Unofficial Portkey Archive

TITLE: All Roads Lead Back

KEYWORDS: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

SYNOPSIS: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with his best friend...and everything went straight to Hell! A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told through multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 25,297

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None really. I do however lightly touch on religion. You have been warned.

DISCLAIMER: If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is. She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

Sunday, 5/29/05

As he pushed open the sliding glass doors of the patio, his eyes fell upon the brown, bushy head of the person whom he had been longing to see all this time.

"Am I dreaming?" asked Harry hesitantly as he stepped out into the warm night air. He turned slightly to close the door back behind him, and crossed straight over to the left side of the patio where the woman who could control him with just a simple look sat rocking back and forth. She was dressed in a periwinkle blue cotton voile dress. Running along the front panel of the summery dress were embroidered cabbage roses surrounded by a field of daisies. The dress stopped just below her knees revealing a pair of nicely shaped, well formed legs that ran down to the cutest pair of bare feet Harry was sure he had ever seen.

His gaze was brought back up to her lovely face as she answered cheekily, "Does this look like a dream?"

No, thought Harry with just a touch of bemusement, because otherwise we'd both be naked right now.

Although Harry was confidant he hadn't spoken the words aloud, he still couldn't fight the awareness of pixies having kneazles that erupted in his stomach at the sight of the saucy smile she was sporting.

"Come, Harry," she said, patting the spot next to her on the porch glider. "Sit by me."

Harry almost felt stapled to the spot. This wasn't a dream? That was the question that seemed to reverberate over and over in his skull. This isn't a dream? She's real? She's come home?!

"Y-you're..." he stammered, "you're really here?" he asked, almost scared to hear the answer. Hermione? Had she finally come back to him?

Once again she gave him a smile that nearly took his breath away. She said sweetly, "You and I have got to talk."

"WHAT?!!"

For a moment Harry was so caught up in his jubilant elation that he swore he must have misheard her. Talk? After all these years of being separated from her, all these past few weeks spent longing to see her face...she wanted to talk? He almost gave into mad, hysterical laughter at the prospect. How like her to want to talk at a time like this. It was almost sweet. Almost. But if he was going to have his way, there would be no talking done. At least not 'til afterwards.

He slowly advanced towards the glider looking to see if she would make any sudden movements, but all she did was continuously rock the glider back and forth as she watched him steadily, almost tauntingly. That grin will be the death of me, he mused to himself as he finally came to a stop in front of her. It was this thought that spurred Harry to haul her up by her shoulders from the iron bench, pull her towards his chest forcefully, and crash his lips down upon hers.

...lips he had dreamed of over countless nights...lips he had tasted in many a fantasy...

Harry was almost sure he had died, died and gone to heaven, as he deepened the already demanding kiss and moaned into her mouth. As his tongue licked at her bottom lip, Harry had to fight off the woozy sensation that seemed to explode inside his head. If Harry's mouth wasn't already so busy he would have laughed over the fact that he felt near swoon. But as her mouth yielded to his desire and opened ever so slightly all other thought, other than the need to make her his, left him.

Harry's arms circled around her back to pull her even closer, trapping her arms between them. If he could have melded their two bodies together Harry would have done so willingly. As his tongue became entangled with hers, he couldn't help the small tear that silently made its way down his cheek. I would gladly die right now, was all he could think as her tongue madly swirled around his own, her teeth daringly scraped against his lips. It was this sensation alone that made his cock tent in his trousers.

He couldn't bother with feeling shamed at the involuntary action. Harry was certain she felt his arousal pushing at her stomach, but to his mind that was all trivial now. He was standing outside his parents' old home, drinking in the floral smell of the night air that clung to her, and kissing a woman who was not his wife, but whom he loved desperately. That was all that mattered to Harry right now, being here at the Hollow with Hermione. He would have gladly sacrificed anything to make time stand still for this moment. His Gringotts vault, his expensive mansion, all of his worldly possessions, none of these things mattered to him. Not like she mattered to him.

When he could finally bear to draw his mouth away from hers, Harry began peppering her face with feverish kisses. Her forehead, her eyelids, the tiny indention just above her upper lip; not one area of her face went un-worshiped. Even if it took all night he would have kissed every freckle that stood on her nose. But after a while, his lips sought the top of her head where they rested a bit and sighed at the feel of her wiry curls against them. Her hair smelled of the imported shampoo she always wore, a jasmine scented concoction that she had discovered years ago on holiday in Bangkok with her parents. Harry had accidentally stumbled onto her love of the stuff back when she lived with him and Ron. He had gone into her bathroom looking for shampoo and had been astounded by the price on one of the bottles. Hermione would order it from the luxury hotel that made it and have it shipped to her every month, one of her few vanities. Although the scent was too girlie for his tastes, he always subconsciously loved the smell on her. Hermione's name seemed to be only a hairsbreadth away from his lips whenever he smelled the scent of jasmine.

Harry was almost lost to his reverie when he heard her softly call his name against his neck. Every pore on his body erupted at the simple, innocuous move. Harry knew right then and there that he had to have her. Right then, right there! He had to make her his forever. He would make love to her right on top of the carpet of green grass that blanketed his backyard if he had to. He would explore every inch of her body with only the shade of the behemoth tree to give them cover. He had to let her know what she did to him; how she made him feel. No other thoughts were allowed to interfere with what he wanted. Harry knew in his heart that it was right. Being with her was right. How could it be wrong? When you love someone how could anything ever be wrong?

He slowly began to leave butterfly kisses that made a trail from her head, to her ears, and all the way to her neck. Harry took a moment to suckle at where he imagined her pulse point would be, then made his way to the front of the periwinkle blue dress. He licked at the bare area just above its boat neck collar as a frenzied wish that she had worn something more sensible, like a buttoned blouse, flitted through his head. It would have made it so much easier to just rip the garment from her shoulders that way. Then he would have full access to the swell of breast that one of his hands was busy palming firmly. She gave no protest to his ministrations which only emboldened Harry to seek out the zipper of her dress with the hand that was still clenched around the back of her. As he stooped down slightly to press a kiss into first one, then the other covered mound, Harry rested his head against her chest and indulged in the wave of contentment that washed over him. That is until he noticed one small detail. One very odd, small detail. Actually when you got right down to it, it was a pretty monumental detail really.

He felt no heartbeat.

Harry pushed her away from him in terror, his hand reaching into his dark robes, groping for the wand that should have been in its holster. It wasn't. His motions were so erratic that his glasses went askew and almost fell from his nose. As she reached out to right them, he stepped back further doing the deed for himself. His mind was a jumbled mess. As he looked out from startled green orbs at the doe eyed creature that resembled his best friend in just about every way, he felt a loss for words. It was a good thing then that she decided to provide them for him.

"It's funny actually; you had just about everything else down to a science. The way she smelled. The way she felt in your arms. Even the freckles were in their correct pattern. Only problem is that you can't give an abstract a circulatory system."

Although the voice sounded like Hermione's, some deep down part of Harry knew rationally that this was not his best friend standing before him. As his tongue un-wedged itself from the roof of his mouth, he gave these thoughts voice.

"You're not Hermione," he plainly said.

"I'm not Hermione," she replied in answer.

Harry ran his hands through the back of his longish hair in a quick, frustrated gesture that screamed out his agitation. He just couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on.

"Who are you?" he asked haltingly until a far more horrifying thought entered into his head. "What are you?"

At the last question his companion's eyes seemed to come alive and sparkle. The smile that had never left her lips spread even wider.

"What am I? Yes, I think you about have the right of it," she replied.

Such an innocent answer awoke a fierce anger inside of his chest. How dare she…it…whatever this thing was, mock him! Harry barely took one long stride before his hands latched onto her wrists and shook her savagely. Despite his rough treatment of her, the constant expression of amusement never wavered from the Hermione look-a-like's face.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" he demanded tersely. "I THOUGHT YOU SAID THIS WASN'T A DREAM!" He had to work hard to keep out the bitter disillusionment from his voice.

Obviously this...person was not moved by his display of hostility, because she grinned as she jested impishly, "Well I am standing upright. And I still appear to have knickers on."

She then roguishly winked at him.

"I'd wager a galleon or two that you aren't dreaming."

As Harry's face warmed instantly, he let her go, staggered back, and bonelessly plopped himself onto the wrought iron glider right behind him. He couldn't offer one word of protest, although he was astounded that whoever this being was, she would have such a perfect grasp of things. But how?

"Don't look so surprised," she said as she moved closer to stand over him. "It's not like you weren't just thinking that."

Harry was utterly stupefied.

"H-how...H-how d-did you know th-that?"

She took a seat on the glider next to him, but everything in Harry told him to get himself as far away from her as he could. Instead he scooted over as far on the bench as allowed, even pressing his back uncomfortably into the iron armrest of the contraption. She seemed to revel in his reaction to her.

"How do I know what you are thinking in your head, you ask? Well Potter, I should know what's going on inside of there seeing as how that's where I came from."

Harry really had no good reason to believe what she was telling him. For all he knew he could very well be having a pleasant little chat with a succubus. It wasn't like he hadn't encountered one before. In his very first year as a full-fledged Auror he had to contend with one named Lilith who had somehow formed an unhealthy obsession with him. She was never able to get into his house, thank Merlin, due to all of the heavy wards he had surrounding the place, but she did pursue him relentlessly whenever he went out into the field after hours on assignment. Poor love sick Lilith disrupted so many night time raids in her pursuit of claiming Harry Potter as her own personal sex slave that Hanes became fed up with the novice Auror and threatened to demote him on more than one occasion. Of course Hanes wouldn't have followed through with the threat, the Minister would have never allowed it, but he needed his displeasure to be known just the same. The Being Division of the Creature Regulation department had to eventually step in. Lilith was served with a magical restraining order, and was forced through a number of restrictive charms to stay at least two towns away from Harry at all times. The only person who would be able to lift the enchantment would be Harry himself.

He knew this wasn't Lilith he now had on his hands. He very much doubted that it was a succubus at all. Succubi were notorious for being vain little she demons. One wouldn't purposely transform itself into the image of Hermione, even if it knew that was the best way to get a reaction out of him. All Harry could do was take the Hermione look-a-like at her word. Somehow he knew she wasn't lying.

"You're my conscience, aren't you?" he questioned her, nonplussed. He slowly turned his body to face forward, his eyes roaming over the beautiful scenery of the yard as his mind whirred with one crazy thought after another. "I mean...I always knew my conscience sounded like her. I just never figured it would look like Hermione too."

She giggled madly over his admission as she shook her head making her curls bounce back and forth. The simple movement did such things to him down below that he had to remind himself over and over again that this was not Hermione.

"I am not your conscience."

She brought her feet up and tucked them under her. She looked like she was preparing to have a nice long chat with him.

"I am that voice," she continued, "that voice at the back of your head. That voice that you have tried to banish and bludgeon, block out and beat down. I am that voice that has been trying to tell you what you want. What you really want. What you have wanted all the while. I'm sure there is some technical term for it. Some therapeutic mumbo jumbo like Id, or inner voice..."

She paused to smile devilishly.

"...schizophrenia..."

At this last word Harry, who had been only half-listening to her speech, frowned. It was obviously the reaction she hoped to get from him because she smirked as she spoke on.

"Essentially, you see, I am a part of you, Harry. In fact," she paused as she looked deeply into his eyes, "I am you."

Once again Harry had no earthly reason to give any credit to the gibberish she was spouting, but somehow he saw the truth in her words. But instead of marveling at just how such a thing like this could happen, another more pressing concern weighed heavily on his mind.

He had tried to have it off with himself.

"Well is there really any big difference then when you have a few early morning yanks in the shower?" she mirthfully queried as one of her eyebrows arched up.

"I've lost my bloody mind."

She laughed so hard that she actually wrapped her arms around her middle to control it. It was very Hermione of her.

"You haven't lost your mind, Harry." She reached over and softly tapped his head. "Trust me, it's still in there. Everything is completely intact. That Bludger didn't do too much damage."

Before he could ask her what that meant, she kept chirping away.

"You see, Harry, I've been waiting for you to hear me. I mean really hear what I had to say. But for some reason Mr. Dim Bulb," she said, waving her hands wildly before him as Harry huffed indignantly, "you tuned me out. You wrote me off as just confusion, just some delusional wandering of a fevered mind. You know, one time you even convinced yourself that I was the after effects of a winter cold. And so I sat back and waited, and watched you make one dumb move after another. I patiently waited for the day when you would be ready for it. I even almost got through to you one night. You were so close, but then..."

She let out a frustrated sigh as she nervously smoothed down the skirt of her dress. Whatever she had been about to say obviously caused her great distress.

"Anyhow, here we are." she said as she opened her arms wide. "For some reason you are completely receptive to it finally. I figured it was time to go for it, full throttle. Balls to the walls, as they say. I reckoned that a face to face meeting, so to speak, was the only thing that would do."

She nibbled on her lip as she reconsidered her choice of words.

"Or rather you reckoned. Whatever, whichever."

Harry, who was having a devil of a time following all that she was saying, latched on to the only question that seemed important at the moment.

"Why do you look like Hermione?"

She grinned comically at the question. "And who should I have looked like? Ron?"

Her smile seemed to reflect how idiotic she found the question. Then he remembered that he was supposedly talking to himself, so in essence he found his own question stupid. This line of reasoning was beginning to lead to one irate Harry.

"You could have never had this discussion with Ron. The two of you probably would have been playing Exploding Snap as we speak. Of course you could have made me look like yourself, but then that would have just been weird."

That did it! It was obvious that she...it...whatever this thing was, was just toying with him now. Or rather he was toying with himself. Either way, he became increasingly incensed and took it out on her.

"AND THIS ISN'T BLOODY WEIRD?!" he snapped harshly.

His outburst, however, did little to sway her from finding him the most amusing thing in the world.

"Temper, temper, Potter," she jokingly admonished. "You chose Hermione because she was one of the few people who you would actually listen to. You listened even when you hated what she had to say. Her opinion was important to you. So it seems fitting, doesn't it?"

Rather then answer her question head on, Harry decided to go back over the dollops of information she had given him instead.

"Let me see if I have this right," he said as he stared her down hard. It was the cool, almost viridian look he used to break down many a suspect during his years with the Department. It usually worked like a charm. Usually.

"You are a part of my brain that handles my needs, wants, and desires."

"Sounds close enough."

"And for years, for some reason or another, I've been shutting you out."

"A-yup."

"So now you're supposed to tell me what I want," he said with a snicker.

"Actually," she said haltingly as she tried to gauge his reaction to her words, "you've always known what you wanted. I'm just here to give you the kick in the arse you need to finally admit it to yourself. Completely. No hedging."

"And what do I want?"

He honestly didn't know why he even bothered to ask the question. Harry was sitting across from the image of the one thing, the one person who he hadn't been able to get out of his head for months; his heart for years. There was no question that he wanted her, needed her even. Forget the necessity to eat, to drink. Forget the need for air even. It was a wonder how he had even managed to go on breathing without Hermione near him. Like oxygen, he had taken her for granted as well. So Harry very well knew the answer to his own damned question. But to voice it aloud, even to him (so to speak), would finally put to an end any doubt of the realizations that had slowly been worming their way through Harry's soul these last few weeks. But as the Hermione look-a-like gave him a strong, exasperated look of irritation, he finally acknowledged that maybe now was the time to call it, to lay out all of his cards on the table.

"Hermione," Harry wistfully sighed. "I want Hermione."

For the first time since he had found her sitting on the patio she treated him to a heartfelt, yet endearingly sad smile.

"For a long time," she said.

Although Harry should have felt relieved that it was all coming out at last, he couldn't fight back his annoyance at what her remark implied.

"You're a bit late, aren't you?!" he rebuked meanly. "I kind of already figured this out."

"No," she said speaking in the light tones one would use to cajole a stubborn child. "You are under the impression that you have just fallen in love with Hermione. You know that's not true."

He opened his mouth to protest, but then she began babbling some nonsense that made no sense to him whatsoever.

"'Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation'."

"What?!"

"An old wizard's proverb you picked up from someone...somewhere...a long, long time ago. Never mind that now, Harry, keep up with me!" she scolded him in a very Hermione-like manner.

If he didn't know any better, he would have had a hard time believing that it wasn't really her.

"We both know that even before Hermione took off you were in love with her."

That caught his attention instantly. He was so hacked off that he launched himself from the iron glider as if imps had been poking him in the arse with rusted spears.

"NOW THAT'S..." he began resentfully, "THAT'S J-JUST RUBBISH! GINNY..."

"Was a habit," she replied simply as her eyes never left his face. The truth behind her words almost made Harry feel sick to his stomach. "You had become used to the idea of you and Ginny. Resigned even, and why not? Everyone else assumed that you were made for each other. The problem is that you bought into that simple minded fallacy as well. You forced yourself not to consider anything else...anyone else."

She leaned back as she folded her arms across her chest and gave him a deep and penetrating stare.

"You, my friend, took the easy way out."

He didn't want to believe what he was hearing. Yet he couldn't fight off the disturbing ring of truth they seemed to hold. The thought that he could do that to Ginny, it was almost too much to bear! What had Ginny ever done to him but love him? Harry knew that as of late his marriage had begun to take on the feel of a farce. Truthfully he loathed himself for what he was doing to his wife. But he had accepted that this was his fate. He had foolishly trapped himself in a marriage that he had no way out of. Instead of dealing with his personal Hell alone, he had brought poor Ginny along for the ride. He would have gladly freed her for her own good so she could have a chance for some happiness, even if there was none for him. After all it wasn't her fault that he was in love with a woman who wasn't her. But the idea that he had gone into the Rites, unwittingly feeling the same way he did now, thus ensuring no joy for either of them? That was too huge of a concept to accept. Everything in him fought against it.

"You're acting as if I never fancied Ginny!"

"You fancied her. You're male, aren't you? Who wouldn't fancy her?"

Harry growled at her in answer.

"However you took Ginny as your wife because you thought it was expected of you."

"When I married Ginny I had every intention of being a good husband," he insisted emphatically. "I did love her!"

The Hermione look-a-like's big brown eyes softened with compassion at his shaky declaration.

"Of course you did. As you have been told time and time again your capacity to love knows no bounds, Harry. But this is me you are talking to, be honest with yourself. Were you in love with Ginny when you married her?"

He wanted to say yes. Even if he knew it was a lie, Harry wanted to say yes. To say yes wouldn't make the last five years of his life all a sham. To say yes wouldn't make him feel like a mountain of troll bogeys. To say yes would mean that he hadn't purposely wrecked his own life and lost any chance to have the one thing that could have made him feel whole. But he couldn't lie to himself any longer. That was the saddest part of all of this.

"I...I..." he tried to choke out as he felt a hopeless sense of despair descend upon him. He turned his back on her as his gaze settled on the fruit tree instead. "I thought it would come. Eventually," he finally managed to say. "You know; that feeling of being unable to bear being away from her side. I thought that after a while I would feel that need to have her face be the first thing I saw in the morning, the last thing I saw at night. I thought that...I mean, if Ginny and I were supposed to be together, wasn't that supposed to happen?"

"Actually," she moved her legs from under her and crossed them, "that should have happened before the 'I do's'. But…bygones."

Even though it hadn't been her intention, her words sounded callous in his ears.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he crankily insisted as he stepped off the patio and onto the grass, trying to remove himself far from her presence.

"Back to this again?" He could hear the reproach in her voice.

"So I take it we aren't really at the Hollow?" Harry questioned as he tried to divert her attention to something else.

She sighed. Of course she knew what he was trying to do. She was a part of his brain, but for whatever reason she decided to answer him instead of pushing the issue for now.

"It's a reasonable facsimile, don't you think?"

"Why are we here?"

"You should know. You're the one who conjured it up."

Harry began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the patio, wondering at how well manicured the lawn was and noting that all of the flowers surrounding him were in full bloom. Of course he really shouldn't have been surprised. He knew that the actual house in Godric's Hollow would look much the same. It had a SnowGlobe over it still. He had put the charm up himself a few years ago. When he and Ginny came back from their honeymoon he'd had every intention of moving his new bride and himself into his parents' old place. The thought seemed perfect, it would almost be like Lily and James had come back to fill the house with warmth and happiness again.

Ginny had balked at the idea. She gave many and sundry reasons why she didn't want to live in the cottage. For starters she felt that it would be inviting misfortune to stay there. It's not like the place had been too lucky for the last set of Potters that had lived in it. Although Ginny hadn't meant the statement as heartlessly as it came out, even apologizing profusely mere seconds after the words left her lips; it had hurt Harry just the same. She quickly tried to rectify the situation by explaining that the cottage was too small to raise a family in. At her words Harry had broken into a cold sweat, but she assured him that she had no intention of getting started any time soon. Once the relief settled in Harry tried to argue that they could just do what Molly and Arthur did with the Burrow, add on a new addition to the house as they added on a new addition to the household. Ginny turned up her nose at the proposal. She'd had enough of living in the cramped and crowded Burrow, thank you very much. She wasn't about to start her married life in just another version of it, she informed him.

It turned out that Ginny had picked out a colossus of a house for them to live in instead. The Palace was a grand mansion that had once belonged to the Avery family. All of the Averys had perished during the Second War in service to Tom Riddle, save for one. The last surviving member of the family, Meleficent, had finally given up trying to restore the family's honor and trying to save its former riches. For whatever reasons, Ginny was determined to have this house! She begged, pleaded, and sweet-talked Harry almost into a stupor over it. She felt that it was a house worthy of the Great Harry Potter, Seeker extraordinaire. It was also the kind of place she felt she had earned. After very little back and forth, since Ginny seemed determined to have her way, he gave into her demands. Even though the move made him effectively a neighbor to the Malfoys, even though the place felt cold and joyless; since his wife wanted it so badly he could live in the big house in Wiltshire. But he never felt that it was his home.

But the cottage, he always thought, the cottage could have been a real home. The day Harry put up the enchantment he had hoped that eventually he would find a good use for the house. He hoped that someone, someday, would live there who would love it as much as he did.

"This was the last place that I had a real family. This was where I last had a mum and a dad," he offered thoughtfully as he came to a halt. Whether he was still talking to her or to himself, he wouldn't have been able to say. "You know, I can't remember what my first words were or how old I was when I took my first steps. But the moment I laid eyes on this place I knew I was loved here. That someone loved me here."

"Some deep down part of your soul always knows when you are loved."

What she said made Harry turn and look at her. There was no mockery in her eyes, no critical tone to her words. For an instant his heart skipped a beat in his chest, though he had no clue as to why. He knew that this wasn't Hermione. He knew that the wild tendrils of chocolate and chestnut that ran from the top of her head and almost halfway down her back were just figments of his imagination. He knew that the pouty little lips he had indulged in earlier weren't really there. He knew that if he placed his hand above her left breast there would be no pounding small beat that told that life coursed throughout her body. Harry knew all of this. It still didn't quell his wish that it all wasn't true.

"I still don't see what being here has to do with Hermione."

"You spent a lot of time here with Hermione one summer, didn't you? Remember your birthday?"

Even if he tried, Harry couldn't help the smile that spread on his face.

"It was the happiest day of my life. I always thought that the day I finally finished off that bastard would be it," he confessed wryly, "but it didn't even come close."

As he said this, the Hermione look-a-like began to bounce the leg that was crossed over her knee up and down. The movement of her deliciously naked calf almost made Harry forget that she wasn't who he wanted her to be. He began to feel perturbed at the thought that he was teasing himself essentially. He was even more confused that it was working. This belief only succeeded in making him feel very cross.

"You can't just use Hermione as an excuse for my happiness," he arrogantly sniped at her. "Ron was here with me too."

"Wanted to snog Ron, did you?" she naughtily quipped. When he didn't answer her right away due to the outrageousness of the suggestion, her voice took on a more disturbed undertone. "Did you?"

"NO!" he yelped clumsily.

Once again he realized too late that she had been having him on.

"Just having a bit of fun with you," she said. "Quite frankly we could have ended up in any number of places. Take the entranceway to the Great Hall, for example."

Harry gave her a baffled, perplexed look that made her dramatically sigh once again at his dimness.

"Yule Ball…Hermione looking like a princess in a set of floaty robes? Now what color were those robes again?" she teased smugly as she began to purposely tug on the hem of her periwinkle dress. "I can't seem to recall just what color they had been."

Of course Harry knew exactly what she was insinuating.

"NOW THAT'S JUST A BLOODY LIE!" he snapped belligerently. "That was still a few years yet before I actually fell in love with her!"

"Ah ha!"

In defeat he fell back on the grass.

"Oh bugger me."

"And even though you weren't in love with her yet, that was when you first started to think she was pretty. Even afterwards, without all the Sleekeasy's, you still thought she was very pretty. You never quite looked at her the same, did you?"

"I thought she wasn't ugly," he sniffed indignantly. When he saw that she wasn't buying it he harshly answered, "Alright, alright…I thought she was very pretty."

Before she could offer up some smug "I told you so", he cut her off.

"However sometime during the night I looked over at Ron. You remember him don't you, the redheaded bloke, other best mate? And I saw that he thought she was very pretty too. So that's when I decided it was best for everyone involved if I not have thoughts like that at all."

She wasn't surprised at all by the revelation.

"And that's where it all began. That is when you started to repress any feelings you had for Hermione that weren't strictly platonic in nature."

He looked at her incredulously.

"Well...what else could I have done? Ron was mad for her, and Hermione obviously felt the same. I mean...she attacked him with birds for fuck's sake! BIRDS!"

"Yes, Hermione did have a nasty little habit of sending projectiles at men she felt strongly for," she remarked drolly.

"What?!"

"Nothing," she innocently answered. She lifted herself up from the glider and came to the edge of the patio where she ended up standing right in front of him. "Personally if I'd had my pick, we would have ended up in that charming little place in Diagon."

"The old flat?" he asked as his brow furrowed.

"You almost kissed her there once."

"I did no such thin-" he began to argue until she brusquely cut him off.

"Picture it, London. The year is 1998. The date, All Hallow's Eve. You'd just played your first big game with Puddlemere and somehow Gudgeon, of all people, managed to beat you to the Snitch."

"Damn," was all Harry could say.

Although his team had been so far ahead of the Cannons in points that they easily won the match, the game had still been a grotty potion for Harry to gulp down. It was the very first time since he had taken up the great sport of Quidditch that he hadn't by some form of luck or brilliance managed to catch the Snitch. And for it to happen at his very first professional game; Harry wanted to find some tomb in which to enshrine himself alive.

Later Ron, who had been too stunned over Harry's blunder to even celebrate his team's first foray from the bottom of the league, asked him what had happened. He told Ron that the sun had gotten in his eye. Harry could barely think straight enough to tell him the real cause of his distress.

Since Ron was the Reserve Keeper for Chudley he had been sitting with the rest of his team mates. Where he was positioned he hadn't been able to see Roger Davies chatting up their mutual best friend. But Harry, from his position high over the pitch, saw it all. He had heard through the grapevine that Davies was a constant visitor to the MMBA Office. Hermione had even shyly admitted to him that she had met Davies for lunch once or twice. But this? This was a near felony! What the hell did Davies think he was playing at? Didn't he realize that Hermione was his good luck charm? It was no wonder Harry never even saw the Snitch whiz by him. His own good luck charm was too busy flirting to be bothered with him.

"You were in Hermione's room," the look-a-like said, interrupting his thoughts. "If I'm remembering correctly, I believe you were trying to get her clothes off her."

"NOW THAT IS AN OUTRIGHT LIE!" Harry thundered as he jumped up from the ground.

He marched right up to her so closely that he purposely invaded her personal space. Then Harry remembered that she wasn't real, thus had no personal space.

"Ok, I admit it; I did want to kiss her that night. I was feeling sorry for myself over the game. And as you know, it was the night my parents..." he trailed off, losing steam somewhat. "Well...you know. Hermione had been so understanding. She listened to me talk. She even nuked a pumpkin pie for me."

Harry smiled fondly at the memory. As the smile began to slowly fade he continued.

"I thought I was just responding to that. That somehow I was trying to use her to fill Ginny's place and mend my battered ego. Nothing more." He then took on a harsher tone that sounded almost guilty. "But I was not trying to get up her skirt! We were going to a Ministry party later that evening. She was trying on clothes, trying to decide what to wear. I was helping her."

"Sure you were," she mocked. "And why didn't you kiss her again?"

Harry turned away from her. It really was no fun trying to have an argument with one's self.

"Ginny called on the two-way."

"The girlfriend," she mused comically, "the ultimate cock-block."

If he needed any further proof that he wasn't conversing with his best friend that would have been it.

"Yes, well it's a good thing too," he protested in answer to her joke as he turned back around. "Hermione would have killed me if I had tried something on her."

A tiny smile appeared on his face for a moment.

"You should have seen her with a wand back then. She was fearsome," he said proudly.

Then the smile dropped to be replaced by a look of confusion.

"Then again I guess you did see." Harry exasperatedly grumbled as he strode past her and up to the sliding glass door. "ARGH! This is utterly maddening!"

She turned around to face him.

"You should have kissed her. All these years you've secretly wished you had. You should have gone for it. She and Ron had been broken up for a good little while by then, hadn't they?"

"That night was her first official date with that git Davies," he said absently.

"You should have gone for it! What would have been the harm?"

He darkly snickered. "What would have been the harm? Since you claim to be me you should know better. There was one small thing standing in the way, which was really a big thing, which was actually the reason I never acknowledged what I felt for her in the first place."

As he turned around, he saw that he had her full and undivided attention.

"Hermione didn't feel anything for me."

"Harry!"

"Not like that," he said, trying to halt her protestations. "I mean, I know she loved me...just not in that way. Hermione mothered me, sometimes smothered me. She looked out for me; protected me. She was my councilor. She was my sounding board. She was my best friend and I was hers."

He paused as the emotion rose up inside of him, remembering all that Hermione had meant to him.

"And that's all she ever saw me as," he gloomily conceded.

"She once said you were fanciable."

"Yes," he replied as he smiled ruefully. "She said that in relation to how other girls saw me. She never saw me that way. Why else would she push me at Cho? At Ginny?" he asked, trying to make her understand his point of view. "Hermione didn't see me as anything but a friend," he said, words steeped heavily in regret. "So that's all I ever tried to see her as."

"How's that been working out for you?" she asked as she folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow sardonically.

Who would have ever thought my inner voice would be so goddamned smug, he wondered to himself in awe.

"You know, it's not like I didn't want her to be happy. I loved Hermione enough that I wanted her to have whatever she wanted, even if it wasn't me."

"Yes, but with Ron. That almost doesn't count."

"Now what the hell does that mean?!"

"Well did you even really want her with Ron? If we are being honest with each other, it was more like you didn't mind her with Ron."

He was starting to suspect that if he ever got out of this marathon discussion with his own goddamned self the rest of his mind would be pea soup. Because truthfully that is how it felt now, muddled and murky and thick.

"You see, with Hermione squared away with Ron you could still be a major player in her life. You would still hold a position of importance. But if she was with anyone else you feared that such would not be the case." She cocked her head to the side as she considered him for a moment. "One of your rare selfish moments really."

Harry would have liked to argue the point, but he was at a loss. She had him dead to right. He turned his back to her in shame.

"And it's not like you didn't have your jealous moments with Ron over her either."

Now that he would argue.

"JEALOUS?!" he challenged as he gave her a cross look over his shoulder.

She rolled her eyes havenward. "Alright, envious; that better?"

He nodded his head in approval, despite the thin line between the two, and turned his head back around.

"The thing is any time you would have any thoughts like that towards Ron you would instantly be filled with so much self-loathing and guilt that you tried to ignore those feelings too. You could dislike Davies. You could be annoyed by Oliver. You could even want to rip out Malfoy's ribcage and wear it as a hat."

Harry snorted.

"You could do all this and use the excuse that you were just looking out for your friend. But you couldn't bring yourself to be disloyal to Ron. Ron was the first real friend you ever made. You loved Ron."

"And I loved the girl that Ron loved," he weakly finished for her. It needed to be said, no matter how painful, it needed to be said.

"That you did."

He leaned his forehead against the glass of the sliding door. It felt cool against his fevered face.

"Hermione promised..." he began so quietly that it seemed as though he were only mouthing words to the air. "She said that everything would be simple, that after the War it would all go back to the way it was."

He looked over his shoulder at her with a near heart breaking intensity.

"It never did, did it?"

Instead of answering his question the Hermione look-a-like walked back over to the glider and sat herself down elegantly.

"Let's review, shall we," she said as he turned to face her fully. "Some time during the summer of your seventeenth year, maybe even at this very spot, you began to fall in love with one Hermione Granger. Except you decided to ignore this fact out of some honorable, noble, yet foolishly misguided loyalty to your best mate Ron. For years you chose to halfheartedly date his sister, while in your heart you harbored feelings for your other best friend. Instead of confronting these feelings for Hermione, which would have been difficult and messy and hard, you instead chose to place her on some impossibly high pedestal so that you could convince yourself that she was up too far to reach. Then you married Ginny Weasley as your second choice. How's that sound?"

He moved closer to her as he shook his head disbelievingly.

"Well when you say it like that it makes me sound like the stupidest git in the world."

She looked at him straightforwardly as the realization of everything she had just said began to slowly sink in. Harry dismally sank down onto the glider.

"I am the stupidest git in the world."

"No you're not, Harry," she said kindly. "You had a lot of emotions and insecurities to contend with at one time. It was a veritable balancing act on a high wire...WEARING STILTS! As Ron would say, it was a wonder you didn't explode."

He wanted to smile at her joke, but he only managed to eke out a painful grimace.

"Are you happy, Harry?"

Harry finally managed to smile, but it was a sorrowful one mixed with a side order of regret. From the outside looking in it would have been hard to find a person who didn't think that Harry Potter had the perfect life. In truth, it was a nice life. But that's all it was.

"There are moments when I think...but those are just moments."

For all of his incomplete ramblings, she seemed to understand him perfectly.

"You settled for the one you could live with," she said as she stared at him knowingly, "instead of waiting for the one you couldn't live with out."

Harry wouldn't be surprised if that gaze traveled to the very bottom of his soul.

"Now you tell me," he grumbled glumly. "And where did I hear that one from?"

"Dunno. Picked it up somewhere too, I guess."

Once again her harmless words produced in him a sense of impotent rage that made him want to tear at his own hair, beat at his chest.

"ARG! WHAT'S BEEN THE BLOODY POINT OF ALL OF THIS?! WHY SHOULD I FIGURE ALL OF THIS OUT NOW?! I'M MARRIED!" he shouted at her. "Hermione is nowhere to be found! Why would I wait to have this great big FUCKING epiphany now?!"

For the first time since they had begun this conversation she looked rattled. He had finally stumped her.

"I...I don't know," she stammered.

"Figures."

He desolately slumped back against the glider as his head lolled back and he closed his eyes. After the revelations he had just been handed he should have been feeling angry or bitter, mournful even. But all he felt was defeated. Harry had no idea how he could move on from this point. What could he possibly do?

As his weary mind tried to seek a solution, he felt a small weight settle on his lap.

"You're not Hermione," he said as he straightened his head back up and looked to see a set of large, soulful eyes looking into his.

"I know," she said as she slung an arm over his shoulder. "But you looked like you could use a hug."

This produced a bona fide belly laugh from him. She joined him by giggling along. Harry wrapped her in an embrace and held her firmly on his lap as her head came to rest on his shoulder. He leaned his cheek lightly on the top of her head. Harry felt a brief moment of peace before he jokingly thought to himself that she would find some way to call this masturbatory. As if hearing his thoughts, she giggled even harder.

He was almost willing to lose himself to her mirth, when an odd thought niggled at the very edges of his mind. She had mentioned right at the beginning that he had almost drawn these same conclusions long before this. What did she mean by that? He had started to ask her this question when her head suddenly popped up and she turned her face to look directly into his eyes.

"Oh no," she despaired. "Ron is about to Ennervate you."

His eyes widened. "Ron's about to do what?"

Without answering his question, she climbed out of his lap and stood before him as she clasped his hands in her own.

"Listen Harry, you now know all you need to know."

She paused to reconsider her words.

"Well, almost all of it. But don't worry; I'm sure that in the end all will be revealed. I mean, that's usually how these things work out."

"But I don't understand," he told her.

"But you soon will. Alright, Harry?"

~~**~~ ~~**~~

"I said alright, Harry?"

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again due to the last few rays of late day sunlight that stung them.

"He'll live," he heard someone, more than likely Fred, snarkily shout.

As Harry opened his eyes again he found himself hazily looking into the concerned blue eyes of his best friend, Ron.

"Blimey, Harry! For a second there we thought that Bludger had done you in," Ron said with a mixture of fear and wonder.

As Harry sat up from the bed of cool, crisp grass he had been lying down on, he looked about him. Everything was warped and he began to fear for a moment that he was going blind. Then he removed his glasses from his face. Both lenses were cracked. He sighed grimly as he vaguely remembered handing his wand to Ginny. He wouldn't be able to fix the specs until later.

He slid the glasses into the pocket of his robes and looked around again. He was almost shocked to discover he was in the Burrow's back paddock. Just a moment before it had been night time and he had been on his parents' patio at the Hollow.

And he had been with Hermione.

No, his thoughts reminded him, not Hermione. Instead he had been having some metaphysical conference with his inner voice. His inner voice had only chosen to look like Hermione. Or rather he made it look like Hermione. Whichever. The point was that somehow he had gotten from point A to point B and Harry had no bleeding clue how it had all come about.

"B-b-bludger?" Harry asked groggily as he felt at the back of his head and fingered the huge knot that had formed there. He looked down to find his trusted Firebolt lying next to him.

"Gee Harry, who would have ever figured that your head was that hard," quipped George as he ambled over to Ron's side, broom in hand, and bent down to have a look at the frustrated and confused man.

As Harry squinted up at first George, then Ron, he slowly began to put two and two together. Both red haired, freckled faced men were dressed in what looked like expensive party attire. He noticed that he too had on a set of finely tailored dress robes. His were in a dark navy color. As he surveyed the scene around him, he noticed that everyone from the adults to the children playing nearby was dressed just as spiffily. That's when it hit Harry. It was Sunday! He was at Ron's Commencement ceremony.

"Scram, you!" Ron nastily said to his brother as he pushed him from Harry's blurred sight line. "You and your shadow have caused enough damage, don't you think?"

George chose to find the reprimand humorous.

"Hmph! I certainly know when I'm not wanted," he joked putting on overly exaggerated, indignant airs. As he trooped off towards the crowd of wizards and witches, some who were holding brooms in their hands, Harry heard George call out, "Cor, Fred! You should see the size of the lump. Good job!"

Ron fell back on to the grass next to Harry, laid his brand new Nimbus next to him, and gave his friend a sympathetic look.

"Those prats are almost thirty. Maybe they should think of growing up and giving up the game. You would think they would know better," he turned to face the throng by the lake and shouted, "THAN TO UNSEAT YOUR OWN BLOODY TEAM MATE!"

Fred smirked in their direction.

"No harm, Harry. Sun got in my eyes."

Despite the pain, Harry tittered softly. He had heard that one before.

It all slowly started to come back to him. The Commencement ceremony had been over hours ago. The candles had been lit and were currently burning away in the Weasley kitchen. The mountains of food that Molly, Penelope, and Fleur had cooked had already been devoured. They had even had to put out on the tables the catered entrées, food Molly seemed to regard disdainfully, just to accommodate the large turn out of people who had come to wish the happy couple good luck.

Just about everyone had been there.

Mostly all of Ron and Lavender's immediate and extended family members were present. Ron's parents, siblings, their spouses, and their assorted children were accounted for. Lavender's widowed mother, her older sister Kelly, Kelly's husband Theodehad Greenberg, and the youngest Brown sister Maeve had all huddled themselves together from the rest of the partygoers. Some of Molly's distant Prewett cousins, Nigel the accountant being among them, had also managed to make it out.

Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's baby sister, wasn't technically a Weasley (though she had a long standing crush on Charlie and had high hopes), but she was treated as thus by everyone. Every other weekend the 19 year old would come down from Beauxbatons, where she taught Charms, to visit with her adopted family. Naturally she was at the Commencement.

Of course Remus and Tonks had come as well. Harry had given his dear friend Remus a long, manly hug when he first saw him walk through the door. Both professed that they didn't get to see nearly enough of each other. Little Wolfie Lupin was made much of as he was passed from one set of arms to another. The child didn't cry once.

Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood's fiancée, had shown up alone. There was still some enmity between her future husband and Ron, so they both decided that he should stay home. Alicia, however, wanted to give her congratulations to both of her former house mates.

A couple of Harry and Ron's old professors had also made the trip from Hogwarts to be there; Poppy Pomfrey, Selene Sinistra, even the now retired Rolonda Hooch. Horace Slughorn made a big display of gifting the couple with mead that he proudly declared had not been poisoned. A few people even laughed at the joke. Minerva McGonagall had even managed to tear herself away from the running of the school to make an appearance. She brought with her the well wishes of those staff members who couldn't come, as well as those from The Fat Lady, Nearly Headless Nick, and Dumbledore's portrait.

Hagrid, his wife Olympé, and their three children had made the journey all the way from Belgium to be there. Hagrid bred wild and dangerous (at least to other people) animals for a living. Only four years before Olympé Hagrid, née Maxime, had retired as the Headmistress of Beauxbatons. She and Hagrid had been married for a few months when both of them were shocked, yet ecstatic to discover that they were going to have a baby. Half-giants tended to be sterile. But by whatever grace of fate or luck, Olympé had managed to conceive. The only thing they worried over was what a child of theirs would be. Would it be a half-breed as well? Or would it grow to be a full grown giant?

Neither of them could abide the idea that their child would have to deal with the same bigotry and prejudices they had endured through the years. That is when they heard of the little town of Ath. Ath was a village where the Muggles were so fond of giants that they even had a festival to celebrate them, the Vêpres Gouyasse. The place was perfect for the expecting family. They even brought Grawp along. They lived in a cottage in the forest just outside of the town. When Guy Hagrid was born his parents were relieved that he was healthy, it had been a rough pregnancy for Olympé. Everyone else marveled at the fact that Guy was normal sized. Regardless of that fact, the family was happy.

So happy in fact that Hagrid and his wife soon realized that they had so much love in their home that they wanted to share it. With the English and French ministries help they ended up adopting two more children; a now 8 year old orphaned girl from Japan named Aiko, and a South African toddler named Hadiya whose mother was dying from a terrible disease and wanted a better life for her daughter. Aiko was of magical birth, Hadiya was not. No one knew yet if Guy would ever show any powers. But that was all irrelevant. The home of Rubeus Hagrid was one filled with laughter and love.

Grawp, regrettably, couldn't make the festivities. He was too busy tending to the animals. He was also being courted by a local young lass from the village. The teenager had literally stumbled over Grawp one day while walking through the forest and had fallen in love upon first sight. Grawp seemed to find the frizzy haired girl fascinating as well.

Murielle Vandersteen later confided in Olympé that from the time she was 6 years old it had been foretold to her that she would marry the tallest man in the valley. She had just always assumed that she would be Rance Dupont's future wife. Barely 12 yet, the fellow was a near six feet. But as soon as young Murielle laid eyes on Grawp, she knew she had been wrong. Luckily for her by this point Olympé had taught her brother-in-law the finer points of personal hygiene. He was still fearsome, but infinitely cleaner. When Hagrid and Olympé finally found out that Murielle had been visiting Grawp daily it seemed unfair to Obliviate the smitten girl. Since she didn't reveal her discovery to another soul, Grawp's big brother decided it was ok if the two crazy kids kept up their friendship. Murielle even taught Grawp some new words. Olympé just despaired the day when both of them would need to be taught the birds and bees. She figured Murielle probably had an idea, but Olympé didn't even want to think about the mechanics of it.

Dean, his wife Padma, and Seamus were filming the whole event on a digital camcorder for Parvati, Padma's twin sister. Parvati was currently eight months pregnant and couldn't make the trip from Auckland by Muggle means of transportation, nor could she Apparate. Apparition was generally off-limits to a witch that heavily pregnant. Padma was also expecting, though she was only a few weeks along. The Prophet, however, was running daily stories speculating on whether the new baby would have blue eyes to match those of its big brother, Conlan's; eyes sort of like his "uncle" Seamus' eyes. Both Dean and Padma's eyes were brown. As far as Harry was concerned his three old friends looked happy with their life, so who was he to judge? They had found something that worked for them. The three lived together and ran a trendy Chelsea art gallery that displayed Muggle and magical artwork. Dean's paintings were featured prominently through out it, Padma handled the business end of things, and Seamus was a natural at organizing the many galas and exhibits that were held there.

Angelina and Lee Jordan, both wearing long dread locked hair and Muggle clothing, arrived to the party late. Ron had been in the middle of trying to coax a bit more blood out of the cut on his palm into the ceremonial chalice at the time. Everyone had turned to watch as the late arrivals tried to hustle themselves and their two young, boisterous children, Isis and Osiris, into a few of the folding chairs that dotted the Burrow's backyard. That distraction seemed to be just what Ron needed. Apparently he didn't like to pee or bleed with people watching. One would have thought that having the Jordans there would be uncomfortable; Angelina after all had been Fred's girlfriend when his best friend Lee stole her away from him. However these days Lee and Fred were as close as ever. Their wives were also good friends who often got their children together for play dates. The two couples actually spent entirely too much time together, plotting just how they were going to get George married-up. With George settled with a woman of their choosing they could all spend more time together. George meanwhile pretended to be unaware of their tactical scheming.

The shock of the day had been when Neville walked in. Not that Neville showing up had been surprising. Not even the idea that Neville had brought a date was so unbelievable. It was the fact that the woman was a Muggle, but more than that, gorgeous! Ron had absentmindedly introduced himself to the Asian beauty as Roonzil Wazlib. Lavender was not impressed. Although he was annoyed by the manner in which Ginny practically dragged him over to meet the young woman, Harry discovered that Candide was a good egg. She was an instructor at a ballet studio. She also happened to own the place. Her parents, who she joked made their money by nefarious means in Seoul, had bankrolled the enterprise.

Ginny practically interrogated her. Although Harry understood that Ginny and Neville were close, best friends even, he still didn't see any reason for Ginny to be so rude to the woman. However Candide stood up well to the scrutiny. She was witty and seemed sweet natured, and Harry figured Neville had made a nice catch. Harry had been happy for him. Up 'til then he had always wondered if Neville still held a torch for Hermione. Back in school Dean and Seamus would tease their dorm mate about the crush he supposedly had on the Gryffindor girl. Of course they did so mainly when Ron wasn't around. Hermione, however, didn't seem to give poor Neville the time of day. Now that Harry had his big epiphany he could empathize with Neville's plight. He musingly wondered if Neville would be surprised at what they had in common.

Cho Chang, Harry's former crush and girlfriend (if you can call a botched kiss and a date from Hell a relationship) made a brief appearance. She wasn't crazy about crowds, but she wanted to give Lavender and Ron her best. A few years back Cho's former fiancé, Adrian Pucey, had stood her up on the day of their wedding. It had been a huge scandal and in all of the papers. Cho had even suffered a nervous breakdown over it. She now lived at Hogwarts where she taught Transfiguration. Once McGonagall realized that teaching the draining course and being Headmistress was too hard a job to manage all by herself, she hired Cho on. The Ravenclaw showed her mettle by being almost as good at the job as her predecessor. Of course the current male student body would probably argue that Professor Chang was a definite step up. Cho left soon after Ron and Lavender's ceremony protesting that she had lesson plans to go over for the next day and more than a dozen scrolls on human versus animal transfiguration to read through. Her colleague, Justin Finch-Fletchley, decided to accompany her back to the castle. He had been the Muggle Studies professor there for one whole year now.

Since Ron was Arthur Weasley's son, a number of Ministry officials attended. Scrimgeour didn't show up, but in his stead he sent his Deputy, Tarquin Adair. Originally a native of England, Adair had been living in Burkina Faso for almost fifteen years where he was the British envoy to that ministry. The distinguished looking, tall, dark skinned Adair blended in well with the citizens of the West African nation. He even found a wife there. However the woman died during childbirth and Adair had moved back home with his son four years ago. Scrimgeour wasted no time making the brilliant diplomat his second in command, an act that incensed the Minister's Junior assistant, Percy. Besides Adair, Hopkirk, Edgecombe and her daughter, Arthur's old office mate Perkins and a few others made it to the party too. Harry thought he would choke on his butterbeer when Romilda and Hanes strolled through the door arm in arm.

Harry was surprised that Luna hadn't made it. He thought she would have at least come to cover the party for the Quibbler. Then again maybe he shouldn't have been that surprised. Harry figured that it might have been too difficult for her to watch Ron start his new life with Lavender. Maybe it was all for the best that she not show. For one thing she would have brought Malfoy with her. To have Malfoy come to Ron's Commencement was like inviting gasoline to a party of lit matches. Then there was the fact that for a few years now Luna had been making Harry somewhat nervous and uncomfortable. It wasn't the weird tics and outbursts that did it. Quite frankly Harry had gotten used to all of those long ago. No, what weirded Harry out was the way that Luna would act around him most times; apologetic, contrite, like she had done something to grievously wrong him. Harry couldn't understand it, but he just figured it was one of those things that made Luna...Luna. So he left it alone. He did however note the other members of the press who had been there and avoided them like the plague. Daphne Greengrass from the Prophet and Demelza Robins from Witch Weekly had both put in an appearance, but the two women had also left early.

So many of their former school friends had been in attendance; Harry felt that Ron and Lavender really should have been touched by the outpouring. The Goldsteins, Ernie and Hannah Macmillan, Katie Bell and her girlfriend of a few years, Lisa Turpin, had all come as well as Sloper, MacDonald, Coote, Hopkins, Boot, Corner and Brocklehurst. The only sad part was remembering those who couldn't be there. The Creevey brothers, for instance. Both boys had been murdered along side their parents while on the Underground. Death Eaters had stormed their train and killed almost all of the Muggle occupants. Zacharias Smith had been a pompous bastard back in school, but nearly all of the kids in their year mourned his loss after he was killed during the battle of Hogsmeade. Euan Abercrombie, Edie Carmichael and Victoria Frobisher, among others, had all met similar ends.

But the day had been a day for joy, not mourning.

Once every song that could be thunk of was sung, every amusing anecdote with a Weasley at the center of it told, and Ron and Lavender had been toasted to by everyone with too much alcohol in their system and too much to say, people began packing up to go home. Finding the hour too early, a group of them who lingered behind had decided to play a quick game of Quidditch outside.

Harry almost felt like he was back in school, practicing with his old house team on the pitch. In fact the whole Fifth Year team was re-assembled, save for Alicia who'd left to check on Oliver. Harry tried to convince his wife to fill in for her, but Ginny didn't want to ruin her manicure. She preferred to stay in the house and gossip with Lavender and her other sisters-in-laws. Glinda shot her husband and the rest of them angry glares as they marched out of the house leaving her behind with all the other Weasley women.

They were unsure of what to do about a third Chaser until Tonks surprised them all by pulling out her broom from her pocket and agreeing to play. Remus gave her a kiss on the head and begged her not to break anything important...like bones. He then portkey'ed himself and Wolfgang home so he could put the sleeping infant to bed.

The opposing team ended up being a hodgepodge of people. Seamus and Neville took up the Beaters' bats. Neville had visibly swallowed when he noticed the twins pointing and whispering as they devilishly smiled at him, but he still seemed willing to give it the old Hogwarts try. Dean, Ernie, and Michael Corner volunteered to be Chasers. Bill decided to roll up his sleeves and play the Keeper position. Ron made some jokes at his expense about Bill not being able to keep up with the younger crowd. Bill made a joke about Ron getting spanked. Everyone gave the round to the big brother. When Charlie, who was late and had just gotten in from Sweden, walked out into the backyard they all knew they had a game. Charlie had once been an excellent Seeker and team captain for Gryffindor house just like his brother-in-law, Harry.

The quick game they had planed ended up turning into a grueling match of nerve and skill. Lee, who was actually an announcer for the professional British league, was giving a play by play of the game and had cast a Sonorus on himself for the benefit of the excited kiddies who were their audience. The game was so amazing that the poor fellow didn't know who to root for. It was that thrilling! It truthfully would have gone on for hours if Harry hadn't gotten knocked silly into about the fourth hour. One moment he had spotted the Snitch, buzzing around Neville's hanging shoelaces. The next moment everything had gone black.

And he had found himself at the Hollow.

Now he was back.

"I started to get worried about you, mate," Ron said lightly as he plucked at the grass under his fingers.

"Aww, Ron. I'm touched," said Harry as an amused smile formed on his face.

Ron met his smile with one of his own.

"Lav would have killed me if I had let you die today. All the papers would be about you tomorrow."

Harry pretended to get choked up and wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

"How long was I out for?"

"Dunno, four…five seconds maybe."

"That's all?"

"Well they were five long seconds," Ron assured him. "It's a good thing Ginny didn't happen to look out a window or something. She would have had Fred's head if she saw."

Harry snorted.

"If she knew better she would have congratulated him," he mumbled under his breath. Ron, however, still heard him.

"What?" asked the confused fellow, brow puckered.

Harry seized up in apprehension. He had been suffering from a moment of guilt. In his mind he had been replaying the conversation he'd had with his inner voice again. When Ron mentioned Ginny's name he couldn't help but think to himself that he was a bastard for leading Ginny on all these years, even if he had done it unawares. But he couldn't tell Ron any of this. If he told Ron about how he came to this conclusion Ron would think he was barmy. Then Ron would hit him.

"I think something set Ginny off, but she won't say what. When she got back to the Palace last night she was hacked off good and proper. She's been irritable most of the day."

Ron studied him good and hard. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth again.

After a second he said, "I'm sure whatever it is, it will work itself out."

Harry dropped his eyes to the ground.

"I guess."

He nervously cleared his throat. Harry then searched his brain for a way to distract Ron before he started making any deeper inquiries. His eyes landed on Violet who was surrounded by Rosemary, Lish, Isis Jordan, Aiko Hagrid, and some other little girl that Harry didn't recognize. The girls were oohing and ahhing over Vi's new pet.

"You never told me about how you found Crookshanks."

That did the trick.

"You wouldn't even believe it, Harry," Ron said as he practically pulled at his own hair. "I don't even believe it. And the damned cat's been shacked up with me for days now! Pumpkin and I just happened to have walked into that store, you remember the one, and there he was. Waiting for us."

Ron shuddered.

"It's like he could smell us coming."

When Harry and Ginny had walked through the doors of the Burrow that morning, Crookshanks had actually been the first one to greet them. The cat wound its way affectionately through Harry's legs, and when Harry looked down, expecting to see Marc and Leo's pet jarvey Serge, he had nearly come out of his own skin at the sight of the squashed face cat. The last time Harry had seen Crookshanks was just after that last Christmas when Hermione had still been with them. Apparently the cat had gotten the idea to run off before she did. And now, for whatever reasons, Crookshanks had decided to come back. If Harry was the type who believed in omens he would have found the timing of all of this very interesting.

But Harry wasn't the type to believe in omens.

"I've been thinking about her," Ron said breaking Harry out of his own daze. "I've been thinking about her a lot lately." Ron was looking at the now darkening skyline.

Harry smiled wanly. He felt no need to ask Ron who he was talking about. Hadn't he been thinking about her too?

"I think..." Ron began hesitantly as he turned to face him, "...I think I might have even had a dream about her last night."

Harry turned shocked, almost jealous eyes towards Ron. Was Ron having those types of dreams as well?

Ron, feeling anxious and befuddled to the pit of his stomach by the look that Harry shot him, quickly looked back to the horizon.

"At least I think it was her. I don't know Harry; it was all so confusing and jumbled up. I barely recall even scraps of it."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. If Ron was having the same kind of dreams he was having there would be no way that Ron wouldn't be able to remember them.

"I've been thinking about her a lot too," Harry confessed as he gave Ron a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

Ron looked back and held Harry's gaze.

"I miss her," he said.

Harry felt like he was drowning in a maelstrom of uncertainty and despair. Although Harry had never outright asked Ron the question, Harry had to wonder if Ron was still in love with Hermione. True Ron seemed to honestly adore Lavender, but Harry remembered the state Ron had been in the months after Hermione's disappearance. Even though they were over by then, Ron had still been heartbroken. Harry had felt similarly (maybe even stronger), he just hadn't recognized those feelings back then for what they were. Now Harry knew. His heart had left him over five years ago. Somehow he had managed to still walk and talk and go on with the endless charade of living his life, but he had effectively done so without aid of his heart; Hermione. She was the one woman who always stood up for him, the one woman who was never afraid to stand up to him; she was the girl who he knew without a doubt would have placed herself between him and the very gates of Hades if he asked her to. He loved her. How could he not love her? But did Ron feel the same? Harry shrunk back from the thought of voicing the question aloud. Harry was just learning to cope with his own truths. He wasn't ready to deal with any that belonged to Ron just yet.

"I miss her too," Harry miserably admitted. Ron playfully socked him in the shoulder to lighten the mood. Neither of them noticed the two shadows that hovered over them.

"And I miss her three," mocked Fred as he threw himself on the ground and then pretended to weep onto Ron's shoulder.

"GERROFF...GERROFF!" shouted Ron as he tried to shake his brother from him. The group of children who were playing close by laughed and pointed at the spectacle.

George, who was holding his and Fred's brooms, smirked at the two younger men.

"Are you two girls done having your weepy?"

"Because some of us would like to get on with the game. Bill isn't getting any younger," Fred joked as he jumped up.

"I HERAD THAT!"

Fred and George both sent teasing grins their older brother's way.

"C'mon Potter, we aren't about to forfeit to Neville's team," began Fred.

"How would we ever live down the shame?" finished George.

"AND I HEARD THAT!" yelled Neville jovially.

Harry sheepishly smiled up at the matching set.

"Sorry guys, my heart just isn't in it any more. Besides, I'm knackered."

The twins turned to look at each other as they began to discuss the matter seriously. Serious for them, at least.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," announced George.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Fred asked his brother.

"I'm always thinking what you're thinking."

"But of course."

"MARC!" they both shouted in unison.

Marcel looked up from where he was being swarmed by his younger cousins, Percy's triplets. During the lull while everyone was waiting for Harry to wake-up, Barry, Kent, and Phil had decided to play a game of Dragon Tamer with their older brother PJ. Unfortunately for young Percy, no one had bothered to inform him that he was the Opaleye. Marc had been valiantly trying to pull the little monsters off of the bewildered and bespeckled 5 year old when his two favorite uncles called his name. Poor PJ was forgotten in Marc's rush to see what the twins wanted.

"Uncle Gred, Uncle Forge," he said as he came to a halt before the four older men.

"You think you can manage being a Seeker, Marc?"

"Fleur is going to murder you two," Ron darkly muttered as he shook his head in incredulity.

Marc's eyes, which were practically hidden by the bangs of his bowl cut hair, widened as he contemplated what Fred was asking him.

"But I haven't got a broom," he answered sorrowfully. "Maman says I'm still too young."

Harry, who was very fond of the little boy, picked up his broom and offered it casually to the child.

"Think this old thing will do?"

Marc's eyes grew even larger at the suggestion.

"I've never ridden on a Firebolt, Uncle Harry."

"But you know how to joyride a Nimbus360˚, don't you?!" Ron remarked irritably.

Marc looked shamefaced at the accusation. Ron was still sore at the stunt his nephew had pulled on him the last time he had dinner at the Burrow.

Harry snorted at Ron's hypocrisy. He almost reminded Ron of a certain Ford Anglia that the redhead had once been acquainted with.

"Take it, Marc," said Harry as he offered his broom again.

The 7 year old only had to be told twice. He grabbed a hold of the Firebolt and ran off in his father' direction to ask permission. Fred went with him to make sure Bill said yes. George reached out a hand to help Ron up. Ron looked at it suspiciously for a moment before taking it. He visibly winced and cursed lowly under his breath as he rubbed at the still smarting open wound on his hand. Harry remembered the pain well. After the future groom and bride had sliced themselves with the blade during the Commencement ceremony, they were not allowed to use magic to heal the cut.

"Sure you aren't up to finishing the game?" Ron asked congenially.

Harry looked warmly up at him as he handed Ron his broom.

"I'm sure. Besides, being a spectator isn't so bad."

Ron shrugged his shoulders, and he and George headed towards the two waiting teams.

Harry lay back in the grass and propped himself up on his elbows. He watched the game get back under way, but took little interest in it. He was actually quite tired. He hadn't gotten that much rest the night before. Not because of any night time visits from a certain brown eyed witch, sadly, but because his wife had chosen that night to reclaim her side of the bed in the room they had once shared together.

When Harry had arrived back at the Palace to discover only Dobby in the house, he hadn't been that concerned. Ginny didn't have a job, she seemed to find the task of being Mrs. Harry Potter enough career for her, but she often spent her days visiting her various family members or friends. This night he just figured that she was still at the Burrow helping with the party set-up. Dobby had already prepared his dinner, the usual meat and two veg, so Harry wasn't that fussed over her absence. He should have been.

He had been telling the truth when he told Ron that Ginny had been upset since the night before. Harry had gone to bed early so he could wake-up well rested for Ron's party. He had also hoped to have some sweet dreams. Tonks had put some terribly naughty, yet intriguing ideas in his head earlier that day, and Harry was counting on his imagination to make work of them. But just as he was settling to sleep, Ginny burst through the door, gave him a resentful once over, and proceeded to climb into the bed next to him. Harry probably wouldn't have thought much of her actions if not for the fact that she did all of this while still wearing the clothes she had been wearing that day.

Harry was concerned. He was worried for Ginny; he couldn't think of what would upset her so. He was also nervous as hell! He and Ginny hadn't been in the same bed for quite some time. The last time she had come in the room they had nearly slept together. On paper a man having sex with his wife wouldn't seem so odd. The problem was that in his half-sleep haze Harry had gotten confused and thought it was Hermione he had been about to make love to. He felt terribly guilty about the slip-up afterwards; Ginny had been so great about the whole thing that he felt all of two feet tall. The trouble was that Harry didn't know what to feel worse about, the fact that he didn't finish what he started with his wife or the reality that he didn't really want to.

Last night he had been faced with a similar situation. He wanted to make sure Ginny was alright, he just didn't want to encourage her to make any advances towards him. He tried talking to her, but she actually growled at him. He tried reaching for her hand, but she only turned over on her side. A few moments later she drifted off to sleep. He was at a loss until he remembered the small disagreement they had that morning. Harry had assumed that Ginny was only annoyed and disappointed that he hadn't spent the day with her and the rest of the Weasleys, but judging by her behavior that night she seemed just a moment away from breathing fire on him. Harry figured it was best to just let sleeping dragons lay.

With Ginny sleeping right beside him, Harry was too scared to close his eyes. He feared that the moment he did he would end up invited to a threesome he had no interest in participating in. So instead of falling into dreams he chose to give himself to his trove of memories. One particular memory actually. That day Tonks had reminded him of the night that she and Hermione, dressed as nuns, raided a small Franciscan cloister in France while he, Ron, and Draco Malfoy stood guard over them. Under cover of night, they had slipped into the Monastère Sainte Claire in Boussac. Though they went there with hopes of finding a Horcrux, their main intention had been to save a life.

It had all happened so fast. He and Ron had just entered the common room of the Heads' suite. They had been practicing defensive spells in the Forbidden Forest with Tonks all morning. The training session had been set up so that youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix could work on and improve their skills with the trained Auror. In actuality, Tonks was acting as babysitter for the troop. The majority of the Order had gone to escort a number of war refugees to a safe house near Blackness Castle, and Remus had asked Tonks to watch over the four teens and to make sure that Harry didn't do anything rash. But that morning, when Tonks came to collect them, Hermione had already disappeared and Malfoy was still in the bathroom doing his hair. Harry and Ron, wanting to spend as little time with the Ferret as possible, told Tonks that the Slytherin had a bad case of the shits and wouldn't be able to accompany them. After wrinkling her nose in disgust, she shepherded the rest of her charges to the secluded spot she had picked out for their first lesson.

When they got back they found one fumed Malfoy sitting by the fire, arms crossed before him. Before wands could be drawn, Hermione came rushing down the stairs from her room. She was loaded down with books and it seemed damned near difficult for her to navigate her way, but her cheeks were flushed and she smiled down on all three of them exultantly. Harry had to remind himself to look away after he had been staring at her for what he felt was too long and inappropriate. He looked to see if Ron had noticed, but the captivated young man only seemed to see her. Oddly enough when Harry's eyes passed over Malfoy he saw that the blond was leering in the same direction as Ron. Before Harry could think further on this, Hermione alighted from the bottom step of the staircase, crossed over to one of the large, squashy couches that decorated the room, placed her books delicately on it, and turned to face the three boys.

"I found her!" she squealed triumphantly.

When he, Ron, and Malfoy answered her back with looks of clear puzzlement, she looked between each of their faces as if shocked that they didn't understand her.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I found her!"

"Oh we are all very happy for you, Granger," Malfoy sneered. "I'm sure you and the poor desperate woman will live happily ever after. It's just good to see that you've finally accepted what the rest of us have known all along."

Hermione sent a wicked grin Malfoy's way.

"Malfoy, how sweet! But no matter how nice you are about it, I still won't let you watch." Hermione's words were cloyingly saccharine, yet combative.

Harry frowned at this little repartee. For the last week or so Harry had noticed a change in the air between Hermione and Malfoy. They still argued like mad, and neither could resist sending a well timed stinging barb at the other if given the opening, but lately Harry had begun to notice a subtle difference. Where once Malfoy would say something mean spirited to Hermione causing her to slap him down quickly with a biting retort (usually by insulting his manhood, his hair, or by insinuating that he fancied her) to show him that she wasn't intimidated by him, now, though she still answered his jabs in kind, there was a undercurrent playfulness to her insults.

Malfoy's put-downs also seemed to lack teeth as of late. It was like they were purposely teasing one another and secretly enjoying the dalliance. If Harry didn't know any better, he would think that they were almost flirting. Of course that was a preposterous idea! Like Hermione would even strike up a friendship with the slug! Still Harry had to wonder what ill-effects drinking from the golden Cup of Hufflepuff might have had on her. It had been barely two months since that event. Was she experiencing some strange by-product due to her rash actions? Was this...thing with Malfoy a side effect?

It irked Harry. If he wasn't so sure that Hermione would rip off his balls and hand them to him, he would have mentioned his worries to Ron. Ron would then question Hermione about it...after he split Malfoy's head in two. Then Hermione would come after him. Harry swallowed nervously at that idea. He couldn't stand the idea of Hermione being sore at him. It wasn't too long ago that she wouldn't even have a proper chat alone with him. The idea that she could get mad enough to stop speaking to him altogether, which she would if he sicked Ron at her, was frightening. He didn't want to go through that again. So he decided to leave Ron out of it. Besides, Ron seemed blind to the situation.

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, calling a cease to her and Malfoy's sickening banter. "Who are you talking about? Who did you find?"

He and Ron advanced to where she was standing in the middle of the room. Malfoy had risen from his seat next to the hearth.

"Boadicea," she exclaimed excitedly. "Boadicea DuManoir, to be exact."

Ron grabbed her.

"You found the one that V-Vol...Volde...You-Know-Who was looking for? You found it?"

"Yes. I found her," she replied. "And I have reason to believe she's the one."

At this news Ron let out a loud and boisterous whoop. He then picked her up and spun her around. Harry felt that Ron was going a bit overboard. Just a bit.

As Ron set her back on her feet, Harry asked her how she managed to find this mystery person that Riddle was so interested in. She settled down on the couch while the rest of them gathered around her. Ron sat next to her, while Harry sat at her feet. Malfoy, wanting to appear only slightly interested, sat on the arm of the couch furthest from them.

"Remember when I told you that I was familiar with that name?" she asked, even including Malfoy in the question. "Well I was right. Last June I saw it in the Hall of Heads."

Harry was baffled. He looked to see what he could only imagine was the same question on Ron's face. Hall of Heads?

"You lot have never taken the time to examine the walls that lead up to this tower, have you?" Hermione disappointedly asked them.

"Well, what the bloody hell would we be looking for?!" Ron complained irately.

"Names, Weasleby," Malfoy explained in a bored voice.

Ron's eyes snapped at him fiercely, but he held his tongue.

"Engraved on those walls are the names of every Head Girl and Head Boy who has ever slept in this tower. The tradition dates back to 993," Malfoy finished.

As much as he didn't want to show his amazement, Harry couldn't help but be dumbfounded by the scope of what Malfoy was explaining.

"That's a lot of stones."

Malfoy smiled at him smugly.

"Indeed it is, Potter. At the start of the new term the Deputy Headmaster..."

Hermione purposely cleared her throat. Malfoy shot her an annoyed glance before it took on its usual arrogant glint.

"Forgive me," he said, nodding his head in her direction. "The Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress escorts the newly selected Heads to this suite. Before they officially cross the threshold they use their wands to put their name on a stone; the men to the right, the girls to the left."

"As usual Malfoy, you have it all backwards," Hermione chirped. "It's ladies to the right, little boys to the left." She emphasized the word little.

He smirked at her quip.

"Of course."

Harry and Ron looked at each other before gawking at Malfoy in amazement. Their stares seemed to unnerve him.

"I read about it in Hogwarts: A History, alright," he defensively answered. "My father had high ambitions for me."

His eyes burned at the mention of his father.

"Of course he was never Head Boy so I never got why he pushed it at me so. It's not like I wanted to..."

Ron let out a bored huff.

"Really Malfoy, I'm playing the world's tiniest violin here."

"Well I'm sure it would still be larger than that infinitesimal piccolo in your pants, Weasel!"

"FUCK YOU, FERRET BREATH!"

"Knock it off you two!" Hermione snapped, looking between them. "Now as I was saying," she started after she was sure that neither boy was going to start up again, "I remembered seeing her name last term. The night before Dumbledore's funeral I...I couldn't sleep. When I finally got back to my room I had a lot on my mind. So I snuck out of the dorms and took a walk. I ended up in the corridor outside those very doors," she finished as she pointed towards the exit.

Ron smiled bashfully.

"Wasn't that the night we-"

Hermione flashed a quick look of mortification at Ron, then towards Harry before she quickly cut him off.

"Yes, Ron! Yes. But that really has nothing to do with any of this, does it?"

Malfoy made a noise of disgust as Ron gave him a nasty glare.

Harry didn't know what to think. He remembered the night in question. He had come in very late, but even so Ron hadn't been in the dorm. When his best friend finally showed up for bed he looked as though he had just been named Head Boy and Quidditch captain all at once. At the time Harry had been too wrapped up in his own grief to ask Ron what was with the silly grin. But now Harry had to wonder, just what had Ron been so chuffed about? What happened that night? Did Harry even want to know? He was just getting used to the sight of Ron and Hermione kissing and touching each other. Did they do other things together? Did they...

"ARGH!" Harry shouted as he tried to shake the image from his head.

Hermione concernedly looked in his direction.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Ron looked at him too causing Harry to blush in embarrassment.

"Yes, yes...I'm fine," Harry answered. He promised himself he'd never think of such things again. "What were you doing in the South Tower?"

Hermione frowned as she began to bite at the corner of her lip.

"I…I don't really know. It's silly I guess. I just wanted to see it since..."

She hung her head down as her eyes began to water. Harry didn't need her to finish. He realized almost instantly why Hermione would want to see the walls emblazoned with the names of the more than thousands of young men and women who had led Hogwarts, almost from its inception.

She had gone to see what she was turning her back on. The wall would have been the visual proof of what she was giving up for him. From the moment Hermione heard the title "Head Girl", she knew she wanted it for herself. She seemed born for the role, their initials even matched. One would say they were meant to be. She worked harder and studied more than anyone else in their year. She was determined to achieve her goal. But in the end it would all be for naught. Even before they got official word that Hogwarts wouldn't be reopening in the fall, Hermione had already cast her lot with Harry. She had been willing to walk away from her heart's desire even when there was a chance she could have still had it. She was willing to chuck it all for him, to help him. In hindsight Harry could only wonder how he had managed not to fall at this girl's feet in worship back then.

"I read about it in Hogwarts, A History," she said with a strained smile.

"So this Boadicea has a stone," drawled Malfoy. "Still Granger, how could you possibly remember that one name out of the thousands that should be there?"

Hermione's smile brightened considerably at the question and Harry almost wanted to aim his wand at Malfoy's skull and shatter it.

"I remembered it because hers was one of the few stones that had two names on it. You see, in all of Hogwarts' thousand years of being open, only three Head Girls were unable to complete their duties."

Hermione grabbed one of the books that had been sitting beside her and flipped through a few pages. She came to a stop when she found what she was looking for.

"The first one was mortally injured during the Triwizard Tournament of 1792. She was the Hogwarts Champion and the cockatrice she was supposed to catch for her task went berserk. In fact all three school Heads and Champions got hurt during that round. However the Hogwarts Champion's injuries were so extensive that she died a few days later."

"Blimey," Ron whispered. "Was she at least a Gryff?"

Hermione frowned.

"Slytherin, actually."

"Ha!" cheered Malfoy. "And just think Potter, all you had to deal with was a measly Hungarian," he said loftily.

"The next Head Girl," Hermione said, cutting the prat off, "that had to be replaced was a Ravenclaw. Over the Christmas hols she got pregnant." She started searching through the pages of her book, but obviously couldn't find the page she was looking for. After giving up in frustration she said, "This was sometime in the late 1920's, early 30's. Back then that would have been a big deal in both the magical and Muggle world. She left school to marry the Muggle father of her child."

She flipped the book open to a page she earmarked and looked at the page hard before continuing.

"Now the third one was Boadicea. She was in Hufflepuff house. She was the first Muggle-born to be named Head Girl."

"I was right," Malfoy proclaimed in shock. "She was a Mudbl...uh...Muggle-born."

Hermione ignored him.

"During the break, sometime around Easter, she suffered a mental break and disappeared from the records."

"What happened?" Harry questioned.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not exactly sure. The book didn't say. After the whole Chamber tragedy, Armando Dippet became very protective of Hogwarts' reputation. It appears that there was a big cover-up. I couldn't find much information on her. But I think she might have tried to kill someone."

"You mean to tell me that all of that was in Hogwarts, A History?" Ron asked in amazement. "Why have you only been telling us the boring stuff?"

Hermione, for some reason, looked embarrassed by the question.

"Well I…um…no…you see…" she stammered haplessly. She looked like she was preparing to make a quick run for the door when Malfoy suddenly leaned over and snapped up the book that had been sitting in her lap.

"Hogwarts Gone Wild," he read as he flipped the book open to look at the front flap. "What that other biography won't tell you."

He looked back at Hermione's tomato red face and grinned maniacally.

"My, my Granger, what interesting reading material you have here."

Ron jumped up and snatched the book from Malfoy's grips. Malfoy didn't appreciate this judging by the scornful expression on his face.

"Does it have pictures?" Ron queried as he glanced from page to page.

Hermione glared at Ron for a moment before she smiled coyly.

"Page 313 has a pull-out pin-up of the Hogwarts Kissing Queen of 1968."

She paused for effect.

"Molly Prewitt."

Ron's mouth opened as if he were about to vomit slugs again. He made a strangled cry as he tossed the book back at Hermione and bolted for the door mumbling something about having to send a letter to his mum.

Harry and Hermione watched Ron scuttle out of the room. Once he cleared the door she looked at Harry and her eyes twinkled.

"Mrs. Weasley isn't in here. Ron was just being a prat," she confided.

Malfoy chortled loudly before realizing that he had openly acknowledged Hermione's funny. He then settled his face into a scowl. She grinned at him slyly.

Harry had had about enough of this. He took the seat next to Hermione that Ron had vacated.

"Help me out here, Hermione."

She turned her full attention on him.

"I'm trying to understand the significance of all of this. Why would DuManoir be so important to Riddle? What's the connection?"

"Boadicea was Head Girl in 1945."

Malfoy's eyes grew large at that bit of information.

"The Dark Lord would have been the Head Boy."

Although Harry should have been more interested in this big reveal, he couldn't fight off his annoyance with Malfoy that seemed to have increased minute by minute the Ferret sat in his presence.

"You know, Malfoy, I would sleep with one less eye open and never question your allegiance if you didn't continuously refer to that murdering, snake faced, scum of the Earth bastard as the DARK-FUCKING-LORD!" Harry rebuked him scathingly.

"HOW DARE YOU!" he answered back, eyes blazing. "I'M AN ORDER MEMBER, SAME AS YOU!"

Harry laughed snidely.

"Don't tell me you really believe that? You bought your way into our good graces. It's a wonder I haven't thrown you to your Death Eater friends."

Harry then went in for the kill.

"Oh that's right, they want you dead. I can't really say that I blame them."

Malfoy scoffed. "You can't turn me out. You're not the leader here!" Yet his voice choked on those last words and fear was clearly evident in his eyes. He turned to Hermione as if he actually expected her to stick up for him.

Hermione was literally and figuratively trapped in the middle. She had swung her bushy head back and forth as their argument escalated. Now she was being called to settle the matter. Her discomfiture was apparent. She swallowed visibly as she prepared to say something that she knew would leave at least one of them upset.

"Actually Malfoy," she began slowly, "Harry is our leader. With Dumbledore gone, he and Professor Lupin are basically the de facto heads of the Order."

Malfoy opened his mouth to argue her down, but she continued speaking.

"And as cruel as this sounds; Harry is right. You really haven't given us a reason to trust you yet, have you?"

Although Hermione looked pained to say it, as though someone had threatened to pull each and every single tooth out of her mouth to force her to it, Harry still threw Malfoy a smug and conquering smile. Take that Ferret!

As Malfoy stormed wrathfully from the room and out the door, she turned her disappointed eyes on Harry.

"I really wish you wouldn't wind him up so. It would make it so much easier for all of us to get along."

As if she could talk!

"Never mind him now," Harry quickly said to deflect her. "Do you think Riddle might have given this Boadicea a Horcrux? Or at least told her about them?" he asked. "Like with Malfoy and Karkaroff? Or with Regulus?"

Hermione pensively chewed on her bottom lip. Harry momentarily was distracted by how plump it was until she started talking again.

"Perhaps," she said noncommittally. "It would fit with his pattern. But the problem is Boadicea was Muggle-born. Hardly sounds like she would belong to his usual crowd."

"Maybe..." Harry said, chewing on an idea, "maybe we can go talk to Slughorn. He was chummy with Riddle back then. He might know how well Riddle knew her. And he would have taught her himself. Slughorn might be quite useful."

"We could do that," she replied. "Or we could ask the girl...well, now woman, who became Head Girl after Boadicea had to leave. She might know something. She might even be able to help us."

Harry's eyes brightened at the prospect.

"That would be great! Do you know how to find her?"

Hermione's eyes locked with his own and Harry had to remind himself to breathe, her looks could be so intense sometimes.

"I know her. In fact, you know her too. You see, there was one other reason I remembered Boadicea's name when I first saw it. I recognized the name of her successor, Selene Sinistra."

~~**~~ ~~**~~

During the intervals that Hogwarts closed down most of the professors who taught there would go home to their families. It was rare to find a married teacher, most chose their vocation over having a spouse; that did not mean that the staff did not have lives outside of their professions. However there were a few professors that called the castle their home and lived in it year round. Luckily for Harry and Hermione Sinistra was one of these teachers. After looking for her in her office near the Astronomy Tower and a few other spots, they finally located her in McGonagall's office, sitting on the other side of the desk, having tea with the Headmistress. To their shock they found Malfoy in there as well. He had gone to request an escort to the nearest International floo grate from McGonagall. He was ready to be done with the Order and go off to Switzerland to be with his mother. McGonagall denied his request so he was sitting in a corner of the office, sulking.

As soon as Harry and Hermione stepped into the circular room, Hermione began to explain the purpose of their visit. Sinistra visibly paled as she listened to what the two teens had to tell them. McGonagall simply clucked her tongue and sighed sadly.

"He just won't let that poor girl alone. Even after all these years," said the Headmistress pitiably as she placed her teacup down on the enormous claw footed affair she sat behind.

It turned out that McGonagall knew Boadicea as well, and why not? She had only been two years above DuManoir, Sinistra, and Riddle when she was a student at Hogwarts many a moon ago.

Hermione took out her wand from her jean pocket, conjured a cushy wing backed chair that was almost a replica of the vermilion colored one that Sinistra was sitting on, and took a seat next to her former Astronomy professor. She then placed the few books she had brought with her on the floor at her feet.

"Please professor," she shyly said to the older woman, "could you tell us why Voldemort would be interested in her?"

Harry stood behind Hermione's chair as he looked the professor over. Selene Sinistra was not an unattractive woman. Though her facial features were a bit too pointed and angled for his tastes, she did possess a lovely set of teal blue eyes that gleamed brightly, and her titian hair, that Harry remembered always being bound up in a bun at the back of her head when he took her class, was glossy and straight and came to a rest on her shoulders. He surmised that she probably had been quite striking in her youth. Even now she still looked quite young and fresh, her un-lined face not betraying the fact that she had to have been on this earth at the least sixty-nine years. She was of Italian heritage, yet her clipped English accent gave none of this away.

"Why would Lord Voldemort be interested in Boadicea, you ask? Because he loved her," Sinistra answered Hermione plainly.

Harry flinched at the words. Riddle in love? Absurd! He wasn't the only one who found the idea laughable.

"The Dark Lord in love with a Mudblood?!" queried Malfoy derisively. "I've never heard such utter rot!"

Hermione swung her head around to send the blond a disgusted look. He drew back from her gaze. Although Harry hated to admit it, his own thoughts were not so far off from those of Malfoy's.

"Forgive me Professor Sinistra, but Riddle couldn't possibly have loved this girl. Riddle can't love. Dumbledore told me so himself."

As Harry spoke these words, his eyes drifted up to the portrait of McGonagall's predecessor that hung over her desk. The last time Harry had seen it the man in the painting had been snoozing away comfortably. Now Dumbledore's startling blue eyes were staring back at him and the other occupants in the room as he quietly listened to the conversation. In fact, as Harry looked about the walls, all of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts were listening to what was being said. Even old Phineas' curiosity seemed to have been piqued.

Sinistra half-turned in her chair to speak to Harry.

"Mister Potter, all I can tell you is what I know, and what Boadicea told me herself. Tom Riddle did love her," she insisted. "But," she paused as she considered her words very carefully, "he hated her even more. Hated her for what she was. Hated her because she couldn't help what she was. And most of all, hated her for making him feel...something...anything for her in the first place. And in the end he repaid her for it. He destroyed her."

As Harry began to process her strange words, Sinistra stood up from her chair and crossed over to one of the large windows that faced the east. The dark curtains were drawn back, and as the faltering sun light of the late afternoon washed through the window, the professor settled her gaze on a far away peak of the mountain view.

"Boadicea was my friend, my very best friend. I met her on the train ride to school. Her English wasn't as good as it could be and my French wasn't as good as it could be, but somehow we drifted towards each other and stuck."

Sinistra turned around to face the room.

"She also seemed overwhelmed to find herself a witch so I tried to be her guide in that as well."

"As I recall Selene, despite all of that, Miss DuManoir turned out to be a rather brilliant student," remarked McGonagall casually.

"That she did," she replied as she smiled wistfully. "Her mind was quick and adroit. When she was 14 she was performing charms at a Seventh Year's level. You remind me a great deal of her actually, Miss Granger."

Hermione, who obviously hadn't been expecting the compliment, bashfully hung her head down in response. Although Harry couldn't be sure, he could have sworn he heard the sound of Malfoy's eyes rolling to the back of his head in envy and disgust. The thought almost made Harry grin as he took the now empty seat next to Hermione.

"I often wondered why she wasn't placed in Ravenclaw, my own house. I can only assume that the Sorting Hat saw in her heart her kind and trusting nature, her deep loyalty. It's a pity that traits such as those can be used so cruelly."

Harry glanced up at the Sorting Hat, sitting just behind McGonagall's head on a shelf, before sneaking a peek at his best friend. Hermione was completely enthralled by Sinistra's tale. Harry could practically see the thought process play out on Hermione's face as she listened and voiced her own questions.

"You say that Voldemort loved and hated her. What did she feel for him?"

The faint smile that had been on Sinistra's face gradually eased into a frown as she continued to share her memories.

"Adoration," she answered scornfully. "Veneration, near idol-like worship; she loved him Miss Granger. From the very first moment she laid eyes on him, she loved him. She loved him even when she was too young to know what that word meant."

Sinistra slowly walked away from the window.

"He was a very handsome boy back then."

McGonagall smacked her lips at these words.

"Well he was, Minerva. Never mind that monster he is now, back then he was quite good looking. All dark and brooding too."

She stopped for a moment to regard Harry.

"You favor him a bit, Mister Potter."

Harry shivered at the comment. The memory of a young Tom Riddle once told him the same thing. The idea disgusted him then just as it did now.

"I never quite saw the appeal," McGonagall replied. "Where most saw brooding, I just saw sneaky. The way he would ingratiate himself to the faculty was nauseating, to say the least. I daresay the students, particularly the Muggle-borns, got quite a different side of Lord Voldemort."

"When he learned that Boadicea was a Muggle-born he treated her with nothing but scorn," said Sinistra, finishing her colleague's thoughts. "The names he would call her...I could never understand that kind of hatred."

Harry looked over his shoulder to give Malfoy a scornful look. Malfoy turned his head to ignore him.

"Despite all of this, Boadicea steadily maintained to me that they were in love. But I couldn't understand how he could love her and think she was chaff. I tried pointing this out to her once, but my concerns fell on deaf ears. Boadicea would say to me, 'Sesi, he's different when it's just him and me, Sesi...I'm going to marry him one day, Sesi'. And because I loved her, and wanted the best for her, I foolishly believed her."

As she continued to speak, Sinistra began to pace about the room.

"In our last year in school Boadicea was chosen to be Head Girl. We were all so very happy for her achievement. I worried for her, though. With Tom Riddle as Head Boy I knew that she would be spending too much time alone with him. I feared the effects that would have on her. I wish I could say that those fears had been groundless, but..."

Her eyes watered and she stopped for a moment to collect herself.

"After only a few months of sharing the Heads' suite with him she began to draw away from me, from all of her friends. Her eyes lost what luster they once had. All that seemed to matter to her was her slavish devotion to that...that...boy," she said, almost snarling her words. "Then, right before Easter, she came to me and cried on my shoulder. Tom had told her the night before that he could never be with her. That she was unworthy of him. That she had only been a bit of fun to him. Those words broke her. She got on the train to spend the short break with her mother."

"How did her parents handle her being magical?" Hermione asked, evidently fascinated by this portrait of a fellow Muggle-born.

"Not very well," Sinistra answered her. "You see Boadicea's mother was very religious. As a girl she had been orphaned young and lived as a novitiate in a convent. But for whatever reasons, she didn't take her vows and married DuManoir, a poor farmer that lived on the edge of Boussac, instead. After she had Boadicea her whole world revolved around her child and her Church. That is until her head was turned by a wizard named Callum Ferguson. Do you remember him, Minerva?"

McGonagall sneered.

"Aye, that I do. A handsome, devilish rake if ever there were one. He once told me he had the perfect position under him once I became of age. I would be his assistant," she said dryly. "Dirty old man! I can't imagine how he ever became a school governor."

"Well it was because of his position that Boadicea went to Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons in the first place. He had met the mother while staying in Boussac on holiday. A few weeks later she and her daughter were living in Dumfries with him. When Boadicea's letter came winging its way to her he convinced Madame DuManoir that Hogwarts was a better choice for her child. She reluctantly agreed to it, but Boadicea often told me that her mother felt terribly guilty for her being the way she was. She felt it was her fault that her daughter was a witch. It was her penance for turning away from God and her husband that she had borne 'une sorcière'. To make amends for her crimes, Madame DuManoir would make a pilgrimage to the convent chapel where she practically grew up each Easter to attend midnight Mass.

Boadicea wasn't religious herself. You rarely find many magical people who cling to the wand and the cross, or any of the older faiths of the world," she continued as she crossed back over to the window that faced the pitch. "But for some reason Boadicea was determined to attend Mass with her mother this particular year. Usually she just stayed at school over break like most of us. Merlin...how I wish she would have just stayed this time too!" she cried out in anger as tears began to trickle down her face.

"What happened?" Malfoy asked, clearly being drawn into the story as well. Harry himself was near the edge of his seat. However Sinistra seemed too distraught to go on.

"I can tell the rest, Selene," the Headmistress offered sympathetically as she began to fiddle with a silver ink pot on her desk. "I've heard most of it. During the Mass, as the congregation recited the Kyrie elesion, Boadicea entered the chapel and strode past the pews, bare as the day she was born. The only thing she had with her was her wand. As she raised it to her mother, prepared to deliver the Killing Curse, Ferguson stepped in the way. I suppose there was some nobility in him after all. Obliviators had to come and erase the memories of all those Muggles, save for the mother of course, who witnessed the sad event. However when the correct authorities came to collect Boadicea, she and Madame DuManoir was nowhere to be found. No one ever figured out what happened to them, though the authorities searched for them for years and years."

Harry began to mull over all of the information they had been given. A clear picture began to form itself in his head.

"That would explain why Voldemort's Death Eaters can't find her now."

"Do you think she might have...something that he's trying to get back?" Hermione asked cryptically, turning in her seat to face him.

Harry got up from his chair and crossed to the middle of the room where Sinistra was standing.

"Professor, did Riddle ever give anything to Boadicea? A trinket? Some sort of memento or something?"

"Not that I recall," she said in answer, obviously confounded by Harry's questions.

"Are you sure? Even if it was something that would seem completely trivial to you. A book, maybe? Or jewelry?"

She shook her head warily.

"No. Boadicea wasn't too fond of jewelry. The only bit she ever owned was a hairpin."

The tension in the room shot up tenfold. Her words hung in the air for a moment. Harry was almost too afraid to speak, fearful that he had misheard her.

"A hairpin?" Hermione asked in his stead, sliding from her seat to the ground. She began sifting through the pile of reference books, tossing some to and fro, in her frantic desperation to find what she was looking for.

"Yes," said Sinistra as she queerly looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione. "It was quite pretty actually. She was very fond of the thing. She wouldn't even let me touch it and I was her best friend. It was one of the few treasures her mother was left with after her parents died. Boadicea said her mother believed it had been in their family for years."

Hermione, finding the book that she wanted, raised herself from the ground and brought it over to the teacher. She thumbed through the book and opened it to a page of a portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw. As she pointed to the hair ornament in the picture she asked fretfully, "Did it look like this?"

"Is this...isn't this Rowena?"

"PROFESSOR, PLEASE!" Hermione snapped forcefully.

Harry came to her side and rested a calming hand on her shoulder. This action seemed to help her regain her composure.

"Did it look like this?" Hermione tried again.

"Merlin, yes! But...but…how?"

Hermione turned her dark and troubled eyes to Harry

"Boadicea was from France, Harry. From France! Goodness! It just can't be," Hermione pronounced disbelievingly.

"Granger," Malfoy spat, "what are you yammering on about?"

Hermione, however, blew off his question. Instead she swung around and scrutinized Dumbledore's portrait sharply. The Old Headmaster evenly gazed back at her. Harry searched both of their faces, trying desperately to understand what was going on. He opened his mouth to question Hermione, but she brushed him off and advanced towards McGonagall's desk. Her eyes never wavered from Dumbledore's face.

"Professor, is it too extraordinary an idea that Boadicea DuManoir might be somehow connected to Rowena Ravenclaw?"

She paused, her question seemed to embarrass her somehow, but she plodded on.

"I mean...that is to say...could she be a distant relative of hers, a descendant?"

Although Hermione was addressing Dumbledore who was still staring back at her serenely, all of the other busybody portraits decided to voice their opinion to the question. The consensus seemed to be a resounding "no".

"PREPOSTEROUS!" yelled out a picture of a little feeble old wizard to the right of them.

Although the man was older and much balder than when Harry last remembered seeing him, inside the pages of Riddle's diary that is, Harry still recognized Dippet. And even as a portrait Harry still considered him an ineffectual bore. How dare he shoot down Hermione's theory just like that! This was the same man who gave Riddle a medal for killing a girl, for Merlin's sake!

"I'm afraid I must agree with Dippet, little girl," the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black sneeringly drawled down at them.

Hermione swung her head between the two paintings. She seemed to retreat into herself for a moment, unsure of what to say. She wasn't quite used to teachers telling her that anything she said was stupid.

"I mean, really! The idea that this mad Muggle-born of which you speak could actually have come from the line of Ravenclaw is just revisionist twaddle. If such were true you would have any wizard," he paused as he looked at Hermione appraisingly, "or witch of lowly birth trying to shake a Founder out of their tree."

Harry saw red at the affront. He marched towards the picture of Sirius' great-great-grandfather fully prepared to tear it to shreds if he could, but Hermione beat him to the punch. She spoke to Phineas proudly, her back straight as though lined with steel.

"There are some who believe that Ravenclaw lived out the rest of her life somewhere in France. It would fit. No matter how unbelievable it sounds…it would still fit!"

"I daresay girl," called another, sallow faced wizard dressed in very old period robes, "don't listen to Black. These modern wizards and witches born after the Dark Scourge hardly believe in anything that they didn't see with their own two eyes. As a small child, I heard plenty of stories of Rowena settling in Lyons myself."

"I believe you meant to say Black Death, dear Everard," said a twinkling eyed Dumbledore, his glasses as always hanging precariously from his long crooked nose.

Everard merely brushed at his short black fringe and accepted Dumbledore's correction.

"However you are correct old boy," he continued as he brought his gaze back to Hermione. "We modern day wizards and witches can be quite dogmatic when it comes to questions of the Founders. Don't you agree, Miss Granger?"

Hermione took her seat again in front of the desk, her book still clutched in her hand.

"Ravenclaw couldn't have had a family that went there with her too, could she Professor?"

"My dear Miss Granger, why would the idea seem so inconceivable to you?"

"Because..." Hermione began haltingly, "I mean...surely I would have read about it, wouldn't I?"

"In my younger days, I must admit, I found Muggles quite odd," the old wizard began as all eyes in the room were drawn to him.

Even Malfoy left his corner perch to advance slowly to the front of the room.

"You see, I couldn't fathom how people who feared the magic all around them, who tried to burn away on stakes anyone they deemed...odd...could instead believe it possible for a man to live in the belly of a whale for days, in trumpet bursts toppling massive walls, and place their faith in the idea that a virgin could give birth to the son of a god. And that this same virgin could be married for a number of years and never have any other children by her mortal husband. Today we know that the Muggle prophet, of which I speak, did have siblings. But there are some who will still argue the fact. It's so much easier to believe in someone's place in Heaven when he isn't tied down to the Earth by his mortal relatives."

Dumbledore chuckled fondly at his quip.

"But as cavalier as I was about Muggles, I hardly bothered to consider that we wizards and witches were just as guilty of this same blind idolatry. We have made the Founders into almost divine beings. Through the years we have forgotten that these were living, breathing men and women who had wants and needs; who was once flesh. These were people who had lives. Never was the point brought home to me more than when the Chamber of Secrets was first reopened. Before then I never stopped to consider that Slytherin could have an heir. But now we know that he did. Through the tapestry of time a single thread led from Salazar Slytherin to Merope Gaunt's son."

"So no, Miss Granger," he said as his blue eyes danced, "I do not find it that extraordinary an idea."

Malfoy, who amazingly enough had been quiet through all of this, shook his head in disbelief.

"But...but...she was a Mudbl-" he began, but stopped thinking better of it. "She was Muggle-born," he said instead. "How can she be related to one of the greatest Sorceresses of all time?"

At these words Hermione turned on Malfoy. She was furious! Harry hadn't seen her this worked up since that first day at Little Whinging. Her eyes blazed lightening bolts as she jumped from her chair and stamped her way towards him. Harry was almost certain she was going to slug Malfoy again.

"AND MALFOY?!" she berated him shrilly instead. "SO WHAT?! So what if she was a Muggle-born? YOU DON'T KNOW SHITE!"

Malfoy was completely stunned by the attack. He slowly began to edge his way from her, yet she trailed him as though he were an injured animal ready for the kill. She backed him right onto the stone wall by Phineas' picture. The other occupants in the room were shocked into silence at her outburst. Even though Harry knew that Hermione would be completely ashamed of her bad behavior later, some part of him couldn't help but find this whole exchange terribly brilliant. Hermione cursed in front of teachers! And Dumbledore! And every Headmaster the school had ever had, no less! Ron was going to string himself up for missing all of this!

And where the hell was Ron by the way, he briefly wondered.

"You and your kind, so damned concerned about bloodlines and pedigree," she snarled as she momentarily looked up at Black and then back to Malfoy. "So bloody well concerned about the pureness in your blood when your father licked the boots of a lowly half-breed!" she malevolently taunted him. "DO YOU HEAR ME MALFOY?! Your beloved Dark Lord is a fucking half-breed! And he was descended from Salazar Slytherin! So you don't know shite, Malfoy!" she finished as she backed away from him.

McGonagall, who had been sitting through all of this, looked down her nose at Hermione and gave her a chastising frown that seemed to pin Hermione in place.

"Miss Granger, I'm surprised at you," she admonished. "As your former professor I must say that I thought you better than that kind of language."

Hermione hung her head in abject shame.

"However," continued the Headmistress as the corners of her lips twitched, "as your colleague I must say, good job!"

Hermione's head sprung up and she gave McGonagall the most endearing, buoyant smile. Harry almost forgot that there were more important matters at hand while looking at that smile. Then Malfoy grumbled brattishly under his breath and broke the spell.

"Look, let's try to focus on what we know," Harry said as he and Hermione approached Sinistra and McGonagall at her desk. "Somehow DuManoir came into possession of the Ravenclaw...heirloom. Tom Riddle, who lived in the same suite with her for a year, would have had complete access to this little treasure. If he knew what it was, he could have easily used it for his ends and then left it with DuManoir. Who would have ever been any the wiser?"

"Now he is looking for her. Oh Harry, you don't think he is trying to get it back, do you?"

Sinistra, not being an Order member, had no idea what the three teens were going on about.

"Of course that is what he is trying to do, Granger!" Malfoy spat from his corner. "He's probably caught on to what we're doing and is trying to call a halt to Potter's campaign. We have to do something about it!"

"WE?!" cried both Harry and Hermione in shock as they spun around and faced Malfoy.

"Yes, we," the blond answered back snidely, arms crossed before him stubbornly. "Don't think I'll just sit back and let Potter have all the glory."

Hermione was too flabbergasted to offer any protest.

"If anything we will have to move quickly," she said as she looked from Harry to McGonagall. "We will need as many Order members as we can muster. Professor McGonagall, you will contact Professor Lupin and Mr. Shacklebolt for us, won't you?"

"Of course dear," the woman replied. "But there is one thing you children seem to have overlooked." This statement caught all three teens' attention. "No one knows where Boadicea is. We don't even know if Boadicea is still alive."

Sinistra's eyes closed and she turned away from the rest of them. She walked back over to the window that faced the mountains, although by now the sun had set and she wouldn't have been able to see them. She wrapped her arms tightly around her as though to ward off the autumn chill.

"She's alive," they barely heard her say.

McGonagall was mystified by this admission.

"But..." she tried to say before realization dawned on her. "Oh Selene..."

Sinistra spun around from the window and looked at her friend pleadingly.

"Madame DuManoir begged me to never tell a soul, Minerva," she tried to explain. "You have to understand why I didn't. Even after the old woman died I still never told any one. Boadicea was dearer to me than..."

Sinistra almost choked on the words, she couldn't finish the thought.

"Riddle throwing her over like that it...it did something to her. If everything that these children have mentioned is true, he used her and tossed her aside when he was done with her. Her mind snapped. She blamed Riddle's dismissal on her mother. That it was her mother's fault that she was 'Mudblood filth'. That's why Boadicea tried to kill her. After she left Ferguson dead in the mother's stead, Boadicea realized what she had done. That simple act broke her mind; her heart was already in pieces. Madame DuManoir swore never to let any of 'les magiciens mauvais' near her daughter again. Even me! I had to beg the woman to at least talk to me, reassure me that Boadicea was alright. She blamed what happened to her child on the magical world. And really, was she that wrong?!" she demanded, asking the question to all those in the room.

The question made a fierce desire to do away with Tom Riddle burn strongly in Harry's chest. He now realized that Dumbledore was correct when he said that Riddle couldn't love. How could one feel love when all they were capable of was destroying it? When all that mattered to them was devastation? The Potters, the Longbottoms, the Bones family, Sirius, and Dumbledore; the list of the monster's victims seemed endless. But what he did to DuManoir...Sinistra's tale, for some reason, struck some chord in him. He glanced at Malfoy and was surprised to see the usual arrogance in the prat's eyes missing. Harry then looked at Hermione and was dismayed to see her silently crying. He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. She leaned against him and sobbed onto his chest. Hermione hadn't allowed him to comfort her, be affectionate towards her, even touch her like this in weeks. It felt nice. But as wonderful as it made him feel, Harry knew that it would have to end soon. They had a job to do.

"Professor Sinistra, we have to find DuManoir. Her life may be at stake. Where is she?"

Sinistra considered the question before shakily answering, "The Monastère Sainte Claire in Boussac."

She exhaled deeply, finally being free of the secret that had been her burden all these years.

"Madame DuManoir entrusted Boadicea to the Poor Clares, the nuns of the convent, that Easter morning fifty-two years ago. And that is where she has been ever since."

"Well kiddies," Malfoy drawled knavishly, "it looks like we're going to France."

"DAD! DAD! A car, dad! A CAR!"

Harry shook his head as the memory floated away from him as lightly as gossamer thread born on the wind. He looked up towards the sound of the calling voice. He saw a small, carrot topped blur that he assumed was Marc, hovering high in the sky close to the lane that led from the main road. He seemed to be pointing at something in the distance. Harry's eyes drifted in the direction that Marc was indicating and saw a vehicle coming towards the house.

It wasn't such an amazing thing to see a car at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley had once owned a Ford Anglia that he had charmed to fly. The man had loved that car. Unluckily for him, Ron had to "borrow" it once in order to get him and Harry to school on time when circumstances had caused them to miss the Express. Though they ended up making it to Hogwarts, the Whomping Willow ended up making short work of the car. Harry figured that the Anglia was probably still somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, roaming around, saving poor wayward students who had managed to disobey the yearly announcement to keep out of the dark woods. Now that he thought of it, Harry had to wonder if vehicle theft wasn't a Weasley family trait as well.

A couple of the guests today had arrived in cars. Dean and Seamus were actually huge motor enthusiasts. Padma had complained to Ginny once that the men seemed to collect cars like they once collected Chocolate Frog cards. Their latest toy was a classic 60's Citroën that Seamus had managed to haggle off some hapless Muggle while the bloke was trying to push it down the road. The poor fellow probably thought he had gotten the better end of the deal until he turned his back, Seamus muttered a few incantations over the ocher colored beauty, and promptly drove off in it. Dean and Seamus had shown it off to Harry, Ron, and Neville when their family had first arrived.

Harry was interested to see who this new arrival was. Most of the other guests had already left, it was nearing dark after all, and only a few stragglers were left behind. The Quidditch game looked like it had broken up a while ago; the Jordans, Katie Bell, Dean and his troop, as well as a few others had gone home already. Those who were still there were milling about the backyard or still flying around on their brooms. Everyone, even the children, was watching the automobile's fast approach. Ron, who was still high up, turned his broom in the direction of the road and flew over to meet whoever the late arrival was. Harry wondered if it was a guest who was just arriving to the Burrow. Or perhaps it was a Muggle who had gotten lost and was looking for directions. Harry felt sorry for him. Poor Muggle bastard was just walking into an Obliviate. As he looked around, Harry discovered that everyone else seemed to be just as intrigued as to who the last minute visitor could be.

As the vehicle got closer, Harry's blurred vision cleared somewhat and he noticed that what was coming at them wasn't a car after all. If Harry had to describe the sleek black machine he would have called it more of an over sized lorry than anything else. It was obviously an American made monstrosity. Ron leveled his broom closer to the ground and pulled along the left side of the vehicle so he could get a peek inside. The dark windows appeared to be heavily tinted and gave no view, though. As the motor vehicle swerved a bit, Ron looked like he was becoming annoyed. That is until the driver's window came down. Whatever Ron saw excited the man so much that he gave an ear-splitting whoop, threw his fist in the air, and began to turn cartwheels in the sky. At this shocking display, the machine came to a halt only a few yards from where Harry and the rest of the captivated crowd were watching. When Ron finished his aerial acrobatics, he brought his broom ground level and leapt off the hovering Nimbus into a run.

Harry didn't know why, but his breath caught in his lungs, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Everything around him seemed to stop for a mere second and then proceed to slow motion. Years later he would never be able to explain why this happened. Even if someone pointed a wand at his temple and threatened his life, he could never specify why at that exact moment, when nothing was clear yet, he knew that his life was going to change forever. But as the engine of the black vehicle shut off, Harry's heart began to race maddeningly. As the driver's door popped opened and a head of sleek, stylishly cut blonde hair peeked out, Harry's palms began to become clammy and he rubbed them vigorously on his robes to dry them. Before the driver, who was obviously a woman, could come out of the vehicle fully Ron rushed at her. He practically hauled the woman from the tank, caught her up in what looked like a crushing embrace, and began to swing her around like a man possessed. Harry was mesmerized as he watched the gauzy material of her long, cream colored peasant skirt get caught up in the breeze.

Tonks, who had been floating nearby, landed next to the pair. She took one look at the woman in Ron's arms and shrieked in delight. As soon as Ron put her down, Tonks was enveloping the stranger in another back breaking hug. In fact Tonks zeal was so great that both women went crashing to the ground amidst tearful laughter from them both.

Harry felt as though he were stapled to the ground. He couldn't move. For whatever reason, the portion of his brain that controlled that simple function seemed to have gone on holiday. As he watched the scene before him, every sound almost became a dull roar in his ear. It was as if he was trapped in a vacuum. The only thing that was really prevalent was the jack hammering of his heart.

He sat back and watched as Ron helped the two women off of the ground. He watched as the twins dashed up to the guest and both treated her to what they jokingly referred to as their "Twin Sandwich".

"Get off me, George! Let me go, Fred, before I tell your wife on you," she laughingly reprimanded as they picked her up and began to jostle her back and forth between them.

"Once Glinda gets a look at you she'll probably want to join in and be the cheese," Fred joked loudly with a guffaw as he and his brother placed her back down to the grass. Ron jovially pushed the two of them away.

"Back away you two prats before she takes off again," he chuckled.

Ron looked like his face would split in two, his smile was so enormous. That is until he glanced behind the female into her vehicle and started back in wonder.

"WHO THE DEVIL DO YOU HAVE IN THERE, WOMAN?!" he exclaimed as his brow furrowed.

She smiled at his question.

"Oh, that's just Lizzie. Wait until you meet her. You'll just love my girl!"

She reached into the off-roader to unlock the backseat door.

"Lizzie," she said as she pulled open the door, "there are some friends I want you to meet."

By this time Harry had finally found use of his legs. He stood up anxiously and began to make his way to Ron, Tonks, Fred, George, and the late arrival. He was nearing them when the stranger's passenger came hurtling out of the backseat and began to sprint towards Harry's direction pell-mell.

"NO, LIZZIE! NO!"

Before Harry knew what was happening, he was being knocked to the ground as something heavy came to rest on his chest. All Harry could see was hair and the hints of two small, friendly blue eyes underneath it all.

"LIZZIE, I SAID NO!"

Harry heard the pounding footsteps of feet racing to where he was, but his vision was obstructed by the face that had lowered itself to his own. A wet, pink tongue began licking adoringly at his cheek.

"LIZZIE!"

As Lizzie was pulled off of him, Harry finally got a good look at his admirer. The Old English Sheepdog barked at him affectionately, as its master tugged it away. A gaggle of children that had gathered around began to "ooh" at its size and "aww" at its shaggy blue merle coat. Their excited murmurings brought its attention to them. The dog began to chase after them merrily as they all squealed and yelled and scattered in over a half-dozen different directions.

"Sorry, Harry," said a soft voice above him in a honeyed English accent. "She's just so damned friendly that she jumps up on everybody like that. Here, take my hand."

Harry squinted up at the dainty, tanned, and well manicured hand that was being offered to him. As Harry cautiously reached up and took it in his own, he felt a euphoric tingle of bliss and joy surge through out his body to every nerve ending he possessed. The feeling almost made him lightheaded. So much so that he staggered back for a second before she used all of her strength to try and keep him upright.

"Are you ok, Harry?" she asked, voice tinged with concern.

Harry couldn't answer her. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. All he could do was gaze helplessly into the swirling world of her big brown eyes, stare covetously at the pink, succulent bottom lip that moved as she spoke to him. Harry didn't know how he managed to keep from running his index finger along the cords of her delicate neck.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten me already?" she teased as her lips curled into a cheerful grin.

"Poor blind bastard probably can't see you."

Everyone broke into gales of laughter at George's joke, but Harry was still too entranced by the vision before him to even acknowledge what had been said.

"What happened to your glasses?" She seemed amused by his helplessness.

Harry plunged his hand into the pocket of his robes, pulled out the wrecked pair of specs, and presented them to her like a small school boy giving his teacher, and secret crush, an apple. Somewhere in the back of Harry's head he wondered if he shouldn't be patted on the head for his efforts.

When she made no move to do so, he shouted out anxiously, "FRED DID IT!"

"OI!" Fred exclaimed.

She turned to Ron and gave him an appraising look.

"And why didn't you fix them for him?"

Ron chuckled gaily as he rolled his eyes and threw an arm about her shoulder.

"Only been back five minutes and already nagging us, eh?"

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

"He didn't ask," Ron protested as he removed his arm and raised his hands to her in defense.

He turned to Harry and raised his wand.

"Let me see those glasses Harry."

Harry dumbly placed them in Ron's outstretched hand. Ron lightly tapped his willow to the specs and in a blink they were brand new.

"There," she began as she gently lifted his glasses from Ron's palm and placed them tenderly on the bridge of Harry's nose. "All better now."

For Harry the world came totally into focus and he found himself looking into the face of the woman he was in love with.

"Do you know me now?" she playfully asked before the sound of laughter caught her attention and she turned her head to watch Lizzie run by while a herd of children, led by the Weasley triplets, chased after her enthusiastically.

As she vivaciously laughed at the scene, Harry took a moment to drink all of her in. Five years had worked itself on her in a number of marvelous ways. But it was still her. She was still his brilliant, beautiful best friend. The hair was something completely startling and different, her long voluminous curls being replaced by a thick mane of bone straight, flaxen strands that stopped just below her chin. But the honey blonde shade made the liquid pools that were her dark rimmed eyes stand out more now. Why her eyes are more dark amber than just brown, he thought to himself wondrously.

She looked like she hadn't lost or gained an ounce, however her voluptuous body looked well toned and gave a hint of muscle. He assumed that wherever she'd been she hadn't just been sitting at some desk all this time. Mercifully every curve that Harry remembered, and had caressed in many a fantasy, was in their proper place. Her hips swelled out enticingly from beneath her skirt and her waist looked like just enough of a handful for his eager and wanting palms. The plain white spaghetti strapped shirt she wore gave ample view of tantalizing golden, beige skin. Perfectly round shoulders, beautifully formed arms, distractingly heaving bosom; Harry had to wrench his gaze away from the last as she laughed.

Instead he brought his gaze back up to her eyes. It was always the eyes that had him, he realized. Of course he thought her face was lovely. Of course he thought her body was sexy and sublime. But it was her eyes he had always been drawn to. It was her eyes that could almost make him forget himself. He knew by heart every expression they had ever bestowed upon him. He remembered them shining when they looked at him. He remembered them filled with trust, fidelity, acceptance, faith, and love. Yes, love. He knew she had loved him, still loved him. It may not have been in the way that he now knew he felt for her; that burning intensity that made every particle in him ache...he knew that she still loved him though, even if it was just as her friend. And for now that was enough.

"Hermione," he almost croaked; his voice under duress from the emotion that boiled deep within him. There was a question in his tone.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, both puzzled by Harry's odd behavior.

As the befuddled expression on her face softened into a nervous, yet pleasant smile, she turned back to Harry and said, "Of course it's me!"

And that was all Harry needed to hear. He sprung forward, enfolding her in his arms as though she were his cherished, most beloved prize. She smells different, he fleetingly thought to himself. But somewhere he could still sense the essence that was purely Hermione underneath it all. He lifted her slightly from the ground to the point that her feet dangled in the air. Her arms encircled him, and as she hugged him fiercely, he felt her little body begin to tremble with modest sized sobs.

"Oh! I've missed you so much, Harry. I've missed you so much!" she half-cried, half-laughed against his shoulder. "Have you missed me?"

As Harry held Hermione in his arms, he began to feel the gaping void that had been in him these last few years slowly heal. He had tried to fill the vacancy with Quidditch, his Ministry career...Ginny, but none of those things had done the trick. But now, Harry finally felt whole. He deeply inhaled and let that breath out again as he savored this brief moment in time that he knew would end much too quickly. He mentally filed it away with every other precious memory that was his and his alone. And at last Harry smiled.

"I've missed you with all my heart, Hermione."

A/N: Next up is the long awaited Hermione's POV. Things to look forward to: Hermione tells the family her version of where she has been all these years, ghosts from the past haunt our heroine, and a day of flat hunting turns into a day of revelations.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Lilith the succubus, Theodehad Greenberg, Guy Hagrid, Aiko Hagrid, Hadiya Hagrid, Murielle Vandersteen, Rance Dupont, Conlan Thomas, Isis Jordan, Osiris Jordan, Tarquin Adair, Barry Weasley, Phil Weasley, Kent Weasley, Boadicea DuManoir, Madame DuManoir, Monsieur DuManoir, Callum Ferguson, Serge the jarvey, and Lizzie the sheepdog are canon.

2) "Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation" is from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran.

3) Ath, Belgium is nick named the City of Giants. The Giant festival is an actual annual event.

4) Just in case you missed it, the Ravenclaw Head Girl that Hermione tells the boys about is Harmonia Cadmus.

5) I tried to make the French understandable in the text but just in case it wasn't clear...

sorcière=witch

les magiciens mauvais=the evil wizards

6) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a cockatrice is a deadly animal that is the combination of a cock and a dragon and/or snake. An Antipodean Opaleye is a medium sized dragon native to Australia and New Zealand.

7) The Nimbus360˚ broom, the Hall of Heads, and the book Hogwarts Gone Wild are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.