Unofficial Portkey Archive

"I have come here to finish something that should have ended a long time ago," Dumbledore declared grimly. (Quote from Chapter 12 of "Going On".)

All and all, it's good to be back on Portkey and I certainly hope you enjoy the second half of this story. Thanks so much for reading!

Chapter 8: The Worms Go In, the Worms Go Out

Despite the fact that there were thousands of objects housed inside the Oracular Tower's ridiculously enormous closet, none of them were exactly what Harry was looking for. There were no long-stemmed roses, no boxes of chocolates, no tickets to the latest Weird Sisters concert. The only jewelry he'd found was an old brooch that released a noxious gas when touched, which Harry decided would make a right terrible gift, particularly since it had literally knocked him out the first time he picked it up. 'I need something that says "I'm sorry for being such a prat," but there's just nothing like that up here.'

Harry Potter had been mentally kicking himself ever since his spontaneous decision to kiss Hermione. Of course, he had kissed her before in one of his visions of the future and had almost kissed her again in another vision, but this was a different matter altogether. This was reality. 'Why did I think it would be a good idea? I mean, just because I'm attracted to her and she's a great kisser and we seem to keep having a fling in the future and OK, so maybe I'm more than just attracted to her…'

Harry groaned. None of this internal agony was helping him find something for Hermione. Much as he would love to get her something other than what was in here, he wouldn't have time to send Hedwig anywhere and get anything back before tonight and the only other way he had to contact the outside world was Hermione herself, which seemed to defeat the point. Thus, he was limited to a room full of items discarded by previous seventh year students who had lived in the tower, some of them hundreds of years old. 'So, while Hermione might find an interactive Hogwarts calendar of the year 1594 interesting, I doubt it would go well with a sincere apology.'

What made Harry so desperate to find a good gift for Hermione was the simple fact that he had absolutely no clue what he was going to say to her. 'Sorry I kissed you'? Not only did that sound terribly rude and insulting, but it was also untrue. He wasn't sorry he had kissed Hermione, but he was sorry he had kissed her in that way, without telling her just what he was beginning to realize she meant to him and so soon after pushing her to date Ron.

'But if I tell her all that, I'll have to talk about my feelings and I'm rubbish at that.' So the solution was obvious. He needed a gift. 'The perfect gift.' But what? And then it hit him, almost literally.

With a loud thud, a thick, dusty book fell from one of the higher shelves, making a distinct cracking noise as it hit the cobblestone floor. However, it had also come very close to making a distinct cracking noise as it hit Harry's skull and only his still sharp Quidditch reflexes saved him from a major head injury. 'It's a good thing, too,' Harry thought to himself wryly. 'I'd hate to have to tell Hermione I was nearly done in by a book. She might insist on carting them all out of here for my own protection. At which point she would start reading them, although it would probably take her months to go through all of…'

Harry Potter smacked himself on the forehead, his palm hitting his lightning bolt scar as he did so. "I'm an idiot!" he exclaimed aloud. 'Books.' Hermione loved to read. How could he have forgotten that, even for a moment? There had to be dozens of rare books in here; books that even Hogwarts' library wouldn't have on hand. Hermione had even commented on that herself when he had first shown her around. The only thing to be done now was to determine which ones were rare (after he had, of course, also determined that the book was not one of Voldemort's horcruxes, as there was no need for a repeat of the incident in second year with Tom Riddle's diary).

"Is someone out there?" a muffled voice called out, seemingly from the floor. Harry crouched down in an attempt to discover the source of the voice. "Release me at once!" It was coming from inside the large book, which Harry could now see was entitled Greatest Beheadings of the Seventeenth Century. 'Somehow I don't think that's one of the books I'll be giving to Hermione.' As he doubted he could get the hefty tome off of the floor without a levitation spell, he fell to a crouch and began leafing through its pages, searching for whoever, or whatever, was speaking.

After only a few moments, he discovered a thoroughly flattened hat crammed in between two grisly fold-out illustrations. It somewhat resembled the Sorting Hat, save for its blue-green colour. "Well," it began indignantly, "it's about time! I must have spent a century trapped inside that miserable old monstrosity!" It then paused, as if waiting for Harry to say something. "Ahem. You will be richly rewarded for your assistance, of course." Harry shot the hat a puzzled look and it continued, "You do know who I am, don't you?"

"I'm sorry," Harry admitted, his expression sheepish. "I don't."

Heaving a dramatic sigh, the hat began a speech that it had no doubt given many times before. "I am one of two magical hats created by the accomplished hatter Engelwyd Merthmarch. One was given to Hogwarts, the other to Beauxbatons, and the former became what you know as the 'sorting hat'. I, of course, am the greater of the two." When Harry still looked befuddled, the hat went on imperiously, "I am the Conjuring Hat. With me on his head, any wizard of accomplishment will be able to conjure whatever suits his fancy, so long as he can picture it in his mind. Or, if you would prefer, I can bring forth anything you say, even if you've never laid eyes on it before."

Harry blinked rapidly and then examined the hat as though for the first time. "You mean…you can make anything?"

The Conjuring Hat sniffed haughtily. "Within reason, of course. I cannot create another sun or bring someone back from the dead. However, if your request is a sensible one…"

"It is," Harry said with a relieved smile. "Or at least it will be. Do you mind if I…?" He made a gesture mimicking putting the hat on his head.

The hat thought the matter over for a moment. "I could stand a good cleaning first, but if you're really in such a terrific hurry, I suppose I wouldn't mind."

A small cloud of dust formed around Harry's head just as he donned the Conjuring Hat, but at the moment he couldn't care less. He would now be able to bring forth anything he could imagine. The perfect present for Hermione was only a thought away. It was just a matter of deciding what it would be.

But somehow, as Harry pondered the matter, all of the things he had thought of before seemed unsatisfactory. 'I don't reckon Hermione would go in much for roses, chocolate or jewelry. And why did I think she'd want tickets to a Weird Sisters concert?' "If I could make a small suggestion," the Conjuring Hat interjected impatiently, "your idea of assembling the various rare books scattered about the room seemed the most intelligent. It at least gives the impression that you gave some thought as to what she actually likes."

Although Harry did not appreciate the hat's tone, he had to admit it had a point. "Of course I do," the Conjuring Hat retorted huffily. "Now go on. Ask me to conjure something. I want to be sure I haven't lost my touch."

Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Is there anything you could conjure that would sort through these books, find only the rare ones, and stack them all in that corner?"

"Naturally!" the hat replied, its voice booming. "The Bemis Rare, Odd or Out of the Ordinary Book Sorter!" Before Harry could attempt to repeat what the hat had just bellowed, a sparkling yellow glow filled the room with light for only an instant. Left in its wake was a device that looked rather like the medieval equivalent of a paper shredder. Etched into the side were the device's initials, B.R.O.O.O.B.S. "Now simply say 'liber brooobus' and wave your wand in something of a downward motion…"

As Harry complied, all the books in the room flew from the shelves, formed a line in the air and fed themselves into the magical book sorter. The machine would make a slight rumbling noise as each one went through and then either send the book flying back to its original place on the shelf or throw it into a stack in the corner, just as he had requested. Watching all of this with a mixture of awe and amusement, a question suddenly popped into Harry's brain.

"I know what you're thinking," the Conjuring Hat informed him smugly. "How does a hat as powerful and charming as I am end up trapped inside of a book?" The hat's voice suddenly turned sour. "I'm afraid the last student who lived here didn't take it too well when I refused to accompany him outside the tower." As the last resident of the tower had been Voldemort, this didn't surprise Harry very much. "If you ask me, I think the power I gave him went to his head."

'You can say that again,' Harry thought. "Why would I?" the hat demanded testily. Harry would have to remember that the hat could read his thoughts and guard them more carefully. Perhaps it would be a good chance to practice occlumency once again. The Conjuring Hat scoffed at this notion. "I've read the thoughts of occlumens more accomplished than you, lad. To me, your mind is like an open book."

As though that had been its cue, the rumbling of the book sorter promptly came to a halt, leaving a slight ringing in Harry's ears. His eyes meanwhile shot to the corner where he had asked it to stack the rare books…and what a stack it had become, stretching almost to the closet's very high ceiling. "There must be hundreds of books there. And those are just the rare ones?" Harry demanded incredulously. "Is there any way that…?"

"I'm afraid you're on your own from here on out," the Conjuring Hat told him. "Best of luck to you, though."

"Great," Harry muttered under his breath as he gave the pile of books a reproachful look. "Why did I have to go and fall for a gigantic bookworm?"

Once he spoke those words, sparks flew from his wand and once again the room filled with yellow light. As Harry looked on in horror, a strange-looking creature began to form. It was about five meters long, had slimy pinkish skin and a sucker mouth that seemed to bear three large fangs along its rim. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that it was… "A gigantic bookworm," he repeated aloud, his voice incredulous.

"Right," the Conjuring Hat said, a sense of urgency bordering on panic entering its voice. "Entirely my fault, that. So sorry. Sometimes I do get a bit carried away…"

As the worm slithered its way around the room, leaving a trail of pink ooze in its wake, Harry whispered to the hat, "Is there some spell that will get rid of this thing?"

"Aren't you a seventh year student at an accredited wizarding school," the Conjuring Hat asked him caustically. "I exist to conjure, not to teach you spells."

"Fine," Harry replied tersely, but with determination in his voice. It would take some time, but eventually he could find the right spell to banish this giant worm. After all, it appeared to be relatively harmless.

Harry Potter walked to the huge stack of books and began to carefully remove a few from the middle in hopes of discovering such a spell when he was interrupted by a rather loud roar. The worm turned suddenly and began wriggling its way toward him, smashing shelves along the way and using its sucker mouth to devour some of the books that fell from them, as though it were ripened fruit falling from a tree. "It eats books," Harry pointed out in disgust.

"Naturally," the Conjuring Hat remarked. "It is a bookworm, after all. And here you are, trying to take away some of its food."

Harry winced as he looked guiltily down at his arms, which were now full of books. The giant bookworm was within a dozen meters of him. "What will it do to me?" he asked the Conjuring Hat.

"Well, you're not a book, so it won't eat you," the hat told him with a sigh. "But I would imagine that the creature has its own defense mechanisms." As soon as the hat said this, a pink glob of goo shot from the worm and hit Harry square in the chest. It then seemed to come alive and pin him to the wall, making him immobile. "Like that, for instance."

Luckily, Harry could still see and his wand hand was not trapped against the wall. After trying a number of spells in an attempt to remove the slimy goo, or at least shrink or freeze it, he realized the substance must somehow be immune to magic, much like dragon's hide. He could only hope that the same would not be true of the worm itself. "Stupefy," he called out as he waved his wand in the direction of the approaching bookworm. "Reducto," he tried again, but neither spell had any effect. "Sectumsempra," he tried in desperation. Feeling hopeless, Harry could only watch as the worm's enormous body scraped against the wall, retrieving the bit of slime it had used to capture him.

The good news was that Harry was no longer pinned against the wall. The bad news was that he was now covered in a much thicker coat of worm slime, which kept him rather uncomfortably attached to the side of the worm. As he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror, he could see that the Conjuring Hat was still on his head, for all the good that it did him. "Perhaps it was a good thing you didn't take the time to clean me after all," it said. "I'll certainly need a good rinsing off after this little misadventure."

Harry watched in frustration as the giant bookworm began to devour the pile of rare books he had so carefully arranged to have set aside for Hermione. "Isn't there anything I can do to stop this thing?!" he demanded of the hat, who seemed rather blasé about being glued to an overgrown worm.

"Try the spell 'meus vermis evanesca'," a voice suggested. In his current state, Harry could not tell who or what had spoken, but felt it was worth a try. "Meus vermis evanesca," he repeated, doing his best to flick his wand in the direction of the worm's body. As the spell hit the bookworm, it began to shrivel slowly until eventually it dissipated in another flash of golden light.

Harry Potter's relief was palpable. With the bookworm gone, he could now move about freely and use his wand as he pleased. Harry wasted no time in performing a number of cleaning charms on his hair and clothes until all of the worm goo was gone. After the Conjuring Hat loudly cleared its nonexistent throat, he cast a quick "Scourgify" on it as well. Since it had been the Hat's fault that the worm had been conjured in the first place, Harry wasn't entirely certain that it deserved the favor. 'Then again, it did give me the spell that got rid of the bloody thing.'

"Oh, that wasn't me," the now sparklingly clean Conjuring Hat told him as Harry removed it from his head. "That was the mirror."

Harry's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What mirror?"

"Just there, on the far wall." The Conjuring Hat managed to point in the mirror's direction by bending itself slightly towards it. "It's a novelty item one of the boys who lived here picked up several centuries ago."

"I'm hardly a novelty item," Harry heard his own voice answer back indignantly. Scanning the shelves near where the hat had indicated, he quickly discovered a dust-laden hand mirror which bore his own reflection. The reflection appeared to be speaking for itself, however. "It took more spells to make me than it did to make you."

The Conjuring Hat laughed contemptuously. "If that were true, it would only be because the addle-pated wizard who created you made so many mistakes in the process."

Harry stood on one of the tables to pick the mirror up and then held it before his own face, examining it carefully. "What sort of mirror are you, anyway?"

"I'm a Front View Mirror," the mirror answered matter-of-factly. "Just look into me once and I can look into your future."

"Just what this tower needs," Harry muttered to himself. "Something else that can predict the future."

"I know everything you'll know, only five minutes beforehand," the mirror continued to explain as though Harry had not spoken. "That's how I was able to inform you of the spell that banished that large bookworm. You would have found it for yourself in only a few seconds, when a book called Bertrand's Guide to Banishing Beasties fell from one of the higher shelves." In only a second or two, the book in question did indeed fall from the shelf, landing very near where the worm had once been devouring a pile of rare books. "See?"

Harry gave the mirror a thoughtful look. "I think I'm beginning to." He then lowered himself to the floor, taking the Front View Mirror along with him. "Could you help me sort something out?"

The Conjuring Hat chortled. "If you're looking for help with sorting something, perhaps you should try my inferior Hogwarts counterpart." As he was growing increasingly tired of its antics, Harry performed a silencing charm on the hat, causing it to spin around angrily.

"You want help in sorting out your love life, don't you?" the mirror asked. When Harry nodded, it continued, "You have strong feelings for the girl who serves as your emissary, but you're not sure just what they mean or where they came from."

"That's it exactly," Harry replied enthusiastically. "I can't help wondering if…if…"

"If what you've seen here is influencing what you're feeling now," the mirror finished for him. "If what you're feeling is truly real."

Harry looked into the mirror curiously. "How is it that you know how to say things about my feelings that I can't?"

His own image in the mirror shrugged. "You would have figured out how to say all of those things in a few minutes. I just saved you the time."

"D'you think I could use you when I talk to Hermione?" Harry asked. "It would really make things a lot simpler."

The face in the mirror scowled back at him. "I don't think she'd like that very much. And besides, simpler isn't always better."

"Things used to be simple," Harry grumbled, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I dunno how it all got out of control so fast. Over the summer, Ron and Hermione nearly drove me bananas with their constant bickering and all I wanted was for them to get together already. Everyone had been waiting for them to for ages."

"Really?" the mirror asked skeptically. "So you talked to other people about this and they saw the same romance brewing between the two of them that you did?"

Harry gave the Front View Mirror an appraising look. "If you can really see five minutes into the future, then you have to know the answer to that question."

"Oh, I do," the mirror said with a hint of a gloat in its voice. "I just enjoy hearing you say it."

Harry exhaled deeply. "No, I didn't talk to anyone else about it. But they're my best friends. I know them better than anyone. The way they were going at each other, they were bound to get together sooner or later." Memories of his visions and one completely disastrous failed Ron-Hermione date at Hogsmeade flashed suddenly through his mind. "Or so I thought, anyway."

"Do you want to know what I think?" the Front View Mirror asked, making his own voice sound somewhat prissy as it did so. "I think your feelings are real and that the visions you've been having only brought them to the surface. I think your expectation that Ron and Hermione would get together forced you to think of her as off limits and now that you see how things really stand, you're a little bit scared because this is all so new to you." The mirror paused to let this sink in a bit. "Also, I think you're almost due for another vision."

Harry tilted his head to one side and gave the mirror a strange look. "What are you…?"

***

Immediately it was dark and quiet and there was a bit of a chill in the air that made him shiver. Harry's glasses were covered with droplets of water and the grass on which he stood was very wet, making him guess that it had been raining only a short time ago. He had something heavy in his hands, but could not see what it was through his wet, foggy glasses. It was something with a wooden handle…

Harry Potter cried out in pain as a stinging hex hit him in the back, making him fall to his knees on the soggy ground. "You'll not be allowed to loaf around with me watching you, Potter," the familiar voice of Draco Malfoy sneered from behind him. "Now get digging."

'Digging?' Harry thought to himself, puzzled. 'What am I supposed to be digging for Draco Malfoy?' But at least that did explain why he had a shovel in his hand.

As Harry rose slowly to his feet, an older man's voice cried out pleadingly, "Master Malfoy, sir, we would never have gone easy on a traitor like 'im. You know that." His voice then became barely more than a whisper. "Please don't tell your father…"

"What I tell my father depends on what happens now that I'm here, doesn't it?" Draco interrupted him snidely. "If you ask me, the quality of the work being done out here has been on the decline lately." Harry took the opportunity Malfoy's rant afforded him to wipe his glasses clean and take in his surroundings. He could see Hogwarts castle in the distance, but it seemed much farther off than it should be. There were other people milling around him, mostly doing drudge work. Just a few hundred meters away from him was the Oracular Tower, which stood closer to him now than Hogwarts itself. This meant that he was on the other side of it, which in turn meant…

"Bloody hell," Harry exclaimed softly as he returned his glasses to their rightful place on his face. "Someone's cut down the Forbidden Forest. But what am I doing…?" An incredibly intense wave of pain wracked his body as it once again fell to the rain-soaked ground. Although Harry had experienced the Cruciatus Curse before, enduring it never got any easier.

"I don't remember giving you permission to speak, Potter," Draco said with a murderous glare. "You're my prisoner now and you will remain so until the Dark Lord calls for you in the morning. That means you do what I say when I say, without any cheek."

Harry attempted to quickly swallow the fear that he felt upon learning that in this version of his future, he was Voldemort's captive. He would not let Malfoy get the better of him. "This isn't over, Malfoy," he declared with completely feigned confidence. "Voldemort hasn't killed me yet and I still have a few tricks up my…"

"Crucio!" Draco exclaimed and Harry once again felt the cruel agony of the Cruciatus Curse surging through him. "You have nothing left," Malfoy spat. "Nothing! No Dumbledore, no Order of the Phoenix, no friends…" He barked a harsh laugh. "Face facts, Potter. Your side lost and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

"No…friends…?" Harry repeated weakly. Despite the pain, he was suddenly seized with curiosity about what had happened to those he cared about in this version of the future. "What do you…?"

"Playing dumb now, are we?" Draco demanded with a smirk. "Don't tell me you don't remember what happened to all of your little traitor friends?" When Harry only stared back at him blankly, Malfoy shot him an evil smile. "Perhaps all the Unforgiveables we've been using on you have made you forgetful. I'd be more than happy to give your memory a jog." The smile disappeared as he made a slight upward motion with his wand. "On your feet, Potter. It's time to take a little walk."

Harry stood slowly and then began moving in the direction Malfoy indicated, much as he would have rather tried to fight or run. However, seeing as he was apparently out a wand and his legs could barely manage to walk after two rounds with the Cruciatus Curse, his options were fairly limited. "To your right, you'll see the graves of Hogwarts' greatest pair of nobodies, Neville Longbottom and Looney Lovegood." Harry's heart sank. He felt just as he had when he saw the abandoned Lovegood house in his first vision, as though a sudden emptiness had begun to form where his insides should be. "Tell me, Potter, do you think they followed you because they were stupid, crazy or because they simply had nothing better to do with their pathetic lives?"

"I've often asked myself that same question about Crabbe and Goyle," Harry shot back defiantly.

A figure in Death Eater's robes standing next to Draco lowered his wand at Harry and began to aim another Cruciatus his way when Malfoy waved him off. "Don't. I have a feeling this is making him suffer more than any curse of pain ever could." Draco nodded his head slightly and continued, "To your left is the final resting place of the two youngest Weasley spawn." Harry's lip trembled slightly as he read the names of Ron and Ginny on the headstones. If it were possible, Harry felt even worse than before, as his entire body began to quiver involuntarily. "You should be grateful, Potter. At least we gave them decent markers. That's more than their impoverished blood traitor parents could have managed." Harry's hands balled themselves into fists. He ached to strike Draco Malfoy but knew it would do more harm than good.

"And finally we have the true prize of the collection, your mudblood girlfriend, Hermione Granger." As Draco shone a light on the grave, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of loss, beyond anything he had experienced before. It was as though his heart had been torn out and shredded, leaving him only an empty shell. "I have to hand it to the filthy slag, she gave us quite a fight. It was only when she knew that we were either going to kill her or you that she finally gave in." Malfoy grinned evilly. "Of course, if she had truly been as bright as everyone said she was she would have known we were going to kill you both eventually."

In a blind rage, Harry launched himself at Draco Malfoy, his fists flailing away at his old Slytherin rival's prone form. For a moment, none of the Death Eaters surrounding them did anything, perhaps too stunned to act (or perhaps more than willing to see the haughty Draco taken down a peg or two). Eventually, though, one of them pointed his wand in Harry's direction and levitated him off of the ground, allowing Malfoy a respite. Draco was now covered in mud and sported several nasty bruises and cuts on his face. "Should I kill him now, Monsieur Malfoy?" the dark wizard holding Harry aloft asked, his tone utterly indifferent.

Despite the look of wounded pride on his face, Draco managed to shake his head no. "The Dark Lord would skin us alive if we deprived him of the honor of killing Harry Potter." Malfoy approached Harry, his teeth gritted in anger. "You will be executed tomorrow morning in front of the entire wizarding world. That is the only thing keeping you alive tonight. You'd do well to remember that.

"Gerard," Draco called out to the Death Eater with his wand trained on Harry's levitating form, "teach Potter a lesson in manners. Just don't kill him or leave him unrecognizable. And if he can't be persuaded to dig his own grave, put him under the Imperius Curse." The Death Eater nodded. "I have to get myself cleaned up for tomorrow. The son of the Minister of Magic has to look his best for such a special occasion."

As Draco Malfoy departed, a hot tear slid down Harry's face. Voldemort had won and all of his friends were dead. How had this nightmare world come about? What had changed between his last vision and now? And how could he change it back once he returned to the present?

"You are being quite selfish in wasting your tears now, Monsieur Potter," 'Gerard' advised him sardonically. "I'm sure the entire wizarding public would love to see them tomorrow, just before the Dark Lord murders you." Before Harry could retort, the Death Eater ended the spell keeping him in the air, allowing him to fall to the ground in a heap.

As Harry struggled to pull himself up from the muddy ground in spite of the tremendous amount of pain that he was in, he realized that he knew exactly who was speaking. "You're Jean Paul Gerard, aren't you?"

The other wizard let out a short, mirthless laugh. "I should have known you were far too clever to be fooled by this silly mask." Casually, he removed the Death Eater mask and tossed it away, revealing the now-familiar brown hair and Roman nose of the French dark wizard who had appeared in his previous two visions of the future. "Your intellect is truly staggering."

Harry had no idea who this bloke was or why he kept showing up in his visions of the future, but right now there was nobody else who could tell him anything useful. "What happened here?" Harry asked the Frenchman. "How did Voldemort win?"

Jean Paul Gerard exhaled slowly. "I will answer your question using simple logic that even a half-wit Englishman should be able to follow. When you were attempting to defeat the Dark Lord, what method did you use? What tactics did you employ?" When Harry did not answer, he continued in exasperation, "Did you not attempt to destroy the very things which made him powerful? Which made him so difficult to be killed?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted, his brow furrowed in confusion. "But I don't see what that has to do with…"

"Can you not see that by killing those you cared about he has done the same to you," Gerard pointed out almost angrily. "The war between you was over the moment the last one of them died."

"I…" Harry stammered as he tried to puzzle through what Gerard was saying. "I don't think I understand…"

Gerard grinned widely. "You will, Monsieur Potter. You will."

***

Because the Oracular Tower was so very high and had so very many steps, Harry could watch Hermione walk up the stairs in the twilight for about ten minutes before her arrival at the top. What remained of the rare books he had gathered for her after the incident with the enormous bookworm sat next to his bed, bundled and ready to be given as a gift. Harry had mulled the words he wanted to say to her over and over again in his head, but none seemed to adequately express his feelings. 'I only wish I knew exactly what to say to her, what to do…'

Complicating everything was his latest vision, which made him chide himself for taking his eyes off of the ultimate goal of staying in this tower, which was to discover the last of Voldemort's horcruxes hidden somewhere here and destroy it. Once he had prepared everything for Hermione, he had ransacked the items in the tower's huge closet, searching at three times his normal pace, looking for any trace of Lord Voldemort's soul. Disappointingly, he had found nothing.

Harry had also given some thought to what Gerard had said in his latest vision: that killing his friends would more easily allow Voldemort to defeat him. He wondered if perhaps it wouldn't be better for now to push them away, to leave Ron and Hermione out of the horcrux hunt and keep them out of danger. Harry had quickly dismissed the notion, however. 'Part of what's made Voldemort's horcruxes so vulnerable is that he hid them, keeping them far away from himself in hopes of protecting them.' If his friendships were truly part of what made him strong enough to defeat Lord Voldemort, he knew that this was not the time to be burning bridges. And he would have to start by making things right with Hermione.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione greeted him simply as she finally ascended the tower's staircase. Once she had caught her breath, she handed him several reams of parchment. "We can go over your homework assignments in a moment, but I really think we should talk first."

"Of course," Harry agreed enthusiastically. "Have a seat." Harry had thought it would make for a more friendly atmosphere if Hermione had somewhere to sit other than his bed, so when he found an old upholstered chair inside the closet that guessed your weight as you sat down on it, he had cast a silencing charm on it and moved it out here. "I, erm, got you something." As she sat down (thankfully without comment from the chair), he handed her the bundle of books. "Those are all of the rare books up here, except for the ones on dark magic. I didn't reckon you'd want those."

Hermione gave the books a glance, a pleased expression briefly overcoming the look of concern she had worn on her face ever since she had arrived. "Thank you, Harry. These are wonderful." Her serious face returned quickly. "But as nice as this was, it doesn't really change anything. There's still something we need to discuss."

Harry gripped the edge of his mattress tightly as he sat on his bed. "Hermione, I can explain everything…"

Hermione put her hand on his knee, silencing him. "You've changed so much since you've been living in this tower. You broke up with Ginny, tried to set Ronald and me up on a date and then you kissed me. Harry, I…I think you may be going a bit mad."

"I'm not going mad," Harry replied with a dismissive laugh. "I'll admit it was a mistake to set you and Ron up on that date at Hogsmeade, but Hermione, if you had only seen the things that I've seen, you'd know exactly why I've done all this."

"I can't exactly do that, can I?" Hermione asked rhetorically, her tone now somewhat icy. "You're the only one who can see these visions."

"Are you…are you jealous that the tower picked me and not you?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course not," Hermione answered him firmly. "But people don't like to have their emotions toyed with, Harry. Just because you can see how things might turn out in a few years, doesn't mean that any of the rest of us are ready for you to start changing things around because of what you see. To us, nothing has changed…except for you."

Deeply frustrated, Harry determined to come clean about his feelings for her and exactly what it was in the visions that had made him realize those feelings. "You remember when I told you that we weren't friends in the future, after my first vision? Well, that was only partially true. I was married to Ginny but the two of us were having an affair." Hermione's eyes widened in shock but she said nothing. "In my second vision we had obviously been romantically involved but you said you were trying to make things work with Ron 'this time'. And, in my last vision, I saw your grave and…Hermione, it nearly killed me. I couldn't take it." He reached for her hand and held it gently. "I want to be with you, Hermione. The things that I've seen in the visions don't really matter, it's the feelings that they've made me realize I have for you. I…I don't know how you feel about me, exactly, but if the visions are any indication…"

Abruptly, Hermione pulled her hand away from his own. As she looked up at him, her expression had changed entirely to one of bitter sadness and tears welled behind her eyes. "What am I supposed to do with that, Harry?" she asked him pointedly. "Because I have no idea. Maybe you should just go ahead and tell me. Haven't you seen this played out already in one of your visions?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed defensively. "I don't understand what you're on about! I'm just trying to tell you how I feel…"

"Put yourself in my shoes," Hermione said, her tone now decidedly less barbed. "What if I was the one staying in this tower and you were my emissary to the outside world? And what if after a few weeks I told you I wanted to date you? What would you think?"

Harry pondered that for a moment. "I…I'd think…" Harry would still have blissfully been dating Ginny and would have fully expected Ron and Hermione to get together, with no idea of what the future held in store for them. "I'd think you were barmy."

"My point exactly," Hermione said, her tone softening noticeably. "If you really want to know how I feel, Harry, I…I've wanted to be more than your friend for quite a while." Harry couldn't keep an elated grin from his face, although he managed to suppress it quickly. "It would be very easy for me to accept what you say at face value and agree to become your girlfriend." Abruptly, she rose from her chair, causing it to blurt out, "Seven stone, eight pounds."

Hermione gave the chair a brief look of disdain and then continued, "But I just can't trust that what you think you're feeling right now is how you really feel. I'm sorry."

Harry did his very best not to look crestfallen, but figured he was probably doing poorly at it. "You don't trust me, then? Is that it?"

Hermione gently put her hand over his. "I'll always trust you, Harry. I'm just not sure you're quite yourself right now."

Harry could barely pay attention as Hermione went over his homework assignments, handed him the food she had snuck out of the kitchens and bid him goodbye. Before she left, however, an idea struck him. "Hermione, could you do something for me?"

Her eyes looked him over carefully. "What's that?"

"There's this French wizard who keeps popping up in my visions," Harry explained. "I want to know more about him. He should be going to Beauxbatons now. His name's Jean Paul Gerard."

"'Jean Paul Gerard,'" Hermione repeated, her brow furrowed in thought. "Alright, I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said with a genuinely appreciative grin. "You're the best."

Hermione smiled back at him. "I'm glad you still think so."

Before I have to dodge rotten tomatoes and heads of cabbage, I would like to assure my reading audience that there will be plenty of H/Hr goodness in the succeeding chapters. Updates will come every two weeks, so the next chapter will be up on Friday the 7th of August. Thanks again for giving me a second chance. Long live Portkey!

ITL

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