Harry Potter and the Final Battle

A/N: Harry Potter and his universe belong to JK Rowling. Not me, unfortunately, I’m just doing this for fun.

This story is set post-HBP. If you have not read HBP I suggest you go read it before you read my story, as I’m not going to be wasting time explaining everything that happened in the book. You get a brief reminder at the beginning and that’s pretty much it.

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Summer once again found a certain raven-haired teenager locked in his bedroom, reflecting on the misery he again had to endure while he stayed at Privet Drive. Harry Potter had never felt so alone in his life. Not even during his first eleven years in the cupboard under the stairs, where his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hidden him. True, he had been living a rather pathetic existence at the time, what with continually being harassed by his cousin Dudley, but the usual taunts seemed so trivial now compared to the rest of his life.

He had experienced true friendship and family when he discovered his heritage on his eleventh birthday and was sent to live and study at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry had been lucky enough to meet his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He had battled Voldemort more times in his last six years of schooling than anyone else ever had. At Hogwarts he had a family, and in his fifth year he’d had his godfather, Sirius Black.

It was all taken away from him far too soon during the battle in the Department of Mysteries in his fifth year, when Sirius fell through The Veil and never returned. He had spent his time in Privet Drive that summer blaming himself for everything that happened. At times he’d even felt like returning to Hogwarts would be fruitless, for he no longer had his godfather.

During his sixth year everything had changed. He was finally being treated as an adult, and he was taking on even more responsibilities. Headmaster Dumbledore had led Harry on a quest to discover Voldemort’s remaining horcruxes, determined to destroy them and, in turn, destroy Voldemort. They had found what they thought was a Horcrux, but it was really a fake that was placed there by the person who had originally discovered the Horcrux. Despite Harry’s best efforts, he felt he had failed Dumbledore. He had returned him to Hogwarts in a weakened condition after their feats in the cave, only to lead him into a fight with several Death Eaters.

It wasn’t as if Harry could’ve known what awaited them upon their return to the school. The only thing he did know was that all along he had had a terrible gut feeling about Professor Severus Snape, and he discovered in the worst possible way that his feelings were right.

Shortly after their return to find the castle under siege, Professor Snape murdered Dumbledore with an Unforgivable Curse.

Harry had his summer to spend in Privet Drive with the image of a jet of green light striking Dumbledore’s chest, and seeing him fall. He had finally come to terms with losing Sirius, only to lose the next most important person in his life.

He had also had a brief relationship with Ron’s younger sister, Ginny. Harry realized that it could not continue, as Voldemort would try to use her against him, and ended it before things could get serious.

Since leaving Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s funeral, Harry had not made any attempts to contact Hermione, Ron, Ginny, or anyone else for that matter. He simply remained holed up in his room, miserable, and once again blaming himself for the death of another. With no friends, no godfather, and no Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry truly felt alone.

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“We can’t just stay here and let him do this to himself!” Hermione yelled, glaring at Ron and Ginny.

Ron glared back at her. “We’re not letting him do this to himself, but he’s got to stay in that bloody place for the summer!” He stood from his bed, bringing himself even with her. They were all talking in Ron’s bedroom, Hermione now angrily taking her stance against Ron, with Ginny sitting on what should’ve been Harry’s bed.

Hermione and Ginny just blinked, staring at Ron, neither knowing what to say.

Ginny spoke first. “You were more than willing to go ‘rescue’ him in second year, weren’t you? I remember you, Fred, and George getting Dad’s flying car to go and get him. And with what’s happened, I don’t think Harry much cares about the protection at Privet Drive. He’s probably off in a right state over Dumbledore and whatnot, and we’re sitting here having tea when he’s likely gone mad!” She was furious with her brother, thinking that he would be the most likely to want to go get Harry. She’d expected resistance from Hermione, but she seemed to be itching to bring Harry back to the Burrow as well.

“Look you two, before you go completely nutters on me. Harry. Has. To. Stay. There. I don’t like it either, but that’s just the way things are. It’s… it’s what Dumbledore said he had to do.” A look of sorrow flitted across Ron’s features, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

“That’s it! I’ve had it with you, Ronald Weasley! Usually you’re the first one up and out of your seat to go get Harry out of that miserable place but now you’re actually arguing with the two of us over whether or not we go and get him! God, I don’t know what I ever saw in you! That is our best friend out there, probably locked alone in his room, starving and too miserable to eat a bite, depriving himself of sleep and slowly driving himself to insanity with guilt! You know as well as I do that he’s bloody well going to blame himself for Dumbledore’s death, and you just want to leave him there?!” Hermione paused to take a breath. Her face was flushed and her hair seemed to crackle about her with electricity.

“’Mione, I just think that right about now, Harry needs all the help he can get, and if that means leaving him in Privet Drive an extra couple of days so that his mum’s protection spell is renewed, then that’s what we should—“

There was a loud crack, almost like someone had Apparated into the room. Ron was holding his cheek with a look of shock on his face, and Hermione was positively steaming. Her right hand slowly returned to her side and balled back up into a fist.

Ginny stared at her friend, speechless. She’d never seen Hermione this angry. She didn’t think even she’d been this angry, and usually her fury was what fuelled her renowned Bat Bogey Hexes.

“I don’t care what you think is right, Ron,” Hermione glowered, and then lowered her voice. “If you can’t be bothered to help him, then maybe you should just go back to Hogwarts in September. Somehow I don’t think that your help is going to be required while we’re searching for the remaining Horcruxes. Good luck in your N.E.W.T. classes, and on your tests.”

She turned on her heel to look at Ginny.

“You just—“ Ginny began, stumbling over her words.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I just what, Gin? Smacked your brother senseless? Told him that I don’t want to be with him anymore? Decided to take charge and go rescue Harry?”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “Well… yeah,”

“So are you just going to stand there and stare, or are you coming with me to get your boyfriend?”

“He’s not… my boyfriend.” Ginny muttered, casting her eyes down at the floor.

Hermione looked confused. “But you two—“

“Mhmm, and then he broke it off so that Voldemort doesn’t try to use me to get to him. I understand, really. It hurts, but I understand.”

Ron fell back onto his bed, still holding a hand to his cheek. He stared up at Ginny. “He broke up with you?”

“Oh, get with the program, Ron,” Ginny snapped. “It’s been over since Dumbledore’s funeral, and I’m not angry at him.”

Before Ron got another chance to interrupt, Hermione slid her arm around Ginny’s shoulders in a comforting hug. “I’m sorry, Gin. I’m sorry it hurts, but I’m still going to get him anyway. You can come if you want,” she offered.

Ginny seemed to be contemplating the idea. As she was thinking, Hermione begin to feel a strange sensation deep in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t quite place it. Was it anger? No, she’d already smacked Ron and certainly felt better now. She was confused. It was something she’d only felt when she saw Ron and Lavender Brown snogging in the—no! It couldn’t be!

“I’m not coming, Hermione.” Ginny interrupted her thoughts.

“What? Why?”

Ginny sighed. “Mum’ll be right furious if I go, not to mention someone’s gotta straighten Ron out by the time you get back with Harry. You can do it on your own, you don’t need me.”

Hermione nodded, her mind still reeling from her newest revelation. You do not feel that way, you do not feel that way, you do not—

Before she could convince herself, Hermione abruptly left the room for the fireplace downstairs. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, she clearly said “The Residence of Arabella Figg!” and threw her powder into the fireplace. Ron and Ginny rushed downstairs just in time to see her engulfed in the emerald green flames, and then she was gone.

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Far away in Surrey, a very surprised Mrs. Figg watched as Hermione dusted herself off on the hearth of the fireplace.

“Why, Miss Granger! I wasn’t expecting you!” she said, laughing softly as her many cats began to wind themselves in and out of Hermione’s legs.

“My apology for not warning you I was coming, Mrs. Figg, but it’s urgent. Can you point out to me which house is Harry’s?” she said breathlessly, still rather worked up from her fight with Ron.

Mrs. Figg was surprised. “Certainly, dear, but I do believe that the Dursleys are home at the moment. Wouldn’t you rather have a spot of tea with me and then call on him a bit later?”

Hermione shook her head, chimney dust flying everywhere. She felt like Mrs. Figg was trying to buy time to notify the remaining members of the Order that she was there. “I’m afraid it can’t wait.” She said, and started for the door. “I’ll find the house myself; number four, isn’t it?”

The door slammed behind her, leaving poor Arabella Figg with her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear,” she muttered, “who would’ve ever thought that Miss Granger had such fire in her?” She quickly sat down at her desk, writing a note to be owled directly to Remus Lupin. Surely he would be in a position to figure out what was going on.

Disclaimer: It’s JKR’s sandbox. I’m just building sand castles in it.

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Hermione glanced around Privet Drive, realizing there wasn’t a soul in sight. It was an extremely warm day, and already her clothes were beginning to cling to her body. She was suddenly glad she’d managed to rush out of the Burrow without Mrs. Weasley spotting her. While Hermione could appreciate the magic in place to keep the temperatures bearable in the Weasley house, she knew that the moment she stepped outside that a long-sleeve shirt and jeans would never suffice in the summer weather. That was why she made a habit of wearing shorts and a tank top, and was always prepared to change quickly should Mrs. Weasley come around.

Most witches would feel self-conscious wearing such an outfit in public, as they were generally accustomed to wearing ankle-length robes. Hermione, with her Muggle up bringing, felt perfectly comfortable in her attire. Perhaps that was why Petunia Dursley didn’t seem the least bit confused when she rang the doorbell.

Petunia’s face lit up at the sight of the pretty young witch on her doorstep, and turned to yell upstairs before even giving Hermione a chance to speak.

“Oh, Dudders! That lovely young lady you were telling us about has come by to see you!” She turned back to Hermione. “Now, what was your name again? Ah, yes. Sarah Renard! Neighbours with the Polkisses, are you? My Dudders has told me so much about you, said he’d ask you round for tea soon,” Petunia was talking so fast that Hermione couldn’t get a word in edgewise without being rude. She chose to let Mrs. Dursley continue her rambling, to see just where it was leading.

Petunia ushered her into the living room, where there was a tea service waiting on the coffee table. “Now, Sarah, tell me a little more about yourself. My, you are a beautiful young lady! Such shiny hair, and your eyes! Why, there’s just a touch of emerald in there! I didn’t even see it until the light hit you in just the right way! And oh--!” Petunia continued to go on about Hermione’s looks, causing her to flush. She could her a bit of a rumble upstairs, and assumed it was Dudley coming down. She’d heard stories from Harry about how large his cousin was, and was about to discover it was true. “You have such wonderful taste in clothing, Sarah! That top is just the right colour to bring out the colour of your eyes, and that’s such an interesting bracelet!”

Just as Dudley reached the bottom of the stairs and spotted Hermione, she lifted her right arm with the interesting ‘bracelet’ to brush her hair behind her ears. That was when Petunia realized exactly what made the bracelet so interesting. She gasped, leapt off the couch to cling to Dudley, and began pointing and choking on her words.

“That’s—that’s… it’s a—“

“Wand?” Hermione supplied helpfully, a smirk coming to her lips. “Mrs. Dursley, perhaps from now on you should consider letting your guests get a word in before you go off about something that isn’t bloody likely to happen. Judging by the looks of your son and the stories I’ve heard, you won’t be having any lovely young ladies over for tea any time soon.”

Vernon Dursley chose that exact moment to entire the living room, loudly proclaiming, “So my boy has gone and found himself a girl, has he? And what a pretty one too, at that! Petunia, Dudley, what are you huddling over at the stairs for? It’s not often that Dudley brings a girl ho—“ Vernon’s eyes went wide. “What’s th—that?!” he pointed towards Hermione’s wrist.

“As I was just explaining to your wife, Mr. Dursley, that is a wand. More specifically, my wand, and what your wife thought was a bracelet is really a wand holster. My wand is made of Vinewood, with the heartstring of a dragon as the core.” She saw the terrified looks in their eyes at the mention of a dragon.

Vernon’s head looked like it was about to explode. His face began to turn a deeper shade of scarlet when he finally was able to speak again. “You mean to tell me that you’re—you’re—“

“A witch?” Hermione supplied, as helpful as always.

“That’s it! I will not have any more bloody freaks in this house! Out! Out! Out! Having one crazy child is bad enough; I will not deal with two! Lord knows what made Dudders think it would be a fantastic idea to bring you round for tea, but I assure you it will never happen again! Bloody freaks, the lot of you!” Vernon continued to scream and shout, all the while slowly advancing on Hermione in an attempt to push her out the front door.

Upstairs, Harry was trying to ignore Vernon’s yelling when he caught the word ‘freak’. His Uncle had only been known to use that term when referring to witches and wizards such as himself, and he had no idea what, or who, was angering him so much to be screaming it at the top of his lungs.

Feeling that he had nothing else left to lose, Harry decided to go investigate. If Uncle Vernon decided to try and attack him again like last year, he had no problem hexing the overly large man. What with the new Minister of Magic’s desperate attempts to get Harry on his side, he was hoping that any underage magic performed that day would simply go unnoticed.

Harry retrieved his wand, and pointed it at the door. “Alohomora!” The numerous deadbolts and locks on his door slid open, and Harry ventured downstairs. He figured he’d have roughly ten minutes before a notice from the Ministry would arrive. Plenty of time to bewitch his things and leave if necessary. Rechecking his wand, Harry felt prepared to go downstairs and see what was going on.

He was not prepared for what he saw.

Standing in the living room with her arms crossed and wand at the ready, Hermione was glaring at his Uncle, daring him to continue with his yelling. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear, Mr. Dursley. I am not this ‘Sarah Renard’ you believed to be interested in Dudley, and for the life of me I can’t understand why anyone would be. My name is Hermione Jane Granger, and I am a seventh year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Well, I would be a seventh year student if I return in September, but right now the Wizarding world is at war. Your nephew may seem like nothing more to you than a butler who is there to do your chores and cook your meals, but in our world, he’s a celebrity! He’s Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and the only one who can defeat Lord Voldemort! He’s a greater wizard than anyone I’ve ever met with the exception of our late Headmaster, and he’s faced Voldemort more times than any other wizard. Oh, did I mention the amount of money he’s inherited over the last couple of years? His parents—your sister, Petunia—left him an obscene amount of money. He’s also acquired another fortune from his godfather, Sirius Black. For the last sixteen years you have treated the greatest, kindest, and here’s a term people of your level will understand, richest wizards in all of history with no more dignity and respect than a fourteenth century scullery maid.”

Hermione paused to let all of her words sink in and take a breath before she continued.

“Not only is Harry the saviour of the wizarding world and a prominent public figure, he is my best friend. He’s stood by me when no one else would, and put up with my annoying habits for six years. I’ve fought Voldemort and his Death Eaters by his side, and I am more than prepared to do it again. Perhaps you aren’t aware of what has happened to Harry in the last two years. He lost his godfather in a battle with Voldemort. Just weeks ago he returned from a mission to destroy Voldemort only to watch his Headmaster and mentor murdered by a professor. He has experience more loss in his lifetime than you ever will, and he blames himself for all of it! Thanks to his eleven years in a cupboard under the stairs in your home, Harry has always believed that he is not capable of living up to the prophecy. He blames himself for everything, and thanks to you his self-confidence was shattered before it could even develop. Until Harry came to Hogwarts he’d never even experienced friendship, family, and love! You lot have never loved him or shown him any kindness. You probably don’t even think he deserves to be loved. Well I have news for you. I’m in—I love Harry Potter, and you are the freaks! What kind of human beings are you, anyway?” Hermione slowly began to raise her wand, pointing it at the Dursleys. “Perhaps it’s time you feel some of the pain you’ve inflicted upon Harry! I ought to hex you into oblivi—“

“Hermione, that’s enough!” Harry shouted from the stairs. She immediately dropped her wand arm to her side and stared at him.

He looked like a complete mess. His hair was even more unruly than usual, with random tufts sticking out at all angles. His emerald green eyes were shimmering, moist with unshed tears. There were smudges of dirt on his face, corresponding with the ragged, muddy rips in his oversized t-shirt; no doubt a hand-me-down from the Dursley’s precious ‘Dudders’. His worn jeans were far too large for his frame, barely held up by an old, cracked leather belt. Even his trainers were a disgrace, with his toes peeking out from the ends in greyed holey socks.

Hermione had never seen Harry like this. She’d heard the stories, but it was always Ron, or Dumbledore who had come to get him from Privet Drive. She gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. She’d been this upset and furious with the Dursleys just from the tales she’d been told; seeing the evidence right in front of her face was enough to send her over the edge.

Harry quickly descended the stairs to catch her in his arms as she crumpled to the floor, sobbing. The Dursleys took this as their cue to flee the house. They all piled into the car and drove off in terror, leaving the young witch clinging to their nephew.

Holding Hermione close, Harry tried to calm her down, soothingly stroking her hair. She continued to shake in his arms, as the realization of what she was about to do sunk in.

“Harry, I—“ she began, but he placed a gentle finger on her lips to silence her.

“It’s okay, ‘Mione. Really. Just calm down.”

Hermione breathed deeply for a minute or so, still trembling as her tears subsided. She was fully aware of everything she had just shouted at the Dursleys’, and was wondering how aware Harry was.

“The walls are thin, I heard all of it,” he said, seeming to sense her unasked question.

Hermione sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Oh, Harry, I had no idea,” she whispered. When she looked up at him, Harry could see the tears dancing in her eyes, threatening to spill over again at any moment. He ran the tip of his finger under her eyes, catching the tears before they fell.

Harry struggled to get his next words out, his heart wrenching as he felt what his best friend was feeling. “’Mione, we have to go.”

“What?” she looked at him, questions in her eyes.

“Uncle Vernon locked me in my room, and I wasn’t about to kick it down and have him beat me again. I used my wand to open it.”

Hermione was beginning to come to her senses, and the gravity of Harry’s words were sinking in. “You... you used Alohomora on the door?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “’Fraid so. I heard Uncle Vernon yelling something about freaks, and seeing as that’s how he describes us, well… I knew I hadn’t don’t anything yet to make him angry today, so it had to be someone else. He hasn’t got the stones to yell at Dumble—“ Harry gulped, realizing that Dumbledore would never rescue him from Little Whinging again, “at any of the professors like that.” he lamented. “I knew it had to be someone else.”

“So we should be hearing from Mafalda Hopkirk shortly?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded. He continued to hold his best friend, well aware of the fact that she was still trembling. Moments later, an owl arrived with a letter.

Mr. Harry Potter
4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

Dear Mr. Potter,

It has come to my attention through the Restriction on Underage Magic that you have recently performed the ‘Alohomora’ charm in the home of Muggles. Ordinarily you would receive a summons to the Ministry in such an event, but in light of your upcoming birthday, I have given the Improper Use of Magic office specific instructions to ‘overlook’ any minor spells for the time being. I feel it important to notify you of this situation, and to inform you that unless the Ministry detects Unforgivable curses or more serious spells, you are free to practice magic as you see fit. As there is approximately one week until you come of age, consider this as an early birthday present.

Yours Truly,

Rufus Scrimgeour

Minister of Magic

PS – By the way, Harry… If I were you I’d be getting away from those Muggle relatives of yours ASAP.

Harry read the letter and then passed it on to Hermione. Before she could get past a few lines, another owl arrived.

Harry (And Hermione, I presume):

Harry, Hermione used the Floo network to leave the Burrow and get you. Mrs. Figg sent me an owl to let me know.

Hermione, what were you thinking, rushing off from the Burrow alone at a time like this? You’ve always been so levelheaded; I can’t understand why you’d put yourself and Harry in danger like this.

Mad-Eye, Tonks and myself will be arriving shortly to collect you and bring you safely back to the Burrow. Harry, if you could be so kind as to prepare your trunk for the school year, it would be very helpful.

See you shortly,

Remus

“Harry, we can’t go back there,” Hermione whispered. He looked at her, confused. “I—I really don’t think Ron is ready to come with us to find the remaining Horcruxes. And there’s no way Mrs. Weasley is going to let Ginny come. If we go back there it’ll just put everyone in danger.”

“Then where do we go? We can’t go back to Hogwarts, if it even opens in September. I was looking forward to the Burrow. I want to see how Gin—how everyone’s doing.” He said quietly.

The feeling from earlier began to resurface deep within Hermione. She willed it back down. “Harry, it’s okay. I know you broke up with Ginny. She understands. We all do. But speaking as a girl who’s gone through a break-up, seeing more of each other afterwards isn’t going to help.”

“You and Ron?” Harry looked surprised. “It takes you two three years to get together and it’s over already?”

“I could say the same thing about you and Ginny,” Hermione said, refusing to meet his gaze.

Harry cupped a hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Are you okay?” His eyes searched hers, his other hand sliding around her waist to pull her in for a hug.

Hermione broke away before he could get too close. “Harry, I waited for three years for him to notice me, and that was a minor task. I’m not going to wait thirteen years for him to stop being a complete git.” She sniffled back another tear, realizing that in a brief moment that morning she’d given up on someone she’d waited three years for. Then she remembered why she’d given up.

“You’d better get your trunk so we can get out of here. I don’t know just where we’ll go yet, but we can’t be here. Otherwise we’ll be stuck at the Burrow all summer, Mrs. Weasley on our backs, and she’ll never let us search for the Horcruxes. I meant it when I said I was coming with you, Harry. I’m not going back to Hogwarts in September, I’m not meant to. There may not be a prophecy about me, but I’m going to make my own choices in life. I choose to go with you, Harry. Now let’s go get your trunk.”

They went upstairs to Harry’s sad excuse for a room, Hermione stifling back another gasp at the deplorable conditions. He quickly packed up his trunk and levitated it down to the living room. Hermione performed a Featherweight charm on his trunk and a Reduction charm, enabling Harry to put the trunk in his pocket. He glanced at her, questioningly.

“If Scrimgeour is overlooking any magic coming from your direction, the Ministry will most likely assume that it’s you performing the spells and not me.”

Harry smiled at her, and they headed for the door.

“Wait a second, Harry.” She smiled. “Scourgify!” Hermione cleaned him up at bit. “I may not be able to make the clothes fit, but I can at least make them presentable. Perhaps we can do a bit of Muggle shopping at Harrods and find you something more suitable. Shall we?” she asked, offering her arm.

Harry linked his arm with hers, and they left Privet Drive together, in search of sanctuary before they began their mission.

Disclaimer: Trust me, if I were JKR, the abomination that was HBP would never have happened.

Minutes after Harry and Hermione left Privet Drive, Remus Lupin arrived with Nymphadora Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody. They were mildly surprised to discover that Harry and Hermione were no longer there, but even more surprised at the lack of the Dursley family.

“They’ve probably made a run for it,” Mad-Eye said, suspicious as always.

Tonks shook her head. “There’s no way, I know Harry. He wouldn’t just run off like that.”

Lupin eyed her, noting her mousy brown hair. He was used to seeing something rather fluorescent atop her head. “We all think we know Harry, but really, he could have done anything. Harry promised Dumbledore he would carry on even if he died. He’s always been a man of his word, and that’s not likely to change now.”

Moody began grumbling something to himself and wandered towards the back of the house, checking for any signs of foul play. Tonks and Lupin stayed behind in the living room.

“I bet they ran off together,” Tonks reflected quietly. “I’ve always thought that those two were made for each other from the beginning and just couldn’t see it yet.”

“’Dora…” Lupin grasped her hand, squeezing it for comfort. He knew she’d be taking it personally that Harry had left.

“Remus, don’t,” she warned, taking her hand back. “And no one calls me by my first name except Harry. I won’t—“

“Let anyone else that close?” he finished. She looked at him, not knowing what to say. “What’s with your hair, anyway? I’ve never seen it like this.”

Tonks screwed up her face in concentration, and then gave up. “I haven’t been able to morph, Remus. It was coming back as I accepted Sirius’ death, but ever since—“

“Dumbledore’s death?” he interrupted.

“Dammit, Remus, will you ever listen to me?” she paused, waiting to see if he said anything. He remained silent; hands at his sides, with an almost pleading look on his face. “Ever since Dumbledore’s death, yes, but that’s not what’s preventing it. I’ve never been so…” she shook her head. “Never mind, there’s no point. You’ve already made your point quite clear. You’re too old, too poor, too dangerous, too—“

“Too in love with you to risk hurting you?”

“Remus, I swear, if you don’t shut it, I’m gonna—what?” Tonks blinked, watching as Lupin looked at her oddly. A few seconds later, her hair began to turn the same colour as her flushed cheeks.

“’Dora, your hair! It’s pink!” Lupin exclaimed.

“For Merlin’s sake, Remus, what is—my hair is what?!” Tonks hurried to the bathroom, and peeked inside. A high-pitched shriek reached Lupin’s ears in the living room, followed by a witch topped with pink cotton candy-like hair.

Lupin grabbed her by the arms and held her firmly in front of him.

“I can morph again! Merlin, I thought it was gone for… Remus? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Now who’s not listening? Did you just completely ignore what I said?”

“My hair is pink?” Tonks said meekly, feeling that she’d missed something in the excitement.

Lupin looked deep into her eyes, trying to decide what to say. He dipped his head low, and kissed her instead.

“As I was saying, I’m too in love with you to risk hurting you. That’s why we can’t be together.” He said sadly.

“Remus John Lupin, if you think that I’m going to just stand here and take it when you kiss me and tell me you can’t be with me in the same breath, then you’re sadly mistaken.” Tonks glared. She pressed herself closer to him, breathing deeply. “Tell me you don’t feel something, Remus. Tell me that being this close to me, that kissing me, doesn’t do anything for you.” She planted a kiss on his lips before he could even say anything.

Lupin snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her in, hard. “I can’t tell you that,” he said gruffly, “because it isn’t true.” Tonks’ eyes began to shine at his words, but he quickly dimmed their brightness. “But we can’t be together. It’s not safe. I’m not safe.”

“Dammit, Remus, you are the most stubborn man on the planet! Is this because you’re a werewolf?! I thought we went over that already! For the love of Merlin, if it’s not a problem for Fleur and Bill, then it shouldn’t be a problem for us!”

There were tears in her eyes now as she fought with the man she loved. Tonks didn’t understand. If Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour could still get married, then why couldn’t she and Remus be together?

“It’s not the same! Bill’s not a full werewolf! He wasn’t bitten at the full moon, or when Fenrir was in wolf form! I am a werewolf! There’s no telling what I could do to you as a wolf, and I don’t want to find out!” Lupin turned away, hiding his face from her.

His words began to dawn on Tonks. She couldn’t remember a time that Lupin had ever had a girlfriend, before or after Fenrir’s attack. Had he ever been with a woman?

“Remus,” she said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Remus, you don’t have to be scared. I’m not scared. I trust you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Nymphadora. I’ve never been in the situation where certain… animalistic instincts may take over. I don’t know what my reaction would be. I don’t know how much of the wolf side of me would come out. I just… I don’t know!”

Tonks wheeled him around and kissed him, hard this time. Passionate. She stroked his tongue with hers, tangling her fingers in his hair.

“Did you feel anything wolfish there?” She asked gently.

Lupin stared at her, blinking. “Huh?”

“Did. You. Feel. Anything. You. Git.” Tonks repeated slowly.

Remus grabbed her and kissed her, letting himself go. He felt almost as though he were devouring her soul, and he’d never felt closer to anyone.

“Ahem.” Mad-Eye Moody cleared his throat.

Tonks and Lupin broke apart immediately. “We were, uh… we were just…”

“It’s alright,” Moody interrupted Tonks. “I was wondering how much longer it’d take you two before you gave in to it. Though this may not be the time…” His magical eye swivelled around the perimeter of the house. “We may have company coming.”

The three quickly Apparated to Grimmauld Place, leaving Privet Drive behind.

<><><><><>

Half an hour later, Hermione paid the cab driver as she and Harry got out at Charing Cross Road. Fortunately Hermione had a few pound notes in her jeans pocket, which saved them the trouble of walking to the Leaky Cauldron. She and Harry had come to the conclusion that they were going to need money if they were going to disappear, which required stopping at Gringott’s in Diagon Alley.

Before they entered the pub, Hermione charmed Harry’s trunk back to normal so that he could get his Invisibility Cloak. She quickly returned it to its travelling size, and they slipped under the cloak and through the door.

The barman, Tom, saw the door open and the bricks begin to turn on the entrance to the Alley, but he simply said nothing. He knew Harry Potter liked his secrecy and was most likely using his cloak to pass through unnoticed, which Dumbledore had warned him about prior to his death. He went back to drying glasses, which seemed redundant, as he had no customers. Dumbledore’s death did not improve business. In fact, he hadn’t had a single customer since the funeral, and only kept the bar open so that people could pass through to Diagon Alley.

Harry huddled close to Hermione under the cloak, heading towards Gringotts. They slipped through the door when another patron was headed out, remaining unnoticed. Harry directed them towards the Goblin at the far end of the row, and began to whisper to him.

“Sir, you may not see anything in front of you, but I am a patron of your bank and I am in need of the utmost discretion. My name is Harry Potter. If you could please find Griphook and have him meet me at the entrance to the vaults, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Without giving the Goblin a chance to argue, they walked away, hearing him whisper “Mr. Potter, sir?” They waited by the nearest cart, and shortly the Goblin Griphook appeared.

“Sir, I am not sure of your whereabouts at the moment, but I am impressed that you remember who I am. If you would be so kind as to get in the cart, I will take you to your vault where we may further discuss your needs.” Griphook addressed the empty air. He waited a few seconds, and then looked over the edge of the cart. Inside, no longer under the safety of the cloak, Harry and Hermione huddled below the edge of the cart so that only Griphook could see them there. “Ah, Mr. Potter, sir. I had no idea you had brought Miss Granger along. Come along then, let’s go down to your vault.”

Griphook climbed in after them, and they rode in silence to Harry’s vault. When they arrived, the Goblin held out his hand for Harry’s key, and opened the vault.

Hermione gasped in surprise. She had thought she was misreading the statement next to the vault door, but the numerous piles of Galleons indicated that her eyes did not deceive her.

“Mr. Potter, as you know, you have already inherited both the Potter Family Estate and the Black Family Estate. With the untimely passing of Albus Dumbledore, we had the usual legal matters to attend to. I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that you have been named Headmaster Dumbledore’s heir. You have inherited property and various belongings of his, as well a portion of his financial holdings. Before the reading of the will, which was early this morning, your vault statement read 10, 465, 783 Galleons. It now reads 15, 794, 926 Galleons. You have inherited 5, 329, 143 Galleons from Headmaster Dumbledore’s Estate. Congratulations, Mr. Potter. I daresay that you are now the most eligible bachelor in the entire Wizarding world. In case you’re unsure of how vast your fortune really is, it is over seventy million pounds, or one hundred and twenty million American dollars.”

Harry blinked and staggered backwards. Harry Potter, a millionaire? A multimillionaire? He looked down at himself, registering his shabby appearance. Was this any way for a rich man to dress? Material things may not hold much importance for him, but at least he could buy himself some clothes that fit. He knew that he had a large amount of Galleons in his vault, but hearing how much it was in British pounds was a reality check.

“Mr. Potter, do you understand what I am telling you? You now own roughly one third of the property held by the Wizarding world, and you have enough money in your vault that you would never have to work in your life.”

Harry nodded. “I understand, Griphook. I just wish I hadn’t acquired it in this manner.”

Griphook gestured in agreement. Hermione recognized the look on her friend’s face, and slipped her hand into his for comfort.

“Griphook, I need to withdraw fifty thousand Galleons, and convert half of it into Sterling notes.” He cleared his throat, not allowing his emotions to get the best of him.

The Goblin nodded, and handed Harry two bags from the cart. “Place twenty-five thousand galleons in each bag, and I will convert one bag into pounds for you.”

Minutes later the transaction was over, and Harry’s bags were charmed small enough to be coin purses. He stuffed them into his pockets, and turned to thank Griphook.

“I appreciate your assistance and discretion, Griphook. If there should be any other changes to my vault, please notify me. I would also appreciate it if you would keep mine and Miss Granger’s visit today a secret.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter, but before you go there is one more thing.” Griphook gestured to a crate on the floor. “Upon the deaths of your godfather and headmaster, the Goblins separated the objects in the vaults into two crates: dangerous magical items, and safe magical items. The dangerous ones are locked in a separate vault, for which I will give you the key in a moment. This crate is the safe objects. There are several items that you may find interesting. You and Miss Granger are free to peruse this crate and take whichever items you’d like. When you are done return to the cart, put your cloak back on, and you will be returned to the lobby.”

He nodded as a means of saying goodbye, handed Harry the key to the other vault, and left them alone.

“Lumos,” Harry ignited the tip of his wand, and peered into the crate.

“Oh, Harry, these are beautiful!” Hermione exclaimed, carefully handling several pieces of jewellery. Most of them had come from Grimmauld Place, but some were from the Potter estate.

Harry lifted a jewellery box from the bottom of the crate. It was scarlet velvet, covered in dust. He carefully lifted the lid to discover it was lined with gold silk. Resting in the centre were three rings. His mother’s engagement ring, and his parents’ wedding bands. There were also two gold chains in the box, which Harry presumed Lily and James Potter had used to wear their rings in a more discreet place.

He slid the larger band onto one of the chains, assuming it belonged to his father by the size. He placed his mother’s band onto the second chain, and paused for a few moments to examine the engagement ring. It was a gold band with a large diamond solitaire in the centre, and two small baguettes on either side. He held it to the light for a better look.

Hermione squealed. “Harry, do you know what that is?!” she exclaimed.

“My mum’s engagement ring,” he said, without taking his eyes off of it. It seemed almost strange to him, as if the centre diamond was glowing from within.

“It’s a Glitra Diamond! I’ve only ever read about these in books, I’ve never actually seen one!”

Harry stared at her blankly. “It’s a what?”

Hermione immediately reverted to bookworm mode. “A Glitra Diamond. One of the most rare precious stones in the world. They were ordinary diamonds at first, but a very powerful wizard who had training in Gemology cut the diamonds from their raw form. He infused magic into them as he developed the stones, causing them to seem like they glitter from within. It is said that a person wearing a piece of jewellery made from a Glitra Diamond will develop some sort of a connection with the person who gave them the piece.”

“So what if someone buys one for themselves?”

Hermione looked at him like he’d just spoken Parseltongue. “Are you crazy? Do you know how much these cost? There’s only three left in the world, Harry. I’ve only ever heard of them being used in engagement rings or some form of wedding jewellery.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s just a diamond,” he muttered.

Hermione flushed, almost embarrassed, but she was dying to ask him a question. “Harry, would you… would you mind if I tried it on?” she asked.

Again, he shrugged. “Just don’t break it, it was my mum’s.”

She shot him a reproachful look. “It’s a diamond, Harry. It’s the hardest substance in the world. Besides, this is me you’re talking to, not Ron. I’m not going to break it.”

He handed her the ring and she slipped it on her finger, admiring the way the diamond glittered. Harry watched as her face began to glow, as though she were lit from within like the stone.

“Here.” He handed her the chain with his mother’s wedding band on it. “Put it on this chain, and wear it around your neck.”

Hermione looked at him, confused. “But Harry, it’s—“

“It belonged to my mum, I know. I’m taking my dad’s ring and wearing it, so you might as well take my mum’s. I’m not leaving them behind, and I’d look a bit silly wearing that, wouldn’t I?” he reasoned, slipping the ring from her finger onto the chain. He fastened it around her neck, letting his fingers linger a moment longer than usual.

Besides, you looked so beautiful when you put it on, how could I leave it behind? Harry thought to himself. Then he realized the thought that had just passed through his head. Beautiful? Hermione? He stopped to look at her, watching as she tenderly fingered the ring around her neck. His gaze began to travel downwards, and for the first time that day he noticed what she was wearing.

He gulped.

She was kneeling on the floor of his vault, bent over the crate examining the contents. He had moved around to face her, and appreciatively took in her attire. She was wearing an emerald green tank top, almost the exact shade as his eyes. A pair of khaki shorts ended long before her knees, and she was wearing sandals. Her toes peeked out from the end, painted the same colour as her tank top. Hermione’s kneeling position over the crate allowed Harry a rather generous glance at something normally covered by her school robes. Though her tank top may have been tight, it couldn’t prevent Harry’s fantastic view from his standing position.

He forced his eyes to travel back up her body, pausing on her face. There was something about her eyes. They seemed to have the tiniest flecks of emerald in them, like his eyes. Perhaps it was the way the light was hitting her face, but Harry wasn’t sure. Her hair – her hair! How had he not noticed it that morning? It was nowhere near as bushy as usual; it seemed as though she had used an excessive amount of Sleekeazy potion to tame it like she had years before.

Her eyes flicked up towards him, and suddenly Harry began to doubt her earlier statement about diamonds being the hardest substance in the world. She seemed to have an almost hungry look in her eyes, and it was making him think thoughts he shouldn’t. She’s your best friend! Your best friend!

He quickly dropped to his knees across from her, letting his t-shirt hide his obvious discomfort.

“Harry, what is it?” she said, noticing the glazed look in his eyes.

Harry was lost in his thoughts, trying to push them out of his head. She is your best friend, what are you thinking?

“Harry?” she asked again, resting her hand on his arm. He began to tingle all over.

“Sorry, what?” he said shaking his head.

Hermione looked at him sceptically. “You’re not even listening to me? I asked what was wrong! You looked lost in thought.”

“I was just noticing… your hair! What did you do to it?” he stumbled over his words.

She smoothed a hand over her hair. “Oh, Fred and George found a way to make the Sleekeazy potion permanent. They’ve added a line of magical beauty products to the love potion section, and they thought I’d like to try it. They’ve decided to keep the joke shop going despite, well, everything,” she faltered. “Why, does it look bad?”

“Bad? Hermione, are you kidding? You look—“ Harry realized what he was about to say, and quickly changed the subject. “Hey, can you help me get this chain around my neck? I’m no good with clasps when I can’t see them.”

Hermione obliged, resolving to find out later what Harry had been about to say.

They scooped a few objects out of the crate, added them to the sack of Galleons, and left the bank.

Disclaimer: I’m just taking JKR’s car for a joyride. ;)

Later that evening, after making a few incognito purchases in Diagon Alley, Hermione reminded Harry that they would need to find a place to stay for the night. Harry suggested that they take a room or two over the Leaky Cauldron, knowing that Tom the barman would appreciate the business.

“Harry, you know perfectly well we can’t stay anywhere in the Wizarding community. The Order will find us. They always do. They don’t have much experience in the Muggle world; I think we should hide at my parents house.” Hermione suggested.

Harry seemed to think this over for a moment. “Wouldn’t the Order come to your parents’ house, too?” he reminded Hermione.

She reluctantly agreed, “You’re right, Harry. But do you think we could at least stop and see them before we go off? I just want to... to be able to say goodbye.” It had never occurred to her until that moment that she might not come back from the search with Harry.

He sensed was she was upset, so he led her over to a bench at the far end of Diagon Alley where no one was likely to sit down. “Don’t think about it like that. Let’s just go find a hotel in London, get a room for the night, and we’ll worry about it in the morning. We’ll sit down and have a nice long talk when we get there, alright?”

Harry slid a comforting arm around her waist, pulling her close for a hug. His heart began to beat faster, and there was a warm sense of contentment pooling in his stomach. Harry tried to ignore it. Hermione turned to look at him. “Let’s go, ‘Mione. I promise you’ll live to see your parents.” They were such harsh words, but they were in a harsh reality. They were the only two who planned to destroy Voldemort. The only two who could succeed.

Hermione nodded, allowing Harry to lead her out of Diagon Alley. Moments later they were in a cab on their way to Norfolk Towers in Paddington, which was in Central London.

When they arrived Hermione quickly charmed her birth certificate and Harry’s to make them appear a few years older. He looked at her questioningly.

“You have to be 18 to register for a room.” She explained. Harry hung back while she did all the talking, registering them for a room with two double beds. She paid with the Sterling notes he had handed her before entering the hotel, and they were on their way up the elevator before Harry realized she was done at the counter.

Inside the elevator, Harry seemed almost as confused as Ron would. The deplorable way he had been treated at the Dursleys’ had definitely never included a trip anywhere with an elevator. He knew what they were and what they did; it was just that he’d never actually been in one.

Hermione could see the reaction on his face, and did her best to stifle a giggle. The doors opened, and they stepped out together. Harry followed Hermione down the corridor, waiting to see where they stopped.

She quickly found the door marked ‘712’, unlocked the door, and held it open for Harry. Once they were inside, he used the spells Hermione had to bring his trunk back to normal size. Hermione immediately went to the window, looking over London. It was still early afternoon, and her stomach was beginning to growl. It seemed like they’d covered several days worth of territory in just a few hours.

“Harry,” she began, “Do you think we ought to go find something to eat, and then perhaps get you some better clothes?”

Harry immediately felt self-conscious, looking down at his shabby hand-me-downs.

“Oh no, Harry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought that perhaps if they fit, it might make things easier for you. Besides, why not get some nice things? Have you ever had anything that fit properly other than your school robes? Now that you’re free from the Dursleys’ you can get something nice and not worry about the consequences.” She quickly reasoned, hoping she hadn’t upset him.

Harry sat back on the bed closest to the door, looking dejected. “I know what you meant, Hermione.” He muttered, seeming lost in thought. His eyes began to glisten, tears forming in the corners. He kept his eyes cast down, avoiding her gaze.

Seeing this, Hermione immediately crossed the room, and knelt on the floor in front of him. She knew that when he was feeling like this, throwing an arm around his shoulder wouldn’t help. She’d have to talk some sense into him, and couldn’t do that if she couldn’t even see his face.

“Harry, what is the matter with you? You’re free! You don’t have to go back to the Dursleys anymore. You and I are going to search for the remaining Horcruxes, destroy them, and then we’ll blow off Voldemort’s head or something. It’ll all be over soon, and you have me here with you! I’m not going to let this mission fail. Don’t you understand, Harry? We’re in this together. I’m here for you, and I’m going to help in every way that I can. Please don’t be upset, Harry,” she craned her neck to look into his eyes, but he shifted his head so that his shaggy hair fell in the way.

He couldn’t hide his whole face from her; seconds later she saw a single shining tear sliding down his cheek. She reached up to brush it away, but he caught her wrist in his strong grip. “Don’t touch me,” he said, his voice barely even a whisper.

“What?” Hermione looked hurt. Harry raised his head, looking straight into her eyes. She gasped. There was so much pain in those eyes, so much sorrow and regret. The brilliant emerald green she’d come to know and love held so much emotion that she felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. It was just her, and Harry. Harry and his heart-rending eyes, glistening with tears.

“I said, don’t touch me, Hermione.” He let go of her wrist, looking away again.

Hermione tried to hold back her tears, but they were threatening to spill over. “I don’t understand, Harry.” She sniffled, wanting nothing more than to wrap him in an embrace and never let go. She knew he was hurting, but to see it in his eyes like that, well… she didn’t think she could stand it.

Harry sighed, another tear sliding down his cheek. Hermione watched as it traced the path the first tear had left, and then disappeared below his jaw.

Again, Harry turned his head, speaking to her but avoiding looking her in the eye. “It’s not safe, ‘Mione. I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you.”

Still confused, Hermione argued, “Hurt me? Harry, I know you wouldn’t. And I knew this journey wasn’t safe far before I decided to come along. I don’t care if it’s not safe, all I care about is that I’m with—“ she broke off, hoping Harry wouldn’t notice what she’d been about to say. Instead, she rested a warm, reassuring hand on his thigh, hoping he would calm down.

Next thing she knew, Hermione was pinned to the floor of their hotel room, Harry’s frame pressing into her. He had grabbed her wrist again and lunged off of the bed, holding her still.

“Hermione, I’m warning you,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

Her heart was beating faster than it ever had. “Harry—“ she began, but she couldn’t finish the words. The tears were spilling over now, flowing freely.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, shifting his weight. He pinned both her wrists above her head with his left hand, and brushed away her tears with his right. “Ever since… since school ended, I don’t feel like myself anymore. I know I’m supposed to find Voldemort and kill him, but I don’t want to. I just—“ he stopped, looking into her eyes. “I just want to be normal,” he shrugged, like it were that simple.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Harry silenced her.

“There’s only been one thing in my entire life that makes me feel normal. And it’s too much; I can’t ask it of you. I just can’t.”

Harry was trembling, waves of emotion coursing through his body. Hermione could see it in his eyes.

“Harry, don’t ask then.” She said bravely, choking back tears. There was a different tone to her voice: understanding, offering.

Still pinning her to the floor, Harry gave her a questioning look.

“What I mean is that you don’t have to ask. I’ll do it. If I can help, please, Harry, just—“

Harry’s lips were on hers before she realized what he had meant. His kiss was urgent and fierce, the length of his body now pressing harder into hers.

Hermione’s mind was spinning, taking in what was happening all too fast. He’s kissing me? Has he lost his mind? Wait, have I lost my mind? Tenderly, Hermione’s hands snaked their way into his tousled hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

Harry immediately jumped off of her, and walked across the room and out the sliding glass door to the balcony. He rested his elbows on the wrought iron, holding his head in his hands. Had he really done that? For Merlin’s sake, just weeks ago she was his best mate’s girl, and he’d had his own girl! She was his best friend! His body may have been temporarily satisfied, and sure his worries about Voldemort may have disappeared for a bit, but at what cost? Sweet Merlin, he had just pinned his best friend to the floor and snogged her senseless. Harry’s tears quickly returned, his body racking with sobs.

Hermione still lay on the floor, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. Harry had kissed her? He found her attractive? Her hand flew to her chest, a warm sensation beginning to flick its way across. Her hand brushed against something. Harry’s mum’s rings. They felt like they were on fire! The Glitra diamond was shining brighter than ever.

She quickly tucked it back inside of her shirt, and lifted herself off of the floor. She had heard the balcony door open, and she saw Harry clinging to the fence around it. He was crying, his hand resting over his heart. Because of me? She thought, did I do it wrong? Oh, Merlin, I knew this would be a disaster if it ever happened! She slowly approached him, her mind still reeling. You kissed me? You like me and you’re attracted to me? But it doesn’t make sense!

It makes perfect sense. You’re beautiful.

Hermione’s eyes flew wide open in shock. That wasn’t her own voice in her head. It was… Harry?

What? He sounded miserable.

Harry, turn and look at me. Please, she begged. He slowly raised his head and twisted to face her.

Hermione, I’m so sorry, Harry began, seeing the look on her face.

Our mouths aren’t moving. Hermione pointed out. We’re not making any sound.

Hermione’s words slowly sank in, the pair of them becoming more confused.

What in the name of Merlin is going on? Harry asked.

Never mind that, we’ll figure this out in a minute. Harry, Hermione moved closed to him, what just happened? Over there, on the floor?

I’m so sorry, Hermione… I tried to warn you, I tried to tell you, but I just—I can barely control myself anymore! I just wanted to feel normal, I didn’t want to think about Voldemort anymore, and there you were, looking up at me like an angel, trying to make me feel better and… what have I done? Oh, ‘Mione, you were only trying to help me and there I go and force myself upon you like—

Harry stopped, realizing that during his ramblings, Hermione had wound her arms around his neck and was just as close as she’d been minutes earlier.

What are you doing? He asked.

If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.

She kissed him. It was gentle this time, soft and warm. Hermione deepened the kiss, teasing him with her tongue. She felt Harry’s hands go to her waist, encircling it like it was nothing at all. One hand slid up her back and pulled her even closer. She felt like she was in heaven. And then it stopped.

Hermione, we can’t do this! Harry sounded furious.

“Why not?!” she asked angrily, crossing her arms and glaring at him. He’d taken a few steps back.

“It’s not right! I don’t deserve to feel normal! And I certainly can’t keep doing this with you! You’re my best friend and I—“

“Still want to be with Ginny.” She finished for him.

He gaped at her, shocked. Is that what she thought? Before he could argue with her, she had fled the room. Harry sat back down on the bed, thoughts running through his head. I can’t believe I just did that to her. She must think I’m some kind of animal or something. Dammit, I knew if she touched me this would happen! I should’ve seen the warning signs, but it felt… different this time. Not like with Ginny.

When Harry had kissed Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, it had been an accident. Not in that he didn’t mean to kiss her and ended up doing it somehow, but that he hadn’t planned on doing it. He’d finally begun to feel normal with the day’s events, but something deep inside was driving him to do what normal boys do. It sounded so awful to think of it in this manner, but it was really a matter of convenience.

Harry had felt terrible for doing it. He thought that perhaps if he kept things up with Ginny he would eventually fall in love with her, but it didn’t feel that way after two weeks. Yes, he liked her, and under different circumstances he would’ve continued the relationship, but he knew that if he continued to give it a chance that Lord Voldemort would eventually find out and try to use her against him. That was why he’d ended it. It just didn’t feel right. She was Ron’s little sister, and he was practically using her to make himself feel better. He’d known from the beginning that the relationship was doomed to fail, and yet he kept it going for two weeks.

That was so… different, his thoughts resumed. With Gin it was just a kiss, and this was… wow… is there any way to describe it other than that? Even now, Harry’s lips still felt as though they were on fire, and his body was tingling. Maybe I should go find her, and try to explain. She’s going to think I’m horrible for what I did to Ginny, but she needs to know. She needs to know that I’ve fallen—No! Harry couldn’t think that. The last thing he needed was to be in another relationship. If Voldemort found out how much he cared for Hermione, he would definitely use her to get to him. He’d enjoy it! Hermione was Muggleborn, which would make Voldemort hate her already. Harry could only imagine what kind of hell he would put her through. He wouldn’t do it; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

I can still hear your thoughts; he heard Hermione’s gentle voice in his head.

Hermione, please come back, he begged, his voice full of emotion.

I never left. Hermione opened the door. “I was sitting in the hallway, trying to calm down.”

Harry rushed over to her and wrapped her in the tightest embrace of her life. “’Mione, I am not letting you go until you let me explain.” He said fiercely.

“Then you’d better talk fast, ‘cause I don’t know how much longer I can breathe like this,” she said, a faint smile crossing her lips.

A/N: Alright, I see that a bunch of readers have realized that this story has been posted up to chapter 24 on FanFiction.net. You’re all more than welcome to go there and read it if you want, it’s posted under the same author name and story title, but honestly, I was planning on posting a chapter a day here anyway, so you would have had it soon enough. While you’re at FF.net, there’s another oneshot that I’m not posting here because it’s mostly a parody piece and there’s no real H/Hr in it other than a brief mention, but I liked it.

Anyway. For those of you who see this at FF.net, chapter ten will be considerably different on Portkey, as will several of the scenes that take place between Harry and Hermione. A reviewer asked last night if the T rated version at FF.net will be different than the R rated version at Portkey. The answer is yes. Most of the physical scenes are going to get a lot more explicit in their description, so the story WILL be different, and chapter ten will have a different outcome.

Disclaimer: If I were JKR, Horcruxes wouldn’t exist, and HBP would have been a bad April Fool’s Day joke that came out late in July.

<><><><><>

“Do you remember when Dumbledore told me that I had something Voldemort didn’t? Something that would be strong enough to defeat him?” Harry began, sitting Hermione down on the bed.

She nodded, still wondering what had gotten into Harry. “It was love.”

“Exactly. And what’s the one thing that’s normal for all children to experience growing up?” he paused, making sure she followed what he was saying. “It’s pretty much expected that a child receives unconditional love as they grow older, which helps them live a normal life. The Dursleys never loved me, and I’ve clearly had a normal life.

“When I met you and Ron and we all became best friends, and even if we don’t say it, we all love each other. It’s like a brotherly and sisterly love, and it’s been great. Knowing the two of you are by my side makes me feel better than you’ll ever know, but—“

“But it doesn’t make you feel whole inside,” Hermione finished, beginning to understand.

“That’s why I kissed Ginny last year. I really did have feelings for her, and I think I still do. I remember feeling like I wanted to rip off Dean Thomas’ arms and shove them down his throat,” he laughed, “but I had been thinking about what Dumbledore said. Voldemort at least has a chance at friendship with some of his Death Eaters. I think that’s what Pettigrew feels towards him. Awe, worship, and in his twisted mind, friendship. But the odds of anyone other than Bellatrix Lestrange throwing herself at him?”

Hermione giggled. “I’m sorry, Harry, it’s just a funny thought. Lestrange and Voldemort? Imagine what the children would be like!”

Harry didn’t even want to think about it. “But still. If the power of love is what’s supposed to defeat him, I don’t think friendship is quite enough. I thought that maybe I needed some kind of romantic love to do it. That’s where Ginny came in, except it kind of backfired on me. I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions. When she threw herself at me it was an opportune moment, and I had a theory I needed to try. So I kissed her. Later I tried to rationalize it to myself that I was attracted to her anyway, so it was okay, but I still feel horrible.” He sighed, leaning back against the pillows on the bed.

“So did your theory work?” Hermione asked. This was talk she could understand. Theories and practice; that made sense to her. Romance and relationships weren’t exactly her area of expertise.

“That’s the thing,” Harry said, “it worked, but not like I thought it would. When I kissed Ginny I felt normal. Like a normal boy with a normal childhood and a normal life. I felt like I could do anything and I didn’t even think about Voldemort until hours later. It was as if this whole prophecy business didn’t exist, and I was just a normal guy with his girlfriend. It felt wonderful.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that it was the kind of thing Dumbledore was talking about. Would a normal boy be able to defeat Voldemort? No. Until I could figure out what he meant, I stayed with Ginny. I thought that maybe, with time and patience, things would work out. I was wrong. Voldemort would come after her, and I couldn’t see my feelings progressing beyond just liking her. There was a problem, though. I don’t understand it, but for some reason that kind of physical intimacy seemed to solve my problems temporarily. However, without Ginny earlier this summer, I couldn’t prove my theory that just a kiss can make things better. It may be something that people say in passing, but I think that it’s really true.”

Hermione had a smirk on her face. “Oh, Harry, it is true! It’s something that’s been well known in the wizarding world for centuries. It’s called the Passus Condition. It has to do with the feelings a kiss can invoke, and the power of the witch and wizard involved.”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Well, that explains a lot then. There’s more, though. When you touched me earlier, I felt like there was liquid fire rushing through my veins. My heart started pounding, and I felt like I was floating. All from a simple touch! You know how much of a mess I’ve been since term ended, and—“

“You needed a good snogging,” Hermione chuckled.

“Well, in short, yes,” Harry laughed, his eyes beginning to sparkle for the first time in weeks. “It was the way I felt, though. If just touching skin to skin could do that, then what would a kiss do? I didn’t want to force you. You’re my best friend, Hermione; you have been for six years now. If I were to have kissed you, what would that mean for our friendship?”

Hermione’s face fell. She could’ve sworn she’d heard him thinking more than friendly thoughts about her. “So that’s why you warned me,” she said dejectedly.

“Precisely. I didn’t want to put you in a compromising position. And then when you put your hand on my leg—“ Harry went silent, turning a deep shade of scarlet that would’ve put Uncle Vernon to shame.

“Harry, I don’t understand. We’ve been close before; I’ve done more than just touch your leg. What was it about this time that was so different?”

Harry swallowed loudly, unsure of how to broach the topic with his best friend. He decided on an approach, and went with it. “Um, remember how earlier, in the vault at Gringotts, you said that diamonds were the hardest substance in the world?”

Hermione nodded vigorously, thinking of the Glitra diamond that was glowing warmly between her breasts.

His palms began to feel moist. He felt extremely nervous admitting this to Hermione. “You’re beautiful,” he blurted out. “When I saw you in the Dursleys’ living room this morning you looked like an avenging angel, with fire in your eyes. There was this energy around you; you were like that diamond that’s around your neck right now, glowing from the inside out. And Miss Granger,” he said, imitating the accent of Professor McGonagall, “what on earth are you wearing? Those shorts are far too short to be regulation, and where on earth are the straps on that top? They must be at least three fingers wide.” He gave her a stern glare, only to burst into laughter seconds later.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh with him; he did a very excellent imitation of Professor McGonagall. She used her laughter to cover the flush that had crept across her cheeks.

“Anyway,” Harry cleared his throat. Here came the hard part, literally. “When we were in the vault, and you were kneeling to look into the crate, you looked absolutely gorgeous. It was, um… hard not to stare at certain, um…” Harry shut up to prevent himself from babbling.

Realization dawned on Hermione. Harry had been standing while she was looking in the crate; he’d been in the perfect position to look down her top! “Harry!” she exclaimed.

“What?” he continued to turn a deeper shade of scarlet.

“You—you were looking down my shirt!” she said, giggling.

“Yes, well, it was hard not to.” He said, trying his best to keep from embarrassing himself further.

“Is that what set you off earlier? When I was kneeling in front of the bed trying to get you to look at me?” she asked gently. She could see he was uncomfortable, and she didn’t want him to stop talking.

“It was a combination of several things at once. You touching me, the scent of your hair, the look in your eyes, and yes, the generous view. I was upset, and I saw someone I wanted, who could make me feel happy again. And dammit, Hermione, do you ever listen when someone tells you not do to something? I said not to touch me and you go and do it again!” he pretended to lecture her. “That’s why I pinned you down. If you kept touching me like that, there was no telling what I’d do.”

Hermione nodded, taking in everything he’d been saying. He thought she was beautiful? No one except Viktor Krum had ever called her beautiful before. And he wanted her? It was a lot to take in at once.

“Then when you practically volunteered…” Harry trailed off, remembering the passion of their kiss. He shook the thought from his head. “Hermione, I’d bet you five Galleons that I can think of something harder than a diamond.”

She opened her mouth to reply, and then stopped, taking in what he’d just said. Did he really mean it like that? “Um, Harry? You do realize that’s normal, right? Having a—a reaction like that?”

“’Mione, I’m 16. Believe me, I know it’s normal.” Harry cleared his throat again. “Can I just say it without having to find a cute way of putting it?” he asked, not wanting Hermione to feel as uncomfortable as he did.

“Harry, it’s me. You never need to find a ‘cute’ way of putting it.”

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t making you feel weird or anything.” He paused, and she shook her head, allowing him to continue. “Usually it’s like that when I wake up in the morning, but that’s it. It’s never happened that easily before.”

“Not even with Ginny?” Hermione asked, knowing what the fiery little redhead was like in a relationship. She heard all about it in the girls’ dorms, usually firsthand from Ginny herself.

Harry shook his head. “Nope. Not for lack of trying though. She’d always try to do more than snog, and I kept telling her I didn’t want to.”

Hermione was confused. “Why didn’t you want to?”

“It didn’t feel right. I felt pressured, and like we were rushing into things. And ‘she’s Ron’s little sister!’ kept running through my head half the time. I kept thinking about how many times he’d punch me if he found out what Ginny was up to.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Hermione didn’t like the thought of Ginny being that physical with Harry. That was too much for her. She decided to change the subject, needing to sort out her own feelings for Harry before bringing that up with him.

“So what’s with us being able to hear each other think?” she asked.

You mean like this? Harry asked her with his mind.

Yes, do you have any idea what might have set it off? Hermione was determined to solve this mystery.

Might it have something to do with that bright spot between your breasts? Harry asked, having a reason to stare for once.

Hermione blushed, fumbling in her shirt. She withdrew the Glitra diamond from its resting place, the band clinking against Lily Potter’s wedding band.

Of course, it all makes sense! She felt stupid for not having realized it when she first heard Harry’s thoughts.

What? He was still confused.

It’s the diamond! Remember when I said that usually the wearer of the diamond develops some kind of connection with the person who gave it to them?

Harry nodded, still confused. But my dad gave my mum these rings. Why can I hear your thoughts? We’re not my parents.

But Harry, you gave me the ring to wear because you thought you’d look silly in it. For all intents and purposes, the stone considers that to be enough. Especially since you have your dad’s wedding band.

So what happens if we take them off? He asked.

They both twisted the chains until the clasp was in front of them, and took off the rings.

“Can you hear my thoughts, Harry?” Hermione tried to come up with something obscure that he couldn’t guess.

“Nope. Can you hear mine?” He thought of himself riding on his broom during the TriWizard Tournament as he tried to escape the Hungarian Horntail.

She shook her head. “Well, that solves that problem. Now to decide what to do.”

“What do you mean, decide?” Harry asked incredulously. “We wear them! When we leave to search for the Horcruxes it would be such an advantage. No need to communicate verbally and risk anyone overhearing us, it’d be perfect!” His mind was spinning with ideas.

Hermione let him ramble on about the advantages, while she lamented the disadvantages. No more private thoughts to myself, she mused. Oh, Harry… do you really still care for Ginny? I know you, and what you’re like. You don’t act purely on physical attraction or you’d’ve been all over Fleur Delacour when Bill brought her home. What do you really feel for me?

Harry was still on about their new ability to communicate silently, while Hermione tried to come up with ways to still help Harry with the Horcruxes without running into some ‘reactions’ of her own.

A/N: Slight changes from the FF.net version in this chapter (a few sentences here and there, but still) so if you’ve opted to read it to Chapter 24 on FFN, you’re missing out! :P

Disclaimer: Harry, Hermione, and the entire bloody Potterverse belong to JKR. Really, even though after HBP I’m not so sure… I’m just playing around with it all.

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After the teens had some time to calm down, they ordered room service for dinner. Neither of them had eaten yet that day and were starving; it was now past six. Harry had never dealt with a room service menu before, let alone ordering one, so he left that task to Hermione. She’d read a few things to him she thought he might like, and he picked what he wanted. While she was busy with dinner, Harry headed back out to the balcony. Earlier that afternoon he’d noticed that there was a table and chairs on the balcony, and he began to formulate a plan to surprise Hermione. He pulled the curtains over the sliding door so that she couldn’t see him, and took out his wand. There was no one out on the adjacent balconies, and at seven stories high, it wasn’t likely anyone would see him.

As Hermione placed the phone back in its cradle, she noticed the shadow of Harry on the curtain bouncing about on the balcony. He was moving all around, with his wand out, lit from behind by the setting sun. It seemed almost as if he were practicing duelling moves. She shrugged to herself, glad that he was at least able to clear his head enough to focus on their task ahead.

“Harry?” she called out tentatively.

He froze, hoping she wasn’t going to come out on the balcony. They still hadn’t put the rings back on, so there was no way she could know what he was up to. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to take a shower. If someone shows up with dinner before I get out, will you get the door, please?” she asked, pulling her shirt over her head as she walked to the bathroom.

“Mhmm, sure, it’ll be on the balcony when you’re done.” came the reply, but Hermione wasn’t listening anymore.

If earlier set him off, he should see me now, she thought, undoing the clasp of her bra and letting it join her tank top on the floor. She took her time unbuttoning her shorts, half-wishing that Harry would walk in on her right now. She realized how daring she was being by stripping with nothing but the curtain between the two of them, but perhaps if he were to catch her in the nude he’d realize his feelings for her. Or so she hoped.

Hermione bent over, slowly sliding her shorts down her smooth, tanned legs. She had spent a lot of time outside during her short stay at the Burrow, and the sun had certainly rewarded her for it. Standing in the middle of the hotel room wearing nothing but a light pink lace thong, Hermione wished more than anything that Harry could see her. She headed for the bathroom, not hearing the curtain pull back behind her, or the knock on the door.

As Harry crossed the room he was rewarded with a brief glimpse of Hermione’s tanned backside, nearly causing him to trip on his own feet on his way to the door. Harry did his best to control his thoughts, knowing Hermione would hear them, but Merlin was he ever desperately restraining himself from following her into the bathroom and shagging her senseless against the shower wall! He had to take a few seconds to breathe before opening the door, waiting until he heard the water running in the bathroom.

He answered the door. “Sorry I took so long, I was on the balcony and didn’t hear you knock at first.”

The man nodded, almost as if he didn’t care. He pushed the serving cart into the room, and stood, staring at Harry. He wasn’t sure what to do, so Harry handed the man a couple pounds, thanked him, and watched him leave. He’d never been in a position where he had to tip someone before. Fortunately he’d heard of it, so he wasn’t completely lost.

Harry pushed the cart towards the balcony, his mind still stuck on the image of Hermione entering the bathroom. He spotted her clothes in a pile on the floor, and gulped. She’d undressed right here, and he could’ve come in at any moment! Before he allowed himself to feel embarrassed at the thought, Harry remembered how smart of a girl Hermione was, and realized that she wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t want to catch him.

She did it on purpose? The little minx! Two could play that game, and Harry wasn’t about to lose. Torn between storming his way into the bathroom and showing her just what her games did to him and finding a method of revenge, he chose the latter and took action. He quickly whipped off his shirt and began to set the table for dinner. Halfway through, he decided to try a shrinking charm to see if it would make his jeans fit a little better. Fortunately Harry managed to stop the spell just before they were too tight. He removed the old belt, knowing they would now rest snugly on his body.

While Harry was outside, Hermione turned off the taps in the shower. She stepped out and grabbed a towel, quickly rubbing it over her hair to absorb any excess water. She peeked out the door and when she couldn’t see Harry, she made a quick dash for her clothes and quickly dressed in the bathroom. She hadn’t taken the time to dry her skin, so her shorts and tank top clung to her body. Hermione wasn’t worried about styling her hair; the permanent effects of the Sleekeazy potion not only tamed her hair, but made it so that it practically styled itself when left to dry.

As she stepped towards the balcony, her hair began to form small curls towards the ends, water droplets falling off of them every few seconds. She pulled the curtain back, and did her best not to stare.

Harry was sitting in a chair, leaning back, his body at an almost perfect forty-five degree angle to the balcony floor. The glow from the nearly set sun bounced off of his inky hair, and it bathed his body in a warm light. His jeans were now a perfect fit, hanging low on his hips. He’d left his shirt casually thrown over the back of his chair, giving Hermione a liberal view of his chest.

It was smooth and muscular, from summers of hard labour at the Dursleys and years spent training for Quidditch. Her eyes travelled down to discover a trail of crisp, dark hairs that started at his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

Hermione’s mouth went dry. She blinked at the obvious bulge that lay beneath the zipper of his denims, not even realizing that she had been staring at him for a full five minutes.

“Dinner came just as you stepped into the shower,” Harry winked at her, giving her bottom an appreciative glance. “Thought you might like to really enjoy your meal.” He gestured around him at the new décor upon the balcony.

Hermione fought to tear her eyes away from him, and she allowed herself to let out a gasp.

It looked like a tropical paradise. There was a gauzy mosquito net hanging from the balcony above, its many folds spread around the edge of the railing to prevent bugs from getting at their meal. Clustered in the corners were several beautiful potted plants; vines of ivy, several bird of paradise flowers, and hibiscus in a wide variety of colours. The ivy was creeping its way up the mosquito netting, adding to the jungle feel.

Harry had transfigured the table and chairs from their former wrought-iron selves into a bamboo and wicker set, with a bright orange tablecloth to match several of the hibiscus flowers. There was a large citronella candle in a terra cotta pot in the centre of the table, each of its three wicks burning brightly.

“So, are you going to join me, or shall I levitate your food to you from here?” Harry smiled, looking pointedly at her feet.

Hermione was still standing inside the room. She took a step onto the balcony, and squealed in surprise. “Harry, you really know how to spoil a girl!” The entire floor of the balcony was covered in beach sand, warm as if it had been out in the sun all day. She took her seat at the table, and stared at Harry. “How did you--?”

“Just conjured it all up. I pictured it, flicked my wand, and there it was. I used the Orchideous spell as well, for the flowers.” He gave her a lazy smile, reaching for his knife and fork. He began to dig into his steak, occasionally taking a sip from his glass in between bites.

Hermione’s eyes fell on his graceful, long fingers as they curled around the stem of his glass. She noticed the bubbles in the liquid, and took a curious sip from her own glass. “Harry, I didn’t order champagne, I ordered juice!” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “I assume you conjured this as well?”

“London’s finest,” he nodded, taking another sip.

“Champagne is for celebrating, Harry. I didn’t realize we had anything to celebrate.” She finally took a bite of her chicken, a little less in awe of her surroundings.

Harry looked at her quizzically. “Nothing to celebrate? ‘Mione, are you nuts? There’s plenty to celebrate! Our friendship, our new ability to communicate silently, and our journey ahead.” He raised the champagne flute in a toast.

“We’re celebrating having to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes? I thought you weren’t looking forward to that.”

“The sooner it’s over with, the sooner we can move on with our lives.” Harry chewed on another piece of steak. “I was thinking we could head for Godric’s Hollow,” he said, toying with his fork. “Apparently I own some property there; I thought my parents house had been destroyed but judging by all the information I received from Gringotts a while back it’s still there. We could stay there; train for a bit before we start hunting, and that way we’d always have a place to come back to. Not to mention I’ve got other places that belonged to my parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore. We wouldn’t have to worry about a place to stay ever, really.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “What kind of training did you have in mind, Harry?” She was all business now, able to focus on his face instead of his body.

“We’re going to have to be in top physical condition,” he said, eyeing her, “so lots of physical exercise. Running, weight training, stretching, the works. The Death Eaters are mostly older, spoiled purebloods who’ve never done an honest days’ work in their lives. It’ll be easy for us to run circles around them. We’re going to have to work on our duelling skills, as well as Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and of course, defence. Not to mention we’re going to have to work on Apparition and Disapparition in the next couple of days. I know you’ve got your license, but I still need mine.”

“Well, lets start tomorrow then, shall we? We’ll head out to pick up some clothing and whatever else we need first thing, and then head for Godric’s Hollow. Sounds perfect, Harry.” She smiled, helping herself to more of her meal.

<><><><><>

“Ginny, would you calm down already? For Merlin’s sake, they’re fine,” Ron exclaimed, trying to calm his sister.

“They’re not fine, Ron, or they’d be back by now!” Ginny was in a panic. Hermione had left early that morning to bring Harry back to the Burrow, and now the moon was shining in the sky. “I’m sending an owl. We have to find them!”

“Maybe they don’t want to be found,” Ron muttered dejectedly.

“What?” Ginny spun around, looking furiously at her older brother.

Ron sighed, his arms drooping at his sides. “Hermione made it clear that she didn’t want my help finding the Horcruxes, there’s no bloody way you’re going… maybe they just went off on their own.”

Ginny’s mind went reeling at this new revelation. Harry and Hermione, just the two of them? Without her and Ron? A little green monster began to rear its ugly head, filling Ginny’s mind with thoughts of the two of them entwined in each other’s arms.

She stormed out of the room, scribbled a quick, furious letter, and tied it to Pigwidgeon’s leg. “Take this to Harry and Hermione, boy.” She said gently, not letting her fury frighten the tiny owl. He gave a hoot, and took off into the night.

“Now, Gin, what’d you go and do that for? And what the bleeding hell did you say?” Ron asked, having followed her.

“Just if they were okay, and coming back to the Burrow.”

“That’s a load of it and you know it, Ginevra Weasley.”

She shook her head. “Seriously, Ron, that’s what I wrote. But you know that’s definitely not what I meant. If they’re up to what I think they’re up to…” she trailed off, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

Ron shrugged, and left her to stew in her own anger. He trudged back to his bedroom, losing himself in thoughts of Hermione, and what could’ve been if he’d only stopped being an insufferable git years earlier.

A/N: I’ve noticed in a few reviews that people are planning on heading over to FanFiction.net to read this story to Chapter 24. I’d like to remind everyone that, while Final Battle is written to Chapter 24 on FanFiction.net, the Portkey.org version is going to be different. There have already been a few subtle changes, and there will be continue to be more changes. Several of these chapters are being rewritten not only to conform to Portkey’s rules, but to achieve the original intentions I had for this story. I repeat, the FFN version is TONED DOWN. If you want the real Final Battle, keep reading on Portkey. Also, for some reason, the formatting is off so anything written between slashes is thought dialogue, seeing as it all doesn’t want to italicize. I’ve tried six times and can’t get it to work.

Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR’s. But so help me if the Potterverse DID belong to me, those so-called ‘anvil-sized hints’ would have been towards H/Hr, not R/Hr.

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It was nearly four in the morning when Harry was awoken by a faint hooting at the balcony door. He was almost grateful for the interruption; he had felt himself slipping into another nightmare about the night Voldemort returned and murdered Cedric Diggory.

He slid the door open carefully, doing his best not to wake Hermione. The moonlight flitted across her face, and he could see she was sleeping with a smile.

Harry was greeting by a soft, friendly hoot as a ball of down feathers circled around his head. “Pig?” he whispered, holding his hand out for the tiny owl to rest on. Pigwidgeon settled into Harry’s grasp, and held his leg out for him to take the letter. Harry untied it, and carried Pig over to his bed. “Poor little guy, you’ve been flying all night, haven’t you?” he said quietly, unrolling the parchment. He fluffed up one of his pillows and rested the owl on it, giving him a chance to rest. He turned his attention back to the letter.

Dear Harry & Hermione,

Are you two all right? Mum’s noticed you left, Hermione, and she’s in a right state. She came upstairs looking for us for brunch shortly after you left, and was furious to hear that you’d up and gone without telling anyone. She’s not mad anymore, just really worried. Since you left so early we figured it’d be like when the boys came to get Harry and you’d be back in an hour or so, especially since you Flooed and they took the car, but it’s nearly midnight and you’re still not back yet. Ron’s miserable, he’s locked himself in his room and the only sounds I’ve heard from him have been him muttering about something being his entire fault. I think he misses you. We might’ve been too hard on him, but I have to admit, it was pretty funny seeing you smack him like that.

Harry, is everything okay? With you I mean, I’m sure that since you’re not at the Dursleys anymore that sort of thing is all right. I really hope you’re planning on coming back to the Burrow; summer holiday just isn’t the same without you.

If you don’t mind letting Pig rest a bit before you send him back, I’d appreciate it. He’s still pretty little, and is probably very tired now.

Love, Ginny

Harry looked over at his pillow, and sure enough, Pig was fast asleep. He sighed, turning back to the letter. Hermione had smacked Ron? That was better than when she’d sent those birds after him! As he began to roll the letter back up, he noticed another piece of parchment Spellotaped to the back. He carefully peeled back the tape, finding another letter.

Harry,

I miss you. I understand that you don’t think it’s safe for us to be together right now, but I have to ask if there is hope for the future. Do you still like me? When you ended things it seemed like you were upset that it had to be over so soon. I want you to know, Harry, that if you still want me I’ll gladly wait until this war business is over. I’ve already waited ever since I met you when I was ten, what’s a little longer? I wish I could see you again, Harry. There are so many things that I wanted to do with you, to tell you… I hope that you’ll still give me that chance. Please tell me you still want me.

Love and kisses,

Ginny

Harry stared in amazement. All he could think was ‘wow’. He admired Ginny’s determination and courage in the face of danger, but he couldn’t help but wonder about the tone of her letter. It seemed almost desperate, like she was terrified that she might somehow lose him despite the fact that he had already broken up with her. His heart went out to the girl, understanding that she felt something strong for him and wasn’t ready to give up on it yet. Thoughts of her curled up next to him at Hogwarts drifted through his mind, reminding him of how small and strong she’d felt in his arms.

Letting out an involuntary yawn, Harry rested his head on the mattress and drifted off to sleep to the sound of Pig’s soft, hoot-like breathing just above his head.

<><><><><>

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Remus Lupin began, looking around the table at those assembled in front of him. It was the first official meeting of the Order of the Phoenix since Dumbledore’s death, and there were several issues to address. “I won’t bore you with any unnecessary blather, so let’s just get on with it, shall we? We have two main problems on our hands right now. One is that we no longer have someone heading this Order. Number two is that Harry and Hermione have disappeared and we haven’t been able to locate them yet. Shall we get number one out of the way so we can move on to number two?” he asked.

“Ideally we would’ve elected Harry to take Dumbledore’s place,” said Arthur Weasley, earning a disapproving look from his wife. “He’s fought You-Know-Who more times than the rest of us have, and Merlin knows he’s ready for it.”

“He’s just a boy, he’s not ready to head the Order, let alone go after He Who Must Not Be Named alone!” Molly Weasley wailed, her matronly instincts kicking in.

“Oh, Molly, dear, give it up. If you had your way we’d keep Harry in lockdown until he was thirty-seven, training him senseless, and even then you’d have a tough time letting him go off and do what he was meant to do.” Arthur scolded her. Mrs. Weasley had been babying Harry ever since he and Ron became friends, and Arthur wasn’t about to let her feelings get in the way of what was meant to happen.

Molly’s eyes went wide, and she quickly shut her mouth as she turned beet red. She may not be able to argue with her husband here, but he’d pay the price for his words once they were back home.

“I agree with Arthur,” Alastor Moody spoke up. “If Harry was able to give us the slip like this, so that neither Tonks, Lupin or I could find any indication of what happened at the Dursleys, well, he definitely has the stones to handle the job.”

Tonks’ head snapped up at the mention of her name. “That’s just it, Mad-Eye. He left, and quite voluntarily, I might add. Knowing Harry, he’s most likely decided to go off and fight Voldemort all on his own, not wanting to get anyone else hurt. Hermione’s probably one of the most stubborn witches I’ve ever met, and she’s probably right next to him, not listening when he tells her to go home because it’s too dangerous for her. I don’t think Harry’s coming back until Voldemort’s finished.”

Lupin slipped his hand into hers underneath the tabletop, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, I think it’s obvious we’re not going to be getting anywhere with this new leader business, so in the mean-time, let’s just agree to disagree, elect Lupin as temporary leader since he called us all here, and work on a way of getting to Harry.” Bill Weasley suggested. “After all, isn’t that the whole point of this Order now? Harry’s going to need protection, or at the very least, training.”

Hagrid nodded vigorously, slamming a large hand down on the table. “I think we need ter find ‘Arry righ’ now, if yeh ask me. The sooner we git ‘im back, the better. Merlin knows Dumbledore’d ‘ave our ‘eads if he were still ‘ere for not havin’ been on ‘is arse ever since he left Surrey.”

Minerva McGonagall agreed. “I think the most important thing is to find Mr. Potter and Miss Granger as soon as we can. Also, I think it may be in their best interests if we can convince Harry to return to school in September. Last I’d heard he was planning on finding Voldemort rather than continuing his studies. While I can understand his belief that he won’t learn in a classroom what he needs to know in a battle, I do believe that he underestimates my ability to put together a much more practical curriculum in special circumstances.”

“Well, I think that’s settled.” Lupin said, surveying the members. “Shall we vote? All in favour of tracking down Harry, offering him the chance to lead the Order, and training him so that he can fight better, raise your hands.”

Twelve hands immediately shot up.

“All opposed?”

Molly Weasley meekly raised her hand.

“Even counting the members who could not make it here tonight on the opposing side, the vote stands in favour of locating Harry and giving him the education of a lifetime. Ladies and gentlemen, let us begin our search. Use any means necessary.” Lupin ended the meeting, and everyone else around the table got up to leave.

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” Alastor Moody muttered on his way out. “They’ve only had a day’s head start.”

Grimmauld place had not been the same since Dumbledore’s death. It was still treated as Order Headquarters, but it just didn’t feel right remaining there for some reason. It was this that caused everyone to disperse so quickly after the closing of the meeting. Lupin and Tonks were left alone in the kitchen, staring gloomily at the surface of the table.

“I just wish he’d waited for us,” Tonks said quietly.

Lupin nodded. “You know Harry, though. Always trying to do the noble thing, and always for the right reasons. He’s not doing it for the glory or the fame; he’s doing it because he’s determined to keep all of us safe. I think Dumbledore’s death pushed him over the edge, and he’s determined to seek revenge and end the war.”

Gloomily, Tonks said, “I know. And that’s why right now, he needs his friends to be close to him more than anything.”

Little did she know, Harry had exactly that.

<><><><><>

The next morning found Harry being unceremoniously awoken by a fuming Hermione. She was pacing the floor from one end of the room to the other, her little yellow birds from the previous school year circling her head.

He rolled over sleepily, fumbling for his glasses. He found them, and discovered that his pillow was currently unoccupied. Harry quickly donned his glasses, and was greeted by a humorous sight. Pigwidgeon had decided to follow the yellow birds, and was zooming around Hermione’s head, all the while hooting happily. As cute as the sight was, Hermione did not seem impressed.

“…he’s miserable now? That insufferable git misses me? He’s bloody right it’s all his fault; perhaps if he had some common sense in his head he wouldn’t have screwed up. Merlin, what I wouldn’t give to smack him again. What a bleeding moron! And Ginny! Waiting since she was ten, my arse! Like she’d be able to wait until the end of the war, she couldn’t even wait to get him alone before she threw herself at him in the common room! ‘I’ll wait for you, Harry. I love you, Harry. I’m still bloody hero-worshipping you, Harry, and you’re too blind to see it! I just want to be able to say I shagged the Boy Who Lived, do you mind, Harry? Here, let me throw myself at you some more, Harry!’ Men!” Hermione threw up her hands in disgust, not only sending the parchment of Ginny’s letters flying, but also causing several of her little canaries to fly off course. Pig, of course, was still enjoying his romp with the little birds, and happily dodged Hermione’s hand, giving a smug little hoot as if to say ‘missed me!’

The little fluffy owl paused mid-flight, seeing Harry sitting up in bed. He zoomed over to land on Harry’s shoulder, giving him a friendly ear nibble.

“Uh, Hermione?” Harry interrupted, causing her to jump.

“Oh, Harry!” she exclaimed, motioning quickly with her wand to get rid of the canaries. Pig let out a sad moan, lamenting the disappearance of what he now thought were his friends. “I didn’t think you were awake yet.”

“Well, it’s certainly not easy to sleep with all that ranting going on. I’ve never seen a letter get you this worked up. You alright?” he asked, watching as her face flushed in embarrassment.

Hermione bent down to pick up the parchment, quickly rolling it and placing it on Harry’s nightstand. “They were on the floor when I woke up,” she shrugged, hoping that was enough of an explanation.

“Pig showed up around four, I read them and fell right back asleep. Barely even got my glasses off, I wasn’t really looking where I was dropping them.”

“So what, you just weren’t going to tell me that Ginny had written?”

Harry stared at her, wondering what had possibly set her off like this. “Is this about her wondering where we are?” he ventured, hoping Hermione would explain herself.

“No, Harry, it’s about her throwing herself at you.” She said plainly, turning to face her best friend. He could see the fury and jealousy in her eyes.

“What are you talking about, ‘Mione?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Harry. It doesn’t suit you. I read both of the letters. I didn’t mean to, honestly, but Ginny’s letter to you was on top.” She paused, sitting on her own bed. “Please tell me the truth, Harry.” She said, suddenly going calm.

“The truth about what? I read her letter, so?”

“The truth about how you feel! Merlin, I feel like I’m talking to Ron here.”

Harry sat still for a moment before it dawned on him.

“’Mione?” he said quietly, climbing out of his bed to stand in front of her.

She looked up at him, her expression painting her face with curiosity.

He extended a hand to her, pulling her off the bed and into his arms. Hermione immediately threw an arm around his neck, her other arm hanging on to his back, bringing them closer. Harry slid a hand into her hair, gently cradling her head into the hollow between his shoulder and his neck. He held her tight with the other arm, resting his hand on her lower back. He caressed her hair, effectively calming her. Their difference in height was now more than apparent to Harry, as Hermione’s shoulder fit snugly under his arm.

They stood like that for a few minutes, and then Harry began to feel a growing dampness on his upper chest. Silent tears were sliding down Hermione’s cheeks, causing Harry’s skin to go slick.

“Harry, why do you think I kissed you back yesterday? After you stopped?” she whispered, clinging to him.

Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head, and snuggled her closer. He was less concerned with what she had to say, and more concerned with calming her down and making her feel better.

“It was because I wanted to.”

Immediately Harry’s hand stopped stroking her hair, and his body went rigid.

“Harry, what is it?” Hermione looked up at him, her face damp with tears.

“I… I don’t know how to say this, Hermione,” Harry stammered.

Another tear slipped down her cheek. “Just say it.” she demanded.

“I told you yesterday, ‘Mione… I still have feelings for Ginny, and I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. There’s something there, but I like Ginny, and—“

“Then why did you kiss me yesterday?!” she said, angry again.

“’Mione, we went over this already! Just tell me what’s wrong, would you? I’m no good at Legilimency, it’s not like I can just reach into your brain and pick out what you’re feeling.”

Hermione went silent. She went to the bedside tables, and picked up the matching gold chains. She put Harry’s on for him, and fiddled with her own clasp for a second before getting it right.

/This is what I’m feeling./

Waves of jealousy and bitterness washed over Harry, but they were nothing compared to the overwhelming tide of love that followed immediately after.

/You can’t hold me like that… kiss me like you did and tell me you don’t feel something, Harry./

He stared at Hermione, not knowing what to say.

/What do I have to do, jump you and kiss you in front of everyone to get my feelings across? Write you desperate, transparent letters begging for your attention? Kiss every other guy I can find just to get you to see me as a girl, and not just your best friend? What, Harry? What’s it going to take?/

When five minutes had passed with no response from Harry, Hermione gave up. She curled back up in her bed, throwing the covers over her head so that he couldn’t see her cry. She’d loved him for years, but didn’t think he’d ever realize he was a girl, and therefore turned her attentions on Ron. Of course, now that Harry was fully aware of her, he would have to like someone else.

/You don’t have to jump me, ‘Mione, I think I covered that part for you yesterday. You’ve never had to write me a letter; you’ve always had my attention. I’ve always known you were a girl, by the way, I’m not that blind. And if you went around snogging every other guy in Hogwarts just so I’d notice you, I’d think you were a bit desperate./

His voice reached her ears deep under the covers, and her tears began to subside.

/Ever since you stormed into Privet Drive and blasted my Aunt and Uncle, I’ve felt something. This funny feeling in my stomach... I was happier once you came to get me, and the way I feel when we touch…/

Harry’s hand slipped under the bed sheet, finding Hermione’s hand. He interlocked his fingers with her, and she felt a tingling sensation deep in her body.

/I never told you that I didn’t feel it, ‘Mione. I do. It’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt./

Hermione peeked out from under the blanket, her eyes meeting his.

“You’re beautiful, I’ve always thought so. Clearly I’m attracted to you, but I feel that I need to sort out my feelings for Ginny before I go any further. And even if this does go further, remember why I broke up with her? I didn’t want to get hurt. You’re already in danger by being my best friend. If Voldemort found out just how much I care about you, there’s no telling what he’d do.”

Harry moved closer to the edge of her bed, resting his chin on it. “All I’m trying to say is not to rush things. Yes, Ginny’s letter made me feel something. I felt bad for her, because my decision was final, and she’s willing to put her life on hold for me. A small part of me wishes things could have been different, but a larger part is telling me that it’ll all work out. But you’re forgetting the most important part.” Harry paused, making sure that her eyes were on him and that she was paying attention.

Having removed herself from her hiding place under the sheet, Hermione’s eyes were wide and completely focused on Harry’s.

“Ginny’s not the one lying here in a hotel with me. She’s not the one who came to rescue me when no one else would. She’s not the one who told the Dursleys off so thoroughly that they fled their own house. Ginny’s not the one who loves me for who I really am. You’re right about that, Hermione, her letter proved it. She thinks of me as The Boy Who Lived, The Great Harry Potter. Not Harry, the boy who is determined to end this war. Harry, the boy who likes playing Quidditch, flying, and spending time with his friends. Ginny’s not all of these things, but you are, Hermione. You love me for the boy I am, not the boy everyone else wants me to be.”

“It’s not for the boy you are, Harry,” she said quietly. “It’s for the man you’ve become.”

Hermione carefully closed the distance between the two of them, and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek.

A/N: I did a lot of research for this chapter, seeing as Harry and Hermione would be spending the day in Muggle London, and I’ve barely ever been out of Canada. Honestly. I went to Disney when I was too little to remember, and I’ve been to Buffalo, NY for a hockey game and a shopping trip. I have NO idea what London is like other than what I see in the media, so I did some Googling to write this chapter. Hopefully anyone who is more aware of England’s inner workings than I am doesn’t see anything wrong.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and everyone in Wizarding England and the rest of the world unfortunately belongs to JKR. I just do this for fun when I’m not working.

<><><><><>

Hermione ordered room service again for herself and Harry, hoping that lunch would make them feel better. After they had finished and cleared up, she transfigured Harry’s ratty old t-shirt into a much better fitting deep red t-shirt. This time it was clean and free of holes.

“I think we should get you some more clothes, Harry. You can’t go around wearing the same thing all summer. Shall we head to Harrods today?” Hermione suggested, getting some things together.

Harry shrugged. “I guess,” he agreed. He wasn’t sure exactly how to act around Hermione now. He felt nervous, and unsure of himself. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair in a pathetic attempt to somehow manage it. His hair settled back into what looked like raven feathers across his forehead. He sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to control his unruly mane.

Together they left the hotel, and ventured towards the Edgware Road and Praed Street bus stop. “Ever taken the Tube before, Harry?” Hermione asked, almost positive he hadn’t.

He shook his head.

“Oh, it’s fascinating, really. It was the world’s first underground railway transportation system when it opened in 1863, and now it has aboveground connections with the TfL, Transport for London. We’re going to take a bus to Harrods today, but I promise you we’ll take the Tube before we go to Godric’s Hollow.”

“Isn’t King’s Cross connected to the tube?” Harry asked.

“Yes, but we take a real train from there to Hogwarts, not that the Muggles have any idea. You’ve seen the Tube, Harry, you just probably didn’t realize it. They’re the shiny long things that zoom into the station while you’re waiting your turn to run at Platform 9¾.”

Harry nodded, feeling rather silly. How could he not have realized that was the Tube Hermione was talking about? He had a vague memory of travelling such a train with the Dursleys at one point, but they had never bothered to tell him what it was called.

Moments later the bus arrived. Hermione tossed some Muggle money in the fare collector for the two of them, and they rode the bus in silence. They got off at the Knightsbridge station and walked the short distance to Harrods at Kensington and Chelsea. Harrods had always been one of the most popular stops for tourists in London, but Hermione was prepared for the crowds. She knew her way around the store as she’d been shopping numerous times with her parents, and had no trouble manoeuvring through people.

Hermione took Harry’s hand in hers and led him through the crowds, heading for the escalators. They headed towards the lower ground floor, where the designer men’s clothing awaited them.

Harry had no clue what to look for, as the only Muggle clothing he’d ever really worn were Dudley’s old cast-offs. He simply stood back and let Hermione enjoy herself, squealing in delight as she picked things off of the racks and held them up to him. Once she had loaded both hers and Harry’s arms with a large selection of clothing, she pushed him towards the fitting rooms. Hermione made a few choices, and then pushed Harry towards the escalators again.

“Ground floor has some things that you can wear every day, this stuff is a little more formal,” she explained.

Harry was in awe. He’d thought they’d grabbed enough clothes already, but apparently Hermione just wasn’t done yet. Harry had never understood what it was with women and shopping, and he got the feeling that he wasn’t going to start understanding any time soon. What was really a half hour had seemed like an eternity to Harry, as he allowed Hermione to pick out and toss more things onto their arms. She began to shove him towards the fitting rooms again, keeping the outfits from the previous floor with her.

Harry groaned inwardly, changing outfit after outfit and having to exit the change room to show each one to Hermione. She made her selections, and they headed for the nearest register.

“Hi,” she greeted the clerk with a dazzling smile. He was older than the two of them, perhaps in his early twenties. “I was wondering if, once we pay for these, you might be able to keep them here at your register? We’ve acquired a lot of items in just two floors, and we still have quite a bit of shopping ahead of us.” Hermione pulled out Harry’s stash of Muggle money from her purse, making a show of the large number of bills.

The man stared at the wad of money she was holding. “Um…sure, I don’t see why not,” he said, glancing around. He could clearly see that this couple had a lot of money to spend, and knew that his manager would be furious if he didn’t treat them properly.

“Perfect.” She waited for him to ring in Harry’s new wardrobe, and didn’t even bat an eyelash when the total was nearly two thousand pounds. The clerk looked from her to Harry, waiting for his approval.

Harry held up his hands in defeat. “Hey, I just make the money. She spends it for me; it’s not like I have the greatest taste in clothing.”

The clerk nodded, accepted the money, and completed the sale. “If you would like to continue with your shopping, I’ll see that these are packaged properly and waiting your return.”

Hermione turned on her heel and walked away, motioning for Harry to follow her.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked.

“I’ll bet you anything you’d like that I can tell you exactly what that man’s doing right now.” Hermione said without looking back.

Harry was surprised. “Name your price,” he said, not thinking she could do it.

“If I’m right, we’re going to do whatever I want tonight before we leave for Godric’s Hollow in the morning.”

Harry swallowed, letting his mind run through the possible insinuation in her words. “Okay.”

“He’s on the phone right now, making a call to his manager, telling him that a very rich, VIP customer is in the store.”

Harry turned around to stare at the clerk making the telephone call. He was able to catch the words ‘money’, ‘young’, and ‘level one’. “How’d you know?”

“Same thing happens every time I come shopping with my parents. We only come every once in a while, so when we spend money, we spend a lot of it. Harry, you’re about to have the best shopping experience of your life.” Hermione smiled, taking his hand in hers as they headed up to the first level on the escalator.

“Are we buying something on every level?” Harry asked, hoping that he’d exchanged enough Galleons into Muggle money at Gringotts. If they ran out he could always have Hermione Apparate to Diagon Alley and exchange more if she took a handwritten note from him to Griphook.

“Pretty much, Harry. You have your new wardrobe but we’re going to need fitness equipment and whatnot for training, and while I’m here I need to pick up something to wear for Bill and Fleur’s wedding in case we go. I just hope I have enough money on me.”

Harry realized that when he friend had left the Burrow to come after him, she’d left everything behind. She was planning on returning that same day, and he had made her run away with him instead. She had no other clothes with her, no belongings, and only her wand and her wallet that had been tucked into the pocket of her shorts.

“’Mione,” he said, turning her to face him, “Those shorts and that top are pretty small on you. I think you’ve finally finished growing, but something tells me you haven’t had a chance to go shopping since last summer. I think we need to get you a new wardrobe too.”

“Harry, I’d love to, but I haven’t got—“

“Don’t worry about the money. It’s on me. Seriously. If it weren’t for you I’d still be stuck in that hellhole, and you’re putting everything at risk to come with me. At least let me get you some new clothes. And whatever you want to wear to Bill’s wedding. Hell, just get whatever you want. I’ve got more bloody money than I know what to do with, I’d be more than happy to spend a ton of it on you.”

Hermione looked at him in amazement. “Oh, Harry, I can’t… it’s too much… and the dress would be so expensive…”

“For once, Hermione, can you just let me do something nice for you? Consider it my apology for the way I acted last night. And how insensitive I’ve been to your feelings. Merlin, I’m starting to think I’ve treated you the same way Ron does.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Treat me like Ron? Harry, we’re going to have a talk tonight about exactly how Ron has treated me. In the mean time, are you sure about this? I mean, the dress alone is going to cost a lot, the one I had in mind was nearly five hundred pounds, but it’s just so beautiful,”

“Hermione, I’m sure. In fact, if you don’t let me buy anything for you today I’m going to have to pay extra special attention to every little thing you like, and sneak back here while you’re in the shower later to buy it all for you. You might as well just let me do it.”

She kissed him on the cheek, and immediately ran off in delight through the lingerie section at the top of the escalator towards the eveningwear. Harry tried to catch up with her, pushing frothy lace and silk out of his way. He slowed down, suddenly becoming aware of what he was surrounded by. He began to examine different things: bras and panties, camisoles, corsets, garters, stockings; if you could name it, Harry was fascinated by it. He spotted one thing in particular that made his mouth dry and his blood run hot. It was a black lace bikini top, with a matching garter skirt and thigh high lace top stockings. A mannequin was on display in the outfit, and all Harry could do was picture Hermione wearing it with black heels. He made a mental note of it and then took off to join her.

When he arrived in the eveningwear department, Hermione greeted him in a beautiful emerald green silk gown. She’d pinned her hair up somehow, and was spinning around in front of the mirror. The dress was perfect. It was strapless, with the tight bodice accentuating her breasts, waist, and hips. Just below her hips the skirt flared out, touching the floor. It was covered in a matching sheer organza that almost had a sparkle to it.

Hermione stopped, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She had spotted Harry over her shoulder. Harry had noticed that there wasn’t much to the back of the dress. The sides of the dress stopped almost just as they were about to reach her back, and tapered in a v-shape towards her hips. There was green ribbon lacing the sides together, giving the dress the appearance of a corset. She turned to face him, her eyes sparkling. Harry could see the emerald green flecks that his Aunt Petunia had noticed the previous morning.

“Hermione, you look…” Harry stuttered.

“Go on, Harry, say it.”

“You look gorgeous.” He said, unable to take his eyes off of her. The dress hugged her body in all the right places, and the green suited her perfectly.

You should see what I’m not wearing under it, Hermione giggled.

Harry looked at her, his mouth agape.

/Oh, relax. I can’t wear a bra with it, look at the back! And it’s a bit tight over my hips so I have to wear a thong instead of regular knickers. I was just joking, you know. It’s no big deal./

Hermione had no idea about Harry’s previous feelings on the little black lace number back in the lingerie section.

“I’ll, uh... just let you get out of that then. I’ll be right back,” he said, flushing.

“But Harry, I’m not done! I wanted to try on some more,” she pouted.

“You’re getting that one, why bother? I don’t see another dress in this place that would make you look any more stunning than that one does. You said we had other things to buy?”

Hermione sulked on her way back into the dressing room. What girl didn’t love trying on loads of pretty dresses? She consoled herself with the knowledge that for once, one of them was coming home with her.

While she changed, Harry made his way back to the lingerie. He found what he hoped was Hermione’s size in the black lace outfit, rushed to the nearest clerk, quickly paid for it and had the clerk package it discreetly so that he could tuck it under his shirt until they picked up their other packages. He returned just in time to see Hermione leaving the change room, the dress in a black bag over her arm.

The rest of the afternoon at Harrods was a breeze for Harry. Minutes after Hermione had taken the dress off they were swarmed with salespeople, who were more than happy to carry their purchases to a register. One of them even offered them champagne flutes, but Hermione didn’t think that was such a good idea. They paid for the purchases and headed back to the hotel room. Hermione chose to hail a taxicab rather than take the TfL back to the hotel. There was no way they could carry this many bags back with them on the bus. The fitness equipment was being delivered to the hotel in the morning, where the teens would charm everything so that it fit into Harry’s trunk.

Hermione flopped back onto her bed as they entered the room, packages spilling everywhere. “I’ve never spent that much in one day!” she exclaimed.

“How much money do we have left?” Harry asked curiously.

Hermione did a quick tally in her head. “About twenty three thousand Galleons, we only spent two thousand in Diagon Alley. Which reminds me, Harry, we can use your new magical expanding trunk to bring the exercise equipment with us without having to try and fit it all into your school trunk.”

“And Muggle money?”

“We started with twenty five thousand Galleons and converted it to pounds, right?”

Harry nodded.

“At five Galleons a pound that’s…” Hermione’s face blanked for a moment. “Sweet Merlin, Harry, have I been carrying a hundred and twenty five thousand pounds around with me all day?” She began to think of how unbelievably unsafe that was but then refocused her mind on the calculations. “Two thousand on lower ground, another seven hundred on ground, three on one, and…” she muttered amounts, and finally came up with a number. “We spent a little over ten thousand pounds at Harrods today.”

“So there’s more than a hundred and ten thousand left?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded, pulling out the bills. No wonder she hadn’t realized how much the money was! She hadn’t really registered the amount when she was paying for things, she’d just handed over the bills. Each bill was a thousand pound note. She’d been thinking she was carrying ten pound notes most of the morning.

“Did you have something in mind, Harry?” she asked, seeing a far-off look in his eye.

“Well, we can’t be flying around London on my broom trying to find Godric’s Hollow. I can’t Apparate there if I’ve never seen it except in distant memories, and I’d rather wait until my birthday to do that anyway. I know Scrimgeour’s letting me off with doing magic, but Apparition might be too much for him. I’ll go get tested in five days for it. In the meantime, we’re going to need a more efficient way of getting around and we can’t be carrying Charmed trunks onto the Tube.” Harry began to do some of his own calculations.

“And your point?”

“Hermione, how would you like to help me pick out a car?” he asked. “And teaching me to drive, while you’re at it? I know you’ve had practice with your parents, but the Dursleys only let me near their car to wash it.” Hermione’s eyes went wide. Harry was talking about making a significant purchase like it was nothing at all. She nodded.

They left the hotel again and returned a few hours later, carrying the keys to a brand new 1997 BMW roadster. Hermione was still in shock. Harry had just spent over seventy-five thousand pounds on a car, and he was shrugging it off like it was no big deal. If he was going to continue spending like this, they were going to have to sit down and have a serious financial discussion.

Harry, on the other hand, was thoroughly pleased with his new little sports car. For years he had received Dudley’s old and broken toys, and one of them had been a toy race car that had lost a wheel and suffered from a broken axle. It had offered Harry several hours of entertainment until Dudley had caught him with it, and promptly whined to his mother that Harry had stolen one of his toy cars. The car had been immediately removed from Harry’s cupboard, and the door locked for days. Having the real thing now was a small consolation, but it gave Harry great pleasure to know that, while Dudley was still stuck playing with toys, he had a real BMW to play with.

“So, want to get all dressed up in our new clothes and go have a night on the town?” he asked her.

Hermione squealed and ran to her packages in desperation to put something pretty on. All thoughts about money issues were gone as she began to instruct Harry on what to wear, and plan the night ahead.

Disclaimer: JKR’s Potterverse. Not mine. Quit rubbing it in.

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Harry stared at the bed, trying to figure out why he was supposed to wear what Hermione had set aside for him. She’d taken a few packages and headed for the bathroom, leaving him to figure out the clothing on his own.

There was a grey suit laid out, made of fabric so dark it was nearly black. A scarlet dress shirt was laid on top of it, but Hermione hadn’t left him a tie to wear with it. He surveyed the massive number of packages from Harrods, and decided it would be too much effort trying to find one to go with the shirt. He noticed with a touch of embarrassment that she had also set out some new underwear for him. He didn’t remember her picking these up, but then again he hadn’t been paying much attention to the things she was throwing across his arms.

He quickly shed his shrunken jeans, and the old, greying pair of underwear he’d been hiding underneath them. Harry pulled on the boxers Hermione had left out. The silky fabric felt good against his skin, so he didn’t mind the embarrassment so much. He donned the suit pants, and realized that he couldn’t wear his ratty old trainers with them.

Harry began to poke around in the packages, finding several shoeboxes. Hermione had really thought of everything, not that that was any surprise. He found a pair of comfortable and stylish black leather dress shoes. Slipping them on, he went back to his bed to exchange his t-shirt for the deep red dress shirt. He tucked the shirttails into his pants, and left a couple of buttons undone at the throat. Shrugging into the suit jacket, Harry turned to survey himself in the mirror mounted on the hotel dresser.

Harry was shocked to see his appearance. Sure, he’d seen himself in Wizard’s dress robes before, but that was nothing compared to what he looked like in a Muggle suit. A flutter of black appeared over his left shoulder in the mirror. He turned as Hermione exited the bathroom.

If Harry was shocked to see his own appearance, he was about to give himself a heart attack looking at Hermione.

She had fiddled with her hair, using the permanent effects of the Sleekeazy potion to her advantage. Her hair now hung about her face in small curls, and her face was shining. Her eyes stood out; she’d used some mascara and black eyeliner to make them a tad more noticeable. Harry was beginning to see more green in her eyes than he had before, and he didn’t need the light to hit her in a certain way to see it.

Her dress was black, halter style with a very deep neckline. It hugged her body tightly until it flared out at the hips, resembling a white dress that Marilyn Monroe had made famous years prior. It was cut just below the knee, showing off Hermione’s tanned legs encased in black stockings. She wore black high heeled sandals that tied around her ankle.

“What’s the matter, Harry? Crookshanks got your tongue?” she asked, smiling.

The mention of Hermione’s pet, half-Kneazle half-cat, snapped Harry out of his reverie. “Hey, where is Crookshanks?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing about Hedwig,” she said.

“I left her with Hagrid when I went back to the Dursleys. They always complained about her, and I wasn’t planning on owling anyone, so I figured she’d be happier at the castle,” he explained, doing his best to keep his eyes above shoulder level. Hermione’s dress was very revealing, practically inviting him to drool over the cleavage he’d surreptitiously admired in the bank.

“Crookshanks is at the Burrow,” Hermione noticed his deep concentration as he looked in her eyes. “When I left, I was planning on coming back. I suppose Ginny is taking care of him now.”

Harry nodded, transfixed at the sight of her. His eyes kept travelling the length of her body; Harry was having an internal struggle with himself in his attempts to remain focused.

“Harry,” Hermione giggled, “It’s okay to look, you know. I wouldn’t put them out there if I didn’t want you to.”

It took Harry a second to register that by ‘them’ she meant her breasts. It was all the invitation Harry needed, and he suddenly felt more comfortable. He gave her a full, appreciative look as his eyes moved from her feet to the top of her head.

“’Mione,” he began, noticing the intense amount of green in her pupils, “what’s with your eyes?”

“What are you talking about, Harry?”

“Well, they’ve always been brown, haven’t they?” he asked.

Hermione nodded.

“They’re starting to turn green.” He said, turning her towards the mirror. Hermione leaned forward, and gasped in surprise. “Merlin, you’re right, Harry! I didn’t even notice it before!”

“Any idea why?” he asked, staring deep into the flecks of green.

Hermione shook her head. “I know some people’s eyes can change shades and colour tones from light to dark, or blue-green to blue or green, but my eyes have always been brown.”

“Think it might have anything to do with the diamond?” he asked, giving it an appreciative glance where it lay in its usual resting place.

She shrugged. “Maybe, but I’ve never heard of that. Who knows, maybe I’m turning into you!” she laughed.

Harry decided he should change the subject before she would want to go off and do research about her eyes. “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, Harry.” She winked. “Now, I’ve never done side-along Apparition before, so I’m going to need you to hang on to me and still try to Apparate yourself. Just concentrate on moving your body, not the destination. You’ve never been there anyway.”

Harry was confused, so he just did as he was told, and wrapped Hermione in a hug.

“I said hang on to me, Harry, not hold me,” she scolded lightly.

He shrugged. “I figured this would be more fun.”

Hermione concentrated all of her thoughts on their destination, and they disappeared from the hotel room without a trace.

<><><><><>

Hermione had carefully concealed her wand, keeping it along the underside of her arm in her wrist holder, which had been Transfigured to look like a much more fashionable bracelet. She was growing angry with the man at the Jules Verne restaurant. She had called earlier that afternoon from their hotel to make reservations, but he was unable to find their name. Perhaps it had something to do with how difficult it was to get a reservation at the Jules Verne, and they’d simply treated her call as a joke when she’d asked for a reservation for that night.

She pointed the tip of her wand, hidden under her palm and fingers, at the man’s foot, and thought of the Memory Modification charm in her head. The man’s eyes glazed over for a second, and then he picked up two menus and motioned towards the entrance to the restaurant.

“Right this way, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” he said in a clipped French accent.

Harry was still having trouble believing their location. Hermione had Apparated the two of them directly to the base of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. The waiter interrupted his thoughts.

“Your table,” he said. They were at a small table for two overlooking the Paris skyline. The lights were glittering in the night, and the view was breathtaking. “Your waiter will be along in a moment. He will be bringing you a complimentary bottle of champagne to make up for our losing your reservation.” The host turned and left, leaving the pair alone in silence.

Hermione turned to Harry. “I believe I told you earlier in Harrods that we would talk tonight about how Ron treated me?” she said, giving Harry the chance to say he’d rather not know.

“Was it really that bad?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, you saw how he acted with Lavender Brown all year,” Hermione began. “Snogging everywhere they could find, and doing not much more than snogging.”

Harry nodded. It had been strange to see his best friend acting like that.

“Apparently that’s Ron’s idea of a real relationship. When I wanted to talk, he ignored me. When I wanted to go out and do something, he’d sulk and whine about staying in. If I tried to hug him he’d try to see what my tonsils taste like. I kept telling him I didn’t want to be so physical, with his tongue shoved down my throat every five seconds, and he got mad at me. Said something like ‘Lavender didn’t mind,’ under his breath. I pretended not to hear him, and give him the benefit of the doubt because, at that point, I’m sure he was having some reactions of his own that he needed to deal with.” Hermione took a deep breath, steeling her nerves.

His face darkening, Harry opened his mouth to say something but was quickly cut off as Hermione continued.

“The day after that he tried again to get me alone in his room and snog with the door locked. I figured maybe if I went along with a bit of kissing he’d cool off, but he kept pushing and trying for more. He got mad at me when I made him stop, and then later that afternoon was when we all fought about you.”

Harry’s mind was having trouble taking in these thoughts of Ron. He could easily believe that Ron and Lavender would’ve done this, but Hermione? He could see why she was mad at him. “And that’s when you smacked him,” he said, with a trace of a smile.

Hermione nodded. “I couldn’t believe the way he’d been acting towards me. It was so… rude, and disgraceful. I tried to make excuses for him at first but I’d had enough when he said he wanted to leave you in Privet Drive for a while.”

“I think he knew I’d hex him into oblivion if I found out the way he was treating you,” Harry said.

She looked at Harry. “You would?”

“Damn right I would! I don’t let anyone treat the people I care about like that, even if it IS one of my best friends doing it.” Harry reached across the table and grasped Hermione’s hand.

I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, ‘Mione. Ever.

Hermione felt warm and tingly at Harry’s touch. She smiled. I know you wouldn’t.

They continued to enjoy the rest of their dinner, and the ‘complimentary’ champagne, which Harry was positive had been part of Hermione’s Memory Modification charm.

<><><><><>

Later that night, after they had Apparated back to their London hotel room with quite a load of difficulty and a few near-splinching experiences, Harry and Hermione found themselves relatively inebriated. They had somehow managed to finish nearly the entire bottle of champagne, clearly enjoying the tickle of the bubbly liquid as it slid down their throats. When they finally appeared successfully in the room, they fell back onto their beds, giggling. Their heads were spinning from the effects of the alcohol, and to Harry he felt as exhilarated as when he was riding on his broom during a Quidditch match. Hermione just felt giddy.

“’Arry,” she spluttered, “I think we’re a bit…”

“Smashed?” he finished as she trailed off. For reasons known only to them they found that thought quite hilarious, and began to giggle hysterically again.

Hermione stumbled across the distance between their beds, trying to get to Harry to hug him. She tripped on her own feet and landed unceremoniously on the bed with him, her legs and arms splayed in every direction. She raised her head to look at him, and immediately stopped giggling. Harry had the same look in his eyes as he’d had when he’d knocked her to the floor.

“’Arry?” she said again, with some difficulty, “what’s wrong? What are you thinking about?” However, due to her drunken state, Hermione’s words came out a bit more like ‘whas rung? Whaa ariou thinning ‘bout?’

Before he could answer her words, Harry’s body answered for him. Hermione was pressed rather closely to Harry’s body, having landed directly on top of him. His hands went to her hips, pulling her even closer, letting her feel for herself what he was thinking about. His hard length pressed against her stomach, and there was absolutely nothing Hermione could mistake it for.

Hermione flushed, turning a colour close to that of Harry’s scarlet shirt. His suit jacket had fallen on the floor and his shirttails had come un-tucked when they landed, giving him a slightly dishevelled and yet still handsome appearance. Hermione’s hair was wild about her face, and her skirt had begun to ride up her legs.

Without warning, Harry flipped her over onto her back, and held her there. She looked up at him, questioning him with her nearly emerald green eyes. Since their return from Paris her eyes had become greener. Harry still wondered why, but he was too drunk to care at that point.

Hermione could sense the apprehension Harry was feeling. Clearly he wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t want to intrude on the boundaries of their friendship. After all, she had admitted her feelings, for the most part, but Harry had not given her any clear response as to what he felt yet. For all intents and purposes they were still just friends: friends who were about to cross the line into becoming more.

Harry, I swear, if you don’t kiss me right now I’ll—she thought, but she was quickly cut short as Harry’s lips came crashing down on her, devouring her mouth. He probed and teased with his tongue, and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if the sensations she was feeling from the touch of his tongue could be from his Parseltongue abilities. Seeing as snakes were able to flick and dart their tongues about quickly while they were hissing, which was what Parseltongue was to Hermione, she was willing to bet that his tongue was more capable of driving her wild.

Seconds later, Harry sensing her thoughts, he began to kiss his way from her lips to her ear. He whispered in Parseltongue to her, tickling her earlobe and neck with his tongue. Hermione had no idea what he was saying, but it felt great.

Harry decided to translate his Parseltongue for her, so as he moved further down her neck, nibbling and licking lightly, he thought in his head what he was whispering in the snake language.

/You’re beautiful, ‘Mione. You’ve been trying to torment me all yesterday and today with just how beautiful you are. That brief glimpse of your bum as you went into the bathroom to shower, leaving your clothes all over the floor… Mentioning what you were and weren’t wearing under that dress in Harrods… and this dress… Merlin, this dress is enough to drive a man wild. When I first saw you in it all I could think about was what you’d look like under it./

By that point Harry had made his way down the centre of Hermione’s chest, his eyes level with the Glitra diamond around her neck.

Hermione pushed Harry back and sat up, preventing him from going any further. Harry looked confused. Did she want him to stop?

His unasked question was quickly answered as Hermione stood up and her hands went to the back of her neck. She reached under her curls for the clasp of her dress, and with a flick of her fingers her dress glided gently down her body and onto the floor.

Harry swallowed, taking her in. Underneath her dress was the black lace lingerie he’d bought earlier that day. He’d intended on saving it for a while, seeing where things led with the two of them. If he did indeed have the feelings he thought he did for her, he was sure that there would be no trouble whatsoever in convincing her to wear it for him. He hadn’t counted on her finding it before he could take it out of the massive number of packages and stow it away in his trunk.

She twirled slowly, allowing him to stare. The bikini top accentuated her cleavage, nearly causing Harry to drool. His eyes followed her flat stomach to the lace garter skirt, which held up the matching black stockings.

His temperature had risen about twenty degrees in the last ten seconds.

Do you want me, Harry? She asked tentatively. In her current drunken condition, Hermione was having just as much trouble staying upright in her heels as she was with listening to her heart and her body. Her heart was telling her that he didn’t love her, and she was only going to get herself hurt. Her body was crying out to be touched and loved.

She saw the hungry look in Harry’s eyes, and temporarily threw her heart out the window. She’d wanted to be with him for so long, and if this would make him realize his feelings for her, then she was willing to do it. She’d heard Lavender and Parvati giggling about it in the girls’ dorms, but she never thought that she would be the next one to experience it.

Harry was having trouble with his own feelings. His body wholeheartedly agreed with Hermione’s, and was begging to touch her. His mind and his heart were screaming out that it wasn’t right, but the intoxication he was experiencing was causing his mind to go fuzzy.

You don’t have to do this, Harry gave her a chance to back out.

Rather than answer, Hermione took a step closer to him, and began to unbutton the rest of his shirt as she dragged him into a standing position..

Harry was drunk, but not drunk enough to forget to use a protection charm, just in case. Hermione had discreetly used the Muffliato incantation in combination with a Silencing charm when Harry wasn’t looking, ensuring their total privacy. They had finally crossed the line from friendship to relationship. It may not have been under the best circumstances as neither of them was completely aware of what they were doing and their judgement was off due to the champagne, but they both knew deep down that they wouldn’t have done anything they didn’t otherwise want to.

As Harry’s shirt fell to the floor, followed shortly by his trousers, he found himself in uncharted territory. He was faced with a beautiful, scantily clad woman who just happened to be his best friend of six years. Clearly she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but even in his inebriated state his brain was telling him that this was not something to be taken lightly.

Stepping ever so slowly, Harry closed the miniscule distance between them until their bodies were flush against each other. Dipping his head, he captured her lips, pouring his emotions into her through their connection. His hands circled her waist, pulling her in as tight as he could.

Hermione’s mind was overloaded with images and sensations from Harry, showing her just how much the young wizard cared for her. She knew that he loved her, but she still hoped that one day he could fall in love with her. The feelings she was experiencing from him at the moment were mostly lust and basic human need, but she could feel something underneath them all. She hoped with all her being that it was love, but until Harry came right out and said it, she couldn’t be sure.

“Stop thinking, Hermione,” Harry murmured against her lips, moving ever-so-slightly to nibble at her earlobe as his hand began to caress the elastic waistband of her garter skirt.

At the feeling of a question that caused Harry’s brain to tingle, he pulled back just enough to fix her with a pleading look.

“Please,” he whispered, his eyes flickering with desire.

When Hermione offered no resistance to his demand, he nuzzled her neck, nipping lightly at the smooth skin with his teeth.

Inhaling sharply, Hermione barely managed to find her voice. “Why?”

Why stop thinking? Harry’s thoughts asked her. Apparently, no matter how utterly drunk he was, his mental voice always came across clear. You’ll over-analyze this. What’s happening between us. You’ll break it down into little compartmentalized feelings and sensations that you can’t name, and you’ll be too busy trying to figure it all out to enjoy it.

To enforce his point, Harry bit down harder than before, sending shivers down Hermione’s spine.

Realizing he was right, Hermione convinced herself not to argue any further and began returning Harry’s attentions with a dedication he’d only ever seen from her in the library. She matched him bite for bite, kiss for kiss, and gladly tangled her tongue with his. When his fingertips began to dip into the waistband of her garter skirt her hands began to offer Harry the same torture, languidly playing with the elastic of his boxers.

Harry let out a guttural moan as her fingers traced over his hips, causing them to involuntarily push against her. Pleased with the reaction she had elicited from Harry, Hermione began to wade into dangerous territory. Slipping a hand into his boxers to cup his arse and pull him closer to her, she had unknowingly given Harry permission for his own hands to travel further.

Taking the invitation, he promptly removed her lacy barely-there top, and reached up with one hand to gently massage her breast. Hermione gasped in surprise, arching her back to lean into Harry’s palm. Feeling a sense of power, Harry boldly dipped his head to replace his hand with his mouth.

The shock of the pleasurable sensation sent Hermione reeling backwards onto the bed, bringing Harry tumbling with her. As Harry’s head began to move from one breast to the other and then gradually further down, Hermione’s mind was spinning. True, it was partly from the lingering effects of the champagne in Paris, but she knew that it was mostly Harry-induced. As Harry found his intended destination, Hermione let out a cry that, had the Silencing and Muffliato charms not been in place, would have most definitely been heard stories below in the hotel lobby.

Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jo. I make no money from this. If I did, I’d have a laptop that didn’t overheat just from typing in Word.

WARNING. This chapter will be getting somewhat graphic towards the end. Violence, coarse language, and general ass-kickery are about to take place. Consider yourself warned.

<><><><><>

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining brightly outside the balcony door, there were birds singing, and the smell of the conjured flowers from the balcony was wafting into the room.

Harry groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in a sad attempt to block the sun out. “Effing sun,” he muttered, not impressed. His head was pounding and the intense light was only making it worse. Harry was rather annoyed with the sun and birds for having woken him up so early. He’d been having a rather interesting dream about Hermione and himself, and the lingerie from Harrods. He looked at the clock on his nightstand. One thirty-four. Merlin, it’s afternoon already? Harry thought in wonder. He sat up, and quickly lay back down again. His stomach didn’t feel so good either. Between the pounding in his brain and the sloshing in his stomach, Harry wasn’t sure what he felt. In an attempt to calm himself, Harry began to recount the day’s previous events.

He and Hermione had gone shopping, spent a ton of money on clothes, bought a car and spent a ton of money on that, and then they went to Paris for dinner because she’d won a bet she’d made with him while shopping. Not so bad, he figured. Dinner had been good, he’d discovered how much of a wanker Ron had been to Hermione, and he’d—Dear Merlin, had he really?

Just then Harry’s stomach began to turn, causing him to roll over onto one side and clutch his knees to his chest in an attempt to make the feeling go away. Hermione’s sleeping form greeted him, sending him rolling the other way in shock and right out of bed, whacking his head off the wall in the process.

“Oi!” Harry grunted, his head hurting even more. Rather than look back at Hermione sleeping in his bed, he crawled his way into the bathroom and clutched at the toilet bowl. Between bouts of queasiness Harry managed to take off the chain with his dad’s wedding band on it. As hung over as he may have been feeling, he had enough wits about him to know this was a time where he was going to need his own private thoughts. He slumped back onto the floor tiles, appreciating the coolness against his bare skin. It was then that Harry realized he was stark naked. He quickly made a grab for a towel of some sort, and wrapped it around his waist.

It really did happen, he thought in wonder. His mind was reeling with memories of the previous night. His and Hermione’s unceremonious landing back in the hotel, her falling onto him, his grabbing at her… Did I really grab at her like that? Sweet Merlin I flipped her over and everything! She was drunk and I seduced her! Harry was in shock.

Please, Harry, she practically threatened you because you hadn’t kissed her yet! His conscience yelled back at him, This is Hermione we’re talking about. If she didn’t want it to happen, it wouldn’t.

The reasoning of Harry’s conscience wasn’t making him feel any better.

He reluctantly crawled back into the bedroom after downing a glass of water, readjusting his towel. He leaned against the wall next to the bed, and waited for Hermione to wake up.

Minutes later the chirping and the sun got to be too much for her, too. She let out a soft moan, the effects of the hangover not quite settling in yet. She slowly pushed herself up, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Harry?” she asked quietly, seeing him on the floor.

He raised his eyes to look at her.

“Did we…?” she asked, clearly remembering the nights events much sooner than he had.

“Depends on what you’re implying,” he muttered.

Hermione looked at him quizzically, spying his father’s ring in his hand. “Why, what do you remember?”

Harry looked back at the floor. Did he really have to answer this? “I—um—we…” Harry wasn’t quite sure how to say it. His head still ached. How do you tell your best friend that you were both completely pissed the night before and that you’d ravished her in every way imaginable?

Hermione lifted herself from the bed, the sheets sliding away from her body. She, too, was still naked, but apparently much more comfortable with her body than Harry was. She joined Harry on the floor despite her internal struggle with her stomach.

He quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to make anything worse.

“Harry, we didn’t…” Hermione wasn’t sure how to phrase it; she didn’t want to embarrass him. “We didn’t have sex,” she said, covering his hand with her own.

“We didn’t?” Harry asked, confused. Okay, maybe not every way imaginable, but nearly. He couldn’t remember everything that happened, but given their current state of nakedness and the fact that they woke up in the same bed, he could’ve sworn something had transpired between the two of them.

Hermione saw the confusion on his face, and decided to explain. “No, we didn’t. But we did other things,” she whispered, snuggling herself closer to him.

Harry went rigid; he didn’t move a muscle. He’d never had a naked girl pressed against him before (not including the previous night, of course, as he didn’t remember much of that), let alone his best friend. He wasn’t sure if it were proper etiquette to become aroused by it, so instead he filled his mind with thoughts of unpleasant things. Dolores Umbridge… Umbridge naked… Snape… Snape naked… Harry felt like he was going to throw up again, but he had to keep going to prevent himself from embarrassing Hermione. Snape and Umbridge naked... Eww! Snape and Umbridge naked together!

He had to stop, so he disentangled himself from Hermione’s arms and moved to sit back on the edge of the bed. As he moved, Hermione clutched at her stomach. She quickly made a mad dash for the bathroom, clearly experiencing the same thing Harry just had. He waited for her to come back, knowing she’d feel better once she’d thrown up a bit.

Minutes later, after Hermione had vigorously brushed her teeth, she made her way back into the bedroom. She was greeted by Harry, who was now wearing boxers, at least. She made a grab for something to cover herself with, and settled for Harry’s button-down shirt from the night before. It was the closest thing.

“Harry, do you remember now?” she looked at him, hoping he would.

He couldn’t help but think about how good she looked standing in front of him, wearing nothing but his shirt. He shook his head. He remembered her taking off her dress, and driving him mad while she took his clothes off. He remembered a lot of kissing and their being naked, but past that his memory was fuzzy. “I remember us not wearing anything and snogging, but past that, I don’t know… it’s fuzzy, like my memory’s been Obliviated.”

Hermione’s face fell. It had been such an amazing night for both of them, how could he not remember? “Y’know, Harry,” she smiled seductively, clearly feeling a bit better after her trip to the bathroom, “I could always remind you,” she said, joining him on the bed.

Harry froze. Her hand rested on his chest, and she pulled herself closer. She drew lazy circles on his stomach with the tip of her finger as she began to kiss him. Her kiss seemed to relax Harry. Sensing his muscles loosen up, Hermione’s hand slid down until her fingertips were just under the elastic waistband of Harry’s boxers.

He immediately bolted upright, pushing her hand away. “I get the point, Hermione, thanks,” he said gruffly, getting off the bed.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” she asked, tears quickly forming in her eyes. She stared at his back as he headed back to the bathroom, grabbing a bigger towel and slinging it over the shower door. Not wanting to let him go, she leapt up from the bed and followed him. “Harry, what is it?” She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to turn him to look at her.

Harry grabbed both her wrists and pinned her against the wall, pressing himself close enough to keep her from squirming out of his way. He lightly thrust his hips at her, pushing her back again.

Hermione gasped. She could feel him against her stomach, just like she had last night. He still wants me! She thought excitedly.

The next four words out of Harry’s mouth sent Hermione reeling.

“You’re acting like Ginny.” He said, looking deep into her eyes.

Tears streamed down her face as Harry’s words hit her like a smack across the face.

“Harry, I—“ she stammered, trying to defend her actions.

“You think she didn’t try this?” he said, his tone low and angry. “She stole some Firewhisky from Fred and George and tried to get me to drink it with her. I had a shot or two but when I began to feel funny I stopped. She kept pushing for me to drink more and kept putting her hands under my robes.” Harry averted his eyes from Hermione’s, his next words seeming harder to say. “The difference between you and Ginny is that I wouldn’t have expected it from you. She came at me with a look in her eye that made it easy to tell what she was planning on getting with that Firewhisky. You acted all innocent, falling all over me like you didn’t know what was going on. And you’re the one who succeeded.”

He dropped her hands and stormed out of the bathroom, pulling a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a new pair of trainers out of the Harrods packages. He pulled the clothing on quickly, stuffing his dad’s ring in his pocket. “I’ll be back, I’m going for a walk. I need to think straight and clear my head.”

“Harry, wait!” Hermione yelled from the bathroom between sobs. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, running back into the bedroom only to hear the door slam shut.

It was too late. He had already left. Not willing to lose him over this, Hermione dressed as quickly as he had and left the room, taking the stairs to the lobby of the hotel in the hopes that she’d beat the elevator down. When she arrived she discovered the elevator had already headed back upstairs, and Harry was nowhere to be seen. Hermione ran out the lobby door and looked around the street, trying to see which direction Harry had gone in. She ran off to her right, hoping she would be able to find him before he decided he hated her.

<><><><><>

Harry was still in shock. He knew Hermione loved him, and he was fully aware of the physical attraction between the two of them. He was in utter disbelief that she had gotten him drunk on champagne at the Jules Verne in Paris, and having even more trouble believing what had transpired between the two of them.

He spotted a bench in front of a little shop and sat down, resting his head in his hands. His mind began running through everything that had happened, beginning with when they got back from Paris. Hermione had tumbled into bed with him, having tripped on her own feet. She’d landed across his body, and Harry had become extremely aroused. He’d turned her onto her back. She’d ordered him to kiss her, and he had. He’d nibbled and kissed, she’d taken off her dress and… His body went hot thinking of her in the lingerie he’d picked up at Harrods. Then she’d asked if he wanted her. He hadn’t said yes, but he hadn’t said no. He had said that she didn’t have to do it. Sweet Merlin, she didn’t make me do anything! She asked! And bloody hell, I offered her a chance to say no and she didn’t take it. Harry felt terrible for having yelled at her. They’d both been willing; they’d both been more than happy to do it. And I just accused her of acting like Ginny, he lamented. Not wanting to waste another second, Harry headed back to the hotel to apologize to Hermione.

<><><><><>

Hermione couldn’t find Harry anywhere. She had searched the area around the hotel and had turned up nothing. She had even tried calling out to him with her thoughts but apparently he still wasn’t wearing his dad’s ring. About to give up and head back to the hotel room, Hermione spotted a figure sulking in an alleyway. Hoping it was Harry trying to hide from Muggles so he could think, Hermione headed into the alley.

Seconds after she’d left the safety of the sidewalk Hermione was grabbed from behind, a hand covering her mouth. Fear coursed through her veins; she was convinced she was about to be mugged or raped.

“Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!” Hermione heard a familiar voice mutter as ropes bound her body and her wand flew from its holster.

The sulking figure stepped forward from the shadows, his white-blond hair immediately giving away his identity.

Draco Malfoy! Hermione realized, her eyes going wide. Vincent Crabbe joined him from the shadows, an evil grin on his face.

“Hello, Mudblood.” Draco sneered, looking her up and down. “I must say, you’ve definitely filled out a bit since term ended. That’ll make our task here more enjoyable.” He nodded at the person behind her, who released her mouth and joined Draco at his side.

Goyle laughed at Draco’s words. “She feels pretty good,” he said, leering at her.

Hermione was dumbstruck by the three boys in front of her. She didn’t understand why they’d singled her out.

“The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you, Granger,” Draco said, beginning to pace back and forth between Crabbe and Goyle. “For reasons beyond me he seems to think that your know-it-all tendencies can help him. He wishes for you to join his Death Eaters, though I personally think he’s a bit nutters for even suggesting it. Of course,” he took on the air of a pompous windbag, “it is not my place to question the Dark Lord. So what’ll it be, Granger?”

“Why even ask?” she spat out. “Even if I say no he’ll just put me under the Imperius curse.” Hermione did her best to be brave in the face of evil.

“See, that’s the thing, Granger. Apparently Mudbloods aren’t so worth the Dark Lord’s time that he’ll put you under a curse himself. Oh no. If you won’t come willingly, we have other orders.” He paused for dramatic effect. “If you won’t come willingly, we have the Dark Lord’s permission to do what we like with you.” Crabbe and Goyle snickered, clearly pleased. “I’m sure my friends here wouldn’t mind having a go at you, but I don’t take sloppy seconds or thirds.”

Hermione’s body went rigid. She hoped Harry had put his dad’s ring back on. Harry, please, I’m so sorry! I need you! Draco, Crabbe and Goyle have me tied up in an alley by the hotel!

About a kilometre away, Harry had just slipped the chain back over his head when he caught the words ‘tied up in an alley by the hotel’.

‘Mione? What’s going on? Where are you? He’d heard the panic in her words.

/Thank Merlin you can hear me, Harry! I wasn’t sure when you’d put your ring back on. It’s Draco! He brought Crabbe and Goyle, and they were going to take me to Voldemort but since I won’t go willingly they’re going to---ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! No! Please, Harry! Hurry!/

Unbeknownst to Harry, Malfoy had just begun debating with Crabbe and Goyle over whether he should torture her with the Cruciatus before, or after, they were through with her.

I can’t help you unless I know where you are!

Harry was running flat out now, checking every alley he passed. He heard a scream, and his blood ran cold. Blocking out the fact that it was Hermione, he focused on where the sound was coming from and ran towards it.

Malfoy had renewed the Incarcerous charm, and had modified it so that Hermione’s wrists were bound together, while Crabbe and Goyle held her ankles to the ground. He began to remove his robes and roll up his sleeves. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this, Mudblood. I’ve been dying to teach you a lesson ever since you smacked me in third year. You’re going to pay for that, you filthy little bitch!”

He dropped to his knees, leering at her, as he shifted until he was straddling her hips. With a resoundingly loud crack he slapped her, leaving a large, stinging red mark across her cheek. “Did I ever tell you, Granger, that the Dark Lord likes to reward his servants with Mudblood women to play with?” he whispered in her ear.

Hermione’s eyes went wide with fright as Draco leaned back and his hands moved towards his trousers. Before he could move his fingers to undo them he was hit with a bright red light and sent flying backward.

Both Crabbe and Goyle were knocked back as well, but the red lights just kept coming. Harry was firing stunners at them silently at a rapid pace as he ran through the alleyway towards Hermione. Seeing her lying out on the ground with her hands bound was too much for Harry.

Sectumsempra! He yelled in his head, aiming his wand at Crabbe and Goyle. Before he could see the effects of the curse he turned to Malfoy. Reducto! Severerus!

Hermione raised her head just in time to realize she would need to duck. Harry had not known that combining those two charms would have such a devastating effect. Harry quickly ran to her, satisfied that Malfoy was taken care of.

Did you—just--? Hermione wondered, thinking her eyes had deceived her.

Yeah, wasn’t expecting that. I meant to knock him down and cut off a finger or two to scare him, but hey… close enough. Harry wouldn’t turn around to see the body of Draco Malfoy. He had accidentally cut off the right arm of the young Death Eater, and his searing power had cauterized the wound. Unfortunately, should Malfoy live despite his injury, there would be no silver arm for him like Pettigrew’s hand. Ordinarily Harry would have felt extreme remorse and guilt at having caused such a travesty, but given what he had just saved Hermione from, he felt nothing at all for Draco. Crabbe and Goyle lay bleeding out on the ground. Harry simply turned his back, knowing that he would later claim that he had been so worried about Hermione that he had forgotten all about Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, St. Mungo’s, Blood-Replenishing potion, and healing charms.

Harry knelt down and scooped her up in his arms, holding her as close as he could. Why did you follow me? I said I’d be back! He said. His tone sounded angry, even though he hadn’t meant for it to come across that way. He couldn’t help but think that if he hadn’t stormed out of the hotel, this would have never happened.

“I love you, Harry.” Hermione whispered, still clearly in shock. She had just come close to being nothing but a plaything to torture, violate, and kill, and her mind was still having trouble wrapping around that fact.

Not caring if he wouldn’t be seventeen for another three days, Harry Apparated himself and Hermione back to the hotel room. He sat on his bed, Hermione still in his arms. He held her close, taking in the scent of her skin. He looked at her, and her eyes were brimming with tears. It was just beginning to sink in that Harry had saved her life.

Seeing her tears, Harry began to gently kiss them away. He cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her. Not with the heat and passion of his other kisses, but with tenderness and emotion. “I love you too, ‘Mione.” He whispered in her ear. He, too, was beginning to realize what had almost happened to Hermione; that he had almost lost her for good. If only hadn’t been stubborn and taken his ring off earlier that morning, he might’ve known sooner.

He lay back against the pillows, still cradling Hermione to his chest. “I promise you that I will never leave you alone. Ever.”

She snuggled deeper into his arms, revelling in the magic of his touch. Her skin was on fire, and together, they began to glow from within. Hermione realized they resembled human light bulbs, but she didn’t care. She was alive, Harry loved her, and she was the one place she’d always felt the safest: in Harry’s arms.

Disclaimer: It’s all Jo Rowling’s. I just play with the characters and make them do the things I think they should do.

<><><><><>

Just a few short minutes after Harry and Hermione had returned to their hotel room, there was a knock on their door. Before Harry could get up to answer it, a stream of witches and wizards came flooding into the room. Harry looked at them in shock; Hermione was still cuddled against his chest.

“Alright, Harry, what the bloomin’ hell is going on here!” Remus Lupin was furious.

“What are you talking about?” Harry was confused. Almost every member of the Order of the Phoenix surrounded him. He was receiving stern glares from Headmistress McGonagall and Alastor Moody. Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Weasley men stood off to one side, giving Molly Weasley and Tonks a chance to check the young couple over.

“Going off on your own, hiding out here for three days, and brutally maiming Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle?!” he had never been this mad at anyone before, but Lupin was positively steaming. “The first two we can get past, but you put three men in St. Mungo’s today! And you’re—you’re glowing?” Lupin was now confused. Everyone in the room had been so concerned for Harry and Hermione’s welfare that they hadn’t stopped to realize that the two of them were now bright enough to light up the entire room.

Molly had had her moment to fuss over the teens, and now Tonks was sitting on the bed with Harry, a comforting arm around his shoulder.

“Remus, love, don’t be so hard on the poor guy. I’m sure he’s got an explanation.” She said, gently rubbing Harry’s back. It was clear that they had just been through something awful.

“What did you do to Hermione?” Molly asked in a shrill voice. “She’s in shock!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry muttered, never taking his eyes off of her. Her eyes were open and still brimming with tears, but they weren’t focusing on anything. She just seemed to be staring off in the distance.

“Then what happened, Mr. Potter? And could you possibly explain to us why you two resemble a torch?” Minerva McGonagall had been worrying for the last few days about her two favourite students, and she was just as puzzled as the rest of them as to Hermione’s catatonic-like state.

“Harry,” Tonks said gently, ignoring everyone else, “Did Draco have anything to do with this?”

Harry nodded.

“What happened?” she asked, knowing that it would still be fresh in Harry’s mind. It would hurt for him to tell her, but she was hoping he’d say it anyway.

“Hermione and I, we—we fought,” he said quietly, still holding her as carefully as he could. “I was mad at her, so I left and said I was going to take a walk and I’d be back. She came after me. I didn’t know and was heading back to the hotel when I put my ring back on and I heard her calling out to me. She was trapped in an alley with them…” he trailed off, softly tracing a finger along Hermione’s cheek.

Tonks took ‘them’ to mean Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. “Were they trying to hurt her?” she prompted.

Harry nodded. “When I got there Draco had her wrists tied and Crabbe and Goyle were holding her legs to the ground. He was—he…” Tears began to slip down Harry’s face as he pulled Hermione even closer and buried himself in her hair.

“Harry, I know it hurts, but you have to tell us. Otherwise you’ll have to go to trial for the altercation, and we don’t want that,” Tonks reasoned.

“I’d heard Hermione saying that they wanted her to become a Death Eater because Voldemort thought she’d be useful, but if she wouldn’t do it of her own free will then they’d kill her.” He choked back his tears. “When I got there Malfoy was on his knees and he about to undo his pants and he was—oh Merlin, he was going to—“ Harry went silent, his tears now flowing freely.

Tonks looked around at the other Order members. They all seemed to understand what Harry couldn’t bring himself to say. The junior Death Eaters had found them just an hour before the Order had, and Hermione had almost been killed. They knew exactly what Malfoy was about to do by Harry’s admission that he’d been undressing when he arrived, and not a single one could blame him for his actions.

Molly Weasley was thoroughly upset now, and Arthur had been holding her back the last few minutes. She could see the love between the two of them, and even though part of her was angry and felt that it should’ve been Ginny that Harry felt that way for, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that it wasn’t. Then she’d be staring at Ginny lying in shock in Harry’s arms. It would’ve been Ginny whom Malfoy and his friends tried to rape and kill. Even though it wasn’t her daughter lying there, Molly was still upset. She’d always cared for Harry like he was another one of her boys, and Hermione had spent enough summers at the Burrow for Molly to be concerned about her well-being.

Arthur couldn’t restrain his wife any longer. Mrs. Weasley marched straight over to Harry and attempted to remove Hermione from his arms. “We’ve got to get her to St. Mungo’s, dear. She needs to be treated for shock, and most likely some bruises and abrasions as well. Come along now, I’ll Apparate her there myself.”

“No!” Harry shouted, nearly knocking Molly back to the floor with the volume and force of his words.

Lupin could see that he’d stood back long enough while the women handled things. He had to step back in. “Harry, she needs to go to St. Mungo’s and you can’t Apparate her there yourself, so just—“

“I can, and I will.” He said through gritted teeth. He was not letting go of Hermione. “I Apparated her back from the alleyway and I’ll Apparate her to St. Mungo’s.”

Everyone in the room was shocked. “Harry,” Tonks began, “we figured you could Apparate yourself but you can do Side-Along Apparition already?”

Harry nodded. “So can ‘Mione. We went to Paris last night for dinner,” he said softly, remembering the previous night. “She Apparated and I held on to her, so that the Ministry couldn’t complain about me Apparating before I was seventeen.”

“And you Apparated her into the hotel room from the alleyway?” Tonks asked in wonder.

“I don’t care if the Ministry doesn’t like it, I wasn’t about to walk down the streets of London carrying her after that. I wanted to get her back here as soon as I could.” He said defensively.

“Harry, I don’t think you understand what Tonks is trying to figure out here.” Minerva stepped forward. “Side-Along Apparition is very difficult. It is difficult for many adult wizards to do. Out of those of us in the Order, the only ones capable are myself, Molly, Tonks, and when he was still with us, Dumbledore. What we’re trying to tell you is that it is very advanced magic, much like your Patronus charm. We’re not mad at you or concerned about you Apparating before you come of age. We’re amazed that you can do it.”

Harry was less on edge now that McGonagall had explained. “Then I’ll Apparate her there right now. Any problems with that?”

No one was going to argue with him.

“One more thing,” he said, “How did you find us?”

“Pig found you,” Molly said, looking at her husband. “When he came back to us after Ginny had written you her letters, he was carrying something shiny in his mouth. Turns out he’d found a chocolate that the hotel puts on the pillows at night, eaten it, and thought that the gold wrapper was something worth bringing home. It had the hotel logo on it.”

“Given my former position with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, I’ve spent a lot of time in Muggle London. I recognized the logo and alerted the other Order members.” Arthur explained, almost feeling sorry for Harry. Clearly he hadn’t wanted to be found, but here they were anyway.

“We think that Voldemort may have had Death Eaters stationed in London keeping an eye out for you,” McGonagall looked Harry in the eye. “When you two left after your fight this morning they must have spotted Hermione leaving, but not you, Harry. Otherwise they would’ve made an attempt to capture you and take you back to Voldemort.”

Harry realized he would have to be much more careful in the future to avoid detection. Rather than voice his concerns to the Order, he simply stood, still cradling Hermione to his chest. “And now that we’re clear on that, I’m taking Hermione to St. Mungo’s.”

With that, they were gone.

“Did you see that?” Tonks whispered, “I didn’t even hear him go!”

“That’s the quietest Apparition I’ve ever heard,” Arthur Weasley commented.

“Why were they glowing?” asked Molly.

Lupin had a theory regarding that. “Did anyone else notice Harry said he’d heard Hermione’s cries for help after he put a ring back on?”

Everyone nodded.

“I think that he may have found Lily and James’ old wedding rings in his vault at Gringotts.”

“The one with the Glitra diamond?” Molly asked excitedly. She thought the rings had been lost in the attack when Harry was a baby, and she’d always wondered what had happened to it.

Lupin nodded. “Remember how Lily and James seemed to communicate silently? I think it had to do with the diamond. There were rumours that they could do something like that.”

“So you think Harry found the rings and now both he and Hermione are wearing them, enabling them to hear each other’s thoughts?” McGonagall asked.

“Exactly.” Said Remus.

“Well, that must come in handy,” she said.

<><><><><>

When Harry arrived at St. Mungo’s, he was immediately ushered into a private room by a Mediwitch. He carefully laid Hermione out on the hospital bed, still clutching her hand in his own.

“What happened to her?” said the witch, quickly performing a few spells to alleviate any pain Hermione might be feeling. She didn’t look up to see the pained expression on Harry’s face, much less to realize that Harry Potter was standing in front of her.

“Got caught by herself in an alleyway, and nearly was raped and killed.” It was tough for Harry to say the words, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the room with her if he couldn’t keep himself together.

The Mediwitch locked eyes with him, realizing who he was. “Harry Potter?” she asked, connecting his name with the three men who had been brought in only a half hour earlier.

He nodded.

“I assume you would like this case treated with the greatest discretion possible.” She said, checking Hermione’s vital signs.

Again, Harry nodded. “I should warn you, I don’t intend on leaving this room until she does,” he said calmly. The Mediwitch nodded and left the room. Seconds later a second witch entered.

“I’m Healer Danby,” she introduced herself. “And the patient is?”

“Hermione Jane Granger.” Harry offered.

Healer Danby smiled. “You’re Harry Potter.” She said, “I’ve been informed that you have no intentions of leaving Miss Granger unsupervised, correct?”

“I promised her I’d never leave her alone again. If I hadn’t done that in the first place, she wouldn’t be here right now.” He said, blaming himself.

“Nonsense, Mr. Potter,” Healer Danby paused to administer a potion to Hermione. “She’s in shock, which I’m sure you know. I’ve just given her something to bring her out of it as soon as possible. In the meantime, I think you should have some of this.” She held a cup out to him, waiting for him to take it.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Draught of Peace,” she replied. “You look as though you need to calm down a bit, and this will help.”

Harry took the potion, and handed the cup back to the Healer.

“Fantastic,” she said with a smile. “Now, you just make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be back to check on Miss Granger shortly. Try to get some sleep if you can, Mr. Potter.”

Nodding, Harry shuffled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. He rested his head on the mattress, still holding Hermione’s hand.

<><><><><>

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, My Lord, but Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle are in St. Mungo’s and barely alive.” Severus Snape stood before Lord Voldemort, doing his best not to show his fear.

“What?” Voldemort hissed. “How?”

Snape cleared his throat. “They were part of the team that was standing guard over London, looking for Potter. They found Hermione Granger instead.”

“And did they tell her that I wished to speak with her?”

“I don’t know, My Lord, I only discovered their blood and magical signature in an alleyway. Potter got to them before I could. Someone must have spotted them from the main road and brought them to the hospital.”

Voldemort was silent for a moment, lamenting the demise of Draco Malfoy. “How were they injured?”

“Draco lost his wand arm. I believe that Potter used a combination of the Reducto charm and the Severing charm.”

“And the other two?”

Snape hung his head, not looking the Dark Lord in the eyes. “I’m afraid that Potter used a spell on them which I invented years ago. Sectumsempra; it causes deep gashes in the skin, and if left untreated the victim will bleed to death.”

Voldemort nodded. “Crabbe and Goyle were unfortunate causalities, and I shall not worry if they end up in the morgue of St. Mungo’s. Malfoy is the only one I am sorry to hear about; he has such potential. Who was supposed to be keeping an eye on them?”

“Amycus, sir.”

“Have him killed. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Snape bowed and left.

Disclaimer: JKR owns Potter and everything Potter related. I have no life outside of working six days a week and writing fiction is my stress reliever. I make no money from this, else I would not be up at 5 every morning and working every day except Sunday. No, I’m not bitter. I swear.

A/N: Here you go, the fight everyone’s been hoping for. :D

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Harry woke up to find Hermione smiling at him. “You’re okay!” he exclaimed.

She nodded. “Healer Danby came by while you were sleeping. I’ve had some Pepper Up Potion and I feel pretty good now.”

Harry stood up and leaned over the bed to hug her. “Are you… alright, though?”

“You mean mentally?” she asked.

“Well, yeah. I mean, you didn’t exactly have the greatest time earlier.” He looked into her eyes, seeing her pain.

“It was scary,” Hermione said. “I didn’t know whether or not you’d find me in time, and Draco… Harry, he was going to kill me.”

“Hermione, I need you to do something very important for me. I need you to tell me what Draco said to you, and then we’ll never talk about it again. Okay?”

She nodded, gripping his hand tighter. “He said that Voldemort wanted to talk to me. Wanted me to become a Death Eater. I don’t know why, but apparently he did. And if I wouldn’t take the Mark willingly they would kill me. But then Draco said he was going to teach me a lesson for punching him a couple years ago, and he started to—“ Tears began to fall from her eyes.

“It’s okay, ‘Mione,” Harry soothed, pulling her into a hug. “That’s when I got there. I just needed to know what he said so that I can tell the Order later.”

“The Order? They found us?” Hermione was confused.

Harry sighed. “When you sent Pig back to the Weasleys’ he snuck a chocolate and kept the wrapper. Mr. Weasley recognized the hotel logo on the wrapper and they headed out right after.”

Hermione made a mental note to never leave treats out around Pigwidgeon again. “So now what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Once you’re discharged there’ll be a huge Order meeting. Everyone is coming. I’m not sure if I should tell them about the Horcruxes or not. We can’t even stay in Muggle London without putting you in danger, destroying the Horcruxes isn’t going to be much safer. I don’t want to risk you getting hurt. If we tell the Order they can help,” he shrugged.

“Whatever your decision is, Harry, I’ll be right next to you the entire time. I promise.” She said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Well, aren’t you two the cutest thing I’ve seen all day!” Healer Danby grinned, entering the room. “Mr. Potter, could I have a word with you in the hallway for a moment?” she asked, winking at Hermione.

Harry got up to join her, closing the door after him.

“From what I understand, you are the one who saved her, is that correct?” she asked. Harry nodded. “Well, good job. You got there just in time. From what we were able to see from her memories, a few moments later and it may have been too late.”

“Her memories?” Harry asked.

Healer Danby nodded. “Yes, Harry. While you were sleeping, Miss Granger withdrew her memory of the event and placed it in a Pensieve for us to view. The Minister for Magic and several members of the Wizengamot came by. They were prepared to try you for the assault and in Mr. Malfoy’s case, permanent disfigurement, of Miss Granger’s attackers until they saw her memory. Instead, they are taking actions against the estates of the young men, fining each one several hundred thousand Galleons. I wanted to mention this to you without upsetting Miss Granger again. When the Ministry officials were reviewing her memory, we had to give her a bit of Dreamless Sleep Potion to keep her from having an anxiety attack.”

Harry smiled grimly. “I was expecting to be tried by the full court for my actions, considering they’ve done that before for much less, but this is definitely better than that. I appreciate your help, Healer Danby.”

“Oh, we’re not through yet, Mr. Potter.” She withdrew a small, deep purple vial from her robes’ pocket. “I would like you to bring this home with you. It’s more Dreamless Sleep Potion. Typically, the victim of this type of crime suffers from nightmares for quite some time after the attack. It is quite likely that Miss Granger will relive the events several times over the next two weeks in her sleep. If this occurs, please give her just a teaspoon of this potion. It will relax her and she will be able to—“

“Not to be rude, Healer Danby, but I myself have had quite the experience with Dreamless Sleep Potion. I’ll save you the trouble of explaining and assure you that I know what I’m doing.”

“Of course you do,” she smiled. “Miss Granger is free to leave whenever she likes. I’d suggest you help her downstairs, as there is quite the crowd waiting for you two.”

Harry turned to open the door when Healer Danby spoke again.

“Oh, and Mr. Potter? Good luck. You two are a fine match. And thanks for the donation year before last.”

Harry flushed, and entered the room.

“What was that all about?” Hermione asked, seeing Healer Danby headed down the hallway.

“Nothing,” he said, helping her up. “Just wanted to say that we make a cute couple, that’s all.”

Hermione grinned. “So, we’re a couple now?”

Harry looked at her in an attempt to be stern. “What part of ‘I love you’ don’t you understand, woman?”

Giggling, Hermione kissed him. “I love you too, Harry.” She wrapped her arms around him in a hug, and they left the room hand in hand.

Downstairs in the hospital lobby, Harry and Hermione were greeted by the Order. Lupin, Tonks, Moody, McGonagall, the Weasleys, and Hagrid were waiting. Before either one of them had a chance to say anything, two figures came running out from behind Hagrid. The blurs of red hair were impossible to mistake.

“HolyMerlinHarryI’msogladthatyou’realright!” Ginny squealed in one breath. Ron gripped Hermione in a bone-crushing hug.

The young couple just stood there for a second before releasing each other’s hands in embarassment.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” Ron said sadly. “I really am. I was being a complete dolt, and I can’t blame you for leaving.”

Hermione looked uncomfortable. Ron had a hopeful expression on his face. Apparently Mrs. Weasley hadn’t told her children anything she’d seen between Harry and Hermione earlier that day.

Ginny was busy attempting to kiss every square inch of Harry’s face. “We were so worried! When Pig came back without any replies I thought for sure that something was terribly wrong!”

“Ginny, stop it.”

She looked at Harry, confused.

He shrugged. “I didn’t say it.”

Hermione was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at Ginny. Ron, as confused as Ginny, was staring at Hermione with his mouth agape.

“Excuse me?” Ginny asked, confused as to why Hermione was telling her to back off. “He’s my boyfriend, why can’t I kiss him?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I’m not your boyfriend, Gin. We went over this when term ended, remember?”

Ginny was lost. “But after my letter, I thought that—“

“You thought wrong, Ginny.” Hermione glared.

“That letter was for Harry, not for you to read!” she said furiously, stepping forward so that she was eye to eye with Hermione. The boys sensed trouble coming and backed away.

In the few moments that Harry and Ron had to talk while the girls stared each other down, Harry managed to say “Sorry, mate.”

Ron looked at him funny. “For what?”

“Hermione and I…” Harry said.

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry, and suddenly understood. “Oh.” His face fell. “Should’ve known.”

Before Harry could say anything more to his friend, his attention was brought back to the girls by a loud crack.

Ginny had just smacked Hermione.

While the boys were talking amongst themselves the Order members had chosen to back off. Arthur was again restraining Molly from meddling, as she was desperate to prevent her children from getting hurt.

“Uh… we’ll just wait outside for you lot,” Tonks said quickly, rushing everyone out of the lobby.

“You little bint!” Hermione exclaimed, rubbing her now-red cheek. “How dare you!”

“How dare I? How dare you! You knew perfectly well that I’ve been in love with Harry forever, and you even tried to help me get his attention, and then you go and steal him from behind my back?”

“I didn’t steal him!” Hermione glared. “He broke up with you, and when he needed friends the most, you abandoned him! You chose to stay at the Burrow with Ron while I was the only one who had the stones to come after him! He kissed me! He told me he loves me, not you! You don’t love him, Ginny, you worship him! You fooled around with other guys to get Harry’s attention, you plotted to make him fall for you!”

“Worship him?!” she screeched. “Oh please, Hermione. If it weren’t for my brothers’ Permanent Sleekeazy potion he never would’ve noticed you! You’ve always been Bookworm Hermione, and you always will be!”

Though she had always prided herself on her ability to use words as weapons in a fight rather than her fists, Ginny’s words incensed the brunette witch to a point where words just weren’t effective anymore. This time it was Hermione’s turn to smack Ginny.

Harry stupidly chose this moment to interrupt. “Uh, Ginny? I noticed Hermione was attractive in fourth year. And I did break up—“

“Not now, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice low. “This is between me and her. She’s the one who just can’t seem to let go, so it looks like I’m going to have to make her.”

“Sure, Hermione. Make me. Go ahead. I dare you,” Ginny threatened.

“Ginny, maybe you don’t understand what’s going on here,” Hermione sighed, aware of how stubborn the younger girl was going to be. “No matter the outcome of this fight, Harry’s going to be with me. We love each other. It may have taken him nearly six years to realize that, but that’s all water under the proverbial bridge now. I love him for who he is and how he makes me feel, not because he’s Harry Potter, the Chosen One and the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Ginny shook her head. “You think you do, but you’re wrong! I bet it’s all because of that stupid diamond you’re wearing. Mum told me about it, said that he’d given you his mum’s old engagement ring. I bet that you two think you love each other because that ring is cursed!”

“It’s not cursed, Ginny, otherwise Lily would’ve never worn it. Because of this ring, Harry and I can hear each other’s thoughts. And it’s because of this ring that I’m alive right now. If Harry hadn’t heard me calling for him to help me through the rings, I would’ve been dead before he even knew I was gone.”

Ginny was stunned. Molly had told her and Ron that they’d found Harry and Hermione, they’d gotten into a fight with Draco in London, and Hermione was a bit scraped up and in St. Mungo’s. “Dead?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

Hermione nodded grimly. “Dead.” She repeated. “When Harry rescued me this morning, Draco Malfoy was about to…” she trailed off for a moment. “Well, let’s just say that he wanted to have a go at me before Crabbe and Goyle got the chance, but not without what he’d considered a healthy dose of the Cruciatus. Harry showed up just before anything could happen, and fought them off.”

I nearly killed them, ‘Mione.

You didn’t mean to, and that’s all that matters to me.

Ginny hung her head in shame. “I’m sorry… Mum told me that you had gotten into a fight is all. She never said anything about that.”

“She was probably thanking Merlin that it wasn’t you, Ginny. It could have been if you were still with Harry.”

Ginny swallowed, realizing her friend was right. “I never thought of it that way. I thought when you said that I would be in danger you meant that the Death Eaters might put me under the Imperius and have me try to kill you or something,” she said to Harry, “I never imagined anything like this.”

Hermione looked at the younger girl. “So are we clear now? I’m with Harry. Honestly, Gin, I’ve loved him for years and I’d given up just like you, but the last few days have turned all that around.” She reached for Harry’s hand, taking it in her own.

Harry slipped his arm around her waist, pulling Hermione closer. The two of them began to glow again.

“What’s with the human light bulb thing?” Ginny asked.

“Side effect of the diamond,” Harry replied. Hermione looked at him questioningly. “Figured it out while I was sleeping. It seems like whenever we’re sharing a powerful emotional connection, we light up.”

“Love,” Hermione whispered. “This must be what Dumbledore meant.”

Harry agreed with her.

“Are you lot done screaming at each other now? I think the Mediwitches are getting a tad annoyed with you.” Tonks had poked her head back into the lobby.

The four teens looked around the room to see several Mediwitches, Healers, and patients all glaring at them.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, and the four of them left as quickly as they could.

<><><><><>

“It’s done.” Severus Snape bowed.

Voldemort let out a hiss of pleasure. “Fantastic. Let Amycus’ mistake be an example to everyone else. I will not tolerate mistakes.”

Snape nodded. “We have also spotted Potter and several Order members leaving St. Mungo’s. They headed directly into the Ministry of Magic from there. Bellatrix thought it would be wise to wait for another time to ambush them.”

“Very wise,” Voldemort agreed. “Attacking them directly in front of the Ministry would end the same way the battle in the Department of Mysteries did. No, we will fight them on our own terms, and in our own territory. Any news on when my servants will be released from St. Mungo’s?”

Shaking his head, Snape prepared to make an excuse. “From what I’ve been able to learn, young Malfoy and his cronies will be released to their parents as soon as their conditions are stable. I suggest you take it up with their fathers.” With no retaliation from Voldemort, Snape continued. “The potion you asked for is ready, my Lord.” He held out a small bottle containing a deep scarlet liquid.

“Excellent,” the Dark Lord held his hands in front of him as he leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers into a steeple. “Something tells me we will be much more successful in this venture than I expected.

Disclaimer: JKR’s garden, I’m just replanting it.

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Under ordinary circumstances, the Order would have taken Harry and the teens to the safety of Grimmauld Place. Due to Dumbledore’s death, the safe house was no longer safe. The Fidelius Charm had been broken moments after he had been murdered by Snape; leaving the former Potions professor free to tell the Dark Lord the location of the house. The Order’s prior meeting there had been fairly risky, but the kitchen at Grimmauld Place was much larger than the Burrow, and there had been a large number of people in attendance.

Molly Weasley had felt that it would be in the best interest of the teenagers to keep them safe in her own home. Having experienced first hand how easily they could be found in London, Harry and Hermione didn’t argue when Molly ushered them home.

Three tense days passed at the Burrow after Hermione had been discharged from St. Mungo’s. Though Ron had come to terms with Harry and Hermione’s relationship, he was still having trouble seeing it in front of his face every day.

Ginny was taking it worst of all. Despite Hermione’s near-death experience, she was still determined that Harry would come back to his senses and proclaim his love for her. Any normal person would have learned from Hermione’s unfortunate experience, realizing that it was dangerous to be with Harry, but Ginny had convinced herself that somehow Hermione had brought the situation upon herself. While she was polite to the couple when they spent time together, she had spent hours locked in her room, trying to discover a way to turn Harry’s heart in her favour again. She couldn’t believe that his feelings had dissipated so quickly, and was determined to win him back.

Mrs. Weasley, in an attempt to shield her children from any further emotional distraught, had given Harry and Hermione permission to stay in each other’s rooms with the door closed. She remembered what she and Arthur had been like at their age, and would rather have them behind closed doors than flaunting their relationship in the faces of their children. Also, Molly knew about the nightmares that Hermione had been having, and understood that she needed Harry to give her some Dreamless Sleep potion when she had one. Occasionally Hermione didn’t make it back to her own room before falling asleep again, so there were nights where Harry had gently lifted her from the floor, where she’d fallen asleep, placed her in his own bed and taken her place on the floor. Mrs. Weasley didn’t mind this, as she was still thankful (in a morbid sense) that it had been Hermione, and not Ginny, in that alleyway. Of course, Molly had overlooked the fact that both Ron and Ginny were bright children, and they were quickly able to figure out what was going on.

It was this allowance that Mrs. Weasley had made that led to possibly the best ‘Happy Birthday’ Harry had ever received.

Still in the wee hours of the morning, Harry was fast asleep. He had been concerned at first about Hermione not being able to wake him if she needed any of the potion Healer Danby had given them, but he discovered that he was a lighter sleeper than he realized. He was now able to fall asleep easily, knowing that Hermione would come to him if she needed him. He would have preferred to share a room with her at least, so that she didn’t have to wake up from her nightmares alone, but he knew that Mrs. Weasley would never tolerate that. Instead, Harry always fell asleep with his door cracked open, so that if he heard anything coming from Hermione’s room, he would wake up and go to her immediately. That night was a different one. Hermione had not woken him up for any reason, and Harry had been asleep long enough to begin floating through a dream.

A soft, floral fragrance began to drift through Harry’s room. He could smell it even in his sleeping state, and it began to gently coax him into waking up. Rolling over and rubbing his eyes, Harry looked around his room, searching for the source of the pleasant smell. He found nothing. As he was about to turn back over and go back to sleep, an ethereal figure entered his room. She was dressed in a long white silk gown, and she reminded Harry of when he and Hermione began to glow together. This figure was brighter than they had ever been, lighting up his entire room.

“Hello, Harry,” she whispered.

He stared, unsure of what to say.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” she said, smiling at him. “You’re seventeen today; today you are going to become a man.”

Silently the beautiful figure slipped across the room, closing the door behind her. Clearly she was a witch since she was carrying a wand, but to Harry, she looked like an angel. She flicked her wand about, casting silently.

Harry looked at her, confused. “What did you do?” he asked. He tried to sit up, to face the witch-angel, but found that he couldn’t. His wrists were magically bonded to the bed.

“Just a few charms,” she winked. “You won’t be able to move until I let you, and I cast another charm so that no one can hear what’s going on or get through that door.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a little worried, for reasons he could not comprehend. A beautiful angel had entered his room, confined him to his bed, and locked the door. He couldn’t see anything wrong with this, but was still a touch apprehensive. “What’s going on?” he asked, unable to do anything but stare at the beautiful woman.

She let out a giggle, and came closer to him. She lifted herself onto the bed with Harry, straddling his waist. “Now you really can’t move,” she winked.

Before Harry could protest—though what sane man would?—she had dipped her head to his, and covered his mouth with kisses. They were gentle at first, but the witch-angel began to kiss him more passionately, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth.

Harry’s head was spinning, his temperature rising by the second.

The witch-angel sat back, a sly grin on her face. Her motions had caused the front of her silk gown to slide open at the front, giving Harry a generous view of what she wasn’t wearing underneath.

“Let’s Apparate somewhere else,” she suggested, flicking her wand to undo his magical bonds.

Harry seized his opportunity to grab his angel by the waist and flip her over onto her back. Before she could react he had her hands pinned, and was straddling her as she had done to him. Her breath caught in her throat.

“You were saying?” he murmured, kissing her thoroughly before she had the chance to respond. He pressed his body against hers, acting just as wickedly as she had moments earlier. Harry realized at that point that she was more exposed than she had been before, probably due to his moving on top of her. His mouth went dry.

“I was saying,” she said coyly, “that we should Apparate somewhere else.”

“Have somewhere in mind?” he said, grinning at her.

She slipped out of his hold to stand in front of him, readjusting what he now realized was a robe and not a gown. She held out her hand to him and he gladly took it, sweeping her into his arms.

The angel nodded in response to his question and held tightly to his waist. She concentrated, and they Apparated elsewhere without a sound.

“Where are we?” Harry asked, looking around as he still held onto his angel.

She looked up at him, smiling. “I created this place.”

”How did you…?” he was confused. Harry took a closer look at his angel. “’Mione?”

“Well, who else, silly?” she grinned.

“Am I still dreaming?” he asked, looking around.

She shook her head. “You were pretty asleep when I came in, but you started to wake up when I suggested Apparating.”

Harry was surprised. Hermione was still dressed in the white silk robe he’d pictured her in, but she wasn’t glowing as brightly as she had been in his dream. She looked beautiful, and Harry could barely take his eyes off of her.

“Harry, look around,” she prompted.

He did as he was told, and was amazed. Hermione had taken his idea from the hotel balcony and recreated something similar for him. They were in another room entirely, but it looked as though they were on a beach somewhere. There were palm trees, beautiful flowers, and the ocean looked so inviting. Right in the centre of the white sand was a hut of some sort. From where Harry was standing, it looked like it had four posts made of thick bamboo stalks, and there was a white canopy over it, billowing in the gentle breeze.

Hermione took his hand and led him towards the canopy, and parted the folds so that they could enter. Inside it was similar to the tent that Mr. Weasley had brought to the Quidditch World Cup in their fourth year. There was a huge pillow the size of a mattress lying on the floor, surrounded by smaller pillows. The canopy appeared to be bewitched so that from the outside you couldn’t see in, but from the inside you could see out. Harry had a wonderful view of the water, among other things.

Leaning back on the giant pillow, Harry looked up at his girlfriend. “What are we doing here?”

She smiled, toying with the edge of your robe. “It’s your birthday, Harry,” she said, “don’t you want to open your present?”

Harry was more than tempted, but he was still hesitant. The most beautiful woman he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing was offering herself to him, and all he could think about was days earlier, when she had been in the alley. “Are you ready for something like this, ‘Mione?”

“What do you mean, Harry?”

“Doesn’t it feel too soon? After everything that just happened?”

Hermione sat down next to him, and he pulled her close. “Harry, we love each other. How can anything be too soon? If you really think about it, we’ve waited six years for this.” she pointed out.

“I don’t mean that, ‘Mione. I mean after… after Malfoy,” he said quietly.

“Oh… that.” she whispered. Facing Harry, Hermione let a few tears slip down her cheeks. “That’s why I need you, Harry,” she grasped his hand. “I don’t want to think about that anymore.”

Harry held her close as they lay back on the enormous pillow, softly stroking her hair and placing soft kisses on her temple. “Then don’t,” he said, kissing her.

“Harry, please,” she begged softly, “I need to get the memories out of my mind, and I can’t take Dreamless Sleep Potion forever. We need to create new memories. We don’t have to do anything more than we did in London, unless you want to, I just need to be with you.”

Harry wanted nothing more than to do exactly what she was asking of him, but he wanted it to be for the right reasons. “We can’t just jump into this. Last time we were completely smashed, which may not be an excuse, but otherwise we wouldn’t have done it. We can’t do this if we’re not ready. I don’t want to hurt you,” he looked at her, holding her tenderly.

“You won’t,” she promised. “You need kisses to make you feel better, right? Well, I need a lot more than kisses to get past this. Just let me touch you. You can help me get past this, Harry, please—“

Before she could continue, Harry had kissed her. He pulled her closer, entangling a hand in her hair and sliding the other one around her waist. He spent several enjoyable minutes thoroughly exploring the depths of Hermione’s mouth; the hand on her waist was sliding inexplicably lower. Moving around to the front of her robe he parted it and gently slipped it from her shoulders. As he nibbled on her neck his hand moved even lower until his fingers found that little nub that had caused Hermione to moan loudly the night they’d come back from Paris. Harry may have been extremely trashed that night, but after a few days to reflect on the evening’s occurrences he had managed to remember the events properly, and more importantly, what little and not-so-little things pleased Hermione.

She gasped with a sharp intake of breath and her hips bucked, pushing herself against Harry’s hand. As his thumb moved in little circles, Hermione’s world exploded. Her back arched as she called out his name, and she fell back on the pillow, breathing heavily.

“No fair,” she panted, with a languid smile spreading across her face. “It’s your birthday, you should be the one on the receiving end of all of this.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her, but was quickly pushed onto his back before he could question her. Hermione began to return the favour, nipping at his neck and placing heated kisses along his collarbone. She kissed a line from his neck to his hips, gently licking along the crease where his upper thighs met his pelvis. With one steamy glance up into Harry’s eyes, she took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around him.

As Harry laid back and enjoyed Hermione’s ministrations, gripping fiercely at the oversized pillow, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest wizard alive.

<><><><><>

“Morning Harry!” Ron said brightly, pushing his way into Harry’s room.

Harry groaned as Ron pulled up the blinds, letting the sunlight into his room. “Happy birthday, mate!” he said cheerfully, plopping himself on Harry’s bed. “Mum says we’re going to the Ministry today so that you can do your Apparition test. She and Dad are there now, arranging the cars.”

Harry was listening to Ron, but he wasn’t paying attention to the words. His mind was still on Hermione, and how she had begged him to help her heal her emotional wounds. Furthermore, he was still revelling in the afterglow of her tongue on his…erm…more intimate parts.

“—and Ginny’s downstairs making a huge birthday breakfast, and… Harry, have you been listening to a word I said?!” Ron said, staring at his best friend.

“Um… Apparition and breakfast?” Harry guessed.

Ron laughed. “Close enough. Come on, would you? We’ll go get Hermione up and go downstairs. Ginny’s been cooking for the last forty-five minutes.”

“What time is it?” Harry asked, still fairly sleepy.

“Nearly eleven,” said Ron, dragging Harry out of bed.

Harry dressed quickly and had Ron go on downstairs without him, claiming he wanted to see if Hermione slept okay. Ron headed down the stairs, knowing that Hermione’s nightmares were a touchy subject with Harry.

Carefully opening the door to Hermione’s room, Harry slipped inside. His girlfriend was sleeping peacefully, looking much like the angel she’d been in his dream. “Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered, gently kissing her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw Harry, “Hi,” she whispered back, almost shyly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just wanted to make sure,” he said, “I was worried I might’ve hurt you earlier.”

“You didn’t hurt me in London, Harry, why would you have this morning?” she asked quizzically.

Harry seemed like he didn’t want to bring up the subject, but he knew he’d have to. “I thought that maybe you might be more… sensitive? I don’t know the word I’m looking for, but I wanted to make sure I was gentle enough.”

Hermione chucked softly, reaching out to hug her boyfriend. “Oh, Harry,” she sighed, her breath tickling his ear, “you never have to worry about hurting me. I can take a lot more than this morning, you know. You won’t always have to be so careful. In fact, I’m really hoping that one day soon, you’ll quit being careful altogether.”

Harry’s mind began to wander at this, but he was quickly brought back by Hermione’s kiss. She’d leaned over towards the edge of the bed, kissing him passionately, hungrily.

Harry broke away. “Promise?” he said tentatively. He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was hard holding back.

She nodded. “Now get out! I have to get dressed for breakfast, and Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t want you in here watching me change!” she smiled.

“Please, it’s not like I haven’t already see—“ Harry was rewarded with a pillow in the face for his cheek. He ducked the next one and dodged out of the room, going down the stairs two at a time for breakfast.

At the bottom of the stairs he was rewarded with the delicious smells of a home cooked breakfast. There were plates filled with crisp bacon, mountains of fluffy, scrambled eggs, and golden brown toast. Ginny was standing at the stove, making pancakes. Harry could see that she had gone to a lot of trouble to make all of this, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. It was clear she still had feelings for him, and here he was staying in her home with his girlfriend.

“Morning, Gin,” he greeted her.

She turned around, smiling. “Morning, Harry. Happy birthday!” she quickly wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “I hope you like bacon and eggs. It’s all I’m really good at, I’m not making any promises that these pancakes will turn out right.” She had been cooking the Muggle way. Ginny liked to do things more hands on than her mother, who was a master at making meals with her wand.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Do I smell coffee?” he asked.

Ginny nodded. “I know you like it first thing in the morning, so I started brewing some when Ron went upstairs to wake you up.” She pointed at a seat at the table, which was surrounded by packages. “There’s a fresh cup there for you, and some birthday gifts came by owl while you were in bed. Is Hermione coming down soon?”

“Should be,” Harry said, surveying the gifts, “she was going to get dressed when I left her.”

Ginny nodded, turning back to the pancakes. Harry sat down, glancing at Ron across the table. He was already shovelling eggs into his mouth, pausing to take gulps of pumpkin juice and munch on a few pieces of bacon.

Doing his best not to laugh at Ron’s eating habits, Harry took a few sips of his coffee. He relaxed in his chair, mulling over which package to open first.

“Pancake, Harry?” Ginny asked, holding the pan out to him. “They actually didn’t turn out that bad.”

“Thanks, Gin,” he said, holding up his plate. He looked up at her, with a devious grin on his face. “So do I get a birthday kiss, or is a hug the best I get from the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen?” He knocked the pan from her hand and pulled her down to sit in his lap.

Ginny squealed in delight, thoroughly kissing Harry. His hand slipped from her waist to her bum just as Hermione came down the stairs.

“Harry James Potter, what in the name of Merlin do you think you’re doing?” she yelled.

“Kissing Ginny,” he replied, capturing the redheaded witch’s mouth again.

Hermione just stared at her boyfriend in shock. Ron looked up from the forkful of eggs he was about to inhale. He had been too absorbed in his breakfast to listen to what his best friend and his sister had been saying until he heard ‘kissing’ and ‘Ginny’ in the same sentence. “What the bloody hell?” he asked, staring. When he realized what was happening, he looked at Hermione hopefully.

“Don’t even think about it,” she threatened, still glaring at Harry and Ginny, who seemed oblivious to everyone else in the kitchen.

Hermione stood glaring at Ginny and Harry, her hair practically crackling with electricity. Watching her boyfriend snog someone else first thing in the morning wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind to start off the day, but apparently she had no choice.

Stomping across the kitchen floor of the Burrow, Hermione tried her best to push the two of them apart, but they held fast. She tried everything she could think of to separate them but they just continued on like there was no one else in the room.

Ron still stared at his sister and best friend, confused by Harry’s actions. “Blimey, you’d think he was me last year when I ate those chocolates Romilda Vane gave him!”

“That’s it!” Hermione exclaimed. “She slipped him a love potion! Merlin, I’m an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.” She had been so caught up in the emotions she was feeling watching Harry kiss another girl, that girl being Ginny no less, that she’d completely forgotten that there was such a thing as a love potion. “Why that little…”

She stormed off to the fireplace, grabbed some Floo powder, and clearly pronounced “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes!”

Seconds later she was tumbling out of the fireplace in the back of Fred and George’s Diagon Alley shop, leaving Ron to make sure that nothing more serious happened while she was gone.

Fred popped his head around the curtain. “’Ello, Hermione! We weren’t expecting you!”

George followed his twin. “What brings you to our premises?”

Hermione was clearly exasperated. “Your sister gave my boyfriend a love potion and now he’s snogging her six ways from Sunday at your kitchen table!”

“What?” Fred was in disbelief.

“Our Ginny?” George was equally confused.

“Kissing Ron?!” Fred was disgusted, realizing the implications of Hermione’s words.

She made a face. “No, Harry! She’s snogging Harry, and I know she wouldn’t be able to brew Amortentia as I can barely do it, so she must’ve gotten her potion from your shop!”

Fred and George looked at Hermione sheepishly. “Apologies about that,” George began.

“When we gave it to her last year—“

“She said she was getting it for another girl—“

“Whose parents wouldn’t let her buy it while she was in the shop.” Fred finished.

Hermione looked from one twin to the other. “Tell me there’s an antidote. Or that it wears off.”

“It wears off,” said Fred, contemplating something.

“But we gave Ginny that potion last year,” George reminded his twin.

“So?” asked Hermione.

“We heard about Ron and the chocolate cauldrons meant for Harry,” George said.

“And they’d been stronger because Harry had left them sit for a while!” Hermione realized what George was getting at.

“Of course!” said Fred, “The potion we gave Ginny usually lasts about a week, but she’d left it sit all year and if she hadn’t used it until now, well…” his face screwed up in concentration. “She got it almost a year ago, and every four months you can increase the time it lasts by a week so now it’d last nearly three weeks.”

Hermione’s mind began running through the calculations, and something dawned on her. “Thanks, guys, I’ve got to run,” she said, heading back to the fireplace.

“Don’t tell mum she got it from us!” the twins exclaimed, heading back to the front of their shop.

Moments later Hermione was back at the Burrow.

“Your parents are still at the Ministry, aren’t they, Ron?” she asked. He nodded. Having realized that he couldn’t separate Harry and Ginny, he went back to shoving food down his throat. “Fantastic. Ron, you might want to take your breakfast and eat elsewhere. This is going to get ugly.”

Hermione used Wingardium Leviosa to levitate all of the plates for Ron, and hovered them into the living room. She turned back to see Ginny still sitting on Harry’s lap, the two of them still kissing.

Doing her best to contain her fury, Hermione gripped the younger redhead by the hair and dragged her off of Harry. “You sneaky little bitch!” Hermione dragged the girl up to face her. “I know exactly what you did end of last term, and don’t you dare think you’re going to get away with it again.”

Ginny tried to fight off Hermione’s strong grip, but was too afraid to have all of her hair ripped out. “What are you talking about? Have you gone mad?” Ginny was tempted to slap Hermione as she had in the lobby of St. Mungo’s, but knew that would make her look guilty.

“Hermione, what are you doing to my Ginny?” Harry asked deploringly, remaining in his chair with a confused look on his face.

Instead of answering Harry’s question, Hermione shifted her grip on Ginny’s hair so that she could use her wand with her other hand. “Harry, I’m sorry that I have to do this. Immobulus,” she cast her spell, disabling any movement in Harry’s body.

“Now, where were we?” she turned back to Ginny. “Ah, yes. Your little love potion trick.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about, Hermione, but if you’d let go of my hair—“

Hermione flung Ginny away from her, releasing her grip. Ginny crashed into the table, having to brace herself to keep from falling.

“Oh do shut up, Ginny; wouldn’t you rather be thought of as an idiot than open your mouth and leave no doubt?” Hermione smirked. “The more you deny it, the guiltier you look. I know exactly what you did. I had a quick chat with Fred and George about that love potion they sold to you before last year started. For some other girl, whose parents wouldn’t let her get it?” Hermione reminded her, watching Ginny’s eyes widen in surprise. “Funny, I can think of a certain girl whose parents would never let her use a love potion, and only get a Pygmy Puff instead.”

“You—you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ginny spluttered.

“Oh, but I do. Are you forgetting who I am, Ginny? Bookworm Hermione, as you so eloquently put it. I do my research; I just never would’ve thought you’d stoop so low as to slip Harry a love potion.”

“He had feelings for me before we kissed in the common room! He’ll tell you that himself!” Ginny defended herself.

“No, Ginny, he said he felt like there was a scaly monster living in his chest. You know as well as I do that Voldemort is connected to Harry, and that he has placed visions in his mind before. Not to mention Nagini, his snake. What’s a snake, Ginny?” Hermione mocked her, knowing the girl would remember her experience with the basilisk.

“A—a scaly monster,” she stammered.

“Precisely. Did you really think that Draco and Snape were able to sneak away from the school to get orders from Voldemort? No. He must have sent Nagini, which would explain why Harry could feel his presence. What he thought was a desire to smash Dean Thomas’s face in was really Voldemort’s desire to eliminate any wizard who isn’t a pureblood. Dean’s a half-blood, which is what made Nagini want to attack him. Do you see my point yet, Ginny? Or do I need to go on?”

Seeing that the younger girl was truly terrified of her now, Hermione decided to continue. “You slipped Harry some of Fred and George’s love potion. I’m not sure yet how you did it, I don’t keep a twenty-four hour watch on Harry, but I know you did. By your brothers’ own admission, leaving the potion to ferment increases its longevity by a week for every four months it sits. Now, call me crazy, but yours and Harry’s relationship lasted two weeks. And it began almost eight months after you bought the potion, did it not?”

Ginny was shaking now, her legs barely able to support her.

Hermione was positively steaming. To think that she had tried to help Ginny win Harry’s heart when she thought that he’d never see her as more than his best friend, and she went and tricked the poor boy with a love potion. And to have done it again, to try to steal him away!

“I only have one question for you, Ginny. Why try it again? I’d’ve never noticed if you hadn’t slipped him some this morning. Why did you risk it?” Hermione’s voice was low and angry; she was more than ready to fight Ginny if she had to.

“I love him,” came Ginny’s voice, small and meek.

“No, Ginny, you don’t. You love the idea of him. You love the fame and the fortune, the fact that he’s one of the most well known wizards in the world, and that he’s Harry Potter, the Chosen One and the Boy-Who-Lived. You love what he represents, not who he is.” Hermione sighed, realizing the younger girl would never get over her hero worship.

“No, you’re wrong, Hermione. I love him! I’ve been head over heels in love with him ever since I heard of him! I couldn’t even speak around him when I first met him! I’ve been deeply in love with Harry Potter for the last five years, and you accuse me of slipping him a love potion?”

Hermione was exasperated. “Ginny, I know you did it, stop wasting your time denying it. Merlin, I should just hex you into oblivion for even trying such a stunt, but…”

“But what?” Ginny dared Hermione to finish, now feeling a little stronger. She’d reminded herself why she loved Harry, and knew that their love would stand up to Hermione.

“But I feel sorry for you,” she said quietly. “You can’t see what’s in front of your face, and you can’t give up on Harry. He and I are going to be together, Ginny. You need to accept that.”

Ginny shook her head. “As long as we’re both alive, there’s still a chance.”

Hermione made a quick decision. “Then Harry and I are leaving,” she said. “He’ll do his Apparition test, and then we’re going to go somewhere else. We’ll remain in contact with the Order, but you’re going to have to stay away from him, Ginny. We won’t involve you in the fight.”

Before Ginny could reply, Molly and Arthur Weasley returned from the Ministry.

“Car’s waiting outside to take you for your test,” Arthur said, looking at Harry. “Why aren’t you moving?”

“I used Immobulus on him,” Hermione explained.

“For Merlin’s sake, why?” Molly asked.

Rather than explain, Hermione chose the easy explanation. “Rather than impose on your home and bring danger to your family, Harry and I have decided that we are going to stay elsewhere. Our presence here is just bringing more danger upon your family, and I don’t think that Ginny and Ron are being treated fairly in that they have to see Harry and I together every day.”

Mrs. Weasley was shocked, but her husband could see that Hermione was right. Judging by the fact that Ron was eating breakfast in the living room and Ginny was cowering by the table, he knew his children deserved better. “Alright then, pack your things. We’ll take you two to the Ministry for Harry’s test, and then you can Apparate wherever it is you’re going. But you are expected to make contact with the Order once every three days, so that we know you’re all right. We’ll send you an owl when we’re coming by to let you know ahead of time. I’ll make sure it’s okay with the others.”

Molly opened her mouth to protest, but she received a stern look from Arthur. He wasn’t budging on this one.

“All right then, off you go,” he said, ushering Hermione upstairs. He quickly removed the Immobulus charm from Harry and sent him after her.

“But I want to stay here with Ginny!” he whined.

Arthur gave him a strange look and sent him upstairs anyway. “What was that about?” he asked his daughter.

“She gave him one of Fred and George’s love potions,” Ron said between mouthfuls, returning from the living room. Apparently he had still not consumed everything Ginny had cooked for breakfast.

“You what?!” Molly screeched. She grabbed Ginny by the arm and led her into the living room to give her a thorough lecture, leaving her youngest son and husband in the kitchen.

Arthur looked at his son, hoping for an explanation.

Ron shrugged. “I ‘unno what happened. I was eating breakfast and next thing I knew Harry had some coffee in one hand and Ginny on his lap. Hermione freaked, Floo’d to Diagon Alley to see the twins, came back, and kicked me out of the kitchen. I only caught a bit of what she was saying.”

Letting out a sigh, Arthur threw an arm around his son’s shoulder. “Ron, I think it’s high time we do something about restraining your sister’s magic. That Bat Bogey Hex of hers is getting out of control, and for her to just up and give Harry a love potion to get him back? It’s not like her.”

Ron shook his head. “She didn’t do it just to get him back, Dad. That’s how she got him in the first place. I heard that much.”

“Well then,” was all Mr. Weasley was able to muster. He had never been so disappointed in his daughter.

<><><><><>

After Harry had passed his Apparition test, despite a load of babble about Ginny and her fiery red hair, he and Hermione Apparated back to their London hotel to pick up his car. Hermione slid into the driver’s seat, throwing their shrunken trunks in the back. “Now where, Harry?” she asked.

“I want to go wherever Ginny is.” He said stubbornly.

Rather than argue with Harry, Hermione just started the car and began driving. She had a rough idea of where Godric’s Hollow was; when she’d found out that was where Harry’s parents lived, she’d done all the research she could as to its location. Something inside of her had told her that its location would be important one day.

Hours of driving didn’t bother Hermione, but her boyfriend’s constant jabbering about Ginny was beginning to get on her nerves. Half an hour into the drive she pointed her wand at his throat and muttered ‘Silencio’, effectively rendering his gibberish into silence for the remainder of the trip. She was still wondering how she was going to get through the next two and a half weeks with Harry constantly looking for Ginny.

“’Mione?” Harry mouthed when he caught her eye. He looked sad, like he was regretting everything he had just said.

She looked at him and removed the charm.

“Where’s Ginny?”

Glaring, Hermione renewed the charm and ignored him for the rest of the drive.

A/N: Apologies for the delay in updating. I honestly have been going insane the last few days and haven’t had time to edit more chapters. I’ve been working on chapter 25 which I hope will be up on FF.net by later tonight. I plan on posting 14 and 15 here today [which are really 15 and 16 as I combined 13 and 14 into one chapter for PK], but either way, expect two chapters today. :o) This one’s just a bit of necessary Weasley moments and a glimpse of H/Hr goodness on the way to Godric’s Hollow. The next one will be up later this afternoon.

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At the Burrow, Molly Weasley had never felt so angry and disappointed in her daughter. She had thought that Ginny had won Harry over with her delightful charm and personality, and was more than happy to hear of their relationship and even their break-up, as his intentions had been strictly honourable in that he was trying to keep Ginny alive.

For her to discover that Ginny had tricked him with a love potion, and for that potion to have been created by Fred and George and sold at their shop, well, it was too much for Mrs. Weasley to handle.

“Arthur!” she yelled from the living room. He poked his head around the doorframe to see his wife standing across from the sofa, glaring at their only daughter. Ginny was clearly distraught. Not only was she upset that Hermione had discovered her secret, but her parents had also found out and surely they would take negative actions against her.

“Yes, dear?” he said, avoiding his daughter’s gaze. He was just as disappointed as Molly was, and could not quite deal with the young witch yet.

“Could you please take the Floo to Diagon Alley and bring the twins back with you? Have them get that Verity girl to watch the shop for them while they’re gone.”

Arthur left without a word, knowing that his wife would be more than furious with the twins. Despite the successful enterprise of their joke shop in Diagon Alley, they were still managing to get themselves into trouble.

Ensuring that her husband had left, Molly turned back to Ginny. “Why?” she asked quietly. She was still furious, but knew that screaming at the young girl wouldn’t help.

Ginny just stared. Admit to nothing, she thought.

Molly continued to gently ask her daughter numerous questions about the love potion. Why did she do it? Was she planning on continually giving it to Harry to keep him with her? If things didn’t work out the first time, why did she think it would work out again? Mrs. Weasley quickly became impatient with Ginny, and her temper began to rise again.

“Ginevra Weasley, if you don’t give me a bloody good reason for your behaviour, I will snap your wand in two!” she threatened.

Ginny’s eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, don’t you go and doubt my threats for one instant, young lady. This is unforgivable! We have taken that boy into our home numerous times and treated him like family. He has done nothing but be kind to you and even go so far as to keep you out of harms way, and you repay him by slipping him a love potion? Did you ever think about the side effects that could have?” Molly was fired up now, and was nearly willing to hex her daughter if she didn’t get some answers.

“He was fine the first time!” Ginny decided to defend herself. Her mother already knew she was guilty; she might as well try to make things seem less serious. “Everything seemed like a normal relationship! He wasn’t acting all goofy like Ron did when he ended up with some of the potion Romilda Vane intended for Harry. Yes, it seemed a tad out of the blue for everyone else, but it wasn’t like he was blathering on about me every thirteen seconds! It all seemed so… natural.”

Mrs. Weasley could not believe what she was hearing. “So you think that, because the first time it went well, it’d do the same the second time? What if it didn’t turn out like that? What if you’d completely incapacitated him into a blubbering idiot who couldn’t do anything except sing your praises? What if, Merlin forbid, he was attacked by You-Know-Who while under your potion? Did you ever think of that?” Molly glared at her. She could not believe how irresponsible Ginny had behaved.

“But the first time he was okay. Why did it make him go completely nutters this time?” she whined.

Inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm herself down, Mrs. Weasley spoke very carefully. “Ginny, you know as well as I do how powerful of a wizard Harry is. Fred and George designed those love potions for ordinary wizards like us. I suspect that Harry’s magic was strong enough to keep the typical symptoms of the potion at bay, and yet still allow it to take somewhat of an effect. Maybe Fred and George can explain when they get here exactly why it worked like it usually would this time.”

Ginny felt ashamed of herself. Her mother’s words only mere moments earlier were beginning to sink in. What if something had happened to Harry while he’d been taking her potion? He wouldn’t have been completely capable of defending himself against Lord Voldemort. He would’ve died, and it would have been all her fault.

“’Ello, Mum!” Fred and George greeted from the doorway. Their cheery smiles immediately fell from their faces as they were rewarded with a scathing glare from their mother. Arthur stood behind them, ushering them into the living room.

“Tell me about this love potion,” she demanded. “Why did it have a normal effect on Harry, when last time Ginny used it, the side effects weren’t so severe?”

The twins looked at each other, confused. “This is the second time she’s used it?”

“End of last term,” Ginny muttered, reminding them of her brief relationship with Harry.

“Yeah, somehow she slipped it to him and that’s why they were together,” Ron said, joining the rest of his family in the room. He sat down next to Fred and George. He, too, was now beginning to be upset with his younger sister. It was his best friend she had put in jeopardy, simply because she was infatuated with him. He wasn’t too impressed.

“Well, that explains a lot.” George said.

“Boys,” Mrs. Weasley brought their thoughts back to the problem at hand, “Why was the potion stronger this time?”

“Like we told Hermione, if you leave it to ferment longer than the month after you bought it, it gets stronger.” Said Fred.

“Every four months the effects last a week longer.” George added. “Dunno why it was stronger this time though, it should just last longer.”

Arthur glanced at his daughter, seeing the look of guilt and remorse on her face. “Why did you sell Ginny the potion?” he asked his sons.

They shook their heads. “We didn’t!” Fred said.

“She got it for another girl at school, something about her not being able to buy it because she had come in with her parents.” George explained.

“We do mail-order for Hogwarts, we figured it was just less hassle for the owls if Ginny brought it back for the girl.” Fred reasoned.

Molly sighed. “I think you need to discontinue the love potion section of your Wonder Witch products. They’re too strong.”

“But why didn’t it make Harry go all goofy when he was with Ginny end of last term?” Ron asked.

Arthur chose to explain this one. He knew as well as his wife did about Harry’s extensive amounts of magic. “To put it simply, kids, they don’t call him the Chosen One for nothing. His magic is strong; possibly stronger than Dumbledore’s was when he was alive if he develops it properly. My best guess is that this potion, much like wine, gets stronger with age. You counted on it lasting longer, but have you tested it after it’s sat for a year to see the results?”

The twins shook their heads again. “You may be onto something with the wine idea though, Dad.” Fred admitted.

George added, “Yeah, I heard somewhere that you can use wine to counter the effects of love potions, but I thought that was a bit silly.”

“Hopefully Hermione has also heard of that, as she and Harry have headed elsewhere. Ginny’s selfish actions have sent them fleeing from our home for the second time this summer.” Mrs. Weasley said in a low voice.

“That’s it!” Ginny screamed, standing up from the couch. “I’ve heard enough of this. I’m a terrible witch, I know. I should never have done it, but none of you understand how I feel about Harry. Well, that’s just fine with me. It’s not like it matters anyway. Once he comes to his senses Hermione will tell him what I did and he’ll never want to talk to me again. Then what’s the point? I give up.” Ginny punctuated her words with a loud crack, causing everyone in her family to jump.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron asked, looking at Ginny.

She held her hands out in front of her, palms up. In each hand was half of her wand. Rather than let her mother make good on her threats, Ginny had literally taken matters into her own hands. “I don’t deserve to practice magic,” she said. “I made stupid decisions and ended up putting the man I love at risk. He could’ve been killed, and it would have all been my fault.” She dropped the pieces on the carpet and walked out of the room.

The Weasley family stared at the wand pieces on the carpet in surprise. Ginny had given up her magic, just like that.

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Hermione could sense that they were near Harry’s parents’ house in Godric’s Hollow. They had entered the small town about twenty minutes earlier. Deciding that she would just have to put up with Harry’s continuous babbling, she removed the Silencing charm.

Harry was surprised to hear the sound of his own voice. “Where are we? And why did you Silence me?” he asked.

“Nearly there,” Hermione replied, choosing to ignore the second question for fear of inducing more Ginny-babble. “Do you recognize anything?”

Looking at his surroundings, Harry shrugged. “Just looks like a load of trees to me. Maybe there’s something in that forest, but I’m not sure.”

Hermione looked at him in confusion. These were his first two sentences without the mention of Ginny in a while.

“What?” he asked, seeing the expression on her face.

Surveying her boyfriend, Hermione noticed that his fist was clenched around something and resting on the seat.

“What’s in your hand?” she asked.

“My dad’s ring, why?” Harry was even more puzzled than Hermione was.

A theory was developing in Hermione’s mind. “Were you wearing that this morning?” she asked.

Harry shook his head in response. “I took it off before I came downstairs. I figured we’d probably be thinking about this morning, and that we might get a bit carried away at the breakfast table. It’s been in my pocket until a few minutes ago.”

Hermione slowed the BMW roadster, pulling over to the side of the road. She put the car in park and looked at Harry. “This is going to sound weird, Harry, but I want you to hand me your dad’s ring, and then tell me the first thing that comes to mind, okay?” She was beginning to understand just why Harry was temporarily acting normal again.

Handing over the ring, slightly perplexed, Harry’s eyes seemed to glaze over for the briefest of seconds, as the warm golden metal was no longer in contact with your skin.

“Now, Harry, what’s on your mind?” Hermione asked.

“Ginny,” he said, a goofy grin on his face. “She smells pretty. And she cooked me breakfast this morning, and she has a nice bum and—“

Before Harry’s thoughts were out of control, Hermione quickly looped the chain around Harry’s neck again, resting the ring under his shirt and securely against his chest.

“—and what was I saying?” he asked, confused again.

“I think we just solved what would have been a major problem for the next three weeks.” Hermione grinned.

“What are you talking about?” Harry was completely lost.

Hermione sighed. “I’ll explain when we get to your parents’ house. Do you think we’re close?”

Nodding, Harry pointed ahead through the trees. “See that light grey in between the trunks? I’m pretty sure that’s the stone of the house.”

Seeing what Harry was talking about, Hermione put the car back in drive and headed down the road. The grouping of trees was just ahead to the right. A moment later she was making a right-hand turn into a gravel driveway that was overgrown with weeds. “It looks like no one has been here in years,” she said, realizing that was probably true. She couldn’t see a reason why anyone would have come back to tend to the house after Lily and James had died.

Heading up the drive, Hermione was surprised to see that the house was in near-perfect condition. Except for stray weeds and tree branches, and a bit of peeling paint on the front door, you wouldn’t know that it was uninhabited. Shifting gears to put the roadster in park and taking the keys out of the ignition, Harry and Hermione left the car and headed for the front door. Using ‘Alohomora’ on the door, the young couple let themselves in.

Inside, the house looked just as it did in Harry’s memories. The furniture was still in the same place, and everything looked as though the owners had only temporarily stepped out and would be returning shortly.

“It’s magic,” Hermione breathed, looking at the mint condition of everything in the house. “There are spells that can do this. It’s probably how Mrs. Weasley keeps the house clean. After the attack the spells must have cleaned the house up.”

Harry wasn’t listening; instead he was walking from room to room. He stopped when he reached what appeared to be his bedroom as an infant. There was a crib, and a mobile hanging above it.

Having followed him, Hermione entered the nursery seconds after Harry. When she realized what the room was she slipped her hand into his, and squeezed for comfort.

There was no need for words, or thoughts. Harry was facing the very room where his mother had been killed protecting him. A single tear slipped down his cheek. Brushing it away, he turned to face Hermione. “So you were going to explain something in the car?” he reminded her, clearly trying to focus his mind on something other than the fact that this is where his mother had died.

“Now’s not the time, Harry,” she said, hugging him. “We can talk about it later.”

No, Harry thought, I want to know. What was the deal with the rings earlier?

Hermione led him back out into the sitting room, making sure he was comfortable in an overstuffed leather armchair. It had most likely belonged to his father. “Are you sure you want to know right now, Harry? We can wait to talk about it.”

Harry gave her a look that clearly said he wasn’t going to wait for an explanation.

“Okay, fine,” she said, taking a deep breath. “This morning, when Ginny was making you breakfast, you had coffee, right?”

Harry nodded. “What’s so serious about coffee?”

“She put one of Fred and George’s love potions in it.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock. “She what?!”

Hermione averted her eyes from Harry’s face. “It wasn’t the first time she’d slipped you some,” she said quietly.

He was beginning to grow angrier. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Your relationship with her was completely fake, Harry. She slipped you some love potion.”

Harry shook his head. “There’s no way. That was real, I know it was. I wasn’t acting all crazy like Ron did.”

Hermione sighed. This was going to be the difficult part. She related to him her discovery of Ginny’s first use of the potion, and had come to the same conclusions about the effects of the potion the first time around that Mrs. Weasley had. Due to Harry’s immense magical strength, the potion hadn’t turned him into a blathering idiot like Ron. However, when the potion had fermented for several months, it became strong enough to have a powerful effect on him.

“Ginny wouldn’t…” Harry tried to defend her, feeling bad for the young witch, but he could see Hermione was right. “She really did it, huh,” he said, looking into Hermione’s eyes. “So why am I not going on about her right now?”

“The rings,” Hermione said, gently fingering the engagement ring that hung around her neck. “When we’re wearing them, we’re connected. Apparently it’s a much stronger connection than any love potion that Fred and George can mass produce.”

“Is that what the thing in the car was all about earlier?” Harry asked.

“Yes. When you had the ring in your pocket it wasn’t in direct contact with your skin. When you were holding it in your hand it renewed the connection, pushing past the effects of the potion.”

This seemed to be a satisfactory enough explanation for Harry. “’Mione?” he looked uncomfortable, “What did I do with Ginny this morning?”

Hermione would have preferred to not be reminded of his actions that morning, but she couldn’t deny him an answer. “Pretty much yanked her onto your lap, grabbed her bum, and snogged her senseless. When I left for Diagon Alley you two were at it. When I came back from talking with the twins you were still at it. And then I dragged her off of you by her hair.”

Harry’s face lit up. “By her hair?” he chuckled.

Hermione nodded, a bit confused as to why her boyfriend wasn’t angry at Ginny over what she’d done.

Harry sensed her thoughts. “I’m sure you taught her a lesson about it,” he said with a smile. “Besides, I’m with you. If she can’t accept that, and needs to resort to a love potion to get my attention, she’s not worth our time. We won’t bother with her anymore. From now on, it’s just you and me. And Ron if that’s okay with you,” he added hastily. Even if things had turned out differently relationship-wise than either boy had planned, they were still friends and wouldn’t let a girl come between him.

“So Harry,” Hermione began, “Are you hungry?”

“You bet I am!” he said, his eyes glowing green. He leapt off of his chair and tackled her to the couch.

“I meant for food, you git!” she giggled.

Harry kissed her. “I sure as hell didn’t.”

A/N: Enjoy! It’s 5:30am right now and I’m off to work so I promise I’ll reply to reviews when I get home.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. Otherwise I’d have a job where I didn’t have to get up before sunrise on Saturdays. :/

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As Ginny left the room, an overwhelming thought came into her head. What if Harry really had died? She didn’t want to think about that, but it was a thought she’d not been allowing herself to ponder for years. This time was no different. Ginny didn’t want to contemplate the idea of Harry’s death anymore than the rest of her family did.

Instead she focused her thoughts on someone else. Hermione. It was thanks to her that things with Harry had been ruined. She’d figured out that Ginny had used a love potion at Hogwarts, and had figured out that she gave it to him again that morning. She’d stolen Harry away from her in the short time they’d been together in London, and she’d ruined Ginny’s grand plan at life.

For years Ginny had hoped that one day Harry would fall in love with her. It was no secret that he was wealthy, both his parents and his godfather, Sirius, had left him large amounts of gold. He had matured over the years into a handsome young man, and he was certainly the most desirable bachelor in the Wizarding world. She had always believed that Harry would win the war, and she had thought that if they ended up together, he would take care of her and they would live happily ever after.

And then Hermione had come along and ruined it all. She and Harry had been growing closer and closer ever since they met. They were constantly seeking comfort with each other, and Hermione had become the only person other than Dumbledore who could calm Harry down when he was angry. There had been so many signs that the two of them would eventually start a relationship that Ginny knew she had to take drastic action if she wanted her plans to work.

Ginny began to feel extreme hatred towards the older witch. She stomped up the stairs to her bedroom, imagining that every time her foot landed it was directly onto Hermione’s face. Reaching her room, she began to pack some clothes and necessities into a backpack. She would’ve much rather levitated everything into her trunk and shrunken it afterwards, but now that she had snapped her wand, she couldn’t. Instead she packed light, choosing only what she would need most.

Satisfied with the meagre belongings she had chosen, Ginny headed back down the stairs. Molly Weasley was standing at the bottom of the steps, hands on her hips, glaring at her daughter.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” she said shrilly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I need to think, mum, and I need to figure some things out for myself. I’m leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll be coming back.”

“If you think for one instant that I am going to let you leave this house—“ Mrs. Weasley began, but Arthur’s hand on her shoulder squeezed tightly, almost telling her to stop.

“Let her go,” Arthur said sadly. “If we don’t, she’ll just mope around the house, and who knows what else. She’s a big girl, Molly, she’ll be safe.”

Before her mother could argue, Ginny turned on her heel and walked out the front door.

“Arthur, are you crazy? We have to go after her!” Molly shrieked, turning her glare on her husband.

He sighed, pulling his wife into his arms. “She’ll be fine, I’ll have the Order keep an eye on her.”

Sniffling, Molly hugged her husband tighter. “I just hope she’s okay. We’ll have to get her a new wand, we can’t let her go unprotected like this.”

“We will, dear, but she has to come back to us first.”

As Arthur consoled his wife, he was secretly hoping that he had done the right thing in letting his daughter go. They could easily send her owls and trace her throughout England, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be enough. They needed to get her another wand, and fast.

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Back in Godric’s Hollow, Harry’s hunger had been temporarily satisfied. He and Hermione lay on the floor, Harry propped up on one elbow so that he could look into her eyes. “So what do we do now?” he asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. “Well, technically you’re still under Ginny’s love potion, and it’s only the rings that are keeping you sane. I think we need to find an antidote just in case something happens to your ring.”

“That only solves one problem, though. We still need to find the rest of the Horcruxes.” He reminded her, lightly kissing her forehead.

“And destroy them,” Hermione said quietly.

The young couple lay there silently for a few moments before either of them could think of something to say again. They had been blissfully ignorant of the Horcrux mission the last few days, focusing instead on each other, and both felt guilty for having neglected the search.

“First thing’s first,” Hermione broke the silence, sitting up. “We have to solve this love potion problem. And then we’ll make lists. Lists of the Horcruxes: the ones that have been destroyed, the ones we still need to find, and the ones we don’t know. We can go from there,” she suggested, already getting up from the floor.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked.

She had already begun to head out of the room. “To see if your parents had a library of some sort,” she said, entering the hallway. She was opening door after door as Harry got up to follow her. “Aha!” she exclaimed. The ninth door she opened had several bookshelves lining the walls, as well as several very comfortable looking chairs. Almost skipping to the bookshelves, Hermione crooked her head to the right and began to read the titles. Finding something interesting, she lifted it from the shelf and settled down to flip through the pages.

Harry remained standing, staring around at the room. “This was my dad’s room,” he said softly.

“How do you know?” Hermione looked up from the pages.

His eyes focused on something on the wall behind Hermione’s head. “There’s a broomstick,” he said simply.

Hermione turned around. On the wall there was certainly a broomstick, framed in a glass case, with a plaque next to it.

James Potter
Gryffindor Chaser

Hogwarts Quidditch Champion

Harry began to explore the room, noticing little things that had belonged to his father. “Hermione?” he said in a quiet voice.

She looked at him, closing the book. “What is it, Harry?” she asked.

“This house was destroyed when Voldemort attacked. A cleaning charm is one thing, but for the house to rebuild itself? It seems a little strange.” He was thinking now about that night, and how Voldemort had killed his parents and demolished his home in an attempt to kill him as well.

“I don’t know, Harry,” she admitted, “but I’ll do my best to figure it out.”

Harry was examining the book titles when Hermione spoke again.

“Found it,” she said, grinning.

“The charm on the house?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, but I figured out what potion Professor Slughorn brewed to give Ron when he’d swallowed some love potion. You said it was clear, right?”

Harry nodded. “Clear liquid. Ron drank it, then he gave us some mead, and that’s when Ron swallowed the whole cup and landed himself in the hospital wing.”

Hermione’s face darkened as she remembered that day. Shaking her head to rid herself of the memories, she focused back on the pages in front of her. “I can brew this easily, Harry. If you could just get my potions kit out of my trunk?” she asked, settling herself on the floor. She conjured a glass bottle and settled in as Harry returned with her kit.

Her features screwed up in concentration, Hermione began to add pinches of seemingly random ingredients to the bottle. Harry was confused as some of the ingredients she used, but he said nothing.

Moments later Hermione was finished, the glass bottle filled with clear liquid.

“Now you’ll have to take the ring off, Harry,” she said, “and then drink the potion.”

“You’ll have to make up something to make me drink it though. Slughorn told Ron it was a nerve tonic to calm him down for when Romilda got there,” he chuckled, remembering Ron’s temporary potion-induced infatuation with the girl.

He took the bottle in his hand and slipped the chain with the ring from his neck, handing it to Hermione. Seconds after the metal was no longer touching his skin, Harry began to look around frantically.

“Where’s Ginny? Where’d she go? Don’t tell me she left me, I just saw her this morning and she was—“

“Calm down, Harry!” Hermione instructed, almost laughing at her boyfriend’s condition. She was less angry this time, as she knew he was holding the antidote in his hand. “What kind of impression are you going to make on the girl if you’re a blathering, blubbering mess? Hey, I’ve got an idea!” she said brightly. She was definitely having more fun this time around.

“Will it help me get Ginny?” he asked excitedly.

Hermione nodded. “Girls like confidence, you know. Not panicky boys who obsess over everything. You see that bottle in your hand?” she pointed, watching as Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s a potion to calm you down, and make you act more suave when Ginny gets here. She won’t be able to resist you if you drink that.”

Before Hermione could offer any more seemingly encouraging words, Harry had drained the entire bottle. He sank back into a chair, appearing to be worn out. Hermione quickly slipped the chain with his dad’s ring back around his neck, and waited for his reaction.

Harry? She held his hand in hers.

‘Mione? He was okay. He looked at the empty bottle in his hand. I’m back to normal? He asked.

Nodding, Hermione leaned down to kiss him. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her down onto his lap, similar to what he had done with Ginny earlier that morning. Not waiting for his lips to touch hers, Hermione made the first move, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pulled him closer to deepen their kiss.

“Definitely back to normal,” Harry chuckled.

The teens spent the rest of the evening in Harry’s parents’ library; absorbing what knowledge they could from the books there. Lily and James Potter’s taste in reading material included things that even the Restricted Section at Hogwarts didn’t contain. There were several books that mentioned Horcruxes in one way or another, but it took them until late in the evening to find a book that went into great detail on the subject.

As Hermione pored over the section on Horcruxes, Harry contemplated his parents’ book collection. He supposed that they had so many books on Dark Magic because of their fight against Voldemort, but it still made him a touch uneasy.

Flipping the pages of Dark Magicks that she had found in the bottom corner of one of the bookshelves, Hermione’s eyes began to brighten. “Harry,” she began, “I think I may have found an easier way of destroying the Horcruxes!”

Intrigued by the concept, Harry quickly began to peer over her shoulder, reading the text that was scrawled in ancient-looking script across the pages.

The Horcrux

The only way to create a Horcrux is to take the life of another living being. This is done in an effort to preserve one’s own soul, thereby making them immortal until the Horcruxes are destroyed. By taking another’s life, the caster of the Horcrux spell is splitting their soul into pieces. They must immediately cast the spell to ensure that the separated soul fragment finds a new place of residence in the inanimate object intended to become the Horcrux.

To destroy a Horcrux, most witches and wizards believe that it takes an extreme amount of force, when truly the concept is quite simple. One must evaluate the Horcrux to determine what sort of material it has been fabricated from. Simply find a way to destroy that material, while forgetting the soul fragment that resides inside the object. Once a method of destruction has been chosen, it becomes increasingly simple. While destroying the Horcrux with a method in accordance to the properties of the object, one must use the incantation “Destrucrux”, which will in turn not only ensure permanent annihilation of the Horcrux as a material substance, it will also eradicate the existence of the remaining soul fragment.

It was at that point where Harry stopped reading. He kissed Hermione’s neck, proclaiming her genius.

“I didn’t do anything, Harry,” she blushed. “I found a couple of paragraphs in a book is all.”

“And would I have had the patience to read through every book?” he teased, pulling her up from the floor. “Let’s go make those lists you mentioned.”

Hermione’s eyes shone. She loved to organize things, and she knew that her organizational skills would help them in the search to destroy the Horcruxes. Retrieving a roll of parchment, her favourite quill and some ink, she settled down and began to work.

As Hermione’s hand raced across the width of the parchment, Harry continued to browse through the tomes in the library. One particular title caught his eye: The Magical Home: Cleaning Up Without Really Doing Any Work. Harry chuckled to himself. From what he had been told of his father from Sirius and Remus, he had a feeling that this was a book he had recommended purchasing. Flicking through the pages, Harry’s eyes landed on one particular charm. Reparenhus. Scanning the paragraph below the charm, Harry quickly deduced its purpose. It was apparently most commonly used in childproofing magical homes, due to instances of accidental magic in powerful witch and wizard toddlers. If a baby accidentally performed some sort of magic, it could have vast magical repercussions on the physical stature of the house.

Harry’s mind flashed back to the snake in the zoo when he was eleven. He hadn’t meant to, but he had accidentally removed the glass from its’ habitat. He understood exactly why the spell had been created. It was the same as a Muggle parent putting up baby gates or those annoying plastic covers for electrical plugs, and even more irritating, the little plastic knobs to keep children—and subsequently the father of the child after a midnight snack—out of the fridge and kitchen cupboards. His dad must have used the charm on the house shortly after he was born, just in case something should happen like Harry accidentally blowing out an entire wall. The house would repair itself.

“I figured out the house charm,” he said, bringing the book over to Hermione.

She raised her head, a triumphant look in her eyes. She had written several lists, using quite a few feet of parchment. “Perfect timing,” she grinned, holding up her parchment. “I just finished all of my lists. I have facts about Horcruxes, the method of destroying them, the ones we know exist, and the destroyed Horcruxes, and what the remaining Horcruxes could possibly be.”

Harry held out his book, and reached for her roll of parchment. “Trade?” he offered. He knew that Hermione would be impressed with the simplicity of the spell on the house and it’s massive effectiveness.

As she devoured the words on the page, Harry was reading over her lists. He skipped over the facts and methods of destroying them, as they had just covered that in the book she had found. Instead he focused on the remaining and destroyed Horcruxes, and what the candidates for the fifth and sixth Horcruxes could be.

Remaining Horcruxes
A cup belonging to Helga Hufflepuff. Known to be small and made of gold with a badger design.
A locket belonging to Salazar Slytherin. Known to be gold, and marked with Slytherin’s crest, a snake-like S.

Both formerly belonged to Hepzibah Smith, stolen by Voldemort after her murder.

Cup was last seen in Hepzibah Smith’s possession, whereas the locket was kept in a cave. Locket has been removed by one R.A.B., and is hidden elsewhere.

Harry’s heart ached at the reminder of the cave by the sea, where he had force-fed Dumbledore the potion that ultimately weakened him to a point where he was unable to fight off Severus Snape’s killing curse. He shook the thought off, refusing to allow himself to become depressed again. It was hard enough being in his parents’ home; he didn’t need the reminder of his failure to help Headmaster Dumbledore. He moved on to the next list.

Destroyed Horcruxes

The Diary of Tom Riddle, passed to Ginny Weasley directly from Lucius Malfoy. Destroyed by Harry Potter by the use of a Basilisk fang. Basilisk’s venom was poisonous enough to destroy not only part of the diary itself, but also the soul inside.

Marvolo Gaunt’s Ring, discovered by Dumbledore in the remains of the Gaunt house. Destroyed by an unknown method by Dumbledore, leaving the ring for the most part intact with the exception of a crack down the centre of the Peverell Coat of Arms engraving on the stone. Soul fragment destroyed.

Harry shuddered at the reminder of the Chamber of Secrets, where he had found Ginny unconscious and had battled the Basilisk and Tom Riddle’s memory. He had not known at the time that he was destroying a piece of Voldemort’s soul when he had stabbed the diary with the Basilisk fang that had broken off in his arm, but he was glad that he had done it anyway. He focused his attentions on the remaining list he was interested in.

Horcrux Candidates Numbers Five and Six

In keeping with Voldemort’s obsession with turning artefacts belonging to the Hogwarts Founders into Horcruxes, we can only assume that the fifth and sixth Horcruxes are items that had belonged to Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw.

The major known artefacts of Gryffindor’s are the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor’s Sword. These are unlikely Horcruxes as they have resided in Dumbledore’s office for years. Other lesser known artefacts are Gryffindor’s Shield, emblazoned with his symbol of a lion; Gryffindor’s Bow and Arrow, with the feathers of the arrows characteristically coloured in red and gold, and the twine of the bow being of the same colours; and finally Gryffindor’s Clasp, as he is seen wearing in the Chocolate Frog Cards. It is gold, in the shape of a lion’s head, and held his cloak together at the front.

There are no major known artefacts belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw, but we can assume that any artefact that is blue, bronze, a combination of the two and/or emblazoned with an eagle may have belonged to her, particularly if that eagle coincides with the initial “R”.

Definitely impressed with Hermione’s knowledge, Harry returned to the section on Gryffindor’s artefacts. He’d had no clue that anything of his remained other than the Sorting Hat and the Sword. A shield, bow and arrow, and a brooch certainly widened the possibilities for Horcruxes, especially when they had to be close to a murder that Voldemort had committed.

Turning to look at his girlfriend, Harry realized that Hermione was now engrossed in the book he had given her. “This truly is remarkable magic, Harry,” she commented, regarding the vast number of spells. “I’ve never been able to use any house-cleaning spells, really, since I’ve not spent that many summers at home with my parents. I can certainly see now how much easier they would make daily life. And the spell that’s on the house; that’s really impressive! I can tell that it was designed to baby-proof an entire house, but to the extent where everything rebuilds itself is just incredible.”

Harry gently pried the book from her hands and placed it back on the shelf. “’Mione, do you have any idea what time it is?” he asked, motioning towards the clock on the wall.

“Sweet Merlin, it’s nearly midnight!” she said, surprised. They had spent nearly twelve hours reading in the study, and hadn’t had anything to eat.

Sensing her thoughts, Harry conjured a meal onto the coffee table right before Hermione’s eyes. “I’m hungry too,” he smiled, digging into the mashed potatoes. There were sautéed chicken breasts, carrots in a brown sugar and honey glaze, and a big tureen filled with gravy.

All thoughts of books left Hermione’s mind as she salivated over the food laid out before her. She savoured the taste of the food on her tongue, silently thanking Merlin that Harry’s conjuring skills were not only top notch, but that they were capable of creating such flavourful food.

Shortly after they ate the young couple began to feel sleepy. Heading down the hall together, they soon found a bedroom that appeared to have been the guest room. Too tired to care that there was only one queen-sized bed to share between the two of them, Hermione snuggled under the covers and sighed contentedly.

Harry was tired, but he wasn’t too tired to choose not to compromise his girlfriend. He made a motion to curl up on the floor with nothing but a pillow when Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bed.

“No need to be proper, Mr. Potter,” she scolded gently, “we’re both exhausted and you’re not going to get a good night’s sleep on the floor. I trust you,” she said, flipping back the covers and inviting him into the bed. “It’s not like there’s much we haven’t done anyway.”

Without a moment’s hesitation after such a succinct reminder, Harry climbed in between the soft sheets and fell asleep mere seconds after his head hit the pillow. He hadn’t noticed Hermione turning to face him, or wedging herself in underneath his arm so that he held her as she, too, fell asleep.

A/N: Okay, everyone seems to think the same as the FF.net readers did – that I was either too harsh on Ginny, or that her snapping her wand doesn’t equal her giving up her magic.
Technically we’re both right. Yes, I was harsh on Ginny, but given that in my story she slipped Harry a love potion that could have had serious repercussions, I believe that she’s got a long road to redemption ahead of her. Trust me. By the time I’ve edited and posted all my written chapters, you’ll understand.

As for her snapping her wand, everyone’s pretty much right, all she’d have to do is buy a new wand. That was my point. :o) Right now she’s voluntarily giving up her ability to practice magic, as she’s not really at a level of skill to do non-verbal or wandless magic at the moment. But by giving that up and going so far as to snap her own wand, it shows how deeply affected she in hindsight by what she’s done to Harry. I promise, it will all make sense in the end.

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After a good night’s rest in Godric’s Hollow, Harry woke up to find himself spooning Hermione, one arm snug around her waist and keeping her close. Sometime in the night Hermione had shed her clothing, and was laying next to him in nothing but her bra and knickers. Realizing that this was about to cause a ‘reaction’ like he’d discussed with her in London, he carefully disentangled himself and rolled over. A few seconds had passed, with no relief in sight. Harry groaned. He’d been too tired the previous night to care about any repercussions related to sleeping in the same bed as Hermione, but now he was wishing he’d been thinking about the next morning. Checking over his shoulder to make sure she was still asleep, he gingerly climbed out of bed and headed down the hall in search of a washroom. A cold shower would certainly take care of the problem at hand, at least temporarily.

Minutes later Harry felt refreshed as he returned to the bedroom, where he discovered Hermione sitting up in bed, waiting for him.

“I have to say, I’m surprised, Harry,” she winked at him. She clearly wasn’t making any effort to cover herself up. “Most guys in your position would’ve made a move, but you left instead.”

“Most guys are more concerned with what’s between their legs than what’s in their hearts,” he countered, smiling at her, causing her to blush. “And don’t think that the thought didn’t cross my mind.” He crawled on all fours across the mattress until he was leaning over her, one knee on either side of her waist. He dipped his head and captured her lips, giving her the best good morning kiss she’d ever experienced.

Hermione moaned, enjoying the sensation of his lips against hers.

Harry leaned back. “Well, sleepyhead, I think we should get out of bed and get started.” He yanked the covers off of the bed in one swift motion as he leapt to the floor, leaving Hermione shrieking as she grabbed a pillow to hide under. He unceremoniously scooped her up off of the mattress, and carried her down the hall to the bathroom. “I think a nice shower would wake you up,” he winked as he lowered her feet to the floor. He held her tight with one arm while he stripped off her lingerie with the other.

Hermione looked up at him, her blood running hot. Harry’s hand slid from her waist down to cup her bare bottom, pulling her hips into his. She gasped, grabbing at him, begging for more.

Next thing she knew, a torrent of freezing cold water was pouring down on her head. Harry had shoved her into the shower and turned the faucet on. “Wake up time,” he said, grinning as he turned to leave the bathroom.

“Harry Potter, you are one big tease!” she spluttered, pushing her sopping wet hair from her face.

He turned to flash her a dazzling smile before he left the bathroom. “You’re one to talk.” He replied, thinking of all the teasing she had done in London.

Hermione gave him a sheepish grin as she drew the shower curtain across. “Are you saying you didn’t like it?” she pouted, sensing his thoughts.

Laughing, Harry faced her with his hands on his hips. “Don’t make me come in there and show you how much I liked it!” he threatened, making a move to pull the shower curtain back. Hermione shrieked in protest, but that wasn’t about to stop Harry from making good on his threat. He slipped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Her skin was slick from the freezing cold water that still beat down on them, but Harry didn’t care about the temperature. He was concentrating on the feeling of his girlfriend’s wet, bare skin rubbing up against his own.

Hermione gasped as his fingers snaked their way around her sides and made contact with her nipples. As he teased her, Harry placed soft, light kisses across her shoulders and the base of her neck. Shivering from the sensations and not the temperature of the water, Hermione instinctively pressed herself back against Harry. His hardness pressed into her backside, and she groaned inwardly as she realized that it was her making him feel that way.

With his hands slowly sliding from her breasts down past her hips, Harry knelt carefully on the shower floor; his eyes level with Hermione’s hips. He had never had such a lovely, up-close view of the brunette witch’s bum before, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Reminding himself of the task at hand, Harry licked a slow line along her spine from the small of her back to the base of her neck. The heat of his tongue against her cold skin was enough to give Hermione a spasm of pleasure as Harry’s mouth continued on to her neck once more. He nibbled up to her ear, his tongue darting out to gently flick at her ear lobe.

She turned in his arms, sealing her lips to his in a hot, wet kiss. Their tongues danced back and forth as Harry fiercely pulled her into him, allowing her to feel just how aroused he was by the entire situation. He slipped his hand between them and began to rub his thumb in little circles just below the juncture of her thighs, causing Hermione to moan loudly. Then carefully he slipped one, then two fingers inside of her, sliding in and out in rhythm with his thumb.

Though Hermione was thoroughly enjoying the sensations Harry was created deep within her, she desperately wanted to return the favour. Sliding out of his grasp she knelt on the shower floor as he had earlier, and moved forward to take him into her mouth.

Just then the water quickly changed temperature and began cascading down her back in hot sheets. She started, and found Harry quickly slipping past the curtain.

“Tease!” she yelled after him, flushed from the all too brief experience.

“Are you saying you didn’t like it?” he called from down the hall, mimicking her earlier words.

Hermione resigned herself to enjoy the rest of her shower in peace, though she couldn’t get the thoughts of Harry’s fingers touching and teasing her the way they had out of her head.

Upon arriving in the kitchen, Harry spotted a bookshelf similar to the ones in the library. It was much smaller, and sat on the countertop next to the sink. There were quite a number of books upon the shelves, with some interesting names that served the purpose of distracting him from wanting to run back to the shower and finish what he’d started. A Witch’s Guide to Cooking; and Breakfast, Brunch, Lunch, Lupper, Supper: Meals for All Occasions. Harry chuckled to himself. Lupper? When Ron had told him about Lupper, he’d thought it was a joke or an excuse Ron had come up with so that he could eat some more. Harry spotted a title that inspired him to remove the book from the shelf. Conjuring Meals: How To Cook Without Really Trying. He suspected that this had been another book belonging to his father. Harry flipped through the pages in a Hermione-like way, poring over each paragraph and spell. He found something under the breakfast/brunch section that interested him. There was an accompanying picture with plates upon plates of eggs, bacon, sausage links, pancakes, hash browns, and any other breakfast food one could imagine. It being a wizard’s photograph, he could see the steam rising from the warm food, the juicy plumpness of the sausages, the butter melting as the syrup flowed down the pancakes. Seeing the image was enough to make Harry’s mouth water. He made up his mind that this was the perfect spell and decided to try it out.

“Ientaculum epularum!” he chanted, enunciating the Latin words as he flicked and pointed his wand at the Maplewood breakfast table. Immediately there were several heaping dishes filled with delightfully hot, steaming breakfast goods. There were several pitchers of juice, in flavours like pumpkin, orange, apple, peach, loganberry, and grapefruit juice. A jug of pure maple syrup sat in between the pancakes and the waffles, with a dish filled with creamery butter resting in front of it. A large bowl of freshly whipped cream and berries was next to the waffles, clearly there for the intention of drenching the waffles in sugary goodness. There were also tea and coffee pots, each with the freshly brewed caffeinated beverages swirling inside. Small containers of milk, cream, and sugar surrounded the pots, with two of the largest mugs Harry had ever seen. Several plates of eggs made every way imaginable, crispy bacon, golden brown sausages, hash browns and home fries were scattered between the drinks.

Harry had never salivated so much in his entire life; not even at Hogwarts with the great feasts that Dumbledore summoned every day. ‘Mione! He called out, barely able to keep himself from attempting to swallow everything at the table.

What smells so good? Came her reply. She entered the kitchen, wrapped in nothing but an oversized bath towel. Harry was so absorbed in the food that he didn’t even notice.

“Sweet Merlin, where did this all come from? There’s no way you conjured a feast like this!” she exclaimed, taking in the vast array of breakfast in front of her.

Harry held up the cookbook. “I’m guessing by the title that this was my dad’s,” he said, showing her the cover.

Hermione was unable to tear her eyes from the food. Her stomach growled loudly. Without waiting for an invitation from Harry she sat down at the table and began to fill her plate. Following her lead, Harry began to tuck into the feast in front of them.

Nearly an hour later, the young couple was completely stuffed. They had slowed down a bit after the first ten minutes of eating, but the food tasted far too good to stop. When they finally couldn’t eat any more, Harry noticed a dab of the whipped cream and berry mixture on Hermione’s neck. “How’d you get that there?” he chuckled good-naturedly. He’d been eating just as quickly as she had, and was sure that at some point he had dripped maple syrup onto himself.

Hermione flushed, realizing she had been so absorbed in the wonderful taste of the food that she had barely thought about table manners. Before she could make an excuse Harry’s lips were on her neck, and he was gently licking the whipped cream from her skin. A warm, tingly feeling began to spread from where his tongue was against her neck into the rest of her body.

He sat back, licking his lips. “Tastes good,” he smirked. Hermione chose that moment to notice that he had definitely gotten maple syrup on himself. He had probably been cutting his pancakes into pieces so quickly that he hadn’t noticed the syrup that was making the crease of his elbow all sticky. She bent her head to fasten her lips to his arm, hungrily sucking on his skin to remove the sticky sweetness.

Harry’s mouth went dry as Hermione raised her head, grinning at him. “I could say the same,” she breathed, savouring the taste on her tongue.

They locked eyes, sensing that things were about to get out of control right then and there. While Hermione’s eyes were focused on his, Harry’s hand deftly crept across the table, latching onto the bowl of whipped cream. He moved a step closer to her, dipping his fingers into the bowl. Before she realized what he was about to do, Harry smeared the whipped cream across her chest and neck.

“Harry!” she gasped, looking down at her body. There was a mess of cream and berries on her skin. She looked back up at him, seeing his eyes crinkle as he laughed. Without warning she grabbed the container of syrup and dumped it over Harry’s head. He gaped back at her. Harry had definitely not been expecting any retaliation, let alone an entire jug of the sugary liquid tossed at him. Rather than grab for some more food and toss it at his girlfriend, Harry tackled her to the floor, accidentally taking the bowl of whipped cream with him. It clattered to the floor as he pinned her to the tile, splattering its contents everywhere. They were enveloped in a sticky, sugary mess as they rolled across the kitchen tiles, Hermione desperately trying to take control and not let Harry keep her pinned to the floor. Hermione decided to try something she had been secretly working on during the last few months of school.

Cubosto, Hermione thought, aiming the spell at Harry. She was wandless, and was hoping that her skills at wandless magic were as good as she thought it was.

Immediately Harry went still, laying on the floor. “What’d you do to me?” he asked, unable to move.

“Wandless magic,” Hermione grinned. It had worked better than she’d hoped, for he hadn’t even heard the incantation in her head. She quickly performed the counter-charm, allowing him to move again.

“You can do wandless magic?” he asked, his eyes wide in amazement.

Hermione gave him a confused look. “Why are you so surprised, Harry? You can do it too,” she said with a patient air, as if she was dealing with a young child. “Remember when you removed the glass in the zoo, at the snake exhibit? I remember you telling me about that. You didn’t have a wand; you didn’t even know you were a wizard!”

Harry’s mind began to recall events where something magical had happened and he hadn’t performed any spell. The memory of his Aunt Marge blowing up like a balloon came to mind, causing a smile to spread across his face. “I guess you’re right,” he said slowly, still wrapping his mind around the fact that Hermione was capable of doing wandless spells.

“You’ve just never tried to focus it before,” she pointed out, purposely glancing at one of the plates of bacon on the table. “Try to summon that bacon without your wand.” She suggested.

Harry focused his concentration on the bacon, and said out loud, “Accio bacon!”

A strip of bacon levitated itself from the table to Harry’s hand.

“Good, but try something different,” Hermione smiled. “Focus on not just the bacon, but the entire plate of bacon. And don’t say the spell out loud, just think it in your head.”

As Hermione finished her sentence, Harry had the plate of bacon zooming from the tabletop into his hand. He turned to her and grinned. “Not so hard after all.” Hermione was positively glowing now, much like she had in St. Mungo’s. “You’re uh, doing the light bulb thing again,” Harry said, holding back a laugh.

“I think I’ve figured that out, too. We can control it. It happens whenever something extremely emotional happens between the two of us.”

Harry looked confused. “What’s so emotional about floating bacon?”

“I was proud of you for having done the wandless magic successfully,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

“So we can control the glow?” he asked, wondering how.

Hermione nodded. “Just think dull thoughts.”

Harry looked at her funny. “Dull thoughts?”

Nodding again, Hermione added, “Think of yourself looking like a normal person, not like a human light bulb. How else do you think I’ve stopped myself from glowing this past week?”

“You’ve been in a glowing kind of state all week?” he asked.

“Harry, I’ve wanted to be with you for years but I never thought you’d want me back. Why wouldn’t this be emotional? You became a knight in shining armour to me when you rescued me from that troll in first year, and you’ve meant even more to me every year since. I’m the happiest girl in the Wizarding world now that I know how you feel about me. You’re lucky I can control it every day.”

Harry leaned over and kissed her, setting the plate of bacon down on the tiles.

Hermione broke off the kiss and stood up. “As nice as this is, we’re sitting in a puddle of whipped cream, berries, and maple syrup. We need to clean this up and get back to business. Voldemort isn’t going to wait around for us to play house.”

Reluctantly agreeing, Harry performed the necessary cleaning charms as Hermione fetched the magically expanding trunks they had bought in Diagon Alley. They found the emptiest spare room they could find, and brought the shrunken versions of the exercise equipment they had bought at Harrods into the room. Using Enlargement Charms, the young couple restored the workout gear to its normal size. The room was quickly filled with an elliptical, rowing machine, and a set of free weights. A pair of yoga mats rested against the weight stand, along with a water cooler to keep them hydrated.

“It’s time for the physical training to start,” Hermione said, moving back towards their bedroom. She chose a cropped sports bra and spandex shorts from her trunk, and changed into them. She came back to the room to discover Harry had stripped down to his boxers. Despite their having seen each other wearing much less, it was still a sight for the two of them to enjoy. Hermione spread out one of the yoga mats on the floor, and began to stretch. Harry, not having much experience in physical training with the exception of Quidditch, chose to join her in her stretches. He spread out the second yoga mat behind her and began to follow her every move. When he found himself faced with something that required more flexibility than he was capable of, he simply chose not to try it and enjoyed watching Hermione perform the move instead.

Fifteen minutes later they were warmed up, their muscles loose and limber. Hermione chose to begin with the elliptical, so Harry went for the rowing machine. He settled himself into the seat and grabbed the bar, pulling on the cord. He continued for minutes before feeling any burn in his muscles, and decided to take a break and watch Hermione again. He couldn’t help but notice how great her legs looked as she moved with the machine. He tapped her on the shoulder, indicating that he would like to take his turn on the machine.

Hermione acquiesced, and moved back to the yoga mat. As Harry worked on the elliptical, she went through several yoga moves that required such a high amount of flexibility that Harry would’ve crippled himself if he tried to imitate her. He turned his head to watch her over his shoulder, his mind marvelling at the possibilities her flexibility could turn into.

“Behave, Harry,” she warned teasingly, sensing his thoughts. He immediately turned his attentions back to the machine he was working on.

Minutes later Hermione decided it might be a good idea for the two of them to take a break. They relaxed on the yoga mats and sipped water from the cooler. “So about these Gryffindor Horcruxes,” Hermione began, “I was thinking… We are in Godric’s Hollow, which was named for Godric Gryffindor. We can assume that something of his remains in this town, but where would it be?”

Harry shrugged. “Is there a museum?”

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “This town is a bit too small to have enough artefacts and relics to build a museum. It’s got to be somewhere else—Harry, where are you going?”

Harry had gotten up from the mat and headed down the hall. “I saw something this morning,” he said. “I was on my way to the bathroom when I woke up, and there was something on the wall in this room with a lion on it.” He stopped in front of a door that was ajar. Hermione had followed him from their new exercise room, and stood behind him as he pushed the door open. Directly on the wall in front of them was a large golden shield.

Harry’s mind flashed back on the memory of the night Voldemort had attacked. “My father was killed in this room,” he said quietly, looking around. He was silent for a few moments. “And I’d bet a hundred Galleons that that’s Gryffindor’s shield.” Pushing the memory of his father’s murder back into the recesses of his mind, Harry focused his attention on the golden shield in front of him. It was pure gold, with no trace of any other colour. The front of the shield was embossed with a roaring lion.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “That’s it,” she whispered. She had seen a picture of the shield in an obscure tome in the Hogwarts library.

“It’s been here all along,” Harry realized. They had believed that the search for the Horcruxes would be so difficult, and one of them had been right under their noses. “My father really was a true Gryffindor.”

“Voldemort wouldn’t have known about the charm on the house,” Hermione said, delicately running her fingers across the lion’s mane. “When he killed your father, Gryffindor’s shield was right here. It fit perfectly with the other artefacts belonging to the founders, and he believed that the house would be permanently destroyed when he was done. The shield would have been concealed, and there would have been no reason for anyone to come back to the house.”

Harry nodded, unable to speak. All he could think was that, had he made the trip to Godric’s Hollow sooner to visit his parents’ graves, he would have eventually come upon the shield when he discovered the house was still intact.

“That doesn’t matter, Harry,” Hermione understood his thoughts. “What matters is we’ve found it now, and we can destroy it.”

Harry lifted the shield from the wall and carried it to the library. “How do we destroy gold?”

Hermione began to sift through the numerous books in the library, searching for a method of destroying the precious metal. “One more Horcrux down, only three more to go,” she said brightly. She and Harry were one step closer to the final battle with Voldemort.

One step closer to peace for the Wizarding world.

A/N: Just a few replies, and one quick little note. I, again, did some research before writing this chapter as I had with the London chapter to make sure that places and bus routes and whatnot were accurate. Every method discovered to destroy gold is real, as is the Muggle biography of Nicholas Flamel, which came from Wikipedia. I paraphrased to take out the less important parts, but credit must be given where credit is due. I like to stick to the facts. ;) I also got the Thomas Edison quote from the movie National Treasure, where Ben is telling Riley that there may be a thousand ways NOT to steal the Declaration of Independence, but there is one way that definitely will work. (The Preservation Room, which, by the way, is not for delicious jams and jellies. ;)) No idea who invented Aqua Regia, but it was discovered by alchemists in approx. 1100AD. Eurochem also exists, at 1 Dukes Road in London.

Not much H/Hr fluff in this chapter, but I’ll make up for it later. Promise. :D

Disclaimer: Honestly, if I owned Harry Potter, would I have just busted my arse working from 6am-3pm without any breaks in a really bloody hot bakery? I think not. And if JKR tries to sue, she’ll be waiting a long time to get her money.

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Harry and Hermione sat in the library, staring at the shield on the coffee table in front of them. Hermione had flipped through several books that may have suggested ways to destroy the precious metal, but not one of them contained the information they were seeking. Hermione moved from her chair to the floor, craning her neck sideways to read the book titles.

Harry continued to focus on the shield. He noticed the intricate design of the lion, its mane twisting and flying about as though it were blowing in the wind. “’Mione?”

She looked up from her position on the floor. “What, Harry?”

“What if we melt it?”

Hermione considered the idea. “If I remember any of the science I ever learned in schools at home, we’d have to get the metal to one thousand and sixty-three degrees Centigrade for that to work. I don’t know how we’d manage to get a fire going that hot without risking burning down the house.”

“But the charm is on the house so that it will rebuild itself if something happens,” Harry reminded her.

“True, but do we really want to have to go through that?” she asked him.

Harry shook his head.

Instead of answering, Hermione went back to the books. She found one with a simple enough title and removed it from the shelf. Alchemy and Sir Nicholas Flamel.

The Life and Times of Sir Nicholas Flamel (Chapter 1)

Sir Nicholas Flamel was a French alchemist, living in the era of 1400AD. He built a house in 1407 in Paris, France, which still stands today (though it has been transformed into a restaurant). Flamel was said to have been one of the most accomplished alchemists in Europe. Not only did he discover a method to create the Philosopher’s Stone, he and his wife, Perenelle, discovered a way to become immortal. This is where the similarity in his story between the Muggle and the Wizarding world ends. Though Flamel did discover a way to turn lead into gold, he also discovered something else. Thomas Edison had spent years attempting to create the filament that is the key to a Muggle light bulb. When someone asked him about it, he said, “I didn’t fail. I found two thousand ways how not to make a light bulb.” Edison only needed to find one way to make it work.

While Flamel was spending years translating the Hebrew scripture in the book of Abraham to understand the methods to create the Philosopher’s Stone, he discovered several ways not to go about it. While Flamel was trying to create the Philosopher’s Stone, he came upon one method to destroy gold rather than create it. It was an ancient belief of alchemists that, if one could find a way to destroy the item, they would become one step closer to creating it. Flamel created a chemical mixture known as Aqua Regia, a Muggle combination of nitric and hydrochloric acids, which is more than capable of eating away at gold metal. Shortly after Flamel’s discovery of a way to destroy what he was attempting to create, he finally deciphered the instructions to create the Philosopher’s Stone, and therefore the one way to make it work.

Sir Nicholas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, had begun to brew the Elixir of Life…

Hermione stopped reading at that point. “Aqua regia,” she whispered.

Harry looked at her. “Royal water?” he translated the Latin in his head.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember that! We learned about it in grade school. Gold, silver, and copper were considered to be royal metals in ancient times, and aqua regia, or royal water, was the only method of dissolving them as melting them just changed their shape.”

His eyes brightening, Harry took the book from her and scanned the paragraph. “So all we need to do is find nitric acid and hydrochloric acid, mix them together, and it’ll eat away at the shield?”

Hermione nodded. “And then, while the metal is dissolving, we use the incantation the Dark Magicks book mentioned, and the piece of Voldemort’s soul will be destroyed as well as it tries to escape from the shield.”

“So where do we get these acids?” Harry asked.

Hermione frowned. “They’re not something ordinary wizards would use, I’m afraid. They’re Muggle chemical components.” She got up and left the library, heading back into the kitchen. “If your parents kept a telephone book anywhere, it’ll be in here. It might be outdated, but it’ll still help.”

Discovering that the Potters had, indeed, owned a telephone, Hermione found the Yellow Pages resting underneath the receiver. She flipped through until she found the Chemical Manufacturers and Suppliers category, and began to dial numbers.

The first three companies she tried were no longer in business, as their numbers were apparently disconnected. Hermione got lucky on her fourth try.

“Eurochem front desk, Laura speaking, how may I help you?” came the clipped British accent over the phone.

“Hello, I was wondering if you could tell me whether or not you supply chemicals directly to the public?” Hermione asked, attempting to make her voice sound older.

“One just can’t walk in off of the street and buy chemicals, but if you have the necessary permits we do sell chemicals, yes.” Laura said, sounding somewhat annoyed.

“Perfect. I am a chemistry school teacher, and I thought that it might be interesting to cover aqua regia in one of my lessons. Would you happen to have nitric and hydrochloric acid on hand?” Hermione was lying through her teeth, but she knew that she could magically create or summon any permit necessary to purchase the chemicals.

“How much do you need?” the lady asked.

Hermione paused for a moment. She remembered that the chemical composition of aqua regia required one part nitric acid to four parts hydrochloric acid. The shield was fairly large, and as far as she knew Hufflepuff’s cup was also made of gold. “One quart of nitric acid and one gallon of hydrochloric acid,” she said confidently. At leas they would have more than enough to destroy any more gold Horcruxes that came along after the shield. Before the secretary could reply, Hermione silently summoned a chemical purchasing permit. She had a feeling she might need it before driving to London to pick up the acids.

“And your permit number is…?” Laura questioned.

Hermione was glad she had the good sense to get it before she was asked. “Zero-one-nine-three-eight-five-five-five-seven-five-four,” she recited, glancing at the paper in her hand. She could hear Laura’s fingers typing the number into the computer.

“Your total will be one hundred and fourteen pounds. Will you be paying with cash?”

“Yes, I’ll be by to pick it up very shortly. Thank you kindly,” Hermione said, hanging up the phone.

Harry entered the kitchen. “What was that all about?”

“I rang a chemical company in London, and ordered what we need. I’m going to take the car to Dukes Road and then I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.” Hermione smiled, grabbing the car keys from Harry’s pocket.

Harry was uneasy. “I don’t want you to go by yourself, ‘Mione,” he said, remembering what had happened the last time she left on her own.

Hermione knew what he was referring to, and pushed the memories of that horrific incident back into the recesses of her mind. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “If anything happens, I’ll Apparate back here. If you’re worried about me, just think about me. I’ll answer you, I promise.” She kissed him on the cheek and headed out the front door, not giving Harry a chance to argue. He followed her just in time to see the rear lights of the BMW roadster as she turned onto the main drive.

Slumping his shoulders, Harry headed back toward the house when he spotted something close to the foundation of the house. The charm on the house apparently didn’t apply to the yard, as the grass and weeds were incredibly overgrown. He headed towards it, clearing the brush out of his path.

Immediately Harry was stricken with grief. He had planned to do this all along; it had been his original intention for visiting Godric’s Hollow after Dumbledore’s funeral, but he hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to see it right in front of his face.

He was staring at the headstones atop his parents’ graves.

Lily Potter

Loving Mother, Wife, and Daughter

James Potter

Loving Husband, Father, and Marauder

Harry wiped a tear from his eye as he sank to his knees in front of the graves. They were here. Right here, in front of him, the two things he’d wanted most of all in life: his parents. His tears were flowing freely now, as he collapsed in the overgrown grass. He lay there crying for quite some time, mourning the loss of his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore. He cried for all of the people who had died because of him, and those that would continue to die in the war until he finally killed Voldemort.

Hermione found him like this when she returned from London with the chemicals two hours later. She had been about to step into the house when she heard sniffling coming from the unkempt lawn, and decided to follow it. She knelt on the ground next to him, carefully resting the chemicals a safe distance from one another.

“Harry,” she whispered, pulling him to a sitting position. She wrapped her arms around him and wiped away his tears, laying gentle kisses on his forehead. “It’s okay,” she soothed, rocking him back and forth like a small child.

“It’s not fair,” he muttered through his tears. They didn’t deserve to die. None of them did… he thought, clinging to Hermione.

Instead of pushing him to back off from the graves and calm down, Hermione stayed there with him until he couldn’t cry any more. He had carried the burden of his parents’ deaths inside of him for so many years, and it was time for him to come face to face with it. They were gone, and there was nothing that he could do to bring them back.

Harry wiped away his last tear, and stood up, leaving Hermione on the ground. “Got the chemicals?” he asked, putting on a brave façade.

“More than enough for the shield. When we find Hufflepuff’s cup we’ll have enough to destroy that, too,” she confirmed, lifting the chemicals from the grass as she stood up.

“Good. Let’s get it over with, then,” Harry said firmly, ushering her into the house to retrieve the shield. They had decided earlier to destroy the shield outside, just in case any of the chemical fumes were too much in the house. He didn’t want either of them getting sick in the process. Hermione returned with it moments later, to find Harry standing with his arms cross over his chest, his jaw set in a determined manner. He had resolved that Voldemort had to be stopped, and soon. They weren’t going to take any more time fooling around and casually researching when they saw fit. They were going to train harder and longer, find all of the remaining Horcruxes, and destroy the Dark Lord. “No one else is going to get hurt,” he declared, startling Hermione. She had settled the shield into the grass and was carefully mixing the correct ratio of chemicals in a beaker she had picked up at Eurochem.

Taking his wand from its wrist holster, Harry aimed at the shield, prepared to chant the incantation to destroy the soul fragment. Hermione had finished blending the chemicals together. She looked at him, and he nodded.

“When I pour this on the shield, it’s going to disintegrate the metal,” she warned him. “You need to be ready. As soon as you see the bit of soul escaping, use the spell and destroy it. Your scar might hurt, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.” Hermione reached for his hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Steadying her hand, Hermione raised the beaker of acid over the shield. She carefully tilted it on an angle, letting the acid spill over onto the precious metal. The gold began to hiss and sizzle, as it appeared to bubble over and melt away into itself. The teens watched in fascination as the acid ate away at the gold, when Harry spotted the smallest black wisp rising out of the shield. He aimed his wand as the wisp began to scream a sound more terrible than that of the merpeople in the Hogwarts Lake. Quickly casting a Silencing charm on the wispy bit of Voldemort’s soul, he took careful aim and yelled, “Destrucrux!”

The Silencing Charm broke as the soul fragment began to writhe in a manner similar to someone under the Cruciatus curse. It began to scream as it faded away, the black wispiness dissipating into the afternoon sunlight. Harry and Hermione had thrown their hands over their ears in an attempt to save their hearing. They looked down as the final bits of the golden metal evaporated into thin air.

“It’s done,” Hermione whispered, looking at Harry. His eyes were focused on hers.

“Your eyes are completely green,” he commented, staring at her.

Hermione looked at him, confused. “I thought they’d stopped changing?”

“Apparently not,” Harry replied, helping her up from the grass. They gathered the remaining chemicals, the beaker, and went back inside the house. The young couple headed straight for the library, determined to discover the location of Hufflepuff’s cup, and the Ravenclaw Horcrux.

“Harry,” Hermione attempted to get his attention, “Why do you suppose my eyes have turned the same colour as yours?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s another thing with the rings. I’m not sure, exactly.”

Hermione wasn’t satisfied with his answer, but she knew that he was as clueless as her when it came to her changing eye colour. She hoped that maybe, during their search for the remaining Horcruxes, she might find her answer.

“This seems too easy,” Harry said abruptly. Hermione raised her head to look at him. “The Horcrux being right here, in my parents’ house. No poisonous potions around it like the locket, no enchantments like the diary, nothing.”

“There was nothing guarding the Gaunt ring except for a Concealment Charm,” she reminded Harry. “I don’t know how Dumbledore destroyed the soul fragment in the ring, but he said it was in the ruins of the Gaunt home, did he not? Voldemort wouldn’t have known about the charm on your parents’ house and probably concealed the shield in the same manner, but the repairing charm would have restored the physical location of everything in the house back to where it was before the attack.”

Harry still felt a touch uneasy about the simplicity of the destruction of the shield. When he had destroyed the diary in his second year he had been stabbed with a basilisk fang, and the venom from the fang was what destroyed the diary. The ring had taken Dumbledore’s hand, and the locket, his life. Why was the shield so easy?

Sensing his thoughts, Hermione felt she owed him an explanation. “Maybe it was the fact that we used Muggle methods to destroy the shield,” Hermione said. “Voldemort wouldn’t expect something like that. He’s probably never even heard of hydrochloric acid, let alone being aware of the fact that, when combined with nitric acid, it can destroy gold. I bet if Dumbledore had attempted to use a similar solution on the ring it would’ve been much less likely to burn his hand like that.”

Harry pondered this idea for a minute. “Voldemort expects magical spells and charms to be used to destroy the Horcruxes, and therefore he probably expects the same to be used in a battle against him, wouldn’t he? He didn’t expect a Muggle method to destroy the shield, and he wouldn’t expect it to destroy him either,” he thought out loud.

Hermione left him to his thoughts while she continued to research places of interest to Helga Hufflepuff, and places that would hold significance for Lord Voldemort. She was determined to find the cup for Harry, as he was determined to find a new method of fighting Voldemort. The two of them were absorbed in numerous books in the Potter Family Library for the remainder of the day.

<><><><><>

“The target is free, my Lord,” Alecto bowed low, not looking Lord Voldemort in the eyes.

“Excellent,” the snake-like man proclaimed, leaning back in his chair. “Is our operation prepared to begin?”

Alecto nodded, motioning for Severus Snape to join him.

“The potion I gave to you for safe-keeping, my Lord, is what you will need to use for success. It is more than capable of convincing the target to do your bidding.” Snape genuflected, showing his respect.

The Dark Lord gave an evil laugh. “This should be like taking candy from a baby,” he remarked. “After all, it won’t be the first time the target has succumbed to the Dark Side. I think that, with a little help from your potion, Snape, the target will be right at home here with us.”

Alecto and Snape bowed as they left the Dark Lord’s chamber, his maniacal laugh echoing down the hallways of Riddle Manor.

A/N: I’m a bad, bad author! I know! *Hides from the angry readers for not updating again last night.* I’m so sorry, but after working 9 hours straight yesterday with no breaks in a boiling hot bakery, running around Niagara Falls on a last-minute delivery, I was completely exhausted. I fell asleep at like, 8:30. And I was planning on updating again at 9. :/ I’ll do my best to update with two chapters today, and if I don’t, feel free to publicly denounce me in the streets or…something.

Disclaimer: Honestly, if the Potterverse belonged to me, the disaster that was Harry Potter and the Half-Baked PlotBlood Prince would never have happened. And instead of sitting here eating pizza strips dipped in Caesar dressing and watching Jerry Springer while reading Tom and Harry by Old Crow on FF.net in my hot pink bathrobe with a matching towel on my head working on a laptop that’s about to shut down from overheating any second, I’d be in a nice air conditioned room with a big comfy bed and loads of pillows with a tiara on my head and a computer that knows how to function properly without telling me that while running MSN, IE, and Microsoft Word that my Windows Virtual Memory is too low. Bloody 256MB of RAM…

In short, it’s not mine. I’m just bored and playing with it.

<><><><><>

You-Know-Who Attacks Unsuspecting Muggle Family Several Other Motorists Injured

By Rita Skeeter

Early yesterday afternoon, what appeared to be a normal Muggle car accident occurred on the M4 Motorway into London. A single car managed to crash into four other cars, injuring numerous drivers and passengers in the process. Muggle policeman originally believed that the driver of the car had simply lost control of the wheel, but due to the identity of the driver and his family, the Ministry of Magic chose to perform their own investigation.

The driver and his passengers were none other than Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley, the Muggle guardians of Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived and The Chosen One. Upon arriving at the scene, Ministry officials were greeted by the appearance of the Dark Mark set over the Dursley’s car, discovering each family member dead inside. Upon further investigation it appears that the car accident was a Death Eater attack in disguise.

Muggles who were injured in the accident have had their memories modified accordingly. The Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, has released the following statement.

“It is clear by the actions of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers that this was not simply an attack on the Dursley family. They had believed Harry Potter to be inside the car with the Dursleys, and upon discovering his absence they killed his relatives instead. This attack shows the escalation of the war, and our Aurors are doing their best to keep any one else from getting hurt.”

Hermione raised her head from the Prophet, unsure of how to react. She had sent away for the latest issue a few short days earlier after a trip to Diagon Alley to purchase a more inconspicuous owl than Hedwig, hoping to receive some news on how the war was going. She hadn’t been expecting this.

She had no idea how to tell Harry that his last remaining relatives had been murdered. He was still asleep, exhausted from the last few days of physical training. He had been sleeping for nearly ten hours now, and as much as Hermione hated to wake him up, she knew this was important.

Just as she rose from her chair to head for the bedroom, Harry stumbled into the kitchen. He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stretched, and he smiled at Hermione.

“Come up with a name for the owl yet?” he asked, seeing the small barn owl resting on the kitchen table. He rubbed the owl’s head affectionately, hoping that when he retrieved Hedwig from Hagrid she wouldn’t take offence to the new owl like an older sibling would to a new baby.

Hermione shook her head. She had been planning to do that over breakfast when he had returned with the Daily Prophet.

“What’s wrong, love? You look upset.” Harry made his way over to her, gently grasping her shoulders in his palms as he brushed a kiss on the top of her head. As he raised his eyes he noticed the paper in front of her. “Since when do you get that rubbish again?”

Hermione opened her mouth to offer an explanation when she heard Harry gasp. He had just read the headline.

“It’s bad enough when he attacks other witches and wizards, but what have the Muggles got to do with this?” Harry said angrily, skimming the rest of the article. “I’m surprised that he didn’t make it painfully obvious that it was him. I mean, the Dark Mark is one thing, but the Muggles will still think it was just a car acci…” Harry trailed off as he read the names from the second paragraph. He finished the rest of the article in silence.

Slipping a hand over her shoulder to hold one of Harry’s, Hermione offered a comforting squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” She said quietly, turning to kiss his fingertips.

He stood upright, in a mild state of shock. He didn’t say anything.

“Harry, I know that you weren’t close with the Dursleys, but still,” Hermione began, turning in her chair to face him.

Abruptly, Harry turned and left the room. Hermione couldn’t decide whether she should follow him to make sure he was okay or let him stew in private when she heard several dull thuds coming from the bedroom. Getting up from her chair and walking down the hallway, Hermione was greeted by the sight of Harry unceremoniously dumping her belongings in her trunk.

“Harry, what are you doing?” she asked, rushing forward to stop him. He refused to answer her and instead began moving faster. Hermione scrambled to put everything he threw into the trunk back into its original place. “Harry, stop it!” she begged, grabbing at his hands and trying to pull him back.

He turned suddenly, his motion throwing Hermione back onto the bed with his momentum. She let go of his wrists as she fell back.

“I won’t let it happen to you,” he faced her, his shoulders slumping as one of her books dropped from his hand into the trunk.

The implications of Harry’s words registered in Hermione’s mind. I won’t let it happen to you. He was doing the same thing he had with Ginny, only this time he really meant it. He was going to force her to leave him and go off on his own to destroy the rest of the Horcruxes, while she hid from Voldemort.

“Harry James Potter, if you think for one moment that I am going to stand idly by as you leave me, you are sadly mistaken,” she spat out vehemently. She pushed herself off of the bed and faced him, aligning their bodies as she glared into his eyes. Her own eyes were flashing with the angry emerald fire she had seen mirrored countless times in Harry’s.

Harry sank to his knees and quietly put a few more of Hermione’s things in the trunk: a few textbooks here, a pair of shoes there. His fingers closed around a pile of silky black fabric. He held up the garment, realizing it was the dress Hermione had worn to dinner in Paris. A single tear slipped from his eye as the dress joined the other items in her trunk, Harry’s memory recalling the events of that night. Harry continued to pack for Hermione, raising his eyes to look at her only when she had cleared her throat.

Hermione stood with her wand pointed directly at Harry. “Stop.” She commanded, her eyes focused on his.

Harry froze. Rather than argue with her, he sat there with a pained expression on his face. “What are you going to do, hex me?” he asked, his voice hollow. Spreading his arms wide, he provoked her. “Go ahead. Give me your best shot,” he said, offering himself to her.

Her lip trembling, Hermione lowered her wand.

“I promised you that I would never let anyone hurt you, and I meant it,” he said in a pained voice, wishing she would understand why he was doing this.

“That’s not what you promised, Harry. I may have been in shock at the time, but I remember. You promised that you’d never leave me alone, and what do you think you’re trying to do right now?” She placed her hands on her hips, glowering at him.

“I’m trying to save your life!” he yelled, losing his temper. “Voldemort killed the Dursleys simply because I had to live with them every summer for a few bloody weeks. He killed them because I wasn’t there! He didn’t have to, he could’ve Obliviated their memories and sent them home, but he just killed them! People are disposable to him, Hermione, and I will not put you in a position where you could be hurt.”

Rather than recoil at Harry’s screaming, Hermione knelt to the ground. She faced him, grasping his hands in her own. “Harry, I’m not a child, and I’ve come a long way since we started at school. You don’t need to protect me, Harry; I can take care of myself. I’m legally an adult now, remember? I’m not going to leave you.”

Gently sliding a hand into Harry’s hair, Hermione pulled him closer. She kissed him, ever so gently, letting her love for him be felt in her kiss. When she pulled away, Harry was trembling. He drew her into his arms and they sat like that for a while, just holding each other. Gradually Hermione disentangled herself from Harry’s arms, and began to put her things back where they belonged.

Harry looked up at her, questioningly.

If you still think I’m going to leave you and let you go off on your own, then I don’t know how else to convince you that I’m staying. Hermione gently folded her black dress and placed it in a drawer. It’s you and I until the end, Harry. We’ll face Voldemort together.

Sliding his hand up her leg, Harry tugged at Hermione’s pants until she joined him on the floor again. He kissed her, harder this time, his actions portraying his desperate need to keep her safe. He tightened his arms around her, refusing to let her go. Harry was seeking solace from his torrid emotions in his girlfriend’s arms, and Hermione was more than happy to oblige. If he needed anything from her to feel better, she was willing to use her body to ease his soul.

With that thought firmly in her head, Hermione removed the pants that Harry had just been pulling at and tossed them onto the bed. Her shirt, bra and knickers quickly followed as she began to work on Harry’s clothing. When he was as naked as she was, Hermione seated herself firmly into his lap and kissed him fiercely.

As much as Harry was enjoying the passionate kiss his body couldn’t help but notice exactly how close certain parts of him were to certain parts of Hermione. The tip of his penis was brushing against the wet heat that was pooling between her legs, and Harry was again positive that something harder than a diamond existed. He was torn between jerking his hips slightly upward to close the distance and remaining respectful of Hermione’s wishes that they wait. While she hadn’t outright said it, he had a feeling that she wanted to wait until the albatross that was Tom Marvolo Riddle was no longer hanging round their necks before they took that final step.

Hermione moaned into his mouth and unconsciously ground her hips against him, nearly driving poor Harry into insanity. When she had originally sat in his lap she had been facing sideways with both of her legs dangling over one of his. As she had been kissing him Hermione had shifted her position and was now effectively straddling Harry. He was fully aware of the miniscule distance between them as his hands roamed and caressed her body, and his hormones were begging him to just lift himself upward those few centimetres and bury himself there.

Flowing to her feet, Hermione tugged Harry up from the floor and led him to the bed. She fell backwards as her knees hit the edge of the mattress and Harry tumbled after her. They entangled their fingers in each other’s hair as they shared a deep kiss, their tongues tangling and fighting for dominance. Though their new position offered Harry the chance for a clearer head in terms of attempts to restrain himself he found that the temporary relief from being pressed so intimately against Hermione didn’t do anything to fade his desires. He was desperate to be inside her, and yet was still internally struggling with the concept of actually doing it.

Harry decided that he needed to find a happy medium before he exploded, and let one of his hands drift to the thatch of brown curls at the apex of her thighs. Feeling just how wet she was he slipped a finger inside of her and began to move in a quick rhythm.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione gasped, her hips jerking upward to meet the thrusts of his finger.

Harry gently twisted his finger until his thumb could reach the little nub hidden below the brunette curls, and began to rub in small circles. Hermione bucked frantically under his touch, and cried out when a second finger moved to join the first. Though Harry had done the same thing when they had showered together, it was still more than enough to make her feel like she was about to explode.

With great difficulty Harry managed to tear his lips from Hermione’s and trail light kisses from her neck to her navel. His fingers began to work faster as his lips came to meet them, and he quickly removed his hand. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but let out a loud gasp instead as Harry’s tongue replaced his fingers.

He worked her into a frenzy as his tongue repeated the motions of his thumb over her clit, starting out by moving in circles. He began to flick his tongue faster, driving Hermione right over the edge.

She came as a scream tore from her lips, thrusting her hips upward. Harry continued to work his tongue, prolonging her orgasm as long as possible. When she collapsed back on the mattress panting heavily, Harry looked up at her with a grin.

“Good?” he whispered, kissing the insides of her thighs.

Hermione nodded, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “Brilliant.” Once she had caught her breath she shot Harry a devilish glare. “Your turn, Potter,” she grinned as she wrapped her hand around him.

<><><><><>

Evil, maniacal laughter filled Riddle Manor as Voldemort celebrated the day’s mission. He raised a glass with Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange in his inner chambers. “A toast,” he said, “to our new secret weapon. To the success of my followers here today, and to the complete and utter destruction of Harry Potter.” He tipped his glass back and drained it, watching out of the corner of his eye as Snape and Lestrange did the same.

The three turned towards the far wall of the chamber, observing the figure in chains. Bellatrix grinned. “We’re one step closer, my Lord,” she said, her heavy lids shadowing her eyes. She puffed up her chest, taking pride in her accomplishment. With Snape’s supply of Polyjuice Potion she had taken a form that their quarry trusted, leading to a successful capture.

Voldemort nodded, holding a hand out to Snape. Bowing, Severus knelt to the floor of the chamber as he took the Dark Lord’s hand. “You did well today, Severus,” he said, with the air of a king bestowing knight-ship, “Your actions today, in combination with your actions at Hogwarts, have proven your loyalty to me. Welcome back to the inner circle.”

Standing, Snape dipped his head in acknowledgment. “The blood traitor will serve us well,” he said with conviction, restraining a laugh as he watched the figure struggle against the chains.

Reaching deep into his robes, Voldemort withdrew the scarlet potion that Snape had given to him days earlier. Wordlessly he handed it to Snape.

Bellatrix huffed. “My Lord, I thought that you wished for me to administer the potion!” she declared, upset with the Dark Lord’s choice of Snape.

A loud crack resounded through the chamber as Voldemort struck Bellatrix across the cheek. “Are you questioning my authority?” he demanded.

Refusing to raise a hand to her cheek, Bellatrix straightened her spine to hide her injured pride. “No, my Lord.” Rather than suffer further, she withdrew herself into the shadows and exited the chamber.

Snape uncorked the potion and stalked over to the figure in chains. Forcing the potion down their captive’s throat, he stood and returned to the Dark Lord’s side.

“You will have complete control now,” he said, almost regretting what he had done.

Voldemort relaxed his shoulders and turned to leave the room, swishing his robe behind him. “We will begin the second phase of the mission tomorrow morning, once the potion has had time to take effect. Come, Severus.” Voldemort left the chamber, Snape following faithfully behind him.

Outside the door, Peter Pettigrew, who was waiting for his master, greeted Voldemort. Pettigrew opened his mouth to say something, and was rewarded with a kick to the shins from Lord Voldemort. “Peter, you’ll need to discover the location of the Potter boy. Use any means necessary.” He said, not waiting to see if the rat-like man understood. He walked away, leaving Peter to grasp at his leg in pain.

<><><><><>

It had been three days since the Weasleys had heard anything from Ginny when an owl finally arrived bearing her script on it, zooming in through the kitchen window. The Order had received notice from Harry and Hermione earlier that morning that they were all right, and everyone had been on edge waiting to hear from Ginny. Molly Weasley made a frantic grasp for the parchment that the owl was carrying. She didn’t recognize the bird, but shrugged it off in her nervous state. She practically tore the ribbon off of the parchment and unrolled it as the owl flapped its wings and left the Burrow.

Mum, Dad, and the boys:

I’m fine. Thought I’d clear that up first. I took the Knight Bus and I’m staying with a friend. I’m not telling you who, because I don’t want you to come after me. I’ll be home soon; I just need to sort a few things out for myself.

Love, Ginny

Breathing a sigh of relief, Molly handed the letter to her husband. Arthur skimmed the brief scrap of parchment and set it on the kitchen table.

“At least she’s safe and nothing has happened to her,” he said, wishing that his daughter would come home shortly. He still felt he had been right in letting her leave. She was sixteen years old and capable of taking care of herself, but he couldn’t help but worry about her.

In Ginny’s absence, Molly had been reduced to a nervous wreck. Her family was falling apart. The twins were on their own in Diagon Alley. Bill and Charlie no longer lived at home, and in a few weeks time Bill would be getting married to Fleur Delacour. Percy was—well, Percy was a subject she didn’t like to think of. Harry and Hermione were so furious with Ginny that they were staying elsewhere for the summer, and that left Mrs. Weasley alone with Ron.

Ron hadn’t been taking the last few days too well either. He trusted his little sister enough to let her go off on her own without worrying too much, but it was his mother that was becoming difficult to handle. She had become far clingier than ever before, focusing all her attentions on ‘ickle Ronnie.’ He had barely been able to escape her for five minutes in the last three days. Her mothering nature was becoming a smothering nature as she tried desperately to become closer to Ron while Ginny was gone.

Watching the scene unfold between his parents in the kitchen, Ron remained hidden in the living room. With his mother’s attention solely on Ginny’s letter and his father, he was free to escape to his room and place a locking charm on the door. He whipped out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, and began to write.

Things have gotten crazier in the Burrow lately. Ginny’s run off because she tried to put Harry under a love potion for the second time (turns out that’s how she got him in the first place) and Hermione caught her. Harry and Hermione left and they’re staying somewhere else; Mum and Dad won’t tell me where. Mum’s still fussing over wedding plans in between smothering me every five seconds, and all I can think about is how I’d rather be back at Hogwarts with everyone else, where we can be normal again. Writing to you is the only thing that’s kept me sane all summer, especially since Hermione broke up with me and got together with Harry. I feel like I should be angrier ‘cause he’s my best mate, but all the same, he’s Harry Potter. He gets everything. The gold, the fame, and now the girl. I’m not surprised, really, and it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. I just wish that she‘d told me sooner that she fancied him, or at the very least broken things off before I started to like her more.

I get the feeling that you’d never do that to a bloke like me. You seem so much more realistic, and much less perfect. Don’t take that the wrong way, but I’m nowhere near close to perfection and I can’t see myself being with someone who is. There’s so many things I wish I could say to you face-to-face but I won’t get that chance until I see you at Hogwarts again. Please write me back soon… I look forward to your letters.

Ronald

After pouring his heart out Ron sat back, rolled up his parchment, and sent it off with Pig. “You know where to take this, boy,” he whispered. The tiny owl gave a resounding hoot and fluttered out the window, nearly bouncing mid-flight with the joy of being let out of the house.

A loud banging shook Ron’s bedroom door. “Ronald Weasley, since when do we lock doors in this house?” his mother yelled shrilly through the thin wood. She performed the unlocking charm and entered his bedroom. “Come along now, dear, it’s tea time. I’ve made your favourite! Buttery scones and fresh raspberry jam!”

Ron sighed, going along with his mother’s forced happiness as she ushered him downstairs to the kitchen.

<><><><><>

Later that evening, Harry found himself struggling to keep up with Hermione as they spread out on their yoga mats. She was patiently trying to teach him several new positions, and he was clumsily falling all over himself. Any agility he had displayed during Quidditch was gone as he struggled to balance himself on one leg and one arm. It didn’t help that Hermione was wearing another of her skimpy workout uniforms, giving him a tantalizing view of her body. Even though he’d seen her wearing nothing at all, there was something infinitely sexy about next-to-nothing that still made his heart race.

Hermione gracefully lowered herself to the mat, watching as Harry tumbled forward. She laughed, holding her hands out to help steady him. “Don’t try so hard, you’ll hurt yourself!” she insisted. “Here, I’ll do it really slow, and you can watch. That way you won’t miss anything.”

Performing the move again, Hermione moved excruciatingly slow. Harry couldn’t help but watch how her every curve twisted and turned, her supple skin glowing with the physical exertion she was putting herself through.

Hermione paused, one leg extended behind her. “Harry, maybe you should just stick to sit-ups,” she giggled, seeing the look on her boyfriend’s face.

Blushing, Harry rolled over onto his back and forced himself to look away from her. He concentrated as he lifted himself forward, counting in his head. When he reached fifty he stopped to take a break and enjoy some of the refreshing water from the cooler against the wall.

Lowing herself to the mat again, Hermione relaxed her muscles as she breathed deeply. After a moment she sat up, locking eyes with Harry. “Library time?” she asked. They had spent the majority of the day in the workout room, allowing Harry to work out his frustrations over the Dursleys’ murders.

Nodding, Harry stood up and offered a hand to Hermione, helping her up from the floor.

“I think I might be a bit closer to finding out where the Hufflepuff cup might be,” she said, heading for the bathroom. “I’m just going to take a quick shower before we get started. If you want to—hey, what are you doing?” she laughed as Harry scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom.

“I need a shower too, we might as well conserve water,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Hermione slipped behind the curtain, throwing her sports bra and shorts over the curtain rod as she turned the hot water on. Harry quickly shed his shorts as he stepped behind the curtain, enjoying not only the water beating down on his skin but the lovely image of his girlfriend, naked and soaking wet.

That image quickly grew lovelier as Hermione lowered herself to her knees and took him into her mouth. Though he had been flaccid when he entered the shower, Harry quickly swelled and grew hard as Hermione’s tongue and lips stroked and teased his length. She alternated between sucking gently on the head and licking from base to tip, which left Harry desperately keeping himself upright by pressing both hands against opposite walls of the tiled, oversized shower stall. His knees were going weak and he was sure he’d fall apart any second.

Hermione continued her ministrations for what seemed like hours, but what was really minutes, and Harry felt himself begin to boil over.

“I—I’m gonna—“ he choked out in an attempt to give Hermione a fair warning.

She understood the point he was trying to get across and quickly moved her face to the side as she continued to vigorously pump him with her hand. Watching in fascination as Harry’s world exploded around him, Hermione was eye-level as his semen splashed against the tile of the shower. Harry opened his eyes just in time to see her curiously stick her tongue out and catch a few drops on the end. She licked her lips as he finished, and promptly took him back into her mouth.

“For the love of Merlin, I’m not a machine!” he laughed, even as he enjoyed the feeling of her tongue along his softening penis.

Hermione paused for a moment to answer him. “I thought it might be fun to clean you off,” she explained, returning to the task at hand. With a few gentle caresses of her tongue he was effectively cleansed, and they finally managed to clean up like they’d intended when they left for the bathroom in the first place.

A/N: Okay, so I know it’s really only been like, four hours since I posted the last chapter. But the response is a bit disheartening. :/ On Chapter 18 there were as many page hits as any other chapter and only 4 reviews so far. 4 reviews for 1200 hits. Honestly, it’s not like I’m going to stop posting this story if the reviews slack off, but they are very encouraging. I’ve taken some time off of updating this story at FF.net to edit each chapter for Portkey, and seeing as the story’s a bit different now I do very much appreciate the feedback. Please, even just a few words are appreciated, and I always welcome constructive criticism.

Anyway, for those of you who haven’t yet picked up on who Voldie’s abducted to be his new secret weapon, here’s the answer. This is a very Weasley-oriented chapter, with just a bit of H/Hr at the end. Necessary plot development, I’m afraid.

Disclaimer: Honestly, if someone wants to sue me for the Potterverse at this point, go ahead. Clearly it’s not mine, never has been, and I just like to write my own versions of the stuff. Now, if someone happens to back a car over JKR and Harry Potter is up for grabs… I’ll be the first one to jump at the chance. Promise.

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Deep inside Voldemort’s chamber at Riddle Manor, the room was empty save for one lone, small figure curled up in the corner. She was still very much chained to the wall, and was far too weak to struggle against her bonds. The Dark Lord had left her alone for the night, off on a mission with his Death Eaters.

A few small tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as she surveyed what she felt was her prison cell. The walls were damp, dark stone; the floors a slippery slate that never allowed her bare feet enough purchase to stand upright. The room was bare with the exception of the overly large throne directly across from the doorway. It was ornately carved black walnut, with an emerald green pillow for a seat cushion. Ordinarily she would have found the Dark Lord’s taste in his seating arrangements a tad pompous, but for the last forty-eight hours any malignant thoughts towards him caused her a great deal of pain.

She remembered being administered a potion, and felt that she knew the man who had given it to her. Her brain was so addled that she couldn’t recall her own name, let alone the man’s name at that point. Ever since the scarlet liquid had run down her throat, she had felt like her actions were completely out of her own control. The majority of the time she couldn’t even remember what her actions were.

Struggling to raise herself up, to see if there was a way she could break free from the chains, the girl panicked. The door to the chamber was slowly sliding open. She slumped back down against the wall again, attempting to appear vaguely catatonic. She casually flung her right hand outwards, hoping her pose looked random. Spotting ink stains on her skin, she felt confused. She didn’t recall writing any letters recently, so why were there dark blotches on her fingertips?

A dark figure strode into the room, swathed in a massively elegant black cloak. He wore no hood or mask; his own face was terrifying enough. His eyes travelled up and down her limp body, appreciating how thorough Snape’s potion had been. “Ah, Ginny Weasley. How nice of you to join us,” Lord Voldemort hissed, an evil grin spreading across his face. He glided over to her, his wand at his side. “I trust you sent that letter to your parents like you were instructed?”

A confused expression slid across Ginny’s fine features. She’d seen the ink stains on her fingers but she didn’t recall writing a letter. Opening her mouth to speak, Voldemort cut her off before she had a chance to say anything.

“Don’t remember, do you?” he said smoothly. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small glass vial. There was the tiniest amount of scarlet potion in the bottom of the glass. He dangled the potion in front of her face, watching her eyes widen in fear.

Ginny was more terrified than she had ever been in her entire life. She couldn’t remember much of anything she had done in the past couple of days, and was beginning to realize that this is how she had felt in her first year at Hogwarts, when Tom Riddle had possessed her through his diary.

“Familiar feeling, isn’t it?” he asked, his snake-like face contorting into a gruesome smile. “It’s called the Obeir Potion. The effects are extremely similar to the Imperius curse in that you will be forced to do my bidding. However, you will not remember what you have done in the case of anyone questioning you. You will answer only to me from now on, until I release you. You will not be able to tell anyone about the potion, nor will you be able to overcome its effects. Any negative thoughts or actions towards myself will cause you excruciating pain, similar to the Cruciatus curse. If you fail to succeed in the task I set for you, you will die. Very similar to the Avada Kedavra curse actually. It’s quite a handy potion, if you think about it. It combines the effects of all three supposed ‘Unforgivable Curses’ into one simple potion. You will be the most obedient servant the wizarding world has ever known.”

Two tears slid from each of Ginny’s eyes, marking a trail on her dusty cheeks. She bravely raised her face to meet the Dark Lord’s eyes. “Why me?” she asked. It was a simple question, but after hearing his explanation of what the potion was doing to her, she had to know. Even if he refused to answer her, it was worth a try to ask.

Voldemort cross the room back to his throne and reclined, getting comfortable. Ordinarily he did not allow such lengthy conversations, but given the girl’s importance to his success and the fact that if he told her to forget the conversation, she would, he nearly jumped at the opportunity to gloat. “You can get close to Potter in ways that myself and my minions never can,” he admitted. “Pettigrew was a dismal failure. He concealed himself as a rat for years and never truly proved useful until my rebirth. Any attempt made by any of the Malfoy family has clearly gone sour. Quirrel was nothing more than a host for my soul, and the basilisk certainly wasn’t going to make friends with him. Barty Crouch Junior wasn’t much good either. Yes, he managed to impersonate Alastor Moody all year, and he still managed to corner Potter after the failure in the graveyard, but he was found out. Every attempt I’ve ever made to kill him has gone sour, and it’s because I was using the wrong people.”

“And you think I’m the right person?” Ginny began to feel more hatred for the Dark Lord than she’d ever felt before. Naturally, due to the Obeir potion, this caused her an excruciating amount of pain. She gasped as she let her mind go blank, her eyes welling up again at the pain.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked slowly. Not letting Ginny answer, he continued his explanation. “The trouble with all of my plans, dear girl, was that I was going about it in the wrong way. I was using people who had a minor place in Potter’s life to get to him. When I planted that vision of Sirius Black in his mind it was the right way to go about things. Use someone who was close to him. I’d actually planned to use the Obeir Potion on him but then the stupid man went and got himself killed. I waited and watched, trying to decide who to use, when Draco Malfoy passed word to Severus Snape of your relationship with Potter.” He paused to wag a mocking finger at her. “Tut tut, Miss Weasley. Flinging yourself at boys in the common rooms? The entire school heard of that, no doubt, and the two of you openly flaunted your relationship for the remainder of the semester. Whatever would your dear mother say if she heard how her darling, innocent daughter threw herself at the great Harry Potter?” He laughed, but it came out as more of a hiss. “I daresay she’d be disappointed. It is through your relationship with Potter than I plan to succeed.”

Ginny’s mind was reeling, but she did her best to control her thoughts. She knew through Harry’s previous experiences that Voldemort was not only an excellent Occlumens, but he was pretty good with Legilimency too. One nagging thought at the back of her mind continued to remind her that she and Harry had no relationship. Not even a friendship now, if Hermione had revealed the love potion fiasco to him like she suspected the older witch would. She wouldn’t let Voldemort find out about that. It was bad enough that she had already put Harry’s life at risk with the love potion. She wouldn’t let him find out about Hermione and attempt to use her, too. Ginny decided that she needed to throw the psychopath off track. “Why didn’t you go after my brother? They’re best mates,” she reminded him, feeling as though she was chastising the scariest man in the wizarding world for making the wrong selection.

“Too easy,” he said simply. “Not to mention you left the house first. I’d considered using your brother, but I very much doubt that he would be able to get Potter all to himself. He’s also not as talented as you are. Your magic is much more powerful than his, which is why you were the better, more logical choice.”

“What does it matter which one of us is more powerful? I know you want to kill Harry yourself; you probably just want me to kidnap him for you!”

“How right you are, Miss Weasley. I would not allow you the pleasure of killing Harry Potter. Oh no. I have sought revenge on that miserable boy for years, and I will not be foolish enough to order you to do it for me. You will bring him to me, however. I think it is high time we end this particularly lovely little chat we’re having, and get on with your instructions.”

Ginny paled, realizing that she would have no choice but to bring Harry directly to Lord Voldemort, and therefore, to his death.

“You are going to make a Portkey. I will show you how. This Portkey will activate only when you and Potter are both touching it. It will bring the two of you directly to my chamber, where I will kill him. This Portkey will be hidden in a private area of your choosing, where you are to bring Potter under the pretence of seduction. You are forbidden from disclosing to anyone your orders, or the fact that you are under the influence of the Obeir potion. Even Veritaserum will not be enough to break the potion’s hold on you. You will act like a normal, teenage girl. The only time Potter, or anyone for that matter, will be aware of what you are doing is when his hand and yours are both on that Portkey. There are no loopholes in my orders so don’t even waste your time trying.”

Ginny couldn’t help but smirk. Clearly, Voldemort was not amused. “I don’t have a wand,” she said. “I gave up magic.”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at her. “I was wondering why you had not been captured with your wand, but I had assumed you simply lost it in the struggle. No matter, I can easily get you another one.”

“Maybe you misheard me,” Ginny said, finding the courage to stand and face the Dark Lord. “I. Gave. Up. Magic. Your plan isn’t going to work, because Harry will notice that something is wrong with me, and he’ll send me back to my parents so that they can ‘help me’ sort things out!”

Feeling much like a teenager himself, Voldemort couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her. “Oh, please. Unless you went to the Ministry of Magic, filled out and filed several forms including a signed contract stating that you had officially given up your magical abilities, you haven’t given up your magic. Unless they snapped your wand, with your consent, and burned the remaining pieces, you’re still capable of performing spells.”

Her eyes widening, Ginny realized she really was in trouble. She had no idea that there was that much worked involved in giving up magic.

Voldemort cackled. “Stupid girl,” he said, truly amused by her ignorance.

“I—I snapped my own wand!” she declared, clinging to her last threads of hope.

Shaking his head, the Dark Lord rose from his seat. “And you think that witches and wizards better than you haven’t accidentally sat on a wand and snapped it in half? I’ve heard that your brother’s wand was broken at some time throughout his Hogwarts career, and Spellotaped together. He still managed to use it, even though it malfunctioned quite a bit. The Malfoys found it highly amusing. Something about how even hand-me-downs couldn’t bear to be in the possession of a Weasley.” He smiled his macabre grin again as he watched Ginny’s face darken. “I will get you another wand, and you will obey my orders. Need I remind you of the consequences? I have officially given you instructions now. If you do not complete the task, you will die. It’s that simple.”

Voldemort headed towards the chamber door, not caring that the young witch had been reduced to tears. “I will return, Miss Weasley. And you will follow instructions. You have no choice.”

He exited the large stone room, leaving Ginny to sob wholeheartedly as she accepted her fate.

<><><><><>

Dearest Ronald,

I must admit that I was not entirely saddened to read of your and Hermione’s break-up. She never really was right for you, you know. Constant bickering is not the secret to a successful relationship. At least, that’s what Dad always tells me. Honestly, Ronald, I can’t believe you couldn’t see for yourself that she and Harry were made for each other. Although I suppose that, at the time, Hermione was right when she said you have the emotional range of a teaspoon, I don’t think that applies any longer. Perhaps, you have now graduated to a full tablespoon. (In case you weren’t sure, that was an attempt at a joke—har har.) Back to Hermione, I have to admit that I am surprised that you two even got together in the first place. I thought that you were attracted to, well, attractive girls such as Lavender Brown and Fleur Delacour. Not to say that Hermione is unattractive, but she most definitely isn’t a Lavender or a Fleur. Anyway, if she really is with Harry now she certainly isn’t coming back to you. As dismal as that may sound, trust me, Ronald. It’s for the best.

On another note, it feels good to know that our communications this summer have been helping you get along. Though I certainly wouldn’t think that conversing with me would make one feel sane (I must admit that most people find quite the opposite), it is a nice feeling knowing that our friendship is making the summer more bearable for you. Please, try to put up with your mother as long as you can. She really does love you, and now that you’re the only one in the house, she has no one but your father for companionship. I might add that I am concerned about Ginny. When I received your owl I immediately sent a note to her, asking if she was okay. My father’s owl returned immediately after, still holding my note to her. Wherever Ginny is, she’s Unplottable. Please do let me know if you hear more from her, and I’ll do the same if she chooses to write to me. I would have thought she’d come to me, seeing as we are friends. I don’t know of anyone else close to your home that she would stay with.

I suppose now would be a good time to address your last paragraph. I know I’m less than perfect, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. After all, would a girl with radish earrings and a cork necklace make it into a fashion robe ad in Witch Weekly? I doubt it. I’m not perfect, I’m just me. I’m happy you can accept that. I must admit, I would not have hurt you in the manner that Hermione did, but also bear in mind I’m not Hermione, and I’m sure that she also wasn’t intending on hurting you by falling for Harry. I look forward to seeing you again at Hogwarts as I, too, have several things that I would like to say to you.

Write soon, and please, for Merlin’s sake, don’t get mad at your mother for her actions. Be glad that you still have a mother to smother you. I don’t, and I think it would be quite the experience that I have missed out on.

Pig was happy to wait for my reply, by the way. He had several owl treats, so I suspect he’ll fall right asleep when he gets back to the Burrow.

Luna

Ron sat back on his bed with a sigh. Luna’s latest letter had arrived only moments earlier, and already Pig was fast asleep on his perch next to Ron’s bed. He shook his head at the tiny owl, wondering if he would ever fully grow into his adult size. Ron quickly realized that he was focusing more on a sleeping bird than on his letter from Luna. He hated to admit it to himself, but she was right. Bickering was no way to have a relationship, and he and Hermione would have likely torn each other’s throats out before they stopped fighting. Ron was slightly upset to realize that Luna thought of him as shallow and being interested in girls primarily on their appearance. Hadn’t he proved that wrong by dating Hermione?

He tried to refocus his mind on the nice things she had said. She was happy that their letters were helping him, and that made Ron happy. The second to last paragraph made him feel guilty about all the complaining he had done over his mother. Luna’s mother had died when she was nine, and here he was complaining to her about how his was spending too much time with him. He felt like a complete git, but was quickly cheered by the realization that she had admitted there were things she also wanted to tell him face to face at Hogwarts. Ron wanted more than anything to go and visit Luna, as she didn’t live that far away, but he knew that his mother would have a fit given that Ginny had run off. She might suspect that he would do the same thing, and he didn’t want to put that kind of stress on her.

Instead he resigned himself to writing yet another letter to Luna when he was interrupted by a quiet knock on his door. “Ronald?” a female voice came through the thin wood. It certainly wasn’t his mother as his name had been heavily tainted by a French accent.

“Fleur?” he replied, curiously opening the door.

The tall, blonde beauty stood at his door, and Ron was temporarily stunned. Her being half-Veela had a tendency to do that to him.

“Ronald, I was ‘oping perhaps we might talk?” she asked, walking past him into his bedroom as he stared at her. “Eet is about the wedding,” she said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Ron was still staring open-mouthed at his brother’s fiancée, hardly believing that she’d voluntarily entered his bedroom, let alone sat on his bed.

Fleur giggled, realizing the effect that she had on the younger wizard. “Why, Ronald, eet appears as though you ‘ave ‘ad a Confundus Charm put on you!”

Ron stared some more.

Pointing her wand at Ron, Fleur muttered a few words. Ron quickly looked away, clearly embarrassed.

“Eet is a simple spell,” she explained. “I ‘ad to use it on your brother, Bill, to get ‘im to calm down enough for our first date!” she laughed, patting the space next to her on the bed. “Sit!” she commanded. “I ‘ave to ask you a favour.”

Ron nodded. Even with the spell Fleur had used on him, which apparently counteracted the Veela DNA running through her blood, he was still stunned that such a beautiful woman wanted to talk to him. He could barely form words. “Wh—what can I p—possibly do for you?” he asked, stammering in astonishment. Fleur needed a favour from him?

She nodded, the smile disappearing from her lips. “Eet is about Gabrielle,” she said, referring to her younger sister. Ron remembered the pretty young witch, having helped her out of the Hogwarts Lake during his fourth year when Harry and Fleur were competing in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. “She is going to be my maid of ‘onour, and though traditionally she would dance with the best man, both Bill and I felt that Charlie is too tall and too old for ‘er. We were—I was ‘oping that you would take Gabrielle to our wedding as your date. No romantic feelings towards ‘er required, I might add, but she would be more than ‘appy to go with you. Charlie would steel be ze best man, ov course, but I thought perhaps you would like to dance with Gabrielle.”

Ron was stunned. He had figured that he would be attending the wedding with Ginny, based on his mother’s plans for the wedding ceremony and his and Ginny’s positions in relation to Fleur and Bill. They would both be second, after Gabrielle and Charlie, meaning that they would walk down the aisle together and dance together at the ceremony. He had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined that a half-Veela witch who was close to his age would want to talk to him, let alone dance with him and be his date for the wedding.

All thoughts of Luna forgotten, Ron nodded vigorously. “I’ll do it!” he said, restraining himself from punching a celebratory fist into the air. His confidence boosted, Ron was able to act normally in Fleur’s presence for a short while. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Your mother sent me an owl about some plans she had made for ze wedding, and I wanted to look them over. She’s gotten this crazy idea into ‘er ‘ead about the cake…” Fleur rattled on about his mother’s ideas as Ron nodded in agreement with whatever she said. He was still mentally processing that he would be Gabrielle’s date to the wedding. He had seen pictures of Bill with Fleur’s family, and had seen how much Gabrielle had grown up in the three years since he’d last seen her. She was certainly able to compete with Fleur in the looks department.

“Ron! Fleur! Dinner’s ready and Bill’s already started making a grab for the food. You might want to hurry!” Molly Weasley’s voice echoed in Ron’s small bedroom.

Ron’s stomach growled loudly, as if on cue. He quickly forgot about Gabrielle, as he had about Luna, and bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. Fleur could barely keep up with him, but when the smell of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking reached her nostrils, she was matching Ron stair for stair into the kitchen.

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Hermione let out an exaggerated yawn, closing her book and setting back on the shelf. She and Harry had spent yet another day training in the exercise room and then researching in his parents’ library. She had been delighted to discover books on nearly every subject imaginable, but as it was getting late, she was more concerned with getting to bed.

She crawled across the floor and tugged at the book Harry was intently reading. The last few hours, Harry had begun to exhibit very Hermione-like behaviour, gobbling up the literature almost as fast as she did. He was making detailed notes, his hands splotched with ink in his hurry. Hermione had pointed out that he was messing up the books, so Harry quickly performed a few cleaning charms to rectify the mess he’d made.

Hermione could’ve sworn that, at one point, she saw him hug a book to his chest before placing it back on the shelf. She’d simply shrugged it off as her eyes playing tricks on her, but was secretly positive she’d seen it happen.

As she tugged harder at Harry’s book, he looked up at her with a cross frown on his face. Seizing her opportunity, Hermione snatched the book from his hands and put it back on the shelf.

“’Mione, I can’t believe you did that!” he cried in outrage.

Hermione looked at him in confusion. “Did what?”

Harry’s lower lip began to tremble as he fixed a distraught gaze on her. “You made me lose my page!” he cried.

She couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Oh, honestly, Harry, you’re acting like me!”

Harry continued to sulk as she dragged him into their bedroom. Thinking that she could easily distract him with her lips, Hermione began to plant kisses all over his forehead and cheeks, making sure to avoid his lips in the hopes that it would make him want to kiss her even more.

Almost angrily, Harry pushed Hermione off of himself and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over his head.

“Harry?” she said tentatively, sliding in next to him. “You okay?” She was most definitely confused. Harry never passed up an opportunity to kiss her.

He turned to face her, his features twisted into a glare.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked, reaching a hand out to his. “What did I do?”

Harry glared at her some more, uttering his words as he turned over on his side and pulled the covers back up. “You made me lose my page,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

Hermione was thoroughly bewildered. She sat in the dark, utterly confused. Rather than push the subject with Harry, she settled in for the night and tried to fall asleep.

A/N: Holy @$%@%$#^#^!!! I thought maybe I’d get a few more reviews on the last chapter from my asking for feedback, but 26? Not to mention 34 in total just from TODAY. I think my jaw just hit the floor. Honestly everyone, I REALLY appreciate the feedback and the reviews. I know that this story is written to chapter 24 (chapter 25 is kicking my ass right now :/) so there’s not much I can change but what I DO edit I write with the reviews in mind. Hopefully this chapter goes a bit towards clearing things up as to what’s going on with our favourite couple – it’s not a perfect explanation but there’ll be a few more things that will help you figure it out.

Disclaimer: Really, if there’s still some people out there who think I own Harry Potter.. I swear, if I did, I’d be eating the juiciest steak right now with a chocolate martini in one hand and a fork full of steak in the other, not a Lipton Soupworks chicken noodle bowl that is made in a microwave. AKA, it’s not mine.

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The bright, morning sun began to peek through the curtains in Harry and Hermione’s bedroom as it rose over the hilltops of Godric’s Hollow. The sunshine spread across the room, jolting Hermione wide-awake. To her eyes, which had been in darkness all night, the sudden illumination of the room was a shock. She quickly squeezed them shut as she dove under the covers to hide from the morning light.

As Hermione snuggled deeper under the covers, enjoying the warming sensation of the sun while avoiding it’s bright glare, she noticed that she was able to spread her arms and legs quite far without bumping into anything. Surprised, she braved the torturous sunlight to peek above the covers and check the bed.

Harry was nowhere to be found.

Feeling even more confused than she had last night, Hermione crept from beneath the sheets and donned an old robe Harry had left by the bed. It looked like his first year Quidditch robes, judging by the size, and Hermione supposed he had been looking them over for sentimental reasons. It was just short enough to resemble a nightshirt on her, and tight in all the right places. Padding silently down the hallway, she checked the bathroom and found nothing. Harry was not in the kitchen, the sitting room, and he most certainly wasn’t outside. There was only one place left that Hermione hadn’t checked. Recalling Harry’s words the previous night, she quickly made her way to the library.

Curled up there on the floor, with a scarlet and gold blanket bearing the Gryffindor crest covering his lower half and his back to the door where Hermione stood, Harry Potter was asleep. He looked so innocent as he lay there. His knees were tucked into his upper body, resembling the fetal position, while his arms were curled around a large brown pillow. From her vantage point, Harry reminded Hermione of a young boy snuggling his teddy bear. He looked quite cute, actually. Deciding to give Harry a proper wakeup call, Hermione crept around his sleeping form to see the peaceful expression on his face.

Dropping to her knees to plant a kiss on his lips, Hermione paused as her eyes studied what was in Harry’s arms. She knew there was a reason why the colouring of what she’d thought was a pillow had struck her as odd. James and Lily Potter had stuck to mostly Gryffindor-related colours in their house décor, and brown was certainly not red, scarlet, crimson, yellow, gold, or lemon. She bent down for a closer look, and her hands couldn’t react in time to hold in the uproar of laughter that tumbled from her lips.

Harry James Potter, The Chosen One, The Boy-Who-Lived, Quidditch Star and Hogwarts Champion, had fallen asleep cuddling the very book that Hermione had taken away from him the previous night.

Her outburst had shaken Harry from sleep as he began to twitch this way and that. Sleeping on the floor of the library apparently did not agree with him. Rolling over with a groan, Harry accidentally mashed his face into the spine of the book. He was too tired and suffering from too many cramps to care, and simply chose to lay there rather than antagonize his already sore muscles by attempting to move again.

Sitting back with a giggle, Hermione performed a few charms to alleviate Harry’s painful joints. “Wake up, silly!” she laughed, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

With another loud groan, Harry grumbled to himself as he pushed himself upwards into a sitting position. Hermione could’ve sworn she heard the phrase ‘lost page’ a few times, but chose to dismiss it in light of Harry’s embarrassing situation. She was still having trouble believing that her eyes had seen Harry sleeping with a book only a few minutes earlier.

As Harry turned to look at his girlfriend, another peal of laughter escaped her lips.

“Whuzzit?” he asked sleepily, letting out a yawn.

Hermione’s laughter quickly became uncontrollable as she was gasping for breath. As if the priceless image of Harry snuggling a book wasn’t enough, she was rewarded with another image to remember for the rest of her life.

Across the side of Harry’s face was the imprint “tnemeriuqeR fo kooB ehT”.

Apparently while he had been to sore to move his mashed face from the heavy tome’s spine, his skin had pressed so hard into the worn brown leather of the cover that the embossed title had transferred its indented image to his cheek. The effect was much like when one falls asleep with the covers twisted underneath them in a strange manner. The wrinkles in the sheets often transfer themselves to the skin.

Hermione got the distinct impression that Harry was a touch too tired to reprimand her for laughing so hard. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she settled down a bit, and grinned at him. “That book you fell asleep with? That you just squished the side of your face into? Well, the title of the book is now stuck on the side of your face.”

Harry was beginning to feel more awake now, and gave Hermione a disapproving stare. “Whom I keep for a bedfellow is none of your business!” he said haughtily, grabbing at the book and hugging it close to his chest.

“Find your page yet?” she taunted him, deciding that the best way to deal with his strange behaviour was to tease him mercilessly about it.

Turning away from her, Harry cradled the heavy volume in his lap. “Yes, I did,” he muttered. “It only took me three hours, mind you, but your snatching the book away from me really wasn’t necessary!”

“Oh, come off it, Harry, you were acting like me! I’m the bookworm in this relationship, and don’t you forget it!” she teased, grasping his shoulders in a strong, yet feminine hold. When Harry didn’t reply, she took to kneading and massaging the muscles in his shoulders, providing additional relief from the cramps due to his sleep on the library floor.

Harry leaned into her hands as they did their work, erasing the aches from his sore shoulders and back. He gradually let the book slide onto the floor as Hermione’s hands worked lower and lower until they found themselves at the hem of his t-shirt. Quickly ensnaring the fabric in her grasp, Hermione swiftly pulled the shirt over his unruly mop of black hair and tossed it aside on a chair. Her nimble fingers continued their task as her hands wandered back up Harry’s spine and across his shoulders. In the blink of an eye Hermione had switched her position so that she was in front of Harry, straddling his outstretched legs. Entangling her fingers in his raven hair, Hermione kissed Harry more passionately than she ever had before. Hormones raging, Hermione grabbed Harry’s hands and wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing them closer together. Her fingers worked between their bodies at the drawstring of Harry’s pyjama pants, quickly working the knot free and allowing her to slip her hands beneath the waistband.

It was at that particular moment that Harry noticed Hermione had left their bedroom wearing nothing but his old Quidditch robes from his first year as Seeker. Literally, nothing but his old robes. In Hermione’s haste to figure out where he had ended up spending the night, she’d forgotten to don a pair of knickers before leaving the bedroom. Harry’s body sprang to attention as he snapped out of his book reverie, noticing exactly how close he was about to get to his girlfriend. Though he had been in this position quite a few times before, there was something different about Hermione this time around. Something didn’t seem right.

“Hermione,” he said in a commanding tone, demanding her attention.

She paused to gaze at him from beneath her lowered lids, her hands only slowing for a moment in their attempt to lower Harry’s waistband even further. “Mmm?” she responded, nuzzling his earlobe with her lips.

Fighting with every decent bone in his body—to Harry, there was only one indecent one at that time and, even though it was heavily outnumbered by the rest of the bones in his body, it was still winning—he did his best to dispel Hermione’s actions.

It was when Harry began to feel a draft on his nether regions that he finally managed to take control of the situation.

With every ounce of control Harry possessed, he deftly knocked Hermione off of his lap and onto the floor while positioning himself over her. He kept her arms pinned to her sides as his stare bore into her.

“Hermione Jane Granger, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?” he asked incredulously.

Hermione’s answer was a small, yet discernible upward thrust of her hips, her upper thighs grazing against Harry’s.

Taking a deep breath as he realized just how close Hermione had come to him slipping inside of her, Harry scrambled to put his pyjama pants back to normal. No matter how often he had fantasized about Hermione accosting him in such a similar manner, he knew that taking their relationship to that kind of level was something they were definitely not ready for. Sure, they steadily fooled around, but it was nothing overly serious. His girlfriend’s thrusting hips were mimicking something that Harry, despite desperately wanting to, knew he shouldn’t do. At least, not just yet. Voldemort was still on their backs and it would seem wrong to, well… Harry didn’t want to talk himself out of it so he chose to ignore it instead.

“Woman, you are acting just like me! A randy teenaged prat who can’t help but push himself at you from time to time! This isn’t the Hermione I know; what’s gotten into you?”

Hermione’s face darkened in anger. “What’s gotten into me!? How about what’s gotten into you, Mister Potter? ‘You made me lose my page!’” she mimicked, tossing the book back at him from its forgotten place on the floor. “I tried to kiss you last night and all you could do as whine about how I’d bloody well made you lose your page!”

Fighting to get out of Harry’s grip, Hermione rose from the floor and glared at him. She could feel the heat from the ring against her chest, and saw a similar glow coming from Harry’s own ring. “Harry,” she whispered, pointedly staring at his chest.

Harry paused in his confused anger long enough to realize what she was staring at. “The rings,” he said softly, instantaneously calming down.

“Something tells me we really need to sort out what’s going on with these rings. I bet your parents never acted like this; why is it affecting us so much?” Hermione pondered, calming down. She sat back in a chair, her hormones suddenly slowing down. “I would never go at you like that!”

“And why the hell would I care so much if you made me lose a page?” Harry chuckled. “Although, this book is pretty special.” Continuing to sit on the floor, Harry held the book that Hermione had thrown at him only moments earlier. Suddenly a look of astonishment crossed his girlfriend’s face.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!” she gasped, dropping to her knees. She lightly ran her fingers over the tome’s front cover, in all its brown leather embossed glory.

“See what?” Harry asked, prodding her on. He knew how Hermione was with books, and was surprised she hadn’t noticed earlier.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she read the title of the book. “How could I not have realized earlier? When you got the imprint of the book on your face I was too busy laughing at you to realize what it said! It was backwards, but still!”

Harry grinned, glad that for once, he had discovered the book that held the key to everything they needed rather than Hermione snatching it up first.

“The Book of Requirement,” she breathed, snatching it from Harry’s grasp for the second time in twenty-four hours. She couldn’t dare open the pages, she was still in awe of what the title entailed.

“Sound familiar?” Harry smirked. “Maybe now you see why I was so mad that you made me lose my page!”

Hermione nodded. “Of course, of course…but to walk past a book three times while thinking? You weren’t walking around last night.”

“The book isn’t exactly like the Room of Requirement, Hermione. All you have to do is hold the book closed and think of what information you need it to contain. Concentrate hard enough, open the book, and whatever page you open it to will hold the facts you need. If you close it, though, you’ll have to start all over again.”

Hermione spent the next hour thinking of trivial things and squealing in delight when the book displayed exactly what she had requested. While she entertained herself, Harry retrieved the notes he had been making from the book the previous night. While Hermione was concentrating on the book, he slipped them on top of the cover. When she opened her eyes she noticed the parchment in front of her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“My notes,” he replied, sitting across from her. “I was asking the book some very important information last night.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she began to scan the page. “It can tell you all of this?”

He nodded, a grim smile spreading across his face. “It won’t necessarily make things easier, but they’ll certainly go by a lot quicker with the help of the book.”

She couldn’t help but agree as she thumbed through his notes. There were maps of England, Scotland, and Ireland, all resembling some hastily sketched treasure map. There were numerous pages of Harry’s scribbled writing; specific details and instructions.

Silently handing the book back to Harry, she willed him to continue with his work from the previous night. “Three down,” she said quietly. “You’ve got all the work for two more, so you’d better finish the third one and be done with it.”

Agreeing with his girlfriend, Harry set his attentions back to the book while she conjured up some breakfast for the two of them. Hermione sat in silence, with the exception of the crunch her toast made as she chewed, watching Harry as he learned the most valuable information of his life from an obscure textbook that he had randomly discovered in his parents’ library.

<><><><><>

Ginny Weasley’s mind was spinning as she found herself unceremoniously Portkeyed to an undisclosed location in Wizarding London. Peter Pettigrew was at her side, and gave her a curt nod as they landed.

“You have the Portkey?” he checked, glancing at her pocket.

Ginny regretfully withdrew her hand from her jacket pocket, showing Pettigrew the Portkey that Lord Voldemort had forced her to make. She had been considerably drained for a few days afterwards, but after some time to recover and a few mysterious potions from Severus Snape, the Dark Lord felt that she was ready to begin her task.

“And you remember where I said you could find Harry Potter?” Pettigrew seemed to be running through a mental checklist that Voldemort had given to him before leaving.

Again, Ginny had to admit to Pettigrew that she did. She was silently struggling with herself not to follow Voldemort’s orders, but even the slightest inkling of a thought of doing so would cause her an incredible amount of pain. She silently cursed the Witch of Wizard who invented the Obeir potion.

Pettigrew continued to run through his list, ensuring that Ginny had not only the Portkey and the knowledge of Potter’s location, but her new wand (courtesy of Gregorovitch, who was apparently more than willing to supply illegal wands to Death Eaters), both Muggle and Wizarding money, a Portkey that would return her, and only her, to Riddle Manor for further instruction, and a small charmed bag that expanded to hold what meagre belongings she had thought to bring with her.

“After all,” Voldemort had sneered when he’d thrown the bag at her, “We wouldn’t want anyone to think anything out of the ordinary of young Miss Weasley, now would we?”

Apparently his plan to have her parents believe she was staying with a friend had been executed flawlessly, and should any of her real friends turn up she was armed with an excuse thanks to Voldemort’s instructions.

“Well, I’d best be off then,” Wormtail patted his own jacket pocket with his silver hand, as if reassuring himself that he was not carrying anything that should have gone to Ginny. “You know how to get in contact if necessary.” With that he was off, Apparating himself back to Riddle Manor.

Ginny found herself alone in an alleyway, which she quickly stumbled out of. As she began to get a hold of her location, she realized that she had been brought into Knockturn Alley. In a blind panic, Ginny ran towards the lighter end of the street, bursting out into Diagon Alley. It was late evening and the majority of witches and wizards that still lingered in the popular magical shopping district were making their way for The Leaky Cauldron. Knowing that the bar was the only way to get back into Muggle London, Ginny quickly cast a Disillusionment charm on herself and made her way through the older folk heading through the brick passageway.

Accidentally trodding on the toes of an older wizard, Ginny found herself making a mad dash for the front door before anyone could blame the incident on her. She was fully aware of the fact that she was invisible to everyone at the moment, but she was among a crowd of accredited adult wizards who more than knew what a Disillusionment charm was. She quickly removed the charm as she exited the bar onto the sidewalk, gasping for breath. As much as it pained her to do so, Ginny held out her wand hand. She didn’t know her way around Muggle London, and was certainly not going to find her way to Harry Potter’s location by walking.

Moments later a large, purple triple-decker bus appeared in front of her.

Stan Shunpike, the conductor, opened his mouth to make his welcoming speech when Ginny quickly cut him off. She shoved coins into his hands, ignoring the greasy grin on his face as he looked her up and down. “Godric’s Hollow,” she said sadly, taking a bed on the right hand side before Shunpike could say anything further.

He peeked into his palm and saw two gleaming golden Galleons resting there. Seeing as the basic fare was only eleven Sickles, he gaped. He chose not to push his luck with the young redhead, and left her alone, keeping the change from her fare for himself.

“Take it away, Ernie!” he said cheerfully, trying not to notice the sullen look on Ginny’s face. The bus lurched forward with a loud bang as Ginny was thrown backwards onto the feather mattress. She made a grab for the brass railing at the head of the bed, and barely managed to grab on before the bus sped towards Godric’s Hollow. Ginny couldn’t help but wonder just how Shunpike was being so cheery. She remembered his false imprisonment in Azkaban earlier, and she knew that when Sirius Black had escaped the wizard prison he was nearly mad. She shrugged it off, reasoning that it was a trivial matter in the big picture, and held on for the ride.

<><><><><>

Inside the Headmistress’ Office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall found herself face to face with the portrait of her predecessor, Albus Dumbledore. They had been having quite a long chat about Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and Dumbledore’s portrait was concerned with the young wizard’s recent actions.

“They have James and Lily’s rings,” Minerva admitted, refusing to look the former Headmaster in the eye.

“I suppose Harry finally got into the Potter family vault, then?” Dumbledore replied, sighing.

McGonagall shook her head. “Gringotts apparently finally got around to organizing things for Potter in regards to the Potter Family Estate, the Black Family Estate, and your estate. Everything’s been moved into one vault for him.”

Dumbledore eyed her curiously from his portrait. “How do you know that?”

Minerva crossed her arms and gave Albus a look that seemed to say ‘How stupid do you think I am?’

“Albus, you and I both know very well that you have charmed Harry’s trust fund vault to ensure that he is always financially stable. When you died, nothing changed about that. The goblins at Gringotts enlarged Harry’s trust fund vault to accommodate everything, as that’s the vault he knows. It was easier for him that way. I have his vault statement right here, if you’d care to see it. It’s still as charmed as the day you cast the spell.”

McGonagall held the parchment up to the portrait for Dumbledore to take a look at.

“I see your point, Minerva,” he admitted. “About the rings… I’m assuming the Order knows Harry’s location?”

“He sends word every three days so that we know he’s alright,” McGonagall assured him.

“Next time he sends an owl, send a response. Invite Harry and Hermione to the castle to stay for a bit. I’d like to have a talk with them, if they wouldn’t mind.”

Minerva nodded, already pulling out a quill and fresh parchment to compose her letter on. “Potter is set on some mission right now, you know. He may not be coming back to Hogwarts this fall.”

“Just send the letter, Minerva. I can take care of the rest,” Dumbledore smiled, that familiar twinkle in his eye gleaming at her from his painted stance in the canvas.

With a sigh, Minerva began to scratch her quill across the parchment, preparing it for when Harry’s owl should arrive the next day.

A/N: I’d like to start out with a very heartfelt thank you to Mathiasgranger of FF.net. He spent some time with me on MSN Messenger working out a few kinks in the story, and answering several of my questions. He’s helped a lot in the ongoing productivity of the story, and I’m grateful for it.

This chapter’s a bit longer than usual, and there isn’t much difference from the FF.net version, but there also isn’t much room for fluff in this part of the story. Some questions will be answered and I know there’s a few people out there looking forward to what’s about to happen. :o)

Disclaimer: If Harry Potter belonged to me, he would have cut in for a dance with Hermione at the Yule Ball and snogged her senseless in front of everyone. Since that didn’t happen, it’s clearly not mine.

<><><><><>

A loud bang announced the arrival of the vividly purple Knight Bus in Godric’s Hollow. It was late evening, and there were few muggles about to witness the triple-decker’s arrival in the village. Ginny Weasley exited the bus, avoiding Stan Shunpike’s curious gaze. He hadn’t said much to the young witch throughout the brief journey other than to hang onto something each time the bus Apparated, and he couldn’t help but be curious about her. There was no doubt that she was attractive, and yet she refused to use her good looks to her advantage. Had she flirted with him like many of the young witches that rode the bus did, he would have offered her a mug of hot cocoa free of charge. Instead, Ginny had taken to avoiding the greasy-faced conductor, remaining silent for the entire journey.

“Have a good night, now! And thanks for choosing the Knight Bus!” Shunpike called out after her in a last ditch effort to elicit a response.

Ginny heard his voice, but kept her back to him and continued walking. She recalled some of Voldemort’s additional instructions. ‘Avoid anyone who isn’t necessary to your task, and don’t get comfortable with anyone. I don’t want to take any chances in this mission failing.’ He’d hissed at her, suspecting that the youngest Weasley might spend several valuable hours attempting to find a loophole in his instructions despite telling her there weren’t any. He had been right, as she had spent the rest of her time in the chamber desperately attempting to think of a way out of things. Unless she killed herself, there wasn’t much else she could do.

“Strange bird, that one,” Stan turned to the driver, Ernie, as he prepared to set the bus in motion again. His comment went unnoticed as Ernie was having a difficult time peering through the thick lenses of his glasses, trying to decide which gear to throw the bus into.

The thought of suicide had been something Ginny had entertained ever since Voldemort first revealed that she would die if she failed. Considering how she had put Harry’s life at risk with her love potion, she found the situation greatly ironic. Harry had warned all of his friends that a close association with him could prove greatly dangerous, and while they listened and took his warning to heart, not a single one of them would have thought it would really happen. If she sacrificed herself to make sure that Voldemort would have a more difficult time getting his hands on Harry, she knew that at least she would have redeemed herself in the eyes of her family and friends.

As Ginny continued to contemplate the manners in which she could end her own life, the crack of the Knight Bus Disapparating gave her a start. She turned to glare in the direction of the bus, as she silently felt thankful that Stan Shunpike would now be far away from her. She had seen the looks he had been sending in her direction, and felt that uncomfortable would not be strong enough a word to describe how it made her feel.

Struggling to remember the specifics that Peter Pettigrew had learned about Godric’s Hollow as he attempted to learn Harry’s location, Ginny found herself drawn to what appeared to be the town’s main street. Due to the late hour there were very few things open, and the young witch found herself wandering past several dark store windows. She hadn’t a lot of experience in muggle towns, and had only a brief knowledge of what any of the stores could be. She recognized a few bookshops and stationary stores, as books and paper weren’t that much different between magical and non-magical worlds. They were, at the very least, universally recognizable as reading and writing material.

A few more darkened windows drew Ginny’s attention, and she soon found herself peering into a muggle hair salon. She was fascinated by the large number of hair products and appliances, and spent a few spare moments pondering over their uses. She continued along the street, feeling that there would soon be something that would draw her attention.

Sure enough, there was soon a string of lighted windows in a row, and quite a bit of raucous laughter coming from within the walls of the shop. Upon closer inspection, she could see several young adults beyond the windows. She glanced up at the sign above the door. Godric’s Watering Hole, it read in ornate script across an antique looking wooden sign. Ginny found that rather odd. It was an old-fashioned looking sign, and old-fashioned sounding name, and from what she could see of the décor inside what appeared to be a bar, it was relatively old-fashioned as well. And yet, from what she could tell by looking at the crowd inside, there was a fairly large number of teenagers dancing, drinking, and socializing. As the legal drinking age in England was eighteen and a fair number of the people in attendance appeared to be roughly Ginny’s age, she was surprised to see the majority of them carrying beer bottles and other alcoholic beverages in their hands. Not to mention that the contrast between the youth of the group and the age of the building was something worthy of noting in itself.

The redheaded witch made a move to enter the bar when a twinge of pain coursed through her body. She couldn’t understand what had caused it, and looked down at herself to see if there was anything she had missed. Of course! Voldemort had been specific in his instructions to make sure that nothing appeared out of the ordinary while Ginny was completing his task, and her wardrobe would certainly not fit in with that of the muggle teen crowd inside of Godric’s Watering Hole. She had forgotten that Godric’s Hollow was a muggle town, thanks to its namesake being one of the Hogwarts founders. Entering the bar wearing her normal wizarding robes would definitely cause a stir, even if she avoided talking to anyone. She would attract attention simply for looking out of place.

Understanding now why the Obeir potion had caused her pain simply for attempting to enter a muggle bar, Ginny realized just how difficult this was going to be for her. She was nowhere near perfect, nor completely capable of performing the tasks of a dark wizard. Ginny had the distinct feeling that following Voldemort’s orders was going to be a lot harder than she’d originally thought. Of course she had taken into consideration the fact that she did not want to do anything that the Dark Lord had ordered to do, but she knew that she would immediately die if she failed. She still held some small hope within her that when she arrived at Harry’s hiding place, there would be a way for her to warn him of what was happening and somehow save him. She knew that seducing him as she had been ordered would be the most difficult part, as both he and Hermione no longer trusted her. Getting him away from the older witch would be a task in itself, she realized, and feared that the potion may consider that alone to be a failure and strike her dead before she even had a chance to try to warn Harry.

Using her new wand, Ginny transfigured her robes into muggle clothing; similar to what she could see the girls inside wearing. She was reluctant to use her new, illegal wand and yet still hoped that the Ministry of Magic would detect the fact that she was underage. Sadly, she knew that wouldn’t happen. Not only was Gregorovitch willing to supply random wands to Death Eaters, he was more than happy to fail to report the purchase to the Ministry for the compensation of several Galleons. Ollivander was a much more reputable wand maker and always complied with Ministry rules and guidelines. Gregorovitch, however, was the second best wandmaker for a reason. Though he did make quality wands, his business ethics had lost him quite a bit of popularity with the wizarding public.

When Ginny had been required to have a new wand, Voldemort had summoned Gregorovitch to Riddle Manor, having a lackey Portkey the man in to avoid his locating the manor once again. He had brought a large supply of wands in his trunk at the instruction of the Dark Lord, prepared to outfit Ginny Weasley with a brand new, very powerful wand. Voldemort had demanded a top of the line model for the blood traitor, much to her own surprise. She had expected to receive perhaps a hand-me-down wand from one of his captured or killed Death Eaters and had been prepared to make due. She was not prepared to discover that Voldemort fully intended on ensuring that she was capable of following his orders. He had explained to her in great, gloating detail that he wanted her to have a powerful working wand so as to ensure her success. After all, if she had an experience similar to Neville Longbottom and his father’s hand-me-down wand or Ron when his had been Spellotaped together, Voldemort’s entire plan would have been ruined. He wasn’t taking chances anymore, and made sure that Ginny’s new wand was high quality.

It was eleven and a half inches long, made of birch with a dragon heartstring as a core. She felt that the wand was excessively long for her stature, but kept the concern to herself. Gregorovitch had been pleased at the wand’s reaction to her, and assured the Dark Lord that it would be suitable for the task at hand. As much as Ginny hated to use it, she knew that there was no chance of saving or warning Harry if she didn’t go through, for the most part, with her instructions.

Her transfigured robes had become a tight pair of flared denim jeans, and a snug-fitting navy blue t-shirt. Feeling properly dressed for the location, Ginny pushed the front door to Godric’s Watering Hole open, and stepped inside.

Immediately, several heads swung in her direction in confusion. Ginny wasn’t used to small towns, and had no idea that practically everyone in Godric’s Hollow knew whom each other was. Several of the boys stared at her, taking in her pretty features and giving her appreciative looks. The girls just glared at her, not impressed with her intrusion into what appeared to be a party. Ginny hadn’t seen the banner from outside the window that was spread across the bar. It spelled out ‘Happy Birthday!’ and there was a lone figure standing underneath it, holding a bottle of beer in his hand.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the many glares she was receiving from the female population of the bar, Ginny made her way straight towards the lone boy at the bar. She was guessing by the fact that he was wearing the only party hat in the room that it was his birthday, and felt that the best way to introduce herself would be to make friends with the birthday boy.

Using every ounce of feminine charm she had, Ginny smiled at the young man. “Hi! I’m new around here, my name’s Ginny. I don’t mean to interrupt your party, but I was out for a late walk and when I saw so many people my age, I had to see what was going on.”

The boy stared at her, almost as if he were uncertain as to whether or not he should take her words for the truth. He had chestnut brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Ginny decided they reminded her of icicles on a winter morning.

The teens continued to stand there, staring at each other for a few moments. Ginny took the time to continue to observe the appearance of the boy standing in front of her. She had about as much experience dealing with magic-ignorant muggles as she did with small towns and fellytones, but she knew an attractive guy when she saw one. Besides the shock of shiny brown hair on his head and his unusual eyes, the boy was about a foot taller than her and relatively muscular. She supposed that there must not be much else to do in the tiny town than exercise, and a quick glance at the other boys in the room told her she was right. Nearly every one of them was as solidly built as the one standing in front of her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an introduction. “I’m Matthew,” he said, holding out his hand.

Ginny was thoroughly confused. Being a pureblood brought up in the magical world, and not having many muggle friends other than Hermione, she didn’t know what to do with his hand. She knew that couples held hands, but that was usually at their sides, and when they were walking or sitting together. His hand was extended in front of him, and not palm upwards as if he were offering a dance.

Hoping she was doing the right thing, Ginny held her breath and reached her hand out to touch Matthew’s. He grasped her palm firmly with his fingers, and gently pumped her hand up and down a few times.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Matthew smiled back at her, releasing her small hand from his grip. Ginny dropped her arm to her side, confused as to what this gesture meant. She supposed it was some type of muggle greeting, but didn’t want to embarrass herself by saying anything, just in case. “Sorry about the staring,” he said sheepishly. “It’s just that the last unfamiliar girl that was spotted in town was driving a BMW roadster a few days ago, and she’s only been seen once. I was trying to decide if you were that girl, but your hair is red and I heard hers was brown.”

Ginny’s heart sank. While she had no idea that Harry had purchased a convertible in London, she knew that the only unfamiliar girl in this town with brown hair would be Hermione. Even though she’d known the older witch would be with Harry, Ginny was reminded of how difficult it would be to get him to talk to her alone. Especially considering how angry Hermione was at her for giving Harry a love potion.

Struggling to laugh, Ginny attempted to hide her discontent from Matthew. “I definitely wouldn’t be driving a BMW anyway. I’ve only just gotten my license, I don’t think anyone would be willing to trust me with an expensive car.”

Ginny silently thanked Hermione for telling her a bit more about muggle customs, such as obtaining a driver’s license. She knew that BMWs were a top of the line vehicle thanks to her father, who took to collecting muggle models of the little racing cars. He often animated them and spent a day in the tool shed, racing them around as though he were a Nascar driver. His fondness for Muggle contraptions had become infectious and he often shared with Ginny the stories of Nascar races he heard from his Muggleborn coworkers.

“I don’t much like BMWs anyway,” Matthew admitted. “They’re too common. Everyone and their great-aunt has a BMW. I’d rather have something a little more rare, like a Lamborghini.”

Vaguely recalling what a Lamborghini resembled from her father’s collection, Ginny couldn’t help but think that the brand name sounded more like a type of pasta than a fast Italian car. Rather than get herself too far into a conversation about muggle cars than she could handle, Ginny abruptly changed the subject. “So it’s your birthday?” she asked, pointedly glancing at his hat.

A flush crept across Matthew’s cheeks. Ginny couldn’t help but notice that the tiniest of freckles appeared when he blushed. “Yeah, I’m seventeen. My friends thought it’d be fun to throw a party, but I honestly would’ve rather stayed home. I’m not the type to come out and drink.”

“You’re not old enough, either,” Ginny reminded him. She at least knew that the muggle drinking age was eighteen.

“True, but my dad owns the bar. He keeps telling me that he’d rather me be drinking and get sloshed under his supervision than somewhere else, where something bad could happen to me.”

Ginny agreed with the statement, and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt knowing that her mother would grossly overreact to such an idea. She’d once found an empty bottle of Firewhisky in Fred and George’s room, and even though they were honestly using it solely for the purpose of developing their joke products (or so they claimed), Mrs. Weasley had still thrown a fit.

“So, I know this might sound a bit strange, but what more can you tell me about the girl in the BMW? My family just moved here, but a friend of mine moved here years ago when I was really young. I don’t know what she’d look like now, and I know she mostly keeps to herself. If it’s her, she likes to read a lot and has her own private library, so that’s why you probably wouldn’t recognize her. She wouldn’t spend much time in town.” Ginny silently prayed that the boy might know more than he was letting on.

“She came from the edge of town, that’s for sure. We’d know if anyone downtown had a BMW. She had long brown hair, but I don’t know what colour her eyes were. I’ve never seen her up close. Just saw her zipping off towards London a few days ago, and she came back later that afternoon.”

Ginny breathed excitedly. “Any idea which house she might live in?” She paused for a moment, realizing that if it really were a friend of hers who had moved away, she should know that. She quickly decided to make up an explanation. “I used to have her address, but I lost it. I was about seven when she moved, and I wasn’t very good at keeping papers organized.”

Matthew seemed to accept this, and nodded. “I think I know which house she might be in, but it would be kind of weird if it were that one. Years ago this family used to live there, my dad told me. At least, he thinks they lived there. It was the same year I was born. He swore he saw a young couple moving in with their baby one day, but he never saw them again after that afternoon. Ever since then, no one’s lived there. That’s the only place I can think of your friend being, as I pretty much know where everyone else lives.”

Accepting this, Ginny nodded and smiled. “Well, thanks so much for helping me out. I’ll quit interrupting your party now. Maybe my friend is awake and I can go visit her. Do you mind pointing me in the right direction?”

Nodding, Matthew escorted her to the door of Godric’s Watering Hole. He pointed down the street and offered directions, explaining to Ginny the best way to get there. She thanked him, offered another cheerful ‘Happy Birthday!’, and turned to leave.

“Uh… Ginny?” he called after her.

She turned and faced him. “Yes?”

“If you ever want to, you know, hang out… You can usually find me here. I’m working with my dad for the summer, so…”

Ginny couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay. I’ll see you around, Matthew.” She waved, and headed off into the night.

Matthew stood at the door of the bar, watching as she left. He exhaled, silently thanking God that he had managed not to make a complete fool of himself with such a pretty girl. He hoped that she’d come back and visit him soon, and headed inside to continue standing alone at the bar while all of his friends drank themselves into a stupor.

<><><><><>

Enjoying his breakfast in the kitchen as he looked over his notes from the Book of Requirement, Harry was surprised to see Hermione’s owl, Atheos, flapping towards the window, returning from his letter run with an envelope in his beak. Hermione had named the owl over breakfast one morning, claiming that Atheos was an ancient Greek word for wise. She had argued that since owls were a symbol of the ancient Greek goddess Athena, and Athena was known for her wisdom, she should name the owl accordingly.

Harry had begged her not to name the owl Athena, as it was clearly male. The owl had also hooted his indignation at a girly name, and Hermione had relented, choosing an alternate word instead. Atheos was close enough to the goddess’s name, and masculine enough to satisfy both Harry and the owl’s male pride.

It was not Atheos’ first mail run to let the Order know that the two young teens were safe, and it was highly unlikely that he had not been able to deliver the letter. Harry was confused as to whether the envelope would be the letter he had sent out, or a reply from whoever had received it.

As Atheos gracefully swooped through the kitchen window, he dropped the letter in Harry’s lap and landed lightly on the kitchen counter. Harry tossed the owl a few strips of his bacon as a reward before he turned back to the letter. He knew that Hermione would have a fit if she saw him feeding the owl bacon (not only was it greasy and fatty, it definitely wasn’t an owl treat), but he knew that the owl was beginning to prefer bacon to treats. It would be a secret that remained between the two of them, and Atheos had seemed to understand that he would have to make due with owl treats from Hermione, but Harry would always slip him some bacon.

Allowing the owl to contentedly snap his beak at the bacon strips on the counter, Harry hurriedly ripped the letter open. He had a feeling that he should be sharing it with Hermione, but as she was doing her morning yoga routine in the exercise room, he decided against disturbing her.

Harry’s eyes scanned the letter, his heart feeling mixed emotions.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I must admit that I am pleased to hear that once again, both you and Miss Granger remain safe. However, there are a few matters that I believe need attending to here at Hogwarts.

Shortly before his death, Professor Dumbledore had commissioned his own wizard portrait. It has finally been completed, and is relatively up to date. The last time Professor Dumbledore visited with the wizard painter to update his portrait was only a few days before his death, therefore resulting in the portrait being well informed. Since its arrival at the castle, I have taken the liberty of having several conversations with his portrait, and he now fully understands the circumstances of his death, as well as the current holiday situation.

Professor Dumbledore’s portrait has asked me to invite both you and Miss Granger to keep us both company here at Hogwarts for a week or two. He is not only concerned for your welfare, but upon learning that the two of you have your parents’ wedding rings, he insisted that I invite you to the castle. He would desperately like to talk with you in regards to several things he claims I don’t need to know about. Also, he has just reminded me to inform you that he can explain to you more thoroughly the magical powers behind your parents’ rings, and the effects they may be having on you. He would also have me inform you that you are not to worry if either of you seem to be acting out of character, and more like each other. Apparently it is normal.

Please send your reply back with your charming new owl. I did my best to keep Hedwig from spotting him, but I’m afraid that Hagrid was just bringing her up to the office to ask if he could send her back to you as your new owl arrived. He feels that she has been homesick and lonely, and that she misses you. I should warn you, there might be some jealousy to deal with when you see Hedwig again.

Warmest regards,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

As much as Harry had made up his mind long ago that he wouldn’t be attending Hogwarts in September, the news of Dumbledore’s portrait stirred up feelings of longing that hadn’t been there before. He missed his dorm room, the warm Gryffindor common room, and the castle itself. He couldn’t deny that he missed Hedwig as much as she missed him, but he knew how recognizable she was as his owl, and didn’t want to put her in harm’s way.

It had been silly for him not to think that Dumbledore would have a portrait up following his death, but all the same, it hurt him to hear the truth. He had always secretly wished that Dumbledore had faked his own death, and had really survived the attack that fateful night. Of course, as far as Harry knew, only a deceased wizard could successfully have a wizarding portrait like those of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses in the Head’s office. This could only mean that Dumbledore truly had died that night, which hurt Harry more than it should have. After all, he had accepted his former Headmaster’s death and attended his funeral. It just was hard for him to realize that he really was gone.

Despite his sadness over Dumbledore’s death, Harry couldn’t help but feel excited that his portrait wanted to meet with him. He was hoping that Dumbledore might be able to share some insight on his and Hermione’s hunt for the Horcruxes, and he was more than eager to tell him about the destruction of Gryffindor’s shield.

“What are you reading, Harry?” Hermione interrupted his thoughts. She was standing behind him, doing her best to pretend she didn’t see the bacon crumbs that Atheos had left on the counter. While Harry had been reading McGonagall’s letter, he hadn’t noticed Atheos flying back out of the window to chase some mice.

“McGonagall sent a letter back with Atheos,” he answered, handing it to her.

Hermione’s eyes quickly scanned the letter, brightening as she reached the part about the rings. “Dumbledore’s portrait can explain these?” she asked rhetorically, fingering the two gold rings lying against her chest. She felt somewhat guilty that they hadn’t been using the mental connection that they had very often, but knew that if they spent their time not only in solitude but in silence as well, they would go crazy.

“So when do we leave?” she asked, returning the letter to Harry.

He shrugged. “As soon as it’s okay with McGonagall, I suppose. As soon as Atheos gets back from outside, I’ll send a reply with him.”

The young couple spent the remainder of their morning researching the Horcruxes with the Book of Requirement, awaiting Atheos’ return from his mouse hunt. Sometime around mid-afternoon Atheos returned with a familiar redhead in tow.

“Ginny?!” both Harry and Hermione exclaimed in astonishment. They knew that she wasn’t privy to Order information, and that she would not have been allowed anywhere near a meeting after the love potion incident. How on earth did she find them?

Wary of the young witch’s intentions, Harry and Hermione chose to meet her at the front door of the house. That way they could easily keep her at arm’s length if they wanted to.

Atheos led her around to the front door and flew into the house, leaving Ginny behind on the doorstep. She glanced nervously at the couple, clearly embarrassed.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, her voice grave and restrained. It was taking every ounce of self-control she had not to throttle Ginny right then and there for what she’d done to Harry.

Harry chose to remain passive, standing back and waiting for the younger girl’s response. He pasted a non-committal look on his face in the hopes of appearing as though he couldn’t care one way or another why she was there.

“I had to see you,” she said hastily, pleased when her reply didn’t cause her any pain. Assuming that the potion thought that her words could be taken in a romantic way, she took a deep breath and steeled herself against the ache she knew was coming. “Something horrible is going to happen.” A searing jolt of pain coursed through Ginny’s spine, her nerve endings on fire. There was no fooling the potion this time. Her knees went weak and she was barely able to stand. Determined to at least get some essence of the truth out, she screwed up her face in concentration as she tried to find the best way to word it without making things worse.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look of concern. Hermione took that moment as the perfect opportunity to start using their mind link again. What’s she playing at? She said almost rudely, thinking that Ginny was faking whatever she was trying to pull.

Harry could only stare at the redheaded witch, his heart truly going out to her. She looked as though she were suffering from the Cruciatus curse, and that puzzled Harry. No one had cast it on her in their presence, she hadn’t cast it on herself, and she had been perfectly fine before she started talking. After having suffered the Cruciatus at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries two years prior, Harry could tell that Ginny was sincerely in pain.

Ignoring Hermione’s mental call to him, Harry dropped to his knees in front of the younger witch and drew her into his arms. All animosity he’d felt towards her faded as he felt her shudder in attempts to draw breath. “Ginny, what’s going on? Did someone curse you? You can tell me,” he pleaded, not wanting to see her in such pain. Even if she’d tricked him with a love potion and unintentionally put him at risk, he didn’t want to see her suffering from what appeared to be an Unforgivable Curse.

Ginny’s body felt like there were hot knives slicing into every inch of her skin and she was being roasted alive, but she fought through the pain. She had made up her mind earlier that morning. She would do her best to warn Harry about the potion she was under, and if she couldn’t find the correct wording to do it without killing herself, she would use her new wand and take her own life. Ginny would much rather do it on her own terms than on Voldemort’s.

“Curse…pain…hurts so much…” she spluttered, fighting for breath.

Hermione realized that this was not at all a fake attempt at securing Harry’s attention, and immediately ran inside the house.

Though confused by his girlfriend’s actions, Harry remained focused on Ginny and did his best to help her. He cast a few simple healing charms he had picked up from his parents’ library, hoping to alleviate her pain.

These seemed to help, as Ginny suddenly blurted out, “Kidnap you!”

Hermione rushed back through the front door in time to hear Ginny’s words, clutching the Book of Requirement in her hands. She opened her mouth to say something to Harry, but immediately stopped at the sight in Harry’s arms.

Upon uttering those words, Ginny had gone completely rigid. Her eyes had rolled back into her head as she lost consciousness, slumping in Harry’s arms. The pain had been too much for her to take.

“Dammit!” Harry swore, lifting Ginny from the front stoop. “Where the hell did you run off to?” he questioned Hermione, carrying the younger witch into the house.

She held up the book as a feeble offering. “I—I thought it might help,” she stammered. “Surely the book would be able to tell us what kind of magic could do this to Ginny.”

Doing her best to put aside her angry feelings towards the young girl, Hermione focused her constantly analytical mind on the situation at hand.

Harry laid Ginny out on a couch in the living room, and turned to Hermione. “I don’t know what happened to her before she got here, but the minute she started talking she went all funny, and if you and I hadn’t been the only ones present, I would’ve sworn that someone used the Cruciatus on her.”

Hermione cringed at the mention of the Unforgivable, nodding her head in agreement. “That’s what it looked like,” she confirmed.

“She said she had to see us. Something bad is going to happen. Then some jumble about pain and curses, that thing about kidnapping me, and then she blacked out.” Harry reviewed the situation.

“None of that sounded good,” Hermione admitted.

Harry quickly lifted Ginny back into his arms, and instructed Hermione to pack their trunks as quickly as possible. She looked at him quizzically, questioning him over her shoulder as she headed towards the bedroom. “What for?”

Readjusting his grip on Ginny, Harry gave Hermione a grim look as she returned with their shrunken trunks. “Forget sending a reply with Atheos. We’re going to Hogwarts.”

And with that, Hermione Apparated to the Hogwarts gates, where she waited for Harry to appear. It took him a few seconds longer as he had to bring Ginny via Side-Along Apparition, but he was next to her in a mere moment.

The pair faces the gates ahead of them, pushing them open as they made their way to the great oak doors of the castle. Harry could only hope that Dumbledore's portrait would have the answers for Ginny's predicament as well as their own.

A/N: Again, a HUGE thanks goes out to mathiasgranger. Matt is fantastic.

I also have to admit I'm very impressed with the response this new version's been getting on Portkey. Keep the reviews coming! I'm still in shock, 31 reviews on the last chapter! That's the highest I've ever gotten on a single chapter. With the posting of this chapter I'm two away from not having pre-written chapters anymore, and while I'm not going to threaten to take longer in updating if I get less reviews, more reviews will certainly inspire me to work faster. ;)

Please bear with me on the italics.. I've tried changing the font colours to make up for them not working but that only seems to work when it wants to. :/

Oh, and if I get a chance I will post chapter 23 tomorrow. I'm leaving early Thursday morning for Wisconsin for my cousin's wedding, and while I'll have my laptop with me, I've no idea if the hotels I'm staying at will have internet service. If they do I'll be sure to post while I'm gone. And if it's any comfort to anyone who will be disappointed at having to wait until Tuesday night (which is when I get back) for another update, it's going to take 28 hours to drive to and from Wisconsin so I'll have plenty of time to write in my notebook. :D

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the great and wonderful JKR. Harry Potter is not mine. I'd certainly like him to be, I can think of quite a few creative uses for him that Jo's never even touched on in the books, but that's besides the point. It's all hers.

<><><><><>

Harry and Hermione made their way towards the large oak front doors of Hogwarts Castle. Hermione made a move to raise her wand and flick the doors open, but before she could even send the message to her hand to do so, the wooden doors slammed wide open, their iron hinges locking in place.

Harry shifted Ginny's weight in his arms as he charged through the doors, Hermione in tow. He entered the Great Hall and called out, “Professor McGonagall!” at the top of his lungs. Hermione quickly caught up to him, still confused by what was happening.

The teens didn't have to wait much longer. Moments after her name being called, Professor McGonagall strode into the hall. “Mr. Potter, I do believe that I specified to send a response with your owl. Barging into the castle is most certainly not—why are you carrying Miss Weasley?”

A look of concern affixed itself upon McGonagall's face as she bore down on the trio. Quickly coming face to face with Harry Potter, she gasped at what she saw in his arms.

Ginny appeared almost comatose, except for the look on her face. There was not a mark on her anywhere, but her peaceful, blank expression gave McGonagall shivers. It appeared as though Ginny had been the victim of an Avada Kedavra curse.

“What is going on?” she demanded, quickly levitating Ginny from Harry's arms and leading the way to the hospital wing. “What happened to Ginny?”

Hermione was at a loss for words, unable to explain the situation. Harry did his best to explain to Headmistress McGonagall what had happened when Ginny arrived at his parents' house in Godric's Hollow.

“I don't know how she found us, but she did,” he began, doing his best to ignore their surroundings. As they made their way to see Madame Pomfrey, several portraits took it upon themselves to discuss what they were witnessing. Harry couldn't help but hear snatches of their conversation, many of them speculating that Ginny had once again been possessed by Voldemort or that Harry had done something to her. He cleared his throat and continued, shooting several glares at the portraits as he explained. “We were headed outside to call Atheos in when we saw her. She was just coming over the hill so we went out the front door to meet her. She said something about having to see us, and then warned us that something bad was going to happen.”

Harry paused to watch the gentle rise and fall of Ginny's chest as they rushed towards Madame Pomfrey, trying to assure himself that since she was still breathing, she must be okay. “Right as she said it she looked like she was in terrible pain. She managed to get something out about a curse, and then she passed out. If I didn't know better myself, I'd swear that someone had used the Cruciatus on her, but she was fine when she got to the house. It wasn't until she started talking that she looked like she was in pain.”

McGonagall let all of this information absorb as they arrived at the hospital wing. The double doors opened as she levitated Ginny through, leaving Harry and Hermione to follow her in. She set Ginny down on the nearest bed and called out, “Poppy! Get out here at once!”

After a few grumbles and the chance to make herself appear decent, Madam Pomfrey's head peeked out of her personal quarters. “For Merlin's sake, Minerva, what could be so important?” Her eyes fell upon the limp body of Ginny Weasley, and she immediately went into Healer mode.

She fired off questions left and right, demanding to know what happened to the girl. Harry and Hermione filled her in on what little they knew, regretful that they had no idea what had happened to Ginny before she stumbled into Godric's Hollow.

Madam Pomfrey administered several potions to the young witch, forcing them down her throat as she was still unconscious. She quickly performed several diagnostic spells to gauge Ginny's heart rate, blood pressure, and several magical levels.

“Oh dear,” she muttered, heading back to her potions cupboard. She came back, armed with several more remedies. In Harry's entire experience in the hospital wing, he had never seen Madam Pomfrey use so many potions and spells at once.

He braced himself for the question he was about to ask, fearing the worst. “How bad is it?”

Madam Pomfrey sighed, her mouth set in a grim line. She turned to face Harry, looking him straight in the eyes. “We'll be lucky if she makes it through the night,” she admitted, feeling utterly dejected. “I do promise that I will do my best. I'd like to remain optimistic as to Ginny's outcome.”

Hermione let out a small gasp at this admission, tears welling in her eyes. She and Ginny had been good friends for so long, and as furious as she was with her over the love potion, she didn't want her to die.

Harry turned to his girlfriend and took her hand in his, comforting her as best as he could. The truth was that he, too, was in need of some comfort, but he wasn't about to voice that concern. What he was witnessing in front of him on a hospital bed was the one thing he had been the most afraid of. He had tried time and time again to warn his friends about the dangers of being associated with him. He couldn't even recall the number of times he had stressed the fact that just being his friend could endanger their lives.

Now he was facing the reality more than ever. Since his introduction to the wizarding world he had suffered many losses, and he couldn't help but blame himself. There was Professor Quirrel in his first year. True, he was a host for Voldemort at the time, but only because Voldemort was after him. Ginny and Hermione had been petrified in second year, along with several other students. All because of him. He began to mentally recount the number of people who had died or become gravely injured because of him, finishing with Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore.

Harry did his best to push the thoughts to the back of his mind, and refocused his attention on the still figure on the bed before him. He was about to say something to Ginny, despite her unconscious state, when McGonagall cut him off.

“Perhaps you and Miss Granger should go visit with Professor Dumbledore's portrait,” she said, dismissing them. “The password is Nosebleed Nougat.”

Harry gave her a quizzical look that he couldn't help. He knew that Dumbledore had tended to use candies and bon-bons as a password, but never would he have imagined that he would use one of Fred and George's Wheezes as a password. Let alone that McGonagall would keep the password.

McGonagall seemed to understand Harry's confused expression, and decided to explain. “Professor Dumbledore changed it just before he was killed, and I haven't the heart to change it to something else. Besides, what student would suspect that the password would be one of the Weasley twins' confectionary products?”

Seeing the logic in her explanation, Harry turned to leave the Hospital wing with one last wistful glance at Ginny Weasley. He couldn't help but feel responsible in some indirect way for her condition, and even though he knew that he hadn't actually caused her current state, he knew that it was in some way because of him.

Hermione seemed to understand what Harry was feeling, and reached out to wrap an arm around his waist. She gently dragged him from the room, and they headed down the hallway towards the Head's office. Knowing that her boyfriend was most likely feeling guilty, Hermione did her best to make him feel better. She didn't want him to blame himself for Ginny's hospitalization, even though he probably was anyway.

The journey to the Head's office seemed like an eternity to Harry. He dragged his feet as he barely moved forward, still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.

Hermione kept walking forward until she realized that her arm was no longer around Harry. She turned to face him, her heart aching as she saw him.

He stood in the middle of the dimly lit hallway, his eyes downcast and his shoulders drooping. His guilt was more than apparent by his body language; he was sullen and gloomy, and Hermione could hear his thoughts. He was clearly shouldering the blame for everything.

She quickly closed the distance between the two of them and placed both of her hands on Harry's shoulders. His face remained pointed at the floor, and she cupped his chin with her hand to force him to look at her. “Harry, you can't blame yourself for this,” she said, looking deeply into his eyes. She got lost in them for a moment, noticing that when he was upset and on the brink of tears, his eyes seemed to glow a brighter green than usual.

He sniffled, holding back a tear. He hated to cry, but he felt that everything was his fault. Harry turned his face away, not wanting Hermione to see the tears welling in his eyes.

Dammit, Harry, would you just listen to me? She demanded. If he wouldn't look her in the eye and listen to what she had to say, she would find another way to get through to him. She knew that he couldn't escape from their telepathic connection. This is not your fault. I know it feels like it to you, and I know that you've always warned us that being your friend would be dangerous. Ginny knew that, and she accepted that. If anything that's happened to her is because of Voldemort, please believe me when I tell you it was her own choice to befriend you. She knew the risks involved, and still remained close.

Harry whirled back to face Hermione, his face flushed with anger. “It is my fault!” he insisted. “I don't know what the bloody hell has happened to her, but she might not live to see tomorrow and I know that somehow this has something to do with me! Don't stand there and try to tell me not to feel guilty, because I do! Everyone who is close to me is in danger. If Voldemort does have something to do with this and Ginny dies because of it, it will be my fault.” He paused, drawing in a breath. He was furious now. “If this is what he does to my ex-girlfriends, imagine what he'd do to you!” he declared, throwing up his hands in defeat.

His words stung Hermione like he had slapped her across the face. She couldn't believe that he was starting with this again. “For the love of Merlin, Harry! Does everything I tell you go in one ear and out the other?” With her hands on her hips and a stern glare on her face, Hermione was clearly not impressed with Harry's latest revelation. “How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not going anywhere! I was aware of the risks when we became friends six years ago, and nothing has changed since then.”

Rather than reply to anything she had just said, Harry resumed walking towards the Head's office. Hermione followed him, gently slipping her hand into his. Harry gave her a reassuring squeeze, signifying that he didn't want to argue anymore.

They spent the rest of their walk in silence until they arrived at the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the office. Harry muttered the password and the gargoyle swung aside, granting them access.

Upon entering the office, Harry was cheerfully greeted by several of the former Headmaster's portraits. Armando Dippet called out, “Harry, m'boy! So good to see you again!” His voice was much louder than the rest of the portraits, drowning out their hellos.

Phineas Nigellus glowered at Harry from his portrait, still partially blaming the young wizard for the end of the Black family line. His scowl was his only form of greeting he offered to Harry; he crossed his arms and sat back, not saying a single word.

Harry's eyes finally came to rest upon Albus Dumbledore. He was by far the largest and most prominent portrait in the room, in an ornate gilded golden frame that took up a large portion of wall space. He appeared to be napping, as his half-moon glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose and he was emitting a quiet snoring noise.

Despite the sobering effects of seeing that his mentor was truly dead and in a portrait, Harry couldn't help but allow a small smile to spread across his lips. Dumbledore looked almost comical to him due to the manner in which he was resting.

Hermione did her best not to gape at the former Headmaster's portrait. Her mind was still whirring with Harry's declaration that Voldemort would not be lenient with her in any way, but she, too, was astounded by Dumbledore.

In a polite attempt to wake the older wizard, Harry exaggeratedly cleared his throat.

Dumbledore jolted awake, quickly glancing this way and that to attempt to discover the source of the noise. His gaze finally rested on Harry and Hermione standing before him, and he smiled. “Harry, so good to see you! And Hermione, you're looking well,” he greeted them warmly.

Harry gulped, his throat tightening with emotion. He was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that Dumbledore was truly dead, and hearing him address him like nothing had happened was tough.

Hermione did her best to pay attention to the wizened wizard, but couldn't help looking around the office a bit. She recalled Harry telling her of all the things the room had once been filled with, and she sadly noticed the change since McGonagall had moved in.

While Fawkes still had his perch next to the desk, the large bowl of lemon drops was missing from the desktop. The curtains of the large windows were closed, which was a shock in itself. In Dumbledore's entire reign as Headmaster, the curtains had always remained open. Several of his objects were missing from the room, including his Pensieve, but Harry noticed that both the sword of Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat remained intact.

“Professor, are you…” Hermione asked, trailing off. She wasn't sure how to phrase her question properly.

Dumbledore's portrait laughed, the usual twinkle in his eye. “Dead? Real? Anything you could have possibly finished that sentence with, I certainly have the answer to. Yes, I am most certainly dead. I am as real as a wizarding portrait can get, I'm afraid. I last updated my portrait a few days before my untimely demise, and thanks to Minerva I've had ample opportunity to be informed of what I am missing out on. She did, however, tell me that you and I had left for a mission of some sort, Harry. She claims to not know any of the details, and I was desperately hoping you would be able to fill me in. I'm assuming that this had to do with a Horcrux? I do hope that you have informed Miss Granger of their existence.”

Harry shot a nervous glance towards Hermione. “Actually, Professor, there's something I should tell you. It was because of the Horcrux that you and I found, sir, that you died.” Giving Harry a curious stare, Dumbledore remained silent, inviting the boy to continue. “We went to a cave near Voldemort's orphanage, where you thought you had found Slytherin's locket. You drank this vile potion that was making you weaker, so that I could get to the locket at the bottom of the liquid. When we got back to Hogwarts, you were so weak from the potion that Snape killed you.”

“Ahh, yes,” Dumbledore sighed. “Minerva did tell me that Professor Snape had been the one to deliver the final blow. No matter, however. You destroyed the locket, I trust?”

“No, sir,” Harry admitted, his eyes cast towards the floor. “When I had a chance to retrieve the locket from your robes, after you were killed, I found out it was a fake. There was a note inside, from someone called R.A.B., and they claimed to have taken the real locket.”

Dumbledore's face fell, clearly not expecting the news. “Well then,” he stated, clearly unnerved by Harry's admission. “Have you discovered who this R.A.B. is?”

Harry shook his head, feeling terrible. He was clearly disappointing the former Headmaster. “I'm not entirely certain, but after some research that Hermione and I have done, we think it may be Sirius' brother, Regulus.”

It pained Harry greatly to so casually mention his godfather, but he knew that he must be strong in the presence of Dumbledore's portrait. He felt that there were a great many things the elder wizard had neglected to tell him before he was murdered, and did not want to seem too unstable to handle the truth.

When did you find that out? Hermione asked him silently.

It was something I'd asked the Book of Requirement. Harry shrugged.

The portrait nodded, seemingly agreeing with Harry. “The initials do fit. Regulus Alphard Black,” he admitted. “It would only be fitting for his middle name to be that of the Uncle who was disowned for crediting Sirius as his heir.”

“There's more to it than that, though,” Harry interjected. He pulled Hermione closer to him, bringing her into a better position for her to join in the conversation with the portrait.

“Why, Miss Granger!” Dumbledore grinned delightedly. “Your eyes! They are now such a stunning shade of green! Correct me if I'm wrong, but when I was still alive, they were brown, were they not?”

Hermione nodded, amazed that the former Headmaster paid such close attention to detail.

“I must admit, I am delighted to see that the Potters' wedding rings have fully manifested themselves. To see your eyes the exact shade as Lily's and Harry's definitely warms my heart.” Dumbledore chuckled to himself.

“Please, sir, if you could, we'd like to know more about these rings.” Hermione asked, courteously. She was not entirely sure how to deal with a wizarding portrait of someone she knew well; it was not quite like telling the Fat Lady the password for entrance to Gryffindor tower.

“All in due time,” Dumbledore said, his eyes still twinkling. “Harry, I do believe you were about to tell me something else about the Horcrux?”

He nodded, taking in a deep breath. “We found and destroyed another one.”

His eyes lighting up, Dumbledore clapped his hands together in glee. “Fantastic! Which one? How did you do it this time?”

With that, Harry proceeded to relate the entire sordid story to his mentor, with Hermione interrupting him to make small corrections such as the correct ratio of nitric to hydrochloric acid for the chemical formula they had used to destroy the shield.

“I must say, I'm intrigued,” the elder wizard admitted. “Using a muggle method to destroy the Horcrux in combination with a spell is definitely a solution I had not thought of. What was the name of the book you found it in?”

“Dark Magicks, it was in my parents' library.”

At this admission, Harry earned himself a rather strange glance from Dumbledore. “Your parents' library?”

Harry suddenly realized he had a lot more explaining to do than he was aware of. He did his best to get through everything, Hermione helping along the way. She told Dumbledore of her fight with Ron in the Burrow, sending her off to find Harry. Together they explained their trip to Diagon Alley and London, where they had picked up the rings in the Gringott's vault. There was also Hermione's subsequent attack from Draco Malfoy and his goons. Hermione's eyes remained focused somewhere in the distance as Harry recounted the details of that terrible day, doing her best to push the memories back.

They continued with the admission that they Apparated to Paris for dinner, and their growing relationship. Ordinarily Harry would have felt like his love life was none of the former Headmaster's business, but something deep inside was nagging at him to be as truthful as possible. Harry told of the fight between Hermione and Ginny in the St. Mungo's lobby, causing Dumbledore to chuckle at their behaviours. As difficult as the situation may have been at the time, it was quite amusing to picture the twin slaps the two witches had delivered.

Hermione took over the explanation, feeling that she was in the better position to inform Dumbledore of Ginny's use of a love potion as Harry was the one under it at the time. She explained how she had finally deduced the sneakiness of Ginny's plot to get Harry back, and how she and Harry had fled the Burrow after learning of her deceit.

Together they told of their trip to Godric's Hollow, Harry making sure to mention that Hermione had not let him drive the speedy little BMW roadster he had purchased in London. He had received a concerned look from Dumbledore at the mention of the expensive car, but he reassured the wizard that, after his inheritance from Sirius, his parents, and Dumbledore himself, the car had barely made a dent in his finances. He reasoned that Hermione had mentioned it would be a less magical way to travel, and it might come in handy at some point.

As Harry explained to Dumbledore his surprise at finding his parents' house intact, he noticed Hermione rummaging through their trunks out of the corner of his eye. She had taken them out of her pocket and enlarged them, clearly looking for something. He continued his explanation of the charm on the house as he silently asked Hermione what she was doing.

I packed the important books, she admitted. The Book of Requirement, the book that we found the Horcrux destruction spell in, a few of your dad's books, and some other ones I thought would be important.

Harry did his best not to become cross with his girlfriend for her overwhelming love of literature. Ginny's welfare had been in their hands as she was packing, but he reassured himself that it could not have been that bad, as Hermione had packed for the both of them in a few mere seconds.

Allowing his girlfriend to hunt for the books, Harry brought up their discovery of Ginny coming towards the house, and the events that followed. He made sure to repeat Ginny's words verbatim for the old wizard, hoping that he would be able to offer some insight as to what was happening.

Making sure not to leave out that they were training with physical exercise every day as they researched the different Horcruxes and their possible locations, Harry couldn't help but fiddle with his dad's wedding band. He dragged it back and forth across the chain, almost nervously. Harry was careful as he mentioned The Book of Requirement to Dumbledore, hoping that the old wizard would trust they were using the book solely for the purpose of learning more about the Horcruxes. He could see that Hermione had finally found the tomes she was looking for, and felt that they needed a bit of explanation first.

In a triumphant display, Hermione turned back to Dumbledore's portrait and held out the books for him to see.

“I brought them with me, Professor, just in case. I have the Dark Magicks book, and I managed to grab The Book of Requirement just before we left the house.” She said proudly, showing off the books to the portrait. “I even have Harry's notes that he made.”

Harry blushed, silently appreciating how thorough his girlfriend had been. “I managed to draw some maps of England and surrounding countries. I'm not sure exactly why I need them yet, but they appeared in the book when I was trying to learn where the remaining Horcruxes were hidden. The maps in the book highlighted a few things I'd never noticed before, so I copied those into my versions of the maps.”

As Hermione shuffled Harry's note parchment for the portrait to see, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Well,” he began, “I can certainly tell that the two of you not only make an excellent pair, but you are well on your way to completing the Horcrux mission. This, however, is a topic we can elaborate upon later. I had Minerva call you here for one purpose, although now it seems we have two very important subjects to address.” He gestured within his frame to two very comfortable looking chairs that were opposite the desk.

Taking his cue, the young couple moved the chairs closer to the portrait. Harry cautiously took his seat, nervously waiting to hear what Dumbledore had to say.

“I have quite a bit of information for the two of you in regards to those rings you wear. Minerva also informed me that you two arrived with Ginny Weasley, which concurs with your story of her appearing at the Potter residence. I will leave it up to the two of you which subject we discuss first. The rings, or Miss Weasley.”

“Ginny,” Harry blurted out, not giving Hermione a chance to say otherwise. Fortunately she agreed with him. The young witch's life currently hung in the balance as she lay in the hospital wing, and needless to say, both Harry and Hermione were concerned for her well-being.

“Very well then,” Dumbledore said, making himself comfortable in a chair of his own that had appeared in the background of his portrait. “Harry, from what you have told me of Ginny's words in Godric's Hollow, it clearly sounds like she was trying to warn the two of you of something terrible that was about to happen.”

Harry did his best not to snort at the former Professor's choice of words. Trying to warn him—she had said right out that something bad was going to happen!

“I must admit that I am very concerned over her physical reaction to these words. You said it seemed like someone was using the Cruciatus to harm her?” Dumbledore asked, making sure he had the facts straight.

Nodding, Harry added, “At first she seemed okay, but the moment she said something negative, she was in pain.”

Dumbledore seemed to think this over for a few minutes. “Tell me, did it appear as though she had come to you of her own free will, or like she was under the Imperius?”

Harry also had to take a moment to think about Ginny's actions. He had to admit that her coming after himself and Hermione seemed rather odd, especially considering she was by herself. It was not like Ginny to just chase across England to track down two people who clearly wanted nothing to do with her. “I would have to say the Imperius, sir,” Harry relented. “It was so strange for her to show up. Hermione tells me that she made it absolutely clear that Ginny was not to be around us anymore, as she didn't trust her.”

“I suppose that, since Ginny is alive, there is no need to mention the possibility of the killing curse?”

Dumbledore's question was met with odd glances from the young teens sitting in front of his portrait.

“Forgive me for asking, sir, but what do the Unforgivables have to do with this?” Hermione interrupted.

Sighing deeply, Dumbledore settled himself further into his chair. “Have I ever told you the story of my brother, Aberforth?” he asked.

Hermione and Harry exchanged glances. They knew about the Hog's Head innkeeper and that he was related to Dumbledore but they never expected that he would have a story.

Seeing no objection from the pair, Dumbledore continued. “I must admit that I never pictured him going into the business of bars and lodgings when we were younger, but alas, that is where his unfortunate fate has led him.” He readjusted his half-moon glasses, contemplating whether or not to clean them on his sparkling blue robes. “Many years ago, before Voldemort's time, there was a dark wizard named Grindelwald.”

Recognizing the name, Harry had to add, “Sir, isn't he the one mentioned on your Chocolate Frog card?”

Chucking, Dumbledore said, “Of course, Harry. The card says that I am famous for discovering the twelve uses of dragon's blood, defeating Grindelwald in nineteen-forty-five, working with Nicolas Flamel, and that my likes include chamber music and ten pin bowling. I wonder, have either of you ever been bowling before? It is quite the experience!” his eyes twinkled. Seeing that neither Harry nor Hermione had the patience for a discussion on strange muggle sports, he continued with his story. “As I was saying, Grindelwald was to me like Voldemort is to you, Harry. In fact, I believe that at one point, Grindelwald may have even been young Tom Riddle's mentor.”

“This is all fascinating, Professor, but what does it have to do with your brother?” Hermione interrupted.

“Patience, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore chided. “After all, what is the sense in telling you the story if you do not understand where it is coming from?” Sensing no further interruptions, Dumbledore continued his tale. “Grindelwald attempted to employ a concept which you are very familiar with, Harry. He did his best to use those who were close to me in attempts to defeat myself. For reasons unknown to me, he chose to use Aberforth against me. Not that Aberforth and I were ever very close, mind you, but it was an attempted ploy to get closer to me.

“The reason why I asked you about the three Unforgivables in relation to Ginny is that I suspect Voldemort may have used the same potion on Ginny as Grindelwald did on my brother. I must admit that it is not a commonly known potion, but it would not surprise me to discover Voldemort using it, as Grindelwald was his guide. He most likely passed on any knowledge he had of the Dark Arts to young Riddle. Now, I would be willing to venture out on a limb to say that Voldemort and his followers are relatively unaware of your relationship with Miss Granger. They are probably still under the impression that you and Miss Weasley are dating, which would be why Voldemort chose to use her.

“The potion I suspect Ginny is under is called the Obeir potion. It is untraceable, and very few wizards are aware of the potion's existence. Otherwise, the Ministry would control it. The potion combines the effects of all three Unforgivable curses. The person who is forced to drink the potion must follow the commands of the person who gave it to them, or suffer the consequences. By being forced to follow instructions, they feel as though they are under the Imperius. If they do not follow orders properly, they feel excruciating pain like the Cruciatus. And if they are given a specific task that they fail to complete, they are killed in a similar manner to using Avada Kedavra.” Dumbledore said solemnly, taking in the looks on the two teens' faces.

After the information took a few moments to sink in, Harry chose to speak. “Sir, why would Voldemort use Ginny to get to me, though? Even if we were still together, I'm not thick enough to not notice such a serious change in my girlfriend.”

“Ahh, that is the interesting part, Harry. This is where the story concerning my brother, Aberforth, comes in. It has always been my belief that Grindelwald used the Obeir potion on him, hoping that Aberforth would lead me straight into his lap, making the final battle that much easier for him. Unfortunately for Grindelwald, a few uncalculated events took place. One was that the person he entrusted to make the potion happened to be a bit of a poor Potions master. The potion must be stirred clockwise constantly for several hours, and I believe that the Potions master stirred counter-clockwise, and most definitely not for the allotted amount of time. Second, Grindelwald did not take into account my brother's love of wizarding whisky.”

“Whisky?” both Harry and Hermione said incredulously.

Nodding, Dumbledore's portrait continued. “Ogden's Old Firewhisky. Some of the most potent alcohol known to man and wizarding kind, I'm afraid. Aberforth drank it like it was water. Wizarding alcohol when mixed with potions often has a similar effect as mixing one muggle prescription with another. For example, and pardon my crudeness with the subject, but it is like mixing muggle antibiotics with muggle contraceptive pills. The antibiotics alter the effectiveness of the contraceptives, often resulting in an undesired effect. In the manner of muggle medicine, it is pregnancy. However, in our world, mixing alcohol with potions often causes the potion's intended effect to go awry. In this case, it led to my brother's strange actions, and his being shunned from the wizarding public.”

“Strange actions?” Harry questioned, desperately throwing the subject off of muggle birth control pills. He knew that Aberforth was one of the stranger wizards he'd ever met. In fact, he was right up near the top of the list with the ex-Auror, Alastor Moody, but he had never heard of these `strange actions' that led to his becoming an outcast.

“I must admit, Harry, that I am rather surprised that the gossip concerning Aberforth has not made its way into the student body. I can think of several students who would love nothing more than to have something like this to hold over their Headmaster,” he admitted.

Hermione gave her former Headmaster a quizzical look. For the majority of his story she'd done her best to sit quietly and listen attentively, but her female chromosomes couldn't pass up the possibility of gossip in relation to Dumbledore. While she prided herself on not acting like the other girls in her dorm, Hermione couldn't contain her curiosity at Dumbledore's hints. “It takes quite a bit for a wizard to be extradited,” she said, fidgeting with her wand. “What did Aberforth do that was so highly frowned upon?”

Dumbledore did his best to contain a smirk. “The most commonly told story is simple, and consists of one sentence. I, however, know the entire truth, including the specifics of what happened. To put it neatly, my dear brother performed questionable charms on a goat.”

Shooting each other shocked glances, Harry and Hermione were both utterly confused. “A goat? Why on earth would Aberforth have attacked a goat when he was supposed to have been attacking you?” Hermione voiced her concerns.

“Ahh, my dear, therein lays the flawed piece of the potion. The bottle really should have a label that reads `Caution: Alcohol and certain potions may alter the effectiveness of this potion!' in my opinion, but it is not a commonly known fact that Ogden's Firewhisky will modify the effects of the potion. From what I have been able to discern by viewing Aberforth's memories in my Pensieve, his instructions were to lead me directly to Grindelwald by whatever means necessary. Grindelwald and his minions had mentioned something along the lines of Petrifying me, and then either transporting me via levitation, Portkey, or Side-Along Apparition. Judging by the charms and spells my brother performed, he chose the method of Side-Along Apparition.”

Harry shot his former mentor a puzzled glance. “How do you know, Professor? Aside from his memories, there must have been other wizards present for him to have been shunned by the community.”

“How right you are, Harry!” the elder wizard exclaimed jovially, peering down at him from his portrait. “Aberforth did indeed Petrify the poor goat, but rather than fall on its side, the goat remained standing. Its knees had been locked in place by the spell, and when Aberforth made a move to come in close enough contact with the goat, two wizards walked in on him. His position was rather, erm, how shall I say this…questionable?” Dumbledore appeared mildly uncomfortable as he explained. “Aberforth had been out behind the Hog's Head when he was found by two bar patrons, who had stumbled outside while slightly intoxicated from a few rounds. He had taken the goat by surprise, sneaking up behind it to use the petrification spell. With his brain so addled by the combination of the potion and the Firewhisky, he simply bent over from his place behind the animal and grabbed the goat around the middle.”

Dumbledore paused for a moment, allowing the mental image to form in the young witch and wizard's minds. When a look of horror and disgust crossed their faces, he chuckled. “I am afraid to say that the two of you reacted in the same manner as the bar patrons. They fled the scene, later claiming that Aberforth had attacked a defenceless goat, Petrifying it so that it could not move, and made a move to, well…I'd rather not say, if you don't mind, but I'm sure that your minds will be able to figure out what they thought Aberforth was about to do.”

Harry and Hermione nodded, doing their best to erase the image from their minds. As Harry fought against the picture of Dumbledore's brother and the defenceless goat, he struggled to ask a question. “Sir, I understand how the Firewhisky managed to mess up the spell, but why a goat? A goat and a human being, that human being you, hardly have any similarities.”

“I must disagree, Harry. There is one main physical similarity between the goat Aberforth went after, and myself. Goats are well-known for one particular feature—“

“Their beards!” Hermione interrupted, fully reverting into know-it-all mode. “A goat has a very human-like beard, and it can grow extremely long.”

Harry examined the former Headmaster, eyeing his very long beard.

“Apparently, the similarities between my beard and the beard of the goat were enough for the potion, which was why Aberforth went after the goat in the first place,” the older wizard chucked, his blue eyes twinkling. Even in death, he found the reasoning behind his brother's attack on a goat rather humorous.

“But he failed to complete the task! Why didn't he die?” Hermione pestered.

Albus Dumbledore sighed gently. Even though he never tired of Hermione's quest for knowledge, he couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a question she wouldn't think to ask. “As I stated, the potion seemed to feel that the beard of the goat and my beard were the same thing, therefore considering the task at hand to have been completed. Firewhisky clearly addles any normal wizarding brain, and it certainly had the same effect on the Obeir potion coursing through Aberforth's body.”

“How does this relate to Ginny?” Harry asked, his mind returning to the redhead who was barely hanging onto the thread of life in the hospital wing.

“Ahh, the young Miss Weasley. I daresay that, despite her current unfortunate condition, I believe she will pull through. Poppy Pomfrey has worked mysterious wonders many times in this castle. One thing troubles me, though. She may be able to revive Ginny and bring her back into a normal state, but the Obeir potion must run its course. There is no known counter-curse or antidote to its effects.”

Harry took in the sombre words, misinterpreting them to believe that Ginny would have to kidnap him and bring him to Voldemort in order for her to be all right again.

“But Professor!” Hermione was already jumping out of her seat, bringing herself eye to eye with the portrait. “You just said yourself that there is a way to counter the effects of the potion!”

“Did I?” he asked wearily, glancing around. “I should think that you, Miss Granger, had carefully deduced from rumours surrounding my brother, Ginny's actions, and your thorough research what potion Ginny was under, and the proper way to counter it.” There was a slight glimmer in his eye as he winked at the brunette witch.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue that Dumbledore had just blatantly told her that Firewhisky would addle the potion enough to have Ginny attack something similar to Harry, when his implications sank in. He clearly did not want to be credited with Ginny's rescue, and wished for Hermione to be the one to `make the discovery'.

“I think that you may find in your Dark Magicks book a brief mention of the Obeir potion, and that wizarding alcohol may disrupt the effects of the potion. It seems to me like this book is not only written about the Dark Arts, but also ways to either counter their effects or destroy objects created with them.” Dumbledore motioned to the old and tattered tome that rested on the top of Hermione's enlarged trunk.

Hermione flipped through the pages and did, indeed, find a reference to the dark potion. However, had she not known what she was looking for, she probably would not have noticed it until it was too late.

Having a stroke of genius, Hermione picked up the Book of Requirement, and concentrated as best as she could on discovering precisely what ailed Ginny, and caused her to act in the manner that she did. Moments later, as she opened the cover to the centre of the book, she was greeted by several paragraphs on the Obeir potion, a full list of ingredients and brewing methods, and the simplest way, among others, to counteract the potion: alcohol.

She couldn't help but recall something she had once heard on an absurd muggle television show her father occasionally indulged in. `Alcohol: The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems.' It was something that the father figure in the television show had said in the latest season when his imaginary town had experienced a temporary liquor prohibition. It was ironic that the man's name was Homer, after one of the wisest men in Greek history, when it was clear to her that he barely had three brain cells bouncing around in his skull. Hermione realized that alcohol was not only the cause of Aberforth's downfall, resulting in his attacking the goat, but it was also the solution to his problems. After all, had he not been guzzling Firewhisky like it was going out of style, he would have most likely delivered Albus Dumbledore directly into Grindelwald's lap and his imminent death. In that case he would have been persecuted as one of Grindelwald's followers, much like Voldemort's Death Eaters, and sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Understanding the former Headmaster's wishes, Hermione's thoughts immediately returned to the task at hand. “So basically, you're telling us that once Madam Pomfrey has revived Ginny, all we have to do is get her absolutely sloshed on Firewhisky and have her attack an imaginary Harry?”

Dumbledore gave an almost imperceptible nod, the twinkle in his eye brightening. “Might I suggest, now that you are both of age, you consider sampling the other various beverages you might find at both the Hogs Head and the Three Broomsticks? I daresay that Firewhisky might be a tad strong for Miss Weasley, and you may be able to find something better suited to her tastes.”

Harry stared at the portrait, having a bit of trouble believing that Dumbledore was practically instructing the two of them to go out and drink at the Hogsmeade bars, but then again, there were many things he did not know about the former Headmaster.

He looked over to his right, seeing Hermione frantically taking notes. It would be just like her to not want to forget a single thing Dumbledore had said, and she was clearly making sure that they would be successful in helping Ginny.

Hermione quickly looked up from her parchment, resting her quill in her lap. “Professor,” she began, “I'm assuming that you would prefer for us to wait for word from Madam Pomfrey that Ginny is awake before we attempt to help get the potion out of her system?”

“Absolutely,” replied the portrait, smiling at her. “Which means that we have more than enough time to discuss the side effects of the rings you two are currently wearing.” Dumbledore spread his hands to the edges of his gilded frame, clearly indicating the bands that hung on chains around the teenagers' necks.

Immediately they both reached up for the warm metal, grasping it in their fists.

“If you wouldn't mind enlightening an old man as to what you've been experiencing since you removed the rings from Harry's vault, I would be more than happy to explain what has been happening.” Dumbledore reached towards a table in his portrait, and a mug of hot chocolate appeared. He brought it to his lips and enjoyed the rich flavour, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hermione eyed him curiously.

“Sir, I was under the impression that wizarding portraits could communicate with the living, but much like ghosts, could not eat or drink?”

“You are correct,” he grinned, setting his mug back on the table. “However, just because I appear to be quite thoroughly enjoying a steamy cup of cocoa does not mean I really am. While I feel the taste in my mouth and the hot cocoa running down my throat, I am not really consuming it. It is simply one of the many aspects of magic in our world.”

Seemingly satisfied with the explanation, Hermione began the story of the rings she and Harry both wore. She saw no surprise in Dumbledore's eyes when she mentioned that the diamond in Lily's engagement ring was a Glitra diamond, and made sure to leave the more embarrassing parts of the story out. She explained to Dumbledore how her eyes had changed from a chocolate and cinnamon brown to Harry's emerald green, and how they were able to communicate telepathically. Harry also felt it necessary to point out that their mind link was what enabled him to rescue her from Draco in time, and that they occasionally emitted a powerful glow when they were feeling particularly emotional.

Hermione took great care in outlining everything that she felt had happened because of the rings. As she finished recounting the recent events, Dumbledore rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in his cupped palm.

“I must admit that several of the events you described also occurred between James and Lily. However, there are a few that they did not experience, that I was certainly hoped to see in the two of you. Lily and James retained their own eye colour, and while they weren't able to communicate telepathically, they were able to read each other's emotions. Rather than receive messages of specific words, they were able to receive an impression of what the other was thinking or feeling. At times they did seem to emit some sort of a glow, but it could be likened to that of a beautiful and happy pregnant woman rather than a lit torch.” Sitting back and relaxing a bit, Dumbledore pursed his lips as he concentrated on his thoughts.

“Why are the rings affecting us more than they did Harry's parents?” Hermione asked.

Noticing that his glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, Dumbledore readjusted them before he spoke. “The prophecy,” he said simply. When neither of his former students questioned him, he continued. “'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…' There is one thing in Voldemort's entire life that he has never been capable of: love. Simply by sitting here in my former office and conversing with the two of you, I can see that you truly care for one another. I firmly believe that it will come down to both of you to bring Riddle down. While Harry may be the one who must deal the killing blow, it will definitely require the powers you both possess to complete the task. Now, there have been many great love stories throughout history, but I believe that the bond the two of you share will be greater than anything the wizarding world has ever seen.”

Harry gulped, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He felt nervous hearing that his and Hermione's relationship might be the basis upon which Voldemort is destroyed. A nagging feeling in his brain told him to be prepared for his relationship to come under public scrutiny. While Rita Skeeter was still, for the most part, under Hermione's control, he knew that things would not go easy for the two of them.

“Naturally, the depth of your feelings for one another may be fathoms beyond what the two of you feel at the moment. However, I should assure you, that if it feels like everything is moving too fast, it is completely normal at this point. The feelings are already there, your mind is just taking longer to realize them than your heart is.” Dumbledore was saying, a pleased smile spreading across his face. He noticed Hermione's hand twitching towards Harry's, clearly wishing to comfort him in some manner. She was well aware of how much he hated his fame, and knew that he would not enjoy being in the eye of the public any more than necessary.

“And my eyes, Professor? Not only do they now match Harry's, but also he and I have been acting quite a bit like each other lately. Just yesterday I woke up to find him sleeping on the floor in the library, hugging the Book of Requirement like a worn, old teddy bear!” Hermione giggled at the recollection, amused that she had thought the book was an abandoned pillow.

“Simply a manifestation of the rings,” Dumbledore commented. “Your eye colour changing to Harry's is, I'm afraid, an indication of his power over yours in the relationship. While you are a very strong witch in your own right, Hermione, Harry remains the more powerful wizard. His extensive magical abilities in combination with his physical and emotional strength and destiny to fight Voldemort place him in the top position. Your green eyes are a symbol of working with him on this, and how you are assimilating yourself into his way of things. For now, consider it a merging of your souls. After all, isn't that what eyes are the window to?”

Hermione made a comment about Harry wearing the pants in the relationship, which made him laugh. “You're wearing pants, too, `Mione!” he exclaimed, clearly missing the point of the statement.

She rolled her eyes and shrugged it off, focusing back on Dumbledore. “What about us acting like each other?”

“A display of how in tune you are to each other's emotions and needs. Not only do you understand what each of you desperately wants, you understand where that desire is coming from. You share not only your hearts, but your minds as well. It truly is something to cherish.” The aged wizard smiled a fatherly smile at the young couple, silently wishing the best for them both. Before they had a chance to comment on his explanations, he spoke again. “I would like to offer the two of you the opportunity to stay at Hogwarts for a time. While I realize that you have set up home in Godric's Hollow, I'd like to remind you that you would both find Hogwarts more suitable for any necessary magical training. Though you are both of age, firing spells at one another in a muggle town is hardly a wise idea. You are welcome to use the library with no restrictions to research the Horcruxes, and any questions you may have will gladly be answered by any of us present who are capable. Also, if you should choose to accept this offer, myself and the professors who remain here over the holiday would be more than happy to offer private tutoring to the both of you in any area of magical expertise we can. You are free at any time to journey to Hogsmeade, or to Apparate back to Godric's Hollow if you deem it necessary.”

Hermione leapt out of her seat to accept the offer, but Harry's hand on her thigh brought her back to the comfortable chair.

“Can we get back to you on that, sir? There's a few things I need to discuss with Hermione,” Harry said, squeezing her hand for reassurance.

“Of course, of course,” he said, gesturing towards the door. “I believe that you will find the Gryffindor dormitories are currently unguarded by a password, and you are more than welcome to make yourselves comfortable. When you have reached a decision, feel free to return to this office and let me know what your choice is. Minerva should be back from the Hospital wing shortly, and you will be notified as soon as Ginny is conscious again. I'd suggest a trip to Hogsmeade for some entertainment tonight,” the old wizard winked at them. “Perhaps some research on what type of beverage to help Miss Weasley with?”

Choosing to exit gracefully rather than endure the implications of Dumbledore's statement, Harry and Hermione bade his portrait good night and made their way to Gryffindor Tower. Their minds were full of concern for Ginny, and soothed by knowing that she was in Madam Pomfrey's capable hands. As they unpacked their belongings, they decided to heed Dumbledore's advice and go into Hogsmeade for the evening. Their target was The Three Broomsticks, and having already had one interesting experience with muggle alcohol, the young couple was more than willing to experiment with the effects of wizarding alcohol.

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A/N: Coming to you live from the Quality Inn in South Bend, Indiana, it's Harry Potter and the Final Battle!

(No more Malibu for me at the hotel bar.)

The various Muggle and Wizarding drinks alike that appear in this chapter are courtesy of DrinksMixer.com, and my dear mathiasgranger, who spent quite a few hours with me coming up with new drinks. The Hippogriff Hammer, Iced Pumpkin Schnapps and the Redheaded Slag are entirely his creations. Matt, you are awesome, and for your incredible fantasticness, I dedicate the insanity that is the alcohol content of this chapter to you.

By the way, the Avada Kedavra is actually a shot. The way I make it is sour apple liqueur, tequila, and Fireball. And in our muggle world, Firewhisky sort of exists. Dr. McGillicuddy's Fireball Whisky Shooter is as close as it's getting, and I think I love it now. It's like Goldschlager, but more whisky and less liqueur.

Anyway, this chapter is a whole ton of silly drunken fun. It's not really too much plot development, or necessary to the story for that matter aside from selecting a drink, but given everything that's happened as of late a little bit of silliness seems in order. Very little fluff but it's a bit difficult to have sex when you're this tired and pissed, so… enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter and his world, I'd somehow become Hermione Granger and snog him senseless in the common room after hexing Ginny. But I can't. So clearly it's not mine.

<><><><><>

Upon arriving at the entrance to Gryffindor tower, Harry and Hermione were greeted by the stern face of Professor McGonagall.

“I trust you gained a fair bit of knowledge from Albus' portrait?” she asked, her face lined with worry.

The young couple nodded at McGonagall, their minds reviewing the interesting things that Dumbledore had told them.

“Normally it is not my business to pry into the affairs of students, as I firmly believe that you two are capable of sorting things out on your own, but I have to ask if you chose to accept the offer of staying here at the castle for a period of time.” The stately witch's hands fiddled with the sleeve of her tartan robe, almost like a school child that was being scolded.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks, unsure of what to say to the new Headmistress.

She sighed when they had not responded for several moments. “I can see that you are still thinking it over. However, I would like to impress upon you the importance of this offer. I am afraid that I must inform you that Hogwarts is unlikely to reopen on the first of September. The Board of Governors thinks that Professor Dumbledore's death has proven that the castle is not safe for Britain's wizarding youth.”

“But Professor Dumbledore said that it was for the holiday,” Hermione said sceptically. She suddenly suspected that McGonagall wasn't telling them the whole truth.

“I must admit that Professor Dumbledore is not aware of my intentions for the two of you, which is perhaps why his offer is a touch different than the one I'd like to make you.” McGonagall said, eyeing her two favourite students.

“Well, go on,” Harry prompted, interested to hear what the current Headmistress had to say.

“As both of you are aware,” she began, “I will be needing to select the Head students for the year—that is, if the school is allowed to re-open, of course. I had decided long ago that the two of you would be offered those positions if Dumbledore had agreed, and with recent events taken into consideration, I hope you can understand why it is even more important now than it was before. Should the parents and other students learn that the two of you—especially you, Harry—are returning to Hogwarts, I feel that it will boost their confidence and Hogwarts will remain open.”

“Wouldn't Ron be in line for Head Boy more than I would be? He's been a prefect the last two years,” Harry pointed out.

“True enough, but as Professor Dumbledore himself told you, he would have much rather made you prefect, and chose not to because he felt that you had enough to deal with already. Unfortunately for Mr. Weasley, his marks have been slipping, and I cannot continue to allow his position as prefect. He is also at risk of losing his position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team if he doesn't straighten himself out this year. I believe that you are capable of acting as Head Boy in addition to your usual studies and activities, whatever they may be. And if there is ever a time where you would feel overwhelmed by your duties, I would hope that you would come to me for help.” McGonagall took a deep breath, and gave the pair a hopeful look. “I suppose saying please wouldn't help, would it?”

Harry tried to stifle a laugh as he saw Hermione's reaction to being offered the Head Girl position. It struck him as particularly amusing for there had never been any doubt of her obtaining the role, and yet she seemed more excited than a child on Christmas morning. He could tell that it was killing her on the inside not to immediately accept McGonagall's proposal, but she managed to restrain herself for Harry's sake.

“We'll discuss both yours and Professor Dumbledore's offers this evening, if you don't mind. To be honest, both Hermione and I had not intended on returning to Hogwarts at all in September, as we had intended on completing the mission that Dumbledore and I started.” Harry admitted, watching as the Headmistresses eyebrows shot up in curiosity. “I have to admit, it's not entirely safe, and it will take up most of our time. We wouldn't be able to take regular classes and whatnot while still carrying on like we intend to.”

“I'm sure I could adjust your schedules accordingly, if necessary,” McGonagall offered, nodding in concession to the two teenagers.

“Professor,” Hermione began, controlling her excitement, “Harry and I will have an answer for you in the morning. Right now we're off to Hogsmeade to take up on a suggestion we received from Professor Dumbledore.”

McGonagall smiled at them with a twinkle in her eye, much like that of the late Headmaster. “Very well then. I'm sure I don't need to remind either of you that school rules are not in effect as it is the holiday, and you are both currently of age. I trust I shan't see you at breakfast.”

With that, the stately witch left them alone at the entrance to the tower as she returned to her office.

Harry looked at Hermione with a grin on his face, which quickly faded into a look of frustration.

“Harry, what is it?” asked Hermione, noticing the change of expression.

“She never told us the password,” said he, eyeing the Fat Lady in her portrait.

Hermione restrained the urge to lecture Harry for not paying closer attention. Dumbledore had said there was no password.

Upon mention of something that was in direct relation to her, the Fat Lady immediately perked up and made her presence known. “Well, of course she didn't tell you the password!” she said gleefully, taking delight in knowing something that Potter didn't. “It's the holidays, for Merlin's sake! Why would there be a password? Well, go on! I'm not going to hang open here all night, you know,” she encouraged, giggling the entire time.

Harry edged his way around the portrait, carefully avoiding the edges of the gilded frame. Hermione followed suit, and they breathed a sigh of relief when they were inside of the common room. It looked just as it had when term had ended, except perhaps a touch cleaner. They sank into a comfy sofa, and put their feet up.

“So now what?” asked Harry, his eyes darting around the room. The tower was empty, and it was a strange feeling. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to unpack and lay back on a bed for a few minutes to gather his thoughts.

“I suppose we unpack,” said Hermione, taking her miniaturized trunk from her pocket.

Right. Where? Harry thought, trying to determine whether Hermione would choose between the girls' dormitory or the boys', with him.

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully, giving Harry's unspoken question careful consideration. “Well, Professor McGonagall did say that school rules don't apply right now. You can't very well stay with me in the girls' dorm, and I do suppose I could stay with you in the boys' dorm and we could enlarge the bed because I sure don't plan on sleeping alone, but then there's—“

“Hermione, take a breath!” Harry laughed, stopping her rambling. “I see why you'd be concerned with staying in the boys' dormitory, because McGonagall could walk in at any moment, but really, I don't think she's that daft,” he said with a chuckle.

A portrait on the wall to the right of the portrait hole entrance cleared his throat loudly, demanding attention.

The teens swung around to discover a portrait of an elderly gentleman who appeared as though he belonged in a muggle cowboy saloon. There were a pair of shot glasses on a table next to him with an overly large bottle of a dark liquid, and he was sporting a cowboy hat and a bolo tie.

“Can we help you?” asked Harry, looking quizzically at the portrait. In his six years at Hogwarts he hadn't ever noticed the figure in the painting before.

“Quite the contrary, young sir. I do believe that I can help you,” he said in a clipped British accent, which was far from what either Harry or Hermione had been expecting. An American southern drawl would not have surprised them, but apparently there was more to the man than either of them could see.

“And you are?” Harry inquired; somewhat surprised that Hermione hadn't immediately offered a name and biography of the man in the portrait.

The man stood from his stool, lifted his ten-gallon hat, and took a deep bow. The brim of his brown hat brushed the edges of his portrait. “Dr. Ogden McGillicuddy at your service.” The man stood, and winked.

“Ogden? As in Ogden's Old Firewhisky?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed. She had always thought that the name was strictly that, a name. As it was Wizarding alcohol and generally of no interest to her, she had never pursued the issue in the library, either.

“Aye, one and the same,” he nodded, pouring himself a shot. “But who I am is of no real importance to you. I can help you with your rooming situation,” he winked, downing the shot in a single go.

Hermione eyed him curiously. “If you suggest we get pissed, fall asleep in the boys' dorm and not worry about it…” she threatened casually.

The old, Western-looking wizard chuckled as he shook his head. “No, no, no, though getting pissed is a right fine idea. I was thinking more along the lines of offering you the Heads suite.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a furtive glance. “The Heads suite?” inquired Harry.

The cowboy hat on the wizard's head bobbed as he nodded his head. “Never would have guessed than someone such as myself would be guarding the entrance, would you? The Weasley twins were the only ones that ever did, but then again, they are two of the very small numbers who realize that I am Ogden McGillicuddy. Not to mention that they managed to smuggle in an abnormal amount of Firewhisky in their years, but that's a story for another day,” he grinned, pouring himself another shot. “As I was saying, you're welcome to use the suite if you'd like. Just say the word.”

“But Dr. McGillicuddy, we don't know the password,” Hermione reminded him. “I know the Fat Lady doesn't need one because it's holidays, but wouldn't the Heads suite need one anyway?”

“Nonsense!” the wizard proclaimed, downing his second shot. “Ahh, it still burns on the way down, even when I'm in a portrait.” He grinned, a small hiccup escaping his lips followed by a puff of flames. “Now, as I was saying, why on earth would I bar the rightful inhabitants of this suite entrance just because they haven't accepted the position and the fact that it's summer holiday?” He winked at them, and proceeded to fill his shot glass for the third time. “Besides, you can always say I was royally pissed.”

With a laugh the portrait swung aside, allowing Harry and Hermione access to the Head's suite.

Harry stumbled through the portrait hall, pulling out his trunk and enlarging it. “Merlin, watching all those shots he drank is making me right thirsty,” he admitted, sinking back into a sofa.

The entrance from the portrait hole brought them into the common room of the Heads suite, which was much like a smaller, cosier version of the Gryffindor tower common room. There were two bedrooms, one on either side of the common area, and by a quick glance inside of the doors, it was clear that there would be no twin-sized beds present for the remainder of their Hogwarts careers. Each bedroom was decorated in scarlet and gold, with a queen-sized mattress resting on a four-poster bed frame. Framing each side of the bed were two small nightstands in matching mahogany wood, with an armoire off to one side. Quite frankly they were the nicest bedrooms either Gryffindor had ever seen in the castle.

“Harry, I don't think that we should waste any time in getting to the task Professor Dumbledore has set out for us,” Hermione interrupted his surveillance of the room. “Shall we head to Hogsmeade?”

Harry chuckled as he got up from the sofa. “Why, Miss Granger, if I didn't know any better I'd say that it sounds like you're hoping to get me completely sloshed and have your way with me!”

Hermione looked affronted. “Mister Potter, I would hope that you had realized by now that it doesn't take alcohol, wizarding or muggle, for me to have my way with you!”

With several peals of laughter the young couple left after depositing their belongings in the Heads suite, and made their way back out through Gryffindor tower. Choosing to simply walk from the Hogwarts gates into the village, Harry and Hermione held each other's hands as they continued along in silence. When they arrived at The Three Broomsticks a somewhat withdrawn Madam Rosmerta, who couldn't help but smile at their presence, greeted them warmly. She was still a tad shy around Hogwarts students after her run in with an Imperius curse that had landed Katie Bell in St. Mungo's, but for the Gryffindor golden couple she was all smiles. She knew that Harry would never hold her actions against her as she was under an Unforgivable Curse at the time.

“So, what'll it be, luvs?” she asked in greeting, gesturing to the wide variety of liquors that decorated the bar behind her. “I know that you're of age now, Harry, and you'll be lucky if all the older witches in here can keep their hands off ya! Might as well celebrate a belated birthday with a few rounds, on the house of course.”

The pretty, older witch grinned as she began to mix herself a drink while she waited for them to make their selections. Hermione watched in fascination as she pulled out a Muggle blender from under the counter. When Madam Rosmerta noticed that Hermione's attention was drawn to the electrical appliance, she couldn't help but smile at her.

“This isn't Hogwarts, now is it? Just because we're in a wizarding village doesn't mean I can't have a plug or two. No one's firing off any spells in here so other than protective wards there's not much magic going on to disturb it.” She explained as she added some ice to the blender. Reaching behind her for a bottle with a sparkly blue label. “Ogden's Old French Kiss,” she winked at Harry, pouring a liberal amount in with the ice. “Vanilla schnapps,” she clarified for Hermione as she pressed the button to start the blender.

The metal blades whipped the ice and liquor together into a frothy consistency, and Rosmerta added a healthy measure of pumpkin juice to the mixture. When it was all blended to her satisfaction, the barmaid poured her drink into a tall frosty glass that she had conjured. With a dollop of whipped cream and the addition of a straw, she was happy with her concoction and proceeded to down it.

Harry looked a tad nervous. “Should you, um, be drinking on the job?” he asked.

Rosmerta laughed gaily. “Harry, we're in a bar. People would think me strange if I didn't!”

“What's it taste like?” Hermione asked eying the frothy beverage.

“Technically it's called an Iced Pumpkin Schnapps, but if you ask me, it's just like a chilled pumpkin pie.” Rosmerta answered, offering her glass to Hermione. “Want to try a sip?”

Hermione eagerly sucked on the straw, her eyes widening in delight, as she tasted the blended beverage. “It doesn't taste alcoholic at all!” she proclaimed.

“Aye, but that doesn't mean it ain't!” Rosmerta smiled, downing another gulp. “There's quite a bit of schnapps in there, and it being another Ogden's recipe, I can assure you it's just as potent as Firewhisky without the dragon breath.”

“Then what's the side effect for Ogden's Vanilla Schnapps?” Hermione asked, not realizing she'd mistaken the name. She took another sip of Madam Rosmerta's drink, a bit more this time than the last.

“Ogden's Old French Kiss,” the witch corrected with a saucy wink.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. “You mean—?” The wizarding alcohol began to take its effect on her as she pulled Harry in for a good snog.

The barmaid chuckled merrily. “It's a bit nicer than breathing fire, don't ya think?”

Pulling away from Harry in a bit of a daze, Hermione had a lovely grin plastered on her face for a few seconds. “Why yes, yes it is.”

Not that Harry was about to complain, but he couldn't help but wonder. “Madam Rosmerta, if it's such a powerful effect that Hermione just kissed me, how come you haven't lunged at any wizards yet? You've had more than she has!”

“I've had far more than the both of ya put together, and you're the ones that came in here for a drink!” she spouted, quickly pouring Harry a shot of Firewhisky and adding some more French Kiss and ice to the blender. “Come along, Harry, drink up. Another shot and I'll have another drink whipped up for your Hermione here, and then we'll all get good and right pissed together,” she proclaimed as she poured more pumpkin juice into the blender.

Not seeing room for an argument, Harry accepted the shot glass and downed it quickly, pretending not to notice that Rosmerta had poured him a double. As the noise from the blender permeated the silence of the bar, Harry looked around at the other customers who seemed perturbed by the grating sound. “Uh, Madam Rosmerta?” He tried to get her attention.

She quickly finished up Hermione's drink and snapped her wrist expertly so that it would slide across the bar and stop directly in front of the girl. “Mmm?” she looked up at Harry, sipping further at her own Pumpkin Schnapps.

“You mean that the three of us will get pissed together, or just Hermione and I?” asked Harry, watching as another shot of Firewhisky appeared in front of him.

“Why, the three of us of course! You've been such a fantastic customer for so long, Harry, and I'd have to be crazy not to allow you to celebrate your birthday! And I must admit, it's much more fun to partake in the drinking than it is to watch.” She replied, finishing off her first drink.

“So what about the other customers?” he inquired before swallowing his second shot. Hermione was still sipping at her own beverage, seemingly enjoying the taste of an alcoholic pumpkin pie between kisses with Harry.

Madam Rosmerta seemed to consider his words for a few moments as she mixed herself a new drink. “Good point, Harry,” she conceded, grabbing her wand. She muttered an incantation and pointed the wand at her throat. “Oi! You lot!” her voice boomed loud with the Sonorous charm, “Clear out, would ya? Private party, so scram!”

Moments later the few patrons of The Three Broomsticks miserably made their way to the front door, many of them grumbling about not getting to finish their drinks. With a wave of her wand, Madam Rosmerta closed the door behind the last wizard, nearly catching his arse and coattails in the process.

“Now, where were we?” she said gaily as she continued to mix up a new concoction. “Ahh yes. We're going to get right pissed, now aren't we?” she grinned.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks that seemed to say `What have we gotten ourselves into?' but they remained silent.

“I've got just the thing to do the trick. A Hippogriff Hammer,” the barmaid declared, holding up another frosty glass, this one with a dark amber liquid.

“What's in that?” Harry eyed her curiously.

Madam Rosmerta snorted as if Harry had just asked her the stupidest question on earth. “Firewhisky, of course.”

Hermione didn't much care as she'd just finished her Iced Pumpkin Schnapps, and held out her hand for the glass, quickly tossing it back and draining it.

“It's one of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, too.” She smiled knowingly.

“What else?” Harry asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hermione finished the last drops of her drink, her eyes watering.

“Ew, I just drank dragon's blood?” she exclaimed.

Harry laughed. “Should've waited for the explanation, luv,” he chided her.

Madam Rosmerta quickly mixed up another Hippogriff Hammer for Harry and sent it flying across the top of the bar. He bravely took a gulp, finding that he couldn't really discern the metallic taste of the dragon's blood from the overwhelming alcoholic potency. “On the bright side you get completely sloshed,” she admitted, blending a third Hammer for herself.

“Well, I'd certainly hope so if I just drank blood!” exclaimed Hermione. “There'd better be something good about doing that.”

Chuckling to herself, Madam Rosmerta continued her explanation. “It also has some nice aged single malt scotch and, of course, a touch of butterbeer to take the edge off.”

“How does butterbeer take the edge off of dragon's blood?” Hermione screeched, making a grab for a nearby bottle of Voldie's Vodka to scour the taste from her mouth. As she slammed the bottle back onto the counter after taking a good, long swig, she burst into giggles at the label.

“Came out just after the big Ministry fight,” Rosmerta acknowledged.

Hermione took another long pull from the bottle of Voldie's Vodka to effectively sanitize all traces of dragon's blood from her mouth. Harry just took another large gulp of his Hippogriff Hammer as Madam Rosmerta toasted him.

“Hey, if you can survive drinking Polyjuice potion that has boomslang skin and lacewing flies with essence of Millicent Bulstrode, you can handle some dragon's blood and butterbeer,” admonished Harry as he patted his girlfriend on the back. Hermione was apparently discovering just how potent Voldie's Vodka was as her body was wracked with loud coughs.

Madam Rosmerta chose to ignore the mention of the restricted potion and continued to sip at her drink.

“I turned into a cat from that potion!” reminded Hermione as she took her third swig from the vodka bottle, ignoring the burning sensation it offered as it made its way down her throat.

Harry laughed. “But you were so cute as a cat, `Mione!” Hermione was not impressed with the reference. “You need to drink more,” Harry exclaimed.

She glared, almost daring the bespectacled wizard to conjure up an image of her with pointy cat ears and a tail.

Harry's eyes flicked over her appreciatively as he did just that. “I think that outfit might be better left for the bedroom,” whispered Harry smoothly as he planted a kiss on Hermione's neck.

SMACK!

Apparently Hermione was not impressed with that idea, either.

“Well, I think you need another Hippogriff Hammer, and then you can chase it with another shot of Voldie's Vodka to get rid of the blood,” Harry suggested, rubbing at the red mark on his cheek.

“I will NOT have more dragon's blood!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes flashing dangerous emerald fire at her boyfriend.

Harry chuckled as he drained his drink and took Rosmerta's latest proffered glass. “Bottom's up!” he winked at her as he slapped her bottom.

Hermione glared at him in outrage as she grasped at her bum, but that was the moment that the effects of the Hippogriff Hammer and the large amount of Voldie's Vodka began to take effect. Having started with Iced Pumpkin Schnapps hadn't helped her either, as her head was now beginning to feel extremely dizzy. She made a move to swat at Harry's arm in retaliation, but her coordination was becoming further off than she expected, and she lunged forward as her outstretched hand met with empty air.

Madam Rosmerta had finished her own Hippogriff Hammer in the wake of Hermione's attempted slap, and was now sliding shot glasses across the bar at both of them. “Liquid Fairy Dust,” she proclaimed, downing her own shot before she started to sway. “Ever heard of the Muggle shot liquid cocaine?”

Harry nodded. It was something that Dudley had taken a liking to the past summer and would often come home reeking of Goldschlager and Jagermeister after a night out with his friends.

“Same concept, but it's one part Goldschlager, one part Old Ogden's French Kiss, and one part fairy. I'm not quite sure which part went into yours, really, it's just a fairy concentrate but y'know…”

Hermione nearly spat out the shot seconds after she'd downed it. “First you serve me dragon's blood and now you're serving me liquid fairy concentrate? What the sodding hell kind of establishment is this?”

“The best kind,” Harry winked at her, downing his own shot.

Before Hermione could go off on a tangent about fairy rights and how they shouldn't be juiced for wizarding beverages, Madam Rosmerta calmed her down.

“Relax, Hermione, have another swig of that vodka you seem to love so much. It's not like anyone crushes up the fairies or milks them or anything, I was joking about which part you got. It's fairy tears. Pretty damned high priced item too, if I say so myself, but nothing but the best for Harry and his girl.” She explained, mixing a large batch of a bright red drink and straining it through an indiscernible piece of fabric.

“Whuzzatone?” Hermione slurred, feeling effectively sloshed. She was about to refuse the glass that Madam Rosmerta slid to her, but Harry clinked glasses with her and started to drink. Shrugging her shoulders and muttering something to herself about `If you can't beat them, join them,' Hermione took a tentative sip.

“The Red-Headed Slag.” Madam Rosmerta said proudly, clinking her glass with theirs and taking a large swig as she proudly displayed the fabric she'd strained the drink through.

Harry's blurry vision focused just enough for him to make out the scrap of fabric Madam Rosmerta was holding.

“Are those…knickers?” he asked, nearly choking on his drink.

A girlish giggle escaped Madam Rosmerta's lips as she nodded. “Don't worry, Harry, they're brand new. I'm not like Aberforth over at the Hog's Head, who's daft enough to use an actual slag's knickers to strain the stuff though. If it'll make you feel any better pretend it's like straining something through cheesecloth when you're cooking.”

Harry's experience in the kitchen and his inebriated state led to his brain's conclusion that this explanation made perfect sense.

As Hermione finished her drink and slammed the glass back down to the bar, she declared in a bit of a slur, “That's the one. That's Ginny. The Red-Headed Slag.”

Madam Rosmerta's eyes went wide at Hermione's proclamation of Ginny's promiscuity, but her wandering thoughts were cut off by Harry's words.

“Right, this one'll muck up the spell,” Harry agreed, finishing his own drink. “Can we get a recipe for this one?” asked Harry politely, grasping the edge of the bar to steady himself.

In messy handwriting Madam Rosmerta scribbled down the recipe. One ounce each of Firewhisky, peach schnapps, and raspberry liqueur, with a topper of Voldie's Vodka. Harry was amused at the last ingredient and found it greatly ironic, but Hermione racing for the bathroom quickly disturbed his thoughts.

He rushed after her, tripping over a few chairs and knocking some tables down in the process, but he arrived just in time to hold her hair back for her as she vomited into the bathroom sink. She hadn't even had time to kneel in front of the loo.

A few coughs and splutters later, Hermione said, “I guess dragon's blood doesn't agree with me.”

Harry chuckled. “I guess not.”

A few mild sobering charms and a long walk later, the young couple had left a relatively sloshed Madam Rosmerta after locking the door of The Three Broomsticks and found themselves in Gryffindor tower. They were still stumbling as they entered the portrait hole to the Heads suite, ignoring the amused chuckle of Ogden McGillicuddy as he recognized their inebriated state for what it was.

Though Harry and Hermione's magic was usually spot on, it helped if the person performing the sobering charm was, in fact, sober. Their terrible coordination and slurred speech thanks to the immense amounts of alcohol they had consumed had led to slightly off spells, and the results led to their still being relatively drunk, but sober enough to walk home without falling into any ditches or the likes.

As they collapsed together on the sofa of their common room, Headmistress McGonagall entered the suite.

“I trust you found what you were looking for?” she asked gently, placing two bright blue bottles on the table with a note.

Harry nodded as Hermione's eyes drifted shut. “Red…headed slag,” he managed to get out before passing out.

McGonagall chuckled to herself, remembering when she had been their age and the antics she had gotten up to. Without another word she exited the portrait hole and hoped that they wouldn't be too hung over the next morning to overlook the potions she had left behind for them.

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A/N: This is it, folks! The last of the pre-written chapters. I worked on Chapter 26 a bit on the way to Wisconsin but it's pretty hard to write by hand with bumpy roads, and even harder when your laptop is in danger of shutting down from overheating. Therefore I've got like…two pages. I'll be working on it as much as I can but it usually takes me about two weeks to pump out a chapter if I put my mind to it. Please bear with me!

Also a bit of warning on this one: Hermione's going to have a bit of a breakdown in this one. A lot of people on FF.net tried to tell me she was acting OOC, but to be completely honest, this was the only way I could explain what happened in HBP. So here we go - please don't kill me!

And now a disclaimer, in the style of Bob and Alyx, authors of Sunset Over Britain, who have inspired me to get a little more creative with them. Me ranting about wanting to own the Potterverse is getting old, so here you go. :o)

<><><><><>

“Um, hi.” A clearly nervous young man steps into view, blinking at the harsh light. “Call me Lang. I'm uh, here to tell you that the author of this story, Crystal H., does not own the Potterverse. Occasionally she rants at how she should and how she'd do a much better job of it, but—OW!”

Lang is prodded with an incredibly long metal pole.

“Okay, fine, I'll do this right! Crystal does not lay any claim to anything Harry Potter related, or otherwise created by JKR. Any original ideas are hers, and some of them also belong to mathiasgranger. There, is that good enough?” he asks, glancing nervously to one side.

Crystal steps out, giving him a thoughtful look. “I suppose, but there's one more thing I need you to do,” she says in a chilling voice.

Lang looks extremely nervous as she whips out a wand and points it at him, muttering an incantation. With a loud crack his body starts to change and shift as if he were taking Polyjuice Potion.

“What the sodding—“ Lang says, looking down at himself. He finds knobbly fingers and a black, potion-stained robe. Realization dawns on him as his hands fly to his head, fingers slipping through the slimy mess. “Snape? You turned me into Snape?”

A grin settles on Crystal's face. “Payback for that little bit you started with. You'll be dealt with properly in the next disclaimer. Oh, and wash your hair before Chapter 26, would you?”

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Harry awoke the next morning with a blinding headache that could easily compete with the interference from Riddle in regards to pain levels. As he groaned and shuffled himself about uncomfortably on the sofa he noticed that, some time during the night, Hermione had tucked herself into his arms. He was reminded of the morning that they had woken up together after dinner in Paris, and when his stomach began to lurch he had a fleeting thought that at least this time, he was expecting her to be there.

A few agonizing minutes later he returned from his time with the toilet to the suite common room where he found Hermione waking up in a worse state than he'd been. He barely had time to duck out of the way as she rocketed towards the loo, one hand clutching at her mouth and the other at her stomach. Resting back on the sofa, Harry gingerly let his head land on the pillow that had been squashed at some point during the night.

His eyes fell upon two bright blue bottles on the table before him, accompanied by a scrap of parchment. Doing his best to tune out the gut-turning retching sounds coming from the direction of the bathroom, he made a swipe for the note and nearly knocked one of the bottles over in the process.

Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger,

I'm glad to see that you have settled into the Heads suite for your stay; hopefully it is well suited to your needs, should you decide to make the stay a more permanent one.

The blue bottles are an old family recipe for a Hangover Remedy. You'll each need to drink the full contents; you were quite inebriated upon your return to the castle last night.

When you two are feeling up to it, please visit my office this afternoon. Anything you may need throughout the day can be brought by the Hogwarts elves, if necessary.

Sincerely,

Minerva

Hermione settled herself back onto the sofa next to Harry just as he downed the potion that McGonagall had left behind. He silently passed the second bottle to Hermione, motioning for her to do the same. A few moments later they were able to enjoy their morning with clear heads and no lingering traces of nausea.

Realizing that they were both still dressed in clothing from the previous night, they made their way to their respective rooms and quickly put on something clean that didn't reek of Hippogriff Hammers and Red-Headed Slags.

Harry? Hermione called out.

Yes?

Can we go to the hospital wing before we get breakfast? As hungry as Hermione was feeling after emptying the contents of her stomach, she wanted to check on Ginny's condition and pass on the news that she and Harry had determined which drink might be able to snap her out of her coma.

“Sure thing, luv,” he said, sneaking up behind her to wrap her in a hug. Hermione had just pulled her shirt over her head mere seconds before he had entered her room. Twisting in his arms to face him, Hermione brought her lips to his for a good morning kiss. Shortly after they made their way towards the hospital wing, holding hands and ignoring the catcalls from several of the portraits.

The Gryffindors walked into the hospital wing to see Madam Pomfrey carefully administering potions to a still comatose Ginny. She raised her head wearily, eyeing the teens. “She should be fully awake some time this afternoon,” she said in way of greeting, turning her attention back to Ginny. “Professor McGonagall told me that you two have found some way of getting this potion out of her system, which is more than I've been able to do. I'll get word to you as soon as she's awake.” Madam Pomfrey casually dismissed them, pulling the curtains around Ginny's bed.

“Well, that was helpful,” snorted Harry as they left the room. “She didn't even say good morning.”

“Can you blame her, Harry?” admonished Hermione. “She's spent probably the entire time since we brought Ginny here trying to help her, and thinks she might wake up this afternoon. She has no way of counteracting the Obeir potion, and all we had to do was go get sloshed in town and pick a drink. I'd be grumpy too if I were her.”

Harry recognized that, as always, his girlfriend was right. Rather than admit it, he took her hand and led her towards the kitchens. He'd thought of summoning Dobby to bring them breakfast in their suite but knew Hermione would lecture him about house elf rights, even though Dobby was considered free. Avoiding the fight before it could even begin he opted for the direct approach and soon they found themselves in front of the large portrait of fruit. Stretching his arm to tickle the pear, the portrait swung aside and let them into the kitchens.

As sweet as Harry's intentions of avoiding any confrontation in regards to house elves had been, the memory that the kitchens were entirely staffed by elves had completely escaped his mind. Hermione was seething as she watched the elves bustling about, preparing meals for the professors and staff that remained at Hogwarts over the holiday. Harry, however, was starving and focused on finding himself a meal.

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby exclaimed, rushing towards Harry at an alarming rate. His bat-like ears flapped as he skidded to a halt. “Dobby is most excited to see Master Potter again!”

Harry resisted the urge to groan. “I'm not your master, Dobby,” he reminded the elf gently, bending to greet the creature.

Dobby goggled at him with glowing green eyes. Harry often vehemently denied his claim to the elf when confronted with the title of Master, but it didn't faze Dobby. He would always refer to the bespectacled wizard in that manner. “What can Dobby do for Harry Potter and his Hermy?”

Glancing at Hermione with the intention of determining what she'd like for breakfast, Harry was rewarded with a glare of imminent proportions.

“What?” asked Harry stupidly, searching her eyes.

Hermione began to turn a violent shade of red that would have made Vernon Dursley proud, had he been alive to see it. She looked purposefully around the room at the elves working in servitude, clueing Harry in to the reason behind her anger.

Harry flushed. Sorry, he whispered in her mind. My stomach was thinking more prominently than my brain.

Hermione had always known that there were a large number of elves working for Hogwarts, which was why she tried to desperately to free them in her fifth year with magically knitted hats strategically placed about the common room. Seeing them all in one confined space was a different matter entirely, and it rammed home the reminder that she had largely ignored S.P.E.W. for the majority of her sixth year at Hogwarts.

Her lower lip began to tremble as she felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment in herself. She had been trying so desperately to ignore her feelings for Harry and refocus them on Ron for the duration of the previous school year that she had abandoned many things she had believed in, S.P.E.W. being an integral member of that list. Hermione recalled her research into the identity of the half-blood prince, and how she had come up with an Eileen Prince as a former Hogwarts student. In her first five years at the school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, she would have done a bit of digging into Eileen Prince's genealogy, and discovered within a day, at the most, that she was mother to Severus Snape. However, due to her extreme change of heart in her sixth year, she hadn't discovered that fact until after Snape had murdered Dumbledore.

The overwhelming sense of disappointment quickly escalated into an extreme feeling of self-loathing. Hermione began to shake in an effort to control the emotions that she was experiencing.

“Miss Hermy?” asked Dobby cautiously. Harry was worried, and the house elf could sense it. When Hermione had not responded to his mental apology she had gone into some strange emotional state. “Miss Hermy, is yous alright?”

Hermione shook her head and reached out to brace herself against a nearby table. She was beginning to shake violently.

“Hermione?” asked Harry tentatively, following her to reach out and touch her shoulder.

At Harry's touch, Hermione dissolved into tears. The sounds of her sobs disturbed the routine of house elves bustling about the kitchen. They all stopped to stare. As they were bonded to Hogwarts (with the exception of Dobby, of course) and lived to serve the school and its inhabitants, Hermione was considered to be their Mistress in a roundabout way, as were all the students. Several house elves rushed towards her and began making efforts to calm her down. Some offered tea, and others offered bottles of Firewhisky to calm her nerves.

Harry didn't have the time to wonder exactly where the elves had gotten the Firewhisky from, because apparently being surrounded by about twenty house elves calling her `Mistress' and trying to help her was too much for Hermione. With a loud crack that temporarily deafened every being within hearing range, Hermione disappeared from her position at the table.

Several house elves looked surprised, while Dobby smiled knowingly at Harry.

“What the sodding hell…” Harry trailed off, seeing he smirk on the goggle-eyed house elf's face. “You know something, don't you?”

Dobby nodded and, with a snap of his fingers, conjured a chair for Harry to sit in. “Miss Hermy will be okay for a few minutes. Let Dobby get his Harry Potter some breakfasts, and Dobby will tell Harry Potter what is wrong with Miss Hermy.”

A plate levitated itself in front of Harry, laden with bangers and mash. He dug in uneasily, appeasing his hunger despite his frazzled nerves in regards to his disappearing girlfriend.

Satisfied that Harry had taken a few bites to eat and would be appeasing his ravenous belly, Dobby began to speak. “Miss Hermy just Apparated.”

Harry spit out a bit of the mash he'd just chewed on in surprise. “Apparated?”

Dobby nodded.

“In Hogwarts?”

Again, the little house elf confirmed what Harry was saying.

“That's impossible!” he spluttered.

Dobby shook his head. “House elves can Apparate inside Hogwarts. We does it every day!”

“But Hermione's not a house elf, she's a witch!” Harry reminded him.

That knowing smile spread across Dobby's face again. “Miss Hermy is the smartest witch at Hogwarts, and Miss Hermy can Apparate inside the castle!” he declared.

Harry swallowed a mouthful and fixed the elf with a confused look. “Hermione being a smart witch has nothing to do with being able to Apparate inside the school! She's not a house elf. There's Anti-Apparition wards in place, and she'll tell you herself that it's impossible to Apparate inside Hogwarts! It says so in Hogwarts: A History! Believe me, Dobby, I'd know. She reminds me often enough.”

“She uses house elf magic!” Dobby grinned.

Biting back a groan, Harry processed this information. Knowing Hermione, she had no clue that she had just Apparated using house elf magic. He had a feeling she was not going to be pleased. “How did she Apparate with house elf magic?”

“Dobby and the other elves gives it to her, Harry Potter! We's give it to Master Harry as well, but he can do it without Dobby's help!”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “You're telling me I can Apparate within the castle.”

Dobby nodded with a large grin.

“And that you and the other elves gave Hermione house elf magic.”

“Miss Hermy can Apparate anywhere she wants! Wards won't stop Miss Hermy from Apparating anymore. Miss Hermy had enough magic in her to Apparate but she didn't know how, so Dobby and the other elves give her the know-how!”

Though the concept of Hermione not knowing how to do something was laughable, Harry could understand what the small elf was trying to tell him. Hermione was magically capable of Apparating through Dumbledore's wards, but she didn't know how to trigger that ability. As far as she knew, it was impossible to do anyway. House elves commonly Apparated in places where wizards couldn't, so he suspected that Dobby had passed on some sort of house elf magical trait that allowed Hermione to trigger things she normally wouldn't have been able to. No matter how she had been able to do it, Harry knew that Hermione was still upset as she'd been before she Apparated out of the kitchen, and he had to find her. Harry wisely decided to figure out the mechanics of this house elf magic transfer after he'd consoled Hermione.

“Do you know where she went to, Dobby?” asked Harry desperately. As much as he appreciated the explanation, Dobby had kept him from finding her for long enough.

Dobby seemed to concentrate for a second or two, and then he focused his eyes on Harry. “Miss Hermy is in Master Harry's room in Gryffindor Tower.”

Decided that was enough to find her, Harry sent his plate of half-eaten breakfast to one of the large sinks and got up to leave the kitchen.

“Master Harry Potter?” Dobby called for his attention.

Cringing inward at the title, Harry turned around. “Yes, Dobby?”

“Perhaps Harry Potter would prefer to Apparate to his Miss Hermy rather than walk? It is much faster, it is.”

Though Harry was still unsure as to whether or not Dobby greatly exaggerated his magical abilities, he resigned himself to the idea of at least trying. After all, he'd never done so much as that before due to the belief that the Anti-Apparition wards were impenetrable.

Focusing himself and concentrating on his room in Gryffindor Tower, Harry found himself there only moments after he'd try to Apparate.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he muttered under his breath, silently thanking the house elf for informing him of this ability he didn't realize he had. Looking around, he realized that he was in his old dorm room, not the Heads Suite. Dobby had said his bedroom in Gryffindor Tower, and that's what Harry had concentrated on. It hadn't occurred to him that the Heads Suite was off the common room, and therefore still situated in the main part of the castle and not in the tower at all.

Dobby, however, was right in his assessment of Hermione's location as Harry could feel her presence in the room, even though he couldn't see her. The curtains were drawn on his old bed, and he suspected she'd placed a Silencing charm around them.

He strode over to his formed bed and spread the curtains wide open. Hermione was curled up in a ball, her body shaking with silent sobs. Harry hated dealing with crying girls but this was his Hermione. She hardly ever cried, and seeing her so unbelievably distraught was tearing his heart in two.

Opening his mouth to try to comfort his girlfriend, Harry couldn't find the words. Hogwarts: A History was like Hermione's bible, and telling her that she would be able to Apparate within the castle walls would be like telling her that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene, and they'd had kids. He had a feeling she'd have a bigger mental breakdown than she was already having at the news.

Deciding to go with the physical comfort approach, Harry slid into the bed and wrapped his arms around Hermione. She shook in his embrace, and Harry couldn't help but feel that she was falling apart somehow, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He thought that being able to Apparate within the castle would be a surprise to her, but that the ability wasn't so serious that her crying made any sense to him. There was a nagging feeling in Harry's brain that there was something more to Hermione's breakdown than he was aware of.

“'Mione?” he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder to try to snap her out of it.

Snuggling herself deeper into his arms, Hermione continued to sob. “Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!” she wailed, burying her face in the hollow of his neck.

Harry blinked, completely bewildered. Sorry? What did Hermione have to be sorry about? He didn't understand. Sure, being able to Apparate inside the school would come as a shock to her, but it was hardly anything to apologize for, let alone cry about. He was about to ask her what she was apologizing for when Hermione sniffled and slipped her hand into his.

“Harry, please, you have to forgive me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for—“

“Hermione, for the love of Merlin, what are you apologizing for?” Harry asked, seemingly lost.

Wiping a few tears from her eyes, Hermione gave him a sad smile. “You really couldn't tell, could you?”

With his right eyebrow shooting high onto his forehead, Harry was sure he'd somehow missed something. He could tell just how upset she was by how long her last sentence had taken her. Her words had been interspersed with sniffles and tears, and he could have sworn she had accidentally stuttered a few times.

Why don't we talk like this, he offered, hoping it would help her to better articulate her words.

Hermione shook her head. “No, Harry. I've avoided the truth long enough. I'm not going to hide behind the façade of not actually having to say the words.”

Harry went stiff; he was suddenly starting to feel very apprehensive about what Hermione had to say. The way she'd been apologizing, asking for forgiveness, he was suddenly terrified that her feelings for him had been a farce all along and that she was going to finally break up with him.

Seeing the panicked expression on his face, Hermione was quick to soothe his fears. “Oh, Harry, it's nothing like that!” she admonished, tears still flowing. “Didn't you wonder what was going on last year?”

What was going on last year? Of course he had! His sixth year had been plagued by feelings he didn't understand, watching his best friend snog an irritating girl every waking moment, and feeling hurt as his other best friend had become withdrawn and avoided his company. “You mean what was going on with you?”

“Precisely, Harry.” Hermione acknowledged, quickly conjuring a tissue to blow her nose into. Her sniffles were slowly subsiding, and her tears were beginning to dwindle to a trickle. “Didn't my behaviour seem off to you? That I was prepared to nearly completely abandon your friendship because of that silly textbook?”

Silly textbook! Harry almost gave her an indignant glare at that. Not only had the information in that text been brilliant in helping with his Potions grades, but it had—belonged to Severus Snape, he realized with a start. Professor Severus Snape, the self-proclaimed Half-Blood Prince. Harry cringed inwardly at the reminder of the greasy haired git who had murdered Albus Dumbledore. It didn't help that Hermione had been right all along about the book, either.

“Last year nearly destroyed us,” she whispered, averting her eyes from Harry's. “I don't mean as in physically destroyed any of us, per se, in case you weren't sure.” Harry was glad she had cleared that up as he was just about to point out that Hermione had been nearly unscathed that year. “I mean us. The `you and I' kind of us. We were driven so far apart by that book, and then it became so much worse when Ginny—“

“What does Ginny have to do with it?” Harry questioned; he had thought they'd put that subject to bed when Hermione had called her out on her use of the love potion.

Hermione sighed, swiping her hand at a few errant tears that still lingered on her cheeks. “When she kissed you in the common room,” she reminded him. “When I thought that you'd finally seen the girl I'd been shoving under your nose.”

Harry was truly confused. “Hermione, I already know that you were trying to be a good friend by helping Ginny with me, but honestly, I don't see what you're getting at.”

“Harry, have I ever told you how long I've been in love with you?” she asked suddenly.

“Uh…no.” he admitted, wondering what she was getting at.

“Third year,” she admitted softly. When she felt no negative reaction from Harry's body, and he remained silent, she continued. “I realized when I was using the time turner. Whenever I was going back to attend a class I didn't share with you, I found myself wishing that you could have shared the time turner with me, that you could have shared the experience with me. Harry, if I tell you something, will you promise me that you'll never tell another soul?”

Hermione twisted her upper body to look deeply into Harry's eyes. She was amazed at the confusion she could see lying in the iridescent green of his pupils; clearly he wasn't sure where she was going with this explanation.

“I promise,” he said solemnly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned to face away from him again. “I—I used the time turner to go back and watch you.”

Harry wasn't sure how to react to that. He wasn't sure exactly what Hermione meant by `watch', but he hoped it wasn't as bad as he thought.

“Oh honestly, Harry. Do you think I was spying on you in the shower or something?” she smiled, containing a soft laugh. “Not like that, silly. I only did it a few times, but every time I did I had resolved to finally do what I'd wanted to. And then, as soon as I was there, I couldn't. Whenever I was faced with taking action rather than planning to take action, my brain would hammer home the reminder that I couldn't go back in time to interfere with the future. Time travel is a tricky thing, Harry. As much as I wanted to go back and correct my mistakes, I realized that I couldn't as soon as I was there.”

Rather than attempt to wrap his head around the concept of time travel Harry chose to focus instead on the fact that Hermione just admitted she had made mistakes. He knew that rubbing it in would be far too mean, but it gave him a secret sort of pleasure to know that no matter how perfect she appeared to be, Hermione was human just like the rest of the world.

“I went home that summer, convinced that I had ruined any chance I had ever had. My mother realized something was upsetting me and when we talked about it, she convinced me that it was better to try and know for sure, than to be too scared to do something about it and live my life in regret. So when we returned to Hogwarts for our fourth year, I had resolved to finally be honest with you, and in turn, with myself. I was going to tell you everything, and then Cho came along.”

“Cho?” Harry repeated. He'd had an inkling that the pretty Ravenclaw might be a source of jealousy for Hermione now that they were together, but it was certainly different hearing it confirmed in her words.

“Harry, please. If you want me to explain, you'll need to not interrupt me. I still can't believe I'm telling you all of this but I promised myself I'd come clean about everything.” Hermione heard no argument, and continued. “Yes, Cho. When I'd decided to tell you everything, you became infatuated with Cho. I knew how happy that made you, how happy she made you, and I didn't want to get in the way of that. What if you didn't like what I had to say? What if you saw me as your bushy-haired, bucktoothed, bookworm best friend and nothing more? I know you didn't notice, Harry, but I'd started to…develop that year. There was no doubt that I was most definitely a girl, and you didn't even notice. And don't try to give me the excuse that the school robes are loose and hide everything, because it won't work. I hardly ever wore them in the common room when we were doing our homework, and not once did you seem to notice that I'd grown legs and breasts.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione had apparently sensed that he'd have something to say to that.

“Don't bother arguing, Harry. I know the way you looked at me. Or, didn't look at me.”

“Dammit, Hermione, I'm not going to stay silent on this one. Have you completely forgotten how I looked at you the night of the Yule ball? How I always looked at you differently after the ball?” He argued, feeling angry that she hadn't remembered.

“I haven't forgotten,” she said softly, “but that's just my point. After the Yule ball. If it weren't for that damned ball and Viktor Krum I doubt either you or Ron would have realized that I was ever a girl.” Hermione chuckled softly. “Did you know Parvati wanted me to get pink dress robes?” she snorted. “I was tempted to hex her for just suggesting it.”

Harry stayed silent. He hated to admit that she was right, but had she not shown up looking incredibly exquisite that night, it would probably have taken him much longer to realize that his best friend was growing into a young woman.

“When you were mooning over Cho and how she had gone to the ball with Cedric instead of you, it was so hard to keep quiet. You were acting like no one would like you for being anything but the Boy Who Lived, and the whole time I wanted nothing more than to assure you that there was someone out there who did. That that someone was me. But I couldn't, Harry, no matter how much I wanted to! I saw how you felt about Cho and if you hadn't given up on her, then neither had I. Do you remember when I tried to explain to you how Cho was feeling, and why she was crying when she kissed you?” Hermione sniffled. She knew how much holding back the truth had hurt her over the years, but she hadn't counted on it hurting this much coming out.

“When you told Ron he had the—what was it again?—emotional range of a teaspoon?” Harry chuckled. “'Cause that was brilliant.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Harry, when Ron was being his usual insensitive git self. Do you remember how I tried to explain to you all the things she was feeling at once? And how Ron said that a person would explode feeling all that?”

Harry didn't answer. He knew that Hermione was well aware of the fact that he remembered that conversation.

“He was right. Last year I had a much bigger explosion than Cho ever did. You just didn't notice.”

“Cor, Hermione, I'm not that thick!” Harry protested. “If you'd gone completely spare I'd've noticed it.”

“Oh really?” she threw back at him, fully turning now to face him. “Must've been a bit difficult trying to see past Ginny's head as she tried to lick your tonsils.”

Harry turned red. “She used a potion, we know that now!”

Lowering her eyes, Hermione muttered, “That doesn't mean it hurt less seeing it.”

Feeling properly shamed, Harry tried to pull his girlfriend into his arms and comfort her, but Hermione was having none of it.

“I was worried because I thought that if you had a relationship with Cho, you wouldn't need me anymore. She's just as smart, just as helpful, and Merlin knows she's loads prettier than I am. She was like a more attractive me, and what on earth would you need me for when you had her? I was absolutely terrified that you wouldn't want to be friends anymore. Then I felt guilty for feeling like that, because Cho made you happy, or at least the idea of Cho, and I was being a prat about it. I was being selfish and I didn't want to share you with her. Then when you add Ron… That was what made it even harder.”

“Ron?” Harry asked evenly.

Hermione sighed. “Harry, even you had noticed that he fancied me, and I didn't know what to do about it. I was beginning to think you were hopeless, and it would have been so easy to convince myself to fall for Ron and spare myself the heartache, and look where that ended up going!”

“Well, Lavender wasn't exactly the best choice, nor was Ron entirely aware of—“

“Don't waste your time defending him, Harry. It's useless. It was a mess that I'd gotten myself into.”

Harry gave her a confused look. “How do you figure?”

With her eyes firmly fixed on the mattress and her fingers playing with the sheet, Hermione spoke. “I'd fallen in love with you three years earlier, Harry. Three years is a lot of time to dwell on unrequited feelings. I took every feeling, every wish and desire I'd ever had for you, and I focused it all on Ron. I was determined to fall for him instead, even if it took taking a love potion spiked with his hair to do it. It was hurting too much to see you with Cho in fifth year and then Ginny in sixth. Each time I saw you with them I wished it was me you were smiling at or holding, me you were kissing.”

“But Ron was with Lavender!” Harry protested.

“Yes, rub it in, Harry. Not only could I not make my best friend who I'd fallen in love with either see me in that way or recognize my feelings, but the one who did like me changed his mind to date a girl with barely three brain cells bouncing around in her head. A girl who he was perfectly content snogging everywhere and anywhere. I wasn't good enough for you, I wasn't good enough for Ron, and I wasn't good enough for anyone else, either.” It took an awful lot of restraint for Hermione not to cry, but she did her best.

Harry noticed that she left Viktor Krum and Cormac McLaggen off the list, and decided to point it out.

“Viktor was nice, but he wasn't for me. And Cormac…” she trailed off wistfully. “Harry, if there was ever a time I would have given anything for you to see right through me, that would have been it.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “So that I would have noticed that you Confunded him at Quidditch tryouts to help Ron get Keeper? So that I would have seen that Ron liked you and then seen you in that way?”

Hermione shook her head. “Close, Harry. Yes, you probably would have seen me in `that way', but that's not why I Confunded Cormac. Don't you see, Harry? It was for you!”

“For me? Hermione, I don't understand. What good did it do me? Confunding him got Ron on the team as Keeper, it did nothing for me.”

This time Hermione did not resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Oh, Harry, for all that I feel for you, sometimes you really are as thick as Ron. Look, if I hadn't Confunded Cormac, you would have been forced to choose between Cormac and Ron, would you not?”

“Pretty much.”

“And if you had chosen Cormac what would have happened?”

“Ron would've been right pissed that I didn't make him Keeper, and McLaggen would've probably snogged you senseless on the pitch.”

“And if you had chosen Ron?”

“McLaggen would have accused me of picking my friends rather than the better players.” Harry admitted, seeing where she was going with this.

“Exactly. My spell saved you from having to make that decision, Harry. You didn't have to deal with Ron being angry, or Cormac's accusations. You were able to tell Cormac that, as you saw it, Ron was the better flier and he deserved the position. And from what you saw, it would have been the truth.”

Harry was speechless. He had often replayed that scene in his head, considering it somewhat of a defining moment in the Ron-Hermione relationship that was just waiting to begin. Every time he revisited the images he saw Hermione charming McLaggen to get Ron his Keeper position on the team. Now as he replayed them he saw her charm as an attempt to help him rather than Ron. A way to avoid his making a very difficult decision.

“Hermione, I really don't understand why you're apologizing though. We're together now, isn't that what matters?” he pleaded.

“Harry, I'm trying to make you understand what went on last year. And why Dumble—why it was my fault.”

She gave him a look that he was afraid to break from.

“I wasn't myself last year. I ignored S.P.E.W., I was terrible at research; for Merlin's sake Harry, it took me until after—until the end of the year to find out that Eileen Prince was Snape's mum! I was so focused on falling for Ron and getting over you that I stopped being me. I stopped nearly everything and threw myself wholeheartedly into this disaster, and if it hadn't been for that, maybe—maybe he wouldn't have died! Maybe I could have stopped it!”

Hermione was most definitely crying again, and Harry swept her into his arms.

“You sound like me.” He said softly. “When he died, all I could do was blame myself. I wasn't the one holding the wand that killed him, I wasn't the one who said the spell, but I blamed myself nonetheless. Hermione, regardless of your actions, there are two very important things you need to be reminded of. One, we are together now. I'm sorry that it's taken us so long, but it's happened and we can't go back and change it. Two, you did not kill Dumbledore. Neither did I. Severus Snape did, the bastard, and he'll get what's coming to him. You didn't use the killing curse on him. You didn't kill him.”

The silence was deafening as they quietly held each other. Harry couldn't take it any longer, and dipped his head to capture Hermione's lips. The kiss was soft and gentle, letting her know that despite all that had happened in the past he still loved her and still wanted to be with her. Hermione was able to feel his emotions and returned the kiss wholeheartedly, with a bit more passion than Harry had expected.

It was only a manner of seconds before their hands begun to wander while their tongues were busy exploring. Harry deftly slipped a hand under Hermione's shirt to cup her breast while she was busy fumbling with his belt buckle. When their clothes were properly shed and piled on the floor Harry wasted no time in touching Hermione. His hand moved from her breast to slide down her waist, his fingers tracing her inner thighs. A low whimper escaped her lips and Harry took this as a sign that he should do more than just touch. He pressed a finger into her and felt himself grow even harder upon discovering how wet she was. Instinctively, Hermione reached for him and her fingers closed around his hard length.

The couple had spent quite some time tormenting one another with their hands and fingers when Hermione began to moan louder and loosen her grip on Harry. He sensed that she was close and he began to move his finger faster, using his other hand to play with her clitoris. The combination of his two actions drove her right over the edge and she came quickly, calling out his name. She went limp moments later and it took quite a few minutes for her breathing to return to normal.

They laid there in each other's arms for what seemed like an eternity before Hermione spoke. “Harry?” she asked in a quiet tone.

“Mmm?” he responded, snuggling her tighter.

“How did I get here?”

He laughed softly. “You Apparated.”

With those two words Hermione nearly forgot about her earlier confusion and began to screech about the impossibilities of doing such a thing within the castle walls and how the house elves were the only ones capable. Harry chose to avoid trying to explain and called for Dobby, leaving him to deal with the ranting witch. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around house-elf apparition and opted to leave the logistics to Hermione and the goggle-eyed house elf.

He watched in amusement as Hermione's eyes widened in surprise as Dobby explained her new abilities to her. The two of them had begun to head down the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room, so Harry chose to follow them a few steps behind. They were talking animatedly and Harry was pleased to see Hermione enjoying herself again.

As they reached the bottom of the steps and made their way over to the couch, the portrait hole swung open and admitted a very harried-looking McGonagall.

“Professor! What brings you here?” Hermione asked, interrupting Dobby's ongoing explanation of house elf magic and Apparition.

McGonagall paused a moment to re-adjust her glasses and catch her breath. “It's Miss Weasley. She's awake.”

With that Dobby and the young Gryffindors followed McGonagall out of the portrait hole and they sprinted through the halls towards the hospital wing.

-->

A/N: So I started writing this as I was on the I90 going through Indiana on the way to Wisconsin for my cousin's wedding. And OMG, I passed a sign that is advertising a clothing store called Gladrags. It's real! And it exists somewhere around Laporte, Indiana! I'm way too amused by that.

Anyway, so sorry this has taken so long to get out. I've had some personal issues lately; my landlord decided to kick everyone out by the end of the month with less than 30 days notice. Highly illegal—they have to give us at least 60 days but they were being very difficult with it. Nevertheless I've found a new apartment I'm moving into in two weeks but with the running around trying to find a place in a hurry I was a bit stressed and not in much of a position to write. But now that things are taken care of, life is good! It might be a while again after this chapter because my new apartment isn't wired for Internet so I have to get that all set up but as soon as it's running I'll be updating again.

On another note, chapters will now be uploaded to Portkey before FanFiction, so you guys get the first crack at everything!

Disclaimer:

“I washed my hair,” says Lang-Snape, who is standing in a spotlight looking none-too-impressed. “I'll have you know that it was a lot more difficult than one would think.” His Snape-ish hair may no longer be hanging in greasy strings, but it's certainly as entertaining as ever. Without the grease to tame his hair, it was flying about in a frizzy, puffy manner that outdid Hermione's worst Bad Hair Day.

“Funny, I didn't think lather, rinse, and repeat were difficult instructions.” Says the Author, twiddling a wand in her fingers.

Lang-Snape gives her a disdainful look. Apparently being transformed into Snape is affecting his attitude. “You do know you're not a real witch, right? A wand isn't going to work for you when you're not magical.”

“Need I remind you that I used this wand in the last disclaimer to turn you into the git you are now? And need I remind you that I have no qualms with using the Imperius on you to do my bidding? Or worse?”

He seems to resign himself to his fate, and clears his throat to face the audience. “Alright, alright. The author of this story, Crystal H., lays no claim to anything that rightfully belongs to JKR. The plot is hers, certain original characters are hers, but anything that you recognize is most likely Jo Rowling's.” He pauses to look at Crystal and make sure his words are acceptable. She nods, so he continues. “And I'd like to add for myself that if you think this story is absolutely horrendous and you'd like to see me, William Lang, transformed into someone far more desirable than Snape, please leave a review saying so! I don't think she'll do it otherwise!”

A rather loud snicker meets his words. Suddenly he is feeling a breeze around his privates that wasn't there before. He looks down and is horrified by what he sees. “Oh, this is low. Even for you.” He growls.

He is still standing, illuminated by the spotlight, but he is no longer a perfect replica of Severus Snape. He now resembles Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Crystal happens to think that the sequined corset, thigh-high fishnets and chunky high heels suit him very well.

“I swear, if this stuff isn't gone by the next chapter…” Lang-Frank says threateningly.

“It's just a jump to the left!” she sings softly. Lang-Frank can't help himself and follows instructions. “And then a step to the right!”

He goes through the entire dance, with Crystal laughing at him the entire time. “And once more! Let's do the time warp again!”

<><><><><>

“For goodness sake, Minerva! When I told you she was awake I wasn't expecting you to run off and find them right away!” Madame Pomfrey admonished.

Minerva gave the Healer a stern look. “If it had not been for Mr. Potter and Miss Granger's quick thinking in bringing Miss Weasley to you, you wouldn't even have a patient to wake up.”

Madame Pomfrey grumbled as she administered a few more potions to Ginny, turning her back on Headmistress McGonagall and the two students. Harry's eyes were wide as Ginny's head lolled to one side so she could look at him. She was deathly pale, but there was still a spark in her eyes.

“So…sorry…” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Hermione shook her head angrily. “Ginevra Molly Weasley, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for!” She ran over to her bedside and grasped her hand tightly. Ginny had been her best friend and confidant for too long to let a boy come between them, and Hermione was overwhelmed with concern for her friend.

“Must…not fail,” Ginny said in a low tone, and a look of anguish crossed her fine features. The potion was still causing her pain, but as her eyes met Harry's she felt nothing but happiness. He had come to her rescue as always, and just his presence was calming the feelings raging through her body. The potion seemed to sense that she was close to her target, and was letting up a bit.

“Ginny, we know about the potion. Professor Dumbledore told us everything. It's called the Obeir Potion, and it's like combining all three Unforgivables into liquid form. Grindelwald used it in the last war; that must be how Riddle knew about it. He used it on Aberforth, Professor Dumbledore's brother.” Hermione explained. “Just…don't try to do anything you shouldn't, okay? We've found a way to get you out of this. Just trust us.”

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. Seeing Ginny lying in the hospital wing because of Tom Riddle was really getting to him, and he knew that if he so much as tried to say anything about it Hermione would hex him senseless for blaming himself.

“We're going to have to have a drinking night,” he said to Ginny, trying to lighten the mood. “The key to countering the potion is alcohol, so Hermione and I spent last night at The Three Broomsticks picking a drink you'll like.”

Ginny cocked an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think that you know what I'd like?”

Harry seemed confused at her sudden ability to form a complete sentence, but Hermione cleared it up for him.

It's the potion, love. It senses that you're nearby, and since she's supposed to be going after you, it's not hurting her anymore. It thinks she's doing what she should be. Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I…uh…well, it tasted good, and it had juice and it reminded me of you and…” Harry stumbled.

“What's it called, Harry?” Ginny asked, smiling at him.

He and Hermione exchanged a glance.

“It's um, the…Redheaded…”

“Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry, just say it!”

Hermione laughed. “It's called the Redheaded Slag.” It was just the name of a drink, what was the big deal?

Ginny's eyes narrowed at Harry. “So this drink, the Redheaded Slag, reminded you of me?”

Oh bollocks… “No, not like that!” Harry exclaimed. “I don't think you're a slag, it's just the name of the drink!”

“Honestly, Ginny, it's not what you think. It's based off of a muggle drink called the Redheaded Slut. Wizarding version's got a bigger kick to it but that's the only difference. And everything else we tried you'd probably either think was disgusting or too sweet and I really wouldn't take you for the shot kind of girl.” Hermione interjected.

“I'm perfectly capable of doing shots, Hermione.” Ginny stated evenly, doing her best to ignore the slag reference. She kept shooting inconspicuous glances at Harry whenever she thought Hermione wasn't looking. She may have backed off in the hospital, but her feelings hadn't changed.

“Yes, well, you wouldn't want to try the ones Madam Rosmerta makes, trust me. The woman's completely mental, I tell you!” Hermione declared.

Harry snickered. Usually it was Ron saying that about her.

“Honestly, the woman thinks that dragon's blood and fairy tears are perfectly normal drink ingredients, and that it's perfectly acceptable to strain a drink through a woman's knickers!”

Ginny fixed her with an odd stare. “Um, Hermione? Dragon's blood and fairy tears are normal drink ingredients. In the Wizarding World, anyway. Fairy tears are a bit rare, but dragon's blood is actually fairly common. Pricey, but common.”

She flushed at her mistake. “Yes, well, I don't exactly go gallivanting about Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley sampling Wizarding alcoholic beverages, now do I? It's not like I would know that.”

“Hermione Granger, not know something? What is the world coming to?” Harry quipped, earning himself a smack upside the head from his girlfriend. “Right, well then. Um, at any rate, Ginny should probably write to her parents to let them know what's happened to her.” He conjured a quill and some parchment, and set them in front of the redhead. “Well, go on, then.”

Ginny lifted her arm to begin her letter, and a look of pain flashed across her face. “I can't, Harry,” she sighed dejectedly, passing the parchment and quill back to him.

“The potion,” Hermione said sadly. “It won't even let you write…”

Harry looked dejectedly at his ex-girlfriend. “Sorry, Gin. I didn't even think it would affect you that much.” He bent down to give her a hug in apology, but Hermione pulled him back by the shoulder before he could wrap his arms around the younger witch.

“Oi! What the bloody hell was that for?!” Ginny spouted angrily. How dare Hermione stop Harry from hugging her!

The potion, Harry… We know she was supposed to take you to Voldemort. What if she has a Portkey on her? We haven't gotten it out of her system yet; she'd still be obligated to follow his orders. Hermione rationalized.

I think that Madam Pomfrey would have removed anything potentially dangerous from her when we brought her here, said Harry.

Even so, I'd feel safer if we held off physical contact with her until we knew the potion was taken care of.

“Sorry, Ginny. But the Obeir potion is still affecting you, and it's nothing personal, we just can't trust that you won't try to Portkey Harry out of here.” Hermione explained somewhat apologetically. Ginny's outburst at not being able to hug Hermione's boyfriend was causing the brunette witch to feel jealous and a bit possessive.

Ginny just sat there glaring at her like a petulant child for a few moments before she turned her gaze to Harry. “Well, at least Harry wanted to hug me. Right, Harry?”

Harry muttered something incoherent which upset both of the girls. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. He did want to hug Ginny, but because he felt bad for overlooking something that could have hurt her, not for the reasons she was apparently hoping for. On the other hand, he understood Hermione's reasoning that touching the fiery redhead probably wasn't a good idea right now. Seeing the growing fury on their faces he panicked. “Right, um, I'm just going to, uh—“

And with that, he bolted out of the hospital wing like he had spotted the Snitch and wanted to get it before Malfoy.

“See! Look what you did!” Ginny shrieked. “Probably spouted some nonsense into his head with your telly-pathetic crap, and now he's gone and run off! Do you ever stop pestering him, Hermione? Do you? Can't you let him live his own life and make his own decisions?”

“It's telepathic, Ginny, and I'd much rather piss you off than risk him being Portkeyed straight to Voldemort, thanks.”

With that, Hermione exited the room and left Ginny to stew in her anger. As much as the younger witch was bothering her, Hermione reminded herself that it was her Harry was in love with. With that thought in mind she set off to find him, sensing his presence through their mental connection.

She found him a short time later in the Room of Requirement, where she found that it had been transformed into a replica of a duelling room. There were dummies waiting to be animated in one corner and a vast collection of weaponry in another, but the most intriguing thing in the room was the duelling platform that took up the centre of the floor. Harry was there, sparring with a dummy that had been charmed to fight back. It even had a wand to fight back with, though she suspected that Harry had cast magical limitation charms on it to ensure that nothing serious happened. Hermione was astounded by the skill he had, and even more impressed by the methods he was using to outwit the dummy. He had decided to apply their new Apparition abilities in a more practical manner than popping into the kitchens for a snack.

Any time the dummy would get fairly close enough to land a spell or a physical blow of some sort, Harry would Apparate out of the way. At first he was landing directly behind the dummy and hexing it in that manner, but after a few occurrences the dummy began to catch on and would turn around to face him. When that began to happen, Harry would Apparate to a spot just out of the dummy's range, and fire spells from there. A few times he summoned a sword from the weapons rack along the wall to defend himself, and the last time he did was the dummy's undoing. He moved so fast that he was like a blur, and when he stopped the blade was pressed against the dummy's neck.

At that moment the dummy went limp, Harry had cancelled the charm. Harry paused to take a few breaths, return the sword to the rack, and wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Harry?” Hermione called out tentatively.

He turned to face her. “You watched that?”

“It was brilliant.”

He shrugged. “Figured I might as well put the Apparition idea to good use, and what better way to do so.”

“I have an idea about what we can use for a target for Ginny,” Hermione said, glancing at the defeated dummy at the centre of the platform.

Harry looked at her, curious.

She crossed the room to stand in front of the dummy, with her back to Harry. He could see her arms moving with her wand as she cast several spells and charms, and when she stepped away he was most definitely impressed.

The dummy had been transfigured to look like him, or as close to him as an inanimate dummy could. It was creepy, really, and it looked like an oversized doll to him. “Where'd you get the idea for this?” he asked.

“Since the goat was close enough to Dumbledore for Aberforth, I figured transfiguring an inanimate object that could be enchanted to move and react like a real person would be even better. Besides, it somewhat reminds me of a musical I saw once with my parents.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. “Musical? I didn't know you liked that kind of thing.”

“My parents bought the tickets for Christmas holiday one year. It's a really famous musical, and my mum's a huge Andrew Lloyd Webber fan. Daddy wanted to take her, and he thought that I might enjoy it too. There's a scene in it where the main character has a life-sized replica of the woman he's in love with, since he can't have the real thing. It seemed fitting for the situation.” She explained.

Harry felt the urge to sit down and talk with his girlfriend, so the room altered itself into a comfortable sitting area, leaving the transfigured dummy limp on a chair like a rag doll. “Tell me more about this musical,” he asked.

“I didn't figure you for the musical theatre type,” she smirked. “It's The Phantom of the Opera. It's a beautiful story, really, and the original London cast was fantastic. It's about this man, the Phantom, who trains a chorus girl, Christine, to sing. One day the prima donna - that's the lead singer - of the opera throws a fit and leaves, so Christine takes her place. She becomes a huge star overnight and when she's onstage her childhood sweetheart, Raoul, recognizes her and decides to pursue her. When he comes to her dressing room that night the Phantom has already stolen her away to his secret underground lair where he intends to make her fall in love with him. They sing this incredible song and at the end of it, he shows her the doll that looks exactly like her, but it's wearing a wedding gown. She passes out and wakes up there the next morning.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Harry laughed. “You could've just said it was a story about a royally messed up love triangle.”

“Yes, but I could say the same thing about Ron, and us couldn't I?” she pointed out. “This way was more interesting.”

Harry went silent for a moment, realizing she was right. “So who does Christine end up with in the end?”

“Raoul.”

“Oh.” He was beginning to see parallels between the Phantom's story and their own. He had always felt that he and Hermione were closer than he and Ron, much like Christine and the Phantom. Suddenly one day, Ron decided that he liked Hermione and wanted her for his own, and because of that Harry never really had any say in the matter. Ron moved in to try to sweep her off her feet, and then Harry swept Hermione away to Godric's Hollow to keep her to himself. The fact that Christine and Raoul ended up together disconcerted him.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, reading his thoughts. “Christine didn't love Raoul. She loved the Phantom, but knew that they could never be together properly. Raoul was a Viscount; he could provide a life for her that she never would have had otherwise. He could be a husband, and a father. The Phantom couldn't do that. He preferred his home beneath the underground lake of the Paris Opera House, and she was the Opera's newest diva. There was an angry torch-wielding mob after the Phantom's head, and given that the story was set in the late 1880's, they were likely to kill him. Not to mention that whole half-a-face thing the Phantom had going on. His grotesque face ruined any chance he had at living life above ground.”

Harry brightened suddenly. “There's disfigurement? Why didn't you say so?”

“Typical man you are, would you be happier if I told you there was fire, a man hung from the rafters of the stage, and a chandelier dropping on the audience?”

“Actually, yeah. Would've made the story loads more interesting.”

Hermione laughed, but her laughter was cut short as she remembered Harry's thoughts on the love triangle in the story. “I'm not going to go back to Ron, if that's what you think.”

Harry shook his head. “I don't think you'd just leave me for Ron. But Hermione, if I… y'know. I want you to be happy, go on living life and all that nonsense. And if Ron makes you happy…”

“Don't even try to tell me that Ron and I should get together again if you die in the war, I won't hear of it, Harry! You're not going to die, and that's that!” she shouted angrily, rising from her seat. “I will not lose you, Harry Potter. Not now, not after everything we went through to be together. I want all of you, for the rest of my life, and I will not have you die on me!”

In mere seconds Hermione was in Harry's arms and he held her tight as she began to cry. “I'm not planning on dying, love,” he whispered. “But if I do, I want to know that you'll be happy, and taken care of.”

“How can I go on without you?” she sniffled. “I'll be there with you, Harry, from the moment the battle begins until the last second in which you kill that evil bastard. And I can tell you right now that if you die, I'll be right along with you.”

“Hermione, no!” Harry exclaimed, holding her at arm's length so that he could look into her eyes. “Don't you dare. Don't you dare think of ending your own life because I'm gone!”

“I wouldn't,” she sighed, wiping away a few tears. “Not on purpose, anyway. But I've had nightmares about it, Harry, and what I see isn't very happy. You kill Voldemort but it takes nearly every ounce of strength and magic you possess, and I'm there beside you, giving you everything I have. It's a connection of some sort and when you start to run out of magic, you take mine. And by the end of it we're both so drained, and you're dying, and I'm not strong enough to save you. We've both lost our magic and it's such a shock to our bodies that our battle injuries catch up to us. You die while I watch you take your last breath and by the time someone finds us, I'm gone too.”

Harry stared at her, shocked. “You see this in your dreams? Like a vision, or just a nightmare? Why didn't you ever tell me?”

“Sometimes I think it's a vision, but Divination's always been such a woolly subject that I can't see it being true considering I'm the one who dreamt it. I'd find myself more inclined to believe it if Luna came out with it, but not myself. It must be just a nightmare. And I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry.”

Harry had to admit that she had a point there. If she had, in fact, confided in him about her nightmares he would have slipped her some Dreamless Sleep in her tea to take care of the situation. He'd rather her be taking the potion than suffering through that every night, even if it meant not telling her he was putting it in her tea.

Sighing, he resigned himself to ending the heated words and a charming smile slipped across his face. “So about this Phantom bloke…”

Hermione shook her head, almost as if she were clearing her negative thoughts, and smiled back at him. “What about him?”

“I'm assuming from what you told me that he's handsome and dashing and all that, given that Christine wants to be with him but can't, right?”

“Dashing, yes. Handsome is a bit iffy, truth be told. The side of his face that's not covered by the mask is quite attractive, and the man has a singing voice to die for. I'll admit, when I saw it with my parents I sort of fancied the Phantom.” Hermione blushed.

Harry controlled his laughter. “You fancied him. The Phantom of the Opera.”

“Yes, well, I'll have you know that it was rather romantic, in a twisted sort of way, the lengths he was willing to go to so that Christine would fall in love with him! He sang to her, he taught her to sing, it was because of him that she became a star, and he had this cape that was so long it was quite like a cloak…” she sighed wistfully.

“A cloak. I have a cloak and I don't see you swooning over my presence!” Harry teased.

“I don't see you swishing it about in the graceful and debonair manner that the Phantom did, so what do you expect?”

Realizing that he was fighting a losing battle, Harry gave in. “Alright, so you fancy this fictional character that's grotesquely deformed on one half of his face, has a lovely singing voice, and a swishy cape. You do realize that Ron would call you mental for this, right?”

“And given that Ron turns into a ball of mush around Fleur Delacour simply because she's part Veela, I'd say he has no right to criticize.”

“Point taken.”

“Right, now back to this duelling dummy thing. I'm not entire sure about enchanting it to react to Ginny as it did to you while you were sparring with it, but I can at least take care of the transfiguration and the likes. Would you try enchanting it, Harry? Not as a duelling partner, but to behave as you would.” Hermione asked, settling herself further into her chair. She didn't like to admit her magic was sub-par to Harry's at times, but at the moment she was more concerned about getting Ginny back to normal than maintaining her pride.

“You know that Polyjuice would be loads easier.” He reminded her.

Hermione looked at him, affronted. “And who would you be willing to Polyjuice and send off to Voldemort in your stead?”

“The Malfoys, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini, Flint, Bulstrode, Snape, Pettigrew, Greyback, Fudge, Scrimgeour, Skeeter, Filch, Umbridge, maybe even Peeves…” Harry trailed off.

“Honestly, Harry! Peeves is a Poltergeist, for Merlin's sake! He wouldn't be able to ingest Polyjuice, much less have it work on him!”

“Doesn't mean I can't try,” Harry muttered, adding something relatively unintelligible about it being an improvement on Peeves' appearance.

“You wouldn't really be willing to do that to all those people, would you, Harry?” she asked, concerned at how readily he rattled off that list.

He shrugged. “Maybe not Skeeter, Fudge, Scrimgeour, and Filch, but everyone else, I'd definitely consider it. Imagine it, Hermione. We Polyjuice someone like Lucius Malfoy or Snape and send them off with the Portkey to Voldemort. They arrive looking like me, and he starts hexing repeatedly. Not only would we be getting the Obeir potion out of Ginny's bloodstream, but we'd be getting rid of a Death Eater at the same time! It's a win-win situation!”

“And just how, pray tell, do you plan on acquiring Snape or Malfoy?”

“Hadn't thought that far, but it was just an idea. Anyway, enchanting the dummy. I've only ever done it to spar before, and even then it's a complicated spell.” He admitted.

Hermione said dryly, “Harry, this is me you're talking to. When we were in first year a levitation spell was complicated to you.”

“Animatus incogito instruo oppugno.” Harry shot back at her, smarting from the comment on his skills with Wingardium Leviosa. “The last bit should sound familiar to you.”

“Animate, think, prepare for battle, and attack.” She translated the Latin. “And yes, Harry, it is familiar to me. Oppugno works well to command conjured objects, even if those conjured objects are canaries.” Harry chuckled at the memory of Ron fleeing from Hermione's tiny yellow birds the year before. “Now, if you could be so kind as to enchant the transfigured dummy for me.”

Harry obliged, a rather complicated wand movement accompanying the spell. It took a few seconds for the spell to take effect, but soon the transfigured dummy was lifting itself from the chair and facing Harry.

Quicker than lightning the Room rippled from one wall to the other, transforming back into the dueling chamber from earlier. The dummy took its place at the center of the platform, and Harry joined it there. They stood facing each other, and Hermione began to feel goose bumps spread across her flesh. She knew that her skills at Transfiguration were among the best in Hogwarts, but the similarity between the dummy and Harry was absolutely uncanny.

They both stood there, facing her, dressed in deep burgundy robes with dark denims and a white t-shirt underneath. Their clothing was accurate right down to their matching white trainers, complete with the left shoe partially unlaced. The only way Hermione could tell the two apart was by their eyes, hair, and the fact that the dummy could not speak. Though the eye colour was the exact same shade of emerald green, Harry's eyes were bright and shining, whereas the dummy's were dull and unfocused.

The hair was another matter entirely, though Hermione supposed that, if no form of magic could tame Harry's unruly mop, there was no way of recreating it, either. The real Harry's hair was as untamable as ever, and the dummy's actually managed not to stick up in any odd directions. Hermione decided that she would have to employ some sort of muggle hair product like wax or pomade to get the desired effect, but that was a minor cosmetic concern.

“Why isn't he fighting you?” Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. “He's animated and enchanted, but not activated. I'd have to use the right word to get him started.”

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she would be able to handle the image of two Harry's fighting, but decided it would be worth it to see the dummy in action. Though she'd seen Harry fighting it before, it was a faceless mannequin with no distinguishing features. If it could bear a passing resemblance to Harry in battle, there was hope that she could modify the animation spell to have it act just like him as well.

“Well, go on, then.” She encouraged.

“Incipio,” Harry said, pointing his wand at the dummy. Hermione watched as the royal blue light streamed towards the dummy and struck him in the chest. Moments later the dueling wand was back in Dummy-Harry's possession, and he was assuming a fighting stance with one arm extended over his head, and the other pointing his wand at Harry.

Harry chose to wait until Dummy-Harry made the first move.

It took a minute or so for the dummy's thinking abilities to get going, which gave the Room plenty of time to provide a comfortable, squashy chair for Hermione to sit in, along with a magical barrier to keep any stray hexes from striking her unexpectedly.

The dummy attempted to strike with a stunner first, which Harry easily deflected. He shot back with a Reductor curse, which the dummy barely dodged. They continued to exchange curses and hexes, as Hermione watched on in amusement.

She couldn't help but feel a little flustered at the sight of not one Harry, but two, dueling in such a manner. At some point the real Harry had gotten so worked up and sweaty that he had chucked his robes, and the Dummy-Harry followed his example, leaving them both in their denims and t-shirts. Thanks to this Hermione was treated to the pleasant visual of her boyfriend and his temporary clone fighting each other. She didn't quite know why the sight was turning her on so much, but that didn't stop her mind from wandering a bit at the possibilities.

A loud crash brought Hermione out of her reverie as her gaze landed on Harry with his wand at the throat of the dummy, who was currently laying in the splintered pieces of an empty equipment rack. Though she never suspected that a dummy would be any match for Harry, she was surprised that the duel had gone on that long.

“Defungo,” said Harry, and the dummy relaxed. It was still animated, but no longer in attack mode. Harry collapsed on the dueling platform, exhausted from their sparring. He lay there breathing heavily as Hermione conjured a glass of water for him. She crossed the room and held it to his lips, letting him take small sips.

“Harry, why don't you go down to the kitchens, visit Dobby and find yourself something to eat? I'm going to go to the library, and work on the enchantment spell so that it'll work the way we need it to.” She suggested, smoothing his sweaty hair back from his forehead.

Harry sat up and made a move to return the dummy to an inanimate state. He hesitated for a moment, still amazed at how much they looked alike.

“Don't,” Hermione said, moving to lower his wand. “He can come with me to the library. I could try out the reworked spells on him that way.”

He shrugged, and headed towards the door. “Sure, sounds fine to me. Want me to bring you anything?”

“Just a sandwich or something, if you don't mind. And make sure you pay Dobby for making it.”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if he needed a reminder. “Yes, dear.” He said in a patronizing tone.

Hermione shrugged it off, and went over to the broken equipment rack to help the dummy up. “Go, I'll see you later in the library.”

With a quick kiss on the cheek Harry was out the door and on his way to the oversized painting of fruit.

She struggled to help the dummy up, who was clearly far more tired than Harry was from their dueling. “Well, come along then,” she said. “Might as well get started as soon as we can.”

<><><><><>

“Harry, I did it!” Hermione exclaimed, startling her boyfriend as he entered the library with a platter full of sandwiches. He carefully set them on her favourite table and waited for the explanation. “I figured out how to give him a voice. Tribuo Vocis.” She said, pointing her wand at the dummy.

Dummy-Harry began to work his jaw in a motion reminiscent of the Tin Man in one of Hermione's favourite films, The Wizard of Oz. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Harry shot her a doubtful look. “I'm not so sure it worked, love.”

“Give him a minute, Harry. Magic does have its limitations.”

Sure enough after a few minutes of trying out his new vocal chords, the dummy was able to speak. “What happened to me?” he asked.

“My fault there, sorry, mate.” Harry apologized, assuming the dummy was still sore from their earlier duel.

“No, not that,” he said, looking at the table. “I don't understand how I got here.”

“You were a sparring dummy, and I transfigured you to look like Harry here. I just found a spell to give you a voice, and now I'm working on one so that the spell that enchants you to fight can instead be used to enchant you to act like a normal wizard.” Hermione explained.

The dummy still looked confused, like he understood exactly what she was doing to him, but he didn't understand why. She sighed, and explained the grand plan of Ginny following orders with him instead of the real Harry, and sending him off to Voldemort. Of course that led to Hermione explaining who Voldemort was and all that he entailed, and as comprehension dawned on the dummy, he suddenly became more than willing to do as she had planned.

Hermione took this opportunity to finish her work on Harry's animation spell while Harry explained to the dummy the intricacies of their plan to substitute him much like the goat had become a substitution for Aberforth all those years ago. The spell was already formulated to animate and give the dummy a mind of it's own, as well as to fight. She needed it to have him think more like a regular teenaged wizard than a dueling partner, and she needed him to act like Harry.

Scrolls upon scrolls of Arithmancy equations later, Hermione had come up with her spell. She tied it into Harry's magical signature so that the dummy's presence would appear to be exactly like Harry's for all intents and purposes should Voldemort decide to test him. Of course Veritaserum and other potions wouldn't work, as the dummy was a dummy and not a human being, but any detection wards would register him as Harry Potter rather than an animated dummy.

“Animatus incogito compatior effingo Harry James Potter.”

Moments after Hermione performed her spell, the dummy began to take on a brand new attitude. His eyes were more lifelike and sparkling, and his hair looked a little more disheveled. Hermione conjured a small bag, removed a pot of hair wax and rubbed it between her palms, and began to run her fingers through Dummy-Harry's hair. She also removed a dusty pink lip liner from the bag and traced it along the dummy's transfigured scar, enhancing it so that it was more noticeable and looked just like Harry's. A forgotten quill on the library table was transfigured into a wire-framed circular pair of glasses, and the look was completed.

“Well, if I didn't know any better I'd say that I had the real Harry Potter standing in front of me!” Hermione declared, satisfied with her work.

Harry was a little unnerved by the uncanny carbon copy appearance of the dueling dummy, but he couldn't complain. After all, not only would this dummy help Ginny with the Obeir potion, but it would also serve a purpose in its delivery to Voldemort.

Grabbing his wrist, Hermione began to tie a conjured thin red string around the real Harry's right wrist. He shot her a questioning glance.

“Just in case. I know that I can tell you apart by our mental link, but it helps to have an easier way to do so without sending telepathic thoughts.”

Harry shrugged; knowing that arguing with Hermione about wearing a bracelet would be useless.

“Now, I know that you can act like Harry based on the spell, but I know I'd feel better if the two of you would spend the afternoon together. That way you can perfect Harry's mannerisms and way of speaking. Just a precautionary measure, I'm sure you understand.” Hermione addressed the dummy.

With that they returned to the Heads Suite in the Gryffindor common room, so that Dummy-Harry and the real Harry could spend some quality time together and Hermione could work on their plan to introduce Dummy-Harry to Ginny.

<><><><><>

“Mum!” Ron bellowed throughout the kitchen, bringing Molly Weasley running in from the sitting room. “Post's here!”

She made a frantic grab for the letter that majestic looking owl was carrying, and began to tear it open. She was praying to Merlin, and any other deity that would listen, that the letter was from Ginny. She hadn't heard from her daughter since that one vague letter stating that she was staying at Luna's house, and was desperate for news.

Her heart sank as she recognized the script on the parchment. It was the same style of handwriting that appeared on the children's booklists and Hogwarts letters every year.

Molly,

I'm sure that you have been concerned about Ginny's whereabouts for the last few weeks, but rest assured she is in safe hands now. She is currently residing in the hospital wing under Madame Pomfrey's diligent care, and both Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are working on a way to help her in her current predicament.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Voldemort captured Ginny some time ago. He or one of his followers administered a potion to her; a very old potion that I had hoped there was no record of up until a few short days ago. It is called the Obeir potion, and it is a combination of all three Unforgivable Curses in liquid form. From what Albus' portrait has told me of his conversations with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, Ginny was issued orders to capture Mr. Potter and Portkey him back to Voldemort's headquarters. They have found a way to remove the potion from her system, but it will take some time.

You, Arthur and the children are more than welcome to come to Hogwarts and see Ginny, but I must warn you that, unless Mr. Potter is present, she does not act like herself. It is my understanding that within the next few days, the potion will be eradicated from her system and she will be back to normal once more. Please send a return owl with the time you will arrive at the castle.

Sincerely,

Minerva

“Mum! Mum! Are you alright?” Ron yelled frantically. Upon reading McGonagall's last word, Molly fainted dead away and collapsed on the floor. Ron went into a panic and rushed around the Burrow to find his father, whose face paled as he read the letter.

“Get your things in order, Ron. I'll pack for your mother and I, and then we'll leave for Hogwarts.”

With that, Arthur and Ron bustled about, levitating and shrinking their belongings into trunks as they prepared to Floo to McGonagall's office. Arthur fired off a quick return owl before Ennervating Molly, and told her they would be leaving as soon as she was feeling less faint.

A few glasses of pumpkin juice and a treacle tart later, Molly was ready to go and they stepped through the fireplace on their way to Hogwarts.

-->

A/N: So I sat down this weekend and wrote myself an outline for the rest of the story. This is a good thing for everyone, because now that I have a set idea of what's going to happen, it'll be that much easier to write more chapters at a quicker pace.
With that in mind, I'd also like to mention that there are 6 chapters left, and an epilogue. Much is going to happen, and there will be several surprises. I've already made up my mind on everything that will happen, and who will die, so there's no way of avoiding it. Sorry. :P

And only one person reviewed last chapter to beg mercy for poor Lang, the star of my disclaimers! Poor Will, he was very disappointed. But to cheer him up, he will be written into the story as a fairly important character, and also as thanks for being with me on this story for about ten chapters now. He's a great friend, and I appreciate all of his input. Please, click on his name! He's writing a wonderful story that I'm occasionally beta-ing for him, and I think it's great. And without further ado, I introduce to you William Lang, the star of the disclaimer!

Warning: Spoilers for Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest ahead!

Disclaimer:

“Y'know, you tell me we're friends and all, but would a friend do this to me?” Lang-Frank asks, still clearly unimpressed with his latest transformation. Apparently while waiting for the newest chapter to come out, he adjusted to walking about in heels. His corset seems a bit tight, though, as he's still gasping for air on occasion.

“Yes, a friend would do this to you. Because it's funny. And you volunteered.” The Author reminds him, removing a wand from within her robes.

Lang-Frank sighs, and braces himself for what's about to come. “So who is it this time? Tinky-Winky the Teletubby? Pettigrew? Willy Wonka? Batman? Oh please, don't tell me it's Riff Raff from that blasted Rocky Horror movie of yours. I'd rather kill myself than become an incestuous humpback with Filch's hairstyle. Oh god, it's Filch, isn't it?”

Crystal laughs. “Calm down, I'm in a good mood today. And I think you'll like what I'm about to do.”

In a surprise move that Lang was most definitely not expecting, Crystal turns her wand on herself, and begins to transfigure her clothing. When she finishes, she's standing in front of him wearing the delectable pirate outfit worn by Elizabeth Swan in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.

Lang surveys her appreciatively. “You're right, I do like it! Does this mean you're doing your own disclaimer today?”

She shakes her head, and begins to put him through his usual transformation.

Closing his eyes, Lang refuses to look. “Luv, I swear, if you've turned me into Davey Jones…”

He is surprised by the gravely drunken swagger that is his voice. He cautiously opens one eye, peeking at his hand. He turns his arm over and sees the `P' branded on his wrist. Opening the other eye, he looks down, finding the ends of his dreadlocks, a raggedy shirt in desperate need of a good washing, and the best pair of boots a pirate can get. “I suppose this means you're the Elizabeth to my Captain Jack Sparrow, then.”

Crystal smiles. “Now all we need is a Will Turner and that stupid monkey, and we're set!”

“Brilliant. Better hide the bloody rum first.” Lang receives a glare for that. “What? Did you think I'd survive an entire chapter in your stupid Frankie getup without drinking? Besides, no need for you to set my supply on fire. Now, do I get that kiss that Jack did in the movie, when Elizabeth cuffed him to the mast?!”

Advancing on him, Crystal smiles a saucy smile that has Lang-Captain-Jack-Sparrow (wouldn't want to disrespect by forgetting the `Captain') effectively disarmed and backing into what appears to be a tall wooden pole behind him. She leans forward; her lips scant millimetres from his, and whispers to him. “You haven't earned your kiss yet, pirate.”

Before Lang realizes what has happened, his hands are bound around the pole behind him, as are his ankles.

“Wench!” he yells, “I suppose you still want me to tell everyone that Harry Potter isn't bloody well yours, and that suing you for copyright infringement is pointless?!”

“That'll do nicely, yes.” She grins.

Lang realizes he has just done exactly what she wants, and sighs. “Oh bugger…”

Crystal leaves him tied to his pole, ready to go for the next disclaimer.

<><><><><>

“So let's just make sure we've got this straight. Harry and I will stay here, and you will go into the Room. Ginny doesn't even know that you exist, so keep up the Harry Potter act. She'll be forced to give you a Portkey that will activate upon you touching it. From there, you go to Voldemort, and, well… you know the rest, I suppose.” Hermione sighed, settling herself into her chair.

She, Harry, and Dummy-Harry were sealed behind a magical barrier that was the Wizarding equivalent of a muggle one-way mirror. They were in a corner, and able to watch and listen to the scene about to unfold before them. The barrier would protect them should any stray spells come their way, and it also enabled them to watch without alerting Ginny to their presence.

Ginny sat before them, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. The Room of Requirement had sensed precisely what the two young Gryffindors were planning, and transformed itself into a perfect replica of the interior of Madam Puddifoot's teashop in Hogsmeade, but with the added barrier in the corner by the door.

At a private booth by herself, Ginny was tapping her foot on the floor impatiently as she waited for Harry. She had been Stunned prior to entering the Room, and with a handy Memory Modification charm, she was under the impression that Harry had promised to meet her in Hogsmeade, away from Hermione, so that they could talk. It bothered him to exploit her feelings in such a manner, but it was necessary to get the job done.

She didn't seem bothered by the fact that she was the sole occupant of the room, and commented to herself that Harry must have bought out the place for the afternoon so that they could have their privacy. A steaming cup of tea sat in front of her, and she sipped at it occasionally.

“Hermione, we've been over this more times than I can count,” Dummy-Harry reminded her. “I go in there, pretend I'm meeting her for a date. She gives me a Portkey, I go off to Voldemort, and give old Red Eyes a good show. It's not that hard to remember.”

“Yes, well, I would rather not have anything go wrong here. If we can't get the potion out of Ginny's system she's going to be like a ticking time bomb that could go off at any given moment. For all we know she could apprehend Harry coming out of the loo, slap the Portkey on him and run away. No offence, but I'd rather you be the one to… you know.”

“Right, because I'm not real. I'm only alive because you wanted me to be.” The dummy said with a trace of bitterness.

Harry looked nervously at him. “Second thoughts?”

The dummy shook his head. “No, I know my purpose here. But in the last little while, I've enjoyed being alive, being able to think for myself. It's quite a change to go from an inanimate object animated for the sole purpose of duelling practice to a sentient being capable of speech, thought, and emotion.”

“Emotion?” asked Hermione. “I don't recall working that into your spell. Feeling, yes, but developing emotions? I added the feeling so that you would seem more human, I didn't realize it would develop into that.”

“An emotion is a feeling, is it not?” the dummy reminded her. “And to be entirely honest, Hermione, from everything that you and Harry have told me of your history together, I'm surprised it took him until this year to realize he was in love with you.”

Harry blushed, and Hermione followed suit. “Why does it surprise you?” Harry asked.

“Because I felt it when you two were talking to me in the common room. I noticed the seemingly little things she does, like nibbling on her lower lip when she's concentrating or worried, or the glances she'd steal at you when you weren't paying attention. And even though I am you and you are me, I was jealous that she was looking at you like that, and not at me. It's hard to be jealous of someone in that way if there's no love to cause it.”

“Perhaps I had the range of a tablespoon up until this year. Not much more than a teaspoon mind you, but it was something.” Harry said, winking at Hermione.

“Either way, I'm ready for this. It's what you transfigured and animated me for, and what you've been preparing me for.” Dummy-Harry said sadly. He rose from his seat, grasped Hermione's hand, and pulled her up to stand with him. He turned to Harry, and he did the same thing.

Dummy-Harry embraced the real Harry first. “She's the best thing that'll ever happen to you, mate. Don't let her go.” He whispered fiercely, regret and longing tainting his voice.

“I won't.” Harry affirmed, stepping back. They shook hands, and the dummy turned to Hermione.

She seemed a bit unsure about how to act with him, as he'd pretty much just admitted that through her immaculate spell work she'd given him the capability to love and he'd discovered it was her he felt that way for. Throwing caution to the wind as the man—the dummy, she reminded herself—was willingly sacrificing the life she'd created for him to carry out their plan, she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“You're amazing, Hermione,” he said in a gruff tone. “Don't ever forget it.”

“I won't,” she echoed Harry's words to the dummy. “Thank you.”

“No, Hermione.” He shook his head, pulling back. “Thank you. You gave me what I could never have, a life beyond trading hexes with the next wizard to come along. No matter how short it's been I'm thankful.”

He dipped his head to kiss her, a light, chaste kiss, and then smiled. He glanced at Harry, who nodded. After all, the dummy had said it himself. He was Harry, and Harry was him. And as they were both clearly head over heels for Hermione, he couldn't blame him for wanting a quick kiss before going on a suicide mission.

The dummy turned towards the exit point from behind the barrier, but a freckled hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“What the bloody fuck is going on here?”

“Ron!” Hermione gasped.

The lanky redhead stood just inside the entrance to the room, behind the barrier with Hermione and both Harrys. “What the hell are you three playing at? Some sick threesome fantasy? One Harry sodding Potter isn't enough for you, Hermione? You need two!?” His blue eyes were flashing with anger.

“Ron, it's not like that—“ Harry interrupted, but a punch to the gut from Ron sent out all the air from his lungs, and he collapsed back into his chair. The dummy remained still by the doorway.

“You cowardly prat! You don't even have the stones to confront her yourself so you send in a copy of yourself to do your dirty work?” Ron seethed, indicating Ginny, who was still waiting at her table. “You're a right foul git, you know that? That's my baby sister you're messing with! Well you—you can just go fuck yourself, Harry Potter!”

Hermione sighed, wondering if Ron would ever bother to ask questions before jumping to conclusions and down everyone's throats. She was half tempted to hex him for his crude threesome comment, but Harry spoke before she had the chance.

Harry—the real Harry—looked at his doppelganger and grinned. “I'll admit, Ron, we are a rather attractive pair, but fucking myself? That's a bit much, don't you think, mate? That's like suggesting that I shag you, or Malfoy, or even the giant squid! Merlin knows he's far more fanciable than the Ferret!”

Dummy-Harry took the opportunity to join in the verbal sparring. “I dunno, Harry. From what I've learned the last little while, the expression `Go fuck yourself' is generally used when it's not technically possible to fuck oneself. It's generally used to get rid of an offensive person, setting them an impossible task to keep them busy. However, as there's two of us, it is possible, and therefore Ron used it in the wrong context which makes it a completely illegitimate comment.” He paused for a moment, regarding both Hermione and Harry. “Though if he thinks we're about to have a threesome, I suppose that it would come up at some point anyway, so we might as well contemplate the idea now.”

“You've been spending way too much time in the library with Hermione.” Harry laughed.

Ron turned the infamous Weasley red and glared at the pair of Harrys. “Oh sod off, you bloody wankers.”

“Sit down, Ron. There's no need for this verbal pissing contest to get out of hand.” Hermione said firmly, conjuring a chair for him.

He did as told, and fixed them all with a confused glare. “So if you're not here to mess around with my sister, then why the hell are there two of you, and why the hell does the Room look like Puddifoot's?”

Hermione sighed. “It's the potion, Ron. Surely you must know about it, if you're here? I do believe Professor McGonagall mentioned sending a letter to your family to notify you of Ginny's condition.”

Ron nodded. “She mentioned the potion, said it was the Unforgivables, but not much more than that.”

“The Obeir potion is a liquid form of the Imperius, Cruciatus, and the Killing Curse all rolled into one. Voldemort captured Ginny, though I've no idea how, and made her take it. Her orders, from what we understand, were for her to find Harry and give him a Portkey directly to Voldemort. She found us in Godric's Hollow, but couldn't bring herself to send Harry off. She passed out from the pain it was causing. The Imperius is controlling her, the Cruciatus is punishing her if she doesn't follow orders, and if she entirely fails the mission…” Hermione trailed off, letting the implications sink into Ron's brain.

He gulped and visibly paled. Taking a few shaky breaths, he repeated his earlier question. “So the Room? And the two Harrys?”

“The Room is assisting us. Right now Ginny thinks she's waiting for a secret meeting with me, behind Hermione's back.” Harry answered.

“And I used to be a duelling dummy,” answered Dummy-Harry. “Hermione transfigured and animated me to take Harry's place. I'm to go in there and pretend I'm the real Harry, so that Ginny can send me to Voldemort and counter the potion.”

“Why is she swaying?” Ron asked.

“She thinks she's drinking tea, but it's a Redheaded Slag. Loads of alcohol in it.” Harry replied. He chuckled, remembering the trouble they went through to get the alcohol. He'd finally gone to the Hog's Head in search of Aberforth, told him that someone else had been administered the Obeir potion, and the older wizard was happy to help. He'd rounded up the required ingredients and wished Harry luck.

“You're getting her drunk?” the redhead was not impressed.

Hermione quickly explained to him how, in the first war, Aberforth had been under the same potion and Firewhisky had been what kept the potion from killing him when he attacked a goat. “Professor Dumbledore suggested that we do the same with Ginny.”

“What, your dummy doesn't look enough like Harry? I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

“Precautionary measure,” supplied the dummy. “Just in case something goes wrong.”

“She should be fairly sloshed now,” added Harry. “That's her third one.”

“Promise me this is for her own good.” Ron demanded of Hermione.

“Honestly, Ron, do you think I'd be letting if happen if it weren't?” she said rather shrilly.

Ron sighed, and looked pointedly at the dummy. “So what happens when you get to V-Vol-Voldemort?”

The dummy looked resigned. “He kills me.”

Ron fell silent.

“Hermione's re-worked my animation spell so that it ends five minutes after I've been Portkeyed out of Hogwarts. From what she and Harry have told me, Voldemort will curse and hex me as much as possible before he kills me. If all goes well, it will happen just as the spell expires. If not, I'll just lay there and play dead.”

“Why not reset the spell so that it expires when he's hit by the killing curse? Wouldn't that be safer?” Ron demanded.

Hermione shook her head. “I'd have to cast the killing curse so that his animation spell would recognize its magical signature as the signal to stop working.”

“Oh,” Ron said quietly. “Well, looks like you lot have got things under control without me, so we might as well get on with it.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue with Ron, but Hermione silenced him. We've waited long enough, love.

“Right then. Earlier goodbye sentiments still apply, I hope.” The dummy said, fixing Harry and then Hermione with a meaningful stare. “Still considering Phase Two?”

Hermione nodded. “Be prepared. We don't know exactly what his reaction will be, but if I'm right, then yes. Phase Two will happen.”

The dummy nodded, offering the trio quick hugs all around before he departed. “Well, goodbye then.”

And with that, he crossed the barrier into the Room.

<><><><><>

“Harry!” Ginny exclaimed. “You finally made it!”

Dummy-Harry smiled a rather disarming grin. “Did you really think I wouldn't?”

He took a seat across from Ginny, and fiddled with the edge of the lacy tablecloth.

“I'm so glad you're here, I never thought Hermione would let you out of the castle.”

He sighed. “Yes, well, I felt that we needed to talk after, well, everything.”

Ginny sat patiently, waiting for him to continue.

The dummy wished for a cup of tea and the Room listened. He sipped at it, placed the cup back on the table, and looked her in the eyes. “I love Hermione, Ginny.”

Her face fell, but she continued bravely. “No you don't.”

“Yes, I do. I have for years, and it took a good proverbial kick in the arse for me to realize it.” he admitted. “This summer, when she came to find me, you didn't come with her. Why, Ginny?”

“Ron was so upset after Hermione smacked him,” she said quietly. “And I had…I had this silly notion in my head. When you broke up with me at Dumbledore's funeral, you said that you'd come back for me after the war. I thought that if you really wanted to see me, you'd come to me. I wanted to be the princess locked in the tower with my knight in shining armour to rescue me. If I went with Hermione to rescue you, that wouldn't be how it happened.”

Dummy-Harry placed one hand over hers atop the table, and squeezed reassuringly. “Don't you understand, Ginny? I'm no knight in shining armour. I'm just me. And you're hardly a princess locked in a tower—you're more than capable of defending yourself. You always have been.”

“But you are, Harry!” she said angrily, flinging his hand away, taking another sip of her drink. “You're a knight, a hero. The Daily Prophet doesn't call you the Saviour of the Wizarding World for nothing, you know.”

“Ginny, you just don't get it. You see me as Harry Potter, famous wizard. You don't see me as Harry, boy who hates the limelight.”

Ginny pouted and stayed silent for a few minutes, sipping her drink. Dummy-Harry was surprised at how well she was holding her liquor. She was still speaking clearly, though he could tell she was fairly inebriated, enough so that she wouldn't realize he was a fake.

<><><><><>

“Did you tell him to say all of this?” Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. “No, did you?”

“I told him how I felt about things, but I didn't think he'd actually use it.”

Ron interrupted. “Well, he's got to say something before she sends him off to die, doesn't he?”

Hermione ignored him, her face softening as she looked at Harry. “At least he's being rather sweet about it.”

“What do you expect, he's me!” he countered.

Ron rolled his eyes. Since when did Harry become a cheeky prat?

<><><><><>

“So what are we doing here, then?” Ginny asked. “When you asked me to meet you, it sounded more like…”

“Like I wanted to drop Hermione and come back to you?” Dummy-Harry finished for her.

“Well, yeah.”

He sighed. “Ginny, you really need to understand what I'm telling you. It's over. Forget what I said at the funeral about maybe picking things up after the war ended. Forget everything about us being together. I've tried to be nice about this, but I think it's time I reminded you that we wouldn't even have had a relationship if you hadn't dosed me with one of Fred and George's love potions. What we had wasn't real. It was all potion-induced and it wouldn't have happened otherwise.”

Tears formed in Ginny's eyes. “There was something between us, Harry! I know there was!”

“Yeah, a Wonder Witch love potion. But that's it. That's all there was.”

She was full on crying now, but her eyes were filled with hate. “I've wanted to be with you since I was a little girl and I will NOT let Hermione Granger come between us!” she raged.

Dummy-Harry rolled his eyes. “Don't you ever give up?”

Ginny glared at him and stood up, her hand fishing inside of her robes. “You'll regret the day you broke my heart, Harry Potter!” she said, pulling a rock from her robes. She held it out to Harry and he hesitated. Tears fell from her eyes, and she gasped for breath.

“I'm so sorry, Harry.”

The dummy stepped around the table to pull her into a hug. “It's okay, Ginny. I know what it is. I know what you have to do.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “You do? Why aren't you hexing me six ways from Sunday?”

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “Because I'd rather face Voldemort than have you killed for not following orders.” The dummy held out his hand to take the rock from her.

“It—it won't work.” She said shakily, gasping for breath. Telling him this would cause her a lot of pain. “Not unless we're both touching it.”

Dummy-Harry was shocked. This was not good. This was not according to plan. He knew what to do in spite of this, Hermione had trained him well should this be the case, but he was more than terrified that it would not work, and that he would fail her.

<><><><><>

“Fuck!” Harry exploded behind the barrier. “We can't let Ginny go to Voldemort!”

Ron was scrambling to leave the barrier, but Hermione held him back. “We can fix it, Ron! Relax!”

Harry shot her a questioning glance. “You can do that?”

Hermione nodded. “I hate to admit, but I was expecting something like this. I figured it best to be prepared, just in case. I'm going to channel my magic through him, and with the wand we gave him, he'll modify the Portkey.”

Ron gasped audibly. “Is that even possible?”

“It's difficult,” Harry admitted. “I know it's not impossible, but I didn't know Hermione was capable.”

“You should know by now, Harry, that once I set my mind to something, there isn't anything I can't do.”

Without another word to her boys, Hermione went into a trance. Her eyes closed, and she was muttering incoherently.

<><><><><>

“Hermione!” the dummy gasped. He could feel her presence inside his mind, feel what she was about to do through him.

“Oh great, you just have to bring her up at a time like this!” Ginny glared.

“No, Ginny, it's—she's—“

Dummy-Harry's wand arm lifted and pointed at the rock in Ginny's hands. He focused Hermione's magic, coursing through his veins, into the wand she had given him that morning, and a blast of white light emitted from the tip to hit the rock squarely in the centre. Tiny coloured strands floated up from the rock, swirling about slowly. The wand tip separated them: red, blue, green and yellow. Dummy-Harry sought out the red strand, the part of the Portkey spell that required both his and Ginny's touch for activation. With more concentration on his and Hermione's part the strand slowly bled from red to purple, indicating that it had been altered. Another flash of white light and the strands were securely back inside the rock.

His eyes glazed over, and he heard Hermione's voice inside his head. It worked, we changed the makeup of the spell so that the Portkey will activate without Ginny's touch. I—I appreciate everything you've been saying to her. You didn't have to try and fix things for us, and, well…thanks. I'll see you if Phase Two commences.

Thanks, Hermione. For everything. And I meant what I said earlier. I know I'm not the real Harry, but I love you just as much as he does. I just want you to know that. He replied. He felt her presence leave his body, and his eyes refocused on Ginny.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded.

“Nothing, just trust me, Ginny. If I tell you, it'll hurt you. Now give me the Portkey, I'm ready for this.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Ginny's lower lip trembled as she extended her arm. “Harry, I'm—I'm so sorry. I love you,” she whispered, dropping the rock into his open palm.

With a fall of swirling colour, the dummy disappeared from Ginny's sight. She went rigid for a moment, and then collapsed on the floor, sobbing. “Oh, Harry… I'm so sorry. I wish it didn't have to be this way…”

<><><><><>

“My Lord, I'm afraid I have been elected to be the bearer of bad news,” said Severus Snape, bowing low before the Dark Lord.

Voldemort fixed him with a glare from his throne. “Speak now, Severus.”

Snape cowered under the crimson glare of Voldemort's eyes before he found the courage to speak. “It's Draco Malfoy, my lord. He's been released from St. Mungo's.”

“How is this bad news, Severus? I expect the boy to have been immediately brought into our care. I understand that, due to the nature of his wound, I cannot provide him with a new limb as I did Pettigrew, so we must find a suitable alternative for him. I still have plans for the boy.”

“He was not brought into our care, my lord. Standard operating procedure at St. Mungo's dictates that any victim or patient be released to their next of kin. As Lucius is a known follower of yours and Narcissa has been missing for several months, they did not release him to anyone sympathetic to our cause.” Snape admitted, visibly shaking.

Voldemort did not look impressed. “And who, dear Severus, is Draco Malfoy's next of kin?”

“Nymphadora Tonks, my lord. She is his last remaining blood relative, on the Black side of the family.”

“Crucio!” cried the Dark Lord, reducing Snape to a whimpering mass of what could be considered a pathetic excuse for a human being on the stone floor. “I told you the boy was to remain in our care! He knows, Severus! He knows of the cup! It was in Malfoy Manor, and he knows what it is. We must either bring him back or eliminate him. Being in the care of a known Order member will surely lead to his revealing the location of the cup.”

For good measure, Voldemort tossed another Cruciatus in the direction of Snape. He sat down in his throne, pondering what to do about Draco Malfoy. If he remained in Tonks' care, she would surely force him to give up the location of his Horcrux. If they were to bring him back to Riddle Manor, he could be dealt with according.

As Snape moved to rise from his feet, a swirl of colour appeared in mid air and landed on the cold stone floor directly in front of Lord Voldemort's throne. Still shaky from the effects of the Unforgivable, Snape cautiously made his way over to the lump on the floor. It clearly was not a fellow Death Eater returning from a mission, as not only would the return point be different, but no self respecting Death Eater would be caught dead wearing anything other than the standard issue black hooded robes. This person was wearing burgundy robes, with white trainers poking out from the hem.

“It worked!” Lord Voldemort cheered gleefully. “It actually worked!”

Snape kicked at the figure on the floor. “Potter?”

He sat up groggily, pushing his messy black hair from his face. Realizing who had kicked him, he spat at his feet. “Snape.” He acknowledged. Turning towards the throne, he raised his eyes to meet the haunting scarlet gaze of Lord Voldemort. “Tom.”

“How nice of you to join us, Harry Potter. I was beginning to wonder if you'd have the decency to show,” said Lord Voldemort, twirling his wand between his fingers.

“Well, you know me, I hate to disappoint.” He said offhandedly, rising to his feet.

Voldemort glanced around the room, making sure that the only occupants were Snape, Potter, and himself. “You seem to be one unsuspecting victim short, Potter.”

“Ginny's safe at Hogwarts.” He replied.

“And how did you manage to activate the Portkey without her? It was set to work only when both of you were touching it.”

“I'm afraid you underestimate both the capabilities of myself and those helping me.”

Voldemort did not look pleased. He had been looking forward to torturing the Weasley blood traitor upon her return, and once again Potter managed to foil his plans. “No matter,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Though I will have to ask you to pardon my manners, Potter. You've been in my presence for nearly a full minute without a proper welcoming. Crucio!”

As he writhed on the floor, he couldn't help but think that, no matter how much Hermione prepared him for this moment, the pain was beyond anything he ever could have fathomed. The feeling part of her animation spell enabled him to not only feel emotion, but feel pain as well, and he was beginning to wish she had left that part out of the spell. He struggled to his feet through the Unforgivable curse, and trained his wand on Voldemort.

“Expelliarmus!”

Voldemort's wand clattered to the floor.

“Finally had the smarts to get a second wand, eh, Potter? No more connection between brother wands, its quite helpful.” he said, wordlessly summoning his own wand back to him. “It'll help me do this!”

The pair began casting hex after curse, spell after jinx, and duelled for a few minutes. The dummy knew his animation spell was about to expire in less than a minute, so he stared Voldemort in the eye and spoke through the spells. “I'm not surprised you haven't beat me yet. We've been at odds since I was a baby, and here I am, seventeen years later. You can't kill me. You've never been able to kill me! Every time you've tried, you've made a mistake! Even when I was a tiny infant, helpless in my crib, I was powerful enough to survive the killing curse and drive you from your body. You can't kill me, Tom. You've failed every time you've tried!” He paused for dramatic effect, letting the words sink in as Voldemort dropped his wand arm to his side. Seconds ticked by, each staring down the other. “You're worthless, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Nothing but a half-blood, just like me. You spout pureblood ideals when you're not even a pureblood yourself! Your father was a muggle, Tom! You're nothing. You're lower than low. You're less than the dirt on the bottom of my shoe, less than the infinite particles that make up that dirt. You're nothing but a lowly half-blood mediocre wizard and no amount of dark magic you possess is enough to kill—“

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Just as Hermione had hoped, Dummy-Harry's animation spell expired just as Voldemort cast the killing curse. He slumped to the floor, his eyes cold, dull and lifeless. Hermione's transfigurations remained intact, and for all intents and purposes, Lord Voldemort had just killed Harry Potter.

Voldemort and Snape stood there silently, regarding the unmoving form of Harry Potter. Snape bent at the knee and pressed his fingers against his neck. There was no pulse.

“He's dead, my lord.”

Lord Voldemort remained still and silent for a few moments, relishing in the fact that after seventeen years he had finally triumphed. Harry Potter was dead, and now there was absolutely no one standing in his way. Nobody could stop him now.

“Hold out your arm, Severus.”

Snape did so, as Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark etched into his skin.

Moments later the members of the Inner Circle flooded into the chamber, stopping short at the sight of Harry Potter's corpse, lifeless on the ground. Bellatrix Lestrange stepped forward, and curled herself around the Dark Lord's feet like a cat.

“Potter is dead.” Voldemort announced. “My plan with the Weasley blood traitor, despite a minor kink, was a success. Avery, you'll have to make due with another blood traitor toy. In the mean time, I think we should notify the wizarding world of my triumph. Rodolphus, Macnair, Rookwood: Commandeer the Wizarding Wireless Network. I have an announcement to make. I shall tell the world that Harry Potter is dead, and make a public announcement of our celebration. Bellatrix, Snape, I shall trust the two of you to make the necessary arrangements. The twenty-seventh of August would be suitable. Just enough time to strike terror into the heart of the wizarding community. Parents will be too terrified to send their children to Hogwarts, which will leave the castle open for my next attack. We shall take Hogwarts, and it will become our base of operations to prepare for the final battle.”

“My lord,” cooed Bellatrix, “congratulations. With Potter gone, you will rule the world.”

“Yes,” he hissed, patting her head like one would a cat. “I shall rule.”

-->

A/N: My god, I never realized how dependent I am on internet service until I've been without it for a few days. For those of you who commented in reviews about the big move, it went great! The new apartment is fantastic, so much better than what I used to be in, and it's just very, very wonderful. I've gone from renting a room in a house and sharing the common areas with everyone else to having my very own apartment with my own kitchen and living room and whatnot, and I couldn't be happier. Not to mention my desk—Harry Potter fanfiction central!—is now clean, organized, and in a much better location so when I sit down to write, I feel much more productive. And you know what that means? Better, longer chapters: faster! :D

Somewhat good news, I guess. Though with the inclusion of this chapter my outline says there's 5 chapters left plus epilogue, it's going to be 6 again. Everything I planned to have happen in this chapter would make it twice its current length (a whopping 6299 words), and I figured everyone would rather have the update now rather than later when I finish writing it.

And on that note, on to the disclaimer! And just as a forewarning, don't take my making fun of Captain Jack Sparrow's appearance the wrong way—he's the sole reason for my pirate fetish. :D

Disclaimer:

“Please, please, please don't change me again!” whines Lang-Captain-Jack-Sparrow. He is clearly enjoying his time as a dashing pirate who has no trouble getting into women's knickers. “For once I actually like who you've turned me into! I'm suave and debonair, and despite the absurdity of my hair and teeth, and the fact that my eyeliner makes me look like a raccoon, women want me!”

He pauses, realizing that Crystal hasn't written scores of women flinging themselves at him.

“You need the accent, Will.” She says, removing her wand and preparing to cast. “Unfortunately the fact that you were born in England doesn't help. Living in Canada all these years ruined any opportunity you had for sounding like a British gentleman. No matter, however. I can take care of that.”

A few flicks of her wand and Lang feels his appearance transforming once again. His teeth repair, his hair becomes shorter, and his clothing is a better fit.

“You didn't.” he says, almost afraid to look down. He is dressed in boots, fitted trousers, a clean linen shirt that exposes his chest, and a proper thigh-length jacket. His hair hangs just past his chin, and there is a sword and scabbard at his hip.

“Please to meet you, Will Turner.” The author grins.

Lang-Turner bites back a groan. “What good does this do me? Elizabeth kisses Jack on the ship! Not me!”

“Are you ever satisfied?” Crystal sighs exasperatedly.

He shakes his head. “Not until you let me be me!”

“Say the words, Lang. I'll change you back.”

Stomping his foot to demonstrate his less-than-enthusiastic mood, he says “Harry Potter does not belong to Crystal. She does this for enjoyment because she has no life. Furthermore, she—“

“That's enough.”

Lang-Turner stands expectantly, waiting for the change.

Minutes pass.

Nothing.

“Oy! What the hell, woman?”

“I lied.” She says with a grin.

<><><><><>

As they watched Ginny collapse in tears to the floor, Hermione struggled to hold Ron and Harry back from passing the magical barrier. “Give it a minute,” she said, half-tempted to use a Body Binding Hex on the both of them.

“That's my baby sister in there!” Ron fumed. “She thinks she's just sent Harry off to die and you won't let me go in there?”

Harry shot Hermione a pleading look, but stayed where he was.

Hermione shook her head. “We have to make sure that our plan worked. The pair of you are too emotional right now, and sending Harry in there is just insane unless we know for sure that she's okay. I'm going in there. You're not.”

Ron opened his mouth to argue but Hermione's non-verbal magic was quicker than his tongue. With a silencing spell effectively in place, he was reduced to opening and closing his mouth with no other result.

With nothing more than a shrug from Harry, she crossed the barrier into the room. As she approached Ginny where she lay crumpled on the floor, Hermione cleared her throat to make herself known.

Ginny looked up, her eyes bloodshot and her nose running. “H-Hermione?”

She nodded, and knelt down on the floor. “Ginny, I know I'm not your favourite person right now, but I need you to answer some questions for me, okay?”

Ginny nodded, but her face fell and she burst into tears once more. “I killed him, Hermione! I killed Harry Potter!”

Hermione sighed, pushed aside any resentment she held for the younger witch, and embraced her. “It's okay, Gin. I understand. I know.”

“It's that horrible potion that V-Voldemort made me drink! It made me do things, Hermione! It made me come after you and Harry, it made me send him straight into his lap!”

The redhead stopped abruptly, a hand fluttering up to cover her mouth. Her eyes went wide with realization and horror.

Hermione held her closer, and muttered a soft freshening charm for Ginny's soggy features. “I know it wasn't you, Ginny. It's alright.”

“No, Hermione, you don't understand! I can talk about it again! That means it worked, that means that Harry's gone to Voldemort and his stupid plan worked and the potion got what it wanted, and that means that—that—“

“That I'm safe and alive?”

Both Ginny and Hermione swung around at the sound of Harry's voice. Both he and Ron were standing just outside of the barrier.

Ginny's mouth hung open in shock, and Hermione did not look impressed.

Before Hermione could decide how to deal with Harry's premature entrance from behind the barrier, Ginny shot up from the floor, across the Room, and straight into Harry's arms. He was knocked to the floor with a loud thump as Ginny threw herself at him.

Harry struggled to sit up under the redhead's weight, all the while returning her hug.

“But how? You're here, but you were there, and now—I saw you go! I saw the Portkey activate!” Ginny spluttered.

Standing and extending a hand to help Ginny do the same, Harry beamed fondly at Hermione. “Our Hermione here is a lot smarter than we give her credit for. Brightest witch of her age doesn't even come close, I reckon.”

Ginny's eyes darted from Harry to Hermione, over to Ron, and back to Harry. “I—I don't understand.”

Ron stepped forward then, and guided Ginny away from Harry, gently helping her back into her seat at the table. The Room sensed the need for a more comfortable environment and with an outward rippling effect; it became a replica of the Gryffindor common room. “Let's start from the beginning, shall we?” he said, getting comfortable in the chair-turned-sofa. “From what we know, when you ran away, you were captured by Voldemort. He gave you the Obeir potion, and the instructions to go after Harry and bring him back with a Portkey. If you did something wrong, it would hurt you. If you failed entirely, the potion would kill you.”

Gulping, Ginny nodded. “Snape gave me the potion.”

Harry felt a stronger surge of hatred for the beak-nosed greasy former Professor than he ever had before. Killing Dumbledore was one thing but forcing an underage witch to take a potion against her will in order to send the man she loved to her death was another thing entirely. Harry had thought that Snape might be above certain things, but no longer felt that way.

“You found Hermione and Harry in Godric's Hollow, managed to spit out some cryptic sort of sentence, and they brought you to Madame Pomfrey when you passed out. Somehow they found out that getting completely smashed would throw the potion off enough for you to go after something resembling Harry rather than Harry himself.” Ron continued.

Ginny's expression changed into confusion. “So if Harry is here, who'd you Polyjuice to send in his place?”

Hermione stepped into the conversation. “We didn't Polyjuice anyone, Ginny. That would be wrong. As much as there are several people who some of us would be willing to do that to—“ Here she shot a look at Harry, “—that is something that nearly no human being deserves to be put through. Besides, I think you dismissed Ron's use of semantics. He said something, not someone.”

“It was a duelling dummy,” Harry admitted, joining them in front of the roaring fire. “I'd animated him to spar with me in the Room while it looked like a duelling chamber, and when Hermione came in and watched she came up with the idea.”

“But…how?” Ginny asked.

Hermione launched into a rather long and quickly spoken rant about the intricacies of the spells and transfigurations she used for nearly three minutes before Ron held up a hand to stop her. “Lemme do this. You're rambling.”

Throwing up her hands in defeat, Hermione took Harry's hand and went off to a squashy looking chair in the far corner, leaving Ron to explain to his sister Hermione's spellwork in layman's terms. She and Harry made themselves comfortable in the overly large chair, entwining their fingers together.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Hermione whispered, nibbling at her lower lip. “Imagine if we hadn't come up with the dummy idea, and Ginny had somehow gotten the Portkey to you, and you ended up face to face with Voldemort again…”

Harry wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and pulled her close. “It's not like I haven't faced him before, love. But I know why you were worried.”

She nuzzled her face into Harry's neck and sighed. “I'm just relieved that we found a way around it. What if—what if you ended up with the Portkey and you didn't come back?”

He cupped her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “I'll always come back to you, Hermione Granger. Always. I promise.”

Dipping his head, Harry captured her lips with his own. His right hand threaded into her hair while his left drifted to her hip. She tentatively brushed the tip of her tongue against the seam of his lips and they parted, granting her access to his mouth. Their tongues danced as they held each other close, almost as if Harry was about to willingly take the Portkey from Ginny and meet Voldemort face to face once more.

Suddenly there was a very forceful pair of hands added to the mix as Ginny attempted to pry them apart.

“Get off of him, you slag!” she screamed, her face red with fury and her hair flying wildly about her head. Her brown eyes were flashing with a fiery anger reminiscent of her hair colour, and she was desperately pushing her right hand at Harry's shoulders and her left at Hermione's. Withdrawing her wand from inside her robes, she held it and prepared to hex them both.

Harry pinned her with a glare to the far wall of the Room, and Hermione felt a strange sense of satisfaction watching the redhead flying backwards from Harry's impressive display of wandless magic.

“That's enough, Ginny.” He said coldly, standing from the chair. His hair crackled with the pure energy of his magic and his green eyes were a blazing fire that would rival the best of the Floo network. Hermione stood to join him, her right shoulder just an inch or so behind his left in a display of her backing him in whatever he was about to do.

“Harry, don't you see what she's doing to you?” Ginny pleaded, pretending that he wasn't holding her to the wall with nothing more than a stare. “She's no good for you! Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, the Golden Couple of the Wizarding World; it sounds ridiculous! Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley has such a wonderful ring to it, you can't deny that. You and me, we're good together, Harry. I know you enjoyed yourself last year, stealing away to snog in broom cupboards with me when no one was looking.”

Harry continued to glare at her, his eyes scorching her very soul. And yet he still said nothing.

“I love you, Harry,” Ginny declared desperately. “I always have! I've loved you ever since I was a little girl. It was supposed to be you and me, Harry! Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, one big happy Weasley-Potter family filled with big white weddings and loads of little babies with messy black hair with brown eyes, and bushy red hair with blue eyes. That's how it was supposed to be, Harry! Why can't you see that? Ginny Weasley loves Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley loves Hermione Granger. You and me, Harry! Not you and her!”

Ron cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Um, Harry? I know you're not going to want to hear this…”

He turned and fixed his stare on Ron, though Ginny remained pinned to the wall.

“But I always thought things would turn out the way Ginny thought they would. After sixth year, and all that tension between me and Hermione, and Dumbledore's funeral when she came to me instead of you… I thought it would be me and her, you know? And you were already dating my baby sister, so aside from the part where you were prophesied to be part of a fight to the death, could I ask for a better bloke for her? Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny. That's how we always thought it was supposed to be.”

Ron said his piece with sadness and resignation in his voice rather than Ginny's passionate fury. His shoulders slumped as he told his best mate what he didn't want to hear.

“You promised you were going to come back to me, Harry! After the war! You promised! You told me at the funeral that it wasn't safe for you to be with anyone romantically, that you were a marked man with a price on your head and legions of Death Eaters after you. You told me that it was for my own safety that we not be together because you were scared that they'd torture me to get to you, and here you are with her! You think they won't use her? They wouldn't think twice! I'm sure Dolohov would love to get his hands on her again. I'm a pureblood, Harry! She's a Mudblood! Nothing but a Muggleborn and they wouldn't hesitate for a second to tie her up and beat her. You promise me that you're going to come back to me and then you're stooping low enough to be with her?!”

You're showing considerable restraint, love, all things considered.

I could say the same for you.

“I should've seen this coming, you know?” Ron sighed, pulling up a chair next to Ginny. “I mean, who am I? I'm just Ronald Bilius Weasley, youngest son who gets secondhand everything. Who am I to compete with the Great Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, and The Chosen One? Of course Harry Potter gets everything he wants. He doesn't have to work a day in his life, probably never will. Just ends up with vaults upon vaults that are nearly bursting at the seams with gold. He sneezes and it makes the Daily Prophet, for Merlin's sake. He doesn't go to the press; the press comes to him panting heavier than Fang at the prospect of just the smallest word to quote. Harry Potter could say `Hi!' and end up with the cover of Witch Weekly! Of course Harry Potter gets everything. He gets the money. The fame. The recognition. The power. And the one thing that I want, the one thing that I thought Harry couldn't have… he gets. He gets Hermione.”

“You're not happy until you've taken everything you can from the Weasley family, are you, Harry?” Ginny spat, growing angry. “You take my mother's love, nearly my father's life, Bill's a werewolf thanks to you, Percy's ignoring us because we're associated with you, you take my heart and break it, and then you take Ron's girlfriend, too?”

“I haven't taken anything that wasn't freely given,” said Harry, finally speaking. “Your mother loved me because she chose to. Arthur joined the Order of his own free will, as did Bill. Percy made the choice to disown his family because of me, I didn't ask him to. You gave me your heart, Ginny. I didn't ask for it, nor did I take it. It was there, out in the open, with neither of us laying claim to it. And I didn't take Hermione from Ron. She left the Burrow on her own, neither of you wanted to come with her. She came to me, to help me like a best friend does.”

The Room remained silent for a few moments, and Harry was surprised that Hermione was quiet as well. Every single one of them was glaring daggers at one another.

“Ron, I'm sorry that you feel that I've taken Hermione from you.” Said Harry, ignoring Ginny's cries of protest. “From what I could see, there was no relationship to wreck in the first place. I'm sorry, Ron, but Hermione and I are together now. I love her. I'm not letting her go.”

Ginny emitted a loud scream of rage. “I can't believe this!” she shouted. “You!” Stabbing a finger in Hermione's direction, Ginny turned a deeper shade of red and continued ranting. “You got your claws into him somehow and I'm willing to bet that it was dark magic! You used a spell on him, you found a way to make him yours, and you—you—“

“What, do you think I'm Merope Gaunt, or something? Stooping to the level of Amortentia to get the handsome love of my life to notice and fall for pathetic little old me? Resorting to drugging an innocent man to get what I want? I'm not desperate enough to try something like that, Ginny. But I think you are. In fact, I know you are.” Said Hermione scathingly, stepping out from behind Harry and across the room so that she was at eye level with the younger witch. “A love potion is not real love, Ginevra. It's a potion-induced infatuation with temporary results. And I've absolutely had it with your meddling in our relationship. Why can't you accept that Harry doesn't love you? Why can't you understand that it's me he wants to be with?”

Ginny held out her chin defiantly. “I love him, and I always will. Ginevra Molly Potter; one of these days…”

“Harry,” said Hermione in a daring tone, “let her down.”

“Um, is that really such a good idea, love?” he responded nervously, catching Ron's gaze. Even if they were at odds over their current love interest, they were still in agreement that what was about to happen was not very safe. Or wise. Or a brilliant idea in general.

“Don't make me ask again, Harry.” She said threateningly, not even bothering to turn and look at him.

Ginny fell to the ground in an instant; she barely had a chance to brace herself for the fall. She slowly lifted her head to glare at Hermione.

“I challenge you to a duel, Ginny Weasley. For honour, and for love.” She said, taking a deep breath. Ginny rose to her feet, and nodded as she faced Hermione.

“And for Harry.” Added Ginny.

The boys turned to face first each other, and then the girls. “What?” they both exclaimed.

“For Harry.” Agreed Hermione.

I don't know if I should be flattered or frightened.

I can take care of myself, Harry. But you'd better get Ron and yourself behind a barrier like the one I made earlier.

The Room transformed into the duelling chamber that Hermione had walked into the day before, with Ginny and Hermione standing in the centre of the platform. Raising their wands, they bent slightly at the waist in the form of a bow. They turned back-to-back, wands out, and walked to the end of the platform. Five paces. Four.

“Is this really necessary?” asked Ron frantically, surprised that Harry wasn't trying to stop this. Three paces.

Two paces. “Yes,” said Hermione evenly as she reached the end of the platform, “It is.”

“It's the only way I can get Harry back,” said Ginny, turning on her heel to face the centre.

Ron let out a derisive snort, and then quickly covered his face to hide it.

Ginny didn't even bother to turn her head. “Thanks for the support, Ron.”

He shrugged, slowly turning the infamous Weasley red. “Sorry, Gin, but it's Hermione! Cor, even Harry is scared of her when she's right pissed, and what do you think she is now?”

She shrugged, and narrowed her gaze on the brunette witch at the opposite end of the duelling platform. “She's a bloody slag is what she is. A dark magic practicing slag.”

At Hermione's end of the platform, Harry was standing next to her, prepared to take her robes. “Not that you'll need it, but good luck,” he whispered, winking at her. Hermione nodded in acknowledgement, and shrugged off her robes, flinging them into Harry's waiting arms. She was wearing a tight fitting pair of dark green velour track pants and a form-fitting white polo t-shirt. Removing a black hair elastic from her wrist she tied her mane into a ponytail at the top of her head, and a few curly strands escaped to curl around her face. Her short-sleeved shirt showed off her toned arms, and her snug clothing left little to the imagination. Harry was beginning to appreciate the exercise room back in Godric's Hollow even more than before.

At the opposite end Ginny removed her robes and handed them to Ron, leaving her in a worn pair of denim jeans and a faded charcoal grey t-shirt. Her skin was pale and she was definitely not as physically strong as Hermione. She copied Hermione's idea of tying back her hair, and assumed a duelling stance.

Hermione did the same, and winked at Harry. “Love, since you're the reason for this match, would you care to officiate?”

“Wands at the ready,” he said, as both girls readjusted their stances with their wands out. “On three then. One, two—“

“Expelliarmus!” cried Ginny, aiming her spell at Hermione's chest and hoping to catch her off guard.

Hermione was expecting this, however, and responded with a shield that allowed the disarming spell to harmlessly bounce off. “Taking a page out of Snape's book, are you? Are you sure that potion is all he slipped you?” taunted Hermione, moving into stance to cast another spell. “Stupefy!”

Ginny spun and the spell shot just past her elbow, nearly grazing her skin. “Immobulus!”

“Protego!”

“Rictumsempra!”

“Reducto!” yelled Ginny, aiming for Hermione's wand arm.

“Oi!” interrupted Harry. “No need to blow off any body parts or the likes, keep the damage to a minimum, would you?”

Ginny nodded, but replied, “It's not like it got precious ickle Hermione anyway. I'd think that the brightest witch of her age would be able to block a silly little spell like that one.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed. “Oh, I'll show you a silly little spell!” She aimed her wand and her non-verbal Stunner hit Ginny with such force that, despite her hastily constructed shield, she fell straight back on her arse in the centre of the duelling platform.

She began to cackle at what she thought was the hilarity of the situation, her eyes screwed shut with the intensity of her laughter. “Her-Hermione, please tell me you're j-joking! That's the best you've g-got?” said Ginny through her side-splitting chuckles. Opening her eyes, she found herself surprised. Hermione was nowhere to be found. Not to her left, her right, or even directly in front of her. Suddenly she felt the tip of a wand pressed into her neck, just below her chin and right next to her jugular.

“Yes, Ginny. It is. Now drop your wand. It's over.” Whispered Hermione into Ginny's ear. Amidst Ginny's laughter, she missed the near-silent crack of Hermione's utilisation of her house elf Apparition abilities, and was entirely unaware of the older witch's presence directly behind her.

The redheaded witch was clearly frightened.

“Told you she was scary when she was mad.” Said Ron, holding back a chuckle. Though he loved his sister dearly, it was more than amusing to watch her get knocked on her arse.

Ginny's wand fell to the platform with a clatter, and with a silent Incarcerous from Hermione; Ginny was bound by ankles and wrists. Hermione stooped to retrieve the wand, and came face to face with Ginny.

“I won.” Said Hermione, her cold stare causing the younger girl to shiver. “We duelled, for honour, for love, and for Harry. You lost, Ginny. It's over. Harry and I are together, and you need to deal with that.”

Her hard gaze softened, and she released Ginny from her bindings. She began to rub her wrists where the ropes had tied them, bringing the feeling back. “You think you've won, Hermione, but one of these days Harry will wake up and realize that you're nothing but a boring bookworm, and he'll come back to me. I know he will.”

Snatching her wand from the brunette's grasp, Ginny turned on her heel and stormed out of the Room of Requirement. Harry could have sworn that she was so mad there was steam bursting from her ears, but he wisely remained silent.

Hermione turned her focus expectantly on Ron, and Harry followed suit.

The lanky redhead threw up his hands in defeat. “Hey, I'll get over it. Thick-skinned, hardheaded Weasley, remember? It hurts, yeah, but I should've seen it coming. Just…don't expect me to be all Ron Weasley, Comic Relief for a bit, alright?”

Harry clapped his friend appreciatively on the back, and smiled at him. “You're taking this fairly well, Ron.”

He shrugged. “Bound to happen anyway, innit? Honestly,” he scoffed in a perfect imitation of Hermione, “even a blind person can see that you two should be together. Just wish I'd realized it sooner, is all.”

Hermione crossed the distance between the three of them, and wrapped Ron in a hug. “I'm sorry,” she said, squeezing him tightly, “but really, it's better that we deal with this now rather than later. We still have to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes, and Harry and I can't do that all by ourselves.”

Ron nodded, and Harry came over to join the hug. “'Course not,” he grinned, “Without my brilliant brains and strapping good looks, well; what are you two without me? We're the Golden Trio, not the Golden Duo. Just doesn't sound as good.”

“That's the spirit,” chuckled Harry.

With that, the trio left the Room in search of Ginny, as well as Arthur and Molly Weasley.

<><><><><>

When Nymphadora Tonks approached McGonagall's office, the last thing she expected to hear was the Weasleys raging voices from inside. She was only able to catch a few words; something about a potion, Ginny, and Voldemort. With the help of an Extendable Ear she'd nicked from the twins, she was privy to the rest of the conversation.

As she listened intently at the door, her companion shot her a steely cold glare. “Didn't you know that it's rude to eavesdrop on private conversations?” he asked haughtily.

She flicked him a look that said `Shut it or I'll hex you', which had the proper effect.

A few moments later, and his curiosity got the best of him. “Oh alright, what's going on in there?”

“From what I've been able to gather, Voldemort slipped Ginny a potion that forced her to go after Harry. Arthur and Molly are trying to figure out what's going on, and they thing there's something Minerva isn't telling them.”

He looked taken aback at her explanation.

“What?” asked Tonks.

“Didn't think you'd actually tell me,” he replied.

She shrugged and tossed her vibrantly pink hair over her shoulder. “It's not like you've anyone to run off and tell, now, is it?” She raised her hand and knocked on the door, three times in rapid succession.

The heavy wooden door swung open, and they walked in.

McGonagall was seated behind her desk and was carefully surveying the responses of Arthur and Molly Weasley, who were quite red in the face and more than worked up. The Weasleys were barely in their chairs, and looked like they were about to burst from containing their anger.

Tonks had to admit that Arthur looked fairly calm compared to Molly, who was on the edge of her seat and muttering under her breath. Had the circumstances not been so serious, Tonks might have laughed.

“Ahh, Tonks, to what do we owe this pleasure?” asked McGonagall cordially.

Her companion stepped out from behind her, his eyes barely meeting those of the Headmistress.

“I have someone who has valuable information for our cause,” said Tonks, pushing him forward. “He was willing to speak with you, as we'd discussed earlier. Well, go on then.”

The Weasleys stared at him in disbelief. “You can't be serious,” said Arthur.

“On the contrary, I'm very serious. Hear him out, Arthur.”

Before he had a chance to speak, Ginny Weasley came crashing through the door. “Mum! Dad!” she exclaimed, taking no notice of the office's three other occupants. Molly swept her into a rib-crushing embrace, while Arthur simply looked on. He waited his turn for his wife to stop smothering their only daughter, and hugged Ginny.

After a few minutes of rejoicing and reuniting, Ginny turned to face McGonagall. As she opened her mouth to inform her of what had just taken place in the Room of Requirement, her warm brown eyes met cold grey ones.

“You,” she seethed, glaring for all she was worth.

“Oh shut it, Red, I'm not here for you.” He said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“Yeah, what the hell are you doing here?” asked Harry, who along with Ron and Hermione had just entered McGonagall's office.

“Potter,” he acknowledged, barely keeping the venom from his tone.

“Malfoy,” said Harry, returning the icy stare.

Ron and Hermione shared a look. This was not going to be good. Hermione carefully took a position behind Ron, to stay as far from the Slytherin as possible.

“Shouldn't you be in hospital?” asked Ron, taking note of Draco's wand arm. “Could've sworn that Harry nearly killed you.”

Malfoy continued to glare at Harry. “It's amazing the things magic can heal,” he said, pushing up his sleeve.

Though Harry had carefully cauterized the wound at his shoulder, somehow the Healers at St. Mungo's had managed to attach the wizarding equivalent of a prosthetic limb. For all intents and purposes it functioned like a real arm, but without the blood, veins, and muscle tissue to keep it working.

“Oh, so your new arm just magically led you back into Hogwarts, then?” said Harry, eyeing him disdainfully. It did not escape the adults in the room that his hand was resting on his wand holster, more than prepared to pull it out and hex the young blond.

“Harry, stop it,” admonished Tonks, “he's here to help.”

“Help?” scoffed Harry. “You can't be serious. The bloody bastard nearly killed Hermione!”

Tonks placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He's seen the errors of his ways, Harry. He has something that can help us.”

“I don't care what the ruddy wanker has, he tried to kill Hermione and you're just letting him stand here? He's not even bound or anything, he's walking about like he's free!”

“I am free,” said Draco, his hand twitching in the direction of his wand. “What's the matter, Potty? Scared I'll have another go at your little Mudblood toy?”

“Draco!” Tonks smacked him upside the head. “We've been over this before. Behave. Or I'll send you back to Voldemort.”

“Sorry,” muttered Draco.

Harry and Ron looked to each other in disbelief. Draco Malfoy, apologizing? He must really be scared.

“I do believe you're here for a purpose, Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall reminded him.

Draco snorted. “Something tells me Potty here doesn't want any help with his Horcruxes.”

The trio's eyes all snapped to Draco.

“What did you just say?” asked Harry.

“Hor-crux-es. Horcruxes. You know, inanimate objects with little bits of the Dark Lord's soul inside of them? Key to killing him and whatnot? Merlin help us if the so-called Saviour of the Wizarding World doesn't even know what a Horcrux—“

“I know what a Horcrux is, Malfoy,” growled Harry, “but what do you know of them?”

An eerie smile spread across Malfoy's face as he reached into the pocket of his robes. “I know that this is a Horcrux,” he said, holding out his hand.

The room fell silent save for the sounds of breathing.

Resting in Malfoy's hand was Helga Hufflepuff's cup, in all its golden, jewel-encrusted glory.

Harry snatched the cup from Malfoy's hand before there was a chance for anything else to happen. “How did you get this? Where was it?” he demanded.

Draco sighed. “The Dark Lord had hidden it here at Hogwarts. I retrieved it for him before the end of last year, and since then he's been keeping it at Malfoy Manor.”

That was when Draco Malfoy landed with a solid thud on the floor of McGonagall's office with a bleeding nose.

“You bastard!” spat Harry, kicking him hard in the ribs.

Ron and Hermione quickly grabbed a hold of his arms and dragged him from the office before he could do any further damage to Malfoy. “Let it go, Harry,” said Ron wearily. “We've got the cup, isn't that what matters?”

Harry began to rant about the blasted ferret having been the one to keep the elusive Horcrux from them all this time when Hermione intervened. “Harry. Shut it.”

He looked up at his girlfriend in surprise. “I'd think that you of all people would be cursing him straight to China right now,” he said.

She shook her head. “As much as I hate to admit this, Harry, I think he really has changed sides. If he were still in league with Voldemort, he wouldn't be stupid enough to bring us the cup. It'd be suicide.”

The trio retreated to the Gryffindor common room where they spent the rest of the afternoon until suppertime staring at the cup where they'd placed it on a table.

Meanwhile, Draco and Tonks had remained in McGonagall's office with the Weasleys.

“I suppose we should decide what to do with the two of you,” sighed Tonks.

“Two?” asked Molly.

Minerva nodded in agreement. “She's right. We can't very well let Draco go off on his own, and though the potion has been removed from Ginny's system, there's no saying that Lord Voldemort won't try to capture her once more. We need to keep them safe here at the castle.”

Draco and Ginny found themselves backed into a corner with the Headmistress, an Auror, and Ginny's parents bearing down on them. For the briefest of moments they put aside their hatred for one another, and shared a nervous glance. August was going to be one very interesting month.

<><><><><>

“So, how was the wedding?” asked Harry, tearing Ron's attentions from the cup. Three hours of staring wasn't going to make it disintegrate in front of them, and Harry couldn't take the silence anymore.

“Hasn't happened yet,” replied Ron.

“Why not?” asked Hermione.

Ron shrugged. “Guess Fleur didn't want the bridesmaids to be one short to the groomsmen, what with Ginny missing and all. She and Bill decided they would put it off till Ginny got back; they didn't want the wedding without the entire family there.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin, your mother would've killed me if I missed it.”

The redhead nodded in agreement. “You're right there, mate. Nothing brings all the wedding guests in droves like the mention of Harry Potter in attendance.”

Harry shot him an annoyed look.

“What? I'm just saying, is all. You know that's not why we want you there, anyway.”

Hermione repositioned herself in her chair. “Harry won't be attending the wedding so it doesn't make a difference.”

Both Ron and Harry looked at her, confused. “What?”

She sighed, and began to explain with a patient air. “We just sent the transfigured dummy off to Voldemort. Voldemort most likely cast the killing curse at him, and he now believes Harry is dead. With a wedding this big, the press is bound to be there. If they see Harry, Voldemort will realize he killed a fake and our whole plan is ruined.”

“Oh. Right, then.” Said Ron, looking rather embarrassed.

“I could take Polyjuice,” offered Harry.

Hermione shook her head. “You'd have to nip it out of a flask like Professor Moody to keep your form all night. I'd rather find another way of disguising your appearance.”

With that the trio set to spending the rest of the afternoon discovering a way to disguise Harry for the wedding. Soon after they made their way to the library for some more Horcrux research, where they uncovered information that Hermione had somehow missed the first time around in their sixth year. Thanks to the treasure trove that was the Hogwarts library, the trio was about to embark on a rather interesting month.

-->

A/N: So I know I said in my last note that the new place and the organized feel to my desk would result in more productive writing habits. Needless to say my desk is becoming cluttered again despite the fact that I now have about five times the room I used to [where do I get all this junk anyway?], and I haven't updated in, well.. I can't remember the last time I updated. I do have a valid excuse though, I swear! My boss assigned me the joyous task of cleaning all the equipment in the bakery as well as the bakery itself as an insurance adjuster was coming shortly, and he wanted the machines to look like how much they were worth. It's hard to see that they're shiny and fully functional under layers of caked on flour, so I've been working nearly ten hour days for quite a while shining the place up.

See? Legitimate excuse!

Bakery's clean now, however, and my boyfriend is watching golf so my only option to remain occupied is to write. Lucky for you lot, eh?

So on that note, I bring you an unexpected disclaimer that my dear Will hasn't had a chance to proofread or approve, so I'm sure the shit will hit the proverbial fan when he sees what I'm about to do to him. :D

Disclaimer:

“So this Will Turner thing's quite nice, actually,” says Lang-Turner, trying to foil the author at her silly game. “Makes remembering my new name a bit easier when it's the same as the real one.”

Crystal snorts a laugh as she twiddles her wand from one finger to another. “Will, Will, Will… My dear, I'd think you would have learned how we play this game by now.”

He looks a touch worried. “Do I even want to know this time?” He glances around for something to hide behind, but as this is not his story, it's not going to happen.

“Heh, I suppose you should. After all, as this was an unplanned chapter due to the length of the last one, I didn't exactly get a chance to run your transformation by you before I wrote it. And as you're not on MSN right now and I can't be bothered to call you…”

“Alright, I get it! I'm unavailable, I should be punished, so just bloody well get on with it, would you? I have a website to get back to, or did you forget that we open by the end of October and you still haven't provided me with a decent layout?”

Crystal glares at him. “What do you want first, Will? A new chapter, or a new layout? Need I remind how you responded to the last one?” She stuck out her tongue at him, to let him know she wasn't really that mad.

He sighed. “I guess I'd rather have a new chapter before the end of October. Not to mention your other readers will kill you for not updating for three months.”

“Even so, for your silly comment about my first layout, be it not-so-fantastic or not, it's time for payback.” Crystal pointed her wand at him. “Do you remember what we discussed for what would have been the next chapter, and what Luna would be in accompaniment to your role?”

His face screwed up in concentration. “Um… no?”

A few wand flicks later and he was dutifully reminded.

William Lang stood front and centre in a short, vibrantly green dress that resembled a leaf, matching slippers with dandelion pom-pons, and the prettiest pair of glittering wings he had ever seen. Crystal thought it went wonderfully with his orange hair.

“Hello, TinkerWill. Care to say the magic words?”

He glared at her. “Oh, I'll get you for this…” He did his best to readjust the hemline so that it better covered his bits, but to no avail. “Harry Potter isn't yours, suing you is pointless, blah blah blah…”

“Thanks, TinkerWill.”

“And go visit Firewhiskey.net! Or Firewhiskey.org! Both work!”

“Shut it, TinkerWill.”

<><><><><>

Despite the unexpected and unwarranted appearance of Draco Malfoy, August had become a highly profitable month for the Gryffindor Trio. Thanks to Hermione's discovery of the method to destroy them, both the Cup and the Locket had been destroyed. They had found it highly ironic that the locket had been hidden in the safe house that was Number Twelve. After prying it from Kreacher's hidey-hole behind the furnace and returning to Godric's Hollow, they'd promptly dropped it in an iron cauldron full of Aqua Regis and destroyed the soul fragment within. The cup itself was a different matter entirely, as they had run out of the chemicals required for the solution. In the end Hermione had picked up the BMW, and driven back into London to pick up what they needed. Ron had rolled his eyes when she insisted on driving; reminding her that she was a witch and could easily Apparate to Eurochem. She had quickly reassured him that it wasn't that simple, and then showed him the car.

Pureblood wizard that he was, Ron was enough of a man that his magical nature had no bearing on his appreciation for a BMW roadster. He momentarily forgot to remember that he was not only a wizard, but that he also had no clue how to drive. Hermione had to pry him from the drivers' seat with the forceful reminder that there was a Horcrux waiting for them within the walls of Harry's childhood home, and that if she gave him the keys he'd most likely crash into something. The BMW was not the old Ford Anglia.

Needless to say, Ron went straight to Harry for the promise of driving lessons from Hermione and the chance to drive the car.

While she was off in London, Ron had become curious as to why they were using his parents' former home to destroy the Horcruxes. Harry explained the extreme version of a child-proofing charm on the house, and that it was the best idea as he new it would restore itself should something explode or go wrong.

Shortly after Hermione's return and the destruction of the Cup, they introduced Ron to the physical fitness room they had created. He was immediately fascinated by the Muggle equipment and found himself joining Harry and Hermione in their daily workouts. Hermione had developed a training regimen for the trio to follow, which included time at Godric's Hollow for physical exercise and at Hogwarts for magical training. With Hermione's brilliant research they had discovered several spells buried in obscure tomes at the library, and they quickly mastered them all. Even Ron.

With four weeks of physical fitness and defense training under their belts (plus a few more for Harry and Hermione), the Gryffindor Trio found themselves in top physical condition. Today was the day that all of that would finally come into play.

Today was the day of Tom Riddle's Death Eater Celebration Extraordinaire.

Tomorrow, the Hogwarts Express would be departing from King's Cross, most likely empty.

Five days earlier, in just enough time to discourage nearly every Hogwarts student from returning to school, Lord Voldemort's minions managed to hijack the Wizarding Wireless Network. He had broadcasted a chilling message that was enough to strike fear into the hearts of everyone listening, even the Ministry's most capable and accomplished Aurors.

<><><><><>

“I bid all those listening a good evening, and thank you in advance for choosing the Wizarding Wireless Network as your preferred method of entertainment for this evening. Tonight, you are in for quite the treat. Our program this evening is a personal selection of mine, and I daresay all those listening shall like it.”

“Who is this knob?” asked Ron, glaring at the Wireless. It just so happened that on this particular night he, Hermione, and Harry had chosen to switch on the Wireless for some background noise during their research efforts.

Hermione shrugged. “Quite possibly some pompous newcomer who thinks he's king of the air—I've never heard his voice on the WWN before.”

Harry, however, had felt the presence of goosebumps along his arms as this `pompous newcomer' began to announce the next program. He chose to remain silent in the commentary, and instead concentrate on whom the voice belonged to. He was almost sure of it, but for him to be speaking in such a polite manner? It was practically unheard of.

“But I digress, my dear listeners, for I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Lord Voldemort, and I shall be your host for this evening.”

Ron and Hermione gasped in disbelief.

“Now, why on earth would he want to take over the Wireless?” asked Hermione. Ron was frozen in shock and didn't even think to comment.

Well, thought Harry, that certainly clears that up.

“I, along with my followers, have commandeered the use of the Wizarding Wireless Network. I am here to make an announcement. Ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, please gather closely around your speakers and make sure the whole family is listening, for what I am about to say will be of the utmost importance.”

Ron snapped out of his trance. “Let's turn this rubbish off,” he suggested, making for the dial.

“No!” shouted Harry and Hermione, swatting at Ron's fingers as they neared the Wireless.

“We have to see if he took the bait,” reasoned Hermione.

“Allow me to repeat one last time, for those just tuning in. I am Lord Voldemort, and I'd suggest you pay close attention to what I am about to say.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh for Merlin's sake, get on with it!”

The trio gathered closely around the Wireless, listening carefully.

“I am Lord Voldemort, and The Boy Who Lived, your so-called Saviour of the Wizarding World, is dead. I, Lord Voldemort, have killed Harry Potter.”

“Really likes titles, doesn't he?” snorted Harry, giving the Wireless a derisive glare. “I suppose this is the point where everyone in Great Britain goes mental.”

Both Hermione and Ron shot him a glare. “Harry,” began Hermione, “everyone in Great Britain is going mental right now. They don't know what we know. They don't know that Riddle killed a duelling dummy and that you're alive and perfectly well.”

“Once more, for those who may just be tuning in now. I, Lord Voldemort, killed Harry Potter. Harry Potter is dead.”

“Well, we know he's certainly enjoying himself,” said Ron. “I've never heard someone speak with so much glee in their voice before.”

“In light of this new, shall we say, era, I shall be hosting a party the likes of which London has never seen. In the heart of Diagon Alley on the thirty-first of August at eight in the evening, I invite my legions of Death Eaters to join me in celebration. I also extend the invitation to all those prospective followers of my cause, and anyone who realizes that pureblood is the only blood acceptable. Join me as we celebrate the death of my enemy, Harry Potter. We shall rejoice in my success, and for those who doubt me, I assure you that I have the proof. Harry Potter is dead. And I, Lord Voldemort, killed him.”

With a snap and a crackle, the Wireless went silent once more.

The trio paused to look at one another. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

“It almost sounded like he was planning on hosting a bloody tea party,” he said offhandedly, nearly chuckling at the image of known Death Eaters such as Lucius Malfoy and Barty Crouch Jr. (even though he was long gone by then) sitting down to a proper English afternoon tea. The mental image became even more amusing when he pictured them sitting down to a tea in the style of his mother, complete with trays laden with buttery scones and jam, and her best flowered china teapot. He nearly fell onto the floor laughing as he pictured Malfoy pouring Crouch Jr. a cup of tea from said flowered teapot, into an even flowerier cup and saucer.

“Ron,” said Hermione in an angered tone, reminding him of the severity of the situation. “We have to tell the proper people that Harry is alright, starting with the more influential order members. Professor McGonagall is probably panicking right now, thinking that somehow Harry was kidnapped from the castle and tortured to death.”

As if on cue, Professor McGonagall burst into the Gryffindor common room in a right state, her hand pressed over her fluttering heart as the other hand struggled to keep her hat on her head. “Harry! Oh thank goodness!” she exclaimed, enveloping him in the strangest hug of Harry's life. He'd never supposed the tartan-clad witch would embrace him, but who was he to complain? She was just glad he was all right.

She immediately demanded an explanation, which led to a very long night of Hermione and Professor McGonagall discussing her elaborate transfigurations on the duelling dummy, and her brilliant plan.

<><><><><>

“Are we ready?” asked Harry surveying the three people standing with him. On either side of him stood Ron and Hermione, clothed in robes that were a near perfect match of Death Eater attire. In front of him stood Nymphadora Tonks, who had volunteered to be the missing puzzle piece to the mission.

She wore a robe that was clearly made for a person far taller than her, and if one took a closer glance the thin silver and emerald piping would be visible as trim. Hermione had suggested the accents, after a careful study of Harry's memories in a pensieve. Her hair had been morphed into non-existence in preparation, and all it would take would be a few more quick morphs to achieve her goal.

“Ready, Harry,” said the young Auror as she checked and rechecked her first and second wands in their Auror Standard Issue wrist and leg holsters. Hermione and Ron simply nodded, and Harry held out a Portkey. A quick tap of Tonks' wand and it activated, landing them an acceptable distance from The Leaky Cauldron.

The streetlamps were dark, as though some Dark wizard had gone along with a Put-Outer and snatched away their light. All around them were wizards in black robes and gruesome skull masks: Death Eaters clearly in attendance for the celebration.

It took the quartet the barest of inspections to get past the wizards guarding the entranceway to Diagon Alley. Their transfigured masks and black robes were good enough for the men at the brick wall, and they soon found themselves enveloped by a throng of Death Eaters that made the gathering outside look like a small get-together.

They stood with the rest of the Death Eaters as they waited for the clock to chime eight. As the last of the bells rang, a large stage appeared from thin air in front of the boarded up shop that was formerly Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour. What the foursome saw at centre stage chilled them to the bone, even though they knew it was all an illusion.

In the centre of the stage was a large wooden stake anchored to the floor, with a lifeless figure bound to it. Even in what they thought was death, the Death Eaters still were overly cautious with the lifeless form of Harry Potter. The dummy's hair hung low on his forehead, hiding his sightless eyes. The conjured ropes that bound his wrists and ankles to the stake had rubbed away the exposed skin, leaving a raw and angry wound that did not bleed. After all, post-mortem injuries were incapable of bleeding, regardless of whether the deceased was magical or Muggle. Harry marvelled at Hermione's skill with magic, as he himself would never have thought to spell the dummy to that level of complexity. The brightest witch of her age had certainly thought of everything.

The Inner Circle Death Eaters began to file onstage in what resembled a practiced curtain call in a grand theatrical production. They formed a semi-circle around the stake, each one of them hidden behind masks. Despite the barrier of the crowd, Harry and his team could tell that they were all avoiding the direction of the stake. It gave him a twisted sense of pleasure to know that he frightened them to the point where they were fearful of what they thought was his corpse.

The crowd around them cheered so loudly that Hermione was sure her eardrums would burst, and she was tempted to place a Silencing charm on all of them. Had it been something that would not give away their position or mission, she surely would have. The Death Eaters were victorious, and seeing the members of Voldemort's Inner Circle was beginning to rile them up.

As if the presence of the Inner Circle, not to mention Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, was not enough of a crowd pleaser, Lord Voldemort was not to be outdone by his followers.

In a flash of silver sparks, black smoke, and a conjured Dark Mark glittering before the haze, Tom Marvolo Riddle stepped out just as the snake of the Mark began to make its way out of the skull's mouth.

The Death Eaters went wild.

He raised his arms in a manner reminiscent of the Pope greeting the people of Vatican City from inside the Vatican itself, and revelled in his sway over his congregation. He began to speak to the crowd, reinforcing the Voldemort/Pope image that Harry currently had in his mind.

As Lord Voldemort swished his robes this way and that, and his creepy crimson stare bore into those closest to the stage, he began to preach his pureblood ideals to the assembled Death Eaters. It took nearly every ounce of control Ron had not to shout that Riddle was a half-blood himself, and his rubbish ideals were founded on idiocy, but he wisely restrained himself as Voldemort began to insist that to be of pure and noble blood was the only acceptable way of life.

The crowd surged forward at this, cheering and rejoicing. Hermione discovered for herself that her choice in Tonks' attire had been wise, as she was brought closer to the stage and Voldemort's presence than she would like. Harry decided that he'd swallowed enough of Voldemort's tripe for one afternoon, and led them through the crowd and around the back of the stage. They could still hear Riddle boasting about his triumph over Harry Potter and his grand demise as they watched Tonks prepare herself.

She raised her hood as she finished the morphing process she'd begun earlier. Adding several inches to her height and readjusting the shape of her body, she also darkened her eyes to a fiery scarlet and lightened her skin to an ashen grey. A few minor tweaks, a few test sentences to adjust her voice and a quick masking charm to make her wand appear as it should, and the image that Tonks now presented was positively frightening.

Gone was the bubbly fuchsia-haired witch they'd all come to love, and standing in front of the Gryffindor Trio was an eerie replica of Tom Riddle.

Tonks spread her arms and quickly enveloped the trio in a quick hug. “Good luck, you lot. Let's just hope that all goes well, alright?” She pressed a quick kiss to both Harry's and Ron's cheeks, and whispered words of encouragement in Hermione's ear. Despite the frightening façade she was currently portraying, the Trio could tell that Tonks was nervous and scared.

“Never thought I'd be kissed by You-Know-Who,” said Ron, emitting a nervous laugh.

Tonks glared at him. “That was a good luck kiss from me,” she emphasized, though she was still using the voice of Lord Voldemort.

“Right, err, this is a bit creepy for me so let's get on with it, shall we?” suggested Harry.

They went into action, with Ron and Hermione hiding under the stage beneath Harry's Invisibility cloak. Harry himself was Disillusioned and standing directly behind Tonks.

“Ready?” he whispered in her ear, biting back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat at the proximity of Voldemort/Tonks. This is Tonks, not Riddle. Tonks, he reminded himself mentally.

Tonks nodded, though it barely showed through her hood from Harry's position.

“Nagini,” he hissed in Parseltongue, hoping beyond all hopes that this plan would work. “Nagini, your master summons you.”

They waited on tense nerves for the oversized snake to appear. Sure enough, Nagini arrived moments later, apparently oblivious to the fact that the real Lord Voldemort was standing on the other side of the stage.

Harry continued to call to the snake, projecting his voice from behind Tonks as she moved her lips to imitate the snake language. Nagini rose her head and cocked it to one side, as if inspecting Voldemort's appearance.

Now, Harry! Hermione hissed in his head.

Springing from his place behind Tonks, Harry drew the Sword of Gryffindor from his belt and struck the snake, severing her head from her body. He silently thanked Minerva McGonagall for giving it to him the night of Voldemort's address on the Wireless.

The rest of Nagini's body fell away from her head as Ron and Hermione rushed from beneath the stage, wands drawn and prepared to shout the necessary spell to destroy the expected soul fragment.

Seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

They were all darting nervous glances at one another, Tonks perhaps more confused than the rest as Harry had not fully informed her of how they planned to destroy the soul fragment they believed to reside inside of Nagini.

“Well?” asked Hermione impatiently, looking at Harry.

He shrugged. “Give it a bit more.”

They waited for a full two minutes, their hearts pounding.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

“Why are we still staring at a dead snake?” asked Ron quietly.

“Because Nagini wasn't a Horcrux,” said Harry rather dejectedly.

“What?” fumed Hermione. “Dumbledore said that—“

“Dumbledore was wrong!” Harry said rather tersely, doing his best not to raise his voice.

Tonks looked expectantly at the young couple. “Well? Now what?” she asked.

“We go to Phase Two,” said Hermione cryptically.

“But Nagini wasn't a Horcrux!” argued Ron.

“We go to Phase Two,” she repeated.

Tonks shrugged. “Can't argue with the girl, Ron. She's bloody brilliant, that one. I'll tell you now, she says jump, I say how high. Got it?”

With that, Tonks cast a Disillusionment charm on Nagini's body, so as to buy them some extra time. She morphed back to a more acceptable appearance, forgoing her usual bright hairstyle for a stringy black that rivalled that of Severus Snape. They carefully picked their way through the Death Eater crowd towards the back, but still within range of the stage. Ron and Tonks huddled close together; it was now Harry and Hermione's time, and they were merely observers in the grand scheme of things.

She turned to Harry, and silently slipped her hand into his, squeezing it. “Ready, love?” she asked.

He nodded, quickly kissed her on the lips, and headed towards the front of the crowd. As soon as Hermione saw he was in position, she took careful aim with her wand, and began to mutter under her breath.

“You are here to celebrate the death of Harry Potter, and the birth of the Pureblood Revolution!” Voldemort was saying, and the crowd cheered. “He stumbled upon a Portkey into my chambers, and made a pathetic attempt at duelling to save his own life. After exposing him to the Cruciatus he begged for me to kill him. The Great Harry Potter begged me to end his life.”

A snort could be heard from the centre of the stage. Riddle swirled to face his Inner Circle, demanding to know who mocked him.

“Funny, I seem to remember reminding you that your father was a muggle and that you're, therefore, a half-blood, right before you again failed to kill me.”

Every Death Eater in the crowd could be heard gasping in shock and surprise as Harry's head rose from where it hung, and his emerald eyes bore into those of Lord Voldemort's.

“Do you ever listen, Tom? You can't kill me. Try as you might, you've failed every time. Can't you just learn from your mistakes like everyone else does?” taunted the dummy.

Voldemort quickly recovered from his temporary frozen state of shock, and bore down on the stake at centre stage.

A few quick wand flicks from the back of the crowd and the dummy was released from his bindings, wand in hand and ready to fight.

“Sectumsempra!”

Riddle screamed as the spell cut into his flesh, and blood so dark it was nearly black began to ooze from the multitude of gashes across his exposed skin. In a flash Snape was by his side, wordlessly casting the countercurse he'd conveniently failed to write in his old Potions text, and helping the Dark Lord to his feet.

He rose and bound the dummy's wrists and ankles again, but Hermione's immaculate spellwork once again released him.

“So let me see,” said the dummy with a sneer, “How many times is that now that you've tried and failed to kill me? Let's see, there was that time when I was a baby and your Killing Curse backfired. My first year at Hogwarts, while you were leeching off of Quirrel's head; your diary certainly made a valiant effort my second year.”

He missed the indignant glare he received for insinuating that the Dark Lord kept a diary, of all things. After all, Tom Riddle had always preferred to think of it as a journal. Diaries were for girls, weren't they?

“You sent Dementors after me my third year, fat lot of good that did. And oh, let's not forget your little `Look at me, I'm Lord Voldemort, I'm back from the dead!' stunt you pulled in my fourth. Lovely one, that. And yet, with me cornered all by myself, and you, with your dearest friends surrounding you, you still couldn't kill me! You tried again and failed in the Department of Mysteries, and let's face it, that's what… One attempt, in one form or another, every year I've been at school, plus the one when I was a baby, and when you screwed up a few days ago? Malfoy, Lestrange, anyone up here care to do the simple math? Inbreeding can't prevent the ability to do sums, can it? Anyone? Can anyone tell me?”

The dummy was clearly going for broke, and was more than surprised that Voldemort hadn't already attempted to take him down.

“I suppose inbreeding does prevent basic skills in maths, but either way, the answer is eight. Eight times, Tom Riddle. Eight times you've tried to kill me, and eight times it's failed. Tell you what—I'll give you a free shot. Right here, right now.”

The dummy tucked his wand into the pocket of his jeans, and spread his arms wide. He even dropped to his knees in a submissive pose.

Voldemort was clearly rattled. It defied all logic, he saw the boy die! But he would not take his chances again. He gingerly stepped around The Boy Who Dared To Tell Off The Dark Lord, and struck a pose behind him with his wand high in the air and his hand resting on top of his messy black hair.

The crowd cheered, and some had even begun to think that this was a spectacle planned by Lord Voldemort himself as entertainment. Spurred on by his followers, the Dark Lord bent to hold his wand against the dummy's neck.

“I'm going to enjoy this,” he whispered, “the Killing Curse may not be strong enough for you, boy, but there's no possible way that even you could survive after I drain every ounce of blood from your body.”

He closed his eyes in triumph, wordlessly cast the Diffindo charm, and sliced his wand tip from one side of the dummy's neck to the other.

Another audible gasp was heard from the crowd, and Lord Voldemort relished in the appreciation. He was so caught up in the moment that he did not notice the lack of blood spilling over his fingers, or the lack of a body in front of him.

A quick tap on the shoulder righted that situation.

“Um, Voldie? You missed.”

With those words, a cold blade of steel was pressed against Riddle's throat.

His eyes flew open as he realized that somehow, once again, Potter had escaped his grasp to come out on top. And now he was holding a very sharp, very Gryffindor sword against his flesh.

“I'm giving you a chance, Riddle. Leave now, or die. Leave, and remain hidden until I call you out to finish this thing once and for all.” The real Harry whispered into his ear. “Remember your Horcruxes? They're not an issue anymore,” he added to Voldemort's surprise.

For the first time in his life, Voldemort was truly, mortally afraid of Harry Potter.

“Leave, Tom. Or I'll kill you right here, in front of all your Death Eaters.”

Understanding that there was no threat, merely a promise, in Harry's words, Tom Riddle took the boy's advice and left.

With his Disapparition the wards around the Alley broke down, and each and every Death Eater quickly ran off by various methods. Some quite literally ran, while others had the good sense to Apparate, take a Portkey, or find the nearest Floo.

Harry turned to face his friends with a triumphant smile on his face. “It's over. At least, for now,” he said as he rushed towards them. After a quick group hug, Tonks reactivated their Portkey and they returned to Hogwarts.

<><><><><>

“Blimey, mate, that was bloody brilliant!” exclaimed Ron as the trio tumbled into the Gryffindor common room. They had thanked Tonks profusely before she went on her way to report back to McGonagall, and now they were ready to celebrate their triumph.

“Which part?” asked Harry with a grin that was nearly too wide for his face.

“The part where she vanished the dummy and you Apparated on stage! I don't get it, how'd you do it!?”

With a summoned bottle of Firewhiskey and a set of glasses, Harry poured himself and Ron a generous measure while leaving it up to Hermione how much she wished to partake. “Well, Ron, I can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts. So can Hermione. A few wards aren't going to stop me anymore,” he said, raising his glass in a toast.

Ron downed his in one gulp. “Sorry, mate, thought you just said you and Hermione could Apparate through Hogwarts.”

They both stared at Ron. “We can.”

Ron gulped, without the accompaniment of Firewhiskey. “Oh. How?”

Hermione was about to launch into a full-blown explanation of their newly acquired skill when Harry laid a gentle hand on her thigh to calm her. “Dobby somehow gave us house elf magical abilities, and now we can Apparate like they can.”

Nodding, Ron downed some more of the fiery alcohol. “Right then. Think he'll share with me, too?”

Harry shrugged, joining Ron in another toast. “You'd have to ask him.”

As Ron went off in search of Dobby, not wanting to be left out in these Apparition abilities, Harry turned to Hermione with a serious expression on his face.

“So if it wasn't Nagini, then what is it?” he asked.

Hermione experienced a rare moment just then. It was one of the few times in her life where she didn't have an answer. “I—I don't know Harry. I'll keep looking, I promise. We won't stop until we find it.”

<><><><><>

The morning after the Death Eater party in Diagon Alley, Harry made a personal visit to the Broadcasting Station of the WWN, and made an announcement of his own. That day was September 1^st.

“To everyone and anyone listening, I'd like to make an announcement that is quite the opposite of what Voldemort had you all believe.” He could practically hear the scandalous gasps at his saying the unspeakable name. “My name is Harry Potter. And I'm not dead. I'm not going to sit here and spout reasons as to why you should believe me, but I will offer this: To all Hogwarts students and their families, please be at King's Cross today. With special arrangements, the train will now be leaving at two this afternoon to accommodate this announcement and give everyone time to prepare. Hogwarts is safe, regardless of what Voldemort would have you all think. The school is reopening, and you are all encouraged to attend. I will remind everyone that we are in the middle of a war, but we must NOT let Voldemort run our lives. Continue with your normal way of life, and if that means attending Hogwarts, I expect to see every student from every house at Platform 9 ¾ this afternoon.”

He paused and glanced at the man helping him with the broadcast. The man nodded, indicating that the message was indeed going out and there were indeed people listening.

“Again, Hogwarts is open. The Hogwarts Express departs from King's Cross at two this afternoon. I, Harry Potter, am most definitely alive and well, and I look forward to seeing all of my fellow classmates once again. For those of you not attending Hogwarts, I invite you to join us at King's Cross as well if you truly need further reassurance of my existence. The train leaves at two o'clock sharp, so please, be there!”

Later that afternoon, Harry looked around in shock.

Though needless to say, not only was King's Cross flooded with witches and wizards of every age and gender vying for a glance of Harry to verify that he was indeed alive, but Hogwarts attendance was at its highest ever.

Despite Nagini not being the last, elusive Horcrux that they had believed her to be, Harry Potter and company had once again triumphed over Lord Voldemort, and come out on top.

-->

A/N: Okay, so this chapter is mostly filler. But the smut returns! :D I know, I know, it's been a while and this fic IS rated NC17 for a reason, so all is well once more. ;)

Right now, according to my outline, we have three chapters and an epilogue left. Four more chapters! :( It's almost over! :'( The next three chapters should be fairly long though, so hopefully there's no complaints. I've had some requests for a sequel, and while I've thought about it, I've not made a final decision. I do have another long story in mind to work on when this one is done, however, but it's post-Hogwarts and post-Voldemort, so it'll be fairly different.

Disclaimer:

“I could kill you for this TinkerWill thing,” says TinkerWill, glaring while tapping his dainty slippered feet. His gossamer wings twitch wildly as he fiddles with the hem of his bright green dress.

“Yes, but then who would you have to pester every day?” says Crystal, laughing. “Besides, I think you might be a bit pleased with what I have in mind for you this time.”

“I swear if you turn me into Peter Pan… I hate tights!” he says vehemently.

“Tights, yes. Pan, no.”

A few wand flicks later, and Lang is wearing blue spandex tights. Very tight tights. So tight he's feeling a rather uncomfortable wedgie.

“You finally took one of my suggestions?” he asks in wonder, swishing about his new red cape. His hair is gelled to perfection and there is a rather large L emblazoned in red and gold across his chest. “Why the L? I thought we agreed on Superman.”

“Lang-Superman, silly. And it looked dumb hyphenated, so I just went with the L. Now say the magic words and I'll let you go fly off to find yourself a Lois Lane.”

Lang-Superman is tempted to use his new superpowers on the author, but when he tries to shoot laser beams from his eyes, it doesn't work.

“Not until you say the words. Then you can be Superman.”

“Oh, fine!” he huffs impatiently. “Harry Potter isn't yours, you own nothing, JKR is evil for writing HBP as she did, and she should give the Potterverse to you.”

“Thanks, Will,” says Crystal, grinning. “Now go leap tall buildings in a single bound, would you? I've got a chapter to post!”

<><><><><>

The wizarding world was in an uproar after Harry's interruption of Voldemort's celebration. There were scores of witches and wizards who demanded further details, though Harry had clearly stated over the WWN that he felt he didn't need to offer an explanation. The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had learned of Tonks' involvement in Harry's latest adventure, and had insisted on a full report. She had argued that it was an off-the-clock mission having nothing to do with official Ministry business, but in the end was forced to relent and complete the necessary paperwork.

Standard Operating Procedure within the MLE dictates that all mission reports are to remain completely confidential in a file marked solely by case number. Naturally, Tonks' report was leaked to the Daily Prophet within hours of filing it.

The Prophet's editor had gone to Minister Scrimgeour before publishing. Though the Harry Potter smear campaign was, for the most part, over, he had wanted to run the article by the Minister for approval just in case. An article of this nature was not to be taken lightly and so, the day after Hogwarts had opened its doors to its students, The Daily Prophet ran an article that did more damage to Harry's reputation than all the rubbish they'd printed previously.

Potter Fails to Slay You-Know-Who

Offers He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named A Chance At Freedom

The headline on its own was enough to turn everyone but those closest to Harry against him once more.

He found himself explaining to McGonagall, upon approval from Dumbledore's portrait, the significance of destroying all of Voldemort's Horcruxes before killing him. He had begrudgingly given her a brief lesson on Horcruxes before explaining how Nagini was not one, and that they had to determine was the sixth one was before ridding the world of Voldemort once and for all. Harry felt that he had successfully terrified Riddle into hiding, which was better than severing what little remained of his soul from his body and giving him the opportunity for another chance at rebirth.

McGonagall told the other Order members in a no-nonsense tone that Harry had gone with the best course of action for the situation, and that she fully supported him.

No one dared to question or challenge the Headmistress.

A similar announcement was required at supper in the Great Hall that evening to keep the student body under control. Of course it didn't help overmuch, but the anti-Potter atmosphere seemed to lift a degree or two.

It certainly didn't help that he had been publicly named Head Boy at the Welcoming Feast the previous night. What had been a joyous announcement and double triumph for Gryffindor House had turned sour the next evening. Many of the students found it rather difficult to follow his leadership, considering they barely trusted or believed in him anymore.

Hermione did her best in her position as Head Girl to discourage the attitude towards Harry, but even she could not sway the Hogwarts population. All those in houses other than Gryffindor kept their distance from Harry.

All except one.

Though Malfoy's return to Hogwarts had been less than ceremonious, he was permitted to move about the castle with the privileges granted to any student. In light of his deflection to the Light side, McGonagall had decided that his and Ginny's month in solitude was punishment enough. They had been forced to share in each other's company for the month of August, as they were not permitted near the Gryffindor trio of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Though the first week or two had been tense between the pair, an odd friendship of sorts began to develop and they found themselves actually enjoying the forced punishment. Though Draco had not advanced to a stage where he was willing to walk to her classes and so forth, he no longer called her Weaselette. Well, as long as there were no other Slytherins around.

Despite Malfoy's restriction on whom he kept company with, he still made regular attempts at discussion with Harry. Though Harry was rather reluctant to acquiesce, he did so at Hermione's insistence. She had come to terms with Malfoy's actions long ago, and had forgiven him. Harry, along with Ron, would have preferred to tear him limb from limb, but couldn't deny Hermione's request that they let the entire thing go. He and the Slytherin formed a strange sort of alliance. While they were still distant enough to address one another solely by last name, they no longer made snide comments or attempted to hex the other.

The biggest uproar to occur in the month of September was the identity of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. McGonagall had not announced or introduced any new or returning member of the faculty for the position, and would continue to avoid the subject until classes began. When a student asked any teacher the identity of who would be running their classes, they were given a cryptic response of `You'll see.' Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw shared a Defense class earlier in the week than the rest of seventh year, but not a single member from either house was telling. It wasn't until Gryffindor had double Defense with the Slytherins that they found out.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had crowded themselves around one desk, with Draco on the opposite side of the aisle. Ron supposed that the old adage was true: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Each one of the four had their Defense text in front of them with writing materials, awaiting the arrival of the new professor.

The remainder of their classmates were talking in hushed tones, each one with a unique speculation on whom their new professor would be. Harry heard a few comments from the Slytherins that they hoped Umbridge was coming back. He fought back a temporary feeling of nauseousness at the mention of her name, and silently hoped that McGonagall wasn't that hard-pressed for someone to fill the position.

“Relax, Harry,” said Hermione warmly, placing a reassuring hand over hers. “I don't think the Ministry would be stupid enough to try that again.”

He sighed, hoping she was right.

Suddenly the doors behind them burst open with a loud clatter, and every pair of eyes in the room turned to see the spectacle walking into the class. It was a wonder that so many of them were able to hold their laughter in.

The man striding purposefully towards the front of the room wore the most ridiculous outfit that any Hogwarts student had ever seen on a teacher, and that included the illustrious image of Neville Longbottom's boggart in third year. Severus Snape in a dress had nothing on the man standing in front of them now.

He stood at the front of the room, arms crossed with his wand in his right hand, glaring at each and every one of the students. His hair was a fiery orange that made the Weasley red look dull, his mouth was set in a firm line, and his eyes were hard. He wore a white knee-length coat that Hermione and many other students with knowledge of the Muggle world would have sworn was a lab coat, though it was emblazoned across the breast pocket with the crossed wand and bone emblem of St. Mungo's. The blinding white coat was trimmed with lime green cord, and peeking from below the hem were a ludicrously lime green pair of scrub pants. A bright purple pair of loafers completed the ensemble with the help of a Muggle stethoscope hanging from around his neck.

Flicking his hand casually, a piece of chalk rose into the air and began to scrawl across the board.

“Doctor Lang, ladies and gentlemen. Do well to remember it; it'll be the name haunting your nightmares for the rest of the year. This is N.E.W.T. level defense, and I'm not about to go easy on you lot. Wands away, there'll be no foolish wand waving in this classroom. Get your texts out and open to page two-hundred and seventy-three.”

Not a single hand moved towards a single text or wand.

“Did you not hear me?” he leered threateningly at the students in the front row. He did not fail to notice, however, that Hermione had her text opened to the required page, her wand in her book bag, and her hand in the air.

The rest of the students quickly prepared their books as he glided over to the Gryffindor trio.

“I don't seem to recall asking any questions, Miss Granger. For what could you possibly have an answer?” he asked snidely in a tone that would have done Severus Snape rather proud.

“Doctor, sir? Are we not to address you as Professor Lang?”

He turned on his heel and strode back to the front of the room, picked up the chalk and forcefully underlined the moniker of `Dr.'

“I'll have none of that Professor rubbish, Miss Granger. True, I did study to become a Healer, and even with that type of education I would be referred to as a Professor when teaching. But I did not spend thousands of pounds on an education at one of England's finest medical schools to not use the title that came with all the rights and privileges of successfully completing the course. It'll be Dr. Lang, thank you.”

Whispers began to circulate the room at this. The purebloods were shocked to hear that their new professor had a Muggle degree.

“Dr. Lang,” began Zabini from the Slytherin side of the room, sarcastically stressing his title, “forgive me if I'm missing something here, but are we not in Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Dr. Lang gave him a rather furtive glance accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

Seeing no response from the teacher, Zabini bravely continued. “It's just that it seems odd to have a Healer teaching a Defense course. After all, isn't your part deal what comes after Defense? Cleaning up the mess and all?”

The Slytherins snickered, and several of them clapped at Zabini's comment.

“I'm about to tell you two very important things, Zabini, so shut it and listen. One. I discovered in both my magical and muggle medical courses that it is essential to understand the nature and origin of the wound or infliction you are dealing with before you can begin to heal it. Ergo, I am well versed in Defense. Two. It seems that Headmistress McGonagall has had a rather brilliant insight into how this year's class will go between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. She believed it vital to the success of the course, and the vitality of the students involved, that there be a Healer present to clean up the mess when the Gryffindors are through with you and the rest of your house. By hiring me for the position, she was killing two snakes with one hex.”

Not a sound was heard from the Slytherin side of the classroom, and Zabini shrunk into his seat. It took a few moments, but when a smile began to creep upon the new teacher's face, the Gryffindor students cheered wildly.

“Dr. Lang,” said Malfoy, clearly feeling braver than the rest of his house, “Is it not a requirement of each and every member of Hogwarts faculty to be devoid of any bias against a particular house? You clearly seem to be harbouring one for Slytherin.”

“Just because I am wearing green, Mr. Malfoy, does not mean that I support your house, your colours, or the absurd notions your house and its members hold so dear. I can't help it if the governing board of St. Mungo's is colour-blind and feels that lime green is a perfectly suitable shade for a Healer to wear. I hold no bias against Slytherin, but I hold no preference for it either.”

The doctor paused, surveying his students for a lengthy silence. “Besides,” he said, “Green really isn't my colour. I'd much prefer to wear scarlet and gold any day.”

Not a single one laughed; instead, they all seemed utterly bewildered.

“Right then, not used to my teaching style. Perhaps I'll try something else you all might be more accustomed to then, yes?”

With a few quick wandless gestures towards his clothing and hairstyle, the doctor traded his lab coat and stethoscope for a more suitable set of black Hogwarts robes, and his vibrantly orange hair for a rather dark, dull brown.

He turned to face the class with another venomous glare, and began speaking in low tones. “I can teach you spells to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses of your opponents. I can teach you to incant fame, charm glory, and even spell death.” He paused, and turned to the Slytherin side. “Now, pay close attention. Quills and parchment out please.” He noticed the Gryffindors taking out their writing utensils. “No, no, no, Slytherins only. This is just for them.”

The Slytherins seemed a touch too eager, but favouritism was what they were used to, and they were willing to overlook their new teacher's earlier comment against their house.

“This'll be a bit of dictation for you in regards to what I just said, alright? Incant fame. Charm glory. I can even teach you to spell death. It's d-e-a-t-h. Zabini, Parkinson, that's an `a' in that. Not two `e's. ”

Rather suddenly, he wandlessly transfigured his clothing and hair back into their previous state, and began to laugh uproariously. It was two minutes before Gryffindor joined in, and a full five before the laughter subsided.

“Sorry, really, so sorry. I just couldn't keep that nonsense up. I really am a Healer, a muggle Doctor, and your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I would prefer you call me Doctor Lang, but Professor will suffice if you happen to slip up. I'm not the raving lunatic I've portrayed myself as the last quarter of the hour, though I don't claim to be entirely sane; but I did mean what I said about Professor McGonagall. She thought it rather wise for me to teach your class this year, as there'll be a fair bit of duelling covered. It's much quicker for me to do the healing and mending rather than sending all the injured students off to Madam Pomfrey and turning the Hospital Wing into the new seventh year dormitories for Slytherin.”

Gryffindor burst into laughter at their teacher's latest comment, while the Slytherins scowled and silently plotted revenge.

“Now, enough of this rubbish. On with the lesson, shall we? Texts away, wands out.” Dr. Lang gestured and the desks and chairs slid across the room against one wall. “Though I've six years of student records in regards to your Defense classes informing me of your individual skill levels, I'm the type of man who prefers to see things for himself.”

A few wand waves and charms later, and there was a duelling platform in the centre of the classroom. Several of the students groaned.

“Oh, hush. It's not so bad. One-minute timed duels for each pair, spells limited to disarming, mild hexes and jinxes, and absolutely nothing that can cause serious physical damage.” Lang paused, and winked at the Gryffindors. “I don't think Madam Pomfrey will take to us decorating her ward with silver and green so early in the term. We'll save the heavy stuff for later.”

There were a few quiet boos from the Slytherins, Zabini finally participating after having been properly put in his place, but Lang chose to ignore them. He quickly paired Gryffindor students with a Slytherin, and set them to work. Ron took the full minute allotted to disarm his partner, but the way Zabini was rubbing his wrist after a particularly nasty stinging hex was well worth it. Hermione made short work of Pansy Parkinson, not to anyone's surprise, and had the pug-nosed girl flat on her bottom thirty seconds into the duel.

Harry, on the other hand, was most impressive. He had been paired with Malfoy, of all the Slytherins, and while they were in some sort of truce, Harry wasn't about to skive off putting in the proper effort just because of that. After sending a Dungbomb hex at Malfoy (which was a rather brilliant piece of magic that the Weasley twins had shown him at Bill and Fleur's reception) to distract him, he had disarmed the blond and was brandishing Malfoy's wand next to his own fifteen seconds after the duel had begun.

Malfoy was not impressed.

Neither was the rest of the class, for the Weasley twins' hex was rather odious, and the air hadn't cleared yet.

Doctor Lang took quick care of the smell, and clapped Harry on the back. “Well done, Mr. Potter! Ten points to Gryffindor for a brilliant choice in distraction.” He turned to Malfoy, and the smile left his face. “At least you tried, Mr. Malfoy. However, ten points from Slytherin for smelling so foul! Good to see those six years of magical education have been wasted on you. You can't even remember a simple air-freshening charm to clear up your problem. Ahh well, can't ask that every student be perfect, I suppose.”

Having run through the class roster and noticing that their time was nearly up, the doctor called, “For next lesson, please read up to chapter three in your text. And for those of you who may still have any lingering doubt: yes, I was sorted into Gryffindor when I studied at Hogwarts. Lion pride through and through, which is why I still can't resist taking a crack at you Slytherin lot. Dismissed!”

As the students left, they could hear their new professor roaring from his office as though he, himself, were the symbolic Gryffindor lion.

<><><><><>

Ron was still crowing over Doctor Lang's treatment of the Slytherins that night at dinner. “Bloody brilliant, I say,” he said around a mouthful of potatoes, “It's about time the Slytherins had their arses handed to them like Snape did to us for all those years. Did you see the way Doctor Lang mocked Snape? Genius!”

Harry nodded in agreement, though the mention of Severus Snape tugged a little at his heart. He still was not fully over the death of Dumbledore, and the mention of his murderer's name did not sit well with him.

“It's appalling!” admonished Hermione, having the courtesy to have waited until after her food was chewed and swallowed to contribute. She shot Ron a pointed look, “And I wasn't talking solely about Doctor Lang's behaviour! For Merlin's sake, Ron, swallow before you talk!”

“Appalling?” Ron shot back, nearly spewing potato all over Hermione. He gulped, opened his mouth to prove his food was indeed on its way to his digestive system, and continued. “The way us Gryffindors have been treated these last six years by that greasy git is appalling! I for one am damned glad that Doctor Lang isn't afraid to give it as good as they do. Come along, Harry, back me up here!”

Harry shoved away the elbow that Ron was digging into his side. “It's not that I don't enjoy seeing the Slytherins on the receiving end for once,” he said, glancing cautiously at Hermione, “but he's not exactly subtle about it. I like him already, I would hate to see him lose his job because the Board of Governors thinks that he's being too harsh.”

Taking a sip of pumpkin juice, Hermione eyed her boyfriend, and then her best friend. “You both look at me as though I don't want to see the Slytherins being ridiculed! Every once in a while it can be good fun, but to have a teacher doing it throughout class? Honestly! Taking points off Draco for not clearing up the air after your hex, Harry. That has to be one of the most ridiculous reasons for taking off points that I have ever heard!”

“But Hermione!” whined Ron, “It's Malfoy!”

She sighed, and took a bite of her chicken. “Yes, and I've moved on from that, or have you not been paying attention every time I've told you so?”

Ron shrugged. “He's a Slytherin.”

“Daphne Greengrass is a Slytherin, and my Arithmancy partner! I hardly see you holding prejudice against her for the house she was sorted into!” seethed Hermione.

Ron chose to ignore that, and returned to stuffing his face as only he could.

Harry gently wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulders. “Don't worry about it, love. I'm sure he's not like that all the time.”

“Harry, the three of us have been best friends for seven years now. He is like that all the time.”

“I meant Doctor Lang.”

“Oh.”

Harry paused for a moment of thought, his brow furrowed. “Did you notice that he seemed to know everyone's names?”

Hermione shrugged. “I would think he would have a seating chart of some sort to identify the students.”

“Ish fhurs' clash o' derm, H'mione,” reminded Ron through a mouthful of something Hermione did not want to identify, and then swallowing heavily. “We're still changing seats half the time, wouldn't it be too early to make up a chart or summit?”

“I think he's maybe a Legilimens,” commented Harry.

“It's possible,” lamented Hermione, shooting a dirty glare at Ron for his usual terrible eating habits.

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, and finished his last bite of roast chicken. “Shall we maybe let Ron run along without us for the rest of the night?”

Hermione pursed her lips as she looked at her boyfriend. “Why, Harry, whatever did you have in mind?”

He grinned deviously at her. “Perhaps changing the password to our common room and not informing him?”

She smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. “I'll meet you there. Oh, and Harry?” whispered Hermione sweetly as she rose from the table. “Dungbomb hex.”

As Harry watched the sway of her hips as Hermione left the Great Hall, he laughed inwardly at her brilliance. There was no way that Ron, in an attempt to guess his way into the Heads suite, would ever suspect her choice of password.

<><><><><>

Twenty minutes later, Harry found himself pacing nervously in front of the portrait hole to the Heads suite. He had to pause for a moment to determine precisely why he was nervous, but then it dawned on him that he and Hermione hadn't been…together…in quite some time. Sure, there had been the occasional kiss, but what with the business of tracking down Horcruxes and destroying them, pulling the wool over Voldemort's eyes, and carefully preserving their friendship with Ron despite any jealousy issues, well… there just hadn't been time.

Shaking his head and feeling rather silly—it was Hermione after all, and it wasn't like they hadn't done anything already—he gave Ogden the new and improved password, and slipped through the entrance.

Harry had not prepared himself for what he found within the door.

Carelessly draped over the arm of the scarlet sofa was Hermione's Gryffindor robe, complete with her shiny golden Head Girl badge winking at him in the candlelight.

Candlelight? Dear, sweet Merlin, Hermione had been plotting this all along.

He took a few tentative steps into the room, and noticed another item of clothing haphazardly left in a puddle on the floor. It was her sweater, charcoal grey and trimmed in scarlet and gold. A goofy grin spread across Harry's face. Though he'd seen his girlfriend naked numerous times, it had certainly been quite a while and the anticipation was killing him.

A few more steps towards his bedroom, and her black leather shoes were sitting neatly next to each other just outside the door. There were no more random bits of clothing lying in the few feet between him and his bedroom door, so he crossed through the entryway and nearly dropped to the floor on the sight that greeted him.

Hermione was stretched languidly across his bedcovers in her school uniform. Harry did not remember the uniform ever looking like that.

She must have transfigured or charmed or otherwise magicked it, for the skirt was far too short and the blouse far too tight. She still wore her grey knee-high socks with the house colours banded across the top and her Gryffindor tie, but her top few buttons were undone and her tie hung loosely about her neck. She'd gathered her curly hair into some sort of messy pile atop her head, but Harry couldn't find anything wrong with it. He was… well, he was in heaven, and he wasn't about to start questioning her motives or behaviour.

Not that he was complaining. He certainly wasn't.

“Honestly, Harry,” she said in a low tone that sent shivers down his spine, “It took you twenty minutes to finish up and ditch Ron?”

He grinned bashfully as he began to step out of his own shoes and shrug off his robes. “Yes, well, you know Ron. Appetite of a hippogriff, that one. He wanted to ask me something about Ginny and Draco anyway, and I didn't have the heart to tell him it would have to wait.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his admission. “Ginny and Draco? What do you know about them?”

Harry looked at her thoughtfully. “Should I know something about them?”

She shrugged, and patted a spot next to her on the bed. “What did Ron want to know?”

“Just asked if I knew where they'd been off to most of last month. Y'know, while we were destroying those lovely little bits of Riddle's soul. They were pretty much under castle arrest, and Ron was just… concerned.” Said Harry as he un-tucked his shirt and joined her on the bed.

Hermione frowned. “Can't he let Ginny be?”

“Why, do you know something?” asked Harry, eyeing her curiously.

“Now, Harry, would you look around you? Does this really seem like the appropriate time and place for a discussion about whatever relationship exists between Ginny and Draco?”

Harry did just that, and noticed that Hermione had gone much further than candles in their common room. They adorned every level surface in his bedroom as well, and there was something chilling in a silver bucket on his wardrobe with two glasses next to it. He didn't suppose it was alcoholic in nature as the Head Girl wouldn't be caught dead harbouring contraband substances in her suite, but he still hoped that she'd planned something exciting.

“Hey, wait, what relationship between them?” he asked, finally cottoning on to Hermione's words.

She rolled her eyes and in one quick motion pinned him to the mattress. “Harry,” she said, her lips hovering above his, “let it go. Kiss me.”

He did just that, brining his mouth to hers and deepening the kiss the moment she allowed it. His hands settled on her hips and he pulled her down into his body, pressing her breasts against his chest and aligning their hips. She responded to his touch and ground into him, causing him to moan.

“Hermione…” he whispered, nibbling at her earlobe.

“You have far too many clothes on,” she replied, grabbing for her wand on his bedside table. She sat up for a moment, flicked her wand at him, and grinned triumphantly. “That's better.”

“You even folded them!” chuckled Harry as he watched his clothing land on his wardrobe. “Hey, I want to do that.”

She shook her head. “Not tonight, Mr. Potter. You get to do it the old-fashioned way.”

Harry couldn't help but display a lop-sided grin. “Right then, Miss Granger.” He reached up towards her blouse, and began to unbutton the few buttons that remained. Fiddling with the collar for a moment, he slipped the necktie from its grasp and shrugged the blouse over her shoulders. She was wearing a bra underneath that matched her tie and their house colours, and he couldn't help but smile. Harry fumbled with her skirt for a moment as she was still straddling his hips, but with a few carefully timed leg movements on Hermione's part, he managed to slip it off.

He was pleased to discover that her knickers matched, as well.

Hermione stood for what she intended to be a brief moment, to kick off her skirt, when Harry stood to join her. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and then stepped back, taking her in.

“Harry, what is it?” asked Hermione after several moments of silence.

His eyes darkened as they roamed her body, and he looked up at her with an intense expression of passion and lust on his face. “Was just thinking,” he mumbled, capturing her lips in a quick kiss.

“About what?”

“If the other boys in Hogwarts only saw you now…” he murmured, nipping at her neck.

Hermione pushed him back. “Other boys?”

“Not like that!” Harry said hurriedly, realizing how it had sounded. “Just… you look… well… it's enough to make any male switch houses and get up in the middle of the Great Hall and boast about Gryffindor pride!”

She flushed, her fingers lightly tracing the crimson lace and gold trimmed bra and knicker set, before she looked Harry in the eyes. “I was hoping it'd get you up, actually.”

Harry wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her flush against his body. “It takes a lot less than colour coordinated lingerie to get me up Miss Granger, but I thought you knew that. Regardless,” he said, his hands grasping her hips and pulling her even closer so that she could feel just how hard she was making him, “mission accomplished.”

Tipping her head upwards, Hermione caught Harry's lips with her own and kissed him. They toppled together over the bed, both clad in nothing but their underthings (and in Hermione's case, her Gryffindor tie), and desperately grabbing at one another. After a few frantic tugs Hermione divested Harry of his boxers, and he'd managed to remove her bra. The only thing standing in his way now was her knickers, and he was fumbling to remove those as well.

Three attempts later and Harry was successful. Hermione made a move to take off her knee socks and tie, but Harry pulled her hand away and placed it on his chest. “Leave them on,” he insisted in a husky whisper, before dipping his head to capture a nipple between his tongue and teeth. Hermione gasped, and her back arched in response.

She reached between them and wrapped her fingers around Harry, squeezing gently as her hand began to move up and down. He bit back a groan and nipped at her neck, alternating between sucking and biting on the sensitive skin. Hermione paused momentarily and looked up at him, her eyes wide and bright and her lips red and swollen from kissing him, and he could see the lust lighting her eyes. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Harry took hold of her necktie and pulled her close, plunging his tongue into her mouth as his fingers repeated the movement lower on her body.

Hermione gasped in pleasure, rolling her hips in rhythm with Harry's movements. He pushed her into the mattress as he kissed a long line down her chest, nibbling gently at the taught skin that covered her hips before his lips moved further south. He had to brace Hermione by pressing her hips into the bed to keep her from bucking too wildly as his lips and tongue worked at her clit. Harry began to move faster as her breathing rate increased and in his hurry accidentally scraped his teeth against her. He raised his head, about to immediately apologize for hurting her, when she cried out.

“Harry, please! Please do that again…” she whispered, biting her lower lip.

He could hardly refuse a plea like that, and he began alternating between sucking and licking at her clit, and carefully nibbling at it. When he could tell that she was close to orgasm he slipped a finger inside of her, and began to pump rapidly as he continued his oral ministrations. It barely took seconds before she was calling his name and squirming wildly beneath him, and he had to use all of his strength to keep her still as he brought her over the edge.

She laid panting on his bed, flushed and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat coating her exposed skin, and Harry swore he'd never seen such an incredible sight before in his life. That she had left on her tie and socks at his request just fuelled his desire further, and he couldn't keep himself from crawling over her and kissing her fiercely once more.

When Hermione was able to think coherently again, she quickly turned the tables on Harry as she pushed him backwards into the pillows and, without any teasing and torture, lowered herself down his body and took him into her mouth. Her mouth was so warm and wet around him that Harry thought he might explode right then and there. He clenched his fists into the bed sheets, and let out a low, guttural groan. He lay back enjoying Hermione's swirling tongue for what felt like hours but was most likely a few minutes, when he felt a familiar pressure building up deep within him. He warned her, expecting her to move out of the way and let him finish the job, but instead she worked even harder. She locked her lips around him and began to move even faster, and she raised her eyes to Harry's and continued to maintain eye contact even as he came. Hermione carefully sucked him as he softened, cleaning every last drop of semen from him. She placed a light kiss on his thigh before crawling back up his body and snuggling into the crook of his arm.

“'Mione?” whispered Harry as he pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.

“Mhmm?” she responded sleepily, looking at him through heavy lids.

“I love you,” said Harry, sighing contentedly.

“Love you too,” replied Hermione, seconds before falling asleep.

<><><><><>

“Oi! What the hell is going on in there, you two? Oh shut it, Ogden, it's not like me screaming past you is really going to hurt your eardrums; you're just a blasted painting. Harry! Hermione! You forgot to tell me the new password!”

Harry groaned inwardly, rolling over to rouse Hermione from sleep. “It's Ron, love,” he said by way of explanation when she gave him a rather grouchy look.

“The way he's yelling out there you'd think we abandoned him,” she grumbled, picking up her fallen clothing and heading back to her own room.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked as he balanced on one leg, pulling on his pants and socks.

“Would you bloody well let me in already?” Ron yelled through the portrait, promptly getting himself into an argument with the portrait of Ogden.

Hermione's head popped around the doorframe to Harry's bedroom, and her eyes slid in the direction of the portrait hole. “You don't very well expect me to let him in while looking like this, do you?”

Harry gave her a lopsided grin as he looked at her approvingly. “Somehow I don't think Ron'd mind that you're still in your socks, tie, and knickers.”

Hermione disappeared from view and seconds later a pillow sailed through the open doorway and bounced off of Harry's head. He smiled as he recognized the fabric of the cushion as belonging to the sofa in their common room. “Nice aim!” he commented.

Moments later he emerged from his room, his trousers back in place and his shirt on, though rumpled and un-tucked, with several buttons undone at the top. He hadn't bothered with his robes or tie, as he didn't think Ron would really care. The door to Hermione's room was still closed, and he assumed she was making herself look presentable, as greeting Ron while looking as though she'd just been thoroughly ravished was probably not in their best interests.

Harry pushed the portrait hole open to admit a rather flustered and angry looking Ron, who slammed the portrait behind him. Before Harry could even say anything, Ron collapsed onto the sofa, his books in a pile on the floor, and glared at Harry.

“I don't care if the blasted idiot in that frame invented Firewhiskey, you'd think he'd know by now that I'm allowed in here regardless of the password! Could you not have a better portrait or something out there?”

Harry sighed, and fixed his best mate with a pointed stare. “Ron, did you think that maybe we changed the password so that no one else could get in?”

Ron spluttered for a moment, his mouth hanging open, before he could say something. “W-why?”

Harry really did not want to explain to him that sometimes he and Hermione would like to—What, am I supposed to tell him we locked him out so that we could have a fantastic snogging session?

Perhaps, but with a bit more tact than that, love.

His eyes opened with a start as he realized that he'd accidentally sent the thought to Hermione. So I just say `Sorry mate, but I fancied a bit of heavy snogging with the girl that you wanted, and rather than admit that to you I just locked you out.'

“We just wanted some alone time, Ron,” said Hermione as she entered the miniature common room, rubbing at her hair with a towel. She'd somehow escaped to the prefect's bathroom and showered quickly to wash away the smell that was evidence of their previous activities, and Harry looked at her longingly as he couldn't help but admire the dark shining ringlets that her hair formed when wet. “Besides, wasn't it you who said just this morning at breakfast that you'd rather go Snorkack hunting with Luna than watch us snog?”

Ron seemed taken aback, and could not find the words to argue with Hermione.

“Besides, I was just coming to change the password back when I heard you screaming at Ogden. Honestly, Ron, do you really think that berating a portrait is going to get you anywhere?”

Hermione knelt next to the sofa, straightening Ron's haphazard pile of books, muttering something about respecting the heavy tomes. Harry shrugged, citing it as one of those `Hermione things' that she did.

“Right, well, I ran into Doctor Lang in the corridors; he wants to see you, Hermione.” Said Ron, straightening his robes as he did his best not to look Harry in the eye.

“Did he say what for?” asked Hermione, settling into the oversized chair opposite the sofa. Harry came over to stand behind her, fiddling with her damp hair.

Ron shrugged. “Dunno, just said it was important and to let you know. He'll be in his office until late.”

Hermione stood quickly and went into her room. An uncomfortable silence loomed between Ron and Harry until she returned with her hair pinned up and her robes thrown on over her clothing. “I'll just go see what Doctor Lang wants, then,” she said, heading for the portrait hole. “I'll be back soon.”

Moments later, once Hermione was safely out of earshot, Ron turned to Harry with an unreadable expression. “So?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “So what?”

Ron's expression broke into a wide grin. “So how was it?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry threw a half-hearted punch in the direction of Ron's shoulder. “We didn't.”

Something flickered in Ron's blue eyes, but Harry wasn't sure what it was. Jealousy, perhaps? He'd hoped that Ron was moving past things by now, but they'd really not taken any time to discuss it.

“Really?”

Harry shook his head. “No. She's not ready for that yet.”

“But you do other things,” said Ron, phrasing it more like a statement than an actual question.

“Do you really want to know this?” asked Harry, bewildered. He sat heavily into the chair Hermione had vacated minutes earlier, and ran his hands nervously through his eternally messy hair.

Ron shrugged. “Gotta deal with it somehow, don't I?”

Harry felt that perhaps, by that singular admission, that they might be getting somewhere and perhaps now would be as good a time as any to talk. “So you still…”

He shook his head. “Nah, not as much as before. I mean yeah, I still fancy her a bit, but really Harry, who wouldn't? I've even seen Malfoy give her a glance or two, and he was genuinely checking her out rather than glaring at her. She's different this year,” said Ron, almost wistfully.

“So you're not in love with her.” Harry stated.

Ron shrugged. “Dunno if I ever was, mate.”

“But when she and Ginny duelled—“

Ron held up a hand to silence Harry. “I said I wanted her, that I liked her. Never said I was in love with her. Reckon you'd have to be mad to sentence yourself to a lifetime in the library like that.” He winked at Harry. “She is rather pretty though, isn't she? Completely mental, but it sorta grows on you…”

Harry nodded in agreement; he understood exactly what Ron was saying. “So you're still okay with this?”

“Don't have much choice, do I? She's in love with you, not me. Just because I fancy her doesn't mean I'm going to stop you from having the one thing that you were denied from childhood.”

Slightly confused, Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You're saying that I was denied Hermione since I was a baby?”

Ron sighed, like Harry was the densest git to walk the planet. “Love, Harry. I don't need to remind you of all the things you lost, but I know growing up with the Dursleys wasn't all that wonderful. Of course your friends love you and—don't tell Fred and George I said this, I'll never hear the end of it—well, obviously I love you. You're an honorary Weasley and you know my mum would have you in a heartbeat, but it isn't the same when it's not your own family. How can I hold against you the one thing you deserve above all else? If anyone should be with Hermione, it's you, mate. And I'm glad it's you.”

Harry was overwhelmed with the urge to hug Ron for everything he'd just said, but he figured his admission of just how much he cared had been embarrassing enough, and he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He settled for just a smile instead. “Thanks.”

“Don't thank me, Harry, I haven't done anything special.”

“You have, you just don't realize it. Aside from Hermione, you're the only other person to have ever said that they love me.”

“Really?” asked Ron. He'd been told daily as he was growing up that his parents loved and cherished them, and couldn't imagine life otherwise. “Remind me to hex Vernon Dursley if I ever come across him.”

“So when did you get all mature on me?” asked Harry. “Months ago you probably would've punched me right out when you found out about Hermione and I. But in St. Mungo's, you just… stood there. And you've been fairly laid back about it.”

Ron looked uncomfortable. “Harry, this isn't going to sound nice.”

“So? We're best mates, aren't we? It's not like I can't forgive you for it later.”

Suddenly Ron became very interested in looking at the fabric of the sofa. “I don't like to admit it, but things don't look good. We don't have a clue what the missing Horcrux is, and as much as you've scared the piss out of Voldemort, who's to say how long he'll stay away? He could come knocking on the castle doors and we wouldn't have a hope in hell of getting rid of the wanker once and for all. And Harry… I don't like thinking this, but you could very well die. I overheard Shacklebolt saying to Dad that he thinks your chances are seventy-thirty of dying.”

He raised his head to meet Harry's intense gaze.

“It's just hard to stay mad at you for anything when I think about it like that. You could die, I'll probably die, and Hermione could die… We could all die. I'd rather make the most of the time that I know we have left than spend it being pissed at you.”

“We're not going to die, Ron.” Said Harry with steel in his voice.

Ron shrugged as though he'd already accepted the possibility. “Harry, I don't need to remind you of all the people who've died because of Voldemort. We could die. I'm not saying we will, just that it's more than a possibility. It's reality. We've been fighting for our lives since we were eleven, but the battle could be any day now. I've made my peace with that.”

Harry's expression softened as Ron's words rang true. It was highly likely that one, two, or all three of them could or would die in the final battle. Ron had a point. Make the most of the time you're certain you have left. “Live every day like it's your last,” said Harry softly.

“Well, that's rather morbid,” said Hermione, who had just returned through the portrait hole. “Do I even want to know what you two have been talking about?”

Harry shook his head. “Just guy stuff, love.”

“What'd Doctor Lang want?” asked Ron.

“Professor McGonagall mentioned to him that I'd expressed an interest in obtaining a Muggle degree after Hogwarts, and he thought perhaps he could offer some advice on further education in both the magic and non-magical worlds. Also, I've had several chats with Madam Pomfrey over the last six years when you two were in hospital, and she thinks that I could do well as a Healer. Doctor Lang and I were just discussing that, and then we got into the concept of blending Muggle and magical technologies when it comes to healing.”

Both boys blinked at her.

“Oh for heaven's sake. We talked about school and healing and medicine. Simple enough?”

Ron nodded. “Could've just said that in the first place, actually.” He yawned, stretching his arms far over his head. “Guess I'd better get on up to the dorm. Dean and Seamus won't be pleased if I wake them up on my way back in.”

“It's barely nine o'clock! They're sleeping already?” asked Hermione.

“Let's just say they had a not-so-pleasant run-in with my little sister earlier, and they're rather tired from the experience.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, remembering the earlier mention of Ron's concern for Ginny as of late.

“Well, g'night, mate.” Said Harry as Hermione embraced Ron. He hefted his books into one arm and exited the portrait hole.

Harry turned to Hermione, and she came over to hug him tightly. “Your room?” she whispered.

He led her towards his bedroom, knowing that they'd both get a better night's sleep if they were together. “Promise me something, love?”

“Mhmm?” responded Hermione, rather sleepily.

“You'll tell me what's going on with Ginny and the Ferret in the morning?”

“Mmm,” was Hermione's only response as she tumbled into Harry's bed, too sleepy to remove the clothing she'd donned to meet with Doctor Lang.

Crawling into bed beside her, Harry flicked his wand a few times and transfigured her jeans and sweater into something more comfortable to sleep in. He wrapped his arms around her and settled in for a night of dreamless sleep.

-->

A/N: Just to warn you that when we get to the Hallowe'en Ball, there's LOTS of links. I suggest you click on them. I'm a HUGE fan of the Leg Avenue Costume line, especially the 2006 collection they've recently come out with. I already own a few of their items but the costume I've selected for Hermione is my absolute favourite. I just bought it two weeks ago; I'm rather impatient for Hallowe'en to get here. :D I did try to describe hers and Harry's costumes in detail but the pictures do it so much easier. And the hat for Harry—pretend it's not on a woman in the picture. Please? It's a unisex hat, but there's only a picture of it on a woman.

EDIT: I realized after posting this chapter that I had written Crabbe and Goyle in not only this chapter, but the previous chapter as well. And I'd killed them in chapter 10. :/ SO. I went back and edited, and Crabbe and Goyle in chapters 29 and 30 are now Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Please forgive my oversight.. my fingers were moving faster than my brain was.

<><><><><>

Disclaimer:

“I like being Superman, can I please just stay like this for one more chapter?” begs Lang-Superman as he puffs out his chest.

“No. And since I nearly forgot to post this disclaimer, you're not getting off easily.”

Crystal flicks her wand a few times, and Lang begins to shrink. Moments later he is orange, with green hair, and white overalls over a green shirt.

“You're kidding. I'm a bloody Oompa-Loompa?!”

“Do the disclaimer. Or else.”

Lang The Oompa-Loompa sighs, and begins to dance and sing. (This is the part where YOU, the reader, starts humming the Oompa Loompa song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory - THE OLD VERSION!)

“Oompa loompa, loompa-dee-maim, if you are greedy, you will claim/that you don't know who JKR is/and it is you the lawyers will blame. Oompa loompa loompa-dee-dee, from writing this story Crystal makes no money.”

“Thanks, Will.”

“I hate you.”

<><><><><>

It surprised the Trio how quickly first term passed. Though their seventh year classes were extremely difficult and the homework was more demanding than any year previous, they managed to escape at the Christmas break positively unscathed. Ron cheerfully proclaimed that this was entirely due to their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Dr. Lang, as his just (or unjust, depending on which house you were in) treatment of the Slytherins made up for every other nastily exhausting class they sat through.

True to the form of one Severus Snape, Dr. Lang's dislike of Slytherin house extended beyond the classroom and spilled into the hallways and dormitories of Hogwarts. He could often be found prowling the halls late at night much like Filch, the ever-popular caretaker, randomly snapping open broom closet doors and roaring in delight at the students he would find. If the compromised teenagers happened to be from any house other than Slytherin they were let off with a light warning and the door slammed shut once more.

However, if the explicitly behaving students were donned in robes with a Slytherin crest on them, they were promptly marched directly to Argus Filch, where he gleefully doled out punishments as he woefully reminisced of the days when his predecessor, Apollyon Pringle, was allowed to exert physical retribution in place of detentions and cleaning tasks done the Muggle way.

Needless to say, the Slytherin students of Hogwarts began to keep their extracurricular activities confined within their own dormitories. Hermione had learned from her Arithmancy partner, Daphne Greengrass, that the Slytherin dorms had no trick staircase like Gryffindor did. She supposed that this was because the Hogwarts founders (minus Salazar, of course) realized that one Slytherin was as untrustworthy as the next, regardless of gender, and that there was little purpose in attempting to prevent access to either side of the dorm.

September had gone by in a blur, with the only memorable occurrence being Hermione's eighteenth birthday. She was now of age in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds and they celebrated in an appropriate fashion. Ron, Harry, Neville, Luna, and Ginny (as it would have been more difficult not to invite her than simply allowing her to come) had surprised her in the Heads common room with cake, ice cream, presents, and plenty of alcohol pilfered from Madam Rosmerta by Ron on a discrete trip to Hogsmeade.

Ginny had toned the attitude down several notches after her duel with Hermione, but she could still be found muttering about the brunette witch as she wandered aimlessly about Gryffindor tower. There had been no further matches between the pair, but Hermione was sure that there was something bubbling beneath the surface of her cool exterior.

Luna was an entirely different story altogether. She had taken to spending every spare moment she could with Ron, and though it had greatly annoyed him at first, she'd begun to grow on him towards the beginning of October. He soon forgot all about both Gabrielle and Fleur Delacour (Delacour-Weasley, now, actually) as an entirely different blonde captivated his attention. He nervously asked her to accompany him to the Hallowe'en Ball when Headmistress McGonagall had announced it on October 1, and she had accepted with a casual air that made him think she'd expected it all along.

The Hallowe'en Ball was the talk of Hogwarts days after its announcement, and every witch third year and up was scrambling to find the perfect costume to wear. Each wizard who was attending nervously contemplated his wardrobe choices, and some took far too much pleasure in the idea of a costume ball. Harry had approached the idea cautiously, as he could tell Hermione was greatly excited, and he didn't want to wear a costume that would not go with hers.

McGonagall had announced that each and every student in attendance for the Hallowe'en Ball was to wear a costume, but that the girls would be arriving separately from the boys, and they would have to pair up with their dates upon their arrival at the Great Hall. Harry was convinced this was another one of those bright ideas conceived to torture every male in the vicinity, when Hermione explained to him that the idea was to get your date to wear a costume matching yours, and then finding them would be that much simpler.

The catch, however, was that you could not simply ask your date what they were wearing, or sit down and discuss it. It all had to be done in secret.

Needless to say, Harry and Ron were rather confused by this idea. Luna and Hermione had explained to them a great number of times that it was all part of the fun, but neither wizard could understand how that was supposed to be `fun'. They were being forced to dress up in prissy costumes that matched their dates, but they couldn't just ask their dates what to wear! No, they had to be all sneaky and covert about discovering what the ladies would be wearing.

The boys in Gryffindor tower were beginning to think the Hallowe'en Ball wasn't such a lovely idea after all.

That changed the second they stepped into the Great Hall on the evening of October 31.

Neville and Ron had complained at great lengths upon their entry at seeing several groups of people dressed alike. There were five girls from Hufflepuff dressed as cartoon characters from some anime television show Hermione had tried to explain called Sailor something-or-other. Ron wasn't really paying attention; he was too busy arguing that it wasn't fair while silently appreciating the short skirts the girls were wearing.

There were also three wizards from Ravenclaw who were dressed as the infamous Muggles, the Three Musketeers. They wore cloaks of navy and bronze with swords at their sides, and oversized hats complete with ostentatious plumage.

Neville really liked the hats.

Perhaps the best group costume choice was that of Slytherin house, which had any male or female who had an inkling of what the numbers `007' meant laughing rather uproariously at the sight.

Standing in a rather awkward group at the centre of the Hall were Mssrs. Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott. And each one of them was wearing dress robes that were as close to a Muggle tuxedo as one could get. They would randomly pretend to talk into their timepieces or as though they were receiving instructions through an earpiece, and Draco went so far as to fiddle around with a transfigured handgun as he drew it from a shoulder holster.

Unfortunately for Zabini and Nott, Malfoy was the only one who looked somewhat respectable in his getup, and that was mainly because of his physique and cocky attitude. His hair colour detracted from the illusion, as a blonde James Bond was simply laughable.

Harry took the opportunity after Malfoy and his cronies had shuffled off into a quiet corner to question Ron about his choice of attire.

“You look like Dumbledore,” he said, torn between chuckling at the image and reminiscing at the representation of the former Headmaster.

“I'm supposed to be Merlin, Harry,” said Ron in an impatient tone. “It's all Luna's fault.”

“How so?”

Ron sighed, twiddling his waist-length grey beard between his fingers. “Ginny told me she was coming as Morgana. I figured coming as Merlin would make sense.”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno if the beard suits you, mate.”

Ron snorted, eyeing Harry's own costume. “And you think your outfit does?”

Decked out in a scarlet frock coat with gold trim and a matching black hat, Harry did feel rather ridiculous. “At least I know mine matches.” His black leather boots were more comfortable than he was willing to admit and his breeches were a bit tight for his liking, but he figured the overall appearance was rather dashing. When Harry had looked at himself in the mirror, he felt like Captain Hook from Peter Pan. He'd been able to sneak glances at the Disney cartoon between clearing the table and washing the dishes one night at the Dursleys, and the image of the pirate villain had stuck with him.

“Oh yeah, how do you know?” retorted Ron.

Harry smiled, and caught a glimpse of Dr. Lang passing by in his peripheral vision. “Helps when you live in the same suite as your girlfriend. And she leaves her bedroom door unlocked when she goes off to the Prefect's Bathroom.” He did his best not to chuckle at the DADA professor, as he was dressed as the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz.

Ron seemed to have lost all interest in what Harry was saying, though, as he'd just spotted Luna across the crowd. She glided towards them in an ethereal manner, smiling all the while. She was wearing a square-necked midnight blue dress with bell sleeves that appeared to be made of velvet, and there was a silver circlet upon her head. Harry had no clue what Morgana was supposed to have looked like, but he supposed it really wouldn't have mattered as Luna could have worn a flour sack, claimed to be dressed as Morgana, and he would have believed her.

“Hello, Ronald,” she said with a smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

Ron grinned rather stupidly. “Hi Luna,” he said, blinking.

“Oh, look, there's Hermione,” replied the blonde in a dreamy voice as she took Ron's hand. “Come along, Ronald. Let's go check the pumpkins for Grekkins before they infest someone's earwax.”

“Umm, right.” Said Ron, waving dazedly at Harry as Luna tugged him off in the opposite direction.

Harry turned in the direction he'd seen Luna gazing in, and forgot to breathe for a moment.

Hermione was standing not twenty feet away, and her costume looked far better on her than it had hanging in her closet. The periwinkle dress robes she'd worn in fourth year may have made her look beautiful, but this outfit was doing much more than that. Harry already knew she was beautiful. But in this—and in public no less!—she was downright sexy. Shaggable, even.

She was wearing a hat that outdid not only Harry's, but also the Ravenclaw Musketeers all put together. It was black velvet trimmed in lace and red satin ribbon, with an ebony ostrich feather peeking out from the headband. Her dress was ruby red and hung off her shoulders, with puffed out sleeves and a hemline that hit several inches above her knees. There was also a black velvet overdress that had two corset lacings across the front, and it came just below her breasts. Harry could also see black lace peeking out from the hem of the red dress, and he supposed she was wearing a petticoat of some sort underneath it.

Knee-high stiletto boots in black leather completed the look of Hermione's pirate costume, and Harry was ready to admit that he'd died and gone to heaven. It was so unlike Hermione to wear something so short and sexy in front of the rest of the student body, but he wasn't about to complain or question her motives. After all, in an outfit like that, he'd have to be crazy to question anything.

They danced while Harry did his best not to ogle Hermione, and soon the time for costume awards was announced. Harry seemed to have forgotten this little detail—as the Head students both Harry and Hermione had been privy to all aspects of the ball, but of course Harry hardly paid attention—and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy and his replacement goons being called to the stage. The Cowardly Lion that was their Defense professor was standing nearby snickering as the Slytherin trio made their way up the steps to centre stage. As they were about to accept their award for the best-dressed group for their James Bond costumes, the entire Great Hall burst into laughter.

At first Zabini and Nott were too busy joining in the laughter as they watched Malfoy staring at himself in horror, wondering why his black dress robes had suddenly turned into blue silk. It took a few moments to dawn on them that they, too, were not wearing their original dress robes, and the three horrified Slytherins began to push their way through the crowd in a desperate attempt to escape the laughter.

“Hold it right there!” yelled Dr. Lang, silently Immobilizing them mid-flight. “I do believe that we need to re-write what's on that award, now, don't we? Doesn't it say for Misters Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott as James Bond, 007?”

He plucked the award from Nott's skinny hands and quickly read it over.

“Hmm, indeed it does. I think I'll change that.” With a quick flick of his wand Dr. Lang changed the writing on the trophy and handed it back to Nott.

The Hall was silent, but clearly the students (as well as the majority of the faculty) were holding in their snickers and catcalls.

“Students and faculty, I'd like to introduce to you the winners of the Best-Dressed Group award: Draco Malfoy as Cinderella, Blaise Zabini as Alice in Wonderland, and Theodore Nott as Little Red Riding Hood. The Heroines of Fairy Tales!” proclaimed Dr. Lang as he flung out his arms as though he were Vanna White displaying the solved puzzle.

Not a single person in the Great Hall could contain their laughter, and soon Dr. Lang graciously lifted the charm and allowed the Slytherins to run from the Great Hall, truly embarrassed.

Harry and Hermione were awarded Best Dressed Couple, and Hermione would swear that she saw a few girls nearly swoon at Harry's appearance out of the corner of her eye. Ron and Luna were the Most Unique, as Ron's interpretation of Merlin and Luna's of Morgana was definitely original.

The night had ended on a high note, which was why Ron still held it in high regard as one of the best nights of term. How could it get any better? The prettiest ladies of Hogwarts dressed in attractive costumes, and the Slytherin gits going from 007-wannabes to fairytale heroines in women's costumes? And the huge buffet of food? Yeah, Ron definitely enjoyed the night.

Harry, on the other hand, and decided it was the best Hallowe'en he'd yet experienced. Though it was the anniversary of his parents' death, the sight of Hermione in her pirate costume and Dr. Lang's treatment of the Slytherins brightened the day more than he could have hoped for. He enjoyed Hermione's costume so much, in fact, that he proceeded to cart her off immediately following the dance to their suite, instructed Ogden not to let anyone in, and showed her just how much he appreciated the outfit.

As they entered their suite, Hermione turned to face Harry and kissed him soundly on the lips. She proceeded to slowly unbutton his pirate captain's frock coat, and swept his hat off of his head to kiss him better. The first time the brim of her hat had crashed with his, and she had figured it would be easier the second time around if she took his hat off. After all, judging by the hungry look in Harry's eyes, he would want her to leave the entire thing on anyway.

Harry proved her right three minutes later as they tumbled onto his bed, as she made a move to tug off the straps of the black velvet overdress and slip off her boots.

“Leave it,” he growled, pinning her wrists to the mattress as he fiercely bit into the skin of her neck.

Hermione was beginning to suspect that Harry had a penchant for costumes and fancy lingerie, and she was glad for it. Though Hermione was typically a studious girl who preferred books to the silliness that Lavender and Parvati attempted to include her in, there was still a little girl inside of her who loved to dress up in pretty outfits. That these outfits would be a touch more racy and inspire such a fierce desire in her boyfriend was an added bonus.

She moaned in response to his bite, silently wishing that he would just allow her to remove the black overdress. The red dress underneath would still be alluring enough, but with a freer range of movement. When Harry dipped his tongue to the rarely touched spot just behind her earlobe and his teeth grazed her skin, Hermione lost all concentration and nearly forgot that she was wearing anything at all.

Moments later, as Harry's head moved further south, Hermione began to understand just why he had wanted her to leave the pirate outfit on. Seeing his head disappear below the scarlet hem and black lacy petticoat, in combination with the sensations his tongue was instilling in her, was one of the most erotic things she had ever seen.

His desire was further intensified when they switched places, with Harry on the receiving end. He was standing with the edge of the mattress at the backs of his knees, just in case his balance should fail him, and Hermione was kneeling before him. Harry was surprised that she had initiated this particular position, as he would have assumed she'd consider it subservient, but little did he know that Hermione had come to the realization that it didn't matter what position she was in, so long as she had ample access to take him into her mouth. Regardless of whether she was on her knees in front of him, hovering over him as he lay on his back, or with him straddling her shoulders as he rose above her, she was in the position of power. Only she could make Harry feel the way she did as her tongue swirled about his sensitive head and her fingers caressed him. And with her kneeling in front of him, the brim of her lace-trimmed hat obscured the view of precisely what she was doing to him. He could see, but he couldn't see everything. Something like leaving a little bit to the imagination.

Years down the road, Harry would blame that seventh year Hallowe'en Ball for unlocking the gates to all of the pent-up sexual ideas and fantasies he didn't even realize he'd been harbouring. All because of that ball. And that unbelievably sexy pirate costume.

November had been chock full of duelling matches in Defense, and true to Dr. Lang's word, the hospital wing was soon bedecked in silver and green. For every duelling class they had, at least two Slytherins paid a visit to Madame Pomfrey. If their Gryffindor opponent was a former member of the DA, that visit turned into a weeklong stay. The Healer was not impressed at having to baby-sit the Slytherins, but she at least acquiesced to the fact that, without Dr. Lang present to heal minor injuries and the like in the classroom, she would have had every seventh year Slytherin in Defense residing within her hospital wing. Only serious injuries were sent to Madame Pomfrey, and for that she was grateful. If she had to deal with Malfoy moaning about a minor gash on his arm like he had in his third year, she would've likely hexed the lot of them rather than healed them.

The elusive reason as to why an encounter with Ginny had sent Dean and Seamus willingly to their beds before nine o'clock a month earlier finally came to realization partway through the month. From what Harry was able to gather (As Hermione hadn't been so forthcoming with the details despite agreeing to inform Harry), they had come across Ginny in a rather compromising situation in the lower corridors of Hogwarts. Well, as far as Ron was concerned, compromising was a nice way of putting it. He had shouted so loud Harry was sure the Giant Squid could hear him, using many choice phrases such as `scarlet woman' and `trollop' to mention the less lewd ones.

Poor Dean and Seamus, not realizing the severity of the situation and just how much of a force Ginny was to be reckoned with, had immediately run off to tell Ron. She had gone after them and they had been on the business end of a very angry Ginny's wand.

Harry was fairly sure that he would have spluttered like a fish out of water had he been in Seamus and Dean's position. After all, despite Hermione's casual mentions, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Ginny entwined in the man's arms. Not that he was jealous, but it was the identity of the other man that bothered him the most. Whatever Ginny saw in Draco Malfoy was entirely a mystery to him, and though he'd made his peace with the whole issue in London, he still didn't entirely trust the ferret.

Ron was more than prepared to fire off a furious letter to Molly Weasley, informing her of her daughter's behaviour, and was partway through writing it when Ginny stormed into the common room, stole the parchment from him, and tore it in two.

“What are you doing?” she demanded furiously.

“Telling mum that you were—you were—with Malfoy!” spluttered Ron as his fist clenched around his quill.

Ginny's eyes blazed. “What does it matter who I'm with?”

“It's Malfoy!” declared Ron indignantly.

“So?”

“He's a Slytherin! And—and he nearly killed Hermione! And he was going to kill Dumbledore!”

Ginny sighed heavily, fixing her brother with a sad stare. “People change, Ron. I would've thought that you, of all people, could understand that. Merlin knows you've done quite a bit of changing yourself, lately. So have I. Have you noticed neither of us is pitching a fit over Harry and Hermione being together anymore? You've gotten past it, Ron, and so have I. Luna helped you see that Hermione wasn't the one for you, and Draco's helped me realize that I was wrong. I wanted Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. Not just Harry. And that's not who he is. Yes, he is the Boy Who Lived, but it's not who he wants to be. He chooses to be just Harry, and that's not who I'd fallen for. But Draco… I know exactly where I stand with him. And he makes me happy, Ron.”

Ron looked thoroughly bewildered. “But its Malfoy…” he repeated half-heartedly.

“I'm happy, Ron. For the first time since I can remember I'm not arse over teakettle for Harry, and I've found someone who I want to be with for who they truly are. Can't you just be happy for me?” asked Ginny, joining Ron on the sofa and spreading her arms wide for a hug.

He continued to look confused for a few more moments, but slowly his face changed into a reluctant smile. He wrapped his arms around his little sister and held her tightly. “Well I'll admit I'd rather it be just about anyone but Malfoy, if he makes you happy, I'll have to learn to deal with it. But I swear, Gin, one toe out of line and I'll hex him so fast he'll be begging for the day Crouch Jr. turned him into a ferret.”

Ginny laughed as she inwardly admired her brother. He had matured quite a bit since they had both realized that they would not be getting their one big happy Weasley family, and she was proud of him. Even Hermione would have to agree that he'd far surpassed her previous evaluation of his emotional range being at the level of a teaspoon. He agreed to let Ginny break the news to their parents herself, and kept his indignation over the situation quiet until he had an opportunity to share with Harry.

That had not gone so well. Harry had mainly voiced his concern for Ginny's change of heart. Throughout the last few weeks her animosity towards Hermione had diminished greatly, and he was concerned for her in a brotherly manner. He was happy that Ginny was moving on, and would no longer be at odds with his girlfriend, but it was disconcerting to know that it was Malfoy she'd now set her sights on. Though it seemed that everyone but Ron had chosen to ignore Malfoy's previous atrocities, Harry was still not entirely comfortable knowing that Ginny was snuggling up to Malfoy every night.

Ron had ranted and raved to a point where Harry cast a Silencing charm on him. Ron was absolutely livid, and though he'd stand by his promise to his sister not to tattle to their mum, that didn't mean he wasn't still allowed to be angry about it. He continued to declare Malfoy to be unworthy of Ginny (which Harry completely agreed with), and swore up one side of Gryffindor Tower and down the other that he'd permanently turn him into a ferret should he harm Ginny.

Hermione had come into the common room partway through Ron's tirade, just seconds before Harry had cast the Silencing charm. She told Ron that he would have to accept Draco as Ginny's boyfriend, or risk losing Ginny. He voluntarily shut his mouth after that, and settled in for a few hours of gloomily staring into the fireplace.

December had been a relatively light month for class work, as the impending Christmas holiday had everyone at Hogwarts, including the faculty, in a festive mood. Of course light class work in seventh year meant it felt like their O.W.L. year all over again rather than N.E.W.T., but even so, they'd become accustomed to the heavier workload, and having a bit of a breather was nice. There had been several end-of-term tests and surprise quizzes to keep the students on their toes despite the impending Yule, and naturally Hermione aced them all. She even outscored McGonagall's previous record on a Transfiguration test by earning herself one hundred and twenty-six percent on a surprise in-class transfiguration quiz, with her exceptional mark being awarded for not only transfiguring Harry and Ron into each other, but for managing to transfigure herself into a fair replica of Professor Sinistra as well. As human transfiguration was rather difficult, it was impossible for McGonagall not to award her any bonus points.

Ginny had continued her relationship with Draco Malfoy, much to the surprise of Gryffindor House. The Slytherins had a few choice comments about her family, but a quick comment from Malfoy put them back in their places. As her blood was purer than most of Slytherin, Ginny was above them in their eyes. The majority of the snide remarks came from Pansy Parkinson's lot, who couldn't seem to fathom why Draco would have chosen a blood traitor over a pure-blooded, one-hundred-percent Slytherin. Rather than dignify their comments with a response, Draco instead wrapped one arm around Ginny's waist, drew her close, and snogged her senseless in the middle of the Great Hall during lunch.

Ron's jaw hit the floor. And not a single Hogwarts student challenged them after that.

When the student body of Hogwarts was doing some last-minute packing to catch the Express back to King's Cross, the Gryffindor trio was holed up in the Restricted section of the library. Once they had long-ago determined precisely what a Horcrux was, the rest of the information came fairly easier. Knowing what you were looking for certainly did help. They spent hours upon hours of their Christmas break poring through various tomes, sparing no effort to determine what artefacts of the Hogwarts founders could possibly be a Horcrux. After all, it seemed to fit the pattern. Nagini may have been a snake and therefore representing Slytherin, but she did not actually belong to Slytherin. The locket belonged to Slytherin, the shield belonged to Gryffindor, and the cup belonged to Hufflepuff. The diary had belonged to Riddle himself, and the ring had belonged to his pureblood ancestors. Each and every item belonged to either a Hogwarts founder, or a member of the Riddle family. And each object was inanimate. Nagini just didn't fit the puzzle, and Hermione was now convinced that the remaining item had belonged to Ravenclaw. She was the only Hogwarts founder not accounted for, and it was the only thing that made sense.

The only pause in their research came on Christmas day, when Hermione woke her boys at precisely six in the morning with a loud shriek coming from the common room of the Heads suite. Ron had taken Harry's room, and Harry had slept in Hermione's bed for Christmas Eve night, which led to both of them being entirely confused and not being able to confer on all the scenarios that could lead to her uncharacteristic yell at such an ungodly hour. Both Harry and Ron had stumbled sleepily into the room, neither one could help but grin at the sight that greeted their half-open eyes.

Surrounded on every side by brightly wrapped Christmas packages and framed in the fairy lights of the Christmas tree, Hermione was joyfully trying to capture a snowflake on her tongue. In the middle of the Common Room.

Harry had set a time-delayed charm the night prior, designed to replicate a natural snowfall around the tree. It was quite a similar spell as to the one that enchants the ceiling of the Great Hall, but with a few modifications. Hermione looked like a Christmas angel in pale blue satin pyjamas, with the snowflakes catching in her hair and her eyelashes.

The morning was perfect. The Trio opened gifts, shared warm embraces and hot cocoa, and lazed in front of the fire until Ron's stomach growled loudly, announcing that it was time for breakfast. As he slipped through the portrait hole to head back to his room and change his clothes, he missed the look of anticipation in his best mate's eyes.

“We're not done yet, Hermione,” said Harry mysteriously, standing from his place on the sofa and taking her hand in his. He drew her up to her feet and against his chest, cradling there for a few moments. “Ron's great and all, but I'd like to spend some of my Christmas morning alone with you.”

“I couldn't ask for a better present,” whispered Hermione, tilting her head up until their lips met.

Moments later Harry broke the kiss. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He grabbed her hand tightly and dragged her into his room.

“Harry! I'm not a machine, we need to eat breakfast first!” giggled Hermione as she followed on his heels. Her laughter died in her throat as she saw what was waiting for her.

Hovering perhaps two feet above Harry's bed was a pale silver bubble. It reminded her of the pink bubble that Glinda the Good Witch used to travel in The Wizard of Oz. This silver bubble was much smaller; nearly the size of a Bludger, and its translucent surface shimmered in the light.

“What is it?” she breathed, stretching her fingers out towards it.

“All that stuff out there, that wasn't all of your presents. I have one left for you. And if you can figure out how to break the seal on that bubble without dropping what's inside in ten minutes, you get it. If it takes you longer than ten minutes, it's going to cost you a kiss to get it out of there.” He gave her a rather lopsided grin as he delivered his last sentence.

“Why ten minutes?” asked Hermione.

“Figure that's all the time we're going to get before Ron comes barging back in here, fresh from his shower and wearing decent clothes. You're wasting time,” he reminded her, pointing at a clock on the wall.

Hermione immediately went into Bookworm-Mode, and did her best to study the hovering sphere from all angles. She tried several Revealing spells, unlocking charms, and everything she could think of short of stabbing at it with the end of her wand. She had even considered that for a brief moment with the idea of placing a Cushioning Charm underneath the bubble, but she didn't want to risk it. It seemed too easy.

At seven and a half minutes, she caved.

“I give up.” Declared Hermione, grumbling to herself as she settled on the mattress and glared at the silvery orb. “I admit defeat. I, Hermione Granger, can not figure out your puzzle.”

Harry grinned at her, and then rearranged his features into a mock pout. “It was far simpler than you thought,” he admitted, joining her on the bed. “I was actually hoping you'd just give up thirty seconds in so I could spend the next nine and a half snogging you.”

“That's it?” Hermione asked. “All I had to do was kiss you?”

He nodded, and barely managed to catch his breath before the brunette witch had insinuated herself in his lap and planted her lips on his in a searing kiss.

The surface of the bubble broke, and the box within remained suspended as they continued their kiss. Seconds later, Hermione broke away and reached out to snap up the small box.

“What is it?” she asked excitedly.

“Oi, you two, where've you gone off to? You'd better not be in there snogging each other senseless, we have to go to breakfast!” declared Ron from outside the door.

Harry shook his head, tapped his wand on the lid of the box, and smiled. “You have your present. You can open it after Ron leaves us alone for a bit longer.”

Hermione tried to open it anyway, but found that she couldn't. Harry had used a non-verbal locking charm she wasn't aware of, so she sighed, pocketed the box, and joined her boys for breakfast in the Great Hall.

Throughout the meal, Hermione continued to attempt unlocking the small box. Ron was too busy stuffing his face to notice Harry chuckling at his frustrated girlfriend. She had tried every spell she could think of before she finally resorted to resting the edge of the lid against the table and slamming her palm on the lid. It reminded Harry of the way an American would open a beer bottle if they didn't have an opener, and he nearly snorted his pumpkin juice out of his nostrils at her futile attempt.

“Whuzzat?” asked Ron, finally taking note of Hermione's angry outburst. He stared at the box as it rested next to Hermione's plate.

She crossed her arms and huffed as she glared first at Harry, and then at the box. “It's a blasted nightmare, that's what it is. It's supposed to be my Christmas present but Harry's locked it and he won't tell me how to open it.”

The box quivered as Hermione finished speaking. She shot a confused look at Harry.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Honestly,” he mimicked her, “did you try just telling it what you want it to do?” He snatched the box from in front of her, tapped his wand on it and said “Open.”

The box vibrated again, and the lid glowed a faint orange. Ron handed it back to Hermione.

She smacked Harry on the arm.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, rubbing at the spot where she'd hit him. “It's not my fault you didn't figure it out! You always try the more complicated things. It's just like the packing spell Tonks taught me.”

Ignoring his response, Hermione took hold of Harry's hand and dragged him out of the Great Hall, waving goodbye to Ron over her shoulder. They travelled in silence back to their suite, and when they were safely locked inside with another instruction to Ogden to keep Ron out, Hermione held the box out to Harry. “If it's so simple, I'll let you open it.”

He smiled and did just that, lifting the lid and pulling another, smaller box from the inside.

“I swear, Harry Potter, if that one requires just as much effort to get it open as the first one did I'll—Harry? What're you…” He had left his comfortable seat on the couch to kneel on the floor facing her, with the biggest grin spread across his face. “Harry, you're not—“

“Proposing?” he grinned. “Naah, I'd rather know that our dear Lord Voldythingy is safely six feet under, pushing up honking daffodils before I make promises like that. But this, this is a promise, Hermione.” He flipped the lid of the smaller box to reveal a thin platinum band with three sparkling stones on it. It was an anniversary style band, with a golden stone on the left, a clear one in the centre, and a scarlet one on the right. “Now I know I'm no romantic, and I swear you're going to laugh at me when I tell you this, but remember when we were in Gringotts after you got me from the Dursleys? And how I took a few things from the crate we found my mum and dad's rings in? Well, this was one of them. I didn't realize it at the time, but I'd grabbed a few rings and necklaces that must've been Mum's. I was going through them a few weeks ago, and then an idea hit me. I know that you don't really agree with Parvati and Lavender's opinion on, well, nearly everything, but I asked for their help in this. I showed them everything I took, and asked them to help me pick something.”

“You're joking, said Hermione in a whisper. “They managed to keep it a secret?”

“I think they were afraid of what I'd do to them if they didn't,” chuckled Harry. “In the end they narrowed it down to three things, and I picked this. Lavender explained the significance of the ring, and I thought it was perfect. Not to mention the colour of the stones are a perfect match. The left one's topaz, or according to what Lavender told me, a stone representing autumn. Since your birthday is in September, it seemed to fit. The right one is a ruby, which again, according to Lavender, is associated with the heart. And the centre is obviously a diamond. Lavender started going on about them, but even in my limited experience, I know what a diamond is.”

Hermione was desperately trying to keep her emotions in check.

“The topaz for me represents our past. In history, topaz has been a symbol of protection for the Egyptians, and the Greeks believed it could increase strength and make the wearer invisible in emergencies. That's you, Hermione. Ever since I met you, you've protected me, given me strength, and helped me out when I needed it most.” He took her right hand in his, and squeezed tightly.

She dipped her head to kiss him, but he pulled away before it could become more than a light brush of their lips.

“Rubies represent love, passion, and power,” continued Harry, “It also symbolizes powerful feelings, and represents our present together. We're in love, incredibly passionate, and our feelings are definitely powerful. We're both coming into more power now than ever before, and, well... it just makes sense. It's my birthstone too, so two of the three stones represent us in some way.”

“And the diamond?” asked Hermione.

Harry smiled. “I would've thought that one was obvious. Diamond is from a Greek word that means invincible. That's what we are together. It represents our future. And my promise.” He splayed the fingers of her right hand between his left, and slid the ring onto her third finger.

Dabbing at her eyes, which were quickly growing damp, Hermione whispered, “And what's your promise, Mr. Potter?”

“That one day, I'm going to make you Mrs. Potter.” He said huskily, rising on his knees to kiss her. “I promise that, after Voldemort is dead and gone, you'll get a proper proposal with a proper ring and everything. In the meantime, just know that when I say I'll love you forever, I mean it.”

With that, Hermione kissed him furiously and led him to her bedroom, her ring glinting in the late morning light.

<><><><><>

The rest of the Christmas break passed uneventfully, their many hours of research in the library turning up nothing. Any item that had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw was either lost or destroyed. Hermione had even gone so far as to check into Hepzibah Smith's history, by contacting her remaining family members. A disinherited nephew of hers by the name of Roland had informed Hermione that Ravenclaw was the one Founder that Hepzibah had never been able to find a relic for. He had told her that her quest for the missing antiquity was fruitless, leading to his disinheritance. With that disquieting bit of information, Hermione had thrown herself even harder into her research. Ron and Harry had ended up spending several of their library hours playing Wizards' chess while Hermione pored over obscure tomes in the Restricted section. Occasionally the boys would offer to help her, but she would wave them away and bury her nose further into the pages.

Harry was becoming concerned by the time January came around. Even with classes back in session and her Head Girl duties, Hermione was still managing to spend every waking moment in the library. Often times he would have to force her to eat before she took off to the library, and they hadn't been intimate since the day he'd given her the promise ring. Some times when he came to check on her in the library, he would glance oddly at the book she was reading. Several times he would swear that it was the same book, but when he'd kneel to check or open his mouth to ask her, she'd lecture him for disturbing her and go back to her research.

While Harry understood that discovering the identity of the last Horcrux was imperative, and did not fault her dedication, he was beginning to think she was a woman obsessed. As January became February, they had still not shared a bed, barely a few kisses, and Hermione was becoming less and less responsive. Harry thought that perhaps she had convinced herself that she was failing him by not finding the last Horcrux, and he knew how much she detested failure. When he tried to reassure her that her efforts were appreciated, she had pushed him away rather violently and claimed he was distracting her.

Soon she started to split her time between the library and Dr. Lang's office within the Defense classroom, which had been so strange that even Ron sat up and took notice. He joked to Harry that perhaps she was having an affair with the absurdly behaving teacher, but Harry didn't take it as a joke. Though he knew Hermione and infidelity did not mix, he was suspicious of the time she spent with the Defense professor. She'd often tumble into their common room late at night smelling like a potions classroom, and he was silently thankful that Slughorn had returned for the year rather than Snape. He presumed that she and the doctor were working on some sort of extra credit project with the help of Slughorn, but he didn't understand why she wouldn't talk about any of it.

When Valentine's Day came and went with no indication of recognition from Hermione (and he had been sure she'd want to celebrate), he finally went to visit Madame Pomfrey. He told her of Hermione's strange behaviour, her fanatical dedication to the library and that one particular book, and how he was barely able to get her to eat. Dark circles had begun to appear under her eyes, betraying to Harry the fact that she spent more of her nights reading that book than sleeping.

Madame Pomfrey had offered Harry a lilac-coloured potion in a small vial with the instruction to slip it into her pumpkin juice at dinner. She had reminded him that it was uncommon for her to administer a potion to one student by the hand of another, and that he was to use the potion with the utmost care. Harry couldn't imagine not approaching the situation with caution, and told her so. Madame Pomfrey smiled, and handed him another vial from within the folds of her apron. This one was a pale green, and she pressed it firmly into his palm.

“If you can get her to take the first one without noticing, you can give her this one. The first potion will relax her, quite like a calming draught but with a bit of a sleeping potion mixed in. If she takes it, you can offer her the second one. She trusts you enough to take it, but do so with caution. It will leave her mind open to suggestions, at which point you can suggest that she spend less time overtaxing herself with all this extra work, and more time taking care of herself.”

Harry nodded, though he thought the second potion sounded almost like the Imperius curse. “Anything else?”

The Medi-witch nodded, and handed him two small blue pills. “Vitamins. Sounds to me like our Miss Granger could be suffering from malnutrition if she isn't eating well.”

Thanking her profusely, Harry headed off to the library to ensure that Hermione was going to meet him in the Great Hall for dinner. He even returned five minutes before dinner was served to escort her there, and with Ron serving as distraction, he slipped the lilac potion into her pumpkin juice.

Hermione pushed her chicken and potatoes around her plate for several minutes before both boys laid into her for not eating.

“Bloody hell, Hermione, it's not healthy the way you're carrying on!” exclaimed Ron, gesturing at her barely-eaten food. “You're like a stick, you are. All pale with bags under your eyes, and you're not looking so good.”

Hermione's face fell at Ron's words, and Harry drew her into an embrace. “Though Ron put that rather tactlessly, I'm inclined to agree with him,” said Harry, shooting a glare over Hermione's head at his best mate. “You need to eat properly. And sleep. And take care of yourself.”

“Time spent eating and sleeping is time not spent finding the last you-know-what.” She said cryptically before resigning herself to taking a bite of her chicken. Both Ron and Harry (as Harry had informed him of Madame Pomfrey's instructions) watched as she washed her chicken down with her pumpkin juice. They breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Hermione, will you do something for me?” asked Harry, looking into her eyes.

“Anything, Harry,” she said, followed by a mouthful of potatoes.

He smiled at her efforts to eat. “I want you to take this potion,” he said, holding out the vial of pale green liquid.

She looked at him curiously. “Why?”

“I'm worried about you. It's a vitamin draught Madame Pomfrey gave me,” he lied, throwing up every Occlumency shield he could think of to prevent her from reading the truth in his mind.

Hermione shrugged, and took the vial. Ron and Harry watched with baited breath as she downed its contents.

“Hermione,” began Ron, filling her plate up for her as she watched him, “I think maybe you should spend less time in the library. You're wasting away in there.”

“I agree,” said Harry, refilling her pumpkin juice. “Eat up, love. You need to start sleeping more, as well. I'm thinking I'll make sure that you do by joining you in your room every night. Just to make sure.”

Ron snorted at that suggestion. Harry glared at him.

Hermione swallowed a few more mouthfuls of food, and looked up at her boys. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Two more things. One, I want you to take these two pills,” said Harry, holding out the vitamins. “They're more vitamins, to help you get healthy again. And two, is that book you're spending so much time with the Book of Requirement?”

She nodded after downing a mouthful of juice with the vitamins. “It's the only book in the library with the information I need.”

“And what sort of information is that?” asked Ron from behind a turkey leg that he was in the process of demolishing.

“Information on the last Horcrux. Chew your food, Ron,” muttered Hermione.

“You've found it?” asked Harry rather excitedly.

“Yes.” Whispered Hermione, her eyes downcast.

Both boys were silent, staring at her. She continued to eat, without elaborating on her admission.

“Well?” asked Ron anxiously.

“I'll tell you when it's necessary. Right now, I'm going to bed.”

And with that, Hermione stood from the table, and walked briskly from the Great Hall.

“Mental, that one,” lamented Ron.

Harry remained silent. Hermione knew what the last Horcrux was. She wasn't telling. She wasn't really sleeping or eating, either, and she was spending an awful lot of time with Dr. Lang. He made a promise to himself that he would find out exactly what was going on by the end of the week, even if he had to go straight to Dr. Lang for the answers.

-->

A/N: Just as a note as people are STILL leaving me reviews saying that James Potter was a Seeker and not a Chaser, please click HERE and scroll to the Hogwarts section where it says NOTE in regards to James and Quidditch.

And I've tried to reply to reviews, I really have, but for some odd reason Portkey isn't showing me a reply button, just a report button. :( Not happy! Now, you've all complained about how long it takes me to update. Real life gets in the way, and it's going to get worse over the next two weeks. I'm going to be working really late every day at work because the lady who I share my position with is going on medical leave, and I have to do both our jobs. :/ So please, please bear with me! I got this chapter out as soon as I can, so now there's just one left plus the epilogue. And it'll be good, I promise. :D

EDIT:: HOLY CRAP. 25 reviews in one night, I think this is the part where I die happy. Okay, so I forgot June only has thirty days and I said acronym instead of anagram. I'm an idiot, but this is what happens when I stay up later than I should to finish writing and posting. Everything is fixed now, hooray! I swear I need a proper calendar in front of me, but for dates/days of the week references in 1997 I use my computer calendar, so otherwise I don't really check. I'm bad. My brain works faster than my fingers, I swear.

Disclaimer:

“So you almost forgot to write this again. For that, can I stay as SuperLang?” asks Lang hopefully, his scarlet cape flapping in the non-existent breeze as he sips from a glass next to him.

Crystal shakes her head. “Nope, today you get to be one of your favourite television characters.”

“Ooh, which one?”

The potion he was unknowingly drinking began to take effect as he begins to shrink and appear younger. A few quick transfigurations and he is wearing a diaper, and his head is shaped rather obliquely.

“You didn't. Damn you, you vile woman!”

“Now, Stewie, be nice and say the words Mommy wants you to hear,” mocks Crystal.

Lang-Stewie glares at her, muttering death threats. “Harry Potter isn't yours; you're a bitch, blah blah blah…”

“What a good boy. Now, Stewie, why don't you go play in the other room while I post this chapter?”

“Why don't you burn in hell?”

<><><><><>

True to the promise he'd made to himself, Harry did his best to discover exactly what was going on with Hermione by the end of the week. He'd tried stealing the Book of Requirement away from her and thinking desperately of needing to read what Hermione was reading, but to no avail. Apparently the book required your thoughts to be far more specific than that. Every night since he'd given her the potions he'd slept with her in her bed, but it was clear that she was barely sleeping any more than 4 hours a night. He supposed that was better than the usual three she'd been getting over the past several weeks, but subsisting on four hours of sleep wasn't enough. Harry didn't want to resort to dosing her with more potions, so he instead held her tightly as she slept, and when she did wake up he refused to let go and pretended he was still asleep. In an attempt to appease Harry, Hermione would relent and just lay there. He'd hoped she'd perhaps get back to sleep, but it never happened that way.

Short of resorting to reading her mind, which he was sure she'd blocked him from doing, he had tried everything possible to discover what was going on. Harry had even stayed behind in Defense class one day to talk to Dr. Lang, but the oddball professor hadn't exactly been forthcoming with information. Even when Harry had asked him directly what he and Hermione had been working on.

“Classified information, that is.” Dr. Lang hadn't even looked up from the papers he was grading.

Harry sighed. “Dr. Lang, please. I need to know what's going on. Ron and I have been able to persuade Hermione to take better care of herself, but she's still obsessive over that blasted book and whatever she's working on with you. She sleeps maybe four hours a night and eats when Ron and I watch to make sure she finishes what's on her plate. I'm worried about her.”

“And she's worried about you, did you ever think of that you thick-headed berk?” roared Dr. Lang suddenly, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring into Harry's fiery emerald eyes. “Did it ever occur to you, you arrogant Gryffindor sod, that maybe, just maybe, she spends her nights lying awake, for fear of the nightmares that terrorize her sleep? That she throws herself into her work to keep the horrendous images from burning themselves into her brain? That she sees eating as a waste of time because she could be using that time to do something productive?”

“Hey, you're a Gryffindor!” Interrupted Harry angrily, furious at the idea that Dr. Lang understood what Hermione was going through when he didn't.

“You're missing the point, Potter!” yelled Dr. Lang. He tugged at his vibrant orange hair in frustration as he sank into his seat. “Hermione is terrified right now. She's terrified that she won't be able to save you from the last Horcrux. She's absolutely petrified that our solution won't work, no matter how much I reassure you. But more than anything, she's horrified by the knowledge that you're such a noble prat that, if she told you what it was, you'd go off and do something stupid. And I'm inclined to agree with her.”

“It's a potion, isn't it?” asked Harry, despite the tirade he had just sent his professor on. “Something having to do with Healing, and Muggle medicine, and the last Horcrux. Otherwise she'd just go to Slughorn. He already knew what Horcruxes were; she didn't have to explain it to you. And he's the Potions professor. She comes back to the dorm smelling like the potions dungeon most nights.”

The doctor sighed, and conjured himself a cup of coffee. “Sit down, Harry. It's going to be a long night.”

Harry pulled a chair up to Dr. Lang's desk, and sat. “So she told you, then. About the Horcruxes. She must be desperate.”

“She didn't tell me anything, Harry. How do you think Slughorn knew all those years ago what a Horcrux was?”

The young Gryffindor was confused. “You're what, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? There's no way that you're the one who originally told Slughorn what a Horcrux was.”

“True, but my father was old enough. And when I was old enough to hear it, he told me what they were,” said Dr. Lang sadly.

“What happened to him?” asked Harry.

“Killed personally by Riddle. Memory charms can be broken, Harry. And dead men don't talk.”

Harry swallowed at the cool tone Dr. Lang employed while discussing his father. “So how come Tom hasn't come after you then?”

“He thinks that the knowledge died with my father, and that Slughorn is too stupid to realize he was Obliviated.” Dr. Lang sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. “But that's neither here nor there, Harry. You have questions, I have answers. It's just difficult for me to decide how much I should tell you while still respecting Hermione's request of secrecy. Why don't we play twenty questions, then? All yes or no answers.”

“Okay then… Am I allowed to think out loud before posing a question?” Harry was fairly sure that the Defense professor was utterly mad, suggesting children's games when his girlfriend's health and sanity were on the line, but if it was what was required of him to get the information he needed, he was willing to play along.

“Yes. Nineteen.”

“Dammit, I didn't think that'd count! Alright then. It has to be a potion. When she comes back late at night her hair's all frizzy like she's been over a steamy cauldron, and I can smell the aconite on her robes. It's very distinctive. But that's weird, because aconite is basically Wolfsbane, and I know Remus has a source for his potion. Although aconite in its floral form is toxic. I already know you're developing a potion. Is it a poisonous potion?” pondered Harry.

“Yes. Eighteen.”

“Are you going to use it to kill Voldemort?”

“No. Seventeen.”

“Well if it's not Tom, who the bloody hell are you planning on poisoning?”

“Yes or no questions, Harry.”

Harry glared at him. “Fine.” He paced back and forth in front of the desk for a few minutes, muttering things under his breath. He ran through a list of potion ingredients compatible with aconite in his mind that would also be poisonous. He was silently thanking Hermione for lecturing him on Potions for all those years, and for the valuable information he'd learned in sixth year. Even if it was from Snape the slimy git. He came up with Deadly Nightshade and asphodel, but that was the best he could think of. There wasn't a potion he could remember that combined such ingredients.

If Dr. Lang and Hermione had indeed brewed up a poisonous potion, which was clearly in relation to the Horcrux, it was obvious that they were going to somehow going to use the potion on the Horcrux. That was where he was baffled. Hermione was convinced that the last Horcrux was inanimate as Nagini hadn't been one. Now that she knew what it was, she wasn't telling. Harry was sure that if she'd discovered something to disprove her earlier theory, she would have told him about it.

Then again, he'd also been fairly sure that Hermione would never withdraw from him the way she had for the past two months. Perhaps she had proved herself wrong.

“Are you going to use the potion on the last Horcrux before Riddle?”

“Yes. Very good, Harry.” The doctor leaned back in his chair, sipping at his coffee. “Well, go on, then. Sixteen.”

“Is the last Horcrux a living, breathing, sentient object?” asked Harry nervously, almost afraid of the answer. It had to be the only rational explanation, otherwise why go to all the trouble of poisoning it?

“Yes. Fifteen.”

“Bloody hell,” whispered Harry dazedly, lolling back in his chair. He had hoped that the only being he'd have to kill other than Riddle himself would have been Nagini, but now he knew that wasn't the case. The sixth Horcrux was out there. It was alive, it breathed, and it was capable of rational thought. And he'd have to kill it, all because Tom Riddle wanted to be immortal.

Harry sighed resignedly, and went back to pondering. He tried to concentrate on everything Dr. Lang had said so far, but realized there was one glaring blank. One very important thing. Not something he'd said, but something he hadn't.

“The potion isn't fatal.” Stated Harry, meeting Dr. Lang's eyes. “You're a Healer. You fix people, you don't kill them. And you had that long chat way back with Hermione about mixing Muggle and magical technologies. I'd be willing to bet that this potion, this poison, is somehow helpful. Almost like people who build up immunity to a poison because of prolonged exposure.”

“Absolutely none of that was in a form where I could answer yes, or no, Harry.” The Healer took a long pull of his coffee. Harry was beginning to wonder if it was laced with Ogden's.

“That doesn't matter, because I know I'm right. I just can't figure it all out yet. But I will. Just… no more twenty bloody questions.”

Dr. Lang sighed, and leaned back as he looked wisely at Harry. “Blast us noble Gryffindors.” He took another sip of coffee, and then rested it back on the desk. “Alright, I'll admit it, Harry. I'm worried about Hermione, too. But I know the reasoning behind her madness, and trust me when I say that she would be even worse off if she weren't doing what she is right now.”

Harry didn't understand that. “How could she be any worse off?”

“If she weren't busy finding a way to solve this problem, she'd be otherwise occupying herself with something equally distracting. At least what she's doing right now is productive, even if it's also somewhat harmful,” said the doctor, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “I'll try and cut back on the time she spends here, Harry, but understand that what she and I are working on is very sensitive, and it has to be just right.”

A few moments of silence passed before Harry spoke again. “Why won't you just tell me what's going on?”

The Defense professor smiled a sad smile. “I'm afraid I can't, Harry. Hermione's sworn me to secrecy. I can give out nice cryptic little clues and answer yes or no questions, but I can't say anything directly. Or write it, even.”

Harry understood, recalling perfectly a time in his fifth year when Hermione's immaculate spellwork had labeled Marietta Edgecombe a `SNEAK'. “Well that answers that,” he said softly, his head drooping. “I really should get back to her, Dr. Lang. I've spent too long away as it is. I'll be lucky if she's still in our suite.”

“I understand, Harry. I wish I could be of more help, but when you do see Miss Granger, please tell her that I said everything is going well, and she best get some rest the next few days or she'll be of no use to the process at all. Perhaps that will help you out a bit.”

While the message was rather cryptic, Harry nodded and bid his teacher goodnight before heading back out into the halls.

He didn't even bother checking the Heads suite, because he just knew that Hermione wouldn't be there. If he left her alone for too long she would run off to the library again. Ron couldn't be trusted to watch her; he was often too busy with Luna and was easily distracted.

Harry made straight for the library, and gave a curt nod to Madame Pince as he entered. She huffed, and muttered something about students not understanding that the library had to close sometime. He ignored the elderly witch and made his way to the deepest corner of the Restricted section where, sure enough, Hermione was on the floor with that blasted Book. He was beginning to wish that he'd never found it at all, and was more than half-tempted to chuck it out the nearest window.

Instead, he knelt before his girlfriend and saw that she'd fallen asleep with the book in her lap. There were moist tracks on her cheeks, indicating she'd been crying. Harry was sure that must have had something to do with the book, but just as he glanced at the pages the lettering began to fade away. He caught `an Horcrux' at the top, but that was it. He closed the book and laid it gently on the floor next to Hermione. He shrunk it and tucked it into his pocket, and then gathered her into his arms. They left the library that way with a half-sympathetic, half-disapproving look from Madame Pince. Hermione didn't stir until several minutes after he'd tucked her into bed in Gryffindor tower.

“Where is it?” she asked frantically as her eyes snapped wide open and she bolted upright.

“I'm not giving it back,” said Harry defiantly, his gaze hard.

“Harry, you don't understand, I need that book! If I don't have it there's no telling what might happen!”

He shook his head and lowered himself onto the bed next to her. “I'll tell you what will happen if I don't give you that book. You'll fall asleep. You'll sleep more than four hours. You'll eat properly, you'll stop obsessing and you'll go back to normal.”

“No, I can't! It's late, I should be with Dr. Lang, there's still so much to do!” she cried nervously, wringing her hands.

“He said you weren't needed tonight, Hermione.”

“What?”

Harry sighed, and coaxed his girlfriend into lying back down. “He asked me to tell you that everything is going well, and to get some sleep. You're of no use to him if you can barely function.”

“Preposterous. We're not done all the necessary preparations, we must—“

“NO!” Shouted Harry, standing and crossing his arms over his chest. “I've had it, Hermione. Dr. Lang tells me that whatever it is you're doing, you're doing it for me. Well, I say that's utter crap. You want to do something for me, Hermione? Sleep! Eat! Do anything but obsess over that stupid ruddy book and work on potions with Dr. Lang! Be Hermione Granger again. Come…” his voice broke, and he turned away from her, his head hanging low. “Come back to me,” he whispered, staring at the carpet.

“I'm here, Harry,” said Hermione forlornly.

“No, you're not. You're in the library, the Defense classroom, anywhere but here. And even when you are here, it's like you're not. Your mind is somewhere else, and you're turning into a mess. I know you're eating and sleeping more than before Ron and I convinced you that you were hurting yourself, but Merlin, look at yourself Hermione! You're skinny as a rail, the circles under your eyes are so dark it looks like you've been beaten, and you're bloody possessed! I want my girlfriend back. I want my best friend back. I want Hermione back.”

Tears slipped down Hermione's cheeks at Harry's harsh, yet true, words. He was being so harsh, and yet he didn't even understand why she was truly doing this. Hermione knew if she told him he'd go off and do something rash, and she didn't want that to happen. She settled for the only thing she could think of. “I love you, Harry,” she said quietly, still faced with his back.

“Funny, it certainly hasn't felt like it since the day I gave you that ring.”

Harry whirled around and took her right hand in his, examining the ring. “I gave this to you December twenty-fifth. It's February twenty-first. You've barely let me kiss you in two months, we only share a bed because it's the only way I know you'll sleep longer than three hours, and you've been so withdrawn it's like I don't know you anymore. I miss you.”

Hermione sniffled and wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “Oh, Harry… if only you could understand.”

“That's just it, Hermione. I don't understand, because you won't tell me. Lately I'm beginning to wonder if my promise meant anything to you. I meant it when I said I wanted to marry you. I love you more than anything, Hermione, but if you can't be honest with me… if you can't tell me what's going on…” Harry trailed off there, almost afraid to vocalize the words he was about to speak. “If you can't be honest with me, Hermione, we have no relationship. That sort of thing is built on honesty and trust. You're hiding something from me, and I can't even trust you to feed yourself.”

A sob escaped Hermione's lips, but Harry turned away, pretending not to hear; pretending that the sound didn't break his heart.

“If you change your mind on any of this… I'm moving back into my room. You don't have to talk to me or even see me if you don't want to. Just… if you change your mind, you know where I am.”

And then he left.

<><><><><>

Two hours and forty-eight minutes.

That's how long it had been since Harry had left Hermione's bedroom.

That's also how long it had been since he'd last seen her.

She hadn't come after him. Hadn't said anything. Hadn't tried to stop him from leaving.

Sure, he was technically down the hall, but it was the words that were spoken, the finality in his tone of voice. And she hadn't come for him.

Casting the strongest silencing charm he knew, Harry broke down. He kicked violently at his bed, punched numerous holes in the walls, smashed every mirror in sight, and screamed until his throat was raw and bleeding. He wished with all his heart that he could just be sad about the whole ordeal, but he was furious as well. Furious for being stupid enough to walk away from her when she needed him most, and furious with her for refusing to help even herself.

Three hours and four minutes.

That was when Harry Potter finally allowed himself to cry.

<><><><><>

Saturday morning found Harry limping his way to the hospital wing to see Madame Pomfrey. As he walked in the doors he was greeted by scores of Slytherin robes, and yet he was not comforted by the accuracy in Dr. Lang's statement at the long-ago beginning of term. He was tired. He hadn't slept at all that night; instead he had lain awake praying for some sort of sound, some kind of indication that Hermione was alright to come from her room. Instead, there was only silence.

A few diagnostic spells from Madame Pomfrey confirmed that in the process of taking his anger out on the furniture, Harry had lacerated most of his right hand, exhausted his esophagus, broken three toes, four fingers, and two hearts. The cuts on his hand took little enough time to heal, and a small vial of orange potion took care of the torn tissue in his throat. Some mildly painful bone-mending spells repaired his damaged phalanges, but Madam Pomfrey didn't have anything for a broken heart.

Harry returned dejectedly to his room and stayed there for the remainder of the weekend. He didn't leave for anything other than the loo. Dobby popped in to bring him meals and informed him that he was also doing so for Harry Potter's Grangey, though she was reluctant to each much of what he brought. She hadn't left the suite either, and it killed him to know that she was right there, had faced losing him, and still wasn't telling him the truth of what was going on.

Ron had been furious come Monday morning when Harry finally emerged for class. He had been trying to get into the suite the entire weekend, but both Harry and Hermione had apparently instructed Ogden that neither one of them wanted any visitors, regardless of whom they were. The old whiskey-maker had taken their instructions quite literally, and had refused access to anyone other than Dobby, who could just Apparate in as he liked anyway. McGonagall had stopped by when Ron reported to her that neither Harry nor Hermione had been seen all weekend, but Ogden had reassured her that they were indeed inside, alive, and both wishing to remain undisturbed.

He had done his best to question Harry, but the bespectacled wizard refused to comment. He'd had enough. He didn't want to relive the pain in public; it was rather like rubbing salt in a fresh wound.

Hermione had not been much better either. She'd taken great care to avoid him the last forty-eight hours, and had arrived to class just moments before it was scheduled to begin. Rather than sit in her usual seat with Ron and Harry, she'd gone to a solitary desk at the front of the classroom and remained there. She did the same in every class the trio had together, and was entirely unresponsive when anyone would question her.

In Potions that afternoon, Slughorn had asked her about the properties of Foxglove, more commonly known in the Wizarding World as Dead Man's Bells.

Hermione had just blinked, and shook her head. She knew the answer all right, better than she was willing to admit at that moment. But she couldn't bring herself to speak.

Baffled, Slughorn had moved onto the next student while making a mental notation to ask Minerva to pop in on the Head Girl and see that she was alright.

The rest of the month passed and bled into March in similar fashion, with both Harry and Hermione taking every precaution to avoid one another. Every night Hermione slept two hours or less and Harry cast Silencing charms and sobbed until he had no tears left. Soon Harry was becoming as pale and emaciated as Hermione, as he'd lost his appetite and spent most of his sleeping hours mourning for the loss of her love.

Ron hadn't known what to do. He'd tried to get them to talk to one another, had tried to go between one another, but to no avail. He'd had numerous other students attempt to intervene before moving onto faculty, but even Dr. Lang, McGonagall, and Dumbledore combined couldn't get the pair of them to budge. It seemed as though they were well and truly over. Ron's suspicions were confirmed when he saw several fifth, sixth, and seventh year girls swarming Harry after class one day. In past years, Harry would have politely refused them and gone about his business. But he just stood there and let them attempt to make their advances. Sure, he still turned them down in the end, but he was listening now before he offered them a smile and a kind reason as to why he wasn't interested. Ron didn't realize that Harry now knew how they felt, to be rejected with no explanation, turned down flat with no room for leeway.

With his own heart shattered into pieces, Harry couldn't help but hear the poor girls out. He didn't want anyone else to feel the way he did.

Term passed, N.E.W.T.s were taken, and Hermione scored an average of one hundred and twenty-three percent despite her horrible condition. Harry had not fared so well, but Ron felt that a ninety-three was remarkable in light of the circumstances. They were both looking healthier, as Ron and Dobby had conspired to get them to at least be physically healthy if they insisted on continually wallowing in their own misery. Harry had taken up weight-lifting to resolve his anger and Hermione had returned to practicing yoga in an effort to keep herself calm. On the outside they were the picture of health.

On the inside, they were both falling apart.

Days after N.E.W.T.s, Ron formulated a plan that he quickly put into action. It may not have been brilliant, but it certainly did work. He entered the Heads suite when he knew that both Hermione and Harry were in their respective rooms. Silently he entered Harry's room, and Stunned his best mate. Then he ran into the hallway and began yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Hermione, come quick! There's something wrong with Harry! I was coming to borrow the Map and I found him on the floor!”

Seconds later Hermione was there, by Ron's side. “What is it? What do you think happened?”

Ron shrugged, and began to slowly back out of the room as Hermione focused on Harry's lifeless body. He raised his wand as his back hit the wall of the hallway, and pointed it at the door. “Hermione, I'm sorry, but this is for your own good. For both of you.” And then with the best non-verbal spellwork of Ron's life, he closed and locked the door with a charm he was sure Hermione didn't know. Just for good measure he threw in a bit of blood magic that Ginny had taught him to keep Fred and George out of his private things. He pricked his thumb with a conjured sewing needle, mumbled a few words in Latin, and rubbed his bleeding thumb along the edge of the doorframe.

Dobby popped up beside him a moment later, and snapped his fingers. A glowing blue line appeared around the perimeter of Harry's room, and the tiny elf smiled up at Ron. “Harry Potter's Wheezy forgot that Harry Potter and his Grangey can Apparate in Hogwarts. Dobby has stopped them, sir. House-elf ward that stops other elveses from Apparating.”

“It'll keep them in?” asked Ron, silently thanking the goggle-eyed elf for his help.

Nodding, the house-elf waved his hand and snapped his fingers again. “Now Harry Potter's Wheezy can remove the ward if he be's needing to.” With a small crack, the elf was gone.

Ron sighed, slumping to the floor, hoping with all his strength that this would work. He remained there for a few moments, and when he didn't hear any shouting, he put up a ward that would notify him if anything went wrong, and then left the suite.

<><><><><>

“Ennervate,” whispered Hermione, pointing her wand at Harry from a corner of the room. She had wrapped herself in his comforter and safely tucked herself away between the night table and the wall, hoping it would take him some time to notice her. She had figured out as Ron was locking the door that Harry was alright, and decided to take a few moments to weigh her options before waking him up. She'd decided that she'd let him come out of it, and then come to her.

He sat up and looked around, blinking, seeming to be wondering where the hell Ron had gone off to. Seeing a lack of ginger hair in the room he groaned, and laid back against the carpet, tenderly pressing his fingers into his ribs. Hermione supposed he must've bashed them off something on his way down from the Stunner.

Minutes passed as Harry lay curled in a ball on the floor before the tears started to escape his eyes. He quickly cast a Silencing charm and went about his usual manner of sobbing quietly, occasionally whispering her name. He slowly rose to his feet, his body shuddering with the severity of his cries, before he took aim and punched the wall. Softly muttering a Healing charm over it that he had picked up from Madame Pomfrey; he braced himself and threw another hit.

He continued the process for a minute or so before Hermione figured out that he was punishing himself. He would heal the cut, and then open it again causing himself even more pain. He finally swung around and took a good kick at the bedpost before he heard her whispered “Oh, Harry…” and realized that she was there.

She'd known all along that he'd been hurting over this. She could feel it over their link, and she knew he could feel her anguish. Hermione also knew that Harry would be too absorbed in his grief to distinguish between the two different sources, so she never said anything. She just wished she'd known it had come to this. It was like Harry had invented an entirely new form of self-mutilation, wizard-style, and it killed her to see that he was doing this because of her.

“Hermione,” he rasped, his throat hoarse from crying and venting his frustration.

It was the first time they had spoken since February. And it was June.

She flew to her feet, discarding the comforter behind her as she threw herself into Harry's arms, her tears mingling with his. They stood together like that for a long time, holding each other so tight they could barely breathe and tears making wet salty tracks down their cheeks. Knees buckling beneath them, they tumbled onto the floor still wrapped up in one another's embrace.

Time passed, neither of them was sure how long it was, before they had run out of tears to shed and their bodies were sore and aching from the exhaustion.

Harry helped Hermione to sit on his bed, and then cupped her cheek in his hand as he stared into her eyes. He noticed that they were now a dark brown with a hint of green, and was sad to realize that it was because their tight bond had been broken. “Please,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes searching hers.

Hermione didn't have to ask, she knew exactly what he meant. She reached beneath her robes and pulled out a long silver chain with a vial hanging from it. It was filled with a pearly scarlet potion, and Harry's blood ran cold seeing it. It was the poison, the potion she and Dr. Lang had been working on. And she was holding it out to him.

“It's the only way,” she said quietly, pressing it into his palm. “If there were any other way, Harry, I would have found it by now. But there's been news of Death Eater attacks in the last week. Voldemort's not afraid of you as much anymore. He's coming back. And we don't have the time to keep searching.”

“Searching?” asked Harry, his voice serious. “But you found the last Horcrux. That's why you and Dr. Lang developed this potion to destroy it.”

She nodded, tears springing to her eyes. “Yes.”

“Then what are you looking for?”

“I've tried everything, Harry,” she sighed heavily, wiping at her eyes. “I've looked everywhere; I've done everything I can. But there's no other way.” Her lower lip began to tremble and she bit down on it, but that only succeeded in making her chin quiver as well.

Harry looked puzzled. “I don't understand, Hermione.”

She sobbed then, a great sob that wracked her entire body. Harry drew her into his arms immediately, pressing a kiss to the top of her age, the first in several months.

“I wish you didn't have to understand, Harry. But there's no other way. That poi—potion… It's for you, Harry. For you.”

Harry pulled back and looked at the vial in his palm, horrified. “You want to kill me?”

“No, Harry, no!” she cried, shaking her head. “It's you, don't you see? You're the last Horcrux. You've got to be. It's the only logical explanation. The Book told me.”

In the terrifying reality of the situation, Harry recalled the bit of writing he'd caught in the book all those months ago. `an Horcrux'. He'd thought it was some grammatical issue where `an' was the proper precedent prior to a noun beginning with `h'. Now he realized. `Human Horcrux.' He'd missed half the first word, and had so remained blissfully ignorant.

“But Nagini…” he whispered, his eyes dull and unfocused, his brain refusing to accept the truth.

“Was a diversion,” admitted Hermione, her hands grasping his, winding tightly around the vial. “It's the Elixir of Eternal Rest, Harry.”

“So you're putting me down like a rabid dog, all because Voldemort decided to be a git and stick a bit of his soul into my body.”

Sniffling at the harsh words, Hermione shook her head. “I couldn't possibly.”

“But you could ignore me all those months.”

“Harry, now is not the time for this! I love you. You love me. We still love each other, I just… I didn't know how to tell you. I had to make sure that I was right, that there were no other possibilities. I couldn't afford to make a mistake. And I certainly can't afford to lose you. That's what Dr. Lang and I spent so much time working together. This elixir is the answer, Harry.”

He stared at the vial. “What does it do,” he asked flatly.

“It's a combination of Muggle and magical medicinal herbs, and a chemical component of one of them. It's basically aconite, lily flowers, asphodel, belladonna, oleander, and foxglove. There's some Neriine in it, that's the Muggle chemical, and a bit of hemlock as well.”

“What does it do,” repeated Harry.

“It kills you.”

“Well, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for.”

Hermione sighed, tears still stinging her eyes. “Temporarily. We hope. This combination of ingredients is enough to stop your heart and render you dead. Dead has different definitions these days, most Muggles go by brain wave activity to determine clinical death, but that's recent technology. Horcruxes are old magic; they would consider your heart stopping enough to kill you.”

“So you're going to stop my heart, then what.”

“We have anywhere from four to six minutes to accomplish what's necessary. If I'm right, we will be able to dispel the Horcrux fragment and bring you back.”

“And if you're not?”

Hermione looked down at her feet. “Harry, I can't lose you.”

“Just tell me.”

“If we wait more than 6 minutes, you could suffer from serious brain damage, and end up in St. Mungo's the rest of your life. Even if you're not a Horcrux, there's still the same risk.”

“So by Voldemort's hand or yours I could die.” Harry looked away, focusing on some unseen spot on the wall. “Well, I'd rather it be peaceful than the bastard cursing me into oblivion, I suppose.”

Tears quickly turned into full-blown sobs, and soon Harry was cradling Hermione against his chest again.

“I'm not going to lose you. You're not going to die,” she whispered repeatedly before tilting her head up to kiss him. “Harry…”

He crushed his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

She was barely able to breathe, and broke it. “All these months… I'm so sorry, love.”

“We don't have time to dwell on the past, `Mione. Hell, we might not even have time to dwell on the future.” Said Harry gruffly, almost afraid to look into her eyes. He focused instead on her hands, where she was twisting his promise ring round and round her finger.

She slowly brought her eyes up and he met them nervously.

“Harry…” she whispered, kissing him lightly. “Please. Just for tonight, let's forget all of this. Let's just pretend.”

“Pretend what?” he asked breathily, his lips millimeters from hers.

Holding up her hand with his ring on it, she waggled the finger in front of his eyes. “That this isn't just a promise. It's a guarantee. And that it just happened.”

His eyes widened, as he began to comprehend her meaning. “You—you want me to…”

“Yes, Harry,” she whispered. “I know I've been horrible to you, I've neglected you, but please forgive me. Harry, please. Make love to me. Please…”

She barely managed to get her last plea out before his lips were on hers, and he was crushing her into his chest. He pulled away and slipped the ring from her right hand before looking into her eyes. A flash of green lit up the chocolate brown so fleetingly that he would have sworn he imagined it. He shook his head to clear the image, and then slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.

“Mine,” he growled against her skin as he nipped at her neck.

“Yours,” she gasped, digging her nails into his back.

“Forever,” his voice rumbled, his hands barely moving fast enough to get all of her clothing off. He was impatient, he couldn't take the waiting anymore, and he ripped off her skirt and blouse, tossing them onto the floor with her robe.

Hermione moaned and tore at his shirt, buttons popping off and scattering about the room. Their lips and hands couldn't move fast enough, and Harry was far too impatient to wait for Hermione to get his trousers off. He kicked them off himself before laying her back on the mattress and delving his tongue immediately along her slit. She cried out as his tongue massaged and teased her, and she could feel the liquid heat pooling between her legs. He slipped a finger, then two, inside of her, pumping rhythmically. Hermione gasped and pushed him away, rolling on top of him and biting down hard on his neck. She wanted to mark him as hers and hers alone, in any way possible. As she bent over him to lick and tease her way along his length, she focused her gaze on him and smiled.

“I want you to say it, Harry,” she demanded.

“No, not until he's gone,” he managed to gasp out; his own words suddenly making him wonder why she was doing this. Hadn't she always wanted to wait until they knew there was a future for them? Though, he supposed the part where his chances of dying had increased dramatically had something to do with it.

She glared at him and nipped at the soft flesh at the base of his hardness. “Say it.” Hovering with her mouth poised just over his tip, he could feel her hot breath on him. “Say it!” she repeated.

“Hermione Potter.”

“No. You skipped a step.”

“Dammit Hermione, no! I'll not make that promise to you when we don't even know if I'll live or die.” Harry tried to sit up, to make her understand that he was serious; that he did want to marry her after Voldemort was gone but that he wasn't ready to make that promise until he knew it was for certain, but she pinned him back down and took his entire length into her mouth. He threw his head back in frustration, torn between making her understand and taking the pleasure she was offering. In the end his cock won as he flipped her over and dipped his fingers into her, making sure she was wet enough to take him.

He looked deep into her eyes, again seeing that flash of green fire in them. “Last chance to change your mind,” he offered, lightly pressing into her.

She thrust her hips up in answer and cried out in pain as her hymen broke. Her nails left crescent-shaped imprints in Harry's shoulders, but he didn't notice. He was too busy kissing her brow feverishly, whispering words of encouragement as she bit her lip. Her eyes squeezed shut as she rode out the wave of pain, with Harry still buried within in her but not moving.

I'm okay, she whispered in his mind. Just… give me a second. I love you.

A few seconds later she began to move against him, and it took every ounce of control Harry possessed not to ravish her. He moved with her, slowly at first and then faster, not minding in the least the sharp pain from her nails. She was drawing blood, he was sure of it, but he didn't care. As she rocked her hips against him and arched her back so that her breasts pressed against his chest, Harry would have willingly sworn that he'd died and gone to heaven. Before tonight, he'd thought that there was no better feeling than Hermione's mouth surrounding him. Now he knew better. He knew that he'd be daydreaming about this night in class the next day, or every day for the rest of his life for that matter, and he was barely able to concentrate on anything but the sweet scent of her skin beginning to sweat beneath him.

“Hermione... sweet Merlin, I love you.” He kissed her deeply, pouring every feeling he had for her, every ounce of passion and love into his kiss. Hermione's hand rose to cup his cheek, and he lifted his own hand to meet hers. With a soft smile he took hold of her hand, and pressed it back into the mattress above her head. She continued to dig the nails of her other hand into his back, and kissed him fiercely. Harry slipped his free hand underneath Hermione to cup her arse and lift her up a few inches. The angle he was now thrusting from was driving her into madness, and she cried out as she felt herself near release.

“Oh, Harry… Haaarrryyyy…”

Her nails dug deeper into his back and her ankles crossed behind his hips, pulling him in deeper with each thrust. He moved faster, harder, and moments later they both screamed out in ecstasy. Harry collapsed just off to Hermione's side, still within her though he was slowly going soft. They were both panting, and both so preoccupied with what had just happened that neither noticed every piece of furniture in the room was hovering at least a foot off the floor. Accidental magic certainly did occur at odd times.

With murmured words of love and apology, they fell asleep nestled in each other's arms.

<><><><><>

The next morning was perhaps one of the most awkward that Hermione and Harry had ever experienced, and that was including the night after their dinner in Paris all those months ago. When they awoke next to each other they seemed to have temporarily forgotten that they had made up the night before, and both were terrified.

Harry remembered first, and he pulled Hermione into his arms and lay back down. She froze, terrified, until he reminded her that Ron had locked them in his room the night before, and that she had admitted to him that he was the last Horcrux.

As he looked into her eyes before kissing her, he noticed with satisfaction that they were slowly bleeding from chocolate to emerald, signifying their reestablished connection. He tenderly fingered the ring hanging from her neck, smiling as his lips met hers.

“So now you understand,” stated Hermione quietly, snuggling into the crook of his arm.

Harry nodded. “I didn't like it, but I can understand why you did it.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, keeping the tears at bay. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell the one person you love more than anything else that they're most likely going to die? I've no guarantee that the potion will work, Harry, but it's the best we could come up with. It's either that or you keep vanquishing Riddle's physical form over and over until we find another way.”

Shaking his head, Harry's eyes bore into hers. “No. I trust you. If you say it could work, that's all I need to hear. I don't want to spend the next five or ten years of my life repeatedly going after Voldemort just to buy time to find some other way of getting the bastard's soul out of my body. We'll develop a battle plan, and go from there. I suppose we should tell Ron, then. We'll need him.”

She nodded, silently wishing that things didn't have to be this way.

The reunited couple spent the next several hours in bed, catching up on all they'd missed since December before they left the Heads suite in search of Ron. Dobby had lifted the anti-apparition ward earlier that morning after he'd popped in with breakfast and noted the young Gryffindors asleep in each others' arms. He'd popped out again as silently as he'd come, and gone to notify Harry Potter's Wheezy that all was well with the Head Boy and Girl. Shortly after Ron had entered the suite and removed the blood-keyed locking charm he'd also placed on Harry's room.

Ron wasn't surprised to see Harry and Hermione stroll into the Gryffindor common room hand-in-hand shortly before lunch. A wide grin broke out on his face as he jumped up to greet them, and together they left for the Great Hall.

Hushed whispers fell across the enormous room as the reunited Gryffindor Trio strolled down the aisle towards their usual seat at the table. Most of the whispers were about the couple's joined hands than the Trio standing together once more, and those that weren't were too inaudible to discern. Ron noticed a smile on the Headmistress' face, and he acknowledged it with a nod.

Both Harry and Ron noted with satisfaction that Hermione's healthy appetite had returned. It no longer seemed like she was being forced to down the food on her plate, she was actually enjoying eating it with gusto. Harry noticed she was digging back into some of her favourite foods like garlic mashed potatoes and roasted chicken, and she'd been hungrily eyeing the glazed carrots on Ron's left. After it had all been washed down with a glass or two of pumpkin juice, the Trio made their way to the Defense classroom where they settled in for the afternoon to develop a battle plan with Dr. Lang.

<><><><><>

After a week of meeting with the Defense professor and several trusted Order members such as Tonks and Lupin joining in those meetings, a plan was in place. It didn't seem like a whole lot of time to prepare for the final battle that would decide the fate of the Wizarding world, but there was only so much time left before Riddle and his Death Eaters were sure to strike out again.

As soon as all parties involved were one hundred percent positive that they had everything they needed to be prepared, Harry paid a visit to the broadcasting building of the Wizarding Wireless Network. Rather than commandeer the Wireless as Riddle had done so many months ago, he had made an appointment to appear on the station. Shortly after his introduction by the radio deejay, Harry cleared his throat and took the microphone in his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of the Wizarding world, I am Harry Potter. I'm sure you all remember a rather terrifying broadcast last year where a rather malevolent wizard known to many of you as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took over this station. This wizard is Lord Voldemort, which is an anagram of his real name, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

To his credit, the deejay didn't even flinch at the name. In fact, he grinned and shot Harry a thumbs-up.

“You all know me as the Boy Who Lived, or The Chosen One. Blimey, even as Saviour of the Wizarding World. But many of you forget that I am simply a seventeen-year-old boy named Harry Potter, who wants nothing more than to live a happy life and finish school without the fear of death hanging over my head. I can't do this, however, because Tom Riddle won't let me. He continues his mad attempts to take over our world and kill me, even though they're all futile.

“I am here today, speaking to you over the WWN, to inform not only the Wizarding public but the crazed man that styles himself as Lord Voldemort as well, that it's time to end this. Tommy Riddle, I'm calling you out to finish this once and for all. Be at Hogwarts, the morning of June thirtieth. It's time for this war to end. The morning of June thirtieth, Hogwarts grounds. Be there, Riddle. Or I'll come find you.”

<><><><><>

*hides from angry readers and rotten fruit being thrown.*

I swear, I'm not killing Harry. Just trust me. Please. I've seen stories be abandoned by their readers for employing this particular theory but I beg of you, hear me out before you give up on me!

-->

A/N: Holy crap, it's a holiday miracle!

Well, here we are, folks, the last chapter of Final Battle. It's been fun, and I really appreciate the support and the readership. I'll keep this note short, but bear in mind when I post the epilogue following this, there will be a MUCH longer note accompanying it. Also, major apologies for how long it's taken me to get this out. My life has been absolute insanity since late September and I have been trying to work on this in between everything but, well… I've been going quite spare. I've been writing this in the Laundromat, at work, and to and from Toronto on a coach bus not to mention when I really should have been sleeping, so I've been trying, really! I'm just incredibly anal retentive over this chapter as it is technically the last one and it seems like no matter how much I fix it, I still don't like it.

Three notes on the last chapter.

1. Yes, I am now aware that June doesn't have a 31^st. I went back and fixed that, please forgive my idiocy.

2. I used acronym where I should have used anagram when relating I Am Lord Voldemort to Tom Marvolo Riddle. Again, I am an idiot. Error fixed.

3. A few have said that Harry and Hermione's first time seemed rushed. Honestly, it was. Really, who has a perfect first time with rose petals and candlelight and swooning and whatnot? First times are often awkward or quicker than one hopes. I really don't have much to base it on anyway—I barely remember my first time but what I do remember wasn't romantic at all. I was aiming for reality rather than flowery sweetness. It wasn't a `pretend it's our wedding night' thing for Hermione with the ring. It was more of an `I know I wanted to wait until we were married, so let's just pretend we are because you could very well die' sort of thing.

And with that said, on with the show!

Disclaimer:

“Didn't you promise me that I could be myself for the last disclaimer?” asks Lang-Stewie.

Crystal shrugs. “Eh. So I lied. So what?”

“Damn you, you vile woman!”

“Oh keep your diaper on. I've got something better in mind for today's disclaimer.”

Suddenly Lang finds himself swathed in an ominous black cloak, with a high quality tux underneath to accompany it.

“Not this Snape crap again,” he mutters.

“Try checking your face.”

He raises his hands to feel across his forehead and cheeks, and discovers that half of his face is covered by a white porcelain mask.

“You're way too obsessed with this musical,” grumbles Phantom-Lang.

“I could've turned you into Fiyero or Boq from Wicked, y'know. I think you'd prefer being the Phantom to a Winkie Prince with blue diamond skin or a lonely Munchkin. Now get on with it.” Crystal conveniently leaves out the part where Fiyero gets all the girls.

Phantom-Lang takes center stage and begins to sing to the tune of one verse and the chorus of the title song.

Those who have read your work

Know the end is near

They wait for the last chapter

Though the ending, they fear

Your plotline is all yours

But the characters you don't claim

J K Roooooooooooooooooooooooooooowling owns Harry Potter

Though HBP was lame.

“Thanks Will.”

He glowers and with a sexy, dramatic swish of his cloak that has all the Phangirls in the audience swooning, he disappears.

As he vanishes from sight, a body comes swinging down from the rafters a la Joseph Buquet. Upon closer examination, it is Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps Phantom-Lang is good for something after all.

<><><><><>

It was dawn, 30 June 1997. The early morning mist shrouded Hogwarts in a haze, giving it an eerie appearance. Within the castle walls the only people remaining were sixth and seventh year students, faculty, Order members, and nearly the entire Auror corps complete with arsenal. All students fifth year and under had been sent home shortly following Harry's broadcast on the WWN, despite their many protests.

Every day leading up to this one had been spent training in every spare moment. New spells were practiced, potions brewed and stockpiled, and the Aurors even pitched in to train the more advanced students in combat. They had brought with them supply kits that Harry would have sworn came from Agent Q himself. Filled to the brim with every field medicine Healing potion, various bandages, an Invisibility cloak, and several shrunken weapons such as swords, the Auror kits were more useful than Harry would have ever imagined. There was even an assortment of products from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, such as shield hats and Peruvian Instant Darkness powder. He had even found an ingenious magical version of a walkie-talkie that worked much like the two-way mirror Sirius had given him. All he would have to do was tap the communicator with his wand, and clearly speak the name of the person he wished to talk to. It was rather like a portable Floo, but without the fire. A kit had been distributed to every former DA member, and the Aurors did their best to train them in the short time they had. Everything was terribly rushed but it was the best that could be done.

Harry stood in the Astronomy tower looking out from the parapet, his face stony and his mouth a grim line. It seemed fitting to him that he waited there. Dumbledore had died here, beginning his next great adventure. And on this foggy morning, Harry was about to embark on a great adventure of his own. If all went well, a Voldemort-free adventure. The next several minutes were spent silently contemplating the upcoming battle, and how he and his fellow students would fare. It was all he could hope that his teachings in the DA had some effect on them as he thought of the battle preparations going on below in the Great Hall.

He trained his gaze on the horizon and the grounds of Hogwarts, his eyes carefully searching for any sign of Tom and his followers. His heart, oddly enough, was beating steadily rather than like a Bludger just released as he'd thought it would on this day. He felt prepared. It was an odd feeling, as nearly every other time he'd come in contact with Riddle had been entirely random or unexpected. Harry found that he liked it, in its own strange way. Though he couldn't guarantee the outcome of their final battle, he knew that he was going into it with all he had. Hands rising to his neck, he began to fiddle with the silver chain hanging there. Dangling from the end of it was the small vial of potion Hermione had given him, the Elixir of Eternal Rest. He had complete faith in her potion-making abilities, but the effects of the Elixir made him fairly nervous. There was such a small window of time for their plan to be executed flawlessly, and he couldn't help but dwell on the negative possibilities. He trusted Ron and Hermione to get the job done if his four to six minutes passed with no luck, but he wasn't entirely sure that their efforts would render Voldemort permanently extinguished. After all, the prophecy had said that it was kill or be killed, and if he died as a result of the potion or faulty resuscitation he was fairly sure it wouldn't count as Riddle's doing.

No, it was by Harry's hand that the vile man had to die, he reminded himself fiercely. And he would be the one to do it. Damn the potions, and damn the odds. It came down to him and Tom, and it would be Harry that came out victorious. It just had to be.

A pair of arms encircled themselves around his waist from behind; small feminine hands pressing flat against the planes of his chest. He leaned back into Hermione's embrace, never taking his eyes off the grounds. Her warmth was comforting against his skin, as was her breath on his neck. She pressed herself firmly against him, savouring the contact.

They stood like that for a few minutes before she came to face Harry, and pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss before returning to his right side. No words were spoken; on this morning, there was no need for them. They had always been comfortable together in silence and today was no different. It would have been difficult trying to find the appropriate words to say, anyway. It was such a strange occasion, and waiting for Riddle to appear seemed to render Hermione's extensive vocabulary useless.

Five minutes later Ron joined them, unusually quiet though it wasn't surprising giving the circumstances. He stood on Harry's left, surveying the grounds in front of them.

“At least it's not raining,” commented Ron gravely, desperate to break the quiet tone of the room. He had never been comfortable joining in their moments of silence, and was far too nervous to try it now. The sky was fairly cloudy, but no storms had broken through yet.

Hermione nodded in agreement; Harry didn't move but he shared the same sentiment. Rainfall would be an issue, making it difficult to see during the battle and the conditions of the ground rather slippery. He was silently thankful that the weather was fairly decent that day, though he knew that an Impervious on the lens of his glasses would take care of part of the problem. He thought that perhaps the cooler air was better for battle conditions than a dry or muggy summer heat, but the rain that might come with that air would most definitely be a problem.

Abruptly, he turned towards the stairs leading back to the rest of Hogwarts. “Let's get this over with, shall we?”

Ron nodded, and headed down the stairs first. Hermione moved to follow him, but Harry grasped her wrist and pulled her to himself in a searing kiss. One hand snaked into her hair and held on tightly while the other encircled her waist and pulled her close. He poured every feeling he'd ever had for her into the kiss as his tongue swirled around hers, burning her lips into his memory. Just in case.

“It'll be okay, Harry. I promise.” Said Hermione softly as he released her, her eyes locked on his own.

“I know. I trust you,” he replied, kissing her gently once more. “Let's go.”

They met Ron at the bottom of the stairs and ventured to join the rest of the battalion in the Great Hall where everyone was waiting. Overnight the Hall had been transfigured into an infirmary. It was rather morbid, but precautions had to be taken and Madame Pomfrey was certain that her Hospital Wing wouldn't be large enough to hold all the injured they were expecting. She had called in several favours over at St. Mungo's for medical equipment and supplies, and in doing so had gained several volunteer Healers. They were all huddled in a corner in one giant lime green mass, occasionally sipping at pumpkin juice with a calming draught mixed in. They were nervous. They all were, and the Healers especially didn't want to be suffering from their tense state.

“Ahh, there you are,” said Doctor Lang as he approached; his face serious and his wild hair surprisingly tamed for the occasion. He dug into his pockets and held out two folded squares of fabric to Hermione and Ron. They immediately recognized them as Invisibility Cloaks, and nodded in thanks. Harry had his own safely tucked into the pocket of his pants. Hermione and Ron opted to do the same. Though they had each obtained a Cloak in their Ministry-issued Auror kits, it never hurt to have a spare. It would be much easier to grab the cloaks from their pockets in the heat of the moment rather than to pull out the Auror kit, un-shrink it, find the cloak, and then put it on. They spoke quietly with the professor, going over last minute details of their battle plan and ensuring that they had all their necessary equipment. With a conjured chalkboard and some chalk they quickly outlined their required formations and several back-up plans should Riddle come at them in an unexpected manner. When he was questioned lengthily by Hermione, the eccentric older man patted the pockets of his cargo pants in reassurance that he had everything they would need. He prepared for the battle just as he prepared for class, and wasn't planning on failing their trust by arriving unprepared.

The trio, along with several of the Aurors, students, and anyone generally planning on participating in combat, had opted to wear something similar to Muggle army fatigues. They were all sporting dark green cargo pants and matching cotton long sleeve t-shirts. It was just cool enough out to warrant long sleeves, and the pants were a bit heavy, but the extra pockets they provided would come in handy. Each DA member wore two wand holsters; one on their wand arm and one on their thigh, each for convenience. All of the students carried a miniature version of the Auror kits that had been given to the Gryffindor trio, with enough shrunken vials of potion to supply four or five injured parties. Fred and George had sent a special batch of products for the students, including several choices of Skiving Snackboxes. Harry wasn't entirely sure what good a Puking Pastille would do in the heat of battle, but he could see the merit of a Nosebleed Nougat or a Fainting Fancy. It would be a fairly easy way to trick a Death Eater into thinking you were heavily injured or dead before hexing them senseless and then snapping their wand.

Every witch or wizard had several Blood Replenishing and Pepper Up potion vials tucked away inside their pockets, and many of them also had a second wand. Upon the arrival of the Aurors, they had immediately insisted on obtaining a second wand for the three Gryffindors, and any DA member who showed promise in fighting double-wanded. Ollivander had been happy to provide them, and had been quite receptive when the Ministry suggested supplying group Portkeys to bring the students directly to his shop in safety rather than having the master Wandmaker shrink his entire stock and bring it with him. While there was not much time for practice with the new wands, they would serve their purpose. The use of two wands was not a skill that had to be especially honed to be effective. Harry's wand especially came in handy; to prevent his primary wand bonding with Voldemort's once more. He had also been practicing with Hermione's first and second wands, just in case. Their emotional bond seemed to extend to their magical equipment, and they weren't taking any chances. The Aurors had graciously taken on the roles of teachers without complaint, and were spending the days leading up to the battle working tirelessly with every willing student. Their lives were on the line just as much as everyone else's, and like good soldiers, they had accepted their duties and performed them exceptionally well.

The assembled group was fidgeting nervously, waiting the arrival of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Though they were all not looking forward to the task at hand, several of the more experienced fighters knew that the wait was the worst part.

Unable to take the anticipation anymore, the Trio marched out the front doors of the castle and into the morning mist. The sun had risen shortly after four in the morning; Harry knew, he had watched it from the parapet of the Astronomy tower. He'd not slept all night, and he doubted Hermione and Ron hadn't either. It was nearly half gone five, and they were nervous. Ron supposed perhaps Riddle's perception of dawn was different from their own (something about evil Dark Lords and vampires loathing sunrise, he had muttered), but soon his concerns disappeared.

Moments after they took their positions on the castle steps, a sea of black cloaks began to appear on the walkway from Hogsmeade. It amused Harry to know that the Death Eaters still couldn't Apparate into the castle, and were forced to trudge up the pathway like Muggles. In fact, he was surprised that they had not arrived by Portkey or Apparition directly outside the gates; perhaps they were going for the dramatic `strength in numbers' appearance. He spotted Tom heading the procession, in elegant black robes trimmed in silver and emerald green, much like those he had worn at the rally in Diagon Alley. His skin was paler than ever and his eyes were blood-red slits set high on his bony face. His nose was still nearly non-existent, and his thin lips were curled into a sneer. He was flanked by Lucius Malfoy on his left and Bellatrix Lestrange on his right.

Ron turned and ran back into the castle, shouting as he went that the time had come and the Death Eaters were on the path to Hogwarts. Inside Harry could hear the students and Aurors scrambling towards the great oak doors, grabbing kits and weapons as they ran.

As the swarm of darkness neared the gates, the heavy wrought-iron flew open and Death Eaters began swarming the castle. The warriors for the Light side spilled out of the doorway behind Ron and directly into their oncoming opponents. Curses were thrown, several combatants were resorting to hand-to-hand fighting, and there were even several swords clashing. Harry watched as Ernie MacMillan took a long sword to a Death Eater's wand, cleanly slicing it in two. He silently applauded the Hufflepuff, watching with pride as he Stunned and tied up the now unarmed Death Eater. He saw several other students winning one-on-one battles with the dark wizards and witches, taking them down in various creative methods that would have earned them house points in a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom duel.

Throughout the entire first five minutes of the onslaught, despite their best efforts, not a single Death Eater came anywhere near the golden Trio. Voldemort had disappeared within the sea of black robes, and Harry's visual search for the Dark Lord turned up nothing.

Behind the Death Eaters came legions of trolls and giants, many waving clubs haphazardly through the air. The Dementors that hovered above them were not pleased with their behaviour and swooped down to let their frigid presence be felt among the giants and trolls, bringing them back in line.

The evil soul-suckers flew over the battle, grabbing anything they could find in green and ensnaring it in their icy clutches. They were rarely successful, though their first swarm caught several witches by surprise. Hannah Abbot had frozen in terror the moment she saw them approaching and was the first victim to be kissed. The others quickly learned from her sad mistake and began casting Patronuses any time they felt the slightest chill. Better safe than sorry, and the ethereal creatures seemed to have a negative effect on the Death Eaters anyway. Harry supposed that all that positive energy was like poison to their dark souls, and was pleased to know that they were affected by a Patronus.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron spotted Luna fighting with Rodolphus Lestrange. He was casting several Cutting charms at the quirky Ravenclaw, and she was bleeding profusely as a result. She struggled to bring up a Protego shield but the blood loss was impeding her magical abilities. Ron tore across the battlefield, away from his fight with another Death Eater, screaming at the top of his lungs as he pointed his wand at Lestrange's head and yelled “REDUCTO!”

With a sickening pop and a spray of blood and brain matter, Rodolphus's head exploded. Ron, having shown his true strength in the face of danger, muttered several Healing charms over Luna's wounds and tipped a vial of Blood Replenishing potion down her throat followed by the Pepper Up he had stored in his pocket. She stood shakily, and her clear blue eyes met Ron's. He swore that she had never looked so beautiful in her life, even with the crimson droplets and pulpy grey matter randomly stuck to her skin and clothing. He hastily escorted her into the Great Hall, used a cleaning charm on her face, and kissed her fiercely. “Love you,” he whispered.

“I know you do, Ronald,” she replied as Madame Pomfrey approached.

The MediWitch nodded at Ron and shooed him out of the Hall. “I'll have her back to you soon enough, Mr. Weasley, now go!”

Ron returned to the steps to find Harry and Hermione back-to-back, firing curses at Death Eaters coming at them from every angle. He quickly joined in the fray and insinuated himself between them, so that his back was to the great oak doors with Harry on his left and Hermione on his right, and began returning the fire from the Death Eaters.

Far across the battlefield Harry noticed a swarm of shiny metal and dark skin coming in their direction, and his heart leapt into his throat. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but as he looked more carefully he saw that the mass of on comers was a Goblin army. He smiled inwardly, recalling Ragnok's long-ago promise that the Goblins would help him in any way they could. He supposed they had heard his call-out of Lord Voldemort on the Wireless, and came to join in the fun.

As the battalion neared, he saw that their pointy teeth were exposed by their lips twisted into a sinister grin, and he shuddered inwardly, thankful that he was not on the receiving end of the Goblins' ire. It was incredible watching them as they gladly took on Death Eaters, almost happily, slicing into their jugulars and other vital body parts with their broad swords. Heaving a great sigh as he deflected an oncoming curse, Harry was grateful that they had come to join the fray.

Harry, Bellatrix is coming at you, Hermione informed him as she took out the cloaked figure nearest to her.

He turned and aimed to fire, but Bellatrix held up her hand. “Aww, Potter wants to play,” she taunted, grinning. All the other Death Eaters fell back as the heavy-lidded witch approached, clearly as fearful of her as they were of their Master. Harry supposed he couldn't blame them; Bellatrix was nearly as vile as her master, and equally sadistic.

“What do you want,” growled Harry, his wand pointed directly between her eyes and a curse on the tip of his tongue.

“The Dark Lord wishes for you to fulfill your promise to him,” she said, cackling. “He wants to finish it. Once and for all.”

“And you're telling me this why?” he retorted, wishing the crazed witch would leave him alone and let him get on with the battle. “In case you haven't noticed, I have other slimy gits to take care of before I can go finish him off.” Ron and Hermione stood at his side, wands trained on her.

A sneer curled her lip as she threw back her head and cackled once more. “Little Potter is too silly to understand! He thinks the Big Bad Death Eaters are all he has to deal with!” she mocked in that oh-so-annoying baby voice. “I am to lead you to him,” she said seriously. “He'd hate for you to be injured on your way to your death. The Dark Lord would prefer you healthy and uninjured, so that he may kill you properly. Wouldn't want to leave any doubts about his supremacy over you. You understand, of course.”

Get your cloak ready, love. Ron, too. “Lead the way,” said Harry, stepping towards Bellatrix but still keeping his wand out.

She smiled maniacally and turned her wand on her fellow Death Eaters. Though most seemed unfazed, as they were used to her insanely odd behaviour, quite a few still found their lips forming a round `o' of surprise. “Some of you weren't listening when Master said the boy was to be unharmed. Crucio!”

The small pack of Death Eaters surrounding the trio fell to the ground, writhing in madness. Bellatrix laughed and turned her back on them.

Harry followed her as she walked away without a trace of regret for causing pain to her colleagues. In the hustle and bustle of maneuvering through various skirmishes and stepping over bodies (Thankfully, most of them dressed in black and not green), Harry lost Hermione and Ron as they disappeared under their cloaks. As he passed McGonagall taking down a particularly scarred Death Eater he spied Doctor Lang being tugged by some unseen force in his general direction. Moments later he disappeared from view as well, and Harry resisted the temptation to breathe a sigh of relief.

As he followed Bellatrix he spied the Patil sisters distracting a particularly stupid troll as Lavender Brown levitated a large rock over its head and dropped it directly on his skull. Cho Chang and Michael Corner were simultaneously casting their Patronus charms in the direction of most of the Dementors, keeping them at bay as long as possible. Bill and Charlie Weasley spied their attempts, and rushed over to help. Soon other wizards and witches came to help, and with ten Patronus charms at full blast, the Dementors couldn't get anywhere near the battle.

Harry passed Ginny, standing bravely before Draco Malfoy who was crumpled on the grass with his leg broken beneath him and his wand snapped in front of him. She was staring down Lucius Malfoy, who had shown no love for his son when he had hit him with the Bone-Breaking Hex and rapped his wand over his broken leg to snap it.

“I'll not let you!” she was shouting at the platinum blonde, and Harry was proud of her defiance in the face of death. “If you want Draco, you'll have to go through me!”

He lost sight of her for a moment as he passed another fight, and as he caught another glimpse he saw Lucius Malfoy surrounded by the distraction Bat Bogeys as Ginny was shouting “REDUCTO!” in his general direction. The power of her spell was driven by her love for Draco, and it slammed into Malfoy Sr. full force. As she fell onto Draco and activated an Emergency Portkey to bring him into the Great Hall, she didn't even notice that there wouldn't be anything left of Malfoy to bury when the battle was over.

Harry silently congratulated her, along with Ron from earlier, for not resorting to use an Unforgivable Curse. The Reductor hex was just as deadly if well-aimed, and nowhere near dark magic. He was proud of both of them, especially Ginny for standing up to Draco's father. Not even Draco had been able to do that. He had stopped questioning their odd relationship long ago, and instead was happy for the redhead. She had succeeded in bringing Draco over to the light side, and for that he was grateful.

As they vanished with the Portkey he hurried to keep up with Bellatrix, who seemed to be leading him away from the battle. He looked around frantically for the warping of an Invisibility Cloak when he heard Hermione's reassuring voice in his mind.

We're right behind you, Harry. Don't worry about us.

He resisted the urge to smile as he carried on, and nearly tripped over Terry Boot's leg. The unfortunate Ravenclaw had been felled by an unknown Death Eater, so Harry quickly knelt to slap a Portkey on his robes before continuing to follow Bellatrix. He didn't have time to feel guilty for his senseless death; he'd do that after Voldemort was gone.

He passed another former DA member, Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was bravely facing Nott Sr. He was shielding and deflecting the heavy Death Eater's many curses, while still managing to fire the occasional hex. Harry smiled proudly as Justin slipped a Stunner past his shield and knocked the Death Eater over. He silently congratulated Justin as he bound the large man and Stunned him several more times for good measure. His fellow students had learned well.

Soon enough Harry realized that Bellatrix was leading him away from the battle, around the back of the castle and towards the cliffs by the Great Lake. He began to entertain ideas of tossing Voldemort over the edge and feeding him to the Giant Squid or the Merpeople, but decided it might give them indigestion.

“Enjoy your death, Potter,” said Bellatrix nastily before heading back to the battle.

Nervously Harry stepped around the corner of the old castle, and spotted Riddle waiting for him.

“Well good morning, Potter. How nice of you to join me! I see you have come for our duel?” said Riddle in a snide tone.

Ready?

Ready, Harry! We're here!

Rather than dignify Tom with a response, Harry took hold of his holly and phoenix feather wand, and cried “Expelliarmus!” at the exact same moment Voldemort cast the Killing Curse.

Apparently some things never changed.

The red and green beams of light from their wands connected and a golden light exploded from where they emerged, spreading out around them in a circle thirty feet in diameter. Exactly as it had happened in his fourth year, Harry was trapped inside the golden cage of light with Lord Voldemort. This time, however, he did not have to struggle to keep the green light from hitting him. He stood there, calmly holding his wand as he kept the light in the middle of the circle.

“I know, Tom,” said Harry cryptically, surveying the skeletal wizard through his glasses. “I know about the Horcrux. And I know Nagini wasn't one. Remember Nagini? Giant snake, twelve feet long, used to follow you around? I killed her. Right under your nose.”

Riddle was furious, he remembered coming across the body of his beloved pet, but as his wand was connected with Harry's, there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it. All of his magic was focused on the pending Killing Curse, and he couldn't spare any of it to wandlessly stun the boy. He wanted him dead once and for all; diverting his magic to a second spell would not accomplish that.

“But you had everyone fooled, didn't you? We all thought you had seven Horcruxes, that one of them was Nagini. We were right about how many they were, but even you didn't realize that you had seven until you tried to make Nagini into one and failed. There wasn't enough soul left in you to split again. You overlooked something serious, Tommy boy. When you set out to make your Horcruxes, your soul didn't know there would be seven. Each murder you committed split your soul in half. First Horcrux, you were left with half a soul. Second Horcrux, one quarter of a soul. So on and so forth until you made your seventh Horcrux unknowingly, and were left with one sixty-fourth of your soul in your own body. How was one one-hundred-and-twenty-eighth of your soul to sustain you? That was when you realized your error. That you'd inadvertently made me your seventh Horcrux the night you killed my parents.

“You went into Godric's Hollow that night intending to make a Horcrux from my murder, probably with some long-lost item of Ravenclaw's that we have yet to discover. You'd already done the Gryffindor shield which my parents somehow ended up with, Ravenclaw was the only founder you had left. But when my mother's love prevented you from killing me, you evaporated on the spot along with your clothing and anything else you brought with you. The Ravenclaw artifact disappeared along with the rest of you, so the piece of your soul that was expended went looking for the nearest host: me. I am your seventh Horcrux, Tom.”

Tom Riddle had never been so frightened in his entire life. The boy knew that he had made a mistake. And he was foolish enough to kill himself in an effort to kill Tom. His death was almost imminent and with his wand bound he didn't have the ability to perform the refined magic necessary to stop the boy. He was just this side of pissing his pants in fear when Harry began to speak again.

“So you see my dilemma, Tom. For you to die, I have to die. Otherwise I'll spend the rest of my life chasing down your shadow with one sixty-fourth of your soul stuck inside of me until I find another way around it. Here's the kicker though; pay attention, you'll like this one. You're afraid to die, Tom. That's why you made all these Horcruxes in your desperate grasp for immortality. You want to live forever, to rule the Wizarding World for all eternity. Dying would put a big kink in those plans, wouldn't it?

“But me? I'm not scared of death. You've been trying to kill me since I was a baby, I've kind of gotten used to the idea. So while you're just now confronting your greatest fear, I'm ready for this. I'm ready to die. Are you?”

Before Riddle could say anything, Harry used his left hand to pull the chain from his neck and pop the cork from the potion vial. “Bottoms up, Tommy boy. See you in the afterlife.”

I love you, Hermione.

See you soon, Harry.

He tossed the potion down his throat and snapped his wand upwards, breaking the connection. The green jet of light harmlessly slammed into a rock as Harry's disarming charm hit its mark and Riddle's wand went flying. He was too busy convulsing on the grass to notice however, as the potion began to take hold of his heart and squeeze like a hot iron band. As Harry twitched and the blackness overcame him, his last thought was Hermione's smiling face.

Twenty feet away, Riddle collapsed on the grass, hunting furiously for his wand. He looked up to see the wispy fragment of his soul float out of Potter's mouth and upwards in the cool morning air. “No!” he shouted angrily, becoming more frantic in his search for his wand. “Get over here!” he demanded of the soul fragment, wishing that for once wandless magic would serve him some greater use than showy effects to frighten his followers into obedience.

As he raised his head to search within his vicinity for his wand with his long, bony fingers clawing at the grass, he saw the blood traitor and the Mudblood throwing off Invisibility cloaks. And they were not alone.

The red-headed boy took a step towards Potter's body, aimed his wand at the wisp of smoke, and yelled “DESTRUCRUX!”

Voldemort screamed in agony as he felt the piece of his soul being ripped apart, and the one sixty-fourth of the soul remaining inside of him calling out to its counterpart. It was a greater torture than he had ever felt, and through the haze of pain he vaguely wondered if there was some way of harnessing the sensations he was feeling and creating a spell with them to keep his followers in line. It was a credit to his sadistic nature that he was able to form such a thought despite the fact that he felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Through his pain he saw the Mudblood girl was crying over Potter's body. The leonine man that had come with them was pushing her out of the way, and madly pounding his fists on Potter's chest in some absurd rhythm. Another sweep of pain greater than his strongest Cruciatus washed over him, and he passed out.

<><><><><>

Back on the battlefield, Ginny and Luna were staring down Death Eaters. They were accompanied by Lupin, Moody, and McGonagall as they fired off hexes and curses. Just on the other side of the field they could see Professors Sinistra, Vector, and Flitwick valiantly doing the same thing they were. There were bodies everywhere, most of them clad in black but far too many in green, and from her last trip up to the Great Hall to bring an injured Anthony Goldstein Ginny knew that there were twice the number of injured as there were dead.

Suddenly a piercing scream rang out over the battlefield, causing everyone who still had two working hands to cover their ears.

The Death Eaters looked disheartened as the scream died. Ginny took this as a good sign and valiantly charged forward. “It's Riddle!” she shouted to the Light side. “He's in pain! Harry's winning!”

With her proclamation, the warriors for the light began to fight even harder than before, many of them calling upon adrenaline and emergency magical reserves they didn't even realize they had. Black-robed figures fell left and right, and soon Ginny's group had cleared a path towards the three professors fighting on the other side of the field.

Smiling inwardly, Ginny's fierce determination lead to her felling the nearest Death Eater as her thoughts turned to Draco. She would win this battle for him.

Luna was having similar thoughts, having been healed by Madam Pomfrey and determined fit to return to the field. She and Ginny together would win the battle. She knew they could do it. When she had woken up that morning she had seen the shadow of a Barnacle-Crested Dingbat in the morning mist; a well-known symbol of victory. There was no doubt in Luna's mind that the Light would be victorious.

The Creevey brothers came running breathlessly towards the girls, bringing Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas with them. “We've got all the ones closer to the lake,” explained Colin between breaths, his ever-present camera hanging from his neck. It had scorch marks on it; Ginny supposed he used it to deflect a curse as he had back in their first year with the Basilisk.

Fred and George followed several feet behind them, dragging their father with them. “What was that blasted screaming?” asked Fred.

“Sounded like a banshee,” commented George.

“It had to have been Riddle,” replied Ginny, sending several curses at the Death Eaters approaching them warily.

“Harry did it? He really did it?” asked Arthur hopefully before turning to deflect a Stunner coming at his daughter.

Ginny shook her head. “Not yet, they're still alive. Draco told me that the Mark binds them to him, when he dies they will too.”

Several more jets of light flew at the group, but the fighters kept on retaliating. The stronger witches and wizards held up a shield while the weaker ones fired from beneath it, which ensured casualties to the Dark side while keeping them safe.

“He never took the Mark, did he?” Mr. Weasley asked his daughter tentatively.

She shook her head as she fired a Jelly-Legs Jinx over her father's shoulder at an approaching Death Eater. “Dad, Draco's safe. I promise. If he'd succeeded in his mission he would have been forced to take the mark, but you know how that ended.”

His curiosity satisfied, albeit at a rather odd time, Arthur refocused his attention on the few remaining Death Eaters as the Hogwarts staff, DA members, and various Weasleys fired every spell they knew at the oncoming men and women in black robes.

<><><><><>

Ron stood guard over Voldemort's unconscious body as Hermione and Dr. Lang performed cardio-pulmonary resuscitation on Harry. He checked the time piece Hermione had given him the night before, just for this occasion. Three minutes. They had one more before Harry would enter dangerous territory and potentially suffer from brain damage. Or not come back at all.

Dr. Lang let out a cry of frustration and thrust his hand deep into his white lab coat, pulling out another vial and an ominous looking syringe with an equally ominous needle. It reminded Ron of just why Muggle doctors terrified the hell out of him.

“Hermione, listen to me. I need you to force this potion into Harry, and then hold him still while I use this.” He gestured with the syringe, and Hermione's eyes widened.

“You said that CPR would work!”

“I WAS WRONG!” screamed the doctor angrily, his eyes betraying how guilty he felt. “This potion is the antidote to the Elixir. I brewed it last week just in case this happened.”

“And the needle?” asked Hermione as she frantically worked Harry's jaw open, pouring the potion down his throat.

“Adrenaline. Epinephrine. Same thing. Hold him still. It'll shock his heart into functioning again.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and looked away, and a moment later Ron understood why. He watched in horror as the crazy Defense professor raised his arm high over his head, and sank the frighteningly long needle into his best mate's chest, directly into his heart. A crimson stain began to spread from the needle's entry point as Dr. Lang depressed the plunger, delivering the Muggle chemical to Harry's bloodstream, and then resumed CPR.

Ron was fairly sure that, had he been born a Muggle, he might've preferred dying to being treated by a doctor. Watching that shiny steel penetrate his best friend's skin and sink to the hilt was enough to make him thank Merlin for the gift of St. Mungo's.

As he pounded his hands on Harry's chest, the doctor silently cursed magic and its interference with Muggle electronic devices. What he wouldn't give for a defibrillator at that moment? He prayed with every fiber of his being that he would be able to bring Harry back; having the death of the Boy Who Lived on his hands was not something he was looking forward to.

Seconds later Harry began coughing and wheezing as his lungs began to pump air again and the antidote to the poison began to flow through his blood. The epinephrine energized him better than any Pepper Up potion ever could and after thirty seconds of deep breathing he was on his feet with his wand pointed at Voldemort's head. He felt a bit of a head rush at his sudden vertical status, but after a moment to regain his senses he was prepared to do what was required.

With tears of relief slipping from her eyes, Hermione rushed up to him and he turned to kiss her, all the while keeping his wand trained on Voldemort. “You did it,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers momentarily as he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now it's your turn,” she replied, stepping backwards. She had done everything she had set out to do, and now it was up to Harry.

“Ron, on with it!” demanded Harry, focusing on his enemy's unconscious body.

“Ennervate!” said Ron before retreating with Hermione.

Riddle began to sit up, his head feeling rather foggy. He checked to make sure all of his body parts were intact, and was relatively surprised. He was still alive. As he opened his eyes he found himself faced with the business end of Harry's wand, and actually did soil himself. Oh, he was alive alright. But not for much longer.

“I could give you great things, Harry,” he pleaded, trying to lure him with dark magic. “We could rule the world together. My knowledge and power combined with yours; imagine the possibilities.”

“You've taken far too much from me for that. I don't care about taking over the world; I just want to live my life. Now it's your turn to die. Avada—“

Before Harry could finish the Unforgivable incantation, a sharp cry was heard overhead. He looked upwards and flying towards him out of the sun was a scarlet and gold bird.

“Fawkes!” The Trio cried in unison, recognizing their late Headmaster's familiar.

Swooping down over Harry's head, the regal phoenix alighted on Harry's shoulder. In his talons he carried a ruby-encrusted sword, like he had so many years ago.

Recognizing what the phoenix was there to do, Harry nodded in thanks and slipped the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the mythical bird's talons. He had left it in Gryffindor tower that morning, planning to Summon it if he required it. Fawkes certainly was a much faster mode of transportation than an Accio charm, and it would save him the temporarily forgotten issue of accidentally splitting his soul by murdering the evil Dark Lord with magic. He was thankful that Fawkes had at least remembered.

He swung the blade heavily at Riddle's neck and stopped just a hair's breadth from his skin. Voldemort's face was contorted in preparation for the strike; he slowly opened his eyes to look up at Harry in confusion. The cold steel was biting into his neck, and the tiniest rivulet of blood was leaving a trail along his jugular.

“I want to see the lights leave your eyes when I kill you,” said Harry gruffly.

As Riddle's eyes went wide with the shock of his words being quoted back to him, Harry swung the sword again and didn't pause this time. Steel connected with pale white flesh and bone as it sliced through Riddle's neck like a hot knife through cold butter. As the very last fragment of the Dark Lord's soul rose into the air while his head bounced several feet away, Hermione stepped forward and cast the Horcrux Destruction spell for the very last time. Each person present covered their ears as the agonizing scream came from the wispy fragment, waiting for it to dissipate.

Moments later the cliffs were silent once more.

Harry conjured a bag and levitated Riddle's head into it once he placed a freezing charm on the gruesome skull. Ron and Hermione looked at him curiously. “Proof for the Ministry. Just in case,” he shrugged.

Turning to face the body of the man who had hunted him for his entire life, Harry wandlessly cast a fire charm at the body and stood there with Hermione's arms wrapped around his waist and Ron's hand on his shoulder as they watched it burn away to nothing but ash. A wind picked up and carried the remains of Tom Marvolo Riddle away with it.

“We could've buried him, you know,” mentioned Ron offhandedly as the last of the ashes were carried away on a wisp of smoke.

Hermione snorted. “Yes, and pollute the ground with his evil? What a brilliant way to insult the planet that sustains us. Besides, that would leave the option of Necromancy in an attempt to revive him. With nothing left, there's no chance at all. It's safer.”

Dr. Lang smiled somberly at the Trio as he came to join them. “Shall we go meet up with the others then?”

They each nodded silently as they trudged from the back of the castle to the front, none of them feeling the complete and utter joy that they should have at the victory. Riddle was dead. The world was safe. But something didn't feel right.

As they rounded the corner they were greeted by the sight of hundreds of Death Eaters laid out on the ground. Not a single one was left standing. Guarding their bodies were several Order members, as well as Ginny and Luna, and the other Hogwarts professors. There were several trolls and giants interspersed with the black hooded robes, and Harry could see shredded black and grey shrouds puddled on the grass. He would worry later about how someone had killed Dementors. In the meantime, he wanted to make sure that everyone he cared about was okay.

Ron's heart swelled at the sight of Luna; a smudge or two of dirt on her cheek and her hair windblown from the battle, but her eyes still shone brightly. He ran to her and swept her up in a hug, kissing her for all he was worth. Now everything felt right to Ron. It really was over. And they had survived it.

Ginny smiled at her brother and her friend, and then ran over to Harry and Hermione, enveloping Harry in the traditional Weasley bear hug.

“Thanks, Harry,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. She hugged Hermione also, proving that the girls were no longer at war. “I'd better go check on Draco,” smiled the redhead, and she tore off towards the Great Hall.

Harry turned to look at his girlfriend, and entwined his fingers in hers. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but Ron chose that moment to return with Luna.

“It was amazing,” she breathed, looking out over the field. “I just knew that he was dead. And then a second later, they all just dropped to the ground. Not a single scream, no burning, it was like they'd all had Miniature Warbling Beetles infesting their brains.”

“Well that explains all the bodies,” said Harry, sighing as he contemplated what Luna had just said. “I guess we'd better start cleaning up.”

“Entirely unnecessary, Harry,” said Lupin as he approached with the Hogwarts faculty, Aurors, and remaining students. “I'd say you've done enough for the day. The lot of you best head on up to Gryffindor tower now, and get some sleep. We'll take it from here.”

Nodding sullenly, Harry turned to the doors and began to climb the steps with Hermione and Ron following him.

“Oh, and Harry?” called Lupin.

The trio turned around to face the assembled crowd before them.

“Thanks.”

<><><><><>

When they arrived at the Heads suite after dropping Ron off in Gryffindor tower, Hermione and Harry went straight into his room and collapsed on the bed. To them the fight had passed quickly, but it had been several hours. With numerous casualties and one standoff leading to the next, it had seemed like a short hour to the Trio. They ended up falling asleep moments within their heads hitting the pillow, and not waking up until late afternoon July first.

Naturally they found themselves securely ensconced in the Infirmary, under Madame Pomfrey's typical watchful eye. She had been pumping them full of potions during their rest, and nearly every battle injury they'd sustained had been healed. A few fractures were still mending as it was rather difficult to administer Skele-Gro to an unconscious patient, and it had ended up being spewed all over the sheets instead.

“Well, good morning to you three!” she said cheerfully as she performed several quick diagnostics to ensure their health. “Good to see you decided to grace us with your presence at last.”

Hermione's observant eye caught sight of a calendar on the Medi-Witch's desk, and frowned. “You're acting like we've been out of it for days. It's hardly been twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, well, with all of the potions I've administered the three of you since you came in here; I was expecting you to wake up eight hours after your initial Dreamless Sleep dose.”

“So this isn't a dream, then,” observed Harry quietly. “I really did kill Riddle.”

“You did, Harry. My potion worked, Dr. Lang revived you, and you killed him. He's gone for good, Ron and I made sure. You can even view my memories in a Pensieve if you'd like,” offered Hermione.

He shook his head. “Unnecessary. I trust you.”

“It was bloody wicked, mate!” exclaimed Ron, having found his voice. “I never thought in my lifetime that I'd see someone talk to him the way you did. Absolutely brilliant. Tommy Boy!” Ron slapped his knee as he laughed, recalling the unimpressed look on the Dark Lord's face as Harry addressed him like a child.

Hermione had thought the taunting unnecessary, as it only served to aggravate Riddle further, but she wasn't going to argue with Harry's methods. Not when they'd been so successful. And not when he still hadn't kept his promise.

Ron continued to relive Harry's encounter with Tom Riddle, offering Madame Pomfrey a first-hand account of the experience. Harry seemed to want to hide underneath the pillows, pretending that his celebrity had now increased. Hermione, on the other hand, was silently contemplating the meaning of her boyfriend's promises. The battle was over, Riddle was gone, and not only had they had the entire walk from the battlefield to the hospital wing to talk, they had also been awake for quite some time and still his promise had not been kept.

Hermione Granger was normally a patient woman, but when it came to a promise of this serious a nature, she wanted results as quickly as possible.

As Ron further embellished his tale, Hermione silently slipped from her bed and with a nod of approval from Madame Pomfrey, took leave of the Infirmary. She ventured to the kitchens, obtaining some food from the house elves as quietly as possible. She was surprised that they had not bowed down to her in some sort as Harry Potter's Mione who had helped defeat the Dark Lord, but she was not about to complain. Perhaps all of her requests to Dobby that she not be addressed as anything other than her name had finally sunk in, and he had passed the word onto the other elves.

With a heaping plate of food she returned to the common room of her suite, and collapsed on the sofa. She was only afforded a few moments of solitude before Harry came cautiously through the portrait hole, carefully avoiding her gaze. Without making eye contact he crossed the room, kissed her forehead, and made for his bedroom.

“Harry, wait,” said Hermione, standing up. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” he asked calmly, almost carelessly. “I killed Riddle, the world is safe, what else do you want from me?”

She looked confused. “You make it sounds as though I expected you to do those things.”

“Didn't you?” he countered.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I believed you could, but I never expected it of you. If you had really wanted to, I would've run away with you to some obscure place like Canada or Australia where they'd never find us. You were determined to do the right thing, and I accepted that.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples, hoping it would ease the headache he was beginning to feel. “I just need some time to myself, okay?”

“Why?” asked Hermione petulantly.

“Does it matter? You asked me for time, you practically abandoned me for months, and now I can't have one night to just be alone?”

His words stung, especially as they rang true. Hermione had abandoned him in her quest to save him, right when he needed her most. “Is that what this is about?” she asked slowly, quietly. “You think I enjoyed that?”

He shook his head. “No, I know you didn't. But you did it nonetheless. I know that I said when Riddle was gone that I'd ask you to—well, it's not important now, is it? I haven't changed my mind, I still want to, but I just… there's trust involved, Hermione. And while I trust in your feelings, and definitely your potion-making abilities, I need some time to learn to trust you in our relationship again. I can't just pretend that the past few months didn't happen, that we didn't grow apart. As much as I'd like it to, one night can't change that.”

Sitting back on the sofa, Hermione recoiled mentally. He was right, again, but she hadn't expected him to take it this hard. “What do you want from me, then?” she asked unsteadily, her voice wavering.

Harry sat on the cushion with her, and took her hands in his. “I want time. I'm not asking for a break in our relationship, I just need time to come to terms with what happened.”

“How much time are we talking?” she whispered, almost fearfully.

“Days, weeks, months… I don't know, love, but all I can say is that if we take things one step at a time, we'll be okay.”

She nodded, sniffling back tears as she looked into his eyes. “I love you, Harry.”

“I know you do, and I love you too. I'm not questioning your love for me; I just need to figure it out for myself what happened these past few months. Just give me some time to come to terms with it.”

They sat in silence for several minutes before Harry stood to go to his room. “I know we slept for hours in the hospital wing, but I'm knackered. See you in the morning?”

Hermione nodded, and watched from the couch as Harry retreated to the safety of his bedroom. She continued to run through her head how badly she had screwed up, and what she could possibly do to regain his trust. It was nearly two hours later when she finally stood to head for her own bedroom, where she stumbled unceremoniously onto the mattress and fell into a fitful sleep.

<><><><><>

It took nearly three months before Harry and Hermione revisited the topic of their potential engagement. The aftereffects of the last confrontation with Voldemort had taken an obscene amount of time to get through. There had been press conferences, interviews, public appearances, statements to make… It was all rather draining, truth be told, and Hermione didn't know how much more she could take. Irritating didn't even begin to describe how the entire experience felt, but she could see how it was taking its toll on Harry and didn't like it one bit.

At first he had been acquiescent to the demands of the Wizarding world, active in his role as their savior and bitterly accepting the title of the Man Who Was Victorious as was proclaimed at the Ministry press conference a mere twelve hours after Riddle's death. He had held his tongue during interviews and posed with a smile plastered on his face for the cameras. He took part in the Victory Parade and shook hands with those who assembled to see him, waving to those who were too far to actually greet. Harry recounted for numerous people and publications the events of that Final Battle until his words began to blend together in one perfectly memorized monologue. He went on like this for ages until finally, Hermione stepped in and put a stop to it.

The Wizarding public was never satisfied with all that Harry had to give, they always wanted more but she wasn't going to stand for it anymore. Shortly after the battle she, Harry and Ron had rented a flat together in Muggle London, and that was where she sent him now. Harry had just taken part in an internationally broadcasted interview with the WWN, and it was the last straw for Hermione. The public had been hearing the same answers to the same questions from Harry for weeks now, and so the journalists were coming up with new, more invasive questions to ask him.

When the interviewer from the WWN had said, quote `So tell us, Harry, what did it feel like when you took Gryffindor's blade and sliced it through Lord Voldemort's flesh?' unquote, Hermione had lost it. She had been standing behind Harry the entire time keeping quiet but silently fuming, and this was the last straw.

Without a single word to the radio persona, she grabbed Harry's hand, dragged him out of the room, and instructed him to Apparate to their flat. He did so without question, leaving her to face the man from the WWN.

“Of all the nerve, you ask him that?! Are you not satisfied with his answers? Do you have to know the gory, intimate details? I suppose you'd like to know the exact angle at which the sword pierced his neck or the precise liquid measurement of the blood that gushed from the wound? Wouldn't you? Would you like to know every exact, specific detail? It's one thing to ensure that Tom Riddle is indeed dead and gone; it's another to ask the very man responsible for our safety how it felt to kill him!”

She spun sharply on her heel and slammed the door to the broadcast room behind her. It took her several moments to stop shaking before she was able to concentrate hard and long enough to return to the flat. When she arrived she found Harry sitting on the sofa, staring mournfully at the radio. The volume had been lowered but she could still make out the broadcaster's comments on Harry's interview and her sudden outburst.

His eyes were dull and unfocused; he was staring at the wooden coffee table, but he wasn't seeing that it was there in front of him. Hermione took light and careful steps across the carpet, lowering herself to her knees in front of him. “Harry, love?” she said tenderly, reaching out to clasp his hand in her own.

He shook his head for a moment, the light returning to his pupils. “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes meeting her own.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and held on as tightly as she could. No words needed to be spoken; she knew that the media frenzy was now over. Harry would finally let her reject all of the invitations and offers to tell his story to the world. He was done reliving that nightmare day after day.

Slowly, gently, Harry scooped Hermione from her position on the floor to nestle with him on the sofa. He cradled her in his arms for quite some time, enjoying the feel of her body against his. “Hermione?”

His breath was hot on her ear and tickled, but she tilted her face towards his and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “Mmm?” She could feel his fingertips brushing across her outer thigh as they made their way towards his hips; she wasn't entirely sure what was about to happen but his hands were near his belt. Perhaps he was taking it off? Getting more comfortable? She began to overanalyze the situation in typical Hermione fashion when his hand carefully extricated itself from behind her and began tickling her side.

“Harry!”

“I could feel the wheels turning in your brain from here, love. Something on your mind?” He asked this casually, as though he hadn't initially broken the silence.

Hermione squirmed as his fingers continued to tickle her sides. “Just…wondering what your…hand was up to!” she managed between fits of laughter. He immediately went still, prompting Hermione to fidget until she was properly facing him. “Harry?”

His hand was making a tight fist around something, she could tell; it was almost as though he'd just caught the Snitch and was refusing to let it go. His knuckles were white and when she looked carefully at his face she could tell by the flicker in his eyes and the bead of sweat on his brow that he was nervous. Hands nearly trembling, Harry extended his hand to her, palm facing down. Motioning for her to open her hand for him, he waited until he realized that she was far too confused and nervous to comprehend. With a sigh of frustration he turned his hand over and slowly opened his fingers.

Hermione's eyes immediately flew to his, and then back down to his hand. The metal band that lay there glinted at her in the firelight, as did the diamond resting in its setting. It was a gold band with a fair sized diamond in it, though not ostentatious. Hermione noticed that it was emerald cut, and there were two smaller baguette diamonds on either side. She looked at Harry questioningly; longingly.

“It was my mum's,” he said, twirling the ring between his fingers.

“I thought the Glitra diamonds were your parents' rings?”

“They were,” said Harry slowly, “but not my mum's engagement ring.”

Tentatively reaching out her hand to Harry's, Hermione paused with her fingers hovering mere centimeters from the golden band.

“I'm not going to give you a speech about the past and how we made it through together, because what matters is that we are here, in the present, together.” Harry shakily slipped the ring onto Hermione's finger and it quivered as it resized itself to fit. “If you'll still have me, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

She stared at the ring, speechless for a few moments, hardly blinking before she slowly nodded. Her eyes met Harry's as she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out in joy and flung herself upon him. “Oh Harry!”

“I'll take that as a yes?” he chuckled nervously, but his laughter was cut off as her lips descended upon his. “I'm sorry I made you wait so long.”

Pulling back to meet his eyes, Hermione shook her head. “I'm the one who's sorry. I made you doubt me, and abandoned you when you needed me most. You know now that will never happen again.”

Rather than respond Harry lifted her from the sofa and carried her down the hallway to their bedroom, casting various locking and silencing charms as they went.

After all, Ron was due home from work soon.

And he still hadn't grown comfortable to coming home to the sound of moaning.

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