Seelvor's Collection of Harmonious One-Shots by Seelvor

Rating: R
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 18/01/2009
Last Updated: 29/07/2009
Status: Completed

My collection of one-shots. Please note: contains harsh language, scenes of a mildly sexual
nature, Weasley!Bashing (not in all of them... but there's definitely some there),
Dumbledore!Bashing (because he deserves it) Snape!Bashing...




1. Happy New Year
-----------------



**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

Harry sighed. He *hated* New Year's Eve parties with a fiery passion. Ever since
he'd finished at Hogwarts, he'd had to put up with every single female between the ages of
twelve and eighty trying to make a move on him for a `good luck' kiss at the stroke of
midnight. Well... that wasn't *strictly* true. There was one who'd never even looked
at him. The one he *wanted* to notice him never had.

Damn her, anyway.

He tried to live his life without regrets, but this always niggled at the back of his mind. He
knew that he was emotionally damaged, considering the Dursleys' influence on him as he grew up,
but he recognised his feelings for her as love. True love. He knew because when he saw her happy
while dating someone, he felt his sadness decrease slightly. Only slightly, but enough to let him
know that her happiness was more important than his.

It didn't help that, once again, she was single. Her dating life was almost as pitiful as
his, a sad state of affairs. After the war, all three of the Golden Trio were celebrities, and,
just like the Muggle world, people swarmed over them like flies on shit. Truth be told, it
irritated two-thirds of the trio. Ron, on the other hand, was quite happy with the attention. He
was tall, single, and reasonably good-looking (according to a poll in *Witch Weekly*) and he
had done his part in the war. As far as Harry was concerned, it was all good for Ron.

He sighed again, heading back to the bar. He got an odd look as he ordered a Pepsi, but he
didn't want to let his defences down. Alcohol was about the quickest way to get him into a
destructive depression, and he had no desire to go through that again.

Taking a moment, he glanced round the room, spotting most of his Hogwarts year-mates in
compromising positions. Neville had Susan Bones hanging off one arm (and considering the size of
her chest, he'd need bloody strong arms to support her) and Hannah Abbot on the other. Ron was
with Luna, apparently checking if she still had her tonsils. Ginny was giving Seamus and Dean a
lap-dance. Not surprising, really. When Seamus had come out at the end of fifth year, it didn't
surprise people too much. When Dean admitted he was bi, while dating Ginny, she'd been furious,
slapping the shit out of Dean... before grabbing his wrist and dragging him to Seamus, then pulling
them both out of the Great Hall. Apparently, they weren't seen for days.

Polygamy in the Wizarding world always makes me chuckle. Trios are far more common than people
suspect, but a one witch/two wizard relationship is frowned upon... Until Molly Weasley got
involved. She had a `quiet word' with anyone who made a comment. They soon apologised.

He looked over to the stained glass windows, noting that Padma was with Fred tonight while
Parvati was wriggling in George's lap. It was true that both sets of twins shared everything
with their other half. Apparently this included husbands/wives, too. Still, with the addition of
the Patils in Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, the business had really expanded. Padma's
severely understated genius, along with Parvati's frightening marketing skills had made the
business triple in value overnight, something which certainly helped Harry's bank balance.

His final circuit of the room spotted *her*, leaning dangerously close to someone he'd
never seen before. They were staring at Hermione in a way that made him feel... uncomfortable. And
she looked...

Quickly making his way over, Hermione looked up, her eyes lighting up. “H-Harry!” She slurred,
instantly setting Harry's teeth on edge. “How're you?”

“I'm good, Hermione. Thank you for asking.” He replied politely. “How're you?”

“Who're you?” The man asked gruffly.

“He's Harry Potter.” Hermione slurred, stumbling forward and crashing into him. “My
favourite Harry Potter.”

The man's eyes narrowed. “Potter... ah, yes. The man who defeated the Dark Lord. Good show,
old chap.”

“Thank you.” Harry replied, his voice like ice. “And you are?”

“Mark Johnson.”

“Pleasure.”

“I know.”

“Harry?” Hermione drawled. “You busy?”

Harry looked down, noting just how dilated Hermione's eyes were. *Oh, bloody hell...*
“For you, Hermione, I have all the time in the world.”

“Excuse me.” Johnson interrupted. “I believe I was speaking with the lady.”

Harry's eyes swivelled to Johnson. “Were you?”

Johnson nodded. “I've been buying her drinks all night, so I think that qualifies.” His hand
reached out to take hold of Hermione's arm.

“I miss my Harry...” Hermione slurred, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck. “We hardly
speak anymore...”

“Johnson, I suggest you take a walk.” Harry said, his voice like ice. “If you've done what I
suspect, you might want to head to the Aurors.”

“Oh?” Johnson's eyebrow shot up. “And what do you suspect I've done.”

Harry whistled through his teeth twice. Hermione blinked at him, looking confused, a look
mirrored on Johnson's face. Within five seconds, seven wands were pointing at Johnson, the
witches and wizards holding them displaying no trace of inebriation. “Hold him.” Harry commanded,
before pulling out his wand.

A quick diagnostic charm on Hermione was all he needed. A chemical formula formed from smoke
above Hermione's head.

“You son of a bitch!” Neville snarled, grabbing hold of Johnson's arm. “I'll take care
of him, Harry. You take care of Hermione.”

Said girl was gently rubbing Harry's bicep, looking up at him with adoration.

“Come on, Hermione... party's over.”

She smiled warmly. “Are you taking me home?”

Harry reached down, plucking her legs off the floor, holding her bridal-style. “Yes.” Together,
the two disappeared into smoke. Neville also vanished with a sharp `crack', taking Johnson
away. The rest of the party-goers began to restart the celebrations, knowing that Hermione was in
the best possible hands.

**----- H N Y -----**

Harry reappeared inside his home at Godric's Hollow, holding onto Hermione like the precious
thing she was.

“H-Harry?” Hermione slurred, still gazing up at him. “What's wrong?”

Harry didn't respond for the moment, simply stepping forward and gently lowering her onto
the couch. Once settled, he took one of her hands. “Hermione, do you feel... sort of floaty?”

“Yeah...” She giggled. “Feel so good, Harry...”

“You've been spiked, Hermione.” Harry informed her gently. “That man, Johnson, used a form
of Rohypnol on you. He was planning to date-rape you tonight.”

“Oh...” She frowned at him. “Are you planning to shag me tonight?” She asked.

“No, Hermione.” Harry assured her. “I'd never do anything so reprehensible. You know
that.”

“You were staring at my arse.” Hermione pointed out.

“I...” Harry couldn't deny it. “Hermione, there isn't a cure for Rohypnol. I'm
afraid you're gonna have to let it run through your system. You should be okay in the morning.
Rohypnol also affects memory. I want you to stay here tonight. I'll watch over you.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment. “You never answered... you do want to, don't you?”

“I... Please don't ask me that, Hermione. You should sleep. You're very tired.”

Hermione's eyes began to close. “You're too bloody noble sometimes, Harry...” She said
as she drifted off to sleep.

Harry settled into the armchair, flicking his wand to summon a duvet from the bedroom, flicking
it to make the cover gently tuck her in.

**----- H N Y -----**

Hermione woke up, her head *pounding*. She could see sun shining, hear the birds singing,
and her stomach roiling. *What the bloody hell did I drink last night?* She asked herself, not
opening her eyes. *If I stay here, maybe I'll die quietly.*

She heard the faint sound of snoring coming from her right and managed to stifle a groan. *Oh,
shite...* please *tell me I didn't have some random shag last night.* Gathering all her
Gryffindor courage, she cracked open one eye, spotting Harry sitting in an arm chair, snoring
lightly. *Okay... I'm on Harry's couch... why the hell am I on Harry's couch? I was
at the party last night... Oh, I must have done something embarrassing...* She heard Harry snort
and couch, and decided to quickly play dead.

She heard Harry get up, stumbling slightly before he let out a small moan as he stretched.
*Damn... he sounds cute like that...* She could almost feel him approach, gently placing a
hand on her forehead.

“You'll never know...” He whispered, before he leaned down and pressed a kiss against her
forehead. With that, he stumbled away, yawning loudly and scratching.

*I'll never know?* Hermione asked herself, the pounding of her head a distant second as
her mind was given a puzzle. *I'll never know what? Damn it, Harry, I feel bad enough without
being confused...* She huffed slightly as she tried to free herself from the duvet. It took a
few moments, and Hermione had to pause halfway through so she didn't vomit, but she finally
gained release. As she sat up, she clutched onto the back of the sofa with a piteous moan.

**----- H N Y -----**

Harry was enjoying a long, healthy morning pee when he heard Hermione moan slightly. He pushed
harder, quickly performing the single shake and follow-up jiggle, before tucking himself back into
his boxers. He quickly ran the tap, wetting his hands before grabbing the towel and hurrying back
to the living room. “Hermione.” He said quietly, correctly guessing that she felt lousy.

“Bleugh...” Hermione said softly, flicking her tongue out slightly. “Any chance of a
coffee?”

“Sure.” Harry bustled into the kitchen, flicking on the coffee maker. He grabbed a mug, milk and
sugar and prepared what Hermione referred to as a `brickie-brew'; coffee so strong it could be
used to melt through bank vaults. He scurried back into the living room, putting the coffee on the
table.

“How're you feeling?” He asked tenderly.

“Bloody lousy...” Hermione groused, her hand instinctively reaching for the coffee. “What the
hell did I drink last night, Harry?”

“Rohypnol.” He informed her helpfully. “You were spiked. I brought you here so I could watch
over you.”

“Oh...” Hermione took a swig of her coffee, relaxing in the smooth taste of Harry's coffee
before the statement entered her drug-addled brain. She spat out the coffee, making Harry dive to
the side. “What?! Oh, headache, headache...”

“That fella, Johnson, spiked you with Rohypnol, Hermione.”

“I... I see.” Hermione swallowed, before remembering the coffee would help perk her up a bit.
“And how did I get here?”

“I brought you here last night, Hermione. Just before midnight.”

“Why here?” She asked. “Why not St. Mungo's?”

“I...” Harry blushed slightly. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay, is all.”

“You're the healer, Harry.” She said, shrugging slightly. “So... what happened to the
creep?”

“Neville arrested him. Probably still at Auror HQ. I dunno. Getting you home safely was a
priority.”

*Home...* the word reverberated throughout Hermione's mind. He hadn't taken her
home. He'd brought her to *his place*... “Oh... thanks, Harry.”

“Any time, Hermione.”

She smiled warmly at him, the coffee beginning to cut through the fog and make her feel vaguely
human. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What did you mean when you said `you'll never know'?”

Harry's face erupted into a huge blush, making him look down at his feet. “Er... I thought
you were asleep.”

“I'd only just woke up.” She said, frowning at his reaction. “Harry, whatever it is, it
can't be that bad.”

“I... it's, er... it doesn't matter, Hermione.”

Hermione's frown only got larger. “I think it does, Harry. You look... terrified.” She
patted the couch next to her. “Come on, Harry, there's nothing we can't talk about.”

“There's this...” Harry muttered as he obediently went to sit next to her. Hermione was
about to move closer when she remembered she had morning breath. Not just morning breath, but
*coffee* morning breath.

“I should go and brush my teeth.” She muttered, holding her hand over her mouth. She stood up,
feeling a bit woozy for a moment, but Harry was already up and helping her steady herself. “Thanks,
Harry.”

As she was stumbling away, she heard Harry's final remarks. “Oh bloody fucking hell...”

**----- H N Y -----**

Five minutes later, she was minty-fresh and had a much smaller bladder. She still felt pretty
grotty, but better than she was beforehand. She saw Harry, still sitting on the couch, frowning at
his shoes. “Stop frowning, Harry.” She told him softly, getting back on the couch and pulling the
duvet over herself. “You'll give yourself wrinkles, otherwise.”

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“Now, what will I `never know'?”

“Hermione, are you hungry?” Harry said in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

“No, I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach and stop changing the subject. What will I
`never know'?”

“If I told you, then-”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry, dear, sweet Harry, I feel like death warmed up. Please just
tell me.”

“I... I can't.”

“Try.”

“I have before. I never could tell you then, either.”

“Harry...”

“I'm sorry.”

“Oh...” Hermione hmph'd for a moment, before leaning back on the couch. “You're
infuriating sometimes.”

“I know.”

“Still love you to pieces, mind you, but you're infuriating.”

“Thanks.”

“Please tell me.”

“It's... difficult.”

Hermione leaned forward, taking hold of his chin and turning his head to face her. “Harry,
you're probably the person I'm closest to in the whole world, Muggle *and* magical.
Please just tell me.”

Harry sighed. “What do you remember about last night?”

Taking a moment to scan her memory, she realised that things became a bit hazy when she was on
her fourth Slippery Nipple. “Well, I was drinking quite a bit, but things just get blurry after
that.”

“When I saw you, you were practically draped over that guy. I know you don't normally get
that drunk... your 21st notwithstanding.”

She blushed. “Okay, I remember you telling me how embarrassing that was.”

Harry grinned at her. “It still makes me laugh now.”

“Yes, I threw myself at anything male.” Hermione groused softly. “I was... amorous all night.
You've told me this.”

“Right.” Harry sobered up. “So, I know that you don't normally get that drunk. But, you were
last night. So, I came over to see you. As soon as you saw me, you stumbled forward and practically
threw yourself at me. I was... concerned.

“I did a test. You showed up positive for Rohypnol. I picked you up, brought you here and put
you to sleep on the couch.”

Hermione was still the smartest witch of her generation. “What did I say to you, Harry?” She
asked tentatively. “You're being all diplomatic. I said something... embarrassing, didn't
I? Oh, god... what did I say?”

Harry grimaced slightly. “Not... not exactly. I told you that you'd been spiked. Then you
asked me if I was gonna shag you. I told you to sleep.”

“Oh...” Hermione's cheeks were now bright red. “Sorry about that, Harry.”

“It's okay.”

“No.” Hermione interrupted, pressing a hand gently against his thigh. “I realise that me saying
stuff like that's not good. I'm sorry.”

“That wasn't the problem.” Harry said, his voice strained.

“Then what was?”

“I wanted to!” Harry blurted out. “God damn it, Hermione... you have *no* idea what you do
to me, do you?”

“No.”

“Jesus... every time I see you, I just wanna drag you to bed!” Harry said, not noticing that
Hermione's grip on his thigh was getting tighter. “As soon as you asked me that last night, I
was nursing wood!” He frowned, looking down and pulling his head away from her hand. “You should
probably let go...”

Hermione followed his glance, only now feeling just how tight she was holding onto him. “Oh...”
She looked back up, seeing his face and neck burning. “Do you feel... guilty?”

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed. “I mean... you were lying there, all defenceless...”

“Right. I was there, defenceless.” Hermione said. “Did I need a defence from you?”

“What? Of course not!”

“So, what's the problem?”

“I... I was so tempted, Hermione.” Harry whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me...”

Hermione was beginning to get an idea. “Why don't you tell me?”

“Because you've never been interested.”

“You've never shown me that you're interested.”

“I've tried...” Harry whispered, looking despondently at his shoes. “For years, I've
tried to be the nice, supportive guy. I'm... I'm not good with feelings, Hermione, you know
that.”

She nodded; she did know that. She'd seen him being pursued by a crowd of women and
panicking. She'd seen him at their friends' weddings, looking lost and alone. And she
realised that for almost ten years, he'd been there, supporting her. Showing her. And suddenly,
she felt so very stupid.

“Oh, hell...” She muttered. “You've been dating me for years... and I've never
noticed.”

Harry shook his head despondently.

“All those trips out... movies, dinner, helping me shop for clothes... How could I have been so
thick?”

Harry just shrugged.

“Why didn't you ever... right. The Dursleys.” Hermione reached up and pinched the bridge of
her nose, hoping it would help stave off her headache. She opened her eyes, spotting a pink vial in
front of her, dutifully supplied by Harry. “Headache cure?”

“Of course.”

It was things like this that made Hermione realise just what a sweet boyfriend he actually
was... even if she'd never noticed. And suddenly, she felt so very bad. “Why, Harry?” She
whispered softly, her voice sounding broken. “Why wait? Why didn't you find someone who
deserved you?”

“Because it's always been you, Hermione.” He whispered back, just as broken. “It's
*always* been you.”

“Oh, Harry...” She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder. “All those times I
complained about my dates being uncouth morons...”

“S'okay...” He muttered, resting his head on hers. “It didn't matter about me. Just so
long as you were happy... it killed me each time you weren't.”

Hermione looked up at him, *really* looked at him. “It's probably because they
weren't you, Harry. Be honest; how many blokes do you know who'd have been such a gentleman
last night?”

Harry just shrugged gently.

“All this time... you've been there, waiting for me. Such a fool...”

“Hey...” Harry whined softly.

“Not you. Me. *I* was a fool.” She said despondently. “Are you... still interested?”

“Nursing wood last night, remember?”

“Ah...” Hermione sat up, leaning back. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“No, nothing.”

She made a decision. “Would you go out on a date with me, Mr. Potter?” She winced slightly. “A
date where we both know it's a date, now that I've finally woken the hell up.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I really don't care. I just wanna spend time with you. No pressures, just Harry and
Hermione, on a date. How about a visit to Alton Towers, dinner then a movie?” She proposed.

Harry gave a weak smile. “Hermione, it's okay. You don't need to propose some kind of...
of pity date. I know you're not-”

“I don't do `pity dates', Harry.” She informed him, after clamping her hand over his
mouth. “I want to go on a date with my best friend. Yes or no, Harry.”

“Yesh.” He muttered into her hand, before licking her palm.

“Ack! Harry!”

**----- H N Y -----**

After struggling to escape from Harry's couch again, Hermione proposed that she head back to
her place, so she could shower and get some fresh clothes. Harry, ever the gentleman, offered to
apparate her there, just in case she splinched herself. Once they arrived, Harry immediately broke
away, heading into the kitchen to tackle the small mountain of washing up she had.

Even though her house was impeccably neat, the kitchen was always the sight of several cooking
disasters. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't cook, and the ugly burn marks dotting the
kitchen made that evident.

Smiling to herself, Hermione headed into the bedroom, quickly spotting the outfit she wanted to
wear. A long, hot shower restored almost all of her humanity to her, and a quick visit to the
bathroom, as well as an air-freshening charm, made her feel normal.

She dressed quickly, tossing a few items into her handbag, before pulling on a pair of boots,
and tugging her jeans into place. Suitably attired, she headed into the kitchen, only to see Harry
wiping the last piece of crockery, which he tucked neatly into the cupboard. He glanced up,
spotting her wearing a tight white blouse and a pair of skinny jeans, with a pair of low-heeled
boots. “Wow...”

“Thanks, Harry.” Hermione said softly, blushing slightly. “You ready to go?”

He neatly folded the tea-towel, placing it on the radiator before holding out his arm. She took
it, smiling at him as they disapparated away.

**----- H N Y -----**

The day was truly outstanding; she rode the scary rides with Harry, clinging onto him at all the
right moments (and several wrong ones, but neither of them was going to complain) before they
headed into London for dinner.

Harry's name was dropped several times as they entered The Ivy, one of London's foremost
restaurants. Harry watched, slightly entranced, as Hermione demolished a 32-oz steak, her body
screaming for sustenance after her unfortunate drug encounter the previous evening. As she
finished, she sighed happily.

“How...”

“`How' what, Harry?”

“How the hell did you eat that?”

She grinned at him. “Well, I cut it into bite-sized pieces, then I put them, one at a time, into
my mouth-”

“Smart-arse.”

“You love me really.”

“I really do.”

She blushed as she saw the sincerity in his eyes as he said that. Another happy sigh.
“Harry...”

“So, what movie do you want to see?” He asked, trying to make her feel more comfortable.

“I'm sure you'll think of something good.”

**----- H N Y -----**

He did. He took her to see Notting Hill, a complete chick-flick. Bless his heart, he tried to
get into it, but the lack of explosions and gunfire made it almost unwatchable to him. Hermione
felt herself snuggling closer and closer to him as the movie progressed, smiling when she felt his
arm go around her.

They left the cinema, holding hands, looking like any other young couple in love. They began
walking towards an empty alley, so they could disapparate back to her place. As they got there,
Hermione held up her hand. “Do you trust me?”

Harry nodded.

“Good.” She took his hands and apparated them away.

Harry blinked, only to realise they were back in his living room. “Hermione?”

She stared up at him, *hard*. “You know... I never kiss on the first date, Harry.”

“Okay...”

Slowly, she began to unbutton her blouse. “Then, I had a thought.”

“O-Oh?” Harry's eyes were slowly dropping to the newly-uncovered... *Sweet Merlin,
she's not wearing a bra!*

“In fact,” Hermione continued, not looking at all uncomfortable, “you could almost call it a
revelation.”

“Yes...”

The shirt was shucked, Hermione jabbing her hands on her hips. “This isn't a first date, is
it?”

Harry shook his head, entranced with the beautiful sight in front of him.

“We've been dating for years. I was just too stupid to realise.”

“You're not stu-”

She stalked forward, jamming her hand over his mouth. “Don't lick my palm.” She commanded,
before softening slightly. “I was stupid, Harry. What I was looking for... was right in front of
me. The perfect guy, right there. And I never noticed.” She pushed him back onto the couch,
watching him become boneless as she knelt before him. “Do you want me, Harry?”

“Yes...” He moaned softly, leaning forward to capture her lips in a kiss.

Hermione could feel Harry's hands tensing as she leaned up. “I won't break, Harry.
Please...” She sighed into his mouth as he began stroking his hands up and down her back tenderly.
While she was kissing him, her hands slowly moved forward, attacking the button on his jeans. He
leaned back slightly, staring into her eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, god, yes!” She moaned, quickly attacking his lips again. She tugged pathetically at his
jeans, only to squeak into his mouth as she finally got them down to his knees. She reached out
with a trembling hand, taking hold of the newly-arisen monument to masculinity.

She took a deep breath and leaned forward, taking as much into her mouth as she could. She could
hear and feel Harry moan, prompting her to look up with a naughty smirk. “Oh, Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy New Year.”

Harry looked down at a sight he'd been waiting years to see; Hermione Granger being naughty.
“You know... I think it will... be...” He trailed off as Hermione's head began to bob again,
robbing him of thought.

-->



2. Confrontations in the Common Room
------------------------------------



Harry, over the last several months, had been engaging in his favourite past-time: girl
watching. Oh, he wasn't perverted, staring at anything female with a pulse that happened to
amble by. No, it was all over one specific girl.

He'd taken to hiding in places where he'd be able to watch, and she wouldn't be able
to see him. He was aware that his behaviour bordered on `stalker', but for a chance to see her
smile, it was worth the label.

Harry wasn't dumb, like most people thought. In fact, his IQ was only 6 points below
Hermione's, the smartest witch of her generation. He'd been conditioned by the Dursleys
early in life to not show his true intelligence. If he out-scored `precious ickle Duddi-kins',
he'd get beaten, and thrown into his cupboard. So, he quickly learned to do the minimum
required to pass.

It was a habit he'd been trying to break, however. It was difficult, especially since the
Dursleys had beaten it into him for ten years.

It was her bloody fault. She was so eager to be the best, and it had rubbed off on him. He
wanted to be better. Not because it was expected of him by his teachers. Or his family. Or even his
friends. Because of her. She made him want to improve himself. She didn't expect it. It
wasn't a requirement of her friendship or company.

Damn her, anyway.

It all came to a head in the common room on Thursday night. Harry had been sitting, sneaking
glances in at her for a good hour while pretending to do his Charms homework. Of course, she was
happily reading her Arithmancy book. Something long and complicated was all Harry could
discern.

After a moment, she felt Harry's scrutiny, and looked up. “Everything all right, Harry?” She
asked softly.

Harry flushed, mumbled something vaguely coherent, and went back to his Charms work, managing to
write almost four complete words before he glanced back up. Hermione had gone back to her book, a
tiny smile making the edge of her lips curl up.

He felt an urge to tell her. Right then and there. “Hermione?” He whispered.

She looked up, her eyes bright and expressive. “Yes, Harry?” She whispered back huskily.

“I... I just wanted to ask you-”

“Harry!” A new voice screeched. A voice that Harry recognised instantly, and had started to hate
with a fiery passion.

“Bollocks.” He muttered, before looking up to see Ginny stalking towards him, blotchy anger on
his face. “Yes, Ginny?”

“What are you doing, Harry?” She demanded petulantly. “Sitting here with... Hermione.”

Harry looked at Hermione, his charms work, and then back at Ginny. “I think I'm sitting
here, with Hermione, trying to do my homework.” He gave her a curious look. “What does it look like
I'm doing?”

Ginny pouted in what she probably thought was a cute way. It made Harry's stomach lurch
painfully. “Why couldn't you sit with me to do your homework?”

“Why should I sit with you, Ginny?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Why shouldn't I
sit with Hermione?”

“I'm your girlfriend, Harry!” She snapped. “You should pay more attention to me than to
her!”

Harry groaned. Loudly. Repeatedly. *Not this again... for the love of* *Merlin's*
*hairy* *bollocks!* “Ginny, do you not remember me breaking up with you, just after
Professor Dumbledore's funeral? The part where I said I didn't want to be with you
anymore?”

She nodded, irritated at him.

“So, wouldn't that then preclude the possibility of you being my girlfriend?” Harry asked
rhetorically.

“You were just saying that, Harry.” Ginny said dismissively. “I know you weren't being
serious.”

Harry just stared at her. Judging by the delusional state of Ginny's mind, she probably
thought that he was admiring her classical beauty. The fact that she was short, had blotchy cheeks
and enough freckles to play `connect the dots' on her face alone dismissed her having classical
beauty.

“I mean, I know it was probably *outside influence* that made you break up with me, and you
didn't really mean it.” Ginny carried on.

“You mean my sanity?” Harry whispered to Hermione, who sniggered prettily into her hand.

“No, Ginny. It was not outside influence that made me break up with you. I just... didn't
want to date you anymore.”

Ginny stared at him for a moment, before her eyeballs swivelled to Hermione, where they
hardened. “It was all your bloody fault, you know!” She snapped. “You... bitch! You interfered with
my Harry!”

Hermione straightened, as her eyes narrowed to hardened chips.

*Oh, shit!* Harry's mind thought, as he subtly moved backwards, looking around for
somebody to use as a human shield. *A first year... not big enough. Where's Ron when you need
him**?*

“I didn't do anything, Ginny.” Hermione said, softly and slowly. “The only thing I've
ever said with regards to Harry's relationships is `Good Luck'. Nothing else.”

“Liar!” Ginny snapped. “You've always wanted him for yourself!”

Harry's gaze shot back to Hermione's face, which was starting to blush slightly. *Is
that true?* He thought. He asked her.

She looked at him, the blush erupting into full fury, as she shyly glanced at him and nodded
imperceptibly.

*Yes!* Harry's brain screamed at him. He grinned at her, nodding back slightly.

“I knew it!” Ginny bellowed. “You made him break up with me so you could have him yourself!”

Harry surged to his feet, glad to have something to fight for. “No.” He said softly. “I broke up
with you for two very simple reasons, Ginevra.”

Ginny cocked her head at him, her face still full of blotchy anger. “Is this about the sex?” She
asked sweetly, the voice incongruous with her rage.

“Partly.” Harry replied.

The rest of the Gryffindor students promptly abandoned what they were doing. Nothing attracted a
teenager's attention like sex and scandal.

Hermione's brow rose delicately. “Sex?” She asked softly.

Harry just nodded at her, before he turned to Ginny. “Would you like to tell them?” He asked,
his voice now icy cold. He didn't wait for her to answer. “No? How about I tell them, then?
Tell them how you tried so hard to get me to fuck you, and how I refused every time. Or, how about
the time when you woke me up, trying to give me a hand-job? How about the time when you petrified
me, stripped me, and levitated me to a bed?” His voice had been getting louder through the
diatribe.

Ginny's face paled slightly, but she still steamed ahead. “It's not my fault you
can't get it up.” She muttered.

“How about, Ginny,” Harry said sweetly, “I didn't want to have sex with you? Did that
thought ever cross your mind?”

Dean spoke up. “Why wouldn't you want to have sex with her, Harry?”

Harry just smiled at him. “Because, Dean, I don't want to go where every man's gone
before.” He turned back to Ginny. “See, I've heard all about you, Ginny. How you've shagged
your way through a good number of the male students here at Hogwarts.”

Ginny's fury came back with a vengeance. “That was for you!” She snapped. “I needed to know
how to do it properly for you! I love you!”

Harry just sniggered, closely followed by Hermione.

“Yes... you love me so much; you decided to force-feed me Amortentia. Not just feed it to me,
but actually give me a potentially fatal overdose.” Harry let the bombshell drop for a moment.
“Now, I don't love you, Ginny. I don't particularly like you. I'm grateful you came to
the Department of Mysteries with me, but that's it.”

“You kissed me!” Ginny snapped.

Hermione looked at Harry. “How much Amortentia?” She asked.

“About a pint.” Harry replied, not taking his gaze from Ginny.

“A pint!” Hermione shrieked. She spun to face Ginny. “You fuckwit!”

*Never thought I'd hear* those *words come from Hermione Granger, prefect
extraordinaire, Head Girl, and general lover of the rules.*

“The maximum safe dose is only fifty millilitres! Giving someone ten times that could have...
*should* have killed him!” Hermione shouted back. “It's unethical... It's bloody
illegal! How could you?”

“He loves me.” Ginny said petulantly. “I know he does.”

“No, I don't!” Harry snapped, having had enough of the delusional fool. “Didn't you take
it as a hint that I didn't want you when I refused to stay at the Burrow during the summer?
When I avoided you like the plague? Didn't that give you the slightest clue?”

“It's just *her*!” Ginny snapped, pointing at Hermione. “She's always been in my
way! You don't want her, Harry! She's like your sister!”

Harry just smiled at Hermione. “Then bring on the incest, Ginny, `cause the things I've been
fantasising about with Hermione are most definitely wrong for a brother to think about his
sister.”

Hermione's head shot round to look at him, gob-smacked. “Really?” She mouthed.

Ginny just sneered. “Good luck with the `Boy-Who-Can't-Get-It-Up'.”

Harry pulled on Hermione's hand, pulling her to her feet, before moving to stand directly
behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, leaving his hands in plain view on her stomach. He
whispered in her ear.

Hermione's reactions were plain to everybody watching. First, her cheeks increased the
blush. Her breathing became shallower, and her eyes fluttered closed. A moment later, she moaned
softly, before it changed to a high-pitched squeak.

Harry pulled his head back slightly, so she could turn her head to look at him.

“Harry Potter! Is that your hand?” She demanded.

Harry just lifted his hands from her stomach to in front of her face. “No...” He breathed.

She grabbed his hand and started to pull him towards the stairs. Harry looked over his shoulder.
“If you'll excuse us, ladies and gentlemen, I'm just gonna go and show Hermione this nifty
little trick Parselmouths can do.”

-->



3. Open Wide the Gates of Time - Harry
--------------------------------------



**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

**Author's Note:** This one-shot was inspired by AndrewsQuill's story “From the
Ashes”, a Harry/Susan Bones fic (by the look of it) where Hermione dies after the battle in the
DoM. I've nicked the basic concept, `cause it's one I've never thought of, tweaked it,
and this is it. If you haven't read AndrewsQuill's stories, go and read them now,
especially “Dark Lord Rising”. It's an absolutely cracking story.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

“*Silencio!*” cried Hermione and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to
mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out. He was thrust aside by his fellow Death
Eater.

“*Petrificus Totalus!*” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms
and legs snapped together and he fell forwards, face down on to the rug at Harry's feet, stiff
as a board and unable to move.

“Well done, Ha-”

But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand;
a streak of what looked like purple flame passed right across Hermione's chest. She gave a tiny
“Oh!” as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless.

“*Hermione!*” Harry roared, forgetting everything that was happening around him as he saw
her fall. He quickly bolted forward, near-throwing himself to his knees as he looked down at the
wet mess that used to be smooth flesh.

He reached out with a shaking hand to her throat, feeling for her carotid artery. For a moment
that lasted an eternity, he couldn't feel anything. He didn't notice Neville kneeling next
to him, reach for the other pulse on Hermione's neck.

“Dat's a pulse, Harry...” Neville said after a moment. “I'b sure of it.”

Harry didn't feel relief, as he expected he would. All he could feel was a mind-numbing,
spirit-crushing despair at seeing Hermione casually dropped during the battle. He turned his head
slightly, staring at the Death Eater with pure malice.

The Death Eater reached up and tore off his mask, revealing the long, pale, twisted face of
Antonin Dolohov. He gestured at Hermione, then at Harry, then at Harry again. Even though he was
still silenced, his meaning was clear.

Harry stood, his free hand clenching spasmodically as he stalked forward, intent on ending the
scum-sucking dickhead. He was robbed of the chance as Neville managed his first non-verbal spell,
sending a weak-but-adequate stunner spell at Dolohov's maniacally grinning face. He slumped
backwards, out of the fight... for now.

Together, Harry and Neville picked up Hermione, having no time to be gentle, as they left the
office, meeting up with Ron, Ginny and Luna. Thanks to the actions of the Death Eaters, they ended
up in the Veil Chamber, and Harry's already grief-stricken heart took another blow as Sirius
was blasted back through the Veil.

He didn't really pay much attention after that, chasing after Bellatrix and attempting his
first unforgiveable curse. He didn't really care that he was possessed by Voldemort. What he
*did* care about was that Hermione was still there, lying on the floor of the Death Room,
slowly bleeding out.

As soon as Dumbledore arrived, banishing Voldemort and fighting off Fudge's smarming
attempts to quickly turn the story to his favour, Harry headed over to Hermione, only to be stopped
by Dumbledore stepping in front of him, pressing something into his hands.

He felt a gut punch as the Portkey activated, whisking him away from the Department of Mysteries
and back to the only place he'd ever called home.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

He landed on the floor in Dumbledore's office, winding himself as he smacked onto the stone.
He ignored the pain, lungs straining like bellows as he pushed himself up, heading straight for the
door. Only one thing mattered to him now; Hermione. He *had* to get to the Hospital Wing and
see her. Do whatever he could to ease her pain and help her get better.

The door was locked. Not just locked, but *locked*. Sealed with spells that were far
stronger than he knew how to break. Deciding on a quicker course of action, he threw a
*Reducto* hex at the door, ducking when the curse simply dissipated against the ancient wood.
After a moment, a *Bombarda*, a *Diffindo* and even an *Evanesco* failed to
open/remove the door.

Screaming with rage and frustration, he glanced about the office, looking for something he could
use to physically break the door down and get to her. He didn't spot anything before the Floo
activated, Dumbledore stepping through casually.

“Ah, Harry...” Dumbledore said amiably, heading over to Fawkes' perch and reaching into his
pocket, pulling out the newly-regenerated phoenix and placing him on the shelf. Ignoring
Harry's intense glares, he headed behind his desk, sitting down and steepling his fingers
together. “Would you take a seat, my boy?”

“I want to check on Hermione.” Harry said brusquely, not stepping away from the door.

“There's plenty of time for that later, my boy.” Dumbledore said, gesturing politely at the
chair in front of his desk. “For now, however, there are things we simply must discuss. Things I
should have told you several years ago.”

“I want to check on Hermione.” Harry said again, his voice dropping to the `shit, it's
bloody freezing!' temperature range.

“In good time, Harry.” Dumbledore said, a little more firmly this time. “Please, Harry, sit
down. I have things that I simply must discuss with you, before we allow anything to get in the
way.”

Harry stared at the chair, then back at Dumbledore.

“If you prefer to stand, Harry, that is, of course, your choice.” Dumbledore said, shrugging
slightly and pulling a lemon drop from the bowl on his desk. “It's time I tell you
everything... things I *should* have told you five years ago.”

“You mean when I *actually* asked you at the end of first year?” Harry asked pointedly.

Dumbledore, naturally, didn't acknowledge this statement. “I must say, I know how you feel,
Harry.”

“I really doubt that.” Harry said flatly, not removing himself from the doorway.

“You see, Dumbledore?” The portrait of Phineas Nigellus snarked loudly. “Children today think
that they-”

He was cut off, not by Dumbledore saying anything, but the simple fact that his portrait burst
into flame, quickly consuming the ancient canvas.

“What the-”

“Now that we've had this fascinating discussion,” Harry said, not looking at all perturbed
he'd just set fire to a rather irreplaceable painting, “I'd like to go and see Hermione.
*Sir.*”

“There's no shame in what you're feeling, Harry.” Dumbledore said, trying to project as
much feeling as he could.

“What I'm feeling, old man, is a rather heavy dose of anger towards you, not to mention an
overwhelming concern for Hermione.” Harry's glare was every bit as intimidating as Snape's,
not to mention a lot more intense.

“I understand that, Harry.” Dumbledore said heavily. “I'd like to explain, if you'll let
me.”

“And I'd like to see Hermione.” Harry said, reaching out and trying the door again. “Let me
out.”

“No.”

“Let. Me. Out.”

“I have yet to explain, Harry.” Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. “I will not allow
you to leave until I have explained my actions and you have accepted those reasons.”

Harry glared for a moment. “Fine. Talk. Fast.”

“It all begins-”

“I said `fast', old man. This isn't it.” Harry interrupted.

Dumbledore continued, ignoring Harry's interruption. “It is my fault that Sirius is
dead.”

“Yes, it is.”

The old man winced slightly at the condemnation in Harry's words. “Would you care to tell me
how you came to that conclusion?”

“Will you let me out to see Hermione if I do?”

“When we have finished our conversation.” Dumbledore replied.

Harry's eyes narrowed. “It was *you* who didn't tell me that Voldemort could send
me visions. It was *you* who kept Sirius locked up in that shit-hole hovel. It was *you*
who assigned Snape to teach me Occlumency, even though you know he and I *hate* each other
with a fiery passion. It was *you* who ignored me all year. I hold you at least as much to
blame as I do Bellatrix.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Yes... I do hold some small responsibility towards the actions of
this evening. Not as much as you appear to have laid against me, Harry, but I would like to
explain.”

“Are you *ever* going to get to a point?” Harry asked, exasperated.

“Everything revolves around your scar. I suspected, fifteen years ago, that your scar
represented a link between you and Voldemort.”

“It does.” Harry pointed out. “And don't you think this would have been information that
*I* needed?”

“More and more recently, I have noticed that you have begun to become... influenced, by
Tom's moods. The terrible anger you've been feeling ever since last summer is not your own.
At least, not entirely. The connection became far stronger when Voldemort used your blood in his
resurrection ceremony. You began to slip into his mind, as he did to you earlier tonight.”

“Bored now.” Harry said, tugging discretely at the door.

“When you saw the attack on Arthur Weasley just before Christmas, I saw the true danger of the
link between you and Voldemort... and this is the reason that I haven't spoken to you since
last summer.”

“Possession.” Harry said after a moment. “And Legilimency. You were worried that he'd use me
to get to you.”

“In a word; yes.” Dumbledore said.

“Well, that's great. Now, let me go and see Hermione.”

“We haven't finished.” The old man said sharply, feeling irritation begin to creep into his
mind. “When we have finished, Harry, I will dismiss you.”

“Then speak quickly.”

“When you alerted Professor Snape about your vision, he immediately checked in at Grimmauld
Place with Sirius, and found him to be hale and hearty.”

“Did he.” Harry said, then his eyes narrowed. “Kreacher... it was that little cum-stain who told
me that Sirius had gone. He lied to me.”

“He did.” Dumbledore confirmed heavily. “As you are not Kreacher's master, he is able to lie
to you.”

“And I bet the little turd was laughing fit to fucking burst when he realised he'd sent
Sirius to his death.”

“Indeed.”

“I'll kill him.”

“I can't allow that, Harry.” Dumbledore said. “Forgiveness for one's sins, even when
they cost so much, is always to be strived for.”

“So, *you* forgive him. *I*, however, will wring his scrawny little neck next time I
see him.”

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. “That is something we will be able to discuss later. Moving on,
as soon as we realised that you had gone to the Ministry, members of the Order made their way
there, in hopes of protecting and extracting you from the danger.”

“And they failed.”

“They did not. They saved you from committing terrible crimes, Harry. There is a reason
unforgiveable curses are so named.”

“Get to the point, Dumbledore, or I'm going to become... annoyed.”

“Because of the way that Sirius treated Kreacher-”

“Enough.” Harry said, in a whisper that was louder in the office than any shout could be. “Do
not talk about Sirius. You didn't know... you *couldn't* know. He was a prisoner in
that house. On *your* orders. Just like I was, last summer. You have a *lot* to answer
for.”

“I know that.” Dumbledore said simply. “I hold no foolish disbeliefs about the consequences of
my actions, Harry.”

“Good.”

“However, it's time I told you *everything*.” Dumbledore sighed for a moment. “I was
there, when you were left on the doorstep of the Dursley residence. Indeed, it was I who arranged
that placement. I knew that I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years. I hated that it
had to be so, but there wasn't any other choice.”

“It wasn't your decision to make.”

“Your aunt, in accepting you into her home, sealed a set of very powerful protective wards that
Voldemort could not breach. It was all based on your mother's love, a very powerful emotion.
With that love, in combination with a set of blood-based wards, you are kept safe.”

“They're shite.” Harry said. “Petunia hates me. Always has. I hate her.”

“But by accepting you into her home, the wards *were* sealed.”

“Whatever.”

“Five years ago, you arrived here at the school. I could see that you'd suffered during your
time away, but you were still hale and hearty. You weren't some arrogant, strutting peacock,
but as normal a boy as I could hope for.”

“Starved and beaten isn't `normal', old man.”

“At the end of that year, when you asked me about why Voldemort was coming for you, I declined
to tell you. At that point, I cared for you too much. I saw you as a surrogate grandchild. How
could I put the weight of the world on your shoulders at such a tender age?

“No, instead, I told myself that I would wait until you were older, stronger... more ready to
accept the burden. So, your second year, your third year and your fourth year passed. The dangers
you faced certainly made you stronger, more prepared for the war that was coming. And through all
this time, I felt my love and affection for you growing. More and more, I didn't want to be the
one to end your childhood.”

“You did that by leaving me with the Dursleys.”

Again, Dumbledore ignored the inconvenient truths he didn't want to hear. “The whole reason
for this was a simple thing; a prophecy, given by Professor Trelawney shortly before you were
born.” The old man raised his wand, summoning his Pensieve from the small cupboard it resided in.
His wand was pressed against his temple, pulling out a single, silver strand.

Once dropped into the Pensieve, a single, willowy figure rose up. “`The one with the power to
vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh
month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord
knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other
survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month
dies...'”

Harry nodded. “This is it... this is why Voldemort came after me... and why you left me with the
Dursleys...”

“Yes. This single prophecy announces the one person in the world who can defeat Lord
Voldemort... you, Harry.”

As Harry looked at the old man, noticing the tears slowly trickling down that ancient face, he
felt nothing but contempt.

“I feel I have to give you another explanation, Harry, about the prefect position... I simply
thought you had enough to be dealing with.”

“Well... that makes me feel so much better.”

Dumbledore reached up with a conjured hanky, wiping his eyes. “There's one other thing we
need to discuss this evening.”

“Fast, Dumbledore.”

“Your summer arrangements, Harry. With your victory in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort
will be gunning even more strongly for you. That means that you'll need to stay at the Dursleys
for at least half of the summer holidays. Again, it will be necessary to restrict owl post while
you're there. After that, you'll be able to go to the Burrow.”

Harry shook his head. “Fine... now, let me out. I want to see Hermione.”

Dumbledore raised his wand at the door, flicking slightly. Harry could hear the locks opening.
He opened the door, intent on heading to see his best friend.

“Harry?”

Stiffening slightly, he turned to see Dumbledore looking pleadingly at him.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

Harry's response was immediate, heart-felt and entirely accurate. “I hope I live just long
enough to piss on your grave, old man.” And with that, he was gone.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

Harry raced through the corridors as though the hounds of hell were pursuing him. None of it
mattered; he had to get Hermione.

He burst through the doors to the hospital wing, nearly tearing the ancient wood from its
hinges.

“What the devil-” Pomfrey spluttered as she erupted from her office.

“Hermione...” Harry muttered, seeing her lying on his normal bed. She looked, for lack of a
better word, dreadful. She was far too pale, the front of her medical gown shining in the low light
with leaked blood.

“H-Harry...” Hermione moaned, trying to smile when she saw him coming in, but dissolving into a
pained grimace.

Harry moved closer, taking her hand as he sat tentatively on the side of the bed.
“Hermione...”

“Are you okay?” She asked, looking him up and down.

“Me? I'm... never mind me, Hermione. How're you?”

“It hurts, Harry.” Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. “I... I'm sorry,
Harry.”

“Why?” Harry noticed his vision growing misty. Confused, he reached up to find his eyes leaking.
He was *crying*? He hadn't cried since he was four years old...

“I... I should have done b-better.” Hermione whispered plaintively. “I...”

Harry pressed his finger against Hermione's lips. “Shh... you did very well, Hermione.
I'd be dead if it wasn't for you.” He let his hand slip down slightly, cupping her cheek
softly.

Hermione moaned, arching her back slightly as another wave of debilitating pain washed over her.
“I... I don't have long...” She gasped.

“N-No...” Harry said, panic filling his voice. “You can't l-leave me, Hermione... You
can't...”

“I don't think I have a choice, Harry.” She whispered back. “I'm dying... I know
it...”

“You can't...” Harry sobbed. “P-Please, Hermione, don't... don't leave me... I
can't live without you...”

“You have no choice, Harry...” Hermione said, squeezing his hand tightly. “I-I have to tell
you...” She coughed, blood coming from her mouth.

Harry reached up and calmly wiped the blood away. “Hermione, before you do... let me...”

“I k-know, Harry.” She said, staring at his eyes. “You love me.”

“I... do...”

“And I you, my love.” She whispered. “For so long... you must go on, Harry... don't mourn
me...”

“No...” Harry moaned. “Please, H-Hermione... everyone I love leaves me... don't leave me,
please...”

She flailed her free hand for a moment, trying to take a hold of him. “L-last request...”

Harry took her flailing hand, kissing her knuckles tenderly. “Anything, my love.”

“Kiss me, Harry... please... just once... let me feel your lips-” She was cut off as Harry
leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers chastely. She moaned slightly, pressing forward before
leaning back, opening her eyes slowly. “As good as I thought...”

Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her generation, died with a small smile on her face and
the hand of the man she loved beyond reason held in her own.

Again, the tears prickled up in Harry's eyes, one slowly making it's way down his cheek.
He felt... a cold, *aching* numbness in his chest.

*Nothing...* A thought formed and died in his mind. *There's nothing left... it's
all gone... all of it...* He could feel his magic roaring throughout his body, but he didn't
care what it was doing. The hole of Hermione's death was deep and sharp, making him feel...
*empty*.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

From her vantage point, Poppy Pomfrey brushed away a tear, feeling a great sadness come over
her. Like most of the teachers at Hogwarts, she'd never married or had children, but she felt
that each of the children that passed through the doors and into her care were at least a little
her own. Not of her body, but of her care and attention. One of the reasons she was so angry at
poor Harry was the fact he was injured so often.

She looked up sharply when she felt an increase in the ambient magic. Her wand was in hand
before she realised what was happening. Harry's clothing, his t-shirt, jeans and trainers were
slowly turning black. It took her a moment to remember that was a Muggle custom; when in mourning,
Muggles wear black. It wasn't really used as a Wizarding custom, but then, Harry *was*
Muggle-raised.

She glanced up when she saw the door to the hospital wing open. *Oh, shite...* she thought,
as she saw who entered.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

“Harry?” Dumbledore strode forward, frowning at Harry's current choice of attire. “How is
Miss Granger?”

Harry didn't look up. Didn't make any indication that he'd heard Dumbledore's
inane question.

“Harry?”

“Headmaster, this way, please.” Poppy said, calling the old man over to her. With a final glance
at Harry, he ambled over.

“Yes, Poppy?”

“I'm afraid... I'm afraid Miss Granger passed away, Headmaster. The curse damage was
simply to severe to deal with.”

“Oh...” Dumbledore frowned. “This will cause complications...”

“`Complications', sir?” Poppy asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Hmm?” Dumbledore looked up. “Nothing, Poppy.” *Yes... explaining to the Board of Governors as
to how a student died, even though she's just a Muggleborn. This could have one of two effects;
either driving Mr. Potter further away, or back to my side...*

As he looked up, he saw Harry neatly tucking the covers over Hermione, making sure that she was
shielded from the cold. *I'd best let Harry know what needs to happen next.*

“Harry?” Dumbledore called out as he approached, waiting for the young man to look up at him.
Once he had Harry's attention, although he could certainly tell that it was not entirely there,
he spoke softly. “I'm sorry to hear about Miss Granger, Harry. It's always a dreadful loss
when one of our own is taken from us.”

Harry blinked slowly, not registering what Dumbledore was saying.

“Yes... and this, coupled with Sirius' untimely demise. I'm truly sorry.”

Slowly, Harry began to regain his senses. The empty feeling was still there, but more thoughts
were being added all the time. *He... had he told me everything, we wouldn't have gone to the
Ministry... Hermione would still be alive...* Deep inside his body, on a level beyond human
comprehension, new linkages formed, channelling more and more power through his body. It was
subtle... at first.

“I will notify Miss Granger's parents immediately, so that arrangements may be made for her
funeral.”

Harry still didn't look up. *He kept me from coming here for almost half an hour... I
could have had more time to say goodbye to her...* The linkages increased, channelling enough
magic every second to power every car in London for three years.

“Unfortunately, it will not be possible for you to attend, Harry. Your safety is far too
important to squander on such an insignificant thing as a funeral.”

The linkages began to shift, contort, change. More and more energy was thrumming through
Harry's body. It changed, becoming more and more obvious to those around him.

“I will advise this, Harry; keep hold of those memories, and allow yourself to grieve. Your
seclusion this summer will be an excellent time to mourn, coming back stronger for it.”

Harry looked up, his eyes glowing green while he was surrounded by a thick aura. “Stop.” He
commanded sharply, cutting Dumbledore off instantly.

“Harry, my boy-”

“I said `stop'.” Harry intoned, his voice beginning to gain an echo in the large hospital
wing. “*You* did this.”

“My dear boy, nothing could be further from the-”

“I said `stop'.” Harry repeated, making the slightest gesture at Dumbledore. His magic
silenced Dumbledore instantly. “This is your fault, old man.” His voice seemed stronger and more
self-assured than anything Dumbledore had ever heard. “Had you done the right thing, and told me
the things you *should have told me*, Hermione would still be alive.”

“Harry, I have apologised for the things I kept from you, for your own good. You didn't need
to be burdened with that kind of knowledge. I understand that this is your pain and grief talking,
as it did back in my office earlier tonight, but you must allow yourself to mourn, and not burn
bridges that cannot be rebuilt.” Dumbledore tried a new angle. “I realise that you feel pain, and
anger, but you must release those emotions for the Greater Good of the Wizarding world. You are
needed.”

“Yes, I am...” Harry said, standing up and releasing a wave of raw power. “And I will go where I
am needed... but you will no longer pull my puppet strings, old man...”

Dumbledore straightened, the very model of an offended man. “Harry, I have never `pulled on your
puppet strings', and frankly, I am insulted at your statement.”

“I no longer care.”

“You do, Harry. You would not be in this great pain if you did not care.”

“No.” Harry said, extending his hand. His wand flew into it from his back pocket, waiting to be
called into battle. “I would not be in this great pain if it wasn't for *you*.” Instead of
Harry pointing his wand at Dumbledore, it simply burst into flame, consuming itself in the fires of
eternity. Instead, Harry just pointed, blasting Dumbledore back into the wall with a great wave of
raw power.

“Mr... Potter...” Dumbledore moaned, trying to marshal his considerable resources and fight
back. “You... must... stop this...”

“Oh, I intend to.” Harry said, extending his other hand.

From another part of the castle, Dumbledore could heard the sound of the ancient stone walls
being battered by something.

“*Enough!*” He roared, trying with all his might to break the power that Harry was holding
him with. “*Stop this now!*”

“Oh, I will...” Harry promised evilly. “I just need to *finish* the job...”

The wall next to Dumbledore's head exploded into dust as *something* flew through the
wall, landing neatly in Harry's outstretched hand.

“Now...” Harry ended the onslaught against Dumbledore, letting the old man slump to the ground,
near-dead. “Let's see...” *Hermione was my everything... even though I never proposed, she
was my wife in my heart... give me this one...*

“*Open wide the gates of time, destroy the power of darkness**'* *grime, Future,
past and present collide, take me back to Hermione's side!*”

Dumbledore looked up in horror as he sensed the pure energies surrounding Harry, and his
request. He tried to raise his wand, intent on ending this... spell? Ritual? It didn't matter.
It had to be stopped.

Several forces competed at once; the will of fate, knowing that her chosen was asking to break
the first law of time in order to carry out a prophecy she, herself, had made. Hogwarts, feeling
her champion struggling against injustice, added her considerable power, shutting down the castle
itself as every erg of the incredible power was rerouted to the hospital wing.

And Albus Dumbledore, a man who was convinced that he alone knew what had to be done. Fate,
Hogwarts and Harry had no intention of letting the old man win *this* pissing contest. Fate
asked, and Hogwarts agreed. A magical self-destruction was triggered, Hogwarts allowing herself to
die so that the world could continue.

Dumbledore glanced up as Harry vanished with a `rip'. He heard the wall begin to crumble
around him, feeling the ancient wards fall and the castle start to implode. Then he died. Then they
all died.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

Harry blinked as he found himself stood, once again, in the Department of Mysteries. Instantly,
he willed himself to disappear from view, such concepts as spells being foreign to him now.
Formalised spells were meaningless. He was vengeance, and pain, and love and power. There was
nothing he couldn't do. He was truly an Angel of Death, content to visit his `tender
mercies' on those who would bring harm... to her.

In his hand, the Sword of Gryffindor sang to him, feeling another opportunity to end injustice.
He knew how to wield the ancient blade, feeling power in everything he did. He stalked forward,
spotting the past Harry and Hermione fighting against Antonin Dolohov and that nameless, faceless
Death Eater.

Dolohov raised his wand.

“*Silencio!*” cried Hermione and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to
mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out. He was thrust aside by his fellow Death
Eater.

“*Petrificus Totalus!*” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms
and legs snapped together and he fell forwards, face down on to the rug at Harry's feet, stiff
as a board and unable to move.

“Well done, Ha-”

But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand;
a streak of what looked like purple flame tore through the air... only to be casually deflected by
something in between them, ricocheting into the air, where it sizzled impotently on the
ceiling.

Harry stared, quickly taking Hermione's hand as he looked her up and down, making sure she
was okay. Hermione, instinctively, knew what he was doing. “I'm fine, Harry...” She whispered,
before turning her attention back to Dolohov.

Said minion was looking confused, wondering just what the hell was going on. That expression,
one of scared confusion, was permanently etched onto his face as an invisible blade neatly bisected
his neck, causing his head to topple forward while his body slumped backwards.

Harry fought an urge to retch as the newly decapitated corpse still squirted blood for a few
moments.

“I... I think we should get the hell out of here...” He said to Hermione, who, as usual, was in
complete agreement.

Together, the two left, not looking back at the Death Eater was who was still petrified on the
floor.

“You know, Jugson...” A gravelly voice said emotionlessly from right next to his ear.
“You're having a very bad day. If Dumbledore were here, he'd be trying to bring you back to
the light... but me? I'm going to eviscerate you, and let you die in a puddle of your own body
parts.”

Jugson looked down as he felt a burning pain in his stomach. He couldn't see the weapon that
was wielded, but he could see the results as his clothing and flesh was neatly carved away.

“W-Why...” He managed to gasp.

“Because you tried to hurt *her*.” The voice whispered. “And for even *thinking* of
it, you must die.”

Jugson couldn't get enough breath to scream as his intestines flopped out of his body onto
the floor, leaving him to slowly die.

The Angel of Death grabbed the fallen wand, stood up, absently wiping the grisly sword on
Jugson's trouser leg. “Work, work, work...” He chuckled softly, and began to look for his next
victim.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

Harry and Hermione met up with Neville, who was still sporting a splattered nose, but otherwise
still able to fight.

“Neville, let me look at your nose.” Hermione said, pointing her wand. “*Episky!*”

Neville's eyes began watering as his nose was forced back into shape and healed.
“T-Thanks...” He gasped.

“Anyone seen the others?” Harry asked.

“Harry!” Ginny called out, leaning heavily on Luna. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...”

“I... I thought I heard something.” Ginny said, wincing as her broken ankle twinged angrily.

“I think there's something else here.” Harry said, glancing round. “Something...
dangerous.”

“To us?” Neville asked, wiping blood away from his mouth.

“No...” Harry's eyes narrowed as he stared at a particular patch of wall. “Not to us...”

“Correct.” The wall said. “Now, come with me. There's more work to be done here tonight.” A
wand appeared, floating over to Neville. “Take it, and let's go.”

“Er... the wall's speaking.” Ginny said.

“No... I think there's someone disillusioned there.” Hermione said, squinting in the
darkness, looking for the characteristic shimmer that disillusionment produced.

“Head to your right.” The voice called again. “Ron's in the brain room. Do us all a favour
and stop him playing with them, will you?”

The group of five, plus one hidden, made their way along the corridor, finding Ron sitting
behind a shelf full of brains. “Hey, Harry!” Ron announced loudly.

A bolt of bright purple erupted from the shadows, making Ron cough, roll over and begin
vomiting.

“Ew...” Ginny groused.

“He'll feel better in a moment.” The voice called out. “Get up him, clean him up and get him
moving.”

Ron was onto dry heaving by now, coughing weakly. Hermione conjured him a glass of water, which
he accepted with a grateful nod. After he gargled and spat a few times, he drained the glass,
dropping it to the floor as he pulled himself up. A breath-freshening charm and a *Scourgify*
later, he felt much better.

“What the hell's going on?” He asked, pulling his wand from his robes and looking round.
“The last thing I remember, I blew up Pluto...”

“Head out.” The voice called from near the doorway. “Bellatrix Lestrange is coming... and
she's mine.”

“Whoa... who's that?” Ron asked.

“You don't want to know.” The voice called, opening one of the doors with an invisible
gesture. “Head this way.”

The six, with their invisible Angel, made their way through the Department of Mysteries, heading
for, hopefully, the exit.

“There!” A voice cried, as three sets of footfalls sounded in the corridor. “Potter's there!
Get him!”

Just in front of the group, another door opened. “In here!” The voice commanded. “Quickly! Seal
the door behind you and keep heading along that corridor!”

Seeing no reason to discount the voice, Harry led his friends into the next corridor, closing
the door and sealing it with a *Colloportus*. They quickly made their way up the passage,
opening the next door and bustling through, again sealing it behind them.

Luna looked up and gasped; they were in the Veil Room. “Harry...”

“We have to get out of here!” Neville, Ron and Ginny said in unison.

A faint `pop' alerted them to the arrival of someone by apparition. “Go over to the right,
get down. The Death Eaters will be coming in the door to our left in just under thirty seconds.
Prepare for a fight.”

Again, there was no reason to distrust the voice. The `Ministry Six' headed behind one of
the raised plinths, aiming their wands at the door that the voice had pointed out to them.

Almost as if on-cue, the door burst open, Death Eaters quickly making their way into the room,
wands raised, looking for the students. “Where are they?” Bellatrix said with a definite pout.

“They're safe.” The voice said, slowly moving towards them. “You, on the other hand, are
going to die.” It was chilling how emotionlessly that voice spoke.

“Who's there?” Bellatrix demanded.

“It doesn't matter.” The voice replied. “If it helps, think of me as... the sound of
inevitability. Think of me as the sound of your death.”

Bellatrix turned to her men. “Find the students. Find Potter. Get the prophecy.”

Rodolphus and Rastaban Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband and brother-in-law, quickly moved
forward, intent on finding the students. Bellatrix stood by the door, waiting to see what'd
happen.

Rodolphus glanced up, seeing nothing in front of him. With a gasp, he glanced down to see the
faint shimmer of disillusionment... as something was sticking out of his chest. He gasped, feeling
some kind of fluid enter his lungs.

“Tell me, Rudy,” The voice whispered soothingly in his ear, “what it feels like to know that
you're a dead man walking?”

“B-Bella...” Rodolphus gasped, gaining the attention of his wife.

“No!” Bellatrix scream as she saw the blood trickling from his chest. She could see that
whatever had stabbed him was still inside. It was pulled back, dropping her husband to the floor
with a wet crack. She quickly made her way over, intent on seeing how she could help. True, she was
a despotic monster who was truly incapable of love or pity, but Rodolphus was one of the Dark
Lord's inner circle.

She saw a flash of light as several people apparated into the Death Room. More Death Eaters were
entering the chamber, along with more members of the Order. The fight was just beginning...

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

Sirius entered the battle with a healthy blood lust pounding through his veins. His godson was
here, and he needed help. He quickly spotted Bellatrix kneeling next to her bastard of a
husband.

“Lestrange!” Sirius called out, raising his wand. “We have a Black family matter to deal
with!”

Bellatrix grabbed her wand and began to fight, sending a series of medium-power hexes at her
cousin.

Sirius dodged, ducked and weaved, clearly enjoying himself in the duel. A streak of red light
passed by his head, making his dodge to the left. “Come on!” He goaded. “You can do better than
that!”

Another red beam erupted from her wand, impacting heavily on Sirius' chest, making him
stagger backwards... towards the veil... until something bodily impacted him, sending him tumbling
of the dais and collapse to the ground. A moment later, he was surrounded by active magic as
something levitated him towards a plinth. He was still a little woozy... until he saw Harry,
reaching out to help pull him in.

“Are... are you okay?” Harry asked, looking his godfather up and down.

“Yeah...” Sirius groaned, feeling a stiffness in his chest. “She just tried to stun me.”

Harry hugged Sirius as tightly as he could with one arm, while the other attempted to crush
Hermione's hand. “You... you almost left me tonight... both of you...”

Sirius, although widely thought of as an immature prankster, wasn't nearly as dumb as he
portrayed. “We're not going anywhere, pup.” He said, hugging Harry with one arm and pulling
Hermione into a three-way hug with the other. “We'll stand with you...”

Ginny prodded Ron with her elbow, pointing him towards the hug. “Finally!” He whispered. “I
thought those two would *never* figure it out.”

“You know, teaspoon boy, you're getting better.” Ginny whispered back. “All we need know is
a girlfriend for you, and you might just progress up to a tea cup.”

“Thanks.” Ron whispered back.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

“Lestrange!” A voice bellowed from the plinth.

Bellatrix stopped chasing Tonks around and looked up. Her mouth dropped open as she saw the
ripple of something becoming visible... It was *who* she saw. “N-No...”

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

Hermione squeaked as she saw a second Harry stood in front of the Veil. “Harry!” She hissed
urgently.

Harry and Sirius turned, paling as they saw a second `Boy-Who-Lived' before them.
“That's different...” They whispered together.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

The Angel of Death was pissed. “You tried to kill my family, Lestrange. You tried to break me.
You must be punished.”

“Oh... is wittle Potty gonna twy and hurt me?” Bellatrix taunted.

“No. Not `twy'.” A beam of sickly yellow light erupted from the palm of his hand, streaking
across the Death Room to impact Bellatrix heavily. Her scream spoke of a pain so great, of a
*terror* so great it was enough to shock the other Death Eaters. Most of them stopped
fighting, allowing the Order personnel to subdue them quickly.

After a moment, the beam was broken. “Run, Bella.” The Angel commanded softly.

The mad woman's tattered synapses started firing randomly, wanting to complete her mission,
wanting to please her lord, wanting to avoid the pain.

The Angel spoke with a loud voice, utterly emotionless, sounding all the more damning for it.
“Run for your *life!*”

Bellatrix ran.

In the meantime, the Angel of Death stepped off the plinth, moving over to the bound form of
Lucius Malfoy. “So, Malfoy... you led this mission.” He sounded almost like he was enjoying a
polite conversation.

Even though he was trussed up like a chicken, the Malfoy patriarch was as imperious as ever.
“The Dark Lord will kill you for your transgressions, boy.”

The Angel of Death cocked his head slightly. “It's certainly a possibility.” He allowed.
“`Tis only a shame you won't be alive to see it.”

“You think the incompetent Aurors will harm me?” Malfoy laughed evilly. “No... one payment to
the Minister, and I'll be released, proven to have been here under the Imperius curse.”

“You assume that you're getting out of this room alive.” The Angel replied, kneeling down.
His voice became far more menacing that Voldemort's ever was. “An entirely wrong assumption, I
assure you.”

The soft-spoken way these words were spoken made them all the more damning to Malfoy. “But...
you're part of the Order! They don't kill their prisoners!”

“I'm not part of the Order, Malfoy.” He stood, staring down. “And you're right; I
don't kill prisoners. I do, however, exterminate vermin. Now... *die!*” Malfoy flashed
green as his magical core was turning into a very potent *Avada Kedavra*, his own magic
killing him.

Moody cleared his throat. “What did you do? Why would you kill him, Potter? He was down...”

“And now he's out, Mad-Eye.” The Angel replied quietly, turning to face the rest of the
prisoners. “I have no conscience or mercy you can appeal to. I cannot be intimidated and I cannot
be bought. I am justice.” A small smile crossed his face as he raised both hands, focussing a tiny
fraction of his magnificent powers towards the Death Eaters. “I am *Death!*” Each of them died
as their magic was poisoned. “Now... Bellatrix.”

The Angel of Death had so far scored a perfect record, with eleven of the twelve Death Eaters
dead. He vanished silently, leaving Moody to preside over chaos. The instant the second Potter was
gone, Dumbledore appeared in the doorway, wand raised, prepared for battle.

“What...” Dumbledore trailed off as he realised that the people he was here to save didn't
need saving at all. Damn... that ruined his entrance. “What happened?”

Behind Moody, the six children and Sirius (although some would undoubtedly argue that there were
*seven* children) quickly rose up, heading for the door. “We have to get moving!” Sirius
near-shouted, racing through the corridors.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

Bellatrix raced through the corridors as though the hounds of hell were pursuing her. And in a
manner of speaking, they were. What she'd faced that evening was beyond her frame of reference.
She'd been tortured by the most powerful Dark wizard in history on multiple occasions, giving
her the most powerful orgasms she'd ever had in her life.

But even the Dark Lord's most powerful Cruciatus couldn't begin to compare to the raw
agony she felt when the second Potter had waved his hand at her. It felt like her entire body was
composed of raw nerve endings, being dipped in boiling hot lava.

She sighed with relief as she entered the atrium. The Floo fireplaces. She could use those to
escape. She was about to run into one, when she felt a crack in her waist. A moment later, agony
began to make itself known.

She slumped to the ground, feeling the agony double as she hauled herself round. Stood less than
ten feet in front of her was that blasted second Potter.

“Did I say you could leave?” He asked mockingly. “It'll be harder now... that crack you
felt? That was me crushing your hips.”

“You... the Dark Lord will... will come for me!” Bellatrix gasped.

“Yes.” The Angel replied, smirking evilly. “I'm counting on it.”

“He will... kill...”

“He'll *try*.” The Angel corrected sharply. “But, he'll fail.” He looked up as he
heard the Order making their way ever closer. “Still, time draws near, Bellatrix... you must
*suffer!*”

She began screaming as the lava flowed over her again, lighting up her nervous system like a
Christmas tree.

“Stop!” Dumbledore bellowed from the doorway. “You must not do this!”

“Silence, old man.” The Angel said, not even looking over his shoulder. “She has committed her
crime... now she must `serve her time'.”

“This is wrong!” Dumbledore said, raising his wand. “She will be arrested and tried under the
law!”

“Not my law.” The Angel replied. “In fact... time to *die!*”

Bellatrix stopped screaming as her body flashed green for a moment, her magic converted like the
other Death Eaters.

“What have you done?” Dumbledore roared, stepping forward with his raised wand.

“I said `silence', old man.” The Angel replied, turning and walking over to Harry and
Hermione. “I have something for each of you.”

“Who are you?” Harry asked, looking into a face identical to his own.

“I am... it doesn't matter.” The Angel replied, pressing a finger against his temple, slowly
pulling it back to reveal a silver strand. “I give you this, so that you need not suffer as I
have.” He pressed his finger against Harry's temple, allowing the memory strand to be absorbed
into it. He repeated the procedure on Hermione, who began sobbing as she saw the scene that had
caused everything.

Instantly, Hermione turned to Harry, grabbing a hold of the side of his head and kissing him
with every ounce of passion she possessed.

“Is this really the right time for that?” Lupin asked, standing close to Sirius. “There
*are* single people here, you know.”

Tonks saw the opportunity and pounced, smooching the werewolf to a standstill. “There
*were* single people, wolfie... but not for long.”

Hermione pulled back, looking at Harry intently. “We'll have to talk later.”

“Yeah...” Harry gasped, looking completely shell-shocked at his first *proper* kiss.
“Later...” He shook his head, bringing himself firmly back to the present. “He's coming,
then?”

“Yep.” The Angel replied, staring at a particular point on the far wall. “Moony, put Tonks down,
please. Might need your wits about you in the next couple of minutes.” After a moment, the Angel
cocked his head. “Hands in your pockets, Tonks.” Beat. “Your *own* pockets, Tonks. Unless you
really are counting his pocket change, and not just looking for a couple of Knuts.”

“What is going on here?” Dumbledore demanded angrily. “I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief
Warlock of the-”

“Weren't you removed from those posts?” Hermione asked innocently. “Doesn't that make
you `*Mr*. Dumbledore'?”

Dumbledore glared at Hermione. “You should hold you tongue, Miss Granger. I *am* the
Headmaster of Hogwarts, and if you're not careful, you may find yourself looking for alternate
schooling!”

Hermione shrugged, not particularly bothered by the threat, especially considering what
she'd learned this evening.

A swirling black cloud of apparition announced the arrival of the self-styled `Lord'
Voldemort. He blinked in confusion as he saw so many witches and wizards waiting for him, which
rapidly mutated to shock as he saw his most powerful Death Eater, not to mention his favourite,
lying on the floor, clearly dead.

“So...” He began, only to trail off as he realised he didn't have a clue what to say.

“I've come here to kill you, Thomas.” The Angel said, raising the glowing blade in his
hand.

“So many have... tried... who are you?” Voldemort stared for a moment, before a flash of silver
gained his attention. He looked down, seeing the still-quivering Sword of Gryffindor buried
hilt-deep in his chest. Black blood was starting to trickle from the sides of the wound, and he
felt the purity of the blade begin to ache. “You...”

The Angel was stalking forward, eyes glowing like fog lights. “You have committed so many
misdeeds... I may not kill you, Thomas, but I'm going to make you regret *ever* coming
after the Potter family.” He raised both hands, the sickly yellow beams of the Cruciatus erupting,
splashing against Voldemort.

Pain... unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Even when he'd been disembodied in 1981,
he'd never felt pure agony like this before. This power was at least an order of magnitude
above his own, and he was undoubtedly the most powerful Dark wizard alive.

It had been said that Lord Voldemort was only afraid of one man; Albus Dumbledore. Now,
Dumbledore had company.

While the beams were ravaging the Dark Lord, the Angel of Death was making his way closer and
closer. When he was close enough to reach out and touch the despotic monster, the Angel broke the
beams. Voldemort instantly collapsed to his knees, his battered central nervous system incapable of
keeping him on his feet.

“Who... who a-are you?” Voldemort asked.

“Death.” With that, the Angel grabbed Voldemort's shoulders, dragging him to his feet and
pulling him into a bear hug. “And now we die.” The Angel closed his eyes, sending a very particular
command to his magic.

The atrium of the Ministry of Magic was vaporised as the Angel of Death exploded. It was only
the work of Harry, Hermione and Sirius raising shields that saved their lives.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

In the aftermath, when supportive charms and beams had been conjured and placed, things were
looking a whole lot better. Voldemort had been found, still breathing, and instantly apparated
away... leaving behind his wand arm and wand. Harry snapped the cursed thing, feeling a rush of joy
go through him as he destroyed his parents' murder weapon.

The Ministry personnel had come streaming in, seeing the down-but-not-out Dark Lord apparating
away. Amelia Bones had immediately called for a vote of no-confidence in the silly bastard, sending
a grinning Percy Weasley away to organise the paperwork. Harry and Hermione realised, at that
moment, that Percy wasn't loyal to Fudge; he was loyal to good government. If only they could
remove that colossal stick from his arse, he might actually turn out to be a good guy. In dire need
of getting laid (and possibly a spanking... or maybe combining those two...), but he'd be
okay.

Harry and Hermione knew that Amelia would be politicking for the rest of the night, and neither
of them could be bothered dealing with such an irritating subject. Together, they strode forward,
heading for the fireplace so they could Floo back to Hogwarts.

“One moment.” Dumbledore called out sharply. “Mr. Potter, I have things I need to discuss with
you. Miss Granger, you may return to Hogwarts.”

“Or, we'll both go to Hogwarts and speak there.” Harry said sharply, the encounter his other
self had with Dumbledore firmly in mind.

“This is not to the time to be childish, Harry.” Dumbledore said reprovingly. “There are things
we need to talk about. A *private* conversation.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who blushed and nodded. “There isn't anything I keep from
Hermione, Headmaster. My...” He trailed off, prompting her to nod again. “My fiancé and I tell each
other everything.”

“`Fiancé?” Dumbledore repeated, looking shocked. “Mr. Potter, you don't... we'll discuss
this back at Hogwarts. *Privately.*”

“Of course, sir.” Harry said, surprising Dumbledore. “Just the three of us.”

Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry, turning his belt buckle into a Portkey. “No, Mr. Potter.
Just the two of us. *Activate!*”

As Harry felt the `hook in gut' sensation, he could feel Hermione's magic reaching out
and mixing with his, taking her along for the ride. The pair of them vanished from the former
atrium.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

Together, they landed in Dumbledore's office, nearly splatting onto the ancient stone floor.
Harry was on his feet in an instant, holding out his hand to help Hermione up. Together, they made
their way to the couch that rested underneath the window. They slumped, wrapping various body parts
around the other.

“So...” Hermione began. “You came back for me.”

Harry nodded, slowly assimilating the knowledge in his mind. “You would have done the same for
me.”

“True.” Hermione said slowly. “I'm...”

“What?”

“Well...” She looked a little uncomfortable at what she was about to say. “You killed twelve
people for me tonight, Harry.”

“I suppose... in a manner of speaking...”

“I know it was a different you, Harry, but...”

Harry sighed. “You're scared of me.” It wasn't a question.

“No.” Hermione protested immediately, making Harry look at her sharply. “No, it wasn't that,
Harry. It's just... well, a bit daunting to know that the man you love,” she smiled as she saw
him beam at her, “is willing to destroy the world for you. That other you... damn, he was just
so...”

Harry's eyebrow shot up.

“Oh, please!” Hermione snorted. “Please tell me you're not jealous of yourself.”

“Little bit.”

“Harry, my dear, sweet Harry, you're an idiot sometimes.”

“I've been told that.”

“You are everything I could want you to be.” She blushed slightly. “Of course, if you ever feel
like giving me a... private performance of that side of you...”

“Ooh...” Harry felt his own cheeks warm up, but there was only a limited amount of time to get
in the truly important mocking. “We've only just admitted how we feel about each other, and
you're planning kinky games already.”

“Harry!” Hermione managed an offended look. “I'm hurt!”

“Sorry.” He said, unrepentant.

“No... I've been planning kinky games for *years*.” She giggled at his momentary
`deer-in-headlights' look. “Trust me, my love...”

“Without question.”

“You'll greatly enjoy my perversion, Harry.” Hermione promised, smiling at him as she
reached up to gently stroke his face.

“I have no doubt... smartest witch of her generation, you know...”

“Not to mention probably one of the most devious...”

“Seconded.”

“I... I truly do love you, Harry.” She said, leaning closer and resting her forehead against
his. “With everything that I am, I love you.”

Harry reached, cupping both of her cheeks as he moved closer. “And I you, my love. My heart
belongs to you... as it always has.”

Hermione, at that point, uttered words that Harry *really* didn't want to hear. “What
about Cho?” With a groan, Harry looked down. Hermione reached up, pushing his head back up.
“Harry.”

“Well... I... I thought you wanted Ron.” He whispered.

“Ron? Why'd you think that?”

Harry sighed, before pulling one of his hands free and extending a finger. “When we stopped
fighting after the Firebolt incident, you hugged Ron, not me.” A second finger. “When we thought
that Buckbeak had been executed, you hugged Ron, not me.” He extended a third finger. “On the
evening of the Yule Ball, you were angry at Ron not taking you, not at me. You spent most of the
summer with him before I got there-”

Hermione stopped him speaking by kissing him passionately. After a moment, she pulled back.
“I... I never thought of it that way. Harry, me and Ron spoke, during that summer, when he revealed
he fancied me. I pointed out, quite rightly, that he treats me *exactly* the same way he
treats Ginny. I'm his sister, Harry, not his love interest.”

“Oh...” Harry stared into her eyes for a moment. “But... if you love me, why didn't you ever
say?”

“Because I was afraid, Harry.” She whispered. “You're gorgeous, rich and famous... why the
hell would you ever love a mousy little bookworm like me?”

“Because you're a gorgeous mousy little bookworm with a filthy mind and a cracking body.”
Harry retorted instantly. “And you're not that mousy... Christ, you gave me my first erection
when you hugged me in Diagon Alley before second year... and my first wet dream. Not to mention
making me really horny when you smacked Malfoy that time.”

“*That* made you horny?”

“Seeing Valkyrie!Hermione in action? Oh, hell, yeah!”

“Hmm... have to remember that one. We're both idiots, Harry.”

“You're not.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” Hermione commanded, leaning closer and capturing Harry's lips with
her own. Unable to resist a base impulse, she reached down to Harry's lap, groping gently for
the thing she most wanted in the world. She squeaked, which Harry matched a moment later, when her
hand found an impressive bulge in Harry's jeans.

“Hermione...”

“That's *mine* later.” She said firmly.

“Always.”

“And don't you forget it.”

“You're still holding it... not likely to forget it.”

“And, you're free to do whatever you want to me, too.” Hermione said, feeling Harry's
lips begin to grin. “Behave, Harry. Dumbledore'll be here soon.”

Harry grumbled as he pulled back, thinking as many uncomplimentary things about ugly people
(Snape, Fudge, Malfoy, Voldemort, Umbridge) to rid himself of his arousal. It was rather
difficult... considering Hermione hadn't let go and was now absently stroking him. “Hermione...
please...”

“What?” Hermione asked innocently. “I think he's pleased to see me.”

“Yes, he has a joyful tear in his eye.” Harry said dryly. “But, if you keep doing this, he's
going to spit at you.”

Hermione's grin could be described in no other way than `wicked'. “My tongue is just
*aching* for that, Harry.”

Harry began coughing. “Please...”

“Oh...” Hermione, reluctantly, released her hold on her newest toy. “All right... for now.”

“I'm the son of one Marauder and the godson of another... I will get you back, you
know.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

“I'm thinking the library... no, Snape's potions class!”

Hermione blushed. “I've stopped...”

“Too late. Just picture the scene...”

Whatever Harry was going to suggest was cut off as the fireplace roared green for a moment, the
old man stepping through. “Ah, Harry...” Dumbledore said amiably, heading over to Fawkes' perch
and reaching into his pocket, pulling out the newly-regenerated phoenix and placing him on the
shelf. “We have much to discuss. Miss Granger, you're dismissed.”

“I'm staying with Harry.” Hermione said firmly.

“This is a private conversation.” Dumbledore retorted, equally firmly, as he sat behind his
desk.

“Not from her.” Harry said, adding his two pence to the conversation. “Whatever concerns me
concerns her.”

“Not this.”

“There's *nothing* you could say that Hermione won't be privy to.” Harry said
bluntly. “If you're not prepared to discuss it with her present, then we have nothing to
discuss. May we leave?”

“Miss Granger may leave, but you and I, Harry, have much to discuss.”

“No, we don't.”

“We do. For instance, who was that other person in the Ministry? What did he give you?”

“Good questions that, frankly, I refuse to answer.”

“I need to know, Harry.” Dumbledore said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. “For the Greater
Good of the Wizarding world. Now, please tell me.”

“No.”

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I've had a... stressful evening, Harry, trying to
smooth over your actions with the Ministry. This is not the time to be childish. Tell me who that
other person was.”

“No.”

“I have an idea.” Hermione said, leaning closer to Harry. “Why don't you tell Harry and
myself why Voldemort was there this evening?”

“That is confidential information, Miss Granger. At this moment in time, only I know the precise
reason. It's something that I can only discuss with Harry, when you're not present.”

“Oh...” Hermione glanced at Harry, performing a silent countdown from three. At `one', the
both began speaking in perfect unison. “`The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord
approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the
Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either
must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the
power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'”

Dumbledore's jaw dropped. “What... how...”

“I think we're done here.” Harry said, hauling himself and Hermione to their feet. “You said
earlier that Hermione would be expelled from Hogwarts. That won't be necessary... since
we've both decided to leave this school as soon as the year is over. Since that's a
whopping four days away, we'll stick around.”

Dumbledore shook his head woodenly. “I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave Hogwarts,
Harry... Miss Granger, you're more than welcome to go, but you'll be remaining here, Harry.
Since you know of the prophecy, you know that you must be trained to fight the coming
darkness.”

“And I also know that you're a manipulative old man who has plans to use me in this war.
I'm not a puppet, old man. I'll fight, in my own way and on my own terms.” Harry said
sharply. “You've lost me... I wonder what'll happen when the `Boy-Who-Lived' announces
that he's leaving Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore still had one more card to play. “As your magical guardian, I can forbid you from
leaving-”

“*You* are not my magical guardian.”

“Nor mine.” Hermione added.

“Sirius holds that for both of us... we asked him last Christmas.” Harry said, smirking
slightly. “Had he died tonight, it probably would have reverted to you... shame. You lost. Now,
we're leaving, and you *won't* stop us.”

They approached the door, taking hold of each other's hands, and raising their wands.
Without a word, the door vanished neatly. Hermione stepped through, stopping when she felt Harry
stay still. “I hope, Headmaster, that we do not see each other again. For your sake.”

“I-”

“Save it. Sooner or later... the day comes when you can't hide from the things you've
done anymore. That day's today.” Harry snapped, then remembered what his other self had said in
the previous timeline. “I hope I live just long enough to piss on your grave.” He strode out,
leaving Dumbledore sitting, sobbing, at his desk.

**-----** **O** **W t** **G o T** **-----**

They made their way slowly back to Gryffindor tower. Neither of them knew what the future held,
but they knew there was nothing they couldn't face. Together.

**Final Author's Note:** Why did you read this one? Didn't I say to go and read
AndrewsQuill's stuff? Seriously, go on...

-->



4. Open Wide the Gates of Time - Dumbledore
-------------------------------------------



**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

**Author's Note:** This one-shot was inspired by AndrewsQuill's story `From the
Ashes', a Harry/Susan Bones fic (by the look of it) where Hermione dies after the battle in the
DoM. I've nicked the basic concept, `cause it's one I've never thought of, tweaked it,
and this is it.

**Second Author's Note:** A variation on `Open Wide the Gates of Time: Harry'.
Morbius, during one of our many IM chats, once asked me; “Has anyone done a Good!Dark!Dumbledore?”
So, we put our heads together (which, oddly enough, made a plank) and figured out that the only one
we'd seen was actually one of KafkaExMachina's drabbles, where Dumbledore uses the
Cruciatus on Snape's Dark Mark, fragging the minds of every Death Eater. So, this is the
*other* version of `Open Wide the Gates of Time', where Dumbledore's not as much of an
arsehole... I know, it's hard to believe, but them's the breaks.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

“*Silencio!*” cried Hermione and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to
mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out. He was thrust aside by his fellow Death
Eater.

“*Petrificus Totalus!*” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms
and legs snapped together and he fell forwards, face down on to the rug at Harry's feet, stiff
as a board and unable to move.

“Well done, Ha-”

But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand;
a streak of what looked like purple flame passed right across Hermione's chest. She gave a tiny
“Oh!” as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless.

“*Hermione!*” Harry roared, forgetting everything that was happening around him as he saw
her fall. He quickly bolted forward, near-throwing himself to his knees as he looked down at the
wet mess that used to be smooth flesh.

He reached out with a shaking hand to her throat, feeling for her carotid artery. For a moment
that lasted an eternity, he couldn't feel anything. He didn't notice Neville kneeling next
to him, reach for the other pulse on Hermione's neck.

“Dat's a pulse, Harry...” Neville said after a moment. “I'b sure of it.”

Harry didn't feel relief, as he expected he would. All he could feel was a mind-numbing,
spirit-crushing despair at seeing Hermione casually dropped during the battle. He turned his head
slightly, staring at the Death Eater with pure malice.

The Death Eater reached up and tore off his mask, revealing the long, pale, twisted face of
Antonin Dolohov. He gestured at Hermione, then at Harry, then at Harry again. Even though he was
still silenced, his meaning was clear.

Harry stood, his free hand clenching spasmodically as he stalked forward, intent on ending the
scum-sucking dickhead. He was robbed of the chance as Neville managed his first non-verbal spell,
sending a weak-but-adequate stunner spell at Dolohov's maniacally grinning face. He slumped
backwards, out of the fight... for now.

Together, Harry and Neville picked up Hermione, having no time to be gentle, as they left the
office, meeting up with Ron, Ginny and Luna. Thanks to the actions of the Death Eaters, they ended
up in the Veil Chamber, and Harry's already grief-stricken heart took another blow as Sirius
was blasted back through the Veil.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Albus Dumbledore was many things... but a fool wasn't one of them. True, he was incredibly
short-sighted, and he focussed entirely too much on one plan at a time, making him... unprepared to
deal with rapidly changing circumstances. And these certainly qualified.

He made his way to Hermione's slumped body, tapping her robes with his wand to send her
straight to the hospital wing.

“Harry... Harry!” He called out, making Harry's bloodshot eyes lock on hers. “Come on, my
boy... we'll take the Floo back to Hogwarts to check up on Miss Granger.” He helped Harry to
the fireplace. “Kingsley!” He called out.

“Headmaster?”

“Please ensure the rest of the students make it back to Hogwarts as quickly as possible.”

With that, Dumbledore and Harry vanished in a blasé of green fire.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Once back at Hogwarts, Harry raced through the corridors as though the hounds of hell were
pursuing him. None of it mattered; he had to get Hermione. Dumbledore was running right beside him,
somehow managing to keep pace with the man less than a tenth of his age.

They burst through the doors to the hospital wing, nearly tearing the ancient wood from its
hinges.

“What the devil-” Pomfrey spluttered as she erupted from her office.

“Hermione...” Harry muttered, seeing her lying on his normal bed. She looked, for lack of a
better word, dreadful. She was far too pale, the front of her medical gown shining in the low light
with leaked blood.

“H-Harry...” Hermione moaned, trying to smile when she saw him coming in, but dissolving into a
pained grimace.

Dumbledore quickly headed over to Pomfrey. “How is she?” He asked, concern leaking into his
voice.

Pomfrey leaned closer. “She's in a bad way, Albus... that spell pierced her heart.
Unfortunately, the flesh was badly burned, and I can't stop the bleeding. She's dying,
Headmaster... she doesn't have a lot of time left.”

Dumbledore's grimace was entirely genuine. “What have I done?” He asked himself, feeling
every single second of his 163 years. He watched as Harry moved closer, taking her hand as he sat
tentatively on the side of the bed. “Hermione...”

“Are you okay?” She asked, looking him up and down.

“Me? I'm... never mind me, Hermione. How're you?”

“It hurts, Harry.” Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. “I... I'm sorry,
Harry.”

“Why?” Harry noticed his vision growing misty. Confused, he reached up to find his eyes leaking.
He was *crying*? He hadn't cried since he was four years old...

“I... I should have done b-better.” Hermione whispered plaintively. “I...”

Harry pressed his finger against Hermione's lips. “Shh... you did very well, Hermione.
I'd be dead if it wasn't for you.” He let his hand slip down slightly, cupping her cheek
softly.

Hermione moaned, arching her back slightly as another wave of debilitating pain washed over her.
“I... I don't have long...” She gasped.

“N-No...” Harry said, panic filling his voice. “You can't l-leave me, Hermione... You
can't...”

“I don't think I have a choice, Harry.” She whispered back. “I'm dying... I know
it...”

“You can't...” Harry sobbed. “P-Please, Hermione, don't... don't leave me... I
can't live without you...”

“You have no choice, Harry...” Hermione said, squeezing his hand tightly. “I-I have to tell
you...” She coughed, blood coming from her mouth.

Harry reached up and calmly wiped the blood away. “Hermione, before you do... let me...”

“I k-know, Harry.” She said, staring at his eyes. “You love me.”

“I... do...”

“And I you, my love.” She whispered. “For so long... you must go on, Harry... don't mourn
me...”

“No...” Harry moaned. “Please, H-Hermione... everyone I love leaves me... don't leave me,
please...”

She flailed her free hand for a moment, trying to take a hold of him. “L-last request...”

Harry took her flailing hand, kissing her knuckles tenderly. “Anything, my love.”

“Kiss me, Harry... please... just once... let me feel your lips-” She was cut off as Harry
leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers chastely. She moaned slightly, pressing forward before
leaning back, opening her eyes slowly. “As good as I thought...”

Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her generation, died with a small smile on her face and
the hand of the man she loved beyond reason held in her own.

Again, the tears prickled up in Harry's eyes, one slowly making it's way down his cheek.
He felt... a cold, *aching* numbness in his chest.

*Nothing...* A thought formed and died in his mind. *There's nothing left... it's
all gone... all of it...* He could feel his magic roaring throughout his body, but he didn't
care what it was doing. The hole of Hermione's death was deep and sharp, making him feel...
*empty*.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Dumbledore was hard pressed to keep tears of his own from making their way down his face.
*This is all because of me... because of the things that I didn't do... and should have done.
If only I'd told Harry... if only I'd found a way to stop this from happening...* A very
*wrong* thought crossed his mind. *It's risky... dangerous and foolish...* He was
more than a little apprehensive. *It'll mean going back to what I was...*

He looked up again, spotting Harry crying into Hermione's neck, holding her tightly.
*I'm sorry, Harry... More than you can know.* Steeling his resolve, he looked at Pomfrey.
“Keep things together here until I get back, Poppy.”

“`Get back', Albus?” Poppy asked. “Back from where?”

“That... is a far more interesting question than you might suspect.” Dumbledore said as he
strode out of the Hospital Wing.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

On his way up the stairs, Dumbledore quickly evaluated a cost/benefit ratio over his planned
course of action. *This is going to cost me a lot... but it's worth it, to stop it costing
my* grandson*... He's not of my blood, but of my love.*

A voice broke into his thoughts. It was weak, but still had an underlying strength. **You know
this is wrong, Albus. What you're proposing-**

*Is necessary, Fawkes, my friend. Because of my actions, I've cost Harry so much. It's
time to correct that.*

**And you believe** **this** **is the way?**

*Can you think of anything better?*

There was silence as Fawkes contemplated the options. **No.** He admitted after a few
moments. **But, if you do this, Albus, I won't be able to stay with you.**

Dumbledore sighed as he mounted the spiral staircase to his office. *I understand, old
friend.*

**Unless...**

Opening the door, Dumbledore spotted his familiar weakly balancing on his perch, looking more
than a little nervous. **There is a way... you know what it is.**

Dumbledore recoiled. *Fawkes, I know what I'm contemplating is wrong, but what you're
suggesting-*

**Is just as necessary... as you know.**

“Fawkes...” Dumbledore muttered aloud. “What you're asking is to... it's almost
unfathomable.”

**It's the only way I can stay with you, old friend. For more than sixty years, we have
fought the good fight together. I wish to continue that, and this is the only way.**

“It's wrong, Fawkes...”

**You know that I love you, Albus. I've been alive a long time, and you're the only
human I've loved. I do not want to leave you. You must bond me to you so that I can stay with
you.**

*You're suggesting that I use a Dark Art bonding on you... Fawkes, there's a reason
that spell was made* highly *illegal!*

**I know... I also know it's what I** **want****, old friend. Please...**

Dumbledore knew that he'd need the help of his phoenix in the mission to come, but what he
was asking... “I will do as you ask.” He said heavily, slowly lifting his wand. Taking a deep
breath, he dug into his magic, preparing to force a bondage bind on a Phoenix. It was highly
illegal, but it *was* at Fawkes' request.

As soon as the spell hit the newly-regenerated phoenix, he squawked loudly, writhing as the Dark
energies tore through him. He began to grow quickly, painfully, up to his normal size. Instead of
his plumage turning it's normal beautiful red and gold, it slowly turned black, making him look
like a massively-oversized raven.

**Ah... that feels oddly... good, Albus.** Fawkes sent stretching his wings.

“I was never planning on taking you with me, old friend.” Dumbledore said as he tapped his robes
with his wand, changing them from a horrendously eye-clashing violet to a pure black.

**You need me. You know this.**

*I agree.* Dumbledore thought back. *But a bondage bind on a phoenix...*

**Get over it.** Fawkes said, looking at his human. **I hope you're going to do
something about that beard.**

With a chuckle, Dumbledore nodded, trimming his waist-length beard to a short goatee, pointed at
the chin. He quickly trimmed his hair to shoulder length, tying it up into a pony tail.

**You look very dashing.** Fawkes offered, snickering slightly. **I suggest you use the
sword.**

The Sorting Hat animated as it fell of the shelf, landing neatly on Dumbledore's desk.
“Hello, Headmaster.”

“Adrian.”

“One Sword of Slytherin, coming up.” Adrian offered, scrunching up his face as something
`clanged' onto the desk. Dumbledore lifted the hat, revealing the jet-black Sword of
Slytherin.

“I feel I should warn you, once you start using this, it will be very difficult to come back
from it.” Adrian offered.

“For the Greater Good... of Harry Potter, Adrian, I have no choice.” Dumbledore said, tucking
the sword into his waist band. “It is for him that I do this.”

“Going Dark for a boy, Headmaster?” Adrian said, a definite smirk on his face. “What would the
papers say?”

“I no longer care.” Dumbledore gently placed the hat back on his shelf. “I have failed that boy
too often. Now, I have the opportunity to do something about it. I am not `going Dark'... I am
simply using *all* spells in my arsenal.”

“You're preaching to the converted, Albus.” Adrian replied. “You forget, I'm a thousand
years old. I've seen Dark, Light and Grey. Using the Dark Arts to save the world? You're
grey... *as you always should have been!*”

Fawkes flapped over, landing on Dumbledore's shoulder. **Avast, my hearty!**

Rolling his eyes, Dumbledore raised his wand. “Now... time to see what we can do, old
friend...

“*Open wide the gates of time,*

*Allow me the darkness to restore my prime,*

*To the past I must go to save her life,*

*And give Harry Potter the love of his wife!*”

Hogwarts began rumbling as the old magicks were called upon, allowing her head to throw off the
shackles he'd placed on himself all those decades ago and use *all* his powers to help
mankind. She diverted all her energy into Dumbledore, allowing him the strength he needed. The
instant he vanished with a `pop', so did Hogwarts. Time was to be rewritten, the history of
things to come skewed.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Dumbledore found himself stood in his office, quickly looking at the clock. *Ah, excellent!
They're just arriving at the Ministry now.* He dashed to his fireplace, moving far quicker
than a man his age should be capable of. “Ministry of Magic!” He shouted, vanishing in a puff of
green flame.

He blinked as he entered the Atrium, spotting the children running into the lift. “Bollocks...”
He muttered, a mental agreement coming from his phoenix. “Fawkes, would you-” He was cut off as
Fawkes teleported the two to the edge of the Department of Mysteries.

**Phoenix for Dumbledore?** Fawkes sent cheekily.

*One day, old friend, that smart-arse of yours is going to get you into trouble.*

**Perhaps... but not today.** Fawkes took off, heading down the corridor like a missile,
looking for something to rip, tear and maim. Dumbledore followed, hearing the sounds of battle
coming from the other side of the floor. **Found `em!** Fawkes near-shouted. **So far, things
are going as expected... you'd better get over here, Albus. Harry and Hermione have been
separated, and there's two Death Eaters chasing them.**

Dumbledore vanished with a pop. As he reappeared, he was already walking forward, raising wand
and sword as he saw Harry and Hermione fighting against Antonin Dolohov and that nameless, faceless
Death Eater.

Dolohov raised his wand.

“*Silencio!*” cried Hermione and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to
mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out. He was thrust aside by his fellow Death
Eater.

“*Petrificus Totalus!*” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms
and legs snapped together and he fell forwards, face down on to the rug at Harry's feet, stiff
as a board and unable to move.

“Well done, Ha-”

But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand;
a streak of what looked like purple flame tore through the air... only to be casually deflected as
Dumbledore, but not Dumbledore, stepped from the shadows, flicking his wand and sending the spell
ricocheting into the air, where it sizzled impotently on the ceiling.

“Antonin...” Dumbledore said politely, stepping in between the Death Eater and his students.
“What a shame it is to see you here.”

Dolohov just cackled silently. He'd been caught, true, but it was by the Muggle-loving old
fool. He'd spend a couple of weeks in Ministry custody and then be able to rejoin the Dark
Lord.

“*Avada Kedavra.*” Dumbledore intoned smoothly, the green blast erupting from his wand and
ending the life of the Death Eater.

Harry's jaw dropped, followed a second later by Hermione's, as they watched the `Leader
of the Light' kill his opponent. “S-Sir...”

“Ah, Harry.” Dumbledore said, turning round, allowing the students to see the full extent of his
changes. “One moment, please.” He quickly used the killing curse on the petrified Death Eater.
“Now, I believe we must make haste.”

“You... you *killed* them...” Hermione said, still clearly in shock.

“Yes, I did.” Dumbledore said shamelessly. “If you know the consequences of allowing that filth
to live...” He shook his head. “Come with me.”

The three made their way through the Department of Mysteries, quickly spotting Luna and Ginny
hobbling along. “Professor Dumbledore?” Ginny asked, staring at the, frankly *disturbing* view
of her headmaster.

“Miss Weasley... are you well?”

“Er... my ankle's a bit... banged up.” Ginny said, leaning against the wall heavily.

With a quick flick of his wand, Dumbledore healed the break, using a spell to compress the wound
slightly. “Try not to run on it.” He said, before looking at Luna. “Miss Lovegood?”

“I'm fine, sir.” Luna stared at him for a moment. “You've gone grey, sir.”

“Yes, I have.” Dumbledore confirmed. “That, however, is a conversation for another time. Where
are Misters Longbottom and Weasley?”

“I'b here...” Neville said stumbling along the corridor. “Professor Dubbledore?”

Another flick of his wand healed Neville's nose, before a third flick summoned Dolohov's
wand from the corpse, which he then presented to Neville. “Use this until we can obtain a proper
replacement, Mr. Longbottom.” Dumbledore then raised his wand. “*Point Me* Ronald Weasley.”
After his wand stopped spinning, he took off in that direction, looking like the Pied Piper as the
five children followed after him.

“What the hell's going on?” Ginny asked, looking at Hermione.

“Not a clue.” Hermione said with a shrug. “But, he's here and he's fighting... can't
really ask for much more at the moment.”

Fawkes came screaming down the corridor, pursued by three Death Eaters. He spun neatly in
mid-air before racing back down the corridor, backed up by his human. He wasn't afraid of being
hurt; after all, he was a phoenix and would be reborn from his ashes, but if he was killed,
he'd be useless for the rest of this fight.

Dumbledore quickly sent a wave of killing curses, non-verbally, at the three Death Eaters. Two
of them fell to the spells, while the third, Bellatrix Lestrange, managed to duck out of sight and
run.

“Professor... you're killing the Death Eaters...” Ginny pointed out unnecessarily.

“Yes, I am.” Dumbledore said, opening the door to the brain room. He stepped inside, seeing Ron
sat by one of the shelves, giggling to himself. “Oh, sweet Merlin... Mr. Weasley!”

Ron's head snapped up, staring at Dumbledore for a moment before he began giggling
again.

“*Purgio*.” Dumbledore muttered, sending a purging spell at Ron, quickly and neatly
removing the effects of whatever spell had been cast on him.

Ron stopped giggling, immediately. He shook his head, climbing to his feet. “What the hell
happened to me?” He asked, before getting a good look at Dumbledore. “No... never mind that... what
happened to *you*, Headmaster?”

“A fascinating tale, Ronald,” Dumbledore said absently as he looked around, “but most definitely
a tale for another time. Come, we must keep moving.” As Dumbledore was speaking, Fawkes re-entered
the room, coming in to land on Dumbledore's shoulder. *Ah, Fawkes... how goes it?*

**Lousy... I only managed to get one.**

*There are more enemies to confound and slay, my friend. Patience is a virtue.*

Fawkes just `hmphd' in Dumbledore's ear as they began moving again, heading towards the
penultimate confrontation of the evening.

“Students, we're about to go into another combat situation.” Dumbledore said as he led the
students into the Veil Room. “Make sure you have adequate cover and use your strongest spells.
*Reducto*, *Bombarda* and *Diffindo* would be best. Remember, they won't be
throwing tickling charms at you. I suggest you return the favour.”

Hermione gasped as she realised that the `Leader of the Light' was telling the students to
`shoot to kill'. “Sir!”

Dumbledore turned, his eyes crinkled in annoyance. “Miss Granger, think of it this way; who
should walk out of here alive? Innocent students or murderous thugs?”

“S-Students...” She muttered quietly. “Sir, don't you think-”

“Not any more.” Dumbledore said firmly. “Miss Granger, we must all do whatever is necessary to
protect those we love and care for.” He glanced at Harry, making Hermione's eyebrow shoot up.
“You know this to be true... in your heart.”

“Y-Yes, sir.” Hermione said, tentatively reaching down and taking Harry's hand in her own.
He blushed slightly but didn't try to pull away.

“Now...” Dumbledore gestured the students to cover as he stood in the centre of the room, his
eyes locked onto the doorway. “Let us see where events take us...”

Dumbledore had less than a minute to wait as the Death Eaters burst into the room, wands drawn.
He was pleased to note that there were only seven of them, thanks to his efforts earlier. He began
firing spells, not AKs for the moment, but enough nasty spells to make the get behind cover.

**And... cue the Order...** Fawkes thought, hovering near the ceiling as he spotted for his
human. The bright white smoke trails of apparition announced the arrival of Sirius, Tonks, Remus,
Shacklebolt and Moody, each of them quickly ducking behind cover and firing spells.

Sirius made his way cautiously to where the students were hiding, spotting the Dumbledore
lookalike fighting with unparalleled ferocity. He grabbed Harry in a fierce hug tightly, seeing
Hermione's hand held tightly in his own. “Hey, pup. How're you?”

Harry snorted. “I've had a bloody odd evening, Padfoot.” He said softly. “I... Is it me or
has Dumbledore totally changed the plot?”

“It ain't you, pup...” Sirius said, watching Dumbledore casually striking down the Death
Eaters. “I should really go and help-”

“Stay down!” Dumbledore roared, not looking over. “This is *my* fight! Where is your coward
of a master, Bellatrix?”

Bellatrix Lestrange was bleeding heavily from multiple wounds, but her pride was still at full
strength. “You dare to call the Dark Lord a coward, old man?”

“I do.” Dumbledore confirmed, sending a full-power Cruciatus at her, making her writhe and
scream. “Just like you...”

Bellatrix began crawling, trying to get away from Dumbledore's intense torture curse. She
was halfway towards the doorway when it slammed open, revealing... another Dumbledore? This one was
clad in the characteristically horrendous purple robes.

The other Dumbledore looked up in shock, seeing another version of himself torturing one of the
Death Eaters... then he saw nothing as a stunning charm robbed him of consciousness.

The momentary lapse in concentration was all Bellatrix needed to make a break for freedom, the
Cruciatus losing strength for a fraction of a second. She began running, heading for the relative
safety of the Atrium.

Dumbledore quickly tied up the rest of the Death Eaters, infecting each of them with an
overpowered flesh-rotting curse. It would take almost an hour for them to die, and best of all; it
was unstoppable. He headed over to his past self, reaching up to his temple, pulling out a memory
strand which he dropped onto the other Dumbledore's forehead. The strand wriggled for a moment
before sliding down, heading straight for the ear.

That done, Dumbledore drew the Sword of Slytherin from his belt and set off in pursuit of
Bellatrix. When he got to the door, he stopped for a moment, before turning. “Harry, Hermione,
Sirius... you should come along, too.”

The three got up, dashing across the chamber and into the corridor as Dumbledore ran after the
mad-dog that was Bellatrix Lestrange.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Bellatrix raced through the corridors as though the hounds of hell were pursuing her. She'd
heard of Dumbledore's power, of course, just like everyone who was born in Wizarding Britain
over the last five decades, and she'd heard the pitiful rumours that stated that Dumbledore was
the only wizard her master was afraid of... she could certainly put some proof behind those rumours
now.

As she entered the atrium, she felt a pang of relief as she saw one of the many Floo fireplaces
already lit. All she needed to do was dash inside and call out her dest-

Her thoughts stopped as another Cruciatus impacted her, throwing her to the ground. Using the
last of her weakening strength, she turned to see Dumbledore, with Potter, his Mudblood and the
Blood Traitor watching.

“I didn't say you could leave.” Dumbledore said sternly, not allowing his concentration to
waver at all. “Instead, I really must insist that you die.”

“What's this?” Another voice called out, drawing Harry's, Hermione's and Sirius'
attention. Lord Voldemort was stood near the Fountain of Magical Brethren, staring at the almost
unbelievable sight of the Leader of the Light torturing someone. “You appear to have fallen off
your pedestal, old man.”

Dumbledore stared at Bellatrix for a moment, before he broke the curse, casually sending a
Killing Curse at her. Bellatrix slumped and died, allowing Dumbledore to turn his full attention to
Voldemort.

“It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom.”

“Oh?” Voldemort raised a mocking, hairless eyebrow at Dumbledore. “Are you going to try and
arrest me, old man?”

“No.” Dumbledore said, raising the Sword of Slytherin. “I'm planning to kill you.”

*That* shocked Voldemort. “You, Dumbledore? Aren't you the Leader of the Light?”

“I'm the man who's gonna take you down, Tom.” Dumbledore said, staring with pure hatred
at Voldemort. “You should learn to pay more attention to your surroundings.”

Fawkes, who'd discretely made his way behind the despotic monster, raced forward, his talons
razing through the top of Voldemort's head. Instantly, the despot started bleeding black blood,
feeling a malevolence from the all-black phoenix that was unnatural.

“We shall fight now, Tom.” Dumbledore said, sending a barrage of five Killing Curses at his
nemesis.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Three floors below, the Dumbledore in purple woke up, feeling outrage at being casually stunned.
He stopped when the memory that had been dropped into his mind worked its way through his
subconscious, slowly assimilating itself with his own mind.

*My god...* Dumbledore slowly stood up, thinking furiously. *What have I done? What have
I cost?* He watched the rest of the memory, where his future self decided to unleash all his
powers, and made the same decision. *Very well... it's time to be what I should* always
*have been.* He turned and began to run, heading up for the confrontation in the atrium. He
had work to do...

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Voldemort dived to the side, dodging the killing curses with only inches to spare. He sent back
his own curse, not able to cast as fast as the old man. He never noticed the follow up barrage of
bone-breaking hexes that came his way, turning his left shoulder and several of his ribs to powder,
prompting him to scream.

Dumbledore conjured Fiend-Fyre, imbuing it into the shape of a phoenix, which surrounded Fawkes.
**I will detonate inside him, Albus.** Fawkes offered. **Because of the bondage bind and a
selfless sacrifice, I won't regenerate... I love you, my human.**

With a nod, and a slow tear down his cheek, Dumbledore agreed. *I will miss you, old
friend.*

**You won't... neither of us exist in this time. We are anachronisms... the other you and
the other me will still be able to fight.**

*Then I shall see you on the next great adventure, old friend.*

Fawkes nodded, racing forward at the centre of a Fiend-Fyre pyre, heading straight for
Voldemort. The Dark Lord saw him approaching, and tried to move, but space in the atrium was
limited. He screamed when he felt the razor sharp beak of the phoenix impact his chest, exploded
with all the force of Light and Dark, Fiend-Fyre surrounding him.

Dumbledore gasped as the explosion tore into his magical core. He hadn't known that the
bondage bind would have that effect on him. Feeling his strength waning, Dumbledore looked over to
see his other self race into the atrium. “Protect him...” He dropped to his knees, coughing up
blood.

Voldemort tried to apparate away, only to find himself too weak. It was time for plan B to go
into effect...

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Harry gasped as *something* began to penetrate his mind. It was evil, malevolent and oddly
familiar. Hermione took his hand, staring at him in concern as he collapsed onto his back, gasping
pathetically.

“Kill him...” The weak voice of Voldemort came from Harry's mouth. “Mudblood... Black...
Dumbledore... if you wish me to die, kill the boy...”

Dumbledore snorted. “As if, Tom.” He glanced over at his fallen self, realising that there was
still a little fight left in him. “Together?”

Dark!Dumbledore nodded, wheezing slightly. Together, the two wizards raised their wands, casting
an exorcism spell on Harry. For a moment, the two fought the spirit, feeling it become more
entrenched as it tried to fight back.

An overwhelming wave of love washed over Harry as Hermione pressed her lips to his, blushing
brightly. Sirius took his hand, muttering about his feelings for his godson.

Harry, boosted by the spells from the two Dumbledores, not to mention the raw power of his love
for Hermione, fought back. His scar began to bleed angrily, before a black mass erupted, falling to
the floor impotently, before bursting into flame.

Dumbledore looked over at his Dark counterpart, seeing him pass away. With a casual flick, he
transfigured the body into a small action figure, before he summoned it to hand and thrust it into
his pocket. That would certainly lead to far too many questions...

Voldemort wheezed as he tried to rise. “You...” He coughed, spitting out a glob of black blood.
“What have you done?”

Around them, the fireplaces flared up, Ministry personnel flooding through as they only now
responded to the massive waves of magic that had occurred.

Dumbledore allowed himself to smirk evilly. “Two down, Tom.” He said, raising his wand. “How
many left, I wonder?”

Eyes wide in shock, Voldemort gathered every ounce of his strength and apparated away, leaving
behind his right leg.

With a frown of distaste, Dumbledore vanished the mess, before he turned back to Harry. “Are you
okay, Harry?”

“Yeah...” Harry sat up, coughing. “What the hell was that?”

“I'll tell you as soon as we get back to Hogwarts.” Dumbledore said, looking round the
atrium. I'm expect the Ministry personnel will want an explanation... and I have something to
do.” The instant he spotted the coward that masqueraded as the Minister, he strode forward, rearing
back and slugging the incompetent little glob of sputum.

“Wha...” Fudge gripped his jaw, looking up in shock at Dumbledore.

“Now do you believe me?” Dumbledore roared, looking angrier than ever. “I told you... I *told
you* that he was back! Now you've seen it with your own eyes!”

Several Aurors were glancing around the atrium, spotting the notorious criminal Sirius Black
stood there. “Sir!” Dawlish shouted. “Sirius Black!”

“Arrest him!” Fudge shouted, seeing a way out of the political disaster that was sure to
come.

“Freeze!” Dumbledore roared. “Sirius Black is under the protection of the House of Dumbledore,
Fudge. I can assure you, he's going nowhere. I have proof of his innocence.”

Fudge looked up. “He's not innocent!”

“I tire of your stupidity, Fudge!” Dumbledore slapped the Minister's face twice. “I
challenge you to a duel of honour, Fudge. To the death. You have impugned my honour for the last
year, and I demand satisfaction.”

Amelia Bones stepped forward. “Enough of this.” She commanded sharply. “Professor Dumbledore,
unfortunately, we can't allow the Minister of Magic to duel in this precarious time.” She began
to smirk. “I'm calling for an immediate vote of no-confidence in the little shit. As soon as
he's ousted from office, he's all yours.”

“Thank you.” Dumbledore replied, nodding respectfully at her. “With regards to Sirius Black, he
is under my protection until a trial can be arranged.”

“So noted... Headmaster.”

“Thank you again.” He turned to glance at Harry. “Now, Madam Bones, I really must return my
students to school. This has been a trying evening for us all.”

“Of course, Headmaster. Your authorisation to make Portkeys has been restored, retroactive to
this morning.”

“You have my gratitude, Amelia.” Dumbledore summoned a long piece of wood from the floor,
turning it into a Portkey with practiced efficiency. “I would like it if we could arrange a time
tomorrow morning to cover as much as we can. Would you be able to come to Hogwarts?”

“Of course.”

“Then we shall continue this conversation tomorrow morning.” Dumbledore gestured to the students
and Sirius. “Please take this to my office. I shall gather the rest of the students and Portkey
them straight to the Hospital Wing. Then, I shall return to my office, and we shall have a
*long* overdue conversation.”

Harry took the Portkey, eyeing Dumbledore curiously before he held it out to Hermione and
Sirius, vanishing instantly.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Harry landed on the floor, groaning as Hermione landed on him (which, under the circumstances,
wasn't that unpleasant) until Sirius flopped onto the pair of them.

After getting up, Sirius helped Harry and Hermione to their feet, before pushing them onto the
couch and slumping onto a chair. For a moment, silence reigned as each of them took a few seconds
to contemplate the events of the evening.

“Well...” Sirius said, before trailing off.

“It's been a bloody weird night.”

“Hermione!” Harry said, shocked at her profanity.

“Get over it, Harry.” Hermione said. “What the hell was that? Two Dumbledores, one of them using
Dark Arts casually, killing the Death Eaters, telling us to do the same... I think I'm allowed
to swear tonight.”

Dumbledore appeared in the office, landing lightly as he casually tossed the small stone
he'd used as a Portkey into his waste bin. “Indeed, Miss Granger. Now, do any of you require a
visit to Poppy before we begin speaking?”

“No, sir.” Harry said, “But, we all have questions.”

“As you should.” Dumbledore said. “Under different circumstances, I would not answer them. But
after the events of tonight... I think we have no choice. First, I would like to explain my actions
this year, then this evening, and then you may ask any questions that you wish.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who nodded, then as Sirius, who shrugged. “Very well,
Headmaster.”

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk, summoning a bottle of brandy and four glasses. “Normally, I
wouldn't encourage underage students to drink, but I think we will all require one by the end
of our conversation.

Sirius stood, taking hold of a glass and holding it out. Dumbledore half-filled the glass before
pouring himself one. The two men took a sip, appreciating the fine taste of brandy, before
Dumbledore began.

“Approximately sixteen years ago, I was interviewing Sybil Trelawney for a position of
Divination Professor. The meeting was held in Hogsmeade, as I believed that letting her into the
castle would cause... complications.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she thought. “You believed if she was in the castle, it could be
difficult to get her to leave?”

“I believed so, yes.” Dumbledore nodded. “To be perfectly frank, before that night, I never
really held the `art' of Divination in high regard. It isn't really a subject that can be
taught. You either have a gift or you don't. However, for those with the gift, they do require
training. So, it was necessary to have a Professor. During the interview, she gave a prophecy. It
stated, `The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have
thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,
but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for
neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will
be born as the seventh month dies...'”

Harry blinked as the meaning washed over him. “It was me... me or Neville, right?”

“Correct. So, I immediately notified the Potters and the Longbottoms about this, telling them to
go into hiding. I proposed the use of the *Fidelius* charm, since it's unbreakable under
ideal circumstances.”

“The `right circumstances' being not trusting a rat.” Sirius snarked as he took another swig
of brandy.

“Indeed.” Dumbledore nodded. “I was not privy as to who was Secret Keeper. At the time, I
believed it to be Sirius. I was invited to Godric's Hollow to visit on several occasions. James
and Lily had a piece of parchment with the secret on it, and I didn't recognise the
handwriting. When James and Lily were killed...”

Dumbledore sighed, taking a sip of his drink. “At the time, I believed it essential to get Harry
to a position of safety. Since I, along with everyone else, believed that Sirius was the Secret
Keeper,” He turned to Sirius, “I couldn't allow you to take Harry. That left only his blood
relative, Petunia Dursley. I... I had Hagrid bring you to Surrey, and left you on the doorstep with
a letter.”

“You... you left a baby on a *doorstep*?” Hermione squealed angrily. “How could you? He
could have crawled away... been attacked by a wild animal, anything!”

“I am aware of that, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore said heavily. “Have you ever heard the phrase
`power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely'?”

Hermione nodded.

“I hold three of the most powerful positions in British Magical Society. I am the Chief Warlock
of the Wizengamot, making me able to influence politics and laws. I am the Supreme Mugwump of the
ICW, which allows me to influence international politics, across the whole world. And I am the
Headmaster of one of the foremost schools of magic in the world. Put simply, I began to believe the
hype that was thrust on me.”

“And now?” Harry asked, feeling anger begin to pump through his veins.

“And now, I've had some sense knocked into me.” Dumbledore said. “I intend to resign my
position on the Wizengamot and the ICW, and step down as Headmaster. I intend to take a
teacher's position here, allowing me to focus on what I enjoy without the temptations of
power.”

“Oh...”

“So, I left you at the Dursleys. I realise now what a mistake that was. When you arrived here
five years ago, I knew you'd suffered. Suffering that was *my* fault. Instead of using the
brains god gave a goose, I continued to return you to that abusive environment, year after
year.”

“Yes, you did.” Harry said emotionlessly.

“There's more, Harry.” Dumbledore said, taking a long swallow of brandy. “At the end of your
first year, you asked me why Voldemort came after you. Do you remember?”

“I remember you telling me I was too young to know.” Harry groused lightly.

“Yes... I did. That was only partially the truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “Once you became aware of
your destiny, I honestly didn't believe you'd be strong enough to face Voldemort. I
considered it my duty to `harden' you to your destiny.”

“I see.” Harry was again emotionless. Hermione, on the other hand, had a few choice phrases to
share.

“How *dare* you?” She roared. “You... you... you *evil* old man! Do you have any idea
what you've done to him?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore said firmly. “And that is why I have to finish, Miss Granger. Believe me, I
will relate all of my sins to you this evening.” He waited until Hermione nodded before continuing.
“Your second through fourth years run along a similar vein; I believed that each of your
`adventures' were suitable training, allowing you to learn just enough to face Voldemort, but
not enough to survive the battle.”

“Albus, I'm not sure I can listen to any more of this.” Sirius said, feeling an overwhelming
urge to reach for his wand. “You're... how could you?”

“At the time, I believed it to be necessary. I couldn't defeat Voldemort, so nobody else
would be able to, either. My... arrogance was profound.”

“I'll say.” Sirius said, keeping hold of the hilt of his wand.

“There's more... and it relates to Snape.”

Hermione cocked her head. “Not *Professor* Snape, sir?”

“I...” Dumbledore sighed. “Voldemort found out about part of the prophecy. He was spying on me
when Sybil gave me the prophecy. He immediately ran to Voldemort and told him what he overheard. It
can be solidly rested on Severus' shoulders that Voldemort targeted the Potters.”

Sirius was on his feet in an instant. “I'll kill him!”

“Sit down!” Dumbledore roared, making Sirius sit, instantly. After a moment, he continued. “It
is not your place to deal with Severus. It is *mine*. And I will.”

“Why...” Harry felt hot tears prickling at the back of his eyes. “All this time... I was a slave
at the Dursleys... you *paid* him... and he's been abusing students...”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. I allowed him to be... unpleasant to the students to maintain his cover
as a Death Eater. He convinced me that he was truly turning his back on Voldemort and wanted to
spy.”

“This...” Hermione shook her head, wiping away her own tears as she grabbed Harry's hand.
“Sir, do you know what you're admitting?”

“Yes, I do.” Dumbledore said, focussing on the subject at hand. “Ever since last summer,
I've been ignoring you, Harry. The reason for this is that I was scared of you. Your connection
to Voldemort has been growing ever since he used your blood in his resurrection ceremony last year.
Voldemort is an accomplished Legilimens, and I feared that he'd be able to use you as a conduit
to me. My fear stopped me from speaking to you and telling you what you needed to know.”

Harry was nearly in shock at the revelations.

“Now for the... events of this evening. Miss Granger, you remember when you had the time
turner?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I told you that you must not be seen. Time turners are incapable of creating a paradox.
However, there are other ways of travelling in time. That other copy of me time-travelled after the
disaster in the Department of Mysteries.”

“What disaster?” Sirius asked.

“Both you and Miss Granger died in battle.” Dumbledore said bluntly. “Sirius, you were knocked
through the veil by Bellatrix, while Miss Granger, that flame whip from Dolohov would have nearly
sliced you in half. My future self decided that was unacceptable and travelled back in time, intent
on changing it.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked.

“When he was leaving the Death Room, do you remember he dropped a memory strand on my
forehead?”

“Yeah.”

“That was his memories of this evening, from his point of view. I knew that I could not allow
that to happen again. Like him, I will use whatever spells are in my power to protect you.
Including the Dark Arts.”

Silence reigned. Harry cleared his throat. “So... what happens now?”

“Originally,” Dumbledore said, “my plan was for you to return to the Dursleys for at least half
of the summer. However, I believe you would be better served at Headquarters with Sirius.”

“Sir?”

“You will need training, Harry... training I should have started giving you five years ago.
I've been a fool. I want to try and correct that.”

“Oh...”

“I believe that a training schedule, lasting for most of the holidays should be drawn up,
teaching you the most powerful combat magicks I know. There's also several missions that will
need to be undertaken, and I would like to have both of you present in Order meetings. Your point
of view can only be an asset.”

Harry stared at him.

“One thing I *will not* do, Harry, is tell you where to go. I am aware that the revelations
of tonight will not doubt infuriate you. I understand and accept that.” He held up a hand, seeing
Harry about to speak. “I do not want your forgiveness, Harry. Instead, I would like to earn my
redemption. I have wronged you. I would like the opportunity to make it back up.”

“Do you really think you can?” Hermione asked.

“No.” Dumbledore said candidly. “That will not, however, stop me from trying.”

“I'll try, Headmaster.” Harry said diplomatically.

“That is all I ask, Harry.” Dumbledore stood up, flicking his wand at himself, turning his robes
black and trimming his hair. “Sirius, would you come with me, please? I believe the two of us
should have a conversation with Severus.”

Sirius headed for the door, stepping through, Dumbledore right behind him. Just before he closed
the door, Dumbledore stuck his head back round. “Oh, Harry? Hermione?”

The two teens looked up. “Yes, sir?”

“You both love each other, you know. Do me a favour? Admit it to each other.” With a grin,
Dumbledore withdrew his head, before putting it back round. “Another favour? Don't wipe it off
on my cushions.” Dumbledore closed and sealed the door, holding up his hand to stop Sirius from
moving. After a moment, he heard Hermione's breathy, “Oh, Harry...” followed by a moan.

“You know... you frighten me sometimes...” Sirius said as he led the way down the stairs.

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Once inside the dungeons, Dumbledore casually bound Snape in unbreakable ropes before throwing
him onto a chair.

“Headmaster?” Snape looked confused. “What are you doing?”

“It's question and answer time, Severus.” Dumbledore said, rooting through the shelves in
Snape's private cupboard. “Ah, excellent.” He withdrew a small vial, filled with a clear
liquid.

Snape began squirming as he realised just what the Headmaster had picked up. “Sir, what are
you-” He stopped speaking as Sirius grabbed hold of his head, prising his jaw open.

Six drops later, Snape's eyes glazed over.

“Now, Severus... shall we have a conversation?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you loyal to?”

“The Dark Lord.”

“Why did you allow me to believe that you were my spy?”

“Because my Lord commanded me to, and you're an old fool.”

“Indeed... indeed. Was anything you told me true?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“The Dark Lord wasn't planning on killing Lily.”

“Why not?”

“Because I asked him to spare her for me.”

“What?” Sirius frowned, squeezing Snape's jaw painfully. “Explain! *Now!*”

“I asked the Dark Lord to allow me to keep the Mudblood as a sex-toy. Had she followed his
commands, she would still be alive.”

“Sirius, stop!” Dumbledore commanded, waving his wand to push Sirius back. “I understand your
desire to kill him, but there are still questions to be answered.”

“Ask them quickly.” Sirius said through gritted teeth. “I have limited patience.”

“I will.” Dumbledore turned back to Snape. “Have you been providing information to Voldemort
about the Order of the Phoenix?”

“Naturally. He *is* my master.”

“And when I asked you to teach Harry Occlumency, did you?”

“Not at all. It was a chance for revenge against James Potter.”

“James Potter's been dead for fifteen years, Severus. What could you hope to gain by
torturing his son?”

“He's a Potter... they're all guilty of *something*.”

“Only one more question, Severus.” Dumbledore said, raising his wand. “Are you prepared to
die?”

“I have been ever since I accepted the mark.”

“Good. *Avada Kedavra.*” Dumbledore watched impassively as a man he once considered a
friend die. Another flick of his wand transfigured him into a match, which he struck against the
side of the bench, allowing it to burn out. He dropped it to the floor, grinding it into dust with
his boot.

“You know... you're definitely a lot more intimidating now.” Sirius said, his normally pale
face even whiter.

“You stand with Harry.” Dumbledore said in a clipped voice. “As long as you remain there, you
have nothing to fear from me. Now, let us return to my office. I just hope they've exercised
some self-control.”

**----- OWtGoT:D -----**

Upon his entrance, Dumbledore was forced to suppress snickers as Hermione quickly rebuttoned her
blouse. Harry was blushing brightly, but there was a gleam to his eye that hadn't been there
before.

“Harry...” Dumbledore knelt down, holding his wand across his palms. “I would like to pledge
myself to you. I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, hereby swear my life to supporting Harry
Potter and Hermione Granger/Potter in the upcoming war. I will train them to the fullest of my
abilities and will keep no information from them. As I swear, so mote it be.”

He flashed for a moment, before standing. “Now... I believe you and Miss Granger should continue
your... conversation. Please ensure you use appropriate contraception. Good evening.”

As Harry and Hermione fled, Sirius chuckled rustily. “I suppose I'd better get to work on
cleaning up the hovel.”

“Take as many elves as you need from Hogwarts.” Dumbledore offered. “And kill that rodent you
have working for you at the moment.”

Sirius blinked.

“He betrayed you, Sirius, not to mention the rest of the Order. I intend to make sure we do
*not* lose this war.”

“Aye...” Sirius took his leave and Floo'd away, leaving Dumbledore alone with his
thoughts.

*Harry, Hermione... I know that I've betrayed you both by my actions. This time, I will
not mess it up again.* He knew that there was nothing they couldn't face... together. And
he'd do everything in his power to make sure they stayed that way.

-->



5. Soul Bonds are NOT cool
--------------------------



**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry. This just... popped into my head. It's fluffy and
silly... I should probably just bin the file...

“Ah, Hermione!” Lavender exclaimed happily. “What marvellous timing!”

Hermione's eyes narrowed warily at Lavender's happy tone. “Whatever it is, nobody saw me
do it and you can't prove anything.”

Lavender blinked in confusion. “Er... okay?”

“So, you weren't asking who left all the hair in the showe... Never mind.” Hermione said
quickly. “Why is this `marvellous timing'?”

With a slight shrug, Lavender held up the magazine she'd been reading. Hermione suppressed a
grimace when she saw it was *Teen Witch Weekly*. “There's a new article about soul bonds
in here!”

This time, Hermione didn't bother to suppress her grimace. “Soul bonds? Why on *Earth*
would you read about that?”

Lavender gaped convincingly. “Hermione! How can you say that? Soul bonds are *the* most
*romantic* things ever!”

“No, they bloody well aren't.” Harry said, unnoticed, from directly behind them, quickly
getting the girls' attention as they all jumped. Hermione, naturally, knew that he was there.
Lavender, Parvati, Ginny and Romilda nearly jumped out of their skins.

“H-Harry!” Ginny exclaimed, holding her hand against her chest. “Sweet Merlin, you nearly scared
the life out of me!”

“You're wrong about soul bonds.” Harry said, ambling round the armchair and slumping onto
the couch with a heavy grunt.

“Why?”

“Because they're *not* the most romantic thing in the world.” Harry grunted, closing
his eyes and slumping even further.

“Spoken like a *boy!*” Lavender snorted disdainfully. “Like you'd understand anything
about romance.”

“Perhaps not.” Harry admitted, not opening his eyes. “I do, however, know quite a bit about soul
bonds.”

“Harry.” Hermione said warningly.

“No, come on, Hermione...” Harry said, looking up at her, “they think soul bonds are so bloody
marvellous... you've been bitching to me for almost two years about this. Why not let them know
the truth?”

“Because it's horribly embarrassing.” Hermione replied instantly. “And you know perfectly
well that it's horribly embarrassing.”

“Well, yes, I do... But, still... they think `they're the most romantic things ever!'”
He concluded in a mocking tone.

“Fine.” Hermione grumped.

“So, what do you know about soul bonds?” Lavender asked, leaning forward, resting her elbows on
her knees, eager for some new morsel of gossip.

“I have one.”

*That* comment brought absolute silence in the Gryffindor common room, as *every*
student stopped what they were doing. Seventy-six pairs of eyeballs swivelled to Harry, all
pretence gone. Only one set, that belonging to Hermione, was not gaping at him. Instead, she was
staring at the ceiling, wishing for a hole to open up in the Earth and swallow her whole.

“W-What... who... when... how...” Lavender's mouth was opening and closing, with random
sounds coming out. “Why...”

“All good questions.” Harry said, staring intently at her. “Okay... `What' is `dunno'.
`Who?' is my dear, sweet-”

“Piss off.”

“Hermione.” Harry continued, as though said lady hadn't interrupted him. “`When?' was
during the first task of the Tri-Wizard tournament. `How?' I would guess was because of the...
stress I was under, not to mention a healthy fear of death and a good dollop of adrenaline, while
Hermione was feeling something almost as intense. The `Why?'... I don't have a bloody clue.
It just happened.”

Lavender's jaw was resting on her sternum as she looked at Harry, then Hermione, then back
at Harry...

“Oh, for the love of God...” Hermione muttered, feeling the rest of Gryffindor staring at her.
“Will you please stop staring?”

“But...” Ginny blinked. “How did you keep this from us? *Why* did you keep this from
us?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Probably to avoid a scene like everyone's making now. Contrary to
popular opinion, neither my bond-mate nor I appreciate being stared at.”

“But... you have a soul bond!” Lavender squealed, getting over the shock and into full
gossip-mode. “That's so sweet and romantic!”

“No, it bloody well isn't!” Harry and Hermione snapped in perfect unison.

“See! That's so sweet! You always know what each other's thinking!” Ginny said, clapping
her hands in glee.

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. “You don't know anything about this...”

“Tell us!” Every girl near-screamed in unison, before a `tell us!' chant began reverberating
throughout the common room.

“Oh, joy...” Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” Again, silence reigned throughout the
common room as everyone waited for Hermione to continue. “Picture the scene; you've just
witnessed your best friend fighting a dragon, and you've been scared shitless that entire time.
You go and see him, start hugging him, and what happens? You start hearing his voice in your head,
wishing that you'd move a little closer, maybe wiggle a bit.”

Eyes began turning to Harry, who just shrugged. “Fourteen and male... get over it.”

“So, you step back, looking at him, thinking `he didn't just say that... did he?' Harry
looks at me and says `I didn't say anything'. So, I thought something... uncomplimentary
about him.”

“You call me a perverted little psychotic junkie who needed a spanking.” Harry supplied
dutifully, looking up at her with a smirk. “You then offered to spank me.”

“So,” Hermione continued without pause, “we found out that we have the ability to speak to each
other in our minds... what a *joy* that is.”

Lavender appeared outraged. “Hermione, I can't believe you! You get to experience one of the
most rare magical phenomena, and you're complaining.”

“Like I said, I was fourteen and male.” Harry said wryly. “What are fourteen year old boys
famous for thinking about?”

There was silence as the girls pondered the question and the boys began to blush. When the girls
finally caught up, most of them shared an expression of mutual distaste.

“Christ, at one point I thought I was a lesbian.” Hermione groused. “I kept thinking about
breasts, and I found myself checking out Parvati when she got out of the shower.”

Parvati began to blush.

“I didn't have a bloody clue that Harry was able to share my senses and *he* was the
one checking out Parvati using my eyes.”

“Hey, I had it just as bad.” Harry pointed out. “Listening to you recite bloody Arithmancy
formulae *constantly*. Hearing your thoughts during the end of year exams damned near drove me
out of my mind.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked dangerously. “And listening to your thoughts during History of Magic? A
fourteen year old fantasising about tits, Quidditch, tits, food, tits, the Yule Ball and... oh,
yeah; tits!”

Several of the younger students, who'd learned that Hermione's temper often got the
better of her, began packing up their belongings, edging towards the portrait hole.

“Well, you're not exactly sweetness and bloody light, are you?” Harry asked angrily, sitting
up on the couch. “Constantly nagging in my mind! `Don't slouch, Harry!' `Shouldn't you
be out of bed by now?' `*Four* cups of coffee, Harry?' Sweet Jesus... it was like
having the most *irritating* person in the world constantly speaking to you!”

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously. “You'd better think very clearly, Harry
Potter...”

“Or what?”

“Or I'll tell people the *truth!*”

“`Truth'?” Harry asked, casually noting people sneaking out of the common room. “How's
this for truth; I've had to suffer every single fucking period you've had for almost
*three years!*” Every male in the house gasped, while the girls smiled smugly.

“As I have... and I've had to suffer every single hard-on that you've had... every dirty
little fantasy!” More of the `brave' house of Gryffindor began to run, heading away before
Mount Granger erupted in a pyroclastic display.

“And I've had to put up with you being nagging, shirty, irritating... I've seen your
fantasies when you've been asleep, too, remember?”

With a snarl, Hermione stepped forward, casually moving around a group of fourth years as they
made a break for freedom. “And you, constantly telling me to calm down... do you have any idea how
much that winds me up?”

Harry stood, stepping round Parvati, Lavender and Ginny as they quietly began to walk towards
the portrait hole. “And you think that me winding you up is less than what you do to me?”

Hermione took another pace forward and grabbed Harry's shirt, staring hard at him. *They
gone?* She asked him mentally.

Harry glanced round, happily noting that the common room was empty. *Yep. Room's
empty.*

*Don't you think there was probably an easier wa**y* *than this?*

*Probably.* Harry said as he began to unbutton her blouse. *But, you have to admit; it
was fun.*

Hermione moaned as Harry expertly tweaked her nipple on the way past. *It is... but, you
should admit you enjoy having arguments for the angry make-up sex.*

*Just because they aren't real arguments doesn't mean we can't have make-up sex,
my love.* Harry sent as he began to lick her collar bone, making her moan again as her fists
nodded in his hair.

*You're so good at this...*

Harry's hand dropped lower, pulling up her far-too short skirt. *Is this regulation, Head
Girl?*

*Who gives a flying fuck?* Hermione asked as she felt Harry banish her knickers.
*Shouldn't we seal the portrait hole?*

*Should*. Harry sent back as he began gently massaging her glorious butt cheeks. *But,
admit it; you get turned on at the thought of getting caught.*

*True... but, I also like to have enough time to finish, too...*

Harry smirked as he dropped to his knees, inhaling her scent deeply. *Have I ever let you
leave unsatisfied?* He leaned closer, pushing up her skirt and gently running his tongue along
her damp entrance.

*N-No...* Hermione moaned. *Don't tease... Harry... please...*

Harry stood, wrapping an arm around her waist as he quickly guided her to a table, reaching into
his robe pocket and pulling out a small book. He slammed it onto the table, enlarging it absently.
Hermione quickly assumed the position, bending over the desk and opening the book.

*You're so good to me...*

Unzipping, Harry manoeuvred himself into position. *I'm gonna be better in a minute...
now, my love; start reading...*

Hermione gasped as Harry sheathed himself smoothly inside her, waiting a moment before he began
a fast and oh-so-enjoyable rhythm. It took a moment for her brain to reboot as she began reading
this week's book: *Lady Chatterley's Lover*.

As she was reading, Harry reflected just how cool soul bonds were... especially when Hermione
read out smut during their sex.

*F-Faster, Harry...* Hermione moaned.

Yep... soul bonds were cool.

-->



6. untitled
-----------



**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

I live in shadow.

For many years, I've been banished to a lonely existence, never seeing the sun. I live in
heat and humidity, but always in the shadow.

As such, I'm deathly pale, so white that I look like I'm wearing clown paint.

The life of Harry Potter is well documented. There is an entire wall dedicated to him in
Flourish and Blotts, and even though I've been with him over all those adventures, I am not
mentioned. Not once.

In his lifetime, Harry's faced Dementors. I was there. I am not mentioned.

He's faced a werewolf. I was there. I am not mentioned.

He faced a Hungarian Horntail. I was there. I am not mentioned.

He destroyed the Dark Lord Voldemort. I was there. I am not mentioned.

Are you seeing a pattern here? Ron Weasley, Harry's best mate, and Hermione Granger,
Harry's best friend, were there, and they are mentioned. You can probably tell, I'm a bit
bitter about this.

I try to live without regrets, but I'm so very lonely. My life of shadow and
loneliness...

By now, you're probably wondering who I am, huh? Not surprising. I've been speaking
about myself for quite a while here. Well, see if you can put it together from the clues.

I'm very pale.

I live in the shadow.

I've been with Harry for many years, and I'm never mentioned.

Worked it out yet?

No... okay, I shall reveal my identity.

I am, of course, Harry's penis.

Yeah, you probably weren't expecting that, were you? No? Good.

Harry Potter's `love-life' is well documented, just like the rest of his adventures.
According to Rita Skeeter, Harry was dating Hermione Granger in fourth year. He wasn't. He was
dating Cho Chang during his fifth year. Which is partially inaccurate. He had *one* date and
left it halfway through. I didn't see even a glimpse of action.

Then he was dating Ginny Weasley in his sixth year. The girl, during one of their many snogging
sessions, tried to grope me, but I executed tactical manoeuvre #2: “turtle” to escape. I don't
know why, but the prospect of that hand touching me... no. Not interested.

During what would have been Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, he was forced to roam the
country, with just Ron and Hermione as company. Ron pissed off partway through the mission, because
he was bored and hungry, leaving it just the three of us; Harry, Hermione and me. I truly thought
I'd get some at that point, but no...

I often find it curious that I was assigned to Harry Potter. He seems to be the most asexual
person I've ever heard of. Not once, not *once*, has he ever taken me out for some
exercise. I'm a bit masochistic and enjoy being strangled, but he's never done that. Me and
the boys could drop off and I doubt he'd notice.

After the final battle at Hogwarts, practically every unmarried witch between the ages of twelve
and a hundred and twelve wanted to play with me. It seemed once he killed the Dark Dick again, I
was in popular demand. That's the problem with noble people; they stop the little guy having
fun.

So now, here I am, locked in my cruel cloth prison (least the bastard could do is wear boxers...
I want *some* room to move around), and it seems that my life will get no better. I shall be
alone for a long... wait a sec... something's happening...

I'm waking up. *Properly* waking up. The blood's pumping, and I *am
alive!*

If I had a nose, I'd be sniffing, wanting to find out what's going on, but then again,
considering where I live, having a nose may not be the best idea. `Teenage Male' and `Personal
Hygiene' don't generally go together.

The zipping noise makes me twitch, trying to find out what's going on, but a blast of light
blinds me.

Ah, yes, another point; I only have one eye, so my depth perception is crap. Seriously crap. But
there's something approaching me. One, two, three, four... four fingers. Do I need to prepare
to retreat? Wait... oh, thank god. It's not Ginny's hand. Whose hand is it, though?

Ooh, it's warm... and surprisingly skilled. Like I said, I'm a masochist, and I'm
being abused perfectly by that hand.

Ah, bright light, bright light! I've just been taken out of prison. Ah, fresh air feels
good! Fresh air plus being molested feels even better.

There's something coming closer. I have to squint a bit, but my vision's dreadful. All I
can see is brown... like a bush of brown... Whatever that `something' is, it getting
dangerously close. And opening. And I'm enveloped.

Ah, it's like a sauna. It's warm, comfortable, plenty of humidity, and I'm getting a
relaxing massage.

If you'll excuse me, I need to wake up the lads. We've got work to do.

The sauna pulls back, leaving me bobbing in the air. I'm manhandled up slightly, and then...
ooh... I have to squint, but I'm fairly certain I recognise that face. Bushy-brown hair,
beautiful chocolate eyes, straight teeth and...

I think I'm about to sneeze... excuse me a second... Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!

And now that face has a beautiful mother of pearl sheen that wasn't there a minute ago. She
looks happy, though, if that grin is anything to go by. Normally, my first inclination after such a
vigorous workout would be a nice kip. Maybe a gentle massage to send me off to sleep... Shit,
I've just had a thought; Hermione Granger *never* achieves something. She
overachieves.

Don't bother going back to sleep, lads. Round two's coming up.

You know... maybe it's not so bad being Harry Potter's dick...

-->



7. ''Bun in the Oven''
----------------------

*Wednesday, 1st November, 2000
Master Bedroom, #12 Grimmauld Place, London*

*Let me die...* The thought, if such pitiful whimpering could be called ‘thought’, was the
first thing that flashed across Harry’s mind as he began to stir.

His bed seemed particularly uncomfortable this morning, although that was probably related to
the absolutely momentous hangover he was currently sporting. He took a moment to ‘run a
diagnostic’.

*Okay... my mouth feels like I swallowed the contents of an ashtray... do I smoke when I’m
drinking?*

*My head’s banging... That must be where all the garden gnomes go at the Burrow... they hide
until I’m pissed, then grab hammers and abuse me. Little twats...*

*Also, I don’t remember eating those snakes... why’s my stomach roiling so badly? Oh, yeah...
I didn’t eat anything yesterday.*

*Diagnostic complete. Situation: bleugh...* Harry was *very* glad that he’d booked the
rest of the week off work. He really didn’t fancy chasing Dark wizards around the country with the
hangover from hell.

He froze. *Oh god...* He thought. *Something moved... something that* wasn’t *me
moved? Oh, shitehawk, who did I bring home last night?*

Using his Occlumency, which wasn’t easy considering there was still quite a lot of alcohol in
his system and he was badly dehydrated, Harry dredged up the memory of the previous evening.

*Flashback: Tuesday, 31st October, 2000
‘Wet Wands’*

*Harry Potter was drunk. Not just drunk, but* drunk*.*

*As usual, the gang had gathered at Wet Wands for an evening of drinking, eating and general
debauchery. The date, Halloween, was no coincidence.*

*It was widely accepted among his circle of friends that Harry only drank on four occasions
during each year; a small glass of FireWhiskey to ‘bring in the new year’, a single champagne toast
on Hermione’s birthday (which made each and every one of his friends roll their eyes at his utter
thickness), another small FireWhiskey on June 26th, the anniversary of his godfather’s
death, but on Halloween, he got* wankered*. Completely. Utterly.*

*As such, being good and loyal friends, the semi-small group made sure that Harry wasn’t alone
on Halloween. In ’98, after He-Who-Now-Fertilises-The-Pumpkin-Patch had been defeated, Harry had
stayed alone at Grimmauld Place, telling his friends he wanted a night of quiet introspection, and
sealing up the house to insure his privacy.*

*The two-week stay in hospital, complete with having his stomach pumped and his heart
restarted (twice) had convinced his friends that Harry should* never *be left alone on
Halloween. Hermione, naturally, had been utterly distraught over the situation, and had received a
written warning from the Ministry about her absence. She’d ignored it, though.*

*Whenever the group had a night out, the typical agenda was as follows: the first hour, the
group split into male/female so the girls could gossip about things that scared the boys, and the
boys could chat about things that bored the girls. The next six or seven hours were devoted to
getting pissed, eating too much, dancing/dry humping and generally making complete arses of
themselves.*

*The group had split off into various couples over the few years since the defeat of
Voldemort, but their shared experiences had created a set of friendships and bonds that couldn’t be
broken.*

*For the first thirty minutes of the evening, Harry power-drank. He* hated *Halloween
with a passion, and getting blotto was a quick way of numbing the pain. Unfortunately for Harry, he
forgot that drinking lowered all mental defences, allowing his demons to run rampant through his
mind.*

*Fortunately for his friends, however, Harry was a fun drunk. He was also brutally honest,
enough to make Luna Lovegood seem quiet and reserved.*

*“Harry, are you sure you should be drinking that quickly?” Ron asked, feeling an overwhelming
urge to stun his friend. Only two factors stopped him; Harry was normally pretty good at moderating
his drinking and didn’t need a minder; Harry would (and had) kick his arse if Ron nicked his
booze.*

*“‘m fine...” Harry slurred, draining his second bottle of FireWhiskey. “‘S’all good,
Won.”*

*“Oh, don’t remind me.” Ron groused. “Every time we have these nights out, Ernie reminds me
that I dry-humped his missus in the common room.”*

*“Grim.” Harry muttered, reaching over and grabbing a third bottle of the potent
liquor.*

*“Thanks, Harry.” Ron said, making an obvious gesture at putting a glass in front of Harry.
Maybe it’d stop him drinking straight from the bottle. Never did before, though...*

*“You okay, Harry?” Neville asked. “You seem... not your usual self tonight. What’s
up?”*

*“‘ermione.” Harry slurred into his bottle.*

*Ron, discretely but expertly, opened a small mirror in his pocket, clearing his throat as he
did so.*

*On the next table over, the girls had gathered round to compare make-up tips, recipes,
feminine-hygiene product information and gossip about their respective partners. Well, all except
the one single lady at the table, Hermione Granger.*

*“I don’t understand it.” Ginny was saying. “Why is it every time we talk about marriage,
Neville runs off?”*

*“He’s a man, sweetie.” Lisa Turpin replied. “You should see Justin. All I have to do is hum
the wedding march and he faints. If it wasn’t so cute, it’d be irritating.”*

*“Do we have to do this every time?” Hermione asked, taking a drink of her Butterbeer. “Can we
not keep doing this in front of the single person?”*

*“And when are you gonna ask Harry out?” The six other women at the table asked in perfect
unison.*

*“Leave it.” Hermione commanded sharply. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”*

*Luna leaned forward, peering absently at Hermione. “Don’t you think it’s curious how we’ve
all paired up, except for you and Harry?”*

*“No.” Hermione replied bluntly.*

*“Well, it is.” Luna insisted in her dreamy tone. “I’ve got my Ronnie. Ginny’s with
Neville-”*

*“And very happy about it.” Ginny interrupted. “If you want, Hermione, I could tell you about
that time when he licked-”*

*“Stop.”*

*Luna carried on. “Seamus finally managed to become worthy of Parvati.”*

*“And I make sure he proves himself worthy every night.” Parvati purred. “Gotta love the
Irish...”*

*“Dean seems to make Padma very happy.” Luna continued, glancing over at the shy
former-Ravenclaw, who had an* immense *grin. “Even Lavender seems to have found a compatible
partner.”*

*“Hey!” The blonde whined playfully. “Why do you make me sound like a strumpet?”*

*“We know you.” The other girls said together.*

*“Lisa revoked her membership in the Vestal Virgins because she wanted to be with Justin. You,
Hermione, are the only one who hasn’t pursued her heart’s desire.”*

*“Even Blaise managed to find someone.” The seven girls glanced over at the men’s table, where
6’4” Blaise sat, nursing his drink, 5’6” Colin Creevey sitting on his lap. When the true dynamics
of that relationship had come to light, that Colin was a top, all of them had been stunned. The
commitment ceremony, though, had been as beautiful as any wedding could have been, and the entire
group knew that the pair made each other happy.*

*“You’re the only one who hasn’t gone after the man who makes their loins burn.” Luna said,
gesturing vaguely at a certain green-eyed hunk on the next table. “You’re only making yourself, and
him, suffer, Hermione.”*

*“He’s not interested!” Hermione hissed angrily. “He deserves someone worthy, not... not me.”
She took another long drink from her Butterbeer. “Can we just leave this? Not tonight. Not on
Halloween.”*

*“No... you’ll be too busy making sure Harry’s safe.”*

*“Right.” Hermione agreed carelessly.*

*“Wouldn’t it be easier to watch over him if you were together?”*

*“Leave it!”*

*In Luna’s handbag, a loud beeping could be heard. The blonde looked at her purse in
confusion. “That’s funny... Ronald’s only sitting one table away. Why would he be calling me?”
Suitably intrigued, Luna whipped the small mirror out, tapping it with her wand. The small
communicator open, the ladies could now hear the conversation at the gentleman’s table.
Subconsciously, all moved a little closer, not wanting to miss a potentially juicy bit of
gossip.*

*“So, what about Hermione?” Ron asked, putting the mirror on the table and hiding it behind
one of Harry’s empty whiskey bottles.*

*“What about her?” Harry asked, looking confused.*

*“You said that something was up, then said Hermione’s name.” Neville pointed out recently.
“Logic would dictate that you have something on your mind about her.”*

*“Oh, yeah... how’d you guess?”*

*Not wanting to get bogged down in a circular argument (since a pissed Harry was a bloody
master at them), Ron cleared his throat. “So, what’s got Hermione on your mind?”*

*“Just finking.” Harry said, taking a long swallow of his whiskey.*

*“Yes, we got that.” Ron said dryly. “Just what were you thinking?”*

*There were times, usually when inebriated, that Harry could say something that would make any
conversation the group was having completely screech to a halt. This was one of them.*

*“I really wanna fuck a pregnant Hermione.”*

*Apart from the pumping of the music, there wasn’t a sound. Thirteen mouths were hung open in
shock at Harry’s bold statement.*

*“What?”*

*Hermione’s jaw was near her ankles, her eyes were wide and panic was racing through her mind.
“Where the bloody hell did that come from?” She whispered. No-one could answer.*

*“Er... where the hell did that come from, Harry?” Colin asked, leaning a little
closer.*

*“Dunno.” Harry grunted. “Just having a think.”*

*“No, that’s a pretty specific statement for ‘just having a think’.” Blaise pointed out
reasonably. “You have a specific partner in mind, the delectable Miss Granger, some pretty specific
circumstances, that she be pregnant, and you wish to engage in sexual relations. Like I said; too
specific.”*

*Harry just gazed blankly at Blaise. “What?”*

*“Oh, spare me...” Blaise groaned, only stopped when Colin leaned back and muttered soothing
comments to his lover.*

*“Why do you want to shag Hermione, Harry?” Neville asked, deciding to break it down.*

*“You know why.”*

*“Yes, we do.” Indeed, the entire group knew that Harry wanted Hermione, but couldn’t be made
to take that final step; actually* telling *her. “And we’ve told you about this.”*

*“Why would Hermione want me?” Harry slurred. “A scrawny little prat with no redeeming
features?”*

*“Because she loves you?” Ron asked.*

*“She loves me like a brother, Ron.” Harry pointed out, sounding scarily lucid for a moment.
“She doesn’t want me like that. Can’t blame her, really...”*

*At the girls’ table, Hermione was slowly shaking her head. “No... no...”*

*“Why pregnant?” Blaise asked, deciding to see if he could* finally *get Potter-the-prat
to wake up and smell the romance.*

*Harry just shrugged.*

*“That’s not an answer, Harry.”*

*After a moment of deep thought (which looked like it really hurt), Harry shrugged. “She’d
look cute with the bump.”*

*“And who would be the father of this child?” Blaise asked, doggedly pursuing the answer.
“Would it matter if it were someone else’s child?”*

*The ‘kicked-puppy’ look on Harry’s face spoke volumes, especially to Hermione, who was in
prime position to watch Harry. “Yes...” Harry whispered. “Want* my *kid in her
belly...”*

*Every female eye at their table swivelled to Hermione, who was ignoring them for Harry. She
knew that she’d happily give Harry a child (not to mention a lot of practice at making them), but
she didn’t think he’d be interested in her. She was plain, a bookworm, annoying, a nag, had no
tits, a fat arse-*

*“Stop gnashing your teeth.” Luna whispered, interrupting Hermione’s musing. “I can’t hear the
mirror.”*

*“Harry, if you want to have a child with Hermione, why don’t you simply tell her how you
feel?”*

*“She doesn’t want me.” Harry slurred, finally draining the third bottle of whiskey. Looking
in confusion at the bottle, he had to ask, “Where’d my drink go?”*

*Ron just took the empty bottle and passed him another. He also passed a small vial to Harry,
hoping that he could be persuaded to drink the anti-drunkenness potion. At this stage, it wouldn’t
stop him being pissed, but it’d stop him getting alcohol poisoning again.*

*Harry glared at the turquoise potion, remembering the vile effects it had (taking away his
buzz... damn it!) but he took it and swallowed quickly. Another mouthful of whiskey chased the
horrific taste away, leaving him free to continue imbibing.*

*“Why don’t you just ask Hermione if she’d be interested?”*

*Again, Harry just shrugged. “Doesn’t want me... nobody wants me... they all want the
hero...”*

*Ron stood up, gesturing wildly at Dean, who was sitting to Harry’s immediate right. “Okay,
I’ve had enough of this.” He turned, pointing at Hermione, then at Harry. “For two years, Harry,
I’ve watched you pine away for Hermione. And for two years, Hermione, I watched you staring at
Harry. I’ve had enough. Let’s get this sorted, right here, right now.”*

*“Weasley...” Blaise drawled, “subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of your strong points.”*

*“Can it, Blaise.” Ron snapped back. “Not in the mood. If Harry would just grow some balls and
actually ask her, we all know she’d say yes. And if Hermione would grow some balls-”*

*“Don’t want her with balls.” Harry said, staring at his bottle. “That’d just be
weird.”*

*Slowly, Hermione stood up, gathering all her Gryffindor courage. Taking a deep breath, she
calmly walked round the men’s table until she was stood next to Harry. “Sit up straight, Harry.”
She said bossily.*

*“See? She looks out for me.” Harry said, obeying the request.*

*Doing something new and never-before seen, Hermione sat in Harry’s lap, folding her arms
around the man she not-so-secretly loved and wanted to make babies with. Ironic, considering the
conversation of the evening. “Harry?”*

*Harry looked up, blinking when he saw Hermione’s face mere inches from his own.
“Hello.”*

*“Harry, I might, just might, have overheard what you said then.”*

*“Okay...”*

*“Do you really want babies with me?”*

*“Yeah...”*

*While the two were talking, Ron quickly moved the crowd over to the girls’ table, not wanting
to interrupt what had been nearly ten years in the making. He left the mirror behind, of course...
no need to miss out on the good stuff.*

*Hermione tightened her grip on Harry. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”*

*Harry shrugged. “You’re pretty, intelligent and wonderful... what could I offer you except
misery and pain?”*

*Rolling her eyes, Hermione just shook her head. “Harry, do you know I’ve wanted you since
sixth year?”*

*“Wanted me for what? If it’s about that potions book, Hermione, I stopped-”*

*“No, not the potions book.” Hermione was, by her very character, a very patient person, and
that was a character trait that was certainly needed when dealing with a drunk Harry. “We dealt
with the potions book already, Harry. No, I wanted you for something else.”*

*“Oh. What?”*

*“Well, I wanted to do all the rude things that I can’t tell my parents about.”*

*Staring blankly, Harry shrugged. “Okay. What things?”*

*“Sex, Harry.”*

*“Male.” He said firmly.*

*“Merlin help me...”*

*Harry tried to reach onto the table to get his whiskey, but Hermione’s arms stopped
him.*

*“Harry?”*

*“Hmm?”*

*“I don’t think you should drink any more tonight.”*

*“Why not?” He asked with an absolutely gorgeous pout.*

*“There’s something I need to ask you, Harry, and it’s important.”*

*“My drink’s important.”*

*“This is more so.”*

*Harry looked at her intently. “Are you sure?”*

*“Quite sure, yes.” Hermione pushed the whiskey bottle back, and then snuggled closer.
“Harry?”*

*“Yeah?”*

*“If you had the chance, would you sleep with me?”*

*“Sleep?”*

*“Have sex.”*

*“Yes.” He said emphatically.*

*“Even though I’m a nagging, bushy-haired know-it-all with no tits?”*

*Harry’s head dropped forward, conveniently landing between Hermione’s breasts. “You
do.”*

*She looked down, spotting Harry getting comfortable in between her girls. “Harry.” She waited
a moment, noting that he looked quite happy where he was. “Harry?”*

*“What?” He whined.*

*“They’re... not very big.”*

*Harry just shook his head. Emphatically. While pushing closer to Hermione. She let out an
embarrassed smile as she noted their friends watching the drama unfold with immense amusement.
“Harry, people are watching us.”*

*“Don’t care.” He mumbled to her chest. “There were three in the top, and the middle one
popped... all down his leg.”*

*“Harry!” Hermione half-scolded, half-laughed. “That’s rude.”*

*“I know.”*

*“But... if you fancy me and want to make babies, why not tell me? You know there isn’t
anything I wouldn’t do for you.”*

*“I know you’d do anything if I asked you, Hermione.” Slowly, he managed to pull his head
up... not too far from her chest, though. “It’s not fair to you.”*

*“Bugger fair.” Hermione said. “Harry, I want you. It’s almost always been you. I just didn’t
think you’d want me.”*

*Another voice intruded on the conversation. “Harry, Hermione, stop talking, go home and have
sex.” Luna commanded gently. “Harry, stop drinking.”*

*“Why?” Harry returned his head to those oh-so-comfortable pillows that resided on Hermione’s
chest.*

*“Because I don’t want you to get brewer’s droop.” Hermione said, smiling when he just mumbled
into her top. “I don’t want you passing out early.”*

*“Hermione?” Harry whispered conspiratorially. “Can I tell you something secret?”*

*Naturally, Hermione leaned closer. “Of course.”*

*“I’m really drunk.” Harry said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”*

*Under other circumstances, Harry would have lost his membership card to the ‘red-blooded
male’ club, but it seemed tonight, fate was smiling on him, as Hermione leaned closer to patiently
explain.*

*“I’m taking you home, Harry. Back to Grimmauld Place. Once we get there, I’m gonna strip you
off and we’re gonna have sex. Lots of practice to have before that baby.”*

*Harry still looked confused.*

*“Hermione, apparate him home. We’ll take care of the tab.” Ron said. “Go now, before he says
or does something weird.”*

*Hermione just shook her head, creating an apparition field in her magical core, spreading it
to side-along Harry and vanished with a ‘crack’*

Since Hogwarts, Harry had prided himself on learning new things. The previous evening, he’d
learned quite a bit; Hermione, while prim and proper in many things, was like a fucking wildcat in
bed. She also had the stamina of three girls. He also learnt that with the proper inspirational
speeches (translation; dirty talk, another thing Hermione seemed to be an expert at), he was
capable of multiple orgasms.

As the pair approached the natural conclusion of their first coupling, Hermione had muttered
just four words, which had smoothly set Harry up for the rest of the night. The four words? “Make
me pregnant, Harry.”

Now, lying in bed with a ferocious hangover, Harry was beginning to panic. He’d had sex with
Hermione once, fucked three times and the last time... the last time, they’d made love.

Prising one eye open, he winced as the sunlight seemed to burn into his brain. An eye-watering
moment later, he was able to see... bushy-hair. And a pair of sparkling chocolate eyes.

“Oh, fuck...” He muttered.

“Again?” Hermione asked playfully, staring up at him. “Hungover?”

“Oh, hell yes.” Harry replied firmly.

Hermione rolled over, giving Harry a perfect view of her shapely bottom. The fact that Hermione
thought the sculpted perfection was ‘fat’ was simply proof that even the smartest witch of the age
could be mistaken about some things. A second later, she rolled back, a small bottle of green goop
in hand. “I made a hangover remedy yesterday, just before we went out. I thought you might need
it.”

Nodding gratefully, Harry took and opened the bottle, took a deep breath and swallowed the whole
thing. For a moment, cataclysmic doom seemed to fall over the world, but the banging in his head
upped and vanished like a fart in the wind, while the snakes in his belly agreed to have a sleep
until next Halloween.

“We did?” He asked softly.

“Oh, yes.” Hermione cooed. “Considering you were pissed, Harry, five times was very impressive.
I really enjoyed it.”

“I did, too.” Harry admitted. “Why, though? You’re Hermione Granger! You could have any man...
or woman, if you wanted... why me?”

“Because I love your thick arse, Harry.” Hermione said, reaching round to grab his butt cheek.
“Although, calling it ‘thick’ is rude. You’ve got a thick head, but a very nice bottom.”

Harry just blushed. “Hermione... what you said last night...”

“Which bit?”

“The, er... the things you said just before...”

“You mean the ‘make me pregnant, Harry’?” Hermione asked, seeing that this wasn’t a moment for
levity. “Yeah, I meant that.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Hermione’s hand moved from buttocks to penis. “I want this to spit into me as many times
as necessary so I can carry our child, Harry.” She smiled as she saw his shocked (and quite
aroused) expression. “Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. The *first* of our children,
Harry.”

He gulped. “Er... Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Why are you stroking me?”

She sat up, straddling his waist and moving into position. “Because we need to do this as many
times as possible, Harry. That baby isn’t going to create itself... and I want to be pregnant as
soon as possible. After all, can’t let the ‘Hero-Who-Saved-The-Wizarding-World’ not get his wish,
can we?”

“W-Wish?” Harry asked as Hermione slid down his length.

“Yeah, you said you wanna have sex with me when I’m pregnant. Can’t do that ‘til I’m pregnant,
Harry... so get moving, Potter.”

A genuine smile came over his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

*Saturday, 11th August, 2001
St. Mungo’s Maternity Ward, London*

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Potter!” Hermione screamed as she concentrated every ounce of
strength she could spare on crushing the bones in Harry’s hand.

She had, indeed, become pregnant very quickly after the ‘formalisation’ of their relationship.
The fact that both of them had quit their jobs, since Harry was more than rich, in preparation for
making a baby (which meant they shagged all day), simply made things easier.

Harry had more that certainly got his wish. During Hermione’s pregnancy, the two had attempted
to set a world record for most sexual encounters. According to Guinness, they’d come very close to
beating the current record. Hermione, during a post-coital cuddle, had simply told Harry they’d try
harder during the next one. That, of course, led to another sexual encounter.

Now, she was in St. Mungo’s, and was about to deliver the first of their children. “You come
near me with that prick again and I’ll chop it off and shove it up your arse!”

“Violent.” The midwife, who’d been there, seen it and done it all a thousand times before, said
simply. “Now, Mrs. Potter, you need to begin pushing.”

“I am pushing!” Hermione roared, a stray tendril of her magic turning Harry’s hair blonde. “Damn
it, Harry, this is all your fault!”

“I know.” Harry replied. “But, just think, Hermione; soon you’ll be holding our baby...”

“You can carry the next one!” Hermione snarled, again attempting to crush his hand. Had she been
able to reach her favourite part of Harry, the possibility of pain would have scared the crap out
of Voldemort, never mind a poor, defenceless ‘Boy-Who-Lived’.

One hour, forty seven minutes, nine death threats and an offer to turn Harry into a woman later,
Hermione was holding a beautiful baby girl. Bushy-black hair, emerald green eyes and an adorable
smile was the face of Rose Emily Potter, and the look of pride, love and sheer joy on her Daddy’s
face made everything worthwhile to Hermione.

“She’s beautiful, Harry.” Hermione said, holding her out to her husband. Slowly, Harry took the
little bundle, holding it protectively to his chest, just like they’d been taught in baby
class.

Looking up, Harry could only say one thing to his beautiful wife. “Thank you, Hermione.”

She smiled tiredly. “It was my pleasure, Harry.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

Hermione yawned as she accepted her daughter back and snuggled down. “No... no, it wasn’t. I
love you, Harry, more than you know. I’d never hurt you.”

Harry just smiled.

“Well... not *that* part of you, anyway. Need that bit to make more.” Hermione chuckled at
her husband’s shocked expression. “Well, go on, then. Go and announce to everyone that there’s a
new Potter.”

As Harry left the birthing room, he reflected on how lucky he was to have such an understanding
spouse.

*Saturday, 31st October, 2167
Master Bedroom, #12 Grimmauld Place, London*

The end was nigh. The Potters had lived a long, full life. A life of happiness. A life of joy. A
life of difficulty. But most importantly, a life of *family*. Harry and Hermione had stopped
having children at number eleven, not wanting to prove Trelawney right by having twelve children.
That was just too frightening to bear.

Harry had, on the other hand, proved the other part of Trelawney’s prophecy correct. At the age
of forty-one, he’d become the Minister of Magic. Using the ancient, bigoted laws, he’d immediately
given Hermione the position of Senior Undersecretary, and together, the two had burned away those
same laws they’d exploited.

By the time their final child had graduated from Hogwarts, the magical world was truly a
pinnacle of civilisation.

Now, though, there was so little time left. Earlier in the day, there’d been a Potter family
gathering, with children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and even great-great-grandchildren.
They’d laughed and cried and celebrated and loved.

Together, lying in the bed where they’d first expressed their love, and created each of their
eleven children, Harry and Hermione Potter were holding hands, waiting for the end.

“Hermione?” Harry croaked gently, hauling his old body closer to her.

“Yes?”

“I... Thank you, Hermione. For everything.”

She smiled warmly, and for a moment, he didn’t see the old woman with thinning white hair and
wrinkles. He saw the beautiful, radiant twenty-one year old who’d handed him his first child. “For
you, Harry, my love, it was a pleasure. We’ve had some good times together, my love.”

Harry sniffled as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. “Some great times. I love you... more
than life itself.”

At the end of the bed, a glowing figure appeared. He appeared to be an old man, wearing lurid
purple robes with moving stars on them. “Harry. Hermione.”

“Albus?” Harry looked at his old mentor with shock. “But...”

“It’s time for you to come home, Harry.” Dumbledore said, holding out his left hand. “It’s time
to meet your parents, my boy.” Extending his right, a turned his head to Hermione. “And you, my
dear Hermione. Your family is waiting for you.”

Harry was about to take the old man’s hand, but hesitated. “What about...” He trailed off.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said, chuckling happily, “do you really believe that you and your
wife could be separated? ‘The Couple of the Ages’ I believe you were called. Even in death, you
cannot be parted. Your wedding vows didn’t bind you together in this life. You were bound together
for eternity.”

Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand gently. “To the next great adventure, wife?”

“Together, husband.”

The two raised up off the bed, leaving behind the battered shells that had housed their souls
for these many years. Together, they entered the light, feeling the warmth and love of all those
who’d gone before them surrounding them.

But always, they would be together. Harry and Hermione Potter. Forever.



8. ''Fools''
------------

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

Albus Dumbledore was a happy Mugwump. His plans had finally been completed, and he was relishing
the fame and attention he was receiving. The plans had been complex, difficult and prone to
discovery, but somehow, he’d persevered.

For just under twenty years, he’d been working on his plans to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Ever since he’d heard a genuine, gold-plated prophecy, he’d had to step in and take control of the
weapon.

Enter Harry James Potter, weapon to the side of the Light. He’d been moulded, trained and
conditioned to be a good little tool. And now that the war was over, Dumbledore was being
recognised as the man who trained the Wizarding world’s saviour; the man who was ultimately
responsible for the defeat of Voldemort.

His plans had been complex, and had required a lot of work. Getting the boy completely under
control had burned through his political capital, and a good portion of his liquid assets.
Fortunately, he’d managed to override Sirius Black’s will, taking control of the entire Black
Family estate, nearly a million galleons of hard currency. With those funds at his disposal, he’d
been able to replenish his badly-depleted family coffers.

The next plan had been to make certain that the young weapon wouldn’t be lured down the Dark
path. A betrothal arrangement with the Weasley family had ensured that Harry would remain faithful
to the light. A half million galleons to the Weasley vault had persuaded them to accept the
agreement. The boy had been seriously enraged when he signed what he thought was an inheritance
form, but was, in fact, his marriage contract. Once that was signed, the ‘deal’ was done.

Even better, Dumbledore had a second level of security set up. Ginny Potter was only days away
from giving birth to the Potter Heir, sealing control over the substantial Potter estate.

Originally, he’d been worried about Hermione Granger getting in the way of the plan.
Fortunately, a love potion and another contract later, and she was firmly married to young Ronald.
She, too, was pregnant, and would be delivering just a week or so after young Ginevra.

Yes... all in all, things were going very well.

Dumbledore was sitting in his office, drafting some more legislation to present to the
Wizengamot. With the ‘support’ of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ (who still didn’t know that Dumbledore was
using his votes and fame to push through laws that Harry would *never* have agreed with), he’d
finally be able to get the Muggleborn Control laws passed. Yes... *very* well.

A knock on his door, made him look up. He never noticed the wave of magic that filled the room
for a femtosecond, before fading. With a slight squint, he peered through his door, spotting his
hapless tool waiting on the other side.

“Come in!” He called happily. He casually wondered what the boy wanted now. As the door opened,
Dumbledore plastered a fake smile on his face. “Ah, Harry, my boy! It’s wonderful to see you!”

Harry stepped inside, smiling placidly at Dumbledore. “Good evening, Professor. Is it okay to
speak with you?”

Dumbledore *loved* the control he had over the little bast... boy. “Of course, Harry!
Please, sit down.” Once the obligatory offer of a lemon drop was over, the old man leaned back in
his chair. “So, my boy, what can I do for you?”

Still with that placid smile, Harry leaned forward. “I’ve come to settle a few scores,
Professor.”

“Scores, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, still twinkling merrily. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You should be afraid.” Harry said, all placidness vanishing. “I’ve come here to kill you,
Dumbledore, for what you’ve done to me.”

Dumbledore frowned. “I’ve not done anything to you, my boy, except provided you with an
education.”

“Really?” Harry leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So you didn’t steal my
inheritance from Sirius? You didn’t force me into a loveless marriage with a fan-girl? You didn’t
lie, cheat and manipulate me from my birth? I don’t believe you.”

Sighing, Dumbledore drew his wand. “It was for your own good, Harry.”

“How? How is treating me like a weapon for my own good?”

Deciding (foolishly) to explain it to the boy before obliviating him, Dumbledore leaned back
slightly, but kept his wand pointing at Harry. “If I hadn’t done these things, you would not have
been able to defeat Voldemort.”

“That’s not for *my* good, old man. That’s for *your* good.”

“You would not have your happy marriage, with a child on the way. I know of your desire for a
family, my boy. Ginevra is supplying that to you.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yes... the fan-girl, who’s been trying to steal my entire family estate,
is giving me a child. It’s a pity what’ll happen to her, though.”

Dumbledore frowned. “What does that mean, Harry?”

“You don’t need to know yet.” Harry said. “You might as well surrender you wand, old man. At
this moment, only I can perform magic in this room, and you’ll never leave it.”

Flicking his wand, Dumbledore threw a stunning charm at Harry... only to stare at the end of his
wand incredulously when nothing happened.

“I just explained it.” Harry said patiently. “So, you trapped me in a marriage I didn’t want,
while giving a big chunk of Potter coin to the Weasleys. You didn’t even have the bollocks to tell
me that it was a betrothal agreement.”

“Without the love of Ginevra, Harry, you wouldn’t have won.” Dumbledore said, discretely
reaching into his desk drawer for his back-up wand. It was certainly possible to block a wand from
working, but that ritual had to be focussed on each individual wand. Again, his hand shot forward,
another stunner on his lips, but that, too, failed to work.

“You’re wrong, old man. I had all the love I needed from somewhere else.” Without taking his
eyes away from the manipulative old bastard, Harry called over his shoulder, “Come on in,
love.”

The door opened, revealing an obscenely-pregnant Hermione Weasley. “Twat.” She said in greeting
to the old man.

“Mrs. Weasley, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to settle *my* scores, while my love settles his.” She replied, perching on the
arm of Harry’s chair with a slight wince.

“Mr. Potter seems to be confused, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Well, just like you trapped Harry into a loveless marriage with a Weasley, you did the same to
me.”

“Come now, Mrs. Weasley.” Dumbledore said, still plotting a way out of this mess. “You are
carrying Ronald’s child. Surely you wouldn’t be doing that if you did not love him dearly.”

Hermione shook her head in wonder. “It’s amazing just how fucking stupid you can be. I’m not
carrying Ron’s child. I’m carrying Harry’s. Ron’s been shooting blanks since his bachelor
party.”

Dumbledore shot to his feet. “What?”

“Ron’s been shooting-”

“I heard you!” Dumbledore interrupted. “That’s not possible... I had Madam Pomfrey run tests
just before your marriage. Mr. Weasley was fertile.”

“He *was*, yes.”

“But...” Dumbledore’s face dropped in horror. “What have you done?” He whispered.

“I neutered him.” Harry said.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Dumbledore roared, looking nothing like the twinkling
grandfather. “You neutered a pureblood wizard!”

“Ah, there it is...” Harry said happily. “The pureblood bigotry I knew was there. Yes, I did,
old man. I ended Ron’s chances of fathering children.”

“The purebloods are the future!” Dumbledore roared in absolute fury. “You had no right-”

“I did, actually.” Harry said. “He wanted to have sex with my woman. He thought he was worthy of
her. He’s not.”

“And you are?” Dumbledore hissed angrily.

“No.” Harry admitted. “But she’s still silly enough to be with me.”

“Stop it.” Hermione said bossily, rapping him on the back of the head. “You’re the only man I
could ever think of being with, Harry.”

“See? She’s daft, but I love her.” Harry said, reaching up and running his hand lovingly over
her bump.

“It was disgusting having to allow that Weasley spawn to touch me.” Hermione said with a shiver.
“Unfortunately, I had no choice on the wedding night. Those same bigoted laws you love so much
meant that I was forced into having sex with the vile little creature. That was the only time,
though... and that unfortunate accident he had with his wand... he can’t even get it up any
more.”

Hermione held her hand over Harry’s, and together, they caressed her stomach, causing Harry to
smile as the bump bulged slightly. He looked up at the master manipulator. “I can’t wait to meet my
baby, old man.”

“You will not live long enough.” Dumbledore said, happy now that he thought he had a solution.
“You made a magical vow to Ginevra that you would forsake all others. Now that your indiscretion
has been discovered, you will lose your magical gifts. Everything will go to your wife, and
myself.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah... under ideal circumstances, for you, you’d be right. Unfortunately, you
fell into the same trap as the Death Eaters; you underestimated the powerful mind of Hermione
Granger.”

“I wrote the betrothal myself, Harry.” Dumbledore boasted smugly. “I estimate the penalties
should take effect in just a few moments.”

“Nope, still wrong.” Harry said. “Do you remember when we were in Gringotts to sign that
document? Hermione was reading over my shoulder, and made a few suggestions. She wrote them onto a
piece of parchment. Remember?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Well, at the time, those love potions hampered my mind, but I still trusted Hermione. So, after
she wrote all the conditions down, we incorporated them into a microdot on the contract... which
you then signed.”

“What?” Dumbledore’s carefully made plans appeared to be in jeopardy, but he was Albus
Dumbledore! He was infallible! Everyone knew that!

“Yes... the additional parts of the contract.” Harry said. “The G500,000 you paid to the
Weasleys is actually held in trust until 5 years of the marriage agreement date. If myself and
Ginny part ways, the money returns to me. Those ways can be anything... even death. If she dies
within the next four and a bit years, I get my money back.”

Dumbledore frowned. “She’s carrying your baby, Harry.”

“I know that.” Harry said, nodding sadly. “But, it’s so sad... so many things can go wrong with
childbirth. And when Ginny dies from ‘complications’...” He trailed off, still looking sad.

“And poor Ronald.” Hermione said, rejoining the conversation. “He’s about to have a very bad
broom accident. It’s almost certainly going to be fatal.”

“You can’t do this!” Dumbledore snapped. “I won’t allow it!”

“You have no choice.” Harry said politely. “Because as I said earlier, you won’t be leaving this
room, Dumbledore.”

“You don’t have the power to defeat me, Harry.” Dumbledore said smugly. “And even if you did
somehow defeat me with trickery, the portraits here know the truth. They would be able to inform
the Ministry of your crimes.”

Harry smiled evilly. “Isn’t it strange how they haven’t said a word, old man? How they haven’t
even moved since before I entered this office?”

Dumbledore glanced up at the portraits in alarm, noting that they were all completely frozen.
Panicking, the old man turned to Fawkes’ perch, where the bound phoenix also appeared to be
frozen.

“You messed with the smartest witch of her generation.” Harry said. “A localised temporal charm.
As long as we’re in this room, time is frozen. Pretty complex stuff, really. A magical-signature
suppression ward for yourself, of course. Wouldn’t want you fighting back, would we?”

“Do you really believe I’ll allow this, Potter?” Dumbledore demanded. “You are nothing more than
a weapon to be wielded.”

“Not anymore.” Harry replied, his tone like ice. “As of right now, I’m free of your control. But
there’s still more, Dumbledore.” He reached into his robes, pulling out a roll of parchment. “This
is your will. We’ve already faked your signature and magical residue, so it’ll hold up in
Gringotts. That money you stole will be mine again. I’ll also get *everything* you own. Your
books, your instruments... the other twenty-seven inheritances you’ve stolen. You’re going to be
very good to me when you die.”

Dumbledore was about to bluster again, when his limbs locked to his sides, the Petrificus
holding him in place. A silencing charm quickly stopped any protests.

Harry stood up and moved closer. He was about to complete his work, when a silly phrase popped
into his mind. He leaned closer, getting almost nose-to-nose with the old man. He stared into
Dumbledore’s eyes, their famous ‘twinkle’ noticeably absent. “Twinkle, twinkle, little eyes,” Harry
said mockingly, “now it’s time for you to... die.”

A simple tug of his hand ripped open the old man’s robes. Reaching into his robes again, he
pulled out a small item. He turned back to Hermione as he pressed it against a particular spot on
the old man’s chest. “Here?”

Hermione squinted slightly. “No, about a quarter inch higher, and a half-inch to the right.”

Once the item was in place and pushed in, Harry squeezed.

Instantly, Dumbledore gasped.

“That feeling...” Harry hissed evilly. “That was me injecting air straight into your heart.
You’re having an embolism, old man. You’ll be dead in approximately seven minutes.”

Hermione smirked from her chair. “The best part is, it’s ‘natural causes’. We’ll never be
suspected of your death.”

The old man wheezed for a moment, before his black heart gave out.

Harry leant against the desk, glancing at his watch. “Six minutes, and then we’re done here.” He
said casually. “Can you do clean-up?”

While Hermione was waving her wand, removing all DNA traces from the office, Harry released the
Petrification and began moving Dumbledore’s limbs around, ending up with the old man appearing to
clutch at his left arm.

Hermione glanced over. “Perfect, Harry.”

“Got it.” Harry checked his watch. “Another minute or so, then we can get out of here.”

The minute passed very slowly, with Harry and Hermione slowly making their way to the door.
“Time.” Harry called, closing the door softly. Hermione tapped the modified time-turner with her
wand, ending the temporal spell. Smiling at her lover, Hermione slowly walked down the stairs.

“So, how are we going to kill Ginny?”

Harry smirked. “Complications during childbirth... they can be so... drastic. And messy...”



9. ''A Sister?''
----------------

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

Enraged... yes, that was probably the best way to describe it. Hermione Jane Granger, smartest
witch of her generation and bookworm extraordinaire, was utterly enraged with the stupidity she’d
just overheard.

Over the last five months, herself and Harry had been alone in a tent, traipsing over the United
Kingdom in the hopes of finding Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes, ancient spelled items that prevented
his death. Until they died, he’d be immortal. Bastard...

However, three months ago, the third member of their Trio, Ronald Bloody Weasley, had pissed off
in the middle of the day, ranting about how Harry had no idea and no hope, leaving them alone.
She’d been distraught, of course, since they always did their best work as a trio. But recently,
it’d been just her and Harry, and it allowed Hermione to fuel some of her cleaner fantasies about
what it would be like to live with the Boy-Who-Lived in a more... domestic setting.

Hermione, naturally, hadn’t told Harry about her burning desire to make babies with him, since
the prat seemed utterly clueless about women. He’d dated two girls previously, Cho ‘Hosepipe’ Chang
and Ginny ‘Broomstick’ Weasley, and both of those relationships had been utterly pants. What Harry
needed, she kept telling herself, was to sit down with a good bookworm and bump uglies.

Of course, Harry was thicker than a brick sandwich when it came to these things. Even when
Hermione had been sitting crying, feeling abandoned by Ron (and the Wizarding world in general),
Harry hadn’t come up to her and offered a nice, comforting shag. She knew that he had ‘issues’ from
the Dursleys, but it couldn’t get much plainer; distraught, horny girl and buff, good-looking lad.
Sex equals happies.

And now, after hearing the... the complete bollocks he’d just said! She could feel her lips
twitch as she growled. All because of three stupid sentences from her friend: “She’s like my
sister. I love her like a sister and I reckon that she feels the same way about me. It’s always
been like that.”

A sister? A fucking *sister*? She most certainly did *not* think of Harry as her
brother. Instead, when she thought of Harry, she pictured whipped cream and erections, custard and
nipples, and her favourite, him sticking his outy bit in her inny bit. Repeatedly. Often.

And he’d just said she was his bloody sister! Prat!

*Oh, no...* Hermione thought evilly. *I’m not his fucking sister... I’ll show him I’m not
his sister!*

Harry stepped into the tent, his hand on Ron’s arm as he dragged him inside. “Hermione, look
who’s... *Hermione!*” He was forced to step back as Hermione let loose a beautiful, a truly
*beautiful*, roundhouse right, that knocked a grinning Ron completely on his arse and
completely out cold. With a smooth spin, she grabbed her wand from Harry’s hand.

“What are you doing?” He asked, quietly, taking a subtle step back.

“Harry...” Hermione ground out through clenched teeth, “come with me.”

She led him to the small bunk area, and pointed at her bed. “Sit down.”

“Hermione, what’s-”

“Sit down!” Hermione roared, making Harry immediately sit. He was tempted to see if begging
would stop her ire, knowing that it would be futile. A pissed Hermione was a *dangerous*
Hermione.

“Do you know what I heard a few minutes ago?” She asked, tapping her wand between her fingers,
causing sparks to come from the end. “When I woke up, and saw that you were gone? I listened at the
doorway, and I heard you speaking, Harry... I’ve never been so disgusted in my life.”

“What?” Harry asked. “What did I do?”

“You spoke, Harry!” Hermione snapped. “And I think Ron must have infected you, because you spoke
nothing but stupid, inane ramblings!”

Harry blinked. “Eh?”

“You annoyed the crap out of me, Harry... and you must pay.” With a flourish, Hermione aimed her
wand at Harry. “Lie down.”

Harry tried to stand up, not at all comfortable with Hermione’s wand aimed between his eyes.
“Hermione, what’re you-”

“I... said... lie... down...” Hermione whispered dangerously, the end of her wand glowing.

Gulping, Harry sat back down, before lying on the bed.

“Hands above your head!” Hermione snarled, making Harry jump to obey. A quick flick of
Hermione’s wand sent thin brown ropes around Harry’s wrists, tying him to the headboard.

“Hermione, what’re you doing?” Harry asked quietly, hoping that a calm, measured response would
help to calm the clearly-infuriated witch down. He was wrong.

“Your sister, Potter?” Hermione spat. “Your fucking *sister?*”

“You swore...” Harry blinked. “Hermione, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not!” She shrieked angrily. “You think I love you like a sister? How can you be so
bloody blind, Potter?”

“I’m confused.” Harry said bluntly.

Hermione perched on the edge of the bed, reaching up to gently caress his face. “Harry?” She
asked sweetly.

“Y-Yeah?”

“You’re wrong. And quite stupid.” She grasped his chin so firmly, he couldn’t move... and the
bowel-loosening fear didn’t help, either. “I don’t love you like a sister. I fancy your arse off. I
want you to blast a baby into my belly, not braid my hair! And you never bloody noticed!”

“Still confused.” Harry said, whimpering slightly when Hermione’s grip tightened. “Hermione,
what are you doing?”

“I’m having to spell out the bloody obvious.” She snarled. “We’re going to fuck, Harry. You and
me, right here, right now.”

“F-F... what?”

Hermione released his chin and stood up, brandishing her wand again. A quick flick removed
Harry’s clothes, leaving him with nothing but his glasses. Hermione thought for a moment, then cast
a warming charm round the bed. The last thing she wanted or needed was shrinkage.

Casually, she reached up and pulled off her jumper, leaving her clad in t-shirt and bra. “You
know, Harry... originally when I planned to do this, I was gonna sit down with you and calmly
brainwash you to my way of thinking. Now... I’ve scrapped that idea. I’m gonna force the
issue.”

“F-Force?” Harry gulped. He was feeling just a *tad* nervous.

With a lecherous grin, Hermione reached up and pulled off her t-shirt, leaving her bra (complete
with straining nipples) as Harry’s sole focus. Like a true gentleman, though, Harry closed his eyes
and turned away. “Oh no you don’t!” Hermione snapped, reaching out and grabbing his face again.
“You’re going to watch, Potter!”

Harry was terrified at this point. Hermione was stripping in front of him... and forcing him to
watch... and she had really nice breasts...

The bra was unclipped and casually tossed onto the floor, leaving Hermione nude from the top up.
Harry felt a slight stirring in his crotch, but concentrated on images of Umbridge in a bikini...
with a riding crop... spanking Mr. Filch... yeah, that worked. The stirring gradually began to fade
away.

While he was picturing the truly revolting scene, Hermione tossed her wand onto the small
bedside table, and unbuttoned her jeans. Harry’s attention was slowly being forced to the bits she
was uncovering... and it was really hard not to stare at her chest.

Hermione shimmied out of her jeans, leaving her with just panties and socks. The socks quickly
joined the jeans in the pile of discarded clothing. Clad in just a pair of small black panties,
Hermione was a formidable sight. “You know, Potter... just doing this has turned me on. Looking at
you naked, feeling your eyes on me...” She shivered lightly as she scraped her fingers lightly over
the gusset of her panties. “Oh, look... they’re all wet...” She cooed, before grabbing the sides
and lowering them down. She quickly scooped them up, twirling them round her finger.

At this point, Harry’s eyes had dropped to the newly-uncovered crotch, and he couldn’t stop the
stirring this time. Hermione was really very attractive, and he knew, with absolutely no shadow of
doubt, that she was definitely a natural brunette... and the carpet certainly matched the curtains
for bushiness...

Hermione could almost read his mind. “Yes,” she said impishly, “my bush is bushy, Harry. Get
over it.” She took a step closer to the bed, leaning ever closer. “And do you know what comes now?”
She asked coyly.

Trembling, Harry shook his head.

“I’m gonna place my knickers over your nose, Harry.” She said lovingly, doing just that and
arranging them so the damp gusset was directly over his nostrils. “But this is only the beginning,
Harry.” She grinned to herself as she watched Harry sniff experimentally. *Damn, that was
hot...*

Slowly, she climbed onto the bed, straddling his chest and tucking her knees right under his
armpits. Her little kitty was about six inches from Harry’s head, and she relished in the feeling
that he was watching her.

“I’m gonna play with myself, Harry.” Hermione said firmly. “And you’re going to watch, aren’t
you?”

He wanted to shake his head in refusal, thinking this wasn’t right and wasn’t respectful to her,
but that’d dislodge the pleasant fragrance from his nose. Not to mention that he was completely at
her mercy at the moment, since he didn’t have a wand and he couldn’t release the restraints.
Slowly, he sighed, then nodded slightly.

“Good boy...” Hermione cooed. “You can learn, Potter.”

“Hermione...” He slurred into her knickers. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because your scrawny arse is mine, Potter.” Hermione said simply. “For seven years I’ve covered
your back in everything... now I want my reward. You’re it.” To make certain he was paying
attention, Hermione sensuously licked the tip of her finger, before gently rubbing it down her
breastbone. The trip from mouth to crotch took fifteen seconds, but these were fifteen of the
longest seconds in Harry’s life.

Before she did... whatever she was planning to do, she began to lightly run her fingers through
her pubes. To Harry, it was a compelling sight. *They look so silky...* He mused absently,
before realising he was having inappropriate thoughts about the girl who well have been his sister.
He wriggled slightly, feeling that stirring escalate further.

Hermione, in the mean time, was enjoying the sensation. She’d always enjoyed stroking her kitty,
not only as some masturbation foreplay, but just because it was very relaxing. The look on Harry’s
face was compelling, almost prompting her to carry on with what she was doing... not that she had
*any* inclination to stop.

Slowly, she moved her hand lower, sighing happily as she rubbed over her clit, before pushing
her finger ever-so-slightly into her opening. She didn’t want a dry finger rubbing that little
bundle of nerves, after all, and the look on Harry’s face was more than making her wet. As she
moved her fingers back up, she noticed Harry’s eyes lock onto the tip of her finger.

*Wait... this isn’t the best view.* She thought. She altered her stance slightly, leaning
back as far as she could, but not too far that she couldn’t see Harry’s face. That was almost the
point, really; if Harry wasn’t watching, he’d keep on with those silly bloody notions of sisterhood
and nobility, and the itch she had needed scratching would be ignored...

Harry watched her lean back, and his eyes widened as her... he couldn’t bring himself to refer
to it by name, *that place* opened up like a flower. *That’s really pink...* He mused
absently, *and why’s it shiny?*

“Are you watching, Harry?” Hermione asked huskily. “Are you watching me pleasure myself right in
front of you?”

Harry nodded vigorously, pouting when Hermione’s knickers fell off his face.

“Oh, that won’t do at all.” Hermione said, reached forward with her free hand to put them back.
“Can you smell my arousal, Harry? Can you smell how wet and horny you make me?”

“Mmmhmm.” Harry groaned, watching as Hermione resumed her wanton pose.

“Then watch now. I’m gonna make myself cum for you, Harry.”

Hermione’s hand began moving in a leisurely circle, Harry’s eyes locked onto the sight like a
hawk. The circling motion was smooth and easy, and Harry could see the small nub expertly twist and
move around her finger. For a moment, just a brief moment, he wondered what it would feel like
under *his* finger...

“It’s so good...” Hermione said breathily, enjoying the enthralled look on his face. This was
*way* better than porn! “Can you see what you do to me, Harry?”

“Hermione...” He groaned lightly.

“Watch me cum, Harry!” Hermione commanded, speeding up her diddling. She was close; the
stimulation was good, but the fact that she’d plopped herself on Harry’s chest and was doing this
right in front of his face? *Far* better.

With her free hand, she reached up and pinched her left nipple lightly, waiting until the nipple
was hard until she began pinch/tugs. She quickly moved from her left to her right, enjoying the
feeling. Fortunately, Hermione was an expert at multi-tasking, and never lost her stroke on her
clit.

Harry was lost; which should he look at? Those little pink nipples being pinched, or the small
pink nub being manhandled so expertly... and why was he getting an erection from this? Surely he
should have been disgusted at watching his practically-sister masturbate... right?

Hermione could feel his arousal, and it fed smoothly into her own. Her nipples began to feel
tighter, and she could tell she was getting wetter. Her finger sped up, making her moan in
contentment. In the bottom of her belly, a burning sensation started, making her gasp as it pooled
just above her crotch.

“Harry...” Hermione groaned, “I’m gonna cum for you, Harry... I’m gonna cum!” On the final word,
Hermione’s thighs clamped around Harry’s chest. Her finger sped up, prolonging the ecstasy she
felt. She felt an urge to close her eyes and enjoy it, but watching Harry, who’s eyes were wide and
beginning to darken with lust, was much better for her orgasm.

Normally, she stopped after her first orgasm, wanting to enjoy the aftershocks, but she wanted
Harry to watch her pleasure herself. She sped up her diddling, making it look like she was furious
with her clit and wanted to punish it.

Harry still couldn’t take his eyes off her. His chest hurt a little from where she’d clamped
down, but he wouldn’t, he *couldn’t* stop this. Slowly, he raised his eyes up, passing her
breasts and starring into the smouldering pools of lust that had become her eyes. She was staring
intently at him, and he was like a fly trapped in amber. Those eyes had locked him in... he knew
she was still fondling herself, since he could feel her movements, but those eyes...

Hermione’s hand was a blur as she drove herself to another orgasm, crying out in a way that
would forever obliterate Harry’s ‘sisterly’ feelings; “Oh, god... Harry!” Again, her thighs locked
on his chest, driving the air from his lungs, but breathing didn’t matter when a goddess was
masturbating on his chest.

Slowly, Hermione lowered herself down, shuffling backwards until her bum hit a fleshy pole. She
was about to say something, but had an impish idea. She lifted her legs over him, continuing to
move backwards until she was kneeling between his thighs.

Harry’s eyes widened considerably as he took in her stance; she was in the perfect spot to give
him... pleasure. Hermione’s hand reached up, as though she was about take him in hand... but she
allowed it to drop on his thigh.

“Oh, wait...” She said demurely, “I forgot... you think of me as a sister, Harry. You wouldn’t
want me touching you, would you?”

“Hermione...” He groaned.

“What, Harry?” She blew on his member, enjoying the full twitch. “You said you love me like a
sister. You would want your sister rubbing your cock, would you? You wouldn’t want your sister
taking that big cock into her mouth and sucking it like a lollipop, would you?” She gave a look of
mock-disappointment. “Such a shame, *brother*... I was looking forward to tasting this
beautiful dick...”

“Hermione, what do you want from me?” Harry moaned in pure frustration.

“Nothing, brother dear.” Hermione replied coyly.

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m *not* your sister, Harry. I’m a woman who wants to taste you, lick you, ride
you... it’s *you* who thinks of me as a sister, Potter. Not me.”

“P-Please, Hermione...”

“What, Harry?” Hermione reached out and gently stroked a single finger from base to tip, smiling
to herself as he moaned. “Still think of me as a sister?”

“No...”

“Good, otherwise you’d be sick in the head.” Hermione said, wrapping a hand around Harry’s tool
and giving one firm stroke, before releasing him. “Harry?”

Slowly, he looked up, a look of agonised frustration on his face.

“If I was your sister, Potter, you wouldn’t be wanting to bury this cock in me, would you?”

He shook his head quickly.

“If I was your sister, you wouldn’t be sniffing my panties like you are, would you?”

Another shake of the head.

“If I climb on top of you and let my pussy swallow this cock...” She smiled at him as his eyes,
somehow, widened even more, “you’d want that?”

His nodding was *emphatic*.

“Then tell me, Harry. Tell me that you want to fuck me. Tell me that you want to feel my pussy
wrapped round your cock and cum on you.”

“Please, Hermione!” Harry cried out.

“Please what, Harry?”

“Please fuck me!” He near-demanded.

“Thank you.” Hermione quickly moved forward, raising herself up, positioning Harry’s cock
between her lips and dropping down, feeling her pussy swallow him completely. “Ooh...”

Harry’s cock wasn’t gargantuan. He was about eight inches long, not superhuman and certainly
respectable, but he was *monstrously* thick. A thick cock and a tight, virgin kitty on a
fairly slender girl meant two things; Hermione was being stretched deliciously, and Harry was being
squeezed by a velvet vice. Neither of them could even think of stopping this.

Hermione braced her knees and lifted up, before slamming herself back down. The feeling was just
as intense. Again bracing herself, Hermione clenched every muscle she could as she lifted herself,
before slamming back down.

“H-Hermione...” Harry gasped. “If you keep d-doing that...”

“You’ll cum in me.” Hermione hissed as she slammed down again. “Yes, you will... you’d better
bloody cum in me, Potter!”

Closing his eyes, Harry realised several things; he didn’t want this to end, and he didn’t know
if the rumours about teenaged recovery time would apply to him and more importantly... he didn’t
want to let Hermione down. As comforting as blowing his bags would be (and based on the teasing,
it’d be *very* satisfying), he knew she’d be disappointed. He began mentally chanting an
incantation, one of the ones Sirius had told him about. It would delay his orgasm slightly. Not
long, but hopefully enough to make Hermione have another one or two of those potently erotic
orgasms.

“Come on, Harry, fuck me back!” Hermione demanded.

Harry watched for a moment, using almost all of his concentration to keep the incantation going.
When he was fully inside her, he pushed his hips as far down into the mattress as he could.
Hermione again squeezed him and raised herself up. Once she was at the top, he could see her
preparing to slam herself down. The instant she started moving, he bucked his hips up as fast and
as hard as he could, the couple slamming together with the force of a freight train.

Hermione, generously, orgasmed on the spot as Harry pounded into her. “Fuck, Harry!” She gasped,
her entire pussy clenching round the invader. “Do that again!” She demanded, bracing herself for
another punishing thrust.

The pair quickly fell into a rhythm; Harry thrusting up with every ounce of strength, while
Hermione slammed herself down with every ounce of hers. It wasn’t making love, or even having sex;
it was brutal, pounding fucking, and Hermione couldn’t be happier. She was finally, after so many
years of fantasising, fucking Harry Potter.

“Hermione...” Harry groaned as he felt a curious, yet powerful, tingling in his balls. He knew
what was coming... and the wording wasn’t lost on him. “I’m gonna-”

“Not yet!” Hermione commanded. “I want one more...” Deciding that keeping him tied up at this
point was quite unfair, Hermione plucked at her wand on the small bedside table. After four
attempts, she finally grabbed it and silently removed his restraints.

Harry immediately lurched upwards, grabbing Hermione and kissing her as passionately as he
could. For a brief moment, their rhythm was disturbed.

“No, keep going!” Hermione pleaded. “I’m so close, Harry...”

Now able to move properly, Harry grabbed her hips and dropped backwards. Hermione was able to
discover that when both partners were able to co-ordinate their movements, it was so much better,
as Harry was able to pull her down when he thrust up. The double sensations were driving her
relentlessly onwards to cum again, and she couldn’t wait. “P-Please, Harry...” She moaned.

Harry’s left hand detached from her hip, reaching up to pluck at her right nipple, just as he’d
seen her doing. Instead of just tugging, he gave the nipple a little pinch, before rolling it
between the tip of his finger and thumb.

“Fuck!” Hermione screeched as this was enough to make her cum. Her pussy contracted even tighter
on Harry’s abused Hampton, making him gasp out his own orgasm. A spurt of hot fluid made him keen
loudly, squeezing Hermione’s nipple and hip firmly.

Hermione, not wanting this one to end, moved up slightly and thrust back down, pitiful compared
to what they’d been doing seconds earlier, but enough to make them both moan loudly. She could feel
his spunk shooting into her, and was momentarily surprised by just how warm it was. She knew,
academically, that it’d be warm, but those books hadn’t prepared her for the actual feeling of a
blast of semen painting her insides... She sighed happily as she slumped forward onto Harry’s
chest, feeling his arms instinctively wrap around her.

Harry looked up, seeing nothing but Hermione’s bushy hair (on her head, this time,) and felt
contentment. However, he’d received the answer to one of his questions; did he have standard
teenage stamina? The answer was, ‘yes’. He hadn’t lost his erection, even though he’d pumped what
felt like a gallon of his little swimmers into Hermione.

“Hermione?” He whispered quietly.

“Mmm?” Hermione moaned softly.

“We’re not done yet.”

Hermione slowly, almost painfully, lifted her head up. “What?”

Keeping his grip, Harry rolled them over so her was on top. “We’ve not finished yet.”

She just blinked in post-coital confusion as he levered himself upright, and gently grasped her
shoulder and hip. Hermione yelped as she found herself being rolled over, and Harry’s strong hands
had taken a firm grip on her hips. He was pulling gently. *What the hell’s he doing?* She
wondered groggily, and allowed herself to be lifted. Harry’s knee gently pressed at the back of her
thigh. *Oh... he wants me on my hands and knees... why?*

As if in answer to her silent question, Harry spoke. “You were being such a bitch to me,
Hermione...” he growled, “I thought you might like it doggy style.” He released her hips, gently
pulling her thighs apart before she felt the monstrous head pressing against her opening.

“Oh, god...” She whimpered. *He hasn’t gone soft... he’s gonna fuck me again... doggy style...
what’s the point of-* Her musing was cut off as Harry smoothly sheathed himself inside her
again, all the way. She could feel his little head rubbing her g-spot, something that hadn’t
happened the first time, and she could feel another orgasm starting.

Feeling impish, Hermione pushed up with her hands, just enough so she was properly on hands and
knees, and looked over her shoulder at him. “Woof...” She said.

“Stop it...” Harry grunted as he pulled back, then thrust forward again.

Hermione let out a small bark as her orgasm ripped through her. She hadn’t planned on making
that noise, but the moment made her giggle, which was abruptly cut off as Harry again thrust into
her.

“Fuck...” She gasped, feeling that delicious rubbing yet again.

“Don’t bark, Hermione...” Harry near-shouted. “Just... god...”

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione cajoled, thrusting backward as he thrust forward, moaning as their
hips connected with a ‘slap’ sound. “Fuck me... make me scream!”

Deciding to take this instruction as literal, Harry licked thumb and forefinger, and reached
round her hip, almost instinctively homing in on her clit. Hermione gasped loudly as Harry began to
caress it, before pressing down and swirling his finger round. All the while, he kept up that
brutally enjoyable pounding on her delicate bits.

Hermione screamed seven seconds later as her crotch erupted in fire. It felt like she was
burning up as her orgasm made her arms and legs buckle, but Harry’s free arm had quickly snaked
under her hips, holding her up.

“Oh god...” She groaned. “Harry, cum in me!” She cried out. “Please, Harry, cum in me!”

Harry wasn’t sure if she was either cum-hungry (he hoped she was) or was getting sore/tired (he
hoped like bloody hell she wasn’t), but he was still a bit away from cumming again. “No... not
yet.” He gasped out as he abused her poor little kitty.

“I... I... Harry!” Hermione screamed hoarsely as she came again, her pussy contracting painfully
on Harry’s cock, but he still kept going.

At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to last too much longer, but he honestly didn’t know if this
would happen again, and if it didn’t, well... he wanted to make certain that he enjoyed this one.
He doubled his pace, wanting to go out in a blaze of glory.

Again, Hermione cried out as her abused body had yet another orgasm. This long screwing session
was definitely getting to her. She estimated she had one more before she curled into the foetal
position and cried.

“Hermione...” Harry whimpered, feeling his abused organ get ready for another spitting
session.

“P-Please, H-Harry...” Hermione gasped. “P-Please f-f-finish...”

Harry roared in combination pain/pleasure as he finally let go. It felt like he was cumming
molten lava, but there was enough ecstasy to cancel out the pain. He slumped forward onto Hermione,
slipping out of her pussy and nearly crying as the cooler air hit his friction burns. Using the
last of his energy, he rolled to the side, slumping on the bed next to her.

“Bloody hell...” Hermione moaned.

“You... you okay?” Harry asked through his pants.

“Just about...” Hermione said, slowly turning herself until she was on her side and facing him.
“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still see me as a sister?”

Harry looked faintly nauseated. “No...”

“Will you stay with me?” She asked, looking shyly at him. Now the act was over, she felt like
she had no courage left.

“And leave... an epic shag like you?” Harry said, grinning. “Just as long as you don’t tie me up
again, and *don’t fucking bark...* I think we’ll do quite well together.”

Hermione nodded as she slumped forwards, resting her head on his chest. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you, you know.”

“I...”

She reached up with a trembling hand, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything until
you’re sure, Harry. Just... just hold me. Tell me we’ll get through this war, together. Tell me we
can talk about this when You-Know-Who’s dead.”

“We will.” Harry promised. “You know I already love you, Hermione... certainly not like a
sister... but romantic love... I just-”

“Harry, shut up. I’m tired. You wore me out. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay...”

Hermione snuggled closer.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“What happens if Ron wakes up?”

One eye lazily drifted open. “Fuck him. He made his choice when he ran off and abandoned
us.”

“I’d rather not fuck him.” Harry replied dryly. “And I’d rather not show him my red and raw knob
at the moment.”

Arm flailing, Hermione reached up for her wand. She aimed in Ron’s general direction and cast
multiple *Stupefy* spells. “That should hold him ‘til we wake up.”

Dropping her wand back, Hermione again snuggled next to Harry.

“Hermione?”

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Hermione groaned. “Don’t you know what post-coital bliss is?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s where we reflect *quietly* on what we’ve just done.” She lifted her head a fraction
of an inch. “Being a bloke, you’re supposed to immediately start snoring. I’m knackered, Harry. Let
me sleep.”

“One thing before you do?”

“What?” The whine in Hermione’s voice made Harry smile.

“Are we gonna do this again?”

“In the morning.” Hermione promised. “Every morning, Harry. Now sleep, you gormless tit. I’m
tired.” Thirty seconds later, Hermione let out an enormous snore.

“Oh... this’ll be fun.”



10. ''Oh, Shite''
-----------------

**Author’s Note:** Inspired by and dedicated to Old-Crow. During a review of “Missing;
presumed... Missing”, Old-Crow suggested that Ron be dropped in shit. So, I pondered... for about
ten seconds. Then this came to me:

The plan seemed to be working. At least, that’s what Ron Weasley thought as he watched Hermione
run out of the common room after looking at him and Lavender engaged in some heavy petting on the
couch. While he was enjoying the blonde’s attention, he knew she wasn’t the one he really wanted.
Instead, he wanted to tap Hermione’s virginity and take her as his own. While Lavender was hot,
Hermione was cute *and* brainy, and would make sure he passed his NEWT exams next year.

As she stomped out of the common room, he smiled into Lavender’s mouth as he carried on kissing
her.

Harry watched as Hermione bolted out of the common room, and rolled his eyes. *Once again*,
Ron was being an arse. He excused himself from speaking to Sloper and headed out after
Hermione.

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

*“Oh, hello, Harry.” she said in a brittle voice. “I was just practicing.”*

*“Yeah... they’re... er... really good...” said Harry.*

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

*“Er... does he?” said Harry.*

*“Don’t pretend you didn’t see him.” said Hermione. “He wasn’t exactly hiding it, was
he?”*

Harry shook his head. “No... no, he wasn’t. However, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Why does this bother you so much?”

“You know the answer to that, Harry.”

“Remind me.”

“It’s because... well, it’s not fair on Lavender, for starters. Second, it’s bloody
pitiful.”

“Language, Hermione.”

“Don’t start.” She said, sending the birds back to the ether she’d created them from. “It
just... it gets on my nerves when people play stupid games like this. When they’re trying to do it
to *me*...”

Harry stepped forward, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Hermione... ignore him. He’s being an arse.
*You* know he’s being an arse, and *I* know he’s being an arse. Lavender’s a big girl.
She’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Hermione huffed for a moment before relaxing into Harry’s chest. “I just wish there was a way to
straighten him out.”

“Yeah...” Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s just leave him be, Hermione. He’s
dropping himself into the shit each time he...” He trailed off as Hermione’s head popped up, her
eyes bright with an idea. “Okay... *that* look worries me, sweetie.”

“Harry... you’ve just given me a marvellous idea.”

“I know I’m gonna regret asking this... but what is this marvellous idea?”

“Oh... I’ll let it be a surprise.” She leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss on Harry’s lips.
“Quick question; when’s the next Quidditch game?”

“Week on Saturday.” Harry supplied automatically, before his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Trust me, Harry...” Hermione said, an evil smirk settling onto her face. “I have a plan. Come
on.” She took his hand and dragged him out of the classroom.

The day of the Quidditch match dawned bright and early. Thanks to Harry’s captaincy, he’d had
them training hard, but not nearly as manically as Oliver Wood had been training them. They were
primed, ready and looking forward to a good, solid match.

Harry, however, was nervous. He had no idea what Hermione had planned to deal with Ron, and that
scared him. Like Ron had said all the way back in first year: ‘she’s scary... brilliant, but
scary’. As she’d grown up, she was even more brilliant, and correspondingly more scary. However, he
still had a match to play and win, and that was what he focussed on.

Hermione, however, had spent all her time when not with Harry preparing for her revenge. It was
relatively easy, from a logistics point of view, but there was still a lot to do. Dobby, after a
suitable bribe (which was subtly put back in her moneybag when he found out what she wanted his
help for), had been a god send, making all the preparations and preparing a series of flyers to be
posted on every seat in the Quidditch stadium. All in all, everything was prepared. She only needed
to wait until the match was over, and then it would be done.

As the students and staff began filing into the stadium, they each picked up the flyer from
their chairs, quickly reading through, then looking round the stadium for Hermione. She made eye
contact with a good number of them, especially the witches, who nodded at her. They’d help.

The Gryffindor team flew out of the tunnel, Captain Harry Potter leading them out. They flew a
lap around the field before heading to the south end, Ron flying up to the hoops to begin guarding
them. The chasers spread out, ready to begin their plays as soon as Hufflepuff took the field.

A moment later, clad in their yellow and black robes, the Hufflepuff team soared out, again
taking a lap around the field as they moved into position.

Hermione watched with a detached air as the Gryffindors completely dominated the ‘Puffs. Ever
since Cedric had left the team three years ago, they’d been far less effective, and Harry’s good
work drilling the team had made sure they were more than a match. The score quickly racked up, a
single shot conceded by Ron being the only goal Hufflepuff could gain, while Gryffindor were
rapidly approaching the 200 mark.

She began cheering as she watched Harry begin an insanely fast dive, clearly seeing the snitch
and pursuing. The Hufflepuff seeker, some nameless third year, didn’t have a chance of catching up
to Harry’s Firebolt, and moments later, Gryffindor had won the game, a respectable 340-10.

Hermione daintily stood up, placed her wand against her throat and whispered ‘Sonorous’. “Now,
Dobby!”

On the field, the tiny house elf popped in, making sure of his aim towards the goal before he
clicked his fingers once and popped out again.

Ron was about to fly down from the hoops when he noticed he was now in the shade. He glanced up
and blanched. Bare inches above him was a cloud. A brown cloud. A brown, *smelly* cloud. He
wasn’t able to make any more deductions before the brown cloud dropped onto him, sending him and
his broom tumbling to the ground.

Hermione pumped her fist into the air as Ron was buried, literally, under a ton of shit. When
Dobby had popped away from the field, he’d instantly appeared at Hermione’s side.

“Dobby?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“I have but one question.”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Where the hell did you get it all?”

Dobby looked up at Hermione shyly. “Forbidden Forest, Mistress. Dobby and the other elves went
through whole thing, collecting every pile wes found. Centaur, werewolf, Acromantula... every spot
collected, Miss. Did Dobby do good?”

Hermione beamed at the little elf. “Outstanding, Dobby! Truly outstanding!” She knelt down,
giving the little elf a kiss on his wrinkled forehead, making Dobby pass out, before standing up.
She placed her wand back to her throat.

“Students and staff of Hogwarts! If you’ve read the flyers I had left on your chairs, you’ll
know what I’m asking. Make ready!”

Six hundred staff and students pulled out their wands, aiming at the stinky mass on the field,
where a figure could be seen trying to pull themselves free of the disgusting mess.

“Fire!”

Six hundred wands fired *Aguamenti* charms, the freezing cold water blasting Ron back.
Dobby, who was only now waking up, quickly banished the mass of excrement, sending it back into the
forest.

Harry was watching this display from on high. He shook his head as Ron nearly drowned in poo,
but flew down to his girlfriend. “Hermione?” He asked softly.

“Yes?” Hermione didn’t realise that the *sonorous* charm was still in place.

“Is there a reason you just tried to drown Ron?”

“You know why, Harry. You were the one who overheard him bragging to Seamus and Dean about how
he was using Lavender to make me jealous, and he’d dump her when I begged him.”

Harry nodded. “You almost wrecked the Quidditch pitch.”

“Sorry.” Hermione Looked at the crowd, spotting that each and every one of them was staring at
them. “Okay, ladies and gents, I think the show’s over. Ron, come near me again and this’ll seem
like a walk in the park.”

Another voice shouted out. “And we’re *finished!*” Lavender was glaring at the field,
making the staggering Ron step backwards in fright.

Harry took a chance and pulled Hermione onto his broom, putting the snitch into her hand as he
flew her on a victory lap around the pitch.

As they flew past the teachers’ stand, a voice stopped them. “Potter! Granger!”

Hermione managed to bury her scowl. “Professor Snape?”

The greasy potions master looked like the shit from the field had been dropped into his mouth as
he spoke his next words. “Fifty points... to... Gryffindor.”

“Thank you, sir!” Harry and Hermione exclaimed together, before they carried on with their
victory lap.

Ron had managed to get back on his feet, rescuing his broom from the sodden field. He saw his...
well, *ex* best friends, he supposed, flying away, Hermione perched awkwardly on Harry’s broom
as she clutched the snitch. Harry’s arm around her waist was definitely a practised move, he
noticed, and he knew that he’d lost. With a wince, he looked up at Lavender, seeing the blonde
looking furiously at him. He’d lost there, too.

With a sigh, he began the long, lonely trudge towards a warm shower and the end of the best
friendship he’d ever had.

Harry slowed the broom so Hermione could watch Ron trudge away in defeat. “You enjoyed that far
too much.” He said softly.

Hermione just snorted. “I detest the idea of being used, Harry, just as much as you do.”

“Perhaps...” Harry admitted. “But, I don’t think I’d have dropped a ton of shit on him,
Hermione.”

“Well... never annoy me, Harry.”

“Noted.”

“Now, I want to get my feet back on solid ground.”

“In a few minutes, Hermione.” Harry said, starting the broom up again. “We should take another
lap. It’s definitely a double victory; Gryffindor for Quidditch, and the definite end to the
Granger-Weasley rivalry.”

“Fine.” Hermione groused good-naturedly. “Just don’t go... Harry!”

Harry was diving towards the ground, enjoying the pleasurable squeal Hermione made as they got
closer.

“Harry James Potter!” Hermione shouted.

Even though he wasn’t the best student in the school, Harry wasn’t an idiot, and knew he was in
trouble. “Oh, shit...”

Oc-OC-Oc

The old scribe dismounted his steel horse, glancing around the decidedly-seedy area his contact
had requested. It was only a shame that he wasn’t allowed to carry weapons in this ficverse; some
of the people looked more than a little dodgy.

“Crow?” A voice croaked from the darkened entryway of a building.

Bravely, Crow nodded as he took a step forward, leaving the security of his steel horse.

“Your report, sir.” The voice near-growled. “It’s been an honour and a privilege writing for
you.”

Taking the report, Crow glanced through, before looking up. The source of the voice had gone,
leaving a small patch of seelvor fluid on the ground. There was a small note floating on top.
*Food for your steel horse. Godspeed and thank you for your long, hard work.*



11. ''Mr. Seeker''
------------------

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

“Harry birthday to me...” Hermione slurred, singing in an off-key manor. “Harry birthday to
me... Harry birthday dear... me... Harry birthday-”

“To you.” Harry said, adjusting his grip on his best friend. Although he wasn’t sober by any
stretch of the imagination, he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be a danger to himself, unlike a
certain bushy-haired girl of his acquaintance... who’d been drooling on him in the taxi home.
“Hermione?”

“Mmm?” The brunette grunted.

“Can you stand up?” Harry asked, needing to reach into his pocket for his keys, but not able to
do so with a drunk girl in his arms.

“No.” Hermione said firmly, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him. “You’re so
pretty...”

“Thank you.” Harry replied, barely able to avoid rolling his eyes. Hermione was a very... fun
drunk. She could out-weird Luna on her best days, a fact Harry found endlessly amusing. “Do you
feel sick?”

“Feel nothing but good...” Hermione near-sang.

“Good.” Harry placed her legs firmly on the ground, before he grabbed an arm, flung it over his
shoulder and hefted her up in a fireman’s carry. With one arm now free, he could grab his keys and
let them into the house. With his hand halfway to the lock, he froze. “Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you just pinch my bum?”

There was silence for a moment. “No, itsh still there.” Hermione replied.

“Good.” Harry said, shaking his head. “Get you up to bed, I think. A long sleep will do you the
world of good.”

“Mmkay.”

Finally getting the door open, Harry stepped inside, absently closing the door with his foot.
His wand appeared in hand, flicking in a silent summoning charm to the kitchen. A hangover cure
flew out of one of the cupboards, landing nearly in Harry’s outstretched hand.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs with his inebriated cargo, stopping on the second floor. He opened
Hermione’s bedroom door, wincing as the utter mess of the room overcame him.

Back in school, Hermione’s overwhelming organisation had driven him mad. Her homework was always
done on time, her notes neat, tidy and placed in appropriate folders. The first time he’d been to
her house, back in the summer after fifth year, he’d been shocked by how *messy* her bedroom
was. Puddles of abandoned underwear, random piles of girly magazines and the kicker; posters of boy
bands sloppily stuck to the wall.

Harry didn’t consider himself a neatness freak, unlike some he could name (cough Petunia cough),
but the warzone that was Hermione’s bedroom always shocked him. He made his way across the
minefield of dirty knickers, stepping over the dirty sock barricade, before he gently laid Hermione
on her bed. He took off her shoes and socks, adding to the barricade, before he pulled the covers
over her. He grinned as she let out a high-pitched snore.

With a soft chuckle, he placed the hangover cure on her bedside table, knowing that she’d need
it in the morning. “Night, Hermione.”

As he was about to navigate the debris, the sound of a throat being cleared grabbed his
attention. His wand flashing back to hand, he glanced around the room. “Who’s there?” He
demanded.

“That would be me.” A polite, cultured voice called from the chest of drawers. “Is that you,
Mister Potter?”

“It is.” Harry confirmed warily. “Who are you?”

“Top drawer.” The voice shouted back.

Keeping his guard up, Harry stepped over Hermione’s abandoned jeans pile, taking a firm hold of
the handle, before yanking the drawer open. “Where are you?”

“Underneath the underwear.” The voice replied politely.

Gingerly, Harry moved the piles of underwear to one side (*Hermione wears these? Huh... never
figured her for a crotchless panties girl...*) spotting a bright green... *Oh, god...*

“Ah, Mister Potter.” The vibrator said. “Would you mind turning me over?”

With a slightly trembling hand, Harry took hold of the base of the toy, rolling it over to spot
a pair of emerald green eyes. “Hello, there.”

“Er... hi?”

“Could I have a word?” The toy asked.

Harry blinked. “Was I drinking absinth and no-one told me?” He asked casually. “I’ve heard that
hallucinations-”

“I’m not a hallucination.” The toy interrupted politely. “My name is Mr. Seeker, and I’d like to
have a chat with you, Mr. Potter.”

“Okay...” Harry just stared.

“Well, wouldn’t it be more appropriate for us to have this conversation in a more... comfortable
setting?” Mr. Seeker asked, before glancing from side to side. “You may wish, however, to carry me
by the base.”

Harry flinched slightly as he picked up the toy by the tips of his fingers. “Er...
downstairs?”

“That works for me.”

Once in the living room, Harry set the toy on the coffee table, making sure the two little eyes
were facing him. He couldn’t help himself. “So... what are you?”

Even though the toy had no mouth (hell, no face), it somehow managed to look vaguely
disappointed at Harry. “I’ve heard many things about your ignorance, Mr. Potter, but surely you’re
not *that* removed from human sexual behaviour?”

“Well... you’re a d-dildo.”

“So crude.” Mr. Seeker said with a sniff. “I’ll have you know that I am a fully-functional
phallic-replacement device.”

“You’re a dildo.” Harry repeated, a small smile beginning to form on his face. “Hermione has a
dildo?”

“Clearly.” Mr. Seeker replied. “It is about the Mistress that I wish to speak to you.”

“How can you talk?” Harry asked. “I mean... I thought dildos were just supposed to... well,
vibrate and stuff.”

Mr. Seeker managed to roll his eyes, without any movement. “‘Dildos’, as you so crudely put it,
do nothing of the sort. Vibrators vibrate. ‘Dildos’ are simply inanimate objects. I, however, am
neither of those things. As I stated earlier, I am a fully-functional phallic-replacement
device.”

“But how do you speak?” Harry asked.

“That would be part of the ‘fully-functional’ aspect.” Mr. Seeker said dryly. “Some people like
to hear commentary and other verbal encouragement during their activities, Mr. Potter.”

“You do dirty talk?” He couldn’t help it; Harry burst out laughing. “Hermione has a
dirty-talking vibrator!”

After almost a minute, Mr. Seeker cleared his throat. “Have you quite finished?”

“Not yet!” Harry gasped as he clutched his sides. “Hermione... talking dildo...”

With infinite patience, Mr. Seeker waited for his human conversation partner to stop laughing.
This patience was coupled with the fact that the only movement it could make was to wriggle.

Eventually, Harry managed to get his raucous laughter under control. “Sorry...” He said, wiping
the tears from his eyes. “God, you’re entertaining!”

“I’ve been told that many times.” Mr. Seeker said.

Harry stared at the little toy with newfound interest. “So, how long has Hermione had you?”

“Approximately four years, Mr. Potter. I was a fifteenth birthday present to herself.”

“She’s had you since she was fifteen?” Harry repeated. “Wow... explains why she calmed down a
bit.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Seeker replied. “But, this is not what I was planning to speak to you about.”

“Where did she get you?” Harry asked, not yet ready for a serious discussion with a dildo. “I
mean... I’ve never seen anything like you.”

Mr. Seeker sighed. “I am available from most good sexual aid stores, Mr. Potter. The Mistress
entered the store, and I was the most compatible object.”

“‘Compatible’?” Harry asked. “In what way?”

Another sigh. “As each of us are made, we are enchanted. We each have a different magical
signature. Mine was the most compatible with the Mistress.”

“‘The wand chooses the wizard’!” Harry gasped, falling off the couch as he began laughing again.
Somehow, though, he knew this wasn’t what old Ollivander had in mind when he’d told Harry that all
those years ago. The phrase kept bouncing around his mind as he glanced at the phallus, making him
keep laughing. He just couldn’t help himself.

It took almost ten minutes for the slightly inebriated Harry to gather his wits and sit down on
the couch. All the time, Mr. Seeker just sat there, waiting.

“Okay...” Harry said with a gasp, again wiping the tears away. “Let’s just... er... well, let’s
not say that again, shall we?”

“Entirely my pleasure.” Mr. Seeker said, sounding slightly grumpy. “Now, I would like to speak
about the Mistress.”

“Yes.” Harry said, trying (and failing) to look serious. “What about Hermione?”

“Are you aware that Mistress is completely, hopelessly in love with you, Mr. Potter?”

“No.” Harry said, sounding slightly confused. “She never said anything.”

“Who is her favourite seeker?” Mr. Seeker asked. “I was named after you, my good chap. Green
eyes, ‘Mr. Seeker’ as my name... it doesn’t take a genius to work it out.”

“But...”

“Whenever I make her... complete, she calls out your name, Mr. Potter. I would take it
personally, but it’s not in my matrix. I also have the ability to mimic certain voices. Yours is
the only other voice I have.”

“You talk dirty to Hermione... in my voice?” Harry asked, looking faintly revolted.

“I do.” Mr. Seeker admitted. “And may I say that your grasp of English is... tenuous, at
best?”

“No, you can’t say that.” Harry said. “And I think that’s... wait a minute... why the hell am I
arguing with a dildo?”

“It seems you’ve found your intellectual equal.” Mr. Seeker replied dryly. “However, that is not
the point of this conversation. Mistress loves you, and as my primary function is to give her
pleasure, I don’t believe it’s outside the realm of my programming to inform you of this.”

“So... you want me to make a move on Hermione?” Harry asked. “Won’t that put you out of
work?”

“I hope so.” Mr. Seeker replied. “As I stated, my primary function is to give her pleasure. You
would be able to give her more pleasure than I can.”

“Er... okay...”

Harry glanced up as he heard a pair of feet slapping the laminate floor outside the living room.
Slowly, the door opened, and a barely conscious Hermione appeared. Her bleary eyes glanced around
the room, before she spotted Mr. Seeker sitting on the coffee table. “There you are.” She slurred,
staggering into the living room. “What’re you doing down here?”

“I was having a chat.” Mr. Seeker answered politely.

“Well, it’s bed time.” Hermione said as she plucked the toy off the table. “I hope you’re fully
charged.”

“I’m always ready to fulfil my duties, Mistress.” Mr. Seeker said proudly, before winking at
Harry. “Good night, Mr. Potter.”

“Probably not as good as yours.” Harry replied with a chuckle. “Night.”

Hermione staggered out of the room, cooing to the green phallus. Harry leaned back on the couch,
began counting and hoped that he’d be able to contain the side-splitting laugh that was bubbling
under the surface.

11 seconds later, Hermione’s head reappeared in the doorway, her barely-open eyes glancing at
the couch. She spotted Harry, blinked, shrugged and left the room.

“Oh, I can’t wait until the morning!” Harry said as he hauled his tired body off the couch.

Hermione woke up with a muffled scream. Her hand automatically went to her crotch, where she
took hold of Mr. Seeker and removed him from his unofficial home.

“Oh, god...” She muttered as she moved. The bed was *drenched*. She’d had the thing in
overnight and sweated buckets.

“Good morning, Mistress.” Mr. Seeker said tiredly.

“Morning...” Hermione said quietly.

“There is a hangover potion on your bedside table.”

Glancing over, Hermione spotted the vial of pink gunk, hastily swallowing to prevent the urge to
regurgitate. Knowing that it was better than the alternative, she dropped Mr. Seeker onto the
duvet, and grabbed the vial. Cataclysmic doom washed over her for a moment, before the headache and
sore stomach went away. She was still badly dehydrated, though.

“Pleasant evening?” Mr. Seeker asked, with a barely concealed yawn.

“I think so...” Hermione said uncertainly. “What about you?”

“Oh, I had a *marvellous* time.” Mr. Seeker replied, and Hermione could hear the grin in
his voice, making her smile faintly. “You’re so comfortable, Mistress.”

Predictably, Hermione blushed, as she did every time her toy complimented her. “T-Thank
you.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure.”

With a chuckle, Hermione plucked the toy off the duvet. “You need a wash.” She said quietly. “I
don’t think you were meant to be used overnight.” She stood up, feeling a little light-headed for a
moment, before she started for her en-suite. “Hang on a minute...”

“Mistress?”

“Were you downstairs last night?”

“I was.”

“Why?”

“I wanted a chat with Mr. Potter.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “You... you had a chat... with Harry?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“There were things we needed to discuss.” The toy said airily as Hermione entered the bathroom.
She headed to the sink, turning on the tap and placing the toy under the running water. “Cold!
Cold!”

“Sorry.” Hermione said, switching the taps and beginning to clean Mr. Seeker.

“Oh, that feels *so good*...” The toy moaned in Harry’s voice.

“Stop it...” Hermione scolded the toy lightly, but began to... adjust her grip slightly. She
couldn’t help it. “Does that feel nice?” She cooed.

“God, Hermione...” Harry’s voice again came from the toy. “You’ve got great hands...”

A knock on her bedroom door made Hermione drop the toy in panic.

“Hermione, you awake yet?”

Blushing brightly, Hermione grabbed her dressing gown from the hook on the wall, and opened the
door a crack. “Harry?”

“Morning, Hermione.” Harry said. “You up for some breakfast?”

“Y-Yeah...”

“I was so close!” A voice shouted from the bathroom, making Hermione’s blush escalate to a full
body flush.

Harry chuckled. “I’ll leave you two alone, then.” The door slammed in his face as Hermione shot
off.

An hour later, after Hermione had showered, dressed, brushed her teeth and drank a small lake’s
worth of water straight from the tap, she headed down to the kitchen, spotting Harry sitting at the
table, a cup of coffee and the *Prophet* in hand. “Morning.” He said absently.

Still blushing, Hermione sat down at the table, pouring herself a coffee. “Er...”

“Your toy’s quite a character.” Harry said, not looking up from the paper. “Very polite,
though.”

“Harry...” She groaned, just *knowing* he was gonna tease her about it.

“Hmm?” He looked up, a tiny smirk on his face.

“Bastard.” Hermione groused. “It’s not my fault he shouted you. He knows better than that.”

“He’s fascinating. Told me some quite... interesting things.”

“O-Oh?”

“Yeah... apparently, you named him after me.” Harry put the paper on the table. “According to
the little guy, you love me.”

“Well...” Hermione took a hasty slurp of her coffee. “I... er...”

“Hermione?”

She sighed. “Well... yes, I do. So what, Harry?”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never seemed interested!” Hermione said. “You had all those girls throwing themselves at
you at school!”

“I know.” Harry replied casually. “They were all fan-girls, Hermione. You know that. That’s why
I didn’t go out with any of them. None of them were interested in me.”

Hermione looked up, her eyes twinkling. “I’m interested in you.” She said simply.

“I know that now.” Harry replied. “But... Hermione...”

“You don’t see me as a sister, do you?” She asked, hoping like hell he didn’t.

“I don’t know.” He replied. “Hermione... for eight years, we’ve been very close... I don’t
know.”

She stood up, moved round to his spot, and casually reached for his trousers. Harry froze, which
actually did her a favour as she unzipped his fly, reached in and took hold of what she found.
“Mine now.” She said softly.

“Er... Hermione?” He winced as she began tugging, fortunately for Harry, *very* gently.
“What’re you doing?”

“Taste test.” Hermione said as she straightened up her arm. “Come on, Harry. We’re going to go
to my bedroom and I’m going to molest you.”

Harry stood up, mostly in confusion, but also in self-protection of his most valued possession.
“Why?”

“Because I love you.” She replied, using her other hand to grab his waist band and begin leading
him out of the kitchen. “And I want to.”

Obediently, Harry followed her out of the kitchen, up the stairs (which made him *very*
nervous considering where his penis was) and into Hermione’s room.

“I’m still here!” A voice shouted from the bathroom.

“Hermione...” Harry groaned, not wanting to deal with the phallic-replacement.

“Hang on.” Hermione said, leaning up to kiss him as she released the real Mr. Seeker. She shot
off into the bathroom, coming back with the toy. As it passed, the eyes glanced down.

“Oh, good show!” Mr. Seeker praised. “Oh, you’re bigger than me, old chap. Enjoy your-” The toy
was silenced as Hermione wrapped it in a pair of her knickers and shoved it into the drawer.

“Hermione... I’m not comfortable.” Harry said as he watched her shut the drawer.

“Well...” Hermione tugged off her shirt, revealing that she hadn’t bothered with a bra when
dressing that morning. “Let’s see if we can relax you a little, no?”

Harry’s last coherent thought of the day vanished as Hermione dropped to her knees in front of
him.

“Hello Mr. Real Seeker...” She cooed and she leaned forward...



12. ''Run''
-----------

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

Run away, little girl. Run for your life.

Those words run through my brain, as they have for so very long. They’re looking for me. They’ve
been looking for me for a long time. I have no doubt they will keep looking for me until I am
found. I am unfortunate in many ways; my foes are relentless, unforgiving and endlessly
patient.

I am also cursed by being a witch. With good health, I can expect an almost fifteen decade
life-span. I’m only 22. I’ve been running for 467 days. The prospect of another 46,511 days of
running away scares the life out of me.

I can’t blame them, though. I know why they pursue me. Under different circumstances, I would be
one of the hunters, not the hunted. I have committed a crime that so boggles the mind, it cannot be
forgiven. A crime so heinous, I should be put to death for it.

I ran. I ran away like a coward the instant it happened. I didn’t explain why to anyone. What
the hell would I be able to say? “Sorry”? Somehow, that just wouldn’t cut it.

It’s saddening to know that I will never be able to go home. I had such a nice life. A beautiful
house, a good job and the powerful love of a great man. I was a hero of the Blood War, and my name
was known to almost everyone.

Then I ruined it. I committed my vile act, and everything went to hell in a handbasket. I lost
my life that day. Sadly, I’m still alive. Alive to suffer for my misdeed. My soul is damned for
eternity for my crime, but I can’t bring myself to end my life. I must suffer. Through a full,
empty and painful life, and then for the rest of time. I deserve no less.

I’ve been in Argentina for the last six days. I’ve not been able to spend more than two weeks in
any one place. My pursuers are so good, they can track me down, usually within ten days, regardless
of how I hide. I’ve tried everything; glamour charms, false passports, Muggle transport, even
leaving my wand in another country at one point. They still track me down.

Given who their leader is, it’s not surprising. Harry James Potter, the ‘Chosen One’, the
‘Boy-Who-Lived’, managed to utterly destroy the most powerful Dark Lord in the last ten centuries.
He effectively wiped out every Dark magic user in Europe within twelve months of his graduation
from the Auror Academy. There isn’t a prison in this hemisphere that doesn’t have at least half of
it’s inmates because of him.

He is pursuing me. I cannot face him. His powers are so far above mine, it’s not even funny. He
is driven by a single-minded determination to find me. After what I did... I’m not surprised.

There is one good thing about my crime, if anything from the vile action could be considered
good; the entire magical world, and I’m not referring to the parochial “Wizarding World” that
Britain considers itself, but every magical community on Earth has joined forces. I’ve actually
heard people say that my crime has generated a ‘Golden Age of International Co-operation’. Every
Ministry of Magic has signed a new treaty, granting Aurors authorisation to operate in their
countries, provided that all parties are notified. Extradition treaties have become a thing of the
past. The lessons of Voldemort and people running to other countries has been learned well.

Of course, this has buggered me up royally. There is nowhere I can run to without local law
enforcement tracking me down, and calling in the International Task Force, led by Harry Potter
himself. They’ll capture me if they can, and take me back to Britain. I can’t go back.

I managed to snare a rabbit a few hours ago, and it’s been hung up ever since. I’ll have to cook
it manually, using matches and a cauldron. If I use my wand, they’ll be on me in minutes. It’s the
height of stupidity to use magic now, but I can’t leave it behind. If I do, I will be defenceless.
I can’t fight, but I can’t take the chance of being wandless.

While the water’s boiling for my rabbit stew, I take the chance to think, yet again, about what
I did. As I said earlier, my crime is a heinous one. I killed the baby daughter of Harry James
Potter. The guilt washes over me again, but I do nothing to fight it. I deserve the guilt. I
deserve the pain. I deserve death.

God, I loathe rabbit. But I can’t take the chance of being seen by anyone. I know that there are
probably pictures of me in every airport, train station and apparition point on the planet. I
backpack most of the time, only apparating when I’m in heavily populated places. It’s much harder
to track that way, especially if I reappear in another heavily populated place. Disappearing into
the crowds has been my only refuge for so long.

I can feel something. I pull my wand, and take a second to glance out of the window. It’s still
relatively light outside, but there’s nothing. Nothing visible, at least. But there’s a strange
sensation in the air. Oh, damn... it’s an anti-apparition ward. They’ve found me. I have thirty
seconds, at best, to make my escape. If the wards have gone up, there’ll already be at least ten
people surrounding this ramshackle house I’ve broken into. Huh... another crime to add to my
impressively large sheet.

Without the possibility of apparition, I am limited to a physical escape, highly unlikely
against Potter-trained Aurors, or a Portkey. I never bothered to get a Portkey-creation licence,
but I know how. I try to avoid using them, since they can be tracked within minutes, but this time,
I don’t think I have an alternative.

I grab the knife I used to hack the poor rabbit to pieces, and tap it with my wand. I search my
mind for the best place to go, concluding that Grand Central Station will be my best bet this time.
Obliviators will have some overtime covering it up, but that’s hardly a priority.

I grab my backpack, the only thing I’ve been able to keep with me, sling it on my shoulders, and
activate the Portkey. I’m fortunate; they haven’t had time to bring that ward up yet. As my vision
fades, I see the door to the shack burst open, a pair of scarlet-clad Aurors entering with wands
drawn. I recognise them, of course. How could I not? Neville Longbottom, Auror Lieutenant, is
almost as recognisable as the man stood to his left, the man whose daughter I killed. They call out
my name as the Portkey takes me away, but I can’t reply.

New York. What a town! If I was here sightseeing, I’d love it. I’m not, though. I’m running
away, again, and time is running out. America’s a bad place to run to. They have the highest Auror
population in the world, following by Japan. I’m fortunate that there’s so many taxis, though. The
instant the Portkey landed, I tossed the knife into a rubbish bin, and head out of the door.

I climbed into the first taxi I saw, slamming the door shut and requesting to go to the Statue
of Liberty. I’ve never been before, and I probably won’t get to go this time. I’ll have to jump
ship out of the taxi, since I’m not actually carrying any cash on me. I feel a momentary pang of
pity for the cabbie, but I’m sure he’ll get over it.

I had to duck down on the back seat as I see Potter and Longbottom running out of the station.
They’ve gotten even faster than I remember. That’s not a good thing for me, really.

Now, I’m staying in some fleapit flat in a place whose name I’ve already forgotten. I’ve stamped
on about fifteen cockroaches so far, and they’re taking it personally, calling all their mates to
come and join in. Little bastards.

I’m hungry. I’ve not eaten in two days, since my last meal was interrupted. I hope they turned
off the cooker back in that shack. I’d hate to have burned it down. Two days fighting against
cockroaches and fretting. Is this the time? Will I be caught? Will they send me back?

I try to put the rumbling in my belly out of mind. I’ve survived for over a week without food
before. I can do it now, and I’ll no doubt have to do it again in the future. Deciding on a
distraction, I pull out my most prized possession; a photo album. I’ve had this for all my life,
and when I ran, it was one of the only possessions I through to grab. I’ve got pictures of me in
all stages of my life. When I got to Hogwarts, I didn’t take any pictures, since I didn’t have my
own camera. I bought quite a few pictures off Colin Creevey, since he enjoyed snapping pictures all
the damned time. Little prat. There’s pictures of all my friends and year-mates. But most of all,
there’s pictures of Harry Potter. Flying on his broom. Sulking in the common room. Attempting to
dance. Happy memories.

I look up sharply as the heavy feeling of an anti-apparition ward goes up. My hand’s already
drawing my wand, preparing to make another illegal Portkey, but the pillow-over-face sensation of
Potter’s famous ‘ward-bundle’ makes me shudder. That bundle pretty much makes fighting impossible.
As long as it’s up, and it’ll probably be tied directly to him, the game’s over. No Portkeys. No
apparition. Hell, won’t even be able to cast a spell.

Again, the door explodes inwards after contact with Harry’s boot. He stood in the doorway, alone
this time. I guess he knew he wouldn’t need back-up. Not after disarming me so completely.

My hands are shaking terribly as I raise my wand. It’s pointless, but I can’t just let it go. I
let out a small sob as my wand sails out of my hand, caught by those blasted seeker reflexes and
tucked into his pocket.

A stare off. Those Avada Kedavra green eyes stare at me, and I can see nothing in them. Those
eyes used to be so expressive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and it could all easily be read in
his eyes. Not anymore. My crime has killed the ‘windows to the soul’. He steps forward, and my fear
ramps up. I throw myself off the couch, scrabbling backwards until I hit the wall. I can feel
splinters enter my fingers as I push myself back on the rough floorboards, but the pain is
practically non-existent in my terror and shame.

He marches forward relentlessly, no fear or hesitation in him. He’s like an arrow from a bow,
straight, fast and true. He stops bare inches in front of me, staring down at me with those dead
eyes as I’m still futilely trying to scrabble back further.

He kneels in front of me, staring at me. I’m like a fly in amber under the raw power of that
gaze. For a moment, just a tiny, brief moment, I can see the pain in his eyes. The pain that I
caused. The pain that will never go away. All because of me.

Slowly, he reaches out with both hands, and my scrabbling becomes thrashing. I have to get away.
Either run or die. Which doesn’t matter any more. I can’t face him. All those things that I’ve
tried to hide, my shame and pain, will come rushing back. He’ll know. He always knows.

His hands take hold of my face, slowly turning it towards him. I scrunch my eyes closed, as much
as I can. I can’t look into those eyes. Everything will come undone.

Slowly, his thumbs rub on my eyelids, prompting me to open them. I try to resist, but I can feel
active magic in his fingers, forcing them open. His face moves slightly closer as his eyes lock
onto mine, and I can feel a mental probe approaching.

I have impressive Occlumency defences. They’ve been worked on for a *long* time, constantly
reinforced and tied directly to my magic. I am, without a doubt, one of the top five Occlumens on
Earth. And I know it’s futile. He could rip through my shields like they were tissue paper.

He doesn’t, though. I can feel his mind encircling mine, like an ocean surrounding a tiny desert
island. He doesn’t push through. His mind stays still, content to wait until my concentration
wavers. I cannot keep him out. So, I let him in. I lower all of my defences and give him free
reign.

Instantly, feelings overwhelm me. My feelings, those I’ve been suppressing as much as possible
using my Occlumency. Waves of rage, pain, misery and suffering fill my mind, and I know he can feel
them. For a few moments, I feel the same as I did when I killed his baby; full of
self-loathing.

Slowly, though, I became aware of Harry’s powerful mind and magic reaching out and smoothing out
the feelings. A voice-but-not-a-voice asks to question me, to find out why I did what I did. At
this point, I’m helpless and literally have nothing to lose. I agree, and the memories once more
wash over me.

I remember as I accept the proposal, looking at a small, tasteful engagement ring being placed
on my finger. I remember my wedding ceremony, my husband looking utterly gorgeous and knowing it. I
sigh with a half-chuckle/half-sob as the wedding night runs through my mind, the pair of us
insatiable.

I remember the news that I was pregnant, and I remember my husband’s elation at the thought. I
remember walking across the Ministry of Magic atrium, and slipping on the wet floor. I vaguely
remember blacking out and waking up in St. Mungo’s, my husband holding my hand, as the Head Healer
told me that I had lost the baby.

I killed Harry Potter’s baby. I killed my husband’s baby. I remember the self-loathing as it
formed, pushing me to get away from him as soon as possible, before I cost him any more.

I remember apparating away from the hospital, grabbing my photo album and my wand, before I
began running. My sobs are near screams as the pain of my actions, my crime, again washed through
my mind.

Harry’s mind, though, isn’t inactive. He shows me his feelings, his memories. He felt the same
pain and almost mind-numbing grief that I felt, but he also showed me his strength. He would do
whatever was necessary to protect me. The woman who promised to love him, honour him and cherish
him, and the woman who killed his unborn daughter. He didn’t see it like that, though. He saw it as
an accident. He saw that I was in pain, and offered everything that he was.

He showed me his devastation as I ran away, and he showed me the selfishness of what I’d done.
He showed me my arrogance by assuming that I was the only one in pain. He showed me his love for
me, and I felt unworthy.

“You’re not unworthy.” He whispered into my ear as I collapsed, sobbing, into his arms. “You
were *never* unworthy.”

“I’m sorry!” I sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry! How can you stand to look at me?”

“Because I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I always will love you. And it’s time for you to
come home. You’re been running too long.”

“I can’t!” I gasped. “I can’t go back, Harry! I killed her! Don’t you understand?” I can feel my
voice getting louder and more shrill. “I killed her! I killed our baby!”

“You didn’t.” He said softly, and I can feel the pain in his words. Pain that I, one again, am
causing him. “You did not kill her. You had an accident. I don’t blame you. It was not your
fault.”

“I should have protected her!” I snapped. “She was a defenceless baby, and I killed her!”

A sharp slap across the face instantly stops me. Did he just hit me? Did Harry Potter, the
poster child for the light, just hit a woman? Damn him... it worked, though. My shock has stopped
me babbling.

“I love you.” He said stubbornly, and I could see through the mask over those eyes. His pain had
never gone away, just like mine hadn’t. The pain I had was nothing compared to his. I knew
that.

“Please come home.” He whispered, staring at me. “I need you. I can’t do this alone! I never
could! I need you back.” It was his turn to cry now, leaving me absolutely shocked. Harry has
*never* cried, not even when Sirius was killed. But this... I’ve made the strongest guy I know
cry. My self-loathing peaks again.

“Please come back to me...” He whispered, pulling me closer. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I can’t.” I whisper back. “I killed her, Harry. I ended her life because of my own
stupidity.”

Again, he’s pulling my head back, staring into my eyes. And again, I feel his emotions. They’re
like a tidal wave again the tiny island of my mind. I can feel his pain, but his pain isn’t just
loss; it’s loneliness. He’s had to deal with not only the loss of his unborn daughter, but the
abandonment of his wife.

I can feel his support, and his love... his love eclipses me, wraps around the terrified,
pathetic thing that I’ve become, and I feel warm for the first time in 469 days. A part of me
screams that I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to feel his arms around me.

But a part of me wants things to go back to how they were, however futile that desire is. Things
will never be what they were.

“They can be.” Harry’s voice whispers into my mind. “Only together will we heal. You need me,
just as I need you. And we cannot be apart any more. I won’t let you go again.”

I want to scream and shout, but his mere presence has robbed me of that ability. The power of
his personality washes over me again, making me ashamed of my weakness.

“We can try again.” He offered. “Together, you and I can overcome anything. I won’t let you go.
Not again.”

A harsh sob erupts from my throat. How can we try again? How can a baby-killer like me even
think of trying for another child?

“You are *not* a baby-killer.” Harry’s voice, dark and menacing, tears through my mind like
a missile. “You are my wife and my love. You are mine, and you’re coming back with me.”

Any desire I have to protest runs and hides at this proclamation. The power of his personality
makes me quail. Harry and I have always been equals, always, but in this, he dwarfs me.

I can only ask one question: “How?”

“We will get through this.” His mind tells me firmly. “My love for you will help heal you while
your love for me will help heal me. Once we’ve put ourselves together, we’ll try again. I love you,
and I will not leave you.”

Even though we’re debating in my mind, I can feel his arms wrap around me and we’re squeezed
through a tube. I recognise where we land, of course. After all, I decorated this bathroom myself
eighteen months ago.

His eyes locked on mine, maintaining the mind-to-mind contact. I can see his hands moving, and I
hear water running. He’s running me a bath. This used to be one of our favourite activities, back
in the day. A hot bath led to some quality snuggling, which of course, led to our unborn daughter.
Again, without breaking eye-contact, he lifts me into the bath, my smelly clothes vanishing as I
was lifted. The water is the perfect temperature, and he bathes me. 469 days on the run has made my
personal hygiene suspect. I want to cover my nakedness, but his eyes never leave mine. I’m helpless
to those eyes, always was.

All the time he’s washing me, I can feel his mind caressing me, supporting me, providing me with
the depths of his love and devotion. After everything I’ve put him through, he considers himself
fortunate that I’m here. This man, this wonderful, incredible man thinks that he’s lucky that a
baby-killer is back in his life. The shame makes my eyes water, and the shame of that simple
action, when I have no right to be in pain, makes the tears worse.

His mind wraps round me like a warm blanket as I’m lifted from the water, and carried into our
bedroom. He lays me down, then banishes his own clothes.

I’m near panic. After everything that I’ve done, the prospect of being naked in a bed with my
husband is beyond terrifying. I want to thrash about, but Harry’s loving green eyes hold my
resistance. I know the true power of his mind. If he wanted, he could implant compulsions directly
into my mind. He could make me into a dribbling sexual maniac. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a tender hug. The sobs wrack my body as
he shares his pain with me. He offers me everything that he is, positive and negative, and allows
me to see how much he still cares. He doesn’t want sex. He doesn’t want to make love. He just wants
to hold his wife. He wants to let her know that she’s safe, because that will make him safe,
too.

My muscles are relaxing in this comfortable, familiar embrace, but my mind is still racing at
warp speed. How can he just forgive me? His mind is comforting mine, telling me that there is
nothing to forgive. I did nothing wrong. I did not kill our baby. It was an accident. It was a
tragedy, but no blame can be assigned. It simply happened. I can also feel him telling me of his
pain and regret, but his belief that we would cope together, then his abandonment.

The tears come again, as my body moulds into his and we sob together. His chest is warm and wet
as my tears trickle down, while my hair collects his tears. He knows everything that I’ve done.
It’s impossible to hide things from Harry Potter. I don’t know what the future will bring. My
self-loathing is still the predominant emotion in my mind. Only my shame of failing him keeps me
there.

That shame and self-loathing lasted for almost two years. Every night, Harry would carry me to
bed, link our minds and let us do nothing but feel. He would show me his pain, diminishing simply
because of my presence. It was always there, though, which simply made me hurt. I had caused that
pain.

It wasn’t until the Intervention that things changed. Harry, under the direction authorisation
of the Minister of Magic and the Department of Mysteries, arranged for a ridiculously-illegal
summoning ritual. Together, Harry and I called into the ether for the soul of our dead daughter.
It’s a well-established fact that souls can be summoned, but it’s never been tried with a pre-born.
No-one knew if the soul will be that of a baby, or if it will be able to communicate.

We know now. Our baby was beautiful. She’d inherited the eyes of power from Harry and,
unfortunately for her, the bushy-hair and big nose from me. She appeared to be around twelve years
old, and she could speak. And she did.

She forgave me for what I did. She told me that there was no responsibility. The cheeky little
thing even made me go and get a dictionary and tell her the definition of the word ‘accident’.
Definitely my daughter for the bookishness, and Harry’s daughter for the cheek. She told me that
she knew what had happened and that I was blaming myself.

Harry and I made love that night. Fortunately for everyone’s sanity, our daughter’s soul had
moved back, passing on a message to Harry about how Grandma Lily was taking care of her and
teaching her how to prank Grandpa James. We all cried.

I’m in hospital right now. I’m utterly exhausted, but I can’t bring myself to sleep. In my arms
is a tiny baby girl, scarcely two hours old. During my labour, I stayed silent. The pain was
immense, as it felt like our baby was trying to exit my body without using the chute. But this pain
was worth it. This pain allowed me, and Harry through his Legilimency, to know that our baby was
coming. And here she is. During my labour, for just a brief moment, I thought I could see a soul
watching over me, blessing us with a healthy birth.

My name is Hermione Jane Potter. There will be hardships to come in the future, but I will
stand, and I will fight, alongside the man who chased me down and brought me home. I have stopped
running.