Harry took a moment to enjoy his surroundings as he gently strolled around the periphery of the Black Lake, following the winding path that had been carved out of the landscape by the footsteps of a thousand Hogwarts students over hundreds of years. It was a beautiful, early July morning and he found himself experiencing a sense of peace and contentment that had eluded him for so long. He stopped his pacing, closing his eyes for a moment as he enjoyed the feel of the sun's rays on his face; felt the gentle breeze that drifted through the nearby trees, rustling the lush green leaves that languidly hung from branches that were centuries old. It was a beautiful, glorious summer morning and the world was at peace.

If he was honest with himself, it was the first real moment of peace he had experienced for some time. He'd been rather unsettled since the meeting in Minerva's office and knew that he had a number of reasons for feeling this way. The obvious reason was his lycanthropy and the need to come to terms with the new reality. He'd found himself re-evaluating his entire body, testing each of his senses to try and establish exactly what had changed. He'd spent some time re-reading Remus' journal but had found that strangely unhelpful when applied to his own condition. He wondered if Hermione had experienced the same frustration when she first read it too.

He also found himself dwelling on the scale of the challenge that faced both himself and Hermione. Not only were they hoping to track down Greyback; they were also faced with trying to keep their condition a secret from the wider public. He had no doubts at all how difficult that was going to be owing to how famous they both now were in the magical world.

While he'd always had to deal with his fame, he knew that Hermione would have to adjust to her own celebrity. Indeed, the main reason that he had chosen to isolate himself at Hogwarts was because he was aware of the clamour from the media to obtain an interview with him. He also knew that a number of people were trying to contact him with a whole host of business opportunities and job offers but none of them seemed to realise that he just wanted to be left alone. He had no idea what he wanted to do with his life now that Voldemort was finally gone. Hogwarts was proving to be a sanctuary for him, but he'd still felt unsettled these past two weeks.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew that the root cause of his unease was the absence of his best friend. He hadn't seen Hermione for two weeks and the simple fact was that he missed her desperately.

Opening his eyes once again, he continued his slow walk around the lake, his thoughts returning to the events following the meeting in Minerva's office. Once Hermione had woken from her peaceful slumber in the common room, they'd had a brief chat during which his suspicions about her conversation with Ron were confirmed; Hermione and Ron had ended their fledgling relationship. While trying to digest that information, he'd listened somewhat dispassionately as she spoke and instead focussed his attention on actually looking at her. Really looking at her.

He'd suddenly been struck with the realisation that Hermione was at the end of her rope. Since the final battle at Hogwarts, she'd been battered both emotionally and physically and he found himself deeply concerned for her health. After nearly 10 months on the run, cold and hungry for much of that time, neither of them could be said to be at their physical peak, but as he'd looked on his dearest friend, he'd recognised just how much the past year had affected her. Molly Weasley's joking aside, Hermione really was too thin. Her cheeks were slightly sunken, her eyes overly large, her face gaunt. The clothes she wore hung loosely on her frame and he'd been reminded of his own attire when forced to wear Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs. Her normally bushy, vibrant hair was dry and brittle, and it was perhaps this more than anything that made him realise what he needed to do. He needed to put her first and, more importantly, he needed to make Hermione put Hermione first.

After doing a quick calculation, he'd worked out that it was over three weeks until the next full moon on July 9th. With that knowledge in mind, he'd simply asked her to go home. To return to her parents; to spend time with them and try to reconcile with them. But most importantly, he'd told her to rest and recuperate and to put herself and her health first.

She'd initially dissented, but in the end, it was token resistance and she hadn't needed much persuading to leave. The fact that she hadn't really argued with him told him it was the right thing to do. She'd eventually given him a long look, her eyes somehow both questioning and concerned before she'd finally nodded her acquiescence to his suggestion. Within the hour, she'd departed and oh, how he missed her.

He missed her.

Since she had departed, he'd felt utterly bereft. He'd tried to lose himself in helping to repair the castle and also in running down the few leads they had on Greyback, but his heart wasn't fully in either task. He simply could not get Hermione out of his mind and not having her near to him felt like having one of his limbs removed. After spending almost an entire year with her by his side, he did not feel whole now that she was gone. It was somehow worse than when she'd gone to Australia to collect her parents; at least then he'd had Ron to distract him, but recently he hadn't seen much of his other friend either.

He'd paid a brief visit to the Burrow three days after Hermione had gone home. At first glance, the familiar, ramshackle cottage had seemed as normal with its lopsided storeys and five chimney pots; the old boots and cauldrons by the kitchen door. But when he looked deeper, he noticed that it lacked its usual warmth, as if somehow the old building itself was in mourning for the loss of one of its own. He was aware that in many ways the structures in the magical world possessed their own magic, but this was the first time he had sensed pain and loss from mere bricks and mortar. So, it was with a strange sense of foreboding that he'd entered what was normally a welcoming home to him.

Molly had acted as usual, decrying his weight and thrusting a plate of sandwiches at him after giving him a massive hug. But he'd seen through the veneer; seen the pain and sorrow in her eyes and he knew that she was struggling badly with the loss of one of her brood. He too felt Fred's loss every day. The world was simply a poorer place for his absence.

So, he'd sat by the table and eaten what was put in front of him in silence, wondering why no one else had come to see him. Eventually, he'd finished eating and had looked at Molly questioningly. She'd seemed to understand.

'He's in his room, Harry. He's been in there since he got back from Hogwarts. He's not been himself.'

He'd simply nodded his appreciation before heading up the stairs to see his first friend.

The conversation had not gone as he'd anticipated. Ron had not looked well and had smelled of stale alcohol. He'd been reluctant to talk, limiting himself to one-word answers to any questions. Finally, he'd lost patience with his red-haired friend.

'What's the matter, Ron? Why won't you talk to me properly?'

Ron had looked at him, his eyes hard. 'You know why, Harry. Don't play dumb. Hermione and I broke up.'

'I know, and I'm sorry about that.'

'Are you sorry, Harry? Are you really? Isn't this what you wanted?' Ron had snapped.

'Why would I want this? Why would I want my two best friends unhappy?'

Ron had shaken his head. 'If you really don't know the answer to that then you really are an idiot.' He'd then let out a deep sigh, a regretful look on his face. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I'm just not dealing with this very well. It's just that I thought you said she was like a sister to you? I thought she felt the same way about you? That she treated you like a brother?'

He'd recognised some of the bitterness in Ron's voice; had wondered how to deal with this hostile version of his friend.

'That's what I thought too,' he'd eventually replied.

'I guess we were all wrong, then,' Ron had said, with more than a hint of accusation in his tone.

Shaking himself from his thoughts he glanced up, spotting a familiar, large flat rock that jutted out over the lake's edge and he headed towards it, picking up a handful of loose pebbles along the way. When he reached the rock, he stood still and gazed out at the water as it threw up a gentle spray here and there, the ripples caused by the gentle breeze. He once again found his thoughts returning to his conversation at the Burrow; at his shock at Ron's tone; at the frustration and bitterness. It had been Ron's final words that had finally made him react.

'So, have you had fun, the two of you? Closeted up there in that castle with each other these past few days?'

He leaned back, his arm outstretched as he tried to stop his mind repeating the scene; from replaying the words. He suddenly pivoted forward, throwing one of the pebbles in his hand far out into the lake, watching it arc before falling and disappearing below the dark surface. It was no use. He could not shake the anger he still felt towards Ron. A million thoughts and words had flooded his mind as he'd tried to frame a response worthy of his anger. But instead he'd somehow managed to stop himself from shouting and had replied in a cold, measured tone.

'As it happens, Ron, I haven't seen her since the day you split up with her. She's gone home to her parent's house. I'm hoping she gets back soon because we need to start looking for Greyback and I won't be able to do it without her. But I don't know how long she will be gone; I told her to take all the time she needs before we start our search. I was hoping you'd help us too; I know you don't have to, but I thought that things won't be the same without you. Now I'm not so sure if that's a good idea. I'm sorry that things didn't work out between you two, Ron, but I'll say this; if you decide to leave us to it then fine; that's your choice. Personally, I'd rather have my friend with me. But just so you know, just so one thing is absolutely clear between us; if you choose to abandon your friends again, she won't come with you this time either.'

After saying this, he'd simply turned on his heel and walked out of the door without saying another word. He'd feared the consequences if he'd remained a moment longer in that room. It was the last thing either had said to the other. He wanted his friend back, but not at any price, for he'd come to realise something since he'd left the Burrow and had spent so much time in his own company, ruminating on their argument. He'd come to realise that he harboured his own sense of betrayal about Ron, despite everything they had been through together. That the recent events; the battle, the deaths and the final victory; Hermione's plight and his own subsequent condition had hidden something that lay deep within him. Events had hidden it, but not removed it.

He hadn't forgiven Ron.

It wasn't just that he had walked out in the middle of the Horcrux hunt. Ron had demonstrated on a number of occasions throughout their friendship that he could be selfish and unreliable. His refusal to believe him about putting his name in the Goblet of Fire was a case in point. No; this was more than the petty jealousy and insecurities that Ron had sometimes demonstrated in the past. Even allowing for the evil effects of the locket did not excuse his behaviour. When he walked out of the tent, Ron had crossed a line.

He'd tried to take Hermione away from me.

It was a truth that had hit him like a slap on the face. He hadn't forgiven Ron simply because he'd tried to make Hermione leave too; to make her abandon him to the hunt on his own. He wasn't sure it was something he would ever be able to forgive. He knew that if Hermione had left with Ron at that moment then Voldemort would have won. It really was that simple. He needed her like he needed air to breathe and Ron had tried to take that from him. Only Hermione's friendship and loyalty had prevented that from happening.

He closed his eyes again as he thought of those dark days back in the tent. He let out a long sigh. He had so many regrets from the fateful winter that had just passed. He now knew that he had behaved appallingly towards Hermione; ignoring her tears and not even attempting to console her after Ron had left. And yet she had been a tower of strength and compassion to him when they had visited his parent's grave at Godric's Hollow. When he looked back on those days and nights, he still did not know why he had not tried to help her more and he felt a deep sense of shame at his behaviour. There simply was no excuse and he silently vowed to make it up to her.

She'd dominated his thoughts these past two weeks. Despite all the other distractions, he thought about Hermione while working to repair the castle. She was on his mind when he tried to distract himself by racing around the Quidditch pitch on his broom. At mealtimes, he picked at his food as he dwelt on his own recent behaviour towards her. And he lay awake in bed at night thinking about her, unable to drift off into the deep sleep that he so badly needed. All of this thinking, all of these thoughts had led him to one simple conclusion.

I need her.

He'd always known this on some level, but he was now aware of this truth in the same way that he was aware that he was alive. It was just as much a part of him as his skin. He didn't really want to explore the ramifications of this truth; that his happiness and contentment were so dependent on one other person. He wasn't even sure how to define their relationship anymore. All he did know was that his happiness was intrinsically linked to hers. If she was happy, then so was he. Her pain was his; her joy balm for his soul. He was more certain about this than anything else in his life.

He drew his arm back again, a small smile on his face as he considered another simple truth, before launching another pebble into the lake.

That I'm pleased that Hermione and Ron broke up.

He felt like a traitor for even considering it, but there was no denying the truth that he was much happier now and that the feelings of peace and contentment that he currently enjoyed could in large part be attributed to the collapse of Hermione and Ron's romantic relationship. Part of him knew that these feelings were wrong, that he was betraying Ron. But right now, the larger part of him did not give a damn. He had already sacrificed so much in his short life; he had reached his limit. Quite simply, he was not going to lay his relationship with Hermione on the altar of the greater good. He'd said his piece to Ron; what happened next was very much up to his first friend.

He leaned back again, preparing to launch a third pebble into the lake when he suddenly caught his breath. He closed his eyes, a broad grin forming on his features as he became aware of an oh so familiar scent. While his lycanthropy was a curse, there were time such as these when it could bring him pleasure. There were some scents he would recognise anywhere.

He turned to the source and his delight was evident on his face as his eyes fell on Hermione who was standing a stone's throw away from him, her smile matching his own. They stood looking at each other for a few moments as if sharing a private joke, before they moved quickly to close the gap, finally meeting in a warm embrace.

oOoOoOoOo

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up sharply at the sudden rap on his office door. He glanced at the clock on the far wall and realised that it was nearly half past three in the afternoon.

Where has the day gone? he asked himself as he placed the folder he had been reading from on his desk. For the thousandth time since being appointed Minister, he wondered why anyone in their right mind would actively seek out this job. He pined for easier days when all he had to worry about was catching dark wizards and avoiding mutilation or death. He grinned ruefully at the thought.

"Enter!" he called out and sat back in his chair as he waited to greet his latest appointment. His grin broadened as Arthur Weasley opened the door. He liked Arthur; liked and respected him and he valued his advice. It was for this reason that he had requested his presence this afternoon. He had appointed Arthur as Minister without Portfolio in his new Government; a position that sounded unimportant but in fact allowed him to be involved in all aspects of the Ministry rather than tying him down to a specific role. It was a new position and one that he'd copied from the Muggle World, having seen the Prime Minister utilise a trusted adviser in a similar role to great effect when he had been guarding him during the war. Arthur was essentially the Number Two man in the Ministry and Kingsley wanted him present in view of the other person he was meeting today.

His grin became a bit more fixed as Amos Diggory walked through the door behind Arthur.

'Good afternoon, Amos,' he said cordially as the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures entered.

'Minister,' Amos Diggory replied formally, with a curt nod. 'Thank you for agreeing to see me today,' he added.

'No problem, Amos. I'll always make time for my department heads. You said there was something urgent you wished to discuss? Take a seat,' he said, gesturing to a pair of comfortable looking chairs on the other side of his desk. 'You too, Arthur,' he added.

He waited patiently as his two guests took their time getting comfortable before continuing. 'What can I do for you, Amos?' he asked. He had his suspicions about what Diggory wanted to discuss and was not surprised at his opening remarks.

'We need to do something about these damn werewolves, Minister,' Amos began. 'It's been over two months since You-Know-Who was defeated and we still haven't managed to capture any of the werewolves who fought for him that day,' he added bitterly.

Kingsley took a moment to reply. 'We've already captured a number of Voldemort's supporters, Amos and we will continue to track them down. The fact that we have not yet captured any werewolves is irrelevant. I'm only interested in catching the criminals who fought us. Their condition is of no importance to me or to my Ministry; I'm only concerned about their actions.'

'So, you're not concerned by Greyback's attacks? Not concerned that innocent people are at risk?'

Kingsley flared in anger. 'You forget yourself, Amos! Of course, I am concerned about Greyback! I am well aware of the threat posed by him and I do not need you to remind me of my responsibilities!' He calmed himself with an effort before continuing. 'The Department for Magical Law Enforcement are working around the clock to track down all of Voldemort's supporters who escaped – including Greyback. We will catch him sooner or later.'

'With respect, Minister, we need to be doing more,' replied Amos. 'Werewolf regulation and control is my department and I believe that we should be rounding them all up as a matter of urgency. All werewolves are a threat as far as I am concerned and were it up to me, I would lock them all up.'

'Then it's a good thing it is not up to you,' Kingsley replied coldly. 'Not all werewolves supported Voldemort.'

'No, but they are dark creatures, Minister. We need to control them. I insist that we take stronger action!'

Kingsley nearly leaped out of his chair in anger and it was at this moment that Arthur Weasley earned himself a metaphorical medal.

'Amos, do you really think it's a good idea to focus all of our energies on a handful of werewolves right now? With everything that needs rebuilding in our society; with a Wizengamot that needs reconstituting; with Hogwarts needing rebuilt; with trials to be conducted; Death Eaters to be hunted; not to mention a new budget to be sorted out. You really think we should be prioritising the capture of a few werewolves, most of whom probably just want to lie low at the moment?' Arthur spoke in a reasonable tone, but his point was well made.

Amos Diggory sighed deeply. 'Arthur, I know that we have a lot of issues to sort out. But I also know that Greyback and the others pose a real threat. He has already killed an innocent family since the Battle at Hogwarts. It's a full moon next week. Who will be next? We must be seen to be taking strong action. The public will demand nothing less.'

Kingsley eyed him thoughtfully. 'The public, Amos? Or your friends in the WIzengamot?' he asked archly.

Amos reddened at the words but did not respond, so Kingsley took the opportunity to end the discussion. 'I will consider what you have said, Amos, and I'll let you know how I want us to proceed. For the moment, however, I am insisting that we continue with our current approach. I want all of Voldemort's supporters rounded up, regardless of whether or not they are werewolves. If we focus on that then we will get Greyback sooner or later. Thank you for coming today,' he added, and his tone was a dismissal.

Amos recognised the tone and abruptly stood. 'Thank you for your time, Minister,' and the anger in his voice was evident. He turned and left the office, leaving the door open behind him. Arthur stood up and quietly closed the door.

'Should I be worried?' Kingsley asked his friend.

Arthur took a moment to reply. 'Not yet. Amos isn't the threat; he's just being used as the stalking horse. We need to find out who is pulling his strings. The anti-werewolf rhetoric is just the stick they are trying to beat you with, Kingsley. There's no denying Greyback is still a threat, but not a threat people are going to show their hand over. At least, not at the moment anyway.'

Kingsley nodded his agreement. 'You know what I think about the way our society treats non-humans, Arthur. We're long overdue reform in that area. If we treated them better, then Voldemort would not have found so many willing supporters among their ranks. But we need to keep an eye on this. Someone is stirring the pot and I'd like to know who. What do you think?'

'I think you should discreetly have a word with the Aurors and tell them to place a bit more importance on capturing Greyback and any other werewolves who supported Voldemort. That would at least get Amos off our case for now. If we need to take a stronger line in future, I'd recommend that you do so. I don't want to target werewolves, but we cannot risk what we are trying to achieve for their sake. At least not right now.'

Kingsley nodded his agreement. This is exactly the reason he'd wanted Arthur present in the first place; he offered good, solid advice. He didn't want to change his current approach, but he may have to in order to make the changes that really did matter. He had to prioritise. He sighed wearily. He was quickly learning that sometimes the only option open to him was the lesser of two evils.

I hate this job.

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione once again found herself in the office of the Headmistress, waiting for both Minerva and Harry to join her. She'd originally been told to meet both of them at 4pm, but on arrival in the office had been informed by the portrait of Phineas Nigellus that both Harry and Minerva had been delayed owing to a complication arising from the rebuilding work. Just as she'd decided to go and find them both, Phineas had informed her that they would arrive shortly, so she had elected to wait, placing herself in one of the comfortable armchairs that sat next to Minerva's desk. If she was honest with herself, she was grateful for the time to gather her thoughts before seeing Harry again after their initial meeting earlier today. She closed her eyes and smiled as she recalled the reception she had received.

On arriving back at Hogwarts, the Headmistress had welcomed her like a long-lost daughter, going so far as to embrace her before complimenting her on her improved, healthier appearance. As much as she loved and respected Minerva, she'd been taken aback at the outward display of affection received from a teacher renowned for her taciturnity and composure. Despite this, she'd enjoyed the hug and was pleased that Minerva had noticed her improved health. She certainly felt better after two weeks of complete rest and proper meals.

When Harry had originally asked her to go home, she'd been reluctant at first; there was simply too much to do and not enough time to do it. She'd voiced her dissent, but it had proved to be a token resistance; one look into Harry's eyes had ended any argument. He had radiated concern and love and she knew that he was correct; that she was at the end of her tether and needed rest.

She'd also needed to see her parents. It was this last factor that made going home inevitable, so she'd very quickly packed her bag, said her farewells and departed for home.

It turned out to be one of the best decisions she'd made recently, and she was grateful to Harry for suggesting it. She'd managed to rest, to eat properly and – above all – to reconnect with her parents, particularly her mother. The fact that the cause of this reconciliation happened to be her best friend just gave her one more reason to thank Harry.

It had been on the third day when her mum had finally come into her room for a chat. Both of her parents had kept their distance up to that point and as a result she'd been left alone with her thoughts. At first, she'd found herself dwelling on her break up with Ron, but as the time passed, she found herself thinking more and more about Harry and their friendship. By the third day she couldn't get him out of her thoughts, and it was beginning to affect her mood.

She missed Harry terribly.

It was at that point that her mum had decided to break the silence and had knocked on the bedroom door and asked her if she was alright. That proved to be the turning point.

She'd told her mum everything – well; almost everything. She said nothing of her lycanthropy. Instead, she spoke of the war; of the months of despair in the tent; of Ron abandoning them and of the final battle. She'd talked about Harry's "death" and his subsequent victory. Of her short-lived romance with Ron and of their recent break up. By the time she had finished she was emotionally spent, yet she'd found the process cathartic in a way that she hadn't believed possible. Her mum hardly said a word throughout, instead content merely to listen and to hold her daughter tight. In the end, it had proven therapeutic for them both. When her mum finally did speak, she typically cut to the heart of the matter.

'You've been through so much, Hermione; I'm just glad you made it home safe. And this is your home; I'm sorry if your father and I ever gave you cause to doubt that.' She'd given her a shrewd look. 'I wouldn't worry too much about Ron. If he really cares for you, then he'll want you to be happy. I suspect you need someone else to make you happy though, don't you?'

She'd been smiling when she'd said this, and Hermione had known exactly who her mum was referring to when she'd asked this. Instead of denying it, she'd merely offered her own shy smile to her mum before allowing herself to be enveloped in an embrace. No further words were exchanged, yet she'd felt more connected to her mum at that moment than she had for years. She could feel her fractured heart knitting together again.

The rest of her stay had been more enjoyable after that conversation. Her mum must have spoken to her dad too as his behaviour towards her warmed considerably. She'd been able to spend the next week and a half either in quiet conversation with her parents, resting in her room, or reading simply for pleasure. She'd also regained her appetite and was slowly regaining her strength. She'd noticed the subtle changes; putting on some weight; her hair regaining some of its vibrancy; the return of a sparkle in her eyes. The only downside was the absence of her best friend, but she knew that had to be endured – her health had to come first, and she was acutely aware that Harry would be upset if she let anything jeopardise that.

She sighed suddenly as she thought back to the moment she'd found him on her return to Hogwarts earlier today. After welcoming her back to the castle, Minerva had informed her with a smile that "he's down by the lake" and she hadn't needed to be told twice. She'd immediately headed outside into the sunshine and had spotted him from afar as he stood on a familiar rock, idly tossing pebbles into the lake. Even from a distance she'd sensed his disquiet and wondered if this was because of her condition, or whether his moods were something to which she was always attuned.

There had been no time to ponder that particular question though, as Harry had obviously sensed her and when he turned to face her, she inhaled sharply and her heartbeat quickened at the smile he bestowed on her, completely unaware that her own expression matched his. After what seemed like an interminable moment, they'd finally moved towards each other and her soul rejoiced in the reunion.

Even now, sitting in Minerva's office, she felt her cheeks redden at the thought of their embrace and she felt herself smiling at the memory. She felt complete when she was with Harry and it occurred to her that she would struggle to move in life without him by her side. She fervently hoped that such an eventuality would not come to pass. She idly wondered what this recent change in them meant for their future relationship, but she found that she was not too perturbed by the uncertainty. What she was sure of was that they would discover the path ahead together, just as they had always done.

Her reverie was suddenly interrupted as she heard movement on the stairs outside that heralded the arrival of Harry and the Headmistress. After a few moments, Harry entered the room and his face lit up on seeing her. Glancing over his shoulder, she noticed a small smile on the face of Minerva, but it disappeared as soon as she saw it.

The Headmistress took her seat behind the desk and gestured for Harry to sit down next to Hermione. It was only when he had finally made himself comfortable that the atmosphere in the room turned serious.

'Thank you both for coming,' began Minerva. 'I'm glad to see you both looking better, particularly you, Miss Granger. Now that we have had a chance to catch our breath, I fear that it is now time to get back to work. Serious work.' She paused for a moment before continuing. 'At our last meeting, I said that our priority was finding Greyback – or at least finding out how he is able to change at will. You, Mr Potter, suggested that he might be using a potion; one potentially created by Professor Snape. I have to confess that I am inclined to agree. I have already gone through all of Severus' belongings, as well as his rooms here at Hogwarts, but I have found nothing of note.'

'So, what do we do?' asked Harry.

'I am just coming to that, Mr Potter,' Minerva replied with something of her old asperity. 'I believe we will need to pay a visit to Severus' old house. If he has left any hint as to what he might have been brewing, then we will find it there.'

'You mentioned that he grew up in the same town as my mother,' Harry said dispassionately, and Hermione was startled by this remark, having forgotten that Harry had mentioned this when recounting Snape's pensieve memory. But before she could say anything, Minerva spoke again.

'I did Mr Potter.' She then turned in her chair and opened a large drawer in a cabinet situated next to her desk and removed what must have been the oldest book Hermione had ever seen. She reverently placed it on the desk in front of them, blowing some dust from the cover as she did so.

'This book contains the name and address of every student who was ever invited to attend this school. It is a log of every letter ever sent with an offer of a place at Hogwarts.' She carefully opened the book and started flipping through the pages. After a few moments, she paused.

'Here we are. Mr S Snape; The Small Bedroom, Number 3, Spinners End, Cokeworth.' She glanced up. 'It's probably long empty, but I suspect Severus never fully abandoned the place. For good or ill, it was his childhood home.'

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding her understanding. 'Harry and I will visit there tomorrow, if that's OK? Is that alright with you, Harry?' she asked, turning to face her friend. She smiled as he nodded his own acceptance of the plan before turning back to face Minerva. 'May I?' she asked tentatively as she reached for the ancient tome.

Minerva merely smiled indulgently at the look of awe on Hermione's face. She'd encountered many bibliophiles in her long life, but Hermione Granger was in a league of her own. In lieu of a response, she merely pushed the book towards her favourite student.

For her part, Hermione picked up the book with a sense of awe, oblivious to the indulgent smiles on the faces of both her companions. She slowly started flipping through the ancient pages, marvelling at the magic involved as she realised that the names were somehow listed in alphabetical order, despite new entries being added every year. She smiled when she finally reached her own entry, her fingers tracing the words.

Miss H Granger, The Corner Bedroom on the Second Floor, Number 26, Curtis Avenue, Crawley.

She remembered clearly the day she received this letter, the memory more poignant as it was the woman sitting across from her who had delivered it in person. She started flipping the pages again until she found the next entry she was looking for, but when she found the familiar name her face scrunched up in confusion.

'Harry? What's going on here? You received tons of letters. Look! Dozens of them and they're not all addressed the same!' She was oblivious to the fact that Harry's countenance had gone white and that his eyes had widened in shock and fear as she started reading out some of the addresses, her finger tracing down each line in the book as she sought out a different entry next to Harry's name. Even with her heightened senses, she did not pick up on his distress, such was her interest in the book.

'Mr H Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea…Mr H Potter, Room 17, The Railview Hotel, Cokeworth…what's going on here, Harry? Look; there's another one! Mr H Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging…'

She turned back a page in wonder and read the next entry before her heart stopped. She read it again to be sure, her head shaking in denial as she digested the words and what they meant. Finally, she read it out, as if to convince herself of the reality of the words.

'Mr H Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey,' she whispered in a strangled voice.

She slowly looked up from the book, tears forming in her eyes and she finally noticed the look of horror on the face of her dearest friend. She eyed him imploringly, willing there to be a rational explanation for what she just read. Any explanation, instead of the horrible truth that the last entry pointed to.

How could I not know about this? How can I possibly not have known about this?

'Harry?' she asked beseechingly, oblivious to everything else but the distress of her friend. In response, Harry abruptly stood up and made off down the stairs, his head lowered and his eyes averted.

'Harry!' she cried, but there was no response, only the sound of his footsteps disappearing as he clattered down the winding staircase.

Oh, Harry.