The glass cabin was empty when Hermione apparated there. She ran out and began searching for Scabior. "Where is he?" she asked out loud, a note of panic in her voice.

The forest, which she'd begun to think of as welcoming, seemed to close in on her. She felt the leaves from the trees swatting her in admonition as she ran through them and the eyes of the woodland creatures assessing her guilt.

She looked about in confusion, as she realized she'd gone in a circle. She dejectedly sat, her face buried in her arms, in front of the copse of evergreens that encapsulated Gareth's home.

"How did this happen?" She voiced her questions, as if hearing them aloud could provide her with better answers. "I thought my life would be simple after everything we went through in school. How did it get so complicated now? At least I used to like myself. Now I'm abhorrent, I'm reprehensible, I'm deceitful, I'm..."

"...one of the most lovable witches anywhere," broke in Gareth, dropping to his knees next to her. Their brown eyes searched the other's for a level of interest or concern. They reached a silent, mutual understanding for compassion, rather than passion—friendship over frenzy.

"Oh, Gareth," Hermione cried as she placed her arms around his neck and gave in to her tears, "I don't know what to do. I'm so...baffled. I've never been so uncertain of myself."

He held her lightly and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, managing to make his raspy voice soothing, like gentle exfoliation. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm losing control of myself," she said in a voice tinged with fear. "I don't know what I'm going to do next and I don't want to hurt or embarrass Ron. Today I was on the verge of seducing Draco Malfoy," she said with a shudder, "so that he'd send me to Azkaban so that I could seduce a prisoner there. I'm disgusting," she added, dropping her arms from his neck and her chin to her chest, as if awaiting shearing of her hair for moral vilification.

Gareth looked down at her—so young. Her confidence had actually made her easier to lure than another woman might have been. She could convince herself that whatever she did was justified, more so than someone dependent on social convention for guidance, as long as she stayed within the boundaries she'd undoubtedly created for herself. At the top of that list, apparently, was not doing harm to Weasley.

He stood and held out his hands for her. "Come inside. I'll get you something to eat; you look like you could use it."

She allowed him to pull her up, thinking, a surprisingly sweet man.

She sat at the table against the front wall. The bed was opposite. Gareth had a small kitchen area on the right side of the room and his storage chest and closet were on the other side.

He brought her a peanut butter sandwich and glass of milk. She smiled at the sheer hominess and Muggle-ness of his choices for comfort—a most atypical wizard.

Sitting next to her with his own glass, he said, "You almost did that, Hermione. In the end you didn't. I'm still the only other man you've been with, no matter how much you've thought about others...right?"

She chewed her sandwich and nodded.

He smiled at her. "I'm flattered that I would cause Ron less hurt and embarrassment than your old classmate. But don't you see, Hermione, you couldn't do it. It was a bridge you wouldn't cross. You have more control than you think."

She lowered her head and shook it doubtfully. "It's only because it was Malfoy and I've always found him so loathsome. Anyone else...I don't know. That's what scares me. I don't know anymore what I could accept," she said, her voice cracking at the end of her admission.

He picked up her wand from the table. "Send a message to your husband that you'll meet him at the Three Broomsticks in an hour for a romantic weekend."

Eyeing him skeptically, she did so then laid the wand down again. She stared at Scabior, whom she'd come to know as someone resourceful, smart and genuinely interested in her outside of bed. "I don't know. Maybe I should stay here with you," she said with a sad little laugh. "You won't let me get away with the things that Ron will. He loves me too much."

"That wouldn't hurt him?"

She shrugged. "I could just...vanish. No one would have to know I'm here. It would be better than becoming a totally disreputable woman and making him a laughing stock," she wept in saying.

Gareth gave her a napkin for her tears. "But, Hermione, you don't love me."

Sniffling, she said, "Maybe that's better. We won't have a lot of emotions clouding things for us. It can be elemental, like your magic...or like the faun and little nymph."

Scabior got up from the table to take her plate and glass to the kitchen, surreptitiously picking up her wand. "The faun and the nymph, huh?" He approached her from behind, as she continued to dab her eyes.

"You forget, Hermione," he spoke into her ear, "the faun loves his little Rose...and I love you. Entranca."

Hermione's head dropped back with her eyes closed. Gareth looked at the slight blush in the hollow of her throat and the long line of her neck. He touched it lightly then, with a resigned sigh, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He knelt at the side of it and stroked her face.

"You were the softest, loveliest thing I'd ever held. But I shouldn't've bothered you. What's happened to you is my fault. I used the innocence and inexperience of you and Ron to draw you to me. And I made you think it would be helpful for the two of you. But the truth is, it would've happened for you both before long, if for no other reason because he wanted that with you so bad. I rushed things and confused you. You're not living with this guilt; I'm not living with this guilt. Ron will be different than you remember him, more confident and...ready. Don't fight him."

He waved the wand in front of her face and lifted her from the bed.

With the trance removed, Hermione opened her mouth to speak. Still holding the wand, Gareth grabbed her hand and disapparated the two of them to the Hogwarts back gate. Again she tried to speak. He turned her away from him and haltingly whispered "Obliviate enamora".

Hermione looked around in confusion. How did I get here, she asked herself. The last thing I remember...

"Mrs. Weasley, you dropped your wand," said a voice behind her.

She spun around and saw a man with dark hair and eyes. He looked familiar...

"Your wand," he said again with a smile that showcased crinkly eyes and dimples.

Must be someone different, she thought. The man that he reminded her of, she associated with something dark and ominous...not such a nice smile.

"Thank you, Mr..."

"Gareth Scabior," he said, the smile dropping somewhat.

She registered the name with a small, involuntary gasp.

He continued quickly, "I was released from Azkaban a couple of months ago after your favorable evaluation."

(Her expression was confused)

"I'm working here now, as Hagrid's assistant. It's going good."

"Oh, well I'm happy to hear that," she said, grasping her wand firmly in both hands.

He grinned at her and glanced down at the wand. The messaging accessory was glowing. "I believe you have a message," he said.

"Oh." She put the tip of the wand to her temple and heard Ron's voice... "Three Broomsticks is a great idea. I'm leaving now and will meet you there. I will exhaust you, my veela...Ron-chy."

Her cheeks turned warm and pink as she listened to him. That didn't sound like Ron. And where did he get such silly nicknames?

"When a newlywed blushes like that, the message must be from her husband," Scabior said.

Hermione looked up in surprise. She hadn't realized he was still there. Why was he still there?

"If you don't mind my saying, Ms. Granger-Weasley, he's a very lucky man."

She mumbled thank you then quickly turned away from him and headed to the inn for her rendesvouz. "Ron-chy," she said with a giggle.

Gareth watched her hurry away from him and laid his hand over the rune combination that would never burn again. He headed for the Hog's Head for Aberforth to give him firewhiskey in discreet butterbeer bottles.

Hermione opened the door at their old hangout and saw Ron's red head by the staircase. He crooked his finger at her with a wink. She couldn't keep from grinning as she went to join him. He rubbed the outside of her leg closest to the wall, as they passed others on the stairs. At the top he picked her up and ran down the hall, throwing open a door for the room he'd already rented.

He slammed the door with his foot and set her down. He waved his wand across her and her clothes flew off, landing in a neat pile on the antique bureau across from the over-sized bed. She took the hint and the challenge and did the same to him. They had not spoken a word to each other. He inclined his head toward the bed.

Hermione stared at him, excited by the intensity of his expression and the desire she could sense from him. She slowly backed up to the bed, not taking her eyes off of him.

He was a benign stalker, pushing her forward and turning her on her stomach when she reached the destination. His hand ran lightly down her back and across her buttocks. She turned her head to watch him, as he continued stroking the back of her legs then, after a moment's hesitation, gliding his fingers up the inside. Her breathing increased and she instinctively tensed.

Ron grinned as he felt the resistance. He was no longer discouraged by it. He put his head down on her back and began rolling it across the surface, massaging her muscles and following with little kisses. He heard her moan and returned his hand to where it was before. Ron plied her flesh and she began thrashing, turning her head from side to side.

His mouth reached the back of her neck and ear. "I love you, Hermione," he said hoarsely. "You're the only thing I've ever really wanted." He rolled her onto her back and put her arms around his neck, continuing his purposeful carress. "You're mine," he declared with gruffness, "I'll fight anyone for you."

Her eyes closed as she reacted to his voice, seducing her just as surely as his touch. She gasped again as she felt him enter. "Ron," she whispered, moving in synch with him. Her fingers ran through his hair and she raised herself to bury her nose in the smell of sandalwood. "Ron," she said again, her voice a little louder, as his hands roamed freely and his mouth sought hers.

He lay back so that she straddled him. She rotated her hips and threw back her head, saying his name over and over as her excitement mounted.

Aurors learned basic spells to perform without wands, in case they were taken from them. Ron tore his eyes from Hermione to the door. "Muffliato," he mumbled, just in case...

"Ron!" she screamed, as she felt her body convulse and her head fill with giddiness.

He joyously rolled her onto her back and planted fevered kisses on her face and neck. She cried out again when she felt his pulses then collapsed against his chest, as he pulled her up into his arms and rocked with her.

"My veela," he groaned.

"Ron-chy," she sighed.

Aberforth Dumbledore watched Gareth, who stared at the bottle more than he drank from it.

"You did a good thing," the older man said.

Gareth nodded and brought the bottle to his lips.

"So what are you doin' here now?" Aberforth asked, as he wiped the bar around the brooding man.

Scabior raised his eyes to him. "Where else should I be?"

Aberforth tossed the cloth over his shoulder. "As I recall when you were in here the last time, the Granger girl was only part of your worries."

Gareth looked down at the bottle again and unconsciously traced its lines with a finger, as if it were a particularly pleasing body. "I can't."

"Why?"

Gareth leaned back and looked away. He took in the rough wooden walls and dirt floor, being given a certain beauty by the flames from the fireplace that turned them a red-gold tone. "I'm no better for her and she's...like a dream, not for real life."

Aberforth rolled his eyes. "Scabe, you've never had a real life. It would be nice if one of us could. I couldn't...commit..."

Gareth turned his head in surprise at the word.

"...because of my duty to Ariana."

This time he looked away. His long white beard didn't muffle the regret in his voice. "You'll miss her every day, my friend."

Both men were quiet with their thoughts.

Aberforth tilted his head at Gareth, saying, "Wanna show you somethin'".

Gareth walked around to the other side of the bar, as his community advisor lifted a trap door.

"Not even the marauders knew about this one," Abe said. "It comes out in the middle of the forest."

Gareth looked down the long flight of steep stairs. Aberforth handed him a lantern and patted his shoulder, encouraging the younger man with "Freia...ferleia..."

Scabior descended the steps. A real life, he said to himself, a dream life, he continued, with a woman of my own...beautiful, sexy but innocent, smart, sweet, loves me..."Onyx," he yelled, beginning to run, as he saw the end of the tunnel. "Onyx," he shouted over and over. He realized he was in the fairies' gorge.

Onyx caught his scent; she heard her name. She allowed her senses to guide her. Gareth emerged from the tunnel, running and calling for her.

She flew to him. He dropped to his knees and held her in his open hand, using the other one to press the magic into her miniscule body, while his lips frantically moved, reciting the Woman Spell.

Then he was looking up at the most beautiful creature in the forest. He rose to embrace her.

"Gaaaaar," she spoke in a wispy, unpracticed voice, "want 'Nyx?"

"Yes," he answered with an emphatic nod, taking off his shirt to put over her.

"Al-ways?"

"Always...on pain of death," he loudly proclaimed, turning to the ancient willow tree where the chieftains gathered.

Her heartbeat pounded against his chest. He grinned at her and touched her face. "Man love 'Nyx." She smiled in response.

The rumbling neigh of his giant, intuitive horse sounded above them.

Onyx fluttered her wings beneath the large shirt and floated them to the upper level of the forest and onto the horse's back.

"Let's go Gold," commanded Gareth. "Let's take her home."

The only person from H-House to ever be expelled, the Azkaban inmate who learned care of magical creatures, absorbed and seconded the declarations of love transmitted to him by the loveliest forest inhabitant-the perfect real woman for the most atypical wizard.