The Meaning of Father

The Obsidian Warlock

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 13/11/2007
Last Updated: 02/07/2012
Status: in_progress

H/Hr; Post DH; Answer to the Super!Hermione challenge set by DarkPhoenix. As Harry unravels the legacy left to him in the form of the Deathly Hallows, Hermione is drawn deeper into the mysteries of her growing power. Driven by his love for Hermione, Harry prepares himself for a battle he knows he cannot survive.

Chapters

1. The Sharing of Secrets

2. Nothing; Everything Between

3. Vendetta, Part 1: The Weasleys

4. Vendetta: Aftermath

5. Vendetta: Forgiveness

6. Hairline Fractures

7. Shock and Awe

1. The Sharing of Secrets

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: I took this challenge up from DarkPhoenix to take up the slack and absorb the frustration I felt while I pounded out Chapter 10 of 'More Equal than you Know.' Chapter 10 of MEtyK will be up soon, and I hope this will tide you over in the mean time.
The challenge guidelines were thus:

1) Set post DH but ignoring the epilogue.

2) Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all return to Hogwarts to take their 7th year.

3) Must be an H/Hr story.

4) Harry and Hermione are Head students and share a common room.

5) A prophecy is made or discovered about a new threat (not Voldemort) to the Wizarding World and identifies Hermione as the only one who can stop it.

6) During the school year, Hermione develops wandless magic and other super powers.

7) Harry does not have any super powers.

8) It must be clear that Hermione is much more powerful than Harry is.

9) At some point in the story, Hermione duels Ginny and humiliates her.

I've pretty much followed suit on that. Harry will have no powers beyond the natural progression of what he has displayed in the books, as well as my interpretation of the Deathly Hallows. Despite Hermione's powers and the prophecy, this story is primarily from Harry's point of view.

I am trying to avoid several things while writing this story: Character bashing of any sort, immature relationships, inexplicable and ridiculous reactions from characters. This may be a simple challenge, but I view it as an attempt to add to the story that Rowling left us with in DH. The pace of this story is much slower than the one I set in MEtyK (where I am spanning years) and focuses much more closely on the Harry/Hermione dynamic.

While this story leads off of DH and starts on a high point, beware: I do not write happy stories.

Portkey.org sometimes eats small words when it crunches the text on the upload, so let me know if any glaring errors appear.

The Sharing of Secrets

=================

It was a summer of celebration and mourning.

Voldemort's defeat and the destruction of the Death Eaters heralded the end of the most corrupt Ministry that wizarding Britain had ever known. In an endless procession of funerals and ceremonies, the country said goodbye to the heroes who had died and paid homage to those who lived.

The greatest Honors went to Harry Potter: The Boy-Who-Lived, The Hero of Hogwarts. For the sake of his friends and their families, and in honor of those who fell, Harry accepted his accolades. He fought his black, messy hair down, donned the finest black dress robes with golden trim, and wore the Order of Merlin, First Class around his neck. The Ministry replaced the more traditional ruby that adorned the Order of Merlin with a large, flawless emerald to match Harry's eyes. He smiled and shook hands with the Wizengamot as his family name was honored with the prefix ‘Most Noble and Ancient,’ a title reserved for the oldest and most influential of pureblood families. This, he understood, was the doing of the Malfoys. This was the most profound apology that the family could make for their deeds as Death Eaters: A declaration of equality.

The medal was one of Harry's most treasured items, a symbol of his sacrifice and the sacrifices of those who fell to help and protect him. Etched on the back of the medal were the names of those who had fallen that he would truly miss: His parents, James and Lily; Sirius Black, his Godfather; Remus and Nymphadora Lupin; Alastor Mad-Eye Moody; Fred Weasley; the dour Severus Snape; and the revered Albus Dumbledore. With the medal was the Marauders' Map, and three of the most potent items in the wizarding world, the Deathly Hallows: his father's invisibility cloak, the fabled Resurrection Stone, and the Elder Wand.

Despite Harry's best intentions, the items would not, could not, leave his possession. The Stone, lost in the Forbidden Forest on the night of Voldemort's defeat, appeared in his hand the next day. The Elder Wand, returned to Dumbledore's tomb, also reappeared, resting comfortably beside his old holly wand as though it had always been there. Harry chose never to tempt fate by leaving his cloak anywhere; he understood the message perfectly. He was the Master of the Deathly Hallows.

Master of Death, Dumbledore had called him. Master of Death, but what did that mean, he wondered.

The sounds of the household brought Harry out of his introspection. August would pass far too quickly. Soon, He, Hermione and Ron would attend their final year at Hogwarts. It would be their seventh and final year, blissfully free of any responsibilities besides preparing for their future careers.

Already Hermione, her long brown hair frizzing and tangling as it was wont to do, was piling books knee-high around him to prepare him for his studies. The path of an Auror demanded that he finish his NEWT exams in Potions, Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology. While the Aurors had already extended an invitation to enter their academy, Hermione had insisted that Harry finish his education, and enter the academy on his own merits.

Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

Harry’s approach to his NEWTs was much more unorthodox that Hermione’s rote memorization of textbooks. No one had looked twice at Harry while he rummaged through the books left behind by Dumbledore and Snape, and Harry had come away with some amazing finds. Mindful of Hermione's reaction to his use of outside material in his sixth year, Harry kept these studies to himself; there would be no question of his getting O's on all five NEWTs, and if some of the signature spells from Dumbledore and Snape found their way into his repertoire by the end of the year, all the better. He wasn’t about to raise the ire of his overly studious friend in the process, though.

It also helped that the enormous burden that was Voldemort no longer existed, both literally and figuratively. For the first time in his life, he felt calm. Only now did Snape's litany of ‘clear your mind’ begin to make sense to him. Only now, did his legendary temper feel foreign and out of place. Harry couldn’t imagine himself sitting calmly and reading a book on advanced magical theory from Dumbledore's library even half a year ago. It would have been Hermione's thing, not his.

“Not this year,” he said to himself, smiling as he turned the pages. This year would be different, and he owed much of his new mindset to his birthday present from Hermione. She had given him three books on Bruce Lee, one of which was Lee’s own writing on his martial art, Jeet Kune Do. Harry had never fancied himself a martial artist, but Lee's philosophies and his constant cry for simplicity appealed to Harry, so he read; and slowly, his exercises, Quidditch stretches, and methods of practicing spells adjusted.

No one noticed the changes, of course. Harry never practiced in the presence of anyone but Hermione, and Hermione was the most gifted witch he had ever seen. A variety of spells that defied understanding came off Hermione's wand. Any time that Hermione sat to practice, those who were present watched in awe as Hermione devoured book after book of magical theory, and cast spells of such complexity that even some professors might never attempt them.

There was a gleam in Hermione's eye that Harry saw some nights as they sat in the Burrow's living room, pouring over their books. Ron would be outside playing Quidditch or sleeping in his room. Hermione and Ron fashioned themselves boyfriend and girlfriend, and they kissed dutifully when they were near to each other. Other than that, however, Ron kept to his brooms, and Hermione kept to her books.

“It's all so fascinating!” Hermione said, putting down her fifteenth --fifteenth-- book for the day. With a wave of her wand and a complex incantation, Harry found himself in an open meadow with birds flying overhead and deer frolicking in the distance.

“Wow!” Harry said, a huge grin erupting on his face. “Where'd all this come from?”

“It's like the Great Hall,” Hermione said as she pushed her hair out of her face. “Except I altered the spell so that it would affect the floor and walls, too.”

“You're amazing, Hermione; simply amazing.” Hermione kicked her feet in delight, reminding Harry strongly of their first year at Hogwarts together, when Hermione was all about learning. With barely a flick of her wand, the living room returned to normal.

“I'm going to go show Ron!” she said as she stood up, and she dashed through the house and pounded up the stairs. Harry just shook his head and leaned back into the couch, savoring the peace that he currently felt. It occurred to him that for the first time in his life, without any effort, his mind was clear.

“Has she gone to torment my brother?” a soft female voice asked from behind him. Small hands closed around his shoulders and began to massage with surprising strength. Harry bent his face back and smiled at the upside-down vision of Ginny that dominated his view. She leaned in to kiss him softly, and let her long red hair trail across his face. Harry smile became a smirk as Ginny ‘accidentally’ brushed both of her breasts against his head, too.

“None of that,” he growled, playfully swatting at her hair. “I want to finish this before bed.”

“Oh?” Ginny said as her eyebrows rose. “What book could possibly be better company? You usually can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Harry grinned and flipped the cover over, letting Ginny see Dumbledore's name scrawled across the front. “A journal?” she asked, her own curiosity piqued. At Harry's nod, Ginny vaulted over the back of the couch and squirmed her way into Harry's lap, resting her head against his chest. “Read to me?” she asked, looking up.

Harry chuckled, and Ginny closed her eyes and listened to his voice reverberate through his chest as he began to read.

-----

“Harry?” The call brought Harry out of his reading, and he looked to see Hermione standing at the edge of his light spell, obscured by the gloom. A quick glance at his watch told him it was well past midnight, and Ginny had long since fallen asleep on his lap, snoring softly against his chest. He carefully closed Dumbledore's journal and placed it on the coffee table, and then gently lifted Ginny as he stood, turning to lay her on the couch. He plucked his holly wand from the back of the couch where he had jammed it earlier, and extinguished the light emitting from it.

“Hey,” he said as he walked over to Hermione, placing his wand in his pocket. Seeing the look of sadness on her face, he reached out to touch her shoulder. “What's wrong?” he asked. “You look like someone died.”

“Will you walk with me, Harry?” Seeing him nod, Hermione gently took his hand and led him to the back door near the kitchen. Harry hid his surprise well as the lock on the door jumped open as Hermione approached, and the door opened silently, allowing them an easy exit. Hermione said nothing, however, so Harry kept silent. They walked out to the edge of the orchard that bordered the Weasleys' yard, and slowly wound their way through the trees.

Hermione's eyes glinted yellow in the darkness, an indication that she had augmented her sight to see better in the dark, and again Harry noticed the lack of a wand. Those are questions for later, he thought as he stepped over an exposed root. He couldn't help but chuckle when Hermione, with her enhanced sight, missed the root and tripped over it, avoiding a fall only due to Harry's quick reflexes.

“I can see that grin,” Hermione said, scrunching her face into what Harry thought was the most adorable pout. Harry answered by kissing her on the end of her nose, drawing a surprised gasp from Hermione. With a smirk, harry turned and kept walking.

“I see that Ginny's loosened you up a bit,” Hermione said as she caught up to him, reclaiming his hand.

“I guess,” Harry said, shrugging. “I think it's a lot of things. A lot of it has to do with dying, and seeing my parents. A good chunk of it is Ginny, too, I'll agree.”

“She’s been good for you.”

“Yes, Mrs. Matchmaker,” Harry said, mimicking the singsong voice of a young student. Harry then proceeded to perform his best impression of Ginny: “Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with other people, relax a bit around you…” Hermione’s face colored deeply enough that Harry could make it out even in the darkness. The rest of his impression trailed off into laughter as Hermione began to look anywhere but him in her embarrassment.

“Well… honestly,” she said, keeping her golden gaze firmly locked on what must have been a very interesting stump. “It worked, didn’t it? I mean, she couldn’t even speak around you, Harry.”

“Yeah, she said that, too,” Harry wheezed, his sides aching from mirth. “I didn’t disagree, mind you: I called you a very smart girl for doing that. Still, it’s coming on eight years now that pretty much every aspect of my life has been tweaked and adjusted by Hermione Granger.” Her head whipped back around to look at him when he said that, but her look softened at his smile, and a hesitant smile of her own crept onto her face.

“That’s alright, though, isn’t it? I mean, that I wanted to take care of you. You… you always seemed like you needed it…”

“I did,” Harry said, nodding. “Of course it’s alright; I keep coming back for more, don’t I?”

“Ron doesn’t seem to enjoy when I do things like that…” Harry’s scoff cut short her reply.

“Ron doesn’t understand what he’s got,” he said forcefully. “Between you and Mrs. Weasley… You know more than anyone else does about what I’ve been through, Hermione. I think being doted on is one of the best feelings in the world. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but by all means; I’ll take all the attention you have to give.”

Hermione walked over to him and enveloped him in a soft hug. “Thank you, Harry. I… I’m happy that you appreciate what I do. I’m sorry if it’s overbearing, I just-”

“It’s fine, damn it!” Harry said, tightening the embrace. “Stop beating up on yourself.” Minutes passed as Hermione seemed to soak in his emotions. It almost felt as though that was exactly what she was doing; a slight tug at the edges of his consciousness drew his attention. The moment he focused on it, though, Hermione pulled away.

“We need something to sit on,” she said, playing with her hair. The glow of her eyes increased for a moment, and soon a large couch appeared, similar in all aspects to the one in the living room of the Burrow. Harry’s eyebrows rose along with his estimation of his friend. He found that rather than satisfaction, Hermione’s shadowed face and golden eyes betrayed a hint of nervousness.

“That’s what, the third time in the past half hour that you haven’t used a wand?” Hermione’s nervousness seemed to increase, and again Harry felt the sensation of something brushing against his mind. “Hermione… is that you?” The shock of discovery that Harry felt echoed in Hermione’s expression, as her eyes widened and her head rocked back. Immediately, Harry blanked his mind, emptying his emotions as though he overturned a bucket.

In that instant, Harry could feel Hermione’s presence in his mind. It was subtle, but pervasive. It stayed to the edges of his perceptions, though, as though afraid to venture too deeply. Hermione was backing off, now, looking as though she might run back to the Burrow. Taking a deep breath, Harry reached out with his consciousness, focusing on Hermione’s presence, and drawing it closer to him.

He felt flickers of emotions that were not his, and Harry allowed his happiness and contentment from earlier to fill him again. He closed his eyes as he brushed back and forth against Hermione’s mind, lost in the sensation of the emotions it gave off. More and more those emotions echoed his own: Happiness and contentment. Harry’s eyes jerked open as he felt something warm and soft brush against his cheeks. Hermione had returned, and her hands cupped his face as tears fell from her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you…” For the second time that night, Harry held Hermione as she composed herself.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked as he sat her down on her conjured couch. “Legilimency isn’t exactly in the Hogwarts curriculum, and wandless magic of that magnitude is outright impossible for humans.”

“I… don’t know,” Hermione said in a small voice. “Over the summer, things have been… changing. I found out that I needed a wand less and less, and now it’s as if once I’ve done a spell with my wand, I never need it for that spell again.

“The Legilimency I was working on a little bit over the last year, hoping that I might understand more about the connection you had with Voldemort, and help you.”

“Of course, there wasn’t much you could have done with an eighth of Voldemort’s soul jammed into my head,” Harry quipped. Hermione gave a ghost of a smile, and nodded slightly.

“I’ve wanted to demonstrate what I can do for the longest time now,” she continued, “but I’ve never had the courage to do it. You’re right: It should be impossible for a human to use wandless magic of this magnitude. What’s the focus, or the controlling factor? But I can, so… what am I?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harry said, covering Hermione’s hand with his own. “Keep going; why didn’t you show us this earlier?”

“Not ‘us,’ Harry,” Hermione said, shaking her head vigorously, which sent her hair all over the place. “I never planned on telling anyone but you, and maybe Ron. I knew that there was a good chance you’d be alright with this, but Ron… he’s…”

Harry cocked his head to the side, waiting for Hermione to elaborate.

“… He’s jealous, I guess,” Hermione eventually said, rolling the words around in her mouth as though she hadn’t decided that they were suitable. “It’s as close as I can get. I’ve been in his mind a lot more than I’ve been in yours. No matter how much you hated it, you’ve had a lot of practice repelling mental intruders, so you’re a lot harder an egg to crack. It was way easier to use Ron as practice material.”

“Without telling him, naturally,” Harry said. Hermione’s look of worry slowly faded as she took in his grin, and the unspoken message that he, too, would have kept such practice a secret.

“Right. Well, Ron’s always been jealous of the both of us, and you know most of it.” Harry nodded, and Hermione continued. “What you probably don’t know is that Ron believes that with enough time and practice, he will eventually surpass both you and me in terms of magical skill and overall recognition. It’s his greatest goal; something he decided on when he came back for us.”

“Um, what?” was all that Harry could manage as his face betrayed his confusion. “That doesn’t sound right. Ron’s what I might call… passively competitive. He likes to dream big, but he’ll settle for what he gets. What brought this on?”

Hermione’s eyes unfocused, her golden irises nearly eclipsed by black, as she looked back towards the Burrow. “I can see him in his room now, Harry. When I went to show him that spell, he barely commented on it other than to say that it looked nice. I could see the jealousy that blossomed in his mind, though; right now, he’s practicing that spell, trying to get it right.”

Hermione’s eyes refocused on Harry. “He’ll never get the spell right. I don’t think that I could teach even you exactly how to do it.”

Harry shrugged one shoulder at that; it was a spell he would hardly have spent time learning. Hermione’s concerns about Ron registered as much more important. “So, if I’m reading between the lines properly here, we’re witnessing the beginning of the end of your relationship with Ron.” Hermione nodded sadly, and Harry leaned back into the couch, sighing deeply. “Are you going to try to bring him around, or are you going to end it?”

“Well, we’ve been friends for so long, and he’s your best friend…”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Harry said quickly, cutting Hermione off. “I am fully capable of being your friend and his separately. If he can’t deal with that, then he and I will have problems. This is about what’s best for you.”

“I … don’t know what I want,” Hermione said after thinking for a moment. “I came out here tonight to try and tell you about the things I’ve been able to do. I didn’t really know what your reaction would be, and when you caught my attempt at Legilimency…”

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes locked to Hermione’s as he thought. Having someone inside his head was disconcerting at best, given his experiences with it. However, this wasn’t Snape rummaging around for painful moments, nor was it Dumbledore who looked for absolute truth. It was Hermione, and that made all the difference.

“I trust you,” Harry said without looking away. “If you feel comfortable being in my head, I won’t stop you. I don’t think there’s anything in there I wouldn’t tell you about anyways. Just be gentle.” Hermione looked at him with the most peculiar expression: Incredulity mixed with hope. Harry once again felt Hermione’s tentative presence at the edges of his mind. Harry brushed his thoughts against it and couldn’t help but smile. “That’s better.”

“Why are you being so … accepting?” she asked, matching Harry’s smile. “I expected, well, something different from what I’m getting.”

“A lot has changed,” Harry said, motioning to the two of them. “Both you and I have been through a lot. I’m not really surprised it’s not over, either.” Hermione looked at him questioningly, and Harry slowly removed two items from his robe pockets, placing them into Hermione’s hands.

“Harry… these are…” Hermione’s eyes were wide and luminously bright as she focused on what she now held in her hands: The Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand.

“They won’t leave,” he said, adjusting himself on the couch to face Hermione. “The Stone came back to me the morning after we won. I woke up, and there it was, sitting in my left hand. On my nightstand, right beside my wand, the Elder Wand appeared. My cloak’s on me right now; I keep it shrunk down, but it’s always on me. It would appear that there’s a little more than just a pretty story behind the Hallows.”

“Oh, Harry.” Again, Harry found himself resting in Hermione’s soft embrace. “I don’t know what to say. I thought that you were done fighting.”

“So did I; I guess not, though. I figure that if wands are as, err, intelligent as Ollivander made them out to be, then the Elder Wand doesn’t want to rest yet. That means there’s more to do.”

Hermione handed the Elder Wand back to Harry, and he twirled it absent-mindedly between his fingers. Hermione’s attention remained focused on the Resurrection Stone still in her hands. Slowly, she moved her fingers up and down the crack in the stone, and the crack became smaller and smaller until the Stone was once again whole, the vertical line of the symbol of the Deathly Hallows once again visible. “Here,” she said, handing the Stone back to him with the exuberance that she might hand in a finished school project. “I think I fixed it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, grinning at Hermione’s excited behavior. On impulse, Harry took Hermione’s hand in his and rolled the Stone three times with his other hand, focusing on his parents and one other. If I have to keep the Stone, then there has to be a reason. Never before had he mustered the courage to summon the dead with the Stone, fearing that it would be an abuse of the power. Here, though, with Hermione and the abilities she had so easily mastered, he felt brave. Answers were what they both needed, and perhaps the dead would be forthcoming.

He wondered if there was a way that he could make the apparitions visible to Hermione, as he remembered Sirius saying that they were a part of him. She’s in my mind already, so… Hermione’s gasp was proof enough for him as Harry watched his parents approach, flanked by a much younger and stronger Albus Dumbledore. He swallowed reflexively as his mother approached him, her ethereal touch intoxicating as she embraced him.

“Hi Mum, Dad,” he managed as he embraced his father as well, careful not to press too heavily, lest his arms fall right through the apparitions. “I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Hermione. She’s helped me through everything I’ve done, and, I, well, I wanted her to meet you.”

“I’ve watched the two of you grow,” Lily said, her voice echoing and faint. “I’m so happy that you found someone to care for you so deeply.” She turned to take Hermione’s hand. “You have suffered so much, and you’ve given more than anyone could ask. Thank you for taking care of Harry.” Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to utter a word. Tears sprang from her eyes and forged trails down her cheeks as she accepted the embrace of Harry’s dead mother and father.

Harry mustered his will and focused his attention on his old Headmaster, who stood back slightly, his eyes glimmering in the dim light. “Sir, if you’re alright with it… I have questions that your books don’t answer.”

“Are you going to ask me something so vague that I will be once again reduced to guessing, Harry?” Headmaster and student chuckled for a moment, before Dumbledore walked over and sat down cross-legged in front of Harry, and motioned for him to continue.

“I tried to return the Wand to you, sir, after Voldemort died. I didn’t go looking for the Stone, either. The next day…”

“They came to you?” Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. “I cannot say for certain what has occurred, but as I’ve said before, you and Voldemort both have pushed beyond the boundaries of established magic.

“Perhaps it is a function of the items that their true master will never be parted with the Hallows before they deem it time to do so. Perhaps it is that you are so exemplary of what the Hallows stand for with your thoughts and deeds that they remain bound to you. Does it really matter?”

“It’d be nice to know if there was anything else coming along that needed my attention,” Harry mumbled, eliciting quiet laughter from Dumbledore.

“Wouldn’t everyone, Harry? I am convinced that both hypotheses are true: You are worthy in the eyes of the Hallows, and so they remain with you. You would be the first true Master of all three Hallows since their creation. You are the first person to win control of the Elder Wand without resorting to trickery or deceit. You are the first person to have control of the Resurrection Stone and not be tempted with any of its uses beyond things as benign as answers and reassurance. And the cloak you know all too well about.”

“Alright,” Harry mumbled, stifling a sigh of disappointment. “I’ve done alright so far, I guess I’ll take this all as it comes. What about Hermione? She’s been able to… well… break the rules of magic, as far as I understand.”

“Is she?” Dumbledore leaned in, his eyes belying a hint of mischievousness. “Perhaps she’s simply following laws of magic that we don’t yet understand. After all, neither you nor I expected to be sitting here more than a year after my death, talking like peers about the nature of magic.” Harry felt heat rising to his cheeks as he ducked his head. His blush increased in strength as he heard the laughter of Hermione and his parents, who were obviously paying attention.

Dumbledore’s face grew more serious as he continued. “As much as I would love to give you an authoritative answer, my boy, I cannot. Miss Granger, too, is beyond the magic that I have experienced in my life, and death, while pleasant, does not impart upon me any additional knowledge with which to help the living.”

Harry hung his head, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “Well, it was worth a shot. Do you mind if I bother you now and again? Your journals are a little… dense.”

Hermione and Dumbledore answered at the same time. “You’re going through my journals?” he said, delighted.

“You’re going through his journals?” Hermione said, surprised.

“Yeah, yours and Snape’s. I figured that there was stuff in there I could use in the long run.”

“You’re welcome to them,” Dumbledore said, patting Harry’s knee. “If you have questions, then by all means, both Severus and I are at your disposal. One of the reasons that the Resurrection Stone exists, I think, is for situations exactly like this one.”

“We should go, Harry,” James said from beside Hermione. “We’re never too far away if you decide you want to talk again.” Harry nodded, and hugged his parents and even Dumbledore before they faded away.

“Well, that was a lot more intense than I thought it would be,” Harry said as Hermione’s arms came around him from behind. “Still, I was hoping to get some answers, too. I’m glad…” Harry trailed off as he noticed Hermione’s shoulders heaving behind him. With effort, Harry turned around in her embrace and wrapped his arms around her.

“Shh, it’s alright…” A year ago, he remembered admiring Ginny for never crying around him. A year ago, though, he would never have so casually summoned the dead for a simple conversation. So much has changed, he thought. Hermione’s crying no longer bothered him as it used to, however. His estimation of what, exactly, counted as strength now included most things that the young woman in his arms had to offer.

“This is all messed up,” Hermione said, her voice muffled by Harry’s shoulder. “I came out here to tell you my secrets, and end up introduced to your parents… I… what’s happening to us?”

“I am what I am,” Harry said, stroking his hand carefully through her tangled hair. “What’s happened to me is over; I just have some lingering responsibilities, I think.

“But I’ll be here for you, whatever you’re going through.”

When Harry finally released her from his arms, Hermione turned to the couch she had conjured, and it vanished immediately. “We should get back,” she said, sniffing and wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. “Everyone’s still asleep. Even Ron’s finally dozed off. I, err, made sure of everyone else before I came to get you.”

Harry snickered. “Of course you did.” Hermione smiled for a moment, but her face regained a more serious tone to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Dumbledore’s journals?”

“Remember the Potions book in sixth year?” Harry said, looking at Hermione pointedly.

“Oh.”

“These journals make everything we do in class a joke; needless to say, I wasn’t about to go through another year of ‘that’s cheating; no it’s not’ with you.”

“Well, it was…” Hermione said, though her voice seemed tiny and contrite, and faded away under Harry’s glare.

“Slughorn was an arse, and I could have handed in urine and gotten full marks. I refused to turn down advantages then, and I still do now. Live with it.”

Hermione nodded, and they walked back through the orchard in silence. Harry’s thoughts began to wander to his parents again, and the mysteries that seemed to plague both him and Hermione.

“When would you say that Ron and I started liking each other?” The question caught Harry completely off guard, and he looked at Hermione as though she were joking. Seeing the look on her face, though, Harry shrugged and ran through his memories of his years at Hogwarts.

“Sometime in third year, or maybe early fourth year, I think,” he said. “It didn’t become obvious until third year, because that’s when you two really started to argue. Even then, I wasn’t sure, because you could have either liked or hated each other.

“From fourth year on, though, your arguments were different. You were both trying to ‘fix’ each other to be more likable. It’s…” Harry stopped and looked at Hermione, deciding that tonight was a night for full confessions. “Want to hear another secret?” Seeing Hermione’s eager nod, Harry continued. “It’s the reason that I chose not to ask you to the Yule Ball. I fancied Cho at the time, but you would have been choice number two.”

“W-What?” Hermione stuttered, clearly not expecting to hear what Harry had said.

“Oh, yeah; I hadn’t forgotten that you were ‘a girl’ or anything, but by then, you were trying to fix the way Ron acted, and I decided that I didn’t want to be fixed.

“It’s why Ginny and I get along so well: She doesn’t take crap from me, mind, but she never tries to change me.”

“I… I’ve been trying… to fix him?” Hermione’s voice sounded lost, and her golden eyes betrayed her confusion.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Harry said quickly. “I meant what I said earlier. I enjoy being doted on, and you were never trying to do that to me. Your arguments with Ron were a lot different. The closest you came to that for me was with sixth year Potions and look where that went. If we had argued like that about everything, I don’t know if we would still be friends.”

“I guess,” she said, looking at Harry with her head slanted. “You were always so very proud. If your heart hadn’t been so kind…”

“…I’d have been a terror,” Harry finished. “I know. I’m a lot different now, I think, but I still appreciate who I am. Ginny can ‘Mrs. Weasley’ me a little bit; as long as she doesn’t push too far, we’ll be good.”

“I won’t get after you about the books,” Hermione said as they cleared the trees, and the Burrow came into sight. “I’d like to read them with you, if you don’t mind.” Harry nodded, and Hermione reached for his hand. “I’m sorry if I ever came across as trying to fix you, Harry. I never meant to do that, not for you or Ron.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. “We’ve both come a long way from our time as students. It’s going to be a bit of a change to go back to Hogwarts, come to think of it.”

“It’ll be fun!” Hermione exclaimed, swinging their arms back and forth. “I’d love the chance to sit in class, just for one more year; one more year to relax in the castle, before we have to worry about making our way through life. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, Harry.”

“Yeah, I guess so. So, when do our Head Boy and Girl badges arrive?” Hermione stopped dead at his question, her face a mask of disbelief. “What?” he asked in mock defense. “Do you think they’d pass us up, with some lame excuse like it’s not your year?” Hermione looked away, and Harry began to laugh. “You did! Good God, Hermione, think about it! I just killed Voldemort, right in front of McGonagall and Shacklebolt! Whom do you think they’re going to make Head Boy? I’m not rooting for it or anything, but I’m not stupid, either.

“Do I even need to cite the reasons that I expect you to be Head Girl?”

Hermione shook her head and squeezed his hand. Harry let the matter drop, but the smile on his face conveyed his confidence that he was correct. They remained silent until they neared the back door to the Burrow.

“Thank you for everything tonight, Harry. I was worried about… well, you know. Thank you for sharing your own burdens. I appreciate that you trust me.”

“Of course I trust you.” Harry looked back towards the orchard, and then turned to Hermione. “I want you to keep the Resurrection Stone a secret. Not even Ginny knows about the Stone, and I don’t want her to. They’d look at it as a way to keep Fred with them, and they’d hate me for not letting them use it.”

“You wouldn’t let them?”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not what the Stone is for. Remember what Dumbledore said to me when he caught me with the Mirror of Erised?”

“It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live,” Hermione whispered. “I understand, I think.”

“Fred’s gone, just like my parents, and just like Dumbledore. Bugging them now and again for answers is fine; using it every day to bond with my parents as if they were actually alive is unhealthy.” Hermione began to nod at Harry’s words, and he relaxed into a smile.

“It’s been a good night,” he said, hugging Hermione to him one last time. “If you need to talk, don’t hesitate to come to me. I’ll help you any way I can.”

“Thanks,” she said as she let go. “Have a good night.” The door again opened silently to admit them, and closed and locked again. Hermione trailed towards the stairs, while Harry walked back to the living room, and knelt down beside Ginny, trailing his hand across her face.

Ginny stirred, and slowly opened her eyes. “Wha- Harry, what time is it?”

“Closing on 2 in the morning, love,” he replied. “You should head up to bed.” Muttering her reply, Ginny tiredly rose to her feet, and stumbled her way over to the stairs and up to her room. With a wave of his wand, Harry arranged the books scattered about the living room into neat, organized piles, and turned to follow.

As he reached Ron’s room, he could hear the whispering voices of his two best friends. Arguing again, he thought sadly, as he shook his head. Hermione’s presence remained in his mind when he searched for it; something that Harry thought was an amazing feat in and of itself. Emotions of despair and desperation were coming from Hermione, and Harry debated whether he should interrupt or not.

No, he eventually decided. They need to do this now; Hermione would take the chance to escape if I went in, best to leave them alone. Carefully retracing his steps, Harry returned to the living room and the couch he seemed to frequent so often, and flopped down. He instinctively curled into the warmth left from Ginny, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

-----

Morning came abruptly as Harry awoke in a fit of discomfort. Towering into his blurry vision was Ginny, who apparently had decided that sitting on his stomach was an appropriate means of waking him.

“Morning!” she chirped at him, her legs kicking in the air.

“Sod off,” Harry mumbled, rolling over to dislodge the diminutive redhead. Ginny landed on her feet nimbly, and grabbed one of Harry’s legs, pulling him right off the couch. Harry’s arms shot down to stop his fall, and he twisted and flexed his legs, scissoring Ginny at the thighs and dropping her back onto the couch. He quickly pulled both legs away as Ginny fell, placing them underneath him in a squat. Harry then stood and smoothed out his wrinkled shirt while Ginny harrumphed and stood up again.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you’re not supposed to win wrestling matches with your girlfriend?” she asked, poking him in the chest with her finger. Harry simply grinned as he opened his hand. His holly wand shot over from the coffee table, and Harry summoned his glasses. “How’d you do that?” Ginny asked as they both walked to the kitchen.

“Dumbledore’s journals told me about it,” Harry said as he began to prepare coffee for the house. “Apparently, when you’ve used a wand long enough, it can respond to you when you’re in close proximity. I did that for the first time just before fifth year, when those Dementors attacked me. Dumbledore puts the time to develop that kind of a connection at about twenty years or so. I figure that my wand works that way because of what happened in the graveyard with Voldemort.”

“Makes sense,” Ginny said, shrugging. “It’d be nice to do away with wands entirely, but even that little bit helps.” Harry simply nodded in agreement, hiding his smile at Hermione’s flashy demonstrations of wandless magic the night before. The sound of more people coming down the stairs stopped any further conversation, and soon the sounds of breakfast dominated the kitchen.

Ron and George talked about the future of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes; Hermione and Mr. Weasley were engrossed in the discussion of muggle aerodynamics, and Mrs. Weasley busied herself with preparing food to replace what the family consumed. Harry discussed school with Ginny, taking more than passing pleasure in the fact that Ginny would be in several of his classes.

It was apparent that Hermione and Ron were avoiding each other; Harry knew those practiced smiles intimately. The only thing that remained would be to approach Hermione to find out what had happened, and what the aftermath would be.

Breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of several owls, each bearing Hogwarts letters. Harry snatched his from the owl before it had landed, and threw a piece of bacon in its direction. The owl caught the bacon with its talons and hooted in gratitude before flying back out the open window. Feeling the weight of the envelope and the lump that sat near the bottom, Harry smirked and tore the envelope open, keeping an ear out for Hermione’s inevitable reaction.

The shriek nearly made him clap his ears, but nonetheless brought a smile to his face as he removed his Head Boy badge. The note that came with it, written by McGonagall, described the situation more or less the way he expected it: Whom else could they have chosen, after all?

“Harry!” Suddenly, he had to tense up to support Hermione’s weight as she crashed into his side. “I’m Head Girl! I’m Head Girl! I can’t believe it! Did you get it? Did you, did you?”

“Yes!” he said in a strained voice as he wrapped an arm around Hermione to help hold her up. “Just like I told you I would.”

“I know,” she said as Harry lowered her to the ground. “It’s just so… exciting! We get our own dorm and common room! We’re in charge of the Prefects! We- We need new robes!” she shouted, her tone changing from joy to horror. “Oh my God, we need pure black robes, just like first year! We can’t show house colors as Heads!”

“And we can’t just transfigure our current robes because…” Silence fell as Hermione began to color a most interesting shade of red as she digested Harry’s words.

“Maybe I just want new robes,” she mumbled, and the laughter echoed through the kitchen, Harry’s the loudest of all.

“Sure, we can go later if you like,” he said squeezing Hermione’s shoulder before walking over to Ginny. “What do you say, a quick trip to Diagon Alley later?” Ginny smiled and kissed him, and plans formed around the table for a family outing later.

Hermione’s false smile was gone, replaced by the jubilation she felt from her appointment as Head Girl; Ron, however, still had his in place. Harry swallowed his disappointment and geared himself for the battle that was sure to come.

-----

Harry did not attempt to blend in with the Diagon Alley crowd. Clad in a black T-shirt, faded jeans, and running shoes, Harry looked more like a lost muggle than a wizard. His eyes and circular glasses gave him away though, and his black hair, cut shorter now than it ever had been before, could not hide his scar.

Harry kept his medal, the Stone, the Elder Wand, and his shrunken invisibility cloak in his mokeskin pouch, which he still wore in one of its smallest forms around his neck. His holly wand he kept strapped across his lower back, out of sight yet easily retrievable. More than one witch turned their eyes his way, their glances now going first to his toned arms before flickering up to his scar.

For two weeks, Harry had adjusted the way he flew his broom, turning it into a full-body workout. For two weeks, Harry had minded the amount of food he ate. Already he could feel an enormous difference in his body. The passing witches merely confirmed that he wasn’t simply imagining things. He thought ruefully of the poor tree in the orchard that was his chosen target for his dueling spells. Oh, how that tree must hate him! Apparently, though, it wasn’t all for nothing.

“I wish they’d mind their own business,” Ginny growled from beside him, walking as close to him as possible. “You’d think you were single, with the fuss they’re making.”

“Be nice, Ginny,” he scolded. “They can be as air-headed as they like; I’m happy where I am.” Ginny continued to pout, but she couldn’t keep a small smile from gracing her lips, which satisfied Harry.

Throughout their business at Gringotts, Madam Malkin’s, and other stores, Harry paid close attention to Hermione and Ron. Hermione was far easier to keep tabs on; she shopped with Harry whenever possible, and stayed close enough that Harry was certain Ginny was going to snap at her for crowding them. Ron, however, kept his distance, and the game-face that he applied so well at home slipped into a grimace of discontent when he believed no one was watching.

Neither Hermione nor Ron attempted to speak to each other during the trip and that concerned Harry most of all. After they had talked last night, Harry half-expected Hermione to break things off with Ron. While that would have caused stress, Ron would have come to Harry for consolation. Ron was avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding Hermione, though, which pegged this as something different.

Probably the Head Boy thing, Harry thought bitterly. He remembered Ron’s vision in the Mirror of Erised: Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, well developed and handsome. Of all those things, Harry would allow for well developed and handsome if girls thought so. Harry was Head Boy, though, and he suspected that the Quidditch Captaincy for Gryffindor would fall to him once again as well. While Harry looked forward to being Captain again, he felt more than a slight pang of guilt that it was his best friend that he was beating out for these positions.

Ron’s silence continued at the Burrow, too, and spanned several days. Hermione acted as normal as she could, but it was clear that something had happened between them, and the entire Weasley family gave them as much space as they needed. More and more Hermione stayed at her parents’ house, claiming to want to spend as much time as she could with them before school started.

Harry continued his now-daily routine of on-broom exercise, and practiced his dueling spells with equal fervor. Snape’s flight from Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s death still resounded in his memories, along with the potion master’s admonishment: Close your mind and shut your mouth. Snape’s ability to counter nearly every curse heaped on a third piece of advice to Harry: Get faster, much faster.

Alternating wands to develop a rapport with the Elder Wand as well, Harry applied as much of Dumbledore’s, Snape’s, and Lee’s writings into his practical application as he could. Sometimes he would shadow box as well, but he focused on his spells the most. Ginny would sometimes watch, if only to admire and wolf-call when the heat forced him to take his shirt off. Occasionally, Hermione would join him, though she was more interested in talking about whatever new spell she had managed to perform wandlessly. More often that not, however, he practiced alone.

All too quickly, the evening of August 31 was upon him, and Harry packed his school supplies into his trunk before shrinking it and placing it in his mokeskin pouch, along with the Marauder’s Map and the Hallows. Ron had begun to talk in more than three word sentences to him again, and the two traded jokes and Quidditch talk as Ron packed his own trunk.

As Ron was leaving to go to the washroom, Harry felt a pull on his mind. A vision of the orchard, the same location where Hermione and he had talked those few weeks ago, floated though his head. Understanding this to be a summons, Harry ran down the steps and jogged out the back door, hastily talking to Mrs. Weasley about an errand he had to do.

Once he was out of sight of the Burrow, he pulled out and enlarged his cloak. Comfortably invisible, Harry backtracked to the orchard at a jog, making his way to the clearing.

Hermione stood there, her eyes once again glowing golden in the pale light. She looked in his general direction, though something in her eyes told him that she was approximating based on her Legilimency. Harry pulled his cloak off a few trees away, and slung the silvery mass over his shoulder. Hermione ran to him and threw her arms around him, surprising him with the ferocity of the embrace.

“I’m so glad you came!” she said, emotion heavy in her voice. “I didn’t know if that would work, and I really didn’t want to go back to the Burrow to get you. Does anyone know that you’re gone?”

“I told Mrs. Weasley that I was running an errand, so I’ll probably need to cover for that, but we’re good otherwise.”

“Great!” she said, tightening her embrace. “Hold onto me!” Harry had barely locked his arms around Hermione before the scenery around him blurred and brightened, resolving itself into a bedroom. Judging from the piles of books, Harry assumed it was Hermione’s room. As he considered Hermione’s previous display of wandless capabilities, Harry decided to let pass any questions he had on the mode of transportation they had just used.

“Yes, it’s my room you prat,” Hermione said, stepping back and smacking his arm. “Just because I like books doesn’t mean every book-filled room is mine!”

“All the ones I’ve seen so far have been yours,” Harry answered with a wry grin. “And congratulations: That was the first time you acted solely on what I was thinking.”

“Oh! I’m sorry-”

“I said it was fine, Hermione!” Harry said exasperated. “Did we or did we not talk at length about this? You have permission to be in my head.”

“Yes, it’s just… impolite to act on things that haven’t been spoken.” Hermione’s look and tone channeled Professor McGonagall so well Harry nearly looked around for her. Rolling his eyes, Harry turned to look around the room.

“Well, you’ve brought me here for a reason, I guess. What’s going on?”

“I found out something that you might like, and I wanted to offer before we leave for Hogwarts. You see, my father has bad vision like yours, and I was looking at his glasses, wondering if there was some way to improve them. You see, there are spells for--”

Harry placed a hand across Hermione’s mouth, cutting off her explanation. “You’re rambling, Hermione. I’ll take the one-sentence explanation.”

“I can fix your eyes!” she blurted, backing away from Harry’s hand and grabbing it in her own. “It’ll take me a few minutes, but I wanted to see if, well, you wanted your eyes fixed. It’d be better to do it now, before the school year starts, so that you can make your excuses.”

“Get rid of these?” Harry said, holding his glasses up. “You’re damned right I want you to fix my eyes. What do I need to do?”

Hermione’s smile nearly took in her ears. “Nothing; just lie down and give me a few minutes. My parents are out for a night on the town, celebrating. My dad didn’t have any problems after about ten minutes or so; we’ll see how well yours go.”

The moment Harry’s head was on the pillow, Hermione’s hands were against his eyes, holding them shut. He felt Hermione’s power seep through his face like water through a strainer, and he was nearly overcome by the urge to itch his eyes.

Minutes passed, and Harry found himself intoxicated by the feel of Hermione’s magic playing across his brow. He instinctively reached out for her, and ran his hands through her hair, eliciting a murmur of pleasure from Hermione. The power dancing in his head increased a little, and Hermione leaned closer to him as she worked.

“I told Ron that we shouldn’t see each other anymore,” she said after a time. Harry’s hands paused for a moment as he took in the finality of that statement, before he resumed his ministrations.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he offered. “I’m not really surprised given what we talked about before, but it’s too bad. Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, I think.” Her magic pulsed in Harry’s head as she talked, resonating with her voice. “Ron seems to be taking it much worse that I am, but then he’s not just angry with me, either.”

“I really want Ron to mellow out a bit,” Harry said as he worked his way through the knots in Hermione’s hair. “Can wizards be bi-polar, I wonder?”

“I’m sure,” said Hermione, giggling. Making a satisfied sound, she removed her hands from Harry’s eyes. “I’m done, I think. Take a look around.”

“Amazing,” Harry said, looking at Hermione. “You’re quite pretty to look at, now that you’re not a blur.” Hermione smacked his chest, but blushed a little at his insinuation.

Then, to Harry's surprise, Hermione lay down across him, resting her head near his right shoulder. One of her hands made its way lazily through his short hair, gently stroking back and forth. Harry had a small flash of guilt cross his mind; this was a position that he and Ginny would often be in. To be here with Hermione...

Immediately he shut down those thoughts, mindful of Hermione's presence in his head. He was aware that she had not seen those thoughts; having her roam around constantly in his mind for close to a month had worked wonders on his overall ability in Occlumency. He could sense exactly ‘where’ Hermione was in his mind, and he learned to keep his stream of conscious thought well away from those areas to give him a chance to ‘filter’ any inappropriate thoughts, which usually included showers, trips to the washroom, and his more intimate moments with Ginny. Grudgingly, he admitted that while Snape chose the meanest way to go about it, the idea behind the sessions were sound.

He relaxed slowly into the moment, deciding that Hermione needed him right now more than he needed to worry about Ginny. His arms reflexively went around her shoulders, and Hermione nestled against him, sighing in contentment. Time passed unnoticed with nothing spoken between them. Any feelings that needed conveying did so through Hermione's Legilimency.

Hermione gasped as she heard a door opening downstairs, and Harry felt her power cascade outward in a palpable wave. He could almost feel the wake that he generated on either side of him, as though his magic was riding in the sea of Hermione's magic like a small craft. The door to the room closed silently, and Harry was certain that there was a locking charm applied as well. Hermione wasn't finished, however, and Harry felt her magic extend further.

The sounds of talking downstairs changed; while Harry couldn't make out their words, he knew well the sounds that were associated with coming home, and those associated with preparing to leave. As the former transitioned into the latter, Harry's eyes widened and a grin formed on his face. The sound of a door closing sounded through the floor, and Harry craned his neck to look at Hermione.

“You’re bad, you know that?” he said, his grin as wide as it could get. Hermione couldn't help but giggle as her magic receded to its normal levels. “Seriously, your poor parents. Do they have any idea how much you do to them?”

“I don't think so,” she said as she rocked back and forth across him-- a most pleasurable sensation, Harry decided. Hermione was a well-endowed girl, and if she was wearing a bra, he certainly couldn't feel it. These thoughts, too, Harry banished to a corner of his mind -- opposite to where Hermione currently resided in his head.

“It was really easy to adjust my parents’ memories to forget me, and it was just as easy --easier in fact-- to bring them back. I just... well, it’s easier than asking them to do things, and this way I don't have to answer questions about why you’re here.”

Harry laughed quietly, cupping his hands into Hermione's armpits and lifting her until her face was even with his. “Damn, I should have had you come around to the Dursleys; they could have used the attitude adjustment.” Hermione looked lost, though, her brown eyes large and mysteriously deep. Harry was again aware of her breasts pressing against his arms, and her hands on his face and in his hair. Her legs squeezed against his hips slightly, and she began to bite her bottom lip. She wants this, he realized. She wants this with me.

What do I want?

Slowly, Hermione lowered herself to Harry, sitting against his hips and reminding him of his erection in a manner both pleasurable and painful. She rolled from her stomach to her breasts, slowly bringing each into contact with Harry, as though she wanted him to perform an inventory of her different body parts, before she brought her lips near to his own. She hovered there, a hair's breadth away from him, her eyes infinitely deep, and still biting her bottom lip in that infernally erotic manner.

A roil of emotions coursed through Harry's head, and he redirected all the positive ones towards Hermione. The negative ones, including the frustration he felt at her pause, he buried. There was a game afoot here, he knew; a test of some sort that he was facing. A seductive side to Hermione had never once crossed his mind before -- But that's part of the point here, isn’t it, he thought.

There was a challenge present here as well: Who breaks first, and starts the kiss? Harry knew immediately that he would not. It made all the difference to him between being able to look Ginny in the face again tonight or not. If Hermione wanted to kiss him, he would oblige, but Harry would not initiate it. There was comforting a hurting friend and there was cheating, and to Harry the line was drawn in whose mouth moved first.

Hermione’s lips brushed against his, almost, but not quite, kissing him. Her presence in his mind expanded greatly, searching for something. A merry chase ensued as Harry danced around Hermione’s probe expertly; the only things he would let her see aside from the memories she already knew were there was his love for her, his happiness and his compassion. No, you silly girl. You can't dig for Ginny in my head. You can't make this an issue of my happiness. This is about you.

With patience and diligence, Harry settled into the routine of avoiding Hermione in his mind, never allowing himself to be cornered, using the rhythm of Hermione’s potent magic to time his mental dance: He turned as she turned, rolled as she rolled, moved forward as she pulled back and pulled back as she surged forward. He had come a long way from his feeble attempts in fifth year; not once did he miss a step.

Slowly, Hermione gathered her wits, and her eyes sharpened into focus. Harry could see the guilt creep into her face, and it coursed through her Legilimency link, freezing it into immobility. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to do this, I just-”

“You’re hurt,” he said, not moving away from her. “You’re hurt, and I understand.”

“No,” she said, closing her eyes to prevent her tears from falling on him. “It’s not just that.” She took a deep breath, and when her eyes opened again, they once again filled with courage and need. She again closed the distance between them, this time pressing her lips firmly against his.

Harry arched his neck and pushed back, tilting his head to the side as Hermione bit against his upper lip. At some point Hermione's tongue sought out his, and a feeling of completion exploded across the mental link, echoed by the both of them. They broke apart after a few moments, breathing heavily and giddy with the relief of the tension that had generated between them.

“I needed that,” Hermione sighed, and Harry’s slow laughter rumbled from his chest.

“I’m sure you did,” he said, smiling down at the mass of brown hair splayed across him. Hermione squeezed him tightly, and moved to stand up, offering a hand to help Harry up as well.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her nervousness beginning to return. “I didn’t --well, I-I... I don’t have the words to explain what that was. I just... needed to.”

“I told you I understand,” Harry said gently. “It’s alright.” His smile widened into a smirk. “And you’re quite the seductress, Hermione.” Harry took pity as Hermione's look changed into one of absolute mortification, and drew her back into his embrace.

Hermione was much taller than Ginny was, he noted. His own height was nothing special, but Hermione needed only to stand on her toes to rest her head on Harry's shoulder, which was a very comforting feeling. He held her tightly, rocking back and forth on his feet until he felt Hermione's emotions calm.

The sound of the door opening downstairs once again drew the pair back to reality. “I should go,” Harry said quietly, and Hermione nodded sadly. “I don’t expect awkwardness about this,” he admonished. “I can feel you in the back of my head; we’re far too close for you to pull back.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied. “See you tomorrow, then?” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, and suddenly they were once again in the orchard near the Burrow. Harry waved goodbye as he jogged through the trees, throwing his invisibility cloak on as he went. He backtracked to the place he had originally ‘disappeared,’ and removed his cloak, shrinking it and replacing it in his pouch.

He was horribly late, but Hermione had healed his vision, and that would be more than convenient enough an excuse. Opening the back door to the Burrow, he found himself immediately accosted by a visibly upset Ginny.

“Harry! You took so long; it’s so late! Where were you?” Harry smiled at her and pointed to her eyes, enjoying himself immensely as her eyebrows rose. “Your glasses, they’re... gone?”

“Don’t need them anymore love,” he said, kissing Ginny on the forehead. “It’s a muggle thing, but I’ll hopefully never need glasses again.”

“Wow!” she whispered, taking in his face. “You look so different without your glasses. I like it.” After kissing him quickly, Ginny dashed into the living room to spread the news of Harry's return and lack of glasses. Harry busied himself making a cup of coffee, feeling the need for caffeine after the events of the evening.

He managed three blissful sips, relishing the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, before Ginny returned. “Everyone’s so amazed!” Ginny said, sitting down at the table beside him. “Dad wants...” she stopped and sniffed at his shirt a moment, before looking back at him.

“Why do you smell like Hermione?”

Blanking his thoughts out, Harry put on a confused expression. “I do? What does Hermione smell like love? I really wouldn’t know.”

“It’s a perfume she uses,” she said, still sniffing his shirt. “It’s... well, never mind.” Harry shrugged at her and smiled, and Ginny quickly forgot about it, resuming her tale of her father’s curiosity. Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief; Ginny worrying about him fooling around with Hermione was not on his list of fun things to experience. Harry nursed his coffee while he listened, interjecting where necessary as Ginny talked about her evening.

He couldn't deny that he was worried about Hermione. She was changing, and in very drastic ways. Her growing power aside, the old Hermione would never have pinned him to her bed... would she? For the first time, Harry rolled the idea around his head that perhaps he didn't know Hermione as well as he liked to think he did. Leaving aside her wandless abilities, and the near-miraculous healing of his eyes, perhaps the only real difference in Hermione's personality had been her showing interest in him.

Power hardly impressed Harry anymore. He had seen power in its rawest form with Voldemort; he had felt it course up and down his body in the form of unspeakable pain, and his heart had nearly burst at the sight of his mother, so long dead, walking towards him. At least Hermione’s power would be gentle, he knew. She would never intentionally hurt him. Even now, defying all known limitations of magic, Hermione’s mental probe still comfortably rummaged around his head; she was currently browsing his memories of the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry was happy to leave her to it without bringing those memories up.

What amazed him was that she had never before reacted in a sexual manner towards him, not even in times of stress during their sixth year or their hunt for the Horcruxes. She had clung to him for support, murmured her thanks when he tucked her in, but never, ever had she moved to kiss him.

Had Hermione's personality changed along with her power? If not, what had changed so much about him that would suddenly pique her interest, he wondered. After so many years of Hermione and Ron, Harry now pondered the concept of Hermione and him, and the inevitable comparisons that he began to make between Hermione and Ginny, as he sized them up in his mind.

At least there is one bright point to all of this, he thought as he settled into his bed later that night. There are two beautiful girls to dream about tonight. With an entirely un-innocent smile on his face, Harry slowly drifted off, taking immense pleasure in the deceptive simplicity of desire, and the lingering student’s anxiousness he felt about boarding the Hogwarts Express tomorrow.

-----

The steam from the Hogwarts Express filled the platform, roiling around Harry's feet as he walked towards the train. He was already clad in his school robes, a thin gold trim the most color allowed to show. His Head Boy badge gleamed on his left lapel. His pouch remained a shrunken totem hanging from his neck, and his wand holster had moved to his forearm, taking advantage of the properly sleeved robes he would now have to wear throughout the year. More than once people needed to do a double-take; first to confirm it was Harry Potter walking past them, and again to confirm that he was taller, better built, and without his glasses.

It brought him a measure of satisfaction to see real respect in the eyes of the adults and children around him. Before, he was an icon: A symbol of the previous war and a focal point for the new one. Now, his titles were not just a myth about his childhood, and the adults around him treated him as he expected they would a master duelist: With respect.

Those, like Luna's father, who knew about the Hallows and the real story behind Harry's defeat of Voldemort, were equally respectful. They understood exactly what Harry had won when he claimed the Elder Wand from Voldemort.

The Weasleys trailed in his wake, Ginny lagging behind to talk with her brother. Both she and Ron were in their Gryffindor robes, and Ron's reinstated Prefect badge shone against his chest. Hermione joined him silently halfway across the platform, her robes similar to Harry, if perhaps slightly more generous with the gold trim. While Ron's expression darkened, Ginny's broke into a grin as she bounced forward a few steps to speak with her best friend.

Harry nodded to Neville as he fell into step beside him, and Luna who joined slightly thereafter. Neville had always had Harry's respect, ever since the often-shy boy had stood up to him in his first year. Neville had changed much over the years, but now, after having pulled Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat, a quiet pride shone from the young man's eyes; a feeling that Harry shared. Neville, like most others whose seventh year was last year’s disaster, had graduated by taking Ministry-offered NEWT make-up exams earlier this summer. He seemed to be here to see Luna off, something that pleased the Ravenclaw immensely.

Luna occupied a place of affection so deep in Harry's heart that he ached when he saw her. He recalled all too well his face on the ceiling of her room, with the word “friends” linking his image to those of Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny. She had reached out to Harry during his fifth year, when he had been closest to breaking, and brought him back from the precipice. Her quiet faith in life after death echoed strongly from her father's belief in the Deathly Hallows; a belief that Harry now embodied.

Neville caught his eye, and he and Harry moved at the same time, lifting Luna from either side to sit between them on their shoulders. The look of pure joy on Luna's face as they did so was a soothing balm to the roiling feelings of injustice Harry usually felt when confronted with Luna. It was a small piece of happiness that he hoped would begin to repair so many years of mistreatment at the hands of Hogwarts students. Harry was Head Boy this year: there would be no stolen items from Luna's dorm. He felt Hermione's questioning probe through his thoughts as he and Neville paraded Luna around, and Harry happily directed her to his memories of Luna, and his thoughts about her happiness. Feelings of agreement and satisfaction resounded throughout Hermione's presence in his head, reinforcing his own.

Being of-age seemed to agree with most students. All around him, there were no signs of luggage, as every seventh year and student who knew one had their luggage shrunk to something pocket-sized, or at least lunchbox-sized. His only lament was that he would not be in a compartment with his friends this year, as the Heads kept the Prefect's compartment as their own. Hermione had read the rulebook forwards and backwards ever since her fifth year, dreaming of the day that she would be Head Girl. In her usual manner, Hermione battered Harry with all the information that he would ever need to function as Head Boy. The only difference now was that Hermione no longer had to speak to do it.

Kissing Ginny and Luna goodbye --Ginny on the lips, Luna on the cheek-- and giving Neville a one-armed hug before he left, Harry made his way to the front compartment with Hermione and Ron. He heard the two of them begin what he called their ‘aftermath-banter,’ the type of pointless talk that you forced yourself to spew when you were angry with someone yet didn't want to seem impolite. After so many years of arguments, the two of them had at least ten minutes of such talk in their repertoire, more than enough to fill any awkward gaps in between other conversations.

Soon, the other prefects piled into the compartment with them. Twenty-seven people, six prefects per house, in addition to Harry, Hermione and Ron, made for the repeated use of cooling charms as Hermione outlined the patrols, and listened to people's ideas for the school year. Hermione then looked to Harry, urging him mentally to say a few words.

“This year will be a year of celebration,” Harry said quietly. He remained sitting, but his voice carried to all corners of the compartment, demanding attention. “No more fighting this year; not between people or houses. This year, for the first time in ages, I want us to have peace.” The prefects were silent as they listened to Harry speak. Hermione, who looked slightly put out that Harry had not stood, nevertheless paid close attention, as Harry had never spoken to her of this.

“Would you like to know what caused Voldemort, more than anything?” he said, listening to the gasps of students who were still not used to hearing the name. “When Voldemort was still young Tom Riddle in Slytherin, he wanted desperately to stay at Hogwarts during the summer. His life was horrible, you see: He was stuck in a muggle orphanage that treated him very poorly. He gave good as he got, but what he really wanted was the one thing he couldn't have: a home.

“Every year, Tom would ask Headmaster Dippet if he could stay. Every year, Headmaster Dippet said no.” The prefects looked wide-eyed as Harry related Riddle's history, and Hermione fought to prevent tears from forming. She could see his thoughts; she could see the memories of the Dursleys, of that cursed cupboard, and the room with the cat flap. He had succeeded where Riddle had failed: He had found a family and a home; he found people who would rescue him year after year. The scars still lingered, though, and they always would.

“If I had to choose one student in Hogwarts that would make a great Dark Lord, it would be Luna Lovegood, and you know why.” He looked at the Ravenclaw prefects as he said this, and his irritation grew as all six of them looked away. “There will be no more of that this year. Not for Luna, and not for any student. I want you to do your jobs.

“Not taking points, not assigning detentions; I want you to smile and help the first-years. I want you to offer, not wait for them to ask. I want you to organize events for your houses that involve as many students as possible, and if there are any stragglers, who don't participate, find something to include them, too. Bring your ideas to Hermione or me but don't waste time. The first few days are when every student will decide if they like or hate school.” He looked over at Hermione, images of their first unpleasant months together and the incident with the Troll running through his head. “Make them love Hogwarts; that's your job.”

The prefects murmured amongst themselves, shaking Harry's hand before they left. Harry turned back to Hermione and Ron as the last of the prefects closed the door behind them, only to find them staring at him in wonder, while Hermione’s quill still hovered in a circle above her hand. “Where were you in fifth year?” she asked gently. “We could have used that so many times. I can organize things to death, but I've never been able to command the respect that you can simply by talking. They looked so ashamed of Luna's treatment; I could feel how driven they were when they left. I can't tell you how different things would have been if you had been here three years ago.”

“I was angry and scared that year,” he said, making a dismissive motion with his hand. “I barely operated enough to teach the DA, and I still leaned on you for that.”

“But you did so well,” she started, but Harry cut her off.

“Did I ever tell you that Dumbledore deliberately turned me down for prefect in fifth year?” Looks of surprise greeted him from both Ron and Hermione. “He told me that I had more than enough to deal with, but I think that, after so many years of dealing with kids, he knew what kind of messed up arse I'd be that year.” He turned to Ron. “So, he gave the prefect position to you, knowing that Hermione'd keep you in line, and tried to work out something else to keep me from blowing up. Of course, Umbridge killed all that.”

Ron nodded in understanding, but Hermione frowned. “That's not exactly fair, though. If he had given you the Prefect position-”

“He would have put me right in Umbridge's cross-hairs, not that I didn't get there quickly enough,” he finished. Ron looked slightly confused that the muggle reference, but Hermione's expression cleared as she acknowledged the point.

“I'd like to sit here and throw blame around, but the end of it is that I'm here, now, and I want this year to count.” Hermione and Ron offered enthusiastic agreement; Ron seemed motivated, and that, more than anything else convinced Harry that his words had struck home.

Ron didn't stay for long, though. “I should go find Luna and Ginny,” he said, leaving before Harry or Hermione could say goodbye. The door closed with an audible click, and Hermione sighed quietly as she looked back to her sheets, shaking her head. Harry didn’t want to bring up the topic of Ron, so he remained silent.

“Ideally, we have this compartment to ourselves so that we can plan the year's patrols and fuss with other details like that.” She looked sheepishly up at Harry. “I think I've finished all that, though.”

A slight shrug and a smile was all Harry gave in return. “It's another of those things you go out of your way to do for me,” he said after a moment. Hermione's face showed her surprise at his assertion before it settled back into a smile and she nodded. They passed the rest of the train ride in companionable silence, occasionally trading ideas back and forth about how to make their last year at Hogwarts as memorable as possible.

2. Nothing; Everything Between

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: Well, as much as I had planned to update MEtyK first, this chapter seemed to pop up faster. MEtyK should be along quickly, but there are a couple of scenes that have given me so much trouble, I’ve thought about simply skipping the entire thing and referring back to it later in the story. Still it would only serve to break Harry’s narration, so I’ve plodded along as best I can. Besides, I don’t want to update with a short chapter.

As for this story… Well, the setup’s complete, so it’s time to begin unfolding the mystery, as well as filling in back-story.

~TOW

Nothing; Everything Between

=====================

The Train emptied quickly, students escaping the cars like sardines falling out of a tin can. Harry and Hermione were off quickly and soon knee-deep in first-year students, guiding them towards Hagrid and keeping luggage on the train. Urged along by the prefects, the older students soon walked towards the coaches, while the first years gathered around Hagrid.

The energy of the first years, especially the muggle-born, rubbed off on Harry. What were to him simple charms to hover, shrink and enlarge the students' trunks were feats of great power and mystery to them. The wizarding children had done a marvelous job informing the muggleborn of exactly who their Head Boy was, and close to fifty sets of wide eyes on tiny heads watched him reverently as he went about his duties. They laughed at his jokes, gasped when he used magic, and exclaimed in amazement when Harry introduced them to Hagrid.

Harry jogged briskly, heading towards Hermione's cloaked figure as she stood near to the Thestrals of the coach she was holding for them. His smile conveyed all he had to say about his time with the first years, and he jumped up into the coach, throwing himself down on the first empty seat hard enough to send Ginny, who sat beside him, nearly half a foot into the air. She squealed in delight as he caught her at the waist on the way down, pulling her over and into his lap. Ron and Luna sat across from them on the other bench seat, both smiling at Harry's antics. Hermione climbed in and sat beside Harry in the now vacant seat.

Luna and Ginny had apparently broken Ron's silence, and the three of them continued a rather animated discussion about their upcoming classes. Harry was content to listen, and split his attention between the conversation and running his fingers across Ginny's sides, making her squirm. Hermione interjected her opinions now and again, but she mostly sat back with a relaxed expression on her face.

Home again, Harry thought, pride and sentiment welling up as they approached the enormous castle. Home again.

The inside of the castle was pristine, showing none of the damage caused in the battle. With the exception of Dumbledore's tomb near the lake, there was nothing to show that anything had transpired here at all. Harry felt a mixture of relief and irritation as he walked towards the Great Hall. While it was comforting not to see reminders of the fighting, there should be something: A flag flown or small monument, perhaps. Anything to remind the students of the blood shed for the sake of the school.

Hermione interrupted his train of thought, pulling against his sleeve. “They have us sitting up at the Head Table!” she whispered, excitement and trepidation warring in her voice. “Why are they keeping us apart from the students? That's never been done before!”

“It wasn't Harry Potter and Hermione Granger before,” he whispered back, his thoughts darkening.

“That can't be right,” she countered. “McGonagall wouldn't allow something so biased. Maybe it's just new for the Head Students?”

“We can only hope.”

The Sorting Hat turned on the chair to nod at Harry as he and Hermione walked past its stool towards the Head Table. There were two seats on the end beside Hagrid's large chair, and Harry happily sat down, his worries about the seating arrangements fading. Hagrid told the best dinner stories, even if they were a bit crude. Hagrid showed up only moments later, entering through the side door, and soon both Harry and Hermione were laughing uproariously as Hagrid related a much-embellished story of the first years' antics on the boats.

Despite her appointment as Headmistress, Professor McGonagall still brought the first-years into the hall. They whispered to each other excitedly, the front few eyeing the Sorting Hat with trepidation. After the Hat gave its customary rhyme, the new students soon found themselves sorted and seated at their new house tables.

McGonagall was Headmistress in body, but it was clear that her heart wasn’t in it. Her start-of-term speech was short and dry, covering only what needed to be covered. Harry wondered silently whether Minerva McGonagall would ever truly recover from the war. Harry made eye contact with as many prefects as he could over the course of dinner, reminding them silently of what he had said. With diligence on his part, he decided, they would make a difference, and Professor McGonagall could mourn in peace.

It was disconcerting not to walk towards Gryffindor tower. Instead, the Heads' dorm was a mere two corridors away from the Great Hall behind a portrait or a nondescript wizard acting as a door. “Set a password, please,” he said in a bored tone.

Harry looked at Hermione sadly before offering the phrase “Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment and Tweak.” The portrait swung open for them, admitting them to a rather cozy common room.

Soft blue tapestries hung from the walls of the room, and a thick, navy rug ran its length. Four large multi-paned castle windows comprised most of the back wall, offering a twilight view of the grounds. Two oak desks sat near the windows, facing the walls on each side. A large circular enclosed fireplace dominated the center of the room, around which sat a large, comfortable-looking couch and two chairs, each a rich midnight blue. Between the desks and the couch on each side were doors: the right led to Harry's room, while the left led to Hermione's room. Etched into the wood of both bedroom doors were their first names.

Harry slowly made his way through the common room, taking in the details. Hermione ran her hands across the furniture, murmuring in satisfaction. They stood for a moment at the back windows, admiring the view of the night asserting itself over the lingering light of the sunset, before separating to look at their respective rooms.

Harry found that the theme of light blue walls, dark blue furniture and oak wood trim continued inside his room. It reminded him slightly of how a hotel room might look: A four-post bed, slightly larger than those in the Gryffindor dorms, stood roughly in the middle of the room, its headboard against the outside wall. Large windows were on either side of the bed, each roughly the size of one of the window sections in the common room. A large armoire stood opposite to the bed, its doors open and waiting for Harry to unpack his trunk. At the back of the room was a door to a shower and toilet of modest size, in the normal white and ivory of general facilities.

Reaching into his pouch, Harry withdrew his trunk and expanded it to its full size to the side of the armoire. Harry quickly had his robes flying out of the trunk and settling properly around hangers in the armoire while his trousers, socks and underwear found their way into the drawers underneath. With a deft flick of his wand, his schoolbooks and Dumbledore's journals, along with his other school supplies, danced out the door to rest on his desk in the common room. Harry closed the now-empty trunk, and walked outside to find Hermione.

Her room was an exact replica of his own, and he noticed that there were no charms barring his entering the room. His surprise only lasted a moment before he realized that any prospective Head Boy would have spent six years proving his character. Any boy still immature enough to require forceful barring from a girl's room was obviously not Head material.

“This is wonderful,” Hermione said, walking out of her shower. “It's exactly what I thought it would be. It's like, well, it's like a suite in an expensive resort!”

“I was thinking something similar,” Harry said, smiling at Hermione's exuberance. “It's kind of like going to school and being on vacation at the same time.”

Hermione enlarged her own trunk, and surprised Harry by opening it and beginning to remove her robes by hand. “Not going to use magic?” he asked.

“There isn't really any spell I've found that sorts everything properly,” she replied, causing Harry's eyebrows to rise. Apparently, he hadn't been blatant enough with Dumbledore's charms at the Burrow. With a wave of his wand, Hermione's robes stood upright, causing her to yelp and step away. Hermione watched in amazement as her robes flew up to their hangers, and her underwear, hose, socks and skirts sorted themselves neatly into the drawers. Harry placed her small library of books around her desk, settling her ink, quills and parchment in between the stacks.

“How did you do that?” she asked, eyeing Harry with undisguised envy. “I've been trying to get the standard packing charms to work in reverse for ages! I mean, the books sure, that’s easy. You'd think that every witch in the world would have these spells for clothes too, but... where did you learn that?”

“Dumbledore's stuff,” Harry said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the desks. “He apparently figured those charms out in his fourth year, after deciding that unpacking a trunk was very annoying to do.”

“Dumbledore...” she whispered, shaking her head, “you'd expect grand spells from him, but... household charms?”

“You have no idea how much of a neat freak Dumbledore was,” Harry said, holding his arms out wide. “I've enjoyed using those all summer at the Burrow.”

Hermione's look of surprise slowly turned mischievous as she walked towards Harry. “And how is it, Harry, that you know all about sorting women's clothing?”

“Ask Ginny when the last time was that she's had to sort laundry,” he replied with a grin.

“You sorted her laundry?” she asked incredulously.

“Hey, I needed to practice somehow! I have exactly three changes of clothing, so there's not a lot to work with there. Ginny's a girl, so that was a lot better.”

The sides of Hermione’s mouth curled upwards. “A girl? What, exactly, does that mean?”

Counting off his fingers, Harry recounted Ginny’s wardrobe. “Seven skirts, Eight pairs of trousers, twenty-three blouses, fourteen T-shirts, four sets of dress robes, nine pairs of shoes, an ungodly amount of underwear, seven bras with three obviously too small but she keeps them anyways, socks that date back to when she was three...” Harry trailed off as Hermione began to laugh. “So yeah, I got a lot of practice.”

“I'll bet you did.” Hermione took Harry's hand and pulled him towards the door. “Let's go sit by the fire. Since we're already unpacked, there's nothing to do but relax.” The two of them made their way to the couch, Harry splaying out with his back against one armrest, while Hermione sat more properly near the other. The fire crackled and danced in front of them, waging a quiet war with the moonlight to dominate the room.

Part of Harry missed the chaos of the Gryffindor common room. He missed Ron's incessant chatter about Quidditch and girls. He missed Ginny painfully, too. They had eaten dinner apart, and had shared only the briefest of kisses goodnight when Harry had left the Great Hall. After seeing Ginny every day over the summer, it was difficult to adjust to the idea of so much time apart. The forced separation from Ginny seemed to Harry to be a repetition of sixth year. Then, they had been divided by year, different circles of friends, and Ginny's relationship with Dean. All of those things were resolved this year, and still they found walls between them.

It would be Harry's duties as Head Boy that kept them apart now. McGonagall had been firm in her order that Harry and Hermione invite no one into their common room; it was a luxury for the Head Students alone, a comfort amidst the stress of NEWT exams and organizing the student body. His status as Head Boy provided him an override password for the house common rooms, but he could tell already that his visits to Gryffindor House would be few and far between this year, as his position would monopolize his time.

His thoughts soon focused less on school, and more on Ginny: Her laugh, her hair, her skin... Harry loved the feel of her firm stomach, running his fingers across her now prominent abdominal muscles. Just after a pick-up Quidditch match in the evening was the best, when her skin glistened with sweat, and the soft hairs of her skin stood up in the cool breeze. Her entire body was firm, her smooth skin concealing surprisingly hard muscle. She had the lithe body of an athlete, the curves of her breasts and waist accented further by her toned legs and arms. He and Ginny had spent many evenings that summer in the orchard or broom shed exploring each other's bodies with their hands and lips, while her parents and brothers valiantly pretended not to notice. Even Hermione would simply smile at them while they walked away, hand in hand, and turn back to her books.

Hermione; another mystery to add to his life.

Only yesterday, he had lain on Hermione's bed, kissing her with as much passion as he could muster. Only yesterday, though the trip to Hogwarts made it seem like an age ago. Hermione, now that he truly looked at her, had her own feminine qualities, beautiful in the timeless way that Greek statues of Helen were beautiful. Where Ginny's beauty was lean and rugged, flamboyant and immediately apparent, Hermione's was soft and subtle, with simpler curves that lead to fuller hips and breasts. Harry didn’t see any distinguishing features as far as Hermione’s physical beauty went; her true beauty, he decided as he watched her, lay in the absolute symmetry of her face and body, a geometrically exact ideal of quiet femininity that attracted the eye with its unearthly perfection. Each curve flowed into the next, trapping his eye to travel admiringly from one area to another. Her hair in all its chaos contrasted perfectly with her plain but perfect face. It took willpower to force his gaze back to the fire.

Something else turned Harry’s head as well, something that the recent war had brought to the forefront of his senses. Unlike Ginny, Hermione did not possess any of the characteristics of pureblooded wizards. Ginny, for all her beauty, shared many of her features with most other young witches in Hogwarts: Long straight noses, eyes and eyebrows tilted just so, long straight hair, and the predominance of what muggles would consider recessive genes. Hermione’s features were nearly universally neutral and ever so slightly rounded; her skin naturally tan and her hair and eyes a wonderfully dark brown. She represented the absolute average of the human race, and that made her utterly unique in the wizarding world.

Harry’s mixed blood affected his own traits: His eyebrows straighter, his skin a shade or two darker, his nose less pronounced, his cheekbones more rounded. While he had his father’s hair and general looks, his features were subtly different when he examined them closely, and his eyes were a color seldom if ever seen in pureblooded society. Ginny called his looks ‘a witch’s fantasy’ while they dated in sixth year. Now, Harry believed he understood: His looks were both traditional and exotic at the same time, offering the best of both worlds. It was ironic that the two girls closest to him represented the best of both extremes to which he belonged.

Hermione’s presence certainly aroused him, evidenced by the tightness he currently felt in his pants. Much of that had to do with the attention she had showed him yesterday, he knew. His carnal thoughts clamored for Hermione to choose less conservative blouses and shorter skirts, rather than the sweaters and long skirts that she usually wore. Another part of him enjoyed that she wore those clothes, as it was always a pleasant surprise when she hugged him that underneath those clothes lurked a beautiful young woman.

Comparing Hermione to Ginny was difficult in his mind, and Harry felt guilty doing it. Ginny obviously qualified as the prettier girl by societal standards; Hermione's beauty required that the beholder actually be looking for it, while Ginny's proclaimed itself to everyone within line of sight. More than physical beauty though, both girls cared for him greatly and were fiercely loyal, and that was the root of Harry's grief.

He loved both of them; he could live with either of them, and be the happiest man on earth, because both would return his love.

Before the Battle of Hogwarts, before his death and return, Harry would have never thought about this for more than a moment. Ginny was with him, Ginny had his loyalty, and while Hermione was possibly his closest friend, he would not betray Ginny's trust. Dying, talking to Dumbledore, and finally overcoming Voldemort had reformed his opinions of himself, though.

What did he want? Which of the two could offer him more? Which of the two needed him more?

Am I reading too much into things with Hermione? Should I just let last night go? Those two questions were the most prominent in Harry’s head, and they occupied his thoughts as he watched the firelight play off Hermione’s face.

Hermione's increased presence in his mind caused Harry to yank his stream of thoughts away so forcefully that Hermione visibly flinched. She looked disappointed for a moment, before schooling her face into something more calculating. “Keeping secrets are we?” she asked suggestively.

“Nothing in here that you need to be worried about,” Harry said, giving his head a tap.

“Of course Harry,” she said in a knowing manner, and Harry could feel his old defensiveness begin to creep up in indignation. All he was ‘hiding’ were lustful thoughts of her and Ginny, the type of thing he usually shielded from her anyways.

Why not show her, Harry considered his as he held his thoughts away from Hermione's probe the same as he might hold a treasured item up and away from curious child. If she wants to see, let her. Let's see how she reacts to this.

Letting go, Harry allowed his thoughts to collide with Hermione's probe. Vivid images of Ginny's naked body against his coupled with his own feelings of arousal caused Hermione to blush heavily and look anywhere but Harry. Despite her discomfort, she didn't pull away from his thoughts. She paged diligently through his musings, following his hand as it traced across Ginny's breasts and stomach, and drifted down her legs. She watched with even greater interest as Ginny touched Harry in a similar manner, moving across well-defined muscles, combing through the hair on his chest, and lower...

With a lurch, Hermione pulled away from his thoughts.

“Careful what you ask for,” Harry said relaxing back into the couch. Hermione said nothing, and she continued to avoid his gaze, her face flushed. “You know full well I generally don't show you stuff like that. Why push this time?”

“You're evil, Harry,” she said, regaining some semblance of control. “Pure, unadulterated evil.”

“Well, you were more than a little evil yourself yesterday,” he returned, prompting a meek grin from Hermione.

“Is your relationship with Ginny always that... intense?” she asked, her curiosity returning along with her composure. Harry shrugged, squirming around to get comfortable.

“I guess so, if that's what you consider intense. Ginny's a very physical person and she has absolutely no issues with being naked. If I had been at Grimmauld Place this summer, and she'd been visiting, she’d probably have been walking around naked the whole time.”

“I'm a little surprised,” Hermione said, drawing her legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch. “I thought that Ginny would be a little more conservative, being raised by Mrs. Weasley.”

“Ha! I don't think Mrs. Weasley was particularly innocent when she was young. Ginny paints a different picture of her mother.” Hermione's eyebrows rose at Harry's insinuation, but she motioned for him to continue. “I also think that Ginny's a bit of a rebel, too. Her father and brothers are as straight and narrow as you can get; even the twins and their pranks never really crossed any lines.

“She's also one of those girls who like to pose in the mirror,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, and Hermione held her hands to her mouth, grinning madly. “Oh yeah, she's just like those television commercials where the young boys flex their arms and in the mirror they see the bodybuilder flexing back. She’s actually had me pose with her; she's told me pretty bluntly that she enjoys the fact that I'm trying to build muscle.”

“Well, you do look really good.” Hermione eyed Harry's arms and chest as she said this with only a trace of shyness in her expression.

Harry's smile broadened at her compliment. “Thanks,” he said. “I'm glad you think so.

“But yeah, Ginny's keen on her looks and her Quidditch. Unlike Ron, Ginny’s very competitive; she pushes as hard on a broom as I do. The only real advantage I have on her in Quidditch is my reaction time.” Hermione made a noise that Harry interpreted as disagreement, but she didn't press.

“Ron was kind of like that,” Hermione said. “He would go on and on about pro Quidditch, as if it was his destiny.”

“It might be,” Harry allowed. “He is good when he's of a mind to be, but heaven help us when he gets into a funk.”

“I know,” Hermione said dryly. “I Confunded him onto the team, after all.”

Harry shrugged; everything he could say about Hermione’s dealings with Ron, he had already told her.

“It's not important,” she said with a tone of finality. “Ron... I think that Ron wanted our relationship to be physical like Ginny has with you.” Harry's eyebrows rose again in surprise. He was quite impressed that Hermione would openly discuss her time with Ron.

Hermione took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment before speaking. “I won't say that Ron was like Ginny, but he thought that he looked pretty good. I... well I thought he looked good, too. He also started to think outside the box of wizarding society, and that’s when I felt like we had a chance. He finally sounded like someone that I could truly fall in love with.

“I enjoyed being with him, especially at first. He cared about me, and when the two of us went to Australia to find my parents, he was very sensitive and thoughtful. Everything was perfect.”

“So, what happened?”

Hermione's eyes glimmered, and the couch they were sitting on rose from the floor. “This happened,” she said, motioning with her hands. “I started to develop powers that I couldn't understand, so I naturally started to research as fast as I could. I didn’t find much, of course, but that’s another matter.

“It put Ron off quite a bit. He asked me what I was worried about school for. When I told him it wasn't really about school, he suggested I slow down on the books a little, ‘because there are only so many books in the world,’ he would say.”

Harry nodded slowly, and then frowned. “Didn’t he ever ask you what was wrong, or why you were studying?”

“Oh, thank God you understand.” Hermione seemed to deflate with relief. “I can’t tell you how frustrating it’s been. He always assumed that I was fine, that I never had any problems. It's in his nature, I guess, but it was so infuriating that he never bothered to ask me about what I was doing.”

“I didn’t, either,” Harry said, holding his hands up in a shrug.

“You weren’t my boyfriend,” she returned moodily. “I can’t honestly have expected you to come chasing after me, especially since I usually come to you. Is it too much to expect from your boyfriend, though?

“I mean, he made some attempt at being sweet: He brought me flowers a couple of times, he was quick with his compliments on how I looked. Not once, though, did he ask me anything more personal than how my day was.

“Then there’s his ambition to be better than us, and my studies and research kicked that into overdrive. I became a little more distant because I felt hurt that he never asked me about what I was doing or how I was. He felt that I was turning back into the bookworm that he always felt inferior to. He never told me, of course, but I was in his head a lot.

“When you started working out and practicing your dueling even more than you normally did, he collapsed into nearly the same mood that he was in when we went after the Horcruxes, and started to make odd comments about my studying or your practicing; mostly about me, though.

“That was just before we talked that night. I was already worried about where my relationship with Ron was going, and then you told me that I was trying to fix him. I really didn't want that, you know. If Ron can’t make me happy on his own ability, what’s the point?”

Hermione alternately clenched and relaxed her hands, clearly upset. Her eyes found Harry’s again, and she continued. “I tried to talk with him about it, but he was horribly defensive, and we worked our way up into a huge row. I ended things at the end of the fight, and I didn’t get much sleep that night. I wondered if I had done the right thing; I was going to talk to him again.”

“Let me guess: Then I got Head Boy.” Hermione's sad expression was all the confirmation that Harry needed.

“It's like fourth year all over again,” she said miserably. “This time he's a being little more diplomatic about it, but his anger is so… focused, now, it scares me. At least now I know that I made the right choice.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry said quietly.

“I wish I knew where I went wrong,” Hermione muttered into her hands as she rocked pensively. “I’m sure I could have helped him along somewhere…”

“No.” The word came from Harry’s mouth with enough force to startle Hermione, and the couch wobbled precariously in the air. Harry waited a moment for Hermione to reassert control before continuing. “Don’t think like that, it goes back to what I was saying about trying to fix him.”

“Everyone affects others,” Hermione said with a frown, but Harry cut her off quickly, his brow and mouth tightened slightly in frustration.

“Yes, yes, I know that! The point I’m trying to make is that there’s a limit to how much you do. You got after me and tried to change my mind lots of times, but you did it based on who I was; you decided that I was already worth your time, you didn’t try to change me.”

“I wasn’t trying to go out with you, either,” she pointed out, her frown still firmly in place.

“Yeah, and you sure scared me off with the way you treated Ron. Would you have done that to me, too, if we were dating?” Hermione looked uncomfortable with Harry’s question, and she shrugged in response. Harry let the weight of the question hang, staring at Hermione while she fidgeted. “Yes,” she said eventually, her voice quiet. “But you wouldn’t have let me. I think it’s one of the reasons I never thought much about dating you.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harry muttered unhappily, relaxing again into the couch, and rubbing his hands tiredly across his face.

“You’re different now, though,” Hermione said, reaching right over to take hold of Harry’s hand. “I don’t think it would even cross my mind now.”

With a grim, knowing smile, Harry rubbed his finger up and down his scar. “I’m not Voldemort anymore. Most of my anger and my depression disappeared with the Horcrux. For the first week after the battle, I was stupidly happy. I literally felt fifty pounds lighter, like the whole world was different; I still do, to a point. I’m a different person now, Hermione. The entire time you’ve known me, at least part of my personality was Voldemort shining through. Now, it’s just me.”

“How do you know that? It could have been all you, there’s no way to tell.” Hermione’s incredulity caused Harry’s smile to widen. Even with her experiences with such vague notions as prophecies, souls, and her own inexplicable powers, Hermione could not accept his answer on faith alone.

“Would you agree with me that flying is the ultimate high for me?” Hermione nodded, and Harry continued. “Only when I was flying did I feel truly free. Once I was off the broom, reality set back in and my mood would fall several notches down. Dating Ginny in sixth year was kind of the same, but once again, my mood would crash as soon as she was gone.

“Now, I haven’t read a lot about psychology or anything, but if those moods were mine, due to the Dursleys or whatever, then the symptoms should persist, right?” Hermione nodded hesitantly, her brow creasing as she thought. “So where are they?” Harry asked, lifting his arms to indicate himself. “I’ve not once been truly angry, sad or depressed since the battle, and we’re talking through funerals and everything. I’ve cried and mourned, I’ve shouted down reporters, I’ve given speeches, and I’ve been forced to recall some horrible moments, and I still felt happy and normal at the end of the day. How else can you explain it except to say that the cause of the moods is now gone?”

“I… don’t know,” Hermione said. Her expression was in conflict, as though she was fighting an internal battle over his words.

“Now that I think about it, I’m actually happy that you thought I needed changing then, but not now. It kind of underlines my point.” Harry felt a quiet satisfaction as Hermione looked away and shrugged, signaling her abandonment of the argument. It was the greatest acknowledgement he had ever known Hermione to give when backed into a logical corner. Harry broke whatever tension might have remained by lying forward on the couch, placing his head on Hermione’s knees. Hermione made no complaints; she simply shifted to better support him, and they spent the rest of their evening discussing Dumbledore and his writings, while Hermione’s hands played through Harry’s hair.

Morning came all too quickly, and Harry spent much of the breakfast hour walking up and down the house tables, talking about house activities with the prefects and telling tales of his classes to the first years. Hermione trailed some ten feet behind him, following up on his stories with quiet facts and reassurances. While Harry devoted most of his time to the first years, Hermione spent far more time with the prefects, discussing coordination and logistics of the house events they were planning. The only awkward moment was at the Gryffindor table, where Ron steadfastly ignored Hermione and the other prefects, continuing to eat breakfast mechanically.

Ginny frowned at Hermione, but took the opportunity to kiss Harry good morning. After comparing schedules and finding their mornings relatively free, Harry suggested a walk near the lake, once the students were on their way, to which Ginny enthusiastically agreed. Once breakfast was finished and the excited first years were on their way to their classes, Harry and Ginny walked hand in hand out the main gate, and across the grounds.

“Has Hermione said anything about her and Ron?” Ginny asked. “Ron’s still taking things pretty badly.”

Harry related the basics of his talk with Hermione, editing out everything but their discussion of Ron. “I don’t get her,” Ginny said as they reached the lake. “He’s acting like your typical teenage boy. I’d know; I’ve dated a few. Why does she expect him to all of a sudden act like he’s Dad?”

“Probably because it’s the way I act,” Harry said, careful to ease these comments out of range of Hermione’s perception. “It’s her basic formula with Ron: If I can do it, he can do it.”

“Right; and it pisses him off so much that he’s ready to kill,” Ginny said angrily. “It’s not fair of her to judge him based off of you. If she wanted you, she should have gone after you in the first place!”

“Actually, she told me pretty straight up that I wasn’t dating material back then. She also knew that I wouldn’t put up with her nagging like Ron did, so she never even considered trying for me.”

“What a bloody bitch,” Ginny muttered, kicking a rock into the lake. “Ron wasn’t good enough, you weren’t good enough. How the hell is anyone supposed to satisfy her? She’d better not have her eye on you now, either! You’re mine!”

Harry bit back a laugh at Ginny’s comments. Without even knowing it, she had hit squarely upon the situation. “I don’t think she does, Ginny,” Harry managed quickly through his snickers, passing his amusement off as his reaction to Ginny’s comment. Ginny only responded by muttering several more uncomplimentary things and kicking another rock.

“What I don’t get is why Ron seems hacked off at me,” Harry said, diverting the conversation. “I mean yes, I’m Head Boy, but I would think that Ron factored that possibility into his head already.”

“Not really,” Ginny said, her long hair bouncing a little as she shook her head. “Ron figured that you three were out of the running. He didn’t once say anything about wanting to be Head Boy to me until after the owls came. I think he felt like he never even had a chance; I mean he never expected that he was considered at all, and then you and Hermione get the positions, and you acted like you expected it all along.”

Harry shrugged and nodded. “I did. There was no way McGonagall could bring me back to Hogwarts and not make me Head Boy; not only would the community eat her alive, but no one would respect whoever it was that was named Head over me.”

“I guess… Still, I figured that they would at least consider him for the position. He did make prefect, after all.”

With a sigh, Harry related the tale of Dumbledore’s decision about the Gryffindor prefects in his fifth year, and watched the heat creep up Ginny’s face as her temper began to fray.

“So he just up and decided to take it away from you, who actually deserved it, and give it to my brother, making him believe that he was actually starting to achieve his dreams. Then, after he’s hurt you both by doing this, he claims he did it for your sake. What a bastard.”

“I think that he was probably right to do it,” Harry said. “I’d hardly have been good prefect material in the mood I was in.”

“Well, then why doesn’t that factor in? Ron’s been a decent prefect, why can’t he be Head Boy?”

“Excuse me,” Harry said, his face and voice tightening. “Are you saying that I should continue to be punished for something that should never have been a factor anyways, more than three years after the fact?”

Ginny was already in front of him, rubbing his chest in soothing motions. “No, love, calm down. I’m not saying you don’t deserve the position. I’m not arguing with you, I’m on your side.” Harry’s annoyance faded quickly, and when his expression cleared, Ginny continued. “What I’m getting at here is that the professors are crossing back over their own decisions, and it’s ended up pitting Ron and you against each other. If Dumbledore had really wanted to do you a favor, he’d have given the prefect position to Neville.”

Harry shook his head after a moment. “Neville wasn’t confident enough to do it. He wasn’t well-enough known to enforce the position, anyways. I figure it’s why Malfoy and Parkinson got their positions: They were well-known enough to be respected by the other Slytherins.”

“Fine; give it to Dean, then, or Seamus; anyone but Ron. Then do the same thing with Head Boy. It would have avoided the whole issue between the both of you, and maybe even prevented what was clearly a farce of a relationship between him and Hermione from taking root. And if whoever’s Head Boy can’t hold their own against you in the school, it’s not Ron, so who cares? If Dumbledore was doing you favors, then he should have heaped the shit on someone else’s plate.”

Harry nodded, and kissed Ginny lightly. “Sounds like a good plan, and I’m sure he’d agree now, if he could. Still, what’s done is done, and now we have to live with it.”

“I’ll talk with Ron,” she said. “He’d probably want to hear this, and it might mellow him a little. At least he’s taking his courses seriously, though. Hermione should see him study!” Ginny lapsed into a retelling of Ron’s immediate trip to the library after the welcoming feast and his near-obsessive study habits over August. Harry painted an interested look on his face, masking his worry.

Ginny didn’t need to know, Harry decided. There was no conceivable way to make her believe him without outing Hermione’s ability at Legilimency at the very least, and even if that revelation wasn’t catastrophic to Hermione’s friendship with Ginny, he still wanted Hermione’s permission. This ‘studying’ that Ron was doing merited looking at, though; as Harry had learned with Malfoy, it never paid to allow someone to plot unwatched.

Saying goodbye to Ginny, Harry stopped by the library on his way into the castle. Madam Pince had no issues showing the Head Boy the short list of books checked out, as well as which students had checked them out. He found Ron’s name scrawled messily beside the titles of books on advanced Transfiguration, Defense, and… Occlumency. A chill shot up his spine, and he forced himself to continue perusing the list to avoid drawing any suspicion. Thanking Madam Pince, he hastily left the library, searching in his mind for Hermione’s presence and hoping that her tricks worked in reverse.

When he found Hermione’s presence hovering near the edges of his perception, he gave it a sharp poke, and pictured their common room strongly in his mind coupled with a sense of urgency. He felt Hermione’s presence brush across the image, and then felt what he believed was her acknowledgement. A blurry image resolved in Harry’s mind of Hermione talking with Luna outside the Arithmancy classroom. Harry did his best to convey his own acknowledgement as he stepped inside the portal to their dorm, and he sat down on the couch to wait.

Hermione entered a few moments later, a questioning look on her face. “My next class starts right away. What’s wrong? I was kind of surprised that you contacted me that way, but I gather that’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

“Not at all,” Harry said. Hermione’s expression changed to one of concern as she caught the darker tone of Harry’s voice. “I just finished talking with Ginny about Ron, and he’s apparently developed some impressive study habits. Goes along with what you were saying before, right?

“Well, I decided to be snoopy, and checked the list of books out right now. Among other things, Ron has books out on Occlumency.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” she said.

“Yeah, I wanted to warn you to stay out of his head. If he gets even a whiff of you in there, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Far from appeased, however, Hermione’s worry seemed to increase. “Shit, Harry. Shit, shit, shit. I’ve dug nearly all the way through his head. Exposure to powerful Legilimency can cause subtle changes in a person’s mind, kind of like ripples in water. They’re easy for me to see, and easy for the victim to feel. I could see Snape’s affect on you, and you probably feel them as a sense of repulsion that goes along with the memories.”

Even as she spoke, he felt the difference: There was his dislike of Snape, and there was a separate, unrelated loathing of the Legilimency sessions themselves, only attached to Snape because he was the Legilimens involved. He had always assumed all of it was directed at Snape naturally, but the distinction was now as clear as day.

“You found it?” Hermione asked, obviously aware of his emotions. Seeing him nod, she continued. “That was easy for you to do, I’ll bet. Ron might take a while, but he’s going to eventually find traces of me in his mind.”

“Which brings us back to there being hell to pay,” Harry said. He and Hermione looked at each other uncomfortably, before Hermione excused herself and left for her class. A time bomb had just been set, and how much time there was on the clock was unknown. For the first time since last year, Harry felt the familiar pressure of inevitability weigh on his shoulders and head.

-----

“Welcome to your final year in Defense against the Dark Arts.” Professor Simonson, a retired Auror, stepped through his introduction with the clipped tone indicative of his former position. Harry listened with half an ear, confident that he was well beyond anything even an Auror might ask of a seventh-year class. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw shared the class this year, so Harry sat with all four of his friends, Ginny and Hermione on either side of him.

“Our focus today will be on spells that were used by the Death Eaters, the most recent manifestation of the Dark Arts we’ve seen. Aside from the three Unforgivables, are there any other Dark curses you know about them using?”

“Sectumsempera,” Harry said reflexively, drawing the attention of both the professor and the class. Hermione and Luna looked at Harry in surprise, while Ginny looked down sadly. Ron showed hardly any reaction, but Harry thought he saw his ears perk up slightly.

“I’m unfamiliar with that incantation, Mr. Potter,” the Auror said, motioning to a training dummy standing at the side of his desk. “It’s very likely a unique creation from within the Death Eater ranks. I know your role in the war was considerable, and I know from experience that we often pick up the enemy’s weapons when the situation calls for it. If you’re willing and able to do so, is it possible for you to demonstrate that spell?”

Harry closed his eyes for a second before nodding once. Silently, he drew his holly wand and cast in one fluid motion as he stood, and an arc of purple light sailed over Ron’s head and towards the dummy, cleanly separating its head from its shoulders. The class stared in shock as the dummy’s head hit the floor and bounced with an echoing thump.

“I recognize that curse,” Simonson said in a tight voice. “Where… who…?”

“The curse was created by Severus Snape,” Harry said, drawing gasps from all around him. “He discovered it in his school years at Hogwarts and used it in retribution against my father’s attacks against him. It started as something small; a nick here, a cut there, but as you can see, the spell can cause large slashes across the body. My friend George Weasley lost his ear to this spell. Since the curse is inherently Dark magic, the ear won’t grow back. Professor Snape had a way to mend the damage, but I haven’t found mention of it anywhere. There’s a counter to the curse, like so.” Harry slowly moved his wand through the air, repeating the motions several times as several students scribbled hasty diagrams.

He felt Hermione’s desire for more information echo through his head, and he mentally directed her to the memories of his studies while he fielded questions from the professor about the curse. “You’ve given me a choice example Mr. Potter,” said Simonson, satisfied finally with Harry’s answers. “You’ve also helped put to rest some of an old Auror’s concerns; twenty points to Gryffindor. Anyone else with an example?” Harry sheathed his wand and sat, and the class carried on.

“Been practicing that one?” Ron asked as they walked down the corridors to their next class. Ginny held Harry’s hand, and Hermione flanked his other side, well Ron walked to the side of his sister. Luna trailed slightly behind them, and the three girls were chattering away happily. Students moving in either direction parted like water to allow the group passage, making Harry wonder if his earlier demonstration of Sectumsempera had already made its way around the school.

“Yeah,” he answered absently. “It’s not a nice spell, but it’s damned effective.” Ron nodded, turning for a moment to wave to Dean as he walked past.

“Kind of weird to see that spell again,” Ron mused as they entered the Potions classroom. “It feels so long ago that everything happened here. It’s like, I don’t know. It’s like we’re in a different world or something.” Their conversation, as much as Ron had ever spoken at once to Harry since the beginning of August, ended as everyone moved into pairs for the class. The five of them occupied seats as close to each other as possible, and slowly prepared their cauldrons.

A very boring hour and a half later, Harry was all too happy to bottle a sample of his potion and hand it to Slughorn, dashing out of the classroom as fast as he could. If Slughorn had been merely trying to ‘collect’ him in sixth year, he was completely obsessed with it this year. The only high point was Slughorn’s awareness that Harry was pursuing the goal of becoming an Auror, which Slughorn wholeheartedly endorsed. Despite her outward acceptance of Slughorn’s attitude towards Harry, Hermione’s irritation at the attention the professor paid him – and thus the lack of attention to he paid to her work—trickled across the Legilimency link into Harry’s mind.

The end of potions signaled the end of classes for the day, and Harry walked tiredly to the Head’s dorm, banishing his school bag to rest near his desk and flopping down on the couch. There was some time before dinner, and the idea of a nap felt far too tempting to pass up. While he had yet to exert himself physically today, the rollercoaster of emotions from his talks with Hermione and Ginny were beginning to weigh on him. With Ron still somewhat distant, he had no one external to talk to, and unload his issues.

How he missed Hermione.

In all his years in the wizarding world, Harry had always been able to depend on Hermione to offer support and an objective opinion for all his issues. Now, though, Hermione was an issue, and even though she maintained a constant presence in his head, he felt as though she was miles away. While she had been with Ron, the equation had been clean and balanced. Her relationship with Harry had been completely transparent and stable. God damn you, woman, with your kisses and your heart.

The thought of talking to Luna crossed his mind. She would be the least likely to judge, and the most likely to offer honest advice. Approaching her would be slightly awkward, but he’d survived worse over the last two days. It was worth a shot, he decided; Harry banished his desire for sleep, and forced himself up off the couch with a groan.

Finding Luna was as simple as consulting the Marauder’s Map, and then moving to intercept her. He found it both unsurprising and unfortunate that Luna was walking alone. She had her wand tucked neatly behind one ear as usual, and her long pale hair spread out in curtains across her front and back, having generated enough static over the course of the day to stick to her robe.

“Hey, Luna!” he called, getting her attention. “Got a few minutes?” Seeing her nod, he motioned towards the stairs to the castle entrance.

“You want to talk with me?” she asked, her eyes wide and curious. “What about? Usually, I have to go finding you if I want to see you.”

“I should probably change that,” Harry said as he walked beside her. “I'd like to see a little more of you, if at all possible. You painted such a wonderful picture of us all in your room, and I'd like to resemble that picture.”

Luna stopped midstride, turned on the spot and walked straight into Harry, clamping him in a clumsy but strong hug. “Thank you, Harry. That was wonderful of you to say.” When she pulled back, Harry saw her brush a tear away.

“You deserve it,” he said. “You deserve a lot better than you've been given.”

“It's people's right to believe as they want to,” Luna said, waving her hand dismissively. “I'm not worried about what they think.”

“No, but they should be worried about what they think,” Harry pressed. “We should be to a point, too. Isn't it wrong for the purebloods to persecute the muggleborn because of their blood?”

“Of course,” Luna said. “It's a horrible thing.”

“Then why would you so easily give people permission to do the same to you?”

“It's not the same thing,” Luna said, shaking her head. Her voice was less certain than it was before, though, and Luna stared at her feet.

“It's also very inconsiderate of me as a friend to allow others to abuse you, with words or otherwise. I know that you wouldn't stand by while that happened to me.” Luna looked up at Harry without raising her head; with the height difference between the two, Luna looked to Harry like a little girl caught doing something bad. Harry bit back a laugh, and reached out to raise her face by the chin, dispelling the disturbing image.

“Do you honestly think you're not worth defending?” he asked. “I know I did, but there were these wonderful people around me to convince me otherwise.” Luna didn't answer, but continued to stare at him, her head tilted slightly. As they started walking again, however, he thought she might have been standing a little bit straighter.

“Well, we have time before dinner,” she said, her voice once again light and airy. “Does this have anything to do with my father? He’s still so terribly sorry, you know.”

“Still? He’s apologized for that what, six times now? If Death Eaters had taken my daughter, I might have done the same.”

Luna turned her silvery eyes to regard him fully. “I don’t think you would,” she said after a moment of scrutiny. “I think that you would continue to fight, or perhaps try to rescue her. I haven’t ever seen you break, Harry, and I doubt I ever will.” Harry gave her a skeptical look, but Luna didn’t seem fazed. Instead, she stepped a little closer, and stared up at him.

“It’s like there are two of you: One is modest and kind, and one is capable of the most extreme personal sacrifices. Whenever you’re relaxed, like you are now, you’re the former. Whenever you’re under stress, you shift into the latter. How come you can’t be both at once?”

“Um, wow,” Harry managed, caught completely off guard by Luna’s analysis. “That’s… pretty deep, Luna.”

Luna backed away with a smile, and shrugged her shoulders slightly. “The only real conversations we’ve had together have been about dueling, death, and the war in general. I assumed that since you came to talk, it wasn’t going to be about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.” Her voice took on a rueful tone near the end. Harry had never heard Luna be self-depreciating before; she was, however, right.

“Yeah, it’s fairly serious,” he agreed. “I need a good friend’s advice.” Luna managed to look even more surprised than she normally looked, and Harry couldn’t help a small chuckle. “Before you ask, let me set the field: Neville’s not here, Ron’s being a git again, and Hermione and Ginny are involved. That leaves you.”

Luna silently mouthed the last of Harry’s statement, and her eyes lost a lot of their dreamy quality, focusing sharply on Harry. “This is a dating thing, isn’t it?” she asked, her head tilted slightly. Not having any better description of it himself, Harry nodded. “Hermione’s sending mixed signals, and you’re confused?”

A small grin played upon Harry’s lips. “No, I’d say that they’re anything but mixed,” he said.

“Oh. Well, that’s got to be awkward, then.”

Harry snorted loudly, looking away. “Yes, Luna, everything makes sense now,” he said dryly.

“There’s no need to be rude,” she said, the slightest of frowns gracing her features for a moment. “I mean, could you say which one is more important to you? Ginny loves you dearly, but I suppose that Hermione must, as well. You’re dating Ginny already, though, so that has to count for something.”

Harry nodded, but his features displayed his internal conflict. “It does, but Hermione’s… I’m worried about her.”

“Oh! So I was right, then!” Luna said, smiling widely and clapping her hands together. “You do have an issue keeping your personalities together! Don’t look so confused, Harry, its quite simple: You’re very kind, and so you couldn’t possibly hurt either Ginny or Hermione. Since you’re dating Ginny, that means not breaking up with her, if you can. You’re also very aware of who needs you the most, and right now, you think that Hermione does. It probably helps that Hermione’s done so much for you, and you probably feel like she deserves anything you could do to help her, including your love. You’re conflicted because, in your mind, you can’t be with one without betraying the other.”

“And you think I can?” he asked, traces of hope in his voice.

Luna looked at him closely again before shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think you could live with just a partial solution, Harry. You’re going to have to choose, or you’re going to have to let things unfold as they do. You’re a good man, and they both love you. Things will work out.”

Things will work out.

Things certainly had not worked out, Harry mused. It was now Friday, the end of the short first week of school. After three days of mornings with Ginny, classes with everyone, and evenings with Hermione, Harry felt worse than ever. Ginny was a joy to spend time with, be it intimately or simply talking. Hermione, too, was open and talkative, and paid more attention to him than she ever had before. She was quicker with her hugs now, and enjoyed working together on the couch, where they could be in some form of physical contact. It seemed so innocent, a mere byproduct of her deep connection to Harry’s thoughts.

His rounds finished for the night, Harry lay on the couch in his common room, watching the fire. The entire situation was so minor, so trivial, and yet Harry felt it quickly beginning to fester; a hidden, tiny wound tucked just beyond reach, and the infection was spreading. It gnawed at the edges of his heart, playing with his feelings of love, guilt, and pride.

“Harry?”

Hermione's tentative voice drew him out of this brooding. He turned to see her closing the portrait and walking over. She knelt in front of him, and reached out to touch his shoulder, her face at once caring and worried.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but the need for some sort of physical contact urged him forward. He brought his arm forward and around Hermione's head, drawing her close, and adjusting himself to lie at the edge of the couch. Hermione's arms immediately wrapped around him, gently tightening into a warm embrace, burying Harry's face in her woolen sweater.

There were uses for these sweaters, Harry decided. They were soft and yielding, and turned what was already a comfortable hug into a small piece of heaven. His mind went blank, and he drank in the comfort that Hermione radiated while she held him. Her grip on him tightened slightly, possessively, as his need permeated his mind, well beyond his control. Hermione nestled her face between his head and shoulder, lightly kissing his neck. “I'm here, Harry,” she whispered. “Whatever it is, I'm here.”

The warmth of the fire and Hermione's tender embrace left him light-headed. He felt drunken and slow to react, and the urge to relax into sleep was powerful. Only lying in the summer heat in thefield near the Burrow had Harry felt similar, and that was with Ginny...

The memory focused him, reminding him strongly of the source of his disquiet. Hermione's embrace lost none of its tenderness, but his mind was once again sharp and aware. Her presence permeated his mind now, both offering comfort and searching out the reason for his distress. He had nearly shut down in his comfort, however, so there was very little in his mind to see aside from the most prominent of memories of his past, towering in his mindscape like skyscrapers. The rest remained hidden as though beneath an impenetrable fog.

Carefully, he forged trails through that fog, well away from Hermione's active areas of searching. It would be several minutes before she knew he was thinking at all, and he needed that time alone to ponder. Could he tell her about this? Even Luna, despite any unease he felt towards talking with her, had made for far less awkward a conversation. Still, he couldn't see Hermione shying away from the conversation once he began it. The largest concern he had was that Hermione, who was directly involved, might end up affronted, afraid, angry, or, even worse, uninterested.

A shift in Hermione's presence told him that she was now aware of his more wakeful state. “Please talk to me,” she said. Her breath hot against his neck, causing a shiver down his side. “Tell me what's wrong; I know I can help.” You can help by not breathing on my neck, Harry thought well away from her perceptions. If only he could school his physical reactions, half as well as he had learned to school his mind. Harry shifted slightly, bringing his legs up closer to Hermione to mask the eventual obviousness of his arousal, as Harry had no intentions of breaking the embrace or asking Hermione to move.

“I really don't know what to say,” Harry said against her sweater. “There just aren't words coming to me to describe it.”

“Show me,” she urged. “Please, let my try to help.”

Her voice was as soothing to him as it was reassuring. One by one, his objections to talking to Hermione dissolved. Slowly, Harry relaxed his mind, consciously widening his stream of thoughts for the first time since Hermione had begun using Legilimency. Thoughts and memories flowed like water past his senses, and Hermione expanded to encompass his mind, reaching to touch all corners.

Slowly, Hermione's attention focused on Harry's thoughts of her and Ginny, his confusion over her actions, and the comparisons he drew. Harry heard her gasp slightly as she paged through those moments in his mind, and he tightened his hold on her, silently begging her not to pull away break contact.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his thoughts and memories stretched out, no longer under his direct command. Occlumency had placed a subtle strain on him, he realized. It was only now that he had released the restraints on his mind that he felt the difference. While Hermione absorbed his thoughts, he luxuriated in the feeling of absolute abandon, comfortable in the arms of a woman he loved. Who it was hardly mattered; he was at peace.

He felt Hermione's smile at his relaxed mood, and she held him both mentally and physically for a timeless eternity compressed into several minutes. Soothing waves of Hermione's power coursed through his thoughts, washing away any remaining feelings of stress and anxiety. Finally, sensing the last vestiges of strain vanish, Hermione's presence diminished to its normal strength, and Harry again focused his thoughts into narrow streams, asserting mental control.

Particularly sharp mental control.

“What did you do in there?” He asked, feeling around his thoughts, trying to sense the difference. Hermione smiled against his neck and shook her head slightly.

“Just a little house cleaning,” she replied. “A little pain here, a little fatigue there; just smoothing out the wrinkles. Most of the feeling is probably just you coming to terms with how much your mind has changed since you mastered Occlumency.”

“Maybe...” he trailed off, breathing in her scent through her sweater, “I think that I needed to unload more than anything, though.”

“Probably.” She shifted and pulled back a bit to look at him directly. “I'm sorry that it's me that caused a lot of that,” she said, her eyes bright and deep. “I won't lie to you, you're different now, and I like it. I'm happy that you think I'm beautiful; I've never seen anything so amazing and surprising as your thoughts about me. Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” he said. “You've been nothing but wonderful to me almost since I've known you. I like to think I've done alright by you as well.”

“You have,” she said, the earnestness in her voice accented by the surge of emotion from her in his mind.

“I'm in an area that I've never been before,” he said. “I'm with Ginny, but I want you to stay close. It feels... selfish.”

Hermione caressed his cheek softly as she spoke. “You're allowed to be. You've done so much for me, let alone the things you’ve done for everyone else. I would do almost anything in return. Asking me to be close to you is hardly a chore for me, Harry. I know you in a way that even Ginny can't possibly know you.”

“Yeah, and that makes this difficult.”

Hermione shook her head. “I enjoy my connection to you, Harry. Is it really something that needs to be sexual?” Harry shrugged, unsure of the answer himself.

Hermione’s eyes unfocused a little, as though she was in deep thought. “I'm happy where I am,” she said eventually, kissing the bridge of his nose. While her voice sounded convincing, Harry felt uneasiness and small flecks of guilt around her mental presence. Harry nodded and smiled, but he wondered privately if this is what a lie felt like.

“Do you think maybe we should talk to Ginny?” Hermione suggested. “At least, it might make you feel better about all this.”

“I can try,” he said, sighing. “Haven’t we kept this to ourselves for a reason, though?”

Hermione fidgeted a little. “Well, I was hoping that you’d keep your revelations to my Legilimency. It’s hardly a unique thing, after all, and Ginny doesn’t know enough about it to understand that the connection I have to you just can’t happen normally. I’d like to keep my other abilities a secret.”

Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione kept her wandless practice confined to their common room, and so most of it occurred in his presence. While he had yet to see her move away from the spells she already knew, he could feel her magic pulse from across the room sometimes while she worked. He used the time to study Dumbledore’s journals. Dumbledore’s writings continued to amaze him with his insight into the subtleties of magic. Harry truly believed in the power of those subtleties; they had saved his life several times, and led to Voldemort’s ultimate demise, after all.

“I shouldn’t have a problem editing that out,” Harry said, bringing himself back to the conversation. “I hope you can figure out where your abilities came from. Not complaining, mind you, I’ll quite enjoy having a powerful witch in my corner.”

“Of course you will,” Hermione said dryly. “Another ‘advantage’ to add to your list, then?”

“Absolutely!” Harry said, making them both laugh. “Though I have to admit, it’ll be the oddest of all the advantages I’ve ever had.”

“It's unique,” Hermione said, nodding in agreement. “But then again, the two of us are about as unique as you can get.”

Harry chuckled at that remark, and slowly brought the conversation into shallower waters, choosing now to begin discussing their plans with the other prefects.

Harry followed through with Hermione’s recommendation. The next morning, he and Ginny sat out by the lake, talking in low voices as Harry related a slightly altered version of his experiences to his girlfriend, who seemed less than pleased with the news.

Ginny’s voice was both incredulous and slightly acidic. “Hermione's been in your head since the beginning of August? And you're telling me now?”

“It wasn't my secret to tell,” Harry said with a tone of finality. “Hermione hardly wants this going around. I'm telling you because she's comfortable enough with it now that it's less of an issue.”

Ginny squinted at Harry, shaking her head slightly as though trying to discern something. “Why would it be an issue? Does she think that she's the Devil all of a sudden, just because she can use Legilimency?”

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. “You don't get it. She wanted to stay connected with me, and she wasn't sure if she could do it or what would happen, and she was worried about your reaction on top of it.”

“Is she in there now?”

“She's always around,” he said, closing his eyes. “She's not paying attention right now; she's studying, I think. I can get her attention if you like; grab her probe and give it a shake.” Ginny shook her head, though, and looked out across the lake.

“Do you love her?” she asked eventually.

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “Without question, I do. But you knew that already.”

“That's not what I meant,” she muttered, and Harry pulled her close to him.

“I've always been close to Hermione. Do you see that as a threat?”

“It's the biggest threat, Harry. You don't understand how scared I feel that you can so easily say you love her. Suppose one day you decide that she's better for you, what then? Not just-- listen to me, damn you! Not just as a girl, as a woman. As...”

“Mother to my children, or something like that?” he finished for her. Ginny nodded, unable to put it in words.

“I don't think it'll come to that,” he said, cursing as his own mind reverberated with the lie. It was a lie, he knew; he was just as conflicted as he ever was, perhaps even more since his conversation with Hermione. The focus of their talking was black and white: Either Hermione was interested in him or she wasn't, and she had skillfully avoided stating her intent directly. What she did say smacked of untruth to the point that Harry found it impossible to ignore. With effort, he schooled his train of thought back to Ginny.

“I've never known you to be so nervous about anything, either. What happened to your confidence?”

“I've never been confident about you,” she said quietly. “I always wanted to be with you, to at least have a chance at the real man behind my childhood dreams. Even if it didn't work out, at least I tried. Despite all my fears, you're here, you’re amazing, and I love you. I don't want to lose that, and I know you wouldn't go behind my back. At least, not with just anyone.

“Hermione's got an in that no other girl has; she loves you, and she has your love already, and I really don't think you'd be able to say no.”

“She'd never hurt you like that,” Harry said, kissing the top of Ginny's head. “You know she'd die before she hurt you like that.”

“But here we are, coming really, really close to discussing our relationship,” she whispered. They were silent for several moments, neither able to add to what Ginny had said. Ginny eventually snuggled closer to Harry, seeking warmth. Harry sighed and pulled her more tightly to him, and watched the waves ripple across the lake. Hermione had been partially right: it was a lesser burden he now carried, but the uneasiness remained. While he no longer felt guilty, his confusion remained, and it had passed to Ginny as well. A flock of mail owls heading towards the castle, their flight made uncharacteristically noisy by the letters and packages they bore interrupted the silence.

“Why did Hermione approach you about her Legilimency, anyways?” she asked, once the distraction had passed.

“Ron.” Ginny turned her head, her eyes pleading for explanation.

“Hermione was picking up Legilimency during our time hunting Voldemort's Horcruxes, in case it would have helped me deal with my visions. Naturally, she wasn't anywhere near good enough to get into my head until after it mattered. Apparently, my pathetic Occlumency was more than enough to keep out a beginner Legilimens. So, she practiced…”

“…On Ron.” Ginny finished. She shrugged when Harry confirmed it. “Makes sense, Ron would be easier to get into. Actually, that makes a lot of sense. Hermione saw something in there, didn't she? She saw something she didn't like, and pulled away from Ron.”

“Pretty much,” Harry said, shrugging his own shoulders.

“Tell me.” Harry's questioning gaze met her determined one. “I know Hermione, and she's an all-or-nothing girl: If she told you even one word, she would have told you everything. Spill.”

Harry smiled at Ginny’s returning tenacity as he spoke. “Last year Ron decided, before he ever came to find us again, that he would do his absolute damndest to be 'better' than both Hermione and me. Better at dueling, better at magic, more successful in his career, richer... everything.”

Ginny raised her eyebrow slightly as Harry finished. “And that's a bad thing? Even if he doesn't get there, those are decent things to aim for; you set a high bar, after all.”

“Yeah, but Ron basically went nasty once he got proof that there was no way in hell he'd catch Hermione, and Hermione mentioned that he reacted in a similar way when he saw me step up my own practices.”

“I know he was frustrated,” Ginny said, pulling back her hair. “He tried to practice like you, but he couldn't do silent spells consistently. He's not as fast, and he while he's got muscle, he can't ignore his stomach long enough to get the ripped look you've got. He basically gave it up as a bad run.”

Harry shook his head slowly as Ginny talked. “That's asinine,” Harry said, exasperated. “How can he just decide that? Every single spell I use in my dueling, I've practiced at least a thousand times.” Seeing the disbelieving look on Ginny's face, Harry sighed and began to explain.

“Well, most of this is from Dumbledore’s notes from his time with Grindelwald, and I’ve just adapted and expanded it a little to work on my dueling. Here's the rundown: You take a new spell that you've never done before, and you learn the theory behind it at least well enough to attempt the casting. The first hundred times are to get used to the spell and build up consistency. By the hundredth time, the spell should work on demand, regardless of how weak it is. Fair enough?” Ginny nodded, and he continued.

“Okay, so the next two hundred times are for power: you push as much as you can, resting when you have to. By the time you're done two hundred strong repetitions of a spell, especially something like Stupefy or Reducto, it's practically firing out your wand to your heartbeat, and you'll have noticed that it's gotten about as effective as it's going to be on short notice.

“Now comes the hard part. The next two hundred times, you're going silent, exaggerating the wand movements and slowing them down to make it as easy as it can be. You're still doing what you did before, though; you're still pushing to make sure the spell is as strong as it can be. At about your fiftieth rep, you should get relatively consistent casting; at least, I did.”

“After casting the spell three hundred bloody times?” Ginny interrupted. “I'd damn well think you'd get a response!”

“Well, exactly. This doesn’t all happen at once, mind you; I manage a couple of spells a week doing this. If you take your Mum to be your average witch, then that means the casting around two dozen spells a day; that’s way less than two hundred spells a week. You can imagine how exhausted two thousand spells a week made me in the beginning.

“So anyways, over the next one-fifty, your silent spell should be pretty much up to par with your verbal spell. If it's not, it'll get there as you keep going.

“Now, we're at five hundred. For the next hundred reps, you're working on making the wand movements as small as possible, so that you're just twitching your wand to cast. You're still being silent and you're still pushing, by the way. By then, your wand movements should fit in here.” Harry made a circle with his forefinger and thumb, indicating the inside circumference. “In fact, for spells like Stupefy that are straight-line spells, I cast the spell through my hand like that for the last few reps, just to make sure.

“Now that the wand movements are small and the spell is both strong and silent, the next two hundred times you cast the spell, you're going for speed. You're flicking the spell movements off as fast as you can, and you only count the times you actually cast successfully. For me, it's usually the last sixty or so that I can pretty much count one after the other. Anyways, it’s just bang, bang, bang, bang; fast as you can. Do I even need to say it?”

“You're still pushing; you're still silent, and you're still using small movements,” Ginny said, counting off on her fingers with a grin.

“Right. After that, you have a hundred times to improve your aim while doing all that, always hitting the same spot on a tree or my eventual favorite, a Bludger charmed to fly erratically in front of you at varying speeds and distances. The goal here is to keep shooting constantly, not waiting to aim; you're working on your natural, on-the-fly aim with this. The last hundred is the hardest: You're still going for strength, speed, silence, minimal movements, and accuracy, but now you need to move around. Dive, roll, run, duck, and fall to the ground... you're never shooting from the same place twice in a row. You also want to alternate wand stances: your standard wand-forward stance, the Scorpion Tail...” he trailed off as he saw Ginny’s confusion.

“The Scorpion Tail was Bellatrix's stance,” he said, holding his wand up and over his head, aiming his arm over his opposite shoulder. “It's good for firing over obstacles, and for keeping your own spellfire from obscuring your vision.

“Anyways, you mix it up like that. By the end of August, I’d run out of spells that I wanted to do that with, so I’d just pick about twenty or so, go through some practice casts to make sure they’re still up to form and then do that last exercise with them, moving around and shooting things. Spells like Protego you practice all thousand times, but you’re obviously working on speed and placement, rather than hitting targets.

“Wow, that's... amazing,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “If that's what Ron saw, no wonder he gave up.”

“Well, it's stupid of him to think about it as a competition,” Harry said. “He should be worried about getting there himself; start at the beginning, and work his way through, just like I did.”

“Do you do that with every spell?” Ginny asked, apparently having lost interest in discussing Ron at all.

“Pretty much every spell I know got this treatment. All the combat spells go to a thousand, and everything else goes to six hundred. The last four hundred is all for dueling, and household spells and other miscellaneous crap aren’t worth the agony of those four hundred reps. Hell, getting the wand movements smaller on most of those spells is more for pride than usefulness. I don’t even need them silent, but it all comes back to the idea that drives my dueling practice: Simplicity. Whatever spells I learn, I want to be able to cast without even thinking.”

Ginny continued to shake her head, though she now wore a smile. “God damn, you’re amazing. Does Hermione practice like that?”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, right. Hermione, break a sweat? I thought she was your friend.” Ginny erupted into giggles at Harry's unexpected sarcasm. Harry, too, chuckled a bit. “It's true,” he insisted. “This is now Hermione studies: Hermione looks up a spell and says ‘Cool! A new spell!’” Ginny's laughter doubled, and she held Harry tightly for support.

“She now researches everything to do about this spell, including the exact date and time the ink dried on the book she found it in. This, naturally, takes her about three minutes.”

“S-S-stop it,” Ginny said, holding her stomach and nearly out of breath with laughter. “Oh God, my sides... stop, love.”

“Fine, fine; less wit, then. Next, she takes her wand and quietly performs the spell. Since she's Hermione, it's a pretty good bet she gets it first try.” Ginny nodded, regaining some control over her breathing.

“Once she's done the spell a couple of times, she immediately rejoices and begins ripping it apart to see if she can change it.” Ginny's eyebrows crinkled and rose, and Harry nodded fervently. “I'm not kidding! She rips the spell apart, and then makes it do something that it was never designed to do. Once she's managed this, she claps her hands together like this, and finds someone so she can show off the new and improved spell; usually me.”

Ginny snickered, then frowned a second, waiting for Harry to continue. “And then...?” she prompted when Harry remained silent. Harry simply smiled.

“That's it?”

Harry nodded. “Hermione's greatest feat is that she can reproduce any spell she's ever done after only having used it a couple of times, and have it work at least as well as it's supposed to, sometimes much better. I don’t know if it’s just because she gets bored with the spell or whatever, but I've never seen her pay any more attention to a spell than I've just stated. The only spell I've ever known her to take more than a few minutes with was the Protean Charm for the DA's coins, and that's just her telling me so; for all I know, she did those coins in five minutes flat.”

The look of confusion hadn’t left Ginny’s face. “But there’s no way that she can cast as well as she can, then!”

“Well, let’s just consider Hermione a prodigy then,” Harry said with a shrug. Considering she’s not even using a wand, he thought, it’s not as if she’d need the practice.

Ginny's eyes narrowed as she considered what Harry had said. "There's a 'but' in here somewhere, isn't there? Why haven’t I ever seen you and Hermione duel?”

“I’m very glad she hasn’t asked,” he replied innocently. “It would be a tough duel.” The smile on his face told a different tale, though, and Ginny caught it easily.

“You don’t think she could beat you?”

“Maybe if I give her time to set up, but even then it’s not likely. There's a quote from one of my muggle books, a book Hermione gave me, ironically enough, that states ‘I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.’ Do you get what he's saying?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said, nodding as she spoke. “A whole bunch of sloppy attacks and defenses aren't as good as one perfect attack or defense.”

“You got it,” he said, kissing her firmly. “Hermione's dueling spells are decent, and so are yours and Luna's. You'll remember that decent didn’t cut it against Bellatrix.”

“Don’t remind me,” she said, shuddering. “That woman was insane, and I couldn't believe how fast she was.”

“A few effective spells, and a hell of a lot of practice,” Harry said, and Ginny nodded.

“I'm glad Mum managed to take her out.”

“Yeah, that's another lesson Bellatrix was good for: Never underestimate your enemy.” Ginny nodded but quickly frowned, opening her mouth to defend her mother's skill.

“Don't take it the wrong way,” Harry said, patting the air between them. “I love your Mum and she was damned good, but I have to say truthfully that if Bellatrix had respected her as an opponent, we'd have lost her.”

“I don't believe that,” Ginny said, crossing her arms.

“I do; I was right there, and she nearly knocked me over to get to Bellatrix. I was ready to jump in, but I watched the duel and I saw Bellatrix make the same mistake that Sirius did: She broke her stance and taunted when she should have been casting. She was absolutely convinced that your Mum couldn’t hurt her. It killed Sirius, and it killed Bellatrix.” Ginny still looked as though she was ready to argue, but Harry knew she would not. He had just invoked Sirius' name in relation to the issue, and Ginny would not talk badly about Harry's late Godfather.

Eventually, Ginny's mouth drew into smirk. “Well, I'll simply have to tell Mother that you think poorly of her dueling skills,” she said snootily, her nose in the air.

Harry barked out his laughter, reaching down to tickle Ginny's sides. “You do that,” he said as she squealed and pulled away. “You tell your mother she's welcome to challenge me if she feels that her honor is impinged.” Ginny was far too busy fending off his hands to talk, giggling with delight as she tried desperately to keep Harry at bay. Eventually Harry caught her up at the waist, and tickled her mercilessly. Ginny's laughter melted into a moan as he suddenly captured her lips, pulling her into a deep kiss.

They stayed out as long as they could, but their mutual hunger brought them inside the castle close to noon, heading towards the Great Hall.

“Mr. Potter, a moment of your time, if you please?” Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall approaching, a scroll in her hand. He turned and gave Ginny a quick kiss before excusing himself with promises to catch up.

“What can I do for you, Professor?” he asked as he walked over. As he walked, he prodded Hermione mentally, drawing her attention to the conversation.

“It appears as though you, Miss Granger and I should have a meeting concerning the plans that you and the prefects are developing,” she said, indicating the scroll in her hands. “Insomuch as I approve of the nature of your initiatives, you’ve given me yet another small pile of work to do, and I fully intend to foist it back upon your shoulders.”

“Oh! Well, we weren’t trying to make things harder for you…” he trailed off as McGonagall waved away his response.

“It’s not that, it’s that I am both teaching and administrating, and as such I cannot oversee these events. It will fall to you and Miss Granger to see this through; any meetings you have with me are simply to update me or for anything you might need.”

“Okay, why don’t we meet… tomorrow afternoon?” he said, pausing mid-sentence to process the suggestion Hermione sent him before she turned her attention back to whatever she was doing. “I know that both Hermione and I are free that time, and it would give us some time to play with if it turns into a long meeting.”

“That would be fine,” McGonagall said, nodding once. “My other piece of business with you is the Quidditch Captaincy for Gryffindor. It is yours, if you’re willing.”

“That would be great,” Harry said, a huge smile lighting his face at the thought of playing again. “Are Ron and Ginny still on the team, then?”

“I see no reason they would not be, however the team’s membership is now once again your responsibility. You’ll want to speak with Madam Hooch as soon as you can to book the pitch.” McGonagall rummaged in her pocket for a moment, before pulling out a bronze Captain’s badge. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Tradition dictates that you wear that to the left of a prefect or Head badge; please do so.”

McGonagall smiled appreciatively as Harry attached charmed the badge to his robes, but quickly turned serious again. “There is another matter I wished to discuss with you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Have you noticed at all that spells have been harder to cast?” Harry shook his head, and McGonagall continued. “The first years are having a horrendous time getting any spells to work; when they do work, they’re quite weak.

“I’ve noticed that the higher years seem to have no problem with known spells, but any new material is met with the same results. You would be the first student I’ve spoken with who hasn’t noticed any changes.”

“That’s probably because I’m pretty much through this year’s material, Professor,” Harry said, blushing slightly with embarrassment. At the professor’s look of surprise, he elaborated on his studies, as well as his concept of spell practice.”

“Well, that’s certainly over-the-top, Potter,” McGonagall commented when he finished speaking. “Most students can’t possibly do that many repetitions; there simply isn’t enough time in the day to practice like that.”

“Why not the first three hundred, then?” Harry suggested. “It will make the spell familiar and help them build it up to where it’s supposed to be.”

“Hmm… well, I’ll suggest it to Professor Flitwick, and we’ll see if we can’t give it a shot. If anything, it’s a good target for competency.” She then gave Harry a rare, full smile. “It’s nice to know that I won’t have to worry about your study habits this year,” she said. After sharing a laugh at Harry’s somewhat lazy career as a student, McGonagall said her goodbyes and walked off. Harry’s stomach reminded him of his waiting lunch, and he walked to the Hall to meet Ginny. Ron was there, as was Hermione, and both exclaimed excitedly at Harry’s new badge.

“Good on ya, mate,” Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder. Ron’s eyes told Harry a different story, though; no matter how good Ron was at lying, he couldn’t completely hide his disappointment. Harry walked with Hermione back their dorm, talking quietly about what McGonagall had said; Harry only half-heartedly participated in the discussion, his thoughts still on Ron’s reaction. They parted once inside, both heading to their respective bathrooms.

Staring back at him from his bathroom mirror was Ron’s dream: Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, with an extremely good chance at winning both the Quidditch and House Cup.

Enough. With effort, he pushed his thoughts away from Ron. He was Captain, and he felt that he deserved it.

Quidditch meant practice, and that meant that his half-week vacation from his workouts was now officially over. Stripping off his robes, shoes and socks, he put on an old pair of shorts and began going through a series of stretches and calisthenics. Hermione found him some time later on the floor of his room, sweat dripping from his brow and down his back as he struggled through one-armed pushups.

She didn’t interrupt, and Harry acknowledged her by waving with his free hand and continuing his exercises, while Hermione perched on the edge of his bed, watching. Harry noticed her tracing her fingers across the badges on his robes, and felt her pride.

“Did you talk with Ginny?” she asked when he was between exercises. He nodded tiredly, and called his wand to him from the bed, banishing his sweat. Again, he felt Hermione’s pride. “Do you realize that you’re probably the only student in Hogwarts that can do that?” she asked. “Even I can’t just call my wand to me yet, never mind so casually using Tergeo to clean my entire body, and silently to boot.”

“Funny you should mention that,” he said, grinning as he dropped onto his bed to sit beside her. He relayed his conversations with Ginny and McGonagall. As he outlined his practice routine for his spells, Hermione’s jaw dropped lower and lower.

“A thousand times…” she whispered, “How could you possibly… I take it back, Harry. Maybe I can teach you the spells I’ve been studying.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Most of those are some sort of complex charm or transfiguration that needs an artist’s touch, and I’m no artist.”

“It’d only take some practice-”

“No, Hermione. If you find spells that might be good in combat or generally useful, I’d love to see them, but that’s it.”

“Well… alright,” she said, obviously disappointed. Harry put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, bringing a small smile back to her lips.

“Tell you what,” he said, an idea coming to his head. “If you want to find something for me, I have a favor to ask. It’s big, mind you,” he warned, seeing her eyes light up with excitement.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “What do you need?”

“I want you to find out what spell or magic Voldemort used to fly.”

Hermione’s expression melted into shock as she processed his request, but Harry held her gaze, trying to convey how serious he was. Slowly, Hermione began to nod.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll find it for you. As long as it’s not dark or somehow harmful…”

“Thanks. It would be amazing to be able to fly without a broom.” Harry felt Hermione’s sense of excitement return as her surprise at his request faded. He watched amused as she prepared to dash off to the library, having found a new mission. Once she was gone, Harry marshaled himself and turned once again to his exercises, his mind relaxed and blank as sweat began to pour off his face.

3. Vendetta, Part 1: The Weasleys

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: Ah, December! I do so enjoy the freedom to write; I have several challenges that I wanted to take up, and they’re slowly being worked on. I also have Chapter 11 for MEtyK brewing, as well. For now, I offer you this chapter, as I begin to stir this cauldron a little faster…

~TOW

Vendetta, Part 1: The Weasleys

=========================

“Duro!”

“Finite.” Two hundred three...

“Duro!”

“Finite.” Two hundred four...

Over and over, the robes hanging across the room from him shifted between stone and cloth as Harry worked his spells. This spell, Duro, was something Hermione had dug up that had proven very useful against the Death Eaters last year. Several ideas sprung to mind on how to best use this in a duel, but first, he needed the spell up to speed.

“Duro!”

“Finite.” Two hundred twenty-seven...

“Duro!”

“Finite.” Two hundred twenty-eight...

September was crawling by very slowly, every day punctuated by helping students practice spells, prefect meetings, nightly rounds, and a reasonably large amount of homework. More and more, the demands of the school year ate away at Harry's time, leaving only the morning hours of each day to practice and exercise. Ginny, too, seemed to quail under the strain of her schoolwork, the need for intense practice of any new spell eating away at her time.

To make matters worse, wizarding Britain seemed to be coming back to life. Owls arrived from the Ministry almost daily, demanding Harry’s attention to matters that he felt were still quite above him. Most of the letters were from Kingsley, however, so he answered them diligently, providing answers to the new Minister in a manner that reminded him of Dumbledore advising Fudge.

One such letter, however, was not simply a request for advice, or information from the late Headmaster’s journals. It was an invitation, and the importance of the event did not escape his notice. Finally, something to look forward to, he thought. Ginny would need to hear about this the next time they walked to the lake.

-----

“Kingsley expects me to attend this function,” Harry said, idly sending waves across the lake, much to the joy of the giant squid. “I figure that it's a formal event, so that means dinner and dancing, a lot of hand-shaking and brown-nosing, several reporters, and, if I'm really unlucky, a short speech of some sort.”

“Sounds like so much fun,” Ginny said dryly.

“Don't they all? Well, at least it's not just a press gathering, so there's some fun to be had. What do I have to bribe you with to get you to come with me?”

“The twenty-sixth, was it? I actually don't think I can,” she said, shaking her head. “Fleur's family is coming up for the weekend, and Mum expects me to be there. She's actually expecting you there, too.”

“Ah, wonderful: The Ministry and the Weasleys collide.” They laughed for a moment, before Ginny's smile faded.

“I'll break it to Mum that you're playing politician that night; as long as you can make an appearance on Sunday, I'm sure she'll be happy. I can guarantee you that she won't hear anything about me not being there, though.”

“Oh, well," Harry sighed. “It would have been a nice time.”

“You're telling me; this is probably the first time you've sounded eager to dance, and I can't go.”

Harry grinned, but it eventually faded into a slight frown, which he tried to hide by turning and charming more waves across the lake. After a few moments of silence, he felt Ginny's arms encircle him from behind. “This isn't one of those ‘date-optional’ events, is it?”

Harry shook his head, but was otherwise silent.

“Who will you take with you?” she asked, hanging her head over his shoulder. “Would Hermione go with you?”

Harry shrugged and nodded. “Probably; I don't know if she'd drop everything to do it, but I'll definitely ask.”

Ginny nodded against him. “It'd cause a lot less commotion, I think. I'd also feel a lot better if you're going with someone I know.”

“Fair,” Harry conceded. “I'll ask her later today.”

-----

The day passed quickly, Harry’s train of thought interrupted by the countless details that were now his responsibility as Head Boy. Before he knew it, classes were over, and he found himself hunched over his desk, penning an essay for Charms that was assigned earlier in the day. It would have been a difficult research assignment, but for Dumbledore’s books. More and more, he was grateful for their presence; not only did they contain advanced magics and practices, but they also contained enough day-to-day wisdom that school projects such as this essay were ridiculously easy. All that remained now was to cite a few books from the library, and--

“HARRY!”

His quill dropped as he spun in surprise at Hermione's voice. The portrait had barely closed when Hermione rushed across to where he was. “I DID IT!” she shouted. “I DID IT, I DID IT!”

“What'd you do?” He asked, holding onto her hands while she bounced in place.

“I- What you asked- I did it! Look!” Tearing away from Harry, Hermione jumped and -- hovered. Suspended by magic alone, Hermione suddenly flew backwards, completing a graceful loop around the room before coming back to float in front of Harry, a slight golden glow emanating from her body.

“You found it!” Harry shouted, leaping to tackle Hermione in a hug. He felt Hermione grunt and her magic expand; Hermione put her arms around him, easily holding him aloft.

“I thought- that was so quick- I was sure-” Words would not form properly for him.

“I thought it would be harder, too,” she said. “But it's so simple; it's just an augmentation of Apparition!” As she spoke, Hermione's voice slipped into lecture mode; Harry had no intentions of interrupting her. “You're creating the space-time flux without actually travelling through it, you see. You're using it to fold space in the direction you want to go, while expanding it behind you. I couldn't believe it: Apparition is a gravity effect! Once I found that out, controlling it and toning it down to fly was so simple-”

“-to you,” Harry said, cutting into Hermione's explanation. “Every time I think you can't possibly surprise me more, you do the impossible.”

“For you.”

Harry had no answer to that statement other than to tighten his embrace, and Hermione did likewise. Several moments passed while they floated there, held aloft and weightless by Hermione's power. A sensation of movement brought Harry's attention back to his surroundings; Hermione had moved them to hover over the couch, and she slowly lowered them down, until the magic was removed completely, and they were sitting.

Hermione’s day-planner appeared in front of her, floating obediently at writing level, along with a quill and ink vial. “Before we get into flying,” she said, “I wanted to go over the next prefect meeting with you.”

“Sure; what’s our agenda?”

“The prefects have been doing their jobs, but they’re going to need our help to coordinate across the houses. There are three major things to set up this year: A properly monitored gathering place inside the castle for students, one that isn’t segregated by house; Some form of house competition aside from Quidditch, something that’s open to most of the house, rather than a select few; and some sort of tutoring program that allows older students to assist younger ones, and receive some sort of credit.”

Harry blew out a breath. “That’s a tall order,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Okay, then… The gathering place can be sorted out well enough, we just need to rework the prefect schedules, and have McGonagall find us a chunk of the castle to use. The rest is advertising.” Hermione nodded, jotting down notes as Harry spoke.

“The tutoring thing can be worked right into that, unless you wanted a separate area…?” Hermione shook her head, and Harry continued.

“Okay, so same area, at least two prefects or one professor on duty at all times, and at least one volunteer per house for tutoring…?”

“Best to make it two per house,” Hermione said. “Optimally, each with a different subject, so that eight subjects have tutors available per night.”

“That works,” Harry said. “Alright, then, we’re once again down to advertising for that one. Now, a competition…”

“It shouldn’t be exclusive,” Hermione interjected. “Whatever it is, it needs to be open to most years.”

“Alright, so dueling is out… I guess class-based contests would work: Transfiguration contests, like who can design the most elaborate furniture or how many different animals you can transfigure out of a chair; Charms could be something like showcasing enchanted items, like Fred and George used to do…”

“Those are great ideas!” Hermione said, scribbling furiously across a page in her book. “Defense could hold dueling contests between houses in the same year, I guess; and Potions could have a brewing competition for the fastest Pepper-Up, or something else that Madam Pomfrey needs. The theory classes can have group projects to present… Harry, this is fantastic!”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up a little at Hermione’s praise. “It sounds like we know where to go with this. Once again, we’re back to advertising.”

“I can take care of all of that,” Hermione said, finishing her notes. Her planner closed with an audible snap, and disappeared with the ink and quill to wherever Hermione had banished it. Harry raised an eyebrow at the display, a smile forming as he shook his head.

“Do you even notice when you do that?” he asked. Hermione fought away a blush, but her shoulders straightened at the implied compliment.

“It’s gotten easier and easier for me,” she said. “I don’t even think about it now; if I thought I could get away with it, I’d never use a wand in class anymore, not even for the new spells.”

“I’m glad you’re figuring it out,” Harry said. “I’ll be very happy to pass on the spotlight to you, as you dazzle the wizarding world with your skills.”

Hermione gave his shoulder a push, but her smile was dazzling. “You're being very nice to me tonight; is there something you want?” She stood and walked over to her desk, picking up a textbook. It was one of Hermione’s most amusing and endearing traits in Harry’s mind: She could never be without a book.

“Right in one,” he said, lying back to rest his head on the couch’s armrest. “I'm hoping that you'll go with me to the International Confederation Conference on the twenty-sixth.”

Hermione's book fell from her hands, dropping heavily against the floor. “What? But... surely you'd be taking Ginny.” She walked over to the couch, the book floating back to her hands, seemingly of its own accord.

“You're right, and I asked her. The Weasleys and Delacours are getting together that weekend, though. Ginny hinted that her Mum would disown her or something if she missed it, so she can't go.”

“But, that's not right,” Hermione said, frowning. “This is an important event, and Ginny should be seen with you. It's not as if there won't be more family get-togethers; a conference like this is a rare occurrence, though. She should be champing at the bit to go with you.”

Harry shrugged. “I'd love to say she was, but she's not. It's probably just leftover hard feelings from the war. I can understand if Mrs. Weasley wants her family close; it hasn't been very long.”

Hermione made her familiar noise of disapproval, and turned back to her book. “Still should go with you,” she muttered, barely audible.

“Does this mean you won't go with me?” Hermione looked up with a frown, obviously ready to continue arguing for Ginny. Harry tried to keep his disappointment from showing, both on his face and in his mind. Hermione's expression softened immediately, however, which meant he hadn’t been fast enough.

“It's not that at all,” she said, reaching over for his hand; Harry leaned over to take hers. “I'd love to go with you. It's just... I'd think that after all that's happened, Ginny would realize that your needs are just a little more important than her mother's. She is entertaining thoughts of marrying you, you know.”

“No, I wouldn’t really know,” Harry said, shrugging his back shoulder. “Ginny's had a whole lifetime of Weasley family values, and a lot of those values revolve around always coming home for dinner. I can understand, I suppose, but...”

He trailed off as his thoughts meandered down a darker road; a form of introspection that Harry hadn't considered since well before his desperate hunt for the Horcruxes.

“Harry?”

Her hand and presence caressed him, offering comfort in a way that only Hermione could. Only she had been there, only she had...

“My home's... mobile,” Harry said, voicing his thoughts aloud. “It’s... wherever I feel most comfortable at the moment. Most of the time that’s Hogwarts, but the Burrow's felt like it. Even,” he looked at Hermione, “even that tent felt like home a few times, with you there.”

“But-!”

“I know Ron was missing, but it was tense with him around. It hurt without him, but we managed, and I felt... responsible. We lived together, we managed to stay ahead of any pursuers, we followed the shaky plans we made. We even survived on one wand.” Hermione reddened a little as he said this. “So... it felt like home. I was comfortable, even with the stress.”

“I guess... what are you trying to say?”

He frowned, choosing his words slowly. “My idea of home is where I have easy access to the people I care about: You, Ron, and Ginny. Ginny's idea of home is the Burrow, and I don't think that's ever going to change.”

“I’m sure that Ginny would compare any home she had to the Burrow.”

“I don't want to live near the Burrow,” Harry said, cutting Hermione off nearly before she had finished. “I'm not entirely comfortable at the Burrow as it is; too many people. And I'm not going to let my life revolve around Mrs. Weasley and her needs.”

“I thought you liked having a family.”

Harry shook his head. “I always wanted parents; I always wanted to have people that cared for me. Never in all of that did I say I wanted less than absolute control of my life.” There, he thought, he had said it. Control; this is about control.

“It can't be that bad,” she said. “Surely you can talk this out with Mrs. Weasley. Didn’t you say you liked being doted on?” There was a trace of sadness in Hermione’s eyes as she spoke; Harry clamped down harder on his mind; his inner thoughts were not currently up for consumption.

“I do, but not if it’s going to interfere with my life.” Harry sighed, his frustration was beginning to show, and he wanted nothing more than to regain the feeling of contentment he had not five minutes ago. “Look, it’s not like I’m holding this against Ginny personally or anything; I can’t help but feel let down. I mean sure, it's good to support your family, but Ginny can’t make me second-string to them in the long term, I won’t put up with that.”

“I think that everyone has their own set of priorities, Harry; you can't be right at the top of someone's list, especially in the case of family.”

A spark of anger lit in Harry’s mind; did Hermione have to defend the Weasleys so stubbornly. Mutinous thoughts raced through his head, and before he could censor them, he spoke. “You had me at the top of your priorities,” he said. “You altered your parents’ minds and sent them away so that you could come with me.”

“I…” Hermione seemed both surprised and stricken at Harry’s words; Harry waited a moment, but Hermione seemed to be unable to answer.

“I'd have done the same for you,” he said, breaking the silence.

There was a light brush against his thoughts. “...I know,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “I... I can see that.”

“Ginny wouldn't have done that,” he said. “Ginny would have chosen her family over me, if forced to.”

“Harry, these are such dark thoughts, you sound like... before.” The implication of Hermione's words was evident.

“I can't erase those years,” Harry whispered, a haunted look in his eyes. “I remember all too well what it's like to feel worthless. I need at least one person that I can trust to place me as their highest priority. If I can't trust Ginny like that... then what's the point?”

Hermione said nothing, but she moved over to wrap Harry in a hug, her presence expanding through his mind.

“Shh... it's okay,” she said, rocking him back and forth. “This isn't your best day. You'll feel differently tomorrow, it'll be better, I promise.”

-----

True to Hermione’s prediction, Harry’s mood was markedly better the next day. The prefect meeting went off without issue, and volunteers slowly began to trickle in. It was a slow process, especially from Slytherin, but even they eventually filled their quotas for tutoring. The first and second year students made extensive use of the new meeting area, and slowly the higher years began to show up as well. Most students came for help with assignments at first, but as one week went by, then two, tentative friendships blossomed, and the traffic to the area increased greatly. Now, with September nearly over, the first of the House Contests were posted in the gathering place and every common room, to the students’ general excitement.

Aside from the hours Harry put into these projects, Harry continued to push himself physically and magically. Gradually, under Hermione's instruction and mental guidance, Harry developed the art of flight. Far from a simple spell, the entire affair needed just as much, if not more, guidance than his Firebolt did. While not particularly draining on its own, maintaining what he began to think of as a constant Apparition did exhaust him after a time. Between his own diligence and Hermione’s long talks about space-time magics, his mastery over flight improved.

Harry quickly figured out a side-benefit as well: While space could apparently be ‘folded’ to move you physically through it like flying, it could also be folded in such as way as to inhibit movement, acting in all respects like a weight machine, resisting his movements at every angle, even making it harder to run.

Finally, his Firebolt could rest; Harry had become his own gym.

By the end of September, Harry could begin to see the results of his efforts in all areas. Hermione had worked out the tailoring charms to adjust his robes as the last vestiges of the scrawny youth Harry used to be disappeared under a layer of wiry muscle. His grades were close to Hermione's in Herbology and Potions, roughly equal in Transfiguration and, to his surprise, slightly higher in Charms and Defense.

The chatter in the Great Hall during mealtimes was near-to-deafening now, as large groups of friends dominated the house tables, usually with a prefect or two at their center. Even Ron, who remained distant to Harry, could be seen entertaining a large set of first years, retelling stories of adventures past while the younger kids hung off his every word.

“It seems as though your plans are succeeding,” McGonagall said to him on the way to breakfast one morning. “The student body as a whole is in very high spirits, and there have only been ten points, ten points, removed between all the houses.”

“That's great news!”

“It is, indeed.” McGonagall's smile faltered a little, and she gave a small sigh. “If only it was as easy on the professors.” Harry tilted his head, and McGonagall elaborated. “The theory courses are progressing almost as planned; nothing's changed there. But all the practical courses now require intensive practice with spells in order to master them. That practice not only cuts into class time, but the amount of time that students have to devote to studies; it's there that the theory courses are affected.”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” Hermione said, her brow creasing. Harry chuckled; of course Hermione wouldn't notice anything amiss, being light-years ahead of anything that Hogwarts had to offer.

“You wouldn't, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said with a wry grin, voicing Harry's opinion. “Every single class is now a full week behind in coursework. We've had to slow down across the board to give students enough time to master the practical material before moving on. What's more is that the greatest delays were just this last week, which leads to my fear that we will have to slow our progress even further in future months.”

“I thought that the workload had tapered off a little...” Harry said. Hermione frowned; McGonagall chuckled.

“It isn't just Hogwarts,” McGonagall continued. “When you see Kingsley, I'm sure he'll tell you that Aurors in training have similar issues with new magics learned in the Academy. Naturally, as adults they have a faster learning curve, and they're hardly bound by the strictures of a school year, but still...”

“...They're affected,” Harry finished.

“This is all very strange,” Hermione said, pulling at a lock of her hair as they entered the Great Hall. “What could have happened globally that would create difficulties in learning magic?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” McGonagall said. “I know that research has begun to ferret out the cause, but for now, we're stuck waiting.”
Harry and Hermione separated from the Headmistress, sitting beside Hagrid to eat.

“Do you have any ideas as to what it might be?” Hermione asked as they loaded their plates.

“Not sure,” he offered with a shrug. “The only constant across to board with magic is Astronomy, and it's the only factor I could see affecting the world equally. I'm betting that it'll be something to that effect that's causing this.”

“Mmm,” Hermione said, nodding fervently and swallowing her food quickly. “That's a good point. We don't know if other countries are affected the same way we are. That would be really good to know.”

“Well, you'll get your chance in a week, at the convention.” Hermione smiled at Harry's statement, and he felt her excitement spill over into his mind. Not for the first time, Harry was glad that Hermione was going with him.

Hermione’s magic coursed around him, and all sound from the Great Hall was gone. Harry turned to see Hermione looking at him with a slightly conflicted look on her face.

“I just wanted some privacy for this,” she said. “I crammed Silencio, Confundo and the Illusory Terrain Charm together, so no one will notice a thing. As far as they’re concerned, we’re still actively listening and talking to them.”

“I should be surprised,” Harry said, “but I’m not.” Hermione smiled for a moment, but it was lost in her previous expression.

“Would you like to dance? Practice, I mean.” Harry froze; his mind was spinning as he processed the unexpected request. Dance practice with Hermione?

“Alright…” he offered hesitantly, his head quirking to the side.

“It's just that, well... You're going to a big event,” she said, wringing her hands nervously. “It would probably win points for you to look as sophisticated as possible. That means knowing the little things. You know... table manners, dancing...”

“I guess.”

“I don't mean anything by it!” she blurted, her nervousness seeming to increase. “I just know you haven't danced much, and there are almost never formal dinners, so…”

Harry placed a hand lightly on Hermione's mouth, silencing her.

“I seem to recall saying that I enjoyed you taking care of me,” he said softly. “If you think it's important, then I'll practice.” Hermione put on a soft smile, and Harry instinctively wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.

When they separated, Hermione cancelled her spell, and they rejoined the conversations occurring around them, no one noticing their departure. Harry suppressed his amusement: Apparently the Confundus charm lingered a bit, judging by the vacant looks in everyone’s eyes. He made a mental note to talk to Hermione later; perhaps that Illusory Terrain Charm would come in handy, after all.

-----

Dancing, Harry decided, was amazing. It was especially so when he shared a mental link with his partner, making synchronized movements a painless endeavor. He and Hermione glided effortlessly around her room, music playing from a small wireless on Hermione's nightstand. With Hermione able to echo every move, Harry made bold, sweeping steps and turns that he would never attempt with another partner.

“I'm sure we'll look wonderful on the dance floor,” he commented as they turned, “even if we are cheating.”

“If this is what cheating gets me, I'm all for it!” Hermione laughed.

All too quickly, the month of September drew to a close, and Harry was smoothing out his dress robes and charming his hair to lie flat, while Hermione took the necessary hours to tame her unruly mane. By silent agreement, they both exited their rooms at the same time, and each smiled as they appraised the other.

“You look amazing,” Harry said as he took in Hermione's dress. She still favored her blue and silver colors, and memories of the Tri-Wizard Yule Ball flashed through his mind; but now Hermione was grown, and looked...

“Magnificent.”

“I'm glad you approve,” Hermione said, giggling. She reached over, and ran her finger across the black silk and gold designs on his dress robes. “You cut a fine figure yourself.”

“We're in main reception hall, just off the Atrium in the Ministry,” Harry said, taking her arm. “You seem to be breaking the rules of magic left, right and center. Think you can just take us to the Atrium from here?”

Hermione's smile became a smirk, and Harry was engulfed in her magic as it rolled off her body, enveloping him. The room distorted, and with almost no delay it reformed into the Ministry Atrium. Their sudden arrival caused a stir, and Harry walked Hermione gracefully through the crowded floor: the press gave way respectfully; the pureblooded politicians bowed slightly as they deferred to him; the Aurors saluted him as they would their superior; the Minister of Magic clapped his shoulder and shook his hand, addressing him as an equal.

“I'm glad to see you here, Harry!” Kingsley said, his deep baritone carrying throughout the hall. “And Miss Granger, too! You look stunning tonight!”

“Thank you, Minister,” Hermione replied, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Nonsense!” He said, brushing away the formality. “To the both of you, I am forever Kingsley.”

Cameras flashed quietly as the three bantered lightly as old friends; in a way, they were. Aside from the three of them and the Weasleys, only nine other core Order members remained alive: Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, Aberforth, Hagrid, McGonagall, Sturgis Podmore, Mundungus, and Hestia Jones. Others had helped, but it was this circle that Harry felt closest to from the war; it was these people who would mourn the loss of friends and family more deeply, who had fought the longest and hardest to achieve the victory that had been won.

And so, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger spoke to the Minister as equals and sat at his table; and the press took notice.

Kingsley had come with Hestia as a date, and the two chatted easily with Harry and Hermione. The rest of the table was made up of British delegates to the International Confederation of Wizards. Dinner was a sedate affair; wizards from across the world stopped to shake his hand and exchange small talk, but for the most part, Harry was left alone, talking quietly with Hermione, Hestia, and Kingsley.

“You seem happy to be here,” Hermione commented while the others were discussing Ministry Policy.

“I am,” Harry replied with a smile. “This might sound funny, but it's almost like I'm treated like an equal in this room: No more attention than anyone else, and not much less.”

“A lot of them are being careful,” Hermione said, discretely pointing out several people. “There are a few, like Germany and France, that obviously want to talk more with you, but they don't know how to approach you, I think.”

“Well, I'm not about to make their job any easier.” Hermione frowned at Harry's smirk while he said this, but she didn't comment.

“I wonder who those people are,” Hermione said, pointing at a far table. Seated there were a severe-looking group of wizards, all in white robes with red trim.

“Those robes look like Auror uniforms,” Harry said, shrugging. “Another country's law enforcement, maybe?”

“Who are those people?” Harry asked Kingsley. “Over there, in the white and red?”

Kingsley's expression darkened. “Vatican Inquisitors,” he replied. “It's never a good thing to see them around.” Seeing Harry's confusion, Kingsley motioned for him to lean in closer.

“I'm not big on religion, but the Vatican keeps its people largely to itself; they only come out when there's something going on that they consider a serious threat.”

“A real threat, or just religious?”

“They certainly didn't lift a finger against Grindelwald or Voldemort,” Kingsley said.

“Maybe they thought it would be a breach of international treaty...” Hermione suggested, listening in.

Kingsley was shaking his head before she had finished speaking. “There were open cries for help from all countries affected by the wars; they never came. Now, when the war is over, they want to start snooping around like they own the place.”

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione, a worried look on her face.

“They have Unspeakable-class clearance in all Ministries by international treaty. There are a few stipulations of non-interference in there, but the kind of information they have access to makes it easy for them to get their way through blackmail.” Hermione looked unsatisfied, but Kingsley quickly changed the subject, interrupting any further discussion.

“Are you two enjoying yourselves?” He asked; Harry and Hermione assured him they were. “That's good to hear.

“There are a few speeches just after dinner, but nothing should concern you. If you had needed to speak or do anything, I'd have been informed of it beforehand.”

“That's great,” Harry said. Tension that he didn't realize was building faded away; he had no responsibilities, he could just enjoy the night.

“I'm sure that you'll be talking to a few more people before the night is out though,” Kingsley warned, and Harry nodded absently, far too happy to worry.

Dinner soon gave way to speeches, and Harry passed his time speaking quietly with Hermione. Throughout their conversation, Harry could feel Hermione's anticipation building as the speeches drew to a close. Once the final speaker finished, Hermione turned excitedly to Harry. Harry cocked his head to the side. What was --ah, the dance floor was opening. A smile grew on Harry's face, and he held his hand out to Hermione, who grabbed it enthusiastically.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow at the pair. “You're starting the dancing?” he said. “That’s pretty brave of you.”

“Well, we have a good reason to be celebrating,” Harry said, his smile never fading. “You should dance, too; our whole table should.” Murmurs of agreement sounded from all corners, and shortly the whole British delegation took to the floor. A few couples from other tables joined, leaving the dance floor mostly open.
The music started with a simple waltz, and Harry put his arm around Hermione, and felt Hermione's presence in his head shift, once again paying attention to his movements. Feeling happy and emboldened by their connection, Harry quickly stepped up their dancing, dominating the space available to them. He was vaguely aware that he had captured the attention of the room, but look of pure joy on Hermione's face and the happiness he felt flowing into his mind were all he cared about.

“Thank you so much for bringing me,” she said as they moved around other couples. “This entire night has been amazing.”

Harry leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I'm really glad you came. I've never had this much fun at any event, and I can say that it's mostly because you're with me.”

The remainder of the night passed in a blur. Some international delegates asked his opinion on current events: Yes, he was pro-muggleborn, as Dumbledore had been; yes, he was interested in pursuing a position in the International Confederation. When the delegates confided the difficulties that students had with magic, Harry suggested his practice routine, which garnered general praise.

The Daily Prophet managed a few moments of his time, as well: Yes, Hogwarts students were suffering difficulties, but the students were persevering; of course he'll outline his practices; yes, he was still considering becoming an Auror; and no, he wasn't going to respond to personal questions.

Hermione stood with him throughout his conversations, offering support and commenting when she could, and stealing Harry away to dance as often as she could get away with. All too quickly, the event drew to a close, and bidding Kingsley farewell, they headed back to Hogwarts. Reality blurred around him a second time and Harry found himself once again in the Heads' common room.

“Wow, what a night,” he said, taking as step towards his room. Hermione tightened her grip on his hand, preventing him from moving further. Harry felt pangs of anguish pulsing, and turned to see a despairing look on Hermione's face.

“Don't go,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “Please.”

Concerned and confused, Harry gathered Hermione to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “What's wrong? I thought you were happy.”

“I was; I am. I just...”

“Hermione?”

She sighed, burying her face in his chest. “We’re here now, and you're going to change, and you're going to leave for the Burrow. I... I don't want to be alone.” Harry reached out with his thoughts, brushing against Hermione's. What he felt shocked him.

“You think I'm... abandoning you?”

“I know it's silly,” she said, trying to break away; Harry tightened his arms, and she relented. “It's just that we had so much fun, and now you're off to the Burrow, and the Weasleys, and I'm just left here, and...”

“Shh, shh... I won't leave. I'm here.” Harry fished for his wand, and fired a Patronus out the window, watching as it faded off to the south at tremendous speeds. “There, it's all taken care of; I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled as Harry guided her to the couch, not breaking their embrace.

“Don't be,” he chided. “I'm more than happy to stay with you.”

“Ginny's waiting; so is Mrs. Weasley, you should-”

“Shh. I'm here.”

Hermione sighed and pressed into Harry, her pain fading, and a small undercurrent of contentment beginning to hum. “Thank you,” she muttered into his chest. “Thank you so much.”

Harry reclined on the couch, pulling Hermione down with him, shifting until they were comfortable. He reached out again with his mind, batting at Hermione's presence like a playful kitten. Hermione giggled, and her mood brightened considerably. They played cat-and-mouse inside his head for what must have been an hour, before Hermione yawned loudly, and made to get up.

“Stay,” Harry said, holding her in place. She looked up at him, surprised.

“I'm comfortable,” he mumbled, fighting futilely against his own yawn. Hermione seemed tense, but slowly she relaxed, resting against him, her head just below his. The fire was warm, the heat lulling them closer and closer to sleep.

-----

“It's so close!” God said. “Grab it!”

Despite the encouragement, the snitch slipped between Harry's fingers, and disappeared again. He dodged around an angel, lingering long enough so that they missed the Quaffle on a pass. Again, he took off, his own wings beating hard against the air, lifting him higher, and higher...

“...He... daughter... awake...”

Almost there.

An enormous angel hovered before him, resplendent in golden armor, taller than Hagrid...

Almost there.

There were so many Snitches now, beautiful ones: Balls of solid Ruby and Sapphire, and pure white diamonds glittering in the night sky. His focus remained on the small, tarnished gold snitch he remembered, however. The very first one he had ever caught, trailing just in front of him.

So close; reach...

His hand closed around his mother's; green eyes met green eyes.

"Welcome home."

-----

His eyes shot open, confusion and disorientation muddling his thoughts. There was a heavy weight on him; soft, and warm.

Hermione.

Her breathing was light and rhythmic, her brown hair still done up from yesterday. She slumbered, her entire being curled up and resting in his mind. Comfort and happiness radiated from it, and Harry couldn't help but think of Fluffy, Hagrid's massive Cerberus, and how it slept peacefully when music was played.

Hey, Hagrid! There's a Hermione in my head! The thought was truly amusing, and traces of his mirth brushed against the sleeping form, which roused somewhat, paying attention. Hermione's magic pressed into and through him, saturating his mind and inhabiting his body, as though Hermione was embracing his very soul. As his eyes unfocused, Harry saw a golden glow expand to fill the room, perhaps going beyond as well. Magic trailed from Hermione's back in beautiful streams, reminding him strongly of the angels in his dream.

“Angels...?” Hermione's voice was groggy, her eyes cracking open to look at him, blinking away her sleep.

“It was a weird dream,” Harry said, pushing the memory towards Hermione's presence. Hermione touched it for a moment, and shook her head.

“I felt something aimed more at me,” she said. Harry pushed his memory of her aura to her, and she gasped as she touched it. “Is that what my magic looks like?”

Harry chuckled. “When you're in your full glory, yes; most people have a couple inches around them, tops. That's actually the clearest I've seen it to date; Dumbledore could see magic on demand, but I'm not good at it yet.”

“Will you show me how to do it?” she asked, her classical curiosity shining across the link, making Harry chuckle.

“Of course,” he said. “Why don't you read Dumbledore's journal today; just skim through until you get to this stuff, and I'll try to help you with it. It's kind of like Occlumency: Not easy, and really, really vague.”

“I'll do that,” she said. “You're heading to the burrow, then?”

Harry nodded, absently flicking his wand to get a display of the time. “If I move now, I can catch Mrs. Weasley's breakfast.”

Hermione nodded against Harry's chest. “Thank you for staying with me,” she said. “It meant a lot to me.”

“You're always worth my time,” Harry said, squeezing Hermione tightly. He kicked his feet off the side, and brought them both to a standing position, Hermione making a surprised “Mmph!” against him. Shooting her a smile, Harry ducked into his room and hastily changed into a casual set of dark brown robes, grabbing his pouch and wand again.

“Do you think that you could send me to the outskirts of the Burrow?” Harry asked, taking Hermione's hand.

“I think so,” she said, frowning in concentration. Harry felt her magic swirl around him, and her hand slipped away. Soon, reality became a swirl of colors that quickly resolved into the Burrow. Broadcasting his gratefulness, Harry walked through the field, heading towards the house. Unwilling to go through the annoying line of questioning that the security-conscious Mr. Weasley would insist on putting him through at the door, Harry sent his Patronus ahead of him, announcing his presence. He was rewarded with Ginny bursting out the back door, leaping onto him with a crushing hug.

“You're here!” she cried. “You're finally here!”

“Of course I am,” he said, spinning Ginny around once before putting her down.

“Are you alright?” she asked, looking him over. “When you sent your Patronus last night, I thought maybe you were sick or something.”

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “No, I pretty much meant exactly what I sent in the message: ‘Too tired to travel again, I'll come in the morning.’ I collapsed right after I got back to Hogwarts.”

A chorus of greetings echoed through the kitchen as Harry entered the house, and world became a sea of handshakes, backslaps, and a big hug from Mrs. Weasley.

“It's good of you to come,” she said. “Come on, now; breakfast.”

Everyone, even Ron, was in high spirits this morning. Harry spent most of the meal explaining microwaves to Mr. Weasley. Harry only peripherally noticed a pair of owls dropping off the Daily Prophet. When the conversation around the table died completely, though, Harry looked back to the others. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny looked at Harry with confusion; the male Weasleys had darker looks on their face. The Delacours were neutral, though they were obviously curious as to what the fuss was about.

“Let's see it,” Harry said, motioning to one of the papers. Bill tossed his towards Harry, and he brought it up to read, Mr. Weasley reading over his shoulder.

Harry skipped past the headline completely, looking straight at an enormous, high quality picture of him and Hermione dancing early on in the night, gliding around the dance floor while the faces in the background watched appreciatively. Every now and then, his picture self would bend over and kiss Hermione on the forehead.

Other pictures and articles centered on him as well as he flipped the pages of the newspaper, but the headline of the front page sported the headline: ‘OLD SCHOOL ROMANCE BLOSSOMS.’

“By Rita Skeeter, naturally,” he muttered before tossing the paper back to Bill. “Oh, well, it's fourth year all over again,” he sighed.

“Fourth year?” Mr. Delacour asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah; Rita Skeeter is an annoying b- well, you get the idea. Anyways, she decided that since Hermione spent every waking moment of her time helping me with the tournament, that she was automatically my girlfriend. Skeeter vilified me as a glory-seeking baby, while at the same time bashing Hermione for supposedly using love potions on me and Viktor, and ‘playing with our hearts.’ Needless to say, none of us were impressed.”

“I'm kind of surprised she'd do it again,” Mr. Weasley commented. “Didn't Hermione blackmail her or some such?”

“Yes, she did,” Harry said, smiling at the memory. “It worked quite well, too. But with a picture like that,” Harry indicated the paper, “I really couldn't go publicly ranting about the article with any credibility.” Another frustrated sigh escaped his lips. “Politics and newspapers suck.” His comment garnered murmurs of laughter from everyone but Ron, and the mood lightened a little.

“Now I really wish I went with you,” Ginny said, looking at the photo. “You're an amazing dancer.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, fighting a blush. “It was a pretty good night.”

“I can see that,” Mrs. Weasley said, her voice oddly quiet. “You look very happy in these pictures, Harry.”

“I was. For the first time since I can remember, a room full of people treated me like I belonged there. There weren't any lineups to meet me, I didn't have to speak, nor did the press pay any more attention to me than they did anyone else.”

“Err, front page, Harry,” George quipped.

“That's nothing,” Harry replied, waving George away. “That article made the front because of that photo, because Skeeter has a lot of say as to what makes the front page, and because there honestly wasn't anything else eye-catching that was discussed at the convention.”

“They’ve got you covered pretty well in here,” Bill said, his eyes scanning the articles. “The world's most powerful wizards consider you an equal. And you're quoted pretty heavily in other articles: Your solution to the struggles with learning magic at Hogwarts; you looking at being an Auror, you being interested in being part of the ICW...”

“Well, at least they're quoting me properly; that's more than I usually get.”

Ginny was still staring at the photo, a slightly lost look in her eyes. “Come on, Gin,” Harry said, placing his hand over the photo. “We'll show up at the next one and dance the night away, and then we'll have a laugh at whatever Skeeter writes about it then.” A smile made its way onto Ginny’s face, and breakfast resumed, albeit awkwardly.

The shadow of the Prophet loomed over the Burrow for the remainder of the day. Harry spent most of his time with Ginny, Bill, Fleur, and the rest of the Delacours. Ginny's brothers, aside from Bill, were less than impressed at his taking Hermione to the convention, and Ginny, while openly affectionate, still seemed upset. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had a sad look in their eyes, as if Harry had already broken up with Ginny. Harry’s annoyance and frustration at the situation was enough to draw Hermione’s attention, which meant that all parties he cared about were now involved, and he had to clean up everywhere.

A hand on his shoulder kept Harry back as the family travelled outside to set lunch in the yard. He turned to see Ron staring at him, his eyes hard and cold.

“What are you doing to Ginny?” he demanded.

“What are you talking about?”

“You pretty much announced to the world that you and Hermione are together!” Ron snarled. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

“Ginny told me to go with Hermione, you know.” Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron, and watched as his friend’s face contorted further. Despite the vitriol that Ron was no doubt gathering, he held his tongue.

“And what made you think it would be such a good idea to do that?” he eventually asked, his voice nearly a growl.

Harry shrugged. “I trust Ginny; I expect Ginny to trust me.”

“I expect you to trust me too, Ron,” Ginny’s voice came from behind Harry. “Leave Harry alone; he hasn’t done anything wrong.” Harry felt Ginny’s hands around his waist and on his shoulder. Ron scowled and pushed past, disappearing into the back yard.

“Don’t worry about him,” Ginny said, her hand working in soothing circles on Harry’s back. “He’s not mad at you for me, anyways; he’s mad because you were with Hermione.”

“What?”

Ginny smiled at Harry’s look of surprise. “It’s true,” she asserted. “He still mumbles and rants about her when he thinks no one’s listening. Sometimes Dean or Seamus will give him the time of day to let him vent, but he hasn’t cooled down at all.”

“That’s… disturbing,” Harry said slowly, frowning towards the back yard.

“Yeah, well… Where’d you learn how to dance like that?” Ginny asked, changing the topic.

“About three days’ worth of dance practice with Hermione,” he said with a grin. “That picture you saw was only possible because she’s in my head.”

“So, you can’t really dance, then?” Ginny’s smile was a little mischievous, and Harry felt the need to have some fun.

“Let’s see, shall we?” He grabbed Ginny by her waist and spun her around while she shrieked, and settled into a dancing position. They stumbled around the kitchen, laughing, dancing to the wireless. Ginny wasn’t much better a dancer than Harry, but he found her to be very agile with her feet, and they soon passed beyond the stages of tripping each other.

“I really wish I could have gone,” Ginny said, her head resting on Harry’s chest as they swayed.

“Me, too,” Harry said, kissing her head lightly. “Don’t worry about it, though. It’s done.”

“I’m glad you had fun, though. And thanks for dancing with me now; I really liked that.” Ginny kissed him lightly, and made her way up to the washroom. Deciding to see what the rest of the family was up to, and walked out the back door.

-----

Ron was slightly more civil to Harry at the table, and the two families ate together noisily. Quidditch seemed to be the safest topic, and the rest of the table faded out as he and Ron bantered about this year’s team.

“Our chaser line sucks,” Ron said, waving his half-finished sandwich in the air. “Ginny’s fine, but the other two…”

“They’re the best we’ve got,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’s them or nothing, so we’ll have to amp up the practices, or maybe get Ginny to practice with them one-on-one.”

Ron grunted, attacking his food again, and Harry turned to find that the Weasleys and Delacours had all left the table; no one was in sight at all. Squinting to block out some of the morning light, Harry willed his eyes to dilate, bringing magical traces into being. Slowly and with effort, hazy auras began to form, and the circle of a wide-area Confundus-style repelling charm faded into view. “Ron, what-!”

The hairs on his neck rose, and Harry instinctively rolled forward, a curse hitting the wall of the house behind him. He rolled again, to the side this time, and the same curse scorched the ground where he had been. It wasn’t an Unforgivable, which meant it could be blocked. The curse came a third time and Harry dove forwards and to the side, deflecting the curse with a shield, and rolling into a standing position, facing his opponent for the first time.

“What the hell are you doing?” He shouted. Ron stood opposite, his wand in the motions of yet another curse. A dark, hateful aura rose from Ron, a few inches from his body. Deep red splotches of color faded to black, and similar magics were gathering at his wand. Harry’s attention was drawn by something else, though. Runes that glowed faintly to his vision, drawn on his chest and arms. His peripheral vision caught movement; the Weasleys would be here in a moment.

“I don’t know what she’s done to you,” Ron snarled, “But I intend to end it!” As Harry swayed to avoid Ron’s spell, he recognized it as a memory charm of some sort. That would mean that he’s cottoned on to Hermione’s Legilimency, he thought. But why does it show as Dark Magic? It wouldn’t have emotions associated with it, unless…

Harry’s eyes widened in shock, and his face contorted in fury. Ron couldn’t have, he wouldn’t. Harry focused all his attention on the runes that were glowing through Ron’s clothing, lazily stopping the next curse with a shield and snapping off a Stunner. Ron was too slow to avoid the hex, but he seemed to be completely unfazed by it. As the spell hit, for just an instant, the runes came into focus, a mirror image of something he’d seen in Snape’s journals.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” Harry roared, launching himself toward Ron. Ron backpedaled as quickly as he could, throwing his own shield in between them. Harry snapped three Stunners towards Ron’s shield, dissipating it. Ron was likely invulnerable to most of Harry’s known repertoire, courtesy of those runes; he had planned well, and that thought angered him even more. An idea, conceived by his anger, took hold.

“Harry, you can’t fight me!” Ron screamed, sending another curse towards Harry, who simply stepped to the side, his own wand twirling, two silent spells firing one after the other: Duro! Confringo!

“I’ve made sure of it! Once I’ve freed you, we can-WHAT THE-ARRGH!!”

Ron screamed in agony as he fell backwards, the stone shards of what were once his robes flying everywhere, and bouncing off of Harry’s shield. Dozens of the shards protruded from Ron’s body; blood was everywhere. The wounds were shallow, but they hurt, and Ron dropped incoherently to the ground. Harry summoned Ron’s wand from his unresisting hand, and walked over.

Ron groaned as a kick to the side sprawled him out on his back, the blood-red runes staring Harry in the face. “Who did you use?” Harry shouted. Ron tried to scramble away. Another kick sent him rolling over and howling in pain. “WHO DID YOU USE?” Harry’s wand now pointed at Ron’s face.

“H-Harry, you’re being…”

“SHUT UP!” Harry stomped hard on Ron’s stomach, driving several shards in further. “This isn’t about Hermione. You will tell me who you used for this ritual now, or so help me God I will kill you.”

“S-She-aaahh!!”

“NOW!”

“L-Luna.” Ron gasped, his face contorted in pain. “I used Luna.”

Hermione’s presence expanded in Harry’s mind, searching for the cause of his distress. He let her sit in on his thoughts while he collected a sample of Ron’s blood. After tucking the sample away in a conjured vial, he reached out and turned Ron’s face to his. “If we can’t fix Luna, I’m going to feed to the Dementors.” He stood, then, and fired a Patronus off to the north; there was too much information and too many details to trust his link to Hermione by itself.

“Hermione will be looking for Luna now, Ron. Now start telling me what this is about.”

“What’s the point,” rasped Ron, his breathing heavy and pained. “You’re… you’re with… her.”

“There’s spell that your ritual won’t protect you against you know,” Harry threatened in a low voice. “Talk or I will make you talk.”

“You’ve got to listen to me! Harry, she’s-!”

“Imperio!” Harry hissed, pressing his wand directly between Ron’s eyes.

Ron’s face lost all expression, and his mouth opened to speak. “I’ve recovered memories that Hermione has previously altered and erased; I suspect that she has done the same or worse to you.”

Harry’s thoughts and memories focused into laser-tight streams, well away from Hermione’s ability to pry. “Start at the beginning,” he prompted forcefully. “Elaborate on everything.” He felt his words translated into power by his wand, and Ron once again began to speak in a toneless voice.

“In third year, Hermione stayed apart from us for extended periods of time. I confronted her, and she erased my memory of the confrontation; there were several times that I attempted to spy on her, but those memories were altered.

“In fourth year, I was subject to several charms while you and I weren’t speaking. Hermione later removed those charms and replaced them with lighter ones. This ceased to occur once we were all back together. Viktor Krum was Obliviated by Hermione to prevent their date from becoming too intimate; I was Obliviated of my memory of this event.

“In fifth year, I attempted several times to spy on Hermione, who once again left us alone to work on something for long periods of time. Each time I was caught, and my memories erased or adjusted.

“Sixth year there were only two attempts, and last year there were no attempts, but Hermione began to practice Legilimency on me during our travels.

“Since June, I have noticed several times that she has amazing abilities, and is again studying material that she keeps completely private. I have attempted to steal the material and confront Hermione several times, each time failing.

“Hermione’s charms are not perfect, though, and I had some lingering memories. I studied in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library to master rudimentary Occlumency and break the charms with the aid of several potions. Once I understood the extent to which I was manipulated, I knew she must have done the same to you, since you were just as close to her as I was.

“Your closeness to Hermione suggested that I couldn’t reason with you; you would always choose her side. I prepared to force your memories to return, and used the Tectum Animae ritual to increase the potency of my restoration charm, as well as defend against what I knew about your dueling ability.

“It was my intention to plan further, but I realized that Hermione was pulling you away from my sister, and I couldn’t allow that, so I attempted to restore your memories now, confident that I was prepared enough to take you by surprise. I failed.”

“Who’s responsible for this Confundus ring?” Harry asked; the spell was far too complicated for Ron to have cast it.

“Bill cast it for me,” Ron said, confirming Harry’s suspicions. “Bill is under the impression that I am pulling a prank in honor of Fred.”

“It’ll last a while, then,” Harry muttered to himself, thinking. Remembering the source of his anger, Harry again focused on his wand. “Explain your attempt at the Tectum Animae; Elaborate.”

“I found the ritual in the restricted section of the library, and intended to use it as a shield against your most common dueling spells, as well as to increase the potency of my memory restoration charm and my Occlumency. The ritual seemed relatively harmless, but it required the participation of someone who was considered at least a friend.

“I used Luna as the participant, gaining her support with a love potion, and Obliviating her of the event afterwards, including the potion’s effects. Luna should be completely unaffected by her part of the ritual.”

“Shows how much you know,” Harry spat. He threw a silent Finite Incantatem at the Confundus ring, creating a sizable opening in the circle. “Come on; we’re going to Hermione. She started this mess; she can help me fix it.”

“N-n-no,” Ron grunted, struggling against the curse. “S-she’s dangerous. Y-you can’t trust her. We’ve got to stay away, Harry.”

“Of course she’s dangerous,” Harry agreed. “To you, anyways. My mother hugged Hermione and thanked her for taking care of me; care to tell me how that was possible if Hermione’s a threat?” Ron’s confusion showed on his face, and in that moment Harry struck again, renewing his Imperious forcefully.

“Tell me one more thing, Ron: Hermione stated that one of your goals is to eventually be ‘better’ than both me and Hermione. Is this true?”

“Yes,” came the monotone reply; Harry shook his head.

“Figures; alright, move.” Leading Ron at wand-point, Harry walked to the edge of the Burrow’s wards, and grabbing onto Ron’s arm, Apparated to Hogsmeade.

Forcing Ron to march to the Head’s dorm, Harry found a rather distraught Hermione pacing in their common room. He was tempted to resume their mental contact, but shook the thought away. There’s too much here that I don’t know. Deal with this first, and Hermione later.

“Harry-!” she shouted as he entered, but stopped when she saw Ron’s blank expression.

Keeping his wand on Ron, Harry asked “Do you know what the Tectum Animae is?”

“Vaguely,” Hermione replied, and only a second later her eyes went wide with shock. “Ron’s used it?” she hissed.

“Runes are on his chest,” Harry said, returning everyone’s robes to normal. “Luna Lovegood was the donor; that’s why I wanted you to check on her.”

“What has you so worried that you have Ron under the Imperius, Harry? I know it’s a Dark ritual, but it’s pretty tame as far as Dark Arts goes.”

“You don’t have Snape’s journals,” Harry said darkly. “That ritual is fatal to the donor in the long term. Ron’s condemned Luna to death.”

“What does this… thing… do?” Hermione asked, her face a mixture of anger and horror.

“Shields against some specified spells,” Harry said. “Boosts your spell power and endurance a little, you know… a super-wizard ritual. Developed in Ancient Greece, but we have the Roman version of it. It was used a lot, so I’m not surprised that Ron got his hands on it. It was seen as pretty harmless; whoever the donor was never had any problems.

“But that’s only because the donors were all dead in short order, along with the ritual user. The ritual was a military thing, used just before major battles. There hasn’t been a case where anyone lived long enough for symptoms to spread, until recently, with the Death Eaters. It takes a few years, but the donor gets listless and depressed, and eventually becomes catatonic; it’s a slow version of a Dementor’s Kiss.”

Hermione grimaced at Harry’s description. “What are you implying, Harry?”

“Exactly what you think: Luna’s soul is being siphoned off by Ron. So the question is: Are you strong enough to fix her?”

-----

A/N: This is my reminder for all of you to review, please. Even if it’s just a couple of words to say you liked it or you didn’t, feedback makes writing a hundred times more enjoyable.

~TOW

4. Vendetta: Aftermath

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: After some interesting tweaking, I present to you the aftermath of the Ron’s vendetta, the cracking of Harry’s relationship with Ginny, and the Prophecy that we’ve all been waiting for.

For those that are following it, I’ve also uploaded the overhauled Chapter 2 for MEtyK.

As always, my thanks to mathiasgranger for his assistance.

Aside from the ongoing MEtyK overhaul, next up for release:

1) The Sir Harry & Princess Hermione challenge from Artemis Day (long one-shot)

2) The Pale, Ch. 2

3) The Meaning of Father, Ch. 5

Don’t have a lot to say this time around. Let me know if there are any glaring errors, otherwise: Enjoy!

~TOW

Vendetta: Aftermath

================

“Well, that was glaringly obvious, thank you.” Harry stalked away from the semi-transparent figure that stood before him, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help to you,” Dumbledore said sadly, “but you have all the facts you need, and I think you’re right: Once begun, it is often quite dangerous to turn from the path you’ve started. It would make my greatest failing a lack of foresight, then, as to what the correct path was.”

“Makes sense,” Harry sighed. “But it doesn’t make this easier. Thanks, Albus.”

“Anytime, Harry. Farewell.”

-----

Harry sat sprawled in one of the chairs in the Head's common room. His wand hung limply from his fingers, trained in the general direction of the man who was once his best friend. Ron sat motionless on the nearby couch, his face blank from the Imperius. Blood still dripped from stone shards wedged into Ron's flesh; Harry felt no pity, and made no move to heal him. Hermione had left to retrieve Luna, and Harry anxiously awaited her return.

He needed answers, not only about Luna, but about Hermione as well. Ron's actions against Luna were inexcusable, but Harry had years of experience in paranoia. He had just recently spent nearly a year staying one step ahead of superior enemies. For Ron to go to such desperate lengths against Hermione... after last year, Harry wasn't surprised.

“No one to trust with your secrets, Ron? No one you trusted to believe you?”

“That's right,” Ron answered tonelessly, compelled by the curse. Harry chuckled; he was beginning to understand the appeal of this kind of control.

“What made you choose Luna?”

“She still had a lingering crush on me, making her a better choice than other friends. I didn't want to risk the ritual with family, and I couldn't use you or Hermione.”

Harry shook his head, sighing. “Why the love potion, then?”

Ron paused for a moment; Harry tightened his grip on his wand, and Ron's meager resistance was quashed. “I can't use the Imperius,” Ron admitted, the slightest trace of embarrassment coloring his voice. “I needed something that would make sure Luna chose me above you, because Hermione and I haven't been the best friends to her.”

“Wow, truth from you, Ron; who'd have thought I'd need to use the Imperius to get it?” Harry shook his head, his frustration building. “I'm not sure why I'm asking all of this; your answers are sickening.” Harry made no attempt to force his rhetorical comments through his wand, and so Ron remained silent.

The portrait opened quietly, and Hermione led a slightly confused Luna into the common room. Luna gasped when she saw Ron's torn form, but Hermione held on to her.

“Shh, Ron's going to be fine,” she said, sitting Luna down in one of the chairs. “I need to you be calm. Nice and calm...” Hermione spoke in a soothing voice, and Harry felt her magic pulsing from across the room. Luna's eyes began to droop, and within a minute she was in a deep slumber.

“I hope I can do this,” Hermione mumbled as she stroked Luna's blond hair. “I don't want to hurt her.”

“Good, now come here.” Surprise registered on Hermione face as Harry indicated that she join him on his chair, but she walked over, absently vanishing the mess Ron's blood was making with a small gesture. Harry noted with surprise that Ron's wounds had disappeared as well. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had hoped that Hermione's abilities would spare them a risky trip to the Hospital wing, but a one-second healing of wounds all over the body was near-miraculous.

Harry pulled her gently into his lap, wrapping his left arm around her waist. “Do you know why I want you over here?” he asked, and Hermione shook her head. “So that you know I'm on your side.” Harry gripped his wand tightly, focusing on Ron. “Repeat your explanations to me again, word for word,” he commanded. A flush of power coursed from his throat down through his arm, and Ron began to speak.

Hermione paled as Ron started his tale in forced monotone, and she covered her face with her hands, her breath leaving in a heavy sigh. Harry pulled her against him, and she leaned into him, resting her head against his. “Make him stop,” she whispered in Harry's ear. “I need to talk to you.”

“I'd appreciate it,” Harry said in a neutral voice. A silent Stunner silenced Ron, who slumped against the couch.

Silence reigned for a minute. Hermione stared at her feet, but Harry felt the small piece of her mind within his working furiously, sorting and resorting memories and images. With a pang of sympathy, Harry ran his hand up and down Hermione's back. He longed to brush his thoughts against hers, to show her in the most undeniable way possible that he cared, but he held back. Voldemort himself had proven how potent the effects of Legilimency and memory charms were; even though Hermione cared for him greatly, he would not leave himself open.

“He's telling the truth,” Hermione allowed, though it was clear that she hadn't finished ordering her thoughts. “I...” Her voice died away, unable to express the chaos that Harry sensed. “I guess we should bring Kingsley in on this.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. “That's actually a bit of a problem. You see, Ron did all this to set himself against you. You've been altering his memory for years, and now that he's broken the charms, he wanted to make sure that I broke them as well. I didn't interrogate him on what he'd have done after he attacked me, but if I know Ron, his idea was to have the two of us deal with you, maybe even have Ginny use a similar ritual with me to help against your obviously superior magic.”

Hermione seemed to shrink visibly, retreating almost completely from Harry's mind. “Oh,” she managed when Harry had finished. “I see.”

“So it's all true, then?”

Hermione gave a small nod. “For Ron, yes. I did quite a bit to him. If he was studying Occlumency like you’ve said, it wouldn’t be hard to spot imperfections.”

“So he's told me.”

“I-”

“Not now,” he interrupted. “We can spend all night talking if you want, but we need to deal with this now.” Harry sighed, again clutching the Stone. “I can't tell you how much I feel like I’m back in front of Dumbledore now, raging at him about being kept in the dark and set up.” Harry reached out to take Hermione's hand in his. “Some actions can't be taken back, Hermione. Sometimes, you just have to keep walking the same path you started.”

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed Hermione's hand, and exhaled sharply, pushing his fears away. This needs to be done.

“I want you to heal Luna, if you can, and reinforce whatever memory charms Ron’s used. Make it absolutely impossible for her to reclaim the memories, not even as a hazy dream.” Hermione looked at him with wide eyes, disbelief and fear playing on her features. A trickle of uncertainty seeped back into Harry's thoughts, but he took a shaky breath, and forced himself to continue. “When Luna's completely done, you’re going to redo all your memory charms on Ron.”

Shocked silence. “Harry, no...”

“It needs to be done,” he insisted, as much for himself as for Hermione. “Ron is damaged, and it's mostly your fault. You started this, and I need you to fix it. Once it's done right, we'll have our friend back, and this entire fiasco may as well have not happened. In fact, Ron will likely be even better, since he won't have been carrying second-guesses and snippets of forgotten moments around.”

“I... I don't know if I can do that,” Hermione said quietly, looking away.

“If you can't bring yourself to do it, I'll do it myself.” It was a bluff; he had no experience with mind magics outside of Occlumency and the Imperius, and he'd likely do more damage than good. But Hermione knew that.

Hermione's head snapped back towards Harry. “No!” she cried. “You can't! You'll hurt him!”

“If we don’t do this Ron will go to trial,” Harry said quietly. “If Ron goes to trial, he’ll confess, and it will implicate you. You’ll be brought up on your own charges, and I can’t have that.” Harry met Hermione’s eyes. “Ron’s entire goal here was to hurt you; to remove you as a threat. I won’t let you get hurt by this.”

Hermione stared at his face, searching his eyes. “Why, Harry? I’ve… I’ve done something wrong, here.”

“You’ve done everything for me,” he replied with conviction. “If Ron had come to me earlier in the summer, I might have listened, but he didn’t. I saw my parents walk up to you, hug you and thank you for taking care of me. How much more proof do I need? It doesn’t matter what you’ve done; if I can help you, I will.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, relief radiating from her distant presence. “Alright, then; I agree. If, if I can heal Luna, then you're right. We should do it, if only so that they can both get on with their lives. But Ron will resist this time, and a resisting mind can be very tricky to charm.”

Harry turned to glance at Ron's unconscious form sprawled out against the couch. “Leave that part to me,” he said coldly.

-----

Harry watched carefully as Hermione labored over Luna's sleeping form. Her golden aura filled the room, pressing powerfully against his senses to the rhythm of Hermione's heartbeat. Snape's journals floated around her head at eye-level, and the echoes of endless Arithmantic equations leaked into Harry's mind as Hermione worked furiously to reverse-engineer a cure. Magic, the likes of which would likely confuse even Dumbledore, arced from her hands, working subtly on Luna’s body and soul, undoing the effects of the ritual.

A glance at his watch told him that more than two hours had passed. The darkness in Luna's aura had long since faded away, and Harry presumed that Hermione was now working on restoring the pieces of Luna's soul that were already missing. With any luck, Luna would recover fully.

Harry passed his time studying from Dumbledore’s journal, occasionally looking up to check Hermione’s progress, or to ensure that Ron was still unconscious.

“I've done it,” Hermione whispered as she slumped against the chair. “I've managed to reverse the process; what little of her that Ron took will find its way back, and then the connection will close.” The journals dropped to the ground as Hermione's aura collapsed inwards.

Harry shot out of his chair immediately, pulling Hermione backwards into his arms and lifting her over to his chair, sitting her down. “You're done for now,” he said. “You need to rest, and then take a shot at Ron. Take your time.” A careless wave of his wand sent Snape's journals flying back to his desk.

Hermione shook her head weakly. “You have to be back to the Weasley's soon. They'll miss you and wonder what happened.”

Harry chanced a look at his watch: 2:45. “There's enough time,” he said, walking behind Hermione and running his hands up though her hair. “Rest.”

“I can do this,” Hermione insisted, her voice slightly stronger. “This won't take much energy to do, but if he resists, it's going to be messy.”

Harry sighed, resigning himself to what had to be done. “Fine, then.” As he rummaged though his pouch with one hand, Harry pulled gently back on Hermione's hair with his other, so that she looked up at him. Hermione reached out to grasp Harry's hand, squeezing supportively. Harry paused for a moment, taking one deep breath, then another. Slowly, he slid his hand out of the pouch, grasping the Elder Wand.

“Renervate,” he whispered, and Ron's eyes popped open. Ron stretched out on the couch, as though waking from a good night's sleep. Steeling his mind, Harry aimed the wand one more time. “Imperio.” An unbelievable feeling rushed through his arm, and a sickly yellow light enveloped Ron.

Ron's eyes immediately darted to Harry, and his face lit up in a broad smile. “Hey, mate!” he said. “Have I been out long?” Hermione looked up at Harry in disbelief, a sentiment that Harry shared. Yet the wand assured him that the curse was active.

“No,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “I need you to do something for me, Ron.”

“Sure thing!” he said, sitting up. “You name it.”

“I need.... I need Hermione to be able to work inside your head; you can't resist at all, not even a little bit. She won't be long, and you'll be better off for it.”

Ron waved him away. “No problem, Harry. I won't lift a finger... err... brain cell.”

Harry looked back at Hermione, who was worrying her bottom lip. He nodded towards Ron. “Let's get this over with,” he said quietly. Hermione slowly rose from the chair, and made her way behind the couch, placing her hands on either side of Ron's head.

“I need you to relax, Ron,” she said in the same melodic, sing-song voice she had used with Luna. “You'll be much easier to work with if you rest. Just relax and lean back...” Ron’s eyes dilated and Hermione's aura again dominated Harry's senses, overlapping with the physical light. “You don't need to hold the curse any longer,” she told him, “I've got him now.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry shoved the Elder Wand back into his pouch as though it was a hot poker. A part of him rebelled against the wand; it was powerful, but it was wrong. It was not a tool of magic and creation; it was a tool of judgment and death. Though he practiced with it, and his bond with the wand was strong, it always felt slightly foreign to his hands, as though it was reminding him not to use it.

Harry dropped into his chair, and watched Hermione as she worked. Her aura was considerably weaker now, but still magnitudes stronger than anyone else he knew; more than enough for memory work. Ron's Aura was still darkened by the ritual, but the runes were now gone, and the darkness was slowly fading.

Barely twenty minutes had passed before when Hermione's aura receded, and she looked up. “It's done,” she said wearily. “There are no flaws this time; unbroken logic the entire way back. Even this last little bit's been justified in his mind as you two re-bonding over lunch in the Hogwarts kitchens.”

“Good.” Harry jumped to his feet, walking over to take Hermione by the shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed, and then I’ll get Ron back to the Burrow.”

“Luna can walk herself,” she said as Harry helped her to her room. “Ron will stay dazed until you’re out of the castle.”

“Shh, enough now.” Harry tucked the covers around her and sat on the side of her bed, stroking her hair lightly. Hermione curled around Harry instinctively, snuggling against her pillow. In mere moments, Hermione was asleep, her entire being resting once again in Harry’s mind. He felt odd, knowing that Hermione was effectively in two places at once. An irrational pang of fear compelled him to reach out and touch her face. Was this what Death was like? To leave your body behind to completely…?

Hermione reacted to his touch, sighing lightly, and her presence roused slightly. Harry smiled; there was still a connection. His fears banished, he walked quietly to the door, closing it.

-----

“’Course it didn’t work,” Ron laughed. “It’s Harry, after all. When’s the last time anyone’s pranked him?” The entire table laughed, and Ginny poked Harry in the side playfully. Harry laughed along, hoping that it didn’t sound too forced. It was tiring to act as though nothing had happened; he was exhausted both mentally and physically from the afternoon’s ordeal.

Ron was completely different; the exuberance that Harry had missed from as far back as second and third year had returned. Ron laughed and traded barbs with George, displaying a careless innocence.

“I think I just needed time,” he said when Molly questioned his happiness. “Hermione and I tried to make it work, but that failed; that was a big part of it. The rest was the war. Harry straightened me out, though. For the first time, I’m really looking forward to getting out of Hogwarts and getting on with things, you know? It’s great.”

Molly’s expression quelled any remaining doubts in Harry’s mind about his choices. The pall of the war had been effectively banished by Ron’s return to innocence, and that was worth nearly any sacrifice.

“What did you say to him?” Ginny asked, beaming at him. “He’s like a completely new person, now.”

“Just told him to get his head out of his arse,” he replied. “You’re not going to pry our heart-to-heart out of me. Ask Ron if you want.”

“Thank you,” she said seriously. “It’s so good to see Ron happy again. I wish this had happened earlier.”

“He wasn’t ready for it.” Stop prying, he thought irritably. Ginny could be both persistent and annoying when she wanted to be. This play for information was dangerous, because Harry didn’t have Ron’s altered memories, and Hermione wasn’t available to help him bluff. He held his smile, though, and resigned himself to weather the storm; only an hour or so longer, and he could leave for Hogwarts.

Feigning tiredness, Harry lounged away the rest of the evening in the living room, while Ron kept most of his family entertained in the kitchen.

“Harry?”

Harry looked up to see Arthur walking over, a large smile on his face. “Thank you,” he said, pulling Harry into a large hug. “I don’t know what you said, and I won’t ask, but you’ve brought my son back from the dead. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Weasley.”

“Arthur,” he corrected. “It’s high time that you abandoned this needless formality. The things you do for us…

“This summer, Ron seemed so depressed, so angry. I can’t tell you how worried I was. When he and Hermione fell apart, I thought that it might be the end of him. But now, it’s as if you’ve given him back his life.”

We have, sir. We have.

“I did my best; Ron deserves to be happy.”

Arthur hugged him once more, before disappearing back into the kitchen, wiping his eyes.

-----

Harry had never been happier to be away from the Burrow. He walked towards the Heads’ dorm quickly, shouting goodnights over his shoulder to Ron and Ginny as they headed for Gryffindor tower.

“What a bloody pain,” he muttered to himself. Tomorrow was a Monday; a Monday that he was hardly prepared for. Between the Ministry and the Weasleys, his entire weekend had been shot. At least something productive came of it, he thought wearily.

Hermione’s presence moved slowly out of his mind as the portrait swung open. “Harry?” Hermione’s distant voice called to him, “are you there?”

“Just got in,” he said, walking to her room. “Sleep well?” Hermione made an affirmative growl as she stretched and sat up, turning to face him. Harry walked over to sit on the side of her bed, when Hermione reached out, and with a tremendous heave, pulled Harry over her and onto the bed. “Feeling playful, I see?”

Hermione pounced on him, her arms wriggling into place behind his back. Harry bit back a sigh, relaxing into the mattress as he wrapped Hermione in an embrace. Comfort radiated across his mind from both him and Hermione. Home, it seemed to say. This is home.

Minutes passed slowly at first, then quickly. Hermione’s breath evened out, and her presence again crept into Harry’s mind, rumbling with contentment. Lulled by Hermione’s warmth and rhythmic breathing, Harry relaxed his mind, letting Hermione’s presence envelop him completely.

-----

“Why are you following me?”

Harry stood to the side, watching as a much younger Hermione confronted an equally young Ron. They were in the Hogwarts library, and Harry could just make out the telltale glint of Hermione's Time Turner tucked into her sweater.

“What are you doing up here?” Ron asked, ignoring Hermione's question. “We've been waiting in the common room for you.”

“I'm busy studying,” she said, tossing her hair angrily. “I prefer to study alone for my other classes.”

“Right, other classes; classes you couldn't possibly be getting to since you take classes with us.”

“You're not making sense, Ron!”

“You're hiding something!” he shouted. “I want to know what it is! Tell me, or I'm going to go to Professor McGonagall!”

With a speed that surprised Harry, Hermione had her wand trained on Ron. “If that's the way it's going to be,” she hissed. Before Ron could even think to raise his wand, Hermione had barked off a long incantation, and Ron's eyes unfocused. Hermione quickly stepped out of sight. Ron slowly got up, thinking for a moment, before realizing where he was. He quickly dashed out of the library, and Hermione sighed in relief.

Slowly, she walked back to her books, and picked up one that had obviously come from the restricted section, titled ‘The Hosts.’ Slowly, as she read, Harry sensed a familiar aura of power, the same golden color, exuding from the younger Hermione. It was smaller; certainly not the magnificent wingspan of the present, but Harry recognized it all the same.

“This was the first time Ron cornered me,” she said, looking up to where Harry was standing. “I was so scared; I didn’t know what would happen. This isn’t your average book, after all, and I was more than a little frightened that McGonagall would take my Time Turner away. I’d come to depend on it quite a bit by this point.”

“You don’t have to show me this,” Harry said, taking the younger Hermione’s hand.

“I've cared about you for years, Harry. From the beginning of our very first school year, you angered me, frustrated me, challenged me, and defied me; and when I needed help, you protected me and supported me. More than anything else, though, you trusted me.

“I cherish your trust; I feel like I've earned it from you, and it kills me that I might have damaged it.”

“I do trust you,” he assured her.

She nodded. “I made a mistake,” she said, her voice miserable. “I decided early on that I could treat you and Ron totally separately, and that what I did to one would never impact my relationship with the other. Ron was nosey; he always wanted to know where I was, what I was doing, and if my answers weren't sufficiently detailed, he'd take it personally. You didn't seem to care where I went or what I did; you appreciated the times that I was with you, and if I wasn't there, you weren't concerned.”

Harry shrugged. “It's probably because of the Dursleys, but I tend to view the world as ‘friends’ and ‘enemies.’ Since you weren't doing anything to hurt me, I wasn't too concerned with your personal time.”

“That's exactly what makes you different,” she said. “You respected my privacy, and Ron... well, he didn't.” Harry perched on one of the tables and cocked his head to the side in a silent question. Hermione sighed, climbing up to sit beside him, worrying her hands.

“In third year, I had a lot of study time, thanks to the Time Turner. I began to find that there were... things... that I could do to make myself better than others at magic. I started to poke around, but Ron was being annoying. I had learned how to use Memory Charms at the beginning of the year as a backup plan. My parents were very close to pulling me out of Hogwarts when I was petrified by the Basilisk. I fought long and hard to come back to school, and I never wanted to go through that again. I needed something to ensure that my parents could never force me to do anything, so I learned those charms. If the worst came to pass, I'd simply make them forget that anything bad happened to me.

“Please don't think poorly of me, Harry. I know that it's very heavy-handed, but I felt trapped. I was so much more ... powerful than my parents, but there I was, stuck listening to the wants and needs of two people that would likely never step more than two feet into my world. I never had to do that until last year, though, when I was too afraid of them dying to let them stay in Britain.

“You can see the slippery slope, though, can't you? If I was willing to charm my parents, I'd certainly be willing to charm my friends, right?”

-----

Harry watched his younger self stalk towards potions, intent on ignoring Hermione. She seemed truly upset, though she seemed to school her face to impassiveness every time his younger self looked at her. Just around the corner to the potions classroom, they were alone, the young Hermione three steps behind the young Harry.

The charm struck true, Hermione's golden aura blazing to the fore. Just as the magic began to sink into young Harry's head, a pulsing, black aura writhed to life, reaching out and strangling the spell, seeming to choke the life out of it. By the time the two third-years had reached the classroom, the charm had died away, and Hermione stopped in her tracks, looking stupefied.

“And here we have proof of the damned thing,” Harry muttered to himself as his younger self disappeared into the room. The young Hermione turned back to him, and walked over, looking confused.

“Are you seeing something that I’m not?” she asked. “You don’t look as surprised as I thought you might be.”

Harry briefly explained the auras that he saw to her, including the effect on her spell. “I think it was the Horcrux that defeated that charm,” he said. “My aura’s pretty dark sometimes, but it’s not evil, and evil is the lightest word I’d use for what just oozed out of my head.”

“Oh. Well, anyways…” Hermione ducked her head in shame. “This was the only time I tried to charm you; back when you were angry at me about the broom. I wanted you to think the way I thought, and to like me again. I wanted my friend back.” Harry's eyebrows rose, but he motioned for her to continue. “All I got for my attempt was you complaining about a headache, and ducking into the Hospital Wing to get a potion from Madam Pomfrey.”

“I remember that,” Harry said, his voice brightening in recognition. “I had a furious little debate inside my head about you. I had just quashed the feeling by the time we got to class.”

“I was confused as all hell. I didn't dare try again until I knew why it had failed. Of course, next year we found that you were practically immune to the Imperius, and even Veela didn't seem to hold your attention for long.

“Once I knew that, I knew for certain that I'd never be able to charm you, and after the tournament and Crouch Jr. posing as Moody, I'd probably never catch you off-guard enough to do it, anyways.

“I didn't have to, though,” she said, her voice softening. “You were always so very kind to me, and when I needed distance, you gave it. I went out with Krum, and you were fine with it. I wanted Ron, and you were fine with it. You got after me for hurting myself, and a bit for hurting Ron, but you never judged me.

“Ron wasn't like that,” she snarled. “He needed to know everything. If I pulled away, he pressed harder. So, I started using memory charms – a lot.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“I meant what I said on our first night back,” she said. “Ron was sometimes considerate, and with my advantage of Legilimency I really, really thought we had a chance to be happy. But no matter how smart I thought I was Legilimency and memory charms can’t make a relationship work. I couldn’t make him care about me the way I wanted to be cared about. Every time I thought I’d covered everything, another detail popped up, another annoying habit formed, and I had to start again. I feel terrible for it; I should have never tried.” Before Harry could say anything, Hermione took his hand and pulled him into the next memory.

-----

“He’s a bloody lying, backstabbing-!”

Ron’s diatribe was silenced by Hermione’s spell, and a furious battle played out on the redhead’s face. Hermione sighed, putting her wand away and leaving the room, taking Harry with her. Judging by his height relative to Hermione, and the vitriol that had come from Ron, they were back in fourth year.

“This was during the time you were preparing for the first task,” she confirmed. “I was in the process of nudging Ron’s behavior back to something reasonable. This was the tenth time I’d charmed him for this, and it would be several more before he was ready to believe you.”

Harry grimaced. “Wow, my pity for Ron just dropped right off,” he spat.

“Ron’s been paranoid for over a year by now,” Hermione reminded as they walked. “He distrusts me when I’m out of his sight, but he can’t say exactly why. When you gave him reason to distrust you, he jumped all over it, and you were confused.”

“I was angry, you mean. I expected a hell of a lot better than he gave.”

“You deserved better,” she agreed, “but Ron couldn’t have given it. Even at this point, I wasn’t clever enough to check my previous charms for errors, so they kept building. If I was as smart as you thought I was, I’d have stopped at this point. But I was still convinced that a small change here, a planted memory there, would make Ron a better person.” With a tug from Hermione, the scene changed again.

-----

Hermione disengaged from Viktor, adjusting her dress to some semblance of normalcy. “I need to go to the washroom,” she lied. “Give me a moment, and I’ll be right back.”

“Of course,” Viktor said, his thick accent slurring the words. “Take your time.”

Hermione disappeared around the corner, and waited. Looking back she saw her opening; Viktor had turned away. The charm hit him right at the base of his neck, causing the Bulgarian to twitch spasmodically. Viktor walked away, dazed and disoriented, and Hermione stashed her wand, staying as far out of sight as she could manage. Once she was certain that she would not run into him on her way back to the common room, Hermione walked quickly down the hall.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Hermione stopped, covertly bringing her wand to her hands again.

“Can you even begin to ex-?”

“Petrificus Totalus! God damn you, Ron!” she cried, storming up to his rigid form. “How many times do I have to do this? Do you have any idea at all how stupid you are? If there’s one thing that you should remember every bloody time, it’s to stop – following – me!” She hurled her memory charm furiously before stalking off, not even bothering to remove the Body Bind.

“Well, that was fun to watch,” Harry said dryly. “It makes me oh, so glad that I didn’t try overly hard to comfort you that night.”

“Ha, ha, Harry. Very droll.” Hermione stomped over to him, her bad mood – the mood of the memory – quickly fading away. “This was one of the worst times. I was furious with Ron for what he’d said at the Ball, and I was terrified of where Viktor seemed to be taking our date. Not for the first time, I wished that you had asked me to the Ball, or that I had decided not to be such a girl about it, and ask you. Everything might have been different…”

Harry placed his arms on Hermione’s shoulders, and she looked up. “You’re beautiful,” he said affectionately. “You turned my head right off my shoulders that night, the way you look right now. We got our chance, though, remember? I danced with you in front of the world.”

“Almost four years later,” she groused, playing with an errant lock of hair. “Like any other girl, I wanted to be happy, and I held the romantic notion that the boy that took me to the Yule Ball would be mine forever.”

“I told you how I thought back then.”

“I know,” she sighed, looking away. “Come on; there’s more to see.”

-----

“You have to show him you’re not just a blushing little girl!” Hermione insisted, perched on Ginny’s bed in the girls’ dorm.

“He’s so hard to talk to,” Ginny whined. “I just wish he’d look my way for more than a second. Doesn’t he know how much I like him? Doesn’t he care?”

The girls talked for the better part of an hour about Ginny’s crush on Harry, while Harry looked on in wonder. Hermione’s wand was out and moving in intricate patterns behind the oblivious Ginny, and slowly but surely, the spells began to take effect. The two girls said goodnight, Ginny getting under her covers while Hermione walked towards the door to the room. Harry turned to follow Hermione, concern boiling over from what he just saw.

“Ginny just needed some coaxing, and I provided it,” Hermione soothed. “I didn't really change anything, just removed her stupid crush so that she could be normal around you. It came flaming right back, of course, but it was more... mature, I guess.”

A sigh of relief escaped Harry's lips, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. “That's not bad, then. I just... she turned right around, you know? Shy, timid and keeps to herself, and suddenly after the Yule Ball she's going out with Corner and cracking jokes. Fifth year she had the stones to actually talk to me, and sixth year she managed to flirt properly. It was gradual, but it was...”

“Forced?”

“A little bit. There were more than a few awkward moments for us. It's why I broke up with her at the funeral, you know. I had a choice: Either I pushed her away to give her a small degree of safety, or I brought her into the group and told her everything. If it had felt just a bit more, I don't know, genuine, I'd have confided in her, and she could have come with us. I know Mrs. Weasley would have had a fit, but I've never bothered to ask her permission for anything before.”

“She couldn't have come, Harry. The Trace, remember?”

Harry cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “After this circus act of ‘hiding your studies,’ you're telling me that you wouldn't have been able to lift the Trace if I'd asked you to?” Hermione tried to meet his gaze, but soon looked away.

“You're right,” she said quietly. “I could have, for you and Ginny both. I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not.”

Hermione looked up in shock, and Harry met her gaze evenly. “You're not,” he repeated. “You felt perfectly justified in everything you did. You might feel a little guilty about trying to charm me now, but you were just fine with it at the time. It’s the same with the Trace: It would have shown that you were more advanced than we already knew about, so you didn’t offer.”

“It’s nothing so grand, Harry. I just never thought about doing it; it didn’t even cross my mind as something to try.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” he conceded. “But you’re still not sorry, and I’m not expecting you to be.”

Hermione looked at Harry dubiously, and he sighed. “Look, I've been involved in resurrection rituals, been possessed, fought a basilisk with a sword, killed a professor with my bare hands, used the Imperius and Cruciatus far too many times, and made at least a couple decisions that ended up getting people killed. I'm not a hardcore Dark Arts user, Hermione, but I'm hardly innocent. I'm not going to fly off screaming because you've been less than perfect, and I believe that you haven't hurt me, so what, exactly, is the problem?”

“You're being very... accepting,” Hermione allowed, still looking at Harry oddly.

“And you're very strange,” he countered. They both laughed, some of the tension easing from the conversation. “I'm far more interested in the fact that you care about me than anything you've done wrong.”

“Thanks. I don’t think I have any other really good memories to show you. Fifth year was my last year of research, and sixth year I... put it all to use. I... will you forgive me, if I don't want to tell you about it? It's... personal. Maybe one day, Harry. But-” Hermione trailed off at Harry’s upheld hand.

“I want you to understand that I trust you,” he said seriously. “If you have problems, or want to talk about something, I'm here for you. If you don't tell me about it, I can't help. I won't ask you about what you were doing. I want to know, but not if you don't want to tell me. Just promise me you won't get hurt.”

“I won't,” she promised. “I'm done, it's over. I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary anymore, except learning magic and studying.”

“Good. Let’s get out of here, then, and get to sleep properly.”

-----

Harry groaned as an alarm went off. It wasn’t his alarm, he thought as he tried to rise, only to encounter resistance.

“Ah, wonderful.” He and Hermione were still in their robes, tangled around each other, drenched in sweat. Hermione’s hair rested in thick mats across him, and one of her hands played idly with his hair, uncaring of the dampness.

“Hermione?” he called. “Hermione, wake up. We’re gross.”

“Hmm? Harry? We’re what?” Hermione stretched around him, and curled her fingers. “Oh, yuck, Harry. We’re all sweaty.” She pushed him gently away as she moved to stand. “Go take a shower, and I’ll meet you in the common room.

“Yes, dear.” Hermione snorted at the endearment, and Harry kissed her on the cheek as he passed.

Water cascaded down his body, easing the stiffness from his muscles. It had been an odd feeling to wake up next to Hermione. Had he simply fallen asleep with Ginny, there would have been a frantic scramble to get to his own bed before anyone noticed. As much as he and Ginny had explored each other, the notion of sex and sleeping in the same bed still brought out the little girl in Ginny, and the over-protectiveness of her family. If there was one thing that they hadn’t dared attempt yet, it was to disappear for the night.

There were several times that Harry had tempted Ginny with staying overnight at Grimmauld Place. Despite all his misgivings, it was his home, and he intended to use it. It offered him privacy and sanctuary from the rest of the world, and that sometimes included the boisterous Weasley clan, as well. Ginny had never taken Harry up on the offer, despite huskily telling him exactly what she would do when she did.

With Hermione, there was no rush, nothing to prove, nothing to hide, and no hard feelings. For the first time, Harry wondered if he had chosen the wrong girl. No, he corrected himself, I didn’t choose wrong at the time; I just didn’t realize that I had a choice at all.

“Harry?”

“Almost done!” he shouted, forcing himself to move again. School beckoned, and with it, the pile of mundane problems that he and Hermione were responsible for.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look as he walked out of his room, the clasps of his robe hooking themselves with small ‘clicks.’

“You’re becoming a lazy, lazy wizard,” she said, shaking her head.

“I’m not that lazy,” he retorted. “I could call Kreacher to come and tend to me.”

“Leave the poor elf alone!” she chided, slapping his shoulder lightly. “He has more than enough to do taking care of your pl- Grimmauld.”

“No, you’re right. It’s my place. It’s high time I started thinking that way.” Hermione smiled at him as they left the dorm. They walked side by side down the corridor to the Great Hall, weathering a sea of polite ‘good mornings’ as they passed other students.

Harry paused halfway through the Hall to disarm a young Gryffindor troublemaker, catching his wand deftly while Hermione to the girl beside him as she undid the boy’s hexes. “Ten points,” he said firmly, “knock it off.”

“But the Weasleys get away with that all the time!” the boy whined. “You’re not after them because they’re your friends!”

Harry ignored the accusation and towered over the younger student. “Why were you hexing her?” he asked, glaring intently at the boy.

The boy shuffled his feet, looking down. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, squirming under Harry’s gaze.

“If I asked Ginny or Ron why they had hexed someone, they’d be able to tell me exactly who that person had done to deserve it. Or, they’d tell me that they were defending themselves. Did she do anything to deserve this?”

“… No.”

“Were you defending yourself?”

“… No.”

“And that’s the biggest reason why your actions cost you points,” Harry finished. “You don’t hex people just because you can. Feel free to talk to Ron and Ginny, and see what they have to say for themselves.

“Do you understand?”

“… Yes.”

“Finish your breakfast; you can come and get this when it’s time to leave for class.” Pocketing the boy’s wand and his own, Harry resumed walked towards the Head Table, Hermione trailing behind him.

“Very well handled,” McGonagall said when they reached the table. “You’d make a fine professor, if you were so inclined.”

“Let me know when there’s an opening, and I’ll apply,” returned Harry to general laughter.

“I think you’ll be very good with children,” Hermione commented quietly. Harry paused for a moment as Hermione shyly slipped an image into his thoughts, showing him and a small child laughing and playing, while Ginny stood in the background, smiling.

Harry frowned for a moment, and changed the image, sending it back with Ginny replaced by Hermione, who stood next to him, her arms around his waist and her head on his shoulder. The child’s hair and complexion were darker, and it played with its father, before reaching out for its mother.

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed with shock, her mouth slightly open. Harry smiled, before leaving the table to find Ginny for their morning walk. Harry suppressed his reaction as Ron passed him with a friendly bump against the shoulders, making his way to the Head Table. A second later, he felt Hermione’s confusion radiate to him. He offered as much emotional support as he could, as he refocused on Ginny’s chatter.

“… Took all morning to convince him that she wouldn’t bite his head off. I really don’t think that Ron knows what went wrong. Do you think that they might have a shot now that Ron’s got his head out of his arse?”

“No,” Harry said, feeling the same certainty echoed from Hermione. “I think that Hermione’s glad that he’s back to normal, but she’s not willing to risk it.”

“Is she telling you that right now?”

Harry chuckled at the poorly-veiled jealousy in Ginny’s comment. “We can’t talk, Ginny. It’s more like I can feel her reactions. She’s well aware of what you asked me, and her response was pretty blunt.”

“That’s too bad,” she said. “Ron would probably chew off his left arm for her, and I’d like my brother to be happy.”

“Well, let’s get outside,” he said, avoiding the topic. “We get few enough of these mornings as it is, and I don’t want to waste it.” Ginny, however, was unwilling to be diverted.

“Don’t you think that Ron might be able to convince her otherwise? I mean, it’s only been a day. Maybe it’s temporary, but maybe he really has changed, and they’d be happy again.” Ginny continued her attempts to convince Harry as they exited the castle, Harry walking more and more aggressively towards the lake. Hermione, too, was having difficulties keeping calm, her emotions spiking out now and again as she held her own conversation with Ron.

Hadn’t it occurred to her to fix this when she’d readjusted his memories? Or was it too much to do?

“Are you even listening?” Ginny’s voice had an edge to it, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. His morning with Ginny, a ritual he had come to cherish, was being wasted on Ron’s infatuation with Hermione. Harry stepped up onto the rock they usually sat on. Rather than sit down, he twisted to grab Ginny by the waist, and threw her screaming into the water.

Hermione’s irritation faded immediately, replaced by equal parts surprise and amusement.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Ginny shouted as she resurfaced, kicking towards the rock. “What the hell’s got you in a mood, and I’ll be damned if you’re taking it out on me!”

“You need to shut up about Ron,” Harry warned, sitting down while Ginny scrambled up the side of the rock. “I didn’t come out here with you so that we could spend our morning talking about other people’s business.”

“Damn it, why aren’t you listening?” she growled, floundering around for her wand and drying herself off. “Why aren’t you concerned about this at all? I want Ron to be happy, and I would think you’d like the same!”

“And Hermione?”

“What about her? Why wouldn’t she be happy? Ron can treat her right if he keeps his head out of his arse.”

“It’s none of my business,” Harry asserted. “If Hermione wants it, fine; if she doesn’t, fine.”

“But she’s likely to just say no right away,” Ginny pressed. “If she does that, it’ll crush Ron, and that’ll be the end of it. Ron needs a chance to prove himself; what’s the problem with that?”

“Ron can do what he likes; it’s got nothing to do with us.” Harry attempted to look away, when Ginny grabbed him by the collar.

“But Hermione would listen to us! At the very least, Hermione would listen to you!”

“You’ve lost your mind!” Harry ripped Ginny’s hands away from his neck, checking to see that his pouch was intact. “If you think I’d ever agree to talk Hermione about that, you don’t know me very well.”

“Why wouldn’t you? Do you need Hermione free for something?” Harry’s anger roared to life at Ginny’s accusation.

“I need her happy,” he said coldly, “something that I certainly am not right now. Have fun, Ginny; I’ve got more important things to do.” Before Ginny could respond, Harry leapt from the rock, guiding and slowing his descent with his ability to fly. His landing was somewhat awkward, but it would give him a five-minute head start on Ginny.

“What if I’m not happy?” she called angrily after him.

“Then we make quite the pair, don’t we?” he called back, increasing his pace.

-----

Defense was unbearable; Ginny intentionally sat away from Harry, pulling Hermione to sit with her. Ginny was frantically trying to convince Hermione in whispered tones to take Ron back. Ron, for his part, looked quite forlorn; Harry assumed that Hermione had set him in his place quite thoroughly. Hermione’s current irritation with Ginny was seeping through their link to him, adding to his own.

“What are the girls talking about?” asked Ron as they worked on the counter curse to the Cruciatus.

“Take a guess,” Harry said, whipping his wand in the correct formation absently.

“Less anger, Mr. Potter,” cautioned Professor Simonson as he passed. “This counter curse requires a degree of serenity on the part of its user.”

“It works just fine when I’m angry,” he retorted. “When you’ve done a spell a thousand times over, it tends to work no matter what mood you’re in.” Most of the class stopped what they were doing to look at him, while the professor frowned.

“I gather that you’re angry about something, Mr. Potter. However-”

“I’m angry, right?” he cut across. “You all agree?” The professor and several students nodded, Ron included. Harry flourished his wand and Prongs burst forth, prancing around the classroom, looking for Dementors. “There you go, sir: a spell that requires focus on happiness, cast as flippantly as you please by an angry person. You want to know the real kicker? I didn’t even think of a happy thought. Practice makes perfect, professor, and I’ve had a lot of practice with these spells.”

Simonson looked back and forth between the galloping Patronus and Harry, before summoning a piece of parchment and a quill. Harry watched as the professor scribbled a quick note, and handed it to Harry. “Here,” he said, “it’s likely that no one will question you, but this is just in case Professor Slughorn asks where you are later this afternoon. Go to Hogsmeade; go to the kitchens, go somewhere and cool off. You obviously need it.” Harry stared at the note, then back at the professor. “It’s something that we did with frustrated Aurors as well,” the professor said as he walked away. “There’s no purpose to be served by letting someone stew. Go and work it off, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry packed his bags, feeling a small smile appear on his face. He liked Simonson; the professor never bothered to beat around the bush.

Ron pressed two Galleons into his hand. “Grab me a Butterbeer and some sweets, will you?”

Harry nodded, and walked over to Hermione, standing to visually exclude Ginny. “Will you get my assignment for me from Slughorn?”

“Sure, Harry. Are you alright?”

“I will be. Want anything?”

“Just grab some extra of whatever you’re getting,” she said. “Can I pay you back later?”

Harry waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you this evening, then.” Without looking at Ginny, he turned and walked away closing the classroom door behind him.

-----

“Hello Harry,” Luna said as he approached the castle entrance. “You were gone quite a while.”

“It’s more fun to shop when I’m alone,” he said with a shrug. Digging around in his bag, he pulled out a box of assorted sweets. “Here, these are for you.”

Luna blinked in surprise as she took the sweets. “Thank you,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Yeah, and I’m a git for not asking. I take hugs for payment.”

Smiling, Luna leaned forward and hugged him, nearly disappearing into Harry’s winter cloak.

“Do you think that Ronald is happier now?” she asked suddenly as they disengaged.

“I think so; why?”

“I’d… I’d like to see if he’d go to Hogsmeade with me,” she said shyly. “I’d never have asked him before, he was so angry. But maybe…” Harry’s breath caught as he heard this, but he forced himself to be calm for Luna. She did like Ron before he had done anything, so perhaps this was just a natural reaction.

“Why don’t I get Ron?” Harry suggested. “I think that it’s important to get these things out of the way.” Before Luna could protest, Harry took off.

Harry sent his Patronus ahead of him, and met Ron halfway to Gryffindor tower. “You’re the only person I know who just up and fires a Patronus to get his mate’s attention,” the redhead said as he half-hugged Harry. “So what’s up?”

“Luna wants to ask you to Hogsmeade,” Harry said, keeping his voice even. “I want you to answer, and I want you to be nice, whatever you say. She likes you.”

Ron stood motionless for a moment as he digested Harry’s statement. “She wants to ask me…?”

“Don’t hurt her.”

“I’d never hurt her!” Ron said, looking scandalized; Harry bit his tongue to prevent a retort. To Ron, that never happened, he told himself, shut up. Forcing himself to be calm, he led Ron back to the Entrance Hall, where Luna was waiting nervously.

“Sorry that took so long,” Harry said.

“Hi, Luna,” Ron said, doing his best to smile.

“Ronald, come to Hogsmeade with me.”

“Um, err…” Luna looked imploringly at Ron, whose eyes were luminously bright.

“Please,” she begged.

“Why… why’d this come up, all of a sudden?”

“I want you to be happy,” she said, reaching for Ron’s arm. “I want to… I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Ron looked at Harry, then back at Luna. “D’you… Do you think that I’m good for you, Luna?”

“I know you won’t hurt me.”

“I… sure,” Ron said, letting out a breath. “Sure, let’s go to Hogsmeade this weekend. It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, thank you!” she cried, pulling him into a lopsided hug. “It’ll be wonderful!” Before Ron could say anything, Luna kissed him squarely on the lips, before running off.

“Uh, mate? What the hell just happened?”

“I think Luna asked you out,” Harry said, chuckling, “and I think you just said yes.” Harry expected several responses from Ron, but not the small smile forming on his friend’s lips.

“Cool,” he said, walking back towards Gryffindor tower. “Maybe today isn’t so bad, after all.”

-----

Pondering the sudden turn of events with Ron and Luna, Harry was blindsided by the argument that was raging in his common room. The portrait opened into a war zone.

“– Can’t give a damn about anyone else, can you? Can’t you see that he needs you?” That sounds like Ginny.

“You’re as one-sided as your brother is! It’s not my job to keep Ron happy, its Ron’s job to keep Ron happy!” Hermione.

“My God, you sound just like Harry!” Ginny shrieked. “Don’t worry about Ron,” she mimicked, “he can take care of himself! I don’t mind at all when he looks out for me, but when it’s Ron who needs help, no way! Let him figure it out on his own!

“I can’t believe you! I’m not talking about walking down the isle or anything stupid like that! It’s one lousy date! Just to see if he’s any different at all! Just to let him feel like he’s had a chance!”

“He’s had loads of chances!” Hermione retorted. “Just because Harry talked him into smiling again does not mean that I have to ‘test the waters!’ Let him be happy! But I’m not some little pet you can just throw at your brother!”

“If you hate him so much, then why’d you go out with him in the first place? Thought he was something special before, didn’t you?”

“You’re not anywhere near subtle enough to be baiting me like that, Ginevra,” spat Hermione. “If Harry was so special, why did I have to strong-arm you into doing anything about it?”

“What’s that got to do with Ron?” Ginny asked, affronted.

“You were as immature and insecure as he was, and I had to push you into your relationship with Harry! I spent a long time pushing Ron into a relationship with me! Well, you know what? You’re both still as immature as you were three years ago! Ron’s trying to figure out why the world’s ended because his very first real girlfriend doesn’t want him back, and you’re busy trying to get me out of the way because you’re scared I’ll take Harry away from you!”

“That’s not-!”

“IT’S EXACTLY WHY!” Hermione screamed, her eyes glowing golden. “You don’t give two shits about your brother’s happiness! You only care about the fact that I’m single and near Harry, like he’s a possession of yours!”

“He is mine,” Ginny growled, “in every way that matters! I hate the fact that I can’t see him when I want to, I hate the fact that you and he can just hide in here all the time and we can’t come in, and I hate the fact that you act like you’re better than me!”

“Harry’s got a life beyond you, Ginny! Hell, the sodding Minister owls him every couple of days, asking his opinion on things! Do you know who the Minister used to owl like that? Dumbledore, that’s who; Harry’s got an amazing future ahead of him, and you should be a part of it! Do you remember that Convention that Harry asked you to, the one that he took me to because your mother wouldn’t let you out to play?”

“Don’t you dare speak like-”

“Listen to you! Acting like a ten year old crybaby, defending her mother! You should have been defending Harry! You should have been out there, showing the world that there’s a strong woman standing beside Harry Potter. Where were you? Playing tea party at home!”

“And you were quick to jump in, weren’t you, Granger? I’m out of the picture for two seconds, and just like that, Harry’s got a new date to take to the Ministry, and I’m the frigid bitch who stood Harry up. Who’s the jealous one, here?”

“You are!” The fireplace roared as Hermione shouted. “You’re the one who can’t stand the fact that Harry’s closer to me than he is to you! You can’t stomach the possibility that he could love someone more than you!”

“He doesn’t!” Ginny had her wand out, glowing with the beginnings of a hex. Hermione’s aura exploded across the room, causing Harry to squint at the brightness.

“Oh, please, Ginny, please cast that spell,” Hermione taunted. “Give me a reason to hurt you. Go on, Ginny. You think you’ve got enough skill? Come on, show me what mommy’s little girl can do.”

“You fucking bi-!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Harry’s voice roared across the room, startling both girls. Ginny whipped around, the hex flying from her wand, only to fizzle and die less than halfway to Harry as he countered it.

“I came here for peace and quiet,” he hissed, “and I’m going to get it. Ginny, get the hell out; I’ll talk with you tomorrow morning.”

“But-!”

“NOW!”

Desperately trying to hold in her tears, Ginny brushed past Harry, sniffling as she ran. Harry slammed the portrait behind her, throwing a silencing charm on the frame. One look at the smoldering, still-glowing eyes of Hermione, and Harry walked over, pressing into her and hugging her tightly.

“Calm down, Hermione. Please, calm down. Nothing needs killing, nothing needs protecting…”

“You need protecting,” she snarled. “That bitch followed me in here, wanting to talk about how much Ron needed me. Fucking cunt...”

“Shh, shh, that’s enough. I’m right here, put the guns away. Roll up the aura, Hermione. Please, for me.”

Slowly, the room regained its normal color as Hermione’s aura faded to normal, then disappeared completely. She sniffed once, then again, and Harry felt a tear hit his neck.

“She said horrible things to me,” she whispered, trying desperately not to cry. “I thought she was my friend.”

“I’m right here,” he said. “I was actually going to tell you some interesting news.”

“Oh?” she asked, looking at him with watery eyes.

“Luna just asked Ron to Hogsmeade.”

“What?” Hermione barked out a laugh, blinking away her tears. “That’s so… ironic!”

“Well, as long as that’s all it is. Come on,” he said, pulling Hermione to their desks. “I don’t have a cure for jealous girlfriends, but I have a couple of assignments that need doing. Let’s get them done, and let this be. I’ll talk to Ginny tomorrow.”

-----

“Have you considered learning Legilimency?” Hermione asked from her desk. Harry looked up from his own work to meet Hermione’s eyes. Several days ago, they had turned their desks around from their respective walls to face each other in front of the window, making it easier to work and talk at the same time.

“I’ve never thought about it, really. I don’t know if I’d want it, to be honest.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Well, Legilimency’s biggest pull for me would be for an advantage in a duel, so you know what’s coming. But Occlumency can block that. I can see magical auras quite consistently now, so I always have a good idea of what’s coming anyways. With that advantage done with, what’s left?”

“Well…” Hermione looked away, then back to Harry. “I suppose it’s a selfish thing, but if you knew Legilimency, you’d be able to see into my memories and thoughts, instead of just reacting to what I send you. I… I’d like it if you could.”

“Oh.” Harry looked at Hermione in wonder. After assuring her that he would respect her privacy, here she was, offering him the keys to her mind.

“I trust you,” she said, seeing his expression. “I want you to know everything; I really do. Please.”

“A-Alright,” he agreed. “If that’s what you want, I’ll learn.”

Hermione smiled and reached for his hand, squeezing it. They resumed their work, their mental link assuring that they finished their assignments together.

“That’s the last of this drivel for the week,” Harry said as he tapped his assignments. A similar tap on blank parchment copied the work, which Harry put in his desk drawer, before rolling the originals up and placing them in his book bag.

“Why’d you copy your work?” asked Hermione as she packed away her own papers.

“Any successful applicant for professorial positions needs to provide original work in the area they’re teaching, and with Dumbledore and Snape’s books to work from, my NEWT work ought to turn some heads.”

“You’re serious?” she said, sitting back up to stare at him. “I know we were joking about that at breakfast, but… I thought you were going to be an Auror.”

“I still think I will be,” he agreed, “but I’d like to have a backup, just in case I decide I need a change. Besides, there’s another consideration, something that Kingsley’s already written to me about.”

“Oh?”

“The Department of Mysteries is considering hiring me on as an Unspeakable for the explicit job of continuing Dumbledore’s research into magic. That’s not exactly a strenuous job, more like advancing myself and writing reports on what I’ve done. Likewise, I can hold a position as a licensed Hit Wizard, so that Kingsley and the Aurors can bring me in for backup. That would still leave me more than enough time to hold a regular job, like teaching.”

“That sounds brilliant!” exclaimed Hermione. “You’d be just like Dumbledore!”

“Yeah, that’s more or less it,” Harry agreed. “Kingsley is thinking to set me up just like Dumbledore was, with official, unfettered access to the Ministry as an Unspeakable, and official, unfettered access to investigate any odd occurrences I wanted to as a Hit Wizard. At the same time, I’d be here, teaching Defense, so that the next generation of students would be better for it, and the Aurors get a quality boost in the coming years.

“Once I’ve established myself in those fields, Kingsley would then appoint me as a delegate to the International Confederation, which, coupled with my other qualifications, would pretty much open the world to me, and by extension, him.”

Hermione blinked, and looked at Harry with new eyes. “What’s going on?” she asked carefully. “This sounds less like you planning to do the most with your life, and more like a plan to take over the world.”

Harry laughed at that; take over the world, indeed. “Nothing like that,” he assured her once he had caught his breath. “We’re just filling gaps in security, and at the same time ensuring that the Lucius Malfoys of the world can’t use money or laws to hold me down. There are three things that I can assure you no amount of pressure could change: Once an Unspeakable, always an Unspeakable; once a Hit Wizard, always a Hit Wizard; and once an International Delegate – barring anything truly horrid – always an International Delegate. No Ministry could refuse me access; no Department could close their records to me; and because of the complicated hierarchy of the Ministry, no Auror or Ministry official could pull rank on me. Even the Minister would have issues once all three positions were in place. It’s Kingsley right now, so that doesn’t matter; but it gives us an edge against whoever replaces him as Minister later on.”

Seeing Hermione’s look of confusion, Harry hastened to explain.

“An Unspeakable has complete access to the Department of Mysteries by definition. The Aurors have no authority over the conduct of an Unspeakable, who answers only to senior Unspeakables, and who ultimately answer to the Minister. The Aurors would have to file for the Unspeakables to rein me in.

“The Unspeakables have no authority to stop a Hit Wizard from performing an investigation; again, the best they can do is to file for the Aurors to intervene. With both Departments stonewalled, their only other avenue is to file directly with the Minister to deal with me.

“Last, and most importantly, International Delegates are jointly answerable to the Minister and the Confederation; both must agree in order to appoint a Delegate, and both must agree to dismiss or restrict one, and even then only if they can prove some sort of criminal activity or blatant abuse of the position. Since the Ministry and Confederation are not generally going to agree on matters of law, justice, and security, an agreement isn’t likely.

“What that means is that I don’t have to answer to the Unspeakables, I don’t have to answer to the Aurors, and I don’t really have to answer to the Confederation or the Minister, either. But I have power and authority over all four, and to top it all off I work with everyone’s children, so everyone loves me.”

“My God,” she said, covering her mouth. “That’s… who thought of this?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry replied with a smirk. “Always thinking ahead, that man. I truly enjoy talking to him.”

Hermione just shook her head, pushing her chair back. “We should get to bed,” she said. “You have practice tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he agreed, feeling the beginnings of a yawn. “I suppose I could use a proper night’s sleep. ‘Night, Hermione.”

“Goodnight,” she returned with a slight hesitation to her voice.

“Harry?” He stopped at the entrance to his room, looking back at Hermione. “Would you… stay with me tonight? After all that’s happened yesterday and today, I… I don’t want to be alone.”

“Sure,” he said, walking over to her. “No problem.”

-----

“Awake… Awaken… Daughter…”

Almost there.

“Awaken.”

The angels were playing rough, today. Harry dove and whirled, spinning out of their grasp as he plowed ahead.

“Come on!” God encouraged him. “Don’t give up! You’re better than they are!”

“Awaken!”

Just a little faster…

“Blood of the Father!”

Who the hell is that?

Abandoning the snitch, Harry beat his wings mightily, pushing hard against a sudden head wind. Angels crowded him, but he gathered his strength and batted their arms away, pushing through the mass of bodies.

“Behold harbingers! Death, Death has come!” The raspy, heaving voice of Sybil Trelawney echoed before him. There she stood, alone on a dark cloud, a blemish in the perfection that was Heaven.

“Suffering awaits those who protect the Daughter of the Fallen; the Seven rally against her, Pure against Fallen, Blood against Blood.”

Several angels moved towards the batty professor, but Harry grabbed their wings and tore at their clothes, anything he could to protect the fragile woman.

“Harken to the night that falls so deep the even the Stars die; harken to the endless cries of defiance, of treason, of heresy. There, the Covenant lies broken; there, the Daughter must lie.”

A feeling of immense power rushed down Harry’s spine, and a powerful angel, armored and intimidating swept towards Trelawney. Abandoning the lesser angels, Harry rushed towards the greater threat, only to meet an impenetrable barrier. Trelawney’s voice shook with fear, and she cowered before the armored figure, but she did not stop speaking.

“Death! Reach out, and protect thy Mistress! Shield her from the slaves of the Seven! She is your new Covenant!”

The angel reached out, his fingers touching Trelawney’s chest. There was a horrible hissing sound, and the angel’s fingers began to dig in, melting their way through.

“Protect thy Mistress!” she shrieked, overcome with pain, as blood poured from her eyes, nose and mouth. “Without her-!” The angel ripped his hand back, and a silvery substance poured from the professor’s chest.

“Darkness…” she whispered, falling backwards, through the cloud that would no longer support her, and down, down, down.

“Blood of the father…”

-----

“Harry!”

His eyes shot open, and he bolted upright in the bed, panting.

“Harry, the bells!” Hermione was scrambling from the bed, hastily dressing herself. “There’s something wrong. We’ve got to hurry!”

His wand flew to his outstretched hand, and he summoned his robes, throwing them on. He trailed behind Hermione as they ran out of their dorm and followed the sound of the bells. “This way!” they heard a House Elf calling to them “The tower! The tower!”

Harry’s heart plummeted as he saw where they were headed. Above them loomed the Divination tower, and his heart clenched. It was a dream. Please, God, it was a dream.

Not bothering with the ladder, Harry flew straight up towards the entrance, grabbing the doorframe on the way in. McGonagall was in front of him and-

“No.”

Hermione gasped from behind him, and several professors were talking at once. Harry’s attention was glued to the mutilated form of Sybil Trelawney. Five blackened holes, each several inches across, were burned into her torso, and her face was lost in a fountain of dried blood.

As though it sensed his presence, the corpse shifted, its sightless eyes finding his. “Blood of the Father,” it wheezed, before the entire body shuddered and fractured, crumbling, cracking and powdering like glass.

Harry tore his gaze away from the husk to look back at Hermione, who was looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“It’s real,” she whispered. “My God, it’s real.”

“Professor McGonagall,” Harry called behind him. “We need to talk.”

-----

A/N: And you need to Review! All of you! I look forward to seeing what you have to say about this chapter. Next up, the Vatican!

5. Vendetta: Forgiveness

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: Due to the clamoring of several friends and reviewers – and some unexpected holdups in finishing the Sir Harry challenge – I’ve finished TMF Chapter 5 first. Likewise, I’ll probably have The Pale Chapter 2 up next. I’m very close to having chapters 3 and 4 of MEtyK overhauled; a couple of plot lines needed tweaking for reasons I can’t believe I missed. If you’re quick, you’ll see what I mean. I’ll likely post Pale 2, and Overhauled MEtyK 3 and 4 at the same time, hopefully next week. If my issues with the ‘Sir Harry’ plot resolve themselves, it will be up shortly thereafter.

For now, I give you Chapter 5 of TMF, in which many of your prayers are answered.

~TOW

Vendetta: Forgiveness

=================

The school was deathly silent as Harry and Hermione walked to McGonagall’s office. The Heads of all four houses disappeared to their common rooms to ease fears and quell rumours. A flurry of movement two floors below caught Harry’s attention, and he watched as a pair of Aurors walked purposefully towards the Divination tower. He felt Hermione reach for him mentally, and picked up his pace to match hers. 4:42am, his watch read; not the morning he had expected.

Dumbledore’s office – McGonagall’s office – was much the same as it had always been. The new Headmistress hadn’t done much in the way of redecorating. Harry was greeted enthusiastically by the portraits of the room, the two-dimensional Albus Dumbledore taking his hat off and bowing slightly. Harry smiled and gave a small wave, sitting in one of the chairs arranged at the front of the desk. Hermione sat beside him taking his hand automatically, while McGonagall slumped into her seat behind the desk cradling her head in her hands.

“After so many years,” she muttered, “so many accusations and insults, and she’s dead, and it’s my responsibility…”

“Professor, you couldn’t have possibly done anything to help her,” Hermione consoled. “Hogwarts is as safe as it can be; no one could have seen it coming.”

“There was always a reason that Albus kept her here,” McGonagall said, sniffing. “There was something important about her, but I couldn’t see what, and he didn’t tell me.”

“She’s the one who made the prophecy between me and Voldemort,” Harry said, drawing the professor’s attention. “Then, in my third year, she predicted his return. Now, she’s given her last prophecy, just before she died.”

“She gave – and others, as well?”

“She literally interrupted a dream I had to tell me. One of the beings in my dream attacked her, and then I woke up. We found her with the exact same injuries just a few moments ago.”

“So you believe that this dream was… real?” Despite being distraught, McGonagall carried a healthy trace of scepticism in her voice.

“I do,” Harry said with a sharp nod. “It’s not the first time I’ve learned to accept that what’s going through my head didn’t come from me.” He pointed to his scar, and McGonagall looked away.

“Yes, well… What do you propose, then? This is being investigated as a murder, and the Aurors will be looking for suspects.”

“They won’t find much,” Hermione mused. “All the students were in their dorms, all the professors in their quarters. The portraits can recite the trail of anyone approaching the scene, as well as who came and went from the common rooms; while that doesn’t prevent someone from using stealth magics, it does cover all known inhabitants of the school, so the students and professors should all be safe.

“Trelawney was the only person who was in a publicly accessible area – her own classroom. That would lead to the conclusion that whoever killed her would have gone in quickly, done the deed, and fled without breaking their concealment.”

“Which reminds me,” Harry cut in, “who sounded the alarm bells?”

“One of the House Elves,” McGonagall replied. “This time in the morning is usually when House Elves begin to prepare the school. Classrooms are cleaned, breakfast is started, that sort of thing. The House Elf would have been doing their customary clean-up of Trelawney’s classroom when they found her, and sounded the alarm.”

“I see…” Harry’s mood grew sombre for a moment, before he pushed his thoughts aside. “Alright then, why don’t we let the Aurors do their thing? Unless I’m off, everyone’s covered, which means that all the Aurors are going to do is run some traces to see if they can determine what killed her, and then clean up. They shouldn’t take more than an hour, and then we can deal with the students. You should probably ask Firenze if he’d be willing to teach Divination again on short notice.”

McGonagall looked slightly bewildered at Harry’s suggestion. “But, Sybill’s just died! Shouldn’t I be-?”

“Minerva, no one will take care of this for you,” the gentle but firm voice of Albus came from behind her. “It’s imperative that the students perceive no panic, and no apparent change in their schedule. Divination classes may be cancelled for a few days while Firenze catches up on what needs to be done, but that must be the only interruption.”

“I- I see,” she said, looking down. “I suppose…”

“I’ll deal with it,” Harry said, standing up. “Let me go talk to the Aurors so that you don’t have to, and then Hermione and I will go find Firenze. Just lie down,” he soothed, “you look like you need it. We’ll be alright.”

-----

The sun began its inevitable climb from the horizon as Harry walked beside the Aurors. Trelawney’s remains floated serenely behind them, encased in a small urn. The senior of the Aurors turned to shake Harry’s hand before they left the castle, body in tow. With a sigh, Harry turned back and headed back to the Divination classroom; Hermione was still there, conducting an investigation of her own. He hoped that her findings would be more tangible than the blank slate turned up by the Aurors.

“Any luck?” he asked as he rose to the classroom’s entrance.

“Not really,” Hermione replied, her golden eyes sweeping across the classroom. “There’s something here, but it’s very subtle, and it’s fading fast. I don’t think that we’ll find anything.”

“Damn,” he muttered, looking around. “You don’t suppose that Trelawney acting through my dream means that whatever killed her also acted through my dream, do you?”

Hermione blinked, and shook her head. “That’s a Dumbledore question, Harry. I can’t begin to answer that for you.”

“Well, suppose it’s true,” he continued, allowing his senses to expand. Various auras of magic surrounded him, none stronger than the golden aura pouring from Hermione’s body. “If it is, then there should be a similar residue on me as there was on Trelawney.” He stepped over to where the professor’s body had lain, and squinted at the spot. “Hermione, can you pull your aura in? You’re overpowering everything else.”

Hermione’s aura vanished almost immediately, and Harry searched the area. Near the ground where the professor had lain, small traces of golden light could still be seen in the five-fingered pattern that the giant hand had left in her chest. Looking down at his chest and arms, small traces of the same golden light emitted. Strangely, he felt as though the two colors were different, though they seemed nearly indistinguishable. The flecks of gold in his own aura seemed to come from Hermione, while the fading golden light on the ground was something different.

“Hermione, you’ve got to see this.” Harry felt Hermione extend herself to his senses, drinking in the memory the instant he processed the information.

“Harry, that’s-!”

“It’s not you,” he said quickly. “It feels… off, somehow. It’s like your magic, but… different.”

Hermione looked shaken by the revelation, and began to fidget. “Could you… not say anything about this to anyone?” she asked.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” replied Harry, allowing his sight to return to normal. “There might be about three people in the world besides you and the Weasleys that would believe me about this, anyways. Dumbledore’s work gets quite controversial as far as magical theory goes.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, moving to look out the window. It took Harry only a moment to process Hermione’s reaction, and he turned his head sharply towards her.

“Hermione, are there others like you?” Hermione tensed at the question, but didn’t answer. “Sorry,” Harry said, feeling her discomfort rise, “don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t know,” she replied, her shoulders drooping. “I don’t have complete answers, Harry. I’ll look around and see what I can find.”

“Take your time. I’ll cover for you if you need it.” Hermione turned to smile at him, and walked over, taking his hand.

“Let’s go,” she said. “There’s nothing more for us here.”

-----

The forest was peaceful in the morning, small animals and birds noisily beginning their day, while insects buzzed past. The sun was fully separated from the horizon, now, and breakfast called.

“It was perhaps governed by the stars,” Firenze said as he walked beside Harry, “but I believe it to be a simple deduction on my part that you would come to find me.”

Harry snorted in amusement. “I’m used to being predictable, I guess.”

“I’m surprised that Bane didn’t come rushing out to threaten us,” Hermione commented, glancing over her shoulder every now and then. Harry smiled, and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Relax Hermione, nothing needs fighting today.”

“The time of Mars has passed,” Firenze agreed. “Saturn and Uranus now fight for dominance in the sky.”

“I’m not even going to begin to interpret that,” Harry said cheerfully. “We’ll take things as they come.”

“As it was always intended,” Firenze said with a solemn nod. “That is the way of things.”

Hermione’s mood brightened considerably once they were clear of the forest, and the Head Students spent the walk back bringing the centaur up to speed on the school year.

“So we’ll start the entire competition on Halloween with the first years,” Hermione finished. “Your classes obviously won’t be competing until later, but that’s when everything starts. Any ideas you or your students have for appropriate challenges should be given to us at least a couple weeks before the competitions, so we can prepare.”

“I do not foresee difficulties,” Firenze said, “and I will assuredly contact you if I encounter any.”

“It’s going to be fun,” Harry assured him, “and if we’re lucky, we’ll start to undo some of the damage to the school system.” As they reached the castle entrance, Harry sent a Patronus off to McGonagall, informing her of their success. “We should be in time for breakfast. Are you going to join us?”

“No, Harry Potter, I will retire to my classroom. I trust it is still intact?” Seeing Hermione nod, Firenze bade them both farewell and cantered off down the hall away from them.

Harry shook his head as he watched the centaur leave. “It’s confusing how he can be both polite and aloof at the same time,” he said. “You never really know if he’s happy or pissed.”

“I think it’s a centaur thing,” Hermione shrugged. “If they’re willing to be mysterious about it, I’m willing to ignore it. Come on, Harry, we need to get to breakfast.”

“Right, breakfast. After all of this, I’m supposed to have an appetite.”

Hermione sniggered behind him and urged him forward, and the two made their way to the Great Hall. Several students had already arrived, and while breakfast was quiet, the students were far from upset. A few students, like the returning Parvati and Lavender, wore expressions of grief, but Trelawney’s demise was not at all the heartbreaking event that Dumbledore’s death had been. There would be no grand funeral, no eulogies, nothing beyond a simple toast and the announcement that Firenze would continue this year’s Divination lessons.

“And there’s not a thing I can do about it,” Harry voiced to Hermione, who had been paying close attention to his thoughts. “To keep the peace, no one can know about her real prophecies, not even now.” Hermione nodded, and the pair walked silently up to the Head Table.

It became apparent as the Hall filled that McGonagall was not coming to breakfast. The other professors were discussing the Headmistress’ absence amongst themselves, and Harry could hear similar murmurs from the students.

“Hermione?”

“She’s still sleeping,” she told him, her eyes dilating and staring at the ceiling. “She seems particularly stressed, and only some of it has to do with this morning. We should let her rest.”

“Alright then, time to play ringmaster. Would you adjust the tapestries? I’ll see if I can spew something ‘official.’” Harry stood and watched as Hermione clapped her hands in a similar fashion to Dumbledore, and the hanging tapestries all darkened to black.

“Your attention, please,” he called in a magically amplified voice. “I would like to assure everyone that Headmistress McGonagall is resting in her quarters. If possible, please try not to disturb her today, as the events of the recent battles and of this morning have taken a great toll on her.

“As most of you should know, Professor Trelawney was found dead this morning.” Harry paused as gasps and murmurs rose, and thumped the table for silence. “That was the cause of this morning’s alarm, and Aurors have already come and gone. The investigation is ongoing, so if you are approached by Aurors in the near future, please offer your full support.

“Professor Trelawney has been teaching at Hogwarts for my entire lifetime; Professor Dumbledore interviewed her for the position before I was born. Though many of us have never taken Divination seriously, Sybill Trelawney dedicated her life to this school and has had a hand in the education of hundreds of students. She was a valued member of the teaching staff, and she will be missed. Please, raise your glasses in memory of Sybill Trelawney.”

The professor’s name echoed across the Hall as students and professors stood and toasted to her. To his surprise, Harry’s eyes stung at the thought that the batty professor was gone. Another small piece of Hogwarts died this morning, and Harry could feel the small pang of fear that the school might slide away from the home he knew and loved, becoming something altogether different and foreign. Suddenly, Harry could understand perfectly why the normally unflappable McGonagall was distraught: Her home was dying. Blinking away his feelings, he raised his voice to continue.

“Firenze has agreed to finish this year’s Divination classes, and is currently setting up his old classroom on the first floor. We’ll let you know when Divination classes are set to return. Any assignments that Professor Trelawney assigned are still due on the appropriate dates.

“We hope to update you about the funeral arrangements for Professor Trelawney tomorrow morning. Please remember her as you do Professor Dumbledore: For all the good things. Thank you.”

“You were wonderful,” Hermione whispered to him as he sat, wiping his eyes. Harry shared a smile with her, and Hermione wiped her own tears away.

“Thank you,” Slughorn said, clapping his shoulder from behind him. “I couldn’t have done a better job myself. You’re a good man.” Several other professors, including the elderly Simonson, thanked him. The rest of breakfast passed in quiet discussion with Hermione, as the students slowly returned to their normal level of noise.

“Do we have a budget to work with, as far as small prizes and supplies go for these competitions?”

“I don’t think McGonagall thought that far ahead,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I’ll go to Gringotts this morning and get us what we need. How much do you figure? Four or five thousand enough?”

Hermione’s eyes bulged as Harry spoke. “Four or five… that’s a ridiculously high amount! We couldn’t possibly use all that!”

“Oh, I think we can,” Harry said with a secretive smile. “If the students don’t need all of it, then I’ll replace the old brooms and other obsolete equipment the school uses. I’m going to call Kingsley later to see if there’s a right way to do this kind of thing. Lucius Malfoy got away with a lot because he donated money to the right places; maybe it’ll work for me, too. Can you get some ideas from the Prefects? I can go shopping this morning if you do it quickly.”

“I suppose…” Hermione trailed off, a worried look on her face. Before Harry could continue, Ginny walked up to the front of the table, clearing her throat.

“Do you have time to talk, Harry?”

“Good timing,” he returned with a smile. “I’m going to disappear to Diagon Alley for a bit, and you’re welcome to come along.”

“Oh! Well, alright.” Ginny hesitantly took Harry’s hand, and the pair quickly walked out of the Hall. He could hear Hermione behind him, calling the Prefects to her to explain what was going on.

“It’s a sad day when I feel like I’m more prepared than McGonagall,” Harry sighed as they approached the castle entrance.

“You always could think on your feet,” Ginny reminded, “and running off at the mouth is a specialty of yours.”

“Thanks,” Harry laughed. “Good to know my mouth is good for something.”

“There are lots of things that your mouth’s good at,” she returned in a husky voice, and Harry laughed louder.

“Enough out of you! We’ve got business to do first.”

“Fine, fine; ignore your girlfriend’s needs.” Ginny turned her nose up at him, before poking him in the side. “So, what are we going to Diagon for?”

“Shopping for prizes for the upcoming contests,” Harry replied. “Hermione’s got the Prefects together, and as they come up with a list, she’ll pass it along. By the time we’re out of Gringotts, I’ll know what to get and how much it’ll cost.”

“Are you paying for this by yourself?”

Harry shook his head. “No, but McGonagall’s behind the ball, so I reckon it’s best to finish all the preparations and send her the bill. Worst case is that I’m out a few Galleons because she can’t repay the whole cost, but I’m not particularly worried.”

“You’re sweet,” she said, kissing him. “I hope that everyone appreciates that you’re doing this.”

“Let’s hope so.” Harry pulled Ginny against him as they passed the Hogwarts gates, and with a twist and a crack, they were gone.

-----

“So, what’s next?” asked Ginny, her eyes on the bag in Harry’s hand. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes; Ginny had never seen his vault before, and she had stood stupefied, watching him as he methodically counted out five thousand Galleons into a lunch bag-sized money sack enhanced for space.

The Alley was nearly empty, which suited Harry’s purposes perfectly. After close to two hours of shopping and several trips back and forth by Kreacher to ferry the purchases to Hogwarts, Harry deemed himself finished. His last stop had been to the Quidditch store to place an order for 60 Nimbus 2000 brooms still left over from previous years, to be sent to Hogwarts care of Minerva McGonagall.

“Nothing,” Harry said, leading them into the Leaky Cauldron, where they sat at a corner table. “We’re officially done. Whittling the price down to 24 Galleons per broom means that I still have money left over. We haven’t even spent half actually, which means that I can accommodate some requests from the professors and maybe the Prefects.”

“New common room furniture, maybe?” Harry chuckled at the hopeful expression on Ginny’s face.

“Yeah, stuff like that,” Harry said with a nod. “Anyways, this is where we sit down, order a Butterbeer from Tom, and you start talking.”

“Right,” Ginny muttered, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Why don’t I get us those Butterbeers, then?” Harry passed her two Galleons, and Ginny disappeared, quickly returning with the drinks.

“I don’t know where to start,” she said. “I feel … lost, Harry. I’ve gone from knowing exactly where I stood with you to barely knowing you at all in the last three days. On Saturday, you took Hermione to the convention; on Sunday, you came to visit and cleared the air with Ron; on Monday, you’re pissed off with me, Hermione’s pissed off with me, and Ron’s suddenly going out with Luna. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You’re leaving some key things out,” said Harry, frowning. “First, I went to the convention with Hermione because you said no; I actually had to convince Hermione that it was a good idea. Next, Sunday turned into a mess because the paper decided that I was front-page news, and half your family’s pissed, Ron included, because they think I’m cheating on you. Ron decides to have a go at me, and I spend a few hours straightening him out.”

“What do you mean, he ‘had a go at you?’ You said that you two-”

“Ginny, drop it,” Harry growled. “I’m not telling you about it.

“Moving along,” he said overtop her attempt to interrupt him, “On Monday you decide that Ron’s somehow earned another chance at Hermione, and you spend your entire day trying to sell the idea to me, and when I didn’t buy it, you tried selling it to Hermione directly. Hermione called you out on it, and you just about ended up on the wrong side of a duel.”

“Now wait a minute-”

“To top it all off,” Harry continued, again raising his voice over Ginny’s, “Hermione shocked me by saying that you did all that because she was trying to take me away from you. Now, how am I supposed to take that?”

“Harry, I didn’t-”

Ginny jumped as Harry slammed his fist against the table, nearly spilling their drinks. “Before you try to answer that, please remember two things: First, Hermione is a good Legilimens, and I don’t ever remember you taking Occlumency; second, Hermione is in my head, and that makes it very, very hard for her to lie to me. The best she can do nowadays is to refuse to answer.

“Now, say what you have to say.”

Ginny’s eyes began to fill with tears. “I … Harry, you’re painting me into a corner, here. What have I done to you that you’re so hostile? I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to that convention; I’m sorry! I can’t even begin to tell you how painful it was to see you dancing with Hermione, and seeing how happy you were. But I told Mum I’d be there for her! Is that wrong of me?

“I’m so jealous of Hermione, Harry! She monopolizes your time as though she owns you, and I get scared that maybe you’ll see her as more suited to you. And I do want her with Ron, no matter what she says! I want us all together! I want us to be family!” Ginny’s breath was ragged now, and she struggled against the tears that fell. Harry, too, felt his eyes begin to water.

“You’re not treating me like family, Gin. You’ve told me a few times that you want us to last, and I need to be able to count on you to be there for me, regardless of your family. I can’t take your brother’s along when we go out; I can’t wait for your Mum’s permission when I have a dinner to attend, and I sure as hell am not going to keep tiptoeing around your family when it comes to snogging and spending the night with you, if we ever get to it.

“I need you to begin thinking about me like I’m more important to you than your family is, because I need that.”

“How can you be more important, Harry? Nothing’s as important as family. You’ve always told me you wanted family, and we’re trying to include you as best we can!”

“You’re trying to treat me like your brother,” Harry asserted. “There just happens to be a side-order of kissing and touching. I don’t need you to treat me the way you treat Ron, I need you to treat me the way Molly treats Arthur.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to treat you the way Hermione treats you, you mean.” A spike of anger from Hermione mixed with Harry’s own, and he grabbed the sides of the table reflexively to prevent from drawing his wand.

“Do you even hear what’s coming out of your mouth?” he asked viciously. “Do you think that trying to piss me off is going to help you here? Tell me how Hermione treats me, then! Go on, tell me what she does that makes you think of her when I tell you how I want to be treated! Could it be that she’s always around when I need her? Could it be that she chose to help me above and beyond all her other concerns, even though she wasn’t even my girlfriend? Could it be that she understands exactly how alone I feel, and tries to make a difference?”

“I – why are you doing this?” she cried. “I love you, Harry! You are important to me! I can’t tell you how often I daydream about sitting with you in front of the fire at the Burrow when we’re older! How you have me sitting sideways on your lap and you’re laughing while Ron or George tells a funny story, or… or when I’m telling them about how dangerous a two-year-old child is… I want that future with you! I’m trying to give you as much as I can!”

“You’ve dreamt of us having a family and sitting… at the Burrow,” Harry said, closing his eyes as his heart fell. “Ginny, has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to live at the Burrow?”

“Well yes, not there, but-”

“No, Ginny, not at the Burrow, not near the Burrow, and certainly not anywhere where your mother has easy access.”

Ginny blinked owlishly at him, processing what he had said.

“I want my home life to be private,” he continued, “and that means that your Mum can’t come calling to check up on us whenever she takes a fancy to, your brothers can’t drop by whenever they please, and our house will never, never be used to host family gatherings outside of holidays and birthdays. I never want to hear another adult tell me what I should or shouldn’t do; the only exception to that is Kingsley, and that’s because I’m asking him for advice.

“I want you in that house with me, helping me raise children, laughing at the trouble I get myself into, and then telling me your own work stories. What I don’t want is you to act the way your mother does, and the shit you pulled with trying to get Ron back with Hermione was very much something your mother would have done.”

“You’re asking me to abandon my family, Harry.”

“I’m asking you to be independent from your family,” he retorted. “If you can’t do that, then you need to rethink what – shit.” Kingsley’s feline Patronus bounded onto their table, looking straight at Harry.

“The Vatican Inquisitors are departing for Hogwarts as we speak,” it said quietly in Kingsley’s voice. “If there’s anything you don’t want them to see, now’s a good time to hide it.” As the Patronus vanished, Harry felt icy pangs of fear from Hermione.

“Damn it!” he swore as he jumped from his seat, tearing towards the exit.

“What’s going on?” asked Ginny as she tried to keep up. “Can I help?” Harry grabbed her hand and twisted, sending them through the blackness and back to the Hogwarts gates.

“Tell McGonagall what Kingsley said!” he ordered. “Get her to have House Elves remove everything of Dumbledore’s! They can put it in the Room of Requirement, or pull it out of the school completely. Now, hang on!” Harry rapped the both of them over the head with his wand, and pulled Ginny’s disillusioned arms around his neck while space began to warp around him. Ginny shrieked as they took off, Harry staying within ten feet of the ground as they covered the path to the castle in mere seconds.

“Go!” he shouted as they landed, cancelling the Disillusionment Charms. Ginny wobbled for a moment, but quickly took off. Harry raced for his dorm. He wrenched the portrait open, only to twist back around the corner as a huge mass of unidentifiable magic flew in his direction. The massive ball of colors exploded against the other side of the Hall, nearly obliterating the wall.

“Hermione!”

“Harry?” Her voice was shaky and nervous, and Harry felt her thoughts reaching out for his. He allowed them to mingle, and he heard Hermione sob in relief. Harry fumbled around for the Elder Wand, hastily repairing the wall and removing all traces of Hermione’s magic before heading inside the portrait. Hermione latched on to him fearfully.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What’s going to happen?”

“I think they’re coming for me,” she squeaked, trying to hide in his chest. “They have to be. There’s nothing else here that would interest the Vatican.”

“And why would you interest them?”

“I’ve tried to find out things about them since Saturday. Harry, the Vatican specializes in obscure magics. Prophecies, angels and devils, possession… wherever something like that occurs, they usually have their Inquisitors go. I would be…”

“The perfect experiment for Unspeakable-types,” Harry finished. “Right, then. You’re going to disappear for awhile, and I’ll clean up.”

Hermione looked at Harry in confusion as he fingered the Elder Wand absently, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the magic of the room.

“Harry?”

Harry his flicked his wand and the collective journals of Dumbledore and Snape soared over to him. He shrunk them in mid-air, and hastily stuffed them in his expanded mokeskin pouch. With another complicated motion and a long murmured chant, the room flashed white, nullifying the lingering traces of magic. Harry looked around, frowning at the remaining auras, and repeated the spell. Satisfied, Harry repeated the spell in Hermione’s room and his, until he was certain that nothing remained. He stuffed the Elder Wand back into his pouch, and removed the pouch from his neck, handing it to Hermione.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. Anything that would have a signature of its own is in here. You’re going to take this, and go straight to McGonagall’s office. From there, I want you to Floo out to the Cauldron, and stay there until I call for you. Tell McGonagall you’re finishing shopping for the school or whatever other story you like. Okay?”

Hermione stared at the pouch in her hands, cradling it like the treasure it was. “Harry…”

“We’re a little short on time,” Harry pressed. “You’ve got to go.”

Hermione slowly nodded, and reverently tied the pouch around her neck, watching as it obediently shrunk to the size of a pendant. Harry hurried Hermione along to McGonagall’s office, passing a bewildered Ginny along the way. Once Hermione was safely ascending the spiral staircase, Harry turned back towards the entrance hall.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Ginny asked as she caught up to him. “McGonagall’s all flustered, and you’re acting strange.”

“The Vatican likes to poke their noses into things,” Harry explained as they walked. “I sent Hermione off with our more questionable items, and cleaned up our dorm a little.”

“What would you have that the Vatican could want?”

Harry remained silent, however, focusing on the two red and white figures that were approaching the castle. He walked out to meet them, Ginny trailing hesitantly in his wake.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” Harry called, painting a big smile on his face. “I remember seeing you or your colleagues at the convention Saturday night! What brings you here?”

“Mr. Potter!” the older of the two men replied in a thick Mediterranean accent. “I am Inquisitor Rossi, and my compatriot is Inquisitor Moretti. I am glad it is you who is speaking with us, as we are here on delicate matters.”

“Delicate?” Harry let his smile drop slightly. “Is there something wrong? Let me alert Minister Shacklebolt, then. He’ll be sure to provide assistance.”

“It’s hardly necessary to go to such lengths,” Rossi stalled immediately, glancing to his partner. “There have been rumblings in the Department of Mysteries both here, and abroad. Our attempt to track the cause leaves us with only a slight trail leading to Hogwarts.”

“This has to do with Professor Trelawney’s murder, then.”

“It is very possible,” agreed the elder Inquisitor.

“Well, let’s start there, then,” Harry decided, leading the group back towards the castle. “Before I forget my manners, this is Ginny Weasley, a great help to me during our struggle with Voldemort.”

“Charmed,” Moretti said, speaking for the first time.

“Likewise.” Ginny allowed Moretti to kiss her hand formally, shooting Harry nervous glances. Harry simply nodded at her, and hastened them along. Harry explained the exact scene he had witnessed as they climbed to the classroom. “It looked at us, saying ‘Blood of the Father,’ and then crumbled to dust. Professor McGonagall is still quite distraught over this. I imagine that she’s tired of seeing her school attacked.”

“Indeed,” Rossi hummed, looking around. “And there were five black holes in her chest?”

“Each several inches wide, yes.” Harry held his hand up, making a claw. “The way they were seated made them look like something’s fingers burned through the professor. It was very grotesque.”

Moretti interrupted in Italian, pointing his finger towards the area where Trelawney had died. Rossi immediately went over, squatting beside his partner as they bantered back and forth rapidly.

“I take it that you can see magical traces?” Harry asked, bringing the Inquisitors’ attention back to him. Moretti nodded slowly, and Harry smiled. “Good, I was wondering about that. Dumbledore showed me how to spot traces, and I’ve been wracking my brain as to what those marks were for the longest time. It doesn’t match the signature of any other magic I’ve seen.” Harry instinctively narrowed his trails of thought as he talked, leaving no room for them to spot a lie.

“This magic is very rare,” Rossi said slowly. “There have been only sporadic cases of it, and it always ties back to someone who is very proficient in the Dark Arts. The magic itself is a perversion of the Holy Magics of God.”

“Holy Magics…? I’m sorry, I’m not sure about those.”

“You would not be,” Rossi smiled. “They are kept very secret. We have shared some, however, for the protection of the people. The Patronus Charm that you are so renowned for is one such Holy Magic.”

Harry nodded slowly, thinking about the charm. “I think I understand. Gubraithian Fire?”

Rossi clapped his hands, beaming. “Very good! I believe that you do understand.”

“How familiar with the Dark Arts are you, Mr. Potter?” asked Moretti as he stood.

“Personally? Not very. Indirectly? How much do you know about Voldemort?”

“A fair amount,” Moretti said, “though I gather than you have kept the worst to yourself.”

“Seven Horcruxes,” Harry said, watching as the Inquisitors’ eyes widened. “Can I trust you to keep that bit of information quiet?”

“Of course,” Moretti assured him. “It serves no purpose to let such blasphemous things reach people’s ears.”

“Agreed,” Rossi said, clapping his hands. “I believe that we are finished here, Mr. Potter. Will you show us the rest of the school, and the dorms? We must perform a sweep of the castle, though of course I do not believe that we will find anything.”

“Of course,” Harry echoed neutrally. “Let’s start at the top and work our way down and I’ll have Ginny alert the various professors. This way to the Gryffindor tower…”

-----

“We are grateful for your assistance and cooperation,” Rossi said diplomatically as he shook Harry’s hand at the entrance hall. “We have not found what we were looking for, but it does give us a better idea of what might be involved.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Harry said. “If there’s more you need, Kingsley can always reach me.” He watched as the two frustrated Inquisitors left, talking in rapid Italian once again. Biting back a sigh, he turned and walked back into the castle, Ginny still trailing behind him.

“Welcome to my life,” he said, seeing the conflicted expression on Ginny’s face. “Did you find that entirely confusing?”

“A little. You had them going back and forth like crazy, and you kept throwing the professors in their faces. What’s going on?”

“We rushed back here, hid all of Dumbledore’s stuff, I sent Hermione away on an ‘official’ errand with all my stuff, I derailed their investigation with sporadic talk about Voldemort and idle threats to call Kingsley, and I had you bringing the professors to breathe down their necks. All in all, I’m sure that they’re very annoyed with me, but it would look bad for them to come back after both Hogwarts and Harry Potter had been so accommodating.”

“Okay,” said Ginny, looking overwhelmed. “How illegal was all of that, exactly?”

“Not at all,” he replied with an oily smile. “The Vatican is unofficial everywhere they go, and they have no real authority, just immunity. They like to push their luck, though, and so I made it very clear to them exactly how far I’d let them push.”

“That was a little scary.”

Harry arched an eyebrow incredulously. “My life is a little scary, Ginny. That’s nothing new.”

“Yes, well, it’s not usually you that’s the scary one.”

Harry said nothing, levelling an appraising glare at Ginny, who shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Okay…” Ginny was quiet for a moment, before looking back at Harry. “Can we finish our talk now?”

“I think I’ve said all I wanted to say,” Harry said firmly. “You and I seem to have different ideas as to what our future holds.”

“Harry, I love you,” she said brokenly. “Don’t say that.”

“I love you too. I always will, even if we don’t work out. But we can’t force this to work ‘just because.’ That won’t happen.”

“We can make this work,” insisted Ginny, reaching out to grasp Harry’s robe. “I can’t just give up on you.”

“Yes, but can you survive another situation like we just had? Because things like that are going to keep happening to me.”

“I – I don’t…” Ginny looked away for a moment, before looking back resolutely. “I’ll adjust,” she said firmly.

“We’ll see.” Without further comment, Harry turned and walked away, intent on reaching the Heads’ dorm. Hermione was back, and he had things to discuss with her before afternoon classes began.

-----

Harry entered the Heads’ dorm only to be floored by Hermione the moment the portrait had closed. “Thank you,” she cried. “Thank you so much, Harry. You have no idea how scared I was.”

“It was nothing,” said Harry, snaking his arms around her. A moment passed where they simply leaned against each other, before Hermione continued, slightly calmer.

“I didn’t even think to try erasing the signatures in the room! I hate it when I panic; it always makes me feel like such an idiot afterwards.”

“Is that so?” asked Harry playfully. “Tell me then, ‘Miss Idiot,’ what would have happened if you tried to erase your own magical signature?”

“I’d… oh!” A light of understanding appeared in Hermione’s eyes. “I couldn’t have done it; it would have left traces of me all over!”

“Right, it had to be me, because my signature isn’t going to arouse suspicion, and the Elder Wand makes the signatures go funny, anyways.”

“Funny?”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t really explain; it’s like smearing a fingerprint, making it too blurry to identify.”

Hermione nodded, and backed away, pulling Harry’s pouch from her neck. “Here,” she said. “They all stayed and behaved themselves.”

“I figured a couple of hours wouldn’t matter to them.” Hermione placed her hands on Harry’s as he took the pouch from her.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she said in a voice thick with emotion. “Maybe you don’t think this way, but these are … your life, and you just handed them over to me without thinking at all.”

“There isn’t thinking to be done,” he assured her, kissing her hands. “I trust you, end of story.”

Harry absently placed the pouch around his neck as they walked to the couch, and Harry explained the investigation.

“So I stonewalled where I could, and they didn’t get a chance to really sniff around. I’m going to floo Kingsley, and see if there’s anything else to be worried about.”

“I doubt it,” Hermione opined. “As long as they saw those traces, and decided that it didn’t come from here, they’ll be satisfied.”

“We can hope.” Harry grabbed the floo powder from the side of the fire pit. “Kingsley Shacklebolt!” he called as he threw the powder into the fire.

A moment later, a large, three-dimensional image of Kingsley’s head floated in the center of the room, surrounded by green flames. “Harry,” he said warmly, “Just the man I wanted to speak with. Nice job with the Inquisitors; by the sound of it, you walked all over them.”

“A little bit here, a little bit there,” Harry allowed with a smirk, and proceeded to talk about the visit.

“That’s about what I’d expect from them,” Kingsley agreed after listening. “They have nothing to stand on to merit a return trip to Hogwarts. If they do, then send me a Patronus and keep them out of anything sensitive; I’ll rein them in.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. Now, you were also talking earlier about donating to Hogwarts?”

Harry nodded. “For the inter-house competitions and new supplies, yeah.”

“That will work,” Kingsley said. “Let the press cover it, and be specific on exactly what was purchased. Make sure it looks good for the whole school, not just parts. Donating money is a tricky business when you’re already directly involved, but as long as you’re specific about where it goes, there shouldn’t be a problem. Just send an owl to the Prophet, and they’ll send someone up.”

Harry agreed, and Kingsley looked away for a moment, before looking back, a piece of parchment appearing under his disembodied head. “Not that this is surprising, but I have another invitation for you … and Hermione, too. Looks like you both made an impression at the convention. This time it’s to attend the celebration of All Saints’ Day in France with the French Minister. The Weasleys might also be invited, as I see that the Delacours have a table for themselves.”

“Well, that avoids the previous problem,” Harry mumbled. Hermione snickered, and Kingsley shot him a questioning look. “It’s nothing. I don’t see a problem with attending; are you arranging transportation?”

“Absolutely. I’m sure that you could Apparate if you wanted to, but it’s best to keep the group together. Alright, if that’s all, my paperwork awaits!” After exchanging quick goodbyes, Kingsley’s head vanished and the fire returned to normal.

“Does it ever feel like you’re being pulled in ten different directions at once?” Harry said, falling back against the couch with a frustrated sigh. “Trelawney’s dead, McGonagall’s down, the competitions have supplies and prizes, the school as new brooms on the way, the professors will get a chance to order new supplies for their classroom, the Vatican came, saw, and were intimidated, I nearly broke up with Ginny, and now we have another event to attend in a month.”

“Well, at least you can dance with Ginny this time,” Hermione offered, attempting to sound cheerful.

“Yeah, because the rest of her family will be there,” he muttered darkly, before sitting up with a determined look on his face. “I think I’m going to ask her before I tell the others about the invitation,” he decided. “Let’s see if she’s willing to step up this time. Come on, it’s almost lunch.”

The two heads left their dorm, and Harry wasted no time descending on Ginny with a slightly edited version of Kingsley’s invitation.

“France?” Ginny sputtered, nearly choking on her lunch. “You want me to go with you to France?”

“That’s the plan,” confirmed Harry, perched on the Gryffindor table’s bench beside her. “We’ll meet with Kingsley at the Ministry, and take a Portkey from there. I can Apparate us back if you’re not comfortable with it; you’ll be just fine, though.”

“I… I don’t know,” she managed after a moment. “I’ll have to ask Mum.”

“You have to ask your Mum,” Harry echoed disbelievingly.

“Don’t be like that,” she said, frowning. “Mum always worries when we’re travelling. She worries about you, too.”

“Get an answer today, please,” Harry said woodenly; without waiting for Ginny to respond, he stood up and walked away, nearly running into Luna.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright; are you okay?”

Harry smiled at the concern in Luna’s voice. “I’m fine,” he assured her, “just brooding as always.”

“Since you’ve just spoken with Ginny, I can imagine what you’re brooding over.”

Harry met Luna’s knowing smile with a sardonic one. “I’m not going to bother confirming that. Ginny needs to learn how to make her own decisions.”

“Oh?” Luna looked at him curiously, and Harry decided to run his test again.

“If I asked you to come to France with me for the day to meet the French Minister and a couple of other people, would you come?”

“Of course,” Luna answered immediately. “I’ve have to owl my father to let him know, but I’d love to go. There isn’t a chance that you’re actually serious and we could go, is there?” Luna adopted a slightly wistful look, ensnaring his heart immediately.

“Not right away, but I’ll arrange something,” Harry promised. “I’d like to take Hermione too, if that’s alright.” Seeing Luna nod, Harry continued to the point. “Anyways, you said you’d owl your father. Would you be asking his permission?”

“No, I don’t need to. Father’s very- oh,” Luna made a noise of understanding, “Ginny’s asking her parents if she can go?”

“Ten Galleons says Molly tells her no, and Ginny won’t fight for it.”

“I’m sorry,” the small Ravenclaw gave Harry a one-armed hug. “Things were looking so good for you both.”

Harry shrugged and said his goodbyes, walking up to the Head Table.

“I see Ginny just ran off,” Hermione commented as he sat down. She passed him an already-filled plate, which Harry accepted gratefully.

“Ginny’s going to floo Molly, I’d guess.” Harry explained as he ate, and Hermione nodded in agreement. “Let’s not dwell on that; how’d the Prefects react to the news about their prizes?”

“They were ecstatic!” Hermione enthused. “You got everything we could possibly need, and I actually did pick up a few things when I was out, too. Would you like me to pass along to the professors that they can order new supplies within reason?”

“Please do. Have them give all their requests to you, and I’ll deal with it from there. Now, tell me about the inter-house meeting area. How’s the tutoring going?” Lunch passed in quiet discussion as plans were made and improved for the remainder of the school year.

“Here we go,” Harry interrupted near the end of the hour. Ginny approached the Head Table looking solemn. “Should I even ask?” Ginny shook her head, and Harry viciously quashed his anger. “That’s fine,” he said neutrally. “Hermione, will you go with me?”

“Of course,” she replied immediately, displaying none of the worry that Harry could feel through their link.

“Good.” Harry stood and motioned for Hermione to follow. “Come on, let’s go tell Kingsley. He wanted to know right away.” Shoving his chair back forcefully, Harry stalked out of the Hall, Hermione on his heels.

“Harry…”

“I’m tired of this,” he snapped. “I’m not going to stand around and take it.”

“Maybe you should talk to Molly about…” Hermione trailed off as Harry turned a furious glare on her. “I know; it’s stupid. I just wish that she’d understand.”

“It’s their problem,” Harry said decisively, “not mine. Let’s get to class.”

-----

October trickled past in a flurry of activity. Harry found it harder and harder to see Ginny, and he was secretly grateful for the added distance. The students continued to struggle with new magics, but the issue had reached a plateau with the implementation of Harry’s training regime. Class progress slowed to a crawl as students performed each spell hundreds of times, but professors were thrilled as the degree of mastery rose tremendously, and tentative plans to extend the school year into the summer were discussed.

The inter-house tutoring system soon expanded to no less than four students available each night, and Harry and Hermione both took to doing their homework in the meeting area to ease the burden on prefects and professors; they also were in high demand for tutoring, which they inevitably did every night they were there.

The professors were overjoyed to be able to order new books and supplies. The Prophet reported Harry’s donation in its usual overblown style, praising him for giving back to his school, and working towards improving it. The Quidditch teams all thanked Harry personally for the brooms, as the Nimbus 2000’s were a large upgrade for many of the players.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team celebrated its first victory of the year against Ravenclaw. Ron earned a shutout, performing with a newfound energy that reminded Harry of Oliver Wood. Ginny led the chasers in scoring, devastating their opponents with twenty-four goals over the thirty minutes of the game. Harry spent his entire time frustrating Ravenclaw’s beaters before catching the Snitch, ending the game and humiliating the Ravenclaws with a 630-0 loss, despite the new brooms.

Each House hosted events and contests for their students, and the first inter-house contests were held for the first years. The students all formed teams with their Housemates over the month, and competed against each other in Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions events before the Halloween Feast. The two Heads offered Transfiguration demonstrations at the start of the event. Dozens of Hermione’s life-like conjured animals ambled around the amused and amazed student body for the rest of the day, chirping, barking and purring at anyone who gave them attention. Harry impressed the other NEWT Potions students and Professor Slughorn by transfiguring a pewter cauldron to gold so completely that he was able to begin a batch of Felix Felicis, a normally impossible task without natural gold.

Though it often cost him hours of sleep, Harry continued with his own research and training. His flight had become steady and quick, and he slowly began to incorporate it into his types of movement during spell practice. His physical workouts using the power had also increased. Entire days were spent with the power actively resisting his every movement, forcing his muscles to grow and develop from normally un-trainable angles. Hermione laughed at him, letting out his robes yet again as he grew at least another inch in every direction.

With Hermione’s help, Harry put more than a dozen new spells through his training routine, adding them to his repertoire while Hermione continued to absorb entire tomes of magic. Harry grudgingly began to study the art of Legilimency, guided along by his link with Hermione. She also pushed both herself and Harry to learn French and German, citing Harry’s need to make an impression. Languages proved far easier to learn than Legilimency, and they both considered themselves passably fluent by the end of the month.

It wasn’t until the week before the party that Molly received an invitation for the family, and a very excited Ginny confronted Harry with the news.

“No,” he replied to Ginny. “We can’t ‘go together.’ I’ve already confirmed things with Kingsley, and the French Minister is expecting Hermione to attend with me. I’ll make time for you during the party, though.”

“Oh,” was all Ginny could say. Her disappointed look echoed Harry’s sentiments earlier in the month. That’s what it feels like, he thought vindictively. I hope you remember that feeling.

-----

Ginny grouched all the way to the Ministry, where Kingsley and Hestia met them with the Portkey. Ginny jostled with Hermione for the spot next to Harry while they walked through the French Ministry towards the banquet hall. Hermione subtly called on her magic, shoving the girl just as the doors opened. Ginny tripped, catching herself on Ron; Hermione sped up to walk next to Harry and the two entered together as the master of ceremonies introduced them.

“You know I’ll hear it for that later, right?” asked Harry with a grin. Hermione shrugged daintily and smiled. The pair was quickly ushered with Kingsley and Hestia to the French Minister’s table. Harry exchanged a knowing look with Hermione as the Weasleys were lead to the Delacours nearly across the room from them, and schooled their looks into warm smiles as they returned the greetings from their table.

“It’s always good to see you both again,” said Kingsley once they were seated. “I’m in good company tonight.”

“You are good company, Kinsley,” Harry returned. “Good to see you again too, Hestia. Has it been a good month for you?”

“I think things are going well,” she said, taking Kingsley’s arm in hers. Hermione smiled at this, and took Harry’s arm.

“Good to hear.” Harry turned to the rest of the table, drumming up his courage. “Good evening, Minister,” he said in French, pleased that it didn’t sound too stilted. “I hope you’ll forgive my mistakes, but if I’m going to be meeting wizards from other countries often, I thought it best to learn the languages.”

“It pleases me to see,” the Minister replied. “Don’t be ashamed to resort to English; you’ve come a long way in only a month.”

“I’ll pass all the praise to Hermione. She’s amazing with languages, and she’s a wonderful teacher.” Hermione blushed at Harry’s compliment.

“I tried my best,” she answered, her French far more refined and natural. “Harry’s a quick learner, though; soon, you’ll wonder if English was his first language.”

The banter continued, and Harry and Hermione both avoided the lethal glares that Ginny sent in their direction and the confused glances from the Weasleys. Harry answered Ron’s questioning look with a shrug, motioning towards Kingsley. Ron gave a satisfied nod, and relayed the information to the rest of the family, who relaxed into smiles. Only Ginny looked truly put out.

Dinner was excellent, and Harry could see that the Weasleys and Delacours were thrilled. Harry spent the dinner discussing national politics with the two Ministers, who were more than happy to answer the questions he had. What pleased Harry the most was that the French Minister and Delegates included Hermione in the conversation. The table laughed at the tale of S.P.E.W, Hermione’s youthful attempt to free House Elves, as both Harry and Hermione traded off on their perspectives. The laughter increased tremendously as Harry relayed Hermione’s attempts to free the Elves in their fifth year.”

“You never told me that!” she cried, slapping Harry’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me that Dobby was doing everything himself?”

“You thought it was working, and Dobby liked the work. I had more than enough on my plate that year; I didn’t want to see you hurt.” Kingsley and Hestia chuckled, and the French party gave knowing smiles. Hermione tried to look affronted, but a small smile played on her face. Harry moved on to the tale of Dobby’s rescue, which left the French Minister shocked and amazed. Dessert arrived shortly after, and conversation lulled.

“Looking forward to dancing again?” Harry whispered to Hermione while they ate. Hermione nodded vigorously, though she directed Harry’s gaze to Ginny.

“Dance with Ginny first,” she told him. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Of course, what could I have been thinking,” Harry said dramatically, his hand over his heart. “You’re such a considerate, caring friend, Hermione. That’s why your magic built up and Ginny tripped, after all.” Hermione snickered at his antics and poked his shoulder playfully, and they both turned back to their desserts.

Harry stole several glances at Hermione as they ate. She was every part the sophisticated woman, and she commanded her own respect at the table. Judging by how impressed the French Minister was, he expected that the next time he and Hermione were invited to an event, they would both receive direct invitations from the source as a show of respect. A fierce pride blossomed in Harry’s chest as he watched her; Hermione looked up, giving him a startled smile.

“I’m proud of you, too,” she whispered. “You’ve done so well for yourself.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “It means a lot to hear that.”

Dinner passed and the ensemble walked on stage, beginning to play. Harry walked over and collected Ginny, while Hermione pulled at Ron. The first song was slow, and both Weasleys kept up with their partners.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Ginny admitted, smiling at Harry.

“Me, too. I’m glad we finally have a chance.”

“You don’t suppose…” Harry followed Ginny’s gaze to where Ron and Hermione danced formally, talking and smiling.

“No,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not. Give it up.”

“But they-”

“You do realize that Ron’s going out with Luna, right?”

“But she’s – no, I’m sorry, that’s wrong. I like Luna a lot. I just like seeing him with Hermione, though.” Ginny gave a wistful sigh, looking away from Harry’s face.

“You’re not happy.”

“I’m angry, Harry. I thought that this was supposed to be us tonight. It’s wrong that everyone expects you to be with Hermione.”

“Mm Hmm?”

“I know you think it’s my fault,” she snapped. “I don’t want this to keep happening. I’m not just hiding in the background.”

“No one’s asking you to. This isn’t the type of event where you can just sit with anyone you want.”

“I’m hurt, Harry. I’m hurt that you just walked away, sat over there, and said nothing. I wanted to be with you tonight.”

“I am over there for business,” he retorted. “Neither Hermione nor I were invited here for fun, or because we looked nice. Kingsley’s trying to establish interest in us from the international community, and so far, it’s going really well. Hermione was asked to come by name, not just as my date. The fact that Hermione could come as my date is just a detail. If you’d said yes in the first place, you’d still not have been sitting with me tonight, because the Minister’s wife is over at another table, too. My entire table is Ministry big-wigs; you and your family were invited by the Delacours as extended family, which is a lot different. You do understand that this isn’t your average party, right?”

“Don’t talk down to me,” she growled. Harry turned sharply as they danced, silencing Ginny as she struggled to keep up with his more aggressive moves.

“This really isn’t the time to be sensitive. Before the next event, I’ll tell them in advance that you’re my date. It doesn’t mean that we’ll be sitting together or much of anything-”

Hermione danced past, and in a beautifully coordinated move with Ron, she swept in and claimed Harry as her new partner, while Ron took a struggling Ginny.

“Hi,” she said brightly, “you looked like you needed rescuing.”

Harry let a small breath out in relief. “Thanks. Honestly, your timing was perfect. So,” he looked at the partially empty dance floor as the music picked up its pace, “want to dance?” Hermione’s smile grew, and their link widened to provide physical feedback.

They danced flawlessly and effortlessly across the floor. Their forcefulness drew the approving eyes of the room, and his admiration for Hermione grew.

“They’re gawking at us again,” he announced playfully as he spun Hermione and pulled her close.

“They should,” she answered, turning her nose up. “Quality like this is hard to find.”

“Thanks to you,” he laughed, spinning them in a new direction. When the dances ended, Harry kissed Hermione on the cheek, and the two started back towards the tables. Before they could even leave the dance floor, Ginny bore down on them, a burning rage in her eyes, with a frustrated Ron trying to pull her back.

“You bitch!” she roared, to the general shock of the gathering. “You complete and utter whore!”

“What the-”

But Ginny would not talk; she threw Ron off and hurled curses at Hermione as fast as she could. Hermione dipped low, ducking the first curse and drawing her wand. Harry pulled his own, idly countering a hex that flew too near to him. He felt Hermione urge him to wait as she countered three stunners and sent one of her own, purposely to the left of Ginny. Harry felt her smirk through the link as Ginny spun predictably and launched her signature Bat Bogey Hex.

Hermione’s aura flared to life around Harry; with a casual flick of Hermione’s wand for show, the hex stopped mid-air and reversed direction, slamming into the unprepared Ginny. Two quick spells later, Ginny was secured tightly with ropes, hanging upside down by her ankle, defenceless against her own hex.

“Enough please,” Harry said, placing his had on Hermione’s wand arm. Hermione disarmed the incapacitated witch, ending the duel, and Harry felt a wave of satisfaction radiate from the link. Harry moved quickly towards Ginny, seeing reporters already taking pictures. Harry quickly released Ginny and countered the hex. Another wave cleared the mess from her reddened face. “We’re going to be a few minutes,” he said loudly as helped a whimpering Ginny to her feet.

“Move,” he barked. “We need to talk, now.” Without waiting for Ginny’s response, he grabbed the distraught redhead by the arm, dragging her outside. He moved her quickly through the building until he reached the Apparition point at the entrance to the French Ministry. Jerking painfully on Ginny’s arm, he Apparated them both to the Burrow.

“I have had enough!” he screamed, shoving Ginny away from him as soon as they appeared. “I am sick of your jealousy and your temper! I am sick of seeing Hermione attacked by you, and that is the second time you’ve thrown hexes at me this year! Do you and your brother get off on cursing me?”

“Harry-”

“NO! This isn’t going to work like that! I’m done with all this! I warned you about Hermione already! Do you respect me at all?”

“Harry, listen to me!”

“You just embarrassed me, Hermione, and your entire family! The Delacours might never be able to invite you again, and you did it because you couldn’t give two shits about anything but your own feelings!”

“You- You should have-!”

“-Stayed with you,” Harry mocked viciously. “Completely ignored both Ministers, the people who invited me, and sit with you.”

“You could have at least tried to include me!”

“The same effort that you showed me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I intentionally asked you to come with me, remember?” Harry stepped towards Ginny as he spoke. “You said no. You wouldn’t trust me and support me enough to show up when I asked you. Do you remember what happened? Your mother didn’t want you to travel.

“Mum thought-”

“I AM NOT GOING OUT WITH YOUR MOTHER!” he bellowed, making Ginny take several steps away from him. Harry stood there for a moment, breathing heavily; both recovered quickly. One had a look of anger, and one felt resigned.

“Just because you think that-”

“You know what, Ginny?” Harry said, stepping back to her, and cutting her off. “I’m not going out with you, either.”

“What?” Ginny’s eyes widened, and her face, flushed red with anger, quickly paled. “Harry, no…”

“I love you,” he said holding her at the shoulders. “I love you, but I’m done with this. We haven’t been happy since school started, and I need so much more that you’re willing to give.”

“NO!” Ginny crashed into Harry’s chest, crushing his ribs in a desperate embrace. “NO, NO! You can’t! Please don’t! I love you, Harry! Don’t leave, please!”

“I do love you,” he said, trying to calm Ginny’s hysterics. “But this isn’t right, though. It’s not working.” Ginny wailed in his arms, and Harry slowly lowered them to the ground as her knees gave out, tucking Ginny’s head above his shoulder.

“No,” she sobbed. “Y-You can’t leave. I don’t want to l-lose you.”

“I’m not going to disappear,” he soothed, stroking her hair and back. “I’ll never be far away.”

“B-but you’re b-breaking up with m-me,” she stuttered, “a-and I don’t w-want that. I’ve t-tried to make you happy.”

“And it isn’t working,” Harry picked up, “and I keep hurting you. I’m tired of hurting you, and I’m tired of being hurt. Aren’t you?” Ginny’s breathing began to ease, and her sobs became sniffles against his shoulder.

“But I’m not tired of you, Harry. I want you to be a part of my life.”

“I will be,” he assured her. “I’m not going to leave and never see you again. You’ll see me again tomorrow, and every day afterward. You’ll have your dream, Ginny; you’ll have me and your family laughing together at the Burrow.”

“But… but not with me.”

“I told you before you treated me like your brothers,” Harry said, still rubbing her back. “You can still do that, Ginny. I promise you that you’ll be happy.”

“You’ll… be with Hermione, then,” Ginny stated, pulling back to look at Harry directly. Harry reached up to wipe the tears away from her bloodshot eyes, and pulled her back to him.

“I’m not going to jump at Hermione,” he said. “If it happens, it happens, and you’ll know right away. But I want my friend back, Ginny; Hermione wants her friend back. She cried when you shouted at her about Ron, she was so upset. We all deserve to be happy again, and right now, we’re not.”

“I don’t want things to change,” Ginny said with a sniff. “I… I’m scared.”

Harry kissed her chastely on the lips. “I’ll always be here. The only difference is snogging, and I think you can live with that.” She snorted at his comment, and put her head back down on Harry’s shoulder. Her breathing was steady now, and Harry relaxed his embrace.

“I’m really, really sorry,” she said as she pulled away, wiping her eyes and face. “I know I’ve messed up; I hope everyone’s alright. Oh, Harry…”

“You’re forgiven,” he said. “You’re forgiven for everything. Will you forgive me? For hurting you?”

“You haven’t- yes,” she said, an understanding dawning in her eyes. “You’re forgiven Harry.”

“Thank you.” Harry walked Ginny into the house and up to her room, gently laying her on the bed. “Rest,” he said warmly. “We’ll deal with the backlash later. Hopefully, it’ll all blow over quickly, and we can laugh about it later. You won’t lose me; I’ll be there for you tomorrow, as your friend.” He reached down and hugged her tightly, and Ginny’s arms pulled him close.

“Goodnight,” he said, giving her one last kiss. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

-----

Harry reappeared at the French Ministry, quickly moving to find Hermione “Everything’s fine,” he told the officials and reporters who approached him. “Ginny Weasley is at home resting. She’ll be fine tomorrow, and she offers her sincerest apologies for tonight’s disruption. The argument is family business, and I’d appreciate it if you afforded us our privacy on that matter. Thank you for your concern.”

Hermione walked up to him as soon as he entered the room, her eyes watery. She hugged him unabashedly, trying desperately not to cry. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can’t believe it came to that, even if it was obvious. It was so… intense.”

“Well, that’s Ginny,” Harry joked. With a practiced wave of his wand, Harry cleaned Hermione’s face. “Come on, the night’s not over yet. Big smiles for the press, keep your poker face up.”

“Mate?” Ron came up beside him while Hermione fixed her makeup. “What happened?”

“We fought, and we broke up,” Harry said, squeezing Ron’s shoulder. “We shouted, we cried, we apologised, and then I put her to bed and came back here. She’s resting now; she’ll be alright.”

“What about you?” Harry was touched by the sincerity in Ron’s question. It had only been a month, but it was still amazing to see the concern in Ron’s eyes.

“I’ll get there,” Harry assured him. “Tonight, I’m going to drink, dance, play politician, and tomorrow, we’ll see.”

“As long as you’re alright.” Ron clapped him on the shoulder, before turning to go. “I’m going to disappear for a bit, and see that Ginny’s okay. Something tells me she could use a brother right now.” Harry smiled and waved his friend off, watching as he walked away.

“I wish we’d caught this sooner,” he sighed. “I missed this Ron.”

“I know,” Hermione agreed. “There are so many things I wish I had done differently, this most of all.”

“None of that,” Harry chided. “It’s fixed, it’s over, and life goes on.”

“Alright; no moping.” Hermione looked up hopefully. “Ready to dance again?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “let’s dance.”

-----

Harry absently shut the portrait to their dorm and slumped into the couch, shedding the outer layers of his dress robes like an unwanted skin. Hermione dropped into the seat beside him, loosening the various straps and ties on her dress, and curled against his shoulder.

“The press is going to have a field day with this,” he sighed. “At least the rest of the night went well.” Hermione nodded, her fingers trailing into Harry’s hair.

“Harry, what happens now?” Harry turned to look at her, tilting his head questioningly.

“What are we?” Hermione clarified. “We’re so close now, and I know that if you hadn’t been dating Ginny, we’d be together. You’ve been so wonderful to me, and I can’t tell you how often I think of that image of us together as a family. Is that something you want?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I want to give it a shot, but I want to move slowly. We’re already close; hell, we sleep together. I really don’t think that there’s much more for us to do; it’s going to take care of itself. Besides, I don’t want to antagonize the Weasleys by jumping straight into another relationship.”

“Is that really a reason to wait?”

“Is Ginny’s friendship something you want?” Hermione closed her eyes; after a moment, she nodded.

“Then it is,” Harry concluded. “We’re not ‘waiting,’ really. I’m right here, you’re in my head, and we sleep, eat, work and hang out together. I don’t think there’s twenty minutes that passes in this dorm that we aren’t touching each other is some way, and now it’ll probably be more often than that. All we’re not doing is giving a big public display that we’re dating. And to be honest, I want some time away from being intimate with anyone. I’m used to being able to hold and touch Ginny, and I need to wrap my head around not doing that anymore before we start anything.”

“But soon…?”

“Soon. It’s our turn now. I want you to be mine. I want to be able to say ‘yes, that’s my woman, and she’s damned amazing.’”

“I think I’ve always been yours,” she said lovingly. “For quite a while, anyways. I think I just didn’t want to accept it until this summer.”

“I wasn’t ready, either. But we have all the time in the world, so we’ll take this one step at a time.” Leaning into Hermione Harry gently touched her cheek, slowly closing the small distance between them.

“Are you mine, Harry?” Hermione asked, their lips touching, her breath hot against his face.

“Always,” he vowed, pressing his lips against hers. Hermione pressed back, and they quickly deepened the kiss, feeling complete for the first time in months.

-----

Breakfast was already in progress as Harry and Hermione walked into the Great Hall. Shocked whispers and muted laughter circulated as students pointed at the front page of the newspaper, occasionally looking at Ginny, or the Heads. Luna, Ron, and several other seventh years formed a protective ring around Ginny at the Gryffindor table, shielding her from the other students.

“Feeling better this morning?” Harry asked as he passed her, loud enough for the rest of the students to hear.

“A little,” she mumbled, looking determinedly at her breakfast.

“Good.” Harry dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and carried on towards the Head Table. The laughter and whispers died off a little at Harry’s display of affection. From the corner of his eye, he though he could see a ghost of a smile on Ginny’s face.

“Everything alright?” asked Hermione as Harry caught up to her.

“I think so,” he replied. “As good as it can be, anyways.” They quickly sat and began to fill their plates, pausing as Hermione gathered her paper from the waiting owl.

“Oh God,” she breathed as she opened the paper. Harry leaned over her shoulder to read. A large picture showed Ginny floating upside down, bound in ropes, with flying gobs of mucus attacking her face. The crowd looked on with shocked faces from the background, and Harry could see his two-dimensional self pushing Hermione’s wand down; Hermione had a satisfied smile on her face while she watched Ginny. A moment later, Harry walked over to break the spells, and the picture started over, Hermione reversing Ginny’s hex and trussing her up again, while the crowd gaped.

“That’s pretty bad,” Harry said, skimming through the article. “Well, it can only get better from here.”

Hermione smiled and took his hand under the table. “It will,” she said confidently. “We’ll be fine.” Harry couldn’t help but grin and agree.

-----

A/N: Review!

6. Hairline Fractures

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: You have no idea how little time I’ve had to write recently. Still, I wanted to give you a proper chapter, so the delay was certainly necessary. I’ve tried to ensure that there are no rough edges to this chapter, but as always, please let me know if I’ve missed anything.

My life – which, among other things, includes switching jobs – has slowed my writing to a crawl. I have finished the bulk of Chapters 3, 4 and 5 of the MEtyK overhaul, but they’re nowhere near ready to post. Soon, I hope…

I stand by what I’ve promised, though. I will finish every single one of these stories, and I thank you all for reading.

Now stop what you’re doing. Go to fanfiction.net, and read, Will he be Happy by KafkaExMachina – specifically Chapter 9. That story is, to date, the ONLY weak-and-meek Harry portrayal that I fully and completely support. Besides being hilarious in a sadistic, vindictive way, that story is the answer to any questions that you might have as to why my Harry isn’t a wimp in TMF. Harry’s my protagonist, so he needs a free will. Hermione’s throwing around memory charms in my story, so Harry’s virtually immune.

Why?

Because if Harry was susceptible to Hermione’s influence, if he wasn’t able to at the very least cope with Hermione’s growing power, then Hermione would be the protagonist, wouldn’t she?

My opinion is that Rowling herself established Harry’s immunity to direct mental compulsion in GOF, so that we knew that whatever Harry felt or thought was real. Someone that can throw off Voldemort’s Imperius at 14 years of age is not going to be susceptible to a student’s Memory Charms; and Hermione is definitely a student, especially compared to Voldemort.

Anyways, in my opinion, a weak Harry makes for a boring story.

Now on with the show! Beware all people with the last name of Lovegood if you want to retain your sanity!

And a word of warning for the end of this chapter: Don’t. Assume. Anything.

Next up after this:

1) The Pale, chapter 3

2) The Rose, the Oak and the Tower, chapter 2

~TOW

Hairline Fractures

============

Harry sat trance-like as he watched Hermione's magic flow. Streams of blue and violet arced gracefully around her in the golden sea of her aura. Spells came to life, changed in mid-flight, and died as Hermione focused her will. The Marauders Map lay open in front of her, beside a blank sheet of parchment. Hermione's magic danced between the two sheets, transferring and altering properties as it worked.

It was an act of genius, but it was an understandable act of genius. Seeing the magic work at its most fundamental levels gave Harry amazing insight into Hermione's abilities. What would appear to others as miraculous revealed to him in its true form – several normal spells cast simultaneously and woven into an ephemeral work of art that transcended mortal ability. He watched silently as Hermione flawlessly reproduced and altered the work of four talented wizards with only a mild exertion of effort, her wand long forgotten in her desk drawer. Her mind barely registered what spells were necessary before her magic adjusted to reproduce the effect, and then tweaked it in whatever manner Hermione deemed necessary.

Hermione's smile brushed across his thoughts while she worked, causing him to smile as well. “What's got you so happy?” he asked.

“You.”

“Oh? What've I done now?”

“I love the way it feels when you figure something out,” she answered. “You preen.”

Harry snickered, an image of Hedwig flashing in his mind. “I'd like to think I'm never a prat about things like that.”

“Of course not. It’s not a bad thing. You're just... proud of yourself. I like it.”

Harry brushed against Hermione's thoughts affectionately, before retreating to his own. His mood faltered a bit with Hedwig's memory, and several minutes passed as he relived several of his private moments with his beloved owl. A small pang of guilt wormed through his guts as his thoughts turned to Hedwig's last moments, locked helplessly in her cage in the middle of a brutal firefight.

“Harry? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, snapping back to the present. “Just thinking of Hedwig.”

The buzz of Hermione's magic faded away, and she came over to him, taking his hand. “Show me, please. Those memories felt painful.” Harry sighed, relaxing his focus. Hermione's presence reached out for the memories, brushing across them gently until she reached Hedwig's death.

“Oh! I knew she died, but... Oh, that's terrible!”

“I can't help but feel bad,” he said sadly. “It's not like Hedwig was a witch who could fight back; hell, she wasn't even out of her cage.

“She was my responsibility, in a way that no one else was. To have her die was painful. To have her body destroyed by my own spell afterwards... I know I did the best I could, and it's such a small detail in light of everything last year, but I feel like it was so wrong of me to do.”

Hermione resonated soothingly in his mind, and she reached for the feelings of guilt and sadness. Harry pulled his thoughts quickly away. “No. I don't want you to take this away. It's mine. She deserves it.”

“Hedwig would never have wished you pain.”

“No, but it's not pain. It's... a need.”

“Closure,” Hermione finished for him. “You need to say goodbye.”

Growing comprehension widened his eyes. That was exactly it, and with that revelation, came the obvious solution.

Harry coaxed his mokeskin pouch to grow, and fished out the Resurrection Stone. “Hedwig,” he called softly as he turned the stone. “Come here, girl. Come back to me.” With a soft fluttering of wings, the shimmering form of the beautiful snowy owl appeared, alighting on his shoulder. Hedwig pressed her face lightly against his, crooning affectionately.

“Oh, girl. I'm so sorry.”

Several minutes passed as Harry stroked Hedwig’s sides, while she nipped his fingers and tangled her feet in his hair. Finally, after a deep, shaky breath, Harry dismissed her, watching her fade away, leaving only a few ghostly feathers. Hermione reached out to take one of the feathers in her hand. Her magic exploded forth again, the room bathed in gold, and her eyes luminously bright. Harry squinted against the glare. As it faded, his breath caught.

Sitting in Hermione’s hands – solidly and physically present – was a long, white feather.

Hedwig’s feather.

“I know I can’t bring her back to you,” she whispered, a small trace of golden mist trailing from her mouth and eyes. “But I can give you this.”

Harry took the feather gently, staring in amazement as he turned it in his hands. Hermione slowly faded to normal beside him, her eyes returning to their deep brown, her aura and misty breath gone. An odd current in Hermione’s emotions made him look up. She sat watching him, looking unsure and slightly worried. Rather than speak, Harry leaned towards her and pressed his lips firmly to hers. With a sharp intake of breath as their lips and emotions met, Hermione pressed back, and their thoughts were lost for a moment in the roiling sea of Harry’s gratitude and Hermione’s relief.

When they broke apart, Harry cast a light protection charm on the feather, and placed it with the Stone in his pouch. When the pouch had once again shrunk, he turned back to Hermione.

“Why were you worried?” he asked. “That’s not the first time you’ve done something absolutely amazing for me.”

“I know, but it was a lot more than just an advanced spell, and it was something personal to you. I probably should have asked.”

“I love it,” he assured her. “I love it, just like I love you.”

Hermione leaned forward to hug him gently. “I love you too,” she murmured against his shoulder, before standing and moving back towards the table.

Moments passed as Harry once again fell into his memories, but with a considerably lighter heart. He felt Hermione take up her magic again, and dozed slightly to its soothing rhythm.

“Harry?” His eye cracked open to see Hermione standing over him; the sunlight had diminished noticeably. “It’s done.”

“Good. George will love it.”

“I think so, too,” she agreed, “it’ll be a reminder of their youthful days as first- and second-years. Should we wait until April?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Christmas is fine. I think it’ll be better if we don’t associate it with their birthday.”

Hermione nodded. “So, what are we getting for Ron and Luna?” she asked, cocking her head sideways.

“Well, Luna wanted to go to France, so why don’t we give them a trip this Christmas?”

“That could be expensive.”

Harry looked at her, amused. “Expensive to whom?” he asked.

“Nothing,” replied Hermione with a roll of her eyes. “Forget I said it.”

-----

November passed by with classes progressing at wildly varying paces. The mysterious restrictions on magic resolved into a dichotomy – the younger students needed to cast every spell perfectly to get any results at all. The sixth and seventh years, however, came to a general understanding of the ‘new rules’ under Harry’s more direct coaching, and no longer had issues learning new magic. The professors finalized their plans for a summer term, along with the other complications involved.

Harry sat beside Hermione, talking to her quietly as they waited for the final staff meeting of the month to begin. After a few moments of friendly banter amongst the professors at the table, McGonagall began.

“This meeting is to decide a strategy to implement for the rest of this year. With the success of the NEWT students – thanks largely to Mr. Potter’s efforts – we have two years of students that, with the included summer term, may progress normally. The younger students, however, may not. Already, most of the students are bored and unfocused, having nothing to do besides practicing their spellwork, and then waiting while slower classmates catch up. What we must decide is how to continue with instruction.”

“The NEWT students deserve some priority,” Slughorn said. “They are about to enter wizarding society as adults, and we must ensure that they’re prepared.”

Sprout shook her head. “If we neglect the younger students, though, we’ll create a gap in their education that might be impossible to bridge later.”

“I agree,” Sinistra said with a nod. “Besides, what on earth would we do to keep five years of restless students occupied until June?”

Memories of the DA floated through Harry’s mind, and he recalled his impromptu lessons in the Room of Requirement. “That’s an idea,” he mumbled.

All eyes turned toward Harry, giving him pause for a moment. Even Hermione looked surprised.

“Sorry,” he said, with every intention of being silent. There was something though, something very curious and Hermione-like, urged him to speak.

“I think that we could help with this,” he started. “If the professors want to concentrate on the sixth years and seventh years, then Hermione and I, and maybe one or two others, could keep instructing the earlier years. We probably couldn’t cover the entire curriculum for any year, but we could keep them moving so that they’re not too far behind.” Harry quickly glanced over to Hermione. He had mentioned her, but if she didn’t want to do this – but Hermione was smiling at him, and he felt her approval from across their link.

“You’re offering to teach?” asked Sprout, blinking.

“Well… yes.”

“Commendable offer,” Slughorn said, “truly commendable. But Harry, aren’t you forgetting that the two of you are part of the student body we want to concentrate on? You’d never have the time to do anything more than you already are; you’ll probably have to cut that back as it is!”

“Unfortunately, I have to agree with Professor Slughorn,” said McGonagall. “The two of you would probably do a wonderful job with the younger students, but think what would happen to your own education.”

Harry bit his lip to keep from grinning, but as soon as he caught Hermione’s gaze, they both broke into huge smiles.

“I see that something about what I’ve said is amusing,” McGonagall remarked dryly.

Hermione shook her head fervently. “No, not at all,” she said. “It’s just that I don’t think you should worry about our education. We’re quite ahead of the curriculum.”

“So ahead that you’re ready for your NEWTs?” asked Sinistra, adopting a shrewd expression.

Harry looked again to Hermione, who shrugged. “I think so,” he agreed.

The professors shared looks of incredulity, but McGonagall looked only slightly perturbed. “I assume that you have a reason behind this overnight mastery of magic?”

“Can you all keep a secret?” Harry looked around at the professors, who all looked back warily. One by one, they all hesitantly agreed.

“I have the journals of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.”

“You have…?” The Headmistress trailed off, stunned.

“I’ve been through them a fair amount, and I’m still learning as I go. I’m no Master in any area, but I’d like to think I’m well ahead of the NEWT student standard.”

“I should say so!” spouted Flitwick, who then shook his head slightly in wonder. “Dumbledore’s journals…”

“I’m sure you won’t be surprised when I say that Hermione’s way beyond me, too. To borrow Professor Marchbanks’ words about Dumbledore, she’s done things I’ve never seen before, and I’ve been through a lot.” Hermione blushed red at Harry’s words, and the pride that he sent in her direction.

“Well, that should settle that,” Sinistra said, leaning back. “Unless anyone has a better idea, it seems that we’ve just promoted our Heads to Assistant Professors.”

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully, but a voice from behind them interrupted. “If I may…”

All heads turned toward Dumbledore’s portrait.

“What Harry and Miss Granger-”

“Hermione,” she cut across. “No more ‘Miss Granger’ out of you.”

“-Very well,” the portrait chuckled, continuing. “What Harry and Hermione are suggesting holds great merit, but you would all do well to swap roles.

“Despite what the two of you may think, younger students are often more work to control and direct, and so I would trust those students to the professors, as they have already established themselves as authority figures. The two of you, however, have the direct respect of the majority of older students. You would, I think, find it far easier to guide them. If, as you say, you’ve been through my things, then you shouldn’t have an issue with the material.”

“I suppose not,” allowed Harry, nodding hesitantly. Hermione nodded more firmly.

“Good,” said McGonagall with a tone of finality. “Let’s move along to planning, then. A shift like this won’t happen on its own.”

The following Monday, Harry found himself teaching the entire gathering of sixth- and seventh-year students.

“… So that’s the general gist behind this,” Harry finished, pacing at the front of the much-expanded classroom. “We’ll finish the year in two large classes: Hermione’s going to handle Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, History, and Herbology for both years. I’m going to handle Charms, Defense, Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, and Potions. Hagrid and Firenze are more than able to keep up their regular and NEWT classes, thank God.”

Someone in the crowd yelled “Blast-Ended Skrewts!” and everybody laughed as Harry gave a mock shudder.

“Of course, I have to get through the NEWT topics, and I know exactly what you’re going to ask me, so we’ll get it out of our system in the first couple of classes. Everyone up and push the desks to the side! I’m going to show you all how to duel.” He waited until the commotion and the scraping of desks died down before speaking again.

“Let’s work a bit of Muggle Studies into this, shall we? Who knows what Star Wars is?” Almost every student raised their hands. “Wow! And I thought that the purebloods had no contact with the muggle world.”

“It’s pretty hard to avoid,” a Slytherin girl said. “It’s just some moving pictures, but it’s got something like a religious following.”

“That’s true enough, I guess. Well, think on it as if the Force is magic, and Jedi were wizards. Their ‘Lightsabers’ were unique creations of metal and special crystals that, imbued with the Force, became something much more. Sound familiar?”

“Wands,” murmured several people at once.

“Exactly: Wands are a shaft of particular wood with the core of a magical creature, fused together and imbued to become a lot more than just a stick with a hair in it. Just like a Jedi, we walk around all day without any possessions but the robes on our backs and our wands, which is more than enough for ninety-five percent of what life throws at us.

“Just like Jedi, we have different fighting styles when we duel. I’ve seen and practiced a few, and I’ll show them to you.”

“What do you mean, ‘fighting styles’?” asked Ginny, who was near the front of the class. “I know that you know a load of spells, but we never covered this in the DA.”

“Yeah, I know. That was three years ago, though. That was before I saw a lot of action with Bellatrix, Voldemort, Snape, and Dumbledore… If you watch experienced duelists, you’ll see a pattern to how they fight; and there are a lot of different styles.

“The first style is what I taught the DA – the same style, coincidentally, that most Aurors would use. Since we were talking about Star Wars, let’s call that style ‘Form I.’” Several muggleborn students chuckled.

“Form I starts from a standard dueling position – side profile to your opponent, feet shoulder-length apart, knees bent, and your wand held in front of you, in line with your waist. You should hold your wand at the very back of the grip, with only the tips of your thumb, middle finger and forefinger, like this. Seems a bit loose, right? Well, get used to it.

“With this position and grip, the fastest spell you can cast is Protego, followed closely by Stupefy. Expelliarmus, Impedimenta and other charms all tie for a distant third. Most other types of spells will require you to adjust the grip on your wand.

“That form is what everyone gets trained in without question – your parents know it, you know it – you just weren’t told how to make the most of it. With your wand in that position, and some practice to make those spells silent, you can all cast a Shield Charm so fast and potent that even Crucio won’t penetrate. The biggest weakness to this style is when you’re facing an opponent who’s using Avada Kedavra, or other shield-breaker curses. The grip makes most transfigurations and counter-curses a little more difficult, and your wand usually needs to be away from your waist, so you’re losing time there, too.”

The same Slytherin girl spoke up. “But you used this against the Dark Lord, didn’t you?”

Harry smiled at her. “You’re very well-informed, aren’t you?” The girl smiled back. “I’m afraid we haven’t met before.”

“Astoria Greengrass, Mr. Potter.”

“Harry,” he corrected. “The Ministry can call me ‘Mr. Potter.’”

“Harry, then. I’m in frequent contact with Draco Malfoy.”

“Ah. That would explain that.”

“I know that the two of you aren’t on good terms…”

Harry held up a hand to stop her. “Draco’s not here and not causing me grief. I owe his mother quite a lot, and they are very distant family through the Blacks. We’re good.”

Astoria gave him a large and genuine smile. “It would mean a lot to him to hear you say that.”

Harry looked at her strangely, but shrugged. “Tell him then, or arrange for us to meet one day; I don’t do owl-order forgiveness.” A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd of students, and Ron looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. Harry shrugged again, and began to pace.

“What I’m going to call Form II is the style that Dumbledore used.” Harry adjusted his stance to a martial-arts pose, with his wand arm behind. “You’ll notice that my body is leading instead of my wand,” he said. “This is to hide the wand from my opponent’s view as much as possible, using the left sleeve of my robe. My grip is three fingers halfway up the grip, with my forefinger extended down the shaft, making twisting and rotating motions easier to gauge. My wand is at chest level. In this stance, your fastest and strongest spells are Dumbledore’s greatest weapons: Conjury and Transfiguration. No charms and hexes here; you’re going to attack your opponent and stop incoming spells with your surroundings, and if there isn’t anything to work with, conjure it.”

“There’s no way that you can fight with only Transfiguration,” Ginny said. “It’s just not possible.” A few other students agreed; Harry noticed that most of the Slytherins remained silent.

“I’ll agree that Dumbledore’s style is the most difficult,” Harry conceded. “But before you tell me it’s impossible, I want you to know that Dumbledore and Grindelwald developed the style together, and used it to fight each other – that’s still recorded as the best duel in modern history. I also witnessed the only duel in the war between Dumbledore and Voldemort, and Voldemort lost.”

Several students murmured excitedly at that information. “What about Voldemort and the Death Eaters?” asked Luna. “Do they use a style?”

“The Death Eater’s style involves what I call the Scorpion Tail, with your arm up over your head, like this. You hold your wand tightly with a full fist, and you cock your arm back as if you’re ready to throw a punch. The Unforgivables and most other Dark Arts involve a lot of forward jabbing, thrusting, and sweeping with your wand, and you’re in the perfect position to do that. Your wand is above or at least parallel to your head so that your body can’t cross your line of fire, and to make it easier to fire over obstacles or allies. It’s not an exact science, but you can be sure that anyone who’s got their wand cocked back like this isn’t going to be using Stunners.”

“But that would make protective spells difficult,” remarked Hermione, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Harry eyed her dubiously; Hermione simply smiled back.

“It would,” Harry allowed, “but you’re in a side-stance, so the first and best defense is to bend at the waist and sway back or forward, like this. You can also bend and the knees and pull your waist back and forth. Because your wand is away from your body center in the first place, it’s easier to return fire while you’re dodging. Besides, if you’re using the Killing Curse, you’re expecting it to be used against you, too – there’s no point bracing for shield charms or counter spells in a fight like that.”

“So what style do you use?” asked Astoria.

“My preferred style is like this: Like Dumbledore, I’ve got my wand behind my body and mid-chest level, but you’ll notice that my left arm’s down and out of the way, and my grip is different. The base of my wand sits right in the center of my palm, and my forefinger, middle finger and thumb extend straight down the grip and shaft. It’s almost like holding a paintbrush, I suppose. Charms and hexes are decently quick like this, and Protego’s still dead easy. You can do Transfiguration without changing your wand grip, and I have enough room to jab forward if I want to use Dark Arts. The other grips and positions are a lot better for each type of magic, but I feel quick enough to use this.”

“There has to be a reason,” the Slytherin commented skeptically. “You wouldn’t hinder yourself for nothing.”

Harry smiled. “There is. This grip, in my opinion, produces the fastest counter-curses for most spells. If you know what’s coming – and I know a lot of spells – then you can counter it. I greatly prefer this method of dueling, as it not only deals with incoming spells, but it also prevents any secondary effects from occurring.

“There’s this muggle named Bruce Lee – heard of him?” Many students nodded. “I thought so. His writings on martial arts are world-renowned, and the biggest thing he calls for is to have no one style, no preferred method of fighting. You react with whatever’s necessary: When they move back, you surge forward; when they surge forward, you move back; and when you see an opening, you strike. You accept minor hits to land major ones, and you even accept major hits to land a killing blow.

“It’s a strong philosophy, and I like it. I can’t use it if I’m conforming to any one style; but this stance gives me relatively easy access to all spells, and amazingly quick counter-curses. It’s what I’m going on until I find something better, anyways.

“Alright, enough talking! Let’s start on Form I!”

The class progressed, Harry throwing everything he could from the Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration coursework into their dueling practices. Once the class had burnt most of their energy, he talked about Potions and outlined their remaining assignments.

The class broke two hours later, students leaving in groups, still speaking about the relative strength’s and weaknesses of “Dumbledore’s Style” versus “Potter’s Style.” Harry just shook his head and walked to the old Defense classroom to meet Professor Simonson at the ex-Auror’s request, a meeting that had him cloistered in his common room for the rest of the day, furiously planning.

Hermione walked through the portrait later that evening, greeting Harry with a one-armed hug as her book bag floated itself into the bedroom.

“You look tired,” Harry said as he released her. “How did your class go?”

“Not bad,” she replied. “Certainly not the circus you’ve got, where all of your Charms, Transfiguration and Defense material is centered on dueling and Star Wars.” Harry chuckled as Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “I started by handing out their year’s assignments, and I’ve just been moving around, helping. The classes pretty much run themselves.”

“That’s what I did for Potions,” he agreed. “Everyone responds better to the material if they can see how to use it, though.”

Hermione leaned back, blowing a wavy lock of hair from her face. “I can’t believe we’re teaching…”

“I’m not surprised,” said Harry, shrugging. “My name’s been pretty popular around the European Ministries since I’ve been able to work around the restrictions on magic. Shack figured it was even money that they’d have suggested I teach students directly if McGonagall went looking for help.”

“True, but that’s you, Harry. I never expected to be doing this.”

“Oh, come on, Hermione.”

“Well, think about it,” she defended. “You’ve done some amazing things during your time at Hogwarts, and then you disappear for a year. Then, you suddenly show up, survive the Killing Curse again, and kill Voldemort. As much as you and I know it’s more mystical details than advanced magic, the world practically worships you.”

“Exactly,” said Harry with a smile. “And when I say with a straight face that you’re even better than I am, people listen.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“I do.” Harry smiled smugly as he presented her with an envelope. “I met with Shack and Simonson this afternoon while you were teaching. They want me to run my lecture on fighting styles past the Auror Corps, and he’s asked you to come, too.”

“What for?” she asked.

“Probably to show off how skilled you are.”

“So the Aurors can see living proof of your ability to train people?” Hermione smirked at him. “How very clever of them.”

“Politics is politics,” he said, giving a small shrug. “Interested?”

“Of course!”

That Saturday, Harry found himself going over his known fighting styles in front of more than a hundred Aurors, all of whom congratulated Harry on his success against Voldemort, and for his research into dueling.

“You may not think it’s a big deal,” Kingsley said as the Aurors left the room, “but studies and practices like yours help create and improve training programs. I think you’ve won a few converts.”

Harry cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“Your style!” laughed Simonson, “your ‘Form IV,’ or whatever you’re going to call it. A lot of Aurors have taken up your practice routine, and now they’re likely to take up your dueling style.”

Hermione smiled at Harry. “Well, the other students did call it Potter-Style dueling…”

“There you go!” Kingsley said, bellowing in laughter. “A style created by you, and named after you.”

“It’s not the best style,” Harry protested. “It needs a lot of work on the side…”

“All the better to prevent laziness.” Kingsley clapped him on the shoulder. “Now back to school with you! Get those students whipped into shape, ‘professor.’”

“They don’t get it,” Harry murmured as he walked away with Hermione. “It relies so much on your knowledge of counter-curses, so much on being fast enough to use other magic types without changing grip-”

“It’s okay,” she said soothingly, rubbing his shoulders as she moved him along. “These are Aurors, Harry. They’ll learn in their practice duels what works and what doesn’t. If they’re smart,” she said with a smirk, “they’ll bring you back to ‘demonstrate’ on a few hapless Aurors and show them what it really takes.”

“I suppose…” With a sigh, Harry let the subject fall from his mind. “Alright; let’s get back to Hogwarts. We’ve got classes to plan. Would you…?”

“Of course.” Hermione took Harry’s proffered arm, and the two of them instantly appeared in their common room, where they fell into discussion about what to do for the rest of the month.

-----

Harry casually flipped through a charms text as he scribbled notes in the margins. Quiet murmurings surrounded him as students from all four houses crowded the meeting area, comparing notes on various assignments as December classes drew close to finishing. Faint emotions buffeted against his fledgling Legilimency skills: Frustration and determination, pride for being correct, embarrassment for being wrong. The feelings were vague, and Harry couldn’t trace them back to anyone in particular. It was a sign of his progress, though; the clearest anything had felt this entire month. Hermione would be pleased.

“Harry, do you have a moment? Transfiguration is annoying me today.” Harry looked up to see Luna standing in front of him, her wand tucked irreverently behind her ear.

“Sure,” he replied, making room for her to sit beside him. Several things caught his attention, now that he looked. Her radish earrings were gone, replaced by small golden hoops. Her uniform was also different – neater – and her hair was pulled into a long ponytail, something he knew Ron was overly fond of. How many other changes had she made? Most importantly, would Ron change?

Shaking his head slightly, Harry banished his concerns. “So, what are we working on?” he asked, once she had seated herself.

“Human Transfiguration – specifically, altering size.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smirk automatically, and Luna slapped him lightly on the arm. “It’s not what you think, Harry.”

“Liar,” he said automatically, surprising himself. Luna was even more surprised, and stared at him incredulously. The longer he looked at her, the more certain Harry was of his statement. “It’s true,” he said, more than a little amazed. “You are lying.”

“How…”

“Never mind,” he said quickly. “That’s not an answer you’re getting out here.”

“A-alright, then.” Luna looked around, distinctly uncomfortable now. “Can we talk about Human Transfiguration… anyways?”

Harry looked at Luna for a long moment, willing his head to shake ‘no,’ but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “Yes Luna,” he said reluctantly. “We can talk about it. Is this for you or for Ron?”

“Why?”

Harry resisted the urge to squirm. He thought, ‘There’s no reason. We shouldn’t even be discussing this!’ He said, “It helps to know what, exactly, we’re enlarging.”

“Me.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he envisioned all sorts of negative scenarios. “Please tell me that he isn’t asking you to do this,” he said. “If he is, I’ll give him a set of breasts – permanently.”

“Oh! Oh, no, it’s not that!” Luna’s look of surprise was quite comical. “It’s not my breasts I’m looking to enlarge. It’s more certain orifices that are a little too tight.”

A moment of tense silence passed as Harry dropped his head into his hands, an indiscernible jumble of emotions coursing through his head. This conversation was not happening. She did not just ask him-

But she had, and now she was waiting, smiling expectantly. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to send her away. If Ron had asked, or even Hermione… But Luna, bless her soul… he could not refuse Luna.

“Which. Hole?” he asked through his hands, not looking up.

“Both.”

“And you assume I know how to do this… why?”

Luna shook her head. “I don’t, honestly, but Ronald’s no help with research, and I trust you the most to help me and to keep this discreet. You will help, won’t you?”

“Yes, Luna,” Harry said automatically, his eyes scrunched closed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course I’ll help – I’ll always help you, if I can.” He took a deep breath; he couldn’t believe what he was about to say, and he mentally cursed the man that made it possible.

“I want you to take this down, okay?” Luna nodded, readying a quill and parchment. “First, put your wand in contact with the … hole … not in, just around. Trace a small circle just around the outside, and poke in just as you’re saying the incantation. Mental focus on the hole getting bigger… and wet. Got that?” He waited for her to nod, and then continued. “The incantation is laxo. Use it once, and give it a go – use it twice if you have to.”

“Okay, then.” Luna finished her notes, and then looked at him strangely. “How on earth did you know about a spell like that?”

Harry felt torn, wanting more than anything to keep silent – it was far better to speak, though, than let Luna’s imagination run wild. He looked up to Luna and said, “You’ll keep this to yourself?”

Luna nodded.

“Albus Dumbledore’s journals.”

Luna’s eyes went wide – so wide, Harry thought they might fall straight out of her head. “Keep it quiet,” he warned again.

“I will,” she agreed quietly. “I’m – well, I’m shocked. I’m also surprised you remembered it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not something that you can easily forget,” he snapped peevishly. “Had a nice little section on charms like that, Dumbledore did.”

“I can imagine – no, no I can’t. Well, thank you. I guess I should go somewhere much more private if I’m going to try this spell.”

“Have fun,” he said dryly as she moved to leave. Harry dropped his head back into his hands.

“That did not just happen,” he told himself. “That. Did. Not. Just. Happen.”

“What didn’t just happen?” asked Hermione as she sat down where Luna had been. Most students seemed to move away from them unconsciously, either leaving the area or settling at its outer edge.

“You won’t believe what Luna just asked me about,” he began, and quietly relayed the conversation. He stopped abruptly halfway through when he felt heat and light from Hermione’s eyes.

“She what?”

A surge of anger and disgust rolled across the link, and Harry nearly fell to the floor in surprise. Just as quickly as it came, Hermione reeled it in, muttering “Sorry.” Her eyes remained lit, however; golden-orange orbs that were anything but friendly.

“Hermione?”

She shook her head, and the light faded from her eyes. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a little disturbed by Luna’s request.”

“Right,” Harry returned dryly. “Because that little display was nothing.” On instinct, he looked around; no one seemed to notice them, which Harry took to be Hermione’s doing.

Hermione huffed and looked away, crossing her arms. “I’m just- is it so hard to think that I don’t want her talking about sex with you?”

“Hermione, come on,” he said in exasperation. “This is Luna we’re talking about.”

“Yes, and?”

“I hardly think that Luna should be inspiring jealousy.”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort and then closed it, taking a deep breath. “Well, she does,” she said eventually. “You always did have a soft-spot for her, and it’s always bothered me. The only reason that this wasn’t just an irrational, five-second passing feeling is because you can feel my emotions. Please, just let it go.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, thinking. “Why weren’t you so openly jealous of Ginny?”

“Because you were with her. This – us together – was all just wishful thinking for me, until November 1st.”

“You know I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m… not used to having what I want. I’ve had to dig and scrape at getting anything that I wanted for years, and you just… fell into place. I’m worried.”

“For what? I’m right here, for as long as you want me.”

Hermione looked directly at him, and took his hands in hers. “I believe you, Harry. The thing is, you said those words to Ginny once upon a time, and you meant them. And now, you’re with me.”

Harry felt at a loss for words. Hermione was the last person he thought he’d ever have to reassure. “You’re not looking at that the right way,” he said eventually. “Ginny messed up. She wouldn’t go places with me, she threw a tantrum in public, and she insisted on attacking you.

“You’ve been everywhere with me, you know to talk with me first, and you’re wired into my head, so you know right away if there’s anything wrong. The things that went wrong Ginny can’t go wrong with you.”

“I… I know,” she said, bowing her head. “Soon, Harry. Soon, you’ll be strong enough to see for yourself what my past has been like, and maybe you’ll understand why something as simple as this bothers me.”

“There are five people dear to me beyond all others,” Harry said, looking up over her shoulder. “You, Luna, Ginny, Ron, and Neville. I don’t want the five of you hurting each other. Or me,” he added with a smile, “but I’m more worried about all of you.”

Harry turned his gaze back to Hermione. Her eyes were still glittering slightly, her power simmering in response to her agitation. “I don’t much care what you did to Ron – they way you tell it he was a monstrous git about things anyways, and I have to face facts – wizards do a fair bit of cursing to their friends and family and get away with it.

“To be honest, I was worried enough to look into the punishment for something like that, and as far as the law goes, since Ron was only being Obliviated, you’d come away with a hundred-galleon fine, give or take.” It hadn’t been his intention, but Harry felt a great wash of relief from Hermione, and her presence felt noticeably lighter.

“It’s the same with your nudging Ginny along,” he continued, “and I imagine you never really bothered with Neville.” Hermione shook her head. “But Luna’s… different. It’s as if she never grew up, as if her father didn’t allow her to. Only last year did she start to sound any different. Then Ron went and fucked her up again and who knows what that did to her.

“Don’t hurt her, Hermione. She’s just starting to grow properly, now, and I want to help her. She’s not like me, or Ron even – you can’t deny that Ron can take a beating and keep coming back. But Luna… you could snap her like a twig without thinking. Please, don’t hurt her.”

Hermione looked at him intensely, her eyes brightening again to an iridescent gold. “Tell me that I mean more to you.” Harry rocked back, shocked, but Hermione leaned towards him. “Let me be selfish, Harry. Please, tell me what I want to hear.”

“Hermione…?”

“Tell me what Ron couldn’t tell me; what Ginny couldn’t tell you. It matters so much more than love. It drove you to me, Harry, and it drove me to you. Say it; I need to hear it.”

Harry cupped Hermione’s face with both of his hands. “You mean everything to me,” he whispered. “You are the most important person in my life. That’s been true for years, and it will never change.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, brushing her lips against his. “It means so much to hear you say that. You mean the same to me, Harry. I’d do anything for you.” Staring into her glowing eyes, Harry could only nod, and push back any concerns he had as to how fanatical Hermione’s statement sounded.

“So,” he began, looking for a different topic, “want to stay with me at Grimmauld for Christmas?”

“Yes,” she replied, flashing a dazzling smile. “I definitely want to stay with you for Christmas.”

School soon ended for the Christmas holidays, and Harry dutifully rode the train back to King’s Cross before Apparating to Grimmauld. Kreacher was overjoyed to have company for the holidays, and Harry found himself looking at an amazing feast that Kreacher assembled to welcome him home.

A crack of Apparition startled Harry. “Harry?” called an older voice. “Are you here?”

“Andromeda!” he cried, dashing out to the living room to envelope the woman and her grandson in a crushing hug; Teddy laughed and changed his hair color several times.

“It’s so good to see you!” he enthused, “and you too, Teddy. Have you been a good boy for Grandma?”

Teddy’s response was to change his hair pitch black, and his eyes to a sparkling green. Harry scooped the tiny Lupin into his arms, lifting him high above his head. “You’re something really special,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Come, on! I’ve still got food and tea aplenty! Let’s get you both something to eat.”

The rest of the evening flew by, Harry alternating his time between playing with Teddy and catching up with Andromeda. It wasn’t difficult to persuade her to stay with him for Christmas, and Kreacher grew happier with the promise of more people.

Hermione came the next day, after talking to her parents. Harry strongly suspected that she simply forced them to agree, but he stayed far away from that discussion. Dinner that night was equally spectacular, and Harry, far too full to brave the stairs, resorted to flight to reach the second floor.

“You’re getting lazy,” chided Hermione as she walked up behind him.

“Nah,” he scoffed, “just being ‘practical.’ You want the same room as last time?”

“I guess… Actually, I was hoping that we could keep sleeping together.”

After two months of sharing Hermione’s bed, Harry simply shrugged. “Sure, if you want.”

They quickly reached a decision to leave Hermione’s belongings in her old room this Christmas, to prevent any upsets from visiting Weasleys. The two of them slowly readied themselves for bed, and Harry began to doze as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d… really like it if we… well…”

Harry blew out a long breath, coming more fully awake. “Yeah,” he relented, “I’ve kept you waiting, haven’t I?”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to,” she backpedaled. “I’m perfectly fine with waiting, if you still need time.”

Harry responded by rolling over onto her, causing Hermione to squeak in surprise. In a heartbeat, their legs entwined and Hermione’s arms reached up and around, encompassing Harry.

“Got you,” he said, reaching around with his arm to settle the covers over them, before leaking down to kiss her gently. “Welcome to my home, Hermione. Stay awhile.”

Hermione pulled him towards her, and coherent thought fled from Harry for the rest of the night, lost in the softness of Hermione’s skin.

-----

Harry’s eyes snapped open as sunlight reached his face. Yawning, he looked over and smiled at Hermione’s still sleeping form. Their pyjamas and underwear were in a tangled pile at the foot of the bed, and memories of last night played repeatedly in Harry’s mind like a comforting song.

He sat there, watching the rise and fall of Hermione’s breast, until increased activity in her mental presence alerted him to her waking up.

“Morning,” he said as Hermione cracked an eye open.

“Mmph,” was Hermione’s sleepy reply. She squirmed and snuggled closer, and seemed to do the same in his head.

“Come on,” he urged. “We’ve got to get ready for the others – well, I do, anyways. I have to pick Luna and Fleur up.”

Hermione muttered darkly under her breath as she raised her head level with his. “Why is it that everyone can Apparate around just fine when running from Death Eaters or sneaking around for the Order, but now that we’re not fighting, you’re being used as a taxi?”

“Dunno. Probably because being splinched doesn’t seem as bad when you’re running from Killing Curses.”

“Just don’t be long.” With that, Hermione dropped back to the pillow, wriggling back into her warm spot.

Harry leaned over to kiss her, before throwing himself out of bed and into the shower. He quickly dressed for the day, and Apparated away to meet Luna at her place.

“Harry!” Luna called, waving from her window. “I’ll be right down!” Within five minutes, Luna was out the front door with a small backpack, and met Harry with a light hug. “Thank you for picking me up,” she said happily.

“No problem. Hold on tight.” Luna grabbed Harry’s arm firmly, and one very tight tunnel-ride later, they appeared in Grimmauld’s living room.

“Go on,” he urged. “Hermione and Andromeda are waiting in the kitchen, and I need to get Fleur.”

“Okay.” Luna leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for this, Harry. I know we’ll have fun.”

“Of course we will,” he said, buoyed by Luna’s cheerfulness. “Now get going!”

Luna bounced off to the kitchen, and Harry listened for a moment to hear Hermione’s cheerful greeting and Teddy’s customary squeal of joy at a new playmate, before turning his attention away. With a thought, Grimmauld Place vanished, and the French Ministry came into view, along with a smiling Fleur, who quickly ran over to him.

Harry switched to French automatically. “Happy Christmas,” he said as he embraced the part-Veela warmly. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” she replied, giving Harry one last squeeze before releasing him. “Our Minister has me working as the liaison to the Goblins. It is a far easier job in France than Britain, at least.”

“Maybe not anymore. The Goblins went from hating me to bowing and scraping very quickly. It must be my charming personality.”

Fleur laughed, flashing a dazzling smile. “Never change, Harry. I see that your French is quite good now.”

“Thanks.”

“Now, you must bring me to Hermione. There is so much to catch up on!”

Harry offered his arm to Fleur; once she had a firm grip, he turned sharply, Apparating them back to Grimmauld. Kreacher appeared out of nowhere, to take their winter cloaks.

“Master is tracking snow into the house,” he chided, cleaning the mess with a point of his finger. “The Mistress is in the kitchen – doesn’t belong there, no – with Madam Luna and Madam Andromeda, and is waiting for you. Madam Fleur is doing well, I hope?”

“Y-Yes,” she answered in French, startled by the wrinkled House Elf, “I am well, thank you for asking.”

“You are most welcome,” the elf replied, switching languages seamlessly. “Come! There are appetizers in the kitchen to warm your chilled bones!” As Kreacher ambled off with the cloaks, Fleur shot Harry a confused look.

“He’s very proud,” he shrugged, “and he loves to show off the house.”

“And he knows French.”

Harry shrugged. “Kreacher’s Kreacher.”

“He definitely is a character,” she agreed.

“Fleur!” Hermione greeted her excitedly as they entered the kitchen. “It’s good to see you!”

“And you, Hermione. Mrs. Tonks.”

“Please, call me Andromeda.”

“Hello,” Luna said airily from the side. “I see I’m going to have to learn French to stay here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fleur said, switching back to English. “You won’t need it to enjoy yourself.”

A loud crack sounded from the living room, and Harry ducked back out to greet the newcomer.

“Hey, Harry!” said Bill as he banished his cloak to the stand. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good,” he replied, motioning for Bill to sit. “Are you in the country for long?”

“For good. Shack’s got me in the Aurors, now. I’m trailing those Vatican gits while they’re in the country, making their life a living hell.”

That was odd and unexpected; he felt a slight jolt of worry from Hermione that echoed his own. “I’m kind of surprised that they’re still here.”

“So’s Shack. They seem bound and determined to find something, and they’ve ransacked the Department of Mysteries and come up blank, so they’re still poking around. Shack’s at his wits end with them, so he pulled me in.”

“To do a little Curse-Making?” asked Harry with a grin.

“Exactly.” Bill reached into his shirt collar and pulled out a golden necklace with a Time-Turner attached. “They want unsolvable mysteries to explore; I’ll give them unsolvable mysteries.”

“I can only imagine. So, how’s Shack doing?”

“Got about this much paperwork to do,” Bill said, holding his hand level with his neck. “He managed to get Arthur, Hestia, and Percy installed as Department Heads, before the old guard purebloods caught on and moved to block further appointments. Augusta Longbottom’s helping from her seat in the Wizengamot, but the old guard’s as zealous as any religion.”

“Damn it. You’d think that everyone would have appreciated what we’d done just a little more.”

Bill clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “You and me both.”

“So, what happens now?”

“Shack’s moving to get as many muggleborn and half-bloods into the Ministry as he can, in whatever positions he can. I’d guess in the long term that we’re working towards getting a muggleborn or sympathetic half-blood Minister in place when Kingsley’s done. By then, the pro-muggles in the Ministry will have enough seniority to qualify for Wizengamot appointments as the older members retire. Meanwhile, the rest of us work from the outside to prevent any would-be Riddles, Malfoys and Lestranges from showing up.”

“Sounds about right,” Harry mused. “It’ll take me at least a couple of years to get into every position he wants me in – maybe closer to ten years without any preferential treatment.”

“No, I think your first guess was closer – around two years, if the French Ministry’s any indication. The more international support you have, the better. The Malfoys did you a big favor, moving to have the Potter name declared ‘Most Noble and Ancient.’ That’ll keep the purebloods off your back. As for being a professor, that’s McGonagall’s call, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” allowed Harry. “Who’s all on the Board, now?”

“Bunch of neutrals, Augusta, and Mum.” Harry and Bill shared a smile.

“Well, that takes care of that,” Harry said brightly.

“It should,” agreed Bill. “With the positive press you’re getting right now, it’s bound to go through.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment, before a stray question entered Harry’s mind.

“Hey Bill, why don’t we see Time Turners used more often? I mean, if they were willing to give them to students...”

“…You’d think that Aurors and Unspeakables would use them all the time,” Bill finished, tucking the Time Turner away. “Yeah, I thought so, too. Their official story about messing with time is mostly hot air. I’m sure you don’t want the math, but the real deal is that you can only go as far back in time as you’ve had possession of the Time Turner. If you’ve had it for an hour, then you can go back an hour – that’s it. If you’ve had it all year, you can go back as far as it can take you – usually about a week, give or take the quality of the particular Time Turner. Since you can’t go back to just any event to fix things, it’s really only good for one thing-”

“-Research,” they said together. “I get it,” Harry said, laughing. “I can see the Unspeakables using it for that, and the odd student like Hermione.”

“They’re still right about one thing,” Bill warned. “You can’t come into direct contact with your past self – everything sort of ‘collapses’ around your past self if you do, and you end up with up to a week’s worth of fuzzy future memories and a destroyed Time Turner. Same thing happens if you try to span the same period more than once with the Time Turner. No matter how far apart the three of you are, everything collapses. That, really, is what the fuss is about: It’s not ‘Don’t mess with time,’ it’s ‘Don’t destroy the ten-thousand-galleon Time Tuner.’”

“So, you can’t go back more than once to anything, you can never get close to yourself, and you can’t go back further than when you first got the Time Turner. That sucks.”

Bill shrugged. “Works for what I need it for, and that’s all that matters. So, you’re going to be in France for Christmas?”

“Yeah. I told Luna I’d take her-”

A sharp crack interrupted them, as Ron appeared in the room. “Bloody effing bints,” he muttered, throwing his cloak towards the rack, which moved to catch it. Ron blinked at the rack, and then turned to Harry. “Who did that charm?”

“Hermione; who else?”

“‘Course.” Ron turned to his brother. “Don’t go home, Bill. It’s a madhouse right now.”

“What happened?”

“I told Mum that I was going to France with Luna, Harry and Hermione over the Christmas Break.”

Bill and Harry looked at each other. “Uh oh,” they said at the same time.

“Yeah, I thought so, too. But Mum just told me what to pack.” Harry looked at Ron incredulously, and Ron nodded emphatically. “I swear, mate, its true! She all but told me to go. ‘Course, Ginny gets into a huge row with Mum over this, ‘cause that’s what broke you two up.”

“Oh God,” muttered Harry.

Bill hummed in agreement. “Gin’s going to hate her now. What was she thinking?”

“Dunno,” Ron said smugly. “I did what any self-respecting bloke would do: I packed my stuff quick as you please, and got the hell out.” The three shared a laugh, and a handful of jokes at the expense of the Weasley women.

“Come on,” said Harry, “the girls are in the kitchen.”

Bill stayed for the rest of the day, until Kingsley’s Patronus interrupted with an ‘urgent request.’ Giving his apologies, Bill left just after dinner. Harry volunteered to put a tired and fussy Teddy to bed and let the women talk, and then he and Ron collapsed into the chairs closest to the living room fireplace, soaking in the warmth.

“It’s good to be in this house now that the fighting’s done,” said Ron, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Yeah, it’s turned out pretty well.”

Silence fell, broken by the crackling and sputtering of the fire.

“Harry, are you going out with Hermione?”

Harry nodded. “It’s heading that way,” he said fluidly, having planned that exact statement for over a month.

“Oh.”

“What’s up, Ron?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just… old feelings, you know?”

Harry gave a sad smile. “Yeah, I know. We’ve all got those lurking around.”

“I guess you would… you and Ginny, right?”

Harry nodded.

“She’s doing pretty well,” Ron said, smiling towards the flames. “I’d have thought she’d be a wreck, she’d wanted to be with you so bad, and then all of a sudden, it’s over. Tougher than I thought she was.”

“You always did tend to underestimate her a bit.”

Ron gave a loud snort, “Story of my life. I do a lot of that, you know – underestimate people, or whatever. You, Hermione, Ginny, Neville… Luna… I’ve been wrong about everyone.”

Harry sat a little straighter, and motioned for Ron to elaborate.

“I mean… you, I can understand. No one really knew what was going on until the very end, and you always were a good wizard. I don’t mean school,” Ron said quickly, seeing Harry’s face contort, “I know that you were a rubbish student, just like me. When it mattered, though, you were brilliant. The Basilisk, the Dementors, the Tournament… you did things that Mum and Dad couldn’t have done, and they’ve been around. Now, you’re even better than that – better than Snape, better than Voldemort… hell, better than Dumbledore, for all I know.

“I wanted to be there for you, like a friend would. I…” Ron trailed off, looking deeply into the fire.

“Then there was Hermione,” he continued. “Smart, real smart, but a little… you know, in the head. I liked her a lot, I thought that maybe she’d like me, too. That was hard, trying to be someone she’d like. I think I shouldn’t have bothered. She’s kind of like you – amazing at whatever she does. Maybe she doesn’t pack the same punch you do in a fight, but she seems to know everything, and that’s cool.”

Ron took a deep, shuddering breath. “I wish… I wish things went differently. I wanted to be there for both of you… I wanted you to need me.” A tear escaped Ron’s eye, and Harry watched with surprise and concern, unable to find any words to say. Ron took another steadying breath, and continued. “That’s what made that Horcrux so hard last year – it told me what I already knew: You didn’t need me. The two of you were just fine without me. I was so angry, but it hurt so much.”

“It’s not about need,” Harry said quietly. “Dumbledore tried to teach me that in sixth year: It’s about doing what you can. You’re there because you want to be, not because you think someone needs you.”

Ron sighed, wiping his eyes. “Yeah, I know that now. Took a long time for that to sink in. If I had done what I could with a smile on my face, a lot would have been different. We’d have never fought over the Tournament, or going after the Horcruxes. I’d have never tried to date Hermione.”

That statement surprised Harry, but he left it aside for later. “Don’t worry about it,” he soothed. “The fact is, it’s over, and we’re sitting in my living room, talking about it. We made it through, mate – we’re good.”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Ron gave a loud sniff, and wiped the last of the moisture from his eyes. “Anyways, I got to thinking about this because of Luna.”

“Oh?”

“She’s getting close – closer than Hermione ever was. I… I’m scared. What if I can’t make her happy, like Hermione?”

“You will,” assured Harry. “I know you will.”

“But I could mess up. She’s like glass, you know. Everyone thinks she’s made of steel… that she can’t be hurt, but we hurt her all the time, and… I don’t want to hurt her anymore.”

“So don’t. Just hold her tight, and tell her that everything’s going to be okay.”

“But how? How do I know that everything’s going to be okay? My Dad says things like that… but I’m not my Dad…”

Silence fell like a shroud, both of them lost in their thoughts. Harry’s mind drifted to his parents, and the image he had of Hermione holding their child. The memory that affected him the most, though, was of him holding Teddy, and the smile on the boy’s face as his hair turned black and his eyes turned green. A wave of fierce devotion rose within him whenever he held the tiny boy; he had felt it especially strongly when Teddy had fallen asleep on his shoulder this evening, snoring softly.

“Because that’s what you promise when you say that,” said Harry, his voice surprisingly strong. “You’re not just telling them everything’s going to be okay; you’re telling them ‘I will make everything okay.’ Because that’s what you do – that’s what it means to be a Dad.”

Ron just looked at Harry, his eyes bright and pleading.

“Tell her that you’ll always be there,” Harry said. “Tell her that she’ll always be happy. Then, one smile at a time, one spell at a time, whatever it takes, you do it. Every day.”

“Every day,” Ron echoed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I can do that.”

The evening passed quietly. Ron and Harry talked until sleepiness drove Ron to bed, and Harry walked towards his room, smiling as he saw Hermione already asleep. Harry stepped back out to lock the door on Hermione’s room, and then locked his own door, placing silencing spells along the walls. There was no point in aggravating Ron with a discovery like this – they’d ‘get together’ in France, and then Harry would ‘officially’ move Hermione’s things to this room.

Stepping over to the bed, Harry noticed that Hermione was tossing and murmuring in a quiet, panicked voice. It was strange for Hermione to have nightmares, and Harry reached out mentally to find her. Her presence in his mind was far away from where it normally sat, thrashing violently as though being attacked.

Concerned, Harry reached over to shake Hermione lightly. “Hermione, what’s-?”

Harry rolled as Hermione suddenly turned towards him. Her eyes shone a hateful crimson, and fire began to dance around her form, taking animalistic shapes as it grew. Harry hit the floor just as the flames burst across his side of the bed, almost instantly reducing it to ash.

“Play with me, Harry,” she giggled. “I’ll make it fun for you.”

The Fiendfyre roared towards him, destroying the furniture and floor as it came. Harry launched himself into the air, leaving the ground as the flames ate through the wood. The heat was no less painful above the fire, and his cooling charms were almost ineffective against the infernal flames. He fumbled through his pouch, grabbing for the Elder Wand. With a flick, the flames died out around him, and enough of the floor repaired itself for him to stand on. Hermione was hovering slowly towards him, a promise of pain in her look. Harry struggled to rationalize how this could be Hermione – how her power, so seemingly pure, could manifest such an unholy-

Unholy.

Struck by sudden inspiration, Harry cast the strongest Patronus he could muster. Prongs burst forth, and the Fiendfyre shrank back like shadow from light, guttering out in most places. Hermione roared angrily, and sent an enormous ball of magic against him – an amalgamation of more than a hundred spells, every one of them Dark. Harry worked his wand through a blinding series of motions, countering each group of spells one after the other until the ball of magic fizzled out.

There was no time for spells of his own; Hermione launched more and more attacks, But Harry could sense her magic pulsing and building, and he could see the spells in more than enough time to counter. Having regained his sense of equilibrium, Harry again left the ground, and hovered towards Hermione. Every passing second of furious counter-cursing brought him a few inches closer.

She had been having a nightmare – maybe she wasn’t fully awake yet. There was no way to know, but in such close quarters, with or without the Elder Wand, every possible scenario would end badly. Urging Prongs along to remove the threat of renewed flames, he found soon himself face to face with Hermione, his wand a blur of motion in front of her glowing hand, countering spells the instant they appeared. The red of Hermione’s eyes mixed with the pale whiteness of Prongs, bathing them both in a pinkish glow. She smiled manically, her magic building ever stronger. Harry monitored its rise carefully, waiting for the surge, and just as Hermione’s fingers flexed, Harry spun quickly to the side.

“Rennervate!” he cried, pouring everything he had into his spell, pressing his wand against her temple even as fresh gouts of Fiendfyre blazed through the space where he had been, eating through the wall. Hermione’s eyes instantly returned to a golden hue, and she staggered back a step, holding her head.

“Hermione, help me!” Harry worked the Elder Wand as fast as he could to counter the eldritch flames and repair the growing damage to the house. A new source of magic told him that Kreacher was now present, assisting him. Slowly, Hermione began to help as well; within five minutes, everything was once again normal, as though the entire ordeal had never happened. Harry nearly laughed out loud seeing the faint traces of his still-intact silencing charms. He had almost died, and no one in the house would know. With a final wave, Harry repaired his scorched clothing, and restored the frayed ends of his hair.

“Why did Master and Mistress destroy their room?” asked a distraught Kreacher. “Was it not to their liking?”

“The room was fine,” Harry said tiredly. “It just got in the way of our spells. Don’t worry, Kreacher; you do great work.” Kreacher smiled and bowed, and after looking around to make sure everything was complete, he disappeared with a pop.

Harry turned back to Hermione, absently summoning his Holly wand back to him and repairing the charred wood. “Is it safe to put this away now?” he asked, gesturing with the Elder Wand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, collapsing onto the bed. “I’ve never lost control before; I thought I was long past this.”

“Long past what?” Harry prompted, still high-strung from the fight. His limbs trembled as his body washed out his adrenaline, and it only served to make him more irritable.

“It’s nothing.”

Harry winced at the psychic dissonance of that statement. “Hermione?” She slowly looked up, and Harry fixed her with a stare. “Teddy is sleeping not two rooms from here. Please don’t lie to me, not now.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but let it hang open as her eyes widened. “Did you just…? Can you… oh please, Harry, was that…?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I just felt you lie.”

“Please,” she begged, “tell me you’re strong enough. Tell me you can see what I need you to see.”

Harry tried to keep his confusion off his face. “What do you need me to see, Hermione? What can’t you just tell me?”

“I- I can’t…” There was a moment where Hermione shuddered, and her eyes flashed crimson again. Harry gripped the Elder Wand tightly, but her eyes were immediately golden again, and she looked at him forlornly. “I can’t say it,” she said. “I can’t...”

“You mean that you’re bound not to say it?”

Hermione struggled for a moment, before nodding. “That’s close enough.”

“I… alright, then. Is this something I can expect again?”

“I’ll behave,” she said, giving a sly grin. She almost immediately covered her mouth, staring at harry in horror.

“Oh boy.” Harry looked at the clock; 11:57pm.

“If I try this right now, will there be enough time? We’re leaving for France in the morning, and I want to still have a house by then.”

“Time is mutable in the mind,” she replied, looking eager. “Will you try? Please?”

“Alright,” he sighed. “Let’s give this a shot.”

Harry knelt in front of Hermione, and looked deeply into her eyes, willing the connection to form. Her eyes seemed to grow to fill his view, and vague images coursed through his head as her mental presence loomed ever closer. Summoning up his courage, Harry pressed against her mind, and pushed inwards.

An explosion of light – dueling crimson and gold, and crimson was winning.

Suddenly, he was falling through fire, struggling to orient himself as he tumbled end over end. A strong hand gripped him by the collar, and yanked him hard to the side, slamming him up against an unseen wall. As the flames receded, Harry’s eyes adjusted to his surroundings – the burning bookshelves of the Hogwarts Library. The windows were dark, and several smaller piles of books burned like pyres scattered through the room. Standing in front of him in a scorched and tattered Gryffindor robe, with shimmering, blood red eyes and wild hair, was Hermione.

“Got you,” she whispered triumphantly. Harry shuddered as her tongue, impossibly long, slithered out more than a foot to lick him from the bottom of his neck to his ear. “Welcome to Hell, Harry. Stay awhile.”

7. Shock and Awe

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: After four long years, this chapter is done. My life is so utterly different from the last time I wrote, I can't even begin to explain it: A promotion, newborn twin children, my wife slowly winning a battle against cancer, and a complete shift in my outlook on life itself is the unsatisfactory summary.

Contained herein is some of my opinion on religion and spirituality, along with a confrontation that has been seven chapters and several years in the making. It’s something that I’ve edited to death, and I hope that I've pulled it off as well as I planned. If not… well, I’m just a little rusty at the moment, and I hope you’ll forgive me.

If anyone points out glaring errors or inconsistencies to me, I’ll happily edit and re-post the chapter.

To my one-time beta, Phae, whom I've lost touch with - my most profound apologies, but I can't find your email address to save my life.

I know better than to make any more promises about updates, but I still firmly believe that I’ll finish the stories, if only for the sense of satisfaction it will bring me. With any luck, I’ll be able to spring a few more surprises on you this year.

~TOW

Shock and Awe

=============

One look at Hermione and Harry knew he was not ready for this. There was no stream of memories, just fire and pain.

This was an ambush; a trap.

Agony erupted across his body as he sunk into his Occlumency and threw himself away from Hermione and into the flames. On and on he flew and danced through Hermione's mindscape as baleful crimson energies sought him out, while the more recognizable golden glow was barely visible on the horizon.

As he dodged and spun, the pain slowly receded and reason replaced panic. His Legilimency was nowhere near good enough to deal with Hermione - he doubted that even the Elder Wand would give him the edge in here. This was ultimately not his domain.

He'd been such a trusting fool - but that was the nature of an ambush, after all. The fight, apparently, was not over. He had thought Hermione asleep, or possessed, or ... something, anything.

Now, as he exited Hermione's mind and entered his own, he was no longer sure.

Harry jumped to his feet, reaching for the Elder Wand once again and casting furiously.

Protego Totalum! Impervius! Salveo Hexia!

Hermione's eyes - deep crimson eyes - snapped open. "Are you going to fight for real this time, Harry? Are you ready to die?"

"Do I have a choice? What the hell was that?"

"Fun, Harry. That was fun. Let's play some more. Please?"

Hermione's magic began to build, even greater than before, and Harry knew that his protections would not hold - that he would again be on the defensive, furiously countering all the curses that Hermione so effortlessly strung together. A side of Harry awoke reluctantly, painfully - the side that fought Death Eaters and cursed Ron.

This was not fun; this was it.

"Stop this," he whispered. "Don't."

"I've been waiting for this for years, Harry - come on."

"Don't make me fight you."

"You'll die if you don't."

"Don't make me choose."

A maniacal grin appeared on Hermione's face, her eyes glittering like rubies. "Oh, please choose, Harry. I've always wondered what it would be like to fight you - to beat you!"

Hermione's magic exploded forth, ripping and tearing at his shields. It was like standing before the Sun itself - Harry skin began to warp and burn. There was no countering this - he was too close, there were too many individual spells and effects.

"For Teddy," he breathed, bringing his wand to bear - the Elder Wand, the Death Stick, the wand of destruction and judgement. A sickly green light formed at its tip, even as Harry's skin melted and indescribable things grew from his face and chest.

He no longer had a throat to say the spell. His arm was charred and skeletal. But his will focused, and the spell was complete.

He watched with his blurring vision as Hermione looked triumphant, then determined, then disbelieving... then terrified.

"Wait!"

Hermione's aura exploded forth and time itself failed - everything ceased. Hermione and Harry stood motionless, a man already dead and a woman staring at her impending doom; a viridian beam mere inches from her face. Harry knew she was trying to move, trying to avoid it ... but for whatever reason, she could not.

The curse was still moving slowly; fractions of millimeters, micron by micron, it defied time itself to reach its intended target.

"Harry, call it back!"

Harry could not speak - he doubted that he had any meat left on his bones anywhere below his nose.

"Harry, Please!"

Hermione's aura moved in a frenzied blur, but her tendrils or magic both crimson and gold withered and died near the beam of death. So they reached beyond, to Harry.

Harry watched as his body regrew and regenerated, his clothes reverted from ashes. In moments, he was whole again. Nothing around them was touched. Only the Killing Curse remained, a creeping doom extending from his wand towards Hermione's face.

"If I release this, I'll die," she choked. "Harry, please stop it."

"Why?"

"Why?" she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut. Harry understood then that his face could move, and focused his newly restored eyes on Hermione.

Her eyes were again golden, her face no longer a mask of madness.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I thought it was over, that I was in control. This was just..."

"What was this? What did you do?"

"I promise I'll show you. Please, Harry. I can't talk about it, you've seen what happens. All of this happened because I wanted to tell you. All of this happened because I nearly broke an oath."

"An oath? To whom?"

"To me - it's a part of what's involved - please, Harry, I've only got control now because otherwise I'll die. I can't speak of it directly."

"This doesn't make sense. If you have to break your damned oath, do it! I need to know what's going on!"

Hermione's face sagged, and then recovered. "It's not possession," Hermione said, her voice sharper, her eyes again glowing crimson. "It's not a Horcrux. It's not anything you've ever seen before. It's the greatest and most dangerous magic to ever have been attempted, and it's why the Vatican is ever so interested."

"Well?"

"I've begun my ascension, Harry. I'm going to be an angel."

Harry stared at Hermione in silence. What?

"But the process is long and involved. It took me from third year to sixth to figure out how to do it, because they leave only the tiniest crumbs to go on. It didn't end there, though - there was also the Oath - to separate what is pure from what is not is difficult, and best left to time and the subconscious; and all my progress is gone because I was - I am - stupid and in love and wanting to tell you everything; and everything I've ever separated has come crashing back - all the hate, and fear, the pain... If I'd waited a few months, maybe a year... everything would have been fine.

"And now it's over. I've failed, and it might be easier if I let your curse hit me."

Harry blinked at Hermione's change in stance. "Why ... why would you say that?"

"Because angels are real, Harry. They're real and they'll not allow a failed attempt - can you imagine me running around with power like this and less than perfect morals? Look at what I've already done!"

Hermione's eyes were slowly shifting back towards a golden hue. "Look at what I did to Ron! Look at what I just did to you!"

An awful thought struck Harry - something that made him forget about Hermione for a moment; something that he hadn't considered since the Battle of Hogwarts. "I should have been dead."

"Yes.” Hermione’s eyes flashed. "You're alive because I held on to your soul. This was all just for fun, remember? I've never lied to you about loving you, Harry - I'd never hurt you in a way I couldn't control. All I wanted was the fight - a real fight. Even without your body, I could have kept you from passing over. You're healed now, though, so it's moot."

Harry chose not to think too deeply on Hermione's concept of 'fun.' "You beat me... but the wand is still mine. I can feel it. Why?"

A single, angry tear made a trail down Hermione's cheek. "Isn’t it obvious?! Because you've already killed me! I can't stop that curse - not from the Elder Wand, at least. There's obviously something to the story of its creation because I can't touch that magic and I haven't stopped trying. I can't move, shift space or apparate away fast enough - all I could do was to stretch this moment. To do anything other than sit here and talk with you, I'll have to start time again - and then I'll die.

"I'm far more than just a witch now, Harry. Your defences were nothing, your body was nothing - but they were enough. You won - you won when the curse flew from your wand; even as you died, you killed me. I guess I got what I asked for, though, didn't I: A proper fight to the death with the Master of Death. I guess it's a hell of a way to go. Maybe the legends are right - that you can never lose a duel, even against me."

"Why did you want to fight me? I just - I don't understand."

"Because we've never fought before, Harry - not really, not in any way that wasn't just practice. Not even a formal duel. I knew you were confident you could beat me, and the more my darker thoughts rose to the surface, the more I wanted to rub your arrogance right into the floor!” Harry couldn’t help but flinch at Hermione’s vitriol. “You’re just as infuriating as any Weasley when you want to be!”

Hermione took a breath and calmed herself before continuing. “So this is entirely my fault - I know that. You thought this was real - which was the point - but I never expected that I couldn't stop a spell. I suppose in hindsight that I know next to nothing about that wand, and I guess if there's one set of spells I haven't really researched and toyed with, it's the Unforgivables. Can you blame me?"

Harry shook his head - there was no making sense of Hermione at the moment. "You can't stop the spell ... what makes you think I can do it?"

"You're the wand's master, Harry. If you want the curse to fail, it will. But it doesn't really matter, does it? I'm under a death sentence - maybe I always was. I think Trelawney's injuries were punishment for her prophecy, but also a warning to me. To save me now is to fight Heaven, Harry."

This all made less and less sense. Harry was still stuck on Hermione wanting a fight to the death. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't even know anymore," she laughed. "I thought - I thought that we'd be perfect together, Harry, and it's come to this. We've killed each other, but you’ll survive now."

"Killed...?" Try as he might, Harry could not rally his thoughts. "I don't get it. This doesn't make sense. I - you - this - it was all... just ...?"

"Yes, damn it. Yes. what the hell don't you understand? I was stressed and twitchy and I've been skirting my Oath to banish and never reveal my darkness. It was all just roiling under my skin, and I've needed something - anything - to relieve some pressure. I – wanted – to – fight. It's that bloody simple! You have no idea how this feels."

"Why don't you try explaining, then?" Come on, he thought – something in this mess had to make sense to him!

Hermione took a deep breath. "It's kind of like this: There's a split, you see. To ascend, you must also descend; for every angel, there is a demon." Hermione's eyes shifted towards crimson again. "The demon has access to all the angel's powers, to their soul, right up until the final split - then it's just another desiccated husk for the Pit; garbage; wasted; useless. But until then, Harry, there are two philosophies in here," Hermione pointed to her head, "two ideals of Hermione Granger, each just as original and justified as the other; and we hate each other, because one is pure and one corrupted, and because one of us will survive while another is doomed to oblivion.”

Hermione stopped, and then started laughing uncontrollably. "My God, that sounds so fucked up! Maybe it's better if I let you kill me, Harry. Then this is over, and I can rest, and you'll be free of your psychotic schizoid girlfriend and her random sadistic urges."

"No!"

"No? Going to try to save me? How? I'm not talking about this curse; I know you can stop it. I don't know how I'm going to recover the process of splitting and refining myself, Harry - it's not like there are two personalities, that's just the best I could explain it. It's all me - I was in the process of banishing my darkness. There are dark urges and desires that I'm in the process of removing - even thinking about them, even talking about them brings those things screaming back to the surface. I have to treat it like it doesn't even exist and it thrashes and accuses me and tries to take over if I give it even an inch! Ever since I first showed you what I could do at the Burrow, I've slowly been losing control of the refinement."

Harry had been shaking his head throughout her explanation. At last something made sense to him in all this, and he had at least one experience that he could share. "No. This is wrong! It is taking a part of you." Hermione began to disagree, but Harry insisted. "Listen to me! You need to see something."

He felt for Hermione in his mind; when he found her, he pulled them into his memory of meeting Dumbledore after he had died.

"Look there," he told her. "Look behind me, under the bench."

Hermione - both Hermione’s, as they were truly split now in his mindscape, one goodly and beautiful, one evil and bent and twisted in pain - looked on in horror at the childlike monster that was the remnants of Tom Riddle, his ruined soul moaning and writing in agony. Harry's heart clenched as he looked between Tom and Twisted Hermione, and could see a resemblance.

"What you're doing is wrong. I don't care what your stupid spells and rituals say. You can't sacrifice part of yourself like this."

"I'm not, Harry." Beautiful Hermione whispered, though with much less certainty. But Twisted Hermione had felt the echo of his comparison; she knelt and reached toward the child with a frightened look on her face.

"That's going to be... me? I'll be like this?"

"You are. This is so much like a Horcrux, no matter what the books say. I'm listening to you - to both of you, both sides of you - speak. I don't think you're right, you know - I think there really is a split. You think your 'evil' side is just leftover trash but it's not. Part of you is in there and it's pleading for its life. It's angry and desperate, and it feels betrayed."

Harry turned to look at Tom again, emotion making it hard to speak. "Even now I look at him, and I know who he is and I know what he's done, and I still want to pick him up and tell him that I can help. This isn't fair, and it isn't right - not even for Tom Riddle, and certainly not for you."

With arms that barely worked, Twisted Hermione reached out and touched Tom for a moment, then burst into a scratchy, fearful wail, clawing at her face. Harry moved towards her, but stopped as something even better happened.

Beautiful Hermione knelt and put her arms around Twisted Hermione; "I won't do that to you," Beautiful Hermione said to her sobbing twin. "Harry's right. I can't let you go, not at this cost. Even at our worst, we're better than Riddle. Come to me. Please, come home."

There was a blur as the two Hermione’s melded, and then there was only one - her eyes a deep amber bordering on orange, tears leaking down her face, and a look of pure wonder, as though she'd just awoken from a long sleep.

Harry fell away from the memory, came away from his mind's eye, and back to himself. He looked at the Killing Curse. It's not necessary anymore, he thought to the Elder Wand. Everyone is safe. We did it, we won. Mercy, now; please show mercy. Please.

Slowly the Killing Curse began to unravel, its energies dissipating into the air around them. When it was completely gone, time resumed.

Hermione slowly walked to Harry, her amber eyes filled with anguish and relief. Harry allowed himself to lower his wand. Slowly, very slowly, they reached for each other pulling themselves into a tight embrace.

"Please forgive me," Hermione whispered fiercely. "Please, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. I can't believe what I just did - I hurt you! I can't believe I hurt you! I promised I would never hurt you!"

"Shh, I'm here. Don't talk about it - we'll sort it out later. I'm here now, and I'll help however I can."

"They'll come for me, Harry. I'm fallen. The Oath was my lifeline, a promise to Heaven that I would purify myself to become worthy of the power bestowed. The rites were easy, almost trivial in comparison to the Oath. It was tailor made for someone like me to just step in and become Divine. The price seemed nonexistent - an Oath to basically be good? I laughed when I read it. There wasn't any fine print, no warnings of trouble, just the basic statement of taking the Oath or else.

"Now I can't do it, and I don't know what will happen."

Harry sighed, and closed his eyes. Fight a bunch of angels? What the hell did that even mean?

Harry tensed, and Hermione shuddered. Someone was near - someone powerful.

With a terrible roar, the roof above them was torn away. Harry shielded, and Hermione's eyes erupted with power as she Vanished the entire mess above them.

A man towered over them in the sky above, the angel that had killed Trelawney. He stood at least as tall as Hagrid, beautifully crafted golden armor covering everything but his head. His eyes shone a radiant blue, and his aura, a mixture of blue and white, filled Harry's senses almost as far as he could perceive. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand protectively and her own aura flared in response, the crimson and gold swirls fighting for dominance in the sky.

"FINALLY - YOU HAVE REVEALED YOURSELF. I AM THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL, AND I HAVE COME FOR YOU. ARE YOU READY TO FACE YOUR FATE, OATHBREAKER?"

Harry fingered the Elder Wand, his mind steeling himself for combat and forbidding Hermione to submit.

"No," she said, steadying herself. "No - if you want to destroy me, we will fight you."

"YOU ARE AS FOOLISH AS THE PROPHETESS BEFORE YOU - SHE WAS GIVEN A CHOICE, AND YOU HAVE SEEN THE CONSEQUENCES. SUBMIT PEACEFULLY!"

"No!" Hermione threw the first volley - and the battle was on.

Harry was instantly on the defensive, and realized immediately that he could not fight beside Hermione. He felt Hermione's magic close around him to shift him elsewhere, and allowed her to do so.

He watched from a block away as they climbed into the sky above his ruined home, great spheres of white-blue and orange-gold assaulting one another with near-incomprehensible magic on an order of magnitude that beggared the entire wizarding population of Great Britain. But Hermione was already losing - her opponent wielded his might with greater finesse, herding Hermione back, wearing her defences down. Somehow, some way, Harry knew he would have to help.

It came to him then, a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the only curse he could use - he knew that what he had almost done to Hermione tonight he would have to visit fully upon this man, this archangel, if he even could. There was at least that hope, however. Hermione could not affect the curse, so perhaps neither could Raphael.

Harry screwed up his magic and flew upwards towards them, pushing so hard that space curved around him strongly enough to produce odd shadows and rifts behind him.

A grim smile crossed his face. Hermione's "wings" were gold; Raphael's "wings" were blue. It was fitting that the Master of Death trailed darkness, however insignificant he was in comparison. They were already into the misty clouds, but he was gaining. He was soon close enough to apparate and bided his time, waiting for Hermione to falter. He would help best by bolstering her. Soon, it happened: Harry saw the Archangel pause as though struck, and Hermione put her all into an attack - and he vanished.

It was a feint, a very convincing one.

Harry allowed his sense to expand and waited for the angel’s magic to build, and then disapparated the instant Raphael reappeared. He appeared between them as the archangel attacked; a triple-casting of Protego Maxima absorbed the archangel's assault, his shields exploding apart like fireworks. Harry twisted and flew back as Raphael lashed out at him, his adversary’s great hand coming within an inch of his face. He leveled the Elder Wand, marshaling his will.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The archangel threw his magic against the curse to no avail. He twisted time and space to remove himself from its trajectory - but Hermione fought against him, and the spell struck against his epaulet. The golden metal parted like water for the viridian beam - only twisted strands of metal remained.

Raphael stared as him as though for the first time, shock written across his features. "YOU DARE!"

Now the archangel charged him; Harry fell back into apparition, disappearing and reappearing several times as the furious angel followed. Standing his ground was certain death – he couldn’t even hope to win this chase, but he didn't have to win. Within seconds Hermione was back in the fight, and Raphael could not pursue him.

There was only one way the fight could end. Hermione did not have the skill necessary to defeat Raphael, but Harry had the proven method if she could create the opportunity. He echoed the image to Hermione, slapping it into her presence in his head. He trailed behind her how, falling into his traditional counter-cursing to dull the ferocity of Raphael's attacks, but letting Hermione do battle.

This second round went much better; Raphael seemed off-balance and unsure of how to handle Harry's interference and Hermione used the opportunity to score vicious blows. Again and again Hermione turned away his diminished assaults, and in frustration Raphael struck out against Harry, who furiously countered the barrage while Hermione bound the archangel in angry bands of gold.

"Harry! Now!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The curse flew straight and true - the archangel freed himself almost instantly, but too late; he tried to freeze time, but Hermione fought against him - and the curse struck.

Metal warped, twisted and melted away. Harry saw the man's bare, unblemished chest - a look of profound surprise etched forever on his features, his lightless blue eyes... Slowly, the white-blue aura dimmed, the armor fell to dust - and then time resumed fully and the man - just a man - fell soundlessly towards the earth.

Harry and Hermione remained close to each other; the wind blew gently around them, as if hesitant to do so.

"I should clean up," Hermione said. "Fix the roof of your house, check the neighborhood, alter memories, you know..."

"Yeah," Harry replied, the battle still running through his mind. "Yeah, you do that. I..."

"Will I find you at home?"

"In a bit; I need - I need to walk this off, or something."

"Please be careful."

"I will."

"Harry?" Hermione asked with great worry in her eyes. "Come home to me ... please?"

Harry reached out to touch her hand gently. "I will."

-------

Four minutes and four blocks away, a small church was empty but for a single intruder. A quick muggle repelling ward just outside of a Protego Totalum would do just fine for the short time he was there.

Satisfied, Harry fell into the front pew and played with the Resurrection Stone, staring at the large statue of Jesus Christ in front of him. He thought to summon Dumbledore, or his parents, but what would they tell him? Did he even want to see his parents' reaction to all this? He stared at the statue as though it held the answers he sought, and slowly turned the Stone. After Hermione and Raphael, he felt reckless and desperate.

"Does this count as praying?" he asked aloud, holding up the Stone. "I don't think I've ever done it in my life." With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes. "Help, help, please help. I don't know what the hell to do. I just killed something ... something that maybe I shouldn't have. Please, help."

"You've come a long way in a short time, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes to look at the man sitting beside him. He was leaned over, with his hands clasped together, elbows on his knees, and his face - his face!

Harry glanced back at the statue, and then back to the man - there were differences, certainly, but - and he was real! In color! The stone couldn't do this! How-?

"Calm, Harry. You are not the only person I have visited. You just happen to have a convenient little toy to make things easier for us. Take your time - we have all the time in the world."

Harry tensed at the implications, but banished it from his mind. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? "I- I need to know ... what has Hermione done? Who was that - that man to call himself an archangel? What's going on? Is he one of yours? Did I - I mean-"

"Would an angel run around accusing others and killing people, Harry?"

"I haven't read much about them - or you," Harry said quietly, feeling rather small.

"Never mind that; what my good friends wrote about me after my death and what you have available to read are two very different things. There's truth in there, no doubt, but much of it is distorted. I came as a messenger, an example of what the perfect human might be like. Everything I had and have everyone can have.

"But that's not why you're here," he continued. "You don't have to read anything, Harry - answer with your heart: Would an angel - a beautiful, glorious servant of our Father - would they threaten others and proclaim doom? Would they try to kill them?"

"I don't think so. No."

"Then you have your answer. Trust your heart, Harry. It's already begun to give you the answers you seek, and they're all right there. What you are dealing with is a group of people who would dare to be more, and in doing so they've all become much, much less."

"But how do I deal with them? If Hermione hadn't been there-"

"Calm, Harry. This is not a problem to be solved with violence. Neither you nor the ones that oppose you want to destroy the world, nor even a single soul."

"But why did he attack, then? Why is this Oath so special, if it was doing horrible things to Hermione? Can't they see it's wrong?"

"Those of great pride see what they wish to see, Harry. They forget that there are no Oaths before the Father. The Father sees into your heart, and knows you more completely than you will ever know yourself. There is only love before Him, nothing else."

"So they're wrong? That's it?"

"You have already learned this lesson from Tom Riddle but I will give you the words you so desperately seek: How can you love a part of yourself and discard another? How is that in any way the complete, universal, unconditional and Divine Love that is our Father? How can you fracture off a piece of yourself and say to it 'You are unwanted; go, and never return?'"

Harry's eyes moistened at the memory of Twisted Hermione. "You can't. It isn't love."

"It isn't," the man agreed, "and though unlike Tom their souls might be intact, for they have not murdered others and attacked themselves as he did, still they have done damage to their souls. It is what causes them to believe themselves justified to judge others as they tried to tonight."

"What about Hermione?"

The man smiled, and somehow, though the windows were still dark and the candles still burned - though the man had no aura and used no magic Harry could see - somehow the church was brighter.

"You have helped her greatly, Harry. You showed her your memory, and she looked upon Tom Riddle and her heart knew the truth. It knew it so strongly that her mind - that wonderfully developed mind that often dominates her underdeveloped heart - her mind listened. Even now, even though she knows what the promised fate is for breaching her Oath and she fears the aftermath for what she has done tonight, she also knows that her choice was right. She carries with her a hope that you have instilled."

"And the others...?"

"The others are now confused and scared. Here is a young woman who has their power but no longer believes in their Oath, and she has defied them and still lives.

"Then there is you - to act against others not of their power in violence is criminal to them, an obvious violation of their purity; to alter the minds and actions of others for their own ends as Hermione has done is unthinkable. Yet they are blinded to the subtle power of love: When they suspected Hermione and sent their mortal allies against you, you shielded Hermione's actions from scrutiny and they discovered nothing. When they felt the battle in your home and knew Hermione's Oath was broken they sent one of their own to punish her; and you acted in her defense, and even more you enabled her victory. Though they have not yet come to this realization, you showed them that they are not true angels, because they do not possess true immortality; they are still subject to death's final judgement."

Harry nodded, but was no longer listening. A horror welled up deep from inside him. Here he sat beside the Divine and he had just killed a man. "I- I'm sorry. I know it's wrong to kill. I just - I didn't have anything else that would work."

"I know," said the man, not showing the slightest hint of anger or disappointment. "You did the very best you could with what you had. You are correct that to kill is wrong, and yet you could not stand idly by. There is darkness in this world yet, I'm afraid. It takes great effort and courage to live a life of love."

"How - how do I do that?" asked Harry. "How can I live a life of love and not ever have to hurt someone? Of all the things I know about you or any religion, I can't see how it works."

"The answer is simpler than you think: You, Harry Potter, are not responsible for the entire chain of events that brought you into that conflict. The entirely of what we might call fate is made up of countless choices and the consequences to those choices. You are not the only person making choices in the world; you are only responsible for your own actions. So ask yourself if the actions you took were the best choices, the most loving, compassionate choices you could make?"

Harry closed his eyes in shame. "...No."

"You have broad shoulders, Harry - but don't take on the weight of the world; that is not your job." Harry opened his eyes to see the man looking at him with great intensity. "Let's try again: With what you had - your skill, your experiences, your state of mind, your understanding of what was happening, your love for Hermione and your lack of love for the powerful stranger attacking Hermione - were the actions you took the very best choices you could make?"

Harry struggled with his thoughts. "...I don't know, maybe - probably."

The man nodded, "I agree. I could never see you doing other than exactly what you did. If you were possessed of the love I taught, and you loved the stranger as you loved Hermione, you would not have chosen as you did."

The man reached out and touched Harry's shoulder. "But if you had such a love, you would have been able to stop them."

Harry had no words - all his thoughts were garbled by the utter peace radiating from this man and the chaos of the last few hours. So he pleaded with his eyes for understanding.

"Albus Dumbledore told you that love is your power over Tom Riddle, that love is the greatest power known to wizards. He understood, through his own flaws, this wonderful truth."

"But I don't," Harry whispered. "I don't get it. I don't understand."

"You are not ready - there isn't a single soul on this planet that is. But listen to what I tell you: My power came from love; the Father is Love, his power comes from Love and is Love. His Holy Spirit, the vehicle for His power, is Love. As I grew into a man I understood my birthright more and more, and I brought my love in line with the Love of my Father; then I became his Son in Truth."

"I..."

"Love is an inadequate, mortal word trying to express a Divine concept so vast and incomprehensible that it is the basis for the creation of the cosmos. A single, one-syllable word will not suffice for that, but that is what we have.

"Your Hermione has power, and so do these others like her, but it is based upon the assertion of will in a most unloving manner. So they all have power, but they have injured themselves to gain it."

"Will she recover?"

"That falls to you. Our Father allows free will - He will not strip Hermione of her accomplishments by force. Hermione is prideful, and will wish to retain her power. Don't focus on the power, Harry - power is an illusion, you know that already. Focus on love - the Father is Love - I tried to be Love as best I could as a mortal."

"I think you did great."

"Why thank you," the man laughed, and Harry ducked his head and blushed like a little child. It suddenly seemed quite inappropriate to have said that.

"Support Hermione," he continued. "Help her to develop love for herself and all others. Ignore her power, it isn't important. When she sees herself once again as a person, an individual connected to other individuals by love, and no longer merely through the lens of accomplishments and power - then she shall be healed, and then it will be irrelevant if she chooses to keep her power or not. The same applies to you."

The man stood and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Be at peace, Harry. Strive for love. I love you and Hermione both, as does our Father. Never forget that."

And then Harry was alone, but for the flickering candles.

***

Harry apparated directly to his room; he was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. The roof was once again securely in place, the magic of the home pristine and perfect. Harry left the room only briefly to check on Teddy, and then returned. He could make out Hermione’s form already in bed, sleeping fitfully. She roused as he joined her under the covers.

"Are you alright?" she mumbled, slipping her arms around him.

“Yeah, I just had to talk things through. Everything makes a little more sense now - maybe. I don't know."

"…Talk? With Dumbledore…?"

"No. I - er- I went a bit over his head."

Hermione opened her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Tomorrow. I'm tired, and so are you. You can poke around tomorrow."

"Alright, try to sleep, Harry."

"You, too. Love you."

"Love you."

---------

Harry woke to Hermione's crying, and knew that she was watching his memories of last night. She was sitting up in bed, hunched over. Harry gave her a half-hug, kissed her trembling cheek, and got ready for the day. There was nothing he could do or say to lessen the impact of that experience.

"Good morning, Harry!" said Luna cheerfully as Harry walked into the kitchen.

"Morning, Luna," he replied with a smile. "Sleep well?"

"I did."

Fleur was next to come down as Kreacher served breakfast and the three chatted while eating. They were halfway through their meal when Hermione came down looking happy and well-rested, and not at all like her and Harry had fought each other and then fought for their lives in the span of a single night. She joined seamlessly into the conversation of their coming trip to France and what they might do. Ron was the last to join the table. Though he started late, he finished eating almost at the same time, and packed away at least twice as much food.

When next Harry and Hermione spoke they were in Paris; Ron and Luna went off with Fleur to look at magical shops while Hermione took Harry to see the Louvre Museum.

"I'm still going over your memory," she whispered to him. "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it."

Harry gave a slight nod. "I'm on the same page as you. But it makes sense - he makes sense."

"What will happen now, though?" she asked apprehensively. "I mean, can we ignore them? I have no real way to find them-"

"And unless you kick up a shitstorm like last night, they can't find you."

"That's true," Hermione agreed, "he did say that. But they do know who I am and where I'll probably be, and they control the Vatican..."

"We'll deal with that," he replied. "This isn't a short-term thing, it's a long-term thing. I really don't think they'll attack again unprovoked, though."

Hermione eventually murmured her agreement, and they perused the museum in companionable silence.

Later, when they arrived at the Delacours for dinner, they discussed the future.

“I think that McGonagall is going to be retiring at the end of the year,” Hermione said as they waited for the others. “I’m thinking that I’ll be a shoe-in for Transfiguration professor.”

“You sure?” asked Harry. “It’s a little tame, considering how much you know and what you’re capable of.”

“Well, yes, it is. But being a Hogwarts professor does allow me some latitude, and we’ve already proven that I can keep my abilities well-hidden in the school. I was thinking that maybe after a few years of normalcy, I’ll have convinced the others that I’ve given it all up.”

"Maybe… I think when this year is over I'll be taking Kingsley up on that Hit-Wizard position, and accepting the Department of Mystery’s research contract."

"I knew you would” Hermione said with a smile. “Do you think that with McGonagall retiring you’ll still be offered the position?"

"Without a doubt – Shack’s got the paperwork pretty much done up. Besides, a dedicated, long-term Defence professor is just what Hogwarts needs."

Despite an offer to stay the night at the Delacours, Harry and Hermione checked in at a muggle hotel. Ron and Luna did likewise, and Fleur was on-hand to divert her slightly worried parents. The following evening Harry took Hermione on their "first" date at a restaurant near Centre Pompidou, which conveniently housed a library Hermione wished to visit.

The next day they switched - Harry took Ron to see the muggle military museum at Hotel des Invalides, while Hermione Took Luna to the Eiffel Tower, fulfilling one of Luna's objectives for the trip.

"Dad would love it in here," Ron said as they moved from exhibit to exhibit. "So you and Hermione…?"

"Yeah, we had a good time."

"Good on you, mate. It isn't really your first time, though - I mean, you've been out with her twice before."

Harry laughed. "That's true, but it's a bit different now."

"Yeah…" Ron went quiet as they passed by a group of muggles, and then resumed their conversation. "I don't really want to go back home after this. Dealing with Ginny and Mum is going to be awful."

"Better you than me, mate."

Ron cuffed Harry on the shoulder, muttering invectives.

Later in the day, the couples were reunited and went out in the evening on separate dates.

"So, how's Ron taking it?" asked Hermione as they waited for their meal to arrive.

"Good; he’s got no complaints except about going home. He seems quite happy with Luna."

"Luna's happy, too. I hope they last."

Harry agreed, and then winced at a distasteful recollection.

"What's wrong?"

"Remember when Luna came to me for help?"

Hermione was quite horrified. "Eugh! Don't remind me and don't talk about that before we eat! Gross!"

--------

All too soon, it was time to head back to school. Harry marvelled at how much he missed Hogwarts. He stared in wonder at the castle all the way up the path, took in the entrance hall, and threw himself into the sofa in his common room, feeling the inviting warmth of the fire. Hermione was only a step behind him, snuggling herself into his side.

"It's good to be home," he said, placing his arm around her.

"Yes," she agreed. "It's good to be home."