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Chapter 1 – Just a Day like Any Other

As it often does from time to time, the sun had risen lazily above the roofs of Privet Drive, caressing the sleeping neighborhood with its gentle rays. The cloudless summer sky and the bright light that glinted off the prisms of dewdrops foretold an extraordinary Sunday.

But, no matter how marvelous the day would be, nothing could make Vernon Dursley forget the calamity that had descended upon his house so many years ago. The calamity was Harry Potter, his almost sixteen year old damn nephew. Harry had returned from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – or in Vernon's words, that school of weirdoes and freaks – nearly two weeks previously. Ever since then the simple fact that they lived under the same roof was giving Vernon a migraine that refused to go away. The pain was driving the already-irritable man to new heights.

On that beautiful Sunday morning the Dursleys were sitting down to breakfast. Petunia all-knowing and kindly, perched herself delicately on the edge of her chair. In front of her, ravenously eyeing the food, her sweet and gentle-hearted son Dudley sat carefully; wary of the chair creaking beneath his weight. Vernon, the almighty father and head of the house, settled himself down with a small grunt of pleasure. Smiling happily at each other, the charming family began to serve itself with gusto.

While shoveling food down his throat, Vernon raised a silent prayer to God thanking him from the bottom of his heart for the delicious food he was having and for keeping the insufferable brat upstairs in his room. If God heard him or not is still debatable, but what is sure is that just as he topped off his plate with a large helping of delicious bacon, the most infernal piercing noise came from Harry's room. Ice in Hell takes more time to melt than his joyful disposition did.

"Damn it!" he raged, waving his fork and spattering his wife and son with pieces of fried eggs, "can't I even eat breakfast without that awful bird of his making a racket?" When no one answered, Dudley being too busy working on completing his human-to-swine transformation, and Petunia being too wrapped up in making sure her precious baby was getting his nutrients, Vernon grunted again in frustration and dug into his breakfast once again.

What he called breakfast, most people would call a copious dinner. Since the previous year when Dudley, the light of his parent's lives, had begun boxing, things had changed. The meager diet they had imposed to help their beloved son loose weight was replaced by an opulent one. It was high in protein and energy to help Dudley get through those horrible hours at the gym spent honing his brilliant pugilistic talent.

Seeing the delight with which his son took to the new diet, Vernon had begun to use it himself. The result was forty-four pounds of extra fat on his already beefy frame, making him gasp with every effort. But this morning Vernon had barely begun his bacon when the loud shrieking noise came again with a vengeance from his nephew's room.

"Boy, you'll keep that bird silent!" he bellowed menacingly, letting the threat hang in the air as his face went from pale to increasingly dark shades of red from anger. Thoughts of the annoying plucked pigeon impaled on a stick above a raging fire kept popping through his mind.

It appeared, however, that Harry had decided to blissfully ignore his relatives that morning, as the bird's wails were still carving huge chasms into Vernon's already sore brain.

Dudley looked up from his food for a moment to look ecstatically at his father's swollen, fuming face. He hadn't seen his dad this close to the boiling point for quite some time. Nearly a year had passed since that incident, and the mere thought of those d-d-dementors was still sending icy shivers down his spine.

Seeing the fanatical look on her husband's face, Petunia rushed up the stairs as fast as her skinny long legs were able to take her, in a desperate attempt to put an early end to the circus that was about to begin. Reaching the upstairs hall, she tried in vain to open Harry's door. She might have had more luck opening up a wall. And that bird was hooting, and hooting...

"Harry Potter, open the door this instant!" she demanded, pounding furiously with her fists at the door.

But once again, Harry decided to ignore them, showing just how much her opinion meant to him at the moment.

Petunia heard Vernon climbing the stairs, puffing, his face red from exertion, and a mad glint in his piggy eyes. Dudley, not wanting to miss what seemed to be the beginning of a great show, followed a step behind his father.

"This is it! I can't take it anymore!" boomed the fat man between gasps, the blood speeding with great velocity through his arteries. How or why some of his blood vessels hadn't popped is one of the small mysteries that sadly will never be elucidated.

"Vernon, the boy closed himself in", Petunia wept pleadingly as soon as her husband managed to crawl his way up the stairs.

"Oh yeah?" he spat eloquently. "I'll show him who the boss around here really is!" and, with a sudden lunge, Vernon threw himself at the door.

He was a human mountain of fat, and Harry's door was hardly made to defend against intruders. When the frenzied amalgam of bones, meat, and fat that was Vernon made contact with the wood, the door exploded, shattering apart. Unable to stop his momentum, Vernon found himself flat on Harry's floor, sweeping the dusty carpet with his moustache.

With a nearly unbelievable effort, Vernon rolled over and sat up, mumbling something incomprehensible which might have been a request for help getting to his feet. Not receiving an answer, he focused his gaze on the two people who were standing in the doorway.

Petunia was goggling with terrified eyes at something in the opposite corner of the room, her face snow white. It seemed that she couldn't control the slight flutter of her lower lip. Dudley matched his mother perfectly, and even did her one-up: his mouth was wide open, and through his teeth chunks of food were clearly visible.

Swallowing the knot that had formed in his throat, Uncle Vernon turned and dragged his eyes slowly across the small bedroom. A huge wooden trunk lay open in the middle of the floor, filled with books, scrolls, a cauldron, and objects of questionable use. Sunlight coming through the closed window, opposite the hole that had once been a door, was blocked by a large birdcage – perhaps this is why he hadn't noticed the scene on the other side of the room at once. But it didn't take him long to notice. The white owl made sure of it, flying circles over the bed and hooting loudly, her wings thumping the ceiling.

Lying on the bed was a slender young man with raven black hair and green eyes. The boy was sleeping, and he was dreaming...

It was one of the oddest dreams he had ever had, and considering the dreams that had haunted him before, that was saying something. He was floating in a sea of endless darkness. He couldn't see his body; he wasn't even sure if he still had one.

An image started to appear before his eyes, like a movie projected upon the silver screen. He could see a group of people, himself included, in a dimly lit, amphitheater shaped room. He watched in slow motion as a beam of light hit a man straight in the chest; he saw him bending through the air, a look of confusion and bewilderment carved on his face, and he saw him passing through a black veil, never to return to the land of the living again.

"Sirius!" yelled Harry just as his image did, feeling his heart ripping itself to shreds because of the pain. The image started to fade away, but he continued to shout through his tears, repeating the name. Sirius... the one man that had been something of a father to Harry, even if it was only for a short period of time. His eyes stung and his throat became like paper, but he couldn't stop. Nothing mattered anymore except the grief and the pain of Sirius's death. The pain was rising from his heart, ripping bones and flesh and skin in a desperate attempt to engulf his very being.

"Harry…Harry...look at me. Please put an end to the tears and look at me. Please".." It was a voice he knew well, a voice full of love and understanding. A voice that had the power to dry his eyes and ease the beating of his heart.

I know that voice, Harry thought through the haze that cluttered his brain". "Hermione?" he mumbled weakly, opening his eyes.

It wasn't her. Instead of his friend he saw his mother, Lily Potter. She was smiling at him with those green eyes so much like his own, eyes full of love and understanding. He felt as though he had not a care in the world as long as her eyes, her brilliant green eyes, were locked with his. Harry knew that she had taken away his pain with just a glance of her beautiful red, flaming eyes. Snake-like eyes with vertical black pupils; eyes just like.."

"No. No, no, NO! This is not happening! This can't be... this is not real!" Harry cried refusing to belief. He started two twist and turn in a fruitless struggle to put distance between himself and that nightmare in front of him. But it was all in vain, because wherever he turned, whatever he did, he could not lose the gaze of those lidless, red, glowing eyes"

"Oh, but this is real, Harry", his mother continued with a suave, sweet voice". "Don't be afraid. This is what I really am inside, and through me, you are as well. Embrace that which has been given to you, don't fight it, for this is the only way".." her voice slowly drifted away, her face melting into the shadows with a warm smile on her lips.

Harry was alone again in the darkness, alone with only those red, glowing eyes to keep him company. He couldn't do anything but open his mouth in a silent scream as they burned his soul, his memories, and his will, turning them to cinder. He felt pain like he had never felt before, this new sensation making Voldemort's Crucio feel like a cute, innocent tickle.

Harry was dreaming...

When Vernon's eyes finally landed on the spot where his nephew slept, his heart stopped and his expression turned just as horrible as his son's.

Harry lay in a pool of his own blood, his lifeless face white as chalk.

OoOoOoOoO

At about the same time, in another place, the sun was sending its ethereal messenger to gently lure a sleeping young woman from the sweet embrace of the dreamland. Things didn't go as planned, for when a ray of light worked its way down to caress her face, a sharp intake of air made her chest arch painfully. A breath later, her muscles relaxed somewhat and she lazily fluttered her eyes open to greet the new day.

Battling with the last remains of sleep, she languidly raised her arms above her had and stretched her body to get rid of any unwanted kinks that might have crapped up during the night. She turned her head towards the window and she smiled. Ah, another great day for reading, she reasoned as she saw the clear blue sky through the glass. She loved to cuddle in her favorite chair in her parents' back garden with a good book. The light breeze amidst her bushy hair always gave her a feeling of freedom.

Speaking of reading... The girl directed her thoughts towards her next conquest, a book entitled "The Life and Achievements of the Most Prominent Witches in History". She'd found it on the wrong shelf in the bookstore during her last Hogsmeade weekend, and had immediately bought it. Thinking of Hogsmeade, images of a mighty castle filled her mind as well, and with them an avalanche of memories and feelings was brought to the fore-front of her mind.

A feeling of uneasiness, like an annoying itch the she couldn't scratch, accompanied her mental projection. She stood carefully in the middle of her bedroom and scanned her surroundings with an attentive frown. Everything was in order – a very particular order, to be precise. Nothing had been moved from their carefully chosen places.

Her eyes flew quickly over her bed and nightstand, over her wardrobe and her impressive bookcase, and finally settled on her desk. The book sat patiently there, just waiting to be read. She lightly touched the leather cover with the tip of her fingers and a wave of restlessness swept through her.

Something definitely wasn't right. If she could only put her finger on it...

She felt the cause of her discomfort floating right at the periphery of her perceptions. Closing her eyes, she took three deep breaths to steady herself. The tumult only increased, spreading through her entire body. What's happening to me? And why is the room spinning? she asked herself suddenly alert.

She put her hand at her temple, and by sheer force of will focused her vision on the book, putting an end to the rotation of the room. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she tried to drive the nausea away. "Snap out of it Granger. Think!" she reproached herself aloud, eager to hear her voice and convince herself that she wasn't sleeping anymore.

After taking another quick glance around the room she decided that the cause of whatever had happened wasn't there. As she was sitting down to ponder the strange situation, a terrible thought crept into her mind and the blood froze in her veins.

"Mum, Dad!" she yelled at the top of her lungs as she ran down the stairs, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen. She burst through the door, slamming it into the wall. She saw only her father with a newspaper in his hand and a puzzled expression in his eyes; in that moment she froze with fear.

"Pumpkin, what's wrong?" her father asked with great concern as soon as he saw the disheveled state in which his daughter had entered. The newspaper forgotten, he rose from the table and strode over to his daughter, putting a reassuring hand on her shivering shoulder. "Tell me, what happened?"

"Dad, where's mum?" she asked with a trembling voice, her vision starting to become blurry. "Where is she? Please tell me she's all right-" she could not control herself anymore and she fell to her knees, tears falling freely from her eyes.

"Hermione, I'm right here", came the sweet and caring voice of her mother from behind her, and she felt a pair of loving arms wrapping around her body, easing the pain that threatened to crush her. But the relief she felt at her mother's touch was short lived. As soon as she knew that her parents were safe a wave of horror crashed into her with the power of a sledgehammer. If her parents were all right, then that meant that-

"No", she whispered weakly. "No!" Now she knew. But in this particular case, the knowledge hadn't brought her any relief at all. Sitting on the cold kitchen floor in her mother's embrace, little by little she detached herself from the world around her. Her senses shifted inwards, searching... Further and further she went, the surrounding reality, with distressed parents and everything else that entailed, no longer a concern of hers.

Angry pounding at the door distracted for a moment Hermione's parents from their growing apprehension. Mr. Granger scrambled to his feet and rushed towards the source of the commotion, leaving his wife to take care of their daughter.

He returned quickly, followed by a young woman with worried eyes and dark blue hair.

"Wotcher", the young woman greeted the girl and her mother in a dreary voice.

"He...he's dead, isn't he?" Hermione asked in a far away voice, surprising everyone in the room.

The question stopped Tonks in her tracks, and for a second she forgot to breath. Her hair swiftly turned to a pale blue colour. To say that she was shocked by the question would be an understatement. She hadn't expected to find Hermione on the floor with tears drying on her face, nor was she prepared to face two very confused and fearful muggles.

She hadn't had time adjust to the unforeseen situation when three wizards popped into the small kitchen with loud cracks, further adding to the confusion. The Granger's jumped, and Tonks reached reflexively for her wand.

The wizards wore dark gray overcoats and black high hats. All three of them were very thin, bony, and freshly shaved. Their posture was extremely rigid and they were surveying the room with an obvious air of superiority.

What in Morgana's name are these paper pushers doing here? Tonks exasperatedly thought as she recognized the Ministry emblem on their chests; with a flick of her wrist she sent for the time being her wand back to its holster on her forearm.

Studiously ignoring the other people in the kitchen, one of the men strode pompously to Hermione. With a theatrical gesture that annoyed Tonks greatly he removed a scroll from his lower left pocket and unrolled it, brandishing it in his right hand. He dressed his voice with a tiny cough and began to read aloud using an official tone.

"Dear Miss Granger,

It has come to our attention that an unauthorized charm was performed on the morning of Sunday, July 20th, at your place of residence and by you. This is a breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.

Due to your illegal actions, you have been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The processors of this letter – that's us," the reader pointed to himself and his cronies "have the authority and the duty to destroy your wand.

Mafalda Hoprick

Improper Use of Magic Office,

Ministry of Magic."

He carefully rolled the scroll and placed it back into his pocket.

Hermione didn't seem to notice that she was expelled, that her wand was to be broken, or even that three unknown Ministry officials had just apparated into her kitchen. Actually, she hadn't moved a muscle since asking her question of Tonks. She remained on the floor, her legs cramped beneath her, her right hand clutching the wrist of the other, as though waiting for a verdict. Her face was very pale, and she gave the impression that she was looking into the beyond.

Trelawney would have been proud.

The Granger's eyes were running circles around the room, jumping from person to person. Their worry for their daughter and the arrival of three complete strangers had led them to complete confusion. They were momentarily quite speechless, but if a legilimens had been standing nearby, the thoughts radiating off the couple would have been something like this:

Who? Decree of what? Expelled! Destroy wand! Need coffee. My girl! Just...WHAT!

As for Tonks – if she hadn't already been circumspect of the three Ministry lackeys, her doubts would have been laid to rest. It was quite clear that this wasn't going to end with a warm smile, a friendly handshake, or a pat on the back. Truth be told, Tonks wished she could have remained in bed that morning. That way she wouldn't throw her career down the window. Oh well, a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Making one step further, the Ministry official extended his arm towards Hermione and said casually, "Miss Granger, your wand if you please." He truly expected her to comply with his demand. After all, he was a ministry official!

"You can NOT do this!" said Tonks tensely. She tripped on the foot of a chair while trying to step in front of him, but a spark of grim determination was clear in her eyes nonetheless.

"What's going on here?" a furious voice demanded. "Somebody please explain what you are all doing in my house!" Apparently Mr. Granger had just found his voice.

The Ministry representative was taken aback by the rude interruptions. He turned to take a better look at those who had the audacity to question his actions.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, you are muggles. This does not concern you." He made to turn away, dismissing them quickly, but Ms. Granger's cold voice stopped him.

"That would be Dr. and Dr. Granger to you, and anything that affects our daughter is our concern," Louise Granger snapped angrily. She was still holding Hermione in her arms.

The Official looked bewildered for a moment, as though unsure what the protocol for such a situation was. Never before had he believed that muggles could show hostility towards his person. The fact that this was his first encountered with a non-magical person had nothing to do with his reasoning. Mentally perusing the Ten Golden Rules for Dealing with Muggles, he nodded his head once and said with a pompous timber, "I am Mr. Stiffly, and I am here on official business from the Ministry of Magic." He looked at all those in the room vainglory. "If you would step back please, this will only take a moment."

"Don't tell me what to do in my own house!" retorted Kendal Granger, not in the mood to listen to the demands of some unknown and highly obnoxiously individual. Not ever, and especially not when something was wrong with his daughter.

Looking pointedly into his eyes, Tonks jumped back in the verbal dispute with a calming voice. "Dr. Granger, please allow me to try and clarify this." This, and the fact that his wife placed a hand on his arm seemed to appease him for the moment.

Mr. Stiffly eyed the young woman with a critical leer. He twitched his mouth in a deprecatory way. "And who might you be, that you dare interfere with the Ministry of Magic's business?" asked Mr. Stiffly coldly, trying and failing to look intimidating. The other two had approached to lend support to their colleague. Their expressions were similarly arrogant.

"I am Nymphadora Tonks, Auror for the Ministry of Magic," she replied firmly, "and I want t-"

"Yes, yes, Auror." He accompanied his words with a wave of his hand, cutting her in mid sentence. "The thing is that it doesn't matter what YOU want, Auror." He pointed his right index finger at Tonks. "The only thing that matters is what the Ministry wants. Is that clear, Auror?" The way he spat the word Auror left no doubt about the high esteem he had for the witches and wizards that risked their lives in battle against the Dark. "Now step aside like a good Auror and let me do my job," he finished, in a way that left no space for disagreement.

"You will not take her wand!" Tonks retorted, trying to suppress the anger rising inside her. "She has a right to a defensive hearing, at least. And pray tell what charm is she supposed to have done?"

"The Ministry does not have time to socialize with all the underage wizards that cannot abstain from performing magic" he all but shouted. The other two ministry officials nodded their heads in agreement.

"She's almost seventeen!" Tonks tried, desperately searching for a diplomatic solution to the problem. Miracles do happen from time to time.

"In dangerous times like this, we must be united. We all must obey the law to the letter. The fact that she is almost seventeen does not excuse her from proper punishment."

When he spoke of law, ministry, and punishment, exaltation seemed to seep into his voice. Clearly he was a man who took pride in his job.

"What charm she has cast is of no consequence. Step aside, Auror, this does not concern you." He paused, and then added, in the same tone he would use to teach a three year old that putting his fingers in fire would hurt, "You shouldn't even be here."

When Tonks continued to stare at him in disbelief, making no move to comply with his demand, he took another step forward. His right hand reached for his wand, emphasizing the fact that he wasn't going to let anybody or anything stop him from doing his duty. He would pull his wand and take care of the insolent witch. While half of his brain was occupied with the process of gripping and aiming the wand, the other half was already compiling a comprehensive list of all the laws that were broken by this Auror. He smiled in anticipation. This was going to be a good day after all.

While Tonks had the ability to look like she had just popped out from every male's fantasy, this was not the only reasons for which she had been accepted in the Auror's force. Among other thing she was also very fast.

In one swift motion she summoned her wand and hurled an expelliarmus in Mr. Stiffly's direction.

He didn't even saw it coming. Caught unaware, Mr. Stiffly flew backwards through his cronies, knocking them with him. They crashed into the plate cabinet in a whirl of arms and legs, smashing it to pieces. Tonks emerged the proud owner of a new wand.

Right on time, an old, grizzled wizard apparated into the room with a crack of displaced air, his long gray hair hanging across his scarred face. He made two steps towards the recovering ministry officials, which were now trying to get up on their feet. A heavy thump accompanied every other step, due to his wooden leg.

A bit of quick wand-work and three stupefy spells later, and jets of red light hit their marks with their expected result. Mr. Stiffly and his mates were blissfully unconscious.

"Bureaucrats!" growled Mad-Eye Moody with bitterness, more for himself than anyone else.

Tonks heard and gave him a half-roguish, half-grievous smile.

This was too much for two law abiding dentists. Being witnesses to a duel between wizards in their own kitchen was not a part of their usual weekend schedule. They stood beside their daughter, holding each other, their eyes fixed on the freshly Stunned men. By the expressions on their faces it was clear that they found the scenery breathtaking.

Not one for useless pleasantries he went right to the point. "Come on, let's move, we don't have all day," grunted Moody. He was glaring impatiently at the Grangers with his good eye, while the big, blue, magical one was spinning inside its socket with stunning speed. "Have you packed already?"

"Moody, not everyone is as paranoid as you," Tonks stepped in with a nagging voice, the stunned bureaucrats momentarily forgotten. "Normal people don't have a set of luggage just in case they have to wake in the middle of the night and scram." She knelt near Hermione and tried with little success to bring her back from wherever she was.

"Well they should. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" barked Moody.

"Just what is going on here?" Now that the initial shock had passed, Mr. Granger's patience was running thin.

"We're in a war! And you and your family are not safe here anymore. You must come with us. That's why we're here. And we're running out of time as we speak." Mad-Eye Moody could always be trusted to cut to the essentials.

"War? What war?" asked Ms. Granger, fear creeping into her voice. Things just kept getting better and better.

"Hermione hasn't told you anything?" Tonks asked with a puzzled expression, her eyes shifting between Hermione and her mother.

"She said something about a dark wizard, but she didn't give many details," Mr. Granger explained factually. "Is this true Hermione? Is there a war out there?" he pointed at the world outside the window, blatant disbelief in his voice.

None could tell if Hermione even acknowledged her father's question or not. One way or the other, she didn't answer. But Tonks did. "I assure you Dr. Granger, there is."

Mrs. Granger gasped and put her hands to her mouth.

"Then how come she's involved in this? She's just a child!" Mr. Granger's voice echoed very loudly in the kitchen. He didn't believe in raising his voice normally, but the world was crumbling down around his head, and he'd just reached his breaking point.

Hermione, with her eyes closed wasn't paying any attention to what was happening around her. It didn't matter. Nothing did.

With her eyes closed she searched for the spot inside of her that was suppose to burn with a white flame, warming her soul and giving her hope. She couldn't find it. There was nothing left; only a vacuum that was about to fill with despair.

The dam she had built up to keep it at bay was collapsing, and she didn't want to do anything to stop it. Not anymore. All she wanted to do was to let go. She had lost what that she had hoped would forever be a part of herself. She felt alone and isolated in the world.

Any moment now.

A bitter sea of sorrow rose vertiginously and clashed against the dam, shaking it's foundations. Her heart jumped with surprise when the wall survived and the waves retreated back into the blackness from whence they came. She slowly opened her eyelids and saw Tonks' face only inches in front of her. Her mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear any sounds. She gathered herself and focused on the movement of Tonks's lips.

"Hermione, Harry is alive!" Tonks had forgotten how many times she had repeated those words. She saw the light of understanding appearing in Hermione's hazel eyes, and then she was clutching the crying girl to her chest.

"This is neither the time, nor the place for this," snapped Mad-Eye Moody. He turned to the Grangers. "We aren't safe here. You must come with us – otherwise, we cannot guarantee that you will be alive tomorrow morning. Is that clear?" Moody looked like he was about to stun anyone who didn't agree with him.

"When we reach our destination, everything will be explained. Is this tolerable, Dr. Granger?" Tonks asked, again playing peacekeeper. She still had Hermione in her arms.

Hermione's parents didn't know what to do. They had been driven into a conflict they knew nothing about, and to top if off, it felt like they didn't know their daughter anymore. She was crying right there beside them, and they didn't know how to appease her. They were lost.

"I guess so," murmured Mr. Granger. "Do we even have a choice? What about our jobs?"

Seeing that Moody was getting more restless by the minute, Tonks thought that it was better if she explained; and she had to be quickly at that too. "Dr. Granger, you will take a holiday until things are back to normal. And don't worry about the material support. Money is not a problem. Now, let's get going. Forget about your baggage, if necessary someone will pick it up later."

"What about them?" asked Ms. Granger, pointing at the three still unconscious ministry officials.

"What they don't know can't hurt us," Tonks joked.

Moody quickly barked three charms in rapid succession, clearing their memories. With a wave of his wand he had conjured some strips with which he tied up the men on the floor. Pointing his wand at the ropes binding them, he murmured portus, and after three seconds, they disappeared.

"Where'd you send them?" Tonks asked with undisguised interest.

"It's better if you don't know," growled Moody pulling a sock from his inner trench pocket. "Now, then, let's get out of here."

"This is a portkey," explained Tonks to Hermione's parents. "Dumbledore gave it to us. You must all touch it. One finger will do."

They approached reluctantly, but did as they were told. So did Tonks and Hermione.

Alive. He is alive. Harry is alive. Hermione was mentally repeating the words over and over. She couldn't help but believe what Tonks had said. The opposite was too terrible to phantom. Despite what her heart told her, she believed. And slowly the white fire flared again in her chest, bringing her hope.

She spared a moment to look at her parents. She could see the puzzled expressions on their faces, and it pained her that they had to find out like this. She hadn't told them anything, not wanting them to worry about something they had no control over. All she wanted was the small amount of time she spent with them every year to be full of joy and happiness. No fears, not worries, no problems, and no magic. She just wanted to be with them and enjoy their company.

Hermione could only hope they would understand that and be able to forgive her.

One step at a time, Granger, one step at a time, she told herself while touching the sock.

"In a few seconds you will feel a slight pull behind your navel. There will be a disturbance, and then we will be at our destination," Tonks said, continuing her explanation.

The Grangers nodded. They looked at their daughter. Seeing the suffering still reflected on her face, Ms. Granger put her hand on Hermione's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. Mother and daughter looked at each other.

There was no resentfulness in their eyes, no anger and no incrimination. No words had been shared, but they both knew they would go through this together. They were still family.

Before the portkey activated, Tonks pointed her wand at the mess in the kitchen and uttered a lazy Reparo. The next moment they were in the gloomy kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Moody helped the Grangers to their feet.

Only Remus Lupin was awaiting them. If Hermione would have actually bothered to look at him she would have noticed that he looked weaker than ever. Before Remus managed to greet them properly, the young witch bolted out the door and hurried up the stairs.

"Harry is in-"but what he had to say never reached Hermione's ears. She didn't need anybody to tell her where he was. She already knew.

As she was running through the ancient Black residence, a small part of her brain was thinking about her parents. She knew she had to speak with them parents sooner of later, but this was not the time. They were out of immediate danger, and they were about to be told the truth, or part of it, or whatever. It didn't really matter. Whatever would happen, it would have to suffice. Everything that matter to her at the moment was Harry. She had to see him, had to touch him, to convince herself that he was all right. There was no other way.

Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey were absorbed in a whispered conversation when Hermione rushed between them, almost knocking them off their feet. She continued running further down the corridor from which they came, not even bothering to greet them. The Healer turned school nurse tried to stop her, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Minerva did nothing. She only watched with an attentive frown the retreating back of her student.

After a mad dash Hermione reached a sturdy brownish cashew door. Taking a deep breath, she hastily stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind her.

She saw a small, simple room with only a bed, a nightstand, a table and several high-backed wooden armchairs. A yellow sunbeam came through the window, giving the room an air of peace.

Hermione's eyes stopped on the bed, or more exactly on the person on top of it. Covered by a blanket, Harry was sleeping with his neck wrapped in bandages. His face was very pale, no doubt due to a massive blood loss. She wiped a tear from her eyes and took a seat beside him, taking his right hand in hers.

That one touch was all it took to seal her life forever; her soft delicate hands wrapping themselves around Harry's.

Strange – how such a simple gesture can hold such great power, she thought distractedly.

The young witch looked mesmerizing upon the face of the boy to whom she had given her heart, piece by piece, for the past five years. And now she had given him her soul as well. The finality of her act didn't strike her as odd. Until morning she thought that she had failed. But now, proven wrong, she was glad that it had happened. How? She was going to find that as well, all in good time. Her lips started to curve into a small, wicked grin and her eyes flashed with satisfaction. It had been her choice, her decision. She had known the risks. The elation she felt almost made her laugh aloud, but with one glance at the bed she had remembered why she was here in the first place and for the second time that day she felt a pang of regret at the way things had come to be. She tightened the grip she had on his right arm, and by doing so, she chased away the tears that were about to trickle on her cheeks and she stepped fully in her new role; and whatever concerns she might have still had about the rest of the world, they just went down the drain. She had a job to do, after all.

OoOoOoOoO

It is a known fact that when trouble decides to rear its ugly had, it affects everybody who is unlucky enough to stumble in its path. Good or bad, white, black or gray, trouble doesn't care whose day it ruins. And the day was just beginning.

There was nothing exceptional about the wall that completely surrounded a small hill near the suburbs of a small English town. It was just a normal six foot tall, red brick wall with no openings whatsoever, that was unaffected by the passing of years. Its history was unknown; the elders from the village could remember their forefathers talking about it, but what they said was lost in the pits of their memories.

Nobody wanted to know anything about it, or about what lay beyond. People seemed to be content in their blissful ignorance. And if, by some casual occurrence, a young couple strode towards the hill during a lovely Sunday afternoon, they would most suddenly remember some very import affair – like doing the dishes or mowing the lawn – that needed their most devoted attention. They would slowly turn their backs to the wall, never to approach it again.

The isle of trees that covered the hill was just as plain as the wall itself. No matter what the time of year, the small forest always had the same grayish colors. It didn't matter if it was the middle of winter or a sunny day, the trees always had the same tattered brown leaves hanging from their branches, leaves that never seemed to shiver in the wind.

And then there was the silence flooding the place... an eerie silence that erupted from the earth itself, its only purpose to muffle all sounds of the world. No bird had ever been seen to fly over the hill, no bugs and no bees were crawling through the dead canopy. No sound, no motion...

Only death.

Deep within the bowels of the hill there was a small, round throne room. It was right in the middle of a labyrinth of passageways that connected several chambers from different parts of an underground complex. The many galleries were paved with rough blocks of granite, polished under the pressure of ages. A thin layer of dust covered the cobbles, and cobwebs dangled like clusters of grapes, bringing a much needed airiness to the place.

Here and there torches sent out dismal rays of red light that added more ghastliness to the already gloomy surroundings. Monolithic pillars carved into hideous and gruesome shapes kept the tunnels from crumbling beneath the weight of the hill. The skulls of long dead, unfortunate humans could be seen quite frequently, staring with empty sockets out of the wall and grinning at the black-robed man as he passed by.

Dressed in a gown as dark as night, he glided through the murky halls of stone, his feet hardly touching the ground. People called him Nightshade, and believed that the name was fitting. He sniffed the clammy air around him and smiled to himself.

This feels so much like home... But as they say, home is where your heart is, and he felt like his heart had been lost for longer than he wanted to remember.

He drifted over to a wall and placed his left hand on the damp stone surface. He could feel the cracks that had begun in the ancient structure, even through his gloves. Nightshade waited patiently to be engulfed by the mist of time and carried to another world, a world in which he had once found peace. Had it been that long?

But all good things must come to an end, and he was abruptly snapped back to reality by the agonizing scream of a dying man. "Now, this should be interesting", he murmured to himself. Being the curious that he was, and because he had nothing else better to do, he began striding towards the source of the disorder. It was an easy thing to do. Even if he didn't know the way, which he did, all he had to do was follow the excruciating cries – they were quite hard to ignore.

On the cold throne of the throne room, the Dark Lord stood dressed from head to toe in the deepest black. Waves of fear and terror were emanating from him just like noxious fumes, paralyzing everything in sight.

Twelve Death Eaters were forming a crescent in front of him, their backs bowed in awe. They stood with their faces hidden beneath shapeless white masks, awaiting the words of their Master. Only Voldemort's red, glowing eyes could be seen under the heavy hood that covered his face.

He was seething, and at his feet laid a man, his body twisting in unnatural and very artistic configurations under the pain of the Cruciatus Curse.

Voldemort was pissed. He had awakened at dawn from a restless sleep with a major headache and with all his muscles hurting all over his body. And despite his best efforts, the annoying soreness didn't plan to go away any time soon. Pain, when inflicted upon himself, does not a happy Dark Lord make. And somebody had to pay for it. And as it happened, he just had somebody in mind.

He knew from experience that when everything else fails, a little indiscriminate bloodshed and torture was always the key to put him in a good mood. Well, maybe not a little, but Voldemort was not one to trap himself with insignificant details like these.

So he ordered his trusted Death Eaters to form several teams for quick hit and run attacks. Their orders were to wreak havoc upon the wizarding world. They had to tell the targets that their only purpose in life was to be game meat for the Death Eaters' amusing pleasure. Voldemort gave them leeway in choosing their targets, trusting the judgment of his lieutenants. And it paid off.

When his trusted underlings had returned from their ventures, they delighted him with their macabre tales. In fact, the onslaught they had produced had been so effective, the he actually managed to crack a smile on his snake-like face. Voldemort was pleased. And the Death Eaters relaxed under their masks – they weren't going to be tortured, not yet anyway; and if they kept the good work, maybe not ever.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange's turn to detail her attack. As the demented Death Eater began her story in her exited baby sing-song voice, another one of Voldemort's minions stumbled in the room. He bowed to his Lord and patiently knelt, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Bella darling, hold your thoughts for a moment," Voldemort commanded, and she obeyed without protest, retreating quietly back to her place. "Radaman! Come before me and speak." The newly arrived wizard made his way quickly in front of the throne and knelt again, kissing the Dark Lord's robe, as the protocol demanded. Voldemort waved his left had and a privacy shield formed around the two of them.

"I do hope you bring good news, Radaman," the Dark Lord hissed through barely opened lips, his eyes fixed on the man at his feet. The mission on which this particular Death Eater had been sat upon was one of the utmost significance. Failure was not an option.

"I need more time, My Lord," Radaman responded. He knew that nothing good could come from his failure. But by answering truthfully and without hesitation he hopped his punishment wouldn't leave him with permanent disabilities. He had even contemplated running away, turning himself to the Ministry, and even suicide. But he loved what he was doing too much, and if the Dark Lord would be gracious enough to give him another chance, he was resigned to suffer whatever Voldemort would inflict upon him.

"You disappoint me, Radaman." This was what the man heard before his consciousness was engulfed in a world of pain. Being the generous being that he was, Voldemort dropped the silencing shield. Why should he be the only one to enjoy himself with the wails and cries of the tortured man? After all, his lieutenants had done a good job today and it was only fair for him to reward them.

Voldemort let the screams wash away his anger. As the cursed man twisted in agony on the floor, Voldemort was weighing the pros and cons of letting him go. At what he did, he was one of the best he had. Only one other had the necessary skill to outclass him. And one cannot have too many good men on his side; but only if they knew their places – beneath his feet and at his mercy.

Should he assign the case to another? Call it providence, call it fate, call it whatever you want, but just then another figure dressed in black entered the room with an obeisance. What was distinctive about this one was that no patch of his skin could be seen, black gloves and a black mask covering his face and palms of his hands.

At the sight that was unraveled before him, the new arrival let out a discreet chuckle. If he had anything in common with the Dark Lord, it would be their loathing of incompetence.

Yes, he will do perfectly, Voldemort reflected eyeing Nightshade up and down.

In an uncharacteristically display of mercy, Voldemort interrupted the curse, leaving a broken and unconscious Radaman laying flat at his feet, blood flowing freely from his nose, eyes and ears.

"You two!" – he pointed at two random Death Eaters. "Take him out of here and make sure he gets well. As for the rest of you; out!"

The Death Eaters bowed in silence, eager to appease their Master, and removed themselves from the room with a final "By your leave, My Lord!" leaving only Nightshade to gaze into the pits of Voldemort's cavernous eyes.

"Do you find this amusing?" Voldemort snapped in annoyance.

"Actually, My Lord... I do." Nightshade's amused voice echoed in the small room.

Voldemort relaxed back in his throne, seemingly pleased with the answer he got. "You know what he was doing." It wasn't a question.

Nightshade nodded his head. "Not all the details, but in general, yes, I do know what he was doing."

"So you wouldn't mind taking his place now, would you?" Voldemort continued in the same casual way in which he spoke until now.

"Ask and I shall obey", Nightshade stated without a trace of hesitation. The deadpan way in which he replayed hid his excitement well.

Voldemort leaned foreword, resting his arms on his knees. He brought his fingers just bellow his chin and toke some more time to ponder the situation. After several moments he reached in his cloak and pulled a rolled up scroll which he tossed towards Nightshade. The scroll was deftly picked up from the air.

"You know what to do." Nightshade bowed. "HUNT HIM DOWN..." and the shadows in the room seemed to flicker under the weight of his words.

"As the shadow will, so it shall be", and with a swish of his cloak, Nightshade retreated out of the room through the black shadowy veil that worked as a door.

OoOoOoOoO

While Voldemort was suffering through his morning indisposition, life at the Burrow couldn't be better. At the Weasley's ancestral home, joy and happiness reigned the day.

Molly, the clan's matriarch was in her favorite room of the house, the kitchen, doing what she did and loved best; cooking.

Her youngest son, Ronald was still snoring with his face tucked in his pillow. He had recently heard that sleeping twenty hours a day does wonders for the body. And he was more the eager to test this appealing theory himself.

There was only one more Weasley in the house. She was known as Ginerva, more commonly known as Ginny, the youngest Weasley of them all. She too was in her bed, and she was enjoying herself daydreaming with eyes wide open at the love of her life. Bored out of her wits, she didn't have much else to do anyway. Not without the real thing, anyway.

Molly was adding the finishing touches to her latest culinary masterpiece when a very loud bell like gong was heard throughout the grounds. It was a sound she preyed she would never have to hear.

Upstairs, Ron bolted from the bed with the speed a weasel would envy. Too bad he entangled his feet in the bed's linen. He felt hard on the wooded floor, breaking his nose in the process. Neglecting the pain, and the red fluid that now smeared his lips, chin and upper torso, he gathered himself up and went straight out the door with only a pear of orange shorts covering his vigorous body.

In the hall he met with his sister. She looked as jumbled as he felt. Together they ran as fast as they could down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen from were they could hear their mother frenetically calling for them.

Seeing her children in one piece, more or less, she allowed herself a small breath of relief before tossing some floo powder in the fireplace. Red flames burst to life, and just as spell blasts began to shake the foundations of the house, the three Weasleys had thrown themselves in the fire, the hearth enlarging itself to accommodate them.

After a dazzling trip through the floo network, they landed in an awkward heap covered with soot in the living room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Members of the Order of the Phoenix immediately jumped to help them and see to their needs.

And so it happened, that when Tonks, Moody and the Grangers portkeyed in the kitchen, the Weasleys were all seating in the living room. Each of them was nursing a cup of hot tea to soothe their nerves, each lost in their on thoughts. From what they had picked up from the various wizards and witches that came and went through the Order's headquarters, things weren't pretty in the wizarding world. A strike team had just been deployed at the Burrow, and they were anxiously awaiting news from them. And Harry – they didn't knew exactly what happened to him, only that he was brought in more dead then alive. More reasons of them to worry about.

A year ago Ron didn't like this house. Now, he despised it. He felt like someone or something was watching him from behind, but there was no one there. The feeling was creeping him out. He couldn't help but always look around with wide eyes, scanning every nook and cranny.

Ginny on the other hand acted like she had to evacuate her home every morning. Ron thought that maybe spending too much time with Luna Lovegood was having a negative effect on his little sister. Not that he had the courage to tell her that to her face.

So it was a quiet room in which a tired looking Madam Pomfrey entered.

"Oh, hello Molly, I didn't know you were here," the healer greeted her friend. She sat beside her on a couch, accepting with a worm smile the cup of tea she was offered.

"The Burrow was under attack, and-"Molly tried to say something else, but the tears that began flowing from her eyes prevented her from finishing the sentence.

"Say no more, I understand completely. Are any of you hurt?" Poppy asked them compassionately.

"No, thank Merlin." Molly managed to reign on her tears. "Ron," she pointed at her boy, "had a broken nose, but I took care of that myself." She took another sip of tea. With seven children, she had more than a little practice healing broken bones, cuts, and a plethora of other injuries that to her eternal displeasure were common in her household.

"Madam Pomfrey, how is Harry?" Ron asked her, worry evident in his voice. Both he and Ginny were eager to see their friend, each for their own reasons, and to get away from the room.

"He's not good Mr. Weasley; he's not good at all." Poppy shook her had disappointed. "I have done all I could do, but in this case it isn't much. We must all hope for the best." She could clearly see this wasn't the news they were hopping to hear.

"Can we see him?" Ginny asked, rising to her feet.

"His condition is stable, so I don't see any harm. All I ask from you is to keep quiet and do not disturb him. Did I make myself clear? Good, after all, Miss. Granger is already there and-" Madam Pomfrey trailed off, as her audience had evaporated itself. If she didn't know any better she would have thought they had apparated out the door.

Poppy and Molly looked at each other and they smiled impishly, "Ah, to be young again!"

Not long after Molly's two youngest children went to see their friends, a most distinctive sound made itself heard from above.

"AAAAAAAARRGGH!"

While she was making her way to investigate, a stray thought popped into Poppy's mind. This is just one of those days... She had no idea.

OoOoOoOoO

"Assassination!" the barked accusation of Mad-Eye Moody was immediately quenched by the ever increasing ruckus in the living room.

It was Sunday night, and almost thirty members of the Order of the Phoenix were gathered at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to discuss the day's events. With their clothes imbued with dust, tired feet, and eerie eyes, the witches and wizards were nothing but a cheerful bunch. After a day full of joy and happiness that has put each and every one of them through a roller-coaster of emotions, this was the first time they had the opportunity to come together and piece out the bits of information they had been able to gather. Rickety conversations were sparking between some of them - only to fade away just as fast as they blossomed. Some were arguing, some were vociferating, and some were even screaming their beliefs. Fists were punched into the tables, and hands were run through the hairs of their masters. The noise in the room was raising and falling just like the waves of a stormy sea.

All this under the bewildered eyes of two doctors, dentists to be more precise, whose only guilt was to have as a daughter one of the smartest witches that had ever graced Hogwarts School with her presence. After spending most of the time since they arrived talking with Professor McGonagall, who familiarized them with the happenings of the wizarding world, and after getting more insight of what Hermione had been doing for the past five years, the Grangers weren't in the mood for pleasant conversations. Retreated in one of the corners of the room, they were studying the carpet with fascinating dedication, as if the answer to all the questions of the Universe could be found in its wavering patterns. From time to time, they would raise their heads and take a long look towards the upstairs chamber where Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was talking with their daughter.

It had been a long day, and the tension could be felt almost on a physical level. Just as the ferment in the room reached its peak, the doors of the chamber had opened and a tall thin man with a long silver beard, blue eyes and half-moon spectacles walked in. Just like most people in the room, he was wearing a cloak; a light blue one to be more precise, with twinkling white stars and yellow new moons. The sparkling of his eyes and the fact that he was humming a tune spoke miles to those around him: Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the century, was in a cherry-merry mood, but for the love of Merlin, none of them could put their finger on the way he was behaving almost childish.

The witches, wizards, and muggles alike all rose to their feet, the noise in the room ceasing in an instant. Baffled eyes followed him in his track from the doorway to the room's round table; they watched him waving his wand with a casual move closing the door, and an intricate wand gesture later, the Headmaster was sitting comfortably in a red, squashy armchair.

The old wizard surveyed the people in front of him with amused eyes from above his half-moon glasses.

"Please, please, sit down, all of you" Albus Dumbledore beckoned everybody. Seeing the way they were all looking at him, he could not resist letting out a discreet chuckle. If the roof would have opened and lighting would have descended from the heavens in the middle of the room, the wizards would not have been more thunderstruck then the way they were now.

For a month or so since the events from the Ministry of Magic, the Order did not have many things to be happy about. With Lord Voldemort's return now officially being recognized, the Order's efforts had increased tenfold. What with the intensive training, stakeouts, guarding of different objectives, recruiting new members, looking for new allies, and trying to discover old foes, the Order barely had time to breathe. And to top it all, muggle and muggleborn hunting season had been opened; once or even twice a week, the Dark Mark would make its appearance above someone's house, entire families being tortured and then slaughtered. The Order simply did not have enough manpower to secure everything. And the Ministry wasn't very helpful. After almost fifteen years of relative peace and after one year of denial, the Aurors were far from being ready to deal with this new conflict.

Most people in the magical world could remember very clearly, the terror and panic that accompanied the first rise of Voldemort; the incertitude of not knowing if you were going to wake up the next day or not, the constant fear and the ever-present feeling of impeding doom. So, this being said, together with the news that the Dark Lord had indeed returned, a wave of paranoia that made Mad-Eye Moody proud swept the country. Entire families would barricade themselves in their houses, with protective wards being cast on a daily basis, and people suffering from neck aches due to too much looking backwards. If ever, trust wasn't a commodity anymore.

And even if one would consider only the day's events… No, this was definitely not a time to celebrate. And yet, Dumbledore appeared to do just that.

Reluctantly everyone took a seat at the round table, their earlier quarrels immediately forgotten. Nobody said anything; their attention fixed on Dumbledore.

"I can assure you," began the Headmaster with a calm softening voice, "that I have not yet lost my marbles." A few forced chuckles were heard from the assemblage. Reaching inside one of his many pockets, he pulled out a bag full of yellow candy and popped one in his mouth. "Would anybody care for a lemon drop? They are quite refreshing, you know." The bag quickly went around the table and there were few who did not serve themselves.

"Not a day passes," continued the professor, after a few moments of contemplation, "when life doesn't remind me how amazing our world really is. And if such a day will ever come to pass, then I am certain that it will be the day of my death." The professor closed his eyes, and heaved with a deep sigh. Pondering for a few moments, he proceeded in a serious voice.

"Enough for the ramblings of an old man. Let us all dwell on the matter of Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, shell we? Are there any news from Privet Drive, Kingsley?"

"No Headmaster" the African Auror answered in a stern voice. "Beside the tracks that we found that stated clearly that we were not the only ones who surveyed the house, nothing. Whoever was there knew what he was doing. I suspect that he left in a hurry after we arrived. If he had been a little more careful, we would have found nothing. According to the tracks I am sure that he did not enter the house. The one who attacked Harry was a different person. Whether these two people worked together or not, I do not know."

Noticing that Hestia Jones was eyeing him with a frown he added quickly. "And before you say anything Hestia, no, I am not biased. Just as we have discussed earlier, there is not enough evidence to point at the gender of the lurker!"

"What do you mean there is no evidence?" the witch was outraged. "What good are those two eyes of yours if you don't use them? The shape of those footsteps that we found, along with the weight distribution, state clearly that the person who left them was a woman. Why is this so hard to pass through that thick balloon you carry above your neck?"

"ENOUGH already," a middle-aged wizard with sleek white hair stated, "you two have been quarreling like two old hags since morning. It's time to give it a rest, don't you think so?"

Both witch and wizard looked at each other as if they had absolutely no intention to back off. Right before the two hardheads were about to resume their favorite squabble, Albus Dumbledore opened his mouth.

"Mr. Conagen is right. We learn nothing if we bicker amongst ourselves. Now, what more can you tell me about the Dursleys?"

"Ah, them: a bunch of the sorriest muggles if I ever saw one. We obtained absolutely nothing worth mentioning from them" Hestia Jones informed, shaking her head, her previous argument temporarily put aside.

"Their son, Dudley," a tall witch with pale skin and tawny strait hair of about forty years stepped in with her far away voice, "had the look of someone who was struck with a poor aimed memory charm. His eyes were unfocused and he did not seem to be able to form coherent sentences. But I have been told that this is the way he normally behaves. What a strange young man he is… strange…" her voice slowly died out.

Seeing that she did not want to elaborate further, Kingsley continued.

"No trace of spells were found on any of the members of the family, Harry included. We know that a locking charm was used to seal the door to his room. What is puzzling me, Headmaster, is that while the door was locked, the window was left wide open. How could someone go through all the trouble to enter the house, erase his tracks magnificently and leave without a trace and then forget to close the window? We found Harry only because Hedwig returned in the morning from her night hunt and her hooting alerted Simon Bender. If it weren't for her, Harry would have been dead by now. Where is Mr. Bender by the way?" Kingsley asked throwing his eyes around the room looking for him.

"He is not here," Madam Pomfrey told them with on apologetic tone, "I've sent him home and gave him a concentrated dreamless potion. He was still in shock from the morning's events. I do not think that he could have been able to put two useful words together. All he could say was how sorry he was, that he was a failure and so on and so forth."

"You do not need to apologies to us Poppy," Dumbledore said with a nod to Kingsley. "You did what you thought was best. What can you tell us about Harry's wound?"

"Frankly Albus I do not know why, or how, he is still alive. By all means, he should have died. I have run though my entire stock of blood replenishing potions working on him. The wound itself was made with a very sharp blade. Whoever did it had an extensive knowledge of the human anatomy. A hair width deeper and Harry would have died on spot. As it was, it affected his vocal cords and made him bleed to death. The blade must have had some sort of enchantment upon it because it made him bleed at a much slower pace then it should have. I believe the wound was several hours old when we got to him. Albus, wounds like this I can treat, but his current situation is beyond my field of expertise. I cannot come up with any explanation for his current state. It baffles me."

"Thank you, Poppy. As always, your help is invaluable. N-"

"Professor Dumbledore!" All the wizards and witches in the room directed their eyes to the two muggles. Rarely were the moments when Albus Dumbledore was stopped in his speech. "We're sorry to interrupt, but what about our daughter?" They hadn't been allowed to see Hermione since they arrived and now they were more then a little anxious to receive some explanations. The worry and concern they felt for Hermione was etched all over their faces.

"Dr. Granger, it is I who should be sorry, not you. I cannot stop but feel that I have failed in my task as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I have made several mistakes, and now we all have to pay for them. For that I am sorry." The Headmaster closed his eyes and rested his face in the palm of his hands for several long moments. He looked old. For a moment, sitting there, surrounded by people very much younger then him, he felt the cloak of years heavier then ever before. Thinking that this was not the time to feel sorry for himself, with a shrug of his shoulders Dumbledore thrown away the weight of time far away in the back of his mind and sealed it shut below walls of granite.

Opening his eye and lifting his head he resumed his usual everyday demeanor.

"Yes, about Hermione. Let's start with the easy part. She is no longer in trouble with the Ministry." Seeing the confused looks he received for his sentence he believed that an explanation was required. "She did not cast any spells this morning."

"If this is the case, then what was all the hubbub with those Ministry lackeys?" Tonks interjected in a surprised and somewhat offended way.

"Ah, but Miss Granger did cast a spell, only not this morning." Due to the unnerving twinkle in his eye, it was sure that this was the cause of his merry attitude. "She had cast it two days before the end of the semester back at Hogwarts. What the Ministry had detected was a flow of magical energy from Hermione at her place of residence, a flow that had been an after effect of the spell she used at Hogwarts. Because the signature of the spell was nothing they could identify, they had labeled it an unknown charm and because of her past, it was decided on the spot, what you already know."

"Albus, what did she do?" It was Professor McGonagall who spoke. Her expression, like the ones of most of those assembled, was one of deep curiosity. A situation like this was of yet unheard of.

"At first not even I could identify the spell. What I did was explain to those from the Improper Use of Magic Office some basic things about incompetence and I also took my time to explain them how to differentiate between the effects of the spells and the spells themselves. Then I had a lovely discussion with Minister Fudge about his new policies, one that… but I digress. Oh, that reminds me!" He turned to Moody. "What did you do with those three from the Ministry?"

"Remember the Perkenton case?" Med-Eye asked back, venom seeping in his voice. Since he had been fired, ahhh retired, from active service, he had a soft spot for the ministry's bureaucrats. Some chuckles and snorts were heard throughout the room.

"That explains it," conceded Dumbledore shaking his head. "Were was I? Oh yes..." Looking at everyone as if he was trying to guess what their reaction at his revelation will be, with careful measured words he told them: "After some quick studying, analyzing the day's events, and after my attempted talk with Hermione… I can tell you that she has performed upon herself and Annamorex Charm." His blue eyes were twinkling madly, his face the perfect incarnation of pride.

"What!" Three shouts could have been heard in the deep silence that followed his words. Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall and Mad-Eye Moody were the ones who uttered this word, all three of their faces boring similar shocked expressions.

The rest of the crowd was speechless and utterly confused. Not only had they not heard of such a charm, but also they could not put together the expression from Dumbledore's face with the one of consternation and dismay from the faces of their colleagues.

"What!" now that the shock had passed, Professor McGonagall was outraged. "Albus, how can that be? Not even in the restricted section in the Hogwarts Library are such books that describe Annamorex Charms being held. Where has she found them? Better then that, who taught her? And how could she possibly have cast one?"

"There is a room at Hogwarts that sadly lives up to its name Minerva."

"Headmaster," Lupin intervened all of a sudden, "I clearly remember when James, Sirius and I tried to do something similar. As hard as we concentrated, the room failed to produce the books that we required."

"Why or how Miss Granger was successful in her attempt to summon the necessary books, we may never know. I'm afraid that only time will answer this question."

"Albus, what are Annamorex Charms?" Ms. Weasley asked with great concern. "I do not think I have ever heard of them, but judging from the reactions I have just witnessed it's something bad." Ms. Weasley had remained quiet during the meeting, mainly because she could not take her mind from her two youngest children that were now sleeping in an upstairs chamber. Something had happened soon after they went to see Harry and Hermione that left them in dire need of medical assistance. And since the incident, nobody except Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey had entered Harry's room.

"There are few who have," the barked voice of Mad-Eye Moody said, "I'm surprised that you know of them, Remus." Remus just shrugged.

"I see that some explanations are needed. Alastor, if you please?"

Mad-Eye scanned the face of his old friend for any signs of doubt, and seeing none, the ex-Auror began in his cracked voice, addressing to the rest of the Order's members:

"The Annamorex Charms are a group of very powerful and difficult to cast charms that have grown into fashion during the early Middle Ages, in a time when muggles weren't as ignorant of the magical world as they are now. The common thread to them is that they all involve the sacrifice of someone's life force to obtain certain results. The charms were commonly used upon soldiers: their life force being bounded to that of their Lord would ensure complete loyalty; a jealous husband would contact the service of a wizard to put an Annamorex Charm upon their wife or lover to ensure her fidelity. Charms like this could turn a human being into a mindless zombie under the complete and utter control of the one whom had he's life force been bound to."

As he spoke the facial expressions of the ones in the audience became dumbfounded. After taking a burly quaff from his hip flask, Mad-Eye went on.

"Wizards have been know to use these charms to practically steal someone's life force and make it there own, thus prolonging their lives; the target in this case would suffer a most unpleasant painful death. Because of these reasons, and others, the Annamorex Charms were labeled as dark magic and are technically considered to be in the same category as the Unforgivable Curses – the Imperius Curse being itself a simplified variation of an Annamorex Charm. In our days only a handful of people, now all of you included, know of their existence, and even fewer have the power and discipline to perform them." He finished with another seep from his flask.

"Albus, are you sure?" Professor McGonagall was the first to break the silence. "Annamorex Charms are extraordinary difficult to cast. Hermione may as well be the smartest witch of her age, but she is only a child. This is all too unbelievable."

"Unfortunately Minerva, I am quite sure. And as for Miss Granger being a child, I have to disagree." His voice became all of a sudden more serious. "If being a child involves making life or death decisions, fighting Death Eaters, going back in time to save supposed criminals from certain death, and casting Annamorex Charms, then yes, Miss Granger is a child. And the same reasoning applies to Harry."

"Has Harry cast one as well?" Lupin asked bewildered.

"No, not that I know of," came Dumbledore's plain, but cryptic, response. It looked like he was about to add something, but it must have been only an impression, because he didn't say anything, and silence descended upon the room.

"Headmaster…" It was Mr. Granger the one who spoke. "This charm my daughter has cast. What did it do?"

"I presume that now you and your wife know the events from a month ago?" After their admission Dumbledore continued. "From what I have understood from your daughter, she wanted to protect herself from ever being in the same situation as Harry. The thought that one day she too could be deceit into a similar situation, one in which one of her loved ones could die, terrified her. So, she took some steps to prevent such a situation from ever happening. So, after she made her plan she went to the Room of Requirements and performed the same charm for each of the three persons that meant the world to her."

Hearing this, Mad-Eye Moody - who was just taking another gulp of whatever was in that flask of his - choked with the liquid, spattering everyone with an artificial rain. "T-t-three times!"

"Miss Granger decided that sacrificing a part of her life force to link herself with these three was a small price to pay for their safety. After the successful casting of the charm, she then would have been able to feel when the people she has chosen were in danger, the moment they, themselves felt it. Sadly, or fortunately, it depends how you look at the situation, the charm worked as she intended only for two of them."

Seeing that nobody was saying anything, and that all of them were urging him with their eyes to continue, the Headmaster did so.

"Between all parents and their children, wizards and muggles alike, there already is a connection, a connection that is established at the birth of the child. This link may get stronger with time, or it may diminish, it all depends upon the relations between the child and his/her parents. In your case, Mr. and Ms. Granger, the connection you had with your daughter was strong enough that it did not require too much effort from her part to reinforce it to her desired purpose. This was not the case for Mr. Potter."

"Headmaster, I do not understand. You said that the charm worked only for the two of us. In this case, why is Hermione upstairs with that boy and not here with us?" Kendal Granger began to raise his voice.

"Mr. Granger, please, let me finish." Albus Dumbledore answered with a calm understanding voice. "I did not say that the charm didn't work. I meanly stated that it worked as she intended only for her parents." Running a hand through his white hair, the Headmaster continued with the explanations. "After successfully casting the charm for them, Hermione encouraged by her achievement, turned to her friend. Applying the same procedure she had used for the first two attempts, she cast the charm for him. It had no effect whatsoever. She tried a few more times with the same result. Disappointed because she didn't know what went wrong, frustrated and exhausted, she decided to try one last time. It worked but not as expected, though she did not know that yet. The strain she had to endure for this last bit of magic to work made her collapse unconscious. During her last casting, Hermione unwittingly changed the charm. Because she feared that she would fail she poured all that she had into the spell. In her mind, knowing when Harry was in danger wasn't enough anymore; she had to help him, she had to be beside him. Thus the purpose of the spell changed as well.

"Usually, when an Annamorex Charm is performed, the donor is unwilling to bend himself to the will of the caster, and the receiver is the one who is more than happy with the gift that he/she is about to receive. This was not the case. Harry didn't know, and Hermione thought that she had failed. Everything changed this morning when Harry was attacked. What happened exactly, I do not know, but I can assume that in the moment he felt that he was going to die, he accepted that which Hermione had given him, sealing the Charm. The flow of energy that traveled from Hermione to Harry after that was what the Ministry registered as an unknown charm. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the reason Harry is still alive at this moment."

Again there was silence.

"Can't this spell Hermione has cast, be undone?" Hermione's father seemed to be very agitated. "Don't spells only last for a certain time? What is going to happen from now on with my girl? I want her to have a life and not to be some kind of life saving kit for a boy who, from what I understand, threatens her life with his mere presence?"

"I'm sorry to say this, but Annamorex Charms are definitive. The reason why they are like this is an entirely different matter. The one she has done regarding Harry is no exception. The Power of the Charm compels her to protect him against everything except himself. Dr. Granger, everyone who tries to take her away from him against her will, will be considered an enemy, and I mean everyone. And further more, the spell that she has cast was done so in concordance with her feelings, and thus she doesn't feel any need to fight against it. At this point, we are entitled to say that she has literally given her life to him."

When Dumbledore finished, Louise Granger was crying in the hands of her husband, and Dr. Kendal himself wasn't doing very well either.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, you have not lost your daughter."

"How can you say that? How can you stay so calm, and say something like that?" the hurt was evident in his voice and also in his eyes. "You do not care what happens to her, as long as this Harry is alive. Say it isn't so. Say…" his words were muffled by the fact that his wife has placed her hand on his mouth, shutting him off. If there was the slightest chance that she could have her girl back, she wasn't one to throw it away.

"Let the Professor speak" it was all she has said, and Dumbledore complied.

"She is still Hermione. She is still the same girl with a never ending thirst for knowledge and a will to prove herself. She is the same girl that you have raised and loved since she was a baby. She is the same Hermione with whom you joked and laughed yesterday, and the day before. You still have the same daughter that once she has sat her mind on something will not abandon it no matter what. But at the same time, she is a powerful witch, who has decided that her life wasn't worth living without the boy she loved. Do not condemn her for what she has done. You are still her parents and she loves you like she did before. Go talk to her to better understand her reasoning. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. When you feel ready, go talk to her about this. But I must warn you, as I must warn everybody else in this room. Do not force her to do something against her will. You will be jeopardizing your lives."

Turning to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley Dumbledore's voice turned even more concerned then before.

"Molly, Arthur when Ginny and Ron are awake, please try and explain them the situation. I do not know what went wrong between them and Hermione, she wouldn't say, but if it happens again, the result will be much direr than already is. This time Hermione did not have her wand, which is probably why they are still alive." The elder Weasleys nodded their heads in grim understanding.

Always one for vigilance, Moody couldn't help but ask: "Why did you give her back her wand?"

"I didn't." Like most everything else that the aged headmaster said that night, this managed to confuse his audience yet again. "I merely had it in my possession when I went to talk with her. She sensed it and summoned it to her hand. I did not dare to take it back from her." Now that the problem of Hermione's wand had been properly addressed as well, he turned his attention towards the two dentists.

"Give Hermione time to adjust to her new situation. For now, the only thing we can do for her is try not to stand in her way, and to let her know that her friends still care for her, and especially that she still has her family. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, do you understand this?"

In fact they did not understand any of this. "We need time Professor. We need time. Can we retire to our room now?"

"Of course; Minerva will you show them the way?"

The Grangers, holding each other for support, made their way towards their bedroom accompanied by the transfiguration professor.

The meeting of the Order lasted until the early hours of the morning. Questions were raised, here and there answers were given, and plans were being formulated. It was a usual meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

All in all, it was just a day like any other.