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Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 15/06/2006
Last Updated: 26/07/2007
Status: in_progress

After losing both Hermione, Ron and the ability to use his powers in the battle against Voldermort a broken 19 year old Harry, along with his unexpected friendship in Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape find a solution. Use a very complex time potion and send one person back to prevent the war from happening. Harry is chosen to use the elusive time potion to send himself back to when he was sixteen in hopes of preventing Dumbledore’s death, along with many others…Instead….something happens when taking the potion and it sends him back to when he was 13 years old.* i do not OWN harry potter* Please R & R..

Chapters

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter three

4. Chapter four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter 6 (reloaded)

7. Chapter 7 (reloaded)

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter 11

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Hogwarts: 1999

People say that the unexpected happens at the most irrelevant times.

To say the least this was one of them.

KA-BOOM

A fragment of the Hogwarts left tower broke off, crumbling like dough and plummeted to the ground, digging a huge crevice a few feet from Harry and Draco, whom were running for their lives.

Screams used to bother Harry, people crying for mercy as Death Eaters ended their lives with one clean sweep. Now it was apart of life. Violence replaced logic, revenge replaced love. Everyone became emotionless to survive. Harry didn't recognise himself anymore.

Draco's left arm grabbed the hem of Harry's moth eaten robs and hurled him to the right, their backs slammed against the stone pillars, shielding them from a curse cast by one of the Death Eaters at the other end of the hall.

War gave everyone scars. It caused Draco to lose his right eye, instead of his cold grey eyes his right was a wash white with no iris or pupil. Draco preferred to cover his right eye with an eye patch. Harry used to joke and tease him, threatening to sow the Gryffindor emblem on his patch one day.

Harry sighed, looking at the patch in question, and then veered over to Darco's haggard completion, messy snow blonde hair and simple attire. Such objects caused Harry to remember the most peculiar moments in his life. He often did this ever since they came up with a solution to win the war.

They had lost so much. Harry scoffed at that thought, dodging curses and green beams of death in the process as they continued to sprint down the hallway. Such a callous word- loss- to describe the magnitude of how much the world had lost.

Since Draco couldn't see to his right Harry often pulled him back, grabbing onto Draco's shoulder he pulled him back just in time to avoid a body bind curse. Harry wished he could hurl out a curse or two, anything to protect the only person left that he knew but he couldn't. He couldn't do a lot of things anymore.

A nameless female auror sprinted past the duo throwing a curse at a death eater off in the distance who was torturing children, only to be killed as well. Her scream was not heard but Harry could see the life drift from her frozen face, her body falling…falling like countless others. He hated that word, falling; it reminded him of many things he would rather forget.

Many lives were used in the name of this war, both muggle and magic alike.

Looking back Harry couldn't believe that he had hoped to win against Lord Voldemort.

“Get your head into gear,” Draco harshly whispered in his ear while he looked left and right. With his wand in front of him Draco moved forward, pulling Harry along.

That was another thing. He had lost his ability to use magic two years ago.

It was after Hermione died. Harry just turned seventeen. Ron never forgave himself for what had happened, neither did he. Something inside Harry snapped when she died. He couldn't concentrate; he couldn't find the location of the enemy base, not with her help.

He vaguely remembered Remus saying to him that they all lose their will to use magic when someone close to them had died. It was after six months that they started to panic and then London was attacked. The Muggle world was exposed to Voldemort's wrath and their chosen one was powerless to stop it.

If it wasn't for Draco he'd be dead.

If he was told three years ago that he'd end up on the battle field, fighting along side his best friend Draco he would probably laugh in that person's face.

He wanted to kill him after six year, right after Dumbledore's funeral. He was responsible, alongside Snape for his death.

Draco pulled Harry into an abandoned classroom, placing a locking charm on the door, they ducked under overturned charred tables and chairs as two Death Eaters passed, their long robes billowing and skull masks glistening red. Harry wished he had his revolver on him but he lost it in the river days ago.

He would've loved to vent his anger and pump a few rounds in some Death Eater scum.

He placed his hand in his left jean pocket, underneath his robe and touched a worn blue head scarf Hermione always wore and felt the anger subside.

It was after Hermione's death that Harry began to realise that he was wrong about Draco. He was just like him in more ways than one, both raised in loveless households. One wanting to please his father in order to protect his mother; the other wishing he knew them. It was because of Hermione that he forgave Draco, it wasn't easy, and he didn't trust Draco for a long while when he joined the Order of the Phoenix.

It was after Ron's death that Draco became his friend.

Two years worth of running, fighting and working with Snape and Draco resulted in the current battle over Hogwarts and two nineteen year olds cooped up in an old dilapidated classroom with one solution. Le voyage de temps- a complex potion that was founded in 1876 by Monsieur Chirac De Noir.

It meant travel of time, sending one self back to the past. It was a very complex potion and many have tried and failed. Harry didn't want to think about his odds at succeeding…however Snape said only he was capable….whatever that meant….

Draco pulled out a long test tube with an ivory cork, filled with violet liquid and black swirls. He handed it to Harry. “Here, you know what to do. You know the risks just as Snape told me. Travelling back through time is dangerous. Some events are meant to occur, remember that Harry. Some things can not change,”

Harry nodded, although his heart never believed in Snape's words. He had to risk it, even without his powers he would have his friends back and a warning for what might occur in the future.

“You know the drill, say the words, think of the time in which you want to go back to. Focus and…”

KA-BOOM

The explosion sounded close and he could hear familiar voices of his comrades in battle.

He began to move from his crouched position but Draco protested.

“You sit here, you can't do shit. Let me be the savoir for once Potty,” He drawled in his familiar remarks. This was probably the last time he would see Draco. His heart sank; another person close to him was going to…

“Hey, don't get sappy on me—“The screams gurgled closer to the classroom, taunts from the death Eaters became louder and drawn out, coaxing them to come out. They were either found or some Death Eater was on a killing high.

“But—“

Draco enveloped him in a bear hug, patting him on the back as he did this. “You've been the best friend and brother that a Malfoy could ever have,” He whispered. He drew back, his wand high in the air he opened the door to the hell and possible his death.

“See you,” Harry said, he didn't know what else to say. His brother, his friend and comrade in arms was leaving. He wasn't good at expressing stuff like this but somehow Draco understood and simply nodded before closing the door.

Looking down at the potion grasped in his hands he wondered why Snape, out of all people suggested that he should be the one to go back. The potion required blood and magic. He didn't have any magic.

“You're just as thick as your father Potter. Magic is not just in your blood it's in your soul and as long as you breathe you are a wizard despite what others say! You just lack faith.”

That was the last thing Snape said to him before he too had died.

Uncorking the vial Harry whispered.

“I call on Fates. Ever knowing and wise.” He swirled the contents inside three times.

The door to the classroom began to splinter, a loud drumming sound vibrated through the door. Someone was trying to get through.

No point in worrying, he was going to die either way. He continued.

“Send my soul back to a place my memories crave. Send me back…” part of him felt ridiculous, kneeling on the dusted floor and whispering nonsense that sounded like his divination textbook but he had to have faith. He needed to go back to his sixth year at Hogwarts. He needed Hermione

Thinking about Hermione made him think about the time they flew across Hogwarts on the back of a hippogriff. He could remember the feeling of riffling through the soft and yet corse feathers of the beast, Hermione's soft hand closed around his as he lead them to the Tower to save his godfather. Her sweet feminie smell of her hair, her body warmth pressed against his, her presence always calmed him.

He drew back his head and sculled the potion. He gagged as the potion burned his insides. He could picture tiny acid ants eating away his body. The potion was poisonous. He would be dead in less than thirty seconds but it was needed if his soul was to revert back.

His eyes were wide open, hands across his throat in vain attempt of cooling it. The door burst open and the hazy figure of an unknown Death Eater stalked towards him haunted his thoughts as his body became limp, he was falling in nothingness. He hated falling.

* * * * * *

Leaky Caldron: London 1993

The first thing he felt was soft blankets enveloping him in a hug. It was eerie silent and a low hoot irritated his ears.

Cracking open his eyes he found himself somewhere unexpected. At the leaky cauldron hotel room just like the one he stayed in before his 3rd year at Hogwarts. Looking down at his scrawny body and thin nimble fingers panic erupted. He was thirteen. Not sixteen.

The low hoot came from his familiar; Hedwig. Hedwig! His mind screamed, scrabbling over the blankets to get over to his friend he fell to the floor, his feet still imprisoned in blankets and head now throbbing.

Winching, he pulled his feet out and groped for his glasses on the bed side table. Once on, he opened his eyes to see his long-lost friend Hedwig squinting at him in confusion, hooting a greeting she flapped her wings before nodding off to sleep.

He bit his lower lip as he touched the crown of Hedwig, feathers swept over his shaking fingers as he gazed upon his faithful owl that died, protecting him.

“First thing I'm going to do is buy you a bigger cage and some treats…”he added. “The good kind.” Drawing back his hand he scratched his throat, irked by the sound of it; boyish almost.

That's because you're thirteen, idiot -he could hear Draco laughing at him. Out of all the things he could do to stuff up this was one of them. He was supposed to be at the beginning of sixth year, just in time to prevent Snape from taking the unbreakable vow and saving the world from its doomed fate.

He showered for a long time and for the first time in ages. The warm fountain swirled around his body and he laughed at the joy of such a simple thing could bring in his life. After getting dressed in a pair of Dudley's pants that sagged around his slim waist (he used an old piece of rope to secure the pants from falling down) a red shirt that managed to fit his frame and a long grey jacket he ambled down the crooked staircase, lost in his thoughts on how to solve this when two people brought his world to a complete stop.

His breath caught in this throat at the sight of his two best friends arguing. Hermione was holding a fuzzy animal (must be crookshanks) while Ron was yelling at her to keep that blasted cat from Scabbers.

Scabbers, Harry thought, Peter Pettigrew. It had been a very long time since he thought about his Hogwarts years. Most of it he blacked out, he couldn't handle remembering the innocent times. The times in which he would hang out with Hermione and Ron, fight over the simple things.

She looked very young, younger than he remembered and yet she wasn't plain. Far from it. But the sight of her made him lose his balance and fall down the last leg of the staircase, causing Ron and Hermione to stop their bickering mid-way and watch as Harry fall to the pebble paved floor.

“HARRY!” Hermione shouted, dropping her new pet in the progress and scrambled to his side. The touch of her skin burned him, he wasn't ready for this…he wasn't and yet he couldn't help by envelope Hermione into a hug, her bushy hair covering his face and he almost cried at the feelings that erupted inside him from hugging his best friend. She was alive, he could breathe easy. Yes, he had a minor sat back (to put it mildly) but he could handle it because Hermione was here.

“Alright mate?” Ron asked. Harry whipped his tear-streaked face to his best-friend. Harry smiled. “Just a bad dream and it's not everyday that you fall on your butt,”

Ron laughed, shaking his head. “Bloody hell! Seriously though I'm glad you're here. Hermione's cat -“

Harry got up, with Hermione's assistance and brushed himself off. Hermione picked up Crookshanks and began stroking it.

“Cats are graceful creatures Ron------” Hermione whispered under her breath, she always did this when she was angry. Harry bit his lower lip, his mind still in overdrive.

Ron and Hermione were arguing again. He shook his head. Sooner or later they were going to realise that they are made for each other---a lot----- the thought made him smile, it almost made his heart flutter uneasily…and during the day he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

__

It felt weird to be in black robes that weren't moth eaten or smothered in dirt, grime, and blood. Scratching his messy black hair his emerald eyes gazed out at the scenery. Even though it was howling with rain and it seemed depressing to everyone else it was tranquil in Harry's eyes. He felt like a child again. Seeing the water stream across the countryside was heaven. He was so used to seeing black ash, decomposed remains of wildlife and arid barrens----- this was a welcome change.

Sitting opposite was the aloof professor Lupin. Harry inwardly smiled at seeing his wolfish friend and father figure.

Sirius, His heart twinged. 3rd year was the year he met Sirius! He wasn't dead!

He gasped, covering his gleaming face with a cough. How could he forget that his godfather was alive? It was all coming back. He was thirteen years old when Sirius escaped Azkaban and he and Hermione saved him, riding back on a hippogriff.

Which explains why I'm here, he suddenly realised. He was thinking about riding on the hippogriff and the potion took him to this place.

Hermione was busily reading her textbooks. She would receive the time turner when they arrive at Hogwarts. Third year was especially hard on her, going back and forth in time in order to learn. I was such a git back then, must remember to be nice to her this time around.

The train carriage suddenly jolted to an abrupt stop. The sound of the rain hurdling down like pin's dropping filled the room. Ron was blabbering as it went dark,

“Ouch, Ron!” Hermione scolded him in the darkness. `”That was my foot,”

This is when the dementors came, Harry thought, memories of their scrawny skeleton forms sweeping through flashed before him….he could almost see their shadowy figures, their bony fingers over their faces, sucking out energy from helpless beings…

He couldn't perform a patronus, even if he wanted to. He had to tell them how to perform it or else. He jilted himself. This wasn't going to work if he didn't have any powers.

The door was ajar and the familiar skeleton hand clutching the door, slid it open, Harry was face to face with the faceless dementor, moth-eaten robs flowing around, white vapour left his mouth as he felt the life from within faze out . He heard a woman screaming. Only this time, it wasn't just his mother; it was Hermione, Professor Dumbledore, and countless others. He saw all their deaths in a funnel of blurred images before blacking out.

_ _

He found himself in the far back of the Burrow, watching from a nearby tree as Hermione fed Buckbeak a bundle of dead ferrets they had caught earlier. It was a couple of days before the wedding and Hagrid left to spend time with Gawp. Harry just stood there, watching as Hermione hugged the creature like a child.

He walked a bit closer, bowing, and then waiting for Buckbeak to nod in approval. Once he did Harry stood along Hermione and joined in ruffling his feathers.

He screwed up big time with her this year. He felt lower than scum and once again Hermione was right about many things.

“I'm sorry Hermione,” He whispered, gliding his hand over to hers in the process. He turned and looked into her eyes. “I'm sorry about so many things…and I…”

“Shhh,” Hermione gave his hand a quick squeeze before letting go only to warp her arms around him.

“Harry??” A voice coxed him out from his dream “Harry??”

He opened his eyes to find himself sprawled on the floor with Hermione and Ron cowering over him. Harry moved back up a bit, his head full of lead and was handed a piece of chocolate by Professor Lupin.

“Eat this,” Lupin instructed. “It's chocolate,”

He did what he was told and sat there, eating a mouthful of chocolate. He hated the after-affects of dementors. How was he going to cope at school without his powers? He couldn't do this alone. Yet, he didn't want to tell anyone just yet. So he would deal with everything when the time came.

Professor Lupin left, closing the door behind him and Harry mulled over his upcoming year at Hogwarts with fear. He would face people who were once friends, now foes and vice versa. Yet, that didn't bother him more than the prospect of meeting another father-figure in his life whose death shook him off the rails. Professor Dumbledore.

_ _ _

-->

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Seeing him again was like the time span before your death. Images erupted from Harry's mind and he had to keep his face neutral. He would brake down later when he had time; he was used to pushing his emotions aside. There wasn't a lot of time for crying or anything else during the War. After the sorting of first years and usual opening announcements (He remembered Hermione looking at him strangely when he didn't shout for joy at Hargid's job promotion) he was halfway through his meal when he heard a familiar taunt from behind.

“Psst… Potter!”

Harry turned and almost jumped out of his seat. Draco Malfoy with both working grey eyes had a smug look on his face. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

“You actually fainted!” he jeered.

“Yeah I did. So what? I don't sleep with a stuffed teddy bear named Olivia ever night,” as the words sprouted from his lips, he mentally kicked himself. This Malfoy hated him. He wasn't the same wise cracking life force who protected him. His stuff bear named Olivia was a present from his mother before she was placed under the Imperius curse by his father.

Ron was laughing at the sight of Draco blushing.

“I'll get you for this,” he mumbled and once again Harry chuckled. He was used to Draco taunting him but he had to remind himself that he was in a different time.

He finished his evening meal, ignoring the heated looks of anger from Draco and worried glances from Hermione. She's probably worried about my safety since Sirius Black has escaped. Harry thought. Shaking his head he followed Ron upstairs for much awaited goofing around with his dorm mates, eating candy and playing chess. That night he felt thirteen and it stayed that way long into the night.

_

They were walking back to the Burrow, hand in hand, after feeding Buckbeak when Hermione stopped a few feet from the green hedges that separated Mrs Weasley's garden patio form the neighbouring forests. He turned to her, confused. It was getting late and they had to get ready to leave---they had to find the remaining horcruxs and the sooner they get ready the better.

She hugged again, strange girl, Harry thought but he enjoyed the feelings he had when they were alone.

“Everything's going to change, “she whispered before nuzzling into his chest. His heart pumped faster, fingers clutched at his waist. He sighed. .

“Yes,” Harry whispered, his hands wrapped into her hair, gently rubbing her head in a soothing way. “It will be alright,” Pulling back, once again he looked down into her cinnamon depths, and his hands now resting on her cheeks he gently kissed her forehead. His mind was asking why but it felt right. A lot of things felt right when Hermione was around.

The Burrow beckoned him and as much as he hated to leave the calmness he often felt with Hermione they had to go back before people began to worry.

Suddenly, Hermione was gone. He looked left and right. Nothing but the serines calmness of the garden greeted him. He looked down at his feet and saw her lifeless broken body on the floor. She was falling….her eyes staring blankly up at him he felt the coldness ebb around him. His mind was screaming

RON

He turned to find Ron cowering in the corner, crying her name over and over. Harry found himself on the battlefield again. The remains of Hogwarts castle surrounded him as explosions echoed; chucking debris in the air, curses flying and people screaming filled his ears.

Draco stood opposite him. His left eyes glaring while his right was covered with a worn back eye patch.

“So you go yourself in a jam.” He puffed a loose lock of hair from his face. “So, what? Analyse the flaws and execute the plan,”

He woke up panting, grateful for his drawn curtains, shielding him off from the others he allowed a single tear to fall before lying back against his soft pillows. Her blank face was still there and no matter how many times he tried he couldn't go back to see for fear of seeing her body falling, over and over again.

_ _ _

“Harry!”

His eyes popped open to find his nose hovering above his potion's textbook. He turned to find Hermione, huffing next to him and he noticed for the first time placing her timer turner underneath her robes.

Clever girl, he thought.

Pulling back he stifled a yawn and tried in vain to listen to Professor Snape drone on.

He needed a plan—that was obvious. Last night he managed to dot point he dubbed “Things needed to be done” ….it went like

- Destroy horcruxs; problem was he had no idea where they were. Draco had a few guesses but the only way to solve this problem was to seek them out. This meant sneaking out of Hogwarts undetected. He couldn't do it this year with the dementors around and powerless.

- Save Sirius. Although he never intended to come back to 3rd year he now had the chance to save his godfather and capture Peter Pettigrew. This one was easy, all he had to do was capture the rat and hide it for a while. He would capture the rat while the others attend their first Hogsmeade visit…which from memory was a few weeks away.

That was as far as he got before dawn arrived and now he could barely keep his eyes open.

Just a few more minutes, he told himself.

He saw Hermione outstretch her hand, her long flowing deep rose dress swished around her.

“No,” he mouthed but he was already getting up, grinning. Hermione lead him onto the dance floor.

“Did I ever tell you that I have two left feet?” he said as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

Hermione blushed, took his left hand and placed it on her waist. “So do I but that's not the point,” She blushed before adding “Everyone dances at Weddings,”

Harry smiled and began to sway…left or right -he didn't know—he allowed Hermione to lead them in a lazy circle around the dance floor.

She smelled of flowers, parchment and ink. He didn't care. This was Hermione and he didn't except any less.

Her face mirrored his and he found him moving closer to see the golden flecks in her eyes. How come I didn't see this before? He saw her breath sharply and then…

“Harry!” Mrs Weasley, wearing a warm purple blouse and flowing black skirt stood with her arms on her hips. “Please, I need your help in the kitchen….could you bring out some champagne along with Ron.”

He felt Hermione's hands slide out from his. Her face seemed to change, she seemed lost.

What was going on?

“Potter!” a snide voice interrupted his thoughts, he shook his head and mumbled. “Humph,”

“I'm glad you find my lecture so interesting,” Professor glared, his greasy hair slicked behind his ears. “Detention!”

Harry scoffed, rubbing his eyes. He should've slept last night.

_ _ _

“Death omens.” Hermione barked as she hobbled down the steep hill. Harry was close behind, shaking his head in dismay. After potions they had divination, ironic considering he already knew the possible outcome of their fates. Still, it was better than dodging curses and running for your life. The crispy chill lingered in the air as dew still soaked the high moss grass. They were heading off to Hagrid's first lesson in which, Harry knew, would be the first meeting of Buckbeak---only to have Draco---Malfoy, Harry corrected himself---- screw things up.

Maybe not this time, He thought, an idea forming in his mind he drew back his conversation to Hermione's colourful rant. Her bushy hair swept behind her heavy robes, cinnamon eyes blazing in anger. She was an enigma.

“Honestly. If you ask me, Divination's a very woolly discipline. Now Ancient Runes. That's a fascinating subject.”

“Ancient Runes?” Ron stopped walking, and turned to look up at Hermione as she hobbled down, struggling with her school bag loaded with books inside. Eyeing her bag, Ron asked, “Exactly how many classes are you taking this term?”

Twelve, Harry thought. Was it twelve? He couldn't remember but he knew that Hermione was exhausted.

“A fair few.” was Hermione's reply, walking alongside Ron.

“Hang on.” Ron stopped, thinking this through, “Ancient Runes is the same time as Divination. You'd have to be in two classes at once?”

“Don't be silly. How could anyone be in two classes at once?” Hermione chuckled

If you had a time turner, Harry thought.

“Broaden your minds…” Hermione joked, running ahead of Ron and Harry and caught up with the rest of the class, leaving Ron flabbergasted in mid-step. .turning to Harry he said.

“I don't know about you but I swear she gets even more mental each year,”

Harry smiled, True, Hermione can be a bit bossy, controlling and her thirst for knowledge can scare a fair few but he wouldn't have it any other way.

__

They were lead into a small paddock, near the forbidden forest. Harry recognised this place immediately for several reasons. One---this is where he and Hermione hid (the pumpkin patch was just behind a crop of bushes left of the small stone hedge where the class stood around in clusters) secondly, this is where he first meet Buckbeak. It was also one of Hermione's favourite places to hang out----before the dark times.

He didn't know how he was going to prevent Draco---Malfoy, Harry scolded himself, from making a fool of himself. One idea was to have Malfoy be the one to ride Buckbeak---not him…and yet his hands could already feel the coarse feathers and the heat of the hippogriffs and the smell of its fur filled his nostrils---it was peach and he knew that the smell wasn't a hippogriff but Hermione's. He found himself edging closer to the back of her busy curls, leaning over casually, as if to ask a question, just so he could smell that wonderful scent she always gave off.

“Righ' then.” Hagrid's voice interrupted his revive and Harry pulled himself back from Hermione. She turned and raised an eyebrow in question but he quickly shook his head. He couldn't believe what he just did; he leant in to smell her hair! For goodness sake! Keep yourself together!

“ So... so... yeh've got yer books, an' now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Right. So... I'll... I'll go an' get 'em. Hagrid turns, disappears into the trees. Draco shakes his head, and then chose this moment to speak loudly to his dim-witted friends, Crabbe and Goyle.

“God, this place is going to the dogs. Wait until my father hears Dumbledore's got this oaf teaching classes.” Arms crossed, he sneered and cursed underneath his breath. Anger rose in Harry, sure this was his best friend but then again….he was in a different time and he couldn't help himself turn around and face Malfoy, staring right through him in fact.

“Listen----“Harry had no idea what to say. This was Draco Malfoy---memories flashed before him. No, he said to himself. He is not your friend….he may be in the future but not right now. He could feel Hermione's shoulder nudge his…..

Malfoy steps back, points, his eyes widening in fear.

“Potter, there's a Dementor behind you!”

Ha Ha, Harry grinned. Not going to fall for that one. Harry would know if there were dementors behind him. There would be a chill in the air and the life inside him would shrivel up….

A strange beast emerges from the forest with a torso, hind legs, and tail of a horse and front legs, wings and head of a giant eagle. Its grey feathers shimmering in the sunlight Buckbeat walked (if you'd call it walking) towards the group. Hagrid held a bundle of dead ferrets in the air, baiting for the creature to move closer to the class.

The students stepped back in fear, except Harry. Seeing buckbeak brought back a lot of memories---too many sad ones… He never thought that he would see him again.

Hagrid was gushing openly, like an excited child during Christmas time about Buckbeak---he was too in tune with himself that he didn't see Harry move closer to Buckbeak.

Moving closer towards Buckbeak, Harry bowed only to have Buckbeak bow back. It was as if he knew who Harry was or could sense that Harry knew him. He couldn't describe it but Harry wanted to rifle his hands through its feathers----Hermione always did this when she was stressed---especially after Dumbledore's death---it was ever since then he often associated patting Buckbeak with Hermione-----being with buckbeak after Hermione died made it feel like she was still alive…

But she is, Harry said to himself. She is alive……he couldn't describe the feeling he felt right then and there….he busied himself scratching Buckbeak's chin….

Harry turned to look over to the class, only to see Malfoy walk over to him, a look of smug determination on his face. Hagrid didn't notice this.

Oh no you don't, Harry thought, standing in front of Buckbeak….you're not going to….

“You're not dangerous at all, are you, you great ugly brute -“

Harry swept in front of Malfoy just as he heard Buckbeak raise his sharp eagle talons in the air. A gush of wind swept passed his ear as Buckbeack's talons slashed a wound down Harry's back. He winced and found himself slammed to the ground, covering Malfoy's body as Buckbeak screeched. Head swarming Harry tried to keep his eyes open but found them heavy and soon it was hard to keep them open and the rough rustle of leave scratched his face as he fell unconscious.

_

Hermione stopped breathing moments ago. Even though her lungs burned when she forgot to breathe her head swarmed when she gulped in a big breath. Watching Harry being carried to the Hospital wing caused her heart to thump erratically with worry.

It pained her that she couldn't see if he was alright. Duty called.

As the class dissembled and Ron (after much convincing from Hermione) went off with Hagrid to take Harry to the hospital wing she pulled out the long golden chain and tweaked the small hourglass three times.

Moving back in time was hard to describe but it was like time stopped and everything around her swirled like the wind, heavy wind that caused her mind to swarm roughly. Wincing she watched as the blurred image of Harry protecting Malfoy from being hit swirl past ----

Wait----she thought. Too late as she felt herself being carried back to earlier that day. The sun was high in sky----wind howling and the grass wet with dew she watched from behind the trees as another version of herself hobbled down, arguing with Ron and Harry as they headed off to Care of Magical creatures.

The blurred image of Harry, messy black hair swept back and blazing emerald eyes standing in front of Draco Malfoy entered her mind. He was definitely protecting him---why?

The questioned bugged her but she knew (as she placed the time turner in her pocket) that she would have to worry about it later. She had “the art of healing” the skill for any witch or wizard to head to and she had to do this without being seen.

The class was genuinely interesting but still her thoughts dwelled on Harry. He seemed different this year and it had nothing to his sudden growth spurt or being a teenager. He seemed….it was hard to describe but unfazed about everything…..it was as if he had lived or knew what was about to happen and that was propitious….no one had the ability to see into the future ( despite what others may say) it wasn't logical and many professors in the Hogwarts: a History agreed with her. Still----something about him made Hermione uneasy---like a transfiguration equation that she couldn't figure out. Harry puzzled her and she wanted to know why.

Glancing at her watch, she gathered her things as the lesson ended and headed outside. She had less than five minutes to run down the steep hill to be back at the paddocks….or else…well there was no “or else “ in this matter. Sighing she began running down the hill, hurling her backpack closer to her body. She would worry about Harry later---she had lessons to attend to.

__

Wanting to catch some air, Harry excused himself from speaking to some of Ron's relatives and headed outside to the garden---it was alit with tiny sparking lights that blinked every few seconds---- on and off the light flashed onto his bottle green robes. He took a moment to gaze at the lights before looking up into the dimly lit meadows to find Hermione hiding in the shadows, arms crossed and head bowed. Quickly he edged closer, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug she sobbed. He would never understand women but when he saw Hermione upset…well he didn't know what to do but he knew that hugging helped.

Drawing back he looked into the familiar cinnamon depths, whispering to her. He had no idea what he was saying but it calmed her a bit.

“Harry…”she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks…she edged closer to his face...

“Harry,”

Harry groaned, waking up to pain was normal but his back felt like it was on fire. He winced as he tried moving.

Opening his eyes he found Professor Dumbledore, Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey cowering over him.

“I'm so sorry—“Hagrid began…

“It's not your fault…I was stupid….I wasn't listening…” Harry mumbled…he tried to move himself but couldn't.

“I'm afraid you'll have to stay her for the rest of the evening,” Professor Dumbledore. “The gash on your back is a deep cut Harry---“his blue eyes didn't twinkle, which meant, the either, he was relieved that Harry wasn't injured or very cross.

“I should be getting detention or something…..it wasn't Buckbeak's fault…”

“How'd yer know Buckbeak's name? I never even mentin' it” Hagrid inquired.

Before Harry could conjure up an excuse Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms, huffing as she summed up his injuries. “Kids today….never listen to their teachers….this will teach you!” she turned and headed over to her metal cart, filled with potions and remedies—she began rifling through. The room was silent except for gall vials clinking as they were moved.

Dumbledore sighed, his half moon glasses slid down his nose. Gazing at Harry once more he said, “Be careful in the future and suffice to say you'll be serving detention this Saturday with Hagrid….”

Harry sighed, wouldn't be too bad. Give me time to think on how to keep my bloody mouth shut.

Madame Pomfrey turned and faced Harry, a sleeping drought in hand, and handed it to him.

The small glass filled with murky liquid made him feel uneasy. He didn't feel like sleeping but since he had nothing else to do but recover he would corporate. He would do anything to not attract any more attention than he has already, like knowing Buckbeak's name for example. The potion tasted awful, like chilled bean-curd tea but it made his body feel soft and the covers warm. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

__

It was after ten pm and Hermione was running late. Hugging her treasured Hogwarts a history text closer to her body she dragged her feet across the carpet floors.

Not bothering to see where she was going she didn't see the aloof Divination teacher walk past.

Bump!

Books slammed into her black shoes, wincing Hermione ducked and began picking up her textbooks. Looking up she saw two bug-like eyes, an oversized brown shawl and awful incense smelling robes.

“Pro-professor,” despite the fact Hermione didn't like Professor Trelawney she will still a teacher and the fact that Hermione was out after curfew filtered through her thoughts…last thing she needed was detention.

Trelawney breathed out a loud wheezing heave; her eyes huge and bug-like were staring straight at her.

“He has come to change things…the boy-who-lived is no more….he has followed Monsieur Chirac De Noir!”

Has this woman gone complete mental? Hermione rolled her eyes. First she claims Neville's grandmother was unwell and then told Harry that he was in trouble. That was just rich…

After Trelawney finished wheezing her breathing hitched and she coughed. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Hem hem...” Professor Trelawney breathed, her hand fanning her curious-cat expression from view. “Ah….my dear Miss Granger…clinging onto the fading pages of history…oh my dear…you shall carry more burdens than you realise...” stopping her sentence mid-way through her eyes rolled to the left and began walking away absently looking at the moving portraits before turning right and out of sight leaving Hermione bewildered for the rest of the evening.

_ _ _

In the early hours of a frosty Tuesday morning Hermione was the first one up. She had an hour of peace before going to classes. She had so many that her mind blanked. She didn't want to think about today for she was still pre-occupied with what happened last night.

What did Professor Trelawney mean- Harry was no more? Harry was just Harry? (Still cooped up in infirmary because of what happened yesterday)

Hermione scoffed, finding solace in one of her favourite study areas: the library.

I can't believe I'm letting that fake get to me, sighing she opened up her Hogwarts: a history and began reading the same passage she read last night, allowing the words to consume her---calm her.

Until that is, a name caught her eye.

The tragedy of Monsieur Chirac De Noir

The tragedy of Monsieur Chirac De Noir is as a warning to all who choose to meddle with time.

Hermione's eyes widened. Her hands gripped the sides of her book and continued to read.

Louis Chirac de Noir, a well-known potions master in his home town was a sad and tortured man, after losing his childhood sweetheart at age 17 he spent his time locked in his room; driven by past demons he spent the next eight years finding a way to prevent her death. In 1876 he created a potion called Le voyage de temps (see heading: top ten dangerous potions ever created and reasons why they are banned on pg 103) that had the ability to send one's soul back in his/her younger self.

Hermione's breathing hitched. But that's impossible….

He succeed in saving his childhood sweetheart, Mercedes from her impending death only to have her leave for another man; Monsieur's Chirac's best friend, Frederick. .

Tortured with the knowledge of knowing a future without his sweetheart and the one he was currently in he drove himself to madness, his love for her turned to bitter hatred and killed her five years later, carrying his friend's unborn child and himself.

Although the potion is highly revered in its time, Monsieur's Chirac's loyal friend, Jose Prince burned Chirac's notes on how to create the potion to prevent it from being used ever again.

Although the reasons for its ban are somewhat unfazed it is the opinion of the WAOAH ( Wizard Association of Ancient History) that the tale of Chirac's unrequited love turned hatred should be served as a reminder that under no circumstances should the potion be used to change time. The knowledge of what had transpired before time was changed is far too dangerous to carry on one's on.

The passage went on to describe the power behind love and hate but Hermione wasn't reading. The story of Chirac's was in her mind, along with Professor's Trelawney's words.

Harry has followed Monsieur Chirac de noir. It suddenly clicked on why Harry saved Malfoy, and his usual behaviour. He used a time potion.

Hands trembling she picked up her book, shoving it into her dilapidated bag and hurried over to the infirmary. She needed answers. She was probably just overreacting….Harry is just Harry …he doesn't even know how to brew a simple healing potion! It's probably some joke…some stupid joke…

-->

3. Chapter three

Chapter three

Harry was dreaming. He knew this and he didn’t care. Part of him knew that it was unhealthy to be reliving painful memories but he could feel their lullabies, gently coaxing him into its warm embrace. He gave in without a second thought He found himself flying on the back of Buckbeak with Hermione. It was a week before they decided to go back to the Dursleys. Back then, neither of them knew that this would be the last three months they would spend together.

Her hands were soft and ink splotched in uneven spats. He guided their hands through buckbeaks’s grey coarse feathers and listened to her calm breaths as he guided them through the night sky.

He slid his left arm slowly up her arm to pull back her thick mane and leaned close. “I see you’re enjoying this,” He lightly teased, pulling her body closer to his front he could sense her body flinch before relaxing into his embrace.

“HARRY?” a very high-pitched squeal filled his ears. Opening up his eyes he quickly went to the bedside table and slid on his glasses to find a trembling 13 and a ½ year old Hermione with her wand to his throat. The tip of her wand seared his skin and he could smell a faint aroma of flesh burning. Hermione was angry.

“Did you—“She croaked, her eyes were slightly bloodshot, purple rings sunk deep beneath her eyes and her bushy hair fell in shaggy wisps around her heaving shoulders.

“Hermione…” he croaked, he coughed when she pressed the tip of her wand further into his throat.

“Did you use the time potion? “ She questioned.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. How did…

He could see the last tangles of his dream flash before his eyes as Hermione spoke.

“Only with you,” She whispered back, her cheek pressing against his. “It’s only with you that I’m safe…”

Shaking his head, ridding himself of that memory he focused his attention on the thirteen year old Hermione. “Hermion—“

“DID…you?” her voice rose. “Professor Trelawney told me last night….that nutter,” she rolled her eyes, “….had the neve to tell me that my BEST friend was following in Monsieur Chirac’s footsteps. At first I didn’t think of it. Rubbish If I must say…. and then I was reading Hogwarts a history—“

“Hermione---“ He breathed….how did she know? He sighed, there was no use hiding it from her now…

“AND.” Hermione continued, ignoring Harry’s attempt at butting in. “….I find a small passage about how he created the potion to change the past only to be driven by his own desires and kill the woman he loved…”

“Hermione…let me explain…”

Realization dawn on her, her wand still poking at his throat he watched as her eyes widened in fear…shock? Wonderment? She drew it away and slipped it beneath her robes…her hands clasped her cheeks, pinching them slightly. “Oh Harry,” she sighed. “What did you do…you know that you can’t meddle with time…” her voice died in a scared whisper.

“As opposed to using the time turner….” He could feel his anger rising, eyeing her in disbelief. How dare she accuse him of meddling with time when she did it every day? However, he felt his anger subside when her face fell, smile turning into a frown she bit her lower lip…

“So it is true?” she waved her hand in the air….Her eyes were locked on the stained-glass silhouettes above him…she wasn’t looking at him

“Yes, I was going to tell you sooner but you had your wand blocking air to my throat...” He wheezed, allowing air to filter through.

“Harry.” Crossing her arms, finally, he sighed in relief when her eyes were on his. “Don’t you know that it’s on the top ten—“

He interrupted, “Banned potions…yeah,” he clucked his tongue at her, pointing to himself “I know,” He rolled his eyes, “….Snape told me…”

“Professor Snape…” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. He could hear shock in her voice.

He smiled wryly at her. “Yeah,” If he closed his eyes he could still see her cinnamon eyes; still smell that alluring smell of peaches and old ink.

No, he chided himself, shaking the memory away like draining water from a sink. He forced her ghostly smile to dissipate, her whispered praises and fears to become mumbles and incoherent chatter until all he could see was a dark swirl of brown and black and a dull buzz. Raking in another shuddering breath he looked into a much younger and frail face, despite it flushed with anger he bit his lower lip from showing emotion. He could feel it bubbling inside him and he forced himself to not look directly into her eyes. He knew that if he did he would lose his resolve.

“ …..in the other time…”he whispered, more of a reminder for himself then conformation for her, shaking his thoughts he managed to settle his eyes on her thick brown curls. “Look, Hermione, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” He wanted to keep this a secret for a bit longer but for some reason Hermione had this force on him, till this day he couldn’t figure out why but he could never lie to her…however, he knew that he should start practicing if he wanted some things…to remain buried…... “But I was trying to get used to this----“

“Being in another time….having intimate knowledge of the world’s possible outcome…” she filled in her librarian voice. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her body turned to his and he wanted to reach out and touch her hand. He wanted to know if this….if she was okay with this….he wanted to know how she saw through his façade. How she could look at him and he could feel his resolve crumble without any resistance.

“How…. did….” It seemed such a redundant question…how ….she just knew … “...you know…” Shrugging his shoulders he mentally kicked himself. It was a stupid question to ask…after all Hermione knew everything there was to know about magic. He always enjoyed those long nights when they were alone. No Ron. No Ginny. He could almost see her blushing face and feel her skin against his…. Just …..

“There had an expert translated from Chirac’s diary…he mentioned it a couple of times...” Hermione filled in, her voice sounded higher than normal…only then Harry realised that this Hermione, although the same one he grew up with…was only thirteen…she wasn’t the woman that he craved hugs from at night…she wasn’t the same woman who will, Harry corrected…will be his conscious during sixth year during that whole potion book fiasco.

It took a simple touch from Hermione to shake him from his thoughts…a tiny tentative hand, with tiny ink smudges caressing his left jaw, leaving tiny black finger prints in its wake….she was looking right at him…her eyes wide and bright ….he could feel the inner wars start to break…. another minute and it will all be over.

‘”its still me” He whispered, fighting tears, keep it together, he scolded himself. When her hand left his cheek he could feel how cold it really was in this room. He reached out, his hands skimming the thick cotton sheets to grasp her quivering hand, caressing it slowly he felt his heart tighten once he realised that her hand remained clasped in his, “I’m Harry but.” He smirked, hoping that his smile would calm her nerves “…just a bit wiser…” He was waiting for her to roll her eyes sarcastically and say those words... ‘Oh honestly’ before shoving him away playfully….

But that never came…instead he saw something that he never expected to see in Hermione. Fear…

“Look,” her eyes dropped to the floor, her hand moved from his and he watched as her arms covered her self like she normally did when she was afraid. “…I need time to think Harry” Looking up again at him she smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes…His heart dropped and his mouth went dry. A horrible unexplainable pain knifed through him when he saw that she was lying. She was afraid. “….what you did was unbelievable and yet dangerous...”

“We had no option Hermione...” Harry bit back from lashing out….to vent his frustration about the sleepless nights he spent after her death. How he felt after losing his powers and what he had to do in order to survive.

“It couldn’t have been that bad Harry,”

That bad?? He laughed at her innocence. That bad?? What…with you dying and me losing my powers….and what happened to Ron, London…the whole friggin world everything is just peachy… “……what drove you to come back…” She asked.

You….his mind whispered but he found himself saying.

“Voldemort,” which was true, Voldemort was the crux of his problem.

“Harry?” he could see her breath hitch in her throat…” You mean…you-know-who,” He could see her brow flutter in embarrassment when she couldn’t speak the name. Shaking her head in disbelief, “But Harry…”

“Miss Granger!” Madam Pomfrey bussed inside from the front door; chunks of battered grey hair were flying loose from her typical tight bun as she moved towards Harry’s bed, “Mr Potter is still recovering. He needs his rest!” crossing her arms she nudged her head to the front door and waited for her to leave.

“Sorry,” She bit her lower lip, eyes falling to the floor. She picked up her things and turned to him as she made her exit, “See you around Harry...”

He wanted to say something, anything but words died in his mouth. He simply nodded and reassured himself that once he was cleared a full bill of health he was going to see Hermione.

_ _ _ _ _

Two days passed and even when Harry was released from the infirmary Hermione couldn’t face him. Instead she spent day and night, when she wasn’t using the time turner or polishing her essays for extra credit surrounding herself with textbooks in any shape or form that could help Harry and make her feel at ease.

This is bloody ridiculous, she thought, her eyes scanning the text “Knowledge of the Future”---it was a divination text (a subject that she had little faith in) however, she had to gain knowledge, anything to help Harry adjust to the time line. Looking at the spine she scoffed, this text hasn’t got the W. P.A. G (the Wizard Publishing Authenticity Guild) seal of approval. Figures, Hermione slumped further into her swivel chair, groaning as she felt another headache brewing. All these textbooks don’t have enough evidence to suggest that Divination, prophecies and time travel were even real.

How old is he? An image of his ashen face, chiselled cheekbones and green eyes appeared, making her heart skip a beat and her stomach quiver.

Hermione gritted her teeth, growling to herself. A few passer by stopped to glance at her before hurrying off. Great, she thought…now they think I’m a loon….

His hand, so soft and delicate encased hers as his green eyes pleaded with her….Don’t think about that….

Picking up her quill she tried to distract herself, listening to the scratching noise the quill made against the yellowish paper. She only had ten minutes to kill before another batch of lessons started.

Voldemort, the sound of Harry’s voice as he uttered it…it was filled with such….hollow emptiness....

What drove Harry to risk his own life to go back and change history? Didn’t he think about breaking any rules or the dire consequences that came with changing time?

Obviously not….He can be so dense sometimes…and forgetful, Hermione sighed….also reckless…doesn’t he know apart of her dies when he plays that dreadful game....Quidditch

Boys….

“Hermione,” he whispered…

She could feel the emotion behind it….what was it? She never in her life heard him speak her name with such….reverence?

He seems so…Hermione bit her lower lip in concentration….bereaved, depressed? Tired?

She looked at her watch, sighing, she packed up her belongings. There was no use now---she had to get to class and she knew from the look of Mrs Prince’s face she had outstayed her welcome today.

_ _ _

Her warm pyjama-clad body was flush against his, mumbling softly in her sleep, Harry was awed by her beauty. How did he deserve someone like Hermione?

He leant over and kissed her on the check, seeing her face flush he whispered.

“I know that you’re awake...” his hands slid down to her waist and began to tickle…

He then found himself lying flat against his bed with a dull thud. Wincing he looked up and found Hermione on top of him, her shapely legs sprawled against his and he suddenly felt…very comfortable….

Eyes half open Harry fumbled for his glasses before pulling back the covers. It has been two days and his best friend hadn’t said anything to him about what she felt…..leaning over to pick up his invisibility cloak from his truck he swung it over and began creeping out the room. Each step he prayed that she was still up just so he could find out what was going on.

He found Hermione in the common room, hunched over and straining her eyes to study her text. Harry slid off his cloak and ventured over to the neighbouring red velvet sofa.

“Hey,” he said, yawning. He wanted to yell, scream Was I wrong….I risked so much to come back….Why haven’t you spoken to me…why have you…

Hermione stiffened, not expecting anyone to be awake. She looked up, “Hey...” biting her lower lip, eye zipping from her open text to him “What-t are you doing up?”

He could tell that he made her feel on edge, and that bothered him. She was the only one that he considered to be –well----quite normal around him. She treated him like any other muggle or wizard-with respect.

I should’ve lied, Harry thought. At least, I could have kept her safe that way. But then I’ll be lying to my self….

Plus…. he had no powers and the only way to stop Voldemort was help---lots of help and he needed...—

“Hermione, we have to talk about this…”

“What!” She hissed, “ Harry there is nothing to talk about,” She shook her head and ventured back to study.

Why do girls have to be so confusing? Of course there was a lot to talk about.

He stood up, strode towards her in two brisk steps, yanking her up with such force that she squealed, “Harry” before being whisked underneath his invisibility cloak.

“I have to talk to someone about this,” he whispered, he needed to talk to someone about his game plan and he knew that Hermione could handle most of the issues he would dreg up. Well…almost…

Hermione sighed. “Alright, but allow me to put my books away…”

Harry nodded and helped her pack up her things. Harry groaned under the weight of twenty books.

He guided them (slowly) up to the girl’s dormitories, standing at the edge of the staircase, he whispered, “Promise me, you’ll come back,” tilting his head down he gazed into her brown eyes. She softly nodded, pulled off the cloak, grabbing her things and slowly crept upstairs.

She’s young, He thought. So am I…in body… In that moment he realised the hardship Professor Dumbledore had concerning the prophecy---- such a secret couldn’t be handle well by a thirteen year old.

Hermione’s not just any other girl; she’s just….. Hermione…just Hermione…. He hoped she could cope with some of the information he will reveal tonight.

_ _ _

4. Chapter four

Chapter four

Hermione gasped. After ten minutes worth of walking, huddled close to Harry with his original scent causing her body to turn into jelly was this place…

It was a small room with two sofas in the middle, bathed in soft light from the ceiling. A small coffee table with snacks lay in between.

“Welcome,” Harry whispered, sliding off the cloak and closing the door behind them. “To the room of requirement,”

Hermione gasped in awe of its beauty and powerful magic that churned underneath. Turing to Harry as he ventured over to the sofa he explained further. Her face smiled in anticipation of new knowledge.

“Dobby told me of this place in 5th year.”

“Dobby?” Hermione asked. That’s an odd name for a student. Was he perchance a new student? Someone who…

Hermione saw him wince,

Was it something I said, she thought, watching him closely as he sat down; she took the sofa across from him and curled herself into a small ball, chin resting on her knees, she waited.

“Dobby is the house elf you met” Harry sighed. “…will meet in 4th year.”

“There are house elves at Hogwarts…” An image of a withered, wax skinned doll like creature scurrying around filled her mind. How could Dumbledore….

“Now is not the time to be thinking about that Hermione…I wanted to...”

“Oh” She gasped. How did he no, wait, scratch that, he always knew when she was off in her rants…”…sorry Harry its just hard …I keep forgetting….” I keep forgetting that you’re my friend and not some trapped time-traveller.

“Good…”he interrupted, a smile brewing on his face, “…it will help me…” his green eyes frazzled a bit and Hermione wondered what knowledge, what horrors did he see to force him to come back?

“So what happened?” Immediately kicking herself, get a grip Granger…that’s a loaded question and we don’t have all night.

“So much Hermione….so much….” He whispered, looking into her eyes she could see tears leak out in small crystal beads. She didn’t mention it.

“Why did you come back?”

“There are a lot of reasons but first of all I was supposed to be going back to 6th year…” he blushed.

Hermione sighed.

Harry babbled and continued on in his usual Harry-like way.

He always babbled when he was stressed, she thought and interrupted him.

“6th year?? How old ….”

“I was waiting for that one” Harry interrupted and she could feel her cheeks flush, “…I was nineteen ...”

“Nineteen?” He went back seven years….seven years. Her mind couldn’t comprehend what it would mean if the situation was reversed. She needed more books….some exotic texts …She remembered Mrs Dorian, an ex charms professor mentioning some diverse book about coping with the future. However, she took no notice. After all, anything remotely to do with divination was completely and utterly rubbish…But still…she needed some information….

What wouldn’t I give to have some text to help me help Harry….

A loud clunk jeered her from her thoughts and found a pile of books in front of her.

Harry took no notice of the pile of books that suddenly appeared. He must be used to it by now, she thought. She eyed the books and she gulped. Some texts she hadn’t even heard of…her hands twitched by her sides but she resisted the urge to savagely snatch one of those books and devour them slowly soaking up every bit of information …

“I lost my ability to use magic when I turned seventeen…”

Another stab filled her. Doors slammed in her mind and she felt cold. Harry, she felt her heart clench….so much…..she felt her throat tighten “How can you lose?” She shook her head. How can you lose something so precious…so intimate and never get it back? Looking down her hands she could seem them shake. She hastily put them in her lap to keep Harry from knowing that she was shocked.

“I got Shah Hermione….”

Shah? Hermione raised an eyebrow. Shah’s was an old-wives tale that mother’s would tell their children. The story goes that when a loved one dies it is rumoured that if a witch of wizard allowed grief to take over they would lose their ability to use magic…

Totally preposterous, Hermione thought. Shah??? Even though it was mentioned on page 45 “Old wives tales: Myth or Fiction” in Hogwarts a History there was no way that Harry could lose his ability to perform magic.

I don’t believe it, she thought.

“But according to Hogwarts a history Shah’s is only temporary”

“Well…I don’t have any magic...” He rebuked, crossing his arms he shook his head.

Hermione sighed. Thinking hard she waited until a small cauldron filled with white-soapsuds like viscous appeared, along with a test tube filled with yellow-wax liquid and a scalpel.

“Hold out your hand,” she instructed, grasping the scalpel firmly in her right.

“Hermione—“ she saw his hand jerk and she leapt, nearly knocking over the small cauldron she sliced open his right palm, ignoring his protest she awaited until three hearty drops landed with a plop in the bubbling liquid.

“What DID you do THAT for,” he snarled, nostril flaring he cradled his injured hand close.

“Proving my point.” She said, smiling, adding the wax-liquid and waited until purple vapour rose in steady puffs. “That,” she pointed at the purple-smoking cauldron, “proves that you do have powers….a common theory among alchemists in the French Alps suggest that 95% percent of all shah’s sufferers have mental symptoms….which means, “she stressed when she saw Harry open his mouth to protest. “… that you had your powers but were overrun with grief…” biting her lower lip, she added. “So…you have…you always had your powers Harry…you just believed that you didn’t….self doubt is a very powerful thing Harry,”

__

Looking at Hermione, her bushy hair and slightly large teeth Harry felt a sense of relief wash over him…he had powers…and yet….

Pulling out his wand from his pocket he flicked his wrist. “Lumos” staring at his wand he willed it to be engulfed in white.

Nothing happened….

A deathly silence filled the room and only the sounds of Hermione hitched breathing and his deep breaths could be heard.

“Great in theory Hermione,” He rolled his eyes, placing his wand back inside. How can I be so stupid, he thought to himself.

“Try again,” She prompted, her face was firm and her lips were in a straight line, the kind of expression she usually wore when faced with a challenge.

“No, Hermione.” Harry shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, “Remus said the same thing to me and still…after a years worth of testing…. nothing happened Hermione. My powers are blocked….or….”

“Blocked?” She asked, her face fell downward in thought“…well then we will have to un-block them Harry…there must be a way....” she muttered. Harry couldn’t look at her; if he did he wouldn’t be able to compose himself.

“Not everything comes out of some book Hermione.” He stressed, he struck his hands in front of him, waving them around in a slow circle, “This is real life we are talking about” he looked up into her young and innocent face, there was no hint of dark purple rings or a haunted expression he was so used to be seeing on her. This Hermione had no idea….yet and he was unsure of whether or not he should be the one to bring her world upside down, “…something you’ll never understand unless you stick your head out from a bloody book—“he pointed to the stack of books and allowed words to spun from his mouth, all his anger, frustration at himself and at her leapt from his mouth until his throat became too raw and coarse from speaking.

“Bloody book huh? Just some book Hermione,” she parroted, tears streamed from her face, blotchy and flushed from anger and pain she didn’t bother wiping them away with her hands, “…well excuse me Harry for caring about your well-being,” She stopped, her breaths now high and scratchy , “….there is a way…Harry and we will find it…” She crossed her arms in defiance and stared at him, hoping that he would look away, like he always did.

Not this time, he thought to himself. I don’t have time to waste looking in some ancient text when I already know the outcome.

“Well…happy hunting Hermione….let me know when some book tells you that my powers are a figment of my imagination.” He wished he didn’t say those words and cursed his inability to control his emotions, especially around her…

“… I will Harry,” She laughed, a loud withes’ cackle, the kind in movies before lightening struck, which scared him as Hermione never laughed when she was upset.

She would conjure flying birds like in 6th year or bite her lower lip before heading to the girls’ bathroom.

Never, laugh, not like she was now… “…I’m going to find something…anything to help you Harry.” her voice hitched again, he could almost hear her faint sob she was trying to keep concealed. “You have the power but you lack faith....determination and belief in yourself….”

____

Author’s note: Hey guys! I want to thank everyone who has replied to my story. It really means a lot to me. Although I do have a beater reader I can not get in touch with him (and it’s been a week) So, I’ve posted this chapter and I do apologise for any mistakes made. ---also I have been trying to update for the past 48 hours…so I do apologise for those who were confused.—it would not format properly…argh

On an important note I am going on holiday to the U.S.A. for three weeks so there will be no updates until the 1st of August. For this, I do apologise

I do hope you enjoy this chapter….

Merci beaucoup tout le monde

Rachel

5. Chapter Five

Author’s note:

Thank you for your replies…They mean a lot to me and encourage me to write even when things are hectic. Special thanks to my beat reader—Katie—who puts up with my grammar errors and makes lemonade out of my rotten lemons :} :}

Disclaimer: If I haven’t said this already. I do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: This chapter contains horrific memories from Harry’s past. So…be warned . ( I have upped the rating just to be on the safe side)

Also…I have mentioned the subject of terrorism and would be dealing with it down the track. I do not condone it nor agree with it so this subject would be discussed very lightly…if I do step out of bounds…please let me know as I know this is a very hot and taboo subject. ( I study politics so, every day, I learn about the senate, security in Asia pacific region, foreign relations and the impact of terrorism. I just wanted to warn everyone…..and let everyone know that I aim to tread lightly.)

Sincerely

Rachel

Chapter five

Hermione's funeral

He stood still as his friend, Ron, slumped against his legs, curled on the trimmed grass. He let out a strangled moan as a shiny brown casket was carried closer and closer to the open grave in front of them.He stood still.The casket was hand made and varnished, making the wood seem watery and opaque. An array of fresh roses, daises and lilies covered the top and loose petals fell, leaving a small trail in its wake, painting the dark grass in red, white, and yellow petals. The casket was floating in the air waist length, so he could see the dark engravings, its long deep grooves stood out among the bright pastel and crystal like flowers. Ancient runes, he thought. More importantly, the runes were a part of a spell to prevent someone from becoming an inferi. Voldermort could raise as many dead bodies for his army as he liked, just not this one.

Click-Click-Click-Click

He could hear the clicking sound of cameras flashing, like canons, each light was brighter than the next. He looked away; eyes firmly on the ground and remained standing. He didn't move, nor speak, only breathed in and out as Ron lay head down in the grass, crying. The press heartily drank up the scene and zoomed in on Ron's broken appearance.
Ginny was the perfect actress. Her beautiful Sunkist hair flowed around her sobbing shoulders, her cherub face flushed, making the velvet black dress bright. She mourned as a mother losing her child, her arms stretched out and was a hair's breath from the casket as if in a final farewell. The casket lowered, and sunk deep into the dark earth. Dirt was thrown over in even clumps as mourners, strangers and press threw flowers into the grave.
He stood still and tightened his grip on the azure scarf tied around his wrist, dangling like a you-you in the wind he rubbed the soft material between his forefingers and bit his lower lip to keep himself from falling down.

He woke up, choking back a sob. Quickly, he rubbed his wet eyes and looked at the rising sun. He remembered that day all too well.

_ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ __ _

He tried not looking at the small mound of white on top of the table; he didn't want to think of her underneath the heavy white cloth. The smell of death lingered, slowly choking him with its stale aroma. Why did Remus bring him inside the morgue? He must know that of all places Harry didn't...did something happen or….
Remus turned and looked down at Harry, his face grief-stricken and raw from crying. He had something concealed underneath his black robes. Before Harry could ask Remus began speaking in a soft voice, as if he was explaining to a child about the facts of life. Harry didn't have enough energy to complain.
"I know that you may think I am unkind in bringing you here" Remus sighed. "Of all places but we have a tight window. Please listen to what I have to say".
Harry nodded, his left hand in his pocket, touching the blue scarf inside and felt his nausea subside but he still couldn’t, no, wouldn't look over at the small white mound. Instead, he focused his gaze on Remus and prayed that he wouldn't lose his resolve.
"You know that Voldermort is making his death army using inferi and that the only way to prevent this is by a spell."
No, he didn't know. Hermione would know-she knew everything. In fact, he half expected her to walk in right now, a knowing smile on her face and an explanation, but no, that would not happen. She died in his arms and there was no fantasy, no drug or spell that could wipe her frightened eyes from his memories.
"Remus, why…"
"In order to prevent Hermione from being used as Voldermort's pawn, we must sever each limb from the body."

He felt his stomach churn, he quickly ran to the fresher before vomiting in the closest cubicle. He gripped the sides with his hands and forced his body to calm down but all he could feel were the slow agonizing waves inside him move before he vomited for the second time.

Slowly Remus revealed an elongated wooden-handled axe from underneath his robes. It looked like Death's scythe but without the long nail like-claw. The axe-head had Celtic engravings on the sharp tip. There was no blood and it had a fine shine as if it had been recently sharpened.
"You must sever the limbs, arms, and neck from the body..."
Harry couldn't believe the bull coming from Remus's mouth. He sounded clinical now, as if it was his job, chopping limbs off loved ones. The axe felt hard but smooth in Harry's trembling fingers. It was also heavy so it took most of his upper strength to keep it waist length.
"How can you expect me to…?”
"It must be you Harry. You know that Voldemort's spies are everywhere. We can not trust anyone."
"But what about Arthur or Tonks…"
"I had to do this once Harry...for her sake, make sure her body is safe and lies in her grave untouched.”
Untouched. Oh the irony of that word.
Remus walked over to stand at the foot of the table, and then briskly removed the white cloth and tossed it to the floor.
He tried looking away but his eyes were frozen upon her pale lifeless body, thick purple marks marred her hips, forearms and shoulders.
"I have made the markings so it will be a clean cut."
He listened to the loud scratching noises the axe made as he dragged it with him, it echoed off the darkened walls, highlighting the deafening quietness afterwards.
After a few moments of looking into Remus’s reserved manner he calmly said.
"Raise the axe...”
--------------------------------------

Harry drowned out his barked-sobs with the loud flushing of the toilet.
He showered and trudged back to his dorm to change. He never forgave Remus after that night. He hated himself for doing it and didn't know how he had the energy or the ability to do it but back then he felt nothing and everything felt delayed, discarded and dejected.

It was a Saturday morning. Harry had detention with Hagrid, he hoped it involved feeding Buckbeak and not one of his horrible slugs or some new animal that was named Muffy but had claws and three eyes.

A close friend of his, Mahir Ackmead Haseem often said that when bad memories floated back that he should remember the good times and that even in death, they remain in his heart.

Mahir was a man beyond description. He had so many official titles that often Mahir said that Capitan would just do fine when Harry first met him in 1998. It was a week after London was attacked that Remus suggested Harry should learn some muggle-combat skills. He said the training would aid him in the war against Voldemort. This was also the week after the doctors at St Mungos diagnosed him with a severe case of Shahs.
Mahir became his teacher, mentor and friend for the following six-months before he too was murdered, not by Voldermort but Ali-Mohammed, a leader of a terrorist cell in Afghanistan.

Relief flooded Harry when he saw Hermione at the breakfast table, her bushy hair peaking out from the Daily Prophet she had propped on the table. A picture of his godfather, Sirius Black covered the entire first page and caused Harry to chuckle slightly as he sat down. Sirius, as Remus put it was the theatrical one of the group.

"Morning," He mumbled. He wasn't sure if Hermione was still speaking with him after what transpired between them in the room of requirement. It wasn't as if he was down-grading her ability to find information or help but he already knew the outcome. He had no ability to use his powers-End of Story. The End.

His fellow class mates were feverish with discussion of his god father's antics and how he killed thirteen people with one curse. This, of course was not true as it was Peter, not Sirius, who killed those innocent people and if he could accomplish one thing, it would be to capture Peter with his bare hands. However, today was not the day as after breakfast he had detention. Can you hear the excitement in my voice? Harry thought mildly.

"Hermione..." He whispered. Still no movement behind the newspaper-Gosh, she can be stubborn when she wants to be.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ginny looking at him and blushing. He groaned. This is not what I need now. I need-
"Hermione, would you please..."

She wiped the paper down by her side in one fluid movement to reveal her haggard complexion, red eyes and puffy hair. She looked pissed.
"Oh Blimey! What didja do?" Ron plonked himself on Harry's left and began filling up his plate with bacon, kippers, poached eggs and pancakes. "Did that rotten animal of yours comb your hair again?"

Hermione shook her head, shaking her tears away, got up and left the breakfast table with her plate half full.
Harry turned to Ron, still piling stacks on to his plate and scoffed. He stood up and followed suit. Hearing Ron shout, "What did I do." he left the Great Hall to find Hermione in the hallway, walking with her head held high as if nothing had happened. She usually did this when she was about to cry. He stepped closer to her. “Hermione...”

She turned, almost slowly on purpose and walked towards him. "Don't you Hermione me Harry Potter, you-" she whispered harshly.
"I told you that there is no cure…" He said. There was none. Zilch. Nada. He went to every bleedin' doctor and came out with the same outcome. Zilch.
"And I told you!" She poked him in the chest. Her small hand caused his heart to flutter. Even when she was angry she was so full with life and energy that he wanted to…"if you would just listen..."

"No," Shaking his head, "You listen Hermione, I've lived two years," hoping to pound those two words home. "Two years without magic..," without you, without Ron and with many things that I would never admit to anyone. "I came back to fix things but I have…"
"You came back," She interrupted. "…therefore you still have your powers. If you just speak to Professor Dumble-"
"I'm not going to involve him Hermione." Not after the way he was murdered….. "Hermione, this must be done without anyone knowing...."
She laughed, her mouth open and flushed with warmth. Eyes dazzling with shed tears she whispered.
"Then I won't stand in your way then".

6. Chapter 6 (reloaded)

Author’s note: Hey Guys…I’m really sorry about the wait but my chapter got lost in the mail and I had trouble reaching my beat reader….so I am sorry about the wait.

Thank you all for your replies---they make me smile and challenge me to write and improve. For the purposes of this story I have changed Hermione’s birthday to October 31st..(31/10/79) to fit in with the story…….

Norman: If you still want to check for spelling errors as you’ve said in you last reply…please let me know as I am having trouble contacting you….so please pm me…

This chapter is dedicated to Katie….an awesome beta reader who is having an injection next month…so….even though chapters may be slow in the next couple of weeks …I hope she feels better soon.

Questions and queries are welcome …however…..in regards to Harry’s powers…..it shall be answered in the following chapter…. Quand je dis <<non>> C’est non…lol….What I mean is that this story wouldn’t be Harry potter without his magic so its obvious of the outcome….but the question is when…how and why…..

Merci Beaucoup mes amis

Rachel

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…….

______

Chapter Six

If the seasons were people then fall would be the sinister-looking creature hiding in the shadows. Unlike summer and her warm rose-pink body its cold colorless hands would sink into the ground, drying from the roots up, turning jade leaves into brown, red and mustard. Trees gaped in the air, their vine trunks naked and stiff in the grey sky. Pools of multi-colored leaves littered the ground and made horrible crunching noises as children leapt and sprung along the muddy footpaths.

Fall never announces itself before sweeping underneath one’s feet. In fact, Harry never noticed the change until one Saturday morning he walked outside to feel a cold chill slither down his spine, reminding him that it had been a month since he returned and an even longer month without Hermione.

Ever since his childish outburst she kept her word and never spoke. She walked alone or with Ginny. She often made morning trips to the library for some tall-tale book and spend the next three hours devouring its pages, her quill became an extension of her hand and he wasn’t surprised to see ink fingerprints on desks as he went to class.

She never said hello, never breathed a word and it was pure agony. When Hermione had died, in what Harry liked to call, a previous existence, it was horrible but looking back, at least he had a sense of closure, physical evidence that his Hermione wasn’t coming back. This Hermione that graced the great hall with her head held high was worse then death.

Her cinnamon eyes would glaze over his without a flicker of emotion, as he was just another face in the crowd and it killed him every time.

So, Harry started having breakfast in the elves’ kitchen. He found himself walking a few steps behind her bushy hair, watching every breath she took until he knew that her favorite past time was reading in the library, her favorite drink was not pumpkin juice but apple juice and that her least favorite subject was Hagrid’s as her feet slowed and arched slowly down the cobble steps. He was a shadow, as Mahir would put it, he was her shadow and ever time she turned he would be three-steps behind but never seen. This was one of the skills Mahir taught him. He taught him to be a stranger in the crowd, to act dumb so others would foolishly reveal secrets to him. He would follow people and learn their habits, their likes, their dislikes and relationships, and then….

Harry never liked the next part….

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

It was nearing the end of October and so was the infamous Hogesmead visit, which meant that if he waited a little bit longer Fred and George would give him his father’s map and then he could get to work and explore the castle for Peter Pettigrew. (Peter had the nasty habit of disappearing lately and Harry knew that if he ran away Lord Voldemort would rise again, and that was something Harry never wants to experience again)

A small paper crane fluttered onto a small cement bench in which Harry perched for the past hour. He picked up the small paper crane, looked up to find Malfoy and his goons hovering by the moss-covered stone archways.

Draco Malfoy, always the joker and the one to piss him off. Harry opened the paper crane to find a crude drawing of him being cut in two by a dementors (which is incorrect as Dementors suck out souls, not cut bodies) and he heard Malfoy snigger.

Harry lifted up the crane in a thank you gesture before marveling at the fine creases Draco had made. What puzzled Harry is that no one wondered how a muggle-hating pureblood knew how to make a perfect muggle paper crane? He even used special paper-crane paper.

Of course, Harry knew the answer to that question. He remembered that particular night in war-zone London, sitting inside a cement pipe drain underneath ruins, drinking vodka as Malfoy made paper cranes to past time.

He hated the taste of vodka. He despised how it burned his mouth and made his stomach feel uneasy. Still, Harry found himself swinging hefty gulps as he sat on the edge of the pipe, gazing up at the black sky, hearing loud buzzing engines whiz past, followed by a thunder of explosion. It was the blitz all over again.

Smoking, another bad muggle habit that Harry picked up from Mahir. It started with Harry watching Mahir have a cigarette with his morning coffee before they went and “practiced”. Weeks past until every time Harry felt hot coffee-bean liquid in his throat the smell of cigarettes would consume him until he felt the need to have one with his coffee.

“It would kill you, make no illusions about that,” Mahir said to him before handing him a packet of 8’s. Harry had no illusions about death and now he smoked. It killed his lungs but it calmed his nerves and passed time as they waited for the daily bomb-raids to stop. Food was scare and often they would spend days without food. Harry never complained for he had already experienced days on end without food from the Dursleys so he passed his techniques to Malfoy. He told him to take up a hobby, Maloy replied. “I already have one” and spent the next couple of days making tiny white paper cranes with slender necks.

Flickering out the bud of his cigarette into a small tin can a few meters away Harry placed the half-full vodka to his side and watched in drunken-amusement Malfoy gingerly making his thirtieth paper crane.

“Paper cranes,” Harry chuckled at that word. Paper cranes.

“That’s enough vodka for you,” Malfoy held out his hand and the bottle floated to his hand. Harry crossed his arms.

“Don’t do that,” he said. He hated magic sometimes. His hands burned with desire to perform a spell, any spell but he was no longer a wizard, nor a squib. He was nothing. A person who belonged nowhere and anywhere.

“Paper cranes,” Draco continued, ignoring Harry’s sour expression. “It’s from a muggle story called Sadako and a thousand paper cranes…I think that’s the title.” He smiled. “I was seven years old and my father bought me a new pair of grey robes when I scared a mud-- a first year,” His grey eyes, often silver in the moonlight seemed to be staring at something, a memory perhaps, was he remembering what it felt like to be a child…Harry didn’t know…his mind was already scatted with vodka and his hands were itching. He needed another cigarette to calm down.

“She dropped a book ya know.” Draco whispered, holding up his child size paper crane. “I didn’t tell father but I kept it and it was a story about a young Japanese girl called Sadako. Set in post World War 2… Sadako was diagnosed. .”Draco paused and placed his crane next to the neat pile of other paper cranes that spilled from his velvet bag, he turned to his side and sat opposite Harry, leaning against the cold cement he continued, crossing his arms “What muggles say as cancer…she was very sick and was going to die…her friend said that if you made a thousand paper cranes the gods would grant you one wish.” He bit his lower lip, Draco had trouble expressing himself. Draco was taught from day one to be never open but remain closed and obedient. Harry tried his best to stay alert but rather scowled at Draco for picking the moment where he was drunk to express himself.

“Sadako wished to be well....so she made them….hundreds of them…but she never finished…she made tiny ones too…until she was too weak to move…her friends and family and people in the village finished the remaining ones and buried it with her,”

Harry pulled out a cigarette lit it and handed it to Draco. He smiled and took a drag, watching smoke waft from his mouth before handing it back to Harry so he could take a drag. It was a great way to save fags when they were stranded. “….my mother was sick,” his eyes flicked from Harry to the destruction outside. Outside was a pile of cement rubble and blood stains, scatted organs and loose gravel. There was nothing left but bones and blood and still…muggles bombed the wizards. The muggles were at war with the wizarding world and it was his fault.

“….very sick…”Draco added, waiting for the bombs to drop, make their big sounds before continuing. Harry handed the cigarette back to Draco and waited for him to take a few puffs before urging him on with a nod. “She couldn’t walk me to the park or…or…even, “ Draco chuckled, his cigarette jiggled between his lips before taking it out and holding it, allowing ash to build up. “ …yell at me for not cleaning my room…or not putting away my potions set.”

Harry didn’t know what to say but felt Draco’s love for his mother. Draco loved his parents and that was one of his problems he faced every day. He loved them and yet was working for the light. His father never gave him praise or even showed affection. His mother was beaten into submission and killed wizards to protect her son but hated mudbloods. Even though Draco puts on a brilliant façade Harry could hear him cry every night and hear his wish to be a child again. Harry often felt like this until he was numbed from the feeling. He never brought up the issue but accepted it and that was apart of their friendship. Both Draco and Harry craved love and family. That was something neither Hermione nor Ron could understand. To understand that the one person who raised you, the one you looked up to, loved and worshiped never loved you in return or doted upon you. To have someone in your life taken from you… Harry missed Sirius….he was his father. Draco understood and that is all Harry needed to know.

“So…” Draco arched his eyebrows to gain his attention. “I looked at the illustrations and after a few attempts...and ordering the house elves to find out how to make them…I wished for my mother to be well….I made tiny ones at first and hid them from my father….I sometimes used parchment my godfather, Professor Snape, bought for me to write down complex potion solutions…day and night each and every one I made with care and with the one wish for curing my mother’s mysterious illness. I made over a thousand paper cranes and….my mother….she,” Harry could see tears rolling down his pale face and hear the faint hitches in his voice but made no qualms about it. Draco never did when Harry cried and usually afterwards they would drink themselves asleep…or dead….he wasn’t too sure but they both had no one left except each other. Snape was with the death eaters and Harry never made contact with the Weasley’s since Ron’s death. Ron and death were two words he never thought would be together so close after...Hermione. Ron loved life. People often thought he and Luna were going to end up together and get married. Luna did. Harry knew otherwise. No one knew how Hermione died except Harry and Ron. Ron couldn’t handle it, that’s what Harry wanted…no…..told himself to believe. Ron, his best friend, just died with a gun in his hand….a complete mishap…

He needed another drink.

“….My mother…was cured…I was ecstatic …overwhelmed at the power of these cranes that I presented them to her in her dressing room.”

Harry could see that. He could picture the thousand paper cranes, red, blue, white and yellow with slender necks and triangle wings perched on Narissa’s dress table like some ivory tea set.

Draco was always articulate and conscious on presentation. Even though his robs were moth eaten they still shone as new. His hair wasn’t dread-locked like Harry’s. It was fine and wheat-like, silk even, that matched his ivory skin. He clung to his ideals to keep him sane. Harry lost those naive notions months ago and didn’t care whether he woke up the next day. Malfoy did. He was a bit of a git really but a brother none the less. Family, his annoying yet comforting older brother.

“Father found out…mother was furious and father…he locked me up without light for a month….my paper cranes were burned and my mother became weak again…that was the last day of my childhood…”

Harry raised his hand in the air, toasting him and whispering, “Amen, brother,”

Looking down at the white paper crane in his hands, the same white paper Draco would cut every morning into small squares brought a tear to his eye. He used his hand to ruffle his hair in order to swipe his tears from his cheeks.

He looked up again to find Draco making faces, taunting him like an older brother and he smiled. He didn’t care. Even in this confusion and loneliness he could always count on Malfoy to drag him up from the gutter.

*

Every day Hermione woke up and headed to the library. She woke up, ate, went to work, and slept. Her life became repetitive, predictable and agonizing. She missed her best friend. She missed his colorful jade eyes that shone even brighter without his owl-shaped glasses. His messy-black hair that screamed “brush me” and taunted her hands to bury themselves in his thick ebony locks.

She was determined to keep her promise and stay away from him. He didn’t want her help, he said so himself. He didn’t want anyone to know, thus included her.

Still, she wanted to find a way to prove him wrong. He had magic. She could feel it ebbing from him every time she saw him or was near enough to smell his earthly scent. The librarian knew her by name and she didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing but Madam Pince never complained if Hermione suddenly found herself in the restricted section.

She pilled books upon books and struggled to find information about Shahs and how to find a cure for Harry.

It was another dreary day in the library; the smells of oak and parchment seem to numb her senses when she realized that she would be turning fourteen at the end of October. She bit the end of her quill in thought. Hogsmeade was the weekend of her birthday. Which meant that She, Ron, and Harry would be going to Hogsmeade, which meant that she could corner Harry and beg forgiveness…no….she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t give in and allow him to wallow in self pity. She was going to help him, whether he liked it or not.

That is what she was doing at this moment. She sat, legs crossed, surrounded by dusty yellowing books with ink stained hands, trying to find a cure.

“Good morning Miss Granger,”

Her ink bottle splattered over her parchment, running down the table and splashing onto her robes. She looked up to find Professor Dumbledore, wearing deep magenta robes, making his white bead seem brighter against the vibrant purple. His half-moon glassed perched on his nose as his eyes winked at her.

“Oh dear,” he whispered, pulling out his wand the ink stain was removed with a simple swish and flick. As he placed his wand back beneath his robes Professor Dumbledore said, “I would expect a studious student such as yourself to be enjoying a nice relaxing Saturday morning outside.”

Hermione bit her lower lip, her eyes flicked from her pile of notes to Dumbledore before discreetly pulling her notes underneath a lone herbology text she used as a cover.

“I guess you’re like me and prefer this wonderful place of knowledge then the hard grassy earth,” he teased, his smiled and revealed a small page-torn book from his left pocket.

“I’m catching up on some light reading from the muggle section myself. Why, I’ve just finished a wonderful story about two hobbits and the journey to destroy a ring. Fascinating and I might add that Gandalf is one of my old time favorites….I---,” He stopped midway when he suddenly picked up a small leather bound journal on the study of Shas,

“But I see you’ve been reading about Shas. A Terrible mental disorder…worse than schizophrenia and depression.” He looked up her and then held up the book. “But why would you be reading about Shahs when I know for a fact that none of your extra circular actives require knowledge about mental disorders?”

Her answer almost came spiraling out of her. Harry’s gone back through time, she wanted to say it…but she knew that Harry would never forgive her if she confessed his secret.

As much as she thought that by telling Dumbledore a lot of Harry’s problems and anxieties would cease but…

“I was just checking to see if it would be…”

“I know Hermione,” He replied.

He knows! How could he? He’s the most brilliant wizard of course…of course he would know…her eyes brightened and she felt a heavy weight leave her shoulders.

“I’ve already tested Harry when he was eleven and he showed no signs of Shas…however…considering his past two years and…with the affect the dementors are having…yes….” He seemed to be speaking out loud rather then speaking to Hermione for Dumbledore left muttering to himself.

“Professor,” She began but he was already leaving her table with the leather bound book still in his hands, leaving Hermione to wonder what Dumbledore was on about? And how would it help Harry?

Hogsmead, Hermione reasoned.

The day of her birthday, the 31st of October she would drag Harry into hogsmeade and

…..Hermione sighed, picking up her books.

She had no idea what to say but she wanted…no…she needed her friend back and even though he’s changed….he’s still Harry and she would be there for him regardless….plus…she needed to see those pair of amazing green eyes that always enthralled her.

7. Chapter 7 (reloaded)

A/N—Hey guys. I do apologise for being lax with updates but uni is trying to kill me….very slowly. Once again. Thanks to Katie for checking this chapter….

Also I have tweaked with Luna’s character a bit… I can’t say what as you’re about to find out…but FYI it’s for the purpose of this story…

Also a HUGE thanks to ears91…who pointed out the obvious….and quickly changed…thanks

Cheers

Rachel

Chapter 7

Harry slouched against a small chair overseeing a white arch window; long ebony curtains draped at its side. Aside from him sat Luna, her long dirty blonde hair lay limp on her shoulders. In-between biting her fingernails, her silvery-blue eyes seemed alert for the very first time.

“I know they’re out there,” her eyes flickered to the door one foot away, bared shut with a metal panel and magic. She squirmed in her pale white shirt and pants.

Her voice normally sounded faraway, aloof and breathy. He usually never takes notice of what she said. Usually he would think of a way to avoid her. Something about her always made him feel uncomfortable and now he knew why; Harry just didn’t know whether he should be feeling relieved or worried.

“So,” Harry whistled, his eyes roaming around her bare white walls and floor. Suddenly, the black curtains felt like dementors robes, cold and unflinching.

“The curtains soothe me,” Luna answered for him, her eyes switching between him and the curtains. Hands touching her bottom lip her eyes remained focused. Unflinching in its penetrating gaze Harry started to feel on edge and only felt his tension subside when she looked away and gazed at the shut door. Eyes still trained on the door she whispered.

“They’re all liars…. Fakers…” she huffed her hair out of the way before turning back to face him. He looked at her weak and thin frame. Days of starvation caused her hands to look like thin white bones, if he looked closer he would see her white skin stretched and strained over bone. He could see the network of veins painted on her face and body. It was his fault that she was this way. He was too busy in his self pity to see that other people, like Luna were suffering as well.

She stood up, Harry followed suit and kept a close eye as she moved to stand by the curtains, Harry wondered why she chose that colour and that velvet texture in a place like this. After a brief second of gazing she turned and leaned against the window, speaking to it as if it had a soul. “When people think of clairvoyants or physics,” Luna smiled, now looking at him as she continued. “…they say….’oooh’ (she moved her hands around in a squiggly motion) so you can see the future….” She shrugged her shoulders and shouted “Bah,” She turned her body and faced the white wall, as if they were other people in this room besides him, “ Its sooo more complex than that,” She spat, turned her body back to him, shaking her head at him she chuckled a low breathily cackle that froze him on the spot, “…..no one can see the future” Still chuckling to herself, tears started to drip from her eyes, her right hand touched her cheek, catching a small tear she tasted it, paused, and remained in mid movement, looking at her outstretched hand, “….its like water (her hand twisted out and inward in a come hither motion) constantly rippling from the boulders and choices we make in life,” her head snapped up and focused on him standing by the wall,” ….in truth….we only see echoes of what may or may not have been…”tilting her head to one side, her hair billowing forth like golden rays , “Kind of like a preview of what may happen if we follow that yellow brick road…”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He only discovered a few days ago that Luna had the ability to see the future. Her mother, Sangroyale Eve lovegood, was a well known physic in Southern France and if people knew that Luna was her only daughter she would be more famous than him. Part of him felt angry that Luna had this power and didn’t tell anyone, after all she could’ve saved a lot of lives but now he was realizing that having such a volatile gift can make no difference if you can’t control it. She was looking straight at him, almost through him as if she could sense his thoughts. A ghostly smile erupted on her face, nodding.

“People change when they know you can see things,” Her head snapped to the left, looking behind the sofas and the corner of the walls, “hear things……spirits….ghosts….auras….,” Shaking her head at him, as if by chance her ordeal and his were similar. “It never changes,” She stated. She turned back to face the door, leaving him in his thoughts.

It never changes…what did she mean by that? Half of him dismissed her claim, after all, she was Luna lovegood and despite her secret abilities she was still loony….but another part of him understood in his own way. It never changes, being different, being the boy-who-lived…no matter what he would always be treated as some kind of hero.

As he was thinking he heard Luna whispering to him as she gazed at the barred door, “….its always the same…” she turned around, her arms outstretched in a begging manner, “.Tell me…about my mother…will I die in twenty years? ….will she marry that guy? ….will I ever fall in love? ……will my son commit suicide…?” Her arms dropped, her head turning left and right as if someone was speaking to her or something touched her that caused her to become withdrawn and faraway as she usually was.

“….The whispers,” She said, her eyes looking skyward as she edged backward into a corner. “…did I see Ron take his life?” She dug her hands into her skull, shutting her eyes she added, “Did I see death’s hands on her brown eyes?” She abruptly opened up her eyes and looked past his shoulder, screaming at his side, “I Told you no…I won’t I won’t I won’t”. Shaking her head at his left side, Harry turned and wondered who she was seeing beside him? Was it a spirit or her fragile mind collapsing before her?

Whack!

She lunged forth and attacked him like some animal, knocking his glasses away and threw him to the floor, straddling his body Luna crossed her arms and whined, her lips wavering like a child.

“….. I told you,” Shaking her head at him, her legs trapping him to the floor, “I can’t see the future,” She slid off him, allowing Harry to feel the floor around him until he clutched his glasses. Putting them on Harry sat up, using his elbows and found Luna lying on the floor beside him. “.. Like I see the sun rise or my reflection in the mirror…its changes…it’s shifts….nothing stays the same…”Luna got into a crouching position and growled, “He made it all go away…”Standing up she shouted at the walls. “Ron treated me the same as anybody else!” She pointed to herself and laughed, her eyes shining with warmth. Harry stood up, scratching his head, feeling it swim in pain from Luna’s sudden outburst.

“…..this vibrant glowing light….so full of life,” She sighed, her head hung low, “…so full of remorse…”She snapped up again and screamed at Harry, “...No….I won’t ….I won’t …I won’t…I won’t …..I won’t…” Stamping her foot she venomously shook her body before she stopped, suddenly calm she looked up and spoke to the walls again.

“Did I see?” She repeated to herself. “….I glimpsed….I dreamt….but” Her hands wove in front of her, shielding her eyes and turned to him, “…..I…was blind…..he shut my eyes and I followed….”

She brought her hands away from her face and smiled at him, her eyes alert and focused on him.

She wasn’t smiling, or laughing. She was silent but he could feel that she was sad. She had that look in her eye, the one Hermione had when she knew something he didn’t.

“Everything has life, a pulse…a beat….nothing is silent…” She stalked to his side; her body an inch from his and her hand grazed his cheek before sliding upwards to touch his scar. He winced, turning his head away. She ignored his obvious discomfort and opted to rest her head on his right shoulder. “Nothing is kept still…except you…”

He woke up in a cold sweat, breathing rapidly he wiped off the streaming sweat from his brow before reaching for his glasses. Till this day Harry didn’t know what to take from that moment. After Ron’s suicide, Luna’s heritage was leaked to the Daily Prophet and suddenly everyone knew that Luna was Empathic. There are many people who could see the future, some active like Luna’s mother and some not, like Professor Trelawney was and then there are Empaths. An Empath is someone who could not only see things but had such a strong sixth sense that reality and the undead blurred. Without proper training one could lose his or her mind and that’s what happened to Luna. Her grief over Ron’s death pushed her over the edge and ended up in St Mungo’s.

Also, her father placed her on medication to block out her ability to sense, which inadvertently caused her collapse...

The doctors placed her on high doses of elixir l’âme (elixir of the soul) in hopes of closing her mind to ease her pain but it only made it harder for Luna to focus on what was happening around her. The doctors had told him to not take anything she’d said to heart but the way she spoke about life and death and how he had nothing inside him haunted him. So much so, he drank to forget and it was this pre-dawn hour that he remembered.

He flung on his red bathrobe and slipped on his shoes.

Maybe a stroll would ease my mind.

Careful not to wake anyone else he tip-toed downstairs, picking up his invisibility cloak in the process he stood close to the walls and made his way to the courtyard.

Luna was there. Perched on the water fountain edge she was looking down at a filthy black dog and Hermione’s cat.

Sirius, he whispered. He can not describe in words what he felt next but it felt like a hot cavern opening up, his face was hot and lips grinning. Yet, at the same time he felt tears well up. Edging closer, clutching the cloak close he was just a foot away to see the tiny black hairs on Sirius’s fur coat when Luna looked up and right at him.

“I can see you know,” She stated.

Harry shook off the cloak, placing it beside him, dropped to his knees and hugged Sirius. His mangy fur coat smelled of dead rats and dirt but he kissed it anyway. Holding Padfoot close he looked up at Luna, bathed in moonlight, her hair gold as gems and she smiled.

“You’ve found him,” She didn’t need to say his name but Harry knew Luna meant his godfather. Picking up crookshanks, she added. “She has the key,” leaving Harry alone with his godfather. If he didn’t know or was used to Luna’s antics he wouldn’t think of it.

What did she mean? Harry wondered. Who has the key? Somehow he knew that it involved Hermione.

Sirius yelped underneath him, wagging his tail and pouting in a dog-like way.

Clutching him together Harry dragged them to a hidden grove behind some bushes. Hidden from view Harry laid against the bushes with Sirius and listened to the sounds of the night, hugging Sirius closer he closed his eyes.

**

“Oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh no,” Hermione gushed, looking at her frumpy reflection the mirror groaned in approval. Hurriedly, she ripped off her sweat-soaked shirt and slipped on a pale lavender blouse. The mirror laughed.

“Oh no, dear,” The mirror laughed. “That’s worse,”

Hermione smiled, hands on hips and teeth clenched. “You’re no help either!” and, in a huff stormed out of the bathroom, clothes clutched in anger she threw them in a mangle heap on her newly-made bed.

Today was official. It was her birthday and she was in a total mess over a boy for the first time in her life.

Her roommates were no help either.

“Playing dress up Hermione??” Lavender Brown would croon.

“Don’t even bother,” said another.

Ignore them, Hermione said to herself and focused on pulling on a loose blue shirt, dark comfortable jeans (no hipsters) and what her mother dubbed as her “sky walker boots” which were knee length and made from Italian leather with thick silver buckles. She pulled these on and was concealed underneath her jeans. Before slipping on a black knee-length woolen jacket with hood she double checked her bag with money (enough to buy a few supplies and of course, to buy something for Harry) and a small wad of paper with a list of possible books that might help cure his powers.

Once everything was in order she made sure her signed consent form was in her front pocket before tailing the others down the stairs, noticing that none of them said ‘Happy Birthday’. Hermione knew this and yet it still stung.

She saw Ron and Dean huddled together by the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Probably talking about Quiditch, wait, scratch that, they are! Shaking her head she crossed her arms and waited and pretended to be occupied by the people around her instead of looking at the main entrance into the hall, in which, any second now, Harry would trudge down ( toast in hand) and stand next to Ron, setting her plan in motion.

She waited. She waited. She waited. She remained the last person by the fountain as the crowd followed Professor McGonagall towards the carriages down the hill.

It was when Ron came back for her did she turn and leave.

*

When someone was angry, they don’t see reason; they don’t hear it or speak it. Some say they feel an all consuming fire bubbling forth. Hermione just saw red and two emerald eyes and the pang her heart felt when Harry didn’t turn up.

“I’m going to kill Harry Potter. No, wait, scratch that! I’m going to boil him alive.” Hermione rushed, “How dare he not tell me that he didn’t get his consent form signed???” Hermione hissed to Ron as they left Zonko’s joke shop with two bags full of items for their friends and family. Onlookers were gazing at Hermione with interest as she openly and loudly confessed her desire to skin Harry Alive. Ron was trying his best to subdue his friend, and failed miserably.

“Well,” shrugging his shoulders as he walked alongside Hermione. “You guys haven’t been talking lately-----”

“Really,” Hermione laughed. More like, having breathed in each other’s presence. Avoiding one another in halls…well….Harry avoided her. She didn’t and it hurt when she saw him speaking with others. “….I didn’t notice Ron…” yeah, Hermione Jane Granger, human dictionary and inhuman. That’s what everybody thought. Except Harry, or so she thought.

“Hey….don‘t throw your stuff on me!” Ron scoffed.

Typical Ron, Hermione rolled her eyes

“Me and Harry are just fine.” He stopped outside a well-known pub “The three broomsticks” and allowed people close by to enter the pub before adding, “ I say ‘Good Morning’ and he says ‘hey’….”he turned to face her head on, looking down at her, “don’t get our nose in a stitch because Harry has been..”

“Been what?” Hermione snapped back, “Avoiding me?” shrugging her shoulders that screamed the word. ‘Duh’….

“Well…you do tend to…” Ron mumbled and his eyes fell to the floor. His cheeks blushed.

“What….?”Hermione tilted her head to one side. She knew that look. It was that I’m-about-to-say-something-nasty-to-Hermione look, “WHAT RON?”

“…a bit annoying, bossy and…you tend to smother…” He gushed out, his shoulders slouching as he continued to list the flaws and habits in her personality.

“Smother him Ron?” Hermione arched her eyebrows, “As compared to someone who openly childes him (she walked up to him, so close their noses touched) when people recognize him or….”

“Hey Hermione,” Lavender smiled, grabbing her arm tightly.

“Ouch,” Hermione flinched and felt her body being roughly dragged away from the pub. It was then she noticed a small crowd of twenty stood outside the pub, eyes on her and her outburst.

Harry’s going to kill me, Hermione groaned. Before I kill myself…

“Are you trying a new phase?” Lavender jibbed, and went on to pound her questions. Meanwhile, Hermione was trying to translate what Lavender had meant in the first place.

“Speak English,” Hermione said.

“Stop trying to make a scene.” Lavender pouted.

She could hear the snapping sound of her mouth opening and closing as Lavender crossed her arms and rose her eyebrows in that know-what-I-mean way. “Make a…”

“You heard me...” Lavender finished, turned and joined Ron and Dean outside the Three Broomsticks, leaving Hermione alone and crestfallen.

**

To say the rest of the day was better would be lying. Hermione spent the next hour by herself in the library, overhearing people gossip about her recent outburst outside the three broomsticks.

“Did you hear…?”

“Such a bitch if I say so...”

“Its no wonder Harry is avoiding her...”

But she wouldn’t allow their petty insults get to her. No matter how much hurt it caused she kept her head held high and pretended not to notice. Instead, she headed over to the muggle section inside “Zelda’s library,” hoping such authors of crime, mystery and romance would distract her for a while.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” Professor Dumbledore smiled; a book by the name of “Stephen King” was in his right hand.

“Hello Professor,” She answered back, not knowing if she should be feeling happy or unnerved by his appearance.

“And might I add, “Happy Birthday”, he smiled

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks,” she busied herself by looking at the small collections of books around her.

“This is on behalf of the staff,” Dumbledore said, handing her a small wrapped pouch. “It’s unconventional and therefore, you are not allowed to breathe a word of this to anyone,” he paused. “Including Harry,” he smiled briefly and walked down the narrow hallway, leaving her alone with the package in hand.

Finding a small desk and chair nearby she sat down and careful unwrapped the paper to reveal an old-looking oval-shaped pendant. It was silver with some of the chains copper-looking from rust with a flat oval locket. A small design of a dragon in mid-flight (its wings outstretched) caught her eyes and she had a sense of déjà vu before unclasping the butterfly clip and fastening it around her neck. The locket rested underneath her bosom so she slipped it underneath her shirt.

Why would the staff give me this? She wondered, then again, it was a nice change from the stack of books and gift vouches she usually received.

8. Chapter Eight

Hi Guys

I am so sorry that you had to wait for a very long time. I had exams and Uni work to finish so once that was out of the way I concentrated on this. This chapter, although there are some parts that I am a bit iffy about took several weeks to write. There were several re-writes of the very first page in fact…

So, for me this is an accomplishment in itself as I managed to complete this chapter to my liking and it’s 17 pages long so…

I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

Rachel

**Special thanks to my beta reader, Katie, who has waited patiently for this chapter and took her time to filter through it…***

Chapter Eight

The sound of Hermione muttering echoed upstairs and into his small bedroom before he opened an eyelid. Ron was still sound asleep, his snores loud enough to keep a dragon at bay. Gingerly, Harry slid on his glasses from his bedside table and dragged his still sleep-deprived body downstairs to see what Hermione was doing at this hour.

It was 11:45pm and he knew that sooner or later they had to get going before his mother’s spell wore off but that didn’t mean they couldn’t sleep for a little bit more. They’ve spent the last three days thoroughly searching for tidbits and information about R.A.B and Voldemort’s horcruxs. Nothing came out of it but helped occupy their minds for a while instead of waking up everyday and seeing a new name on the M.B.V list. (Murdered by Voldemort).

It was a sight for sore eyes. Hermione, her pink jacket draped over her dropped shoulders, a royal blue headscarf rested on top of her dark bushy hair, shielding her pale and sleep-deprived face. She was hunched over the kitchen table, surrounded by her notes and books, muttering disjointed phrases as she made little notes here and there.

“Err. Hermione…”Harry whispered. He wanted to say something but the sight of her fretting over something; the deep crease in her brow bathed in sweat was for some reason, amusing.

Upon hearing her name she looked up and squealed, drawing back her hands so quickly that the sheer force and speed of it caused her quill to push the uncorked ink bottle and…

SMASH!!

The plastic lilac and pink flowered floor, one of Miss Petunia’s favourite floors was now covered in angry slashes of ink with bits feather from Hermione’s now broken quill.

.

Bringing her ink covered hands to her face she fettered. Not in the least bit concerned of her appearance but the damage and mess she just caused.

“Oh…I’m so sorry Harry,” the tone was most familiar to Harry, having heard it once or twice when she did something wrong.

Harry lifted up his hand and shushed it off. He couldn’t care less what kind of mess she made. He was more concerned over her haggard and sleep-depraved face he kept seeing ever since Bill’s wedding.

He wanted to ask what was wrong. In fact, it was on the tip of his tongue but in doing so he would have to speak as well and he knew that ever since bill’s wedding he was withdrawn as well.

Instead he stretched out his arms and drew her to him, smelling her flowery-scented shampoo with a hint of ink he whispered.

“No, really, it’s okay,” he wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying, so his words were muffled and heavy with sleep but hearing her sigh in his arms made him, for one moment, at peace.

“I’ve tried,” She mumbled into his chest, the wet touch of her lips caused unknown feelings to surge inside him. He tried, as usual, to push them away but Harry was tired and for one moment he allowed himself to be selfish and enjoy the feelings only she caused.

“I’ve tried so many times” She sighed, her arms wrapped around underneath his, clutching him so close he could feel her breathe into him. “But…I’m so tired…I’m so tried Harry…”

He felt an immense pain swallow him at the sound her of broken voice. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to do something, anything to make her feel better but he had no clue, what ills her so? Was it Voldemort? Was it….

Was it Ron?

No, he told himself, pushing himself not to feel the pangs of jealously and hugged her tighter.

..It’s okay Mione,” He brushed his check against her thick hair, the silky touch of her blue scarf caressed his skin and felt something warm inside his heart. It was almost painful to think about it but he couldn’t stop the feelings that she caused.

“No…no….it's not ‘arry...” She mumbled, shaking her head into his chest, sniffling she cranked her face upwards until they were inches apart. He could feel the puffs of breath on his cheeks. Her lips, red and swollen, eyes, wide open and filled with sorrow. He had no idea what to do.

“I can’t take this anymore,” She whispered. Her eyes became watery and a single tear leaked from her left eye. He used his left thumb to brush it away before cupping her face with both hands.

He grunted, words escaped him…”What…” he leaned closer, finding himself edging closer to her magnificent cinnamon eyes.

“Not knowing…not feeling….” Her lips barely grazed against his and he shuddered at the feelings it caused.

A loud, creaky moan interrupted his thoughts and he quickly darted to the stairs. Leaving her side for just a moment he picked up his wand from his right pocket pointed its tip to every dark corner in the room.

He couldn’t see anything but that didn’t stop him from gazing at ever corner and entrance way, in case he missed a whisper of dark shred robes and the silver glint of a death eater’s mask.

He could hear her breathing behind him, “It’s just the staircase,” She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, “It does that from time to time,”

Taking one last look around the kitchen he slid his wand into his pocket, feeling his shoulders droop he sighed.

He felt two small hands cup his cheek, grazing over his stubble. He looked into her eyes as she whispered, “’its okay Harry,” She stood up on her tip topes to graze her lips against his scar and he could feel his whole body melt and turn into her touch. Slowly, his hands grazed her small waist and travelled upwards, feeling her shiver he matched her hands on her soft cheek, caress her cheekbones, he kissed the tip of her nose, the arch of her eye brows before looking into her eyes. He wondered how a woman like her had ever come into his life. How she, above everyone else remained at his side?

The kitchen cuckoo clock began to coo.

<Cuckoo>

< Cuckoo>

< Cuckoo>

He looked up and saw that it was midnight! Where had the time gone? He knew the answer but now was not the time to think about it. He had to get out of the house now before it was too late.

“So it’s true then?” a loud, raspy voice said.

He turned and found Ron, standing at the end of the stairwell, arms crossed and gazing at their embrace. Harry dropped his hands and took a step back. The clock continued to chime and although he felt somewhat guilty, considering it was universal knowledge that Ron and Hermione were dating ( although no public confirmation yet) he didn’t regret what happened, even though he had no idea what transpired between Him and Hermione but he knew that if Ron didn’t come downstairs he would’ve found out.

“Ron…” Hermione’s voice was calm but strong, her face was emotionless, the kind he saw when in the midst of battle. Go Hermione, he thought.

“No…not another word…my mother was right…” Ron was doing it again. He had his arms crossed; nostrils flaring but this time his eyes were no longer half-lidded (as they always were when they argued) but wide open so that he could see the blue of his irises and feel them shatter.

“What are you talking about?” He had no idea what Ron was harping on about. All that transpired was a friend comforting another…wasn’t it?

Yeah, he heard himself thinking. Keep telling yourself that…

Ron wasn’t listening; he was lumbering down the narrow halfway towards the front door.

“No,” he whispered. If Ron left now….he didn’t want to think of the outcome. In five minutes Professor Lupin was going to meet them and together they were heading to Godric’s hollow, his parent’s house. Ron had to remain inside before the last dregs of his mother protection dissipated.

“Ron,” He rushed over to the door, but his limbs weren’t fast enough. Ron’s hand was on the doorknob and already half-twisted.

“Piss off,” He shouted back at him and open the door to find a tall, billowing creature with moth-eaten robes and a gleaming silver mask obscuring half of his face.

No, he found the world around him to be in slow motion before a burst of searing pain erupted within.

“Ah…Mr Potter,” A high raspy voice spoke behind him and he half turned to face Voldemort, gracefully walking around the Kitchen and a few inches from Hermione.

He found enough strength to turn around and glare at Voldemort, at the same time glancing over at Hermione who was flanked by two Death Eaters.

“Don’t you dare…”he hissed in Parseltongue, snake language that only he and Voldemort understand. He added a couple of hisses and words that couldn’t be expressed in English but enough to see the gleam in Voldemort’s red cat eyes subside before Voldemort grinned.

Harry gulped at the sight of a cheeky grin planted on the strained wax-like skin that was Voldemorts form.

“Oh…but I will…” He found his mind unfocused and a strong surge of sickness surged within him, unfurling like a ball of string it travelled through his body before he lapsed into unconscious.

Another memory washed over him. Not images but words vibrated across his mind.

“Some events are meant to occur, remember that Harry. Some things can not change,”

“Do you think ...Mione is watching over me?” he heard his own voice whispered. Apart of him remembered that day. He was lying across Hermione’s gravesite when Luna came by, her long dirty-blonde hair whipping against the warm wind.

“Yes Harry. Death will not separate you. This is what I fear” She looked crestfallen as she looked at the heavens.

What was it that you feared Luna? His mind asked as he felt himself opening his eyes.

The next ten seconds happened on instinct.

He saw a flutter of dark shaggy hair…

At his own accord Harry reached out and used all his strength and held the stranger’s hands behind his back as Harry’s knee jutted into the back of the stranger’s neck. One more push and Harry would feel the stranger’s neck brake. Months of training taught him how to be on guard.

“A—rry???” He heard the distinct gasp of his godfather-Sirius underneath his knee. Realising what he was about to do Harry quickly untangled himself. Ignoring the bile rising in his throat at the thought of murdering his godfather he turned his attention to his surroundings.

The four decaying walls and mustard smell told him he was inside the formidable shrieking shack.

The arch windows were boarded up so only beams of light cascaded onto the wooden floor but it gave him enough light to see the outline of his godfather, whom was rubbing with neck with vigour, and swearing under his breath.

“You got quite a grip there,” Sirius mumbled, looking up at him.

Harry told himself to breathe.

Just focus on the minuscule movements his lungs made when they breathed.

This was the first meeting, Harry realised, for his Godfather that is. His godfather didn’t realise that Harry hasn’t seen him in less than four years. Not a night goes by that he dreamt of holding his godfather, imagining silly fantasies of building a house by the lake, of glorious views of wheat and big blue skies to gaze upon as Sirius and he flew around on broomsticks.

As the war pressed on, there was nothing more that he wanted than a normal life. A life of a young boy and his godfather, playing pranks to anyone that crossed their way.

He had to keep composure. He had to remain calm and not brake down, latch onto his godfather and hold on for dear life. That was silly, mundane and weak. Yet, he wished he could. He wished that he could let his guard down but he had to keep a cool head. He had to be calm and explain everything that has happened without confusing him or scaring him. Harry hoped that he wouldn’t freak his godfather out.

“I guess years of training can cause you to be like Mad Eye Moony,” Harry smiled jokingly but he could tell by the prolonged silence that he failed. His father----his godfather, Harry corrected, was leaning against the wall, his leg spread apart with his right hand on top of a small knapsack.

Sirius had the most peculiar look on his face, one Harry had never seen before but it looked like he was looking at him as if he was sad or …

“A Young girl, by the name of Luna told me the most bizarre tale tonight.” Sirius breathed out, his eyes were trained in front of him, arms by his side. Sirius wouldn’t look at him.

“She was sitting by the fountain….”he whispered, his voice raw with fatigue, it hurt Harry to hear his father---godfather----like this.

“She said that a young warrior has come to save the past.” He chuckled. “Totally bullocks if I say so…sounded a bit like—“he stopped, shook himself and then said. “She said that you risked your life in order to go back in time.” He turned and looked down at him, absently rubbing his throat he added, “Going back through time is impossible…let alone a soul going back…which means…” Harry saw him thinking for a moment, his eyes glazing at an answer before sighing, “That you are very powerful…or will be…”

Harry was lost for words, he scratched his forehead, tender from his scar prickling (which he was so used to that it became a dull buzzing) and sat up until he matched Sirius slouched appearance, bit his lower lip and allowed the silence to fill the room.

“I didn’t believe it but now, the look of death in your eyes and the physical display of malice I have to go on faith and believe that what she said was true….”

“Sirius….”He whispered. “What she said was true,”

He searched for some kind of reaction from him. A smile, a gasp or maybe a cheeky grin he always wore before he ruffled his hair. Instead he was slapped in the face.

Rubbing his left cheek in shock he looked at his godfather. Never in his life had Sirius laid a single hand on him. That was something Uncle Vernon would do.

Sirius seemed to have the same mind frame, his gaze lost in his quivering hand (the one that two seconds ago slapped Harry across the face)

“Sirius,” He whispered, leaning closer to lay a hand on his shoulder.

Sirius, seeing what Harry was about to do stood up and began pacing back and forth. Harry stood up and watched as his godfather walked back and forth with his arms crossed, every few seconds he would steal a glance before huffing and continued his tense walking.

“How could you,” He whispered, glancing at him quickly as he paced back and forth, “…didn’t you even think” he added, then growled, “…stupid boy…did you not think of the consequences…”

Consequences? How could his godfather say something like that to him? He had four fucking years of thinking and pondering about his consequences, his actions and choices that he made.

An image of Mione’s pale face came to mind. Her withering body was in his arms as blood spurted from his mouth.

“Harry,” She whispered, eyes never leaving his, her body continued to thrust and wither around as she coughed up more blood.

He shook his head. Enough of this…

“I did…” he spat. “I made my choice and it was the right—“

“No matter how bad...” Sirius shot back.

Harry laughed. How bad? Oh please…“You don’t know the half of it….” He warned. No one did. No one knew what he went through ever since his godfather went through that veil, when Snape murdered Dumbledore (Snape always protested that he was under Dumbledore’s orders but he never bought it) and when Hermione, the most innocent, caring and vivacious woman he ever met died in his arms. The training, the malice he created with his bare hands, the murders he performed...

“Well…um …” his Godfather seemed to be at a loss for words. Good, he thought. Serves you right….he felt an angry flush in his face and he knew that he had to control his anger but after hearing what Sirius said, his own godfather, the one he thought would understand…everything just spurted out.

“She’s dead….” He screamed. Seeing her mangled body fresh in his mind, her blood soaking his clothes. It was as if he was experiencing it all over again, “Hermione...my Mione,” He whispered. “Ron, You, Dumbledore…everyone is dead,” he chuckled, “…dead….dead….dead….” he felt the world swirl around him as the deaths of his friends and loved ones swarmed and consumed him. It was his fault, he knew that and that is why he risked his life to come back…couldn’t Sirius see that?

“Harry,”

“No you listen,” he pointed to himself, ‘I lost my powers…I couldn’t stop it…it was the only way…..I had to…” I had to come back, Harry told himself. I couldn’t take it anymore…

…

“I’m here to change things for the better…” He added. He was going to, one way or another murder that sonofabitch that calls himself Voldemort.

“It’s selfish Harry…you’d think,” Sirius spat, his voice rising, “ that everyone who lost someone they cared about…or if something didn’t go their way….if everyone could go back in time…do you think it will make everything better??” Sirius shook his head, “…no….it wouldn’t”

Harry, for the second time felt like he was slapped in the face.

He stood there, facing his godfather and mourned the loss of their first meeting. The first meeting in which, instead of goading him and blaming him, he was smiling and…glad to be his godfather. Did Sirius still think ….was he still happy to be his godfather?

Although the question seemed out there once the thought entered his mind he couldn’t stop thinking about it and the flash of pain it brought continued to torture him while he gazed at his Godfather reserved stance.

“There will be dire consequences Harry…some....I dare not dream…what you have done is utterly foolish and selfish…” He sighed, picking up his knapsack.

“Keep your nose clean and remember my words Harry,”

Harry watched him transform into a scruffy black dog and scanter away, the knapsack barred in his teeth, leaving Harry alone and the feeling of abandonment consume him.

__

What was his godfather thinking? Leaving him there? And alone of all things? Harry bit his lower lip and he made his way back to the common room, still clad in his red bathrobe and slippers he received quite a few looks from his classmates as he hiked upstairs but he didn’t care. In fact, he wasn’t paying attention to what people were saying that he bumped into someone halfway up the stairs.

“Hey, Harry,”Ron beamed.

“Hey,” Harry replied. He knew that, according to Ron that they were the best of friends but it was hard for him to remember when Harry always thought of Draco as his partner in crime. Ron killed himself over Hermione’s death and even though Harry had to remember that he was in another time he couldn’t forget that, and there was even a small part of him that couldn’t forgive Ron for committing suicide.

“Blimey Harry, where have you been?” Ron’s arm snaked across his shoulders and guided him upstairs. “Me and Dean have been lookin' everywhere for you, we’ve got loads of stuff to tell you and oh…we also bought some chocolate frogs...”

“That’s nice,” Harry replied, not paying attention to what Ron was saying. “Look. I’m going to take a shower and head down to the common room. So I’ll meet you there,” He left Ron at the top of the stairs and headed for the showers, he could feel his heart clenching at the way he was with Ron, almost Malfoy like but he couldn’t forgive and forget with Ron. No, he did that in the past and tried to help his best friend but Ron made his choice anyway. Even though, this Ron didn’t know, Harry did, and he could never be as close as he once was ever since that night when she died and the selfish way Ron took his own life.

_ _ _

After arriving back from Hogesmeade Hermione got changed into a pair of loose denims and a loose short sleeved white shirt and spent the next half an hour propped with her books to find any information that would reveal the meaning behind the mysterious grooves in the form of a dragon taking flighton her pendant.

So far she learnt that Dragons were mostly associated with protection of one’s soul against evil. Another story bared a similar symbol to the one of her necklace on a Flag owned by Sir Galliard of Cornwall. It was of the story about a young knight named Galliard and how his friendship with the Dragon of the West saved his beloved from the clutches of hell. However, as useful as these stories were none made direct references to the pendant that was now around her neck. She made a mental note to ask Professor Dumbledore about it when she caught sight of Ron’s flaming red hair and saw him, along with Dean and Neville lounge their way to a couple of sofas across from where she sat.

“Hey guys,” She said, placing her worn out quill to one side, she wanted to ask them if they had seen Harry. She wanted to speak with him, see his ruffled hair and apologise for her actions. She was stubborn and she did promise to help bring back his powers. (She still had her lessons plans and notes in her knapsack just in case).

Seeing their glum faces Hermione somehow knew it was linked to her best friend, Harry Potter.

He wasn’t around anymore and that caused quite a stir considering the infamous Sirius Black was on the loose.

But wait, Hermione thought, as she picked up her quill, didn’t Harry say that he was innocent.

She nipped the end of her quill and made a note to think about it later. Right now, she had to see Harry.

As if thinking about him she saw him amble down stairs, dressed in a loose pair of Dudley-hand me-down jeans and dark blue shirt peaked underneatha baggy black hoodie she found her face heating up at the sight of his ice-green eyes glancing around the room until his gaze settled on hers.

She fought the urge to look down at the sight of his eyes boring into hers. Instead, she dropped her things, stood up and headed towards him.

Ron, seeing this, stood up and followed.

“Hey Harry, took a while in the shower…Dean, Neville and I are thinking of playing a round of exploding snap,”

Hermione watched Harry to see some kind of reaction but he seemed lost, or deep in thought. She didn’t know but it pained her to see him like this. She was about to say something when Harry beat her to it, “Actually, Hermione has promised me to help me with some homework…” he then added, as an afterthought, “Perhaps later”.

Her mouth lay half open as she followed Harry down the stairs from the common room and down the hallway. She followed him until she suddenly found herself in front of a wooden door that had emerged from the stone wall. She was at the entrance of the room of requirement.

“We need to talk,” He said.

Hermione nodded in agreement and as she grasped the handle she imagined a room in which she and Harry could talk calmly without anymore mishaps.

She gasped at the sight before her. They were standing in the middle of a large wooden gondola, painted red with three small steps leading down a hill to a small meadow and a pond. A large tree, covered in bright autumn colours shielded the small blue pond and bits of leaves fell and swept up with the wind, landing in spits and spats around the small garden. The grass was high and thin and the same colour of jade, bright blue forget-me-nots’ littered the garden around the red gondola. On the outskirts, as far as she can see were towering green hedges that seem to block off any intruders and isolate them inside this small garden.

A small bench to her left caught her eye and she saw Harry take a seat and admire the view.

She followed suit and rubbed her hands to calm her nerves. She had no idea how to begin, how to explain in words for the way she spoke to him, blamed him and in her stubbornness refused to speak with him.

“Harry,” she whispered.

He looked up and she gazed into the young face of her best friend. To her, he looked the same. Except his eyes. They had death in them. This Harry had seen horror that she has scarcely read about. How was she supposed to console him when she knew nothing about his life before he came here?

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I'm sorry for the way I treated you…I was stubborn...”

She softly smiled and admired his bravery to admit his wrongs. “Me too”.

They sat in silence, she had no idea what to say next but the uncomfortable silence that slowly crept up started to bug her. She clenched her fingers into the palms of hands, distracting herself from his gaze and from the energy buzzing within her that the silence had caused.

She had to do something; she couldn’t handle this feeling, whatever it was to consume her for much longer.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice was hoarse and she couldn’t believe her inability to say anything when he looked at her. Her stomach continued to do flip-flops as his gaze never left hers.

She was amazed at the beauty of his white skin (his stark black hair making it even whiter) even in the half light it seemed to glow with power.

“Hermione,” He whispered. There was a flicker of something in his green eyes. She saw him edge closer.

Her body tensed at the sound of her name from his lips. She hated nicknames, she had a few and even her name was mispronounced…always Her-myion-nee…or hi-mon-ni but when Harry spoke her name it dripped like cream from his lips and she felt this warmth pulse between her legs. Blushing at her bodily reaction to her name being whispered from Harry she wondered what would happen if he…

Stop right there, she told herself. That’s dangerous territory

She shook her head, stood up and put some distance between herself and Harry. She needed to clear her mind a bit.

Silence still continuing she looked between the magnificent view the room of requirement had created from their minds to Harry sitting on the bench, looking at her intently…almost studying her…she didn’t know if she should be grateful or nerved at his visual ministrations.

“I know what I said earlier was a bit out of line but….”

She heard Harry chuckle, she stopped, glared at him before continuing, “I stand by my point as I…..” She felt words escape as she felt his intense gaze upon her, yet again. What was he thinking? Why such sadness in his eyes? How can I help?

“—do…I do believe that your powers are still there…you just fallen off the bicycle and your mind hasn’t recovered,” She felt a bit better, known she was on familiar ground and Harry had stopped gazing at her, “…you just need a little faith…and a little encouragement which I should’ve given before,” She bowed her head. Okay, that’s the easy part. Now, comes the hard part. She read a few techniques that have helped other patients like him in the past and muggle teens with a low self-esteem. She knew that Harry wasn’t down in the dumps but if she could just open his eyes then…somehow…everything would be okay.

__ __ _

“Okay…um…if you could stand up please?”

She looked so unhinged that he didn’t know what to say.

“Er…Hermione—“he grimaced and arched his left eyebrow.

He knew that they were on shaky ground and if he said something or did something wrong he could well lose her forever…

No…he whispered, a ghost of a pale face echoed in his mind. I will not let it happen again...

Lost in his own thoughts he didn’t hear her voice until he felt her gaze upon his.

“If you stand up I can show you that you…still have your powers…” She waited until Harry made up his mind and let out a gasp once he stood up and went over to lean against the wooden railings.

“Okay,” She said. “I want you to close your eyes and listen to the world around you,”

“Hermione…are you....” his back was facing her and he wondered if he would feel comfortable to be in this position?

To feel her tiny hands against his chest…he knew that this girl was only fourteen and despite him being a year younger physically his mind still thought about her as a nineteen year old.

His hands itched to weave though her curly tresses, to trace the curves of her young body to….

“Just trust me,” she walked up behind him and slipped her arms through his and brought his arms to hang in mid air along with hers. He arched his back and felt like a complete idiot, standing there with his arms outstretched…he dare not think about the touch of her body against his and how he wished he could turn around and lose himself in…

Don’t even think about it….Harry told himself…Hermione and Ron are dating…or are to…he didn’t know but he knew how happy the Weasley family, especially Molly was when they discovered that Hermione liked Ron during sixth year. Of course the confirmation of their relationship never occurred because of Dumbledore and….her death….

A lone white peacock feather fluttered down to rest upon the tips of the grass. He distracted himself by gazing upon the fluffy white feathers and light green colour it gave off.

“You see the feather there Harry,” he could feel her breath tickle the back of his neck.

He grunted in response. Not trusting his own words as he was too focused on the way her arms would move just briefly against his stomach.

“I want you to close your eyes for a moment,”

He did.

“Now, picture that feather in your mind.”

He pictured the long thin feather, about knee high with light speckles of lime green reflecting in every single feather.

When she spoke, she sounded so far away that he almost jumped at her words.

“I want you to picture yourself performing the Wingardium Leviosa incantation. Where’s your wand Harry?”

“In my right pocket,” he found himself saying.

“Right” She whispered.

The next thing he knew he felt her right hand slide from his, down his chest, the side of his hipbone and inside his right pocket, grasping around for his wand. He forced himself to think about something else, the toad-like face of Professor Umbridge or the smell of butterbeer.

Anything but the feel of her hand inches from something else that wasn’t his wand.

He didn’t stop thinking about horrible images until he felt the coarse wood slide into his grasp with Hermione’s help.

“Try it,” She whispered.

“Huh...” he whispered, his mind hadn’t quite grasped at what was he doing. His body, on the other hand was pressing against hers and he could feel the two soft mounds of her breasts pressed against his back. How could she expect him to concentrate when she was so close? The flower-book smell enveloped his senses and he imagined other things, blurred images of their bodies merging as one.

“Harry,” She whispered.

Oh….he did it again. He shook himself out of revive.

“When you perform the incantation I want you to picture in your mind what happens when you perform the Wingardium Leviosa,”

Simple enough and he knew that he didn’t want to disappoint her when it didn’t work but he tried for her sake and promised himself he would comfort her afterwards.

He twirled his wand and whispered the words, “Wingardium Leviosa,” and pictured the feather slowly cascaded up, much like what happened when Hermione performed the spell in their 1st year.

Even then he knew she was someone special.

He pictured the way the white feather would slowly flutter up and down, almost sea-saw like in the air.

“Harry,” She squealed.

“What?” He said, opening his eyes. Right in front of him was the same feather he imagined, fluttering according to the twirls of his wand.

“Now, gently put it back down,” She whispered.

It wasn’t him. He wasn’t doing it.

“Please,” She whispered. The sound of her voice caused him to do it. He couldn’t explain it in words but her voice urged him to try.

As a conductor controls music he turned his wand down and imagined in the back of his mind.

He could feel his face burn and a lump rise in his throat when the feathered obeyed his commands and fluttered down until it touched the earth.

I did it. I made the feather go up and down…

He slid his wand back into his pocket, turned and crossed his arms, breaking the contact that lulled him so.

She buried her hands in her pockets and looked to the ground briefly before looking up at him.

“You did it,” she gushed, blushing Harry looked down at the floor.

“Not without you, Hermione,” He grinned. He couldn’t believe it…he had his powers back….maybe she was right…maybe…because he went back through time his powers were not locked like they were before. This opens a lot of possibilities and he felt somewhat relieved that he had his power back. Now, all he had to do was destroy the horcruxs and kill Voldemort.

“I…I have some lessons…um…plans and stuff that might help you improve your magical concentration. From what I’ve guessed you haven’t used your powers for one year?”

“Two years,” he corrected. Two very long years. “But I learned other things to get by,” Stuff that he hoped he wouldn’t have to use ever again.

“Well…,”She sighed. Her eyes seemed to be darting all over the place. Not at him though, he felt his heart accelerate. Did he do something…did he say something...

“If you…have…learned...” Hermione began and Harry suddenly realised what he had implied.

“No…I mean…of course Hermione...”

Seeing her blush made him smile and he wondered if he ....for a moment…if he could hold her and forget for a while…but then….the haunting image of Hermione’s, pale and ashen face fluttered into his mind. He could still hear her screaming his name as she died.

No….he had to go on…for the other Hermione…or as he now referred to as ‘Mione. ‘Mione risked everything for him and it was his fault that she died. He needed to avenge her death, with the help of her younger self and in some way seek forgiveness.

“Just because I have found my magical abilities don’t mean that I’m all powerful” He always hated the names people would call him… “Chosen one” or when he lost his powers... “The weak one”

“I doubt that I am but,” He looked down at her face; he could see the faint echo of what she would become, a bright, intelligent and beautiful woman. He would not allow her to die at his hands again.

“…I need you…I need you to help me…” he whispered and he gazed into her warm brown cinnamon eyes and felt his heart beat rapidly when she said.

“Yes,”

9. Chapter Nine

A/N: Hey guys. Thank you so much for your reviews and patience. I have been quite busy these past few months and had a slight case of “writer’s block”….but now it’s all good. Thank you to my Beta and my cousin, Chris, who kindly put up with my questions and rants about this story.

Warning: this chapter contains graphic torture scenes. You have been warned.

Chapter Nine

The smile that graced Hermione’s lips seemed to bounce off walls as she slept soundly after that moment she’d spent with Harry, and continued to annoy her roommates throughout the week. The slight glow of his eyes as he looked at her was enough to send her thoughts into overdrive.

Even the sounds of her roommates’ daily squabbles weren’t enough to squelch her smile as she awoke on the day of Harry’s quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Picking up her small blue bag of toiletries she headed over to the shared bathroom and was pleased to find she had it all to herself. It was a small room with a row of three silver bowl basins to her left and a vertical row of six showers alcoves to her right.

She placed her set of blue pyjamas and her most treasured item---the pendant that Dumbledore had given to her last week----outside the shower cubicle so they wouldn’t get wet, before stepping in.

Allowing herself ten minuets she washed her body and hair (careful to not get it too tangled) before switching off the shower and losing herself in her fluffy red bathrobe. It was then, as she stepped out of the shower she noticed something she had never seen before.

It was a door.

Not just any ordinary door. No, this door’s panel was a dark mahogany with a long golden handle shaped like a bird’s wing.

It was strange, Hermione pondered as she walked towards it; during her three years at Hogwarts she never noticed this door before, and in her bathroom of all things. She approached the door with caution.

The golden doorhandle, shaped like a bird’s wing was cold to touch. She hesitated before opening the door to find a damp corridor. The walls were made of stone and thick with green grime that was slimy to touch. Candles lit the way above her, like tiny fireflies circling above it lit the sandstone pavement with thick tree roots poking through, casing large and narrow cracks in its wake, like thick spider webs. Wondering whether or not she should walk inside, a slight glimpse of forestry at the end caught her eye.

It may be a hidden entrance to the forbidden forest--- or Hagrid’s hut? Hermione thought.

Cursing her friends Ron and Harry for their rebellious influence on her, she headed down the walk way, the touch of the sandy pavement against her feet scratched slightly as she headed further inside.

The cold crisp winter snow burned the soles of her feet. She almost gasped as she stepped outside the entrance. Instead of the autumn colours and rich smell of greenery she found herself alone in a snow field outside a forest she had never seen. With the added gust of wind, sweeping through her robes and wet tangled hair, she could smell the pungent aroma of a fresh kill nearby.

Hugging her robe to her stomach Hermione walked through, knee deep in snow and tried to ignore the numbness of her small body, and the loud chattering of her teeth.

Except…………..

The expected numbness and chattering one would get naked in snow she felt nothing. She could hear the loud roar of the wind gusting through the billowing forest, arching the branches back in its wake. She could see the wind sift through her red robes and thick damp hair, causing it to stick to her forehead it matted clumps. Droplets of snow beaded off her cheeks, forehead and button nose and yet she felt nothing, no burning sensation as the crisp snowflakes melted and trickled down her skin. No race of heartbeat as her body slowly succumbed to the cold. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

“What is this place?” Hermione whispered to herself, she could see the puffs of frozen air dissipate before her eyes.

As she turned her body around she discovered that the small cave entrance she entered from was no where to be seen. Just endless rolls of white, cold and menacing, with speckles of dark grass.

Then she saw a small body lying up ahead, she gasped.

Someone is here!

Forgetting herself Hermione ran through the thick wad of snow, kicking up white waves in her wake, she hobbled towards the small body a few feet from her and outside an entrance to a forest of giant pine trees. As she headed closer to the body in question she saw the outlines of a young female, probably seventeen or eighteen, judging by the obvious swell of breasts and hips.

The girl was clad in a pink zip up jumper and dark blue jeans. Her long thick curls covered her face that titled to one side.

It was then Hermione realised that the body wasn’t moving.

Was she like me? Hermione felt the first traces of panic. Did she stumble into this room and couldn’t find the way out?

She could feel hot bile settling in her throat at the scene of a dead woman by a forest, all alone and smelling of mould and dried blood.

Pulling her robe closer to her body, Hermione hovered over the girl and saw that her wand was still grasped in her hand. Hermione also noticed that the woman’s clothes were speckled with dried blood, her blood, Hermione gulped. The wand seemed familiar, the colour of oak tugged at her senses before she realised that the wand belonged to her friend, Ronald Weasley.

How could this girl be in possession of Ron’s wand? Hermione asked herself. Did he lose it or did this woman take it by mistake?

The wind picked up, causing the woman’s preternatural hair to shift from her face and reveal her pale and blood splattered face.

It was her.

Hermione’s mouth remained open as she stared at herself. There was no mistaking it. She saw her own face caked in blood and earth. She had the same high cheek bones and her eyes, now blood shot and cloudy white, stared frozen at the sky.

Suddenly, the eyes moved and Hermione had no time to think before she felt the hard shove and sharp hiss as Ron’s wand was shoved into her heart by older herself.

Pain. There was no way to describe it. An Infamous amount of pain swept through her like waves, as her older self pushed the wand further in before pushing her onto the cold earth with a hard thud. She could feel everything. The coldness swept through as her robe soaked up her blood and ice. Her robe fell open but Hermione couldn’t move as the image of a wand protruding from her chest nailed her to the ground.

The slight movement of her chest caused it to move and send splinters into her broken flesh. Biting her lower lip she screamed and looked up as the older woman towered over her. Not saying anything but her unfazed blood shot eyes looked through her. Hermione watched in horror as her older self very slowly and deliberately raised her fisted right hand above her chest before punching through. The loud crack of her rib cage shattering was too much for her to scream but she could hear herself screaming as she felt her older self wrap her cold hand around her heart and squeeze.

Nothing in the entire universe could come close to describe the pain Hermione felt. It felt like someone was sucking her insides out as she breathed. She begged for it to stop. She couldn’t handle the sound of her bones breaking, the harsh sound of her blood gurgling around her ears and filling every orifice before entering her lungs and choking her.

Somehow, Hermione managed to open her eyes and found herself gently wrapped up in Harry’s trembling embrace, gazing through his horn-rimmed glasses with tears in his eyes. He looked different than the normal, slightly unhealthy pinched, bispeckled boy she went to school with. This one seemed much older, with longer untidy dark hair and blazing green eyes brimmed with tears. He was crying, tears dribbling down his trembling cheeks. Two strong arms encased her cold and withering body and yet the sight of him was enough for Hermione to feel safe.

“I’m here Mione,” He whispered, his warm hand touched her feverish skin and Hermione felt his love spread through her breaking body. Except it felt like it wasn’t her feelings but rather her older self’s.

I love him!

No, Hermione thought. She loved him or …they did Hermione realised as she and her older self became one. They could feel the words in their mouth but the blood that kept gurgling through their body, causing their body to fit, to jerk and quiver right and left --they tried in vain to show their love through their eyes.

Hermione was feeling what her older self was feeling and she could feel the walls closing in. Somehow, she knew what the other was experiencing. This is how she died, Hermione suddenly knew. This is how my older self died. How I would’ve died?

“Harry,” The words sounded harsh as one, long, blood curdling scream escaped their lips Harry heard every spine-splitting overtone. He sobbed and nodded. Their eyes never leaving him as their body continued to thrust and wither as they coughed up more blood.

I love you!! They tried saying but they were swept up by death before they could utter a single syllable.

Darkness….

A small trickle of silver wrapped around her neck and Hermione felt lighter. She could feel her older self leaving her body, the cold hand, unwilling, wrenched from her soul. …..

Hermione gasped. Eyes half open she hunched over and retched. Not caring on how she ended up in bed, clothed, or who placed a small basin in front of her, or how a warm rag was rubbing her forehead. She was just grateful. The soothing hand movements on her back helped as she continued to vomit into the basin. The vomiting never stopped as her head continued spinning. She wished it would stop.

“Stop,” she spluttered out, shaking her head in vain but the warm rag on her forehead was pressed harder. She sighed in thanks as the hand on her back continued to soothe her.

It was a small kiss on her forehead that caused her to look behind her to find Harry. His right hand holding a rag on her forehead while the other made slow circles around her shoulder blades.

She felt uneasy but the warm presence of his body calmed her.

Madame Pomfrey, who was the person holding the basin, took it away and started to speak with Professor Dumbledore but she couldn’t hear them. They were too far away.

“Wha….happened….”She breathed. She found herself in a loose hospital gown and the silver pendant draped around her neck, nestled in between her small breasts. Hermione grimaced at herself. Nothing compared to the obvious swell her older self had.

Had. Past tense. Hermione reassured herself. Her past self died and somehow Hermione experienced only half of the gruesome death she had, or would’ve had, as Harry held her in his arms.

Did this happen? Hermione peaked at his worried expression…Was that why he came back? Did I---she really die like that?

What just happened? Hermione looked around. Dumbledore was still speaking with

Madame Pomfrey but she caught his occasional glance in her direction as he spoke.

Did something happen? Her hand groped across her chest and was thankful to find no scar from Ron’s wand.

Ron’s wand. Hermione’s eyes widened. That’s a good question. Why did her older self, Mione, Hermione corrected. Her older self preferred that name. Why did Mione carry Ron’s wand and why did she use it to…

To kill me

She shook her head. Why did my older self…or Mione… want to…kill me? Did Mione realise this? How did I end up in that forest one moment and here in hospital the next

Nothing made sense and yet she was afraid to voice it. She didn’t want to see the look in Harry’s eyes when she mentioned her older self’s death. Or Mione, Hermione thought. She felt, or rather, they thought that name was special as that was the name Harry coined and he spoke it was such reverence that they had hoped to express their feelings.

Mione was in love with him.

Love wasn’t the word to describe it. The feeling burned inside of her, it oozed out of every pore and made her feel sick. Such a strong force could cause one to cry and sigh out of relief at the same time. It was that kind of feeling that you experience rarely and when you do you have no words, no experiences or no pop culture reference, to coin a muggle phrase, to compare it to. Mione’s feelings was more than that word her classmate bandied about describing their latest infatuations, more than she had read about in any poem or romantic novel. What Mione felt transcended love

Hermione was unsure about her feelings. She didn’t want to dwell on them but she couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt when Harry gazed at her. Especially the way his green eyes flicker like tiny green flames when he looked at her.

Mione was in love with him and never got the chance to say those words. Hermione felt sorry for her.

Maybe Mione somehow… came across time and wanted to warn me? No, Hermione reasoned. Too far fetched and impossible and let’s not forget that Mione tried to kill me.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered. He dropped the rag on the bed and his right hand slid down and wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. She stopped thinking and instead, focused on the heat of his hand seeping into her hips.

His head rest against her shoulder and shuddered. He whispered, his voice breaking mid sentence, “Please, don’t sc--are me like that…”

Stung by his words, Hermione was at a lost for words. Tuned out by his breathing above her ear she pondered for a moment.“ What---------….”she paused as buzzing pain fluttered across her brow, she cringed.“------happened?”

“You,” he gulped, she could feel his arms quiver, “... slipped in the shower or something.” Harry began. “Lavender found you sprawled in the shower, twitching and shivering. Madame Pomfrey brought you inside. You…”

“Who placed this necklace around my neck?” Hermione interrupted, she picked up the pendant and looked at it closely; the silver exoskeleton slightly nerved her, giving her a sickening sense of déjà vu.

“Oh…um…”Harry blushed, she could feel his warm breath tickle her neck. “I did…it looked nice…I thought that…who gave it to you…” he breathed out.

She smiled, blushing, she sunk into his embrace.

“Dumbledore told me that a batch of potions from Snape’s lab leaked into the central ventilation system, leading to the girls’ bathroom. It’s called Mist’s vapour and causes violent hallucinations.”

She opened her mouth to reply when the door opened.

“BLIMEY!” It sounded more like a burp than a yell but the sight of Ron with fuzzy red hair and a shocked expression, for some reason, didn’t sit well with her. Mione doesn’t like Ron and at this moment Hermione didn’t either. Harry pulled away from her, stood up and went to greet Ron.

“Close your mouth Ron,” Harry snapped, blowing his messy fringe from his eyes “she’s just woken up and I don’t think she wants to smell your lunch,”

Hermione seemed taken aback by the roughness of his voice but then she realised what he said.

“Half a day?” she squeaked. Oh no, she had a test on ancient runes---- and let’s not forget Miss Hopkins essay on the truth behind old wives’ tales. Hermione felt her pale hands touch her face. A deep and swooning dizzy spell swept through her body. She felt heavy and her skin seemed to vibrate all over.

Her eyes closed. Eventually, the sea-sick feeling in her stomach became placid and calm.

Some time later, an hour, or maybe three hours, Hermione woke up to see the sun had set and thick white candles decorated the walls. Floating an inch from the stone-wash décor she saw its light project an image of a large scruffy-looking dog.

Rubbing her eyes, Hermione used all her strength to lean over the hospital bed, the white blankets bunched over in thick rolls, she saw the medium-sized black dog look at her with beady eyes and for a second she thought she saw a flicker of copper in them.

Then, the image of a dog moved, shifted. She could hear bones creaking as they expanded and morphed into different shapes. She looked away but couldn’t block out the body-snapping sounds of bones breaking, sinew forming and skin ripping like crimpled cellophane.

“You can look now, Hermione,” a hoarse voice beckoned and she found herself removing her arm to see a tall man with straggling dark curls and soil-ridden shirt and pants. Tattoos peaked underneath the many holes and gaps in his shirt. She didn’t have to read the daily prophet to know who this man was.

“Sirius Black,” she breathed.

Sirius smirked; he walked to the edge of her bed. Immediately, Hermione pulled her bed sheets, using them as a shield “You and I need to talk,”

“--- ‘bout what?” she peaked from the hem of blanket.

“Oh…I dunno?” He titled his chin; “How a nineteen year old Harry Potter is stuck inside his thirteen year old self?” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Nothing really important,” he crossed his arms. His eyes sparkling with mirth.

She dropped the shield. “How do you----“

“He paid me a visit,” he informed her, ‘”very slytherin of him...” he added distastefully.

She slid back into her pile of hospital pillows. “What did he say...”

He shrugged his shoulders, toeing the floor with his dirt-ridden boot. “Told me the truth…like you and believe me,” he huffed, “----after hearing him speak----.I knew he would have told you what happened...” he smiled at her again, like he knew something she didn’t. That unnerved her.

She sighed, looking down at her hands, “Well…I kinda figured it out…”

He snorted; she looked up and found him staring out at the ghostlike arch windows, bathed in candle-heated glow. “Figures,” he smiled briefly, “Lily always did that….”

She felt herself sighing with him. He seemed lost for a moment and felt compelled to help him in some way. “What are you doing here?”

“Have you lost your short-term memory?” he teased, smirking at her, “We need to talk..”

“Bout what?” She found herself asking for the second time.

Leaning on the window, peering out in the darkness, “There you go again, “Shaking his head,” …repeating yourself…”he clicked his tongue, “kids today,” he turned and faced her, “I’ve come to warn you..”

“About what?”

Sirius seemed reluctant to reply before whispering his name “Harry.”

“Harry?” she arched her eyebrows in confusion. Why would Harry be a threat?

“He’s changed…”

“Changed?” She titled her head to one side.

“He’s dangerous Hermione…” he seemed to become agitated with every word, “worse off than some,” he was pacing back and forth, “Stay away from him.”

She bit her lip to prevent herself screaming as anger flared. “How dare you…”

“Allow me to demonstrate…” He gestured to two beakers on the floor next to her bed; she peered over and figured he swiped them from the medical cabinet.

“Okay, this yellow beaker,” he pointed to the half-full yellow glowing beaker, “is …say…the soul of younger Harry,” he then added, “the thirteen year old Harry----the one on the right,” he pointed at the beaker half full with blue liquid “---- is the soul,” he shrugged, “-----or essence of nineteen year old Harry. When Harry went back in time his soul went into his younger self and----,”

Sirius picked up the beaker on the right and poured it into the beaker with yellow liquid. She watched as the water duelled with the other and sloshed onto the floor in large splats. Yellow and blue water gelled, meshed and fused before turning green and making a tiny pool on the floor, “------you see this Hermione?”

She watched until both blue and yellow dissipated and only the rich colour of green remained, like Harry’s eyes.

What does this mean?

“No more than one object or essence can exist in the universe, Hermione. When Harry crossed through time there were two Harry’s in the year 1993. So, the potion Harry used fixes this problem before time collapses on itself. The younger Harry dies and moulds with the older self to create a new Harry, “he pointed at the beaker filled to the brim with green liquid, “…one with both the old and new parts that we know of,” he sighed, “…Harry virtually killed himself to get back through time and for what?” shrugging his shoulders.

“To save us…” Hermione reasoned, eyes still trained on the floor and at the beaker filled to the brim with green water.

“Again…very slytherin of him…” Sirius said.

She snapped, eyes darted upwards “How dare you compare Harry’s actions to the house that spawned he-who-must-not-be-named…”

Sirius shook his head at her. “Kids today…don’t see the big picture,” he turned his attention to the ceiling before looking down at her, “….yes he came back to change things….I understand that but I don’t know what he wants to change,” He crossed his arms, “…How do you and I know what he wants to change won’t cause further damage…” he then added, “Some people are meant to die..”

She watched his face as it slipped back into an emotionless mask, the one she saw Harry wear day to day.

She felt her anger at him subside and realised his intentions. He wasn’t angry at him, not really, no…he was afraid for him. “You care about him, don’t you?”

He sobered. “Course I do,” un-crossing his arms and taking a seat at the edge of her bed. “….despite being locked up I promised James,” he stopped, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, “…I promised him and Lily that I’d be a good guardian in the event” he stopped again, looking away as a lone tears slipped down his dirty cheek.

“So big-bookworm in the hospital,” he laughed and Hermione knew that despite being abrupt he wanted to change the subject. He looked at her, smiling ruefully like a big brother “How is the recovery going?”

“How did?” She began but he interrupted.

“Please,” rolling his eyes, “….James and I know every hall way in this place,” he chuckled. “Plus,” he added, “…considering you didn’t scream when I changed form…you understand that I’m an animagus..”

Hermione didn’t want to mention that she wasn’t afraid – she was becoming aware that she suddenly knew things subconsciously, like Sirius being an animagus. It was as if a part of her older self that rubbed off on her…

However...

Didn’t Harry say that it was Snape’s potions that caused this?

And yet…when Harry told her she knew in her heart that it wasn’t true. Dumbledore was….“Tell me what happened…” Sirius said.

Hermione clutched the hem of her blanket to distract herself as she spoke. “There was this field….It was covered in snow and there were tall billowing trees. It was so empty”

Sirius patted her shoulder sympathetically, she whispered. “I found someone there…”

“Who?” he asked.

“Me,” Hermione felt the weight lift from her shoulders, “it was me and—I--she looked older….she tried to….”she could see it in her eyes. The raised wand of her best friend slamming down into her skin, punching through like cellophane, pain echoed in her soul and she felt tiny fragments of herself burn as her older self continued to pound into her, blood dribbled from the tip of the wand with each bone crunching thwack.

“What?” he asked, shaking her from her reverie, she answered.

“…Kill me,” she grimaced. “Dumbledore said that I inhaled some Mist vapour and that causes violent hallucinations.” she shook her head and asked out loud, “Why would I hallucinate about my,”tears started to brim her eyes, she could feel the trickle down her flushed cheeks. “….future self killing me and relive her..” Her voice cracked.

“Dumbledore was lying to you…”he interrupted, his hand reached for and grabbed hold of the necklace, its oval pendant resting mid-stomach.

She looked down at the necklace as she wiped her tear-streaked face. He was staring at it in his grasped hand. He seemed frightened.

“What?”

“Cheeky,” he responded, he then smiled to himself. “…and very slytherin of him too…didn’t think he had it in him,”

‘Who?”she asked. Sirius dropped the necklace and watches it swing back and forth, and then slide back in its resting place. Hermione picked it up and hid it underneath her hospital gown.

“That necklace…and…now,” he stood up and continued to mutter to himself, “it makes sense…but it asks a lot of questions…”he stopped mid pace, turned his head and looked at her.

“Questions?” she said, looking at him, “What about my necklace..?”

“That necklace,” he pointed to the one covered by her gown, “….it’s called “altération de l’âme”. It was created during the dark ages by a soul-alchemist called Elric Dumbledore."

“Change of soul?” Hermione arched her eyebrows. How can one change one’s soul?

“Roughly it translates to a change,” He began, “ or to alter one’s soul.” Sirius gestured to the beaker on the floor. “When two of the same thing exists they cancel each other out, or in this case with souls” pointing to the beaker again “…they mould into one…like Harry’s. Dumbledore is not that stupid. He knows something is going on and gave you that necklace for your protection.”

“What for?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he chuckled. “You’ve just described one of the many symptoms wizards experience when they encounter their other self…or should I say future self.”

“So you're saying that when---” a ghostly image of her older self flashed in her mind. Blood dripping form her open cracked lips, Hermione shuddered. “... that girl…was me?”

“Your older self, the one from nineteen year old Harry's future...” he paused for affect. “yes,” Sirius nodded, “and I believe that necklace is masking your essence to prevent your older self from invading your body and killing you…”

**

Questions? Comments? Let me know what you think

Rachel

10. Chapter Ten

I just wanted to say that I am sorry for not updating sooner but I was very busy during February and March as I was involved in the Adelaide Fringe.

I am also heading to the Edinburgh Fringe in late July.

First of all I do hope that you’ll enjoy this chapter as it took me three months to write. I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a filler-chapter or boring and I spent a lot of the time pondering and thinking.

Big thanks to Katie for sticking with me! I can’t thank you enough

Any spelling or grammatical mistakes are my fault from last minutes revisions

Merci beaucoup pour votre attention

Rachel

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Stop asking me. lol

Chapter Ten

Her mouth opened in disbelief, a string of incoherent words fluttered through Hermione’s mind. She swallowed them all.

She mumbled. “Honestly…,” biting her lower lip she narrowed her eyes at Sirius.

Please, she thought. You’ve got to be kidding. There is no way in hell…no wait….no way this is logical. Harry is not dangerous….is he?

“Get out.” Fighting back tears she refused to look at him, crossing her arms; a wall of bushy hair fell flat against her clammy cheek. “Just leave,”

“Remember what I’ve told you…”

“Oh it’s hard to forget,” she snapped back, choosing this moment to glare at his rapidly retreating form.

A scruffy black dog wagged his tail on his way out, leaving her alone and lost in her thoughts.

Leaning back, she sighed and tried to close her eyes and not think.

_ _

Her hand felt like cold snake’s skin against his and he liked it. Huddled together amongst the autumn leaves he gazed into her molten depths as she whispered.

“I promise,”

She was so close that he could breathe in the scent of her rose lips. They smelt of cinnamon and winter.

He found himself leaning closer until their foreheads touched, the bridge of his glasses dug into his skin, leaving a small red mark in its wake. He didn’t care.

There was no need for words as a streak of fire flickered out from their drawn wands, curling around their clasped arms.

Harry knew that a few paces back Remus stood, his face disapproving but Harry knew that they both wanted to make this vow-----an unbreakable vow----together to defeat Voldemort.

“Harry,” a voice whispered. He tried ignoring it. Instead, he tried to remember what he felt on that day as he and Mione made that unbreakable vow before heading to his house.

What were the words they confessed to one another? He tried to remember but it was hard to block out the seething hiss blowing in his right ear.

<Thwack>

Something hard hit him, twice.

His hand shot out just as a large brown book was about to make its third attack.

Cranking one eye open he found Hermione next to him, brown book clutched in her arms and glaring at him like some wild beast.

“Harry!” she hissed through clenched lips, looking around, frightful that others might see her in this state. “We’re supposed to be studying for finals...”

He groaned as his head lowered and lay flat on the table---his glasses askew. Finals were the last thing on his mind.

Christmas had come and gone. He received the Map and ever since he had been searching the castle walls for one sneaky Peter Pettigrew. So far---no dice.

Hermione was being no help either. Every time he tried to ask her she would turn around and glare at him behind a pile of potion books.

Honestly it’s not like finals are the end of the world. He could tell her that she would pass but then again, he smiled to himself, where would there be the fun in that?

Ronald Weasley came bursting into the library with Ginny tailing behind him.

Both were red in the face and barely made it over to the end of the library before collapsing in a heap next to Hermione’s large pile of study books with a loud thud.

Hermione spared them a resigned glance before returning to her notes.

Harry eyed them over briefly before closing his eyes.

<Thwack>

Harry groaned, rubbing his face in pain as he opened his eyes to find Hermione clutched a different book this time; it was red and was twice as thick.

She eyed him. For some reason he found himself smiling and wondered what else he could do to annoy her.

“Harry!” Ginny’s voice squealed---pushing a letter to him.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses---which were horribly bent on one side before glancing down at the sloppy ink splattered note.

“Fuck----”

“HARRY!” Hermione growled. Ignoring the curious looked they were attracting. “Language!”

“What’s fuck?” Ginny asked.

Harry bit his lower lip to stop himself from laughing. Glancing over at Hermione he could tell she was trying to do the same thing, although she was still angry at him.

Harry sighed, dropping the letter and fixing his glasses. Hermione picked it up and after a few seconds he could see the colour drain from her face.

Buckbeak was going to be executed today.

Amongst other things he foolishly thought that by saving Draco’s arse he wouldn’t press any charges. Somehow Draco found a loophole or begged his father to do something.

An image of an older version of Draco with a black eye patch flashed in the back of his mind.

No, the Draco he’d know wouldn’t do this but it was time he realised that the Draco Malfoy he knew was gone….for now.

Scratching his head he smiled when an idea popped into his head. Turning to Hermione he whispered,

“Go with Ron and Ginny to see Hagrid. I’ll see you later tonight after the execution,”

“WHAT?” Ron cried.

The librarian, Madam Pince held her hand up as in warning.

“Keep it down Ron, Harry has a plan,” Hermione whispered.

Ron seemed taken aback for a moment before whispering, “Oh”.

Ginny scrunched up her face before hitting her brother on the shoulder. “You can be sooo daft some times”.

* * * * * *

Piles of pumpkins littered Hagrid’s small cottage. Cries of delight could be heard coming from Buckbeak as he guzzled down slices of pumpkins and slices of dead ferrets---his last meal.

She tried to concentrate. No really, she did. Hermione sat cooped between a mumbling Ginny and an equally rambling Ron as Hagrid continuously drank from his mug.

Hermione wondered what Harry was doing and why couldn’t she help?

How was he going to save Buckbeak? Or is he planning not to? She cupped her hands tightly in her lap and tried to look resigned as Hagrid regaled another tale about his friendship with the hippogriff.

Looking outside Hagrid’s cottage window she saw three figures ambling down in the distance. One had a very distinctive pointy black hood.

She gasped, she nudged Ginny. “They’re coming! We’ve got to go”.

Hagrid nodded, his face still swimming above the rim of his mug. “Aye”.

“This is mental,” Ron mumbled but Hermione was glad that he didn’t have the energy to make any snide remark.

They both were thinking about the outcome of Buckbeak’s grim fate.

For Hermione it was easier to focus on climbing up the hill than pondering over Buckbeak’s execution.

However, knowing that in a few minutes someone you know was going to be killed was a bitter pill to swallow.

She felt violently ill thinking about it but as she stole a glance at Hagrid in the distance she thought of Harry. They both had the same glint in their eyes-----dead eyes----she thinks that’s what Sirius called it. People who’ve seen death too many times to even feel sadness; Hermione led Ron and Ginny towards a large pumpkin patch and ducked behind a pile of large pumpkins just in time as Professor Dumbledore, the Minster of Magic----Cornelius fudge and the third man in black holding out a large metal scythe stood at Hagrid’s doorstep.

Hermione watched as they went inside. She turned and whispered to Ron, “We’ve got to go,” grabbing him by the collar she yanked him up the hill and forced herself to not look back. She wanted to keep the image of the silver-feathered hippogriff munching on pumpkins for a little longer -----he’s not going to die, she told herself, repeating it over and over in her mind. If only she believed her own words.

Almost out of breath she made it to the top of the hill and sagged against Ron. She turned back to see the Sun was awash with streaks of pink and red. The sun was setting and she could feel the clock ticking away as Buckbeak’s execution drew near.

She could feel Ron’s hands clutch her close. Ginny was behind him, not wanting to look but Hermione willed herself to watch the sun set.

She saw in the distance, Hagrid’s cottage at the bottom of the hill and saw the tall black hooded man wobbled out of the cottage, turn and raise his glistened metal claw. He charged into the pumpkin patch obscured by the surrounding trees and Hermione heard a loud nauseating thwack. She saw herds of black crows spiralling away in the distance.

Her body felt like lead as she realised that Buckbeak had died and Harry did nothing to stop it.

__

It was late in the evening and Hermione snuck outside her dormitories and into the courtyard. She found a large tree to sit beneath and sank her back against the thick trunk. Glancing up at the sky, her wand in her hand she felt numb. It shocked her. Buckbeak----someone was killed and she felt like a switch inside her shut off. She couldn’t eat properly, she couldn’t drink and people who spoke to her, she didn’t listen.

Ginny was a faucet of grief, she wailed in the girl’s bathroom and it took several hours to calm her before heading into the hall for supper.

She sat alongside Ron, his arms next to hers and she could feel his warmth. It felt nice but it wasn’t Harry’s and throughout the entire meal she kept glancing besides her, almost expecting him to walk through the doors with a large hippogriff in tow.

What scared her the most was that Professor Snape, Professor Lupin and Dumbledore were all absent from tonight’s supper.

Somehow, she knew it had to do with Harry.

She had finals tomorrow but she couldn’t sleep. The image of Harry’s face always entered her mind when she closed her eyes. Hermione looked up at the black lit sky and tried blanking herself out. She picked up her locket and twirled it in one hand before placing it underneath her robes.

She knew that there was a way of finding out an answer besides waiting for Harry. The cold metal rubbing against her chest was a constant reminder. She could, if she figured a way of preventing her own death, take off the locket and allow the memories of her previous self--- (she had no idea of what to call it. Previous self? Alternate self?) -----wash over and face her elder self, her alternate self, Hermione corrected. She could also ask Mione what had happened to Buckbeak.

She clenched her fingers until they hurt. It wasn’t right. She got up took one last look at the night school before complementing on headed back to the dormitories. She should be sleeping. There was no need to dwell on this. School was much more important right now. Yet she remained when she stood and listened to the wind as it moved through her curly locks.

“I never took you for a night person,” a familiar voice joked, right behind her. She jumped and saw a flicker of black, green and a flash of silver.

How did he manage to sneak in on her without making any sound?

_______

Harry Potter slumped against the tree and there alongside him was none other than…

“Buckbeak…”she whispered….raising her hand she was about to touch his silvery mane when Harry grabbed hold of her wrist and gently pushed it down. Gently but firmly.

“He likes his personal space…” He said. In truth Buckbeak only trusted two people to touch him and it wasn’t Hermione.

He stood near her in the middle of the grassy field.

“Thanks for what you did…” He gave her a tired smile. In truth it was a bit hard to stand. Battling a herd of dementors can do that to a person.

“What I did?” She arched her eyebrows and blushed. “All I did…”

“You went and saw Hagrid and gave me time to get Buckbeak…” Harry informed her.

She distracted everyone and that helped him lure Buckbeak and hide him in the forest before getting Peter.

“So,” She drawled, biting her lower lip. “You mean…while I distracted… Hagrid, you got Buckbeak---“ her eyes started to water and Harry was quick to explain.

He had no energy to deal with this yet…

“To put it mildly---- yes….then I went and got peter Pettigrew…that slimly git.” He scoffed. “I showed the map to lupin after I placed Peter in a jar and------….”

“What map?” she interrupted.

What map? Harry inwardly sighed, his memories askew. Sometimes it was hard to remember whether or not Hermione was aware about the map.

He remembered Mione vividly telling him to hand it to the headmaster though…“The marauders map Hermione…..Fred and George…”

“Fred and George!” She piped, anxiety was clearly written on her face. “…oh Harry how c-could you…”

“It’s originally my father’s,” he quickly filled her in on the history of the map and meaning, glossing over many details as fatigue was slowly catching up with him, “…anyway….look,” touching the bridge of his glasses in thought, “….the main thing is I got’im and now Sirius is free…no Azkaban…”

Despite the fact that his said godfather never thanked him for it and was now off somewhere in London without even a pretend heartfelt goodbye.

Where was the heartfelt talk about loss?

“Really… so that’s why Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape and lupin were absent…”

Harry smiled. Trust her to pay attention to detail, “Yes….and now that fifthly rat goes to Azkaban…” He could just picture it now.

He enjoyed it for a while until he realised that he knew, deep in his heart that peter would find a way to escape and the events will unfold and result in Cedric’s death and Voldemort’s return.

Not if I can help it, he said to himself….

“Let me guess…he didn’t last time…”Hermione whispered, her voice brining him out of his reverie. Her eyes were flicking from him to the ground.

Clearly she was unsettled about something.

Sometimes her gift for detail can be a curse as well…

“No he didn’t…..,” raking his unruly looks, he gazed at her hopeful face “you helped save my godfather by using the time turner,” he smiled in memory, “….long story…”

“Oh…”she whimpered and she gave him a look that reminded him so much of Mione when she was upset he felt the temperature around him drop. “So I guess I couldn’t help…”

But you did Hermione….. He thought. You help me so much you never realise it.

“Oh Harry,” She saw his face “…I didn’t okay…..how could you do something like this..” making hand gestures in the air…

“What?” he asked, this time a little louder.

“Rushing into things without thinking first. Sometimes…” She pulled in a deep breath, “you’re worse than Ron…”

An image of Ron holding a wand pointed at Mione. His eyes burned in fury as he whispered two words.

Avada Kedeva

He shook his head. She didn’t know. No one did really. He never told anyone what happened the nigh when Mione died and this wasn’t the time or place to be thinking about it.

If Hermione knew what Ron did…she wouldn’t even speak of his name to his face.

If there was a word to describe her appearance right now it would be distraught. It was written all over her face.

Her eyes were bloodshot and brimming with tears. “…. I didn’t mean…” she croaked.

“Look,” holding his hands up in defeat, “….I’m sorry I didn’t have time to involve you but I’m sure when danger strikes I’ll be sure to call you…”

“I can help…” she protested, taking a step closer he could see the warmth in her eyes despite the tears. He could almost smell the soap she used. It was intoxicating.

“It’s dangerous Hermione.” He stated.

“That didn’t stop her….or me…for that matter….she did it anyway so if you’re supposed to be my friend you should’ve guessed by now that I won’t take no for an answer…”

He wanted to hug her. He wanted to touch her right now that it burned his hands. Her words gutted him.

He knew that no matter what he couldn’t keep Hermione in the dark. She helped him find his powers. If he wanted to succeed he needed Hermione.

But there was apart of him that wanted to protect her from the hell that was going to come sooner or later.

He didn’t know what to say. So he whispered, “You’re right…” and hoped that she could see in his expression that he would never keep her from helping him but… he wanted to.

“So tell me…” She leaned closer so that her face was inches from his. He could smell her warm breath and her skin seemed to glow in the moonlight.

“Tell you what…”he whispered, his eyes were too busy looking at her lips. He wondered if they tasted as red as they were right now.

“If you’re going to save the world this is the point where you confide with your sidekick,”

He knew that she was joking but hearing her words…he didn’t know how to explain it but something clicked with an awful clang inside him.

“You’re not a sidekick,” he whispered, attentively he brought up his right hand and touched her cheek.

“Then what am I to you…”

He sighed, his left arm reached out and snaked around her waist, pulling her close while his right hand hiked upwards and became lost in her thick mane. “Hermione,” tiling her head upwards he gazed into her face, his glasses were pressed so firmly against his face that it almost drew blood.

You’re everything

She bit her lower lip as one tear leaked out and trembled down her pale cheek, “Please tell me…”

After what seemed for a long time he let go and crossed his arms. He looked at anything, the shoots of green turf, the night sky…..anything but at her.

“….this isn’t pretty,” he said, he continued to look into the distance, “….once I stop you can never turn back,” he turned and looked at her. Her sweet, angelic, innocent face, “…don’t say I never warned you…” he turned his gaze back to the night sky, away from her.

He heard her inch closer and was unprepared for her arms, snaking through his waist, so supple and warm, forcibly pull his back against her front. He could feel her small breasts pressed against his shoulder blades. Her face rested against his back as she hugged him tightly around his waist.

He was at a loss. She felt so warm and the image of sidling his hands against her white arms and around her hips kept flashing in his mind.

Fuck, he cursed. Don’t think about that right now. She’s barely fourteen…

“Tell me,” she muffled.

It’s now or never…. He told himself. Even though he saved Sirius and Peter is now known for his treachery next year will be a challenge.

He just had no idea whether or not next year would be the same or different.

“Next year,” he began as he unhooked her arms and stood away from her, “Hogwarts is going to hold the tri-wizard tournament….three champions are chosen to compete in a series of events….” Memories flashed before him. He pushed them away.

Hermione crossed her arms and nodded for him to continue but she seemed somewhat trouble about something…

I’ll ask her later, he told himself.

“The Tri-wizard what….”she mouthed.

“Next year is when….” he could see the dead pearly whites of Cedric’s eyes flash before him.

He could feel the echoes of the torture curse given by Voldemort. He had no idea what may or may not happen next year and that alone sacred him.

“is when……” he paused, “….Voldemort comes back…”he finished and watched as Hermione’s eyes become wide as the moon.

11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don’t know why I write this every time. I do not own Harry Potter. If I did Hermione would still be Hermione!

Hi everyone. I big thankyou to Katie you is still with me after my absence. I have been very buys with final rehearsal,

exams and I also got the flu in case anyone wanted to know why there wasn’t an update. I’m feeling better now.

Important note 1: This will be my last update until September as I am in the UK and Edinburgh from 27/7/07-----31/8/07 for the Edinburgh fringe festival.

Updates will commence from September 12/9/07 and I hope to update more frequently as I will have a much less work load than now.

Important note 2: Regardless of the 6th and 7th book of Harry Potter I WILL FINISH THIS.

Hermione is my favourite character and I shall try to do her justice.

I do hope you’ll enjoy this part and feel free to PM anytime to ask questions and badger and whatnot…..

Rating: has been changed to R…..overall (the story) I don’t think it would be NC17…it may do….

I’m not too sure. If you feel, however, the rating needs to be changed. Please let me know

Finally thank you for your continued support. I only write for enjoyment.

Any mistakes and grammar errors are from my last minute corrections.

_ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ __

Chapter 11

Harry slipped his hand in hers; his small calloused hand led her back to the girl’s dormitories.

Hermione was unsure on how to think. Since her brain flawlessly calculated the pros and cons and logistics of every situation a simple matter of the heart always confounded her.

How was she supposed to cope with the random mood changes of Harry?

Logic told her that Harry needed information, support and loyalty.

Her heart, on the other hand, whispered otherwise.

The boy with broken horn-rimmed glasses and a boyish smile had died and a total stranger took his place.

Sure, he was the same friend she’d befriended in 1st year

but there were obvious differences that made her feel torn inside.

Despite what she saw Hermione felt that someone else was wearing Harry’s skin.

She was unsure, despite what Sirius had told her, if she could put complete faith in this new Harry.

He never smiled. His full lips, normally dry or chapped had been fused into a horizontal line; some would think that he had cement for lips instead of flesh.

His eyes no longer had soul. Two deep pools of black jade---cold and unflinching----it made her wonder if the potion he took made him void of all emotions.

This reminds me, I must find out the ingredients’ of this so called potion that caused this mess to begin with…

He walked taller, no crouching or head titled to the floor. His voice, still a scratchy tenor hummed with a deeper undertone.

His other hand poised at his side, unflinching or showing any sign of movement.

Most importantly, he rarely carried his wand.

A wand was more than just an instrument of magic; it was an extension of one’s body, mind and soul.

Her wand enabled Hermione to channel the magic stored inside to flow outwards in bright sparks. Not carrying your wand was like having no soul.

This is what troubled her the most, Harry not carrying his wand and her not knowing the reason why.

They stood in the shadows a few feet away from the stairs leading up to her room. Harry’s hand seemed to clutch hers a little tighter.

She turned and looked up into his green eyes. She saw her friend but there was a whole unknown that stood between them. It was suffocating her.

Yet, it caused things inside her to bubble and her breath became somewhat shallow as he stood closer to her, placing a wet kiss on the top of her brow.

“I’ll see you in the morning”

She watched as he walked with his head held up high---almost on a mission---down the corridor and she felt her heart break.

Her childhood friend had died and a man took his place and the thing that troubled her most was that she didn’t mind at all. Not one bit.

** **************************** **

Jonas Smith, newly appointed human representative at Azkaban Prison was not having a good day.

First off, he was late to his shift courtesy of his late-girlfriend, Cassandra, whom informed him that for the past six months she had been sleeping with their next door neighbour, Rohan Vestaburg, a potion master from Berlin.

Secondly, their newest arrival, Peter Pettigrew had somehow escaped the magic bonds that bound him to the boat in which he was sent from the Ministry of Magic.

The prison of Azkaban was a tall 19th century castle built by Mosaic Azkaban in 1806.

It was mostly rubble now, and the majority of the cells were housed in an underground labyrinth except for the ones housed in the four towers that stood at each point of the castle.

The four towers housed the most insane and colourful inmates of Europe.

A small group of twenty Azkaban guards searched through the prison that stood on the end of a rocky cliff face.

At the bottom of the cliff was Jonas, walking along the pebble stone shoreline, losing himself in the endless roll of dark waves and wondered how he was going to get himself out of this mess.

A few metres up, Louis Baton, his comrade, was distraught; blubbering between French and English he cursed out orders to a small herd of Dementors. Out of everyone, Louis was crazy enough to speak with those creatures face to face without throwing up.

«Regarde-la Non ! Non Ce n’est pas vrai …oh-la…Look in cell24!»

Louis Baton was twenty six (two years older than Jonas) was six foot two with shoulder length black hair and piercing grey eyes.

A pencil thin scar blazed against his left cheek. He was wearing customary guard uniform, black pants and grey shirt and a dark green robe that was billowing against the cold sea air.

The dementors floated away and the cold air became somewhat bearable as he walked closer to his friend.

Louis smiled as he drew closer.

“ Salut Jonas—Ca va— “

Jonas had no idea what his friend was saying when he dropped back into his native tongue.

He simply nodded and pondered how he was going to explain to the ministry that their prized prisoner, Peter Pettigrew had escaped just barely two hours after he had arrived.

“The dementors have informed me that someone from the ministry is here,”

Louis’s grey eyes flickered over to the left and Jonas’s heart sank, he saw a single figure in maroon robes heading over to them.

How did they know? Jonas wondered? How did they send someone here so fast? His heart began to pound more loudly in his head.

A petite figure of 5’6 was visible, with long fair hair and green eyes.

A black crest on the upper left shoulder showed a simple patch design of a broom and a wand crossed.

Hang on, Jonas thought. That’s the sign of the Department of Magical games and sport. Why send…

Louis didn’t notice the symbol; he was already calling out to the female.

“Ah ministry lackey,” he heckled. Louis wasn’t a big fan of the ministry. “Come to check on our progress? I assure you that everything is going to----“

The woman walked closer, close enough for Jonas to see the fear visible in her eyes. Her lips were moving but no sound came out.

Jonas’s ears perked, something was not right.

His friend on the other hand saw nothing and continued to mumble curses in French.

She was a foot away when he recognised her-----Bertha Jorkins. She worked for the notorious loon, Barty Crouch.

His friend fell silent.

It was then he saw what the word Bertha was mouthing.

RUN

Her eyes shone with tears and he saw a flicker of a man behind him.

A gloved hand jolted him from his reverie and he whirled around to see his friend lying dead on the beach and two blazing brown eyes hidden underneath a silver skull.

A flash of green followed, unmistakable pain and he felt no more.

** **************************** **

Barty crouch Jr. didn’t really mean to do it but that man was asking for it. Typical, get mesmerised by a gawking witch and not hear his friend die right next to him----he flicked out his tongue like a hungry snake----although, he stopped briefly to look at the dead bodies submerged in black sand, his friend died pretty well, unlike the others.

He didn’t scream or draw attention to himself. He just fell over like a big silent statue. He should win some kind of prize.

Was there some kind of prize for the best death? Barty smiled to himself. He would ponder this later. Meanwhile……

Bertha Jorkins stood rigid but he could feel her screaming in hysterics underneath his imperius curse.

“Aww,” he crooned, smiling at her softly, he whispered into her ear. “That’s not a way to act---“ he drew back and made sure Bertha got a full view of his silver skull before saying, “you started it,” he waved his gloved hands to the two dead men on the beach.

He waved his wand with a gentle turn of his wrist and whispered the killing curse underneath his lips.

He watched as she fell to the ground, unlike the others, she flopped like a fish, her tongue lolling out with a sickening pop, and wiggled against the black sand. He tutted, he leant down and placed a glove hand on her rib cage, caressing her gently he lulled her to stay still.

Obviously------he thought, looking at her now still form, her eyes were half lidded and her tongue remained half sagging out, so bits of sand decorated her chin and foamed around her mouth.

-----------------------------She didn’t know how to die properly either.

An unmistakable smell of rotting cheese and mud filled his nose before he could ponder this further.

Ah, he thought with distain. Peter.

He never questioned his master’s plan but Peter? Why him? Hadn’t he shown enough loyalty? Hadn’t he shown loyalty when many others, many unworthy of mentioning, fled?

Barty slipped his wand inside his leather overcoat----which, he might add, was quite useful and sexy----- with a large rigid collar; rows of zippers decorated each breast pocket, its silver teeth shining in the moonlight. I could get shagged in this, he chuckled.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Barty followed the horrid smell until he came upon a balding plump-like creature huddled between two dementors.

Barty bowed to the two dementors and if they could speak they would’ve but they preferred to nod and float away.

He grinned, terrible creatures but always fascinating and very dark, very dark……Barty flicked out his tongue at peter and wiggled his eyebrows.

Peter whimpered.

Barty used the heel of his leather boot to kick peter hard in the back with a satisfying wet thwack; the sound of bones creaking made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Get up,” he snapped, his tongue touching the brim of his mask. “Take my hand,” he added, holding out his right hand.

As soon as Peter's slimy podgy hands touched his, Barty focused on the location his master had fed him in his sleep.

The thought of washing his hands was his last coherent thought before he dissipated with Peter to the Riddle house.

The thickness of the wind told Barty that he was in Little Hangleton. He heard a loud thump behind him and a second later peter whined.

He kicked him, pushing his body with his foot hard into the dirty footpath. When would Peter learn to keep quiet? He kicked him again

.

He never liked rodents.

Barty’s left arm throbbed, despite his many layers, and he clutched it gingerly before looking up at the old battle-torn Victorian house with wonder.

It suddenly dawned on him. His master was inside that house!

He wished he had a mirror or something, sighing; he ruffled his thick brown hair, horribly pulled back by his silver death mask.

He pulled the mask off his face and traced his three-day beard, evident by the sand-paper texture of his skin, with his gloved forefinger.

Sighing, he placed his mask back on, crouched, grabbed Peter by his neck and hurled him upright and dragged him sobbing incoherently into the house.

** **************************** **

The summer leading up to fourth year was full of unexpected changes for Harry and Hermione.

For one, Harry never dreamed of volunteering to stay with the Dursleys but he knew that he had to stay (because of his mother’s spell) until he was seventeen, again.

There was also the problem that his Godfather, although Sirius had invited him to stay at his new cottage via owl post Harry wasn’t quite ready to face him yet.

Part of him was still bitter of his actions towards him; another couldn’t face the idea of what might happen if they resolved the issue right now.

His summer was as usual, Dull and boring. The weather never changed.

The constant dry and harsh heat caused many of the inhabitants of Privet Drive to seek solace inside their air-conditioned houses.

Usually Harry spent his days fighting the constant bearing heat to weed Aunt Petunia’s garden or hording over the kitchen stove until blisters became second skin.

However, this time, Harry found a way to pass the time with revenge.

He never really liked the idea of placing sleeping drugs or poison into people’s drinks but a couple of months training with Mahir and he got over it pretty quickly.

In fact, it was quite useful to know that any household items could be used to cause his cousin, Dudley to have a bad case of “runs” for three weeks after eating his takeout he had asked Harry to purchase. Petunia’s usually flawless skin seem to ooze out in big blistering sores from a lotion she normally used.

Harry knew that he shouldn’t be doing this and he could almost hear Hermione’s voice chastising him for stooping so low and reprimanding him for his almost Malfoy-like actions but it was the subtle way of his actions that kept him sane while he endured his relatives.

It was Friday afternoon, the day before the Weasley’s were due to pick him up to see the Quidditch World cup that Harry realised that he needed to see Hermione beforehand.

First, to discuss with her what had happened before and to also explain that during his time at the Weasley’s he would need some help to remain civil.

It’s not like he hated them. No, he didn’t, but past actions from the Weasley family caused him great grief and wounds that have yet to be healed.

It’s always people who are closest to you that cut you deeply. That’s what Mahir always used to say to him before he died.

Harry just wanted, no needed to speak with Hermione-----before he did something he’d regret and lash out at Ron or, more importantly, Mrs. Weasley, for her obvious attempts of putting Ron and Hermione together.

“And what do you think you’re doing!” Aunt Petunia snapped from the kitchen once she saw him heading out the door. Her high heels clacked loudly along the hallway as she rounded upon him in high-pitched hysterics, “There is still so much to do and you haven’t done anything you ungrateful-----”

“I’m going to visit a friend.” Harry interrupted, really not in the mood for Petunia’s tantrums. Up close he could still see the hard bumps splotched all over her high cheekbones. He really shouldn’t have used too much lavender in that concoction.

“You------!” her eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring “-------my dear boy are going to weed the garden, trim the hedges and clean the living room in time for Mr. Brim’s arriving. A very prominent and potential backer for ….”

“I’ve been weeding, trimming and mowing.” Pushing his glasses upwards, he gritted his teeth “I’m going out.”

“No you're not….I’m calling Ver—“

“… and what will the neighbours say Petunia” Harry whispered, arching one brow and smiling slyly, “I wonder what Mrs. Button-belle would say if she knew that you approved of child slave labour?“

Harry nudged his head over to the house behind him with a large white picket fence, rows upon rows of yellow cherubs and lilies and one over-the-top bird fountain.

“Oh…you,”sighing, Petunia squinted her face at him, eyes glaring between him and the house across the street.

“If you let me go,” He continued, “I can guarantee you a spot on the neighbourhood-cook-chat club that you keep badgering on about.”

Harry knew that by saying those magic words he had Petunia, hook, line and sinker.

For weeks all he ever heard was about how the neighbourhood-cook-chat club was the most exclusive club in Surrey and that not even brown-nosing-always-has-her-garden-in-pristine-condition is in it.

“Wash your face with lemon and garlic,” He told her, knowing that once she did the spots would fade. Petunia nodded.

As he was closing the door, he added “Tell Vernon not to do his golf joke,” he smiled, “It sucks…”

_

Hermione’s room was plain, Spartan and organised.

It wasn’t bright pink but a soft yellow with a queen’s size bed against her right wall.

Her inbuilt walk in wardrobe was opposite her bed and her bay side window on her left.

Her bedroom door was half open on her right, which showed a patch of cream carpet followed by the top step of a staircase.

Hermione couldn’t sleep. Every time she did she found herself in a precarious position with her best-friend, Harry Potter.

She didn’t know how it happened really. Her summer started off just fine. Fine, fine, fine.

She had already finished the majority of her studies for the summer and managed to not think about what Harry said to her before the end of term.

Voldemort

She dare not speculate on the dark wizard’s return and the best way for her to avoid thinking about that was to plan, plan, and plan.

It worked during the day but at night, lately, she felt something was a little off.

Her dreams normally didn’t make sense.

For example, dreams of making a floating popcorn machine or that everyone decided to wear orange pants to school were farce, unmentionable and quite silly actually.

No one would use dreams to explain their feelings.

It was one night that she dreamed something a little bit differently and till this day puzzled her.

She dreamed that she and Harry were in the library and that she had dropped a book on her right ankle.

Being the gentlemen that she knew, Harry grabbed two chairs, placing her on one and him in the other and then picked up her injured foot.

She watched in fascination as he gently tugged off her black shoe, paying careful attention to her thin black shoelaces she felt a gentle tingle swirl up from her toes to the centre of her thighs. As she watched him fondle her naked swollen foot she felt something inside her start to build up. It was churning; buzzing and white hot.

Sweat started to bead on her forehead and her lungs struggled to breathe as his hand slid further up her calf, pushing her leg wider for him to encase himself between her legs. His left hand, caressed her hips underneath the hem of her bunched up skirt while his right hand tucked a strand of unruly hair behind her ear and whispered.

“Hermione------“

Hermione was speechless; she couldn’t hear a word after that but felt the supple wetness of his lips,

the tip of his tongue flickering against the shell of her ear, his harsh warm breath causing her to bit down on her bottom lip, hard.

Hermione shuddered and hummed, her lips rubbing together as she felt herself heat up.
His face, now inches from hers, and she could see the vibrant green almost sparkle as his lips descended on hers.

Hermione then woke up before she could feel his lips on hers, drenched in sweat, her heart beating rapidly and her underwear was soaked.

I must be out of my mind, Hermione mulled over the image of her soaked thighs and that sharp ache she felt every time her hands slid past her hips.

I must have wet myself or something….

She was in her bedroom staring outside from the bay window as the sun set. Her parents, Rose and John, had left to attend a conference in Adelaide about dentures.

Her babysitter, Julia, their next-door neighbour was downstairs watching re-runs of Doctor Who.

Heavy rain started to patter against her window; drops of clear water swamped the glass and created a haze of blurred greens, blues and brown.

Sighing, she slid off her bay side window and headed to her closet to find her pyjamas. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere anytime soon.

Fishing out her plain cotton blue pyjamas she turned to see her window open and the wind tousling the snow-white curtains.

Her breath hitched and felt something step behind her. She whipped around and screamed.

Her friend, Harry, was right beside her.

Harry winced. “Alright, sorry, I was trying to act inconspicuous,”

“Inconspicuous?” she breathed, her heart was racing a mile a minute. She went numb, cocking her head to one side she asked, “Do you even know the meaning of the word?”

“True,” he replied, grinning, he leaded forward, “I could be a death eater in disguise…”

“But you…” She suddenly realised that Harry was in her room and despite the fact she was clutching her undesirable pyjamas (since when did I think that??)

Harry knew where she lived and can’t remember for the life of her recall telling him where she lived.

She knew the word Death eaters was the name given to Voldemort’s devout followers but why mention it?

Hang on, Hermione thought. He said Voldemort was coming back…did that mean his followers’ as well?

“Now, this is when I ask you a question only Hermione would know the answer to,” Harry crossed his arms and Hermione backed away slightly, just a couple inches towards her bed where she kept her wand.

“Right, as long as you agree to do the same,” Hermione quickly supplied, standing at the edge of her bed she tried to think of a way to get her wand without acting inconspicuous herself, she smiled at the thought but quickly shoved her feelings aside and waited Harry to say something.

“Okay….” He breathed out a loud sigh. “When did we become friends?”

“Well technically I would like to think we became friends when I repaired your glasses on the first train to Hogwarts, “ She smiled in memory, “ but no…it was when you saved me from that troll in first year, along with Ron and he finally got that wi---“

“Okay” holding up his hands, smiling “…I believe you…”

“But why all this …”

“Later, Hermione,” he interrupted, “ask the question,”

“Okay….” She thought for a moment before blurting out, ”What’s my boggart?”

“Me,”

“Excuse me,” Hermione breathed, taken aback.

“Well-----,” Harry shrugged his shoulders, “----technically to use your words. Everyone had heard that it was Professor McGonagall but you told me during Fleur’s wedding that actually it was me. Dead-----” he stopped, eyes narrowing to dark green behind horn-rimmed glasses, “That was too much information. We really need to work on asking better questions,”

“What do you---“she stepped closer, clutching her pyjamas in fright.

“When voldemort returned it was standard procedure to ask a question to make sure that person is actually that person.” Harry explained, his eyes darted around the room “I think ever since Barty used polyjucie potion to impersonate Professor Moody that the ministry thought-------” Harry did something he never did before. He wiggled his eyebrows and swooned in a high falsetto voice, “Oh, we’d better make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

Hermione looked at her friend, mouth agape, she suddenly realised he spoke about he-who-must-not-be-named in past tense and it made her realise that it was indeed, her friend Harry.

Harry’s eyes darted around the room; she could hear him mumble the words, “Right. shouldn’t have down that…sorry,”

Hermione couldn’t stop herself. She laughed, hugging her pyjamas closer to her chest, she enjoyed the feelings of mirth he’d created until Harry sneezed.

Hermione mentally slapped herself, dropping her arms to her sides---her pyjamas fell to the floor---, she went over to him, touching his cold wet shoulder.

He was completely wet, his longish hair whipped around his neck, making his skin even paler than before.

“Harry you’re soaked.” She gasped, his light olive-green shirt seem to stick to his skin and outlined the contours of his seeker-built body.

She traced patterns on his chest before she realised that she was close, her hand sprawled on his nipple (she could feel it harden underneath his wet shirt)

…..So….very close. His breath felt warm and she could her heartbeat thumping against his.

Blushing she backed away.

Harry smiled, cocked his head to one side. “Yes that normally happens when one apparates into the rain,”

“You,” eyes opened wide she took a step closer and swatted him

<THWACK>

“Ow-------“

“….but that’s against the law Harry…”

how could he do this? Was the ministry on the way? Oh my god…how am I going to explain this to my parents?

Hermione groaned, clutching her hair in panic.

Harry noticed her distressed and said, “I didn’t use my wand or anything so how are they going to detect anything unless I plan on using my wand---“

Hermione shook her head. “There’s a dr---“

“I was in a public place Hermione,” Harry said, waving his hand in front of her. He added, “There is a reason that I came around you know,” He whispered, eyes now on her carpet.

Silence filled the room except for the rain outside her open window.

Water continued to trickle down his soaked pant legs. Make that beautifully and yet interesting legs---Hermione blushed.

“Well….” She shook her head of the image of Harry’s nicely shaped legs and tried to remain business like. It didn’t help when he smiled at her though.

“I felt that I needed to explain what’s going or may not happen this year. You need to be prepared…”

“Prepared for what?”

He looked at her briefly before gazing outside her window. “For when voldemort returns------- Also,” he turned and was now looking at her, “ I need to know everything there is to know about polyjuice potion and potential antidotes that we can use for when Barty Crouch Jr impersonates Professor Moody this year,”

Hermione nodded eagerly, making mental notes of all possible books she could use to help him.

Harry seemed silent for a while; he looked at her, eyes brimming with sadness that she could feel acid in her gut.

Something was wrong. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

“This is all for now.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes and made his way to her open window----her curtains still flapped heavily from the rain.

Before she could stop herself she followed him and grabbed his hand, it was cold, hard and wet from the rain.

Hermione flinched but as soon as she felt him squeezed her hand her shoulders sagged with relief.

“Whadda mean for now Harry? I can help you…” Her voice became muffled as she leaned her head to rest against his shoulder blades.

He used his fingers to caress her hand, his back still not facing her he whispered. “You are by making sure I know everything about this potion…”

Hermione sighed, obviously he isn’t going to tell me but he will, she reasoned. As soon as they get to the Weasley’s house she would beat it out of him if she has to. “See you at the Weasley’s then,”

“Yeah…,” His voice sounded flat and devoid of emotion. It scared her. He let go of her hand and he didn’t even look at her when he said goodbye.

She couldn’t sleep well after that.

Hermione spent the next hour finding anything she could about the polyjuice potion before her eyes became sore from reading the fine lines in her text books and her hands numb from holding her quill for too long.

He was just so unreadable at times that it hurt. Her eyes welled up, she felt her cheeks flush with anger, tears leaked in beads and her shoulders shook.

“No,” she meekly told herself, clutching the pendant close to her chest.

She wasn’t going to cry over this, over her frustration at Harry and at herself and the necklace around her neck.

Something is going to happen and she was going to find out as soon as she sees him at the Weasley’s.

With that thought, she went to bed, her thoughts became blurred and she felt herself drift into dreams.

It was way past ten o’clock and still Harry hasn’t entered the Great Hall. Mione was anxious.

Mione knew something was wrong. She felt raw, numb and tired from Dumbledore’s funeral but she knew, no, she felt that Harry was not alright.

Despite Ginny’s persistent jabbering that although they’ve broken up she would remain by his side Mione knew that Harry was keeping his grief to himself.

She couldn’t sleep. Not even when the rest of the school had adjourned to the great hall for supper. Mione had to find him.

She found herself outside Hagrid’s hut. The light wasn’t on, so, she knew Hagrid wasn’t there, and yet, she had to keep moving.

She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to mull over the months of heartache, the fights, the accusations, his green eyes blazing.

How she knew very little of Professor Dumbledore and yet the way he was towards Harry.

“What are you doin’ here?” Harry’s rushed words pulled her out of her reverie.

Harry was leaning against Hagrid’s doorframe. His hair, unruly and unkempt framed his blood-shot green eyes and glasses.

His clothes were torn and ripped and speckles of blood were evident on his collar. He looked heartbroken.

“Oh Harry,” she breathed, racing to his side she enveloped him in a tight hug.

His arms dipped low around her waist, leaving no space between their bodies and for one moment she lost herself in his scent. The scent that was just her Harry.

“You should be inside,” his lips were dangerously close to her ear that she blushed.

No, Mione. Mustn’t think those thoughts. Not Now. Not Ever. He made HIS choice.

“I know,” she whispered, her hands travelled upwards at their own accord and ruffled his hair, pushing his forehead against hers she looked up into his eyes. “But you shouldn’t be alone,”

“I know,” He replied, he leaned closer and she could almost taste the wetness of his lips. His breath was warm and rushed.

“It’s okay,” Mione whispered, looking into his eyes, eyes that never shed tears that never showed emotions. Eyes that showed he was never afraid.

“I won’t tell anyone,” She let go of the warm embrace, despite not wanting to but she knew that Harry needed someone.

He needed someone to be with him. He needed someone to not say anything.

He stood, looking aghast at her for a while, puffs of breaths filled the space between them.

Then, without warning, he turned away, shoulders slouched, he trembled and she heard him moan.

He dropped, she was right behind him, looping her arms underneath his and held him close to her chest.

His cries, his incoherent whispers, his fears----everything bled out but it was quiet.

Quiet so only she could hear and Mione’s heart broke that even in his most vulnerable moments he didn’t want to draw attention.

Suddenly, it stopped. He pushed her arms away and he got up, wiping his tears with his torn sleeves.

“Harry, its okay….”

“No, It’s not,” he sighed. “I don’t have time for this,” He held out a hand and she took it.

“Let’s go, Hermione,”

Right then----as he led her back to the castle----- she made a promise.

To be at his side, through life and death and swore that there will be a time when he needed a shoulder to cry on and it would be hers.

Hermione woke up the next morning with a pain in her chest.

The memory of Dumbledore’s funeral still fresh in her mind Hermione tried to find a piece of paper so she could write it all down.

She tried to cling to that memory but as the minutes passed it slowly faded until, Hermione had trouble remembering why she was sad in the first place and why did she have a piece of paper in her hand?

She got up, had breakfast and spent the next hour preparing for Mrs. Weasley, whom was going to pick her up today and together—they were going to her house and await Harry’s arrival, who would arrive later this evening in time for the Quidditch Cup this Sunday.

Then, Harry was going to stop protecting her and tell her what was REALLY on. Honestly, Hermione sighed. She wasn’t easily fooled.

Mind made up she began making a list of the books she needed to buy for this year.

She wondered if her parents would give her enough money to buy the newest Hogwarts a history edition or a new ink kit she saw at Monsieur Louis’s Inks and Quills.

Merlin knew she needed new supplies.

Walking into the kitchen, she opened the window to let the breeze in and wondered what to do before Mrs. Weasley picked her up.

A Letter addressed to her parents was resting on the kitchen table. It was from Mrs. Weasley.

Seeing as Julia had already left this morning, Hermione opened the letter and read the contents. Her heart sank.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

I am sorry to inform you at such late notice that due to a misunderstanding at work Arthur doesn’t have any tickets for the Quidditch final this Sunday.

We are all quite distraught. Especially our son, Ronald.

I’m sorry for the inconvenience

Mrs. Weasley

Why didn’t he tell me last night, Hermione frowned, she placed the opened letter on the kitchen table.

She was looking forward to telling Harry all the interesting information she found about polyjuice potion.

A tiny owl bustled into her kitchen and hooted around her head.

She shrieked and battered it away with her hands and a tiny letter dropped onto the table.

“Honestly,” sighing, she opened the letter to find it was from her friend, Ron Weasley.

Hey Hermione

Like the owl? His name is PIG! Sirius bought it for me since scabbars was Peter Pettigrew----didn’t you know that?

Brilliant that man---Sirius----wish he was my godfather…

Harry told me that you caught the flu or something…

how can you catch a flu anyway???

And he said you couldn’t come to the Quidditch final----

Hermione’s blood ran cold. Dropping the letter she bit her lower lip--hard.

Everything suddenly clicked into place.

Harry being distant. The Quidditch Final. The cold foreboding of something about to happen.

Something bad is going to happen at the Quidditch final and he----- Hermione’s eyes watered, pain flashed around her chest. He never told me.

She rushed around the kitchen to find a piece of paper and pen. She had to write a letter to Sirius.

Something bad was going down and Harry was in no way capable of doing this alone.

He needed help and whether or not he realised this----no one messes with Hermione Jane Granger and gets away with it!

Scribbling down a note to Sirius, Hermione held up the note to PIG (what an unfortunate name) and said. “Give this to Sirius,”

PIG hooted and fluttered outside the window.

Please hurry, Hermione thought. An image of Harry’s face came into her mind and she blushed, her heart waned, and she shook her head.

Oh Harry…

…………..why couldn’t you tell me?

………………………………………Why couldn’t you trust me?

Clutching the pendant to her chest Hermione spent the new hour alone, wondering whether or not Sirius would receive her letter in time before something bad happened to Harry.