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The Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off this site, and is for entertainment purposes only.

This chapter has been revised as of April, 2005 and contains new content. It has also been modified from the original NC-17 version is located at Checkmated, and is rated R.

Of Hearts and Heroes

Chapter Four

Harry arrived in Dumbledore's office and attempted to regain his balance from their whirling departure from the Pensieve. But the balance he sought was nowhere to be found. He felt out of control. Even the organizing presence of rage had slipped away from him during his split-second journey back to the office. He wanted that anger back.

The majestic walls of the office, once so comforting, closed in on him. This room had felt like the home of wisdom itself, a sanctuary, but now Harry knew there was no such thing. He felt suffocated. God, he hated this room.

Harry found himself meeting his cousin's eyes. His cousin. Bloody hell. All the air left his lungs. Looking at her now, the familial resemblance seemed so strong that it seemed unreal. As if someone had purposely designed a person to look like him. Yet, somehow, Harry had completely missed it earlier this evening.

Adrianna met his gaze evenly. She had a calm, resolute expression, as if she was waiting for Harry to rage at her and was preparing herself. She was expecting questions, demands, but she wasn't the one Harry was angry at. The questions he had were not for her.

Seeming to sense this, her eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened with worry. Harry turned toward Dumbledore, his teacher, his mentor, his protector. The man who had failed him on every count.

"Harry." He heard Adrianna whispered warning behind him. Harry ignored it. He took in Dumbledore's ever serene demeanor. His fingers were casually laced together. A relaxed expression was on his face… There it was. Harry found the rage he was looking for.

Anger filled him such that he could barely see. Everything looked red. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears. Why…? He meant to say it out loud, but it never came out.

Dumbledore. He was the only person in Harry's life that he had ever trusted completely, to keep him safe, to do the right thing, to lead Harry through the horror that was his life. He was the only one that Harry didn't have to worry about protecting. Dumbledore protected him. Harry. Or he used to.

Harry would have stood by him until the end. He had defended him in the heart of battle…and now, now his mentor had betrayed him. Dumbledore lied to him. Worse than lied, kept his life from him, past and future, legacy and prophecy.

"Why?" Harry asked when he finally found his voice. "Why would you do this? Why wouldn't you tell me?" Unlike his last visit to this office, Harry didn't yell. He couldn't. If he yelled he would loose any control he had left over himself.

"Harry," Adrianna warned again, this time he felt her hand close around his upper arm. He froze at the contact. It was their first. As far as he knew, she was his only magical relative and this is the first time there had been physical contact. Someone had stolen a lifetime of that from him.

The thought sparked another wave of fury and Adrianna took a hissing breath behind him, as if she had felt it. Harry reckoned she had. "Step back, Harry," she told him forcefully, her voice close to his ear. He felt the gentle pressure of her hand pulling him back.

Harry realized that his whole body was tense, his muscles coiled, his hands fisted. He was ready to strike. And he was in arms length of his old mentor. Dumbledore appeared completely unaffected.

Harry growled, deep in his throat. "I want answers."

"And you'll get them," Adrianna said with focused calm. "But first you need to take a step back."

Harry's jaw clenched. Reluctantly, he took two steps back. Adrianna's arm relaxed, but her hand stayed on him, comforting and invasive at the same time. Always a reminder to keep himself restrained.

"So tell me!" Harry demanded with more disrespect than he had ever exhibited, even at his most arrogant. He felt guilty and satisfied at the same time. He'd thought he could forgive Dumbledore for the prophecy, for the Department of Mysteries…but this was one thing too many.

Dumbledore's eyes moved carefully between Harry and his cousin, watchfully taking in their interactions. "Yes, it appears that once again I owe you an explanation…and an apology, to both you and Miss Potter."

He paused at a soft, mirthless laugh from Adrianna. "No one calls me Miss Potter. No one has ever called me that."

Dumbledore gave a small smile and nodded slightly. "Adrianna then, perhaps I might offer you and your young cousin a seat." He waved his arm toward his large chairs.

Harry could feel her eyes on him. He clenched his teeth tighter and shook his head. "Standing it is," Adrianna replied lightly.

The headmaster cocked his head in acceptance. "If you'll forgive an old man…" He rounded the desk and settled himself in his large throne-like chair. Looking up at them Dumbledore's expression was filled with sadness and regret. Harry was beyond caring.

The professor continued, "It does seem that my mistakes are accumulating this week. I know how hard it is for you to understand, Harry…" The angry teenager scoffed and turned his head away, rejecting the attempt at compassion. "You must know that every decision made was in what we believed to be your best interest."

Harry laughed outright. "How could not telling me about my family be in my best interest?"

"Harry," Dumbledore explained gently. "This was family that had rejected magic and disappeared across the Atlantic. A Muggle Aunt by marriage and a child who had her own difficult to control powers. By the time you came to Hogwarts we hadn't heard from them in over eleven years. There was a good chance your cousin was dead and now… Harry, I don't think you could comprehend how incredible Adrianna's survival is. No known Empath has ever lived to the age of twenty-eight. For her to be here, so healthy. It's truly fantastic."

Dumbledore's expression held a bit of awe. Harry turned and looked at his cousin. She looked like any other witch her age, nothing out of the ordinary. Adrianna merely shrugged at the professor's words, "Yeah, it's thrilling. Really."

Harry almost smiled, almost. Instead, he crossed his arms tightly across his chest, allowing Adrianna's hand to fall away. "So you made assumptions," he challenged. "Did you even try and find her? Try and see if she was actually dead?" Was it ignorance or laziness?

Dumbledore looked dejected. "Harry, I personally sent hundreds of owls to America, the first year alone. She had disappeared."

He broke off at Adrianna's laugh. "Yes, I had disappeared into one of three American magic schools." Harry watched Dumbledore's reaction to the words. As always it was subtle. His wrinkled eyes narrowed, a look of contemplation on his face.

When he didn't comment Adrianna spoke again. "I remember one letter my mother showed me. It was almost two years after…. When I was thirteen. It said all my father's family was dead and that you wanted to speak with me."

"You didn't contact us?" Dumbledore asked simply.

"Why would I? My family was dead. I had no further ties with Britain." Her face hardened. "But my whole family wasn't dead."

Dumbledore smiled a grim smile. "One of the many things I had planned on discussing if you had made contact."

Adrianna again gave a mirthless laugh, turning away and shaking her head. Harry felt his anger and disgust rising again. All the decisions that had so profoundly affected his life, each one flashed before his eyes, overwhelming him. All the things kept from him, his godfather, the prophecy, his connection with Voldemort, and dozens more over the years.

At one time Harry had thought Dumbledore infallible. Now that seemed laughable. The old wizard had once promised Adrianna that he would protect Harry and his family. He had failed utterly. The urge to throw something was coming back.

Harry felt a hand on his arm again. "Harry, let's go," Adrianna told him firmly. Harry resisted the pull, looking at her in question. Her expression expressed urgency. Was it because of what he was feeling? "We need to get out of this office. Now."

Harry almost told her that it was ok. He had torn this office up before, but he let her pull him to the door. He really really hated this office.

"Miss Potter…Adrianna," Dumbledore called and she turned back to him with a long suffering look. He handed her a shinny golden object. "You are welcome to stay with us as long as you need."

She took the key-like object, muttering, almost sarcastically, "Thanks." The door opened and Harry stumbled down the stairs, desperate to be free of the oppressive room.

In the hall, he fell against the opposite wall in his haste to descend the stairs. Fury welled up in him. All the secrets and lies haunted Harry. He let out a growl of frustration and slammed his hand into the hard stone wall. It felt good so he balled up his fist and pounded it into the stone with all his might. He only got in three good punches before exhaustion overwhelmed him and he slid to his knees. Harry collapsed against the wall, his back to the stone, and buried his head in his knees.

"Hey," Adrianna called softly. Harry opened his eyes to see his cousin crouched in front of him. "Let me see that." She reached over and took his bleeding hand without waiting for permission. "It's not broken, that's good. You hit that wall pretty damn hard." She smiled what seemed to be a genuine smile. "I can probably heal this. Do you want me to?"

Harry considered her question. No one had ever given him the choice before. Was there a choice?

She smiled sympathetically. "Sometimes physical pain feels good. Takes your mind off the other kinds of pain. Sometimes it feels good to see yourself bruised on the outside, when you feel bruised on the inside. So, if you want to keep it, it's up to you."

Harry cradled his injured hand. After a minute he said, "I think I'll keep it."

"I thought you might." There was quiet for a minute. "I'm sorry we didn't look for you, my mother and I."

Harry searched Adrianna's face. "How old were you?" he asked though he knew the answer.

"Thirteen."

Harry laughed. What could she have done? She was a child. As powerless as he, himself, was now.

"In Dumbledore's defense," Adrianna said quietly. "A thirteen year old Empath, in school, and a Muggle woman, in America, probably weren't the best choice to keep you safe."

Harry smiled bitterly. "Yes, but would I have had to sleep in a cupboard?"

"You slept in a cupboard?" her voice expressed outrage, making Harry feel a tad better. She shook her head. "At least you're alive. That's something Dumbledore is responsible for," Adrianna said lightly as she moved to sit next to him against the wall.

Harry scoffed. Yeah, something. "He promised to keep all of us safe."

"Yeah," she sighed. "But, it wasn't a promise he could keep. No one can be sure they can protect anyone. All they can do is try." Adrianna took a deep breath. "He tried his best. To tell you the truth, I think all of this is out of our hands, all of our hands. Too many things had to align just right for us to not know about each others existence. I think fate had it planned this way," she said with a far away expression.

Harry sneered in disgust. "To hell with fate!"

Adrianna laughed genuinely. It was a soft feminine sound. "My sentiments exactly, but unfortunately I've learned not to mess with it. Fate, destiny, it's a hell of a lot more powerful than we could ever be."

"That's why you're here," Harry stated in a monotone. She didn't want to be here. She just felt she had to be.

Adrianna sighed again. "It's true that there are certain…inconveniences about being summoned to Britain. But you aren't one of them. I'd have come for you anyway, if I'd known about you."

Harry considered he words carefully. Did he believe her? Could he afford to? Was it worth trusting anyone ever again, especially an adult?

"Well, I'm not going anywhere so you don't have to decide now…"

Harry started at her words. The mind reading thing would take a lot of getting used to.

"…but at the moment I'm starving, so…" Adrianna trailed off with a smile.

Against his better judgment, Harry found himself saying, "I have a friend in the kitchen…"

When Ginny finally hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, it was well after midnight. She had wanted to be back before Harry, so she could causally catch him on his way back through the portrait hole. That way she could nonchalantly and inconspicuously…bombard him with questions.

For example, who the hell was this Adrianna and what bloody well happened in Dumbledore's office? That and Ginny needed to make sure Harry's tenuous hold on sanity was still intact. Her worry over him was almost overwhelming. She couldn't get him out of her head.

The warring factions inside Ginny gave her a pounding headache. One part warned her, 'Leave Harry alone. He doesn't want you in his life. He doesn't need your interfering. Have you no pride?' While the other screamed, 'It doesn't matter. He needs you, whether he knows it or not.'

Ginny's current exhaustion and anxiety were completely overriding her self preservation. So to hell with pride, she'd lick her wounds after this whole situation was resolved.

She gave the password to The Fat Lady and climbed through the portrait hole. The common room was empty, which she found somewhat surprising as they had no classes tomorrow. She looked around, trying to decide what to do.

God only knew what had happened in Dumbledore's office. Did Harry learn some new information that sent him into a rage, or an even deeper depression? They didn't know that this Adrianna wouldn't hurt Harry. For all they knew she could be working for Voldemort. All Ginny knew, as she paced the common room floor, was that she really had to see Harry.

Well, chances were that he was already in his dorm room. It was really late. Ginny was just going to have to go up there and get him.

She stared at the staircase to the boys' dormitory and bit her lip. He'd probably be in bed. Ginny wouldn't want to alert his dorm mates to her presence. She'd probably have to climb onto his bed, since it was so tall. Her pulse rate quickened.

The sacrifices one makes. Ginny suppressed a hysterical giggle.

But what if they weren't asleep? It was highly likely that at least some of the fifth year boys were awake. Dean had said that they hadn't planned on going to bed any time soon. Ginny couldn't very well tell them that she was sneaking into the dorm in the middle of the night to see Harry.

Ginny considered just going to bed, and then the events of the day flashed through her mind. She was never going to be able to sleep without talking to Harry first. She took a deep breath and started to climb the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

She'd just tell them that she needed something for Ron. It was a slim excuse at one a.m., but she'd improvise. Ginny was a excellent liar.

Passing the younger dormitories, Ginny heard rambunctious laughter and chatter coming from the fourth years. She dashed past her classmates' semi-open door and up to the fifth year landing. It seemed pretty quiet. She stuck her head in the door and cautiously looked around. All was still, but the velvet drapes hid the contents of most of the beds.

Ginny crept into the room, as she did, she began to panic. God damn it. She didn't even know which bed was Harry's. She briefly considered leaving… Randomly, she chose a bed and steeled herself. She lifted the heavy drapery. Her heart beat, roughly.

"Looking for someone?"

Ginny jumped and spun. She found herself face to face, literally, with Dean Thomas. "Bloody Hell, Dean! Are you trying give me a heart attack?"

He was smiling roguishly at her. Ginny felt a tentative hand come to rest on her hip. She was considering just what to do about it, when his other hand came to rest on her other hip. After a moment his grip became more confident.

She swallowed, uncharacteristically flustered. Her hands fluttered. She wasn't sure what to do with them. Somehow, they wound up on his chest. Ginny told herself that it was so she could push him away if she had to.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked softly, intimately.

"Um… I was getting something for Ron." But Ginny didn't sound certain about it. Her voice broke. Shite, what was wrong with her?

Dean chuckled huskily. Ginny was acutely aware of being caught between a pajama clad male and a bed. She'd never been between a boy and a bed before.

"This isn't Ron's bed," he said in a whisper. "That is." He gestured with his head to a bed on the other side of the room. The only one with open curtains.

"Oh. Whose bed is this?" Ginny was scared to find out.

Dean's hands tightened on her hips. "Mine."

"Oh." Bloody hell. "Well, I didn't know that, did I?" She fought to keep her voice even.

Dean was leaning closer to her and the look in his eyes made her feel… wanted… attractive… sexy. Sexy, this whole situation was overwhelmingly sexy. Ginny really needed to push away. She was in so much trouble.

Then his lips were on hers. Ginny really shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. His lips were soft and warm, slightly open, and felt…really, really nice. Her eyelids had not had a chance to close when he pulled back and looked into her eyes.

Ginny didn't know if it was the deliciously scandalous situation or the look of want in his eyes, but she was feeling giddy. So, when he leaned into her again, she met him half-way. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she let her lips slide softly over Dean's in a practiced manner, slow and sensuous.

It hadn't gone on very long when Ginny heard a crash in the hall. She jerked away abruptly as she heard Neville swear from the behind the door. Oh thank god! It's not Harry. Shite, she did not just think that!

Ginny's widened eyes met Dean's. Ginny finally unfroze and pushed him away. She scrambled for the door as Neville entered.

"Hey, Ginny…wha…?" asked the limping boy.

Ginny ignored him, but paused at the door to look back at Dean. He was staring after her. She shot him a quick smile and ran out the door and down the spiraling staircase.

Oh shite. Oh shite. What did she just do? And why the hell did she feel so guilty about it? She could kiss whomever she bloody wanted to. Shite. She had just kissed Dean Thomas. And it was…. fun.

"Ginny?"

She looked up to see that she was about to crash head first into Harry Potter. Oh Hell. She was a dirty slag.

Harry had a small, inquisitive smile. "What are you doing on the stairs to the boys' dormitory?"

Ginny felt panic bubble up inside her. He knew. He could tell by the look on her face.

"Looking for you," she whispered honestly, suddenly remembering why she was there in the first place. She grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him down the stairs and into the common room. She deliberately pushed the events of the last half hour from her mind. Ginny had more important things to deal with than kissing

She pulled Harry over to the sofa in front of the fire and they both sat. Taking in his worn and tired appearance, Ginny whispered in a rush, "What happened? Are you all right? Blimey, it's one thirty in the morning, Harry."

Harry sank into the sofa and leaned his head back, eyes fixing on the ceiling. "I, er... I'm fine I suppose…"

"Where have you been?" she asked, anxiously. Too anxiously for her tastes.

"With… with my cousin."

"Your cousin…? Adrianna?" Ginny repeated, feeling stupid. Her heart clenched in her chest, but even as she questioned it, the pieces began to fall into place. The color of Adrianna's hair, the shape of her jaw, all so familiar. That was why Ginny had to struggle to keep her guard up. Adrianna reminded her of Harry. Ginny never had much of a defense against Harry.

"Yeah, weird isn't it?" Harry said absently, not looking at her.

Yeah, weird. Ginny found herself asking, "Are you sure?"

Harry laughed, a short bitter laugh. It felt like ice in Ginny's veins. "How can anyone be sure of anything anymore?" He rolled his head against the back of the sofa and looked at Ginny with a piercing green gaze. He smiled a mirthless smile. "I'm as sure as I am of anything. Dumbledore was definitely convinced, not that that means anything. He's been wrong enough lately."

Ginny listened to Harry's bitter words with a combination of dread and confusion. It was like he had lost all hope. "Harry, I don't understand."

He looked her over for a minute, then shrugged and looked back to the ceiling. Biting back her frustration Ginny carefully asked, "What happened in Dumbledore's office?" She held her breath, wondering if he would reply.

There were long endless moments where Harry acted as though he hadn't heard her. Embarrassment at having made herself vulnerable to Harry warred with increasing concern.

When finally he spoke, it was softly, hesitatingly and he never looked away from the ceiling. "Um…Dumbledore showed us the memory of…his memory, in his Pensieve, of the day Adrianna's father, my uncle, was killed." Ginny covered her mouth to cover a gasp, unwilling to break Harry's train of thought and jerk him away from his story. "It was Voldemort, of course. My father was there…."

Harry trailed off and Ginny thought maybe she should respond, or prompt him or something. "Wow." That was all she could manage, pathetic really. He always did turn her into a blithering idiot.

He swallowed. "Yeah…It was… you should have seen… I mean, Adrianna was twelve years old and locked in a cupboard. All the while, she heard her father being killed, felt it. There is no way that it wasn't Adrianna. It just was."

"Oh," Ginny said. Again very articulate. That kiss must have addled her brain. Don't think about the kiss, damn it.

"Um...hmmm…"

She let out a deep breath, mind working furiously. "So…why is she here? Why now?"

Harry picked up his head, looking at her, confused. He shook his head. "Just what she said before, vision, protection, bloody fate."

Ginny almost giggled. She had never heard Harry swear quite that harshly before. She forced herself to stay serious. "So you…er, believe her?"

He resumed staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, I believe her."

Ginny watched him cautiously. Though she hadn't seen the Pensieve, she certainly wasn't willing to trust the woman that easily and given his state of mind, she certainly didn't think Harry was capable of making a proper judgment.

"So, um…" she considered her next words carefully. "What else happened?"

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "After the Pensieve?"

Ginny shrugged. Really, she was looking for any information at all.

He gave a half smile. "Well, Adrianna had to pull me out of Dumbledore's office to keep me from striking him---"

"Harry!" Ginny gasped, shocked. "What…why?"

There was another bitter laugh. "Dunno. Maybe because Dumbledore lied to me about the prophecy, about the Department of Mysteries, made me learn Occlumency from a man who could never teach me anything. Then kept my family from me. Yeah, I reckon that's it. Oh, and in his Pensieve memory he promised Adrianna he'd keep my parents safe. He did a right good job of it, didn't he now?"

"Harry…No…" Ginny sputtered, completely horrified. "Dumbledore, he…he just wants to keep you safe." She said the only comforting things she could think of. "He did his best." Even as she said this it seemed odd. If Dumbledore's best wasn't good enough, than whose was?

"Yeah, well..." Harry leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "That's what Adrianna said…" he drifted off, yawning. "I've got to get some sleep." He began to get up, then stopped and looked at her. The intensity of it made her cheeks warm. "Ginny..." His voice was hesitant. "Thanks for, you know, everything today."

Ginny swallowed. Somehow she managed to say, "You're welcome."

He nodded and hesitatingly walked to the stairs. Ginny stared after him, wanting to call him back, too many questions still unanswered. Then, as if he knew her mind he did turn. "Tomorrow morning," Harry said haltingly. "After breakfast, I'm bringing Adrianna to meet with Hermione and Ron. I'd like it if… Do you want to come?"

"Sure," Ginny said quickly, too quickly. She had no pride left.

Harry nodded then looked at the ground. He seemed to have more to say. Ginny waited anxiously for him to speak. When he did, it was so soft she could barely make it out. "Do you think you could…? I don't want to put you out…"

Ginny almost laughed out loud at that. Put her out. Ha!

"But I was wondering if you'd meet me before. So we could go over everything…you know how Hermione can be. She's going to be awfully suspicious…'

Hermione? Shite. Should Ginny confess that she went to Hermione and told her everything she knew. Crap, he was going to hate her.

"I could really use an ally," he finished, looking up at her shyly, biting the inside of his cheek.

All Ginny could do was nod, terrified and honored. Harry smiled, seeming relieved. He nodded, quickly turned, and ascended the stairs.

All Ginny could do was watch. Watch him disappear up the stairs to go to the room he shared with Dean Thomas. The boy who Ginny had been snogging barely an hour before. Right before Harry Potter asked her to be his ally against his best friends and share his deepest secrets.

Bloody hell! Ginny threw herself back on the sofa and covered her eyes with her arm. When did life get so damn complicated?

For the fourth night in a row, Ron awoke gasping. The horrifying images lingered as the hospital wing came into view. He ran a hand over his eyes attempting to clear them.

"Ron, are you all right?" a famine voice called from next to him called. She sounded awfully alert.

Relief filled him at the sound of Hermione's voice, helping him banish the image of her limp corpse from his mind. He blinked rapidly to clear his mind, as he struggled control his breathing. Ron's eyes were drawn to her bed. They narrowed. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

She was guiltily hiding what was obviously a book under the covers. A lit wand was held behind her back. "Nothing. Are you ok? I mean, what are you doing?" she stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.

"I was having a nightmare, as usual." Ron attempted a frown to hide his amusement. Climbing out of bed, he was next to her in a second, flipping back her covers. "And you…. are doing research." He glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. "At four in the morning."

Ron ran his hand over his face. What was he going to do with her? Three days after being hexed into a coma and she was staying up all night studying. Even with all their exams over, Hermione couldn't put down the bloody books. The girl was going to work herself to death. The thought genuinely scared him.

He sat next to her, taking in her shamefaced expression. Hermione's eyes were fixed on her hands as they played with her bed sheets. She had such delicate looking hands, they were stained with ink.

Ron shook his head. He cleared his throat Keep on task. "Hermione, you promised."

She looked up at him with a pout. "I couldn't sleep." Hermione rarely pouted. That would entail some sort of acceptance of being wrong, which Hermione never did. Now, Ron had to look away to keep from being unduly swayed by that manipulative lip. It was a very effective weapon. He wondered if she realized that.

Ron reached over to her bedside table and picked up a full vial of draught. "Then you should have taken your potion."

Hermione's jaw set. The look in her eyes changed from shame to challenge. She crossed her arms. "All right, then. You first."

Their eyes held for many moments in a silent battle of wills. Finally, Ron let the hand that was holding the Dreamless Sleep Draught drop. He didn't know why he ever thought he was going to win with her. Besides, he wasn't going to let himself become dependant on the potion, why would Hermione?

Flashes of his dream assailed him again. Ron brought his eyes back to her stubborn and wonderfully alive face. "You're tired, Hermione. I can tell."

She sighed. "I tried to sleep, but then I kept thinking of Harry and this woman. Then it occurred to me that everything we've been reading only goes back to the turn of the sixteen century. Look." She started flipping through pages. "It only goes back as far as 1520. Then it just stops. There is something important about this date. So I….."

Ron shook his head firmly, gently pulling the book from her hands. "You need to put this away and get some sleep. It can wait."

"No, Ron, wait," she insisted softly, stilling his hands by firmly laying hers over his.

Ron was paralyzed. He stared down at Hermione's hand as if it were something foreign. He seemed to have stopped breathing. Maybe this is why he had avoided touching her for so long. She had some magic where she could completely control him with the simplest of touches.

He wanted to protest and pull the book away, instead Ron whispered, "What?" His eyes remained glued to their hands. They had somehow become entwined. Had he done that? There was something strange about this room that made him act on the oddest impulses. It did feel wonderful to feel her warmth after the frigid cold of the nightmare.

"I need to show you something," Hermione whispered back. He had no idea why they were whispering. Professor Umbridge had been transferred to St. Mungos. They were the only ones in the room. Ron tried to tare his eyes away from their hands, but only got as far as her neck. He watched in fascination as Hermione swallowed anxiously. Why was she anxious?

She flipped through the pages with her free hand, her non-dominant hand. It was awkward but she didn't remove her hand from his. "When I couldn't find out what happened before 1520, I got really frustrated and when I get frustrated in studying sometimes I try studying something else…So, anyway I decided to take a break and look up this other thing--"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted with a smile, giving her a look that told her that she was rambling. Hermione really was mental. Though, for once, he found it more endearing than irritating.

"Right," she breathed in a hushed tone and bit her lip. "So, I decided to look for this woman's family. The books are too old for her to be in…anyway, I couldn't find any Empath families in America, but again the book is rather old, so I decided to look and see if I could find an Empath line in England. There was only one." She opened to a page with 'Brookfield' written in fancy calligraphy.

Ron narrowed his eyes, he needed to stop this nonsense and get her back to bed… her bed…sleep that is. "Hermione, interesting as this is…"

She fixed him with a pleading glance. "One more minute, I'm going somewhere important with this." Ron sighed but let her continue. "In the mid 1500s Nicoli Molikov, patriarch of a line of Russian Empaths married his eldest daughter, an Empath, at the age of twelve, to James Brookfield in 1545." Ron groaned, earning a glare. "Fine…" Hermione flipped to the end of the chapter, pointing to the last paragraph.

"In 1780, Elizabeth Brookfield, a sixteen year old Empath and the last of the Brookfields, married Henry Potter," Hermione said triumphantly as Ron sat up straighter, suddenly taking interest. "A year later, she had one son, Alexander Potter. She then promptly went crazy and 'fell' off a cliff. And then that's all that's written, this book was published in 1801."

Ron squinted his eyes in the darkness, trying to read what she was talking about. There it was there… 'Potter.' His mind was tripping over itself in attempt to catch up with her, his heart rate accelerating. "So, you think Harry and the woman Ginny met are…"

"Related, yeah I do, or that she is going to claim that they are related. Judging from how Ginny described Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall's reactions…and didn't she say that the woman had black hair and that she seemed oddly familiar?"

Ron shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. He let out a soft chuckle. "It almost seems too clichéd to be real, Hermione. I mean the long lost relative appears at his darkest moment to save Harry from himself."

Hermione didn't seem to see the humor in the situation, she frowned. "Or to destroy him. Ron, this is serious, we don't know if this woman has Harry's best interests at heart."

"We don't know that she doesn't either," he said gently, not wanting to start a fight.

Hermione met his eyes for the first time since their hands had…had touched. "Ron, she could be working for Voldemort."

He took a deep breath. "She could. She could also be here to help."

Hermione sighed and looked away. "Regardless, if this book is correct and these Potters are the same Potters, then there are other implications---"

"Sure, if Harry had family then---"

"No, it would mean Harry has Empath blood."

Ron frowned, asking skeptically, "Harry could be an Empath?"

"No, Ron," Hermione said with a familiar frustrated tone. "Didn't you pay attention at all today? Men can't be Empaths, only woman, but all woman in the line have the gift, or curse more accurately."

Now Ron was even more confused. "So?"

"So, it's awful being an Empath. They die young and go crazy, it's an appalling existence. If Harry were to have a daughter then---"

Ron laughed out right. "Hermione, I think Harry is more concerned about surviving to graduation than what might happen to a fictional future daughter. He doesn't even have a girlfriend."

Hermione bit her lip, studying their joined hands. "I suppose."

Ron rolled his eyes. Hermione was always thinking way too far ahead. Harry's daughter, really… Then a horrible thought occurred to him, making his stomach clench. "Why do you care so much?" he asked carefully, only partially succeeding in keeping the accusation out of his voice.

Her eyes snapped back up to his, her expression confused.

Ron suddenly felt cold. He knew he was gripping her hand painfully hard. "Unless you're worried about yourself…about you and Harry."

Her expression remained bemused despite the pressure on her fingers. "Me and Harry what?"

"Unless you're concerned about your daughter…" Ron heard his voice squeak at the words. He wasn't sure why this was upsetting him so much.

Hermione laughed as comprehension joined, her fingers moved against his warmly. "No, no. I can honestly say I have never thought of Harry in that way."

"Never?" Ron repeated daftly. "Like the past…what about now, are you---"

"Ron," she interrupted, smiling at him with a strangely sweet expression, searching his face. "Harry's like a brother to me."

Ron felt a brief flood of relief before another strangely disturbing question popped into his mind. His next question came tumbling out before he could stop it. "Am I like a brother?" Ron felt himself panic as he said it. Why would he ask such a daft question?

The smile faded from Hermione's face and she looked away. His heart dropped. "I think you have enough siblings, don't you think?" she murmured softly.

Oh. Good. That was good. He wasn't sure why that was good, but it was. Hermione was playing with his fingers again. That was good as well. Shite, now he was going mental. They really needed to get some sleep.

"Well, then..." he said clearing his throat and purposely raising his voice to a normal level. "This is nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." This time he was determined as he disentangled their fingers and removed the book from her lap.

"But…" she protested.

"Hermione, we don't know anything. We need to rest so you…we can heal. We can research tomorrow." He placed the book under his bed.

"But Harry…this woman---"

"Will come by tomorrow and you can interrogate them then."

"What if they don't?" Hermione crossed her arms and fixed him with a stubborn look, but this time he wasn't dissuaded. Ron reached over and snatched her wand. "Hey," she protested, reaching for it.

He ignored her, placing the wand on the far side of his bed. "Then you'll have to get yourself better if you ever want to get out of here and track them down."

"Ron, give me back my wand," she demanded in a whine.

"Just making sure the lights stay out." He looked over her obstinate expression. The minute he turned his back she was going to be at it again. Ron frowned, considering. He stood and grabbed his own wand from under his pillow. "Accio bed."

Hermione raised her brows at him as he climbed in and turned to face her. "I'm just going to be right here watching you until you fall asleep. So don't even think about trying anything."

She attempted a glare, but it turned into an affectionate smile. "Well, good night, then."

"'Night."

Thank you to RedMoonChick, kjcp, JenB, and Texasmagic.