Exactly where Hermione wanted to be was with Scabior—in the glass-enclosed, leafy retreat that he'd created in the center of a copse of evergreens. She wasn't really aware of her surroundings until she was bodily sated, then looked around in wonder.

"It's perfect," she said dreamily, looking up at the sun shining through the clear roof. She instinctively whispered, because the insulation from the trees and remoteness of the setting made a quiet she didn't want to disturb with a normal voice. This wasn't a place for normalcy.

"I'm glad you like it," Scabior said, walking back to the bed, where she lay comfortably. He carried a bowl of fruit for them to share. She raised up to grab some grapes. "I thought of you when I made it," he added, sitting next to her and kissing her bare, pale shoulder.

She pushed him down on the bed and rested her head on his muscular chest. "Why do I feel so good with you?"

He lightly rubbed her arms and back and explained the universal appeal of an extra-marital affair, that had trapped people for thousands of years. "We do good things together," he began, "we make each other happy then don't have to argue about paying the bills or household chores…who's getting up with the baby in the middle of the night".

She raised her head to look thoughtfully in his dark brown eyes. A little wistfully he concluded, "For us it will always be better than and not as good as a real couple".

She lowered her eyes, as she began to think of her real relationship, complete with the arguments, with Ron.

"There's only one world where we can be allowed to stay happy together," he said with a sigh. "Would you like to see us in that world?" He suddenly rose to get off of the bed and put on a pair of pants.

"What?"

He handed her the Ministry robe and held out his hand. "Come with me," he said excitedly.

He seemed to walk through the glass wall at the front of the room and into the surrounding trees. Hermione followed, throwing on the robe. He whistled and a giant golden palomino horse appeared and knelt in front of him.

Scabior picked up Hermione and placed her on the horse's wide back then climbed up behind her. The horse stood and began moving deeper into the forest.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, curious but not anxious to arrive at a destination any time soon. She loved the feeling of Scabior pressed against her, the scratch of the horse's hair on her bare legs, the changing scenery and smells, from the field flowers in an unexpected sunny glen, to the earthy aromas of a dark marsh.

"You'll see," he answered teasingly. "It's a good distance and we have to be very quiet when we get there, so talk to me now".

There was a question Hermione had been dying to ask him. "Professor McGonagall said something about your feeling for school politics. What was she talking about?"

Gareth exhaled heavily then placed his arms across the top of Hermione's chest, like a soft, cuddly choke hold, as if he were afraid what he said might make her leave him. "How can a shining star of Gryffindor understand?" he said pensively.

"What house were you in?"

"Hufflepuff"

"Really?" That didn't fit at all with the small amount she knew of his past and what she knew of the most docile, unassuming house at Hogwarts.

She could feel his low chuckle against her back. "That's the image my housemates and me hoped to change," he said. "Do you know yet that house assignment can affect your future, your standing in the world, even your earning potential?"

"No," she said. Now that she thought about it though, her co-workers were mostly Gryffindor and Ravenclaw alumni and the majority of their support staff were from Hufflepuff. The supervisors who delegated responsibility then took credit for the work of others were largely Slytherin.

"I was destined for H House—that's what we called it," Scabior explained. "I'm actually a descendant of Helga's. But I didn't want to take orders from someone all of my life, just because of the judgment of a damned talking hat. My friends and I wanted to show that Hufflepuff not only meant loyalty, but could also be dynamic and brave and accomplished." His tone changed to resentful as he said, "Dumbledore couldn't have that".

"Dumbledore?" Hermione's voice took on the reverential quality it always did when she mentioned the brilliant, former headmaster. "What did he do?"

"What didn't he do?" said Scabior with an audible sneer. He cancelled quidditch matches when he knew we would win, he'd wait until the end of term when it was clear we would get House Cup then dump huge numbers of points on Gryffindor, he undermined us every step of the way for his own precious house."

"But Gareth, it was important that Gryffindor be on top so when Harry came, he could be groomed to defeat Voldemort."

Scabior dropped his arms and sighed deeply. "I know that now. But no one did then, not even Professor McGonagall. She argued with him all the time about how unfair he was being to the other houses, especially Hufflepuff."

Hermione looked back into his face, then away. She saw a hint of the Snatcher who had been willing to work with a bloodthirsty werewolf. "So what happened to you?"

"My family died. I was miserable and resentful and when I needed a strong house to support me, Dumbledore fired our faculty head, Professor Burns."

"Burns?" Hermione was conversant in Hogwarts history but had never heard that name in connection with the school.

"Yes," Scabior said. "He's the one who encouraged us to beat the other houses, including Gryffindor. After he left, I lost control. I went after Dumbledore in the Great Hall in front of everyone."

"Oh," said Hermione in a small voice.

"McGonagall told him he should be lenient with me because I was…lost. But he decided to make an example of me instead and expelled me."

Hermione was quiet, absorbing this unimagined story. "Professor McGonagall really liked you?"

"Well, she liked Professor Burns. And he really liked me. No one has any idea what happened between him and Dumbledore. But his name was expunged from the school's records. You know my community mentor is Aberforth. He said he remembers his brother from around that time being different than he'd ever been before, or since. He guesses it might have had to do with Harry Potter's situation, but no one knows."

Hermione thought of how irrational Dumbledore's actions were, as though he'd been guided by something other than his brain, and remembered what Harry had told her about that man's history with Gellert Grindlewald…hmmm.

"And after that…"

"…it went from bad to worse," he confirmed, "ending in Azkaban. That place and the dementors drained me of my humanity."

He grasped her tightly. "I started getting it back the first time I held you, even if it was as a prisoner. You were the softest, sweetest thing I'd ever had in my arms. I began to think of how I could be good enough that you would want me to hold you.

She turned her face toward him and he leaned closer to her. "You've restored my humanity," he said, kissing her softly. He then whispered, "We're almost there. We'll have to be very quiet now."

He stopped the horse and slid down from its back then held out his arms for Hermione. "Shhh," he said, carrying her on tiptoe to the edge of a large knoll. They looked over it and saw a scruffy little faun with black hair. The small male was darting around on his hoofed legs, gathering nuts and flowers in his arms.

Hermione watched breathlessly, as he carried his offerings to the bottom of a large tree and bestowed them on an angelic-looking, maple-haired wood nymph. She smiled at her suitor and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

Scabior continued whispering in Hermione's ear. "See, for everyone else, he's nothing but trouble. But for her, there's nothing he wouldn't do."

The magical creatures held hands and hurried from the shadowy trees into a bright meadow.

"She knows how to give him just enough to keep him wanting more," Scabior continued his commentary in Hermione's ear. "She starts out teasing, but she loves his attention to her. Her family keeps calling her back, but she doesn't want to leave him."

They watched the tiny lovers frolic and laugh until the nymph reluctantly flew back to her place in the roots of the tree.

"Look at her wings," Scabior said, still whispering. "They were singed in the sun. She can't stay there with him long. They both know that, but take whatever time they can together."

"That's so sad; she loves the sun," Hermione whispered.

"Yes, but little Rose belongs in the security of the tree, not in the open meadow with the wild boy who loves her," Gareth said quietly, laying Hermione on the soft mossy ground and opening her robe.

They kissed passionately, maintaining their silence. The faun and wood nymph sat secretly on a low branch, holding hands and watching the humans in fascination.

Hermione pointed her wand and mouthed "Prophylla". The need for quiet forced her to control and concentrate the pleasure she felt in the joining of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, snatcher and prey, Gareth and Hermione.

He looked down at her face, flush in silent ecstasy. To himself he said "Preservo", not wanting to trust this experience to the inconsistency of memory. That was an expression and this was a moment he never wanted to forget.