The Ghost of Hermione Granger

The Ghost of Hermione Granger

Time travel/alternate reality story. Roughly canon compliant through Battle of Hogwarts/Book 7.

In the final battle Hermione makes the ultimate sacrifice for love. Twelve years later Harry, disenchanted with his empty marriage to Ginny, becomes obsessed with the idea of returning to the past to see Hermione again to thank her and to tell her what he has realized over the years about what she really meant to him. But will his traveling in time change everything?

Despite the title, Hermione won't ever appear as a ghost in this story. Ginny and Molly will behave badly in the story but for what are, hopefully, believable human reasons. Story will be Portkey compliant and end with Harry and Hermione alive and together.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the characters, plot or other elements from the Harry Potter series of books by JK Rowling. I make no money from this work and believe that it constitutes fair use under United States laws.

No Scottish novelists were harmed in the making of this fanfiction.

The Ghost of Hermione Granger

“If only I could go back in time, to see her again...to thank her for everything she did for me...to tell her what she meant to me-what she still means to me. If only...if only... Wait! There is a way...”

****

A blinding flash of golden light. A feeling of disorientation. Hermione Granger suddenly found herself sitting in a quite unlikely place, with an equally unlikely group of people. “Oh!” she gasped as she shot to her feet swiveling her head from side to side examining her surroundings. She had been at Hogwarts, in the middle of the battle. Hermione had seen Bellatrix Lestrange pointing her wand at Ginny Weasley. Suddenly all the noise and confusion disappeared, time slowed to a crawl. The sneer on Bellatrix's face and her moving lips told Hermione that she was taunting Ginny, but Hermione's brain refused to process any sound until Bella's lips started to form the word,”Avad-” In a flash Hermione did what she what she had decided to do during the long miserable months spent on the Horcrux hunt. Hermione shoved Ginny to the ground and took her place before Bellatrix, grateful that her Gryffindor courage hadn't failed her. She began to cast a disarming spell, but deep down she knew that it was hopeless. She was going to die. Instead of the green flash she expected though, came the golden light-and then she was here-in what appeared to be the waiting room of her parents' dental surgery.

She blinked her eyes and shook her head slightly trying to clear her mind. What happened? The battle...saving Ginny...her vow to herself...yes, she remembered... After Ron's abandonment of Harry and Hermione in the forest she had sworn to herself that she would do anything to protect Harry-and to protect Ginny, the girl he wanted, perhaps loved. She had tried so hard to love the boy who wanted her-to love Ron-but in the end, when he forced her to choose, she chose the boy she truly loved. Ron had ruined everything when he abandoned them. How could he do that to the girl he supposedly loved? His best mate? The cause that they had all fought for? She had accepted Ron back when he returned because he saved Harry's life, but she knew now that she could never learn to love Ron. Even though she knew that Harry would never want her in the way she wanted him-she chose Harry. She had decided almost two years before that his returning her feelings didn't matter. She would do, or be, or sacrifice whatever he needed. Even her life. She loved him, and she would always choose him.

Laying in the Hogwarts infirmary after the events at the Department of Mysteries in their their fifth year she had finally admitted to herself both that she was in love with Harry Potter and that it was probably hopeless because he didn't see her in the same way. She decided that she needed to accept both facts and figure out how to continue with her life. While outwardly she had seemed her normal self, inwardly she felt like she was being tossed about on a roiling sea of emotions. After she had cried out all of her tears she had turned to looking coolly and logically at her situation. Truthfully, before she had begun to dream about a future with Harry she had always seen her future as a solo one. She saw herself living in a tastefully decorated, book-filled flat with Crookshanks. Her life would be absorbed by some sort of challenging work. She would have her Mum and Dad, of course, as well as friends among her coworkers and old classmates. Harry and Ron would still be her best friends. She would make friends with their wives. She smiled inwardly at the thought of spoiling their children. Auntie Hermione would make a science of spoiling adorable little Potters and Weasleys. She supposed there might be men in her life, lovers that would come and go, but she had accepted that real lasting love wouldn't be part of her life.

That future made her a little sad, but it didn't seem too awful. But perhaps there was another option open to her-Ron. She didn't understand why, and sometimes he had the strangest way of showing it, but he seemed to fancy her. “He's a good person, I know he genuinely cares for me and wouldn't hurt me,”she reasoned,” he'll grow up eventually, he'll learn to hold his tongue, not wind me up...I love him as my friend, perhaps I'll learn to love him as a lover.” She knew that she would enjoy being a wife and a mum and that she would work her fingers to the bone to prove that she could be a good one. The fact that Ginny and Molly seemed to be actively trying to push them together (though Hermione was a bit suspicious about their motives) and that the rest of the Wesley clan seemed to like her was a great advantage. She felt that his family would welcome her with open arms.

Marrying Ron seemed to promise a brighter, happier future. Being a part of the Weasley family would draw her deeply into the Wizarding world-she would no longer be a Muggleborn outsider. Best of all, if Harry married Ginny he would always be a part of her life. He would be family. She could still have his friendship. She could still silently love him. It was the best solution for everyone.

She had begun her sixth year at Hogwarts determined to encourage Ron in his attentions to her. Unfortunately that went horribly wrong in so many ways. She seemed to go from humiliation to humiliation all year. Ron's poisoning and the tragedy of Dumbldore's death finally brought them together in a tentative sort of way by the end of the school year. In the months that followed his behavior towards her seemed to change for the better. Even though some of the ways that he spoke to her and treated her seemed a bit false and forced-she suspected that he was clumsily following advice he had received from his brothers or a cheesy self-help book-she had been touched that he was making an effort. But none of that mattered now...

“Oh,” she said again softly as she sunk down onto the couch. “I'm dead.” “Not exactly, Miss Granger,” replied the familiar voice of the former headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. He sat in an armchair opposite her dressed in his familiar starry purple robes, a pair of fuzzy purple and silver stockinged feet peeking out underneath. His appearance was younger and healthier, much as she remembered him from her first year, his hand no longer blackened. A copy of Martha Stewart Living with an elegant wedding cake on the cover floated in front of him. Hermione would have giggled at the incongruous sight had she been given to such things. He smiled and gestured at the magazine which promptly disappeared murmuring, “A bit of light reading...Clever woman. I've often wondered if she's one of us...”

He inclined his head, smiled and gestured at his companions, “Professor Snape, of course you know.” Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, but she politely nodded to the former potions master. He nodded in return, setting aside the National Geographic that he had been reading. “But if he's here, with Professor Dumbledore smiling at him...” the wheels turned in Hermione's mind as she tried to reconcile Snape's presence with the events of the previous year. She thought. Snape, too, looked younger and happier than she had ever seen him. Even his hair looked less greasy. His manner was still proud but the sourness and nastiness was no longer in evidence. It took a moment for her to realize that while his robes were in his usual style that he was not wearing black, but instead a very dark green with silver stitching. There was a warmth in his dark eyes that she had never seen before and those eyes seemed to be focused on the person next to Hermione.

“Allow me to introduce you to Lily Potter,” Dumbledore continued, gesturing to the woman on Hermione's right on the brown leather couch. She was a pretty woman in her 20's with long red hair. “Hello Hermione, I feel like I already know you,” she said with a warm smile,”thank you for everything you've done for my son.” Lily was dressed in simple muggle clothes, an emerald green cashmere jumper, jeans and flat slip-on shoes. “M-Mrs Potter, hello...” Hermione murmured, feeling very strange to be looking into Harry's eyes in a different face. In Lily's face those eyes were the same shape and the same arresting color as Harry's but without Harry's thick black eyelashes the effect was somewhat less striking. Hermione started to hold out her hand in greeting but Lily quickly pulled the younger woman into a hug. “Lily,” she said,”just Lily, is fine.”

From behind her, Hermione heard another familiar voice. “My turn next, Hermione dear.” Hermione quickly turned towards the sound of her Grandmother Granger's voice. “Nanna!” she exclaimed throwing herself into the silver-haired woman's arms. “Oh Nanna, I'm so glad to see you. It's been such a long time.” She couldn't help the tears that began to stream down her face at being reunited with her grandmother. Grandmother Granger had been gone for three years and Hermione had missed her terribly. Olivia Granger was wearing a straight blue skirt and a silky floral print blouse that felt wonderful against Hermione's cheek. She wore the golden locket that she had always worn around her neck. Her familiar rosewater scent awakened many wonderful childhood memories in Hermione. “So, you're a witch,”said Hermione's grandmother, “and your friends are witches and wizards.” Hermione nodded, biting her lip, a bit fearful of her grandmother's reaction to that news. “Oh, Nanna, I'm so sorry we never told...”she began to babble embarrassedly. Mrs Granger held up her hand to halt her granddaughter's flow of words, “It's alright,dear. I understand. You were supposed to keep it secret.” Hermione nodded and smiled, meeting her grandmother's warm, intelligent brown eyes. Eyes so much like her Dad's-and her own. Her grandmother leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Would you do a bit of magic for me dear? I'd love to see it.” Hermione reached for her wand beside her on the couch and pointed it at a small bowl of wildflowers on the table between Snape's and Dumbledore's chairs. “Wingardium leviosa,”she intoned, smiling proudly at her grandmother as the bowl rose into the air.

“Now that the pleasantries are over...” Snape drawled dryly. “Yes,” Dumbledore smoothly cut in, “to answer your earlier question Miss Granger, you are alive and in a place outside of normal time and space. A short time ago, in what is, er, will be, your future Mr Potter has made a crucial decision. His decision has called this place into existence and called us here to assist you in the choice you will need to make if he indeed follows through on that decision.” Hermione leaned forward, nodding as she listened to the headmaster's explanation,“What choice,sir?” Dumbledore replied,“As Shakespeare so aptly put it, 'to be or not to be...' ”

****

Twelve Years Later

“I feel like I've been living with the ghost of Hermione Granger all these years! Hermione-this and Saint Hermione-that”, Ginny shouted. She stood with her hands on her hips and angrily flipped her long red hair over her shoulder, ”That's all I've heard from you for twelve years and I'm so bloody sick of it!” Even as the words left her mouth, Ginny knew that she was making a fatal mistake but her anger and jealousy had finally reached the point of no return. “The scholarships, the memorial, all of her bloody idealistic crusades that you've taken on...” she growled, tears of anger and frustration sparkling in her eyes, “sometimes this feels more like a menage a trois than a marriage!”

Harry Potter regarded her with an astonished look. His astonishment was quickly replaced by quiet rage. His jaw worked as he tried to master his temper. The atmosphere in the casually elegant living room of the Potter estate crackled with Harry's barely-controlled magical energy. “Well at least you're alive to bitch and moan about Hermione-she's dead. Dead.” He drew in a ragged breath and turned away from her. “I would give anything,” his voice faltered, and he continued in a strangled whisper, “anything, to see her again.” He continued in his thoughts,”If only I could go back in time, to see her again...to thank her for everything she did for me...to tell her what she meant to me-what she still means to me. If only...” He turned back towards Ginny and continued in a stronger voice, “I would give anything, except my children and you of course, to have Hermione back.” he added, the expression in his eyes turning icy. “Does your own life mean so little to you? What about our kids? She gave her life to save yours!”

Ginny gave a snort of derision, “She gave her life to save me? Oh, please! “ she spat out. “She did it for you! She was in love with you! That pathetic swot was always in love with you,” she hissed, her eyes gleaming triumphantly at the look of pain she saw in Harry's eyes. She added,” She only gave my stupid brother the time of day because she knew that she wasn't good enough for The Boy Who Lived. You could have any witch you wanted. Who would want her? Once Ronnikins recovered from his discovery in fourth year that she had breasts, even he mainly wanted her because he wanted to have something you didn't have. “ She lifted her chin and stared defiantly at her husband.

At that moment every light in the house took to flashing and every glass or ceramic knickknack exploded. Ginny felt a charge of static electricity shoot up her neck and her hair begin to stand on end as she was caught by the emerald laser beam of her husband's glare. With his Auror training Harry was able to Apparate nearly silently but at this moment, consumed by his fury, he disapperated with a thunderous gunshot sound that rattled every intact item in the room.

Ginny's moment of schadenfreude had been short lived. She cursed herself for letting her temper loosen her tongue. Pacing around the remains of her once-beautiful living room, flicking her wand at various spots around the the room, softly murmuring reparo, repairing a vase here, a crystal ornament there, she thought about her dilemma. She had said the one thing that she had sworn to herself that she would never, ever say-the one thing he must never know about her, and more importantly, about himself. Hermione Granger had loved him-not just as a friend, not as a sister but as a lover, and that she had sacrificed everything for that love. Ginny had always feared that knowing of Hermione's feelings, he would naturally begin to think about what his dead friend had meant to him. That was a path that she was determined that he must never go down. Little did she know that Harry already walked that path and was nearing the end of it.

She had been six years old when she first heard the story of Harry Potter from her mother and had declared that she would grow up and marry him someday. That dream that had dominated her life ever since. After Harry saved her in the Chamber of Secrets during her first year at school, Ginny became even more convinced that she would marry Harry Potter. Her feelings were not a girlish crush, she told herself, this was Love. True Love. Soulmates. She was sure of it. Hearing her parents mention that seeing Harry and Ginny together reminded them of James and Lily cemented it for Ginny. It was Fate. In the end, she had lived her dream-she was the wife of the Boy Who Lived, the conqueror of Voldemort. She shared his name, his bed, had borne his children-but, as small still voice in her mind had taken to whispering, “Have you ever really had his heart? Even after all these years, there's still so much he doesn't share with you, so little that you really have in common. He doesn't take your advice, he doesn't respect your opinions... Has he ever truly loved you? “ It hurt so much! She had just wanted him to love her, the way she had always loved him, the way she had loved him before she even knew him. An even smaller, quieter voice that Ginny refused to listen to, traitorously whispered, “Was it worth it? Did you ever really love him? The real Harry, not the dream prince that you created in your head back when you were six?” He genuinely was the hero she had imagined him to be, but the real Harry confused her, sometimes bored her, and even frightened her.

And what about her debt to Hermione? Ginny cringed a little. Her feelings about Hermione Granger were so mixed-up, so complex. Hermione had saved her life. Of course, she felt gratitude for that! What kind of a monster would she be if she didn't? Still she couldn't help but resent her a little. Ginny thought that in a way Hermione had played the ultimate trick on her. Hermione had saved her life, requiring Ginny to feel an eternal gratitude to her, owing her a magical debt, but Hermione's sacrifice had also spoiled any chance for Harry to truly grow to love Ginny. In Harry's mind Hermione would always be that fresh eighteen-year-old girl nobly sacrificing herself. Ginny, though would grow older, her waist thickening with each pregnancy, lines appearing on her face, youth fading, and being flawed and human she would anger and disappoint him at times. How could she compete with Hermione's memory?

Growing up, Ginny had never much liked other girls. Surrounded by brothers, Ginny had absorbed some of their notions about girls. She thought other girls silly and weak-fun for gossiping and doing “girly” things, but not her equals. Besides, she adored being the center of attention in the Weasley clan as the baby and the only girl. Other girls were competition. As an adult she had many female friends but none of the sycophantic social climbers that she shopped and gossiped with were real friends. Ginny knew that, until she finally alienated her sister-in-law, Luna had adored her for standing up for her in school. Ginny did like Luna, but she could never feel truly close to her-she was just too odd a person for Ginny's taste. And in all honesty Ginny knew that she had stood up for Luna only partly out of concern for that uncanny girl. She had really wanted to take down those obnoxious Slytherins a notch or two. Her other sisters-in-law were jealous of her and disliked her for the way she lorded over them her position as the wife of the hero of the Wizarding World.

Still, Hermione had once been her friend. Her closest female friend ever. At first, her motives in cultivating a friendship with her had had been mostly cynical. It was all part of The Plan. Ginny had devised The Plan in her second year at Hogwarts. After the events of her first year, Ginny knew that marrying Harry was her Fate. But Ginny wasn't one to sit around and wait for Fate to work its will on her-she meant to guide Fate's hand. The Plan decreed that she should befriend Hermione in order to get closer to Harry. The older girl was a font of information. She would learn from Hermione how to make herself into everything Harry wanted in a girl.

Fate held two surprises for Ginny, though. The first was that in time she came to like and appreciate many things about the older girl. Hermione was anything but silly or weak. Ginny genuinely admired Hermione's intelligence, her kindness and her courage. But at the same time she couldn't help but feel a certain contempt for her. She was sometimes so boring and serious, a bit plain(and didn't seem to care much about making herself more attractive) and so weirdly Muggle. She could hardly believe that anyone could have so little interest in Quidditch.

The other surprise was that, even though Hermione tried hard to hide it, Hermione was in love with Harry. Hermione's insecurities about herself led her to keep those feelings secret but they were obvious to Ginny. The thing that terrified Ginny was the obvious deep affection Harry felt for Hermione. It wouldn't take much for that affection to blossom into romantic love on Harry's side as well. The second part of The Plan was to make sure that blossoming didn't happen. That was why Ginny, aided by her mother, worked so hard at pushing Hermione and her brother together. It was also why, near the end of her fourth year she finally took desperate measures to make sure that Harry would be hers. She hadn't really done anything wrong in the eyes of the Wizarding world-a little devious perhaps, but the sort of thing that was usually shrugged off with the old saying, ”alls fair in love and war.” But she knew that Harry wouldn't have seen it that way. Being raised in the Muggle world had given him so many strange ideas! Her first two attempts, made first with Mum's knowing help and later with the twins' unknowing help, had failed. At the start of her fifth year help had arrived from a most unexpected source which succeeded just as she had dreamed.

By Ginny's fifth year she had grown into a pretty and frankly sexy young woman. She relished the power that gave her over boys. She enjoyed trying out her feminine wiles on a series of boys, learning all sorts of lessons on how to please and tease the male of the species. She hoped that Harry was watching and taking in just how popular and desirable she was. When she finally captured Harry's attention she was elated. That elation quickly bred arrogance. Her arrogance led to contempt for Hermione. That contempt, mixed with her fear of the closeness between Harry and Hermione overwhelmed any fondness she had had for the Muggleborn girl. Ginny followed The Plan and turned on Hermione hoping to destroy any influence Hermione had over Harry. She didn't really succeed at that, but she did succeed in ruining her friendship with Hermione forever. Ginny was surprised to find that she regretted losing Hermione's friendship.

Ginny knew that things had gone very wrong in her marriage. Harry had been so besotted with her in the beginning, he had done whatever she wanted. After a few years that had abruptly changed. They were still happy together but she could no longer wrap him around her little finger. That was when he started forming charities and scholarships, becoming involved with politics, and that was when he spoke the name “Hermione Granger” again for the first time since the days after her death.

A few years later Ginny received a real fright that Harry would leave her. The Matrimonium Vinculum Spell was for life but that didn't mean that the husband and wife had to remain together under the same roof. She believed that only knowing that taking her children away from her would kill Ginny, as well as his attachment to Ron and her family had kept him from leaving. They had spent several months with a deathly chill between them, he had avoided her touch, her very presence. No angry words were ever exchanged. As much as it frustrated Ginny to hold her tongue, she did so because she suspected-perhaps due to his Auror work-that somehow he had learned what she had done to win him for her own. Eventually a thawing took place between them and on the surface all was well. The Potters seldom argued, they both doted upon their children and in the most private part of their relationship Harry was unfailingly kind and considerate-and heartbreakingly absent.

Ginny paused in her pacing and picked up a cobalt blue vase with a delicate floral pattern on it that she had repaired earlier and threw it at the fireplace where it shattered again with a loud and satisfying crash. She refused to believe it. He would hate her. He could never know! He didn't know, she lied to herself. Of course he didn't know. He loved her. And she loved him. They were perfectly happy together. This was just an ordinary fight. Nothing to worry about. “Reparo,” she flicked her wand at the vase. ”Accio,” she said and the vase flew back into her hand. She noted with a sickening start that after being smashed twice the delicate pattern was ruined. Ginny was a smooth liar, and the person she was the best at deceiving was herself. Ginny Weasley-Potter wondered if her happily-ever-after dream was a lot like the vase she had thrown-would ever be possible to truly reparo it?

The Ghost of Hermione Granger

Time travel/alternate reality story. Roughly canon compliant through Battle of Hogwarts/Book 7.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the characters, plot or other elements from the Harry Potter series of books by JK Rowling. I make no money from this work and believe that it constitutes fair use under United States laws.

To readers in the United States-have a safe and happy Labor Day Weekend.

To everyone: Heron was popular in the 16^th century but today it's considered unpalatable. Always pick your chocolate carefully, you never know what might be in it. And, most importantly, remember that pumpkins contain anti-cancer carotenoids, Vitamin C, potassium and fiber. Pumpkin pie is good for you!

The Ghost of Hermione Granger

Part Two

Harry Potter was thankful for his Auror training because it kept him from a painful injury when he left his home in a towering rage. He had instinctively fled to his “safe destination” allowing him to Apparate safely despite his emotional upheaval. Aurors were often faced with the necessity of Apparating quickly out of tight spots without the moment of mental preparation that most witches and wizards needed. In initial training each trainee Auror picked a safe location, a place that they could picture in minute detail. Harry was taught that a place that carried a strong emotional resonance for the Auror was the best choice. For Harry, that place was the gates of Hogwarts. He had often wondered why he made that choice rather than his own home or his parents' place in Godric's Hollow or even the Burrow, when his trainer had abruptly barked the question at him all those years ago, but choose it he did. The emotions that this place conjured up for him then had been magnified by the number of times in the years since that he had escaped from death and found himself looking up at these gates.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his still unruly hair as he considered what to do now. After a moment he conjured his Patronus and used it to send a message to the Headmistress. As he awaited his reply he drank in the fresh country air, letting the clean, fragrant air and golden light of dusk on this early Summer evening help to dissipate the black mood he had carried here from his home. He felt a current of magic in the air and looked down to see Professor McGonagall's cat Patronus sitting at his feet eying him curiously. His old teacher's voice echoed in his mind, “Of course, Mr Potter, you are always welcome here at Hogwarts. After you're done with your walk around the grounds I would be happy to have your company in my office.” The spectral cat turned and walked towards the massive gates. It raised its paw and touched the gate causing it to slowly open to admit Harry Potter to his first home in the magical world.

At almost thirty the “Savior of the Wizarding World”, as the Daily Prophet still referred to him-much to his disgust, was a rather ordinary man physically. Nature had intended him to be as tall a man as his father but the inadequate diet he received during childhood coupled with surviving on near-starvation rations on the Horcrux hunt during what should have been his final growth spurt had robbed him of several inches, leaving him of only slightly better than average height. He was no longer the scrawny boy that he had once been, his shoulders had broadened and his chest filled out with maturity but he was still a slender man. Harry's work demanded physical fitness and his own restless nature meant that he craved the activity as well. Unlike most wizards, he kept himself fit by exercising in the Muggle way-regular morning runs and calming evening lap swims in his pool. He thought the home that Ginny had insisted that they build for their family was entirely too grand for his taste both in size and decor but he had to admit that he would be loathe to give up his pool. Harry was not Muggle movie star handsome but he was a good looking man. Witches never failed to flirt with him (even when his wife was by his side) due to his celebrity status but even on his forays into Muggle London he found himself an object of female attention. His vivid green eyes (still partly hidden behind glasses-expensive ones, though still similar in style to the cheap NHS-issue glasses he wore as a boy) combined with his surprisingly fashionable messy black hair were quite striking. Equally attractive to women was the quick intelligence and kindness reflected in those eyes along with the air of quiet power, dignity and command with with Harry carried himself.

Harry soon found himself walking around the familiar shores of the lake. He understood why Ginny's carefully constructed facade had finally cracked. Arthur Weasley was dying. The whole Weasley family was under terrific strain watching its patriarch slowly fade away. Harry, himself, was having a hard time coping with the fact that the man who was the closest thing he had ever had to a father was not long for this world. Ginny seemed to be taking it the hardest. She was her father's pet. His precious little girl. Her father adored her and Ginny adored him equally. Harry knew that Ginny believed that her father cherished such a lovely and perfect image of her in his heart that Ginny was desperate to make sure that he never saw anything of her less than lovely traits. Harry shook his head in silent puzzlement at his wife's blindness. Her father was a far wiser man than Ginny gave him credit for. Arthur knew full well his daughter's faults and adored her anyway.

That afternoon the Potter clan had been visiting the Burrow along with the rest of the extended Weasley family for the usual Sunday get-together. While the adult Weasley siblings played an impromptu Quidditch match, their children played a variety of games and their wives gossiped and helped Molly to clean up after the family brunch. Harry had excused himself from the match and ceded the Seeker position to Ginny to sit with Arthur in the shade. While Harry would normally have relished a chance to play with his brothers-in-law, he decided that spending time with the frail older man was more important. It was unfortunate that when the Quidditch match broke up that Ginny had happened to overhear Harry and Arthur sharing memories of the war that had turned to fond remembrances of Hermione and the brilliance and kindness of the Muggleborn girl. One glance at her red ears and squared jaw (which tended to emphasize her resemblance to her brother George) told Harry that she was furious even though she spoke gently to her father. Ginny had managed to control herself until they had left the Burrow and sent the children off with their free house elf nanny. The minute the children were out of earshot she turned on her husband and began her furious rant.

Harry had reached a favorite resting spot from his school days beneath an old tree with a massive, gnarled trunk. He dropped down to sit among the roots. He had avoided this fight with Ginny for a long time. Six years, in fact. “Six years...” Harry murmured to himself. Six years ago was when the healers estimated that Arthur had developed the Azoth syndrome which was ending his life, six years ago was when Harry had first been promoted to lead an important investigation and six years ago was when that investigation led him to realize the lies that lay at the heart of his relationship with his wife. And six years ago was when Harry realized the truth of Hermione Granger's place in his life and in his heart.

Oddly enough it was a conversation with his old antagonist, Draco Malfoy, that led to a break in the case and the truth about his own marriage. The case involved the daughters of aristocratic pureblood families who had been promised in arranged marriages with the sons of other prominent families but were seduced by a Muggleborn wizard before the betrothal could be finalized. The Daily Prophet had dubbed the man the Muggle Lover. The Muggle Lover's exploits had resulted in broken hearts, duels and family feuds but when his depredations caused a murder/suicide when he broke up the arrangement between one of Britain's most ancient families and an equally noble French family the Ministry declared the case their top priority. Harry knew that assigning the case to him was mainly intended as a public relations gimmick but he intended to solve the case.

Harry had excelled as an Auror from the start. His natural courage, quick wits and equally quick reflexes made him a natural for the work. His superiors respected his abilities immensely and promoted him far quicker than his peers, though there were some-his wife and mother-in-law were chief among them, who thought that his status as the Savior of the Wizarding World meant that he should have been promoted even faster. Harry's first case as Lead Investigator didn't play to his strengths-but he succeeded in cracking the case due to hard work, determination and the clues given him by his old enemy.

Draco Malfoy approached the MLE for help because he believed that a young relative had fallen under the man's spell. In the years since the Dark Lord's fall Harry and Draco's paths had crossed from time to time but that day when Draco visited his office was the first time that Harry had taken a really good look at him. Though they were the same age Draco looked at least a decade older. He was expensively dressed in an exquisitely tailored charcoal-colored Muggle suit, a gold wedding ring on one manicured hand and a gold signet ring on the hand that he held out to Harry to shake. Harry ignored the hand and motioned him to a seat. Draco told Harry, by way of explaining the Muggle attire, that he had just come from the offices of his financial advisors in the City. Ironically Draco was still a wealthy man mainly due to his father's investments in the Muggle world which hadn't been touched by the Ministry of Magic. In one of the few relatively decent things that Lucius Malfoy had ever done he had protected Draco and Narcissa by committing suicide in Azkaban before the Ministry could put him on trial for his crimes. Since the Dark Mark on the man's arm proved beyond any doubt the Lucius had been a Death Eater the Ministry was able to confiscate his considerable wealth in Wizard gold and properties, but since they were unable to convict him of any other crimes they didn't pursue his wealth in the Muggle world, Narcissa's dowry or the ownership of Malfoy Manor which Lucius had signed over to Draco on the boy's seventeenth birthday. While Draco was still well off, the weight of living with own guilt and his family's disgrace after the fall of Voldemort had clearly both aged and humbled him.

“This is my cousin, Capella Malfoy, she's in her final year at Hogwarts. She's my favorite cousin, really-lovely girl...” Draco began with a fond smile after seating himself, handing Harry a magical photograph. Harry's eyebrow shot up when Draco showed him the girl's picture-she looked like a thirty years younger version of Narcissa Malfoy with a softer, more pleasant expression on her face. Harry nodded but said nothing, deciding that Draco's reasons for Capella Malfoy being his favorite cousin were between Draco and Oedipus. He was hardly in a position to throw stones. “She's from a lesser branch of the family and since I'm now the head of the Malfoy family they asked me to arrange a match for her with a boy from an appropriate family.” It took all of Harry's training and maturity to suppress an eye roll at just what would constitute an “appropriate family” to the Malfoys.

“I think this Muggle Lover bastard has his sights set on her as his next victim. I arranged a match for her last Fall. Her mother gave her the potion when she was home for the winter holidays but she hasn't shown the slightest interest in the boy she's supposed to marry and he seems indifferent to her, as well. On the last Hogsmeade weekend her younger sister, Vela, followed her and saw her slip away from her friends and meet a young man, dressed as a Muggle, that looked too old to be a Hogwarts student. He side-alonged her away to who-knows-where and she didn't make it back to school until after curfew.” Draco visibly sagged in his seat as he finished his story. Given their history it was difficult for Harry to have much sympathy for Malfoy but the man's obvious distress helped.

“You mentioned a potion. A love potion? Amortentia?” Harry asked. Draco shook his head,”No, not Amortentia. It's not ingested, it's a scent. I'm not sure what the real name is. We usually just refer to it as just “the potion” or the “betrothal potion”, Draco added with a dismissive flip of his hand, “Everyone knows what it's for... The ancient families all use it. A little romantic illusion makes it makes it easier to do ones duty.” Draco shrugged, “ It's damnably expensive and hard to obtain. I've heard that it's beyond the abilities of all but the most skilled potions masters.” “Maybe it just didn't work this time, she fell for a different boy,” Harry ventured. Draco again shook his head and grimly replied, “It always works.” Harry had heard the rumors about Malfoy's unhappy arranged marriage and his answer seemed to confirm them.

Draco rose from his seat, “I'm glad they assigned this to you, Potter. I won't let Capella's life be ruined. You were always good at rescuing damsels in distress,” he continued with a hint of his old sneer. “My “saving people” thing,” Harry muttered to himself. It was Malfoy's turn for the raised eyebrow, “Granger?” he questioned. Seeing Harry's steely look he continued in a conciliatory tone, “Sounds like something she'd say.” Harry gave a curt nod, “I'll need to question Vela,” he stated in a coolly businesslike tone. “I'll arrange it with her parents,” Draco replied. This time when Draco held out his hand, Harry took it. Harry was never going to like Draco Malfoy but perhaps Dumbledore had been right that there was something worth saving there.

Harry's investigation opened his eyes to many hidden facets of Wizarding society. Being raised in the non-magical world and spending his later childhood and teenage years fighting to survive Voldemort he was ignorant of many facets of Wizarding society when he reached adulthood. To investigate the case he found himself having to spend many hours in the Ministry's, and later Hogwarts', library doing research on potions and Wizarding marriage customs and laws. He had had no way of knowing what an impact his research would have on his own life.

He remembered sitting at the long wooden table in Hogwarts' library that he had shared so many times in the past with Ron and Hermione and he was overwhelmed with a moment of nostalgia and a feeling of deja vu. For a moment he had felt as if he had stepped back in time and he could almost see Hermione bent over her books across from him; her unruly hair falling over her face, her brow creased as she concentrated on her reading, nibbling on her lower lip, her right hand racing over the parchment beside her that she was filling up with her neat precise handwriting. Even six years later Harry remembered that poignant moment as vividly as he remembered some of the major events of his life. The scent of the old books, the way the light slanted through the stained glass window and cast ruby and amber colored shadows onto the table were still clear to him. He remembered how overwhelmed he had felt tackling his first major case and how he had longed for Hermione's help and advice. He knew he was an intelligent man. He had proved that he could succeed academically on his own both in his Auror training and when he had decided to attend a Muggle University, much to Ginny and Ron's puzzlement, to earn a degree. But he also knew he didn't have Hermione's genius for making connections, remembering obscure facts, making brilliant logical leaps. Even more than he had longed for her wonderful mind though, he had just longed for her. Sitting in that place so filled with memories of her awakened something in Harry that had grown steadily stronger as the years had gone by.

In that dark time in the days after the Final Battle, after Hermione's death, he had been had been drowning in thoughts of her. Her presence was everywhere. He remembered vividly the dreams-the wonderful, joyous dreams where she would be there talking to him, laughing, doing ordinary things and she would turn to him and say, “Oh Harry, it's alright. I'm fine. It was all a mistake, a bad dream...” How many times had he lain there in that twilight land between sleep and wakefulness with a beatific smile on his face, how many times did he throw off his covers and leap from his bed to run to her-only to realize before he had taken the second step that he had been dreaming. It was like losing her all over again. It hurt almost more than he could bear. For the sake of his sanity he started pushing thoughts of her aside. He avoided speaking of her, thinking of her. It had been incredibly hard. So many things reminded him of her. His conscience still spoke with Hermione's voice, though as the days had passed he had started listening less and less to the voice of his conscience and more and more to Ginny's throaty, sexy voice flattering and cajoling him.

The night of the Final Battle Ginny had come to him, slipping into his bed wearing only a filmy nightgown. He supposed that what happened that night was inevitable. In his pain and grief, his need, he clung to her like a lifeline. Lovemaking had blotted out his pain for a short but merciful time. He had risen from his bed the next morning astonished by his powerfully erotic dream, only to discover that it hadn't been a dream. In those last weeks alone in the tent with Hermione he had come to realize that the feelings he had had for Ginny were mainly desire. He had fancied her, but that wasn't love. Love was something deeper, something stronger. The sight of the naked girl, and the bloodied sheets filled him with guilt and shame. He thought that surely she had come to him out a kind instinct to comfort him and he had used her. Ginny and the entire Weasley family had shown him nothing but kindness, and how had he repaid it? Even if he didn't love her, that hardly mattered, did it?

The days that followed passed in a haze for Harry. News of his impending fatherhood followed shortly after the days of funerals. His hastily arranged marriage came and went like something out of a dream. It hardly seemed real. He had sunk further and further into that haze in the months and years that followed. After the war he had wanted nothing more than to escape from his painful past. He just wanted to be normal, to have a life filled with nothing more than ordinary concerns. He had sunk into that floral scented haze willingly, grateful to put down the weary load of the fate of the Wizarding world. He didn't want to feel any more pain or regret. Thoughts of those he had lost receded from his consciousness. Harry grimaced at the thought of those times. For three years he had existed in that haze becoming a person he didn't like. Thinking back, he realized that if he had still been living in the Muggle world he might have escaped into alcohol or drugs.

Ginny flattered and spoiled him, treated him like a king and demanded that everyone else do the same. She gave him whatever his heart desired-unless it conflicted with something she wanted. He felt an immense sense of gratitude to her for the two sons and the daughter she had given him; bright, gregarious, mischievous James (the perfect blend of Potter and Weasley genes in both looks and personality) born six months after their marriage; quieter, more serious Al, born less than a year later, who looked like a miniature Harry; and almost two years later little Lily, who was the image of Ginny in every way. In return, he had allowed Ginny to lead him around by his libido. He did whatever she wanted, he liked making her happy and it was so much easier to let her have her way. There were very few arguments in the Potter household. If the price for that peace was living in a too-grand house, having a staff of kindly-treated but still enslaved House Elves or having his children raised as pampered royalty he had accepted the price.

He looked out at the golden ripples on the lake and tried to let go of his anger at himself. Those days were over and done. The puffed up ego and sense of entitlement that Ginny had fostered in him with her constant flattery, her constant assertions that he deserved whatever he wanted because of the service he had done the Wizarding world finally led him to say things that hurt and humiliated one of the best people that he had ever known. On the third anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort the Ministry had held an gala ball in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Harry had given a speech that had none of the modesty and generosity that he had once displayed. His private words to the Minister of Magic and the foreign dignitaries assembled were even more dismissive of others' contributions, cruelest to Neville Longbottom most of all. Harry knew that Neville was not only one of the best and truest souls he had ever known, he was one of the bravest. Neville didn't have as much physical courage as Harry, but he had always possessed a moral courage that Harry had to fight to equal. Neville hadn't taken Harry's cruel words lying down but instead, had confronted him after the ball and told him what he thought of Harry's behavior and the sort of person Harry was becoming. Even more painful than the hard truths Neville had spoken, was the voice that he then heard in his head. Her voice. The voice of the conscience that he had ignored for three years-saying that she was ashamed of him.

The thought of Hermione being ashamed of him hurt more that he would have thought possible. It was almost physically painful. Hermione had been the one person in his life who had always believed in him. She was the one person whose good opinion had always meant the most to him. Hermione had always believed in him but, unlike Ginny, she had also always told him the truth. If he was wrong or if he was being a prat she told him so. She had always been loyal, never deserted him as even Ron had done. And she never did leave him. He realized that somehow, even in the years after her death when he had pushed thoughts of her aside and ignored her voice of conscience, he had felt her with him. Loving him, watching over him. Instead of returning home to his wife and his warm bed he spent the rest of the night on his broom thinking about his life. By the time the dawn broke over the horizon and Harry turned his broom towards home he had resolved to change things.

Harry dropped his head into his hands. It did no good to berate himself for those three lost years. After the incident with Neville he did change his ways. He had squandered three years in which he might have worked to improve himself. Three years in which he might have influenced the Wizarding world for the better, championed the cause of equality for Muggleborns and other magical creatures, help free the House Elves (finding a way in which they would accept their freedom). After the Ball he was on fire to make a difference. He began to look around and see what he could do to make the Wizarding world a better place and hopefully prevent the rise of another Dark Lord. He accepted an invitation to become a junior member of the Wizengamot, join the Hogwarts Board of Directors, started to speak up in public, and even wrote editorials for the Daily Prophet.

A few days after the Ball he had approached Minerva McGonagall at Hogwarts about putting his inheritance from the Blacks to good use by setting up scholarships for Muggleborn students to attend Hogwarts and (in an idea he was particularly proud of) for Hogwarts alumni to attend Muggle universities to learn a bit more about the wider world. When he told the Headmistress of his plan and his intention to call the scholarships the Hermione Granger Scholarships he was rewarded by a bone-crushing hug from the Headmistress that would have done Hermione herself proud. He discussed with the Headmistress the possibility of changes to the Hogwarts curriculum for the younger students to help the Muggleborn students adjust to the magical world and to give more accurate, up to date information about the Muggle world to the rest of the students. For the older students, he suggested a class on the ethics of magic.

Harry had also diffidently put forward a request of the Headmistress for himself. He had been accepted for Auror training on the strength of his accomplishments and his passing of the practical tests but he still wished that he had passed his NEWTS. As a husband and father with a full-time job he obviously couldn't return to school full time but if he studied independently could he return and sit his NEWTS? The look of revelation on McGonagall's face followed by her beaming, if a bit watery, smile gave him his answer. Minerva had been a bit ashamed to admit that it had never occurred to her to offer Hogwarts services to adult witches and wizards.

The Headmistress was so enthusiastic about the plan that within days she had recruited several teachers to put together study materials and agree to help the adult students on evenings and weekends. She gave an interview to the Daily Prophet to publicize the plan giving credit to Harry and mentioning that he would be taking his NEWTS in the first group.

That first year thirty-five adults took the tests. That number included almost all of the Muggleborns who had been deprived of their seventh year when the Death Eaters took over the school, a number of middle aged witches who had left school early to marry, George Weasley (who joked that even though he was a successful businessman his Mum still didn't see him as a success without his NEWTS), Harry and much to his own amazement, Ron. Harry had conned Ron into it by asking Ron to help him study and then pointing out to Ron that since he already knew the material he might as well take the tests.

Relaxing at their favorite table at the Three Broomsticks with a couple of pints after they finished the exams, Ron had clapped Harry on the back and grinned at him, “She'd be right proud of you mate.” There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the “she” Ron referred to was not his wife. Harry returned Ron's grin and replied, “She'd be proud of you too.” Ron laughed and shook his head, “ Nah, flabbergasted in my case.” The two young men laughed and ceremonially raised their pints, smiling through the tears in their eyes, and toasted the missing member of their trio of friends, “Hermione.”

Harry smiled to himself at that memory. It meant so much to him. He looked around and realized that dusk had fallen while he had been lost in his memories. It was time to pay his respects to the Headmistress.

The Ghost of Hermione Granger

Author's Note: My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. The first part of the chapter has been finished for quite a while but the second half kept wandering off course into (hopefully) interesting ideas that will turn up later in the story but weren't appropriate here. This chapter is longer than the previous chapters.

Part Three

In the Waiting Room

“To be or not to be...life or death? You're offering me the chance to live, sir?” asked Hermione. Albus Dumbledore peered at her over his half-spectacles, his expression serious but kindly, without the usual whimsical twinkle in his eyes. “Not yet, Miss Granger, but you may need to make that choice presently.” Hermione leaned forward, perched anxiously on the edge of the couch, unconsciously she had begun to twist her hands in her lap, “But if I were to live what would happen back there in the the battle? Would Bellatrix kill Ginny? Would the Killing Curse she intended for me hit someone else? Would it affect the battle? Could I make things worse?” Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall her flood of worried questions, “No, Miss Granger. You saved Miss Weasley. Her life is in no further danger. Mrs. Lestrange's life, on the other hand, is at an end-Ronald and Molly Weasley will see to that momentarily. And the battle will be won, the war will end whatever you choose.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed back a bit into her seat. Her many questions were still evident in the expression on her face.

“Allow me to digress for a moment, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore continued.

“ Are you familiar with the concept of alternate realities?” he asked. When Hermione nodded he smiled and continued, “In literature and the cinema you have probably encountered the convention of a character's fate being symbolized by railroad tracks. Imagine our reality and all the alternate realities as many railroad tracks all running from the same point A to the same point B but with each track following a different path. Sometimes the paths run parallel and quite close together, sometimes they veer far apart, often they cross. We human beings with our limited ability to comprehend are only able to experience one train on one track-one reality. In life, most of us can see little ahead on our own track and nothing of the other tracks. Those with the gift of the Sight can see a little further ahead, can see a bit of the other tracks and most importantly can sense where the tracks will cross, where different fates may be realized. But, those of us who have passed from the world of the living can see the “road not taken” as the poet put it, or more precisely the many “roads not taken”.

“Each of those tracks are not created equal. Some stretches of track are terrible with the majority of humanity mired in hatred, fear and ignorance while other stretches are golden ages of peace and prosperity, most tracks are something in-between. This moment in time is a crossing. It leads to the reality, the track, which the world has taken for the last twelve years since your life ended at the Battle of Hogwarts. It is not one of those bleak, hopeless eras but neither is it the golden age that might have ensued if only different choices had been made at the previous crossing. We would never have reached this point if a better choice had been made then.” Dumbledore paused a moment, peering shrewdly at Hermione, “The world would have been a far better place with you in it.”

Hermione said nothing, trying to absorb this information.

Snape's voice broke the momentary silence. “Mr Potter, with his usual blithe disregard for rules, has conceived of a plan to travel back in time to see you again, Miss Granger. If he does this he will, to use the Headmaster's analogy, double back to the last crossing. He will create a time anomaly, a track attached to, but separate from the main track, lasting these twelve years and not resolving itself until the next crossing. He has the means to do this at his disposal and has expressed the desire to do so. Only his fears that doing so might harm those closest to him has held him back so far. But given his careless, rash nature...”

Lily Potter broke in, in a softly reproving tone, “Severus, he's not rash or careless. Harry is bold and,” she smiled a conciliatory smile at Snape who softened his expression in return and made a gesture of acquiescence, “a little impulsive, that's true. That's his nature. He's right to be concerned but he's also right to grasp this chance. He doesn't know it yet, but he'll create a better future for everyone.” Lily turned towards Hermione and laid a gentle hand on the younger woman's arm, “It has to be your choice though, Hermione. We believe that your fate would lie in that time anomaly for the next twelve years. We can't tell, we can't see, what would lie ahead for you there. But we believe that you would emerge from that anomaly into a better reality.” “Twelve years...” Hermione muttered to herself. What kind of existence would she have? Would she have to spend twelve years all alone? Or would she be surrounded by strangers but without friends or family? Without Harry? How would she survive?

Severus Snape spoke up again, locking eyes with Hermione, “We know you have Gryffindor courage, the courage to make the quick dash through the flames, the bold gesture-but do you have Slytherin courage? The courage to endure whatever must be endured, for however long it must be endured to achieve a goal? To do whatever it takes to survive, to win, no matter how difficult or distasteful?” Hermione suppressed the shiver of fear that her former teacher's words conjured up for her. She sat up a little straighter and answered him in the bravest voice she could manage, “I think I do, sir.”

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore spoke up in a soft but commanding tone, “you know now that there is nothing for you to fear in death. You have lived a nearly blameless life and if you choose it, will die a noble death. There is only eternal peace and happiness for you beyond the veil. But, if you choose to live, you may have the chance to do great deal of good in the world and know great happiness yourself. I believe that it is the best choice for you and for the greater good-but I will not tell you what to do.” Dumbledore sighed and seemed to gaze off at a sad sight that only he could see, “I know now that in life I didn't always have the humility to trust others to make the right choices, that I tried to take on more responsibility for the greater good than was rightfully mine. I sometimes stooped to manipulation...” He added quietly, gently, “You must follow your heart in this, Hermione.”

“ Hermione,” her grandmother said urgently. Hermione turned to face the silver haired woman who then tenderly took her granddaughter's face in her hands, “Professor Dumbledore is right. If you choose to stay here with us you will be happy. There is a library that I want to show you someday. All the books that have ever been, from every culture, in every language, every book that was censored, suppressed or destroyed exists again-all the wisdom,” she chuckled, “and all the folly of humanity is there. I can picture you there in some sunny alcove, curled up in a comfortable chair surrounded by piles of books.” Olivia smiled wistfully at her granddaughter, softly caressing her cheek, “But Hermione, if you choose to go back to die you will forever be just as you are now. You are a wonderful girl. But you'll always be a girl on the brink of womanhood. You'll never become the woman you were meant to be. If you choose to live no one can guarantee you perfect peace and happiness. There'll be pain, and fear and sorrow but there will also be joy. That's life, Hermione. There is so much of life that you've never experienced. You have the chance to change that.”

****

Harry rose to his feet from his spot beneath the tree intending to make his way to the path up to Hogwarts castle but he paused a for moment when he sensed that he was no longer alone. He could see no one near, could only hear the sounds of nature around him but he could sense another's magic nearby. While he had never plunged to Alistair Moody's paranoid depths, Harry lived Moody's maxim of “constant vigilance”. Voldemort was dead and gone, the Death Eaters organization no longer existed and those who clung to old bigotries mostly kept it to themselves, but Harry knew that there were still many in the Wizarding world who would not mourn at the news that Harry Potter had met his end. He had fought too long and hard to stay alive to lose that battle now. There was always a small part of his mind alert to possible danger.

Harry stretched out with with his mind to see if he could sense anything about the person or creature approaching. Not to invade their mind and learn their thoughts but a more gentle approach to sense their mood. During his Auror training he had discovered, much to his surprise and amusement, that he was actually quite good at Legilimancy. He was as hopeless at Occlumancy as Snape had supposed, but if Snape had been able to master his own emotions he would have realized the meaning of the fact that Harry had been able to push his way into Snape's own mind. Even Voldemort had been unable to do that. Harry, either due to his nature or due to the fact that the Horcrux within had rendered a part of his mind an ever-open door, was unable to block out intrusions.

But Harry had a true gift for Legilimancy. He had gentle, respectful way of entering into a subject's mind, he never tried to force his way in, and was far more successful than those with a ham-handed approach. If Snape had been able to put aside his negative feelings towards Harry and his own preference for Occlumency he would have realized, as Harry's Auror trainer later did, how to teach Harry how to protect himself. Harry was able not only able to reach out to others' minds but able to push forward his own thoughts and memories to show an intruder what he wanted them to see.

Sensing nothing threatening in the stranger's mood Harry began moving towards the castle. The sight of the beautiful, massive structure in the distance still had the ability to fill Harry with a little of the sense of wonder he had felt the first time he saw it when he was eleven. Lights were beginning to come on in many of the windows like golden eyes winking into life. A wistful smile spread across his face at the sight. From somewhere behind him he heard the “skritch-skritch” of footsteps on the gravel of the path as the stranger caught up with Harry. “Lumos,” he said softly, turning back towards the newcomer, holding aloft his wand to light their way.

“Good evening Mr Potter,” came a low, pleasant woman's voice. “Good evening, Professor,” Harry replied, falling in step with the witch. She was a tall, solidly-built woman with a fine figure, the sort of woman often described as handsome rather than pretty. With her olive complexion and and the thick black hair she wore coiled at the nape of her neck she was often mistaken for a native of a Mediterranean country but she was, in fact, thoroughly English. Her manner was polite, but no-nonsense. “ Are you here working on a case?” the Professor asked. “No,” Harry replied, “I just needed to get away for a bit of peace and quiet and thought I'd take a walk on the grounds.” After that, they walked on in a comfortable silence allowing Harry to be alone with his thoughts.

The woman beside him was yet another reminder to Harry of that pivotal moment six years earlier when his world had been turned upside down. Anna Welles was the third Potions Instructor and Head of Slytherin House that Harry had known since coming to Hogwarts all those years ago and was definitely the most agreeable. Harry now had a certain respect for the long dead Severus Snape though even if, as he later realized, most (though not all) of Snape's ill-treatment of him had been an act-a part of the double game he was playing, he just couldn't have any fondness for the man. His feelings for the recently deceased Horace Slughorn were in many ways the reverse of his feelings for Snape. He did feel some fondness for the old man, he had always been kind enough to Harry and his affection for Lily Potter meant something to Harry, but he found it hard to have much respect for him. Slughorn wasn't bad person and in fact had shown courage in the final battle against Voldemort, but there was a weakness and a shallowness about him that cost him much respect in Harry's eyes.

He had come to Hogwarts that day six years ago to take the testimony of Vela Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had kept his word and arranged for Harry to interview the girl about her sister Capella's involvement with the man who might be the Muggle Lover. Along with Headmistress McGonagall he had questioned her and shown her how to extract a wispy, silvery memory strand to be examined in a Pensieve. Vela was as dark as her sister was fair, and unlike her sister, of whom the Headmistress spoke highly, Vela was every inch the typical snooty, arrogant Slytherin girl.

There was one moment though when Harry saw another side to the girl. He could see her regarding him with a look at once sullen, frightened and expectant. Harry had tried to suppress his feelings of annoyance with her attitude and met her eyes with the kindest look he could manage. Vela fidgeted for a moment as she seemed to wage an internal battle then she looked down and reached deep into the pocket of her robes and extracted something small and hard which she thrust into Harry's hand. “I took it from Capella's room, I thought it might help,” she mumbled, her face reddening, “ take it.” She turned towards the Headmistress and demanded with a touch of her former haughty attitude, “May I go?” McGonagall briefly nodded her assent. Vela disappeared so quickly from the Headmistress' office that Harry half-believed that she had Apparated.

Journeying through the Pensieve with Headmistress McGonagall, Harry was quite thankful that they only had to endure a few minutes of following around a gaggle of teenaged Slytherin girls with their high-pitched chattering and squealing before Capella broke away from the group saying she had some shopping to do, and promising to meet them later at the Three Broomsticks. It was rather amusing to note Professor McGonagall's occasional clucking and muttering under her breath at the girls' language and manners.

While the other girls continued down the street, Capella turned back the in the direction that they had come from walking slowly, casually glancing in shop windows until her friends were out of sight. Then she quickly broke into a trot causing Harry to have to jog to keep up with her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Vela emerge from the shop she had been hiding in and begin running to catch up with her sister. Harry had the presence of mind to cast the spell, “Perpetuus lux lucis” which caused his wand to leave behind it a glowing trail of light for the Professor to follow.

Capella's path followed several twists and turns-clearly she knew exactly where she was going. He almost missed the last turn when she abruptly turned into an alley and broke into a full-out run, throwing herself into the arms of handsome man. Their passionate greeting left no doubt about the nature of the relationship between Capella and the man. After a brief, and unfortunately mostly inaudible conversation punctuated by kisses, the man took Capella by the arm and side-along Apparated her away ending the memory.

Harry had been astonished to discover that he recognized the man. He had seen his face on the cover of a Muggle magazine just the week before. Beside him Professor McGonagall was sadly shaking her head, “I'm sorry Harry, I don't recognize him. He's not a former student.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, slightly shaking his head, “ I do recognize him-but I don't see how it's possible. He looks like a Muggle actor. An American movie star. I'm certain of it. I've seen several of his films. I saw him on the cover of a magazine last week. But the way he looked...” Harry trailed off as he tried to work out in his mind the thing that didn't add up. Harry's face lit up as he found the answer, bringing a small smile to Minerva McGonagall's face as well. “The way he looked in the Pensieve memory isn't the way he looks now, today, it's the way he looked years ago in his most famous movie role. He was dressed as the character in that film. It's a perfect disguise. He looks like someone that millions of young girls have adored-” “And, someone that Miss Malfoy, and the other victims, would never recognize because girls from families like that don't attend the cinema,” the Headmistress finished his thought.

The Headmistress took her seat behind her desk an regarded her old student pensively, “Clearly he is not a Muggle, and not this 'movie star'.” (Harry had to suppress a smile at the sound of that unfamiliar phrase coming from Minerva McGonagall's mouth) “He cannot be under a glamor because a glamor would not hold up in such intimate proximity,” she continued, “Polyjuice potion would seem to be the most likely means.” Harry nodded in agreement, “Every girl has given a different description. I didn't recognize any of them as Muggle cinema stars,” he mentally ran through the list of names and faces of the Muggle Lover's various personae, “but they certainly could have been. We've been assuming that he's using Polyjuice potion-but how could he be making himself look like famous actors? People like that are surrounded by entourages, security. How could he get close enough to get the necessary lock of hair to copy them? I don't see how it could be Polyjuice. The only other possibility would be that he's a Metamorphmagus, but I've never heard of a Muggleborn one.”

The witch closed he eyes a moment considering, “You're familiar with the fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, I presume. He said something wise for a detective to consider- “when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” The Headmistress rose from her chair and motioned to Harry to follow her, “ I believe it is time for you to meet our new potions instructor, Professor Welles. Perhaps she will be able to help you”

Harry had found it strange to be in Snape's old classroom and have it feel so very different. The room was neater, filled with light, the more bizarre potions ingredients hidden away behind cupboard doors leaving only herbs and other benign-looking substances openly on display. The odor filling the room was slightly medicinal, but hardly unpleasant. An attractive woman of indeterminate age, plainly dressed in a black robe with white collar and cuffs was working at the front of the room neatly and efficiently chopping up ingredients which she then swept up in her hand and gracefully sprinkled into the slowly bubbling cauldron in front of her. She seemed to be speaking in a low voice, dictating to a Quick Quotes Quill, the long white feather dancing across the parchment beside her.

The Headmistress made the introductions and briefly explained Harry's mission to the witch, then excused herself leaving Harry and the Professor alone. Harry watched her with interest as she calmly said, “One moment, Mr Potter.” Then, addressing her quill, “ Pause. ” The quill stopped its dance and laid itself down next to the parchment. She picked up a wooden spoon, stirred the mixture in the cauldron neatly three times clockwise and once counter-clockwise, then conjured up an hourglass and instructed it, “ Twelve and one half minutes, precisely.” Part of the sand in the hourglass disappeared and then it flipped over and began its timing task. “ How may I be of assistance, Mr Potter?” Professor Welles looked towards Harry and politely inquired.

“This man that we're looking for appears to be able to copy the appearance of famous people, famous people that he is unlikely to have physical access to.” Harry paused a moment to gather his thoughts and the Professor motioned for him to go on. “We had assumed that he was using Polyjuice, but it doesn't seem possible.” Professor Welles frowned, and then nodded in agreement, “I agree Mr Potter. I know that the Aurors have developed a longer lasting and somewhat better tasting formula than the traditional formulation-” The slightly sour face that Harry had unconsciously made when the taste of the revised formula was mentioned confirmed that it was only marginally better. “But,” she continued, “ the physical sample-the lock of hair, drop of blood, fingernail clipping is the heart of what makes the Polyjuice potion work. I suspect that if we ever troubled ourselves to study why our potions work we would discover that we're somehow replicating the subject's DNA...” she stopped her incipient rant, took a deep breath and continued in a calmer, more even tone, “Well, either this man has an unsuspected way of gaining access to these famous people or he's using something other than Polyjuice.”

The Professor's little rant had increased Harry's regard for the woman. He shared her frustration with the Wizarding world's smugly incurious attitude about the “whys” of magical life. Only the studies of the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries seemed to be condoned by the Ministry, and as an adult Harry had discovered that their studies more closely resembled the debates of Medieval theologians about angels dancing upon the head of a pin than modern scientific research. Those individuals who tried to do real research were generally punished as troublemakers or shunned as cranks and crazies.

“It can't be a glamor because he has to sustain the illusion up close up, for hours at a time and in intimate circumstances. The only other thing that I can think of is that this man is a Metamorphmagus-but I've never heard of a Muggleborn Metamorphmagus. Is there a potion that could give a wizard such an ability temporarily?”

Professor Welles was quiet with a thoughtful look on her face for an uncomfortably long moment, long enough that Harry almost started to ask the question again. “You didn't attend Hogwarts for your seventh year did you?” Harry was puzzled by this question, but shook his head and waited for her to continue. “In seventh year all students are tested for Animagus and Metamorphmagus ability. All witches and wizards have these capabilities to one degree or another, though it's rare to have it in sufficient strength to be able to fully make much use of either ability. A few very rare individuals manifest these abilities in childhood without any sort of training, they're considered “Natural” Animagi or Metamorphmagi. Those who are not “Naturals” but have above-average Animagus possibilities can be trained or train themselves-I believe your father and Sirius Black both fell into that category-but no one has ever devised a way to train those with Metamorphmagus abilities-at least no one has revealed such a possibility .”

She saw the look on Harry's face and answered his unasked questions, “Yes, I knew your parents, or at least I knew of them-I was two years behind them in school. And yes, a few of the students knew or suspected that your father's group of friends had become Animagi-you know how hard it is to keep a secret at Hogwarts. I've always had my suspicions about how that came about.”

“ To answer your earlier question there is no potion that can create magical ability where none exists but there is a type of potion, an Amplio potion, that boosts, or amplifies abilities. Much as Muggle athletes take performance enhancing drugs. Severus Snape was working on such a potion at school. I wouldn't say we were friends, but we were in the same House and had a shared interest in potions, so I knew him better than most. I have reason to believe that he succeeded. And I am certain other potions masters have secretly succeeded as well-even though these potions have been outlawed because the conservative factions are afraid that somehow they could be used to give magic to Muggles.”

“Why do you believe Snape succeeded?” Harry asked, curious despite himself. “Peter Pettigrew,” she said shortly, “The entire Black family is known for Animagus and Metamorphmagus abilities and your father was unusually powerful. Those two would have just needed to train themselves, though a potion might have made the process easier. But Peter wasn't an outstanding wizard, certainly he would never have succeeded without artificial help.”

Harry was astonished by this response, “But Snape would never have helped my father with a potion!” he exclaimed. The Professor smiled pensively, “Not voluntarily, but I suspect that it wasn't voluntary. My guess is that Regulus Black let it slip to his brother about the potion. Severus was his friend, a friend of sorts anyway. Severus had been assigned by Professor Slughorn to tutor Regulus in potions and Regulus latched on to Severus. He followed him everywhere and Severus endured it. Not that Severus had many other friends himself-they were both unpopular in our House. Regulus didn't have the most winning personality, and having a brother in Gryffindor didn't help either. Severus, well you knew him, so you understand part of the reason. But it was also prejudice, I never cared about that “blood purity” nonsense but when the whispers started that Severus' father was a Muggle that ruined any chance he had to be really popular in Slytherin.

I think that once Regulus' brother found out about the potion, he found a way to blackmail Severus into giving it to him, or bullied Regulus into stealing it.” Harry bristled a little at the implications about Sirius' character, but having seen first hand the animosity between Snape and Sirius, he couldn't deny that something like this could have been at the root of it.

Harry's mind was reeling with the implications of Snape possibly being the source of Peter's Animagus abilities, could the incident in which his father saved Snape's life have occurred because Snape wanted to know what they were doing with his potion? Harry mentally shook off these thoughts. He needed to focus on his case.

“And then there's this,” he said, pulling from his pocket the thing that Vela had given him earlier and setting it in front of Professor Welles. It was a small heart-shaped wooden box, carved all over with roses and magical symbols. Harry did a bit of a double take now that he was taking a good look at it. It seemed very familiar. Ginny had a box exactly like this, he could picture it on her dressing table. He gave a mental shrug, it was probably a common sort of box for perfumes. “ I believe this contains the Betrothal potion that Capella's mother gave her-that this Muggle Lover has been able to defeat.”

The Professor picked up the little box and regarded it thoughtfully , running her finger over the carvings. Harry continued, “I'm confused about this Betrothal potion. In school we learned that Amortentia was the strongest love potion of all, and the most dangerous. I had never even heard of this potion until recently.” Professor Welles pressed her index finger against the rose carved in the center of the box and the lid popped open. Nestled in red velvet was a strangely shaped crystal bottle with a stopper engraved with an ornate letter “M”. She was murmuring to herself, “The traditional box, the traditional bottle, the right color...” she removed the little bottle from the box and held it up to the light examining the reddish-amber liquid within.

“Amortentia is powerful, Mr Potter, in that it takes only a few drops added to food or drink to create a strong effect which takes effect almost immediately. Any competent NEWT-level student can make it and the ingredients are easily obtainable so it's widely available. It's generally safe, though overdoses are possible. On the other hand, it wears off quickly, the effects aren't particularly subtle unless the dosage is quite low, and it can only be “keyed” in one direction.” Professor Welles chuckled softly, “For some reason Dumbledore has led a fifty year campaign against it, though most people in the Wizarding world think of it as harmless fun. A part of growing up a witch or wizard. Most young people have played around with it.”

“Now this,” she said, giving the bottle a slight shake,“this is serious business. The private province of the ancient pureblood families or the very wealthy lesser families. The Potters are an ancient family so you may have received your own bottle in your seventh year if your parents had lived-though perhaps not, since many of the more progressive families, the ones unconcerned with blood purity have moved away from arranged marriages. It's not surprising that you've never heard of it though, it's not spoken of. Even those who have used it don't really know much about it.”

“What can you tell me about it?” Harry prompted. The Professor unconsciously adopted her lecture voice as she began,“ It must be made by a potions master. The ingredients are expensive and very difficult to work with. Quite volatile. It's worn as a perfume or cologne. There is only one formulation but males perceive the scent one way, as a flowery perfume, and females as a woody, forest scent. The effect builds slowly, subtly over the course of three to six months, occasionally longer, depending on how much the two people are in each other's presence and whether there are any feelings that need to be overcome. It's “keyed” in both directions-it will only work for two particular people. Generally it is given about six to nine months before the marriage bonding ceremony is planned. Once the betrothal-and usually physical consummation-have taken place, use is stopped for three months, since a marriage made under the influence of love potion is invalid. Once the full dosage has been received it can be reactivated by a single exposure up to year later.”

She opened the bottle and moved the stopper back and forth beneath her nose. She nodded to herself, “This,” she said holding the stopper out to Harry, “ is Amortia.” Harry made the mistake of inhaling deeply of the flowery scent. From somewhere, very far away, he could hear the Professor continuing to explain the properties of Amortia and explaining that no doubt this sample was not “keyed” to the young man the Malfoys intended for Capella since Amortia could not be defeated. She would be able to analyze it and...

Harry hoped he was making the proper responses, but he was very far away-lost in a hundred memories. Memories in which this distinctive flowery scent-this scent that spelled desire, spelled Ginny, was intimately entwined; amorous dreams, the feeling of a monster in his chest, a kiss in the common room, fumbling explorations made beneath the trees of the lake at Hogwarts, the night of the final battle, his wedding day, the sensual haze of the first three years of his marriage. The remembered pleasures were mingling with feelings of anger, shame and disillusionment-followed by a cold dread as the Professor's words echoed in his head, “ A marriage made under the influence of love potion is invalid.”

A soft chime sounded, and Professor Welles murmured, “Ah, twelve and one half minutes.” She pointed her wand at the flame beneath the cauldron and the flames disappeared. Harry could hear a voice that sounded like his own thanking her for all her information and asking her to contact him at the Ministry when she had analyzed the Amortia. Harry stepped out into the hallway and found himself sagging against the wall, the weight of his emotions pulling him down. A million questions swirled through his mind. Where had she gotten the Amortia? Had someone helped her ? Who and why? More importantly, how could she have betrayed his trust like this? They hadn't had many real conversations in those hours spent down by the lake but in one their few they had discussed love potion. It was on his mind because of Ron's poisoning and because of what he had learned about Tom Riddle's parents. She had sat there smiling calmly when he told her how wrong he thought it was to use love potion, how dishonest, how manipulative. She smiled! “ Ginny, what have you done?” he thought.

Remembering that moment six years later was still painful for Harry. He was brought back to earth, though, by a woman's voice, “This is where we must part, Mr Potter,” Professor Welles said pleasantly. They had reached the entrance hallway of the castle. Harry smiled at her and said, “Good night, Professor.” He watched briefly as she turned to make her way towards the Slytherin common room and then mounted the stairs to make his way to the Headmistress' office. He reflected on the thought that it was strange that a person's life could be completely turned upside down in twelve and one half minutes, precisely.