It was all Luna's fault, for bringing that damned Bavarian Mistletoe to the office Christmas Party.

Then it was Harry's fault for not moving away quickly enough, and ultimately Hermione's fault for choosing that exact moment to lose her brilliant mind, rendering her unable to come up with an excuse not to kiss him. Then they were both to blame, for giving into the peer pressure and cat-calling of their Ministry colleagues, who eventually persuaded them that it was tradition, that it was bad luck to refuse to kiss under the mistletoe and - which was the clincher - at the end of the day, that it was just a harmless kiss for Christmas.

Just one kiss ... after eighteen years of barely speaking ... one harmless kiss ...

How were they to know it would finally explain the reason that they were so awkwardly estranged and, in the process, unravel the tapestry of their lives?

That had happened nine months ago.

Harry Potter, who headed up the shadowy and covert Office of Muggle Affairs, and Hermione Weasley, Senior Secretary of the Interior - a position subordinate only to the Minister for Magic herself - momentarily forgetting their famous policy of Avoidance Where Possible where social situations with each other were concerned, and finding themselves trapped in the spotlight, with Luna Scamander-Lovegood dangling that infernal sprig of mistletoe over their heads.

If she hadn't, none of this would have happened. Harry and Hermione would still be keeping each other at arms length, still bitter with one another, each blaming the other party for nearly two decades of hurtful silence.

They certainly wouldn't be on the verge of an affair that would shake the Ministry to the very foundations.

It was Harry who noticed the change first, about a month after the fateful kiss.

Technically that wasn't true, as almost immediately after their lips parted it became clear to both Harry and Hermione that something was wrong. There was a searing look they shared as they broke apart, a breathless understanding reflected in the other's eyes ... an understanding that this wasn't their first kiss. The sheer familiarity of the embrace profoundly unsettled them both.

But they didn't speak on friendly terms these days, so it was impossible for them to discuss it, no matter how much they were both burning to. For Harry's part, it was the sudden ache that was born in his chest that night, a longing to kiss Hermione again. And again. And maybe never stop. It was so wrong. She was his oldest friend's wife, his own wife's sister-in-law and, more than that, they had stopped classing each other as friends a long, long time ago.

So why did Harry suddenly burn inside with this incessant need to be as close to Hermione as possible? Worse still, why had he seen that exact look reflected in her eyes on the night of that party, when he caught her sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking?

It had made Harry so uncomfortable that he had left the gathering shortly afterwards, just in case something else conspired to bring them into contact again.

Harry's resolution was to put even more distance between himself and Hermione, to drive away this simmering new desire for her company, by working from home or even from his secondary office in the bowels of the headquarters of the Muggle MI6 service. But that only seemed to make things worse. He found that the distance only made him start to miss her, as he was robbed of the occasional glimpses of Hermione - that he usually tried to avoid - when moving around the Ministry of Magic.

But this change in behaviour impacted Harry in other negative ways. Principally, it made Ginny Potter rabidly suspicious of her husband. She accused Harry of having an affair, and the blazing rows that they thought were a thing of their past - after The Daily Prophet uncovered, and ran, a series of explosive articles detailing Ginny's own scandalous string of liaisons - returned to them with a vengeance.

It was only when Albus furiously admonished them, for upsetting little Lily so much, that they called an uneasy truce and agreed to restart their marriage counselling.

But this definitely made things worse.

Their counsellor, Doctor Pepper, was also the therapist used by Ron and Hermione, who were having marital problems of their own. This simply hitched Harry's brain onto Hermione for the entirety of the therapy session, when this was something that he was consciously trying to avoid. Then the Doctor suggested dream therapy to get to the bottom of Harry and Ginny's issues. Harry took his little black notebook from the Doctor with zero intention of writing so much as a rune in it. He threw it into a drawer as soon as he got home and left it there to gather dust.

But, perhaps ironically, that was when the dreams started ... the dreams in which Harry and Hermione were living a far different life.

These weren't erotic dreams, but instead focused on simple, seemingly inane things ... like walks on the beach, birthday dinners with family and friends, even a bizarre one where Harry tried to braid Hermione's lustrous hair and stick little daisies into the awkward joins. This sort of personal intimacy was commonplace in these sleepy images. The braiding dream left Harry feeling such a tender longing for comfort that he had to go and cuddle his daughter for a full hour, not that Lily complained about this unexpected intimacy with her father.

Well, it wasn't as if Harry was going to cuddle his spouse in her separate bed, now was it?

The problem for Harry was that these dream visions of Hermione were so tangible, so visceral, that he could almost convince himself that they weren't dreams at all ... but memories.

This went on for months and months, so relentless and unsettling that Harry eventually started to wonder if he was losing his mind. In the end, he had to open up to someone. Ron was a no-go for obvious reasons, so the task fell to Neville, who was now Under Minister for Magical Agriculture, and who Harry had come to view as pretty much his closest friend. Ron was his best friend almost by default, but Harry's estrangement from Hermione had produced a knock-on effect with Ron, too, and they had begun to spend less and less time together over the years, largely drifting apart as a result.

So Harry made his confession over a tankard of goblin ale one night at The Leaky Cauldron. Neville listened, with the obvious skepticism, as Harry told his story. His first response was actually quite logical.

"I don't think it's so unusual," Neville began. "I mean, considering the problems you've had at home lately ... when was the last time you so much as kissed Ginny?"

"I don't know," Harry spat bitterly. "I try not to, unless I have some mouthwash nearby!"

"That's my point," Neville frowned. "You're a bit attention-starved just now, a bit needy, maybe. And then you kiss Hermione under the mistletoe. I know it was a long time ago, but you two were really close once. It's probably just triggered something latent in you. Got you wondering what if, maybe."

"Maybe," Harry mumbled, doubtingly.

"It's probably that, mate," Neville went on. "I mean, you nearly went on that date before she married Ron, remember? So there must have been something there, however small - that was more than simply platonic - just for you to have been considering trying it. Didn't Hermione suggest it, after she found the engagement ring that Ron was going to give her?"

"Yeah, it was her idea," Harry confirmed. He mocked her accent when he spoke next. "Just one date ... I've always had this 'niggle' about you ... I know you have about me, too ... if it doesn't work, at least we'll know ..."

Neville barked out a laugh at him. "That was spooky, mate!"

"Well, I listened to that voice a lot!"

Harry clinked his tankard against Neville's with a grin and drank deeply, before ordering them another round. When he sat down again, he was in a reminiscing sort of mood. And a bitter one at that

"But she didn't turn up, to our 'date'," Harry grumbled. "I sat in that crowded Muggle pub for three hours waiting for her. I must have looked like such a loner. Then Ginny waltzes in to tell me it was just a prank she'd set up with George and Ron, to commemorate Fred's birthday. Then Hermione had the nerve to deny it all, and claim that I'd stood her up and that I'd gotten the venue wrong!"

"And then you stopped speaking to each other for the best part of two decades!" Neville exclaimed. "Over a Weasley prank! That sounds like more than just a niggle to me, Harry."

"Well, whatever it was, that's when it died. We said some hurtful things to each other and forgot how to apologise," Harry replied, ruefully nursing his ale and bothering the pewter handle with solemn movements. "She married Ron, I settled down with Ginny, then came the kids and careers and that crack between us became a chasm. But now this has happened and I don't know what to do with it."

"It's just a touch of regret, Harry," Neville offered, sagely. "Like I said, you're just wondering 'what if' because you've been going through a bit of a shitty patch just now."

But Harry disagreed, and was determined to make Neville see that.

"It isn't that, mate," Harry insisted. "I wish it was. It would make everything so much easier. I don't know why I'm so sure, but I just am. These dreams aren't me wondering about what if ... it's almost as if I'm remembering what was."

Neville looked at him in deep concern now. "Harry, think about what you're saying. How can that even be possible?"

"I don't know, I cant explain it," Harry returned, anxiously. "But the last dream I had was the most disturbing one yet. I'd gone to Hogwarts, to hear James' half-term progress report from his Head of House. And his mother was there waiting for me ..."

Neville's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe as he suddenly understood. "And it was Hermione?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, running his hands through his hair to massage his aching skull. "Not only that, she had Lily with her. And at one point, Lily called Hermione Mummy."

"Sweet Merlin, Harry!" Neville gasped out. "You really need to lay off the ale and cheese before bed!"

"I'm being serious, Nev!" Harry moaned, almost pleading with Neville to understand. "It's like I have these memories from another life. I remember everything as I know it to be - my wedding day with Ginny, the birth of my kids, all the important stuff. But now I'm starting to remember things differently, too. And these new memories feel just as real! Only, I don't know which version is the truth. But, and this is the scariest part, I think that it might be that other life!"

"Why?"

"It just feels more true!" Harry cried. "Like I should have married Hermione, had my family with her. But more than that, it sort of feels like I did ... and these dreams are my memories of that life. And I cant shake the feeling that they came first, but somehow they got changed. Or maybe just one bit did. I don't know, but it's really worrying me. I think I'm going crazy."

"Look, you're under a lot of stress, that's all this is," Neville declared confidently. "The emotional trauma of Ginny's affairs being splashed all over the papers has left a mark on you. It's perfectly understandable, it really is."

"Then you don't believe me?" Harry asked in mild desperation.

"I believe that you're under immense strain," Neville replied, consolingly. "But what you're suggesting is impossible, Harry. You can't have lived two lives! If someone had meddled with time, or something, you would have remembered it before now, would you?"

"Yes ... yes, I suppose you're right," Harry breathed out after a minute. "When I used the Time-Turner with Hermione back at Hogwarts, I remembered both the original and re-lived times."

"There we go then," Neville crowed. "It's just the stress of everything. Why don't you take a holiday? Take Al and Lily somewhere nice before he starts school in September. It'll do you good."

"That would require me putting in a Holiday Request with Hermione's office," Harry pointed out. "And, right now, she's the last person that I want to see."

"Well, that's just tough luck," Neville smirked. "I only agreed to come tonight because I need to call in a favour from you. And it involves going to see the Minister of the Interior."

Harry huffed in his frustration. "I should have known that there'd be a price for me spilling my heart out to someone. Go on then, out with it."

"Well, you know it's Sally-Anne's birthday next week ... you are still coming to the party, aren't you?" Neville began, suddenly anxious.

"Wouldn't miss it," Harry grimaced. Parties were the last thing on his mind just now, but he knew he'd better not avoid this one. "You're not asking me to bake her a cake or something, are you?"

Neville laughed. "No, Harry. I remember that disaster you tried to make for little Lily's last birthday. Didn't you triple the amount of frozen gelatine in the recipe and totally ruin it?"

"It had the virtue of never having been tried," Harry mused.

"Yes, but sponge cake ... proper sponge cake ... I mean real, proper, perfect sponge cake," Neville insisted, "Should. Not. Bounce!"

Harry guffawed at that. "True, true. So, if I'm not going to be a contestant on the Great Wizarding Bake-Off, what do you need from me?"

"I've managed to get my hands on a really rare species of Devil's Snare," Neville revealed. "It only grows in a specific part of the Australian Outback. But I pulled in a favour and snagged myself a cutting."

Harry frowned. "Most husbands tend to buy their wives plants that don't try to strangle them when they aren't looking! And you say I've got problems at home."

"Shut up, Harry," Neville retorted to Harry's teasing. "You know how Sally is always on the lookout for exotic plant varieties. She's been after this particular genus of Snare for years. And it's cost me three months salary just to get a small cutting."

"So where do I fit in to this?" asked Harry.

"I need you to get me a waiver to bring it into Britain," Neville explained. "It's the only variety of Snare that flowers ... and the seeds make a potent narcotic. It's illegal in fifty countries, including here. But Sally just wants to study it, test out a theory that the flowers could also have useful medicinal purposes."

"And she wants to do all this at Hogwarts, I assume?"

"That's where her lab is, so yeah," Neville replied. "And you can go and inspect it for yourself, to make sure it's fit for purpose and secure."

"Don't be daft, I know Sally wouldn't be using it for nefarious reasons," Harry retorted. "But how can I get you a waiver? This isn't an issue for my Department."

"Not strictly, no," Neville began. He looked at Harry warily. "But it is a matter for the Interior on account of the narcotic implications ... and the Senior Minister is one of the few officials who could rubber-stamp this. Hermione is the only one we know who might do us a favour."

Harry felt his jaw tighten. "So that's where my visit to her comes in? I'm sorry, Nev, but you know I can't help you with that. I thought you were going to ask me to deliver a birthday party invite or something. This is too much, I'm sorry."

"Harry, come on, mate," Neville implored. "I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. But Sally is desperate for this gift and you'd be doing me a massive service. I don't want to call this in as a Debt of Honour Collection, but I will if you force me to."

"How very Slytherin of you," Harry scoffed. "That business with you telling me all about my lovely wife and her revolving knickers policy, before The Prophet did, was a matter of personal pride, and while I very much appreciate it, this is hardly the same thing."

"Oh, but it is," Neville quirked. "You see, I promised Sally that I would get this for her. You don't want me to break my word, do you?"

Harry frowned. "Who knew you could be this callous? Fancy a change of department? I could use a few more cold-hearted bastards like you on my team."

Neville chuckled again. "You'll do it then?"

"Well if you're going to bully me like this, I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"Good man," Neville boomed, banging his tankard against Harry's. "This calls for another round! My shout, isn't it?"

Harry closed his eyes as he watched Neville stand and head to the bar for more beer. Then he sighed ... if only talking to Hermione was as easy as getting drunk, then this task wouldn't seem so hard at all.

Author message: A big thank you to my anonymous fic author friend who bequeathed me this story. Your original words have gotten me started on some new ones of my own. Hope you approve.