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Chapter 2 – Now You See Us, Now You Don't

Posted February 14th, 2006

Now that Dumbledore had left her room to attend the Order's meeting, Hermione slipped under the covers of Harry's bed and tried to go to sleep, holding Harry in her arms. She wished she could chase away all the questions and doubts that were stirring in her head.

She didn't want to think. She did not want to be the rational witch she trained herself to be over the years. She did not want to face the consequences of her actions. She did not want to answer all the interrogations her mind was throwing at her. All she wanted to do at the moment was to feel Harry's body beneath her, his warmth heating her, his breathing soothing her.

It was all so easy, not so long ago, when she was still trapped in her glass castle. Brick after brick she had build her own world of illusions and she kidded herself she was happy that way surrounded buy nothing but books and knowledge. She had been only Hermione Granger, bookworm-exceptional, a model witch at Hogwarts and a loving daughter to her parents. It had been safe.

It was a time when dreams were only dreams and nothing more. It was a time when the raven-haired boy was nothing but her dream prince and she was his dream princess. And oh how she lied to herself that that was all he was – a dream. When he was happy, her dreams were cheerful; when he was depressed her dreams were sorrowful... It pained her to see him so downhearted last year. She wanted so much to go to him and tell him what it meant to her – to take away his worry and throw it in the winds...

But she held back, fear overriding her better judgment. If rejected her, her world would have crumbled around her. Then she would have been truly alone; destined to be haunted by empty dreams. Her happiness depended of his own, and if that meant he would not be hers, then so be it.

And now... now she had given him a part of her life, and what came would come. However the price they'd have to pay could be more then both of them had bargained for, but for the moment she just didn't care.

Hermione had let only one question to pass through her barriers; did she have any regrets? She loved Harry; she could admit that now to herself and to the world. Despite her mental prowess, she could not imagine her life without the wizard beside her, for he was now her world, and anything else was on a second place. No, she definitely didn't have any regrets whatsoever.

OoOoOoOoO

The next couple of days that followed did not bring anything exciting in the house from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Everything went into the boring day-to-day routine.

The Weasley matriarch, self proclaimed Almighty Queen of the House, firm believer in the saying, "Lazy hands are the devil's playground," ordered each and everyone she had found sitting idle, to take action in the futile attempts to clean the house. Apparently the house didn't agree with her, because no matter how much they cleaned and swept, by the next morning, the ubiquitous dust was back in its place on the floors and furniture.

To make matters worse, a foreboding presence now loomed on the halls and corridors of the Orders' headquarters. The wizards that stayed overnight could swear in the morning that they heard cracks and whispers emanating from the walls. Some said that they even heard footsteps outside their door, but when they went out to check on it, they found nothing. Torches were refusing to light, or they were lighting on their own, and even the doors started to act funny. First the blame landed on the Weasley Twins, pranksters exceptional. But after vehement denials they were absolved and the futile hunt for the Grimmy Ghost – named so in honor of the house – began.

Monday, Ron and Ginny have spent their day in bed, still not fully recovered. Ginny had absolutely no idea why Hermione had attacked them the way she did. One moment, they were next to her, trying to reassure her, and in the next one she was ordering them to get out in the coldest voice they had ever heard coming from her mouth.

Ron remembered how his legs slowly carried him backward towards the door, followed closely by his sister. He remembered seeing Hermione rising to her feet. And then all thoughts were chased away from his mind by the sharp pain in his chest.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley listened carefully as their children related their story. Ron and Ginny were advised to keep their distance from their friends, advice that was promptly accepted and heeded.

Ron and Ginny were not the only ones who had problems adjusting to the new development between their friends.

Hermione's parents had it the worst. Monday evening they gathered their courage and went to Harry's room to speak with their daughter. Everything went fine at first, Hermione being very glad for the visit. Since she had never come out of the room, this was the first time she had seen them as well, and she was eager to make them understand. She had impatiently waited for this, but after it had passed, she wished it had never happed at all.

She never got the chance to explain herself, as her father made the mistake during his expected cavil to insult Harry. He probably didn't even realize what he said, the word not an insult in itself, but with it, he revealed his feelings for the boy whose hand she was gripping in her hand.

Realizing her father's disapproval of Harry made her momentarily extremely angry. Apparently, whatever had they seen in her eyes in that moment scared them like hell as they went out of the room faster then you could have said quidditch.

She felt their panic through the connection she now shared with them, and it saddened her immensely. They left behind a crying girl who lay on the bad beside the raven-haired boy embracing his body and begging him to return to her.

That night, the Headmaster had a long talk with the bushy haired witch; the result of it being that next day Hermione was seen walking for the first time out of her room and going strait to the basement library.

The huge Black Library, a unique collection of ancient books, first editions, scrolls and parchments had been closed to the residents of the house. While still alive, Sirius stubbornly refused to open its doors. And now that he was dead, none had the knowledge of how to enter it. Not being an emergency, radical measures like blasting the doors open were put on hold.

When Hermione had reached the library's entrance, the doors magically opened in front of her. If she was surprised or not by this, none could tell, her facial features frozen in an unreadable mask. When she left the library, the doors, made from massive black wood sealed themselves behind her.

She met with Ron on the stairs, shocking the boy and forcing him to back away into a wall to make room for her. Who knows what shocked him the most; the haunted look from her cold hazel eyes, the dust and cobwebs that covered her green attire, or the huge stack of books about divination that she balanced in her hands. Maybe it was all of this reasons combined or maybe none at all.

As the days past Hermione retreated more and more into herself, her once life-filled eyes were now two hollow pits. She spent the days reading and taking notes, and the nights holding Harry in her embrace trying in vain to keep him to herself, but despite her efforts, she felt him slipping away more and more as time passed.

Thursday evening Hermione received another visit, in the person of her mother. Louise didn't say much. She just took a seat beside her and watched her only daughter poring over dusty old tomes with pages full of runes searching for answers to questions only she knew.

She looked at Harry, who if it weren't for the slight heaving of his chest, could have been very easily mistaken for a corpse and wondered what was it that Hermione saw in him, that made her commit herself in such a manner. After watching for a bit longer Hermione scribbling down notes on endless scrolls of paper, she got up and kissed her forehead.

"Good night Hermione", and with that she went out of the room, the door closing behind her.

"Good night mother," Hermione answered after the sound of the door reverberated into the room, not for a moment raising her head from her books.

Later that night, Hermione was barely asleep when she was awakened by alarming sensations that were coming from Harry; her bond with him was wavering badly. His despair was the last thing she felt before she had fallen unconscious.

OoOoOoOoO

He felt broken into an infinite number of pieces scattered on a barren plane. There was no beginning here and no end, no landmarks whatsoever. Only an endless horizon that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Seconds passed like years, years passed like ages.

Ages came and went in the blink of an eye, raking away everything in sight with the ease of a child blowing out the light of a candle. Just like the puffs of smoke that remain after a flame drift away into the sky, dispersing all memories of the fire – so did the light inside of him fade away, dragging him into an endless night of forgetfulness.

At first his feelings roamed through him like a pack of wild hippogriffs, shaking the very foundations of his being.

First came Fear flying towards him on wings of ice. He was wrapped in frozen waves of silk; paralyzed from head to toe, unable to move, unable to defend himself from the approaching nightmare. Achieving her mission, Fear slowly retreated into his heart leaving him alone and helpless in her wake.

Lord Pain was next in all his majesty. With the elegance of a dancer, Pain toyed with his defenses. Pain did not approach straight on, nor did he assault in all his rage. He darted from the shadows for blurred, unexpected attacks and retreated just as fast. One by one the last shields were withered; and when that moment came, Pain descended upon the fallen victim with all his ferocity, burning him with a red fire.

He was writhing inside a living inferno; he was being consumed, feeding his essence to the entity that devoured his very soul. And he was screaming.

He screamed at his disability, he screamed at being powerless to stop the torture. He screamed his denial for the entire world to hear, and the sound of his voice reached the farthest corners of his Universe.

Woken by the shrilling cries, Lady Anger arose from the tenebrous abyss in which she resided. With glowing white eyes and pale skin she caressed his face, bringing him a brief moment of serenity before giving herself to the hunger of Lord Pain. The wall of fire that surrounded him grew even larger than before, and the heat began to corrode the fibers of their world.

Though anger was no more, the seeds of her passing had been planted. Draining energy from the blazing flames, the seeds blossomed into the dark and terrible fruit of Hate.

He did not fear Hate, did not cower at the sight in front of him, nor did he try to back away. Instead he welcomed Hate like and old friend with his arms wide open. And they became one, and together they burned with their own black fire, squashing Pain under their heel. But this was not enough to quench the thirst that parched their throat. They wanted more. They wanted revenge.

They ripped the last remaining claws of fear from their heart and melted them into nothingness. Now was the time for everyone to see and feel the anguish they had suffered. They unleashed themselves upon the planes with one thing in their mind: to obliterate each and every thing they met. Their roar shook with frustration when they realized they were truly alone. There was nothing in sight; there was nothing in which to pour their malice.

Well, almost nothing.

Spurred on by hatred, he reached inside his mind and pulled forth memory after memory. He brought them forward and with unbound rancor he broke them apart and tossed them into the winds. He blamed them all. His so called 'family'. His so called 'friends'.

Where were they now? Where were they when he needed them? They were all the same – he could see that now: poor, pitiful excuses for human beings. They were week, and they had passed their sorry weakness on to him. And he hated them for that.

It was so easy; it was so natural to blame them. It felt so right. And another memory was shattered to pieces.

His blind rage continued undaunted until there was nothing left to trash, nothing left to destroy. A long time had passed since he had forgotten the reasons for his actions. He had lost control eons ago – or was it just moments? He didn't care. He was driven only by the power of the black flames. He couldn't stop – he didn't want to stop. To stop meant to allow Pain to return, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

In a frenzied rush he rummaged the remote corners of his past trying to find something else to smash. He nearly tripped upon the ancient trunk. How could he have been so blind? How had he not seen this before? The trunk had been standing there in that one spot for an eternity, but he had just passed beside it every time.

Not this time, he thought with an evil smirk. With a powerful blow he blasted the lid open and pulled out the last remaining memory, laughing manically.

He was close to the edge. Only one more lousy memory to go, and he and Hate would be united forever. No one would stand in their way; he could already feel the unctuous taste of perverted power on his lips. And he craved for it, for this was the only chance he had to escape this hellish prison. The one brittle image that stood now in their path was about to be erased and the merging would finally be complete. And oh how he wanted it.

If this was the case, then why did his laughter choke in his throat – why could he not deliver the final blow with which he would shatter the last shackle that tied him to his past? For now he had no answers to these questions. For now he was content only to gaze upon the crying face that looked at him through cinnamon eyes bathed in sorrow. The crystal clear tears falling upon her cheeks mesmerized him, and he could not stop himself from following their sinuous course.

He did not know who she was; he didn't even know who he was anymore. With only one look at her face he had forgotten everything. This is how the whispers found him – in the middle of nowhere, on the barren plane that was his soul, where time had no meaning. They found him alone, a broken wreck of his former self tossed on the shores of oblivion, shards of his distant past lying at his feet.

The whispers came at her command. They rose from the fragments of his mind to do her bidding. Sounds, images, and feelings slowly started to blend with each other – reforming the puzzle that was him. They flew and swirled around him, reattaching to himself, filling the void. And tear after tear, he began to remember.

Together with the memories, Hate returned as well- more powerful and terrible than before. Only this time it was in the shape of an ethereal shadow that loomed in the back of his mind.

"She... She wants you to return to where the Pain awaits you," the Shadow murmured in his ear, nothing more than a whisper. "She doesn't care for you. She will make you go back to a place where people lie to you, point and stare, calling you names, laugh at your expense. You DO NOT want that. DESTROY HER!"

Images shuffled in front of him. He saw memories of people calling him scarhead, freak, deluded show-off, liar – memories of friends that turned their backs to him, friends that wouldn't even look him in the eye. And family! Family that should have been beside him, but instead decided to treat him like a slave. Was this the world in which he was supposed to live? Suddenly, the suggestion of the Shadow seemed very appealing.

"Yes! Just one swift blow and you will have the world at your fingertips," the Shadow continued with glee and anticipation of the final act. "All those who ever made fun of you will soon lie dead at your feet, and the others will bow to you or share the same fate!"

The images didn't stop there. Frame by frame he witnessed his entire life; he saw the good and the bad; he saw himself stepping through the years, gathering knowledge, having fun with his friends, making mistakes, and fighting for what he believed in. At the end of his mental itinerary he finally found himself resting his eyes upon her delicate features.

At last he could put a name to her face.

"Why? Why won't you destroy her! What is holding you back? What is she to you other than a thorn in your side, a hindrance in your path to greatness?" in a horrendous burst the words fell harshly in his head.

"She- She is my friend, Shadow." As soon as Harry breathed the words, a feeling of peace washed over him, and though still crying slightly, Hermione's lips arched into a smile and her eyes sparkled.

"Your friend? Friendships are of no consequence! You do not need her. You do not need friends. You do not need anybody! You need ME! Power is the only thing that matters. Power that was destined to be yours since before your birth!" The words were shouted in rapid crescendo. "What more could she possible give you?"

"Acceptance – not that you could possibly understand the concept," divulged Harry, making one step towards her.

"Why do you want her acceptance? She is just another pathetic mudblood. Like all her filthy kind she will have a sickening life. She WILL get married, she WILL have children and she WILL end by adding her remains to the mud of her fathers. She will be forgotten like all before her. That is the fate of all those who live under the shadow of death. You will n-"

Harry didn't listen anymore.

Just looking at her and knowing she was there for him made the world seem a better place. Seeing her smile, not just with her mouth but also with her eyes, face, with her entire being, made all the pain he'd been through worth it. His heart started to beat in his chest and a warm liquid spread through his body, reinforcing his will to take another step forward.

The Shadow's yells assaulted his ears. "Feelings are nothing! They are just a poor, failed experiment that nature played with us. A monumental joke, a safeguard for the perpetuation of your species. I forbid you to go to her! Loving her will just make you weak. It will be the end of you – and ME as well!"

Love? Harry's eyes locked with Hermione's and for the first time since he could remember he felt whole; at long last Hope had descended upon his shoulders in a white halo of light. In slow motion, Harry raised his hand towards hers, reaching for her fingers.

"No! I am your instinct, I am inside of you! You CAN NOT deny me!" Shifting back to the form of black fire, Hate darted straight to Hermione, engulfing her.

Harry felt her anguish like it was his own. He had gone through this before, but this time – knowing that his Hermione was feeling it as well- it was completely unbearable. Now that he had something worth fighting for, worth suffering for, worth living for, he would not stand idly by and lose her forever. A white fire ignited inside his core, fueled by a feeling of righteous fury.

He ran to her, only to be thrown back by the dark flames. He rose and attacked again and again, trying in vain to create a breach in the battlement, only to find himself beaten off every time. Desperately, he focused his thoughts only on her and his need to protect her. He swore to himself that he would not stop until she was safe and commanded himself not to be deterred from this path. Nothing and no one would make him sway ever again.

With all his determination and might, he sent his will through the black shroud, piercing it and reaching her. He gave her his life force, healing and shielding her. A shimmering sphere of light surrounded Hermione, followed by a blinding flash that left him dazed with his vision blurry.

Breathing hard and trying to recover his vision, the lines between dream and reality started to fade, and for the first time in more than five days he slowly opened his eyes.

Somewhere under a hill it was the Dark Lord's turn to scream.

OoOoOoOoO

Back at Grimmauld Place, in a small room on the second floor, Harry was now fully awake. And the first thing he noticed was that he was not alone in the bed. A warm body was sitting on top of him and it was sobbing, soaking his pajamas with tears. It took him no more then a fraction of a second to positively identify her as Hermione. He knew it was her. How? That was a different question entirely, one who's answer he did not care to know at that particular time. He hadn't even acknowledged the existence of such a question in the first place.

The only thing he felt at the moment was an enormous relief. He had made it! He had reached her! He was free! But… why was she crying then? The nightmare had passed; it was over, wasn't it? Harry wanted to embrace her and to sooth her just like she had done to him, but his arms were refusing his commands. He had tried to say her name, to call her to him, but alas, though his mouth opened no sound accompanied the movement of his lips. He could feel the pressure of her body over his, he could even feel the beating of her heart; she was so close and at the same time so far away…

Quickly running out of options, not knowing what to do, feeling like a prisoner in his own body he began to frenetically toss his head sideways hoping that the movement would come to the attention of the young witch.

A loud hoot came from the perch near the bed, and a flock of white feathers flew and landed near Harry's side and started playfully to nibble in his ear. Distracted by the clutter of wings, Hermione lifted her head, only to be frozen in place a second later by the piercing gaze of two green eyes that she knew so well. As unaccounted moments passed, they looked at each other and nothing else mattered in their small world but the light in their eyes.

"Harry! Y-you're back…" and as she smiled fresh tiers washed her face. "You're back, Harry! Oh I'm so glad that you are all right! How are you feeling? I thought I've lost you… What can I do for you Harry? Harry, why don't you move? Talk to me, please…Is something wrong?"

As the level of her anxiety was reaching new peaks, Hermione took a break from her tirade to look more carefully into his pleading confused eyes. The sudden influx of blood to her brain had left her momentarily light-headed, and as she saw herself reflected in those two deep green pools of his, a shiver rocked her body making all her muscles tighten.

Looking at the girl – no, not a girl, but young woman – that was standing on top of him Harry thought that he had not seen something more beautiful in his entire life. His attention was captures by the brown-yellow swirls of light from her eyes that looked at him like he was the only thing left in the Universe – her eyes that now seemed to ask in a language long forgotten in the recesses of time if he trusted her. How he wished in that moment to be able to move, to be able to open his mouth and utter his response. Not even spearing a thought at the oddness of the situation, he nodded his head in approval.

Harry saw Hermione leaning forward, cupping his head with her gentle hands. He watched as she lowered her forehead to his, not for a moment loosing her gaze. And as she closed her eyes he did the same.

All he could feel in that moment was her; the warmth of her skin caressing his face, the tickle of her breath mingling with his own, her weight assuring him that he was safe. A tingling began to make its presence known in his body. It started with his extremities, and now it was spreading throughout his entire system in a rapid pace. And as he felt his strength returning to his arms and legs, he noticed Hermione falter above him, getting weaker by the moment.

All his senses screamed DANGER and letting out a sudden breath Harry's arms darted straight to Hermione's shoulders pushing her up. The contact between their foreheads ended abruptly and she lost her balance, falling off the bed with a loud thud.

Aware of what just occurred, Harry made to get off the bed as well to check on her. Still not heaving perfect control over his body did not help him very much, because a moment later he was pilled in a heap at the base of the bed near her. To his dismay he saw her curled into a ball clutching her head, her face twisted in pain. He dragged himself to her; propping on his right elbow he pushed himself in a seating position. He then reached out to Hermione and took her in his arms, letting her rest her head on his left shoulder.

"I'm so sorry Hermione… so sorry…" rocking back and forward he continued with his litany in barely more then a whisper until he felt her relax in his arms.

"Please forgive Hermione, I-"she silenced him by placing a small finger on his lips.

"It's my fault; I should have told you what I intended to do."

"Shhh... it's nobodies fault..." Harry closed his eyes, resting his head on top of hers, waiting for his strength to return to his limbs. Hermione clang to him, afraid to let go for fear she would lose him again.

"Why?" Harry asked after a while. His dream had flashed in front of his eyes and there was no doubt in his mind that the only reason he did not succumb to whatever the Shadow had installed for him was currently seating in his arms. And he desperately wanted, needed, to know why.

She was too far in the game to hide behind pretenses and half-truths. So she answered the only way she could.

"I love you, I need you, I want you to be mine."

Hearing what she said, Harry tightened the hold he had on her, and she let out a breath she did not know she was holding.

"Hermione, that was blunt," he laughed goodheartedly.

"I've come to think that life is way too short not to take the chances that are offered to us. And Harry, I really do want there to be an us."

"You were afraid I was going to reject you, weren't you?" he asked her when he noticed she began to breath normally again. She didn't say anything, so he took that as a yes. "I might have, before... but not now. The circumstances as they were forced me to rethink my priorities. And it's entirely your fault," he admonished in mock chagrin. "Did you just say you loved me?"

"That I did, and I do," Hermione informed him with all the seriousness she could muster.

"I trust and respect you, Hermione. Always did, always will. But, above all, I want you to be happy and safe. And I am attracted to you. Do all of these translate to love?"

"Harry, not everything can be slit into tiny pieces and analyzed under a microscope, you know that. And love is one of these things; you don't need somebody to tell you you're in love. You simply know."

"Wasn't I supposed to tell you something like this?" he grinned, and she did the same. "And you're right. I do love you Hermione. It would be hard not to after all that we've been together."

When he finished his last words, Hermione pressed her lips to him in a gentle, tender kiss, like all first kisses should be.

OoOoOoOoO

Several hours had passed since Harry had now returned from never-never land. Several hours spent talking, kissing and eating, in no particular order.

By that time, Harry's neck wound had healed, but nobody figured out just who or what had caused it, and Harry had no idea either. All he remembered was going to sleep Saturday night after a perfectly normal day at the Dursleys.

The news that Hermione knew spells the likes of Annamorex charms was not earth shattering for Harry; knowing that she used them for him and because of him, was. And he reaffirmed his decision to not let anybody or anything harming her ever again. If she was to be his guardian, then he would be hers as well.

Knowing how Hermione gathered her arcane knowledge, almost made him roll his eyes; almost, for he didn't have any kind of death wish hanging over his head. Since Dobby the house elf showed them the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, Hermione had been abusing it to her nefarious purposes. Exploiting the perks that came with her prefect status she had been sneaking almost daily after curfew to the magical chamber.

Everything she wanted to read, the room provided. She had been a little disappointed when she couldn't take the books out of the room, but it passed quickly. She had been researching the unforgivables in the hope of finding more about how they worked, their creators, their history, or how to fight them. From book to book, she found the Annamorex charms. And everything else since then was history.

They were now seating at the room's table, having just finished eating some pumpkin pie, and Hermione was explaining to him what she knew about prophecies with the help of the notes she had compiled.

Outside, heavy dark clouds loomed dangerously in the night sky. It started with a single bolt of lighting that split the heavens apart, followed quickly by a deafening thunder that rattled the windows of the house. Like all that they waited for was this one signal, innumerable drops of water began to fall down spraying the streets of London.

Harry looked out the window at the downpour outside.

"Hermione, do you like thunderstorms?" he asked her pointing at the fermenting nature.

"I didn't pay too much attention to them as I grew up," she confessed putting down the scroll she was holding in hand. "While I was a kid I didn't play outside, so it didn't quite matter to me how the weather was. And if the storm happened at night, I couldn't care less. I slept through them like a baby."

"Really? Then I guess it's about time you got acquainted with them, don't you think so?"

No, she did not think so at all. And she certainly did not like the mischievous smile Harry was sporting all of a sudden.

He nimbly got up from the armchair, and looked around the room. He spotted a cloak hung over a chair and he promptly threw it to an open mouthed Hermione. It landed unceremoniously on her head. When she finally got it off, he was wearing his own. He slipped into a pair of shoes, and urged Hermione on.

"Come one Hermione, that storm won't last forever, you know?"

"You really like your storms, don't you?" she chuckled at his enthusiasm. She draped her cloak over her shoulders and stretched her hand, summoning her wand to her hand, all the while studying his face. She saw no surprise at her display of wandless magic. She frowned.

"Harry, why aren't you surprised by this?" she inquired waving her wand in front of him.

"After what you told me you did, I wouldn't be surprised if you could do a lot more wandless magic than this," he told her, and she was glad to hear the pride in his voice. "Besides, I can do it as well." He supported his claim by imitating what she did earlier. It was her time not to be surprised. But Harry was looking strangely at his wand.

"What is it Harry? Is something wrong with your wand?"

"No, not as far as I can tell. Hermione, I knew I could do this, because I've done it before. But I always had to concentrate to a certain extent in order to succeed. Now, I barely formed the thought, when the wand was already in my hand. Strange."

A particularly powerful thunder spooked Hedwig who hooted, admonishing the nature for the impudence of waking her.

"Hedwig, are you coming with us?" Harry received a blank stare from his familiar, one that clearly notified him that he wasn't in his right mind to suggest such an outrageous thing from her. Hedwig regally tucked her head under her wing and she went back to sleep, but not before turning her back to him.

"Oh well, let's go Hermione, we don't want to be late."

In fact, Hermione truly wanted to be late. And as Harry guided her out the door and into the hall, she really envied Hedwig for having the nerve to refuse Harry.

They started to make their way across the empty halls of the manor, carefully not to make a sound which would awake the other residents of the house.

"Harry, the door is downstairs; you know that, don't you?" Hermione asked a bit puzzled about their course. Harry laughed quietly.

"Ha, ha, very funny Hermione. Sirius once told me about a passage that takes you to a terrace on the roof. He said that the entrance is behind a painting on the second floor. It should be somewhere around here… He told me that it leads to an isolated place perfect for contemplating."

While he spoke about his godfather Harry's voice become more pensive as he remembered the moments he had spent with his father's best friend. He felt as Hermione slipped one hand around his waste and he did the same just as they reached the wanted canvas.

The picture was that of a volcano, and an active one at that. Clouds of smoke were emanating from crater, and molten rocks flowed downhill with generosity. In fact, streams of magma were coming out of the picture, dripping down the wall and pooling on the floor.

Harry tapped the picture with his wand, and told it the password: Lava Flakes. Careful not to touch the small pool of molten rock, they stepped together in the newly revealed corridor. A row of moving stairs lit by torches made their ascension to the roof very easy.

"Harry, who knows about these stairs?" Hermione asked when they began climbing up.

"Besides the two of us?" She nodded. "Nobody. Not anymore..." Harry stopped with a far away look in his eyes.

"I killed him, Hermione."

"What? Say that again Harry."

"He broke out of jail for me, and I kill him. Quite a way to repay him, don't you think so?"

"No Harry, I don't think so," she furiously shook her head. "Are you the one who pointed your wand at him?" Hermione, in a very realistic impersonation of Professor McGonagall, jabbed him very unladylike with her right index finger in the chest.

"No, but-"

"Did you force him to come after you?" another poke in his chest. "Did you gave him an ultimatum threatening him to come after you or else?" two more nudges accompanied her last words.

"No, but that's not t-"

Framing his head with her hands, she looked lovingly into his eyes. "If I would fall into a trap would you come to rescue me?"

"Of course!"

"And if you died in the process, would you hold me responsible for your death?"

"NO!"

"Then this discussion is over Harry. We are all responsible for our own actions. And you are NOT to blame yourself for his death." She spoke with such conviction that Harry was sure he would have to face divine retribution if he would ever dare to doubt her words. "He loved you Harry. You cannot expect him to have stayed behind while you were in danger... I know I couldn't-"

"Don't speak like that Hermione..." Only the prospect of a life without her sent chills down his spine. "I couldn't bear to lose you..."

"Then you won't. You have a part of me inside of you, and as long as you keep it near your heart, you'll never lose me Harry." And Harry believed – what other choice did he have?

"You know," Harry began after taking a seat on the now still stairs. "I never did know him very well." Hermione knelt beside him. "But I could have. And through him, maybe I might have known my parents better. But all I have from him now is an illusion, and all I can do is wonder what his life's purpose was. Or for that matter, what is mine..."

"I know what your purpose in life is Harry. There's no mystery to that," she informed him matter of fact.

"You do?"

"Of course, I'm Hermione, the amazing book worm," she proclaimed smugly, eliciting a laugh from him. "I know everything."

"That you do. So enlighten me, oh Mistress of Knowledge!"

She leaned in close to him, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

"You have no other purpose then to make my dreams came true, and make me the happiest woman of the face of the Earth. It's that simple. Do you understand? Good. Now kiss me."

And so he did.

OoOoOoOoO

Just after dawn, the storm stilled raged outside, and Ronald Weasley couldn't sleep. Considering that this, alongside eating and quidditch were his favorite activity, it meant without a doubt, that something wasn't right.

Oh, maybe it has something to do with the fact that everybody in this bloody house is about to jump at each other's throats… No! You really think so?

Now I'm even talking with myself, that's a new one, what next I wonder?

With a loud grunt he stuck his head under a huge pillow to silence the voices.

That really helped! You know we should do this kind of stuff more often.

"Oh, SHUT UP!" He rolled over in his bed and threw the pillow in the wall in front of him.

He pulled himself out of the covers and started pacing in the room - the same room that last year he had sheared with Harry.

He was thinking, trying to analyze to the best of his abilities, the predicament in which he was stuck. He was good at tactics; he loved playing chess; he could find ways to escape the most dangerous situation and bring his opponent to checkmate without too much trouble. But right now, none of his abilities were of any good in providing him with a solution to the problems he faced at the moment.

All his problems revolved around a wizard and a witch known by the names of Harry and Hermione. He clearly remembered the day when he and Ginny stepped into their room. The experienced was firmly burned in his mind, a scar, a landmark of his world tumbling down.

He kept seeing it, every time he closed his eyes. Her right hand slowly rising with its fingers wide spread and the palm pointing at him. It had been that moment when he had began to back away, his sister behind him. Unfortunately his retreat hadn't been fast enough for her. Ron wasn't sure, but he thought he saw her entire arm bursting all of a sudden in cold blue flames. And then he remembered nothing but the pain he felt as his ribs caved in under the power of her spell. He had the feeling that for him nothing would ever be the same again.

He shook his head to cast aside the painful memory, and resumed his pacing only to be interrupted by a scream down the hall.

He rushed towards the source of the sound; Harry's room. His mother and Professor McGonagall were speaking animatedly in front of the open door. By now almost the entire mansion was awake, everybody coming to the source of the commotion. He approached the door fearing the worst.

Looking inside he was shocked buy what he saw. He saw nothing; nothing at all. The room was empty. No Harry and no Hermione whatsoever.

OoOoOoOoO

A fantastic display of light and sound greeted Harry and Hermione as they finally stepped onto the roof. Harry lowered himself under the eaves with his back reclined against the wall. He pulled Hermione with him, and she cuddled straddling his lap. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, her arms going around him, hugging him.

They sat like this, listening as the drops of rain fell from the sky to splatter themselves around them. Lightning and thunder kept them company as they watched the clouds battle viciously for supremacy above.

Despite the storm around them, they felt at peace in each other hands. And as lighting began to illuminate the murky morning, the night faded into day, taking with it the gloomy thoughts that had hunted their mind.

The light of dawn found the two of them with ruffled hair – one the colour of the deepest night, the other one like molten chocolate, dark rings around their eyes and rumpled clothes. Bust most importantly, the corners of their lips were tilted upwards in a ghostly smile, a welcomed complement to their now lively eyes.

Minutes past by unnoticed by the two. Content as they were, time was of no concern on their small island in the rain.

All was good until a loud CRACK somewhere on their left sprang them back abruptly to reality.

Hermione's heart almost jumped out of her chest and she instantly rolled in Harry's embrace, her wand appearing in her right. Harry was already playing with his own wand. Without much thought, without even taking a better look, as one they let out two jets of red light in the direction of the sound. Both spells hit their mark, freezing Mad-Eye Moody, a look of stupor on his face.

It was his mistake that he scared the young witch and the wizard. It was his mistake that he did not take into account the slippery surface of the terrace. It was his mistake he apparated so near the edge of the rooftop. He realized all this just before he took a tumble down the roof.

Harry and Hermione jumped instantly to their feet, their hearts pounding to pierce their chests. Both their bodies were tightened to the extreme, ready to erupt in action, their senses bent to discover any other potential threats.

Putting aside the fact that they might just have killed a man – the boy wizard shuddered at the thought – Harry was feeling very uneasy. Something was terribly wrong, he could just feel it. With one look at the witch that stood beside him he got his confirmation; she was feeling the same.

Hermione carefully swapped her wand to her left hand. Right or left, it didn't matter where she kept it; it was all the same for her.

Harry slipped his hand into hers, the warmth of his touched giving her the strength and assurance to fight the nagging sensation of impeding doom that had formed in the back of her mind. She turned her head to look at him, locking her eyes with his. She saw him nodding; clenching her wand more firmly in her hand, they both walked in the rain with careful measured steps.

Undaunted by the troubles of mortals the curtain of water poured down from the ashen heavens soaking everything in its path. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger convinced themselves of this fact the hard way, as soon as they stepped out from the protection of the eaves, for almost immediately their clothes hanged on them like a second skin. They slowly made their way across the slippery surface towards the place Mad-Eye had just been moments earlier. Approaching the edge of the roof Hermione became acutely aware about the height of the place. And she remembered why she didn't enjoy flying: the ground was way too far away for her liking. As Harry leaned foreword to take a look, Hermione remained a step behind, without letting go of the grip she had on him.

On the fresh-green lawn in front of the mansion Harry saw Mad-Eye's body stretched across the grass in an awkward posture. He didn't appear to be moving. Two people came rushing out of the house. The first one, with sleek black hair and robes to match kneeled beside the old Auror and began to give him what it look like first aid. Seeing the mop of red hair that covered the head of the second one, Harry was sure that he was one of the Weasley brothers, but which one, he couldn't say for sure. And judging by the fact that he wore only a lanky T-shirt it appeared that he hadn't planned his impromptu bath. On a whim, the red haired guy looked up strait to Harry.

"Up there!" both Harry and Hermione clearly heard Ron's shout over the rattle of the storm. The kneeled wizard immediately turned his head up to look at Harry as well. Even through the drops of rain that garnished his glasses Harry could see a crooked nose pointed at him in the middle of a morbid face.

Without wasting any time Snape drew his wand and sent a spell directly at Harry, its incantation muffled by the storm. With a clap, a dazzling bright blue ribbon of energy sizzled through the air towards the roof. In that moment Harry found out – not without a small amount of pride – that his reflexes had not yet abandoned him. He hurled his body backwards as hard as he could, considering the situation.

Hermione sensing the danger braced herself and tugged fiercely on his hand as well. The two movements combined, and their common result was that Harry landed roughly on his back. The good part was that he avoided the assault, the spell straying into the sky. The bad part was that his head, after rudely being acquainted with the hard floorage, was refusing to cooperate with the rest of his body. Through a pounding headache Harry was vaguely aware of Hermione trying to get him to his feet when he heard a loud CRACK resonating somewhere near him.

Harry sensed more the saw Hermione as she rotated on her feet shouting Protego! By doing so, she deflected the Expelliarmus back to Snape who dodged sideways to avoid his own spell. Harry flipped on his belly stubbornly trying to scramble to his feet, refusing to listen to the protests of his body. He was just in time to hear his most esteemed professor splutter an unintelligible word. A fist-sized chromatic ball flashed from his wand and Harry saw it passing through Hermione's shield. In front of his unbelieving eyes Harry saw her trying to avoid the magical missile. She slipped on the wet surface and the spell caught her in the forehead, snapping her head backwards. She felt without letting a sound pass through her lips.

Harry couldn't believe what was happening. One moment he was holding Hermione in his arms, and next he was witnessing her body sprawled on the wet terrace. And Snape was smirking at him for crying out loud! An astute observer would have had no problems to discern the sinister glint reflected in his dark eyes, his entire demeanor shouting that Christmas has indeed came earlier this year. Astute he may have been, but making observations was quite at the bottom of Harry's priorities at the time. Harry could see her lying near him, but at the same time it was like she wasn't there at all. The discrepancy in what his senses were telling him and the painfully physical loss he felt in the middle of his chest made him lose his mind.

All that he wanted was to hurt the thing in front of him. He wanted to jump at him and smash his sorry excuse of a face in a million of pieces. Above all he wanted to make him pay for hurting and taking away his beloved. He forgot about his wand, about being a wizard, about magic. His eyes darkened, and all his rational functions went into a temporary shut down. Harry launched himself into a sprint towards Snape; his clenched fists were held high, a feral roar building in his throat.

Snape grinned. He sidestepped from Harry's path without breaking a sweat. A fraction of a second later he jammed his right fist into the boy's jaw sending his body whirling. Just before his face connected hard with the ground a thought crept into Harry's consciousness that something might be amiss with his plan of retribution.

Snape came to him, and using his right foot with all the delicacy he could muster turned Harry's body on his backside. Without losing the smirk he had plastered on his face he casually pointed his wand at the boy's head and murmured "Legilimens!"

Instead of the stream of images he expected a wall of anger and despair greeted him. Silly boy he thought. With the skill that only a time long practice could confer Snape passed through it without even being bothered in the slightest. In his search for Harry's memories he was mildly surprised when he encountered some rudimentary mental defenses. He didn't believe that the boy had the talent and ability to even conjure these pathetic protections. There was something unusual about them, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't have much time, and besides, this was Potter – he didn't believe that the boy's feeble brain could resist his intrusion, and let's not even talk about subtlety! He smashed them without a thought and passed through.

And his heart almost stopped, goose bombs rising on his skin. There was nothing there! Just a plain field spread across an endless nothingness. Everywhere he looked the same gray space stretch as far as his eyes could see.

Snape always thought that there was nothing in the boy's head, but this was ridiculous. In a sparkle of genius he understood – this bizarre space, the weird walls around it… He put them together and he realized. This place was not built to resist outside intrusions! In was design to keep something inside! He was in a prison! He hadn't had too much time to marvel at his discovery, for he was not alone… Out of nowhere a wall a black fire erupted around him. To his relief the pure hatred and insatiable hunger he felt coming from the flames was the last thing he perceived on a conscious level. The Shadow had just found out another victim – feeding time had come again.

Harry was helpless to stop Snape's attack. To his horror he could feel the lousy git entering the last place he wanted to be disturbed. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He sensed the Shadow stirring inside his mind. He felt its glee as it assaulted the intruder. He felt it getting stronger. NO! He would not allow it! He would not allow the Shadow to reign upon him ever again! Out of desperation he tapped into some reserves of power – Merlin only knows where he had found them – and he pushed Snape with all that he had out of his mind and back into his own body.

Snape's body felt on the floor, the rain not heaving too many problems washing the streams of blood that emanated from him. When Snape was finally gone from his mind, a band of polka dancing trolls immediately took his place, bumping and trashing through his already sour head. Despite the mess hiss brain was at the moment, Harry allowed himself a small inner smile at the frustration of his own personal daemon who screamed alone in its cage. His joy's life was torn apart almost immediately by the realization of where he was and how he got there…

He opened his eyes and was startled to see the world like though a kaleidoscope – his glassed hadn't made it unscathed from the fight, for several cracks had camped nicely on his lances. The head of a girl obscured the view of the cheerless gray cloud ceiling that sifted drops of water from above. He saw her through his broken glasses, and couldn't help the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards, relief washing over him. She gave him a small smile as well.

"Get up Harry!" she ordered hurriedly braking the tender moment. "We need to get out of here before others arrive."

She slipped her hands under his shoulders and pulled. Harry recognized the urgency in her plea and couldn't agree more. With her help he finally managed to climb to his feet. And the former little band of trolls in his head suddenly multiplied to frightening numbers. Hermione didn't let him to wallow in his pain, for as soon as he reached an upright position, she shoved his wand back into his grip. She grabbed him by his other hand and together they made their way as fast as they could towards the place from which they immerged on the terrace.

Her last words didn't take long to prove their prophetic origin. Before making two steps, Harry and Hermione heard three loud cracks when two more wizards apparated on the roof near Snape's body. They had their backs turned at the two teens – their mistake.

Not taking any chances, Harry whirled around. In the daze in which waddled his brain, he couldn't think of any spell. He just wanted them out of the game, and his magic obeyed. Whatever came out from the tip of his wand split itself in three, putting an end their threat.

Harry didn't have time to wander what the hell just happened. Hermione, as puzzled as she might have been tugged on his hand urging him not to stop, for the feeling of danger was back into their minds, if it had ever left at all. Holding on to each other they dashed towards the wall that was supposed the have a door. Approaching the place, the door morphed smoothly into the wall. It swung easily inward and the two of them pelted inside just in time. Behind them a multitude of CRACKS were heard, signaling the arrival of yet more wizards. The door latched itself shut behind them, but not before they heard someone shout from the roof.

"THERE THEY ARE! AFTER THEM!"

"Colloportus!" once inside Hermione gasped at the door sealing it. Without waiting to see if the charm held or not, she and Harry bolted down the stairs. They had not descended far on the spiraling staircase when an explosion rocked the ground from beneath their feet, sending them tumbling down through a cloud of dust. Whoever were those who apparated on the terrace, they decided that it was not the time for fancy tactics – they just blew the door apart, no questions asked. Once at the base of the stairs Harry and Hermione scrambled to their feet. They were panting heavily, but at least they were glad they hadn't acquired any broken bones, only several bruises to add to their already extensive collection.

They looked at each other, the same question mirrored in their eyes. What to do? They had absolutely no idea what was going on. Should they stay and fight, or should they open the portrait hole and go into the main house and face what's there? At least here they knew what to expect… Why where they after them? Did Voldemort attack? Why was Ron against them? This was the Headquarters of the Order Of the Phoenix after all and it was supposed to be unplottable… If they were not Death Eaters, then why was the Order fighting them? So many questions, so little time… Their silent chitchat was abruptly put to an end by a voice from far above.

"MISS HERMIONE, HARRY! THIS IS JUST A HUGE MISUNDERSTANDING!" It was a woman's voice that came down the stairs – soft and carrying, despite of all the yelling. "WE MEAN YOU NO HARM!"

Weird way of showing it though, Harry thought with bitterness.

"JUST DROP YOUR WANDS AND CLIMB SLOWLY UP THE STAIRS WITH YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!" The women called again. "EVERYTHING WILL BE CLARIFIED IN JUST A MOMENT!"

"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT'S GOING ON?" it was Harry's turn to shout. He then cursed himself when his larynx protested for being overused.

"WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS BOY!" a gruffly male voice retorted. "COME HERE THIS INSTANT!" The man demanded in an angry bark. An image of his uncle's purple face, spit coming out of his mouth, flashed in front of Harry's eyes.

Harry's temper began to boil – another one who demanded things from him. "Do you trust them?" Harry mouthed to Hermione. Hermione – who looked like she was about to bursting out off indignation – flipped her head from side to side in denial.

"WE JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!" Hermione adhered to the yelling contest.

"SURE YOU DO! JUST COME HERE ALREADY!" the woman was prompt to respond, her voice just a tad hoarsely.

"NO!" Hermione challenged. "IF YOU WANT US, COME AND GET US!"

Hasty voices could be heard from upstairs – it sounded like a brief quarrel. Then silence. As moments passed, the feeling of danger only amplified itself in the back of Harry and Hermione's heads. And when a squeak came from a few steps above, just after the bend of the stairs, Harry snapped into action.

He had had enough. First Moody came after them, then Ron betrayed them to Snape who attacked them managing to harm Hermione in the process and also violating his mind, then these people blew a hole in a wall just to get them, pretending to have nothing but their best interests at heart. He just wanted to be left alone, somewhere peaceful, with Hermione in his arms for the rest of eternity. And these impudent fools were doing their best to prevent him from achieving his goal.

Harry whipped his wand foreword as he tried to channel as much power into the spell. He held his wand steady for a second, and then he rotated it clockwise once with a small flick of his wrist. In its motion, the tip of the wand left an orange trail of fire in the air. When the blazing circle was completed, a rapidly growing sphere of bright orange flames was hovering in front of his wand.

The incantation quietly escaped from his lips, "Inferno," and the flaming ball, now the size of a quaffle, dashed up the stairs.

When she saw him beginning to cast the spell, Hermione's eyes bulged in their orbits. Flabbergasted as she might have been due to his outrageous choice of retaliation, she managed to snap quickly back to reality.

Still holding her wand in her left hand, she moved it as fast as she could in a wide circular pattern in front of her, all the while shouting "FLAMEN MAXIMA!" Suddenly, all the air around them began to move with an incredible speed forward, following the direction of Harry's spell.

Harry and Hermione finished their spells at the same time, and then they dropped abruptly on the ground, huddling together, trying to protect each other from what was about to come.

When the fireball detonated mere moment later, the house shook from all its hinges. As the flames propelled up the stairs, the walls of the house began to protest, and cracks began to appear in the ceiling of the corridor.

Thanks to Hermione's wind spell she and Harry were spared from the fire and the heat. Regrettably it didn't offer too much protection against the massive wood beams and bricks that felled on top of them. In just a few seconds it was all over – only a pile of rubble remained where the corridor had once been.

OoOoOoOoO

Somewhere, an undetermined amount of time later, Hermione awakened from her deep slumber with a sudden jerk – which she regretted immensely afterwards. To try and move when her body was numb from head to toe was not an experience she was willing to undertake again. A small groan escaped her lips when she began to flex her arms and legs to work the kinks out of her system.

When she finally felt in control enough of her own body she made the first attempt at opening her eyes. Her eyelids, still heavy with dizziness parted for just a splint and shivers run down her spine.

Blood! There was blood everywhere – on the floor, on the furniture, on the walls! She put her hands to her eyes to stop the visions, but even they where bathed in gruesome red. Shaking, with a muffled cry she jumped to her feet receiving painful remainders from her muscles that she was far from being in a top notch condition. The frenetic movements of her head from left to right came to a stop not long after as her eyes landed on a massive crystal in the middle of the dome shaped room.

The eight feet height red rhombic crystal was embedded in a truncated pyramid like pedestal. Light was emanating from it splashing everything with a nice crimson colour. Having now found the explanation for the blood that stained pretty much everything around her, her mind was able to sort through her priorities. And the first one was Harry.

Hermione hastily scanned the planking of the room. She found him several feet across the room, sprawled on the floor. She ran to him. Harry was still out, but his breathing was steady, and his face seamed to be relaxed. A lot more at ease now that he seamed to be relatively in one piece, she allowed herself a breath of relief.

His clothes were now dry but a layer of dust covered his entire body; taking a look at herself the witch realized that she didn't fare too much better either – nothing that a scourgify wouldn't cure. She picked up Harry's wand from near his body – it felt warm and welcoming in her hand – and an Accio later, her own wand was in her other hand. She wasted no more time in proving her theory. After two muttered cleansing spells she and Harry were a little more presentable; at least some of the dust was no more…

Hermione levitated Harry's still sleeping body to the room's single bed, laying him carefully on his back. Hermione touched the tip of her wand to Harry's glasses. She whispered a soft Reparo and she waited patiently as the lances rearranged themselves into a smooth unclipped surface. She pressed her lips on his forehead in a gentle caress and tucked herself beside him. She perched her head on top of his chest, draped an arm around him and fell asleep, oblivious to anything else around her.

Hours later, Harry finally came back to his senses, feeling refreshed and ready to face any perils that might come his way. With his eyes still closed he could feel Hermione's warm body cuddling him. He carefully turned in her arms as not to disturb her and he hugged her as well. Annoyed that her pillow had moved, she muttered some unarticulated words. Still asleep, she then tightened the grip she had on him, and relaxed, a content smile creasing her face.

Amused by her antics, Harry opened his eyes to look at her. And just like Hermione, he was shocked at the gruesome decor. But seeing her smile all the worries he might have had flew out the window. Who needed to know what had happened, who cared where they were or how they got there as long as she was smiling? He smiled as well.

Driven by curiosity, he crooked his neck to take a sweep of the room. Immediately his attention was grabbed by the soft glowing crystal. With the outmost care he disentangled from Hermione and stepped on shaky legs towards it.

He tentatively raised his left hand to touch its surface. He was surprised to find out that it was warm and soft to the touch, and not cold and hard as he expected it to be. Intrigued, he brought forward his other hand as well and pushed slightly.

Ripples started to form under the palms of his hands, distorting the smooth facade. Streams of yellow light radiated from the structure and Harry was suddenly absorbed inside.

The fluctuating light in the room startled Hermione from her nap. She was scared at not having a sleeping Harry beside her, so she spun around almost falling out of bed in an attempt to locate his presence.

She found him standing with his hands pressed on the surface of the crystal, a look of concentration etched on his face. She made to jump to him, to pull him aside. She stopped half-way there when she checked the feelings coming from the bound she had with him. As far as she could tell, he did not consider himself to be in any sort danger; on the contrary; he felt quite safe doing whatever it was he was doing.

Now she was intrigued. She went to him with small steps and slipped her hands around his waist.

"Harry..." she whispered softly in his right ear trying to get his attention.

It worked.

"I'm here Hermione," he responded in kind, as quiet as she asked. "Please, step in front of me, between my arms and place your hand on top of my own."

Curious, she followed his instructions. She placed her hands as he told her to, and then she leaned into his chest, waiting.

She didn't have to wait long, for she too felt like she was absorbed inside the crystal.

A small disturbance later that left her a little woozy, she found herself in... in the middle of nowhere? Before she had time to panic, a welcoming presence made itself known beside her.

"I'm here Hermione" she heard Harry's soothing voice. "Welcome to the forefront of your mind!" he told her more then slightly amused by her confusion.

Words had failed her for the moment, so she just sat there unable to make a sound.

"This is the borderline between our minds. A place where legilimens and other specialists in mind magic can use to talk with each other in relative privacy," Harry explained to her, matter of fact.

"How do you know this?" she asked impressed by what she heard.

"She told me."

"SHE!"

Just then Hermione felt another presence beside her, not like Harry's at all, alien and strange, but at the same time radiating... fidelity?

"Hermione," Harry, not forgetting his good manners, started the introductions, "meet Crystal. Crystal, meet Hermione."

A wave of something washed over Hermione, and she felt Crystal's joy and delight at meeting her.

"Hello," Hermione tentatively offered in return, and again she experienced the same delight she felt earlier.

"Should I be jealous, Harry?" she asked with a mental smirk.

"Not at all Milady," Harry answered cheerfully giving her a hug. "You are the only one for me." Hermione returned his hug gladly, and they both turned their attention back to Crystal who waited patiently for them.

"So Harry, Crystal is the crystal, right?" she asked somewhat awed, as soon as the realization struck her.

"Yes she is," he replayed proudly. "She was created about four hundred years ago by Archibald Black. Judging from what I know now, he was quite the Enchanter, a true master of the craft. He made Crystal as an experiment to better control the wards around his estate. Crystal wasn't even supposed to exist in its current form, but during creation, one of the spells failed, and his wife who was helping him died in the process. Apparently, a small part of her was absorbed in the focus crystal as well, giving it something akin to a conscious. Ironical enough, Archibald's wife's name was Crystal, and that's how he named her, in her memory."

"Wow," Hermione said. "Harry, not that I'm complaining, but how do you know all this? Is Crystal able to talk?" Hermione felt another wave of something touching her, one that she had no trouble interpreting it as no.

"No Hermione, she can not. Archibald kept Crystal a secret from the rest of family. This room is about sixty feet under what is now known as Black Manor. After Archibald's death, Crystal was supposed to make itself known to the next head of the Black Family. She didn't. For a reason or another, she rejected them all; until Sirius died and I was brought here more dead then alive. Last Christmas, while Sirius was still alive, he keyed me to the wards as his heir. For you see, though nobody knew about Crystal, all the Black's wards from Archibald's time are anchored in this focus crystal. Archibald had done such a great job that no one after him bothered to raise others. And only the knowledge of how to key somebody to them had been past through generations. And even so, unknown to him, the master of the House only had partial control of them."

"So Crystal is the one who helped me navigate around the house this past week?" Hermione asked in awe.

"Yes," the simple answer only helped to fuel her confusion.

"But why?"

"Well, ahh... I guess is because she liked me and-"

For a reason or another, Hermione found this terribly amusing and she burst out in uncontrolled fits of laughter.

"Yes, yes, laugh, go ahead, but you should know that she likes you too."

"What!" that sure put a stop to her merriment.

A wave of deep affection enfolded both Harry and Hermione, authenticating Harry's claims.

"Crystal likes me because I remind her of Archibald," Harry tried to explain, wondering just what was that he had in common with Crystal's father, "and she likes you because, and this is where I don't understand what she implies, for she doesn't make much sense... she likes you because you are a... witch." If Hermione would have had eyes in this space, and time, she would have blinked. "Hermione, does this make any sense to you?"

"No Harry, it does not," was her conclusion after some fructuous moments spent in deep meditation. "But, do you remember the Black's tapestry from last summer?"

"Why, yes." How could he forget? When he first saw it, he wondered with longing for the first time about those who came before him. He was wondering still. And now that he remembered, he hopped to live enough to see his and Hermione's name on their own family tapestry; their names, and the names of their children. It was a good dream, one he thought it was worth fighting for. Spurred by the idea of children, pictures of him showering in kisses Hermione's naked body popped in his mind, seriously altering his blood flow.

"According to it," Hermione's oblivious voice brought his mind out off the gutter, "all the Black's women were witches, and pure bloods at that. Why would I be different?"

"I don't know Hermione," Harry answered quickly, trying not to let her notice the not so innocent thoughts that ran through his brain, "but whatever the reason, you and I are now Crystal's Master and Mistress."

Crystal chose that moment to shower them in her affection yet again, making the two of them smile. It also helped Hermione shake off the shock that she now was the Mistress of one of the most prominent pure blooded families in the wizarding world. She was sure that a lot of people were turning in their graves right about now.

"That's great and all Harry, but you still haven't told me how you know all this?" she asked for the third time, a clear whine distinguishing in her voice.

After taking a moment to cherish the thought that for once he knew something that she didn't, he complied.

"You see Hermione, among other things, Crystal has a particular set of memories Archibald instructed her to pass to us, as the Heads of the Blacks. These memories contain the more detailed version of the story I told you, what is the full extent of the wards, how to control them and another interesting thing or two."

"And pray tell, why didn't you tell me this from the beginning, mister?"

"And what? Ruin my fun? I don't think so!"

A huff was her only response.

"So... how do I access those memories?" She asked eager to learn something new.

"Just ask Crystal Hermione," he nudged her gently.

"Ahh... Crystal, would you please allow me access to your memories?"

In response to her request, Crystal stepped foreword, gently wrapping itself around Hermione. Several moments later, Hermione felt wobbly because of all the new knowledge crammed in her head.

"Wow."

"One for small words today, aren't we?" He got a smack behind his head for his trouble. "On the other hand, that's a word as good as any to describe it," Harry rectified with a smile.

After a few moments in which they said goodbye to Crystal, Harry and Hermione retreated out of the crystal.

Once back in the real world, Hermione found herself wrapped in Harry's arms. The room was now illuminated in daylight.

Harry hadn't been quite able to sake of the image of Hermione's naked body from his mind. He hadn't tried too hard either. Nor did he want to. And having her now pressed in front of him wasn't encouraging his judicious side to take a more active position in controlling his body. Not at all.

After a careful meticulous weighting of all the facts, an operation that took no more than five seconds – no doubt some of the best spent five seconds of his life – his mind was set.

Hermione shifted to be face to face with him just as he completed his introspection. Being of the same height as he, she had no trouble to rest her forehead on his, which she did. She was very conscious of how close his body was to her, and judging by the red that tinted his cheeks, and by the fact that she could feel his arousal in his nether region, she was fairly sure he was just as conscious of her as she was of him; a fact that she pleased her greatly.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, and to her amusement she saw his face becoming crimson red.

"I was thinking at you and me practicing to make babies," Harry told her in all his honesty.

"Only thinking it, Harry? Not planning to start perfecting our technique?" she teased him by nibbling softly on his lower lip.

He responded by capturing her mouth in a proper kiss, one that left the two of them breathing hard.

"That too honey, but not right now."

"Honey? I like that, but why not now?" she looked at him with poppy eyes, pouting slightly.

"Because I want to be with you when there are no other worries clouded above our heads, and when all our concerns will be to find new ways of pleasuring each other."

"If that's the case, then I fear we're in for a very long wait, my love. And I am not the patient type."

"Oh, I'm not planning to wait until we get rid of Snakeface. For I fear that is going to take a very long time indeed. All I ask from you is to postpone our get together until we found out were we stand. Right now we have no money, no food and no clothes and my assumption is that for some reason, the Order is against us. And if that's the case, then I bet all my money from Gringotts that our most beloved Ministry of Magic is as well. And that is bad."

"I guess I can't argue with logic, now can I? But when all this is finished, you and I will find the biggest, fluffiest bed there is and we will have our wicked ways with each other. After all, our life's purpose is to procreate. And we wouldn't want to disappoint life, now would we? Is that understood?"

"Yes Ma'am!"

"And don't call me ma'am."

"Yes honey."

"Better. So what's the plan?"

Their plan, in all its staggering complexity, could be summarized with a few well chosen words: pilfer everything they deemed worthy from the room, go upstairs and set things straight with the Order; and if that failed, go to Gringotts.

One of the most important pieces of information that was passed to them by Archibald via Crystal was that whenever they were in trouble, his heirs could always ask help from the Garnock Clan of goblins. If they were to invoke the help of the goblins, they would also be bound by the rules of the same old alliance that guaranteed they received their help. An alliance Harry and Hermione knew very little about. And what they knew came from a partial translation Hermione had done in a hurry with her limited knowledge of runes.

The writing was engraved on a brown piece of leather that held a sparkling medallion wrapped in its folds. A bag of coins and a wand was engraved on one side, and two staffs crossed beneath an impressive oak on the other. What Hermione could make out of the message sounded something like this:

Bound by honor,

Bound by blood,

Garnock of the greedy ones,

Stejar of the trees,

Moonleaf, wilder of the flame,

...house

...safe...

Bound by honor,

Bound by blood

Now, as it was back then, the mighty Garnock Clan ruled Gringotts, the wizarding bank of England.

Harry and Hermione knew, thanks to their newly accumulated knowledge, that the medallion was a portkey that when needed it could transport them into Gringotts, bypassing their wards – that is, if the current ruler of the clan still acknowledged the alliance.

They decided to use it only as a last resort.

The looting of the room did not take an awfully long amount of time. One of the objects they found to be most useful in aiding their purpose was a bottomless bag – which was a fancy name for a bag designed to be worn across the shoulder, with its interior much, much larger then its exterior, enchanted in such a way that it always weighted the same amount, no matter how heavy the load inside might be.

In Hermione's opinion, the chamber's true treasure, Crystal aside, it was the desk. Or more importantly what lay on the desk and on the shells around it. And those were books. Lots and lots of books, manuscripts, Archibald's journals and other writings that were considered much to valuable and dangerous to be left in the family library. All of them were in impeccable condition due to the magic of the room; and all of them found their way in their new bag, much to the delight of her of the bushy hair.

The chamber offered them another surprise; clothes. They spent no second thoughts in trading their pajamas with the new garments. When they finished changing, nothing old remained on them. New boots, new trousers, new jackets, and new robes. All leather, all of top notch quality. They fitted snugly on their bodies. And they were most pleased with them.

And as a final touch, they found some brand new wands. New, like in four hundred years old. They were new to them, nonetheless. Using a meticulous process of try and error, both of them had chosen two wands each – with who-knows-what as their cores and wood frame. Each wand came with its own holster, which were design to be strapped on the forearms. The model of the holster went well with their new attire; so well in fact, that they were visible only to a close examination. One might assume they were created to be used together, or something. Their old wands, with the ministry tracking and underage charms were sent to their bag, only to be used in dire need or when they would be able to lift the unwanted spellwork from them.

It appeared that Archibald, when he fitted the room, he had thought at everything a wizard and a witch in need might need.

When they were finished with everything, they stopped for a moment for a final look around. They clasped hands, they kissed, they breathed deeply, and they asked Crystal to send them to their room hoping for the best. And they were gone.

OoOoOoOoO

It was well-passed midnight, and Ron couldn't sleep. Again – not that it was a surprise to anyone by now. If in the morning, when Harry and Hermione had disappeared, he thought things couldn't turn worse, then he had thought wrong. He felt like he was just a bloody spectator to the greatest reality show in the world. Caught right in the middle of the events and not to be able to alter even a single thread was infuriating to say the least. And it was HIS entire fault – Mr. I-Know-Better-Bloody-Git-Dumbledore!

He had had lost his friends. And what was worse was the fact that it happened right in front of his eyes without him doing anything to prevent it. Oh, he tried… Maybe, just maybe if he had insisted some more… Maybe if he had put his foot down and stayed firm on his position. But no… Dumbledore had to come and with his nattily tongue and sparkling eyes managed to convince everyone else that everything was going to turn out for the better if things were to be let to run their course. Who was going to listen to Ron when they had Dumbledore? He knew the answer now: nobody. He had been a fool for believing otherwise in the first place… If only he had acted when he had the chance…if only…

Because of him, Dumbledore, he had lost both Harry, and Hermione! He had known instantly the moment he had first laid eyes upon his friend that it was too late for Harry. He could feel it in his guts. Bloody hell, he could even see it! But Hermione… she could have still been saved… If only he had had the strength to do what had to be done she could have been beside him right now! All he had had to do was to enter their room and deal with the evil once and for all. But he had been weak, and Hermione paid for his weakness… Bloody Hell!

Damn! Why were all the crappy things in the world happening to him? The prospect of banging his head to a wall was very attractive to him right about now… And why in the name of Godric had he come here again? Here in this case being Harry and Hermione's room.

The room didn't look much changed from how it looked in the morning; the only obvious difference was that the pile of ominous books that Hermione was reading was no more. Somebody must have taken them back to the library, or so he thought. The only thing left on the table was a scattered pile of notes Hermione had compiled – tough luck trying to read them though. She had bewitched them somehow that only she could understand them. They appeared to be nothing but gibberish to anyone else that glanced at them. Ron knew that Professor McGonagall had spent a lot of time with them, no doubt trying to decipher their meaning. Later he had heard her morosely admitting failure after several unsuccessful attempts.

The room still had their trunks though. Not having anything better to do at this time of night, Ron started to rummage through them. Hey, maybe he could find some kind of hint or clue that would tell him were they were. So, his mind having been set, he picked up Harry's trunk and placed it on the bed. From one of his pockets he pulled out a Chocolate Frog and started to munch on it as he began his inspection.

His eyes landed on a tattered peace of parchment. This was bound to become handy during the school year! He took it and placed it outside the trunk. Almost immediately Harry's old invisibility cloak followed the Marauder's Map. What else was in there? Some patchy clothes, school books, junk, some broken glass, a half burned cauldron, some more junk, a pouch… ahh… only one galleon and some sickles… oh well… two shadows… Hey! Were did those shadows came from? Shadows!

Ron jerked up his head from the trunk and jumped back in shock. There they were – between him and the room's window; Harry and Hermione; holding hands and wands drawn impassively pointed at the ground. And what were they wearing? To his eyes it was some kind of dark rusty hooded robes that clanged tightly to their frames, following every curve of their bodies. With an effort Ron managed to rip his eyes from Hermione's torso and looked at their faces. Both were yellowish pale and Harry's cheeks were seriously bruised. Hermione had her hair hastily pulled back in a ponytail for a few strands had escaped and were now bordering her face.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed cheerfully managing at the same time to smile darkly, an unsettling glint in her hazel eyes. Harry looked at his possessions, and then narrowed his eyes upon the wizard in front of him.

Ron swallowed the nod that had formed inside his throat. Ever since that first day when he had been forcibly evacuated from this very room, every time he approached the door fear mixed with uneasiness would make him turn back and leave. As days passed by, the feeling only increased. But not this time. This time he would prove he was a Gryffindor through and through. He would fight his fear and he would conquer it. He would not run anymore.

Now that turning away and running, like all his senses were telling him to do, wasn't an option anymore, Ron's wheels started to turn at tremendous speed. Hermione was happy to see him! Though she was clearly disturbed, if the way she greeted him was anything to go by, maybe it was not too late for her. Though he could clearly see that she too had been corrupted by the same taint as Harry, maybe she still had a chance, no matter how feeble that chance might be.

This was his moment. He had to act quickly and with diplomacy. He had to reach to her true self. He didn't know how, but he had to. The stakes were too high! He had to succeed!

Ron dressed his voice with a cough and locked his eyes with hers. Taking a deep breath, he began, ignoring Harry completely.

"Listen to me Hermione." He wasn't taken any risks, so he spoke slowly, giving her time to understand the meaning of the words. "You," he pointed his left index finger at her, "have to fight it!"

Hermione didn't know if she should be amused or concerned about this. Stumped for the moment, she corked and inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"I know you're in there somewhere Hermione! Hear my voice, and come to me. Come back into the light! Be strong!" The pathos in his words was almost palpable.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, not knowing what to make out of Ron's behavior. They shrugged their shoulders at the same time and turned their attention back to Ron.

Being the smart witch that she was, Hermione guessed easily that, now that he had finished what he had to say, Ron was expecting her to come to him. Worried about his sanity, she did not do such a thing. In fact, she did nothing but stare at him a little perplexed. This did not go well with Ron who resumed his summons.

"Come Hermione, come to me!" Ron beckoned her with an outstretched hand. "I know you can do it! Do it for me!"

If this wouldn't have been so sad, Harry would have found the situation to be quite amusing.

"For pity's sake, Ron. What's the matter with you?" Hermione asked tiredly. Except for the fact that she was getting annoyed, she was totally unaffected by Ron's words.

"No… Hermione…" Ron sadly shook his head. She, just like Harry was beyond reasoning. Snape had been right after all. He had to act now. He couldn't let them run away. "I'm sorry…" He prepared himself, and as fast as he could he reached for his wand that was safety tucked in his trousers.

Having all his concentration directed upon the witch, he completely missed the fact that Harry had, for some time, his wand pointed at him. Before he could grab his wand, Harry's stunning spell hit him squarely between the eyes. The world went dark and he collapsed. Swishing her wand, Hermione gave him the finishing touch, binding him in ropes.

Just then the door burst open.

"Stupefy!" a tall man shouted at them. Two deflective shields were raised immediately and the jet of light was directed harmlessly back to where it came from. With a swish of his wand Harry latched back the door shut in the face of their assailant, and Hermione sealed it. Still holding hands they both raised their wands in the air twirling them into a complicated pattern.

"Prohibeo Virga Magica! Protegere Domus Maximus!" they finished spouting the incantations just as the door blew up and they had to duck to avoid the splinters. A shock wave run through the walls of the house making them moan like a giant hand had gripped them in its iron grasp. The air inside Number 12 Grimmauld Place became heavy around its inhabitants and the lights had lost some of their potency. Some of the most ancient wards around the place had just come to life. Harry and Hermione climbed to their feet from behind the bed to be greeted by two wands from the doorway.

"Hello Remus and friend" Harry addressed the two wizards resignedly.

"Good to see you too, Harry, Hermione…" Remus answered eyeing them carefully, his wand still pointed at him.

"Drop your wand boy, this foolishness ends here and now," the second commanded as more footsteps could be heard coming from the hallway.

"Sod off you; I'm starting to get exhausted by all this nonsense."

"Why you insolent – Stupefy, Stupefy!" like he had done many times before, the wizard shouted the combo very fast, the difference being that now he looked stupidly at his wand when nothing happened.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and for the moment she jumped into her teaching mode. "No, no, no! You're doing it all wrong. It's done like this: Stupefy!" the girl launched the spell at the annoying individual. He wasted his breath trying to raise a shield and felt to the floor not understanding what was happening around him. With a quiet sigh, Lupin re-sheeted his wand in surrender.

"What happens now?" he asked calmly as Tonks, Molly Weasley and another disgruntled witch arrived at the door in a huff.

"Harry, Hermione!" Ms. Weasley shouted trying to make her way passed Lupin.

"Don't." She was stopped in her tracks by Harry's cold threatening voice as he leveled his wand with her.

Idly fingering her wand, Hermione eyed the shock-stricken Ms. Weasley for a moment before she shifted her attention back to Remus Lupin.

"Where are my parents?" she asked him.

"They are downstairs. For reasons that are obvious," he waved in her and Harry's direction, "none of us could sleep tonight. So we adjured in the parlour to talk and to keep the worry at bay. When I sensed you in the house, we all rushed up here. Minerva stayed with them." While he talked, none of the other three witches uttered a sound.

Hermione nodded, accepting his answer.

"In regards to you earlier question Remus," Harry spoke, his wand still trained on the adults, "here's what we're going to do..."

And so it happened, that not too much time later, the manor's parlour had become the warmest chamber of the house. Being the gathering point for all the people that were currently residing in the Order's Headquarters can have that effect on a mere room, even one as luxuriant as this one.

As evidence that the Blacks were well-off, there were more than enough couches and comfortable recliners in the parlour to accommodate all of them. Strangely enough, despite all the care and attention that was spent into decorating the room, the room's guests were far from feeling relaxed and comfy.

Remus, after he deposited the still unknown and stunned individual on the floor, made himself as comfortable as possible in a fluffy armchair. Beside him, on an identical armchair, Nymphadora Tonks was thoroughly inspecting her nails. While doing so, she was indolently curling and straightening her hair, something that Remus seemed to find most interesting.

A little to Tonks left, on a sofa, Louise and Kendal Granger, Hermione's parents, were sitting together with Minerva McGonagall and the unknown witch.

At the end of this long and hard day, a veritable rollercoaster of emotions, the two muggle dentists were spent. Now that they were in the same room, Hermione could fell through the empathic bond that she now shard with her parents the torrent of emotions coming from them more powerful than before. She couldn't figure out why, but more then anything else her parents were afraid of her. And Hermione's heart ached painfully because of it.

To Harry's eyes, Minerva, his transfiguration professor looked just as he remembered her. Her expression was grave, as always. She held herself straight and with dignity. Her attention was directed upon them, but more on Hermione than himself. Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought that he could detect a spark of pride mixed with sorrow in the way she looked at them. And there was something more behind her dark eyes... longing perhaps? But that made as much sense as most of everything else that happened to him since he awaken, and that wasn't saying much.

The unknown witch – tall, blond and skinny – was sitting with her arms crossed, and she was brooding. Almost all of her wanted nothing more then to jump at the two brats and to put an end to the charade. Thankfully for her, the small part of her brain that was responsible with the self preservation of her being was running in turbo mode. Something that she wasn't exactly used to. So she was confused, and did nothing.

And finally, there were the Weasleys.

Ron, still bound, but conscious courtesy of an enervate spell was lying on the floor futilely straggling with his ropes. Due to the fact that he wasn't keeping his mouth shut, Harry gifted him with a silencing charm. His face was red as his hair from exertion, not like his mother's whose face had taken a lovely shade of milk-white.

Ms. Weasley was fiddling with her hands in her lap, torn between her safety and the safety of her child. She had made an attempt to help him, only to be promptly stopped by a spell that dug a hole in the floor between her legs. Ron attacked them earlier, or tried to at least, so Hermione preferred him the way he was at the moment. In an act that shocked most of everyone present, Hermione promised Molly that the next spell was going to pass through her head if she didn't behave.

Ginny was in the parlour too. She had been the only one asleep when Harry and Hermione had returned. She was awaked by the commotion, and now she wished she had remained in bed. Dressed in a nightgown she was curled at her mother's side, trying to sooth her, rubbing circles on her back. At the moment, more than anything, she was sad.

Harry and Hermione remained standing. Harry was still holding Hermione's right hand in his left. And they still had their wands drawn, ready to use them at the slightest provocation.

"People," Harry began addressing them. He did not shout, growl or snarl. He did not sound angry. He spoke in his usual voice, only a little hoarse. "We need answers, and you're going to provide them. Do you understand?"

"Why are you doing this?" Molly asked a little shaken.

The question surprised Harry.

"You actually don't know?" he asked incredulously in return.

Molly shook her head in denial.

Harry scratched his head with the tip of his wand pretending to think.

"Hmm... Maybe it has something to do with you people trying to kill us, or-"

"I did not do such a thing!" Molly yelled, almost jumping of her seat. Hermione's patience for hysterics was very thin, almost inexistent, and she was more than ready to calm her down with the help of a good old trusting Stupefy. Ginny was the one to save her mother from that cruel fate by holding her down.

"When I said you, you were supposed to understand the Order of the Phoenix as a whole," Harry clarified. "Now, let's try again. Remus, why don't you clarify this for us?"

"Harry, I assure you, nobody wanted to harm you or Hermione," Remus answered calmly, with a straight face.

Harry and Hermione had similar unbelievable expressions on their faces.

"Professor," the young witch considered by many the cleverest of her generation, "you must think us to be mentally deficient, or retarded. We. Are. Not. Do not play games with us; we are definitely not in the mood. So I ask again, and you better answer. Why were we attacked?"

Remus complied. "You have thrown Moody off the roof, and you almost killed Snape. You have knocked down three wizards, and another witch and wizard suffered major burns and severe broken bones because of your spell work. Harry, Hermione," Remus pointed at the two of them, "you are the ones who attacked us," he finished looking dejectedly at them.

The silence that followed his words was interrupted seconds later by a slight cracking of the house's walls.

"Ha! Help is coming!" The unknown witch happily exclaimed. "You will not get away!"

"Whoever they are, it will take them some time to enter here if they don't want to destroy the house in the process," Harry explained to her and to the rest of them. "And until they do, if you have nothing useful to say, do shut up until you are spoken to."

Unfortunately, the neurons assigned to her preservation instinct choose that particular time to take a well deserved rest. So...

"I'm not afraid of you!" the witch stated with disdain.

"You should. Stupefy!" She felt limp to the floor from Harry's spell. Minerva looked at the fallen body beside her and sighed. Everyone else became tense in the aftermath of the spell.

Not at all perturbed by the cracking of the walls, or about the stunned witch, Hermione shifted her attention towards her favorite Hogwarts professor.

"Professor McGonagall, perhaps you would be willing to explain to us more thoroughly, in the time that we have left, what has happened here recently."

"D-don't t-tell t-them anything…"

What the… Harry didn't waist to much time to ponder how did the foreign witch managed to pull herself from the effects of his spell, for he had stunned her again.

"Professor?"

"You must understand," the old lady began in her usual manner, "that things have been very hectic since you two were brought here this last Sunday. Mr. Potter, we did not know what caused your condition. Your and Hermione's situation was strange enough, unique I might venture to say. But when Professor Snape returned and claimed that you were being possessed by You-Know-How... Please don't interrupt. He had brought proof as well, via a memory in a pensive of Him when he admitted rather cheerfully that it won't take much longer now for you to come to his side... It appeared that for some reason he thought the situation was very ironic. And Mr. Weasley here," she pointed at Ron, "was yelling at us, asking why we weren't doing anything to drive the darkness away from you. As the days passed, he began to voice his belief more and more forcefully. And he was not the only one. Most of the Order wanted to have you confined in a more secure environment, locked in a cell, or even shipped to Azkaban. Until now Dumbledore managed to diffuse the fears of most of the Order. Until this morning that is.

"When you two disappeared, spirits ran amok around here. Alastor arrived soon after your disappearance was discovered, and saw you on the roof. He rushed outside, and apparated to get you. You know what happened after that."

"Yes, we, do. Thank you Professor." Harry nodded in Minerva's direction.

"Hmm, Ron," Hermione turned to her friend? Former friend? "What is this darkness that you are talking about? And how did you detect it?" She was genuinely interested in hearing his opinion, so she lifted the silencing charm to allow him to talk.

"How did I detect it? HOW DID I DETECT IT!" he all but screamed his lungs out. "I. CAN. SEE. IT! Beneath his skin, flowing in his blood, crawling behind his eyes! It has tainted his soul, and now it has taken over you as well..." he trailed the last words breathing hard. "I can sense the evil radiating from the two of you right now as we speak." He let out a croaked laugh. "You are not my friends. My friends have died." Ron lowered his eyes and refused to look at them any more.

Taking a moment to let Ron's words sink in, Harry dressed his voice.

"Are we evil, Ron? There is no such thing old friend. There is no good or evil. There is only what you chose to do with the skills you have acquired.

"Remus, what do you think?" Harry asked the last marauder, abruptly changing the subject. "Have you bought this darkness thing? Or the stories about possessions?"

"I don't know Harry. You tell me," Remus answered with a sigh. He did a lot of those lately.

"Maybe..." Harry whispered, surprising his audience. "I don't know either Remus. After all, I was unconscious for almost a week."

"This is not the answer I wanted to hear."

"Too bad this is all you're going to get."

"Harry, if Voldemort is trying to control you, then you need help; help which the Order will gladly provide. Dumbledore, I and the others will do anything in our power to get rid of him."

"Like you did this morning? Shoot first, ask questions later? Don't bother with the speeches Remus. Your offer is declined. Right now my faith in you is all but nil."

"But-"

"Enough! Professor McGonagall, what happen with Moody?"

"I can answer that," Tonks piped in razing her hand.

"By all means Nymphadora, please do," Minerva accepted.

Twisting her face into a grimace at hearing her most abhorrent name, Tonks did so.

"When he first came back into his senses after the dive he took, he was ecstatic. After he found out that you two slipped through the Order's fingers, he was more than overjoyed. If nothing else, he is proud of you! Congratulations!"

Harry and Hermione smiled.

"That's good to know. Is he at St. Mungo's now?" Hermione asked.

"Merlin, no! He hates hospitals with a passion. Bad memories or something. He is at home, in his bed, delighting himself with a generous dose of Skele-Gro. He'll be up and running by morning."

"And Snape?"

"He's in a bad shape alright." Tonks didn't sound sorry about him at all. "He is in St. Mungo sharing a room with the Longbottoms, and the healers have no idea how to help him. He is babbling nonstop something about dark, pain, hate and other unintelligible things. You did a pretty good job on him, whatever it is that you did."

"He snooped where he didn't belong." Harry offered as an explanation. His features darkened at the memory. "He used a spell on Hermione. One that neither her, nor me know anything about it."

Hermione took over with the details. "The spell produced a multicoloured ball of light that passed with no apparent resistance through my protego shield."

Remus features frozen. "Have you been hit by it?"

"Yes. It hit me in the forehead and I passed out for no more then a few moments. If it had any lasting effects, I don't know. What was it?"

Remus looked torn between Minerva and Hermione's parents. From the moment Hermione came into the room, the two doctors tried to catch their daughter's eyes. They hadn't succeeded yet. Now they feared that the answer she was expecting will drive her even further away from them.

Minerva broke the encumbering silence.

"As you may know, Professor Dumbledore has informed us about the charm you have cast Hermione." The young witch nodded. "And from then until now, one of the favorite topics of discussion in this house was how to undo your work."

Hermione blinked - then blinked again. Then she scowled. Then every piece of glass in the room instantly multiplied into thousands of little pieces.

"A general nullifier spell," she spat through her greeted teeth. "No doubt, one keyed to dispel or dampen bonds, or something similar."

"Yes", Minerva agreed. And it was all she could do to keep the pride she felt for her from showing on her face. "This was one of the options that were worth considering."

"Why were you discussing this in the first place?" Harry asked more then a little miffed, while Hermione was counting backwards from several millions, calming herself.

"That was our idea!" a male voice blurted out.

"Father!" Hermione cried, her counting forgotten. "Tell me it isn't true, father. Tell me you don't want me to break up with Harry. Tell me that you accept what I have done, or at least you're trying to. TELL ME!"

"Hermione, we all make mistakes when we are young and-"

"This is not a mistake father." She stopped her father firmly. "And if it is, it is not for you to judge!"

"You're my daughter!" He yelled jumping from the sofa.

Hermione then did something she never thought will ever do. She flicked her wand and sent her father back to his seat, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Sweetheart, please, listen to me," her mother tried to explain with tears in her eyes. "All we ever wanted was for you to have a normal life, not to be a slave to another. Please, try to understand…" Mrs. Granger pleaded with her daughter.

Hermione shook her. "Slave! I'm nobody's slave, mother. And I do understand; I made a mistake for thinking that you were different from the other parents out there who want nothing more than to impose their way of thinking to her children with or without their consent. I also apologize for assuming that you would trust me enough to make my own decisions and live my life as I see fit. For that I am truly sorry." To say that the doctors were floored by their daughter's outburst would be an understatement. She turned her head to look at Harry. "Love, remind me when we have our children not do to them what my parents tried to do to me."

Harry nodded and reassured her with a gentle squeeze of the hand. He abstained from saying anything to Hermione's parents. It was not his place, not now. But later, he and Hermione would talk. And they'll find a way to bridge the gap between her and her family. After all, they did raise the witch that had become the center of his life. So they couldn't have been that bad. And now that Hermione talked about children, he really wanted them to be able to meet at least one set of grandparents.

"Let's go Harry. I don't want to be here anymore. We found out what we came here for. Goodbye everybody." And she turned away from them, dragging Harry with her towards the door.

"Please wait a second Hermione. Ginny, out of simple curiosity, where do you stand in this?"

She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Goodbye Harry, Hermione. Hope we meet again someday."

"Goodbye then Ginny."

And with that, Harry and Hermione left the parlour, leaving a confused room behind them. The door sealed itself shut behind them.

They slowly climbed the stairs to their room, each lost in their thoughts. Once there, Hermione gathered all of Harry's important belongings, some of their clothes and the notes she had compiled. All of them ended in the endless bag Harry now carried at his hip.

Harry turned to Hedwig. He petted the owl, and asked her not to come to him or Hermione until he called for her. Hedwig bobbed her head, nibbled on his finger a little more powerful than the situation demanded and went back to sleep.

Together, in silence, they proceeded to the library, its doors obediently opening before them. If they were going to leave, there were lots and lots of interesting books in here, books that Hermione simply had to have. There was no other way. The small mountain she selected was shrunken, and placed in the bag as well.

Together, alone in the dusty room, Hermione allowed a single tear to damp her cheek before she hid her face in Harry's chest, sobbing quietly.

"If you want, we can still change our mind about this…" Harry whispered softly in her ear all the while running his hands in small circles on her back.

"No," she shook her head firmly. "Let's stick to the plan we have. We must find out what happened with you, and for that we need allies. If something goes awfully wrong..."

"We get out of there as fast as we can."

"Good. Ready?"

"Always."

While Harry uttered the incantation to bring down the wards they had erected, Hermione instructed Crystal not to open the doors to the library for anybody or anything except them.

Once they were both finished, they had a last request for Crystal; to send them as far away from the house as possible. Crystal happily obliged.

And Harry and Hermione were no more at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.