AN: To all those who dreamed of Harmony ever since that special hug and the words left unsaid.

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Once More With Feeling

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September came with a crisp chill as the fall wind broke through the winding alleyways of Diagon Alley. Hidden away in the heart of London, all manner of witches and wizards bustled about the streets with the occasional dwarf or hag browsing with just as much color adorning their own Victorian-era apparel. Only the occasional pair of jeans or jacket among the muggleborn Hogwarts students would hint that one was still in present-day Britain.

Hermione Granger was currently cradling a half-Kneazel ginger cat in her lap, sitting at a minor cafe with a spoon bewitched to gently mix the cream in her teacup just the way she liked it. One of her friends from first year, Ronald Weasley, was across the street paying for a sausage roll and arguing with the goblin manning the cart over how many knuts it was actually worth. She rolled her eyes and looked back to the busy streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of her very best friend that had saved her life.

There he was.

"Harry!"

She stood up with Crookshanks her cat bounding out of her grasp, waving at the skinny boy with tousled black hair and a pair of often-repaired glasses perched on his nose. Harry Potter had grown over the summer, now a scant few inches taller than her, wearing a patched-up secondhand jacket and bluejeans that had seen better days. The famous scar that caused him so much grief and notoriety was half covered by his bangs, and his jawline had sharpened though not quite so hollow-cheeked as he was in previous years living with his dreadful relatives. He turned at once at the sound of her voice, and his emerald eyes caught hers with such an intensity Hermione lost her train of thought.

Harry was staring at her like he couldn't believe his eyes. She knew they had been apart for a whole summer, but the way her friend was looking at her made Hermione feel very conscious of her long front teeth, which her dentist parents had forbid her from using magical means to rectify.

He walked up slowly, heedless of the other wizarding folk meandering about the Alley. His eyes looked her up and down, still not fully believing what they saw. For an instant, she thought she caught the hint of tears in his eyes, but the teenage boy swallowed thickly and smiled at her.

"Hello Hermione."

The bushy haired witch flushed, repeating a mantra of 'you're friends, you're friends, you're friends,' in her head to ward off those silly impulses she'd had since he came looking for her crying in the girl's lavatory in first year, rescuing her from a troll. How could she not have some stirrings of fancy for the sweet boy who'd been the first to show concern for the friendless bookworm? She was so grateful to finally have friends of her own that she swore she wouldn't muck things up, even if her heart flip-flopped at those brilliant green eyes.

A soft mrrowlrr voiced itself from below, and Harry broke eye contact to kneel down and gently gather up Crookshanks in his arms. He smiled down at the flat-faced cat-kneazel, who bunted his ginger head at his chin contentedly.

"My parents gave me a few galleons this year for my birthday," she explained, feeling warm as she saw him cradle her new pet, "I saw Crookshanks here in the window and I simply knew he was the one for me."

Harry gave a lopsided grin, eyes flashing back to her own, "I know the feeling."

Her reply evaporated as she swore her heart skipped a beat. What...?

Harry looked off to see Ron approaching with three sausage rolls knowing full well that the redhead's appetite meant they were all for his own bottomless stomach. The boy waved, crumbs flying as he boisterously trotted up to them.

"Oi there Harry, took you long enough!" Ron's height had shot up more than either of them combined, arms filling out after all the impromptu Quidditch matches he routinely played with his brothers at their home, "Got your books yet? That ruddy monster book ate my gobstones set, had to tie it off with a belt."

"Stroke the spine, it calms them down." Harry's matter-of-fact statement brought a tinge of white to the Weasley's cheeks.

"Blimey Harry, I'd rather not lose any fingers doing that..."

They laughed, and sat down to chat at the Conjurer's Cafe. The three shared stories from their summer, although Harry's was notably bland as they understood his relatives did not appreciate his magical freakishness and thereby grounded him for the season. Soon enough it was time for them to leave, although Harry had said he was staying at the Leaky Cauldron until they took the express tomorrow.

Saying goodbye to Ron who departed with his many red-haired relatives, Hermione paused for one moment to look back, and found Harry staring after her with a melancholy smile. She felt her face grow hot, and waved once more before slipping through the Leaky Cauldron with her parents.

There was something in the way Harry looked at her that was...different.

---

Hermione huffed as she pulled her trunk along with Crookshanks perched on top. The multitude of textbooks she had accumulated weighed it down considerably, and it had been some time since she had the benefit of Hogwarts' many stairs to keep herself in shape. She struggled for a minute by the luggage car, dodging a sixth-year Hufflepuff as she tried to get her trunk onboard. Suddenly the trunk floated out of her reach with Crookshanks turning a lazy glance behind her, and the ginger cat hopped off onto the shoulders of her raven-haired friend casting a charm on her luggage.

Caught off guard, Hermione sighed and hoped her flush wasn't too visible.

"Thank you Harry, that was quite a fine floating charm."

"I've been practicing, shall we find a compartment?"

"Yes, lets."

They found themselves a space at the rear of the Hogwarts Express. There was a man curled up against the window with his ratty coat pulled up about his head as he slept. By the stenciling on his briefcase he seemed to be a Mister R. J. Lupin, from which Harry likely deduced was their new replacement Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Since he remained fast asleep, they chose to leave him be. Ron came in shortly afterwards, cradling his sickly rat (which Hermione noticed that Harry focused on for a moment with a fierce intensity). They chat about the upcoming school year and the classes they intended to take. Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find that Harry had decided to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with her, stating that he felt numerology and runes were more useful than guessing the future with Divination as an elective.

Ron groaned, "That's so much work Harry, Fred and George said Divination is an easy grade anyway, why'd you take the two hardest classes over that?"

There was that melancholy look again.

"I just don't see the point in wasting time trying to see the future," Harry said quietly, "I'd rather be prepared to meet it."

Hermione didn't immediately respond. It was no secret that the Dark Lord had been after Harry since he was a baby, and with the possession of Professor Quirrell in first year followed by the Chamber of Secrets crisis in second year, it made sense that the poor boy would feel the need to be ready for anything.

Her heart burned with a protective flare towards the teenage wizard, and she rattled off a few ideas for private study they could pursue when researching runic arrays together.

Ronald rolled his eyes and leaned back munching on a chocolate frog, used to her prattling on about her academics by now. Harry meanwhile had closed his eyes with a serene look as she finally caught up with what she was saying and realized she had been rambling for the past few minutes. She felt embarrassed that her habit of talking too much had surfaced again.

"...Sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear all this before we even get our timetables yet."

Harry's eyes snapped open and he looked at her bashfully, "Oh no, not at all. I like the sound of your voice Hermione."

Even Ron looked up at that comment, and the chestnut-haired witch knew her cheeks were glowing red. "Pardon?" She asked in a slightly-too high voice.

He seemed to collect himself, and looked out the window as he ran his fingers through his untamable hair, "It's soothing listening to you, I don't mind it at all."

"Speak for yourself mate," Ron groused from his seat, "I'm exhausted just hearing about how much work your classes are."

She threw a withering look at the red-haired lout who withdrew a dog-eared quidditch magazine to browse. She never understood why the young Weasley couldn't take more pride in learning actual magic, although she supposed on some level he took it for granted while Harry and herself had only just been introduced to the hidden world a few years ago.

"Anyway…" Ron turned to Harry, "why the sudden interest in advanced magic?"

"Sirius Black was friends with my parents," Harry began carefully, "He allegedly sold them out to Voldermort (Ron still flinched at the name), so it stands to reason he might come after me, I guess."

When he'd finished, Ron looked thunderstruck, and Hermione had her hands over

her mouth. She finally lowered them to say, "Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh,

Harry… you'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble…"

He raised his eyebrows mildly at her with an unspoken 'really?', and she swatted his shoulder for his cheek.

"Prat."

The door to their compartment slid open, and the mood soured as they saw who was standing there in the walkway.

Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Malfoy, who had a pale, pointed, sneering face, was in Slytherin house; and had taken Harry's rejection of his pureblood bigoted offer of friendship in first year very personally. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to exist to do Malfoy's bidding. They were both wide and

muscle-bound. Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck. Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla arms.

"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, leaning against the compartment door, "Potty, Granger and the Weasel."

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.

"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley," said Malfoy snidely, "Did your mother die of shock?"

Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. Hermione gathered the ginger cat up in her arms trying to soothe him. Professor Lupin gave a snort.

"Who's that?" said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted Lupin.

"New teacher," said Harry, who got to his feet, too, in case he needed to hold Ron back. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed; he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher's nose.

"C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wait."

The three paused, and Draco looked at Harry who was looking back very solemnly. For a moment Hermione thought he looked much older than he was, and then the look in his eye passed.

"We never got on well after first year," Harry started carefully, with Ron staring at him like he'd grown a second head, "You offered to be my friend, but insulted my other friends I had just met."

Draco stared at him with suspicion, "What's your point Potter?"

Harry slowly held out his hand to the blond boy, which left a silence so thick in the compartment you could cut it with a knife.

"I'm tired of hating each other for no reason. I'm willing to start over if you'll show my friends the same respect I'll afford you."

Malfoy frowned, working his mouth for a moment, before swallowing whatever retort he wanted to spit and merely clasping Harry's hand in a tenuous handshake.

"We'll see, Potter. Glad you've learned some manners."

He looked at Harry again as if he couldn't quite decide what to make of him, tilted his head at his goons, and the blonde with his two mildly confused henchmen walked off down the train.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Ron practically exploded once the Slytherins were out of earshot.

"There's no point carrying on grudges if we can help it," Harry said quietly as he took a seat next to Hermione again, "Of course if he chooses to be a bigoted little ferret again than all bets are off. I won't put up his pureblood nonsense, ever."

"That was very mature Harry..." Hermione was looking at him with something like respect in her eyes. Ron scoffed, muttering that snakes couldn't be trusted.

It was not long afterwards that the train slowed to an unexpected stop, and a chill crept across the windows as a dense oppressive fog settled about the express.

"What's going on?" Ron's wand was in his hand, and the ambivalent expression reading about the Chudley Cannons replaced with a scowl. Further down the train, there was a strangled scream or two from the younger years, raising the hackles on their necks.

Harry's eyes were closed, and when he opened them there was a steely glint Hermione had seen once before, when he had been preparing to step through the wall of fire to confront Quirrell.

"Dementors from Azkaban," he said calmly, "They're searching the train for Sirius Black."

Ron's complexion paled, and his wand wavered in his grip.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, "Dementors here?!"

Hermione whipped her chestnut hair looking between the two boys, finding herself in the rare happenstance of not knowing what either were talking about which she quite didn't enjoy.

"What are you talking about? Dementors? Harry what's going o-"

The boy reached over and clasped her hand, those damned emerald eyes stealing her breath away again.

"It's alright, trust me, please."

Damn him, how was she supposed to respond to that?

With trepidation, she watched Harry slide open their compartment door and step into the hallway. Throwing caution to the wind, she stood up and peered out with him, feeling an icy trickle of fear seize her.

Further down the train cars, they could see a writhing mass of black cloth and darkness shifting about in vague mockery of the human form. The things reminded Hermione of ringwraiths from the Lord of the Rings, even down to the hideous mottled hands that drifted out of the confines of the black cloaks. Spotting Harry standing out in the open, the Dementors paused only a moment in their search of the compartments before they began to flow towards the teenage wizard with dreadful purpose.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Hermione grabbed fitfully for her wand even as the terror seeping through the very air made her shake. She had to protect Harry, a shield charm , or maybe fire, or possibly a blinding hex would interfere with their vision or-

"Expecto Patronum."

There was a flash of light and an eruption of quicksilver and shining blue accompanying Harry's firm incantation. A beautiful stag made of starlight whirled into being and charged down the train, scattering the Dementors with shrieks of agony as their darkness was forced out of the express by the silvery spell. It was over in less than a heartbeat, as the chill evaporated and the fog lifted from the train.

She turned to look questioningly at his face then, struck by the determination in the hard angles of his cheekbones.

Students began to poke their heads out of their compartments, murmurs growing at the sight of Harry being responsible for that spell.

"Come on." He said quietly, guiding her back by her elbow into their seats and sliding the door closed. Hermione was about to ask him what spell he could have possibly used when she noticed the sleeping professor was now very much not asleep, holding his wand at the ready.

"Who cast that patronus?" He was a haggard looking man, and the look he had as he questioned Harry was...complicated.

"I did."

The man's eyes widened, "That's quite advanced magic for a third year, most adult wizards cannot cast a corporeal patronus."

"I felt I would need it, professor."

"Hmm? Oh yes," The man straightened his jacket and smiled somewhat bashfully at the three of them, "Remus Lupin, pleasure to meet you all. I'll be your new Defense professor this year at Hogwarts."

The professor clearly had more he wanted to ask Harry regarding that defensive magic, however the conversation turned to an impromptu lesson on Dementors and the Patronus spell. Hermione looked at Harry with a touch of awe when the full scope of the spell's difficulty was explained by Professor Lupin, he'd surely spent his summer diligently studying as much as she had. The poor boy scratched the back of his head in embarrassment and promised to teach her if she wanted to learn. The offer made her glow, and Professor Lupin looked out of the window trying to hide a smile.

The rest of the train ride passed without incident. Professor Lupin departed to meet the rest of the faculty, and the students filtered out to approach the castle by year with the newest students being shepherded by Hagrid's great booming voice to the boats.

In the evening bustle as they made their way by torchlight and starlight through the throngs of young witches and wizards, Hermione felt Harry gently take her arm and guide her through the crowd.

She looked over at him, light glinting off his glasses as he led them further, wondering what had changed him so much over the summer from the awkward, shy boy he was in second year. Killing a basilisk with a sword probably shook him more than he'd admit, and the thought saddened her that he'd had no one to talk to about his ordeal for months.

Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself, and then slipped her arm through his as she strode forward beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Unseen, Harry's curious look at her melted into an affectionate ghost of a smile.

---

The welcoming feast was splendid as always.

There was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the long House tables was lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in midair.

The sorting progressed without any incident, and the sight of the anxious first years being welcomed with applause to their houses brought a smile to the trio's faces. Their own turn with the sorting hat seemed so long ago now.

Hermione turned to Harry and whispered the question that had been bothering her since the train.

"Harry... why did you bother to learn the patronus charm specifically? The Dementors were sent out to look for Black only recently..."

Harry paused, expression frozen, and started to haltingly explain in a whisper, but at that moment the headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke off.

Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the greatest wizard of the age, but that wasn't why people respected him. You couldn't help trusting Albus Dumbledore, and as Hermione watched him beaming around at the students, she felt really calm for the first time since Harry had sent the Dementors fleeing train.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

He paused, and Hermione remembered what Professor Lupin had said about Dumbledore not being happy with the Dementors guarding the school. Thunderous was the term the defense professor had used.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly, and Ron glanced at Harry who didn't seem worried. "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors," he said.

Percy, who was sitting a few seats down from them, puffed out his chest again and stared around impressively. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound.

"On a happier note," he continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.

"First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Polite applause filled the great hall. Hermione glanced at the staff table and was shocked to see the raw hatred in Professor Snape's face as he stared at the new arrival. It was common knowledge that the potions master always wanted the defense position, but that kind of loathing suggested something deeper.

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Harry was already applauding, and Hermione joined him after the shock wore off. Hagrid was wiping away bashful tears, and the cheers from Gryffindor house were loudest of all.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let the feast begin!

With a clap of the headmaster's hands, the golden plates on the long tables filled themselves with all manner of food as the students dug in and chatter resumed with an air of excitement.

Hermione shook out some pepper across the cottage pie she had taken with fresh butter melting into the mashed potatoes, while next to her Harry was cutting into his pastry dish of toad in the hole with a generous dollop of gravy overtop.

"I can't believe the ministry employs those...things!" Hermione said crossly to him. She had a healthy respect for authority having been raised as such by her well-to-do parents, and the blatant disregard for the student's safety by the magical government shocked her.

"The ministry has been corrupt for ages," Harry replied quietly, "Employing the very creatures that Voldermort himself used not too long ago was just a convenient solution to their prison system."

"Where did you hear that?" Hermione asked, her thick brows furrowed.

He turned and took a sip of pumpkin juice, "I read about it in a treatise on the aftermath of the last war. The auror forces were decimated, and imprisoning the Dementors was nixed in favor of making them the wardens of Azkaban itself."

She blinked at him, surprised to hear that he'd be interested in reading anything beyond the assigned coursework.

"C-could you lend me that paper if you still have it?"

He grinned and nodded, taking a bite of sausage and pastry, "I bookmarked the passage in the text, I figured you'd love to read it for yourself."

Hermione bit her lip and mumbled a quiet 'thank you' before busying herself with a drink from her own goblet to hide the flush in her cheeks. Merlin, what was this new Harry doing to her?

"Oh brother, she's got you reading now too Harry?" Ron's morose question was accompanied by a smattering of crumbs as he bit into a pasty.

The raven-haired teenager laughed and gave a mock salute with his goblet.

"Sorry mate, it's too late for me. Now there's two bookworms in the group."

"Tell me at least you still like quidditch for pity's sake!"

"Of course, looking forward to this year. Did you see the new Firebolt model that just came out?"

Ron's eyes went wide.

"Did I? I just about memorized it in Diagon Alley! Can you believe they're price on request? Can't even tell people how much they cost outright, probably a ruddy fortune... Hope we can see a prototype in Hogsmeade."

The subject of the wizarding town near Hogwarts piqued Hermione's interest.

"Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione keenly. "I've read it's the only

entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —"

"Yeah, I think it is," said Ron in an offhand sort of way. "but that's not why I really want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!"

"What's that?" said Hermione.

"It's this sweetshop," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, "where they've got

everything… Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking what to write next–"

"But Hogsmeade's a very interesting place, isn't it?" Hermione pressed on eagerly. "In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain —"

"– and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.

Hermione sighed and looked around at Harry.

"Won't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?"

Harry's eyes lit up for a moment, and a grin came over his face.

"I'd love to go to Hogsmeade with you."

Hermione's eyes widened, and the butterflies in her chest which she had always controlled around her raven-haired friend were suddenly fluttering madly. She very much liked this attentive, thoughtful Harry that had grown up over the summer, but a statement that direct dared to kindle a girlhood dream of hers she thought she had outgrown.

...But the world wasn't like that. Hermione Granger was the bucktoothed teacher's pet who got on everyone's nerves, and was only good at studying. She turned her eyes downcast and picked at the scraps of her cottage pie, "It's not nice to tease me like that, Harry."

His hand drifted into her line of sight and covered her own, stilling the fork in her grasp. She looked up, and her heart beat faster at how much closer his face was to hers. All the noise and bustle of the great hall had muffled to this singular focus between them. Those pretty green eyes were looking at her now, really looking at her, and she didn't dare make a sound.

"Would you like to go to Hogsmeade together, Hermione Granger?" Harry asked softly.

She couldn't see a trace of mirth in his eyes, only that lopsided smile and his tousled wild locks framing the emerald eyes that locked on to her own chestnut ones. She felt a trill of self-consciousness about her teeth again, and pursed her lips to cover them. His eyes flicked down at the pout of her mouth, and then back to her eyes, which had widened seeing him glance at her lips which meant...which meant...

She swallowed thickly, stamping down her racing thoughts to collect herself.

"Yes."

Harry broke out into a smile then, real happiness dancing in his gaze along with something else that made her feel warm.

"I can't wait."

A trip together as friends, that's all it really was. She reminded herself to be logical, and not give in to childish fantasies.

Harry turned back to his plate and reached out for a strawberry trifle for himself and a slice of Victoria sponge cake that he set on her own plate.

Hermione stared at the dessert and looked up curiously at him, "I was just going to pick one of these, how could you have known?"

"It's your favorite," that damned lopsided grin again, "I've been paying attention."

She huffed and dug daintily into her sponge cake, trying to hide the cherry red sheen of her cheeks with her curly chestnut hair. Merlin, she couldn't handle this boy.

"Mr. Potter."

They looked up to find Professor McGonagall regarding Harry with the same prim countenance she always held both in the classroom and without.

"The headmaster would like to speak with you after the feast."

Harry nodded, and at her quizzical look muttered "the train" before she understood what the conversation was likely about.

Still, why did he look like he was bracing himself?

---

The next day they went down to breakfast together.

Harry was strangely quiet after his talk with the headmaster, and Hermione didn't pry. She was aware that he had always hated his notoriety in the wizarding world, and while his spellcasting on the train had protected the other students she was sure the last thing he'd want now would be more attention.

What truly surprised her was when he diverted from their course to the Gryffindor table and stepped up to Draco, Pansy and a number of the Slytherin quidditch team having breakfast.

"Good luck at practice Malfoy, I'm looking forward to the first match of the season."

Draco seemed to do a double take, still not sure what to make of this much more amenable Gryffindor, before settling into a confident smirk.

"See you on the pitch Potter, just don't swallow the snitch again."

Harry rolled his eyes and looked over at Parkinson.

"Your hair looks nice short, Pansy."

The Slytherin girl's jaw dropped, not expecting that remark at all.

Harry left the confused Slytherins to their breakfast, and rejoined Hermione at their table, where Ron was already busying himself with some bacon sandwiches.

"It's very kind of you to reach out to them like that Harry," Hermione said as she poured them both some orange juice, "Even if they constantly behave like horrid little prats."

"Hey, I thought I was the only prat in your life." He smiled charmingly at her as he slipped a scone with marmalade over to her plate.

She swatted his arm and graciously accepted the scone, fishing her schedule out of her bag. Harry busied himself with some sausages and fried tomatoes, taking a sip of juice as he did so. The bushy haired witch bit her lip, eyes roving the paper in front of her.

"Oh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," she said happily.

"Hermione," said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, "they've messed up your timetable. Look — they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough time."

"I'll manage. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

"But look," said Ron, laughing, "see this morning? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And —" Ron leaned closer to the timetable, disbelieving, "look—underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o'clock. I mean, I know you're good, Hermione, but no one's that good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"

"Don't be silly," said Hermione shortly. "Of course I won't be in three classes at once."

"Well then —"

"Pass the clotted cream," said Hermione.

"But —"

"Oh, Ron, what's it to you if my timetable's a bit full?" Hermione snapped. "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

"She's right mate, leave it well enough alone," Harry said mixing himself a mug of coffee, sausages and tomatoes cleaned off his plate already. Ron grumbled something in disbelief with a muttered mental slipping out. Harry turned to Hermione and gave her a nudge with his elbow.

"I can carry some of your books for the classes we have together, but promise me you'll eat enough and get the sleep you need."

She sighed, "Honestly Harry, I'll be fine. It's only a few more classes."

"Hermione..."

She looked over at him, finding his gaze full of concern. Was this how he felt when she nagged him?

She inhaled through her nose, and let out a longer sigh.

"Alright Harry, I'll be sure to take care of myself."

"Good," His eyes softened, "I worry about you too, you know."

For an instant she considered telling him the secret Professor McGonagall had made her swear not to, for which she'd have to vouch for just to get the opportunity. That many classes in one day was impossible, but with the necklace and the curious hourglass charm about her neck she certainly could be in three classes at once. Surely Harry would be able to keep a secret...

...but Ronald certainly couldn't. He'd probably try to nick the necklace so he could eat dinner twice.

The thought made her choke a giggle into her orange juice, and Ron's curious expression only made her giggle harder.

---

Divination is a complete waste of time.

Hermione storms out of the tower, rolling her eyes at the superstitious students remaining behind as that fraud Trelawney began moaning about Ron's future loss of something important that would make him happy once it was gone.

Ridiculous.

Even leaving as early as she did, she'd barely arrived in time for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class. Harry's presence there cheered her up, and they sat at the back of the classroom as McGonagall began her lesson on Animagi. She dedicated the first few minutes of their practical application time to venting her frustrations with Trelawney on the raven-haired boy, who only nodded patiently.

Harry slid over a textbook that was purring as it left his touch. Hermione gave him a curious look as she accepted her Care of Magical Creatures textbook back from him.

"I've been taking care of it since it got rowdy during our Arithmancy lesson this morning. I think I've got it sufficiently calmed down, should be fine for our lesson with Hagrid."

She huffed, and placed the troublesome book into her bag.

"Thank you Harry, I just... I just cannot stand that class. It's such a superstitious and completely illogical joke of an elective I don't -"

His hand on her shoulder stopped her tirade, and she calmed down at the gentle look on his face. She giggled a moment later.

"I suppose I am being a bit silly, aren't I? I just don't like the feeling of not being good at something academic."

"I think you feel threatened by this because you feel your worth is tied to your grades." Harry said quietly.

That stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks.

"...what?" There was a warble in her voice, and Hermione was suddenly thankful that they were unnoticed at the back of the classroom.

Harry idly began rolling his wand across his fingers, staring down at the teacups they were supposed to be turning into turtles.

"You had trouble making friends, so you threw yourself into your studies to prove you were good enough to everyone. Teachers would praise you, but you didn't understand why the other children wouldn't want to include you. So you keep trying, and finally you just devote yourself to studies because books are so much easier to understand than people."

Hermione was watching him with dreadful fascination. She felt exposed in a way she'd never felt before, and it both horrified her and made her feel...well something she couldn't explain. If it were anyone other than Harry she would have left in tears, expecting ridicule, but Harry...

"Then you finally make some friends, and your studies do help them so you feel fulfilled, and you catch yourself thinking that it's your purpose and without that they'll just forget about you."

"H-h-how do y-you..." Hermione hardly dared to trust her voice.

He turned to her again, emerald eyes swimming with an emotion somewhere between affection and sorrow.

"I used to fail my tests in school on purpose, you know? Because my cousin would hate that I scored higher than him, and my relatives would punish me. I thought if I just did what they expected I could get them to like me."

Hermione swallowed hard, unable to even entertain such a horrid concept.

"So that's why I want you to know, there's nothing you need to prove or provide me in return for our friendship. I'll be by your side when you succeed, when you fail, when you laugh and when you cry."

He moved his wand casually and spoke the charm that flashed his teacup into a small, perfectly green and sedate turtle.

"Swish and flick, just like you showed me back then," Harry said with a little grin, recalling their first charms lesson together.

Hermione felt her eyes grow watery, and the butterflies in her chest were fluttering so badly she could scarcely think. She'd never told anyone those secret fears she held deep inside, partly being things she hadn't yet realized about herself. Hearing Harry accept her, all of her like that was a balm she never knew she needed. Her lower lip quivered, and she tried to keep the emotion out of her voice.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" The whispered plea was so fragile she feared something inside her might break forever.

"Why shouldn't I be nice to you, Hermione?" Harry whispered back.

You're friends, you're friends, you're friends.

"I-I just don't understand what you see in s-some bossy little know-it-all..." She said softly, feeling her soul laid bare.

Harry reached up and slipped his glasses from his brow. Without them, his pretty green eyes looked at her, really looked at her, and she couldn't help but feel that he saw all of her in a way no one else ever had. Framed by his tousled raven locks and the boyish smile, lips quirked at her with his attention totally focused on -

Oh merlin, merlin, merlin, oh dear, oh dear oh deardeardear -

"Maybe I see you clearly for who you are, Hermione Granger."

She never stood a chance. If she had ever held any reservations about her feelings for her handsome friend, they were now dashed utterly. Hermione knew with utter certainty now that she was totally and hopelessly in lo-

"Ehh-hem."

The pair whirled at the throat clearing, and looked up with shock to find Professor McGonagall regarding them with a curious expression on her severe face.

"Excellent transformation Mr. Potter," she said primly, "Five points to Gryffindor."

"Thank you professor," Harry said bashfully, and they busied themselves tidying up their workspace before they headed off to their next class. Hermione had to take several deep breaths to calm herself down on the staircases, and it was at least fifteen minutes until the redness in her cheeks finally abated.

It was several hours later as she thought over their conversation that she realized Harry knew she had been at Divination and in Arithmancy with him at the same time, and had said nothing about it.

---

Care of Magical Creatures was very nearly a disaster.

Hagrid, having no practical teaching experience, had decided to start off the class with something quite exciting: Hippogriffs.

They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly, orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

"Right — who wants ter go first?"

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Ron, and Hermione had misgivings, though Harry seemed oddly calm. The Hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings. They didn't seem to like being tethered like this.

"I'll do it," said Harry.

"Good man, Harry!" roared Hagrid. "Right then — let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray Hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Hermione's knuckles were white as she gripped the fence fearfully.

Malfoy watched the scene with narrowed eyes, curiously silent where he would normally have been goading the Gryffindors.

"Easy now, Harry," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink…

Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much…"

Harry walked confidently towards the Hippogriff, stopping a fair distance away. He bowed to the creature, and straightened to wait calmly.

There was absolute silence as the class, and even Hagrid watched the spectacle. After an agonizing moment, the Hippogriff proffered a leg and sank into a bow in return.

Hagrid was saying something, but it didn't seem like Harry could hear him. Hermione watched with rapt attention as he approached the beast and ran his hands gently across it's neck fluff. Buckbeak closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the ministrations.

The class began to applaud, Hermione loudest of all with the relief that Harry was unscathed. Even Draco seemed impressed for a second.

Then Harry stepped to the side of the creature, gripped the ridge of it's neck and hopped up onto the Hippogriff's back.

Hermione had to suppress a shriek as she watched the creature's wings fan out and propel the pair up into the air with a short trot. The class was soon shouting in wonder, watching the Gryffindor seeker fly on Buckbeak's back, Hagrid cheering raucously with pride. They landed, and Harry stepped down from Buckbeak's wing joint and walked him over to Hagrid as the class began to split up and attempt greeting the other Hippogriffs themselves.

Hermione was just walking up to make sure Harry was alright when she saw him hand off Buckbeak to Malfoy and his goons, pausing as he warned the blonde.

"Be careful, he really is dangerous. Don't give him a reason to lash out."

Draco relaxed, still not fully trusting this friendlier version of Potter. There was no snide comment or taunting, and by the end of the lesson Hermione had spied him looking quite pleased with himself as he swaggered away from the beast after stroking it's wings thoroughly.

Hermione caught Harry as they began to walk back to the castle.

"That was some impressive flying," she said brightly, "I never expected your skills with a broom to include magical creatures too. Hagrid was beside himself with pride you know."

He chuckled, "I'm just happy everything went well. Maybe I could take you up sometime with Buckbeak and I?"

She paled and shook her chestnut tresses.

"Oh heavens no. I'd never be able to do that."

He glanced at her with a curious half-smile.

"I think you'd be surprised what you can do."

She huffed and walked a bit closer to him as they approached the castle.

---

There were things that made her wonder about Harry.

In potions class, the animosity that had seemed to always exist between Harry and Professor Snape was strangely absent. The dour Slytherin house head no longer made derogatory comments towards the Potter heir, and Harry seemed to regard the man with a tired sort of...regret, if anything.

Apparently, Severus Snape had been part of that meeting with the Headmaster and Harry, although her raven-haired friend said it was only concerning the Hogwarts Express occurrence from a certain point of view. When she tried to press him on the subject, he sighed and said Dumbledore asked him not to divulge yet.

It was during potions that Malfoy of all people actually approached Harry and mentioned that Sirius Black had been sighted near Hogsmeade. Harry seemed strangely unconcerned, and politely declined Draco's offer to put him in touch with hitwizards his father knew.

Draco Malfoy offering to help. The world must be ending.

Furthermore, it seemed like something was going on at the school that the Headmaster had forbidden Harry from divulging. Ever since he'd had that meeting at start of term, Dumbledore had been flitting in and out of the castle regularly, and in the company of several other wizards that she'd never seen before with the faculty. Her current hypothesis was that this had something to do with capturing of Sirius Black, as Harry seemed totally unafraid of the man supposedly out for his blood.

Harry.

The boy in question was a whole other notebook's worth of confusion. Since they'd met once more after the summer he seemed to be deeply changed as a person. It was in the little things about him that she'd always paid attention to; He no longer got so easily angry over goading or jeers from some of the other students, and he had this exhaustion about himself coming from his bones, this sadness in his eyes that she'd catch every now and then.

There was something he wasn't telling her. She could read it in his eyes. Hermione resolved to find out what was going on, the poor boy always withdrew into himself, never knowing how to ask for help; She'd sworn she would always be there for him ever since he saved her life from that ghastly troll.

Her heart beat faster as she thought of the fixation he seemed to have with her.

Harry had always been a polite, caring boy, however little moments together continued to fluster her. He'd make her tea with just the right amount of cream she preferred, set aside her favorites at mealtimes for her, carry her bags between classes when the walked together and he always intervened when Ronald was being boorish towards her; The red-headed boy hadn't so much as called her mental in weeks since Harry put an end to that talk.

Hermione couldn't deny that she wouldn't give up this new side of Harry for anything. More than a friend, he became a support for her that went beyond mere schoolmates. She'd caught herself wondering one day what her parents would think of him.

It was as she was hiding away her time turner following Muggle Studies, that she overheard a commotion in a nearby classroom. She couldn't remember there being a room here, next to the painting of a wizard teaching trolls to ballet. Curious, she stepped up and poked her head through the door.

The desks had been cleared away, and a good two score number of first and second year students were clustered together sitting on the floor. Hermione could see the trim of all four house colors adorning them, with no division between the children as they stared up at the head of the classroom with rapt attention where the subject of her thoughts just happened to be standing.

Harry had his sleeves rolled up, and was gesturing patiently with his wand in front of all the students with a series of incantations written in chalk upon the blackboard behind him.

"...So as you can see," the raven-haired third year said bringing his wand arm up in a half-crescent, "beginning with the slow movements and repetition, you build the muscle memory so that it becomes second nature when you cast your spells."

"How often should we practice that?" A first year Slytherin girl asked shyly, twirling one of her brown locks.

Harry smiled, "Start with ten minutes per spell per day, until you're confident you can do the motions without looking at your wand arm to be sure. You can't take your eyes off the enemy in a fight, so focus on refining your fundamentals before you slip up when it counts."

He clapped twice and gestured for them to stand up, to which excited chatter broke out.

"Alright then, pair up and we'll start practicing those stunners we did last week. This time, work with your partner to make sure your eyes are on each other and not your arm. The object of the lesson today is line-of-sight accuracy, even if it means slower casting. Speed will come to you the more comfortable you get with it."

The first and second years all separated into their partners, and Harry began to pace the room offering corrections and gentle advice where needed. A Ravenclaw second year was mirroring the wand motions of a Gryffindor partner, right across from a Slytherin girl laughing at the exaggerated stunner motion a blonde Hufflepuff boy was showing her; It was only when he stepped around a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw pair that he caught sight of her standing in the doorway.

"Hello Hermione," he seemed a touch sheepish, "How long have you been there?"

She blinked, staring at the students from all four houses practicing the Stupefy spell with each other. It wouldn't have been an unusual sight if not for the amicable atmosphere punctuated by laughs and encouragement, much different from the snide comments and jeers that often permeated the house rivalries.

"Oh this?" He ran his fingers through his black hair, "Some of the younger years needed some help with their spellcasting, so I offered to help their friends too. My only rule was that all house conflicts are left at the door." There was that lopsided grin again, "I think a little inter-house unity could start small, even like this."

Hermione didn't know what to say. All she could do is stare at him with adoration. She'd always had a respect for authority figures, even if her misplaced swooning over Lockhart in second year ended in disappointment and betrayal when he turned out to be a fraud. Seeing Harry step into the role of an impromptu professor for the younger years set her teenage hormones alight, and the poor girl just knew that this image would haunt her dreams for a long long time.

"Harry..." she said carefully lest the blush dusting her cheeks erupt full force, "What made you do all...this?"

He sobered up and looked around at the Hogwarts students mingling amid their practice, house colors forgotten.

"You remember what it was like when we got here, how scary it could be. Why shouldn't we help the younger students if we can?"

A shadow passed over his eyes.

"We can't protect them from everything the future might bring, so why not give them the help and support they need now, and teach them to work together regardless of their differences? Maybe then the wizarding world wouldn't tolerate such things like pureblood bigotry, house divisions, magical creature slavery..."

He chuckled and shook his head, looking up ruefully.

"Maybe I'm being silly. It's at least a better use of my time than Divination."

Hermione stepped up to him and placed her hand on his chest. Harry looked at her quizzically, taken off guard by the misty look in her eyes.

"You are..." she said with only the slightest warble, "The most wonderful boy I have ever heard of."

The chestnut-haired girl swallowed thickly, and hitched up her considerable book bag, "I've dropped Divination myself, can't stand it honestly. Would you happen to need some assistance, Professor Potter?" She asked smiling at him impishly.

He paused, emerald eyes searching her in that fashion that made her feel like her soul was laid bare before him. The smile that crept over his lips melted her heart, and the low timbre of his reply made her shiver.

"It would be my pleasure, Professor Granger."

They became aware that the classroom had fallen silent, and turned somewhat mortified to find the first and second year students staring like they'd just seen the juiciest bit of gossip this side of witch weekly.

"Right then," Harry coughed into his fist and tried to shake off the embarrassment, "My colleague Miss Hermione Granger will be assisting me from now on. Do give her the same respect you afford me please, she's much more clever with her wand than I am!"

Hermione laughed, the cheerful tones ringing in the air between them as they resumed the lesson.

She found herself witness to Harry's true aptitude for Defense against the Dark Arts. She'd always known he'd been powerful for his age, but actually seeing him engage in the topic outside of coursework was something to behold.

The room itself provided target dummies, and shifting obstacles whenever Harry asked for them. As the lesson went on, he whispered to her that it was called 'The Room of Requirement' and he had found it by chance. A remarkable room that always provided what you needed within the Castle's magic parameters.

Harry focused on practical application of defense in a way she'd never been taught before. He made the students consider their magical reserves and stamina, when to run, and how long they could expect to hold out before getting to safety. He had them practice their accuracy at range, and with moving targets and even dodging spells themselves. Rather than relying on shield charms or counter curses, he pushed the students to consider the environment around them when countering an attack and to constantly expect a complication like a sneak attack from behind. More thoroughly into the strategic aspects of defense, he praised students for finding unorthodox ways of deflecting or evading attacks such as cover, concealment and layering spells for cumulative effect.

They demonstrated spell chains together. She angled her shield charm as Harry showed them how to deflect a spell to save energy. It felt like Harry simply knew what her reactions would be, how easily he worked in tune with her.

It was a few minutes past the hour that they finally had to let the other students go, who were all chattering excitedly to their friends as they filtered out of the classroom to their next lessons. Hermione stood next to Harry, watching them leave, until it was just the two of them amid the dust motes drifting through the afternoon sun streaming in through the glass pane windows.

"I think this really suits you," she said finally.

"Oh?" He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, gathering up his robes from a nearby desk.

"I never would have thought the shy boy I met in first year would make such an excellent teacher," her smile was radiant, from ear to ear, "They really enjoyed having you tutor them."

"I appreciate the endorsement. It's nice having you help me out." He tilted his head at her, "Same time next week?"

Her nod sent tresses of chestnut curls bouncing, "It would be my pleasure."

He smiled at that, and they began walking along the corridor side by side.

"Ron's almost shaking with anticipation for this weekend."

"Oh? quidditch?"

"No, it's the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. I imagine he'll try to sample all of Honeydukes in a single day."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head.

"Always thinking with his stomach."

The companionable silence stretched for a moment, before Harry turned to glance at her.

"Hermione..."

She paused, having heard that tone before. It set the butterflies in her chest alight once more, and made her very much aware that they were alone in the corridor.

"...Yes?"

Harry ran his fingers through his raven locks once more in that nervous tick that drove her mad. She wondered if he had any idea the effect he had on the female population when he did that.

"Would you come to Hogsmeade with me, just the two of us?"

Her pupils dilated, and for a moment she was sure her heart stopped.

There was no mistaking what that question meant. All of the little things Harry had done for her up till now could have been explained away in one fashion or another; He's a kind boy, you're just imagining things, you're just very good friends. This though, was Harry directly asking her, the bossy know-it-all bookworm teacher's pet, to accompany him on a weekend visit. She was no stranger to the Hogwarts gossip mill, courtesy of Pavarti and the girls in her dorm fawning over unfolding dramas as she tried to study; Asking someone to come alone on a Hogsmeade excursion meant something very very important.

Harry wasn't asking as a friend...

Harry was asking like a boy asks a girl that he likes.

She found it hard to breathe, the butterflies in her chest making her stomach flip-flop. Her pulse was hammering and she was quite sure that her face was currently on fire.

He likes me, he likes me, he likes me.

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I would love to, Harry."

The smile he gave her was one of relief and affection, and she wondered why on earth he should feel relieved about it; Surely he could see what she felt for him?

He stepped closer, and her eyes widened before he gently embraced her narrow shoulders, eyes closed as he breathed deep of the smell of her hair.

Hermione leaned into him, and they stood together in the corridor in perfect silence, simply enjoying each other's company.

---

Ron's rat was an animagus.

That simple fact brought Hermione no small amount of revulsion. For years he had carried that thing around like it was a mere pet, when it actually was a fugitive wizard who had been in hiding for over a decade.

It was so surreal she felt sick to her stomach, like a violation you would never expect.

The Headmaster had them see him in his office along with the DADA professor Lupin (who was covering the door, oddly enough), and had sealed the room assuming a frightening expression bereft of the usual genial twinkle they had come to associate with the eccentric old wizard.

A little wandwork from Dumbledore, and where once had been Ron's rat Scabbers was now a filthy middle aged man that seemed to be half-transfigured already into the rat form he had occupied for so long. Remus Lupin let out a long, heartfelt expletive.

Peter Pettigrew.

All those years ago, as the rat man confessed blubbering at a thunderous Dumbedore's feet, Pettigrew had given in to fear and betrayed the Potters in order to save himself. Since Sirius Black was widely known to be James Potter's best friend, it was logical to assume he would have been the secret keeper of the family's Fidelius charm (a spell used to hide a location so that only the secret keeper may divulge it). By having Pettigrew as the secret keeper, James and Lily hoped to fool Voldermort's followers should the worst happen.

Instead, Peter betrayed them and Sirius took the blame after blowing up the street and escaping in his rat animagus form.

Amelia Bones and her aurors arrived shortly after to begin the legal proceedings, while Ronald was catatonic. The poor boy was coming to grips with the fact his pet whom he had fed and played with for years had been a disgusting older man all along; Not exactly an easy hurdle for a young Gryffindor to mentally overcome.

While the legal process would take time, this now meant that Sirius Black was innocent, and furthermore that he had never been given a trial. Headmaster Dumbledore busied himself immediately preparing to convene a trial and take the ministry to task for their oversight. When questioned how he expected to contact Black and bring him in to resolve the issue, Dumbledore regained that familiar twinkle in his eye and gave Harry a not so subtle nod, "I am sure, my dear Amelia, that Sirius Black will be quite present when we begin deliberations."

The cryptic answer merely frustrated the law enforcement witch, who left to tackle the mountain of paperwork she'd just inherited.

Walking Ron gently back to their dormitory, Hermione chose to ask Harry how he felt about the developments.

"Well, this means that Sirius would become my legal guardian," he said mildly, "Seeing as he's still technically my godfather."

Hermione felt a trill of concern for him, "Do you think he'll be alright? He spent a long time in prison."

Harry sighed, that exhaustion present in his face once more.

"I'm sure he'll need to see the mind healers for a while. Maybe he'll never be fully whole again, but he's the last real link I have to my parents. If I go to live with him, I never have to return to my relatives again."

Hermione was quiet then, biting her lip as she thought over the many instances where Harry's less than ideal home life had been hinted at. He'd come to Hogwarts skinny, disheveled in secondhand clothing too big for him. She'd seen him shy away from touch early on, like he expected to be struck. The fact he stayed at Hogwarts for every holiday spoke volumes, as did the overheard comment from the Weasleys in second year that there were bars on his window; Never mind the one time he mentioned his letter addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.

It was no wonder he would take his chances with an ex-convict friend of his parents over that.

As they laid Ron to rest in the dormitory, Hermione found herself overcome with compassion for the sweet boy who'd somehow endured all of that and not come through broken as a person. That someone who had suffered like that could still show so much kindness even through something as simple as carrying her books for her between classes.

"Hermione... are you crying?"

She choked back a sob, and turned into him suddenly, wrapping her arms around him in a vice grip. He froze, not understanding the reason for her tears, merely trying to calm her with reassuring circles he rubbed on her back as she cried against him.

Hermione dug her fingers into the fabric of his jumper. She reached up to stroke his face, somehow in disbelief that he could be who he was after all this.

"I promise you Harry," she said shakily, "That you will not go back to those horrible relatives of yours."

She sniffled, and blinked back her tears.

"I will be right there beside you when your godfather receives the help that he needs, and I will make sure that you have a real home with him."

She tilted her chin up defiantly, chocolate eyes staring through him as she whispered her vow.

"...and if he cannot look after you, you'll come live with me."

Harry didn't say a word. He stared at her with an unreadable expression gripping his features.

Slowly, she stood up on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Coming to rest with her face in the crook of his neck, she breathed deep of his scent.

Cedarwood and parchment.

They held each other for some time.

---

The game between Gryffindor and Slytherin lacked the usual foul tricks that could be expected from the green-trimmed team; That alone made the match exceptional.

What had started as Harry reaching out to Draco had become a recurring effort on his part to chat with the Slytherins every match and curb the hostility between their teams. Many of the pureblood bigots still scowled when he walked by, but the results with the rest of the house were...interesting.

The younger years of green trim were somewhat awed by Potter including them in his lessons he held with Hermione, and bashfully greeted him in the hallways. Draco had started consciously curbing his nasty comments, bantering with Harry over the house points and quidditch matches with snarky comments that lacked the bile from previous years. In a moment of reflection, Hermione wondered if his antagonism all these years was simply from being spurned when he reached out (with bigotry mind you) back in first year. As a result, there were no fouls or altercations this time, with both teams focused on the game and a desire to prove themselves.

Bundled up as she was, Hermione tracked Harry's position on the pitch with rapt attention and heedless of the chill. He was the only reason she ever came to these silly games (not that she'd ever let the boys hear her disparage their sport). The rain cascading gently over the course of the game wet her bushy curls, and contributed somewhat to the relief and euphoria as Harry caught the snitch ending the match with a spectacular dive that very nearly sent Malfoy into the soil trying to follow him. Pushing her way through the throng of cheering Gryffindors, she caught and held the intense gaze of her friend grinning madly beneath a sweat and rain-soaked brow framed by dripping raven locks.

Oh merlin I'd love to run my fingers through his hair...

Banishing the errant thought, Hermione squeaked as Harry surprised her by surging forward through the cheering students and seized her in a hug, spinning her around even as the cat-calls made her cheeks burn.

"Let's get out of the rain, shall we?" He whispered next to the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the chilly weather.

"Yes," she replied flustered, walking closer to him than was really necessary. She was aware of the eyes of more than one Gryffindor girl on her.

The warmth of Hogwarts castle greeted them kindly after the long walk from the pitch. The glow of the floating candles in the great hall cast a golden hue over the students, with Harry's glasses glinting amber when he turned to look at her.

"They're throwing a party in the common room, would you like to go?"

She rolled her eyes, "They always throw a party in the common room when you win, Harry. Honestly, you'd think our forgot all those times they were pig-headed about you years past."

I won't forget how they treated you, went unsaid. The points in first year, the heir of Slytherin ostracization, silly rumors over wizarding tabloids. These things bothered Hermione more than she would admit, having experienced similar bullying growing up due to her fixation on reading beyond her age group.

His eyes softened, and he looked about at the other Gryffindors walking up to the tower with them, most of which were still delirious with their victory.

"Then why don't we slip away for a drink together?" He asked with a sparkle of mischievousness.

Hermione raised her brows with that forbidding tilt that preceded the boys' rule-breaking schemes; elaborate.

"I know somewhere we can hide for a little warm cider and a fireside chat, if you'd like to get away from all this?" His green eyes flashed from behind his spectacles.

She bit her lip, catching the flick of his eyes.

"That sounds lovely Harry. I'm going to shower quickly, I feel a bit chilled after the match. Oh, I wish I hadn't lost my shawl, it was just perfect for rainy nights like this..."

"Would you like one of my jerseys then?"

Her eyes widened and Hermione couldn't stop the splash of color that dashed across her cheeks.

"O-oh well, I mean, I don't- ehm, that is to say, I think..."

She felt her face flush and tried in vain to halt the nervous stammer she'd been caught in, but the words one of my jerseys were flashing through her head and the bushy haired bookworm couldn't help but think of how nice it would be to drape herself in something of his and...

Harry chuckled and began to undo the laces of his uniform.

"I'll bundle one up and send it to your dorm with Crookshanks, alright? Come down to the common room when you're ready and we'll slip away together."

Together.

Hermione shook her head free of flustery thoughts and nodded, marching up the girl's dormitory stairs before she embarrassed herself any more.

The hot shower chased away the last of the quidditch pitch chill, and the young girl made an effort to lather up her wild curls for a bit more luster than normal, before drying them off and dressing in a casual pair of muggle bluejeans. Sure enough, Crookshanks trotted up to her bedside where she was toweling the last of the dampness from her locks. The half-kneazel deposited a red and gold bundle on her covers, which unfurled to show the name POTTER stitched onto the back.

Hermione hugged the jersey up to her chest, breathing in the scent of her best friend. It reminded her of lopsided smiles, cleverness and courage, and a warmth that tugged at the corners of her lips. She pulled on the article of clothing, feeling comfortable in the too-large sleeves as if it was a great big blanket of sorts.

She thanked Crookshanks as he curled up to nap upon her bed, and stepped lightly down the dormitory stairs.

In the common room, the post-game party was in full swing. Seamus Finnegan had smuggled in a few bottles of Jameson whiskey, and was nearly in a row with Dean over the comparative merits of the Scotch he had brought. Fred and George had charmed a banner which floated overhead spitting red and gold confetti, the words Gryffindor Wins echoing the welcomed announcements of Lee Jordan during their games. She navigated her way through the boisterous crowd until she zeroed in on a mop of unruly black hair.

Harry looked up from a one-sided conversation about chasers with Ron and locked eyes with her. Watching the grin spread across his face along with the subtle up-and-down movement of his eyes made a delightful shiver race down her spine. She studiously avoided looking at Lavender Brown who was staring open-mouthed at the jersey; Evidently the Hogwarts rumor mill was about to explode once more.

"Shall we?" Harry said leaning in to overcome the party's noise.

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice in that moment.

Several Gryffindors cried out for Harry to stay, being the player responsible for their revelry. She could feel eyes on them as they left, but Harry seemed to brush it off. He had, after all, put up with so much worse from the school.

Rain pattered against the glass window panes of the castle. Walking together by torchlight, surrounded by the animated paintings lining the hallways, Hermione reached out tentatively and took Harry's arm. The boy slipped his hand into hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was just another thing that made her wonder; While she enjoyed Harry's new fixation on her(and how her teenage heart soared to have the sweet boy who became her first friend notice her as a girl...), she knew that he had previously been touch-starved. From what tidbits she'd sussed out, his home life was rubbish bordering abuse, so where had this affectionate streak come from? Or the maturity in dealing with that cockroach Malfoy? Or any number of the curious moments she'd witnessed him in?

"Harry..."

He looked askance at her, glasses glinting in the torchlight of the tower staircase.

"What happened to you?"

He stumbled then, but she caught the look on his face. She'd always been able to read his expressions, and the tightening of her brows was his tell that she'd hit the mark. He was hiding something.

"Ever since we met again in Diagon Alley, you've been different. Like you've grown up over the summer and never told us. If...if your relatives hurt you-"

"They didn't." He said flatly, "It's nothing like that."

"Ohh, well..." Relief blossomed in her chest, "Still, there's something you're hiding from me. I wouldn't ask you to tell me everything, but I just can't help but worry Harry. You seem so tired sometimes, and it hurts to see you suffer when I could help..."

"Hermione..."

"...And there's things you just know that you shouldn't. Why didn't you accost me over my timetable? Surely you noticed that I was in two classes at once, why would you cover for me?"

"Hermione."

"Black! Sirius Black was out for your blood and you didn't even care, until Pettigrew is revealed and you simply accepted that eventually he'll be free and you'll be away from those horrible relatives, It just seems there's something-"

Her walk was arrested, a moment of confusion as she found herself wrapped in firm arms and a comfortable warmth. Harry had embraced her mid-tirade, pulling her head gently into the slope of his neck. Her hands drifted up, clenching the fabric of his robes. She felt him shudder, and with alarm held him tighter.

"Thank you."

His voice was raw, and she was glad she couldn't see the expression on his face or so help her she might start tearing up.

"Thank you for being you," He whispered in the shell of her ear, "For looking after me, for pouring through those books for me, for everything that you are Hermione."

He stroked the back of her head, his fingers flitting through her curls, like he couldn't believe she was real. It scared her on some level, wondering what had shaken him so badly that he would show this kind of emotion as guarded as she knew him to be.

Harry pulled back, looking at her with those brilliant green eyes swimming with...Regret? Longing? Pain?

Love?

"Here we are," He said softly, guiding her into a small alcove with a door that looked like it belonged to a broom closet.

It was a cozy chamber, with a single iron-wrought window barring the rain and thunder outside. A dusty fireplace sat in the corner, from which a simple wand gesture ignited a comfortable little blaze, casting the room in flickering amber light. Harry tapped one of the scuffed chairs next to a writing desk and it transfigured into a lovely two-seater couch with faded red and gold upholstery. Hermione nudged him approvingly, the academic in her proud of his display of transfiguration; without an incantation no less!

They settled in the loveseat, leaning against each other. Staring into the glowing embers of the fireplace, the pair quickly warmed up in the small room, and fingers interlaced gently in the dark without a word.

"There is something I haven't told you," Harry began slowly, searching for the right words.

She scrunched her brows together, staring at the line of his jaw like he was a puzzle she had yet to solve.

"I'll tell you everything, eventually." He admits, uncomfortable under her scrutiny, "I'm sorry, there's just some things that are too unbelievable right now. Sometimes it feels wrong, what I'm doing, like I'm taking advantage, but..." The confusing apology petered out, and he looked forlornly into the coals, "If you hate me for it, I'll understand if you want to part ways once you learn the truth."

"I'll never leave you," Hermione spoke, and she knew in her heart she had never uttered words as true as those.

His breathing hitched, and the whisper of tears swam through those emerald eyes. She held his hand, fighting the urge to demand answers, and let him open up at his own pace as the rain pattered against the window.

"Voldermort survived all these years because he split his soul."

That sentence killed her thought process dead.

Harry went on, "It's the reason he came back in our first year, possessing Quirrell. He split his soul into seven pieces; It's evil magic meant to keep the caster alive after death. If he's struck down, he can revive through one of his horcrux." A shaky breath, and on he went.

"The creation of a horcrux requires murder, splitting the soul through violating natural law. Tom Riddle's diary was one of them, destroyed when I put the Basilisk fang through it; It's very difficult to destroy these things, basilisk venom or fiendfire can manage it, but little else."

His eyes took on a distant look swimming with pain, and her fingers rubbed his knuckles comfortingly.

"The other horcrux he enchanted are the Gaunt family ring he inherited, Salazar Slytherin's locket, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, Ravenclaw's Diadem, and his snake familiar Nagini." He swallowed thickly, looking for all his years like he had aged too much too soon. "Dumbledore spoke to me at the beginning of term about this, and he's been working with Sirius and some old friends from the last war to track them down. We've got most of them, and Voldermort hasn't found out we know about them yet. That's part of why I've been so secretive."

Hermione's lip quivered, and she stroked his hand as gently as she could. Inside she felt like screaming, at the injustice of it all, at the monster that would not leave her boy alone, at how bloody difficult the world had to be. She mulled over the horrifying truths, before speaking up in a small voice.

"Harry...that's only six horcrux that you've told me about."

He turned to her with sad eyes that didn't belong on such a young face, and ran his fingers tiredly through his raven locks, exposing the lighting bolt scar on his forehead.

She stared uncomprehending for a heartbeat, before the tears really came and her breath came in panicked short gasps.

"No... No no no no no no no..."

Her hands cradled his cheeks, looking for some denial in his face, and breaking down further when he just looked back at her with resigned patience.

"No. No this... NO. Harry I- Harry, Harry please I-"

She was hyperventilating, but she couldn't stop herself. She could feel the tears coming down her cheeks but her heart was hammering in her chest and she couldn't breathe, his hands were on her own and she couldn't-

Harry opened his arms as she grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug, and Hermione Granger broke down shrieking her heart out. Distantly she could feel his fingers sift through her chestnut locks, stroking her back as she cried. The rain only compounded the tears she couldn't stop, as she burrowed her face into his chest, his scent, and the warmth of her boy as if the rest of the world didn't matter.

Hermione had no idea how long they sat there, cradling each other. Her sobs died down, into hiccups and tears dried by his tie dabbed across her cheeks. It was a while before she felt brave enough to look up at him through puffy red eyes.

It wasn't fair.

He never deserved any of this. The wizarding world expected too much from this boy who stands up to trolls and slays snakes with swords, at his core an abused young man who'd never known family or love. She never would have dreamed that he'd notice her as a girl, and now the world wanted to take him away.

A fire lit inside her.

She simply couldn't let this stand. She would save him. She'd pour over every text in the restricted section until her time turner shattered if need be; There would be no stone unturned in her search, and if there was no answer she would make one.

Trembling pale hands reached up again to cradle his cheeks.

She marveled at his face, in spite of all the hardship he had lived through, how a boy could look that sweet. The second hand glasses perched on his nose, the shape of his brows, the cut of his jaw warring with the last of childhood clinging to his cheeks.

"I'll never leave you, Harry," she spoke quivering in the dim amber light, "You will never be alone again. I'm going to save you, and you are going to live."

He stared at her, something unreadable in his eyes. Her hands caressed his cheeks, like he was the most precious treasure in the world.

"I am going to save you Harry, and you are going to live."

It was too much then, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her tears kissed his skin, and she breathed deep of his smell; cedarwood and parchment dancing through her senses.

She would find a way to remove the horcrux from him, no matter how impossible that might seem. All her life had prepared her for this task.

For she was the brightest witch of her age.

---

The sun warmed her face, and Hermione groaned as she felt her eyelids teased open by the bright light.

Fluttering her lashes as the last of sleep ebbed away, she saw an unfamiliar room with an ashen fireplace, before she twitched remembering the night before.

She found herself entwined with Harry on the loveseat, draped across his chest hugging him close to her with his own cradling her in turn; Her chestnut curls splayed across them both in a curtain that caught the morning light with shining gold.

She wasted a few minutes watching his sleeping face, bereft of worry. It occurred to her he hadn't woken her up with any nightmares, wondering what had held them back. She idly daydreamed about staying there forever, the two of them hidden from the world with only each other for company.

His eyes cracked open, and that brilliant green focused on her with warmth.

"Hey you."

She couldn't keep the smile off her lips, "Hey you."

They stared at each other, past the feelings of embarrassment, simply basking in the other's presence.

Harry let his fingers graze her arm, flitting through whisps of her untamable hair. She stroked his cheek, marveling at the way his eyelashes would flutter when she so much as touched him.

"You know," Harry began with a note of amusement, "This wasn't how I pictured our first night together."

She laughed, the sound of bells in her voice sounding unfamiliar even to her. She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder, and settled her head in the crook of his neck.

"Me neither."

The admission raised his eyebrows, and she relished the fact she could still surprise this competent, thoughtful Harry of hers.

"So you've dreamed about this too, then?"

The question made her cheeks flare red, her analytical mind grasping that "too" signifier in there with giddy joy.

"A girl has a right to keep her secrets Mr. Potter."

They laid there a few more moments, enjoying the moment before the castle woke up proper.

"Well Hermione," his green eyes flashing as he took her hand, "I believe you promised me a date this Hogsmeade weekend."

She smiled brightly, and nodded.

"Shall we then?"

---

A leisurely return to Gryffindor tower was thankfully spared any gossip due to the hectic nature of Hogsmeade weekend mornings, most of their housemates wouldn't notice them slipping back in to change after last night's festivities.

Meeting up once more at the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione felt her stomach doing somersaults as a nervous tremble went through her. It was finally happening, she was on a date!

She would never admit it to Harry, but shortly after he'd first made his intentions clear she had begun pouring through textbooks on relationships in the library, and it was only half way through a color coded action plan she'd drafted like Harry was a particularly challenging essay that she felt a colossal embarrassment at the thought of him finding out she was doing something so...Hermione-ish, that she scrapped the whole thing and screamed into her pillow kicking her legs.

Don't ruin this, don't ruin this, don't ruin this...

She was just taking several breaths to calm down and not greet Harry like a crazy person when he stepped out of the boy's dorm, and her breath caught in her throat.

He was wearing a lovely emerald turtleneck sweater that made him look older, with a black wool coat overtop. Dark jeans and scuffed brown boots came to a stop just across from her, and that handsome voice tickled her ears.

"You look lovely, Hermione."

Oh thank you Harry darling, please tell me more.

"...Thank you," Hermione said very carefully, feeling color spill across her cheeks.

She'd taken her wine colored coat and thick Gryffindor scarf, tan trousers and black leather boots for their outing. Somehow his words made her feel exposed.

...but in a good way.

They walked together down the staircases to the main gate courtyard. It was as they were crossing the threshold of the school that Harry took hold of her hand without so much as a 'by your leave' like it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked up at him and felt the same silly grin cross her lips.

How could he be so deliriously happy just holding hands?

The warmth in her chest grew, footprints crunched through the snow.

How could I?

It felt natural. They hardly made conversation walking to the village, still enjoying this new dynamic between each other. His fingers drummed along hers, and she squeezed his back. It filled her with a heady rush, feelings she didn't know she was capable of. Her whole world focused on the feeling of his fingertips caressing her own, Harry reaching out to touch her and her shy acceptance.

When they arrived at their first destination, she blinked to find out Harry had brought her to the bookstore first.

"I know you must be eager to browse," he admitted with a nudge to her shoulder, "I want today to be about you rather than us boys and our shenanigans for a change."

She smiled gratefully and moved with a spring in her step as he led them past the threshold.

It was her secret garden.

Growing up with no friends left her with only her books for company. It felt safe, familiar. Books didn't laugh at you for sitting up straight and speaking clearly, or call you names because you follow the rules and work harder than they do. She often found time to hide away from the world that had made her cry far too many times for being who she was.

But this time...

Harry was sitting next to her, backs to the Transfiguration section as he murmured with her which volumes they were considering, and their future electives in Hogwarts. She felt a flush of pride as he admit he wanted to put in as much of an effort as she did.

"I look up to you, you know."

She blinked, startled away from her text on Minor Elemental Charms.

"You do?"

"Of course I do, Ron and I would be dead without you. You've always got a sensible perspective or a solution, and even..."

He chuckled, embarrassed. She tilted her head amid the dust motes floating through the still air of the bookshop.

"...even the smell of your hair makes me feel better. Like I know everything is going to be alright because you're there."

It was quiet.

She put her book down carefully. Turning slightly, she hugged herself about his chest, pressing her face into just behind his ear. Hermione inhaled, feeling Harry shiver as she breathed him in.

She pulled back with the most pretty shine to her honeyed eyes and a fragile smile.

"I feel better," she whispered.

They left some time later.

Harry never strayed far from her side. She had begun to pick up on little quirks of his. He relished any contact from her, and she toyed with this new theory by brushing up against him and finding any excuse to link arms.

It was as they were slipping through the busy main street that Harry stepped closer to her shoulder and put his arm around her waist.

Her back straightened immediately, and Hermione felt a possessive glee. He was hers, it wasn't a daydream after all.

They browsed the school supplies at Scrivenshaft's, and she once more felt that unfamiliar streak of mine when Harry mentioned he was getting more colored ink for their editing papers leading up to exams.

They were in some comfortable limbo, between friendship and togetherness.

"I don't know about you," He said slipping past Percy Weasley and his oblivious date Penelope, "But I'd rather not take you to somewhere as tacky as Madam Puddifoot's."

Hermione snorted, and covered her face as she giggled, "I appreciate it."

It was a smaller cafe with weather-worn wood across the front entry, some older Witches and upper year students sitting about having afternoon tea. The interior had several intimate tables with brass candlesticks hovering with a warm glow across the walnut and olive upholstery. A young blonde waitress bustled about.

Harry pulled out her chair for her and she graciously accepted. He surprised her when he ordered a London Fog, being the same favorite of hers. A small plate with almond cookies arrived, and Hermione couldn't help but melt at the intimate setting. Low chatter flitted about them, but they only had eyes for each other.

They talked about their lives growing up in the muggle world. There was clearly neglect hidden behind Harry's words, but she found common ground. They both liked fish and chips, and promised to try some together one holiday. She loved Fruit Chews and he preferred Caramels.

"Alright then," she giggled as they traded guesses at each other's favorites, "What's my favorite color?"

"Periwinkle Blue," he answered without a pause.

"Wrong," she smiled crookedly.

He blinked, genuinely surprised, before blushing when she reached up to trace one of the frames of his glasses.

"This green," she whispered, "This green is my favorite."

They stared at each other. Best friends for years. Having faced death, Basilisks and even worse, expulsion together. On a date in Hogsmeade. Steaming mugs and warm candlelight, gentle conversation around them. The smell of her hair. The trace of his cedar wood broom polish.

The flash of her pink tongue wetting her soft lips as she saw his emerald eyes dip from her own gaze.

There was a heartbeat and Hermione knew that Harry knew what she was thinking because he was thinking it too and-

Harry tilted his head and leaned in. She lifted her chin without thinking, and then he was kissing her.

He was kissing her.

Her heart raced in her chest and every nerve felt tuned up as sensitive as could be. She had never felt such an electric thrill from contact with another before, but now Harry's warmth, his solid, comforting arms around her became the up and the down and all she understood in that moment was the soft lips welcoming her own as her boy held her.

They pulled apart, breathing in heavily flustered. Harry cradled her face with one hand, the other resting on her waist. He held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, a tremble in his fingers as he caressed her. Her own fists were curled in his turtleneck, pulling him close to hold to smell to taste.

They were past words. A look between them spoke volumes. Harry leaned in again, and she arched her neck to accommodate him. They explored the sensation of each other's lips, this new facet of Harry and Hermione together in a way much different than before, and somehow something familiar.

They settled into gentle nuzzling, butterfly kisses and whispered nothings that touched her heart more deeply than any daydreams she'd every had about him.

"Back in first year, before I crossed through the flames...what were you going to say?"

She looked up at Harry, her lashes demure and eyes swimming with affection.

"Books and cleverness...there are more important things. Friendship, and bravery..."

"And Love..."

They spoke it together, the quiet part out loud. Something new and something that had been there all along.

Harry took her hand, and Hermione pursed her lips as she lost the struggle to hold her tears back.

"Hermione, will you be mine?"

She smiled through the tears, leaning up to meet him.

"I always was."

---

The next few weeks were like a dream.

The dynamic between Harry and herself had always been close friendship, something deeper than just best friends. As boyfriend and girlfriend (and she felt herself grow warm at the thought of that) they would drift into each other's space, a slow caress there, a lingering stroke there. The feeling of his skin on hers, even an exposed wrist that he might touch, drove her wild.

The rest of the school soon caught on, if the spectacle of her wearing his jersey wasn't enough. She had been prepared for insults from the Slytherins, but even Draco spared them no more than a lingering stare and semi-polite indifference.

It still bewildered her how Harry looked at her.

There were times she felt inadequate next to pretty girls in the hallways like Miss Chang or Miss Vane, their laughter while not directed at her still made her withdraw somewhat, remembering her time in primary bitterly.

Then Harry, that silly wonderful boy, would do something so sweet and romantic just because he could without rhyme or reason.

He'd paid Colin Creevy to take some pictures of her discreetly through the day, and mailed them by Hedwig-post to her parents. They mentioned such in one of their letters to her, and were overjoyed to see such a close peek into her life in the magical world. When she'd seen Harry next after that letter she'd kissed him up against the common room mantle in a surprisingly forward moment for her.

Another day he'd invited her early for breakfast on the parapets, watching the sunrise with a thermos of coffee and porridge with blueberries and honey just how she liked it. Sitting there in the chill with his arms around her watching the amber and pinks of the dawn crest the sky made her toes curl with contentment.

More recently, she'd been crossing the ramparts from the south towers with the rest of her departing Muggle Studies class when Harry drifted out of the blue sky on his broom, lopsided grin catching her like a deer in headlights. She thought steam might come out of her ears at the adoring murmurs of her female classmates witnessing her gently accept his offer of a ride back to the great hall and sit across his broom between his arms. The wind had sifted through her long curls and the warmth of the afternoon cradled their descent. They kissed just as they touched down on the grass outside the main doors, more than one jealous glance thrown their way.

It felt like a natural progression of their close bond, like they had always been meant to grow this close. Neither of them had friends growing up, so their friendship mattered so much more to them both. Harry's neglect and isolation pushed him to shyly seek out any contact with her, the only person he felt truly safe touching him; Hermione just wanted to be accepted and loved, and having him choose her all of her was a balm for her soul.

That isn't to say she wasn't busy with her academics.

On top of the extra courses she was taking, Hermione was still doggedly researching a method of removing Harry's horcrux. It was a monumental task. Even Dumbledore apparently had no answer for how to deal with it, and that changed the way she saw the headmaster; It wasn't outright said that he intended for Harry to face death by Voldermort's hand, but there was a subtle implication based on the previous years.

Never.

She'd never give Harry up, not for anything. He belonged to her and she'd take on the world for the boy who leapt onto a troll to save her life. If there was no magical solution available she would make one.

Still, it was as she finished slipping bookmarks into an Egyptian ritual compendium that Hermione decided to take a break. Her study periods were beginning to blur together and she struggled to keep track of her chronologically complex timetable.

She'd just met up with Harry outside the third floor corridor between Professor Vector's classroom and the astronomy tower when she caught a flash of chestnut and turned in the middle of a conversation with her raven-haired boy.

Hermione Granger was staring at her.

There was a pause. Her thought process halted, thoughts scattered like a teapot that had been overturned and the guests were all looking about at the host before scrambling to tidy it up. She looked up shocked at Harry, seeing him look between them-her, the two Hermio- That is to say, he looked about the deserted corridor as the sounds of the next class approaching grew from around the corner, and the other her was just as stunned-

Harry leapt forward, grabbing the other Hermione's arm and her own, pulling them back towards a narrow door along the wall and suddenly they were in the dark surrounded by cold stone, dust and a series of brooms and mops haphazardly thrown against the wall. The door was pulled shut, and not too soon for the pitter patter of feet began to thunder outside as students laughed and jeered on their way to the next Ancient Runes class.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute. Hermione hardly dared to move from the position that Harry had tugged her into, a comfortable nestling into his side, her nose pressed to his neck, his arm thrown protectively around her. Right across from her, she peeped past the edge of Harry's jawline to see wide honey eyes staring back at hers in panic, a similar pose her other self was curled into.

This was bad.

This was literally what Professor McGonagall had warned her about. She had stressed that she must never run into 'herself' or allow others to see evidence of her usage of the time turner. Terrible things happened to wizards and witches who meddled with time, the headmaster had warned.

What would Harry think?

Oh god, what was going through his mind? Would he be angry she hadn't told him? Was he? How did he have the presence of mind to hide them away? Surely he must think it's some prank from the twins, or perhaps...

"Are you both alright?"

The softly whispered question slipped past his lips in the dark of the broom closet. Outside they could still hear the hallway bustling, but for the moment they were hidden away from prying eyes.

Her other self swallowed thickly and nodded, looking to her with barely concealed mix of fright and stress.

"Y-yes," she mumbled, struggling to come up with what to say to him.

"Good." The relief in his voice made her melt, and he stroked the back of her head comfortingly without demanding an explanation.

Of course he would.

Of course Harry would accept her, care for her, wait for her to tell him what was wrong. He wouldn't explode like Ron, or lecture her like her parents might, bless them. He gave of himself to her and demanded nothing in return. This selfless, kind boy.

"Thank you," The other her whispered quietly, and when their eyes met she knew her counterpart was having the same thoughts.

"I have my invisibility cloak in my bookbag," Harry whispered calmly, "When things clear up out there we can use it to slip away."

Her chest warmed at the gesture. Always trying to help, even when he didn't understand what was going on. The trust he placed in her tickled her fancy, and both of her looked up at him with adoration for his chivalry.

"I'll tell you tonight," she whispered into the warm skin of his neck, feeling him shift underneath her lips. Across from her, the other Hermione snuggled closer into his side with a sigh.

Harry straightened, and she immediately noticed his discomfort. "What's wrong?" She whispered urgently.

"Nothing."

"Harry..."

"It's nothing."

"Harry please," Her counterpart joined in now, eyes swimming with concern.

"It's just...well, uhm..." He stumbled, and she found the embarrassed flush creeping up his cheeks adorable, "There's two of you in my arms..."

Hermione blinked, her understanding building in arpeggio as she met the eyes of her other self reaching the same conclusion. She felt a rush of vindication and pride as a girl, and affection for her boyfriend struggling with the situation he gallantly found himself in.

She wasn't sure who started it, perhaps she had been the first one to raise a brow, but her counterpart was clearly thinking the same thing.

As one, the two bushy haired girls pressed in closer, and Harry gasped quietly as slender arms snaked about his middle and the heat of their bodies wrapped him in a loving embrace that he had never experienced before. Soft lips pressed into his neck and below his ear, and the raven haired boy mewled (actually mewled!) as they kissed, licked and nibbled on his weak points that had been discovered in similar broom closets.

"He-her...Hermione..." Harry stuttered, face completely red and glasses askew.

"Yes?" The two of them answered coquettishly.

"I don't want to...hurt you, either of you...I just-"

"You would never hurt me," Hermione answered immediately. She was as sure of that as the sun rising.

"You're so good to me," The other her spoke quietly, suckling on the lobe of his ear now.

"H-hermio-"

She kissed him hard, seizing the back of his head and pouring her adoration for the scarred lonely boy into her gesture. Her counterpart attacked his collarbone, nipping and leaving marks possessively. She shifted her thigh, pressing into him and for a moment felt something nudge into her upper thigh. The quick intake of breath Harry made thrilled her, and when she timidly pressed her hip into him again...

Harry turned his head and captured her in another kiss, this one fierce and hot. She felt her spine arch as he held her to him, and then he broke off to twist his head and kiss the other her who 'meeped' in surprise, eyelashes fluttering.

Hermione didn't know how long they spent in that broom closet, but the memory of hot skin, sweat and sweet kisses blurred together amid the scent of cedar and bushy chestnut hair. She vividly remembered the sight of Harry kissing herself, and seeing the act from a third person view, she marveled at the intimacy.

They did eventually untangle themselves and make their escape with the cloak.

Later, when she flipped the time turner to attend the class her counterpart had been in, she suppressed a smile knowing she'd have to keep events as they were.

Snogging him in the broom closet was just as pleasant from the right side, too.

---

The year was approaching it's end when she made her breakthrough.

There had been precious little information even in the restricted section on Horcrux, though she had been able to puzzle out that the objects were in some cultures called soul cairns, all anecdotes depicting them as absolute evil in practice and function. The working theory she had established was that since the act of murder damaged one's soul implicitly, the enchantment for creating a Horcrux broke off a fraction of the user's soul which would then be channeled into the object of one's choice. What happened then was that in the event of physical death, the remaining essence or soul/collective of the user would remain. Based on the Dark Lord's previous track record, it would then take roughly a decade before the wraith could manage to possess a sentient like a Wizard.

Having a rough understanding of the concept, she now had to determine a way to transfer the Horcrux in Harry's scar without killing him. All she needed to do was create an entirely new spell branch based on something so evil it couldn't be openly studied.

No trouble at all, she sighed.

She had built a framework around the idea of triggering Harry's soul in some way, which should in theory loosen the Horcrux attachment and then open it up to being moved; A similar concept to melting a chocolate bar in order to filter and remove the peanuts embedded within.

Clearly she had been spending too much time listening to Ron scarfing down Honeydukes.

At the moment, she was confident in the Collingwood Theorem regarding intent-based rituals being her best bet; Namely that the formula for evoking an effect from a ritual has a corresponding opposite effect when the parameters are swapped. If an evil act like murder is used to split the soul for a Horcrux, then a morally good action which can touch a soul should be able to eject the foreign soul cairn rather than imbue it.

Or as Ronald would require by explanation: Bad puts it in, Good takes it out.

A trill of nerves rushed through her, and she let out a shuddering breath. This had to work. It had to. The only other options she could find were estoric fertility rituals that touched one's soul.

Things seemed to be getting more complicated on Harry's front however.

The meetings with the Headmaster were becoming more frequent. She'd seen their old Defence against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin leaving Dumbledore's office often enough. Alastor Moody, a legendary auror and dark wizard catcher was also frequently in the Headmaster's company. From what she had surreptitiously overheard (yes Harry loaned her his cloak, what of it?) most of the Horcrux had been located with tremendous effort and secrecy. By some miracle, Harry knew exactly where they were, including Ravenclaw's Diadem which had been lost for centuries.

It was just another mysterious aspect of Harry since the start of the year. Honestly, with the minor personality quirks and things he inexplicably knew she found herself once more ruminating on just how in such a short amount of time he could possibly know what he-

Time.

Every nerve, every synapse froze. Hermione's pupils dilated, her breathing shallow, as a thought, a horrible thought, crystallized in her mind.

The sorrow in his eyes when he first looked at her like she'd been gone for years.

The Dementors and his Patronus.

The knowledge about Voldermort.

Oh god. Oh no, oh no.

The more she thought it over, hysteria rising, the more it made perfect sense. The time turner on her breast weighed heavily, damning in the simplicity of its answer.

Time travel, she thought with dismay, Harry traveled back through time.

He must have suffered so much. What had he changed? What would happen to him? Did he...?

She choked back a sob. What if he thought there was no hope for himself? Is that why he did it?

It fit his mentality. That damned 'saving people thing.' He'd give up everything he had to save others, and with that Horcrux in his head he must not have believed he'd get a future so the risks of time travel would be moot. He must have no one to talk to, how could he? Who would understand?

With shaking hands, she closed her books and made her way back to the common room. Her legs felt numb, like she was merely on autopilot. She looked for him in the common room, Seamus mentioning he had gone to the dockside. Down through the hallways and the great hall, she crossed the walkways that led her to the waterfront from which they had disembarked their boats back in first year. She had expected to find him alone, yet he wasn't.

Draco Malfoy of all people was standing next to Harry, the two of them skipping pebbles across the water's surface. She crept a tad closer, her manners telling her that eavesdropping was wrong being completely overridden by her need to take care of her boy.

"I've never seen the first years smile this much."

"Are they getting along with the others?" Harry's voice, strange somehow without the hostile inflections usually involved with Malfoy.

"Your fault Potter. They're fraternizing with other houses openly, our reputation is in tatters."

"Ah. Good. They don't deserve to be judged just for wearing green."

"The parents are furious. My father said I was a disgrace."

"You'll forgive me If I disagree."

Silence. The quick succession of twok twok twok splish.

"I wanted to be friends with you, you know."

"Really?"

"Back in first year. I used to sit in on my father's meetings with pureblood associates. I'd try to copy them, talk like they do. They're powerful in the Ministry, if I was like them I thought I'd have no trouble making the right kind of friends."

"..."

"I was upset you told me to piss off, I thought I did everything right. I thought I would have made my father proud."

"What changed?"

"...My father...The people he knows, they're..."

There was quiet as Malfoy struggled to find the words.

"That life my father lives, isn't what I thought it was. The Dark Lord doesn't care about our culture, we're just tools for him to use. My father's afraid, I can see it now and I don't know how I feel about that."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet, but I can't be what my father wants me to be. I don't want to live a life where I need to bribe people to respect me while the rest curse me under their breath."

"What do you want?"

Malfoy bowed his head.

"I want to make the Malfoy name worth respecting."

They stood in silence for a few moments longer, and when Draco turned to leave Harry extended his hand to the other boy. The blonde stared at it, and haltingly shook it in an exchange that had no words and so very much to say.

He began the trek back up to the castle, startling when he found her standing by the cliffside. For once, the look in Malfoy's eyes was not hateful, but a myriad of emotions that orbited sorrow.

"I'm sorry for everything." He spoke quietly.

Hermione gently inclined her head, not trusting her voice.

The footsteps pattered off.

She walked down gingerly to Harry's spot by the water. He was rolling a pebble across his palm, lost in thought. With all the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders, still he reached out to an enemy when they needed a helping hand. There really was no one quite like him.

He turned, and the look in his eyes made him look so much older than his years.

"Hello Hermione."

She stepped closer to him, curiosity flickering in his green eyes as she approached. Her hands delicately cradled his face, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead on her tiptoes.

"Hermione?"

She kissed him again on the cheek, slow and affectionate. Her hands ran up and down his arms, caressing his chest, tracing his ears and the bridge of his nose.

His eyes fluttered closed. She knew he had never felt a loving touch during his childhood, that physical contact with others would elicit a subtle flinch expecting pain. Only her, only her hands could touch him with his guard down.

So she kissed him, and touched him, and held him close. She told him in the way without words that he was loved, and precious, and mattered. This boy who gave of himself like a character out of her books come to life, who crashed into the story of Hermione Granger and stole away her heart.

"Oh Harry..."

Tears swam in her eyes, her forehead pressed to his own as she caught him in a bone-crushing hug.

"When did you travel back through time?"

She felt his breath stop, and the absolute stillness that left him rigid in her embrace. She refused to let go, nuzzling her head against his own, showing him that she accepted him and everything he was, and will be.

He started to shake, and she held him tighter as she felt moisture on her cheek.

"O-oh Hermione..."

The despair in his voice broke her heart, and the tears flowed freely now.

She held him as he cried, the trauma unknown, unexplainable with no outlet that he'd carried alone. He grasped for her, fists curled in her robe like she was his lifeline.

The shudders eased off, and she rubbed circles in his back like her mother used to do to calm her down.

"I thought you would hate me..." Harry finally admit in a trembling voice.

Now she was crying. How could her boy ever think she would hate him?

The story came haltingly, and her tears did not stop as he told it. Harry told her about a tournament, the resurrection of Voldermort, the Prophecy, Sirius's death, Dumbledore's death, a hunt for Horcrux, Ron leaving, the siege of Hogwarts, Fred's death, Tonks' death, Lupin's death...

It was as he told her of walking to his own death that Hermione bawled like she hadn't since she was small. They clung to each other, rocking back and forth.

He'd found himself in some limbo in the afterlife, unable to go on. Somehow, he'd woken up, years in the past. He'd thought he was insane at first; The Dursleys were almost ready to throw him into a psych ward. Eventually he'd calmed down and come up with the barebones of a plan. The Plan.

He orchestrated the capture of Peter Pettigrew to free Sirius. The Horcrux were taken by members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's men and women from the last war; Sirius free as the Black head and able to seize the cup from the Lestrange vault. The order and a handful of trusted Unspeakables were now hunting the shade of Voldermort to capture him once and for all. The only snag was...

His scar.

He had no answer to the Horcrux in his head. Dumbledore had no answers either, wherein Harry had been led in his timeline to basically choose to die at Voldermort's hands; There had been so much death and suffering, he honestly felt that he deserved it in the end.

Hermione held him, stroking his head as her own tears dried on her cheeks. The sun was beginning to set, painting the shore of the castle dock in copper tones amid the gentle ebb and flow of the water.

"I will never leave you Harry," she whispered in his ear.

He looked at her then, more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. She whispered sweet nothings to him, and slowly led him back inside. She didn't remember the trek back to the Gryffindor dormitory, only the smell of cedarwood and the salty tang of tears.

She remembered laying down long past midnight in her bed, still dressed in her clothes and emotionally exhausted.

---

Hermione was awoken by Pavarti wearing an ashen look, in what could only have been a scant few hours of sleep.

A mumbled "Headmaster needs to see you," was all she got before some horrible sixth sense set her feet alight down the corridors, hair still mussed from her brief slumber.

There were aurors milling through the castle. Students gave her pitying looks, hushed conversations dying as she passed by. She suppressed the growing dread in her chest as she climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's office.

The gargoyle opened as she approached, and the sight of Albus Dumbledore made her stomach turn.

He seemed to have aged irrevocably, the lines in his face pronounced and the pallor white as the grave. All around him, the eccentric magical contraptions that used to whistle and spin were silent. His hands folded upon his desk, a hunch to his wizened shoulders.

"Miss Grange-"

"Where's Harry?"

That look came back, the guilt and sorrow and that damnable pity in there too, "Miss Granger I need you to lis-"

"Where is Harry?" She demanded even louder.

Dumbledore looked down at his hands, straining to come up with the right words and finding none.

"I am afraid," he said with all the ancient pain of his years, "That young Harry has died."

Her world was shattered into pieces.

There was a ringing in her ears. She felt hot and cold all at once. She wasn't sure if she needed to throw up or scream. Her heart skipped a beat and her breathing came erratically.

"As members of the Order closed in on Tom Riddle's shade," he explained with a hollow tone, "Tom drew on his anchors for strength, panicked when he found all but one destroyed. His spirit began to siphon both magical power and life energy from the only one which remained, the scar upon young Harry's brow."

He looked out the window, eyes glassy with pain.

"He died in the night, unable to survive the drain of the Horcrux which had plagued him for so long. I would wish that I might have some platitude or kind words to give you on his behalf, but I do not. Only the regrets of a foolish, useless old man."

She ran.

Paintings, students, stairways blurred together. The colors seemed wrong, the smell, everything was wrong. She burst into the Gryffindor dorms violently pushing Finnegan out of the way, crashing into the third year boy's floor.

The sight of Harry's empty bed and Ron red-eyed and hunched over were somehow more damning than the words from the Headmaster.

She ignored the watery plea from her Weasley friend, fleeing the room. She found herself pacing the deserted third year girls floor, gasping for breath, hands fluttering.

Hermione screamed.

She screamed, tears spilling over her cheeks. She knocked the tidy bookshelf next to her bed over, sending an inkpot flying. She tore off a section of upholstery from her four poster bed. She pushed her fingers through her chestnut locks and screamed as she collapsed on the floor, chest shuddering as she fell to pieces.

She lay there as still as glass, shattered on the Hogwarts floor. Part of her was broken, gone, missing, unmade. It felt like a raw wound, yawning and burning in her chest. She didn't know how long she laid there, with something pressing into her collarbone.

Something...

Her eyes snapped open.

She still had her time turner.

She inhaled sharply, gasping as she fished it out. Five hours. Five hours was the maximum. Surely it hadn't been that long! Five hours. She needed to go back five hours and-

...and what?

Her hands clenched around the time turner, knuckles white.

Her research needed months, it was no where near complete. Even if she attempted the transfer ritual immediately there wasn't enough time before the Dark Lord's spirit would drain Harry's life force.

She stared at the pile of her books amid the ruins of the room. The answer wasn't in there.

With shaking hands, she began to rotate the concentric circles of the golden device, counting them out.

There was one idea. A shadow of an idea, nothing more than hearsay and intuition.

The time turner spun.

---

"Harry...Harry..."

The boy blinked, hardly in the throes of sleep, staring up at the bushy haired shadow of Hermione Granger looming over his bed.

"Her-hermione?" He stuttered, fishing for his glasses.

"Where is your cloak?" The tone of her voice was strangely subdued.

"In my trunk, wh-"

She swiftly opened the trunk at the foot of his four poster bed, throwing aside his things haphazardly until she had fished out the invisibility cloak. Ignoring his protests, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him from the bed still in his pajamas.

Under the invisibility cloak she led them through the hallways past suits of armor, dark and empty classrooms, and finally the painting of dancing trolls. The nondescript door leading to the Room of Requirement clicked open as she whispered, "I need somewhere for us to be alone."

Inside, a fireplace was crackling. Amber light wreathed the cozy upholstery, with a thick carpet below a large couch strewn with blankets and pillows. Books lined the shelves of the room, but she had no eye for them, only the boy at her side.

"Harry..." What to say? How to say it?

"Yes Hermione?"

The truth.

"V-voldermort's going to try and sap your scar tonight." There. She said it.

He stared at her, uncomprehending, and then the dawning of understanding lit in his eyes when he saw the chain of her time turner along her collarbone.

"I suppose that's it then." He said numbly.

A flash of anger coursed through her at his attitude.

"So you're just going to give up?" She asked crossly.

He shrugged, past the point of excuses.

"I don't know what to do. I don't what I can do, Hermione."

She took his hands in hers.

"Why did you...ask me to be yours?"

Green eyes stared into honey brown.

"Why Harry? Why did you ask me if you were just going to give up and die?"

His jaw flexed, and he tried to answer but she drove onward. She had to know.

"Why? Why were you so sweet to me knowing you'd break my heart? Why would you spend the time you had left on a bossy bookworm instead of trying to save yourself? Why-"

He seized her mid-tirade and kissed her soundly. It was words beyond words, solemn and enduring, and somehow she understood as the kiss parted.

"...because I love you, Hermione Granger."

She stared into his eyes, tears welling up again, feeling her heart melt and swell at the raw emotion in those emerald green orbs. Harry cradled her in his arms, smiling through his own tears.

"There's no rhyme or reason," he said haltingly, "I just couldn't help it. I tried, I did... I was going to keep my distance not to hurt you but..."

He shuddered, breathing in the smell of her hair.

"When I saw you that day in Diagon Alley I knew I'd never be able to let you go."

Harry smiled, drawing a thumb across the soft curve of her cheek. She felt her shoulders quake when he looked at her, really looked at her, and took her smaller hands in his calloused own.

"I love you Hermione."

She laughed through the tears, clear bells ringing amid the crackle of the fireplace in their secret little refuge.

"I love you too Harry Potter."

His face was astonished at the words he had never heard before, some deep need fulfilled by the subtle tightening of his grip.

"Till the end of the night or till the end of time," she said softly, "it doesn't matter. I will always love you."

She stood up on her tiptoes, and he angled his head to meet her. Their lips met, and in that moment two souls were something more.

Magic, that is to say the phenomena which governs the hidden world in which they lived, is based chiefly in intent. Beyond the wands and words, the potions and runes, it is conscious will commands the powerful energies which makes sorcery happen.

It could not be predicted, or prophesized that in that exact moment Tom Riddle would know true terror at the absence his many Horcrux when the Order of the Phoenix closed in on him half way across the world; Just as it could not be predicted that a clever young witch would leap through time itself to find the boy who stole her heart. One thing which could be known for certain was that love, in the purest sense of the word, is a higher power which Riddle could never understand.

When all the machinations of man and monster fell away, and the pitiful efforts of a half-man consumed by fear were broken one by one, all that remained was the will of Tom Riddle against two children deeply in love.

Harry did not notice when his scar began to ripple and fade, buried in the affection and curly tresses of his lover. Riddle, cornered in his dark hideaway certainly did. The hollow shade of a man shrieked, feeling his last lifeline slip into the ether and fizzle, until his strength, his power, and all the inconsequential fetters that foolish men deluded themselves with burned away.

In the warmth of the secret room of Hogwarts castle, the two young lovers held each other. Kisses, and whispers, and gentle caresses melding into a single tapestry of the affection between them, until the embers burned low and soft snores piped from the nest of blankets and pillows.

---

Hermione opened her eyes.

The ceiling of her four poster bed greeted her.

She lay there, the memory of last night swimming through her thoughts. Her time turner was laid carefully in a pouch on her nightstand. The bookshelf she had overturned was upright, and the rest of the devastation she had wreaked on the dorm room was nowhere to be seen.

She shouldn't have been surprised, but it still hurt. The numb, bone-deep ache that would never be whole again.

Her clothes were slipped on laconically. It didn't seem to matter that her hair was scrumpled up something fierce, or that she'd left her tie crooked. She didn't want nor care what others might say, there was nothing for her to strive for.

Hermione wondered why Pavarti hadn't woken her up this time. Perhaps the Headmaster hadn't thought to send for her this time around, things as chaotic as they must be. Not that it mattered. She didn't want to speak to anyone right now.

Except one, but she'd never see him again.

Hermione walked down to the common room stoically, ignoring the girls murmuring and pointing at her, or rather just below her jaw. Let them talk, it wouldn't make a difference.

She tried to summon up the effort to start looking for Ron and talk about their tragedy whe-

"Hermione?"

Chestnut locks whirled, impossible hope crystallized in her heart. Of all the sounds she had ever heard, her name from those lips was the sweetest.

...and there he was.

Harry Potter was standing at the foot of the stairs to the girls dormitory, looking up at her with such longing and love that it stole her breath away. Unruly raven locks and emerald eyes shining in the morning light as other students bustled past them, with a trail of red marks she had placed there on his neck. Now she knew she must have been spotted with her own incriminating marks.

She didn't know the how or the why, and in that moment she didn't care.

Hermione Granger leapt from the last few steps and Harry Potter caught her laughing with joy, swinging her around as they squeezed each other in the most perfect bone-crushing hug they could ever ask for.

"You...I thought I..."

"Yes! But the Novikov self-consistency principle..."

"Must have circumvented, somehow-"

"Your scar is gone! It's gone!"

"I know! You realize-"

"He's gone! It's...it's over..."

They stared into each others eyes.

There would be no more Dark Lord looming over them. Wrongs had been set right, and enemies had become friends. The future was always in motion, and the world was at their fingertips.

"So..." those lovely green eyes sparkled, free of a weight they'd carried far too long, "What happens now?"

She smiled impishly up at her man.

"Well," she said warmly, "we could start by holding hands as we go to breakfast?"

He made a rumble of contentment deep in his chest, and she craved to hear it again.

"Then later perhaps we could have a picnic by the lakeside in the sun."

"Mmmm," Hermione nuzzled into the crook of his neck, "I want to introduce you to my parents."

"Of course," Harry pressed a kiss to her head, "I want their permission to put a ring on your finger."

She laughed, gloriously free of worry and tickled by the silliness, "Oh my, you're going to declare your intentions so soon?"

He looked at her with affection and hunger and need blurred into one, "There are more important things that I can't live without in this world." The back of his hand stroked her cheek, "Friendship..."

She caressed his chest, his strong wiry chest, "Bravery..."

"...and love." They whispered together.

Harry and Hermione kissed each other, embraced by the dawn of a new day in Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. There would be new adventures and challenges along the road ahead, but that would be a story for another day.

All was well.