II

It would have been so nice to talk to her. He had made his decision, and he knew it was the right one, but that did not make it any easier. To talk to someone who did not just sympathise, but who actually understood would have been wonderful.

What was she doing here in this world that she no longer belonged to? Of all people, why was she, Hermione Granger, one of the Golden Trio, living in the Muggle world? And from her reaction to seeing him, living here with no intention of returning to the magical world or of teaching her daughter about it.

What on earth had happened to her?

Dennis tried to forget their meeting. He had his reasons for living as a Muggle; no doubt she did too. It was none of his business.

But the image of her in that Muggle fast food restaurant kept returning to him. As did the picture of the little girl with red hair. Weasley red? It had to be. Ron and Hermione had been together at the end of the war. Surely the little girl was Ron's daughter?

It was none of his business. He would probably never see them again. He had his own life to get on with.


The university library was bigger than any library he had used before, and he had never been good with libraries. Nor was he good with asking for help – but on this occasion he had to. He approached the desk diffidently.

"Um – excuse me?" he asked, and the woman behind the desk, who had been tapping away at her computer, looked up with an automatic smile.

A smile that faded as she saw his face.

"Dennis?" she gasped; and he had not been wrong before, there was definitely fear in her eyes. But she composed herself quickly, and put on what was obviously her professional manner.

"How can I help?" she asked in clipped tones, daring him to say anything about their previous acquaintance.

Dennis could take a hint as well as anyone. He stuttered out his question about the book he was looking for, and she found it for him in less than three minutes. But in the time it took for her to find it on the computer, and then on the shelves, she did not look at him at all.

What on earth had happened to her?

And could Dennis really let it lie and pretend they did not know each other?

That night, his essay written, he lay in bed, listening to the noise of his flatmates laughing in the kitchen below, and decided that no, he could not. She was part of the world he had renounced. More, she was clearly determined to put that world and everyone in it behind her. But he, Dennis, could not let it lie. He had his reasons for living as he did, and he had times when he thought he had made the wrong choice. What if she had too? He looked at the sketch of her daughter, pinned on the corkboard over his bed. That child had a magical heritage. Did Hermione have the right to deny it to her?

A tiny part of his mind told him that he was using the child as a justification for doing what he wanted for his own reasons. Dennis knew that was true, but he suppressed the thought.

He was going to talk to Hermione, and to talk to her about their shared past if it killed him.

On that he was determined.