Chapter 39: Wherein Hermione does not panic.

Summary: She's totally calm. Go ahead. Ask her. TOTALLY CALM, DAMMIT.

"No. We're going. It will help."

"I don't want to go out there, Harry," came the terse voice of his sister, the same tone she adopted when she was determined to get her way, even though she was wrong.

He opened her wardrobe and sifted through piles of things on the shelves, muttering to himself. Jeans, lord the woman had a lot of jeans. He grabbed the top one out and tossed it over his shoulder in her general direction. He grabbed the first long sleeved shirt on the pile and tossed it over his shoulder as well. Then a sweater he didn't think he'd ever seen her wear. He grabbed a pair of socks at random and tossed it, unseeing.

"That was my head," came a flat, unamused voice from behind him.

"I have excellent aim, then," Harry said. "I hope you're getting dressed at this point."

"What's the point?" she asked, her voice on the edge of hysteria.

"You need to get out of this castle and go do nothing. Eat funnel cake. Go to the circus. Pet kneazle kittens. That play about Arthur and Morgana is on today at ten, so that, maybe. I don't know, something. Get out of your head. So that's what we're going to do."

"I don't want to be recognized. I just… I just can't deal with it today," she said, her voice small and different from the fake calm of before.

"Are you decent? Can I turn around?"

A pathetic non-verbal noise of affirmation crawled across the room.

Harry turned around and walked over to Hermione, pulling her into a hug. Clothes littered the floor at her feet and she was still in her bathrobe.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked into her hair, which she hadn't done anything with yet.

"Yes. It's easier to sleep with Viktor. And he gave me a massage. That always helps."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, rubbing her back, thinking briefly to the time last summer before he and Ginny eloped. Sleeping was… bad. And sort of useless. "So, look. I really think it will help you to get out of your pajamas, and out of your head, and out of the castle, and there's a whole host of stuff going on out in the meadow that is actually designed to be diverting. So let's just go be one of the crowd. We'll take precautions. It'll only be an hour or so, unless you want to stay longer, until lunch."

Her sigh was big, and with it Harry knew he'd won.

"You promise you won't leave me?" she asked in that same small voice that broke his heart.

"I'll even go into the porta-lav with you, if you want."

She snorted laughter into his shoulder, and then the laughs got louder and he couldn't help giggling a bit himself. He was imagining squeezing into the space, trying to turn around, getting kneed, and all with a running commentary on the state of the bathroom. Hopefully, with magic, it would be cleaner and nicer than the muggle equivalent, but who knew?

"Okay," she said, straightening up and wiping her eyes. "Go get your jacket and things while I get dressed. And don't forget to bring some cash. You're buying me disgustingly sugary magical festival food, Mr. Potter."

He grinned at her and kissed her nose. "Absolutely."

Harry left the room and trotted up the second staircase to the suite directly over Hermione and Viktor's which had been permanently given to him and Ginny. They had been sternly directed to decorate or redecorate it in whichever way they liked - it would be theirs and only theirs whenever they were in residence, and even when they weren't. The first thing they did was create a second writing desk in the sitting room, and some bookshelves, but after the mass transfiguration of hard ancient furniture into more modern and comfortable furniture, there wasn't much more the space needed, really.

Harry ducked into his dressing room and grabbed his coat and the hat, scarf, and mittens Hermione had knitted for him two years ago, his VIP tags which he looped around his neck, and affixed the little belt bag Ginny had made him for Christmas - shockingly useful, that, but that was Ginny all over and twice on Sunday - and double checked that he had, in fact, put his money in there. He put the hat and scarf on, shoved the mittens in his belt bag for now, and tossed his coat over his shoulder before scooting out of his room and running down the stairs to the first floor.

Somewhere in all of this, Harry realized that he felt perfectly light and perfectly calm and perfectly safe. And this, even without Saucepot to calm him down and call him a berk for over thinking things. A small part of him was warning him it wouldn't last. But the rest of him just grinned and knocked twice before entering Hermione's suite and calling out, "It's just me," so she wouldn't be nervous.

After all, he'd just had the most peaceful, the most calm, the most fun, and the most relaxing week of his entire life. Sure, there had been some tears. Some of them were totally unstoppable, which was always a bit annoying. But the house party had been just... so wonderful. And William was teaching him to swim every day and after eight days he was actually showing real improvement, William said, and his front crawl was pretty good. And Viktor and Sofia had helped him to pick out a cello, and Sofia was giving him lessons, just like she had taught Viktor, and sure, the sounds he made now with bow-on-strings were pretty awful, but he was doing it. He was making music. Or he might be, sometime in the distant future.

He'd attended church again, this time on a Sunday morning and just by himself, and though there was no concert beforehand, and there was no string quartet either, there was still a choir and it was beautiful. And it wasn't so packed, but still when everyone sang and Harry joined in somewhere in the middle of the second verse… something clicked inside of him. He couldn't imagine he'd ever be any kind of holy roller like he'd seen on telly, but he knew he'd go back next Sunday, as well.

"Oi!" he called out, waiting in the main bedroom area for Hermione to finish in the dressing room, the door of which was pulled to, but not shut completely. "How long does it take to put on a pair of jeans?" he called out, grinning.

"I'll have you know," he heard her say in a somewhat strangled voice, as if she was wrestling a baby hippo or something, "the beautiful boots you gave me take some doing to get on."

"Are your feet swollen?" he called back.

"You can shut the hell up, Harry Potter. My feet are perfectly fine," she called back, still clearly wrestling a baby hippo into place.

"I'm just saying, that's a thing with women. I'm learning this. Swollen feet. You have my sympathy."

"You're going to be impossible when Ginny finally gets pregnant, aren't you?" she called out, and halfway through her statement she clearly triumphed over the baby hippo and her voice was smooth and confident again.

"Yup. I don't want to upset her by starting that reading now, but I know exactly which books I want to get. Muggle and magical. Best of both worlds, you know?"

Hermione came out grinning, which was one of his goals for the morning. "We are siblings. I expect you to share your reading list when the time comes for me."

Harry grinned in response. "Of course. Now, do you have your tags?" he asked, pulling his out and dangling them at her.

"Oh! Right! Right…" she ducked back in the dressing room and came back out with them in her hands. With a look of concentration on her face, she slowly put the lanyard over her neck and then shivered and continued to concentrate. Harry knew it was part of the defensive spells that were on her second tag and no one else's. Everyone else had their name and pertinent details like where they were sitting for the coronation on the second tag. Hermione's just had listed out her name and titles, but there were several strong spells on it for location, protection, and alarm, and the alarm spells were particularly keyed to anyone putting it on in an unauthorized manner, or taking it off in an unauthorized manner, and she would wear it whenever she left the security of the Enclosure, if only for safety. Only Hermione and the Head Auror knew exactly what Hermione needed to do to take the lanyard on and off safely without tripping any of the alarms, and it was better that way.

Before she put her coat on, he stopped her.

"You'll be less recognizable if you braid your hair. Just something quick. It doesn't have to be fancy, and you'll have your hat on, anyway."

"Right, right…" she said again, ducking back into the dressing room and coming back two moments later, pulling her hat on.

"Got everything? Wand? Locket?"

She nodded and they headed for the door of the suite.

"What's Viktor up to this morning?"

"He's blowing off some steam in the woods with Papa and Cousin Gregor, hunting redcaps and other minor menaces. On foot, because apparently it's more fun that way."

Harry privately thought it sounded pretty cool, actually, but he was happy to be spending the morning with Hermione, and to be honest… well, he'd never really gone to a festival before. The World Cup almost counted, except it was all ruined before he could enjoy much more than the quidditch match - which was brilliant, utterly brilliant, mind - and he'd only come on the last day, thus missing the two week long festival that was the entire World Cup.

Well, maybe he'd be able to catch one again, and this time the whole thing.

Really, Harry had never been to a circus. Or a play. Or a concert, though the last two Yule Balls did have rather good bands the Heads had brought in. He was on duty today, but not tomorrow or the final day, but still he wouldn't mind seeing a bit today, if he could.

They came down the stairs and said hello to a few people in passing, but were largely left alone and when they left The Curtain, they pulled on their scarves and coats, though it wasn't too bad yet. The weather was crisp and bracing, but the sun was out and there was not a cloud in the sky. It would be an excellent day for flying, and in fact yesterday had been, too, and Bill and Gregor and Harry had thrown the quaffle around a bit while Ginny was on goal and Viktor had taken his inlaws up on Hermione's broom, flying them over the half-game and probably providing very amusing commentary, knowing Viktor.

Harry was definitely seeing the benefits of a large family and a country estate.

"Around or through?" he asked her, looking at Concordia, the Displaced Roman Atrocity. It really was a bit garish, he thought yet again. Nice swimming pools, though.

"Erm, around, I think."

They walked around the structure and yet again Harry's eyes fell on all the smaller empty outbuildings. Of course they were all bigger on the inside, and so most of them looked like nothing more than a row of little tool sheds with very large doors. The stable was massive and desolately empty. It could hold fifty horses. The four barns were gigantic and god only knew how many chickens and pigs and sheep and cows they could all hold, but certainly a lot probably covered it. Empty. All empty. Clean swept, silent, with no scent. He remembered the first time, when he'd been shadowing Mory, back when Mory was still Head of the Middens. Mory had been so kind, ordering and organizing the elves under his care, but explaining how composting worked to Harry, who had never heard of it before.

It was all so fascinating, really. Such a beautifully organized system, when it had enough of all the right moving parts, only some of which were elves.

Hermione's arm looped through his as they came around the front of Concordia to a field of purple chairs.

"Oh, God," she muttered.

Of course the ministry would think that the folding chairs needed to be purple.

"Oh, God," she said again, this time in a slightly more panicked tone.

"Breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. This is not something to worry about. You've faced a dragon. Hermione, you rode a dragon. This is nothing."

"This is nothing," she whispered to herself as they walked along the side of the giant mass of chairs streaming out from within The Enclosure and onto The Lawn. "I have faced Bellatrix with no wand. This is nothing. This is nothing. I have faced Bellatrix with no wand. This is nothing."

She kept muttering to herself and Harry thought about what he might do if people started recognizing them. His scar was hidden by his hat, and he'd been thinking, though it was a bit late for it now, about looking into a different pair of glasses, maybe something a little more modern, or maybe something that proclaimed him as Librarian first, Harry Potter second.

Well, he had his Invisibility Cloak in his belt pouch. There was always that. If it got ugly he could always call a house elf to come take them back. But both options were rather extreme. Of course, he could try to appeal to people's better natures to just let them alone, but Harry couldn't really see that working. He was sure people, in general, had better natures. He just wasn't well conversant in them.

Or he could just wing it.

Plan firmly decided upon, Harry made his way to a booth which had a sign that could be read from a quarter mile away. 'DEEP FRIED EVERYTHING'. It sounded just the place to start at 8:30 in the morning. Coming closer he saw other fabulously intriguing signs. 'SAUSAGE-INNA-BUN' 'JACKET POTATOES' 'STEAK-ONNA-STAKE' 'ICE CREAMS' It was five degrees out, but of course there was ice cream.

There were a surprising number of people in the queues at half-nine, and perhaps the longest queues were for the ice cream kiosk, the tea kiosks, and the deep fried everything kiosk. Harry and Hermione stood quietly at the back of the line until the person in front of them casually looked behind them, gave them a friendly smile, had a moment of obvious recognition in which eyes widened and mouth gaped, and then ushered them ahead of them in line in such a manner that there was really no saying no. Which caught the attention of the person ahead of them.

Same thing happened.

And the couple ahead of them.

Same thing happened.

They had made their way, in the course of twenty seconds, halfway up the line until they stood behind some fifth-year Gryffindors Harry was vaguely aware of.

"Whotcha, Harry. Morning, Your Majesty. Right, yeah, I suppose you ought to go on ahead, then."

Harry blinked, said thank you and as the process continued, he wondered if the new Head of Gryffindor, Madam Tigris, who was also the new Professor for Care of Magical Creatures, had sat down everyone in the house and told them quite strictly how to address Hermione, because the 'Your Majesty' stuff from the fifth years?

That was new.

"Know what you want?" Harry asked Hermione quietly as they waited on the person who was getting served just ahead of them.

"Good grief. They really do fry anything. Pizza? Deep fried Pizza?"

"That what you want?" Harry asked, thinking he might get it, too.

"Ugh, no. I'll take some fried dough, please. With cinnamon and sugar on top."

"You rebel," Harry deadpanned.

"Yes, well. I do what I can."

The person behind the counter shouted, "Next!" and Harry gave her their order. "Yep, that'll be," but then she trailed off, because she had looked up. "Uh…"

Harry just grinned. "How much?" he prompted.

"Uh, it's on the house. Enjoy."

"Thank you," Harry and Hermione chorused and shifted over to let the next person in line order, as they waited for things to be fried.

"So, you want a bite of my pizza?" Harry asked. Not that he had it yet, but he felt that perhaps it would be a good thing to keep Hermione talking about ridiculous things, like deep fried dinner menu items, rather than letting her dwell on the fact that all the people around her knew she was there.

Hermione seemed to think about it for a second. "May as well. Thanks. You can have some of my fried dough."

Harry grinned at her. "Cheers," he said in thanks.

Their order was called and the fried things duly handed over. As they walked away, Hermione immediately tore off a bit and offered it up.

"Here. Eat this and enjoy it before your palate is utterly ruined," she said and when he opened his mouth, she popped it in.

Harry closed his mouth around the hot, sweet, fried bit of nothing and groaned. It all just melted in his mouth and it was stunningly delicious. Once he finished with it, he spoke. "Oh, wow." One more thing he hadn't even realized he'd missed out on, living with the Dursleys. He'd need to start making a list.

Church.

Libraries.

Festivals.

Really good Indian food.

Really good Thai food.

Live music.

Circuses.

Learning to swim.

Decorating a Christmas tree.

Travelling.

Ginny was talking about taking a honeymoon after graduation, maybe going somewhere neither of them had been before, and Harry was totally stoked. They'd made a very long list of places that interested them with the intention of crossing some off, but so far everything was just so interesting that they never got around to crossing anything off, at all. They only bought more travel guides, both muggle and magical, for they were both determined to see the best of both worlds.

Every country in Europe was on their list. As was Iceland, Russia, China, Japan, Cambodia, Singapore, New Zealand, and Australia. Egypt wasn't, at first, because Ginny had already been with her family. Neither was Romania, at first. But then Harry snuck them on anyway and Ginny only grinned at him when she saw. But also Tanzania, Madagascar, Kenya, and South Africa. Brazil, Canada, Mexico, the US, Costa Rica, Argentina, Peru, and the Carribean.

Suffice to say they hadn't yet decided on a single place to go when there were so many options.

Hermione was nudging them closer to the circus and Harry was all for it. It was the French circus today, he remembered. Narcissa had been telling him that the magical community in France was known for having some really great circuses and Harry was excited to see what it involved.

He kind of hoped there would be acrobats, like the graceful ones he'd seen in adverts for Cirque du Soleil.

Now that would be something for the bucket list. To actually see Cirque du Soleil. Harry wondered if he should actually start making a bucket list. Or if, perhaps, with the travel locations, he'd already begun.

He snapped out of it and offered the first bite of his deep fried pizza to Hermione, who took it. He waited as she ate it.

"Well?" he asked.

"Not nearly as bad as I'd feared," she admitted.

"A glowing recommendation," he sagely agreed.

He ate his pizza in silence - and damn it was good. Deep frying a slice of pizza - who knew? When he finished up he wiped his fingers on the serviette and stuffed it in a pocket. "So, what's your favorite part of a circus?" he asked.

"The clowns," Hermione answered quickly.

Thoughts of an American horror novelist floated through his head. He'd seen adverts for that movie, too, though he was hardly interested in introducing more horror into his life. "Really," he said, and it wasn't quite a question.

"I love that they never take themselves seriously," Hermione said with a rueful grin. "I suppose I admire that about them. They stumble and bumble and act silly, but really you can tell there's so much preparation and strength and coordination that goes into looking like that. But as prepared as they are, as seriously as they might take their job, they obviously don't take themselves seriously."

"Huh," Harry said, determined to look at clowns, should there be any, in a new light. Still, the adverts for the Stephen King version of clowns had been… bloody gruesome.

"What about you? Have you been to a circus before?" She squeezed his arm against herself and there was something in her tone, but Harry didn't think it was pity. It was more like… compassion.

"Nope," he said, unashamed. "But acrobats. I'm looking forward to the acrobats, if there are any," he said with confidence.

"It's not a circus without acrobats," Hermione said loftily. "We got me fried dough. Let's go get you some acrobats."

Harry laughed and was glad to see Hermione smiling back at him. It wasn't long before they were among the tents. There were huge marquees with the sort of bright and sometimes garishly offensive color patterns he'd come to expect in the magical world, but these patterns were slightly less garish - because the French just innately had more style? Possibly.

When Harry caught sight of a fortune teller's tent, he couldn't resist. "In the spirit of carnivals and circuses, I really think we should get our fortunes told."

Hermione glared at him. "Have you not had enough of prophesies? Really? I mean, really?"

Harry grinned. "Come on. It'll be a lark."

"Oh, fine," Hermione grumbled. "But if she tells us we're destined for boring lives with no romance I'll know she's a total fraud. Besides, she'll probably recognize the both of us."

Harry snorted. "I'm fine with a boring life. I really am. I'm totally ready for a boring life, Hermione. And Ginny's not all that romantic, really. So that'd be spot on for me."

Hermione's sigh was a highly expressive thing, halfway to a scoff, really.

They approached the smaller tent with a mixture of trepidation and determination. At the least, Harry thought, it should be good for getting Hermione's mind on other things.

They were welcomed in by a charming and quite tall French witch who wore none of the bangles and scarves reminiscent of one of the Romany Gypsies that had so characterized his time in Divination class, and Harry was personally quite intrigued.

The witch had sat them down, given them both a silent once over, and declared what she could offer them, just after Hermione had ground out, "No prophesies."

"Oui," the woman said, agreeing. "For you, today, I read your aura. I speak with your spirit animals. This says much about your present and something about your past. Whether or not it leads you to action in the future is entirely up to monsieur et madame."

"Mademoiselle," Hermione corrected and Harry had to put his hand on her knee and squeeze.

The fortune teller apologized and he could see the deep breath Hermione was taking to calm down. Things were quiet in the little tent and while the fortune teller had her eyes closed, possibly concentrating, possibly thinking of what to make up, Harry examined the room in which he found himself.

They sat at a little, low table, on small little stools. The room was largely empty, though much larger on the inside, of course. The room had a very formal feel to it, the top half of the walls kind of a light green, and the bottom half of the walls a light wood in a design he was sure had a name, though Harry had no idea what it could be. The ceiling wasn't flat, but had sort of sculpted designs on it, all centered around a chandelier that did not hold candles, but rather little spheres of yellow light. The floor was the sort of hardwood his aunt would have been in raptures over, though where they were was covered by a circular carpet with a fancy design on it.

There was the door to the outside, and another door besides. There was a small cabinet off to the side that was closed. There was a stack of other little stools, folded up, so that many more people could crowd in and sit down, if they wished. And behind the fortune teller there was a large window - not the sort one might find in a tent, but a large picture window one might find in a front sitting room. Except it wasn't the rest of the circus he saw, behind the fortune teller as she concentrated. It was the view from Gryffindor Tower. From his old dorm in Gryffindor Tower.

Harry hadn't realized until this moment, but it was really quite a lovely view of the Scottish Highlands. He calmed, relaxing into it, as he looked out the window at the soft colors of Scotland in the winter. Some snow, but not everywhere. Shades of brown and green and white, with the wispy blue of the sky.

It seemed like he sat there for a long time, staring at the view, getting calmer and calmer, but really, when the fortune teller spoke and Harry snapped out of it, he honestly had no idea how much time might have passed. It might have only been just a moment, really.

Her eyes narrowed, and her French accent was much thicker than Fleur's. "You carry guilt, possibly from actions in war, around war. This war all you young Britons fought in, instead of your elders. This is profound in your auras. It is very big. It is very big. It makes you unstable. Is not good. It is eating you alive, even now, like a cancer. But there are streaks of health in both of you. Moreso in mademoiselle. Mademoiselle has perhaps been doing more work than her monsieur to get rid of this guilt. And the bond between you is good. But you are not married, not to each other, nor… lovers… You are... brother-sister? You must lean on each other more, I think. But not just each other. Whatever other relationships you have. You must use them all to come back into balance. Now, is enough for auras, which are not so healthy. You work on that, yes? Now, I call to your spirit animals and we see what we see."

Harry held Hermione's hand as they sat on the little stools on the other side of a small table.

"Normal case, people have one, perhaps three spirit animals. Sometimes more, for special things. One is usually small. The others are… what they need to be. Small animal is your tender side, yes? For mademoiselle, it is… oh, what is word, la loutre."

"An otter," Hermione quietly supplied with a smile. "La loutre est the otter."

"Yes," the fortune teller agreed, with a smile. "Otter is water and land animal, which means you easily move between two worlds, and you need both to be happy. And monsieur's is... a snake. But snake is not bad. Snake means longevity and wisdom, but snake needs warmth, needs love, or you will not flourish. Now for monsieur…"

The fortune teller trailed off and Harry looked at her expectantly. This was turning out to be not exactly the lark he had in mind, but he was transfixed.

"Monsieur has a horse. Horse can mean freedom or captivity. This one has been broken for use… yes, it is, it is a warhorse. For use in battle, yes?"

Harry nodded blindly, thinking about her words. Thinking about captivity.

"This warhorse, it needs love. It is tired. You may not have this warhorse for long, monsieur. It may leave you and you may get the new animal, different animal in its place. Yes, perhaps… perhaps we do that now. Yes? You would like this, yes?"

Harry shrugged, his heart torn for some reason. "I suppose. If it needs to rest."

"Yes, It does. So, what we do is this. You must say the words, say them out loud. You must thank the warhorse for its protection and valor, for its faithful service, and you must tell it that you love it, and it deserves to go and rest now, and if it wishes to come back later when it is rested, it may do so."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to do as he was asked, but his voice broke and tears just started falling again and he couldn't keep them inside. Hermione got up and stood behind him, holding him from behind with her head next to his, silently as he choked the words out. And when he was finished, there was true silence in the tent as he tried so desperately to hold in the gasps and the tears.

"Breathe," Hermione whispered to him. "Deep breath."

He did so, and the tears flowed unabated. A cloth - a handkerchief? - wiped at his face and he grabbed it to blow his nose so he could breathe again through it, but of course it just clogged more firmly.

He didn't even know why he was crying, really. But it was so suddenly all just there and there was no trying to hide it. As he calmed, finally, Hermione sat on her little stool again and Harry sighed, slumping on his own small stool.

"Yes, now only two for you, monsieur," said the fortune teller, and somehow her voice seemed so kind. "But this will be more than enough, for I see your second is le oiseau phénix, the phoenix bird. Not uncommon to acquire this spirit animal in times of war. She may not be with you long, or she may linger, I do not know. This one… she likes you, yes. And she is still strong. The phoenix birds, they are not worn out by bloodshed if they are stronger than their host." Quickly the woman on the other side of the table added, "I mean no offence to you, monsieur. Ah. Yes. To continue, the presence of a phoenix bird means the willingness to sacrifice for others, and in spirit and in body their presence changes the odds to be more in your favor. You are a favored one in war, jeune monsieur."

Hermione snorted and muttered, "We know," but her tone wasn't scathing, not like it might have been.

"Thank you," Harry croaked out first to the fortune teller, then to Hermione, who scooted her stool closer and put her arm around his waist. When he looked at her askance, she explained.

"I'm bracing myself for my own. It might go to an ugly place."

Harry grinned at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I love you," he whispered to her, leaning his forehead against hers, "and you're never getting rid of me."

"Then let my parents adopt you," she whispered back and Harry's eyes widened. "Make it complete and you get all of us forever."

He swallowed hard and thought of his swimming lessons. Of Helen's quiet care of him during the Christmas Eve service. Of the heart to heart with William, the real reason he and Ginny were putting off having children indefinitely: he was terrified to be a father, and fail.

"They… wouldn't… want…" He couldn't seem to make the words come out of his mouth, though he knew them well enough. It was totally ridiculous. Totally and utterly ridiculous to imagine that Helen and William wanted to saddle themselves with his wretched self. Not even the Dursleys had wanted him and they were about as baseline normal as a family got. It was a ridiculous thought. Totally and beautifully ridiculous.

"They wouldn't replace your parents, or your godfather. Honestly, Harry, they'd replace Vernon and Petunia," Hermione said, but she said it in that characteristic know-it-all tone he'd grown somehow to love. It was a very comforting tone. It meant his sister was around, and nothing would get too terrible, because she wouldn't let it.

Harry laughed despite himself and was left somewhere between laughter and tears and somehow with one foot in both places.

There was a discreet clearing of a throat and Harry was forcibly reminded that someone else was in the room, witnessing his personal crises and meltdowns. Lovely. Right.

"Shall we continue with mademoiselle?" the fortune teller asked with a kind smile.

Harry nodded jerkily and prepared himself to give his sister support and wondered just exactly what was going to happen next. He watched intently as the fortune teller's eyes glazed a bit and considered not for the first time that this witch was a far different person than Professor Trelawney. There was no drama at all, and no dire predictions. Not even the situation with the warhorse or the dreadful state of their auras (predictable, and he would check with Luna about that later) was presented in anything like the melodrama he'd expected. It was just a fact, and a gentle reminder they still had work to do. Which, really, they knew before this, but you know, confirmation is useful, sometimes.

Another voice saying, 'No, really, Harry. You need to work out your shit. It's important. So man-up and talk about your pain.'

The truth was inconvenient, sometimes, Harry thought.

"Oh, my…" the fortune teller said, and it brought his attention to the present. He held Hermione a little tighter around the shoulders. "Mademoiselle has more than three spirit animals. Mademoiselle has female lion, has unicorn, has green dragon, small, possibly Welsh, variety? Lion is power, strength, royalty and symbol of your England. Unicorn is purity, wisdom, and innocence, which does not make sense with the amount of guilt in your aura, but it is quite determined to stay with you. Is symbol also of your Scotland, yes? Dragon is symbol of freedom, protection, knowledge, wealth, yes. Is also symbol of this country, Wales, this green dragon. All these animals are quite fond of you, and they are all manifesting… well, they are all quite big. You have been speaking with them, perhaps? They seem very present."

"Erm, no," Hermione said flatly, and Harry was watching the entire proceeding with interest.

"Mmm. You should," the fortune teller replied. "They would like that. And tell them what they need to do, yes? Should you need their aide. You may specifically ask for help. They are here to guide and guard you. And they seem eager. Quite eager.

"It is not always so common to have the magical beast as the spirit animal, but it does happen. It means you have great potential to change the world, mademoiselle and monsieur, both. In war it seems every effort changes everything, but war is not what I speak about, now. You understand? If monsieur's phoenix bird was simply for war, it would have gone now, but le oiseau phénix is not just for battle, it is also for healing."

Harry nodded. The fortune teller had given them a lot to think about and that was perhaps the most surprising part of all - Harry really had thought it would be a bit of fun, and they would try to keep straight faces, and then go away laughing about it. He hadn't expected someone… well, useful.

They finished up in the tent and when the fortune teller demurred at first, explaining that all the services of the circus were provided for today, when pressed she did agree that a little something extra was never disagreeable. He pressed the galleon into her hand with his genuine gratitude and walked out of the tent after Hermione and looped his arm through hers.

"Well," she said with a tone of finality. "That was less woolly than I would have thought. What are the odds she knew who we were?"

Harry shrugged as they walked along slowly, sightless eyes not really seeing the circus around them. "Even chances, maybe. And there's a lot she could have made educated guesses on. Except your otter." He shrugged again. "But whether or not she could see all of that, I think she did tell us the truth, maybe that we already knew, but maybe that we needed reminding of, you know? I… I think I need to get serious about my healing," he said, and the last was almost a whisper.

There was silence between them for a while after that, but it was very comfortable. Finally, he broke it.

"So, what is it you do that makes you so far ahead of me in healing? Is it books you've read, or something?"

Hermione explained about Viktor not letting her run away. How five nights out of seven they spent time going deep, being honest, having compassion. How it was the technique Viktor learned from his father, when his father wouldn't let him run away from his pain.

"But don't you worry it will… I don't know, just scar Viktor? I mean, to know about all of this? To know how much it hurts?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, yes and no. I know it's a possibility, but I don't worry about it because he's making a choice. And I'll give him whatever help he needs in return, whatever I can give, and support him in getting help elsewhere, likely from his parents who are very good at that sort of thing. But it's very important to me that I honor his choice, Harry. You honored my choice, and I like to think we won the war because of it. I didn't honor my parents' choice and I live with the daily guilt of what other options I might have closed to them, to us, because of it, and how close I really was to losing them forever. I'm haunted by the fact that I took away their autonomy, Harry, and I'm sure as hell not going to make that mistake twice."

Harry took as much of that in as he could. "I know I should talk to Gin more about… well… all of this stuff. But I just hate putting it on her. I mean, there's so much more than she imagines. So much I've… well, I've never told her. Some stuff I've never even told you," he whispered.

She squeezed his arm and leaned into him briefly as they walked. They paused to watch some clowns… well, clowning around with the passersby and when the clowns noticed they elicited at best rather sad smiles from the young couple arm-in-arm they made a special effort to make them truly smile.

It didn't really work, but he could tell that Hermione was enjoying it, and Harry did see her point about the line of what to take seriously and what to let slip over into the realm of the ridiculous.

Life lessons from a clown. Huh.

Harry did manage to truly smile, but only when Hermione was shaking with laughter, and then, really, he smiled at her. He had a fleeting thought that her little otter would approve of this.

And though he didn't realize it, he was right.