Unofficial Portkey Archive

Time for another flashback. The scene in question was actually written long ago, just after HBP came out. One of the scenes in the book so irked me that I wasted no time in reshaping it into something that seemed more appropriate. When I got the idea for this story with its reworked romance, I realized that this scene would fit perfectly into my scenario. It needed only a tiny bit of cosmetic surgery to slide right into place.

There are a few other things in the chapter, too. But you'll see for yourself.

Harry was not surprised when Hermione knew exactly where the library was located in Ottery St. Catchpole.

"You remember I was here a day ahead of you the year we went to the Quidditch World Cup," she said. "Quick as my parents dropped me off, Fred and George came down and said they were heading off to the paddock to get in some practice for the upcoming Quidditch season. I came along with Ron and Ginny, but all I did was watch. Ron was flying his old Shooting Star, and Ginny was on Charlie's old broom. Ron would fly about, playing Chaser, and Ginny would try to knock him down with an old football that Ron said he found in the woods one day - it had been punctured, but his father fixed it up. The twins would knock the ball away as if it were a Bludger, using a couple of old cricket bats. Well, after a bit I got a stiff neck from looking up and decided to go for a walk. I came into the village, and I thought I'd see if they had a library, and when I found it, I went in and read for a bit. They were all still flying about when I got back. I don't think they even missed me," she laughed. "I didn't have time to look over everything before I left, but I think we'll find something that will suit our purposes."

Though the outer edge of the village was only a short walk away, the nearest cottage was hidden behind the hill whereon the Weasleys' paddock lay. The few wizarding families living on the periphery of the village had chosen this location in part because the inhabitants were not prone to inquisitiveness. They were friendly, as evidenced when Harry and Hermione passed a woman who was out walking her dog. She greeted the newcomers readily, her smile bearing no falseness. But she did not ask their names, nor where they were bound. Their business was just that, and none of hers. Harry was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud at the thought of Aunt Petunia living in such a village. With no one disposed to share even the most innocuous gossip, she would shrivel up and die in a week.

Harry and Hermione had necessarily foregone the transition from Muggle attire to wizards' robes for their sojourn into the village. Harry felt a bit uncomfortable wearing the same clothes as he had done yesterday (though Hermione had freshened them up for him with a handy Charm Mrs. Weasley had taught her). However, he was grateful to be able to appreciate Hermione's soft "Muggle curves" one more time before they vanished for the next ten months or more under loose, billowing robes. That would not prevent him from envisioning what lay beneath those robes during that time, of course. Today, however, he had a bit more than imagination to go on as he admired Hermione's tight jeans, and the way her backside moved when she walked. Hermione caught him looking at her, and she smiled as if to say, "Enjoy the menu, Harry, but don't expect dinner for a bit."

There were more people on the streets when they reached the center of town. All were as the first they had met, polite and friendly, but evidencing no slightest curiosity toward the newcomers. None would have thought to ask Harry what he was carrying in the pouch slung over his shoulder. Had any been disposed to ask, the answer would have sent them off shaking their heads.

When the sparse crowd had thinned to almost nothing, Harry ducked behind a thick shrubbery and reached into his pouch. His silvery Invisibility Cloak appeared, gleaming with a watery iridescence as he shook it out and flung it over his head. He followed Hermione into the library, waiting in a corner as she scanned the signs marking the bookshelves in search of the section they sought. It wouldn't do to ask for the book they needed outright, of course. If its absence should be noted before they could return it, someone would be bound to remember a girl with bushy brown hair who had asked for that very book just before it vanished. Instead, Hermione located the appropriate aisle by sight and strolled along its length, her eyes dancing lightly along the rows of books. One by one she would pull out a book and flip through its pages so that Harry could judge if it held the information he sought. When at last Harry saw the instructions that would serve Mr. Weasley's purpose, he tapped Hermione lightly on the arm. She returned the book to its place and walked away, carefully allowing the librarian to see that her hands were empty. When she left the library a minute later, Harry was close on her heels, the book tucked safely in his bag.

"This is marvelous, Harry!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed as he leafed through the book while sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of half-finished porridge forgotten at his side. "My word, these Muggles are clever, aren't they? And you're right, we can follow these plans step by step, substituting magic for those - what do you call them - bails?"

"Nails," Harry said.

"Oh, yes," Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Before nails were invented," Hermione said knowledgably as she stood looking over Harry's shoulder, "they used wooden pegs. Some of the structures built that way have lasted for centuries."

"Marvelous," Mr. Weasley said again, shaking his head in wonder.

At that moment, Ron walked through the kitchen door. It banged shut behind him loudly, startling his father so that his bowl of porridge crashed to the floor.

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley said indignantly. "Would it have put you out to have caught the door before it slammed shut?"

"Sorry," Ron said. "Here, let me get that." He drew his wand and pointed it at the shattered bowl. "Reparo!" The pieces of the bowl leaped together and fused into an unbroken unit. Smiling, Ron waved his wand again. "Evanesco!" The spilled porridge vanished.

"Sorry, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, looking embarrassed. "I knew I should have used a Sticking Charm on that bowl. Only I was so caught up in this marvelous book."

Averting his eyes from his mother's frown, Ron retrieved the repaired bowl and set it in the sink. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to wash it out, but he turned his back on it at once and walked back to the table to study the page his father was once more examining avidly. Hermione had retrieved the forgotten spoon, which had slid across the floor in front of her, and she frowned slightly, looking very much like Mrs. Weasley, as she washed both implements and dried them with a towel before returning them to the cupboard.

"The Drying Charm leaves streaks," she answered Harry's unspoken question when their eyes met. "There are still times when Muggle ways work best."

Lifting his eyes from the book with a decisive nod, Ron turned to his father and said, "Right, then. The wood's out back, and the space is cleared."

"Good," Mr. Weasley said, rising from his chair. "Shall we have a bash, then, Harry?"

The plans in the book proved easy to follow, being numbered so that each step was done in proper order. In no time at all, the bower was in place, its latticework unmarred by nail or screw. Applying Sticking Charms to each tiny spot had been tedious work, but the results more than compensated for their labors.

"All we need now is the flowers," Ron said proudly.

"What about the groom?" said a new voice from the direction of the house. "You'll need him, too, won't you?"

Everyone turned to see a tall, red-haired wizard striding through the kitchen door. Bill Weasley's once-handsome face was marred now by a row of thin scars, the marks of werewolf teeth. When he had been bitten by Fenrir Greyback during the Battle of Hogwarts (as the Daily Prophet headline proclaimed it), none knew whether Bill would become a true werewolf, like Remus Lupin. Those fears had proved groundless so far, but time had yet to reveal the full extent of his contamination.

"BILL!" Mr. Weasley shouted as his oldest son walked into the back garden. As the two men embraced unashamedly, it appeared to Harry that Ron was doing his best not to cry. When father and son separated, Bill held out his hand to Ron, who took it at once, his face going rigid.

"How've you been, Ron?" Bill asked.

"I'm - okay," Ron said. "How about you?"

"Me?" Bill beamed. "I'm getting married next week! I'm on top of the world!"

Bill turned toward Harry and Hermione, and his smile widened as much as his scars would permit.

"And how are you two holding up?" Bill asked.

"Okay," Harry said as he shook Bill's hand. Hermione stood on her toes to kiss Bill's cheek, carefully avoiding his scars.

"Glad to hear it." Turning to face Hermione, he said, "Mum tells me you've declared as a Healer. Hard road, that. Wouldn't touch it myself. Too much work."

"I'll manage," Hermione said with a small smile.

"I have no doubt of that," Bill said. "I have it from a reliable source that you got eleven O.W.L.'s last year."

Hermione swiveled her eyes toward Ron, who quickly looked away with a guilty grin, before turning her attention back to Bill and reminding him, "I understand you got twelve O.W.L.'s - and so did Percy, come to that. I only manage a third place finish in that contest."

"Ah," Bill returned, "but if I'm not mistaken, ten of yours were Outstanding. Percy and I only got nine out of twelve. And you only tested in eleven subjects, so that puts your percentage above ours. By my reckoning, that gets you the gold twice, leaving Percy and me to share the bronze."

Her cheeks beginning to match Ron's, Hermione said quickly, "From what Ron told me about the ceremony, I wasn't expecting you to arrive so soon. Are you staying the week, then?"

"No, just the weekend," he said, addressing his reply to everyone. "It was all I could do to manage a week off after the ceremony to have a proper honeymoon. If I'd asked for a fortnight, my supervisor would have baby dragons right in the Gringotts lobby. As it is, I've promised to do extra work to make up for time lost. I've brought it with me, in fact."

"Why aren't you doing it at your flat?" Ron asked. "Not that we aren't glad to see you, of course," he added quickly.

"I've given up my flat in London," Bill said. "It was much too small, not to mention expensive. I've already found larger accommodations at a better price - the rates are more affordable outside the city - but it won't be available until the first of the month. Charlie's having it furnished for us as his wedding present. He promises it'll be ready when Fleur and I get back from our honeymoon. Until then, I'm doubling with a mate from Gringotts, another Curse-Breaker, like I used to be. And before you ask," he said, raising an eyebrow as he favored Ron with a penetrating look, "I can't work at his flat because he's always got a bird staying over, and the noise they make when they carry on - "

Bill caught himself suddenly, realizing that he might have said too much in front of Hermione, not to mention that Ginny was just beyond the kitchen door and could have heard everything he'd just said.

"Anyway," he concluded, "I figure the more work I do before I head off, the less I'll have waiting for me after."

"Makes sense," Ron said. "I mean, if I had someone like Fleur to come home to every night, I wouldn't want to bring back extra work when I could be getting a bit - "

"Ron," Mr. Weasley said sharply, "let's show Bill how we've progressed on the wedding preparations, shall we?"

"Uh - right," Ron coughed. "Have a look, then," he said to Bill, sweeping his arm in the direction of the newly-constructed bower. "What do you think?"

Bill walked over to the bower and gave it an appraising look. "Smashing job," he said approvingly. "Fleur will love it."

"All down to Harry and Hermione," Mr. Weasley said, his manner once more relaxed. "They found just the book for the job."

"It was at the library in the village," Hermione said.

"A Muggle book?" Bill said, eyeing his father with amusement. "Why am I not surprised?"

"And now that we've finished with it," Hermione shifted her gaze toward Mr. Weasley, who smiled and nodded, "we'd best be getting it back before it's missed." Turning around, she asked, "Do you have it, Harry?"

"Quick as we were done, I took it up to my room so I wouldn't lose it," Harry said, Mrs. Weasley's warning still echoing in the back of his head. "I'll go get it."

"And don't forget your cloak," Hermione called after him.

Harry found the book lying on his bed where he'd left it. After fetching his dad's cloak from his trunk and shoving it into his book bag, he tucked the book under his arm and hurried down the stairs, not wanting to keep Hermione waiting. When he entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see Bill sitting at the table, a cup of tea before him and a dreamy look on his face. Bill seemed to be in another world, one Harry felt he should not intrude upon. But though he moved as quietly as he could, Bill heard his footfalls and turned toward him with an abashed smile.

"Sorry, I didn't see you, Harry," he said. "I was just, well, remembering."

"Remembering?" Harry repeated blankly.

"Remembering how it used to be," Bill said. "You know, how it felt when I got my Hogwarts letter, passing through the barrier at King's Cross and seeing the Hogwarts Express for the first time, sitting on the stool in the Great Hall with the Sorting Hat on my head and praying it would put me in Gryffindor as Mum and Dad hoped. A lot's happened since then."

Harry didn't know what to say. He wanted to leave, knowing that Hermione was waiting for him, but something about Bill's manner prompted him to remain. It was as if Bill wanted, or needed, someone to talk to, and Harry's sudden appearance had elected him to that position.

Seeing the bemused expression on Harry's face, Bill laughed gently.

"Sorry, Harry. I must sound a bit daft."

"No," Harry said at once.

"I heard about how you were going off straightaway to sort out You-Know-Who," Bill said unexpectedly. "I'm glad you decided to wait. I know you'll have to go off eventually. It's all in the Prophesy, isn't it?" When Harry looked startled, Bill laughed again. "I know all about it, Harry - well, not all, exactly. I mean, no one really knows what the Prophesy says, do they? But when Dumbledore set members of the Order to guarding it immediately after You-Know-Who's return, it wasn't hard to figure out. The Order was created to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Bill said dramatically, his eyes smiling as he stressed each word with comically overstated precision, "and it follows that anything having to do with him automatically has something to do with you. It's no secret how your parents died, and anyone who knows you has figured out by now that you're not going to rest until you've avenged their deaths. Add a mysterious Prophesy into the mix, and there you are."

"So you think I'm doing the right thing by coming back for my last year?" Harry asked. There weren't many people Harry knew whose opinion on such matters he would value, but Bill, he realized, was one of them.

"Definitely," Bill said. "You'll learn a lot of things this year that you'll need to know. I didn't take precisely the same classes you'll have, but I don't expect there'll be that much difference. I opted for a career as a Curse-Breaker, so I naturally took Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. I didn't learn a lot of the spells I imagine you will. My studies were all about combating Dark magic, not using it myself. All the same, I've seen and done things that would give most wizards nightmares for the rest of their lives. It takes stern stuff to follow the path you've chosen. But Mum and Dad think you've got it, and I agree."

"Thanks," Harry said.

He was on the verge of excusing himself so he could join Hermione, but he hesitated as a question that had been burning inside him unexpectedly tumbled out of his mouth.

"Do you think Hogwarts will be safe this year?"

Bill gave Harry an appraising look. "That's a fair question, Harry. I don't know."

"Do you think - " Harry began, his voice faltering.

"Do I think what, Harry?"

Plunging ahead, Harry said, "Do you think we can trust everyone like we did before?" Bill stared at Harry as he pondered the question, and Harry went on, "There were people at Hogwarts who we thought were on our side, but who were actually working for Voldemort." Bill lifted an eyebrow at mention of Voldemort's name, but gave no other sign of alarm, as Ron, or even Mr. Weasley, would have done. "Do you think - I mean, there'll have to be two new teachers at Hogwarts this year. How will we know that we can trust them, after - "

"You're thinking of Snape," Bill said. Harry nodded. Bill seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but was unsure if he should. The moment passed, and he said, "There are safeguards that can be taken to ensure one's loyalty. Certain spells that, once engaged, are absolute proof against betrayal. We all submitted ourselves in that manner when we were accepted into the Order. It was imperative that Dumbledore be able to trust us, no matter what. I'd already done the same thing at Gringotts - Curse-Breakers bring back loads of treasure from lost tombs, and the goblins don't want any of that gold to 'accidentally' end up in someone's pocket before it reaches the bank," he smiled. "I understand that the Unspeakables undergo a similar ritual before the Ministry will certify them - though no one knows for sure, of course, since they can't speak about it." His smile widened, straining against his scarred cheeks.

A deep furrow had appeared along the line of Harry's bangs, crinkling his lightning scar.

"What is it, Harry?" Bill asked perceptively.

"Snape was a member of the Order," Harry said in a pained voice. "It didn't work so well with him, did it?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss other members of the Order," Bill said, his manner suddenly brusque. It reminded Harry of a similar response he'd received whenever the same subject had been broached in the past, abruptly spurring his anger in much the same manner as it had done on those occasions.

"Dumbledore told me that he trusted Snape," Harry said harshly. "I told him over and over that Snape couldn't be trusted, but he wouldn't listen. And now he's dead."

Bill sat perfectly still, his hand wrapped around his teacup. His silence was unnerving. If he'd tried to defend Snape's position as a member of the Order, Harry was prepared to launch a volley from the depths of his anger that would shatter the most reasoned argument to bits. Seconds dragged on until a full minute passed, and still Bill said nothing, but merely fixed Harry with a calm, unblinking stare. For want of an outlet to fan his inner fire, Harry felt his rage begin to ebb, and he looked more closely at Bill, searching the wizard's placid countenance for long moments. And as reason slowly supplanted the anger inside him, Harry had the distinct impression that Bill was trying to communicate something to him with his eyes, something that he could not - seemed unable to - put into words.

And all at once, something clicked inside Harry's mind. He looked at Bill again, and it seemed that the red-haired wizard was hiding a smile behind the delicate latticework of his scarred features. Bill rose smoothly from his chair, standing slightly above Harry's height.

"Mum's making up my old room for me for the weekend," he said. "I think I'll go see how she's coming along. Good talking with you, Harry."

Bill left the kitchen. Harry stood for a moment, an odd look on his face. He never knew how long he remained thus, but finally he shook his head, feeling as if he were dispelling a fog around his thoughts.

Harry left the kitchen with a neutral look on his face. When he entered the back garden, he saw Hermione looking his way, wearing an expression that might have been appropriated from Professor McGonagall. Except that Professor McGonagall would not have put her hands on her hips as Hermione did, nor would she have managed anything resembling the smile that spread across Hermione's face as Harry approached, a look of contrition struggling against the slowly upturning corners of his mouth.

"Sorry," Harry said, his smile causing Hermione's to grow proportionately. "I was having a chat with Bill."

"Punctuality is the mark of a successful wizard, you know," Hermione said in a mildly reproving tone.

"We were talking about the witches in our lives," Harry said. "I was telling him how wonderful you are, and," he spread his hands helplessly, "once I got started, I didn't know where to stop."

Everyone laughed, including Hermione. Harry slung the bag containing his Invisibility Cloak over his shoulder, and he and Hermione set off, retracing their path from earlier that morning. It proved to be child's play for Harry to again follow Hermione through the door, whereupon he quickly returned the book to its place while the librarian was distracted by a question from his "partner in crime," as Fred and George might have said. Thinking about the twins reminded Harry of the cold reception Hermione had given them yesterday in Diagon Alley, and this, in turn, conjured images of a very different reception scheduled for Sunday next.

Fred and George had been invited to the wedding, of course, as had every member of the Weasley family. Both had accepted (of all the family, only Percy had declined) and they would almost certainly be staying for the reception. How would Hermione react when, as Harry was sure they would, the twins made yet another peace overture to her? She would have to feign politeness in the company of the wedding party, but when Bill and Fleur departed and the guests likewise said their goodbyes, would the twins continue to press the matter between them? If they did - and it seemed likely - an explosion might result that would make the fireworks display at Hogwarts during the tenure of Dolores Umbridge pale by comparison.

Harry kept these concerns to himself as they walked back to the Burrow. There was nothing to be gained by further discourse on the subject. Hermione had made her position quite clear in the joke shop. All he could do was prepare himself for the storm, and stand by Hermione until its passing.

Harry was taking a more direct route back to the Burrow, bypassing the winding roads and going across the rolling woodland surrounding the village, and, not incidentally, separating the Burrow from the village proper. As they mounted the hill leading to the Weasleys' paddock, the location stirred a memory in the back of Harry's brain.

"I forgot to tell you," he said as he helped Hermione over the crest of the hill (which was steeper on this side than on the one facing the Burrow), "I invited a guest to the wedding last night."

"You did?" Hermione said in surprise. "I thought everyone either of us would have invited was already on the guest list."

"It was a spur of the moment thing," Harry said as he took Hermione's hand in his and took a marginal lead down the hillside debouching onto the paddock, prepared to block Hermione's descent should she lose her balance. "Luna turned up while I was practicing Quidditch."

"You invited Luna?" Hermione said, and Harry spotted that there was only a hint of surprise in her voice.

"She said her dad was going to interview some members of the wedding party by fire after the excitement died down," Harry explained. "I told her she could get a better story by attending in person. She can take notes, or try to remember what she sees, and maybe her dad will let her write the story herself. I'm not sure what Luna has in mind for when she leaves school, but if she plans on carrying on with the family business, this should be a step in the right direction."

"I think it's a smashing idea," Hermione said, and Harry noted that a curious smile had appeared on Hermione's face. He was sure he knew what she was thinking, since he had himself had been spurred by the same notion. Rather than stating the obvious, Harry chose instead to substitute a question.

"Should we tell Ron? He's bound to think I invited Luna for his sake as much as hers."

"I don't think Ron has a dickie bird that Luna fancies him," Hermione replied.

"So what should I do?" Harry said. "Should I tell him?"

"Yes," Hermione said without hesitation. "Tell him exactly what you told me - about her writing up the ceremony for The Quibbler, I mean. Anyway, it's not as if she's a stranger, is it? She risked her life with all of us at the Ministry a year ago. It's odd that we don't talk about that night. It's almost as if we're all pretending it never happened."

Harry's answering silence was more vocal than words, and Hermione squeezed his hand.

"I know you don't want to remember that night," she said understandingly. "Neither do I, come to that. I came a bit too close to dying myself than I ever expected. I know that's a bit of an idiotic thing to say - I mean, we were going off to confront a horde of Death Eaters, for Merlin's sake. It's not as if we expected them to be waiting for us with tea and biscuits. It's more like we didn't think anything at all. If we had thought on it a bit, I don't know if we'd have been so keen to go."

"I was the one who wanted to go," Harry said softly, his eyes downcast. "I was going to go alone. You lot all came along to keep me from making a total arse of myself. Only it didn't quite come off that way, did it? I couldn't have mucked things up more if I'd had a set of numbered instructions with step-by-step photos like in the book we just took back."

"Please don't, Harry," Hermione said, giving his hand another squeeze. "We need to look ahead, not back. Now more than ever. We have a big job ahead of us, you, me and Ron. We can't hobble ourselves with such recriminations. Voldemort won't allow us the slightest margin for error. He might even be counting on it as part of his plan, expecting us to handicap ourselves by carrying that night into battle with us. We can't allow that to happen. We have to be on our game, as you Quidditch blokes say." She squeezed his hand emphatically, and Harry lifted his head with a strained smile.

"I wish I knew the proper words to tell you how much I love you."

"We don't need words," Hermione said, returning Harry's smile. "We never have. How many times do I have to tell you before it gets through that thick scar-head of yours?"

"As many times as it takes," Harry said earnestly. "For the rest of our lives, if need be."

As they came within sight of the Burrow, Harry stopped abruptly and stared at the tall, crooked house, the peaked roof of which was just visible over the edge of the line of trees which concealed the Weasley's paddock. Verdure surrounded them on all sides. The July sun was warm on their faces, tempered by a breeze that rustled the leaves with an almost soporific effect. Harry heaved a deep sigh. Without a word, he sat down on the hillside, Hermione following his example. All sight of the Burrow vanished. It was as if he and Hermione were the only two people in the world. Turning, he saw that Hermione was waiting patiently for an explanation for his actions. It was a skill she had cultivated over time to a fine art, given Harry's penchant for keeping things bottled up inside.

"I almost don't want to go back," he said achingly. "Sitting here, it's like you and I are all alone. There's no one in the whole bloody world but the two of us. I wish we could stay here forever."

Hermione snuggled close to Harry, slipping her arm around his waist. He shrugged off his book bag, freeing both arms to pull her against him. Her head fell onto his chest, and he inhaled the perfume of her hair, still fresh from last night's washing. Wordlessly, Harry placed a finger under Hermione's chin and lifted her head. Bending, he enveloped her lips with his. The kiss deepened until it was if their souls reached out and embraced on a spiritual level. Silence enveloped them, enhanced rather than disturbed by the whispering leaves, and the distant music of birdsong. Unbidden, the birds' voices permeated Harry's mind, creeping into the dark corridors of his memory, hurling his thoughts back to another time, another place...

The party celebrating Gryffindor's Quidditch victory over Hufflepuff was well under way when Harry pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and entered the common room. Renewed cheers and clapping greeted his appearance, and he was soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating him. What with trying to shake off the Creevey brothers, who wanted a blow-by-blow match analysis, and a large group of girls who encircled him, laughing at his least amusing comments and batting their eyelids, it was some time before he could try to find Ron. At last he extricated himself from Romilda Vane, who was hinting heavily that she would like to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with him. As he was ducking toward the drinks table, he walked straight into Ginny, Arnold the Pygmy Puff riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels.

"Looking for Ron?" she asked, smirking. "He's over there, the filthy hypocrite."

Harry looked into the corner she was indicating. There, in full view of the whole room, stood Ron wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose hands were whose.

"It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?" Ginny said dispassionately. "But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry."

She patted him on the arm, then walked off to help herself to more butterbeer. Crookshanks trotted after her, his yellow eyes fixed upon Arnold.

Harry turned away from Ron, who did not look like he would be surfacing soon, just as the portrait hole was closing. With a sinking feeling, he thought he saw a mane of bushy brown hair whipping out of sight.

He darted forward, sidestepped Romilda Vane again, and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady. The corridor outside seemed to be deserted.

"Hermione?"

He found her in the first unlocked classroom he tried. She was sitting on the teacher's desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair. Harry could not help admiring her spell-work at a time like this.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said in a brittle voice. "I was just practicing."

"Yeah...they're - er - really good..." Harry said.

He had no idea what to say to her. He was just wondering whether there was any chance that she had not noticed Ron, that she had merely left the room because the party was a little too rowdy, when she said, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

"Er...does he?" Harry said.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," Hermione said. "He wasn't exactly hiding it, was he?"

There being no good reply to this, Harry said nothing. He stood in silence for a moment, then walked over and sat beside Hermione.

"Why are you so upset?" Harry asked her gently. "I mean, it's not as if you - "

Harry paused. Hermione had tensed up subtly, the change coming with such abruptness that Harry almost thought to hear a Locking Charm engage inside her, replete with clicking tumblers. Clearly she was hiding something, something she did not want Harry to see. But he thought he already knew, and the knowledge made his insides clench up the way they had just before today's Quidditch match. The words came out of his mouth before he realized his lips were moving.

"Hermione?" Harry asked quietly. "Do you...er...do you...fancy Ron?"

"Me?" Hermione squeaked shrilly. "Fancy that - that - "

The door behind them burst open. To Harry's horror, Ron came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.

"Oh," he said, drawing up short at the sight of Harry and Hermione.

"Oops!" Lavender said, and she backed out of the room, giggling. The door swung shut behind her.

There was a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione was staring at Ron, who refused to look at her, but said with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness, "Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!"

"I - " Harry began, feeling that some explanation was necessary lest Ron assume the worst. "That is, we - "

Suddenly, before Harry could say another word, Hermione threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely. It was so unexpected that at first he could not think how to respond. But the warmth of her lips on his, the ferocity with which she ran her fingers through his already windswept hair, sent a signal to his brain like the ringing of a bell. Heedless of Ron standing in stunned silence in the doorway, Harry slipped his arms around Hermione and began to kiss her back.

The feel of Hermione in his arms made Harry's senses sing like a chorus of wood nymphs. Or maybe that was the sound of the birds darting around their heads. He had never imagined that kissing a girl could be so - so intoxicating. This was nothing like his awkward kiss with Cho under the mistletoe had been. His head was swimming as if he had just drunk a dozen bottles of butterbeer. He moved his hands across Hermione's soft shoulders, catching up handfuls of her bushy hair as he drew her face even closer to his. The flowery scent of her hair filled his senses (along with another, subtler fragrance he couldn't identify). Lost in the moment, Harry would not have noticed if the castle suddenly crumbled around them.

Very slowly, Hermione's lips relaxed against Harry's. Her arms slipped from around his neck, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment before falling away. Harry's hands slid down her back, her thick hair threading supplely through his fingers. She withdrew, face slightly flushed, softly gasping for breath. For his part, Harry was too stunned even to attempt to breathe. He felt as if ripples of electricity were surging through him, making his skin tingle. It was as if music were humming through him, not unlike Phoenix song. He stared dumbly as Hermione calmly adjusted her robes, which were slightly rumpled from the action of Harry's hands.

"Congratulations, Harry," she said, her voice no longer brittle, but firm and resolute. Straightening her shoulders with an air of unflappable deportment, she cast a triumphant glance in Ron's direction, then turned away dismissively without a word.

Harry had no idea what had just happened. Neither, it seemed, did Ron. Hermione slid off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter in circles around her head so that she looked like a strange, feathery model of the solar system.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said quietly to Ron as she passed him without looking at him. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

She walked very slowly and erectly toward the door. When it closed behind her, the soft click of the latch echoed unnaturally in the enveloping silence. Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking dumbfounded. Harry knew exactly how he felt.

"What just happened?" Ron asked. "What was that all about?"

Harry had no answer. Emulating Hermione, he slid off the desk without a word and walked past Ron, his thoughts swirling like the misty contents of a Pensieve.

What had just happened?

Hermione had kissed him, that was what had happened. That she meant it as some kind of revenge on Ron was all too apparent. But something else was just as apparent to Harry. Kissing Hermione had been the most thrilling experience of his life. His insides felt exactly as they did when he zoomed up into the sky on his Firebolt, giving him a wonderful feeling of freedom and exhilaration.

No, he amended. It was better. It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. And with that realization came another, so powerful that the knowledge gripped him like Devil's Snare.

He wanted it to happen again.

Harry's lips parted from Hermione's, hovering just close enough to feel the warmth of their presence. His eyes were closed, and it seemed that his entire world was composed of the soft touch of Hermione's lips, and the sound of the birds twittering overhead. He opened his eyes slowly. Hermione's large brown eyes gazed back at him. The lips brushing his were curled into a smile.

"I told you we didn't need words, didn't I?" she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"All the same," Harry said, "you don't mind if I keep telling you how much I love you every chance I get?"

"If you insist," Hermione replied in a weary, bored voice, restraining a smile with questionable success.

Shouldering his bag once more, Harry rose to his feet, pulling Hermione up after. They made their way down the slope until they came to the back hedge beyond which lay the Weasleys' vegetable garden. Harry helped Hermione over the lowest point, which he suspected had been worn down over the years by a generation of Weasley children journeying to the paddock to practice Quidditch (excluding Percy, who, Harry reflected, probably couldn't have told a Quaffle from a pumpkin). As they stepped down, they saw a small, brown shape scurry away as fast as its tiny legs could carry it. Its potato-sized head was scarcely taller than the overgrown tufts of grass into which it dived, vanishing from sight with a sound as of high-pitched giggling.

"They're a persistent lot, I'll give them that," Harry chuckled. "What would you give to have no more worries than a garden gnome?" he asked almost longingly. "No Dark wizards plotting to do you in. You pop out of your hole once in a while, nick an armload of pea pods and a tomato or two, and its back home again, the conquering hero. That's the life."

"Be nice, wouldn't it?" Hermione murmured, her eyes straying to the tiny shape just in time to see its horny little feet vanish down some unseen hole.

As they rounded the frog pond and approached the Burrow, Harry asked, "Are you up for another go in the twins' room?"

Their first session last night had proven both stimulating and productive. They had practiced some tricky wand movements designed to work in concert with non-verbal spells. The runes they carved into the air were extremely complex. Sparing Harry the need to do magic in defiance of the age restriction, Hermione had performed a spell that turned their wands into magical "quills" so that whatever they described in the air remained behind, floating before them in shimmering, golden script, allowing them to see how closely they'd matched the pictures in the textbook. Harry recognized the spell as the same one Tom Riddle had used in the Chamber of Secrets when he'd spelled out his name for Harry - Tom Marvolo Riddle - before rearranging the letters to declare to the world: I am Lord Voldemort.

Hermione's experience in her Ancient Runes classes had proved invaluable. Harry could not remember learning more in so little time in any Defense lesson. He was keen to have another go today - and when they were done, he might be able to steal a few minutes of "down time" with Hermione on the twins' beds. Pushed together, Harry reasoned, the two narrow beds would be as good as a single wide one, augmented by a temporary Sticking Charm. He knew Hermione would only permit them to go so far, but Harry would gladly take what he could get. Unfortunately, his suggestion met with less success than their previous training session had enjoyed.

"I'd love to," Hermione said with an apologetic smile. "But I have loads to do this morning."

Harry sighed inwardly. "I suppose you're helping Ginny again? Something else for the wedding?"

"I've promised to help her with a few last-minute things later," Hermione said, her expression relaxing. "For now, I'm going to make a start on some of my new school books." "

"I wish we could study together like we've always done," Harry said. "It won't be the same, not sharing classes. I know there were exceptions, like my Divination class, and your Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. But this year, the exception has become the rule."

"We won't share classes like we used to," Hermione acknowledged, "but that's not to say we won't study together. We're each going to be learning things the other isn't allowed, strictly speaking. My ordinary Defense classes won't be a patch on yours. You'll have to bring me up to scratch on everything you learn so we can go off prepared against Voldemort. I expect we can use the Room of Requirement as we did before. It'll be a bit like having the D.A. back in form, but with a smaller membership."

"And you can pass along to Ron what I teach you," Harry said.

"You won't be able at all?" Hermione replied with a touch of regret.

"No time," Harry sighed. "I know we haven't got our actual schedules yet, but based on the classes we know we'll be taking, it looks like they'll be a coordinated nightmare, designed to keep us from seeing each other more than an hour a day. When our classes and study periods don't clash, I'll have Head Boy duties while Ron's conducting Quidditch practices. He'll have a lot of responsibility as team captain - that'll eat up a bit of his free time when he's not in class, or working with you. I remember what it was like for me last year when I was captain. Either of us might have managed it this year with only prefect duties - I mean, Cedric seemed to be able to handle it okay - but Head Boy is - well, it's like being captain of the whole school. That's why I knew all along I couldn't carry on as Quidditch captain. I'll have a job of it as it is, what with all the extra classes I'll need to prepare for..."

"Ron will understand," Hermione said reassuringly. "He's done a bit of growing up since last June." Her voice fell to a whisper as she added, "We all have."

"You'll be a good teacher," Harry said. "Bit of a shame you never put in for it as a career. I could see you running the school as well as Dumbledore ever did - and a damn sight better than Phineas Nigellus ever managed!"

"I considered it," Hermione said. "It was one of the possibilities Professor McGonagall broached in my career chat - she reckoned that as often as I'd helped you and Ron pass your exams, I must be a pretty good teacher already," she smiled. "But even though I opted to declare as a Healer, a teaching position still wouldn't be out of the question. Most of the courses I'm taking are so strenuous, they'd automatically qualify me for a teacher once I'm properly trained. A Healer has to master so many aspects of magic, I imagine I could teach most of them if the need arose, just as Madam Pomfrey could."

"I never thought of Madam Pomfrey as a teacher," Harry said. "But with all she does as the school nurse, using spells and potions - blimey, if only Dumbledore had hired her to teach Potions all those years ago instead of Snape!"

"It was a matter of qualification versus need," Hermione said. "She could have done it easily, as you said. But who would they have got to take her place as school nurse? A Healer is a lot harder to replace than a Potions Master."

"Or a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Harry said. "And that reminds me, have you heard anything about who the new teachers will be?"

"No," Hermione said. "You'll have noted that there was nothing about the teaching staff in our letters."

"It was bad enough finding someone to fill the Defense post every year," Harry said. "Now we need a new Transfiguration teacher as well. Who's qualified to do either? And more to the point, who's got the bollocks to take the job after what happened last month?"

"Maybe no one wanted the jobs," Hermione reasoned. "I suppose some of the teachers could do double duty. We've already established that someone can be qualified to teach in more than one area. But we already learnt that last year, didn't we, when Snape - "

"Maybe there won't be enough students this year to fill out a single class," Harry cut across Hermione, his eyes flashing at the mere mention of Snape. "I mean, look how many friends we lost last term when their parents took them off. I don't reckon they'll be returning, and Merlin only knows how many more won't be back this term. If the classes are that depleted, they might even go so far as to mix different years to keep the classrooms filled..."

Harry's voice trailed off suddenly as a thought jumped forward from the back of his brain. Ginny had already as much as said that the school was planning to do just that. She'd informed him during their long wait in the queue at the Leaky Cauldron that the two of them would likely be sharing an Advanced Transfiguration class, as well as Advanced Charms. If Hogwarts was combining advanced classes, there was no reason to think that they would not do the same for the everyday curriculum. He should have remembered that. But all at once he realized why the thought hadn't occurred to him just now. He'd promised Ginny to say nothing about the classes the two of them expected to share. Funny how he'd forgotten that. Perhaps the awkward situation he and Ginny had fallen into upon their return to the Burrow had driven the events from his brain. Or maybe his forgetting had been a defense mechanism. He didn't like keeping secrets from Hermione, no matter their triviality, and locking the secret away would have removed the burden of guilt from him. He wished he knew how to perform a selective Memory Charm on himself. That was just the sort of spell that might turn up this year in Advanced Charms. Not that that would do him any good now, of course.

"Doubled classes would reduce the need for a full teaching staff," Hermione reflected, apparently taking no note of the momentary glaze that passed over Harry's eyes during his brief reverie. "There are many small schools in remote corners of Europe that combine classes to save space and time. I read it in - "

"Hogwarts: A History," Harry said. Hermione slapped him playfully on the side of the head.

"And it's not like Hogwarts hasn't combined classes before now," Hermione reminded Harry. "We always shared Potions and Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins, and Herbology with Hufflepuff. This year we might well see all four Houses mixed into a single class in some subjects, in addition to the different years you just mentioned, and even then the classrooms still won't be overcrowded."

"That's a cheerful thought," Harry muttered, his thoughts once more grounded in the here and now. "Sharing every class with the stinking Slytherins."

"I doubt you'll have to suffer with the rest of us," Hermione observed. "How many students qualify in any year for Auror classes?"

"I was thinking about you," Harry said. "The whole of Slytherin House is likely to hold a grudge against us, and if I'm not there, they'll take it all out on you."

"I'm not worried," Hermione said. "Every family that supported Voldemort has probably taken their children out of Hogwarts."

"Every family we know of," Harry amended. "How many were secret supporters? They're not likely to show their colors until it's too late. And who's to say they'll all be in Slytherin? I don't suppose we've much to worry about with Hufflepuff, at least the ones we've worked with seem alright. And there are too many Muggle-borns in Gryffindor for a sympathizer to keep his true feelings hidden very long. But I wouldn't put it past some Ravenclaw to be spying for Voldemort. Look at Marietta Edgecombe. I should have realized that ages ago. The Sorting Hat selects the cleverest for that House, and that's one of the attributes Voldemort values most in his servants."

"What will happen, will happen," Hermione said wisely, giving Harry's hand another squeeze. "And when it does, we'll be ready."

"Yes," Harry nodded, giving Hermione's hand an answering squeeze. "We will."

As they turned their eyes away from each other and toward the Burrow, they saw a tall figure striding toward them, his hand waving a greeting.

"Any problems with the Muggles?" Ron asked, his trademark smile glowing in the morning sun.

"What could go wrong?" Harry replied. "It's not like we were breaking into Gringotts to steal the Sorcerer's Stone."

"You lot ready for lunch?" Ron said, jerking his head toward the house. "Mum said if I saw you to tell you it'll be on the table in - " Ron checked his watch. "Ten minutes."

"Let's go, then," Hermione said, her eyes reflecting the hunger gnawing at her midsection.

As they approached the picnic table where the Weasleys often took their meals in the warm season, Harry counted the place settings and concluded, "Someone's missing."

"Bill," Ron said, inclining his head toward an upper window of the house.

"Making a start on the work he brought along from the bank, is he?" Harry commented. But Ron shook his head.

"Rehearsing for the wedding. He said he wanted everything to go just right next Sunday, and if something did go wrong, it would bloody well not be on his head."

"There's something - I dunno - off-center about having to rehearse for a wedding," Harry said as he dropped his bag onto the grass and seated Hermione on the bench before sliding in beside her. "Not very romantic, you ask me."

"What would you have Bill and Fleur do?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Just pop in, say, 'I love you,' and pop straight off for the honeymoon?"

"Sounds good to me," Ron said.

"You men are all alike," Hermione sniffed through a smirk as Harry and Ron exchanged a grin.

Mrs. Weasley appeared, balancing three covered platters, one atop another, with her wand. At her direction, the platters separated and settled gently onto the table. Ron immediately uncovered the platter nearest at hand and grinned broadly.

"Bangers!"

Mrs. Weasley uncovered a second platter to reveal a tureen of peas, culled, Harry did not doubt, from the garden they had all de-gnomed yesterday. The third platter revealed a mound of rolls that were still steaming, along with a butter boat across which a blunt knife lay.

"Tuck in, everyone," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll bring the drinks along."

Harry helped himself to everything, spreading butter on his peas before applying the knife to a roll. Iced pumpkin juice completed the meal, which everyone ate in a contented silence. Only when the platters were empty did anyone speak.

"That was excellent, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Weasley said with a polite (if not overly friendly) smile.

"Smashing, Mrs. Weasley," Harry agreed.

Mrs. Weasley smiled much more warmly at Harry than she had done at Hermione.

"When will Dad be home?" Ron asked.

"Shortly, I hope," Mrs. Weasley said. "Arthur is at the Ministry," she informed Harry, unaware that Ron had already explained his father's absence that morning. Harry had taken Mr. Weasley's absence into account when counting the place settings. "He was going to take some of his holiday time this week to prepare for the wedding, but they can't get along without him for more than a couple of days, even on a weekend."

There was unmistakable pride in Mrs. Weasley's voice as she spoke of her husband. Harry knew that Mr. Weasley had been promoted out of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office not long ago. That meant a few extra Galleons in his pay packet, not to mention a measure of recognition he had long since earned but seldom received. Harry was not overly fond of Rufus Scrimgeour, but the new Minister of Magic was a vast improvement over his predecessor, Cornelius Fudge. Whatever Harry's personal feelings, he could not deny that Scrimgeour was taking the threat of Voldemort seriously, which was more than could be said of Fudge. The new Minister's recognition of Mr. Weasley's true worth went far to ameliorating the friction Harry's two encounters with him had produced. As long as Scrimgeour stayed out of his way, Harry would keep his thoughts on the Minister to himself.

"I hope they have enough sense not to call Dad next Sunday," Ginny put in.

"Don't give it a thought," Mrs. Weasley told her daughter. "This wedding is going to come off smoothly. Nothing is going to stop my son from marrying the woman he loves."

Harry was mildly surprised to hear this sentiment from Mrs. Weasley, but pleasantly so. Any friction that existed between Harry and Rufus Scrimgeour had been insignificant compared to that between Mrs. Weasley and Fleur Delacour. That had changed dramatically when Bill was injured in the battle against the Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Fleur had stood by her tragically disfigured fiancée, demonstrating a fiery defiance Mrs. Weasley could not but respect, for that it was a virtual mirror image of her own incendiary nature. Different in so many ways, Fleur and Mrs. Weasley were united in their unwavering love for the men they had chosen to be their life partners.

Mrs. Weasley busied herself clearing the table, sending everyone away with a wave of her hand.

"Go and do something for yourselves," she told her children and their two housemates. "Summer holidays don't last forever. If something comes up, I'll call you. Just now, I have to go keep Arthur's lunch warm until he returns. Off you get!"

"So, what do you reckon, Harry?" Ron said. "Fancy a bit of dueling practice? Gotta get in form if we're to go after You-Know-Who's lot next year."

Casting a sidewise glance at Hermione, Harry said, "Bit of trouble with that, mate. I'm not of age yet. If I do magic, you might see a Ministry owl winging over the trees with an expulsion notice in his beak. Funny," he said with a crooked smile, "a month ago I was all keen to leave, and now I'm worried about being chucked out." Ron sagged slightly. "Anyway," Harry said, "Hermione's having a go at her new books, and I thought I'd help her get started."

"Tell you what," Hermione told Ron, her own quick glance at Harry revealing a devilish twinkle in her mahogany eyes. "Why don't you get in some Quidditch practice? I'm sure Harry will let you use his Firebolt."

"It's in my trunk," Harry said at once. "It's unlocked - well, I mean, there's no one here to keep it locked against, is there? Hang on, you can take this up for me while you're at it." He caught up his bag and tossed it at Ron so suddenly that Hermione gasped in surprise. In a blur of motion, Ron snared it one-handed, and Harry laughed, "Nice save! Ever think of trying out for Keeper? I can fix it for you if you like. The team captain's a mate of mine, and I think he can use a bloke like you this year." Harry laughed again, Hermione joining him. Even Ginny laughed softly.

"Thanks, mate," Ron grinned happily. Turning to Ginny, he said, "You want to come along? You can use my Cleansweep 11. It's loads better than Charlie's old broom. You said yourself, we both have to get in form for Quidditch season."

Ginny looked as if she were about to say yes, but at the last moment she caught sight of Hermione, who was shaking her head unobtrusively. Facing Ron, Ginny said in her most contrite voice, "I'd love to, but I have something to do. Girl stuff," she added when Ron opened his mouth to question what could possibly be more important than Quidditch. He closed his mouth sullenly, and Ginny said, "I'll try to be along directly, okay?"

"Fine," Ron shrugged as he turned to go, Harry's bag dragging beside him. "But it's not the same, practicing alone."

When Ron was safely inside the house, Hermione answered Ginny's unspoken question. "Maybe he won't have to practice alone."

"When I went up to the paddock to do some flying last night," Harry explained with a conspiratorial smile, "Luna turned up. She chucked some stones in the air for me so I could practice catching the Snitch."

"And you think she'll turn up again today?" Ginny said with suppressed excitement.

"You never know," Harry replied.

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, "does Luna own a broomstick?"

"I don't think so," Harry said blankly. "What - "

"OI, RON!" Ginny shouted up toward Ron's window. Ron's head appeared a moment later, a puzzled look evident on his face even at the distance separating him from the ground far below. "Take your broom along for me when you go!" Ginny called. "That way I won't forget to bring it later."

"Right!" Ron said. His head vanished.

"You're quick on the uptake," Hermione said approvingly as she and Ginny exchanged a triumphant smile.

"What was that about?" Harry asked. Ginny rolled her eyes at Hermione, as if to ask, Is he always this thick?

"If Luna does turn up," Hermione whispered, fearful that Ron might return at any moment, "they'll get on much better if they're both flying than if one of them has to stand on the ground looking up."

At that moment, Ron pushed open the door and bolted into the back garden, a broomstick in each hand. The screen door banged shut resoundingly behind him.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" Mrs. Weasley shouted from somewhere inside the house. "DON'T - SLAM - THAT - BLOODY - DOOR!"

"Sorry!" Ron called out. Turning about, he said with annoyance, "How was I supposed to catch the door with a broom in each hand?"

"Have a good practice," Harry said.

"Right," Ron said, his expression clearing at once. "Come along as soon as you can," he told Ginny, and then he was off.

"I promise," Ginny called after her brother.

"You don't really mean to catch him up later?" Hermione said in surprise.

"Of course," Ginny grinned. "How else am I going to spy on him?"

And before either Harry or Hermione could utter a word, Ginny was off after Ron, whose fiery head was just vanishing over the back hedge. Harry turned to find Hermione wearing a very self-satisfied smile.

"There are aspects of your nature I'm only just learning to appreciate, Miss Granger," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Hermione said with a small bow.

They entered the kitchen (careful not to let the door slam shut behind them) and mounted the stairs to the second floor. When Harry made to follow Hermione into Ginny's room, her eyebrows rose.

"I thought you were just saying you were going help me study so you could get Ron together with Luna."

"Ron had nothing to do with it," Harry said. "But it's a good job Ginny went off after him. Less chance of our being interrupted. Given the choice of which couple I want Ginny to spy on..."

With a small chuckle, Hermione opened her trunk and rummaged through her books until she found the ones she wanted. She spread them out on the desk and seated herself in the chair. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes looking over Hermione's left hand. Harry read the titles of the books lying before him: Basic Healing Potions, Theory of Healing Magic, and The Beginner's Guide to Healing. Hermione surveyed the trio for a moment before selecting the book of potions. She opened it to the index and ran her finger down the chapter titles slowly. Ultimately she gave the page a decisive tap, thereafter flipping pages rapidly until she came to the chapter she sought. The turned a few more pages, then nodded, leaving the book to lie open on the desk as she began to read.

"What does that potion do?" Harry asked.

"It heals burns," Hermione answered without looking up. "A very useful potion." Turning, she said, "It's the same one Madam Pomfrey used on Cedric when he got burned during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament."

"What, that orange paste he was wearing?"

"It's a very basic formula," Hermione said, "but like all complex potions, it has to be done precisely in every detail or it's useless. Even a gram too much or too little of any ingredient and it could have horrible consequences."

"What, like eating your face?" Harry said jokingly, unconsciously remembering Ron and Lavender from his recent musings.

"Yes."

Harry's smile melted away. He bent over and scanned the ingredients. "Do you have all this stuff?" he asked. "I don't remember seeing half of this in the students' cupboard at Hogwarts."

"It isn't," Hermione said. "Most of these ingredients are far too dangerous to trust to untrained hands. But they are standard in the Trainee Healer's Starter Kit I bought in Diagon Alley. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had to sign the consent form before I was allowed to buy them. It was in my Hogwarts envelope, along with my book list."

"But you're of age," Harry protested. "You should be able to buy anything you want."

"Certain potion ingredients are classed as controlled substances," Hermione said. "Someone not trained to use them properly could do serious harm with them. Only wizards who have passed their qualifying exams are allowed to buy them outright. The one exception is for students who have declared for a career requiring advanced potion brewing, and that only with a consent form. Surely you must know that, Harry? You'll be brewing a lot of potions in your Auror class that even I won't be allowed. I hardly need say that they'll have nothing whatsoever to do with healing."

"I guess I never thought about it," Harry said. "When we did Advanced Potions last year, everything we needed was in the cupboard."

"You just said it was the Advanced class," Hermione pointed out. "Do you think the ingredients Professor Slughorn used to brew that batch of Polyjuice were to be found in the standard cupboard? If they had been, would we have needed to nick them from Snape's private stores?"

Harry shook his head. Bending again, he asked, "Are you going to brew that here in Ginny's room? Sounds dodgy to me, and you said yourself that even the slightest error could be disastrous."

"Good point," Hermione nodded. "I suppose the best place to go is back to the twins' room. I expect you'll want to do the same - you'll want to get a jump on things and have a bash at some of your own potions before start of term, and I expect they'll be a lot dodgier than mine. If there isn't enough room for both of our cauldrons," she reflected, "we'll just stand the beds up against the wall. It's not as if anyone's using them."

Harry had very definite thoughts on the use to which Fred's and George's beds might be put, but he wisely kept these musings to himself. Aloud, he said, "I'll get your cauldron and you can put all the ingredients inside. I'll carry that up while you take the book and your measuring scales."

Shortly after, Hermione's cauldron was standing in the middle of the twins' room, hanging from an iron tripod over a cluster of bluebell flames. The magical heat was directed straight up, leaving the floorboards under the hovering flames cool to the touch. Hermione added each ingredient carefully. Her hands were steady as she measured and cut and chopped and poured. She followed the directions in the book to the letter. Harry grew more impressed the longer he watched. Finally Hermione stood back, surveying her work approvingly.

"Is that it?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no," Hermione said. "This is only the first phase. I have to let it simmer for a bit before I add the next ingredient. I expect I'll be here for a while, most of it spent waiting. Good thing I have plenty to read."

Harry smiled, but all at once his expression changed. He snapped his fingers, which sound, soft though it was, caught Hermione's ear as she stood peering into her quietly bubbling cauldron. She turned to Harry with a quizzical look.

"You just reminded me," he said. "I bought you a book in Diagon Alley - an early birthday present, kind of. I was going to wait to give it to you, but I've changed my mind. I can't think of a better time than now."

Harry rose and left the room. He returned shortly with his book bag slung over his shoulder. It was clearly carrying more weight now than it had done when it had concealed the Invisibility Cloak earlier that day. As Hermione watched, Harry set the bag on Ginny's bed and, throwing back the flap, extracted a very old book which he held before him with both hands.

"I bought it for you last year, in a little second-hand shop in Hogsmeade," Harry said, carefully blocking the book's title from Hermione's inquisitive eyes. "I was going to give it to you on the Hogwarts Express, but the attack on the castle kind of pushed it aside. I found it again when I was packing my trunk at the Dursleys."

Harry handed the book to Hermione, and she read the title with curiosity.

"Advanced Potion-Brewing by Libatius Borage," Hermione read aloud. Looking up, she said with a small smile, "It's very nice, Harry. But we already have a copy of this book."

"Not a first edition, you don't," Harry said. Hermione's eyes widened with new interest.

"A first edition?" She opened the crumbling cover and found the publishing information on the second page. "It is!" she exclaimed happily. "Oh, Harry! It's absolutely splendid! But it must have cost you a small fortune."

"No," Harry shook his head. "Bloke didn't know what he had. To him it was an outdated textbook that was no good to anyone. He practically gave it away."

Hermione began to flip through the pages with as much haste as she dared, careful not to tear the brittle pages.

"I reckon that book could come in handy this year," Harry remarked. "You could use it in place of last year's book."

"You're joking!" Hermione giggled. "Harry, the data in this book must be a hundred years out of date."

"So?" Harry said innocently.

"So?" Hermione replied in disbelief. "I can't prepare myself for a career using obsolete data. Any wizard who wants to be on his game needs the most up-to-date information he can get. Otherwise, he'll be left behind while others learn newer and better ways to accomplish their goals. Really, Harry, I'd think you would know that."

"So you're saying," Harry spoke slowly and with utmost care, "that a wizard can't be satisfied with anything less than the most efficient means to achieve his ends, right?"

"Of course."

"So," Harry continued in the same academic manner, "the book we used in Slughorn's class last year supercedes this one because its information produces better results."

"Obviously," Hermione said.

"So what you're saying," Harry said yet again, "is that if someone comes up with a better way to do something, the old ways have to be chucked out because they don't measure up to the new method. Is that right?"

"Are you feeling alright, Harry?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Wearing a triumphant smile that would have done justice to Aidan Lynch at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out another book. Like the first, it bore the legend, Advanced Potion-Brewing by Libatius Borage. Hermione's eyes narrowed at once.

"Harry, what - oh, no! No, you're not going on about that again!"

"Snape was a right bastard," Harry said, his eyes hardening, "but between him and his mum, the notes in this book produce the most efficient results yet seen in potion brewing. They definitely impressed Professor Slughorn, who ought to - "

"Scribbled notes in the margins of a textbook do not constitute an accepted advance in potion brewing," Hermione said firmly.

"Why not?" Harry returned without malice. "I remember you said in our first class with Slughorn that the results I got from this book weren't, to use your exact words, 'my own work.' Does that mean if I'd got the idea on my own to make the changes I found in Snape's handwriting, I would have been within my prerogative to alter the textbook specifications to produce the improved results? Or should I have ignored my 'inspiration' and used the same formula as everyone else - the same one you did."

For one of the rare times in their acquaintance, Harry saw indecision on Hermione's face.

"I suppose it would be different if the changes had been your own idea," she said meekly.

"Why?" Harry countered mildly. "What difference if it was my ideas I used or Snape's? I'd still be working apart from the standard text, wouldn't I?" Harry paused, then asked, "What's the purpose of the classes we take?"

Hermione hesitated. "What do you mean?" she said cautiously.

"You said something before about following different roads," Harry said. "If that applies to our goals, shouldn't it also apply to the methods we use to achieve those goals? I mean, what difference does it make how we reach our destination as long as we get there?"

"Hogwarts has a Ministry-approved curriculum," Hermione said, speaking now in the calm, reasoning voice that was as great a weapon as any in her arsenal, often surpassing even the knowledge it imparted. "Our textbooks are designed to teach us to become complete practitioners of magic. By following procedure, we improve step by step until we've learnt what we need to know to excel in our chosen fields of endeavor."

"And who determines what we need to know?" Harry asked.

"I just told you," Hermione said. "The Ministry."

"The same Ministry that steadfastly refused to believe that Voldemort was back?" Harry said, his voice as calm and assured as Hermione's. "The same Ministry that assigned Dolores Umbridge to teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts theory, but wouldn't let us do the actual spells? That Ministry?"

"Umbridge was following Fudge's orders, as you well know," Hermione said, not giving an inch. "She was the exception to the rule. The rule itself is still sound." h

"The rule is sound," Harry agreed. "But the means by which it's applied is flexible. If it isn't, there can't be any progress, and without progress, there can't be any advances in magic. If that were the case, we'd all be using the same spells that Merlin used over a thousand years ago.

"I may not have read Hogwarts: A History like you're always going on for me to do," Harry said quietly, "but if it tells the thousand-year history of an institution of learning, there must be something there about advances in magic. I don't have to have a copy of the curriculum the four founders followed when they first built Hogwarts to know that they never heard of half of the spells you and I use every day. Are we going to stop using them just because they weren't approved by Godric Gryffindor, or Helga Hufflepuff?"

"The spells we learnt over the past six years were approved by a certified board of review," Hermione said. "They were tested thoroughly before being cleared to be taught at Hogwarts."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "But were they any better after being cleared than they were before?"

"Some spells are modified by the board before being approved," Hermione said.

"Some?" Harry returned.

"Not all new spells need adjustment," Hermione conceded reluctantly. "When they're tested, they're found to be acceptable as they are."

"Meaning," Harry expounded, "that they were always sound, long before the board declared them so. Long before they were included in the latest updated editions of the Hogwarts textbooks. And what applies to spells," Harry said, brandishing the book in his hand meaningfully, "would also apply to potions."

Harry sat down on the bed, placing the Half-Blood Prince textbook aside.

"You just said that we need to work with the most up-to-date information if we're to do our best," Harry said. "This book may be newer than the one I just gave you, but if it's the same edition that Snape used when he was at Hogwarts, it could hardly be considered up-to-date. Snape looked at the formulae in this book and realized that they could be improved upon. However long it took him to find more efficient brewing methods, in the end, he did find them. And when he did, he wrote them in the margins of his book so he could use them to excel in class, to rise above everyone else and become the best student in the school. It isn't easy for me to say that, but denying it won't change the facts. In his twisted way, Snape was brilliant. He still is, in fact, judging from the ease with which he sorted me out last month on the Hogwarts grounds.

"But right now," Harry said emphatically, "all that matter is this." He placed his hand on the book, Hermione's eyes following his action before returning to fuse once more with Harry's. "The improvements written in the margins of this book work, Hermione. We saw the results all last year in Slughorn's class. I don't reckon he's seen anything like it since Snape left school. It wouldn't surprise me if Slughorn personally recommended Snape as his replacement when he went into 'retirement.' He must have seen the results of Snape's final exams - and if the greasy git didn't get the highest Potions mark in over a century on his N.E.W.T., I'll eat this ruddy book, covers and all."

Harry underscored his statement by again placing a hand almost reverently upon the book at his side. Again Hermione's eyes moved instinctively toward the book. When she lifted her head, Harry's eyes lanced hers like pinpoints of green fire.

"Do you imagine that Dumbledore didn't know everything I've just told you?" Harry concluded. "I'm not saying that he always knew everything that was going on at school - he never did learn that there were three unregistered Animagi at Hogwarts until Remus told him years later. But he could hardly have missed the way Snape excelled beyond the parameters binding the other students. That may be what made him hire Snape, whether Slughorn recommended him or not. We know Snape wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. We always thought Dumbledore was afraid of the temptation all that Dark magic would place on him, so he gave him the Potions job instead. But what if the real reason is in this book?"

Harry touched the book again, his hand resting upon it as if to declare that his argument was concluded. Perhaps sensing this, Hermione did not follow the movement of his hand as she had done before.

"If those improvements are as good as you say," Hermione said calmly, her eyes locked firmly onto Harry's, "why didn't Snape take them to the Ministry to have them certified, like any other wizard would have done? He could have been hailed as the greatest innovator in a century in his field."

"You just said it," Harry replied. "Snape wasn't any wizard. He was a Death Eater. Even before Voldemort branded the Dark Mark on his arm, he represented everything Voldemort stood for. He didn't want fame or recognition. He wanted to prove that he was better than everyone."

"Couldn't he have done that by sharing his inspirations with the wizarding world?" Hermione countered.

"Haven't you been around Snape long enough to know that he doesn't care a rat's arse for the wizarding world?" Harry said with a stony laugh. "It was enough that he knew how clever he was. He wasn't about to share the product of his superior mind with wizards who he thought weren't fit to kiss his robes. They could all as far as he was concerned. What did he care if one of his potions could have made life better for hundreds or thousands of wizards? Can you imagine if he'd been the one to invent the Wolfsbane Potion? Do you think he'd have let on what he'd done? He'd have kept the knowledge to himself, preening about how much cleverer he was than everyone else, and all the while Remus would still be locked away every month, ripping his own body to shreds as a mindless animal, like he did during his school days.

Harry took up the book at his side and turned it over. He opened the back cover, and his finger stabbed at the bottom edge as he looked into Hermione's eyes.

"You see what it says there? 'This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.' That's how he thought of himself, someone apart from everyone else, on a higher level. Remus told us there were no wizard princes, but Snape ruddy well thought he was one."

"You know that was only a reference to his mother's name," Hermione said quietly.

"Right," Harry said. "His pureblood mother. He must have hated wearing his Muggle father's name. I bet he would have taken his mum's name if he could have done. It's no wonder Voldemort recruited him. They were cut from the same rotten cloth - half-bloods who hated what they were, all the while fancying themselves better than everyone - worshipping the pureblood race of wizards while hiding the fact that they were less than they pretended to be. But they were doing more than lying to everyone else, they were lying to themselves. And what better way for Snape to maintain the lie that he was better than everyone else than by keeping his secrets to himself?

"I dunno," Harry mused, his eyes falling once more onto the book, "maybe he toyed with the notion of giving Malfoy his old book in his seventh year so he could dazzle the N.E.W.T. examiners like he'd done himself. I reckon that would've made Lucius happy, even in Azkaban - Sirius always said Snape was Lucius Malfoy's lapdog. That may be why he favored the Malfoys, because they were everything he wanted to be, pureblood wizards with a name going back to the time of Merlin. We'll never know now, will we?" Harry shrugged. "But I don't think he would have done. I think he would've kept the knowledge for himself. In the end, it was all he had."

Harry closed the book and placed it carefully across his knees.

"But there's more than potions in this book. There are spells, too." Hermione's expression sharpened, her eyes widening slightly. "Snape came up with something he called the Sectumsempra," Harry said. "I used it on Malfoy last year in Moaning Myrtle's loo, before I knew what it did." There was no triumph in his voice as he said, "It nearly sliced him in two like an invisible razor."

Hermione gasped, and Harry's expression hardened.

"That's when Snape realized I had his old book, which he must have left behind without thinking when he took on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job - we've already established that he didn't want anyone else to see all the stuff he'd written down, though Dumbledore might've had a good idea what was in here, even if he never said anything. That's one of the things that separates people like Snape from decent wizards like Dumbledore. He never kept his original creations a secret."

"What creations?" Hermione asked in a mildly surprised voice.

"Don't you remember what we read on Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card?" Harry smiled. "When we were looking for information on Nicholas Flamel in our first year? It said that Dumbledore discovered the twelve uses for dragon's blood. He didn't keep that to himself, did he?"

"I'd forgotten about that," Hermione said.

"And that doesn't include the spells he invented," Harry said.

"What spells?" Hermione said with genuine interest.

"I dunno what they were," Harry said. "But do you remember when the examiners came to set us our O.W.L. exams? What Professor Marchbanks told Umbridge when they were discussing Dumbledore?" Hermione shook her head. Harry said, "I heard her tell Umbridge that she tested Dumbledore herself in Charms and Transfiguration and that, in her words, he 'did things with a wand I'd never seen before,'" Harry imitated the ancient witch's high-pitched treble, briefly lightening the oppressive atmosphere pervading the room. "I thought she was speaking figuratively, until I was browsing through my Advanced Charms textbook last night. Have you had a look at yours?"

"I glanced through the first few chapters," Hermione said. "I wanted to devote my time at first to my Healing books."

"Have a look at the title of Chapter 21, near the back of the book," Harry instructed.

Setting aside her potion ingredients, Hermione opened her trunk and found her Advanced Charms book. She turned to Chapter 21, gasping softly when she saw the chapter title.

"Experimental Charms," she read aloud.

"Learning spells that others have created is only the beginning," Harry said. "According to the chapter introduction, the real test is creating new spells that have a practical use in wizarding life. As you already said, the ones with potential are tested by the Ministry, and if they pass the test, they're approved for general use, and ultimately included in the textbooks here at Hogwarts. That's one of the functions of the N.E.W.T.'s. The Ministry wants us to do more than master existing spells. They want us to think for ourselves, to see if we can make things better. That way we don't just help ourselves, we help the whole wizarding world. I imagine that some of the spells we've learnt over the years are ones invented by Dumbledore, added to the updated textbooks after the review board approved them. That's not to say that you or I will invent a spell this year that will end up in the next edition of Advanced Charms. Most experimental spells turn out to be dead ends - some literally. Did you know that Luna's mum died when an experimental spell she was working on went wrong?"

"No," Hermione said, her face going pale.

"She told me when we were all packing up to leave school a year ago," Harry said. "That's the risk anyone takes when they 'think outside the box,' as I've heard you say. I don't wonder that Snape never demonstrated the Sectumsempra for the examiners when he tested for his N.E.W.T. in Charms. They might have awarded him an Outstanding mark for brilliance, then called in the Aurors to chuck him straight into Azkaban for creating such a dangerous spell at all. They might even have brought in an Obliviator to make him forget he'd ever created it - and he probably knew that, which is why he kept the spell to himself. Whatever else he may be, Snape was never stupid.

"There's always danger in even the simplest magic," Harry said emphatically. "The flames burning under your cauldron right now are from a spell you mastered in our first year. In the wrong hands, that simple spell could burn this house to the ground, and kill everyone in it. It's not the spell that's dangerous so much as the person who uses it. I'm not saying that Snape's Sectumsempra should be approved as part of the general Hogwarts curriculum," he said quickly. "But it might be a handy spell for an Auror to know when he's up to his knickers in flesh-eating slugs. More than that, it might be a good spell for an arrogant young wizard to learn to master before he goes off to try to sort out He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"I know what you're saying, Harry," Hermione said as her eyes slipped from Harry's and fell onto the book lying open on her lap. She closed the book and set it on the desk next to her Potions book. When she turned back, her head remained lowered, her eyes turned downward. Leaning forward, Harry reached out and cupped Hermione's face with his right hand (the other remaining behind to steady the book lying across his knees). Gently slipping a finger under her chin, he lifted Hermione's head until their eyes met once more.

"We're not playing games any more," he said, his eyes hard as the stones for whose color they were named. "This isn't about grades or N.E.W.T. scores, or adding another handful of rubies to Gryffindor's hourglass in the Great Hall. It's about what you've been saying all along. It's about being prepared. If we're going off to face Voldemort, we'll need every advantage we can get, and we can't count on Hogwarts to give us what we need. Voldemort didn't stop learning after he left school. He's studied Dark magicks for years, longer than we've been alive. He's traveled all over, plundered forgotten tombs, read ancient scrolls, learned spells that none of us can even imagine. But with all that, there's one book of spells he hasn't read. This one!"

Harry lifted Snape's book and held it up between himself and Hermione.

"Even if Snape's been working for Voldemort all along," Harry said, and Hermione was startled to note, for the first time she could remember, the merest trace of doubt in Harry's otherwise unswerving voice, "I'm betting that he's still arrogant enough to think that the secrets in this book are too good to share with anyone, even his lord and master. That means there are spells in this book that even Voldemort doesn't know! And if he doesn't know the spells, he can't know how to counter them! I can learn things from this book that might save my life, or yours, or Ron's. But more than that, I might learn something that will finally sort out Voldemort for good!

"When we decided to use this room, you said it was time something good came out of a place where so much deviltry was spawned. I intend to do the same thing here. I'm using this book, Hermione," Harry said flatly, his voice even, his face set. "I'm going to read every margin. I'm going to memorize everything I can, and practice whatever spell I think might give me an edge when I finally meet Voldemort. When we were setting off to use this room for the first time last night, you said the better prepared we are when we go off to face Voldemort, the more likely we'll be to survive to have the life we want together.

"I'm going to do this, Hermione. I'm going to do it whether you agree with me or not. I'd rather have you on my side. But if you can't be, I'll understand. You've always stood up for what you believe is right, no matter what anyone else thought. That's one of the things I love about you. When you thought my Firebolt was jinxed, you had Professor McGonagall take it away. You knew it would hurt me to lose it, but you did it anyway, because it was what you believed was right. Now I have to stand up for what I believe is right. And I believe with all my mind that this is right for me. All I need to know now is, where do you stand?"

Hermione stared deeply into Harry's eyes.

"With you, Harry. I can't ever stand anywhere else but with you."

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand with a mixture of love and gratitude. As if sharing a single thought, they leaned forward and kissed. Drawing back, Harry slipped the Half-Blood Prince textbook back into his bag.

"We both have a lot of studying to do tonight," Harry said. "I'll check tomorrow to see how your burn paste turns out."

"I want you to promise me something, Harry," Hermione said.

"What's that?"

"If you find anything really good in Snape's book, I want you to practice it until you have it down. And then I want you to teach it to me. After that, I can teach it to Ron during our practice sessions. That way, we'll all be as prepared as we can be when we go up against Voldemort."

"I promise," Harry said. He nodded at Hermione's open Potions book and added, "Good luck."

"You, too," Hermione said, her eyes falling meaningfully on Harry's book bag.

Harry bent low and kissed Hermione again. They parted without a word, Harry closing the door softly behind him. Hermione's smile was enigmatic as she stared at the door for a moment before turning back to her Potions book, her hand reaching absently for her brass scales as she traced a finger down the list of ingredients on the open page.

As with the previous flashback, here we have a situation where Harry should have acted, but instead did nothing. Harry, Ron and Hermione have shared adventures and experiences that should have bonded them to the depths of their souls. After all this time, there should be nothing between them that cannot be said, no wall of doubt separating them from helping each other through the roughest emotional mine fields. Why, then, did Harry never ask Hermione, "Do you fancy Ron?", or ask Ron, "Do you fancy Hermione?" How many times in HBP could Harry have offered his help to one or both of his friends? It might have made an interesting back story, Harry helping each without the other knowing. Isn't that what friends do for each other? If Hermione could lend her support (so we're told) to Ginny in terms of romance, why didn't Harry do the same? Does his best friends' happiness mean nothing to him? Is Harry that self-involved that he can do nothing more than stand by and say, "er...I... " instead of giving some real support to the two most important people in his life?

Something doesn't add up. Is J.K. really that thick when it comes to friendship and romance? Or is the truth more subtle? All I know is, any second-rate fanfic romance - even one involving a R/Hr ship - makes more sense than what we've seen in the books. And speaking for myself, I like the fanfic universe better. Even if DH ends the "right way," that's not likely to change.

But my fanfic universe will carry on directly as I continue to tear down J.K.'s world and rebuild it into one that suits me better. The AU romance heats up, leading to the Answer. See you then.