21. The last

The rain was coming down hard when they apparated to a back alley just off Exmouth Market. It was oppressively dark for the middle of the afternoon, the air unnaturally warm and dripping with humidity. Harry led the way to the shop, following a well-trodden route that he felt estranged from already. There were no customers in the shop when they entered. Armin was behind the counter as usual, stooped over a book. He didn't look up until they were standing almost right next to him.

'So you found each other then?' he commented, eyeing them circumspectly.

'Yes, in the end,' said Hermione.

'Should I be making some sort of comment on the absence of facial hair?' he continued.

'Not necessarily,' replied Harry.

He closed his book and sort of squinted at them.

'The two of you look like you've come to pay your last respects. Only I'm not in my casket yet, I'm happy to say, so you can cheer up.'

'Any chance you could shut up shop for a few minutes?' Harry asked.

Armin glanced around the empty shop.

'I could just about manage it,' he replied. 'It's a good thing that online sales are up.'

'First things first,' said Harry once they were in the back room. 'My name's not James Black.'

'Is that so?' said Armin, presumably feigning a lack of surprise. 'What is your name then?'

'It's Harry Potter.'

'Harry Potter?'

'That's right. And I'm afraid I'll be handing in my notice too — I'll have to go back to my old job.'

'They kept it open for you after all this time? You must be really important.'

'I work in the same place,' said Hermione. 'They'll want him back, trust me.'

'You're colleagues as well? I thought you went to school together?'

'We did that too,' Harry replied.

Armin looked at him strangely.

'Harry Potter you said your name was?'

'That's right.'

'Just bear with me,' said Armin, who was suddenly rummaging among boxes on one of the shelves that lined every inch of wall. After a few moments he returned with a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

'This must be for you then,' he announced. 'It arrived the other day.'

Harry and Hermione peered down at the parcel in Armin's hand. It was indeed addressed to: 'Harry Potter, Vlaminck's Esoteric and Occult, Exmouth Market, London EC1R'. The handwriting was unfamiliar and there was no sender.

'That's odd,' Harry murmured.

'Are you going to open it?' asked Armin.

'Not sure,' said Harry, looking at it with some degree of suspicion.

'Expecting a bomb or something?'

'Well …' said Harry, looking questioningly at Hermione.

'I don't know,' she said warily. 'I wouldn't put anything past her.'

'Who's she?' asked Armin. 'Enraged ex-girlfriend?'

'Not exactly,' replied Harry, holding the parcel out to him.

'What do you want me to do with it?' said Armin, reaching out to take it.

But for some reason the parcel never reached his hand. It seemed to flop in mid-air then tumble downwards. As it hit the floor, the parcel started to unravel and disintegrate of its own accord, swiftly leaving only a small metallic object on the floor of the shop. The object looked rather like a silver spider web.

'Hey, that looks like the Seven-Pointed Circle,' Armin exclaimed, bending down to examine it.

'Don't touch it!' Hermione shouted. 'It could be …'

'What?' said Armin, looking up at her.

'Umm …' Hermione stammered, looking quickly at Harry.

Armin shot her a withering look then reached down to pick up the object. His fingers were an inch away from it when it shattered, emitting an ugly hissing sound. Armin pulled his hand back and looked around. Harry was standing over him, his wand still pointed at the remains of the object.

'What was …?' said Armin, staring at Harry in amazement.

'It was cursed,' said Harry to Hermione, lowering his wand. 'Did you feel it?'

'Yes I did,' Hermione, her face pale. 'And it felt nasty.'

'Did you just do what I think you did?' said Armin, his eyes now fixed on the wand.

Harry looked at him then at Hermione. I've broken the law. But I had no choice.

'Yes, he did,' said Hermione to Armin. 'I have one too,' she added, taking out her wand and showing it to him.

'We're not supposed to tell … err … non-magical people,' she continued. 'But you were in serious danger. If you'd have touched that …'

'Non-magical people?' said Armin, the irony not lost on him. 'How ridiculous. A lifetime in the occult objects trade and … well, this … Thing is, they never usually do anything.'

'Well, this one would have,' said Harry.

'And so you're both actual wizards?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'But you mustn't tell anyone, if you want to keep your memory of this intact.' He glanced around instinctively, as if he was half-expecting someone from the Ministry to walk in and do the necessary.

'What's the protocol, do you think,' he said to Hermione, 'when one of us does magic in front of a non-magical person?'

'Well,' she replied, 'if the witness says and does nothing, we should be ok. Unless we turn ourselves in.'

She turned to Armin.

'Do you swear not to say anything?'

Armin started to grin.

'You know what? Even if I did, you'd be surprised how few people would believe me.'

'So you think she sent the cursed package?' Harry asked.

There was a look of determined concentration on Hermione's face as she sat cross-legged at the other end of the bed. It was a look he'd seen countless times.

'Who else would do it?' she replied.

From where he was sitting, Harry shifted his legs, accidentally kicking a pile of boxes stacked rather too near the bed. The spare bedroom of Armin's flat over the shop doubled as a second store room. It was a small room that overlooked a dingy courtyard, barely enough room for a bed among the overflow of boxes and books. When he asked them to stay, they jumped at the opportunity, knowing that they needed a little time to prepare their return. That could be put off for one day, at least.

They had had a low-key drink with Armin in a pub not far from the shop. The pub was painfully close to an entrance to the Ministry, as Harry and Hermione both knew, even though it wasn't one that wizards frequented. It was raining when they went in and still drizzling when they left, but at least the humidity of the day had dissipated, making the walk back to the shop almost refreshing.

'I can't see why she would want to curse me,' Harry remarked. 'Thought admittedly I don't know much about her.'

'Neither do I,' said Hermione, 'but I don't think that was the intention. I think the idea was to force us to perform magic in front of Armin.'

'So she had to know we would be coming this way.'

'Yes, and only someone with exceptional powers of vision could manage that.'

'But why bother?' Harry asked.

'I don't know yet,' Hermione replied. 'I don't think we have any way of knowing either, not yet at least. She has a plan; I suppose this is part of it. By the way,' she added, 'I know that curse. Or rather I've read about it at least. It's called the lull. It's old, obscure and hard to perform. It's a specialist's curse.'

'But she's not a witch, right?. She's… what did you call her? White-eyed?'

'That's Caius's word for it.'

'Right. But how did she manage to put an actual magic curse, a rare one at that, on the package? Does she have tamed wizards too?'

There was a strange look on Hermione's face.

'We've all been her tamed wizards, to some extent.'

Hermione glanced around her; the gesture's meaning was clear to him.

'You think she's watching now.'

Hermione shivered.

'Maybe,' she said. 'She has other people she likes to follow, so she told me. But I suppose you and I sitting here in this bedroom might be especially interesting to her.'

Harry shifted his position again.

'So even when we're alone, we're not really alone. Even if there are things I have to tell you, I can't, because she might be listening.'

She followed him in silence, her eyes dark and penetrating.

'We can't think like that. I don't care. Tell me everything you need to.'

'I'm not sure I know where to begin,' he said. He paused for a moment. 'Coming after me must have cost you enormously.'

Her smile was strange.

'Do you think I had a choice, Harry?'

He looked grim.

'That's two unforgivable things I've done.'

She reached across the bed and touched him on the arm, keeping it there until he looked up.

'If one of those things relates to me, don't even think about including it.'

He smiled in spite of himself.

'You make it so easy for me, Hermione. I can basically count on you to make any sacrifice for me.'

Now she looked away.

'You know the answer to that.'

'Even if it means hurting Ron. And Ginny. And their entire family.'

She looked back at him. Thin and pale and careworn.

'You don't spare me at all, Harry. That's good of you. Like I said, with you there is no choice. So you see, that second unforgivable thing isn't yours, it's mine.'

He touched her cheek.

'What did I ever do to deserve you?'

She shook her head, and he could see tears forming in her eyes.

'What's deserving got to do with it?'

He went and sat next to her on the bed, holding her against his chest until he felt her start to calm down. As she pulled away she looked at him with a bleak expression.

'We've probably just put on an entertaining show for her.'

He jumped to his feet, and was in the centre of the room in an instant, weaving around the piles of boxes and pacing what available floor space there was.

'Is there any way of summoning her here? Or finding her?'

'Harry, do you think that will…'

He turned to her.

'I want to see her. Or see her again, I mean. I suppose I saw her, that night I drank Dementico with Caius, Henoc and Ilaria. But I didn't know who she was. She gave me my island.'

'Your island?'

'In the hallucination caused by the Dementico I went to an island. My island, she called it.'

'The Lady in the Bottle,' Hermione murmured.

'Yes, that's right. She asked me my name, right after I drank it for the first time.'

He glanced at Hermione but her head was down, deep in thought.

'She transmits herself from person to person when you drink Dementico. First she must have got to Ilaria or Caius. Then that night she got to you, and from you to me.'

Harry went back to the bed and took Hermione by the hands.

'So how do we find her, this Lady in the Bottle? Do we have to go out on the street and try to score some Dementico?'

Hermione looked at him.

'I've got an idea.'

She reached over the side of the bed and picked up her bag. After a few moments she took out the black-handled knife.

'Where did you get that?' Harry asked. The knife's blade was so slender and sharp and its handle so perfectly made, that it made for a beautiful object, lying there in Hermione's pale hand.

'She gave it to me,' Hermione replied, 'sort of as a reward for sticking the knife in Ron and Ginny.'

She held it out to him.

'Hold it,' she said. He looked at the knife but didn't stretch out his hand.

'I want you to hold it,' she said in a firmer voice.

At last he reached out his hand and took it. The handle was cold in his hand.

'Does it speak to you?' she asked in a low voice. He looked up and saw that Hermione had closed her eyes. She seemed to be shivering slightly.

'It's speaking to me,' she said strangely. 'Almost as if it's some nasty little Horcrux.'

'What does it say?'

'It's telling me I was right to do all that I did. That you're worth the sacrifice. That the others will never understand, or forgive, really.'

He exhaled heavily.

'It's not exactly wrong.'

'That's the point. Unlike a horcrux it tells the truth. It says one more thing: that it's time to cross lines that shouldn't be crossed.'

She opened her eyes and looked pointedly at him.

'Can you hear it?'

He held her gaze. Doing so seemed particularly important.

He threw the knife down on the bed.

'No,' he said at last. She seemed to relax; her eyes were clearer too.

'What a devious little thing it is,' she said in her normal voice. 'It tempts and judges you all at the same time. I'm glad it has no power over you.'

Harry looked thoughtful.

'She was speaking to you through it.'

'In a way.'

'So wouldn't it be possible for us to speak to her through it?'

'If she wants us to,' Hermione replied. The look on her face told him that he had guessed why she had taken out the knife.

'But she will, won't she?' he said, already reaching out to take the knife from where he had left it on the bed. Hermione watched him in silence.

'Here, do you think?' he said, showing the palm of his hand to her.

'No,' she replied. 'If we're going to have matching scars they shouldn't be visible.'

'Ok,' he replied. 'I'll show you where.'

He handed her the knife and took hold of her free hand, guiding her so that she stood just opposite him. Then he pulled up his t-shirt and pointed to an area just below his rib cage.

'Here.'

She looked at him with dark, worried eyes.

'She can stop this from working if she wants.'

'Do you think she'll pass up the chance?'

She gave him a final searching look then raised the knife to his chest, cutting him delicately where he had shown her. Blood began to seep from the wound. Not taking her eyes off him, she raised her other hand and ran her fingers slowly along the cut. She looked at her hand and watched as little drops of blood splashed from it.

'Now you,' said Harry. 'Where do you want me to do it?'

Without speaking, she handed him the bloodied knife, then pulled up her top to reveal the same place, just below her rib cage.

'Same as you,' she said, smiling for just an instant. 'As near the heart as possible.'

He raised the knife and made an incision the same as his, then wiped away some blood as it seeped from the cut.

They pulled their blood stained t-shirts back down and stood looking at one another.

'What's Armin going to say if he finds us like this?' said Hermione. Harry did his best to grin.

'He won't mind as long we don't get blood on his stock'

They locked their hands together so that their blood merged. Soon they began to feel faint. They sat down on the floor next to one another and closed their eyes, their hands still locked together.

When they opened their eyes they were on a country lane, in front of a rather dilapidated, ivy-covered stone cottage with an overgrown garden. They walked straight up the garden path and went inside. The interior bore the cheap and sparse decoration of a rented house. They climbed the stairs to a spacious landing and made their way to a bedroom door that was ajar.

They entered the bedroom decorated with a mattress, a dresser, a small table and a clothes rack. The room's walls were bare, the stone exposed. The table and the floor were littered with books and papers, with many more books rammed into the shelves of a battered-looking bookcase. In the middle of the room stood a tall, dark-haired woman of about 40 in a long-sleeved green dress and black boots. Her hair was tied back and her face was pale and thin, but she had vivid green eyes.

'What a sweet couple,' said the woman, a keen smile on her lips and a mocking look in her eyes. 'I knew you'd be reunited.'

'Very funny,' said Hermione. She turned quickly to Harry. 'Is this the Lady in the Bottle?'

'Yes,' said Harry, staring at the woman. 'And I've seen her somewhere else too. In another dream, or hallucination. She was a teacher in… in Hogwarts, I think. You refused to come into her class.'

The woman laughed.

'Dear Hermione... So dependable, even in dreams.'

'Lilly,' Harry continued, 'you said your name was Lilly. I suppose you made that up.'

'Not at all, my name really is Lillian. Lillian Herrick. Lilly is what my family used to call me. You see, I really don't go in for lies. And I really was a teacher once too, although not at Hogwarts.'

'A teacher?' said Hermione, aghast at the idea.

'Yes,' said Lillian. 'I've always seen it as my vocation. I had quite a nice life in fact. But I don't think the two of you came to ask me about my biography. I suppose you've come to blame me for all the trouble you've been having.'

'Since you know us so well,' Hermione replied. 'You'll know that we have no intention of shifting any blame away from ourselves. But we know about you now and how you operate, so there's no point continuing your little mind games.'

The response was a tired sort of a smile.

'That would be a shame,' Lillian replied. 'I'm enjoying your story so much. And I particularly want to find out what you're going to do when you get back to your … loved ones, shall I call them?'

'Put it another way,' said Harry. 'If you don't leave of your accord, we'll find a way of flushing you out. I think you might find it quite unpleasant to be purged from a wizard's mind.'

'That sounds quite exciting,' she replied, apparently quite unconcerned. 'But are you sure your type of magic works on mine?'

'I don't know,' said Harry, 'but I think I'll enjoy trying.'

She shook her head slowly, like a teacher disappointed at a student who hadn't grasped her point.

'You're overreacting, really you are. I don't sit around spying on your every move. I don't have the time or the inclination. And I don't even need to anyway.'

She shot them a look of affectionate pity.

'Why don't you sit down and I'll explain. To put your minds at ease …'

'Where?' said Hermione.

The next moment a round, wooden table with three high-backed chairs materialised next to them in the middle of the room.

'Shall we?' she asked, pulling out one of the chairs.

'That's quite impressive for someone who claims not to be a witch,' Hermione remarked.

'Oh there's quite a few things I've learned how to do over the years. But I'm glad you're impressed.'

After a few moments' hesitation, Harry and Hermione rather circumspectly sat down around the table with their strange host.

'You won't mind, I hope, if I don't offer you any refreshments,' said Lillian. 'It wouldn't be beyond my capabilities, but as you probably know, these things never taste very good, or do you a lot of good, when they're conjured up out of thin air, and it doesn't help that your physical bodies are not entirely here. That might cause some problems with digestion.'

'We won't think any less of your hospitality,' said Hermione.

Lillian Herrick smirked at them from across the table.

'Anyway, there's a little misunderstanding I have to clear up first. Contrary to what you seem to think, I'm not omnipotently party to your thoughts. I don't so much see your thoughts as feel them. Even from a distance I feel your emotions, your desires. It's kind of a very potent form of empathy.'

'Empathy?' exclaimed Hermione. 'As far as I understand it, you get a kick out of manipulating people.'

'No, no. What you call manipulation is just the process of dismantling the mental barriers stopping you doing what you really want.'

'Oh right,' said Harry sarcastically. 'So you're actually some kind of life coach?'

She laughed at this.

'In a way. But I don't charge for my services: as so little of it is me and so much of it is you, it wouldn't be fair. Just a little push and off you go, where you always wanted but didn't dare. It's almost effortless. You should be thanking me. You, Harry, wanted to ruin your perfect life, and you, Hermione, just wanted your own corner of Harry's heart. Haven't I delivered? I reckon the two of you owe me.'

'I thought you just said that empathy was your line of business,' said Hermione, trying to ignore what had just been said. 'How come you take such fun from people's misery?'

'But I'm not the one who inflicts it, Hermione. I'm just following the story. You're the one doing all the inflicting. And another thing: doing wrong is good for all of us.'

'How did you work that one out?' said Harry.

'Oh, it's my main insight on life,' she replied. 'Maybe I should write a book on it. A kind of self-help book.'

'Sounds wonderful,' said Hermione. 'Perhaps you can follow it up with a guide on how to brew Dementico.'

'You know this is all going just the way I imagined it would,' Lillian Herrick exclaimed with a little paroxysm of delight. 'Are you having as much fun as I am?'

Harry and Hermione said nothing.

'Oh, and I don't need to produce Dementico myself. It just makes my work easier, by opening people's minds in the right way. And it gives me particular access to people like you. Do you know what the funny part is? Part of the appeal of Dementico is that if you drink it, it can help you see into other people's minds. Which is something quite a lot of people are interested in doing. The problem is that they don't know who else is watching.'

'And you got to me through Ilaria and Caius,' said Harry.

Lillian nodded.

'Yes, it was quite lucky that Ilaria was so besotted with you. It made her very curious to know what you really thought of her and whether you were happy with Ginny.'

Harry looked down at the table.

'I suppose you were sort of happy with her, weren't you, Harry?' she asked, glancing across at Hermione to gauge her reaction. 'It's just that you couldn't quite give her all of your heart. Poor Ginny has suffered a lot because of it.'

'Don't speak about her like that, ' said Harry. 'I know what she felt.'

'Festering with jealousy, that's how I found her that night, while you frolicked on your island,' said Lillian, her voice suddenly harder.

'And you removed her barriers, I suppose,' said Harry, anger welling up inside him.

'Faced with disloyalty on that scale, what was she supposed to do? Just swallow it? The effort on my part was virtually nothing. All I had to say was you're right.'

Hermione looked away.

'What do you think she would have done if she found your note slipped in amongst Harry's books?,' said Lillian, turning to Hermione with a searching glance. Hermione tried to avoid looking back but found eye contact forced on her. 'It would have been so easy to lead her to it. But I didn't. There was no need.'

'You know this playing at moral indignation doesn't really suit you,' Hermione replied.

'I'm not,' Lillian replied. 'I'm just looking at things from Ginny's point of view. You should try it some time.'

'I have,' Hermione exclaimed. 'Since you like spying on people's emotions you must know I have.'

Lillian Herrick looked placidly at Hermione.

'I suppose you really think you do, Hermione. But do you really see that no matter how highly Ginny thinks of you as a friend and as a person, your presence in Harry's life is unbearable to her?'

Hermione had no reply. She glanced at Harry, who looked back, a look of helplessness on his face.

'How long did you think you could avoid this happening? With or without my help? I wish I had thought of sending Harry that note - I would have considered it a masterstroke! You've delivered, Hermione, amazingly well. But then you all have: Harry and Ginny, and Ron, not to mention Caius and Ilaria.'

'But if you don't need Dementico to access people's minds,' said Hermione, the mention of Caius and Ilaria suddenly jogging her memory, 'and if you're not a witch, then what is your method?'

'I'm glad you asked,' Lillian replied. 'I'm quite tempted to tell you, but I think you'd prefer to work it out for yourself. You like having a little mystery to untangle, don't you, Hermione? The more cryptic the better?'

Her eyes twinkled with a merry sort of malice.

'I'll draw you its symbol, if you like, and then you can tell me, if you know the answer. What do you think?'

'I've got no choice, I imagine,' Hermione replied tersely, trying to disguise her curiosity as far as possible. Lillian sat back in her chair. Her eyes took on a distant expression. Then she looked down at the table in front of them. A series of circles began to burn themselves into its surface. Once seven concentric circles had been drawn, a series of intersecting lines added themselves, like spokes on a wheel.

'The Seven-Pointed Circle,' Hermione said in a low voice.

'Very good,' said Lillian. 'I already told you how much I love education.'

'So the method actually works?' Hermione asked. 'You have a reliable source text, do you?'

'I've pierced the material together from various sources over the years, studied the languages the different versions were written in, analysed the differences in translation from one text to another. Since you know something about the Seven-Pointed Circle, you'll also know it goes back thousands of years.'

For a moment Hermione thought of bringing up Vlaminck's Esoteric and Occult bookshop, but decided not to. Suddenly it didn't make sense for Lillian Herrick to have sent the cursed package in Harry's name. She decided not to mention the package. To her relief, Harry stayed silent too. Lillian Herrick appeared to be enjoying her moment of revealing too much to actually probe their minds.

'I think you, of all people, Hermione, can appreciate how much study and dedication that I've put into perfecting my art.'

'Yes,' said Hermione, rather distractedly, 'I see that.'

'And since the both of you are such powerful and illustrious magicians, you ought to find it impressive that a person who has none of your powers has been able to access your minds and wander freely in your world.'

'It is impressive,' said Harry. 'So we'll be looking into how to stop you.'

Lillian smiled.

'If only it were that simple, Harry. You wizards live in a remarkably insular world, built around the idea that your magic is the only kind of magic. How do you stop a magic you can't use, or understand, or even detect?'

'You've got a point,' said Hermione. 'All the more reason for wizards to start thinking about it.'

'One thing I don't understand,' said Harry. 'Is why you're telling us all this.'

'It makes things more interesting,' replied Lillian quickly. 'Like you, Harry, I abhor complacency. This way I'm forced to move onto a new project.'

'Instead of doing that,' Hermione interjected, 'why don't you just stop right here? You've made your point. You're not insane, or not exactly insane. In a way you're really quite lucid. You could easily choose not to act in this way.'

She listened to her in silence, her expression for once unreadable.

'The story's started writing itself,' she replied. 'It can't be abandoned here. In fact, it's just about to get interesting.'

'What do you mean?' said Hermione.

'I mean the choices you'll make tomorrow, or the day after, when you go back and try and rebuild the relationships you've pretty much shattered. I don't want to miss it, you see I have a weakness for stories that go wrong. Like mine did. The truth is that I applaud the choices you've made so far. You sensed the complacency and self-satisfaction that were poisoning your lives. Your instincts didn't betray you. I don't say join me now. You aren't ready for that. But see if the path you're setting yourselves on doesn't bring you to me in the end. You needn't worry about it: the darkness and misery I offer are gifts worth having. It's only when you're in darkness that you can try to scratch at the light.'

She put her hands on the table and looked at them almost expectantly, as if she had just finished making a sales pitch.

'Well that sounds tempting,' Hermione remarked drily.

'I don't expect you to believe me now,' Lillian replied, apparently unabashed.

'What I think,' said Harry, suddenly intervening, 'is that you can't have it both ways. Do you want us to write our own story or for you to write it behind our backs?'

'That's an astute question, Harry,' said Lillian, smiling like a teacher pleased with a student's reply. 'You should do it yourselves, of course. That would be much more satisfying than getting involved myself.'

'I suppose that's something,' Hermione remarked.

'And anyway,' Lillian continued in a bright, business-like tone, 'I'm going to be very busy from now, as my new project is going to be a real challenge.'

She paused, stretched her arms outwards then put her hands back under the table.

'As the two of you undoubtedly know,' she went on, 'the wizarding world has got a bit complacent of late, hidden behind its many layers of secrecy. I think it would do it good to come out into the open.'

'Don't tell me you're behind these witchfinder people too!' Hermione exclaimed, a kind of tired exasperation rising up inside her.

'You know that's not how I do things,' Lillian replied. 'They're doing quite a good job by themselves. Having said that, it is amusing to egg them on, to show them the door without giving them the key. But I wouldn't worry too much for the moment at least: for every genuine clue I give them I throw out a dozen false trails. Still, I'd recommend vigilance. They are very persistent, and one day you might find that the walls of the wizarding world aren't as strong as you think they are.'

Hermione tried to muster a reply, but no coherent thought would form in her brain.

'In fact,' Lillian continued, 'you could do me a favour: you can go and warn your fellow wizards yourselves.'

'Don't worry, we will,' replied Harry coolly.

'Although,' Lillian continued, her smile even wider, 'you should probably pick one of you to do it. The last thing you'll want to do from now on is to show the world any sign of complicity between you.'

Her victorious gaze flitted from Hermione to Harry and back again.

'Hermione, you're looking terribly tired all of a sudden. I'm afraid you've had too much to deal with today. Harry, you should take her home, make sure she gets some rest.'

'It may surprise you to hear this,' Hermione replied coolly 'but I'm not too interested in your concern.'

'I know, I know. It isn't time yet,' Lillian replied. 'Of course the idea that the wizarding world could be exposed worries you. That's understandable. Ordinarily I wouldn't care either way myself. But this seems like a good way to keep things interesting for you, and for me. Otherwise I might get bored. Things might just degenerate into a sad little melodrama. And the two of you are capable of so much more, as you've proven so many times. That's why I let Harry out of his cell in the witchfinder prison. I really can't think of anyone I'd rather share all this with. Whether you like it or not, I've become rather fond of you.'

'In that case,' said Hermione, 'leave us alone. Let us live in peace.'

Lillian gave her a strange look. There was a kind of despondency in her eyes that she hadn't seen before.

'It will come to us all in the end,' she replied. She seemed to sigh at the prospect, and for a moment her face was lined with weariness. 'But I'm afraid there's going to be a lot of pain and darkness to be endured until then.'

Hermione and Harry looked at her but couldn't bring themselves to say anything.

'So here we are,' said Lillian. 'You know, I wish I could have been your teacher. I really did like being a teacher.'

Her voice hardened.

'You can send your Aurors to search this house if you like,' she continued. 'Though it'll hardly be worth it. I'll be long gone by the time they get here. And I don't leave many traces.'

'Overconfidence has been the downfall of a lot of people, you know,' Harry remarked, smiling coldly.

Lillian's expression remained as bright as ever.

'And maybe you'll be able to say the same thing about me someday,' she replied. 'It's going to be interesting to find out anyway. But I've kept you too long. You'll be wanting to get back to those loved ones of yours. But don't worry, I'll be seeing you again, when things are more advanced. Till then, be good.'

Her face was already beginning to fade before she finished speaking. Just before she disappeared from sight, the room and the house along with her, she could be seen laughing gently to herself, apparently at the thought of the words 'be good'.

In silence they picked themselves up off the floor of the spare bedroom and changed out of their bloodstained t-shirts and into clean clothes. Harry wiped the blood off the floor while Hermione sat on the bed, deep in thought. She smiled a bitter kind of smile when he sat down next to her on the bed.

'Do you know what we've got to do?' Her voice was scarcely more than whisper.

'What?'

'We have to put things back in their place.'

He nodded stiffly.

'You mean everything.'

'Yes everything.'

'So we go back to the Burrow and ask Ginny and Ron to forgive the unforgivable.'

'That's right,' her smile, as bleak as it had been, had faded away. 'But it won't be enough'

'What do you mean?'

'You and I have to drift apart. Over time.'

'We what?!'

'We have to. It will be imperceptible at first, but eventually we'll reach the point where they'll ask us: what happened between you and Harry? Have the two of you fallen out? You seem so distant towards one another these days.' And we'll say: 'no, nothing in particular has happened: we've just grown apart, that's all. It happens when people get older. And on that day they'll actually regret that we're no longer such good friends as we used to be.'

Harry sat in silence, his eyes facing the wall.

'What she said about my presence in your life being unbearable to Ginny was right,' Hermione continued. 'Or at least the way I'm present in your life. The way I interfere in your life.'

Harry turned back to her.

'Hermione, you're…'

Her face was blank.

'Harry, you know it has to be this way.'

He took hold of her hand.

'I understand. But tell me what you want.'

'Now's not a good time to be asking me.'

She looked away into the room but didn't withdraw her hand. After a few moments she looked back.

'Do you agree to do this, Harry?'

He nodded.

'Yes, but only because what you are to me can't be changed.'

She squeezed his hand.

'One look a year from you is enough for me.'

Dusk hung over the fields that stretched out in front of them. The sun had left a swathe of pink and red above the ashen layer of cloud that descended to the horizon. They had been in open country for the best part of three hours, skirting the villages as far as possible. But the merriness with which they had set out had worn down and now their destination was close.

Going back to the Burrow couldn't be put off any longer. The night before they had lain in the bed in Armin's spare room, piecing together the story they had to tell, until they were too tired to go on. They spoke little of Lillian Herrick, other than Hermione vowing to begin studying the Seven-Pointed Circle as soon as possible. Armin had been only too happy to agree to her coming to the shop on a regular basis to examine his copy of The Testament of Sie. It's what she wants you to do, Harry had said to Hermione. I know, but there's no other way, she had replied.

The following day they had apparated into Devon, but left the last 12 or so miles for them to cover on foot. The air in the country was cooler and drier, the sky alternating brief snatches of sunshine with cloud. They avoided serious topics of conversation for the most part. One topic Hermione felt she had to broach was what the public version of events would be. Her suggestion was that Harry had indeed had his memory damaged by an accidental memory charm, and that he had been kept out of public view until his memory had recovered. She even suggested that it be made known that Ilaria had been hired as Harry's minder to keep him safe. Harry agreed to the idea, even accepting that he would probably have to give an interview to The Daily Prophet. But this all depends on what happens with Ron and Ginny, he had added. Hermione agreed and said no more on the subject.

As evening fell the cloud cover began to lift and the temperature began to drop. Finally, as they reached the brow of a low hill, the straggling lights of Ottery St Catchpole stretched out in the darkness below them.

'Shall we stay up here, just for a little while?' said Harry. Hermione nodded quickly. They dropped down into a small grass-filled depression off to the side of the bridleway. It lay just out of sight of the path and the land below. They took out their wands and each cast a little ball of fire and light, which coalesced and kept them warm.

'It suits you by the way,' said Hermione, breaking the silence. 'Without the beard I mean. I forgot to mention it.'

'Yeah, I'm probably better off without it,' he replied. 'Although I must admit that when I had it, I thought I looked sort of good.'

'You did,' she replied, remembering her meeting with him in St Bride's churchyard. 'But I like you back the way you are now.'

He took off his glasses and examined them. He found that one of the lenses was slightly cracked. With a grin he turned to Hermione.

'I don't suppose you could …'

She smiled and took out her wand.

'While you're at it,' he added, 'could you change them back to their old style?'

She whispered occulus reparo and the crack vanished. With another wave of her wand Harry's round glasses were back on his face.

'Thanks,' he said, quickly adjusting the spectacles on his nose. 'Better?'

Hermione smiled again.

'Better.'

'There's one more thing,' he continued, turning up his hair at the end where it swept down across his face. 'Could you do anything with this?'

'I thought I said to you once, never let me cut your hair again,' Hermione said quietly.

'Yeah, I remember.'

She paused to consider the proposition.

'But I think I meant only with actual scissors,' she continued, a smirk on her lips. 'A haircutting charm's another thing entirely. How would you like it?'

'Ah, you know. I trust you,' he replied.

'Ok, done,' she said after a few moments. He raised his hand to the back of his neck, which was suddenly exposed to the breeze.

He leaned back against the hill and looked up at the sky. The sky was now completely black, and the stars were visible in every corner of it. He stared into the sky for a few moments, until he realised that she was looking at him. He turned and smiled at her. She was sitting next to him cross-legged, her knee touching his, the little flames of the enchantment they had cast flickering faintly just beyond her.

'I can't quite believe what we're about to…' he began.

'Sshh,' she replied. 'Didn't we say we weren't going to talk about it anymore?'

'You're right.'

He looked up at the stars. It's senseless, he thought. It's not fair.

'Hermione,' he began again.

Her gaze was piercing in the dark.

'Don't say anything,' she said in a low voice. 'Let's just keep the moment going for a little bit longer. You know, Harry, for me tonight is the last of you.'

He made no reply, instead silently taking hold of her right hand. It felt cold so he tried to squeeze some warmth into it. Then he guided her hand and placed it against his chest, at the point where the wound lay beneath the still blood stained t-shirt.

The gate to the Burrow lay a little way ahead. The lane was somewhat muddy, as it often was. From where they were walking they could already make out some of the lights in the house.

They were no more than a few metres from the gate when Harry stopped.

'What is it?' said Hermione, turning to him in the dark and touching him gently on the arm. He looked at her and tried to smile, but instead he could feel himself starting to shake.

'The cold's got into you,' she said with concern. She started to rub her hands vigorously up and down his sleeve to try and warm him up.

'I'll be fine,' he said, a brittle laugh half jumping out of him. 'I just need to get a grip on myself.'

She dropped her arms to her sides and studied him in silence on the dark lane, her back to the house.

'Hermione,' he said.

'Yes?'

'I … I suppose it'll be teatime.'

He glanced up, his gaze caught for a moment by the lights shining in the house.