The Life Bond

Chapter 1 - Hero

“A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.”

Quirrell smirked maliciously as he led the mountain troll into the castle. It had been ridiculously easy to lure the dumb creature to the empty dungeons of Hogwarts. Absentmindedly, he wondered if Dumbledore truly deserved his magnificent reputation. The Headmaster was oblivious to Quirrell's intentions regarding the coveted Philosopher's stone, but Quirrell wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Quirrell vaguely remembered a time where he taught that filthy subject, Muggle Studies. He honestly had no idea what he was thinking. He was a Pureblood, and he should've acted accordingly. Muggles were scum, plain and simple. Dumbledore, Muggle-loving fool he was, had managed to convince him that Muggles were harmless and deserved to know about magic. Thankfully, his master showed him the error of his ways.

Quirrell was happy to serve the Dark Lord. When he first encountered the wraith in the forests of Albania, he had been scared witless. But the Dark Lord was unlike what Dumbledore had described. His master wasn't cruel or vicious like he was portrayed. No, his master had a tongue of honey, wit, and superior knowledge. He explained his side to Quirrell, and Quirrell found it made sense. Why should the worlds mix and bring about the next Salem Witch Trials? No, total separation was a must.

Still, they were outnumbered. Annihilating the threat truly seemed the only way to make sure the world became a safer place for Purebloods. The filth needed to stay out, and Quirrell agreed whole-heartedly. He was tired of teaching mudbloods. They were unworthy to learn magic, unworthy to learn about a world that they did not belong in.

It was then and there, in that forest in Albania, that Quirrell decided he would willingly serve his Lord in an attempt to see that vision come true; a world ruled by the best, the Purebloods, and filth completely eradicated. He closed his eyes temporarily, a cruel smirk on his lips as he imagined what such a world would like.

The troll let out a growl, the sound deep and guttural. Quirrell immediately snapped his eyes towards the creature. It looked at him stupidly and Quirrell sneered. Just a few more feet and then he could leave to try going down that trap door. He wasn't sure exactly how competent the other traps were, but knew his would be the easiest. Really, it was quite lucky that he had such a knack for handling trolls.

Determination seared through his veins. He had failed his Lord once, in Gringotts, and he won't do it again. He would get the Philosopher's stone and bring his Lord back to power, and be rewarded greatly.

“Make haste,” came a raspy whisper from underneath his turban.

“Yes, my Lord,” Quirrell immediately replied, his tone one of respect. He carefully set the troll free and hurried to leave before the troll spotted him and decided to make things difficult. In his haste, Quirrell underestimated the aggression the troll had. Just as he was almost at the other end of the hallway, the troll let out a horrifying roar. Quirrell spun around, wand in hand, and gasped as the troll ran at him with surprising speed.

That moment of hesitation allowed the troll to swing its club, hitting Quirrell's skull with a sickening crack. Quirrell slammed into the wall before sliding down, a dazed expression on his face. The troll regarded him for a long time, trying to determine if Quirrell was still an enemy without frying its tiny brain. It seemed to go on forever, and Quirrell felt his strength draining away. The troll finally left him, wandering down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

Quirrell couldn't move. He lay still in a pool of his blood, that horrified and dazed expression glued on his face. He couldn't think. All he could do was feel his blood dribbling out of the wound on his head with a frightening speed. He tried to move something and whimpered as his arm protested viciously. It broke when he slammed into the wall. Everything was starting to get fuzzy.

“Fool,” the Dark Lord rasped.

“Master?” Quirrell whimpered.

“You've proven yourself useless, Quirrell,” the Dark Lord said silkily.

Quirrell's blood ran cold. It began to dawn on him just what his Lord had implied. “M-My Lord, p-p-please,” he begged, his words starting to slur as his world began to blacken.

His Lord laughed, a cruel and vicious sound that Quirrell couldn't quite remember hearing, before his nerve endings erupted. He screamed as his Lord separated from the back of his head—painfully.

Just as his world darkened completely, Quirrell wondered if he'd made the right choice to follow the bodiless Dark Lord.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, the Hallowe'en feast was a success. Laughter and talking was abuzz and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Everyone except a small black-haired boy with startlingly green eyes.

Harry glanced up and down the Gryffindor table, trying to find the bushy haired witch Ron had upset earlier. Ever since he had seen her run off crying, his stomach continuously twisted rather unpleasantly. While he hadn't been the one to hurt her feelings, he also hadn't said anything in her defense, and that was almost just as bad.

It reminded him of his time at Privet Drive when he didn't have any friends. Dudley would always say something cruel and vicious, and though not everybody made fun of him, the people that were quiet hurt him perhaps moreso. He had looked at them hopefully, begging with his eyes for just a little kindness. In the end, they ignored him and turned the other cheek to his suffering.

Harry hadn't realized he became one of those people until he saw Hermione Granger crying and running off alone while he just stood there like an idiot.

His stomach churned unpleasantly. He'd been so happy to be whisked away from his dull and unwanted existence at the Dursleys that he'd begun to lose himself. And while having everybody know his name and want to be his friend was more than a little disconcerting, it was also vastly different and somewhat heart-warming. He'd gone from being an orphaned freak who lived in a cupboard to a big-time celebrity that everybody (well, almost everybody) wanted to know. Sure, he didn't want the fame and was uncomfortable with it, but having people actually interested in wanting to be his friend made him happy. Harry hadn't realized he was acting differently, and felt deeply ashamed.

“Um, Neville? Have you seen Hermione?”

Neville paused to swallow his food. “Nobody's seen her since after Charms. Parvati Patil said she's been crying in the girl's lavatory all afternoon.”

His gut lurched again.

Ron looked somewhat awkward. “Well, serves her right,” he grumbled petulantly.

Harry scowled. “It's partly your fault she's in there, so you have no right to say anything!”

Ron's jaw dropped. “But she's a nightmare!” he exclaimed in an attempt to defend himself.

“She was trying to help! Yeah, she went about it the wrong way, but that didn't mean you had to be such a rude prat.” Harry stood before Ron had the chance to reply. “I have to go.”

Harry was all too aware of the eyes that followed him as he left. He hadn't meant to snap at Ron. The redhead certainly lacked tact, but he was also Harry's first friend. He'd made Harry feel like a normal boy on the train as they talked about what to expect at Hogwarts and how nervous they were about the sorting. What Ron had said about Hermione was wrong, though, and now Hermione was in a lavatory somewhere crying because of his harsh words and everybody else's silence.

Harry knew how hard it was to fit in. Dudley had made sure that Harry felt like an outsider, and that everybody would avoid him if they knew what was good for them. Many nights after he'd cried himself to sleep in his cupboard, Harry swore that he would try to make friends with the loners. He didn't want anybody else to feel the intense loneliness he suffered. Nearly three months into term and he already broke his vow.

Harry shook those thoughts from his head and sighed as he finally reached the lavatory by the Charms room. He hesitated briefly before knocking on the door. Nobody answered, and Harry gulped somewhat nervously. Screwing his eyes shut and putting a hand over them (just in case), Harry opened the door and walked into the girl's lavatory. He could hear someone sniffling.

“Hermione?” he asked cautiously.

There was a pause before the sniffling continued. “What do you want?”

Harry felt a little relieved that he hadn't walked in on a different girl. “A-Are you okay? Parvati said you'd been here all afternoon.”

Another sniffle. “What does it matter? I thought I was a nightmare.”

Harry winced. “Ron can be a bit…dense. He was a bit embarrassed and acted like a prat.”

Hermione snorted. “I was only trying to help,” she said, feeling a tad defensive. “He didn't have to be so abrasive in saying he didn't need it!”

“I know that. Ron knows that, too. He's a good friend when you get to know him, but he's a bit insensitive. He really didn't mean to hurt your feelings.”

Hermione finally came out of the stall. Her bushy hair was all over the place, not unlike Harry's own nest of hair, and her eyes were red and puffy. She regarded him with hesitation. “You shouldn't apologize for other people,” she said softly. “You didn't do anything.”

Harry winced. “In a way, doing nothing is worse,” he replied. “I used to be bullied at my old school. I know what it feels like.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “You were bullied?”

“I grew up with Muggles, remember?” Harry grimaced. “It's hard to go to a Muggle school and have all these weird things happen that you can't possibly hope to explain. I was the weird kid that nobody wanted to be around, and was bullied for it. But one thing I noticed was that while not everybody picked on me, I always hoped that the ones who noticed what was going on would maybe stop the bullies. And it always hurt just as much when all they did was look away.”

Hermione remained silent for a while, but her eyes were misty with both tears and bad memories. “It is hard,” she whispered, sniffling, “and I don't know how to fit in here any better than in the Muggle world.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Ron helped me do that, and I'm sure he won't mind helping you. After he's apologized for being such a prat and all.”

Hermione let out a watery giggle. “How are you so sure he will?”

“Because,” Harry said, “when I left to find you, he already looked pretty guilty. He'll apologize, definitely.”

Hermione gave him a shy smile. “Thank you for finding me, Harry. You didn't have to.”

“Yes, I did,” Harry said, his voice surprisingly firm. He took in a deep breath before sticking out his hand. “Friends?”

Hermione looked surprised before she beamed. Harry flushed. She had a really pretty smile, even if her eyes were still puffy and her face was all blotchy. She took his hand and shook it. “Friends,” she concluded.

Harry smiled shyly and opened his mouth to speak when a repulsive odor hit his nostrils. It smelt like old socks and the bathroom at the Dursleys after Dudley and Uncle Vernon both finished digesting curry. He turned towards Hermione and saw her eyes wide with fear. Turning his head in the direction she was looking at, Harry froze.

In the doorway was an extremely ugly thing. It had to be at the very least ten feet tall with grey skin. Its body was somewhat lumpy, and its feet looked like every podiatrist's nightmare. It stared at them with great confusion, and it seemed like time itself stopped. The thing was clearly assessing them, a process that looked painful (kind of like when Dudley tried to demonstrate anything similar to a mathematical skill).

Before he could think of a way to leave the lavatory, which would've been hard with the thing covering the entrance, the thing roared viciously and charged at them. With an amazing amount of skill that Harry didn't know he had, he managed to push Hermione out of harm's way and narrowly evaded the club the thing had swung. The club crashed into the stalls, thoroughly demolishing them. The thing confusedly looked at the damage for a few moments.

Harry took that chance to grab Hermione and dash towards the entrance. They quickly locked the door, panting heavily.

“What was that?” Harry gasped.

“A troll,” Hermione whispered fearfully. “They're incredibly stupid, but they're also really powerful. Come on; we should tell the Headmaster.”

Nodding in agreement, Harry ran alongside Hermione. It was barely a moment later when they heard a large bang as the troll broke through the lavatory doors. Hermione whimpered in fear, running just a bit faster. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry's heart skipped a beat. The troll had spotted them. By the looks of it, the troll ran a great deal faster and would catch up in no time.

His heart was pounding in his ears. Harry had never felt so afraid in all of his life. Not even when Uncle Vernon's face turned purple after the Headmistress of his old school said he appeared on the roof of the school kitchens, or when Ripper chased him up that tree, or when Dudley tripped him into the street and he was nearly hit by a car. He could hear Hermione sobbing next to him, no doubt just as afraid if not moreso. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping them running, but Hermione was beginning to sort of slow down. It occurred to Harry that she might have never had to run so fast or for so long before.

He glanced around his shoulder again. The toll was closer, snarling as lumpy grey blobs of snot dangled out of its nose. And then, when he thought it couldn't get any worse, Hermione tripped. She crashed onto the floor, hard, and seemed a bit disoriented. She turned over when she heard the troll roar again, this time more fiercely, and she trembled as her face drained of all remaining color.

Harry didn't even need to think about it. He turned around, his wand out and pointed it at the troll, wishing with all of his might that he could protect his new friend. A misty shield came out of his wand's tip. The troll glanced at it and, growing angrier, swung its heavy club at it. The shield instantly fell, but not before the club sort of backfired. As soon as it had hit the shield, it seemed to change its course and planted itself in the troll's gut.

The troll screamed its pain and fury, stumbling backwards as the club dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

Harry quickly turned to the still trembling Hermione. “Go,” he said as he picked her up, his wand still out and trained on the troll. “Get help; hurry!”

Hermione looked at him with surprise and fear. “B-But, you—”

“I can obviously distract it better than you. Please, Hermione, get Professor Dumbledore!” Harry cried.

Hermione nodded her head and took off, still somewhat slow but with renewed determination. The troll finally seemed to collect itself and it snarled furiously at Harry. Harry felt his inside tremble and was surprised he hadn't wet himself yet. Gulping, he swung his wand again, wishing for that shield to pop up again.

It didn't.

Despair and fear took over. Harry glanced at his wand in horror, and the troll grabbed him and picked him up. Its grip was strong, and Harry felt his breathing constrict. He screamed as something in his body popped and pain exploded all over his abdomen. His lung seemed to be filling with liquid. He coughed and tasted something metallic. He didn't need to look at it to know what it was.

Blood.

He was going to die.

Harry Potter, from unwanted freak to boy celebrity, was going to die. He hadn't even made it half-way through term. He wouldn't get to play at his first Quidditch match. He wouldn't get to do a lot of things, now.

Something bubbled inside of Harry. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he desperately tried to bring forth that sensation. He wished with all of his might, prayed silently, hoped that beyond anything, he would not die by the troll's hand. Hallowe'en really was a cursed night.

It hit him in that moment that he would die the same night as his parents—just ten years later.

The sensation inside of him grew as the troll brought him closer, probably to eat him or something, and it exploded before the troll could take a chomp out of him. The troll screeched as painful looking boils erupted onto his face and hands. It threw Harry, who hit his head on the wall quite hard.

Harry watched, dazed and confused, as the troll brought its hands to its face and seemed to wipe off its skin. He shook with pain and terror as he coughed again, more blood dribbling out of his mouth. The troll looked at him again and directed its pain and anger at the bleeding boy. It brought up its fists, and Harry instinctively threw his arms up in an effort to protect himself.

The additional pain never came. Harry chanced a look and gasped. Another shield was conjured, this one stronger than the last. The troll's fists banged against it uselessly, and only seemed to make it angrier. Harry felt himself draining. Sweat developed on his brow and he panted with the exertion. He was growing weaker—he could feel it.

Just a little longer, he thought even as his vision blurred. Hermione would be there soon with the Headmaster and would save him; he knew she would. Just a bit longer.

While Harry was fighting for his life, Hermione was running as fast as she could to the Great Hall. She cursed herself viciously for being so weak, for having fallen and making Harry stay behind. She sobbed, remembering the bone-deep terror that the troll had almost gotten her. It would have killed her if Harry hadn't stepped in. She couldn't let him down. She had to get help; she owed him her life.

The doors to the Great Hall had never looked so welcoming before, not even when she walked through them the first time. Without another thought, she slammed the doors open, gaining the attention of every single person in the Hall. They stared at her silently as she gasped and tried to catch her breath.

She continued to run towards the Head Table where many professors, Dumbledore included, stood up in worry.

“Professor,” she gasped, panting heavily. “Troll! Bathroom - Harry - kill him - help!”

Professor Dumbledore seemed appropriately alarmed. “What did you say Miss Granger?”

Hermione wailed like a wounded cat. “I was in… lavatory and Harry came… but there was a troll… almost killed us, but Harry… and we got away, but it… escaped lavatory and then… almost hit me with… club, but Harry jumped in front… and this shield thing came from his wand… and he told me to come get help! Please, sir! He could be… dead right now and… oh, it's all my fault!”

Professor Dumbledore looked grim as he quickly sprung around the table. Professors McGonagall and Snape followed. Noise erupted in the Hall, as well as a good deal of screaming. “SILENCE!” All noise stopped, except for Hermione's sobs. Dumbledore began delegating orders. “Pomona, make sure nobody leaves the Hall. Poppy, Filius, come with me. Severus, go to the Hospital Wing and get the potions ready. Miss Granger, where did you leave Harry?”

Hermione grabbed his hand and tried to drag him out of the Hall, but Professor McGonagall stopped her. “Miss Granger, we cannot allow you to endanger yourself. Please, where did you leave Mister Potter? Speak quickly.”

“The Charms hallway,” Hermione sobbed.

“Thank you,” Professor Dumbledore said grimly. “Stay here. Pomona, would you…?”

Professor Sprout nodded and led Hermione into a chair, waving her wand at the distraught girl. Hermione's eyes drooped and before she knew it, she was asleep.

Dumbledore led the others to the Charms hallway, moving surprisingly quick for an elderly man. They could hear the troll snarling, and ran even faster. When they got there, McGonagall gasped in alarm.

Harry's shield was still holding, but he looked a frightful sight. He was sweating heavily, his arms shaking badly. Blood splattered on the front of his shirt and down his chin. His eyes were drooping, but he kept muttering something under his breath.

The troll didn't look so good either. It had severe damage to its face and hands. McGonagall's hand went to her mouth as the stench of boiled troll flesh hit her superior smell.

Flitwick and Dumbledore wasted no time in blasting the troll away from the injured boy. Their dual attack captured the troll's attention and before it could even think to defend itself, it was incapacitated—permanently.

Madame Pomfrey was already at Harry's side with McGonagall. She was waving her wand over the trembling boy frantically, muttering spells in an attempt to reverse as much damage as she could so they could safely bring Harry to the Hospital Wing.

“How bad is it, Poppy?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes transfixed on the blood Harry was covered in.

Madame Pomfrey continued with her wandwork. It wasn't until a few moments later that she cast spells to aid in moving Harry. “Stupefy. Mobilicorpus.” She spoke as she walked briskly towards the Hospital Wing. McGonagall and Dumbledore followed her as Flitwick stood behind to dispose of the troll's corpse. “It's not good, Albus. He has three broken ribs, two of which pierced his lung, and a nasty concussion. That's not what I'm really worried about, though.”

Icy dread washed over the elderly man. “What is it?” Dumbledore asked in a near whisper.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him solemnly. “He has the worst case of magical exhaustion I've ever seen. At his age, Albus, I… Albus, I'm not sure if I can repair the damage done to his core. He might have lost his ability to perform magic.”

“No,” McGonagall whispered in horror. “Oh, no, not Lily and James' boy!”

Dumbledore said nothing as he stared at the small boy with great regret in his eyes. The brisk trip to the Hospital Wing was silent as he began to contemplate all that had happened. Dumbledore swallowed thickly before saying quietly, “Minerva, go back to the Great Hall. All students are to be taken to their dormitories at once except for Miss Granger; she is to be brought here so she can be properly treated.”

McGonagall nodded sharply before leaving. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey reached the Hospital Wing shortly after, the latter barking out potions for Snape to deliver. The greasy haired professor paled ever-so-slightly at the blood, but quickly and efficiently began passing the medi-witch the proper potions.

Madame Pomfrey worked hard and diligently on Harry, fixing his broken ribs and repairing the damage done to his lung. In the time it took to repair everything, it was well into the evening and Hermione had been brought into the Hospital Wing. The young witch was given a Calming Draught and remained sleeping.

The next day, Hermione woke up slowly and completely unaware of her surroundings. She was confused for a few moments before yesterday night's events hit her and she let out a whimper. She trembled slightly and looked around, half-expecting a snarling troll to come after her. Instead, she noticed she was in what looked like a medical area. There were other beds, each looking crisp and undisturbed. The portraits were awake and talking amongst themselves.

“Awake already, young lady?”

Hermione squeaked and turned towards a stern looking matron, clearly frightened. The woman had grey hair pulled away from her face in a bun. Her warm brown eyes crinkled welcomingly, though her lips were pulled in a tight, worried line.

“Where am I?” Hermione asked quietly.

Madame Pomfrey gave her a small smile. “The Hospital Wing, dear. How are you feeling?”

“I…” Hermione bit her lip to try to stop her eyes from tearing. “I don't…”

Madame Pomfrey watched her before nodding in understanding and walking to a potions cabinet. She handed Hermione a small bottle. “It's a Calming Draught, Miss Granger. After the events of last night, it does not surprise me in the least that you're traumatized.”

Hermione shakily held the draught up to her lips. It took her a few tries to successfully drink the potion. She immediately felt calmer, like the tight knot inside of her was finally gone, though the tears still trickled out of her eyes.

“I was going to die,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the wall. “If Harry hadn't been… I would've died…”

Madame Pomfrey nodded her head sadly. “I'm terribly sorry this happened to you, Miss Granger. These kinds of occurrences don't frequently happen and the Headmaster is looking into it. Why, the last time we had any kind of security issue was about fifty years ago.”

Hermione wiped her tears away. “Where's Harry? He's not… Is he okay?”

Madame Pomfrey's eyes dimmed. “While the physical damage done to him has been healed, the magical damage was…extensive. I'm sorry to tell you this, but Mister Potter is in a coma.”

Hermione froze and stared at Madame Pomfrey in disbelief. “A coma? But… I mean, how could he be… why?”

Madame Pomfrey sighed and sat next to Hermione. “Mister Potter used a lot of magic protecting himself last night, Miss Granger. In short, his magical core, which is still developing, could not take the strain. His body is in a coma until his magic can repair itself to a level where he can function with something as simple as everyday tasks.”

The words echoed in her head. Hermione's heart was heavy, and her bottom lip quivered. “C-Can I see him? Please?”

The matron paused thoughtfully before she nodded her head. “It must be brief, Miss Granger. He needs peace and quiet to heal, and you yourself have been through a terrible ordeal. I'd like for you to remain in the infirmary for just a bit longer to be sure that you won't have another panic attack.”

Hermione nodded her head absentmindedly, still somewhat shocked at what Madame Pomfrey had said. Harry was in a coma? She barely stopped the strangled sound that wanted to escape at the news. Oh, this was all her fault. Maybe if she'd ran faster, or hadn't been in that lavatory at all, then maybe Harry would be perfectly fine right now.

She followed the matron stiffly, her hands clenched tightly. Harry was in a private section of the Hospital Wing. He looked somewhat peaceful, lying in the bed that seemed to swallow him. Hermione never noticed how thin he was. She swallowed thickly; even with his slightly smaller build, he was able to protect her from death.

Hermione walked forward and clasped his hand in hers like it were a lifeline. She tried hard to keep her tears at bay; it didn't do any good crying. Her tears would not awaken Harry from a coma. She waited until Madame Pomfrey left before she began to speak.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head. “I'm so sorry, Harry. If I hadn't been there, none of this would have happened.”

Harry's hand was a little warm in hers. A little calloused and almost delicate-looking, but Hermione remembered the power he'd wielded last night. He had effortlessly summoned a shield and saved her life. Granted, it didn't last, but the fact that he summoned one at all was astonishingly.

No, Harry Potter was not delicate. He was resilient, and brave, and younger than her. He had persevered where she faltered. He was stronger than her, and yet here he was, in a coma because of overusing his magic.

Probably on that shield, Hermione thought. She looked at him sadly, wanting more than anything for him to wake up. So she could thank him, apologize for endangering his life, anything.

She'd give anything for him to wake up.

Her gut twisted into knots, producing a tingly sensation that traveled throughout her body. Hermione felt sick to her stomach. The tingly sensation spread to her head, and Hermione sighed.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated sadly. “I owe you my life, Harry, and I'd do anything for you to wake up right now.”

She bent down to brush her lips against Harry's hand.

Madame Pomfrey, who walked in as Hermione was saying her goodbyes, gasped and cried, “Miss Granger, don't!”

It was too late. Hermione's lips connected with the smooth skin of Harry's hand, and the tingly sensation began to travel out of her. Her eyes widened and she tried to pull away, but she couldn't. She was getting tired, feeling weaker. Time flew slowly as the sensation buzzed quicker and quicker and her eyes grew heavier and heavier.

It was finally done. Hermione gasped loudly as she collapsed on the ground, thoroughly drained and exhausted. The last thing she remembered was Madame Pomfrey yelling for someone named Tippy to get the Headmaster.

Then her world went dark.

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Chapter 2 - Explanations

“An explanation of cause is not a justification by reason.”

He's just like Lily, Snape thought as he sipped his fire whiskey and stared into the unlit fireplace of his quarters. Just like Potter, too.

Severus Snape wasn't an idiot. He knew as soon as he'd let slip that disgusting word that day that she would walk into Potter's arms. He knew they would get married. He knew that Lily would bear the children of his most hated enemy. His chest twisted viciously at the reminder that he'd pushed away the only woman worth loving.

Snape finished the shot of fire whiskey, grimacing bitterly and pouring more. It ached—sweet Merlin, did it ache. Watching as little Harry Potter nervously placed the Sorting Hat upon his head, Snape knew teaching the boy would be his most difficult task to date. It would be harder than spying for Dumbledore, harder than enduring the brutal punishments his ex-Master had been oh-so-willing to dish out, harder than anything.

To most, Harry Potter was a beacon of hope. He was a sign of better tomorrows where good would finally triumph over evil; the Wizarding world's very own Savior and Golden Boy. To Snape, he was a reminder of everything he should have had and everything he had lost.

Lily Evans—sweet, beautiful Lily—had been his best friend. She'd been his own beacon of hope, and helped curb the loneliness of his childhood. They had done everything together, and he'd ruined everything.

The fire whiskey burned as it went down.

Staring at Harry Potter, the almost carbon copy of his archenemy with his unrequited love's eyes, hurt. Her death had been hard enough to accept; teaching her son who should have died that fateful night almost hurt more. He was a lot like her, he realized. He hadn't wanted to see those differences; wished to pretend that the boy miraculously spawned only from James Potter. It made it so much easier to hate him.

The events that occurred over the past two days changed his mind—forever. Hearing Miss Granger's garbled message and actually seeing the damage Potter had suffered at the hands of the troll had shocked him. Just thinking about all that blood made him feel queasy. It wasn't the blood he had a problem with; rather, it was seeing Lily's son lose so much of the precious liquid that truly shook him to the core.

Because Harry Potter wasn't Potter's spawn to him anymore. He was Lily's son, too.

Snape's black eyes glittered with agony. The boy had looked so much like his mother had that Hallowe'en night ten years ago. He had almost flinched and backed away, but remembered at the last minute that Lily had been buried long ago. After Poppy finished healing the boy, Snape had taken a moment to look at Lily's son—really look at him for the first time since Harry Potter stepped foot inside the Great Hall. The boy, passed out, didn't look much like his bitter childhood rival.

The room spun as Snape decided to forgo the glass and drank straight from the bottle. Merlin help me, he thought miserably. His magic hummed furiously under his skin. The life debt he owed James Potter had never been paid in full, especially since his actions had basically sentenced the pitiful excuse of a man to his death. It instead transferred over to his son. Snape knew fulfilling the debt wouldn't be easy; nearly two months into term and already Potter's—Lily's—son nearly got himself killed.

Anger began to consume him. Lily had given her life to protect her son, and he honored that sacrifice by confronting a troll by himself? Subconsciously he knew that it was poor luck that led to Potter's confrontation, but rational thought wasn't exactly his forte at the moment. Instead, he allowed the anger to fester into cold fury. He had a feeling the stupid boy would get in more trouble before the year was up; his father, after all, had had a penchant for attracting all sorts of trouble.

His cold fury soon turned to sheer, unadulterated hatred. It was easy enough to accomplish, the twisting emotions having been festering since Lily ran into Potter's arms. He'd make that arrogant boy pay for besmirching the sacrifice of the woman he loved more than life itself.

Oh, he'd make him regret surviving that night.

While Snape continued to drink himself into oblivion, Albus Dumbledore spent most of his time pacing anxiously in the Hospital Wing. He had been hopeful that perhaps a miracle had occurred and the damage done to Mister Potter's core was irreversible; that he wouldn't become like his sweet little sister Ariana.

Though Mister Potter had been fighting for his life whereas Ariana suffered a tragic encounter with those Muggles, the end result would have been the same. According to Madam Pomfrey, the damage done to Mister Potter's magical core would have left him permanently stunted. He would be unable to perform even the simplest spells, and his magic would eventually turn on him. It would drive him mad, and not even the amazing medical advances in the Wizarding world since the time his sister had been broken in such a brutal manner would prevent his magic from eventually killing him.

Hearing that, for the first time in many years, Albus Dumbledore had collapsed onto the chair in the Hospital Wing next to Mister Potter's bed, put his face in his hands, and wept. Another child was entrusted to him, and like before he failed in his duty. After his sister, he swore to never again neglect his responsibilities, and while Mister Potter was in his school, he was very much a responsibility of his. It didn't matter if the troll managing to get through the wards wasn't a fault of his own; he was the Headmaster. He needed to make the school a safe place for all of his students, his precious charges.

But he'd failed. He allowed a dangerous artifact—a coveted, dangerous artifact—to be safely hidden away at the school. Hogwarts was the next safest place for the Philosopher's Stone to be kept. Gringotts, though perhaps even more of a fortress and safe than Hogwarts, had only proven that Voldemort was slippery enough to do the unthinkable and slip in and out of the goblin-run bank undetected. The Stone needed to be protected. If it fell into Voldemort's hands, the war would pick up and rage even fiercer than before. There would only be death, destruction, and chaos.

But was it worth it? In order to save countless others, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Was keeping the Stone in Hogwarts truly the right course of action? Having it under his careful watch ensured he could protect it, but the cost almost seemed too high. It was a difficult decision to make. To keep the world safe, the Stone needed to be safe.

Keeping the Stone safe however proved a challenge. Albus admitted to himself that perhaps he underestimated Voldemort slightly. Despite the former Dark Lord's form being that of a wraith, he was obviously capable of getting past the protections Albus had set up. He should have listened to Severus when the dour Potions Master scathingly stated that three first year dunderheads could get past the rudimentary and mediocre protections.

Wiping his face, Albus came to a decision. The Stone needed to be moved—secretly. Voldemort already knew the Stone was at Hogwarts; the wards surrounding the school immediately notified him when the vile wraith had passed through them. However, Voldemort had been smart. Though Albus knew Voldemort was inside the castle, the wards had been manipulated in such a way that he had no idea where Voldemort was.

Voldemort was bound to try to retrieve it again. Moving the Stone would be the best chance of protecting it.

When he had finally managed to pull himself together, he had patted Mister Potter's hand sadly and retreated into his office. He wrote two letters; one to be sent to parents explaining the troll incident and the new wards he hoped the Ministry would approve of adding (a slightly underhanded, but extremely effective technique he learned quickly while dealing with the government), and the second to be sent to the Ministry itself.

Not even five minutes later, Tippy appeared next to Fawkes' perch, squabbling about Madam Pomfrey urgently needing him. The house elf barely finished speaking before Albus found himself grabbing Floo powder and easily making his way to the Hospital Wing.

“I tried to stop her, Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey immediately said as he rushed to her side. She cast scan after scan over Miss Granger and Mister Potter's still forms. The two children were on an enlarged bed, their hands grasped in each other's.

“What happened?” Albus demanded. His tone easily reminded the kind matron that he wasn't just an eccentric old man with a sock fetish, but rather the powerful wizard who had defeated Grindelwald.

“Miss Granger had awoken and asked to see Mister Potter. I didn't see any harm in it, so I let her. I was only gone for a few minutes,” the elder woman explained. “When I came back, I heard her tell Mister Potter that she'd do anything for him to wake up. Combine that with the life debt she owes…”

Albus paled at the implications; such words were not to be used lightly in the Wizarding world. “And then?” he whispered.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him, anxiety written all over her face. “I could feel the magic in the air,” she said softly, her eyes shifting back towards her young patients. “I tried to stop her,” she repeated.

“She touched him.” It wasn't a question.

“She kissed his hand,” Madam Pomfrey confirmed.

Albus closed his eyes. Magic was simultaneously such a wonderful, glorious blessing, and yet such a dangerous, nasty curse. It was one of the reasons why the Wizarding world was still so archaic; magic did not see reason or circumstances or took into consideration any other factors. It enabled mere words to turn into powerful weapons capable of complete and utter destruction—literally as well as figuratively.

“Are they…?”

“Miss Granger's magic helped heal Mister Potter's core,” Madam Pomfrey said. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It canceled out the life debt she owed him, but it bound their magic and, consequently, their lives together. To what extent, I won't know until they wake up.”

The air rushed out of Albus' lungs and he sat numbly in the chair by the bed. It was quiet for a few moments before Albus spoke up. “I knew Mister Potter attending Hogwarts would be a challenge, him being who he is and all, but I must admit I did not see this coming.”

Madam Pomfrey conjured a chair and sat beside him. She sighed. “I don't believe anyone could have seen or have been prepared for such an event. Why, there hasn't been a bonded pair since the 1800s.”

“With good reason,” Albus murmured quietly. He sat quietly for a few more moments before straightening. He pulled his wand out and firmly stated, “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do hereby swear a Wizard's Oath to withhold the knowledge of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger's bond from everyone except their parents, guardians, and a select few of the staff unless given consent to do so otherwise by the aforementioned pair. So mote it be.”

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened. “Headmaster…?”

Albus stared at her with grim determination. “I will not require you to swear a Wizard's Oath as your own vows as a Healer prevent you from disclosing any information, Poppy. However, let it be known that with the exception of us, there will be very few people who will know of the bond.”

Madam Pomfrey could only nod her head, somewhat stunned at the turn of events and yet not really so surprised. “Of course, Headmaster.”

Albus stood. “I have a few Floo calls to make, as I'm more than sure the Minister will have a few choice words to say about my letter. You'll inform me when they awaken, yes?”

He didn't really wait for a reply, but he didn't really need to.

The next day, Harry awoke with a groan. His head was aching fiercely, and he looked at his surroundings in confusion. What happened? Where was he? Harry tried to sit up, but his body groaned in protest. His hand—why couldn't he move his hand? Gazing at the trapped appendage, he noted with surprise that it was wrapped in something white—gauze, if he had to guess. Using his other hand, Harry groped for his glasses on the bedside table.

He was laying in a room full of beds. Harry noted with surprise that Hermione was laying right next to him, her foot touching his. How did…?

He stiffened as memories of (when was it?) Hallowe'en flooded his mind. His breathing picked up as he remembered the pain and terror the troll had caused him. The too sterile room started to spin and small, strangled noises disturbed the quiet. So caught up in his mind, Harry didn't realize he had begun to whimper. His eyes teared up and he began to struggle to get out of bed. His foot dislodged from next to Hermione's and his stomach began cramping something fierce. His body tangled in the sheets, and suddenly he wasn't in the sterile room anymore. The troll was at his feet, snarling viciously and snapping its teeth at him. He screamed and tried to get away, but something had his feet trapped. Had the troll got to him?

He screamed and screamed and screamed. Warmth gathered around his pelvis and crept down to the tops of his thighs. Harry was vaguely aware that he had wet himself and cried out for someone, anyone, to save him.

He quivered with terror, sobbing bitterly as the pain in his stomach reached its peak. Next to him, Hermione had also began to writhe in pain on the bed, her face scrunching in terror though she was still unconscious. Suddenly, there were hands on him. He fought against them with all of his might, but it was useless. He was no match for…four hands?

“Mister Potter!”

Trolls could speak? Hermione had said they were stupid, so he didn't think they could sound so normal…or feminine.

Harry hiccupped as the worried face of an elder woman came into view. She wore her graying hair in place with a small nurse's cap on the top of her head. He glanced around and noticed that the troll was gone. Professor Snape was there as well, glancing down at him with the most peculiar expression on his face as he helped the woman hold Harry down. When Professor Snape caught Harry staring at him with wonder and confusion, he sneered viciously and the familiar hatred and rage entered his eyes again.

Harry absent-mindedly wondered if he'd imagined that alien expression on his sour Potions Professor.

The Potions Master let go and reached onto the bedside table where a few potions sat. He handed one to Harry.

“Drink, Mister Potter,” he commanded silkily. “It's a Calming Draught,” he added when Harry stared at the potion with open suspicion.

Harry managed to drink it despite his shaking and felt his insides begin to relax. His muscles sagged in relief, and Harry hadn't even noticed he'd been so tense. The pain he felt earlier vanished as if it never occurred, and he noticed his foot was once again touching Hermione's. Licking his lips, he slowly found his voice. “W-Where am I?” he whispered, looking around.

“You're in the Hospital Wing, dear,” the elder woman said soothingly. “I'm Madam Pomfrey. How are you feeling?”

“Odd,” Harry mumbled. “Kind of cold.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled. “That would be because of the Calming Draught. I meant are you experiencing any pain right now? Any soreness or stiffness?”

“My head really hurts, and my arm aches,” Harry confessed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head understandingly. “Does anything else hurt?” she asked cautiously. “Anything at all?”

Harry regarded her curiously. “Just that,” he said guardedly, staring at her carefully.

The matron smiled softly at him. “Good. That's good,” she murmured. She began to run scan after scan, a quill recording notes on a piece of parchment by itself just to her right. Madam Pomfrey `hmmm'ed and `ahhhh'ed as her eyes took in the results. She turned to Professor Snape, whispered something in his ear, and shooed him out of the Hospital Wing. The dour man did so with a sneer on his face, muttering something about house elf-like treatment.

When the door closed behind him, Madam Pomfrey's smile dimmed ever-so-slightly. “Mister Potter, when the Headmaster returns, there are some things we need to speak of.”

Harry blinked. “Like what?” he asked. “Am I in trouble? For the,” he swallowed thickly, “the t-troll?”

Madam Pomfrey jerked back slightly in shock. “Of course not, Mister Potter!” she exclaimed. “That would be absolutely absurd. No, the Headmaster will be coming here for a number of reasons. One, a troll somehow managed to get passed Hogwarts' wards and you were gravely injured in the crossfire. That is not something to take lightly. You will need to receive counseling, and the Headmaster will be speaking with you and your guardians about your safety at Hogwarts.”

Harry paled a bit. “The Dursleys? Does he need to? They're, uh, not very happy with magic. Muggles and all.”

The matron's eyebrow arched on its own accord. “Mister Potter, Muggles or not, your guardians need to made aware of the situation.”

Harry nodded his head sadly and tried to hide his disappointment. Knowing the Dursleys, after finding out what happened, they would either be furious that he hadn't actually managed to die or they would pull him from Hogwarts, knowing how much he wanted to be here. “I understand,” he whispered.

Madam Pomfrey eyed him suspiciously for a moment before her face eased into a soft smile. “I'll have you know that was a brave thing you did. Recklessly stupid and utterly Gryffindor, but brave none-the-less.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, flushing slightly. “It was too fast,” he said, his eyes becoming somewhat glazed as he remembered that night. “It would have caught both of us, and Hermione was too scared. I-I couldn't let her face that t-troll.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head in understanding. “Trolls aren't normally so vicious,” she murmured. “They're big and have enormous strength, but they don't have the necessary brain power or emotional capacity to go on such a vicious rage like the one that was incapacitated two days ago.”

Harry shivered, remembering the snarling face. “I've n-never been so scared before,” he admitted, bowing his head. “But my magic—it did something. The troll was going to hit me and I thought I was going to die, but this shield thingy came up and saved me.” He looked at Madam Pomfrey curiously. “I thought you had to say a spell to do magic.”

“That is normally the case,” Madam Pomfrey said, “but young children perform magic without a wand, right? Your magic reacted to your very strong, very real fear of danger. Accidental magic occurs quite often until around the age of twelve to thirteen when children have a firmer grasp of magic and become more proficient in channeling it into a wand.”

Harry thought that over. “Why does it stop, though?”

Madam Pomfrey smiled at the inquisitive wizard. “Wands help you focus your magic. While accidental magic can sometimes be good at helping you out in a situation, it is out of control. Once magic leaves your body, there is very little you can do with it. It is essentially wild magic, and is very difficult to use.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions, but was interrupted by Hermione starting to stir awake. She let out a groggy moan before sitting up and rubbing her aching head. She was confused before a few moments before she noticed Harry and Madam Pomfrey.

Her eyes widened before she let out a choked sound and rushed to hug Harry with the force of three trolls, babbling apologies and repeating how happy she was that he was awake. Harry was surprised he understood what she said, given how fast she was talking.

“Miss Granger, please control yourself. Mister Potter has just been healed, and his body is still somewhat tender,” Madam Pomfrey chided sternly.

Hermione blushed at the reprimand. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I'm just so happy you're alright, Harry. You saved my life.”

Harry shifted somewhat uncomfortably. “It's alright,” he said quickly. “Don't worry about it.”

Madam Pomfrey grimaced slightly. “Mister Potter, I'm afraid it is something to worry about,” she said quietly. “Magic has a mind of its own sometimes, and the consequences of such actions can be a lot.”

Hermione frowned at her somewhat cryptic words. “Is something wrong?” she asked somewhat hesitantly, feeling a little upset that Harry saving her life was worrisome.

The Headmaster chose that exact moment to walk into the Hospital Wing. His blue eyes lit up when he saw Harry and Hermione awake. “I must say, it is my pleasure to see you both bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after the terrible ordeal you suffered,” he said kindly, smiling at the first years.

Hermione seemed to be dazed that the Headmaster, a man of supposedly great power and authority, was talking to them before she shook her head. “Thank you,” she said humbly. “Um, what exactly happened? How did a troll get in?”

The twinkle in Professor Dumbledore's eyes dimmed slightly. “Alas, that is a good question,” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I have a few theories, none of which can be proven. It is my belief, however, that there was a hole in the protective wards that surround the school to keep such creatures away from children. The troll was first discovered by Professor Quirrell. I'm afraid to say that he did not walk away from such an encounter.”

Harry and Hermione's eyes widened. “You mean…?” Harry asked, horrified.

“He's…dead?” Hermione whispered. They weren't exactly fond of Professor Quirrell's classes, but that certainly didn't mean they had wanted to see him dead.

Professor Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. There was a moment of silence before the wizened man spoke up. “As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I deeply apologize for your safety having been compromised,” he said softly.

“It wasn't your fault, sir,” Hermione said, blushing furiously.

“Miss Granger, I am responsible for every single student in this castle for about three-fourths of the year,” Professor Dumbledore said seriously. “Regardless of who's fault it was, the blame must fall with me as I'm in charge of making sure the school is the safest environment possible.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded her head, feeling very small.

Harry bit his lip. “What's going to happen now, sir?” he asked quietly.

Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly. “There will be a meeting held with your parents and guardians to inform them of the situation. With such a serious breach of security, actions have been taken to ensure that the problems are thoroughly investigated and appropriately corrected. Aside from that, there are some…” Professor Dumbledore faltered slightly before continuing, “…some unexpected and unorthodox consequences to come to light.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. “What?” they asked in unison.

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat softly, smiling when she captured their attention. “Mister Potter, when your magic acted up and performed that shield, it significantly drained your magical core,” she began to explain. “Because you're so young, your magical coils have not yet fully developed. Your shield burned such a large amount of magic that your body shut down to repair the damage. This condition is called Extreme Magical Exhaustion, or EME. To use as much as you did to the point of EME, it can seriously damage your magical coils and permanently cripple, or handicap you.”

Harry paled. “I-I'm crippled?” he cried, his eyes widening. He began to pat down his body. “I feel perfectly fine!”

Professor Dumbledore blinked before he began to chuckle. “My boy,” he said warmly, “you are not crippled.”

Harry blushed. “But…”

“You could have been crippled,” Madam Pomfrey stressed. “Mister Potter, magic can at times be very unpredictable. When you saved Miss Granger's life at the near cost of your own, she owed you a life debt.”

“Life debt?” Hermione murmured, her brows furrowed in concentration. She was hanging onto every word, trying to absorb everything that was being said.

“When a wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a connection between them,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “It is old magic at its deepest, and cannot be reversed. To acknowledge such a debt is to swear on your magic that the debtor repays the wizard they owe with something equally or more valuable than their own life.”

Hermione paled significantly, her brain having instantly connected the dots. “What happens if you don't pay it back?” she cried.

Madam Pomfrey looked uncomfortable for a brief moment. “There are many consequences,” she said softly, “none of which are pretty. You needn't worry about that, Miss Granger. You repaid Mister Potter's debt in full.”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. “But I haven't…how have I…?” she stammered.

“The only reason Mister Potter is awake and not crippled is because of you,” Professor Dumbledore said. “To my understanding, you deeply wished for Mister Potter to be well, yes?”

“Of course I did,” Hermione said strongly. “He saved my life!”

“Magic is deeply connected with our emotions, Miss Granger. When you kissed his hand,” Professor Dumbledore continued, ignoring both Harry and Hermione's now flaming red faces, “your magic reacted strongly to your desire for him to be well again. When that combined with the life debt, magic deemed it a suitable payment and used your magic to help rejuvenate Mister Potter's core.”

“That's a good thing, right?” Harry interjected, looking wildly between the two adults. He was very confused, feeling a ton of emotions all at once. It was enough to make him dizzy.

“It's a good thing you're both alive and well,” Professor Dumbledore assured. “Unfortunately, magic didn't stop at merely helping Mister Potter recover. It went beyond that, and entwined your magic together.”

Harry frowned slightly as Hermione sucked in air. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means we're bonded,” Hermione said quietly. “Doesn't it, Professor?”

“Indeed,” Professor Dumbledore confirmed. “You are now the youngest bonded pair in history.”

From the grim looks on everyone's faces, Harry didn't really feel like that was a good thing.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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Chapter 3 - The Grangers

“The love of a family is life's greatest blessing.”

Jane Granger glanced nervously at the clock in her office. She'd had a very unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach ever since Hallowe'en. Her husband, Alexander, insisted it was because it was the first holiday they hadn't shared with Hermione. It was possible, she admitted, but Hallowe'en wasn't really a major holiday for them since Hermione wasn't allowed to have any sweets and didn't care much for horror movies. Still, her precious daughter was in school in another country, and she could admit that that left her feeling unsettled.

Hermione's acceptance into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on her eleventh birthday came as a huge shock. They discovered that magic was, in fact, real, and their own daughter was a witch. It took some adjusting, but once she saw how excited and hopeful her little girl had been, there was no doubt that Hermione was going to travel to Hogwarts to become part of a society that held no place for her parents.

Still, Hermione was ecstatic and longed for knowledge of the new world she was going to join. She was greatly disappointed when Professor McGonagall, the strict-looking witch that had personally delivered the letter and turned their coffee table into a rabbit, informed her that due to her late birthday she wouldn't be able to join the first years until the following September. Jane had been very happy, however. It gave her time to be with her daughter for a while longer before allowing her to be so far away for the first time ever.

That, of course, didn't stop Hermione from learning all she could about the Wizarding world before she began her first year at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall looked very amused as Hermione promptly opened up a copy of the Hogwarts Muggleborn introductory packet as if it were made of the jewels from the Queen's very own crown. Hermione had wanted to buy as many books as possible, but Jane had put her foot down. They'd only have a year together, after all, and Hermione had a tendency to become manic when devouring new material. While a year didn't seem like a little, it was much less time with her daughter than what Jane was used to. Then again, in Jane's eyes, she was supposed to have at least ten years before Hermione went off on her own.

Alex took it a bit better than she did. Like Hermione, he was fascinated by the idea of a hidden world full of magic and achievements that they couldn't dream of. Not that Jane wasn't, of course, because magic was truly marvelous, but he was a little more laid back about Hermione going off to school for the better part of a year. “Dear, our Hermione is brilliant enough to accept any school she desires. We've already talked about her studying abroad,” he would say. “I worry as well, but she has a good head on her shoulders. If this is what she wants to pursue, then we need to let her.”

Despite the very rational argument, Jane still didn't feel quite right allowing Hermione to go off to Hogwarts so very far away from her grasp. Perhaps it was because of Hermione's problems with being bullied because of her high intelligence that made Jane want to keep her daughter so close to her. However, despite her initial misgivings, Jane was convinced of the safety and quality education Hermione would receive at Hogwarts, and after long talks and pondering, she finally gave her blessing.

Hermione was ecstatic, of course, and spent much of her time at home talking all about her hopes and dreams of the Wizarding world. Professor McGonagall had been very serious when speaking of the Statute of Secrecy, and of the consequences the Ministry of Magic would take should they let slip about Hermione's special abilities. If it was meant to scare them away, they were not deterred.

After all, despite Hermione being only eleven, she was a part of the family, and Alex and Jane were adamant that they allow Hermione to give her input in such big decisions, especially considering her level of maturity and rationality.

The past two months without Hermione at home was…different. In a way, it was nearly unnatural to her as a mother to come home and not here her darling little bookworm prattle on about the latest discovery she'd made at the library. She was slowly beginning to get used to it, and dreading the next six years when she'd only have holidays and breaks to spend with her daughter.

As time went on and Hermione kept up on her promise to write as often as she could, Jane felt a little more at peace. Hermione seemed to truly love the Wizarding world more than she loved the Muggle one, and she would go on for pages about how fascinating her classes were. There were no talks of friends quite yet, but Hermione had a few acquaintances from other houses that shared a table with her at the library. For someone who never really had a friend before, Jane considered it quite an improvement.

And even though Jane felt more comforted by her daughter's letters, more assured that she and Alex had made the right decision, she found herself unable to sleep Hallowe'en night or last night. She felt sick to her stomach, and yet she didn't have a cold or any sort of ailment. Instead, it felt like her gut was telling her that something was just wrong. Not only that, but Hermione hadn't mailed a letter in five days. She could have simply forgotten or was too busy studying, but Hermione was rather obsessive about her maintaining a schedule to the point of it developing into a complex that that was rather unlikely. Hermione had also promised to mail another letter the day after Hallowe'en detailing how the Wizarding version differed from the Muggle one.

It didn't take long for her to start assuming the worst and pacing a hole in the floor. Alex tried to assure her that everything was fine, but Jane knew her daughter. Something had happened, something that kept her from sleeping and twisted her stomach into knots. She had no evidence, but sometimes a mother just knows.

A knock on the door broke Jane out of her musings. She almost knocked down her water bottle before she cleared her throat and said, “Come in.”

It was Alex. “Darling, are you ready to go?”

Jane smiled at him. Oh, how she loved her husband. He was a tall man with chestnut brown hair and breathtaking warm chocolate eyes. Alex always knew how to make her smile, either quoting a seemingly obscure passage from a Shakespearean play (which she had to guess) or acting like an exuberant child when he told her about a new fascinating piece of literature he found in the library.

She could see a lot of him in Hermione.

“Just about. My last appointment rescheduled for tomorrow morning, so I'll need to be a little early,” she replied, standing up and stretching.

Alex grinned. “Excellent. Would the lady care to join me at the cinema tonight?”

Jane laughed. “Let's eat dinner first, shall we?”

The walk home was a pleasant one. The autumn air was beginning to chill, but Alex held her hand the entire way and offered her his warmth. He even wore the awful scarf she'd tried to make him years ago. It was absolutely hideous, and the green yarn was too old and starting to come undone. Fortunately, Hermione did not inherit her bad skill in the area.

Their plans for the evening were foiled, however, when they spotted an elderly man in alarming purple suit gazing at their house and frowning. They shared a look and Alex took a cautious step forward.

“Excuse me, but may I help you?” he asked.

The elderly man turned towards them, and his blue eyes lit up and twinkled. “Yes, I'm looking for Mister and Missus Granger?”

Jane stepped next to her husband. “What can we do for you?”

The elderly man smiled politely. “Forgive me, I've yet to introduce myself. I'm Professor Albus Dumbledore. I'm the Headmaster at Miss Granger's school.”

Jane's stomach dropped. “Has something happened?” she asked frantically, fear gripping her heart. “Is something wrong? How is Hermione?”

Albus's smile dimmed considerably. “Miss Granger is well now. May we take this conversation inside?”

Jane and Alex, both pale with worry and confusion, led him into their modest abode. He was further led into their sitting room where he sat in a very comfy chair, flicked his wand to provide tea, and pondered on how best to start.

Alex, however, could not take the silence. “What's happened to my little girl?” he demanded quietly, all traces of his normally jovial character gone.

Albus sighed softly. “On Hallowe'en, there was a breach in the protective wards surrounding Hogwarts. A mountain troll somehow managed to get in, destroy a bathroom, and seriously injure a student.”

Jane gasped, and Alex's face became pinched. “Was it Hermione?” she whispered, horrified. Her eyes filled with tears as fear for her only child grew. “Was Hermione hurt?”

“No,” Albus said, “she wasn't.”

Alex nearly sagged in relief. “But…if Hermione wasn't injured, why are you here?” he asked curiously. “Surely as the Headmaster you have more important things to do than personally deliver the news to every family that has a child in your institution; like, say, find out how something that can destroy a bathroom managed to get into your school.”

Albus gave a small smile. “Normally a letter is mailed to all the parents detailing what happened, but though Miss Granger wasn't injured, that does not mean she wasn't involved, hence my coming here personally.” Upon seeing their faces, he continued, “You see, Miss Granger was in that bathroom when the troll attacked. It turns out that a classmate said some rather cruel words and she hid in there the entire afternoon.”

Jane's hand flew to her mouth. “Hermione was there when that thing destroyed it?” she shrieked, her eyes wide.

Albus nodded solemnly. “According to Miss Granger, a fellow classmate, Mister Potter, had followed her into the bathroom—”

“He what?” Alex's face nearly purpled with rage at the thought of a boy stalking his baby girl.

Albus gave him a stern look for interrupting, the same one he used on unruly students, and said, “He followed her into the bathroom to apologize.” The old man paused and, after he was sure he wouldn't be interrupted again, carried on. “He wasn't the one that put her in there, but still felt that he should apologize because he had remained silent when the other boy spoke ill of her thoughtlessly. It was at that point that the troll walked in and began to destroy the bathroom.”

“So a troll just…just waltzed into the school and destroyed the bathroom?” Jane had a hard time processing everything. “Why didn't anyone see it?”

“This occurred during the Hallowe'en feast,” Albus explained. “Everyone, or so we thought, was dining in the Great Hall.”

It was silent for a moment before Alex murmured, “You said a student was seriously injured…”

Albus nodded. “They tried to outrun the troll, but outrunning a creature ten feet tall is no easy feat.”

Alex and Jane paled even more, and Jane's breath began to come in short pants. Albus looked at her, alarmed, and gave her the teacup. She shook her head, but he insisted, and after the first sip she felt warmth travelling throughout her body, and it became easier to breathe. “You drugged me?” she asked incredulously.

“I'm sorry, madam,” Albus apologized, “but I thought telling you the news without the use of a calming draught would have been unwise.”

Alex wrapped his arms around his wife and glared at the old man. “You can't just drug people! Even if it was the calming thing, the least you could have done was tell us beforehand.”

Albus had the sense to look abashed. “I'm sorry,” he apologized again. When Alex's glare softened only marginally, he spoke again. “They could not have outrun the troll. It's legs were bigger and more powerful. So…” He stopped and took a sip of tea, his eyes dimming even further. “So Mister Potter urged her to get help, and stayed behind to distract the troll.”

Jane's teacup slipped from her numb hands onto the carpeted floor. “He…?”

“He was able to perform extremely advanced magic, and developed a severe case of Extreme Magical Exhaustion. Such an ailment in an eleven year old child still developing his magic is extremely dangerous, and is known to normally end fatally after a few months,” Albus informed them grimly. “Because his magical coils are still developing, to use to much magic would cripple him. He would be unable to use magic until, one day, his magic would burst free and most likely kill him in the process.”

Alex's eyes widened and he inaudibly gasped. He felt sorry for the boy, no doubt, but he couldn't help but picture his little girl suffering. His heart ached terribly.

“Is he…will he be…?” Jane stammered.

“He was in a coma for two days.” Albus paused and took another sip of tea. “He also gave Miss Granger enough time to inform me and the staff of the troll. We were able to save Mister Potter from immediate death, though he obviously suffered a great deal. Professor Flitwick, who was a master duelist quite a number of years ago, as well as myself were able to eliminate the troll.”

That was a polite way of putting it, and Jane couldn't help but feel such an immense amount of relief. “So…so Hermione's okay… My baby girl is alright.” She almost sobbed tears of joy.

Alex, however, tensed again. “Well, given light of recent matters, I believe it's safe to say that Hermione will not be continuing her education at Hogwarts.”

Albus nearly grimaced. “I'm afraid that's where things get sticky,” he said slowly.

Alex would have none of it. He stood up, enraged. “We were promised that our daughter would be safe,” he spat angrily. “Instead , she could have been killed by a—a—a troll! No, she won't be continuing at your fine institution anymore. I want Hermione home—tonight!”

Albus slowly stood up, allowing some of his magic to radiate off his body. “Mister Granger,” he said softly, “I am not yet finished informing you of what happened, and this very much concerns your daughter. Please, sit and listen.”

Alex froze. “Nothing you say,” he said as he sat down, “will change my mind.”

Albus also sat. “In the Wizarding world,” he continued as if Alex had never spoken, “when you save someone's life at the near cost of your own, that person then owes you a life debt. This is old magic at its deepest, and very unbreakable. To acknowledge such a debt is to swear on your magic that the debtor repays the wizard they owe with something equally or more valuable than their own life.” He took another sip of tea. “Miss Granger, unknowingly, acknowledged the debt she owes Mister Potter.”

Jane closed her eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath. The calming draught was wearing off, and Albus conjured another cup of tea for her. She eyed it wearily, but sensing her anxiety building convinced her to take a sip. “Something equally…or more valuable than her life,” she murmured. She looked up into the old man's eyes, tears still trailing down her face despite feeling completely calm. “My baby is only twelve. She's my everything. What can possibly be more valuable than her own life?”

Albus regarded her with sad eyes. “When she acknowledged her debt, she leaned down to kiss his hand,” he explained softly. “That would normally be of no consequence, but when you combine that with an acknowledged debt, a promise to aid in whatever manner she can, and skin contact, that develops a bond.”

“A bond?” Alex asked incredulously, feeling very confused and angry and wondering if allowing Hermione to pursue her magical talents wasn't such a good idea.

“The bond she accidentally invoked allowed her own magic to heal Mister Potter's, saving him from his eventual fate. Her and Mister Potter are now connected, in the deepest of ways in the Wizarding world.” Albus sighed and suddenly appeared to be so very old. “For the time being, they cannot be separated without causing them both pain. They are currently in the Hospital Wing being looked after by Madam Pomfrey, a very capable Healer. We still do not know how deeply this bond will affect them.”

“How do you not know?” Jane questioned, sipping her tea with slightly shaky hands.

“The last bonded pair was in the 1800s,” Albus said. “And every bonded pair was different. Besides, it is unheard of for eleven-year-olds to be bonded—until now, that is. And that is primarily the reason why Miss Granger must stay enrolled in Hogwarts.”

Alex shook his head. “She's not staying there another night,” he grit out. “As her father, I am well within my rights to pull her from your school.”

“Be that as it may,” Albus conceded, “the fact remains that she is now magically connected to another student. If you pull her from Hogwarts, her magic will be heavily suppressed and all of your memories of the magical world will be erased as is customary for Muggleborns that decline a magical education.”

“Maybe,” Jane spoke up, licking her lips, “that'll be best. You have to understand, Mister Dumbledore, that as a parent it is my job to do what's best for my daughter. I thought your school would be best, but she was nearly killed. I trusted you with her safety, and you failed. You won't get the chance to make that mistake again.”

“If her magic, the only reason why Mister Potter is not in a coma and crippled, is suppressed, how do you suppose her debt would be fulfilled?” Albus asked.

“You said it yourself!” Alex exclaimed. “He's not in a coma anymore, and healed. I'm sorry he got hurt and bloody thankful that he saved my daughter, but I won't allow her safety to be further jeopardized!”

“You misunderstand what I'm trying to tell you,” Albus murmured, sighing heavily. “Miss Granger's magical coils are also not that developed. The moment she acknowledged the debt and furthermore sealed it when her lips touched his hand, their bond became unbreakable. It relies on their magic. You have that suppressed, and you kill not only your daughter, but an innocent boy who nearly lost his life trying to save hers!”

Alex and Jane recoiled sharply, momentarily speechless.

“So…” Jane swallowed thickly and said, “So we don't even get the choice?” She shook with suppressed fury and practically spat in rage. “We have no choice but to let our daughter continue her education at your obviously unsafe school?”

Albus pursed his lips. “We are going to have Aurors, our equivalent of Muggle policeman, investigate how a troll could have managed to breach our protective wards. During the Christmas holidays, all children will be sent home so the wards can be updated and brought to a higher standard to further protect the school and its occupants.” He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Now, you have every right to be upset at the turn of events. I take full responsibility for your daughter's traumatic experience, and will be providing counseling for her. I apologize, deeply and profusely, for what has happened, but I cannot allow you to pull Miss Granger out of Hogwarts.”

Jane scoffed. “Given that her options are at your institution or death, it's not like we have a choice,” she said bitterly.

Alex shook his head. “I don't like this,” he said angrily. “We should have never let her go.”

Albus sighed, understanding their feelings. “Furthermore, I understand how you would find it impossible to trust me or the staff ever again with your daughter's safety.” He ignored their glares and rummaged for something in his pocket. “Therefore, I will be giving you two devices that will allow you to monitor your daughter's safety yourself.”

Alex and Jane exchanged a look. “How can we do that?” Jane asked curiously, her tone still carrying a note of anger.

Albus licked his lips. “I trust I don't need to remind you of the consequences should this fall into the hands of a Muggle that does not know of magic,” he said seriously. He, of course, charmed the devices to only be found and viewed by the Grangers, but they didn't need to know that and become careless with them. He doubted that would happen, but one could never be too careful. “The Statute of Secrecy leaves little room for mistakes to be made in regards to magical items being found in the wrong hands.”

“Save your threats, Mister Dumbledore,” Alex said crisply.

Albus smiled genially at him. “This first device,” he said, showing them a simple wristwatch, “will monitor your daughter's whereabouts.” At their dubious looks, he opened the watch. “These spoons will show whether she is safe, hurt, or lost. It will not, however, react to every injury she receives.”

“Why not?” Alex asked, begrudgingly impressed by the device.

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Well, while a paper cut can hurt, I seriously doubt it's serious enough to cause you to panic,” he explained. “Therefore, it'll only move from safe to hurt if Miss Granger needs to spend more than a day in the Hospital Wing.”

Jane accepted the watch and cradled it, staring at the spoon that rested on safe. “Thank you,” she whispered. She was, of course, still upset with the old man and even more at the helplessness she was experiencing, but the watch would certainly help her not develop grey hairs earlier than she should.

“The other device,” he said as he pulled it out from his obviously enlarged pocket, “is this enchanted mirror.”

It was a beautiful silver mirror, with gold floral engravings going up the handle. Jane briefly wondered how it fit into his pocket, but seemed to think that the fact that he was a wizard should be the only explanation she would really need. Still, she had to comment on it. “It looks lovely,” she said softly. “What does it do?”

Albus smiled and, instead of responding, stared at the mirror and said, “Hermione Granger.”

The mirror glowed a soft, pale blue before Jane heard her daughter's voice. “Hi, Professor Dumbledore!”

Albus smiled. “Miss Granger, I'm going to give this to your parents now.” He stared at the shocked parents and carefully handed them the mirror.

Jane grabbed it with shaky hands and stared into it. Her daughter was smiling at her, her brown eyes sparkling and looking so very happy. “Hi, mum! Isn't this mirror cool? It has all sorts of enchantments on it, and it kind of works like a cross between a mobile and a video camera. I've actually heard that the University of Cambridge is working on something called a webcam, and it's all really fascinating.”

Jane swallowed thickly and smiled. “Yes, it is,” she said softly. “How are you feeling? Professor Dumbledore told us what happened. Are you alright?”

Hermione smiled a little weakly. “Yes, everything's fine, mum. Harry saved my life. Would you like to see him?” Without waiting for an answer, she pointed the mirror at a boy she was obviously sitting next to. He was adorable, Jane thought, with his wild raven hair and breath-taking emerald eyes. He blushed furiously as soon as the mirror was pointed at him, but offered a weak wave and then looked away pointedly.

Albus coughed, gathering their attention. “Unfortunately, the call has to be cut short. Miss Granger and Mister Potter need their rest. You can continue at a later date.”

Jane was very reluctant to end the call, but Alex swiftly took the mirror from her, spoke with Hermione for a few moments, and then said his goodbyes, promising to continue the call later. Jane also said her goodbyes, and then Hermione's face disappeared from the mirror. “What's this?” Jane asked as Albus handed her a paper.

“Miss Granger's schedule,” Albus said. “So you'll know when she's in class, and when she'll have free periods to talk.”

“Thank you,” Alex said quietly.

Albus waved off their thanks. “It really is the least I could do,” he said. He pulled out a watch and glanced at the time. “I'm going to have to cut this a little shorter than I'd like. I still have to visit Mister Potter's family and explain what happened.” He stood up and turned to leave, but paused. “We don't normally do this, but given that these are extenuating circumstances and I'm sure you'd love nothing more than to check for yourself, Professor McGonagall will deliver Miss Granger here tomorrow. What time will be best?”

“The morning,” Jane said immediately. “I'll cancel my appointments.”

Albus nodded. “You understand, of course, that due to the instability of the bond, Mister Potter and Miss Granger require constant contact. He will also need to be here.”

“He saved Hermione's life,” Alex said quietly. “I think we can host him for a few hours.”

Albus smiled. “Thank you.” He turned to leave but, yet again, paused. “I must also inform you that due to the rareness of the bond, I have elected to keep it very hush-hush and under wraps. Only the staff will know since Miss Granger and Mister Potter will now need to be paired together until the bond settles. They have all agreed to take a Wizard's Oath and keep their silence. A Wizard's Oath is different than a normal oath in the Muggle world, the difference being that should the witch or wizard break this oath, their magic will be forfeit. And, believe me, there are many that find that fate a lot worse than death.”

Alex and Jane nodded their heads in understanding. They were not completely convinced that Hermione would be safe at Hogwarts, but given that they didn't really have a choice, they at least had the tools to make sure she was safe. “Have a good evening, Mister Dumbledore,” Jane said as she and Alex walked him to the door.

“You both as well. I wish we met under different circumstances,” Albus replied solemnly. He reached into his pocket and handed Jane a book. “I recommend you read that before tomorrow morning. You will find it most enlightening.” With a last nod, he exited the house and walked away. Jane closed the door and not five minutes later, there was the sound of a car backfiring.

“What's that?” Alex asked after a few minutes of silence.

Jane glanced at the book. “The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lords,” she read. She opened the book and noticed an underlined chapter under the table of contents. “Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived.”

“Boy who lived?” Alex eyed it skeptically.

Jane shrugged her shoulders and made her way back into the sitting room. She put the book down on the coffee table and stared it for a moment. Unbidden, her eyes filled with tears again and before she knew it, her husband was pulling her into his arms and rocking her gently.

“We almost lost her, Alex,” she sobbed. “She…she must have been so scared, and…oh, I don't want her back at that school!”

“I don't like it any more than you do,” he murmured into her hair, “but she's safe now. We have this mirror and we can contact her any time we want.”

Jane nodded her head and wiped away her tears. “I don't like it,” she whispered. “But it's better than the alternative.”

Alex smiled gently and placed a loving kiss on her lips. “Come on,” he whispered back. “Let's get started on that book. I'll make us a nice pot of undrugged tea, and then we can get to bed. Hermione's coming tomorrow morning. That's something to be happy about, right?”

Jane let out a watery giggle. “You're right. Let's get this over with.”

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Chapter 4 - The Dursleys

“Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty.”

Petunia Dursley loved the life she had; she loved the home she lived in, she loved the social standing she had in the community amongst the housewives, and she loved her family. Her lovely husband, Vernon, provided quite nicely and their son was an absolute angel. He was already attending Smeltings, and Petunia had a feeling he'd grow up to be just as successful as his father. Just as she put the finishing touches on the pudding, the door opened and closed. Petunia smiled widely and rushed to the door.

“Vernon, darling, you're home!” she cried, placing a kiss on his lips. She helped him out of his business jacket and grabbed his briefcase.

There were many words that described Vernon Dursley, and handsome wasn't one of them. He was a big and beefy man with a moustache and beady eyes. His personality left more to be desired than his appearances, being a very greedy and selfish man. Petunia, of course, saw none of that. Vernon would always be the polite, misunderstood man that only she had the privilege to see.

Ever since they first started dating, Vernon had been the perfect gentleman. He held open the door for her, complimented her, and asked her how her day went. Even after marriage, he was everything she'd imagined in a husband; an excellent provider, wonderful father, and overall hard-working individual.

She regretted her parents dying before they could meet him.

“How was your day, Pet?” he questioned, smiling at his doting wife. “My, something smells divine.”

“Vernon, we have new neighbors!” Petunia squealed excitedly, walking into the kitchen with Vernon following her. “I've made a pudding to welcome them to the neighborhood.”

“Excellent idea, Pet.”

“They sound positively delightful,” Petunia continued, smiling as she decorated the pudding with sugared violets. “Their surname is Bennet, and from what I've heard, the wife, Angela I believe her name is, writes books. Robert, the husband, is a lawyer. They look middle-aged, but they don't have any children yet!”

“Really?” Vernon murmured as he stroked his moustache.

Petunia gossiped, “And, from what Mrs. Kirtland told me, they're both rather attractive. I'm going to invite them over for dinner and see what they're all about.” Petunia paused, frowning slightly. “Mrs. Arkwright in Number Seven spoke with her already. The Bennets, apparently, can't have any children.”

“What a shame.” Vernon didn't sound sympathetic in the least.

“Finished,” Petunia said proudly, admiring her work.

“Looks delicious, dear,” Vernon said, licking his lips greedily. “Perhaps I should taste it to see…”

“Vernon!” Petunia laughed a little, smacking his arm gently. “I wouldn't want you to spoil your appetite, darling. The roast potatoes are already in the oven, and I've made your favorite lamb roast earlier.”

“You always look after me, Pet,” he whispered in her ear, delighting in her shiver. “I don't know what I'd do without you.” He wrapped his thick arms around her and Petunia sighed contentedly, leaning into his embrace. She closed her eyes and Vernon used that opportunity to dig his finger into the bottom corner. He hurriedly stuffed the bit of pudding into his mouth and sighed in bliss. His wife was a true whiz in the kitchen, if he did say so himself.

A knock on their door interrupted their moment. Petunia frowned and glanced at the time. “Were you expecting anyone, darling?”

Vernon scowled. “No,” he said thoughtfully, an obviously seldom used expression on his face.

He straightened his tie and smoothed any wrinkles from his shirt before opening the door, just in case it turned out to be a prominent businessman. Instead, he came face to face with an elderly man in a revolting purple suit. Despite the color, however, the suit was obviously made of fine material, and the twinkle in the man's blue eyes reminded Vernon of the difficult Japanese businessman he'd encountered earlier that day—calculating, and slightly wicked. Vernon got the impression that the man before him was one of power, and while not boastful about it, definitely not afraid to use it.

It was a look he'd seen in many a confident potential business client and Vernon had plenty of practice when it came to manipulating things to go his way.

“Mister Dursley, I presume?” the man asked after a few moments of a somewhat awkward silence.

Vernon realized he'd been sizing the man up for an entire minute, and promptly stuck out his hand to cover up the awkward moment. “How do you do?” he asked greasily. “Yes, I'm Vernon Dursley. May I ask who you are?”

“Oh, how rude of me,” the old man said lightly. “I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. I'm the Headmaster at Mister Potter's school.”

Immediately, all evidence of his kind disposition vanished. Vernon adopted a half-panicked, half-disgusted expression. “We don't know about any Potter!” he barked. “Don't com e here ever again!”

He made to slam the door, but Albus was stronger than he let on. Vernon barely suppressed a shiver as the blue eyes, twinkling jovially only moments, frosted over and glared at him. “Mister Dursley,” Albus said calmly, “I have come here to discuss something of great importance with you and your wife regarding Mister Potter. Let me in—now.”

Grimacing slightly as some of their neighbors nosily stared at them, Vernon allowed Dumbledore to step inside. “Don't let the neighbors see you,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Who was it Vernon?” Petunia asked. She gasped as she saw Albus. “You!”

While she'd never seen Albus Dumbledore in the flesh before, she remembered Lily bringing home photos of her freak school. Among them had been the Headmaster, and Petunia was slightly surprised the elderly man hadn't retired or croaked yet. Her face twisted into a sneer at the thought of the freak school, or the freak boy that had finally left her lovely abode.

Petunia long accepted that her nephew, loathed she was to admit the relation, would never be normal. She'd hoped that she and Vernon's strict rules would curb the freakishness he'd been born with, but to no avail. He was just like her sister, making things happen unnaturally. She loathed it.

Albus smiled thinly at her. “Good evening, Missus Dursley. I'm—”

“I know who you are,” Petunia interrupted harshly. “You're the-the Headmaster of that freak school! If the boy's done anything, he's your problem now!”

Albus was silent for a few moments, shocked and appalled. Freak school? Reigning in his anger, he looked at her shrewdly over his half-moon glasses and said, “Because you are his legal guardian, I am obligated to discuss matters of great importance with you.”

Vernon found his courage once more and sneered. “We don't care what happens to the little freak! Good riddance, I say. We never wanted him and—” He fell silent at Albus's furious glare.

“Freak?” Albus narrowed his eyes at the now quivering mass. “Mister Potter is your nephew, and you dare utter such an appalling word? I daresay Mister Potter is one of our most promising wizards and I'll not have you besmirch him in such a manner!”

Petunia flinched at the furious tone. “Why are you here?” she asked, glancing desperately at the clock. “I have a previous engagement that really can't be rescheduled and—”

“And is that engagement,” Albus interrupted, “more important than your nephew's life?”

Petunia shrunk back and kept quiet. Vernon moved in front of her in an obvious attempt to protect her from the enraged wizard's eerie stare. “So what happened with the fr—boy?”

Greatly disturbed at the word, Albus chose to ignore it for the time being. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and not for the first time in many years did he wonder if leaving Harry here was a mistake. He chose to deliver the news of Harry's bond bluntly, using little words and enunciating at points as he was sure Mister Dursley would have a bit of a tough time understanding him. If Vernon's rapidly purpling face was any indication, Albus felt he maybe should have used even smaller words.

“And as a result, Mister Potter and Miss Granger must remain in contact physically until the bond stabilizes. However, this type of bond is so rare, we don't know how long it would take for that to occur,” Albus finished. “I'll be dropping Mister Potter and Miss Granger here tomorrow so you may speak with him if you wish.”

“Hold on!” Vernon snapped. “Having one fre—the boy—here is bad enough. We will not put up with another one of your kind!”

Albus's nostrils flared, and he felt his wand warm up in retaliation. He'd had enough of the Dursleys' snide remarks and general unpleasantness. “Never in my life,” he whispered dangerously, “have I ever had the displeasure of meeting anyone so unpleasant.”

Vernon bristled and was in Albus's face before he had time to process what exactly he was doing. His fat, sausage-like finger poked Albus in the chest many times as he spat out, “Now see here, Mister Dumbdor, the only one unpleasant is your kind! You leave a child on our doorstep with only a note, and don't bother to see if we even want the little bastard! Then we get stuck with him for ten years and have to spend on him what we'd rather use to take our own son out on trips that he deserves. Don't you dare come to my house and condescend to me and my wife when we should have dumped him in an orphanage!

“Instead,” Vernon continued to rage, “we took him in out of the goodness of our hearts, put clothes on his back, food in his mouth, and did our best to-to-to stamp the freak out of him! And what did we get for our efforts? Our house was bombarded with your blasted letters, we received no compensation for caring for him, and our son was c-c-cursed with a pig's tail! Oh, no! Enough is enough! The little freak has been more trouble than he's worth! We'll not have him here anymore! Get out!”

Albus stood slowly, magic rolling off him in waves as his anger grew. He stared Vernon in the eyes, slightly amused when Vernon paled and recoiled. Oh, it was much too late for that. A bit of wandless Legilimency revealed how the Dursleys felt about Harry, and never before had Albus felt more sickened. This was the house he left Harry at. This was the last family of Harry's. This…this was a travesty. Petunia and Vernon Dursley weren't fit to raise a potato, let alone children.

What was he thinking? He should have checked. He should have listened to Minerva. Albus wanted to curse the pitiful Muggles in front of him, treat them how they treated the brave little boy that risked his life to save his friend from a troll. It was that thought that brought him back to reality, and Albus suddenly had a better understanding of why his father had been so willing to go to Azkaban after what he did to those Muggle boys.

And though he tried his hardest to forget his previous mindset about Muggles, the Dursleys were the type of people that would make him remember.

Albus stared at the cowering adults, and briefly contemplated his choices. The moment they accepted Harry into the house, it had sealed the blood wards surrounding the property. The environment wasn't what he wished, and was in fact much worse than even Arabella had suspected. What had he condemned little Harry to?

A peek into Vernon and Petunia's minds gave him his answer, and he wanted to throw up. Harry, young and unsure of what he could have possibly done wrong, was treated little better than a house elf. He was fed the bare minimum, clothed the bare minimum, and treated the bare minimum. It was a pathetic excuse of a life, and Albus was the cause of it all.

Paying attention to the Dursleys once more, he cleared his throat and ignored the way Vernon flinched. “You are very lucky I don't consider your finger upon my person much of a threat,” he said nonchalantly. He turned to Petunia. “If the situation was reversed, Lily would have never treated your son like this. He would have been part of the family, and he would have known how much you loved him.”

Petunia looked like she was slapped, and for a brief moment Albus saw a hint of remorse in her eyes. “You never asked us,” she said shakily. “I had a falling out with my sister long before her son was born, and had you asked, we would have told you to place him elsewhere. We received no monies to help take care of him, and—”

She was only repeating what her husband said, and it drove Albus over the edge momentarily. “You dare ask for money to take care of him,” he raged, “when you starved him, gave him clothes five times his size, and locked him in a cupboard under the stairs?”

Vernon spoke up, defending his wife and his honor. “If we had money to take care of him—” He never got to finish his statement.

Albus momentarily lost his composure. “THIS HOUSE BELONGS TO HIM!” He stood up and glared furiously at Lily's sister.

Petunia looked shocked. “No, this house…this house belonged to my parents!”

“Lily's husband James purchased this house in her name,” Albus spat, “and if you read her letter, you would know that! You dare complain about what a hardship it has cost you to take care of your nephew, your own blood, when your compensation was this house! The amount of money it would have cost you to pay monthly rent for this house was enough to take care of Lily's son until after his years at Hogwarts, and then come to a decision with your nephew regarding the ownership.

“But it wouldn't have mattered to you whether or not you received money for him,” he continued to rage. “I have no doubt any money received for his care would have gone to spoiling your own son. I confess, I find myself having a hard time believing you are related to Lily!”

Petunia seemed stunned for a moment before she swelled with anger. “Lily always was the perfect one,” she spat bitterly. “Always so kind, so beautiful, so amazing; it was sickening! Everyone seemed to gravitate towards her, and most didn't know she was a fr-freak! What she did, what your kind does, it's unnatural! And do you know what it cost her? Her life! If she had just listened to me and rejected her freakishness, she'd be alive now with a normal husband and a normal son! She could've done anything, and you tarnished her.”

Albus stared at the woman dispassionately as a few tears escaped her eyes. “I fail to see how that's your nephew's fault,” he said almost coldly, an image of Petunia roughly grabbing Harry and chucking him into the cupboard under the stairs very fresh in his mind.

Petunia glared at him. “You put in your letter that she died for him. She died for that little freak and you expect me and my husband to take care of him? If he hadn't been born, Lily would still be alive. If you hadn't sent your blasted letter, she could have been normal and happy!”

Albus stared at her for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “Mister Potter is your nephew,” he said, staring into her eyes. “A nephew whom you neglected and mistreated. You abused your late sister's only son—told him his parents were drunks, he was a freak, and did everything possible to stunt his growth. From what I've seen, I'm amazed at his good character. One would never guess he had misfit guardians.” He paused for a moment. “I guess he inherited more from his mother than just her eyes.”

Petunia flinched almost violently at that, remembering those beautiful emerald eyes that Lily had. Staring into her son and seeing her eyes had been a major blow that November morning when Vernon brought the child inside. She stared into those eyes, and she knew deep inside her that her sister was gone. It hurt Petunia more than she'd ever cared to admit, because though she was estranged from her sister, she had still loved her.

“He didn't just lose his mother that night,” Petunia said quietly, almost choking as tears came to her eyes. “I lost a sister.”

Albus cocked an eyebrow. “What an interesting way to show it,” he said softly. “Tell me, Petunia, if Lily were here right now and saw how awfully you treated her son, what would she do? What would she say?”

Petunia glared at him and shook her head. “It's not fair of you to ask me that!” she hissed. “You left him on my doorstep in the middle of the night and never asked if I wanted to look after him. How could you expect me to just take him in, raise him as my family, when he's so abnormal? How could you expect me to look at him every day and not feel sickened that he lived while she died? You have no right to ask me any of that!”

Albus stood and brushed his suit. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “After all, I am merely the Headmaster of her old school where her son happens to attend right now. However, I will tell you this.” His eyes hardened into deadly crystals. “You have mistreated a little boy now in my care for the next three-quarters of the year. You never made any effort to include him in your family, and that little boy grew up alone and unloved. That is simply unforgivable. I'd start counting down the days, if I were you. Because, and trust me when I tell you this, everything he's suffered in this house will be brought into the light, and he will have justice.”

Vernon and Petunia paled considerably. “B-But,” Petunia stuttered, wiping away her tears.

“This conversation is over,” Albus interrupted swiftly. “I've done my duty and informed you what exactly occurred with your nephew; there is nothing else to speak of.” He turned to leave but paused for a moment. Brandishing his wand, and ignoring the startled and frightened shrieks that erupted from the Dursleys' mouths, he muttered a quick summoning charm. An envelope came flying from somewhere upstairs, and Dumbledore led it to the coffee table with a flick of his wrist. “You might want to read that,” he added as he finally made his way out the house.

A few minutes later, the sound of a car backfiring made the Dursleys jump. Petunia shakily reached out for the envelope and stared at the delicate, feminine scrawl on the front. Petunia, it read. She had found it all those years ago, tucked safely inside the blanket that had been wrapped around her nephew. It was Lily's penmanship, another perfect thing that Petunia had scorned, and obviously intended for her. Something stopped her from reading it. With shaky hands, Petunia had hid the envelope in her bedside drawer and left it untouched for ten years. It was now yellow with age, and slightly dusty.

Her throat tightened and her hands shook. She was terrified for some reason of what was in the envelope, but she knew—somehow—that it was time to read it. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Petunia opened it and pulled out the letter. She squeezed her eyes shut, not realizing that she had whimpered until her husband sat beside her and rubbed her back soothingly.

Some of her courage regained, Petunia opened the letter and began to read.

Dear Petunia,

I know I have no right to ask you of this, since I know how you feel about magic, but I fear you are my only hope. The war in my world is only worsening by the day. People are disappearing and dying, and there may come a time where my husband and I will be targeted. We're in hiding, currently, with only my close friends knowing my location. Still, not every security plan is foolproof.

Firstly, I want to apologize. I should never have read Professor Dumbledore's reply to your letter. I should have tried harder to keep in touch with you. I should have done a lot of things in regards to our relationship. I'm so sorry things have deteriorated to the point where you can't stand to be in the same room as me.

Despite it all, however, you are my sister, and I love you dearly. I know you felt like I'd chosen a new world and Snape over you, and I guess in a way I did, but please try to understand that I never would have belonged in the Muggle world anymore. I was born with magic, and I'm so very happy that I was accepted into Hogwarts. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my selfish decision.

And secondly, I need you to know why my son is being delivered to you. As I said earlier, I tried very hard to respect your wishes in regards to my gift. However, in my will, if the people James and I chose are unable to take care of my son, I would like for him to be placed with you.

Given our past issues, I know it's a lot to ask. You hate magic, and you probably want nothing to do with it. But please, I beg you, take care of my son. He means the world to me, and I'm so sorry he was born into such hard times. He deserves to grow up with me and James, learning magic and playing pranks. But given James' family's affiliations as well as my Muggleborn status, such an occurrence most likely won't come true.

And even if he can't grow up with his father and myself, I had hoped at the very least that his godfather Sirius Black would be able to look after him. He's a lot like James, though that's not always a good thing. It's partly why we switched from him to Peter in regards to our Secret Keeper (head of security person). Sirius can be a major prankster, but with Harry, he knows when to behave like a man and do what's best for my little boy.

But I digress. If you have custody of Harry now, that means he, and the list of people, were unable to care for him. You are my only hope of my son growing up happily, knowing his heritage and understanding that his parents died trying to make the world a better place for him.

Please, Petunia, look after Harry. He's a little boy, innocent of the sins of his parents—of his mother.

You can live in the house rent-free as long as my baby is taken care of. You can keep it, if you want. Just take care of him, Petunia. Please.

Forever your sister,

Lily

Petunia squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw tightly. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she pushed them back with a vengeance. Her heart ached terribly as her sister's last attempt at reconciliation hit her full force. Her beautiful, strong, proud sister begged her for forgiveness and to take care of her only son. At that moment, despite her misgivings about magic, Petunia felt so terribly ashamed.

“V-Vernon…” Petunia choked out.

Vernon, who had been reading over Petunia's shoulder, hushed her and held her in his arms. “Don't worry, Pet. I'll make everything better.”

“She asked me to… But I didn't read the letter…” Petunia took in a shuddering gasp.

Vernon gently grabbed her chin and made her look at him. “Pet, just because a normal person develops abilities does not mean they should practice that abnormality,” he said gently. “The sister you knew and loved was gone the moment she decided to accept her freakishness.”

Petunia sniffed and nodded her head. “She could've done anything,” Petunia repeated. “We… we were going to open our own law office together. We were going… to do so many things together… but she left me! She abandoned me for that creepy S-Snape boy. And now she's dead!”

Vernon rubbed her back. “That freak world has caused us much hardship,” he murmured. “We had best stay away from the boy and all of this abnormality. As long as he is in that freak world, the boy is not welcome here!”

Petunia nodded and shakily dried her tears. “We should have never taken him in,” she said miserably. “Lily should've listened to me and rejected her abnormality. Now she's dead and we're stuck with that awful boy. No more.” She shook her head furiously. “He's no family of mine, and this is no longer his home.”

Vernon smiled. “That's my girl,” he whispered. “And, Petunia, about the house, as long as we have the deed and title, that old freak can't do anything to us.”

Petunia sniffed and smiled. “Thank you, Vernon. You're so good to me,” she said, sighing as she leant into his embrace.

Vernon kissed her on the forehead. “Now, let's get cleaned up, and go give that pudding to the new neighbors.”

Petunia immediately perked up and began to prattle on about the Bennets. Vernon smiled and nodded in agreement to some of the things she said. As she left to wash her face, he grabbed Lily's letter, ripped it into little pieces, and tossed it into the trash. Unbeknownst to them, their house glowed a light, faint red as the blood wards dissolved into nothingness.

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