As always, enjoy the spelling and punctuation mistakes, for they are bound to be there. They are like Pokemon - I never catch them all!


The first Harry heard of it was from Neville, who came steaming into the Perfects Communal Area just as Harry and Hermione were thinking about going down to swipe some dinner. They had no intention of eating in the Great Hall, for Hermione was cosily cuddled up to Harry on one of their couches, as he read to her from Hogwarts, Hogsmeade and Hogscastle: A Study of Myth in the Magical North. Even Harry had to admit it was quite an entertaining read, not that he was making much progress. For Hermione infinitely preferred to be sucking his lips, rather than listening to any words coming from them.

And Harry was in quite the agreement about that state of affairs. But that all changed as Neville charged into the Communal Area with the dramatic news.

Lord Voldemort had arrived at Hogwarts…and the whole school was talking about it.

"The place is in uproar!" Neville panted. "People are running about, screaming and crying. Finch-Fletchley passed out on the stairs to the Divination Tower. The Professors haven't got a dickie-bird about what to do. It's chaos!"

"Hold on, Nev…slow down," said Harry. He was still stroking Hermione's hair, not quite absorbing the news. "Who did you say is here?"

"Who? Who?" Neville cried. "Harry…it's You-Know-Who!"

Harry felt the breath leave his lungs in a cold rush of air. Hermione shot up like a dart from her place on his chest.

"Voldemort…is here?" she hissed. "Are you sure?"

"I heard it from Seamus, who was told by Parvati, who was Floo'd by Padma," said Neville. "She was the one who found Justin. He passed out after actually seeing him. Can…can he do that, Harry? Knock someone out with just a look?"

"No he can't, don't be ridiculous, Nev!" Harry retorted. A collision of anger and anxiety rose in him. What to do first?

Hermione seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Harry…don't even think about going out there after him."

"I'm not -"

"You never did lie very well, particularly to me," she volleyed back, cutting him off. "I can see it in your eyes."

"But we have to do something," Harry argued.

"No we don't," said Hermione anxiously. "Not until there's an obvious reason to do so."

"Hermione!" Harry cried, incredulously. "Lord Voldemort is here…at the school! Doesn't that count as an obvious reason?"

"No, it doesn't!" Hermione shouted back. She was restless in her animation now. "Look, I know you want to rush out there and fight him but, Harry…that's suicide! And I'll kill you myself before I let you out that door."

Harry roared in his frustration. He paced the room angrily. "Then what can we do?"

"Let's make sure he's really here," said Hermione, her tone softening as she moved to Harry. She pushed her hands into his chest. Harry knew that sign, so he controlled his breathing until he was master of his swirling energy again. "There…better?"

"Better," Harry breathed, calm settling into his mind.

"Bloody Merlin, Hermione," Neville quirked. "That's some power you have there!"

Hermione cocked a cheeky grin over her shoulder. Then she turned back to Harry. "Get your Map, sweetheart. Let's make sure You-Know-Who is Who-He-Claims-To-Be."

Harry clapped his hand to his forehead, Hermione's logic obvious and flawless as always. He dived to his dorm and was back again before Hermione and Neville even had time to strike up another discussion. Harry opened the Map, spreading it out on his desk in front of them.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" Harry muttered, tapping his wand to the Map. The sprawling expanse of Hogwarts spread out like a giant ink splodge on the hitherto blank parchment.

"Well spread my legs and bury me in a Y-Shaped coffin with a gaggle of Veela!" Neville exclaimed. "What in the name of Merlin is that?"

Harry laughed out loud. "My Dad and his mates made it during their time here. It shows the school and everyone in it."

"Wow," said Neville. He peered at the map. "It shows secret passages and everything! Harry, you have to lend me this."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. "You and Miss Hart running out of broom closets already, eh?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Neville grinned back, coquettishly. "We don't all have the luxury of a private Common Room to get all cwtchy, you know."

"Cwtchy?" Hermione queried over Harry's other shoulder.

"It's a Welsh word, like a sort of cuddle, but closer than that," Neville explained. "Enola says it all the time. It's sort of stuck."

Hermione swooned at that. "Mimicking mannerisms already? That's adorable."

"I'd go with nauseating," Harry teased. He turned to Hermione. "All you've done so far is made me read more. That's an acceptable trait-swap."

"Trait-swap?" Hermione snorted haughtily. "Excuse me, but I have not inherited any trait of yours. And I'd prefer to keep it that way, if you don't mind."

"Too late there, Hermione," Neville chuckled. "You've taken on Harry's sassy mouth. Sorry to break that to you."

Hermione huffed again and looked genuinely affronted. Harry smirked at her a minute, before turning back to the map.

"Come on, this is a fine way to locate my mortal enemy," he moaned.

"I thought that was Malfoy, or even Ron, these days," Neville quipped.

"They work on a time-share type thing," Harry replied blandly. "Right now, it's Tom Riddle's turn."

"Tom Riddle? Is that You-Know-Who's real name then?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I found that out from his old diary, the one that possessed Ginny Weasley back in our Second Year. Dumb bint. I bet she let him rape her mind."

"Harry," Hermione rebuked. "That's unfair. Even to that waste of bone and sinew."

"Wow…you two really don't like Ginny, do you?" Neville guffawed.

"No," Harry and Hermione chimed in unison. Then Hermione snatched suddenly at Harry's arm. "Look! There! T.M. Riddle."

Harry read the name under the little dot moving through the castle.

"That confirms it then," Harry grumbled, that last flicker of hope that this was some big mistake brutally extinguished at a stroke.

"Where's he going though?" asked Neville, peering close to get a better look. "What part of the castle is that?"

"Gargoyle Corridor," Hermione replied. She pointed at a little signpost on the Map to illustrate her answer.

"But…isn't that where the Headmaster's Tower is?"

Harry blinked in surprise as the realisation hit him. "Yeah, yeah it is."

"And look!" Hermione cried. "Dumbledore is in his office. They are going to meet very soon."

"Maybe they'll fight," said Neville, his voice barely a sliver of air. "Do you think…has You-Know-Who come here to kill Dumbledore?"

Harry felt the thrill of terror speed through his veins, creeping with icy fingertips. Neville was making a very good point. But not for nothing was Hermione the voice of reason in Harry's mind.

"Dumbledore is the only one Voldemort is afraid of," said Hermione. "And they've fought to a stalemate twice in the past few months. I'd be very much surprised if he's here for that."

"Unless he has some new sort of weapon to beat Dumbledore," said Harry. "Don't forget, Dumbledore might still want to redeem Voldemort. It makes him vulnerable."

"That's just our theory, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, Voldemort has entered the school already."

Harry cottoned on to her inference in an instant. "Meaning he got past the wards -"

"And any other defences. Dumbledore said that protections had been added, strengthened. But Voldemort got past them without a struggle."

"But that would mean -"

"Yes, I know," Hermione breathed. "It means Dumbledore must have invited Voldemort into the castle."

"But why would he do that?" Harry yelled, his voice rising suddenly. "Voldemort is the enemy!"

"But Voldemort is now also on Dumbledore's turf," Hermione argued. "If I was going to have a meeting with someone like that, I'd want it to be on my terms, if I could manage it."

Harry considered that a moment. It eased his worry slightly, and he looked at Neville for a third opinion. "What do you think, mate?"

"I think it's amazing that you can just say You-Know-Who's name so casually," said Neville, his tone somewhat reverent. "Both of you."

"What's odd about that? It's just a name," said Harry.

"And fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione added.

"Yeah, but you're the only two who say it," Neville replied. "No-one else does. Dumbledore might, but you can forget everyone else. Haven't you noticed that?"

Harry shrugged. He'd noticed Hermione using the name before, but hadn't really applied the level of significance to it that Neville now was.

"So maybe we do," said Harry "What about it?"

"Nothing really. It just gives you both a sort of…aura. I don't know. It's pretty cool, though."

Harry threw a questioning sort of grin at Hermione, who just bit her lip in agreement.

"Well, let's put this aura to good work," said Harry. "We can only guess what's happening with Dumbledore and Voldemort, but we need to take precautions."

"Such as?" asked Hermione.

"We need to enforce a lockdown," said Harry. "Nev, grab Katie, and McLaggen the Centaur-Botherer, will you? Get them to assemble the Prefects and secure everyone in their dorms. It's the safest place for them just now. Then we'll patrol the Common Room and the Towers until we get instructions from outside…or we need to fight our way out."

"Harry, look here," said Hermione. She was pointing at the Map again. "There's a secret staircase, hidden right behind the fireplace in the Common Room. I never knew that was there, did you?"

"A fire escape!" Harry exclaimed. "That's perfect. We'll use that. Nev - go and snap the Prefects into action. I'll go and dismantle the fire, see if we can't open up a route out…just in case."

"And I'll stay here…I have a tricky little spell to cast," said Hermione. "And it'll be easier without distractions."

"Spell? What spell?" asked Harry, suspiciously.

"Well," Hermione began with a blush. "I've been trying to add to the enchantments on the Map…to see if it can tell me what people are saying. Thought it might be useful."

"That's brilliant!" said Harry. "What gave you that idea?"

Hermione's flush deepened. "Well, I only did it really, you know…to see if you were saying other girls' names in your dreams."

Neville hooted out a laugh, falling back against the wall and clutching at his chest. Hermione smiled meekly. Harry just shook his head at her.

"Honestly!" he tutted.

"What? It's perfectly reasonable to spy on you when you aren't looking," Hermione replied bashfully. Neville just laughed that much harder.

"We'll talk about this later," Harry smirked. "Did you get it to work? That's the main thing."

"Yes, the spell works," Hermione sniffed. "But it takes a few minutes. The incantations are complex. The Marauders were a slippery bunch of customers."

Harry thought they might actually like that, and grinned widely as words suddenly appeared on the Map.

"Messrs Padfoot and Prongs thank the affable young witch for her compliments, and cordially remind the young wizard that his lady is the boss of him!"

Now Hermione burst out laughing. "Did I tell you how wise and intelligent the Marauders were, as well?"

"Just get on with the spell," Harry huffed. "Before they hold up the whole process. Look, Voldemort's nearly at the office already."

A hectic five minutes passed, in which Neville assisted the Prefects and House Heads in herding the students into their dorm rooms. This involved Harry nearly throwing down with a couple of Grey Robed Fourth Year witches, who were being particularly stubborn about following his orders. But it got done, and Harry vaulted the stairs back to Hermione just in time to see her complete her incantations.

"There…done!" she cried triumphantly. "Look, Harry…they're about to meet."

Harry hurried to Hermione's side, and his hand found hers as if on reflex. They looked at the Map together, Harry's eyes wide in startled surprise as a little speech bubble emerged from the little dot labelled T. M. Riddle

"Hello, Albus…"


"Welcome, Tom."

Dumbledore hadn't moved to greet his visitor, or even to raise his wand. He just considered Lord Voldemort over the top his spindly, interlaced fingers, as though he were merely some sort of mild curiosity. Like a shocking pink Dementor, or something. Just an amusement to break up the monotony of a standard working day.

"The hospitality of your castle is somewhat lacking," Voldemort replied. "Devoid of its usual warmth, shall we say."

"My castle doesn't often have two dozen Death Eaters prowling her corridors," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "Such things tend to affect the atmosphere, I'm afraid."

Voldemort offered a little grimace and sat down without invitation. Dumbledore permitted it, making no move to protest. For a solid minute, the two wizards simply eyeballed each other.

"You can be at no loss to understand the reason for my visit, Albus," said Voldemort, just as the air began to congeal around them.

"I assure you, I have not the insight to account for such a …pleasure as this," Dumbledore returned. "But as we are being cordial, Tom, how about enlightening an old man? Are you here to arrest me? To fight me? To install more of your child agents into my student populous?"

"Child agents!" Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. "My, my, Albus…I see you have retained your flair for the dramatic. The members of our initiatives for younger people are only ingratiating themselves to the future. They are the next generation, Albus. We have a responsibility to shape them in the right way, do we not?"

"Indeed we do," Dumbledore agreed. "Though I fancy that the way you and I define the right way might differ somewhat."

"But that was not always the case, was it?" Voldemort crooned. He leaned in close. "There was a time when you championed the idea of The Greater Good, was there not?"

Dumbledore faltered, that was to say his eyes blinked out of sequence. It wasn't clear if Voldemort noticed, but Dumbledore regained his composure quickly.

"The foolish ideals of younger wizard," Dumbledore returned off-handedly.

"Or…of two?"

Outmanoeuvred again. Black King to King Bishop Four. And Check. Dumbledore rested his hands on the desk, and Fawkes soared to his shoulder. Voldemort eyed the phoenix queerly.

"Touched a nerve, I see," he said, his tone like icy silk. "That's an interesting bird, isn't it? How old is he now?"

"Fawkes came to me in the mid-1920's," said Dumbledore, stroking Fawkes' plume without taking his eyes from Voldemort. "You know how these things work, I believe. He was the first of his kind in five hundred years. I was honoured to be chosen."

"Indeed," Voldemort nodded. "Would have been around the time of your sister's death, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Dumbledore replied, his jaw tightening.

"That must have been a terrible tragedy for your family," said Voldemort. "Heart-breaking, I imagine. I would not know…I have never lost a loved one. Or loved at all, in fact. A foolish weakness, in my opinion. Family and friends die…so why lose a bit of yourself with them?"

"Why indeed, when you can take their lives - and power - yourself?" Dumbledore replied. "You deny yourself a greater power, Tom, in choosing against love."

"On that point we shall have to disagree," said Voldemort. "As I think I have already proven."

Voldemort nodded at Dumbledore's blackened hand, and the lower wrist that was slowly turning the same colour.

"How long does Severus give you?"

"We estimate a year, if an antidote cannot be fashioned," said Dumbledore, conversationally. "It was quite a genius curse, I must admit."

"One of my finest," Voldemort sneered. "But you should know, Albus, I do not approve of antidotes to my own curses. Somewhat defeats the object, wouldn't you say? The only person immune is myself."

"And as such, I assume the only cure comes from the same source?"

"Perhaps," Voldemort crooned. "But you are in a position to demand nothing. You are a dying, old man. And I am in the position to grant nothing…incomplete as I am."

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed, the old fire sparking in his blue eyes. "Now we come to it, at last. The real reason for your visit."

"Indeed," said Voldemort. "I left a very special object here, one I wish to retrieve. One I know you are now in possession of."

"And just what would give you that impression?"

"Do not play coy with me, Dumbledore!" Voldemort cried, standing and pacing to the window. "Do not think me totally blind. Seeking out the Seer, bringing her here. I know it was you who pushed for that change in legislation - that all magical children in Britain had to sit N.E.W.T. courses here at Hogwarts. Getting Lady Roth as you new Defence Professor…her husband your mouthpiece at the Ministry. Very clever, Albus, very clever indeed."

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "I wont deny that Lord Roth has been a very helpful hand to have in White City. But we both have our pieces in play, do we not? Lady Harriet is an excellent Defence Professor…and her daughter is a fascinating creature."

"Ah, yes, Miss Celesca," said Voldemort, sitting again. "I have been keeping a very close eye on her. And she on me, as I hear. Under your prompting, I assume?"

"Naturally," said Dumbledore, inclining his head.

"And you care nothing for what it costs the girl to use her talents?"

"Why, Tom…are you concerned for the health of Miss Roth? A touch of humanity at last, perhaps?" Dumbledore quirked.

"Nothing of the sort, simple morbid curiosity," Voldemort replied. "I merely wonder if you are as callous now as you were with the Longbottoms and the Potters, when we last did this dance? Have you lost any of the famed Dumbledore steel?"

"I assure you I have not," Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Young Celesca nearly died in the course of locating your Horcrux, Tom. I am quite certain that the effort of locating Lily Evans' lost Cell will certainly be too much for her cursed life. But what is a little collateral damage in the pursuit of Total Victory?"

"So, you admit that you have found the diadem?"

"You claim to already know that," said Dumbledore. "How did you discover this piece of intelligence? Are you looking to punish Lucius by putting a pincer pressure on Draco, perhaps? I did hear tell of such a ploy."

"We both have our pieces in play," Voldemort returned cryptically.

"But you have painted yours in fifty shades of grey, Tom. I could pick them off one by one, if I so choose."

"We both know you will not," said Voldemort. "You will allow the death of one student a year in the course of your plan, not dozens. That is where you and I differ…had I conjured such a fine and Dark renewal spell, I would have allowed for multiple sacrifices. I'd never age."

"With age comes wisdom, Tom," Dumbledore replied. "You are a mere youngster in comparison to me."

"And yet you still look to me to perfect your experiments," Voldemort laughed, a hollow bark if there ever was one. "So…my Horcrux. You have it?"

"I do," Dumbledore confirmed.

"And yet you have not destroyed it?"

"I learned a dire lesson with the Ring," said Dumbledore, holding up his hand. "I am not known for repeating my mistakes. Lady Roth helped me remove Rowena's lost diadem from the Defence Professor's office, lifting your curse on the position in the process. Now I keep it near me. After all, I can only be cursed to death once. And, if I find a way to survive this year, I may need to utilise the diadem as a weapon. I am not without challengers, you see."

"Are you referring to Minerva or the Granger girl?"

"Both, I imagine," said Dumbledore.

"They side-stepped you with great art to protect Potter," Voldemort nodded. He sounded impressed. "That must have annoyed you no end. I am looking forward to pitting my intellect against theirs when the time comes. It will be a battle worthy of song."

"You are a fool, Tom, to stand against Miss Granger while Harry has any say in the matter," said Dumbledore. "Threaten her, and by the time Harry finishes with you there won't be enough left for all your Horcruxes to revive."

"Oh, I have no interest in Potter," Voldemort spat acidly. "Not now I have heard the Prophecy."

Dumbledore looked genuinely impressed. "You have heard the Prophecy? Pray tell me, how did you manage that, with the record destroyed?"

"My Death Eaters may be cumbersome, but not all are stupid," said Voldemort. "Antonin has a vivid memory for faces…and the one which swirled from that smashed globe was hardly easy to forget."

"Ahh…so you went straight to the source?"

Voldemort sneered. "Even fraudulent Divination teachers sometimes frequent the living world. You should have put a better security detail on her, during her trips to the Hogs Head, Albus. You never know who may be waiting."

Dumbledore closed his eyes in angry reticence. "Bellatrix, I assume? Decimating minds does seem to be her particular tipple of sadism."

"She makes it a form of art," Voldemort hissed in reply. "In any case, Trelawney is such a mental case that it would be hard to tell the difference. Perhaps her invented predictions will seem more realistic now her mind has been, shall we say…opened."

Dumbledore breathed back his fury once again. "And yet she predicted the demise of the Dark Lord at the hands of my protege."

"And just when do you intend to tell him the Dark Lord Trelawney mentioned is you?"

"We, neither of us, can be sure of that identity," Dumbledore sighed.

"Then you see the correlation? You accept that it is more likely to be you than me?" Voldemort pushed. "Prophecy spans time, Albus. Or should I call you, Dark Lord Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes, avoiding the answer. But that was answer enough.

"I shed that moniker when I defeated my old friend Gellert," said Dumbledore simply. "And that was a long time ago. I assume it is from him that you get all this detail on my past?"

"Naturally. After so many years in isolation, he makes quite the chatty open prisoner. I'm not entirely sure that Lucius is happy playing host to him, but that is a small price to pay for all this information on your dubious past together.

"And it is a past you cannot erase, Albus, no matter how much you may wish to. History never forgets, you know. But I am warmed to see that you are still stringing Potter along. My, my…there's such an eloquence to your evil. At least I make no secret of my intent."

"A weakness we have exploited once before, and no doubt will again."

"Ah, but I am nothing if not a study in my own flaws," said Voldemort, smoothly. "I have seen my weaknesses in full light. I now must attend to them. Which is why you will give me my diadem at the end of this little tete-a-tete."

"And what makes you so assured of that?" asked Dumbledore.

"Simple," Voldemort replied. "If I can rebuild my soul, it will show you the way to rebuild yours."

Dumbledore considered Voldemort a moment. "You seek to put your pieces back together, as it were?"

"Of course," said Voldemort. "Splitting was effective, but short-sighted. Two parts have already been destroyed. My protections were not enough. But if the magic of cohesion proves as empowering as I've been told, then perhaps the end will justify the means. The advances in the field offer such promise.

"Assist me, Albus, let me carry on the study…as you did fifty years ago. Let me finish what you and Gellert started."

"And I am simply to believe you will share this with me, should you prove successful?"

"You were my mentor, Albus, I do not want you as my enemy," said Voldemort. "Aid me…give me back the diadem. In return, I will allow the continued autonomy of Hogwarts. I will spare it from the changes I am making to magical Britain…so much as can be expected. And when my takeover is complete, you shall have the role of shaping the next generation for the New Order. Save your precious children, Albus. Then I will share with you the power of soul-cohesion when I achieve it. And I shall."

"Not without the work of Lily Potter," said Dumbledore. "Not without her own Cell. And Harry will not stand aside and give it up without a fight."

"And, just like that, we are back to Potter again," said Voldemort in a weary sort of drawl. "He is your pet project, Albus, it is your responsibility to pull his strings to get him in line. I have no time for a boy with mediocre talent who flourishes on the efforts of others. Even if it turns out I have been mistaken in my interpretation of the Prophecy, I will have nothing to fear from Potter once I am whole again. His little bit of hocus pocus at the Ministry last year was unexpected…I shall not be caught cold by it again."

"You couldn't stand his possession of you," Dumbledore queried. "I saw the pain it caused you."

"And how did you explain that to him?" asked Voldemort. "No, let me guess…you said he loved me to such agony?"

Dumbledore stayed silent. Voldemort had his answer…and it brought a genuine, piercing laugh from him. It even made Fawkes squawk, in resistance to its cutting tone.

"And he believed you? Oh my, this is priceless!" laughed Voldemort. "Let me get this clear in my mind…the boy, who many consider to be my fated destroyer, is counting on loving me to death! I am undone, Albus, truly. What will be his weapon of choice? Sunbeams? Rainbows? The music of the Carpenters?"

"Harry possesses a power you know not," said Dumbledore. "And if he weaponises it, he will defeat you."

"He may defeat this body, but we both know I cannot be killed," said Voldemort. He pinned his slit-eyes firmly on Dumbledore. "But if Potter does somehow achieve that outcome, you will also die. And all you have been striving for, for the best part of a century, will fade to ash. Can you roam eternity carrying such a burden, such guilt?"

"I intend to leave this world as whole as I entered it," said Dumbledore. "And I will have righted my wrongs when that day comes."

"Then you need to stay alive long enough to carry out this great feat," said Voldemort. "And without me…that cannot happen."

"Nor can it take place anywhere but in Lily Potter's Alchemists Cell."

"Then I leave it you to locate it," said Voldemort. "We need each other, Dumbledore. You know the truth as well as I. We cannot predict the future…we can only make decisions in the now. I await yours."

Dumbledore took a heaving breath, then slowly nodded. "Very well. I accept your proposal. But you will allow me to remove the endangered children from the school. I have heard of these 'Kedavra Chambers' you are constructing at that camp near Offa's Dyke. Not one of them will enter it, so long as I have breath in my lungs."

"I shall concede that to you. In any case, I intend to allow all filthy-blooded abominations of magic to leave Britain, should they choose to. I may retain some healthy ones, we need a labour force after all, but the rest can go. You have one month to purge the school. My Grey Robes will return here to examine your progress on that date. They will be under instruction to remove any Mudbloods who remain."

"One month," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Now go. And tell your Death Eaters to remove the surveillance devices they have planted around the school. I will not have your delinquents and perverts spying on my children. And if I trace any back to them, the cost to that wizard will be severe."

"As you wish. Good-day, Dumbledore."

And with that, he turned on his heel and slithered away.


On the other side of the school, Hermione was casting a series of Reparo spells. For in his anger, Harry's magic had erupted from him like a sort of whirlwind, shattering the desk lamp, both their coffee mugs, and a perfect working model of the Milky Way, that Hermione used in her Astronomy lessons. She had also had to twice cast Colloportus on the Communal Area door, for Harry's heaving magic had decimated the first one.

He was simply that enraged.

Now he was sat on one of the couches, trapped behind a Shield Charm that Neville and Enola had had to conjure between them. His magic continued to spike out of him at random moments, fizzing into the Shield like an electric discharge.

"How is this happening?" Enola shouted, as the Shield shimmered again under Harry's expulsions. "How is his energy just shooting out like that?"

"I've not quite worked that out," said Hermione. "He always was susceptible to bouts of accidental magic, but since he first started testing out runes and ritual his magic has been doing this."

"And what is this?" asked Neville. "What's happening?"

Hermione frowned at Harry as she considered him. "His magic is no longer just an internal force…it's now developing a form of external expression."

"I do ritual," Enola scowled. "My magic doesn't act out like this."

"Yes, well, Harry is so much more powerful than you that it's comical, love," Hermione snapped.

"Hey, that was uncalled for," said Enola. "I was just saying."

"I know…I'm sorry," Hermione grimaced.

"Don't take it personal, En," Neville grinned. "Harry's just not doing as he's told. And Hermione gets cross when Harry acts all independent!"

"Shut up, Neville," Hermione growled. "Look, I'm going to open the door and take over the Shield Charm from you. Then just…go away. Leave him with me."

"Hermione, that's a bit risky, don't you think?" Neville protested. "Harry's wild, in case you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, love, he could hurt you," Enola added.

Hermione scoffed at her. "Harry would never hurt me. Just leave me to it. I'll calm him down."

Neville looked at Enola, she mirrored his doubtful expression, but then they just shrugged in agreement. Hermione raised her wand, gave a jaunty little shift as her magic connected to the field around Harry, then gestured with her head for the others to leave. Only once the door had closed firmly, did she lower her wand, the little charade over.

For this was no Shield Charm encircling Harry. He had obliterated Neville and Enola's combined spell as soon as they cast it. No, this was Harry's own field of magic, manifest from his incandescent rage. It was able to repel any stimulus, both from within and without. Hermione had no idea how he'd conjured it, but she felt reasonably sure of its purpose.

For Harry was now a dangerous force…in particular, a danger to her. And some part of him had reacted to protect her from this wild, untamed side of his magic.

Hermione was sure Harry was as confused about this as she was. More than that, he was probably scared of it. She could see that in his expression. He looked lost, as though the collapse of his magical failsafes had left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He didn't know what he had done, or how to reverse it. If it had been to keep Hermione safe, it had done it's job.

But now, it was a case of what to do next. And Hermione could think of only one solution

Though she was totally frigid in the face of it. For all the books she'd come across about such things advised expressly against what she was planning to do. It was borderline forbidden. Admittedly, the tomes only numbered in single figures, but all had carried the same central message, despite whatever else they might have focused on later.

Do NOT enter a field of magic, or ritual space, of another witch or wizard.

The books differed in their detail on this. Some ranged from the mildest of shocks to outright maiming, others compared it to being flayed from the inside out. Some spoke of rapid mental degradation that would render a person insane, or an overload of energy that would cause every organ to fail, in alphabetical order. Part of Hermione was curious to see if that would actually happen. But the most dire warning was the one most terrifying to her now.

"The spirit of the wizard, who's space is invaded, will feel so violated at the intrusion into something so deeply personal, on a sub-emotional level, that he will never be able to trust the invading person ever again. The repulsion will be so intense, that even sharing the same close space will be so abhorrent as to be rendered impossible to endure."

Hermione had the passage burned into her retinas. She had memorised it after that afternoon back in the Summer, when she'd happened upon Harry experimenting with her rune stones. She'd been a fraction away from that field of energy he'd created then, and so tempted to cross into it that it was almost as if she'd been drawn by a sort of magnetic force. The very notion of what it might feel like had sent her mind spinning into wild spirals. It was like a kaleidoscope of emotion on the edge of her sense, and Hermione - ever the great academian - had thrown herself into research about it.

And immediately thanked Merlin that she'd shown restraint.

For if any of that were partially true then she'd had a narrow escape. But there was a problem…for Hermione's rational mind couldn't equate what the books told her would happen, and the things she felt being so close to it last time. The same things she was feeling now. It didn't marry up. Harry's energy didn't feel dangerous or brutal. Indeed, there was was something gentle, even needy about it. And, as Hermione reasoned, if this field was thrown up to protect her, it didn't make sense that it would harm her.

Which just left the other side of things…the metaphysical issue. Now Hermione would normally have cast that off as woolly tosh. It was unreliable nonsense, on a par with Divination. But, if the last year had proven anything, it was that there was actually something to that elusive side of magic, even if it was so transient as to be made utterly frustrating for study.

For weren't they now planning Harry's immediate future around a Prophecy? Hadn't their fraud of a Divination teacher actually set in motion the great events that had characterised Harry's entire life? Hermione couldn't deny any of that, no matter how powerfully her logical sensibilities wanted to rebel against it. It opened up a horrible can of wriggly, nonsensical worms…and a world where palmistry and crystal balls and tea leaves could hold their own alongside Potion ingredients and every spell book ever written.

And it made Hermione Granger bitter in a very ugly sort of way.

For she had no control over such things. If Fate handed her a bad hand, she just had to bitch about it and deal with it as best she could. It was just one of those things. As it was, things weren't so bad. She wasn't in a position to really complain too much. Harry would always come with drama, but Hermione was wildly happy to put up with that. To be so close to him made all his baggage worth it a million times over.

But she had baggage of her own, and maybe it was this, as much as anything, that was holding her back. For this way a two-way thing. If she crossed into Harry's energetic field, into his emotion made flesh, she would be touching a part of him that went so deep he might not forgive her for the penetration. But she was opening herself to the same exposure, and that was literally terrifying.

And ordinarily she would have believed the whole thing was utter rubbish. People didn't have actual wells of energy inside, love wasn't a pool that you could jump into and swim about in. She loved Harry, more powerfully than anything she could conceive, but she didn't genuinely believe it could manifest in such an obvious manner.

But here was Harry's…doing exactly that…right before her eyes.

And she had no idea what to make of it. All she knew was that she couldn't deny it, and that it was very, very real. And not only that, it was appealing. It might as well have been calling to her. Now what in the hell did that mean? She and Harry were in love, she was in no doubt of that. But did that love reach out from them both, and meet somewhere in the middle?

Hermione knew it was love, even if she hadn't said it yet. She knew it in the way he looked at her, the way he held her, and the ways her body and mind responded when he was near. They both refused to bow to her usual commands. It was the subtle way her pulse sped and her temperature rose, the way those knots and butterflies coiled and writhed in her belly, the way her mind checked out when Harry's lips met her own…

And was the cause of it inches away now, just begging her to drown in it?

The temptation was growing more pronounced now. It was overpowering. Hermione had edged closer on instinct and the magnetic pull felt like a heat on her flushed cheeks. She couldn't explain why she was flushed, but she imagined that every inch of her skin was blushing scarlet. That's just how it was. And what else was she supposed to do?

The only person who might have been able to help was Dumbledore, but after what they had just witnessed on the Marauder's Map, this torrent of Harry's emotional force was liable to become a terrible weapon if the Headmaster came within twelve feet of him. Hermione was as certain of that as she was that this same, unstoppable behemoth wouldn't so much as scratch her.

So, she took a steadying breath, counted on her courage and her steely conviction in their shared affection, and eased herself forwards.

And she immediately leapt back, right across the room in fact, propelled by the potency of Harry's energy.

"Oh…wow."

They were they only words Hermione remembered from the English Language just then. She had fallen back into the other couch in the room and just stared at Harry a moment, trying to catch her breath in rapid, shallow snatches. He hadn't moved. It was like he was in a trance, utterly unaware of the outside world. Hermione sucked in an astonished gasp at that. Could it be that Harry's very perception, coloured by his spirit and emotion, was actually a part of that swirling vortex enveloping him?

Hermione rather thought it might be. And the understanding rocked her to her haunches. For it wasn't just emotion in that field…it was everything Harry. The force that made Hermione tremble and flutter when he was near, on her own internal planes, was that thing now orbiting her boyfriend. And it's power took her breath away.

For she knew, without doubt, that it was charged for her. It was akin to feeling that everything Harry felt, that he thought, that he hoped and dreamed for, was centered around her. He had never told her that! That his emotion for her was this intense, this intoxicating! She would have to tell him off severely for depriving her of knowing that.

But the thought heated Hermione like a furnace. For if all that was about her, then it also belonged to her, to defend and protect. She had never felt so covetously possessive of anything in her life. She was its Mistress…and it would bow to her will.

"Right then, Harry," Hermione said briskly, standing and pulling back her sleeves. "Let's try this again."

She strode forward purposefully until she was looking Harry right in the eyes. He was in there somewhere, connected to the swirling mass enough to know that Hermione was there before him. She took a deep breath, as it seemed the right thing to do, then she relaxed every sinew of her being she could reach. She dropped any idea of caution, threw off the niggle of doubt that her self-consciousness clung to, then pushed forward into Harry's energy field again.

And for three seconds Hermione was swimming in a sea of bliss. Pure, euphoric, mindless bliss.

For Harry's essence enveloped her. It crept in through her pores and kissed warm and sensual against her skin. She shivered and tingled and felt something leave her own body. It snaked away like the shy tendrils of a plant, seemingly seeking out the compliment connection coming from Harry. For she was utterly certain that there was a mirror-opposite reaching out for her. And they almost, almost touched. But just then Hermione's outstretched hands reached Harry's cheek, and as she touched his cool skin, his energy shot back into him with a deafening rush of air.

And Harry snatched Hermione to him, the snap of his arms around her was almost desperate. Then he was whimpering, whispering to her rapidly, his hot breath a torrent against her cheek.

"Sorry…I'm so sorry…I just lost it…couldn't control…if I'd hurt you…"

"Sssh, sssh now," Hermione soothed, her hands rubbing soft circles on Harry's back. His grip on her was making it hard to get a full lung of air, but this was how he needed it, so Hermione had no intention of telling him to ease up. "You didn't hurt me. I'm alright."

"But I could have!" Harry moaned. "I didn't mean to. What's happening to me, Hermione?"

"Does it hurt?" Hermione asked, her voice laden with concern. She hadn't considered that this might have physical effects on Harry. It seemed a stupid oversight for her to have missed.

"No, but I'm cold…really cold," said Harry.

And he wasn't lying. Hermione ran the back her her palm over Harry's cheek. He was freezing, his skin like frost to the touch. He was shivering violently, the little goosebumps under Hermione's hand felt almost as if they were vibrating.

"W-what's happening to me?" Harry repeated, looking up at Hermione with wide, questioning eyes.

"I don't know…" Hermione hushed. She slid closer to Harry on the couch, raiding her mind for some sort of solution. She ran her hand through his hair, and was shocked to find it soaked in sweat. Harry never took his child-like eyes from her.

"Can you make it stop? I'm frightened."

Harry's voice was infinitesimally small. But that wasn't the worst part. For him to admit his fear aloud…that was so unlike Harry. It was a mark of just how keenly he felt this, how serious it was. Hermione felt her heart break as she marked the depth of Harry's blinding worry in every rise and fall of his chest.

And he wouldn't stop shaking. Hermione continued to rub his back but nothing she did seemed to work.

"Harry, do you need me to get someone?" she asked, biting her lip. She looked to the window where a crescent moon was peeking through drifting clouds. "Madam Pomfrey should still be up. McGonagall too. It isn't that late and you look very pale."

"No, I…I'm just tired. I don't need anyone else. Please…don't go."

Hermione's heart bled a little more at Harry's plea, as he held her that little bit closer still. She was practically sat in his lap by this point. His breathing seemed to be levelling out though, the closer he could draw her to him. His hold on her was still needy, but not quite the death grip it had been before. But he did look burnt out, exhausted even. The expulsion of his magical force seemed to have wiped him of his energy.

"Perhaps we should get you to bed, get you some rest," Hermione suggested. "Can you make it up the stairs?"

"No!" Harry blurted out imploringly. "Please…stay with me…I-I don't want to be by myself."

And in that moment, Hermione made a decision. The rules be damned, she wasn't going to stand for them. Not where Harry's well-being was concerned.

All thoughts of Dumbledore and Voldemort forgotten, Hermione stood up, easing Harry's arms from around her waist. He was still shivering rather badly. He pulled her back, refusing to give up easily.

"Please…don't leave," Harry begged.

"I'll be right back," Hermione hushed, and she forced herself away from him.

Harry looked back, a bruised and hurt expression welling in his eyes. Was this the betrayal the books meant? Harry looked traumatised, lost. Hermione knew she had to hurry, before that damage became irreversible. She raced up to her dorm, snatched her quilt and pillows and bolted back to the Communal Area.

And what she saw brought a shocking sob to her throat.

For Harry had curled up on the couch, his knees tucked tight into his chest as though he were trying to fold into himself. Crookshanks had leapt up into the arc of Harry's body and was alternately sniffing his face and pawing at his folded arms, trying to get access. The kneazle looked up and locked eyes with Hermione, throwing her an expression which clearly commanded, "Do something about this!".

Hermione choked back another whimper, then hurried across the room. She flicked a locking spell at the door, tossed her wand…somewhere…then gently eased a pillow under Harry's head. Crookshanks jumped onto the armrest of the couch to oversee proceedings, just as Hermione began gently coaxing Harry's arms and legs into a more comfortable and stretched out position.

Harry didn't seem to notice at first, but then Hermione softly pulled the quilt over him, and slipped out of her school skirt and shoes. Her black Gryffindor day robe came to just above the knee, so it would do a passable impression of a nightie for now. Hermione felt brazen about having so much flesh on show below the hem, but Harry's need was great and this was no time to be modest.

So she folded back the quilt, gave another middle-finger salute to the rules, and slipped in to make a warm cocoon with Harry right there on the couch.

"What…what are you doing?" he mumbled, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"I'm staying," she breathed, her tone gossamer-soft. She reached over and pulled him tight. "You need me…and I'm not going anywhere."

Harry couldn't speak. Hermione heard an attempt at words catch somewhere in his throat, but he settled on snaking his arms around her and burrowing his face into her hair. Hermione snuggled down and…what was that word Neville liked…cwtched Harry back. Whatever was going on with Dumbledore and Voldemort, and the rest of the Merlin-damned insanity of the world, it could all just wait.

For tonight, Harry needed to be soothed…and Hermione was the only witch for the job.