his own wand. "Thixotropus," he shouted, as he aimed not for the body but at the ground beneath the giant's feet. His spell instantly transformed solid ground into quicksand. The giant staggered and began sinking in the mess. Harry sprinted across the yard, intent upon rescuing Hermione.

He never got there. To his horror, he watched the enraged monster fling Hermione at the nearby Castle wall. Harry tried to cast a Cushioning Charm but missed by several metres.

With a sickening thud, Hermione smashed into the stone wall, tumbled to the ground and lay still.

Harry screamed her name once more, and somehow - instantaneously - was at her side.

His legs shaking uncontrollably, he knelt over her. One of Hermione's own legs was shattered, her breathing was laboured, and blood was everywhere. He hesitated even to touch her; she had so many injuries.

"Hermione? Please, can you hear me?" he choked out. He placed his hand gently on her forehead, cool and clammy to his touch.

She stirred, and her eyes fluttered part way open. "Harry, I'm sorry, I can't…." Bubbles of blood spluttered from her mouth as she struggled to speak.

He dropped all the way to his knees next to her. He cradled her head in his arms, pushing her blood-matted hair away from her face. He saw one of her arms trying to move towards him. Ever so carefully he entwined his hand in hers.

"Please, Hermione, stay with me," he pleaded as he saw her eyes glazing over. "Dumbledore's coming. No, please, you can't…. This can't be happening"

He squeezed her hand harder, no longer caring if it was broken. Maybe his touch - maybe the pain - would somehow keep her in the world with him.

She rewarded him with the most sorrowful smile he had ever seen. Her face had farewell etched all over it. "It's cold…. It's dark…," she murmured. "I love…." Her eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp.

Harry felt all of his confidence, his strength, and his hope ebb away. He was utterly and totally lost.

"HERMIONE … NOOOOOO!!" he screamed to the heavens above.

From behind, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

"Harry, wake up," Madam Pomfrey shouted. "You're hallucinating. Wake up! Everyone's safe."

Harry shuddered, and instead of Hermione's lifeless eyes, he found himself staring into the very concerned visage of the Hogwarts charge nurse. Frantically, he looked around and confirmed that he was indeed in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey regarded him peculiarly.

The first words out of his mouth were, "Hermione, where is she?"

"On an errand of some sort with Tonks," Madam Pomfrey told him. "She stayed most of the night with you, but she's been away now for several hours."

All of the tension left Harry's body, and he slumped back down into the bed. It was only a dream, after all.

"Better?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Better," Harry responded - but not entirely truthfully. He knew one thing. If Hermione died, he expected to follow her in relatively short order. A world without Hermione did not seem to be a very attractive place.

"Here, take this Calming Draught," the nurse told him. "It's very mild and has no synergistic effect with anything else you're taking. You had a nasty blow to the head and shoulder, but you're all healed up. When you feel ready, call me, and I'll probably let you leave."

He did as he instructed. He heard the curtains closing about him even before the potion was done. Harry took inventory. It was midmorning. His shoulder was still sore and he was more than a little disoriented, probably from the all the potions he had to take.

He remembered soon enough why Hermione was away. She had to deal with her mum that morning. Good luck. Maybe having no mum at all - like him - was better than having a mother like hers.

Ron was off somewhere with Cho. Neville toiled away on some Herbology project in the greenhouses - or so Harry was told. Ginny was also scarce. After Madam Pomfrey's once-over, she pronounced him fit to leave, so Harry went to the library. There, he plowed through Slughorn's rather long essay on fruits as potion ingredients, finishing sections on the uses of jujube flesh, pomegranate juice, voavanga seeds and cherimoya skin.

N.E.W.T.-level courses were a lot more work - particularly when one actually wanted to learn what was being taught.

Harry thought about his D.A. accident, too. The group had attracted too many participants for the Room of Requirement to hold. Although it would further tax what little free time he had, Harry could see no other way. He would have to divide the group in two. What they were doing was unsafe. Last night was only the latest demonstration.

Finally, he went for a jog to clear his head.

Behind everything loomed the most serious immediate issue in his life. What to do about himself and Hermione? Once he made up his mind, would he be strong enough to do what he must?

Harry still brooded over this problem when Dobby popped into view.

"Harry Potter, sir," the enthusiastic elf bubbled. "Is you being free to see Headmaster Dumbledore earlier than scheduled?"

Harry realised that, for once, he could truthfully say he was. He had not been at such loose ends since before - everything had happened.

"I guess," Harry responded. "Although I probably should be revising. What's going on?"

"Visitors is being expected for the Headmaster later on, and he is wanting to advance your training session," Dobby explained.

"All right," Harry agreed.

"Oh, and the Headmaster is telling me to tell you," Dobby said with an `I-think-the-old-man-is-mental' look on his face, "that he prefers strawberry cordial."

* * * *

Headmaster Dumbledore sat calmly behind his desk when the massive oaken office door creaked open, revealing Harry's dishevelled black hair and piercing green eyes. Those eyes immediately fixed the Headmaster with a questioning gaze.

"Ah, Mister Potter, I have been expecting you," Dumbledore remarked as he beckoned the boy to be seated. "I appreciate your accommodating my predicament. Unfortunately, I have some rather high-ranking visitors arriving later this evening, and I wanted at least to start the training I have promised you."

Harry nodded instinctively and asked, "Dobby didn't tell me what to wear. I hope this is okay. If not, between the two of us we ought to be able to Transfigure something."

"That is quite all right, Mister Potter…. May I address you as Harry for the evening?" Dumbledore continued.

"You can call me Harry any time you want, actually," Harry replied.

"Harry, your training with me will be primarily historical in nature, not magical," Dumbledore revealed. "My hope is to provide you with insights into the background and nature of your ultimate adversary."

"All right," Harry replied noncommittally. "But that means no magical training, then?"

"You may contact Professor Shacklebolt and schedule as much magical or physical training as your two schedules permit," Dumbledore told the boy. "As for myself, I shall try to acquaint you with how Voldemort thinks and has prepared himself."

The Headmaster brought his left hand over to his badly injured right. Wincing visibly with pain, he removed the large, dull gold ring from his finger. He laid it on his desk with an audible clack. He pushed the ring, set with a cracked black stone, towards Harry.

"This ring figures prominently in your first lesson," Dumbledore instructed Harry. "Please examine it closely."

Harry picked up the ring and looked it over, inside and out. "I see some sort of remnant coat of arms on the stone," he remarked cautiously. "And it's certainly rather thoroughly scorched."

"Quite," answered Dumbledore with a trace of his old smile. "You know that, of late, I have frequently been absent from the school. Many of these absences involved my acquisition of this ring and a colleague's memories concerning its history. I had planned to review that history with you using a Pensieve, but with company expected, it is faster simply to tell you. This ring was once the property of Salazar Slytherin himself, and for quite a few generations resided in the possession of a branch of Slytherin descendants known as the House of Gaunt."

Over the next half hour, Dumbledore recounted a bizarre story about a most dysfunctional family of Wizards who used to live near Little Hangleton. The head of the house - and former owner of the ring - Marvolo Gaunt, was a ne'er-do-well fallen on hard times. His son, Morfin, was mentally unbalanced and also a Parselmouth, reflecting direct Slytherin lineage. Marvolo's daughter was victimized by the angry old man's constant mental and occasional physical abuse.

That daughter, Merope, was Tom Riddle's witch mother. But her volatile father disowned her upon learning of her romantic interest in the Muggle who became Tom Riddle's father. For all their poverty, the Gaunt family were every bit as rigid pureblood chauvinists as the Blacks. Morfin hexed Merope's eventual mate - Tom Riddle, Jr., Voldemort's father - in retaliation for her evident interest in him. That conduct drew a visit from a Ministry enforcement officer, Bob Ogden, whose memory Dumbledore had accessed to learn the tale.

That magical assault on a Muggle - and subsequent resistance to arrest - earned Morfin Gaunt three years in Azkaban. Marvolo Gaunt received six months. Whilst they were in prison, Merope used some sort of magic, probably a Love Potion, to influence the Muggle man, and the pair eloped. Given the Riddle family's prominence, that caused a great scandal within the Muggle community. Of course, it also permanently estranged Merope from her wizard family.

From their brief union was born the man who now called himself Lord Voldemort.

"And the ring … how did you get it?" Harry asked.

"I discovered it near the ruins of the abandoned Gaunt family home," Dumbledore revealed. "Very powerful wards protected it, and it bore a very evil enchantment, called a Horcrux, added by Voldemort. I defeated the wards, and the enchantment has been destroyed."

"How did you destroy Voldemort's magic?" Harry asked.

"Beyond nullifying his wards, I did not do it," Dumbledore answered enigmatically, "not the magical aspect, anyway."

"Who did, then?" Harry asked.

"You did," Dumbledore declared starkly.

This news shocked Harry. "I-I-I couldn't have," he protested. "I've never seen it before, and I was probably in Death Eater hands at the time."

"You did…. And you were," Dumbledore added even more mysteriously.

"Er … you had best explain this further," Harry responded. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

Dumbledore did. "I only recently acquired the ring. Its evil enchantment I could sense, but I could only guess at its nature and its provenance. I did not know how to destroy it, but when your magical outburst…."

Harry struggled with his next question. "You mean the one in the valley? The one that - that hurt…?"

Dumbledore's quick answer spared his interlocutor the pain of fully framing the question. "Yes, that one. You see, the magical energy you generated, even at a hundred kilometres' distance, almost overwhelmed Hogwarts' wards. They went into an emergency configuration that repulsed the evil attributes of the magical shock wave whilst channelling its more benign aspects to ground. Even then, some of the Castle's crystals failed under the strain. A fire started, and I had to replace a crystal immediately. In so doing, I converted necessity into a virtue. I exposed the ring to the intensity of what I believed was your good - your white - magic. That produced a secondary explosion and the evil enchantment, the Horcrux within the ring, was destroyed. Unfortunately, some portion of it entered my hand, and the resultant wound is evidently incurable."

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered upon learning of the Headmaster's injury - something else added to the baggage of guilt Harry carried. "You didn't have to do that on my behalf."

"I did not presume to act on your behalf," Dumbledore answered with a serious mien. "I acted it, first, to ensure the continued safety of the Castle and, second, to destroy the Horcrux. In both endeavors, I was successful. This…" he raised his injured hand "…is merely collateral damage."

"What's a Horcrux?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"A lesson for another day," the Headmaster intoned. "And I assure you that day will come. I must perform additional research on that point, and it would be counterproductive to provide you with information that may well be so incomplete as to be false. For the moment, suffice it to say that a Horcrux is every bit as evil as you would expect from Voldemort."

Harry fidgeted uncertainly in his chair. "Er … are we done, then? I know you're expecting visitors…."

"No, Harry, we are hardly finished," the Headmaster corrected. His eyes sparkled mischievously. "I rather think that we are just getting started."

Harry stared at the Headmaster with equal parts of annoyance and intrigue. Dumbledore's habit of keeping secrets was irritating, even when only for a little while. "Then perhaps you should tell me this evening's schedule," he answered evenly, but with an unmistakable edge to his voice.

"Very well," Dumbledore replied. "The first order of business remains from your recent return. I am referring, of course, to the disposition of one Rita Skeeter."

Harry's nose involuntarily crinkled in disgust, as if catching a whiff of a noxious odour rising from a sewer.

"….I believe, if we hurry, we have time enough to dispose of her before our visitors arrive. I expect them around seven. After that…."

"What do you mean, `our visitors'?" Harry interrupted suspiciously. "I thought they were your visitors."

"They are coming to my office, that is true," Dumbledore continued. "But their interest is much more in you than me."

"Tell them to sod off, then," Harry responded hotly, immediately concluding that Dumbledore was planning to ambush him with more Ministry types. He really had no interest in the Ministry right now. His agenda had more important things - more important even than Sirius' memorial - things that demanded what could well be very a painful resolution.

Dumbledore looked at Harry carefully before responding. Plainly, the boy was on edge. "If you want it that way," he answered carefully, "then you must tell them yourself. They answer to you, not me."

Harry's attention snapped back. After a moment he asked, "Goblins?"

"Five points to Gryffindor," Dumbledore responded. Harry cared not a whit for the House Points.

"Why?"

"I am not entirely - or even remotely - certain," the Headmaster confessed. "They asked for a meeting this morning, telling me only that it involved `spoils of war.'"

Harry sighed in resignation. "Have there been more attacks?"

"No further Death Eater activity that we know of," Dumbledore answered quickly. "I think they have something for you, probably to do with Voldemort, since they have set about dismantling what was left of his castle stone by stone. Beyond that, as a final order of business, I hope you might enlighten me concerning your personal situation, as arrangements need…."

Dumbledore paused as Harry flared. "That is none of your business!" the boy snapped. "There's nothing to tell because I don't bloody know!"

The Headmaster's exquisitely developed senses could feel magic emanating from the boy as his Occlumency shields snapped into place. This was not good, but he could feign misunderstanding - which he did.

"Harry, I apologise for not being clear," Dumbledore responded. "I meant to refer to the handling of Black Estate matters. I have tried not to burden you with this due to everything else that has transpired. But some decisions must be made."

"Oh," Harry replied, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. To him, his `personal situation' meant only one thing - one person - the alpha and omega of his life. He was teetering on a knife-edged precipice, not knowing which way he would fall. Either way, it would be a very long descent.

The Headmaster waited patiently for Harry to continue.

"There's … there's nothing to … discuss at the moment," Harry stammered. Whilst undoubtedly important, he frankly did not want the bother just now. "Let me talk to Howe and … er … some others. I'll get back to you."

"Very well," Dumbledore replied, scrutinising the boy closely but avoiding Legilimency. "But I reiterate; decisions do have to be made."

"I know," Harry said, sounding sad.

"A more interesting subject then," the Headmaster changed the subject. "Rita Skeeter. What is to be done with her?"

Harry was surprised at his views being sought. When the rogue reporter was captured, Dumbledore seemed quite determined to deal with her himself. Harry vividly remembered how abruptly the Headmaster cut Hermione off when she had some bright idea.

"That ruddy woman belongs in Azkaban with Umbridge," Harry spat. "I thought you were going to lock her up as some sort of repeat trespasser."

Dumbledore stared at Harry down his half-moon glasses, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be calculating where to go next. After the brief hesitation he exhaled. Was there any reason not to tell him this?

"Madam Umbridge is no longer in Azkaban," the Headmaster informed Harry.

"What?" came his predictably startled reaction. "How did she escape? Did she turn into a blasted toad and hop into a storm drain?"

Dumbledore quickly disabused Harry of such notions. "I am afraid she is for all intents and purposes deceased. An incident, adjunct to the attacks mentioned in the Prophet, happened last night. One the Ministry is for the moment keeping under wraps."

"What? Why?" Harry struggled to process the information.

"She received an unauthorised Dementor's Kiss whilst the other attacks were occurred," Dumbledore explained. "Some of the circumstances suggest Voldemort eliminated a possible witness. Others point to revenge from beyond the grave. It is being hushed up whilst the Aurors and the goblins attempt to sort things out."

"What's there to sort out?" Harry asked.

"I would rather not say," Dumbledore put him off. "It does not concern you, and appears to be personal to the deceased."

"Oh, all right," Harry conceded reluctantly. "I could say that puts paid to her, but even she doesn't deserve that. It's too horrible."

"Back to Ms. Skeeter, then. I certainly could land her in Azkaban if you wish," Dumbledore responded more forthrightly. "Her recent behaviour warrants sufficient criminal charges to keep imprisoned for quite a number of years. But she has proved - useful - to you in the past. As you are more wronged in this than I, I wished to solicit your opinions."

"I don't know what I want," Harry admitted.

"Well, Miss Granger seemed to have some idea," Dumbledore prompted.

"Then why did you shut her up like that?" Harry answered peevishly. "You said you'd handle it, and wouldn't even let her talk."

"Ah, yes, that," the Headmaster recalled. "The time was not right to commence negotiations. It was too soon. Ms. Skeeter needed to cool her heels in one of our dungeons for a time whilst contemplating the more unpleasant possibilities of her situation. My judgment was, and is, that she would be more - how should I say it - malleable, after a spell of confinement. She knows that our accommodations, limited as they are, are far more pleasant than what she would find in Azkaban."

"So that was for show?" Harry asked.

"Yes, for Ms. Skeeter's benefit," Dumbledore confirmed. "Her having had time to stew, you should find her rather more amenable to Miss Granger's proposal."

"Except I don't know what that was. And I don't trust Skeeter," Harry declared. His eyes narrowed as he remembered all the grief that woman had caused.

"Trust can be enforced," Dumbledore observed.

"How?" Harry asked, going for the obvious penny in the slot.

"A charm exists - rather more of a curse, actually - called the `Unbreakable Vow.' Once administered to the oath taker, to violate the vow causes death," Dumbledore revealed. "Such magic seems rather extreme, I know, but has its uses."

"It doesn't sound extreme, it sounds evil," Harry corrected.

"Death Eaters do employ the Unbreakable Vow, yes," Dumbledore agreed, "but it is simply powerful magic. I have used it myself on occasion…."

"Albus Dumbledore!" shouted the summons from the Headmaster's fireplace. Harry recognised Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Yes, Minerva," Dumbledore reacted and rose to face the fire. "Have my guests arrived?"

"They have," she answered. "And bearing gifts, it appears."

"Very well, send them up."

A short time later Harry heard footsteps on the landing. The door opened by itself and several goblins entered. Four of them, acting as porters, carried a large, carefully wrapped package. Without saying a word, they set it down and left. The remaining three, much more nicely attired, spoke in unison, "Impratraxis Potter," and prostrated themselves.

Their show of abject submission disturbed Harry, and it showed plainly in his face.

"Er … please get up," he mumbled. They did not move. Harry, not knowing what to do, looked pleadingly at Dumbledore.

"Goblins do not respond to `please,' Harry," the Headmaster explained. "To them it is as if you are giving them a choice. You are royalty to them. Command them instead."

"Get up," Harry repeated. "Anyor!" The goblins immediately took to their feet.

"I know General Barduk," Dumbledore observed. "I met him on occasion of your rescue, Harry. I have yet to make the acquaintance of his colleagues."

"Kamarak, I am," the goblin in civilian attire introduced himself, "the Nation's Chief Investigator of Suspicious Magic - Wizard and Dementor Division."

"Slamdor, I am," the other goblin in military uniform followed. "Commander, I am of the guard for the Impratraxis in Forbidden Forest deployed."

"You have something for Mister Potter, I understand," Dumbledore addressed them all.

"Correct," General Barduk took over. "First Colonel Slamdor. Activate Communication Sylimps we wish. Then summon Impratraxis may the guard."

The goblin called Slamdor took over, requesting to see Harry's manmak, his goblin signet ring. Fortunately, Harry had taken to wearing it after it proved so useful in rescuing Hermione. Slamdor and Harry touched signets whilst Slamdor incanted something in Gobbledegook. The rings glowed, and once the spell was verified as complete and functional, Slamdor respectfully withdrew.

Once the Headmaster's office door clicked shut again, General Barduk explained what goblins had brought for Harry.

"The Dark wizards in battle Impratraxis Potter defeated. Only after victory had been won, by means too terrible for us to comprehend, we arrived. Spoils of war to the victor belong. This we found, in the rubble of the Dark castle…."

Harry had a sly smile on his face. "Before we get to that, may I ask the two of you a question?"

The goblins bowed to him. "To obey you, we are bound, Impratraxis," General Barduk replied.

"Tell me what really happened to Dolores Umbridge in Azkaban," Harry directed, as Dumbledore's eyes went big.

Harry had learnt an important lesson - that for some things he had an alternative source for information than the all-too-slippery Headmaster.

Kamarak answered, as that issue fell squarely within his jurisdiction. "On best information, Dementor who Azkaban infiltrated performed on that prisoner, unauthorised Kiss. With recent attacks timing corresponded. Dementor either followed orders to eliminate witness to your kidnapping, sought personal revenge, or both…."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why do you believe Umbridge was involved in my kidnapping?" he asked.

"At Azkaban nothing Muggle should be," Kamarak responded. "In woman's cell after Kiss badly damaged insignia we found- a set of pilot wings - Muggle. Restorative charms allowed us name to read. Name on wings, Mayfair, name of pilot of aeroplane that crashed matches. Believe that incident, number and circumstances of deaths, sufficient to create new Dementor."

Harry's eyes then bore into Dumbledore's ashen face. "Did you know this?" he demanded.

"I did not," the Headmaster answered. "I knew only that something suspicious had been unearthed, which demanded an immediate investigation. I assumed it had solely to do with Madam Umbridge being kissed, but that appears mistaken."

Looking around, Harry saw that not only Dumbledore but the goblins as well were looking extremely uncomfortable. He let out a sigh.

"Why would Umbridge have anything to do with this Mayfair?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Absolutely no idea," Kamarak replied. "Umbridge only could answer, and gone she is."

"I guess that's as far as that can go," Harry said with a voice calmer than he felt. "What's in the package?"

General Barduk produced a distinctly curved dirk from within his robes and passed his hands over it. It glowed deep red. He inserted the knife into the wrapping, wiggled it and then slashed strongly downward.

The gash in the packaging produced a hissing sound. The wrapping surrounding the object sizzled and bubbled where it had been cut. It rapidly began melting away into nothingness. Less than a minute later, the wrapping vanished, Harry found himself gazing upon a shiny, round, jet-black object attached to a roughhewn block of stone. The stone appeared recently chiselled from a larger chunk of rock.

It was obviously a Pensieve. Cloudy white thoughts still swirled within.

Dumbledore immediately stepped forward to examine the object further. The two goblins stepped in front of him to obstruct his passage.

"No," Harry commanded. "Let him through."

The goblins stepped aside.

"This appears to be Voldemort's personal Pensieve," Dumbledore pronounced after briefly examining the object.

"Agreed," Kamarak interrupted. "Protected by many Dark enchantments it was. Simple enough to detect, but difficult and time-consuming was their removal."

"Do I understand you to mean that these Dark spells are no more?"

"Correct," confirmed Kamarak. "No more they are."

"Thank you," Dumbledore intoned, and resumed his examination of the unusual object. "This Pensieve is fashioned from a single piece of flawless onyx. The white inlay is probably alabaster, as ivory could not have survived the temperatures Harry produced. Eight, equidistant skull renderings appear at the major compass positions. The green band is malachite. Looking closely, it is an ouroboros - a snake in the position of consuming its own tail. I know of none besides Voldemort who would currently favour such a design."

Dumbledore passed his hands over the Pensieve. Nothing happened. He produced his wand and muttered an incantation. Again nothing seemed to happen. Then Harry saw a green glow at the feet of the Pensieve, where they touched the stone beneath. The glow gradually turned yellowish until it faded from view.

"Definitely a Sticking Charm with power worthy of Voldemort," Dumbledore declared. "Even after all this time, it defeated my initial wandless attempt to remove it."

The goblins, also unable to defeat the spell, had simply hacked the underlying stone loose from the remnants of Killiechonate Castle. They were curious and approached the Pensieve. It now lifted easily from the rock.

"Where should we place it, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "This is certainly unexpected, and potentially quite valuable to the training I am providing you. I could never have obtained a memory personally selected by Voldemort himself."

"Er … is your desk all right?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Certainly," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling noticeably. With a wave of his hand he Banished the clutter on his desk to various intended locations.

The goblins placed the evil-looking Pensieve on the center of the Headmaster's desk.

"You actually want to explore this thing - not knowing what's in it?" Harry sceptically inquired.

"Absolutely. Memories by themselves can cause no harm. Only our reactions to those memories make them dangerous. With your permission, I would like to reconnoiter. If I judge it sufficiently safe - meaning it does not concern something overly disturbing - I shall invite you to join me for a stroll down Tom Riddle's Memory Lane."

Harry felt cold. He had been privy to enough of Voldemort's thoughts through the years not to find the prospect very inviting. But then, he was a Gryffindor.

"Do you think it'll help me resist him?" he asked the Headmaster.

"That is the only reason I would ask you to do such a thing," Dumbledore replied, with a slight smile. "I have been scouring our world for useful insights into Voldemort's history - and now, remarkably, such an insight probably has been deposited into our proverbial laps. If you will allow me?"

Harry told the goblins not to intervene, and Dumbledore was soon motionless with his head in the Pensieve. What seemed like a very long time passed, and Harry's concern started rising. Soon enough, however, the Headmaster's body jerked, and he lifted his head from the swirling memories.

"Yes, Harry, I think you definitely should see this. Its value probably exceeds the combined fruits of all my efforts," Dumbledore immediately declared. He added, "and, no, it is neither violent nor intense. I should not cause you any problems with … umm … a reaction. Are you game?"

"Er … yes, I guess so," Harry tepidly replied. He had no reaction - that he knew of - to his latest nightmare, but was leery of pressing his luck. "Still I'd like to have someone here when we're in - just in case. Someone who could … you know … pull me out if I start to … er … react."

Dumbledore immediately appreciated Harry's fear. Whilst the Headmaster considered the event unlikely, the precaution was certainly worthwhile. "An excellent idea. Whom do you want?" he inquired.

"Ron and Hermione," Harry stated without much hesitation. Hermione was away, but Harry would wait. She was at her best in situations like this, and…. Shifting to Ron, Harry wanted to reconnect with Ron. He was frankly nervous about his friend spending so much time with Cho. The Ravenclaw girl was not what she seemed, and that bothered Harry a great deal.

"That will take some time. Why don't you return here after dinner?" Dumbledore agreed.

* * * *

When Harry returned, both Ron and Hermione had already arrived. The two of them had been speculating about the summons. Hermione immediately moved to Harry and took his hand. Harry seemed nervous, but kissed her chastely on the cheek. Giving him a half-smile, Hermione squeezed his hand.

Ron asked the obvious question whilst the other two danced around one another. "What's such a big deal that we both got called to Dumbledore's office? And who were those goblins?"

The Headmaster answered as he returned the black object to his desk. "This is Voldemort's Pensieve. The goblins brought it to Harry today, as the fruits of his defeat of the Death Eaters. They have left because their presence was no longer needed."

"You - you beat the Death Eaters?" Ron said breathlessly. "Positively wicked."

"Not exactly, because that's when Hermione got hurt," Harry explained. "The same explosion also killed a bunch of them. I didn't think of it as a victory, but the goblins do. They found this in the rubble. There's a memory in it, and Dumbledore wants to show it to me."

"Harry, I'm not sure that's safe," Hermione fretted.

"I assure you Miss Granger, it will be perfectly safe," Dumbledore said in a soothing voice.

"Then why can't we all go?" Ron protested.

"Because I want you two to stay behind and make sure," Harry answered. "If I start to … er … spark or glow or anything like that, I need the two of you here to pull me out. I wanted you guys because - well, you're my best friends, you know what to look for, and I want you to know whatever I find out."

Hermione gladly - and Ron grudgingly - agreed.

Ideally, Dumbledore would have kept this sort information from anyone else, but he knew that would be impossible. Harry's best friends would inevitably learn about this latest discovery, so he made the best of it.

"Shall we commence?" The Headmaster beckoned Harry. "We shall enter together."

When they came to rest in the memory, the scene was a small Hogwarts classroom - the type used for N.E.W.T.-level seminars of ten or fewer students. Outside the window, snow blanketed the landscape. A feeble winter sun provided adequate light, but no heat. Harsh wind rattled the lead-lined windows and produced a faint roar in the unlit fireplace.

The memory preceded the elves' installation of central heating in the Castle.

Even though he had some idea what was coming, Harry shuddered. The only person present, seated on a bench at one end of the seminar table, was someone he had seen before - Tom Riddle as a student. Slightly older in this vision, the handsome, dark-haired Riddle wore standard black Hogwarts robes with a Slytherin patch. Just visible at his throat were the starched white collar and dark green and silver striped necktie typical of that period. The Head Boy's badge was pinned to his chest. He was clearly waiting for someone, or something.

Uncharacteristically nervous, Riddle's dark green, almost black, eyes darted about the room.

The wind seemed to die down. The rattling ceased, and then the roar. The silence became intense, only to be broken by a click and a creak. The door opened of its own volition to admit a willowy witch with hair and eyes even darker than Riddle's. Entering like a wraith, she glided into the room without a sound. She, too, dressed in Hogwarts black robes, but hers seemed … different, as if the fabric were almost alive. Harry soon realised why. Whilst most of her robes were normal enough, they ended, not in a hem, but with numerous tendrils that billowed and trailed behind her.

Whoever this girl was, she was a Hufflepuff. Accompanying her house's patch, a severe black necktie with yellow pinstripes hung about her neck. It disappeared within a somewhat low-cut waistcoat she wore over her Hogwarts-issue white blouse. Her face was somewhat thin, with high, well-formed cheekbones, a prominent nose, and a rather small mouth accentuated by full lips.

She wore a great deal of makeup, which Harry supposed was typical of the time. The skin of her hands was several shades darker than her face. In one of those hands, she carried an octagonal wooden box, elaborately carved and bound in black leather.

Riddle rose reflexively as she entered. "Abigail, thank you for coming. I am honoured you have. I was hoping you would. But I can never be sure."

The girl cracked an ever so slight smile before answering. "I am never quite sure myself. With you, I have to listen to the voices before knowing what I should do. Sometimes I think I ignore my own wishes."

"I have something for you," Tom replied, producing a glittering golden object from his pocket. "I came across this over the summer. I believe it is an original." He placed on the table a goblet of sorts, inlayed with various jewels. Harry leaned in for a better look. The highly stylised form of two badgers extended in bas-relief about the waist of the vessel. Depending upon one's perspective, the images might have been fighting - or coupling.

Abigail's smile became slightly forced as she responded, "Why thank you, Tom. It's indeed very - original. Perhaps we should get started, shall we?" She swept the object from the table and deposited it in a pocket of her own, now stilled, robes.

"Yes, we should," the boy who would become Lord Voldemort agreed. He gazed at her intently whilst she opened the box and withdrew a deck of cards from its black velour lined interior. She avoided his eyes.

Harry understood Riddle's behavior, since he had done the same himself - a lot - when believing Hermione was not watching him. Unlike Riddle, though, Harry had never been bold enough to look at Hermione that way when she might see him.

The young lady began - businesslike. "I, of course, use a Kabbalah deck. There are many forms of readings. I prefer the so-called `straight reading' of seven cards," she said, "plus a significator. It is simple, sequential, and thus a very powerful predictor."

"I am told the magic of that form of reading is extremely difficult to control," Riddle commented.

"You have been told correctly," the girl replied. "I myself have only been accepted as a Kabbalah practitioner for less than a year. I passed my test on my seventeenth birthday."

"I accept your ability," Riddle replied. "Indeed, I stand in awe of it."

The girl's blush was visible even through her makeup. "That is high praise from the Head Boy. Now, there are a total of seventy-eight cards in this deck. The odds of any card being drawn in any sequence are less than ten percent. The odds of a particular sequence being drawn at random are astronomical."

"I understand," Riddle said, his intense eyes practically boring into her. "You are the best, so it is said. I have faith in you."

She blushed again. "Now … place your hands, palms up on the table," she instructed.

Tom Riddle did as directed. The girl placed her hands on his, palm facing palm. When Riddle tried to close his fingers around her hands, she abruptly pulled her hands back.

"No, Tom," she chided. "Flat hands only. It is the way of the Tarot."

Riddle laid his hands flat again. She placed hers upon his and there they rested - whilst the Tarot deck shuffled itself on the table, guided only by the girl's wandless magic. When the deck stopped moving, signifying that it was ready, she withdrew her hands.

"The cards have told me that all is in readiness," she said. Her voice had dropped, becoming flat and unaffected, like she was in a trance. "First, the significator. This card best describes you at this moment in your life."

She drew the top card on the deck. "The Nine of Wands," she said. "This is the maze, indicating complexity, confusion, uncertainty. It also requires this reading to be studied closely. It could have a number of possible meanings."

Whilst she spoke, the deck again reshuffled itself. When it stopped, she drew another card. "The first card in the reading is the Two of Pentacles - the stranger. This card signifies an outsider, a foreigner, someone who is not of, or who is alien to the society."

All the while, the deck reshuffled. She drew another card, the second of the reading itself. "The Four of Pentacles - the exile. This card signifies forced separation from family and society, both physical and mental. It could be an orphan, or someone who was expelled."

The deck was ready; she drew the third card. "The … the Ten of Cups. This card signifies the start of a family, the act of conception, the raising of a child … or of many children."

She did not say as much about this card as those previous. Instead, she watched the deck. Her hand hesitated just a bit in reaching for the next card. When she drew it, she did not speak for a moment, as if holding her breath.

"…The Dark, or Lightning Struck Tower…. This … this is major arcana. It signifies a crisis. It could be personal or societal. The tower's destruction signifies the throwing down of one's great works, possibly one's life work, or viewed more broadly, a threat to the existence of a society or of a people."

Her hand trembling visibly, Abigail Rosen reached for the fifth card. "The … the King … of Swords. This card signifies, most notably, mortal peril. It is considered but one card shy of death itself. Something, or someone, hangs in the balance…."

Tom Riddle no longer looked at the girl, but stared instead at the partial reading that lay on the table. That was a good thing too, because Harry could see fear plainly present on this witch's face. She had to will herself to continue when the deck finished reshuffling. But continue she did.

"Oh my…," whatever the girl named Abigail feared finally made its way into her previously professionally calm voice. "The sixth card is the Wheel of Fortune…. More major arcana…. This card represents the chances of success or failure … the card that follows will provide the greatest likelihood of success in an endeavor, a likely … solution…."

The deck stopped shuffling for the final time. The girl wore a pained expression on her face. Abigail was no longer the confident, accomplished seer. The look in her eyes was frightened, verging on terrified, as she reluctantly reached for the seventh and final card. She saw it and dropped the card as if it were on fire.

"I … I must go," she blurted. "I'm sorry, but I cannot continue." Gathering her flowing robes, she practically ran out of the room, leaving her entire Tarot deck (which looked quite valuable) on the table.

Tom Riddle, who remained seated, calmly observed her departure. Only when she slammed the door behind her did he turn over the card, which had fallen face down across the first two cards of the substantive reading.

It was Death.

Carefully Tom Riddle gathered up, in order, the cards that comprised the reading. The scene began blurring and went blank before he finished. Harry felt his feet return to a solid surface as both he and the Headmaster withdrew from Voldemort's Pensieve.

Harry's face betrayed confusion.

The Headmaster looked thoughtful, worried, and saddened all at the same time.

Ron and Hermione held Harry firmly as he returned from the black Pensieve in which roiled the cloudy memory belonging to Lord Voldemort. Hermione immediately took Harry's hand. "Here, Harry, sit down - please. Are you all right?" She led him to a nearby chair, sat him down, and stood behind him, nervously stroking Harry's hair. She looked at the Dumbledore, who had also taken a seat.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Headmaster," she commented, sounding every bit as worried as before. "Did Voldemort kill someone?"

"Harry, you came through okay," Ron added. "No sparks, glow or anything. Good show." He gave his friend a pat on the back.

"Only in a manner of speaking, Miss Granger" the Headmaster replied as Ron finished. "That explains quite a bit. Quite a bit…."

"You Know Who was trying to recruit ghosts?" Ron asked.

"That's `Voldemort,' Ron," Hermione hissed.

"Not at all," Dumbledore remarked before lapsing into silence, plainly thinking hard. His good hand absently stroked his beard.

The three Sixth Years waited respectfully for their Headmaster to continue. When he remained silent, following a long pause, Harry asked, "Er … what does it explain? Who was the girl seer?"

Dumbledore sighed and began slowly, "The girl was Abigail Rosen. Very gifted in Divination, she was…. The Tarot deck you saw, Harry, that was genuine Kabbalah."

Harry heard an audible gasp from Hermione. Ron just stared.

"She was initiated into the mysterious - and powerful - female Kabbalah Yareach Sisterhood on the first day she was of age, which I suspect was practically unheard of."

"That's - they're the Sisters of the Moon," Ron said very softly. "Bloody powerful witches, those are…."

"Indeed they are," Dumbledore confirmed. "She was fully qualified at seventeen to issue prophecy. Miss Rosen also could have been Head Girl, but declined."

"You said it explained some things," Harry reminded the Headmaster. "What does it explain, other than she left that room plainly terrified of Riddle?"

"The Tarot reading - those eight cards - do you remember them, Mister Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Harry answered.

"Please enlighten Mister Weasley and Miss Granger as to their order, then," Dumbledore prompted.

"Er … Okay," Harry responded to Dumbledore's rather unusual request. "The first one, which she called the significant…."

"Significator," corrected Hermione. Whilst she had a generally low opinion of Divination, she considered Tarot, being grounded in Arithmancy, rather more reliable than the rest.

"… significator was the Nine of Wands," Harry continued. "Then she drew seven cards: the Two of Pentacles, the Four of Pentacles, the Ten of Cups, the … next I think was the Tower struck by lightning, then the King of Swords, the Wheel of Fortune, and finally - Death."

As he named the final two cards, Harry felt Hermione's grip on his hand tighten. She spoke as he turned to look at her, "Oh Merlin help me. That's…. That's the Grindelwald Reading - save the first card."

"That deserves twenty points to Gryffindor," Dumbledore pronounced. "It is indeed, except for the Nine of Wands - the maze - substituted for…."

"The Emperor," Hermione finished, as Dumbledore paused to allow her.

"You truly deserved your `Outstanding' in History of Magic," the Headmaster declared.

"And I truly deserved my `Dreadful,'" Harry interjected whilst Ron nodded his agreement in the background. "Now will someone please enlighten me about this Grindelwald Reading?"

"That started the Muggle second world war," Ron observed.

"Quite right, Mister Weasley, take five points yourself," Dumbledore said brightly. Then his tone went abruptly serious. "Herr Grindelwald, among his other qualities, was an accomplished Tarot reader," he explained. "In June of 1936 he performed such a reading for Adolf Hitler at the Villa Marlier outside Berlin. The eight cards that he drew, in sequence, are known as the Grindelwald reading. Most in the magical community believe that Hitler's resultant fear that German society would be overwhelmed by a combination of Jews and non-Germanic outsiders - chiefly Communists - was the motive force that produced the Nazi genocide against the Jews, and the aggression against Russia."

"And she knew that when she drew that last card," Harry added.

"Yes, of that I am sure," Dumbledore confirmed.

"But how would she know?" Hermione asked. "The war wasn't over yet, and Hitler certainly wasn't telling."

"Perceptive as always," Dumbledore commented warmly, before his voice again turned grave. "Grindelwald, like Voldemort, was not one to conceal his own self-perceived brilliance. He boasted to quite a number of wizards about the reading, and from that word spread. Jewish wizardry, the Kabballists in particular, took this quite seriously. Given Miss Rosen's rising reputation amongst those practitioners, her not knowing would be implausible. But there's more."

"Isn't that quite enough?" Hermione protested. "What could anyone possibly add to six million dead Jews and twenty million dead Russians?"

"Miss Abigail Rosen herself - and her family," Dumbledore replied. "You see, I was at Hogwarts at the time. It is my belief that Miss Rosen was the only person for whom Mister Riddle truly harboured romantic feelings. I knew that they had danced around each other for over a year, and then had a falling out. Now I know why."

"She was Jewish, and she associated Riddle with Hitler," Hermione observed sadly.

"Definitely a turn-off - romantically speaking…," Ron commented.

"Another five points, Miss Granger," Dumbledore cut across Ron. "Undoubtedly, she refused to have anything to do with him after that. In February 1945, or thereabouts, I noticed the profound change for the worse in their relationship. I never saw them together again after that. And that reading is most certainly the reason. I shall investigate this further, including the goblet…."

"What goblet?" Hermione asked intently. This was something new.

"Before the reading commenced, Riddle made of gift of something to Miss Rosen," Dumbledore answered quickly. "It bears looking into."

"You mentioned her family," Ron added. "You Know … er … V-V-Voldemort killed them all, right?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Regrettably, that is correct."

"What does it all mean?" Harry asked.

"Many things, perhaps," Dumbledore told everyone. "It is as Miss Rosen stated upon turning over the first card, the maze. Even more than most readings, this one was capable of multiple interpretations. I believe that Riddle has interpreted it rather like Hitler - that Muggles and those of mixed parentage will eventually destroy the magical pure-blood society with which he identifies. He has reacted in much the same way, with his Death Eaters and their terror tactics against those Voldemort despises."

"But he's not exactly pure-blooded himself," Ron observed.

"He's essentially a convert, Ron," Hermione replied. "Converts can be the most fanatical of all."

"I believe that is correct, Miss Granger," Dumbledore agreed. "Hitler, after all, was hardly an archetype of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed super race that he espoused."

"It's not like Hogwarts was immune, either," Hermione continued. "Back then Hufflepuff was the only Hogwarts House that admitted Jews. Even Gryffindor discriminated."

Harry looked at Hermione - and then Dumbledore - in dismay, "Is that true? Why would Hogwarts do that? Even Voldemort didn't seem that prejudiced."

"Unfortunately that was the way the world was," Dumbledore said with a frown. "My generation, I am afraid, grew up immersed in all that. After the war, Headmaster Dippet declared an end to official anti-Semitism at Hogwarts, a rare courageous decision on his part. I believe Miss Rosen's fate had something to do with that. He would have made her the first Jewish Head Girl, after all. Through your struggle with the origins of your inheritance, Harry, you have had to face slavery, probably the greatest sin of the New World. I can only hope that you never have a similar confrontation with what may well be the greatest sin of the Old."

* * * *

Author's notes: Tonks is taking on her HBP appearance. This ties into things that were said in Ch. 44

I am indebted to (and inspired by) IronChef's "Their Way," chapter 14, for some of the subject matter covered in Hermione's conversation with Mum. That's another great fic and I highly recommend it

Hero worship has always been more of a "Ginny thing," but since between canon and this fic, Harry's saved Hermione's life at least four times that I can think of (compared to Ginny once), I have to think that at least some undercurrent affects Hermione as well

Bullying 101 - overt parental intervention only makes it worse

Getting late early is a Yogi Berraism

An explanation (I don't know how good) for Mr. Granger was able to amass a gun collection in the UK. In the US, regrettably, he would have had no problems to speak of

"Don't want to work that hard," from Just The Way You Are, by Billy Joel and Barry White

Ron and Hermione were together at Grimmauld for quite a while before OOP started. There was no suggestion in canon of sparks between them when Harry got there. To me that means Hermione must have turned off Ron's attraction from GOF

"More equal than," a concept from Orwell's "Animal Farm"

"Z," for "Zero Sugar Added," would be the kind of drink a dentist would favor

H.G. Wells wrote a famous novel "The Time Machine"

The note to Viktor comes back to haunt Hermione later on

Don't know the specific origin of "all's fair in love and war." At one point, that was going to be the title of my entire fic, before I thought of the Fifth Element

The failure adage is also of uncertain origin

"Best friends … best lovers," another phrase of unknown origin

"Don't lock the door" will return later, at an appropriate time

Quicksand is a thixotropic substance, hence the spell

All the exotic fruits are real

While Harry first learns of Horcruxes, by the end of the chapter there will be more to consider

As mentioned previously, Dumbledore used the Unbreakable Vow on Snape

As previously hinted at, Umbridge was the Contact, and now the only surviving plotter is Draco Malfoy

Onyx (black), alabaster (white), and malachite (green) are notably colored semi-precious stones

Britain was notoriously slow in adopting central heating

Abigail's entrance is scripted from the Fleetwood Mac song "Sister of the Moon"

Riddle's gift becomes important

There is some speculation that Tarot originated from Kabbalah. All of the Tarot cards and much of the significance are real, although I have taken some liberties with some meanings. The number of cards in a deck varies from Tarot to Tarot

This Tarot sequence can be read in a number of ways, only some of which are discussed

Rosen was originally Rosenberg, but I changed it to avoid any Buffy connotations

In Hebrew, "yareach" is associated with the moon

The Villa Marlier is where the Wansee Conference was held in 1942. The Wansee Conference finalized plans for the Holocaust

Harry will have such a confrontation

73

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