Roses in December

I’m glad I didn’t say never again cos’ here we are. Earning a crust and normal living takes up too much time and writing gets pushed into the background, then when you dig it out again everything is dry and dusty and the ideas have stopped flowing. So a little Harry and Hermione therapy is indicated and in this tale, Hermione needs the therapy as much as I do. The story is not quite as long as Power of Love but sufficient to complete the cure, never the less.

Solomon Aegis.

Wiltshire 2009.

Roses in December

By

Solomon Aegis

One Last Little Spell

Larrick Cade wondered what in hell had made him decide to join the forces of The Dark Lord, the battle was over and his leader was dead his body cooling in a small damp room where the rats were sure to find it. The dispirited and rather ineffectual Death Eater wanted nothing more than to escape and avoid spending the rest of his life in Azkaban. After all even in the heat of battle he had never killed anyone, so really when you looked at it he hadn’t done anything wrong; just a moment to make a bad decision and he would be branded the same as all the other fanatical followers, it wasn’t fair.

The corridor he was hiding in was dark and quiet but he knew that sooner or later the Aurors, searching Hogwarts for such as he, would appear; he didn’t have much time. There was a large window at the end of the passage, its stained glass fractured into thousands of pieces by some stray spell, and through it Larrick could see open countryside and the mountains beyond; his way out. Keeping close to the wall and in as much of the shadows that remained he crept along, nervously stopping if he imagined he heard a noise. He was so intent on his goal that he totally failed to notice the small side passage and was so surprised when someone stepped out of it that he acted purely on impulse.

“Obliviate!” he shouted, rather louder than he intended. It was the only spell he had used all day and every time but this his spells had missed but this time his aim was true. Like a sickly yellow cloud the spell enveloped the head of the girl that had given him such a shock, and Larrick watched as her eyes took on the vacant stare of those whose memories had just deserted them. Then her legs gave way and she slumped to the ground in a dead faint.

Only seconds had passed but already the sound of running feet could be heard and Larrick bolted. He had nearly reached the window when a shout from behind made him stop and turn. The voice he had heard before, not more than a few hours ago it had been throwing challenges at the Dark Lord, and now Larrick Cade the lowliest of the Death Eaters looked up into the face of his worst nightmare. Harry Potter stood next to the crumpled form on the floor and the expression of anger on his face was far greater than even Voldemort had ever seen. Fear robbed Larrick of nearly all his strength and his bowels and bladder let him down badly but it seemed that even now he could not make the right decision and he was about to make his final mistake of this momentous day. He raised his wand.

“Expelliarmus! Stupefy!” The two spells, fired almost as one, streaked from Harry’s wand and Larrick’s wand shot from his hand and the stunning spell took his consciousness. Such were the force of the spells that Harry unleashed Larrick’s body flew backwards and smashed into the unyielding wall of the corridor; it dropped heavily to the floor and lay still.

However Harry was not concerned with the fate of the Death Eater he was far more worried about the girl at his feet. He knelt by her side and cradled her head in his lap smoothing away the wayward hair that was covering her face. He had heard the spell the Death Eater had used on her and he had seen the disastrous effects it could produce on its victims, his only comfort was that she was still alive. There was nothing he could do for the moment but wait, so he sat and stared down into a face he knew so well, that at the moment was pale but at peace, but soon would awake to confront an uncertain future with no memories of her past to support her. It tore at his heart just to think of it but whatever his feelings he knew it was imperative that he showed no emotions, he would have to lead her through those first few terrible moments when the realisation hit her, or the damage could be irretrievable.

The colour slowly returned to her cheeks and Harry watched the long lashes of her eyelids flutter as she began to regain consciousness. Her eyes opened, they were unfocused and devoid of the usual sparkle Harry was used to seeing, they moved desperately trying to make some sense of her surroundings, and Harry could feel the panic rising as at last she looked at him. He smiled and smoothed her hair.

“Hi,” he said quietly, “just lie still for a moment, you’ll be ok,” he felt her relax a little. “My name is Harry I’m your friend, I won’t let anyone hurt you; you will be safe with me.” Simple statements of comfort and security, Harry knew how important these were, for the full impact of the effects of the memory spell were only seconds away.

Suddenly she sat up and turning to Harry grabbed his arm. “You’re my friend?” there was a touch of panic in her voice and Harry nodded. “Harry,” she said trying out the name.

“That’s right.”

“But...,” and the tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t...,” she blinked and the tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I don’t...,”she sobbed, and her grip on Harry’s arm tightened. He pulled her to him and enveloped her in his arms, strong arms, safe arms, but other than the name of the person who owned those arms she couldn’t remember anything.

Harry had to tread very carefully now the person in his arms was literally clinging on to the only thing she knew. Her sobs wracked her body and if he allowed the panic to build she would find refuge in the inner reaches of a blank mind and be lost forever.

“Hermione,” he whispered in her ear, gently shaking her shoulders to get her attention back to him. “Your name is Hermione and you are my best friend.”

She lifted her head to look him in the face, he betrayed none of his inner emotions, she saw a calm, compassionate and yet resolute expression that gave her the confidence to speak. Her voice still trembled as she fought the terror down. “Hermione?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s just a name, I don’t know who she is,” Hermione almost choked on the words.

“I do,” said Harry, in a matter of fact voice, “and you would be surprised at the things I can do to help you remember.” He stood and then helped Hermione to her feet; she clung to him as if she would never let him go.

He led her slowly up the main corridor away from the crumpled form of Larrick Cade and they had but gone a few yards when the sound of people coming toward them reached their ears. Four burly Aurors appeared at the end of the corridor Harry beckoned for them to hurry.

“Mr Potter, Miss Granger, you need to be careful we cornered two Death Eaters in a room not far from here,” said the leader of the group.

“There’s another one over there,” said Harry nodding to the heap by the window. “He could still be alive, but he attacked Hermione, I wasn’t very gentle.”

“He’s still with us,” called the Auror who had crossed over to Larrick’s body, “I’ll send for the healers Barton,” he said to his boss, “and stay with him, though I doubt he will give us any problems, Mr Potter did a very through job I’d say.”

Barton Ash waved his assent and then turned his attention to the young couple before him. He could see that Harry was desperately trying to tell him something with his eyes and yet was unwilling to speak it. The senior Auror took in Hermione’s dishevelled appearance then from behind the girl, he saw Harry silently mouth ‘Obliviated’. Ash swore quietly, it was such a shame; a life ruined, everything she could have been wiped away in an instant.

“We’ll leave these two to get on lads,” he said, ushering his men away, “there’s bound to be more like that one over there skulking around.” He gave Harry one last look, “Good luck young man, and thanks we owe you a lot.”

Harry with Hermione still clinging to him headed toward the only place he knew he could get help. He knew Madam Pomfrey would be busy but she was the only healer he really trusted especially as Hermione’s sanity was at stake. For the first ten minutes of their climb to the Hospital Hermione said nothing but she had obviously been thinking as hard as she could.

“Hermione Granger, that’s me and Harry Potter that’s you.” She stated the two facts she was sure about. “You have done something important, haven’t you?” Harry waited watching the thought processes of the smartest witch he had ever known work through the scant information she had available to her. “That man Barton Ash, said he owed you a lot. No that’s not right he said we and he wasn’t just meaning his men either, he meant everyone didn’t he Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry reluctantly agreed.

“What did you do?”

“It was nothing really,” He didn’t want to talk about it, but for Hermione’s sake he knew he had to. “I had a fight ...Voldemort was a very bad man, he wanted to rule us all, we fought and he died,” he explained. “Nearly everybody is very happy about it.”

“Voldemort,” Hermione said the word slowly her mind testing it to see if it meant anything, there was nothing, but the mention of that name unaccountably made her shudder. “You’re not happy are you Harry? Not happy at all.”

“No I’m not but I gave him the chance to give it all up, I don’t suppose he could, he tried to kill me but he wasn’t able to, his attempt backfired on him and he died,”

“But that means you didn’t kill him, he killed himself.” Harry gazed at Hermione in wonder; even in this state she had helped him yet again, how on earth was he ever going to repay her for all the times she had done that.

When they reached the ward the scene was one of total bedlam the injured filled the beds and occupied mattresses that covered most of the remaining empty floor space, healers from St.Mungo’s were moving from patient to patient but standing serene and in complete control of the chaos was the school nurse Madam Pomfrey. She saw Harry and Hermione immediately and moved quickly to intercept the St.Mungo’s healer that was headed toward them.

“I will deal with these two,” she said imperiously waving the man away; he shrugged his shoulders and turned instead to the occupant of one of the beds who looked in a bad way. Madam Pomfrey drew Harry and Hermione through the ward and into the relative quiet of her office. “What can I do for you two,” but as she said the words she was looking at Hermione watching the girl’s reaction to what was going on around her and the way she was hanging on to Harry. Harry saw the sadness creep into the nurse’s eyes. “Harry, I need to have a word with you; would you ask?” She nodded toward Hermione and gave the girl a comforting pat on the shoulder as she left.

Harry was puzzled by the nurse’s request but did as he was bade. “Do you mind Hermione, if I go and have a quick word?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I don’t mind but not for too long Harry, please?” she entreated.

“Only just a moment,” Harry replied as steadily as he could.

“How long ago?” Madam Pomfrey asked when they were alone.

“About half an hour.”

“A full power spell?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see it happen only heard it but I think so yes.”

“What of the perpetrator.”

“I nearly blasted him through the castle wall, but he is still alive. Auror Barton Ash has him.”

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your touch Harry,” there was a fierce pride in the nurse’s eyes. “Having the spell caster to interrogate will help, but having you as Miss Granger’s anchor will be even better. No one else has spoken to her?”

“Err ...not directly no, why is that important? I was just worried that Hermione might retreat away from reality so all I have done is to encourage her.”

“Well there is a chance we can effect a cure. It’s a new type of treatment, not tested yet, saw a parchment on it the other day.” She sighed, “This is going to be a tough one and hard on you Harry.”

“Harder on Ron,” the nurse raised her eyebrows in question. “He and Hermione had just reached an understanding,” Harry explained only going slightly red.

“Ahh! I see,” the nurse nodded wisely, her many years at the school had given her rare insight to the complexities of teenage relationships. “Well only time will tell how that will turn out.”

Harry glanced back at the office door, he could see Hermione sitting where he had left her, she had her eyes closed and her brow was furrowed in concentration. “Her mind is as fast as it was before you know,” he said. “From just a few words and my reactions she knew I was troubled about Voldemort, she worked it all out; she is amazing. I was so worried she would be like Lockhart.”

“Gilderoy Lockhart was an idiot before he was obliviated Harry. Your Miss Granger is made of much different stuff; her mind has not been affected only her memories and restoring them is going to be up to you.”

“Me... but...”

“Come on Harry not like you to shirk a responsibility.” The mediwitch sat Harry down and began to explain. “It is very important for the obliviated to have one person acting as an anchor for them and as Hermione is already responding to you, you are the chosen one.” Madam Pomfrey winced as she said it. “Sorry Harry, that didn’t come out the way I intended.”

“It’s alright, but surely it should be Ron looking after her.”

“No Harry if Professor Cervelet is correct only you will do. If you desert her now it could take months or years to get her to accept someone else, sometimes they never do and if that is the case you would lose the original Hermione for good.” Madam Pomfrey watched Harry’s face and the emotions that raced across it. She knew beyond doubt that Harry would never let that happen if he could help it, the young woman in her office meant too much to him; she wondered if he knew how much. “Go back to her Harry, I will sort out the logistics,” she broke off as raised voices drew her attention to the main door, “and any other little problems that might turn up.” She added softly almost to herself.

Ron was standing in the doorway looking pale and worried trying to get past a healer that was baring his way. Harry saw Ron and was about to go over to him but Madam Pomfrey stopped him. “No Harry you must go to Hermione her need is paramount, I will speak to Mr. Weasley.”

Harry threw Ron a wave and did as the mediwitch asked, ignoring the cry of “Harry!” that Ron shouted across the room at him. As Harry closed the office door quietly behind him, trying not to disturb Hermione’s concentration in case it was helping her, Hermione opened her eyes and she smiled at him. Harry swallowed the lump that rose into his throat and smiled back.

“Ok?” he asked.

“Better now, I was worried, you were gone for so long.” Harry walked over and sat in the chair next to her, “I’ve been thinking while you’ve been gone,” she continued, “to see if there are any things I can remember.”

“Oh! and are there?”

“Well nothing is very clear it is sort of like looking at them through a thick fog, but I do see the shapes of a man and a woman but I can’t place them.”

“At least that’s a start,” said Harry encouragingly.

“And there are other shadows but they make no sense either.”

“I wonder...” Harry hardly dared to speak his thought.

“What Harry, what do you wonder?”

“Well there is this spell...”

“Hang on,” Hermione interrupted, “Spell? What do you mean by spell, do you think you can do magic or something?”

“Err yes,” said Harry uncertain for the moment how to continue, “and so can you.”

“Excuse me!”

Harry was shocked; he hadn’t counted on this if Hermione couldn’t believe in her magical ability how on earth were they going to get her back. He did some very quick thinking. “Look around you, at the bottles on the shelves,” he said, indicating some of Madam Pomfrey’s treatments. “See that one, ‘Skele-Gro’ that’s used to mend broken bones or regrow them if they get removed by mistake, and that one ‘Dreamless Sleep’ ...well ... err ...it does what it says on the bottle,” he finished lamely suddenly realising how daft it all sounded when you tried to explain it. He could see the disbelief in Hermione’s eyes and knew that the only way she would start to understand was if he showed her.

He drew out his wand, his newly repaired wand, the elder wand, that by now he had intended to return to Dumbledore’s tomb, he left hidden in his robes. “This is my wand, you have one too,” Hermione began to search her pockets, “No wait,” Harry stopped her by grabbing her hand then self consciously letting her go. “Err... will get to yours in a moment.” He saw a glimmer of a ‘well get on with it’ look in Hermione’s eyes he had seen so often before, and then he had a brilliant idea.

“Watch...” Harry took of his glasses and placed them on the desk, and hit them once with a bottle of ‘Patricia Peacock’s Practically Perfect Pills’. What they were really used for Harry had no idea but they were sufficiently heavy to do the job he needed them for. His glasses broke into several pieces and one lens shattered.

“You’re potty Harry, why did you do that!” Hermione exclaimed.

Harry smiled at her unintentional pun. “So that I can show you this,” he pointed his wand at the broken spectacles. “Oculus Reparo” and before their eyes the shards of glass began to come back together and the frames untwist until with a ‘Snap!’ the glasses were whole again.

“It’s only a simple spell, but it works for most people,” he said. Harry wondered if he was taking a terrible risk with Hermione’s recovery, but they both needed to know so he broke the glasses once more, and said, “Now you try it.”

During Harry’s little demonstration Hermione had watched him intently wondering initially if he was just playing the fool, but she soon realised that he was deadly serious and was amazed to see the effect of the spell. Eager now to try for herself Hermione renewed the search through her pockets for her wand. She shook out the folds of her robes in frustration and her wand dislodged from its hiding place fell to the floor with a clatter.

Harry picked it up; he could feel a slight tingle in the very end of his fingers as he held out the vine wood wand for Hermione to take. Her eagerness now replaced with trepidation she made no move to take it. “Go on, you won’t know until you try,” said Harry gently, almost putting the wand in her suddenly reluctant hands. He felt the tingle intensify as Hermione’s hand closed around the base of the wand and saw some confidence flow back into her, as she must have felt it for herself.

She looked to Harry for guidance and reassurance and he simply nodded for her to continue. Raising the wand just has Harry had done Hermione pointed it at the broken spectacles and spoke the words “Oculus Reparo!” the shattered glasses flew back together with the same satisfying “Snap!” as they had before and thoroughly overjoyed with her success she threw her arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh wow!” she cried out in excitement. Harry’s instantaneous but momentary feeling of awkwardness at her reaction slipped away as he found his face buried in Hermione’s thick bushy hair. He closed his eyes but even as he revelled in this closeness, he found himself chanting, in his mind, the mantra he had used over more years than he really wanted to remember to hide his deepest feelings for this young witch. “Only like a sister, only like a sister.”

By the end of that first afternoon, the chaos in the hospital ward had calmed. All the seriously injured were on their way to St.Mungo’s and those walking wounded sent to their families only three beds were occupied and those in them due to be sent home the following morning. Harry and Hermione were still sitting side by side in Madam Pomfrey’s office shut off from the rest of the world. Harry had used the time to continue to test Hermione’s magical ability and apart from the fact that she had forgotten all her hard won knowledge her skill at performing spells, once shown how to do them, had not changed one bit.

Harry looked up from the teacup that Hermione had just transfigured into a frog as Madam Pomfrey tapped lightly on the glass panel of her office door and beckoned him outside.

“That’s amazing Hermione,” he congratulated her, “try it again and I’ll be back in a moment.” She glanced up and saw the mediwitch.

“Ok Harry,” she sounded happy. Harry gave an inaudible sigh stood and went to the door.

Madam Pomfrey ushered him out and closed the door behind him. “Right, it’s all been arranged, Hermione will stay here until tomorrow afternoon and then you are to take her up to the Headmaster’s study, Professor McGonagall, has vacated it for the moment, we thought it would create the right environment. All the paintings know what has happened they won’t speak to her or disrupt her treatment.”

“What treatment? Hermione hasn’t had any yet.” Said Harry, if he was truthful he was a little frustrated that someone more qualified hadn’t arrived to at least check his friend over.

“Oh Harry, you have been treating Hermione all afternoon, you have given her a sense of who she is and reinforced that by teaching her that her magic is still as good as it was.” Madam Pomfrey smiled genuinely for the first time since the battle. “No one could have done better; in fact no one could have done as well.”

“But what about her memories, I don’t know anything about restoring those, and without them she won’t be the Hermione that I know and ...” his voice tailed off.

“It’s alright Harry you are allowed to say that you love her,” she laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze, “we all do you know. As for restoring her memories, I have sent to Beauxbatons for help.” Harry gave her a questioning look. “That is where Professor Cervelet works,” she continued by way of explanation, “He wrote the parchment on the new treatment and he is the best in this field that I know of, I am sure he will give you the guidance you need.”

“Me!”

“Oh yes Harry, Hermione’s full recovery is still in your hands.” The mediwitch watched Harry’s face as the determination to see this new task through settled onto it, satisfied with what she saw she handed Harry a purple coloured potion. “Here Harry, a sleeping draught, make sure Hermione drinks it all, we will let her rest as long as it lasts and then you can take it from there.”

Harry sat with Hermione all that night and into the next morning, while she slept the dreamless sleep the potion had given her. He might have dozed occasionally but mainly he stared at the peaceful face of the girl he had tried so hard not to fall in love with but it seemed he had even failed in that.

Some time after dawn Harry heard the doors to the ward open, he looked over and saw a ginger-haired head poke around the gap. “Hi Harry.”

Hello Ron, come in, Hermione’s asleep.”

He watched Ron cross the floor his eyes almost anywhere but on the girl in the bed, but eventually he had to look. He sighed, “Doesn’t look any different does she?”

“No.”

“Hard to think that she’s gone... Mum said that here’s nothing to be done...”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “Well that’s not the way I see it,” not for the first time did he find himself at odds with the thoughts of the matriarch of the Weasley clan. “Madam Pomfrey said that...”

“I know Harry she told us all about this French bloke, but she is about the only one who thinks he can do anything.”

“Well, I’m not going to give up just yet.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ron suspiciously.

“It appears I started Hermione’s treatment yesterday and now I have to continue with it.” He looked back down at the sleeping girl. “She means too much to me to let go just like that.”

“Oh! I see, ‘sisterly feelings’ eh?” said Ron sarcastically.

Harry stared at his best friend, he didn’t want to lie to Ron but telling him now that he had suppressed his feelings and not interfered when Hermione had taken a shine to his ginger chum would do no good whatsoever. He sighed and kept it simple. “I just want to make her better Ron and if I can’t then I will support her in any way I can.”

“Sorry Harry... didn’t understand,” he said apologetically. Ron took Hermione’s hand and rubbed it gently; lifting it to his lips, he kissed it once then returned it to its place atop of the bed covers. He sighed once more. “I wish I was like you mate, I wish I could believe but I can’t. See you Harry,” he patted Hermione’s hand, “Goodbye Hermione,” he whispered then he turned and walked quickly from the ward.

* * *

Hermione woke just before lunchtime; the rest seemed to have done her some good the same could not be said for Harry. He was very tired and struggled to keep up the encouraging tone vowing not to let the girl descend into depression. Eventually it appeared that everything was prepared and Madam Pomfrey gave Harry permission to leave the ward.

The journey to the Headmaster’s Study could not have been more different from their last one, ‘was it only two days ago,’ Harry thought. A great deal of tidying up had taken place in the intervening hours the damage to the castle was still evident, but blood and bodies were not. The gargoyle at the base of the stairs to the study was perched once again on its plinth but stood aside as they approached, acknowledging them with a stiff little bow. Barely a rustle from the portraits greeted their entrance this time, there was the pensive sitting on the desk where Harry had left it and now up in its customary place, looking a little singed was the sorting hat. Harry felt his doubts lift; perhaps they were right this place had a feel about it there was almost an expectation that if you tried really hard then anything was possible.

Hermione had held tightly to Harry’s hand all the way from the hospital and the reassurance that contact had given her had allowed her to take in much of the state of the castle. Something awful had happened in this place and this young wizard by her side had played a major role and ended the battle by killing this Voldemort character. She wondered what else he had done over the years she had apparently been his best friend, and whether their relationship had ever grown any closer. She thought maybe there was more or why would he be so attentive and have such a strong wish for her to regain all her memories surely not to pass her on to someone else when it was all resolved?

It was a conundrum she couldn’t answer but she soaked up his presence never the less, he made her feel very safe, very comfortable and very ...yes, loved, there was no other way to describe it. He was taking her to the Headmaster’s study a place where he could continue to teach her all about herself somewhere she hoped she could learn more about him.

“Well this is it,” said Harry waving his free arm to encompass the strange room. “They seem to think that everything we will need is here, and they are probably right but at this moment I am hungry and very tired; how about you?”

Hermione tore her eyes from the moving portraits that covered the walls, one especially, an old man with flowing star covered robes, long white hair and half moon glasses that failed to hide the sparkle in his blue eyes, appeared very interested in her. “Yes now you mention it I am hungry, not so tired, had a good sleep,” she giggled lightly, “Who’s that?” She pointed at the newest portrait in the room.

“That is Albus Dumbledore, the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen.” Dumbledore’s portrait had the grace to blush slightly. “He liked you, thought that you and I ...well never mind.”

But Hermione had picked up Harry’s awkwardness, obliviated or not she was still the smartest witch of her age, and now she knew that for Harry at least there was more than just friendship in the way he felt. She had no opportunity to pursue this thought for at that moment a small, wizened figure carrying a large tray suddenly appeared out of thin air. He placed the tray on the desk and giving Harry a small bow promptly vanished again. “Thanks Kreacher!” Harry called out to the space the house elf had occupied seconds before. “Food...” he said to Hermione, he led her over to the table and sat her down in a chair.

There was more than they could eat on the tray but they made a creditable attempt to finish it all. Several times during their meal Harry had to stifle a yawn the day was catching up with him, Hermione was not so successful and a full-bodied one showed, despite her long dreamless sleep, how tired she really was. “It’s strange I should be wide awake but I really think I need to go to bed,” she said covering her mouth as another yawn erupted, “Oh dear excuse me!” she apologised.

Yawns are catching and this time Harry could not help himself, “Sorry, me too,” he said. “I wonder what arrangements have been made?” and as if in answer there was a loud click from somewhere in the line of bookcases against the wall and a hidden doorway swung open. “Perhaps in there,” he suggested as he rose and headed for the gap. Candles burst into flame the moment he crossed the threshold and revealed a bedroom containing a large and comfortable looking four-poster bed. “Well that must be for you,” he pointed the bed out to Hermione who had followed him in. “You make yourself comfortable in here, I’ll sort out something for myself and sleep in the main study but if you don’t mind I’d like to use the bathroom first.”

He returned after a few minutes to find Hermione partly undressed and he rapidly closed his eyes and turned away; he heard her laugh. “Come on Harry I bet after all the time we have known each other we don’t have any secrets.”

“Err... not many,” he said uncertainly, “But that is one of them.”

“Oh... sorry,” he wasn’t sure but he thought she sounded disappointed. “I’ll go and use the bathroom,” he felt a scented breeze waft by him as she passed, “You can open your eyes now,” she said, as he heard the bathroom door click shut behind him.

Harry walked out into the main study, and conjured himself a small but quite adequate camp bed. As he got himself ready, he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched. He looked at the portraits on the walls some were empty and those headmasters that were still in residence appeared to be fast asleep only one was staring at him and his eyes twinkled as Harry sat on the edge of his bed and stared back.

“So are you going to help me with this?” Harry asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore chuckled, “I think you are coping admirably but if you require help then everything you need is here. It is Miss Granger we are concerned with Harry, you must know her the best of anyone; and as you told me yourself your attempts to cure her will not be clouded by the sentiment of romantic love.” Harry knew that Dumbledore wasn’t fooled.

“Can’t I even hide that from you?” Dumbledore didn’t answer. “I am so worried that I will let my feelings get the better of what is right and that I will influence her to get what I have wanted for so long.”

“I don’t think you could Harry, that is not the sort of person you are. Besides, I have always considered that the original girl would be a good match for you, but that has to be her decision and she cannot make it without all the information.” Dumbledore looked over the top of his glasses and raised his eyebrows. “And I do mean all the information. Goodnight Harry.” With that, Dumbledore’s head tipped forward and he fell into the relaxed position he assumed when he was asleep.

Harry knew he would get no more out of Dumbledore now so he lay back on his bed dug his wand from his robes muttered “Illuminus Nox” and put out the candles. As darkness descended on the study Harry could see that the door to the bedroom was still partly open as the light from inside shone through. He silently berated himself for not realising that Hermione would not be able to put out the candles. Harry pushed his blanket from him so that he could getup again and do it for her when he heard a quiet repetition of his spell and the light faded and darkness enclosed the bedroom as well. “That was clever of her,” he thought as sleep rapidly claimed him, not realising for a moment that Hermione was simply repeating the spell she had heard him use, just as she had heard most of his conversation with Dumbledore.

* * *

Chapter 2

Endings and Beginnings

Harry had not slept for at least forty-eight hours and to be honest he could not have told you if the first or the last twenty-four were the worst. The fight with Voldemort, now it was over, paled into insignificance when compared to the problem with Hermione. Certainly that is the way his sub-conscious mind saw it. His dreams were not filled with the nightmarish figures of Voldemort and Belatrix Lestrange but of a foggy expanse of nothing where his best friend wandered aimlessly, calling out, searching for the memories which eluded her. He struggled to find a solution, to help her, but as is usual with dreams the answer was always just out of his reach.

Surprisingly for someone with so few memories to mull over Hermione fell asleep with a slightly troubled mind, there were questions to be asked and answers to be given. The words she had overheard slipping almost guiltily by the partly open door had confirmed what she already thought might be the case, Harry did love her, but he hid that love; now why would he do that? Perhaps there were others involved, was there a chance that she didn’t return that love, and if not, why?

Her dreams came thick and fast, so many thoughts struggling to get out, so many memories banished by that spell but not really gone, flashed through her mind. Some were happy and full of laughter, some so dark that the fear of them made her whimper in her sleep but behind all of them was one face. That face sometimes mirrored the fears and happiness that she was feeling but regardless of that, it was always there, comforting in its presence. Only as she began to awake, did the face of Harry Potter begin to change as freckles began to appear on his nose and his hair began to take on a slight red tinge. Hermione opened her eyes and the myriad of dream memories vanished she was left only with the image of Harry’s face undergoing a strange transformation into that of another.

She heard a sound from the main study, Harry was already awake and up. She clambered out of the bed and grabbed a light blue dressing gown, covered in a pattern of golden stars and moons, from a nearby chair. It was much too big for her. Only by bunching it up and fixing it with the waist cord could she manage to walk in it at all. With the back of the dressing gown dragging on the floor, she made her way into the study. Harry saw her as she pulled the door fully open and smiled, there was something very vulnerable about the way she looked, overwrapped in what must be one of Dumbledore’s old gowns. Definitely Dumbledore’s, he told himself, he certainly could never imagine Severus Snape in something so gaudy.

“Morning,” he greeted her, “Kreacher brought some breakfast, come and have some.” A fresh tray of tea, toast and marmalade was sitting on the table. Hermione noticed that Harry was holding a piece of parchment covered in purple writing as well as his teacup and that he was looking very smart indeed. She shuffled over to him, “Here,” he said, pulling out a chair, “make yourself comfortable.”

While she ate, Harry explained that Kreacher had also brought the note, which told him that he was needed to attend a ceremony this morning. Those that were killed fighting against Voldemort were being sent to their final resting places and he was to stand for one of them so she would have to wait here.

“You can watch if you like, the big window over there looks down onto the lawns,” he told her, “But if you would rather not, I understand.”

“No I’ll watch,” she said. “Maybe it will help me, and even if I can’t remember them at the moment I owe every one of them our future, I can at least do that.”

Harry gave her a wistful smile, “I know they would thank you for that if they could,” he stood, “but they can’t, so I will, on their behalf,” and he bent over and kissed her on the cheek. “I err... better go,” he said and walked to the door. “I’ll make sure you can hear everything,” he added as he left.

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom some ten minutes later just in time to the house elf Kreacher fade into nothing. The clothes she had been wearing yesterday were gone and clean, new ones had replaced them, she silently thanked the little man and then remembering Harry from the night before shouted “Thank-you” into the ether, she had no idea if he would hear it but it seemed the right thing to do. Once dressed Hermione walked out into the study and crossed to the large window that stretched from floor to ceiling, the view from it was magnificent, the whole valley and the mountains beyond were spread out before her. Then she looked down and although she was separated from the scene by several hundred feet, the emotions rising from the people down there hit her as if a physical blow and tears began to gather in her eyes.

Harry descended the grand staircase, he had met no one on his way down from Dumbledore's old study in fact the whole castle was eerily quiet, almost as if it was waiting for something to happen, as if the events of the last few days were not enough. As he crossed the entrance hall the main doors began to move and by the time he reached them they were fully open. He walked down the steps outside, acutely aware that the muted voices of the assembled witches and wizards had fallen silent and all eyes were turned to him. As he crossed the lawns he drew his wand and touched it to his ear, then pointed it up towards the window where Hermione could be seen looking down. Several eyes followed the point of Harry’s wand and knowing shakes of heads and whispered comments fluttered through the gathering.

He looked neither to the right or left now as he passed through the crowd, his attention was fixed on one thing the plain coffin with the name Remus Lupin engraved on its lid, he walked up to it and stood at its head. As if this was a signal to the others, they divided and placed themselves at the head of each of the fifty-four coffins laid out on the grass and drew their wands. Some of the dead only had one person standing for them, others, small groups, family members or several friends unwilling to relinquish the final act of respect to just one of their number. The elderly wizard who was to give thanks for the sacrifice of those that had died stood and, flanked by Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt, began to speak. His words reached Harry’s ears but they meant little to him the loss of all these friends was too raw a wound to be healed, but as he heard them, up in the Headmasters Study they were repeated to Hermione. She had no memory of those that had died but she was touched deeply by the words and sentiment that was being expressed and the tears now rolled unashamedly down her cheeks.

The old wizard fell silent, the time had come, one by one, wands were touched to the names on the coffin lids and the unspoken spells sent the dead to their final resting places. Harry’s turn came and he reached forward aware that the person next to him was doing the same to her coffin and so, as one, Remus and Tonks vanished together.

It was Luna. “I thought they would like it that way,” she choked out over her tears. The last few coffins faded away, Fred’s being the last of all and Harry drew the sobbing girl into a fierce embrace.

“Yes, I think you are right. You always manage to see through to the important bits,” said Harry, “its why you are so dear to me.” He held her while she calmed down and regained control of her sadness. Harry lifted his gaze and looked around, people were slipping away most walking off down the pathway that led to the school gates, as the gathering was beginning to break up. “So, where are you off to now?” Harry asked.

“Oh I’m going to stay with Ginny and Ron for the time being... No where else to go,” she told him and then blew her nose in a large brilliantly pink handkerchief. “I understand you’ve spoken to Ron,” Harry nodded, “He doesn’t believe you can do anything to make her better, but I suppose you do; I mean why else would you stay with her, it’s not as if you are in love with her are you?” She looked at Harry and saw the mixed emotions cross his features, and realised there was more going on here that she or Ron imagined, “Oh dear!”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not as bad as that Luna; if anyone’s feelings are compromised they will be mine. Hermione doesn’t know how I feel, neither does Ron and you mustn’t tell him. When Hermione has her memories back, if she wants, then she and Ron will be able to pick up where they left off, the decision must be hers alone, no matter what Dumbledore thinks.”

Luna nodded in agreement but her thoughts were sad, poor Harry still clinging to when Hermione gets better, not if and the far more likely never.

A balding ginger haired man walked up to where Harry and Luna were standing, the figure of Ron not far behind him.

“Hello Mr Weasley,”

“Hello Harry, ah how is it going?” his eyes glancing up to the tower containing the Headmasters study.

“Hardly had a chance to start on anything meaningful, but she can still do magic so I suppose that at least is something. Hello Ron.”

“Hi.” Ron responded but Harry notice that he seemed uncomfortable, as if he was wishing he were anywhere but here.

“Well yes that is indeed good news, sometimes that never comes back,” Arthur said with false cheeriness. He switched his gaze back and forth between Harry and Ron as if waiting for some interaction but none was forthcoming. “Right then, we’d better be on our way, Bill and Charlie have everything sorted at the other end and we mustn’t keep them waiting too long, come on Ron, Luna.”

I’m very sorry Mr Weasley, about Fred I mean,” said Harry, as they turned to leave. “Please let everyone know. I would come but...” He left the rest unsaid.

“Quite understand, and Harry,” Arthur, obviously upset, tried hard to control is emotions, “don’t worry yourself my lad, you have given us so much more that we have lost.” They walked away and Harry watched them go. Luna turned back just before they disappeared around the corner in the path and waved Harry gave a half hearted one back in return. Ron completely ignored him.

Arthur Weasley walked on in silence for a few minutes the he turned to Ron. “That lad deserves more you know.”

“What Harry? He’ll come around when he realises he wasting his time,” said Ron, tightly. He was still unhappy with the way things had turned out and he was feeling sorry for himself. There was nothing he could do for Hermione everyone had said so, and he could see no reason why Harry didn’t understand that as well. Even so, there was still that little tinge of jealousy that he was with her and poor old Ron was once again out in the cold.

“Well may be, but I feel sorry for him. After all he dealt with err... you know who and then this happens to Hermione.”

“Surely we should feel sorrier for Hermione ...or me?”

Mr Weasley regarded his son with exasperation. “You, there’s nothing you have to worry about, you’re alive and uninjured. Didn’t you listen to anything Professor McGonagall told you yesterday?” Ron shrugged his shoulders, to be truthful; he hadn’t really paid that much attention. “Harry has promised to stay with Hermione to try and help her regardless of the outcome,” continued Mr Wesley, “and if I know that young man as well as I think, he will keep that promise, whatever the cost. To all intents he is trapped with someone who looks just like the Hermione he cares for but isn’t. Without recovery she will begin to depend on him totally and rely on his presence for her very sanity. And to be honest,” Arthur sighed heavily, “no one has ever recovered from a full, unrestrained, obliviation. I fear Harry may well have promised himself a life sentence.”

His father’s words finally filtered through to Ron, he imagined the heartache of watching Hermione every day, knowing that the girl you cared for... loved, like a sister or not, was lost. That all your eyes could see was merely a shell; he knew he could never bear that and he felt acutely ashamed that he had ever doubted Harry’s reasons for trying, now he didn’t know what to think.

His feelings for Hermione had smouldered along for quite some time now, never really breaking out because he was too thick to see past all the arguments and couldn’t cope with how clever she was. He was very fond of her, more than fond, of that there was no doubt and until recently he had always assumed that Harry felt the same, until he spouted all that stuff about like being brother and sister. Ron didn’t get that at all, brothers and sisters were just annoying additions to the family, always causing problems, more trouble than they were worth, except that that wasn’t true now he thought about it ...he’d give anything to have Fred back. Still, Harry and Hermione had seemed better connected; he thought she had always given Harry far more attention, so it had come as a great surprise to Ron when Hermione had kissed him. He had to admit that he enjoyed it and kissed her back just as passionately, but to be honest he still couldn’t believe she was that interested in him. Ron sighed, it was a very sad but inescapable fact that the flame of romance that had flared so brightly had been suddenly extinguished and it would never be given the chance to burn again.

Harry walked back across the lawns; an irritating itch in his ear suddenly reminded him that Hermione could still hear everything he could and that she would have heard his conversation with Luna. It seemed that Luna’s insightful “Oh dear!” aptly fitted the bill and that, even before starting to try and help Hermione, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

“I’ll be up in a minute or two,” said Harry out loud so that Hermione could here him but he was unaware that Professor McGonagall was only a few steps behind him.

“Talking to yourself Potter?” the soft Scots accent was unmistakable.

Harry stopped and McGonagall joined him on the steps. “No Professor, to Hermione actually,” he said as he touched his wand to his ear and broke the contact. “She wanted to hear, I just hope she didn’t hear too much.”

It was clear the old witch was not interested in the details of Harry’s concerns but the advice she gave was pertinent anyway. “Well try not to complicate things anymore than they already are.” She stopped to speak quiet words of comfort to an elderly couple that passed them on the steps and then turned her attention back to Harry. “I have arranged it so that you can continue to use the Headmasters study until the last week of August, it will give us plenty of time to find somewhere more permanent for Hermione; we want to avoid St.Mungo’s if we possibly can.”

It occurred to Harry that most, unlike Madam Pomfrey, had already assumed that Hermione would not get any better, but he didn’t believe that, he couldn’t believe that. “Well that’s no worry because she will be better by then,” he said defiantly.

Professor McGonagall looked down at Harry over her glasses trying to determine if he was merely in denial but the resolute look he returned made her realise he was serious and her heart went out to him, he just couldn’t see the reality of the situation.

“Well anyway,” she said in a comforting tone, “Professor Cervelet will be arriving tomorrow, we will know much more then.” She patted Harry on the shoulder, saddened by his useless devotion and walked up the steps and through the castle doors, leaving Harry standing rooted to the spot and more determined than ever to bring his Hermione back.

He found her still staring out of the window but Hermione had brought up a chair and was sitting, taking in the wide panorama displayed before her. He readied himself to explain everything she must have heard when she surprised him by speaking up first.

“Thank-you for letting me listen in, I understand lots more now.” She stood and turned toward him but didn’t give him time to respond. “I know that you and I are linked in a very special way,” she continued, “for the moment it doesn’t matter how or in what way. I can feel that here,” she placed her hand over her heart, “even if not in here,” now she touched the side of her head. “Not yet anyway but because of you I know I am going to get better and then I will really know.”

She took hold of his hand and led an unresisting Harry to the large desk that dominated the far end of the study. Placing him in the headmaster’s chair Hermione moved to the front of the desk and sat down. “So,” she said, “how do we start?”

Harry had actually thought about what he wanted to try first, there was something in this room that could look into your mind and analyse the things that made you what you are. He took it down from its place on the shelf; it looked even more decrepit than usual and smelled very strongly of smoke. Harry initially placed the sorting hat on his own head, because before he tried it on Hermione, he wanted to ask it some questions.

“Ahh Harry Potter,” he heard the voice of the hat resound in his own head, “I see you have been successful at last.”

“Yes, but I have a problem.”

“I see...” there was a pause while the hat considered, “...I cannot refuse the man who defeated the heir of Slytherin, share your problem.”

“I have a friend who has been obliviated, I need you to look into her mind and tell me what you find.”

“But you are hiding the name of your friend from me Harry Potter, how can I ... Ahh I see, very clever. Let us try this experiment.”

Harry lifted the hat from his head, “Right you have to try on this hat and it will talk to you,” Hermione gave him a funny look, “Honestly it will, when you put it on try not to think of your name, we want to see if it can find it on its own.”

“Ok Harry, if you say so.” She leaned forward and Harry placed the sorting hat firmly on her head.

“Ok, ...right,” said the hat out loud for Harry’s benefit. “Umm... what have we here, a void as I expected, but wait over here in the corner behind this wall.” The hat fell silent.

“I can hear him in my head Harry!” said Hermione excitedly, then her expression changed and she frowned. “OH! he’s gone.”

“It’s all here you know, everything she needs,” the hat’s spoken voice sounded oddly hollow, “ but it will be difficult to set free because now I am with her memories she can’t hear me any more, this barrier is substantial.”

“Can the barrier be broken?” Harry asked out loud, even though he was not sure if he could talk to the hat without putting it on.

“The barrier can be crossed, but can it be broken?... I cannot tell you,” said the hat, “however everything that makes Hermione Granger what she is resides within her head, you will have to seek another route.”

Harry placed the hat back on its shelf. “Thanks,” he said quietly, the hat gave a little bow in return. “Well at least that’s something,” he clambered back down to stand in front of Hermione. “We know it’s all in here,” and he placed his hand on her head and gently smoothed her hair, but he was not prepared for what happened next. Hermione jumped to her feet, flung her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his chest. He could feel her trembling and for a moment he stood very still, his arms hanging by his sides then he slowly raised them and encircled her in a tight embrace. “It’ll be alright,” he whispered gently.

“But what if it isn’t Harry, the hat said it will be difficult, what if I have to stay like this,” she wailed.

He wanted to say; ‘It doesn’t matter, that even if we fail I will never leave you’. He wanted to say; ‘Even if we do succeed I will never leave you’. There were lots of things he wanted to say but her outburst, at what she perceived was a failure, made him understand how fragile her true state of mind was, instead all he said was “You won’t, I promise.”

That afternoon Harry looked out onto the castle lawns, they were deserted but bathed in warm sunshine and looked very inviting. Hermione had recovered from her morning upset and was practising the levitating spell she used to be so good at and that hadn’t changed. She had six floating teaspoons dancing to the waving of her wand and the tinny, repetitive tune that was coming from a small music box. Harry smiled, for the moment she looked very happy, and it gave him a very warm feeling inside.

“I think we should go for a walk,” he said, “It’s lovely outside and some fresh air would do us both some good.”

She gently lowered the teaspoons down onto the table. “That would be nice, I’ve never been outside,” she giggled. “Well of course I must have, but I can’t remember doing it; weird isn’t it?”

“Just a little,” Harry replied, “But then lots of things are weird, like this for example.” He picked up a cloak made of shimmering material and wrapped around his shoulders. Hermione shrieked for, from the neck down, his body was invisible. “This is my invisibility cloak,” he told her, “you’d be surprised how much time we’ve spent under this thing.”

“Why? What on earth were we doing?”

“Sneaking about, breaking school rules, usually getting ourselves into loads of trouble,” he laughed.

“Gosh was I really like that.”

“Well most of the time you were trying to stop Ron and me, we were the trouble makers, you were the voice of caution, saved us from ourselves.

“Ron? Tall with ginger hair, you spoke to him this morning.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Harry cautiously.

“He didn’t seem very pleased to see you.”

“No I don’t think he was,” Harry shook his head sadly. “So are we going for that walk,” he said briskly, wanting to change the subject.

“Oh yes!”

“Right then, under here,”

“Why we’re not being sneaky again are we Harry?”

“Probably, but best not to meet other people just yet, and this is a wonderful way of avoiding them.”So covered by the invisibility cloak they had an uninterrupted descent to the lawns.

Once outside Harry removed the cloak and slung it over his shoulder, the pair strolled side by side down to the lake where the giant squid basked in the sunshine. Harry sat down close to the shore and lent back against a rock, Hermione walked on to the waters edge stooped down and picked up a stone. She took out her wand and transformed the stone into a frog, which she released into the water and watched it swim away.

“Would that frog have any memories, Harry?” she asked as she walked back to him.

“Err... I suppose not, only ones of being a stone and I wouldn’t count that out as impossible anymore.” Harry replied. “Why?”

She sank to the ground next to him. “Oh just that he seemed to be a very happy frog so he was doing fine without any.”

“Umm...” Harry thought for a moment, “You probably don’t need memories to be a frog it’s all ahh... instinct.”

“So you don’t think I could manage on instinct then?”

“Not completely, no,” he answered.

Hermione shifted around so that she was leaning up against him, resting her head on his shoulder, then she reached for Harry’s hand and laced their fingers together. She gave a deep sigh and relaxed fully against him. “That’s a shame,” she murmured sleepily as she closed her eyes.

Harry let Hermione sleep; he had so much to think over. Her quixotic changes of temperament, left him quite breathless and rather confused, but that was a situation, which could not continue. He knew he had to be able to ride the highs and lows with her, almost try to be one-step ahead; he looked down at her sleeping form, kissed her gently on the head, and wondered how on earth he was going to manage that.

* * *

Chapter 3

Moving On

Hermione was in good form the following morning everything she saw when she awoke was familiar to her now, which for the first time, as far as she was concerned, gave her a feeling of belonging. She wondered what Harry was going to try today, he had mentioned a spell perhaps that was the way he was going to lead her or maybe something else. Although Harry had told her that instinct was not enough for her, there was one thing that instinct had led her to believe and that was that Harry would be trying his best. She knew deep down that he would not fail her where that feeling came from she didn’t know but it was there all the same.

“Morning sleepy head,” Harry greeted her as she pushed open the bedroom door. He was already tucking into an enormous breakfast piled high on the table in front of him.

“That bed is too warm and comfy,” Hermione explained, “and if I eat half of that,” she pointed at the table, “I will probably drop off again.”

He smiled at her impersonation of a bloated Hermione. “I think we’re the only ones eating in the castle at the moment, the castle elves are just getting a little carried away,”

“You going to try that spell today?” she asked, as she spread some marmalade on some buttered toast.

“Spell?” Harry pretended not to remember, but he was wasting his time if he thought he could deflect Hermione’s conversation.

“You mentioned it the other day, come on Harry, I may not be working with all my faculties but my recent memory is really good.”

“Ok yes ...well it’s a spell that will let me into your mind, but there are a couple of problems with it. First off, I don’t know if it is suitable to use and secondly I’m not very good at performing it. Actually I’m rubbish and I’d rather not try.”

“Oh,” Harry could hear the disappointment in her voice and anxious not to let her become despondent leapt up and crossed over to the desk.

“So,” he said, “I think we should try this first,” and he picked up a flat stone dish that rested on a small pedestal. “This is a pensive, I can put my memories in it and then we can look at them together, perhaps it will help.”

“You can put all your memories in that little thing?”

“Well no ...not all together, just one at a time.” He gazed at her as she examined the pensive. The same inquiring mind that she had always had was at work but there were so many little details missing from it, it broke Harry’s heart yet again as she looked up and smiled that oh so familiar smile.

“It’s going to take us a while for us to look at all of them isn’t it?”

“If we go through all the ones I have of you, could be months,” said Harry seriously, getting a grip on his emotions again.

Hermione however appeared quite unconcerned at the size of the task they were setting themselves and keeping the same heart wrenching little smile, said, “Could be fun, let’s try.”

Harry took his wand and touched it to his temple. He knew from watching Dumbledore the principles of extracting memories but he had never done it before. He could feel the tip of his wand tugging on his consciousness and then as he concentrated on his first memory of Hermione he drew the silver strand away from his head. It was a most unusual feeling, like being unravelled, individual frames, flashes of memory, passed by his conscious mind, details that he didn’t even know he had stored away lined up to take their place in the silver strand. He shuddered slightly with the feeling, moved the tip of his wand to the pensive and allowed the memory to flow into it. Hermione was watching in wonder, she had no idea how Harry was doing but it looked both amazing and a little bit scary.

“There,” he said, a little woozy with the effort, as the last of the memory joined the swirling contents of the pensive. He knew the next bit was relatively easy. “Now all we have to do is read it. Bend down and touch your face to the surface, and hang on to my hand. Hermione did as she was asked and suddenly she was falling but then she realised she wasn’t, it just felt like it. Harry’s hand was still clasped in hers and to make sure he was there she risked a look in his direction. He in turn was watching her ready to act if Hermione couldn’t cope, but although looking a little wild eyed she appeared fine, he squeezed her hand when she turned to him and encouraged her with a smile.

They landed in a compartment on a train where two young boys sat surrounded by a pile of sweets. They were talking over the sleeping form of a fat grey rat. “That’s me and that’s Ron said the real Harry,” pointing in turn at the boys in the memory who completely ignored them. Hermione waved her hand in front of Ron’s face.

“They can’t see or hear us can they?” she said as Ron continued talking unaffected by Hermione’s furiously waving hand.

“No they can’t, you have to remember this is just a memory, it’s fixed you can’t change it and it can’t hurt you.”

Ron lifted his wand to cast a spell on the dozy rat, when the compartment door slid open. Two children stood in the opening, a round faced boy and a girl wearing school robes. “Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” Hermione thought the girl sounded rather bossy and it was only as she compared the youngster’s bushy brown hair and overlarge front teeth with the face she had seen in the bathroom mirror that morning that she realised she was looking at a younger version of herself. “Oh my!” and she unconsciously put her hand to her mouth to feel her own teeth.

“It’s ok,” said the real Harry, “they get taken care of later on, you look fine now.”

“Thanks,” Hermione responded shyly, moving closer to Harry in an unnecessary attempt to get out of her own way, and staying there.

They watched the memory play itself out, Ron’s unsuccessful spell and Hermione’s breathless riposte finishing with“-I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you.”

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry.

“Are you really?” The young Hermione had asked, “I know all about you,” and it appeared that she did, for she told them.

Then as she and Neville stood to leave, the real Harry suddenly remembered that Ron had made some rather uncomplimentary remarks about Hermione once she was out of earshot, and so he pulled at Hermione’s hand to encourage her to leave the memory, but he was too late. As the words “Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” floated out of Ron’s mouth.

The study reappeared around them; they were standing together in front of the pensive. Harry returned the memory to his head and then dared to look at Hermione. There was an expression of intense concentration on her face then she relaxed. “No, there is nothing I can remember but he didn’t like me very much, that Ron Weasley, did he?”

“No not then, but that all changed, I think that first time you were a bit of a shock to both of us. Then later you did turn out to be disgustingly clever, and that never goes down well with boys of a certain age. But all three of us became the best of friends, though it took a mountain troll to do it.”

“Oooh! when do we get to see that?” asked Hermione in anticipation.

“All in good time,” said Harry with a smile.

Hermione was in the bathroom when there was a knock on the study door, “Come in,” Harry called out, and with a click the door opened revealing a rather odd-looking wizard.

“Professor Cervelet,” the wizard announced introducing himself with a florid bow, “I have the honour of meeting Monsieur Harry Potter? -Yes? -No?” he spoke with a heavy French accent.

“Err... yes,” Harry replied.

“And the Mademoiselle?”

“Umm... in the bathroom.”

“Ahh, c’est bien!”

“Pardon?” said Harry.

“It is how you say ...good.” The professor smiled and walked into the room. He presented a strange sight, he was of average height but his neck was unexpectedly long as were the fingers of his hands, one of which he was holding out for Harry to shake. The oddest thing however was the size of his head, it was far too big and wobbled about most alarmingly on his long neck.

“Your Madam Pomfrey will have told you that for any treatment to be effective the Mademoiselle must converse with no one but yourself, yes?” Harry nodded. “So, when she returns I will send her to sleep.”

“Hang on, just a minute.” Harry interrupted crossly.

“No minutes to spare, ‘Endormir’” the wand that had suddenly appeared in the professor’s hand spat blue sparks across the room and hit Hermione who had just emerged from her bedroom, Harry rushed over and reached her before she hit the floor. Cradling her in his arms Harry carried a deeply asleep Hermione over to his camp bed and laid her on it. Then he turned in anger to the professor, who was watching him intently.

“Poppy was correct,” Cervelet murmured to himself his head nodding in satisfaction.

“Was that really necessary?” said Harry trying to control his temper, reminding himself that this professor was supposed to be helping.

“Of course, or I would not have done it,” he said simply. “Now Harry,” he pronounced it Harrree, rolling his r’s and drawing the y to a long e. “I may call you Harry,” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I must examine this young lady’s mind and see what can be done.”

“We’ve already tried the Sorting Hat and it said that Hermione’s memories are all there but hidden behind a barrier,” said Harry wanting to make it clear they had not been idle. “I did think of Legilimency but I am not very good at it. So we used the pensive and I was going to expose her to my memories of her, in the hopes it might spark something off.”

“I see,” the professor scratched his head while he thought. “It was as well you did not try Legilimency you could have destroyed whatever it is in there holding her memories. In most cases, the mind is a total blank but if the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat says there is something there then I must make sure. As for your memories Harry they will cause no harm and they may yet help.”

The professor held his wand over Hermione’s sleeping form and moved it in a circular motion around her head. Harry had seen Madam Pomfrey do much the same when she was searching for a broken bone or a nasty strain. It was, however, unusual for him to hear a healer muttering to themselves in French and Harry found it rather frustrating because he didn’t speak the language. Professor Cervelet continued his examination for the next half an hour and by the time he finished Harry was champing at the bit to know what he had found.

“Well?” was the not too diplomatic enquiry Harry uttered.

“It is most interesting; I have not encountered a case like this before. As I said the mind is usually blank just occasionally there is a wisp of memory but your Sorting Hat is correct. Something protected Mademoiselle Granger’s mind before she was hit with the Obliviation spell, there is a hint as to the magic responsible but I cannot be sure.” Cervelet paced backward and forward deep in thought. “You were with her Harry?”

“No, I arrived just too late, but I stopped the Death Eater that did it.”

“And where is he?”

“Azkaban, I should think by now,” said Harry darkly. “The Aurors took him away.”

“His wand?”

“Sorry I don’t know but the Auror in charge of the detail was Barton Ash, I’m sure he would be able to help you.”

“Very good, it will take me some time to sort all this out but I am hopeful, I will send you an owl before I come next time,” he indicated the sleeping Hermione, “you can be prepared.”

“Thank-you,” said Harry simply, “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.”

“Quite so,” Professor Cervelet tried hard to hide a knowing smile. “You may continue to use the pensive your memory sits in her head quite well, and now my boy you can awaken her.”

Harry touched his wand to the back of Hermione’s hand ‘Enervate’ he whispered, Hermione stirred and he heard a snort of disgust from the professor.

“You are truly an Englishman, Harry,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “You have a pretty girl to awaken from a deep sleep and you use Enervate, a Frenchman, he would have used a kiss.” And with that, he disappeared through the doorway and down the spiral stairs, his cloak billowing out behind him.

Harry stared open mouthed at the departing professor. “I didn’t know a kiss would do,” he said lamely in his defence.

* * *

Ronald Bilius Weasley was down in the dumps and he felt he had a right to be. He had lost his brother and his girlfriend in a period of twenty-four hours. His brother was gone forever, and, if everyone who had talked to him so far were to be believed, his girlfriend was as good as dead as well. His own ingrained wizarding sense told him that was true but there was a nagging uncertainty, so many unusual things had happened over the last few years, he needed to speak to someone to help clarify his thoughts. Harry was unavailable to ask; his best friend would have tried or at least have been honest enough to say he didn’t know; Ron needed someone he could trust as much, so in this instance Ron turned to Bill. Ron apparated to Shell Cottage late one morning and sought out his oldest brother.

“Ron, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” said Bill, his good spirits were almost as forced as the smile Ron sent in return.

“Feel a bit bummed actually Bill, wanted to talk,” he said. “I tried Mum and Dad but ...well, they’re busy with the Burrow...”

“Ok little brother what’s the problem?”

“Hermione.”

“Ah! and I take it Mum and Dad don’t think Hermione will get better again?” suggested Bill.

“Yeh, that’s right, no one does, well only Harry, Madam Pomfrey and some french bloke and McGonagall says Harry is disillusioned too over stressed by the Voldemort thing to see sense,” said Ron despondently.

“I’m sorry Ron but I have to say I agree with the majority here.” Ron scowled at his brother. “The obliviation spell is very complex, applied lightly and with care you can remove a memory that lasts only seconds, or if you need to you can remove minutes or hours, days or weeks. It’s all down to the skill of the wizard.” Bill produced a bottle and two glasses and poured Ron a drink. “The thing is that those obliviated in that way put the gaps in their memories down to natural forgetfulness, muggle or wizard it doesn’t matter, it’s an easy thing to get over. But you saw what happened to that Lockhart bloke, that was an unrestrained curse, all be it not very powerful because of the state of your wand; that was five years ago and he is still in St.Mungo’s. Hermione was hit by an unrestrained curse from a desperate Death Eater, can you imagine the power he used. I am afraid that even with this treatment that Poppy Pomfrey has instigated the Hermione that you knew and fell in love with is gone. She may look the same but that’s all; you will chew yourself up inside if you imagine it can be any different. No one, not even Harry, can change the facts of magic.” Bill downed his firewhisky in one and coughed as the raw spirit burned his throat. Ron stared deeply into the glass he held in his hand and at the amber liquid it contained. He lifted the glass to his lips and tipped it back, he swallowed the firewhisky; it might just as well have been water, for he didn’t feel a thing.

Ron returned to the Burrow and an uncertain future, sure the dispensation from Hogwarts for his part in the defeat of Voldemort, a fine piece of parchment heavily decorated and important looking, would guarantee him serious consideration for any job he cared to apply for. But it didn’t fill the gap in his life left by his best friends. He reasoned that some day he would meet Harry again but he had finally accepted what they had all tried to tell him and that if he was honest with himself, what he had believed from the start, that Hermione, his Hermione, was gone forever. He had no choice; he would have to move on.

He busied himself to block out any thoughts of his best friends by helping his parents return their home to the same wonderful muddle that Harry had so admired the first time he had seen it. Fortunately the damage was mainly superficial but even when the repairs were completed there was still something missing, the soul of his family was badly bruised and only time would heal that particular injury.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks became a month or more, Ron found that he was spending a lot of his time with his sister and Luna. This trio was a strange reversal of the threesome he’d had with Harry and Hermione, but it kept him occupied and his mind off other things. The whole Voldemort episode had changed Ginny, there was nothing left of the little girl he remembered so well, she had developed into a strong-minded young woman with a wicked wand arm. Luna, Ron reckoned, was unchangeable. The imprisonment she had suffered, would have badly affected even the most level headed and perhaps that was her secret, Luna’s unique outlook on life may well have been the thing that saved her. Ron found himself drawn to this odd girl, Harry had told him on several occasions that there was more to Luna than met the eye and now Ron was starting to see this for himself.

Ginny had grown in ways that her brother would never imagine. She could see the beginnings of the attraction between her brother and her friend and was pleased for them both. As time went by, she found more and more excuses to be somewhere else leaving them alone together, assuming correctly that nature would take its course. Ginny herself was marking time, perhaps as Ron had initially done, she still held hopes that she would see Harry again and they would rekindle their relationship. But she had to remind herself that it was now well over a year since Harry had said ‘thanks but no more’ and now with his preoccupation with Hermione, even if the real Hermione never resurfaced... well, she could see only one outcome to that. Ginny too, knew it was time for her to move on.

* * *

Harry and Hermione were moving on as well but at a nice comfortable pace. Harry had gently led Hermione through his memories of their first year together and was now well into their second. He glossed over the holiday periods when Hermione had returned to her parents’ home, he couldn’t find a way to tell her about them and he really knew very little about them to tell her anyway. There was only one fact he was sure of and how could he say that she had, in a way, done to them what Larrick Cade had done to her, all be it with the best intentions. It was a subject best avoided and strangely, Hermione never asked.

Some of the memories Harry recalled shocked her, some made her cry with sadness, others were down right scary. She had cried at the vision of Harry sitting next to her petrified person holding her hand and whispering to her un-responding self that he needed her. She was petrified in another way as she watched Harry battle with the Basilisk and so nearly die but had cheered out loud when he had destroyed the diary and defeated that awful boy the book had conjured. There were a few memories that made her laugh, but as time passed she came to understand the life Harry had led up to now, the struggle he endured to stay alive and keep his friends safe and that very little of his life had been fun.

He enjoyed Quidditch that was obvious, his memories of the games were very clear in his mind and Hermione experienced the thrill Harry felt climbing on a broom almost at first hand. It was real enough for her to tell Harry she didn’t really like flying and he had the grace to tell her that she hadn’t liked it the first time around either.

By the beginning of August, they had worked their way through their third year and relived the happiness of helping Sirius and Buckbeak and their shock and anger over the betrayal of Peter Pettigrew. Hermione marvelled at the strength of the young wizard that Harry was growing into and the contentment that he gained from having even the most tenuous connections to family. She also began to see something she knew must be coming; she had not forgotten Harry’s conversation with the girl called Luna that day on the lawns. True, she had never broached the subject since but she had not forgotten. Hermione could not help but tell that her younger self was seeing past all the arguments she had with Ron; her younger self was beginning to consider the ginger- haired lad in a different light.

To her now it didn’t make sense she had arrived at her own initial impression of Ron. She thought that at times he was a prat, definitely annoying, incredibly lazy and in all that, Hermione mark one appeared to agree with her. So, there must be something else going on for her younger self think more of this boy; but what?

Hermione felt she needed to place herself with these two boys that were the mainstay of her former life. She needed to see if the impressions she was making now were the same as those she had originally formed. Harry, so far, had appeared like a comet, streaking in and out of danger, surviving by the skin of his teeth but always trying to make sure his friends were out of the main threat to life and limb. But that threat was always there following him like a tail follows a dog and Hermione knew that the Hermione of the memories was frightened by that, and it had stopped her taking her love for Harry into the realms of romance. Ron on the other hand, annoying as he was at times, was as she had been, one-step removed from the centre of the storm. He also had deep anchors in a secure family group; Harry was very much the free radical with nothing to tie him down. Ron was security a place to run to when the weather became too bad, a shelter from the lightening that Harry always carried with him.

And yet she knew that both the young and the grown up Harrys were in love with her. She remembered his conversation with Dumbledore, it was clear that he loved her now and had done so before and yet in his memories or in real time actions he never demonstrated that love. Rather he had kept it concealed, almost as if he was ashamed that his love might spoil something else.

Now she understood as Harry had all those years ago. Expecting his life to be forfeit, in their quest to destroy Voldemort, Harry had hidden his love under a platonic attachment and watched Hermione and Ron’s rocky relationship slowly develop into something that eventually must have been more than affection. How that ever happened Hermione was unsure, as Harry’s memories up to now had shown that Ron was blissfully ignorant of the fact that his counterpart Hermione had any feelings at all.

However, armed with this information Hermione now watched Harry’s memories from a slightly different perspective. She was not so much trying to fill the spaces left by her missing memories anymore but watching the interaction between the three of them, seeing the subtle dance of teenage feelings that could soar one minute in wild hope and then as suddenly plummet into the depths of desperation and loneliness. This Harry’s eye view taught Hermione something of herself but so much more about the boy and his feelings for her. She was touched by the sad look in his eyes when the girl in his memories turned her attention to another and something deep inside her warmed when he showed pride in the young girl’s achievements, but he always kept himself at a distance and that was the saddest thing of all.

* * *

Chapter 4

The Last Chance

Harry and Hermione continued with their trips down Harry’s memory lane until the day an owl arrived tapping at the window to be let in. The bird was large and white and the sight of her seemed to cause Harry some distress. Hermione was surprised at his reaction, for she was very like Harry’s own Hedwig, who of course, was still very much alive in Harry’s memories to date; they had yet to deal with the darkest part of Harry’s history. Unaware of Harry’s loss, she chatted away about the bird and how nice it would be to have an animal like this and how lucky he was to have one. Harry smiled and hid his sadness then as he retrieved the note the owl was carrying, which was as he expected from Professor Cervelet telling of his impending visit. Musing on the fate of his own dear Hedwig, he suddenly remembered Crookshanks and wondered if the presence of Hermione’s cat would help her in any way.

“Hang onto that owl for a moment,” he told Hermione, who was walking back to the window with it perched on her arm. Harry scribbled a hasty note on a small piece of parchment and tied it to the owl’s leg. “Could you take this to the Weasley family at the Burrow please?” he asked the owl politely. It bobbed down giving funny little bow in return, then leapt from Hermione’s arm and sailed out of the window.

Harry’s note had said ‘No change as yet, still trying. Could you please send us Crookshanks if he is with you?’ And by that evening, the result of that note was lying curled up at the foot of Hermione’s bed acting as if he had always been there. Hermione was delighted, not that she had any real recollection of the cat but he had appeared several times in Harry’s memories and was a little put out when she realised Harry had neglected to tell her that Crookshanks was hers.

The following morning Hermione was sitting on the end of her bed, the cat cradled in her arms, and looked the happiest Harry had seen for a long time; the sight almost broke his heart. He wondered, even with all the promises he had made, how long he could stand this torment. The girl he loved so close and yet so far out of reach; he could cope when she was involved with Ron and for the sake of the both of them had put it out of his mind but now it was so very hard. He looked up at the old clock on the bedroom wall, nearly ten o’clock, the professor would be here soon and as before, Hermione would have to be asleep. Harry fingered his wand nervously then quietly so she would not be afraid he whispered ‘Endormir’ and she flopped back without a sound, fast asleep. Crookshanks glared at Harry and hissed at him.

“Sorry,” said Harry as the cat moved up onto Hermione’s chest and lay down ready to protect his mistress from all comers celebrity wizards or not.

There was a knock on the main study door. “Open,” said Harry and there was Professor Cervelet standing in the opening. “Professor,” Harry greeted the wizard.

“Harry, good to see you,” was the professor’s joyful response, “’Ow goes it?”

“Oh, well I suppose,” replied Harry, “Hermione has three years worth of memories, unfortunately all mine and none of hers.”

Professor Cervelet looked at Harry, the lad looked tired out, his eyes had dark circles under them, and he could see that the strain was beginning to tell. Well at least he had some news for the boy and a spell or two to try.

“I have seen this Larrick Cade, this Death Eater, and a poor specimen he is.” Cervelet sounded disgusted. “Totally untrained, gathered his magic skills, if they can be called skills, from others as bad as he was. The wand he used was his main strength it is made of Blackthorn with a Salamander tail as its core, most unusual, unfortunately rather powerful.” The professor reached into his pocket and retrieved a wand about ten inches long Harry recognised it as the one he had blasted from Cade’s hand. “So Harry we have the wand that cast the spell,” then the professor smiled and tapped the side of his head, “and up here I have the thought that caused the spell to be cast.”

Harry stared in disbelief. “How did you manage that?” he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

“Being a Legilimens is not the only way to take someone’s thoughts Harry, especially if the donor is co-operative and Larrick Cade would do anything to make his stay in Azkaban shorter.” Cervelet replied, “He was most co-operative.”

“So what do we gain from having all these professor?”

“In themselves, simply the ability to recreate the spell,” stated Cervelet, “but that is not all we have. For I have discovered what protected Mademoiselle Granger from the full effects of the spell.” Harry gave him a puzzled look. “You remember I said there was a hint of the magic that caused it,” Harry thought, and then nodded as the memory returned. “That magic came from you.”

Harry shook his head in denial. “I told you I wasn’t there, there is no way I could have protected Hermione how ever much I would have wanted to,” he said emphatically.

Professor Cervelet lowered himself into a chair and motioned for Harry to do the same. “There is no question but that this is so,” the professor continued. “My mind can analyse the magical signature of a spell, or in this case the protection of Mademoiselle Granger’s memories. I have compared it with the magical residue in your school records,” Harry gave Cervelet a questioning look. “You did not know? The school stores some of your first spells, keeps them with your exam results, house point gains and losses that sort of thing. Very useful for me, if not for anyone else,” he revealed. “The signatures are the same Harry; you did it, but how? Do you know?”

Harry thought back to that day, he remembered seeing Hermione talking to Ron as he passed them on his way to finish his task of replacing the Elder Wand in Dumbledore’s tomb. He had been gone for only a few minutes when he felt a strong compulsion to return to the castle, the wand hidden in his pocket suddenly became very warm, it was trying to tell him something. Harry’s hand had closed around the Elder Wand, ‘RUN’ he was told in no uncertain terms. Harry ran; he didn’t know where he was running to and then events had happened so fast that Harry had forgotten about them until now. He had rounded a corner into a small side passage, ‘PROTECT’ the wand had almost screamed at him and Harry had acted purely on instinct. He had used no recognisable spell just the force of his will backed up by the power of the Elder Wand; he heard a shriek and the sound of ‘Obliviate’ resound in his ears. Then he was there, Hermione lay at his feet and he responded to Larrick Cade’s attempt to attack him. Fortunately, the wand Harry pulled from his robes was his own, had it been the Elder Wand all that would have remained of Cade could have been put in a bucket.

The vision receded and Harry stared at the Professor, “Yes, I remember. It was my wand, not this one,” he said laying his holly wand on the table, “my other one.”

“I do not understand Harry, you have two wands?” Cervelet asked.

“Yes, this one and the wand I won from Voldemort.” Harry waited for the reaction and he wasn’t disappointed. Despite the fact that the professor knew very well that the man was dead his name still sent a shiver of fear through the older wizard.

“I see ...this wand, it must be very powerful?”

“So I understand,” said Harry, “at any rate it called me to Hermione and told me to protect her. The details as to how I did it, I haven’t the foggiest.”

There was an expression of confusion on Cervelet’s face, “What has fog got to do with this Harry?”

Harry hid a small smile, “Sorry nothing, I mean I have no idea of the details.”

“Ah! Well that probably does not matter but if this wand is as powerful as you say then I would suggest we use it when we try to cure the Mademoiselle it might be the key to breaking the spell allowing her memories to return.”

Harry was not sure what to do, the fewer people who knew exactly what the wand he had captured from Voldemort was the better, so he turned to the one man who he trusted above all others, and he looked up at Dumbledore's portrait.

For weeks now the portraits had remained silent, some of them empty, if their occupants had somewhere else to go, but Dumbledore had always been there watching, smiling in encouragement, his bright blue eyes twinkling merrily behind his half-moon glasses. The headmaster said nothing now but there was the tiniest nod; it was all the encouragement that Harry needed. Harry stood and walked over to Dumbledore’s portrait and gently swung it to one side so as not to disturb the occupant of the frame too much. Stuck to the wall behind the portrait, with two bands of spell-o-tape was the Elder Wand. Harry reached up, pulled the wand down and felt the tingle in his fingertips as the wand recognised its owner; he turned to face Cervelet again. As the professor’s eyes fell on the wand they took on the same expression of longing Harry had recognised in Ron and Hermione when they had first seen it.

“Professor!” Harry said sharply and the wizard shook his head as if to dispel the power of attraction the elder wand appeared to radiate.

“I apologise Harry but to see a wand that has done so much evil, that ...you know who wielded with such ruthlessness. It takes the breath away.” His body shuddered as he regained his self-control. “We need Mademoiselle Granger but not fully awake, just so that she can sit ...err here,” Cervelet pulled the headmasters chair out from behind the desk.

Harry went into the bedroom Hermione was asleep on the bed exactly as he had left her. Crookshanks had curled up on the pillow at the top of the bed but he still eyed Harry as he approached. Harry looked down at the sleeping girl as before she was at peace and Harry’s heart went out to her. Mindful of the professors scathing remarks on his last visit, Harry bent over and gently kissed Hermione on the cheek; Crookshanks gave a little hiss of disproval and Harry poked his tongue out at him. Hermione stirred and mumbled her words slurred with sleep, “That was nice Harry, how about another one.”

Harry lifted her to her feet and helped the drowsy girl into the next room, he eased her into the chair the professor had placed in the centre of the room and disentangled Hermione’s hands, which had found their way around his neck. She lolled alarmingly on the seat but fortunately remained sitting up; Harry stood back and allowed the colour that had risen to his face return to normal. He found the professor was looking at the pair of them with the suggestion of a knowing smile on his face.

“Now that we are all ready, we can begin,” said Cervelet. “From what you told me Cade didn’t have a chance to cast any other spells, correct?”

“Yes that’s right, he was going to try but I beat him to it,” replied Harry.

“And the Aurors tell me the wand has remained under lock and key since then, so the spell used to obliviate your friend was its last. Bon!” The professor laid Larrick Cade’s wand on the desk and then placed his own so that the tips of the two wands were touching. “We will use prior incantato to release the wands last spell, Harry,” he said explaining the process he had in mind. “I will direct the shadow obliviation spell at Mademoiselle Granger, using the thought I retrieved from Cade, you understand so far?”

“Err... yes, I think so,” said Harry uncertainly.

“Ok, now once she is enveloped in the spell you will use your... err... other wand,” The professor said pointing nervously at Voldemort’s old wand.

This was going to be the bit that Harry wasn’t going to like ...he just knew it. Sure, the Elder wand had performed well for him in the one instance he’d used it but that was only to repair his own wand. A precious item but replaceable, Hermione was irreplaceable and far more precious. His doubts over the advisability of using the Elder wand must have shown in his face for Cervelet grabbed his arm in a powerful grip.

“There must be no indecision if we are to succeed Harry,” urged the professor. “You must touch the wand to her temple and say Reversalum, and you must believe that it will work.”

“Just that,” it seemed far too simple, “just Reversalum?”

“Harry you have maybe the most powerful wand in the whole world in your hand,” the little sound of longing was there again. “If you ask it to it will do the impossible, but you must believe it can or you will fail.”

Harry knew that failure was not an option; he had to try. “Ok professor, let’s get on with it. Do it now.”

Professor Cervelet reached out and gripped his own wand “Prior Incantato!” he roared. The sickly yellow cloud that had wiped Hermione’s mind erupted once again from Larrick Cade’s wand. Not as substantial as the last time this shadow or ghost of the spell expanded to the size of a Quaffle. Cervelet released his wand and grasped Cade’s, lifting it from the table. His eyes glazed as he concentrated on the thought that Cade had used to release the spell at Hermione and the roiling cloud followed the movement of the wand upwards and ever closer to Hermione’s head. Harry watched with some trepidation as the girl, he privately admitted he could not live without, became enveloped in the spell.

Harry believed the wand would do as he asked, had he not done the impossible with it once before, but what did he want the wand to do. Return Hermione’s memory, of that he was certain, but with them all in place would she not go running back to Ron. He did not want to lose her that was his dilemma. He wanted to explain how he felt, he wanted to finish his story, so that she could see him as he really was and understand truly, what she meant to him. But that would not be fair, for she had already chosen Ron and who was he to stand between them but... but...

With these chaotic thoughts pounding through his brain, unable to reach a satisfactory answer to his problem, Harry brought the Elder Wand to rest against Hermione’s right temple and he shouted, “Reversalum!”

There was a bright flash and a loud CRACK! Harry momentarily shut his eyes against the bright light and when he opened them again, he could see that the Blackthorn wand had snapped in two and the parts had burst into flame. Cervelet hastily dropped the burning fragment of the wand that was still in his hand, where it joined its other half on the floor; the flames leapt up then, in an instant, sputtered and died leaving only an oily mark on the stones. Harry quickly turned to Hermione, she was sitting as before, slightly slumped forward and the only sign on her of the magic that had just occurred was a tiny black smudge where the tip of the Elder Wand had touched her skin.

“How do we know if it has worked?” Harry asked, looking worriedly at Hermione who was showing no signs of waking up.

“Only when she awakens will we know if the spell has worked and it would be as well if I was not here.” The professor picked up his own wand and cast one last look at the Elder Wand Harry was still holding. “That wand has a powerful influence on wizard kind Harry, I feel it calling to me and if I was less of a wizard I know I would succumb. In your hands it is a great force for good, but in another’s the evil it could wreak is incalculable, you must break its power for all our sakes.”

The respect Harry had for this strange man increased as he watched him fight the attraction of the Elder wand and win. “Professor Dumbledore and I had come to the same conclusion a while ago,” said Harry. “Don’t worry professor I will make sure it causes no more trouble.”

“C’est bien,” Cervelet whispered the words. “As for Mademoiselle Granger, I have done all I can, it is now up to you and to her, I wish you bonne chance.” He held out his hand and Harry took it. “Au revior Harry, err... goodbye.”

The study door closed softly behind the departing professor and Harry was left alone with Hermione once more. He sighed; he was worried that his casting of the Reversalum spell was not focused enough but there was only one way to find out. Harry touched his own wand to the back of Hermione’s hand and was about to wake her when on an impulse he reached out and lifted her chin, he leaned forward and very gently kissed her on the lips. He jumped back as she yawned and stretched her arms; she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“Hi Harry,” she said through another yawn, “Oooh! I really had a good sleep, did I miss anything?”

“Can’t you remember?”

“Err... no I was asleep.”

“I mean can’t you remember anything more?”

“More than what?” there was silence for a moment and then the penny dropped. “You mean can I remember anything ‘more’, like from before.”

“Yes!”

“No, sorry Harry nothing new, should there be?”

Harry hid his disappointment; he must have mucked up the spell after all. “No I suppose not, it was just a thought.”

“So what are we going to do today?” Hermione asked blissfully unaware that the last chance for her memories to return had passed her by.

“Oh I thought a nice walk out by the lake,” suggested Harry, “and there are a few things I must organise. Have you still got some reading to catch up with?” he asked.

“Yes loads, I’m still working my way through Hogwarts a History, fascinating stuff you know.”

“Yes,” said Harry sadly, “I know.”

They spent the rest of the morning in a companionable wander around the lake. The summer sunshine warmed the air and the lightest of breezes ruffled the water splitting the reflected sunbeams into thousands of points of light. The surface of the lake was alive with the fairy like sparkles that danced to an unheard tune.

Harry left Hermione curled up on a chair by one of the great windows that looked out over the lawns her head buried in her book. He descended two floors and walked to the other end of the castle to find himself at the main door to the hospital ward. Madam Pomfrey was in her office seated behind her desk.

“Harry! I saw Simon before he left this morning how did it go?”

“I’m sorry Madam Pomfrey,” replied Harry, “but I don’t think the spell worked, Hermione seems to be no different, her memories haven’t returned.”

“Oh Harry you have nothing to apologise about,” she stood, moved around the desk to place a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You have done far more than many friends would have these last couple of months, I think you can rightly say you have done your duty. I will see that Hermione is given the best care we can arrange.”

An image flashed into Harry’s mind, Hermione as he had last seen her, in that chair with her book the sun shining through the window surrounding her with a golden glow of light. “I don’t think you understand,” he told the nurse, “I haven’t done all this out of a sense of duty, I love her Madam Pomfrey, something I have never been able to tell her, that’s why I stayed and I’m not about to abandon her now.”

“But Harry, this treatment was the only hope of a quick cure; it may take years to retrain her using the old methods.”

“Then I will spend those years helping her,” he said defiantly, “But I think you are underestimating Hermione, her mind is as quick and sharp as it ever was, and only seven years ago she knew nothing of magic. Seven years is not so long a time and I will tell her about all the rest. She will be as nearly the old Hermione as I can make her.”

“I see and Ron Weasley agrees with this plan?”

“Ron? Oh Ron, I must admit I hadn’t thought....” Harry lapsed into silence.

“Why are you doing this to yourself Harry, you admit that you love the girl and yet you want to turn her back into the one who was in love with your best friend. Are you punishing yourself or is it that you hope, now that Voldemort is no longer a threat, she may see you in a different light?”

Harry looked at the nurse and, for the first time since the battle, he felt the tears start up in his eyes. He had bottled his emotions, initially for everyone’s sake but lately for Hermione and he could hold them no longer; he threw himself down in a chair and sobbed. The mediwitch returned to her desk and tapped her wand on the side of a small mirror lying on it.

“Minerva, I need you.” Se said to the image that appeared in its glassy surface. “I have Harry down here, I’m afraid the news is not good.”

In the few minutes it took Professor McGonagall to get to the hospital ward Harry had regained some self control and was sipping on a restorative that Madam Pomfrey had whipped up for him.

“I am sorry Harry,” the familiar Scots burr was a comforting sound to Harry’s ears, “but I did try to warn you that the chances of success were very slim.” Madam Pomfrey tried to interrupt to refute this assertion but Professor McGonagall held up her hand to stop her. “Come now Poppy, you know full well that no one has managed a complete cure and Cervelet’s theory has never been tested, until now. It’s a great shame but there it is; I will inform St.Mungo’s they may be able to take Hermione this afternoon.”

Harry jumped to his feet. “Whoa, hang on, Hermione is not going to St.Mungo’s” he shouted. “I am going to continue what I started, I will tell her as much of her story as I can and only when I have finished will I let anyone else take over and maybe not even then.” By the end of this outburst, the two witches were regarding him with some astonishment and Harry was close to letting his emotions get the better of him again. He sat back down, breathed deeply and slowly to let his mind settle, to give him time to think. “But I can’t do it here any more, I... we, need to get away to somewhere where we can have the freedom to go out and move around without the fear of falling over another witch or wizard.” Aware that, with his initial tirade, he might have overstepped the mark a bit, he gave Professor McGonagall a pleading look. “I would like to take the pensive with me though, if you didn’t mind?” he asked contritely.

McGonagall smiled sadly and sighed, “Of course Harry, I think I know just the place. Give me a day or two.” Harry nodded thankfully. “But Harry,” the old witch looked down at him with a serious frown, “don’t waste your life in an impossible quest.”

“Without Hermione my life wouldn’t be worth much Professor,” Harry said defiantly, “and who knows, I seem to be reasonably good at impossible quests, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

* * *

Chapter 5

A Cottage By The Sea

Whatever their private thoughts about Hermione’s recovery and Harry’s determination to cure her, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey managed yet another small miracle for the young man who had risked so much for the wizarding world.

Two days after Harry pronouncement that he and Hermione needed to leave the confines of Hogwarts, they had apparated away and appeared in the slightly overgrown garden of a small house that the two older witches had secured for them. It was somewhat akin to Bill and Fleur’s Shell Cottage, although it was smaller and it looked out over a different sea.

Their house, an old fisherman’s cottage really, was fashioned in dark grey stone each block separated from but bonded to its neighbour with brilliant white mortar. The slate roof was mottled with multicoloured patches of moss and lichens, which broke up the flat dark surface with joyous abandon. The whole effect was finished off with bright yellow paint that adorned the window frames and the low back door. It looked quite cosy, and Harry, still gripping Hermione’s hand from the side along apparition, led her down to the back door and touched it with his wand. The lock gave a click and the door swung open revealing the entrance to a small kitchen. It was brightly lit by the light streaming in through the window and the couple could see that all the essentials were present. Harry wondered who had lived here before but as the house possessed electric lights and sockets, he reasoned it probably had not been another witch or wizard.

They crossed the threshold and entered their home, which they explored with excitement more suited to children half their age. They found a small dining room, next to the kitchen and to the front of the cottage a sitting room that took up the rest of the space on the ground floor. It was well furnished with comfortable looking chairs and a small sofa all arranged around a cast iron fireplace, which was topped off with a small wooden mantle. Two windows, twins of the ones at the back of the house, looked out over a very small patch of grass that formed the front garden and the low stone made wall that enclosed it. They could see a rickety looking gate in this wall, which gave access to a narrow path that led down to a small road that separated the cottage from a rocky beach and the restless North Sea beyond.

The front door, painted in the same bright yellow paint, opened directly into the sitting room, and in the opposite corner was a steep set of stairs, almost a ladder that led to the two bedrooms and bathroom on the first floor.

“Well,” said Harry as he threw himself down in one of the arm chairs, “just what the doctor ordered, we should get along fine here.”

Hermione who had shown as much interest in their new surrounding as he had sat on the sofa and stared into the unlit grate, deep in thought, the smile slipped from her face and she drew a deep breath.

“I’m not going to get better am I Harry?” she turned to look him full in the face and saw the shock at her statement and then the denial of it in his expression. She gave him a sad little smile understanding his unwillingness to accept the truth. “You shouldn’t have given me so many books to read,” she said quietly. “Standard Book of Spells grade five, there is a chapter on obliviation, and I know what the effects are I know what I’ve become.” Harry made to move to her side, hesitated because he knew she was trying to be brave and hide her feelings and then he did it anyway.

He sat next to her and slipped a comforting arm about her shoulders. “Its ok Harry, it really is, I can accept it now,” she said clearly, trying again to raise a smile but despite her words of reassurance, glistening tears gathered in her eyes. She settled into his embrace and took pleasure in their closeness. “I think you are wonderful for trying to help me, and I don’t even know why.” She paused, now was not the time to hide anything from him.... “Well that’s not true,” she felt him stiffen slightly but he didn’t relax his hold on her. “I’m not stupid Harry, you have shown me all your memories, I have watched you, Ron and I grow up together, and I understand what we meant to each other. But that was ‘then’ and I have to accept that whatever made me feel in a certain way ‘then’ is gone. I want to start again; I want to learn to live with what I have now.” Her eyes searched his, brown locked onto emerald green; she found what she was looking for and pressed on. “If we were to do it that way would you still stay with me?”

“Yes of course,” there was no hesitation in his voice, “there is nothing I want more but I don’t want you to make any decisions without knowing as much as you can. Please let me finish what we started, if you still feel the same way then, we’ll take it from there.”

She wondered what she would have to do to get Harry to admit that he was in love with her as much as she had grown to love him over the last few months. She had as good as thrown herself at him and yet Harry was doggedly trying to stick to his plan. “What happens if at the end I decided on Ron,” she taunted him with the thought.

Harry swallowed, “I would accept your decision.” He sighed, “Don’t you understand Hermione, all I want is for you to be happy, for you to make the right decision, for you, whatever it is.”

“All right Harry we’ll do it your way, but I think you are daft,” she took his hand in hers and drew lazy little circles in his palm with her fingertip. “I am happy right now.”

Harry’s memories continued to flow into the pensive and Hermione unwilling to upset him studied them all. The competition for the Triwizard Cup she found quite fascinating, although she was a little miffed that it was Ron chosen, as the thing Harry would miss the most and not her, partly now because she suspected it wasn’t the case. Poor Harry nothing appeared to be easy for him. The interplay between the three of them at Yule Ball was interesting. She was especially tickled by Harry’s reaction to the change in her appearance and, thank goodness, the teeth of her younger self had receded to what she now considered normal. Harry’s memories of the death of Cedric Diggory and the rest of that night when Voldemort returned were traumatic to say the least. She knew that the first time around she could never have grasped the enormity of what Harry had experienced but standing next to him, living them and watching those awful events play out she understood better now than any save Harry himself. To her it spoke volumes about the character of the young man at her side.

They interspersed their trips down Harry’s memory lane with explorations of the little town, of which their house proved to be the northern most dwelling. At one time, a fishing village that industry had long since vanished, the town that had grown up relied on holidaymakers for the locals to make a living. The very end of August was a busy time for the town and suitably dressed in muggle attire Harry and Hermione were able to blend in and find the anonymity they desired. A sandy stretch of beach near the old harbour appeared to be the greatest attraction, in fact apart from a Punch and Judy man and a rather rundown amusement arcade, it was all there was. But a spell of warm sunny weather and calm seas ensured that everyone was having a good time.

One sunny afternoon Hermione was lying out in the back garden. She and Harry had cleared a small patch and found a serviceable lawn under all the vegetation, sheltered from the persistent sea breeze it was quite a suntrap. Hermione was dressed in a scanty bikini she had found in one of the shops in town and was lying on her stomach soaking up the warmth from the sun. Harry was watching her; it was hard not to stare. He found that to save himself, he was continuously forced to turn his eyes away from her perfect form and in this instance, they wandered to the roof of the house. Perched on the ridge was a owl, it was a large bird with ear tufts and bright orange eyes, Harry had only seen one like this before and it had belonged to Draco Malfoy. He could not imagine that this particular bird was his but it did look very out of place and Harry held out his arm, just has he had used to do for Hedwig. The bird seeing him swooped down and landed on Harry’s proffered arm its sudden appearance in the garden causing Crookshanks, who had been curled on the blanket next to Hermione, to run for cover in the bushes. Harry winced as the bird’s talons bit through the material of the light shirt he was wearing and into his arm, he quickly transferred the owl to a more insensitive perch, the back of the old chair he had been sitting in and examined the bird’s leg to see if it was carrying a message. It was and much to Harry’s astonishment the message was from Ron.

Dear Harry

How do you like our new house owl? His name is Titus, poor old Errol fell foul of the Death Eaters when they paid us a visit last year. My main reason for writing is to ask you when you will be coming back. Kingsley Shacklebolt is very keen to have you on our team, he has already recruited Neville and me on a short term assignment to help hunt down some of the DE’s that got away and feels that you would be a great asset (so do I). Luna has been staying at the Burrow, well there’s not much left of her own house and we’ve started seeing each other (if you know what I mean). Things just sort of happened and I had no reason to hide my feelings, you were right she is a very special girl. We have to be a bit discrete here, it’s not easy with mum around, but I’ve been asked to go and trial for The Cannons (be lucky if I make the reserves). Luna is coming with me, so we’ll have a bit of time on our own before she goes back to school, she had already told them she would be returning late.

Funny but I thought once Voldemort was put in his box for good, things would go back to the way they were but losing Fred and Hermione not to mention Remus and Tonks has really shaken things up around here. The motto everywhere seems to be ‘pick up and move on’ not easy for some I’ll bet but ...well it’s working for me. Sorry if I am rambling Harry but you know letters are not my strong point. Oh, by the way Ginny has asked after you.

Keep it real mate

Ron.

Harry had slipped into the kitchen to read the note, he wasn’t cross, the contents of the note just filled him with sadness, it was clear that in Ron’s mind Hermione was as dead as his brother was. Harry looked out into the garden someone less dead it was impossible to imagine. Hermione turned over onto her back and stretched her arms; the sun reflecting off her skin made it glow with health, she was so very much alive. For a moment, Harry wondered if he was being a fool. He knew the new Hermione could be his and Ron was certainly not interested, but as much as he loved the girl lying out there, if there was a chance, even if it was minute, he still wanted to try to get his old Hermione back. Now it was not for Ron, it was for him and most of all it was for her.

Harry did reply to Ron but he wasted no words...

Dear Ron

Sorry but I’m still busy! Kingsley will have to wait, when and if I am ready, I will let him know.

Harry.

As the month of September wore on Harry continued his laborious and now self-imposed task to tell Hermione all that he knew and despite his knowledge of Ron’s feelings, he left nothing out.

There was the ridicule and the pain Harry suffered at the hands of Delores Umbridge and the pleasure that Harry showed for the ingenuity of Hermione and her lead in the formation of the DA. The flight of Fred and George, the defeat of the toad and the inquisitorial squad were all wonderful but then came the disaster of the battle at the ministry. The loss of Sirius was devastating but as Harry watched the tableau unfold, he now knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, his godfather had already accepted his fate. However, his actions had nearly caused Hermione’s death and that troubled him even more. Standing by his side, feeling Harry tremble and hold onto her for comfort as the memory unwound Hermione could not help but realise that too.

Through the last days of September and all of October they worked, not every day but most. Harry showed her the failings of an old man that ultimately led to his untimely, or was it a timely death, Harry was not so sure now. His success at potions was nothing although it had seemed important at the time. His relationship with Ginny was scrutinised by Hermione, Harry looking on in embarrassment, but he needn’t have worried, she knew the reason he had turned to the red haired witch and she was pleased he had at least found some comfort after the old man’s death.

Hermione often wished these memories were more than unalterable events because there were several incidences when she would like to have taken her old self off for a very serious chat, but the course of history was relentless and ploughed on regardless. Hermione also noticed that Harry was very careful to be as clear as possible, when he retold his impressions of the feelings she had for Ron. Hermione loved him even more for that and she began to understand his compulsion to tell her all he could.

It was the beginning of November and the weather on this part of the coast was taking on a decidedly wintery feel but they were on the last leg now. The memories were fresher in Harry’s mind now but harder for him to retell. With the tale came the fear and the knowledge that the time for him to fight Voldemort was getting closer and that, as yet, he had no idea how he was to survive to do it, let alone win. They followed the hunt for the horcruxes and the incidental discovery that the deathly hallows were going to be just as important. Then the hardest part for Harry, not the sacrifice of death, the loss of friends and family, but the fact that Hermione had fallen in love with Ron. However, Hermione regarded that part with indifference; that Hermione didn’t exist anymore. The new girl was far more interested in the magic involved and the way Harry used it to defeat Voldemort. She began to understand that Dumbledore for all his imperfections had steered events, even that of his own death, to ensure that Harry arrived armed with the correct weapons to cause Voldemort’s downfall.

It was over, they had reached the end of the battle and Harry stopped his memory flow. Their consciousness returned to the parlour and Harry flopped back in his chair exhausted with the effort of the days work and the beginnings of a headache.

“There that’s all of it, well most anyway there’s just the bit where I found you after you were attacked but not tonight I’m too tired,” he said, running his hand through his hair. There was a rumble of thunder from outside and a whistle of the wind at the front door. “Looks like it might be a rough night,” he said. “I’ll make sure all the windows are closed.” He pulled himself to his feet and went about his self-imposed chore.

Hermione followed him with her eyes, she had all the information Harry could give her and yet as far as she could tell it had not brought anything else back. It was sad in a way but she did not mind, she, the Hermione that was here, now, was in love with the young man that had tried to give her back her life. That was gone, into the past and perhaps that is where it belonged. She knew that now Harry’s task was finished they could start again, he would keep his word, he would stay with her where he belonged and that was the greatest comfort of all. They would have to come to terms with the new situation but that was for tomorrow, ‘sleep on it girl’ she told herself it will work itself out.

They both slept restlessly that night, the thunderstorm had worked itself up into a real frenzy. The wind howled and the thunder and lightning crashed and flashed around the house making sleep nearly impossible. Harry’s mind was filled with the story he had told to Hermione, brief excerpts flashed across his mind in time with the lightning. It was all there, as much and more than he could remember, as honestly as he could retell it, he had finished the story. As that thought ripped through one of his incoherent dreams a wand, nestling in the dead arms of one of its former masters, responded to its current and hopefully its final master. Although Harry had returned the Elder wand to Dumbledore’s tomb the day before they had left Hogwarts and assumed that its part in his life was over, they were still very much connected. Harry had held that wand and had cast a spell many weeks ago but now the terms of that enchantment were met and the magic was released.

Hermione had slept only briefly; dreams were more common for her now. With Harry’s memories of the past and some new ones of her own, there was beginning to be more for her to dream about. But the dream she had tonight was about something for which she had no conscious memory. There was Harry and a strange wizard casting a spell and she was the target of that spell. She could feel the spell in her dream, invading her mind, pushing its way through Harry’s story, Harry’s memories, until it reached a wall. Hermione awoke with a start the dream was very fresh in her mind, no the dream was still in her mind, the wall was there she could imagine it, see it, so big, so solid then the spell was at the barrier and it touched it. The touch was so light, like a butterfly’s wing but at that touch the wall dissolved and everything that was Hermione, the Hermione that Harry had searched so long for that somehow he had protected, was released. The realisation and shock were too much for the young witch and in self-preservation Hermione’s mind called it a night and she passed out.

When she her consciousness returned it was still dark, the fog slowly cleared from her mind and she remembered. She remembered her mother and father and all the little incidences from her childhood that had meant so much to her and some that had hurt her deeply. She remembered the arrival of that letter, written in green ink, delivered by an owl of all things that had changed her life completely. She remembered the train, Neville and his toad and she remembered Ron and everything he had meant to her, but most of all she remembered Harry. For alongside her own memories there were his, still there, his hopes, his feelings and she wished she had known them before, because it would have made all the difference.

She lay there a long time analysing everything until, through her bedroom window the pale, weak, early morning sunlight began to make an appearance. The storm must have blown itself out during the night and in the strengthening light Hermione slipped out of bed padding across the floor in her bare feet. The door to Harry’s room was slightly ajar and it moved silently on its hinges as she pushed it open. Harry was lying on his back, she noticed that his hair was in even more of a mess when he was asleep and it was bad enough when he was awake.

He was still dead to the world, catching up on the hours missed while the storm had raged. It seemed a shame to wake him and for a while, she resisted the temptation. She crossed over to his bed and looked down at the sleeping wizard. Perhaps for the first time she actually saw him at peace his features relaxed and his breathing calm, perhaps for the first time she was looking at the Harry she really wanted to get to know. She could not resist it; she reached out and with her fingertips gently traced the scar that wound its jagged way across his forehead. He stirred and mumbled something she didn’t catch then he spoke again and her heart caught in her throat, it was her name.

“Hermione.” Just a sleepy whisper, perhaps something from a dream.

“I’m here Harry,” she replied quietly, as she knelt by the side of his bed.

“I should have told you a long time ago,” his voice trailed off into mumbling again.

“What should you have told me Harry?” she enquired in the same soft tone.

“Umm... oh... that I love you.”

“Really?”

“Yes for a long time now... a long time... but I could never let you know, not for real... in a dream like this it’s ok... Maybe... maybe one day I will be able to tell you, when you’re better... yes when you’re better.” Harry sighed deeply and reached out to take his phantom Hermione in his arms. When he clasped her to him she felt far more real than she had in any of his dreams before, she was warm and solid and carried a fragrance that meant just one thing to him, Hermione. This was a dream he would be happy never to wake from, but unkindly sleep began to leave, but the girl of his dreams did not.

Harry opened his eyes to find his arms full of Hermione, her face mere inches from his own with a tiny trace of dampness in her eyes. He wondered if he should release her but then he realised that she was holding on to him just as tightly.

“Hermione?”

“Umm... yes it’s me,” she wiggled up onto the bed to lie beside him and rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating through the thin material of his tee shirt; it seemed to be a little fast. She lifted her head to stare at his face again, his expression was priceless, but she couldn’t laugh. “Harry it’s really me, all of me... I remember everything.”

“What!” Harry sat blot upright nearly tipping Hermione back onto the floor. He grabbed her shoulders and drew her back towards him holding her tightly, he felt her slip her arms around him to return the embrace. There was such a confusion of thoughts tripping through his brain that nothing coherent gained access to his mouth, it was all he could do to hang on to her and rock her gently. He could feel the dampness as her tears soaked through his tee shirt, but the tears he knew were of happiness, for the same ones were falling from his own eyes.

“You... you... can remember everything?” he managed to sob out.

“Yes, oh yes, I can, your spell it worked! You and that strange wizard Harry, you did it.”

“But you never met Cervelet, you were asleep, how could you know?”

“I don’t know Harry,” Hermione was laughing and crying at the same time, “Tonight I saw you both in a dream, you cast the spell and it broke the wall. Oh! Harry it’s all back, it’s so wonderful.”

Then some of the delight drained from Harry as a heartbreaking thought seeped into his mind. “You remember Ron as well?” he hated himself the moment he said it.

Hermione drew back from him a little, reached over to the bedside table and picked up Harry’s glasses. She opened them up and carefully put them on him, now he could see her and the reproachful expression on her face. “Of course I remember Ron.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...” he shut up as she placed a finger against his lips.

“I remember the way I used to feel about Ron, and even now I am very fond of him,” she gave a little sigh. “But things change, I love him but I am not in love with him, I have fallen in love with someone else.” She gave Harry a very pointed stare.

“I love you, you know,” he said simply, and took her hand in his.

“Yes I do, you said so before,” she replied softly.

“But that was in a dream, I’ve never said it to you properly,”

“Well say it now,” she whispered.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love you Hermione, you mean the world to me.”

Hermione lifted her eyes from the hand he had kissed and looked full into the face of the young man who had risked everything to save the wizarding world and then at the moment of success was prepared to sacrifice his future for her. She threw her arms around his neck pulling him to her and as their lips met in a passionate kiss she was murmuring, “I love you too... I love you too.”

Much later that morning Harry and Hermione were sitting together on the sofa contemplating their future. The bond between the pair had changed beyond either of their expectations, it had taken them both a little by surprise but neither had any reservations or regrets about what had happened. The acknowledgment of their love for each other and its release had overwhelmed them, the desperation with which they had clung to one another had stimulated them both and neither had the desire to prevent what followed. It was a first for them both; the exquisite pleasure of a union that was so perfect and so fulfilling, left them exhausted. There was no embarrassment in the aftermath of their lovemaking, only happiness, which filled both their hearts to overflowing.

Now there was nothing but the future to consider and of course, what they were going to do with it. Hermione knew that she had to look for her parents, happy and unaware of their previous lives they might be but Hermione had now a rather unique insight into the value of memories and there was no way she could deny them theirs. Harry agreed but asked if they might make a small detour to Hogwarts as he felt he owed it to Madam Pomfrey to tell her the news of Hermione’s recovery. He also broached the subject of Ron but instantly wished he hadn’t.

“Why should we tell him?” Hermione retorted, “He hasn’t been that concerned about us, we haven’t seen him and he hasn’t written.”

“Actually he did come to see you but Madam Pomfrey had put you into a deep sleep,” Harry told her. “After that because of the treatment we were trying on you, he wasn’t allowed.” Then Harry produced the parchment that Titus had brought him. “And he did write, but I think you will find the contents of the letter even more disturbing than the thought that he hadn’t written at all.” He passed the parchment over and watched as she read it and saw the pain in her face.

“He talks about me as if I was dead, like the others, how could he?” her voice full of disbelief.

“You have to understand,” Harry said gently, “that he wasn’t the only one who doubted that you would ever come back; remember it has never happened before. Only Pomfrey, Cervelet and...”

“You, Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “You never gave up on me.”

“No I didn’t, but I had to believe, I couldn’t afford to lose you.”

“And Ron could?” she exclaimed.

“I don’t know love,” he replied softly, “but I’ll bet there was no one to tell him you would be fine, he would have had no hope to hang on to.”

“It’s alright Harry you don’t have to keep making excuses for him.” She gave a big sigh, “I’m not really sure why I’m bothered, perhaps it’s because it shows how mistaken I was in my first choice for a boyfriend.” She put an arm around his neck pulling him close and kissing him soundly. “So glad that I had the chance to put that right,” she whispered.

* * *

Just one more to finish it off.

Solomon Aegis.

Chapter 6

All the Way Around and Back Again

They packed up the small house that had been their home for the last few months, bade it a fond farewell and apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. Hermione let go of Crookshanks, who had apparated with them wrapped in her arms, he shot through the gates to the old castle and granting his mistress one last look, disappeared into the bushes.

“He’ll be fine,” said Hermione in reply to Harry’s questioning eyebrows. “Almost like home for him anyway, and he can always go to Hagrid’s if it gets too cold, better for him until we get settled.”

Harry pushed open the gates and ushered Hermione through, they closed behind them of their own accord before Harry could do it himself; it seemed that the castle was expecting them. The first term without the spectre of Voldemort hanging over the school, was in full swing and Harry reasoned that today must be a Saturday, for there was a stream of students heading toward the Quidditch pitch and he could see the players circling overhead.

There were still a few students leaving the castle as Harry and Hermione walked up the steps. Some of the older ones stopped to stare at them as they disappeared inside and they could hear the whispers. ‘It’s Harry Potter and isn’t that Hermione Granger with him?’ ‘What do you think they are here for?’ ‘I’d heard she was ill.’ But the couple ignored the gossiping and carried on up the grand staircase to the hospital wing on the first floor. The great doors to the ward were open and inside they could see the busy figure of the hospital nurse as she arranged the beds and bedclothes in preparation for the inevitable consequences of a Quidditch match. Harry and Hermione stood quietly at the threshold to the ward and watched as Madam Pomfrey smoothed out the covers on the last bed to her satisfaction. The mediwitch seemed to sense that someone was there and she looked to the entrance of the ward as she finished with the bed. Her eyes sought out Harry’s face and saw a smile blossom on it accompanied by a slight nod of his head. She gasped and her hand flew to cover her mouth then in a bustle of starched apron and immaculately pressed uniform Madam Pomfrey broke many years of her own rules and trotted up the ward to the young couple waiting for her.

“Oh my dears!” she cried, “Is it true?”

“Yes,” answered Harry happily, “It worked Madam Pomfrey, Hermione remembers everything.”

“You do?” she asked the girl in question, barely able to contain her surprise and delight.

Hermione was nodding and smiling at the exuberance being shown by someone who had always seemed so serious to her before. “Yes, everything is where it should be,” she tapped the side of her head, “And I have the bonus of understanding things from another’s point of view,” she took Harry’s hand in hers and held it tightly, “and you would be surprised the difference that has made.”

Madam Pomfrey glanced between the two teenagers, smiled but wisely kept her council. “You must come to my office and tell me how you managed it; I know Professor Cervelet will be so pleased to know that his theory works.” The nurse rustled away to her office with Harry and Hermione following slowly behind, by the time they caught up with her she had already conjured up couple of comfy chairs and a pot of tea. “Sit both of you, please.”

So Harry and Hermione told Madam Pomfrey of Harry’s continued efforts to awaken Hermione’s memories using his own as a catalyst, until finally Hermione reached the bit where she described the spell that actually did the job.

“That’s not possible,” Madam Pomfrey was incredulous that this was fact. “Some spells can be given a short delay, ten, fifteen, minutes, half an hour at the most but nearly three months, I’m sorry but I don’t believe it.”

“I think the delay was my fault,” admitted Harry. “When I cast it I had it in my mind that I wanted very much to pass all my memories of our life together on to Hermione. I wanted her to understand my side of the story of the last seven years, so I assume that the spell only worked when I had fulfilled all the conditions I had set on it.”

Madam Pomfrey was not convinced. “You may be an excellent wizard Harry but there would have to be some very special circumstances for you to pull that off.”

“I think there were,” he countered; Madam Pomfrey gave him a look that was a demand for further explanation, Harry obliged. “Well... no one knew of course but I was in love with Hermione more than I let on,” the nurse hid her smile well, “and that apparently formed a connection that my wand was able to tap into.” He pulled his wand from his pocket and turned it in his fingers.

“Go on Harry, tell me more,” Madam Pomfrey encouraged him.

“The thing is the wand I used was not mine,” Hermione’s head snapped up and she caught his eye. There was surprise because she had not known about the elder wand and a warning in her gaze. Harry acknowledged her concerns and she knew he would be circumspect... “Not this one anyway,” He looked down at the symbol of his magic power. “This other wand was very powerful, it was not really mine but it recognised me as its master. It had already led me to her side on the day Hermione was attacked. It knew Hermione was in danger and even before I reached her, it acted on my will to protect her mind. That is why Hermione was not completely obliviated then when I cast the spell to release her mind I touched the wand to her temple and it marked her.” He reached over and with the tips of his fingers moved Hermione’s hair back a fraction revealing a small circular mark a faint dirty smudge just behind her hairline. “I thought that meant the spell had done all it could. I just didn’t realise...”

“But even though you thought the spell had failed you didn’t give up,” said Hermione gently.

“No I didn’t,” he admitted shaking his head.

“And powerful wand or not, that’s what makes you special Harry,” Hermione leaned forward and kissed him.

Madam Pomfrey watched the byplay with the contentment that comes with being proved right in the end, but that did not dissuade her from pursuing the instrument that had cured the incurable. “And that wand Harry, where is it now?” she asked.

“I destroyed it,” Madam Pomfrey looked horrified. “It was Voldemort’s,” said Harry simply, as if that was a good enough reason for his actions on its own. He knew he wasn’t being truthful but it was better that she thought the wand out of reach.

He turned to the girl by his side and took her hand. “Come on Hermione I think it’s time for us to go, lots to do.” They stood to go but Harry turned back to the mediwitch still sitting at her desk in stunned silence. “Please thank Professor Cervelet for us, he will have to keep trying with his cure, I don’t think Hermione’s case was strictly conventional, but we couldn’t have done it without the both of you.”

Madam Pomfrey regained her composure and watched as the pair walked out of her office and down the ward hand in hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which of course it was.

* * *

Australia is a big place but tracking down Hermione’s parents wasn’t as difficult as Harry had imagined it would be. There weren’t that many dentists called Wilkins to begin with and only one couple called Wendell and Monica. Their surgery on Sydney’s North Shore was quite impressive, and Hermione was beginning to have doubts about interfering with their lives yet again.

“They never had anything like this back home, Harry,” she confided in him as they watched the comings and goings from the busy clinic. “Perhaps we should leave them as they are.”

Harry knew his young lady well and he could see the hurt in her eyes and the pain it was causing her to be without two of the most important people in her life. “They don’t have to lose any of this, returning their memories won’t affect that, unless they want it to.” He looked deeply into her troubled eyes. “And to be honest if I was given the choice between all the money in the world and having you back in my life, the money wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You really think so Harry?”

“I know so,” he replied so confidently that all her doubts vanished.

They waited until the clinic was about to close. The receptionist was just about to shut and lock the door when Harry arrived supported by Hermione and clutching a handkerchief to his face with a look of intense pain in his eyes.

“Can I see the dentists please,” he mumbled through the material and moaned as if in real pain.

“What is it Sarah?” came a voice from the bowels of the surgery.

“A young man with a tooth ache, by the look of things,” the receptionist shouted back.

“Oh... Ok let him in,” said the voice of Mr. Granger, with a resigned tone, supper was going to be late again.

“You want me to stay?” Sarah asked, not really wanting the answer to be yes.

“No that’s fine Mrs Wilkins and I will deal with it.”

Sarah gave a sigh of relief, beckoned Harry and Hermione in through the door yelled, “Cheerio then!” and disappeared out onto the street and away.

The silence in reception was broken only by the tinkling sound of dental instruments being arranged in the treatment room as Harry stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket and Hermione drew her wand. She pointed it toward the door from which the gentle sounds of a dentist preparing for work were issuing and waited. Her father stepped through first and the smile of greeting he especially reserved for any patient froze on his face. ‘A hold up! ...At a dentist’s! ...Surely not! ...Not by a girl with a stick in her hand anyway!” The thoughts flashed across his mind. Then Hermione’s mother appeared behind her husband and the stick in the girls hand began to tremble.

“Please,” said the young man, standing just behind the girl, in a very calm even voice, “we mean you no harm. Would you stand next to each other,” Mr and Mrs Wilkins moved slowly out into the room. Harry held up his hand. “That’s fine thanks.” He smiled; it didn’t really reassure them. “Now Hermione,” but the girl hesitated.

Hermione saw her parents cringe and suddenly was very cross with herself for frightening them this way. Her wand spat magic at her command and the spell struck lifting the memory modification it had placed on them over a year before.

A curtain of illusion rose and Wendell and Monica Wilkins faded into the background as David and Natalie Granger regained their memories. The girl who had appeared so threatening moments before was no longer a stranger. “Hermione!” They both cried out together, as she flew into their arms.

Harry stood back and watched the reunion with happiness tinged with sadness. It was something he would never have denied Hermione but it was something that he knew he could never have for himself. Through her tears of joy, Hermione sensed Harry’s sadness, the memories she carried in her head told her exactly how the young man was feeling, so she disengaged herself from her parents’ embrace and stretched out a hand to entreat him to join them.

“This is Harry,” she introduced him between sniffs, and smiles of happiness. “And I love him very much.”

Harry blushed slightly, under the interested gaze of Hermione’s mother and father. “Err... um... pleased to meet you,” he managed eventually.

Harry let Hermione talk, she had done little else all evening, but he reasoned she was making a much better job of it than he would have done, and her parents were listening with enwrapped attention. He thought she might have covered the bit about them sleeping together now, during the few minutes he was using the bathroom, as he received a very searching look from Hermione’s father on his return. However, after a few moments thought he shrugged his shoulders, surrendering to the inevitable consequences of his daughter growing up and gave Harry a nod of acceptance. Hermione left very little out of her tale so it was well past midnight by the time she had finished. Her parents said very little, they had received a rather large culture shock in the last few hours and they wisely decided to sleep on it before passing comment. Mrs Granger had a quiet word with her daughter, before following her husband in wishing Harry a goodnight and disappearing into their bedroom.

“Ok love?” Harry asked gently, slipping his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

She pressed herself against Harry’s chest then lifted her face and kissed him. Their lips melted together and as Harry tasted the sweetness of her mouth, the passion flowed back and forth between them. They parted breathless, with the excitement that even a simple kiss left them with, Hermione snuggled back against Harry and sighed with contentment. “How could I not be alright?” she gave him a squeeze. “I’m fine Harry, really I am, I just hope mum and dad are ok with it all; I could tell it all came a bit fast for them, you know, a bit of a shock.” She paused for a moment and gazed up into the eyes of the young man she loved to distraction. “Usually they cope well, after all, over the years, I’ve had to tell them some fairly hairy tales, most of them because of you.” Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow. Hermione laughed, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they know as much about you as I do.”

“I hope not quite as much,” he whispered as he found that little spot on Hermione’s neck that if he kissed it just right made her squirm with pleasure.

She squealed in delight, “Stop it!” she giggled, then in mock sternness said, “Well they don’t know how much you snore.”

“Me!”

“Yes you!” she grabbed his hand and led him to the spare room her mother had told her they could use. “Come on Romeo, bed!”

Hermione needn’t have worried; her parents spent a great deal of the night talking and came to the conclusion that life as it was would be hard to improve on. There was only one sticking point being the names they would have to live with.

“Why on earth did you pick Wendell? I mean,” said Hermione's father the following morning, sounding rather hurt, “I don’t even look like a Wendell.”

“I’m sorry dad,” Hermione placated him, “but at the time things were a little fraught. The names were so unlike you and mum that I figured no one would be able to work out who you were.”She pouted her lower lip in mock contriteness. “I was trying to save your lives after all.”

Mr Granger drew his daughter into a hug, “Of course I understand I was not really all that serious about being upset. However,” he whispered in her ear, “if you could make it so that we are Grangers again, it would be nice.”

“Oh easy,” said Hermione confidently. That proved to be a drastic understatement; it actually took her two weeks. She was most surprised at the number of places muggles recorded their names. Harry left most of the actual work to Hermione, the paper changes were relatively easy but it needed a fine touch to confound the computers that were used so much in the muggle world. He did stand watch a few times, when it was necessary for them to gain access to what the muggles considered secure facilities but other than that, he spent the time getting to know Hermione’s parents.

Harry initially regarded Mr. Granger as a force to be reckoned with. David retained his initial distrust that any father feels when a young man threatens to take away a much-loved daughter but that lasted only for the first few minutes of their initial chat. He soon realised how much the two loved each other and the sacrifices each had made for the other over the years. He concluded that seeing as this Voldemort bloke could not separate the two of them, then he would stand no chance and who was he to try anyway. The more he and Harry talked, the more sure he was that his daughter could be in no better hands and the worries he had carried with him since the day they discovered that Hermione was a witch faded away. For his part, Harry grew to respect the man that had coped so remarkably with a daughter of such devastating talent, and survived sane.

Mrs. Granger was something else, a more mature version of his girlfriend, Harry could not help but like her instantly, and it appeared the feeling was mutual. It may have been that Hermione had told her mother more over the years about this mysterious boy that the wizarding world were pinning their hopes to; she had certainly done so recently. Whereas her father saw Harry as a good solid foundation for Hermione’s future, wherever that may lead her, Harry was regarded in different eyes by her mother. She saw the shy romantic, loving deeply but for reasons, he thought best, hiding that love, until the circumstances allowed him to show it. His efforts to help her daughter regain her memories, the very essence of herself, were far above any type of devotion Natalie Granger had ever seen or experienced.

On a warm morning, Mrs. Granger found Harry leaning on the balcony staring out over the busy waters of Sydney Harbour. The feeling of the heat and bright sunshine this close to the Christmas period was just as novel to her as to the young wizard. Hermione was out, having tracked down the last record concerning the emigration of Wendell and Monica Wilkins and then those two could be said to have never existed, which of course they never did. She heard Harry sigh.

“Penny for them Harry?” she asked quietly.

“What?” then, “Oh sorry, you mean my thoughts,” he smiled at the older woman. “Nothing really, I was just storing up a few memories to take back home. Not going to be as warm there that’s for sure.”

Mrs. Granger walked over to the side of the balcony where the white fragrant blossoms of a climbing rose were opening to welcome the sun. She fingered the flower’s delicate petals and caught the perfume that so reminded her of summer back in England.

“Memories are very precious things Harry; you know that better than probably anyone. They can be forgotten in an instant or remain with you all your life.” She gave a little laugh that was so like Hermione’s, it sent a shiver down Harry’s back. “Looking at these flowers just reminded me of something, a quotation really, by J.M. Barrie,” Harry gave her a blank look, “OH! you haven’t been a wizard that long Harry,” she said in disbelief at his ignorance, “the chap who wrote Peter Pan,” Harry nodded in understanding. “He said ‘God gave us memories so that we could have Roses in December’, something he had probably never seen or even imagined could happen.” She picked one of the blooms holding it to her face and drawing in the scent.

Then acting on impulse, not knowing how he would react, she stepped over to where Harry stood and held out her arms. He had never had the chance to respond to a mother’s wish to hold her child, but the instinct was there and he acted on it. He felt the warmth in the embrace that at once showed love, protection, and an approval that he was truly welcome in this family. “Look after my little girl Harry, give her as many ‘Roses in December’ as you can; the two of you deserve to be happy.”

Harry was caught up in the moment, emotions that had never seen the light of day because no parent had ever been physically present to illicit them, rose to the surface and Harry thought, although he actually whispered, the words that Natalie Granger was delighted to hear. “Thanks Mum.”

* * *

It was snowing in Ottery St. Catchpole and it had been for some time if the foot of snow that Harry and Hermione apparated into was anything to go by. Sensibly, they had dressed for the cold that they knew they would find. Their heavy boots crunched on the fresh snow as they walked in the direction of the Burrow and the travelling cloaks they wore kept out the worst of the wind that whipped the snow into a whirling dance that at times made it difficult to see where they were going. It was the weekend before Christmas so Harry and Hermione hoped that all the Weasleys would be in residence; it was a chance they had to take as they had promised the Grangers that Christmas Day itself would be spent with them, on a beach, enjoying the sun.

The strange crooked house that Harry knew contained the only people that, in years past, had treated him as family, appeared out of the swirling flakes of snow. It looked the same as it always had; the Death Eaters it seemed had failed to make any lasting impression on the marvellous structure that the Weasleys called home. While on the outside everything looked as normal, Harry knew that the family it contained had been changed forever by the events of last May and to be honest he was a little nervous of the reception he might receive. Hermione had only one concern and that was how Ron would behave. She knew from his letter written all those months ago that he and Luna were seeing each other, she hoped that this was still the case; it would make things much easier for her. She also considered something that had not even crossed Harry’s mind and that was the response of the youngest Weasley, when she learned that Harry and Hermione were far more than just best friends. Almost as if it would give her added protection, she drew her cloak tightly around her so that only her eyes were visible in the depths of its folds.

The sounds of merriment and George’s raucous laughter instantly ceased when Harry knocked on the front door. The silence lasted nearly a full minute before the sound of footsteps could be heard and the front door was flung open to reveal Mr. Weasley standing there, wand in hand, ready to repel or welcome the visitors to his home.

“Hello Mr. Weasley, do you mind if we come in?” Arthur stood on his doorstep frozen in place his mouth open with surprise. “Only it is rather cold out here,” Harry continued, as snowflakes blown into the hall settled on Arthur’s slippers.

Arthur suddenly came to his senses. “Harry! my boy come in, come in, your friend too,” he cried and he waved them through into the hallway. Then Mr Weasley received his second shock of the evening, which caused his mouth to drop open yet again. As Harry’s travelling companion followed him in, Arthur suddenly realised who was bundled up under the concealing cloak. “Hermione?”

“Yes Mr. Weasley, it’s me,” came the slightly muffled reply. “Merry Christmas.”

“Err... yes of course Merry Christmas... err... to the both of you,” he finally managed to stammer out.

While Mr Weasley helped Hermione to divest herself of her heavy cloak Harry walked the few steps to the sitting room door, he peered into the room and saw that they were all there. They all had the same shocked expression on their faces that Arthur had worn a few moments before; it was Ron who shook off his surprise first.

“Harry!” he leapt to his feet almost depositing Luna, who had been sitting on his lap, onto the floor. He grabbed Harry and pulled him into an ecstatic hug, banging him on the back, in the pleasure of seeing his best friend again. “I knew we’d see you soon! Oh mate you don’t know how good it is.” Ron prattled on at nineteen to the dozen. “Kingsley will be over the moon, he’s been trying to find you for months, but we all knew it would only be a matter of time, we knew you couldn’t shut yourself away for ever.” The Ron fell silent for over Harry’s shoulder he had seen someone else enter the room guided in by his father. There was a general gasp of astonishment as Hermione became visible to everyone else.

You could have picked up the silence, rolled it out and used it to make earmuffs to protect everyone from the cry of a mandrake it was so dense.

“Hi, back again,” said Hermione giving them all a wave.

“Oh my!” cried Mrs. Weasley.

“Bloody hell,” said George quietly.

“Hermione!” shouted Ginny and Luna almost as one.

“Well,” said Bill to no one in particular, “I have a feeling we have underestimated our Harry once again.” The others sat in silence shaking their heads in disbelief.

In the few seconds all this had taken, Hermione had watched the faces of everyone in the room. Most were just surprised, but Luna’s eyes had narrowed slightly and Ginny’s were wide in hope and had never left Harry. Hermione dealt with both girls at the same time by simply moving to Harry’s side and sliding her arm through his, Luna smiled but Ginny’s eyes filled with hurt and she looked away. Then Hermione’s gaze switched to Ron, he had backed away from Harry, and Luna had come up to stand by his side. There was a stunned expression on his face and then he closed his eyes for a moment as if in pain. Luna slipped her arm around Ron’s waist and gave him a little squeeze; Ron responded and wrapped his arm over her shoulders drawing him to her. No words were spoken but now everyone knew where they stood that for good or ill some life defining decisions had been made.

“I shouldn’t have believed them Harry,” Ron said, as he gave Hermione a rueful smile. “I should have believed in you and in Hermione. I let you both down once before and now I’ve done it again. I can’t be sad for what might have been,” he looked down at Luna, “things have moved on too much since then. I hope you can forgive me.”

There wasn’t much either Harry or Hermione could say but “Forgiven.” And with that announcement, the awkwardness vanished and the reconciliation of old friendships was completed. Eventually even Ginny warmed to the party that followed, she had realised long ago that Hermione would be with Harry even if her past had remained lost; but unwilling to let go completely Ginny had held onto one tiny, final hope that Harry would be free and that had lead to her disappointment that evening. Now she knew for definite, a weight was lifted from her shoulders, something she had unconsciously carried for far too long and excitement bubbled up inside her. She could hardly wait to get back to school now; there was a lot of choice there, even if none of it quite reached the standard that Harry set.

They stayed until the following morning. Arthur and Ron wrung a promise out of Harry to get in touch with Kingsley Shacklebolt after the New Year and Mrs. Weasley bade them a tearful farewell still unable to believe in Hermione’s complete recovery, despite the evidence of her own eyes.

Luna and Ron walked with them down the lane, they talked quietly together about hopes and plans for the future, the time for recriminations and what if’s was long past and it seemed a little childish to pursue them. They reached the cross roads where Ron and Luna were to go on to see Luna’s father, now living in his partly restored house once more.

“Well,” said Ron, and he took Harry’s hand, the handshake quickly became a hug, “I don’t begin to understand how you did it, but I’m very glad you brought her back to us all.” He glanced over at the girls saying goodbye to one another and sighed. “I know I couldn’t have managed it, just that one visit broke my heart.” He shook his head slowly. “To be able to take that every day ...how?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, for him the answer was easy. “I am in love with her Ron. I always have been, maybe even from the first time I saw her. I don’t know for sure anymore when it happened but there it is.”

Ron nodded, finally accepting that he would never really comprehend the passions that drove his best friend. Then Hermione was there by Harry’s side and Ron looked deep into those dark brown eyes where he had first seen real love. He drew her into a hug and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek, then held her at arms length and piled all his regrets and apologies into one word. “Sorry.” Hermione smiled, leaned in and returned the kiss.

It wasn’t snowing now but the clouds looked as if there was more to come. The others had gone their separate way. Harry and Hermione looked out over the white fields to the Burrow, just visible in the distance. In the daylight, it looked an even more magical place than they both knew it to be. The sun peeked out briefly from behind a cloud and the snow sparkled all around them. Harry took Hermione into his arms and held her close to him.

“Happy,” he whispered.

She looked into his eyes and kissed him, “Very happy Harry,” she sighed with utter contentment. “Happy in more ways than you could possibly imagine,” she fixed him with a mischievous grin.

Harry grinned back, Hermione was glowing with health and to be honest Harry wasn’t all that stupid, “Don’t you bet on that.” He said as he laughed and kissed her again; it seems that life goes on.

They glanced around, making sure they were alone, they both knew they would be back one day soon but for now, with the thoughts of blue skies and warm sun in their minds, Harry and Hermione vanished.

THE END.

A great big thank-you to all who have read and to those who have reviewed this latest offering. I am constantly amazed at the number of people who read these stories and I am eternally grateful to those who take the time to review them. I do read all the reviews and respond where I can but if I haven’t responded to yours, do not feel it is in anyway less important to me. They all guide and encourage me to write more, thank-you.

Solomon Aegis

Wiltshire, England. 2010.