1. Mrs. Granger's Daughter

The Funeral

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.

Author’s note: an alternative reality story, taking all of the books into account.

Part 1. Mrs. Granger’s Daughter

Harry Potter was dressed in a dark grey suit, with a crisp white shirt and black tie, as a mark of respect. It was a uniform that he was getting far too familiar with in recent years. One of the consequences of getting older, he supposed. Although his hair was now dark grey with streaks of silver, rather than its original black, the years had been relatively kind to him. Many of his friends and acquaintances, chief amongst them Molly Weasley, had been worried that his intimate connection with Voldermort would have some type of long term effect on Harry’s health. Hermione, however, had always maintained that, since Voldermort had never been able to possess Harry, there would be no effect. In fact, she argued that Harry’s rightful ownership of the Resurrection Stone would, if anything, make him stronger and, as usual, she appeared to be right. And so, Harry had watched stoically as many of the people that he cared about had been gradually withered by age, while he remained relatively fit and in good health.

But this funeral – her funeral – was the hardest one to take so far, because it was sudden and unexpected and because she had played such a significant role in his life. After the coffin had been lowered into the ground and people had begun to disperse, he moved away from the small knots of mourners, still talking to each other in hushed tones by the graveside, and made his way to his present vantage point, where he could survey the scene in privacy and be alone to grieve. He stood in a small, timber-framed gazebo, positioned between two large, ancient oak trees, which had clearly been erected as a place for quiet contemplation, providing an excellent view over the whole southern end of the cemetery. Harry had noticed the structure as he had walked, with the other mourners, from the cars parked near the cemetery entrance and directed his steps instinctively towards it as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He hated funerals. They always made him dwell on the past and all of his old regrets came rushing back to haunt him. And he had so many.

His main regret, of course, was for the family life that had been so cruelly taken away from him that night at Godric’s Hollow. However, there had been nothing that he could have done to prevent that tragedy and so it caused him less anguish than those subsequent life-changing moments where his inaction or wrong choices had led to years of bitterness and wasted opportunity. Dumbledore had always said that a person was defined by the choices that they made and although Harry had gotten many big decisions right, he knew that he had let other important opportunities slip through his fingers, due to a mixture of his own stupidity and the deceit of others.

He now knew that his own personal life had been a mirage in the years immediately following Voldermort’s defeat, but he had three children, who he loved, as a result of that period. He, therefore, viewed those years with mixed emotions, while forever regretting the deception that had influenced his actions. He also now regretted that he had stood idly by while his two best friends made one disastrous decision after another. Decisions that had a marked influence on their lives and also, as it turned out, on his own. However, in his defence, he had been plagued by uncertainty during that time and his view of affairs had been distorted by influences that were almost completely out of his control. As a result, he had chosen to ignore his doubts about Ron and Hermione’s developing relationship and even sought to defend them to others.

The most memorable example, and the one that he dwelt on most often, actually occurred on Hermione and Ron’s wedding day and now seemed particularly poignant. At that time, he had already been married to Ginny for over a year and she was a few months pregnant with their first child. It had been a summer wedding, which, for the benefit of Hermione’s family, had followed the traditional Muggle pattern, even though almost half of the invited guests were witches and wizards. After the ceremony, everyone had moved on from the church to a nearby hotel for the wedding reception, which had continued well into the night. The day had thankfully been warm and sunny and the evening was still calm with a cloudless navy sky, dotted with brilliant white pin pricks of light. Ginny had retired early to a bedroom upstairs in the hotel as the festivities began to wind down, complaining of tiredness brought on by her condition; but Harry was determined to remain until his two friends finally departed for their honeymoon.

The limousine hired to take Hermione and Ron to a nearby airport, well away from the view of the Muggle guests, from where they could apparate to their final destination, arrived close to midnight and the remaining revellers followed the couple down the broad stone steps that led to the drive, laughing and waving excitedly. Hermione had changed out of her wedding dress and was now wearing a light blue suit with knee length straight skirt that Harry approvingly noted emphasised her slim figure and the gentle curve of her waist. Her hair had been released and hung in long soft waves over her shoulders. Harry thought that she looked beautiful, but that was nothing unusual because to him she always did. Ron’s spindly, long frame was draped in a well-cut dark grey suit and he was smiling happily. Many of the people gathered around the couple were unknown to him, but Luna and Neville were there, together with George, Percy, Charlie, Bill and Fleur, while others, including Molly and Arthur Weasley, shouted encouragement from the hotel doorway. Harry had been the last to step forward as the couple prepared to enter the car, clasping Ron’s hand in both of his own and then hugging Hermione for what, he remembered thinking, was probably an inappropriate length of time. However, Hermione had clung to him and he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. As she pressed against him, he was surprised to feel dampness on her cheek and reassured himself that she must be shedding tears of happiness, tinged with some regret that her “big day” was drawing to a close.

“Bye Harry, take care,” she had whispered as she finally stepped back, turning her face away from him quickly and slipping into the back seat of the car, where Ron already sat waiting. Ron reached across to close the car door, a slight frown creasing his forehead, and Harry waved his arm limply as the car pulled away. He remained, hands pushed firmly down in his jacket pockets, gazing after the car long after it had moved through the tall iron-gate at the end of the hotel driveway and turned out of sight, while the other guests gradually faded back up the stairs to the hotel.

Although Harry knew that Ginny was waiting for him in the hotel, he was suddenly overcome with a dreadful sense of loneliness and a chill spread over him, even though the night was still warm. Harry shivered and with an effort turned back towards the hotel, his feet dragging through the loose gravel of the drive as he made his way towards the steps. Only as he started on his way up, did he become aware of a figure standing in the doorway, huddled as if against the cold, with arms folded across their torso. As he drew closer, he realised that it was Mrs. Granger, her gaze fixed past him, towards the gate. Her dark blue suit jacket was still buttoned and looked immaculate, but strands of her artificially dark brown hair were starting to become detached from the clips and combs that had previously held them firmly away from her face. Harry thought that she looked strained and he noticed the unmistakable trace of a tear running down her right cheek.

“Are you OK, Mrs. Granger?” Harry asked, moving towards her.

She continued to stare straight ahead, seeming not to have heard him.

“I just hope that she’s going to be happy,” Mrs. Granger sighed, rubbing the back of her hand across her damp cheek.

Harry noticed that her speech was slightly slurred and he assumed that she was feeling emotional and had drunk slightly more than she could cope with. “There’s no need to worry. Hermione and Ron will be fine together,” he reassured her with a confidence that he didn’t really feel.

“Harry?” Mrs. Granger suddenly seemed to become aware of him and gave him a weak smile of recognition. “It’s just that Hermione’s father and I always had loads in common and we’ve been so happy,” she said with a shake of her head. “Hermione and Ron are so different and they seem to bicker all of the time. Not like us at all.” She sighed again. “I know they say that opposites attract, but that can’t be any basis for a happy marriage, surely? Can it?” Her voice trailed off almost pleadingly.

“Look, Hermione and Ron have known each other since they were 12, so I think that they probably know what they’re doing,” Harry responded, but Mrs. Granger still looked doubtful.

Harry thought of his own, often tempestuous relationship with Ginny, who could never really infiltrate the closeness of his bond with Hermione and Ron and hated the fact. Even Ron sometimes felt left out of the almost psychic understanding that Harry shared with Hermione. Perhaps, Mrs. Granger was right? But then he remembered how amazed he always was at Ginny’s beauty and how his stomach lurched when he held her in his arms and his doubts drifted away.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Harry said, taking her arm. “It’s starting to get a bit chilly out here.” He pushed open the door and led her through.

In the hotel foyer, Harry let go of Mrs. Granger’s arm, directing her back towards the suite where a few of the wedding guests were still loitering in small groups, reluctant to admit that an enjoyable day was finally coming to an end. “Ginny’s already upstairs, so I’d better be going,” he told her gently.

“Oh! My husband’s sorting something out with the night porter. Don’t leave me by myself,” Mrs. Granger pleaded. “Come and have a drink with me,” and she moved away towards the hotel bar, signalling to one of the waiters who was beginning to clear tables. “Can we have that bottle of wine over here please, oh…and two glasses as well?”

Harry felt trapped and could hardly refuse Mrs. Granger’s request and so he reluctantly followed the waiter through to the bar, taking a seat across from Hermione’s mother at the table she had chosen. The bar was deserted and dishevelled, with beer mats and screwed-up paper napkins dotted over the rather tired looking carpet. The shutters were down and the only drink available was the few bottles of wine left over from the reception.

“You know, I always thought that it would be you,” Mrs. Granger confided as she poured two glasses of white wine from the half empty bottle. “You were the one who Hermione always talked about when she came home. We really didn’t know anything about Ron until Hermione brought him back to meet us a couple of years ago.”

Harry took a sip of his wine but decided to keep quiet, wondering where this conversation was heading.

“Is it true that you rescued a baby dragon together in your first year?” Mrs. Granger asked brightening. “And did you both really go for a midnight ride on a…oh, what was it called…a…a hippogriff in your third year?”

“Um…yeah, I suppose that you could put it like that,” Harry replied cautiously, realising that Hermione must have given her parents a heavily edited version of events.

“And we heard all about your exploits in the Triwizard Tournament and how you and Hermione formed that club – Dumbledore’s army, I think Hermione called it – when you got that horrid new headmistress in the year that you were taking your OWLs,” she continued enthusiastically. She smiled inwardly, “Hermione used to talk about you a lot and so I always assumed…” Her voice trailed away, as she left her thought unfinished.

“Well, Ron was there most of the time as well,” Harry responded quickly. “It was always the three of us. We were best friends.”

“Umm,” Mrs. Granger replied, sounding unconvinced. “Well, Hermione never really mentioned him. You were the only one that she talked about.”

As Harry desperately tried to think of something more to add in support of Ron, he was glad to see Mr. Granger approaching their table from behind his wife.

“Harry! I haven’t really seen much of you today. How are things?” Mr. Granger greeted him.

“Fine, thanks,” Harry replied, rising from his seat. “I’ve just been keeping Mrs. Granger company until you returned, but I really have to be getting back to Ginny now. Sorry, but it’s nice to see you both again.” Harry reached across and shook Mr. Granger’s outstretched hand, before starting to slowly back away.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Mrs. Granger. “Oh, and Harry, Hermione always admired you. She’ll listen to you. Keep an eye on her for me, will you?”

“Of course I will,” Harry replied hesitantly. “Goodnight,” and he turned and headed towards the elevators without looking back.

In their room, he found Ginny fast asleep, her breathing soft and regular and her beautiful, long red hair fanning out across the pillows. Harry quietly undressed and slipped into bed beside her, feeling the welcoming warmth radiating from her body. In spite of his relaxed mood, he found it difficult to sleep, his thoughts dwelling on his brief conversation with Mrs. Granger. Hermione had talked about him all of the time, she had said. That same Hermione who had always been so amazing; the cleverest and most resourceful person that he had ever known, apart from Dumbledore. The girl who had stuck by him through everything and without whose help he simply could not have survived. It gave Harry a warm feeling to think that she perhaps thought about him as much as he thought about her; something that he had never suspected.

But in the morning, once Ginny was awake, Harry inexplicably forgot about these thoughts and they didn’t return to trouble him until many years later.

2. The Killing Curse Deflected?

The Funeral

Part 2. The Killing Curse Deflected?

Harry had always thought that he knew Ron and Hermione as well as anyone could. The three of them had been inseparable between the ages of 11 and 18 and he could predict the way in which his two friends would react to any given circumstance with uncanny accuracy. For this reason, he had always been perplexed and disturbed by their developing romance. He had tended to share Mrs. Granger’s view that the two of them were simply incompatible.

Ron had taken an instant dislike to Hermione in their first few weeks at Hogwarts and, although he had been impressed that she had been willing to take the blame for the “troll in the girl’s bathroom incident”, he merely tolerated her from then on. Harry’s view had been different. He had been strangely drawn to Hermione right from the start, even though in those early weeks she had been just as much his nemesis as Draco Malfoy was to prove later on. Looking back, Harry supposed it was mainly the Muggle connection that had been responsible for his interest, although, he had to admit, Hermione had been a hard girl to ignore. Ron’s indifference had, however, continued and his disagreements and squabbling with Hermione had gotten worse. Harry sometimes felt partly responsible, as it seemed that the two of them were often competing for his attention. For example, Ron had seemed angrier than Harry was himself when Hermione’s actions had led to the confiscation of the Firebolt broom sent by Sirius, and it had taken all of Harry’s diplomatic skills to mend the rift between the pair.

All of that changed, however, in their fourth year at the time of the Yule Ball. It had never even crossed Harry’s mind to invite Hermione, or for that matter any of the other girls in his year. His attention was fixed solely on Cho Chang, one of the most popular and beautiful girls in the school; a fact, which he now realised, indicated how shallow and immature he had been back then. Ron’s ambitions had been even more outrageous and had led to him finally embarrassing himself by asking Fleur Delacour, a girl who was much older and totally out of his reach. Hermione had been justifiably annoyed with both of them, although she mostly took her anger out on Ron, but had then caused a surprise by procuring a much sort after date with Victor Krum, the star Quidditch player from Bulgaria. And it was at the Yule Ball that Harry had first become aware of a seismic change in Ron’s attitude toward Hermione. Ron had been openly jealous of Hermione’s date and as a result had behaved, in Harry’s opinion, like an obnoxious idiot that night, reducing the always oversensitive Hermione to floods of tears.

Looking back on it, Harry thought that he could trace the change in Ron’s attitude to the time when Hermione had been hit by Malfoy’s rebounding curse that caused her already slightly protruding teeth to lengthen alarmingly. She had cunningly taken that opportunity to get her teeth reduced to a normal size and Harry recalled how stunned Ron had been at the transformation. He could also remember how his own jaw had dropped when he first saw a remarkably beautiful Hermione descending the Gryffindor tower staircase on the night of the Yule Ball. After that night, the dynamics of the trio had definitely shifted. He supposed that both he and Ron had begun to regard Hermione differently and, in Ron’s view at least, they had become adversaries, vying for her affection.

With the return of Voldermort, Harry’s priorities had, however, changed dramatically and his relationship with Ron and Hermione had become fractured. Hermione, in particular, was now so concerned for his welfare that he sometimes felt smothered and became increasingly annoyed with her. But strangely, he had also begun to depend on her even more and the pair became closer than ever, much to Ron’s annoyance. For Harry, there was also the unexpected bonus of Cho Chang’s attention to distract him and when that fizzled out, he shifted his focus, for reasons that he now understood only too well, to Ginny Weasley. In contrast, Ron’s attempts to impress Hermione became increasingly transparent and desperate. But that was the strange thing – to Harry’s view at least – it seemed to work. Hermione became even more emotional than usual where Ron was concerned and began to act completely out of character. Firstly, she confunded McLaggen to help Ron make it onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team, then she as good as invited Ron to Horace Slughorn’s Christmas party and, finally, she attacked Ron with some conjured golden birds when he appeared with Lavender Brown.

The tension between Ron and Hermione had been palpable during the hunt for the horcruxes and, with Ginny absent, Harry found that he was increasingly troubled by their closeness. It was as if he was jealous, although he had hastened to reassure Ron that this wasn’t the case, even telling him that he thought of Hermione like a sister to ease his concern. However, Harry knew that wasn’t really the truth and he had to admit to himself that the image that Voldermort’s soul fragment had conjured of Harry intertwined with Hermione had been an appealing one. He had convinced himself that his reaction was simply due to Ginny’s absence and this seemed to be confirmed later, since, once he was back with Ginny, any romantic thoughts and jealous feelings relating to Hermione quickly disappeared.

After that, Ron and Hermione’s marriage, and, he had to admit, his own with Ginny, had been troubled. However, while his disagreements with Ginny were fairly trivial and tended to occur while he was away and they were keeping in touch by owl or through the fireplace at their home, Hermione and Ron appeared to be in an almost constant state of warfare. They disagreed seemingly about everything, ranging from their careers, to their living arrangements, their social life and how they should raise their children. Ron had now abandoned his devotion to the methods outlined in his previously invaluable copy of “Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches” and his old, conservative pureblood values had resurfaced with a vengeance, much to Hermione’s dismay. For her part, Hermione had returned to her old self, as far as Harry was concerned, and was ready to stand up to anyone and everyone, if she believed that she was in the right. But the pair of them always seemed to be able to patch up their differences and return to a somewhat strained truce. Matters were helped because Ron and Harry were often away for long periods due to their work, while Ron and Hermione developed separate social interests that also tended to keep them apart. The downside, for Harry, was that he also started to see less and less of Hermione, particularly since Hermione and Ginny had become estranged soon after he and Ginny had first started to get closer. It began with a silly row over Harry’s use of the Sectumsempra curse and the relationship between the two of them had never really improved. Ginny had always been fairly defensive where other witches were concerned and, Harry noted, she seemed to regard Hermione as a particular threat, although the reason for this didn’t become clear to him until much later. He had missed his previous closeness with Hermione, but on the few occasions that he tried to arrange a meeting, Hermione always seemed to be too busy or didn’t show up, giving him some lame excuse later on, when he confronted her.

After Voldemort had been vanquished, Harry and Ron had both joined Kingsley Shacklebolt’s new administration at the ministry. Although many Death Eaters had died that night at Hogwarts, many more had escaped or simply faded away into hiding and the sentiments that Voldermort had encouraged had not entirely died with him. There were still pockets of resistance to clean-up and occasional attempts to revive anti-Muggle and mudblood sentiment. Harry and Ron had worked tirelessly to help bring the perpetrators to justice and although, after she had completed her education, Hermione had wanted to join them, Ron had objected so vehemently that she had eventually taken a more administrative role in the Ministry.

Even 19 years later, the work was still continuing and, although Harry’s star in the ministry had been very much in the ascendant and he had been widely tipped to become a future Minister of Magic, he had still liked to work in tandem with Ron whenever the opportunity arose. And so, Harry hadn’t been surprised to see Ron stroll into his office one morning with a broad grin on his face. Ron was still as tall and lanky as ever and topped Harry by almost half a head. His face had remained perpetually youthful, still giving him an almost boyish charm, although his bright red hair was now thinning noticeably at the crown, much like his father’s.

“Have you seen that new witch working on reception?” he asked by way of greeting. “She could tell me where to go any time she liked; as long as she came along too.”

Harry laughed. “You know Ron, some things never change. Don’t you ever get tired of rejection?”

“Who says I’m always rejected,” Ron replied with a wink. “Anyway, it wouldn’t do you any harm to at least show that there is still some sentient activity down there from time to time.” He nodded significantly in the direction of Harry’s desk.

Harry shook his head in mock despair. “I’m surprised that you could even suggest such a thing. I am married to your sister, after all.”

“Well, you should watch yourself there, mate,” Ron continued remorselessly. “Ginny still has the old Weasley magic. She wouldn’t be short of offers if you weren’t around.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I am still around. Anyway, you could hardly call me experienced where witches are concerned, could you? I mean, there was Cho Chang, but that was just one snog, so it hardly counts, and then there was Ginny. And that represents the sum total of my experience with the female gender in 36 years,” Harry finished emphatically.

“I suppose your right.” Ron perched on the edge of Harry’s desk, keeping one foot on the floor for support. “And to think that I was once worried that Hermione might fancy a sad loser like you.”

Harry didn’t reply. He knew that Ron wasn’t the only one who had harboured such thoughts. Harry remembered Rita Skeeter’s article in the Daily Prophet in their fourth year at Hogwarts and the way in which Victor Krum had pulled him to one side to ask about his relationship with Hermione. He had been quick to dismiss Victor’s concerns, although the idea that the great Victor Krum saw him as a rival had been rather pleasant and had probably contributed to his revised view of Hermione.

“Anyway, enough of this trivia,” said Ron, more seriously. “I really came to tell you that McBride has been spotted.” Ron was well aware that Harry had been trying desperately to find Alexis McBride, a former Death Eater who had been responsible for the deaths of about a dozen Muggles in recent years.

“You don’t say,” Harry replied brightening. “And I suppose that you want us to go after him?”

Ron nodded, returning Harry’s smile. “You’ve got it in one!”

Harry thought for a few moments, mentally reviewing his upcoming commitments. “Well, I can’t leave for a couple of days. The kids start back at Hogwarts next week and it will be Albus’ first term – Rose’s too come to think of it – so I’ve got to be there to see him off. But after that, I promise that we can get started straight away. We should soon be able to pick up his trail. Just imagine, McBride finally within our grasp. I can hardly wait.”

Harry had been true to his word and the day after seeing the children onto the Hogwarts Express at King’s Cross, he and Ron had set off for the remote village in Wales from where the report on McBride had originated. As usual, they travelled by broom, since they both preferred this mode of transport to apparition and, in any case, their brooms could always come in useful for local travel at their destination. They flew at a high altitude, far away from prying eyes. Ron seemed sullen and preoccupied and so they travelled largely in silence. Their contact in Wales had reported that he had kept McBride under surveillance and he had further informed them that he had set up a meeting with McBride later that night, under the pretext of sharing some valuable information, to lure him out into the open. So in theory, all Harry and Ron needed to do was to wait for McBride to appear and capture him. The meeting was due to take place at a secluded farmhouse on the outskirts of the village. The farm was approached down a long tarmac drive, boarded by mature hedgerows and consisted of a white, rendered detached farmhouse positioned, along with several dilapidated outbuildings, around a circular farmyard of compacted red shale. Harry and Ron took up their positions in an empty barn directly opposite the farmhouse in the late afternoon, stacking a few hay bales into makeshift chairs, behind a line of similar bales, arranged to provide cover. It was late autumn and so dusk was already approaching as they settled in.

Ron was still quiet and Harry’s few attempts at conversation were met by monosyllabic grunted responses. By the time that darkness finally gathered around them and Ron’s outline was only just discernable against the general gloom, Harry was not able stand it any longer.

“Come on mate, you’ve been acting like a bear with a sore head ever since we started out. What’s wrong? Have I done something?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Ron replied gruffly.

Harry was well aware of the usual source of Ron’s bad moods. “Look, you can’t fool me mate. What has Hermione done now?”

“Oh, she’s impossible!” Ron suddenly exploded. “I make one silly mistake and you’d think that I’d killed someone.”

“What’s happened?”

Ron sighed and shook his head in exasperation. “It was after we dropped the kids off at King’s Cross,” he began. “I used the thingummy…oh, what’s it called…the indicator on the car, but I pushed it the wrong way and, according to Hermione, I was in the wrong lane anyway. Well, the upshot was, we had an accident. I turned straight in front of a car that was overtaking us and we got hit in the side. Needless to say, our car is now a write-off.”

Ron slouched down, a frown creasing his forehead. “I mean, everyone has accidents from time to time, but Hermione went mental! Now she assumes that I must have confunded the examiner on my driving test or I could never have passed. Why must she always think the worst?”

“Well, you did mate. Remember you told me,” Harry replied, suppressing the urge to laugh.

“That’s not the point,” Ron retorted. “It’s always the same with her. She thinks that she can do everything better than I can. I know that she does,” he finished sulkily.

Harry waited for a few minutes, allowing Ron’s anger to ebb away. “You’ve got to make allowances mate. We both know that Hermione is brilliant. She sets really high standards and she doesn’t understand that we can’t all reach them.”

“Well you don’t seem to have any problems coming up to expectations.” Ron sounded petulant and so Harry let this comment pass, reluctant to reopen old wounds.

“You knew what you were getting into when you married her. I did warn you often enough, Ron.”

“I know. I know. But you never understood. I really fancied her and I just wanted her to respect me, at least a little bit. I thought she did for a while, but she just can’t accept me for who I am. It’s as if she’s always searching for something else; wanting me to be someone that I’m not.”

Harry’s attempted reply was interrupted by a sudden movement in the farmyard. The farmhouse door was opened and a shaft of yellow light stretched out, casting shadows on the rough shale surface of the yard. A figure emerged out of the darkness to their right. It was tall and wearing a hooded cloak that hid the face and head. Harry was immediately wary. Why had the door opened before the figure appeared? Was it intended as some sort of signal? This just didn’t seem right to him and he reached out an arm to warn Ron.

“It’s McBride, come on,” Ron spoke in a loud whisper as he leapt up and hurdled the straw bales, his wand drawn and raised in front of him.

“Wait!” Harry shouted, as the figure at the doorway spun around towards Ron and, from the corner of his eye, Harry became aware of another hooded figure emerging from the shadows, wand in hand.

“Avada Kedavra!” the newcomer shouted, his wand pointed directly at Ron.

“Protego!” Harry responded desperately, his wand aiming between them.

Harry was almost too late. His protective shield was still forming as the intense ray of green light came into contact with it. The killing curse wasn’t completely deflected. Instead, it seemed to burst and break-up into hundreds of tiny bright green particles, most of which rebounded to form a haze surrounding the hooded figure, who slumped to the floor, unconscious. But some of the particles escaped through Harry’s protective charm and, while he watched horrified, they seemed to be drawn towards Ron. As Ron stood apprehensively, raising his arms to try to ward off the green mist, the other hooded figure at the doorway ran off into the surrounding fields and the farmhouse door slammed shut, leaving Harry and Ron alone in near total darkness. Ron glanced towards Harry, a quizzical expression on his face, and then slowly, almost as an afterthought, he sank to his knees, before dropping forward, face-first, onto the shale.

“Ron,” Harry cried rushing from the barn and crouching down besides his friend’s body. With difficulty, he turned Ron over carefully and cradled his head and shoulder in his arms, desperately trying to think of what he could do. He rested his fingers on Ron’s neck and encouragingly felt a faint pulse. Suddenly, Ron coughed, startling Harry, and gradually opened his eyes.

“What happened,” he croaked, surprised to see Harry staring down at him. “I’m OK. I’m OK. Did you get him?”

Harry gently let Ron go, giving him time to prop himself up on his elbows, and then moved across to the still figure lying a few feet away from them. He pulled the hood roughly back from the face.

“Yeah, it’s McBride. But he had a warning. Let’s get you back, and then I’m going to sort this lot out for good,” Harry promised.

He felt consumed by rage and a hatred for McBride, primarily brought about by his concern for Ron, but only later was Harry to find out just how much damage the events of that night had actually done.

3. Pygmy Puff Lament

The Funeral

Part 3. Pygmy Puff Lament

If Harry had harboured concerns about Ron and Hermione’s relationship, he had also often been confused about his own marriage to Ginny. It wasn’t that he had any doubts about the fact that he loved his wife. Generally, at least when they were together, they were very happy; their relationship was almost idyllic, in fact. It was only when Harry was away from home for any length of time that he and Ginny started to argue and become annoyed with each other. But it was also during these times apart that Harry had often wondered about how they came to get together in the first place. The suddenness of his attraction to Ginny had always amazed and puzzled him.

Ginny had just been Ron’s little sister, as far as Harry was concerned, even though the events of his second year at Hogwarts had convinced Harry that, for some reason, she had developed a slight crush on him. However, after he had rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets towards the end of the school year, she really hadn’t entered his thoughts for the next two years. It wasn’t because she was unattractive. By the time she had reached 13, Ginny was already developing into a beautiful young witch and Harry remembered how thrilled Neville Longbottom had been to take her to the Yule Ball in fourth year, even though she was in the year below them. Harry had far more important things to occupy his mind during those years and, in any case, all of his romantic attention had been focused on Cho Chang. In his fifth year, Ginny was around much more and became a member of Dumbledore’s Army, but he still felt nothing for her. He even remembered being openly hostile to the idea of her accompanying them to the Ministry of Magic, when he took the others on that fool’s errand to rescue Sirius. His reaction, as he recalled, had nothing to do with concerns about Ginny’s safety but simply resulted from his lack of respect for her magical ability at the time.

By then, Ginny was regularly dating other boys at school, but Harry didn’t remember feeling any jealousy when she announced that she was going out with Dean Thomas, a boy in his year, as they returned home on the Hogwarts Express that summer. He had gone to the Burrow at the end of the school holidays, before his sixth year at Hogwarts started, and still there had been nothing. Ginny had been around and he was more conscious of her presence, but that was only because she had started to latch on to the trio whenever she had the opportunity. Then, on the train going to school that year, everything changed and he had suddenly felt the first stirrings of attraction for her. Things escalated rapidly from that point and by the middle of the first term he had become obsessed with thoughts of her. She haunted his dreams and his stomach churned and his chest tightened whenever he saw her.

It had seemed perfectly natural to him at the time and he had just thought that this was what being in love felt like. It was only when he looked back at that period, some years later, that the sudden progression had sometimes seemed slightly odd. He had been completely out of control, he realised, and his thoughts and feelings had been totally different to those that he had experienced for Cho Chang. Yet, he had not found it difficult to contemplate leaving Ginny to go and hunt horcruxes and although he had occasionally thought longingly about her during those dreary months, he suspected that had been more to do with loneliness and the despair brought about by the presence of Regulus’ locket. It had also been strange that when he finally saw Ginny again, as she emerged from the portrait in the Room of Requirement, it had been like he was seeing her for the first time and he had immediately been struck by her beauty; something that he had simply not remembered with any clarity.

But, despite these occasional doubts, Harry had been reasonably content in those first few weeks after the capture of McBride. Ron had seemed to be suffering no after effects from his brush with the killing curse, although he was complaining of the occasional headache, and Harry had won fresh laurels for ending McBride’s rampage and also uncovering a previously hidden cell of Voldermort sympathisers. Harry had therefore slipped back effortlessly into his daily routine and had no idea of the pitfalls that lay ahead.

It was only some two years later, when Ron’s headaches began to become more regular and painful that Harry had any cause for concern. Ron went to see several specialists in the effects of dark magic and Hermione scoured the libraries and bookshops for information. But nobody was able to pinpoint exactly what was wrong and so eventually Ron had been admitted to St. Mungo’s for observation. Harry and Ginny had visited him frequently, normally finding Hermione already at his bedside when they arrived. However, due to several incidents of rowdy behaviour, St. Mungo’s had recently introduced a strict policy of only two visitors per patient at any one time. For this reason, Hermione, who had never been one to flout the rules, always quickly departed, with hasty goodbyes, when the two of them appeared, so that Harry had little time to talk with her.

And then, three weeks after Ron’s hospitalization, Harry had woken up one morning feeling decidedly strange. He had been light headed and dizzy, as he groped for his glasses on the bedside table, and when he stood up, bright flashes of light had pulsed before his eyes. As he had dressed, these symptoms had improved slightly and so, when he had slowly and carefully wandered down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast, he had almost, but not quite, returned to normal.

Harry and Ginny lived in a large four-bedroom terraced house in one of the most exclusive parts of wizarding London, which was furnished and decorated in a modern manner that was completely at odds with the Burrow and Grimmauld Place. The bedrooms, landing and stairs were thickly carpeted and so, although Harry was still slightly groggy, his heavy footsteps were muffled as he descended into the hallway. The kitchen was a large, bright, welcoming room, positioned towards the back of the house. It had white walls and shiny white cupboards to offset black granite work surfaces and dark grey, ceramic floor tiles. From the interior wall, an island of cupboards effectively divided the room into two similar sized compartments. In the centre of the nearest of these was a large table, with a thick, smoked-glass top, surrounded by six chairs. On the outer wall there was a large window, positioned above a double sink unit, and a glass panelled door that opened out onto a long, narrow garden. Since Lily had finally joined her two brothers at Hogwarts, Harry and Ginny now had the house to themselves for most of the year.

When Harry entered the kitchen, Ginny was already standing before the sink, casually lifting her breakfast dishes from the table, cleaning and drying them, before stacking them back into one of the kitchen wall-cupboards with a flick of her wand. She was deep in thought and didn’t acknowledge his presence as he sat down at the table and picked up the folded copy of the Daily Prophet that had been left there for him, flicking it open to the front page. As Ginny moved past him, to go into the lounge, Harry didn’t experience his normal urge to grab her around the waist and pull her towards him and he shook his head to clear it, wondering why he was feeling so abnormal. Ginny returned a few moments later, a concerned expression on her face.

“I don’t think Elfreida is feeling well today,” she informed him, frowning. “She’s just lying on her blanket and her breathing seems really shallow.”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing. Perhaps she didn’t sleep too well,” Harry replied, glancing over the top of his newspaper. Elfrieda was the name of Ginny’s pet Pygmy Puff. Ginnny had purchased her from Fred and George’s joke shop, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, at the beginning of her fifth year at Hogwarts. This meant that Elfrieda was now over 20 years old and Harry suspected that her lifespan was probably nearing its end, although he didn’t trouble Ginny with this thought.

“Well, I’ve never seen her like this before,” Ginny continued. “How are you feeling, Harry? Are you all right? Some type of negative charm might have been cast in the area without us being notified.” She peered at Harry, looking slightly more worried than he thought was warranted by concerns over a sick pet.

“No, I feel fine,” Harry lied, not wanting to increase Ginny’s anxiety level any further.

To Harry, there seemed to be a stiffness about their exchanges, an almost mechanical quality that was unusual. Ginny seemed to sense it too, but whether it was this or simply her concern for Elfrieda that was troubling her, Harry couldn’t be certain. For his own part, it crossed his mind that perhaps some of those particles from the deflected killing curse might have made contact with him that night at the farm and he could be starting to get whatever it was that Ron was suffering from. But he quickly dismissed the idea as highly unlikely and, putting his newspaper back on the table top, he pushed back his chair and went to the cupboard to get some cereal, his usual weekday breakfast.

And that had been the start of it; so simple and ordinary. Harry had continued with his breakfast and then left for the ministry as usual, only giving a still worried Ginny a peck on the cheek as he moved out of the kitchen.

Harry had quickly become immersed in his work when he arrived at the office. He was in the middle of a departmental re-organisation and had to chair a number of meetings with more junior members of staff. As a result, all thoughts of Ginny, Elfrieda and the killing curse were pushed to the back of his mind. But, like the good husband and father that he was, Harry had not been entirely immune to Ginny’s distress and so, at lunch time, he had taken the almost unprecedented step of going down to the library in the basement of the ministry building to do some research on Pygmy Puffs.

He had found a detailed entry on Pygmy Puffs in the standard reference work “Magical Creatures Through the Ages” and settled down to read at one of the highly polished, dark-wood tables that lined the centre of the library’s main room. He had been surprised to find that Pygmy Puffs had originated fairly recently in Bulgaria as a result of a cross-breading experiment that had gone slightly wrong and were the favourite pet of the Veela. There were several references to unusual magical powers that were as yet not fully understood and few specific details were given. He had also been intrigued to note that Pygmy Puffs had been reclassified about five years ago and were now awarded “controlled” status; a classification generally restricted to creatures that could, under certain circumstances, cause harm to magical folk or Muggles. The reason for this change, however, was not fully explained and it was just described as “precautionary”. Their life expectancy was given as 15 to 20 years, and so it already seemed as if Elfreida was well past her prime. Like most magical creatures, Pygmy Puffs had not been noted to suffer from any illnesses or disease, but when they reached the end of their life, rather like the Phoenix, they just seemed to evaporate and disappeared but, in this case, leaving no trace behind.

Harry had been saddened by this news, since it confirmed his suspicions about the likely cause of Elfreida’s malaise and he was already trying to think of ways to break it gently to Ginny as he moved towards the library door. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had not noticed Hermione entering until they collided in the doorway.

“Oh, hello Harry,” Hermione said, startled. “You’re the last person I expected to see down here.” She smiled weakly.

“Well, you know how it is. You have to make sure you stay one step ahead of the competition,” Harry replied, attempting humour to try to defuse the embarrassment caused by their collision. “No, actually, I was just looking up some information on Pygmy Puffs. Elfreida is a bit under the weather at the moment and you know how much Ginny dotes on that thing,” he added hurriedly.

Hermione shook her head knowingly. “I might have guessed that you being here had nothing to do with work.” She paused for a moment. “I hope it isn’t anything serious,” she added awkwardly.

Harry hesitated, perplexed. Hermione seemed different to him today and, for some reason, he felt self conscious in front of her. She looked the same as she always did but Harry could detect a tension between them that he hadn’t been aware of before. He could also sense an attraction towards Hermione that he could not remember experiencing since she clung to him in the Forbidden Forest during their first encounter with Grawp in the fifth year at Hogwarts. Harry found that he was studying her closely. The narrow almond-shaped face, framed by waves of soft, light-brown hair, the expressive hazel eyes that missed almost nothing, the delicate lips….

“How’s Ron?” Harry asked quickly, to cover his confusion. “I haven’t been in to see him for a couple of days, I’m afraid.”

“There’s really no change,” Hermione replied, frowning. “If anything, he seems to be getting worse. He has started hallucinating now. Yesterday, he could see spiders in the room and you know how much he hates that. The nurse had to sedate him in the end.”

Hermione’s voice became more uncertain as she completed her sentence and Harry realised that the expression on her face had changed completely. The frown had gone and she was now gazing deeply into his eyes, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked tentatively.

Harry wasn’t sure what to say; he hadn’t been aware of anything; only that he had moved slightly closer toward her, so that they were now almost touching.

“I wasn’t. I didn’t mean…” Harry tried to organise his thoughts, but the light-headed, giddy feeling had returned and he could sense beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead.

Hermione was looking intently up at him, waiting for him to continue. But she was so close and as he gazed at her, his eyes were drawn irresistibly towards her lips; glistening and slightly parted in expectation. The scent of her seemed to overwhelm him, and he felt himself swaying involuntarily forward. Then suddenly he was kissing her. He felt the cool softness of her lips and tasted the sweetness of her breath and it was the most wonderful feeling that he could remember since that first kiss with Ginny, all of those years ago. And, just for a moment, he felt her responding and kissing him back; but then her hands were pressing against his chest, pushing him away and she took a small step backwards, looking flustered and breathing heavily, her gaze drifting downward to the floor, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Hermione. I don’t know what came over me,” Harry gabbled, feeling dazed, as if he was watching the scene unfolding from the outside.

“It’s alright,” Hermione muttered, still not looking at him. “We shouldn’t really….Look, I’d…I’d better go,” she stammered, turning quickly away and pushing the door open in one movement, before rushing out into the corridor. Harry stood transfixed, staring at the door as it swung shut and trying to understand what had just happened.

He returned to his office, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. Harry found it almost impossible to concentrate on his work and spent long periods staring out of his window over the rooftops of Muggle London, deep in thought. What if Hermione told Ron and then Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys found out about what he had just done? What then? But Harry realised with surprise that a part of him didn’t really care and just wanted to dwell on the look and feel of Hermione, desperate to repeat the experience. Why did he feel like that and why had he kissed her in the first place? It was if he had just given in to some type of primitive instinct rather than acting in any rationale, acceptable manner. Again, he wondered about the effects of the killing curse. There had to be something that could explain the odd way that he had been feeling and behaving all of that day.

By four o’clock Harry gave up on the idea of getting any more work done and he left the ministry early, wanting to put the day’s events behind him and to be alone with Ginny. But when he got home, he found Ginny, sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room, sobbing, a white tissue clasped firmly in her hands. Elfrieda had disappeared.

4. Transference

The Funeral

Part 4. Transference

Ginny had not reacted to Harry’s bad news regarding his research on Pygmy Puffs as he had expected. She had not burst into tears or become mildly hysterical. Instead, she had dried her eyes with her tissue, still sniffing occasionally, and had then become withdrawn and thoughtful. The two of them had spent a largely silent evening and had gone to bed early, both seemingly wearied by the day’s events.

In the morning, they had continued to seem awkward with each other and had moved around the bedroom and kitchen like strangers, unexpectedly thrown together by the vagaries of chance. Neither of them had mentioned Elfreida. However, as Harry had prepared to leave for work, Ginny had kissed him fiercely on the mouth; his head clasped firmly between her hands; her eyes wide open and staring intently into his own. Harry had stammered his goodbyes, before apparating to the normal place, close to the ministry building, where he always began his working day.

He didn’t immediately go inside. Ginny’s kiss had made him think once more about Hermione and he found that he was longing to see her. Was this something new, or had he always been attracted to Hermione and tried to ignore his feelings for some reason? He could remember being proud and embarrassed when Hermione had hugged him for the first time, telling him that he was a “great wizard” during their first year at Hogwarts. He also recalled sitting by her bedside gazing down at her seemingly lifeless body when she had been petrified in their second year. Then, there had been that sudden lurch in his stomach when Hermione had tightened her grip around his waist as they rode on Buckbeak, the Hippogriff, pressing the developing contours of her body into his back, her soft hair tickling his neck. But the first time that he had really been conscious of any romantic feelings towards Hermione had been when she suddenly kissed him on the cheek at King’s Cross station at the end of their fourth year. He had agonised about that kiss all summer; thoughts of Hermione and Cho Chang competing in his mind. However, by that time he had been fairly certain that Ron fancied Hermione and he suspected that she might return Ron’s feelings. He was therefore acutely aware that any wrong move on his part could have disastrous consequences for his friendship with both of them. Cho Chang had also surprisingly been very friendly towards him at the beginning of his fifth year at school and so it had been relatively easy to dismiss any lingering doubts about Hermione. However, that hadn’t stopped the pair of them seeming to become closer than ever that year. Only Hermione could have coaxed him out of the bedroom at Grimmauld Place, when he was convinced that he was possessed by Voldermort, and he could still acutely remember the despair that he had experienced when Hermione was hit by the Death Eater’s curse during the fight in the Ministry of Magic. After that, Harry had been preoccupied with regrets over Sirius, but, in any case, he had become even more wary of Ron’s possible response to any moves that he might make towards Hermione; and then things had changed completely. He had started to see Ginny in a totally different light and, after that, the suspected relationship between Ron and Hermione had solidified. However, Harry could clearly recollect the anger that had coursed through him the first time that he saw the pair of them kissing. But that had just been frustration because they were wasting time; hadn’t it?

Harry felt guilty as he entered the ministry building and walked across the polished wooden floor of the foyer towards the bank of elevators. His wife’s pet for over 20 years had just died and here he was day dreaming about another woman! The atmosphere at home had been very strained over the past couple of days and Ginny’s kiss that morning had been filled almost with an air of desperation. He needed to do something for her; to make a gesture that would bring them back together and clear his mind of any thoughts about Hermione. With a sudden flash of inspiration, Harry decided that what he needed to do was to buy Ginny a new Pygmy Puff, to take Elfreida’s place. And so, on an impulse, he crossed to the reception desk and asked the receptionist to pass a message on to his personal assistant, informing her that he wouldn’t be in for a couple of hours. Harry then left the building intent on finding a source of Pygmy Puffs.

Once he had made his decision, he worried briefly about the re-classification of the tiny creatures and what it could mean. Controlled status wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Many magical creatures that were kept as pets, such as miniature dragons and hippogriffs, enjoyed that classification. In any case, he reasoned, Ginny had kept Elfreida for over 20 years and had never shown the least sign of any adverse effects. After all, how much harm could a fluffy ball of fur actually do? Harry decided that he would check out the reasons for the change in status, once he had found a supplier, just to be safe, although he was sure that there would be no problem. He had no idea where he might find Pygmy Puffs and he therefore decided that Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes would be as good a place as any to start his search.

The business was now run by George alone and much of the fun and inventiveness had disappeared from the product line. Harry thought that George kept things going mainly in memory of his twin brother, Fred, and now had little interest in developing things in the way that the pair of them had once planned. However, the shop was still an enchanting place, as far as Harry was concerned, and he loved to wander around, seeing the enjoyment that young wizards and witches still derived from the various items of merchandise. There was also a life-size, portrait of Fred on one wall, which reminded Harry, as the image moved around, pulling funny faces and laughing, of the way that the Weasley twins used to be; before Voldermort had intervened.

George was leaning on the main counter at the far end of the shop, pushing some wobbly pink cubes around thoughtfully with the tip of his wand, as Harry entered. The opening of the door set off a burst of laughter that resonated around the cluttered space.

“Oh, hello Harry,” George looked up distractedly. “I think that we’ve got a faulty batch of “tongue twister candy”. It lengthens the tongue OK, but it just won’t tie it in knots the way it should do.” He gave the candy a last hopeful prod and then turned his full attention towards Harry. “So, what brings you here? Need some more Peruvian darkness powder or, perhaps, some of our patented hair controller?”

“Neither of those,” replied Harry smiling. “No, it’s Elfreida. She’s died, I’m afraid and Ginny is a bit upset. I thought that I would try and get her a new Pygmy Puff.”

“Can’t help you there mate.” George shook his head. “We haven’t been able to get hold of any for a long time. The Ministry put an import ban on them years ago. Now, they’re all bottled up in Bulgaria, although a few probably get sneaked out unofficially. As you know, we don’t deal with that sort of thing, being honest trustworthy citizens,” he added with a wink.

“Do you know why they were reclassified?” Harry asked.

“No. I never did get to the bottom of that. Seems to be a bit sensitive. I heard it had something to do with Dark Magic, although Elfreida always seemed perfectly harmless and innocent to me, so I’ve never really tried to find out any more. Shame really. They sold like hot cakes, when we first got them.”

Harry frowned, thinking that he had reached a dead end.

“Tell you who might know,” George suddenly continued, brightening. “Do you remember that woman who replaced Hagrid a couple of times at Hogwarts?”

“Professor Grubbly-Plank?”

“Yeah. That’s her! Well, her daughter, Greta, works at the Ministry. She’s head of the Department of Magical Creature Regulation. She’s bound to know all about it, but whether she’ll tell you anything, I couldn’t be sure.”

“Thanks, George,” Harry responded, feeling more hopeful. “I’ll give her a try. You’ve been a great help, as always.” Harry pretended to tip an invisible hat in a mocking salute. In response, George raised his eyebrows and stuck a finger in his mouth, imitating a gagging reflex as Harry walked back out into Diagon Alley.

Harry had not met Greta Grubbly-Plank and had never had anything to do with the Department of Magical Creature Regulation and so, he had no idea where to find her. Arriving back at the Ministry, he therefore checked with reception and was surprised to find that Greta Grubbly-Plank’s office was on the same corridor as Hermione’s, only further from the elevators, which explained why he had never gone passed it.

Harry approached Hermione’s office door with some trepidation. He couldn’t get yesterday’s kiss out of his mind. He had experienced a feeling of total immersion, as if there was a powerful connection between the two of them that had just been waiting for the opportunity to emerge. Harry didn’t want to risk revisiting the embarrassment of the day before and tried to sneak past Hermione’s door unnoticed. Unfortunately, however, Hermione generally kept her office door open and, sensing someone in the corridor, she looked up over the top of the half-moon glasses that she now wore for reading just as Harry inched forward.

“Harry?” Her voice at least was soft and friendly, Harry noted with relief.

Realising that he was trapped and could not avoid a confrontation, Harry quickly adjusted his path and took a step inside the office. He could see that Hermione was smartly dressed, as usual when in the office, wearing a crisp white blouse, open at the neck; her hair tied back, away from her face.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he improvised, “but, look, I just wanted to say sorry again for what happened yesterday. I wasn’t feeling too well all day and I just seemed to blank out. When I came back to my senses, I was kissing you. I don’t understand how it happened, but I must have been day dreaming or something. Lucky it was you, really. I could have kissed a total stranger,” he finished lamely.

Hermione looked back down at her papers. “Oh…well, that explains it. You’ve never….” She seemed to hesitate.

“Never… what?” Harry prompted.

“Look, was there something else that you wanted? Only, I’m very busy and…” Hermione suddenly sounded irritable.

“No,” Harry interrupted. “I just wanted to explain.”

“Well, you’ve done that now, haven’t you?” Hermione retorted. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything to Ginny, if that’s what’s concerning you.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” Harry protested. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

“OK, you’re sorry. So let’s forget it! It obviously didn’t mean anything. Now, if you don’t mind, I really must get on with this.” Hermione gestured towards the papers on her desk and then started to study them intently.

Harry shrugged and retreated sheepishly from the office, just catching sight of Hermione reaching for the box of tissues on her desk as he turned away. Harry sighed as he continued down the corridor, wondering if perhaps Hermione wasn’t feeling well or was getting increasingly worried about Ron. She seemed in a bad mood for some reason and he hoped that it wasn’t just caused by their encounter yesterday.

In contrast to Hermione’s office, Greta Grubbly-Plank’s door was firmly shut. Harry knocked tentatively with his knuckles and was grateful to hear a muffled “Come in,” uttered from the other side.

Greta Grubbly-Plank turned out to be a fairly plain looking woman, who appeared to be slightly older than Harry. She had straight shoulder length, dark brown hair, flicked under at the ends, and matching brown eyes that peered at Harry through large, dark-rimmed glasses, from under a long fringe. Her skin was tanned and already heavily lined, presumably from spending time out in the open, tracking down or managing the creatures that she regulated. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly gentle and feminine, belying her fairly rugged appearance.

“Harry Potter!” she explained, pushing her chair back and extending her right hand across the desk, palm open, in invitation.

Harry was used to being recognised by complete strangers and crossed to the desk in a few purposeful strides; seizing Greta’s outstretched hand and shaking it warmly.

“Ms. Grubbly-Plank, nice to meet you,” Harry gushed enthusiastically.

“Oh, call me Greta, please. And what on earth have I done to deserve this honour?”

Harry smiled. “I’ve come to pick your brains actually. I’ve got a little problem that you might be able to help me with.”

Greta sat back down in her chair, indicating a guest chair on Harry’s side of the desk with a wave of her arm.

Harry accepted the implied invitation to sit down and lent forward trying to decide how to approach things.

“My wife has had a pet Pygmy Puff for quite a few years,” he began. “Recently, I came across the information that they are now “controlled”, which worried me somewhat. The thing is… I can’t seem to find out why and I’m wondering if my wife might be at risk in any way.”

Greta Grubbly-Plank looked thoughtful for a moment, steepling her fingers in front of her lips. “I shouldn’t think so,” she began eventually. “As I recall, it was purely a precaution and I don’t think that there have been any reports of problems in this country. Not long after the demise of He-who-must-not-be-named, however, we did start receiving some rather strange reports from Bulgaria about peculiar Dark Magic that appeared to be associated with the little creatures. It seems that they can possibly act as a conduit for emotional control of others. In particular, we had reports that some witches or wizards were using Pygmy Puffs to romantically ensnare some poor, unsuspecting victim. It seems that by using the right type of Dark Magic an individual can be driven to feel an infatuation – perhaps even love – for the owner of the beast. The effect is strongest when the Pygmy Puff is present or close-by, but wanes if there is a long period of absence, only to reassert itself as soon the two people meet up again.”

Greta paused to allow this information to be absorbed. “But it is quite powerful Dark Magic, so I doubt if anyone over here knows how to do it. I should think that your wife is quite safe.”

Harry frowned, his mind starting to wander in unpleasant directions that he found hard to contemplate.

“There is one other strange thing, though,” Greta continued smiling now. “The effects end abruptly when the Pygmy Puff dies and there have been some very strange reports of transference, which can be quite embarrassing.”

“Transference?” Harry questioned, his alarm rising.

“Yes,” Greta responded. “It seems that the imposed affection acts to suppress the victim’s real feelings and when the effect is suddenly removed, there can be a catastrophic release of all of that pent-up emotion. It can make the individual behave very strangely indeed. I hear that there have been instances where people have made complete fools of themselves, suddenly hugging the wife of an acquaintance or a work colleague and confessing their love, while in a sort of trance. It’s quite amusing really. Although, it must be very unpleasant for the victim,” she added hastily.

Harry sat dazed. There it was; the complete explanation for his sudden infatuation with Ginny all of those years ago; their idyllic life together; their disagreements when Harry was away; and his strange behaviour the previous day. He couldn’t quite believe it, but deep inside he knew that it had to be true; he was a victim of Dark Magic and his life over the last twenty odd years had been a complete charade! Ginny had somehow entrapped him with Elfreida, although how she had known the Dark Magic involved, Harry couldn’t imagine. And, why would she have done such a thing? It seemed totally out of character for Ginny or any of the Weasleys for that matter. They had always been like a second family to him.

It was also clear that the deception must have caused him to suppress all thoughts of Hermione; thoughts that had now returned with a vengeance. However, if all that was true, then he must have been kidding himself, even back in fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts, that Hermione was just a friend. Harry could easily identify the reason. He had always known that a relationship with Hermione was out of the question. Ron fancied her and she felt the same about Ron; that was why she was so upset at the Yule Ball; that was why she confunded McLaggen; and that was why she invited Ron to Slughorn’s Christmas Party.

“Are you all right?” Greta Grubbly-Plank’s voice broke into Harry’s thoughts. “You look a little bit pale, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Harry blinked, finding it difficult to focus on his surroundings. His head seemed to be spinning.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine thanks. Just feeling a bit dizzy.” With an effort he pushed himself up from the chair and staggered to the doorway. “Look…thanks for all of the information. It’s been nice meeting you Greta. Only…I have to go now. Bye.”

Harry walked out into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving Greta Grubbly-Plank staring after him, with a worried expression on her face. Once he was alone, Harry walked quickly in the direction of the elevators, intent on getting as far away as possible from Greta and Hermione. He was relieved to find that the door to Hermione’s office was now shut and so he reached the end of the corridor without any interruption. Harry paused, trying to collect his thoughts.

He felt angry and confused. His first idea was to go home and confront Ginny, but he really had no evidence that what he suspected had actually taken place, apart from his own certainty that it had. He needed time to clear his head and let his anger subside. With that in mind, Harry made his way back to his own department and checked-in with the active assignment co-ordinator. He found that there was a report of possible use of Dark Magic in Prague which needed to be investigated and volunteered for the assignment. The co-ordinator was surprised, but only too happy to accept Harry’s offer. And so, sending a brief note to Ginny explaining that he had been called away unexpectedly on business, Harry left for Prague immediately.

He had been in Prague for four days, pursuing his enquiries and making good progress, when he arrived back at his hotel one evening to find an owl from Ginny waiting for him. The message was short. Ron’s condition had worsened and Harry needed to get back to London immediately.

5. Ginny's dilemma

The Funeral

Author’s note: For anyone who has been following this story since the beginning, please ensure that you read and review Chapter 4 before reading this chapter. There was some error with the original upload of Chapter 4, which meant that it didn’t show up as a new/recent update and so you might have missed it.

Part 5. Ginny’s Dilemma

Harry had gone straight to St. Mungo’s as soon as he got back to London. The sky in London was overcast and a faint drizzle hung in the air, exacerbating Harry’s general feeling of melancholy. He had always hated visiting the hospital. Given the effectiveness of relatively well known remedial charms and potions within the wider magical community, it was generally only the very serious cases that found their way to St. Mungo’s. Therefore, despite the best efforts of the staff to make the place bright and welcoming, Harry always felt that it exuded an aura of despair and hopelessness. He also found the artificially pleasant scent that pervaded the wards and corridors to be sickening and false.

Harry took an elevator to the floor on which Ron’s ward was located and walked quickly along the corridor, his feet squelching on the grey linoleum floor that he knew was charmed to stay clean and presentable. However, to his surprise he found that Ron was no longer in his usual bed. A nurse informed him that Ron had been moved to a private room at the end of the corridor; a fact that Harry took to be an ominous sign.

The door to the room was standing open and, pausing on the threshold, Harry saw Hermione occupying the sole visitor’s chair, her back toward him, shoulders slumped and head bowed. Hermione was dressed in a simple grey cardigan and skirt with a white blouse. Her unruly hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail, fastened with a black elastic ribbon. Ron, his eyes closed, was lying on his back in a metal-framed bed, his red hair partly concealed in the fold of a pristine white pillow and his arms, clad in his usual striped pyjamas, resting on the top of the cream coloured blanket that was drawn up to his chest. Hermione’s coat, a dark navy blue, was draped across the end of the bed. The room was almost a perfect square in shape; the far wall divided horizontally into thirds by a row of windows in the centre, letting in plenty of natural light, even with the gloomy conditions outside. Apart from the bed and single chair, the room held only two narrow, white, free-standing bedside cabinets, one placed against the wall at either side of the bed, and a folding, green, fabric screen, set in a white tubular metal frame that could be wheeled around the bed to provide privacy. The soft sound of Harry’s footsteps, as he entered, alerted Hermione who turned around and glanced towards him.

“Harry,” she cried, pushing her self out of the chair and flinging her arms around his neck, her head pressing against his chest. “I knew that you’d get here.”

Harry felt the urge to hug Hermione closely to him, but not trusting his instincts and concerned about any lingering effects of “transference”, he instead held her lightly, murmuring meaningless words of consolation.

“It’s OK. Everything is going to be OK.”

Hermione raised her head, looking directly at Harry, her eyes glistening.

“It’s not, Harry. I don’t think that he’s going to get better. I don’t know what I can do.”

Hermione slumped back into the chair, shaking her head in a hopeless gesture.

Harry rested his hand gently on her shoulder. “Hermione, you look exhausted. Why don’t you let me take over here for a while. Go and get something to eat or drink. I’ll watch Ron”.

Hermione looked up. “I am thirsty and I really could use the toilet. Look, I’ll go for a few minutes, but only if you promise to come and get me if Ron wakes up.”

“I’ll get you if anything happens,” Harry replied, slipping into the chair, still warm with the heat from Hermione’s body, as she rose and hesitantly moved out into the corridor.

Ron looked peaceful and untroubled, but his cheeks were hollow and folds in the skin below his jaw indicated that he had lost a lot of weight. Harry leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bed cover, to look more closely. The movement seemed to arouse Ron and he slowly opened his eyes, focusing with difficulty on Harry’s face.

“Harry, how are you, mate?” Ron whispered, hoarsely.

“Never, mind about me,” Harry smiled, “you rest and try to get better.”

Ron’s shook his head weakly, returning Harry’s smile.

“After all of the things that we have been through together, who would have thought that a non-entity like McBride would do for me,” he muttered.

“He hasn’t.” Harry tried to sound reassuring. “You’ve got to fight it mate.”

“I’m not stupid Harry,” Ron replied. “There’s only one person who’s ever survived the killing curse and we both know who that is, don’t we?”

Harry couldn’t find anything to say.

“Promise me one thing,” Ron continued slowly. “Look after my sister and make sure that Hermione’s OK. Will you do that for me?”

That was actually two very different things, Harry thought to himself and he didn’t really see how they could now be accomplished together. He remained silent not knowing how to respond.

However, it seemed that Ron didn’t need an answer. He closed his eyes again and appeared to drift back to sleep. Harry sensed some movement behind him and glanced towards the doorway. Ginny was hovering there, seemingly uncertain whether to enter. She was dressed soberly; her long, flaming red hair accentuated against a black knee-length coat, black nylon tights and black shoes. Her face was very pale. Harry quickly looked away, concentrating his attention back on Ron and, after a moment, he heard Ginny’s footsteps retreating into the corridor.

Ron suddenly opened his eyes again, but appeared unable to focus properly.

“Where’s Hermione?”

He sounded agitated and Harry squeezed his arm in reassurance.

“She’s just outside, Ron. I’ll get her for you.”

Harry quickly moved out into the corridor, where Hermione was just returning, looking flustered but slightly less weary. There was no sign of Ginny.

“Ron’s asking for you,” he informed her.

“OK, I’ll go back and sit with him. I was coming anyway.”

Harry grasped Hermione’s arm as she moved past.

“I’m just going to pop home to make sure that my things have arrived, but I’ll be right back. Just try to stay calm and keep positive. It might not be as bad as it seems.”

“Thanks for the break, Harry. I really needed it.” Hermione gave him a weak smile and continued into the room, without looking back.

Harry walked slowly down the corridor towards the nurses’ station, his head bowed and a deep frown creasing his brow. Ron’s condition was worse than he had expected and he felt helpless. He knew all about the killing curse, but he had been certain that he could deflect it or at least lessen its’ effect. But perhaps that was exactly what he had done; bought Ron a few more years of life, nothing more.

“You know, don’t you?”

It was Ginny’s voice, coming from behind him. Harry turned to face her, anger welling up inside him.

“Yes, I know! How could you do it, Gin?”

Ginny looked down at her hands, clasped in front of her. She shook her head.

“What’s the use? You’d never believe me anyway,” she said sadly.

“Why don’t you try me?” Harry couldn’t help sounding petulant and discouraging.

“Not here. Can we at least sit down somewhere?” Ginny asked, walking towards him and finally meeting his eyes.

A visitor’s room opened off the corridor, just before the nurses’ station. It was a small cluttered space with no windows and a carpeted floor. The perimeter of the room was dotted with various, mismatched chairs and tables. It was deserted at the moment and so, Harry directed Ginny inside and they sat opposite each other in two low, sagging armchairs separated by an oval, wooden coffee table.

“Well?” Harry challenged, making no attempt to disguise his anger.

Ginny sat quietly for a while, clasping and unclasping her hands, before suddenly looking up, her cheeks streaked with tears.

“It was Voldermort!” she blurted out. “At least, I’m sure that it was.”

Harry greeted this outburst with a sceptical shake of his head.

“Ginny, is that really…”

“Look,” she interrupted, “after Voldermort died, it was like I had suddenly woken up from a dream. I knew where I was and what had just happened, but everything else seemed hazy and unreal. People were talking around me and hugging or commiserating with each other. Everyone was filled with really intense emotions; elation, sympathy, grief; all mingling together. But, I just felt numb and detached. Then over the next few days, things started to come back to me and I remembered all the terrible things that I had done and how badly I had behaved. I realised that my character seemed to have changed. I had become overbearing and bossy; to mother, to Hermione, to all of those people that I hit with a bat bogey hex. Where did the bat bogey hex even come from? It’s a horrible curse to use. I was never like that before.” She paused. “But worst of all, I remembered about Elfreida.”

“Ginny, Voldermort had nothing to do with it. You were always a bit rebellious and a talented witch, with a bit of a warped sense of humour,” Harry responded, his disbelief clearly evident. “Surprisingly, that was one of the things that I liked about you.”

“No! No, I wasn’t, not until after my first year at Hogwarts. That’s all you remember, but I know I wasn’t like that before. A bit headstrong perhaps and ready to stick up for myself, but not like that.”

Ginny hesitated.

“I’ve thought about this a lot during the last few days and it’s the only thing that makes sense. Tom Riddle had almost drained all of the life from me in the Chamber of Secrets. When you killed him, it all flooded back, but I think that a bit of him must have come with it.”

Harry still looked unconvinced.

“Look, I don’t know much about horcruxes,” Ginny continued, “but they all come from the same soul, right, and they must therefore all be connected in some way. Tom Riddle possessed me; we were like one person. It stands to reason that a part of him could remain in me, influenced by Voldermort as he grew stronger. It must have stayed there until Voldermort and all of the other horcruxes had been destroyed and there was no link any more. Voldermort only really started to get strong during your fifth year at Hogwarts and you told me that he tried to possess you that night in the Ministry of Magic. When he failed, I think that he started looking for other ways to get at you and he must have become aware of his connection with me for the first time. I suppose that he thought that he could use it against you in some way.”

Ginny realised that Harry was still frowning and hurried on with her explanation.

“Hermione always tried to stop you letting Voldermort in to your thoughts and Draco Malfoy knew how clever she was and how much you depended on her. He must have reported all of that back to his father and Lucius was bound to pass the information onto his master. Perhaps, Voldermort reckoned that he could drive Hermione away from you, if you fell in love with me. He was probably persuaded that, without Hermione’s influence, you might act more rashly and, let’s face it, that wasn’t too far from the truth, was it? Anyway, he must have started to develop his plan over the summer. That day in Fred and George’s shop, when we had gone to Diagon Alley to buy our stuff for school, I just knew that I had to have Elfreida. Then, later that week, I suddenly realised what she could do and how I could use her to finally get you. The knowledge just came to me. I didn’t have to look it up or anything. It was just in my mind one day and I didn’t see anything wrong with it. I just reasoned to myself that I was simply giving things a kick start. Do you remember when I took that cheek swab from you? I told you that I needed it for some potions homework, didn’t I? Well, I did need it for a potion, but it was one that I gave to Elfreida.”

“Look Harry, if this isn’t true, how on earth do you think that I knew what to do?” Ginny added desperately. “Do you think that it’s the sort of thing that I could have found out in Hogwarts library?”

Harry was silent, staring hard at Ginny, trying to identify any signs of deception, but he could detect nothing. He found that he desperately wanted to believe her, since his affection for the whole Weasley family made it hard to accept that Ginny could be so calculating and wicked without some form of coercion.

“If this is true,” he began eventually, “and I only say “if”, then why didn’t you tell me before this. It means that you’ve known all along that our relationship – our love – was false and yet you let everything carry on. You let us marry, have children, everything…”

Ginny started to sob, tears now streaming from her eyes.

“But it wasn’t false for me. I did love you and…I suppose…I wanted to believe that you loved me. Anyway, it all seemed so ridiculous and unreal. By the time that Voldermort died it was almost two years since I got Elfreida. It was such a long time ago…and what could I have said? “I’m sorry Harry but I think that I might have used a love potion on you. I’m not sure and I don’t know how to reverse the effects anyway.” You’d just have laughed at me and what could we have done about it?”

“Well, there must have been something that you could do,” Harry said fiercely. “If you really loved me, you would have trusted me. You couldn’t have kept up the pretence.”

Ginny, who was now regaining her self control, pulled a crumpled paper tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed at her cheeks with it.

“There wasn’t any pretence on my part. I didn’t even think about Voldermort and so I didn’t really believe that this seemingly silly, childish piece of magic could have had any effect. I just tried to put it all to the back of my mind. I suppose that I just couldn’t deal with the implications and I tried to convince myself that nothing was wrong. I couldn’t be sure you see, not until Elfreida died, that is. I felt the change straight away after that and I could tell that you sensed it too. That’s when I first thought about Tom Riddle and I began to piece together an explanation for everything. But, I still didn’t know how I could explain it to you. Then you suddenly left without speaking to me about where you were going. That wasn’t like you and so I suspected that you had somehow realised the truth as well.”

Ginny gave a final sniff and pushed her tissue back into her coat pocket.

“How did you find out, anyway?” she asked.

“Someone at the Ministry,” Harry replied distractedly. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“So, what do we do now?” Ginny asked miserably.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to concentrate; his thoughts racing. He knew that he believed Ginny and the anger that had been sustaining him was slowly ebbing away, replaced by a feeling of utter despair. He shook his head wearily.

“I don’t know Gin. I just don’t know,” was all that he could find to say.

6. The Diary

The Funeral

Part 6. The Diary

With Ron’s condition worsening, Harry and Ginny had eventually decided that, for the moment at least, they had no option but to try to pretend to the outside world that nothing was wrong. They had therefore left the hospital together and gone home, although they were both ill at ease and felt awkward with each other. Without Elfreida’s influence, Ginny, once more, seemed like Ron’s little sister rather than Harry’s wife and lover, which gave an almost incestuous air to any intimacy between them. Harry found it hard to remember emotions from his early school years, but he imagined that this must have been the way that he had regarded Ginny before Elfreida began to affect him. He informed Ginny that, given the circumstances, he would prefer to sleep in the guest bedroom until they worked things out and, after a token protest, she agreed, seemingly relieved. For the next few days, they visited the hospital together, keeping up an outward pretence of normality, but in the house they now moved around each other like awkward strangers, thrown together by chance.

When they arrived at the hospital, they usually found Hermione continuing her lone vigil by Ron’s bedside, although occasionally she would be waiting in the visitors’ room while one of the Weasleys took her place. Arthur had died the previous year but Molly was still in good health, while Bill and Fleur didn’t live too far away. Percy and Charlie were generally engrossed in their work and only visited occasionally. Harry was touched by Hermione’s devotion and couldn’t help comparing it to the way that she had always stuck by him during his troubles with Voldermort, even when it meant going against the wishes of Ron, the boy that she was in love with.

Unless his mind was fully focused on some activity, his work or visiting Ron for instance, Harry often found himself dwelling on his recent kiss with Hermione. At those times, if he closed his eyes, he could almost sense Hermione’s presence; feeling the soft curves of her body pressing against him, smelling her distinctive perfume and tasting the delicate coolness of her lips. Any sudden noise would jerk him back to reality and the pleasant mirage would evaporate like mist in the midday sun. In his more fanciful moments, Harry even wondered if things might have been different between them, if he had not been artificially infatuated with Ginny. Harry knew that Ron had always liked Hermione, even during the time that he pretended not to, but it was just possible that he might have misunderstood Hermione’s feelings. Perhaps she had even cared equally for him and Ron, as close friends and, given the opportunity, those feelings might have developed into something more romantic. But then Harry would recollect all of the telltale signs – Hermione’s tears when she and Ron argued; her distress over Ron’s relationship with Lavender Brown; their first kiss during the heat of the battle for Hogwarts – and his hopes would fade.

The unreal, dream-like existence that Harry and Ginny were sharing was shattered a few days later when Ron finally passed away peacefully in his sleep and Harry felt as if a vital part of his own being had suddenly been ripped out and crushed in front of him. Ron had been his friend since that first train journey to Hogwarts. They had laughed, quarrelled and supported each other through his whole adult life. Now that phase was over and another strand of the cosy cocoon that he had built around him self had disintegrated and could never be repaired. Harry knew that he should try to console Hermione but he found that she had been enveloped by the rest of the Weasley clan and he couldn’t summon up the energy to break through and take the initiative. He found that he was isolated; looking in from the outside, his own grief overwhelming him and controlling his thoughts.

Percy returned to take charge of the funeral arrangements and he fussed around, agreeing details with Hermione and Molly. To Harry’s surprise, Hermione seemed calm and able to keep her emotions in check. She squeezed Harry’s hand and gave him a brief hug when they met, with the rest of the Weasleys, on the day after Ron’s death, her eyes puffy and red and her cheeks still wet with tears. But she didn’t say anything in response to his muttered words of solace and soon moved on to the next person offering her their condolences.

Ron’s funeral, which was fortunately scheduled for a bright sunny day that helped to lighten the general mood of despondency, took place close to the Burrow and the mourners were invited back to the old, dilapidated, misshapen house for refreshments afterwards. Given the warm weather, a few trestle tables had been set up in the garden, adorned with white cotton cloths, which were covered with plates of sweet and savoury snacks, while butterbeer and stronger beverages were stocked in the kitchen. Harry, who had tried to avoid most of the forced, inconsequential chatter between Ron’s friends and relatives, wandered into the kitchen to get another fire whisky as the evening approached and people were starting to drift away. He had already had quite a few but they were doing little to numb his grief or to lift his spirits. Hermione was standing by the sink, the long sleeves of her simple black dress pulled back and her hands submerged in a bowl of foaming water. She was methodically washing glasses before stacking them to the side.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” Harry told her. “Those things can be cleaned with a simple swipe of Molly’s wand.”

“I know,” Hermione replied. “I just prefer to stay busy and there’s nothing better than some harmless domestic chores to take your mind off things.”

Her tone was flat and without emotion. Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say to her and so he simply poured more fire whisky into his glass before turning to move back out into the garden. Things had been like this between them ever since Ron had died; wary of each other, their old, easy rapport having deserted them. That kiss hung between them like a spectral presence; neither of them sure of how they could exorcise the sense of unease that it had brought.

“Ron left some Quidditch memorabilia that he wanted you to have,” Hermione suddenly muttered, her gaze still fixed on the bowl of water in front of her. “I brought it over. It’s upstairs if you want to get it. I’ve been staying in Ginny’s old room. It’s on the dressing table.”

Although Hugo and Rose had come back from Hogwarts to attend the funeral, the three of them had been staying at the Burrow for the past few days. With Arthur gone and all of the Weasley children living away, there was now plenty of room and Molly had been glad of the company.

“Oh, thanks,” Harry responded mechanically. “I’ll go up now.”

He turned and moved out into the hallway, climbing the rickety stairs up to the first floor where Ginny’s old bedroom was situated. The door stood slightly ajar and yielded to the slightest push from his hand. The bedroom was still decorated as he remembered it from all of those years ago when Ginny had pulled him inside for a birthday kiss. The light blue walls and bedspread, with their matching floral design, and the dark wooden furniture, were spotless and generated a sense of tranquillity that was absent from the rest of the house. The bare wood floor still creaked in all of the same places as Harry moved across it. An old cardboard box stuffed with photographs and trophies was carefully positioned to one side of the dressing table to ensure that it didn’t obscure the mirror. As Harry bent to pick it up, he noticed, reflected in the glass, the corner of a book with a battered, maroon cardboard cover poking out from beneath the two pillows that were stacked at the top of the bed. It looked like a diary and Harry supposed that Hermione might have brought it with her, to help her to relive some of her old memories of Ron. Harry knew that a diary was a private thing and that he should leave it alone, but he couldn’t help wondering if its’ pages might give him some answers to the questions that kept swirling through his mind about Hermione’s feelings for him. He, therefore, quietly crossed the room and, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulled the book out from its’ hiding place and flicked it open.

As he had suspected, it was a diary and Harry recognised Hermione’s neat, carefully formed letters, written in black ink, probably with her school quill. The first page seemed to date back to their fourth year at Hogwarts. Harry scanned down the early entries, just focusing on individual words, looking for his name but not finding it, until he came upon a paragraph that grabbed his attention.

Still no invite from H or R to the Yule Ball. It’s really disappointing. They are desperate for someone to invite but it’s as if they don’t even realise that I’m a girl. I suppose I can understand why H isn’t interested, but not R! What’s the matter with him? Surely, I’m not that unattractive, am I?

A few entries further on, Harry noticed another mention of the Yule Ball.

I don’t really believe it but Viktor Krum has asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him. I can’t wait until R finds out! He will be green with envy. Viktor is his hero. I’m not going to say anything to H or R about this. I’ll wait and let them find out on the night. Serves them right and I hope that every girl that they ask turns them down; especially R.

On the next page, Hermione had documented the outcome of that night.

Well, going with Viktor certainly did the trick and I would have had a lovely time, except that R acted like a complete imbecile and ruined things. I thought that he would be envious but I am convinced that he was actually jealous! Perhaps he doesn’t find me so repulsive after all. I’ll have to see how things develop. I just wish…

At some point, a drop of water had been spilled on the page and blurred the end of the final sentence. Harry thought that he could just make out a capital R at the beginning of the smudge, but the rest of the sentence, probably only consisting of three or four more words, was indecipherable and so he could only guess at what Hermione had been wishing for. “I just wish R would ask me out”; “I just wish R would get on with it”. Whatever it was, she was clearly hoping for some progress in her relationship with Ron.

The rest of the entries that followed on the next few pages seemed, when quickly scanned, to be fairly factual, dealing with events relating to the Triwizard Tournament that he remembered only to well. The final entry for that school year, however, pricked his interest.

I finally plucked up the courage to kiss H goodbye at King’s Cross today. I am sure that R will have noticed. Perhaps he will take the hint! I hope so.

Harry frowned. So, was that why Hermione had kissed him? He remembered being pleasantly surprised at the time, but had she really just been using him to make Ron jealous?

Hermione had clearly reserved this diary for her time at Hogwarts, as there was no mention of her activities during the school holidays that summer. The next entry moved onto the train journey to school at the beginning of their fifth year, when she and Ron were acting as prefects for the first time. With all of the problems with Umbridge, occlumency lessons with Snape, taking their OWLS and the final horrible night at the Ministry, Harry had no wish to revisit memories of that year and so, missing out a large chunk of the diary, he selected a page at random close to the back cover. He found that he had moved forward to just before Christmas of the following year; their lower sixth year at Hogwarts.

As members of the Slug club, H and I have been invited to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party. Given the way that things have been going, this is really my last chance to see if there is any hope at all. I’m going to invite R to come with me and see if I get any type of reaction. If that fails, there’s always McLaggen, although that has to be a last resort!

Harry was conscious of the time that he was taking and so he didn’t read further but turned over to the last few pages. Hermione had clearly had the diary with her during their hunt for the horcruxes and an entry, filled with evident despair, leapt out at him from the page.

R left today and it was my fault! He is jealous because H and I have been spending so much time together. I’ve told him that there is nothing between us, but he doesn’t believe me.

There were then two lines where the text had been heavily scored out and could no longer be read. Hermione had clearly had a change of heart and decided to ensure that these particular thoughts remained hidden. However, the meaning of the final two sentences in this entry was only too clear.

H is really behaving strangely and can’t seem to get motivated. What on earth am I going to do without R?

“Could you find it, Harry?”

Harry jumped and his heart started racing. It was Hermione, calling from down in the hallway and he heard the faint sound of wood protesting as a foot moved onto the bottom stair. He snapped the diary shut and quickly pushed it back into its’ place under the pillow, as if it had suddenly become hot to touch.

“Um, yeah. I’ve…I’ve just been sorting through, to see what is here,” he stammered, flustered. “I’ll be right down.”

Harry crossed to the dressing table and hurriedly retrieved the cardboard box before making his way loudly back out onto the landing, to ensure that Hermione realised that he was coming down and wouldn’t progress any further. He felt guilty and ashamed and he was sure that the false smile that flittered across his lips as he turned the corner of the stairs and caught sight of Hermione waiting at the bottom, would betray him. Hermione looked puzzled but turned and moved away, back towards the kitchen, without saying anything. Harry couldn’t face Hermione after what he had done and, making his apologies, he soon left for home, graciously agreeing that Ginny should stay overnight at the Burrow. However, as he arrived back to a cold, empty house, Harry had to admit that at least his intrusive peek at Hermione’s old diary had answered one question for him. Even without his induced infatuation with Ginny, he had never had any chance with Hermione. Her thoughts had always been focused on Ron.

7. Luna explains

The Funeral

Part 7. Luna explains

After Ron’s funeral and the revelations from Hermione’s diary, Harry had plunged into a depression. His relationship with Ginny continued on a hesitant, uncomfortable basis which, as neither of them wanted to discuss the future, they both tried to ignore. To Harry, therefore, their conversations seemed formal and superficial and he longed for the depth and involvement of his old relationship with Ron and Hermione. Harry saw little of Hermione or of the other Weasleys. He still felt uneasy when in Hermione’s presence; gazing at her too obviously and wishing for an intimacy that he now knew was impossible. The tension between Harry and Ginny was only too obvious and, not unexpectedly, her family had taken Ginny’s side against him and had effectively broken off any form of contact. He occasionally came across Percy at the Ministry, but their working relationship was now cool and professional and personal issues were ostentatiously ignored. James, Lily and Albus were still away at school but all of the children were very close to their mother, partly due to Harry’s frequent absences for work, and Harry worried about how he would retain his rapport with them if the seemingly inevitable split with Ginny occurred.

With an unsatisfactory home life and a rapidly diminishing social circle, Harry had tried to concentrate on his work. There were still numerous cliques of Death Eaters at large and Harry volunteered for as much active service as possible, travelling throughout Europe and behaving recklessly, taking unnecessary risks, careless of his own safety. When there was no field work available, he spent long hours at the Ministry, leaving home early and arriving back later and later. After work, he could often be found passing time in the bar at the Leaky Cauldron, delaying his return home and his consumption of fire whisky increased alarmingly. Harry and Ginny’s sleeping arrangements remained unchanged and were not even a subject for discussion any longer. As a result, on some nights, Harry would find that Ginny had already gone to bed before he stumbled up the stairs to the guest bedroom and so their only contact was a brief liaison in the kitchen the following morning before Harry once again left for the office. It was during one of these fire whisky-induced, sessions of melancholic introspection in the Leaky Cauldron that Luna Lovegood came across Harry one night.

The large bar area at the Leaky Cauldron was made up from a number of smaller rooms that had originally formed the ground floor of the property. Now, the area was divided into compartments of various sizes connected by rectangular archways, topped with supporting exposed, dark timber lintels, which had been enlarged from the original doorways. The rough, cream-painted plastered walls were adorned with wizarding bric-a-brac ranging from autographed broomsticks to ancient, framed potion recipes. Much to Harry’s embarrassment, several prints of him receiving various awards and pertinent clips from the Daily Prophet, published soon after Voldermort’s demise, enjoyed places of particular prominence. A few threadbare, faded, dull-coloured rugs were spread over the uneven, polished wooden floors, to help deaden the sounds of scraping chairs and shuffling footsteps. There was a small alcove towards the back of the building that was only big enough for three or four tables and Harry had developed a habit of retreating to this area, as it usually remained empty and guaranteed his privacy. Sitting with his back to the wall one night, studying the clear, amber contents of his glass as he swirled them distractedly in front of him, Harry was surprised to hear the floorboards creak under the weight of approaching footsteps. He looked up, annoyed at this unwanted disturbance, to see the long, untidy blond hair and bulging deep blue eyes of his friend Luna Lovegood. Winter was now approaching and a prolonged chill had descended since the warm weather that had attended Ron’s funeral. For this reason, a crackling, log fire had been lit in the main bar and Harry could hear the popping of air escaping from the burning firewood over the sound of muffled voices drifting in from the more populated areas of the pub. The flickering flames of the fire cast shifting shadows on the walls through the archway against which Luna was silhouetted, giving the girl an almost spectral appearance.

“Hello Harry. What a surprise to find you here,” she greeted him.

“Oh, hi Luna! What are you doing here?” Harry replied, pointedly ignoring her sarcasm.

“I’ve just been having a meeting concerning an article that we are going to run in the Quibbler,” Luna answered with enthusiasm. She had recently taken over the editorial position at the sensationalist publication started by her father Xenophilius some years before. Although subjected to considerable hardship, Luna and her father had both survived the excesses of Volermort’s brief reign of terror and after Volermort’s demise, Xenophilius had once again taken up the reigns of the Quibbler. At first, the publication adopted a more solemn, factual tone than had been the case before the troubles, but it soon returned to its’ previous radical approach, searching out the most improbable and generally irrational stories. Luna revelled in this environment and her eyes sparkled as she outlined the substance of her meeting.

“Apparently, this man knows the whereabouts of a whole herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. He has a horn taken from a dead animal that he is going to show me. I’m hoping that I might get to keep it and possibly get the first ever photograph of one of these fabulous beasts. Isn’t that amazing?”

As always, Harry was enchanted by the guileless susceptibility of Luna and the sense of excitement in her voice.

“You take care,” he advised, trying hard not to slur his words too noticeably. “Make sure it isn’t an Erumpent horn like last time.” Harry reminded Luna of the incident where a Death Eater’s curse, hitting the offending article mounted on a wall at her father’s old house, had caused an explosion that partially destroyed the property.

“That was not an Erumpent horn and it had nothing to do with that explosion,” Luna responded irritably. “Anyway, I’m not going to argue with you, I just wanted to talk. Do you mind if I join you?” She gestured towards the vacant chair opposite Harry.

“No, be my guest. Would you like a drink? I was just going to get another.”

“Don’t you think that you’ve had enough?” Luna was suddenly looking more serious as she eased onto the seat. “Why don’t you go home?”

Harry didn’t reply but just picked up his almost empty glass and thoughtfully swirled the contents again.

“I saw Ginny the other day,” Luna began tentatively. “She said that things are a bit difficult between the pair of you and that you’ve been drinking too much. It’s not like you Harry. What’s the matter? Is it Ron?”

Harry shook his head. In his partially inebriated state, he was less guarded than usual. “Partly, I suppose. It just seems like such a waste; but it’s a lot of things actually. I know it’s not really fair on Ginny, but it’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand. There are things that you don’t really need to know about; things that should remain private.”

“Perhaps that’s the case and I respect it,” Luna replied. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about Ginny. She’s tough and she seems to be coping. Ginny’s a survivor and she always has her family to depend on. I’m more worried about Hermione. She seems to have withdrawn completely into her work. I think that Ron’s death has affected her very badly. She really needs her friends at a time like this.”

Again, Harry didn’t speak. He sighed and continued to stare at the contents of his glass.

“You and Hermione were always so close. You are probably the one person who could help Hermione get over this.”

Harry grunted and shook his head again, but made no other response.

“The funny thing is,” Luna continued thoughtfully, “we all expected that it would be you and Hermione who would end up together, not Hermione and Ron. Do you remember back in your fourth year at Hogwarts – my third – when there were those articles in the Daily Prophet about Hermione and you? Well Padma Patel – you remember, she was in Ravenclaw, my house, while her sister Parvati shared the girl’s dorm in Gryffindor with Hermione – she told me that Hermione was happier during that time than Parvati had ever seen her before. I think that she really liked the idea of being thought of as your girl friend.”

This statement finally provoked a reaction from Harry.

“You’re wrong there Luna,” he said bitterly. “Hermione never wanted to be my girl friend. It might have looked like that from the outside but she was actually just using me to get a reaction from Ron. I happen to know that she even gave me a kiss at King’s Cross when we broke-up for the summer, just to try to make Ron jealous.”

“Oh! I remember seeing that!” Luna replied gleefully, clapping her hands together. “I was just coming up the platform, struggling with all of my things and you and Hermione were right in front of me. From the look that Hermione gave you afterwards, I don’t believe that she was thinking too much about Ron though. Well, not unless she wanted to make it clear to him that she wasn’t really interested. I mean, it was obvious to everyone by that time that Ron fancied her. Anyway, Hermione would never have used you in that way. You must realise that, surely?”

“Luna, you weren’t as close to Ron and Hermione as I was back then,” Harry responded crossly. “There was always this tension between them. Anyway, things simmered along during our fourth and fifth years, but they really kicked off in our lower-sixth year, at least as far as Hermione was concerned. I haven’t ever told anyone this, but Hermione actually confunded McLaggen just to get Ron onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Now, why would she have done that if she didn’t fancy him?”

Luna smiled pityingly. “Honestly Harry. Sometimes I think that you don’t really know Hermione at all. Hermione and I have become quite good friends in recent years and so I think that I know a little bit about what makes her tick. In any case, although she always stayed fairly aloof at school, she did let some things slip to Parvati Patel and Padma was always more than willing to reveal them to anyone who would care to listen. It might surprise you to know, but your relationships with girls, and especially with Hermione, was always a topic for gossip around the school.” She paused for effect, before asking, “What was one of the most significant things that Hermione did in her fourth year; apart from helping you with the Triwizard Tournament and dating Viktor Krum?”

Harry sighed and glanced at his watch, feigning boredom but Luna carried on doggedly.

“She started S.P.E.W., that’s what,” Luna announced. “All that stuff about the plight of house elves. Hermione always felt sympathy for the underdog and that is exactly how she regarded Ron. Poor Ron was always in your shadow and Hermione felt sorry for him. If she confunded McLaggen, as you say she did, that will be why she did it.”

“No. That doesn’t work,” Harry challenged. “Hermione also asked Ron to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party in our lower-sixth year and she got really upset when he went off with Lavender Brown instead.”

Again, Luna shook her head dismissively. “Oh, Harry! You are so clueless about women.” She regarded Harry with the exasperated look of a teacher confronting a particularly dense pupil.

“I suspect that the reason that Hermione kissed you at the end of fourth year was because she was feeling far more self-confident. In fact, I know that she was because Ginny told me so. She had her teeth fixed, Viktor Krum had asked her to the Yule Ball and the Daily Prophet had, in effect, described her as a “femme fatale”. She must have thought that she had a bit of a chance with you at last. And let’s face it, the two of you were practically inseparable during your fifth year, even though you did spoil things a little by chasing after Cho Chang.”

“I didn’t chase Cho,” Harry interrupted, “it was the other way around.”

Luna waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, the point that I am trying to make is that Hermione must have had high hopes at the beginning of your lower-sixth year. Cho was out of the picture and the two of you had grown so close towards the end of the previous school year. I remember how upset you got when Hermione was hit by that curse at the Ministry. Ron had been jinxed and Ginny was hurt too but you completely ignored them, didn’t you? Hermione was probably hoping that you and she would go to Professor Slughorn’s party as a couple, but you acted like an idiot, as usual, and ignored her. She almost certainly invited Ron primarily to try and get a reaction out of you. So, of course she was angry and upset when Ron went off with Lavender and you asked me instead. Going with McLaggen was probably her last throw of the dice, as she knew that you hated him. But by that time, you were infatuated with Ginny and probably didn’t even notice. Is it any wonder that Hermione was a bit emotional?”

“It still doesn’t make sense, Luna.” Harry was now puzzled rather than mocking. “When we were hunting for horcruxes and Ron left in a fit of temper, Hermione cried for days.”

“Can you blame her given the situation?” Luna replied confidently. “Surely Harry, the point is that she stayed with you and didn’t leave with Ron. What other proof do you need?”

“But during the battle in Hogwarts, with all of the mayhem going on around them, Hermione still found time to kiss Ron. That kiss was genuine. I know it was. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“I suppose that you have never done anything on the spur of the moment without really thinking.” Luna gave a contemptuous sigh. “In any case, what right have you to judge Hermione’s emotions. Women can’t just be obvious about their feelings for the opposite sex like men can, you know; well, most women can’t anyway! We have to be more subtle and try to give broad hints to male creatures who are almost always unfailingly dense and unperceptive. You had ignored all of the signals that Hermione had been trying to send to you and, after flirting with Cho Chang, you had pretty much thrown yourself at Ginny. Ron had appeared to do the same thing with Lavender but, unlike you, he couldn’t keep it up and it was obvious that he really liked Hermione. We all needed to feel close to other people at that time, staring death in the face. And you think that you can dismiss all of the intimacy that you and Hermione shared just based on one kiss!”

Harry was silent, his brow creased with concentration as he tried to assimilate Luna’s words. It all sounded quite reasonable, but he couldn’t have been so oblivious. Could he? Had he been so busy dreaming about Cho and then Ginny that he had never really noticed any signals from Hermione? Luna flinched involuntarily as a particularly sharp retort issued from the fire in the main bar.

“Look Harry, I’m not saying that Hermione didn’t love Ron. Of course she did; as a friend,” Luna concluded. “And, I’m not saying that in time her feelings didn’t progress to more than that. But you were always her first love. You are the one that she really cared about. And, to be honest, I think that she still does.”

8. Harry's Regret

The Funeral

Part 8. Harry’s Regret

That brief conversation with Luna had opened Harry’s eyes and he had finally understood everything that he had missed for all of those years. He had been able to look back at Hermione’s actions and behaviour with a fresh insight and realise that things might not be as simple and straight forward as he had always imagined. This realisation, coupled with his own experience of “transference,” had made Harry grieve for the opportunity of happiness that he had let slip by. But he had never said anything about it to her and now it was too late to make amends. Even “the boy who lived” could not cheat death for other people. Harry knew that this neglect was something that he would now have to live with and always bitterly regret.

Harry blinked his eyes to drive away the unwanted tears that were beginning to form there and refocused on the group of people still standing around at the graveside; her graveside. He could clearly make out the bright red hair of Ginny Weasley, now cut much shorter and artificially enhanced to hide the white hairs that intruded with increasing frequency. She was still slim and attractive, her slight figure emphasised in a well-fitting, knee-length, grey coat that just covered the top of high-heeled, black leather boots. A black chiffon scarf was loosely tied beneath her chin and black leather gloves hid her pale, long-fingered hands. Her bright brown eyes were still as piercing as they had been in her youth and her inviting lips were coated in a muted pink lipstick, detracting from the small lines that now radiated out from the corners of her mouth. Ginny was talking animatedly to an attentive Neville Longbottom, with Lily and Albus hovering at her shoulder. Harry had to admit that Ginny had aged extremely well and was now a far cry from that nervous, worried young woman who had confessed her deception to him all of those years ago. Neville, who had lead the resistance to Voldermort’s allies at Hogwarts and suffered accordingly, was now very frail and, dressed in a baggy dark grey suit, he leaned on a cane as he listened to Ginny’s words, nodding his ahead occasionally in agreement.

Thinking back, Harry could easily remember the day when this new more assertive Ginny had begun to emerge and his relationship with her had finally started to improve again. After his meeting with Luna, Harry had made a concerted effort to cut down on his trips to the Leaky Cauldron after work. He had arrived home early on the evening in question, finding to his surprise that Ginny had also been out and had only just returned. She was still in the hallway, hanging up her coat, as Harry entered through the front door.

“You’re early,” she greeted him warmly.

“Yeah,well…,” was all that Harry could think of to say as he squeezed past Ginny, being careful not to touch, on his way towards the stairs.

“Harry!” Ginny called, stopping him with his foot already on the bottom stair.

He turned to find Ginny facing him, her eyes turned downwards and her hands clasped in front of her.

“I’ve…I’ve t-told Mum,” Ginny stammered.

Harry looked puzzled.

“I’ve told her all about you and me; about Elfreida; Voldermort; everything.”

“But Ginny, I thought that we agreed…,” Harry began.

“I know,” Ginny interrupted, “but everyone can see that there’s something wrong between us and they are all blaming you. And that’s hardly fair, is it?”

Harry frowned. “That doesn’t matter Ginny. None of it has been fair really; not for you or for me.”

“Harry, stop being so noble about everything,” Ginny replied with an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did and I’m the one who should take the blame.”

“Look Ginny…”

“No!” Ginny said fiercely. “I know that I was influenced by Voldermort but I could have done something; should have done something. How do you think that makes me feel?”

The two of them were silent for a while, both gazing at the hallway floor.

“How did she take it?” Harry asked eventually.

“Well, how do you think?” Ginny responded. “She was shocked, then angry and at first she just refused to believe me.”

“So, how did you convince her?”

Ginny smiled, for the first time looking rather pleased with her self.

“I thought that Mum might need some convincing,” she explained, “and so, before I confronted her, I went to the Ministry to see Greta Grubbly-Plank. She was the one who told you about Pygmy Puffs, wasn’t she? George told me that he mentioned her to you.”

Harry nodded.

“Well, she was a bit reluctant to discuss things at first but eventually I persuaded her that I needed some information on the misuse of Pygmy Puffs to help you with some work for the Ministry and then she became extremely forthcoming. She gave me copies of some articles that described exactly how Pygmy Puffs are thought to be used in Dark Magic and I showed them to Mum. After she had read them, she couldn’t really doubt what I had said and she just burst into tears. It was awful, Harry.”

“Oh, Ginny…”

“Then after a while she quietened down and we talked about Voldermort and she was able to rationalise things a bit better,” Ginny continued, ignoring Harry’s attempted interruption. “I think that she’s going to be all right. She didn’t sling me out, anyway and she said that she wants to see you. I think that she wants to apologise for thinking the worst.”

“What about the others? George, Bill…all of them?” Harry asked.

“I can’t tell them all, Harry. I can’t face it and Mum has promised that she won’t say anything. But they all like you and I think that they’ll take their lead from Mum. If she comes around, then they will too.”

Harry moved back into the hallway, taking Ginny’s hands and pulling them towards him.

“I think that was a very brave thing that you did Ginny. Thanks.”

“Brave? I don’t think so. Selfish perhaps,” Ginny replied, frowning. “I can’t go on living like this Harry. We have to face up to the fact that things are never going to be the same between us and move on somehow. This is just the first step.”

And that was how things had turned out. Harry had made his peace with Molly and the other Weasleys, with the possible exception of Percy, and he and Ginny had gradually become more relaxed around each other. They had kept the house but Harry had moved into a flat, close to the Ministry of Magic and they had eventually divorced. Harry’s concerns about his relationship with his children had proved to be unfounded. James, Lily and Albus had been upset and confused by the break-up but, since their parents remained on good terms, they had gradually come to accept it. The three of them had stayed with their mother when not at Hogwarts, but Harry had always been a welcome visitor and the whole family often spent time together. Ginny seemed to regain her self-confidence once she had cleared up matters with Molly and was no longer weighed down by the guilt that she had kept hidden for so many years. She started to help George at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and the business blossomed again under her influence. George had welcomed her support and regained much of his old exuberance, coming up with new ideas for product lines and dreaming of plans for expansion. Later, the business had become a growing family concern with Hugo and Albus both joining after graduating from Hogwarts, while James, Lily and Rose all sought careers in the Ministry. In fact, Harry had to admit that things had turned out much better than he had any right to expect, given the way that it had all started. Now, however, with this funeral, Harry found it hard to accept that his life was going to go on without the presence of someone who had been so significant to him. A friend with whom he had always seemed to have a special connection – an understanding – that was quite unique in his experience and could never be replaced.

In spite of the sadness that he was feeling, Harry smiled as he looked over at his ex-wife, glad that the bitterness that he had experienced after finding out about Elfreida was now confined to his past. He had too many other regrets that he could now do nothing about to want to dwell on the last vestiges of Voldermort’s evil plans against him.

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear anyone approaching until he felt a gentle touch on his arm.

“So this is where you disappeared to,” Hermione’s familiar voice chastised him.

Harry turned to look at her. She was dressed in a loose black coat, open at the neck and was shivering slightly, as the late afternoon air grew colder. Hermione’s cheeks were rosy and her bushy brown hair, streaked with grey, hung loosely to her shoulders, framing her face and curling in front of her neck. Her hands were pushed deep into her coat pockets in an effort to keep warm. She looked fragile and Harry’s protective instincts were immediately aroused, as they always had been where Hermione was concerned.

“Sorry,” Harry replied. “I should have told you but I’m just not very good at this sort of thing; especially when it’s for someone like Luna.”

“I know, Harry. You always did have a soft spot for Luna. She was quite special, wasn’t she?” Hermione moved closer, slipping one of her arms under Harry’s own.

Harry smiled. “You don’t know how special. If it wasn’t for Luna we might never have gotten together and I would probably be in a home for the terminally depressed by now.”

Harry could recall that he had fretted about the revelations made by Luna in the Leaky Cauldron for many weeks and it wasn’t until Spring was approaching and he and Ginny were well on the way to resolving their differences that he had finally summoned up enough courage to confront Hermione. They had hardly spoken since Ron’s funeral and, when they met, Hermione always seemed uncomfortable and in a haste to end the encounter. It had been in early March when he had apparated close to Hermione’s house and he remembered that it was on one of those days when winter had decided that it was not quite time to depart. A bitter chill had descended over night and a feeble sun was unable to disperse the cold, damp air that hovered between buildings and over the countryside.

Despite the unfavourable weather, Harry had found Hermione in her front garden. She was well protected against the elements, dressed in a dark blue anorak and jeans, with a black woollen scarf knotted under her chin and a black woollen bobble-hat pulled down over her ears. Her hands were encased in matching black woollen gloves and she was vigorously pruning some rose bushes with a small pair of metal-handled secateurs. She didn’t appear to notice as Harry approached and stopped on the far side of the front gate.

“You could do that with a simple herbology charm you know,” Harry announced to try to gain Hermione’s attention.

Hermione didn’t look up but continued to work methodically inwards on the bush in front of her.

“You say something like that every time that you see me doing any manual work.” Her tone was not friendly. “How many times do I have to tell you that I still like to do some things the Muggle way? You of all people should understand that.”

Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully and stood quietly considering his next move.

“Why are you so angry with me?” he eventually asked, but was only greeted with silence as Hermione made a particularly savage thrust with her secateurs that made Harry wince.

“You can’t still be mad about that kiss, surely? I know that it was inappropriate but I’ve said that I’m sorry. What more do you want me to do?”

Hermione didn’t answer him immediately but she stopped snipping, making an elaborate show of examining her handiwork.

After a long pause, she looked up and Harry was horrified to see that her eyes were glistening and her face was creased with anguish.

“Why did you have to do it? Everything was all right until that. Ron was so ill and you made me feel like I had let him down. I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty and it keeps eating away at me. After all of this time, you had to wait until then. I’ll never forgive you for that, Harry.”

She looked at Harry pleadingly but shied back as he reached for the latch on the gate.

“It wasn’t my fault, Hermione. I was bewitched. I would never deliberately do something to hurt you; your friendship is far too important to me. You should know that!” Harry shouted in frustration. “I couldn’t help myself, that’s all,” he finished lamely.

Hermione paused, her look of misery replaced by a puzzled frown.

“Bewitched? How? What do you mean?” she sniffed.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Harry continued, speaking more calmly now. “It’s a very long and complicated story and, to be honest, it’s all a bit of a mess really. I can’t blame you for hating me and being confused but I don’t want things to stay like this and so you have to know the truth.”

He had not expected to be holding a lengthy conversation outside and was only dressed in a thin jacket. He shivered.

“It’s freezing out here. I can explain everything, honestly I can, but could we at least go inside? Please…” Harry whined and, sensing his genuine remorse, Hermione had relented.

They had gone into the house in a frosty silence but, sitting in the front room and sipping tea, Hermione had been willing to listen to Harry’s explanation. He had kept things brief and factual, relating the story of Ginny’s entrapment by Voldermort and her use of Elfrieda to ensnare him. He had been deliberately vague about the phenomenon of transference, preferring to pretend that the after effects of bewitchment by a Pygmy Puff were random and could involve anyone who happened to be in the vicinity at the time. Hermione had listened with a mounting combination of horror and sympathy, dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled piece of tissue. Whether she suspected that he had not been entirely truthful, Harry had never been quite sure. He had just been relieved that Hermione’s attitude had gradually softened and the icy barrier that had been developing between them had slowly melted.

“What are you thinking?” Hermione asked, dragging Harry back to the present.

“Nothing,” he lied, shaking his head. “You always warned Luna about that Erumpent horn, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but she always insisted it belonged to a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. She wouldn’t let me take it away, even though I told her that Erumpent horns are notorious for getting more and more unstable with age. It was just unfortunate that Luna decided to polish it when she did.”

Harry sighed. “Poor Luna. She was just like her mother, in that respect. I wish that we hadn’t lost her – there were so many things that I never said - but I wouldn’t have changed her. I just wish that I had the chance to tell her how much she meant to me and how much I owed her.”

Hermione squeezed Harry’s arm, her affection radiating through the simple gesture.

“That radish garland that you conjured and put by the headstone was a nice touch,” Harry said.

“Well, I thought that it was just the sort of thing that Luna would have liked. Unconventional to the last and proud of it,” Hermione replied, smiling.

“You know what?” Harry continued decisively. “If there is such a thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, I’m going to find it for Luna and get a horn mounted somewhere in her honour.”

Hermione smiled. “I’m sure that you can, if they exist that is, which seems highly unlikely to me. But in any case, you’ll need to start by gathering together all of the information that has been published about them. I can help you,” she said.

“What, you mean as a sort of research assistant?” Harry asked, laughing.

“No, Harry,” Hermione scolded. “As your partner….as your wife. Just like I always do.”

Harry smiled. “Come on. It’s getting cold. Let’s go home,” he said.