Harry ambled along Diagon Alley, peering in at the different shop fronts and thinking what he could spend his gold on to cheer himself up. All the while he was ignoring the inevitable stares and glances directed his way. He was pretty used to all this anyway. Nothing had really changed as far as that was concerned. He'd killed Voldemort once before, and people had wanted to shake his hand and talk to him. This was a new version of that. New faces, new names, new admirers.

But it was the same old story. Inconsiderate bell-ends intruding on his life without so much as a thought for him.

In truth, he didn't really care. Bitterness was just a travelling companion now. It had never truly gone away, but it didn't make him the most approachable celebrity on the circuit. He'd never be a candidate for the Most Charming Smile Award, for he didn't smile a lot these days. Why would he? There wasn't much to smile about at all.

The weather was much nicer down here than up at Hogwarts. That was a fringe benefit. The most beautiful thing in the world happened to be residing at the old castle. Despite his shattered heart, he hadn't lost any of his powerful affection for her. He'd rather be with her in the cloudy highlands, than on his own in the mid-September London sun.

If anything, the absence was making him keener for her still.

It sliced through him that he couldn't have her. He was struggling to wrap his head around it. He'd been trying for five full days now. He was actually counting them. It was hard to get the vision of Ron kissing her from his mind. He wasn't even concerned about Ron's arrogant look. He could forget that easily enough. As far he he was concerned, Ron Weasley was something in his past. The way his oldest friend had changed over the last few years...Harry should have been more prepared for the split.

He supposed he'd just never expected it to happen as it did. Hermione at the heart of it would have been the least expected reason for the end of their friendship. Her ending up with Ron rather than him only magnified this. The latest edition of Witch Weekly seemed to support the notion. He'd spotted the cover of the magazine earlier. Inside, apparently, was an expose on the love triangle that was dominating gossip in the wizarding world. The poll of teen witches seemed to favour Harry over Ron. This cheered him up. He almost bought the magazine, but that would have ended up as another front-page story.

Harry decided to treat himself to an ice-cream instead. There wouldn't be many sunny days left for them this Summer. Florean Fortesque's was just up ahead. Harry hadn't enjoyed one his famous Knickerbocker Glories in years. So he bought two. He sat in the sun, his trusty aviators covering his tired eyes, and just enjoyed some simplicity in his complicated life.

He'd forgotten how good the ice-creams were. There must be some magical ingredient weaved in there somewhere. It cheered him up as he made his way through the soft textures. It reminded him of easier times. Well, slightly easier. He watched a couple of elderly witches at the apothecary's opposite haggling over who's turn it was to buy the top-up potion supplies. It was an amusing scene. A young boy was kicking his mother down the street away from Weasleys Wheezes, howling in protest and reminding Harry very much of his cousin Dudley at that age.

"Ex-excuse me?"

Harry was disturbed by a little cough, then an even littler voice nearby. A girl, maybe eight or nine years old, was stood nervously by his table. Harry looked at her warily. He rather expected what was to come. He braced himself for it. The little girl was meek and shy, shaking down to her braided pigtails. Harry softened at the sight of her.

"Hello."

"Are...are you Harry Potter?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"Really? The real one?"

Harry chortled. "Well, I think so. Let me check."

He poked his face and lifted his fringe. "Is my scar still there? I can't see."

The girl looked wide-eyed. "Yeah! Yeah it is! You are him then."

Well, I've felt a lot like someone else lately, Harry thought blithely. He decided the little girl might not appreciate sarcasm, if she understood it at all.

"What can I do for you?" Harry asked.

The little girl fidgeted on her toes and bit her lip. "Well, its just that...my Daddy...during the war...he -he wasn't himself..."

She tailed off, looking deeply troubled. Far more than a girl her age should.

"He stopped giving me hugs and playing with me. Mummy was very frightened. But then you stopped You-Know-Who. And my Daddy came home and was normal again and hugging me and kissing me like he hadn't seen me for months. Now we're all going on holiday today."

Harry felt a lump shoot into his throat. A very different type of one than he was used to.

"Th-that's nice," he croaked. "Where are you going?"

"Greece, there's lots of old magic there to see. I'm really excited."

"That sounds lovely. I hope you have a good time," said Harry.

The little girl twisted on her heels. "I- I just want to say thank you. For saving my Daddy. You saved everybody."

The little girl suddenly threw herself forward and gave Harry an awkward hug, and and even awkwarder kiss on the cheek. Harry felt very embarrassed. People were watching. If they haven't spotted him, they surely would now. The girl disengaged herself, blushing madly. Then she held out her hand, offering something.

"Will you take this?" she asked. "It's only a chocolate frog, but I'd like you to have it."

"Oh no," said Harry, smirking teasingly. "I couldn't take away a little girl's sweets!"

"It's alright, I've got loads," said the girl off-handedly. "But this is one of the new ones. They have caramel in. Please, Mr Potter, will you take it?"

She was looking so imploringly at him that he would have had to be the coldest-hearted person alive to deny her.

"Okay, if you're sure," said Harry, taking the chocolate frog. "Thank you. And have a good trip."

"I will," said the girl, beaming at him. "Bye, Mr Potter."

And she skipped away back to her table. Her mother was sat there and gave Harry a smile full of gratitude. Harry shied under the adulation, but felt his heart thaw at the same time.

He had done a good deed. It was tough to accept his own role in it, but his sacrifice had brought happiness to others. To a whole new generation. It opened up a world of possibilities for them, or at least until the next Dark Lord rose. For there were bound to be others. But that wasn't his fight. He'd won his, and though he was suffering for it, he rather felt it was better him, already damaged from a life of hurt and neglect, than some other innocent soul.

It seemed a small thing just then, that he'd killed just one wizard for all of that. He was dark, he was ugly, he could deal with it in time. It might take years, but it was just another notch on his macabre life. He'd file it away with the rest. And maybe the universe would reward him.

Or maybe he'd just devour all these new chocolate frogs! Oh Merlin, these were good. Harry thought he'd better eat the thing, as the little girl was watching him eagerly. But he'd forgotten how good chocolate was, or maybe the caramel addition tipped him over the edge. It was like eating paradise. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the smoothness, the sweetness. It was beautiful. It was gone all too soon.

Then the trading card fell out of the box.

Harry stared at it. His ideas of beauty in food were replaced by beauty in something else. Harry was transfixed. He lifted the card up and looked at it closely, examining every bit of the witch trying to hide behind the corners of her frame, furiously and fruitlessly battling with her unruly hair. Her unruly, bushy hair.

It was Hermione.

She had her own chocolate frog card! Harry was amazed. The little Hermione on the card seemed shy, as though she'd been forced into the card against her will. Harry laughed. That was exactly how she'd feel. He couldn't wait to show her, the real her, this. He could only imagine her reaction. She'd probably be mortified. Oh how Harry was going to tease her! He flipped the card over and read the description.

Hermione Granger, currently enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Widely regarded as the most powerful witch of her age, Miss Granger is particularly noted as best friend and consort of Harry Potter. Holder of multiple exam score records at Hogwarts, Miss Granger is well known for her role in defeating the traitor, Quirrell, and discovering the legendary Basilisk of Hogwarts. A heroine during the Second War, Miss Granger enjoys traditional Celtic music and the ongoing work with her house-elf welfare organisation, S.P.E.W.

Harry read the card several times. He didn't know about Hermione's taste in music. Come to think of it, he didn't know much of his own taste in music. It hadn't ever really come up. He felt more of an affinity to S.P.E.W. than he ever had. Dobby was a war-hero who deserved reverence as much as any witch or wizard in Harry's opinion. And the Hogwarts elves had joined in the final battle, too. Hermione, as Harry should have guessed, was right to champion them, too.

But what was this about her being his consort? What was that supposed to mean? Harry only had a vague idea what consort actually meant. He thought it was some sort of advisor...but it meant partner too, didn't it? Why would the chocolate frog card have said that? Harry looked back at the picture. Little Hermione was still shying away from him. Maybe that was why.

"I wish you were my consort," Harry whispered to the card, mindful of how mental the act would make him look. It seemed easier to talk to a facsimile of Hermione rather than the real thing. "Did I really get it so wrong? Weren't we almost..."

Harry tailed off. The frustration of it bothered him. He had been almost sure he knew where it was going. Hermione had shared his bed, that wasn't normal. It was the start of something new. Had he given up on it too easily? Maybe he had. It was all so confusing! If only he knew more, he could have stayed, fought for her, if only he thought there was half a chance...

Then little Hermione stepped away from the frame and stood dead centre of the card.

If a moving picture could display affection, then this was how it would look. She smiled at him so reverently that it could have been the girl herself. She was standing, a little shy and sweet, but also firm and determined. She kept rubbing the back of her head. Harry, at first, thought it was a nervous twitch, but as she kept doing it he couldn't shake the impression that she was trying to communicate something.

Was that even possible? Harry thought about it. The portraits of Hogwarts had been almost alive. That one of Phineas Nigellus, too. Harry knew little or nothing about the magic imbibed in any sort of moving photo. He remembered, on his first train journey to Hogwarts, Dumbledore left his chocolate frog card. Ron had said he couldn't hang around all day. Where else could he go? Harry wished he'd found out how it all worked. He chided himself for his laziness. He decided he'd blame Ron for that, too, while he was at it.

Then he looked up and saw something totally out of place. Or, rather, someone.

Harry had to stare very hard to believe it. He even took his sunglasses off for a moment. What could she be doing here? Then she spotted him, so he threw his aviators back on to pretend he hadn't been staring. It was a foolish attempt at escape. She waved at him and came over.

"Hello, Harry. This is a nice surprise."

"The surprise is mine, Mrs Granger," said Harry, still mildly stunned at her presence.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," said Harry. "Have a seat. "I wouldn't have expected to run into you here. What brings you to Diagon Alley?"

"Hermione's birthday," said Catrin Granger, as she sat down. "It's next week. And it's been a long time since a gift from Argos has been the right sort of thing."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I can imagine that. What are you thinking of getting her?"

"I'm not really sure," said Catrin. She was eyeing Harry's ice-creams curiously. "I'll be pretty safe with the thickest book I can find. But she's bound to get bored of them after a while, don't you think?"

"Hermione? Never. She can't ever have enough books. Whoever she marries better build her a library!"

Catrin looked at him shrewdly. "What about you?"

Harry shifted nervously. "What about me? I can't build..."

"I did mean, what will you get Hermione for her birthday?" said Catrin, smiling gently. "Though a marriage proposal would be different!"

"Yeah, it definitely would," said Harry, blushing and taking another scoop of ice-cream.

Catrin held back a laugh. "Perhaps something a little less grandiose, then."

"Definitely," said Harry, relaxing. "It'd have to be something that wouldn't make Ron jealous."

Catrin frowned. "Ron? I thought Hermione was going to end it with him?"

Harry started, his heart waited cautiously. Hermione couldn't have sent a message to her mother so soon after reading about Ron in The Prophet, could she? She wouldn't have had time.

"Wh-when did she say that?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice breezy. He failed. Catrin's eyes lit up at the sound.

"The day she returned to Hogwarts," Catrin replied. "Hermione always writes us on her first day, to let us know she's arrived safe. Apparently, she saw Ron at Kings Cross. She made her decision then."

Harry fell opened mouthed. He couldn't help it. Hermione had decided to end it with Ron before knowing he cheated on her? Why would she do that? Harry had to know.

"Did she say why?"

Catrin beamed at Harry. She knew what he was fishing for. He was really bad at hiding his intentions, but it was adorable to see. Catrin had never imagined she'd play cupid for her own daughter, but now that chance had arisen she had to do this one thing for her emotionally stubborn little girl.

"A girl can change her mind every now and then," said Catrin. "I don't think Ron was ever what she truly wanted to make her happy. She saw that early into their relationship. Personally, I always thought she had feelings for...someone else."

Her inference was unmistakable. She wasn't even being subtle about it. Harry let his heart go and it flapped wildly around his chest. Could Hermione's mother really be suggesting what Harry thought, what he hoped, she was? He suspected a parent might know their child's own mind, even though he had no experience of his own to tell him. He so desperately wanted to believe that now.

Harry's eyes fell on the chocolate frog card, propped up against his ice cream glass. Hermione was hiding again, shielding her face in an embarrassed sort of way. He smiled at her. Catrin was watching him, Harry could sense that. She was watching the copy of her daughter on the card, too, fascinated not so much with that, but with the interaction between her and Harry. The connection between them was obvious.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Harry looked up, amazed that she could have just said it like that. So simply, so assuredly. As though it was the most normal thing in the world. Was he so transparent? He couldn't answer that, couldn't answer anything. He'd had the confession of the tip of his tongue, ready to accept it to himself. Ron had stymied that, but it didn't make the truth any less real.

Harry must have betrayed his feelings because there was a change in Catrin's eyes, a softening. Harry chided himself for his lack of control. He supposed he was just that upset by the whole thing, that any mention of Hermione would bring out his heartsick misery. A part of him was sort of pleased with his pining for her. It was a much more preferable type of depression to the one he had been carrying around previously.

It was much better to be upset as a rejected lover, than to wallow as a cold hearted killer.

He looked at Catrin, and simply nodded. The chocolate frog Hermione stopped hiding. She stood, rapt, holding onto the frame of the card for support.

"Oh, Harry," said Catrin, consolingly. "For how long?"

"It's hard to say," said Harry, giving in to the reality. "I was sort of in the middle before I knew I had begun. I suppose it started when I saw her with Ron. I really didn't like it, but I was too busy with the aftermath of the war to really ask myself why. That it just kind of hit me. I've liked her for the longest time. But I was too late."

It was a little weird, confessing this to Hermione's mother. But they had that innate, comforting air in common. Harry felt quite at ease talking about it. How she might feel was another matter, but for Harry's part he was quite okay. He could still see Catrin looking after his and Hermione's baby. That made him feel like he knew her far better than he really did, as though he'd brought back part of his knowledge of her from the future. He had a gut feeling that they were destined to get on really well.

"I don't think you're too late, Harry," said Catrin warmly. "Hermione has always liked you a great deal. I think she always hoped you'd show more of an interest in her. She's not the most confident girl in that area."

"I wish I had," said Harry. "I'm afraid I'm a bit dumb. I'm not good enough for your daughter."

It was the first time he'd voice that particular fear out loud. He waited on the response.

Catrin smiled. "I'm her mother, I doubt I'll think anyone is good enough for her. But you might turn out to be as close as anyone could be."

Harry couldn't help but grin at that. "I'd love the chance to prove it. Any chance you can put in a good word for me!"

They shared a laugh at that. It was nice. Harry hadn't done that for a while. The feeling felt like healing to him. He'd like some more of that.

"Buy her a birthday present, Harry," said Catrin. "Not a book. Make it something personal. Give her something to think about. Give her some encouragement. You never know where it might lead."

Harry smiled back at her. He hadn't felt so hopeful about anything in a long while.

"Thanks, Mrs Granger, I think I'll do just that."

And he thought he might have just the thing in mind.

But just at that moment he was disturbed as a pack of owls swooped down and dropped at least twelve letters on their table. Perturbed, Harry took the first one and opened it. His stomach dropped as he read.

Mr Potter,

I regret to inform you that your friend, Miss Granger, has been hurt in an accident at school. She is in a critical condition. I urge you to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible.

I am pained to say it, but St Mungo's Healers are not hopeful. They say to prepare for the worst.

Yours,

Prof. M. McGonagall.

Harry stared at the letter, then tore open a second and a third. They were all the same. All dated from several days ago. McGonagall must have just sent out all the schools owls and hoped one could find him. Harry began to panic, a senseless fear gripping him.

"You must be very popular."

Catrin. She didn't know. Harry couldn't tell her the contents of the letters. She would worry. Harry would not fear the worst, as advised. He'd go to her. He'd find a way to fix her, as she was going to fix him. Fucking St Mungo's. What did they know? Harry jumped up.

"Hermione's...not well," said Harry. "We have to go to Hogwarts. Right now."

"Harry, what's wrong? What's the matter with my daughter?"

"Stand up please, take my hand," said Harry. "This is going to feel, well, a little strange."

Harry reached out, took Hermione's chocolate frog card in one hand, then her mother's arm in the other, then Disapparated them both away.

They emerged outside the gates to Hogwarts. Catrin looked very green and dizzy but gathered herself. Harry dragged her forwards. A few reporters moved to block their path, Harry whipped out his wand.

"One question, I fucking dare you," he spat dangerously. The reporters cowered away. Harry shoved through them and into the school grounds.

He pulled Catrin along in his wake, his mind a jumble of worried thoughts. What could have happened? What sort of accident would have befallen Hermione? She wasn't the sort to court trouble, she only got caught up in it because of him. She didn't play Quidditch, she wasn't likely to take reckless jaunts to the Forbidden Forest, and she was powerful enough to look after herself in the face of all the daily dangers Hogwarts students were prone to facing.

But something had happened to her. Something Pomfrey couldn't fix, something that required outside Healers to help. And even they couldn't, it would seem. Harry's mind couldn't hold that idea steady. Hermione couldn't be going. She wouldn't. He needed her. Their kids needed her. She was his future. He'd have to find a way.

They skidded into the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was there, McGonagall, too, and a witch that Harry didn't know. She must be a St Mungo's Healer. Harry let go of Catrin and moved quickly forward, but his path was blocked.

"Don't smother her, Potter," said McGonagall. "She's very delicate."

Catrin looked over and gasped. It was worse than Harry had let on and she wasn't sure whether to be angry with him or not. He'd tried to spare her worry, but maybe it would have been better to be prepared. She couldn't be angry - he'd done what he thought was right. And the shock would not have been diminished either way.

Hermione was laying on a cot, her face was swollen as if from an allergic reaction. She was breathing but there was a shimmer around her. Harry looked questioningly at it.

"Her condition is critical," said Pomfrey. "We had to induce a magical coma to protect her higher brain functions. She took a heavy blow to the back of the head. The swelling hasn't gone down because of the...other effects. We can't properly assess the damage."

"What other effects?" asked Harry.

"The magical effects," Pomfrey replied. "The curse used is stopping us being able to do much."

Harry looked furiously at McGonagall. "Curse? An accident, you said."

McGonagall looked firmly at him. "I didn't want to be too specific in my letters. The owls might not have ever found you. I didn't want to give away that Miss Granger had been attacked on the schools grounds, in case it fell into unscrupulous hands."

Catrin gasped again. Harry felt his anger begin to bubble away. Who would attack Hermione? And why? She was supposed to be safe here. They were all supposed to be safe. The Darkness had passed. Harry had seen to that, had killed for it. He stood looking at Hermione, prone and motionless. He felt a cold sliver kiss against his spine and spread across his skin. He could almost sense her barely clinging to life.

"What happened?" he asked gravely.

"She was hit by a particularly nasty little hex," said the medi-witch, stepping forward. "Powerful...with a distinct signature."

Harry turned to her. "Signature?"

The witch took a heavy breath. "All spells carry a signature of their caster and intent. It can be hard to decipher sometimes, but that's one of things St Mungo's trains us to do."

"And this spell had one of those?" asked Catrin. She was pale, deeply worried, but her medical mind was in overdrive. She needed to understand if she could.

The medi-witch nodded. "It was full of ancient magic. Not dark, just ancient. And...familial."

Harry scrunched his face into a grimace. "Pretend I know nothing of magic. Please explain in those terms."

"Very well. All the oldest wizarding families have lineages which can trace back thousands of years. Over time they all developed a type of magic specific to their own families. They aren't the kind of regular, universal spells you'd find in a textbook. They are ancient and often so powerful we may never see evidence from one generation to the next. They are...often used to protect certain family members."

She looked pointedly at Harry. He clicked with the understanding.

"My parents...they had this sort of power?"

"It would be the most likely explanation," said the medi-witch. "If it was as simple as one person dying to save everyone from the power of The Killing Curse, or any specific Dark Lord, somebody would have sacrificed themselves as a martyr a long time ago. It isn't that easy. This particular kind of magic is used to prolong the family line of the oldest families...of which the Potters were one."

"So, Voldemort couldn't kill me because my mum did something else...to keep the family alive?"

"Its one theory. Family magic is very potent."

"But how is that at work here?" asked Catrin. "My daughter wasn't a threat to anyone."

"No, but this is a distinctly different type of protection spell, though from the same genus" said the medi-witch. "Its...er, designed to protect the family from - how can I say this delicately - corruption."

Harry's mood darkened. He thought he might guess where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit.

"What does that mean?" asked Catrin. "Corruption - I don't understand."

"I do," said Harry angrily. "Its some sort of bloodline magic, isn't it?"

The medi-witch bowed her head. "Yes, I think so. This spell was designed to protect members of a Pureblood family. Specifically from attacks by non-magic people, mixed blood...or Muggleborns."

"Like Hermione."

Harry felt such anger in him that he thought he might explode, or blow something up. There was only one such family who would target her now, and he didn't think he could even bring himself to say their name.

"The signature," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Do you know it? Know the family it belongs to?"

The witch looked at him meaningfully. She nodded. Harry had his answer. An icy shaft of pure vitriol passed through him. He would deal with that family personally. They had called out the thunder and by Merlin would they have it.

But that was for later. Harry swapped glances with Catrin, who seemed to understand.

"So what's been done? What have you tried to do to help her?" asked Harry.

"Everything in the book," said the medi-witch. "But until we can access her mind her body simply wont respond to anything. Mind magic is very tricky..."

Harry swapped a knowing look with Pomfrey. They shared an unspoken communication. Harry swallowed hard. He'd hoped he'd never have to face these demons again.

"Do you think that could help?" asked Harry, directing at Pomfrey.

"It would be dangerous," said Pomfrey. "As a physician, I'd never advocate reopening old wounds. Plus there's no telling how it would effect you. You might not be able to control it."

"I can control it," said Harry, more confidently than he felt. "I'm strong enough for this."

"What are you two talking about?" asked McGonagall.

Harry looked at Pomfrey, sighed, and swallowed hard again. "When I...after the war, I mean...I sort of...went mad for a bit. I've never told anyone."

Catrin looked at him, pained but sympathetic. McGonagall was a little shocked, but there was understanding with it.

"I...I lost my mind," said Harry. "I would drift in and out of cogency. I might think I was in the past, or the future. Mostly it would be reliving old memories, all the horrors of my past. But sometimes they'd be nice memories, or like bits of things I'd imagined. Hermione was often in them, actually. And after each one I'd be normal for longer. We used her as a totem, as a tether to reality. Something to focus on when I lost it. It took a lot of meditation and practice. I learned to direct the memories in an 'episode' to real ones of her, it brought me back quicker. I even tried to relive our ride on a Hippogriff once. They, er, didn't take kindly to that."

Harry rolled up his sleeves to show the faded scratch marks on his arms.

"Anyway, I eventually learned to quieten my mind. It was a little like Occlumency. But I could feel everything coming from my scar. Its like a connection to all the energies around me. They influence me when the connection opens, which it still does from time to time."

"We developed a localised blocking Charm," Pomfrey explained. "Its a little like a Memory Charm. We stopped that part of Mister Potter's body from remembering how to work. Did you say it doesn't always hold, Harry?"

"I still have dreams sometimes," said Harry. "I don't know if they're real or not. But they aren't regular dreams, I know that much.

"This all sounds very dangerous," said the medi-witch. "Experimental magic should be avoided at all costs."

Harry gave her an old-fashioned look. "Its preferable to madness."

"How does any of this help Miss Granger?" asked McGonagall.

"I don't know," said Pomfrey. "But it may be possible..."

"I'll try anything," said Harry.

"I will not permit anything dangerous," said McGonagall. "Poppy?"

"We used Miss Granger as totem for Mister Potter," said Pomfrey. "We could possibly extend the connection, see if what we once perceived as an injury could actually be harnessed as a tool."

"How so?" asked Harry.

Pomfrey paced the bed, thinking hard. "If Miss Granger's mind has been attacked by Pureblood magic, maybe your Pureblood magic can bring her back. Minerva, how would one create an offensive spell like this?"

"Well, if I was going to create such a hex I'd try and separate the magic from body and mind," said McGonagall. "Muggleborns in particular are vulnerable. They could be considered new magic, without deep tethers that would help them resist it. Older families have deeper magical roots, harder to pull away."

"What does any of this mean?" asked Catrin. She looked a little overwhelmed.

"All living things have a magical core, more powerful in some than others," McGonagall explained. "In Muggles, its practically dormant. In wizards, as prominent as skin tone and hair colour. I don't want to get into wizard eugenics, but this leads to the Pureblood mania we've just seen the worst form of."

"Old magic will work almost as though it has a will of its own," Pomfrey continued. "Even without the wizard controlling it."

"Like my blowing up my aunt, or Neville Longbottom bouncing from a window," said Harry, nodding sagely.

"Precisely," said Pomfrey. "The magical core of wizard lineage is strong. But for a Muggleborn, its new and therefore more brittle."

"And more vulnerable to attack," added McGonagall. "Many Pureblood families had this sort of curse, I imagine. To stop wayward lovers from besmirching the family line."

"Attack the Muggleborn. Don't dilute the sodding pure blood," Harry spat angrily.

"Something like that," said Pomfrey.

"So, my bloodline...you were saying."

"Your family roots go deep, Mister Potter. Not only that, you come from powerful stock. It may be possible for you to use your family line to strengthen Miss Granger's, make you a totem for her."

"How?"

"It will involve a little imagination," said Pomfrey. "You have to create a memory, one that will convince Miss Granger that she is part of your family. We will pull the memory from you, and implant it into her, like a human Pensieve."

"This sounds not only dangerous but extremely unlikely," said the medi-witch, doubtfully. "I've never heard of anything like this."

"Well, considering everything you have heard of has failed this is definitely worth a try," said Harry coolly.

"If I remember, you had some pretty vivid dreams during our, er, sessions," said Pomfrey. "If we could access them..."

"Do it," said Harry. "Let's do it now."

Harry would brook no opposition. He pulled another bed close by and threw himself onto it. He relaxed his mind, as he'd practiced all those weeks ago. Only this time, he was trying to undo those blocks he'd put in. He looked up at Madam Pomfrey.

"Please lift the Memory Charm."

Pomfrey nodded and touched her wand to Harry's scar. It burned dully a moment.

"How do you feel?"

It was difficult to answer. Sensations rushed at him, but it wasn't like before. He could feel energies, and echoes that may have been the thoughts of others. But he wasn't swarmed and overwhelmed by them as he remembered being last time. He had learned control.

"Its dizzying, but its okay," said Harry. "We'll put the block back on when this is done, though. What do I do now?"

"Imagine creating a memory, maybe one from the future," said Pomfrey. "Dig one up from your mind if you've ever had one. You have to make Miss Granger feel like a Potter."

Harry felt a hand take his own. He looked up to see Catrin smile down at him. "I'm not sure how this works, Harry, but don't pretend. Show her what you want...what you told me. Make it real, as its going to be for you."

Harry smiled back at her. He knew what to do, what to think. He closed his eyes, focused only on Hermione's breathing. He picked her mind out of all the others he could sense. It was blank, still. Wherever she was in there, she was deep, deep down.

"I have her mind," said Harry quietly. "I'm ready. Make the connection."

He felt a wand touch to his temple. As it pulled away he felt it like someone tugging a long hair that wouldn't come out. It was an odd sensation. It touched to Hermione's skin and he felt a deep warmth rush along it.

He focused with all his strength...and pushed a vision to her.

Hermione was walking through the corridors of a house. It was alien but oddly familiar. She didn't feel like a stranger here, but she didn't know the place either. It had a warm, homely feel and she hoped whoever owned the place wasn't here. She quite fancied staying here a little while. She felt tired and this would be a nice place to rest a while.

But she wasn't alone.

She heard voices at the end of the corridor. There was light coming from under a door to the left. Hermione made her way towards it. There were several voices coming from inside. There was no point trying to sneak out, and in any case she felt oddly drawn to the room. She opened the door.

What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks.

She saw herself, sat on a comfy couch. She was good deal older, maybe into her Thirties or more. She was pleased to see she'd aged quite well. Her hair was still as wild as ever and longer than she was used to. It came nearly half way down her back. But she seemed a lot calmer, and happier, than Hermione herself was used to feeling. She felt a pang of envy. Her skin seemed to glow and she radiated life. Then Hermione saw why, and it made her gasp out loud.

For she was very, very pregnant.

Hermione cupped her hand to her mouth, but her other self didn't seem to hear her. That jarred Hermione. What was going on? What was this? A dream? It didn't feel like one. The sounds and smells were too real. Had she gotten hold of a time-turner? Surely, her other self would have noticed her by now. Harry had once told her what it was like in a Pensieve. This was a bit like that.

Speaking of Harry...

"Green tea. Don't know how you can stand it, but there it is."

Harry had entered the room and given the other Hermione a pretty little china cup. He was older too, but Merlin he had just gotten better with age. Talk about liking older men. Hermione swooned at the very sight of him. He had an oversized mug in his own hand. Coffee. Three sugars. Two white, one brown. How did she know that? She'd never made Harry coffee before. Or had she? She remembered making it for him, maybe hundreds of times, but she couldn't pinpoint a single one. What the hell was going on? She was confused, a little scared, but profoundly fascinated.

Was she in the future? That would explain the age differences. But where was she? And what was going on? This had to be important. She looked around. She was in a living room. There was a television in one corner, a Wizarding Wireless in the other. It was an odd combination. A roaring fire was blazing away on one side of the room. It was insanely cosy. There were lots of pictures of two little girls on the hearth. One had dark, messy, ridiculously bushy hair, where the other's was ruler-straight and tawny. She knew them, she thought. She tried to remember from where, but Harry was talking again.

"So, its a no for Roman names, then?"

"I told you, no," said Future Hermione. "No-one called Albus, or Remus, or Severus, ever turned out to be balanced or entirely sane."

"True. Albus and Severus were two of the biggest arseholes we ever came across," Harry agreed. "What about David?"

"My dad's name? This is getting like a tick box exercise for parents names. Sophie already has my mum's as a middle name."

Sophie. That was the dark haired girl's name. Hermione was stirred by the thought. For some reason, she thought my girl's name in her mind. Like it was her own daughter...

Then the girl herself came racing into the room. She looked furiously cross but so cute with it.

"Mummy! Mummy!" little Sophie cried. "Will you tell Cesc! She's bewitching my dolls to hit me again. Look!"

Both Hermione's looked to the floor. Sure enough, three little dolls were crowded at Sophie's ankles, kicking her with little plastic feet.

"Will you tell her! She's not supposed to do magic."

Poor little Sophie was begging her mother. Hermione felt the strongest urge to pick her up and cuddle her, soothe her. But her future self was talking.

"Harry, you haven't given her your wand again, have you?"

Harry looked at her in mock indignation. Then he looked at the little figures now trying to bite Sophie's toes.

"That's very fine charm work," said Harry appraisingly. "But its got Willow and Unicorn hair written all over it. What's your wand again?"

Both Hermione's scowled. And spoke at the same time. "Willow and unicorn hair."

Then the future Hermione spoke alone, or rather shouted. "Celesca Potter! Get in here right now!"

Hermione froze in her place. Potter...was this the future?...and did her children have the surname Potter?...but that would mean...

Her wild thoughts were interrupted by a second little girl entering the room. She walked up to the couch, her hands behind her back and a mischievous little grin on her face. She was a playful, cheeky child, and punishing her was so hard. Hermione knew this instinctively as her future self tried to do it.

"What's that behind your back?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Celesca...give Mummy back her wand."

"I haven't got it, Mummy, honest."

Her eyes sparkled playfully.

"Show me your hand," Hermione commanded. Celesca obeyed. It was empty. "Now the other one. Now both together."

Celesca knew she was done for. She looked to Harry for support.

"Give your Mum back her wand, Cesc," said Harry. "And stop tormenting your sister."

"You're no fun, Daddy," said Celesca, mutinously giving up the wand. "And you shouldn't give it to me if I'm not allowed to play with it."

"Harry!" cried Hermione.

Harry smirked at Celesca as she stomped off crossly. "Traitor."

"I can't believe you, Harry," said future Hermione. She took her wand and undid the charms on the dolls. "You're incorrigible, you know."

"Well, if you didn't let the girls read your spell books to make my hair grow to my feet, or permanently wedge my glasses to my face or whatever, we wouldn't keep having this problem."

"There's one to wedge your glasses to your face?" said Sophie, her eyes lighting up. She ran off. "Cesc! Guess what we can do to Daddy later!"

Harry shook his head and sighed in resignation.

"You brought that one on yourself," said future Hermione. "You know I'll have to help them. So be a good dad and play along."

"I kind of hate you sometimes."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't," Harry agreed. "You know by 'hate' I meant 'love'."

"I would hope that you more than 'kind of' love me," said future Hermione, somewhat teasingly. "After all this time and two kids. Well, two and a half."

She patted her swollen belly.

"You know I love you," said Harry. He leaned over and kissed her so tenderly that Hermione, still watching from the side of the couch, almost felt it on her own lips. She dearly wished that she could. That her Harry would kiss her like that one day.

"I still like hearing it," said future Hermione as the kiss broke. "Anyway, back to business. David James Potter? Hmmm."

"Hmmm," Harry echoed. "Tick, tick, if nothing else. But honey, there's just one thing...what if its another girl?"

"Good point...I suppose we'll just have to keep trying. I am definitely having a boy at some point. I want the set. It could be twins though. I'm very big this time."

"I kind of hope not," said Harry, a naughty glint in his eye. "I like the idea of more trying. Lots more."

"Oh, we will totally be doing that."

Hermione had seen enough, if the display about to play out was enough to go by. She backed out of the room. Her heart was hammering harder than it ever had. She had to sit down and go through everything she'd seen. It was a little overwhelming, but so desired too. Was it possible that it could happen? That it would happen? It seemed so real. And she knew parts of it, like she'd lived it herself. It was so weird.

But if that was the future, one she found unspeakably beautiful, how could she get to it? That was easily fifteen years away. It required some fundamental changes in her life. She and Harry would have to get married for a start. She paced in wild excitement as she thought about it. She wondered, if she concentrated really hard, if she could sort of remember their wedding day. For, where she was, they must have had it already.

But she couldn't. Her mind, her heart and soul were having a sort of raucous party about the whole thing and she couldn't focus. She just smiled and laughed and wanted to join in. But it was her job to make that dream a reality. But how to manage it? It must mean she'd find Harry some how.

Find him...where was he?

Then she remembered what had happened. It was like a nightmare she'd had long ago, as if as a child. But she knew it was more recent than that. Much more. She was at Hogwarts...Harry had run away somewhere...but why? Oh...now she remembered. Bloody Ron. He'd scared him off. But that was at Hogwarts. Where was Hermione now...and how did she get here?

OH...YES.

Ginny fucking Weasley.

That sneaky little bitch! Creeping up from behind, cursing her. It was her only fucking chance. What a cunt! What was that she'd hit her with? Hermione had never seen that spell before. She didn't even see Ginny coming. She had raging eyes only for Ron. Oooh she would so be putting that right. The shame of it! She'd put it all to rights. When she got out of here...wherever this was. It wasn't time to panic. She had to be logical.

But she wasn't feeling panicked. This was home, her home, in a freaky sort of way. The answer would be here. Somewhere. This was her memory...or was it? Now she dwelt on it, she wasn't wholly sure. It had Harry's scent all over it. Was it his? No, that didn't seem right either. Was it theirs? Now, there was an idea. A joint memory, an experience shared. Her and Harry, their home, their children, their family. Was he trying to help her? But how?

"Hello, Hermione."

She span around. The Harry from her future had left the living room. He was looking vaguely in her direction.

"I know you're here, somewhere," said Harry. "I can't see you, but I remember this being the day you saw. I helped you see it. Right now, you're hurt, in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. You're dying. The bloody Weasleys did it. They've separated you from your magical core. But you're not alone. I'm right beside you. Our magic is intertwined. Time and life are not as linear as you might think. One day, you'll know more about this than anyone. Its you who explains it to me! You need to look inside, find that part of me that's taken root there. Give in to it. You'll know how. Your body is too broken to go straight back. But get close. I'm with you...I'm holding your hand right about now...your mum is holding my other one...go now, Hermione, don't give in...we'll see each other soon..."

Harry blew a kiss into the air. Hermione could have sworn she felt it on her cheek. She looked at her hand, imagined Harry's squeezing it. It gave her strength. It gave her courage. She closed her eyes. Then she was moving. She didn't know where.

But she would get back. No matter what.