September 1997
A voice modifying spell later, as well as a few basic disguise charms, and Hermione stood ready. Doubts and worry sifted through her mind. What if it really was her boys returned? What not? If they were imperioused? Teeth nibbled her bottom lip as she moved forward. She deafened one, Ron, the trusting side of her thought, and ungagged the other.
"Tell me something only the real Harry Potter knows about me," she demanded, not daring to take chances.
"Goddammit, Hermione," Harry coughed, "You can warn a bloke!"
"I will ask you once more, what is something only the real you would know about me?" her voice stony. Horror scenarios like this plagued her nightmares in the past, and she would be damned if she accepted him without such a measure. "If you truly are Harry, you'd know why this is important."
"Bloody hell, woman," he grumbled, "Uh, your patronus is an otter!"
"Anyone in the DA, including Edgecomb, knows that," she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Uh, you hate snow peas," he tried again. Taking her unamused silence as rejection to that, the messy haired teen went, "Your animagus. It's a large, tawny owl."
She let out a relieved sigh and unbound her friend with a hug.
"Bloody hell, scared me right good," mumbled her best friend as he affectionately ruffled her hair.
"You both were gone for so long, I didn't know what happened. I couldn't take any chances," Hermione gave a sheepish smile before turning towards the redhead. "He can't hear a word we're saying. Are you sure it's Ron?"
"Yes, I'm sure, Hermione," Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated and fond.
"Did you check?" She raised a brow in question.
"Well, no," he frowned. "But he knew his apparation sites."
"Any legilimens could have read that off of him," Hermione challenged.
"He mentioned our conversation at dinner the other day?" the wizard answered, obviously unsure of the validity.
"Let's just get this over with," Hermione sighed and ungagged the bound wizard. Another flick, and he could hear again. "Before you blow up, what is something that only the real Ronald Weasley would know about me?"
"Merlin's bloody balls, Hermione," Ron whimpered. "Can't just say hello like a normal person, no, you have to bloody well bind and gag us!"
"That's what I said," Harry exclaimed with excited motion between his best friends.
"You didn't say that at all," Hermione retorted before she turned back to Ron and jabbed him. "And you haven't confirmed who you are."
"We're doing that Order thing, aren't we?" the redhead scowled.
"Because that Order-thing makes bloody good sense when you two take over an hour to get back here," the brunette witch nearly screeched.
"Okay, okay, don't get your knickers in a twist. Merlin, women," Ron grumbled, unable to see Hermione's stormy expression nor Harry's cutting motion at the neck. "Let's see, you are a spectacular swot who punched Draco Malfoy in third year before turning back time to save a convict. Does that work for you?"
A sharp twitch of her wrist released Ron, who proceeded to fall to the ground in a jumble of limbs. Muttering obscenities under his breath, the red haired wizard picked himself off the ground with a dirty look. A brown brow arched in response, as if daring him to follow through with his threats. He answered with a black scowl, but shifted to the side. Silence stretched between the trio.
"What the bloody hell took you so long?" Hermione exploded.
"You see-" Harry began.
"About that-" Ron said at the same time.
"Well, I was able to sneak into the Toad's office," Harry continued. "And past the Muggle-Born registration offices -nasty piece of work that is- and get this; she has Mad-Eye's eye on her door!"
"Gross!" Ron exclaimed.
"How does that even work?" The brunette witch asked, equally disgusted.
"I don't know," Harry squeaked. "She just had it there."
"That is something the barmy witch would do," Ron muttered as he settled on a sofa nearby.
"Right, so, she has all sorts of files in there, memos from different heads of department, which people should be tried for what," the black haired teen continued. "Yes, Hermione, I wrote down a list of Order members and their supposed charges to pass on. No, I didn't touch anything -I'm not that stupid. I just took too long in the office, that's all. I promise I left as soon as I realized it, Hermione, honest!"
"Uh huh," she raised a brow, settling like a queen into her wingback chair. Legs crossed and arms resting in front of her, "And that made you at least an hour and a half later than me how?"
"You see, that's where we kinda ran into some problems," Harry stated in a high voice. "We met back up in the Atrium and, as Ron and I went to the lift, one of the Death Eaters-"
"McNair," Ron supplied.
"McNair stopped us to have a chat and tried to get Ron back to do more maintenance," the black haired teen explained.
"I didn't find anything interesting, unless you count the flooding across the building as 'interesting.' Been raining since Thicknesse took office," Ron nodded as if to back up Harry's story.
"Right," Harry picked up, "We all crammed into the lift, since that is how we had to get out, and then, McNair followed, something about trying to get me to come to some meeting or another -most likely a Death Eater recruitment type thing. So, we ended up trying to stun the guy, except that it didn't work, because Scabior walked in at the next stop and saw his mate stunned and out for the count."
"Not to mention, we started to morph back into ourselves right then," Ron pointed out.
"Well, that didn't help at all," Harry nodded, sage and wise. Hermione pinched her nose, hoping to stop the coming headache before her friends went on. "So, he started to yell and scream about finding me, and there was a bit of a tussle."
"I got him good in the stomach, and closed the lift door," Ron puffed.
I am surrounded by testosterone driven idiots! Hermione internally screamed. No wonder it took the pair so long to get back. They must've been right behind her in the lift.
"Well, we got outside and didn't have time to do all the other stuff you told us to," the redhead picked up, "That's when we looked at each other and just knew. We went off apparating around like you told us. At some point, we met up outside of Godric's Hollow, and noticed that someone kept following us."
"So, I cast around a bit, taking us to Little Whinging, and found that someone had tracking charms on us. So, we dispelled everything and ran for Mrs. Figgs house," Harry motioned with his hands. "At that point, she kept us in her house for a while, lecturing us about being reckless and how we would make you worry and not to do such stupid things."
"She's right, you know," Hermione grouched.
"But look, it all worked out," Ron grinned, pulling a smile from Harry and even a reluctant tweak of the lips from Hermione. "I mean, it did all work out, right?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded. Right hand grasped a chain in her pocket and dangled it in front of the boys. Odd opalescent sheen danced in the light, as the recognizable heirloom gently swung back and forth. She launched into her story, and watched as they took in what she said, mentioning all the files she saw and the names. When she got to their files, she smirked as she told them about the nature of their filings.
"My only concern is that we can't destroy it yet," Hermione gave the locket a pensive look as it sat upon the table.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, brow furrowed. "That we don't have what we need to destroy it, or that we shouldn't?"
"Both, really," she replied. "We need something ridiculously powerful to destroy such an artifact. Outside of basilisk venom, which the sword of Gryffindor absorbed, there is manticore venom and fiendfyre that may be powerful enough to do the job. The real problem lays in the fact that it holds a piece of His soul."
"No offense, Hermione, but that's kind of the whole point of this scavenger hunt," Ron wryly pointed out.
"I know that," she scowled at his tone. "I bet you, Dumbledore did not read enough of his books," here, she began to take out several volumes from her beaded bag, "because, if he did, he'd know that destroying them as we found them would be a horrible idea."
"Could you perhaps explain it," Harry raised a brow at her.
"Perhaps I shouldn't," she stuck her tongue out.
"Fine, fine," her best friend relented. "Oh Great and Powerful Hermione, will you tell us why we should withhold the time of destruction for these horcruxes?"
"As long as you don't go behind the curtain," an amused chuckle responded.
"What does that make me? The Scarecrow with no brain?" smirked the boy-who-lived. "You'd make a pretty cute Dorothy. Crookshanks could be your Toto!"
"How would I be both Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz?" Hermione snickered.
"Magic, Hermione," Harry gave a slow, wisen nod.
"Ah, yes, magic," she rolled her eyes. "At least Professor Flitwick would make a good munchkin. Sings and is enthusiastic enough, don't you think?"
"Does that make Malfoy the Cowardly Lion?" his emerald eyes glittered.
"He's not nearly adorable enough for such a role. That's obviously Neville," her sarcastic retort.
"This is a muggle thing, isn't it?" Ron asked, head going back and forth between the pair.
"Ah, yes," Hermione blushed, sharing a sheepish smile with Harry. "Horcruxes. Can't destroy them, yet. Right." Closed eyes, deep breath, all extraneous thoughts flew out, leaving the pertinent information. "So, in the book I got from Dumbledore's office before we left the school-"
"Wait, how did that work?" Ron interrupted before flushing at the death glare directed his way.
"Magic, Ronald. I used magic," she explained with a raised brow. "No more comments? Good. The books are fascinating, if disgusting and horrifying all at once, but what happens is that the person's soul, in this case His, does not truly separate. The theory is that you put a piece of your soul for safe keeping, and, if the vessel holding said piece were to be destroyed, that leash tugs the now displaced soul piece back to the source."
A satisfied smirk made it's way onto her face. Cinnamon eyes watched as each boy worked through the information provided. Convoluted on purpose, pride and joy always sung through her when they figured something out. Lips tilted higher when the light above Harry's head light first, deep furrow still present on Ron's brow.
"What you're saying," his eyes searched hers as Harry slowly vocalized his thoughts, "is that when we destroy a horcrux, he knows. He feels it either being somehow demolished, or his soul piece rejoining the rest of him."
"Exactly," Hermione beamed.
"And if that's right, then if we start picking off horcruxes now, he'd know what we were doing, and would be more aggressive towards those we care about," Harry added, emerald eyes dancing, words coming faster. "So, as a way to lull him into a feeling of false security, we should first gather all of the horcruxes together, destroy them all at once, and then fight him on our own terms."
"Spot on," pride colored her tone as she settled back into her chair. Noticing the dark look on Ron's face, she tilted her head. "What's wrong, Ron?"
"While all of that sounds good," he frowned, genuine confusion in his voice. "Why hasn't he done anything like that already? I mean, Dumbledore just destroyed one last year, didn't he?"
"That's something I struggled with for a while," Hermione acknowledged, knowing that a small stroke to the ego would go a long way later. "What I realized is that the first one, the diary, is probably what gave him enough strength to resume a semi-corporeal form, which Wormtail then nursed to, well not health, but you know what I mean. He couldn't do anything about it. The second one he assumed Dumbledore did alone, and thus had Malfoy assigned to kill him."
"Which Snape finished off," growled Harry.
"In which Snape killed the Headmaster," Hermione sighed with a shake of her head. The Headmaster knew exactly what he was doing with Harry, she thought, and, just as quickly, shoved to the back of her mind. "It leaves us with an opening to collect them now. He thinks no one else knows about the horcruxes, and thus doesn't know what we are doing. All of his plans are falling into place quite neatly, and it is a matter of time until he has all of us right where he wants us."
"And in the meantime," Ron added after a moment, "We strategize, collect, and plan how we want to end this war. All by holding off on destroying these nasty buggers. Blimey!"
"Not to mention your containment spell," Harry murmured, "we will have minimal, if any, nasty side effects." He stared at her, as if piercing her soul, emerald eyes narrow with thought. "This isn't the plan that Dumbledore had for us, is it?"
"Hardly," she snorted. "Dumbledore wanted us completely isolated and fending for ourselves in addition to puzzling out the more than usually cryptic clues he left behind. I decided to not leave things to chance. By keeping informed of important things, we are able to better form and execute our plans, not to mention we have the support we need for when we need it. Not to mention, we keep those close to us assured of our safety, if nothing else. We have a nice, protected base to operate out of, with beds, a shower, and hot meals, a library for reference, and places to go if we need to get out."
"I can't argue with that, mate," the voracious Weasley shrugged. "Having three, good meals a day, and tea is important."
Harry snorted in agreement and leaned back in his chair, once more regarding the brunette. The rest of the afternoon passed in quiet companionship, Hermione warning the Order about the ministry incident, as well as briefing what information they found. Remus and Kingsley, though enraged about what happened, if the insistent, loud chimes were anything to go by, were nothing compared to Minerva. At one point, Hermione had to tell her to stop since she could no longer take the headache relieving potion.
All in all, the trio judged the day a success. No one died, nor were injured in the process of gaining a horcrux and information. They successfully infiltrated the ministry, and the boys' little game of cat and mouse satisfied enough of their Gryffindor death-defying needs for the time being. Harry and Ron bid her goodnight, making their way to the parlor for their nightly games of chess and exploding snap. This left Hermione alone and staring at the journals. With slow, hesitant movements, leather opened to reveal pages of Augusta and Minerva's hand writing. A deep breath left her lungs as she wrote down a single, short message.
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I am going to tell them tomorrow morning, the neat script informed her.
Minerva closed the book with a contemplative frown and leaned back in her favorite upholstered chair. Thoughts came and went, trailing one another, yet never staying for long. Hermione was her favorite cub in a long time, reminding the stern woman much of herself at that age. Strong and silent in her bravery, but there all the same. Misplaced, whether on accident or by design, the young, brunette woman took each obstacle with grace rarely seen.
Fingers steepled as her gaze shifted to the flickering light of the fire. Her words from not so long ago buzzed around her head, like a particularly tenacious gnat, and forced the formidable witch to do just that; analyze people's actions beyond the surface. What Minerva found unsettled her quite greatly. While all of her cubs, and most of the Badgers acted in a way befitting of those, both on the surface and otherwise, she found several Ravens to be dodgy, saying one thing, but doing another. Likewise, several Slytherins, including the youngest Malfoy, all pretended to enjoy the power their faction has won, while struggling against it themselves in the smallest and oddest of ways.
Perhaps the most impressive and extreme example was the headmaster, himself. Minerva knew Severus Snape since he came to Hogwarts as a spindly, scrawny youth of eleven, thirsting for knowledge and acceptance. He only found part of that amongst these hallowed halls, and the rest he supplemented where and how he could. Never had she felt so horribly duped as when she found out about the 'prank' Sirius pulled in their sixth year. That, however, paled in comparison to the level of betrayal Minerva felt now.
With each passing day, she watched as the bruises under his eyes deepened, wrinkles set into his face, and gaze watched the students anxiously. His words burnt like the hottest fire with a lasting sting that would haunt her mind for hours, and yet, he did everything in his power to keep the Carrows in check. He promptly returned and distributed fair punishments for students. If he had to lay into several more 'intensely,' such as Ginny and Neville, then so be it. Horace, for all his geniality, rarely kept up hospital brewing, which mean that someone had to do it.
Each thought and observation lent more credence to the staff's initial meeting. Often times, the old guard, as the Carrows would cackle, lingered after weekly staff meetings. New stories of the Carrow's atrocities often bled into accounts of the Headmaster sweeping in before any serious injuries, and dismiss said child to the best equipped authority figure. The path wound them to the stories of these children being protected by the headmaster, sometimes with a vial slipped into a pocket or bag, but always with some insult to harden the blow.
Curiouser and curiouser, indeed, for she might as well have just fallen down the rabbit hole.
Picking up her favorite eagle feathered quill, and dipping it into her ink, the older witch replied, I wish you the best of luck, lass.
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The next morning, Hermione decided to have herself a lie in. After the excitement of the previous day, her body protested against moving with any sort of speed. She philosophically gave into the demands made of her, and turning over to sleep once more. When her bladder could no longer be ignored, she trudged to the nearby loo.
Hot water and soap ran down her body, washing away the grime of yesterday's adventure. Her hands massaged conditioner into her hair, a hum of contentment vibrated through her very being. Bubbles followed fingers up and down her arms and legs, torso and back. Looking down once more, Hermione sighed. She couldn't hide from her best friends forever, and this is something they needed to know.
Within moments, wet feet stepped out of the shower. Water dripped off her body as a towel wrapped around her head. She watched her face in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, trying to spot if she looked any different than before. With no answer, she left the steamy room of contemplation behind, making her way toward the kitchen for something to eat. Both boys, sleep rumpled and groggy, greeted Hermione when she sat down at the table. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought, she mentally sighed.
"Are you guys planning anything today?" she asked, trying to feel the pair out.
"I was thinking of relaxing," Harry finally mumbled, coffee perking him up a bit. "Probably play chess and exploding snap in the parlor."
"Sounds about right," Ron nodded as he stuffed another fork full of egg into his mouth.
"I think I'll take a few books down and join you," she nodded.
An hour later, everyone situated in the parlor, Hermione watched the scene before her. Her boys, the two best friends she'd had since first year, gamely sent insults back and forth. Pieces died dramatic deaths, scrapping to the sides of the board, while barbs and jokes danced between the two friends. Crackles and pops colored the conversation, the happily licking flames in the grate warming the room. With her, they completed a tableau of easy friendship. Her eyes danced back and forth, imprinting the details into her mind.
A shiver of dread slid down her back. Worst case scenario played out, overlaying this peaceful scene. Hand slid to her beaded bag, safe and secure inside an interior pocket. The other felt the odd texture of the small, stuffed bear. Minerva slipped the velveteen plush into her bag before the wedding, for emergencies. She planned to use it, holding down the squeaker, should they appear incensed and unreasonable -a very likely possibility within Gryffindor House.
Ideas of opening gambits flitted through her mind, each cheesier and more confusing than the last. A small frown marred her features as advice from the two older women floated through her mind. Instead of the straight and bold approach, a la Augusta Longbottom, Hermione decided to try a more roundabout route.
"Do either of you know much about ancient magic?" Her tentative voice asked.
"A bit," Ron answered, giving her a bemused glance. "Mum and Dad were married the normal way, but liked to go to the festivals from time to time."
"What festivals?" Harry asked, intrigued attention caught.
"Those things that muggle witches celebrate," Hermione explained, falling into a natural rhythm. So far, so good. "The solstices and equinoxes are magical holidays since the days before Merlin. The major ones are Beltane in the spring, Midsummer in the early part of summer, Samhain, which we call Halloween, and Yule in the winter. Of course, these are not always on the solstice and equinox days, which are their own holidays as well. They are represented in the ancient magics as a God and Goddess, whose life cycle coincide with the seasons. The God represents the sun, and thus is born on the shortest day of the year, Yule, and dies at the end of summer, as the days lose length. The Goddess is both mother and mate, marrying him, and bearing his reincarnation every year. Without going into it more, that is the general belief and story attributed to the ancient holidays."
"That's not strange at all," Harry muttered. "But you said magic, not holidays."
"When did you get perceptive?" the brunette squinted at the emerald eyed teen.
"I've always been," he flashed her a cheeky smile. "You're only noticing it now.
"Oh hush," she chuckled, "But yes, there is quite a bit that modern wizarding magic does not use. Things like ley lines and invoking the elements are forgotten. Most people think it archaic and weak, though the more serious rituals, like bindings, will always have some aspect of both. It's just unpredictable magic, which scares most people. You can't tell which way the tide will go. Leys are strong currents of magical energy. Think of it like an electric wire. Where more of these wires cross, the more powerful the spot, and it makes it easier to make and maintain larger bits of magic."
"Yeah, they say it's great for wards, and why so many pureblood houses are built either near each other or in some line from each other," Ron piped in. "The Burrow is constructed over a ley line, which is what made it so powerful. It's easier to tap into the magic there, and let it work for you, creating and keeping wards."
"Hogwarts is one of the most magically powerful spots we know of," Hermione nodded in agreement. "It can have and keep all of it's fantastically complex wards because the ley lines power and anchor them. If Hogwarts were almost literally anywhere else, it would not be nearly as secure as it truly is."
"Where is the other powerful spots?" The mop haired boy asked, eyes alight with curiosity.
"Well, one is a traditional ritual site in Ireland," Hermione smiled at the fond memory. "It's where the largest celebration for all the holidays take place. The elders own the land and live nearby, so it's always protected. I'm surprised that you can't guess the third one, though."
"Should I know it?" Harry snorted, eyes on the knight he placed.
"You will feel quite stupid when I tell you," the brunette smirked. "So, yes."
"Not helping ,'Mione," he grumbled and watched Ron rub his hand together in glee. "Just tell me."
"It's not like you'll die if I don't," cinnamon eyes rolled as a pathetic, puppy whimper answered her. With fond exasperation, she finally conceded. "The other place with as may ley lines as Hogwarts is Stonehenge."
"You're right, I do feel stupid now," Harry grouched. "Even the muggles realized it has power!"
"You know that there is a theory out there stating that true muggle borns do not exist," Hermione conversationally hummed.
"Of course there are," Ron snorted. "I mean, look at you -no offense, Hermione."
"None taken," she chuckled.
"Barmy, the lot of them," the redhead clucked. "Off their rockers, I think."
"Not really," a musing hmm answered. "They say that magic have to come from somewhere, right? So, there are two options. The first is that the muggle born is actually a direct descendent of a squib at some point. Since they were either casted out or exchanged for healthy muggle born children, it stands to reason that the majority of muggle borns are, in actuality, squib born."
"You said the majority," Ron pointed out, waving a pawn about, despite it's loud protests. "Yes, Merlin, I'll put you down!"
"Put the poor thing down, Ronald," Hermione scolded. "The minority, and I mean, less than five percent of all muggle borns, mind, were conceived over ley lines. Since they were imbued with pure magic, their blood is, by magic's standards, pure. In ancient times, they were said to be born of the earth, or mud, hence the term mudblood."
"So, what you're telling me," Harry blinked, looking at Hermione, "is that every time Malfoy said 'mudblood,' instead of insulting you, he was complimenting you? But he didn't know it."
"Pretty much," a mischievous smirk greeted those words.
"No wonder you nearly cracked up in giggles each time he did it," Ron exclaimed, putting pieces together.
"But Hermione," brow thoughtfully furrowed, the black haired boy inquired, "Why is it so rare for muggle borns to be born from the ley lines?"
"Oh, it's not just muggle borns," Ron interjected before Hermione could get a word in, "It's wizards, too. You see, the amount of raw magic that goes through you during one of these things, either a festival or a ley line, but especially both, makes it hard for people to have babies. Mum explained it felt like liquid fire, powerful stuff, raw magic. It takes powerful people to be able to -you know-"
"Conceive?" Hermione archly provided as Ron blushed bright red.
"That," he gruffly accepted. "And even then, it doesn't happen all the time. Raw magic is unpredictable, which is why most stopped doing anything with it long ago, like Hermione said. So, it's rare for anyone to have a baby resulting from a festival or from the ley lines in general. It kind of destroys what's in there, you know."
"Huh," Harry moved a bishop absent mindedly, "I guess that does make sense."
"Mum said that the magic is intoxicating, and that you have little control over it all," Ron plowed on. "See, ancient magic awakens the inner god or goddess, and they kind of direct you. She said it was weird, since she was both herself and not, but the 'not' part was still her, the her she didn't have the courage to be. It's how they had Bill, actually, and why they married so late into the pregnancy."
"Really?" Harry exclaimed. "I never would have guessed."
"Gin, too," Ron grinned, "Makes our family both proud and powerful by other's standards, having all the kids and two born from festivals."
"The more you know," Harry muttered as he looked into the fire.
"You know, you are most likely a Yule babe yourself," Hermione added, and watched with perverse pleasure at the startled, "Probably a few weeks early, that's what happened with Nev, and you were born within a day of each other."
"Well, what you, Hermione?" Harry stuttered over Ron's jovial laughter. "How were you born, if you're so-so unembarrassed to talk about it."
"My parents conceived me at Stonehenge the first full moon of 1978," she dryly informed the boys. "Said it was some sort of New Year's resolution or something, and when it was all over they just knew."
"What?!" Harry yelped.
"Granted, that is pretty tame for them," she continued purposefully. "I used to walk in on them all the time, you know. Once, my father was tied to the bed posts in nothing as my mum wore some leather contraption and brandished a feather. That was odd."
For a moment, both boys gaped at her, mouths open, cheeks flushed. The shocked awe of the silence nearly made her laugh. Using all her willpower, a single, brown brow raised as if to question. Audible clicks sounded as both jaws slammed shut. Harry stared at her, lost and confused, while Ron appeared to be looking at her for the first time.
"My parents were open about their sex lives, and insisted it to be a perfectly natural part of life," Hermione shrugged, hand surreptitiously pocketing the small, black volume. "It was common enough that I simply rolled my eyes and muttered 'again,' before shutting the door and going back to my room to read."
"Merlin's saggy bits, what's next?" Ron threw his arms up, looking towards the ceiling.
"Well, I can tell you I've been to one of those festivals," Hermione internally winced, hand grasping the teddy bear just in case.
"Really? Which one?" Harry asked, obviously curious and using it to force the uncomfortable information behind him.
"Midsummer of this year," she smiled. "And it was purely magic, in the muggle sense," Harry nodded, a small smile of understanding tilting the corners of his lips. "It was amazing. Everything felt more, colors were more robust, images clearer, nothing but laughter and music and magic. Truly, the best experience of my life to this point."
"And did you meet anybody?" Harry asked, caught in the dreamlike whimsy.
"A few people. During the afternoon, there was food and drinks everywhere. I ended up talking to a nice couple from Cornwall about gardening herbs of all things," here, she noticed Ron's astute hazel eyes regarding her with intense scrutiny.
"That wasn't all you met, was it?" Ron's voice soft and apprehensive.
Well, here goes nothing, flashed through her mind as she looked straight at her other best friend. "No, they weren't."
"You met him, didn't you?" She nodded. "And you both-?" Another. "Merlin! Are you-?" She bit the bottom of her lip to keep tears from slipping, which was all the answer Ron needed. "Oh, 'Mione!"
Expecting something more, muscles held rigid and ready. Instead of insults being hurled her way, the arms of her friend held her close. A few minutes passed before she allowed herself to relax. Like a floodgate opened, tears of frustration and fear fell freely as Ron held her. This was more than she imagined, and she thanked anyone who listened. Tears stopped, sobs lessened, and finally, she pried herself away with a shaky smile.
"Can someone explain this to me?" An irritable Harry demanded.
"You see," Ron launched, as Hermione settled back into the chair, once more ready to flee, "that feeling Mum mentioned? The way she explained it is that, once the elders unleash the magic around them, you are ruled by it, and so, your instincts, which we call our inner God or Goddess, rules our actions. What happens during these festivals is that people find that person who calls to your God or Goddess, right? And they do things with each other, and rarely, very rarely, end up with more than they bargained for."
"What Ron is trying to explain," Hermione cut in, defensive and tense, "Is that part of the purpose of the festivals is to find your mate through magic, your other half, if you will. It's the stuff soul mate myths are made of. I found mine, and we came together, and now, well," Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, scared, nervous, and anxious. And if this is what it's like to tell my friends, I can't imagine what it'll be like to tell him, she thought. "Harry, I'm pregnant."