Author's Note:

I want to wish a Merry Christmas and happy New Year to all my readers.

Thanks go to my Beta: Blueglaceon.

Thanks also go to MissAnnThropic, who has allowed me to borrow ideas and exerts from her brilliant story Vox Corporis.

And ya'll know the rap; Harry Potter doesn't belong to me.

Rebecca Knight, Pan and Athena and every other character that you haven't heard of do, so no touchies without permission.

Chapter 4

But just when things were sailing smoothly, it had always seemed to be his lot to hit some sort of a speed bump.

Harry sighed as he watched Hermione eating her lunch from his place at the Staff table.

If someone had told him a month ago that this would happen he would have replied that they had been severely Confunded and that his and Hermione's bond was at its strongest. Yet here he was: alone and wondering what in Merlin's name he had done to cause Hermione's avoidance of him.

It had all started a few days after their first night together.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team were headed to the pitch to practice, Ginny talking animatedly about tactics with Harry.

Hermione had surprised them all by tagging along.

"Harry, wait up!"

Harry stopped at Hermione's call and turned to see her jogging to catch up with the team. "What's the matter?" he questioned, worry lacing his features as she drew level with him.

"Nothing's the matter, I just wanted to come and watch you practice," she stated in a matter-of-factly manner.

Harry couldn't help himself. "Are you sure that it's the practice that you'll be watching?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oi, lovebirds! Time's a ticking!" Ginny hollered back at them

Harry had spent the first half of the practice studying Rowan's skill and working out where she needed improvement.

But he had discovered, as he had started to compete with her to hone her skills as well as teach her a few of his own tricks that he'd developed over the years, all the while hearing Hermione's cheers from the stands below him, that she was a fast learner and that they got along like a house on fire, laughing and joking like they'd know each other for years.

When Ginny had brought the practice to a close, Harry had turned his attention to his girlfriend, intent on replicating their Quidditch match kiss.

But all he had found was an empty grandstand.

Returning to the castle, he had found her in the Library.

"Hermione?"

Hermione raised her head from the book she was reading to look at her Quidditch garbed and windswept-haired boyfriend, "Hey."

"Forget to add a particular detail?" he teased her upon seeing the four foot length of parchment that she was working on.

"You can never be too thorough," came her reply.

Assured that all was fine, he had headed back to his room to take a much needed shower.

But then, as the days had passed, Hermione's behaviour had begun to change when she was around him. At first she had been inseparable from him when he was with Rowan discussing their Quidditch training.

"Have you ever preformed the Wronski Feint?" Rowan questioned

"In a match? No. But I've attempted it many times whilst I was at the Weasleys over various holidays."

"Hey, Harry," Hermione greeted him as she sat down beside him and begin to eat dinner.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry returned the greeting with a peck on the cheek

But their usual nightly conversation about how their respective days had gone was halted by Slughorn's arrival. "Harry, m'boy! Just the man I wanted to see!"

Harry turned to look at the Potions Master. "How can I help, Professor?"

"The Slug Club is having a little get together this weekend and I was wondering if you and Miss Granger will be attending?"

Harry looked to Hermione, who nodded her head in acceptance, before returning his attention to Slughorn; "I don't see why not."

"Excellent! 7:30 on Saturday night," Slughorn responded before continuing on his way to the Staff table

When Saturday night had rolled around they had rocked up to Slughorn's office arm in arm.

"I still can't believe you accepted. You were always so wary of these get-togethers in sixth year."

"I still am. But with all Slughorn did to help us to defeat Voldemort, I owe it to him to attend a couple of these things while I'm here."

"Which is only six more weeks," Hermione stated softly.

"Hey," he soothed. "It's not like I'm going to drop off the face of the Earth. Besides, once exams start, you're likely to start banishing me from here just so that you can study in peace without having to nag a certain pair of boys to do the same."

At his words, Hermione shook her head, "Honestly, Harry. Where study is concerned, you were never too bad. Ron, on the other hand..."

Harry laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. And for the record I've never found homework necessarily vile or repugnant. I've ever only despised it when it cut into Quidditch practice, or when it was from Snape. And for that matter, during the summer holidays, it became a retreat for me when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would forbid anything to do with magic, but in doing my homework, I could remember what I had to go back to when term began and cling to that light to get me through everything until we returned to Hogwarts."

At the mention of his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing because they had arrived at their destination.

"Well, here we are. After you, milady," Harry stated as he opened the door for Hermione and then followed her in.

The couple were immediately greeted by Slughorn's voice, "Here's the man of the hour! Harry. Miss Granger."

"Good evening, Professor," the two responded together.

"Come in, come in."

The teens followed the Potions Master inside and took their seats around the table.

"Now, I believe that you know most of those here," Slughorn informed Harry as the others took their seats and the Auror-in-training noticed that Rowan was among the guests. "There's just one new face; Rowan Steele. Rowan's father, Beau Steele, is one of the Beaters for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Like father, like daughter, huh?" Harry quipped to Rowan, who grinned at him in return as she sat down.

"Beau was a little disappointed that she didn't follow in his footsteps. But from what I've seen, she's not a bad Seeker, and with your tutelage, Harry, she's sure to become even better," Slughorn said to Harry as their meal appeared before them.

As dinner had progressed, Harry had spotted Hermione looking at him and Rowan with a guarded expression, but every time that he'd opened his mouth to ask her what was the matter Slughorn had the unerring ability to divert his attention by asking him a question or his opinion about something or other.

"What do you think Hermione?"

When no answer came, Harry turned to look at his girlfriend, only to find an empty space where she should have been. Furrowing his brow, Harry searched the room trying to locate Hermione, but there was no sign of her.

"Something the matter, Harry, m'boy?" Slughorn asked as he approached.

"Have you seen Hermione, Professor?"

"Miss Granger? She left a few minutes ago."

But before Harry could make a move to leave and find his girlfriend, Slughorn had put an arm around his shoulders and steered him back towards the group.

After Slughorn's party, Hermione's behaviour had turned peculiar still: she had become increasingly cautious towards the new Gryffindor Seeker when she was around Harry and had started hanging out with Ginny and Rebecca more and more until it was now up to a point that he had not spoken to her in over two weeks.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself.

He needed to talk to Ginny and Rebecca and find out just what was going on.

Four hours later found Harry making his way through the grounds.

To the south of him he could just make out the Gryffindor Quidditch team as they went about the evening's training. He had told Ginny before they had left the Great Hall that he would not be attending and she had looked at him with understanding in her blue eyes. Ahead, Harry could see Hagrid's hut coming into view and the Auror-in-training spotted Rebecca playing a game of tag with Pan.

"Hey, Rebecca," he called out to her when he was within earshot.

Rebecca stopped and turn to look at him, "Hiya, Harry!" She returned the greeting enthusiastically.

But in turning to greet her friend's boyfriend, Rebecca had dropped her guard and Pan seized the opportunity, stealthily creeping up behind his mistress before: Thump.

Rebecca laughed from her prone position beneath the griffin. "Alright, you got me."

Head held high, Pan proudly hopped off of Rebecca and Harry offered her a hand and helped her to her feet and she dusted herself off.

"Can I speak to you?"

Rebecca turned serious in an instant. "Let me guess: Hermione?"

Harry nodded his head. "I don't understand," he began as Buckbeak came up to him and he rested a hand on the beast's neck, "what I've done. I've never seen her act like this..." he trailed off as realisation dawned on him like a Bludger to the stomach.

He had seen Hermione behave like this before, only at the time Ron had been the cause and he the one that she had turned to. "Hermione's jealous!" he exclaimed, startling Buckbeak, who gave a screech. "Sorry, Buckbeak." He soothed the hippogriff before turning back to Rebecca. "But why?"

"One word for you: Quidditch."

Harry shot her a questioning expression.

"She thinks that because she's never been a huge fan of Quidditch that the two of you have nothing in common," Rebecca elaborated.

Harry shook his head. "Which is completely mental."

"That's exactly what Ginny and I have been telling her from the start. But you know what Hermione is like, the more she saw you and Rowan together, the more she became convinced of her views."

"I told her, I told her that she's the only one for me," Harry spoke in a low tone as he looked back to the castle. "I love her just the way she is."

Rebecca's mossy green gaze softened. "She knows, but she still feels vulnerable about your relationship because-"

"Of that bloody note!" Harry growled.

"Go and find her," Rebecca told him simply. "She's in the Library."

"Thanks," Harry stated, giving Buckbeak a final stroke on the neck before turning and striding back up the hill toward the Stone Circle.

Harry strode along the hallway that led to Library. Turning the corner, he crept quietly through the building so as to not earn Madame Pince's wrath, scanning each area until he had spotted Hermione.

Approaching the table where she was seated, he spoke up, "Can I join you?"

Hermione startled at his voce and turned to face him. "Harry! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at practice?"

"Some things are more important than Quidditch. This is one of them."

"This?" she questioned as he sat down beside her.

"I spoke with Rebecca this afternoon," he told her and she looked down at the textbook in front of her.

Harry slid his fingers under her chin and guided her to look at him. "Just because you're not a huge fan of Quidditch doesn't mean I that love you any less, Hermione, surely you know that?We each have something that we love: books and learning are to you what Quidditch is to me.And for that matter, do you have any idea just how many times Ron and I would have flunked out of Hogwarts over the years had it not been for you?"

Hermione looked down at her hands again. "I know that, but-"

"The note brought your old fears to the surface."

Hermione nodded. "For years I thought that you were out of my league and that you'd never see me as anything more than a friend. And now we're together, it feels like a dream and-"

"You're afraid that it will come to an end. Wait… you thought I was out of your league?"

Hermione nodded.

"Hermione, what in the world made you think that?"

"Really, Harry, isn't it obvious? You're Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. You're a celebrity and some day you were going to end up with a Cho Chang or a Fleur Delacour... Someone popular and beautiful and I knew I had to accept that. Truly, as long as you were happy, that's what was most important. I was always going to be regular old ugly Hermione Granger, but as long as I was plain old Hermione, Harry Potter's friend, I was fine with it."

Harry's face went from stunned to displeased as he listened to her. He scowled in her direction as his mind went over all that she'd told him.

"I hate it when you do that," he finally said.

Hermione blinked. "Do what?"

"Say you're not pretty."

"It's the truth," she said with a dismissive shrug.

"It's mental," Harry retorted. "You're more than pretty, Hermione."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was an embarrassing squeak. She clamped her mouth shut and cleared her throat while Harry smirked.

"You don't have to say that just because you're my boyfriend," she finally managed to say. "Honestly, Harry, I'm not going to be upset because you think I'm plain to look at. I know I am."

Then Harry's hand was touching her face, lightly and delicately like she might be built from fine snow but still enough for her to feel the warmth of his palm on her cheek. Her heart did a skip for the look on Harry's face. He looked enchanted.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," he mused aloud, almost to himself, then he directed his words to her. "I didn't say you're pretty because I'm your boyfriend. If you'd asked me in third year I would have told you so... but now that I'm your boyfriend, I know that it's okay to say that I don't think you're pretty."

Hermione tried to smile bravely through the ache, because she refused to let the truth wound her... not a truth that she'd come to terms with so long ago.

"I think you're beautiful," Harry finished lowly.

"You... but I... I'm not. I've heard it all my life, Harry. Plain, boring, ugly Hermione Granger. I have looked in a mirror a time or two, and I know why they all say those things. It's cruel for them to say it the way they do, but that doesn't make it any less true."

Harry frowned and slipped his hand from her cheek to the column of her neck, and at once Hermione shivered. When they were kissing, he put his hand there when he was about to move aside her hair to nuzzle at her throat. It was distracting to say the least.

"Hermione?"

"Y-yes?" His fingers were just barely grazing the skin of her neck, tickling and maddening at once.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

Harry leaned in, moved her hair aside, and placed a gentle kiss on her neck. Then, without drawing away, he practically whispered in her ear, "Then just trust me and believe me when I say that you're beautiful to me."

To him.

She could do that.

It wasn't asking her to throw away a lifetime's worth of teasing and taunts about her hair and her teeth and her everything else, all of it completely unimpressive. It only asked that she make an exception for an exceptional person in her life. After all, Harry knew sides of her that no one else, no one that called her ugly, knew.

Put that way, she could believe him.

Hermione felt a sudden tightness in her chest; it felt weird to be beautiful.

It made a well of emotions bubble dangerously close to the surface, and she was a little frightened to think what might happen if they overcame her. She bit back an unintelligible sound in the back of her throat and snaked her arms around Harry's shoulders. She wrapped herself around him and Harry slipped his arms around her to return the embrace. She lowered her cheek to his shoulder and closed her eyes, surrendering to the moment of being with Harry, happy and beautiful in his arms.

"Just promise me something," Harry spoke after a time of silence.

"What?"

"The next time that something is troubling you, please come and talk to me about it. You have no idea just how many times I've beaten myself up over what I may or may not have done to cause you to distance yourself over this past month."

Hermione smiled against his chest. "Okay."

"Oh, and Hermione?"

"Hmmm?"

"If anything, you're out of my league, not the other way around."

"Don't be ridiculous. Fame aside, because I know that's not really your doing, you are a far more powerful wizard than I am a witch. When it comes down to raw magic, you're beyond me, Harry."

"I doubt that, but even if I were, there's no arguing that you're way smarter than me."

"Books and cleverness," she returned, a small smile flitting across her face at the memory.

The next week had passed in a blur of lessons and meditation sessions and before they had known it, it was the weekend of the Quidditch final.

"This... feels weird..."

Hermione turned to look at Harry. "What does?"

"Being here, in the stands, instead of out there playing."

Hermione's eyes softened. She understood that Harry had to be feeling like a piece of him was missing as he sat watching their house team face off against Hufflepuff; after all, he'd played Quidditch since first year and had only stopped playing when circumstances were against him.

"You'll be fine," Hermione assured her boyfriend. "Just promise me that you won't go diving after the Snitch if it comes close."

At this, Harry smiled and leaned into kiss Hermione briefly before returning his attention to the game as Raine scored a goal for Gryffindor.

Two and a half hours later, Madame Hooch's whistle pierced the air.

"Rowan Steele has caught the Snitch!" Dawn cried. "Gryffindor wins; three hundred points to one hundred and fifty!"

The Gryffindor stand cheered madly. Out on the pitch, Ginny and the rest of the team had flocked to Rowan and were sharing a group hug as they descended to the ground to accept the trophy from Madame Hooch.

After that time had seemed to fly by, and, all too soon, Hermione found herself accompanying Harry to the main gates.

"Promise me that you'll be careful," she whispered to him as they shared a final hug just outside the iron gates. "I don't want to see you on a hospital bed again anytime soon if I can help it."

"I'll try. But you know how it is: I don't go looking for trouble, trouble usually finds me," Harry replied as he drew back.

With a soft smile, Hermione leaned into him for a kiss. When they parted, Harry gave her hand a final squeeze before stepping away from her and Disapparating with a crack.

As Harry had resumed his Auror training, Hermione had thrown herself into her N.E.W.T exams, all the while continuing the token process.

"Okay, Hermione." Rebecca turned to the elder girl, as she, Hermione and Ginny sat by the Black Lake going through their Potion's revision. Pan was lounging in the grass beside his mistress, busily hunting grasshoppers. "Ingredients of the Draught of Peace?"

Hermione began rattling off the ingredients for the potion. She spoke solidly for a few minutes, but then, all of a sudden, she stopped dead and looked like she was a million miles away.

"Hermione?" Ginny questioned, waving her hand in front of the brunette's face. "Earth to Hermione!"

Hermione snapped back into reality.

"You okay?" the red-head asked, worry lacing her voice.

"I'm fine," Hermione responded before looking at Rebecca. "One of Pan's wing feathers just tokened itself to me. May I?"

"Might want to ask him that," came Rebecca's bemused reply.

Hermione looked to the griffin. "Pan?"

Pan got to his feet and approached her, stopping when he was a few feet in front of her. The griffin regarded her for a moment before spreading his wings and Hermione stood up to retrieved on her token; a primary feather.

"Thank you, Pan," Hermione said softly to the familiar, who clicked his beak at her, before she returned her attention to Ginny and Rebecca. "Now, where were we?"

– – o – – o – –

Hundreds of miles away.

"Permission to speak, sir," Harry questioned his drill sergeant.

"Permission granted, Potter."

"A token has presented itself to me, sir. Permission to retrieve it?"

The drill sergeant paused; all of the training officers had been told by the Minister that Potter was attempting to become an Animagus. "Permission granted. Don't dawdle."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The sergeant watched Potter as he strode over to a nearby tree, selected and stripped a small portion of bark from it, stuffed it in his pocket and then returned to the line-up.

"I still can't believe you got away with that!" Ron exclaimed, several hours later, as he, Harry and Neville relaxed in the common room dressed in singlets and tracksuit pants; Neville was reading a book on Herbology whilst Ron was playing a game of chess with Harry, who was currently located at the stove, cooking a batch of chicken noodle soup, all of them glad to be back on campus after they gruelling week they'd just had.

"It wasn't all that hard," Harry grinningly replied, "considering that Shacklebolt ordered all the training officers to give me a little leeway whilst I'm collecting tokens."

"Pawn to E5," Ron ordered and then watched as his pawn moved forward two paces and took out Harry's castle in the neighbouring square. "Who told you that?

"Tonks."

"Famous Harry Potter," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "Always the exception."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you keep going on about that, Ron. You guys are just as well known, nowadays, as I am," he told his red-haired best friend.

"And I'm beginning to understand just why you hate it so much, Harry," Neville spoke up, his eyes never leaving the book in his lap.

"Speak for yourself," Ron responded automatically.

"See you guys tomorrow," Neville said, two hours later, as he opened the door to his room. "Thank Merlin it's the weekend!"

"You can say that again!" Harry grinned as he opened his own door. "Night, Neville."

"Night, Harry. Night, Ron."

"Night, Neville. Night, Harry."

"Night, Ron."

Harry chuckled to himself as he entered his quarters. The trainee's rooms had been alphabetically assigned to them when they had started their three year long schooling; so while Harry and Neville were a few doors apart, Ron's was the last in the building.

The sun shone down on the golden plains around him as he slunk along, smooth and sure.

Muscles rippled and his senses were almost maddeningly acute. Not a bird wing fluttered or cricket jumped that he did not know about. He was part of the fabric of the savannah, and he felt its pulse through the bottom of his feet, heard it with his ears, tasted it on the wind.

Ahead of him lay his destination: a waterhole, where he would quench his thirst and rest for a while out of the sweltering heat.

As he bent down to drink, he saw his reflection in the water's surface, jumping and dancing as a result of his lapping tongue, but because of all the movement, he could only make out his messy black hair and green-gray eyes...

Harry awoke abruptly and stared up at the ceiling of his quarters.

Early morning light spread from the window, marking the hour as close to seven-thirty.

Harry blinked and took a deep breath, fighting to orient himself. His body was rigid, his skin flushed and coated in a sheen of sweat and his toes were curled. After a moment adjusting to being awake, he realized he was clutching his sheets in his fists. He consciously opened his fingers and let go his hold.

Harry sighed and rubbed at his face with both hands.

That dream again.

Harry had had his fair share of unusual dreams over the years and tended not to think much of them, but for the past four nights, it had been one dream in particular; the savannah dream.

It touched him so powerfully that he awoke as he had from a Voldemort vision-dream, but without the pain, terror or sensation of diseased rot in his blood. The savannah dream was similar in gripping him so intensely, in jarring him awake to find that his body had been just as gripped by the dream as his mind.

Harry sat up in bed and unexpectedly shivered in the morning air. For a moment, he'd actually expected the heat of the savannah and not the balmy cool of his quarters.

"That decides it," he muttered to himself as he got out of bed.

He'd not thought anything of the dream the first time, except that it had been abnormal from his usual brand of dream, good or bad. When he had had the same dream a second time, he thought it an odd coincidence. After the third night, he had begun to wonder if he should tell Hermione once they returned to campus. Now this, the fourth night in a row, made up his mind for him.

Harry strode out of his room, down the hall and into the trainee common room.

Approaching the fireplace, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder before crouching down to the crackling hearth.

"Gryffindor common room," he spoke loudly before dropping the powder into the flames, watched as they turned green and stuck his head in.

– – o – – o – –

Ginny yawned as she made her way downstairs alone. She had been the last to rise of her dorm, but she was in no hurry to get to breakfast. As she was crossing the common room, a voice called out to her from the fireplace.

"Hey, Harry," she greeted him as crouched by the hearth.

"Hey, Gin. How've the exams been going?"

Ginny pulled a face. "Don't ask."

Harry chuckled. "That bad, huh? How's Hermione coping? Not being too hard on herself, I hope?"

"She's going well. And you know Hermione, not happy unless she's giving a hundred and ten percent."

Harry chuckled again. "That's my girl. Is she about?"

"She's at breakfast at the moment. I could go and get her if you like," The youngest Weasley offered

Harry shook his head. "No, it's alright. I'll get changed and come and see her myself."

"See you shortly, then," Ginny responded as Harry's head disappeared with a pop and she continued on her way.

– – o – – o – –

Half an hour later, Harry stepped into the Great Hall and spotted Hermione sitting with Ginny and Rebecca halfway up the Gryffindor table.

As he approached them, he could see that Hermione was nibbling on a muffin absently, her full attention on an open book on the table, slanted so she could fit both her plate and book before her. It forced her to cock her head to read as she chewed at the same time. Harry knew Hermione well enough to know that her chews would be timed with the completion of a sentence. Bites matched to new paragraphs, assuming they weren't short ones, drinks with page turns.

It was a habit Harry thought strangely cute in his bookish girlfriend.

But so rapt was he this observation, he completely missed another; a blue glow had sprung up around Hermione's body as he drew closer to her. When he did notice it, Harry stopped short, blinking several times to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

But the glow was still there.

Sensing his presence behind her, Hermione turned and looked up at him, smiling. "Morning, Harry."

"Uh... are you... feeling alright, Hermione?"

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"You do know that you're glowing, don't you?"

Hermione's eyes widened as she caught sight of her reflection in a nearby silver pitcher.

But instead of fretting, she turned to Rebecca, who was trying her best to hide a mile-wide grin she bore with her hand, and quirked an eyebrow at her copper-haired friend. "So this is the mystery potion; Cupids Draught!"

"Mystery potion?" Harry repeated, not sure how to react to the revelation, and as he sat down next to Hermione, he recalled what Slughorn had told their class in sixth year about the potion in question: "Cupids Draught enables the drinker to determine who their heart truly desires; when brewed correctly, the drinker finds a blue glow emanating from their body whenever they are in the presence of their true love."

"The sixth and seventh year Gryffindor girls had a slumber party last night so that we could unwind a little," Ginny explained to Harry, but then realised something. "Do you know what a slumber party is?" she questioned.

"Yeah. Dudley had a few of them when he was little. I used to sneak out of my cupboard to catch snippets of whatever movie they were watching."

Hermione's brain screeched to a stuttering halt, her lungs hitched, her skin prickled with cold dread when his words registered in her mind. She tensed and looked at Harry, who was watching her, confused by her sudden change in demeanour. "Your what?"

Harry's expression tensed at once. He'd not meant to say what he did, she could tell by looking at him.

But neither would he ignore her question; he sent her a pleading look, silently asking her not to press the matter in their current location and that he would tell her later on. Hermione relented and turned back to Ginny and Rebecca, who were looking at Harry, flabbergasted by his admittance, and prompted Ginny, "You were saying?"

To her credit, Ginny carried on like Harry hadn't said a word about his pre-Hogwarts years, "And with some time and effort, we managed to coax Hermione away from her studies. During the night, Rebecca dared Hermione to drink a potion blindfolded."

"You know," Rebecca cut in, "now that I think about it, you didn't seem too surprised about the ID of the potion."

"That's because I figured out what it was."

"How?" Rebecca demanded.

"The temperature and colour; Cupids Draught is icy cold when swallowed and is pale yellow in colour, which I saw when I looked at the droplets that I spilt on my hands.

Rebecca shook her head. "Should've known better than to try to pull the wool over your eyes, Hermione. Smartest witch of her age, indeed."

"And for that matter, I wouldn't be looking so full of yourself if I were you, Becca," Hermione stated to the future-Magizoologist

"Why's that?" Rebecca asked warily.

"Because I'm not the only one that drank Cupids Draught."

Ginny's and Rebecca's eyes widened at the elder girl's words.

"You didn't!" they cried in unison.

"As the Muggle saying goes; what's good for the goose is better for the gander," Hermione told her two friends as she picked up her discarded muffin and turned to her boyfriend, "Now, what brings you here?"

It took a moment for Harry to remember said reason. "Have you been having any unusual dreams?"

Hermione's eyes brightened and Harry felt relieved; Hermione only lit up like that for good things.

"Yes, I have!" she responded excitedly. "Just last night, in fact."

Hermione put her muffin down again and shifted to more directly face Harry. "This is just what we wanted to have happen, Harry," she said softly. "It means we're internalizing the transformation spell just as we should for it to work. It's become ingrained and it's finding its way into our dreams, part of our subconscious. It means our inner animals are stirring."

Harry was just glad to hear it wasn't him alone having unusual dreams. "So what did you dream?"

"I was in the mountains with snow and coniferous trees all around me, and I was running. I was so fast." Hermione's eyes lost focus, took on a dreamy quality, and Harry knew that Hermione's dreams had been just as intense and visceral as his.

An hour later found Harry and Hermione seated under their tree by the Black Lake.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she questioned softly.

.

He sighed, resigned, as he said, "I didn't have a bedroom at Privet Drive until I was eleven. Before that they kept me in a cupboard under the stairs."

Her heart broke.

Her heart raged.

She knew her mouth was agape and her eyes unblinking as she tried to wrap her head around Harry's confession. How anyone could be so cruel to the one she loved so dearly... it was unspeakable, unthinkable. Harry was an amazing, caring, loyal person, and he'd been treated like he was a vile criminal or a monster. If the Dursleys were magical, she would have asked, in an instant, that they be sent to Azkaban for the injustices they'd so callously heaped on Harry.

With Harry's fame in the wizarding world, it just might happen.

If the wizarding world knew how their icon of triumph over evil had been treated... Whether he liked it or not, Harry was important to a lot of people he'd never even met. Their world wouldn't stand for it, but in the Muggle world, no one did a thing to help a kind-hearted, neglected little boy locked away in a cupboard like an unwanted stray dog.

"Harry... I... I never knew," she whispered.

How bad had it been? She thought she'd known most of the sordid details about Harry's upbringing.

She'd not known this.

And she couldn't help but wonder; what else didn't she know? How much worse was it than she suspected?

Harry's lips pursed. "I never told you. I never told anyone. It doesn't matter, Hermione."

"It matters," she replied.

"Why?" he asked her in a wearied voice.

She could hear how much he wanted it to not matter. She wished it was that easy, for his sake. She'd give anything to just brush it all away like a fine layer of dust on a countertop.

"Because it's wrong."

"I know it is. Now. But that doesn't change what happened."

Hermione reached out and ran her hand over the back of his neck. Harry took in a breath, despite himself.

"I'm so sorry you had to grow up with that wretched family," she said softly to him. "You deserve better. It's not fair that you had to grow up there just because your parents were brave enough to defy Voldemort, to fight him. There are so many witches and wizards our age who never lost their families because their parents let someone else fight for them, and it's not fair to you. But never think the way I feel about you would change because of what you have hidden in your past. That doesn't matter, not to me."

"Thank you."

Hermione tucked herself into his side, sliding her arm around his stomach to hold him in a partial hug. Harry looped his arm over her back

"Maybe one day you'll know everything..." he said faintly.

If her heart could take it, she thought, but instead of saying that she gave his middle a squeeze, because, by the tone of his voice, it was obvious he was scared by the idea. "Whether I do or not it won't change us, I promise you that. Your present and future are more than enough for me."

She was utterly still a moment, looking so blissfully content and peaceful, then a look of hazy concentration fixed on her features. She opened her eyes and glanced up at Harry searchingly. In one smooth motion she rose to her knees and knelt before him, gaze intent. Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Hermione reached for the pair of small scissors she'd started to carry with her after Harry had returned to his Auror training. She regarded him a moment, started toward him and halted, fidgeted, then asked, "May I?"

Harry realized what she meant. "Yeah."

Hermione leaned over him, plucked at his hair, chose with care, and snipped. Her hand came away with a small pinch of black hairs between her fingers. She stared at them, blinked, then smiled up at Harry. "Seven," she said then retrieved her bag and added Harry's lock of hair.

"Did you know we could token off each other?" he asked as she shoved the small bag, lumpy and misshapen from its contents, back into her pocket.

"Honestly? No. I wouldn't think we're animal enough to count. But we-"

"-Can't ignore a token," Harry finished with a grin. "How many more exams do you have?"

"Six," she said softly and then looked out across the lake, where the tentacles of the Giant Squid could be seen snatching pieces of toast, courtesy of a couple of first years, from the lake's surface, an unreadable expression settling on her features.

"What is it?" Harry queried.

Hermione looked back at him. "It's just... I can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that I'll be graduating in two week's time. It feels like it was only yesterday that I was getting on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. And now it's 'Goodbye school, hello world!'"

"You'll rise to the challenge, though," Harry told her. "You always do."

Hermione smiled and leaned into him for a kiss, but their mouths only had a few moments of contact before she pulled away, giggling.

"Er... what've I done now?" Harry asked, bewildered.

In response, Hermione ran her fingertips along his jaw line, feeling the stubble that was there. "You haven't shaved."

"We had boot camp this week. Five a.m. start, eleven p.m. stop. By the time we finished each day, we were too knackered to do anything else but have a quick shower and go straight to bed," he told her before muttering. "The dreams didn't help matters either."

"The dreams?" Hermione repeated. "You mean you've had more than one Animagus dream?"

"Same dream for the past four nights. You could say that it became my alarm clock."

Hermione smiled tenderly at her boyfriend as she settled on his lap and started to run her fingers through his hair. "That considered, I'm surprised that you got here as early as you did. You must be exhausted!"

"I did have a bit of reprieve this morning. My 'alarm' didn't go off until seven-thirty," Harry let out a contented breath and closed his eyes at Hermione's ministrations.

Hermione watched him for a few minutes before a mischievous idea rose in her mind and she reacted to it by poking him in the side. Harry's eyes snapped open as he gave a strange chirrup and flinched away.

Hermione brought up her head at once, a smile blooming on her face. "Why, Harry Potter, are you ticklish?"

"I don't think so," Harry answered plainly, "but then, no one's ever bothered to try tickling me before. I don't think Dudley's little love taps with the boxing gloves count. In any case, I never laughed about it."

Hermione smirked and like any good, methodical academician she poked him in the ribs again to see what happened. Harry jerked, made a strangled noise... and a quick smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Hermione grinned and poked him again, really starting to enjoy this new game.

"Hey," Harry said, breaking into a full smile even as he tried to sidle away, "cut that out."

Hermione giggled. "Oh, not a chance." She poked him again.

He laughed, and he sounded surprised that being poked in the ribs could make him laugh. "Hermione, really, stop. That..."

"Tickles? That's the point, Harry." She used both hands this time, a flurry of fingers digging at his side.

If Harry had never been tickled before, she meant to do a bang on job.

Harry chuckled, then he laughed, then he was howling with laughter as he feebly tried to fend off her attack. Hermione's breath caught at the sound. She'd never heard Harry laugh like that.

Never.

And it was like music. Deeper than his 'that's amusing' laugh, throaty and rich, both older and younger at the same time. It almost hurt to think this might be the first time Harry had ever laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. The first time he'd ever belly-laughed to the point where he couldn't breathe. From the first time anyone had ever cared enough to tickle him.

Hermione found herself laughing along with him for the joy of his laugh.

When he could stand no more, Harry grabbed her wrists and tugged. Hermione was thrown off balance and fell into him. Harry met her with his mouth on hers. Hermione opened to his tongue when it teased her lips. They may have kissed for minutes on end, but they were still breathless from their tussle and Harry broke first to take a deep breath. Hermione, content as a cat in a sunny patch, purred, "Not fair."

"I was desperate."

"You're ticklish." Hermione pulled her hands free from his grip to wrap her arms around his neck. They were inches apart, their noses almost touching. Harry's eyes were bright with laughter, his cheeks pink, his mouth still upturned at the corners.

"Guess I am," he said, and it seemed a wondrous new discovery to him as well.

Hours later found Harry and Hermione returning to the Great Hall for lunch.

But as the young couple walked between the tables, many of the students began to stop eating and stare at them, and it took Hermione a minute to remember just what they were gawking at, as there hadn't been to many in the Great Hall when Harry had arrived at breakfast time.

"Looks like Rebecca's true love has been revealed," Harry commented as they took a seat and started helping themselves to lunch.

"Who?"

"You tell me."

Hermione followed Harry's line-of-sight and spotted her copper-haired friend sitting halfway up the table with a blonde-haired boy, the same blue glow radiating from her body.

"That's Jason Wild." Hermione turned back to her boyfriend. "He's a seventh year Ravenclaw. From what Becca has told me, he wants to become a dragon keeper once he leaves Hogwarts."

"Sounds like a perfect match for Rebecca then."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you going to stay here this afternoon?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I didn't leave any word for Ron or Neville as to where I was going, so I'd better head back after lunch. Besides, I've probably invaded on your studying time enough as it is."

When Harry returned to the training complex, Hermione's words had begun repeating in his head over and over again: "Your present and future are more than enough for me."

Going over to his bedside drawers, Harry opened the top drawer and pulled out a small blue velvet box. Taking a seat on his bed, he opened the box and gazed at the ring within: Lily Potter's engagement ring.

Many would consider them too young to marry, but Hermione was his heart and soul.

But he still had one more thing that he had to do before he could ask her to become his wife.

A week later found Harry standing in front of his bedroom mirror, busily making himself presentable.

Today was the day.

And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. His palms were all sweaty and it felt as though his stomach was filled with at least dozen Snitches, all restlessly fluttering around inside of him.

The sound of his door being opened caught Harry's attention.

"Hey, Harry. We're going down to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner," came Ron's voice from the hallway. "You coming?"

"Thanks, but I'll have to pass."

"Pass?" Ron repeated as he stepped into Harry's room and caught sight of his raven-haired best friend, who was fidgeting with his shirt collar.

Ron regarded his friend silently.

When he'd returned six days ago, Harry had seemed to be distracted by something as he had told Ron and Neville briefly of where he'd been that morning before retreating to his room. Ron had chalked Harry's behaviour up to something that Hermione had said to him and hadn't thought any more of it.

But as the week had progressed, it had become clear to Ron that something was on Harry's mind.

He was his usual focused and determined self during training, but as soon as they were back in the dormitory, he would retreat into his room, reappear for briefly dinner, then disappear again and they wouldn't see him until breakfast the following morning. The few times that he did venture into the common room, Neville and Ron would have to repeat their questions to him several times before they would get an answer.

Tonks had also noticed the change and she appeared at the dormitory one rainy afternoon.

"Tonks!" Ron called to the metamorphmagus as she walked past the common room door.

Tonks stopped as Ron appeared in the doorway.

"Have you been talking to Harry?"

Tonks nodded her head.

"And?"

"When your time comes, you'll understand what he's going through." Tonks said simply.

"My time?" Ron repeated, furrowing his brow for a moment, but then realisation dawned on him. "He's going to propose to Hermione, isn't he?"

"He wants to ask for her father's permission first, though." Tonks explained.

Needless to say, Ron had immediately understood his friend's behaviour.

Harry brought Ron from his thoughts when he picked up a small velvet box from the dresser beside him and turned to face his friend.

At once, Ron understood what was going on. "You're going to the Grangers?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"I'll leave you be then. Good luck," Ron said as he stepped back into the hallway.

Harry fidgeted with his clothes on last time before he followed Ron out of the building.

Half an hour later found Harry standing on the street in front of the Granger's house.

'Here goes nothing,' he thought to himself as he summoned up all of his Gryffindor courage and strode across the lawn, up to the front door and knocked on it three times.

As fate would have it, it was Jake who answered the door. "Harry?"

"Good afternoon, Mr Granger."

"Well, I must say, this is a surprise. Come in, come in."

Jake stepped aside and Harry followed Hermione's father into the lounge room.

"You must have hot ears," Jake told the young wizard. "Miranda and I were talking about you earlier today. Now, how can I help you?"

"I... uh..." Harry felt the Snitches in his stomach multiply. "I've come to ask for your permission to marry Hermione."

TBC...

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